#i cannot imagine how mad dorian must be watching all that

[hellcatchvalley]

all of the crownkeepers deserve to watch the aeor tape just to be able to beat the wildmother and spider queen’s ass personally

[borisbubbles]

My favourite Dorian Quotes

Just as an addendum, since my previous didn’t exactly put across the hilarity of Dorian, here are my favourite quotes/conversations/reactions by Dorian Pavus in Dragon Age 3.  Edit 22/01: added a few more because Dorian just keeps giving.  60.  Dorian: Come on Varric, just answer the question. 😣 Varric: My mother didn’t raise any morons, Sparkler. 🙄 Dorian: But you must have an opinion! And you’re a Dwarf! Completely unbiased. Varric: There is no way I’ll answer “Which Inquisition Mage is the best dressed?”, not for all the gold in Orzammar. Vivienne: Also, the answer is obvious. 🙂 59. Dorian: So what's your estimation, Varric? Think we could win? Varric: 😱 You aren't asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor's success?! 😛 Dorian: What would that look like? Three to one? 🤣 Varric: In his favor?  Dorian: After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking? Inquisitor: You would actually bet against me?  Dorian: Now now, if I weren't here, it would be five to one at least. 😘 Inquisitor: I’ll take those odds, actually. 😏 Dorian: This is why I adore him so.  😍 58.  Cassandra: So Bull, about Dorian... Iron Bull: Yep, it’s true. 😁 Dorian: By all means, let’s discuss this all together. 🙄 Cassandra: If you’re both pleased Dorian: He’s happy, I’m happy, everybody’s happy!  Iron Bull: Awww, you’re happy. 😍 Dorian: 😣 Cassandra: 😄 57. You joke! they’ll be writing books about you, boring ones that will get it all wrong. Just you wait!   56.  Iron Bull: Yesss, we’re going to fight the dragon, boss? Oh THIS is gonna be GOOD.  Dorian: You are way too excited about this. 😑

55.  Blackwall: How do you get your hair to do that, Dorian? With magic? Dorian: With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe the three of you should get acquainted. 🙄 54.  Cole: You’re happier now, Dorian Dorian: Oh is that what this light tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. 😏  Cole: Wishing but wondering, wounded and whistful Cole: What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian: But he did. 😁 Cole: Now you’re smiling. It’s good.  😃 53. Varric: Does this shit make any sense to you? Dorian: Are you referring to the giant gaping hole in the sky, or the creature from a Chantry cautionary tale pretending to be a god? Varric: Either. I’m feeling generous. Dorian: What’s the matter? Some pretender comes along, tears the place down, declares himself king. That’s half of history. Varric: Corypheus is like that drunk uncle who refuses to leave the party? Dorian: Even after he puts a hole in the ceiling. Terribly common.  52.  Sera: You gonna warn me the next time you’re throwing your magic around? Dorian: As long as you’re careful where you shoot all those arrows Sera: You magic me, I’ll put three in your eye! Dorian: 😅 Now we can live together in peace and harmony!  51. Vivienne: Dorian, what did you think of little Sera’s last Red Jenny mission? Dorian: Hmm... I’d call it ‘medium’. 🤔 Vivienne: ‘Medium’, my dear? Dorian: It wasn’t rare, and it certainly wasn’t well done. 😏 50. Cole: Dorian, what is 'a slave'?  Dorian: FESTISBEIUMOCANAVERUM! 😨 Cole: You said I could ask questions! Dorian: I know I did, just... go ask the Inquisitor that one. 49. An optimist! 🤣  such a rare breed, I have stumbled upon a unicorn. 48. Dorian: What I wouldn't give for some proper wine.😫 Vivienne: Skyhold's steward is a sadistic little man who is trying to kill us. 🤢 Dorian: Perhaps he found a bargain he couldn't pass up, on vats of vinegar? 47. Cassandra: Why are you looking at me like that, Dorian? Dorian: I am trying to imagine what you would look like... in a dress.😈 Cassandra: Keep wondering. If my uncle couldn't put me in one, neither shall you. 46. Dorian: How do you want to be remembered, Cassandra? Valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo? Cassandra: I don't have any control over how I'll be remembered. 🙄 Dorian: Sword raised high, blue scarf dramatically fluttering in the wind, sun rising behind you? Cassandra: Blue scarf?😒 Why would I be wearing such a thing? Dorian: It's a painting, of course! Work with me( It'll be fantastic! 🤗 45. Dorian: Why is it so cold? How do you southerners stand it? Iron Bull: What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies? Dorian: My ‘footsies’ are freezing, thank you! 😒 44.  Blackwall: Dorian, I’d appreciate it if you stopped refering to me as ‘that hairy lummox”.  😠 Dorian: When did I do that? Blackwall: At the tavern, the blacksmith’s, the stable. You said it to the gateguards when we left Skyhold! Dorian: hmm... 🤔 yes, that does sound like me.   🤗 43. Dorian: Watch out where you point that thing! 😡 Iron Bull: Dirty! 😏 Dorian: Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon! 😡 42. Dorian: What would you say Blackwall's best feature is, Vivienne? Vivienne: His absence, of course. 🙄 Blackwall: I can hear both of you. 😒 41. Dorian: Did you know we are actually related Inquisitor? Inquisitor: We, what? Dorian: Not first cousins or anything. Can you imagine?  Dorian: I however did a bit of digging in my family tree, and somewhere down the netheregions of my line there was also a Trevelyan. Dorian: Perhaps the one who went to Ostwick to establish the branch? I knew we looked so alike for a reason. 😏 Inquisitor: Um, yay?  Dorian: Indeed! 😁 Yay! 40. I’m always nice. 😏 39. Dorian: I don't know if you've heard, but the rumours are that you and I are... intimate. Inquisitor: That's not such a bad thing, isn't it? Dorian: I don't know, is it? Inquisitor: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Perhaps you would like me to answer in a different fashion? 🤔 Inquisitor:  If you're capable. 😅 Dorian: 😘🥰😚 Dorian: 'If you're capable.' The nonsense you speak. 🤭 38. Dorian: You caught the eye of a young woman in that last village, Blackwall. Blackwall: I'm sure you're mistaken. 😒 Dorian: You're right. She was undoubtedly looking at me.🤭 37. Dorian: Vivienne, I have only the one question - why the Orlesian fixation with masks? Vivienne: It is The Game, darling. You never show the players your true visage. Dorian: A strange custom in a culture where people assassinate each other for putting too much salt in the soup Vivienne: An extra hurdle to be overcome. Fail at The Game, and you die. Dorian: And you people call Tevinter barbaric. 🙄 36. Dorian: You are smiling a great deal these days, Cassandra. 😉 Cassandra: I am not... smiling. 😒 Dorian: Now you're not, but only because I pointed it out to you. Cassandra: I am not a giddy schoolgirl! 😡 Dorian: That would have been easier to believe if you hadn't just blushed. 🤗 35. You’ll be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence.  34. Dorian: Sera, I see you are having fun with your illustruous paramour- Sera: WHAT? 😨 Is it showin'? Dorian: What? NO, oh heavens NO. 🤢 Dorian: I meant to ask if you're enjoying your new relationship. Sera: Then why not just say that? 🙄 Dorian: I did... in words you apparently don't understand. 😑 Sera: What's the point of words you know and others don't? Who'd you say them to? 🙄 Dorian: Letmejustdobothofusafavorandretractthequestion. 😡 Sera: Pity, because we're doing great. That's why I'm following her around with weirdies 🤗 33. It was fun to goad you, Cassandra. You get that knot between your eyes when you're flustered - Ah, look, there it is! Delightful!  🤗 32. Dorian: I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd to criticise my manners. Inquisitor: Where would we be if you mother we really here? Dorian: Short one mage, after he's been dragged out by his earlobe. Inquisitor: I have a hard deal imagining that. 😅 Dorian: Picture me a young boy of five years then. She certainly always has. 🙄 31. Dorian: 'Official Mage to the Orlesian Court'. Well that sounds exciting. 🙄 Vivienne: It's an esteemed position, darling. One many mages should envy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose being paraded around like an exotic peacock is better than frantically running from templars. 🙃 Vivienne: Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many. Dorian: Oh? A dig at my homeland? This should be fun. 😏 30. Sera: Dorian? Those words you say. What do they mean? Dorian: What, you mean like mendicant or ultimatum? 🤨 Sera: No, arse, when you're mad. 'Pish-anty cough-ass'. You're swearing, I know it. Dorian: Ah, 'vishante kaffas'. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases. Sera: And it means what? Dorian: Literally? 😏  'You shit on my tongue.' Sera: 😂 Why not just say that?  Dorian: A mystery for the ages.  29. Sera: Demons! Flappy robes! Dorian: Thieves! Dog Stink! Sera: Culty shits! Dorian: Treacherous teyrns! Sera: Wha- It’s not a proper game of ‘Your people are shit” if you just make up words. 🙄 Dorian: A ‘teyrn’ is a Fereldan title, just below that of a king. I thought you of all people would know that. Sera: Well that’s just... I... smartasses 🤬 Dorian: Too late! I believe that’s my round. 🤗 Sera: Piss! 😠 28.  Vivienne: You’re rather amusing, Dorian. Dorian: Your outfit’s entertaining, I’ll give it that.🙄 Vivienne: Pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and you’ll never be one, darling. They knew this as much as we do.   Dorian: I could have of course pretended, wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not.  Dorian: Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.  Vivienne: Such snapping for a fish without teeth! 😂 Inquisitor: I cannot believe the way you two speak to each other. 😨 Vivienne: Inquisitor whatever is the matter? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation. Dorian: It’s true. I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home.  27.   Dorian: Varric, you owe me five royals. I’d like them paid in candied dates. 😉 Varric: I haven’t lost that bet yet, Sparkler. Dorian: You said we would be arse-deep in trouble. This is more like knee-high. Varric: I didn’t specify whose ass, did I? 😏 Dorian: Leave it to a dwarf always lowering the bar. 🙄 26. I hope you tried the ham they were serving, by the way. Tasted of despair. Fascinating. 25. Dorian: Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever if you like. Vivienne: Certainly. Provided both of us are capable. Dorian: I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense, you slam Tevinter decadence and tyrrany. Dorian: There's however something more important we must remember. Vivienne: And what might that just be? 🤨 Dorian: At least we're not Antivan. Vivienne: 🤢 Quite right. Thank the Maker. 🙏 24. Cassandra: You're not as handsome as you think, Dorian. Dorian: Ah, but I must be! Or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time.  😏 Cassandra: Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they're not. Dorian: Look at this profile - Isn't it incredible? Dorian: I picture it in marble. 😏 Cassandra: 😒 23. Flying cows over Minrathous? Preposterous! Okay that one is actually true, but the cows didn't have wings. 22. Dorian: I have only one question, Sera: did you cut your own hair?  Sera: Yeah. Why wouldn't I? 🙄 Dorian: You could try using something other than a rusty butter knife. Sera: Oh, excuse me while I dig up my diamond-studded hair-cutting whatevers. 🙄 Dorian: Scissors. 😏 The word you're looking for is "scissors." 😏 21. Iron Bull: Quite the stink-eye you've got going, Dorian. Dorian: You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest. 😡 Iron Bull: That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. Iron Bull: I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns. Iron Bull: I. Would. Conquer. You. 😏 Dorian: Uh. What? 😨 Iron Bull: Oh. Is that not where we're going? 🤐 Dorian: No. It was very much not.😳 20. You can't call me pampered, Varric. 🙄 Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks. 19. Sera: Dorian are you going to warn me the next time you bust out in demons or sumthin? Dorian: 😂 How exactly do you picture me 'busting out’? Dorian: I am just walking along and *OOPS* - demon? Dorian: I mean it could happen, after years of training. You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow. 😏 Sera: So are you going to warn me or not? 🙄 Dorian: Certainly. But only because you're so dear to me. 😘 18. Dorian: For being so unnerved by magic, you aren't shy about benefiting from its effects.🤔 Sera: I don't. I use normal things, not magic. 🙄 Dorian: You consider swathing yourself in flame or ice 'normal' and 'not magic'? 🤨 Sera: For one: it comes out a bottle. Sera: For two: I mess up, I get burned. You mess up, your head chucks up a demon. Sera: For three: Bottle, little burned, no demons. So there. 🤗 Dorian: That was only... you know, if it lets you sleep at night, never mind. 😒 17. Festis bei umo canaverum! I swear, if you don't come through this, I will kill you. 😖 16. Dorian: The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle full of silks and gold. 😍 Dorian: I met a marvellous desire demon as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he tried to possess me. 😇   Vivienne: 🙄😒😠😡🤬 Dorian: Yes? I hear your southern Harrowings are slightly more strenuous. 😏 15. What do they call this place? A "bog"? Lovely word for it.  🙄 14. Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I am sorry? 🙄 Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry.😷 What are you supposed to be, some sort of woodsman? Dorian: Isn't that a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some sort of statement? Solas: No. 😠 Dorian: Well, it says "Apostate hobo" to me. 😏 Vivienne: Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically. 🙂 13. I AM TOO PRETTY TO DIE 😭 12. Dorian: Amatus, it's been so long. Did you miss me? Inquisitor: A little bit. Dorian:  😂 'a little bit' he says. I'll show you a little bit! Just you wait. 😏 11. Dorian: Sera, where do you get your arrows from? You have so many. 🤔 Sera: From your arse. That's where. 🙄  Dorian: My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific. 😁 10. Ah, this reminds me of the time Mother took me boating in summer. Or rather, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.🙄  09. Inquisitor: Things are going well with the Bull, I take it? Dorian: He's glad I've returned, if that's what you mean. Nearly crushed three of my ribs with that ridiculous hug. 🙄 Inquisitor: You say that as if you don't like it. 🤨 Dorian: For such a great beast, he can be such a terrible sap 🙄 Dorian: [bullvoice] "I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian". Dorian: Ugh. 🙄 Inquisitor: 😂 you do like it Dorian: Quiet you! He'll overhear, and then where I'll be?🤫 08. Dorian: Sera, I cannot believe you, of all people, are scared of magic. Surely you can see nothing wrong with a properly used tool? Sera: What about all the mages waving their proper tools in people's faces? Dorian: There's an image. 😁 Sera: "What about Corfyface? How many proper tools does he have under him? Dorian: That's not... I don't think I can continue. 😬 Sera: I don't care how gifted you are, don't cram it where it's not wanted. 😡 Vivienne: Maker, how does she not know? 🙄 07. Just once we should enter a cave and see normal sized spiders. 🙄 06. Cassandra: After all the places we have been, I hardly expected us to find ourselves in another cave. Cassandra: Still, as mad as our lives had been, I would take any chance to be together.  😘 Dorian: Why seeker, after all these years, I never realized you felt this way!! Cassandra: ... Dorian: ... Cassandra: 😒 Dorian: Oh, you meant him. 😶 05. Mountains! 😠 Cold! 😠 "Let's bring Dorian!". 😒 04. Dorian: I heard a little rumour that somebody has been doing some training. As an assassin no less. Inquisitor: I thought the skills might come in handy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose a little flair is welcome, with all the killing you do. Inquisitor: I don't kill that many people. 🙄  Dorian: Are you joking? I'm only surprised you didn't kill someone walking over here. 🤨 03. Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Dorian: 'Death By Applepie' - A lovely poem by our dear friend Cole.  02. Blackwall: Corypheus, one of yours isn't he? Dorian: One of my mine? 🙄  Like a pet? 🙄 Like a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? 🙄 Dorian: "Dorian, why can't you look after your little friends. Corypheus peed on the carpet again". Dorian: In this analogy, 'the carpet' is Haven. 😏 Blackwall: Is he or isn't he a Tevinter magister? 😒 Dorian: Meaning 'the source of everything bad in the world'? They are the same, yes? 😑 Blackwall: Sigh. Feels that way at times. 🙄 01. Inquisitor: No matter what happens, I wouldn't trade the years I spent with you for anything. Inquisitor: I love you. Dorian: I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard. 😭

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 8

Lightbringer

A landscape of ice stretched before him, broken up by pockets of void or an awkward section of library, protruding from the blanket of white or simply levitating.

Dorian struggled to remember what he'd been doing- or where he was. There were some similarities to his own dream- the snowfall from his Harrowing had never dissipated. However any discernible structure had been- for the most part- scraps of Tevinter.

Here, the scraps were quite different- yet still familiar.

Pressing onwards, an epiphany struck him the more he absorbed.

Spires and tablets, riddled in script that often faded into torturous red.

  Evallan's writing!

Of course- he walked the Keeper's dream! Those familiar pieces- clearly the Ferelden Tower, now that he examined closer. Not just any place in the tower but the library- which caused Dorian to halt, feeling oddly bashful.

  Where we studied- really?

  It was that significant to him..?

A tremendous sound ripped him from those thoughts- like a broken bell, repeatedly smashed. It reverberated through the dream and his own skull. Keeling over, he embraced his head until the discordant chimes ceased and only managed a few steps before they restarted. This time he was more prepared, merely wincing while stalking for the noise.

There was no question in Dorian's mind- this cacophony would lead to his goal.

Traversing snow and misplaced bits of tower, he reached the edge of Evallan's dream. Ice and library ended abruptly, revealing a jagged tear in the world itself, open to the void. Beyond that tear- exactly the thing- or being- Dorian aimed to help.

To someone unschooled in the Fade it would have looked like madness- an iced over library with an abyss in the middle, a dimension of sprawling glass and light on the other side. However he understood- their dreams were bound. Now they drifted apart.

Therefore Lightbringer's containment had shattered. From his place at the brink of the void he could see her- or what he assumed had to be her- a humanoid form built from light, radiance leaking into the Fade. As he observed she morphed, shrank or grew with the surreality of an abstract painting.

When inevitably, she could no longer stifle her own will, it exploded in a mad display of chimes and colour, before wrangling her projection into order once more. Flinching, senses dazzled, he called out;

  “Lightbringer! Over here!”

Fighting to convey a rigid and humanoid form, she whirled for the edge. If Lightbringer had eyes, Dorian was sceptical he'd be able to view them through the glow- either way, it was obvious he had her attention.

  “Do you remember me!? Dorian Pavus!?”

She tilted her chin knowingly, the gesture seeming to pain her- as if her neck wished to extend passed her intent.

  “I'm here to help! But, I, ah...” Trailing off, he examined his surroundings- even above their heads, blackness encroached. Dorian imagined Evallan's consciousness trapped there somewhere- scooped right from his own sacred place and pocketed in the dark Fade.

  “We...we need to seal this, yes?!”

He hazarded, staring desperately towards the amorphous Spirit. She nodded.

  “Well how are we to do that?!” Glancing around, he saw nothing that could aid them in stitching shut a wound in the bloody Fade!

Between his glances he noticed Lightbringer- pointing squarely at him. Blinking, he furrowed his brow.

  “Well yes- me, but how will I-”

A bright streak launched from her fingertip to his chest, piercing like frostbite. Yelping, he patted the offending sting and glared downwards- only to note something he hadn't before.

Dim but very much present- a dot of light, shining from the centre of his chest.

  “Oh, Maker!” He lamented with a startled laugh. “When did that get there?!”

All the while she stared at him meaningfully, still pointing.

  “Yes- you're right- that doesn't matter right now!”

Dropping his hand, he calculated.

  “If I have this...that means you can connect to Evallan's dream through me! Then when he gets back- you should be safe and sound waiting for him! Have I got that right?”

Her own hand lowered, nodding.

Sighing in relief, Dorian puzzled further.

  “Your host told me not to act without his say, but...” He snorted, flashing a grin. “I think we both know there's no time for that- for once, he really is going to have to trust me.”

They seemed to be in agreement- she continued watching expectantly, her colour still oozing.

  “Alright, well...” Straightening, he hardened his features. “Whatever you have to do...I'm ready for it!”

There was quite an anti-climatic moment of mutual staring.

Then the Spirit's hand ascended, targeting Dorian's chest.

He readied himself, expecting another stab of discomfort.

Something flickered across the void and embedded into his ribcage, cold enough he shuddered.

  “Well...” He relaxed, chuckling. “That wasn't so bad.”

Lightbringer watched him, passively waiting.

  “...I don't like that.” Dorian mumbled, frowning at her. “What does that mean? Why are you looking at me like- AH!- OW- OW!”

It was as if he'd just bitten snow- his brain ached intolerably, a frost that swiftly encapsulated each limb, forcing them to crumble. On his knees, the world became a haze of white, nerves muffled, all senses drowned.

A numbing sensation possessed his body yet he was still cold. Shivering violently, it slowly dawned there were shapes in this haze- a gust of breath in the chill air, small dents and hills within snow. For some reason he was awfully exerted- gasping and shaking and so, so tired- but knowing he couldn't stop.

  Stop what?

  Lightbringer- hello?

  What are we doing..?

Upon closer inspection he spied two hands half-buried in white. Clearly a child's hands- small and pale but inflamed from low temperatures.

He already had a guess as to who they belong to- still, a voice clarified-

  “Evallan...”

Dorian was unable to place it initially. Not too concerned, he observed as tiny hands dragged upwards, feeling the scrape against his knuckles.

  I see now.

  I'm in his memory.

  We're piecing it back together.

Unwinding from his curled position, the youthful Evallan snarled as he beheld a ruined wall ahead. Painted lines dictated targets and icicles riddled the uneven surface- all noticeably swayed to one side, missing points that seemed to be marked higher.

  Target practise? How charming!

  That wall looks like they've been at it for generations.

  “Evallaaaaaan!”

Ignoring this, Evallan pounced to his feet, tossing a fistful of ice which only landed further to the side. Promptly falling over, he took his rage out on the snow, fists slamming into ground impotently.

Melodious laughter rang over them- this time Dorian was certain he knew that voice.

  “Villyen sleeps, he is exhausted! We should return to camp.”

Evallan turned his head and Dorian saw clearly now- Amrallan, though years before their brief acquaintanceship. He sat in a pile of furs, the tiniest Lavellan snoozing in his arms.

Unquestionably it was time to retire- but Evallan couldn't allow himself. He about-faced, stubbornly muttering.

  “No...No, it is still so off-centre.”

While he prepared his stance- slowly and deliberately, Amrallan considered in his sing-song manner;

  “You know, Evallan...when I was your age, I could not hit the centre target either.”

Swiftly glaring, Evallan spat, indignant-

  “How off-centre, compared to mine?” Then, scowling for emphasis. “And do not lie! You know we cannot lie to each other!”

Amrallan sighed with the wistful air of a long-suffering sibling.

  “Perhaps a few degrees inwards of your mark, brother.” He admitted, shrugging and smiling.

  “That is what I thought!” Spinning from him, Evallan focused on his spell- he would concentrate this time- really concentrate. The only thing obstructing success was himself!

  “And why is it so important? We return tomorrow- you continue practising, you will hit that mark eventually!”

With a burdensome exhale he met his brother's gaze. His brother for whom everything came so easily, whose runes always functioned on the first try, whose spells always landed perfectly, whose first attempts were always astounding successes.

'Naturally gifted', as the Elders called him- in part because despite these achievements, he would rather play than work. Amrallan never strived for brilliance- he was of the lucky few for whom brilliance is second nature.

  “It is because...” Evallan struggled to express himself, eyes pinning targets.

  “I simply cannot!- I know I can do better- so I must!”

  “What am I to say?” Amrallan signed with feigned exhaustion. “Do better then, brother!”

Taking that to heart, Evallan threw out his hands and this time an icicle- just one- stabbed the middle point and remained there.

Over his shoulder there was hooting and clapping, Amrallan cheering him- while Villyen whined.

  “Mythal smiles on you, Evallan! Are you satisfied now?”

Gathering cool air into his lungs, Evallan savoured with a smile.

  “Yes, brother.”

Mist clouded Dorian's vision, the memory blown aside.

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[lexfritterwrites]

Let Lips Do What Hands Do - Part 11

Y’all, I haven’t posted in here since they updated it so everything might be terrible. Anyway, I’ll do my best. You can always catch me on AO3. 

previous

It's April, and Addie feels like crying most days. In fact, she actually has cried for the past eleven days — once in the shower, twice over her cup of tea and the other times where when she was in bed alone. Taron's been filming in Ireland for three weeks, and it's a glimpse at how life would be if they were to stay together in all the madness.

 "Sad again, huh?" Jack says, catching the gray look in her eyes. "I feel I should be offended you're not that upset about leaving me."

 Addie throws a sugar packet at him, hitting her mark on his cheek. "I know things between us won't change when I leave. You'll just be a phone call away."

 "Taron will too."

 "That's different. I don't think I like this ache, this pain." Addie absently stirs her tea. "In the words of Elphaba, 'If that's love, it comes at much too high a cost.'"

 "You know she ends up with the scarecrow at the end of that musical, right? I mean, we saw it together. I wrote a review which you edited."

 Addie rolls her eyes, too done to deal with Jack today.

 "I love him, you know. And to think we won't be together because of our location, I think I would rather not be with him at all."

 "Your call," Jack says. "I know you're scared but I think the two of you could make it work, and that's coming from a guy who stays away from relationships. You don't have to split because you're half a world away."

 "What if he meets the one but can't act on it because of me? Or what if he does act on it and I'm left devastated? It's a real poop chute."

 "It'll work out, Addie," Jack says, covering her hand with his own. "It'll work out."

 Addie slumps and rests her head on the table. "Why?"

 Jack gently musses her hair. "You didn't not date for years while you were here and the first guy you do consider turns out to be fuckin' perfect. You really know how to pick them."

 Addie laughs, feeling a little lighter at the thought.

   It's her whole year on display, the premiere of the students' films adapted from classic novels. Four fully written, produced and edited films will be turned in with her thesis, but the gala tonight will only feature twenty minutes from each with the students having a few moments to present before their film. It's an affair she's invited the whole school to as well as their family and friends, and even though Jack is by her side, the one person she wants to be there most isn't. Taron's caught filming in Ireland; Addie understands but still doesn't enjoy it.

 "Look at what you've done," Jack says, watching the rows of students talk excitedly amongst themselves, no doubtedly ready to display their hard work. "Not even a full teacher yet and you've got them inspired. That's a noble thing."

 Addie squeezes his hand. She takes the microphone and heads to the center of the stage. Pausing a moment before delivering the introduction she's prepared, she smiles. The kids eagerly sitting before her are a tribute to her and her hard work and creativity, and this life is about her just as much as it is Taron.

 She takes her seat next to Jack as the first group's film rolls across the screen, an updated retelling of Sense and Sensibility. It's funny, well thought and inclusive of the community, what with Edward Ferris having evolved into Edwina and Colonel Brandon an Indian man in the British navy. Everyone claps as the students presenting The Picture of Dorian Gray take the stage. Addie's phone buzzes in her pocket and she risks a quick chance to look at it.

 Can we watch the full-length versions this weekend? - T

 Sure, if you want. - A

 I do! At least that one. I'm dying to see how they did the marriage proposals. - T

 Addie whips her head around, looking to see him somewhere. There are faces illuminated by the screen but then she sees him, sitting on the edge of the row with his hood pulled up over his head; no doubt he didn't want to be recognized. He waves slightly when he sees her, and Addie smiles.

 He came after all.

 I'm so happy you're here! - A

 I'm really glad I could make it. Will sneak to bar at end so as not to detract. - T

 Sounds perfect. - A

 Thank you for coming. - A

 Addie is extremely proud of everything the students accomplished, and the cooking class made a giant cake for the ocassion. She sneaks a piece for Taron in her bag, poses for pictures with the kids, compliments the parents for raising some great hopes for the future, and then she's dashing out the door.

 "Adelaide, you're incredible!" Taron says, standing up from the table. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek.

 "I can't believe you're here," she says, her face buried in his neck. "How'd you manage?"

 "Flew in this afternoon," he says. "Wanted to surprise you."

 "I'm very surprised," she says. "Very happy, too."

 Taron kisses the side of her head before pulling away to point her to a secluded booth. "I want to hear all about the rest of the videos. When can we watch them?" He holds her hand across the table, leaning towards her.

 Addie bites the inside of her lip, studying him. "What's wrong?"

 "What?" Taron asks, shifting backwards. Addie knows she was right to expect something.

 "Taron, I know you," she says quietly. "I know when something's up. What is it?"

 "No, Adelaide. I came here to celebrate you and the work you've done and I don't want it spoiled."

 "I feel like it's already spoiled if you don't tell me what's going on. Is everyone okay? Your mom and the girls? Your dad?"

 "Everyone's fine." He exhales loudly, looking at the table. "It's two more weeks."

 "Oh." Addie sags against the cushion. "Oh."

 Taron rubs her knuckles with his thumb. "I know it's really shitty, but it is what it is."

 "It's okay," Addie manages over the lump of emotion lodged in her throat. She feels like she's gagging but it's just the thought of his absence for another two weeks just a couple of months before she's supposed to move back to the United States. "You chase your dream and I'll chase mine."

 "Thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run."

 Addie snorts, swiping a tear off her cheek. "Marvell. Good choice."

 "Anyway," Taron says. "We've got tonight."

 "Bob Seger, a modern poet."

 It's Taron's turn to laugh now and he shakes his head. "Seriously though, can I take you out to dinner and then stay up with you all night watching the work of your students?"

 "Yes, I would like that."

 "Good," Taron says, moving quickly from the table. He drops a note on its surface and helps Addie back into her coat.

 "Can I make an amendment to the plan though?"

 "What's that?"

 "Can we just pick something up and take it home? I really don't need an audience to just want to be with you and I'm wearing Spanx so I'd really like to get out of them and into my pajamas."

 "Deal," he says. "You look bloody gorgeous but comfortable is something I also enjoy. Your place or mine?"

 "Mine is closer but you have a better TV so let's do that."

 "Sounds perfect," he says. He could offer to run back by hers so she can gather things, but he knows everything she needs is available at his. Tucking her beneath his arm, he kisses the side of her head — she'd taken the news of his delay better than he would have expected.

 They're curled up in his bed and halfway through the updated retelling of Frankenstein when Addie stretches her fingers across his chest.

 "What is it, cariad?" Taron asks, shifting his eyes. He can see the crown of her head and the tip of her nose, and he can see her fingers flex against his shirt.

 "I'm thinking about us."

 "Oh?"

 She pauses the video and sits up, and it's then he sees the tears in her eyes. "I think when I leave, that should be our end."

 "Adelaide." He bolts upright and reaches for her, but his fingers don't actually land anywhere. He can't touch her now.

 "Being apart from you these past few weeks has been hell. I never thought I would be someone to feel this way about anybody, but here we are. I'm exhausted. It feels like a piece of me is missing when you're gone, like smiles are less genuine and laughter does little for my soul. I can't imagine living my life for extended amounts of time without you, feeling this way. So if we just enjoy the time we have left and part as companions who once loved each other, I think that would be better."

 "Do I not get a say in this decision?" He asks softly, his chest tight and his jaw returning to a painful clench.

 "Of course you do," she sighs. "But what is the logical outcome of this?"

 "Fuck this. You can sleep in the guest room tonight." Taron moves in a flash, storms into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

 "Taron! Taron, no!" Addie frantically scrambles off the bed and futilely twists the doorknob. "Taron! Taron, please."

 She can hear the shower running and she sinks to the floor. She knew she shouldn't have said anything.

   Taron finds her half an hour later curled up on the floor with her cheeks red and eyes blotchy. He wants to be angry, he can feel the cold inside him wanting to push her away, but he can't.

 "Addie, come on," he says, gently collecting her in his arms and setting her upright. "I'm hurting too, you know."

 She nods blearily as he leads her back to bed. "I didn't mean to ruin what we have now. I feel like shit, and now I really feel like sh—"

 "Addie, I know," Taron says. "What you're saying makes sense, but it really fucking sucks when it's said out loud. You would rather be without me than be far away and with me, and I suppose that makes sense. Your chances of moving on are better if you're not thinking about some loyalty to me."

 "Me moving on?" She laughs. Taron thinks her crying must have left her too weary to think properly. "It's you. You'll move on long before I will and I don't want you to be stuck with me."

 "That doesn't matter," he says, taking her hand. "I think you're right though. We have a few good weeks left together and we should spend them as happily as we can. Let's not fight or what-if ourselves anymore. You're here, I'm here, and we should let that be enough for now. I can't think on it anymore."

 "Is it really okay?"

 "For now." He wipes a tear from her cheek, knowing his own should be joining it had he not just cried in the shower. "Let's go to sleep and sleep very late into the morning beside each other."

   Taron bites his nail, a habit he'd gotten into since ditching cigarettes; his teeth weren't thanking him but his lungs certainly were.

 "There he is," Jack says, pulling out the chair across from Taron and sinking into it. "Mr. Egerton."

 "Jack," Taron says, shaking his hand. "I wanted to talk to you about Addie."

 "I figured," Jack says. "She told me about her plans of departure."

 "Yeah, and it's not good. How do I get her to stay?"

 “You don’t."

 "Jack, please," Taron says, rubbing his forehead. "I can't have her leave."

 "And you can't have her stay either." Jack says softly. "I know you love her, Taron, as do I, but I also know she won't stay. She'll come to regret the decision as well as you if she stays. Going back to Washington has been her goal for six years. It's all she's worked for and all she's wanted. You need to let her go."

 "Can you?"

 Jack snorts his laugh. "I don't have a choice."

 "We could talk to her together."

 "That's not going to work."

 Taron drops his head to the table, his chest feeling unbelievably tight. "I don't know what to do."

 "Taron, there's an obvious solution here."

 "What's that?"

 "Go with her."

 Taron grunts. "You and I both know that's not logical."

 "So what? You can't do for her what you want her to do for you just because you're a famous actor who happens to make more money?" Jack leans back in his chair. He's really liked Taron, like him for Addie, and he needs Taron to see the sense in this before his like gives into loathing. "You're not giving up her dream so don't let her give up hers."

 "She's your best friend. How can you be so calm?" Taron crosses his arms in front of him, elbows still on the table, and he lets his chin fall to rest against them.

 "Addie is more than a best friend to me," Jack says. "I truly believe she is my person, even if there's no romance. Addie wasn't even supposed to be born, yet here she is. Incredibly determined, driven and happy."

 "I know that." Taron leans onto his cheek.

 "I know you do," Jack says patiently. "That's part of the reason you love her." He reaches across the table and squeezes Taron's shoulder. "You have to let her go."

 "Why is that the only option?" Taron moans, rhetorically putting the words into the universe.

 Jack chuckles as he leans back in his chair. "That's the only way she'll come back."

 "You think she'll come back?"

 "I hope so," Jack says. "For both our sakes."

 Taron laughs. He'll have to make time for Jack when Addie is gone.

 He finds her asleep on the couch when he returns home, and he gently brushes a hand across her face.

 She opens one eye to look and smiles when she sees him. “I must have dozed off.”

 “Yeah,” he says softly. It spreads through him, a calm peace. She is leaving to pursue her dreams, and there is nothing he can do to stop her, nor would he want to. He kisses her tenderly, finally accepting it. “You want to go take a nap upstairs?”

 “That sounds nice,” she says, sitting up next to him. “Hey, are you okay?”

 Taron smiles and kisses her again. “I’m totally fine. I just really love you.”

 Addie’s laugh warms him and she leans her head against his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

 Taron takes her hand and quietly leads her upstairs.

[askdragonagecompanions]

Can you please do one when the companions meet a blind mage inquisitor?

[personal headcanon im going to be using so I hope you don’t mind: but the mage inquisitor doesn’t wear shoes, just the foot wrappings we see the dalish, solas, and fenris use because they learned how to adapt a minor spell so that when they tap their staff to the ground the can kind of identify the layout of where they are and how many people are there. Kinda like Toph from Atla]

Dorian: At first he didn’t even realize that the Inquisitor was blind. Granted they met in the heat of battle. Even then he didn’t even know until the fight was over and he went to properly introduce himself. The Inquisitor was quite adept and never hit a friend, or him thank the maker. When he realized the Inquisitor was blind it was because their eyes were quite pale and out of focus. He felt a little foolish for not having realized it sooner, he wouldn’t have held out his hand to greet them. Honestly he’s fascinated by it. They’ve managed to adapt a simple spell one learns at an early age to work similarly to a bats echolocation. They can’t see but the vibrations and feedback alerts them to structures and people as well as enemies. It’s exciting and he can’t help but ask his questions on how they learned to do it and how it works. His mind has a million questions, and he’s quite grateful that the Inquisitor doesn’t seem to mind too much. Dorian knows sometimes his constant questions can be a bit much. As their friendship grows Dorian works with the Inquisitor to try and maximize the spell. Their battles keep getting bigger and more intense and he worries for his friend, not that they’re not capable, he just wants to make the feedback process faster so that they can have more time to react. He isn’t bothered by the fact that they’re blind. At first it’s more of a fascination on how they’ve adapted and it turns into respect and a want to help improve on that method.

Solas: Like Dorian he’s quite impressed with the Inquisitor’s ability to adapt a spell to work for their advantage. He wonders how draining it must be to their mana. Solas holds his questions at first. He watches the Inquisitor in battle and stays near to them just in case. After all they are in this situation because of him and they need to survive to close the breach. It’s amazing to watch them in battle. They wait until they have the precise location of their enemy and let off a barrage of spells and then wait again. He knows its because they need to make sure that the target has not moved too far, but he’s also seen that this technique alerts them to enemies he didn’t even know were lurking. Assassins hiding themselves. They rarely are able to get the jump on the Inquisitor. It isn’t really until Skyhold that he asks the Inquisitor how they learned to adapt the spell, he notes how the way they bed the fade to their advantage is quite unique. They get into many conversations on how since the Inquisitor can’t really see they rely more on their senses, hearing, touch, sometimes smell. They had to learn how to cast a little different from others, they can feel the magic and focus on that feeling and willing it into a certain shape or when they use their one spell as they tap their staff against the ground (a motion barely noticeable unless you were watching for it) they imagine it as sending out ripples and get a sort of image in their mind. It’s hard to describe. Nonetheless Solas is quite impressed. 

Vivienne: Vivienne does quite a bit of research before inviting the Inquisitor over. The “Herald of Andraste” is quite a big title and she wants to see how they live up to it. The only thing that surprises Vivienne is their style of footwear but then it clicks. If one is going to use the vibrations to map out where everything is you can’t really have thick soles blocking out the vibrations. Ah well they’ll just have to compensate on the rest of the outfit to make sure no one glances down. Clearly the Inquisitor is quite capable on their own. The way she helps the Inquisitor is on their outfits to wear around Skyhold. She learns that they like soft fabrics and materials, ones that aren’t scratchy or heavy to wear when not on the battlefield. She makes sure that not only is the Inquisitor comfortable with what they wear but that they look stunning as well. With their permission she helps them decorate Skyhold as well. Sometimes Dorian joins in and while he can be pompous he does have a great fashion sense. She also works with the Inquisitor trying to learn how they do it so that it can be used for other mages who are blind which the Inquisitor seems thrilled about. The Inquisitor is an inspiration to many, not just mages, or those fighting against Corypheus’s madness, but to the disabled people of Thedas as well. It is no secret that the Inquisitor is blind. Vivienne just makes sure they look amazing when they’re in public. She also makes sure to help coach them on how to approach the nobility and not let them get under the Inquisitor’s skin. 

Varric: He’s one of the few that had the pleasure of meeting them on the battlefield. If it were a novel it was a great plot twist to learn that the mage who just jumped down and started blasting demons left and right was actually blind. He makes a mental note of that on the off chance he actually does survive and writes a book about this whole thing. He saw them in battle and know they can take care of themself pretty fucking well. What he decides to help them with is make sure they’re not trying to put on a brave face and internally freaking out. They need someone to talk to, someone to let them know its okay to freak out. This shit’s crazy. As they get closer Varric sends word to his publishers that they should start selling some print in braille. Sure Josie does a good job of getting as many spell tomes written in braille as she can, but it has got to be so boring just reading about that all the time. As soon as he gets one of his back, The Tale of the Champion no less, he slides it over to the Inquisitor. He also works on getting a deck of Wicked Grace cards made with braille.

Sera: Okay so she’s the first to admit her first reaction with the Inquisitor wasn’t the coolest or whatever but she was excited. They fought so good, and yeah they were a mage which was a little scary, but they were only going for the shitheads so that was nice. It wasn’t until the bad guys were gone that she realized the Inquisitor was blind. She couldn’t help but ask how the Inquisitor knew how to hit all those people and be so good at it. She probably should have worded the question better or something… but the Inquisitor didn’t take it badly so that was good. The Inquisitor does try to explain it and she gets the gist of it. They use a spell it sends out vibrations like when you stomp your foot real hard, and then uses those to get like a map. Its a little confusing and she doesn’t really understand the magic part of it but she’s also really excited. It’s so bad ass especially when the shits they fight realize they just got their ass handed to them by someone who’s blind (someone who’s amazingly talented and cool and blind) but still usually their enemies don’t care to learn how cool the Inquisitor is. Sera waits until they’re closer to ask just how much their magic map thingy lets them see, but then rectifies that by asking if they can still do pranks. It makes the Inquisitor laugh and Sera takes it as a good sign. Sera makes sure to describe everyone’s faces when they get pranked to the Inquisitor so they can enjoy it just as much as she does. So the Inquisitor might be a mage, but they’re the coolest mage Sera knows. Definitely less creepy than Dorian bringing undead into battle eugh. (unless the Inquisitor picks the necromancy specialization then Sera groans because “And I thought you were the cool one. You’re still cool I guess just creepy now.” )

Cole: It does not bother him that they cannot see. What he does to help comfort them is different, he focuses mainly on scents and sounds that bring them peace of happiness. The Inquisitor does much for others and sometimes forgets about themself. He notices there are days where the Inquisitor wonders if they are a burden to those around them, and on those days he brings him to his favorite spot. It’s a small glen, most call it quiet but they’re not listening. The wind makes the leaves rustle. The bees flying around fill the air with a soft hum. It smells of lavender, and on a very good day the sun shines through and warms it all up. Sometimes he can even coax a few nugs to cuddle with them. He waits until the Inquisitor’s mind is less clouded before telling them, “You are not a burden Inquisitor. You inspire, you fight, and you protect. You are a hero to the people and amazing to your friends. Do not doubt yourself. You are loved.” They have a bright soul, only made brighter by the anchor. Their magic is different than the other mages in Skyhold. It isn’t sharp or electric like Solas or Vivienne’s, and it doesn’t tear at spirits like Dorian’s. Their magic is fluid, easily shaped and easily sent out like waves only to rush back with information for the Inquisitor’s mind on where everything is. 

Iron Bull: Bull never planned for his first meeting with the Inquisitor to happen in the middle of a fight, but apparently the assholes that attacked the Chargers and him didn’t get the fucking memo. What he does notice right away is that even for a mage they fight differently. They’re like a spider weaving their web. As soon as someone even starts to approach them the set off a barrage of spells and take em down, then they way again, waiting for the next person to get close to them or even one of their allies. They don’t seem to dodge the arrows flying straight towards them even if they were someone obvious to see. He has his suspicions and they only get confirmed when they properly meet. He’s up front with them, he’s Ben Hasrath and will be sending reports back to the Qun, but he and the Chargers are also good in a fight and more than willing to help. He waits until they’re closer to ask his big question, do they think someone without magic could adapt something similar to that trick of theirs. He waits until they’re closer because one he wants to make sure its okay to ask about it, and two he wants to make sure he can trust them. The reason Bull asks is because he wants to have a fall back plan if he ever ends up losin his other eye. He’s not the type to just stop fighting, and if the Inquisitor can keep fighting so can he. The Inquisitor thinks for a while but then gets really excited and tries to think of a way to adapt the spell into a physical action or item that could be used by those who do not possess magic. Bull’s more than happy to act as their guinea pig cause there’s no real magic at play and he’s the one who asked about it in the first place. They don’t get it nailed down perfectly, but they’ve started. It’s gonna take a while to learn, but Bull’s determined and stubborn as hell so he’ll get the hang of it one day. It also helps him get a better understanding of the Inquisitor and honestly he’s really impressed with them. It’s easy to just sit back and accept what people tell you, that you’ll never be able to fight being blind, and yes there’s a lot more challenges but damn. The Inquisitor didn’t give up and they’re great in battle, just not so much against weapons that aren’t connected to someone like an arrow. Bull always tries to take the archers down first so that the Inquisitor doesn’t become a pin cushion.

Blackwall: Blackwall has worked with plenty of soldier’s in his time, seen many go blind, lose limbs, so he knows better than to ask the Inquisitor about their sight. He figures they’re a mage, they’re great in battle that’s all he needs to know about the subject right now. The more he fights with them the more he notice they seem pretty vulnerable to archers, so he brings the subject up to them, being polite and apologizing if he’s crossed the line. The Inquisitor doesn’t seem to mind and explains how their “sight” for lack of a better term only works for those touching the ground. It makes more sense now. Blackwall thinks about it and suggests having a code word or sound when archers are present so that the Inquisitor can throw up a barrier spell to act as a shield so they don’t get turned into a pin cushion as often, which grants a chuckle from the Inquisitor. 

Cassandra: Okay so her fist meeting with the Inquisitor was not under the best circumstances. It didn’t matter if they were blind. They were still very much a suspect and her anger may have blinded her in realizing that they were blind. It wasn’t until she brought them out of the dungeons to see the breach that she realized it. Most who saw the breach the first time had a look of horror, the Inquisitor had just looked uncomfortable before mentioning that they couldn’t see. Didn’t mean they couldn’t feel it though. They described it as if the fade itself was bleeding into their world, which was an… odd way to put it if they couldn’t see (granted looking back it made total sense with the Inquisitor being a mage). She was prepared to protect her prisoner and that they wouldn’t be able to fight, much to her surprise she was wrong. She told them to put down the staff before realizing if they could fight it would be better for them to have it. There were going to be many demons before they got back to the forward camp. She made a mental note not to underestimate the Inquisitor again. They were strong. As they grew closer she apologized for her behavior. She thought they had killed the Divine and there seemed to be no other suspect. As they get closer she actually trains with the Inquisitor especially since they are fighting against red templars. If any of them keep the ability to dispel magic the Inquisitor will need to be prepared for such things. Cassandra doesn’t go easy on them in training either. The Inquisitor is quite capable in battle. Through their practices the Inquisitor learns how to sense in a way the sudden dark spot that’s growing as someone dispels the magic and avoid it. Cassandra’s impressed to say the least. 

[wootensmith]

A Change of Plans

The day was harder than he’d imagined it would be. He hadn’t expected ease, knowing he must upset many, many plans, perhaps disappoint his people. There was little he could have done to make it better. Not really. The generals had to know that he was staying and Abelas would no longer lead them in battle. The Inquisitor had to risk showing them the extent of the mark to convince them of her plan, though he hated watching her shrink from the shocked stares that the others met her with.  And Dorian— well, he knew he had deserved that from Dorian. Worse, most likely. And it was nothing he hadn’t already repeated to himself, tenfold. If only he could have spared all three of them that grief. No, it would have been worse without the chance to say goodbye. It had happened as it was always meant to happen.

She had started the morning lingering over the maps of the Deep Roads— some pieced together from Orzammar’s records, some from the Legion of the Dead and the Wardens who fought with them, some she’d drawn with her own hand, somewhere in her travels. They still glittered with lyrium dust. He had beaten back panic when she’d first unrolled them that morning, seeing the complicated web of roads in her own writing, how far she’d gone alone into the darkspawn-infested heart of Thedas. He’d stood beside her, trying to listen as she told him the most likely route and pointed to the spots rumored to hold dragon nests. He’d watched, instead, the slim line of the anchor that had reached over the bridge of her nose. It had split and branched overnight as they slept. He tried to persuade himself the new threads were smaller than he imagined. He had succeeded for a few hours, until they’d spoken to Dorian.

“The only true mystery remaining is where the darkspawn are thickest,” she said. “The Legion’s been trying to scout, but they went deep after the last blight. I fear we only see the edge of their territory.” She looked up from the map at him. “I thought, at first, that it would be like a— a bruise or a frost. The densest part of the horde ought to be at the point of the original infection— which would be…” she trailed off. “You showed me Andruil’s temple once—” “Yes,” he acknowledged. “The infection would have begun beneath us. In the titan’s corpse.” “It’s been centuries. I’m sure it’s shifted. Safe." “Is that what troubles you? No. It is not safe here. Did you return to Skyhold since you left your clan?” “No— I had ancient stories to chase. And I had little time to waste resting.” “The people who remain here know the danger that is coming. Their families have gone to Skyhold. With Sera. And some friends. They are safe. The rest of us are— ready.” “Are you?” she asked. The muscle in her jaw pulsed as she gritted her teeth. “I’m not certain that I am.” She took a long breath and seemed to shake the feeling. “I’m glad you’ve sent those who aren’t able to fight to Skyhold. In case— in case I’m wrong.”

She turned back to the map before he could tell her that it didn’t matter. That they lost nothing by trying her method. That she shouldn’t carry the weight of this decision, that he already carried it himself. Had for longer than she’d been breathing. “I should replace the wards,” she said, sweeping up the maps into a neat pile. “Let me stabilize the anchor, then, before I go.”  He reached for her shoulder, then noticed the flicker of panic in her face. “Go?” she asked. “Not far, Vhenan.” He pulled power from the anchor, watched the immediate relief flood her. From his words? Or because the anchor wasn’t pressing as hard against her? He wasn’t certain he wanted to know. “I need to inform my— our people of what we have decided. They are expecting Abelas to lead them against the Evanuris. It will be a great shock to learn that he will not. But— they are also expecting to die. And your plan can give them some hope of survival that I could not. I will return before evening.” She shook her head. “They won’t believe you. Not if you’ve told them everything.” He traced the veins of light along her cheek. “I am not what I was when I woke. And these people are not isolated tribes I am trying to bring the truth to. They will believe me.” “You didn’t believe it,” she protested. “Not until you saw my face. Not until you read the notes.” “Forgive me. It was not you I doubted. It was only— I had given up. On another way, on seeing you again. And you appeared out of the dark and offered me this chance. If the price were not such a terrible one—” He found her hand and grasped it. “It is all that convinces me it is not a good dream.” “They will think you are fooling yourself. Or that I have tricked you into betraying them.”

He wanted to deny it. But even Abelas had doubted him these past years. Had thought him on the verge of madness or weakness because of her. He could not have been the only one. Just the only one with courage enough to speak it aloud. “Let me come with you. Let me show them the mark. In an hour, perhaps two, it will have grown in strength again. Not as powerful as it was when I last saw you, but strong enough. Take me to an empty place. I’ll drop the wards. Let them see the destruction it can cause, just this trickle of power.” He was horrified. “No!” he cried, “It would overwhelm you. Leap forward and consume you—” “It won’t. Not in so short a time. Not yet.” “I can’t. Don’t ask me to risk that for a few doubters—” She pressed a hand to his heart. “I know what I am capable of, Solas. I have lived with the mark for a long time now. I know how much I can withstand. You must trust me.” He started to protest, but she pressed her fingers to his mouth to stop him. “I told you I would come back to you when I found a way. I told you I would bring the world with me to aid you in defeating this. All of us together. Half of my promise is kept. Let me fulfill what I can of the rest.” He kissed her hand and lowered it gently. “I don’t think you will need to convince them.” “Then why argue? Just yield and we’ll go have a quiet talk with your generals. And I’ll just— watch. Until you need me.” “I always need you. It is the anchor I would do without.” He sighed. “Is it so terrible, having me at your side?” she asked. “No,” he laughed. “It is everything I’ve wanted for years.” His smile faded. “But things will likely become— chaotic.” “That is nothing unusual for us,” she said. He touched her face again, his fingers slipping over the warm skin of her jaw. “Some will stare. Some have never seen the anchor. And some— some remember the fate of another who bore an Evanuris’s mark. I would spare you that sorrow. They will not see you as I do.” She closed her eyes and pressed his hand against her cheek. “No one sees me as you do. I did not have to come to Arlathan to know that.” “It is still cold,” he told her. She laughed. “That is your objection? Am I one of Vivienne’s expensive plants? Have I never endured cold? Is it truly a concern?” He shrugged with a smile. “Not truly. But your objections always come in threes. I thought it best to continue the tradition. You— don’t have to do this.” “I know,” she said. She kissed him, held him close a second after. “Never think I am here against my will. There is no compulsion, unless it is love.”

 The meeting was as bad as he’d expected, a mix of shock and anger and hope. Abelas did far more to convince them than Solas had expected, anticipating some lingering reluctance. “You have prepared well for this battle,” Abelas had said. “When I arrived here, I feared for you. I believed that sending you against the Evanuris was like asking wheat to stand before the sickle. That is no longer my fear. These past few months, I began to worry that you had trained too well. No longer will you buckle before the Evanuris. I think there may be a few among you who might have been numbered among their ranks. Feynriel, Aneirin— you may find your power grown exponentially when the Veil is gone. I have hope that you can match even Falon’din in combat. But—” he sighed. “With hope against our ancient betrayers, a new terror began to grow within me. Even if we survived the Evanuris, the battle would still not be won. For behind them waits the blight.” He spread his arms out to indicate the windy, snow laden plain of Andruil’s blighted land. “This was the work of a few seasons. It has had millennia to grow, checked only by the Veil itself. But I do not need to educate you on its dangers. In this, especially, you are as knowledgeable as any. And there was no way to stem it. I wondered, for a time, if it were kinder to have left you untrained. Unaware. It would be quicker. Instead, I feared, you would linger and suffer. That I would have to turn my magic against you as you succumbed to the blight. Or that you would have to turn your blades upon me. I know this is something Solas has feared for far longer than I. We have a way now, a chance to thwart the darkspawn and the Evanuris with the same blow. But the sacrifice required to achieve it is heavy, indeed.” Abelas’s gaze flickered over him and then back to the crowd of people. “Alas, I cannot stand at your side to make it with you.”

A ripple of unease swept through the people. A few shouts. One man pointed to the Inquisitor. “It’s her isn’t it? All this madness is because of her.” Solas’s fingernails bit into his staff, but he remained silent. It needed to be said. And turned aside, defeated, this ugly thing some of them thought. This doubt he sometimes shared about his own decisions. “No,” said Abelas sternly, but the Inquisitor took a step toward him, touched his shoulder and he subsided. “Yes,” she said. “It is because of me. I should have returned the orb to So— Fen’harel after the battle with Corypheus. With it, perhaps we could have avoided the worst of what’s to come. But…” He felt the faintest tug of her magic, a tiny flicker seeking reassurance, all she could muster without dropping the wards.

“But it did not survive the battle,” she continued. He shut his eyes, a flash of the boulder hanging above them and her voice pleading with him to just take it, to take it and leave her. “Ir abelas. Ar laima.” Her voice cracked and sunk below the harsh wind. Abelas touched her shoulder. Solas longed to see her face, to know if she truly believed the fault were hers, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “I have no claim upon you, no right to ask for your aid. I came to offer you a hope, however small, of altering the outcome. But I cannot do it alone. Only an archdemon can control the blight. To send it forth to infect us all, or to draw it back to the Deep Roads to destroy it. The Forgotten Ones know this. It is they who inhabited the ancient dragons and sent the blight to us. Testing the Veil. But it is not just any mage who can inhabit a dragon. I cannot, though I tried. Even Corypheus could only manage a poor shadow of control. I need— I need an Evanuris. And there is only one remaining that we can trust not to seize the power of the blight without the Veil to rein it in.” Now she did look over to him. “Even Mythal did not guard our people as faithfully as Fen’harel has. Wearing a thousand faces in millions of dreams, he’s watched and aided us every night for centuries. Hearing every curse, every lie that was heaped upon him and did not falter. There is no other I would ask in our darkest battle.” He fought the embarrassed heat rising in his skin. He’d told her, once, that posing was necessary. He’d be a fool not to follow his own advice, awkward and undeserving as he felt.

“You want— you want Solas to become an archdemon?” Sevren called from the crowd. “I need him to, though there is nothing I want less.” “And he agreed to this?” “I did,” said Solas, still leaning upon his staff. “But— you were meant to undo all this,” cried Feynriel. “Right the world before it goes wrong. Everything we’ve risked was to that end.” “And that is why Abelas will go in my stead.” “He is no match for the Evanuris! You send him to be slaughtered.” “For what?” cried another. “Because you can’t give up this— shem? She’s a pawn for the Chantry. A spy you let wander into our home. They sent her to destroy us.” “I am no more match for the Evanuris than Abelas. The intent was never to defeat them in war,” said Solas, ignoring the ugly backlash against the Inquisitor, though he knew it must hurt her. “He is as prepared for this as I.” He turned to Abelas.   “I have no wish to send you anywhere. If this is not the better plan— if you have only chosen this to please me, speak plainly. I know the word of an Evanuris is worthless, but it is all that I have to give. If you wish to stay, I will take no retribution.” Abelas smiled, broad and startling, especially here. “I do not fear you, Solas,” he said. “This is my choice. An opportunity for justice so complete that the crime will never happen. A chance to reunite with those we’ve lost, those I’ve mourned for so many lifetimes. A way to find each of you in that other world and guard you from harm if I can. Do not grieve for me. I will not fail you.”

“I don’t understand,” called a voice from the back. “You want to become an archdemon and then— what? Send the darkspawn against the other Evanuris?” “No, lethallin,” said Solas. “The Evanuris are tainted as well. If we do not stop them, they are likely to twist the blight to their own ends and send it against us. I will not be able to turn it against them. But they may heed the Calling, if we act quickly. They will be disoriented after their long slumber. We have a hope that they will be drawn by a recognizable magic.” “But to bring them together— we cannot fight the Evanuris and the blight at once. We are less than ten thousand— most of us have never cast a single spell or fought a real battle,” said Sevren. “You are not alone,” said the Inquisitor. “The Gray Wardens and the Legion of the Dead stand ready to help us fight the darkspawn and Tevinter is preparing for the return of the Evanuris, though they do not yet know it.” “Of course you would bring more Shemlen here. I had heard you were driven from your clan,” sneered a voice deep in the crowd. “Now we know why. You’d betray us all when the moment is most dire. What did they promise you?” Solas scanned the crowd, looking for the hateful face among them. But the Inquisitor was calm. “Aren’t the Shemlen part of this world, as well as we? Haven’t they as much reason to fight the blight? Why would I turn away aid?” “They’ll betray us, just as they did Shartan.” “Maybe,” admitted the Inquisitor. “Should we fall instead of risk it? Succumb to the tide of darkspawn and be annihilated   rather than allow those who might fight beside us through the gates into a ruined city? Whatever this place was— whoever we were, it will mean nothing if none of us remain. But it is not my decision to make. I only wished to tell you that allies were ready to stand with you, if you choose.” Her words left a long silence in their wake.

“But why do you need Solas?” asked Feynriel at last. “Why an archdemon? If we draw the darkspawn to one spot, they will only overwhelm us faster. Even the Wardens and the Legion and all the magisterium cannot hope to stand against such a horde.” “I hope you won’t have to. The anchor is a powerful weapon, but it will not destroy them all, not even gathered as we intend. If I can eliminate enough of them though, perhaps you will have some hope of surviving the remnants.” “The anchor? You could not even eliminate a single company of Qunari without Solas’s aid. How do you expect it to wipe out the darkspawn?” “I was fighting it then. I didn’t understand how to control it. I have had much practice since then. And it is stronger.” “It will be stronger still, when the Veil falls,” said Abelas. “The Inqu— Lavellan has not earned your doubts. If the anchor had not been unstable, she would have stopped the Qunari. I was there. I have seen her fight. And I have seen what the anchor was capable of— even before it spread. After reading her research and knowing the fate of Elgar’nan’s anchor, I have little doubt that should she reach the center of the horde before it erupts, it will tip the balance in our favor.” “You will not survive,” said Sevren. “No. But I will not survive whether I am deep in the belly of a titan or up here, fighting the Evanuris. At least in the titan, the anchor cannot threaten my friends.” “And Solas? Will he survive?” She shook her head and he gave in, closing the distance between them, slipping his hand over hers in front of them all. “It’s not such a terrible price,” he said. “The lives of two elves against the whole world.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She smothered a cry, but a few tears escaped her, glittering in the icy sunlight. “How long do we have?” asked Feynriel. “Soldiers are not easy to move and the weather hasn’t broken. The Wardens and the Legion may be able to move with more ease, but Tevinter will not. I would like to make the most of our remaining time with the three of you.” There were some angry protests that Abelas attempted to quell. Solas glanced at the Inquisitor’s face. He was uncertain how quickly the anchor would continue to spread. They may have to make an attempt before Tevinter arrived or else lose her before the crucial moment. He choked on the idea that her life had diminished now to days. To countable breaths. The Inquisitor recoiled as someone shouted at her, releasing his hand and stepping back. Solas frowned and turned his attention back to his people. He did not like to intervene, even in their anger. It felt too far, too much like an attempt to control them. Too close to what he despised the other Evanuris for. But it was hurting her. And dividing them. It helped no one to allow it to continue. He pulled her gently behind him. “Ir abelas,” he muttered. “Do not apologize. They love you, Solas. They are only trying to protect you and Abelas,” she said, but stayed in his shadow, her fingers resting light and warm upon his back. The crowd began to get heated, shouts and insults rising above the general tumult. Abelas was trying to calm them, but his face was stony and frustrated. He would soon lose his temper.

“Enough!” Solas boomed. He hated the terror that crossed some of their faces, the tiny flinch in the Inquisitor’s fingers— even her, who had seen him angry, who fought with him and loved him anyway, even she was not immune to the sudden shift in his manner. He pressed it away, something to soothe later. “I did not call this conference to ask permission. I have chosen to aid the Inquisitor because the plan is sound. And Abelas has chosen to act in my stead when the Veil falls. You are free, as always, to help me or abandon me. But it will not alter my decision. Nor my need to aid you, if I can. It never has before.”

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Thirty Five: Only A Light In This Darken'd Time Breaks

Summary: Still on the evening after Adamant, Aurora paces and frets outside a certain healing tent. Will she go in?

Notes: This was a little later than I thought it would be, but it’s also a little longer! trade off <3

[Read Chapter 35 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Aurora-

Her lips still tingle from the kiss and she finds herself touching them often. Each time, a fizzy smile bursts in her chest.

Healers had been buzzing around his tent through the night, and his transport during the day was met with the utmost care. Aurora has tried her best to stay away, to let him rest and heal, but as the evening draws to a close, and the activity surrounding his tent has died down, she’s finding it more difficult to ignore her urge to visit him.

She finds reasons, or rather, no reason at all, to walk through the area of camp that holds the healing tents. But she wanders past, pauses by his tent, then skitters away in another direction every single time.

And now, standing there, staring, she’s just a few steps from the Knight-Commander with only some tightly woven threads of canvas separating them, but she still can’t seem to find the courage.

“Just go in,” a friendly Tevinter voice whispers in her ear as she stands gawking and still for about the fiftieth time that day.

“I probably shouldn’t, Dorian. He needs his rest,” Aurora says softly, but before she can back away again, one helpful little shove sends her forward the few steps she needs to gain the courage to pull back the canvas flap and enter.

Stepping inside, there is a low glowing lantern on a small stand beside the bed where Delrin lies. His eyes were closed, but upon hearing someone walk in, they open and he smiles broadly.

“Aurora.”

That fizzy smile bursts in her chest again as a shimmer covers her skin. “Delrin,” she says, unable to suppress the smile that consumes her face. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Much better than dead, thanks to you.”

Blush blooming across her cheeks and ears, she dips her head. What must he think of her? “Delrin, I…”

“You saved my life. You may have saved many lives. If you weren’t there… well frankly, I’m not sure we could have won, not without a massive amount of more casualties, including myself.” He reaches out for her, one weakened hand stretching for hers. She dares to step closer and take his fingers.

“You are putting too much faith in me,” she says, staring at the ground.

Delrin runs his thumb along her palm and it sends a rain of sparks down her arm to her heart. “I don’t think I’m the only one,” he says, “nor the only one who ever has.”

Aurora remains silent, unsure of what to say, unsure of why she’s there or what they are even doing. Unsure of her future with the Inquisition, with him, with anything. Her life has been turned so far from where she had always intended, that she is shrouded in uncertainty, and yet, she can’t retreat from this man. He pulls at her gently, urging her to sit on the edge of the cot beside him, and without thinking, she does.

“The Knight-Commander at Kinloch Hold knew this about you too, did he not?” he asks, and innocuous thing, but for her, it carries so much.

It takes her a moment, but Aurora finds her voice. “And the First Enchanter. They taught me to hide it. As my powers intensified, things would… accidentally happen. They personally taught me to control it.”

“You are a kind woman with the best of intentions. They saw it. I see it.”

A faint smile flashes on her face, and she finally looks back at Delrin. “I don’t know, I passed my harrowing...there wasn’t that much they could do. Greagoir wasn’t like Meredith.”

He grins broadly and squeezes her hand. “Thank the Maker for that,” he says and they both laugh. They laugh because of everything. This newness budding between them. This path their lives took to bring them here in this tent. Better to laugh at the mess than to cry, in this moment anyway.

As they regain their composure, Delrin pulls her hand toward his lips. “I’m no Meredith either, Aurora. I think you are a gift from the Maker.” He places a soft kiss on her knuckles, soft like morning dew on a delicate petal. “I became a Templar to protect you… not chain you.”

“You are a rare man, Delrin Barris.”

“No. I am the luckiest man in Thedas to have met you.” He grins proudly.

Aurora chokes and a laugh, of all the crazy...“Charmer,” she says while shaking her head and he haughtily holds his proud grin.

It probably shouldn’t, but the man’s confidence actually makes her feel more relaxed. Their hands still held, fingers lightly brushing and stroking each other’s skin, she feels as if she missed his touch, though she’s barely felt it in the first place. Her mind slips back to nights she spent reading his letters in her bunk. Nights she sat with one small spark of fire emanating from her fingers as she read in secret. Those nights, she felt like she could smell him, like she could feel him, his warmth, his confidence, his touch reaching for her through the parchment she held in her hands.

Staring contently where their skin now touches, his rich mahogany enveloping her alabaster, she says, “I… I received your letters.”

“I’m glad. I’m hoping that this means you have accepted my apology? I wasn’t sure what to think when you never responded.”

Aurora shrugs and watches his thumb graze lightly across her pale wrist. “I wasn’t sure what to say.” She lifts her eyes to his, peridot shimmering back at her. “But I enjoyed reading them.”

His expression drops a fraction, a small line forms between his brows. “When I dishonored you by questioning your integrity,” he pauses and sighs, shaking his head at himself. “I realized something. However strong my feelings for you are - and they are - I didn’t know much about you, nor you me…”

She tilts her head, her voice satin smooth and at ease. “So you wrote me stories about your life.”

“Was it too forward? Too presumptuous?”

She places another hand on his, a way of clasping him in her heart. “I told you already, I enjoyed reading them.”

“Good.” He sighs a contented little thing, and she sits in silence a moment, just enjoying whatever this is she is feeling between them.

Aurora begins to feel open enough to share, as he did with her in those letters, and never having known the feeling of being this accepted in such a long time, possibly...ever… “There was a time,” she says quietly, testing her courage, “after the massacre at the circle… Ser Cullen was patrolling the library.” Aurora stops to peer at Delrin, and he nods for her to continue.

“He had been through a lot, we all had, but he made a comment…” Aurora shakes her head, bringing a hand to her forehead. “Honestly, I don’t even remember what it was now, but it made me so mad.” She grins sheepishly. “He is different now, but when he was a young man, he was kind of... a jerk…” She giggles out of embarrassment for speaking so ill about the Commander.

Delrin laughs along with her and her chest sparkles like her eyes. “I can see that. Go on.”

“Well...I got angry and I slammed my fists on the table.” Aurora releases his hand and mimes the action in front of her. “And when I did, all of the books...” She swings her arms wide, imagining the library at Kinloch, and she looks back at Delrin in amazement. “All of the books in the entire library flew off the shelves and around the room!”

Aurora smiles to herself, bringing her fingers to her lips and shakes her head. “We were the only two in there. It was rather late, mind you, but I couldn’t sleep, and then... chaos.” She laughs freely, remembering the scene. “The look on Cullen’s face… the look on my face! It’s funny to think about now, but I was so scared when it happened. He ran off to tell Greagoir, of course. But when Greagoir came back…” She pauses again, remembering fondly, for the first time, the event that ultimately brought them together. “He was... so kind. I couldn’t believe it. He set up private meetings in his office with the two of us and Irving... after that.” She shakes her head again and rests her hand in her lap, looking back at Delrin and the sweet smile on his face. “That’s when they taught me to control it.”

Delrin reaches back for her hand, and she gives it willingly. “Sounds like maybe Cullen deserved a little shock.”

Aurora chuckles a low breathy sound. “I wish I could remember what he said… There were a lot of snide comments from Templars in those days following the massacre. They had been put through a lot, and a lot of them died. But so did we...”

Delrin nods silently and she sighs before continuing. “I just wanted to be treated like a person. I didn’t want the focus to be on my power, I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be Aurora, not that mage who is too powerful to be trusted, that mage who was part of a circle that had a mass blood magic and abomination outbreak. I just wanted to feel… normal?”

“Understandable.”

She groans through a silly smile. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.”

“I’m glad that you are.”

Silence falls between them again as her mind leaves the contented feeling she has and finds the anxiety of her power once again. No matter how much Delrin may be okay with her, and no matter how ridiculous that seems, it is not only his opinion that matters. And now...the world will know…

“After what happened yesterday… After what people saw… Delrin���I don’t kno--”

“I will keep you safe,” he says with a squeeze of his hand. So much confidence for a man who cannot even lift his head from his pillow...

“You’re such a good man, too good to get mixed up in this. I would tarnish your reputation. Are you quite sure tha--”

“I care about you, Aurora. And I know you care for me.”

Before Aurora can process his statement, before she can dream of a rebuttal, a healer steps into the tent. Aurora stands quickly, a reflex, and backs away from the wounded Knight-Commander. When she sees who the healer is, she relaxes ever so slightly.

“Rose,” she says through her relief. Who was she to sit so close to Delrin, to be touching him, when anyone could walk in? At this rate she will tarnish his reputation long before she has the ability to talk some sense into him. But it was Rose. Thank the maker for Rose.

“Aurora,” Rose nods respectfully before walking toward Delrin to check on him. The woman is young, and pretty, with a long blonde braid draped over her shoulder. The young mage was also at Kinloch during the fifth blight, but she was just a girl then. Aurora was fond of her, the little girl with healing talent who always had her nose in a book and made heart eyes at Cullen... before the blight, anyway. The young mage who asked to braid Aurora’s hair, and sought her security when the circle went to shit. Yes. It was a good thing it was Rose who walked in and not someone else, someone who might spread rumors without knowing what they’d seen.

“Thank you for helping him.” Aurora says while watching the mage check Delrin’s body, soft light glowing from her hands as she scans and inspects his healing fractures. Aurora feels even more relief knowing that it is Rose aiding him, she’d always shown immense promise in the talents of healing. “Your work is impressive.”

“His injuries were substantial, but with continued magical therapy, I think he can be mended within a week,” Rose responds. She then addresses Delrin directly, “You will be sore for a long time, I’m sure, but your bones will heal.”

Delrin nods in thanks, and as Rose turns to leave, Aurora lightly touches her arm to stop her. “I’ve seen you talking to the other healers, are you the lead?” she asks.

Rose smiles. “I am.”

“That’s wonderful, congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Aurora feels a little embarrassed, she’s barely spoken to the girl in years, but she knows another who would benefits from her kind hand and magical talent. “Will you... do me a favor? There is a woman in the barred carriage. I know that she was badly injured during the siege, but… she’s also the woman who threatened the Inquisitor.” Rose stiffens at her words, but waits for Aurora to finish. “I don’t think anyone has checked on her because of what she’s done, and I know that she’s too proud to ask. Her name is Abner, and… I know she did a bad thing, but she’s not a bad person. She saved my life once. Will you… will you please… please check on her?”

Rose flushes, eyes darting to the ground then back to Aurora’s. “I know she’s not a bad person,” she says. “Yes, I will make sure she’s okay.”

“Thank you.” And with that, Rose bends, lifts the canvas flap, and leaves the tent.

“I told you that you are a good woman,” Delrin says, pulling Aurora’s attention back from where Rose left.

“I just… I don’t want her to be forgotten.” She turns back Delrin’s cot and leans over him to press a single kiss on his forehead. “You should rest now, it sounds like you have a long road to recovery.”

“Will you visit me again?”

However foolish, she speaks from her heart. “Daily. As long as I am able.”

Notes: That was a cameo of @ma-sulevin‘s OC Rose! She is a mage from The Fire and the Flood, which you should read if you haven’t.  It's a great Cullen x OC fic about a circle mage (and a certain Aurora Monroe also has a cameo in her AU!)

[thewildkairos-blog]

Summer Reading 2017!

It’s that time of the year again, where students alike just cannot put that book down – and it’s safe to say, I am certainly one of them! As an avid reader, when I finished my A Levels and walked out of that Psychology exam after writing three sixteen-mark essays, I nursed my cramped wrist and proclaimed: “I cannot wait to read all my books!” as opposed to everyone else’s chimes of: “Tonight, let’s drink so much that booze comes out of our ears!” I suppose there’s two kinds of people, although I am certainly not opposed to gulping down a whole bottle of rosé whilst sifting through my latest page-turner.

Of course, with the strain of school stress, upcoming exams and trying to maintain a social life, sometimes our reading gets put on the back burner; however, in summer, we have so much free time and so much reading material, so I am setting out to read three books per month until I go off to university and have to kiss goodbye to my printed pages. Now, if you know me at all, you’ll know that I buy way too many books, and so, choosing my reading list proved to be more difficult than I anticipated! So, today I will be compiling my Summer reading list for you all, and of course, I’ll give my reasonings, give you a smidge of information about the books and leave links to where you can purchase them, should you want to give them a whirl!

Without further ado, I present to you, the reading list of yours truly for months July through September!

1. City of Heavenly Fire by Cassandra Clare

‘Sebastian Morgenstern is on the move, systematically turning Shadowhunter against Shadowhunter. When one of the greatest betrayals the Nephilim have ever known is revealed, Clary, Jace, Isabelle, Simon and Alec must flee – even if their journey takes them deep into the demon realms, where no Shadowhunter has set foot before, and from which no human being has ever returned. Love will be sacrificed and lives lost in the thrilling and long-awaited final instalment of the bestselling and acclaimed Mortal Instruments.’

This book is part of my all time favourite series The Mortal Instruments by my all time favourite author, Cassandra Clare; if you haven’t read this series, I recommend it so, so much! I decided that I would read this book first because it is literally the size of a brick and about has big as my face, so it’s the real deal and definitely is NOT light reading material! I have followed this series since I was about fifteen years old, and it is still my absolute favourite – after finally finding it (because I misplaced it when I moved house), I am already 28% of the way through it because it is fantastic! If you love a good fantasy book with well thought out ideas and amazing pacing, then this book is certainly for you! Buy City of Heavenly Fire on Amazon Buy The Mortal Instruments on Amazon

 2. Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Edgar Allan Poe

‘Including Poe’s most terrifying, grotesque and haunting short stories, Tales of Mystery and Imagination is the ultimate collection of the infamous author’s macabre works. Focusing on the internal conflict of individuals, the power of the dead over the living and psychological explorations of darker human emotion, the collection features one of his most popular tales. ‘The Gold Bug’ is the only story that was significant within his lifetime, whereas ‘The Black Cat’, ‘The Pit and the Pendulum’ and ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’ became more widely read after his death.’

Haunting, right? Okay, so I can’t be light and feathery all the time and Poe’s work astounds me, I absolutely love his poems so when I came across this book for a total bargain, I knew I had to pick it up and give it a read. This book is being slipped in my handbag and becoming my carry-on read, because you never know where you might find time to turn a few pages! I love darker tales and short stories as they are usually so gripping from start to finish, and if you’re a fan of classics and a psychology geek like I am, this book is perfect for you!

Buy Tales of Mystery and Imagination on Amazon

 3. The Sun is Also a Star by Nicola Yoon

‘THE STORY OF A GIRL, A BOY, AND THE UNIVERSE NATASHA: I’m a girl who believes in science and facts. Not fate. Not destiny. Or dreams that will never come true. I’m definitely not the kind of girl who meets a cute boy on a crowded New York City street and falls in love with him. Not when my family is twelve hours away from being deported to Jamaica. Falling in love with him won’t be my story. DANIEL: I’ve always been the good son, the good student, living up to my parents’ high expectations. Nevr the poet. Or the dreamer. But when I see her, I forget all about that. Something about Natasha makes me think that fate has something much more extraordinary in store – for both of us. THE UNIVERSE: Every moment in our lives has brought us to this single moment. A million futures lie before us. Which one will come true?’ After falling in love with Nicola Yoon’s Everything, Everything, and when I saw I could get this book half price in Waterstones, I instantly knew I had to buy this book – and so, into the baskt it went and now it’s in my hands. I was so drawn to this book and I’ll be honest, it was the beautiful front cover that caught my eye! I suppose I can drift from dark and macabre to uplifting and romantic when it comes to novels, and I tend to do that – I like to read different genres rather than the same genres over and over to mix it up a little bit! I’m looking forward to the unfortunate events in this story and how it unfolds, and I’m also interested to learn more about these serious characters that suddenly become undone due to love (which I am a sucker for)!

Buy The Sun is Also a Star on Amazon

 4. A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin

‘Summers span decades. Winter can last a lifetime. And the struggle for the Iron Throne has begun. As Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark counts it a curse when King Robert bestows on him the office of the Hand. His honour weighs him down at court where a true man does what he will, not what he must… and a dead enemy is a thing of beauty. The old gods have no power in the south, Stark’s family is split and there is treachery at court. Worse, the vengeance-mad heir of the deposed Dragon King has grown to maturity in exile in the Free Cities. He claims the Iron Throne.’

If you haven’t been watching (and anticipating the next season) of Game of Thones, what are you doing? For real, it is one of the greatest TV shows of all time and I am such a huge fan. Of course, such a marvellous idea has to come from somewhere and it is the genius mind of George R. R. Martin who came up with the world of Westeros! I bought the Song of Ice and Fire series because of my love for Game of Thrones, so I just had to read the books! If you like dragons, medieval-fantasy inspired novels, this series is for you!

Buy A Game of Thrones on Amazon

Buy A Song of Ice and Fire on Amazon

 5. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

‘Dorian Gray is having his picture painted by Basil Hallward, who is charmed by his looks. But when Sir Henry Wotton visits, and seduces Dorian into the worship of youthful beauty with an intoxicating speech, Dorian makes a wish that he will live to regret: that all the marks of age will now be reflected in the portrait, rather than on Dorian’s own face. The stage is now set for a masterful tale about appearance, reality, art, life, truth, fiction and the ultimate burden of conscience.’

As a sucker for the classics, I can honestly say that when one of my close friends (yes, Anna, you’re getting a mention, girlie) offered to purchase me this book for my birthday, I was overjoyed! I will hold my hands up and say that the first time I heard the name ‘Dorian Gray’ was the time that two of my friends were gushing over Penny Dreadful, which – and I did my research – is a psychological thriller set in Victorian London, which interlinks the origin stories of different classic literary characters. When I asked who Dorian Gray was, they looked at me as though I had asked them if the world really had colour (spoiler alert: it does!), and I knew I needed to change that. Thanks to extensive preparation for my A Level exams though, this book has sadly been waiting to be read for six months, and so I cannot wait to pick this one up again!

Buy The Picture of Dorian Gray on Amazon

 6. The Bane Chronicles by Cassandra Clare

‘It is not easy being Magnus Bane. As a warlock, he’s often called upon to fix the problems of others. His life has been long, and his loves have been many. And Magnus has a way of making sure he’s in the right place at the right – or perhaps wrong – time. The French Revolution, Prohibition, the first great battle between Valentine and the New York Institute… Magnus was there, and usually in the middle of it. Magnus will never be able to tell all of his tales. No one would believe him. But these eleven stories shed a little light on his often inscrutable character. They are stories he probably wishes never got out.’

Okay – confession time: Magnus Bane is easily my favourite character in the whole The Mortal Instruments franchise, so when this book was released myself and best friend Maddison squealed the roof down and whilst she has read it, I have only recently purchased and I’m sure I’ll read this one so fast that I’ll have to take extra precautions in order not to rip the book! For a little insight, Magnus is a sassy character who, in The Mortal Instruments series, has forever been shipped with none other than Alec Lightwood. Honestly, Malec are my OTP and whilst there are several references in the Mortal Instruments books to Magnus’ past, a lot of these aren’t explored and so for me – a huge fan of the books – this is an absolute must-read because I definitely need those answers!

Buy The Bane Chronicles on Amazon

 7. Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

‘Life has been good to Andy since she quit job ‘a million girls would die for’ at Runway magazine. Now, ten years later, she’s about to get married and she’s running her own successful magazine. But the night before her wedding, she can’t sleep. Is it just normal nerves, or is she having serious second thoughts? And why can’t she stop thinking about her ex-boss, Miranda – aka, the Devil? It seems that Andy’s efforts to build herself a bright new life have led her directly into the path of the Devil herself bent on revenge.’

I’ll be honest, I picked this book up from a boot sale for 50p, and I just couldn’t say no. Even though I have never read the first book (which I will be investing in), I have watched and loved the movies – and yes, I know books are always better than the movies. I must say that I love the movie (and I love Meryl Streep, so it really is a win-win), and I have always wondered what Andy would do after quitting her job at Runway, so I picked up this book so I could get some answers!

Buy Revenge Wears Prada on Amazon

 8. The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion                      

‘Love isn’t an exact science – but no one told Don Tilman. A handsome thirty-nine year old geneticist, Don’s never had a second date. So e devises The Wife Project, a scientific test to find the perfect partner. Enter Rosie – ‘the world’s most incompatible woman’ – throwing Don’s safe, ordered life into chaos. Just what is this unsettling, alien emotion he’s feeling?’

I cannot contain my excitement about this book! Recommended to me by my friend Faye, this book really does intrigue me and I’m ready for a bit of a quirky romance novel! Although, when Faye recommended this book to me, she said she thought I would love it and that I reminded her of Rosie – which, considering Rosie is ‘the world’s most incompatible woman’, may or may not be an insult, but regardless, I love my friend to pieces and I am sure I’ll love this book!

Buy The Rosie Project on Amazon

 9. The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey

‘After the 1st Wave, only darkness remains. After the 2nd, only the lucky escape. And after the 3rd, only the unlucky survive. After the 4th Wave, only one rule applies: trust no one. Now is the dawn of the 5th Wave.  On a lonely stretch of highway, Cassie runs. Runs from the beings that only look human, who have scattered the Earth’s last survivors. To stay alone is to stay alive, until she meets Evan Walker. Beguiling and mysterious, Evan might be her only hope. Now Cassie must choose: between trust and despair, between defiance and surrender, between life and death.’

Isn’t that description just chilling? Don’t mind the triadic structure at the end there – it only drew me in so much that I can’t wait to pick up the book! After watching the movie adaptation in cinema, I knew I had to read this book because the concept was astounding. I’m excited to add a dystopian-style novel to the mix because any and all who know me will tell you that I am a sucker for a world-is-going-to-end style of book. Maybe I have a thing for the morbid? I just like to think I have a thing for survival and intrigue! This book is bound to keep me on the edge of my seat, that I can guarantee!

Buy The 5th Wave on Amazon

So there you have it – these are the nine novels I hope to complete through months July to September. Of course, regular updates will be posted and maybe even a couple of book reviews along the way. Of course, if you want to discuss any of these books or give your own opinions of them, you should totally feel free to approach me in the comments, drop me a message or reach me on any other of my social media which I’ll link down below for you! And don’t forget to leave your reading list and recommendations in the comments. What are you looking forward to reading this Summer? Drop me a message and ask me your questions here!

Social Media

[thecrowwrites-blog]

Inquisition’s Magister: Chapter 4

I’m also making edits and condensing chapters as I do this, so if there’s typos, grammar mistakes, or chapters that should be smooshed together, please let me know!

On to the story...

"Mother, is Father going to be okay?" a small Felix chirped at Livia. Gereon Alexius exchanged looks with his wife. She smiled softly as she laid a cool, damp cloth on his forehead and then turned to their son.

"Your father is going to be just fine."

"But he couldn't do magic and he fell over! What if he can never do magic again?" Felix asked worriedly and gripped handfuls of the edge of his blanket.

Gereon chuckled and patted the spot beside him. Felix clambered up into the bed and sat beside him. He took his son's hand and squeezed it gently. "You heard your mother. I'll be just fine. And so what if I have no magic? I have my research. My students. I can still heal people. I've never been much of a battlemage."

Felix sniffled and rubbed his eyes. "Father, if you were going to die, would you give your magic to stay with us?"

"Where is all of this coming from, Felix?" Gereon asked him, surprised. He glanced at Livia, but she looked just as startled. Felix said nothing more and began to cry. He sighed and pulled Felix into his arms, hugging him. "Of course, Felix. I would do anything to keep us together." He felt Livia's hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, Felix. Let your father rest. You can see him again in the morning." She picked him up. The boy was reluctant to let go but didn't fuss.

After Felix had been put to bed, Livia returned and sat next to him. Gereon forced a weak smile. "We have to tell him, Livia."

Livia was quiet as she took his hand- an uncommon gesture. "I know you think you might not live. I know the healers think the same. But I believe you will. I believe there is nothing you cannot survive. I believe you could command Death itself if you so desired."

"Livia..."

"No. We've been friends long enough haven't we?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "What is this denial, Livia? You will still be here for Felix. You would be able to marry your lover. Why-?"

"Because it is what I believe. A Tevinter mage- a magister no less- who would give his magic to stay with his son?" She smirked. "That is not a Will that gives easily. Now get some rest, would you? And stop fretting. Every demon in the Fade could not bring you to death if they tried."

***

"Father, why is the study so cold?"

Alexius flexed the fingers of his uninjured hand and groaned at the pain wracking his body. Felix's lightning spell dissipated around him and he heard the thing curse and moved away from him.

"Mommy's going to be mad when she sees the kitchen full of snow!"

"Will she now?"

"Yes, but... do you think she'll let us make a snowman?"

The tiles under his hands grew cold until they started to bite his palms. He clenched his teeth together and pushed himself to his knees. The creature's eyes widened. Alexius wondered how his heart was still beating with the amount of lightning that must have coursed through his system.

"Felix, do you remember what my favorite kind of magic is?"

"Ice."

Alexius shouted wordlessly as he summoned every ounce of magic that he could and gave a wide gesture at the floor surrounding Felix. Snow swirled around them both. The ground froze over. Icicles erupted from the earth and walls. When the snow settled, he could see Felix motionless, impaled by a cage of ice.

He heard the main door open again as he slumped back to the floor. Tears burned his eyes and leaked down his cheeks. Alexius stared at the creature and prayed that he was right- that no fragment of his son remained in that thing. And if the smallest shred was still there, that Felix could forgive him.

"By the Maker, Alexius..."

Alexius didn't bother to look back at Dorian. "The amulet is by the bookshelf," he told them as he forced himself to his feet, despite the protests of his body and mind. "You need to go back to the present." He watched the Herald run over to the bookshelf and recover the amulet from his Staff of Stasis.

"And you need to come with us," Dorian said as he walked over.

"This is the one who will cause everything," the spymaster said angrily and shoved Dorian towards the Herald. "You two leave. Not him."

"I agree. He should die." The Seeker, her eyes red from the Red Lyrium infection, drew her sword.

"No," Lord Trevelyan cut in. "Whether or not he is guilty of this, we might need him."

"Alexius," Dorian said, taking the amulet from the Herald and offering it to Alexius, "can you open a rift and send us home?"

He took the amulet and watched it glow green in his hands. He looked at the remains of his son and closed his fingers around the glowing stone.

***

Felix staggered backward and nearly dropped the amulet as another rift tore open and then disappeared, depositing Lord Trevelyan, Dorian, and his father in a cloud of green and bluish gray smoke that quickly faded. His eyes teared up when he saw his father. There was a hole in his robe over his heart that was stained red; his right hand was swollen, the fingers oddly twisted; dried blood caked the left side of his head.

"Father!" Felix ran to Alexius and hugged him tightly.

His father hugged him back and sobbed. "Oh, Felix, you're alive. Thank the Maker, you're alive."

Felix stepped back but kept his hands on his father's shoulders, gripping them tightly. "Please, Father, end this. Give up the Venatori. Don't serve this Elder One."

To his surprise, his father nodded. "You are right. There is no point in this charade. I only served the Elder One to save you, but I have seen what he will do. If you can be saved, then that isn't the way. But Felix..."

"I know, Father."

"Magister Alexius should be arrested," the woman in armor similar to that of a Templar interrupted. She had short dark hair with a braid that wrapped around the crown of her head.

"Agreed." Lord Trevelyan stepped toward them. "Don't worry- no one is being led to execution."

Felix looked at his father, who was glancing around worriedly. He tried to smile reassuringly. "It'll be all right, Father." Before he had even finished speaking the words, Alexius put a hand to his chest and made a choking noise. "Father? What's-?" His father started to collapse. Dorian and Lord Trevelyan caught Alexius by his arms. Dorian carefully lowered him to the ground. Felix kneeled by him, unsure of what to do. "Wh-what's wrong with him? What's going on?"

"Cedric, do you have a healer on hand?" Dorian asked with barely masked panic. Lord Trevelyan nodded and started commanding the others.

Felix looked at his father. Alexius' chest rose and fell with no pattern. Some breaths were ragged. Others were easy. He took his father's hand and squeezed it. Felix remembered every time he had told his father that there were worse things than dying, and now he regretted every word.

***

"Mother, is Father really going to be okay?" Felix asked as his mother tucked him into bed.

"Your father is very sick." She wrapped his favorite blanket around his shoulders and pulled his other covers up over him. "But he can be quite the fighter. He will recover, Felix." She put a hand on his shoulder.

"Mommy?"

"Yes, Felix?"

"If I had magic, would I be able to save Daddy?" She looked uncertain of how to respond. He didn't call them "mommy" and "daddy" often. He also knew he had very little magic, even if his parents kept saying his powers would show themselves when he got older.

His mother ran her fingers through his hair. "You could without magic. Since he will be okay, you should ask your father for lessons. He's a very skilled healer. Don't worry about saving him, Felix. There are other skilled healers helping him. And do you remember what I said?"

"That he's a fighter?"

***

Felix sat at the edge of the clearing where the Inquisition had made camp with the rebel mages. They were halfway between the Hinterlands and Haven now. From his place beneath a maple tree, he could see the healer's tent. A fire burned in a ring of stones. His father lay beside it on an animal skin blanket while the mage tended to him. She wore a simple red robe with a sash that was the same green as the forest that surrounded them. She seemed focused on his father's chest and had finished bandaging his head and hand long ago. The faint white light she was casting over his heart, though? She had been at that spell for almost an hour.

When she finally finished the spell and sat on a short stool near his father, exhaustion etched in every line of her face, Felix got up from his spot beneath the umbrella of orange and yellow leaves and walked over to her. "Hi," he said hesitantly. "Would you like some water?" He offered the water-flask he had hooked to his belt.

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I just need a moment to rest." She eyed him for a moment. Felix wondered if she thought him a monster. She was, after all, one of the rebel mages. He doubted any of them held high opinions of Tevinters after the events in Redcliffe, not that they did before by any means.

"Um, thank you," he gestured to his father. "Even... Even if he dies, thank you. I can't imagine anyone wanting to help my father after everything."

Her face softened. "As soon as the Inquisition said they needed a healer, I was prepared to help. I would never let another person die, regardless of what they had done."

His heart started to jump into his throat at his next question. "Do you think he'll live?"

"Yes." Her tone was far from reassuring and he could see the concern in her eyes. "But his heart is weak. A blade must have passed through his chest and it missed his heart by a hair. Recovery will be a difficult road. Heart spasms could be more likely and he might experience frequent fatigue, but we won't know the full impact for a few weeks."

Felix nodded. "Would it be all right if I sat with him?"

"Of course."

"I'm Felix, by the way," he added as he sat next to his father.

"Gwenlyn." Gwenlyn shifted on her stool. "I do think he'll recover. He's a fighter."

Felix smiled faintly at that and put a hand on his shoulder, almost expecting to find his mother's there, reassuring him.

[fvisualvomits]

my highest ever uni mark (74, a presentation)

Virginia Woolf’s ‘Into the Lighthouse’: A psychoanalytical reading

Pessimistic picture of a culture in disarray. This despair often results in an apparent apathy and moral relativism.

Modernist lifestyle themes -

Changing attitudes to narrative perspective and novel form

No modernist agenda or outline: but with Freud’s ideas coming into popularity it was impossible to ignore their impact on literature and art. Modernism possesses multiple and perhaps unreliable narrators, subjectivity, and stream-of-consciousness narrative. Symbolism James p.138: Nothing was simply one thing!

The novel is not concerned with the plot but rather the interiority of multiple characters.

Psychoanalysis conscious/unconscious: Descartes and ‘I think therefore I am’ instead of physical actions – what is not revealed is true. By its very nature, the symbolism of literature in Modernism was incapable of being simply stream of consciousness – notably in the titular symbol of the lighthouse. despite Woolf stating:

‘I have not studied Dr Freud or any psychoanalyst – indeed I think I have never read any of their books: my knowledge is merely from the superficial talk. Therefore any use of their methods must be instinctive.’ (Letters v. 36)

Freud’s idea of the conscious/unconscious is vital in reading ‘To the lighthouse’ in terms of the Lighthouse and Mrs Ramsey herself. However, his theory of the Oedipus complex presents itself within their children in relation to Mr Ramsey. 

Into the Lighthouse and Woolf’s own life:

 Father rented Tallad House in St Ives, Cornwall, from 1882, as a summer retreat.

 Woolf’s mother died when she was 13.

 Leslie Stephen (Woolf’s Father) became deeply depressed following this death

‘Transfixed by the portrait of their mother, her sister Vanessa wrote, ''It is almost painful to have her so raised from the dead.’ (Lily Briscoe on page 110 (3.2) ‘Perished. Alone The grey-green light on the wall opposite. The empty places’ – Lily is not physically alone, but psychologically without the mother figure of Mrs Ramsey)  

Woolf thought of painting as did Lily Briscoe – an exploration of creative output.

Woolf’s brother Adrian was not allowed to visit the lighthouse, similar to young James Ramsey. 

Alix Strachey, a practising psychoanalyst and an old friend of the Woolfs, discussing why Leonard had not persuaded Virginia to see a psychoanalyst about her mental breakdowns, concluded ‘Virginia’s imagination, apart from her artistic creativeness, was so interwoven with her fantasies – and indeed with her madness – that if you had stopped the madness you might have stopped the creativeness too… It may be preferable to be mad and be creative than to be treated by analysis and become ordinary.’

The Oedipus complex - 1899 book The Interpretation of Dreams (1910 official)

James Ramsey is infuriated by his father’s presence due to the love he possesses for his mother. 

‘Had there been an axe handy, a poker, or any weapon that would have gashed a hole in his father’s breast and killed him, there and then, James would have seized it… his wife, who was ten thousand times better in every way then he was (James thought)’ (1 Woolf) – the murder of Basil Hallward in Dorian Gray 

‘The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than he had ever loathed anything in his whole life.’ - Knife

Implying his mother is ‘better’ is clearly a sign of this, yet his fellow brothers and sisters are not fond of Mr Ramsey. While the boys have grown out of their Oedipus complex, the females perhaps feel neglected by their father, as Cam later confirms (I shall return) the next quote goes further:

‘But his son hated him. He hated him for coming up to them, for stopping and looking down on them; he hated him for interrupting them… but most of all he hated the twang and twitter of his father's emotion, which vibrating around them, disturbed the perfect simplicity and good sense of his relations with his mother’ (27 Woolf)

Here James goes further: indicating that not only does he hate his father and love his mother, but here he recognises the disturbing nature of this: guilt in association with his confession. This ‘twang and Twitter’ may not only allude to this but his fear that his father recognises his attachment to his mother.

‘Tyrant’ (125 Woolf )(Both children refer to the father as such) ‘Well done! James had steered them like a born sailor. There! Cam thought… you’ve got it at last. For she knew this was what James had been wanting, and she knew that now he had got it he was so pleased that he would not look at her or his father or at anyone… His father had praised him. (153 Woolf)

This is the resolution of the Oedipus complex, as James, in particular, finds resolution within his father, allowing him to develop a mature sexual identity under Freud. Cam’s feeling of neglect by her father is also resolved (a strong theme in Woolf – Walter Pater absent father. (superego formed)

Mrs Ramsey & The Lighthouse

As a lighthouse guides those lost at sea to safety, Mrs Ramsey is the pivotal character representing emotional security to those around. She harbours her guests in their times of emotional distress: 

‘She looked out to meet that stroke of the Lighthouse, the long steady stroke, the last of the three, which was her stroke, for watching them in this mood always at this hour one could not help attaching oneself to one thing especially of the things one saw; and this thing, the long steady stroke, was her stroke… ‘it seemed to her like her own eyes meeting her own eyes… ‘she was searching, she was beautiful like that light’ (46)a

Caroline Ramsey projects her character onto the lighthouse. This is perhaps an escape from the emotionally damaged characters that surround her namely in the form of her husband, a key scene of her fragility is chapter 8 when she asks ‘going somewhere, Mr Charmichael?’ and he ignores her, causing her to reflect on her interior trauma – ‘never did she show a sign of not wanting him’ – internalised guilt

The ego, driven by the id, confined by the superego, repulsed by reality, struggles to master its economic task of bringing about harmony among the forces and influences working in and upon it; and we can understand how it is that so often we cannot suppress a cry 'life is not easy'!  If the ego is obliged to admit its weakness, it breaks out in anxiety regarding the outside world, moral anxiety regarding the superego, and neurotic anxiety regarding the strength of the passions in the id. (78 Freud 1933)

The struggle of the ego constantly to maintain a happy persona. She immediately returns to reading James the fisherman and his wife in order to please her son.  Depression?

The portrait painted by Lily Briscoe of Mrs Ramsey, although abstract, reflects that of Oscar Wilde’s own Portrait of Dorian Gray. A once beautiful portrait reflects events that have occurred – In Dorian’s case his increasing corruption, but in Lighthouse it is the but perhaps it is not the physical portrait itself that changes greatly but the perspective of Lily, much altered that heightens the portrait in aesthetic value. 

‘It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision’ (154)

Resolution – of the Oedipal complex, perhaps Lily is projecting her affection onto the portrait. Or perhaps, using Freud further, this has all simply been a dream or series of dreams – short time span of novel (afternoon) / (10 years later) (Afternoon)

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 4.5

Unbroken

Since spotting Dorian's ghoulish cast from across the battlefield, Evallan's thoughts had not stopped reeling. He'd attempted to console himself, citing the skill and intelligence of the man. However upon sighting the freakish anomaly, he'd known Dorian could not succeed on his own. The Tevinter was cunning and gifted with a surprising dexterity but had not the experience to survive the encounter.

  We must protect him!

The urge overcame him, overcame everything. Lightbringer did not protest- if anything she understood with perfect clarity. Dorian Pavus was not clan but he was treasured as much by her wielder. As an entity devoted to the protection of family and kin, she could not watch him fall anymore than Evallan could.

At least his suspicion was confirmed; she had no intention of abandoning Dorian the previous day, only meaning to tease him over his panic for the man.

So they sprinted, two beings with one goal. By the time he reached the line, magic fizzled around him with erratic fury and no one in the huddle dared reject his command. They probably thought he meant to do something of more significance than rescue the foolish Tevinter.

  “Let me through!”

The river of red-stained shields parted then clanged shut behind him. Embodying a blizzard, he ripped across the field, encasing the world in ice as he went. His vision blurred to the point of leaving him sightless yet he found no need for eyes. Senses reduced to textures and frequencies, the Deep Roads existed as a map drawn onto his consciousness.

His focus centred on two heartbeats; the first inhumanely slow and deep, almost dead, the other was quickened from panic but still with a signature he recognised.

  Dorian.

Evallan moved with enough urgency he almost startled himself when confronted by the bristling aura of the aberration, a foreboding stain upon the canvas of life.

  Kill it! Kill it now!

The order still hung in his mind when the thing was petrified and imploded into the tiniest fragments. He would have laughed in discomfort at the absurd efficiency if he were not so strangled by concern, refusing to stop for breathe until Dorian confirmed his health.

His thoughts may have calmed in their reeling then, if the fool hadn't-

Evallan could not repeat it to himself.

Embarrassment towards his actions and appearance melted into satisfaction, terror into hunger. He could dance around his emotions all day but not when Dorian Pavus gave of himself so willingly.

  The nerve of the shem!- He must have known.

Known that Evallan's carefully-constructed veneer of restraint was thin and riddled in vulnerabilities. Known he would have no choice but to embrace him- it was not a choice to him.

  If a key is made for a lock, it will turn.

However the most scandalous knowledge Dorian had somehow obtained was the location of his lost birthright, pressed to Evallan's ribs all along.

  Yet you did not take it, you did not confront me. You chose to -

  I really cannot say I understand the way you think either, Dorian Pavus.

Nor could he bring himself to vocalise any of these musings. He was achingly aware of Dorian studying him, calculating but somehow not unkind.

With a steadying inhale, he glanced at the caved-in tunnel and renewed his efforts to meet the man's gaze- a challenge to be sure.

  “I am sorry about your friend...You are alright?” Perhaps he would not wish to discuss the amulet, considering the fate of Elias Caladrius.

  “Oh, I'm fine I suppose, I just...” He started a little hoarsely and had to clear his throat. “He always wanted to be a Warden, but I never imagined it would actually happen. Or if it did, certainly not like this.”

  “I know it is little consolation, especially as it is yet to be seen if he will survive,” He eased as he talked, thinking they might evade other topics. “But the Wardens are in need of recruits like him- capable mages who are good at following direction.”

  “Nothing like you, then,” Dorian joked freely, affectionately. “You do whatever you please.”

Evallan felt the corner of his mouth quirk into a smile, unable to prevent it.

  “And yet my place should be with them.” He answered casually, only realising the gravity of his statement when Dorian perked a brow in alarm.

  “You want  to be a Warden?”

  “No, not truly- that would be foolish, no?” He relented beneath the worrisome expression. “But they do not fear me. They would utilise my abilities to their fullest. They would not poke and prod when something escapes their understanding...”

The Tevinter nodded in slow comprehension but his features soon became pensive, a knowing curve playing along his lips. Evallan had to look away once more, unable to withstand the invitation he read in that smile, knowing he could not refuse it.

  “The Wardens aren't really what we should discuss, Evallan.” He said it softly but with obvious meaning.

He sighed, still refusing to view the man's face.

  “You wish to speak of that now?” He mumbled more coldly than intended.

  “I think I'd rather that than worry over my friend, yes.” His reply seemed sincere. Evallan had to submit with another weary sigh.

  “As you say...” He struggled to make his voice audible as he fished into his robes. “I believe this is yours...”

Tarnished gold swayed from his trembling digits though he did not extend- and Dorian made no motion to claim the birthright. This reassured him somehow, though he couldn't explain why.

  “How did it come into your possession, then?” He pressed- but gently.

  “When I hit you-” Evallan fumbled with the words, eyes on the ground. “It was dropped...I had knelt over it without meaning to. I took it without knowing what it was- at first...”

  “Why didn't you simply return it, Evallan?” Dorian's pitch heightened, both incredulous and sympathetic.

  “You were correct in your assessment,” He laughed brokenly, rubbing his eyes so they would not shed. “I am a coward. I could not face you...I wished for Amrallan to deliver it, but he refused.”

  “Amrallan knew?” Dorian chuckled. “Well, that explains him being so cheerful when he saw me outside your aravel..”

  “Yes, he...understood the situation. We could never hide anything from the other,” Speaking of his brother quelled his nerves, nostalgia blanketing him. “Our mother always said it was a mistake of the gods we were not born together.”

Dorian allowed him to linger on the memory, not pushing him for more but merely watching in respectful quiet. Given time to balance himself, he continued with more strength.

  “He told me I could return it to you, or hold onto it and let it drive me mad...so that is what I did.”

  “But for so long?” Though he still could not look, Evallan heard the confusion. “You could have just...hidden it in my room, or something?”

This would be more difficult to convey. Indeed he wished he could skirt it entirely, the way he did all his emotions. He knew that was no longer an option- Dorian Pavus was owed more than that.

In truth he was owed more than Evallan could ever give.

  “At first...I was simply a coward,” He wrestled with each syllable, forcing them into the light. “But it...became something that helped me survive. A reminder.”

  “A reminder? Of what?” Dorian's voice cracked.

Evallan had to meditate carefully upon his answer, needing to conceptualise feelings and ideas he'd never had to verbalise.

  “One of the last things my brother did was to refuse the amulet. Not long after, he died to protect our clan- to protect me, because of what I represent.” He sucked in air painfully, the grief left unvoiced for years oozed from him like infection from a wound. Pressure that must be released, but that agonised him to do so.

  “I watched their bodies burn with your birthright around my neck. Whenever I looked at it, I would feel guilt, and imagine them.”

  “It was all you had left of him.” Dorian uttered suddenly, voice as melancholic as Evallan felt.

  “It was.” He choked back a sob, transformed it into a bitter laugh- more like a bark. “But soon it was not him I imagined, or my family. It...was you.”

Finally he mustered the courage to make visual contact with the Tevinter; grey eyes full of wonder and heat, sparking with hints of the amber light of The Deep Roads, for now rendered speechless by Evallan's admittance.

  “I imagined a world where I returned this to you, and you...” Speech fizzled in his throat but Evallan knew he had to persevere, the rest leaving him in a hush. “Would recognise me as yours along with it...And so, you see...when we finally met, I could not let go of this imagining.”

Dorian's features softened, a sadness to his gaze. Yet somehow still welcoming- even without a smile.

  “You don't have to imagine that, Evallan.” He said this just as softly and it took everything within himself not to break right then, into a thousand shards, like one of his own spells.

  “Yes, I do.” His voice wavered, he felt so drained, breaking eye contact once more. “I am the Keeper of the Lavellan Clan.”

  “You wouldn't be the only Lavellan involved with a shem- or a Tevinter.”

  “It is not the same.” He shook his head, fingers tightening around the chain he still held. “Lightbringer and I are all that remains of the heart of our clan. My life must be a service to others- to those who sacrificed themselves so I could fulfil my purpose.”

  “And there's no room for anything else- why?” Dorian was incensed, though clearly attempted to reign himself in. “All because of some spirit? You have to live at the whim of others for the rest of your days because- because she chose you when you were- how old even were you?”

  “Ten.” Evallan replied, flat.

  “Ten?!” The Tevinter gave way to unhinged chuckles. “So a spirit took a liking to you when you weren't even old enough to piss straight and that should decide your whole life!?”

  “Yes.” He replied again, still flat.

  “Evallan,” He chortled deliriously. “That's insane, you must see how insane that is- at the very least, it is quite cruel.”

  “It may have been different, if it were not for the Blight,” He murmured, shrugging. “As things are, I am a symbol my people must feel they can rely on.”

  “But you're a person!”

  “To you, I am a person,” He ground out, becoming impatient. “To them, to Thedas, I must strive to be more. I must embody them, their faith in me, their lack of it- all of it.”

This silenced him, though Evallan lacked the nerve to truly witness how it was received- he could not bear to look into Dorian's face and see disappointment or grief. Instead watching the amulet swing near his breast- he had to ask.

  “You saw this when we fell, but you did not take it...”

There was a pause. Then, full of impassioned stubbornness-

  “You can't think of anything I might value more than some silly little amulet!?”

He froze, staring at the gold etchings and nothing else.

  “I have a duty to my clan.” He stated with as much conviction as he was capable of- which in that moment, was very little.

  “And I to my country,” Dorian countered, undeterred. “But don't you think it's possible that we could also have a duty to each other?”

He recalled Titus Ahriman and the blighted oath he'd insisted on swearing to the Lavellan Clan, to Fila.

  You all act as though it is so simple.

  As though every expectation can be overthrown- for what?

  For a simple feeling?

  I envy you that freedom.

  “I would like to believe that.” He rasped after some time.

  “But you don't.” Dorian stated it as a matter-of-fact and Evallan could give no reply.

  To say I believe is a betrayal of my duties.

  To say I do not is a lie to you.

  And I grow so weary of lying to you, Dorian Pavus.

He thrust the amulet into the chest of its rightful owner, grimly announcing;

  “It does not matter what I believe.”

Dorian was briefly wordless, then-

  “No- I don't want it.”

  “What?!” Evallan snapped his posture to actually behold the Tevinter, staring at him in bafflement that tilted towards outrage. What did he mean, he did not want it?!

Of course Dorian Pavus was quite amused and even satisfied by this, smiling pleasantly.

  “If it's all you'll have of me, I'd rather you kept it.”

  “Dorian-”

  “I mean it, Evallan! I want you to hold onto it!” He interrupted, laughing cheerfully. “It's probably brought you more luck than it ever has me! You'll be going back to Tevinter anyway, won't you? You'll be taking it home for me! And when the Archdemon is slain, you'll return it, and I'll carry it home for good.”

There was much he wanted to say; that this was not some whimsical bedtime story exchanged in the dark, that this gesture ultimately meant nothing, that this stupid thing had haunted him for almost half his lifetime and all he desired was the fool to free him of it!

But lost for words, all he could manage was;

  “I cannot...” While lamely attempting to empty his hands into Dorian's.

  “Alright, well...” The man peered down at his newfound burden, pondering. “...I'll just toss it, then!”

  “What?!” He had no control over how shrill his voice became.

  “Well, it hardly has any value to me!- Especially without a country to go back to!” Dorian guffawed and sauntered some distance, amulet dangling precariously, headed for an edge where stone gave way to endless void.

  “Something tells me this will hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me, so-”

An image of the demonic figment from his Harrowing imposed itself upon the world. Evallan's heart caught in his throat and his chest constricted. Unconscious of himself, he sprang and snatched.

  “Give it!” He hissed, vehement, and was overjoyed and shamefully comforted when instead of taunting or hurdling it away, the real Dorian allowed the metal coils to slip onto his fingers with a heart-warming chuckle.

  “So we're agreed!” He announced brightly. “You'll hold onto it for me!”

Clutching the object for dear life, he practically smothered it against his chest while scowling at the man- who did not seem even slightly unnerved in response.

  “Until the Archdemon is slain.” He grumbled, looping the birthright carefully around his neck and beneath his robes, where it had rested for a lonely decade.

  “I'd say you can wear it on the outside of your robes now, but I know you won't.” Dorian observed with feigned humour- Evallan could hear the bitterness there.

  “I must report to Marcus.” He decided, ignoring the rest, avoiding his gaze. “And you must see to your injuries.”

Evallan marched for his destination without another word, never looking back.

Deep within himself, he cried out against the impenetrable darkness.

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[wootensmith]

Strength

“How long are you going to let that lip bleed?” asked Vhemanen with a frown. Solas looked up from the completed amulet in front of him. “As long as it takes to heal,” he answered. “Ilan earned the blood he drew and Abelas is proud of him, though he won’t say. I’ll leave the badge to remind him. It’ll do no harm.” “Do you think it wise to let them see you are vulnerable? The others would have killed the elf who dared to draw their blood. And we both know that you are still holding back.” “Less every day. They have all come far farther than I expected. I begin to have more hope. Perhaps it is foolish.” He pressed a finger to the split. “And that it shows I am vulnerable— that all the Evanuris are, is a good reason to leave it. Even if they were not to face the others, I would not let them think me a god. But the coming battle— it is important for them to know that none of the Evanuris are invulnerable.” Vhemanen shook her head, obviously thinking it was foolish. But she held out a rolled cloth to him. “Something to sweeten the sting, then,” she said. He took it, staring curiously at it. “It came from Servolus.” Servolus. Tevinter then. He looked up at Vhemanen. “Yes,” she said, “It’s from her. An old waystation, Servolus said. The eluvians are long gone, but the amplifier remained.” He gripped the bundle more tightly. “Thank you,” he said. “It has been…” “A long while,” she finished for him. “Yes.” “We would have heard if she were still in peril, Solas. The entire continent speaks of her. You hardly even need your agents.” He touched the cut on his lip again, testing it, pressing it. As if the smaller pain of the wound could diminish the larger one in his chest. “She is adept at hiding her injuries. She has as many reasons to conceal her vulnerability as I have to expose mine. Still, you are right. I would have known. But— having this is a relief.” Vhemanen patted his shoulder. “I need to help Loranil pack for his journey. He wishes to be back in Skyhold before her.” 

He nodded absently as she left, shuffling down the stone steps. He turned the thin bundle. It was bound with one of the leather laces she used for her hair. He untwined it only to wrap it again around his wrist. The cloth was canvas, stiff with salt and he caught a strong scent of the sea as he unfolded it. Inside lay the long slender shell of a razor clam, its outer layer flaking under his touch. It hinged open, the pearl interior luminescent with veilfire and a slim roll of parchment lying in the small hollow. He set the shell carefully next to the amulet and unrolled the letter. She had landed in Tevinter long before, he knew. Already the river beside Skyhold would be moving again, thick and tumbling with broken ice. Already the farms in the Hinterlands would be hitching up their druffalo to plows. Already, Solas began to imagine the creep of the anchor taking hold again, strangling her wrist, her arm, her heart. He rubbed at his cut, pressing hard. It opened again, a metallic tinge meeting his tongue, but it focused him enough.

You told me, once, that the sea was empty of dream and memory. That it was desolate and quiet because so few of us had passed there, compared to all the unchanging history of it. But I have found one. A dream or a memory, I do not know. It has troubled me for many weeks. I fear I’ve made a grave error, fanor, and I miss your counsel along with so many other things.

You told me you would always be my friend. That you would not leave as long as I had need of you. I have need of you now, my love, more than ever I had before. Where are you?

It should have been an easy trip. The weather, though cold, was calm and clear. Dorian kept Cole and I hidden away for most of it. I think he was worried the sailors would be rough, though none but the porter at the docks was anything but kind. He would let us out at night, when only the watch and the helmsman were awake. Cole liked the quiet. Dorian told me the star stories of Tevinter on the nights we could see them and we played cards in the sea air when we could not. He was telling me the story of Toth when the anchor began to sting and the watchman called down to the helmsman in fear. The helmsman sounded the alarm and left us bewildered on the deck. All that we could see was a distant glowing mist that rolled closer, bubbling and slithering across the dark, slow water. Cole drifted over to us. “They are stuck,” he said, “In one of the between places.    They thought they wanted this world, bright and fixed and solid. Homesick, now, so heavy with guilt and time and loneliness. They cannot escape. Permanent slaves to the passions of sailors that pass. You could set them free. Send them home. They will beg you not to. But it would be kind, Inquisitor.” Dorian leaned so far over the side to see that I feared he’d fall in. “What is it?” he asked. “An island?” I could feel the rift pulling at the anchor, heavy and stinging, but the men had run up to the deck before I could tell him and I held my tongue. We were meant to be traveling in secret and I knew he would see soon enough. One of the sailors pulled him back before he could topple in. “It’s the Windline Marcher,” said the man. “Kaffas,” swore the man next to him, “It isn’t.” Dorian asked them what the Windline Marcher was and the first man looked shocked that he hadn’t heard the story. I heard a man muttering a prayer to Falon’din under his breath behind us and I turned to him. I told him it would be alright, and he told me no ship survived long after seeing the Marcher. A ghost ship, ages old. We could see the masts solidifying through the mist. Its sails were unfurled, but barely more than tattered streamers. They could not hold the wind, even if there’d been one. “I should have stayed with my clan,” cried the man. “Peace, Lethallin,” I answered, “I’ll send it away.” The man sneered and began to protest, but I stripped the glove from my hand and showed him the anchor. Dorian groaned, but I knew we could not hide it any longer. “We must close the rift,” I told him, “Or it will draw in other ships and other spirits. We cannot leave it.” “You might try, Lethallan,” said the man beside me. “Of all people who could, it would be you— but none have ever caught the Marcher. Not in a hundred years.” “It will let us catch it,” said Cole. “The spirits are tired.” The man shook his head, but the captain had overheard. He told the helmsman to steer toward the ship. We could see its prow, the timbers warped and blackened, little more than bare ribs. Yet still, it floated. “You aren’t in armor,” Dorian protested, “and your staff is somewhere in the steerage—” And it only made me think of you. Trading dreams and shooting pebbles with ice and sparks. I did not need my staff. “You have always been my shield,” I told him, and Dorian sighed, but made no more argument. Some of the sailors began to argue with the captain, but he kept them from outright mutiny by grabbing my arm and lifting it up. “The Marcher dooms everyone who sees it. We’re already cursed, men. But the Maker sent her. We can make certain it never lures another sailor to their deaths,” he said. The men were silent around us and Cole was wringing his hands. Dorian was twitching, the way he does just before a spell leaves his fingers and I knew we were in trouble. But the captain just barked an order and the whole ship was moving with men and rope and lanterns, leaving the three of us like the still eye of the storm. We pulled alongside the Marcher. It was smaller than I had imagined. Smaller than our own ship and the three of us were lowered down by ropes. Dorian threatened eternal torment if they left us behind, but the man who had been whispering to Falon’din held my hand a moment and promised he would not leave one of the People on the Void-spawned ship. I believed him. I think Cole did too, because he expressed no unease at leaving the ship. But then— I suppose it might not have mattered so much to him. He can survive where Dorian and I would not. Be at ease, emma lath, you are reading this now, and I am not lost on a ghost ship. Still, I fear I have not escaped its curse. Or I was cursed already, long before the sea. The boards that remained were like stones beneath our feet. Uncreaking. Cold. And the ropes and remnants of the sails twisted as if in a harsh wind, yet I felt nothing. “Any suggestions, Dorian?” I asked and he looked at me as if I were mad. “This was your idea, sorora,” he said. “I believed you had some plan.” “I do. We’re going to close the rift. But I know very little of ghosts. I thought perhaps you might know more.” Dorian shuddered. “Bodies. I know bodies. And little echoes of emotion that can be called to use. Not— this. Nor do I wish to.” “They aren’t ghosts,” said Cole. He pointed to the mast and several figures climbed quickly down. They were beautiful and terrible.

The writing broke off and the next line had been crossed through. Solas passed his hand over it with a gentle spell to pull the original letters to the top. “For a moment I thought I saw you among them.” Spirits of desire. Of longing. Of love or loss perhaps. Fitting for a ship that ought to have sunk centuries ago. Perhaps drawn by the original tragedy. Or after, during the Breach, drawn through to the memories that lingered in its timbers. He let the spell fade, the words sinking into an indecipherable tangle of ink and old water smears. There was more to the letter.

They crowded close and Cole pushed them back. “She’s not meant to be eaten,” he said. And I felt a sudden chill at the idea that it was me they had wanted. Dorian’s barrier was shimmering around us before I realized what was happening. “We came to help,” I said. “We are so hungry,” said one. “And we can take away your sorrow. You don’t need it. You don’t want it.” Their hands pressed against the barrier, slender and elegant and— Dorian tugged me backward toward him. “Don’t listen, sorora. Their promises are never so simple as they seem. Close the rift and we’ll put this behind us.” I raised my hand, but one of them called out for me to stop. She was— separate from the others. “I can give you what you most desire,” she said. “You cannot,” I answered, knowing it would only ever be an illusion, a mockery of you, Vhenan. But she knew. How do they always know? Am I so transparent? She said, “Not him. I can give you what is necessary to keep the real him. Not one of these— wisps.” She waved a dismissive hand at the others. “I have been here much longer. Longer even than him. I was here when the blight was new. Before. I know the cure, Inquisitor. I can give it to you.” “In return for what?” I asked. Cole looked at me as if I’d slapped him. And Dorian hissed a protest at me, but— how could I not ask? Was she lying? Are they capable of lying? “Let me stay. Share your skin. I only wish to experience this world. All I have seen is this rotting ship and the endless dark waves. You will not even notice me—” “No, Inquisitor,” pleaded Cole, and he clung to me, as if I’d already said yes. Dorian shoved us behind him as the spirit pressed harder against the barrier. He raised a hand to blast her with a spell, and I stopped him. Forgive me, fanor, I stopped him. “If she can solve the blight,” I said, “What is one elf against the whole world?” “Yes,” said the spirit, “I can solve it. And my request is not so dire. I only wish to experience this place. Just as you do, Compassion.” Cole shook his head. “He would tell you, ‘Everything. More than everything.’ That is what you are worth. He would not want you to, not even for this.” “We’ll find it without her, sorora. We’re close, you and I and Vivienne. You do not need to trade yourself,” said Dorian. But their arguments failed to convince me. Alas, I am not as strong as I believed, once. The spirit circled the barrier, watching me, scattering the others, who cried out in dismay. “How many days will you waste, Inquisitor? You have so few remaining. So very few. You may find the cure. But will it be in time? You think the Fade-walker does not suffer? You think he has forgotten you? I may no longer be able to move through my old world as I once did, but I do not need to in order to know. I have met countless men over the centuries. He has not forgotten. And yet, you would draw out this cruelty needlessly. All that you seek could be yours. Now. All that I ask is for a taste. A tiny corner of your mind. The touch of grass and fabric on skin. The smell of warm dirt and fur. The taste of a lover.” I confess, only to you, Vhenan, it was no noble sacrifice that made me raise the anchor and rip the rift still wider. It was not the world I thought of as I shoved them one after another back through the Veil and snapped it closed again. The thought of something else using my mouth to speak to you, my hands to touch you— it was no honorable impulse, but base jealousy and repulsion that made me reject her offer. Oh, my love, what have I done? Have I thrown away our only chance to stop this? Have I ruined an entire world for the sake of myself? I have sought the spirit in my dreams to take it back, to amend it, but I have not found it in all the weeks since. Cole tries to tell me it was the right choice, that you would even understand the reasons, but I wonder if he only tries to comfort me. Dorian does not know. He thinks I had a sudden return to sanity. That I have shaken myself free, at last.  I do not tell him where I walk in my dreams. He will be safe, here, soon enough without me.

I hope you will forgive me, for none other ever will.

At the bottom in a small scrawl was one more line. “You will worry, but the demon is dead. It would have sucked her dry. I couldn’t let it.”  It could only be from Cole. He put the letter down, deep in thought. That the spirit was lying, he had no doubt. Or— if it was not, that it would have used her as Corypheus used the Wardens. The deal was a poor one. She might gain the knowledge she sought, but she’d never have been free to use it. It was gone, Cole said, but there would be others. Would she accept the next offer? It was not her resolve, alone, that was crumbling. But would having him there truly have altered anything? She would have been as desperate for the cure, even at his side. She would still have considered it, even as he pleaded with her not to. The enormous stone that they’d held between them after the battle with Corypheus, he hadn’t forgotten that. She was too ready to give herself away. She could not see her true value. He’d failed to show her what she meant. He picked up the clam shell, rolling it between his fingers a moment, considering. The amulet was finished. He spent the majority of his days, now, listening to Abelas recount all he could remember of the crucial period when Anaris plotted, or in training with his people. In truth, he was only waiting now. Testing the Veil. Testing the pull of her. Creeping toward the end. So was she. Her plans were in place, the third ship of escaped slaves had already landed in Kirkwall. They were quiet and subtle, but Solas’s agents knew who to watch for. Smooth and self-sustaining, she had even prepared clans to take in some of them, dispersing them well throughout Ferelden. It would be years until they were caught, unless someone betrayed them from the inside. And her task in Tevinter was through. Would they even miss her? What was stopping him? He played with the shell, hinging it open, and the letters caught the lamplight. He leaned toward it to read. “Strength” it said.

They were on the sea road, winding back to Haven from the Storm Coast, camping just above the waterline. The sun was just sinking over the water and Iron Bull’s Chargers were singing around a large bonfire. The Inquisitor was kneeling in the sand below. Cole was beside her. “I got one!” he cried in surprise. She looked over, pulled the muddy clam from his fingers. “Sorry, Cole,” she said, “It’s empty. A gull got it first.” The boy’s smile fell. “It’s pretty, though,” she added, washing it in the salt water. She handed it back to him and he looked satisfied. He looked up at the bonfire, watching Iron Bull. “He seems very strong,” said Cole. “Yes,” agreed Lavellan, but she was not looking at Iron Bull. She was watching Solas in the smaller camp beyond. One of the soldiers had been injured in a fall from the rocky bluffs beyond. It was why they’d made camp so early in the afternoon. She’d taken Solas aside, offered to heal the man herself, but he’d quietly refused. “I am capable, Lethallan,” he’d said. “I know you are capable, Solas,” she’d said, “but the man insulted you just this morning. He should not expect empathy of you now.” “He may not expect it of me, but I do. It was only a few words, easily forgotten.” “And a blow.” She touched the side of his ear gently, hesitantly, still uncertain how she felt about him. “You should not have to bite your tongue about it.” He shrugged. “I don’t have to. I choose to. For my own peace. And—” he’d smiled wryly, “it will probably prove more uncomfortable for him to be healed by a ‘skeevy knife-ear’ than it will be for me to do it. Is that not revenge enough?” He’d gone to do it, and she’d left camp with Cole, her own anger burning a hole inside her. “You should tell him,” said Cole, tucking the shell experimentally into his hatband. “Nobody else thinks of him as strong. Not like Iron Bull. I think he would like it. He likes being seen in new ways. It happens so rarely.” She was silent a moment, sinking her toes into the sand. “I don’t know Iron Bull well yet. I’m sure he is strong, in his way. Maybe even the same way as Solas, but people always know. It’s never hidden with Iron Bull.” She pulled a broken clam shell from the small wooden bucket of water and handed it to Cole. “You would think that one is inferior. That it’s weak because of the crack. But— try to open it.” He pried at the edges of the shell, at the broken lip, at the cracks. She let him try for a few minutes. “You see?” she asked. “It isn’t the shell that is strong, but the animal inside.” “You very much want to see him inside,” said Cole, placing the clam back in the bucket. “Yes,” she sighed, “But not by prying him open. I don’t want to hurt him.” “Solas is not a clam,” said Cole. She laughed. “I know. But he definitely has a shell to keep out the world.” Cole held up another shell, smaller, round in front of her face. He dropped it into her palm. “Solas is a hermit crab. A little warmth—” he blew across her hand. “And a little patient stillness—” A leg emerged, and then another, claw and head and the thing scuttled around for a moment. There was a shout of “filthy rabbit” from the camp and the Inquisitor looked up. Solas walked calmly down to the beach kneeling beside her to dip bloody hands into the salt water. “That’s a pretty shell, Cole,” he said, glancing over. “She thinks what’s inside is prettier still,” mumbled Cole and the Inquisitor blushed. “Oh?” said Solas. He hadn’t noticed. Likely hadn’t even been thinking of her then, between the abuse by the soldier and his own ignorant opinion of her at the time. He’d thought Cole had be speaking of the shell. The memory faded in the heat of his own shame. A feeling she hadn’t put into it. This was not worthy of her, this prolonged doubt and sorrow. He should have held his tongue. He never should have put the burden of what was coming upon her. He should never have needed her as he did. He stood up, looking for his traveling gear. It was time to bring her home. But a commotion below caught his ear and Ilan came running up the stairs, Loranil close on his heels. “What’s happened?” asked Solas. “Qunari,” gasped Ilan, “Qunari in the network.” “Urenna has been killed. They are trying to reach Skyhold,” added Loranil. Vhemanen made it up the stairs at last, hovering and worried on the landing. He glanced between the three of them. “Loranil,” he said, “You must return. The long way. I won’t risk anyone until I’m certain our eluvians have not been breached. When you get to Skyhold, say nothing. Cullen will stop an assassination, but he’ll act too fast. We need to know what they are doing. Watch and wait. I will contact you.” The boy nodded and darted back down the stairs. He turned to Ilan. “Warn Abelas,” he said, “tell him to pull the agents back unless I signal. I want all of the eluvians in Arlathan guarded. The Qun will not enter here.” Ilan looked frightened but agreed and followed Loranil. “And you, Solas?” asked Vhemanen at last, waiting as he searched for the staff that she was already holding out for him. “What are you going to do?” “I? I am going hunting,” he said. “The Dread Wolf has found his teeth again.”

[wootensmith]

Flood

“What made you wake?” she asked, prodding a fallen log farther into the hearth. “The war.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “There must have been hundreds of wars since the Veil and yet you continued to sleep through them all. Why this one?” He pressed his lips tightly together, but the bitterness would not be held back. “You think I have been idle. That all this time I have lived in fantasy and ease. Were you any other, I would leave it. I have done so many things that deserve censure— but what you imagine of me, I have not earned. I watched this world, yes, let it play before me like a pageant. I have seen your wars and your heroes and villains, loves and losses. And longed for them all. They could not touch me, that is true. But I did touch them, in my way.” She turned to him and he crept closer to her. “Do you know how many people pray in their sleep? For counsel, for aid, for justice— I found as many as I could. Midwives napping during a difficult birth who asked Sylaise to guide their hands. Keepers who faced a difficult decision and wished for Dirthamen to advise them. Warriors on the eve of battle who begged Elgar’nan to give them courage. Wronged slaves who prayed to Mythal for justice. Where I could help from the Fade, I tried. I would not accept worship in the place of the false gods, but I could not abandon the people. I couldn’t let them think they were alone.” Her face was so much easier to read without the vallaslin. Love and sorrow so clear now, like the sun suddenly shining through a pane of glass. She touched his knee beside her, but was silent, waiting.

“In the name of Falon’din, I walked with the dead as far as I could to ease their fears. And I studied months and years to aid craftsmen in their inventions, connecting great minds to complete their ideas. They gave thanks to June. Showed lost children the way back to their clans as they slept, lost in the Brecilian Forest. They believed I was Ghilan’nain’s halla.” “And for yourself?” she asked. He sighed and folded her hand in his. “They do not call me the Bringer of Nightmares without reason, Vhenan. Some warnings are not heeded until the terror is made real. I harried our foes where I could. Meted out justice in the night to those who were untouchable otherwise. Warned those I would save against coming danger. Or tried, at least. That is what I did in my own name. No one ever sought me out. Not until you did, the night we returned from the Mire.” “Forgive me, I’ve spoken without thought. So many times. So many things I’ve gotten wrong about you— about the others.” He shook his head. “How were you to know? I do not regret doing these things. Not even doing them in another’s name. But— I wish to be seen, for once, as I truly am, for good or ill.” She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I am trying. If you wish me to see, then you must show me,” she said. “I know,” he answered, “I too, am trying.” He fell silent a moment. “I woke this time because the war was tearing the entirety of Thedas asunder. For centuries I had let it be. I thought it was too far, that I would overstep if I meddled more. That you had to be allowed to come to terms with the Veil and what it meant for yourselves. But then Wisdom told me it was failing. That Mythal had tried to intervene, but the damage was too great, even for her—” “Mythal? But she died a thousand years ago.” “She did. But the first of my people are not so easily defeated.” “Is she— Is Corypheus—” “No. He is something— different. I would have known what to do if he were like us. Mythal— I need to speak with her.” He felt warmth creeping into his face. “More than just shouting on a bridge,” he admitted. “You woke to aid her and have not spoken with her? How did you intend to help?” He paused. Don’t turn on me, he willed her. “The Veil is collapsing. It has been for ages, even before the Breach. Since I created it, in fact. It is imperfect, tearing wherever powerful magic or emotion is experienced, fading and leaking in spots.” “So you meant to recreate the spell? Create another?” “No, my love. I am not capable of recreating it. There were hundreds of others who aided me in creating it. And even if it were possible, should I cut us off from the Fade again? Perhaps worse than before? It would not change how people view it or how people treat mages. It would not stop more tears from occurring. I meant to dissolve it. Take it down. Undo my mistake.” He traced her fingers with his, pulling at her with his own magic. “Return you to your true self.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion and he marveled at how new the familiar expression sat upon her naked skin. “Then is it the other Evanuris you fear? We will find a way to deal with them, Solas. It should not cause you such fear. You have Mythal to aid you, and the Inquisition will—” He shook his head. “I had plans for them. Already an army gathers to hold them. And more will come, in time. They are not what I fear. The Veil— it had a result I did not expect. A benefit that I did not predict. I was unaware, when I first woke, of what would happen should it fall.” “But we’ve been in the Fade. It was not so terrible. Even Sera and Hawke were unharmed— I don’t understand what makes you despair.” “Yes, it was much more destructive being created than it ought to have been when removed. But something else was caught behind it, besides the Fade. The Veil was never intended to hold back the Blight. And yet, it did, for a time. Until Corypheus and his brethren ripped the Veil in Arlathan to tatters and unsealed it.” His face curled into a hateful snarl. “It was loose after that. Wisdom didn’t discover the intrusion for some time. When it did, it hid Arlathan away and did what it could to repair the damage. But it was too late. The Blight clung to the Imperium. Clumsy attempts were made to beat it back again. But the Wardens could not banish it for good. It was spreading, behind the Veil. Multiplying in the Titan, encouraged by the others that I’d locked away. The Forgotten Ones. The Tevinters showed them their chance in the openings made in the Veil. They sought out other weaknesses, sent legions of darkspawn forth under their command. They used the red lyrium as Corypheus does, to extend their power, to guard their immortality and return and return as archdemons.” “But they’ve been defeated each time—” He felt the low whine of helplessness in his throat even before she heard it. “No, my love, they were only pushed back. Only biding their time. They spill forth once an age to test the Veil. To find its fragile points. It will not withstand another. Not even if I allowed it to fall naturally.” He pressed against her, seeking her arms, her solid reality. “The Blight is a vast sea under Thedas. And when the Veil falls, it will flood all the world and drown it,” he broke into a shaky sob. “I cannot stop it. I cannot change it.” She was very still a moment around him. He began to hope she was calmer than he, that she’d already suspected. Found some way out of this terrible darkness. But her hands began shaking on his back and spread, a deep unending shudder. He pulled back to see her. She gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re touched, fanor,” she said. He shook his head. “Yes. Don’t fear. My Keeper has cured many with madness. All will be well—” “If only I were.” “You are, Solas, you must be. Fen’harel and dead gods and Blight infecting all the world— it is a bad dream, nothing more.” She brushed his face, as if she were soothing a small child. “We’ll go home. It’s the coming battle, I know it is. It will be over soon and the strain will lessen. You’ll recover and we’ll—” “Come with me,” he said. “When this is done, come with me. If I’m mad, what will it matter? If I am not what I’ve claimed, then no one will be harmed. The Veil will remain and all will be as it should. And if not— I cannot think of you here, suffering.” “We should—” she looked around them as if she’d forgotten where they were. She was still shaking and he knew some part of her understood. “We should talk to Dorian. He’ll know what to—” He considered allowing it to stay, this lie that she shielded herself with. Told himself it would do no good, convincing her of what would come. It was what he would have done only a few weeks before. But he’d brought her to this place to prepare her. She would not join him, every time he asked he’d known before the words left his tongue that she’d refuse. He could not leave her helpless. So he pulled the anchor toward his chest even as she looked for someone to heal him. He pressed it against himself and pushed. It flared under his magic and sliced open the boundary to the Fade. She gasped and tried to pull back but he gripped her wrist. “Ir abelas, Vhenan. There is no other way to show you.” He painted the memory on the air in veilfire unmuted by the Veil and watched the soft blue glow fill her eyes as she fell into it. He had not seen it until after he’d woken. If Wisdom had known— would it have turned elsewhere for aid? He had seen it as he recovered here, the great chasm of bonfires scattered beneath the earth. Far below even the deep roads. He’d followed the dream for long weeks, waiting for Wisdom to find him. All the time discovering the world in worse and worse peril. And when he’d shown it to the spirit— he shut off the thought. He did not enjoy remembering the bitter argument that had parted them before the Breach. The veilfire still burned in the Inquisitor’s eyes, even as they streamed with tears. She was not seeing him. Only the Blight. Only the unending tidal wave of darkspawn and the haunting, maddening melody of the red lyrium. A sob tore from her and he held her tighter, though he knew she did not feel it, not in the memory. It helped him even if it could not affect her. The magic faded at last, from shine to ember and then spark. Until she was herself again, staring at him. He was unsure if she realized the memory had ended. And then she shoved him away. He let go and she tumbled to the floor and scrambled farther from him, hunched and frightened. “Why?” she asked, “Why would you take it down when all this— ruin waits behind it?” He reached a hand out toward her, but she flinched and he let it drop into his lap. “At first— I thought I might change it. That I could halt the spread. I— there is a method, not to cure it, but to delay the Blight’s effects. Better than the Grey Warden’s methods, without the other effects.” She loosened a little, curiosity gradually winning out over her horror. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why hide it away—” “I was uncertain whether it would work. I don’t know how it will affect Shemlen. Cole has given me hope— but I cannot knowingly expose someone to the Blight in order to test it. And I don’t know how it will affect modern elves. Ir abelas, Vhenan, I cannot pretend there are no differences between us. Though I wish to.” He rose, slowly. She backed away, even so, and her fear clawed at his heart. “And then— and then there was Redcliffe. And another way. The amulet you took from Alexius— it was a chance beyond my imaginings. Some hope for restoration. I can save our people, but it comes at a cost.” She shook her head. “Such a cost.” “Yes,” he agreed, “More terrible with each passing breath. If there were any other way, I would not hesitate. But the amulet’s spell will not work without access to the Fade. The centuries I must travel are too great even for the power available through something like the Breach. Once the Veil has fallen, I may return and alter our path. Before Andruil ever finds the lyrium. Perhaps before the Titan is even infected. But it means this world must die.” “Always playing for time,” she muttered. “What else would you have me do?” he asked. She thought for a moment, watching him. He was still, wishing she would close the gap between them, willing the fear to melt away, her anger to soften. “I cannot save the world from this,” she said at last, her voice a broken, crumpled thing. “No,” he said, choking on grief. “Nor I.” “How long?” she asked. He shook his head. “I am uncertain. A few years. A decade, perhaps, if you continue to close rifts and strengthen the Veil.” “Leaks in the dam,” she said. “Yes. They multiply too quickly now. It will not last, even so. And the mark—” “I know.” She looked down at it, tilting her palm, watching the spread of the light. “You won’t— it is I who must play for time now. Did you mean to tear it down as soon as we recovered the orb? Should I recall the Wardens?” “What is the kinder way?” he asked. “I don’t trust my own judgment in this. I thought a swifter end—” “No!” she cried and did dart toward him. “Give me time to find a solution—” “Time to agonize and grieve and be ground under the weight of terror and impotence?” “Yes, if that is what must be. And time to hope and think and build an army to push it back or a cure to dissolve it. And if not— to bid farewell and love.” She brushed her fingertips over the center of his chest. He leaned forward and kissed the damp skin of her face, tasting salt and sorrow. She didn’t pull away. “Give me that much.” “Come with me. Be near me at the end,” he said. “I have my own world to save. Come back, Solas, return to me at the end. This is the world you belong to.” He tipped his forehead to hers. That she no longer asked him to stay spoke louder than everything. Her acceptance of it crushed him. “You cannot save it. It will mean your death and nothing will change.” “There are some things worth doing, even knowing I will fail. Even knowing they will end.” She brushed a thumb over his lips. “Stay in Skyhold. It will stand longer than anywhere else. It will give you time.” He flicked his hand and the stone statue at the end of the library rumbled and moved aside. He turned toward it, pulling her after him. A vial of dark liquid sat in the hollow and a copy of the notes he and Wisdom had made. He pressed the vial into her hand. “It will delay the Blight. Vivienne has the research. And the Hero of Ferelden should be receiving a copy any day. I will wait until the final breath, Vhenan, but it will come at last.” Her fingers closed around the glass. “And if I refuse to let you take the orb? Would you strike me down?” He watched her a long moment, but there was no real threat in her face, not even true fear. Just longing and sadness. “The woman who could do that would not have returned from Redcliffe. She would cling too hard to false hopes and futile power. You are not her. You know, now, what comes, regardless of the orb. And I could never hurt you. Not like that.” “And if I asked you to? If I find I cannot do this and asked you to end this before you went, to give me that swift end you think so kind?” “Don’t ask,” he whispered, turning his face away. She grasped his chin and brought him back. “If I asked?” “Yes. Even this, I would do for you,” he said, the breath a burning stutter in his chest. She twisted the vial in her hand, staring at it. He wondered if she meant to dash it to the ground. “Do you think the Fade crosses between worlds? You say it is vast. Could it connect us again?” she asked instead. “I don’t know. But whatever is left of me will search for you there. I will find you, even if it is only in that other time.” The Inquisitor’s mouth crooked into a bitter smile. “She is a fortunate woman then, this other me.” The smile dropped away and she looked up at him. “And I hate her.” Her fist shook around the glass and sparks sizzled on her nails. “Shh,” he urged, pulling her fingers gently open again. He put the vial back into the hollow and pressed cool fingers over her temples, to the back of her neck. “She does not have me yet.” He drew her into a soft kiss, trying to soothe her. “If I find a way to stop the Blight, to save this world— will you stay? Even if it meant the Veil must remain? Would you trade the memory of your people for the living around you?” she asked when they parted. “Yes,” he said, without hesitation. He would not tell her how often he’d wavered even without hope. How many times he’d wanted to let the world wither if it meant she was beside him at the end. “Then—” she gripped the ancient wolf jaw between them, “This is my oath. She will never have you.”

[wootensmith]

Vir’abelasan

The hall had extensive damage. A long gash that split the room and small fires scattered throughout spoke of the battles that had only just finished. Samson still stood above them, barking orders to his red templars. He leapt into the hole and the Inquisitor cried out in frustration. “Inquisitor, barrier,” shouted Dorian, chasing after her as she rushed toward the hole. Vivienne’s spirit blade flashed and spun. Solas had his own templars to deal with. The room was cluttered with rubble, the roof long since tumbled into great boulders. They were easily thrown. He couldn’t help a slight surge of excitement as a broken column slammed into three men and crushed them beneath it, their armor cracking and snapping under the weight. He was much stronger than he’d been just a month or two before. Perhaps it was being here. He flicked his hand and chunk of tile shattered, shrapnel slicing through steel helmets. The temple fell silent again. 

The Inquisitor looked around for more foes. “Hurry,” she said on seeing they were alone, “we may still catch them.” She ran to the edge of the broken floor. “Hold a moment,” cried Morrigan. Solas bristled as she held out a hand to stop the Inquisitor. “While they rush ahead, the petitioner’s path leads to our true destination. We should follow it.” “Our true destination is stopping Corypheus, Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor. “Precisely. Samson is a distraction. Corypheus doesn’t care about him. Or us. He wants the Well. We should follow the path.” One of Vivienne’s perfect eyebrows lifted in disdain. “Lady Morrigan was wrong about Corypheus seeking an eluvian. Do we trust her now? Consider, Inquisitor, while we dally with rituals, Inquisition soldiers are dying outside. This is the swifter way.” Solas sighed. “In this case, I must agree with the witch. This is ancient ground, deserving of our respect.” Dorian cleared his throat and nudged Solas with his elbow. “Sweetness entices. Play nice,” he murmured behind his hand, pretending to smooth his mustache. But Morrigan ignored them anyway. “Yes, there is urgency, but we cannot reach the Well unprepared. They are trying to lead us away. That door is the one that will lead to their goal.” “Their goal, or yours?” asked the Inquisitor. Morrigan led her swiftly away. Solas felt a prickle of unease. “Out with it, Solas,” said Dorian as soon as they were out of earshot. “What is this thing?” “In truth, I do not know,” he said, unwilling to turn his eyes from the Inquisitor. “You know something,” said Vivienne, “that much is clear.” “I know that whatever it is, it binds the person that takes it to the will of Mythal,” he answered. “If the opportunity is offered, I would not take it. Whatever the power that might be gained.” “Why is that?” asked Vivienne. “Because your deeds and thoughts would no longer be your own. Under the guise of great power you would be utterly enslaved.” Dorian shuddered. “Why in heavens does Morrigan want it?” “I am uncertain. Perhaps she does not understand. Perhaps, like Corypheus, she believes she can overcome the binding and bend it to her will. I think it more likely that she simply doesn’t believe in Mythal.” “Do you?” asked Vivienne, and he did turn then, to meet the Enchanter’s steady gaze. “Yes,” he said evenly. “Otherwise I would have agreed with you, that leaping down is the better way. I did not say otherwise to spite you.” There was no time for more. The Inquisitor looked deeply unsettled. “We will follow the path. But I need your minds, I wish to move as quickly as we can.” She touched his arm. “I wish we had more time,” she said. “As do I. The cost is too great to linger.” He glanced at the pit. “But the cost of being overly hasty would ruin us all.” The only person who seemed pleased at the prospect was Dorian. But Solas could hardly begrudge him. The puzzles were quickly solved and any other time he would have delighted in walking the meditation gardens of Arlathan with him just to watch his mind working several steps ahead of them. But he could see the imagined casualties piling up in the Inquisitor’s mind with every passing moment and what ought to have been soothing and clarifying was instead panicked. She had opened the unlocked doors with an audible sigh of relief, while Solas felt his heart squeeze painfully, every step closer to the end. Closer to abandoning her to an eternity of madness and blight. Terror and sorrow distracted him, made him forget everything but her and his frantic thoughts of how to save her. So it was the Inquisitor who first realized that they were not alone. “We’re being watched,” she murmured as they approached Mythal’s altar, empty now, where the throne had been. She froze as a man appeared above them, coolly pacing. He stopped to stare at them. “You are unlike the other invaders.” He bent slightly toward them, intent on the Inquisitor. “You have the features of those who call themselves Elvhen.” Solas heard the insult in that, saw the Inquisitor’s shoulders tighten as if she’d been struck. He moved closer, coming to stand beside her. The man did not miss his signal. “You bear the mark of magic, which is familiar.” His gaze shifted to Solas. “How has this come to pass?” he asked. Solas was certain it was not the Inquisitor he was speaking to. “What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?” “We have come to stop them. They mean to take what you shield,” said the Inquisitor. “If they gain it—” “They will not,” the man said abruptly. “No,” she agreed, “I will not allow that to happen.” The man thought for a moment, seemed to accept her answer. “I am called Abelas,” he offered, “We are sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion.” That was how then. They had entered uthenera just as he had, that was how they persisted all those years, made the temple a place of fear, a place to be avoided. “I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor, her breath catching. “It is not your doing,” said Abelas. Again his eyes rested on Solas and then away. “I know what you seek. Like all who have come before, you wish to drink form the Vir’abelasan. It is not for you. It is not for any of you.” “You’re— you’re ancient elves?” asked Dorian. “From before the Imperium destroyed Arlathan?” Abelas shook his head. “It was not the Shemlen who destroyed Arlathan. We warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over.” “What? But that’s—” “It is a strange thing, to awaken and find the stories shift and twist, to find the world stranger and more foreign each time. Still, we endure. The Vir’abelasan must be preserved.” “We do not wish to disturb it, only to stop those who have invaded,” said the Inquisitor. Abelas stood long in thought. “I believe you,” he said at last. “You have followed the rites of petition and shown respect for Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart and never return.” He saw the blow hit her, the sharp exclusion and denial. “I know it is harsh, Vhenan, but this is our goal is it not? We have no reason to fight these sentinels,” he said quietly. Morrigan shook her head. “Consider carefully. You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own,” she whispered. She did not know that Abelas could hear. Solas did. “I am no thief,” said the Inquisitor. “This Well is not ours. This place is not ours. They do not claim us as kin, we have no right to it. Not even to stop Corypheus.” “That is short sighted, Inquisitor. Would you allow the world to be destroyed for a principle?” “It is all that distinguishes us from Corypheus.” She turned to Abelas and Solas knew she was stronger than he’d ever been. “I accept your offer,” she said. “You will be guided to those you seek.” He turned to Morrigan. “As to the Vir’abelasan, it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.” Morrigan cried out and shifted into a raven, chasing after Abelas though the Inquisitor called for her to stop. “We must hurry,” she said, “We cannot break our promises.” But the elf that led them was terribly slow. He had not expected the elves to age. Had she been left to keep watch for centuries and the years caught up with her at last? Or had she belonged to one of the clans that Abelas was so disdainful of? She hobbled up the stairs. The Inquisitor jumped as something bashed the stout door at the top. “Fighting,” she cried, “We have to help them—” “No, sorora,” said Dorian, gently pushing her staff down. “We can help them most by stopping Corypheus.” “Our soldiers fight to give us a chance,” said Vivienne, tucking the tear in the Inquisitor’s robe back for the sixth time. “The elves too. We must honor that.” She squeezed Lavellan’s shoulder. “Your decency has led us so far, darling. Trust ours to bring you the rest of the way.” The Inquisitor nodded. Solas took her hand and pulled her away. The guide opened a passage in the wall. For a moment they could see the sentinels battling behind an elaborate grate, but he pushed her gently from it. “Let them do as they must, my love,” he said. She turned and gasped in wonder at the untouched beauty of the inner temple. Mosaics in gold and precious stones towered above them and large offerings of vast wealth lay at the feet of statues. She had eyes only for the intricate portrayal of Mythal. She brushed her fingertips over it. “There is so much we could know, if only—” she shook her head and blinked back tears. “I will bring you here in dreams,” he promised quietly. The guide turned back and looked at her intently. She reached a withered hand to the Inquisitor’s face, tracing the vallaslin. “Dirth ash or em’an,” she said at last. “Vin,” said Solas. The Inquisitor touched her own face, confused, but the guide scurried on. The sounds of battle swelled and receded as they passed large galleries and courtyards, climbed long flights of stairs past the cells of the faithful. Solas could not stop himself from wondering at each turn if they had reached the spot where Mythal had died. If her enemies had penetrated this far to harm her, or if she’d met them in the courtyard to protect her people. He had never once tried to find the memory in the Fade, had never wanted to see it. But now— he thought, perhaps, his imaginings might be worse than knowing. The guide opened a final door at last and bowed before dissolving in a puff of smoke. “I take it that means we’re here then,” said Dorian. The sound of fighting rose from the bottom of the stairs ahead. “Fight on, an army of these bastards won’t stop us!” Samson’s voice rose up above the fray. The Inquisitor ran forward. “The runes, Inquisitor,” called Dorian, “Don’t forget the runes. It should weaken their armor.” She looked back and nodded. Solas checked his own, passing a hand over it to charge the deep ruby shard. The sentinels were falling one after another, coming to the ends of their long lives on the blades of corrupted templars. Mythal’s defeat was almost total, the thing she strove to destroy returning to slay her own people at last. Hope remains, he told himself, even if it is only in another world. The Inquisitor sprinted toward them, but she was too late. Samson turned to her with a sneer, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his blade. “Inquisitor. You don’t know when to stop. You’ve hunted us across Thedas. I should have guessed you’d follow us into this— hole.” Solas felt a hot surge of anger leave a bitter burn in his throat. But the Inquisitor was kind, even in this. “I spoke with Maddox. I would have spared him— but I was too late. The poison had already done its work. I’m sorry. He is interred in Skyhold along with everyone who has fallen in this awful war. It’s not too late, Samson. You don’t have to do this—” “Corypheus chose me twice. First as his general, now as his vessel for the Well of Sorrows.” “You don’t know what it is,” said Solas. “It will take your mind long before Corypheus does. It is enslavement—” “No,” barked Samson, “It is power. And wisdom. And I give it to Corypheus so he can walk into the Fade without your precious anchor and make this world anew.” “And then?” asked Dorian. “He doesn’t care for you. You’re just the cup, easily dashed against the stones when you are empty.” “You know nothing of Corypheus. You are no match for him.” “Neither are you,” said Vivienne. “When he has taken the Well, you and your soldiers will only be a hindrance to him. Mouths to feed and feet to shod. He will not want to play nursemaid to an army of lyrium crazed templars. You were sharp once, Samson. Think like a general. What could you possibly offer him once he is a god?” “Worship. And a hand to smite down the doubters.” Samson grinned and a pulse of red flowed from him. “Now, Inquisitor, channel the rune,” cried Dorian already casting. Solas bent his focus through the rune. There was an intense cracking sound and Samson fell to his knees. “What did you do?” he cried, even as the lyrium began to slough off his armor in thin shards. “My lyrium— kill them all!” he snarled. “Out of the water,” warned the Inquisitor, arcs of lightning already leaping from her fingertips, crackling through the water. It sent up plumes of steam and anguished cries from the other end of the pool. “Barrier,” Dorian sighed, even as it snapped up around them. “What would I do without you?” asked the Inquisitor. “Most likely get repeatedly bashed with pointy objects,” he said, sending one of the templars screaming in terror. Vivienne cried out, “I can’t do this alone!” Solas turned. Samson was closing in on her, walking through Vivienne’s fireballs as if they were smoke. He fade-stepped to her. He wrenched a boulder from the edge of the pool and sent it crashing into Samson. The templar stumbled, but rose too quickly. “Void take it,” muttered Solas, sending ice to slow him. Samson shattered it with a tinkling rattle. “It’s the armor,” shouted Dorian as he ran toward them. “Use the rune again.” There was a clang over his head as Vivienne’s spirit sword stopped Samson from cleaving him in two. “Ma serannas,” he said, focusing again on the rune. The bloody glow drained from Samson and a sizzle of lightning crept up his armor, leaving him jittering in its thin, crooked fingers. The lightning faded and Samson collapsed. “Those were my men,” he sobbed. “You ruined them all. You can’t take the Well from Corypheus.” Vivienne sighed. “What’s to be done with him? He’s a wreck of a man. Even if there were some chance of weaning him from the lyrium— his mind has long since been broken.” “All the more reason for kindness,” said the Inquisitor. “We’ll take him with us to Skyhold. Figure out what’s to be done with him after that.” Solas shuddered at the idea of having him so close to her, but he picked the man up. Abelas raced by them, his fingers flashing to reveal a stone stair. A raven followed close behind. “Morrigan,” said the Inquisitor. “We have to stop her.” “Perhaps we should let the elves destroy the Well,” said Vivienne. “It would stop both Corypheus and Morrigan and leave these people in peace.” “The Well is their entire purpose now,” said Solas. “I fear without it, they will fade away completely.” He pulled Samson up the steps along with them. A shallow pool of clear water stretched toward the eluvian at the top. “The Well of Sorrows,” gasped Samson. Dorian cast a holding spell to keep him from leaping for it. A swirl of purple burst from the tile and Morrigan rose from it. Abelas came to a halt just before her. “Stop, Morrigan,” called the Inquisitor. “You heard his parting words,” she answered, “the elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows.” “He’s trying to protect it. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? To protect the wonders of the world?” “She lied, my dear,” said Vivienne. “She only wants it for herself.” Abelas sagged. “So the sanctum is despoiled at last.” There was a deep longing in his voice that cut into Solas. “You would have destroyed it yourself, given the chance,” sneered Morrigan. “To keep it from your grasping fingers,” he snapped. “Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.” “Fool. You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows?” “Enough!” cried the Inquisitor. “We are not here to rob anyone. Samson is defeated. Corypheus has no way to take it now.” “As soon as we leave, he will just send another! The sentinels are dwindling, they said it themselves. How many more attacks can this place stand? Or will the Inquisition take the sentinels’ place? You are not immortal, Inquisitor.” “How well I know,” she said quietly, rubbing the anchor. “The Well clearly offers power,” continued Morrigan, “If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?” The Inquisitor closed her eyes. Solas felt the weight of the choice. It was a poor one, each path costing too much. Abelas shook his head. “You don’t even know what you ask,” he said. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on, through this. All that we were— all that we knew, it would be lost forever.” “Look at us!” cried the Inquisitor, “We’re already lost. Less and less every season. Clinging to a handful of fragments and—” she looked suddenly at Solas. “And lies. You mock us, but we’re what remains. If you would see your people return to what they were, then you must help us. We cannot know what you will not share.” “I know.” “Then why do you remain?” asked Morrigan, “Why perform a duty without purpose?” Abelas was silent with despair. “There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger,” offered Solas. Abelas looked at him a long moment. “Elvhen such as you?” he asked. Solas stepped toward the Inquisitor. He knew what he said next would hurt her. He wished that it would not. “Yes, such as I.” He curled his fingers around hers, pressing them gently. Abelas caught the gesture even more than the words. He was silent a long moment, considering her, this strange mortal that he would never know as Solas did, assuming all the wrongs that Solas had. “You have shown respect to Mythal. There is a righteousness in you that I cannot deny,” he said to the Inquisitor. Her hand was still tight in Solas’s grasp and he knew the sting wasn’t lessened by Abelas’s words. “Is that your desire? To partake of the Vir’abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?” “I never desired any of this. I have no wish to destroy the Well, nor take its power.” “And yet,” said Abelas, resting a heavy gauntlet on her shoulder, “You are here. A sentinel even so.” A sad smile touched his lips. “No boon comes without cost, lethallan,” he added. She raised the anchor and it glittered, a star in the reflection of the water. “I know,” she said. Abelas nodded. He glanced at Solas, who remained still. “And do you know with whom you walk?” he asked. “I do,” she said. “That is good. One more thing I will tell you. The Vir’abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. It is no fault of yours. Brave it if you must, but know this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.” “Bound to the will of a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” scoffed Morrigan. Abelas paled with anger. Solas could feel it pulse from him. But his voice remained calm. “Bound as we are bound. The choice is yours.” “Does Mythal live? What happened to her?” asked the Inquisitor. “Elvhen legend states that she was tricked by Fen’harel and banished to the Beyond,” said Morrigan. Abelas’s gaze flicked back to Solas and then quickly away again. “Elvhen legend is wrong. The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.” The Inquisitor’s hand tightened over his. She turned to him as Morrigan let out a startled cry. “Ir abelas,” she whispered. “She was slain, if a god truly can be. Here, on the steps of her temple,” said Abelas, “betrayed by her own. Yet the Vir’abelasan remains.” He turned back to Solas. “As do we. That is something.” “What will you do now?” asked the Inquisitor. “Do you need aid?” “No Inquisitor, we will leave the temple. Our duty is fulfilled.” “There is a place for you lethallin, if you seek it,” said Solas his fingers twisting to lay the spell. “Perhaps there are places the Shemlen have not yet touched,” said Abelas, “Or it may be that only uthenera awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, if fate is kind.” “You cannot,” said Dorian. “The Imperium went to great lengths to expunge elven history. You might be the last who know the truth.” Abelas shook his head. “Would anyone listen to the truth?” “They might,” said Dorian, “Would it hurt to try?” “Yes,” answered Solas for him. “I do not know what the few who remain will decide. Perhaps they will try to reach the elves of your time. For myself— I wish to see what remains.” “Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas,” said Solas as he turned to go. Abelas inclined his head slightly and then was gone. “What was that about?” asked Dorian. “His name, Abelas, means ‘sorrow’. I said I hope he finds a new one.” “Can we do nothing?” asked the Inquisitor. “We can save the world, darling,” said Vivienne, “and make sure their sacrifice has meaning.” Morrigan turned to look at the well. She waved a hand at the eluvian that sat on the far side. “You’ll note the intact eluvian. I was right about that at least.” She glared at Vivienne. “I believe the Well is the key to it. If we take it, it will be of no use to Corypheus.” She stared at the water. “I did not expect it to feel so— hungry.” “Power never comes freely,” warned the Inquisitor. “I am willing to pay the price the Well commands. I am also the best suited to use the knowledge the Well bestows in your service.” “But would it be? In the Inquisition’s service? Or would it be in your own?” asked Vivienne. “Consider, Inquisitor, she has not told us what she means to do with it. She might be worse than Corypheus.” Morrigan scowled. “Corypheus is on his way, right now, Inquisitor. Will you paralyze yourself for fear of what might be? I have nothing to give except my word, but that I give to you gladly.” “You are too eager. You do not take this to aid the Inquisitor, but for your own ends,” said Solas. “What do you know of my ends, elf?” she spat. “You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast. You cannot be trusted—” “Solas,” said the Inquisitor gently, “Morrigan has done nothing to warrant our fears. Even now, she waits for a decision instead of snatching it away.” He subsided, still seething. “And if Mythal still lives?” asked the Inquisitor. “I am willing to risk that chance. Let me drink.” The Inquisitor stepped back. “Very well, Morrigan. It is yours.” Vivienne shook her head at Morrigan’s triumphant smile, but remained silent. Morrigan stepped into the pool, kneeling in the water. An enormous wave of power burst from the pool, washing over them and dissolving. When it was gone, the pool was empty except for Morrigan who lay unconscious in the middle. “Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor helping her up. A stream of elvish came from Morrigan for a few seconds until she seemed to gather herself again. “I am intact,” she said at last. A dark swirling mist rose at their feet. Dorian jumped back with a cry. “It will not harm you,” said Solas. “It is the spirits departing. Their duty, too, is over.” “I’m sorry,” said the Inquisitor. “Do not be,” he answered with a smile. “They are free.” His smile faded. “But now the temple is defenseless. Nothing but a few doors stand in Corypheus’s way now.” Vivienne spun around. “He’s already here,” she cried, pointing as something dark swooped toward them. “The eluvian!” shouted Morrigan, opening it with a gesture. Dorian grabbed Samson by the collar and sprinted for the mirror. He leapt through and the others followed, tumbling to the stones of Skyhold’s chapel. Solas looked back and saw the eluvian slam shut just as Corypheus reached it. “Is everyone well?” The Inquisitor asked, pulling herself up. “I think so— but what of our friends? We’ve left them to Corypheus’s wrath at being thwarted,” said Dorian, yanking Samson to his feet. “Doubtful,” said Vivienne, brushing off dust. “He was willing to use another as a vessel. It may not be Samson, but there is still a vessel.” She watched Morrigan for a moment. “He won’t be wasting time with our forces, he’ll be heading here. Everything he wants is in this keep. The anchor, the Well and all who have resisted him.” “Well, we have a head start at least,” said Dorian as he guided Samson to the courtyard. “His forces are decimated. His general in our keeping. And he is leagues away without an eluvian to aid him.” “I should— apologies Inquisitor, I need to sift through all the voices—” muttered Morrigan. “Are you all right?” asked the Inquisitor. “Should I find a healer?” “No I—” “I will be happy to assist Lady Morrigan,” said Vivienne. It was clear that she did not offer out of affection, but Morrigan seemed too scattered to protest. They were alone. The Inquisitor had turned back to the eluvian, her fingers pressed against the cold glass. He shut the door to the courtyard. “The temple was extraordinary,” he said. “I thought it long ruined. I believed I would never stand at that altar again. Especially among those that once knew me.” “A thousand years of enduring and we swept in for a few hours and scattered it all. There are times I wonder if the Inquisition does more to destroy than it does to restore.” She watched him in the mirror, her back still toward him. “When I saw it last, the temple was not a place of sorrow. Mythal’s people did not serve her out of grief, but with joy. She would have been saddened to see what has become of them. The Well is powerful, but it is a dark power. One of vengeance and rage. It is gone because of the Inquisition, but is that an evil? Abelas cannot see it yet, but they are free. Their lives are their own once more.” He stepped up to the mirror, reached out to follow the lines of her vallaslin with his thumb. “A man does not throw off centuries of bondage in one moment, no matter how badly he may wish to. Someday, Abelas may find himself happier than he expects. The Inquisition is not perfect, Vhenan, and sometimes our only choices lead to tragedy. But that does not make them meaningless. What we did today— Mythal did not want her people to suffer. If she could speak to you, she would tell you that she was glad you had freed them from their service.” He dropped away from her. “And in return, you have gained the Well. What will you do with it once Corypheus is dead?” “I do not expect Morrigan will remain with the Inquisition once he is gone. I am not blind, Solas. She has her own motives. I must hope that she wishes to do good with it. She may— she may not have the nicety of others, but her actions have so far been kind and decent. I have no real reason to distrust her.” He thought for a moment. “You are right. She has not proven false, though her ideas are muddled with legend.” The Inquisitor laughed softly. “So are mine,” she said. He smiled. “Ah, but you are aware of it,” he answered, “and your tongue tells sweeter stories than hers.” She flushed. “What will you do with the Inquisition then? You have gathered a vast army of followers.” “If they choose to stay, there are many people whose call for aid goes unanswered. There are many to free and to feed and to defend. There is work enough to save the world. It will never be done. But it doesn’t always require an army.” He clasped his hands behind his back to hide that he was rubbing his knuckles nervously. “And if it goes badly? If you wake up one day and find the future that you shaped is worse than what was?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then I try again. What is the alternative? Doing nothing will not make things better.” She fell silent a moment, thinking. “You’re only responsible for the inches you are capable of, emma lath, not the miles left to go. You cannot save the world alone. And neither can I. But you aren’t alone. Not anymore.” “Thank you,” he said, meaning many things. “It is not something you need to thank me for,” she said. “You might have been so different. I wondered, those days before you woke— would you be cruel? Arrogant? Foolish? I did not dare hope you would be as you are. I am, indeed, grateful for you. I have— come with me, Vhenan.” He swept the eluvian open, Morrigan would be long occupied with the Well. She would never know he had used it. He held out his hand. “But Corypheus—” “Will be days behind us. We will return before anyone realizes we’ve gone.” She put her hand in his and he slid through the mirror.