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sorceresssundries · 4 months ago

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The Death of Thom Rainier

Pairing: Blackwall/Lavellan (My quizzy, Sparrow)

Warnings: ANGST, talks of death, grief, heartbreak.

Word Count: 4670 words

Summary: The honour and integrity of the Inquisition is at risk of being brought down by the decision surrounding the fate of the Inquisitor's lover. Action must be taken, and quickly, to save the group from talk of corruption.

It was late, and the moonlight dappled through the crumbling cracks and forgotten fissures of Skyhold, spilling pale silver across the war table. Shadows danced over the once-pristine map, now scarred with countless daggers marking places where they had struck — and where they had yet to reach. The Inquisition had grown into a force of reckoning, but with that power came bonds of responsibility, heavier than crowns and chains. They had to be more than a scattered band of idealists. They had to be an order, a symbol, both a hammer of justice and a shield for the helpless. Their future was as fragile and perilous as a frost-kissed web clinging to the rafters above.

Three figures met in secret, while the rest of the fortress slept.

“The Inquisitor has ordered his release from Val Royeaux,” Cullen’s voice cut through the room. His hands gripped the pommel of his sword, his eyes unflinching, burning with the loyalty that had driven him through so many battles. “He is to be brought here for judgement.”

Leliana’s eyes gleamed in the candlelight, the flicker casting her in shifting shadow. “A reasonable request,” she replied, her voice soft but edged. “Blackwall is a part of her Inquisition. Should she not be the one to pass judgement on him?”

Josephine, seated at the far end of the table, sighed, her hand rising to rub at her temple. The stress etched itself deep into the lines around her eyes, tired from the endless machinations and political games. “Blackwall was a part of the Inquisition, yes,” she said, her voice quieter than the others, yet no less burdened. “But this isn’t about Blackwall. This is about Thom Rainier, and Orlais wants his head. They won’t settle for anything less.”

“His crimes are…” Cullen began, his brow furrowed as if the mere memory of Rainier’s past offences disgusted him. “Unforgivable. I’m inclined to agree with the Orlesians on this.”

The commander was all duty now, his judgement unyielding. His years as a Templar had hardened him to betrayal, especially from someone so close to the Inquisitor.

Josephine straightened, the flicker of the fire catching the lines of tension on her face. “You know as well as I do that this isn’t just about Rainier’s past. His relationship with the Inquisitor was no secret, even at the Winter Palace. Our Orlesian allies watched them, talked about them. Whispers travelled faster than arrows. What will it look like if she brings him back here? If she protects him?”

“It will look,” Cullen said, voice dark and firm, “like corruption. As if we value personal attachments over justice. An institution capable of one corruption is capable of many. It could undo everything we’ve built.”

“And if we let him die in Val Royeaux, she will never forgive us,” Leliana interjected quietly, her gaze flickering with a rare moment of sympathy. “We will lose her trust.”

A heavy silence fell over the room, a storm waiting to break. There was truth in every word, and each of them felt the rolling thunder of the dilemma closing in.

“She will not forget the betrayal. Not from us.” Josephine’s voice trembled ever so slightly as she spoke, as though already anticipating the bitterness that would follow.

Leliana’s gaze sharpened then, a glint of something colder and more dangerous flashing in her eyes. “There is a path forward.” Her voice, once as soft as a lullaby, now carried the quiet menace of a hunter who had found her prey.

The spymaster stepped closer to the table, her fingers brushing lightly over the map, resting just above Val Royeaux. “We could arrange for his release — quietly. He would never make it here. A fatal accident on the road. An Orlesian ambush. It would solve the issue without leaving our hands stained. He dies, Orlais is happy, and the Inquisitor’s hands remain clean.”

Cullen stiffened. “You’re suggesting we…?”

“Kill him?” Leliana’s lips curled, just slightly. “I am suggesting we control the narrative. We let slip our route back here. We spare her the guilt, and we show Orlais that the Inquisition stands by its principles. We did as she asked us, Rainier is killed in an unpredicted attack, and the Inquisitor is spared the burden of deciding his fate.”

The room was cloaked in silence once more, heavy with the choice before them, a choice that would either save the Inquisition — or damn it.

Josephine’s fingers tightened around her quill, her gaze falling to the map. “If we choose this path,” she whispered, “We save our Inquisition. But we might lose her.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ♜ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sparrow sat on the throne she never wanted, in a fortress that still felt too vast, too cold, too foreign to ever be hers. The high-backed seat loomed around her, it's cold stone carved for someone much larger, much grander. Her small, elven feet dangled just shy of the floor, and the throne's broad arms were too wide for her to rest against. She felt weightless, suspended in the centre of it, untethered.

She straightened her spine, drawing on the memory of her mother’s lessons, as if the invisible cord pulling her back might make her taller, more imposing. Make yourself tall, Ma’da’ean, her mother used to say. And everything else will shrink.

But the world refused to shrink. The great hall remained cavernous, the whispers of the court still echoed off the walls like a rising storm, and the knot of dread within her only grew tighter.

Give her demons. Give her tyrants. Give her politics she knew nothing of and Gods she did not worship. She would take them all.

This, she could not do.

The dread had sunk deep, threading through her chest, winding around her heart. The thought of seeing him again, of locking eyes with the man whose name she did not even know, made her stomach twist.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, clinging to the silence inside her mind. Please, she thought, though she had no idea who she was pleading to. She wasn’t one for prayer, nor for gods. But now, she found herself grasping for anything to shield her from the moment that was about to come.

Please, don’t make me do this.

But whoever might have been listening did not answer. A cold silence fell over the great hall as the heavy doors groaned open. The sound echoed, announcing the arrival of the man she could not face.

She couldn't look at him. Her entire body rebelled at the thought of raising her gaze, of seeing him as he was now—a stranger wearing a name she didn’t recognise. Her heart still clung to the memory of the man he had been only days ago. His eyes had been soft, honest. His words had promised her safety, his touch had offered comfort. Nothing matters but us, he had whispered. He had kissed her as if she were something precious, first with gentleness, then with a passion that had made her believe him.

Now, all of that felt like a cruel trick, a trap she had willingly fallen into.

Her eyes burned, but she would not let the tears fall. She couldn’t drag her gaze from the floor. She needed to breathe, to gather the last shreds of her strength before she dared look at him again.

The man I knew doesn’t exist, she reminded herself. He never did.

It was anger that lifted her eyes, as the heavy sound of boots came to a halt in front of her - She could not let herself be Sparrow, or Blackwall’s lover. She was the Inquisitor. The mark in her palm itched as she raised her gaze to finally meet the man standing before her.

Cullen? And an Orlesian man in intricate armour and a matching brass mask.

Her breath caught in relief, or was it just surprise? She felt too nauseous to be sure of her own feelings. She was calm until she noticed the blood. It was splattered across Cullen’s armour, streaked across his breastplate, flecked through his golden hair. There was a jagged cut to his high cheekbone, the skin raw, smeared with red. The sight of it sent her heart into a tailspin, her anger replaced by a cold, creeping fear.

Sparrow stood, unthinkingly. There was a river of murmurs, words tangling like hissing cicadas in the hot, oppressive air of a summer storm. Every gaze in the hall fixed on her, on them, but she could hardly hear them over the rushing in her own ears.

"What's happened?" she demanded, her voice hoarse as it cracked through the crowd, pulling the room’s attention fully toward them. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, though she willed herself to stay composed.

Cullen glanced briefly at the court before locking eyes with her again. “We were intercepted.”

Sparrow’s stomach dropped. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she searched his face for answers. “Where is Blackwall?” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, but the name hit the air like a blow.

Cullen swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as though the words themselves were difficult to push out. “Thom Rainier is dead.”

The world tilted beneath her. The buzzing of the court, the murmured voices and watchful eyes, all faded into a distant hum. For a moment, Sparrow couldn't feel the stone beneath her feet, couldn’t even feel herself breathing.

The man beside Cullen was speaking - something about being an envoy, about it all happening so fast. She didn’t care. His words slipped past her, meaningless, drowned by the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

He can’t be dead.

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. The room felt too small, the air too thin. Her fingers flexed at her sides, desperate to hold onto something, anything that wasn’t slipping away.

He can’t be dead.

She could still hear his low, rough laugh in her head, the way it rumbled through his chest when he let his guard down. She could still feel the calloused swirls of his fingertips against her skin.

She hadn’t even bathed properly since they’d been together. His scent still clung to her, faint but lingering—leather, sweat, and the earth. She closed her eyes as if she could summon him back with the memory of it, as if he could step out from some hidden corner and make this a cruel misunderstanding.

Her eyes flickered to the windows, to the light of an indifferent sun spilling through the stained glass. The world outside was bright, alive. Vibrant patterns of colour danced across the stone floor, reflections from the sunlight mingling with the songs of winter birds that chirped in pairs just beyond the glass. It was all so alive, so full of life and warmth.

How could he not be?

Sparrow blinked, struggling to focus, to anchor herself to the present. Her voice—when it finally came—was like shards of glass, shattered and too small to hold onto.

“He can’t be…” she breathed, her words trembling on the edge of disbelief. “There has been a mistake.”

The Orlesian stepped forward, his presence all formality and cold distance. “My lady,” he began, “we were ambushed on the road by bandits. They spread pitch across the stones, threw oil, and fired arrows lit with flame. The carriage he was locked in was alight within seconds. The guards tried—”

“That is enough.” Cullen’s voice cut through, sharp and final. His tone left no room for further details, no space for the grisly reality the man was about to spill. He stood tense, his eyes not meeting Sparrow’s. His harshness wasn’t just for the noble, it was for her—an attempt to shield her from the images that would follow if she heard any more.

But it was too late.

The words “the carriage he was locked in” echoed in her mind, painting a picture of the fire, of Blackwall—Thom—trapped and helpless, dying in agony. She could almost see the smoke rising, the flames licking at his skin, hear the crackle of burning wood and the screams no one would ever admit to. The images flooded her without mercy, despite Cullen’s effort to stop them.

Her legs wavered, and she reached out, her hand barely catching the edge of the throne for balance. The air was too thick now, the voices in the hall too loud, too suffocating. The world, once bright and filled with the laughter of birds, was silent and cold.

She fell apart. All pretence of dignity slipped from her white-knuckled fists like sand. The invisible crown of the Inquisitor tumbled from her head, her practised posture buckled. She collapsed to the cold stone floor, not a leader, not a herald, but a woman with a heart shattered beyond repair.

“Get them out!” Her voice cracked as she cried out, barely able to force the words through the choking sobs that rose from her chest. “All of them. Now.”

Cullen’s stiff nod was the only reply she received. His voice cut through the hall, issuing orders with the force of a commander who would not be questioned. The nobles, the advisors, the residents - every prying eye - scattered as if swept away by the storm of her devastation.

She was an exposed nerve, raw and bleeding, her tears an unending stream. Her cries, desperate and guttural, filled the empty hall, echoing louder with each person who left.

She didn’t know how long she knelt there, her face buried in her arms, shaking uncontrollably. Time had lost all meaning. But then, without warning, a large, gentle hand unfurled her. It was Iron Bull - his presence massive and unyielding, but his touch impossibly gentle. She tried to fight, her body kicking and flailing as his arms lifted her from the floor, but it was futile. His strength was too steady, too absolute.

He carried her effortlessly up the winding stairs to her chamber, holding her as though she weighed nothing. His voice rumbled low, soothing but blunt. “Keep hitting, boss. It’ll help.”

So she did. She hit at his broad chest, her fists weak and trembling, but she struck anyway, again and again. She imagined it was Blackwall she was striking, the man who had torn her heart apart.

If he had been honest, if he had told her everything from the start, if he had trusted her the way she trusted him, he wouldn’t have died like this—engulfed in flames, alone, on his way to be judged by her.

Each hit carried the sting of her anger. Selfish fool. Treacherous. Manipulative. She pounded against Bull’s chest, though her strength was rapidly waning, her fury dissolving into fresh waves of grief. She hated Blackwall for the lies, for the betrayal, for leaving her with nothing but the memory of his touch.

She hated that she was stripped of the chance to be angry with him, to tell him of her humiliation. She wanted him to know how he had hurt her. That she had fallen in love with him because he was steadfast and kind. How humiliated she was that she had called out the name of another man while they made love.

But if she were honest, deep down, beneath all the fury and anguish, what she truly wanted was for him to fight for her. She wanted him to beg for her forgiveness, to tell her the truth in its entirety, to explain why he had kept so much from her. She wanted to be angry with him, to rage and cry and then, eventually, not be angry anymore. She wanted to forgive him, even if that made her weak.

Now that chance was gone and it felt as though she would be angry forever—trapped in this endless cycle of fury that had no outlet. The sharp, jagged words she wanted to hurl at him would never be spoken, would never cut him the way they cut her. Instead, they dug into her own skin, slicing deeper with nowhere to go, and she would bleed and bleed and bleed for the rest of her days.

And still, Bull carried her - bearing the weight of her anguish. He made no attempt to stop her, to console her.

He just let her break, knowing it was the only thing left she could do.

She couldn't pinpoint the moment she slipped into sleep - whether it was exhaustion or the way Bull had laid her down so gently on the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and the weight of sleep pulled her under, heavy and irresistible.

In her dreams, everything felt warped, as if reality itself was bending around her grief. She wandered through the halls of Skyhold, her footsteps echoing unnaturally. The walls stretched impossibly high, and the colours of the tapestries bled into one another, too bright, too vivid. The faces of the people she passed blurred into nothingness, their voices a distant murmur of sound that she couldn’t quite make out.

Blackwall was laughing at her, that laugh she loved so much - the one that reminded her of the bending of the forest trees in Summer and the crackle of a fireplace in winter - sharpened itself against the stone walls of Skyhold and ricocheted around her.

Shadows from barely-lit candles began to stretch and twist, forming grotesque shapes that danced in the periphery of her vision. She turned, only to find the spectres of dead men swinging at the hangman’s noose, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. The empty, hollow sound of coins jangling mingled with the cloying, hot smell of spilled blood.

“My lady” His voice spat at her, deep and gruff, “My love”

She wanted it to end. Please... make it stop. No more. Her nails bit into the flesh of her palm, the sharp pain dragging her back to consciousness. She woke, sweat-slicked and trembling, tears streaming down her face.

She wasn’t alone.

A man stood on her balcony, leaning against the window frame, barely a silhouette in the dim light. When he noticed her stirring, he straightened sharply, stepping into a sliver of moonlight.

It was him.

Or rather, a ghostly, altered version of him. His hair, once long, was now cropped close, his face clean-shaven. The familiar features she had known were marred by dark bruising around one eye, his skin paler than she remembered. But it was still him.

It had to be another nightmare. Another cruel trick of the Fade. If she couldn't have him—if Blackwall had truly been taken from her—then all she wanted was peace. Blessed, quiet peace. She dug her nails into her palms, harder, until the skin broke and blood welled in her hands. She gasped at the sharp pain. Still, she did not wake.

“My lady,” he spoke softly, his gaze lingering on her bleeding hands as he took a step toward her.

“Don’t,” she spat, wiping her tear-streaked cheeks with the back of her hand, the metallic scent of blood sharp in her nose. This place was more lucid than her other nightmares, more grounded in reality, but that only made the apparition in front of her more dangerous. He was too much like the man she had loved, too much like the man she’d lost.

“Sparrow,” he whispered, his voice filled with the old affection that once soothed her but now felt like a dagger twisted in her heart.

“Stop!” She inhaled sharply, her body trembling with the weight of her grief. “Leave. Now.”

This was no different from the other demons that had preyed on her in the Fade. Desire, most likely. Tempting her with the one thing she longed for most, only to use her weakness against her. They always found her here, in these fragile moments, vulnerable and desperate. She wouldn't fall for it.

“Don’t you dare use his voice,” she hissed, her hands curling into fists at her sides, the fresh pain from her palms sizzling. “You think I’m that easy to break?”

The man flinched, brow furrowing in the way she had seen a hundred times before, a familiar wrinkle in his forehead that made her heart ache. The memory of it tore at her insides, a splinter burrowing deeper into a heart already shattered beyond repair. Could there really be any more room to break? She thought she'd felt every kind of pain there was.

“It’s me, my lady,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “No more.”

Her body betrayed her then, a heaving, hollow retch overtaking her as she leaned over the edge of her bed. Nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten in days. The only thing left in her stomach was grief, and it was impossible to expel. But the tears—they still flowed, unrelenting. She thought they would run dry by now, but if her tears were a measure of her love for Blackwall, then she supposed they would never stop.

He moved toward her in an instant and knelt beside her, his fingers brushing her back in the same gentle circles that had once been a balm for her. The same touch that had comforted her when she was Sparrow and he was Blackwall.

She let herself believe the lie. She leaned into the sensation of his touch, as if it would be the last time she could ever feel him again. His hands were warm, real, and they smelled of the same worn leather and pine as he always had.

“I’m here” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her ear. “I promise you.”

She whimpered, torn between wanting to shove him away and pulling him closer. If this was the demon’s game, so be it. She would risk everything for just one more moment with him. One more breath, one more touch. Let the Fade take her.

“There was a plan,” he continued, his voice laced with weariness. “To get me out of Orlais, just as you instructed. The Inquisition made a deal with the Val Royeaux nobles—those who had every right to want me dead. They agreed to formally release me to the Inquisition, on the understanding that Cullen ‘let slip’ the route we would take back to Skyhold, the number of soldiers escorting me, everything. An envoy was sent alongside him to ensure the plan proceeded smoothly, that I would not make it back here alive.”

Her breath caught, her eyes wide as she struggled to comprehend his words.

“But there was a second part,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Another prisoner, sentenced to die, took my place. Dressed in my clothes, a sack over his head. They promised him they would provide his family a bag of gold if he stayed silent and died in my name. They gave him poison—quick, painless. He was dead before the ambush started.” His voice was bitter, angry. “I was taken away in secret, through passageways I'm sure no-one knows exists. With Leliana. Blackwall is dead. Thom Rainier is dead. I’m all that’s left.”

She ripped herself from his touch, rising to her feet as fury welled up in her chest. “More lies!” she shouted, her voice hoarse. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why did they let me believe—do they even understand how much—”

“They needed you to believe it,” he said quietly, his head still bowed. “They needed the Orlesians to believe it. To see the noble, bloodsoaked commander, the shaken envoy…” he finally looked to her “And the broken-hearted Inquisitor”

“Well, they got what they wanted,” she snarled, pressing her hand to her chest as if to hold herself together.

“I would never have agreed to it,” he whispered, “I was ready to die. I deserved to die.”

He began to move away from her, retreating toward the door.

“There’s to be a private hearing tomorrow,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll still get to decide my fate.”

She stared at him, disbelief turning her blood cold.

“I’ll accept whatever you decide,” he said, his eyes burning for her. “I’ve been given more than I deserve. More than I could ever hope for. To have known you, to have been loved by you... that was more than I could ever have dreamed of, as Rainier or as Blackwall.”

Her certainty that she was talking with a demon wavered, and her heart fluttered. She had to know, she had to be sure.

“Tell me something,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

“Anything,” he replied, without hesitation. His voice was resolute, as if whatever she asked, he was ready to face it. For her, he would.

Her gaze sharpened, seeking the truth she needed to hear. “When we were in the Fade... when we fought our nightmares—what did you see there?”

It was a question that had haunted her, one that she had never dared to ask until now. He had never spoken of it. She didn’t know his answer, and neither would a demon.

Blackwall tensed, his face tightening with a pain he had long buried. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something too heavy to carry alone. Finally, he bowed his head, the unspoken torment that had lived inside him spilling out, his voice raw with sorrow.

“You fought against spiders,” he began, his words slow and deliberate, as if reliving the nightmare again. “Sera fought against nothing. And I...” His voice faltered, and she could see the anguish etching itself into his features. “I kept seeing them.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to shield himself from the images that had never truly left him. His hands clenched at his sides, but he did not stop.

“The Callier children. And the men, my men, who died for their murder,” he continued, his voice lower now, filled with the heaviness he had never allowed her to see until this moment. “Again and again, they came at me. And again and again, I cut them down.”

His words hung in the air like a bitter curse. He drew a ragged breath, his hands trembling, as if the ghosts still clung to him.

“That nightmare turned me into what I feared most,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “It almost broke me.”

Her heart ached as she finally saw him - not a trick, not a demon - but the man she loved. The man who had lived with the weight of his sins, trying, despite everything, to atone. A man who, no matter how fiercely he loved her, still believed he was unworthy of any in return.

It shattered her.

The flood of emotion broke through her control, and before she could stop herself, she threw her arms around him, sobs tearing from her throat as she buried her face against his chest. Her body trembled as grief, relief, and the overwhelming need to hold him crashed over her all at once.

He caught her, pulling her close, his arms wrapping around her as if he, too, was holding on for dear life. His hands shook as they gripped her, and she could feel the tremor in his chest as his breath hitched. Yet, still, he held her. Just as he always had. As if, in this one moment, all the guilt, all the nightmares, could fall away in the circle of her arms.

It was really him.

She stroked his cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble growing back. Anger would come. Admonition, too. But what she felt now, swelling in her chest, was more important. Forgiveness. It was the first thread she would pull from the tangle of pain between them, the one that would begin to untie the knots.

The weight of the past was still there, but now it felt lighter, shared between them. They had both suffered, both lost something, but here, in this moment, they found something else: a chance to rebuild. A chance to begin again.

And for that, for him, she was willing to fight.

#dragon age inquisition #dragon age #blackwall dai #blackwall #blackwall fanfic

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chichirid · 9 months ago

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ʚ columbina id pack ɞ

(names, pronouns, titles)

names: airelle, alouette, angelica, antionette, aurora, beatrice, charles, charlotte / lotte, coloratura, colette, damselette, dove, elizabeth, estelle, francesca, francis, harlequin, joseph, josephine, juilette, katherine, louise, lovelace, marilyn, marion, persephone, pierrot, priscilla, rosemary, valentina, victoria

pronouns: angel/angels, saint/saints, lyric/lyrics, harm/harmony, symph/symphony, doll/dolls, opera/operas, melan/melancholic, dove/doves, snow/snows, hail/hails

titles: *prn* who turns a blind eye, *prn*’s alluring melodies, *prn*’s pure wings, *prn* with lace over one’s eyes, *prn* with feathers formed from light, *prn* whose blessed voice rings out, *prn* with a melodic requiem, *prn* whose symphony echoes in an empty room / in heaven, the third harbinger, the seraph’s kiss, the delicate seelie, the corrupted angel, the blinded angel, the coloratura of heaven, the snowy angel, the frosted seraph, the angel sculpture carved from ice,

art credits: main image - https://space.bilibili.com/7198052 - reposted main image - https://www.zerochan.net/3704823 - moving gif - https://twitter.com/riruririrurun/status/1589245080485113856

#npts #names pronouns titles #id pack #identity pack #columbina #harbinger #genshin #fatui harbingers #fatui #snezhnaya #third harbinger #genshin impact #genshin columbina #genshin npts

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bucketsofmonsters · 5 months ago

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Where the Light Enters - Part 4

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, panic attacks, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 3k

ao3 link

Masterlist

The place they were currently staying was called Haven.

She hadn’t understood the first few times, had thought they were saying that this place was a haven for them in this fight.

It didn’t feel like a haven to her.

Haven was a lot of things.

She was told there had been important things here, years ago. Some sort of religious symbol. She’d been told about it like it would mean something to her. Very little that they said meant anything to her, but at least usually it was about things in current times that might actually affect her, not just legends of some artifact long gone.

It was also allegedly a home, a place where they could seek refuge. If that was what it was, she thought she would probably hate it less than she did.

The cold was the first thing she took grievance with. She’d had to pull strings and call in favors to get enough furs to be able to survive the cold, let alone feel anything close to alright in it.

Everything was so far apart too, insisting you go out in the cold in order to get anywhere.

There was also the matter of how open it was. She was accustomed to squirreling herself away, letting her existence fade into the back of people’s mind when she did not need anything from them.

Even as an important figure for this group she’d stumbled into, she thought she’d be able to hide on occasion if it weren’t for the fact that there was no way to move in the open space against stark, white snow without drawing the attention of everyone within a mile radius.

Haven was a lot of things. Easily defensible was not one of them. So when the enemy came, seeking the power that had embedded itself into her palm, there was little they could do.

When the first chance to flee presented itself, she took it, running through old paths half remembered by some chantry member who’d been there far longer than they had.

She’d immediately taken the side of abandoning it all. This place was worth nothing to her, less than nothing even.

And so they fled.

They were out before the army could even really draw close.

Cole was nowhere to be found as Haven was taken, as their sanctuary was razed to the ground.

They escaped into the mountains, where it was somehow impossibly colder than Haven was. She was glad she’d been layered in her furs, half convinced she’d have frozen to death by now if she hadn’t. Every time she saw one of the chantry folk in their robes she would wonder how they could be standing and moving around like they were. Even in as many layers as she had, her hands were frozen solid, planted firmly between her thighs trying to sap some heat from the rest of her.

She saw a layer of frost developing on Cullen’s armor and shivered sympathetically. She hadn’t even considered how cold the metal would get in temperatures far below freezing.

Him and Cassandra seemed completely unphased by this, instead bickering about something in the corner. Josephine and Leliana quickly joined them, all fighting about something.

They kept trying to draw her into the conversation and get her to make choices. She steadfastly refused, bundled up on a crate under a hastily constructed overhang, trying to avoid the snow that lay in both directions.

She did a silent head count as she sat there. Bull came over and ruffled her hair affectionately, leaving her another blanket before heading off to help his Chargers.

She saw Solas stomping around and groaned internally, wishing that he’d been left behind somehow.

Varric smiled at her in the distance, off helping some stragglers alongside Blackwall.

Some new mage was there, and Cullen came over to inform her that his name was Dorian and he’d warned them of the coming attack.

She gave him a polite wave and then went back to ignoring him.

The only person she recognized who was missing was Cole.

It was too much to hope that he was permanently gone. It was not unheard of for him to disappear for long stretches of time. She was sure he would be back, sooner rather than later.

But still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be able to find them, out there in the mountains, where even the monster that had come to hunt them couldn’t seem to find any trace of their army.

She wondered even more so when they found this new home.

Skyhold, someone had called it, she was fairly certain.

She shouldn’t have wanted to see him there. He was a nuisance more than anything.

And yet she found herself looking in dark corners and seeing if that vacant look would show up in anyone’s eyes as they got that nagging feeling that they’d forgotten something after Cole left them a little better off.

She wondered if maybe she’d begun forgetting him.

She wasn’t sure why Cole hadn’t made her forget it all already. It would make things easier for him.

But then again, he seemed a lot less concerned with ease than she was.

No, making things easy and safe was never something Cole wanted.

Part of her thought that he did it very intentionally. That one of two things was happening. That either he wanted her to remember all the threats, to make her careful, or worse, he thought remembering him might help her.

But she didn’t want to think about that so she stamped it down deep inside her.

And then, one day, a week into moving into Skyhold, she saw him. He was up on the battlements that lay on the edge of their new castle. He was perched on an overhang with no one else looking up at him.

She could see him. She wondered if she was the only one who could or if it was simply that no one had bothered to check.

Either was acceptable, so long as no one questioned him too much. With the secrets he’d gathered, she’d prefer if no one but her ever noticed him again.

Because that was the problem. He needed her alive, but somehow he hadn’t seemed to realize that he didn’t need her safe and happy, didn’t need her in a position of power.

Just alive.

She wondered why he hadn’t plucked the thought right out of her head the way he had so many others.

She didn’t expect to see him again for a while after that. He seemed more than content to lurk in the shadows on his own, far less friendly than he used to be. She stopped looking for him at all after she saw that he’d found his way to Skyhold.

It was unbecoming to look for him like this.

The next time she saw signs of him, he wasn’t actually present. There was a small pastry on her bed with a little nineteen piped atop it, one she recognized instantly. She’d been given one just like it on her birthday years ago, a lower number written across the top then, though she could barely remember what it was. The years all blended together. She’d been given it by someone who’d thought they were doing something nice. She supposed in that way it was a perfect mimicry.

It probably meant it was her birthday.

It turned her stomach to look at it. Even if it hadn’t been tied to a wretched man, it reminded her of her march towards undesirability, closer to losing the only thing protecting her.

She picked it up and disposed of it immediately, trying to purge the thought of it from her mind.

Cole graced her presence a few hours later. “I didn’t mean it to hurt,” he said, her heart skipping a beat as he appeared out of nowhere. “It was your birthday and I saw it. I thought it might help. It’s hard to tell with you, everything is so tangled in the hurt.”

“Fine,” she spat. “Next time you’re not sure, just leave it alone.”

“I don’t know how to help.”

“That’s why you should leave it. Since when do you try to help me anyway? What happened to me causing the hurt and you wishing you could kill me.”

“I can’t kill you. I should still do something.”

“There is nothing you can do for me,” she said, not even angry at him. It was simply true, a fact that she was informing him of. She was beyond helping. “Focus on people who might actually appreciate it, alright?”

She didn’t wait for a response before storming off.

Two weeks passed before she saw him again. He’d taken her advice and left her alone and she was better for it.

And then, in two weeks, Bull’s eyes got vacant in that familiar way that she’d come to understand meant Cole had helped him and she got mad.

It usually didn’t matter, when anger overtook her. It wasn’t like she was allowed to let anyone see.

But Cole had caused this, and she could be angry at Cole all she liked. Nothing she could do would make him buy into the meek girl everyone else saw so she could be as mad at him as she wanted.

So she went to see Cole.

She didn’t know where to look but it was like he knew she was looking. He showed up for her so quickly and she wondered if maybe he didn’t realize how upset she was.

“You helped him,” she shouted, accusationally. “You helped Bull. You know what he’s done! How could you do that?”

“He doesn’t know he’s done anything. It’s a mistake. You could tell him and he would stop.”

She was fully aware that she was being unfair and it did nothing to stop her. “You know it’s not that simple.”

“You hurt people,” he said softly. “And you deserve help.”

“It’s not the same,” she insisted.

“No, it’s not. You know you’re hurting them.”

Her breath came in stuttery and she hated that this was affecting her, that she couldn’t even be angry properly. “I’m doing what I have to. I don’t have another choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” he said, irritatingly and never-endingly inexpressive. She couldn’t read him, not even a little, and yet he could peer directly into her head like it was nothing.

It just wasn’t fair.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

“You can be mad if it dims the hurt,”

It made her ten times as angry to be given permission to be mad.

She picked up the thing nearest to her, some dusty book someone had forgotten about, and threw it at him.

He dodged it easily, without even thinking.

She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. The sound of it echoed through the stone hall. It didn’t make her feel any better.

She left without Cole the next day.

They were heading to a desert somewhere to go close rifts. Solas had begged her to look for elven artifacts and she’d promised him they would and then immediately disposed of the request mentally.

She’d brought that new mage with her, Dorian she was pretty sure his name was.

He seemed lovely by nature of his greatest virtue, not being Solas.

Bull offered to tag along. He never seemed to stop offering lately and she didn’t have the energy to shut him down, so he came too.

Blackwall also went with them, just by nature of being in the armory when they were suiting up to head out. She didn’t mind. He was a good shield and endlessly noble, set on ensuring she didn’t get hurt.

He seemed distressed over how young she looked, not enticed by her like some of the other men in the Inquisition were. It didn’t matter to her, as long as he kept her safe.

It was a quiet affair. Dorian was a chatty one, trying endlessly to strike up conversation, but neither she nor Blackwall would take the bait, just stomping through the desert.

Bull tried to engage him in conversation but Dorian was not fond of Qunari so that devolved quickly. She didn’t pay too much attention, more than content just kicking up sand as she walked.

A few hours into wandering the hot desert, they found a rift. It was hard to hide from the chaos of the battle in a desert, with far too few things to cower behind until it was all over. She just hunkered down as best she could and trusted her companions.

She was looking away when a stray spell from that new mage hit her, the bolt of light embedding itself into her shoulder, searing pain shooting through her.

She yelped, curling in further on herself in an attempt to make herself small.

It felt like an eternity before it was over.

Dorian rushed over, apologies spilling out of his mouth as his hand pressed into the wound.

She flinched away from his touch as it made the wound sting worse. Blackwall went to lift her up before Bull pushed past him, hauling her into his arms.

She wished Blackwall had been allowed to do it.

She barely paid attention to anything but the pain as they made their way back to Skyhold.

It did occur to her that with anyone else, they’d just push through this injury, take a health potion, bandage it up, and keep on going. She wouldn’t even have thought twice about it, except for when she had to feign sympathy.

She was dropped off at the medical tent at Skyhold and the three men were shooed away, the woman there insisting that they really did not have enough space for three grown men, one of them a Qunari at that, to be loitering.

They got her fixed up pretty quickly. It wasn’t too severe an injury, all things considered, necromantic spells just tended to leave a lingering bone-deep ache that other types of magic didn’t.

It would last a long time, she was told. She might feel it when it was about to rain, told like it was a joke that she’d be stuck with this pain, rolling in with the thunder.

She was given something for the pain when she asked, and she was sure she only got it because she was the Inquisitor overreacting to something that wouldn’t have phased any other soldier.

And then she was sent back to her room, the tent too busy with actual injuries to deal with her any longer, even if she was a girl who’d stumbled into a leadership position.

Any other leader would have given up their cot immediately, insisted that the medical care go to people who really, truly needed it. She just grabbed her pain medicine and left.

She should have gone to see Bull and milked this injury for all it was worth. Maybe stop by Blackwall if she couldn’t stomach that, or guilt trip Dorian a little without letting him realize that was what she was doing.

She returned to her room instead, set on doing it in the morning, knowing she couldn’t avoid it forever.

But for tonight, at least, she could rest.

Cole was standing beside her bed when she reached her room and she considered throwing something at him again, like he was a wild animal she could scare off.

He whipped around, eyes darting down to her bandaged shoulder and then back up to her face.

“You don’t mind it,” he said. “It means they’ll leave you alone and it means they think you’re small so you don’t mind.”

“I don’t like getting hurt,” she responded. “I don’t know where you got that from.”

“You don’t like it, but it’s easier. You like it when it’s easy. And you don’t mind this hurt quite as much.”

She shrugged, opening her little bottle of pain medication. “Can I just go to bed please?”

“Can I have some,” he asked, staring the bottle down.

“Why?” she asked, already knowing the answer the endlessly selfless spirit would give. “Are you hurt?”

“The pain claws at them, years gone but still in them, like shards of swords lingered. Some nights they want to claw it out but there’s nothing there to take.”

“So what, you’re going to drug people? I’m sure that will go over well, a bunch of soldiers who don’t know their inhibitions are off.”

He paused, seeming to really consider that. “I’ll make sure they know. Remember the medicine, don’t remember me.”

“Fine,” she said, emptying half of it out. “Take some. You just can’t give it to Bull.”

She knew exactly what she was doing. She was picking a fight.

He just looked sad.

“I won’t stop helping,” he said. “But I don’t want you to feel sick.”

“I always feel sick,” she said, verging dangerously close to honesty. She couldn’t afford that, not even with Cole. Anything else had been a lapse in judgment.

His face fell. “Not because of me. Never because of me.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“I won’t give them to Bull,” he declared. “I will help him away from you, do my best to soothe the hurt where you can’t see.”

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She shouldn’t even be mad. “Whatever,” she said with a huff.

“It does matter,” he said. “All of it matters. I didn’t think it did, but you’re a person alongside the bad and the hurt burrows in you. It’s not inside you, not fully. The rot can be cut out.”

“You won’t be cutting anything out of me.”

“I didn’t think I would, but it matters that you could. The rot is a part, not the whole.”

And she couldn’t stay mad, her already flimsy reasons collapsing in on themselves. He was wrong, but it meant something to her that he believed. Maybe just for tonight that could be enough.

She didn’t have to say as much. He was gone as soon as the thought crossed her mind, leaving her to finally get some sleep.

#dai cole #cole dai #cole dragon age #dragon age cole #dragon age inquisition #dai #colemance #where the light enters #In which Britches is unreasonable and Cole doesn't know how to apologize

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pupsmailbox · 1 year ago

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WINTER ID PACK

NAMES︰ alaska. alba. alban. alina. amara. andri. aneira. angel. angelina. angelo. apricity. aquila. aquilo. arctic. aspen. aster. aurelian. aurora. ayden. balthasar. bane. beir. beira. beiron. bell. belle. bianca. blanc. blanca. blanch. blanche. blanchesse. blanchette. blaze. blizzard. blizzardette. blu. blue. borea. boreal. boreas. boris. brea. bree. bylur. carol. caspar. caspian. cedar. chandler. chione. chióni. chris. christina. christmas. clara. claudia. cloud. cloude. coco. cocoa. colden. cole. cozy. crimson. crystal. december. dew. dewdrop. dewey. dewy. diamond. douglas. edur. eira. eirlys. eirwan. eirwen. elitsa. ella. elowen. elsa. ember. emmanuel. emmanuelle. eryi. estelle. euria. everest. everett. everette. evergreen. fannar. faye. fionn. fir. fjolla. flake. frediano. freeze. fritz. fros. frost. frostette. frostine. frosty. fuyu. fuyuko. gale. garland. ginger. glace. glacia. gloria. gwen. gwyneira. hail. hala. hazel. hika. holly. icario. ice. icee. icelyn. icicle. icidia. icie. iclyn. icy. iris. isarr. isbert. ivor. ivy. jack. jaki. january. janus. jasper. jolly. joseph. josephine. joy. juniper. kalt. kari. khione. kirsi. kit. ledi. ledia. loden. lucas. lucien. lucina. lumi. mafuyu. mafuyuko. mary. melchior. merry. mira. miyuki. natalia. natalie. natasha. nevada. neve. nicholas. nick. nieves. nix. noel. noella. noelle. north. november. oak. oakley. olwen. orin. pepper. peppermint. perla. permafrost. pine. poinsettia. polar. polaris. quinlan. rain. raina. raine. rainer. reign. reyner. robin. rory. rudolf. rudolph. rudy. sally. scarlett. scrooge. silvia. sioc. snow. snowdrop. snowe. snowesse. snowette. snowine. snowstorm. snowy. solstice. soren. spruce. star. stella. stellan. storm. stormy. taiga. talia. theron. tundra. vail. vega. viola. vixen. warrin. weiss. whittaker. whyte. willow. winny. winter. wren. wynn. wynter. wyntr. yuki. yukio. yule. yulia. yves. yvette. zane. zanna. zarina. zephyr. zuko.

PRONOUNS︰ arc/arctic. arctic/arctic. aura/aura. bear/bear. bleak/bleak. bli/bliz. bli/blizzard. bliz/blizzard. blizz/blizzard. blizzard/blizzard. blue/blue. chi/chill. chill/chill. chilly/chilly. christ/christmas. christ/mas. clou/cloud. cloud/cloud. co/cold. coat/coat. cold/cold. cool/cool. cri/cryst. cry/cryo. cry/crystal. crys/crystal. crystal/crystal. drip/drip. drop/drop. fir/fir. fla/flake. flake/flake. flu/flurry. flur/flurry. flurry/flurrie. flurry/flurry. fre/freeze. freeze/freeze. frig/frigid. fro/frost. fros/frost. frost/bite. frost/frost. frostbite/frostbite. froze/frozen. gla/glace. glacier/glacier. globe/globe. glove/glove. gust/gust. hai/hail. hail/hail. hx/hxm. hy/hym. ice/ice. ice/icicle. icicle/icicle. it/it. ix/ix. mitten/mitten. pine/pine. plunge/plunge. polar/polar. rain/rain. rain/rainy. scarf/scarf. seal/seal. sharp/sharp. she/shiver. shiver/shiver. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. sky/sky. sle/sleet. sleet/sleet. slip/slippery. slush/slush. sno/snow. snow/flake. snow/snow. snow/snowflake. so/snow. spire/spire. sto/storm. storm/storm. storm/stormy. stormy/stormy. tha/thaw. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tundra/tundra. water/water. wi/wint. wi/winter. win/ter. win/winter. winter/winter. zero/zero. ❄️. 🌌. 🌨. 🌨️. 🌲. 🐻‍❄️. 🗻. 🧊.

#pupsmail︰id packs #id pack #npt #name suggestions #name ideas #name list #pronoun suggestions #pronoun ideas #pronoun list #neopronouns #nounself #emojiself #seasonkin #winterkin #winter

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kidd-thundr · 5 months ago

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Making a post to remember everyone in the MK RP

MK RP MASTERLIST

@sorceressoflight - MK1 Union of Light Shang Tsung/ Light

@jacqui-da-briggy - MK11 Jacqui Briggs

@kidd-thundr - MK1 Raiden

@lord-raiden - MK11 Lord Raiden

@darklordraiden - MK11 Dark Raiden

@leenakahnums - MK1 Mileena

@fanprincess - MK11(/Titan) Kitana/MK1 Kitana

@firelordliukangofficalaccount - MK1 Lord Liu Kang

@earthrealms-chosen-1 - MK11 Liu Kang/MK11 Fire God Liu Kang

@liukangdefenderofearthrealm - MK2021 Liu Kang

@liukangandkunglaosister - Shi Yong, MK1/MK11 OC

@thekingofsmoke - MK1 Smoke/Tomas Vrbada

@cold-nights-in-fengjian - Zephyr, MK1 OC

@earthly-diva-delovely - Josephine Delovely, MK11/MK2021 OC

@theharbringerofsouls - MK1 Titan Shang Tsung/ Titan

@halfvampiresleepyhead - Akito Valentine, MK2021 OC

@thebetterliukang - MK11 Revenant Liu Kang

@thegreatestkunglao - MK1 Kung Lao

@freaksorcerer - MK1 Quan Chi

@cassiesinacage - MK11 Cassie Cage

@the-cager - MK1 Johnny Cage

@the-razor-hat-man - MK11 Kung Lao

@bloodysakuraflowers - MK1 Vampire Kung Lao

@redstainedivy - MK1 Order of Darkness Kung Lao

@thundergodlraiden - MK11 (Vampire?) Lord Raiden

@officersonya - MK11 Sonya Blade

@vampireraid3n - MK1 Vampire Raiden

@sc0rching-fury - MK11 Hanzo Hasashi

@itswindyhereright - MK11 Lord Fujin

@thespiritscallstous - MK11 Nightwolf

@sobbingfqng - Xiao Yan, MK1 OC

@wanderingsaibot - Sai the Wraith, MK1 OC

@revengeful-lieutenant-reiko - MK1 Lieutenant Reiko

@sakvrasouls - MK2021 Kung Lao

@unclekano - MK11 Kano

@chosenone1960 - MK1995 Liu Kang

@theblackfuckindragon - MK2021 Kano

@shirai-ryu-twink - Xiaoran, MK1 OC

@your-soul-is-m1ne - MK1 Shang Tsung

@kurtis-stryk3r - MK1 Kurtis Stryker

@hydra-of-trygus - Hydra,MK1 OC

@tanya-the-umgadi - MK1 Tanya

@xinye-and-xiu-kang - Xinye Kang and Xiu Kang, MK1 OCS

@wielder-of-sent0 - MK1 Kenshi Takahashi

@not-so-lovely-astra - Astra Delovely, MK1 OC

@thedevilyouforgot - Akari, MK1 OC

@netherrealms-princess-amarantha - Amarantha, MK1 OC

@j03y-the-tr4shb04t - Josephine Delovely, MK1 OC

@chilledtothekore - MK11 Frost

@kooritarkatan-r4y - Esmeray Williams, MK11 OC

If I forgot anyone or if corrections are needed PLEASE let me know!!

#mk rp #ooc #masterlist

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sweetjulieapples · 20 days ago

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Dear Commander - Chapter 24: Reunion

Cullen x Trevelyan

AO3 MASTERLIST

Cullen eagerly awaits The Inquisitor's return to Skyhold.

Full chapter below:

Juliette didn’t expect to feel so strongly about her return to Skyhold. Perhaps it was the Fallow Mire—the stench of the bog that clung to her skin, no matter how many times she bathed in the rivers or beneath waterfalls. Or perhaps it was the view—the keep, standing proud and unyielding, nestled in an untouched pocket of snowy mountains. The sight stirred memories of the first time she had laid eyes upon it, a moment that had stolen her breath away. Majestic.

She smiled, almost smirking, as her boots crunched into the fresh snow. The crisp mountain air filled her lungs, cold but refreshing. The breeze whispered past her cheeks, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost, caressing her wearied senses.

No, she thought, it certainly had nothing to do with him. She rolled her eyes at her own lie. In truth, she couldn’t ignore the ache that had grown in her chest over the past month, a void left by the silence of a certain colleague. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and though she told herself it didn’t matter, her heart softly disagreed.

Not once did he write—no replies, no reports. It was a worrying change in behavior for her usually efficient Commander. What had changed, though, she wasn’t certain.

Halfway across the bridge she stopped, the wind whipping through her hair as she turned over her shoulder. Dorian trailed close behind, dramatic teeth chattering and squinting against the wind. He was never too far away, and while Juliette would often pretend to be annoyed by his presence, she found comfort having him near. Maker knows he’s saved her more times than she would like to admit.

Casandra was further behind. Since the battle at The Mire, she moved a little slower, her leg injury not fully healed. Juliette frowned, that nagging guilt still gnawing at her. She couldn’t help but sneak in glances, just to make sure that Cassandra was still doing okay. So stubborn. She shook her head. If she’d just rest, then perhaps … no, perhaps I should never had cast the fire that injured her in the first place.

Juliette turned back towards the gate, scrunching her nose as she berated herself further. She was determined to set things right, starting with the healers. Or maybe requesting training? Definitely ensuring that communication is more frequent. Is that selfish? Her pace quickened, her thoughts racing as she offered absent-minded smiles and automatic nods to passing officers. He must be in contact more often - that’s not an unreasonable request. No, I’ll tell him so! As Inquisitor I’d like it known that I must be informed of mission progress. I shouldn’t have to go chasing scouts and messengers for updates. Josephine and Leliana kept in contact, so why couldn’t —

“Inquisitor!”

And just like that her thoughts unraveled. Any sense of authority she thought that she could muster fell away at the sound of Cullen’s voice.

Slowly, she looked up, the crease between her brows easing, her eyes softening. The hustle of guardsmen and the chatter of arriving pilgrims blurred into the background when she stepped through the gates. They moved aside as she walked, each step feeling heavier, her heart skipping a beat when her eyes caught sight of him.

Cullen jogged across the courtyard, his pace effortless yet purposeful, drawing the eyes of those around him. His hair was golden in the sunlight, his amor gleaming too, almost as though the sun was shining just to show her that he was there. She couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to.

He was smiling at her, little creases at the corners of his eyes. He almost has a beard now, she thought. Her gaze was drawn to his lips , and that scar, as his smile grew wider. It felt like she was seeing him for the first time, mesmerized by the sight of him—like he hadn’t been in her thoughts constantly for the past several weeks.

Suddenly, he was before her, and she couldn’t think. Everything blurred, her mind completely captured by his presence. She stood there, stunned, lips slightly parted, words caught in her throat.

“Inquisitor,” he said, softer this time, his voice warm and gentle. “Welcome back.”

“Cullmander!” she stammered, the word tumbling out—the wrong word.

Her face flushed instantly, the heat rising in her cheeks as her pulse thrummed in her neck. She stood frozen, embarrassed, her own voice ringing in her ears. She met his gaze, and though his expression softened, she could see the hint of surprise in his eyes.

Her throat tightened, feeling as though she were choking on air. “Commander,” she corrected herself, her voice quiet, almost a whisper.

A sharp inhale filled the air, and she flinched, her heart leaping in her chest. Dorian strolled past with a casual glance, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. She couldn’t bear to look at him, her gaze dropping to the stone ground, mortified. I must look like such a fool.

“There’s something I think you’d like to see,” Cullen said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his, taken aback by the grin spreading across his face. He seemed eager, almost as though he were holding back a laugh at the thought of whatever mystery lay ahead.

“I…okay.”

Cullen walked ahead, weaving through Skyhold’s bustling courtyard. Juliette trailed behind, desperately trying to regain her composure while his back was turned. He’d caught her off guard, meeting her at the gates like that. Had she some time to settle in, to recover from —

“Our workers have done a tremendous job restoring Skyhold while you were away, Inquisitor,” he said, proud and sincere.

She inhaled a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Yes, I see that.”

“I was quite surprised myself when I returned.” Cullen stopped, turning to face her as she slowed her steps. He smiled and began walking beside her when she caught up.

“Have you been back for long?” Juliette’s voice wavered slightly, the question sounding far softer aloud than it had in her mind.

There were so many thoughts rushing through her—embarrassment at how she was handling herself, resentment for his lack of communication, and confusion over how nonchalant he seemed about it. Most of all, she was curious. Why hadn’t he written? He used to, when she was in The Hinterlands. So why not now?

Cullen shook his head, his voice softening. “I stopped by Haven on my return.”

“Oh,” she murmured, sorrow washing over her. She lowered her gaze, the memories of Haven’s downfall overwhelming. Suddenly, all her worries seemed trivial in comparison. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied earnestly. He sighed heavily, and Juliette looked back up at him. “Bull and his Chargers are still there now. Their work is commendable.”

Juliette nodded, her gaze drifting to the repaired walls connecting to the main building. “Everyone helping deserves recognition. We should see to that, among other things.”

Cullen glanced around the courtyard, a lightness returning to his expression. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. He stopped, folding his arms with a playful smirk. “Turn around.”

“What?” She tilted her head, confusion in her eyes, but then she saw it. Juliette’s eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Cullen chuckled at her reaction, unable to contain the smile that grew wider with each passing second.

“The stables have been fully restored,” he explained proudly. “Perhaps even better than they were originally.”

Juliette turned to Cullen, a blush in her cheeks as their eyes locked. His expression softened, his gaze drawn to the pure joy lighting up her face. Their eyes lingered, and a warm feeling of admiration passed between them.

Noticing the movement in the distance, she gasped for a second time. “And there’s horses?”

A laugh escaped Cullen, pure and unguarded. “Were you expecting giant nugs?”

“No! But…” her words trailed off, her laughter faltering when she realized how easily she was reacting to his words. How effortless it was to be happy around him.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, eyeing her with a teasing grin. “I know you want to run straight over there.”

“I…” she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, almost a pout if not for the betraying smirk on her lips. “Don’t presume to know what I want, Commander.” Juliette moved past him, her face breaking into a beaming smile once her back was turned.

Cullen stood still for a moment, fondly watching her walk to the stables. A small laugh left his lips, soft and genuine, as he noticed how hard she was trying to hide her excitement. He leaned against the barn wall, casually folding his arms, eager to see her reaction unfold further.

When Juliette neared the stables, she froze. It wasn’t until the horse turned his head, that soft snuffling noise he always made when she approached, that she noticed.

“Romeo?” she whispered in shock. She moved closer, her hand trembling slightly as she reached out to touch him. Tears welled up in her eyes as she rested her forehead against his nose, overwhelmed by the unexpected reunion.

“Oh, good to see you’re back, Inquisition,” Dennet greeted. His familiar voice almost went unnoticed as she focused entirely on the horse she thought she’d lost forever.

“Told you she’d cry,” Blackwall remarked, watching her with a gruff chuckle. She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and smiled back.

“I thought he was dragon food,” she said, wiping a stray tear away with the sleeve of her coat. “What a lovely surprise.”

“You’re lucky,” Dennet said, moving into the vacant stall beside Romeo. He leaned over the gate as he spoke. “We almost left the stubborn bastard behind. If not for The Commander insisting we bring him back, I would’ve.”

As the words sank in, Juliette's eyes widened slightly. With a surprised expression she spun around quickly. “Oh, Cullen! Thank —”

Juliette’s words faded when she noticed Cullen far in the distance, walking away. Her shoulders drooped, a wave of disappointment washing over her.

“So…” Blackwall’s voice hung in the air as she stared ahead, her eyes lingering in the place where Cullen last stood. “I hear that you’re fighting Avvar warriors now.”

The main hall was nothing short of glorious. The transformation went beyond mere repairs; Josephine’s influence was evident in every detail, turning the hall into a statement of power and opulence. Elegant drapery flowed from the ceiling, while luxurious tapestries bearing The Inquisition’s emblem adorned the area, greeting guests as they entered. The atmosphere was cozy and intimate, despite the crowd. The warm glow of braziers and chandeliers ensured a comforting reprieve from the cool air outside. The scent of roast pork and baked apples drifted through the air, enticing guests towards the dining tables, loaded with a delicious spread of fresh food.

For a moment, Juliette felt as though she had wandered into the wrong place. She entered the doors expecting quiet, a safe passage to Josephine’s office unnoticed. Instead, she found herself on display. All eyes were on her as she strolled along the stone floors, dazed by crowded space. Some warning would have been nice. I smell like horse and swamp water.

“Oh! Inquisitor!” Josephine’s voice floated through the room, sweet and melodic.

“Josie,” Juliette muttered, her voice low as she weaved past the nobility, striving to avoid further attention. “Who are all these people?”

Josephine’s gaze flicked over the crowded hall before settling on Juliette with a soft, understanding smile. “Visiting dignitaries,” she explained. “I’ll be sure to introduce you at a more…” She trailed off, her eyes catching the state of Juliette’s muddy boots and windswept hair, “…a more suitable time.”

Juliette’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she spoke through clenched teeth, “I’d prefer you introduce me to a bathtub. I must look like I’m blighted.” She gave a quick glance at her disheveled appearance, adding with a grimace, “I feel like I’m blighted.”

“Goodness,” Josephine spoke quietly and placed a gentle hand on Juliette’s arm, guiding her away from sight. “Then I’ve just the place to show you.”

Josephine spoke proudly as she ascended the staircase, her eyes focused on her clipboard. “Have you noticed the renovations?”

“It looks a little tidier around here,” Juliette remarked with a smirk, a playfully sarcastic edge to her voice.

“A little? Oh,” Josephine glanced back at Juliette and laughed softly. “Very good, Inquisitor.”

Juliette peered over the railing, her eyes catching the fallen scaffolding and the dusty debris scattered below. It was a long way down. I wonder if I could climb down there, to escape the Orlesians.

“Downstairs, we now have private bathing quarters,” Josephine continued, a note of triumph in her voice. “No more freezing ourselves with a bucket of tepid water and a sponge.”

“Thank The Maker,” Juliette said, a grateful sigh escaping her lips. “Though I do hope you know I was joking when I requested a marble bathtub.”

“Hm. It’s not the most lavish request that I’ve received as of late.” Josephine paused outside of the door for dramatic effect. “And here we are.”

With a deliberate slowness, she pushed the door open, letting it creak softly. The room beyond was bathed in soft blue hues as light filtered through ornate stained glass windows. Juliette wandered inside, overcome by surprise.

“You certainly spared no expense,” Juliette murmured in wonder, her fingers gliding along the mantle of the fireplace. Slowly, she spun around, taking in the room’s opulent decor with enthusiasm.

“I hope it’s up to standard, your worship,” Josephine said courteously.

Juliette’s breath caught for a second, and a soft chuckle of disbelief escaped her lips. “It’s wonderful, Josie. Truly. Thank you.”

“You’ll find clothing in the dresser. I took the liberty of getting your measurements from the last tailor we ordered from.”

Juliette picked up a silk robe draped over the foot of her bed, fingers gently tracing the fabric. She lifted the garment with care, appreciating its soft quality. “You had this made... for me?”

“If any adjustments are needed, I can arrange it. A seamstress will meet with you in the coming days for your ballgowns.”

“Ballgowns?” Juliette blinked in surprise.

“We have a very busy social calendar leading up to Empress Celene’s ball in Halamshiral. You can’t possibly wear the same dress twice.”

Juliette raised a hand to her forehead as though to steady herself. “This is all so sudden.”

“The court of Orlais moves quickly, Inquisitor. We must be faster,” Josephine replied with firm conviction. “I’ll allow you some time to settle in.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Juliette smiled, still stunned by it all.

When the door closed and Juliette was left alone, for the first time in months, she was met with silence. The kind of silence that is so painfully quiet it's loud—a ringing in the ears, a suffocating sensation that forces you to breathe a little heavier, just to hear something. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been graced with this much privacy.

She moved across the room with a slow, almost delirious pace, her steps weary. She stood before the dressing table, her fingers gliding over the newly-upholstered stool that accompanied it. She sat down cautiously, acting as though a firmer movement could shatter this illusion of comfort that had been gifted to her. When Juliette’s gaze met her reflection in the mirror, she scarcely recognized the face staring back.

She noticed the dark circles under her eyes first, how they made her eyes appear sunken. With a trembling hand, she moved her fingers along her skin, so pale and sallow. A tear rolled down her cheek, falling against her dry lips. She hadn’t seen herself since the morning before sealing the breach, and it felt like she hadn’t known herself since then either.

Everything had changed.

In the circle she’d retreat to her quarters, shared with other mages, and hide behind books of botany and religion. None of which interested her, but it was an escape. It was safe. She did as she was instructed and kept herself quiet at the First Enchanter’s request. The rumors of blood magic and resentment for her family name soon drifted away as she embraced a life of loneliness and mediocracy.

Her chest tightened and her breath caught in her throat. More tears, stinging and hot, escaped her eyes as she sat there staring at herself.

It didn’t matter how well guarded Skyhold could become, how fortified and secure Cullen could make it. It didn’t matter that Leliana threw herself into her work, collecting intelligence, burying her guilt beneath an avalanche of tasks. It didn’t matter how lavish Josephine could make the keep, how impressionable they could appear among nobility. She would have to face Corypheus again. There was no hiding from this.

She didn’t choose to go to the conclave - she was forced. She hadn’t chosen to leave the Circle either.

Never was she given an option when facing attacks from renegade Templars and rebel mages. Fight or die was all she knew, and The Inquisition would not let her escape.

She woke with the anchor, no action of her own could prevent it.

Nothing in Juliette’s life was by choice of her own. Not even her magic, for who would want such a burden?

She'd seen the destruction, the carnage, and the faces of those lost. People starving, children left without homes, and now, she had the choice of several Orlesian soaps. That was the only decision she could make today.

Tomorrow... she could decide the fate of a nation.

Her reflection was an imposter—a stranger staring back at her, an image of someone who carried the weight of a world that wasn’t her own. The title "Herald of Andraste" felt suffocating, and she couldn't even bring herself to wear it with pride.

Inquisitor.

The faces of those lost haunted her—Corypheus's twisted face, the ruin he’d left in his wake. The burden of those lives, now in her hands.

And yet, when she thought of Cullen, the silence was less painful. He could make her smile without trying, perhaps without even knowing. In those moments, the weight of her troubles would fall away. She felt like herself again. The person she never got to be. The woman she’d dream of becoming as a child, before the circle, before the world told her what she was.

She didn’t understand it, how this infatuation could be such a welcoming distraction, how these feelings could so easily sweep her off her feet, leaving her breathless and confused. But there was guilt—an overwhelming, suffocating guilt, and fear.

To be so vulnerable at a time like this... It felt dangerous. The way her heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her, the way her thoughts scattered and became a blur in his presence—none of it felt like her choice. The very idea that she could be so undone, so exposed, when so much rested on her shoulders, made her feel weaker than she ever had before.

As she stared at her reflection, her eyes shadowed by exhaustion, Juliette realized something that made her stomach tighten—a truth she had feared for so long: She had no control. Not over her own heart, not over her life, and certainly not over the role she had been forced into.

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