#izzy trevelyan

[oceanssecond]

welcome to oceanssecond's multimuse.

Hello, I am Izzy ! I am 25, they/them, I was in the tumblr rpc sphere from 2012 to 2019, and am re-establishing myself with a multimuse as of May 2023. Mutuals priority, but open to all rp blogs who follow to interact.

This blog will be low to medium activity.

Feel welcome to ask me questions, ask my muses question, send things in to the inbox, it's always open even if we haven't chatted before.

I will be writing here as well as discord if anyone would prefer that, mutuals may ask for dicord

>RULES / >MUSELIST

>HEADCANONS / >MAINS

@oceansfirst -> my main high activity blog, consisting of marvel, dc, and myth muses

@oceansmusings -> my headcanons sideblog for this blog and oceansfirst (i also liveblog when i'm reading comics or watching stuff or playing stuff over there, so expect ooc posts over there too along with headcanons! i recommend following if you want insight to my muses)

Mutuals get priority

I prefer paragraphs over one liners

my ask box is always open

will turn asks into thread

MUSE LIST

Cassius Hawke (m!warrior)

Nyra Hawke (f!rogue)

Maxwell Trevelyan (archer/ex-templar/inquisitor/companion)

Eliot Waugh

Alice Quinn

Julia Wicker

Dr. James Wilson

Stef Adams Foster

Daniel Larusso

Johnny Lawrence

Rizlis (risen eliksni guardian oc)

Carmelita Fox

Loona (hb)

Octavia (hb)

Beelzebub (hb)

Millie (hb)

Brian Yu (monster prom)

Nimona (nimona)

Ballister Boldheart (nimona)

[vicekings]

#35 for the touching meme :)

35. kissing their bruises and scars

That one thin scar that cut through Etienne’s lips from when he got busted up in his first fight was Izzy’s absolute favorite. She found it added some intrigue to his handsome face. Even if he protested that it was the dumbest scar he’d manage to get, she still liked how charmingly roguish it made him look. Besides, it was impossible to miss the way he smiled when she’d press a kiss right over top of it.

His busted lip was far from his only scar. Each time Etienne returned from defending her honorable name, Izzy would lay him down in her bed and make him recount how he got each and every bruise. Most he didn’t remember, or chalked up to bumping into something while climbing, but there were a few dark and deliberate bruises from heavy punches that littered his ribs and made Izzy wince.

She kissed over them soft and slow. Though Etienne teased her for being a sap about it, she knew he didn’t mind. He gave her a small smile and let out a sigh of relaxation. It was nice, to be able to stop for a moment and catch his breath.

“Je t’aime.” He murmured, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair.

“Je t’aime aussi, mon beau faucon.” She replied quietly.

When he pulled his hand from her hair, she reached out to take it in hers. She brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed at the scrapes and bruises. When she finally let him go, he motioned for her to come cuddle up against him. They laid together in the last rays of the evening sun, watching the sky through windows and letting themselves breathe.

They were both still alive. Fuck the bruises, fuck the cuts, fuck all the battle wounds. They were both still alive, and that was all that mattered.

[aefward]

Dress by Burberry, Watch by Omega, Earrings by Bulgari.

[whotimbaland]

[eilowyn]

As if I’d fall for that pretty-boy smile.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Twenty Nine: Fear & Fatigue

Excerpt:

He winks at her just before lunging and lifting her into his arms as if she weighs nothing. The feeling gives her as much of a thrill as it did the first time he lifted her in the war room months before.

He carries her to her bed and throws her playfully onto her sheets. She bounces with a squeal. She’s never had the pleasure of seeing him so confident about wanting her. Perhaps he really did miss her desperately. How long has he been planning to take her this way, she wonders.

He begins stripping from his armor and Izzalea adores the sight. Layer by layer, he peels off his mantle, back and breastplates, gauntlets, bracers, and shirts until he is left barechested and grinning.

“Cullen,” Izzalea says in a throaty moan. “You surprise me.”

“Is this alright?” he asks, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her as she lies flat against the sheets.

“It’s more than alright. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

[Read Chapter 29 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Izzalea-

The desert sun is hot and burning, even as it begins to set. Izzalea looks down at her ever darkening skin, her arms bare from discarding her tunics long ago. She should be protecting herself from the sun, but the days are so hot, and she sweats so much that she just cannot handle the touch of stinking, wet cloth anymore. She’s resorted to wandering around with the least amount of cloth she can get away with, loose sleeveless shirts with linen pants that she rolls up to her knees. She would refuse shoes, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that the stone is so bloody hot, so she fashioned together the lightest slipper-of-a-shoe she could dream up.

She wishes she could wear even less, but she’s still Inquisitor. She needs to be decent. But thankfully, in a keep made up of mainly fighters, there is an atmosphere of a brotherhood. A comradery that has helped her relax, even if just a little bit. No one gives her a second glance as she walks around, her brown skin showing and deepening under the sizzling sun. There are no faint-of-heart nobles poking around to be shocked and appalled at having just witnessed the Inquisitor’s unsheathed calves and forearms.

It’s the little things that are keeping her going and she has so precious few of those anymore. The lack of nobles squawking at her day in and day out is the silver lining to this entire wretched existence in which she’s found herself.

Izzalea leans on the walls on the ramparts and stares to the east. Adamant Keep is out there. It’s waiting.

She’d tried to talk to Clarel, she really did. She took a team to the fortress and called out for parley. As they approached the gates of the massive structure, however, arrows came raining down upon them. If it hadn’t been for a well timed barrier cast by Solas, she’d probably be dead.

Now, more Grey Wardens arrive at Adamant daily. Izzalea has scouts positioned outside the keep around the clock. Watching. Reporting.

Eerie lights can be seen in flashes from the center of the keep at night, and agents report fires of bodies being burned far from the keep’s walls. The dead are snuck out in the cover of darkness, taken far to another old ritual tower, and set ablaze. Clarel is definitely hiding what she is doing from her men.

People are being murdered for sacrifice every night . Corypheus’ demon army grows every night . And every night , Izzalea stares to the east, wishing she could stop it…

She will stop it, though. The Inquisition's ravens have been especially busy over the last two weeks, and now her army is marching across Orlias to meet her. They will stop this, together. They have to. There is no other alternative.

With the support of the Empress and the aid of Lady Seryl - who proved to be a very advantageous ally in supplying the Inquisition with new and stronger trebuchets - Izzalea’s army will lay siege on the fortress and stop the demon army by force.

Cullen is very confident that with their access to modern equipment, the walls of the ancient citadel will come crumbling down, giving them the ability to storm the keep and destroy Corypheus’ plans. She just hopes that the Wardens who’ve not been enslaved will see reason. She cannot stomach the idea of killing all of the Wardens in southern Thedas. No matter how misguided they are at this juncture, they are still Grey Wardens. They are still heroes.

Izzalea sighs as she stares into the dimming eastern sky. Cullen is out there. He is coming to her. She squeezes her eyes shut and mumbles a prayer to the Maker to keep him safe.

Amidst the endless letters sent by ravens, Leliana had slipped a note in one to warn Izzalea of Cullen’s condition.

“He is still functional, but his fatigue is worsening. He leans on the closest steady object whenever he stands and his skin is only growing more pekid. He tries to hide his weakening health, but he fails. I do not want you to be surprised when you see him.”

Cullen is deteriorating due to his lyrium withdrawals, and he is continuing to fight the battle alone. When he told her months ago that he’d stopped taking lyrium, he warned her that he could go mad or even die. She could tell quitting was extremely important to him, and encouraged him to stick to it. She’d hoped they could find a cure or something to help him, but she allowed her focus to fall. Now he’s growing sicker, and she can’t help him. He’s traveling across vast lands, he’s going to fight in a siege battle, and there is nothing she can do to bolster his strength.

If he dies, whether from the withdrawal or falling to someone’s blade due to his weakened state…

No.

She can’t think about that.

Cassandra agreed to watch Cullen, assess his progress - or lack thereof. She is a Seeker, if anyone knows whether or not Cullen can handle this, it will be her. They can meet before the battle and decide if he needs to stay behind, or stay in the very back while their army charges forward.

If he even makes it to her in the first place…

She scrunches her face and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. She has to stop thinking like that. The situation’s out of her hands right now. All she can do is pray that it won’t end in Cullen’s death. He will endure. He has to. Izzalea has enough to worry about without adding fears that the man she cares for may be taken from her.

The blasted mark on her hand decides that now is the time to spark and sputter, sending a jolt of bright energy against her face. Izzalea yelps and cringes from the pain. She forms a fist and considers smashing her stupid mark through the battlement walls. It hurts. A lot. It started its frequent pulsing as she entered the desert, and it’s only gotten worse as the days pass.

She’d hoped it would calm, hoped it was just a temporary fluke. At least mark isn’t growing, it’s just sparking, and ringing, and screaming at her all the Maker-damned time. She’s tried her best to hide it, because she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s in pain. Her people can’t know she has a weakness.

She knocks her fist against the stone a few times as the stinging subsides, but she still hears its song in her ears. Her only break from the ringing is when she sleeps… if she sleeps. If it’s not the heat or green-glowing-torture keeping her awake, it’s her dreams. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to sleep. It’s become too much. She’s not completely sure if it’s him, or if it’s just nightmares. But it feels like it’s him, and it’s maddening. Night after night, since reaching Griffon Wing Keep, Corypheus has haunted her dreams.

She can’t see him, but she hears him. He taunts her. Twists her. Sets her soul on fire with anger. He threatens her and everything she holds dear. He won’t shut up. She screams that she’s not afraid, that he is revealing his fear of her by attacking her sleep.

Corypheus is nervous. He should be.

But the lack of rest is catching up to her. Her emotions are getting harder and harder to control. Every time she shuts her eyes he’s able dig past her defenses a little deeper, screw with her mind a little further. He’s trying to break her, and she’s terrified that it’s working.

So she doesn’t sleep. She barely eats. She just paces, and stresses, and writes to Skyhold.

Her mark flares up again and she yells out in frustration, punching the sandstone wall as she does.

“Inquisitor?” she hears Solas ask softly behind her.

Izzalea spins and blinks, trying to control her breathing and forcing her heart to stop beating like a hummingbird’s wings. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Solas,” she says, clutching her chest. Her nerves are so shot. She shouldn’t be this easy to sneak up on.

“You need to let me look at that,” he says and points to her fisted hand. It aches and green glows from between her fingers. “It’s been hurting you consistently for a while now. You aren’t hiding it from anybody.”

She grunts and tries to think of a lie, but she’s so tired, she just…can’t. Her shoulders slump forward as she places her hand in his palm, mark glowing and facing up.

“I was hoping it would just kind of…knock it off, eventually.” She sighs her words, shoulders slumping forward even more. She sounds stupid. Her logic has definitely been flawed, but Solas is kind and doesn’t chastise her.

He peers at the mark for a moment, then waves his hand above it. Blue and white glyph-type markings appear in the air over her hand and the pain lessens. The mark still sputters, still sings, but the sharp ache that shoots up her arm every time it acts up subdues. She flexes her fingers and turns her hand around, inspecting it like it’s the first time she’s seen it.

“What did you do?” she asks softly, bewildered and thankful.

He smiles and touches her cheek where the mark struck her earlier. She feels his healing magic mend a cut she didn’t even know was there, and with a cloth, he wipes a bit of blood and sweat from her face.

“I cannot make it stop, but I can at least try to aid against the pain,” the mage says as a white light from his fingers cleans the cloth, leaving behind no trace of grime. He carefully folds it and slips it in his pocket.

“I’ve been speaking with the other mages,” Solas continues. He places his hands behind his back and paces past Izzalea to peer out into the horizon toward Adamant. “Aurora confirms it wholeheartedly. The Veil is particularly thin here, feels as if it is stretching thinner every hour.” He turns his steely gaze back to Izzalea. “There is a powerful entity lurking in the Fade. I believe it is the cause of your mark’s…malfunction.”

“Fabulous,” Izzalea huffs, sinking her back again the crenelation. She wonders if that is why Corypheus has also been able to invade her dreams.

Solas turns back to stare into the void. “I believe it to be a fear demon, growing stronger every night. It feeds upon the fears of the forces within Adamant, the forces here...” Solas pauses and turns his head to his shoulder with downcast eyes. “And the fears in you, Inquisitor.”

Izzalea starts to object but he cuts her off.

“You’ve become ragged,” he says, a slight harshness to his voice. “You need to rest or your defenses will continue to strip until you are left with nothing.”

“I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping, that’s all,” Izzalea says.

“I can provide you with an enchantment that will allow you to sleep through the night.”

Then she’d be trapped with Corypheus’ threats all night long. That’s not something she’s interested in. “Thanks, Solas, but--”

“I apologize, I suppose that sounded like an offer,” he says as he turns back to her. He takes her hand in his, firm but not hostile, and presses a rune into her palm. His eyes stare into the depths of her sleepy soul. “It is a demand.”

She allows her eyelids to drop, too exhausted to put up a fight. Plus, she knows he’s right…

“I could join you in the Fade if you like. Similar to how we walked through Haven after arriving in Skyhold.”

She wonders if he is testing her. Could it be possible he knows about her nightmares? She can’t risk him hearing Corypheus. She can’t risk anyone finding out she’s weak. “No…No thank you, Solas,” she says finally. “I will take your enchantment, but will be fine dreaming alone.”

“As you wish.”

When she makes it to her quarters, she places the small rune that Solas gave her under her pillow. She is going to have to risk listening to her enemy for an entire night to even attempt to gain an amount of strength back. Who knows, maybe Corypheus will be busy tonight…

Staring into a looking glass on a table next to her bed, she sees how haggard her appearance has become. Her eyes are bloodshot, her skin is drooping, and the undersides of her eyes are puffy and dark. She looks terrible. Weak. All she can think as she stares at her reflection is, failure .

“Get your shit together,” she mutters to herself with determination and a deep frown.

She sits on the edge of her bed and whispers a prayer to the Maker. She asks him to protect her tonight, to keep the nightmares from unfolding for one night. That’s all she needs. Just one night to regain some strength, some sanity, and perhaps she can find a way to fight back tomorrow.

She blows out a small candle by her bed and takes one last glance through an east facing window. She sees a faint flash of green far off in the distance, and her heart sinks. If she is going to stop this madness, she needs to be strong.

Lying down on her bed, she nuzzles her head into her pillow and above the rune. With a deep breath, she closes her eyes allowing herself to drift into the Fade.

When Izzalea opens her eyes, she’s in her room at Skyhold. The air is so much thinner there. It feels cool and refreshing on her seared skin. She sits up from her bed and looks around with a smile. It feels good to be back here. She’s missed this room. She feels safe here.

She hears the clatter of his boots on stone, and quickly, the golden curls of his hair appear through the railing as Cullen climbs the final steps of her tower’s staircase.

She feels elated to see him. Maker, he’s beautiful. What a sight for her tired, sore eyes. Izzalea rushes from her bed, running with barefeet slapping against cold stone. “Cullen!” she yells in jubilation.

She practically knocks him over when her body collides with his. He laughs and holds her tightly. “Good morning, my love,” he says between deep, breathy chuckles. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I believe so, the best I’ve had in a long time,” she says with a smile and backs out from their hug with a long toe-to-fingertip stretch. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“As am I,” he says with a wicked smirk, his scar curling in that enticing way that it does. “I missed you desperately, Izzalea.” His voice has grown darker and her chest flutters.

“Oh, have you?” She smirks back.

He winks at her just before lunging and lifting her into his arms as if she weighs nothing. The feeling gives her as much of a thrill as it did the first time he lifted her in the war room months before.

He carries her to her bed and throws her playfully onto her sheets. She bounces with a squeal. She’s never had the pleasure of seeing him so confident about wanting her. Perhaps he really did miss her desperately. How long has he been planning to take her this way, she wonders.

He begins stripping from his armor and Izzalea adores the sight. Layer by layer, he peels off his mantle, back and breastplates, gauntlets, bracers, and shirts until he is left barechested and grinning.

“Cullen,” Izzalea says in a throaty moan. “You surprise me.”

“Is this alright?” he asks, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her as she lies flat against the sheets.

“It’s more than alright. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” She feels dizzy. Her heart beats with so much excitement that it’s spastic, made even more spastic when she feels his hand glide up the length of her inner thigh. She gasps and heat pools in her smalls. She looks into his gorgeous, golden, smoldering eyes. “Cullen…”

He leans down and brushes soft kisses against her lips as his hand cups at her heat over her pajamas. She moans and press her hips forward to rub herself firmer into his palm. Cullen smiles and leans back, breaking their kiss. Izzalea bites her lower lip, overcome with warmth and feelings about how much she adores this man.

Just as she is feeling compelled to tell him how she feels about him, how much he means to her, a deep furrow appears between his brows. He looks at her with such deep concern that it’s worrying. Attempting to speak, only husky grunts crack in his throat. The pulls his hand that was seated between her thighs and knocks his fist against his chest. Panic then sparks in his eyes just before they roll back, only showing white while his eyelids flutter wildly. Cullen slumps, rolling backward onto the bed next to her.

“Cullen?!” Izzalea shrieks and sits up. She shakes him by the shoulders, “Cullen what’s happening? Cullen, wake up!”

He doesn't respond aside from low, disconcerting gurgling sounds, his mouth open and jaw loose. Izzalea continues to shake him, screaming for him to wake up, when he suddenly starts convulsing. His body springs into vicious shudders and jerks, limp and shaking violently at the same time.

Izzalea screams, “No! No, no, no, no, no!” She doesn’t know what to do, how to stop his fit, how to save him. She needs help. She starts to get up to scream from her balcony. Scream for healers to come quickly, when he stops. Just as suddenly as his convulsions began, they stopped. His body lies still. Terrifyingly still.

“No…” Her voice cracks. She rushes to feel a pulse, something to tell her he is still alive, but he isn’t breathing, his heart’s not beating. “No, Cullen,” she cries, tears streaming down her face, her body aching and trembling. “Please, wake up.” Her voice is only a crackling squeak of a sound as sobs overpower everything else. “Help,” she cries through the choking tears, but no one can hear her, no one can help. He’s gone.

The lyrium…

It must have been the lyrium…

Why did she encourage him to quit when she knew he could die? Now he’s gone.

“This will happen to your precious commander.” The voice rings in her ears so loudly that it’s almost deafening. “He is dying. Now . As he marches to your aid.” The booming voice of Corypheus echoes against the walls. “And Calpernia is watching. She is waiting for him to fall. When he does, Herald, she will be there to bring him back.”

“What are you talking about?” Izzalea calls out in anger, wiping her eyes of salty tears. It is then that she hears the tiny tinking sounds. Millions of tiny little tink-tink-tinks echo as droves of small red creatures pour from every opening, every crack, every crevice in her bedroom walls. A tiny army of red lyrium creatures. Like small lyrium spiders. They flow as if one unit from the walls and toward the bed.

Izzalea growls and crashes against them, desperately trying to protect Cullen. She throws her feet, her fists, anything , to push them back or crush them. Her body bloodies against the sharp rocky creatures. There are too many of them. She’s overrun. The creatures cover Cullens body and begin eating and tearing away at his flesh.

Izzalea screams in horror. “Stop this! Stop this, you monster!” She jumps off the bed, backing away as Cullen’s body is destroyed right before her eyes.

This isn't real, she tells herself. Corypheus trapped her in another nightmare. He is feeding off of her fears about losing Cullen to lyrium. She needs to calm down. He can’t be allowed to manipulate her like this. But seeing Cullen ripped to shreds is too much. It’s too much!

“Imagine the crippling effects to your Inquisition, once I have your commander. I believe he is much better suited helping Calpernia than your ridiculous Inquisition, don’t you?” The voice roars like violent thunder in her head. The mangled body on her bed starts to move.

Cullen sits up, the tiny red creatures forming large crystals of lyrium that jut from grey, decaying  flesh. His eyes glow with a bright, radiating crimson and he stands, glaring into her.

“No. Cullen. Stop. Stop this, Corypheus!” Izzalea screams.

Cullen begins taking slow, ragged steps toward her and she backs up faster.

“Cease your ridiculous plot to undo me, Izzalea, and I will stop torturing your dreams. Submit to me, and I will make you a General. I will save your precious Cullen, and you will only know glory. For that is what you want most in this world, is it not? Your pride hunts for glory. You feed off it. I will bestow it upon you. You need only submit.”

“Never!” Izzalea screams at the top of her lungs. She rushes to her wardrobe and with a powerful shove, knocks it down toward Cullen. It was an attempt to slow him down, but the tiny red lyrium creatures encircle the wood and cut through it like a sharp dagger through soft flesh.

Izzalea backs up onto her balcony. She’s trapped. She can’t wake up. And she has no idea what this monstrous version of Cullen and the army of lyrium creatures are going to do to her.

“You are a fool, Herald. Your Maker will not save you. His prophet will not aid you. They are gone. The heavens are empty. I will be your God. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I will find your Commander at his weakest moment, and I will make him mine. And I will destroy you.” The voice booms from the skies. He is everywhere. There is no escape.

Cullen walks out onto the balcony, hands outstretched to rip her apart. Izzalea screams and trips against the the stone railing behind her, flipping her off the edge.

She falls, and falls, and falls. She falls for longer than ever seemed possible, the air whipping past her as the skies and air laugh around her. Cullen leans over the edge of the balcony smiling at her, and she falls.

Just as trees come into her periphery and she knows she is about to hit the ground, her eyes snap open.

Izzalea gasps for air and jerks up from her bed, her eyes wide and blinded by the early morning sun coming through her windows. She pants and gasps for air. Her body is trembling. Her clothing and sheets are soaked through with sweat. Her heart is racing so fast that she fears it will trip on itself and stop completely. She hears it beating in her ears along with the screaming song of her mark.

She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She rests her head between her knees, trying desperately to regain control of her body. Slowly, she catches her breath and slowly, her heart rate slows to a less life threatening speed. As the panic subsides, the realization of what she just dreamt sets in.

Izzalea grips at her body tightly.

And she cries.

[gingerbreton]

1-5 for both izzy and alistair AND freya and blackwall? :)

❤️ Thank you for indulging me! I love DAO but damn do I wish I could get better screenshots!

1. Who is the most affectionate?

Both Izzy and Alistair are very affectionate - although he’s slighter shyer in company, whereas Izzy is naturally a very tactile and physical affectionate person, so has no problem being affectionate in front of other people.

Again, they are both very affectionate people when they feel secure in the relationship (both having lacked affection and probably being touch starved to some degree) and will show this privately. Freya is the shyer of the two and less likely to express affection as publicly, whereas Thom will always check her over after a battle, unconcerned if they have an audience.

2. Big spoon / Little spoon? Both my girls are little spoons and enjoy a damn good snuggle!

3. Most common argument?

Izzy and Alistair are most likely to argue about either Izzy doing something reckless, or Alistair not prioritising himself.

Freya and Blackwall are most likely to argue about her getting hurt trying to live up to other people’s expectations.

4. Favourite non-sexual activity?

When they can, Izzy and Alistair like to sneak away from castle life and out into Denerim. They love wandering the market and the shops incognito, eating street food, grabbing a drink at the Gnawed Noble - just generally enjoying that little bit of normal life.

Freya and Blackwall enjoy going out riding to get some quiet time together - quite often they’ll just ride out to a lake where he can fish while they talk for hours on end. Obviously there’s a bit more actual conversation to be had post-Revelations.

5. Who is most likely to carry the other? While both my ladies can lift their guys a couple of inches off the ground, between height/weight differences and the gals being built for speed not strength, full-on bodyguard style carrying is out of the question. So, Alistair and Blackwall are far more likely (and successfully) to do the carrying.

[ladydracarysart]

Izzalea Trevelyan. Inquisitor. Warrior. Champion.

As the misfit youngest of five, Izzy was happy to claim her place in the Inquisition and bring glory to her name. But was the cost more than she could bare?

[valerie-royeaux]

OC Kiss Week - Day 2

John Cousland & Izzalea Trevelyan

As soon as they stepped out of the Fade and realized they were back in the physical realm, that they had once again survived, no words were needed to let all know how the Grey Wardens and the Inquisition would move on from that moment forward.

For the second day of OC Kiss Week 2018, my John Cousland is lucky to get a kiss from no other than @ladydracarysao3‘s Izzy, a great friend, and a great inspiration in getting me back to writing. I’ve been meaning to draw them together for a long time!

[gatticus]

'you'll always be my favorite ghost' for the florence and the machine prompts

yo yo yello! thankyou so much for this ♥  So bit of context, Tomas is Izzy’s twin and Salana and Henry are her parents :) This is set after the exalted council.

Isabelle has never been here before. Hadn’t cared to when he had first died, her mother didn’t even tell her where he was buried, but she supposed she never really asked.

Her husband is quiet, respectfully so, but she knows he is watching her, just as attentive as she stares at the grave in front of her. The flowers are well kept and the headstone is polished, glimmering under the sun that has barely risen. 

She seeks out his hand with her right, and Cullen simply curls his fingers around hers in response, a gentle squeeze that grounds her before she can fully get lost in whatever is going on in her head. She appreciates it, but can’t find the words to thank him, but he already knows. He always does.

Thomas Andrew Trevelyan 9:17-9:37 Rest now

Isabelle drops his hand momentarily, curling around the headstone to pull out a plant at the base. She walks back to Cullen, and lamely places them on the ground at her feet. 

“He didn’t like lavender,” she says, staring at the name and engraving it into her memories. 

She doesn’t know how to feel when she looks at it. It’s strange, she had yearned for a place to mourn for years, and now she is standing in front of it, all she wants to do is run away. Being here is like picking off a scab from an old wound, she can feel the grief re-opening, consuming her like a rain cloud. 

“I just don’t like the thought of him in there,” she offers lamely, and the thought of it makes her eyes water. “He’s in there all alone.” 

A strong arm curls around her waist as she lets him tug her close, her temple on his shoulder as his thumb strokes over her coat. She feels him shift over her, and his stubble brushes across her cheek as he places a kiss at her hairline, but she can’t will her eyes to flutter closed like they want to. She instead leans into him further, blinking blurry tears into his coat. 

“Thankyou for coming here,” she says, because she would never be able to tell him how grateful she is. “I know it isn’t pleasant.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly, afraid to pop the atmosphere they have made for the two of them. “I’m glad you asked me. I wouldn’t have wanted you to be here on your own.”

“No,” she hums, agreeing with him. “But there he is. Staring me in the face. He’s stuck here.”

Cullen doesn’t say anything, listening because he knows she isn’t finished yet.

“He’d hate me moping about at his grave,” she chuckled, a watery one. “He’d rib me for it—but I can’t—I don’t think I have it in me to laugh. Is that awful?”

“Not at all.”

“I think I’d like to come back here,” she tells him, knowing he’s listening intently to her. “I think I could learn to laugh after a while. He’d probably tell me to piss off, he never was particularly sensitive.”

“Sorry about the damage!”

They were both sprinting out of Leinne De Montfort’s estate, Tomas was wrapped up in a bedsheet, one he had stolen from the matriarchs daughter, who he had just bedded, then promptly been caught by her mother.

Isabelle, had just left the kitchens after befriending the cook, who had subsequently been discovered by the girls father, thus, they were chased out of the halls by several guards and a possessive servant.

“Make sure to request the damages to Salana Trevelyan!” Isabelle laughed over her shoulder. “Or Henry! Whatever, just not us!”

Tomas fell, the bedsheet tangled around his ankles threatening to expose whatever little dignity he had left as she threw her head back in laughter, almost tripping over herself as she pulled him to his feet to carry on running. 

They made it out eventually, with the yells disappearing into nothing, and the adrenaline fading from their limbs.

“Well that’s one for the records,” she panted, hands on her knees as she tried to recover. “Did she not have a spare pair of bloomers you could throw on?”

He looked at her, face flat, then his lip twitched, then hers did, and they both broke into peals of delirious laughter. 

Cullen snorts into her hairline as she chuckles softly, finishing the story with her eyes shining with tears that had slipped down her cheeks. 

“I wish he’d met you,” Isabelle says, the sentiment being replaced by the whole encompassing grief again. “I wish he’d been able to grow up. That was the worst part—he had so much more to give than messing around with nobles daughters. He had all this future in front of him, just for it to be snatched away.”

She still dreams about him. Sometimes she still thinks that when she wakes up he will chastise her and tell her to get up. But then she thinks on it a little more.

“Remember what he told you in your dream?” Cullen asks. She had told him in detail about it, about how stupid she felt and he instantly assuaged her fears. “You carry on his legacy, you carry on the fight that he gave his life for. I see it in you everyday, you keep him alive through you.”

His words make her eyes glaze over as the words on the headstone blur. Her eyes finally slip closed as she remembers the words he said to her in the dream, clear as day;

“As long as you’re alive I will be.”

“I think you carry him with you everyday,” Cullen says, as tears slip from closed eyelids. “In everything you do.”

He always knows the right things to say. She breathes out slowly, and can’t articulate what to say, even now. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he says, and she feels the slightest bit better for hearing him say it. “Do you want to sit down with him?”

She nods under his chin, as he presses another kiss to her hair, and he’s guiding her next to the flowers, taking a seat on the grass despite the morning dew clinging to it like a second skin. He sits crossed legged as she sits beside him, their thighs touching.

She doesn’t even know where to start.

[mi6-cafe]

It’s Supportive Sunday!

Supportive Sunday is a day when we encourage you to support someone in the fandom!

Here’s some ways to do that:

Kudos something you like

A short comment (“Loved this!” or “Extra kudos!”)

A more detailed comment (“X made me laugh out loud!”)

Make a rec post

Send a creator a short anon ask about their work! (“What inspired X?”)

Send a reader who’s commented a short anon ask showing your appreciation! (“Your comments make my day!”)

Reblog this post with a rec

This Sunday we’ve chosen to feature the creation which were created for the MI6 Cafe miniBang. Yes, it is a bit late, but because of all things 2020 the deadlines kept moving slightly, and then there was Fest but here you are:

Behold all the minibang creation below the line

“Wedding Gifts and Butterflies”

by Ana (juggling_hearts)

Summary:

Of course, the wedding and everything associated with it had been, dare he say it….fun. But Sebastian was more than glad to have some time to both of them, no interruptions or guest insight. Just him, his husband and the boffin’s wedding night gift.

6.5k, 00q, fluff and smut, e-rated

>>READ HERE<<

Art by Nana-chan: Tumblr

“Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don’t really go in for that anymore… (or do we?) ”

by AtoTheBean

Summary:

Rumour has it, back in the days of old Boothroyd, the gadgets were divine. Or ridiculous, depending on your point of view. And Bond doesn’t have any complaints about Q’s tech, but he still gets a bit wistful when he reads those old mission reports.

, 00q, fluff and humour.

>>READ HERE<<

Art by meduszoa: Tumblr

“London Unmade”

by Boffin1710

Summary:

The London skyline was dark, cloud covered, as a light drizzle fell. The darkness broke in a few places here and there by what appeared to be the flicker of flames dancing across the drifting clouds. Streets were silent. Only the bravest, or the fool hearty, were out this time of night anymore. The remaining were sheltering, hiding, repenting for their sins as fear and death consumed the population of the city. This was London unmade.

4.7k, 00q00, angst/au - apocalypse, implied character death.

>>READ HERE<<

Art by AsheTarasovich: AO3, Tumblr

“Serenade On Your Heartstrings”

by christinefromsherwood

Creator Spotlight

Summary:

It was still dark when the phone began to ring. Q forced his eyes open. “Jaaaames.” “…Ooh love, ooh loverboy…” “Hnnnnng.” “Let go. I need to take this.” James’s arms around him tightened, pushing against his bladder. Suddenly wide awake, Q tried to squirm away towards the nightstand and his phone.

3.8k, 00q, established relationship/domestic fluff/light angst.

>>READ HERE<<

“A moment before” by Ksan: Tumblr

“Silence”

by Dassandre

Summary:

“You must have fucked something up on that last mission,” Alec said around a mouthful of chicken tikka at lunch one afternoon.

5k, 00q, heavy angst.

>>READ HERE<<

“Art for Silence” by BBR: Tumblr

“Halt & Catch Fire”

by Eltea

Summary:

When stolen Q-branch schematics and an attack on an MI6 whistleblower both point to the same culprit, Bond and his allies find themselves flying halfway around the world to California - where they’ll have to navigate the glamorous, treacherous world of Silicon Valley tech startup culture if they want to catch a traitor and stop a disaster.

19k, gen, action.

>>READ HERE<<

Chris (ravenclawkwardly): Tumblr

“The Parting of Hero and Leander”

by Equinox2324

Summary:

Bond and Q have managed to turn their relationship of mutual annoyance to one of friendship. They also sleep together sometimes.When Bond is called away to an incredibly dangerous, high-risk mission, Q is absolutely not worried in the least because he and Bond aren’t actually together. Honestly. Especially not when he finds out that Bond has been critically injured in the middle of the mission.Cut to Q being in distress about his boyfriend who is absolutely not his boyfriend and some pining.

9.4k, 00q, angst, mutual pining.

>>READ HERE<<

“yearning” by Ruggsie:

Tumblr

“N00Bz”

by furiosophie

Summary:

There is little that escapes Bond, but for the life of him, he cannot fathom how he ended up going from what felt like a life or death situation to sitting on a hotel room bed, eating pizza with a man wearing a Grumpy Cat shirt and not much else. For a brief moment he wonders what Alec would do now, in a situation like this - in bed with an asset and nothing but a cat seperating them. Fuck. He knows exactly what Alec would do.- Or the one where Bond has to go undercover at a Fortnite World Championship and his best chance of tracking down the bad guys is to work with the cocky, obnoxious, and incredibly cute star player Q-TEA and his cat.

9k+, 00q, e-sport au, fluff/angst.

>>READ HERE<<

“Cover Art” and “Snes” by christinefromsherwood: Tumblr

“Q and Bond” by myo.mikan: Instagram

“A Second Time”

by Ghoul

Summary:

Bond’s an old dog that’s outlived his owner. Where else is his loyalty supposed to end up now that M is gone?

3.8k, 00q, angst.

>>READ HERE<<

“Art for ‘A Second Time’” by Boffin1710: Tumblr

“Standard Protocol, and Other Workplace Hazards”

by hideyseek

Summary:

In which Q gets into an argument (with HR), and gets out of his head (about Bond), and gets by. Or: MI6 finally gets to the paperwork around Q’s emergency promotion.

5.3k, 00q, fluff? what’s a genre. it’s light, it’s workplace romance. sorry!!!!.

>>READ HERE<<

“A Moment for Tea” by storm_of_sharp_things: Tumblr

“Genius”

by IrishWitch58

Summary:

Bond is home from a mission and looking forward to spending time with Q. Q is having issues with people thinking he’s just a brain. Taking lunch should be a way to cool things down, shouldn’t it?

4.5k, 00q, smutty fluff.

>>READ HERE<<

“Embrace” by dhampir72: AO3

“Movie Moment”

by Izzie

Summary:

Q has just been recruited at MI6. Bond has worked there for years. When the pair meet by chance in Q’s bookstore, sparks fly but neither is willing to admit it. A formal work introduction turns into an unofficial date at an art gallery and as Bond walks Q home in the rain, the two men screw their courage and take the opportunity to have a “movie moment.”

3.1k, 00q, first meeting.

>>READ HERE<<

“Movie Moment” by 10k: Tumblr

“Surprise! A Twin!”

by Liv

Summary:

Benoit Blanc finds out he is a twin. A twin brother to James Bond.

8.3k, fluff, Knives Out Crossover: Benoit/Q

>>READ HERE<<

“The Mario Cart Scene” by Chris: AO3

“Killing Me Softly (With Biscuits)”

by Mely (Celyan)

Summary:

Wherein James returns from a mission and finds out the hard way that sometimes, biscuits can be more explosive than one might think. Well, at least he gets a date out of the ordeal, as well as one (1) biscuit.

3.3k+, fluff and humour, getting together

>>READ HERE<<

Art by BBR:Tumblr

“Chirps, or the Feline Foes of James W. Bond.”

by midrashic

Summary:

James Bond is fluent in English, Spanish, French, German, Portuguese, Arabic, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, BSL, and, just for fun, Esperanto. He never thought he’d be adding “Cat” to that list.

7K, 00Q, established relationship/domestic fluff.

>>READ HERE<<

“Cover Art for Chirps” by BlueBellOfBakerstreet: AO3, Tumblr

“Dedicated”

by Nana-chan

Summary:

Prompts: A) Dedication B) In an attempt to get the sleep deprived Quartermaster to finally go home, Bond offers to buy his groceries. In the grocery store when he looks at the note Q had sent him, he discovers there’s been a mixup. He doubts Q would have sent him to buy lube, condoms and a new pair of lacy knickers.

E-rated, 3.9K, 00Q, romance: established relationship

>>READ HERE<<

Art by Azure7539:Tumblr

“Glint”

by ProblemWithTrouble

Summary:

Q is on vacation when Bond arrives which is odd because Bond was supposed to be retired and with Madeleine Swann.

3.5K, 00Q, fluff

>>READ HERE<<

“Storyboard for ‘Glint’” by Ven: Tumblr

“Art for ‘Glint’” by Olly: Tumblr, Instagram

“Kitty Kitty Bang Bang”

by SouffleGirl91

Summary:

Bond’s done. The last mission was a wake-up call, he’s not up to par anymore. Moneypenny could have died. After weeks of moping, help comes from an unexpected quarter – his balcony. The old ginger tom’s got a limp, torn-up ears and a scar above his left eye. He also likes tuna and is a very good listener.

11k, 00q, fluff, getting together.

>>READ HERE<<

“Selfie” by dhampir72: AO3

“Sweetener”

by storm_of_sharp_things

Summary:

Alec Trevelyan takes stock of his relationship with James and Q, and discovers it is a refuge he never expected.

4.3k, 00q00, domestic fluff.

>>READ HERE<<

“Sweetener” by pettikotes: Tumblr

“The Claw”

by Venstar

Summary:

Something was clawing its way through Q’s mind.

3.5k, 00Q, thriller noir.

>>READ HERE<<

“Art for The Claw” by Azure7539: Tumblr

[hello-copter]

Summary: Notes and letters written to, by, or about Inquisitor Isilynor "Izzy" Trevelyan can be found all over Thedas. Enclosed are a few that one might find if one could look extra hard in some areas.

(A mostly humorous collection of codex entries inspired by a list of prompts from @cassandrapentayaaaaas on tumblr.)

I wrote this back in January/February and just got around to actually posting it. It clocks in at just under 4,000 words which isn’t a lot, I know, but it’s more than I’ve written for non-ttrpg things in years.

[vicekings]

#3 for whoever you like!

3. hugging while twirling around + Izzienne

If you asked Étienne, he’d happily tell you that the relief of finally being home paled in comparison to the joy he felt when he locked eyes with Izzy for the first time in months.

As soon as he met her gaze, he let his bags fall to his feet and brought his arms up to catch her. True to his prediction, she had launched herself into his tight embrace, wrapping her legs around his hips and laughing all the while. All Étienne could do to maintain his balance was to twirl them around. He clutched Izzy tight to his chest and buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking in the sweet scent of her favorite perfume.

“Hello, mon cœur.” He murmured against her skin, once they’d finally stopped spinning.

“I’ve missed you.” She whispered back.

“Really? I could hardly tell.”

“Étienne, my love, my heart, my darling, stop being a smartass and let me enjoy this.”

[aefward]

Bella Hadid wears earrings Chopard, On mannequin necklaces Laruicc.

[redtrevelyan]

I love that all my "canon" pairings get happy endings together eventually.

Gareth Cousland and Leliana eventually get to settle down and become Nug breeders. Morrigan and Kieran are always welcome in their home. Leliana is iffy about being a step-mom at first, but warms up to Kieran pretty quickly.

She and Morrigan even learn to get along. Eventually. For Kieran's sake.

Anlon Hawke and Isabela are still traveling the world together on Izzy's ship, after a real quick detour in which they both worked for the Inquisition for separate stretches. His mansion in Kirkwall is still their home base. They never marry, but they also don't feel like they need to.

Isabela insists on telling people that they're "both free to do as they please", to protect her pirate-y reputation (and Anlon goes with it because he knows that kind of thing is important to her) but they've been happily monogamous in all but name for years.

Drystan Trevelyan and Josephine Montilyet marry a year and a half after Trespassers. The Divine Victoria herself performs the ceremony, because busy as she was, Cassandra wouldn't hear of anyone else doing the honours. Varric and Leliana had an absolute blast planning the bachelor/bachelorette parties (because google says those exist in Andrastan wedding tradition), respectively.

Drystan and Josie mostly live in Antiva, but maintain homes in Skyhold, Kirkwall (thanks to Varric), and Val Royeaux. While Josie is the primary breadwinner, Drystan passes much of his free time hunting pirates.

Considering how the last few years have been, and his general disposition, this actually qualifies as a leisurely retirement for the Herald of Andraste.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Twenty One: Fucking Stressed & Tired

Summary Back from the bog, but a leader's work is never... fucking... done.

[Read Chapter 21 on AO3]  or  [Start from the Beginning]

-Izzalea-

As they approach the gates and bridge to Skyhold, Izzalea is overcome with relief. She silently thanks the Maker and Andraste for bringing them home, relatively unscathed. She has her troops, they put an end to a tyrant, and they all survived that blasted bog.

As they trot their horses across the bridge toward Skyhold’s gates, a bell rings in announcement that they have arrived. Izzalea’s heart jumps as she hopes her commander’s handsome face will be waiting for her on the other side.

She tried to not dwell on how much she missed him while she was away. It took nearly two weeks to rescue her men and come home. They were far slower in the journey back to Skyhold due to the condition of some of the more frail soldiers. Izzalea wanted to ensure their safe return however, so everyone traveled slowly in one large group. She was desperate to not let her impatience show to the men, but all she wanted to do was get back to the keep and run into Cullen’s arms.

Izzalea’s nerves are shot. With all of the death and decay, the horrendous weather, the near constant fighting, and all of the emotion that affected them on this trip… she wishes she could take a break and sleep for days. But she knows that she cannot. There is too much that needs to be done.

When she found Warden Alistair in Crestwood weeks ago, he had shared such an unnerving tale. When Corypheus became active, all of the grey wardens in Orlais began to hear ‘the calling.’ It turns out, that when the darkspawn taint in the warden’s blood becomes too much, they have fitful nightmares and hear voices. Like a kind of unspeakable song. It tells the wardens that the blight will soon claim their lives. It urges the afflicted underground, to the deep roads. Once there, they will never be seen again. They leave to die by combat with the never ending numbers of darkspawn that reside far beneath the surface. Choosing a glorious death, rather than become darkspawn themselves.

Because of this, Warden Commander Clarel spoke of a blood ritual that she claimed would end future blights. Desperate to fulfill the purpose of the grey wardens before all would succumb to the calling. Alistair protested her plan, and instead of heading his advice, the wardens turned on him. Claiming that he would have blight consume the world, rather than do whatever it takes to stop them. He was able to get away from their grasp in order to find Hawke and then Izzalea… warning them that the wardens are gathering in the Western Approach.

Alistair believes that it is Corypheus who is causing the unexplained calling, tricking the wardens, for a purpose that is yet clear. Does he want them all dead in the deep roads? Or is it something else?

Izzalea clutches onto faint hope that she will have at least one night in her own bed before she leaves for the desert. However, she will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this warden mystery, and find out how and why Corypheus is involved.

The gates open and there is a large gathering on the other side. Healers and maids rush to the arms of the recovered soldiers, quickly taking them to the healer’s tower for rest and inspection. A group of stable hands stand at the ready to take the horses to the stables for the same. Izzalea hops off her horse and nods her thanks to the stable boy who takes Ebony’s reigns. She pats the steed lightly on the hip as she is escorted away, thankful for the fearless aid Ebony brought.

“I am pleased to see you returned,” a delicious Ferelden accent thrums from behind her.

Cullen.

Without a care for who sees her blatant display of affection for the Inquisition’s Commander, Izzalea swings her body around, and wraps herself around him in jubilation and relief. He catches her in his arms and hums satisfaction in her ear as she buries her face in the mane of his cloak. She inhales a deep breath of his scent. Her chest warms, she could almost cry from the feeling of alleviation. The abundant stress that her body accumulated on the journey melts away in Cullen’s arms.

“Maker, bless…” Izzalea sighs into his collar. “I am so happy to see you.”

Cullen squeezes her tighter and kisses the side of her head lovingly. “I read the report you sent in, it sounds as if you had a miserable trip.”

She pulls away from him just enough to catch his eyes in hers. “Dreadful, yes. But Successful.” She smiles and reaches her lips to his cheek for a feather soft kiss. “I will tell you all about it later? Over wine? Please let there be wine.” Izzalea looks into his golden eyes with eager happiness.

He returns a smile, breaking their embrace so that he can take her hand and place a delicate kiss upon her glove. “It would be a pleasure, Inquisitor.” He smirks at her in that way that he does, his scar twitching, his eyes sparkling coyly.

“Inquisitor…” Leliana clears her throat to grab Izzalea’s attention.

She drops her hand from her Commander’s touch and feels a light flush spread in her cheeks. She had almost forgotten that they were not alone. Izzalea stretches her shoulders back and stands taller, firmer… more professional. She clears her throat to shoo away any lingering desire from her voice, calling upon her deeper, more serious tone. “Yes, Leliana?”

The spymaster begins deadpan and dark, “We need to see you in the war room… immediately, I’m afraid.” Izzalea senses a twinge of worry at the end of Leliana’s sentence, her eyes and lips fall, her brow crinkles. Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

“Of course, lead the way.”

--

“My scouts rushed tirelessly to the Western Approach, Inquisitor, and what they have found is not good. Along with the wardens, there seems to be great deal of demon activity in the region, though we are not sure why.” Leliana is icily sober, arms crossed, standing at the end of the war table.

Rolling her eyes, Izzalea grunts, “Great… blood rituals and demons. Just… Flippin’ fantastic.”

“The scouts found an old warden hold, Griffon Wing Keep. With the help of Bull’s Chargers, they managed to secure the hold from the Venatori that inhabited it.” Cullen adds without reserve. He stands across from Izzalea on the other side of the table, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Groaning, she rolls her neck, pinching and tugging at its stiff muscles. “Venatori, too. This is just peachy. So, there definitely is a correlation between the strange warden behavior and our favorite darkspawn magister,” she grumbles.

Cullen continues, “I sent Knight-Captain Rylen yesterday, with a squad of troops, to occupy the keep for your arrival. We can use it as a base of operations in the area while you get to the bottom of whatever is happening out there.” He hushes his tone with concern, touched by tender worry, “At least then, perhaps you will be safer… with strong walls surrounding you.”

A sheepish smile spreads on Izzalea’s face. It does not matter how much danger she faces, it seems Cullen will always worry for her. And with their newly affirmed feelings for one another, he is allowing himself to be more forthcoming with his affections. His caring nature makes her heart feel as though it is blossoming within her.

She tries to think of who would be the best team to bring on their mission, given the new information. “I think we should bring Dorian. With the Tevinter presence in the region, he will be of great use. Cassandra’s Seeker abilities should help against both Venatori mages and the abundance of demons. Warden Blackwall should accompany us as well…” Izzalea taps her fingers on her chin in contemplation. Most of her inner circle would be beneficial to have on hand. With so much uncertainty as to what lies in wait out there, along with the sheer distance from Skyhold to the desert, she wants to ensure she has the right team at her disposal.

Leliana thumbs the marker representing Griffon Wing Keep on the map. “Perhaps you should bring your entire inner circle. Since there is a large strong hold waiting for you… If the relations with the wardens turns undesirable, it would be best for you to have as much force with you as possible. There is a very large fortress, Adamant Keep, nearby where my scouts have seen a majority of the warden activity. There is no telling how many are in there, or what they will do.”

Nodding in agreement, Izzalea claps her hands once to symbolize the end of their planning. “Alright, let’s inform everyone and get to work preparing for departure. With such a large group, I want to make sure we bring enough supplies. Let’s use the rest of today and tomorrow for preparation, and I will leave with my team at dawn the following day.”

All are in agreeance, so Izzalea dismisses the meeting before setting off to see Dagna and Harritt in the undercroft. She needs to ensure that they can make all necessary repairs the inner circle’s armor before they set out. They will have a lot of work to do in a very short period of time.

Harritt is going to be so, very cross with me…

--

Leaving the undercroft, with a twinge of shame after being scolded mercilessly by her blacksmith, Izzalea emerges back into the great hall only to find Dorian walking hurriedly towards in her direction.

“Dorian! Make sure you get any repairs needed for our trip to Harritt now, or else...” Izzalea shivers and bites her lip, “Or else, he might skin me…”

The mage scoffs and grins, holding his hand to his chest in feigned offense, “Oh Izzy, all of my gear is in tip-top shape. Fear not, my ravishing fire-haired beauty.” As she sighs in relief, the mage continues, “I do need a minute of your precious time, my dear Inquisitor. I want to suggest an additional member for our entourage.”

“Seems like everyone is pretty much going already…” Izzalea tilts her head and stares quizzically at the raven haired mage.

“Ah yes, well… this person is not usually a fighter.” Dorian leans against the wall beside them, crossing his arms with nonchalance, as he tends to do. “Her name is Aurora. She is a mage who works in the library. I would like to bring her along. She has some life experience with both demons and wardens. I think she can help me… and you of course… with research and information at the new keep.” He musingly strokes the curl of his mustache and peers into the distance, “I also get the sense that she is a deeply powerful mage, though she tries to hide it.”

“Interesting. I don’t want anyone coming along who cannot take care of themselves. Are you sure she can fight, if needed?”

“Oh yes, I believe so. I think she can fight with a vengeance.” He wickedly smirks at her.

“Alright… Well… As long as she is not a burden. I put her in your charge, Dorian.”

“Understood my dear, I shall not let you down.” He mockingly assumes a military posture and salutes, grinning at her before turning back toward the doors to the library. He slowly slinks and sashes’ down the hall, as if giving everyone within its walls a chance to appreciate his visage.

Movement of two soldiers marching down the center of the hall grabs her attention away from musingly watching Dorian leave. Josie hurries down between the men, her shoes click-clacking on the stone in an amusing flurry. She diverts to Izzalea’s direction as the two soldiers take flanking positions to her throne.

Izzalea gets the sudden feeling that something has happened that needs her immediate and official response, a feeling that brings her a lot of dread and irritation. Her expression flattens as her ambassador draws near. “What is it, Josie?”

“I am afraid we require your judgement, Inquisitor.” Her thick Antivan accent harbors aspects of doubt and bewilderment.

Izzalea quietly groans and rolls her head, neck, and shoulders to attempt at relieve the tenacious intensity of stress in her muscles. She truly cannot wait to relax with a bottle of wine and her golden lion. She needs a few hours of stress free companionship. Until then, duty calls…

Stoically, Izzalea approaches her throne and sits. Placing her elbow on the arm rest, she rests her chin on her knuckles. She gazes down the hall, waiting to see what new order of chaos will be brought forth. Her expression remains cool and flat, as the guards walk what appears to be an Avvar man to her throne.

He is in chains as if a prisoner and is dressed similarly to the Hand of Korth. However, where Korth wore red, this man wears blue. She cannot see much of his face, but what she can make out is an insolent glint in his eyes to match the twisted upturn of his lips. He softly chuckles to himself while looking around to see Izzalea’s throne, the hall, and the patrons within gawking at his presence.

Josie stands to her right with her clip board in hand. She gives her notes a quick once over before addressing the court. “Chief Movran the Under, your worship. After your return from the bog, we discovered this man attacking the… building… with a… goat.” Josie speaks slowly and in a way that is as if she doesn’t believe the words coming from her mouth as she says them. “He feels slighted by the killing of his son, the Hand of Korth, and his Avvar tribesmen. Who all attacked you first… What should we do with him? Where should he go?”

Izzalea adjusts herself in her seat, leaning forward to peer at the chieftain. Remembering that Abner had mentioned he was ‘not a bad guy,’ Izzalea tries to quell her temper as best as she can. “To answer the death of you clan, you attacked Skyhold… with a goat?”

Movran chuckles deeply and paces around in the small space the guards allow for him to move. “A trial? Unnecessary.” His voice is deep and calm, but rife with spirited arrogance. It actually reminds Izzalea a lot of her small Avvar scout. “You killed my idiot son. So I answered, as is my custom, by smacking your holdings with goat’s blood. But no foul! He was meant to murder Tevinters, but got feisty with your Inquisition. A redheaded mother guarantees a brat.”

He nods in compliance and softens the arrogance in his tone. “Do as you’ve earned, Inquisitor. My clan yields. My remaining boys have brains still in their heads.” He chuckles to himself and it occurs to her he really does not seem to care that his son is dead.

With a flick of her fingers, Izzalea calls Josie closer. She leans in to lend her ear. Izzalea speaks low whisper, “Who was that arrogant lord I met at Therinfal Redoubt? The really uppity one who got us into that keep?”

She smiles secretively and whispers, “Lord Abernache, Inquisitor,” before backing up to her position beside the throne.

Izzalea looks back at the large Avvar man in front of her, “It seems as though we have an opportunity to expand our knowledge and diplomacy. I would like to connect you with one of our Lords. His name is Abernache. Educate him in your ways and customs. He will be a very difficult pupil. It will not be easy.”

Movran laughs loudly, “I will rename my youngest son Herald. He is another redhead.” He continues to chuckle to himself as the guards undo his chains and escort him out of the hall.

Izzalea slowly shakes her head and blinks her eyes at the man as he leaves. What a bizarre encounter.

Josie steps to her side again and leans in, in a hushed tone she whispers, “One other matter, while I have you Inquisitor? There was another Avvar man. His name is Amund the Sky Watcher. He claims to be an augur who met you while in the marsh. He would like to join the Inquisition as well. Claimed to be impressed with you and wants to lend aid however he can.”

Izzalea smiles. It seems her relationship with the Avvar may not be as tenuous as she once thought. “Oh, yes. I’ve met him. That’s great Josie, thank you. Send him to the healer’s tower. I am sure there is much they can learn from each other.” Josie nods before quickly walking away, down the hall, and back to her office.

The rest of the afternoon and evening Izzalea spends searching out and speaking with her inner circle. Ensuring that they assess their gear thoroughly and get any repairs to Harritt and Dagna post haste. Including, personally escorting Sera to the undecroft in order to facilitate the upgrades Sera's bow desperately needed, and putting out more than one fire of flaring tempers between her elven archer and her blacksmith (As well as witness adorable awkward flirting between Sera and Dagna between the elf's outbursts with Harritt). By the time she finishes, the dark night sky has consumed the daylight. Izzalea hears ten bells before she finally makes her way to the main building of the keep so that she can shrug up the stairs to her quarters.

As she climbs the steps in her tower, she hears a soft click and shut of her door behind her. Izzalea rolls her eyes and wonders who needs her now, at this hour. With a frown, she turns and look over her shoulder to finds the beautiful and bashful face of her commander. He smiles up at her, silently displaying a bottle of wine and two glasses for her inspection.

“Oh Cullen… I believe Andraste herself has sent you to me. You undeniable treasure.” Izzalea smiles and immediately relaxes her shoulders, feeling ten times lighter having seen his lovely face.

They climb the stairs and move the couch in her room so that it sits directly in front of her fireplace. The maids had already been in and started a glorious fire in the hearth. The room is warm and glows beautiful, relaxing, orange, red, and amber hues.

Cullen pours them each a glass of wine before sitting at the end of the couch. Izzalea takes her wine from his hand as she snuggles up beside him. He thankfully left his armor in his office, and instead, he wears an under tunic and his leather trousers. Izzalea easily leans herself into his chest and tucks her legs to the side, beneath her. He stretches his free arm around her shoulders and softly rubs her arm. She is content. Relaxed.

Staring into the fire, she says, “I know I said I would talk about the trip, but I’m just so fucking tired. I really don’t want to talk or even think anymore for today…”

He laughs a low breathy rumble, “Of course, Izzalea. Let’s just be, for tonight.”

“I knew you’d understand,” she grins. If anyone can fathom the importance of the precious few moments of peace people in their position have, it is Cullen.

They sit silently sipping their wine and gazing into the fire. She is so happy to just be in his arms. The simple act of breathing is coming easier now. She knew that she was tense, but Izzalea did not understand quite the magnitude until she was finally at peace.

Cullen’s lips press into her hair and she closes her eyes. He takes the now empty goblet from her fingers and sets it to the side. He wraps her in his large, muscular arms, and she feels the buzz of comfortable satisfaction tingle through her body. She revels in the peace that she feels within her.

“I am pleased that we have at least two evenings together before I leave you again,” she says.

Cullen brings his lips down to ghost them on her ear, causing shivers to tingle through her body. “I will miss you a great deal, Izzalea.” A low husk. Velvet desire. Her heart rate jumps from the way he says her name.

She tries to speak, but her breath hitches. Her voice comes out in not but a whisper, “I will miss you too, Cullen.” She wonders about all of the words they are not saying. It seems too soon. Yet, she cannot help but to feel resounding love when she thinks about him. Sees him. Touches him. Everything him.

Izzalea arches her neck to bring her lips to his. He leans down and kisses her tenderly, supporting her chin with a gentle touch of his fingers. She feels as if she is soaring through the clouds when his lips touch hers. She is blissful. Happy.

He gives her a light kiss on her forehead. Gingerly, they readjust so that her head is comfortably tucked under his shoulder and on his chest, both of them wrapping their arms around the other. The pair of fearsome warriors sit in quiet tranquility from their stressful lives. Listening to the cracking of the wood in the fire, they savor the warm glow. Here they aren’t the Inquisitor and Commander of the Inquisition. Here, they are not two highly-skilled, deadly fighters who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Here, in this quiet room, for this moment, they are simply two people.

Here, they are just Izzy and Cullen.