#i had solas's hand out but he's always got his hands behind his back. this felt more natural

[redlyriumidol]

before they became mortal enemies these two hippies used to smoke """herb blends"""* together and talk about deep shit.

*probably mugwort because smoking it gives you weird dreams. and elfroot, obviously

[kcwriter-blog]

Just recently I asked myself an important question. Why do I, a person not usually into angst, continue to romance Solas. It’s not like it’s going to end differently. My Lavellan will always get her heart broken. 

The simple answer? It’s worth it. There is a gentleness in how they treat each other that you don’t find in many real-life relationships much less in a video game. It’s soft, quiet, and tender. It’s what love looks like after years with someone you truly care about.

How can that be? Solas isn’t being honest with her. To Solas’ credit, he realizes that. He takes her to Crestwood to tell her the truth. When he realizes he can’t, he breaks it off. Which in and of itself is an act of love.

What he is honest about is his love for Lavellan. He never denies his feelings. A case in point is the aftermath of the first kiss. It would be so easy for Solas to say that he just got caught up in the moment. He doesn’t. He may say that it’s been a long time and that he thinks a relationship isn’t a good idea, but he never denies that he has feelings for her. Even when he breaks it off, he refuses to lie and say she was a casual dalliance or that he doesn’t love her. 

For her part, Lavellan never pushes Solas. When he asks for time to think, she grants it. “Take all the time you need.” She understands him. He has trust issues. Getting into a relationship with her would be a big step for him. She may not know what made him that way, but she cares enough to let him decide if a relationship is something he truly wants.  She is willing to wait.

This demonstrates a respect for each other and for their budding relationship. They are honest about their feelings. They are willing to take it slow. They talk about it like adults. They go into it knowing there will be risks.

An underrated aspect of the relationship is the conversations where Solas shares his recollections of things he saw in the Fade. Solas isn’t just randomly pulling stories out of his hat. He is telling Lavellan about the things he saw that meant the most to him. He is opening up to her, trusting that she won’t laugh at him or dismiss him. For her part, she actively listens. It’s a quiet kind of loving and, for me, one of the most intimate things you can do in a relationship.

The balcony scene is another place where this plays out. Solas wants to be with Lavellan. He has come up to the balcony to tell her that. He still has reservations. He wants her but he doesn’t want to hurt her. 

Lavellan knows he must be the one to make the choice. Instead of kissing him, she puts her hands behind her back. If he wants this, he will have to kiss her. He balks. She asks him not to go. Many people interpret this as begging. That’s not it. She is telling him, quietly, that if he leaves, she won’t wait any longer. “It would be kinder in the long run but losing you would…” He can’t. He loves her. He decides to take the risk. 

There is also a strong spiritual component to their relationship. Solas isn’t attracted by her physical beauty. He is all about the spirit. To him she is wonderful. Someone wise. Someone who thinks before she acts. He calls her beautiful in Crestwood, but I think he is talking about her soul, not what she looks like. 

There are many other small moments that give us clues as to what their relationship looks like post balcony scene. Solas attempts to comfort her at the Winter Palace by dancing or taking her in his arms. She reassures him that he can trust her. They hold hands in Crestwood. He calls her “my heart” and it’s clear she is precious to him. His voice when he speaks with her in Crestwood is intimate. It’s a vocal tenor we don’t hear anywhere else. He remonstrates with Sera when she jokes about his relationship with Lavellan. 

I find it interesting that even if Lavellan is angry, when Solas finds the broken orb she isn’t fist pumping because he didn’t get what he wanted. She treats him with kindness. 

He goes out of his way to tell her what they had was real – or that she was right to be angry. No matter what happened they acknowledge each other’s feelings. 

Everything paints a picture of an intensely private, intimate, loving relationship. That’s what I love about it and it’s why I keep coming back for more. 

[heylittleriotact]

𝓐𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓼:

The normal cooling of a body after death as it equilibrates with the ambient temperature.

Takes place immediately following the ending of Act 3 and features Emmrich and Amina taking a moment to themselves after all is said and done. Emmrich takes care of his beloved Reaper, and following a brief discussion about their respective plans for the future, she returns the favour.

Rating: Explicit

Under the cut or on ao3:

The roar of victory was a dull thrum that followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, part elation that the Elvhen threat had been bested, and partly devastation for the many lives their success had cost. Amina acknowledged every single person she passed by: hugs and handshakes were reciprocated without question, and condolences were extended to the bereaved with all of the dignified sincerity of a Watcher. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but if asked, Amina would do it all again 

The ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony outside was muffled. Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach. 

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and running the other comfortingly down her back.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Their voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give out, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, barely registering that it landed right in her sick. Everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto that would tether her here. 

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother–” Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time… she had intended to visit Harding’s mother in person to check in on her in the days following her daughter’s death, but Elgar’nan - and Solas - had made that impossible.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her, breaking her from the inside. 

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast as she attempted to draw strength from that agony as she always had: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: slender as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him. 

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion against life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them… 

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…” 

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her overloaded nervous system and providing some relief until another horror blundered into her mind with nauseating insistence. 

“Shit.” Her eyes went wide. “Manfred… Emmrich, wh-where is Manfred?!”

“Manfred is perfectly safe,” he soothed, “He’s in the abundantly capable hands of Myrna and Vorgoth for the moment. In fact, before I left, I overheard Myrna explaining to him Karloff’s Five Principles of Ethical Reanimation.”

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to–”

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you’ve pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But–”

“It’s so incredibly kind of you to want to give your condolences to Lace’s mother in person, but it need not happen this instant. The… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south in due course.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care enough to select a different one. “You need to rest,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return - please let me be the one to help you now?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe. 

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and dishevelled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” he whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers, “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak: emotions overwhelmed her capacity for words. The immeasurable highs and lows had won out, capped off on the highest of highs by Emmrich’s solemn declaration: she would never face anything alone again. The fight left her as she closed her eyes and nodded, and this time Emmrich caught her tears and wiped them away. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before turning to the others. 

“She’s in no danger,” he assured them. “The gifts of a Reaper are channelled through a place of deep sorrow and grief where one should not dwell indefinitely: she is merely exhausted, and in light of this ordeal coming to an end, her body and mind are insisting upon rest and recuperation for a time. I shall go with her to find a room and get her settled in.” 

“I’ll scour the pantry.” Lucanis announced without hesitation, already shedding his gore-slicked coat. “A house like this will have a well stocked larder: I cannot do much else to assist, but I will see to it that Rook gets a good meal.” 

“And I’ll find something strong to drink -  I think we could all use one - especially Rook,” Taash volunteered grimly. 

Davrin finished checking over a cut under Assan’s eye, deeming it to be harmless. “Assan can keep her company after I find him something to eat. I’m sure he’d love to cuddle up with his favourite person after a day like today.”

“I’ll make sure word gets around that she’s not to be disturbed under any circumstances - Maker knows there’ll be all kinds of people at the door wanting her attention.” Neve remarked. “She’s in good hands with you, Emmrich. We’ll take care of everything else: you take care of her.” 

Their words echoed in Amina’s mind as Emmrich started to lead her away towards the carpeted stairs. It wasn’t long ago that she would have fought tooth and nail to avoid accepting their help for fear that she didn’t actually deserve it - that she had somehow tricked good-hearted people into thinking that she was worth any amount of concern. But now with this aching, vacuous hole in her chest threatening to devour her from the inside, knowing that she had many sets of arms to fall back into… it meant everything. 

“I love you too,” she said as they walked, the gold rings tied to her boots to alert any nearby spirits of her presence chiming with each tired step. “I love you so much Emmrich, I - I…” Her voice wavered and broke again.

He shushed her gently as they rose the stairs and took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place comforting kisses to bloodied and dented metal. “It’s alright, darling. I know… I know.” 

They made it to the landing at the top of the stairs and Emmrich loosened his hand from hers only long enough to gesture through the air, causing the lamps lining the long hallway to illuminate with the familiar and consoling green light of veilfire - it reminded her so much of home… their home.

Meandering down the hallway, they apraised a few rooms - a study and a nursery among them - before finding a well-appointed bedroom near the end of the hall. 

The same veilfire that illuminated the hallway flooded the room with a self-assured wave of Emmrich’s fingers through the air, revealing the gilded frame of the largest four-poster bed Amina had ever seen. 

A modestly sized house would have fit comfortably within the textured red walls of the room, and every square inch was bedecked with glittering opulence and expensive furniture.

What had happened to the people who called this place home? She thought of the nursery, silent and dark, her heart sinking further.

“I know…” Emmrich’s sigh was put-upon. “It’s practically a hovel isn’t it? But our only option currently, I’m afraid.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a wry smile and despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile a little too if only for the fact that his dry humour was at its most uplifting when things seemed bleakest: it was a rarely praised trait of a good Watcher to be able to maintain a sense of humour - sometimes being able to laugh was the only thing that could keep said Watcher sane.

He closed the heavy cherry door behind them softly and turned the latch, his definition of ‘recuperation’ clearly non-negotiable to anyone who found themselves outside of the bedchamber wanting to talk to her.  

The silence was inescapable now, contrasting strongly to the overwhelming chorus of sound she’d been subjected to for hours. It filled her head - made it feel full of cotton - and she frowned, standing perfectly still, observing Emmrich as he hung his staff from the rack by the door and shed his bloodied and tattered coat, hanging it with care before turning to Amina. 

“We need to get you out of that armour.” 

He set his gloves on a nearby console table and rolled up his sleeves, agile fingers performing the task with an ease that suggested he hadn’t personally assisted with the culling of a tyrannical elvhen god today. Amina felt her mouth go dry under his perceiving gaze - she’d taken direct blows from Hurlocks that winded her less than the intensity of those eyes. Overwhelmed and at her wit’s end or not, he was capable of sending something in her soul aflutter even at a time like this… that could only mean that she was still alive, right? That she hadn’t laid the last shred of her own mortal conscience on the pyre in the name of saving what little of Thedas remained to be saved?

She swallowed thickly. “I’m experiencing some sort of deja vu, I think,” she murmured, as he closed the distance between them and began loosening her baldric. “Because I feel like we’ve had this conversation before.”

An amused smile visited his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his task. “We have, haven’t we? I recall that convincing you to allow me to stitch you up on that occasion was also similar to pulling teeth.”

He kissed her again and went back to work, stripping away pieces of moulded metal in silence, shucking away the intimidating, unrelenting shell of a Reaper and exposing the soft, vulnerable person underneath. 

He had made it all the way down to her greaves when she emitted a sharp gasp and clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“My shield! Where’s my shield?!” She twisted in his grasp as if to look around the room for the worn and dented buckler she famously refused to part with. 

Emmrich’s brow furrowed and he worked another strap loose. “It was broken, darling, remember? By Elgar’nan.” 

At his words, the memory rushed back to her: massive fingers curling over the edge of her shield as she held it aloft in the darkness, determined to stand her ground, her body protesting with the sheer effort of keeping her defence up in the looming shadow of her ancient enemy… the sound of metal whining as it bent in that ungodly strong grip and finally shattered…

I dropped it and finished the fight with only my sword and the dagger…

“Oh, right… how silly of me to forget…” she said distantly as Emmrich finished with the greave and rose with a gingerness that at last indicated his own fatigue.

“Details will likely come and go in a disconcerting haze over the coming days.” He parted from her and peered into a secondary room off the one they were in and disappeared into it when it seemed to contain what he was looking for. The sound of running water soon followed and he re-emerged. “Try not to concern yourself with them: they are of little importance right now. You have no need for a shield or sword - we are safe.” He ran a hand down her shoulder affectionately. “I understand that contradicts a large part of your vocational education, but you must trust me. Now if you’ll follow me, we’ll take care of all of that… debris in your hair.”

‘Debris’ was hardly what she would call the grisly amalgamation of fluids and various clumped tissues that would make even the most decay-happy embalmers back home feel squeamish, but Amina took Emmrich’s hand and followed him without complaint.

A gigantic clawfoot tub was filling with water in the middle of the cavernous bathroom, and judging by the calming aroma diffusing through the air, Emmrich had helped himself to some of the scented bath oils that belonged to whomever owned the manor. 

He brought her to the sink and pulled over an upholstered stool from the nearby vanity, placing it in front of the sink and gently directing her to sit, his hand on her lower back guiding her. “The bath will be more relaxing if at least your hair is clean before you get in,” he explained, turning the taps and motioning for her to lean back. 

“Is this supposed to fix things?” Her voice was so quiet and insubstantial over the rushing water - she was surprised Emmrich even heard her as she settled the base of her skull at the rim of the sink basin and he began sweeping her long hair into his hands, wetting it and carefully picking out pieces of marble and bone and viscera as he found them. 

“There is nothing to be fixed, my darling - least of all you, if that’s your primary concern. You know as well as I that our work can be exhausting - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. It’s why we are well compensated and encouraged to take time away from the Necropolis when we feel we need it. A lesson was learned at some point over the untold years that the Necropolis has existed and people have vowed to serve its departed souls, and that is: one cannot effectively fill the cups of others when their own is dry.” He reached over her and Amina looked up at him, hanging onto his every word. She did know all of this - in fact she’d dispensed similar advice to other Watchers and mourners alike in the past, but… hearing it from someone else… being told that it was alright and that she didn’t have to be strong right now was deeply comforting. “It is not demonstrative of carelessness to the plight of others to think of oneself. I’m of the mind that it’s one of the more selfless virtues a person can aspire to.” 

Amina closed her eyes and sighed, her nose filling with the delicate floral scent of the soap that Emmrich had started methodically working through her hair. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” 

A tender caress passed over her temple. “I do try. Are you feeling a little bit better? It looks as though some colour has returned to your face.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick by implying that my face had any colour to begin with, but yes… I feel steadier, more grounded.” 

“That’s music to my ears, darling,” and indeed Emmrich seemed to sag in relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he rinsed away the lathered soap, his touch unerringly mild. Washing the hair of the deceased required a gentle hand - the follicles on the scalp dilated as the skin began to dehydrate in the hours after death, making it easy to accidentally pull out clumps of a decedent’s hair if one handled it too roughly.

So much of the world thought their calling was one of macabre vulgarity when it was actually an ineffable devotion of love and tenderness when it came to the handling of all things… alive or dead.

Excess water trickled down the drain as he wrung out her hair and gestured for her to sit upright with a light touch of his fingers on her shoulder - he was so good at that - so confident in his ability to impart instructions that he didn’t even need words to make his expectation clear. She turned on the seat, putting her back to him so it was easier for him to weave her damp hair into a braid.

She closed her eyes again and a satisfied hum resonated in her chest as slender fingers stroked through her hair, separating it and passing the strands from hand to hand. 

When he was done, he took her hand and helped her to her feet. “I’ll leave you to the privacy of your bath, but I will remain close by: if you require anything at all, my dearest love, just call.” He bowed his head respectfully, his thumb tracing the soft skin at the inside of her wrist before he turned to depart.

“Please stay,” she entreated, locking her fingers between his before he could step out of reach. He halted. “I… I would rather not be alone right now, if it’s alright with you.” 

He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “Of course. In that case, I’ll step out while you make yourself comfortable and will return when you’re ready for me.” 

Ever the gentleman. He clearly wasn’t going to let their passion in the Necropolis the night before get the better of decades of deeply ingrained propriety. She felt her pulse quicken slightly at the fresh memory of their night together and wondered if the invitation to keep her company while she sat naked in a bathtub made his heart pound too, but a wave of shame crashed through her just as quickly, smothering the heat that had started to smoulder in her belly: people were dead, and now was not the time for such thoughts. 

When the door closed behind Emmrich, Amina clambored out of her stiff, smelly clothing, grimacing as she peeled sticky fabric from her skin. She left everything in a heap and nudged it to the other side of the room with her bare foot, wanting to be as far away from the stench as possible. When she was satisfied, she sank into the bathtub, a purely reflexive moan slipping from her lips at the feeling of relief as warm water enfolded aching muscles. The water was almost instantly dirtied, but she didn’t care - it felt amazing. 

“You can come in.” She drew her braid over her shoulder and folded her arms on the porcelain edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands. Even if it mattered to her there was no need to fear for her modesty: whatever Emmrich had added to the water made it semi-opaque and it looked very pretty in the light of the veilfire.

Emmrich sat on the vanity stool. “How is it, darling?” 

“It’s perfect.” She found his hand with hers again - it seemed she couldn’t bear to be parted from him for long… not when they’d come so close to losing one another.

“You have no idea what a relief that is to hear.” 

Her lips curved into a smile as she studied him silently, turning thoughts and feelings over in her mind. Her heart was heavy, and her body was spent. People had indeed died - tragedy and victory apportioned in equal measure, but Emmrich was right: she had given as much of herself to the cause as she was capable of giving… and then some. There was still work to be done - the restoration of Thedas would be long and difficult. But it was time to rest and take a hard-earned moment of peace for what it was, even though a persistent voice in the back of her mind screamed at her to cease dallying in the bath and get back to work. 

No.

“Would you like to join me?” 

The question was posed such that it caught Emmrich off guard, causing his eyes to widen and a flush of colour to creep over his pallid skin. His mouth hung open slightly.

“J-join you? I can wait until you’re done - that is to say: finished - I would hate to impose, you see–” 

She listened to him stumble over his words, enchanted by his flustered demeanour until she decided it was time to rescue him, and said, “It’s no imposition at all. Besides, if you’re in the same state as I am underneath all those clothes, I suspect you’ve got bits of darkspawn in places where even your flexible limbs can’t reach: a collaborative approach to bathing would serve us best in this situation.” 

Emmrich’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “You make a compelling argument, I admit, but–” 

“We had sex in a coffin under the Necropolis last night because we knew the world might end in the morning, Emmrich - I think it’s fair to say that any notion that this is in any way a traditional courtship has gone out the window.” She reached out and popped loose the topmost button of his shirt. “Besides, the idea of having to wait through an entire courtship before I can have you sounds torturous…” her thumb and forefinger found another button, and he didn’t move to stop her. “I think I prefer our abridged approach, if I’m being honest…” she smirked and went for the third button but he intercepted her, graceful fingers catching her wrist.

“That may be the case, dearest, but I still intend to treat you with the veneration you are owed as my beloved.” 

A shiver ran up her spine - it might have been the sentiment - my beloved - or the fact that it was delivered in a tone half an octave lower than usual. She couldn’t settle on a conclusion, but she felt emboldened regardless.

“Then you can start by getting into this ridiculously large bathtub with me,” she whispered coquettishly, and she followed the path of his hand with her eyes as it released her wrist and drifted to that third button, slipping it free with a practised twist.

She felt herself smile properly for the first time that day as Emmrich disrobed and lowered himself into the water across from her: it was real - he was real - and he wanted her. Wanted her enough to occupy dirty bathwater with her without complaint. 

His legs brushed against hers under the water and she resisted the very compelling urge to launch herself at him just to feel his skin on hers as she had the night before. Instead, she grabbed a bar of soap and a sponge off the tray on the side of the tub and held them up. 

Emmrich tilted his head inquisitively but said nothing: the amused curl of his lips said it all. He turned his back to her and slotted himself between her legs and Amina wet the soap and began wiping away the worst of the dirt from his shoulders and back with the sponge. She took her time, relishing the warmth of him under her fingers as she washed away the remains of the day. 

“So… about those plans you mentioned earlier: care to expand on them?” She ventured. 

She didn’t want to think about today anymore, didn’t want to linger on thoughts of Varric and Harding… those would insist on themselves enough over the coming months as she grieved them, she knew that for certain. Right now turning her mind to thoughts of a future that was almost lost seemed like a better distraction.

Emmrich chuckled warmly, the comforting lilt reverberating around the room. “It’s an extensive list, I’m afraid, too lengthy and detailed to summarise neatly in a few breaths.” She squeezed the sponge and sent a stream of water and suds meandering down his arm, tracing the shape of his sharp angles and lissom composition. “Truth be told, I was actually hoping you might render some assistance.” 

“Oh?”

“As you know, I have pupils awaiting my return to the Necropolis: their studies have been regrettably delayed in my absence, not to mention Manfred will require oversight as he embarks on his own educational journey.” 

“But…”

“I’ve rather enjoyed my time beyond the walls of the Necropolis, and now that I’m not… now that I will most certainly…” He seemed unable to settle on a palatable way to say ‘die’. 

“It’s alright,” she squeezed his shoulder softly. “Go on.” 

“Thank you, dear - it’s only that my priorities have been somewhat reorganised given the revised trajectory of my life: I no longer have a theoretically unlimited amount of time in which to see the world, and I find myself wondering if it would be terribly selfish of me to defer the date of my return for a while longer - take a sabbatical of sorts so that I may continue to experience the wonders of the continent without the looming threat of annihilation… with you, should you wish to accompany me.” He looked over his shoulder at her and Amina wasn’t ignorant of the fleeting glance that wandered down to her soapy breasts, nor the desire that shadowed his eyes at the sight of her pale nipples just peeking over the surface of the water. Oh dear, he was getting distracted…

“Don’t know how much of the continent there is left to see after everything.” She wrung the sponge, making a subtle but very deliberate show of pushing her breasts together with the insides of her arms. Emmrich’s throat bobbed and he seemed to win some inner struggle after a moment and looked forward again. “But yeah… I think a break would do us both some good. Besides, ‘seeing the world’ was what I was supposed to be doing anyway before this nightmare started. I’ll go anywhere with you, Emmrich,” she smiled. “Especially if there’s a beach involved.” 

She scooted closer to him, bracketing him between her thighs, finding his skin with hers as she reached around him to start soaping up his chest. Spurred on by the breathy little gasp he made, Amina continued to wash him, kissing up the line of his neck as she did. 

“What other plans would you like to make with me, darling?” She whispered, softly catching his earlobe between her teeth and earning a tantalising whine for her trouble. 

“At the moment, none that are fit for polite company…”

“Good thing it’s just the two of us then.” She let go of the sponge and dipped her hand beneath the surface of the fragrant water, unable to see, but able to feel her way, fingers dancing over his abdomen, following the neatly tended to strip of hair that started at his navel, down, down, down until she found him - and she found him to be rock hard. 

He moaned in earnest now, his head falling back against her shoulder, hand rising to cup the side of her face as she slowly stroked the length of him, humming contentedly, unable to help herself: she wanted him in her, on her, and around her at all times.

“Care to hear about my plans?” She pressed a kiss to the expanse of skin under his ear. “We can compare notes after.”

“Please,” he breathed, eyes closed, a contented smile spreading across his face - the very definition of the cat that got the cream. 

She drew nondescript shapes on his chest with her fingers, lingering on the patch of hair at his sternum, the bar of soap forgotten and lost to the bottom of the tub. “First on my list when we get out of this bath: I’m going to make love to you - slowly… sweetly.” She drew her lower lip through her teeth at the throb of his cock under her fingers and the shudder she coaxed from him when she ran the tip of her thumb over his slit, feeling the slick texture of his anticipation even in the water. “... and after that, I’m going to do it again, and Maker-willing, a third time after that if I have my way…” 

His eyebrows rose, but his eyes remained shut, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Aren’t we ambitious?” He purred, arcing up into her touch a little. “One can’t help but wonder what you’ll do after that…”

“Oh, find something to eat.” She answered matter-of-factly, entirely at the mercy of the rising heat between her thighs. “I expect I will have worked up quite an appetite, you see.” 

“It’s important to stay nourished,” Emmrich agreed, exhaling deeply as she continued to fondle him under the water. “That feels so good, darling…” 

“Good.” She smiled against his skin and kissed his temple. “Because that’s also part of my plan, broadly speaking: I’m going to make you feel amazing for the rest of our lives, Emmrich. Not a single sun will set on a day where you feel alone: your joys will be my joys, your sorrows my sorrows.”

His eyes opened at that and he regarded her with that soft look of utter adoration that he was so adept at. He stroked her cheek and she nuzzled into his long fingered hand. “My dear… that was quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” 

“Delivered whilst pleasuring you no less.”

“You are beyond compare, darling Amina.” He sighed and lazily thrust up into her hand again. “And I daresay our respective plans indeed bear many similarities. I would even go so far as to say they align perfectly.” He sat forward and turned so he was face to face with her again, collecting her arms and drawing her close so their noses were almost touching. 

“Lucky me.” 

He traced each vertebrae of her spine with lithe fingers, bangles clinking together as they slipped down his arm one after the other, his hand finding the curve of her rear and drawing their centres even closer together. She positively ached with need for him as he cradled her face and kissed her deeply, unabashedly exploring her mouth and tasting her with a dominance she was not anticipating. When they parted her lips and cheeks were flushed, her pupils blown wide. 

“I’m going to make a home with you, Rook - that is my plan.” 

Amina considered him - his intelligent bottle green eyes inches from hers, their breath shared, their bodies practically flush. Despite how lust-addled her exhausted brain was, tears returned to her, driven by the sheer depth of Emmrich’s ambitions for them: A home. A life together and all that could come with it if she only dared to dream it - her: the Necropolis foundling who never felt like she truly belonged anywhere or mattered to anyone beyond the basic charity of some.

“We need to hurry up and finish with this bath,” she rasped, her voice low to keep it steady. “I need you. I need you now.” She crushed her lips to his hungrily and breathed, “I love you.” 

What immediately followed was a frenzy of soap and bubbles and water splashing over the tile floor as they finished scrubbing each other down with much less sensual flair than before. The plunger was pulled from the bottom of the tub and they towelled off as it drained, pausing intermittently to passionately embrace. 

“I never thought I could be this happy,” she panted, rising on her tip-toes to pepper his jawline with kisses. 

“Nor I,” Emmrich concurred. He turned her head and buried his nose in her neck, sucking a rosy mark onto her skin, unable to help himself as her hands roamed. He snaked his arm around her waist and hoisted her aloft, racing for the bedroom, her legs tight around him, her entire being coursing with the anticipatory thrill of their imminent union. 

He placed her on the bed with a tenderness that contrasted heavily with the urgency of their flight from the bathroom and prowled over the bed towards her, the inherent grace of his body setting her heart aflame as he splayed one hand over her lower belly and slid her leg aside with the other, opening her like the cherished pages of a beloved tome. He looked positively sinful between her legs, his hair dishevelled and dripping rivulets of water down his neck and shoulders. 

Her breath hitched at the feeling of his lips against her, the soft tickle of his moustache over the sensitive skin at the peak of her thighs. “Ohhh…”

His eyes were locked on hers. He parted her with his fingers, dipped his head, and —

Thump-thump-thump.

Of course there was someone at the door. 

Amina heaved a massive sigh and dragged her hands through her hair in exasperation. She’d seen Emmrich annoyed before - or at least she thought she had - but the look on his face now was one of primly murderous intent: the face of a man whose nearly boundless patience was being sorely tested in this moment. The expression softened, though, when he looked back to her and said, “I’ll see to it, darling - I shan’t take long.” He placed his lips sweetly against her swollen bud - a parting kiss - before sliding from the bed. 

He quickly donned an elegant paisley dressing gown that he snatched from the wardrobe, and Amina knew he would never have considered helping himself to someone else’s things under normal circumstances, but his clothes were in a filthy heap on the bathroom floor, and while they had all grown quite close during their time together, Emmrich preferred to keep some things private. 

She propped her head on her hand and stifled a giggle as he walked past a shelf, flung out an arm, grabbed a book without looking, and arranged it in front of him in such a way that it concealed his prominent arousal. She couldn’t tell who was outside as he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, so she let her head fall to the pillow and rolled onto her back. It was a very comfortable bed: soft pillows, expensive linens.

Terribly comfortable. 

Weeks of broken sleep caught up with her all at once as she fought to keep her eyes open: she was so tired all of a sudden. 

So incredibly, inescapably tired…

If Lucanis had drawn any conclusions about the reason for his state of dress or his wet hair, he kept them to himself but for the briefest arching of a brow as he handed Emmrich the tray of toasted cheese sandwiches and bid him a long and restful night of sleep. Emmrich wished him the same and watched the Crow disappear back down the stairs before retreating into the room and locking the door again.

“Lucanis managed to scrape together–” he looked towards the bed and paused: Amina was sleeping soundly on top of the comforter, her face peaceful and unvexed: a rare sight indeed. Something in his chest pulled as he watched her even, deep breaths, her mouth slightly open as she slumbered. 

He set down the sandwiches and the book very carefully on the console table, not daring to make any noise that might startle her awake before making his way over to the bed and positioning her under the blankets with the same amount of care, manoeuvring her battered and scarred legs so she was covered and warm.

She had such plans for the evening, but as he shed the dressing gown and slipped into the bed alongside her, he was grateful that she had found rest at last: they had the rest of their lives to make love.

The veilfire light in the room was snuffed with a wave, and as he curled around her in the dark, losing himself in the scent of her, he found his own respite in the rhythm of her heart beneath his hand and the unpromised gift of tomorrow. 

[idkwhatimdoingherehonestlyy]

Hii!! This is my first time ever requesting 😭 but i was wondering if you could do something with earth42 miles and the reader both being the prowler?!! Love the work btw😻

MILES 42 X PARTNER!READER

A/N: Heyyyy I love this idea and thank your for requesting of course I can <3

WARNING: I don't speak Spanish so I will be using google translate, lol. However, if anyone is a translator and can help me out please do!

GUYS I JUST GOT A MESSAGE FROM AN ANON TO TRY THIS NEW WEBSITE SPANISHDICT SO I WILL BE TESTING THIS OUT BUT IM STILL OPEN TO TRANSLATORS!!

BE PREPARED FOR: FLUFFFFF, KISSING, VIOLENCE, LANGUAGE, JUST ROMANTICS, AND ANGST, LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANY

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

BACKSTORY:

You and Miles have been best friends since babies, given both of your parents were good friends.

As yall grew older yall started dating

When his dad died it crushed you almost just as much as it crushed him.

Miles didn't even show up to the funeral. He was in denial that his father was actually gone.

As time passed he would start canceling hangouts and dates because he had to take care of some "business" with his uncle.

He kept doing it so much to the point where you were fed up and took it into your own hands to find out what was going on.

So when school was out you followed him to his destination. Which looked like his garage?...

You ended up finding out this whole time that Miles and his uncle were in this whole "Prowler" scheme together and Miles was instructed to do all these dangerous murders missions by himself.

So you went up to his room and waited for him to come, so you could obviously confront him about it.

And there he is. Jumping through the window. So casually that you know he does it all the time.

" Hi., Miles"

He jumps startled at your unexpected appearance.

"¡Maldita mamá no me asustes así! ¡Y qué estás haciendo aquí!"

"Care to explain why you're jumping through your own window at 3am?" You question already knowing the answer just trying to see what he's gonna come up with.

He gives you that look knowing that you know what he's been up to.

"Bebé, escúchame yo-."

"YOU'RE THE PROWLER? AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME SHIT? THE FUCK KINDA BOYFRIEND ARE YOU MILES?" You are now angry, rage immediately taking over you.

"I did it to protect you, this is a dangerous job and I can't have you involved in this. No puedo perderte como lo perdí ma." He states in an almost whispering tone looking down at you.

"But that's the issue. I CAN help you, Miles, you can't keep doing this alone, just let me help you, por favor eres mi corazón y quiero ayudar! You plead to him. Your throat choking back sobs. Tears falling down your face.

He quickly opens his arms wide to trap you in a bear hug.

"Ok ok mami. Deja de llorar está bien. Puedes ayudarme shh está bien

______________________________________________________________

NOW TIME FOR THE ACTUAL HEADCANNONS:

• Even though you guys technically are partners now, he'll make you stay behind on certain missions depending on how dangerous they are. He'll be damned if he lets you get seriously injured.

• He's always patching you up and taking care of you every time you get hurt

"Oww Miles! That one hurt worse than the others"

He chuckles at your pouting

"Lo siento mami tienes una más solo sé una buena chica y respira estarás bien"

• He definitely designs your costume for you, out of your favorite colors and a heart symbol, which represents his love for you (awhhhhh ^-^)

• Kisses before you leave for missions because its a way of saying "I love you"

• If Aaron tries to make you go on a mission and makes Miles stay back he gets angry and flips out, and definitely doesn't do it

"¿Qué quieres decir? ¡Joder, no! ¡Ella no puede estar jodidamente sola, no! ¡No me importa!"

• In conclusion, yall are a great duo!

[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Rabbit

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ drug use (weed), dom/sub, thigh riding, breast worship (f!), rough oral (f!), multiple orgasms, rough sex, p-in-v, doggy style, dirty talk, squirting, choking, spitting, unprotected sex, violence, blood and gore, tearful goodbyes

The battle for all of Thedas nearly drawn to their door, Vella and her bear share an urgent night of passion before it all falls around them...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

"Really? You never learned how to play Wicked Grace?" Varric gave her a dubious stare.

"Is that so unbelievable?" Vella countered, sidling up to the table. "How easily you've forgotten I'm a wild woman from the forest." She sighed with mock weariness, smiling at Blackwall as his hand came to her hip.

Cullen flitted his gaze as she plopped into Blackwall's lap.

"You never taught her?" Varric directed at Blackwall, that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Are you kidding?" Blackwall laughed, his wide hand squeezed her thigh under the table. "You thought Solas could play you out of the clothes on your back? Nah, I know a card shark in the making when I see one."

Vella scoffed in mock affront and stuck her tongue out at him. Cullen caught on his own spit at the reveal of her tongue ring. Suddenly, he was very focused on his cards after a few solid coughs.

"Oh, he's got you pegged." Dorian agreed.

"Actually, I'm the one-"

"Could we start, please?" Cullen cut her off, his face scarlet. "I have a thousand things to do."

Bull laughed behind his hand, giving her an appreciative wink as he pushed coin onto the table. Vella smiled and tossed her leg over her thigh, lighting a pipe of elfroot.

"You're going to give the poor man a complex." Blackwall laughed low, speaking Elvhen to her under his breath. Spreading his cards in his hand.

"If that's all it takes..." She hummed mischievously.

"Hey! No elf whispering." Varric chided. "I'm barely convinced you don't know how to play as it is."

"Varric!" Vella gasped, leaning on a palm. Giving the slightest wiggle in Blackwall's lap. "Have I not proven myself trustworthy yet?"

"Oh no, Sunshine." He warned in a tease. "You may be sweet, but women as beautiful as you are always cunning."

Vella smiled wide.

He was right, of course. She had never played this game, but their companions tells were easy told to her. Even more so as the drink started flowing. Her own imbibing herbs left her warm and fizzled, leaning back into Blackwall's wide chest as content as a cat in a sunbeam.

Vella smiled at Cullen as he spun a tale from his templar days. It was rather tame to her standards, but he told it with the boisterous joy of retelling something rather sordid.

"What did he do?" Josephine urged through a giggle.

"Saluted. Turned on his heel. And marched out like he was in full armor."

The table lit with laughter, appreciative remarks thrown from all sides. The air warm with drunken comradery.

Blackwall's hand had come to rest on the curve of her hipbone, giving his own rough chuckle. A slow but insistent drag of his thumb on her waist had started, a near unconscious sign of his hidden desire.

She couldn't help but agree. This strain of elfroot left her snuggly and needful, barely restrained from kissing at his throat at the table.

It was criminal how attracted she was to this man. At all times, in danger of rubbing into him like a beast in heat. Gods when they finally get to live together...

The thought intruded, as it was bound to.

If. Not when.

They were facing down Corypheus within the next few days, she was sure of it. Though she was without foresight, there was something tight pulled in her gut. A certainty that he was somewhere within her horizon.

But she didn't want to think about that now. Only focused on the warmth surrounded behind her and the sensation of being slow and soft. Blinking up at him in adoration.

His stare caught hers, smiling under his mustache.

"No need to stare at me like that, dove. I'm already in love with you, don't need more persuading."

"You two are so..." Cassandra sighed dreamily, face propped on both hands. Eyes aglow with the unabashed reverie only brought out with a few tankards of beer.

"Careful Seeker," Varric chuckled. "You might come off as a romantic. And I just won." He planted the Angel of Death card on the table nonchalantly.

"No!" Cassandra cried. Slamming her hand of cards down in a huff.

But all of their companions became peripheral to Vella as her body saught for more touch. Both the elfroot and the heat of his body had left her heavy and sighing. Nuzzling into his throat like a hungry kitten.

"Do you need my attention, little bird?" He teased under his breath. But she could feel the drum of his heart against her. He needed it just as bad as she did.

"Are you going to win?" She whispered in his ear.

"Absolutely not." He chuckled.

"Then throw the game and fuck me." The whisper pushed directly into the well.

His breath caught in his throat, and she smiled against it. Rising off his lap to give a demure goodnight to their friends. Many voices rung out to wish her off, and she sauntered away. Headed towards her chambers.

Vella made her way upstairs, humming happily. Shedding her clothes in a line as she made her way to the bed. Snatching one of Blackwall's tunics that she had 'borrowed' from the back of a chair. Letting the linen fall over her as she pulled her hair through the neck to cascade down her back again.

She climbed into the bed with the satisfaction of a rabbit in a burrow. Curling up in the blankets as it pulls the earth around it. Humming out in contentment.

She had just fallen into a near sleep tranquility when the bed shifted behind her. Strong arms taken up around her under blankets.

"Mmm..." She turned, pressing into him. "You're made for cuddling."

"Am I?" He chuckled low, pulling her to him by her waist. Weaving his limbs into hers.

"Very. So big and warm and sweet." She praised, wiggling happily into his hold.

"And furry." She added, tugging in a soft tease on his beard. "I just want to kiss you all the time. You're wonderful."

"Maker, you're going to puddle me." He accused, his pupils wide with love as he stared down at her. "That elfroot made you too sweet."

"And yet, I'm not being eaten." She sighed mournfully. "I thought bears liked honey."

The blood rushing through her body was utterly intoxicated by the feeling of him against her. Tangling her limbs into his and kissing at his throat.

"Do you want to be tasted, honey?" He hushed, voice husky with desire.

She nodded up at him, her eyes seeking plaintively.

She had always leaned towards dominance in intimacy, but he pulled something from her. Something soft and submissive. Fallen under him a tame little thing, asking to be touched with wide eyes and softly parted lips.

"You're so beautiful." He marveled quietly, running his thumb over her bottom lip. Scanning her face in reverent glances. "Maker, how are you so perfect?"

He leaned down and kissed into the side of her neck. A wide hand pushed up her ribcage to cup her breast, thumbing her nipple over his tunic.

She whined softly, pulling his leg with hers to press his thigh against her sex. Grinding slow into the taut muscle.

"Fuck, yes." He encouraged, pressing his thigh harder into the ridge of her. Grabbing her ass in a handful to rock her against him.

"Could you cum on my thigh?" His deep voice sweet in its request.

She nodded again, pulling the tunic up to her clavicle. Arching her chest up in unabashed request.

He agreed immediately, breathing hard through nose as his mouth descended onto her peak. Licking the sensitive nub into his lips.

She bit into her lip as her head craned back. Another whine caught in her throat. The growl of his moan against her tingled through her whole body. Her cunt fully flooded with arousal. Climbing closer and closer to her tipping point with each grind of her hips. Her soft cries getting needy and choppy.

His tongue slurped and popped around her nipple, tongue flicking and laving flat lines through panted breaths. Watching her under his brow with dark blown eyes. Twisting her other nipple between his fingers.

How he already knew how to fast pull her thread was entirely unfair. The points of her body and how they needed to be touched to unravel her completely.

"Oh gods..." She moaned, gripping his forearm. Orgasm tight pulled in the drive of her hips.

"Yes, cum on me pretty girl." He praised around her breast. Grasping the outside of her thigh, pulling her deeper. "I want to lick your cunt while it's clenching."

The vulgar of it sent her over. Shuddering through waves of pleasure striking out through her body. Clawing into his back.

He smiled, rising off her tender breast to descend between her legs. Cupping the apex of her thighs in both hands.

"So sweet." He sighed out in contentment as he nestled between. Licking her cum from her thighs. The bristle of his beard teased against the soft skin as his tongue pushed deep into her. Slurping obscenely as he lapped cum into his mouth.

"I love you." She sighed around her moans, pressing her hand against the headboard as he took her apart with a suckling tongue. "Fuck, I love you Thom."

She froze, the intoxicating herbs and touch had left her mind hazy. But her calling of his true name only drove him harder against her. His calloused hands dug into the fat of her thighs, moaning into her core. Yanking her flush to his face. Eating voraciously, tongue and lips crushing into her with animal fervor.

She whimpered cries, and he growled into her. His steel eyes watched her writhe under his brow. His fingernails dug painfully into her thighs, but the pain only danced deliciously with her delirious pleasure. A flood about to burst the dam.

He lapped flat at her tender clit under the suction of his lips. Just the sound was enough to send her over, but the ferocity was overkill. She came in a strangled, shuddered cry. Her body trembled and curled up with a terrible pleasure. Fisting in to the sheets as her head craned back. Pelvis the nexus of an earthquake that rocked her whole body.

"Ohhh fuck yes." Thom growled, leaning back to thrust his fingers into her still clenching cunt. Eliciting a cry from her as he fast slammed his fingers inside. "Give it to me, baby."

A shuddering she had rarely experienced tightened around his fingers. Her thighs wet with release. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle a shriek. Her eyes utterly lost in her skull.

Thoms deep groans of appreciation watching her soak him were only heightened by him pulling his fingers free slowly to lick them clean. He kept her gaze as he licked his wrist up into his palm, her cum slick veiled along his skin.

She urged him up to her with pulls of her legs. Undressing him with rapid fingers as he met her above.

She opened her mouth wide, tongue stuck out flat in request. He understood implicitly and spat in her mouth. Her cunt clenched hard and she led his hand to her throat as she kicked off his trousers.

His reverent love making was wonderful, but this is what she always craved. Fucking nasty and mean. The kind of fucking done by animals in rut.

His eyes flashed dangerously, understanding her again. Flipping her onto her belly easily, hiking her hips high with rough grunting yanks.

She moaned into the pillows, arching her back. Giving him the full display of her submissive body curled for him.

"Maker's breath." He huffed, taking a full handful of her ass. Spreading his hand down her lower back. "Such a beautiful whore."

Vella moaned loudly, and Thom grabbed a fistful of her hair. Pulling her up to him as he lined up behind her. Growling into her ear as his hand tightened around her throat.

"You're my whore, aren't you?" His thick cock breached her as he threatened, pulling a strangled moan from her. "My pretty little whore, soaking the bed."

She nodded dumbly, already fluttering around the mass of him. A third orgasm refining to a spear inside her, nearing to striking distance.

"That's right." He huffed, thrusting hard into her. The slide against that mind-numbing place inside her entrance was near unbearable. Her body tried to collapse against the sheets, but his hand spread flat across her sternum. Demanding her to stay.

"You're not going anywhere." He promised in a huff. His thrusts picked up speed. "Not until I'm done with you."

"Yes, ser." She moaned. The squelching of her cunt so salacious it made her dizzy.

"Keep talking." He demanded. Gripping her hip as an anchor. Her body jolting with the force of his thrusts. Fingers digging into her neck.

"I can't, I'm about to cum!" She pleaded in Elvhen around mewls, mind unable to speak Common anymore. "Fuck, you're going to make me-"

Her words cut off in a whip of cries as she came again. Fingernails scrambled into his sides behind her. Choking on her own raw pleasure.

He cursed under his breath and released her in a heap under him. His hands took up both sides of her hips to solely thrust.

"Say my name."

"Thom." She pleaded.

"Again. Louder."

"Thom, please! Please!"

She looked over her shoulder at the wild bear rutting into her.

"Please cum Thom! I need you to cum!"

He finally buckled, a hand bracing on her lower back as his face crumpled in release. Driving sloppy into her as he bellowed behind clenched teeth. Her cunt flooded with warmth, pulling a wide smile from her. No matter how he insisted and promised he couldn't help but to cum inside her. It wasn't a problem anymore, so she could revel fully in it.

He fell back into an open kneel, huffing and sweating. Eyes glazed and rolling marble in his head.

Vella turned and pulled him onto his belly. His body limp and pliant to her leading, following easily. Fallen under her in a slump.

She sat on him and drug her nails lightly up and down his back. His deep moan exactly what she was looking for.

After a moment of gentle scratching, his breath returned in slow pulls of his chest. Body completely loose under hers, arms curled around his head, face slack against the pillow.

"You still with me?" She teased in a quiet voice.

"Uh-huh..." He sighed, his eyes struggling to focus.

"I'm not convinced. Quick, what's the capital of Orlais?"

He smacked her thigh with a limp palm. Pulling a giggle from her.

"Asshole..." He laughed, reaching back to pull her down to him. Wrapping around her, cocooned within the safety of his limbs.

"Language!" She chided in a whisper.

"Shit. Fuck." He pinched her side. "Motherfucker."

"You forgot Shitfucker."

"I love you." He smiled loosely at her, eyes soft in adoration. "Do you want to get married?"

"What?" She laughed.

"Wait, are you serious?" She hushed, rising onto elbows over his head.

"Yeah. I am." He smiled, her hair fallen curtain around him. His hands rested on her ribcage, rubbing thumbs in slow waves. "Would you marry me?"

"Dalish don't get married." She smiled with a shaken head. "We call it Bonding. And we're already engaged to be bonded, silly."

"Wait, what?" He stood on elbows now. Staring shock into her.

"Yeah, I gave you my hair..." She led in amused confusion. Planting a palm over the small pouch that he always wore pendant around his neck. "You gave me the boots you made me..."

"That was a proposal?!"

She burst into bright laughter at the absurdity of it all. She was sure he understood the meaning of the gesture after all of their lessons. He certainly acted with the appropriate solemn in taking her proposal gift.

"Yes, it was. We've been engaged to be bonded since the Grand Ball." She offered through fits of giggling.

"I-" His eyes darted down in thought, then started flooding with tears.

"Oh, dove." He warbled.

"Hey, shhh." She wrapped around him. Soothing his body into hers. "It's okay..."

"It's not okay." He countered around the tight of his throat. "I did all of that to you and didn't even know we were..."

"I forgive you." She kissed his ear, tightly holding him. "I forgive you, Thom."

He hitched a sob into her shoulder. Trembling within her woven embrace.

-

"Come on, baby." Vella huffed under her breath. Firing arrow after arrow into Corypheus. Watching her love slam into him with the last of his strength. Shield braced under the hail of red beamed death. "Come on, come on."

She threw a barrage of daggers to get him off of Thom, Dorian flanking behind her to unleash his own hellfire. Bull rushing past to cleave into Corypheus' calf.

The monstrosity cried out in rage as he fell to a kneel. Vella ran forward, seeing her target through a tunnel of spectral vision. Dagger poised along her forearm.

Thom raised his shield for her and she leapt off of it into a drive of her dagger. Screaming from deep in her gut as the blade speared through his throat.

Corypheus' breath cut as he stared shock into her. The orb pulsed with power as he still tried to wrestle it into his command.

Rage untethered flowed through her, this death a culmination of everything she had suffered. Screaming in holy rage again, she bore over him. Pulling her dagger from his throat and ripping her teeth into the putrid flesh. Blood smeared in the cavern of her mouth. Teeth rending flesh.

The orb flew to her hand, raised high above her head. A deafening beam of power flew to the heavens from it. Shaking the earth below her as she tore away his throat.

As he fell limp, she released him to the Fade as she spat blood. The orb shattered above her in the same breath. Sky shuddered closed. Earth pulverized around her.

Thom's shield came over her body as the castle crumbled around them. Dragging her to a run as it all fell away.

She blinked the dust out of her eyes, coughing through debris in the air. Taking fearful count of her companions. Letting out a deep breath of relief when she found them all whole.

Far into the battlefield, Solas stepped forward. Reaching out a tentative hand as he fell to a kneel.

Vella stared in confusion as she rushed toward him.

"Solas, what are you doing he-"

His gentle cupping of the remnants of the orb paused her. His body leaned in a bow of mourning.

"The orb..." He hushed, shaking his head.

"Solas..." She reached for his shoulder, but he stood. Leaving the pieces to the earth. "I'm so sorry."

She understood the loss of elvhen artifacts. The gouge they left in the already ragged tapestry of their people. But, somehow, this felt beyond that.

He tried to pull from her hand, but she ducked around his front and pulled him into a tight hug.

His breath stilled in his chest, arms held out uncertainly. But they wove around her after a moment. His head tucked into her shoulder.

They stayed entwined there. His hands grasped her back as he pulled away. Eyes swimming in sorrow.

"No matter what comes," He looked down at her. Stepping away with eyes locked on her face. "I want you to know you will always have me."

"Solas, wait-"

"Vella!"

She turned at Thom's frightened call at her absence.

"Here!" She called in return. "I'm here!"

When she turned Solas was gone.

-

Vella stared up at his unfinished fresco, wiping a tear with agitated fingers.

"Hey." Thom's kiss on her shoulder greeted ahead of him.

"Hey." She smiled sadly. Leaning back into his chest as his arms snaked around her waist.

"Men I care about really have a bad habit, huh?" She looked back up at the gouge he had left. "Dissappearing."

"I'm sorry, dove. On both of our accounts."

"I hope he's okay." She sighed. "I just want him happy and safe, no matter what."

Something shuddered inside her chest, drawing her eyes down in shock. Jolting her breath to a still.

"Vella?" Thom came around her front. Searching her with frantic eyes.

"I'm okay, I think." She pressed a hand to her sternum. "It's the ancestors. They just spoke... sorrow? They've never given me only a feeling before."

No, this felt beyond them. Something larger. Full under her heart.

"Solas...?" She whispered, but the feeling fell away again.

"Fucking well..." Thom sighed, shaking his head ruefully at her. "Come on, love. We're almost packed."

"Oh shit, I've still got to say goodbye to everyone!" She paused their stride to take a paintbrush from Solas' desk. Slipping it into her pocket.

"I hate that you're leaving." Josephine sighed. "I mean, I'm happy for you! Happy for you both. But I still hate it."

"I'm going to miss you too." Vella smiled. "And I won't be gone. We'll be in, I'm sure, constant communication as I 'rule' from the sidelines." She curled her fingers at the word. The gold bracelet with an enchanted stone caught the light. "Dorian made us these special afterall."

Josephine slid her matching ring around her finger. "I know. Leliana and Cullen have theirs, too. But it won't be the same. You're such a calming presence. I don't know how many spats you can settle from the Free Marches."

"You'll do great." Vella cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "You'll all do great."

"Where are you going first?" Josephine urged. "I'll have Leliana send scouts to assure your arrival."

"Honestly, I have no idea." Vella smiled brilliantly. "Isn't that great? I'm not leading for once!"

"We're tracking down one of my men on the road towards Ostwick." Thom offered over her shoulder as he came up behind.

"Oooh, I'm good at tracking." She smiled.

"The best." Thom agreed, sliding his hand around her waist. "That's why I hired you."

"I hope I can earn my pay." Vella purred.

"Ugh, enough." Josephine laughed. "Get out, both of you."

Vella pulled her into a hug, and Josephine sighed into her shoulder.

"Call on me if you need me." Vella assured as they separated. Both her and Thom turned. "I'll find my way back, no matter what."

"Wait!"

Sera ran out of the castle door. Leaping into a hug on Thom's chest.

"You're staying! We've talked about this!" He laughed heartily. Hugging her tightly to him.

As Sera blubbered goodbyes into him, Dorian's hand came to Vella's shoulder. Nodding his own tearful goodbye on the road towards Tevinter.

She kissed both of his cheeks and wiped his tears.

"Don't be a stranger." He sighed.

"Never." She chastised. "You can't, either." She held up the bracelet again.

"Right. We're connected now." He sighed in mock weariness.

"Ha-ha! You have to be my friend!" She teased.

"Be safe." He pulled her into a deep hug. "Don't die, okay?"

"Love you." She murmured into his shoulder.

"Love you, too." He warbled. Wiping his eyes again as he pulled away. "Ugh! Go on. Get."

"That's the goodbye I was looking for." She smiled. Hopping up onto Ghilana behind Thom. "Good riddance, all of you."

"Hope your trip is terrible." Josephine laughed.

"Hope Skyhold falls into the canyon!" Vella agreed in a call. Smiling wide at her retreating friends.

She wrapped tight around Thom's waist and leaned her head into his wide back. Letting out a long-held sigh. Finally, moving forward in the quiet of two bodies. The earth awakening with the damp of spring around them.

Despite everything, daffodils had bloomed.

~

~

~

okay this is the end! unless ya'll want some Trespasser chapters 👀 (but I just started it irl, no spoilers!) genuinely thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone following this story with me! mwah! mwah I say!!! ❤️

[bleummie]

Up and Adder

Okay, so the brainworms had a thought, and Viago is just such a good character. Plus, this letter made me cackle when I read it in-game. I love him and Teia together, but couldn’t stop thinking about this idea. Both Rook and Bishop (Rook’s twin) are Elven with the Crow background! Can’t decide if I want to write more on this or not yet!

_________________________________________

Rook was a little shocked by the fact she’d found a letter adorned with the seal of the Antivan crows upon waking, tapping her fingers on the teacup clutched in her hand. With a raised eyebrow and a look of recognition, Lucanis fell into step behind her, halting just short enough to feel the body heat radiating off her back. 

He clutched his coffee cup tighter, giving Rook a sympathetic look. His nose scrunched at the smell of her tea, but he made no effort to move away as he tried to read the letter over her shoulder. 

Upon first inspection, there was a note in a different handwriting from the rest, scrawled messily in the top margin. 

“Rook, if you don’t mind getting this letter to your sister, that would be appreciated. I found this crumpled up beside the waste bin in 

Vi’s office and thought it was too good not to send.

-Teia”

Rook snorted in amusement at that, before sipping on her tea some more, earning her a disgusted noise from Lucanis. She shot him a playful glare before continuing to read the letter. 

The date reads six months ago- six months into Rook and Bishop’s not-so-subtle leave of absence from the Crows. While Rook remained pissed at Bishop for impulsive ‘plan’ that led to the rescue gone wrong that got them sent away from home with Varric, she couldn’t deny that what they did was worth it. 

With a sigh at the memory (and her sisters impulsive antics), she continues reading the letter. 

“Idiot: 

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you to Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom. Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike. 

I am one of the Talons still complaining. Consider this trip with Varric a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgment. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this "Solas" is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail. And don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.

-Viago”

Rook couldn’t stop the chuckle that tore from her throat at the passive aggressive unsent letter addressed to her sister. She turned to Lucanis to show him the letter as well, watching his face closely as it contorted into an amused smirk. 

“Something juicy?” Neve asks as she saunters over to the kitchen table with her own cup of coffee. 

“Just a funny letter addressed to my sister.” Rook replies, holding out the letter with a small chuckle. With a raised eyebrow, Neve takes it, scanning over the note amusedly. 

“This Viago seems awfully concerned.” Neve chuckles with a knowing smirk. 

“That’s seriously what you took from that?” Lucanis asks incredulously with a shake of his head. 

“Bishop’s always had a way of getting under Viago’s skin. It’s quite entertaining actually. But Teia’s always ranted about how whenever Bishop isn’t there he gets more pissy than usual. I’m not sure that’s possible though, considering when she is there, she drives him up the wall.” Rook admits. 

As if on cue, looking absolutely disheveled, Bishop sauntered into the dining hall, very obviously having just woken up. Mindlessly, the elf shuffles over to the coffee, and dispenses some for herself, stretching in the process. Alert, her eyes dart over to the group gathered around the table. 

“What’s this?” Bishop points to the letter in Rook’s hand. 

With a slight chuckle, and poorly contained laughter from the rest of the group, Bishop takes the letter suspiciously. 

As she reads the first couple lines of Viago’s scrawl, Bishop lets out a loud cackle, which only becomes louder as she reads the rest of the note. 

“Yikes.” Is the only response from the elf as she carefully folds the letter, giving away the fact that her defiant and unbothered attitude she presented wasn’t exactly the truth. Gingerly, she tucks the letter into her pants pocket and finishes adding cream and sugar to her coffee. This earns a couple raised eyebrows and a knowing look from Neve, but Bishop ignores it for now, as she walks off with her coffee. 

“How long have your sister and him been involved?” Neve asks pointedly. 

Rook raises an eyebrow curiously, and Lucanis stifles a chuckle. “They aren’t? What?” 

“You sure? Wasn’t he the one that immediately went on a rant directed at your sister when we went to inquire about hiring Lucanis? Which, I’ll remind you, was pretty much the second your sister set foot out of the eluvian at the Diamond.” Neve says with a chuckle. 

“Yeah. He was. But that’s just how they always are.” Rook replies

“I remember that. They bickered like an old married couple.” Harding interjects, obviously having listened in to the earlier discussion. This causes a raised eyebrow from Lucanis. 

“Your sister back talks the Talon of house de Riva, and gets away with it? Seriously, that’s-“ He asks. 

“Yeah, but she’s also one of the only people dumb enough to do so.” Rook interrupts. 

“I think he’s fond of her. And I’ve only got one interaction and this letter to base it off of.” Neve adds with a smirk. 

“But him and Teia-“ 

“Are together for a week before splitting for months on end. Then repeating the process.”  Lucanis adds thoughtfully, as if he’s piecing together the possibility of Viago feeling something for Rook’s somehow more chaotic twin. 

“Next time you see the two of them, just watch.” Neve says as she pats her now mortified friend on the shoulder. 

Lucanis gives Rook a sympathetic smile before placing a kiss to the top of her head, and squeezing her shoulder. 

“Not you too, Lucanis. Please tell me Neve is completely off base with this guess.” In response, Lucanis only quietly presses another kiss to her hair, not answering Rook directly. Rook grumbles, now reanalyzing every single moment she’s ever seen with the Talon of their house and Bishop. 

Rook grimaces at the thought of having to investigate further, but supposes there is no harm in paying closer attention next time they seem to all have business in Treviso. 

Right?

[rosella-writes]

Hap fri!!!! For some Solavellan this week I've got 2 options. "Person A: “You should ask someone else. There’s no happy ending with me.”Person B: “I still want to hear it.” from The Fall prompts, or "every time you walk away you take another piece of me with you." (hear me out. Solas' besotted *dareth shiral* every time you talk to him) from it's all about the yearning

For you! Some sadness >:D for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Virelan stumbled into the rotunda, all curses and clumsy knees and elbows. She tried not to look at the Fade expert at his desk at the center of the room -- even meeting his eyes felt like accepting a knife between her ribs.

But she longed, and she missed, and she couldn't stay away.

"Inquisitor, it is long past nightfall. I must request that --"

She ignored him and made her meandering way towards the chaise at the edge of the room, shoved awkwardly as it was against the curved wall. She slumped into it and lowered her face into her hands.

"You are drunk, Inquisitor."

"You used to call me vhenan whenever I came in here," she found herself sniffling, mortified at the choked sound of her own voice.

His voice was closer when he spoke again, but still at a respectable distance. She knew he'd have his hands clasped tightly behind his back if she looked up at him. She kept her eye trained on the floor.

"Allow me to call someone to assist you to your chambers. Perhaps Dorian is still awake."

"He was drinking with me. Harding was telling us stories."

"Ah."

"You could help me up."

A sigh. "I cannot, Inquisitor."

Virelan scrubbed her hands over her face. She felt her prosthetic shift in her eye socket as she ground her fist against the scarring there. "Just... talk to me a bit. You're here anyway. I can't sleep."

She felt warmth first, then felt the chaise sag slightly. He was so close that she could've touched him -- but fear that she would spook him away again caught her breath in her throat.

"Tell me of your journeys in the Fade. I miss your stories."

Solas's sigh was so beleaguered that she could feel it waft against her cheek. She kept her one eye clenched shut, but even if she'd been staring at the floor she wouldn't have seen him in her peripheral view. He sat conveniently in her blind spot, just as he always had.

"You should ask someone else," he said, so quietly she found herself leaning closer to hear him. "There is no happy ending with me."

Her heart thudded in her ribcage, threatening with every pulse to break in two. She struggled to speak.

"I still want to hear it," she finally said. "Tell me about the old ruins you explored."

His pause was so long that Virelan began to wonder if he'd slipped away. But the chaise creaked when he shifted slightly, and the warmth of his body came nearer, and he began with a hum and a familiar, almost nostalgic air to his voice.

"I found an ancient dwarven thaig no longer sheltered by the Stone..."

[shouldaspunastory]

For @kiastirling and @dadrunkwriting

Emmrich Volkarin x Tobias Rook (SFW, pre-relationship, perceived one-sided pining) 491 words

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

It's quiet in the Lighthouse as Rook pads out into the shared living space on bare and silent feet, anxious dreams stirring them from sleep and spurring them to seek out some of their resident necromancer's homemade tea mixes to calm them. It began as a somewhat spiteful gesture to partake in. They and Solas sharing an accidental connection to one another, it had been amusing forcing Solas to experience things they were doing the ancient elf would have hated. But it's become something else now. A kind of ritual, grounding and soothing in a way Rook's not often known before.

Emmrich prepares the teas with care, the same attention to detail and thoughtfulness he brings to all things. There are teas tailored to each of his companion's various tastes, and several to specific needs or circumstances. A citrus blend for Lucanis, a floral one for Neve, An Elfroot and Lotus for healing from various cuts and poisons, an Elderflower and Crystal Grace for headache and inflammation... Were he not so entirely fascinated and committed to the dead, Emmrich might have made a more than decent run with an apothecary.

It's always better when they can share a kettle, of course, talking about his latest theories or their shared companions' latest antics. Rook can't seem to help but gravitate towards him, and, they realize, as they catch sight of a slumped form snoring softly on a nearby couch, book loosely clasped in one hand that dangles off the sofa, tonight seems to be no different.

Rook smiles fondly, changing course, crossing the room and gently taking the book before it falls from Emmrich's hand, marking the place and setting it down on the table beside them, before turning back to watch him for a moment. He looks so serene in sleep. Not that the necromancer cannot be in waking hours, but Rook isn't bold enough to make such a study of him then, too scared he'll notice, and they'll have made things awkward, or even untenable between them. They’re loathe to wake him, but surely if he sleeps out here all night his body will voice its complaints about it tomorrow. With utmost care the elf decides their course of action, grabbing and draping a blanket from the back of the sofa over him, before swiftly sliding their arms beneath the older man and lifting him up into their arms.

“Good morning,” Emmrich greets Rook cheerfully the following morning. “Ah, Manfred,” the necromancer smiles, beckoning for his skeletal assistant. “You know how much I appreciate you. Time got away from me last night, I’m afraid, but next time you may wake me. You needn’t trouble yourself carrying me to bed. I can’t imagine what a labor that must have been for you. ” Manfred looks puzzled, as much as one without muscles or skin is capable of doing so, at least, while Tobias smiles softly from behind their cup of tea.

[unhingedsquidtm]

The Eyes of the Wolf

 When Lavellan goes on a mission to follow Solas' trail, she finds a

       statue of Fen'Harel and leaves a prayer.

See the art here.

          · · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Elusive. They'd call the Dread Wolf a cunning trickster, a liar, something to be feared... but the word that Lavellan found herself repeating in the quiet dark of night would be 'Elusive'. It was all she could do to think about the different paths she hadn't taken yet. Who needed counting sheep when figuring out how to save the one she loved from himself was enough to occupy her mind.

It was almost always like he knew where she would be, each and every time. There would be a lead, she'd go to follow it, but it would slip out of her grasp moments before she could find another clue. Informants disappearing, places of interest ransacked before she could get there, trails that would grow cold before she ever knew they were warm. 

Trekking through the Emerald Graves for their latest search, the Inquisitor found herself devoid of her bright attitude. It was already chalking up to be a bad week—they had to find something this time, anything. Solas was out there still, and whether or not he knew it, he needed help. It had been a year since she'd seen him last, and her promise still held true.

He had knelt before her, placed his hand upon her cheek and kissed her, all while saving her life. 

All while breaking her heart.

It seemed almost ironic, the way that the path she and her agents had been taking led her to a familiar sight. There, amidst the trees, lay a single, solitary statue of a white wolf. What was once a beautifully pristine coat, freshly washed from a recent storm, now lay under a sheet of dust and withering leaves. The base of it was coated in a spatter of mud and dirt, with no real disturbance save for the offering bowl.

Stepping closer to it, Lavellan could see that the bowl was not empty. In fact, in it lay a few strips of rotting meat and a few bones. A spark of pure red rage surged through her, erupting in barely-contained static around her fingers. Her staff flared once, twice, and she shook her head. With a flash of white, she sent a wall of pure force toward the display, sending the bowl cascading off the base. Her anger got the better of her, and she cried out, planting the staff directly into the sullen ground beneath her. Her healing magic rooted itself into the earth, snaking into roots and rejuvenating the withered clearing around her. 

The inquisitor wasn't all that certain as to how long she'd knelt there, crying out in frustration, anger, sorrow... all she knew was that once she was done, the statue was tangled with vines of wisteria, almost like a protective embrace. Nature preserving the wolf's honor.

She felt a stocky hand upon her shoulder and heard Varric's words of comfort, but could not process them. With a slow nod, she stood once more and stepped up to the statue. Resting the staff against her other shoulder, she reached for the vine and picked a weave of flowers off. 

"I don't know if you ever felt these," she whispered, eyes trailing up to the gaze she couldn't quite meet anymore. "These prayers. These... offerings. I don't even know if you care about them. You've probably got too much on your hands as it is."

It was only when the drops met the back of her hand that she realized she'd been crying. She wiped the tears away and placed the flower gently upon the base, giving the wolf an offering it deserved. Her hand pressed firmly against the white coat as she spoke, "I don't know if these ever reach you somehow, but if they do... if you can hear this..."

Please come home.

The elf shut her eyes a moment, taking a breath to steady the searing ache in her chest. When she opened her eyes again, that momentary weakness was locked up behind them. She stood taller once more, hair whipping around her in the breeze as she raised her chin up high. "Of course you can't. You're just a fucking statue."

Grinding her jaw, she turned on her heel and marched off, her agents and her friend in tow.

Of course, it would have been easier to get a sign from him, a word, a whisper—anything.

A whole lot easier if she knew that the wolf had indeed been watching.

That he had never even stopped.

[litlunacy]

You've been lookin' for a soul to save (it's not a problem, you can borrow mine)

Got bit by the writing bug today, spat out about 700 words and finished this piece from 2022. Mostly Cullavelan with a side of Fenhawke in the middle. Title taken from "Does Heaven Even Know You’re Missing?" by Nickelback.

~2300 words, SFW

It was already nightfall by the time they returned to Skyhold two weeks after the siege of Adamant. Nythara was at the front with Hawke and Varric, with Solas and Cassandra riding a few paces behind them. The rest of the gang was farther back, mingling with the soldiers. Sera, Bull and the Chargers were cheering loudly at the sight of the large gates and already making plans to spend a night of drinking. Blackwall had chosen to stick close to the Wardens on the journey back, bringing up the rear of the rather long procession.

Nythara sighed heavily as the guards opened the gates. She couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed again. Preferably for a month or two.

“Glad to be back home?” Hawke asked.

Nythara nodded. “You have no idea. What about you? Will you be going home now?”

“No, not yet. Someone needs to tell the rest of the Grey Wardens what happened. I’ll be leaving for Weisshaupt soon. Actually,” she added, turning to Varric with a sly grin, “Varric, do you think you could write to everyone and let them know?”

Varric snorted. “You can’t manage a few letters?”

Her grin widened. “But you always make them sound so much better.” She bent closer and gave him a puppy-eyed look, batting her lashes for extra effect. “Pretty please, Varric, my absolute most favorite dwarf ever?”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Of course I write better than you. I have a reputation to uphold.” He sighed dramatically as they all dismounted and handed the reigns off to the stable hands that came to take their mounts. “Alright, Hawke, I’ll do it. What would you ever do without me?”

“I’d be completely lost.”

“I bet. Should probably write Fenris first. Maker, I’m glad I won’t be doing this in person.”

No sooner than the words were out of his mouth there was a commotion from the direction of the keep. They could hear Josephine yelling at someone, followed by a loud crashing sound.

“Hawke!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

Varric groaned at the sound. “Shit.”

Nythara raised an eyebrow quizzically. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sticking around to find out. You’re on your own with this one, Hawke.” With that, the dwarf suddenly turned and ran in the direction of the stables. Actually ran.

Nythara turned back to Hawke, but the woman’s silver eyes were trained on the steps in front of them, her expression a strange combination of hope and trepidation. As they watched, a male elf Nythara didn’t recognize rounded the corner and bounded to the bottom of the stairs.

He was tall for an elf, with dark olive skin and a shock of white hair. It was too dark to see much more than that from across the courtyard. He looked about wildly until he found what he was searching for and froze.

“Hawke.” He said it much quieter this time, his deep, gravelly voice breaking in the middle of it.

Hawke didn’t move, didn’t say anything. She simply stared at him, apparently struck dumb. But then he started towards her, his long strides angry and his face set in a scowl, and the spell was broken. She held her hands up in front of her and took a single step back. “Fenris, let me explain—”

Whatever she was going to say was lost as the elf grabbed her up in his arms and practically smashed his mouth against hers. Nythara saw Hawke’s eyes widen in shock before they fluttered closed and she wrapped her arms around the elf’s neck with a quiet sigh. They remained that way for a few moments until the elf pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he growled softly, “You ridiculous, stubborn, foolish woman. Do not ever do that to me again. I do not care what danger you run in to, I will not let you face it without me at your side.”

Hawke nodded, and Nythara was stunned to see a tear track its way down the usually unshakeable woman’s face. “I’m sorry.” She finally opened her eyes and gave a watery smile. “Can you forgive me?”

“Always.” He said it so quietly, Nythara almost didn’t catch it. But then he straightened and turned his gaze on her, a pair of vibrant green eyes glaring at her as he asked, “And who is this?”

Before she could introduce herself, Hawke laid a hand on his arm gently. “Fenris, this is Inquisitor Nythara Lavellan. Nythara, this is Fenris.”

Nythara couldn’t quite suppress her grin. “I had figured as much. It’s good to finally meet you, Fenris. Hawke speaks very fondly of you.”

The glare softened to a scowl. “So you are the one in charge here.” His eyes traveled over her face, following the lines of her vallaslin. “You are Dalish.”

“I am.”

Then he looked pointedly at the staff on her back. “And a mage.”

Nythara crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

Instead of answering her, he turned to Hawke. “Does this one play with demons and blood magic as well?”

Hawke rolled her eyes. “No, she doesn’t. And before you ask, no, she isn’t an abomination either.”

Fenris gave a single, sharp nod and looked back at Nythara. “Then no, we do not have a problem.”

“Is he always like this?” Nythara asked Hawke.

The woman shrugged. “You get used to it.” When Fenris huffed beside her, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile, but was valiantly fighting it back.

Nythara smiled at the pair before she felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Cullen standing behind her. Her smile stretched into a full-blown grin. “Hello, Commander.”

Cullen smiled in return. “Inquisitor.” Then he looked up and the smile faded. “Fenris.”

“Knight-Captain.” The elf’s tone was flat, but his eyes were focused intently on the hand Cullen had placed on Nythara’s shoulder. They flicked back up to Cullen’s face and he raised one eyebrow pointedly. “You as well, I see.”

“I assure you, I don’t know what you’re referring too.”

Fenris looked back to Hawke, who laughed and nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes indeed. Him too.”

“Hawke,” Cullen started, but the Champion cut him off neatly.

“Yet another broody man, wary and distrustful of magic, has had his eyes opened – his entire world turned on end, in fact! – by a single remarkable mage girl.” She grinned as she said it, gently elbowing Fenris in the side. He returned the gesture by bumping his hip against hers.

“Remarkable indeed.”

Cullen groaned and Nythara couldn’t help but giggle at his discomfort.

But Hawke wasn’t done yet. She leaned closer and faux-whispered in Fenris’ ear, “Must be the scar. Makes him look…dangerous. I hear women are attracted to that sort of thing these days.” She slipped a hand into his and wound their fingers together.

This time Fenris did smile, a cheeky, knowing smirk that somehow both softened and sharpened his face. He looked at Hawke from the corner of his eye and said, “Is that so?”

Hawke winked at him and opened her mouth to respond, but there was another commotion at the top of the stairs that interrupted her. Josie was shouting in Antivan now and there was another crash followed by…was that barking? Hawke’s eyes lit up in excitement.

“You brought her with you?” she practically squealed the question at Fenris.

He shrugged nonchalantly, but Nythara could see the smile in his eyes. “She refused to let me leave home without her.”

At that moment a giant brown mabari leapt off the last step and skidded around the corner, charging at Hawke and barking happily. Hawke stepped away from Fenris and opened her arms wide.

“Kitty!”

The dog took a flying leap and crashed into her master’s outstretched arms, knocking them both to the ground. She started licking Hawke’s face, peppering the woman with slobbery kisses while the dog’s whole body wagged in joy. Hawke’s booming laugh echoed throughout the courtyard, causing several people to turn and stare.

“Okay, okay!” she giggled, trying to push the massive hound off of her, “Yes, I missed you too.”

Nythara raised an eyebrow at Fenris. “I think Kitty is even happier to see her than you.”

“Don’t let the broodiness fool you,” Hawke said from the ground, “He’ll be doing the same thing once he gets me alone. Just with less drool.”

“Hawke.” There was a note of fond exasperation in Fenris’ voice as he pushed the mabari off of Hawke and helped pull her to her feet.

“You know I’m right.” Hawke grinned at him as she started tugging him back towards the keep. “Keep the servants away from our room tonight,” she called back at Nythara. “I’d hate for all the noise to scare them.”

“Hawke!” Now it was Fenris pulling her along, and Hawke laughing breathlessly at his embarrassment.

Cullen and Nythara watched as they disappeared from view before Nythara leaned her head against Cullen’s shoulder. He stiffened a little at first, but then settled his arm lightly around her shoulders. She smiled in content.

“You know,” she said softly, “In all the time Hawke has been here, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile like that. Do you think we look like that to other people?”

“What do you mean? Like an elf and a human?”

She slapped at his arm playfully. “No, you silly shem. Like we’re…happy. Like even though the world has gone to shit, we’re still happy, dammit.”

Cullen was quiet for a moment, though Nythara could feel his thumb running in circles as he thought. “I don’t know. We haven’t exactly given people much to see, have we?”

Nythara looked up at him, one eyebrow raised and a wry smirk on her mouth. “You realize the battlements outside your office are, indeed, outside, right?”

The man sputtered, and his face turned a shade of red close to the color of the Inquisitor’s hair. “I, well, that’s—” he cut himself off with a huff at Nythara’s snorting giggle. His whiskey eyes went all soft then as he watched her, and he reached down to clasp one of her hands in both of his.

The elf tilted her head at him quizzically. “Cullen?”

Though the both of them still wore gloves, he imagined that he might feel the warmth of her hand through them anyway. That he could still trace the lines of the delicate bones of her fingers, so much slighter and far more dexterous than his own. And it suddenly felt as if something settled within him, like a lake going still after the rain passes. He looked up into her large turquoise eyes, saw the way they caught the torchlight and shone like a cat’s in the dark. Eyes like those could drown a man, and by the Maker, he wanted them to.

“I don’t know what other’s see when they look at us,” he told her, “and I’m starting to realize I don’t much care. But I know what I see, when I look at you.”

He watched the way she bit her lip, those eyes darting away before looking back up at him. “And what is it that you see?”

The rest of my life. He swallowed that thought back down. Too soon, much too soon. “The woman who has made me feel more alive than I can ever remember,” he said instead, and hoped that it wasn’t too much.

Her eyes grew wider, almost comically so, before her face broke into the biggest smile he’d ever seen on her. Even bigger than the first time he’d kissed her. “Really?” she asked, and the word still cracked despite how softly she said it.

“Really.”

She huffed out the tiniest nervous laugh. “Well, that’s good to know. Because I…well, I feel the same way. Just so you know.”

And wasn’t that a relief? No, not just a relief, but perhaps the greatest relief. Cullen was of half a mind to drag her into his arms and kiss her right there, to spin around in the courtyard like a pair of lovestruck teenagers. But, despite his claim of not caring what other people saw of them, his sense of decorum and desperate wish for some semblance of privacy won out in the end.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and brought her hand up to kiss her gloved knuckles. He lingered as long as he could, hoping she might understand just how much he meant his words, as if he could press them through the fabric and into her skin so she could feel them for herself.

When he finally stood and let her hand go, he immediately missed the holding of it. The holding of her. Still, it was late, and their journey had been long. They should both rest, much as he would rather spend eternity in her company.

“I think perhaps this is where I bid you goodnight, my lady.”

Nythara smiled. “If you must, Commander mine. Sleep well.” She waved her fingers at him as she headed for the stairs, her steps almost bouncy.

It wasn’t until after she disappeared from view that his brain caught up to the mine she had tacked onto his title.

[tobythewise]

Back again with another DAtober prompt! Today's prompt is: Echos of the Past featuring M!Lavellan/Solas. This one is post Trespasser, post breakup, Bi Solas, Angsty Bois being Angsty

Blinking his eyes, Lavellan realizes very quickly that he’s in a dream. He rubs at his eyes, adjusting to the idea of being awake in a dream. He’s exhausted, completely run down to the bone, but he can’t give up. He won’t give up. 

Just like every night he finds himself in a dream, he can feel eyes on him, like a crawling feeling at the back of his neck that lets him know he’s not alone. Lavellan looks around, trying to get his bearings. 

He’s in a little meadow, the sun shining down. There’s a pool of water and a forest all around, darkness swirling around the bases of the trees, like it’s trying to reach out and grasp the light from the meadow. 

Lavellan steps into the middle of the meadow, sitting down and lifting his face towards the sun, letting it warm him. 

“I wish you’d just come out,” he calls out, knowing it won’t do anything, it won’t change anything. He still feels compelled to try. He clenches his hand and pain runs through the upper part of his left arm, a phantom pain left behind when Solas took care of the anchor. 

Lavellan lays back in the grass, staring up at the clouds. He wants to be angry, but instead, all he feels is despair. This isn’t fair. None of it is fair. Why did he have to fall for a literal god? Why did he have to let Solas in only to have everything come crumbling down around him? He gave the world everything he had and in return, he got his heart shattered. 

“You’re gathering all the elves but have you forgotten what I am? Why didn’t you ask me? Why haven’t you even given me a chance?”

Warmth floods behind his eyes. He wants to push it away, but he’s tired of keeping it together. Lavellan lets himself cry. The tears stream down the sides of his face, past his ears, down into the grass below him. 

“Please, ma vhenan,” he says softly, barely above a whisper. He’s not expecting a response. They’ve been doing this for so long, keeping each other company during their dreams but always keeping their distance. The longing inside his chest is so strong it might actually break him. 

A shadow covers him and Lavellan opens his eyes. He startles when his eyes meet soft green ones. They’re so achingly familiar. Reaching out, Solas touches his face, wiping his tears away, cleaning his face. 

Lavellan whimpers, leaning into the touch. He never wants this to end. Just maybe, his heart is capable of healing. Maybe mending is possible. 

“Solas,” he says, his chest aching like a strained muscle. “Solas, ma vhennan. Please stay.”

Solas’ face crumbles. The longing in Lavellan’s heart is mirrored on Solas’ face. 

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan.”

“No,” he whispers, his eyes widening at the words. Solas gives him a soft smile and a moment later, Lavellan is waking up in his bed alone.

[dross-the-fish]

Apparently to get the "best" ending in Veilguard you had to have romanced Solas. Feels like kind of a slap in the face but I guess anyone who liked the egg gets exactly what they wanted while anyone who didn't play a female elf doesn't matter.

Major Spoilers Ok definitely going to tag this as spoilers but all of my friends who still love dragon age have been playing DAV and I've watched their play throughs so I know what you mean about the best ending but honestly?

For all the hype and all of the talk about this romance and how it was supposed to save Solas? I feel like they didn't get much, not nearly as much as they should have. They got a handful of minutes, an awkwardly animated stiff kiss and Llavellan pretty much agrees to share Solas's fate with him, essentially agreeing to share the consequences of a mess he created, a mess that has directly harmed her and her people for centuries and for what? Someone who still seems like he's not over Mythal? Did Llavellan really "win" here? She's lost her arm to this guy, her entire life was up-heaved, and now she's going to leave her entire world behind to face whatever is waiting for Solas in the fade? Something he outright tells her is going to be terrible? She gives some trite line about "Not if we share it together" but I really doubt that it's going to be sunshine and rainbows waiting for them just because she went in with him. I really have to ask, why is this guy worth it? If you take off the rose-tinted glasses what does Llavellan actually get out of this and is the love of a single person who abandons you for years and tells you you can't be together actually worth this ending? For a full decade was she just living her life on hold, never meeting anyone, always carrying a torch for someone who never intended to come back to her? I guess it would be sweet if it didn't feel completely one sided. This could be good stuff if you're a tragedy enjoyer but a lot of Solavellan's aren't and as much as I grumble this feels like such a hollow end to their story. The inquisitor goes from being a main character, to being an extension of Solas' story. If you made that choice in inquisition then having Solas remove her markings feels almost like foreshadowing, like for this relationship to exist the Inquisitor keeps having to give up pieces of herself and give them to Solas. And in the end he takes them all, he lets her come and face his fate with him. This relationship has already cost her limbs and years of her life, what's an eternity making hell more bearable for the person who took those things and treats their loss like it was unavoidable? I fall to the party of not really wanting to redeem Solas, even when I can accept his motivations I do not like him as a character and I don't like his writing which seems kind of all over the place in Veilguard from what I've observed. If the fans of the franchise like this ending then good for them, but I can honestly say if I was in the camp of wanting to see this epic love story where the hero romances the villain this would have been the most weak sauce disappointing way for it to play out.

[fangsandfeels]

Oct 27 - Favorite Inquisition scene/dialogue

I found the Doom Upon all The World to be a bit anticlimatic. It felt like "let's beat the old man up for the last time" rather than the final showdown. But, I generally don't find Corypheus a strong or intimidating antagonist. Maybe, he wasn't supposed to be an evil and manipulative overlord - he was meant to be that disfigured creature, clinging to the past (and actually having not a single idea of what he was doing which lead to the reality of madness we saw in the alternative timeline, but I wish the writers capitalized on that more).

But, I liked bits and pieces of the final quest:

Sybil responding to Corypheus speech about "let's see who is worthy of being a god" with "Nah, I don't believe in gods" and a shit-eating grin.

Also, Corypheus clutching his pearls at her response:

The aftermath of the final battle as Sybil reunited with her group and saw everyone alive and well.

And when her mood was instantly darkened by the realization that Solas was nowhere to be seen. That something very important to him went wrong - and she was unable to help him with that.

Also moments of companions interacting with each other in Skyhold are my favorite, just like the dialogues. It's hard to pick one, so I'll just give a messy recollection: Solas and Bull playing mental chess. Blackwall sweating bullets each time someone asks him about any Warden-related stuff. Cole broadcasting companions’ memories and inner worries much to our delight. All companion scenes from Trespasser DLC: from Varric pranking Cassandra on Sybill's and the Iron Bull's marriage to Vivienne taking Sybil out on a SPA day and Sera wrecking havoc on the background. It was a love letter from companion writers and I enjoyed it.

And a bit of favorite quotes:

Blackwall making a reference that made me laugh like a goose for 15 minutes straight

Sera: Do all Grey Wardens have beards?

Blackwall: No, just me. I stole all the beards... and all the power held within.

Blackwall: There can be only one.

Sera: Not really!

Vivienne turning the tables on Sera’s bullying attempts like the queen she is

Sera: Checked your drawers recently, Vivvy?

Vivienne: Hmm? Oh, yes, my dear. Although I was rather well stocked with that particular shade of viper. So I sent it back.

Sera: Sent… sent it back?

Vivienne: Yes. It should make its way to you at some point.

Vivienne: I was most concerned it might have difficulty on the steps, so I gave it legs. Six of them.

Sera: That's not… you're making fun, right?

Vivienne: Do you sleep with your mouth open? I should avoid that, it was heavy with eggs. Skitter skitter.

───────

Vivienne: Skitter skitter skitter.

Sera: (Shudders.) Frigging stop it, witchy pisser!

Cole causing Cassandra to bluescreen after spilling tea about Lambert

Cassandra: Cole, do you have any proof about what you claim Lord Seeker Lambert did?

Cole: I was there. I didn't need proof.

Cassandra: But he could have been brought to justice. There are rules...

(me screaming behind the screen: BUT YOU WEREN’T THERE WERE YOU?)

Cole: He used rules to hurt people. He always found a way to be right, even when he killed my friend.

Cassandra: You had a friend?

Cole: A pretty Templar. She died protecting Rhys and me, but she got better.

Cassandra: I... don't even want to know what that means.

Cole letting Bull know that his Tama is secretly happy for him because she knew that he was too kind and caring for the task Qun demanded of him

Cole: "Tama, how will I follow the Qun?" Her hands, strong but gentle, ruffles stubs where the horns will be.

Cole: "You are strong, and your mind is sharp. You will solve problems others cannot." She smiles, but sadly.

Iron Bull: Looks like my old Tamassran was wrong. Bet she's pissed one of her kids went Tal-Vashoth.

Cole: Agents with hushed tones. Eyes stinging, forms to fill out, course corrections, reduce risk of similar losses.

Cole: I remember the little boy, too wise, eager to help. Words break in small secret spaces. He got away. He got away.

Iron Bull: How could you know that? You've never even met her.

Cole: Your hurt touches hers.

Iron Bull: Well, that's, uh, creepy. But... thanks.

And, of course, Solas offering Bull comfort after he chose Chargers over Qun:

Solas: You are not Tal-Vashoth, Iron Bull, not really.

Iron Bull: Well that's a fuckin' relief.

Solas: You are no beast, snapping under the stress of the Qun's harsh discipline.

Solas: You are a man who made a choice... possibly the first of your life.

Iron Bull: I've always liked fighting. What if I turn savage, like the other Tal-Vashoth?

Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor... and you have me.

Iron Bull: Thanks, Solas.

[rookedcrow]

"Solas? Terrible fashion sense, the occasional rather cruel sarcastic commentary aimed at yours truly that was, of course, entirely uncalled for. And ah yes, a little too hung up on the Fade — if I didn't know any better, I'd say he had a special little friend hidden away in there — otherwise? Harmless. Well, that is until he decided to have a picnic with his... former little special friends. Alright, you may have a point, maybe not as harmless as I once thought." (from Dorian again!)

rook had made a point of asking about va.rric’s time with the inquisition as much as possible in their search for so.las  ---- her requests equal parts general curiosity ( and a good way to pass the time on their travels ) and wanting to get a better feel for possibly the most unique contract she’d ever been charged with.  more often than not, those requests were honored --- var.ric loved few things more than telling a good story, and she certainly loved hearing one, or two, or three — on any topic she could think of; the people, the places — all of it. ( skyh.old, of all things, had always been one of the more difficult things to wrap her head around back then, being that high up in the mountains in the middle of nowhere; her fear of heights assuming something like that would no doubt be her worst case scenario ... of course, that was long before she’d ever heard of the lighthouse. now, that image almost seemed quaint. and grounded. )

va.rric’s take on so.las had always felt ... measured somehow. it wasn’t so much as making excuses for his old friend’s poor behavior ( ro.ok wasn’t sure there were enough words out there to even get a start on that ) as it was reflecting on old times with slightly tinted lenses. maybe there was some guilt there; not knowing then what he knew now; knowing that there were ulterior motives to the help that was being provided. hard.ing had said she hadn’t known s.olas all that well save for polite conversation in passing, so that wasn’t anything really to go on, other than the fact s.olas sometimes knew how to hold his tongue. ( a trait rook didn’t seem to be keen on reciprocating, if her handful of little talks with him were any indication. she was going to run out of fingers soon counting how many times she’d more or less called him an asshole. )

so she had va.rric’s tapestry of recollections, and harding’s impressions from the outside looking in … which of course meant one of the first things she’d wanted to ask do.rian about after his dressing down of the first warden was what had he thought of his former companion. ( va.rric had always spoken highly about the mage from te.vinter; in both his prowess as a mage, and his snark. now how was she supposed to pass up a chance to see one of those two skillsets in action for herself without needing a swarm of vena.tori? )

and just as var.ric would have insisted, dorian certainly exceeded her expectations.  from the critique of his fashion sense ( or more accurately, a lack thereof ) to the series of events that lead up to the situation she currently found herself at the head of in relief of var.ric, there was a keen eye and keener words behind the lot of it. it’s funny, though ------- that va.rric never mentioned seeking out dor.ian outright while they were in minrath.ous.

“so should i pass along some well wishes from you to him the next time i speak with him?” ( or is this just another excuse to call him an ass to his face? who knows. ) “or perhaps some other choice words? i don’t mind, and i’ve got a pretty solid memory when it comes to giving regards.” the jokes a little cheesier than the food and drink laid out on the table, but for a moment it nice to not have to worry about being overly formal.

“i’m sure sola.s would love to hear from you.”

[solaemantis]

Solas showed so little emotion on his face, at least most of the time, but one perceptive enough could always hear it in the poetic flow of his words. The barely-present drop of cadence around the end of his sentence, the break of pattern — it was comparable to hearing his breath hitch, expecting.

word count: 3,110 relationship: solas x male [transgender] lavellan rating: T content warnings: no content warnings

summary: musings on a [proposed] scene where solas talks to lavellan about his vallaslin early into the game so he has time to actually think about his decision to remove it or leave it. in the meantime, he finds out how deeply Solas' care for him runs.

mirror link to ao3: surface readings

Out of all the little nooks scattered around Skyhold, Elias loved the painted rotunda the most. It was surprisingly quiet for the most part and offered him the necessary break to stop and think; the respite in the chaos that his life now was. Or was it always this way? He was not sure he could remember. 

Perhaps it took up its tranquil nature from its current inhabitant, an elven mage of peculiar energy who was now silently staring at Elias across the room. If the rogue felt the intense gaze, he did not make it known. 

“Those marks of yours, the tattoos covering your face…” 

He trailed off, leaving the question hung in the air. Heavy, loaded, waiting to be touched upon. 

That got Lavellan’s attention: Solas was clearly waiting for his permission to continue. He shifted in his chair, lifting his face to look at the other elf with his inquisitive eyes. A flicker of green in the dim light, catching pale reflections of Solas’ veilfires hung high on the walls. 

“What about them?” 

Though asked casually, the question bore in itself this defensiveness that Solas was well familiar with. The gnawing of the past long forgotten, the inner shame of being different. Elias’ words were charged with hidden emotion not unlike the arrows he so often aimed at his enemies, fueled with fire magic. Solas glanced at him, realizing he must have reminded him of less amicable occasions that had the topic brought up.

He rushed to dispel the effect with a warm smile, hoping it conveyed his positive intentions. 

“Nothing of concern, I assure you. Did you know they’re not permanent, my friend? I’ve heard of a spell that takes them away.” 

Solas paused, taking a moment to let the words settle. 

He always spoke with the grace of a dancer, measuring his sentences and waiting for appropriate moments to quip in. On good days like today, Elias found it endearing, while on the bad ones it spiked his irritation. 

“Is that so?” He asked when Solas’ words sunk in, urged forth by the heavy look the other elf was giving him. “I’ve never considered getting rid of them. Why did you bring it up?” 

Solas seemingly tensed, though Elias was sure he could only tell that by the near imperceptible signs in his body language he learned to notice overtime. Anyone else wouldn’t recognize the minuscule change; Solas was an enigma. 

“The… art of vallaslin has a complicated history, I believe. At least, as it is stated by many books I’ve read.” Solas’ gaze circled the room. Elias could not keep track of its path when the mage turned away, but he somehow felt confident that Solas was observing the large mural on the wall. 

“Doesn’t everything?” 

This earned him a fond chuckle.

“I can’t say you’re wrong, Lavellan.” 

He turned to face Elias again, arms bent at the elbows and hands gripped behind his back. A teacher, pleased with his student’s mindful answer. 

“I merely assumed you have had your fair share of complicated stories attached to your persona, Inquisitor.”

The little tone change on the last word, the peculiar word usage did not pass by unnoticed. He gave Solas a glare, receiving nothing but a polite, neutral smile in response. 

“At this point I think I’m destined to be surrounded with those. Or should I say doomed?” Solas offered no reply and none was needed. 

Elias raised his free hand, unoccupied by the manuscript he was reading, to touch over his markings. A flicker of pressure over the triangles on his cheeks, then a smear over his forehead where a geometrical raven stretched its wings. He long since stopped needing a mirror to make the patterns out — his hand remembered each stroke of color passing over his tanned skin. 

“I don’t think I remember myself without them. I was so young.” 

The scarred tattoos were always with him. They were there long before he became Elias Lavellan, back in the times where his name felt alien. 

“I’m not sure what I’d be without them.” 

A faint chuckle rang in the space between them. 

“Same thing as you’ve always been, no?”

Solas moved, silently, and lowered himself in the chair opposite to Elias’. He looked at the man in this calm manner that usually promised a mental challenge, a riddle of sorts. Solas always looked like this when he knew the answer and wanted Lavellan to come to it himself. “Come and seek it out.” His face said. “Entertain me.” 

“Do they truly define you or do you define them?” 

Elias frowned, fingers still pressed into his cheek where the pattern twisted upwards. Vallaslin, carved deeply into his skin, healed well over the decades. The ink long since seeped into the deeper layers and the scarring was nothing but a smooth, raised line where the engraving used to create a dip in the skin. 

Dirthamen, the god of secrets and knowledge. Elias was marked under him because of his passion for the unknown. Always the rogue child, he snuck into undiscovered caves and dug through elven scriptures enough to earn himself a place. A mark of belonging, something he could proudly display to others before they even got to know him. Sometimes they chose not to based on the marks alone. He held a strange feeling of contempt and awe for them, clutching on his heart for most of his life. 

“You’ll walk in the footsteps of the Knowledge Seeker. Unseen, you will help urge our clan towards new discoveries.” His elders would say, and then the icy cold tip of the blade, dipped in golden-green ink, forced itself into his skin. 

He became someone that day, finally picked from countless Dalish youths roaming the hills. The first sign of trust his people had in him and others like him. Then he earned his name, his position, his skills. He proved himself with those marks. 

“I don’t know. I never asked myself the question.” He slowly felt over the longer line on his forehead. This one hurt, back then, but he didn’t cry out. “Humans offered us so much suspicion and hatred for these. I’ve come to accept them as burdens of restored pride. My people see them as sacred.” 

“Yes, I am aware of the belief the Dalish hold.” 

“Do you not?”

“I’m not Dalish, my friend.” Solas responded with his usual calm confidence, as if it explained him well enough. “Your fierce pride in the People is admirable. I find it quite… precious. Though do forgive me for thinking it roots in you, not the marks on your skin.” 

There was some heat in how he spoke about it, an underlying layer of emotion. Elias smirked, ignoring the warm sting of affection hearing Solas call him “precious” birthed in his chest. He looked the other elf over, tilting his head. 

“Wow. You’re… being passionate. Openly passionate about something other than the Fade and spirits. I’m surprised you have it in you.” He chuckled, watching Solas cast him an indignant look. It held no genuine flame. 

“Do you find me so passive, lethallin?” 

“Quite the contrary. I just didn’t think you’d care this much.” At that, Elias put away the manuscript of some semi-coherent elven writings and flung his legs over the armrest of the chair, half laying down in it. He tipped his head back and looked at Solas again, chuckling because he looked funny like this, upside down. 

“You know I have a great deal of care in my heart, especially for the elven history.” He almost sounded defensive. Elias wanted to prod at him some more, but a different unspoken sentence caught his attention. 

“The elven history, the Fade, spirits, and your dear Lavellan? Is that the four sacred pillars of your care?” The elf smirked, watching Solas’ ear twitch. Soft, gentle motion of an elegant, sharp, neatly carved tip. Down, down, harshly up — gentle thrill. Pretty little thing just asked to get bitten. 

“Perhaps so.” 

The easy agreement made his heart skip a bit. Delayed, just like Elias’ reaction — surprise came first. 

“What, did I shock you?” He sounded genuinely surprised, though his eyes betrayed some shade of a deeper emotion Elias couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“You care about me?” Elias leaned up, twisting his body in the chair in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. His honey-blonde hair messily fell in his face and Solas found himself staring. The harsh, rough beauty of his dear companion never quite encapsulated him as much as it did now, in the soft glow of his veilfires and candles. 

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” 

“You’re here because of the Veil breaches.” 

“And you are the key to those.” 

Elias scoffed, sitting up. A gloved hand — the anchor itched most of the time when he didn’t cover it — came to brush his unruly hair back.

“Scientific interest is not the same as care, Solas. Learn the difference.” Perhaps he was too harsh but his heart ached. He hoped to mean something else to Solas, to be something more than a curious academic project. 

With so many people viewing him as nothing but a tool in the hands of the gods, a key to victory, a savior’s sword — or, well, bow — he just wanted this impossible elf to look at him as something more than that. 

His mood change must have been palpable because Solas shifted in his chair. Elias glared at him only to find the other man looking at him with some imperceptible expression on his face. He looked… mourning, almost. As if whatever just transpired hurt him in some ancient, strange way. 

“Have I misled you to believe that’s how I see you, Lavellan?” 

“Am I supposed to think otherwise?”

“Yes.”

Elias felt the irritation and tension leave his body as quickly as they came. Solas possessed this unique ability of dispelling his negative emotions by remaining almost eerily calm. He was that endless well of ancient wisdom that quieted Elias’ impulsivity and heated temperament. His anger landed, like fire-tipped arrows, into these cold waters and died away with a gentle puff of smoke. 

Often, he didn’t know how to feel about Solas. The easy way this elf handled his innermost concerns and assumptions made him feel imperceptibly young, sometimes; or maybe a little stupid. The mage could see through him and into the parts of him Elias never confronted or, maybe, acknowledged. This was frustrating and inspiring the way Solas was both at the same time. 

“Are you saying you care for me? Me, as a person?” Elias nearly slapped himself for how desperate he sounded. This elf, this man who appeared to be hoarding some timeless kind of wisdom, made him feel crazy. 

One look of approval from Solas made him dizzy. 

He craved to get just one more. 

 “I would be lying if I said otherwise. I do, Lavellan. Most ardently so.” Solas replied with guarded stiffness. He moved to press his back into the soft padding of the chair, as if grounding himself. “I failed to make it clear, it seems, for which I apologize.” 

Meanwhile Elias could barely keep his breathing stable. Embarrassing.  

“Can you… elaborate what you mean by that?” He chuckled dryly, gripping the armrest he was leaning against. “When you say that you care about me.”

Solas gave him a contemplating look, sitting still as a statue. His smart, calculating eyes were looking at the other elf calmly as if he was silently making a decision. He did not move or say a single word, but Elias could almost feel the mood change when Solas suddenly released a deep exhale. 

“You’ve mentioned, rather brightly, that you’re one of the four pillars of my care. A poetic way to put it, dear Lavellan, though it is true.” He was not looking at Elias, choosing instead to keep his eyes on the stack of books on the table between them. “Much like other fields of my care, you are something I fear… disappearing in history, misunderstood and forgotten — or overall.” 

“I’m afraid of losing you.”

“You are a peculiar individual, anchor or not.” He stated clearly and directly, finally looking up to meet Elias’ expecting gaze. “There’s little more entertaining to me than to keep experiencing your depths.” 

“I love learning things about you. You intrigue me.”

Elias inhaled, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling much similar to that flustered thrill of nerves one feels when in love. Was he in love with Solas? Surely there was a better word for that ancient longing in him that came to life around the other elf. If love was something one falls into, then Solas was his abyss. 

“When I say that I care, I mean that the greatest misery for my spirit would be to lose sight of you, my dear Lavellan.” He finished on a hushed whisper, wrapping the elven word into a mist of warmth. The way he pronounced Elias’ clan name was so soft he felt himself melting into the softness of the chair. 

Solas showed so little emotion on his face, at least most of the time, but one perceptive enough could always hear it in the poetic flow of his words. The barely-present drop of cadence around the end of his sentence, the break of pattern — it was comparable to hearing his breath hitch, expecting. Elias moved to sit properly, still a little shaken up. Solas barely said a thing and he already felt taken apart and dissected, his heart on display. 

“Well… Unlike your studies and theories, I have some say in that.” He started carefully, looking Solas directly in the eye. Much like during his hunts, he chose to stare down his target even when it filled him with dread for what was to come after. He hoped he wasn’t misreading the situation. “I don’t plan to disappear anywhere, so it’s unlikely you’ll lose sight of me. Unless you stop looking.” 

“I could never.” 

The whispered response was so immediate it took Elias by surprise. He paused, then looked at Solas in silence, as if focusing his eyes for the first time. The mage looked both serene and solemn, fluidly combining the two in that unique facial expression that belonged on no one’s face but Solas’. He seemed ready for any response and hopeful at the same time. Elias had never seen him so open before. This moment felt precious and he wanted to collect time in a handful so it trickled a little slower. 

“...Good.” He cleared his throat, letting out a rough-sounding chuckle. Forcing laughter was something he did when nervous, and he had never been more nervous than in this moment. “I want you to keep looking.” 

“I exist in your gaze.” 

Another breathless pause that felt like a hundred years and a myriad of memories passed between them. The conversation lasted barely a few minutes but Elias felt like there was a timeless rift between the Solas he knew before it and the one he was looking at now. Putting all of his weight on the armrest before him, he propped himself up and, feeling the spell of the moment make room for some of his usual playfulness, hummed deep in thought. 

“You could just tell me you’d prefer my face without vallaslin, you know. I would be way more willing to consider removing them then.” Elias smirked, watching three consecutive emotions appear on Solas’ face: confusion shifted through contemplation and landed in amusement.

Solas moved again, as quietly as ever. Elias could have mistaken him for a Dalish hunter if not for his bare face that often reminded him of the statues one could find in the elven ruins deep in the Dales. Moments like this made him look at Solas as something ancient, forever outside of his grasp. 

Lost in his thoughts and mesmerized by the ephemeral appearance of the elf before him, Elias did not notice a hand reaching out to trace over the scarred patterns across his upper cheek. He felt sudden coldness and pressure as a fingertip brushed across the triangular patterns and up the side of his head, circling around the outer corner of his eye. Taken out of his daze, he focused his gaze on Solas’ face, feeling a sudden burst of warmth spread through his chest at the look of soft adoration he was met with. 

Solas wasn’t quite looking at him as just something precious — his gaze betrayed some deep, primordial longing. 

“Perhaps I have caused you to misinterpret my words again…” He caressed Elias’ cheek with his thumb, causing the rogue to suddenly dryly swallow. “The reasons behind my inquiry matter so little now but I assure you that they are not what you’re thinking. You needn’t change a thing to cause my heart to tremble.” 

Elias almost wanted to ask about these “reasons” but the hand on his face distracted him from all outer thoughts. He blinked, concentrating. 

“I’m glad you think that.” He leaned his head to the side, just barely meeting Solas’ careful touch. “Because I rather you keep looking at me until these surface things no longer matter.” 

The mage flashed him a knowing smile. 

“That is exactly my intention.” 

“It better be or all of that academic crap of yours is a pretense.” 

At that, Solas laughed. 

Elias melted a tad, feeling a sudden, but strong urge to lock the sound in a jar and keep it to himself. Just like the rest of this impossible, infuriating, complicated man, it deserved to be treasured and carefully studied. 

“I could never deceive you like that, Lavellan.” 

He whispered, turning his hand so now his knuckles brushed over the downright pattern of Elias’ cheek. The man moved ever so slightly, tilting his face towards the gentle fingers. The moment felt fragile and soft, softer than every tender lethallin whispered at him when Solas thought he wouldn’t keep listening. 

“I wouldn’t let you.” He whispered back, flashing the other elf a warm smile. 

There were so many questions to ask — and every conversation with Solas created only more to follow — but for now, Elias couldn’t help but melt into the moment, lock it in time, and hope to dream of it later. Something stirred in his heart at Solas’ caring gaze. The abyssal and scary feeling of immense adoration and desperate longing overcame him again and he couldn’t help but let it stay, at least for now. 

Solas was looking at him. 

And just like many times before, it felt like he was the only one seeing him. 

It felt utterly blissful.

[shippingmyworld]

Rowan Trevelyan - Dragon Age: Inquisition (2014)

Coping with the fact that I won't have Veilguard in my hands until tomorrow by taking pictures of my favorite Trevelyan Inquisitor.

World State Info and Basic Background below cut for anyone interested.

Rowan's Background

Honestly just a big ass mabari masquerading as a human. Autistic as fuck and hyper-focused on Thedas History. Youngest of 5, but due to elder siblings joining The Chantry or dying as a result of the Trevelyan's dabbling in The Game, he was unexpectedly shoved into the role of the next head of House Trevelyan. His parents paraded him around like a peacock at parties, which he was not happy to attend. Caused a few minor scandals because his autism made him terrible at The Game, most of which was swept under the rug. That is until a distant cousin, envious of Rowan's position, paid off a male servant to seduce Rowan and expose him in the middle of a party. Rowan's parents tried to force him into an arranged marriage with a female childhood friend of a family that owed the Trevelyan's too many favors, but once Rowan found out he fled from Ostwick. He made for the Conclave, intending to join his eldest sister in the Templar Order. However, he arrived just in time for the Conclave to blow up, which eventually landed him in the role of Inquisitor.

World State

Recruited Templars and Absorbed them into the Inquisition. Pledged to help them rebuilt, in memory of his sister.

Felt a kinship with Gaspard over their mutual dislike of The Game. Did not intend to let Celine die, but had such low approval at The Winter Palace that he couldn't get to her fast enough to save her. Thanks to Leliana, they were able to gather enough evidence to blackmail Briala into leaving Orlais so that Gaspard could rule alone.

Warden Stout stayed behind in the fade. Remaining Grey Wardens are absorbed into the Inquisition. Hawke travels to Weisshaupt.

Leliana is softened, and elected as next Divine.

Rowan drank from the Well of Sorrows.

Vowed to stop Solas and dissolved The Inquisition at the end of Trespasser. Was more than happy to step away from all the politics. Preferred that he have only a few close and trusted friends help him track down Solas, rather than an entire organization.

Romanced - Dorian

Rowan was so distracted by Dorian when the magister arrived at the gates of Haven that Rowan took more than the usual amount of magical blasts to the chest during the siege because he couldn't stop looking back at Dorian's handsome-ass face.

Literally lights up any time he spots Dorian.

Relations with other Characters

Sees Cole as a younger brother that also blurts out things he shouldn't, made him more like a Spirit.

Convinced Iron Bull to save The Chargers. Even though Rowan's the 'boss,' he looked up to Iron Bull as a respectable fighter. When he got worn out from the politics of leading The Inquisition (which was frequent) he'd seek out Iron Bull for training to distract himself. Dorian made it a habit to sit nearby whenever the two men started training.

Holds great respect for Cassandra, and low-key sees his later sister in her. They spoke often of what it meant to lose a family member and needing to live up to others expectations.

Loved to listen to Solas talk about The Fade, and was always asking questions. He shocked Solas with how humble and willing he was to looking at things with a difference perspective.

Vivian took a single look at Rowan, immediately pegged him as a victim of the game like herself, and took him under her wing. She made sure either herself or Josephine was always at his side whenever the politics of nobility was involved (so they could basically acting as his autism translator and navigate The Game better).

Respects that Blackwall is trying to atone for his sins, but isn't very close with him.

Enjoys the few times he spent with Sera, but often gets confused cus of the way she talks so he didn't often seek out her company.

Is a huge fan of Varric's books. Rowans was so star-struck that they barely interacted.