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fleshwerks · 1 month

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(vibrating even faster) next question: any thoughts about what lea surana's been up to during all this?

Lea Surana went missing somewhere between the Exalted Council and the three months leading up to it.

What happened at Soldier's Peak?

The Soldier became an abandoned hole on a mountain top around the same time when the Grey Wardens abandoned Ferelden, either to hide, return to Weisshaupt, or follow Corypheus' call. A lot of people in Ferelden now like to paint it as one of the political victories for King Alistair of Ferelden, who had successfully reclaimed Amaranthine to the King's banner from under the Warden's banner and the silver order. Soldier, however, proved to be a fruitless siege, as sieging a mountain with an incredibly fortuitously based natural harbour just 200ft below the sheer cliff could've only worked if Ferelden had a fleet. And even if Ferelden did have a fleet to blockade Soldier's Peak, it was also an ancestral summering site for the Marcher-Fereldan seafaring clan of Dalish people, the Ninehn, and policy prevented Alistair from interfering with the voyages. Soldier under Lea Surana opened its surrounding areas and the harbour for Ninehn, and in turn, they would supply the isolated Soldier with ample food. There was no way of solving this problem in a very wartorn, technologically backwards Ferelden without starting another conflict with Ferelden's multiple large and thriving Dalish clans.

So when the Wardens did at last disappear from Ferelden, the capture of the Soldier, and appropriating all the magical research and mundane technology within its deep guts delving all the way down to the mountain range's roots, was seen as a major success. Lea Surana evaded capture and set up a permanent base in Antiva, stepping back as a Commander of the Grey, and remaining only loosely connected to Weisshaupt.

Lea Surana briefly served as Leliana's replacement for the Inquisition after Leliana donned the mitre as Victoria and left her position as the Inquisition's spymaster. The relations between the Inquisitor and Lea Surana were not unproductive, but they were fraught, as in the Inquisitor's eyes, his once-idol that had visited clan Lavellan as the Hero of Ferelden had fallen far from glory, and so enmeshed in magic and other cruel, if practical arts that it shamed his own sense of honour to work with him.

About Zevran Arainai

The relationship between Zevran and Lea Surana fell apart about seven years into the vanquishing of the Blight. Even the best, most well-adjusted people often struggle to keep a relationship intact. If you put a person who was young (only 19 at the time of the 5th Blight), horribly sheltered, and already with a difficult personality together with a former indentured worker, contract killer and grieving lover wallowing in suicidal ideation together during an active war, of course they're going to reach for one another. Only to discover that war was the only thing they ever had in common. Lea Surana didn't take the break-up well, it was an ugly affair of envy and jealousy and wrath on Lea's side, and bitter indifference on Zevran's. Zevran moved on with a new, much more suitable lover, and Lea Surana continued building his cabal of secrets and secret service, until pledging it to the Inquisition after Corypheus' fall.

Disappearance

As the Inquisition was busy racing Solas for relics and holy sites, Lea Surana was looking into rumours of ancient Warden or Elvhen ruins and troves in the vast and entirely sterile desert of the Sea of Ash, rendered such by one of the earliest Blights. He set out with an entire expedition, of whom only few returned, and what they did have to say was very difficult to parse. Most of their shared info was chalked up to insanity of isolation, trauma, starvation.

Rumours

The consensus is that Lea Surana returned underground after a failed expedition to meet the fate all Wardens who begin hearing the Call at the end of their lives as Wardens do. Others, especially those who do dare to traverse the Sea of Ash, give varied accounts. There are stories here and there of the remote peoples of the Ash taking in people found wandering the desert. Others speak of an once Place of Sadness becoming poisoned with what could best be described as a bitter sense of Envy.

Earlier stories spoke of a mirage towering to the moon during day time, a tower of 'black smoke' that remained in place, always, many-armed and spindly, moving in place like a pit of snakes. Later stories, however, have stopped of speaking of the colossal tower of snaking smoke, and have noted a bright star on the horizon that never moves, and is only visible during hours of dusk and dawn. In any case, any travellers are severely warned against following the still star, but it's become useful for navigation. Along the scarce few routes, there is a trail of supplies, carts and bones leading towards where that mirage, and then the star is seen, though it distinctly looks like recent scrap from a regular expedition, not something that was dropped to lighten the load. It's very evident that whoever left that trail of traveler's clutter went to the site of the still star, and came back. The scrap also appeared around the same time as the mirage of smoke disappeared and the star-like mote appeared.

It's guessed by scholars that Zevran Arainai is the one to ask about the Sea of Ash, but the veteran of the 5th Blight remains elusive and tight-lipped.

As for the supposed site of the Warden-Commander's disappearance and the sense of envy, unease and even evil that made a home in those ruins, the reports say that it's no longer oozing draining, hostile energy, but what has replaced it isn't any better. One's far better off not following that will-o-the-wisp. It lies, and it strips your skin from your flesh the closer you get, forever putting forth a hopeful face of a dawn star, and eating you alive the closer you get.

And it cannot die. One doesn't have to face it to know that the still star on the horizon is something that will be there long before the entire planet has turned into a cold stone and the whole cosmos has gone dark and dead.

In a way, Lea Surana got his wish. I guess it's a mercy that the 'wisp' of Fade only knows its most base direction and instinct: to consume and covet. It feels hunger, but it lacks the ability to comprehend it.

Strangely, the 'wisp' has been noticed by those wandering the edges of the Fade as well. In the Fade, its 'evil' feels more natural, like it belongs there, but even in the Fade, it is the only thing in it that never changes. A lot of the thin Fade around the material plane of Sea of Ash is dead and stationary, but even there it shifts whenever people traverse through it. Except for that particular wisp. It's frozen in time and space, forever stuck in a loop of itself.

Finally

The King of Ferelden has a bit of a pickle. Ferelden experienced something of a leap in tech, magic and medicine after capturing the Soldier, but a lot of money, blood, prayers and convincing has gone into convincing the superstitious and war-weary people of Ferelden that 'waste nothing' is not necessarily evil and unholy. The Hero of Ferelden title never did really belong to Lea Surana in the first place, it belonged to Loghain Mac Tir, even if he hadn't truly earned it (and would be the first to admit to it when he's in his cups). Loghain and Lea remained very friendly throughout, even if both acknowledged that Lea Surana did get bitter over not getting the recognition for being the one who maneuvered Loghain into a place where he could redeem himself so publicly in the first place, and that Loghain landed the killing blow due to a stroke of bad luck for Lea.

Lea Surana is all but erased from history already, except among the Dalish and the city elves. Even the Circle mages do not claim him as a hero, though various faculties within Circles do recognise his contribution to Circles' libraries of knowledge. They cannot complain about him: they benefited immensely from the brightness and the pitch dark that came out of the Soldier, and admitting to the atrocities committed under Lea Surana in search of greater knowledge and understanding of the world and the gods in it would mean that the Circles would crumble, and a lot of higher ranking Circle mages would be burned on the stake whilst their families outside of the Circle would be left to bear the burden, as would the free mages. Thus the party line is: 'Waste not.'

#lea surana #zevrandaros #warden surana

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years

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A Question of Understanding

@spectrestatus-recognised asked me to write for Dorian and Leas Lavellan, and I really enjoyed getting to dig in and think about their relationship and its nuances. Thank you for giving me something so interesting to tackle, and for trusting me with your characters!

Pairing: Leas Lavellan x Dorian

Rating: Teen for references to sex

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

Dorian knew the conversation had to happen after the third time Leas felt the need to highlight their relationship in front of the assembled nobles of Skyhold.

“Everyone in this room knows the stories of Garahel, hero of the Fourth Blight. We do not deny his heroism. Is it such a leap in logic, then, to recognize that there are elves alive today who are heroes, or could be? We are not so different that we cannot coexist. I would think Dorian Pavus and I are a perfect example of that.”

Dorian forced a small smile to his lips, a hint of brightness to his expression, as the nobles turned to look at him where he stood by the door to the rotunda. He’d smiled charmingly at people he despised while dying inside. Plenty of times. This part was nothing new.

The new part was that the inward shrinking - the feeling of dying - came from the fact that a man had just announced he loved him in front of a crowded room of their peers, and not from something his father had said or done.

Dorian had always thought that a moment like that would make him feel happy - thrilled, even - not sick. He’d pushed the feeling away the first two times this happened, assuming it was just him growing used to the idea of a relationship being public, of being the paramour of the most famous man in Thedas after years of sneaking out of bedrooms and brothels in the wan light of dawn. But third time’s the charm, or so they say, and now he knew it was time to probe the feeling down to its root, and then to discuss it with Leas.

(Dorian really did wonder how he’d ended up in a situation where he was expected to be the one unearthing buried feelings and forcing others to discuss theirs. Miracles really were possible.)

So he held back at his place by the door to the rotunda, maintaining his smile for any nobles who walked past him and stared just a little too long. Leas had stepped down from his dais and was mingling amongst them, too, but he had not gotten far in the crowd yet, giving Dorian more time to think, like a man probing a bruise, looking for the part that hurt the worst. The most obvious pain was that Leas had already done this twice before in explicitly political situations, like this one was today. The first time, it had been for a group of Chantry Mothers Leas had invited to Skyhold in order to entreat them to go into the alienages of Ferelden and provide aid directly to the elves there.

“You see?” Leas had said, gesturing to Dorian where he stood at his side. “We are not so different that we cannot love one another. That we do not need the same things from the Maker and his Bride. And is it not true that the Hero of Ferelden himself was a city elf, who rose from the city that scorned and reviled him to save all of the Thedas? What city would not benefit by inviting all of its subjects to contribute equally, and by equipping them to do so?”

Of course, Leas had needed the Chantry Mothers to believe him on that score, because Leliana wanted to establish a network of spies within the alienages in Ferelden, and this was a way of getting them increased aid without straining the Inquisition’s coffers. And Leas was sidestepping the fact that Mother Giselle had not been entirely wrong about the impact Dorian’s closeness was having on Leas’s reputation. Dorian had heard Josephine muttering to herself about letters she wrote to Orlesian dignitaries, assuring them that the Tevene court did not have undue influence over the Inquisition, that Dorian Pavus was in fact estranged from his magister father and had done nothing to advance Tevene interests in his time with the Inquisition.

So there was the second pang he felt, Dorian decided as Leas moved to another group of nobles, this one a little closer to his position by the rotunda. Not only had this happened because of political needs in all three cases, Leas was also acting as his usual idealistic self each time. For every noble that he planted a seed in, turning them towards a kinder and more inclusive Thedas, he planted at least two other seeds of doubt about his ties to Tevinter. Word of their meeting with the aforementioned Halward Pavus had leaked, after all, or so Leliana had said. And that was a meeting Leas himself had encouraged, insisting it was better for Dorian to talk to his father.

“You only get one of those, you know. Fathers. I’d be heartbroken if I reached out to Adhlean wanting to apologize for something I’d done, only for him to turn me away.”

You can’t have it both ways, Amatus, Dorian thought to himself as the pieces begin to draw together, like yet another game of chess. You can’t say that people have nothing to fear because I have forsaken my ties to Tevinter, and then asking me to re-knot the string.

But that was Leas, and Dorian would be lying to himself if that thought didn’t fill him with a warm, floating feeling. His idealism, and his tenacious conviction to those ideals, were part of what made him so alluring to so many - Dorian included. The way his blue eyes lit up when he talked about the things he was passionate about - it could make Dorian’s heart skip a beat.

Too bad half the nobles of Thedas probably didn’t have a heart left to skip any beats.

Or did they?

Because Leas was still moving from group to group, smiling, laughing, patting people he barely knew on the arm, throwing in the odd wink if the timing seemed right, and Dorian could see them softening towards him, being drawn in against their will.

And wasn’t that how Leas acted with Dorian? Even when they were alone?

Was he, in fact, just another noble who needed charming and converting? Another statement to be made? Another piece on the chessboard?

And that, Dorian realized, was the final nail in the coffin.

He was truly beginning to believe that Leas did not do this because he was a man so in love that he had to shout it from the rooftops. He was doing it because Dorian was a means to an end.

Yet that very thought was antithetical to Leas himself - he would never condone using someone outright. Dorian felt sure of it. Did he not realize he was doing it?

They had to talk.

Except, of course, that Leas was still milling from place to place, and his confounded schedule (which should be outlawed as a form of extreme torture) meant that he would not be ‘free’ for several more hours. It was time for the cultural exchange now, and then for disciplining any soldiers who had failed to desire said cultural exchange, to eat dinner while on his feet, and then to retreat to study, and then to attend to any tasks that he deemed miscellaneous, and then and only then - one hour before midnight - would he go to sleep.

Where in that madness was there time for Dorian?

Maybe he could steal a half hour of time from studying for his lover, though if he did, they would like as not have sex - not ordinarly a problem, but -

Come to think of it, most of the time it was what they did when they found time to themselves.

Dorian was finding it harder to breathe now. He wasn’t going to talk to Leas about all of this in public, anyway. He turned and slipped through the door into the rotunda, and headed back upstairs to his library. He might as well read more about Corypheus’s descendents, if he couldn’t be of any other use to anyone. Leas had gotten his use out of him that day anyway.

Don’t think of it that way. You know him better than that. Things simply need to be clarified.

“Pavus.”

Except, of course, Iselen was there, lifting up books, raising his eyebrows at them, and then returning them to the shelf as if they smelled vaguely offensive. He was the spitting image of Leas, his twin, but their demeanors were so different that Dorian had never once confused them. Leas radiated hope and energy. Iselen radiated disdain.

“Iselen,” Dorian returned evenly. “Could I help you find something?”

“I doubt it,” Iselen said. “Adhlean wished to choose something new to read. I insisted that he do so himself instead of hiding in his quarters. He must learn that there is nothing to fear here amongst the shemlen.”

Coming from Leas, the words would have had hope in them. Kindness. Coming from Iselen, they only had more distate. Leas would want his son to feel no fear because he wanted harmony amongst the peoples of Thedas. Iselen wanted his nephew to feel no fear because he considered it the birthright of all the elven people to overcome the others.

Dorian schooled himself not to give Iselen a snappish reply. Whatever his feelings about Iselen’s politics, he was Leas’s twin brother. He would never allow their relationship to form a wedge within the family.

“I am glad you are helping him overcome his fear,” Dorian said instead, coolly. He glanced around the bookshelf and saw Adhlean a few feet away. A skinny, skittish beanpole of a boy, all of ten years old. Adhlean glanced up, saw Dorian, and shrank back behind the bookcase, hiding himself. Dorian’s heart sank.

“Clearly not,” Iselen said dryly, having stepped out further to watch the exchange. He sighed. “I shall go correct him.”

“Certainly,” Dorian muttered once Iselen was out of earshot. “Correct him by giving him more tomes about the Fall of Arlathan to read. Especially the ones with all the drawings of the terrible magisters eating small elven children. That will correct his fear.”

Maybe Dorian really was making a fool of himself. He was a nobleman from a country that had systematically destroyed theirs. Modern humans had hardly been much kinder. But would Leas of all people really want his son to be raised on such fear? Shouldn’t his choice of Dorian as a partner be enough to show Adhlean that he had nothing to fear?

Except that thought brought his mind circling back to the idea that he was chosen for that reason and that reason alone. A figurehead, trapped in a relationship because of the appearance it created. The exact reason he’d fled Tevinter in the first place.

Dorian retreated from the library to his quarters, wishing he could retreat entirely, back into a time and place where these thoughts had not crystallized, hanging above him like so many glittering knives.

The knock on Dorian’s door startled him out of the family tree he was drawing, making sparks fly from his fingertips. He’d heard eight bells tolls recently, and hardly anyone would come to see him at this time of night - except Leas. Sure enough, that was the person on the other side of the door, smiling, those bright blue eyes that had given him his nickname shining forth from his pale skin.

“Amatus,” he said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What do you mean, to what do you owe the pleasure?” Leas asked, stepping in closer, putting his hand on Dorian’s chest.

“I had not expected to see you this evening.”

Leas’s brows drew closer together, even as Dorian stepped aside to allow him in.

“I assumed that surprises were a welcome thing. At least between us.”

The words were like a pin, and Dorian felt some of the negative feelings that had been building within him leak out through the small hole it left.

“Of course it is. I am happy you have time for me today.”

He brushed a kiss across Leas’s lips, even as he knew they were the wrong words, still too full of the bile that had soured his dinner. To his surprise, Leas leaned into the kiss, deepened it just a little. Dorian felt a rush of warmth through his body, could not help but put his hands on Leas’s back and hold him just that one inch closer, could not help but relax into the joy of such tenderness.

But the knives still hung above him. Still glittered.

“I know it isn’t very romantic to have to schedule time with your lover,” Leas said when they parted, though he remained close to Dorian. “Has it been bothering you?”

Here was his chance -

“Yes,” Dorian said, but the words that were meant to follow after stuck in his throat. When had he become this hesitant, this afraid?

Leas planted three plush kisses on Dorian’s lips.

“Well, I’m here now,” he murmured.

There it was - warmth and invitation and companionship and love and Dorian wanted to just sink into it, pretend everything was fine. Love was all pretend anyway, as far as he’d been able to see. Did it matter if Leas was the one who’d begun to make him question otherwise?

It did.

“Yes, you are here now,” Dorian said quietly, pulling back, taking both of Leas’s hands in his own. “And, amatus, I wanted to discuss this afternoon. The statements you made in front of the gathered nobles.”

Leas frowned. “About us? Are you ashamed?”

“Of course not!” Dorian retorted. “But I do wonder if you have quite considered -”

Leas withdrew his hands from Dorian’s.

“I assure you, I have considered it. Have you eaten? Let’s share a meal.”

Leas did not seem upset. He was smiling. Where had Dorian seen that odd, hollow smile before? When he had found Leas wracked with sadness because of something Iselen had said. How Leas was a flat-ear for choosing a human to be his lover. A traitor to their kind. That time, Leas had allowed Dorian to shelter him through the storm, to reassure him that he was not a traitor just because of who he’d fallen in love with, that Iselen was not right in this. It was a good change, to be the one offering comfort, after Leas helped Dorian through the encounter with his father, through losing Felix.

But then there had been the other times that Leas had not let him in. Like after Adamant, after the excruciating pain he was in as a somniari trapped in the Fade - I’m fine, arasha. I learned a lot from my time there. Nothing to worry about. Or all the times Leas seemed troubled by things from his past - his terrible memories of the Blight in Ferelden, the difficulties being a new, untrained somniari had caused him - and clammed up, refusing to allow Dorian to help him move through them.

Dorian was going to have to push.

“Leas,” he began again. “I still want to speak about earlier. I do not think you have considered the full implications of using our relationship so blatantly. It may look well and good from the stage, but from where I was standing -”

“Using?” Leas asked incredulously, as if he wasn’t even sure what the word could mean. “How on earth could I be using our relationship?”

“To advance your agenda, however admirable it may be.”

“I am simply stating what I believe. What everyone should believe.”

“And you know that I agree with it,” Dorian said, closing the growing gap between them, reaching for his hands again. “But to keep bringing it up at every chance you get, and in such a public forum - Mother Giselle and her kind are not completely wrong. Sometimes all that people will hear is the Inquisitor and his magister lover, and not the rest of what you wish to say. You should think about that angle, too.”

“I have thought about it,” Leas countered immediately, raising his chin, confident as the day was long. “I spend a lot of time thinking about and debating many things. Or did you not mean to allude to that when you alluded to my very busy schedule?”

“If you have thought about it, then why do you persist in doing it?” Dorian asked. “Do the benefits truly outweigh the costs? You seem to enjoy claiming reason is on your side and then ignoring the reason of others when they point out that it might not be. You were dogged in your determination to prove to me that I was wrong about slavery. You insisted I listen to reason. Why are you never willing to listen to the reason of others?”

“Because this is not the kind of thing I can compromise on. I am standing up for the kind of Thedas I want Adhlean to grow up in,” Leas said, a little hotter now, every bit as confident as before.

“So then we return to my main point - am I merely a statement to you?”

The words came out faster and more angry than Dorian necessarily intended. What had begun as a pinprick in his unease was a floodgate now. Knives falling from their precarious perches. Leas looked confused, once again as if he could truly have no idea what Dorian meant, and for the first time his naivete was not charming, but infuriating.

“Is that it, then? You knew the kind of Thedas you wanted, and so you chose the man who would look the best on your arm while you went about achieving it? Someone who would turn all the heads and set all the tongues wagging, so you could then tell them they were wrong for staring and for talking? Someone who was also happy to wait around for gaps in your schedule so you could sleep with them, and then leave? Was there no part of you that wanted to take me at my word and keep things between us simply about sex?”

Leas’s face did not change. Dorian felt a sort of wild desperation building within himself. A desperation to get him to say something, anything, that would prove this was all a misunderstanding.

“Or was it the other way around? Was it simply that I was the only person who wanted to warm your bed, and you realized belatedly that you could also use me to your political advantage?”

“No!” The word burst out of Leas’s lips, a bird flushed from cover. “No - stop. This is not at all how I envisioned this evening going.”

“You envisioned us having sex,” Dorian said flatly.

“Yes? And? Is my performance not satisfactory? I’ve never had complaints before.”

“No, my only complaint is that all this feels like lately is a performance. Do I mean anything to you at all?”

“You can’t mean that. This has all gotten out of hand for no reason.” Leas’s firm tone only made Dorian more angry. As if he was Adhlean - a child in need of discipline.

“What I am saying is not baseless. I have seen these patterns, Leas. I have seen them and I have tried to deny them and after tonight I cannot any longer.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair, an action he normally tried to resist after the amount of time it took to groom it every morning. “When I was in Tevinter, I knew the rules. I knew that whatever I had with any man, at the end of the day it could not go anywhere. I came here, and I met you, and I let myself start to believe that it could be otherwise. But maybe things are the same no matter what part of Thedas you are in. If I am right, then spare me any further embarrassment and tell me now that I mean nothing to you.”

“Of course you mean something to me. You mean everything to me,” Leas said, horrified now, and Dorian took a strange pleasure in that horror. He’d broken through the willful naivete, the stubborn refusal to discuss any weakness, any vulnerability. “I - I’m not good at this, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you needed me to acknowledge? You know what it’s been like - my parents weren’t exactly the model relationship. I was a mess when I returned to my clan, and no one wanted to tolerate that mess. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how relationships work. Maybe that means I should never have started this one, but I wanted something that was just mine. Something I could just - be foolish over. I guess I’ve been more foolish than I thought. Okay? Is that all you needed from me?”

Leas turned away, facing the door now, and Dorian was afraid he would go. His anger and fear were ebbing now. Leas would not lie to him, not when confronted so directly. So he did care. There was hope that this was real. Dorian put his hand on Leas’s shoulder.

“I am as surprised as anyone that I am expected to be the one of us who is good at navigating feelings and discussing them. I would not say that I am particularly good at it either. We - neither of us has lived a life that would give us the chance to be good at this whole relationship business, have we? ”

Leas turned now, following the gentle pressure of Dorian’s hand, and then Dorian moved the hand to his cheek.

“You a First and then a father before you were eighteen. Me, the scion of a family where feelings went out of fashion before Andraste burned in her pyre. I said it before - I never expected to have a relationship that was not a performance, or a secret. But I’ve had a glimpse of that with you now, and I don’t want to let it go. I want to know it really is real. Is that so selfish of me?”

He added a playful lilt to the last words, and it won him a small smile from Leas.

“Yes. Terribly, incredibly selfish. And rude.”

Dorian sighed dramatically, and then leaned his forehead against Leas’s.

“I do not enjoy playing the jealous or insecure lover, amatus. But I must admit again - it concerns me that you seem to enjoy flaunting our relationship for political gain. It concerns me that whenever we do have a moment together, it’s only about sex. It concerns me that our relationship might drive a wedge between you and your family.”

Leas rubbed his forehead against Dorian’s - a tiny gesture, but one that warmed him all the way to his toes.

“I was attracted to you because you were different and dangerous,” he admitted softly. “There was an allure there. But it wasn’t because I wanted to make a political statement. That was just - coincidence. The thing that drew me to you over and over again was the way you understood me, understood what it is like to be an outcast, understood what it was like to want to change things. You understood things about me that not even my brother or my clanmates understood. That first time I decided to draw attention to it was an impulsive decision. But I do care for you, Dorian. No matter what’s going on around us, or what other people think - I do care about you. If I need to change things to make this work, I will. I want to do that. I love you - or, shall I say, te amo. Did I get that right?”

Dorian closed his eyes and felt the tension between his shoulders ebb. He let the words run through his mind over and over and over again. He was seen and loved, and he loved in return. And to hear the words in his native tongue, to know that Leas had found time in the midst of the chaos of his life to learn Tevene, just for him.

“As I love you,” he said softly in reply.

“Shall I say that more often, arasha?” Leas asked. “Rearrange my schedule for more quiet moments and less sex?”

“Yes, and I think your entire schedule needs to be thrown out the window. I’m going to have words with Josephine about it, in fact.”

Leas laughed, the sound Dorian so loved, the sound that had carried across the snowswept hills of Haven, and now across Skyhold’s courtyards, tugging on the strings of his heart every time.

“I don’t need you to baby me. The schedule is fine. I can handle it. I’ll have you know that I can function perfectly well on one meal a day, anyway.”

“You cannot.”

“I can. I did survive eight weeks alone fleeing darkspawn at the tender age of fourteen, after all. And has my complexion suffered even a little just because I’ve cut back on sleep?”

There was a slight sway to their movements now as they stood there in Dorian’s small room, their arms laced around each other now.

“Do not ask me to call you unattractive. I won’t do it,” Dorian said. “But you could be even more magnificent if you took my advice.”

“The world couldn’t handle me if I was any more magnificent.”

Dorian kissed Leas then, harder and more passionate than before, because he was right, and because Dorian loved him, and because Leas loved him back, and many things in their life were uncertain - there was a war raging outside this castle, after all, and a barely-contained magic seething in Leas’s left palm - but this one wasn’t any longer. Here, together, they had found each other - fought their way past their differences - and found a safe place to land.

“The nickname I have for you,” Leas said when they parted. “Arasha. Do you know what it means?”

“I cannot say that I do.”

“It means my joy. And you are my joy, Dorian. I hope I can do a better job of showing you that.”

Dorian kissed him again, basked in the knowledge that he had been wrong. He wasn’t a port in a storm for Leas. They were making their own world, slowly but surely, and they were doing it together, slowly but surely, brick by brick, and stone by stone. A world where they could be safe together, whatever had happened before.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #spectrestatus-recognised #leas lavellan #dorian pavus #leas x dorian #pavellan #dragon age fanfic

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anoras · 2 years

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truly just <3 this one is so good

rivka surana | lea hawke | arete lavellan althea tabris | mairwen hawke | vilja cadash

#rivka surana #lea hawke #arete lavellan #althea tabris #mairwen hawke #vilja cadash #mage gals and warrior gals <3<3<3 #q.

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paperwick · 4 years

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The Star

Uvunleas Lavellan

Maybe it’s just naiveté, maybe it’s only hope, but Leas sees such a bright future for the many varied families of Thedas. Especially if they can’t.

@spectrestatus-recognised‘s lovely Inquisitor Uvunleas. Had a great deal of fun with this fellow. ♥

#the star #tarot card #dragon age #spectrestatus-recognised #uvunleas lavellan #companion card #dai #inquisition #inquisitor #dorian #ameridan #grey warden #chantry #dalish #dirthamin #my art #paperwick #2020 #my commissions

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fiannans · 3 years

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I was tagged ages ago by @starsandskies to create some of my OCs using this amazing Picrew. Thanks, sweetie! <3

Jane Shepard | Sara Ryder

Siobhan Trevelyan | Ileana ‘Lea’ Lavellan

Rowan Cousland | Marian Hawke

Tagging anyone who wants to do it!

#tagged #picrew #my ocs #jane shepard #sara ryder #siobhan trevelyan #ileana lavellan #rowan cousland #marian hawke #<3

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telanadasvhenan · 2 months

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Hello tumblr please look at my darling lavellan, her name is aveleanra (avelea or lea for short), she is my world and I love her more than anything ever

#dragon age #lavellan #art #my art #dai #da #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #da: inquisition #oc: avelea

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ratjay · 4 years

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Got back into dragon age after ages of not really caring about the series. So I ended up making a map of the three world states I have now: The Bad Place, Beef Zone and my Canon story line.

Canon is pretty straight forward. Warden Panne Mahariel live and rides off into the sunset with her lover Zevran. Leon Hawk, a pro mage apostate saves kirkwall and then his husband Anders. Despite insisting to leave him behind in Inquisition, Stroud rushes into the fight before Leon can stop him. Then it splits in two with Mera Lavellan being my canon-canon line, with her siding with the mages and disbanding the Inquisition. She’s currently living a cushy life with her partner Josephine, though they haven’t married. Desa Lavellan is there for me to see what happens in DA4 with a Solvellan Inquis (and also my first playthrough). Similar vein, disbanded inquisition & sided with the mages. She’s habandoned er clan, and investigating anything that might be the Dread Wolf’s doing.

Beef zone is the better of the two Panne dies settings. Valentin & Willow Hawke escape Lothering with Carver and their mother. He and Varric form a close relationship (Not that Cassandra needs to know), and was firmly pro-mage. Once Anders blew up the chantry, he and his twin sister fought, leading to her being detained. He survives inquisition. In Inquisition, Basevar “Beef” Adaar leas the inquisition, pro-mage & disbands (I have a favorite OKAY). Post inquisition he goes back to mercenary work, with his former group and the Chargers working as business partners.

Last one is the Bad Place.Panne dies, Willow & Valentin escape with their family. Willow ends up forming a relationship with Fenris, and while she herself doesn’t want to be in a circle, and wants to help mages, she sees the destruction of circles as something that would lead to Chaos and distrust of mages. While Valentin wants justice, Willow wants order, essentially. She sides with the templars after Anders destroys the chantry, which leads to a fight between her and her brother that ends with Valentin dead. Unlike Valentin, she does not survive Inquisition, as she rushes into the fight before anyone can stop her. Following her is Lord Sextus Trevelyan, a mage who finds the former templar in charge of the inquisition forces to be cute. He also believes similar to Willow and Vivienne that circles- and templars- are necessary. He gets help from the templars, and despite warning signs that keeping the inquisition together will lead to corruption, refuses to disband. Sextus believes the connections and army they have are worth more than anything they can do as a smaller force.

#art #dragon age #dragon age hawke #original character #character design #lavellan #mahariel #trevelyan #adaar #dragon age oc #my art

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kittynomsdeplume · 3 years

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I am working on Fallen to Dust - I swear.

“Help me out here, Birdie,” Dorian pleads with the Inquisitor.

“Hmm?” Lani murmurs absently, reins slack in her hands as she lets her horse lead them along the trail.

“Even I am rather shocked by the blasphemy the Ambassador is preaching.”

“The point I am attempting to make, is that intention matters,” Lea interjects.

“Ah yes, because we all know that good intentions never lead anyone astray,” Dorian drawls.

“I am not advocating the use of blood magic, do not mistake me. But I genuinely ask, in the heat of battle, where is the harm in using the blood of my slain enemies?” Lea posits. “No one blinks an eye when you reanimate the corpses of your fallen foes.”

“Re-animating the dead doesn’t put me at risk of demonic possession!” Dorian retorts.

“Why exactly would using already spilled blood put me at risk?”

“Because blood magic and demons go together like…” Dorian waves his hand, attempting to pluck an appropriate analogy from the air, “Fereldans and dog shit.”

#wip wednesday #dorian pavus #dragon age fanfiction #kittywrites #solavellan

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fleshwerks · 2 months

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deep mushroom for lea surana and spiridon pls!

Deep Mushroom :: What act does your character consider morally foul but practically necessary? Does your character condone morally foul actions for practicality’s or necessity’s sake at all?

Spiridon Lavellan: just about everything that goes into governing. He was all about seizing a position of leadership when his advisors had planned to prop him up like a puppet, on top of a lifetime of grievance towards the magocracy of Dalish clans where some people were born to be put in positions of leadership not necessarily through merit, but by the simple act of being born with magic. He hated it, especially seeing firsthand that even the clan's Hahren, a secondary leader who might've been born without magic still ended up deferring to the Keeper. Knowledge was power, and Lavellan mages took full advantage of hoarding ancient elven knowledge and disseminating it to their subordinates through their own prism, however they pleased, to suit their own agenda.

And then he became the Inquisitor and promptly fell under the wheels of the trappings of leadership. It's the lying, manipulating. It's a person's, any person's, willingness to trample over everybody. The realisation that just about everybody has it in them, all you have to do is dangle a bit of power in front of them. It's about then that he realised that whilst leadership is necessary, people who are good will never become leaders and politicians or leaders. Good leaders and adept politicians are all rotten to the core. Even if they cry into their pillow at night, complaining about the pressure of leadership to their lover. Even an army commander who presents themselves as no-nonsense, scoffing at 'politicians' is cut from the same cloth as the politicians they so hate. It's just that politicians at least tend to know when to wear velvet gloves as they slap ordinary people across their cheek, whilst someone who openly resents politics is nothing more than a brute. To be a good leader is to be an immoral person. Because good people would never survive leadership.

Unfortunately, order is necessary, and politics and leadership provide for a somewhat functioning society, so he doesn't just have to just condone in foul but necessary actions, but partake. It hasn't been easy, being painfully idealistic and believing that people can and should govern themselves entirely, and realising that people don't actually want to do that, that all they really want to do is someone to follow, someone to fuck, someone to kill, and someone to blame for that killing. They want a leader who reflects them, and given what kind of people leaders inherently are, it speaks poorly of all sapient life.

Lea Surana: Lea Surana really resents bad bosses. He's generally morally ambiguous. Being Surana of Kinloch Hold, he's a relatively rare breed in that he doesn't really think that mages inherently deserve freedom precisely because they're people, and people have flaws, they have selfish desires, and ultimately a person who can shatter the sky with a single concentrated thought and a good gulp of mana will always be inherently more destructive and dangerous than a bad guy with a butter knife for a weapon. He's known to have admitted that Greagoi's and Irving's worst mistake was setting him free. Not that he plans on going back, even though he retains close ties with the Circle of Ferelden.

The big fucking problem is when your overlords are bullies. When one has a lot of power, they are obligated to be fair to those beneath them. It works out well for him, being a good boss. Sure, sometimes a subordinate's behaviour or mistake will have to be rewarded with death, but by god Lea Surana will stand by his word to set up the deceased's family for life, offering them protection and bi-yearly payment. No excuse to be a bad boss. The world is what it is, and it's ugly and beautiful for it, but you caaaaaannnnoooottt be a cunt of a boss. Forbidden! Punishable with extreme prejudice!

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rightintheguts · 4 years

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“They gave her a new family; But, she wanted her old one.”

My Dragon Age: Inquisition character, Asleatia Lavellan, set within my Evanuris!AU.

Asleatia (f.)--> lady crowned with light. From the words: asha (woman) + lea (to shine, to glitter) + tiara (crown, tiara)

Petunia: Represents Hatred and Resentment .

#my art #fanart #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #lavellan #bioware

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rumraisinregret · 4 years

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Unhooded chapter 1: Arrival

They were late. The recruiting party that was supposed to have returned two weeks ago, hadn’t made contact in longer than that. Until last night. The scouts had burst out of the Eluvian dusty and panting as if a demon had chased them through the Crossroads. Message runners sprinted into Fen’Harel’s tent where Abelas and the other generals were having a strategy meeting. The returning scouts were only half a day ahead of the rest of the recruiting party and they had a private message for the Dread Wolf’s ears only. Fen’Harel finally raised his head at that and followed them to where the scouts were catching their breath.

And now here was Abelas pacing in front of the raised dais where the Eluvian sat, an hour past midday the following afternoon waiting for the rest of the party to show up. The scouts had been vague as to the nature of the delay, stating only that several of their party had been injured and their recovery slowed the journey. The Dread Wolf had been the only one to receive a full report.

Two of Abelas’ most veteran Sentinels were with them as escort. He wanted to make sure they were both healthy and whole before he could concentrate on training the new recruits. But they were late again. An hour late. Abelas started pacing again.

A hand found his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Calm yourself, lethallin.” He turned to see Fen’Harel giving him a knowing smile. “I am sure that Adhlea and Souren are well,” he said. “They are both capable warriors. The scouts did not report any casualties.” He lowered his hand and returned to staring tensely at the dull mirror.

“Of course, Fen’Harel.” Abelas stilled his nervous agitation and stood at his leader’s side. He eyed the other elf carefully in his peripheral. His mind turned to something else that was concerning him. Why was Fen’Harel present for the return of a recruiting party? For that matter, why did he seem so anxious for their arrival? The party was bringing something with them. Something he had told them to keep an eye out for specifically. Perhaps they had recovered one of the artifacts they still needed for the completion of their plans. But if that were so, why hadn’t he shared the report with his generals? Abelas squared his shoulders and sighed just as the Eluvian activated. He would have answers soon enough.

Adhlea was the first one through, hood raised but eyes intense as always. Abelas felt some of his tension ease. She was followed closely by an agent he knew by sight alone and five unknown elves who he assumed were new recruits. They all looked startled to see the Dread Wolf waiting for them just on the other side of the Eluvian. The antlers and snout of a hart were the next things visible in the mirror, followed by the rest of the animal carrying a figure in gold armor with his right arm in a sling and a bandage covering half his face. Abelas suddenly had a sickening knot in his stomach at the sight of Souren in such a state, but he stood his ground as the rest of the party appeared on the dais.

Once the Eluvian deactivated, there were four more harts with injured riders, two more hooded elves on foot, and a halla pulling a small Dalish aravel. Adhlea stepped forward to speak with the two men on the ground as healers rushed to help the riders from their mounts. Abelas clasped her forearm and she hopped the short distance to meet them.

“What happened, Lea?”

She laughed bitterly. “A dragon happened. Just outside Wycome. We practically stumbled into her nest before she showed herself. Souren and I managed to hold her off until he took a fireball right to his face.” She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead as if she could still feel the flames. “The others were set upon by a clutch of dragonlings. Would have been dead if it weren’t for the group from Clan Lavellan that was passing by.”

Fen’Harel started at the name. Ah, that’s why he was here.

Their attention was diverted by an increasingly loud argument in front of the Eluvian. One of the last two elves to have stepped through the mirror was trying to help the wounded, but the healers from their clinic were preventing her from touching them. Her quiet insistence that she was only trying to help just made the chief healer’s face grow redder in anger as he yelled at her to back off.

“Hey, hey, she’s alright,” Adhlea cried, running back to the group. “She’s a healer, she tended them the whole way here.”

The healer looked like he still wanted to argue the point, but a stern glance from Fen’Harel as he came up behind Adhlea silenced him. He and the rest of the camp’s healers continued to lay the injured onto stretchers, now with the help from the new arrival. Once they were secure, the healer cast a spell and the stretchers started levitating toward the clinic in the encampment as the healers followed.

The recruiting agent, with a deep bow to Fen’Harel, led the five uninjured recruits in the direction of the barracks. That left the woman who had helped the wounded and an older man with Dalish vallaslin standing on the dais with them.

Adhlea turned back to her superiors. “This is Varda Lavellan,” she said, motioning to the woman. “She’s a proficient healer. Our people would be a lot worse off had it not been for her.” Her arm moved slightly to the left, “And this is her father Radavur. He is a blacksmith of considerable skill. I’ve seen some of his work.”

The two figures lowered their hoods, and Abelas heard Fen’Harel’s breath catch in his throat. Abelas looked at their dark crimson hair swaying in the breeze, catching the sunlight, and understood why. They had the exact same hair color as Inquisitor Elentari Lavellan. The nature of the Dread Wolf’s relationship with the former Inquisitor was known to only a very few in his inner circle, but Abelas who had seen them in each other’s presence first hand, suspected that feelings ran deeper than the official story. May yet linger even still. These two had to be relations of hers to some extent, though beyond that one feature he saw little resemblance.

Fen’Harel stepped forward, his hand to his chest and his head inclined slightly. “Andaran atishan,” he said politely. “Thank you for helping my people out of danger.”

Radavur mimicked the Wolf’s stance but with a deeper bow. “Sathem lasa halani, Lord Fen’Harel. We did what we could. Serannasan ma. Your kind welcome is most appreciated.” He raised his eyes to their faces. “My daughter and I are not warriors, but we request the honor of joining your cause, if it pleases you. We pledge to use all our meager skill to help further your goals.”

Fen’Harel raised a brow at his archaic phrasing, but did not mention it. “Your efforts would be appreciated, but how do I know your word is trustworthy? I am familiar with Clan Lavellan in name, though I have never met your Keeper. I doubt she approves of your decision to leave them, as you are the first of your clan to join us here.”

Radavur stood to his full height, which was not much considering present company. Even his daughter towered over him. But he still managed to look proud enough. “No, my lord, she was not pleased. Our Keeper has forbade us from returning.”

That was a concerning development. Despite the Dread Wolf’s declaration to help what remained of the People, there were still so many who refused the offer. So many who chose to believe the twisted history the Dalish wove for themselves. Abelas crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Then why leave?” he asked, shaking his head. “And if we do not accept your allegiance? If we turn you away? You and your daughter will be homeless.”

“Yes,” the old elf sighed, “but that is a risk we are willing to take. We want to join you because that is what my bond mate would have wanted. She was an ancient like all of you. She would have believed in your cause. She hated her time in subjugation to the goddess Sylaise, but she also loathed her time wandering in confusion at the diminishing of her magic. She longed to see the world of ancient Arlathan restored. I join you in remembrance of her.”

Abelas was surprised at that. He looked over Radavur before him and saw little more than the shadow of the true Elvhen as he had in the past known so many of the Dalish to be. Then his gaze was drawn to the daughter, to Varda as her eyes met his, and he saw the truth in her father’s words. She wore no vallaslin as most who were raised Dalish did. Her features and stature showed she was truly a bridge between both worlds. Her hair and her ears, the delicateness of her features, belonged to her father’s people, but her nose and bone structure, her eyes, the color of spring leaves through which a golden sun shone, were undoubtedly from her mother’s people. From his people. Abelas quickly turned his attention back to the bald elf at his side.

Fen’Harel thought on Radavur’s words a moment. “Devotion to lost loved ones is a strong motivator. I accept your aid.” He turned to Adhlea. “Find them quarters and a place to set up their aravel. And then get yourself some rest.”

She turned a grateful smile to him and bowed. “Yes, Fen’Harel.” Then she led them and their halla into the camp.

Fen’Harel stood silently at Abelas’ side for a long while. “I don’t entirely trust them,” he said at last.

“Entirely?” Their eyes met briefly. Fen’Harel quirked a smile, but Abelas looked away first.

“No, not entirely.” He rubbed his chin. “We need to know if they have a significant relation to,” his voice faltered, “the Inquisitor. If she’s been in contact with them.” Then he caught Abelas’ gaze again. “Find out.”

Abelas very nearly spluttered. “I am no spy.”

“No, you’re not.” The Dread Wolf smiled wryly. “But I seem to recall you having no qualms saying rude things to complete strangers. Be as frank as you like, subterfuge need not be employed.”

Abelas sighed, nodded.

“I know I can trust you with this,” he said and his eyes softened. “I suspect you’re the only one to truly guess my history with-,” he glanced away, “Keeping that in mind, you’d know what questions to ask.”

Abelas nodded again. “I understand.”

#I've never done this before #somebody help me #how do i add the link to ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #abelas fanfiction #my witing #trespasser spoilers #abelas #abelas x lavellan #Unhooded

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