#justinia x leliana

[illusivesoul]

A Divine's Hand

A short Leliana/Justinia fic.

Ratings: Mature

Words: 1596

Summary: The Inquisitor asks about Justinia. Leliana remembers.

Tags: Power Imbalance - Implied Sexual Content - Angst - Grief/Mourning - Anger - POV Multiple -Memories -Regret

Read it on AO3

.

Leliana noticed the subtle smirk of the Inquisitor’s lips after she asked the question, and the cold she felt from her words had nothing to do with the snow that fell all around them. Trevelyan was a noble, and the way she had spoken made it clear that she was no stranger to the whirlwind of rumours that had surrounded Leliana during the years she had served at the Divine’s side. Only those who presumed to know the truth before asking asked things in the way the inquisitor had. 

“You’re asking if we were lovers. Typical. I was devoted to her, therefore it must be romantic” the spymaster replied, unable and not caring to hide the frustration in her tone. Nothing seemed to matter anymore anyway.  “Love is common. Love is simple. My bond with Justinia was something greater. She was a sister, a mother, a teacher…”

Bloodied, bruised, broken. Cold rock of the cell floor, stone stained by torture, walls that held the tears and blood of the countless orlesians and fereldans that never left this prison alive. Tears drying in her face. The phantom pain of a lover’s treacherous blade still throbbing at her ribs. Praying, hoping for death. 

A bag drops from the small gate far above, surrounded by the daylight that seeps through it. A woman’s voice. Soothing, comforting. Leliana swears it's the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

“You feel alone, perhaps for the first time, but you are far from helpless. Others need you, even at your lowest. And that is a strength I cannot describe. You can do this” 

And she finds the strength to lift herself from the cold, bloodied stone floor, if only to find the source of the mysterious voice who talked to her.

Hope.

They’re gathered around the table, where incriminating letters prove the existence of a conspiracy - the latest one - involving several grand clerics and Orlesian nobles aimed at deposing Justinia. Leliana calls for their deaths, to be granted permission to unleash her agents to purge the halls of the Grand Cathedral and the mansions and palaces of Orlais of the traitors. It wouldn’t be the first time a Divine had done so, a show of force to keep things in order. 

Justinia looks at her with concern. Leliana has told her little about what she had lived through during the Blight, but she had returned from Ferelden a changed woman, callous, cold, calculating, brutal. With the same fire from her days as a bard, but with a harshness fitting for a soldier.

As she listens to her talk about how her agents can make it all seem like accidents and to make the deaths occur gradually to avoid raising suspicion, Justinia sees the dark shadow of Marjolaine’s influence looming over Leliana. But Justinia knows that she’s the only one responsible for this. Because in the end, what is she in Leliana’s life if not Marjolaine by another name, making her spill blood in the name of the Maker just as Marjolaine had her spill blood for courtly intrigues. The Game is played even in the halls of the Grand Cathedral, after all. The memory of her moment of weakness at the hands of Marjolaine and everything it had led to filled her with a sense of shame and anger towards herself that she would never let go of.

She denies Leliana’s request, and after a few moments spent enduring Leliana’s anger and rage washing over her as she goes on about the risks of letting traitors alive and how her position will be made vulnerable, Justinia takes her into her arms, feeling how she melts into them as she starts sobbing loudly against her white robes.

“I can’t… I can’t bear the thought of losing you too. I cannot lose you too”

Justinia wishes she could let her go, to not make her course the dark ways that surround this position of power. Yet she knows that without Leliana at her side, she would have died long ago. She knows it's foolish and selfish to think of herself as the victim in this. Leliana had asked to join and serve, and she had said yes, and Justinia tells herself it was not due to her manipulation, but through a genuine act of faith. And the Divine knows she's not the only one who is at risk of losing herself.

Doubt.

The large book with the eye and a sword crossing it laid on the table, the words "Into darkness, unafraid” inscribed in the cover. Yet Justinia was afraid. Afraid that things had deteriorated to the point that it needed to be used. A last resort. 

In the distance, the White Spire stood, its walls still charred from magic fire, the same fire that had consumed the minds and hearts of men and women all over Thedas.

Justinia knew they wouldn’t find the Champion of Kirkwall, who, just as the Hero of Ferelden, seemed to have vanished into thin air. Though by the way Leliana’s eyes darkened and her sight lowered towards the floor whenever the dwarven woman who had saved Ferelden was mentioned, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was best that they hadn’t found the warden after all.

The task of fixing this burning and crumbling world would be up to her, to salvage what she could from the madness of a war she had failed to prevent. Justinia had relived the last years constantly in her head since the destruction of Kirkwall’s Chantry.

Had her changes been too fast and too radical? Or had they been lacking? Had she pushed too much, or had she done too little?

In the end, she knew she could only play her last card with the Conclave. History would judge her actions and determine if she was to be praised or thrown to the darkest pits, remembered only as the Divine that lost the Chantry. In any event, she had already passed judgement on herself long ago.

The sound of light steps approaching from behind brought a smile to her face, for she was very familiar to whom they belonged to. It was one of the little things she had gotten used to about Leliana over the years.

She felt her hands placing themselves on her shoulders, her lips softly planting kisses on the back of her neck as she gently pulled her white robes off her.

Leliana’s hands feel like a miracle, the callousness and scars that dotted her hands mixed with the delicate soft bits of skin a reflection of the story of her life. Each movement and caress made all the stress and weight of the world vanish under her touch, and made Justinia feel alive in a way that she only did when she’s given into her. Leliana’s hands and lips trace every line, every inch of skin, and she makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

She had never asked Leliana for this, but Leliana had done it cause it was the only way she knew how to show gratitude. The only way she knew to show that she cared. The only way to show love she had ever known. The only form of love allowed to those shaped and molded by the Game. And what was Justinia doing if not playing the Game in the name of Andraste and the Maker? 

Justinia knew she should have refused, but Maker, she was only human after all. She allowed herself to have these small moments of happiness, to remind herself of the times when the world had not been thrusted upon her shoulders. She just prayed that the way Leliana’s eyes looked at her, those hushed “I love you” she said during their passion were just words uttered in the fire of the moment. She would never be worthy of Leliana’s love.

As their lips, souls and bodies met on that desk in the Grand Cathedral, in a world which only the two of them were privy to, Justinia felt her resolve stronger than ever. She would push as hard as she could in the Conclave, to help put Thedas back in order… and to leave a world where Leliana could find the peace and love she so much deserved. It was the least she could do for her.

Resolve.

“So to answer your question, Evelyn Trevelyan: yes, it was more than friendship. Friendship is a lacking term to describe the bond that we had. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. There are many things I have to see with to make sure this Inquisition of ours lasts more than a month”

As Leliana retreated to the depths of her tent, she pretended to focus on the papers in front of her, the wood on the sides of the table creaking in pain as she tightened her grip on it, desperate to hold back the tears, the rage, the pain and loss that boiled inside of her. Cause she knew, and she felt it, that if she turned around, she would be met with the sight of Trevelyan smiling mockingly at her, laughing at her pain and reveling in the turmoil she had caused. And through the holes in the fabric of the tent, the green glow of the Breach made itself seen, the embodiment of Justinia’s loss haunting her from the very skies.

But Leliana did not falter. She would not let Justinia’s name be tarnished any further by her weakness.

She had failed her enough already.

[herald-divine-hell]

I already had one DA pairing that can't happen in-game but is more or less now my canon Hawke pairing, but now I've discovered Inquisitor x Leliana and it's like... well, don't mind if I do. But as I think about it, I was wondering how you would do the romance in-game? Keeping the major story elements in mind, when would you have the confession scene? First kiss? The fade to black scene? And would the little, "I want to spend some time with you," be Inqy and Leliana kissing in the rookery?

Thank you for the ask!

Having the hypothetical romance measure up with the in-game plot lines and elements was actually not too difficult to me to craft. It primarily came down to the influence of fanfiction - specifically the "Trading Secrets" fic which was my first ever DA fanfiction I had ever read - and what little Leliana content they gave us in game.

For me, the confession scene in-game would had come after Adamant, perhaps at Valence, where the Inquisitor's consistent presence, care, and support for Leliana played the most pivotal role in establishing their relationship. Letting Justinia go, all the burdens Leliana had carried for her, not to tarnish her legacy, but to unshackle Leliana once more, would had been a bigger sign that while Leliana was pushing herself away from others, a singular person was striving to pull it out of the depths. So, at Valance, the Inquisitor and Leliana would share a kiss, confessing their love and adoration to one another. (it would also be the most opportune time to also have the fade-in-black scene, because Leliana definitely would had fucked in a Chantry ;3)

Really, the romance would be very similar to the one we got in DAI, with our platonic relationship with Leliana. Constantly supporting Leliana, trying to ease her out of her depression, while not invalidating her feelings is endearing to me.

Now, the scene where you spend time with Leliana could be in the Rookery, but I think that is too public for Leliana, in truth. If you go outside to the walkway that encircles the Rookery, at the very back, there is this secluded spot where the kiss can occur instead, away from eyes and away from duties.

-

In any case, welcome to the crew! As the self-appointed captain of the Inquisitor/Leliana ship, I welcome you aboard! Thank you for the ask, and allowing me to ramble. I would had gone into more detail, but alas family duties call. Haha. If you have anymore questions, please message me again in my inbox or dms! Love to talk to more people. XD

[carelessgraces]

@gxtenoughnxrve​​​ said:   talk to me abt the ways astoria exploits religious iconography vs her v real & abiding faith   ( ask me about my portrayal | accepting )

oh MAN i’ve talked a lot about astoria and faith but the iconography itself is a favorite and i haven’t talked about that yet oh MAN c: 

     so there are a few important things to bear in mind here: first, that astoria genuinely believes herself to be andraste’s chosen; second, that even when astoria doubts this, she needs to make sure everyone else still believes it; and third, that astoria has already spent several years carefully constructing her image in the opposite direction. where andraste is a kind and benevolent woman who fights fiercely, astoria has been emphasizing her political prowess and her stern but loving rule. because it’s necessary that she not be seen as a warmonger, the role she plays is of a princess, not a warrior. as inquisitor, that has to change, and fast. 

     and there are some things that work in her favor. for starters: she’s pretty. she’s very, very pretty. she also has red hair, like andraste did, according to this banter between cassandra and sera:

Sera: So Cassandra, if you were trained young, how long have you been giving Andraste's hairy eyeball? Cassandra: Andraste's what? Sera: The sword-eye-hair thing. You know, "Knock-knock, Inquisition; Andraste's hairy eyeball says 'What are you doing'?" Cassandra: The eye is wreathed in fire. The Light of the Maker and the flames of Andraste's Sacrifice. Sera: Oooooh. You need better painters. I just figured she was ginger. Cassandra: She was. Sera: Well, there you go then. Cassandra: (Sighs) No. No, there we don't go.

think, too, about how andraste is portrayed in art — she’s beautiful, with long hair and lovely features, dressed in whites and greys and golds. check out these images: (1) (2) (3) (4)

     so the first thing astoria does is play up the resemblance to andraste. she wears her hair down, brushes out the curls so her hair looks longer and wavier; she wears white dresses when she’s not in her armor; she incorporates the threads of gold in her armor; she wears the inquisition’s insignia constantly. she walks in crowds of her own soldiers, gets to know a lot by name, remembers small details. she needs to be a warrior, and a hero of the people, and so that’s exactly what she makes herself. 

     she designs skyhold to fit that as well. she sits on the andrastian throne —

     — she has chantry windows installed in great hall modeled after a chantry —

     — and rather than carrying over the chantry’s insigna, she plasters the inquisition’s everywhere. she sets herself on a throne depicting the flames around andraste, her hair down and her clothes red and gold, and she passes judgment. and, because she was quite literally saved by a figure reported to be andraste, can close the sky at will, and eventually not only wins over, but holds an inordinate amount of control over the chantry, all of that imagery serves to support exactly what she’s saying: she is andraste’s chosen. she is the maker’s voice.

     she also emphasizes this by placing faithful women around her. she keeps cassandra as her right hand, and she loves and admires cassandra a great deal, so the warmth between the two of them is very visible. ( i will say it a million times: cassandra x astoria would be. so good. ) she keeps leliana as her left hand, and in an inversion of justinia, keeps cassandra closer than leliana. she visibly remakes the chantry, the seekers, the templars, all of which come to bear the inquisition’s sigil, and to fly the inquisition’s banner. 

     she keeps a strict control of the religious iconography and she very carefully centers herself, not as andraste’s replacement, but as her hand-chosen and her deliverer. 

     as for how that works with her real faith: astoria is an opportunist and a liar under the best of circumstances, and this is no different. because she genuinely believes in a lot of what she’s saying, she has no problem with having that reflected in how she presents herself. her exploitation of religious iconography fits in perfectly with her actual faith, and when it doesn’t, she tells herself that it’s more important that people believe she’s the maker’s voice, when she’s doing the maker’s work, than that she actually is the maker’s voice. she figures the maker is practical enough to accept a PR campaign. 

[onearthbrieflygorgeous]

“together again” by evanescence is such a leliana x warden song... every time I listen to it i think of leli humming it quietly to herself around the halls of skyhold, or during the travels she took for justinia, or while writing snippets of poetry to send to her lover. like...

“so wide the world, can love remember how to get me home to you someday?” leli’s there like babe come back to me i miss u....

“i found a world where love and dreams and darkness all collide, maybe this time, we can leave our broken world behind” the warden, babe come to the west, it’s lit and there’s no darkspawn and Also i found the cure to the calling so we can live happily ever after :)

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus x Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 3: Keeping Face

The day started off on the wrong foot when Tristan was forced to attend yet another dreaded war council meeting when he would much rather have another drink in the tavern. When his advisors confront him about his decisions... he gets extra salty.

Read here or on AO3!

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

Another cup of mulled wine later, Tristan left the thick warmth of the tavern and hurried towards the Chantry building. He noticed a slight stagger in his step and, for once, was thankful for the cold wind in his face.

It was probably not the best idea to show up before his advisors somewhat inebriated, but there was no other way he could bear these dreadfully long and tedious meetings. He pushed the heavy oaken doors of the building open, and was met with the bowing heads of Chantry sisters and the mumbled greetings of visiting dignitaries. For a long moment, he considered turning back on his heel and fleeing back to the cosy tavern, but he steeled himself to walk down the long corridor. His stomach was churning slightly. He blamed the wine.

Leliana, Josephine, Cullen and Cassandra were talking in hushed whispers when he walked in the council room. They all turned to look at him, faint disapproval on their faces.

“You are late” Leliana said curtly.

“Apologies, Sister. It was a busy morning. You’d be surprised how many people have been vying for my attentions lately.”

“Is that wine I smell?” Cassandra said, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

Tristan shot the Seeker his most icy glare. “I don’t see what that has to do with the meeting.”

Cassandra bristled at his curt tone, but went on with her attack regardless. “What manner of drunkard reeks of wine when it’s not even noon yet?”

“Why does it matter if I have a drink or two? I’m here, am I not? Besides” Tristan said flatly, “you could use a cup of mulled wine yourself, Seeker. You seem a bit on edge.”

Cullen’s eyes hopped from Cassandra’s horror-stricken face to Tristan’s and back. Tristan could never tell what the Commander was thinking behind that serious face, but, damn him, it was an attractive one. Golden curls combed neatly back, honey brown eyes peering from underneath slightly furrowed brows, sharp cheekbones and a chiselled jawline covered in blond stubble. He stood almost a head over everyone in the room, arms folded over his broad chest as he observed Cassandra’s outrage silently. He was so handsome, Tristan occasionally forgot that he used to be a Templar.

The Commander cleared his throat, and Cassandra turned to look at him, lips pursed. “I’m afraid there isn’t enough time to discuss the Herald’s drinking habits, Seeker. I have to oversee the training of the new recruits and several armoury reports to finish, and we’re already running behind. Shall we begin?” he said, and bent his head over the war table again.

“Yes, let’s” Josephine chimed in, not even noticing Cassandra’s scowl. “First on the agenda, Marquis DuRellion has extended his hospitality to the Inquisition by allowing us to occupy Haven until further notice.”

“Has he, truly?” Tristan said incredulously. About a month back, the noble had visited Lady Josephine’s office in a fury, intending to throw them all out of Haven on accounts of them supposedly having acted against the Chantry’s and Divine Justinia’s orders when the Inquisition was founded. He had left shooting them all murderous glances from his fancy carriage, after Tristan had threatened to use said carriage as a target for his throwing knife practice. “It seems he took my warning seriously.”

“Not quite, Herald” Josephine replied, her polite smile fading for only a moment. “After your… intervention, I investigated the wrights of ownership of Haven. It seems the Marquis’s claim on the land is not as strong as he thought. I sent a letter to Empress Celene’s associates, and they confirmed that the Marquis would not be able to order our eviction without the Empress’s agreement. The Marquis followed up shortly after with his own response, allowing us to stay. He would hardly want to lose face after the Empress herself was involved.”

“Well done, Josie” Leliana said, with that smile she reserved only for her friend.

“Yes, that’s marvelous” Cassandra broke in impatiently. “Now for the more pressing matters.” She turned around to face Tristan. “The mages are out of control.”

Tristan resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he returned her glare. “Is there a particular reason why you’re looking at me when you say that?”

“Because this is your doing” Cassandra said, wagging her finger at him for emphasis. “You were the one who offered the mages a full alliance. Now they’re all here, and we do not have the means to contain them. We cannot have them fighting with the Templars, like they were doing yesterday.”

“You cannot blame me for this. There was a decision to be made and I made it. Besides, I would hardly call yesterday's event fighting. It was just a row. Cullen and I took care of it.”

“You are naïve if you think it was just a row. This was only the beginning. Soon, they’ll be fighting amongst themselves.”

Tristan opened his mouth to interject, but Leliana interrupted him. “I have to agree with Cassandra. Discontent among our ranks is growing. The Templars and the Chantry are not happy that the Inquisition chose to side with the mages. The mages, on the other hand, have largely been divided between those who want Independence and those who still support the Circles. It won’t be long until we have more unrest.”

“If the Templars and the Chantry are not happy, then they might as well leave” Tristan spat with more distaste than he had intended. He took a short breath, trying to school the vehemence out of his voice. “Why do we need them anyway? We have enough power now to close the Breach. As for the mages, I believe it’s rather clear what the Inquisition supports. Those Circle ‘enthusiasts’ you’re talking about will have to come around to the idea eventually.”

“The Templars are needed here” Cullen replied matter-of-factly. “There needs to be someone able to face abominations should they occur. We are in short supply as it is. I suggest we start training more of our soldiers as Templars. It’s the least we can do to maintain some semblance of order.”

Tristan stared at the Commander as if he had punched him in the gut. “Train more Templars? That would be like restoring the Circles! After all we’ve done to set mages free, we’re going to place them under Templar watch once again?”

“It may not be an ideal solution, but it might help restore the public’s trust in the Inquisition” Josephine said. “Many were sceptical about our allegiance with the mages, and a few nobles have expressed their concerns outright. People trust Templars. Having more of them around could not hurt.”

Tristan could not believe his ears. He twisted the ring on his finger, struggling to keep his composure. After everything that had happened, after risking his life and the Inquisition’s reputation to give the mages a chance to finally be free of Chantry and Templars, one word from these people before him and it would be like putting the shackles back on their wrists.

He could not allow this. He would not allow this.

Yet, he had to be diplomatic about it. Keeping the grinding of his teeth to a bare minimum, he peered at every advisor in turn before he spoke. “Bringing more Templars into our ranks is not a solution. At least not a permanent one. It might solve the problem temporarily but it won’t be long until we are facing the same issues. Let’s not forget how the war between the Templars and the mages was started in the first place. There has to be a different way.”

There was a brief silence amongst the advisors, before Leliana spoke. “That is true. We have a very delicate situation on our hands. We cannot allow anyone to think that we are picking yet another side. At least for now. We have to act fast, and attract as little attention as possible. What our followers are lacking at the moment”, she glanced at Cassandra as she said this, “is a common goal. A shared vision will unite them, and divert them from any internal conflict. I suggest we advance towards the Breach as soon as possible. We should not allow any further delay.”

“I agree with Leliana” Cassandra said. “The sooner we march the better. But the Templar discussion is not yet over. After we return from the Breach, we will need to convene again.”

“Provided I’m still alive” Tristan added sourly. Cassandra’s lips were pressed in a tight line, but she said nothing.

Josephine paused her incessant scribbling to lift her gaze to Tristan. “Before this meeting is concluded, Herald, there is another matter I would like to discuss. It concerns your lineage.”

Tristan returned her gaze levelly, keeping his face as expressionless as he could. He knew the matter of his ancestry would come up eventually, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. “What of it, Lady Ambassador?”

“I would like to dispatch a courier asking the banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us. Your family’s support of the Inquisition could add great legitimacy to our cause.”

“With the Trevelyans, my presence may close more doors than it opens” Tristan replied quickly. “My relations with my family are shaky at best. I would not dwell on it too much if I were you.”

“I…see” Josephine said reluctantly. She prepared to note down his response, when she suddenly paused, her pen hovering over the paper. “If I may, Herald, I think you might be too quick in dismissing your family’s support of you. I have received several notes from your Lady Mother, and she-“

“You have spoken with my mother?”

Tristan was sure his heart had stopped beating momentarily. It had been close to two years since he had last seen Esme Trevelyan, since he had left the Trevelyan mansion in Ostwick, never to return. It was by sheer luck that the bloodhounds she had sent after him never managed to sniff him out. He should have known she would find out about the Inquisition eventually, but the mere thought of her knowing where he was still filled him with dread. If he never saw her again, it would be too soon.

“Well, yes” Josephine said, blinking. “If I may be frank, she seemed quite concerned. Taking into consideration that you are the sole heir of the Trevelyan family, surely she would be happy to at least discuss the possibility of-“

“I am not the sole heir!”

Every eye in the room fixed itself on him. Tristan could hear his pulse beating in his throat as he returned their startled gazes. He caught himself clutching the ring on his finger, so hard his knuckles had gone white, and he hastily let his hands fall at his sides. Even if he could find the words, he would never be able to tell them that he hadn’t always been the sole heir. It would be even more difficult to explain that since becoming the Maker-damned sole heir, he would have gladly sold his soul to the highest bidder just so he could turn back time and not be.

“What I meant to say“ he said slowly, carefully, in an attempt to smooth the tension over, “is that my being the sole heir has absolutely nothing to do with it. My mother has never wanted me anywhere near the Trevelyan fortune or name. It’s best if we just leave things as they are. Support will come eventually, Lady Josephine. Nobles are always quick to sniff out opportunities, of that I can assure you.”

He thought he saw Leliana glancing at his ring, but when he looked at her she was peering straight in his eyes. “I believe you have made your point clear, Herald.” She lowered her voice, her icy blue gaze boring deep into him. “Very clear.”

It was a relief when Josephine announced the council meeting officially over. With a curt nod he bid them all good-day and exited the stuffy room. His heart was still thumping in his chest as he walked down the long, dark corridor of the Chantry Building. That business with his mother, that was a close call. Too close perhaps. At least he had managed to evade it somewhat. For now.

He almost let out a sigh of relief, when he remembered Leliana’s eyes on his ring. Fear gripped at him with icy claws. Did she know? But how could she? Could her agents have found out about his past? Of course, they must have. Leliana’s agents could find a needle in a haystack. He silently cursed himself. How could he have been so careless, so naïve, so fucking dense-

Easy. Easy now. No reason to panic. Not yet. He took a deep breath. Even if Leliana knew, there was nothing she could do to him. His past was a burden that only he was meant to carry.

He ran a hand through his hair, willing himself to calmness, and walked on. He still had a mountain of reports to go through after the events in Redcliffe castle and a few weapon requisitions that needed his attention, but not before another warm drink and perhaps a game of Wicked Grace with Varric at the tavern. That should set his frayed nerves straight.

“Herald, may I have a word?” he heard Cassandra’s voice behind him.

With a bit more reluctance than he wanted to let show, he turned around slowly to face her. “Yes, Seeker?” he made himself say through clenched teeth.

“Walk with me” she said, stepping ahead of him. The woman was so used to giving orders, that she didn’t even wait to see if he would follow. He gingerly obeyed, and they were soon walking silently side by side on the faded red carpet along the narrow corridor.

Once they were safely out of earshot of the crowd gathered in the Chantry building, he stole a glance at her from the corner of his eye. “Well?”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I am not sure how to tell you this, so I am just going to say it.” She inhaled sharply and looked away. “There have been some… rumours.”

“Rumours? What rumours?”

“About…you.”

“Rumours about me? I’m intrigued.” He always took a tiny bit of pleasure hearing all the outrageous stories people said about him. Most of them were spread as anti-Inquisition propaganda by the clerics, no doubt, but were enjoyable nonetheless.

“Yes. I am afraid they involve… another person as well.”

“Oh?” This was getting better by the minute. “And who might this person be, pray tell? Last I heard, I was participating in orgies with abominations and murderous apostates. I can’t wait to hear who I’m sleeping with next.”

Cassandra sniffed her disapproval at his mocking tone. “I would advise you to take this seriously, Herald. Your reputation and that of the Inquisition is of utmost importance for our mission. That being said… There’s been talk of you spending time with… with the Tevinter.” She uttered the word as if it were an accusation in and of itself. “You know of whom I speak” she added quickly, when he lifted an eyebrow at her inquisitively.

Tristan knew very well of whom she spoke, but decided not to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging that shared knowledge. “I am afraid you will have to be a bit more specific, Cassandra. I’ve met quite a few Tevinters lately. You know, whilst fighting a Venatori legion trying to subdue the whole world to their will, and all that. ”

Cassandra rolled her eyes and huffed. “I am talking about Dorian Pavus.”

“What of him?” It was evident Tristan was wearing her patience thin, but he just couldn’t resist pushing her a little bit more.

“I am sure you are aware of people’s conception of Tevinter mages. There are many who think that they are untrustworthy and dangerous. Having one amongst our ranks is controversial enough. But the Herald of Andraste associating with him so publicly… would be unwise.”

Tristan straightened his back so that he stood somewhat taller than the seasoned warrior, and looked at her over his nose. “I will have to remind you, Seeker, that Lord Pavus risked his life to help our cause, when he had little to gain from it. I wonder whether those ‘people’ you talk of would have done the same. We wouldn’t even be here having this conversation were it not for him. The Inquisition owes a heavy debt to Dorian, and it’s time people start acknowledging that.”

Cassandra gaped at him, eyes wide in shock. “No one is questioning the importance of Lord Pavus’s actions. But as the Herald of Andraste, you need to…”

He interrupted her with an impatient wave of his hand. “I know what my obligations are as the Herald of Andraste, Cassandra. But disregarding valued members of the Inquisition based on ridiculous prejudices just so a couple Chantry sisters can sleep safer at night is not something I am about to do.” He turned to leave, but paused to look at her over his shoulder. “I believed that partaking in gossip was beneath you. I guess I was wrong.”

He walked away, leaving Cassandra boiling in embarrassment. A small, barely perceptible smile spread on his face. He always did have a flair for the dramatic.

[buttsonthebeach]

Under a Broken Sky

@empresstress13 commissioned me to continue the AU where Ellana and Beatrix Tabris are cousins, and I was all too delighted to! I had such fun reimagining the opening of the game with Bea included :)

Thank you, my friend, for commissioning me!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open for March/April!)

Pairing: Beatrix Tabris x Leliana

Rating: General

**********

The snow of the Frostbacks crunched under Beatrix Tabris’s boots as she approached Haven, her stomach in thick knots of anxiety. She’d been on her way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes when the explosion happened. It lit up the whole sky, and lit up every drop of blood in her body with fear.

Leliana. Ellana. Everyone who went there in good faith -

She’d hurried to Haven after that, her heart in her throat the whole way. Leliana’s name was the one singing through her mind over and over and over again. It had been so long since they had seen each other. Leliana was busy acting as Left Hand of the Divine and Bea was busy acting as Spymaster of Amaranthine. It couldn’t be over like this, it could not be over like this, she would get to Haven and Leliana would be okay, and Bea would hold her again.

And then, every so often, her thoughts would drift to Ellana Lavellan, her newly discovered cousin, who’d been sent by her clan to the Conclave as a spy. They’d only just found each other. She couldn’t be ripped away now.

Bea had not been with Nehnara Surana to the Temple of Sacred Ashes when her dearest friend was trying to save Arl Eamon. They had not reunited by that point. But Bea knew what it was supposed to be like from Nehn’s descriptions - massive, ancient, made entirely of stone and yet somehow alive, so grand it seemed impossible that the mountains had not simply birthed it on their own.

It was only a crater now.

She could see that now, just as she could see the mountain passes swarming with demons and soldiers. Just as she could see the angry green gash in the sky, sparking and twisting over and over again. Haven was not a Haven at all. It was a madhouse.

“You,” she barked at the nearest soldier as she drew close to the chaos, her hands already drifting to the hilts of her knives. “Who’s in charge?”

“Seeker Pentaghast,” he said. “She’s with the prisoner now. The one who caused all of this.”

Cassandra Pentaghast. The Right Hand of the Divine. If she survived then maybe - maybe - Leliana had too.

“Take me to them,” Bea said in her most commanding tone. “Now.”

It was hard to believe that the scrappy girl who had grown up in Denerim’s alienage had a commanding tone now, but she did. She was a Spymaster after all. But when she stepped into the old Chantry and followed the trembling soldier down into the dank prison beneath it, she started to feel like the frightened, powerless, scrappy little girl she had once been. If Leliana was not there - if Cassandra told her the worst -

But a wooden door creaked open, and Leliana was there, beautiful as sunrise, whole and healthy in her lilac and silverite armor, the hood draped over her head. Her arms were crossed and her back was to Bea but Bea would have known her anywhere, and she could have wept for joy to see her. Leliana. She was safe.

Cassandra Pentaghast was in the room too, and so was someone else, kneeling on the floor, bound in chains - the prisoner who had caused all this destruction.

“Ellana?”

The word escaped Bea’s lips before she could stop herself. All three women in the room turned to her - Cassandra, Leliana, and, yes, Ellana Lavellan, her long lost cousin, swaying on her knees and looking disoriented and angry, her hands bound in chains, green light coming from the space between them.

“Bea,” Leliana breathed, turning. She started towards Bea but paused. Of course. They were conducting an interrogation. Leliana could not seem soft now.

“Let her go,” Bea said at once. “She had nothing to do with this.”

“Do you have any proof of that?” Cassandra asked, her voice tight with rage. “Because before you stands the only survivor of that Maker forsaken temple. The last woman to see Divine Justinia alive.”

The Divine was dead?

It made sense. Bea had seen the devastation. But still her mind was reeling. The Divine was dead. How would this affect the war between mages and templars? Her sources in various chantries around Thedas? The political situation for the Wardens?

And Ellana was the only one alive? How?

“I told you,” Ellana said, and her tone was hard, too. The kind of anger that came from fear. “I don’t know what happened to the Divine. I don’t know what happened at all. I -”

Before she could finish her sentence, awful crackles of green light sprouted from her left palm, enveloping the cell in their eerie glow. Ellana bent double, crying out in pain, cradling her left hand, and that was when Bea saw it - the gash of light in her left palm, a mirror image of the cracked sky outside.

“It’s getting worse,” Cassandra said, tersely. “We need to move, now. We need to get her to the Breach.”

The fit subsided. Ellana looked up, angry and confused once more.

“What? Where are you taking me?”

“I’ll be right there, cousin,” Bea said at once. “We’ll go together.”

Ellana looked at Bea, a long and searching gaze, her grey eyes flinty. Then she nodded, and hauled herself off of the floor of the cell.

Leliana caught Bea’s arm as they walked out of the cell, pulling her aside.

“My love,” she murmured, catching Bea in a quick embrace. “I have missed you.”

Bea pushed aside all thoughts of the broken sky and the turmoil outside and the strange energy radiating from Ellana’s hand (she needed to write to Nehnara at once, Nehn would know what it was, Nehn would know what to do) and focused only on the way Leliana smelled. Like lavender and clean cotton and Andraste’s grace.

“She didn’t do it, Leli,” Bea said at once, tightening her hold on Leliana. Maker, it felt so good to have her in her arms again. “Ellana. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t her. I know it.”

Leliana drew back and cupped Bea’s face. “You always see the good in people, Bea. And I know that she is your kin, but the evidence is damning. We need to see where it leads.”

Leliana was right of course. But Bea knew Ellana was innocent. She knew it in her bones. And Ellana was family, and Bea would protect her however she had to.

“I’m coming with you. I need to see where it leads, too.”

“I would have you nowhere else. I have - it has been so hard, Bea. These last few days. Justinia -”

Leliana’s voice broke. She looked away. Bea turned her lover’s face back to her and kissed her sweetly on the mouth and for a moment there was nothing but that kiss, perfect as spring’s first rain.

“Let’s go. We’re going to figure this out. We are.”

And Bea knew that in her bones, too. She was a master of spies and a scrappy alienage woman and she protected the people she loved no matter what it took. Together, they walked back out to the fresh snow and the broken sky and towards what was left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

[chaotic-good-hawke]

TMI Tuesday (if you're still accepting these): How would Damita feel about Leliana becoming Divine?

Thank you for asking, friend! 

Damita was very conflicted, at first. She is Andrastian, but she does not support the Chantry. She and Leliana had argued about her serving Divine Justinia. But, ultimately, she accepts that Leliana can do good in the role, bring real change to Thedas. And she does get quite a bit of pleasure being the elven mage wife of the Divine, arguably the most powerful person in Thedas. Not to say they don’t have issues because of it, but she does support her wife. 

So…I got a little carried away and inspired, so I wrote a little scene about them…

Divine Doubts, Damita x Leliana, 844 words

Val Royeaux looked thesame as the first time she saw it. Well, not quite. It was more familiar to besure, the lines of the opulent architecture not as jarring and wondrous. The scentof the sea was strong tonight, the wind blowing in the salty sea air andmingling with the floral scents that marked the city proper.   

Damita trekked throughthe night, to get to the city. She had been halfway to Skyhold, before she gotthe message saying Leliana would be in the capitol.

She had been out ofcontact too long.

Two years, two crazyyears tracking down a cure and finding…more questions. They had more leads,which some of the others were looking into, but they had been gone too long. Whenthey checked in at Soldier’s Peak, Damita found a pile of messages from Leli.After reading them, she immediately left, not truly believing the words sheread.

Reaching the Grand Cathedral,she retraced her steps, so often taken when she needed to find Leli, needed tovisit the quarters of the Left Hand of the Divine. She paced through thehallways and up the stairs, to the quarters of the Divine. She found a doorwith light spilling out from under the door.

Seeing no one, sheslipped into the rooms. Before her was a fire burning bright, a large deskcovered with neatly organized piles. Couches piled with pillows and landscape portraitson the wall. And there, there stood her love.

“My people said you werein the city. I cleared the way for you.” 

“Leli, how could you?” The words come tumblingout, much like her hair, which had blow out of her braids in the journey andhung freely in tousled curls as she pulled back her hood. Seeing Leli in thoserobes, the robes that even when she was the Left-Hand, she never wore. Formless,that ridiculous hat, the symbols of the Chantry stitched into every piece ofthe fabric.

“That is some way togreet me.” Leliana said, crossing her arms, her face blank. Well, blank tothose who didn’t know her. Damita could read the emotion on her love’s face, thetiniest tells that she was hurt.

“Leli…”

“You did not consult mebefore running away for 2 years! You left a note, a note! Barely communicatingwith me that whole time.” Leliana so rarely raised her voice, but her voicebroke ragged with defensive anger. “I tried to seek you out, to tell you whatwas happening here, but you weren’t here!”

“I did it for us!”Damita exclaimed, her own voice rough and strained.

“Why did you think Idid this?!” Leli shouted. They stared at each other, breathing heavy, hurt and confusedand…lonely.

Damita broke first,rushing the rest of the way in to embrace Leli, burying her face into hershoulder. Leliana wrapped her arms around her, one hand to her head, one to herback. They stood in silence for a while, hearing each other’s breathe, just takingin each other’s presence, but words still unsaid hanging heavy between them.

“Am I still your wife?”Damita asked, the shuddering uncertainty lacing her words. The thoughts thatplagued her the whole journey brought to bear: The Divine could not marry.

“Of course!” Lelianasaid, pulling back to look down at her love. She cupped her face. “I can changethings, Damita.” She kissed her forehead. “I will change things. The Chantrywill no longer be what it was. It will be what it was meant to be. A beacon,not an iron fist. No more Circles, just the freedom of the Maker’s light.”

Leliana traced thelines of worry on her wife’s face, her fingers finding the familiar trail offreckles.

“I’m married to theDivine?”

“Yes, love.” Lelianasaid, placing a kiss to Damita’s cheek, reassurance in her words and actions .

“Even though I am an elvenmage?”

“Yes, love.” Lelianareplied, placing another kiss on her other cheek. “You are my wife and nothingwill change that. I love you.” Leliana kissed her deeply, pressing years of longing into it. 

Damita finally broke the kiss. “Is this what you want?”Damita asked, pulling away to look at her.

Leliana paused and then replied with conviction. “Yes,love. It is.”

Damita sighed. “Then Iwill be at your side, whatever comes.” Her bright purple eyes looked up at Leliana, holding hergaze, and then she frowned. “But we have to do something about that hat… and Iam not calling you Victoria.”

Leliana laughed, reliefflooding her face as she smiled, well and truly smiled. She pulled off the offendingarticle and swooped up Damita in her arms, whose own face broke into a grin.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,Leli.”

In the firelight, theyheld each other close, the troubles of the future set aside for the night. Theywould figure it out, together. Fight and hash it out tomorrow. But for tonight,they had each other and that was enough.  

[mythalsknickers]

TITLE: Vir'sul El'u Eolas RATING: Mature PAIRING: Fen’aslan x Solas (Sollavellan) TAGS: Post Corypheus, Post Trespasser DLC, Magical Amputation, Body Horror,  Flashbacks, Liberal use of Magic, Liberal use of  Elvhen, Magical Healing, Spirits are overpowered Link for AO3

This started out as a DADWC writing prompt, however, it quickly escalated into a full-fledged fic that demanded its own part of my canon universe. Reblogs, are always appreciated. As well as kudos and comments.

There was no pain; just a sudden nothing where her forearm should have been, and he was leaving. Walking away as if he hadn’t done that, as if it meant nothing to him.

As if she meant nothing to him.

Fen’aslan tried to stand up, stumbling forward in the numbness of system shock, crying out as her knees gave way and connected with the ancient stones that made up the broken, cobbled path. Panic seized her, keeping her from sobbing by stealing the breath she would have used as she realized she didn’t have the strength to keep herself upright let alone make it to the eluvian.

“Ma Vhenan!”

Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, full of anguish and pain she didn’t yet feel. He paused, turning just barely towards her. “Don’t, Solas! Don’t leave me, ma vhenan!” she begged, standing up on legs that felt like withered branches, liable to snap at any given moment. Without thinking, she pulled on the fade with her right hand. It was only natural; their most tender moments, the moments of greatest intimacy, had been in the fade. The mist began to form around her as she took a single, shaky step forward. A breath later, she disappeared into the fade, hoping with her aching heart that it would work, that it would distract him just enough for her to catch him.

She strolled through the doors of the Exalted Council, her bare toes and heels soundless against the mirror-like tile, light robes swishing against her legs with a faint whisper, like the summer breeze through the grass. Her passage through the crowds was marked only by the quiet jingling of the six tiny leaves adorning her collar and the quiet hush she left in her wake. On the Dias, Arl Tegan and the Orlaisian continued their heated debate around the Divine in ignorance, unaware of how rudely they were about to be interrupted.

That thought almost made Fen’aslan smile, but the book in her hands kept her thoughts anchored on the moment.

“The Herald of Andraste,” a woman whispered, reaching out to touch her like she was their savior. She wasn’t, though, and before she could react, the man next to the woman snatched her hand back.

“It is a Rabbit, Woman!” he hissed through his teeth. “She was not sent by Blessed Andraste! More likely one of the demons her people worship.” He spat towards her as she passed him, but he may as well been invisible for all the attention she paid him.

As Fen’aslan became visible to her former advisors, she could see Josephine’s aggravation melt into relief and smugness radiate from the Divine’s smile. Her plan had been shared, then. Good, this would not surprise Leliana. The effects of her sudden appearance effectively pulled the two lords from their argument, just as she hoped it would. She wanted their undivided attention.

“You all know what this is!” She raised the book above her head as she took the final steps toward the Dias, her voice ringing out in the newborn silence the way her footsteps hadn’t. Defiantly, she faced the men who would put her organization under their sway, who were even now attempting to position themselves as Judge, Jury, and Executioner over the ones whose strength had revealed their shortcomings. As Inquisitor, it was Fen’aslan’s place to pass and enact justice, not theirs.

Behind her, the crowd waited with bated breath for her next words. No one spoke, not even the man who had spit at her, and not a single rustle of fine silks hinted that anyone was stirring. They were all either enthralled with her brazen declaration or - more likely - frozen by her audacity. It was time to find out. Exhaling, she spun on her heel to face them.

“This is a writ from Divine Justinia, authorizing the formation of the Inquisition.” The sea of silent faces, both masked and not masked, raised their eyes to the book clearly visible in her hands, and she flipped open the cover showing the distinctive ink of the blood-red eye staining the parchment. “We pledged to close the breach, to find those responsible, and to restore order - with or without approval.” She turned her head slightly towards Arl Tegan, catching Cassandra’s smirk and nod of approval.

The silence held; no one dared do anything but breathe, afraid to break the tension that drew every eye to her. Fen’aslan drew in another breath to steady herself, torn between the fluttering uncertainty in her belly and the wild exultation howling in her blood. Would he be proud of her in this moment, her love? She discarded the thought to continue with her plan.

“It was not a formalized treaty that saved Ferelden or her people,” she declared, turning to hurl the words directly at Arl Tegan. Oh, how smug he looked. “The Inquisition saved them when you could not. We will not disband for you.”

She could hear a squeak as the Arl sat back in his chair, too stunned for a moment to form words. His expression said it all for her - how dare she have the gall? She clenched her jaw, keeping her smile trapped behind her teeth. She was a wolf among the sheep who thought they could tame her. Stepping along the Dias with the sharp grace of a sword slicing through the air, she moved so she was directly in front of the masked Orlaisian.

“The Inquisition will not submit to an Empress who failed to end your inane civil war, and only keeps her throne because of Inquisition support!” It spoke volumes that Celene, Gaspard, and Briala had not attended these talks and instead, sent this Lord who was not important enough for her to remember his name. The Arl had presented more of a threat, but she was done with both of these sheep now.

The silence tore with the soft sound of gasps ripped from the throats of Orlaisian women. With that intangible protection broken, men put hands on their swords and yelled, their voices colliding in the air and forming a single incoherent jumble of sound. It did not matter; she knew every insult they threw at her, but they shattered against the armor of her indifference.

“This was never just an organization!” Fen’aslan declared when the volley of words ended. “It is about people doing what is necessary. We will continue to support you as we have done in the past.” Her eyes finally met Leliana’s as the Divine bowed her head in quiet approval. “There is worse coming than anything you’ve yet seen. We will not be rendered defenseless and riddled with the bureaucracy and the so-called politics of The Game. The Inquisitions will bow - but it will not be to either of you. Now excuse me.” Her tone turned the plea into a command of respect and authority, her robes once more whispering against her legs as she strolled away from the Dais “I need to save the world again.” She thrust the book towards Josephine, giving her little time to collect it as she passed. “I will see you at Skyhold.”

Like a wolf returning from a successful hunt, she prowled through the divided crowd, gliding through the room while gasps of outrage and protests lapped at her. How dare a blasphemous Rabbit and the supposed herald of Andraste voice such insolence to her betters! She ignored it all, chin high, unable to hide her smirk. It wouldn’t be more than a handful of breaths before the muttering erupted into a storm of shouting - but she would be gone before that happened. Throwing open the doors to the chamber, she grabbed her staff from a page and handed the boy a Caprice coin. Then, with the doors swinging shut, she smiled at the mutters rising into furious protests. A muffled boom behind her was the doors closing, silencing the storm as it broke.

As she materialized out of the fade, she could see the eluvian starting to darken and she quickly pushed herself through. How dare he try to shut her out again! Once she’d stumbled forward into the crossroads, however, she couldn’t see him.

“Solas! Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em!” She could see the mirror closing behind her as she moved away from it, and for a split second, she wanted to jump through – but she continued, away from home, away from a guaranteed future. “Lasa em’an dirth ma’lath,” she begged. They needed to talk. Each mirror she passed, she sketched and made a note of it in relation to her path. “Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir!” She cried out to the emptiness, but there was no answer and she sank down to the ground, her eyes slipping closed. “Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel.” Tears staining her cheeks, her body beginning to shake as she curled forward, she sobbed. He had left her again.

“Ma ane las, Da’lan.”

She opened her bleary eyes at the unfamiliar voice, noting the vallaslin on an equally unfamiliar face. It was her own – Fen’harel’s eyes was what her clan named it. “Ma ane isa ghi’la,” the elvhen asserted, crouching down. “Ar ame Rashale. Las, ma ane naim; ar juhalani ma vena mar sal.” He offered his hand and she took it, standing with his help and letting him lead her over to a mirror. “Fen’harel Enasanal,” he spoke. The mirror sprang to life, and he pulled her through it.

“Rashale?” she glanced at him, and he turned back. “Do you understand me?” She asked in the common language. At his nod, she continued. “Can you speak like this?” Again he nodded, and her shoulders relaxed. “Where are we?”

“The ones who raise you call it the Tirashan,” he replied as he led her into the temple. “This was where Mythal sent you to protect you from the Veil going up.” He watched her as she ran her over the wards on the temple walls, tracing their shapes. As soon as she removed her hand, energy pulsed through them. “Temple of the Hoping Moon,” he offered as he guided her deeper into the temple. Statues of two wolves appeared everywhere.

It had been a week since she went into the Eluvian after Solas, a week since Rashale had found her and took her to this temple. If Rashale was to be believed, it had apparently been created for her. She wasn’t sure she believed any of what he’d told her, honestly. He claimed that she was as old as Solas - or rather, her soul was, and she had been put into uthenera sometime during the slave rebellion. She frowned as she wandered the moss- and vine-covered floors, letting her bare feet pick their own path while she mulled over this information.

As she walked, she reached out with her remaining hand, touching the faded mosaic wall absently. Ambient magic pulsed through the tiles as her fingers ghosted over them, strands of vivid green arcing along certain tiles, lighting them up. That caught her attention and she stared at the wall, walking back a few steps to see the design.

It was the dread wolf.

The green magic changed; this time, it was purple, and she watched as a dragon took shape. Her lips parted as the color changed to a pale silver to make the last image in the mosaic: a moon's glow lighting up a white wolf ahead of the dread wolf.

“I wondered, Las, how long it would take you to find this.”

Looking around, she couldn’t see anyone, but the voice almost sounded like-

Her eyes locked with the dragon. “Mythal?”

She watched in awe as the dragon turned its mosaic head to her. “Well done, young one. You have come a long way since we last met.”

Her brow furrowed; the sentinels had told her Mythal was dead.

“I am a fragment, placed here once you were ready for everything. I am dead, child. We both know I can not help your wolf on his path.”

She drifted forward a few steps until she could reach out and touch the moon. “I am supposed to be his guide,” she whispered before looking at the dragon. “How, though? I am not even sure any of this happened.” Exasperated, she rubbed her hand over her face.

“How did the wolf claim to known things? That path is open to you...and it is time you learn to hunt.”

An orange glow began to appear along the dragon’s throat. As it opened its mouth, mosaic flames shot out but left the wall to smash into her chest, making her scream. The dragon closed its mouth as she pulled her hand back to touch her robe-covered chest, but there was no burn. The sudden sensation that she had swallowed the fire made her drop to the ground, gasping, trying to breathe past the phantom flames in her throat.

“Child, I have nudged history and shoved it. You are being melodramatic. Take what is yours; you are Elvhen, and kin, and would be gods just like your wolf; act like it!”

At the words, a fit of burning anger formed in her stomach and for the first time since the loss of her forearm, she reached out with her left hand. Ignoring that her hand wasn’t there, she attempted to pull the fade. Magic began to course around her, creeping along what was left of her arm after her forearm had been disintegrated, sickly green magic of the fade beginning to burst through the scars and drawing a scream from her throat. Her knees threatened to buckle from the sudden influx of pain in her arm and tears streamed freely from her eyes, her skin starting to tingle as the veil strained against her crude pulling. The sickly green magic traveled up her arm, skin smoking in its wake as the scars ripped open, the wounds cauterized before even a single drop of blood could drip onto the stone floor. Blindly, she staggered forward, away from the mosaic, feeling draconic eyes watching her with interest.

Clenching her jaw, she reached out with her missing hand, her weak legs causing her to sway dangerously. The anchor spread further with each faltering step she took. As she pulled on the fade, she could feel it begin to tremble around her. Her eyes went to her vestigial arm, which was beginning to ooze green fade-magic, and a hollow laugh burst out of her. This not-even-formed plan of hers was working? It was hard to believe, but the smoking grew worse with each tremor of the fade as more and more of the ooze came bleeding out.

The fade trembled and quaked under her assault, and the anchor began to spread past her arm. Each inch it crawled - sometimes leaped - over her skin, she could feel it trying to claw her apart. A scream tore from her throat but it echoed off the stone oddly, the sound warping until to her ears, it sounded like a howl. Hunching forward, she continued to stagger down the hallway, her nose filled with the smell of burning flesh. The fade was bleeding into the temple; she stared at a distant image of Solas removing his vallaslin from her face and her right hand tightened into an angry fist. She had been blind, so blind, so many signs that he had been hiding something and she hadn’t seen them.

She tore her eyes away from the memory, her heart aching because, despite everything, she still loved him. “Ma vhenan.” she whispered, her voice rough.

Something deeper in the temple called to her, and she struggled to continue her journey towards it. Bit by bit, the oozing, burning, green magic of the fade was forming the shape of her missing forearm. Her foot hooked a branch as she approached a door frame and sent her stumbling forward, her right hand catching one side of the frame as her shoulder slammed into the ancient stone of the other side. Leaning against it, she tried desperately to slow her frantic breathing. Each pull, each spasm of the fade left her feeling emptier than the last, and the pain still tore at the fabric of her very being.

As she stared at the remnants of her forearm, she pushed off the door frame and staggered into the room. In the center was a massive statue of two wolves nestled together. The shock of seeing what could only be her and Solas made her legs give out, her next pull on the fade purely reflexive as her knees collided with the overgrown tiles. He had to know what was happening, had to know what she was doing. If he didn’t, he either was not even looking at the fade or...well, she couldn’t think past the pain to figure out an ‘or’. Fen’aslan half expected his footsteps to echo towards her down the hallway she’d followed, and she could almost hear him calling her name. Tears trailed down her cheeks, and she closed her eyes.

It was nightfall when she opened her eyes again, one of them the sickly green of the fade. There had been no rest, no dreams for her. Breathing heavily, she stood up, her copper hair torn loose from its braid, and reached out with her left arm. There were still many missing pieces, and with soft exhale she attempted again to pull the fade, to tear the veil. She would have her arm back. Sweat dripped down from her forehead as she strained, splattering onto the tile. Another piece slipped through the fade, but there was not enough time to pull the rest of her arm through before something reached out and slammed into her.

Fen’aslan went flying backward, her head cracking against the wall as she hit it and crumpled to the floor. It felt like an eternity before she was aware of a groan slipping past her lips. Again she opened her eyes, but this time her green eye was met with a blue eye. The burning, clawing heat of the mosaic warred with the creeping chill of the glyphs as she climbed to her feet and realized she’d come face to face with herself.

A mirror.

“Inquisitor, you promised a price.”

Her eyes widened. The glyphs tightened on her face, attempting to spread to the left side. Another scream tore from her throat as the two ancient magics warred over her. The anchor pulsed angrily, and the only warning of it attempting open was the distinctively sickening popping noise. Her knees almost gave out again, every bit of her body aching and burning, leaving the fade scarred and bleeding even more heavily into the temple. It had already saturated the room, she realized as she looked up. There was no ceiling anymore, just the twin silver moons.

“Give in, Fen’aslan. This is our destiny: to serve the well. Fen’harel’s magic will kill us.”

Her mirror self spoke in a mocking voice, attempting to soothe her. Her reflection’s left hand was missing and her face was filled with unending sorrow and anguish, branded with the glyphs of the Well. Fen’aslan forced herself to keep her feet as she stepped away from the wall, her breathing heavy and ragged. Anger burned brighter than a star as the anchor flared along her left side, tearing into her further. Lighting, manifestations of her anger and pain, struck around the mirror.

“No,” she growled, her body shaking with her fury, and something began to change. The anchor had once been Fen’harel’s, but now she was making it was hers. It had been hers to claim all along. Slowly, at the tips of her sickly green fingers, silver magic began to emerge, spreading and clawing for each inch as it crept up her arm. The anchor fought back with violent pulses of magic that further assaulted the fade and clawed at her.

“Accept it, Inquisitor, and stop fighting. You will always be what you are now. Come home.”

She stared at the mirror, her heart hammering in her chest. Something in that phase had caused panic to seize her. Her left hand clenched into a fist as silver magic continued to bleed up her arm. Reaching out, she raised both her hands, attempting to pull the ceiling down on her mirror, only to stare in horrified when nothing happened; the mirror still stood in front of her and the ceiling remained intact.

“I told you, Inquisitor, you need to stop fighting this. You will never survive.” The image of herself in the mirror laughed. A wave appeared behind it, and the realization hit her: the woman in the Well had been her. Then the wave surged forward, smashing into her and tossing her back into the wall.

“I..I will never surrender…” As she struggled to stand up, ice spread from her feet, slowly creeping forward and freezing what it touched. Another wave smashed into her, trying to slide her back into the wall, but the ice held and her jaw tightened. Silver magic began to arc and hiss as it slowly overtook the green fade energy, bit by bit. It mended the skin that had torn, pulling her flesh together and quenching the burning pain. Slowly the green bled from her opaline eye, leaving only blue. She turned her gaze to the ceiling and pulled on it; the rubble tumbled down in a distraction as she began to walk towards the mirror, her legs trembling with each step. “I am no one’s slave. I paid the price of the well, now yield to me!” She commanded, throwing all of her strength into it. Every fiber of her body begged her to relent, to surrender to exhaustion.

The mirror shook violently as lightning began to arc between them. “We will not be commanded by a girl so foolish that she took what was not hers twice and would not pay the price!” Another wave began to raise up. “You will relent; in the end, they all do. Become what you are, child. It will not hurt, and you can rest.” The soothing mocking was back, each word casting a grapple of fade energy to entangle Fen’aslan.

This time, her anger was more precise, the lightning arcing around the mirror to entrap it. Each breath was focused on the glyphs, and her vision went black for a moment before she spoke.

“You dare command me?” Her voice was different to her ears; something had changed. The howl of a wolf echoed from somewhere as the two statues stepped off their base and began circling the mirror. “I am one Mythal calls kin. You will yield and become mine!”

Her magic lashed out towards the mirror as her skin began to ache and burn from the grapple she had been tangled in. Turning her eyes away from the mirror, she raised her now-silver magical hand toward the grapple, letting one finger claw at the grapple until it released her. The glyphs on her face began to change, silver magical energy coursing through them, turning both her eyes into pools of moonlight as another howl echoed through the room. Lightning flashed, the stone wolves growling before launching at the mirror. They savaged it with fang and claw and soon, silver magic began to ooze from it as it bled back to her. The Vir’abelsan had become hers; the mirror dissolved, and she could feel the voices fade from her mind.

Her knees buckled as exhaustion overtook her, silver eyes fading back into their normal, opaline mauve. The statues of the wolves were back on the base, nestled together as they had been, and as she kneeled there on the ground, Fen’aslan began laughing. Another voice joined her in laughing as the careful steps of armored boots approached, and when she looked up, there was Mythal.

“Well done, girl.” The woman’s amber eyes truly did seem pleased with her. “Now you can learn how to help him.” Mythal nodded, her lips curved into a slight smile. “Help him before he can no longer be helped, daughter.”

The warning chilled her. The goddess disappeared, the fade becoming less saturated in the room with each passing moment, and Fen’aslan staggered up onto her feet. She stared at her new arm admiring, magical energy substituting for the flesh that had been lost. Then a yawn distracted her, and she rubbed her eyes. Her body was exhausted and she could feel her stomach beginning to rumble and cramp with an increasingly-desperate need to find food. She needed to find Rashale. How long had she been in the fade?

As she hobbled out of the room, she noticed that the temple seemed to be repaired: the overgrowth was gone, the walls clean, the floors smooth with no ragged edges to catch her feet. She paused as she passed the mosaic and noticed the dragon’s absence. Was…it just a dream, she wondered? A glance at her left hand dispelled that; it was neither flesh nor missing, but a construct of her magic. It couldn’t have been a dream. Frowning, Fen’aslan limped gingerly out of the hallway and into the main thoroughfare of the temple.

“Las!” she jolted alert, her magic suddenly flaring to life at the sound of her name. Rashale seemed to appear out of nowhere, jogging up to her. “Thank Mythal I have found you.” His brows raised as he noticed her left hand, and he bowed. “My lady, pardon me. I was merely worried for you; you have been gone from the temple for a week,” he said, his voice formal and respectful.

“A week. I thought…” she whispered. She thought it had been less. Gone from the temple…Had she physically gone into the fade again? “Rashale, please. I am not a lady, and there is nothing to pardon.”

He shook his head firmly at her in disagreement. “You are a lady; your spirit has changed. You have found yourself, my lady.” It was his only explanation and while it was not enough for her, she was too hungry and too tired to worry about it for now. She yawned, swaying on her feet.

“My lady? Do you need refreshments?”

She stared at Rashale, blinking for a moment before his words finally made sense. Yawning again, she nodded. He offered his arm and, reluctantly, she took it and let him lead her to the kitchens.

The kitchens were rather large for the small temple. Carefully, Fen’aslan made her way around with a plate, gathering bits of fruits, jerkies and candied meats, hardened cheeses, and an glass of some kind of drink that smelled a bit like the wine Solas had introduced her to in Orlais. Lacking any sort of table or chair, she climbed up onto the counter where she perched with her plate of snacks, eating her fill and quenching her thirst. After her meal, she quietly made her way to her room.

Once the doors had shut behind her she looked around, closing her eye and trying to prepare herself. “Two weeks since I have dreamed…” she whispered to herself, wrapping her arms around her torso and squeezing in attempts to reassure herself. She made her tired way over to the bed and lay down, curling under the blankets, slowly letting herself drift off into the fade.

“Vhenan.” The word summoned her, and she found herself face to face with him. “Where are you?”

She stood up, and the images around them changed. He was trying to find her. “Where are you, vhenan?” she countered, shifting the fade on her own. “I will find you, vhenan. I told you I would not give up.” Around her, the fade stilled. Arlathan.

“I know you will not, Vhenan…” he seemed reluctant, looking around. “Allow me to show you these before we do not have time?”

She nodded, offering her hand. "Em ghi’lana,” she offered gently as he took her it, squeezing it gently. He lead her through the glass spires of the city and she watched the reflections, seeing multiple images of her and Solas. “In another time…” she smiled fondly; in another time, they had walked these streets just like this.

“Yes, Vhenan,” he added, turning and taking her- left hand? Her brows furrowed. “This is the fade,” he whispered. She realized they were in a grand ballroom just as Solas pressed close to her and began to dance. As they moved over the glass tiles, the room filled with people. “The Evanuris held such parties often. This was the night,” he started before spinning her. “The night everything I cared for was taken from me.” He growled, and the music took a deadly twist as she watched Mythal crumble to the floor. The young dreadwolf stared in horror at his kin, letting go of her. She recognized the figure in his arms. She tried to watch what happened to herself, but the scene focused on Solas lashing out at Elgar’nan.

“Wake up, Vhenan.” He leaned forward sadly and kissed her cheek. As her eyes opened, she sighed looking at the walls.

So it had begun.

Elvhen Translations

•Vir'sul el'u eolas (way to have secret knowledge) •Solas Tel’tuaun min ea el’u i em! (Solas don’t cause this to be a secret with me) •lasa em’an dirth ma’lath. (Let’s talk about it my love) •Ma tel’isala dina sul min! Tamahn emen to ea vir! (You dont need to die for this! There has to be another way!) •Fen’aslan ma ane a felasil Fen’harel. (You are a fool to chase Fen’harel) •Ma ane las. Da’lan. (You are hope. Young one) •Ma ane isa ghi’la. (You are his guide) •Ar ame Rashale. Las ma ane naim, ar juhalani ma vena mar sal. (I am Rashale. Hope you are lost, I will help you find your soul.) •em ghilana (guide me/ show me) •Vhenan (heart)

[anjelica-grey]

Fictober 2018 - Week 4 Recap

My Week 4 Dragon Age Fictober pieces - ICYMI! :)

(Slowly but surely catching up…which means I’ll probably finish just in time to get my butt kicked by NaNoWriMo, lol.)

Day 22: “I know how you love to play games.”

In which Warden Mahariel wakes up with his favorite assassin.

Pairing: m!Mahariel x Zevran Characters: Theron Mahariel, Zevran Arainai, Sten Words: 461 Rating: T (Innuendo)

Day 23: “This is not new, it only feels like it.”

In which Warden Amell gives her cousin Hawke a warning.

Pairing: f!Amell x Alistair Characters: Solona Amell, Alistair Theirin, Marian Hawke, Leandra Hawke, Bethany Hawke Words: 1698 Rating: G

Day 24: “You know this, you know this to be true.”

In which Cole is Cole, and Vivienne does not approve.

Pairing: N/a Characters: Maxwell Trevelyan, Vivienne de Fer, Cole Words: 615 Rating: G

Day 25: “Go forward, do not stray.”

In which Divine Justinia uses her Hands.

Pairing: N/a Characters: Divine Justinia V, Cassandra Pentaghast, Leliana Words: 516 Rating: G

Day 26: “But if you cannot see it, is it really there?”

In which Dagna has a dangerously brilliant idea, as usual. (Dragon Age AU)

Pairing: m!Cadash x Dagna Characters: Edric Cadash, Dagna Words: 785 Rating: G

Day 27: “Remember, you have to remember.”

In which Sandal speaks a prophecy.

Pairing: f!Hawke x Anders Characters: Marian Hawke, Anders, Bodahn Feddic, Sandal Feddic Words: 602 Rating: G

Day 28: “I felt it. You know what I mean.”

In which Ariane seeks a friend’s help in deciding if Finn is ‘the one.’

Pairing: Finn x Ariane, f!Tabris x Alistair Characters: Kallian Tabris, Finn, Ariane Words: 1086 Rating: T (Mild innuendo)

Or, for a collection of all my Fictober 2018 one-shots, check out Windows in Autumn on AO3.

[veridium]

“Deliberation”

Cass x Olivia

Characters: Theia Trevelyan, Olivia Sinclair, a Chantry official.

Author’s note: this is in reference to this ask I received, inquiring as to how Olivia would handle Chantry attention for her relationship with Cassandra given that she is being considered as Divine Justinia V’s successor. Hint: NOT WELL, but deliciously dramatic.

Content warning: discussion of sex, sex work.

--

“Thank you for coming, Olivia. I am afraid I had no way around this.” Theia stood from her desk in her bed chambers as her friend made her way from the stairs to where she had been working for hours. “I see you received my request for your presentation.”

Olivia wore a clean, pale brown dress, quite the departure from her usual workday attire doused in stains and burns from the fireplace in the Mage tower. Her hair was washed and tied up in an updo, and her clean skin had no blemish of powder or apothecary materials to speak of. She had received a note in the early morning instructing her to come like this, and while it put a wrench in her plans for the day, her instincts said to follow her friend’s word.

“My dear, have you a need for me to fish you out of another fiasco with a nobleman, again? Is Ambassador Montilyet quite preoccupied?” Olivia smiled.

“You know I resent that,” Theia replied. She couldn’t help but grin, though. Olivia as a friend and person in general presented a soft-spot for her. Unlike Veronica, Olivia could freely tease her and she would be quite content.

“Forgive me, I am only confused, is all. Your letter was quite vague.”

“Well, that is because…”

A figure then cast a shadow on the floor in front of the balcony door. It was a figure adorned in a shapeless robe, and a angular hat, like the ones depicted on the stain-glass windows in the worship halls of the Circle. Olivia knew exactly, then, who had joined the conversation, and she turned her attention to the Revered Lady as she returned inside.

“Lady Olivia. I am afraid that was my request to Her Worship. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Revered Mother Diane. I am here from Val Royeaux on specific orders to speak with you.”

Olivia’s brow furrowed, and her eyes returned to Theia. “What is the meaning of this? The last time I was approached with such a solemn introduction I was being recruited into the Circle at Ostwick.”

Theia sighed as she placed her hands on her hips. “I’m afraid the Chantry has caught wind of your...relationship with The Seeker.” Theia was compelled out of respect for the company in the room to describe people by their titles and formal dynamics, rather than be as direct as she wanted. Her eyes, though, spoke to the sympathy she felt for her friend as this ordeal would unfold.

Olivia’s chest tensed, and she turned her attention to the woman in Chantry robes who stood with an austere expression, as if such behavior was to-be-expected and exalted.

“I see. And what exactly is the extent of the understanding, if I may be so blunt?”

“We understand that you and Seeker Pentaghast have formed quite a...intimate bond. Seeing as she is being considered for one of the most elevated and important callings mortal life has compelled of us, we would see that she has surrounded herself with influences that would be conducive to her role, should she be named the next Divine.”

Olivia exhaled. “Tell me, are you tracking down the Hero of Fereldan for such an investigation as well, seeing as she is Sister Leliana’s lover, a Mage, and known for her staunch position on politics as well?”

“Olivia,” Theia warned. Her chin lowered as she gave a non-verbal caveat to Olivia’s temper.

In return, Olivia loosened her shoulders and sighed. “Forgive me, Revered Mother,” she said begrudgingly, though to people who did not know her well it came across as stern manners, “I have been distracted in my work and thus am a bit fatigued. I am receptive to any questions you have. Should Her Worship allow it, we may sit here by the fire and discuss your matter.”

Olivia reached out a hand, gesturing towards the opposing couches. Theia did not put up a fight, and instead stepped away from her desk, walking towards both the women and standing between them momentarily. “Surely, my chambers are of service. I will see myself out, so as to give you privacy. Revered Mother. Lady Olivia,” she nodded to both sides graciously, saving Olivia for last and shooting her a knowing eye glimmer.

Hold steady, she wished to say. But such things were impertinent.

Olivia watched Theia withdraw down the stairs, and as she heard the door open and shut, she turned her full focus onto her remaining company. “Please, Revered Mother, have a seat.”

Mother Diane nodded cordially, a benign grin on her lips as she made her way along with Olivia to the couches. She picked one, and Olivia picked the other, choosing to face her head on rather than to the side. Such body language was not lost on Mother Diane, and she took note, before judging outright.

Olivia took her seat like a Lady, her back arched, shoulders back, her legs gathering underneath her knees and crossed at the ankle. She placed her hands gently on her lap, her chin held high. This was her Game-playing posture.

“Lady Olivia, I am grateful to be met with your open mind. Your reputation for congeniality and magnanimity left quite an impression on the Capitol.”

Olivia smirked. “You are too kind, Revered Mother. My time amongst the Orleisian nobility are considered some of my most pleasant memories. I remember my times in Val Royeax fondly.” Lies. Her time being paraded amongst the wealthy was some of the most arduous and exhaustive experiences she could remember. Not even traveling as a rogue Mage rebel could compare to the way her body agonized underneath the guise of corsets and masks.

Mother Diane grinned. “I am sure. Truthfully, I only have a handful of questions for you. Should you answer them honestly, I will be satisfied.”

“Surely. What do you wish to know. Revered Mother?”

Mother Diane seemed to be contemplating an awkward question, trying to find the most euphemistically graceful way of posing it. Olivia could read the discomfort like an open book page, and a corner of her mouth cracked a grin. How long would it be before the question of her sex life was brought front-and-center? She wondered, but she knew it was only a matter of minutes, to be sure.

“I assume, my Lady, that you have been made aware of Lady Adalia Ferndale’s accusations of your character and past experiences as a Mage. Such allegations have caught our attention, however, we do not wish to be partisan in our view. The Maker loves and protects us all, in our imperfections. I wish to ask for your testimony in the face of these claims.”

“And what, pray tell, are the accusations you are referring to, specifically?”

Read the Rest of the Fic on Ao3!

[somevirtualnolife]

The Man Who Loved The Sun

2163 Words

Rating: T Pairing: Mage Trevelyan x Cassandra Summary: Choosing the next Divine is never easy. Previous Chapter: I’ll Touch Every Star In the Sky Author’s Notes: Yayy! It's been awhile since I've updated lovely Reagan and Cassandra properly, so I do hope this one was worth the wait. They've probably had the sweetest and easiest of my romances in the game (and in writing?), but I had to throw a bit of a wrench into their perfect love. I'm a sucker for tsundere tropes, but I'm also a sucker for star-crossed lovers. I've been trying to be a little more descriptive with my writing, but I feel as though it's still coming off a little more explainy... but bear with me while I experiment!Also, I think I may have a thing for handholding? I feel all these two kiddos do is hand hold and play with each other's hands lol.

 A spark, a flame, or the sun; it didn’t matter for he was consumed by her beauty.

When Reagan was still in the circle, he had accepted his lot in life, which wasn’t particularly difficult. Unlike a lot of circles, Ostwick was generally fair. The enchanters were knowledgeable and provided great education. The templars weren’t too strict and some were even friendly. Their quarters were comfortable with the food being decent as well. Overall, they were treated fine.

Just fine.

It was fine if he wasn’t allowed children. When he became an enchanter, he oversaw teaching the younger mages, so it wasn’t as though he were missing out on some form of parenting (perhaps a cool uncle more than father figure). It was fine he couldn’t get married. He could still fall in love and he had more than his share fun on the side. Besides, anyone who he would’ve ever considered to run away and get married with were long gone. He didn’t need anything more than that.

It was fine.

“You’re a smart man, Enchanter Trevelyan. With far more talent than you let on,” Senior Enchanter Lydia once told him. “And yet you are somehow the least driven person I’ve ever met. Completely passive in the world around you,”

“Ooof. Well, that’s a fair criticism,”

“And yet, you are a fire mage; one of the most passionate and driven elements”

“Well, just because I don’t ignite passion in others, doesn’t mean that I don’t love seeing it,”

“Heh. The man who is drawn to fire and yet produces none. Or so he says. I really wish you would reconsider the offer, Reagan. You’re a good candidate,”

“I’m fine where I am, Senior Enchanter, but thank you for your concern. Besides, with the way things are going, who’s to say that there will even be a need for that position?”

He meant it as a joke at the time, but it wasn’t long after that mages in the circles decided to votee on whether to join the rebels. Although it was inevitable for Ostwick to no longer stay neutral, Reagan didn’t anticipate for it to fall the way that it did; the murder of the Senior Enchanter at the hands of one of her star pupils.

That’s when he realized that perhaps things weren’t so fine.

Reagan was a man of few regrets. There were only a handful of things he would change in his life. And not speaking, not taking initiative, not taking the lead back then was at the top of the list. Maybe Enchanter Lydia wouldn’t have died.

But the thing about regrets is that you can’t go back and change what you would’ve done. You could only move forward and work for the present and future. It was from then forward that he stepped up and did his best. Perhaps it was all a test to see if he could handle himself as the Inquisitor. And he did. Almost seamlessly.

But it didn’t come without it’s challenges. Making sacrifices at other’s expenses were his least favorite part of leadership.

“These aren’t just a bunch of soldiers we’re talking about Revered Mother; they’re key members of the Inquisition,” Reagan said rather irritably looking at the chantry woman in front of him.

“Which is why Thedas needs them,” the woman responded insistently, unintimidated by the push back she had been getting by both Reagan and Josephine. “We are not saying that you need to make the decision now. But eventually, we’re going to need someone to lead the Chantry, not the Inquisition, regardless of what’s to come next. So, do keep that in mind. We look forward to your answer, Inquisitor,”

Well, if he ever had any doubt that he was a Trevelyan, there was no need to anymore. They always had connections in chantry affairs; if they knew that their youngest son was to have a hand in choosing the next Divine, they would be beside themselves. It might almost offset the whole mage thing. Normally, he would find the whole affair amusing, but this situation was a little different.

“I suppose ‘no’ isn’t an option here, is it?” he crossed his arms, looking over at Josephine who shook her head with a sigh.

“If only it were so easy, milord. But let’s not dwell on that just yet. Even they must realize that taking our greatest assets now would be detrimental to the fight against Corypheus. Get some rest, enjoy your victory. Do not worry. It will be fine,”

Oh, how he wanted to do just that. Normally he was quite good at resting and turning his brain off from duties. But he couldn’t this time. And he knew why he couldn’t. He needed to know more. It was his responsibility to know more.

 And thus it was time to speak to the candidates.

Leliana could bring real change; a progressive chantry would be excellent. A chance at finally getting rid of the racial prejudice that plagued it. A chance for truly free mages. There was very little reason for him to not support her as Divine. But Leliana could also be brash and let her ideals blind her. She only just started realizing that death wasn’t the quickest way to deal things. Not to mention that tensions could rise rather than subside, depending on how she was to approach things. Her ideas were great, but he couldn’t figure out her plan to implement them. They could fall hard.

But Leliana wasn’t the only one. While she was not original candidate, Vivienne was an intriguing idea. A mage as Divine? Now that would certainly stir things up. She was clever and more than informed in the workings of politics. An ace at the Game. She was also a Loyalist, so maybe that wouldn’t frighten the people of Thedas too much in terms of mages suddenly gaining power. However, her motives were unclear; and even though there were mages who sided with Corypheus and the Venatori, that didn’t mean that others would see eye to eye with her ideas of what a circle should be. She was quite old in her thinking… and in light of his last quest with her, he could understand why.

And then there was Cassandra…

His green eyes flickered as he sat and watched the Seeker pace his quarters. They’d briefly discussed her candidacy not long after Mother Giselle spoke to her. Cassandra could barely stand the Game. Chantry politics was basically that with uglier hats. No, Cassandra was a warrior, the last of the Seekers of Truth. Would she really be the type to sit down during a meeting and give her unbiased opinion without punching someone? Not to mention the thought of her in one of those of ridiculous chantry robes almost made him want to laugh.

If only it was just that, then he could just quickly write her off. She was more than just a warrior; she was a woman with ideas, conscience, and a heart. Her answers were not quite what Reagan expected, but then again, there were always little surprises about her. Reforming the circles where mages could govern themselves? He had not expected an answer quite like that out of her, especially with so many of them falling to Corypheus and the Venatori. But she was willing to give them another chance. Then she spoke about the Order. And the Seekers. None of it was unrealistic by any means. She had clear and concrete plans for them all, which was something that he had not quite gotten from Either Vivienne or Leliana. She… was a good candidate.

And Reagan wished that he could be less inspired by everything she was saying.

“And here I go again; rambling,” Cassandra let out a slight sigh, seemingly irritated with herself.

“You are. But you know that I love it when you ramble,” he replied with a soft, but amused smile on his face.

Cassandra let out a disgusted noise which only made him laugh.

“You don’t think I’m being sincere?”

“Oh, I know you’re being sincere. But as to why you would be amused by such things is nonsense to me,”

Reagan stretched out his arm, his palm open. Cassandra looked at it for a moment, but then placed her hand into his, interlocking their fingers.

“I love that you care. You put your heart and mind into everything,” he was drawn to fire after all. 

“You know that most men would be intimidated by that,”

“Well, you know me. I’m a man of particular tastes,”

“I know. And that’s certainly not a bad thing,”

“Who’s using flattery now?” he grinned.

“I suppose. I’m just not sure these are qualities that a Divine candidate should have,”

His fingers twitched.

His answer as an Inquisitor was a resounding yes. She was a born leader with more than enough influence and experience. For Cassandra to be Divine would bring stability to a land that was on the brink of collapsing.

But then there was him.

Reagan Marcio Trevelyan; the man in love with Cassandra. The mage in love with the seeker. The man who loved fire.

“They are,” he finally said, letting go of her hand. “That’s why you and Leliana were put forth as candidates after all. You don’t make change by being passive and indifferent. I’m sure Divine Justinia would agree,”

Cassandra tilted her head and watched him carefully. It was rare for her to do that (when she knew he was watching anyway). He could feel it; his answer was not clear enough for her. If she wanted cryptic meanings, she’d read a book. But how could he do this in a way that made him impartial?

“Cassandra. I know that, without a doubt, you’d make an amazing Divine,” he said. “You know how the chantry works. Not to mention you’ve inspired me in so many ways and this Inquisition; I can only imagine what you could do if you had to address all of Thedas,”

“It’s nice to hear that I have the blessing of the Inquisitor,” she replied, her tone slightly irate. “But what does Reagan Trevelyan think?”

If there was anything that Cassandra disliked, it was dishonesty, regardless of the circumstance. He was dancing around the issue and she could see it. And yet, it was so hard for him to just answer… flatly.

It was starting to hurt.

“A man fell in love with a flame, but she was, in fact, the sun,” he replied, looking up at the ceiling of the room. “Do you know the story?”

“I do,” she responded suspiciously at first, but then slowly seemed to come upon a realiziation. “I thought you didn’t read poetry,”

“I enjoy it when it’s part of a grander epic. And that one always stood out to me,” he let out a long sigh, continuing to look up at the ceiling. “It was neither death nor indifferent that drove them apart. It’s funny how I always thought that Corypheus was going to be the one to separate us,”

“Reagan...”

He finally looked back at her, a hurt smile on his face. “To steal away the sun or to allow the whole land to bask in her radiance?”

Despite being both Andrastian and the Herald, Reagan never really considered himself to be a ‘devout follower’. On a scale, he would be somewhere between Varric and Cullen. All he wanted to do was just take her hand and run, leave everything that had to with the chantry in Leliana or Vivienne’s hands. Even if he didn’t fully agree with them, that didn’t mean they were incapable. They would make excellent Divines.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to vote.

It was then that he felt the touch of her hand on his cheek. The Seeker knelt down in front of  him, her eyes full of concern for the young man. Everything with her used to be so certain. And now, he just didn’t know.

“I want to give you a real answer, Cassandra,” he said, closing his eyes, placing his hand on hers. “But right now, I won’t be able to. A little more time, and I can tell you exactly how I feel. What I’ll do. Will that be alright?”

“Of course. That’s all you needed to say. If time is what you need, then it is time you shall get,” she said, placing a feathered kiss on his lips and standing up. “Just please, understand this; my faith guides me to be true to the chantry, but also to those that I love. I won’t go back on the words between us, Reagan,”

Reagan nodded slowly as she then turned around and made her way down the stairs. He let out a frustrated groan, rubbing his temple. No matter how much talking, how much thinking, how much weighing of the options that he was going to do…

He knew what he was going to choose.

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning; Chapter I

So here it is.  The reason why my artwork has slowed down and my pic-lits stalled.  They morphed into something bigger.

I want to say a heartfelt thank you to @scottishvix  @littlesnowarrow @slothquisitor @lechatrouge673 & @x-elfled-x who encouraged supported me to get this far.  I have the biggest heart eyes for you.

You can find it on AO3 here.

 Seeker Pentaghast was angry. In fact, she was past angry and was coming up on absolute white-hot rage.  The feeling of uselessness was gnawing at her spirit.  Three days ago, she had returned from her attempt to find Hawke with Varric Tethras in tow; a dwarf with a smart mouth who wouldn't know a straight answer if you stabbed him with it.  Two days ago, the conclave had exploded and the world that Cassandra knew disappeared. Her rage was keeping her grief and exhaustion at bay, but that wouldn’t last much longer.  There was nothing to be done but wait, fight and pray.  So she did just that, waiting to see if the only survivor of the disaster at the conclave, who was clinging to life in the cells below the Chantry, would wake up.

 Cassandra snorted in disgust as she reached the end of the room they had commandeered in the Chantry. She angrily glared at the book titles on the shelves in front of her.  Finding nothing helpful or distracting, she turned to pace back once more. The trip to recover the mysterious woman had done much to work off the anger and fear Cassandra first felt after the Breach had appeared.   Then the waiting had begun.  She had passed the last two days fighting, watching the prisoner writhe in pain in the cells, and pacing the room that had become their headquarters.  She lost count of the number of times she had made the trip past Leliana poring over reports at the table.  Soon it would be time for her to replace Commander Cullen on the front lines leading the soldiers. Cassandra snorted.  Sleep was for the weak.

  The prisoner has to survive.  She has to fix this. Or answer for it.

The Seeker kept pacing.

Leliana was cold and clinical in her anger.  Her inability to find anything on the cause of the explosion was not improving her state of mind.  She would find out who was responsible, who killed the Most Holy, and she would make them pay in the only way she knew how.

The information on the prisoner was only slightly better.  Leliana examined the report in front of her again, looking for anything unlikely she had missed.  She had argued for days with Divine Justinia about allowing her scouts to do backgrounds and follow the attending parties coming to the conclave.   Leliana had known that tensions would be high and well informed is well armed so she had pressed the argument.  But even with all of the information that Leliana had gathered, she had more questions than she started with.

The prisoner had arrived as an official member of the Ostwick Circle; the name on the registry was Evelyn Trevelyan, but the description of the woman who left Ostwick under that name didn’t match the physical traits of the woman downstairs.  The report showed that the delegation sailed on time but the boat had arrived 2 days late, not uncommon with the storms on the Waking Sea.   It seemed that the woman who got off the boat in West Hill was not the same one who had gotten on and that was worrisome.

Leliana drummed her fingers on the table in counterpoint to Cassandra's pacing as she tried to think of all the possibilities to fill the holes in the prisoner’s timeline.

Their heads snapped up as the door was pushed open by the apostate elf that arrived offering assistance, shortly after the Breach ripped the sky apart.  

“It appears she will survive,” he said.  “Although I don't know exactly when she will wake up, my guess would be in the next few hours.”

“What can you tell us, Solas?” Leliana asked. “I don't believe that she was the cause of the tear in the Veil.  That would have taken immense power, which she does not possess. The mark on her hand, however, is a mystery and it is killing her.  It is possible that her only chance to stop the spread of its magic is to close the Breach.  That might save her or kill her.  This magic is unlike anything I've ever seen before.  But she fights it, she has a great will to live it seems.” “Do you think she can use the mark to close the Breach?” Cassandra asked “I think it is possible Seeker, she seems to have overcome the power struggle inside of her and that is a good sign that she will have control over the mark as well. So it is reasonable to hope.  It may be the only hope we have.”  Solas nodded to both women and left the room. The silence left by his departure was broken by Leliana clearing her throat. “Cassandra, I believe it would be best if we request that Commander Cullen remain at the forward camp so that you and I can be available to interrogate the prisoner.”

Cassandra frowned. “His past is his past Leliana and he is making the amends that he feels are due. We cannot hope to save Thedas if we don’t trust the people we have left.”

Leliana held Cassandra's glare for a few moments before replying, “I believe it would be best to not test the limits of either the Commander or and more importantly, the unknown mage all our lives may depend on.” Cassandra snorted, “Fine.  You are right, but we must send him reinforcements.  They've been up there for hours.  They are running out of time.” “I know.” Leliana sighed heavily as she led the way out of the room.

Varric Tethras stared at the glowing hole in the sky while rubbing oil into Bianca’s stock.

 “Well shit.  I don’t want to write this story.”

He turned as the Chantry doors opened to reveal Solas wiping his hand on his tunic.  “Is she gonna live, Chuckles?”

“It would appear so,” Solas said with a sigh.  “They are simply waiting for her to wake up.” “They're planning on taking her up to the Temple?”

“I believe so.”

“How long?”  Varric squinted at the sky.

“No more than a couple of hours.”  Solas regarded the dwarf thoughtfully.

“Well then, I had better get a nap in before we fight our way back up that bloody hill.”  Varric shook his head as he turned and walked back to his tent.

Heaviness, suffocation, like being trapped under a soaked wool blanket or caught in a fishing net.

Can't breathe.  Fear.

Run! Run!

Pain.   Voices.   Anger.

She was being torn apart by the fire and ice fighting through her blood, cracking her bones burning and freezing her simultaneously.  There was nothing but agony.

 Please just let me die.

Kiaya woke with a start, rolled off of the cot and retched on the floor.  She tried to crawl away from the mess and came to a rest on her knees, realizing that her hands were secured with heavy iron shackles.  

 Where am I?  What happened?

At that moment Kiaya became aware that she wasn’t alone.  Her eyes darted around the cell that she found herself in.  The guards, one templar, wore matching expressions of distrust and anger.  Before fear could seize her heart, pain exploded in her left hand.  Kiaya tried to curl in on herself, hampered by the shackles, green lightning shot up her arm.  She could feel the foreign magic twisting and fighting with her own.  Whatever it was ended as abruptly as it began; Kiaya stared at her hand, desperately trying to remember what had happened.

 She could remember arriving at Haven, when, yesterday?  Kiaya spent a moment holding down the panic of not knowing how much time had passed. Their party had arrived late.  It had taken Malcolm, Lydia, and Evie longer than they anticipated convincing Kiaya to take Evie’s place with the delegation.  Although after Kiaya had taken one look at her sister, her decision was made.  But she made them work for it.  So their arrival was after dusk the first day, long after talks already begun.  She had been so tired, and it was so dark.  She spent all her time watching her steps and feeling very uncomfortable in the circle robes she had long ago run away from.

I’m not even supposed to be here.

The alternative would have been what exactly? Would Evie have survived to be here?  That would be better?

 Fuck

Everything after that was there but not, like trying to form images in the fog. All except...

 Kiaya’s search of her memories was interrupted by the door to her cell opening.  Two tall women wrapped in shadows entered the room.  As they came closer and into the light, Kiaya’s eyes widened in recognition.

Andraste’s ass.  This is bad.

 Kiaya stood outside the doors of the Chantry, staring at the green glow in the sky.  Her hands were still bound, but now with rope and the Seeker had paused to speak to the guards before heading through town leaving Kiaya alone with her thoughts for a moment.

 “This can’t be true,” Kiaya whispered. “This can’t be real.  They can’t be gone. What am I supposed to do now? How…”

 “Alright, let’s go.” Cassandra approached her laying a hand on her elbow.  Kiaya struggled not to flinch away at the touch; it would not do to show fear. “Come with me.”

 They walked through the rows of tents, and crowds of people began to form, the rumble of angry voices getting louder.  Kiaya could feel the anger and the fear building around them like a solid force ready to crush her.  The only thing seeming to keep it at bay was the threatening glare that the Seeker aimed at anyone who came remotely close to them, as well as the grip on her sword.

 It was an immense relief to reach the gates of the village, away from the hatred and blame for the destruction of the Temple.  Breathing was much easier without all that anger pounding at her, although the Fade fire falling from the sky was a little concerning.

 Great, I’m getting punchy.  That is going to make this so much better.  When did I eat last?  When did I sleep?  Kiaya was frantically trying to find the strength that would get her up this mountain.

 “Let’s go.”  Cassandra approached her, drawing a knife.  She cut through the ropes quickly, turning to look up the hill.  “Follow me.”

 Kiaya walked behind the Seeker trying to rub life back into her hands.  “Seeker?  There’s really no one else? Nothing left?”  Kiaya couldn’t quite keep the faint hope from her voice.

 Cassandra looked back at her, reading the hope in her eyes and feeling the first pangs of sympathy for this mage.  “No, there is nothing left.  You will see.”

  Kiaya was shaking; she was not used to climbing a mountain at such speed.  Her knees were throbbing and the muscles in her thighs were starting to ache more and more with each step.

 “Seeker, stop!”  Varric called out.  Kiaya had been so distracted by the constant struggle of making her knees bend that she had forgotten he was behind her; he must have been watching her struggle for a while.  Kiaya liked him instantly.  His humour and friendly banter made Kiaya feel more relaxed than she had any right to be. Closing the rift with Solas’ help had been excruciating and she was still trying to figure out how it worked. It was like grabbing on to burning coals and pulling them as hard as she could. Which hurt.  A lot.

 “What is it?”  Cassandra asked, annoyance at another delay apparent in her voice. “We are almost at the forward camp.  There is no time to lose.”

 “Your prisoners have voted, we need to catch our breath,” said Varric as he stopped on the path next to Kiaya.

 “I’m fine,” Kiaya snapped but she couldn’t hide the shaking in her legs now that they had stopped moving.

 Shame immediately rolled over her at the surprised expression on Cassandra’s face and the amused arch of Varric’s eyebrows.  

 “I apologize, I’m not fine. Please if I could have a moment, I will be able to move faster.”  Kiaya moved to sit on a boulder on the side of the path.

 As she sat down, Solas moved over to her.  “What is wrong?  May I offer my assistance?”

 Kiaya smiled at him. His genuine concern for her well being was touching.  “Thank you for your offer.  I have been dealing with this for years.  I have a trick.”

 There was no way she was going to be able to roll up her leather pants.  She rubbed her hands together, drawing magic into herself.  She slowly ran her hands over her legs, first one knee and then the other. As her hands moved, a thin layer of shimmering ice formed and sunk into the leather of her breeches.   Frost ferns formed patterns on the surface. Kiaya sighed as the cold and healing sunk into her knees.  It was a great relief.

 “It has been an age since I have seen water magic handled with such skill.”  Solas knelt at her side watching her work.

Kiaya laughed, “My Grams was a watermage.  Besides, when you’re on the water, water magic is important.” All the blood left her face as she realized what she said.

 Damn it Fucking Shit.

 “Alright, I’m ready. Let’s get going.”  Kiaya couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, so she didn’t see the thoughtful look on Varric’s face or the calculating one that Cassandra gave her as she filed the information away.

 Kiaya’s face was grim as she led the way up the path.

 You need to be careful.

[gus-dont-be-canada]

A Scout's Honor

I’ve been thinking of writing a Dragon Age fic from the perspective of Jim the Scout (Cullavellan shippers, you know who I’m talking about–the one who interrupted their first kiss). I’ve been toying with the idea of him doing it on purpose for the past week or so, and I’m pretty excited. Here’s a sneak preview*:

*Warning: hits you right in the feels, helps you up, then spits in your face and laughs. You’ve been warned…

He should have tried harder.

Why? Why had he waited until the commander and Inquisitor Lavellan were about to share their first kiss to intervene? Jim had seen their bond growing steadily over the months they’d been at Skyhold—no, before that. The moment Commander Cullen had returned to their makeshift camp after the attack at Haven, Lavellan’s limp form clutched in his arms, it was as if a match had suddenly lit, its flame flickering and weak amid the darkness and the snow churning in the air. It was uncertain whether that spark, fueled by the shaky promise of hope and hours of unsuccessful searching, ignited by one single, panicked thought—

Oh, Maker, what if she hadn’t made it?

—would sputter and die, suffocated under the mountain of loss which weighed on the shoulders of every soldier and civilian to have gazed upon the Herald’s Maker-given mark. Or would the spark grow stronger, take shape, and eclipse the shadows which had plagued them since the death of Divine Justinia? A passionate and loyal military commander, desiring nothing but the knowledge that—for once—he had chosen the correct side, together with the brave-but-still-hesitant Lavellan, a Dalish nobody who had walked with her head held high toward an inevitable death, the trembling of her left hand the only hint of her terror. She had faced Corypheus willingly, buried herself in an avalanche to save the very people who had held her captive and called her murderer. Without hesitation.

Jim had watched them in camp, and later near the soldiers’ barracks at Skyhold. Lying dormant under their discussions of military stratagem and debates with the other advisors was a mutual curiosity, the intrigue and allure of something new, something so much better than the bleakness which had marked their recent days. When the Herald had turned away to speak privately with Leliana, the commander’s eyes traced the line of her profile, his gaze as light as the caress of a warm breeze. When her lips parted in a smile, his echoed hers in an almost instinctive movement. When he realized what he was doing, he had turned away and covered his face with a gloved hand, imagining but fighting the urge to feel her lips on his.

At least, that was what Jim had imagined it had been like in the beginning. He had only just been named an official scout before they arrived at Skyhold, and consequently spent many weeks away from the fortress after their arrival. Although he was not as good at reading people as he’d have admitted, Jim would’ve had to be blind not to see precisely what thought crossed the commander’s mind when Lavellan walked into his office and leaned casually on the door frame. His cheeks flushed almost imperceptibly and once he even lost track of what he had been saying, right in the middle of a sentence. After that incident, he always refused to look in her direction until after the present soldiers had been dismissed.

Jim knew what Cullen was working up the nerve to do, but after a month passed and nothing changed, he had almost abandoned the thought that his commander was planning to act on his feelings—until the newly-named Inquisitor had taken it upon herself to invite Commander Cullen on a walk of the battlements. Jim knew then that he needed to act.

For the good of the Inquisition.

This had been the only thought on his mind when he had lingered in the doorway of the nearby tower, watching as the Inquisitor and Cullen strolled side-by-side atop the battlements. Lavellan stopped to admire the view—a sight which had always brought solace to Jim—and Cullen stepped closer, finally finding the courage to do the one thing which terrified him the most. He leaned toward her, and Jim stepped out of the shadows, report in hand.

Looking back now, Jim had been foolish to think he could have any effect on the outcome. His commander had done nothing but glower at him until Jim tucked tail and ran, and the inevitable had happened. They had kissed, and in doing so, set themselves on a path which would either prove to strengthen or shatter them.

In the days when happiness were so few and the body count constantly climbing, Jim wished no ill will on his commander, nor the Inquisitor. He admired her a great deal, almost to the point of reverence after everything she had accomplished. He liked his commander and studied him, not in the way the Tevinter mage watched some of the powerful soldiers in the training ring, but in that Jim had seen in Cullen traits he had wished for himself: humility, courage, strength, caring—even to the young men he commanded. But, if their relationship grew too all-consuming, would either truly have the capability to give everything they had to the Inquisition? The Inquisitor was a powerful mage, more willful than any other spell-caster Jim had met, but she was still more at Corypheus’s mercy than anyone else. If she truly fell under his thrall, would Cullen have the strength to deliver the final blow? Would he drive a dagger through his love’s heart to save his world, even if it meant nothing to him without her? And how would the Inquisitor handle the loss of a glorious soldier, kind and loyal, a friend and advisor since the beginning, if he died while fighting on the front line—as he always claimed that’s where a leader should be?

But now.

Jim shudders and looks to his right, where Cullen crouches, shoulders slumped. The sun beats down hot on the back of his neck, his brow beads with perspiration, but Jim doesn’t leave his former commander’s side. Cullen’s hand floats in the air, grasping nothing. Long grass sways around them, their whisper as they dance in the breeze a light buzz in the background. Neither of the two men hear it as Cullen rests his hand on the rich, dark soil of the freshly filled grave. The Inquisitor has no grave marker, but the nearby pier jutting into the serene blue water of the lake is memory enough. It’s where Cullen had told her of his childhood.

Jim’s chest constricts painfully. This broken man beside him, his head downturned and face hidden, shakes with silent sobs. Tremors rock his body. He no longer wears the shining steel armor with the red eyeball, and his magnificent, glorious lion’s mane cloak has been gone for some time, given to an orphan at its owner’s request. The money from selling this will allow them to eat for a week, Cullen had said as he dropped the cloak in the little boy’s arms, not even having the strength to look at it as he did so. What use have I for it now?

The memory of the Inquisitor’s last night comes in flashes at first. Rain pouring so hard the soldiers could hardly see five feet in front of them. Thunder rumbling. The smells and sounds of death echoing in his ears, warm, coppery blood spraying into Jim’s mouth with every swing of his sword. An inhuman roar filled the ravine where the ambush had caught them, and those still alive after Corypheus’s uprising swelled through the narrow gaps in the stones, appearing to materialize straight out of the cliff face. They were outnumbered three to one, with no hope of victory or escape.

 Shortly into the fight, a burst of lightning illuminated the sharp edge of a sword held high overhead. A dark creature sprinted toward Cullen, who was engaged with two others and oblivious to the approaching threat.

“Cullen!”

The Inquisitor—or, plain old Lavellan after Corypheus’s defeat—had seen it at the same time as Jim, and had had the exact same thought. At the same time, from opposite ends of the small battlefield, Jim and Lavellan sprinted to Cullen. Jim reached him first and, the ground shaking with the creature’s heavy footfalls as it sprinted ever closer, tackled him to the ground. Lavellan lunged forward and blocked the arc of the creature’s sword with her staff, a howl of pure rage escaping her small, graceful form. Cullen struggled out from under Jim, a word of thanks on his lips, but the flash of blinding light as the enchanted ironwood was cleaved in half froze everyone in the field.

Lavellan stood with both halves of the staff raised high above her head, crossed in an X. At the point where the two met, a trunk of lightning focused, then splintered into a thousand electrical arcs, each branching off one another. The ravine was bathed in light, as bright as midday under a cloudless sky. Every creature, three of them for every one accompanying Lavellan and Cullen, vaporized the moment the lightning touched their skin. They disintegrated into a gray dust, the particles illuminated by the light.

Lavellan stood in the center of the column of lightning, the eye of the storm. The most hideous, unnatural scream spilled from her lips, at such a high volume and so soul-crushing in its agony Jim was certain it was involuntary, an outlet for the pain from the thousands of volts of electricity coursing through her veins every second. A moment later, she stopped.

Just like that. Lavellan’s cry silenced. The light disappeared so quickly it left spots floating in Jim’s vision, and residual electrical tingles dances up and down his arms. He was certain his hair stood on end. Cullen had jumped to his feet, shock plain on his face. He trembled, already dreading what he knew was correct.

Lavellan was gone.

In the end, there had been nothing to bury but a few rags of singed cloth, their original color indeterminable, but Cullen had insisted on burying them here. His sobs slowly cease, and he wipes at his eyes before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out the lucky coin he had given to Lavellan, the coin which had followed him since he was a boy, through torture and war, and thinks that nothing he has ever done or ever will do will be this hard. He presses the coin to his lips. He kisses it once, and places it gently on top of the grave.

Jim’s stomach knots. He should’ve tried harder. He should’ve tried harder.

Because in the end, he had saved his commander’s life, but he had not saved his heart.

[dalishious]

What do you think Cole's comments on leliana mean? As well as that, Sera's "the strings that pull me"

(x) Okay, I know you specifically pointed out Leli and Sera, but I’m just going to comment on them all, because I love Cole’s cryptic comments. And I’m going to do Sera’s last because it’s part of a larger theory I have...

Cassandra: “Stomach full of mantras, she burns like a beacon, Faith a flame to bring succor for a Seeker.”

(Fun fact I originally read beacon as bacon.)“Stomach full of butterflies” is a phrase to mean uneasiness, except Cole replaces butterflies with mantras. Succor means "assistance and support in times of hardship and distress." I think this is about Cassandra looking for strength in her faith, but struggling to do so when everyone’s telling her she’s a heretic for starting the Inquisition. But she wants to believe she’s right.

Varric: “A stone reaching for brightness, spinning stories of colours he can’t see.”

I think this one is pretty transparent, as it’s been made clear a number of times that Varric uses his writing as escapism. Shit keeps happening to him that he can’t control, but he can control the worlds he writes. In all the doom and gloom, Varric “reaches for brightness” through stories that aren’t real, or “colours he can’t see” in a real world of grey.

Cullen: “He is quiet, behind the noise. The little bottle makes him shake, but he tests the chains.”

This is very obviously about Cullen battling his lyrium addiction. He has been chained to his lyrium, and it causes him to shake, but he keeps pulling away from it. “The noise” is most likely referring to “the song” that Lyrium sings.

Josephine: “Ships launch on changing winds. Dizzy sometimes, like the top of the stairs, but sometimes like dancing.”

(This one wasn’t included in the gif set, but it’s one of my favourites.)Ships, as in the Montilyet family. Changing winds, as in The Game. To launch a ship on changing winds is a difficult task, because it’ll affect your course. “Dizzy sometimes, like the top of the stairs,” is referring to the story Josephine shares with you, of her brief time as a Bard where she killed a man. Basically, Josephine is both exhausted and exhilarated from her job. 

Leliana: “The Left Hand remembers a knife slipped to her in the darkness, and wonders why the flower blooms.”

The knife slipped to her in the darkness is, I think, referring to the events of the Leliana’s Song DLC. Where she first met Divine Justinia (or at that time, Dorothea.) Justinia saved her by freeing her from the cell in which she was kept and tortured in after being betrayed by Marjolaine. The flower blooming is about the rose bush story she tells the warden from DA:O, and how it had filled her with faith in the Maker, that there is always beauty in darkness. (Coincidentally I’m pretty sure this is the same rose Alistair picks for a romanced Warden, lol.) Except with Justinia gone, she’s no longer sure about that. 

Solas: “Bright and sad, observes and accepts. Spirit self, seeing the soul, Solas, but somehow sorrows.”

I think this is about Solas observing and realizing this is a world full of people and they are real people, which goes against everything he originally thought, and makes his ultimate goals a whole lot more condemning. And so he’s got a some inner conflict going on between guilt/sorrow and that pride. “Solas, (pride) but somehow sorrows.” We know in Trespasser what wins.

Vivienne: “A breath-caught smile from the Enchanter as the candle lights. The walls are safe; she will never be hungry again.”

The "breath-caught smile” is that thing people do when they sigh in relief.I think this is about Vivienne finding safety and security in the court and in her powerless within it, and in a less metaphorical level, with the Duke. “Hungry” does not necessarily mean food. It could be referring to love, respect, freedom, everything that she worked so hard to get, and finally got. 

Dorian: “Bright, like the fish that kill you if you eat them. Can't hate you for hiding if you burn so brilliantly.”

I think the fish referred to is the puffer fish. They’re poisonous, but on top of that, they’ll extend their spikes to seem bigger and badder then that actually are, before anyone gets the chance to get close. Which also falls in line with the “Can’t hate you for hiding if you burn so brilliantly.” It’s like in the party banter he has with Vivienne: “It's rather amusing, Dorian. The way you sneer at "southerners," pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you're not a shark and never will be, darling. They knew it, just as you do. Such snapping for a fish without teeth.” Dorian is a puffer fish confirmed.

Iron Bull: “The, a joke. He laughs to himself, imagining herds of cattle in fields of iron, but now he worries it fits.”

This is most definitely about Bull questioning the Qun, and his place (or rather a lack thereof) within it. When you ask him about his name, he’ll tell you the “The” is to make him sound like a thing rather than a person. Which was a joke, but now he’s worried it’s true. He's afraid to trust his own autonomy. 

Blackwall: “An old name burns inside armour that shouldn't fit, lit by faces of the children he couldn't save.”

This is, of course, a clue into the Plot Twist reveal that Blackwall isn’t really Blackwall. He is haunted by the children he killed, and guilty over wearing another man’s armour, another man’s life, so to speak. 

Sera: “She hurts, but helping hurts more. She sees the strings that pull me, eyes like raisins in a stale cookie.”

Okay, so, first off, the “She hurts, but helping hurts more” is most likely about Sera struggling with her internalized racism/self-esteem issues, from being raised by a pretty shitty human lady. The stale cookie also plays into this; such as the story she’ll tell you in her rooftop cookie scene, about how the lady who raised her told her the baker hated elves in order to keep her away, which made Sera hate herself. “But helping hurts more” is how Cole tries to help her in some party banter, but unintentionally only makes things worse.

Now, as far as the “She sees the strings that pull me” piece... Bare with me: I think Sera has untapped magic. 

Seeing “the strings” that pull Cole, as in seeing the Fade.

Just like Solas, she can sense where the veil is thin. (And has some amusing dialogue with it. “The Veil is bored here.” “The Veil smells like arse here.” “The Veil is veil-y here.”

And there are a number of examples in party banter between her and Solas that’s pretty interesting:

Sera: (shivers) Weird.Solas: Sera? What are you feeling?Sera: Ugh, here we go. It’s nothing, it just feels like I've seen this. Exactly this. It happens.Solas: Not to everyone.(Cutting this one off here cause he then proceeds to be a real asshole to her.)

Solas: What color is the sky when you look at it?Sera: You know, blue mostly. Except for the Breachy bits.Solas: And when you looked past the Breach? As perhaps you were drawn to do?Sera: Greenish? Then clear a long ways, and kind of...felt like falling. Ugh! Makes my head hurt. You make my head hurt.Solas: We are not so far apart, you and I.Sera: We will be.

And there’s also this one, which while it is in a joking manner...

Solas: Have you ever had any interest in learning magic, Sera? While it has not manifested naturally, there are ways to determine whether arcane gifts lie dormant within you.Sera: What? Don't make me think about that. I have to sleep at night!Solas: Sleeping would give you the chance to explore the Fade. I could introduce you to spirits.Sera: Right, you're messing with me on purpose!Solas: Why would I do that? It is not as though I know who filled my bedroll with lizards.Sera: Heh. Fair point! That was pretty good.

...I wonder if he’s not half-serious.

So, yeah. I think Sera has some untapped/dormant magic in her.

[gottalovevideo-games]

I just fully finished DAI for the first time.

I’m so happy to be fully caught up so I can’t be spoiled but like, now I gotta wait for DA 4 to get any new dragon age content.

So here are some I guess important decisions I made: 

Romanced: Josephine. I really wanted to romance a woman and she toke the bait before Sera so I romanced her. I found it a little boring tbh but still cute. I feel like they didn’t have too many scenes together and I don’t really like how formal she still kind of acts to you after you’ve been dating for like two years in Trespasser. 

Friends and Foes: I was friends with everyone a part from Blackwall. I was literally besties with Dorian and Varric which made my playthrough a success. I let Blackwall rot in prison. But I feel awful as I didnt unharden Leliana. Which kinda sucks. 

Who’s Divine?: Justinia. I dont know if thats good or bad tbh. She seems like a pretty fair leader. 

Inquisition still together?: No, I thought it would be best to attack Solas with a new team as I’m trying to get him at all costs. 

Any other questions just ask. I love Dragon Age so much and love to talk about it so just message my main blog. x

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

I saw you reblog it so I thought I'd give it a try. Male inquisitor x Cassandra, when I played the game it will always end with Cassandra being a Divine and I hate it. I know before the election she asked you to support her, but for once I think he deserves to be selfish. I mean he saved Thedas and lost an arm in the end. Don't you think he deserved a happy ending and a family or something? I mean he can't shoot from a bow with one hand, I know he will be depressed because he can't fight again

Ah thanks anon! I’ll fill it out for the pairing!

The ship is my: I don’t have any strong feelings towards this ship, but I do find the scene in the glen when they consummate their relationship very romantic. Plus I’m basically Cassandra when a dude hits on me. Like yeah. I need that ideal too Cass, lol. Flowers, candles, poetry.....

I consider this ship’s feelings: Mutual | Mixed | Strange | Awkward | Platonic | Sibling-like | One-sided | They don’t really like each other |

I say this because while (in my interpretation of the romance) they do come to care for each other, Cassandra seems too focused on duty first before eventually deciding she’s going to F and do something that makes her happy. It’s awkward at first but eventually they become very loving. 

I’d consider the relationship: Healthy | Awkward | Abusive | Doesn’t work properly | They’d never get together |

They grow to care about each other :)

Children: No | Yes | They’d think about it

I don’t see why not. 

To answer your question, I think both the Inquisitor and Cass deserve some happiness, and a family if they so chose. Personally I never really believed Cassandra wanted to be the divine, she just thought she had a duty to it. I always have Leliana as the divine, and Idk, Leliana always seemed to be the one that believed in Justinia more, and wanted to carry on her legacy more, so I don’t feel guilty about giving her the sunburst throne. And I just like the idea of Cass rebuilding the Seekers into something better. 

But yeah, as Ameridian says in the Jaws of Hakkon, (paraphrasing here,) you have to take your happiness where you can, so there’s nothing wrong with your Quiz to want to settle down with his woman, and maybe be a little selfish :)

Send me a ship