#i had a dream i was a young foolish mage in training

[fizzytoo]

good morning who wants to kiss 🫵🏽

[ljf613]

First Lines

@aurora-australis-tumbles tagged me in this one, and's been a while since I last did this, so why not?

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Not My Homeland Anymore - Once Upon a Time, 22k, WIP

"Is this really the right road?" The young man checked the map he'd been given again. He'd gotten off at that bus stop several miles back, then hitch-hiked as far as he could. But even hitch-hiking could only get you so far when you were trying to get to a town that, according to just about every directory he'd been able to locate, didn't exist.

New Moon's Rising - Avatar: The Last Airbender, 1.4k, oneshot

He starts to suspect something a few years before the end. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” he says to her one day. “Something about the girl.” He’s never had any real interest in the child, has always thought Tui’s choice had been rather foolish. But Tui is fascinated by the girl and spends hours watching over her. “And why would you think that, my dear?” 

A Better Version of Our Best - How to Train Your Dragon, 12k, WIP

"Is Hiccup around?" Looking up from the map he'd been inspecting, Snotlout shook his head. "Sorry, Fishlegs," he said, rolling the parchment back up. "You just missed him. I swear, that brat knows when people are looking for him and chooses to disappear off to who-knows-where just to mess with everyone. What did you want with him, anyway?" "The Chief asked me to talk to him," Fishlegs explained. "You know, what with dragon training starting next week and all."

“Can You Please Just Hold Me?” - Avatar: The Last Airbender, 1.2k, oneshot

Zuko woke up just as the sun was rising above the horizon. That was normal. Blinking awake, he tried to sit up and stretch his arms, only to find that his left arm, along with most of the rest of that side of his body, was pinned beneath someone else. That was also normal. Carefully, he began turning his torso, attempting to wiggle himself loose. He had gotten everything but his lower arm free when he felt a small hand reach out and touch his other arm. That was not normal.

A Magical Place (Ember Island) - Avatar: Legend of Korra, 3k, WIP

Ikki's birthday was in less than two months, and she couldn't be more annoyed about it.

Can You Show Me How? - Avatar: Legend of Korra, 5k, oneshot

Huan sighed, releasing his bending. Immediately, the sand he'd been manipulating fell to the ground. I'll have to make sure to clean that all up later, the rational part of his mind mused. Right now, though, he was in no mood for that.

your closets of backlogged dreams (and how you left them all to me)  - Fairy Tail, 4k, WIP

".....Did you hear something?" Freed asks, looking over at Gildarts and wondering if the crack had just been his imagination.  "I don't think so," replies the older mage. "Bickslow?" But Bickslow, who's always had the best hearing of anyone Freed's known (aside from their resident dragon slayers), is lying on a hammock that's been streched across the deck, fast asleep, and doesn't offer any reply other than a muffled grunt. Whatever that sound was, it probably wasn't anything important. Right? By the time the three of them reach the shore, a day later, Freed and Gildarts have both completely forgotten the exchange. None of them will ever know how close they were to an entirely different fate.

such a lovely bride - Avatar: The Last Airbender, 1.1k, WIP

"Ow!" Suki winced, lowering her fan. She stared at the training dummy she'd hit her wrist on, sighing. She hadn't made such a stupid mistake in years, not since the very early days of her training. Clearly, this isn't working.

i bled out tears (the only water in the desert) - Fullmetal Alchemist, 6k, oneshot

Pinako is not surprised when her daughter-in-law leaves. She's been expecting this for a while, has heard the hushed arguments from behind the closed door of the room Sara and Yuri share. She is a little surprised that Yuri goes with her.

The War Has Ended (Has It Really?) - Avatar: The Last Airbender, 1.3k, oneshot

Avatar Aang is flying one day, alone but for his faithful bison and lemur, when he comes across a chain of islands he's never seen before. As he nears, he sees something unbelievable. Impossible.

Tagging @swanfireprincessmydear, @sokka-beifong, @twinkle-toph, @orangepanic, @khrushchevs-corn-farm, @myargalargan, @per4mancecheck, @authorjoydragon, @dragonnnfly, @pahimakas-ng-isang-nilalang, and anyone else who might be interested.

[soulgathered-archived]

His hands are gently as they press against his daughter’s face. The rain was falling fast and thick, and if Merlin had been any slower, the hypothermia would’ve set in. “Sh,” he hummed gently when he felt her stir under his touch. “Keep strength in reserve. You’ll be fine.” She had to be fine, right?

Of course she would. Arturia was Merlin’s daughter, after all. A short whistle to the scouts, cath palug bounding to his side in its bigger form. “Let’s get her home, cath palug. May I?” It was polite, of course, to ask. Yet he knew the beast would let him put Arturia ‘pon its back, and secure her with his cloak.

“Let’s get you home.”

"...merlin?" it's barely a whisper but she knows he heard her. he always did. arturia only stirs a little bit when she is lifted up. it feels safe - it feels like her early childhood when she would rush towards the mage and find herself engulfed in a warm hug. the fur too is familiar to her and she sighs, sinking into its warmth.

arturia turns her head away from merlin, too ashamed of what had happened. if she was supposed to be king then she could not always rely on him to come to her rescue. she does not care that she is young, that she has yet to draw caliburn from the stone. they all had such high hopes for her - savior, gentle king, just king - but how could she be all that, if she could not even deal with the small things?

she had heard in the village that the people struggled with bandits in the nearby hills... arturia had tried to talk to them, see what had forced the bandits into such a life but things escalated and a blow to the head had her stumble backwards into the river...

her hands grip cath palug's fur, shaking. she would need to train harder. would need to get better...

lily sits up, eyes staring at the wall of her room. servants usually did not need sleep but sometimes it felt nice to simply take a break and not think. only that she found herself haunted by the memories of the soul she was based on.

she knows she is not the real young arturia pendragon. she is just regrets and wishes for a young girl who had not been able to live her life like she wanted. she had felt in the dream.

arturia did not want to call the mage merlin, she had wanted to call out to him, to cry and be hugged by her ' tad ' she had wanted to apologize for being foolish, she had wanted to cry because things hurt. all the things lily could do now...

she stands up, bare feet touching the cold floor and wrapped in her blanket she makes her way through the now quiet facility. knocking against merlin's door, the girl looks inside, an apologetic smile on her lips.

"I had a nightmare..."

left for dead ( accepting ) // @avaloniamagus .

[srose-foxfire]

Can you write a Damirae prompt on like their first date??

A/N: I been wracking my brain all day to pick just ONE idea for this particular prompt and being Valentine’s Day today. I wanted to give you all a small gift that I hope will bring you smiles. ^_^  Happy Valentines Day!!!

Enjoy!!!

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“Hold me, whatever lies beyond this morning,

Is a little later on,

Regardless of warnings,

The future doesn’t scare me at all,

Nothing is like before.”

~ Simple and Clean by Hikaru Utada

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A soft summer breeze swept Raven’s short hair, the young mage allowed the night cool air to sweep away her worries she had that evening. She didn’t understand why she was feeling uneasy. She has faced countless enemies before, and they would bring even the best hero some fear. But tonight, was a different battle, one she had never experienced before and could only rely on the knowledge she knew from her books. Her first date.

Raven always imagined and even dreamed what her first date would be; spending valuable time with someone who would understand better than she understood herself. Perhaps reading certain novels together, going to watch some movie at the cinema, or even just having a drink outside a nice small café. Raven had dreamt her first date would be awkward since it was just the start of their relationship, but she wasn’t sure if the feelings she was currently feeling were right. Raven felt restless, like she had no control over anything happening tonight. To make matters worse she felt her stomach turn inside of her, making Raven fear she would ruin the night if she hurled whatever she may consume.

Raven had prepared herself mentally not to act different. To keep being true to herself, but no matter how much she had meditated earlier that day it didn’t help. Who could act like nothing had changed when her date was none other than Damian Wayne? Publicly he was seen as Bruce Wayne’s second son and the heir to Wayne Industries. Internally? Raven knew him as the new Robin who had joined the Titans just five years ago.

The two would train and patrol together Jump City most nights. Now it was all different, Damian had come to her room one night asking for her presence in the training room. When Raven had gotten there, she assumed he wanted to continue her lessons in close combat training. Instead Damian wasn’t dressed in his Robin uniform he was wearing his civilian clothes with a bouquet of assorted purple flowers in his hand. His face had turned the strangest shade of red, before handling her the bouquet.

“I have feelings for you, I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I needed to tell you. Raven would you like to go out with me?”

And here she was. For their date, Damian had brought them to the same amusement park they had gone when he first joined the titans. Raven was sitting while Damian had gone off to get a snack while they rested. Raven lowered her head onto the cool metal table, she had acted foolish around him all night. First of all, for transportation Damian brought them on his cycle. Making Raven hold him tight for dear life and also making her very well aware of his hard abbs. Then throughout the evening she tried making small talk and somehow confess her own feelings. Though every time they got around to that specific topic Raven would go silent or change the topic. What was she evading? Did she not like him? Damian did make her feel differently, but she couldn’t quite put the words to it. Maybe-

Her train of thought was stopped as someone cleared their throat behind her; “I thought you would like something to drink?” Damian placed a soft drink in front of her.

“Thanks.” With shaky hands, Raven grabbed the drink from him. Damian sat down on the chair next to hers and opened up a small box of fries and onion rings. He gestured to her with a nod of his head and Raven timidly gave him a small smile before grabbing a fry, dipping it into some ketchup. They ate in silence, yet Raven wished she had the courage and speak to him about how she truly felt.

“Is there a particular ride you want to get on?” Raven looked up to find Damian looking through the park’s map. “We have three hours till the park closes.” He then added.

“Um… there’s that new rollercoaster Gar mentioned, we can do that?” Raven suggested, she put her drink down and she scooted her chair closer to his to take a peek at the park’s map and schedule. She found an event that would be good to end their most awkward night. “And there’s a firework show happening at midnight we can watch that… if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Damian added gently, without even realisng it Raven had rested her head onto his shoulder. Raven looked up, to see his emerald eyes looking down warmly at her. Raven had never noticed how green his eyes had been or how they seem to almost glow. She could feel her own face start to flushed, she quickly sat up and took the final sips from her drink.

Damian stood up and went to throw away their trash, he then returned extending his hand towards her. Raven took it but she couldn’t help but look away from him as her face grew hotter when Damian tighten his grip. He gently pulled her and the two started walking towards the rollercoaster. Was this it? She questioned herself, would her spun her around spontaneously and crushed his lips onto hers? No Damian wouldn’t do that, deep down she could feel he wanted to respect her and give her all the time she needed. Damian would act like a complete jerk to the team sometimes but underneath the bad boy act he was kind. Raven had seen it first hand.

Screams of terror were heard from above, she looked up as a speeding coaster whooshed by very quickly. From this point she saw two loops and a few spiraling twists. The ride looked amazing. Raven felt all giddy and before she knew what she was doing she gave Damian a big smile and pull him towards the ride’s entrance.

“I am glad to see you smiling and enjoying yourself.” Damian said in between huffs after the ride. They both had screamed their lungs out and now they were out of breath. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve seemed distant all night.”

“I am not good with all this, it’s new to me and I just want to- I don’t know make it memorable for you as it’s for me.

“Raven, you accepting my invitation is most memorable for me, these past few hours with you have been amazing. Shall we continue?” Raven could only smile and take his hand once again.

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The night was nearing to an end, the fireworks were about to start, Damian had gotten them on a Ferris wheel before the show. Damian had even given a generous tip to the ride operator to have the ride stalled for when the fireworks started. They sat their together, awkwardly glancing around. This made Raven remember the first time they had share a ride on a Ferris wheel. From the corner of her eyes, Raven noticed Damian hand was trying to reach for hers while he looked away.

Raven could see his cheeks start to flush, she smiled as she reached and took his hand in hers. She looked up into the night sky and saw the full moon radiate of its silver glow. She turned her head and saw Damian was also looking up to the sky. That’s when it all made sense to her.

Raven let go of his hand, Damian turned looking at her with a lifted brow. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his very loud beating heart.

“I have feeling for you too, Damian Wayne.”

Raven couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh as she buried her face into his hard chest. As Damian wrapped both his arms around her, holding her tight against him. She felt silly to think she was dreading this night at the start, but now here in his arms Raven felt nothing but peace consumed her very soul. It made all sense now, when she and her friends imprisoned her father Raven had felt she couldn’t have a home anymore. That she would have to live out her days in Trigon’s hellish dimension, all alone. Then Damian came, in her darkest moment he brought a small speck of light that warmed Raven’s world. Damian Wayne brought her home, he was home.

Raven was content and she couldn’t stop the tears streaming down her face as the night starry sky was illuminated with thousands of fireworks.  But she couldn’t see them, all Raven could see was Damian. Carefully Raven slipped her hands up to cradle his face, she smiled and pulled him in for their first kiss.

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A/N: This was the second prompt that was requested. Feel free to send me any prompts ideas you may have though my next plan is to update the next parts to “First Impressions” and “Under an Autumn Moonlight” afterwards share the first two chapters to a longer Damirae fic (aprox. 15-20 chapters). So I have lots to write and I am very excited to share with you all what I have envisioned in my brain! Till next time! 

~~S.Rose

[sasskarian]

First Line Meme

I was tagged by @asaara-writes. Thank you, my dearest! <3 

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

My Heart and I -

If there’s one thing about Evelyn Swann that the entire Commonwealth knows by now, it is her love of music. Silence does not mark Evelyn’s arrival anywhere— instead, the soft tones of Billie Holiday do, crooning about mountains moved for love. Or the sultry voice of Lady Day herself, Ella Fitzgerald, floating around her and the companions like a bubble of the past, dreaming on into the future. Heavy footsteps beat out a tempo contrasting Butcher Pete and his big old ‘knife’ and everywhere she goes, she trails ribbons of jazz and cheer.

Like Afterimages - 

The settlers call her a survivor. Sanctuary calls her a savior. Codsworth cries when she returns from the wastelands, dragging in another minute— heh— victory for the Minutemen, or another rescued synth she doesn’t tell anyone about. But Mama Murphy just calls her a ghost.

That’s what she is, after all. Just a two hundred year old ghost. Like a mirage, superimposed on the darkness, burned into immortality by nuclear fallout and tragedy. Evelyn is only sometimes here, those dark gray eyes a pair of rain clouds on the distant horizon, drifting on invisible fronts. The thunder is inside of her, too, a raging storm swirling in her chest, beating fists made of babies crying and gunshots rimmed in frost ringing out against her ribs.

The Thrill of Your Hand - 

Danse has been a soldier too long to be a deep sleeper.

That’s the first thing the Brotherhood trains you out of. The indoctrination comes later, because only a good soldier can be indoctrinated, and a good soldier has to wake up at the first hint of danger. So when he hears the first whimper from across the room, his eyes snap open.

Paladin’s Bubble - 

The Commonwealth is quiet tonight.

It’s not silent, by any stretch: Evie can hear the hounds in the distance, their mutated throats sending their boofs echoing through the streets of Boston even from a long distance, and somewhere— a mile or more— the whoop of a raiding party rises over the station’s lookout, too far away to do anything but pity the poor prey they’ve caught. Dogmeat grunts, his paws pushing against her armored thigh as he stretches. His ears are perked, though, so he’s just catching some rest while he can. Even the thwomp-and-hiss of her partner’s power armor is missing from the darkness, the red light of his scope the only thing highlighting his face in their little bubble of quiet.

After the Glitter Fades - 

“If there is a future to be had,” Fenris murmured, his lips hovering near Hawke’s, “I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

His gorgeous green eyes were fixed on hers and Hawke fumbled for a moment, a half-smile playing across her mouth as her fingers played with the crumbling stone behind her. Silly, but part of her almost wanted to believe him. With the smallest sound, Fenris leaned in, his gauntleted fingers sliding through her hair as he kissed her— it started out soft, a chaste brush of warm lips and warmer breath, but within a couple of heartbeats, it deepened into something that promised wildness and fire.

Glitter: Marginalia - (E)

She can’t remember what dragged her awake— only that it left a sour, desperate taste in her mouth like old coppers and the cheapest bottle of whatever would get her drunk enough to sleep.

Waking up with nightmares is nothing new. The Amell curse, as most of the Kirkwall film crews call it, has yet to hit Hawke directly, but it had taken her father (a stunt gone wrong) and her mother and uncle (an unlucky intruder)– had struck Carver, too. She and Garrett and Bethie are safe, so far, but it's only a matter of time until it circles back around. The curse is a generations-long predator, still and patient, and it will hunt them down one at a time if it has to  

Ah, Kirkwall, she thinks, some blend of annoyance and fondness and adrenaline mixing uneasily in her heart. You fuck with us again and again and still, here we are.

He Might Like That - 

“So. Let me get this straight.” Greef lifts his bad knee with a groan, settling it over his other leg so he can sprawl a little more indolently. Din’s HUD focuses in, shows the elevated temperature in the joint in a dark red, and he turns it off with a flicker of his eye. Greef lifts his glass again, takes a sip, and gestures with it before continuing. “You two. Not together?”

Where I Can’t Follow - 

The day Geralt of Rivia dies, he hears the whistle of the sword which almost kills him. There’s a series of tiny holes stamped along the spine of the blade, keeping weight down and adding a sinister shrill hiss through the air on each pass. The raiding party - if it can be dignified with such language - are nearly all armed with similar steel, with hunting horns, rattling chime-spangled shields, and bullroarer slings wailing and droning like an oncoming swarm of giant wasps. The effect is deafening, overpowering all efforts to coordinate the various companies on this mission.

Malicious Compliance - (M)

So this is how it feels to have a galaxy tremble at your feet.

Not just the galaxy, though— millions of lives shuddering under the weight of your boot on their necks cannot compare to the half-lidded gray-blue eyes drinking you in like you’re his salvation and damnation both. No, there is power in this, in these stolen moments with him, that rivals nothing else you’ve found anywhere among the stars.

He’s a brave man, your Captain.

Counting the Days (since Exegol) - 

“That’s good, Finn.”

Rey smiles, feeling the Force ebb and flow around Finn as he manages to lift himself a few inches off the ground-- along with the meditation mat, two glasses of water, and the plate of snacks they keep for anyone who comes to visit. Finn cracks an eye open, smiles back at her, and lands with a thump. For half a moment, she almost expects him to be disappointed that his training is progressing slowly: hyper-competency is a Stormtrooper trait he’ll never outgrow.

Star by Star - 

The galaxy looks different now.

It’s not just the cautious celebrations still happening, weeks later. And it’s not just the way people step back from her now, too much reverence in them for her comfort. It’s in the way she looks at the sky and sees the color of Luke’s eyes, and the gentle wind that feels so much like Leia’s hand, she cries. The way that Poe’s back straightens at the podium, broadcasting Republic news to everyone, and Finn’s hand clutching his under the table, their life forces bright and right in her senses.

Stardust and Memory (and a little bit of romance) - 

“Wow.”

Jaal chuckled against her ear, hands firmly on her waist; a good thing, probably, or she’d be on her face on the floor. “It is… a lot, I know.”

“No!” Sara protested, only wilting when Jaal tilted his head at her. “...okay, maybe a little. There’s just— a lot of them?”

Scars and Holes and Broken Things - 

Whispers follow him wherever he goes.

What’s left of the crew whispers in the halls, the mess, on the bridge, and conversations trail off when his ghost walks through, haunting the only place that's ever felt like home. Whatever they’re saying doesn’t matter, though—he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to care. He hasn’t slept more than his body demands in weeks. Tali’s immune system has already begun to destroy itself, and even though the Normandy is stocked with more dextro rations than it’s ever carried before—

Almost like Shepard knew. Always prepared, that’s my girl.

Heart of the Woods - (E)

You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Can you think of me as anything more?

Less than a fortnight of sweet words, gentle touches, and stolen kisses are the only weapons she could levy against the trauma that shaped a man’s youth. And for a moment in time, Isera hoped.

Common Ground (isn’t so hard to find) - 

“Skkut! Ryder!”

“Sorry, Enroh— oh!” Sara tried to stop, bounced into a low bench, and crashed into a pile of bruised, groaning Pathfinder on the other side. At least this time, she remembered to shield her head as she skidded to rest against the wall. Lexi would be pleased. Another concussion would get her put back under the scanner and that just ruined everyone’s day. “...ow.”

A Language Reserved for Lovers - (M)

The first time you touch him, his skin flushes red; the first time he touches you back, he trembles. Interesting, since if there is a word to describe him, it is steadfast. But there is more beneath the easy surface, beneath the deadly grace and unflagging stamina. He is loyal, and good, and so fascinating under the burden of his name. But nineteen is a young age, even if you're only a little older, and he seemed so young at first, unsure and innocent— then he gave you that crooked little grin, and stole your heart with it.

Every Beautiful Thing - 

I would prefer to be Mary Shelley. She died a widow.

Despite a foolhardy counter, thrown in indifference and pride, Edith never really thought she would be a widow. Despite her foolish quip so many years ago, she is no Mary Shelley. And despite moderate success as an author and teller of stories, the only thing she and Shelley have in common is a belief in a world outside of the everyday, and widowhood.

Yesterdays - 

He’s always thought she was invincible.

Sure, Morrigan told them the truth of the Archdemon’s death, an account more grisly and heartbreaking than the one Riordan gave; just the sort of tale that might ensnare a young boy’s heart, give him delusions of grandeur, while an older man might look upon it with resignation. But the truth doesn’t sink in until now.

If You Ever did Believe - 

“There are people dying,” Isera repeated slowly, as if she could make her advisers understand what she'd seen. As if giving her memories voice might lift some of their weight in her heart. “We couldn’t even get to Redcliffe because of the fighting.”

Three days of being stuck on a horse, only to have to turn around after three skirmishes— their first mission to the Hinterlands had been a remarkable experiment in failure. Isera had learned her skills at the hands of the best of her clan, had fought alone for years, and yet the shock of tripping over Varric and accidentally hitting Cassandra with a ball of ice had made their first fight a near loss.

Some saviors, Varric had laughed afterward, staggering around like baby nugs.

Glitter: Velvet over Veridium - 

If anyone had ever accused Marian Hawke of being a reasonable adult human being, she might have laughed at them. No, she'd have pointed and then laughed at them. But under all her bluster, and all her immature jokes, her dirty one-liners and cheesy pick-up lines, there was an adult hidden in there somewhere.

Okay, maybe I put more than one opening line, but I have a thing for context, dammit! 

This got so long -- mobile users, I’m sorry omg. 

Forwarding the tag (no pressure as always!) to @mayihavethisdanse @athreehundredthirtythree @thebisexualmandalorian @natsora @loquaciousquark @valdomarx @theggning @cullywullycurlywurly @systlin and @third-rail-vip 

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Fifteen

remember when i said chapter 14 would be the last of the year? i lied ;) think of this as an end of year gift from me to you, as a thank you for all the support and love you’ve all been giving my silly little story. - hades x

words; 3827

prophecy masterlist

tag list; @hewwo-from-the-other-side

"You want me to teach you magic?" Yunho splutters over the counter, his jaw dropped as he stares at you in disbelief.

You nod.

"Well, little lady, I'm afraid I cannot help you."

Your confident demeanor falls, your posture slouching and curved mouth pointing into a frown.

"What?" you demand. "Why not?"

Yunho sighs and after a moment of hesitation, leaves the counter and steps through a doorway that leads to the back of the shop, motioning you with a scar-littered hand to follow him.

You heave up the wooden slab that allows you access behind the counter and follow Yunho's quick pace. The blonde apothecary leads you down a set of worn, stone stairs, and you find yourself in a dingy, cold basement.

The basement is scarcely lit, with a couple of iron brackets mounted on the wall, each baring a lit torch that radiates a flickering, orange light throughout the room. Yunho's giant shadow dances on the wall, and suddenly he becomes the opposite of the bubbly apothecary you knew before.

A workbench is pressed up against the left wall, bundles of chamomile flowers and small piles of marshmallow root thrown chaotically across the surface. The wooden chair is shoved carelessly to the side, and you can see on the chair legs how worn and damaged they are from scraping across the cobblestone floor. On the opposite wall, are tall, oak shelves similar to the ones upstairs in the shop. Packages of twine and string and burlap sacks and rolls of parchments are scattered messily upon each shelf, almost as if Yunho had unpacked his things in a rush.

You stop walking abruptly, as Yunho bends down and fumbles underneath the workbench. You watch as he slides his slender fingers on the underside of the wooden table, squinting his eyes and poking his tongue out as he searches what he's looking for.

"There we go." He mumbles lowly, just as you hear a click and he stands up straight.

You almost jump out of your skin, at the sound of loud rattling, clanking, and finally the ear-splitting screech of wood raking against stone. It's only when the cacophany of noises stop that you realise that the shelf, is not a shelf at all.

The entire back panel of the shelf is gone, as are the contents that lay upon it.

Instead, there are more steps, which lead down into an impossibly darker room.

"Go on." Yunho points to the new entrance, indicating for you to go down the steps.

"Are you perhaps short of a marble?" You scoff. "Go down there and let you kill me? I don't think so."

"If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it a long time ago." A darkness clouds over his eyes and you swallow thickly. "Now go."

This time you decide to listen to him, and you take a hesitant step downwards.

The walls are damp, with trails of moss coating the steps and buried inside the cracks of the stone. You take it slow, not wanting to slip and let your guard down in case Yunho changes his mind and does decide to kill you.

"What are you waiting for?" His impatient voice comes from behind you. "Do you really think I would hurt you?" There's a twinge of pain as he speaks, and you feel slightly guilty for even thinking sweet, innocent, doctor Yunho would be capable of something like that.

Once you're down the stairs, you squint to try and make out the shapes in the unlit room. You spot something circular on the floor, but you can't make out what it is. It's too dark to see, but the smell of dust and ancient damp invades your nostrils. Yunho hasn't been down here in a very long time.

There's a snapping sound from behind you, and the torches in the room suddenly light themselves.

Despite the light, the room is still eerily dark. You can barely make out the furniture in the room. There's what appears to be a desk, covered in cobwebs but still much tidier and more organised than the one in the basement. There's a (real) shelf too, full to the brim with thick, leather-bound books which, if you squint hard enough, you notice have holes chewed out of the spine. Lastly, upon the ground and painted sloppily in white, is a five pointed star within a circle.

"Yunho?" You whisper. "What is all this?"

He ignores you and paces over to the table. With his sleeve, he sweeps away the dust, and picks up a worn, tattered notebook. Yunho hands you the book, and you read the cover, confused.

"Laredia Academy of Magic?" you read. "You're a mage?"

"I was a mage." he corrects you.

"How do you just stop being a mage? Just unlearn all the magic?" you joke.

"No." Yunho's face is deadly serious, and your smile falters and your blood runs cold. "I was cast out, and my mage rites were revoked."

You stand awkwardly in silence, biting your lip and finding sudden interest at the dirt scuffs on the tips of Yunho's black boots.

"Yeosang and I went to the same magic academy," He explains. "In Laredia, just north of the Seventeen kingdom. He was in the class above me, because he's older, but every single student knew about Yeosang."

Yunho grabs a chair from the darkest corner of the room and sits down on it, pointing behind you at another chair you hadn't noticed. Once you sit down, he continues.

"I always wanted to be a mage. It was my absolute dream, and I knew that basically anybody can do the most basic spell, so I trained hard every single day before I was even old enough to apply to an academy. Hundreds upon thousands of wishful mages and sorceresses are turned away from academies because they lack true magical talent. Luckily, I passed the entrance exam and the initiation tests, and I got in.

"The professors said I was a natural, that I had magical skills they hadn't witnessed in centuries. I was only four months into my first year at Laredia before they moved me up a class. And that was where I met Yeosang.

"We butted heads at first," Yunho chuckles fondly, remembering all the fights he and his elder got into all those years ago. Reminising the scars and spell marks scattered across his body. "We were both exceptionally good at magic, I would argue Yeosang was better than I. I would never have admitted that in my youth, but he was much more controlled, sensible with his talent than I was.

"Everything was a competition between 'Sang and I. Theory exams, practical classes, potions and herbology. Anything you could study there, we always strived to be the best. Eventually we became both good friends and rivals... It was fun and games for a few years, you know? I think at one point we were almost as close as brothers..."

Yunho begins to trail off, a sad look filling his walnut eyes as they glitter in the flickering light.

"Did something happen?" you whisper softly. He nods slowly.

"I...I pushed it too far in our last year. That was the year the academy would prepare you for mage work, I was to be sent out to the kingdom of Streyden in the east, and become King Chan's magical advisor. Yeosang was on track to be a professor at Laredia himself, and he was, for quite a while.

"Yeosang possessed so much more than I did when it was time to graduate. He was better at spell-casting, he was absolutely phenomenal at herb identifying - ironic now given I run an apothecary actually- but there was nothing Yeosang could be bested at, and it drove me utterly insane. It evolved into more than a friendly rivalry, more than just healthy competition. It became an obsession, nd so I went out searching for what my heart yearned for the most; more power.

"I found it quickly, too. I was directed to an elven clan that resided deep in the southern forest, under the impression they were gifted in regular magic, and they could teach me any spell I desired. So of course, I went. I was young, stupid and incredibly naive to believe it would've worked. And foolish to think that I could've gotten away with it."

Yunho sighs deeply, leaning his elbows on his knees and hanging his head between his legs. He rubs his hands over his face roughly, and your gut tells you Yunho's story isn't about to get any better. You watch him, and you try to take in everything he just told you. You knew that Yeosang and Yunho had been friends for a long time, but you had no idea they went back this far.

"The elves were agents of the arcane arts alright," Yunho spits bitterly out of the blue, causing you to jump in your seat a little. "Their dark magic consumed me entirely, contaminated my soul and tainted every fibre of my being. I knew I was ruined the moment I agreed to train under them. I was... so aware that everything they were teaching me was so wrong. Yet it was everything I had dreamed of, and more than anything I knew it would allow me to beat Yeosang.

"This elf clan had roots in the fire elementals, so they all were wickedly powerful pyromancers. They taught me almost everything they knew, and I couldn't believe how tame the magic at the academy was. I trained in dark magic with the elves for months, until our final practical exam came around.

"We had to duel with another member of our class, I can't remember the name of the boy who had the misfortune of being paired with me, seung- or seong- or something like that. I was absolutely positive I would win, but he was fast. Too fast. I wouldn't be surprised if the idiot had sought out the same thing I had."

Yunho pauses somberly, his broad, built shoulders drooping where he sat, and his face moulding into a sad, distant frown.

"Everytime I close my eyes, all I see are flashes of fire." Yunho whispers, staring at the floor. "I remember the feeling, but not much else. I- I can recall quite literally exploding into flames... It's like a bubbling cauldron, and it just keeps boiling and boiling until it gets so hot it bursts. And It felt like burning lava was pouring out of every single pore and hair follicle in my body."

The apothecary nibbles his bottom lip, shaking his head bitterly at the ground beneath his feet.

"It was so painful. I've broken countless bones, been on the recieving end of spells cast by the most powerful of mages, and yet I have never experienced pain like it.

"I can't believe I even have the gall to say it hurt." Yunho scoffs. "I can't even begin to imagine how much pain my duel partner was in.

"The academy realised straight away that it was dark magic. I hadn't fooled anyone in the slightest. The explosion had set the entire courtyard alight, all the trees, the furniture outside, even a couple of the students themselves, everything within a short radius of me. It was a tornado of flames, swirling round and round and I could easily have killed everybody that was there. The professors were on high alert though, they had to be during student duels. They rounded up the other students, and teleported themselves to safety in seconds.

"Everyone except for me, of course. They must have decided that my punishment for dabbling in the dark arts was death, and so they left me there to burn alive. Students weren't taught how to teleport at that point either, so I could do nothing except sit and watch the flames eating away at my skin."

"You're still alive... obviously." You chime in. "How'd you get out?"

"Yeosang." He replies simply.

He tells you how Yeosang fought and argued with the professors of the academy to forgive Yunho and let him live, almost getting himself expelled and his teaching job revoked. He explains how the professors refused to help Yunho, and how Yeosang risked his own life to save him.

"He spent weeks healing my burns, keeping me hidden away in his dorm room." Yunho breathes. "He nearly got kicked out too, but the academy knew he was too good of an asset to let go. I told him he was a fool to help me while risking so much in the process, but he's a good man. Despite all the competitions and tension between us, he's always been a good friend."

You nod solemnly in agreement. Even from the first moment you had met the platinum haired mage, you knew he possessed a generous soul. From saving you after the storm, housing, clothing and feeding you, teaching you to help heal people and allowing you to earn real, official qualifications, getting caught up in the prophecy mess you had caused and not complaining about it once. Yeosang had done so much for you, and yet here you are, repaying him by sneaking around and doing the one thing he refused to help you with.

Guilt squirms around in your stomach and latches on to your flesh with it's poisonous claws,  puncturing your organs and pumping your insides full of toxins. It meanders its way through your body until it infects your bloodstream, flowing through every limb and vein until it hits your brain and starts to fog your senses and stain your conscience.

You have to keep telling yourself it's for a good reason; learning magic will help you in the long run, you just know it. It's just a shame that Yeosang doesn't understand that.

"You said Yeosang was a teacher at the academy, right?" You blurt.

Yunho nods. "Yes, for a few years."

"Then why does he refuse to teach me if he's literally qualified to do so?"

"He hasn't told you about what happened while he was a teacher, has he?"

You shake your head.

"It's not my place to tell you, Iris. Yeosang would kill me if I did." Yunho stands up with a grunt, brushing his knees off with the palms of his hands. "He'd also kill me if I taught you any magic behind his back, and I owe my life to him. So, I will not be teaching you any magic either."

"What?! Hold on!" You jump up in protest, glaring angrily at the giant man before you. "That's not fair! What was all that about then? If you were just going to say no?!"

Yunho grabs you by the shoulders, abruptly stopping your rage fueled ranting.

"Because I wanted you to know how thirst for power, particularly magic, can be incredibly dangerous."

"Well, I'm not as foolish as you." You snap aggressively, not noticing the twinge of hurt written on Yunho's face.

"You may well be right. But I still won't be helping you."

"Fine." You shrug, giving up. "Fine. Thanks for your time anyway, Yunho."

He bows politely to you, lifting up an arm and motioning to the steps for you to leave. Wrapping your arms tightly around you, you hurry up the stairs of both the secret room and the basement, until you're at the front door of the shop.

Yunho resumes his signature position of elbows on the counter, leaning forward, cheeky grin and puppy dog eyes shining brightly.

"Just... be wary, Iris. You can't trust everyone in this world."

You smile shortly, offering only a curt nod before you grab the handle of the door.

"Thanks, Yunho. See you around."

"Farewell, little lady."

The bell tinkles above you when you gently pull the door open, and chimes again as it closes after you slip your way out. You walk back to the castle at a brisk pace, keeping to yourself and keeping your gaze fixed on the ground.

Only when you feel safe enough, do you untangle your arms from around your torso, glancing down at the thick, leather-bound book you smuggled underneath your sleeves. Wiping the remaining dust off the cover, you read the bold, imprinted words;

LAREDIA ACADEMY OF MAGIC.

"Once a thief, always a thief" You grin proudly.

-----

You figured the best place to hide your stolen goods was in plain sight, which is why you are skimming the library shelves for the smartest hiding spot. You find a pile of books hidden away in the corner which didn't look too dusty, thinking that if there were to be completely dust-free books in the neglected library, it would look too suspicious. You slide Yunho's book at the bottom of the pile, making a mental note to come back later and properly skim through it.

"Where have you been?" Yeosang demands when you casually stroll into his workspace.

Hongjoong had given Yeosang and Wooyoung a study to work in, after his own had become a mess and entirely overwhelmed with parchments and hand-drawn diagrams. You throw yourself comfortably onto the bench opposite his desk.

"Just in the gardens," you reply coolly. "Hanging out."

"Is that so? How come I couldn't find you there then?" Wooyoung's voice comes sharply from the doorway, where he stands with his arms folded, leaning against the door frame as he looks at you with a deep frown.

"Maybe you just didn't look hard enough." You shrug.

The elf says nothing, but you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head.

Yeosang ignores you both, too absorbed in studying the papers before him to listen to you and Wooyoung squabble.

"Still no monster?" you ask.

Yeosang shakes his head. "I was certain we would find one," he sighs. "But there's been no sighting of any sea monsters or creatures in decades."

"The ball is in two days," Yeosang continues. "Hongjoong expects something significant from us before then but we have nothing to offer him. He had patrols out investigating anybody remotely suspicious, I heard the guards interrupted a group of drunk dwarves playing cards... they were not impressed. But there hasn't been anyone new in the city or any of the villages in the kingdom. Nothing."

"If it's destiny, then maybe us looking for them is the problem. What if we just wait for them to come to us?" You suggest.

"Then what if destiny says we have to chase them down?" Yeosang counters with a stressed hand through his hair. "Either way, we're stuck."

Wooyoung crosses the room to peer over the diagrams for what must be the thousandth time in the last two weeks. He and Yeosang mutter lowly to each other as they read, pointing and drawings and shuffling through papers. You can only sit with your head hung low, staring miserably at the floor as the feeling of uselessness settles in your bones.

You're so tired of offering nothing. Of being no help to anyone. All people do is look after you while you wander around getting in people's way.

Suddenly, you're on your feet, and you're striding through the hallways to the library you've become so familiar with. You heave the doors open and hurry over to Yunho's book that you hid only mere hours ago, stuffing it under your shirt and creeping out of the library, and down the steps.

You refuse to rely on others. You refuse to have other people look after you. You refuse to be a liability. It's time to start fending for yourself, starting from now.

You locate the somewhat hidden door you took out of the castle earlier, and instead of turning out the door, you carry on down the hallway.

Eventually, the hallway leads to a large, empty room made entirely of cobblestone. Perfect for practicing magic. You found the torch you had used before, and lit it with a match you had forgotten about in your pocket. Once lit, you set the torch in a wall bracket and kneel down on the floor underneath it.

Rustling underneath your shirt, Yunho's book falls onto the ground with a dull thump, which bounces loudly off the walls. You hold your breath, panicked, but luckily nobody comes. Opening the first few pages, you read over Yunho's messy scrawl, taking in the drawings of hand positions and words in a language you don't understand.

You flick through more and more faded pages until you come across one that catches your eye. You look at Yunho's drawing, trying to match your own hand to the one on the page. You stick your right hand out flat, fingers together, and palm facing upwards. Then, you pull your four fingers back so the fingertips are pressed against your palm. Keeping your fingers in place, you rotate your hand so the back of your hand is now facing upwards, and rapidly flick your fingers out in front of you, presumably where the receiving end of the spell would be.

You repeat the motion over and over again, gradually building speed so after a while, your actions are fluid and less clunky. Next, is the hard part; learning the spell.

"Feainn ichaer?" You whisper, reading from the page. "What on earth does that mean? What language is that?"

Maybe exploring the library for some language books would be a good idea, you think.

But for now, you say the phrase aloud over and over again, not even knowing if you're doing it right but acting as if you're fluent in whichever language this is.

Once you feel like you've got it more or less right, you decide it's time to pair the speech and hand movements together.

Nervousness takes you by surprise then, and you have to readjust your kneeling position on the ground three times before you're ready. Taking a deep breath, you stretch your hand out like before, and you can feel the words on your tongue.

You feel it then; a rushing sensation in your stomach, burrowing past your organs and hurling itself up towards your lungs. It burns slightly as it travels, almost in the same way that hot milk burns as you swallow it, except instead of going down, this is coming up, flying past your lungs and sliding up your throat and crawling through the gaps between your teeth.

"Feainn," you pull your fingers back, and turn your hand over, the burning feeling spreading down to the tips of your toes and the tips of your ears, and you're convinced you can smell smoke. You close your eyes to focus on the spell, ignoring the sting of the fire licking at your veins and the boiling of your blood inside your veins, ignoring the loud thumping ricocheting around your eardrums, and ignoring the way your entire body begins to vibrate and ignoring the way it feels like you're about to explode at any moment. "Icha-"

"What are you doing?"

Your eyes snap open.

i just wanted to note that the language used here is elder speech from the witcher 3: wild hunt. i did not make it up myself, and it does not belong to me! just a note to cover my own back lmao.. thanks for reading!

[fuwafuwamedb]

The King’s Dumu Lugal Pt 16 (Hakuno, CasGil, Nero, Merlin)

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

____

Ur-Nungal was falling asleep against him as Nero and Hakuno finally parted from one another. The emperor was being contacted, her little phone vibrating against her side as she pulled away from gossiping away with Hakuno about what Hakuno had been doing with her son all this time and on plans for the future.

The Roman Emperor had managed to sneak in a vow from the woman for her to visit and spend time with her. They planned an outing with one another to one of the singularities that the Emperor had seen.

“You will like Shinjuku,” she promised, smiling. “Gudako took me alongside a few others. We can get you a new dress since the one you had from me is lost.”

He knew exactly where that dress was.

Actually, noting Hakuno’s feelings about not only having lost the dress but also having to confess that the Roman attire was lost, he had half a mind to see about having the fabrics fixed and the stains pulled from the fabric. It couldn’t be terribly difficult.

“I will see you soon, Praetor!”

The blonde simply beamed with all the happiness of the moon and sun, rushing out of the room with her phone to her ear.

“I’m on my way, Master!”

Right.

Caster groaned internally as he realized.

He hadn’t gone to the command room to join training.

There was no leaving now though. Despite his master working on Casters, there was no good way of pulling away from the scene he was in now with Ur napping away like this. There was a small hand pressed to his chest, a tired blond headed child currently dreaming of lions and kingdoms. Even as the door closed, matters progressed.

Hakuno herself drifted to his side, slipping herself beneath his arm and holding the useless limb hostage in her embrace.

Leaning in close earned him a soft hum.

The room itself was abundantly silent.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to have a silent room. Certainly, there was time and space to think. He had command over the entire space around him and could do whatever he pleased…

However…

Perhaps he had not grown up as much as he would have liked to have believed.

The silence was growing, closing in around him in the space. The cuddling and the closed eyes of the woman at his side and his son in his arms left him somewhat alone in a sense. There could have been anything said, any kind of distraction in the room built. Instead, there was nothing of the sort.

Looking down to Hakuno’s side, he felt his frown grow forth from this mounting urge to move and to speak. She was needing this rest, needing this time to steal away personal pleasure like the kind that could only be found in sleeping. This was good. She was finally being selfish.

However…

Ur shifted before he could finish that thought.

Those red eyes looked up at him blearily, the boy’s small smile looking so much like his mother’s own.

“Abum! Ah-“

“Shhh,” Gilgamesh urged, pulling his son a little higher.

This wasn’t the time for babbling and noise. This was the time for rest.

A prince needed to understand the importance of rest. He needed to take pleasure in all things, both the active and the inactive. Pressing his lips to his son’s forehead, he could feel his son squirm and pat at his face, the small noises calming.

“I need to leave you in here a moment,” he told his son, moving to set him nearby.

“Abum!”

“Shhhh,” he bid again, knowing that the sound was next to useless.

Hakuno’s body was warm as he lifted it, carrying her back to their bed and tucking her gently beneath the sheets. He pulled the blankets over her, watching her stir quietly until finding one of his discarded pieces of clothing on the bed.

Her face pressed to the fabric, her body settling in.

His other self had gained a life entirely foreign from their precious world. He had a wife and a child. He had unerring devotion and he created a strange look in Hakuno’s eyes that she gave when she looked at him. He’d seen it long before he had taken over here to help with Ur-Nungal. She had given the same look the moment she had seen him here in Chaldea.

He wanted to know more.

How had they met?

How had she lost her heart to him?

Had his young self done something that would drive to the brink of her happiness? Had he shown her Uruk before? In any manner? Did she know of Enki- of his former friend?

“Abum!” A young toddler’s voice called.

Caster leaned in, brushing the hair back from Hakuno’s face and pressing his lips to hers a moment before he went out the door.

He had the Roman Emperor around to sway the woman away from her concerns. He was here himself, for helping with the rearing of his heir. There was no lack of support now for Hakuno, especially when all of Chaldea now knew of the boy and his mother.

Ur was wiggling around on the couch, babbling as he returned and pulled his son to the floor.

The toys were once more pulled forth for him.

“Ahh!” His hands waved for the lion from before.

“You have to be careful about lions,” Gilgamesh murmured to him. “I saw what you did before. The lions will not like you if you are only rough with them.”

His son swung the fake beast around, those red eyes looking at him.

“You have to treat what is yours carefully. Otherwise they will break.” Gilgamesh leaned in, pulling the toy softly from his hands and showing his son how to pet the beast lightly. “Nothing wants to be toyed with, especially those with the power to make things easier for you. Your beast is soft and capable of devouring all of your nightmares away. You should treat it with care.”

“Kischie.”

“This is a kitty. You are correct, but this is your kitty.”

The boy’s arms wrapped around his toy more as he said this, those red eyes looking up at him.

“You seem to understand.”

His son stared at him a moment before he looked back at his lion.

“When you learn how to be responsible with your toy, perhaps we will get you a couple real ones. They are good for a boy. Anything that comes for you can be eaten.”

Ur’s arms released the lion, his little body on the move once more. The restless boy was wiggling his way against him, cuddling against his chest.

“Abum,” his son cooed. “Ahhh.”

“You have so much of your mother in you,” Gilgamesh murmured, pulling his son up into his arms and nuzzling his face against the child. “And you will never have any idea how much you are cared for. What a foolish little life you are.”

He would have to teach his son magecraft when he grew old enough. Along with that, he would have to do something about this meddlesome little problem of his son’s.

The Gates of Babylon were opening around the boy, with random knickknacks falling to the ground around them.

“You troublesome little golden mouse,” Gilgamesh murmured, pressing his lips to the boy’s nose this time.

The spluttering of giggles that erupted brought a small smirk to his lips, his mouth parting to murmur more to the boy.

“GILGAMESH!”

Gilgamesh looked up, pausing at the sight of Gudako in the doorway.

“I’ve gotta get Hakuno and you out of Chaldea.”

“What’s going on?” Gilgamesh moved to his feet, pulling his son to his chest.

“I’ve got a random inspection coming in from the Mages Association. Merlin’s ready to tear open a passage to Uruk, but I need you guys heading-“

His hand waved, opening the gates around the room. He didn’t bother with packing. Such things were useless. If Gudako was saying that they had to move, then they had to move. The Chaldean had done enough on his behalf.

“Where’s Hakuno?” Gudako moved forward, heading for the bedroom. “We need her-“

“Don’t.”

Holding his son close, Gilgamesh quickened his pace to move around the Chaldean, blocking her path.

“Send for Merlin,” he ordered, “but don’t wake Hakuno. She’s been through enough for today.”

“Is she-“

“She’ll be fine. She’s just exhausted.” And if there was anyone who knew the fallout of fatigue and exhaustion, it would be him.

“I don’t think it’s smart to not wake her. You have to carry Ur. She should be awake.”

“I’ll carry them both. I’m more than capable.”

He had been thinking about how to manage that since the woman had fallen asleep against him enough times already. The carrying his son on his wife’s chest had been good for short distance, but he would think of something different.

“Gilgamesh-“

“Fetch Merlin, woman.”

She nodded, glancing at the bedroom a moment before she rushed out. Mash was waiting for her, already pulling her along the moment she stepped from the room.

As for him?

He dumped everything in the gates, paying little mind to much other than to get it out of the space. If they were inspecting, that meant that they would be looking for any sign of Hakuno or Ur. It meant that the space was better empty than furnished. It meant that it was better for them to wonder about the space rather than to wonder about a stray bit of anything in the rooms.

The bathroom was emptied.

The closet was sucked into the gates next.

Each tick of the clock felt long. He could almost feel the silence pressing in as he opened the door to his bedroom with Hakuno and looked around.

The fabric would work on the bed. He could makeshift something to hold his son and tie it into place. Hakuno’s person could be placed carefully on his back and he could have Merlin transfer them to the ziggurat in Uruk.

“King?”

He popped his head from the room as he let all but the bed fall into his gates.

“Gilgamesh?”

“We’re in here,” Gilgamesh beckoned. “How far-“

“Gudako is greeting the guests already.”

So it was that fast.

“Ensure nothing in these rooms remains after I am gone,” he instructed. “I don’t want my master getting into trouble for harboring my woman.”

“Master… Did you not get told-“

“Merlin,” Gilgamesh glanced over at the man. “We have little time.”

It took a minute, one whole minute longer than he was comfortable with. Tying the fabric into place, he found his son squirming awkwardly, unaccustomed to the strange support. Hakuno was another matter, requiring him to almost lean forward too far to hold her well.

The method was impractical.

It didn’t need to work for long, but-

Gilgamesh let the bed and that underneath it be swallowed now, looking to Merlin.

“Shift us to Uruk.”

“Give everyone my best,” Merlin replied a moment before the world vanished around them.

His body nearly keeled over the moment that he fell onto his throne room stairs.

A working Siduri gasped and fell back at the sudden appearance, her eyes widening at the sight before her.

“M-My king!”

“Have the servants prepare my chambers,” he commanded. “The consort and prince have arrived with me back to Uruk.”

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 04 - Knight

"When I grow up, I wanna be a knight in shining armor!" The happy shout of an eager youngster, raised on tales of valiant knights who rescued fair maidens or wayward, foolish princes from the clutches of evil wizards, and who took in wicked bandits and recovered ancient treasures from long-forgotten strongholds of traps and undead. To be a knight in shining armor was something which many kids in the kingdom aspired, and this one was no exception.

There was, however, one thing that set Torix apart from the others. He had weapons and armor already: to protect himself, a tough covering of scales, and to defend others, sharp claws, sharper teeth, and... well, a few sparks that would eventually grow into a proper gout of flame from his jaws. In short: he was a dragon.

His mother took heart in seeing him so spirited, but at the same time, knew he would have to be disabused of such a dream. True, she had cultivated her collection of storybooks to avoid dragonslayers, and as such, she suppose she could take partial blame, yet... either way, there was nothing to be done about it. In the meantime, she would offer him other, more draconic hobbies, such as hoarding, hunting, roaring, spellcasting, and, if he takes a shining to it, some light kidnapping.

And for a while, it worked. Torix hoarded, he hunted, he roared, and he managed a light binding spell. He even gained a hot, steady flame! However, when his mother looked a bit closer, she was disheartened: the young dragon hoarded longswords and lost or discarded armor, which he softened and shaped with his breath and claws to better fit himself; he hunted highwaymen and pickpockets, then bound them and left them for towns to find. But, although she suspected he roared for justice, that at least was a fine roar to claim dominion and intimidate his foes. And so, with the determined resolve of an experienced, adult dragon, she set about teaching him the ways of dragons, and let him experiment with using them for knightly things. He took to it like a kelpie to water, and was soon a fine dragon in his own right, even with his eccentricities.

However, no dragon is ever content to stay in their hatching cave forever, and Torix, too, had things to prove: to himself, to other dragons, and to everyone else. So, one day, in his best-crafted armor, and with his bags slung over his back, he bade his mother well until they met again, and was off to a human town.

---

"Uh, Sir Fernal?"

"Yes, Sir Jenkins? What is it?" Fernal braced himself for whatever inspired the rookie knight to seek him out at lunch. His mind went through the banal stuff first: someone lost their sword, someone got locked out of their room, someone decided to be "creative" about getting into their room, or Ronald got stuck in a doorway again.

"Well, you see, they - the others who were there - told me that you're the one to deal with unusual things. Unique events. And, well, I'm pretty sure that this one is very, eh, very unique."

Fernal struggled to resist rolling his eyes. It wasn't the first time someone had said their problem was unique, nor would it be the last. Though it did clear out a lot of potential reasons. Maybe someone's handle broke off and left the blade in their hilt. Or they got another one of those weirdos who WANTED to be thrown in jail. Wait, no - someone had been caught with their pants down around a kobold, and is arguing they should be charged with pedophilia rather than bestiality. Or they're seeking justice for the obvious outcome of playing around with something that sharp-toothed. He looked at the younger knight again, and realized he was waiting for him to say something. This time, he didn't hide his eyeroll. "Well, then? Out with it, Jenkins."

Jenkins jumped and glanced behind him, looking for his words. "You see, Sir Fernal, there's a... well, there's a dragon at the entrance. About twice the size of a horse."

The more experienced knight leaned forward and pressed his fingers to his temples. "A dragon the size of a horse... and neither you nor the three other knights stationed there thought you could do anything about it? Stab it until it stops trying to eat livestock and steal our women." He gave Jenkins a tire, condescending look. "By which I mean, kill the damn thing before it causes more damage than what it's already done."

"I... don't think I can do that, Sir Fernal, without violating my principles as a knight of the crown."

Fernal froze. He fixed Jenkins with a nigh-inscrutable look, as one certain he was about to hear something terribly fascinating, either because of its newness or because of its sheer, utter, unmatched stupidity. "Sir Jenkins," he commanded, "explain."

"Well, you see, it's that, well," the young knight started, unsure of how to phrase the news, "the dragon, he walked up nice and calm, and says he wants to join us."

"We have ample cautionary tales as to why we ride horses, and not anything with a mind."

Jenkins shook his head. "No, Sir Fernal, as a knight. He has armor and everything."

This earned him a long, steady stare, before Fernal stood and began to walk to the door, beckoning Jenkins to walk with him. "Well, whatever prank you four have set up, I'll at least see what it is. Least I can do for such an entertaining lie."

The pair walked through the halls of the order's building. Jenkins continued to try to convince Fernal that he hadn't been lying, but to no avail. Finally, the two of them pushed open the main doors and squinted in the bright midday sun. As soon as he recognized the shape in front of him, he drew his sword quick as a flash and brandished it in front of him.

Torix stepped one paw back, but otherwise looked at him curiously. "Hello. I am called Torix. Are you the one to speak with about becoming a knight?"

Fernal pretended he hadn't heard the dragon, in his glinting, metal armor, speak. "Foul beast, why have you darkened the door of our city?"

Torix blinked, looked to the door guards, then back at Fernal. "I just said, I would like to be a knight. I admire them for their brave deeds and moral code, and it has long been my dream to join their number." Jenkins and the other non-Fernal knights nodded; it was the same thing Torix had told them when he introduced himself to them.

"So the vain lizard seeks fame, and protection from meeting the well-deserved end of his kin?" Fernal growled.

"I did not know knights grew indiviually famous; I thought it was just 'knight' in general that was well-known. Either way, I want to help people. Foil assassinations, recover long-lost treasures to their owners or to museums, and rescue innocent maidens and princes from evil wizards and cults!"

"And dragons," the skeptical knight appended.

"Yes, and dragons," Torix nodded, "though I do not think dragons are as likely to be captured by evil wizards and cults as maidens and princes are."

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a while. The other knights quietly talked about what they thought would happen.

"So... IS it you I go to about becoming a kni-"

"Queen's grace, you're actually not lying," Fernal muttered in disbelief, lowering his weapon.

"I try not to. So?"

Fernal sighed. "I'll... draw up the paperwork while Sir Jenkins here runs you through the entrance exam. If, and I do mean IF, you pass, you can start your training." He waved Jenkins over to him. "Sir? A word in private."

Jenkins walked over, and Fernal took him aside, an arm over his shoulders. "Okay, so the lizard's too dumb to realize dragons can't be knights. I don't want you newbies injured if I can avoid it, so we're going to make him fail the test so he can go away and get himself killed somewhere else." He thought for a moment, then continued, "First task, grab the info of our #1 most wanted. Don't tell him the reward, don't tell him the difficulty, just give him the target. Even better: he has to take the guy in alive, not dead. And if he somehow manages that, we'll go with an old classic: he has to find and bring back a snipe."

Jenkins nodded along, but paused at the last one. "Wait, Sir Fernal, you said that's what I need to do to get my next rank. You're saying it's impossible?"

"No," Fernal lied, "not for a human. But they're very afraid of dragons."

With that, they broke the huddle, and Jenkins explained Torix's trials while Fernal went back inside to finish his lunch. Torix looked over the drawing of his target and listened to the description of the bird he was to find as well, then bowed and took to the sky.

---

Jenkins led the new prisoner into the warden's office. The warden's eyebrows shot up when he saw the spitting image of the most wanted criminal in the city, Grindel Vilswarn, arms bound behind him, soaking wet, and looking more terrified than anyone might think the mad mage could ever be. After he recovered from the shock, he pointed through a door. "Right. Cell 16D, then."

"Please no..." Grindel begged as Jenkins pushed him along, "not a cell... they're so dark and small and... and damp, and small, and..."

The warden gave Jenkins a questioning look, and the knight replied, with an apologetic smile, "new guy's being tested. He has a rather... unorthodox method of transporting targets."

"Tight... wet... dark..." the traumatized mage mumbled as he was led to his spot in prison. "Nothing I could do..."

---

"And just why am I needed outside when I'm off duty?"

"Well, Sir Fernal, Torix is back, and he looks proud of himself."

"Torix."

"The dragon."

Fernal grimaced. "Right, that bespangled lizard. I don't see why this concerns me, Sir Jenkins."

"Quite simple, really," Jenkins said with a bit more smugness than Fernal thought the junior knight had been capable of in his entire life, "you said you'd get the paperwork ready for if he passed the tests. So, naturally, you should present it to him."

The two strode through the door, where they saw the armored dragon sitting, one paw off the ground and closed. Torix and two of the other knights on door duty were having a spirited conversation, with one of the humans appearing to exaggerate the size of a fish he caught once. They all turned to face Jenkins and Fernal when the pair approached, save for the knight doubled over with laughter.

"Look!" Torix said excitedly, his tail flicking back and forth. He held out his forepaw, turning and opening it to reveal a small, brown-and-black speckled bird with a long, slender beak, unmoving in death. It would say 'peent' no more. "I caught it as it flew from the marsh."

The knights looked at the bird. "Sure looks like a snipe to me," one said.

The dragon looked to Fernal expectantly, but the knight stared placidly back; a good knight was prepared for many setbacks, and this was no exception. "I was... not expecting such speed, even just for the entrance exam. It may be some time before-"

"Oh, that reminds me," the knight who had been laughing spoke up, holding a rolled-up parchment, "we finished today's report, including the arrest and the snipe. Just gotta light this sucker up and it'll be off to Her Majesty's people."

Fernal glared at him. "If you think for one second that thing will get near a candle before I review it..."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I know how fond you are of candle duty," the man replied, before turning to Torix. "Say, Torix, you can breathe fire, right?"

Torix beamed. "Yes! In fact, that's how I fashioned my armor!"

With a grin, the knight held forward the rolled-up parchment. "Then could I get a light?"

Two seconds later, Torix was hastily apologizing to the man, who had thrown off his metal gauntlet and was rapidly shaking his hand. But the parchment's spell had gone off, and the ash swiftly sped through the air.

---

The flat of a blade gently struck Torix's right horn, then his left. He remained still, belly and chin low to the ground as he crouched for the Queen.

"The Crown recognizes the deeds of Torix the Dragon, and grants him the title of Knight." The composed woman took several measured steps back, then held the sword out, point-down, where it was taken by an attendant. She nodded just enough to convey authority without displaying weakness or familiarity. "Sir Torix, you may now rise."

Every muscle in his body begged him to crash through the enormous stained-glass window and joyfully soar through the skies, roaring in celebration. Yet Torix steadily pushed himself to a standing position, keeping his head low to avoid the ceiling. Sir Torix, the knight who was also a dragon.

[tenpointstoq]

Geraskier Oxford Professor Modern Au

Geralt is sent to watch over Jaskier a Mythology teacher at Oxford.

I am putting this up to see if people even want me to bother with it so 🤷🏻

He’s so impossibly beautiful it makes the wolf’s heart ache. His glasses slipping down his delicate nose, brown curls an utter mess because he’s been running his hands through it idly for hours now. Geralts been watching the man for a few weeks now. He’s a suspected target, a fancy word for, this pretty boy is bait. Oxford is a rather pleasant place to camp out, considering some of the places Geralt has been lately, watching a beautiful professor for days on end inside fire warm rooms, indulging himself in the mans chamomile and honey sweet scent. He’s counting himself lucky.

Jaskier naturally had no idea about any of this, he’s been a professor of mythological studies for a few years now. While his subject matter covers a lot of rather dangerous cases, he’s never come close to being in actual danger. His battles are read in the depths of the library, not out in the wilds like some of his friends who chose to do field work studies. For one it would mean Jaskier would have to give up his fine easier costs, suits and wonderful jumpers and no thank you. He was all too fond of his wardrobe. Jakier likes his life, his students are a dream to teach, eating up his every word, the paper he’s been writing is coming along nicely and if he plays his cards right he may just romance the new library assistant into an evening of fine wine. With the protection of the college mages he believes his teachings on the more recent occurrences of occult magic and their capabilities of conjuring dark entities will bring him no harm. The poor boy couldn’t be any less wrong.

Yen is the one who get’s Geralt the job, she’s been freelancing for oxford for a while now, with the rise in varying schools of magic over the recent years the way her order works has had to adapt. Almost no one stayed at a post for too long, with Witcher’s on the decline and unknown magics raging war around the world Yennefer and her fellow mages had their hands full. Geralt himself had been overwhelmed with work as of late, for once the idea of protection duty actually sounded nice. Though the dark creatures that he was tasked with protecting Jaskier from rather took away from the holiday like experience Oxford otherwise promised.

The campus was crawling with magical beings, many the kind that were simple pests Geralt wouldn’t mind swatting, however the rules of the damn college gave the creatures safe passage. The students and teachers studied them and as payment the creatures were given a safe space to reside. They had a Kelpie in the lake for fucks sake. Though when Geralt had visited it, he was glad to see that it seemed entirely uninterested in eating him, though it was delighted to meet roach. Things were going oddly well for a solid month of Geralt's protection duty, during winter Witcher’s tended to return to their training grounds, while Geralt no longer followed such traditions he did tend to leave the wilds when the frosts set in. Getting paid to stay indoors with fires and good food wasn’t something he was going to complain about anytime soon. The people at the college were perfectly pleasant, watching Jaskiers classes were in general rather amusing, the mans love for his subject matter was highly evident as his excitement bubbled from him in every lesson. It was rather endearing really, the way his ocean blue eyes would light up at a particularly tricky question posed to him by a student. When the man wasn’t teaching he tended to be stuck in dusty corners of the library or in his own quarters, frantically writing and reading. That wasn’t to say Jaskier was a saint, no, Geralt had spent many a night watching the gorgeous young thing drinking at the university tavern, chatting up men and women alike, he was rather popular, though on more than one occasion Geralt had helped Jaskier escape a jealous partner who had gone after Jaskier for dipping his hand into someone else’s box of sweets. He was discreet of course, Jaskier had no idea he had a guardian angel, if Geralt had it his way he never would.

That was the thing with a world of Monster and chaos, one rarely got their way and so it was that half way through a presentation on a collection of relics Jaskier had surprised the head of his faculty with, that Jaskier almost fell prey to a corrupted Jorogumo. The Yokai was clever, she had masked herself well, with the scent of magical creature so thickly wound into the damn campus Geralt had needed to use his other senses to detect his prey. As the pretty woman beside him burst open, enormous spiders legs unfurling from her back, an inhuman scream tearing from her lips, Geralt was already pushing Jaskier behind him, barking a ‘FUCK OFF’ to the other equally shocked staff as they scrambled to get out of the way and escape.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as Geralt, his silver hair flashing in the twilight, stood over him, his silver sword slashing through the air before him. “Stay close” he growled at Jaskier, before he dodged to the side, drawing the woman’s poison oozing mandibles as far from Jaskier as he could. While Jorogumo were a bit of a handful on a good day, a corrupted one was something all together, Geralt’s eyes flooded black as he side stepped another attack, the glass bottle in his hand smashing across the floor. She moved with a grace that Geralt would have admired if she wasn’t trying to kill him. There was so much to watch with this kind of creature. Her objective was to capture Jaskier with her web, something she could do even while bound in combat. Geralt was fast, casting signs to push her back, his teeth gritting as he met her claws with his blade, the dark magics within her allowing her exoskeleton to act more like armour. He would have to be clever, to strike the woman’s body, hanging in the middle of it’s form. In the end it was Jaskier who allowed him to make the fatal blow. As he and the creature went toe to toe, parrying each blow, crushing one another into the ancient stone of the hall, Jaskier had scuttled back to gather his bags, inside he kept several potions, which, if mixed just so could be of use for such situations. While he wasn’t a trained fighter, he wasn’t foolish enough to study monsters without any form of protection.

“HIRUMI!” Through the haze of his potion Geralt blinked as the creature slowed, dropping him as she turned towards Jaskiers a feral grin spreading her too wide mouth into a horrifying expression, her long teeth red with blood. Jaskier had poured a potion of some kind all over himself, the scent drew as Geralt's senses for a moment, he felt the beast within him shift, his nose raised to the air, the man's scent utterly intoxicating. He really was making himself bait. He had used a scenting spell that made it near impossible for magical beings to resist him. In her haste to get to her prize, the creature lost her footing, allowing Geralt a moment to strike, one he took with precise action, slicing through the soft space between her front legs, dragging himself up as she began to rear back Geralt let out a growl as he watched Jaskier run forwards, drawing the woman’s attention once more, as Geralt pressed his blade through her heart. The creature collapsed upon the two men, coating them in black acrid blood, pinning them to the stone flagstones.

As Jaskier panted, a gentle groan emerging from his chest as he pushed one of her legs from him, he turned, looking as Geralt through smashed glasses, “Suppose this is about as good a time as any to introduce myself?” Geralt gave the young man a grunt in response, pushing the dead carcass from his sword. Once on his feet he pulled Jaskier up, pulling at his clothing to check for wound marks. “Or you could manhandle me, that’s fine too. You know if you want to know if I am inured you could just ask?” Jaskier chimed, black blood dripping onto his cheek as Geralt's hands stilled, his thumb settling over a red mark towards the back of Jaskiers neck. “When did you get this?” Geralt growled, cursing under his breath as he looked at the wound site.

“Oh that? Sometime yesterday? Hirumi was helping me unpack the relics I was… oh.” Jaskier stopped, his eyes going wide as he looked over the obliterated room around them. “The Relics! There are utterly destroyed! Fuck, they were on lend from Cambridge. They are going to have an utter field day, it been hard eno-.” “JASKIER.” Geralt interrupted, drawing Jakiers gaze back to the man who’s strong hands were fisted in his jacket. “Yes well see it’s just a little bug bite, when you deal with old books and relics you can’t help but end up with creepy crawlies.” He admitted, watching as the dark color in Geralt's face slowly began to retract.His eyes shifting from black to gold. Realising all too late that he was in the presence of an actual Witcher.

“That’s why I couldn’t smell her.” Geralt cursed, glancing over his shoulder before he slid his sword back into its hilt and started to make his way towards the door, Jaskier in tow. “Shouldn’t we do something about that?” Jaskier squeaked, glancing over his shoulder as part of the ceiling rained down onto the dead monster. “Your people have people ready for this kind of thing, we need to get you to a mage.” Geralt growled.

So shall I bother with this? Y? N?

[ranawaytothedas]

Pretty ballads hide bastard truths? Maybe for Varric and characters of your choice?

Thank you so muhc! Sorry, it took me so long… illness..depression… the usual unpleasant life things…. Hopefully, this will make up for the delay. 

The Girl With the Sad Eyes - 

Cullen & Varric 

hints at pre-relationship Cullen/Maeve and Alistair/Maeve as well

The tavern was always the liveliest place in Haven come nightfall. Everyone at some point filed through. There were soft ballads being sung and every corner of the small wooden building was bursting with life. Cullen had tucked himself off in a dark corner, nursing a tankard of ale. His eyes fixed on the young Herald of Andraste as she clutched onto their new Warden ally’s arm as she laughed. All Cullen could think of was how he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that. In the four months he had known Maeve, he had only seen her genuinely laugh with him. 

Alistair, Cullen grumbled internally. They had been friends, close friends, which felt like a lifetime before. When they were just young men in Templar training. Yet, since he joined the Inquisition they had barely spoken three words to each other. All Alistair’s attention seemed to be devoted solely on Maeve. They seemed to be never more than an arm’s length apart from sunrise to sunset.

Cullen considered himself fairly adept at reading people, but he couldn’t quite grasp what was the nature of Maeve and Alistair’s relationship. Leliana had said ‘She is like his little sister, or so that was the way it had been… things change.’ Maeve never spoke of Alistair to him, well not more than saying she didn’t want to speak of him. Maeve, by herself, was difficult enough for Cullen to read. One moment she would look at him like he was the only man in the world, confess some unspoken secret to him late at night. Then come dawn, she was hanging on Alistair’s arm looking at him like a lost Mabari pup. “Frustrating women,” Cullen mumbled into his tankard. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen spotted the stout figure of Varric Tethras sauntering over to him. ‘Oh, just what I need…’ Cullen bemoaned internally as he lowered the tankard and tried to put on the friendliest expression he could muster in the moment. “Good Evening, Varric,” Cullen greeted slowly. There was an odd friendship forming between the men and their mutual fondness for a certain young thief only seemed to strengthen this friendship in recent weeks. 

Varric set a tankard of ale on the table as he sat down, “It is a good evening… isn’t it, Curly?” Varric asked rather amused with himself. Cullen nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Maeve who was now trying to coax Alistair to dance with her. Varric glanced over his shoulder to see what Cullen was looking and sighed. “The Prince and The Princess…” He laughed softly. “I am telling you, they are my next novel.”

“So, they are…” Cullen started without thinking before the words came tumbling from his lips. He caught himself before he could finish but Varric heard enough. The brokenhearted tone in Cullen's voice spoke more than his words could.

Varric let out a long sigh. "I can't say for certain but I spend enough time with them to see the way she looks at him and the way he looks at her. There are feelings there." Varric mused as he took a hearty swill of ale before lowering the tankered. "Could either of them tell us what those feelings are, not likely. But whatever is between them sure as the stone isn’t some ‘oh he is like family’ feelings like Maeve likes to claim." Varric watched as Cullen's face dropped and his gazed lowered to his drink. "Hey, I don't think you are out of the race yet," Varric leaned in and in a low tone asked. "She still meets you, every night she is here. Right?"

Nodding slowly Cullen looked up at Varric, "Every night." Cullen admitted in barely a whisper. 

Leaning back Varric smirked. "See, the Princess does like you, Curly." Varric could see a small glimmer of hope return to Cullen's eyes. He patted his hand on the table. "You know, the Prince doesn't win the Princess in all the ballads, not if you listen closely." Cullen raised a skeptical eyebrow and Varric sighed. "Pretty ballads hide bastard truths," he lifted his hand and gestured towards himself. "Trust me, I am a writer… there is so much more to that relationship that spells disaster waiting to happen…"

Cullen started to laugh. "Oh Maker," he groaned not sure if he wanted to hear what Varric was about to tell him.

"The Princess is a walking disaster, I see it...you see it...Prince Charming over there definitely sees it." Varric took another long drink as his tone grew serious. "I suspect the only person who doesn't is her." Cullen's jaw tightened as he tried not to agree with him, as much as he wanted to. "I don't think it's a good idea for her to jump into bed with either of you..or anyone for that matter. There is something deeper and darker going on inside her that needs to work it's way out before anyone could even venture to get close…"

"She is not some abomination." Cullen cut Varric off in a very defensive tone. 

"No, but she sure as shit isn't a normal mage is she?" Varric pointed out in a blunt but low tone. "I adore that kid, you know how much she reminds me of…"

"I know," Cullen answered before Varric even had a chance to finish.

"But if this whole 'Witch of the Wilds' business is true. Hawke met her mother, saw her turn into a dragon and Daisy, oh Daisy has been writing me letter after letter of tales of what the Dalish say about her. The Princess is the Princess for a good reason. In some world, to someone. That girl is royalty and royals are nothing if not tragic." Cullen looked puzzled and Varric leaned in. "Cullen," Varric rarely used his actual name so that alone made Cullen focus on his friend. "Have you looked at her eyes…"

'Yes, more than I should. They are the most beautiful..' Cullen shook his head before nodding. "Of course, she has rather unique…"

"No, have you ever noticed that even when she laughs...even when she looks at him...they are always filled with a life of pain and sadness. More than a lifetime, maybe a dozen lifetimes…"

It took him a moment but Cullen started to think back to the one time he had made her smile a few nights before on the docks. He did not think her eyes were sad. Though he did know what Varric had been speaking of. The corners of his mouth turned upward and Cullen gripped the tankered. "When she smiled at me, her eyes were not sad…"

The men shared a long look as a smile grew across Varric's lips. He lifted his mug "Well then, Curly. You are far more in the race then you expect…"

"Really?"

"By Andraste’s most scared of knickers, I speak the truth. You stand a real chance."

"Perhaps, but this is all foolish… I mean Alistair and I had rivalries like this fifteen years ago and it never ended well for either of us then. We never got the girl… never. We always ended up sneaking to a tavern to try and get drunk after the girl of our mutual dreams...at whatever moment...rejected us both."

Varric laughed. "Perhaps the real romance is between you and Prince Charming…"

"Makers Breath, Varric"

"He doth protests too much…" 

[eyeofmud]

A Future

A reworking and redoing of the poem about Ellanis and Zevran’s love story. It means a lot to me and i’ve decided the first piece i post here has to be their story.

Ellanis is fifteen. Spring and the vhenadahl is blooming. Bright skies above, the sun shining to warm his skin. His first kiss, full of giggles and nervousness and Ellanis feels as if he could take on the world. Paint on his fingers, on their skin as he places a hand on their cheek, big mismatched eyes looking only into his. Gold and crimson. Noure smiles, leans forward to kiss Ellanis again. They are young and unstoppable, no harm can come to them here hidden away on a rooftop at the festival.

Two weeks later and rain is falling in sheets. Noure taken to the circle and Ellanis will never see them again. Hands curled into fists, fingernails biting into his palm. Stands in the rain under the vhenadahl, water falling from its blossoms to hit his face and Ellanis ignores the salt on his tongue. Youth is foolish but resilient and Ellanis retreats into himself.

Zevran is seventeen. The heat of an Antivan summer on his skin as he laughs with Rinna and Taliesen. Their first contract together complete, victory sweet on their tongues. Three of them, young and unstoppable. Shining so bright the world will be blinded by them, but for now, Zevran thinks more of the way Rinna’s smile and Taliesen’s jokes slip under his skin to rest inside his chest. Something warm and something soft but Zevran has been trained to be neither of those things. So he puts them aside and thinks nothing of it.

Until he can’t. Until the something inside his chest becomes too much to hide and Zevran has to smother the part of himself he thought long dead. He can’t afford mistakes and being soft is how you get killed. Sun on his hair, on the back of his neck. Grips a dagger with calloused hands, sweat on his palms and Zevran decides.

Ellanis is twenty. Lives with his father and sometimes Soris too. Rarely leaves anymore, his paintings bringing in only a small amount each week, and the risk of carrying his easel along with his cane makes even the prospect of leaving daunting. But, when he can, Ellanis takes the risk and carts his supplies behind him. Finds a high point, leaves the alienage for the countryside even if only for a day. Wind in his hair, autumn sun on his skin, blue skies on his canvas. When he returns his father will be disappointed, scold him for leaving without someone to watch. Doesn’t understand.

Freedom and the call of open skies. Ellanis dreams of leaving behind everything, of wandering into the places denied him. A need singing in his veins, stronger than just desire. Coming into his own worth on his own terms. Ellanis comes home with wind-tangled hair and paint on his fingers and in his chest, in his heart, Ellanis knows he’ll never achieve his dreams.

Zevran is twenty-four. There is fire under his skin and fury in his blood. Rinna at the end of his dagger, Taliesen standing at his back. It is winter, or what passes for winter here where it never gets colder than the word betrayer dripping from his tongue. No tears on Rinna’s face and Zevran can’t understand why their absence twists his guts more than the knowledge of her treachery. His hands don’t shake, no he is sure of this. Rinna’s blood is warm against his fingers and Zevran realizes they are no different than any of their marks.

A month later and Zevran is anything but sure. Can’t close his eyes except to blink and even in those quick moments he can see her face. Her blood on his hands and no matter how many times he washes them they’ll never be clean again. An emptiness in his chest, a hollowness to the beating of his heart and Zevran takes a contract he doesn’t expect to return from.

Ellanis is twenty-three. White petals falling from the vhenadhal and the scent of its blossoms lingers in the square beneath it. Clean, crisp, spring and new beginnings. Wears an itchy tunic on just this side of too tight in the shoulders and his stomach is in knots. Today he meets his future wife, today he’ll be married and tomorrow he’ll be living in the small house he shares with his father and she’ll be there too. Knows nothing about her, beyond the fact his father thought she was a good match for him. Hopes she is. Butterflies in his stomach taking flight, stealing his breath as he walks towards her for the first time during their wedding.

But they are young and they are not unstoppable. An interruption of violence, of bared swords and sharper teeth. A reminder of where they stand and Ellanis’ blood boils in his veins. Raises his cane as a staff for the first time in his memory and he fights and he kills and he reclaims. Horror and shock but no tears, Shianni’s face a sallow mockery and Ellanis knows killing the shemlen like dogs was not enough, could never have been enough.

Zevran is twenty-five. A band of mercenaries at his disposal even if not at his request. Puts them to use in an ambush, doesn’t much care if they’re visible for miles around. It’s not in his cards to win after all. Sun behind him, reflecting off the grey warden armor before him. Disappointment curling his lips as he lays eyes on the small party- two warriors, two mages, one archer. And one cripple wearing warden regalia but Zevran’s eyes slip past him without thought as he won’t last long enough to matter.

Back on the dusty earth, the cripple he had dismissed has his cane -no his staff- pressed into the hollow of Zevran’s throat. His eyes are hard but thoughtful, taking a measure of Zevran. Something about his gaze lingers in his chest and Zevran closes his eyes hoping to never open them again. But he does. That same mage who fought him and won stands over him, thin strands of black hair wisping around his face, an understanding Zevran finds unsettling in his eyes as he holds out a hand and helps Zevran to stand.

Ellanis cannot trust him. Has gathered a merry band of misfits and Zevran slips himself into the cracks. Weeks and Zevran is always there, a quip on his lips and a question for how he can help. Months and Ellanis’ skin feels electric when Zevran winks at him over the campfire. Takes the second watch one night and Zevran asks a question for which Ellanis has no answer to give. Because there is no answer. Not one they both want. Ellanis watches the campfire glint in Zevran’s eyes and feels that fire race along his skin. Takes that feeling and buries it. He knows what comes of dreaming and wants no part of it anymore.

Dancing around each other. Neither of them speaking of how Zevran’s words can make Ellanis blush all the way up to the tips of his ears or how Ellanis’ healing touch is only clumsy on Zevran. Ellanis fights for the freedom of detachment, with every kind word or throwaway flirt he narrows his eyes even as his heart soars in his chest. No more. Begs to a Maker he isn’t sure he ever truly believed in. A longing under his skin, in his lungs, the empty chambers of his heart. Ellanis fights but he is losing.

Zevran finds living is harder than he remembers. But that is only true in parts and he knows it. Puts his training to use and watches the group around him as he settles into it. Finds he could easily complete his task if he chose to do so, Ellanis is too soft, too kind and he is weak for it. But this is a lie in parts too and Zevran doesn’t want to look too closely at the way his reflexive flirting has shifted from halfhearted to heartfelt. A smile on his lips, genuine and warm, for the first time in a long time.

Always feeling too much for his own good. Never able to fully smother the pieces of himself which are too soft in the center of him. Ellanis’ magic heals more than just the cuts across his skin. The warmth of it leaks into his chest, spills into a heart Zevran thought he had killed. Hands brushing in a handful of moments, each lasting a heartbeat longer than the last. Zevran looks at his fingers as they wrap around the hilt of a dagger and the blood he finds there has faded. They will never be clean but maybe they can be cleared.

Ellanis falls first. Breaks his own promise with a pair of gloves. No longer can he ignore the way his heart flips in his chest around Zevran. Knows his weak and foolish and so young heart is making a mistake but the recklessness of youth is still in his chest. A gift given without strings, a pair of gloves with Dalish embroidery. It is the turning of spring into summer and Ellanis kisses Zevran for the first time in a sunlight forest with only the bird calls around them to remind them they’re not alone.

Tender and sweet. Honeysuckle in the air lingering on their tongues. Something in Ellanis’ chest lifts, releases, and settles. Laughter bubbling from him, leaking into their kiss. Zevran’s hands cupping his face, fingertips brushing his skin. Something in the way Zevran’s kiss reminds Ellanis of coming home, a place Ellanis has never quite felt he could return to but now. Now Ellanis never wants to leave this moment, this dream perhaps coming true.

Zevran surrenders. Soft abandon. Learns the shape of Ellanis, the measure of his breaths between heartbeats. The trust he has in Zevran takes the air from his lungs, leaves him faltering. Ellanis, asleep in Zevran’s arms, one hand curving on his chest, over his heart. A safeguard and this isn’t love because Zevran can’t love. Doesn’t know how. It was torn from him, beaten out of him long ago. And even if. Even if it wasn’t, even if he had loved once before Zevran can’t trust himself to find a happy ending now.

Bare skin, wide open eyes. Fingers tracing nonsense patterns on Zevran’s skin. Ellanis is something Zevran never expected, doesn’t deserve. The weight of him as he lays on top of Zevran, in a tent they’ve given up the pretense of not sharing, grounding Zevran to this moment in a way he doesn’t remember ever having felt before. Real in a way Zevran can’t understand.

Ellanis breaks, shatters into pieces. Shudders, chest heaving and cheeks damp. Safe in the warm circle of Zevran’s arms, face pressed against his neck. Ellanis lets go of his fear, of his pain, of the desperate way he fights against a rising tide of hope inside his chest. It has been months since he thought he couldn’t dare trust Zevran, now Ellanis finds him to be the one he trusts most. Secure in the dark, in the tenderness of Zevran’s hands in his hair.

Shares his deepest secret. Three words Ellanis has kept in his chest, locked in the echoing chambers of his heart. Whispered against Zevran’s skin, into the curve of his shoulder as he holds Ellanis. Frees himself from them, from the love he carried without speaking of it. Zevran’s arms tighten around him, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. Maybe, hopefully, his secret is shared.

Zevran has a choice before him. Bright sun on Taliesen’s hand outstretched toward him, glinting on the dagger he offers. Behind him stands Ellanis, and Zevran can only imagine the way his face must be crumbling. Doesn’t turn back as he refuses Taliesen, the sharp exhale of relieved air behind him and Zevran only has eyes for the hard glint of Taliesen’s gaze as it shifts towards Ellanis. Heart in his throat, fear in his veins. Zevran blocks Taliesen blow for blow, catches the dagger meant for Ellanis in his shoulder.

This time his hands do shake and Taliesen’s blood mingles with Rinna’s on his hands. Takes a heavy breath through his nose, there is no going back. Not that there ever was. Ellanis’ hand on his shoulder, the gentle heat of his magic as he heals the wound there. One single raindrop falling, a hiccup in Zevran’s breathing as he stands. Decides.

Ellanis sits on the edge of their bed in the Denerim’s castle. Hair falling around his face, candlelight gleaming on the earring on Zevran’s palm. Zevran telling him it is a trinket and nothing more and something inside Ellanis’ chest freezes. Shakes his head, a tremble in his fingers as he closes Zevran’s hand around the earring. Throat closing around the threat of tears, Ellanis should have known what comes of dreaming.

Watches Zevran leave, a stiffness to his shoulders as he walks away from Ellanis. Door shutting between them. Ellanis drops his head, curls around himself. Calls himself a fool and cries himself to sleep in a bed now too big and too cold with just him in it.

Zevran flees just as he thought he would. Finds the highest point he can on the castle’s roof, sits under the moon and tries not to think of the way Ellanis’ heart shattered in his eyes when Zevran gave a lie and a truth in the same measure. Golden earring biting into the skin of his palm, cold metal bitter in his hand. Forces himself to think of Ellanis, of how his words are too kind, his touch too soft, his eyes too warm for this to be anything other than love.

But love is not a future, not a guarantee. Ellanis had asked both of him, wants more than a trinket. And Zevran has never been more afraid. Because he wants a guarantee of a future with Ellanis too.

Ellanis finds Zevran not a week later on the eve of battle. The last battle. Apologies given and accepted, Ellanis keeps one final secret. Makes a promise of a future he doesn’t expect to see and Zevran slides his earring through Ellanis’ ear. Smiles against Zevran’s lips as they kiss, one hand finding Zevran’s, tangling their fingers together in the dark. They are young and unstoppable and Ellanis will have to let go.

Dreams even though he knows they will be achieved. A future just out of his reach, close enough to hope for but Ellanis knows hope is never enough. Has never been enough. But Ellanis loves anyway. Heart laid bare, skin against skin. Ellanis takes and gives and keeps his secret locked away in his chest.

Zevran has seen violence before, but he has never seen war. It lingers in the air, heavy and thick in their lungs as he follows Ellanis through wave after wave of darkspawn. Carving their way to the archdemon, paving their path with corpses. Time stretches enough to become meaningless, each heartbeat lasting an hour and each muscle burns for every moment passing.  It forgets about them only to returns with a fury as the archdemon falls and Zevran’s blood hums with victory. Watches as Ellanis turns to him with no light in his eyes. And a sad, broken smile on his lips.

Too far to stop him as Ellanis brings his staff down once more on the already still form of the archdemon and the explosion as they connect knocks him off his feet. Shakes as he rises, as he runs to the too still form of Ellanis lying at an odd angle at the feet of the archdemon. Ice in his chest, solid as the terror in his blood. Zevran cradles Ellanis to his chest, forehead pressed to Ellanis’ temple. Weeps when Ellanis’ hand comes up to cup his cheek.

A future. Years passing, love growing, deepening. Two rings bought together in an afternoon. Ellanis stands across from Zevran on the sandy shore outside the house they now share. A promise made and kept. Smiles so wide their cheeks ache, an exchange of rings and of vows. Only heard by them and the ocean and the open sky. Hands tangled in hair, curling and pressing as they kiss. Tender and sweet, a realized dream and love and a future.  

[softdekus]

Tell us about your DA characters!!!!

aa thank you! I’ll put it under a read more so it doesn’t take up too much space, and fair warning...it’s pretty long. 

Tldr i have Feynhel and Pirras Lavellan, Selanz Adaar, Luelle and Hayden deLoriot- Camriel, and Tenar Brosca. I dont have any canon hawkes yet bc i haven’t gotten to play da2 and i wanna wait till i can to do that asdfas

First there’s Feynhel Lavellan, my most developed da character; he went through a backstory overhaul within the last year or two! When Inquisition starts he’s around 27, and he’d show up at Haven to be a companion pretty soon after the start of the game. He’s a gay trans man, and usually he ends up with either Pirras or Dorian(though if he were an actual companion he’d be open to romance by any male inquisitor). that’s a whole other subject entirely though that should probably be a post of it own lmao

    He was born in Orlais and left his family there to go join his father’s Dalish clan (Lavellan) when he was around 12. It was a fresh start he dearly needed considering his history with his mother. He’s a mage but had no interest in being First despite being very gifted with his magic, instead he was content to learn the basics and try to help out around the clan where needed. He apprenticed under the Clan’s craftmaster (Pirras’s father) and helped out the Hunters on occasion. Feyn’s father Thelras is a hunter and his stepmom, Shi’thra is a scout. He also has a younger brother named Cyrris, who’s now about 14 when Inquisition starts. 

    A big defining moment for him was when he was around 14/15 and had a close call with some Templars who wandered too close to where he was gathering craft supplies. He survived the encounter just barely, but since one of the Templars managed to retreat it made him paranoid of the possibility of being tracked. It’s part of the reason why he agreed to study under the Traveling Keeper who came to his clan looking for an apprentice some years later. He left for that when he was around 18/19 and has been away from his clan for most of the time after that, save for when he checks up with them in accordance to his duties. 

He takes his duties very seriously and has explored quite a few ruins in search of knowledge. He’s friendly with many and has quite a number of friends in the clans he’s visited across Thedas, as well as contacts outside of the clans. He loves to tell stories about the places he has visited and things he’s seen. He also will tend to hide the fact the he’s a mage(and by extension a Keeper) from most people until necessary, and he prefers to use a long sword or a dagger in most combat situations. He uses it as a focus for his magic and claims he simply had the blade enchanted. Overall he has a fairly diplomatic stance about many things, but he has strong morals and is very vocal about them if confronted with situations that challenge them. He’s generally a very warm and pleasant person to be around, although he’s tired pretty much all the time because he just refuses to sleep until he absolutely has to. I love him very much...

After him there’s my current/consequential Inquisitor, Pirras Lavellan. He has a lot less development but I have added a lot to him recently. When Inquisition starts he’s about 29, a couple years older than Feyn. He’s very bi, and very into Iron Bull if he and Feyn don’t get together. He’s Inquisitor only because he went to the conclave with Feyn and a small party of other Dalish scouts, but got too impatient and went ahead before everyone else. 

Pirras’ whole arc is about him growing out of his previously childish and arrogant behavior. It takes him until the end of Inquisition though and its pretty back and forth. He has a natural feel for magic and out of other apprentices he was pretty much a shoe-in for First. Family-wise, it’s been just him and his father Tala’ren since he was young, since his older brother(a mage) and mother were lost to Templars when returning from visiting another clan. After that he was fairly withdrawn even when his magic manifested. It wasn’t until Feyn showed up and tried to befriend him that he really opened up and became more outgoing. Pirras was constantly(and still does) treat everything like a competition and feels the need to try to impress everyone, especially Feyn. (despite Feyn telling him numerous times he doesn’t need to) 

Shortly before Feyn left and Pirras became First, he went into the forest to try and prove how ready he was and promptly got his ass handed to him by a bear that had been giving the clan’s hunters trouble. He barely made it by virtue of Feyn and another hunter showing up, only because Feyn and Tala’ren had an idea he might do something foolish. Up till and even after then he was fairly sheltered about life outside the clan, never having ventured to speak to humans when the clan traded largely due to his own strong dislike of them.

The events of Inquisition were a pretty big shock to him and he grows a lot and learns much more about responsibility than he did in the clan. Though he’s certainly eager to return to the clan after Corypheus is defeated. Pirras and Feyn have a..complicated on and off relationship that really needs more space than this to talk abt lol. 

Aside from those two we have my other Inquisitor, Selanz Adaar, who I haven’t really worked on in a long time. She’s 25 at the start of Inquisition, and fresh off her parent’s farm in Ferelden, only having done mercenary work for a couple of years when she heads to the conclave. 

She’s a dual-wield rogue, and one of her moms is a former Saarebas. Selanz is smart and cheerful and always ready for more action. She becomes fast friends with Sera, and most of the other companions(Sera and Selanz end up getting married in Trespasser and she later joins the Red Jennies.) She’s really intrigued by history and lore, and spends a lot of time in either the library going through all the books, or the garden checking on the various herbs growing since she knows her way around plants. As i said she isn’t nearly as developed as some others, but i should do another playthrough with her and fix that,,,

After that there’s Luelle and Hayden du Loriot-Camriel. Luelle is in their mid/late thirties, nonbinary(genderfluid they/she) and pan. Hayden is 25/26, a trans man and is bi.They’re both mages, Luelle trained as a Knight Enchanter and Hayden is a Spirit Healer.I’m toying with the idea of Luelle becoming my new HOF so their story is likely to change.

Luelle and Hayden are half-siblings, sharing the same human father of a minor noble house, while Hayden’s mother is actually a mistress. Though since both Luelle and Hayden’s mothers were quite close Hayden and his mother were allowed to live on the estate. Luelle was very protective of Hayden growing up, and still is currently, and Hayden feels the same way. 

Luelle’s magic manifested when she was around 14 and at a very bad time. Her elder sibling and Heir to the house had a number of bad habits, one of which included being particularly shitty to Luelle, a number of the servants, and even their parents. It was really a long time coming, but after a particular instance Luelle’s anger bubbled up and the magic just manifesting reacted to it in an explosive manner. Quite literally. The fiery explosion was so intense that it killed their sibling and burned her arm so badly it needed to be amputated. Their parents notified the Templars and after medical treatment they took Luelle to Ostwick before being transferred to the Ferelden circle(this is where it would branch to becoming HOF). At the circle she learned to control her magic very quickly under the constant watch of the Templars because she had already proven she could be dangerous. However, they were a quick learner and by the time the the events of Origins rolled around they were going to begin studying under a Knight Enchanter. In the event Luelle isn’t the HOF, they go through with their Knight Enchanter training but disappear

Meanwhile, since Luelle was a mage Hayden was left as the only heir. He didn’t want to be the heir but he took it in stride and was pretty spoiled, though he turned out very kind. He was upset with his father for sending Luelle so far away and not even telling him where,though he never actually brought it up and didn’t fully understand why it was such a bad thing that she was a mage. In secret, between his studies in the library he had actually been obtaining and reading books on magic. His magic manifested in a much more subtle way than Luelle’s did, he awoke one night to find his sheets had frozen where he was gripping them after a dream. He was able to keep his abilities a secret for a few months as he tried to learn more about controlling them from his books. His father found out on accident one day during dinner, where their mabari spooked him and he froze his glass. 

In contrast to Luelle’s situation, their parents were now desperate to keep some sort of heir. Instead of informing the Templars, Hayden’s father sought to hire an apostate tutor in secret, despite Hayden’s own desire to learn in a Circle(with the goal of finding out which circle Luelle had been sent to). Before his father could find an apostate to hire, Hayden simply packed up and left in the middle of the night to find Templars to take him to a circle. He was around 12, and like Luelle he learned very quickly and had a strong desire to become a healer. He became a capable spirit healer about 3-4 years before Inquisition starts, and if he joins the Inquisition as a healer after being contacted near the Crossroads in Ferelden while accompanying a group of mages and tranquil in aiding refugees from the fighting.

Then theres my main Hero of Ferelden, Tenar Brosca. He’s a two-handed warrior and Berserker specialization. He’s trans and bi bc i say so, and romanced either Zevran or Alistair.(i did playthrough for each and couldn’t,,,decide which i liked more) He is sort of morally questionable with a dark sense of humor(him and Morrigan get along rlly well), but from exposure to his companions he’s grown a bit and is trying to be a better person. He doesn’t have nearly as much to his backstory bc i haven’t really messed w him in a while, but he goes along with the dark ritual with Morrigan, and does some adventuring with Zevran before he eventually plans to help the Wardens rebuild.

There’s also a few other characters i have but for the main ones thats it sldakfj

[talesfromthefade]

"A gentle peck" (from your kiss list) for Eloise & Cullen?

Eloise Trevelyan x Cullen Rutherford (Post-In Your Heart Shall You Burn), for @dadrunkwriting

It’s nearly dawn when Eloise finally retires to the tent that’s been made up for her once more, though, the thick canvas should more than adequately block out the light and Cassandra and several healers both assure her they can wait here another day before moving to scout the path ahead for a new sanctuary to house them. Many of the others are still recovering and could use the extra few hours rest as well. The young woman shivers slightly as she slides onto the cot beneath the thick fur and blankets that have been procured for her, pulling them tight around her.

Vaguely she recalls the bitter cold, and throbbing pain of drawing breath through several broken ribs, limping her way through caves and tunnels, stumbling blindly through snow and sinking, at times up to her waist. Hoping against hope she was, in fact, headed in the right direction. Wondering idly if the spirit she carried within her , the one that had protected and looked after her since early childhood had any power to hold back the exhaustion that tugged at her, the impulse to simply lie down in the nearest bank and fall asleep, to slowly slip away from this world and perhaps back into the spirit’s own. Her mana too depleted in the fight against the Red Templars who had stormed Haven to heal anything significant.

A panicked voice had echoed in the distance just as she fell to her knees at the crest of a mountain. Cullen’s voice, she registered dimly, the faintest twist of a smile at the corners of her chapped and frozen lips. The sound should comfort her, would perhaps, except that after everything she’s endured, body and mind utterly spent, she can’t be certain of its authenticity. She cannot account for how long she has been walking, or even in what direction. She’d come across the remains of a small fire, but that had been… Well, some time ago, at least. And the powder fresh from the avalanches, the bitter high winds that rushed through the sprinkling of trees as she climbed had made visibility even a few inches in front of her nigh impossible.

“Thank the Maker,” she hears Cassandra respond, as a large shadow races forward, catching her where she’s collapsed in the show before she can face-plant as well, her body weak, shivering, teeth chattering uncontrollably.

She’s barely conscious as she is lifted up into someone’s arms. Something hard- metal, Eloise registers vaguely- cloth, finally fur, and a certain familiar and comforting scent, and the young woman doesn’t care if this is a dream any longer. If she’s breathing her last she can certainly think of worse last thoughts to tease or torment her than this. Perhaps it is even the spirit acting once more on her behalf. A pleasant memory, if only a false one, to gentle her for what is to come.

She is ready. So very tired, so impossibly cold. Her life, though undoubtedly not so bad as some has many times been filled with disappointment and pain. To join the Maker and his bride now cannot be such a terrible thing. But something tugs at her, insistently as might a child on their mother’s sleeve, pulls her back from the edge.

Not yet.

Not yet. The Breach. The rifts. That terrible possible future. The anchor on her hand. They need her.

With a shudder, she burrows a little deeper into the arms that hold her fast. The shock of bitterly cold metal against her cheek jarring enough to yank her back from the precipice of sleep. Not yet.

“Cullen,” she exhales weakly, voice coming out far more reedy than usual and nearly swallowed up in the gusts that whip about them. “Cul-” she begins again, before a wet and violent cough rips through her, stealing the rest of his name.

“She’s cold as death. Get blankets, a healer, clear a spot by one of the fires,” he barks urgently to someone. Another cough shakes her as she tries to speak again. “Shh,” Cullen’s strong, steady voice soothes softly. “It’s alright,” he promises, though it’s entirely possible he may be lying through his teeth. “You’re safe now. Save your strength,” he encourages, and Eloise can’t recall a time when the Commander has sounded so gentle with her- or anyone for that matter- his body all but radiating concern, fear for her well-being. He cares, she thinks foggily. A great deal more than she would have expected. More, or at least, a different kind of concern and care than that of Cassandra as she races off to see that his orders are being followed. She’d not expected that from the former Templar. She is a mage. Worse still, an abomination, though she has managed to keep as much a secret so far. But she can feel it. As clearly as she’s ever been able to sense the emotions of anyone. He’s doing his utmost to remain steady, calm for her sake, but, seeing her like this has shaken him.

In the time that has passed since the explosion at the Conclave she’s spent as many months away- trying to help spread word of the Inquisition and help secure them resources and allies- as she has in Haven. Even so, it is impossible to pretend she feels the same way about the Commander now as she had when first they’d met. Cullen has been patient, kind, a good teacher during their training sessions, and even someone she’s begun to look forward to talking to. Before the alarm had sounded she’d been thinking of seeking him out. Perhaps offering to share a celebratory drink, or even a dance if she could summon up the courage. Such thoughts seem foolish and far away now as she feels her eyes grow heavy once more in spite of herself and best efforts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered mournfully, words barely audible over the slight howl of freezing night winds sweeping through the peaks where the Inquisition has set up camp. I tried, she thinks as everything finally goes dark.

…

“You tried,” a soft voice offers soothingly, confirming her earlier thought as Eloise slowly stirs, pushing back the blankets and sitting up on her cot, blinking away sleep and attempting to gauge the hour through the light filtering in at the edges of the tent flaps.

“Cole,” the mage greets with relief to see the face of yet another person to make it out of Corypheus’ attack on Haven.

“You remember me.”

“Of course, I remember you, Cole,” Eloise nods, still smiling encouragingly. “Why wouldn’t I?” Cole doesn’t reply, blue eyes staring curiously back at her a moment longer than might most as Eloise struggles with herself not to duck behind a curtain of her curls, but continue to meet his gaze.

“You’re different,” he pronounces softly. Certain. It isn’t a question, but a statement of fact, and one she finds, despite an acute awareness of the precarious situation her differences from her fellows places her in, she finds herself nodding, trusting this strange young man somehow. An inkling, just the slightest sense of familiarity twinkles from somewhere within.

“So are you.” Cole nods, and this time smiles conspiratorially from beneath the wide brim of his hat and fringes of his untidy blonde hair, legs idly kicking back and forth where they dangle over the edge of the opposite cot, before holding up a finger to his lips.

“Cullen has something for you,” Cole offers another small smile, hopping down from where he’d perched himself. Straightening a bit too abruptly at the mention of the Cullen’s name and wincing a little, she turns to thank him, but Cole it seems has already left as noiselessly as he arrived.

Collecting herself and the armor she can slip herself back into without much pain to hide the damage of the previous night’s battle, Eloise carefully makes her way into the rest of camp to look for the Commander. She should thank him. The last thing she recalls before passing out was being in his arms. It seems likely he would have carried, or at the very least helped see her into the camp to be treated by the healers. Gingerly making her way over the crest of a snowy bank her breath catches in her throat. There is, it seems, still more to thank him for.

“Shhhhh,” Cullen tries, a slow hand, freed from his usual gauntlets reaching out towards the anxious russet colored steed. “I know,” he soothes. “I’m a poor substitute.” Large black eyes suddenly catching sight of her mistress over the man’s shoulder, she stills, snorting, and tossing her head with an appreciative whinny.

“You saved her,” Eloise whispers softly, eyes wide as Cullen turns to face her. Color rising slightly in his cheeks, the hand not busy with holding the horse’s reins forcibly reaches up to scrub the back of his neck, and her breath catches again, struck not for the first time by how handsome he is. And thoughtful, she adds as Brandy whinnies again, with seemingly growing impatience for her human charges. Cullen drops the reins, allowing the horse to trot over to her and watching horse and woman press their foreheads to one another in a grateful reunion.

They remain like that a moment, long enough Cullen begins to consider a silent retreat to leave them to it before they slowly part. The young woman closes the distance between them, her steadfast companion a steady shoulder to lean on should she require it and meets his gaze with watery eyes and a trembling, incredibly bright smile.

“Thank you,” Eloise whispers, rocking up onto the balls of her feet and pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek before she can think better of it. “Thank you.”

“You’re-” Cullen stammers, blushing once more. “You are very welcome,” he manages to eek out finally with a small nod, smiling long after horse and rider walk away back towards the rest of the camp.

[paperiahma]

Inquisitor Surana - a brief summary

After seeing the positive response in dragonageconfessions, I decided to make this quick summary how my headcanon for my Inquisitor Surana works. Mostly it’s to clarify the events in Origins and how they tie into Inquisition. There are also a few points I make about the events in Inquisition. In short, here is an AU where a human mage Iren Amell becomes the Warden while his friend, an elven mage Feralsha Surana, ends up as the Inquisitor. 

If someone is curios about details - any details - feel free to message me. Seriously, you can ask me about her spell preferences or what she looks like or hell, what her favourite food is. I guarantee you, I will be overjoyed to reply. 

Thank you again, for all you lovely people who responded so well this little AU^^

*Was born to two elven servants and taken away when her magical abilities awaken at the age of five. Two of the three templars were quite rough and cold, but the third one spoke to her kindly and comforted her all the way from Highever to the Circle.

 *A shy child, she kept mostly to herself and studied magic with enthusiasm and deep fascination. However, it was soon made clear how closely she was being watched and she was terrified of making mistakes. Once she was practicing a fire spell on her own and burnt her hands. Too scared to tell anyone, she hid in the library until an older mage found her and healed the burns. That was her first proper talk with Irving who took her to his office to talk about magic and balance and how one must sometimes fail before seeing how to do things right.

 *As a quiet, brilliant child, Feralsha was easy to walk over so she had a hard time making any friends and she was picked on by some bullies. However, another apprentice, a couple of years her senior, defended her and took her under his wing. This apprentice was Iren Amell, another child genius.

 *Soon after, the dynamic duo became the three magical musketeers as they met and befriended Jowan.

 *The three of them were inseparable, even when both Feralsha and Iren became apprentices to the First Enchanter himself. The boys, especially Iren, would often come up with all sorts of wild ideas and pranks and Feralsha was dragged along. She did always laugh with them about it all afterwards, but she also reined them in every now and then, keeping them from crossing the line. As a mastermind behind most of the plan, Iren always came up with a lie or another trick to keep the softer Feralsha out of trouble.

 *Iren was always confident, charismatic and incredibly witty. Quite a few apprentices, including Feralsha, had a crush on him at one point or another. Feralsha’s teenage crush lasted only a little while before those feelings changed into sister’s love.

 *After getting used to the templars, Feralsha often made an effort to talk with them and learned who would return her friendliness and who wouldn’t. She always made a point to at least politely greet them as she walked by. Soon she befriended one of the younger recruits, Cullen.

 *Feralsha’s Harrowing was merely hours apart from Iren’s. Like him, she met a Pride demon in her test. It might seem quite odd for many who knew her as a humble and sweet young woman who never bragged. But there was always hidden pride within her and Feralsha was often (perhaps needlessly) worried she’d let it take over and do something foolish.

 *She and Iren helped Jowan to destroy his phylactery but when they were caught by the templars, Iren pushed her away from him and Jowan and yelled at her for “slowing them down by trying to stop them”, hoping his lie would save her from the fall. Struck numb by this, she never found the words to protest before everything escalated. As Jowan attacked, she was devastated, as she was losing both of her brothers. Jowan ran, Iren was taken away by the Grey Warden Duncan and she was left alone.

 (Trivia worth mentioning: my friend headcanons Iren as Duncan’s son. Duncan knows about this but he never gets the chance to talk to Iren about it. Iren, however, later figures it out on his own. This whole idea sparked when my friend noticed how she had accidentally made Iren look a lot like Duncan.)

 *Feralsha did tell Irving the truth about her involvement later but he knew of it already. However, he understood her reasons and even though he was disappointed, he never told anyone else about the truth. When Wynne returned to the Circle with news of Ostagar, Feralsha’s heart was shattered. She spent most of the following weeks in isolation, eating little and only talking with Irving or Cullen and not much to them either. When she wasn’t mourning, she was distracting herself with studies.

 *When the Circle was attacked, Feralsha’s every instinct told her to run and find safety. She was not a great brave fighter and had no stomach for violence. However, knowing that both Irving (her mentor and only parental figure) and Cullen (her last dear friend) were exactly where all the abominations were coming from, she couldn’t make herself to leave. So she fought her way forward, saving a couple of injured templars and mages in the process, though refusing to flee with them. Eventually she encountered the Sloth demon standing over Niall and was pulled into the Fade.

 *Feralsha’s Fade trap was once again created by a Pride. She saw a dream of a reformed Circle with her as its First Enchanter. The Circle was independent, safe environment for all. Iren was there in a shimmering silver and blue uniform of the Wardens, happy and healthy. Jowan was there free and smiling with Lily, who was pregnant. Cullen was the new knight-commander of the templars who remained in the Circle with lesser authority and worked together with mages instead above them. She escaped the trap, found Niall and began exploring the Fade islands.

 *Around the same time in the waking world, Iren encountered the Sloth demon and ended up in the Fade, too.

 *Though terrified to the core, Feralsha did manage to find two new shapes before Iren found her. He wasn’t in a shimmering uniform, he didn’t come with good news and he looked quite weary and thin. But he was alive and ready to fight and Feralsha was overwhelmingly relieved to see him. Just Iren’s presence was enough to convince her all was going to turn out fine, somehow. Together they found their ways through the Fade, rescued Iren’s companions and escaped the Fade with Nial’s dying wish.

 *Meeting Cullen was shocking on many levels. Seeing him so utterly pained and broken was already enough to make Feralsha kneel in front of the magical cage in an effort to comfort him. But his pained confession of his affection for her and the new hate towards mages cut like poisoned daggers. In the end, Feralsha didn’t say much at the time. Too tired from fighting and hurting too much for his sake, she didn’t know if she could in any way make things better. She had loved Cullen as a very dear friend for a long time but knew it was unlikely she’d ever get him back like that.

 *In the final battle against Uldred, Feralsha stood with Iren and managed to save First Enchanter Irving and the rest of the mages, much to their relief. Afterwards, as the dust settled and Wynne requested a leave to travel with Iren, Feralsha did the same. Part of her wanted to stay to rebuild her home and make sure Irving and Cullen would recover. But at the same time she knew Iren would be in far greater danger and she didn’t want to lose her brother a second time. So she left the Tower with him and followed him all the way to the Archdemon.

 *(As a side note, my friend hasn’t had the chance to play the Awakening, but I’m personally convinced Feralsha remained with Iren during that)

 *During the years after the Blight and its aftermath, Feralsha returned to the Circle. It had gained far more independence, thanks to Iren and King Alistair and as one of the few remaining mages in Ferelden, she wished to give her all to use this opportunity. By this time Cullen had already been sent to Kirkwall before she could have the chance to properly talk to him. She sent a couple of letters but never got a reply.

 *Feralsha traveled Ferelden on small expeditions to study magical sites or old ruins. She made contact with a few dalish clans (including the clan Lavellan) and traded information with their keepers. She climbed the Circle ranks and taught some classes, even tutoring Dagna. During this time her spirit grew stronger and she gained confidence, eventually becoming ready to accept the leading position with an open heart.

 *Soon Irving began training Feralsha to become the First Enchanter after him so she threw herself into her studies once more. Though she was already an expert on many arcane fields of study and adept at history, she began to deepen that knowledge while also studying politics, economics and culture. She did rise to the position just a couple of years before the mage-templar conflict finally reached its breaking point.

 *Despite the war, she looked after her own Circle and its people the best she could. Feralsha wanted the Circles back, but not in the same way as they had been before. She wanted a safe environment for the mages to study where they could also have the main authority and would be allowed the freedom to see their families. She found templars necessary as well, but as guardians, not prison guards. She felt that the concept was sound but the system needed to be thoroughly rebuilt for both sides.

 *When the Conclave was announced, she took part as Ferelden’s First Enchanter. And was the only one to survive.

 *Though a fairly devout Andrastian, Feralsha never claimed to be Andraste’s Herald or “the chosen one”. However, secretly she  wanted to believe some of it. Not that she was Andraste’s equal or that she had the right to speak for Her... but she did want to believe the Maker had chosen her for this. But for the fear of pride and arrogance, she didn’t dare to truly believe so for a time. But when Haven was attacked, her faith that she was chosen for this finally strengthened, because she needed it to. She needed to believe she was chosen. Maybe not a Herald, maybe not a prophet… but a guardian of some sort. Chosen in a way she believed Iren was chosen to be the Hero of Ferelden.

 *Meeting Cullen again was quite jarring, especially considering the long years after their previous encounter. To avoid unnecessary awkwardness, neither of them showed any sign of knowing each other when they were first introduced. Later, when Feralsha went to talk to him, they first remained professional and distant, until finally she admitted she had wondered what had happened to him. They talked for some time, mostly telling about the past years, reassuring there were no hard feelings and both agreed to start again. They had not met in almost ten years and people change a lot in that time, so in truth they barely knew each other. Yet both were glad to see the other healthy and were looking forward to getting to know each other again.

 *Feralsha’s feelings for Cullen slowly grew as she got to know him better. She found small private moments to talk with him more and more often, feeling safe in his presence while also being treated as an equal. By Skyhold the feelings had deepened and the romance finally bloomed on both sides.

[motherhen-bear]

Kendra Tevelyan: Facing the Tiger

“Solas?”

The elven mage glanced downwards, his brush still poised to finish the crest of the Empress’s mantle in gold and yellow hues. From up on his high perch he saw Kendra Trevelyan standing below him at the ready, hands folded neatly behind her back.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he replied, putting aside his pallet and brushes before carefully making his way down the ladder to her. “What can I do for you?”

Kendra nodded, almost more to herself then to him, but did not answer him for a moment. She seemed to be struggling to find the words, which came as a surprise to Solas who had always taken the Inquisitor for a sure-tongued individual considering, or rather in spite of, her noble upbringing. Eventually she gestured toward the exit that led out onto the battlements.

“Would you walk with me?” she asked.

Solas arched a curious brow, but made no objections as he followed her outside and into the midday sun. The brisk mountain air pulled a long breath from his lungs, clearing his sinuses of the scent of oil paint and aged parchment. Other than a courtesy meal and his regular and nightly delving into the Fade, it had been a while since Solas had stepped outside his study for anything besides a mission with the Inquisitor and he felt every one of his long, long years quickly and quietly take roll off his body as the tension released.

Kendra noticed the way his shoulders relaxed and smiled at him.

“It would seem I arrived just in the nick of time. When was the last time you took a break, Solas?”

“As you know Inquisitor, when one is preoccupied with preventing the destruction of the world, simple pleasures often go neglected. However,” he fixed her with a deadpan stare, though the amusement was palpable in his tone, “based on tales I’ve been told of last night in the tavern, you seem to be making up for them.”

Kendra’s cheeks reddened considerably before she proudly and quite impressively declared, “One of these days, Sera is going to replace the water in your canteen with Dwarven ale and I am going to laugh when you fall on your head and start serenading spirits.”

‘If she only knew,’ Solas thought to himself, but he kept his silence as they continued their way along the battlements.

The pair walked in companionable silence, Kendra nodding at the odd one or two guards who passed by them and paused to salute. They passed through Cullen’s office, of which the commander was currently absent from, and continued along. The Inquisitor was still wearing the same worried expression from earlier on her face, evidently stalling for a point when some spirit would leap through a rift and re-grant her the power of speech.

Solas let out a sigh before breaking the tension, “Inquisitor, while my journeys into the Fade have unlocked many secrets, they have sadly not given me the ability to read minds.”

Kendra stopped short, her eyes wide and she let out a rather unladylike snort-of-a-laugh that she quickly tried to masquerade it as a cough. He continued, not missing a beat.

“If whatever it is that’s troubling you weighs so heavily on your mind, then perhaps here and now would be the best time to let it go.”

He glanced over the side of the battlements and down into the abyss below. “By my estimate, it should travel for quite the distance.”

Kendra stared at him and Solas watched as a smile crept across her face. Her entire posture transformed from unsuitably hunched, uncomfortable and awkward, into one that was much more preferably calm, composed, and in-control. The world had done much to the youngest Trevelyan, with more still on the way before any… mistakes could be fixed. Better that she not let herself be brought low by inconsequential insecurities, especially if she was basing them on his reactions.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I suppose I was hoping that there would be a way to ask this without sounding like a complete simpleton, but…” she shook her head and tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. “Apparently not.”

Solas maintained a rather unimpressed expression, but the corner of his mouth did twitch upwards. Just once.

That was better. There was no need for all this shame and embarrassment when it was just a simple matter of–

“I want you to help me get over my fear of magic.”

Well.

“All my life, it was always assumed that if I hadn’t been married off by the time I was of age, I would either join the Chantry or the Order. I’ve spent so much of my life training to fight magic, but…” Kendra let out a frustrated huff. “That training has also birthed an unhealthy fear of it. It can’t continue.”

It would seem that they were talking about it now.

Her discomfort wasn’t as much of a secret as she may have liked it to be, at least not to Solas. He still recalled the naked fear on the young woman’s face the first time he had grasped her marked hand and thrust it towards a rift. That same fear, while less extreme, still lingered whenever Solas lit a torch of veilfire or summoned a barrier. The other mages in their party had also surely noticed it. For all of her many faults, there were few shrewder than Vivienne, and Dorian was far too aware of the effects his presence caused not to notice the unconscious flinch the Inquisitor made every time he levitated a book to his chair from across the library. Around Cole it was even worse, and though she did an commendable job of tampering down her reactions whenever the spirit was near, Cole was not such a being that her unease and disquiet could be hidden from his gifts.

Now that same woman stood before him, an embarrassed flush raised high on her cheeks and looking positively furious with herself.

“We’re fighting demons from the beyond, combating an immortal darkspawn magister, and stumbling across ancient elven magic at every turn. Being afraid of everyday displays of magic and proven allies on top of all that has never been more foolish or energy-wasting!” Kendra paused, frowned, and collected herself before continuing. “In my head I know that, but I can’t shake it on my own. I need your help, Solas.”

“Why not ask Dorian or Vivienne?” Solas asked. “They are both talented practitioners of the arcane and I’m sure they would be happy to help alleviate your fears.”

Kendra was quiet for a moment, giving the diplomatic illusion of considering his words, but it was obvious her mind was already made up the moment she continued the conversation. “You're not wrong, but I don't think the results of those lessons would bear the best fruit,” she said with a smile that would rival Josephine in manners.

“Dorian is exceptionally skilled and a dear friend, but he’s too impatient,” she explained, smiling whilst rolling her eyes. “Knowing him, his ‘beginner level’ would likely start with a field of undead and a giant fireball.”

The memory of the Inquisitor’s last mission into the Fallow Mire flashed through Solas’ mind and he couldn’t help but find himself agreeing.

Kendra continued, “I respect Vivienne, but she would have me hone my fear as a weapon, not rid myself of it. While I understand her reasoning, I’ve already been trained in that way. No,” she shook her head and looked directly to him. “I need a different sort of lesson and I need a teacher with the staying power to do it.”

Solas said nothing as he considered the human woman in front of him, hands clasped military style behind her back, patiently waiting for him to either accept her odd request or send her away to find someone else.

Humans were predictable. Most people were, but humans especially. While there was something to be admired in their passion and strength, it was constantly being squandered due to their lack of wisdom or finesse. Humans never seemed to learn from their mistakes and what’s worse; they were constantly denying they existed.

To be fair, the same could be said of him, but that was a dark mirror Solas did not wish to stare into, at least not today.

However, Solas had seen the letters on Kendra’s desk – all addressed to House Trevelyan and yet never sent, but never fully abandoned either. He had spotted her early training sessions the morning after a particularly severe battle with one too many close calls. He’d noticed the tension behind all of her gracious smiles, curtsies and ‘how do you do’s’ at the Inquisition’s last social function. He knew she had luncheons with Vivienne, drank with Dorian, and took walks with him when what came from their dreams, haunted her nightmares.

The Inquisitor despised her own failings like they were manifestations of Corypheus himself. What’s more, she attacked them with all the vigor needed to fell a dragon and all the care required to navigate the Orlesian court. He had never met someone so aware, so ashamed, and yet so prepared to drag herself, kicking and screaming, into the light if it was necessary, despite her discomfort.

It was admirable. Admirable and worrying.

After a long pause and a sudden gust of autumn wind made Kendra drop her composure and rub her arms for warmth, Solas finally let out a sigh.

“Handpicked by the Inquisitor to dispel her childhood nighttime horrors – an arduous task, but an important one surely.

“Does that mean…?”

He couldn’t hold back a slight smile. “Inquisitor, if my knowledge and instruction may be of some use in aiding you, then I would be happy to help.”

Kendra beamed and bowed. “Thank you, Solas,” she said as she rose. “I put myself in your capable hands.”

“Of course. When would you like to begin?”

She bit her lip and made a considering, humming noise under her breath. “Would it be terrible if I said now? Or at least as soon as possible?”

He found himself chuckling, despite himself. Admirable and worrying indeed. “How does after three bells sound? It will give me time to prepare and you the chance to dine before we begin."

Kendra nodded eagerly as they began to head inside, “Sounds perfect. Should I bring anything?” Her body was still clearly thrumming with nerves for what was to come, but her voice was steady – a good sign.

“Just yourself, Inquisitor. An open mind, perhaps some patience…” Solas said thoughtfully.

“I’ll be sure to fetch them from my quarters,” she teased now that he had accepted and apparently the pressure was off. Solas wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that asking him had been that nerve-wracking. “No fireballs?” she asked as she held the door open for him, a minor hint of trepidation in her voice.

“Not for lesson one,” he replied and stepped inside.

[ladydwarfbadari]

Lucius Trevelyan: Character Profile

I might as well admit this character’s not going away, so he’ll get a little profile

(this one’s a tad bit shorter than Cadash & Adaar’s cos I never really intended to go anywhere with him, but I‘m still jamming it under a read more. For tradition.)

History: 

Lucius Trevelyan is the youngest son in his family, having one older sister and two older brothers, making him basically surplus to requirement as far as House Trevelyan goes.

He was trained in martial skills in his youth in addition to having a private tutor in the normal subjects (history, theology, natural sciences, mathematics, a little diplomacy that only partially stuck).

In his late teens he went through his ‘rebellious” phase and joined the city guard at Ostwick for a few years, although he was never allowed to participate in the more dangerous patrols (although he didn’t know that until much later, when he happened to overhear the guard captain laughing about it with one of the lieutenants - he’d been allowed to join and stay because his father had given the guard captain permission, with some limitations, thinking Lucius would ‘get it out of his system”).

His father had considered giving him to the chantry to become a Templar when he was a child, but his mother was quite attached to him and doted on him, and protested at the idea. She didn’t want him to be separated from his family for such lengths of time.

For the most part, Lucius had a very privileged and insulated upbringing. His family spent their time split between a country estate several miles outside of Ostwick and a large manor house in the city, and he saw little else of the world. He had some considerable skill with a greatsword and had participated in the Grand Tourney on a few occasions in his twenties and thirties. He never brought home the top prize, but he always ranked respectably.

His family were participants in the proceedings at the Conclave, as they were well-connected with the Templars, many Trevelyans over the generations having joined the order. Several of Lucius’s cousins were also present with the Templars. He was not a Templar himself, but being a devout Andrastean and one interested in combat in general, he’d always been fascinated by the order.

That he later reaches out to the remaining Templars, and indeed chooses to take up the Templar’s training, if not formally join their order, is hardly surprising.

Personality/orientations: 

Lucius Trevelyan grew up on a steady diet of history (not exactly unbiased, though) and tales of chivalry and adventure. He had something of an overactive imagination as a child and dreamed of making a name for himself with feats of arms.

His eldest brother was the one who was groomed as his father’s successor, and his middle brother was the one who took up the day-to-day running of the estate and the family’s finances. That left Lucius with a great deal of freedom in some ways, but in other ways he was sheltered and cosseted - mostly by his mother, who doted on him and kept him close. His father loved his mother deeply and did not have the heart to take her “pet” away, but tried to balance her influence by making sure Lucius had opportunities for more vigorous pursuits. He made sure Lucius learned how to handle a sword and encouraged his enthusiasm for the warrior’s arts.

On the whole, the end result was a somewhat fanciful and sentimental personality, although it would be foolish to assume that Lucius is stupid. He’s a bit ignorant of the ways of the world and kind of dense in some ways, his ideas about the “little people” are a bit backward, to say the least. He hasn’t seen the worst of the world and doesn’t quite believe it.

He does have an intense loyalty to those who aid him as well as a strong sense of honor. He wants to see justice done, even if he doesn’t always have the wisdom to know what justice really is. He’s not afraid to spill blood, either, and is perfectly capable of being quite spiteful toward those he feels have done him wrong, or have hurt those he believes were defenseless.

It is shortly after his 42nd birthday that the Conclave’s disastrous events occur and he is declared the “Herald of Andraste” and he embraces the title enthusiastically. It’s as though he’s finally the main character in one of his childhood storybooks and he couldn’t be more pleased. He truly believes he is the Maker’s chosen and that he was appointed to save the world from the Breach, and, later, Corypheus himself. Nothing ever quite completely divests him of this belief, even after his memories return and he learns the “mark” was given to him accidentally. He still believes the hand of providence spared his life, somehow.  it’s all a bit silly, but good luck getting him to see sense.

Oh, and he’s very, very gay. He has zero interest in women. He’s friendly with them, but does not connect with them deeply, with few exceptions, and definitely does not want to climb into bed with any of them.

Relationships:

Lucius has had a few boyfriends over the years, but none of them really worked out in the long run. Some he parted on good terms, a couple ended quite dramatically, but them’s the breaks I guess.

Once he’s the Inquisitor, he takes quite an interest in a few of his new comrades, although his success is... mixed. He flirted shamelessly with Cullen until the other man finally cottoned onto what he was doing and turned him down flat (alas!) and Blackwall was clearly uninterested from the start (tragedy!). Dorian seemed interested in him, but the Tevinter mage was a bit young. And a little clean-cut for Lucius’s taste - he likes a lover who isn’t afraid to get dirty (in oh so many ways).

Then they recruit the Iron Bull and Lucius is basically dribbling down his shirt on a regular basis. Took ages for him to get any real response out of Bull, but apparently a bit of dragon-slaying is the way to a freshly-minted Tal-Vashoth’s heart, and Lucius couldn’t be more pleased.

Lucius is fairly outgoing, not completely extroverted but hardly reserved either. He enjoys socializing and is found in the Herald’s Rest frequently. He gets along well with the warriors in the group, and finds himself agreeing with Cullen and Cassandra most of the time. Blackwall’s a bit harder for him to read, and he sees less of the Grey Warden than the others, as the man tends to keep himself to himself. He appreciates Josephine’s insight although sometimes he feels she is too kind. He enjoys Varric’s stories (and pretty much everyone likes Varric anyway). He and Vivienne have some interesting conversations. Solas confuses the hell out of him but is.... cordial. Sera confuses the hell out of him and is.... less than cordial. Although he finds her kind of amusing in her own way. Lucius is rather attached to Cole despite not really being keen on spirits. He knows he would have been demon chow at Therinfal if Cole had not intervened, and he feels he owes the strange boy a life debt and intends to defend Cole so long as he chooses to remain with the Inquisition.

Colors: gold, white and blue

Song: (to be determined, prob something silly by Vampire Weekend idk)