#i wonder how much easier this makes morrigan's decision to leave after the end of the blight.

[camelliagwerm]

MORRIGAN ABOUT THE WARDEN'S ENGAGEMENT TO ANORA

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Until the End

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: M

Word count: 2,505

TW/CWs: Major character death, violence, angst, saying last goodbyes, all that awful stuff.

This is a No Cure for the Calling story, an Alistair and Cousland go into the Deep Roads together story, and I never thought I would write this but Silhouette by Aquilo got stuck in the angstiest part of my head and I sobbed writing it down, but I still did it. Forgive me.

Until the End (read on AO3)

The moment Alistair found her sitting up in bed one morning, staring at the wall with her expression perfectly blank, he knew. Nalissa Cousland was vibrant and intense, whether her emotions were good or bad, and Nalissa Theirin was no different. If there was something too intense for her to feel, that made it too much for anyone in the world, because she was the strongest person he had ever known. And the only thing she couldn’t be stronger than was the Calling.

They had both thought they heard it once, years ago. The Inquisition—or more accurately, Leliana—had told them not to worry, that it wasn’t real, that the Inquisitor would handle it. And she had, somehow, however she had killed a darkspawn magister that kept him from being reborn into the next available blighted body. They had wondered, but not even Leliana had really known the answer beyond some combination of Rift magic, a dead red lyrium-corrupted dragon, and the power of an ostensible elven god. And so it had been yet another thing that wasn’t an answer, just like Avernus’ research had been a dead end, just like Nalissa had never been able to cobble together a cure from the Wilds flowers that had saved Ash warriors’ hounds or get a straight answer out of Grand Enchanter Fiona about whatever had cured her all those years ago. Finally when the mage had broken down into tears, she had admitted she didn’t know, couldn’t give an answer even to save the king and queen of Ferelden, no matter how much she might want to. And that had been the last lead before the trail had gone cold.

So when Nalissa looked up at Alistair, her eyes sunken and shadowed but still the same heart-wrenchingly beautiful sea green he had fallen in love with, he had read it on her face. The dreams were returning, she was hearing the whisper of the song, and her time had come.

It should have been him first. Why wasn’t it him? He had taken his Joining months before she had, he had been the one to perform that Void-forsaken ritual that had saved them at a cost that all these years later they still didn’t fully understand. It should have been him.

But it wasn’t, and he wept as he pulled her into his arms, even if she didn’t. Even if she locked everything away behind the mask of nobility that even after two decades on the throne, he had never learned to wear like she did. She was indomitable, his Nalissa, in everything except the Calling she couldn’t escape.

She very nearly physically fought him when Alistair told her he was coming with her. It was her Calling, not his, she had insisted, had shouted it at him in their bedchamber in a bout of hysteria he had never once seen her give into before. She had pleaded, threatened, tried to give him an order as Warden-Commander, but he had only smiled sadly and offered to travel to Amaranthine with her for trial if she wanted to bring him up on charges of insubordination. Only then did she cry into his chest, not for herself but for him, when she realized there was nothing she could do to talk him out of it.

He had promised her once, when they sat together in the grass on an early spring day during the Blight. He had promised her he would be with her until the end, and he meant it. An archdemon couldn’t keep him away. The fact that he didn’t hear the Calling yet wouldn’t either.

The preparation, that was almost worse than the realization. The landsmeet was a debacle, full of angry lords terrified of more instability so close on the heels of everything else the Age had brought upon Ferelden. But Nalissa hadn’t faltered, and she had given them the best solution she could: her brother, the man with the highest standing and the most experience in the country, even if he had balked at her suggestion. It felt like a repeat of history, Teagan had said, watching another Cousland put forth to the landsmeet as a potential king just like the teyrn’s father had been, only this time with no Theirin heir to dispute it.

But it was the sensible solution, they all had to admit. Couslands had ruled in Highever since before Calenhad himself was born, and the teyrn’s oldest child with his second wife was old enough by then to handle the teyrnir. Eleanor was a bright girl, as stubborn and dutiful as her father and her namesake put together, and she would take Fergus’ place well. Nalissa smiled with something like pride when the landsmeet voted in favor, even if her eyes shone a little more brightly than usual from unshed tears.

The Wardens were even more difficult. Alistair hadn’t stepped foot in Vigil’s Keep in years, but he refused to let her go alone, terrified she would leave for Orzammar without him. When the constables and senior Wardens began shouting and grappling for the Warden-Commander’s seat, he almost wished he wasn’t there to see it. The order, without Duncan, without Nalissa, wasn’t half so virtuous as he remembered. But she stood her ground as she always did, naming a stern-faced woman younger than half of them as her successor until Weisshaupt saw fit to replace her officially. Alistair didn’t know the girl, but he recognized the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes, because he saw them in his wife every day. She would lead the Wardens well, if they allowed it, and he could only hope they did.

They returned to Denerim before setting out. Nalissa wouldn’t miss her brother’s coronation, even if it hurt to brave the noise of the crowds with the song ringing in her ears, even if she had to wear gloves to hide the mottled bruise-like marks on her hands that neither of them could pretend not to see any longer. She hugged Fergus goodbye for the last time on the steps of the palace, and both she and Alistair tried to pretend they didn’t see the pedestal at the gates, prepared for a statue that hadn’t yet been carved, with both of their names and dates etched into the stone.

Alistair Theirin, 11th King of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Hero of the Fifth Blight

Nalissa Theirin née Cousland, Queen, Warden-Commander, and Hero of Ferelden

9:10 Dragon - 9:52 Dragon

It was already written in stone, the end of both of their lives. The hardest parts were done, all the decisions that mattered had been made. But Maker, did that still not make it easier to set out on their final adventure.

It felt like a hollow echo, walking through the gates of Denerim and knowing they would never do so again. Camping along the Imperial Highway, like when they were young and free, now just the ghosts of two thoroughly overwhelmed new Grey Wardens tasked with saving the world. They had said their goodbyes to Oghren in Amaranthine, to Leliana at the coronation, written letters to Antiva meant for Zevran and to Par Vollen meant for Sten. Nalissa had even sent one to Morrigan, though who knew if that would ever be read. To their friends, to Ferelden, to Thedas they were already dead, but at least what little time they had left was theirs alone.

They spoke often of the similarities, of the differences, of what Wynne might have said to see them walking into death together one last time. Leliana would write a tragic ballad for them she would never share, Nalissa was sure. Zevran would have pointedly declared it was their last chance to join him in bed for the night, Alistair decided. But though they laughed and leaned into each other and drew every moment of pleasure they could from these last few moments of peace, both marked them for what they were: a collection of lasts.

When they finally made camp in the foothills of the Frostbacks, that final night before beginning the descent, they didn’t sleep. They made dinner together, joked how neither of them had gotten any better at it since the first time Morrigan had tasted the gray dreck they had boiled to the point of a tasteless paste and swore she would do the cooking after all. They danced around the fire, watched their shadows on the mountainside seeming to stretch into infinity. They looked up at the stars and whispered together how beautiful they were, without mentioning they would never see them again. And they made love slowly and tenderly, until they were too tired to do more than lie in each other’s arms sharing I love yous and every moment of the last half of their lives they wouldn’t trade for anything.

When the sun rose, they didn’t pack up camp. They put out the fire and left the tent and bedroll where they were, for whoever might find use for them, without ever quite discussing it. They wouldn’t need them again. There was no return journey to look forward to.

And they stopped at the entrance to Orzammar, drinking in the sun and the sky and the fresh air that didn’t smell of nothing but earth and taint. Nalissa hated the underground, hated caves and tight spaces, and her last breath before they stepped into the dark shook as she drew it, but she would not shirk this path and did it anyway. Alistair would have taken everything from her if he could, the corruption and the pain, the fear and the duty, but all he could do was squeeze her hand tightly and assure her again that he was with her until the end.

The end, he kept thinking, as they passed the guards of the dwarven thaig, as they were allowed past into the Deep Roads, as the great doors swung shut behind them with a final clang that rattled in his bones. His end would be lonelier than hers, he knew. As much as he feared it, as much as he wanted to never see those beautiful eyes empty and unable to smile back at him, he had to see her sacrifice made before he could allow himself to fall. That was another promise he had made, down here in the dark what felt like a lifetime ago. He would never allow her to become what the women taken by the darkspawn were twisted into. She would die a Grey Warden, full of fire and wild roars and singing blades. And he would die however he had to after that, even if it was on his knees at her side.

The sob that passed her lips as they paused in the shadows didn’t even sound like her. It was hopeless, shattered, things Nalissa had never been, and she clung to him desperately with tears spilling between them and soaking their armor. One last moment of fear. One more last.

When she dried her eyes and he did the same, he held her as he always did, tight against him even with the barrier of the armor they hadn’t worn together in years. Her head on his chest, his chin on her crown, their arms holding tightly to keep from shaking. Then he took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones that were now too pronounced, and told her that she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And she laughed, a laugh like they were young and foolish again and could still count years together ahead of them instead of hours.

She was fearless again, at the end. When they sensed the darkspawn moving through the tunnels and planned their intercept course, she was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, daggers whirling in each hand, giving him that reckless grin full of confidence and battle high that still took his breath away just as it had the first time. His shield was heavier from lack of use, his blade slower, but hers were so fast they were almost invisible as she cut through a wave of genlock assassins. And it twisted his heart in a way that he would never have recovered from anyway to see her so brimming with life and so close to death at the same time.

When Nalissa fell, she had downed an ogre, a hurlock emissary, and more genlocks than Alistair could count. Even the blade that finally slipped between her ribs was almost a matter of luck, a hurlock whose sword had clanged off a blade she had already parried and back toward her quicker than she could counter. And even though he knew it was what they were here for, that it had to happen before she became something unspeakable she would never want to be, the sound that ripped itself from Alistair’s throat was pure agony.

His sword and shield suddenly weren’t heavy at all, they were feather light and full of lightning as he crashed through two other hurlocks to the one that still held the blade and removed its head in one clean stroke. Nalissa had already hit the stone beneath her but both daggers were still in her hands and she stabbed viciously into the back of another hurlock’s calf. Blindingly beautiful even soaked in blood, fierce and deadly to the last. The last.

Alistair cut down the darkspawn she had injured, looked down to see her chest heaving, and dropped his shield. She looked straight at him even as she struggled for breath, shook her head, but he knelt beside her anyway. And again, even at the end, he could see the tears that streaked her face were for him.

She couldn’t make the sounds, but her mouth formed the words. I love you. And he sobbed it back to her, pressed his lips against hers, one last time, one last time. Her hand tried to raise to the back of his head as it always did, but it made it only halfway before it dropped and she went still.

Miles away in the deep roads, surely there were darkspawn or very unlucky dwarves that could hear the sound of Alistair Theirin’s anguish. Certainly more of them seemed drawn by his roars, bore down on him as he fought like a man possessed, with no shield but a dagger in his left hand that had fallen from hers. And it fell from his too at the end, when a viciously barbed pike caught the gap in armor on his left side. It should have hurt, but nothing hurt more than he did already. Nothing hurt more than falling beside her at last, seeing the faint smile still traced on her lips even as her eyes shone empty into the distance. Not seeing him. Never seeing him again.

But his hand found hers, before the last blow that turned everything dark. One last time.

(Also posted on AO3).

[drjackandmissjo]

it’s nice to have a friend

previous chapter --- Chapter 2 --- next chapter

Feysand masterlist

Tiredness came crushing Feyre down like a boulder. It had been a long day, a long life, and she couldn't wait to get back into her dorm room, snuggle up in her bed and let the world disappear, even if just for a couple of hours. It was what she deserved, having let down everyone in her life with her stubbornness and uneasiness.

Despite the initial rush of relief and euphoria, everything else came rushing back into focus. The loneliness, the stress, the hunger.

Although she was the youngest of her family, she had been the only one willing to work. Her father couldn't move from the bed most days and her sisters were far too proud to get dirty hands in any situation that didn't require spending money, instead of gaining them. Feyre had managed to juggle great grades in all her AP classes in high school as well as two minimum wage jobs, one in a diner as a waitress and the other in a small arts & crafts shop. Since she had been 14, she was the only one bringing an income to the table, to make sure that they had food and a roof over their heads. Their father's small veteran pension didn't suffice anymore as soon as Nesta, her eldest sister, got into their city's most prestigious and expensive university, choosing an economics major, and money became even less when Elain, the second one, was accepted into the same university for their botanical department. Granted, they both managed to archive scholarships, Nesta with her stellar grades and Elain with a cheerleading position. But money had never been easy to begin with and even with those scholarships, Feyre still had to struggle to keep the family afloat.

Both sisters still lived into their childhood home with Feyre and their father, their mother long gone, but both claimed to be far too busy with schoolwork to help their sister economically. Feyre knew she shouldn't resent them, but every time either came to her asking for money for new expensive shoes or to go out with their friends, she couldn't do anything other than swallow the bile and give in to their demands, wondering when would come her turn to be a normal teenager and go out with her nonexistent friends.

When Feyre's time to leave high school came she was faced with a decision: community college, since she couldn't afford the one her sisters went to without selling both her kidneys and a lung, or move away to Velaris, to the other side of Prythian, where the art department offered her a full scholarship after having received her request of admission and a sample of the works she had created during high school. She would still need to work to pay her stay and maintain the nearly perfect grades she had in high school, but she knew she could do it.

As soon as the acceptance letter came alongside the papers for the scholarship, she sat both her sisters down. Nesta had started working in an office, putting in good money with a 9 to 6 routine, but Elain was still on her senior year. Fortunately for Feyre, her eldest sister seemed to understand the situation and all but kicked her out of the house as soon as September rolled around, paying herself for Elain's last year. Feyre didn't ask for anything, and neither sister gave anything.

During the summer Feyre worked still her two usual jobs and began studying for her freshman courses and her sophomores ones as well. She wanted to finish early and so she planned and rescheduled the credit units she had to take each year to be able to finish in 2.5/3 years instead of 4.

On September 1st she had packed her entire life into a couple of suitcases and kissed goodbye to her sisters as she boarded the train for a 12 hours ride to the other side of the country. A plane would've been quicker but also more expensive and she planned on saving the money, old habits dying hard.

" This feels just like leaving for Hogwarts" she had thought as the train began to move out of the station, her sisters still there to wave her goodbye one last time.

She had moved into a dorm room and began working at the library that same day, as soon as her badge began working. "Screw freshman week!" Feyre thought as she shelved books and checked them out for other students. She had heard rumors about what went down in that short period of time and it wasn't truly her cup of tea anyway.

Her roommate was a senior in fashion & merchandise named Alis, bronze skinned with long black curls that framed her face nicely. She helped Feyre settle in and brought her to a few sorority parties in the first month, dragging her despite the younger's complaints about wasted hours. Alis had laughed at that and simply replied "You don't wanna miss too much 'cause you're studying all the time, trust me."

She had met Tamlin at one of those parties. He was a sophomore and member of one of the fraternities around campus and began to hit on Feyre immediately, relentlessly. At first she was flattered, not used to guys giving her attention of any sort if it wasn't for exchanged coursework, but she still maintained herself cold and distant, not sure of how to fit him into her packed schedule. After a few months of incessant flirting, although she had brushed him off several times, she had finally caved in and they began dating. "I knew you'd come around!" he had claimed.

Their first months were incredible. He didn't bother her much nor demand too much time from her, letting her study and work. He filled her up with warmth and with him, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel alone in the world anymore.

She enjoyed the time she spent with him, but then May came and Finals with it. Feyre couldn't move from the library, remaining there after her shift had ended and studying in one of the booths. She simply didn't have time for anything else. She had to keep all her grades up, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to remain at the university.

That was when things started to go downhill with Tamlin. They fought almost constantly due to his paranoia and her lack of availability, and yet he had chosen the worst possible moment to confess the depth of his feelings to her. They argued about her job at the library, how it was talking too much time from their relationship when it happened. Feyre felt like she was being gutted as he spoke the three words that she had never heard before in her life. "Why do you look like it's the worst thing you've ever heard?" he had demanded harshly when she hadn't replied immediately back. "Because it is" she wanted to say, but instead followed his lead, giving him empty words without meaning, because everything was better than the constant fights.

He became obsessive then, as if her void confession had flipped a switch inside of him, and demanded to know where she was almost every minute of the day.

Thankfully summer came and went, the two months a sweet reprieve as she went back home. She had ended all her compulsory freshman classes and half of the ones she was supposed to take during sophomore year and loosened a little, choosing to focus on making a little more money to be able to live comfortably in Velaris.

Then it was again September. Tamlin had picked her up from the train station and took her to a nice restaurant to make up for the ' lost time' without her during his summer in Europe. Feyre didn't particularly mind, but she also didn't like over the top romantic gestures as much as he did. Still, she kept quiet and enjoyed the nice evening, as he was back into his ' old' self, as he spoke of his travels and the people he had met and the food he had eaten. By the end of the night they didn't have much time to share how she had spent the summer working and being overall plain and boring, but she didn't mind that he hadn't asked, since she hadn't been particularly fond of telling him either.

A new school year meant a new roommate for Feyre, since Alis had graduated that summer, and whatever star was looking over her granted Feyre Morrigan.

Morrigan Gold was a beautiful soul. She was pre-law junior and had a constant real smile on her lips, her long golden hair cascading on her back in soft curls. Her tan skin and kind brown eyes gave her an aura of gentleness that very few possessed. She was truly Feyre's first real friend, not just someone to hang out with or to talk to, but someone she could see easily in her life still 50 years in the future, sipping tea and laughing on a porch, talking about everything and nothing.

"That's how you know someone's gonna stick" Mor had told her one night, coming back from Rita's, their usual club, "you imagine being old on a porch with them!" Feyre had laughed at that, claiming that she wasn't 100% sure of that reality since she couldn't imagine Tamlin ever sitting outside peacefully. That just earned her a pointed stare from the other girl, but neither commented and they changed the topic onto something easier as they stumbled back to their dorm room, completely wasted and happy. The next day brought a wicked hangover and Tamlin, pissed that she had gone out without him and that she had drunk, but Mor, bless her soul, didn't comment either. She just offered Feyre a shoulder to cry on and her comfort, swearing to cut off his balls at her command. The aspiring artist merely laughed at that through her tears, unsure of what she wanted to do herself.

But having Mor as a friend meant also that Feyre had been adopted into her Inner Circle.

Adopted by Amren Drake, the tiny terrifying senior that already had a job for the following year as an associate to teach Ancient Greek.

Adopted by Azriel Nox, Morrigan's adoptive cousins that learnt informatics and coding as if they were his mother tongue.

Adopted by Cassian Nox, Mor's other adoptive cousin that could cook a masterpiece and also ' kick some serious butt' at any given occasion.

And, finally, adopted by Rhysand Nox, Mor's actual cousin of blood. Rhys was an English major, a year older than Feyre, like everyone else in their little family. He was the type of person that one day, without a doubt, would win some prize for the things he wrote, but still had to master the art through higher education first. The only way to describe him was by calling him a 'dreamer who refused to settle into a grey reality'. He was an optimist and one of the most beautiful people Feyre had ever met, both inside and outside. Jet black hair, dark skin and a smile that could knock the socks off of a statue, he was also the most humble and down to earth guy in a mile radius. They had hit it off right away, with innocent platonic flirting and long serious talks. He knew she was with Tamlin and didn't push her boundaries. He saw the world the same way she did and she understood what he meant before he even said it.

Needless to say, when Tamlin found out who she was hanging with, he became even more paranoid than he already was. It wasn't only the fact that she hung out with males that weren't him to set him off. The thing that drove him ballistic was her closeness with Rhysand, his sworn one-sided enemy that had bested him in every class they had shared on their freshman year.

Her best and closest friend in the entire world.

She had been forced choose by Tamlin, before the Christmas break, between him and her friends, and choose to please her boyfriend and started to isolate herself little by little from her group of friends, afraid of what would have happened otherwise. After all, she had no one but Tamlin, right?

But as she came back from the free days spent at home with her sisters and father, she began to realize how lonely she was, how unhappy she had been lately. She had retorted back into her former self, into the girl that only thought about school and work, that didn't have time for friends.

Feyre decided to give their relationship more time, to wait till the finals were over and till everything was back to normal, but things never were normal to begin with.

And so, that cold February day, she cut it off in front of all her classmates and began to feel immediately better.

But now she was once again tired.

[ladye11e]

Deception pt 23

The conflict between the Assassins and the Templars is getting out of hand. Lies, deceit and subterfuge, now you must pick a side...

Tagging @geekgoddess813 @sweet-flash @ermergerd517 @i-wontgivein @imakemyownblog 💕

If anyone else would like a tag (if Tumblr plays ball 😑) shoot me a dm 😊

Link to the full fic so far is Here.

 You made it back to the Morrigan with little hassle, as you had managed to avoid most of the crew that were scampering about aimlessly in trying to figure out what had happened. Tossing the bag with the engine part in it to Gist; who was waiting for you as soon as you had boarded, you took a moment to double check that no one had followed you, figuring you had about half an hour before any kind of pursuit would be made.

"I suggest we go, now."

Christopher nodded and ran up to the helm as you followed Shay downstairs and into the living room, grabbing the first aid kit that had been left out on the deck for 'just in case' on the way. Tugging your mask and hood down, you held on to the back of the sofa when the ship suddenly jolted, feeling more at ease now you knew that you were underway.

"Come on, let's have a look at you."

"That Connor sure packs a punch, but lass, I'm fine. I don't need looking after. Actually..."

Rolling your eyes with a scoff when he perched himself on the arm of the sofa and pulled his hood down with a devilish gleam in his eye, you cupped his chin and turned his head gently, grimacing when you saw an inch long gash at the back of his head, accompanied by a lump the size of an egg.

"Gist was right, you are insatiable."

Grabbing a pad from the kit, you gingerly dabbed at the wound to try and clean up some of the blood that had dried and matted around it so you could take a better look, the corner of your mouth twitching when he didn't even flinch at your probing.

"Aye, but lucky for me you're just as bad. Well, I guess that could have gone better, hopefully it'll be a while before they start followin' us again. Least they won't be able to catch us this time."

Dropping the gauze as you froze for a moment, you spun around and ran as fast as your legs would carry you up the stairs and towards the helm, nearly ripping the door off its hinges as you burst through it.

"Gist! Where's my phone?!!"

"What? It's on the counter in the kitchen, why..."

Turning on your heel, you grabbed hold of the rail when you saw Shay bounding up the steps, leaping over so you landed on the middle deck and sprinted down to the kitchen without missing a beat. Spying the bag on the side, you ripped it open and tipped it's entire contents on the floor, stamping down on your phone with the heel of your boot, just as Shay barged through the door.

"(Name), what the hell's the matter?"

Rifling through the grains of rice and the shattered pieces of your phone, you picked up the small, thin microchip that had been attached to the battery, holding it between your thumb and forefinger so he could see it.

"This is how they managed to find us. I-It's my fault." You mumbled, lowering your head when Shay took it off you and glared at it.

"It's not your fault. Bloody assassins."

Your brow furrowed and your eyes roamed about the floor as he stood there contemplating what to do with the chip, pondering why you weren't feeling guilty about being tracked.

"Shay, there's something else..." You whispered, wondering if what happened on the helm of the Jackdaw had anything to do with why at this moment, you had zero emotions.

Swallowing hard and taking a step closer to him when he looked back up at you, you grabbed his coat by the lapel and pulled him towards you the rest of the way, pressing your lips softly against his. Please don't be broken... Please don't be broken... You chanted over and over in your head, grinning against his mouth when your stomach was fluttering, and a warm tingle spread throughout you.

"You know I'd never complain about you wantin' a kiss, but what was that about?" He breathed huskily, winding his arms around your waist as he leant against the countertop.

"Something happened to me after I found out about the tracker, and then when I saw you'd been caught. I was so, angry. Upset. Then it all just went away, like I was numb. But then, after I couldn't feel anything, I-I don't know how to describe it. I could hear your heart beating, I could feel it. That's how I managed to get to you so quickly..."

You trailed off when he was just staring at you wide-eyed, then a flicker of realisation settling in with a soft smile as he pulled you even firmer against him.

"You know what it is?!"

"I'm not sure, but I think so. Sounds like Eagle sense. It's rare, very rare, only been two, maybe three known cases of it. But it's always been the oldest and wisest of assassins that have it, and you don't have the vision, so I can't see how."

"So, that's why I can't feel anything?"

"There's always some kind of price to pay, for everything, but I don't know that much about what it actually does."

Chewing at your bottom lip and fiddling with one of the straps on his coat as you tried to process this information, you looked up when you felt his hands on your waist tighten, cocking your head when he seemed somewhat anxious about something.

"Love, just now, when you..."

"Don't worry," you giggled, nudging your nose with his and giving him a soft peck on the cheek. "I felt everything when I kissed you."

His tense grip melted away with a sigh of relief when you wiggled your eyebrows at him suggestively, stepping back when he reached out behind him and plucked up an apple out of the nearby fruit bowl, pushing the microchip through the skin and deep into the flesh.

"I wasn't worried." He smirked, feining smugness as you followed him back upstairs. "Now let's get rid of this bloody thing."

After Shay had spectacularly thrown the apple onto a passing fishing trawler that was headed back to the Azores, you were laid on the sofa with your head in his lap, flicking through the tv channels mindlessly. Chucking the remote down when you couldn't find anything that kept your attention, you shuffled around so you were now on your back, staring up at him when you saw he had his eyes closed and was half asleep.

"Where did you learn to throw like that?" You blurted in trying to wake him up, knowing he shouldn't really be sleeping so soon after getting cracked on the head.

His eyes snapped open, and his head shot up when he realised he had almost nodded off, stretching out to try and make himself a bit more alert.

"Hmm? Oh. Grew up in a rough neighbourhood in New York. Chucking things like that helps in a pinch when you've got a gang chasin' after ya."

"Guess that happened quite a lot then? Wait, you grew up in New York? I thought you were from Ireland?"

You sat up when he suddenly jerked underneath you, wincing when he gritted his teeth as he had gone to lace his fingers behind his head and, brushed up against his wound.

"I am, well my parents were. I've never actually been to the motherland."

"Soooo, you're an Irishman, who's never been to Ireland?! Bahahahahaha!"

You giggles multiplied when he began poking in your side for your mocking, only just managing to get them under control when Christopher bounded into the room, wiping his greasy hands on a rag with a self-satisfied grin.

"Well that was easier than I thought it was going to be, the engine is now running at two-thirds capacity. We should be back in Boston in five days, give or take."

Pouting when you had hoped it would take a bit longer than that; now finding yourself in not such a rush to get back, you prodded Shay with your elbow when you spotted him yawning and closing his eyes again.

"Yeah, I know. Damn I need coffee."

Gist took it as his queue to leave with a smirk and, mumbling 'rabbits' under his breath when you nudged your head towards the door, walking your fingers slowly up Shays inner thigh the second he had his back turned.

"There's a better way of staying awake than with caffeine..." You whispered seductively, adorning a huge grin when he suddenly looked very alert.

As Christopher had predicted, five days later you were stood at the bow with your elbows propped on the rail, staring out at Boston in the distance. You still had four days of your leave at least, but you knew you would end up spending half of that with the Templars. Even though you weren't exactly worried about it anymore, you still felt apprehensive at continuing working both sides, and it was about time you came to a decision.

Sauntering upstairs to the helm, you sat down in the seat next to Shay and propped your legs up on the console, sticking your tongue out and dropping them back down when he flicked at your big toe.

"Meanie. So how long until we dock?"

"Bout an hour I reckon. Decided what you're gonna do with the rest of ya time off yet?"

Looking up at him out of the corner of your eye, you bit the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from grinning when you saw he was doing the same to you, thinking you'd have a bit of fun and wind him up about it.

"Well, considering I'm more exhausted now than before I started, I figured I'd relax a bit. You know, do all those girly things. Go to a spa, get my nails and hair done, perhaps a nice massage from a good looking man....."

Barely able to hold your laughter back as it looked like he was chewing on a wasp, you spun your chair so you were facing him, pressing your hands on the space between your legs and leaning forwards.

"Unless you had any suggestions?"

Watching him jab a few buttons to the side of him, you squealed when he suddenly let go of the wheel and slid his hands under your arms and picked you up, dropping you so you were sat just on the very edge of the console.

"Oh, I've got one or two ideas love. Checking into the hotel and spendin' the next few days in bed undisturbed? That's relaxing, and the room service is pretty good. An just maybe, I could help ya with that massage you were on about."

Wrapping one arm around him to pull him closer, you tapped your chin with your finger and pretended to consider it, trying to ignore the positively sinful look he was giving you.

"Tempting. Very tempting. But I have a feeling that I wouldn't be relaxing much, you snore. There is one thing I need to do, so you'll have to do without me for a few hours though. I'll think about it." You grinned.

"Will ya now." He chuckled, squeezing the tops of your thighs gently. "Well, either way, we've gotta go and check in at headquarters when we get back, might as well get that over and done with first."

You flinched at the thought of going back to headquarters and facing Haytham, not even thinking about it until now. After he'd not mentioned anything to you about what happened after the ball, you were still pissed at him, plus Shays reaction to you having been with Jacob, if he found out about you and the Grand Master this was not going to be pretty, at all. Also, if Haytham found out about you and Shay after his years of pursuing you, being the egotistical man that he is you knew that he would either deliberately try to sabotage you, or even worse, potentially out you to the assassins in retaliation. This was turning out to be a disaster. You actually considered asking Shay to keep your relationship hidden for now, but you knew that would create a whole spiral of questions, so you decided to scratch that idea. Your only hope was that you could get in, and out in the least amount of time possible, and pray that all conversation stayed work related.

"I know that look. What's bothering you, love?"

"Hmm? Nothing, just that every time I need to go to headquarters, I usually end up being kidnapped." You giggled, giving him your widest smile and hoping that he believed that was what you were thinking about.

"Kidnapped!?"

Shrugging your shoulders as he now looked thoroughly confused, you slid down off the console and gave him a peck on the cheek, before grabbing hold of the wheel and pretended to steer the ship.

"Yeah, kidnapped. To keep up the front, if anyone happened to be watching? Haytham suggested it, said it would be better that way. I hate it, but I did manage to break Charles' nose last time, so I suppose it's not all bad."

Your eyes widened when Shay walked up behind you and leant around your side, pressing the same buttons as before to disengage the autopilot, then lay his hands on top of yours and made you spin the wheel slightly to the left.

"Oh he did, did he."

Turning your head when he sounded amused, you raised your eyebrow when he just stared out of the window over your shoulder, indeed looking quite entertained at what you had just said.

"What's so funny?"

"You'll see lass. You'll see.

[hunnybadgerv]

Through the Smoke | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: In war decisions are made that not all will agree with or like.

a/n: Inspired by a prompt from @katalyna-rose. Thank you so much for this. Though I’m not sure I managed to capture the extra angst. Written for @dadrunkwriting sorry that it took so long. Thank you again for the prompt.

Links:  AO3 | FFnet

Through the Smoke

Smoke billowed in the distance. A sure sign that the armies of Ferelden were hours behind the Darkspawn force descending on Denerim. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind, but keen hearing made the elf certain he could hear screams on the whipping breezes that rushed through the trees and stirred up the dust kicked up by more than a thousand feet trudging through the Bannorn. They’d marched for hours, some of the force marched for more depending on where their journeys began—an army built of elves, dwarves, mages, and men of the Bannorn conscripted to the service of Ferelden by the remaining Grey Wardens to replace that force lost at Ostagar. A few miles outside the city with pillars of black smoke rising behind her, Queen Anora rallied the troops, praising Cyna Mahariel as a stand-out among the Grey Wardens, a true daughter of Ferelden.

Zevran snorted a quiet laugh. He knew the truth. Cyna hadn’t been born in the borders of this land. Her people had migrated here after.

The blond noble, whose own father was a reason for her husband’s death and the ravaging of the land, rallied the troops with a cry to avenge Cailan. It drew vibrant cheers from much of the human contingent. But what struck home more sharply among the crowd, himself included, was her cry to show all Grey Wardens that the people of Ferelden remembered, and honored their sacrifice.

What Zevran recalled keenly more than any of the queen’s words was the way Cyna Mahariel, “an elf raised to the ranks of the Grey Wardens” as Anora put it, shied away from the praise the armored blond woman tried to lay about her shoulders. She and Alistair stood to the side stoic and calm, knowing their place was at the front of this force, not only because of their station as the last two—no, three now that Riordan finally arrived—remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, but also as a beacon to rally and inspire the troops. Their fight, their blood, their determination would encourage the others to the same—that was the thought in times like this, Zevran told himself. The leaders must be at the front, an example to the others. Yes, that was the logic. It felt foreign to him.

He worked in the shadows, in the quiet. Not out in the open. Even so he watched the spectacle for what it was, a show. Anora would be nowhere near the fighting, he was certain. His place was amidst the army, with the Grey Wardens’ company, as he’d been for months now. A single Crow could do little to excite or prop up anyone’s bravery, he knew. But none of that force looked to him, their eyes were on the wardens, on Cyna.

Staring at her brought back near memories. She had visited his room the night before in Redcliffe. Neither could claim to be well rested for the battle ahead, but they were still primed for the conflict that was unavoidable. Even so, worry spun a tight web around Zevran’s spine. Both last night and as the army closed on an embattled Denerim, he could sense something in her. A tightness in her body, a distance in her eyes. He could not put a finger on it, but he could feel it. Despite his certainty, he did not inquire, then or now. He did not push. In truth, he feared knowing the answer behind why they spent the entire night in one another’s arms, drinking deep from the cup of lust and love.

It was easier to ignore the reasons. Easier to rush the gates of the city and cut a swath through the darkspawn horde to their tainted Old God than it was to face the truth that he somehow knew in his heart.

Or so he thought.

The pillars of dark smoke that had been defined at a distance became nothing more than a swirling mass that moved to blot out the sun as gouts of flame licked into the sky belching forth more. It turned the sky unnatural shades of red streaked with gray. At the gates Riordan rejoined the company Cyna commanded. Told her of his plan to draw the dragon to Fort Drakon, then suggested splitting her band—the ones that had traveled with her so far—and leaving half of them to defend the gate from any darkspawn reinforcements.

Zevran saw it in her eyes even before she nodded her agreement. She would leave him behind no matter how he might argue that his place was at her side.

As always, the warden was pragmatic in her decision. A keen strategic mind lay behind those mesmerizing green eyes, even so, he wished he could affect her decision.

“Alistair, Wynne, and—”

The Crow wanted to hear his name. Here her request him to remain at her side even to the last moment of this battle. He stepped forward even as Mahariel called another’s name.

“—Morrigan. With me. Sten, I need you to lead these men. Hold the gates. Do not let the darkspawn pass.”

She shared a word with Leliana. Then Dog, the beast sensing she was leaving him behind too, nudged at her thigh. She scratched his clipped ears and nuzzled its forehead, speaking to it in Dalish. Dog barked a few times, and there was a soft laugh from her in reply. “Be valiant,” she told the hound before she stood again.

When her gaze fell on him, Zevran couldn’t disguise the hurt in his heart. “So, it is here that we part ways,” he said, his inflection almost turning the statement towards a question. He stepped toward, her taking her hand. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to broach the subject, but he needed to know. “You do not with me to stand by you in the end?”

“Zevran.” Her bare fingers traced his cheekbones. “I … I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“Oh, now you worry about my health?” he laughed. It forced the corners of his mouth upward, but only long enough to make their fall into a frown more obvious.

She mirrored it, closing the scant distance between them.

“In truth,” he told her, “for the chance to be by your side I would storm the Dark City itself. Never doubt it.”

“I know,” Cyna replied.

Her reaction surprised him. The velvety softness of her lips brushed against his, the kiss deepening quickly.

“Whatever happens, Zevran,” she said against his mouth as her vibrant gaze met his, “I love you.”

“Cruel to the end,” the told her. Fear cracking through his heart and his voice.

For so long, he thought his faith in her knew no bounds, but as she slipped out of his arms and turned away he worried. Feared that this might be a challenge she may not be up to task for. He watched her, every single step, as Cyna walked into Denerim. Darkness wrapped around his heart and squeezed when she looked back over her shoulder at him before disappearing into the smoke with her bow in hand. She left him. Left him to wonder, and worry.

Would he ever see her again? Would he ever know the feel of her hand on his cheek? Her lips on his?

In an instant, a panic set in. He hadn’t paid enough attention. He couldn’t recall how her lips felt against his. Taking a step for the gates, he felt a thick hand against his chest.

“She needs us to hold this gate,” Sten stated.

Looking up into the sharp features of the hornless qunari warrior, Zevran felt hollow. The words rang true. Safe was a relative term, he knew. While she would not take him with her to face the dragon, Zevran and her other companions were only slightly safer than those she led to the fort. A far-off screech signaled all the fighters at the gate that more darkspawn approached.

Zevran met Sten’s gaze again and nodded once. She needed him here. He would not let her down, even if this might prove his final act of devotion. As he turned, daggers now in hand, a look of determination etched itself across the Crow’s features. As long as he drew breath, no more darkspawn would enter via this gate. He would not disappoint her.

He would hold that gate until he saw her again, even to his very last breath. That she could be certain of.

“Hold!” Sten called out to those companions and soldiers as the force rushed toward them.

[lynyrdwrites]

Bonded

I have all the Nessian feels after ACOWAR. So I needed to write something, based off my own pet theory about the scene when she couldn’t leave him.  I’m sure  others have the same theory. Please enjoy!

As always - @accidental-rambler,  I wrote Nessian.

---

She buried herself away in her room.

              In part, it was to mourn.  Their father… he had been a terrible parent to them, but in the end, he had fought for them.  And part of Nesta mourned that she would never get to know that man.  The one willing, finally, to fight for his daughters. So yes, part of it was to mourn.

              But…

              She could hear her sisters laughing below, finding joy in the sunshine, and the life that thrived in the city they now called home.  She wanted to be there, with Feyre and Elain, to live, because she had been so very certain she was going to die.

              Black flashed outside her window, and Nesta quickly retreated away.  She peeked out once, and saw it was the man shrouded in shadows – Azriel – and her shoulders slumped in relief, even as something in her chest went tight.

              She could… feel him.  Cassian.  As though he had somehow found a home inside her chest. Bits of them had been there since that day with the  cauldron, but not like this.  Not until the battle, and that clearing.

              I have no regrets in my life but this; that we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.

              His lips – they had been warm and dry, and Nesta could still feel them branded on her own.  More than their kiss when she was human, the one he gave her in that clearing haunted her dreams.  The first had been passion, the second regret for what would never be.

              I will find you in the next world – the next life. And we will have that  time. I  promise.

              Except they had this life, because they hadn’t died, no matter how certain they’d both been of their end.  It had been easier to accept it when she knew she was going to die, that bond between them, the one that had snapped tight when she had realized she couldn’t leave him behind.  Not him.

              In death it had been easy, but in life…

              Nesta Archeron might be a coward.

              She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall next to her window.  She could feel him, and if she reached out…

              He reached back, and it felt almost as though he were next to her, his hands stroking her skin and –

              Nesta shoved him out.  Or maybe she blocked the bond.  She didn’t know what she did.  She was still aware of him, but there was a distance – the distance she had been carefully maintaining by staying hidden away in her room, even though she knew Elain and Feyre didn’t understand why.

              And Nesta refused to tell them.

              She found herself standing in front of the door, looking at it longingly.  Even across the room from her window, Elain’s laughter reached her.  It had been so long since Elain had laughed like that, and when she had seemed so broken after Graysen had denied her…

              Nesta had worried she wouldn’t hear it again.

              But… if the Shadowsinger was here then –

              She felt him, even though she had dulled the bond, like the beat of her heart. He was here. He was mere footsteps away.

              He was…

              “Nesta.” Her name was a quiet growl from the other side of the door, and without meaning to, Nesta laid her palm there.  She knew with a bone deep certainty, that her hand rested over his, as though they were touching through the wood.  When he repeated her name, it was almost prayer-like. “Nesta.”

              “I don’t know what to do about you,” she whispered. Her voice should have been too quiet for him to hear, but they echoed in that bond between them  as well, and she knew they had reached him.

              “Come out, Nesta,” he replied.  “You don’t have to do anything else.  Just come out.  Your sisters miss you.”

              Her hand curled into a fist against the door, uncertainty warring with desire to be with her sisters – to be with him.

              I’ll leave.  The voice in her head made her freeze, because it was his, but it sounded desperate, even frenzied.  If it will make it easier, I’ll leave.

              And he would ache every second he was gone.

              And so… so would she.

              The door creaked open, and there he stood.   Dressed in leather, his hair tugged out of his face, hazel eyes focused on her with a solemnity that seemed foreign on his face.

              “I have never admitted to needing another person in my life,” Nesta said, when they stood there, separated by a mere  foot, but making no move  to bridge the distance, though Cassian’s hand clenched, as though his palm felt the same itch as hers for contact.  “I... even when Feyre kept us alive, I would never admit that I needed her.”

              “You don’t nee-”

              “I need you,”  Nesta blurted out over  him.  She didn’t recognize her own voice, filled with desperation, hoarse with the effort it took not to choke on the words.  “I need you, and when I thought you were going to die… I though it for the best I die with you, because I didn’t think I’d  survive it if you were gone.”

              It was the first time she had ever admitted to such a weakness, and the words felt foreign on her tongue.  But they were the utter truth, torn from her heart, because she needed him.

              She thought she would hate it, needing another person.  But she didn’t.

              “Nesta,” he whispered again, her name still like a prayer, and he held her face between his palms and sealed his lip over her own.

              If their first kiss had been passion, and their second regret… then this one was a promise. It made it so easy, for her to grasp his face as well, to kiss him over and  over, taking quick breaths in between.

              Their heartbeats were a wild staccato between them, and it reminded her that they were alive – that he was alive.

              “Don’t cry,” Cassian murmured, breaking off their kisses to rub his thumbs over her cheeks and wipe away the tears Nessian hadn’t even realized had begun to fall.  “Don’t cry, Nesta.  You’re here.  I’m here.  We’re fine.”

              Sobs  tore out of her chest, and she wasn’t even entirely sure what they were for.  Grief for her father?  Relief to still be alive?  Terror, because being alive meant she’d have to live this life now… and without a war to focus on, what would that life be?

              Maybe all of it.

              They sunk to the floor, Cassian holding her close, rocking them back and forth, her tears soaking his leathers. A thousand emotions, the ones she had been keeping locked away, swamped her, and all she could do was cling to him and let the tears fall.

              Let them fall until there was nothing left to cry, and even then he still rocked her.

              “I can feel you,” she said at last.  “It’s like you’re a piece of me.”

              And that connection… she thought it might have been there all along, but it hadn’t been torn open, not until they were both so certain they were going to die, and all that had been left was regret over what they could have had.

              “I know,” Cassian replied, and though there was something like wonder in his voice, there was another emotion that she felt across the bond, one that had her looking up at him with a furrowed brow.  He looked down at her, his eyes almost sad.   “I lead Rhys’ armies, but I’m still just a bastard Illyrian.”

              Not nearly good enough for you.  She wasn’t sure she was meant to hear that, but it had her straightening in his embrace, swiping tears away with steady  hands.

              “You don’t get to decide that,” Nesta informed him stoutly.  “I do. And I’ve decided I’m keeping you.”

              “When the hell did you decide that?” Cassian demanded, frowning as Nesta pushed out of his arms and scrambled to her feet. She paused thoughtfully, considering the question.

              “When I thought you were going  to die,” she decided finally. “And I couldn’t leave you behind.”

              She gave a sharp nod, as though it were all decided, but the outrage in the bond had her sighing and looking back at him with a frustrated huff.

              “You can’t just say that!” he informed her.  “That you made the decision then – you didn’t even visit me while I healed!”

              That had hurt him, Nesta realized, utterly fascinated with how she could just know so much of him, the bond between them becoming a solid, breathing thing – stronger with each moment in each other’s company.

              “I’m sorry,” she said at  last, because she hadn’t meant to hurt him. “I was grieving, and Morrigan was…” she trailed off with a helpless shrug, not wanting to admit her jealousy, that Mor had always been there when she had… needed it.   “I’m sorry.”

              He cocked his head, his expression almost confused as he attempted to figure out her tumultuous emotions. Whatever he decided she was feeling made him smile, and he stepped into her, reaching out to twine a loose lock of her hair around his finger.

              “I’m sorry, too.  Next time, I’ll tell Mor that you get to be my nurse.”

              Nesta’s eyes narrowed, a hot retort on her tongue, but Cassian tugged her  in for another one of those soul destroying kisses.

              It was so easy,  to lose herself  in him, to let him push her against the wall and run his hands along her body.  She sighed into the kiss  and clutched his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

              “I want you,” he admitted on a gasp, and Mor wanted to say it back, only he kissed her again.

              Then laughter chimed once more, and Nesta froze, making Cassian do the same. With an almost pained groan, he pulled away.

              “To bed,” he murmured, seeming to be talking more to himself than  her.  “That’s what all mates are supposed to feel. The overwhelming urge to go to bed. But not my Nesta. You can somehow resist. And here I am, damn well stopping.”

              “I…need them,” she said softly, cupping his cheek with her hand.   The word still fell off her tongue awkwardly, but Cassian nodded and closed his eyes,  resting his  forehead on hers.   “I’ve been hidden away here for too long.”

              He stepped back and held out his hand.  She reached forward, almost hesitantly, and slid her  hand into his.

              They seemed to just fit.

              And then, Nesta followed  the sound of Elain’s laughter, tugging  her  mate along  at  her side.

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 11

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre and Elain have a heart to heart about Thanksgiving plans that leaves Feyre with a big decision to make. But a big surprise at school courtesy of the one and only Morrigan distracts her from it fairly quickly.

Chapter 11

I waited until there were only two weeks left until Thanksgiving to make the phone call. I hadn’t told dad about my plans yet lest I get his hopes up only to have them come crashing down.

“Hello?”

“Elain? Hey.”

“Feyre - hi!” Elain sounded genuinely pleased to hear my voice and I was glad. It was one reason I’d called her over Nesta. Elain was almost always guaranteed to be happy. “Oh, it’s so nice that you called. I’ve missed you.”

Somehow, I didn’t think that was true, but I wanted to try and be a family again. So in the spirit of trying to get along better with my sisters and not be so cynical about them, I mustered up all of Mor’s inspired cheeriness and replied, “I missed you too. Um - I wanted to see if I could talk to you about something.”

“Go for it.”

“What would you think about coming over for Thanksgiving?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. I wasn’t sure if she was just thinking or if her heart had stopped beating because she already had other plans.

So I kept right on talking.

“I just figured with dad being, you know, out of it from time to time and us not seeing you now that you’re back in school - Nesta too - that it would be nice to have dinner together. We’ve never not had Thanksgiving together. Why stop a good thing, ha.”

I had hoped to come across with a certain balance between good humor and good reasoning that we should spend the holiday together, but I guess it didn’t work.

“I think that’s very admirable of you,” Elain said, “to want us all together. You’ve always looked out for dad and that’s… well, that’s helpful. But you need to understand something, Feyre. Nesta and I, we’re rather upset with dad right now.”

“Nesta and you, or just Nesta?”

“Both of us! I can speak for myself, you know.” For the first time, Elain raised her voice at me, not enough to burn, but enough to scold. “We’re having dinner this year with mom. And she wants you to come.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not and I really wish you would take this more seriously. She feels awful for what happened.”

“As evidenced by the fact that she hasn’t called or texted once. Not once, Elain.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but Nesta’s right. That phone of yours works two ways. Did you ever consider that maybe mom is scared and waiting for you to come to her?”

My fingers tightened on the phone at my ear. I wanted to throw it across the room. But Rhys had encouraged me to try and I did want to make this work. No matter how much they infuriated me sometimes, I missed my family, feeling like I had a home to come back to at the end of the day.

And she did have a point. I’d never really considered mom’s position in all of this, but my pride still broke anew over me.

“She’s the parent, Elain,” I said letting some of the vulnerability I felt come through. I knew with Elain, at least, she wouldn’t scoff at it. “Parents look after their children. It shouldn’t be the other way around.”

“You realize what you just said, don’t you? What about dad? Are you going to be his parent too?” She wasn’t being mean or even critical. There was just some kind of quiet curiosity on the other end trying to understand a person she didn’t quite see eye to eye with. “Look, just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? I know you don’t think much of us-”

“That’s not true. Why do you think I’m calling?”

Elain sighed. “I know, I know. You’re right, I’m sorry. I just need you to understand that dad has hurt us too, just as much as mom has, and right now it’s easier for us to be away. Please tell me you’ll consider coming with us to dinner with mom? Or that you’ll at least give her a call?”

“Only if you promise to do the same about dad. He misses you too.”

“I think we all do, Feyre. I think we all miss each other.”

“Then why aren’t we together?”

“I don’t know,” and we both sounded so glum. “I just don’t know.”

We hung up and I tried not to let the sense of dread clawing at my heart to break in and weigh me down again. I knew this moment was coming and that it would be hard, but Rhys had told me to choose the good over the bad. He and Mor both had.

It had been months since I’d last spoken to mom and I was still intensely bitter about her leaving. The thought of talking again still left a raw ache in my chest that I had no idea how to stitch back up.

I made it to school chewing on the idea of calling mom as I opened my locker. My backpack made a funny noise as I set it down inside. Was it possible mom hadn’t meant what she’d said the night she left? Did I really make her sick?

Underneath my backpack, a crinkled piece of parchment paper was smashed in half with an odd lump in the middle. A USB stick fell out when I picked it up.

For inspiration, it read it neat elegant script.

I turned the flash drive over in my fingers wondering what Rhys had put on here. I had plans to paint at the gallery later this evening after work. Maybe the timing was fate.

Goodness knew I needed the extra help. Mrs. Weaver pulled me aside in the middle of AP Studio Art to chat about how my senior project was going. When I mentioned that Amren hadn’t drawn anything more than dragons, Mrs. Weaver informed me that Amren had already turned three pieces in and that I should consider doing the same.

“I’m glad you’re keeping up on class assignments,” she said, “but your focus really should be on the self-portraiture. Would it help if I spent some extra time with you to go over it?”

I thought of how my hands were tied practically every day after school already and politely declined claiming I had some ideas lined up that I’d like to try first.

“You didn’t tell me you’d turned in a few pieces already,” I hissed at Amren when Mrs. Weaver let me go.

“You didn’t ask.” I took some time to properly look at what Amren was working on. This whole time I’d only see a strange blur of colors. Now she added lines and shapes began to take form, an abstract version of scales or claws maybe. It was dark and oddly satisfying.

“Looks good, Am.”

A little hum rang in her throat before the overhead speakers blared. Mrs. Weaver gave an exasperated cry at the sound.

“Gooooooood afternooooon, seniors!”

We all looked up puzzled by the random intermission. School announcements were always done in the morning.

“You’ve been waiting. You’ve been voting. And the time is finally here to announce… the 2016 Winter Formal Court!”

“There’s a Winter Formal court?”

“Shit, Feyre. Do you not pay attention to anything?”

“Apparently not.”

I wasn’t even aware we’d voted for a Winter Formal court. I had been busy and my mind was definitely pre-occupied most days, but surely I wasn’t that daft to miss something like this? I was on the actual committee for the dance after all.

The jubilant voice on the speaker read off the list of guys who’d made it and surprise of all surprises, Rhysand was top of the list. As was Cassian, which for a quarterback who spoke Russian and had all the girls swooning made sense.

Morrigan’s was the first name read off for the girls. Amren and I exchanged a knowing look. Mor would be positively delighted, of course. There were three other names ticked off and I was nearly done packing up my supplies when...

“And last but certainly not least, Feyre Archeron! Well done, lords and ladies. We’ll see you at Starfall!”

“Feyre!”

Mrs. Weaver had jumped up from her seat with her hands clapping erratically.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no. I had to have heard wrong. There was no way I was -

“Ha-ha!” Amren was beside herself, her cheeks flaring red from laughing so hard. “You’re on Winter Formal court!”

“I am not,” I hissed. Mother above, I couldn’t possibly.

Amren stood up and swept my hair back marvelously over my shoulder, a regal gesture. “Yes, my dear. I do believe you are.”

I flew from the classroom, ran as fast my legs could carry me. I made it to the admin building at the same time Rhys did.

“Well if it isn’t the newest member of the-”

“Bite me!” I shouted at him and his violet eyes lit up in delight.

“With pleasure, darling, though I had hoped to do it somewhere with a little more privacy.”

“You’re a right royal pain in the ass. Now do something useful and get the door.”

He opened it with that sweeping gesture he sometimes made when he was being dramatic and I ran inside. Somehow, Morrigan had already made it to the meeting room. This time, she had her feet propped up on the table as she leaned back in the chair, hands tucked smugly behind her head. I’d have to remind myself to tell Cassian about that later.

“You,” was all I said. Morrigan laughed her perfect blond head silly.

“Look on the bright side, Feyre. Now you have to come dress shopping with me!”

xx

[theramblingscribe]

Warden Reborn

Chapter 1: Then It Was Over

Nyx had been told, when she awoke, of everything that had occurred. Of all that had happened on the rooftops of Fort Drakon. The darkspawn horde had nearly overwhelmed them, but she held her bow fierce and true, each new arrow sinking between dragon scales. Wynne healed every wound that struck Nyx. Alistair stayed close, ever the defender, shielding from the worst of the blows. Leliana ran circles around the darkspawn, felling them one after another, barely a flicker in the dark of the night.

The Archdemon, recognizing the growing threat of the two Grey Wardens, flew over to them, crashing in with a furious roar. It was weakening, slowing. A few more well placed arrows and Nyx could end it all, for good. She would let herself disappear, take the responsibility of the Wardens, the burden of death that came with ending the Blight, upon herself. She wouldn’t let it touch Alistair. Not when he needed to be king. Not when she loved him still.

Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, something gentle to pull her away as the dragon’s head fell, a soft grumble in its throat the only proof that it still lived. Nyx turned to stare at her love, certain that he only meant to say goodbye. She knew he couldn’t love her anymore. She was nothing but a Dalish elf, risen to become a leader through circumstance alone. To think that she’d grown so attached, not only to one shem, but to many, proved she was no longer the Nyx that left her Keeper and clan behind.

She parted her lips, to tell him goodbye for himself, but Alistair stopped her.

“I know you told Riordan that you would do this, but I can’t let you,” Alistair said. His brow was set so firm, but the eyes beneath still showed the softness of a child. How he’d known so many cruelties yet remained so kind was nothing short of miraculous. He was her miracle.

“It’s my decision, Alistair. I have to do this,” Nyx said. She could barely look him in the eye, but stood firm.

“I know, you’ve always been so willful and brave, but I can’t lose you. Not to this,” Alistair said. “I love you too much to watch you throw your life away.”

Nyx couldn’t hide her surprise. That day, which seemed a lifetime ago now, he’d broken her heart. Alistair was going to be king and no heir could be born of an elf, especially one of the “savage” Dalish. None of the nobility would accept it, no matter how much they respected her as a Warden. Nyx thought that his willingness to give her up meant he felt for her no longer.

“You…” Nyx tried to speak, but her heart swelled before it sank again. Of course. He still loved her, despite everything, but he was a dutiful man. She should have seen that before. “And I love you,” she said, trying to steel herself. “So will all of Ferelden, when you are king. You can’t die, you’re too important. In comparison I’m—”

“Don’t,” Alistair warned. “You are more important than I could ever be. I don’t care about the throne, but I do care that you stay alive. I won’t let you do this.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want you to die either?!” Nyx said. She was frantic. The darkspawn were still flooding in, even as their leader’s breath fell shallow. They couldn’t argue forever. One of them had to sink the blade into the monster’s head.

Alistair smiled, still charming even now. “I know,” he said. “That’s why you have to live. You’re better than I could ever be. You see the good in everyone, you’d do anything to see that everyone gets to live happily. They need you, Nyx.” Alistair raised a hand to his fellow Warden’s face, thumb brushing away a rebellious tear that had managed to escape her eye.

Nyx stood frozen as Alistair took up his blade and rushed at the dragon. Her fingers felt numb, her grip on her bow loosening. It fell to the ground, and she snapped back into focus. No, she thought, no, I just need to get to it before him.

A shaking hand took up one last arrow. She’d sink it into the Archdemon’s eye, before Alistair could reach it. She wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself.

Nyx lifted her bow to see Alistair raise his sword. She drew back her arrow. He brought the sharp steel of his blade sinking down into the skull of the Archdemon. Her arrow sailed, flying far to the right, striking the heart of a lingering genlock. Nyx, who prided herself in perfect aim, missed her target.

The rest was hazy, but Leliana had filled in most of the places where Nyx’s own memory failed. Light streamed from the final wound in the Archdemon’s skull. The light had looked as if it was filling Alistair, but he weakened as it surged through his body. He grimaced and pushed the sword deeper into the monster’s head. Then all that gathering light exploded around them, blowing everyone on the roof backwards.

“You hit your head,” Leliana said. “We were afraid that you were dead, but thankfully you were just unconscious. Wynne was one of the few people still able to move much, so she went to heal you when I called to her. It wasn’t long before reinforcements arrived, but most of the darkspawn started to flee as soon as the dragon was slain. They brought you here, to the palace, to rest.”

“And Alistair?” Nyx asked. It was pointless to hope, she knew, but the longer she waited to bring him up, the longer she would be able to hold on to that empty wish. Leliana’s face said it all. The way her lips tightened, gaze falling, Nyx knew.

“They brought his body here, too. To hold a funeral before putting him to the pyre. He will be sent off as a king,” Leliana explained. As if an honor in death made the dying any better.

Nyx brought her legs up to her chest, hugging them. She was still in the bed she’d woken up in. Wynne would be back soon with food and to check any lingering wounds. Nyx felt foolish for the thought, but wondered if the old woman could heal the pain inside her chest.

She was dressed as soon as she’d finished eating. Nyx was to look her best in the finest armor, her wild hair tamed as much as possible, then put on display with her new title as Hero of Ferelden. An empty title that she didn’t deserve. She stood in front of the gathered crowd as Anora was made Queen. Nyx tried to look brave. She wasn’t sure what heroes looked like, really, but she wanted to fool everyone she could into believing that she was one.

They cheered and Anora granted Nyx’s people land of their own, so they might never be made to fear by cruel shemlen ever again. That much, Nyx wanted to give. Then Anora asked what their hero would do next, and she just wasn’t sure what to say. The Blight was over. She had no goal any longer. Nyx would always be a Grey Warden. The memory of their call in the Deep Roads served as a reminder that there was no escaping that. Yet, the Wardens held no home for Nyx anymore.

“I’ll travel, for a time,” Nyx found herself saying. It seemed right. She’d find some goal, something to latch onto. Her mind was still muddled in the shock.

Nyx said her final goodbyes to the people she’d traveled with. None of them seemed appropriately broken up about the loss of Alistair. They already had plans, places to go. Their lives moved forward. Hers felt stuck.

“I heard you say you planned on traveling, is that correct?” Zevran asked her. “Perhaps you could use some companionship. Plus, you’ve already done a great job keeping the Crows from killing me horribly, I could use that kind of protection.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you wish,” Nyx said. “I’m not really sure where to go, though.”

Their lives moved forward, but there was nothing in the future for Nyx anymore. Nothing left that she wanted. There was only the past, which lay behind her in thousands of broken shards. It was a mirror that had started this all, wasn’t it? If she’d never gone there with Tamlen, if she’d only dragged him back to the keeper maybe she would be with her clan still. Nyx knew what she wanted, but it wasn’t ahead of her.

“Well, I will follow your lead regardless. Just so long as we don’t stay in one place for too long. Makes it easier to be found and that is the one thing I don’t want to be,” Zevran said.

Neither did Morrigan, Nyx thought. She’d thought over and over again of that night, how she’d kept Morrigan from Alistair and prevented the ritual from taking place. At the time, Nyx convinced herself it was selfless, protecting the world from dark magic Nyx couldn’t possibly understand, offering her life to the world as sacrifice instead. Now she knew the true selfishness behind her good intentions.

Maybe Morrigan would know a way to fix this. The witch was no stranger to dark magic. If there were a way to make everything better, make it all okay again, Morrigan would be the one to know how. Nyx exhaled, realizing that she had one mission left after all.

Despite her love for Alistair, and because of it, Nyx did not stay for the funeral. She asked Leliana to take her place, to make sure everyone knew just how wonderful of a man Alistair had been. Her friend promised her this much, though not without begging her to attend. With one look into Nyx’s eyes, Leliana could tell that Nyx needed to leave. She argued no further, but asked that Nyx stay and listen to the song Leliana had written in Alistair’s honor. It was the most beautiful thing Nyx had ever heard, and the most heartbreaking. The tune stayed in her head for days after she left Denerim.

In 9:32 Dragon, Nyx was alone again, with only her mabari hound at her side. She felt like she’d been endlessly chasing ghosts, hunting rumor after rumor of a witch with dark hair and bright eyes. Morrigan was not only elusive, but she was also busy. No doubt her plans had required a great change when she was denied her ritual.

Now Nyx found herself back in the Kocari Wilds, at the door of Flemeth’s hut. There was no sense of life in the wooden house anymore. Both Morrigan and her mysterious mother were long gone. A lingering sense of immense power remained in the air, but that was the only hint that either of the women had ever been there. Perseus, the mabari that Nyx had met back in Ostagar, howled softly.

“Shh, boy, I know,” Nyx said gently. “We’ll find Morrigan. I know we’re close now.” She gave the loyal dog a gentle pat on his head, then opened the door. It was unlocked, nothing left inside that required protecting. Nyx looked around the room of the small hut. It looked exactly the same as the last time she’d been here, when she retrieved Flemeth’s grimoire for Morrigan. She didn’t remember the moment fondly, as even in her hands she felt the weight and power behind the old tome. There was much of this place that frightened Nyx, but she couldn’t lose face.

A girl popped out from around the back corner of the house, wielding a blade. The two women froze, but Perseus was at the ready, growling a warning at the stranger to protect Nyx. Yet, it only took one look at the mysterious girl to know that she was a Dalish warrior.

“Wow, of all the people I would have thought to find here, I would not have believed it to be one of my kin. Andaran atishan, lethallan,” the elf woman said, putting back her sword. Nyx ran a hand over Perseus’ fur to calm him.

“Andaran atishan,” Nyx repeated the greeting. It felt almost foreign now, having spent so much time away from her clan in the world of humans. It was almost like she had lost the right to use her people’s language at all.

“Might I ask what you’re doing out here? You’re not from my clan, but perhaps the Witch of the Wilds has stolen from you, as well?” the elven woman said.

“No, I’ve other business with Morrigan,” Nyx said.

“Business?” the stranger pressed.

“She is…was, a friend. I need her help with something,” Nyx said.

“A friend? It is strange to hear someone describe the witch as such, though I suppose even someone like her must have friends. My name is Ariane. I need to find Morrigan because she stole something from our people. You know how precious our history is to us, don’t you? Well Morrigan took some of our oldest books. I need to see them returned, we Dalish have already lost so much to dirty shemlen, I couldn’t bear to see another piece of us lost,” Ariane said.

Nyx was reminded of lectures from her own Keeper about such things. Old secrets and magic and all that the Dalish had lost remained only in descriptions on paper. So much of their history was gone, but the wild elves held tight to every piece they could find. What Morrigan wanted with these secrets, Nyx did not know. Her memory of the woman was not of a common thief or someone who would take important things just for money. The books themselves probably held no worth to any but the Dalish. They had a wealth in information, but what could a shem – mage or not – do with information alone?

“Do you have any leads?” Nyx asked. It was obvious Morrigan wasn’t here and she probably hadn’t been for a very long time. Now Nyx’s sources were tapped, but perhaps Ariane still had an idea.

“Not really. All I knew is that she was said to have lived here, in the wilds. My best guess is that, if we try to figure out what she’s looking for, we could follow in her search and find where she’s hiding,” Ariane said, pacing as she thought. “I remember overhearing her and my Keeper speaking of eluvians. Some sort of old magic artifact of our people.”

“I’ve never heard of those,” Nyx admitted. She’d not taken as much of an interest as Tamlen and her other friends once had in Dalish history. When they’d discovered those ruins ages ago, Nyx just wanted to run back to the Keeper and stay far away from the giant spiders and hordes of undead that plagued the place. If only Tamlen hadn’t been so stubborn.

“I don’t really know much myself, but…” Ariane stopped pacing, looking up at Nyx. “I hear the Ferelden Circle has some ancient books like our own, on old elven magic. If we go there we could…no, they’d never let in two Dalish. Even if we’re looking for something that should belong to us and not a group of shemlen.”

“Actually,” Nyx said, “I should be able to enter without issue. I know both the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander personally. It’s a long story but I know they’ll allow me access.”

Ariane perked up immediately. “Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s go!”

It had been ages since Nyx had set foot in the Circle Tower. Unfortunately, Wynne was off Maker-knows-where with Shale, trying to find some reversal to the golem making process. Even Irving and Greagoir were unavailable. Nyx was still welcomed in without trouble, recognized by Knight-Captain Hadley as the Hero of Ferelden. Ariane was aghast, as in their many days of traveling together Nyx had kept her true identity concealed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ariane asked as they walked towards the Circle’s library.

“You didn’t ask?” Nyx said, trying for a smile. Her companion didn’t look pleased. Nyx sighed, saying, “Alright, honestly I didn’t want you to know. I’m tired of the way people change when they know who I am. They don’t know that I wasn’t really responsible for ending the Blight.”

“Then, who was?” Ariane asked, her voice just above a whisper. This felt like a secret to her.

“Another Grey Warden,” Nyx said. She hadn’t spoken his name since she’d left with Zevran a year ago. She didn’t dare. “He defeated the Archdemon.”

“But I was told you were the only Grey Warden to survive the siege on Denerim,” Ariane said. There was a lull of silence before a quiet, “Oh…” left Ariane’s lips. She understood. “I’m sorry, lethallan. By the look in your eyes, this other Warden must have meant a lot to you.”

Nyx didn’t answer. She hadn’t wanted to talk about this at all. It was a welcome distraction when she reunited with the odd dwarf, Sandal, and asked him to show off his enchanting skills for Ariane. Nyx knew this would be impressive for the Dalish woman, as most magic was done only by Keepers and their First in a Dalish clan. Enchantment was a rare sight, especially by a dwarven savant. The Dalish had no Tranquil.

They went along their way, finding the book they required as well as another on ancient elvish to assist with translating the old text. They poured over it for a while before a whining voice scolded them.

“Maker, be careful with that thing! Look at the spine, oh and the pages you’re bending the pages. Please be careful with that you have no clue how old it is!” the whiny mage cried. The two Dalish women stared at him, their brows raised in non-verbal sarcasm.

“Oh, or maybe you do,” the mage corrected himself. “Still, you should be careful with that.”

“I can’t make much sense of it, to be honest,” Nyx admitted. “Have you read this before?”

“Not…a lot, but I remember pieces. Anything particular you want to know?” the mage asked.

“Eluvians,” Ariane spat out before Nyx could even begin to say something. “We’re looking for information on eluvians. Do you know what they are?”

“Oh yeah, those. Yeah, eluvian. The literal translation is ���mirror,’ but they’re supposed to hold great power. It’s unclear what they did exactly but they seemed to be a means of communication. No one knows if there are any left, though,” the mage said.

“A mirror? My clan heard of another group of Dalish who lost two young warriors to a mirror tainted by darkspawn. One disappeared and the other got sick, but I believe they found a cure,” Ariane said.

Nyx’s already pale face lost any lingering color. “There is only one cure for darkspawn taint, and that is to become a Warden,” she said, feeling breathless. “Tamlen is dead. He became a ghoul and I killed him.”

“I…it was you?” Ariane said. “You are just full of surprises, lethallan. I’m sorry for what happened. The clan spoke much of their love for you and Tamlen.”

“But the eluvian? What happened to it?” the mage asked.

“They destroyed it. Tainted it was too much of a danger to leave intact,” Ariane said.

Nyx remembered Duncan saving her. Remembered him destroying the mirror after they were unable to find Tamlen. That was the same day she’d left her clan behind forever. The same day that she swore she would never lose another like that, not if she could help it. Nyx wanted to scream.

“But that’s a precious, priceless artifact! Long before our time! It was probably the last of its kind…oh <i>no,</i>” the mage half-sobbed, hanging his head in defeat. Funny how he glossed over the rest of the story.

“That can’t be,” Ariane said. “We need to find one. A working one. Morrigan would be able to, I’m certain of it.”

“Any ideas, mage?” Nyx asked.

“It’s Finn. My name. And well, there is someone I could ask,” the mage, Finn, said, staring off into the distance. He snapped back into attention in an instant. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

They found themselves leaving for the basement, to solve yet another issue with tears in the Veil. Nyx, having never had the talent of magic, could not understand why mages couldn’t just keep the Veil shut tight. It was under their command and control, but every time mages were involved in something, it seemed there was an issue with demons or the Veil being torn.

Once they had the situation under control, Finn lead them back to a room with a statue. Then, he started to talk to it. Nyx stared for a long moment until she heard a voice in her head, responding to Finn and introducing itself as the statue. Would magical wonders never cease?

“We’re trying to find an eluvian, a working one. Do you know where one could be found?” Finn asked the statue, apparently an artifact from Tevinter.

“Scry, and you shall find what you seek,” the statue said.

“Scry…with a piece of the broken mirror! Oh that is brilliant!” Finn said. “I read about scrying a bit, it requires...what else will we need?”

“Seek the light left by elven hands, in lands where dwarves once dwelled. There is a sanctuary in the deep halls of Cad’halash, now known by the name Cadash. There the Lights of Arlathan can be found,” the statue said. Both Ariane and Nyx perked up at this name.

“The Lights of Arlathan? They can be found?” Ariane asked. “Nyx, our people could regain some piece of our history! But what would they be doing in dwarven ruins?”

“When I first discovered the eluvian, it was underground in ruins that appeared to belong to humans,” Nyx said. “There is so much of elven history we don’t know, it’s possible that our artifacts remain in many odd places. Places you wouldn’t think to look.”

“It would explain why we have a hard time finding anything, other than them being simply destroyed by the Imperium,” Ariane said bitterly.

“Cadash must mean Cadash Thaig,” Finn said in an attempt to refocus the two women. “Perhaps I can find some maps while we’re here, to lead us to it.”

Nyx nodded and had Ariane help the both of them search. Once they found what was needed, they returned just once more to the statue, to thank it for its help. Finn insisted it wasn’t necessary, but Nyx knew better than to be impolite to something ancient and magical. She had, after all, dealt with Flemeth.

“Goodbye, Finn,” the statue said. “We will not speak again.”

Finn blanched. “Wh-what is that supposed to mean? Statue? Hey, statue!” he called, waving his hands in front of the stone. True to its word, the statue said no more. “Maker, you don’t think I’m going to die, do you?”

“It could mean any number of things,” Nyx said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that so quickly.”

“Though it wouldn’t hurt you to be a little extra careful from now on,” Ariane teased. Perseus barked, his way of telling her not to be so mean. “I’m only joking,” Araine said.

The group made their way back upstairs. As the Dalish women and the mabari approached the door, Finn paused. They would not have noticed that he stopped, save for the pathetic croaking noise that escaped his throat. They turned back to face him.

“What’s the matter?” Nyx asked.

“So, you’re leaving then?” Finn said.

“Yes. To find Morrigan. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” Ariane said, crossing her arms. She seemed unable to dial down the intensity of her voice.

“Well, won’t you need some help? To scry?” Finn said sheepishly, gazing at his shoes.

“I...Finn, would you like to come along?” Nyx said. She’d always intended to have him join them. Though mages could often be trouble, in her experience, they were also of great aid. Finn in particular had specialized in creation magic, much like Wynne, which made him useful protection against the dangers they were sure to face.

“Could I?” Finn said with glee. His eyes lit up, and he hurried without a word over to Knight-Captain Hadley. Nyx heard the older man sigh loudly, but Finn ran back to them with the same enthusiasm. He’d gotten permission to assist them on their quest.

Since the Circle Tower was far closer to Orzammar than the Brecilian Forest, the group agreed that going to Cadash Thaig first was the best choice. Ariane walked with nervous excitement behind each step. She and Finn chatted most of the way, sharing what they knew of the Dalish. They would sometimes bicker, but Nyx watched as the two grew fond of each others company. If she mentioned this to Ariane, her fellow Dalish would be quick to deny it, but she knew the look. It wasn’t like Nyx would judge Ariane for falling for a shemlen.

Perseus whined and kept close to Nyx on their journey. The closer she got to Orzammar, the more she dreaded a return into the Deep Roads. The more she denied the Grey Warden blood within her, the more nightmares had plagued her. It had been worst when she travelled with Zevran, who would have to calm her every time she awoke screaming. There was no longer an archdemon to taunt Nyx, dare her to challenge it, but still she heard their voices. Nyx would never stop hearing the growling and crunching and tearing of flesh.

When they stopped and made camp, she was certain to sleep with Perseus’ weight on her. It kept her grounded, reminded her somewhat of the nights she spent in Alistair’s arms. She had slept so many years alone, it was hard to believe that now she had trouble falling asleep without the warmth of another body by her side. Nyx had not allowed herself to think of him this much in so long, but the ache in the pit of her stomach opened like a fresh wound. She covered her mouth to muffle a sob. This was all for him, this struggle to find Morrigan. Nyx had to undo her mistakes, one way or another. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself otherwise.

Nyx longed for the nights with Zevran. At first they had taken separate tents, respecting the boundaries Nyx needed. He would still flirt during the day, in his playful way, but never propositioned her for anything more. She’d told him once that she loved Alistair, and that was supposed to have been the end of it. There was no man between her and Zevran after the Blight.

It had started with gentle comforting, sharing a tent and sleeping side by side. Zevran would not touch Nyx unless she asked, but he admitted many times to the temptation. One night, Nyx simply could not sleep, and moved to lie face to face with her companion. She kissed Zevran with a need she had been unable to voice for so long. He returned the sentiment, and then some.

After that first night, it became almost routine. The two would play as if nothing had changed during their days together, but when the sun fell beneath the horizon they found themselves entangled. Sex with Zevran was nothing like it had ever been with Alistair. Nyx hadn’t minded the inexperience, as she had been unfamiliar with what two people were meant to do in bed together as well. But Zevran showed her things Alistair never could, kissing her in places Alistair would not have thought to place his lips.

Nyx was glad to enjoy the physical pleasures, even though there was no romantic attachment for either of them. It kept her from thinking of her loss, kept her from dwelling on pain, and helped her sleep even when nightmares of darkspawn threatened. If she awoke from a bad dream, Zevran would still be there, and she could kiss him and fall back into his arms until she was asleep again.

It had seemed like the perfect arrangement, but Zevran knew Nyx never stopped thinking of Alistair. He insisted it didn’t bother him, and it hadn’t, at first. Yet, as the time passed, Zevran wondered just how often another man was on her mind while Nyx slept with him. He had not fallen in love with Nyx, no. However, Zevran wanted those he took to bed to think only of him. He told Nyx this shortly before he left her. They could not travel as mere friends after they’d become so familiar with one another, and they couldn’t travel as lovers while Nyx still suffered her heartache. Nyx agreed with him on both counts.

Which made traveling with company again feel very strange. She had no desire to sleep with either Finn or Ariane, but she had forgotten what having company was like. Nyx would not have said so before they joined her, but traveling with no one beside her but Perseus had been rather lonely. The mabari snorted in his sleep, which she took as his agreement. Both of them liked having companions.

The next day, the group drew up on Orzammar. The gates were still impressively massive, even to Nyx who had spent a good amount of time there. She almost looked for Oghren, out of instinct. Nyx knew that he was a surfacer now, with no intent or desire to return to the life underground. With luck, he was with Felsi. Nyx wished every happiness for her friends, as she thought how well she knew what the loss of it was like.

“By the Ancestors, if it isn’t the Hero of Ferelden!” the dwarf guarding the gates said, opening his arms wide. “What brings you to Orzammar? Couldn’t resist the call of the Deep Roads? Wanted to check in with our King, bless his reign? Or just missed the fine taste of roast nug?”

“I’ve business in the Deep Roads again, I’m afraid,” Nyx said. She didn’t have the heart to tell him she had hated the taste of nug. Oghren had been deeply offended when she said so before, so she figured it was an unpopular opinion amongst Orzammar dwarves.

“Well, good luck in there. I will never understand why you Wardens keep going back,” the guard said.

“Where the darkspawn go, we go to kill them,” Nyx said simply. Of course everyone knew this basic information, but the bit they didn’t know was how the taint in all Grey Wardens made it so the darkspawn called to them. Nyx had heard from Riordan that one day, the voices became too strong to fight, and each Warden would go to the Deep Roads to fight until they were dead. It was a horrifying thought that Nyx never cared to entertain for long.

“Heh, alright,” the dwarf chuckled. “Just try not to get dead. Ferelden would miss their hero.”

Nyx once again restrained herself from correcting him. She was no hero. Not until she found a way to save Alistair would she accept that title willingly.

Finn’s maps lead them to the Thaig without trouble. Well, no trouble other than the darkspawn. Thankfully, given that the Blight had not been over for long, they were not quite as numerous, needing to replenish their numbers. Nyx did not mention that she had seen up close the disgusting creatures called Broodmothers, women taken and molded into a form of darkspawn meant to breed more of them. It sickened her to remember the story of how they were created. All darkspawn smelled foul, but within the Broodmother’s cavern the stench had been something far worse than the usual smell of taint.

This journey was not so deep, though the part they had to reach was unfamiliar to Nyx. She was simply glad when Finn declared that they’d arrived. He was working to prepare the spell to find the Lights of Arlathan. Ariane was reluctant when he told them he required blood of a descendant of Arlathan. Nyx’s blood, unfortunately, would not do. She was Dalish, yes, but her clan had no connection to the Arlathan elves. Ariane, on the other hand, was a perfect candidate.

“This isn’t blood magic, is it?” Nyx asked as Ariane offered her palm cautiously.

“It’s magic that involves blood, but it’s not like I’m dealing with demons or anything,” Finn said defensively. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I’m still not completely certain about that,” Ariane said, wincing as he brought a small blade close to her skin. He sliced quick, hoping to avoid more pain than necessary, but she still shrieked loudly as he cut her skin. “Ow!”

“Sorry! Sorry, I have all I need now. Please, let me mend that…” Finn said. He cupped his hands over hers, and Nyx watched the blush spread on Ariane’s face. Finn’s hands glowed with the green energy of healing magic. When he removed them, there wasn’t even the faintest hint of a cut.

“Thank you,” Ariane mumbled, looking away. “We’d best get going.”

Glowing orbs lead the group through the Thaig. They dispatched of any darkspawn in their path, then continued forward a few more paces before something else could appear and threaten their little group. The Lights of Arlathan were quite literally lights. In fact, they were lanterns. Ariane was impressed, saying she would need to take notes and sketches of the things back to her clan once all of this was over. Nyx agreed that it would be good to share the knowledge.

As they gathered each lantern, a guardian spirit would appear, meant to deter thieves. There was no reasoning with the elven spirits, as they were nothing but that. Ariane lamented over the knowledge the spirits probably possessed. If they weren’t so busy fighting them, there was even more they could learn from them. But the group had to keep moving, and defeated each spirit in turn.

“And that’s the last of them!” Finn cheered. “That went quicker than I expected. Though I suppose I should have known that would be easy with you around.”

He was gesturing to Nyx. He’d barely even watched her fight, and she knew it. Finn’s eyes were glued to Ariane the whole time, making sure to protect her as she got up close to the enemy. Nyx had stayed back from most of the fighting, clutching her bow and determined to keep her aim true. She would never miss another shot again.

Nyx nodded at the well-meaning compliment anyway, before insisting that they press on. There was no need to get comfortable in the Deep Roads. They’d already stayed long enough.

They left Orzammar and set up camp just on the outskirts of the surfacers’ trading community. Perseus could sense the anxiety that set in on his owner’s mind. Nyx spoke to the hound in hushed tones, patting his head gently as she did so. She didn’t want to wake the others, but she needed to talk to someone.

“Next we go back to where this whole mess began,” Nyx said, staring at the ceiling of the tent. “Where I lost Tamlen, where I became sick, where Duncan found me… If I had pulled him out, dragged him away before he could touch that stupid mirror…”

Nyx was crying. She’d held this all back too long. Alistair wasn’t the only hole left in her heart. But somehow she knew she couldn’t save them both. Nor could she save Duncan, as she knew the man would charge into battle beside his king regardless of warnings. At least Alistair, she could keep. Alistair she could, perhaps, truly save. But only if all this worked and Morrigan lead her to the right place.

The road to the Brecilian Forest was incredibly tiring. Nyx had insisted on taking side paths, knowing that the more main roads they stuck to, the more likely people were to recognize her. It ran more risk of small bandit groups jumping them as they traveled, but Nyx trusted in the strength of her allies enough to take that chance. Ariane was unbothered by the divergent paths. Being Dalish as Nyx was, she was used to these quieter, hidden roads that the aravels often took to avoid most shemlen. Finn would have been bothered either way, not at all the outdoorsy type, but he particularly claimed about the mud and thick roots of the trees on the back roads.

Nyx remembered the way to the cave as if Tamlen had lead her there only moments ago. Like she’d only just encountered those three trembling shems, who she spared out of kindness. Nyx wished she could take a few different turns, find Keeper Marethari and Ashalle, hugging both of them tightly.

She’d seen Ashalle at the celebration after the end of the Blight, but not since. Another clan had informed her, while she still traveled with Zevran, that her people had gone all the way to the Free Marches. Nyx tried to picture her friends packing themselves into a boat, but couldn’t imagine it no matter how hard she tried. Knowing the First, Merrill, she likely puked.

At the mouth of the cave into the ruins, Nyx froze. Ariane stood nearby, watching closely.

“Do you need a moment? I know this must be hard for you, after everything,” Ariane said.

Nyx shook her head. She would be strong. She was the Hero of Ferelden. Nothing should be able to stand in her way, not anymore. For once, she needed to believe in all the stories people spread about her.

“I’ll be alright. We have to do this,” Nyx said. She felt the ghosts follow her through the ruins, clinging to her back as they always did. One day, she’d manage to ignore the feeling and simply live.

There were loads of undead within the ruins, but worse yet, there were sick Dalish, likely taken by the lingering power of the mirror. Nyx could barely look as she shot them down, silently praying to the Creators to have mercy on them. “Mythal take your spirit, lethallan,” Nyx whispered.

She urged the others forward, though the squeamish Finn kept staring at the fallen bodies, wondering if they might simply get back up again. Ariane tugged on the mage’s robes to make sure he stayed with them as they reached the final chamber, a round room in which the eluvian once stood. Shattered pieces remained scattered on the floor, though it appeared as if someone had already gathered some of them. Nyx suspected Morrigan had been here as well.

“I’ll have to take a moment to scry properly. I’ve only tried it once before, and it’s not really an exact...it might take me a few tries,” Finn said, preparing the materials on the floor of the ruins. The two Dalish women stood guard while he worked. Perseus circled the area, curious about the scents that lingered in the air. It seemed like an hour before Finn had finished, and he knew the location of the witch.