#i learned more about nevarra from CASSANDRA

[greywardenmonkey]

its not a lie to say that veilguard takes the themes from every previous dragon age game and absolutely butchers them to pieces i dont think

[other-cullen-ficrecs]

Dragon Age Veilguard 1/? - Queerness

Standard disclaimer: this is not a complain that the game was too „woke”. I just think it could've been done so much better. Also, this is super long and could use proofreading, but I just want to rant in peace. 🤷‍♂️

The term „non-binary” A lot of people complain about the use of the word and I have to admit there's something to it. I am however glad that there was a specific identity Taash could discover and learn about. I would be mad if it was written as if Taash was just different, a special kind of person, having their own gender. The way they described the need for the right words was very much on point. But Krem never got the term for being trans man. He had to use an ill-fitting Qun word. And compared to no one ever calling anyone's sexuality or gender identity with more modern words, it is jarring. I think it would also be more integrated into the culture if it came from it. It just feels off to suddenly have Thedas full of detailed gender knowledge and discourse. And I would maybe buy that with the game's general excuse of „we're in the north now” if not for the fact that all trans characters we've met so far are from the north!

Tevinter being the best source of knowledge on gender identity. I understand they needed that for Taash's plot line, they needed to speak to others on similar journeys, etc. But why on Earth was it Tevinter?! Why like half of the Shadow Dragons are trans? This is by no means a complaint about too many trans characters. Just why Tevinter?! It just feels so disrespectful to Krem. He is literally running for his life because he was outed in the army. And meanwhile, Tarquin is a templar, who served in the army and why he doesn't mention specifically that he's out to everyone, it's not exactly a secret either. Perhaps they wished to connect this with Maevaris, but it was so clumsy, it made no sense. I would love if we had this freedom in gender identity and expression, knowledge and experiences available to both Taash and the player. To see how it's viewed outside of the norms we know. Just not in Tevinter! Wouldn't it be better if it was Nevarra we knew so little about? The only character we truly knew from Nevarra was Cassandra! And no offense to Cassandra, but every other citizen in Nevarra could be trans and she wouldn't think it's worth mentioning. I could even be convinced to this being a norm in Antiva or Rivain, thought I admit my favorite would be Tal Vashoth. It would be trickier with Taash's plot line, but not necessarily. Their mother kept both of them away from other Qunari. It would be an interesting plot line if Taash found answers not in Rivain culture or Qun culture, but actually culture of those who left the Qun. Qunari who leave the Qun seem perfect to be the ones to think about the gender norms and identities, because they are different under the Qun and outside of it. So when those definitions would collide at least some of them would wonder about it in more depth. From Adaar's story we know that some Tal Vashoth live together in groups, it would be perfect to find out more about their culture, created carefully from what they wished to keep and what they needed to change. Perhaps we could even explore how „Aqun-Athlok” means literally someone who was not born male but is a warrior and not exactly trans man. But for that I suppose we would need trans men who are not warriors and for the game to not forget about the existance of Tal Vashoth. Or the Qun, quite frankly.

Everyone being bi/pansexual. Listen. LISTEN. I know we all loved in Dragon Age 2. But somehow in DA2 it felt like you were just a group of bisexuals. And there was still Sebastian. And non-romancable characters and NPCs often at least seemed straight. Dragon Age Inquisition bringing in gay characters was one of the best moves that games ever pulled. And it was so important. Dorian's troubles with family and Tevinter were so deeply connected with his identity and how it was only acceptable as shameful little secret. Which brings me back to Tevinter being the safe haven for all the queers. I know that Dorian said this kind of judgment is most commong in nobility, due to the concerns about the heirs and perfect blood lines. But you can't make me believe that it didn't tricle down to the poorer parts of the country. Of course, they probably cared less, I'm willing to believe that. But it would not be possible for all poor people to be happily queer, tolerant and „woke”, while the aristocrats are all bigoted. (Except for Maevaris' father as he was a man ahead of his time, apparently.) Perhaps it would be less jarring if that was the world state following DA2. But after Dorian's quest... After Sera... It just feels so wrong that suddenly everyone is bisexual and extremely supportive. Without even as much as a mention that it was worse. If the excuse for this was sudden culture change in Thedas.

Everyone outing themselved within first two sentances. I understand how a character uses they/them and thus lets us know they're nonbinary. I could even maybe buy it with Tarquin, but only because my Rook was a fellow Shadow Dragon and also a trans man. Maybe there was a connection. Again, it's not a complaint about too many trans characters, but in my experience few of them actually out themselves the moment they meet you. Wouldn't it be more engaging if it required some deeper conversation? More trust between your fractions? Suddenly on a second or third playthrough you talk more with some NPC and learn about them and it feels like actually something important being shared... Instead of just trying to raise your count of trans characters you throw in there.

Generally, after the Inquisition, and even the previous games, it seems we're drowning in quantity and missing out on quality. I did not expect super in depth fleshed out characters and everything done well and perfectly, but it just fell shallow and without any decent follow up it felt like something you could blink and miss.

If they were willing to annoy all the dude bros crying about wokeness, they could make it more worth it.

That said, I did appreciate Taash's quest and character. They're the only one I trully connected with and who made me cry at least a little bit. There were some lines within their quests that were obvious signs that someone non-binary/trans was there in the writing room. The line „no one likes being a woman!” was just perfection!

And I'm not gonna lie, the moment I started falling for them and deciding to romance them, I was like „wait, wait, what is happening here? I never romance women in DA, especially not on the first run, what is going on?!” and then they started figuring out they're not a woman after all. Love at first sight after all! 😂

[arcanistderangement]

The Thedosian Worldstate, circa 9:50

The Warden: Elissa Cousland

Ex-Warden Commander of Ferelden, prior Teyrna of Gwaren and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Gifted the province of Gwaren to the elves of Ferelden, creating the first elven homeland in centuries. Removed from office by the Grey Wardens due to dereliction of duty. Vanished from the public from 9:31-9:39. Served in the Inquisition as an arcane advisor, as the foremost expert on red lyrium in the world. Married to an individual claiming to be the former Spirit of Justice

To Which I Aspire: Justice is a concept, an ideal- he embodies all that is good and all that is bad about the mortal concept of justice, and can imagine no other life. A chance encounter with a human interloper in his realm will change everything he is and everything he will be, and he will learn that there is so much more to the world than he could ever have believed.

Other fics: Convergence, A Storm in the Air, Cute for a Dead Guy, A Dead Man's Vengeance

The Champion: Josefina Hawke

Ex-Viscount of Kirkwall and prior Champion. Currently residing in Nevarra with her paternal grandmother, acting as the Grandmaster of the Veiled Brotherhood. Served in the Inquisition as an arcane advisor, as the foremost mortal expert on the Veil. Elevated to the position of Right Hand of the Divine with the election of Divine Victoria (Leliana) and has an ongoing queerplatonic Situationship with Cassandra, fellow Nevarran and Left Hand of the Divine.

Sex and Magic: Sex and magic are two things that Josefina Hawke is fairly certain she will never understand. One of them she is supposed to desire, and the other she is supposed to despise. She’s fairly certain she has them around the wrong way.

Other fics: Convergence

The Inquisitor: Corinne Trevelyan

Ex-Herald of Andraste and current Lady of Skyvale. Currently residing in Skyhold, in the newly established independent city-state of Skyvale, ally to the also newly reestablished elven kingdom of The Dales, formerly south-eastern Orlais, and ally to the southern Avvar kingdoms and territories. Happily married to her former Commander, with four young girls, Corinne has come to terms with the knowledge that she is a spirit of Thedas - possibly The spirit of Thedas - brought into existence as a champion of the planet.

Wild Mage (series): There are old places in the world, and even older magics. The Chant speaks on behalf of a god but was written by men. And as the Circles fall and the world crumbles, Corinne Trevelyan must find it within herself to leave behind the sanctuary she has built and face the spectre of an ancient evil aspiring to godhood, even if it means accepting a mantle she fears with everything in her.

The Veilguard: Beren Rook

Pending further information drops from Bioware, a Tevinter city-elf slave, bound to House Vestrius, and a commander in the Shadow Dragons and prominent faction leader in the fight for elf emancipation. Name and backstory subject to change, and if Bioware doesn't give me a city-elf origin, she'll just have to be an OC

To be updated prior to Veilguard's release

[nirikeehan]

For DADWC: from the 14 days of DA lovers - Slow Dance (Leliana/Josephine? Or perhaps Cullen/Cassandra? Could be set during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts or any other big Inquisition related party!)

Hi! Thank you for the prompt. I decided to go with Cullen/Cassandra and... uh, this veered from my original intentions. It became less explicitly shippy and more of a meditation on lyrium addiction and where Cullen and Cassandra are as people before the events of Inquisition. I still rather like it and think it could be read both as friendship or as something deeper between them.

For @dadrunkwriting (and @14daysdalovers but lol what are deadlines even at this point)

Word Count: 1944

---

Where the camp had picked up a full minstrel band, Cullen had no idea. Distracted from his papers, he watched them set up by the main fire pit. He ought to move farther into his tent, close the flap and concentrate. He didn’t. It was oddly mesmerizing to watch the lute player tighten her strings, while the flutist and percussionist assembled their instruments.

“How are you doing this evening, Commander?”

Cassandra’s voice pulled him back to earth. She stood beside him, having approached undetected, a concerned frown on her face.

How was he? Three days gone since his last dose of lyrium, his head pounded and his hands shook. He was testing himself, to see how far he could go before the lead went taut and he snapped backward into its embrace. Half the time he thought he was insane for even trying.

“The bandits we encountered on the road yesterday are troubling.” Cullen’s voice stayed courteous and professional — or as best as he could manage. “I’ve sent out agents to inquire with the villages; hopefully they can sniff out whether they’re local miscreants or answer to either the templars or rebel mages.” He took a breath, scanning the parchments scattered on the wooden table that served as a makeshift desk while the Inquisition’s column was on the move. “And we’re only about a week out from Haven now. Leliana and I discussed sending scouts ahead, to assure we’ll be welcome when we arrive.”

“Yes, I’ve heard all that,” Cassandra replied. “But how are you doing?”

He took a breath, his gaze straying toward the band. “I’m worried that when that musician starts banging on those drums, my skull might actually split in two.”

Cassandra let out a soft laugh. “Why don’t we go for a walk, Cullen?”

Her tone was light, but her expression serious. She had a gravitas to her he admired: large brown eyes, a regal profile, and hair cropped short for utility, save for one long braid wrapped around the crown of her head. Cullen wondered if this bore any cultural significance in her native Nevarra, but hadn’t found an opportunity when it seemed polite to ask. He’d served under a woman for the better part of a decade and understood they rarely welcomed inquiries into their appearance, especially from younger and subordinate men. Cullen did not wish to get on Cassandra’s bad side so early into their professional time together — especially not after what had happened with Meredith.

Still, he wondered. He wondered a good many things about Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, including why she would want to take a walk with him in the frigid wilderness of the Frostback Mountains.

“All right,” Cullen said, apprehensive. He set aside his papers and stood.

During his time in Kirkwall’s Gallows, an invitation like this from Meredith meant one of two things: she either felt compelled to grant a favor, or needed one. Cullen had learned how to navigate such meetings, never promising too much, nor too little. He had respected Meredith, but she played a political game with the templars that Cullen had little stomach for. He had to remind himself Cassandra could not be farther from that ilk. Her disdain for bureaucracy had been one of the reasons he’d accepted her offer to command the Inquisition’s forces. Never again did he want to be backed into a corner, the way he had been when Kirkwall erupted in needless violence.

He followed Cassandra away from the camp, pulling his new fur-lined coat against his torso. The cold Fereldan winter was a bittersweet homecoming, one he’d have to grow accustomed to as they traveled farther south. He blew hot air into gloved fists. The only sound was the tuning of the minstrels and the crunching of their boots in the snow.

“Is… there something you wished to discuss?” he asked.

“I thought it might soothe your head, to be away from the cacophony,” Cassandra remarked.

Indeed, music was now floating through the air, but at such a remove as to be tolerable. The band finished a warmup and launched into their first number. The song was a sweet ballad he recalled from his childhood.

“It does,” Cullen said cautiously.

Cassandra watched him, a shrewdness in her eyes. “When we dispatched those bandits on the road, I saw your sword hand slip.”

Cullen inhaled sharply. His fingers strayed to his upper lip, where the stitches still pulled painfully each time he tried to smile — the payback for his carelessness. “An accident. It won’t happen again.”

“You misunderstand me, Cullen.” Cassandra drew herself up to her full height, pulling her hands behind her back with military precision. The discipline of the Seekers was world-renowned. “Before asking you to take this position, I spoke to every available man and woman serving under you. Your hand does not slip.”

Cullen broke into a sweat despite the wind’s chill. She knows.

“Forgive a man a foolish endeavor,” he said in a rush. “I’ll cease the experiment immediately and return to regular lyrium doses on the morrow.”

Cassandra raised one thin eyebrow, as if surprised he would confess so readily. She did not know that was his speciality — the litanies on his lips had once kept him sane, on his knees, trapped behind a translucent wall. Nor the times prompt honesty had satisfied Meredith when the others would wheedle and deceive, driving her further into a fury.

Meredith would have expressed disappointment, the crushing parental kind. She would have helped him back to his feet, pressing a vial into his hand. Cassandra only tilted her head in curiosity. “You called it an ‘experiment.’ Why is that?”

Cullen laughed sadly. “Because I know of no one who has ceased taking lyrium and lived.” Memories of Raleigh Samson floated in his mind’s eye, demon-haunted and desperate. “And those who cannot afford a steady supply are driven half-mad with the need.”

“Yet you do it anyway,” Cassandra said softly, without judgment. “How long has it been?”

When he told her, she nodded. He waited for her to say the Inquisition could not survive a half-mad Commander, and if he died he would be of no use to her. Yet she stayed quiet, gazing upward at the stars winking across the cobalt sky. The music crescendoed, minor notes filling him with melancholy.

“I cannot choose your path for you,” she said at last. “You are no longer a templar; you are not beholden to their rules. If this is what you seek to do… I will support you.”

Cullen swallowed thickly. He felt the desire in the back of his throat, in his teeth, pulsing along his temples. All he had to do was tell her that the Inquisition would falter without its commander in peak condition, and the soothing cerulean would be back in his palm. He had faltered already, over some bloody bandits.

“But if I cannot serve adequately as a result—”

“It’s your life, Cullen,” Cassandra snapped. “I will not run an institution that puts itself above the well-being of its members. That is where the Chantry has fallen short all too often as of late.”

Cullen blinked in surprise. “Thank you.”

She cracked a small smile. “Besides, a commander rarely leads the charge himself. He is of more use away from the front lines, so that his expertise can carry down the ranks.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that a polite way of saying I’m no longer allowed to lead skirmishes against local riff-raff?”

Cassandra’s barking laugh reverberated amongst the trees. “It is a polite way of saying your talents are needed elsewhere.” She paused. “But until we know the true effects…”

“I understand,” Cullen cut in, so she didn’t have to say it. He hated presenting such a weakness, but he could not begrudge her the precaution. “I’ll delegate field duties for the time being. Rylen seems keen to prove himself.”

“Good.” Cassandra nodded, though he caught a glimpse of sorrow in her eye.

He felt the old shame stuttering along his chest, abhorring the pity he didn’t deserve. It compounded with the faraway music and made him wish, for the thousandth time, that things had been different. That the trajectory of his life had been the straight arrow shot he’d always envisioned, full of honor and purpose, and not so many damn shades of grey. He wished he could go back in time and warn his younger self that the Templar Order was not the shining bastion of all things holy. Then he would not have known the horror of colleagues slaughtered, the uncertainty of political decay, the torment of situations where all of his options were bad. Then he would not feel this hunger, clawing through his bones.

“Do you know this song?” he blurted.

Cassandra peered at him, as if startled that he would ask. “I do not.”

“It’s an old Fereldan folk ballad.” Cullen gulped a breath of cold air, hoping it would level him out.

Cassandra titled her head in curiosity. “What’s it about? I confess I’ve missed most of the words.”

“Lost love. Most of them are.” Cullen chuckled. “My siblings and I used to joke Fereldans only ever know how to write about tragedy, given our history.” His sisters and brother were closer than they had been in years. He knew he should reach out to them now that he was back. Every time he tried, he stared at the blank parchment until he ruined it with dripping ink.

“It’s not just Fereldans,” Cassandra said. “Poets in any land are obsessed with pain and misfortune. All the classic Nevarran songs are the same.”

He stood beside her, thinking of songs and their purpose. To commemorate — the dead, first off, and of course heroes, those who gave their life in service of the realm. Quietly, he asked, “Do you think any songs will be sung about the Inquisition?”

Cassandra sighed, turning her gaze skyward. A shooting star streaked across the heavens, so fast a blink would have caused him miss it. “If so, I pray they won’t be cautionary tales.”

He wished he could strengthen her resolve, but the doubt in her voice resonated. All reassurances sounded like empty platitudes in his head, and he’d repeated far too many of them to Meredith in those waning days. “I pray for that as well.”

The distant music swelled. This far from the campfires, the cold settled into his limbs, seeping through even the heaviest fabrics.

Cassandra pursed her lips. “These Fereldan folk songs. Do they have a dance?”

“A dance?” Cullen furrowed his brow.

“Yes. You know, an ethnic dance?” Cassandra looked almost shy, trying to explain. “In Nevarra, we have such things. We learn them as children, as a matter of national pride.”

“I suppose we have them, though I’m not sure we would use those terms.” He tried to think back, to a happier time: celebrations in long summer evenings, his parents drawing each other close, his sister insisting he was doing it wrong. He didn’t think there was anything distinctly Fereldan about those dances, but then he’d never tried to compare them to any others. “I recall learning a few steps when I was young, though I admit I was never very good.” Cullen hesitated. “I could show you. It might keep us from freezing out here, at least.”

Cassandra snorted. “If you want to return to camp, you can just say so, Commander.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Cullen laughed nervously. “I’m just truly unskilled. You might think lesser of me, if you knew.”

“I doubt that.” With a decisive nod, Cassandra took his outstretched hand.

[thereinafter]

[letter for Femslashex 2022]

Thanks for considering making something for me! Feel free to mix and match my prompt ideas or take inspiration from something else on my art/fic likes list if you want: https://thereinafter.tumblr.com/exchange-likes. I’m flexible and happy with any rating of thing you’re inclined to make for these requests.

Dragon Age

Leliana/Cassandra: I’m perpetually fascinated with their history together before DAI and how they might have started working together/learned each other’s capabilities. Or, could they have run into each other at some point in Val Royeaux while Leliana was working for Marjolaine? Or, I’m always here for them finding moments of solace or fun or escape together during the timeline of DAI, or mutually pining while being highly competent and busy with serious things. (For art, also always here for leaning into the left hand/right hand or bard/knight aspects of them.)

Cassandra/Inquisitor: Whichever Inquisitor you care to write/draw, I am always into them finding their way into love with each other, ways to be together, mutual discoveries. Whether that’s awkward flirting or dramatic saving each other from deadly peril or having cute slice of life experiences together or more sexy discoveries or literally anything on my likes list, it is good. (for art, similarly, I will never say no to Cassandra doing knightly things or receiving romantic gestures.)

Leliana/Cassandra/Josephine, Leliana/Cassandra/Vivienne, Leliana/Cassandra/Inquisitor: A lot of what I said above could also work here: Josie also has a past with Leliana at least, it’s possible Vivienne could have met them both, and the Inquisitor could fall for them together. Or this is also making me think about scenarios where two team up to comfort or rescue the other and there are feelings (huddling for warmth after Haven? sandstorm in the desert? someone gets captured or lost? someone out of her depth in Val Royeaux society? Cassandra dealing with her family? the Inquisitor losing her hand? or someone just having a bad day and the other two improving it).

I'm fine with however you want to picture/characterize the Inquisitor if you include her; also fine with whatever world state and time frame in Thedas you want. Random bonus prompt: I also find the Deep Roads, Adamant, the Fade, Nevarra, Serault, and the abandoned chateaux in the Emerald Graves particularly interesting, if you feel inspired to stick these pairings/trios into one of those places somehow.

DNW: noncon, hatesex, daddy/mommy kink, pregnancy, setting AUs for fic, permanent death of requested characters

Star Wars (Obi-Wan Kenobi)

I was very fond of Tala and wish there was so much more of her, especially in an f/f context (whether that’s fic, or art, or if you’re inspired to make a vid, that would be cool as well). And if you feel like including NED-B and/or her platonic relationship with Leia somehow, I also loved their interactions.

Reva Sevander/Tala Durith So, they’re both secretly working against the Empire for kind of opposite reasons, and they had some tension in that scene where they meet on the base, and I’d like something exploring that or where they interact more (have they run into each other previously? if Tala doesn’t die in the explosion might she find Reva after Vader stabs her? might their paths cross in the future post-show? might she help Reva turn away from the dark side?)

Tala Durith/OFC Alternatively, I’d like to see Tala get to be happy with someone, whether that’s sometime pre-canon (someone else she helped on the Path? someone from further in her past? someone who left NED-B with her?) or in a fix-it situation where she gets to carry on her resistance work instead of sacrificing herself.

DNW: noncon, hatesex (Reva/Tala angry or emotionally complicated sex is okay, but I like rivals/enemies to also have some kind of mutual respect and appreciation), pregnancy, setting AUs, permanent death of requested characters

Doctor Who (Torchwood)

Suzie Costello/Alex (Moving Target)

Moving Target is a Big Finish audio drama set pre-Torchwood where all of Earth is frozen in time except Suzie and this other woman Alex, who is the random target of a group of alien sport hunters, and Suzie ends up helping her fight them off one at a time for an indefinite period while the world stays frozen and a robot referee taunts them. It can be found here: https://www.bigfinish.com/releases/v/torchwood-moving-target-1392  I was delighted by how the premise combines a bunch of tropes I’m into (forced circumstantial intimacy, grumpy one/cheerful one, bodyguarding, weird timey-wimey shit, postapocalyptic-ish survival), and it had Suzie trying to be a hero for a while, and this all had me shipping them, up until the ending, at which I was very “nooo!”

Therefore, I would love some fic where they get together (at some point during this or instead of the canon ending?) and either things get resolved another way, or it’s suggested they might find another way out.

DNW: noncon, hatesex, setting AUs, permanent death of requested characters

Original Work

Village Witch/Neighboring Village Witch She’s Heard Talk About for Years Unlucky Knight/Oracle Who Dispenses Quests Retired Bodyguard Carrying a Torch/Lady She Once Served in Trouble Virginal Queen/Loyal Guardswoman who has long longed to make love to her Repressed Queen/Pining Knight/Sympathetic Arranged Bride Artist/Longtime Collaborator/Rakish New Patroness Absent-Minded Curator/Museum Ghost with a Crush Water Witch/Woman Who Enjoys Baths Spirit in a Bottle/Woman Who Releases Her Fairy Queen Undercover in Real World/Her Human Bodyguard

I’m interested in however you want to interpret any of these as fic or art. Also, while most of them could obviously be fantasy, SF or modern/urban fantasy or historical settings would be interesting as well.

DNW: noncon, hatesex, underage sex, pregnancy of requested characters, daddy/mommy kink, incest, permanent death of requested characters aside from the ghost

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Veda Adaar, A Letter from Home

The balcony off my room had great light in the morning. The sun shining through the clouds, the crisp mountain air, spring properly arrived and ready to melt into summer. My belly swelled, slowly but surely. No kicks or stirring, a growing bump where they said a child would be. I hid myself in long, flowing robes and oversized tunics. I spent most my days here, staring out the window, feeling the sun on my skin. I wondered if this was the feeling my parents missed, living in this cold land so far from their home. I sighed and looked out at the mountains, so calm with the wars ceased. The sky still bore the thin green scar.

The week after the healer confirmed the child, Lace came into my room with tea. “Hey, V.” I nodded and waved her in. She handed me the cup and we settled onto the sofa. The fire crackled, I pulled my robe closer around me and placed both hands on the warm cup. “I haven’t written the Divine yet,” she said.

“You haven’t written or you haven’t sent it?” I asked.

“Sent. I’ve written a draft,” she said.

“Do we have to send it now?”

“No,” she paused. Her eyes stared at the burning logs. “We will have to tell her soon, though.”

“I suppose we can get it over with. Not like it’ll get any easier,” I sighed. I took a sip of my tea. My hands stayed on the cup, the warmth passing through my palms.

“She’ll make it easier to keep this quiet, if that’s still what you want to do,” she said.

I swallowed and stared out, the sun setting, the chill of the mountains taking over. “I want to keep it quiet. I’ll tell a few friends, in time, but for now it needs to stay with only those we trust the most.”

She nodded. “Have you written your mother yet? We got another two letters from her this week.” I shook my head. “The Divine considers her trustworthy. She hasn’t betrayed any Inquisition secrets thus far.”

“I know,” I said, “I just don’t know how to tell her.” Lace tapped her feet. “Go on, you’ve got a mind full of something.”

“Veda, she loves you. She loved Bull. She’ll be thrilled.” I took another sip of my tea.

“She does love me. She did love Bull. She also loves my father and will certainly tell him,” I said. Lace started to speak, but I interrupted. “Pa never trusted him. He had his reasons, of course.”

“I think he’ll support you more than he hates Bull,” she said.

“You’ve met my father. Do you really believe that?”

“He’s a hardass, but he’s always been bolder in affection than hatred.” I nodded, took another sip of my tea.

“Lace, can you bring me a fresh candle and ink?” She nodded and went to fetch them. I settled into my desk.

Tama,

I’m sorry I haven’t written. Lace tells me she’d get you informed about the immediate developments. I’ll also admit I haven’t read your letters. I’m going to, I keep them in a safe place. I simply haven’t found the time or the gumption. For being so brave, I’m so afraid. I don’t know why. I’ve face dragons and magisters and time travel. I suppose the risk there is death. Dying never seemed as scary.

I remember the stories you told me of when you were a girl. A young apprentice baker, elbows deep in flour. You wanted to be a Tamassaran, raising the children, guiding their growth, comforting their hurts. I suppose it’s the closest thing to motherhood in Par Vollen. They didn’t let you into the priesthood, though. They didn’t let you raise the babies and cuddle them, tend to their wounds. They sent you to a small bakery near the sea. I remember the gull songs you’d sing to me as we wandered along the coastline of the Waking Sea.

Pa never told me the same stories you did. I pieced them together from stories you’d told me. Pa, part of the antaam, stopping by your bakery for bread in the morning. Pa, the good soldier, making jokes as you packed his rations You, the naughty the baker, sneaking him sweetened bread, baked with too much sugar. His hands lingering on yours too long in front of the baker. You two sitting on beach, the sea lapping the shore, your hands finding their way to each other’s again. When I got older and understood the Qun, I always wondered how you weren’t quaking with fear. To love, while not forbidden, was certainly not allowed like this.

When you fled, were you afraid? Crossing through Seheron and Tevinter, Pa joining mercenary companies to gain passage, did you regret it? Did you miss the calm of the bakery, the friends you left behind? Was he worth it? Was I worth it? Were you afraid?

I remember when you sent me off with my first company, an apprentice myself, unsure of the power in my fingertips. I remember Pa standing, arm around you. You held back your tears, but I saw your eyes well up, so afraid for your only child, your only daughter. You wanted more for me than mercenary companies, killing for my dinner. You sang from the Chant of Light, you warned me of magic, yet it came to me anyway, taking me away from you. The first letter I got from you started and ended with, “May the Maker guide you.”

He guided me through mountains and valleys, along the seas. I’d seen the Free Marches, Nevarra, Orlais, the South Western corner of the Anderfels, all while learning to protect myself from demons, manipulate the fade to bend to my very will. The best, of course, was when I’d come home, a year older, a head taller, hardly the child you’d sent away, still so far from real womanhood. You fussed over me so, made goat pies, asked about the places I’d been and the joy I’d found. When you went to bed, Pa and I sat outside, looking towards the sky, the moon so full and hungry. He took a sip of the wine you’d opened, offered me my first glass. He put his arm around me and pointed out constellations. He said something softly, the sounds still ringing in my ears, “We wanted better for you. We wanted safer for you.”

The first time you visited Skyhold, we’d stopped the demon army, but we hadn’t yet gone to Halamshiral to save the empress. You wore a simple cotton dress, you hair braided down your back. Pa put on his nice shirt, his horn caps. You looked so nervous around the nobility. They didn’t know what to make of you. The deafening whispers, everyone so curious about the new Qunari amongst the Inquisition. I heard you sing from some Canticle as you walked towards the throne, up towards my room.

I was scared then, too, my mission unfinished, the Magister still on the loose. When we got to my room you gave me the biggest hug. “My little girl has gone on to be something so much bigger!” You beamed, your own daughter the Herald of Andraste. Pa hugged me too. While I was pressed against him he whispered, “I’m happy you’re safe, for now.” Pa pulled away and glanced at my neck.

The dragon’s tooth was heavy. It rested against my skin, cool and smooth. He didn’t say anything, eyes stuck on the tooth. Your eyes were stuck on me, until Pa’s hand reached your back. Your gaze went where his rested. I can hear your voice now, the surpise and curiosity, “Veda, is that….” your voice trailed off, so Pa, forever your rock, finished for you, “A necklace of the Kadan.” He didn’t share your curiosity.

I said yes. No use in lying to you. I felt my heartbeat in my ears. Your eyes widened when you asked me, “Do you have a Kadan?” I nodded, so unsure and afraid. Not of my love. I knew I loved Bull. I hoped he loved me, but the two of you, seeing me in love with a man closer to your age than mine, a Ben Hassrath agent no less. You two joined me in Herald’s Rest, we found a small table in the corner upstairs. Pa drank a full ale before Bull came to join us. It was awkward, so painfully awkward. When Pa excused himself, I wanted to be sick when Bull said he’d take a walk with him. The men gone, us alone at the table. “He’s,” you thought so carefully about your words, “a lot of man.” I laughed and agreed. You asked if he made me happy.

He did. He made me so happy. He made me happy for years. He made me happy dancing at Halamshiral, he made me happy fighting dragons, he made happy in taverns and campsites, in castles and caves. He held my hand in carriages, he held me in cold storms. He took blows meant for me, he killed foes sent to strike me down. I saw the whole future, I saw the danger you and Pa had lived through. I knew we’d have troubles. I knew he’d be called away from me, but he was mine and he made me so happy, Tama. I couldn’t have loved him more.

I assume you know now what he did. Pa was right. Pa, despite walking with Bull, pulled me into a great big hug before he left. Again, he whispered in my ear, “He’ll never love you more than the Qun.” I shrugged him off. What did Pa know? He didn’t know Bull. He didn’t know me or our circumstances. I thought myself so grown then, barely nineteen, but the most powerful woman in the world. I loved Bull. Bull loved me. I was so sure Bull loved me.

I don’t know if love persists once we return to the Maker’s side. I don’t know if he even gets to return to the Maker. I don’t know what the Qun says happens we die. He obeyed the Qun. He did what the Qun demanded. If there is satisfaction to be had there, he’s earned it. At the cost of himself, at the cost of our love, at the cost of my dignity.

It’s been scarcely two months, his body left to rot near that dragon’s prison. I saw my love struck down before me. Cassandra delivered the killing blow, saving me the anguish of having to kill him myself. He’s dead, Tama. He’s gone. He’s gone forever and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to accept that he loved me and still did this. I don’t know how to accept that he never loved me and felt no guilt. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

It’s been two months, I’m in Skyhold with Lace and the few others who stayed behind to serve what was the Inquisition. I’m no longer the Inquisitor, I’m no longer a fearsome fighter. I’m no longer someone’s Kadan. I’m just Veda. I’m just Veda and that’s all I’ll ever be. I’ll try to help stop Solas, but I won’t lead the charge. I can’t, not anymore. I’m going to be a glorified advisor, one-armed and tired. All that is so hard to write. Forgive the smudges. I’ve finally cried without violence and I don’t know how to accept any of this, but I do have something I have to tell you.

I’m no longer the Inquisitor, a Valo-Kas mercenary, a Knight Enchanter. But I’m still your daughter, and I’m going to be a mother.

Love,

Veda

Lace sent the raven to my mother, I sat down and finally read her letters, her usual, motherly concern filling each page. Father was doing well, a goat had twin kids. When she’d found out about Bull, the letter was longer. Words about love and loss, the way pain settles in our chest, proving our love mattered at all. Beautiful words, frustrating as they were comforting. I heard her and Thom ringing in my ears. I lounged on the sofa, my hands resting at my side, sometimes settling on the top of it. My stomach was warm and tight. Sometimes my fingers would wander towards my stomach, but I’d pull them away. The child would have to be acknowledged eventually. I would have to care for the child, provide for its needs. But I didn’t have to love it, caress its home. Not yet, not now.

Two weeks passed, visitors came and went, spring got brighter, the documents and plans seemed more convoluted. A sunny afternoon, Lace came to my room with two letters. “I thought you’d want this as soon as possible,” she said. I opened the first, smelled the pages. The light scent of lavender and smoke, the oils mother loved and the constant cooking.

Sweetling,

Asit tal-eb. It is to be. Maraas Kata. Nothing is ended.

Love,

Tama

I held the letter to my chest, weeping. So few words, yet they struck right into my heart. Asit tal-eb, what mother would say whenever we suffered and lost. One summer, before I’d come into my magic, Pa came home furious. He cursed and threw down his sword. They spoke in quick Qunlat, too fast for me to understand. Pa sat down and put his elbows on his knees, his head in his hand. Tama put her arms around his head, rested her head on his. She whispered, “Asit tal-eb,” over and over, stroking his hair. I put my doll aside, walked up beside them. Pa took an arm off Tama’s waist and pulled me into their embrace. She leaned up, dried her eyes, and squatted down to my height. “We’ve got to go, sweetling,” she said. Her voice calm despite it all.

“But I like it here! They’re not even mean at the Chantry!” I said, full of childlike fury.

“They won’t sell us the land,” Pa said. “So we can’t grow food for ourselves. We can’t raise animals of our own.” He sniffed and stared at the wall. His gaze moved down to me, little girl with little horns still budding. “We will try again. Find a new place we can stay. Asit tal-eb.”

I caught my breath and opened the next letter. Instead of my mother’s gentle writing, a harsher, sturdier hand had written it.

Imekari,

Your mother says you are having a child. This means we will be grandparents. I have never known a grandparent. Like parenthood, it is a concept we’ve stolen from the Bas. Regardless, I will inquire with the man who sells wheat what this entails. I presume we will love this child, just as we love you. The stories I’ve heard, being a grandparent is easier. That brings some joy.

I read the letter you sent your mother. I read it a few times. I lost count after seven. You’re not so wrong with your telling of me. I was in the antaam. I tried to make your mother laugh often. We did hold hands when we shouldn’t have. Due to your existence, you know we fled together, children ourselves. We chose love over duty. We abandoned the Qun.

I never told you of the walk Hissrad and I took the day we met. You were right. It was awkward. I hoped for a moment to compose myself. Perhaps find a man to hit me with a stick. Of course, Hissrad chose to join me. We walked along the battlements for some time. He was quiet, as I was quiet. We reached a corner and overlooked the endless mountains. I asked him about the necklace. Your mother and I had never told you of this. Kadans and necklaces of Kadans were a memory we left behind. It had to be his idea. He kept a blank face. I presume he was a very good Hissrad. After some contemplation, he said (translated for your sake), “I mentioned it off hand. We killed a dragon less than a week later. I thought we were just having fun, but she surprised me. She constantly surprises me.” I asked if he loved you. He said yes. I asked if he loved you as the Qunari he was or the Tal-Vashoth he pretended to be. He said (again, translated for your sake. You need to learn more Qunlat. The child should know Qunlat), “Both. I love her as the friend and companion I’d get to have in Par Vollen. I love her as a Tal-Vashoth would love whomever they chose.” When I asked about the Qun and when he’d be pulled back to Par Vollen, he gave meaningless answers. He’d spent too much time around bas, he’d forgotten how to talk to men like men.

Imekari, I was wrong. He’s dead. He died obeying orders. But, presuming this new imekari���Imekari II? Small imekari? Ari-imekari? I’ll discuss with Tama—was not of your planning, he broke the Qun. He knew how to control his seed. We all grow up knowing, waiting to be called for breeding. He made a choice. He violated the Qun.

He died Tal-Vashoth. I wish he had lived to fulfill that betrayal of the Qun. The child will come. Tama and I will come too, to discuss and guide. For now, I’ve enclosed something that gave me great comfort during our great suffering.

You’re still a Kadan. You’ve always been our Kadan.

Your Father,

Beres

Behind his letter there was another piece of paper. I opened it slowly, the creases deep and discolored. Inside was a drawing, crude, of a little house. Two Qunari stood, both smiling. The drawing was labeled, “This will be our house. This is where the goats will sleep. This is where the goats will chase the chickens. This is where Veda will play. This is where Tama will sing to Veda. This is where Pa will squeeze Veda on days the Maker didn’t bring kindness to school.” A smaller Qunari reached both hands up, a parent grabbing each hand. At the bottom, it said, “Home.”

I read and re-read the letter. When my hand drifted to my belly, I let it rest.

[dirthara-an]

@laimdalen-itellam 🚩

The response Lavellan received from the man did nothing to actually answer his question. It sounded like Souveri wasn't actually his name, but it seemed like it might be rude to further bug him for his real one, and in his awkward nervousness, the young Inquisitor simply decided to leave the matter alone.

To be fair, once the apparent leader of the group introduced the other two elves, it seemed a bit more likely that he really did have such a strange name. These strangers from the Fade left Lavellan with far more questions than he could ever hope to ask, but perhaps he would get the chance to learn more about them as they traveled together.

"Of course," he agreed, much to Cassandra's chagrin; she shot him a look of disapproval, but he tried his best to ignore it, not wanting to refuse a request for help. "We can escort you back home if you live anywhere near Orlais or Ferelden. Or we could arrange passage for you to Nevarra or the Free Marches. ...Actually, I think the ships can get you to Antiva and Rivain as well if that's where your clan or city are."

Souveri's face took on a rather blank expression, as the Inquisitor prattled on about different places and an awkward silence ensued after he had finished talking, as the mild, distracted frown returned to his features.

"I doubt", he answered carefully after a while, "It will be that easy to track down our people. I have been rather... violently misplaced, after all and for all I know, they might have long since moved on and away."

"For now", Harellin chimed in, as his leader was still pondering on these new information, "We can jus' offer th' work of our hands, hopefully, in return for shelter an' companionship, ya?" The white-haired man had an almost lazy drawl to his voice, making him seem, as if he had just woken from slumber, despite his firm and alert stance. The woman at his side simply scoffed at his humble words, eyeing the Inquisitor's companions with thinly veiled distrust.

But Souveri nodded along approvingly. "Aiyo~, that is a wonderful idea", he hummed gently, "I may not be as firm in combat, as you and your... companions? But I have extensive knowledge about the beasts and herbs this side and the other of the veil. I'm sure, you will find some use for this old hahren, Da'len."

[call-2-arms]

Character Ethnicity, Religion and Inspiration

// Because I want to talk a little about the inspiration and culture of my muses (I won’t go into too much depth about the canon ones since we know already, but I WILL mention them). This isn’t going to be heavily in detail, just a basic outline as I’ve realised I have a real passion for biracial muses--possibly because I don’t feel we see them enough in media today, especially parents of mixed race children, and simply because I enjoy the different cultures between them and how that effect their children etc. I also feel like biracial folks are shoved under the bus a LOT because they “aren’t dark enough” or “you don’t look (insert race)” and that’s bullshit, so I think I like to focus a lot on that and bring light to the situation, or at least I realised that when I was thinking about making this meta. I’ll go alphabetical through my muses (including the ones that I don’t RP here but are still part of my muses lives, and my Inquisitor Kaaras).

This will be a little long, so I’ll post it under the cut.

- Mentions of fantasy racism.

- I use a non white washing filter on my icons for those who are poc. :) PLEASE note that even with filters, DA:I lighting isn’t the best at depicting colours.

- Closed character means I do not RP them here but they are still muses I share here

- Please note that Thedas is not the country they may seem to be inspired by, but MULTIPLE countries of inspiration. These are my headcanons alone. 

Abzi Pământ: Dalish elf from Nevarra ( Egyptian / African inspired ). His clan is a stationed clan in the wilderness of Nevarra, they perform rituals for their dead much like the humans of Nevarra (Egyptian). However, their clan also practices in body modifications, scarification and body plates. Abzi’s clan has an unusually high life span for Dalish elves, which may be due to their stationed life, or their rituals to the gods. Abzi is a warm, medium to dark in skin colour. Abzi’s clan follows the Dalish gods, however, they practice their worship in different ways to most, with sacrifices and preserving their dead (mummification). Abzi’s accent is Egyptian.

Aithell’ana ‘Aith’ Adaar ( closed character ): Ex Dalish elf, ( European inspired ), who has since abandoned and refused to follow her former Dalish way of life. Aith is from the Brecillian Forest, Ferelden . When she came into her magic, she was forced to leave her clan and attacked by templars. She holds hostility towards many Dalish because of her negative experience, and refuses their gods. She was only 7 and did not gain her vallaslin before she was set to be on her way. Aith was adopted by the Adaar family (and Kaaras’ adopted sister) when Kaaras stumbled upon her in the forest. Aith is Caucasian in colour. Aith is atheist and does not believe in any gods. Aith’s accent is Welsh.

Arach Sgott ( closed character ): A city elf from Starkhaven, ( Scottish / European inspired ), he has red hair and pale, blotched skin. His grandparents were former Dalish elves, but his parents lived in the alienage. He wished to embrace his Dalish heritage, so he had facial tattoos (not vallaslin). Unfortunately, Arach’s experience with most Dalish has been negative due to their contempt towards “flat ears”, so he has stopped paying attention to his heritage and makes sure to remind others his tattoos are not vallaslin. Arach is agnostic, he doesn’t know what to believe. Arach’s accent is Scottish. 

Bastien Beaufort: Bastian is a templar of Orlais, a noble born son and biracial ( French / French Louisiana inspired ). Both mother and father are from Orlais, but his mother’s side is darker in skin tone while his father is Caucasian. His mother has Marcher ( French Louisiana inspired ) ancestry, while his father is of a strong Orlesian ( French inspired ) line. Bastien is a medium to dark skin tone. Bastien is a devout Andrastian who holds his religion very close to him, taking vows to keep himself to the Maker and Andraste (he is abstinent). As someone who was punished for his interest in other men, he believes his sexuality is a sin and he must repent. Bastien’s accent is French.

Cassandra Allegra Calogera Filomena Pentaghast: As in canon, Cassandra is of Nevarran ( Egyptian inspired ) descent, her skin colour is a light to medium, olive tone. Cassandra is a devout Andrastian, however, she can learn to accept the gods of others if given time and for someone to teach her. I have always heard a more Romanian accent when it comes to her VA, so I do believe that their accents are Romanian inspired.

Fintan ‘Finn‘ Ghilain: Finn is a Dalish elf from the Dales ( Irish inspired ). He is descended from the Ghilain clan, although he was moved as a boy with his family to Clan Durgen, who resided closer to the Frostbacks. Finn left his clan to wander alone when he was younger, due to the idea that he believed elves and humans could somehow find peace together. He is ghost white in skin tone and has the hereditary condition of Poliosis (whitening of the hair). He is spiritual in beliefs, but exceptionally open minded to all spirits and gods. Finn’s accent is Irish.

Garrett Hawke: Of Lothering, Ferelden ( European inspired ). Hawke’s father was a Marcher, olive in skin colour while Leandra was Caucasian. Hawke is of olive skin himself, a little lighter than Malcolm. Hawke is atheist, and if anything, holds contempt for any god or those who claim to be gods. Hawke’s accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Ignis Scientia: As of FFXV, Ignis is Caucasian and pale in skin colour. I do headcanon that he is of a Tenebrea blood line, however, the Scientia family has been in servitude of the Crown for such a long time that they speak the King’s tongue. Ignis follows the Six. Ignis’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Jaime Tywin Lannister: Of Casterly Rock, Westeros. He is Caucasian. Jaime follows the Seven, although he is more agnostic in nature. Jaime’s accent is English ( as heard in the series )

Kaaras Taashath Adaar: Kaaras is a Vashoth qunari, whose parents fled the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ) when knowing they were expecting a child. Kaaras knows little of his parents upbringing under the Qun and was ignorant as a child to why they were so much different from the other children. He grew up in Southron Hills, Ferelden, though was born in Starkhaven, aided by a Chantry sister. He is pale grey in skin tone, his father being medium to dark and his mother being pale like him. Kaaras is Andrastian, however, he is very open minded when it comes to other religions and gods, believing that all gods stemmed from some kind of truth. He loves learning of other religions and cultures. Due to growing up in Ferelden, Kaaras’ accent is English ( as heard in game ).

Latika Madan: A city born elf from Kirkwall ( Indian inspired ). She is medium to dark in colour. Her family history is one of slavery and in the alienages of the Marches. Most elves in the alienages are forced to believe in the Maker, however, Latika never took to the human beliefs. She believes in respecting ones self and inner peace, however, she will use Andrastian curses as it’s what she grew up around. Due to growing up in Kirkwall, Latika’s accent is English.

Lyna Mahariel ( closed character ): The Hero of Ferelden, born and raised in Ferelden’s wilderness in the Brecilian Forest ( Native American inspired ). Lyna is of strong Dalish heritage and faith. She is a light to medium tone in skin colour. Lyna’s accent is Welsh.

Rike Zimmerman: A Vashoth, abandoned by her parents and left on the doorstep of a small village in the Anderfels ( German / European inspired ). She was raised as humanly as possible, but has turned to a very spiritual belief. She befriends animals more than she is interested in people. She is dark in skin tone with a grey undertone. Rike’s biological parents are of the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). Due to growing up in the Anderfels, Rike’s accent is German.

Talan’ash: Tal’Vashoth from Kont-aar, Rivain ( Spanish influenced ). Talan was born under the Qun ( East Asian / Greek inspired ). He speaks a multitude of languages, and grew up mingling with the people of Rivain, although still subject to the strict teachings of the Qun. He still follows the beliefs of the Qunari people, that their bodies are hosts to who they are and that their spirit will move on to still fulfil its purpose, although he has struggled coming to terms with being Tal’Vashoth. He is medium to dark in skin tone, with a grey undertone. Due to growing up in Rivain, Talan’s accent is Spanish.

Tobias ‘Tobi’ Ettore Clarke: A human of Ferelden, his mother was Chasind ( Māori inspired ) and his father was Antivan ( Italian inspired ). He grew up with a mixed childhood when it came to culture and language, as well as religious beliefs. Tobi hated feeling different from everyone else, so he embraced his mother’s Chasind heritage, hoping that he would be welcome to their village one day. Tobi is atheist and frowns upon anyone who believes they require worship. Tobi is olive skinned. His face and body tattoos are linked to his Chasind heritage ( Māori inspired ). Due to growing up in Ferelden, his accent is English.

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘That’s Not Quite an Answer’

Part of the Mala Suledin Nadas Series.  You can read it on AO3 here.

So this is in fact a retelling of an early romance conversation you have with Solas at Haven.  However, it also morphed with an idea I picked up from some brilliant folks on tumblr - where Solas does yoga/tai chi as exercise.  Damn those thighs....

Maturish (Eli is thirsty af bless her), ~4900 words

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

Eli woke early, luxuriating in a proper bed after days on the road.  Especially the last few where they’d been up in the mountains.  Aravels had been cold enough in the snow, tents were significantly less insulated.  The bed in her little shack was large and covered with blankets - it may not have been as comfortable as her bed in the aravel, but she doubted the villagers of Haven were up to hunting the birds necessary to stuff their mattresses with the feathers.  The wood was cold against her bare feet as she stood, stretching, padding over to the little area screened off for morning ablutions.  She found the whole concept of a bucket for that sort of thing a bit disgusting, but Cassandra had forbidden her to go to the woods to do it, something about ‘Herald of Andraste’ and ‘propriety’.  One of the servants had brought another bucket last night with fresh water in it and she winced at the cold as she crouched and dangled one hand in it.  Closing her eyes, she allowed the heat of the flames at her fingertips to heat the frigid liquid until steam came off the top and only then did she dip the flannel left for her in the water and quickly wash herself.

She remembered Hearthmistress Ashanaya getting so excited one time when they were skirting Starkhaven because the hunters had come back with some rare herb.  The camp had stunk for three days, but at the end she had made a large quantity of soaps that they had all treasured for their scent.  The soap here felt like it was made of dandelion nectar and bitter roots, but she still felt cleaner for it afterwards.  It made her feel slightly homesick, but that was quite common at the moment.  In a way, she preferred being out on the road than in Haven - people were beginning to think she belonged here.

Varric was at the main fire when she approached him, her bare toes crunching in the snow.  He gave her a large grin and passed her some freshly fried oatcakes and honeyed tea.  At least someone was happy.  He seemed busy, though, sifting through various papers with a crease on his brow, so she kissed him lightly on the forehead and let him be.

She knew who she wanted to go and see.  Their adventures in the Hinterlands had devolved into the territory of nightmares after Redcliffe, but had been illuminating none the less.  There had been a report from one of Leliana’s agents that the scouts who had been sent to Wycome had landed safely in Kirkwall and were making their way northwards, extra Dalish mage in tow.  She hoped Mihris was behaving herself.  She and Solas had been easier with each other since then, although it helped that they had got themselves thoroughly engrossed in searching for fragments of Tyrrda’s legend.  She was beginning to enjoy his company more, to be less afraid that he would suddenly turn on her and her people whenever he was feeling cranky.  True, they avoided certain topics, but even when they had been discussing more general magical theory he had listened and debated her experiences fairly, not jumping to conclusions like he had before.

As she passed the tavern, she caught some of the servers there taking out some rubbish and smiled at them, waving.  She liked that they smiled and waved back rather than look at her fearfully - she’d been working quite hard before they’d left for the Hinterlands to ensure that they would.

“Anything special on the menu tonight?” she called out.  One of them grimaced (Tobias, she thought his name was).

“Not particularly, your worship.  Although the hunters brought some good dried meat back from near Redcliffe.”

She made a face sympathetically - dried meat may be fine on its own, but wasn’t particularly good at being used in dishes.

Hopping up the steps to where Solas did his research, she greeted a few people already waiting in line for Adan and then knocked on the door of Solas’ hut.  When there was no reply, she knocked again - it was quite early in the day, although the sun was most definitely up.  Perhaps he was engrossed in something?

“Your…your worship?”

She turned to find a young elven woman carrying a laundry basket on her hip.  The poor thing looked a bit terrified, so Eli made sure her smile was warm as she inclined her head.

“Just ‘Ellana’ is fine, if that makes you more comfortable.  What’s your name?”

The girl swallowed, eyes wide.

“Um, Jan, your wor….Ellana.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan.  I haven’t seen you before.”

“Oh, I came up whilst you were away, miss.  My master wanted to come and speak to the Ambassador, but then I came here and I didn’t want to leave.  Lady Leliana said I could stay if I made myself useful, that you would be happy for me to stay?”

“Of course I’m happy, Jan.  I hope you’re being treated well?”

“Oh yes,” Jan answered, warming up now Eli clearly wasn’t going to smite her with holy flame.  “And it’s good to be doing something that means something, isn’t it?  You being the Herald of Andraste and all.  I always went to Chantry on Sundays, miss.  Always.”

Eli tried not to let her smile fade.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  Did you want something?”

“Oh!  Yes, I was wondering if you were looking for your friend?  Messere Solas?”

“I think he prefers just ‘Solas’, as well.”

“Yes, yes of course.  I just wanted to let you know that he left early this morning, went up into the woods above the Chantry?  He wasn’t carrying anything with him, though, so he can’t have gone far.”

Eli smiled at her again, thanking her for letting Eli know.  Jan beamed, blushing as she took her laundry out of the small square.  Eli wished she could rid herself of the nausea that came with people insisting on her being the Herald, wished that she could see a way to rid them of the notion.  Perhaps this was why she wanted to see Solas so much.  It didn’t take much deliberation to decide to follow him - at least she’d get a nice morning walk if she didn’t find him.

The path up into the woods was just behind the Chantry and she took a moment to bow her head at the small clearing where Ghila and Yerevan’s memorial stones were.  Then she was in the trees, the low hustle and bustle of Haven falling away until there was nothing but silence and early morning light.  The pale bark seemed almost as white as the snow that lay on the branches, these small trees quiet and waiting for spring, whatever green they possessed locked tightly up inside them against the cold.  She loved to brush her fingers gently over the rough trunks, imagining she could feel the life pent up inside.  There had been some woods in her life where she could do just that.  She wondered if Solas had ever been there, ever dreamed amongst the evergreen trunks of northern Nevarra, the gentle oaken slopes of Starkhaven, the tangled heat of southern Antivan jungle and old, old forests in places where not even the greatest of shemlen nations could claim any part of it other than a pathetic name in ink on a map.  He still hadn’t told her much about his past or his studies and she was desperate to know, excited to see how his experiences matched with hers.  She couldn’t travel the Fade like he could and so her knowledge was grounded in reality.  What had she seen that he had missed as he slept and what had he done that she never could?  What could their combined experiences tell them both?

She only came across him by accident, just as she was beginning to wonder why she couldn’t see any tracks.  Her eyes had been naturally scanning for them, but perhaps he had just taken a more winding path.  His slow movement had nevertheless been in stark enough comparison to the stillness of the woods that she’d spotted him from quite far away, but the sight once she’d worked out what she was seeing was enough to stop her in her tracks, breath catching slightly in her throat.

He was shifting through a series of movements she half recognised as part of the Vir Atish’an.  Combining many still forms and movements through those forms, it was a method of slow training that was taught to most of the Clan throughout their lives as a way to learn their own body and find peace between themselves and the world around them.  Her brother had always been awful at it being far too impatient, but Eli had come to enjoy it once she had dedicated herself to her own magical talent and future role as First.  Solas was employing forms she had never seen before, with transitions strange yet somehow achingly familiar.  He was amazing, his body moving with such fluidity and grace one moment to poised, anticipating stillness the next.  His eyes were gently shut, the sun filtering through the trees in the small clearing he’d found dappling the light over him.  In front of him was a slope down to the main valley that laid out the whole lake.

He was also, despite the snow, shirtless.  Eli came forward slowly, not wanting to disturb but frankly unable not to come closer.  He’d clearly been working for some time - there was a sheen of sweat over a chest more lean than she’d expected, faint ridges of muscle on his stomach not so defined, but enough that the early morning sunlight played over them in a way Eli found utterly mesmerising.  Gods but he was beautiful.  Her mind and body were at war with themselves - on the one hand she just wanted to continue watching him, seeing him move through the forms of their people with all the expertise of someone who’d been doing it their whole life.  On the other she felt her mouth go dry at the thought of running her tongue over that stomach, to feel the sheen of sweat against her own naked body as she pressed up against him.  She couldn’t help imagining what this tight control would mean in sex, how he would hold himself above her, move her body to where he needed it to be to make her toes curl.  Her breath came out in a stutter as she tried to calm herself - Dread Wolf take her naked in front of the Clan fire but she hadn’t quite realised just how much she wanted him.

The sound of her breath was enough and his eyes opened languidly, fixing straight on her and making her stop in her tracks.  Her hands extended in placation immediately.

“I’m sorry, Solas.  I didn’t mean to intrude.  Please, let me leave you in peace.”

He slowly placed his foot on the ground from where he had been balancing, like he could stand there on one leg through a hurricane if he wished.  He didn’t stop as he spoke, although the next series of movements she recognised as those that would bring one down from the Way, beginning to end the session.

“I was almost finished anyway.”

She greedily took that as tacit permission to stay and decided to lean up against one of the trees near him to try and relearn how to breathe.  Not that she kept her eyes off him as he went through the last of the motions.  He planted both feet solidly on the ground, raising both arms palms down at his chest to push down like he took his own soul and gave it to the earth.  As he moved through this last motion his eyes opened again from where they had closed. They looked directly at her, though he had not watched her move and there was a lazy heat in them that made her swallow.  She had taken lovers in the Clan who had been learning the Way as part of their craft and knowing precisely what sex after such a session could be like was not helping her situation in the slightest.  He would be languid and strong all in one, his senses would be heightened and his consciousness newly extended to encompass all feeling in his body.  She could have him writhing before she came close to his cock, trailing fingers over skin warmed with near sweat to raise the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, scraping the gentlest of nails over his back until he shuddered with it.

He had finished and she should probably say something.  To her credit, she used him turning away to reach for his things to clear her throat a little so she could speak with sounding like he’d half had her already.

“I recognise some of those.  Did you learn it as the Vir Atish’an or did it have another name?”

He looked back at her from taking water from his flask, his attention and obvious curiosity doing nothing to douse whatever flames had taken hold of her body this morning.  The fact that he seemed utterly uncaring of his partial nudity (something she had already tired of amongst the shemlen) did not help.  At all.

“It was part of thethe Vir Atish’an where I learned it, too.  I was not aware the Dalish still practiced it.”

“It’s different in some ways - I didn’t recognise all of the forms but the basic principals seem to be the same.  Not everyone is very good at it, so we don’t demand it of everyone, but it’s generally used as an educational tool first and then a healing tool if need be.”

“Healing?”

“Yes.  Often our Hearthmistress will take any newcomers as students to help them deal with any darkness they have lived through.  Sometimes it takes feeling connected to something to allow for grief to manifest.  And…

“…only when grief manifests can it be taken care of.” Solas finished quietly, something close to a smile in his eyes.  “I am glad such things are still part of your life.”

Eli smiled and nodded, watching him reach for his undershirt and begin to put it on.  It clung to his arms and torso as he did, distractingly enough she almost didn’t hear him.  “Is it something that you enjoy?”

“Yes, actually.  I didn’t at first - too hot-headed.”

He glanced over with a small grin that seemed to suggest this was something he was familiar with.  “After a while though, I got better at it.  It was useful, after…well, I had some trouble with my role when I was younger and the Vir Atish’an helped me focus on trying to work out what it was that I wanted.”

“And did you ever?” he asked, deftly picking up his pack and coming towards her.  She really needed not to be wondering what he would smell like after exertion.

“I don’t know,” she managed to reply.  “I thought I had.  Then…”

He looked up towards where they both knew the Breach was.

“Ah.  Yes I can imagine such a thing rather taking precedence.”

“For all of us, I would guess.”

He inclined his head towards her.

“Indeed.  Shall we?”

They began to walk back together, Eli trying very hard not to be so aware of his body beside hers.  Clearly she didn’t manage it, though, because she caught him catching her looking.  She might have imagined the ghost of a smirk on his face, but she didn’t think so.

“I’d like to know more about you, Solas.” she declared after a few moments’ silence.

“Why?”

She looked over at him, a little dismayed to see naked suspicion on his face.  Where had that come from?

“Why not?”

The frown deepened.

“Privacy?  Caution?  Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done?”

Oh for all the tits of Sylaise, really?  She pursed her lips, feeling the anger bloom easily in her chest.  Only, they’d talked about this, hadn’t they?  She looked over, really looked over and saw the suspicion hiding the guardedness he’d harboured since she met him.

“Then don’t answer.” She said softly, trying not to sound hurt.  She was a little, but she could understand.  “I wasn’t asking as part of the Inquisition.”

Suspicion faded to mild alarm on his face and she looked away as he clearly had a little war with himself.  

“I’m…sorry.  With so much fear in the air…”

To her surprise, she felt him bump his body gently into hers, the skin of his hand still warm from exercise.  When she looked up she could almost see how much effort it was taking him to be open, something weirdly forced about his smile.  “What would you know of me?”

She let him see her grin, genuinely this time.  Then her excitement got the better of her.

“You said you’d travelled to many different places.  In the Fade?  Whereabouts have you been?”

She’d clearly surprised him.

“You…wish to know of my journeys in the Fade?”

“Of course!  I’ve never met a somniari before - think of all the places and things you could have seen, how much more access you have to things once lost.  Tell me?”

She viewed his obvious attempt not to be charmed as a win on her part, even more so when he allowed the twinkle of enthusiasm he often had when they found ruins together to shine in his eyes.

What he told her was better than she could imagine.  He told it so simply, so beautifully - like he had nothing to prove.  The best thing by far was how easily he warmed to a subject the more questions she asked, like he only wanted to tell someone who was as fascinated by it as he was.  So much of what he said was so different from anything the shemlen wrote or said - there was no underlying morality, no inferences, just what he had seen and how he had interpreted it.  That he had been to Ostagar shocked her - she didn’t know he’d travelled so far south, but the way he told the tales of the spirits he found, at once united and utterly splintered, made her feel the fear and elation in her own heart.

She didn’t want him to stop.  Not just because she loved hearing about his experiences, but she could listen to his voice forever.  She’d go through phases of being completely soothed by it only to then feel it coaxing those embers of desire that hadn’t quite bedded down back into flames again.  It was extremely disconcerting.  She wondered if there had been any others like her, entranced with his magical talent.  Also, whether he’d taken them with him.  Perhaps after all of this she could persuade him to allow her to travel with him too.

When she asked him if he’d always travelled alone, he shot her a strange look before answering, a little smirk on his face that told her he was about to be a shit about something.

“Not at all,” He said, obviously obtusely.  “I have built many lasting friendships.  Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they have seen.  Spirits of Purpose helped me search.  Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

Eli laughed, delighted at the idea of her grumpy Rift-mage being bugged by little wisps of light, trying as hard not to be charmed by them as he was by her.

“We used to be warned off playing with any wisps, but the ones I found in the forest always seemed harmless enough.  It was the demons that often used them to draw out prey that were the problem.”

“Trapped here on this side of the Veil, such scavenging is only natural.”

“Precisely.  I don’t know of any spirits with the other names, though.”

His face grew soft, the back of his hand gently brushing hers as they started walking down a slope further from the Chantry than they had been before.  She realised they’d come out nearer his hut, the other side of the fence.

“They rarely seek out this world.” He told her, softly.  “When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter.”

“You sound sad.  What do you mean?” She asked, instinctively stepping closer to him.  He noticed and smiled at her for it.

“Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

She didn’t like how he read her clearly shocked expression - like he knew that was what she would think and judged her for it.

“So after all of the warnings, you’re saying you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?”

“They were not demons for me.”

His quiet certainty rocked her, something softly devastating about how he simply stated ideas that broke even the Dalish definition of the Fade and demons.  He let them walk in silence for a while, but the more Eli thought about it, the less she was willing to let it go.  She stopped them with a hand to his chest, coming round to face him.

“What does that mean?”

He was sneering at her again.

“You think me foolish?”

“I think you cryptic.  And judging.  Which is unfair, by the way.”

Clearly this was not what he’d expected her to say.  Given how she’d just felt about him, Eli didn’t mind admitting that she found surprising him borderline arousing.  Seeing him off-balance was beginning to become an addiction.  “So explain.  I understand that spirits can be twisted, but how were they not demons?”

The hard look faded and he shrugged.

“I may have been misleading.”

“Mmhmm?  Deliberately so, I’d go as far to say?”

She was teasing him and he knew it.  She much preferred this particular smirk.

“Perhaps.  What I meant is that the Fade reflects the minds of the living, as we’ve spoken about.”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you expect a Spirit of Wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt.  And if your mind is free of corrupting influences, if you understand the nature of the spirit, they can be fast friends.”

Eli thought about this for a moment, turning back to their path and clasping her hands behind her back as she began wandering forward.

“Of course, what that means is that most people going into the Fade expect to see demons, which most do.  But you’re saying that even if they met Wisdom, because they expect anything with knowledge to be a pride demon, to be manipulative, the spirit will become that thing?”

“Simply put - yes.”

“But pride demons do try and manipulate people.”

“There is no one answer to this issue.  Some will do so because they believe it is what is expected of them based on their reading of their audience.  Some have become corrupted enough that they have a sense of their own, have decided that this is a course of action they wish to pursue.”

“So you’re not saying that every demon was made by someone misreading them?”

He hummed beside her, considering, then shook his head.

“I do not believe so.  Although, there is always more to learn.”

“I’m impressed, by the way.” She told him, glad that there was still the fence between them and other people.  They would hit the lake first, then come round the front.  

“Impressed?”

“That you could become friends with spirits - I’ve never been able to.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential.  Few ever try.”

“Hence the pride demons.”

He smiled, allowing the simplified point.  Then his face turned sad again and he moved them off the path so that they walked up a short rise that looked over the lake.  Eli took a deep breath of mountain air, watching the sunlight gleam off the map of ice cracks on the frozen water, the trees on the other side occasionally shedding their snow to leave trailing clouds of mist.

“My friends comforted me in grief and shared my joy,” Solas said softly, after a few moments.  He was looking at the same scene she was, but was somehow also looking somewhere far away.  “Yet, because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.”

“They declare a lot of people not truly people.” Eli replied with a  familiar frustration.  “Although I grant you, spirits seem to be the subject of most of their wrath.”

He turned to her, his hands behind his back, standing in that way he did that made her realise how tall he was.

“Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith?  Varric by his chest-hair and not his wit?”

There was something challenging in his voice she didn’t like and told him so.

“You’re testing me again.”

“It is just a question.”

“I don’t like it when you test me.”

“It is just a question.”

He’d gone guarded again and she wasn’t about to let him.  So she smiled, mischief glinting in her eyes off the sunlight and ice.

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas.”

“I try,” he replied, suspiciously.  “And that isn’t quite an answer.”

She shook her head, still smiling, her hands gently clasped behind her back.  She took another step towards him, on her toes.  Another, and if she leaned just a little closer their bodies would touch from hip to chest.

“I look forward to helping you make new friends.” She told him, keeping her voice soft.  His eyes darted to her lips and back again, slightly parted in his uncertainty.  To her utter delight, he stuttered a little when he spoke.

“That should be, well…”

She grinned, letting him watch her look at his mouth before meeting his eyes again.  They were brilliant grey in the sunshine and a mixture of unsure and aroused.  She loved it.

“That isn’t quite an answer, either.”

Her voice had dropped to something low and intimate and she kept herself balanced on her toes, feeling his breath quicken in his chest.  A thought occurred to her.  “What would I be?”

His eyes took a moment to focus.

“Pardon?”

“If Cassandra is defined by her faith and Varric his wit - how would you define me?”

He took a breath as he understood the question, his face so very close to hers.  If she concentrated she could almost feel the latent heat of his exercise seeping through the wool of his shirt and onto her own skin.  He let their breath mingle in the scant inch between their lips and something flipped in her stomach as she swayed slightly again, feeling like a leaf in the wind next to his solidity.  She only had the briefest of smug twists of his lips to realise he was going to play with her before he leaned ever so slightly forward, his breath caressing her cold cheek.  He held her eyes and his voice was low and almost spoken onto her skin.

“Curiosity.”

When he pulled away it was like a physical wrench and her body actually tipped a little forward in the space where he’d left before she fell back on her heels, letting her intake of breath translate as knowing frustration as she watched him step back and to the side of her.  There was something exhilarating in the way he acknowledged it, a slight dip to his head and repressed grin telling her he knew exactly what kind of a teasing shit he was being.  She chuckled at them both, shaking her head and looking back out at the lake.

“Curiosity?  I think I can take that.”

“There are some who think it dangerous.”

She looked at him, not flinching from the warning in his eyes.  It had less impact when he was smiling at her, anyway.

“Only when you’re not prepared.  And even then, it’s often worth it.”

He laughed a little, shaking his head.  She’d have to address that little tell of disbelief at some point.  Possibly.  Andruil’s fluffy snow-shoes - what was she getting herself into?

“If you like, you could join me tomorrow.  It would be interesting to see how the Vir Atish’an has changed over time.”

She laughed, partly through joy of being asked into this obviously private time for him, partly because of his expression.

“Over time?  How long ago did you learn it?”

There was something bashful in his answering huff of laughter.

“Ah.  The spirit I learned from was an echo of a man long gone.  I’m aware some of the forms may be…archaic.”

“Well, maybe we can compare notes and make a hybrid between the two?  Only maybe not tomorrow - honestly I think I’d rather just move through the forms, it’s the perfect time for it.”

“Because of the Breach?”

She nodded, glad of his gentleness and the understanding in his eyes.

“The Breach.  But truthfully, just as much the Herald of Andraste.  There was this girl today…” She trailed off, not wanting to burden him.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“No.” He said firmly, if softly.  He hooked his fingers gently around her arm to move her into walking beside him.  She was reminded fiercely of her fantasy earlier on for a quick moment.  He would know precisely where to put her.

“No?”

“Tell me.” He urged.  “I wish to know.”

She smiled at him, the heat of desire mixing with the warmth of closeness.  She linked their arms together, pleased when he naturally compensated for the attachment.  And then she told him.  They walked together through the snow, Haven looming above them, but for a brief moment she didn’t feel the weight.

[chiclet-go-boom]

point of impact 7: always

/shyly pushes to @linguini17 who seems to like these

_______

The outpost they’ve reached is large; larger than he’s ever seen and better organized as well. Somewhere he feels like he ought to be offended by the regimented officiousness of the whole thing but he can’t summon up the energy to feel more than a numb gratefulness to the Orlesian need to coordinate the ass end of everywhere. The fact that the place isn’t even remotely defensible hasn’t stopped them from pretending that it is, and if that doesn’t pretty much say everything that anyone ever needs to know about the collective mindset that is Orlais, he doesn’t know what does.

There are even guard rotations, of all things, moving back and forth with a determined sort of purpose as if there weren’t more gap than enclosure left of the original structure. The camp itself is tidily placed within what was probably a keep courtyard at some point in the long distant past, the cracked remnants of the walls providing at least some wind break in the steadily falling snow. Braziers have been placed every so often so maybe there’s a shot that nobody freezes to death before they can exchange the proper passwords at the cross over points. He knows there have to be passwords; the whole blighted nation lives on coded messages and clandestine behaviour. If they’re here long enough he might even rouse himself to make the effort to learn them.

Over his left shoulder the tents march solemnly in formation, little ice-ward runes on their ridge poles twinkling like tiny stars. It’s a pretty effect, especially when a rush of wind curls up along the ground, throwing even more loose white stuff into the air like an excited child. Emprise du Lion is a magical wonderland and Varric hunkers closer to his chosen bonfire, rubbing his chapped hands over and over pretending to get some feeling back into his fingers.

Problem is that there just isn’t enough usable wood to keep the fires going properly and the heat thrown off by the veilfire woven into the actual flames isn’t enough to write home about. Assuming he’ll ever write again. Assuming he gets out of here with his mind intact enough to want to.

He shifts his shoulders, trying to settle his fleece lined duster a little closer to his skin. The crunching of the snow behind him is enough warning that he doesn’t flinch when somebody sits next to him on the rough hewn bench, settling with a creak of protesting leather. The warrior peels her gloves off and pale hands stretch out to the fire, chasing the same thing he is.  

“I hate this place already.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

The Inquisitor sighs, breath puffing out. “Don’t know about that, Varric. You’ve usually got much better insults tucked up your sleeve for these kinds of occasions.”

“Not this time. I pretty much just hate this place too.”

“I’d ask you again why we’re here but that’s even more depressing than being here at all.”

He has a grin for that, enough to crack the skin of his face at least. “Hey, look on the bright side. We could still be bivouacked ten miles from here, hugging a mountain like we’re about to propose marriage.”

The Herald groans. “Hey, it was a good spot.”

“If you’re into hugging mountains, sure.”

“The captain here says they can have us provisioned by tomorrow and as much as I’d like to stay and enjoy the last bit of civilization we’re going to see for awhile, I think we’d better take them up on the not so subtle offer.” The warrior switches subjects easily, as she often does, and Varric nods. “He hasn’t said it exactly but I get the impression they’re stretched pretty thin and we’re enough of a dent into the supplies that he’s already counting on his fingers when the next supply caravan is likely to make it.”

“Yeah. Any army marches on its stomach and for a skinny human, you sure eat a bunch.”

“Thanks, Varric.”

“Anytime, Inquisitor.”

“Anytime what?”

He blames the cold and the exhaustion but he hadn’t heard Cassandra walk up and her appearance across the fire is startling. Her face looks as pinched as he feels, dark skin contrasting with the drifting snowflakes. Not for the first time he wonders if she appreciates the cold as much as he does, what with Nevarra being on the edge of the the Silent Plains and all. He’s heard rumors that things just lay down and die in the shade there to get some relief. She never complains though. Not at Skyhold and not even here, where even the snow complains about the snow, so far by sliding down rock faces on top of them.

Still, if he was the descriptive sort and the Seeker not equipped with a spine of pure dragonbone, he might say she collapses on the seat like a sack of potatoes. As it is she merely settles herself across from them both, one eyebrow tilting up.

The Inquisitor waves her unmarked hand. “Varric says I eat too much.”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that. Exactly.”

“You implied. You know how much energy it takes to swing this axe overhand and not miss?” The weapon in question is close to four feet of haft alone and he’d shudder if he could.

“More than I want to think about at the moment. I retract the implication I didn’t make.”

“Apology accepted. Cassandra, I’d like to get started after whatever passes for first meal around here. They can feed us at least once more before we set off again.” Her lips thin but whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t voice it. Her voice becomes brisk again. “Everyone make sure to check your packs before we leave, I don’t want to start out shorted on anything essential this time.”

Cassandra nods and makes a noise of, if not acceptance, at least acknowledgement. For a few minutes they all stare into the not-warm-enough fire. Varric rubs his palms together again, feeling the calluses catch on each other in a far-away feeling. Whatever the Inquisitor and Seeker are thinking in turn, they aren’t sharing either.

Finally the Inquisitor sighs and stands, hauling her gloves back on with a deliberate sort of grace. “I’m going to check on Dorian and see if he’s had any luck adapting that fire spell before I turn in. It would be great if just one thing went super right before we’re deep into things, you know?” She drops a hand on Varric’s shoulder as she turns although he can barely feel it through the layers. “See you both tomorrow. Try and get some sleep.”

Silence descends again and he thinks he should break it somehow, only he doesn’t know what to say. He’s all out of his own jokes at the moment and the easy camaraderie brought by the Herald has disappeared with her.

“Varric.”

He looks up without realizing he’d dropped his gaze to look at the Seeker. “Yes?”

“I.. apologize if this is abrupt. Can you really tell where the nearest red lyrium is? I hope you can appreciate that I do not wish us to flounder without direction out here.”

He rubs a hand over his face and considers his options. Then he simply points. “There.” He swings his arm and points again, thick finger stabbing. “And there, but farther.” And he points again for a third time, opening his hand and wiggling his fingers in a vague motion. “And somewhere over there too but it’s not super specific.”

“How do you know?” Her voice is honestly curious and that alone keeps him from snapping at her. It’s not her fault, he reminds himself. It’s probably not even his fault.

“I just do.” Regardless of his intentions, it comes out as a growl. He shifts his feet a little wider and sighs, before trying again. “Sorry. Stuff has me on edge. Yes, I know exactly where it is. No, I don’t know why, not really, but it’s why I invited myself along. As much as I seriously regret it right now.”

“Do all dwarves…?”

“Don’t know that either, Seeker.” He shakes his head, thinks better of it, and then just shrugs. “We’re naturally resistant to the regular stuff, everybody knows that. But the Orzammar clans that mine it still swear they can hear it right through the stone. It’s how they know which direction to start digging. But Bianca...” He hesitates, then curses himself for tripping over the name. His control really isn’t the best at the moment. He starts again. “Bianca doesn’t react to the red stuff like I do, even though it’s scary piled on top of stupid on top of just plain horribly bad. Said it was an annoying buzz, kind of like a mosquito just out of swatting range when she was close. That’s not what I’m hearing. I know for a fact that she can’t pinpoint it like I can.”  

“What is it to you then? What do you hear?”

He knew this question was coming but his shoulders still tighten and he can’t seem to convince them to straighten out. “It sings, Seeker. Constantly. It won’t shut up." He drops his elbows to his knees, leaning forward. He watches himself rub his palms together, slower and slower. "It's a rash I can’t even scratch because it's inside my head. The closer I am, the sweeter it sounds. I swear there are words in it too, like somebody is whispering in another language that if I just… that I could understand if I just convinced myself I could.”

“That must be difficult.” Her voice is measured but for Cassandra it’s dripping with concern and it strikes him oddly, unexpectedly close to the heart. He shrugs that off as well because there’s nothing there beyond what she’d feel for any of the others. The Seeker has a tendency to mother hen everybody in her immediate vicinity, himself included when she’s not busy being mad at him for all his various infractions, both real and imagined.

“You have no idea. Is it me? Is it something to do with being a Tethras? Maker knows Bartrand took to it like a duck to water.” He hears the bitterness creeping into his voice, realizes he’s dropped his gaze again and forces himself to look up across the fire. “Don’t worry so much, Seeker. There's no way I’ll lose track of it, trust me. You can just consider me your personal crow for the duration; I’ll take us right to the stuff and we’re going to smash it all into so much dust.”

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

The weather hasn’t gotten any better over the last couple of weeks but it hasn’t gotten all that much worse either. A couple of small storms that laid down yet more snow since you can never have too much of a good thing, a few days with enough wind to scour his face of several layers of skin that he probably didn’t need anyways but that’s been about it. Small blessings from above, right? Varric does his level best to follow directly in the footprints of the Seeker and the Herald as they choose a path leading along the base of the latest ridge, forging ahead of both him and Dorian. Stumbling off the path they’re making will have him hip deep in the drifts again and that he doesn’t need right now, or ever quite frankly.

But damn them for having such long strides. His thighs are never going to stop burning, he’s sure of it.

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until Dorian laughs. He shoots a sour glance over his shoulder.

“Laugh it up, Sparkler. Don’t see you swanning through this stuff like you’re dancing the remigold on marble floors either.”

The mage waves a casual hand. “I’m allergic to excessive effort. I’m perfectly content to let our two heroes do the hard work since they’re so beautifully suited for it.” In deference to the relatively mild weather at the moment, his fur lined hood is down and he can see the smile on the man’s face. Dorian’s stride is confident, if slow.  “And admit it, Varric, the view is quite aesthetically pleasing from this angle.”

Varric looks ahead and suppresses a sigh. Because when Dorian’s right, he’s right.

The Herald is in the lead at the moment, indefatigably moving through the drifts even as she probes ahead with a long pole to check for deeper pockets that could hang everyone up. Her overcoat has been messily rolled to hang from her hip by straps hooked to her weapons belt. Through the patchy tree line they’re generally skirting, the sunlight catches on her honey hair to spark little glories and her breath and exposed skin steam with exertion. If this was a painting, she’d be some sort of pale avenging demon descending upon the hapless mortals from above, wreathed in white smoke. Her hips and thighs are definitely doing some interesting things beneath the muted jingle of her scale mail tunic.

In contrast, Cassandra has kept her dark cloak on but like Dorian has dropped the hood. She ghosts precisely behind the Inquisitor, dark on black on implacable, her armored weight helping to pack the snow into something traversable. If the pace is bothering her, nothing in her movements betrays it. Varric can only imagine what her hips are doing and that’s the worst part of it. His imagination has a tendency to run away with him when he can’t see things.

As if aware of his thoughts on her, the Seeker picks that moment to look back at both of them. He raises a hand in greeting, trying to move a little faster.

She frowns at something she sees though and stops, turning to call back the Herald. A few minutes later, they’re all standing together and Varric stamps his feet a few times, swinging his arms. Wouldn’t do to cool down too fast.

“We have to be close. Varric?”

He nods at the Seeker, keeping his face impassive. “Nearly on top of it, really. If we go up right here, we can probably fall on top of it on the other side.”

Everybody looks of course, but the ridge of stone they’re traveling along still isn’t showing any signs of a path they can actually use to get over the blocking hump of rock.

The first three deposits had been deceptively easy, pretty much out in the open after a bit of effort and they’d shattered beautifully under the pressure of his explosive bolts and Dorian’s casually impressive destruction. They hadn’t even had to get that close for which he is profoundly grateful. This one however is more than making up for it though in pretty much every way possible.

They’ve been tracking it for days now, working their way closer and closer, switching and backtracking as various approaches had dead ended into impassable terrain or steep ravines or some combination of both. Emprise du Lion, he’d decided awhile back, was obviously designed by the sadistic hand of a maniac god. Which pretty much described most of them when you got down to it but the subtleties of his observation appears to have made little impression on his travelling companions.

More to the point, they’re uselessly close enough set his teeth on shivering edge and after four long days and even longer nights, they still haven’t actually found the Maker blasted thing. He’s just given up on sleeping until they get to it. Standing here doing nothing but talking isn’t helping either. He can feel the lyrium thrumming at him right through the stone, dancing along every one of his bones.

Varric shifts his weight and re-settles his crossbow, trying to distract himself. He swings his arms a few more times. The Inquisitor scratches the back of her oblivious neck, still looking up the ridge before squinting over at the weak, diffused sun. “Okay, then,” she says finally. “We’re going to go for another… two fingers of light I think, and if we still haven’t found a good way up, we’re going back to the last camp and we’ll try around the other way tomorrow.”

It’s not like that’s a different plan than they were already doing but the small rest is something at least. This time when they set off again, Cassandra takes the lead, letting the other woman take a break from path stomping. They travel in single file for an hour, barely speaking. The snow crunches, the world glitters and Varric does his best to keep imagining what’s happening under the Seeker’s clothes. It’s almost enough.

Her shout pulls his attention up from the place it’s drifted into. He stumbles and realises after a few seconds that he’d nearly been in fugue state. She’s staring up and as they all close the distance they’d straggled along, he can see what she’s seeing.

At some point in the past a portion of the ridge ahead had collapsed, leaving behind a sloping pile of scree along the path of travel. Instead of rising stone and no footholds, it was a reasonable, if steep incline. Better yet, it was overgrown with small saplings taking advantage of the loosened soil and dirt and even scrub brush digging its own footholds into the bounty. It was damned near perfect - with some careful footwork, they could probably get up this. He looks over at the Herald but she’s already shaking out her jacket and putting it back on. Right. She obviously doesn’t want to be overbalanced as they climb.

“Varric, you go first,” the Inquisitor is saying. “Then Dorian, Cass and then me.”

“Why does he get to go first?” Dorian’s voice sounds rusty with disuse, and the man coughs and tries again. “I’m as light as a halla in comparison to you burly brontos. I could be there and back before you know it.”

She grins and not for the first time Varric wonders if the Herald is sweet on the Tevinter altus. There’s just something about the way her smile slides onto her face when she talks to him, that tiny edge of ever so eager sweetness. “Because, you darling thing, you might be a golden halla of air and clouds but Varric knows how to move on treacherous terrain pretty much anywhere. Right, Varric?”

“You know it.” He’s already picked up how he’s going to get up most of the way, eyes skipping from spot to spot. “But how come nobody ever calls me a golden halla?”

“You don’t have the wardrobe for it, my dear dwarf. Or the legs.”

“You got me there, Sparkler.”

“So our resident sneak goes first,” interrupts the Inquisitor, “then you, Dorian, since you are so damned graceful I can’t stand it, then Cassandra. I’ll bring up the rear because I’m quite frankly the one most likely to slip and I’m not taking out anybody with me if I’m dead last. If Cass slips, I’m also the one most likely to survive the impact.” She makes a point of flexing in her armor and even Varric finds a chuckle for that, as weak as it is. Cassandra looks over at him with a frown on her face but he ignores it, already starting to move.

He wants this over with bad enough to taste it. He starts to climb.

It’s difficult but not beyond him. City dwarf he might be but he knows how to walk, how to test his steps before committing them, feeling the ground beneath his feet as if it’s a living creature which, with the wrong footstep, it will be. It’s not the same as negotiating a trade dispute or slipping around a column to line up a back shot on an unsuspecting target but he has indeed learned to walk wherever he needs to.

Below, Dorian climbs lightly, obviously trying to follow the line he’s picked out across the slope. The two heavily armored women labour upwards below him in a staggered line. Varric keeps going, and when he finally looks up, he realises they’re nearly there. He reaches for another grip on a sapling tree to test its strength as an anchor.

He hears the curse a half second before anything else. He looks down just to time to see Dorian slip, and he’s helpless to do anything as the mage slides under the crumbling pressure of a weak foothold, scrabbling to get a stable handful of anything as he falls. The sound of shifting stone and earth is frightening and for a heartbeat all he can see is what will happen if the entire slip face goes, burying all of them at the bottom.

But luck is with them. Cassandra has her feet planted, one hand sunk into the root system of the nearby scrubs and she gets her other hand on the Tevinter as he slides past her in a shower of pebbles and dirt. She holds on somehow and miraculously nothing further gives. The small landslide slows and then trickles to a pattering stop. Varric can see the white oval face of the Inquisitor far below, staring up.

“Everybody okay?” he shouts down.

“Dorian?” In answer to the Seeker, the mage sets his knee on the slope and attempts to rise slowly. Varric can’t hear the hiss of pain but he can imagine it as Dorian appears to be unable to get both feet under him properly.

The Inquisitor climbs up with exaggerated carefulness and finally reaches the level of the other two. There is conversation he can’t hear but he’s pretty sure he knows what it is. The warrior is running her hands over Dorian’s leg and Varric curses under his breath, staring up. So close to the top. He can keep going, crest the ridge and backtrack to the lyrium. Blast it into so much quivering dust and make it stop crying out to him. Then, then he can sleep for a thousand years before they go after the next one.

He wets his lips, looking back down the slope.

Cassandra is climbing again, methodically grasping and reaching. The Herald and Dorian however are going back down at a snail’s pace, the one braced against the other. Varric blinks.

“Keep going,” the Seekers calls out as she gets close enough.

His mind dangerously blank, he turns back and keeps climbing.

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

Walking along the top of the ridge is much easier going than slogging through the snow at the foot of it and in easy time they have retraced their steps. They stand together for a moment, pretending to catch their breath.

At some point a relatively shallow bowl formed here, perhaps sixty feet across, somewhat less than half of that again deep. Clustered on the other side, the lyrium has shoved itself through the stone and snow. The crystalline spikes thrust outwards in mass confusion like obscenely hard entrails spilling out from a wound and Varric swallows.

The worst thing is it’s pulsing in rhythm. It feels like it’s driving his blood.  

Varric forces himself to look away.

“Can you destroy it from here?” she asks. Her words steam in the air even as her hand is wrapped around the hilt of the sword, tight enough to be noticeable. He sees it but isn’t sure if he should ask if she’s starting to hear it too.

He shakes his head once and then again, harder, trying to reform his thoughts into something coherent. He delays by scooping up a small handful of snow to swallow it, trying to taste water for a moment instead of lyrium. “Sorry, Seeker. Bad angle and I’m not risking it. I only have so many bolts on me and this one… well, it’s kinda big, isn’t it?”

“Only a little big,” she says calmly enough.

“Right.” He stares down across the depression and disguises a hard shudder with a shrug. He starts picking out his footholds, trying to judge when closer will be close enough. “Okay. I’m going to. Going work my way there.” He points down and right to where his target is, a small ledge jutting out where some piece of the stone split to provide a rough shelf. “Better shot from there, can do this properly. Wait here.”

“I am not waiting here, dwarf.”

“And why the hell not?” he snaps back. “You can’t do anything with that sword except crowd my shooting arm.”

She shifts on her feet and he hates the closed, tight expression on her face. “I am worried for you,” she says unexpectedly. “Do not think I have not noticed what it is happening.”

He grunts in surprise. “Doesn’t matter,” he replies after a moment, fumbling, cursing the noticeable delay between thought and sound. “Just… stay here and I’ll take care of it. If you want, you can carry me back out if you need something to do. Maybe there’ll be a bear or something.”

Her lips tighten but he hopes it’s because she’s trying not to smile. He moves away and starts to pick his way down.

It’s difficult, more than difficult. The slope here is more stable at least than the way up, the stone older and less disturbed but the lyrium wails in previously unknown octaves, distracting. The snow that has drifted into crevices makes things hard to judge, the shifting red light casting wavering shadows that don’t help at all. More than once he nearly puts a foot wrong. He starts, stops, starts again.

But he makes it after what seems like a year and forever, bracing himself along the exposed face. Varric hauls in a painful lungful of air, trying to stay centered and focused. As he thought, the angle here is as close to perfect as he’s going to get, the twisting spires of lyrium all but reaching out to him. He can see right into the center of the mass and for a second the song aching along his bones makes beautiful, incandescent sense.

Varric shudders and drags his eyes away. He starts to pull Bianca off his shoulder, fumbling awkwardly.

Afterwards he has no idea what he did wrong. Did the ledge collapse, some unseen fault with his weight on it? Did his foot slip with his shattered un-attention? Or did, Maker preserve all fools, did he actually step forward? All of those things, none of those things.

He’s somehow on his hands and knees in the snow at the bottom of the basin, spitting shock and blood. He’s bitten through his tongue but doesn’t have time to care about it. His hands are scraped and bleeding. Those are the only two things he actually feels.

He looks up.

He’s fallen nearly on top of it. Twenty feet, maybe less or something more because it’s impossible to judge, only that it fills his sight like a horizon. This close he can all but see his reflection in the crystalline planes, see himself endlessly reflected. His heart twists with sudden panicked horror.

Then it’s gone. All of it is gone, torn away and lost. The surging thrill under his skin is nothing short of a lover’s caress, something he almost has a name for. He staggers to his feet, somewhere dimly amazed that he can.

Somebody is yelling faintly. He shakes his head and that falls away too.

Everywhere he looks is red and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He takes a step. Then another and another, faster. His flesh blackens with exultation, heat and promise and the shrieking edge of understanding. Fingers of it thread through his hair, touch his shoulders with power. Red coils wrap tight around his neck until he can barely breathe for how good they feel. A knowing hand snakes down his hip.

He could have it. He could take it. It could be his.

And oh, it wants to be his.

His bloodied fingers twitch. He reaches to touch the nearest spire. A few more steps.

He's grabbed from behind and he howls, fighting.

It’s a woman with dark hair and darker, wilder eyes. She drags him a half dozen steps before he digs in and then there is a tense, straining stalemate. She’s got a hold of him by a strap and she yanks again, stronger than she looks with her whipcord length. He loses yet another lurching step. It’s his harness, he realizes dimly. She has him by the harness.

He claws at the buckles and the useless weight at his shoulder drops and he sheds both burden and jacket all in a piece like a snake. She reaches for him again.

“Varric. Varric.”

There’s red dancing in her eyes. The lyrium over his shoulder screams through its reflection and he shudders. He flexes his shoulders in inarticulate want, panting.

She hesitates, scanning his face, her hand hovering between them.

She crouches, slowly enough that it seems a dream or a drug fever until she’s before him with one knee in the snow. He can see flakes of white in her dark, tousled hair. Something in her eyes is confusing enough to hold him there.

“Varric. Do you know me?”

He takes a breath. No. Yes. No?

“Varric.” Her voice pleads. Her fingertips raise as if to touch his face, brushing instead the hollow of his throat.

He sets his jaw against it. Her cheek is scarred and he finds himself touching it with a finger without intending any such thing, tracing the heavy line. Blood smears like it’s reopening.

He’s always meant to touch her. He’s always wanted to do that. Yes. Run his mouth over her, taste himself on her skin.

“Seeker.” That’s all he has but it seems to be enough. She smiles, her eyes still frightened. That’s it. That’s the confusing thing. The Seeker should never be frightened.

Her hand is burning hot as it curls around the chain at his throat.

His thumb brushes over her face again. Taste her, touch her. Have her. His.

“Varric, come away. Come away from it.” Her other hand hesitates, then moves to his arm. She tugs once and then again, more strongly.

He growls his answer, rocking on his heels.

She stands, rising like a furious thundercloud, gaining sudden leverage. She yanks viciously and he stumbles one more step, her hand torqued around the metal at his neck, the other fisted into his shirt. Something rips. “Maker, help me! Varric, we must go!"

She should never be frightened. Once she hears it properly, she’ll never be frightened again. And he wants.

He sinks his fingers into her upper arm, deep as mountains and it takes nothing at all to drag her back down.

She loses her grip, collapsing to both knees with a harsh sound. Her free hand starts to fumble at her waist.

“No. Come,” he pants. “Come here, Seeker.”

“Varric, no!”

A step backwards. He’s stronger than she is, he always has been. “Be here with me. Seeker. Seeker. Always.”

He pulls again, inexorable and she cries out in sharp pain, starting to struggle. Her free hand drops from the hilt, scrabbling in the snow.

She tries then, tries to lean back, to pull away and she’s strong, he loves that, he’s always loved that about her but she is only human and he’s not letting go. He tightens his grip into a cage and half turns, dragging her across the ground even as she screams yet again. Back towards the song, back towards the safety of the howling crystals. Red in her eyes, red in her hair, the taste of lyrium in her mouth under his, always, always, always.

“Varric! Varric, no! Don’t do this, don’t do this!”

He’s never seen her tears before.

She’s crying. Cassandra is crying.

He’s hurting Cassandra.

He snatches his hand back as if it’s burning.

Maybe he is.

“...Varric?”

He closes his eyes. He inhales, a breath so deep his entire body freezes with the intense, bitter cold. “Yes.”

She swallows, a wet sound. “Varric, come away. Come away with me. We have to leave this place. Now.”

Lyrium screams again but this time he has something to hang onto.

“Can’t. Can’t, Seeker. Have to… have to…” He gropes after it. “Can’t come back here again.”

“Someone else can do this. Come with me now.”

“No.” He opens his eyes. The wet smear of her face accuses, his blood on her cheek, but her eyes are dark again, the red only a reflection. “No.”

He can’t find any more words but he doesn’t need to. Varric turns and finds Bianca half buried in the snow. It is the work of moments to free her from the tangle and his fingers leave wet, dark streaks on her blond wood as he loads her.

He walks back and finds the angle again, looks into the tangled mess of lyrium, the beating, pulsing, crying heart of it.

He doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, reloading, doing it again and yet again until there’s nothing left that sings at all. But he knows he did it because the next thing he remembers, they’re stumbling into camp together.

[cassandra-pentughasst]

Bless me with your OTP mememe - Ellassandra Edition Tagged by @goblin-deity​ thanks frand. I’m going to tag  @natsora​, @ravenqueen89​, @dharma-writes​, @saltlordofold​, @arlessaofamaranthine​ no obli’s 

Do they fight often? If so, what is their dynamic like?

Not really. They have disagreements, but its not often that they outright fight. Ellana has a terrible habit of going for low blows, and Cassandra’s temper is volatile so they try not to let things get out of hand. Sometimes they know to take time apart with things that can’t be settled easily and its hard, but it gives them clarity and clears their heads. 

Who is the most skeptical of the two?

I think they would describe themselves as realistic. They tend to think of things as actions and the potential outcomes of those actions. Ellana doesn’t believe things at face value - even if its from a source that she trusts. So you could say that shes the more skeptical of the two when it comes people and their motivations and she questions most things because she likes to know the full picture and always feels like theres more to a situation - especially if it deals with right or wrong or matters of opinion, because everyone always has an agenda even if they act like they don’t. She’s seen enough weird shit to last her a lifetime so she doesn’t question any of that so much anymore - its more of a “well this may as well happen” kind of deal. 

Who would be most likely to suggest a night of dancing?

Ellanabananananana. And it would have to be with the promise of something for Cassandra to agree 😏. But Cassandra loves it, and Ellana knows it so she takes her to quieter places that allow for conversation as well as dancing. 

What would they do if the other was injured in battle?

Ellana already knows because she’s done it. She would fight hard to take down their closest threats before tending to her when its safe. The adrenaline sharpens her focus and makes her more lethal. She doesn’t want to think about what would happen if something like that happened again.

Cassandra dreads the thought and knows that its an inevitability. She doesn’t know what she would do, but she knows that she would do something Ellana would admonish her for as reckless and dangerous. But it wouldn’t matter if it protected Ellana from further harm.  

How do their fighting styles complement each other?

Cassandra makes sure nothing can get past her and make its way to Ellana. Ellana makes sure to keep Cassandra and her companions covered by eliminating or wounding threats before they have a chance to reach them/make them easier to take out by wounding them.

Do they want children? Does it frighten them? How many do they want?

The idea terrifies Ellana. And Cassandra if she has to admit it. Its something that neither expected to ever want in life, but they’re open to the possibility. They know that they can’t have biological children so dreams of children with their mothers dark hair, green eyes and pointy ears (And Cassandra likes the idea of a daughter with Ellana’s hair and her complexion) can never happen. But there are plenty of orphans after the war that need a family and one day things might settle down enough for that dream to become a reality. 

What happened when they took them home to their families? If their families aren’t in the picture anymore, how do they feel about it?

Maybe one day Ellana will take Cassandra to see her clan. And maybe one day Cassandra will take Ellana to Nevarra. Though for both of them neither place feels like home anymore. And the people they’ve chosen to surround themselves with are more family than the people that are related to them by blood and name. Its kind of bittersweet for them. Because their families remember them as people that they no longer are, and theres a small amount of guilt because they have more love for the people they have in their lives now than their families. Dorian is Ellana’s best friend, and if she ever had a younger sister she would have wanted them to be like Sera. Varric is kind of like an older brother for her, and Blackwall is somewhere between an Uncle and Father type figure for her. They all approve of Cassandra because of how happy she makes her even if they (Varric) don’t always get along with her.  Leliana is the closest thing Cassandra has to a sister and one of her only long term friends and she thinks Ellana is good for Cassandra. She wouldn’t have helped Cassandra work out her feelings if she didn’t like Ellana and that in itself is high praise and something that Cassandra listens to. 

How does each person show affection towards the other?

Both are big on touch. Cassandra likes to give comfort, and Ellana likes to be held so it works for them. Ellana always likes to touch, but if she can’t she says it with her expression because Cassandra has learned to read her tells well. Sometimes she quotes lines of poetry she’s memorised, and she loves giving her flowers - even if its just the one.  Cassandra loves cuddles - both giving and receiving but she really shows how much she cares by making sure Ellana takes care of herself.

Both are very good at physical intimacy and affection so a kiss can mean anything from “good morning” to “I’ve had a very trying day please help me forget for five minutes” to “I have a spare afternoon if you’ve got nothing better to be doing” 

Who cries the most? Who is better at comforting?

Ellana by a hair. But thats mostly on account of stress and her PTSD. Cassandra has moments where she cries with her - like the time she realises that Ellana being stabbed in Kirkwall almost meant that she never would have met her if it ended badly and she doesn’t handle it well. 

Who’s better at giving comfort depends on who you ask. Cassandra may be awkward with tears, but she gives excellent hugs and makes Ellana feel safe when she’s wrapped up in her arms. Ellana always seems to know the right quiet word to murmur in her ear that soothes her and makes her feel better. She may be small but when she holds her Cassandra always feels protected and theres a reason that she’s the small spoon of the relationship. 

Who is the bigger flirt?

Bananachilde. She’s more obvious and comfortable in her flirting and loves nothing more than making Cassandra blush. Or flush if its just the two of them and Ellana is trying to seduce her. She also enjoys being a flirty with her friends because its a comfortable way for her to show affection with those she cares about, and she’s thankful that Cassandra isn’t the type to get jealous over something that she’s always done with the people that she’s comfortable around.

Cassandra also gives just as good as she gets she’s just more subtle about it and it has lead to embarrassment on Ellana’s behalf in the past (Ellana insists on dragging her to dinner with nobles under the guise of Inquisition business and Cassandra has been known to be a little more hands on under the table after a few strong drinks) but she ultimately loves the attention and the flattery that Ellana uses when she flirts with her, and its gladly something she will let her be better at than her. 

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

For DWC, how about “You can’t just leave like this.” for your m!Adaar/Cassandra?

I think that’s meant to be an angst prompt but I’m going to exercise my humour-writing muscles instead, by your leave :P

m!Adaar/Cassandra, “You Can’t Just Leave Me Like This” (AO3)

“I’m going to lodge a complaint to the next Divine,” Qakarsaid.

Cassandra raised her eyebrow. “By all means. I’ll consider it with all the attention it is due.”

“I’m withdrawing my endorsement,” he grumbled.

“You are entirely free to catch up with Jim and retract yourown missive the moment Healer Adan clears you to leave your bed, assuming you’re fit to ride a horse,” the Seeker commented as she turned away from the Inquisitor, picking up her copy of The Tale of the Champion: Legacy of Blood and pretending to read it disinterestedly.

“Cassandra, get me out of this thing!”, Qakar bellowed, shaking with all of his considerable might against his sickbed, and especially the massive cast which was wrapped around his leg and tied to the ceiling.

“You, the Herald of Andraste, Leader of the Inquisition,” Cassandra scolded Qakar, slapping him on his shoulder with her book, “will stop acting like a child!”

Wincing in pain, albeit nothing compared to the agony which his leg had undergone recently, he muttered, “Fine. But I’ve been in thisblighted thing for half a week already, Cassandra, and all I’ve been able to see is these four walls and the light coming into that window. I’m going stir crazy in here, Cass.”

“Well,” Cassandra huffed, “let that be a lesson to you, and let that lesson sink in the next time you chase after a high dragon all by yourself.”

“What was I supposed to do, let it terrorise the Storm Coast? I’ve been informed by Josephine that the news has already gotten as far as Nevarra. I thought you’d be happy!”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, are you saying you chased after aVinsomer on my account?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. That’s not…well…it was one of the reasons, I suppose.”

“Am I supposed to be charmed?”, she asked sceptically.

Qakar shrugged his shoulders as much as he could in his position. “It would be appreciated if you were at least half as enthusiastic as Bull was once we brought it down.”

“You qunari…I beg your pardon…Vashoth and your obsessions. Why did you think you needed to scale the sharp rocks on that island to get up close to it, especially since your specialty is long-range attacks?”

“Hold up, you come from a family of dragonslayers. I thoughtyou might empathise.”

“Naturally,” Cassandra said, nonplussed. “Countless Pentaghasts throwing themselves needlessly at dragon nests and gettingthemselves eaten, or worse. Generations of foolishness only interrupted by growing bellies and sloth. How utterly noble.”

“I suppose I can rule out jealousy then.”

“Absolutely,” Cassandra said.

Pouting a little, he pressed on, “Agitated concern?”

Inhaling sharply, she put the book down on the side-table next to Qakar’s finished lunch none too gently. “Why must you treat everything with such flagrant flippancy, Inquisitor?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“That you are, and with a broken leg from falling off Dragon Island and unable to conduct any of the Inquisition’s business for a wholeweek. Don’t you care about your life at all? Why can’t you ever take anything about it seriously?”

Locking his eyes with Cassandra, Qakar said, “I absolutelydo, Cassandra. I’ve treasured every day since you decided not to execute me at Haven, and that’s why I’m just so frustratedat being tied to this damned thing. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

Cassandra exhaled, turning back to him a little lessagitated. “Well, at least you seem like you’re learning your lesson. If it’swhat it takes to get you not to breakyour leg fighting a dragon, I shall accompany you the next time you go outhunting them.”

“Why, are you not content playing nursemaid here?”

“And just when I thought you were making progress. Verywell, if you wish to pout and bemoan the injustice of your circumstances, Ishall leave you to it,” Cassandra said, packing her book away and standing upto leave.

“Wait-Cassandra-Please, come on, you can’t leave me herelike this!” he begged.

“I believe I can, and I will,” she said, reaching for thedoor.

“All right, all right, you’re right. I’ll act like anadult,” he conceded. “Please, just stay here a while. You’re the first personI’ve had a chance to talk to besides Adan and our advisors, and all I’ve doneis complain at you. I’m sorry.”

“Very well,” Cassandra said, turning away from the door. “Isuppose I could stay for a while. It is not as though I have much to do for therest of the day. What would you like to do?”

Qakar sighed. “Not much, as you can tell. Is that one ofVarric’s books?”

“Indeed it is. I had to withdraw a whole twelve sovereignsand nine silvers from the Seekers’ funds, as they were, just to track down thisvolume. And just to find out that he knew about Corypheus all along! It isutterly galling.”

“You’ll forgive him one day.”

“One day, perhaps,” she said. “While I am here, shall I readsome of it to you? Varric always says these things sound better when spoken outloud.”

Qakar raised an eyebrow. “Now who’s acting nursemaid?”

“Do you want me to read it or not?”

He meekly conceded, waving at her to start. She sat down,opening the novel to where she’d left off, tracing the rows with her fingertipsto find the exact spot.

“And so I told Gerav, ‘Thisis Hawke, the one whose blood you want to drink or bathe in or whatever. But ifyou’re after eternal youth, I’ve gotta tell you, Hawke’s no virgin’…”

She let loose a disgusted sigh. “This is why I prefer hisother work. At least he’s deprived of the ability to make himself the smartestman in the room at every opportunity.”

“Don’t stop on his account. At least this way you’re thesmartest woman in the room.”

Cassandra gently slapped his shoulder with the back of herfingers. “You charmer.”

“Charms, Lady Seeker, come second to seeing the obvioustruth, even if it is…difficult sometimes.”

“Shall I give you more chances to try your charms, or shallI continue?” she asked, folding her arms and looking back down on the page.“Ugh, yet another fight scene. I swear he’s paid by the word sometimes. I thinkI’ll skip it, by your leave.”

“I can think of something else we could do while you werehere,” Qakar said.

“Oh?”, Cassandra asked suspiciously.

Gesturing over to himself, he said, “I have to whisper it inyour ear, though.”

Groaning, she leant over, and no sooner had she come closein did he kiss her on the check. As she pulled away, astonished, she noticedthe smirk spreading across his face.

“Oh, behave yourself!”, she shouted, unable to keep mirthfrom rising in her voice.

“I thought you were giving me another chance?”, he askedinnocently.

“So I was,” she said, “but then again, you’re to stay offthat leg.”

“I promise. Just stay a while, will you?”

“For you, my love?” Cassandra asked, saying, “Anything.”

And she leant in and kissed him, leaving the book on thenightstand.

@dadrunkwriting

[veridium]

“Believe Me, I Choose You”

Cassandra x Olivia

Summary: Olivia struggles with her sense of self-worth while on a diplomatic mission in Val Royeaux. Cassandra tries her best to show her what she sees in her, and it proves a difficult argument. In the end, Olivia learns she must overcome her sense of inadequacy, even when it feels most logical to believe in it and everyone around her seems to think so, too. 

--

The old wooden door to their room screeched with urgency as Olivia opened it irreverently, stomping inside as aggressively as her legs could carry her. Behind her, Cassandra lagged, letting her have her space to rampage. Nothing short of a dragon could get in Olivia’s way, and she knew better than to disallow her to have her furious distance.

Stepping into the bedroom, she shut the door with more care than her lover had, her chest stiff as she expected the onslaught now that they were secluded.

From across the room, Olivia could be heard cussing and arguing under her breath as she removed hair clips, waves of her blonde hair beginning to fall out of her braided bun. Cassandra sighed discretely, not wanting to bring too much attention to herself as she undid the belt which secured her sword to her hip. She set down the weapon across the table, and her mind then turned to getting herself out of her light Seeker armor at last.

As she began unhooking and undoing the belts and straps that encased her body in metal, facing the corner of the room, she knew it was only a matter of time before Olivia’s illustrious mind, paired with her temper, would sound off. It was better to allow it to organically manifest then to provoke it, and she had learned this the hard way beforehand.

“Ugh!” Olivia said aloud, rolling her shoulders out of her hide and metal vest. She swayed her weight from hip to hip, trying to find an outlet for her energetic rage.

Cassandra was now down to her thick underlayer, having methodically set her armor on the chair like she would have it set up back at Skyhold. There was no need for cleaning – this was a tactics mission to the Capitol, and not a siege in some distant countryside. The inn that the Ambassador had arranged for their lodging was quaint, clean, and out of the way of the city center, just how Cassandra liked it best. The rooms were tidy and modestly-furnished, but they still felt comfortable for being unfamiliar. However, the quiet night she had expected to have in the city, tucked away in an inn suite with her woman and enjoying one of the few missions they got to handle together, had been soured by earlier events in the evening.

Placing her hands on her hips, she realized all that was left to do was to wash her face with a rag from the wash basin that was waiting for them in their room and take off her underlayer and get into bed. This meant little was available to her as an excuse for why she wasn’t engaging Olivia or what upset her. Then, she noticed the silence – Olivia had stopped grumbling after she removed her top layer of day armor and was now sliding into a nightdress she had packed. Her back was facing the Seeker as she slipped into the cotton frock.

Cassandra pursed her lips, formulating what she would say first, but, there was so many ways it could go wrong and set off the unideal response. Olivia was much like the temperamental explosive substances she worked with, in that way.

“My Love,” Cassandra began, but did a brief pause. “Do you wish to discuss this?”

Olivia huffed, then, tying up the front lace of her gown. “I hardly think it necessary to discuss something so concretely evident.”

“Humor me,” Cassandra replied, turning to face her direction and folding her arms.

“It’s a non-issue, Cassandra. I am merely being vain and intemperate. Just let me go to sleep and have my peace, already.”

Olivia’s hand went for the hairbrush she had set on the dresser, and she began feverishly brushing her hair on one shoulder. Cassandra watched as she tried to form a method to her madness, getting on with her routine to move on from the anger that resonated in her. It unsettled her compassion for her.

“Olivia, you know full-well you do not work like that,” Cassandra gently challenged, stepping closer to her. She could feel the defensive hostility thicken with each encroaching foot she made towards her. She wondered if that was just the pure energy of Olivia’s temper, of if her magic had more subtle ways of making itself known.

“I work however I say I do, and I say I will be over this and we will not discuss it any further.”

“You have that choice, but I implore you to reconsider.”

“Why, so you can know once and for all just what a spoiled Orleisian brat you’ve gotten entangled with?”

“Do not put opinions on my tongue before I have had a chance to express them. I am only trying to help you.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed as she set the brush down, tossing her hair back over her shoulder to hand between her shoulder blades.

“The esteemed Lady Seeker Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand to the Late Divine Justinia V, Most Holy. Her Highness, Princess of Nevarra,” she ranted as if fire laced her breath. Olivia was never one for malicious or mocking temper, but in the case of being worn down for so long by her reputation and that of the woman she loved, it had all created a fissure in her sensibilities.

Hearing her titles and name be invoked as it had been earlier in the evening, Cassandra felt a stinging sensation in the core of her being. Was Olivia going to truthfully be hung up about this? Was it all there was to her anger, her frustration, that Cassandra’s amassed stature was so vast? It wasn’t as if she basked in it all day, or let it get to her head.

“Olivia, you are going to have to be more detailed in your explanation than simply repeating my name and occupation as it was in the assembly.”

Read the Full Chapter on Ao3!

[ladyinthebluebox]

A handful of facts about Deirdre Lavellan

I was tagged by the lovely @perseus-huntress  to make a little summary of my Inquisitor’s profile :) Enjoy!

Basics:

Name: Deirdre “Derry” Lavellan; Age: around 28; Class: mage; Hair Color: coppery ginger; Eye Color: grassy green (although after the Breach happens her left eye becomes lighter shade, more similar to the color of the anchor); Clothing: something simple & elegant, preferably light colored + a knitted, rich colored shawl to wrap herself in it; Weapon: one of choice would be a bow, but set as an example for the mages she wields the Tyrdda’s Staff and later on her clan’s keeper’s staff Ena’vun (Sunrise); Specializations: primarily she specializes in the field of spirit healing, but her secondary specialization is an Arcane Warrior known also as a Knight Enchanter;  Languages Spoken: common (spoken well, written not so much) & it’s dalish dialect, a little of antivan, taken duirng her travells and an ancient elvhen (or at least as much of it as she was able to learn);

Origin Details and Backstory:

Origin: Dalish elf; Mother: Inan - a dreamer mage; went missing when Derry was 6; Father: Athras Lavellan - clan’s chief hunter; Siblings: Falon - mischevious but very caring older brother. He was sent to another Dalish clan when she was 11; Country of Birth: Orlais - she was born in the Tirashan Forest; Home Country: well, she’s Dalish so she doesn’t have one; Places They Have Been: Nevarra, Freemarches, Antiva & the outskirts of Orlais (although she was to little to remember any of it);

Bio:

Not much is known about her life before the Conclave beside the fact that Deirdre Lavellan was born and raised among the members of a small, peaceful clan of the Dalish elves, known for sending their members to trade on the Freemarches’ markets.

Wild rumours say the call of the Andraste herself convinced her to leave her clanmates and go for a pilgrimage to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The truth is however, she’s left them at the age of seventeen to become a travelling keeper - a lone wanderer, responsible for sharing knowledge and information between the clans.

The word spread quickly around the realms of Thedas about the Inquisitor’s willingness to help anyone who’ll ask for an aid and protect those who need it, no matter their race or social status. Refugees in the Hinterlands tell stories about the humble Herald comming down from the nearby Inquisition’s camp and working tirelessly healing their wounds with her warm hands. Meanwhile nobles visiting Skyhold are shocked by the elve’s eloquence and kindeness contradictory to their perception of the Dalish elves.

Relationships:

Friends: Dorian, Josephine, Cassandra, Varrick, Cole, Kieran; Allies: Vivienne, Blackwall, Sera, Lelianna, Cullen, the Iron Bull; Lover: Solas (why am I doing this to her and to myself?)

Favorites and Not So Favorites:

Favorite Food: fish dishes, wild berries & kind of a dalish honey fudges + she falls in love with pastries once she’s introduced to them; Favorite Drink: lightly brewed tea with honey & and wine (it’s Dorian’s fault); Favorite Place: deep forests and (creepy) elvhen ruins so basically the Emerald Graves;

Trivia: 

Derry always had a strong bond with fire. It always fascinated her and often she’s been freaking out her clanmates by losing track of whatever was happening around her and just staring into the flames of a campfire. Later on, after her magic manifested, it turned out it had a direct connection to the ease with which she’s able to use fire magic. However, because my Lavellans are bound to the pacifistic way of life, clan’s Keeper was very reluctant to teach her any offensive spells. Instead, she taught her how to cast magic barriers and wards, and how to heal using the warmth of her inner fire;

even when attacked she first offers the aggressors a chance to surrender;

prior to landing in the ranks of the forming Inquisition, she’s never used a magic staff, so she underwent a quick but extensive training under the careful eyes of the inner circle mages;

thanks to the long hours they spent on studying history, politics and various human customs Deirdre quickly became great friends with Josephine;

after years of living in separation, she reunites with her brother - now a leader of the hunters of the Dalish clan roaming the Exalted Plains;

once Derry found out about Cullen’s decision to stay away from lyrium she began working on a potion formula that would help him (and many other ex-templars later) deal with the effects of the withdrawal from it;

sometimes you can catch her, Varric and Sera engaging in a marksman contest in the Skyhold’s garden (they usually shot apples from Bull’s head/horns; nobles visiting the castle find it very entertaining xd);

during her travels on the Inquisition’s businesses, Deirdre accumulated a great collection of trinkets of which the most treasured ones are the small, animal figurines (youknowallthe”junk”onesshelovesthem);

Songs: 

I strongly associate her with Rabbit Heart by Florence + the Machine but if you’re really curious you can check out my spotify playlist dedicated to her :)

[ladydwarfbadari]

Terra Adaar: Character Profile

I’ve mucked around a bit in the Hinterlands with her now, so I figured I might as well try to nail down her personality a bit. I’ll probably end up editing this to add stuff to it later.

History:

Terra is the daughter of two Tal-Vashoth mercenaries. Her parents both left the Qun to avoid being split apart after their friendship deepened far beyond what the Qun would ever allow. Neither of them were in particularly important positions and were both still quite young, so efforts by their handlers to reclaim or eliminate them were halfhearted and easy to dodge. They ended up in the Free Marches and bounced around cities as the work took them different places, and occasionally strayed into Orlais, Antiva, Nevarra, and Ferelden. Things got a little more complicated when Terra was born, as dragging a small child about isn’t really conducive to mercenary work, and for a while her mother stayed with a couple of farmers outside of Starkhaven and earned her keep doing work around the farm for several years, while her mate continued as a merc, coming and going. Terra saw her father only sporadically as a result, but was always pleased with the souvenirs he brought back for her. It’s also how Terra learned to shoe a horse and what herbs would deter locusts from crops, not that she ever had much cause to do either.

Terra’s mother returned to work as a mercenary when Terra was nine years old, leaving her in the care of the farmers. By the age of thirteen, she’d grown bored of the agrarian life and decided to follow her parents and take up work as a mercenary, bouncing around between companies as work was available. Turns out it’s pretty easy to lie about your age when you’re already over six feet tall. She had a bit of a rocky start at first, having no actual combat skills, but a few of the older mercs took pity on the clumsy teenager and taught her how to actually use a sword and shield.

By the age of seventeen, Terra was a seasoned fighter, and took up with the Valo-Kas. She takes her work seriously, but also genuinely enjoys it. She’s never had a permanent home, but finds the freedom that comes with her profession to be quite satisfying.

Terra is 27 at the beginning of Inquisition.

Personality/orientations:

Terra Adaar is in essence a practical, no-frills sort of personality. She enjoys the simple things in life - good company, good food, good drink, and the jangle of coin in her purse. She’s not greedy or particularly ambitious; she’s happy taking care of her own needs and living each day for its own sake. She holds to no particular creed, certainly not the Qun, and certainly not the Chantry’s. She tends to take life at face value.

She gets along with people provided they respect her and don’t waste her time. She doesn’t have a great deal of patience for anything she considers to be games or nonsense. She’s not the sort to revel in violence for its own sake, but she’s not going to cry over having to cut down someone who’s got it coming, either.

She’s fairly open-minded, tending to view things as they come and making her own mind up, but she’s not particularly sentimental.

She’s pansexual and has had various partners over the years, although few of them ended up being serious relationships. She’ll befriend and have sex with men but has never had anything like a committed relationship with a man. She’s had two of what she would have called commited relationships, one with an elven girl she met as a teenager in her first mercenary band, which ended in a quarrel over something that, in hindsight, was rather petty, and the second with another Tal-Vashoth, a former Saarebas, which ended when half the company was wiped out during an escort job. Terra was badly wounded as well, and took months to recover. She hasn’t gotten involved with anyone that deeply since, until she meets Sera and starts a relationship with her. (Terra flirted with Vivienne until it was obvious the Enchanter wasn’t going to bite, and ended up having a roll in the hay with Blackwall a few times before getting involved with Sera. She might have had a few more after, if Sera’s reaction to an impulsive suggestion one night after a few drinks of a threesome hadn’t been “What, with Beardy? I like him as a friend, not like... bleurch! No boys allowed, sorry!”)

Relationships:

With the Inquisition, she gets along well enough with everyone, even though some of them she finds a bit irritating or challenging at times.

Solas and Cole are both infuriatingly cryptic at times, and while she appreciates both of them for their skills, she also often finds herself getting a headache in their presence.

She appreciates Leliana and Cullen although she is not particularly close to either of them. She likes Josephine, although sometimes she thinks Josie wastes a bit too much time trying to please everyone and that the Inquisition would be better served by cracking a few skulls and getting on with it now and then.

She surprisingly gets along fairly well with Vivienne. They don’t always agree, but Vivienne is someone she can understand - she’s not fooled in the least and knows Vivienne greatly desires the Sunburst throne, but Terra doesn’t exactly disapprove of the woman’s ambitions. Vivienne doesn’t come out and say precisely what she’s had to do to gain the position she’s in, but Terra knows she’s worked hard, despite putting up a front of effortlessness, there’s no way for a mage in southern Thedas to get anywhere without effort, after all. If Vivienne weren’t obviously uninterested, Terra might have tried to pursue a relationship with her.

Cassandra confuses her a bit - she is also a candidate for the Sunburst throne but compared to Vivienne, Cassandra is rather ambivalent about it, almost resigned as one might to be to one’s own execution. Terra considers Cassandra a friend after a time, and has a lot of respect for her skill and wisdom, but a lot of Cassandra’s self-doubt and second-guessing is something Terra doesn’t understand. The fact that Terra is not religious in the least is largely the source of this disconnect, and there are many aspects of Cassandra’s struggles she’ll probably never really get. (Cass is someone else she was instantly attracted to, but even without asking, she kind of knew that was barking up the wrong tree).

Terra spends free time in the tavern with the Iron Bull, Varric and Dorian Pavus, and thoroughly enjoys their company, and appreciates their humor. It takes a while for Varric to get past the “Herald” thing but eventually she manages to take the shine off enough to get him to loosen up, and makes a point of dragging them all together for cards whenever they have a moment of peace at Skyhold.

Blackwall is a bit of a mystery to her at first - much like Cassandra, he always holds himself just a bit separate from everyone else. He’s clearly hurting from something, and at first she finds him a bit of a drag, to be honest. She spends more time with him though and discovers he actually has a sense of humor under all that gruff Duty and Sacrifice talk. Finding out his past and the truth behind who he really is annoys the piss out of her, but she ultimately pardons him and lets him go about the business of redeeming himself in whatever way he sees fit. She’s not especially judgmental, having done some sketchy shit of her own (not quite as bad as what he did, mind, but she’s taken jobs as a merc that she later regretted).

With Sera, there’s mutual attraction between them from the beginning. Sera reminds Terra a bit of her first girlfriend, particularly her mischievous smile. She enjoys Sera’s sense of humor and finds her a bright spot during the war with Corypheus, and is glad for Sera’s pranks to distract her from some of the doom and gloom that’s surrounding them. Sera id who reminds her what she’s fighting for - the world needs to be made safe again so people can enjoy their lives. You only go around once, in the end, might as well have a bit of fun, right?

Colors: Steel gray, earth tones

Song: [tbd]

[thereinafter]

Chocolate Box 2021 exchange letter below.

Hi, dear chocolatier! Thanks so much for creating for me. For fic, I’m good with whatever rating you want to write and any tense/person/structure. I’m also requesting art for everything besides OW. I’ve copied my signup below with a DNW list for each fandom, and those are followed by my general art and fic likes lists.

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Dragon Age: (fic, art) Aveline Vallen/Cassandra Pentaghast (Dragon Age) Aveline Vallen/Female Hawke (Dragon Age) Cassandra Pentaghast/Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Cassandra Pentaghast/Leliana (Dragon Age) Cassandra Pentaghast & Myrna (Dragon Age) Dagna/Sera (Dragon Age) Isabela/Leliana (Dragon Age) Josephine Montilyet/Leliana (Dragon Age) Leliana/Morrigan (Dragon Age)

For all the / ships I requested, I would be very happy with anything inspired by the likes lists below. Cassandra/Leliana, Josephine/Leliana, Leliana/Morrigan: I’m forever interested in all their history we don’t see as well as how they might interact when the Inquisitor or Warden isn’t around. Cassandra/Inquisitor, Aveline/Hawke: I’m good with any variant of female player character and will always love flirting and tension/confusion happily resolved, or facing things together, or just cute/romantic moments. Aveline/Cassandra, Dagna/Sera, Leliana/Isabela: show me how they might meet for the first or second or third time and spark something?

For Cassandra & Myrna (of the Mourn Watch): “Down Among the Dead Men” was my favorite Tevinter Nights story and I’m fascinated with Nevarra and the Grand Necropolis as described there. Have these two met before in the past? Do they have to work together on something for the Inquisition or post-DAI? Since I read TN I’ve wanted a fic where they interact (and preferably get along eventually).

I would also love art of any of these pairings! See general art likes list below.

DNW: setting AUs (except for art), background male player characters, pregnancy, non-canon major character death, unhappy endings, daddy/mommy kink, noncon

——

Crossover: (fic, art) Cassandra Pentaghast (Dragon Age)/Kassandra (Assassin’s Creed Odyssey)

I still feel like this should happen. Magic or basically magical AC tech or in recurring dreams or however you want to handwave transportation between universes, I would just like to see them in the same place and maybe breaking some things together. (alternatively: I did art of them arm-wrestling one time and if someone wants to write me that fic I would love it.)

Also more art! Fighting back to back? Kassandra flirting with Cassandra? Wearing clothes from each other’s world? A Greek-vase-style pastiche?

See general fic and art likes below if you want more ideas.

DNW: AUs other than the canon settings, pregnancy, non-canon major character death, unhappy endings, daddy/mommy kink, noncon

——

Emelan - Tamora Pierce: (fic, art) Dedicate Lark/Dedicate Rosethorn

I love the four kids, but I love Lark and Rosethorn the most. (Note: I’ve only read up to Shatterglass as of now, but I don’t mind references to later books if you want to set something later.)

A few fic ideas, feel free to mix up or use anything else from my general likes list: - An adventure by themselves without their students? Or an attempted romantic outing that turns into one? - Writing to each other when one is away? (Rosethorn travels a lot; has Lark ever gone somewhere and left her to manage Discipline?) - Observing traditions and the turn of the year at Winding Circle, from their POVs? - Ways they might use their magic together or experimenting with that?

I would also love any art you want to do of them: see the general art likes below.

DNW: setting AUs (except for art), pregnancy, non-canon major character death, unhappy endings, daddy/mommy kink, noncon

——

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon: (fic, art) Sabran Berethnet/Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra (The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon)

Reusing some of my Yuletide fic prompts, feel free to mix these or use things from my likes list: - A missing scene from when their relationship was secret, before Ead left the first time? - Sabran’s experience of one of the times Ead was hurt and recovered? - I’m always here for long-distance pining and letter-writing. - Post-canon reunions, whether it’s Ead visiting Inys, or Sabran finding ways to meet her elsewhere, or Sabran carrying out her plan to abdicate. I would love exploration of the other courts and lands in the book, especially Yscalin rebuilding from the draconic takeover, and the Priory. - I’m still curious about whether it’s possible for Sabran to learn either type of magic and whether she would explore that, and whether there might be other trees.

I would love art as well! Any canon scene illustrated (the rose under Sabran’s pillow? the bath? the candle dance scene?), or just any art of them you want to do. General art likes below.

DNW: setting AUs (except for art), non-canon pregnancy, non-canon major character death, daddy/mommy kink, noncon

——

Original Work: (fic) Female Adventurer in Need of a Challenge/Lady Stuck in Tower of Ridiculous Traps (Original Work) Female Inventor of Ridiculous Traps/Female Master Thief (Original Work) Female Avant-Garde Artist/Scandalous Demimonde Actress (Original Work) Female Palace Cook/Female Royal Taster (Original Work) Female Paladin/Incarnation of Her Goddess (Original Work) Female Knight on Noble Quest/Witch Who's Far Too Distracting (Original Work) Brave but Stubborn Female Knight/Famous Female Bard Who Has a Crush on Her (Original Work) Dethroned and Dishonored Queen/Lone Loyal Female Knight (Original Work) Female Knight Who Loves Baths/Female Sorceress Who Loves Baths (Original Work) Female Knight Who Loves Baths/Female Water or Hotspring Spirit Who Loves Knights (Original Work) Wandering Lady Knight/Her Pining Female Friend She Writes Letters To (Original Work)

I nominated:

Female Adventurer in Need of a Challenge/Lady Stuck in Tower of Ridiculous Traps: I was imagining the kinds of elaborate traps you find in D&D manuals, but other types also work! I just like the idea of bonding through solving bizarre dangerous puzzles from opposite sides of a barrier.

Female Inventor of Ridiculous Traps/Female Master Thief: Professional rivals to lovers? Longtime couple who collaborate? (Bonus idea: prequel to the first prompt?)

Female Palace Cook/Female Royal Taster: I like the idea of one falling for or trying to seduce the other through food creations, under the noses of the royalty. Maybe the taster is also a bodyguard, or just another servant with a risky job?

Female Avant-Garde Artist/Scandalous Demimonde Actress: I’d be here for this whether you want to set it in a real historical period or a fantasy/SF world. Too many feelings and sublimating them through art? Modeling turning into more? A secret relationship, or a volatile on and off thing? I could also see this as a found documents or research notes type of story (or something like 5 times = 5 works in an exhibition?)

Female Paladin/Incarnation of Her Goddess: A dramatic h/c situation, or a reward for faithful service? Or maybe they have a comfortable old-married type of relationship? I could be into any of these.

Female Knight on Noble Quest/Witch Who's Far Too Distracting: Kind of the opposite of the above. They just keep running into each other and catch feelings? Or the witch wants to interfere and ends up helping? Or the quest is actually a bad idea and the witch saves her life?

I didn’t nominate but would delightedly read any take on these (all the lady knights edition): Brave but Stubborn Female Knight/Famous Female Bard Who Has a Crush on Her Dethroned and Dishonored Queen/Lone Loyal Female Knight Female Knight Who Loves Baths/Female Sorceress Who Loves Baths Female Knight Who Loves Baths/Female Water or Hotspring Spirit Who Loves Knights Wandering Lady Knight/Her Pining Female Friend She Writes Letters To

See the long list of general likes below if you want more ideas.

DNW: unhappy endings, death of requested characters, underage sex (<18), daddy/mommy kink, incest, noncon, a/b/o

——

General fanart likes:

I draw it myself, and I don’t really have style preferences for fanart; I’m interested in however you interpret my request in your own style!

- If one of my fic prompts or my likes below suggests something (non-explicit) you want to draw (whether one scene or sequential), I’d love to see that. I always like to see characters doing things they’re good at or looking formidable or happy. And for shippy art, I am always here for handholding, hand kisses, regular kisses, cuddling, and/or other romantic moments in contexts that make sense for the characters.

- Dressing the characters up or down is also fun. Fancy clothing or armor, things they might wear that we don’t see in canon, or illustrating what they do wear in canon if it’s a book. Partial undressing and dishevelment. Different historical AU looks (as an exception to my setting AUs DNW).

- I’d also be into a piece that’s more of a character study expressing something about them through formal visual elements and symbolism (as opposed to a narrative scene).

- If emulating other art styles is fun for you, I’d totally enjoy any kind of famous artist/historical style pastiche. Or, my love of in-universe documents and worldbuilding definitely extends to art, so something like an in-world manuscript page or notes/doodles/sketches by a character or an in-world portrait of them would make me quite happy.

——

General fic likes

If something’s not on this list, that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t like it, but I enjoy these things pretty reliably. Take from it and mix these up as you wish.

for both gen and shipfic: Relationships among women, complex and powerful female characters, adult characters with some level of life experience Casefic if the characters do cases or missions: anything like another episode or chapter from the canon Lighthearted slice of life/ day-in-the-life stories when the canon focus is more on big dramatic events Epistolary or found-documents stories, and other unconventional story structures Time loop stories, Rashomon-style stories, and other sets of variations on a theme (including “five times” fic) Canon divergence AUs Worldbuilding/exploring places and times we don’t see much in canon; in-universe mythologies, stories, songs, plays, etc.; holidays, personal or cultural traditions, celebrations People or events from characters’ past resurfacing to complicate things Magical or scientific accidents or anomalies making weird things happen Heists, rescues/jailbreaks, investigating mysteries big or small Court plotting, dealing with complex etiquette/social rules, intrigue, spying, disguises and fake identities Road or sea or space trips, wilderness survival situations, exploring ruins/haunted places/caves/dungeons/etc. Sparring, duels, tournaments, competitions whether serious or not Making things for each other, whether it’s art or music or crafting or food or magic or whatever, and giving gifts Competence porn/demonstrating how good they are at what they do (but perhaps being awkward or lost in other contexts) Learning or teaching others new skills, or trying to Temporarily caring for animals or babies/children when they’re not used to it

for shipfic (pre-relationship, get-together, and established-relationship stories are all interesting to me if I like the ship) Everything above plus: Longtime friends, partners in arms or work or crime, old friends or former lovers meeting again, old enemies who have to admit they like each other, rivals who respect each other … to lovers Long-term established relationships where they know each other better than anyone Cute/playful moments, escalating flirtations whether awkward or skillful, good-natured teasing, surprising each other, discovering new things about each other, trying to impress each other, distracting each other consciously or not Giddy crushes, pining that’s eventually happily resolved, angst with happy endings Having a lot of feelings and not knowing what to do with them, repression, extended UST, slow burn, emotional romantic revelations Hurt/comfort, fighting beside each other, disproportionate reactions to the other being hurt or possibly hurt, facing external threats together, rescuing each other, tending each other Loyalty and devotion, us against the world, bodyguarding, protectiveness, love conflicting with other loyalties, noble self-denial and sacrifice, courtly love Being inspired by the other to create, or achieving things for the other’s sake or in their service, whether secretly or openly Forced-intimacy-by-circumstance tropes like only-one-bed, huddling for warmth, fake dating, marriage of convenience, handcuffed together, dreamsharing/psychic bonds Ascetic/hedonist or repressed/libertine or inexperienced/more experienced dynamics “The grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one,” or prickly/stoic/intimidating/jaded characters softening for a particular person, or allowing themselves to have fun with them Secret relationships as a source of angst and/or for the excitement of sneaking around (though I prefer infidelity not be the reason, unless it’s a forced/political marriage situation) Dancing, whether it’s formal dancing with sexual tension or meaningful romantic dancing or getting uninhibited on a dance floor Meaningful handholding Language of flowers/fans/other symbolic communication and private codes Bathing/dressing/doing hair/other physical caretaking, watching each other sleep, holding each other for comfort, having a hard time not touching Reading/storytelling/singing to each other Reunions after separation, or stealing moments away from everything to be together

for sex scenes: cuddling, kissing, laughing, tasting, eroticized hands and voices, clothed/semi-clothed sex, complicated undressing, talking whether emotional or joking or dirty, asking for things, curiosity/discovery, playfulness/inventiveness, eagerness/desperation, being overwhelmed by feelings, having to keep silent or hold still, interruptions and delayed gratification and intentional drawing things out, body worship, sex against walls, informal mild kink (e.g., tying up, holding down, blindfolding, taking direction, honor bondage, scratching/marking, tearing clothes, mutual roughness), sexy letter writing, one fantasizing about the other, decadence and sensory/sensual details, voyeurism/exhibitionism if it’s IC, writing/painting on skin, sex pollen, magical/ritual/magic-enhanced sex