#like you can’t just oppress people out of fear of turning out like Tevinter

[littlepinksapphire]

Turning to blood magic as an oppressed mage is like turning to crime. People don’t do it because it’s the easy way out. They do it because it’s their only way out. It’s easy to blame individuals, to assume they are weak-willed and lack morals. But if so many mages are turning to blood magic, then the system is at fault

[misscricket]

Canders

Oh @stark-illerbase, let me take you on a journey...

Anders and Carver don’t like each other in Act 1 of Dragon Age II. That’s putting it mildly. Carver is a young man probably suffering from PTSD, grieving over his twin sister and struggling with the new life his brother and mother are pursuing. He strongly identifies as a Fereldan, hence the tattoo he got at Ostagar being a mabari, and he sees his mother trying to recapture the Amell name and legacy as almost a rejection of the Hawke lifestyle back in Lothering. As to the PTSD, not only did he see his beloved Twin sister get crushed by an Ogre right in front of his eyes, he was also at the Battle of Ostagar. He had to be dragged away from the battle by his fellow soldiers and told to run for it, or else he would have stayed, and fought and died right there, so determined was he to protect his country and family.

“ Said he wanted to protect his family. That someone had to, because his father had died and, well you know how the Champion turned out. Carver took it real serious...” (World of Thedas Vol 2)

Along with a love of using a sword, this was Carver’s motivation for signing up with the army, the Blight was threatening his home, and his family, and he saw it as his duty to protect them.

“The more ground we lost, the harder he swung that plank of a sword of his. He was shouting that we had to win, that it was to keep our homes safe. I swear he was crying when we finally tackled him, but damned if I’ll hold that against him. It took three of us to drag him to cover. I had to slap him back to his senses, to make him see that killing five, or ten, more ‘spawn wouldn’t matter. The wall was on us, and dying there wasn’t going to help anyone. I said if he wanted to do his family good, he’d get them safe. “  (World of Thedas Vol 2)

So he’s a bit of a prickleberry.

And then in comes Anders. Instantly he’s hyper focused on Carver’s brother, because Carver’s brother is a Mage. And Maker have mercy Carver has been hearing about the Mage plight for years. His whole bloody life actually. 

He acutely understands the realities of living with an Apostate mage family, from the perspective of someone inside the family unit who doesn’t have magic himself. He couldn’t be too good at anything, or excel, because it drew attention. He wasn’t a Mage himself, but he too lived as an Apostate, in fear of drawing the Templars gaze.

And then Anders says, 

Anders: I'm sorry about your sister. She sounds like a special girl. 

Carver: Why? Because she was a mage? 

Anders:  (If Hawke is male) Your brother says she had a good heart. Being on the run never made her bitter. (If Hawke is female) Your other sister says she was a good person. That she never turned down a chance to help people. 

Carver: Yes, yes. I'm sure the Chantry's got a shrine with her portrait on it. 

Anders: I was trying to be nice. 

Carver: Stick to surly. It works for you

And then this one

Anders: You don't like me, Carver? 

Carver: I don't like you. 

Anders: That's unfortunate. Hating someone just because they're a mage is a shameful thing. 

Carver: I don't hate you because you're a mage. I hate you because you won't shut up about it. 

Carver: Oppression this, templars that. I'd heard enough long before you. 

Anders: Maybe it's time you put some thought into it.

To Anders, Carver looks like the sullen, angry, bitter brother of two Mages, resentful of their powers or perhaps, even, hating them because of them.

This isn’t the case. Carver bitches and moans about his siblings, but most of his gripes are familiar to anyone who has an older or over achieving sibling.

When there is a legitimate threat, Carver immediately steps between Hawke and danger. When Fenris snarls about Mages, Carver, unprompted, says.

Carver: You have a problem with my brother/sister, you have a problem with me.

It’s instantly protective, and it’s far from the only incident in the game. He continually worries whenever Hawke talks to Templars, or stirs up Mage trouble, not because he hates Mages but because he’s worried for Hawke.

Anders however can no longer seem to see greys, it’s all black and white for him. Either you’re for Mages and then you want wholescale freedom and down the Templar order, or you’re a Mage hater, and as good as a Templar.

Carver’s stance on Magic is actually one of the most subtle and nuanced in the game, if not the whole series. He understands the dangers on a level most people, who haven’t lived with unfettered magic, can’t understand. But he also understands the joys and love of those with magic, and doesn’t believe locking them up in the Circle to be the right thing, despite his potential choice to be a Templar.

So Carver and Anders...

Enemies to Lovers

The fit this trope beautifully. Even in Act 1 with surly Carver and judgy Anders. But throw in Carver either being a Templar, the thing Anders hates most in the world, or him being a Grey Warden, the organisation Anders rejected. Oh the potential for angry arguments and heated kisses.

They are not so ideologically opposed that I think they couldn’t understand each other I think, and I think if they actually hashed it out together they’d actually find a lot of common ground. It’s just whether they could get there without the prickles throwing them off course is the question...and no Carver isn’t the only prickly one.

Templar Carver

Carver joins the Templar order for two reasons.

1. His brother/sister hasn’t returned from the Deep Roads with the rest of the expedition. Bartrand has likely told him they’re all dead. That leaves him and his mother alone in the world, and Carver can’t get work. The Guards won’t have him because Aveline told them not to, and the other options are mercenary jobs or the Templars. He no longer has any mage siblings to worry about being caught, and he doesn’t have to disclose that he had Mages in his family if he doesn’t want to.

2. His namesake was a Templar. I think giving him his piece of his identity makes Carver interested in the order in a  different way. Up until then they’ve kind of been the boogeymen of the Hawke children’s lives. ‘Be good or a Templar will get you’. But his father named him after a Templar, ‘skill thoughtfully applied’. There was some value to that path. And you can’t tell me that Carver wasn’t, in many ways, his family’s personal Templar. If Bethany or Hawke had fallen...would another Mage have been able to stand against them? They would have needed a swordsman. Carver.

Anders thinks Carver has joined the Templars out of spite, or hatred. But there is a wonderful array of fiction you can have with Anders and the Order and the fact they are continually trying to hunt Anders down. Carver wouldn’t stand for it, if one of his brothers companions was threatened, and he certainly wouldn’t want him to be hurt, killed or made Tranquil, which would have been his fate should Meredith have gotten her hands on him.

Grey Warden Carver

As for the Grey!Warden path, Carver thrives as a Warden, he blossoms under that structure and purpose where Anders did not. But they have the connection of Anders having been the one to beg Stroud to take him, to put him through the Joining.

We also know that Carver knows Nathaniel, who was friends with Anders during Awakening. This likely means he knows a number of the Ferelden Wardens, and you can’t tell me they wouldn’t be curious about Anders.

Alternate Universes ideas I have toyed with writing

Tevinter - Mage Healer who refuses to use Blood Magic and the son of a powerful Mage house who doesn’t have magic himself.

Special Agents AU - Agent Hawke and Anders have a turbulent relationship because the boy always comes back hurt.

Coffee Shop AU - Anders is an overworked and exhausted Doctor. Carver is his caffeine supplier.

Werewolf AU - Alpha Carver learns that being dominant doesn’t always mean barking orders, and Omega Anders learns that brooding wolves are definitely better lovers.

Mirror Universe - What it says on the box...darkfic.

Angel AU - Carver is Anders’ guardian Angel, and he grumbles about it a lot. He also keeps losing his feathers everytime he swears, and it makes Anders laugh at him.

and many many more.

To close out this rambling dissertation on the beauty that is Canders (praise be)

Enjoy this lovely fanart drawn by the talented @frikadeller in a commission for @autumnyte-old​

Case closed!

[cakelanguage]

Writing long fics is so intimidating, especially when you don’t receive much feedback for a while, but I pushed past my hesitation and wariness to keep on trucking! Enjoy chapter 6 of my “Dorian as a young boy” fic - he’s finally meeting the rest of the companions.

First//Previous//Next

You can also read it on AO3

--

Perhaps sneaking into the meeting had been poor judgment on his part, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when he was able to speak up for the mages and add some convincing reasons to go after Alexius and his cult.

But knowing that he wouldn't have changed his actions didn't stop the nerves that buzzed underneath his skin as they got closer to the tavern if the ruckus and clanking from inside was anything to go by. It wouldn't be terrible, he'd been scolded many times before and it'd just be another notch on his belt of… recklessness.

Except it wasn't really the same. Varric had been nothing but friendly to him and it left a sour taste in his mouth that he'd tricked the dwarf. He'd definitely apologize to him as soon as Varric started his scolding.

It was also the unknown factor of the Iron Bull. The qunari was friendly enough but he was still a qunari and that alone had warning bells echoing through his skull. He knew the Iron Bull didn't trust him and this wasn't going to build that trust. Especially since the Iron Bull was going to be watching him.

"Hey, I can hear you stewing," Aeren chuckled, "knock it off. No reason to start freaking out."

He huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm not 'freaking out,'" Dorian mumbled. "Just… hoping it isn't too bad."

Aeren hummed and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Never really seen the Iron Bull scold someone, to be honest with you, but he is a leader of mercenaries and I doubt this will be the first time he scolds someone."

"It isn't the scolding part that has me worried," he admitted softly.

Aeren came to a halt, his lips pressed into a thin line. He deftly pulled Dorian to the side of the path, bending down a little to look at Dorian. "Is it because he's a qunari?"

Dorian wanted to say 'no,' wanted to be able to brush his unease to the side but he couldn't. "N-not entirely." He fidgeted under Aeren's gaze, brushing imaginary dirt off his robes. "It's complicated."

He'd tried his best to remain neutral about qunari and the Qun, but that prejudice had wormed its way into his heart bit by bit as the war between the qunari and Tevinter dragged on. It was irrational and he felt every bit of the child he still was at the fear that seemed to seep through the folds of his mind.

It wasn't even Bull he was afraid of, just his people. Not that it made it any better.

Aeren tilted his chin up with a calloused hand. "I'm not throwing you to the wolves, Dorian."

"I know that."

"But you're still scared." Dorian's silence was telling enough and Aeren let out a sigh. "If it is any comfort I'll be right with you the entire time, and I'm sure Varric will diffuse the situation if the scolding gets heavy handed, okay?"

Dorian nodded his head and took a steadying breath. "Alright, let's get this over with."

Aeren grinned and clapped his hands together. "That's the attitude I was looking for!"

Aeren was much too happy at Dorian's begrudging courage than Dorian thought he had any right to be, but he followed Aeren into the tavern nonetheless.

The place was full of people, but not as loud as he expected it'd be. The only place that was really making noise was those that were part of the Herald's party, if Bull's looming figure was anything to go by.

The two of them received a few stares but they were mainly directed at Aeren who seemed almost oblivious to them as he weaved through the room towards the back table. Dorian was glad that the attention was on the Herald and not him.

The group spotted Aeren before they reached the table with Bull's voice booming through the tavern. "Was wondering when they'd let you go from that briefing."

Aeren gave a dramatic sigh, plopping into the spare seat beside the Iron Bull. "Thank the gods for that," he groaned, grabbing a hunk of bread from the center of the table, "always feels like they're gonna keep me there for days."

"Come on now, your Heraldness - those advisors of yours can't have been that bad," Varric ribs, and Dorian shuffles nervously from a few feet away.

Aeren raises his brows, unimpressed. "You've got Cullen who is pushing for the Templars and Leliana who's pushing for the mages and then Josephine and Cassandra keep playing devil's advocate while I'm stuck trying to get one word in." He takes a bite of his roll and points at Dorian. "Maybe it was a good thing that I had an eavesdropper willing to give his two cents."

Dorian felt his stomach drop and cursed Aeren under his breath. So much for not tossing him to the wolves.

Varric turned around in his chair and gave a huff. "Really should've expected that to be honest." He patted the seat beside him. "Might as well join the table, kiddo."

Dorian hesitated for a moment before joining everyone at the table. "In my defense, I at least waited until it seemed like they were leaning towards siding with the Templars," he said, avoiding everyone's searching gaze.

A woman across the table snorted unattractively. "The big-wigs always think they got the big ideas," she said, leaning forward in her seat. "Not a fan of the sparkly mages but I can get behind a bit of rule breaking to say your piece."

Dorian didn't fully understand what the woman was saying but it was nice to have someone on his side.

Aeren groaned. "Don't encourage him, Sera," he whined, "The advisors were already upset that I let him join the meeting."

"O' course not, those advisors of yours got poles up their arses. They think the know best and the fact that they had to listen to a kid must've ruffled their feathers."

Dorian felt like the more the woman talked, the less he understood.

"What I want to know," A man with a full beard said, raising his tankard towards Dorian, "is how he gave Varric the slip."

Varric shrugged. "The kid said he needed to relieve himself," Varric said.

The elf woman cackled. "Whelp good to know that pissing is enough to let you scurry off to crash a meeting."

Honestly, the group seemed more amused than anything else about Dorian's little escapade. This wasn't at all like the scolding he was expecting.

"Oi, don't encourage him," Aeren whined, "I told him he was going to get scolded by at least Varric and Bull - where's the scolding?" Dorian shot Aeren a look. "What? I'm just saying I figured they'd be a little upset."

The Iron Bull took a swig from his tankard. "Doubt he didn't look suspicious listening in on that meeting," Bull commented. "That room has no windows and the walls are thick, he had to have been listening through the door. If anything, Dorian proved those soldiers need to pay more attention to their surroundings." The Iron Bull turned his gaze to Dorian and gave him a long blink.

Dorian couldn't hold back a snort. "Did you just wink at me?" He asked.

The Iron Bull tipped his head back and laughed. "Ha, I told Krem people would get it."

Dorian felt his muscles relax. This was going surprisingly well. He grabbed a roll from the pile and took a bite. A little dry, but it tasted fine. "I just needed to make sure you all weren't going to pass over the mages just because the Templars might be the easier option," Dorian explained.

"So we're recruiting the mages?" The burly man asked.

Aeren nodded. "It makes sense in the long run," he said, "the last thing we want is a Tevinter cult laying their dirty paws all over the mages."

The elf woman groaned. "That means we're gonna have to deal with magic shit."

The Iron Bull hummed. "Means demon shit isn't far behind," he muttered.

“Hey, I’m not a huge fan of all that Fade nonsense either,” Aeren said, “But the Templars would have their own brand of issues too.”

“Lyrium,” Varric said, nodding his head, “We’d need plenty of that.”

Aeren clapped his hands and pointed at Varric. “Exactly, thank you Varric. Now, that we’ve apparently decided to skip over reprimanding Dorian, I feel like introductions are in order.”

Dorian straightened up in his seat. “I’m Dorian of House Pavus, fully certified mage and on my way to becoming an Enchanter,” he said, “how do you do?”

“You’s one of them fancy-britches then?” The elf woman asked, wrinkling her nose.

He shrugged. “I suppose you could say that, but I think most of those people are-”

“Fogeies?”

“I was going to say out-dated but fogey probably works better.”

“Maybe you aren’t so bad little fancy.” She stretched her arm across the table. “The name’s Sera, a Friend of Red Jenny. Always ready to put those big’uns in their place.”

Friend of Red Jenny? Dorian feels like he’s heard of them before, but he can’t quite place it.

The bearded man cleared his throat. “Blackwall,” he said, “A Grey Warden.”

Dorian fought down the desire to question Blackwall on what made a person eligible to join the Grey Wardens since Alexius said the Grey Wardens had refused his plea to allow Felix to join them.

He didn’t know if being happy that Felix wasn’t allowed to join made him a bad person.

“You might’ve met her in the church, but there’s a tall woman who looks like she could squash you like a bug with this prim smile on her face,” Aeren said, “That’s Viviene, she’s an Enchanter.”

“And don’t get her started on the Circle of Magi,” Varric warned, “Or advertise you’re from Tevinter.”

Aeren let out a little hiss. “Oh, yeah best to avoid that whole debacle.”

“Why is she an zealous mage rights activist?” Dorian asked.

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Aeren said with a wry grin, “She thinks the rebel mages are blinded by their own oppression and don’t consider anyone outside the circle. And then something about people’s fear of magic growing and it being justified.”

“Oh.”

Aeren laughed. “Yeah, she’s intense, but a good mage and she knows the Game or whatever really well.”

Well, Dorian supposed it was good to know what to avoid saying just in case.

“Don’t forget about Chuckles,” Varric chimed in.

“Chuckles?” Dorian asked.

“You’ll know him from the glare,” Sera said with a snigger.

“He’s another elf,” Aeren supplied, “Really smart man, a mage like you. Will tell you all kinds of tales from his journeys in the Fade.”

“And he’s bald,” Sera said.

“And he’s bald,” Aeren agreed. “Solas tends to keep to himself, but he is always willing to share his knowledge.”

“Is that everyone?” Dorian asked.

“Well, that’s the active party, but you briefly met the advisors.” Aeren held up three fingers and started naming them off. “There’s Cullen, a former Templar - he’s the blond one, and while he seems serious it’s pretty easy to break through that tough exterior. Lady Josephine Montilyet, the ambassador and chief diplomat of the Inquisition -  she’s an absolute sweetheart and tends to be the middle-ground in our discussions.” He waggled his last finger. “And then there’s Leliana, our spymaster. She finds out everything so it’s best not to try and hide something from her.”

“Right, any more I should know about?”

Aeren looked up at the ceiling as if it might hold the answer to his question. “There’s plenty of people around, but that should be everyone you’ll be dealing with for the most part. If there is anyone else they’ll introduce themselves.” He gestured to the table. “For now, let’s eat before we’re being dragged away again to do something else. I’ve no doubt we’ll be heading back to Redcliffe by tomorrow.”

Dorian nodded his head and let the group’s conversations wash over him. Tomorrow they’d be on their way to confront Alexius. Tomorrow they’d confront Alexius and this Venatori and come out as the victor.

They had to.

[terra-writes]

Nature’s Shackles (Fenris x Female!Hawke Hanahaki Disease AU) Part 1

An idea I had for the longest time and started up in April of 2018. Recently I’ve started to really pick this back up. Since it’s so long I’ll save everyone some trouble and post it in smaller parts lol.

For those who may not know what the Hanahaki Disease Au is, the au is about unrequited love. If one person loves another, but it is not returned, they start to grow flowers in their lungs. Over time, the flowers make it harder and harder to breathe, with the individual coughing up petals more and more often. Eventually, the person suffocates if the love is still unrequited. The flowers can be removed, but if they are, the person is unable to love or fall in love ever again. However if the love is ever returned, the person afflicted is cured with the flowers disappearing. 

Basically this au involves a lot of angst so be warned.

Word Count: 3,246 words

Warnings: Angst, Implied/referenced sexual abuse (Danarius asserting his sexual control over Fenris as his master, but nothing graphic. If you want to skip the parts where it’s referenced, they are in the italic flashbacks but the specific paragraphs will be marked with a *) blood will be coughed up with the petals in some cases, but it gets progressively worse, canon-typical violence and gore

           Fenris watched the petal fall, as it drew lazy patterns in the air in its decent to the ground below. It didn’t seem to care about the death sentence etched into every spatter of blood spread over the scarlet expanse. Fear gripped his heart, icy daggers clawed at his insides as he stared at the petal between his dirt-crusted feet. This couldn’t be happening. He had been so careful about avoiding this exact thing, so how could it be happening? His breaths started coming in faster, shallower as the panic began to spread. Inadvertently it aggravated his lungs and sent a few more red petals drifting to the ground in response.

           The evidence was impossible for him to deny, and the truth of the matter is he knew exactly how he got to this point, how he let himself get to this point. It all was because of her. Of Hawke. She was a warrior with no equal. An indomitable wall of heavy armor and purpose. With her sword and shield in her hands she was the steadfast force between the scourge of the city and the weak and innocent. Her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders and sharp blue eyes taking the breath (literally) from him every time he watched her.

          Whereas with anyone else in her position he would have met them with a skeptical disbelief, knowing that deep down they were only acting that kind to reach some hidden motive of personal gain, Hawke was truly sincere in her compassion for the people of this city, even when they were wholly undeserving in his eyes. She was a force of nature, a storm of fury and compassion that had his heart skipping a beat since he first laid his gaze upon her that fateful night in Lowtown.

           The very thought sent his lungs fluttering, an itch that he had to fight against lest more petals join the rest on the broken tile in front of him. Panic still held him tight within its grasp, and he had to take a few deep breaths to try and steady his raging emotions, to quell his bodies’ sudden desire to fight or flight. Neither were what he needed in this moment, if the ever-persistent flutter was anything to discern by.

           Sleep would not come for him that night. His mind plagued by nightmares, remnants of his time with Danarius danced in a mocking fashion behind his eyelids every time they drew together for longer than the briefest of touches. More than once be would sit up in a bolt of gasping breath and sweat-slicked hair, clinging to the sides of his face while he attempted to piece together his surroundings, to know that no longer was he there.

           A bitter laugh from his master, the wide, pleading eyes gazing up at him from where she crouched at his feet. A deep blue, once vibrant like the sky above him now brimming with tears that fell across her cheeks in rivers. She begged him, clasped her hands in what small grip she could manage in the front of his breastplate, mouth trying to form words but only blood and petals spewed forth, a nauseating gurgling gag filling the space instead of words.

           “Don’t you worry, you insolent wretch.” Danarius spat. “I supposed I can’t blame you for forgetting your place, my little wolf is quite delectable to look at, isn’t he?” A smirk and eyes that watched the helpless slave with a sadistic pleasure as the blood came out ever thicker. A hand ran down his side, he didn’t flinch away from the caress this time. “It’s unfortunate that my entertainment shall soon draw to a close, but you were oh so easy to manipulate, wait until my acquaintances at the Magistrate here about this one~!”

           The slave was choking now, still looking up at him with every ounce of love she had been crafted into feeling laid bare, hoping that he would return even the tiniest shred and spare her rapidly encroaching fate.

           He felt his heart lurch in his chest, but it was not out of love, it was of pity for he felt naught for the most recent victim of Tevinter’s newest form of entertainment. He was stoic as he stood there, unmoving.

           He watched as the hope in her eyes died out with the last choking cough before she fell still at his feet, her eyes still turned upward towards him as if still begging for him to feel even in death. As Danarius barked out his laughter from behind, Fenris could only manage the faintest of frowns.

            *A pair of hands on his shoulders brought him out of his trance. “Get on all fours, slave.” He tried to ignore the violent churning within as he did the only thing he could do: comply.

           When the first rays of the morning sun broke through the rooftops of Hightown, illuminating the crumbling interior of his “reclaimed” mansion, Fenris was finally given reprieve from his own mind, forcing the dark tendrils of his past back into the deep dredges of his mind. He let himself go through the motions of his routine, checking the barricaded wings for any breaches, polishing his sword and armor, and fetching the latest bottle from the cellar to drown himself in.

           The entire morning, he did everything he could to not think of her, but as always, his own mind betrayed him at every turn. He wished with every fiber in his being that the events from the previous night had just been the latest in his regular routine of nightmare-filled sleep, but the stirring in his lungs grew ever more unbearable with each passing thought of Hawke, until once again he sat doubled over coughing into his fist.

           When he finally caught his breath, he didn’t feel the panic as strong as he had the day previous, but he felt himself sag in defeat. He always knew that this was a possibility once he had fled Seheron. The memories of his time with them still weighing in the recesses of his mind just like Danarius.

           Mangled corpses littered the ground, holes bared open in chests with the blood still welling, a crimson pool diluted by the rain that pelted the jungle. His took stuttered breaths, his eyes wide not at the lives he had taken with his own fists, his own blade, but at the elf lying twisted in the dirt in front of him. Blonde hair matted with blood and mud, her gray eyes wide and unblinking, from her open mouth, blood and petals spilled across the ground in front of her, slowly being washed away by the pounding rain.

           A low laugh from over his shoulder sent chills up his spine and his stomach lurched.

            *“My little wolf~” The breath on his ear, the tone that dripped false sweetness. His skin burned where his fingers curled around his arms. “You’ll be rewarded for your loyalty. It pleases me to know that you still know who you belong to, even when we’re apart.”

            *The hands drifted further around his body, tracing patterns over his iron-clad torso. His breath was coming in quicker but not for the reasons Danarius hoped. When the command was whispered in his ear, he snapped. Fueled by revulsion, panic, and years of repressed anger, he lashed out, and when his former master had finally regained his bearings from the sudden display of rebellion, Fenris was long gone.

           Ever since then Fenris had always been so careful. Knowing that anyone who got close to him would not only be put in danger because he was an escaped slave, but because of the disease, was too much for him to bear, to go through watching again. He avoided people at all costs, worked through dead drops when he could, and kept everyone at more than arm’s length when he absolutely had to interact with anyone. Never again would he let someone like him be the source of an innocent person’s death. Yet Fate, ever the cruel and mysterious mistress, had now turned the tables against him. Instead of Fenris watching unfeeling as someone he had grown to know wither away before him, he was now the one helpless in the eyes of someone who would never come to see him as anything more.

           Perhaps, he should be thankful. Long since escaping Danarius, and even under him, Fenris had believed himself to be broken, incapable of feeling love like had been described to him by Layana in the dense jungle of Seheron. At the time he had rolled his eyes as she recalled tale after tale of romance to him, stories of young noblewomen seduced by the wandering traveler or rescued from tyrannical oppression by a valiant hero. Hindsight, often just as cruel as Fate, left the knowledge that the time she spent with him hadn’t been as innocent as he had initially believed.

           Despite everything, every carefully laid plan had come crashing down when he came to Kirkwall. City of Chains was in his mind more than befitting of such a city. Bound to this city now by his affections, the irony of his position hung over him every waking moment. He almost wished that Danarius could see him in this moment, the prologue to his demise resting in the palm of his hand. Kept sheltered from any inkling of affection for another being within the lavishly decorated halls of Danarius’ mansion, Fenris wasn’t sure if it was because Danarius didn’t want to lose out on the costly investment etched onto every inch of his skin, or for something that ran the risk of him losing what little he still had in his stomach. Fenris would laugh if he wasn’t so sure the action would knock a few more of the petals loose. All of his former master’s hard work, and it gets undone by some Ferelden farmer.

           But she’s more than that to you. He shook the thought from his mind. He had to find a way to avoid her. Fenris was wholly and truly in love with Hawke, and he knew that under no circumstances could he let her know that. If she knew about this, knew that he would suffocate on his feelings for her, she would force herself to love him, to give him the chance at a free life that she so wholly believes he deserves. He wasn’t worthy of her love, this he knew, but if she believed that or not, he held no clue. Nevertheless, he would never give her the option to find out. Hawke deserved someone far better than he. Hawke was many things, and Fenris knew that if she asked, he would rip his own heart out of his chest for her. He would die for her, and now it looks like he was going to have to.

          On some level that thought terrified him, but he also knew that she would never ask for such a thing. She wasn’t Danarius, everything under him had felt wrong, every command and action washing over him like bathing in oil, just waiting for the thing that would ignite and consume him in its inferno. With Hawke, he was an equal, a -dare he even consider it- friend. There was never any waiting for the other hand to fall, any hidden catches to her requests, never anything more asked of him than she would ask of anyone else.

           He looked out his window, at the nobles beginning their morning runs as the sun continued to climb above the buildings and pondered his next move. Going out would run too high of a risk of running into Hawke. He needed to get his coughing under control before he could think to handle such a thing. He knew eventually Hawke would come here looking for him, but this mansion was big, and if there was one thing he had gotten good at in his life, it was how to make himself unnoticeable in a room. Staying holed up was the best thing he could do, if not for him, then for her.

           It would be a few weeks since he coughed his first red petal before he would willingly walk out of his mansion. The fear of running into Hawke had morphed into running into anyone of their circle, fearing on some baser level that they would treat him like those back in Minrathous. The more rational part of his brain knew better, he hoped, but that small lingering cloud of doubt kept him tucked into the furthest corner of his bedchamber.

           Of course, true to her nature it wasn’t long before Hawke had come to his door, wanting to whisk him away on some adventure or another. For the first week, he went between pretending to not be home, to acting as if he already had plans. By the second, he claimed illness. Those worked, Hawke’s good nature not allowing her to pry too far into his lie, but they would only hold out so long. Several times he had packed a travel bag, hand inches from the handle to his door ready to disappear into the night and never look back. Yet each time his hand fell away, and he slunk back up the stairs defeated. He could never abandon her, even if it could mean saving her in the long run.

          As the third week rolled around, and Fenris still “ill,” Hawke had more or less kicked down his door, practically begging him to go see Anders for a checkup. Her concern for his wellbeing warmed his heart, but only for a few brief moments before he felt the flowers in his lungs stirring as he reacted to her presence. He just gave a curt nod, keeping his replies short and as single-worded as he felt he could safely manage, his being straining from the effort that his face had turned a bright red. He jerked when she went to touch him in a moment of genuine concern, fearing that if she would to lay her hand upon him then his control would snap and he would cough his confession all over the floor. He didn’t realize how his reaction must have looked until he turned his head back and saw the horror written into the lines on her face.

          She sputtered out a string of apologies, yanking her hand back to her side. Guilt welled up inside him as he watched her struggle with her words, over her anger at Danarius though she had never met the man. Yet he kept his mouth shut, his gaze turned down towards his feet. Better for her to mis-read the situation than to have her know the truth.

          With a few last apologies, a lingering look of concern, and a promise from him that he would go see the mage, Hawke had finally taken her leave. As soon as he was sure she was far enough away to be able to hear him, he let loose the violent fit that he had been holding at bay. Apparently trying to keep them in only made it worse when they were allowed to come out. Who knew? It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes until the last of the petals were drifting to the floor, his lungs a lot more tolerable. He looked around at the firelight dancing off the red petals, and felt the anger begin to simmer under his skin. Not at Hawke, but at himself, his situation, Danarius, mages, everything wrong that had happened in his life.

          When he woke the next morning, he knew that Hawke had a point. If there was anything that might be able to help him, be it a cure, or a treatment or even… something to ease the pain when it comes, the Abomination would be the most likely out of their group to know of it or have it. Though Fenris knew enough about the disease from what he had witnessed firsthand, he was certain that anything useful had been kept from him. Maker knew that as much as Fenris absolutely loathed Anders, his best course of action involved him swallowing his pride and making the trek to Darktown if there was any chance for him to acquire the answers to his problem. If not for himself then at least for Hawke.

          Or was he? Fenris sat on the edge of one of the couches with a huff, the old and at this point probably moldy linen sagging under his weight. He cradled his head in his hands as he considered his other options. Varric? He shook his head. Varric was too cunning, he’d see through any lie Fenris could throw at him to cover up his interest, even if he did have the resources and connections to help him. Besides, Varric and Hawke were too close, too similar in their compassion for those they cared about and those they considered to be the “little guy.” Varric would feel obligated as both a friend to him and Hawke to tell her, and then he’d be right where he didn’t want to be.

          Maybe he could try Bethany? No, she wasn’t a good candidate either. Though she had the entirety of the Kirkwall Circle’s library and herbalists at her call, the risk such an inquiry might pose to her under Meredith’s reign would be too great. The only thing worse than putting Hawke at risk because of him was putting her family at risk instead. He would never live with himself if that were the case, his own personal feelings aside about magic he actually didn’t hate the youngest Hawke. Though arguably naïve about things in his mind, she had shared some of the finer qualities of his elder sister, and at least wouldn’t willingly submit to any demons.

          Sebastian was as equally out of the question as Varric for most of the same reasons. Talking to Isabela would run to high of a risk of Varric finding out, Aveline would only end up asking Varric or Hawke on his behalf, which would still expose his condition. Merrill? He shuddered at the thought. She was too quick to turn to blood magic in his mind, and he would rather use his markings to rip his own heart out than to feel the sickening taint of blood magic on him ever again.

          No, Anders was truly his only option. That thought made him groan into his hands. It would be a few more hours before Fenris was able to get himself to leave the relative comfort of his Hightown mansion and begin the walk to Darktown. He had made sure to throw the petals he had coughed into the fireplace before he stepped out his door, he couldn’t afford anyone coming across them while he was away. The sun by now was already slipping ever closer to the horizon, the evening crowd of nobles making their last purchases before heading home for the night. The gangs would be out soon, and for the unwary patron it could prove deadly. Fenris felt his hands go to test the greatsword strapped to his back at the thought. The whole way there, he kept repeating that he was doing this for Hawke, and that’s the only reason. He wasn’t sure if he believed himself, and it didn’t go very far in soothing his rising anxiety.

[mllemaenad]

'Imagine your children growing up in such a world. If a mage asked it of you, you would have to give him your daughter, not knowing what his plans for her might be. You could not resist him, and neither could she.' - Sorry, this line particularly came to my attention because take away magic and this? Is exactly what happens in the Tabris origin. And to that one Orlesian merchant in Denerim in DA:O. And probably to any number of peasant/elven girls at the hands of nobles every day across Thedas.

No need to be sorry. :)

You’re right. Absolutely.

The thing is – take this in context. This is an answer written by a grand cleric to a nobleman who seems (we don’t have his side of the conversation, obviously, so we can only infer from the substance of the reply) to have been challenging the Chantry’s treatment of mages. If you look at it like that, then what the grand cleric is describing is what happens to almost every mage child in southern Thedas.

Armed men come to your door and take your child away. You have no right to say no. And you have no idea what they’re going to do with them. They may take your child to a Circle across the sea. They may murder them. They may make them Tranquil. They may rape them, beat them, torture them. Maybe you’ll be lucky: maybe your kid is Vivienne or one of the Warden mages. Maybe they’ll do okay.

But you don’t know. And you can’t tell the Templars to go away; that they can’t have your child. They live in a world where this happens to parents every day.

It’s almost too much to imagine. The Circle, the Templars, they’ve shaped my life. I was no more than twelve when they came for me. My mother wept when they fixed the chains to my wrists, but my father was glad to see me gone. He had been afraid, ever since the fire in the barn. Not just afraid of what I could do, but afraid of me, afraid my magic was punishment for whatever petty sins he imagined the Maker sat in judgement upon.

– Anders (short story)

Anders’s mum couldn’t say no. Maybe she wanted to. At bare minimum, it sounds as though she didn’t want to lose her son forever. But that’s what happened. Little Ella is desperate to get back to her parents, because the Templars didn’t even tell them where they were taking her – and when we encounter her, a Templar is threatening her with Tranquillity and strongly implied sexual assault.

Wynne gave birth to a healthy baby boy, whom she was allowed one day with before he was taken into Chantry custody. The child, who was names Rhys, was taken to Lydes and from there transferred to the White Spire in Orlais when it was discovered that he, too, was a mage.

– World of Thedas I

They kidnapped a newborn baby and took him to a different damn country. It took decades, and fighting an archdemon, for Wynne to even get the chance to find him again.

Dulci de Launcet was lucky: she’s a noble, so she at least had letters and some general idea of where her kid was, but she hadn’t laid eyes on her son since he was six.

Yeah. Good fucking job, Chantry. You really solved the problem of powerful people coming to your door to abduct your children.

But while, yes, given the context of the letter I think the irony is best understood in relation to mages, I definitely think it can be expanded upon:

The demon had impersonated the human man who had bought her from the slavers that took her in after her father died. She’d had no idea back then who those kind men really were, only that they offered her food and a warm bed to sleep in. Then an even kinder man came to take her from them, and she found herself in his luxurious home and thought herself the luckiest girl in the entire alienage.

How very naive she had been. Count Dorian, as she learned her new master’s name to be, had been in search of an elven whore he could keep as a pet, something he could put in a pretty dress and bring with him on one of his many trips to the capital, like baggage.

– Dragon Age: The Calling

Ah, look. The exact scenario Grand Cleric Francesca was fear-mongering about. A little girl abducted, enslaved and sold to a nobleman who abused and tortured her. Yes, a mage-child as it happens, but that wasn’t apparent at the time. Fiona was vulnerable because she was an elf – an orphaned elf considered expendable by society.

“What they wish is irrelevant.” Celene turned and stalked away from the window. “I am already fighting a war on two fronts. I cannot be seen to fight a war on three.”

“Then don’t.” Briala rose, putting herself in Celene’s path. “Give them justice.”

“A lord for the death of an elf? I … damn this thing.”

With a quick jerk, Celene tore her mask from her face. Her face was flushed beneath, her eyes red from another night of little sleep. “Shall I declare the elves equal citizens before the Maker and the throne as well, while I’m at it?”

“Why not?” Briala took her own mask off, stealing a quick moment to steady herself. “Unless you don’t believe that, and I’m just a jumped-up kitchen slut you haven’t tired of yet.

– Dragon Age: The Masked Empire

Or here: a revolt that ends in genocide, and that begins because it is unthinkable that they arrest a nobleman for murdering an elf. The victim’s name was Lemet. He was killed shielding an eight-year-old boy who threw a rock at a carriage. And the boy said he did it because his mother had been murdered by Orlesian nobility:

“They killed my mother,” the boy said, pulling against Lemet’s grip.

“Be quiet.” Lemet looked back at the coach and heard its joints creak as the guards jumped down to the street. The driver would want to have that oiled, some part of Lemet’s mind noted.

“They can’t come down this street after what they did to her,” the boy insisted. “They can’t!”

– Dragon Age: The Masked Empire

Or this, where soldiers rob, rape and murder their own citizens in the midst of a civil war:

“Two days ago, Lady Seryl’s men rode in and cur down every man and woman working the fields. Killed our guards, killed everyone in the village square. When they finished killing the other soldiers, they fired arrows out onto the water, killed most of our boys in the boats. They took all the food they could find. They spent the night.” A collective flinch splashed across the crowd. “Said we had been assisting enemies of the throne, that this was a lesson to anyone who’d help Gaspard’s men.” At the last, his voice broke. “My lord, I don’t even know who Gaspard is.”

– Dragon Age: The Masked Empire

Or the serial killer who is repeatedly allowed to walk free because he’s a magistrate’s son, and he targets elven children. Or the elven boys who fled to the Qun because a guard raped their sister – no one would arrest him, so they took matters into their own hands.

And yes, of course, you see the exact same thing in Ferelden in the alienage.

I’m sure everyone feels so much safer now they’ve locked up all the mages.

Orlais’s crimes don’t excuse Tevinter’s. That’s where they went wrong with Dorian’s … painful dialogue on slavery. You can’t point to the horrors of Orlesian society and therefore suggest that the Tevinter slave trade is not that awful. It doesn’t work like that. What you can do, though, is say that Tevinter’s crimes don’t excuse Orlais’s – particularly when they tend to do exactly the same shit:

Slavery still thrives in Thedas, even if the trade has been outlawed. Who hasn’t heard the tales of poverty-stricken elves lured into ships by the prospect of well-paying jobs in Antiva, only to find themselves clapped in leg-irons once at sea? And humans fall prey to this, too.

If they’re lucky, they end up in Orlais, which has only “servants.” Most nobles treat them decently because they are afraid of admitting the truth. Orlesians go to great lengths to maintain the fiction that slavery is illegal.

Of course, the greatest consumer of slave labor is the Tevinter Imperium, which would surely crumble if not for the endless supply of slaves from all over the continent. There, they are meat, chattel. They are beaten, used as fodder in the endless war against the Qunari, and even serve as components in dark magic rituals.

—From Black City, Black Divine: A Study of the Tevinter Imperium, by Sister Petrine, Chantry scholar

– Slavery in the Tevinter Imperium

Fiona is not an anomaly: Orlais kidnaps and sells people into slavery, too.

And this makes sense. Fantasy always draws on the real world, even if they mix and match the cultures and historical periods a bit. So, just like in the real world, you generally have to take anything the wealthy and powerful say with a grain of salt.

The Chantry has a very specific, empire building, agenda. It makes much of problems that aren’t really problems (demons and abominations are not widespread threats, and both are poorly understood); it pins the blame for actual crises on oppressed groups (the Blight is in no way the fault of this random peasant mage from Antiva); it uses racism and religious intolerance to create in- and out-groups (elves [and dwarves, but we haven’t conquered them yet] are degenerate heathens who are preventing the Maker from returning).

As much as I love Dragon Age, what Bioware does sometimes that is … uncomfortable … to use a mild word, is that it lets the powerful rule the narrative. Inquisition is worst at this, because it presents strong voices for people like Cassandra and Cullen, who stick fairly close to the party line. And then it takes characters like Varric and Sera, and distances them from their own cultures … which is fine for individuals but awkward when we’re not letting Briala or Fiona say much either – and where the fuck is Sigrun? No one’s spoken for Orzammar’s casteless since Awakening. But it’s there, to some extent, in all the games.

So the point, always, is that mages and Circles are misdirection. Mages are scapegoats in the Chantry faith who are held responsible for all the bad things, and represent a pretend evil nobility that the Orlesian Chantry is keeping under control.

But the actual problems of this fantasy world are more or less the same as the problems of the real world: powerful nations dominate the continent and force others to bow to their whims and adopt their culture, because empires are just shit; the rich and powerful hoard all the rights to themselves, and can do damn near anything to the poor – particularly where the poor are part of a marginalised group.

What Orlais doesn’t want people to realise is that they are Tevinter. It was never the mages that were the problem, it was the absolute power the Tevinter magisters held over their slaves – a power now held mostly by the Orlesian nobility, who use it in pretty much the same way. Not exclusively, no: of course the nobility of other nations can be, and bloody are, evil fucks. But even there, the Chantry view helps to obscure the truth: you should be scared of empires and those who rule them. Much more scared than you are of a possessed mage.

[cocopbblez]

oof why do you hate anders? I'm v pro Anders oof

Ooooh, man. You better strap in for this. This gonna be hella long.

I haven’t played Awakening, so I have no clue what he was like before DA2, but all throughout DA2, he was just so… tiring to talk to. He always had to bring up something about mages being oppressed. Like, if Hawke stubbed his toe, Ander’s would probs be like ‘Well, that’s nothing compared to how mAges are tREated in the cIRcle!’ And it’s like… buddy… my dude… 

So, I initially didn’t like him. Like in one convo you have with him, he’s like ‘I’ve yet to meet a mage who wants to rule anything.’ and it’s like, just do some quests with me and I’ll fucking show you plenty of mages who want to rule over men and idolize Tevinter (which he does too???) Yeah, mages are free and rule themselves in Tevinter, but blood magic is rampant there, Magisters sacrificing slaves just to do a small party trick. Like the slaves life means nothing. Even Dorian’s like ‘Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up there, but I want to make things better because there are people like me who disagree, but we’re the few unfortunately.’

And then in that one quest where you work with Thrask to convince the mages to exit the cave in Act 1, when the mages ask you to kill Thrask, Anders is like ‘Done and done let’s kill the Templar bitch.’ Like??? Thrask is a good dude??? He asked you to go in because he didn’t want to kill the mages??? He even distracts Karras and the other Templars if you choose to try to help the mages escape???

Yeah, pretty shitty.

But then!!! He goes and blows up the Chantry????? Like, are you fucking serious??? Yeah, I hate the Chantry and everything they stand for as much as the next guy, but even my dumb ass knows that blowing up the goddamn Chantry is the absolute worst way to stop the treatment of mages. My favorite thing is after he does that, my Hawke is like ‘You realize you just turned everyone against mages’ and Anders is like ‘Was anyone with us???’ YES!! YES THERE WAS!!! No one’s gonna see it as ‘Oh, the Chantry was targeted?? Something must be wrong with the Chantry and their treatment of the Circles and mages.’ 

No, they’re gonna see it as ‘Holy shit a mage was powerful enough to do this??? They hella need to be put down.’ which is exactly what Meredith did. Yeah, she was batshit crazy, and she shouldn’t’ve called for the Annulment when the man who did it was right there, but that’s how everyone would see the Chantry explosion. Thousands of mages, like Vivienne and Wynne, didn’t have a bad time in the Circle, many even preferring it!! Because of Anders, now more people than before are looking down on them out of fear and hatred. 

Now, what REALLY grinded my gears was his treatment of Fenris. Now, I’m not saying this just ‘cause Fen is my ultimate romance. I understand why people don’t like Fenris. But them saying how they don’t understand how people can hate Anders, but love Fen when they’re the same??? Ummm, no. No they’re not. 

Fen grew up as a slave, not even remembering his childhood or family because of Danarius’s experiment on him, the process where LYRIUM was BURNED INTO HIS ENTIRE BODY!!! He’s seen the worse of mages, having served as a slave to a fucking Magister in Tevinter. He has more than enough cause to hate mages and be hella weary of them. And like, Anders has probably seen and experienced his fair share of injustice in the Circle, but the difference between them is that Fen is willing to grow and learn. He understands that not every mage is Danarius. When you go into Hadriana’s hideout and hire Orana as a servant, Fenris yells at you, his mind automatically seeing you purchasing Orana as a slave. When you tell him otherwise, HE APOLOGIZES!! When Anders almost kills the mage girl because he couldn’t control Justice (I’ve only done Dissent once or twice because I refuse to do anything with Anders ‘cause he’s a bITCH, so correct me if I’m wrong), he’s all like ‘Poor me:((( Even though I said I can control him, I actually can’t:((( It was those dirty Templars:((( They made me so angry:(((’ He corrupted Justice into Vengence because that’s what he wants.

Now, I didn’t bring up Fen to compare the two, I brought up Fen because of the scene where you finally confront Danarius. If you choose to give Fen back to Danarius, little bitchass motherfuckin’ Anders says ‘Good thing I wasn’t the only one thing that.’ with a fUCKING smILE on his ugly ass rAT face!! Like, you are NOT allowed to go on and on about how oppressed mages are, comparing them to slaves when you actually deadass wANT to return a former slave bACK to his slAVER just because you don’t like him!! Like, are you fucking kidding me??? No, you’re fucking dead to me.

Like, he had so much potential to be a good character, but with everything mentioned above (there may be more, but these are the only major things I can think of off the top of my head) I just think he’s a piece of shit.

[lyriumlotus]

The Makers Bride: Chapter one.

                                                     (AO3)

The Maker wept for His Beloved, cursed Maferath, cursed mankind for their betrayal, and turned once again from creation, taking only Andraste with him. And Our Lady sits still at his side, where she still urges Him to take pity on His children. —From The Sermons of Justinia II

Summary:

Lathuven finds herself a spirit, and struggles to come to terms with the loss of her mortal life, whilst the Dreadwolf keeps her close to heart, for fear of losing her again.

Yet it isn’t ‘she’ who needs protecting, because even within the safety of the fade and the Golden City, there are enemies who wish revenge on the Wolf, as she sits by his side, and begs him to spare those she loves in the World below.

The smoke burns at her eyes, causing them to water in their natural defense and she can hardly see anything as her vision blurs, but she keeps her magical shield reinforced and focused. Her eyes set on the blurred images of the men and women that they fight among the fumes, for surely they also have difficulty seeing just as she does.

Thunder rolls and rumbles fiercely overhead , with the occasional roar of lightning to accompany it,

and rain falls ever so lightly from the grey clouds above to the World waiting below, doing little to squelch the flames and billowing smoke of their angry war.

Winter.

Is her spellcasting and it responds to her calling, with a raise of one lyriumally infused metallic arm made of metals and wires, cogs and rubbers. The arm is embedded with anagrams of spellworking and rune stones that make it light up like the stars, to bring down the snow.

It is not for the enemies however, it is for them, so it is lighter in strength,

A desperate attempt to combat the fire and fumes surrounding them, to help them to see.

The sound of screaming, of people lying on the battlefields wailing from slow agonizing deaths and

shrieks of fear or uproars of fury hurt her ears.

There is too much… Simply too much..

Everyone is fighting, everyone is killing each other. Everyone is dying.

Lathuven cannot even hear her own yelling, as she attempts to shout commands and to implore her people to stand their ground..

It is a matter of importance that they do not give in this day.

Not now when they are finally taking back some ground.

There are Qunari, fighting against Tal Vasoth. Tevinter imperials fighting against those who wish for a liberated Tevinter.

The oppressive Chantry against those who want it to be a people of peace. Circle against Circle,

Templar against Templar, Mage against mage…. And so forth.

One side always wants to rule with tradition, oppression, and force.  

The other wants change and freedom and choice.

Sometimes It is hard to tell which of which, is who.

Lathuven can even feel the ground rumbling and shaking under her feet, and she fears for what wakes and lays hidden beneath, but for now,

it is just the force of so many people that causes the ground to tremble.

Heavy hitters with swords and double handed axes, or the cannons and trebuchets flinging heavy rock and burning coals into the chaos to help lay waste to all armies.

Sentinel elves atop massive Harts, seemed to drift through the pandemonium firing arrows of fire into the sea of people.

Fenharels people.

They are enemy and yet they are not. They fight today, against oppression, so today they are not her enemy but her ally.

If only by association.  

She couldn’t tell anymore, who was fighting for who, who was with her and who against.

It was just about staying alive at this point.

A lone figure, cut its way through the thickness of black smoke, a tall man donned in burned chantry attire and clutching his own bloodied arm to his side. A No-threat, that someone couldnt bother to finish at this stage, she expected, as the vile man limped directly towards her.

“The Wolf Whore” He spat at her, not close enough to reach its mark, through bared and bloodied teeth, eyes as red stricken as an addict, yet his only addiction had been in seeing her pay some kind of a price as he sent assassin after assassin, and army after army to end her journeys.

“Kordana Drakon...” Lathuven squinted through narrowed eyes. “You’re still slithering around quite well I see….Congratulations should be in order, I suppose? I didn’t actually expect you would step out into a ‘real’ battlefield. Thought you liked it too much to stay hidden within the safety of long grass.”

He clenched a bloodied dagger in his hand with such force, that the clawed and wrinkled hand wrapped around its handle, seemed to whiten and shake.

Foam forming at the corners of his mouth as fury coiled within him and he striked.

Lunging towards her with full intention to kill.

She side swiped his attempts though easily of course, because the old fool is no fighter.

He was just a power hungry chantry ruler, hiding behind a name, as he went against those like Mother Giselle and herself for refusing to bow knee.

“Idiot old man.. You do not belong here” She accused at him.

“YOU are the one who does not belong… Look around at what you have have helped create? Look at the dying.. the wounded.. You think you are saving people?

You have condemned them to their deaths!” He spat.

“No. They were already dying” She said, shaking her head in disbelief. “How do you not see that?.

When your marches went through their villages, their clans, their homelands. You chained and locked them away. Made them slaves, tranquil and outcasts.”

She waved a hand around them, not that they took their eyes from one another.

“This?. This is people fighting so that their children and their children’s children do not fall upon the same fate…. This.. is a people, tired of pretending their neighbors do not suffer a worse fate then they, and those who are weary of being willing prisoners to a society that hates them for nothing more then how or where they were born or made…

I didn’t make this… It was a consequence of actions born long long ago. This is people acting for themselves, because they would rather die quick on a battlefield,

then slowly in chains!”

She flicked her metal wrist, forming a spear made entirely of cutting cold ice from the snow around her feet.

“But If you must spend the rest of your wretched days, hissing and throwing blame to others, then by all means. Lets have at it”

Lathuven beckoned him with her other hand and he took little time charging her again with the dagger raised high.

She swiped his feet from under him, this time with the end of her ice spear when she again side stepped his predictable attack,

causing him to topple face-first into the muck of sludge and ash behind her, and she spun herself about, to be facing him again before he had time to even collect himself.

Kordana pulled himself up weakly by the arms… feeling around for the dagger he had dropped.

It’d probably sunken into the mud… causing him to go made with rage as he desperately felt around for it again.

Finally he seemed to have found it and whipped around to face her fully.

“I won’t stop.. I won’t stop until every single one of you.. is wiped from the map of Thedas ...”

She had no clue if he meant ‘elves’, or just ‘people who disagreed with our authorities’ in general at this point, but he was probably too far gone mad, to even know himself.

Only, his eyes widened suddenly, on something behind her, and she chanced a quick peek over her shoulder, too late to react as a riderless wounded Hart blindly ran and collided into her. She turned, attempting to take the brunt of the weight, for there was no time to ‘quick dash’ away or think of anything else, except steer its head away and hoped it would follow, it collapsed heavily in a heap just passed them and Dorian ran over to check on her.

“Makers breath… I thought we had lost yo-?”

Her body jolted and tensed, as her eyes expressed a look of startled shock.

“Lathuven?! ...What is it?” The Tevinter Magister panicked rushing to his friend.

Her eyes fell, pained and frightened, to look at him and she stumbled forward, clasping at something in her chest.

Dorian caught her in his arms and eased her to the ground gently propping her up enough on his knee.

“No… No no no no nooo.. This can’t be happening.. This can’t be happening! You’re not allowed to die.. ”

He slipped his gloved hand free and felt around her chest looking for the wound that seeped heavy with blood through her Dalish armour. Light pouring from his fingertips to flow into and heal her, but it was not enough..

His other hand on her back did much the same, attempting to close the wound in vain.

Regenerative magics could not heal something as severe as this.

If they had, there would be no such thing as dying people on battlefields…

It just wasn’t something someone could often walk away from.

Lathuven was mumbling something to him, trying to clutch at his robes, as if it would somehow keep her here.

He finally took her hand in his own, when the healing spell did all it possibly could.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my dear friend. I’m sorry..” He cried.

This wasn’t how she was supposed to end. She was too good for this.. She deserved better.. but life could be cruel and death wasn’t a picky fellow.

It didn’t take long for the strength to leave her weakened body,

and her mind cried out in fear as she felt darkness closing in around her.

She knew her friend was there besides her and some small part of her was grateful she wouldn’t be alone as she died,

but his voice sounded very very far away by now and she couldnt feel his hand on hers anymore.

“I don’t want to die.. I don’t want to die.. I don’t want to die…

I’m frightened… Please.. I don’t want to die… Please, someone…?!”

She cried, voiceless, tearless. And all was silent and she was gone.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

He felt it like a pain to his own chest, And he ‘knew’ instantly for what it meant.

She was gone, his heart was no more. He had truly lost her now.

And It tore through him with an agony unlike any he thought he would have to revisit again.

This time, it was not a sorrow for his people, but for one. For her.

The World felt eerily silent, like it too had stopped to register the terrible news.

Though, another emotion began making its way into the place where his heart had once been.

Rage.

‘They’ had killed her, she was a rare spirit, a shining light of hope, in a world full of despair, and they had cut her down like nothing.

He stormed from his place up high, The Golden City, hidden within but always in plain sight, of the Fade where none but a few could reach.

The Dread Wolf flung open its golden gates and hurried past his startled followers, to the swirling whirlpool that opened up as an entryway to the World of the living below.

Mission be damned in this moment. For he would seek revenge on the one that took her life.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dorian had stopped crying enough to finally chance a look around.

The battle had stopped.

How had he not even noticed?

As everyone on either side of the war, stood silently, watching as the Herald lay dead in the arms of her Magister friend.

Perhaps they hadn’t realised, she could die?

She was supposed to be sent by Andraste herself, after all, wasn’t she?

How can one of the chosen, die like this? Even those that did not believe her to be, seemed at a loss for words.

Kordana himself finally snapping back to reality, to look at the bloodied dagger in his hand, and then to drop it like it was somehow a poisonous thing about to strike.

“What.. Have I done?” He asked no one, for he too knew that something wrong had transpired, he just couldn’t figure out for what it was.

After all, wasn’t this what he had wanted?.

The silence was as deafening as the screams earlier had been.

Until the sky itself tore open with a force that blew many of them from their feet and others yet who managed somehow to stand their ground with use of weight, strength or shield.

A lightening strike of blinding pure energy fell from the centre and dissipated just as quickly, leaving behind the figure of an Elvhen man dressed in gold armour and wolf pelts.

The Dread Wolf himself had arrived.

He moved straight through the crowds, and people, enemy or his own, were quick to step aside,

when they lay witness to the look upon his face when he neared.

A clear line was made from him, and he took it, straight to where he knew ‘she’ would be.

Sera was the only person who did not move for him.

No, rather when he neared, she balled her fist up tight and sent it straight into the side of his face.

She did not hold back. Not even for him.

He didn’t move, because even in this rage, he knew he deserved it.

“This’s your fault!” Sera cried, chin bobbing and eyes wet “She never woulda been in any’a it if it weren’t for you!”

It was true. Wasn’t it? Some dark recess of his mind echoed at him.

You let your people guide Coryphues to your orb, so he could unlock it and die from the force of its power.. Only he hadnt died at all, as was planned,

and If he didn’t have that god-given power handed over to him, He would not have caused the destruction he did, ensuring one Dalish woman would accidentally stumble across and waylay his plans by getting the power of the orb, accidentally trapped within her own body.

Solas at the time, had managed to contain it as best he could, to the region of her hand, as she lay unconscious in Havens cells, but it still ate at her over the course of their journeys and even their time apart, until he had no choice left but to get her alone, one last time when he was stronger enough to do so, to release her of her burdens and take his power back.

By then however it had already laid waste to her arm. Making it utterly useless and in need of removal in case of the rot spreading.

Had she not gotten wrapped up in all of this. She may have had the chance to go back home to her Clansfolk after, to be safely out of harms way.

What good did it do to think of ‘what ifs’ However?

“She loved you! Defended you and even fought for you.. and you let her die!”

Sera cursed as more tears dribbled and dripped from her eyes and only when she realized he was crying too did she shove him and walk away.

He could see her now.

His Vhenan.

Lying still in the arms of the Tevinter. It did not feel real,

to see someone who was always so alive, suddenly not moving or speaking or laughing.

It just felt oddly ‘wrong’. Even when he knew death to be a natural process for all mortal people.

It quietened the rage within him to see her again, and he somehow managed to will his feet the last few steps to get there.

Falling heavy to his knee’s beside them. His arms limp at his sides,

until Dorian, Someone he once considered something of an ‘almost friend’, lifted her to him.

And he opened his arms silently and accepted her into them.

Her eyes had been closed. He was grateful for that one small thing.

Eyes are the windows to the Soul after all, and to look into them and see only a glass-less stare looking back, it would have wrecked him.

Now, here, like this, she looked little more then someone sleeping.

He tried to ignore the feeling of coldness to her cheek when he pressed her closer to himself, kissed her cold cheek, her nose, her temple, her head.

but there was little denying she was no longer here.

A single sob tore its way from his throat.

To bounce and echo upon the fields of the silent who stood there haunted, watching.

and then like a dam, The fearsome Dread Wolf broke.

crying, sobbing and shaking in full force as he clutched her shaking and trembling with the grief that wracked him.

Dorian had never heard a man cry like that before.

Oh sure,

He had heard many men crying over heartbreak or loss of a loved one, in his own journeys, everyone cried, Even Qunari in secret.

but nothing so vulnerable and sorrowing as an immortal being losing his first mortal love.

Nobody attacked In this time. A small wonder since Fenharel was clearly vulnerable.

No one had the gall, perhaps because they realised that it could have been them and their lover lying there like that. So they gave him the moment he needed.

It felt like hours, before Fenharel stopped crying, and hours after that where he just sat there silently rocking with her.

It could have been only minutes for all anyone knew, but finally he seemed to move.. Gently handing her back into the care of her dearest friend Dorian.

He would take care in seeing she was rightly returned home to her Clan. To her parents.

Solas knew without a doubt that Dorian had always and will always do right by her.

He stood, raised his chin and closed his tired eyes….

Letting the cool wind brush across his tear-streaked face.

Allowing the gentle rain from the skies above go cool his heated face.

There is nothing to be done here, as she is gone..

and he will continue to mourn her from the Golden City when he returns.

Aside from one last thing however.

“Who?” He asked, and when his eyes opened again, they were made of pure blue light.

No one needed to ask what he meant and all looked straight to Kordana.

Kordana looked quickly from them to him “I.. I-I..I...”

The Dread Wolfs lip twitched, and then he bared his teeth in a silent snarl

“You.” as he began walking slowly towards him, head tilting slightly “You … killed her with a knife to the back like… Like some kind of a coward?”

“I.. I’m sorry.. I -”

“You feel no remorse.. you feel only fear of what you have done..What it will mean for you..”

He stalked towards him with clear intent to kill and Kordana started scuttering back like the coward he made himself out to be..

Bumping into people.. Sentinel elves, and dwarves, and the humans. He grabbed a few and begged “Please… believe me.. it was a mistake… “

but they only brushed him off with disgust or equal fear.

Even those of his own supporters would not step in the way of this one.

He was alone..

And he saw that now, in a battlefield where no one had his back.

So instead he turned back to the Wolf clad in gold, that watched him intensely like one might a snake who is about to have its head bitten off.

“No please… please… If I could but take it back”

The Wolf scoffed and sneered “You think apologies would do? Regret makes you innocent? If I locked away oppressive rulers for centuries..

What do you suppose I will do to someone like you?”

Kordana snivelled and threw his hands together in prayer.

“I beg you Wolf.. Please I beg you, I know I was wrong.. I don’t ask freedom or forgiveness,

Only a chance to-”

Yet when the Wolf saw the blood stained there, it enraged him even more so.

“Enough!” He growled through gritted teeth coming to stand before the coward

who kneeled in mud. “When I am done with you… you will wish f-”

His ears twitched. Once. Twice. Something? He could feel something in the air.

Turning his ears towards the direction of the Fade, he finally heard them clearer.

Spirits were talking. Something new was happening, that all the spirits had sensed.

“Shes here!”

“Hope is here.. She’s here!”

“She found her way home”

“How exciting! I’ve never met a … a hope before!”

“We had a hope before, remember?”

“Oh yes, but that was a lonnnnng time ago...”

“Very long”

“Can you sense where she is? It is faint but she is there. Frightened, confused, too many emotions, I’m drowning! I can’t see, Please make it go away!”

Said the last Spirit. Known as Compassion. Known as Cole.

Solas spun around, so abruptly that the people gathered around, all but flinched.

his blue eyes dimming to their more natural ones.

“Shes Alive?”

He seemed to ask of no one.

“No. She died… But Yes. It is her, it ‘is’ her!” Cole exclaimed excitedly from somewhere in the fade.

He needed little more convincing, as he summoned the tear in the sky, and was again, transported to where ever he came, carried by a bolt of pure energies, that came from within it and disappeared in a flash.

Leaving behind a startled people of every sort.

[asrastiddies-blog]

7, 18, 22, 25, 27 inquisitor ask !

It’s an inquisitor ask thing, so I put both my possible inquis in. And Rayen for good measure. And I because I love her to tiny bits and she doesn’t get enough attention.  

7. Who is your inquisitors best friend?

Asharis

Literally everyone. But if she had to pick only one it would be Cole. They’ve already declared themselves siblings and have pretty much the same mindset. Except that Ash is even more pacifistic than Cole.

Tolia

Tolia would be stuck between Alistair and Leliana. She counts a lot more people as her best friends, like Morrigan, Zevran, Dorian, Vivienne, Varric, etc., but those two are the closest to her heart and she could never choose only one.

Rayen

Probably Varric or Iron Bull. Although “best friend“ might be too big of a term for their relationship, it’s hard to find a soul that even wants to be around her or that she would want to be around. The fact that she pushes people away the more affection she feels for them doesn’t make this easier.

18. Upon first meeting Cole, were they afraid of him?

Asharis

They pretty much became friends instantly. She didn’t mind what he was at all, she finally found someone who understood her a “spiritual” level.

Tolia 

Tolia was just baffled that something like him could exist at first and wasn’t sure how to treat him, but when she saw what he was all about it quickly turned into, “If you want to harm my innocent spirit son you have to get past the entire Inquisition first.”

Rayen

It was less fear of Cole himself, since he made pretty clear that he had no intention to hurt anybody, it was more the fear of what he was capable of in case he changed his mind. Ray was possessed for a long time and freed only a short time ago, she’s all over the place and has no idea who or what she is now and would rather not have anything or anyone burrow through the mess that is her head and lay her flaws and conflicts out to her and everyone else, thanks.

22. What is their favorite weapon?

Asharis

Love and patience!

Tolia

Magic and greatswords!

Rayen

Daggers and smoke bombs!

24. What is their opinion on blood magic? Would they ever use it, if given the chance?

Asharis

It’s like any other kind of magic, it depends on the mage. She wouldn’t use it herself though, since it does nothing but hurt everyone involved. It may be useful or necessary for some people and she respects that, but it just goes against everything she believes in.

Tolia

Tolia actually does use blood magic already. But strictly against dark spawn wich is why she’s specialized in tainted blood. It’s still frowned upon, so she keeps it a secret and a secret weapon for emergencies. Whenever one of her friends gets skeptical about it she just grabs the next ogre and plays “Stop hitting yourself” with it. Always works.

Rayen

To Ray it would sound fun – if she could be at the better end of it. She doesn’t mind with people she trusts, but otherwise she has the constant fear of being possessed again in the back of her head and it haunts her for the rest of the day.

25. What is their favorite place within the playable regions?

Asharis

The Emerald Graves. The giant-free part. It’s very homey and peaceful to Ash and if it’s actually peaceful for once she even dares to leave the camp on her own to take a walk sometimes.

Tolia

The Arbor Wilds and the Frostback Basin. Both are colorful and beautiful and also filled with things and people and that practically begging for a fireball to the face. But the Forbidden Oasis is a great place for her too. It’s rocky and full of cliffs and a lot of other stuff she can climb, it has a beautiful oasis full of life right in the middle and a mysterious, magical temple in the back that needs so many keys that she always has an excuse to come back. It’s everything her little adventurer heart ever asked for.

(!!!TRIGGER WARNING!!!)

Rayen

Nowhere. Just leave her in Skyhold in peace. If you absolutely have to though, she doesn’t have a specific place she likes and will go where the action and the alcohol are. That’s what she would tell you. What she won’t tell you is that she is in a constant state of emotional and mental exhaustion and existential crisis, combined with suicidal thoughts and self-hatred. She won’t complain if you bring her somewhere quiet and empty where she can think to herself and quietly walk along with the party while listening to their lighthearted banter for a while. The Hissing Wastes for example.

(Now you’re safe again.)

27. As a whole, how do they feel about Tevinter + The Imperium?

Asharis

Asharis was born there, but she barely saw a few buildings and some other people there, so she basically doesn’t know more than the average southerner who learned from frightening tales and the things she learned from Dorian. But she knows better than to judge before she hasn’t experienced the place for herself, there are always people who are different and stand out from the norm. Be it positively or negatively. She’s intimidated and scared, but not so much that she wouldn’t go there or see it as a lost cause. With Dorian fighting for change there now, she believes even more that it can’t be that bad.

Tolia

It’s just like Ferelden or Orlais – But upside down. Mages are free and in power but everyone else gets oppressed. In the end, both things are bad. Tevinter might look worse to everyone because it’s the exact opposite of their world and laws, but they’re all equally flawed need a few kicks in the right places to change it.

Rayen

Oh boohoo, the big, bad Tevinter did a thing again. They should all fix their own broken countries and dirty little secrets before they have the right to whine about other peoples politics and attitudes. Wich also suck. Everyone tries to sit on the highest horse and refuses to see that they’re all sitting in equally deep shitholes.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 24. In which revelations are remembered and forgotten

Read the full fic here on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (desktop)

Cullen stood up from his desk and immediately sat back down as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him. He could feel the years of lyrium buildup beginning to leave his system, which was, of course, exhilarating to think about... but also excruciating to live through. Today, he'd run the full gamut - vivid nightmares, blurred vision, dizziness, cold sweats and constant headache and body aches throughout the day. The pain, instead of becoming more manageable with each passing week, had become progressively worse. The Inquisitor had given him the last of her medicinal tea when she left, and now, a week later, he was already running low. She’d promised to collect more supplies in Crestwood, but as intense as the symptoms had become, he dreaded running out before she returned.

You could have a little sip. Just one to get you through... tide you over...

Cullen growled against the insidious whisper. Standing up, he rested a fist on his desk, attempting to stabilize the world that spun around him. He would not give in. He took the final drink of the tea he'd made for lunch, which seemed to provide firmer purchase on level ground. Taking a deep breath, he walked down to the stables, gathered his horse and rode down into the valley encampment.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Rozellene," he called as he dismounted. The brisk air grounded him further as he approached the lines of men and women going through basic forms. "How are the afternoon exercises coming along?"

Rozellene shot him a smirk and waited for him to take up position beside her. "Very well, Commander. The new recruits seem to be picking up on the basics quickly, and the veterans are more attentive to their training after witnessing your resounding victory over the Qunari last week."

The Commander smiled ruefully as he recalled the exhibition and then had to push away thoughts of the one-on-one training afterwards. Now was not the time - if there were ever a good time - for unprofessional, inappropriate thoughts about their Inquisitor.

"I'm glad. Do you need assistance this afternoon?"

"We have an uneven amount of new recruits, so perhaps you could do rounds with us? It usually makes them work harder when you're pushing them."

Cullen's jaw clenched involuntarily. The world still wobbled a bit, but he thought he might be alright with new recruits. He nodded to the Lieutenant and got into formation. For an hour, he felt solid. The recruits still fumbled through the basics, so he didn't have to try very hard to keep up and instill a proper amount of fear in their hearts with his barked commands and corrections. But as they changed between each formation, the clashing of metal, glint of the sunlight on armor and raised voices began to take a toll. Pain flared behind his eyes and blurred his vision briefly, and he almost missed a parry.

"Oh, Maker! I'm so sorry, Ser!"

The recruit trembled before him, all the blood draining from his stricken face, but Cullen just waved him off and pulled out of formation, using all his remaining strength to put on a strong front for Rozellene. "Lieutenant, I must go, but please continue. The new recruits are doing fine. Excellent work."

"Yes, ser. Thank you, ser."

Rozellene said nothing more, but the strained look on her face told Cullen everything he needed to know about how he looked. Holding tightly to the saddle horn, he hauled himself onto his horse. Although the ride from the valley should have been easy, he struggled to keep a hold of the saddle as bright flashes of pain crippled his normal strength. After turning his horse over to the stable hands, he dragged up the stairs to his office and closed the doors against the harsh light just as a wave of nausea hit him. Leaning his back heavily against the wood, he shut his eyes against the dizziness and took some deep, controlled breaths. The whispering voice from earlier - a song, really, that had become stronger than ever in the last month - told him what he needed, what would make him feel well and strong again. It was there, waiting for him on the shelf in the corner. An emergency ration...

"My word, Commander. You look positively ill."

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. "Dorian! What in the Maker's name are you doing here? It's too early for our game."

"I saw that your people have nearly finished the gardens and had an idea about that charming gazebo in the corner ... but now I see I should be off for a healer."

"No!" Cullen pushed off the door heavily and stood straight. The pain and nausea flared again, but he did not falter, willing his vision to clear. "I'm alright."

"And you are a terrible liar, Commander. Anyone with eyes could see that you're unwell, and I happen to have exceptional eyesight. Why are you being so stubborn? A healer could relieve your pain in a matter of minutes."

"No. No healers."

Dorian's tone turned from half-sarcastic worry to anger. "Why? Because some of them are mages? I'm beginning to see what our Inquisitor is afraid of."

Cullen looked squarely into Dorian's flashing gray eyes but said nothing. Denying Dorian's claim would require an explanation - one he wasn't sure he wanted to give.

Shaking his head with a small sigh, Dorian stood up from where he had perched on the side of Cullen's desk and began walking toward the opposite door. Cullen paused another moment, debating with himself. During their first conversation Dorian had shared a piece of highly personal information about himself in good will. Could Cullen justify not returning the favor? Not to mention that Dorian would likely tell the Inquisitor about this interaction. Would she even allow Cullen to explain? Or would she write him off as the mage hater she'd thought him to be in the beginning?

Dorian reached for the door handle, and Cullen broke.

"It's not because they're mages, Dorian. Not at all. I watched as they brought back many of my soldiers from the edge of death, and I'm grateful to them for sharing their skills. It's just... a healer would signify to others that I'm ill and I... people can't know."

Dorian paused, his hand resting on the door handle. When he faced the Commander once more, the mage's face betrayed his internal war between distrust and curiosity.

"That you are ill?" he bit out. "You'll sacrifice your health because you're afraid it might affect morale? That's ridiculous. Call a healer. You'll be well before the general population even knows you were feeling out of sorts."

Cullen shook his head and spoke in a steady, even tone. "No. I won't. They could treat the symptoms but not the cause. When I begin to look ill again, even after a visit from the healers... I'm sure you can imagine."

He could see Dorian processing as he paced back to his perch on Cullen's desk. After a brief pause, he merely raised his brows and said quietly, "Yes. I see."

"I'm not interested in airing my private affairs in the public light. Cassandra is watching me and will remove me from my duties if I become incapable of serving. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself."

"Of course, Commander. I wouldn't dream of betraying your privacy, especially as you have been so accommodating with my own. I would offer my services, but I'm afraid I as yet have a limited understanding of healing magic."

Cullen waved off his concern. "It makes no difference."

After a short pause, Dorian tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "So... does our Inquisitor know about your... issues?"

"Yes, she is fully aware. She figured it out before I told her the details, actually. The Inquisitor has been providing me with medicinal herbs since Haven, which you saw her pass to me the morning she left. But I'm almost out. That is why today is so bad." That and the overall worsening of the symptoms.

Dorian just hummed and fell into his own thoughts. Cullen took the opportunity to gingerly walk to his chair and sit down with a great exhalation. The comparative darkness of his office soothed the headache and nausea, but the blurred vision remained. He almost growled in frustration. How could he respond to the pile of reports covering his desk if he couldn't read them?

Then there was Dorian still leaning against the opposite side of his desk, dark brows furrowed in thought. The mage had turned out to be quite different from what Cullen presumed, and he could now see why the Inquisitor had taken to Dorian so quickly. In the last week of mostly friendly chess matches, they had gradually talked more openly about their lives. He would never understand Tevinter culture, of that he was certain, but... perhaps this mage from the North was truly an ally. Regardless, he seemed in no hurry to leave Cullen alone. Was he worried? Or did he have more to say? The question brought to mind the mage's anger at Cullen's apparent distrust of the healers.

"You, uh... said something earlier, but I was too distracted... what did you mean by you could see what the Inquisitor was afraid of?"

"Ah, yes... something I shouldn't have said, I'm afraid. Not really my place. I told you about myself because that is my business, but anything else... let's be honest, despite my love of antagonizing her, I'm really quite terrified of her potential retribution. Have you seen her fight, felt her oppressive aura? She is not to be trifled with on serious matters."

Cullen tried to think back to Haven and if he'd really witnessed her fight. He couldn't recall seeing her in action, but from the reports, he could imagine.

"From your tone, I assume you meant that she is afraid I am still ultimately against the mages. I won't lie, we disagree about many things. But she should know that I trust her. Why would I fully support her as our leader if I didn't?"

Dorian shook his head. "I can't say more, Commander. I've already said far more than I should."

Cullen looked at the other man warily, and the worm of jealousy that had been fairly well quashed after his first conversation with Dorian reappeared. She told Dorian things she didn't tell him. It was hard to bear, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that they were certainly no more than friends.

And what if they had been more than friends? It wouldn't matter! You have no claim on her.

"I'm glad she has you to confide in, Dorian," was all he could manage.

Dorian chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't say she confides in me. You see, Varric and I have developed a system. We say outrageous things, figure out what makes her balk - or blush - and then make her talk about those things. She'd never bring them up on her own, but if she keeps everything bottled up, she'll no doubt explode one day. With as powerful as she is, that would be one mighty explosion, and I'd like to prevent that for multiple reasons, not the least of which being I could be nearby when it happens." Dorian gestured to his immaculately mustachioed face. "I'm too pretty to die, after all."

Cullen only snorted at that, so Dorian continued, "We've been so busy that we haven't had time to talk through her feelings about Redcliffe, but it's my next mission."

And with that, Cullen's jealousy faded into nonexistence. "I wouldn't worry about that, Dorian."

"Ahhhh," Dorian nodded, his eyes sparkling like one of his chain lightning spells. "So she talked to you about it, then!" He furrowed his brows in suspicion. "I have a hard time seeing you as the 'pry it out of her' type."

Cullen smirked. "That's because I don't have to. She just tells me."

"Well, I wonder what makes you so special?" Dorian quipped.

Dorian's smug look left Cullen with a sinking feeling in his gut - like he'd just revealed something he shouldn't have. He swallowed hard. You started it by asking questions, remember? He had a flashback to a recent conversation with Captain Rylen and began to wonder if everyone in the Maker-forsaken keep knew about his unprofessional feelings toward their leader. Cullen had to admit, however, that Dorian had a point. If Dorian and Varric, her two closest friends, had to have a system to get her talk, perhaps there was something unique about how she interacted with him.

Reality quickly inserted itself, however, to remind him that a close friendship didn't mean she wanted anything more. Dorian's earlier slip of the tongue merely confirmed what Cullen already knew - the mage-templar war hung between himself and Ev- Lady Lavellan like an invisible barrier, allowing him to get close but not too close. After all, why would a mage entangle herself with someone who once wished to leash mages like animals? His stomach turned a bit at that, but he pulled himself from his thoughts and back to the conversation at hand.

"We've known each other longer, I suppose," Cullen responded hesitantly.

Dorian shook his head. "Not any longer than she and Varric. And Varric has quite the advantage over you in that he spends weeks at a time with her truding through the primitive backwaters of Ferelden. No, there's something there, Commander, whether you want to admit it or not." Dorian looked him hard in the eye. "You should think about what that something is... and what you're going to do about it."

Cullen gave him a sour look. "It's not that simple, and you know it."

"Perhaps not. But if it were easy, everyone would have it, wouldn't they?"

"I-"

Cullen massaged his temples. Were they really having this conversation? He needed a distraction. Where were those damn messengers when you actually wanted one?

"Dorian, despite the... interesting turn of our conversation, I really must get back to work."

Dorian let out a disbelieving chuckle. "And what kind of work will you be doing in your condition?"

"Well, if you would be so kind as to read a few of the most important reports to me, I can at least begin thinking through strategies to address them. Unless you have other things to attend?"

"No, no, Commander. I and my numerous talents are at your service."

Dorian stepped away from the desk, flourishing his hand and giving Cullen a low bow. Cullen just sighed and pointed at the pile of new reports in the center of his desk. Dorian pulled up the extra chair he'd brought in for chess games and began sorting through the pile.

"Oh! A report from our illustrious leader! I'll start there first, if you don't mind."

Cullen leaned his head on the back of his chair, closed his eyes and grunted his agreement, careful to keep the nervous anticipation from his face. She never wrote anything remotely inappropriate, but the tone of her letters had grown more playful - more familiar - in the last few months. And consequently, he looked forward to her letters more and more.

Dorian thankfully kept his voice low as he began reading. Or paraphrasing, really.

"After meeting with Stroud and Hawke, she apparently claimed a Keep in Crestwood and thanks you for sending ... Ah, so you already knew about that one, I see. She also thanks you 'most fervently'-" Dorian emphasized the words, and Cullen opened one eye to see the mage waggle his eyebrows. "-for the news that her clan is safe for now... gives her best to Leliana... Hmmm... dealt with some bandits, drained a lake to expose the flooded part of Crestwood, found some caves, closed the lake rift, killed a rage demon, freed a spirit, gave the residents of old Crestwood a proper burial... Yada yada... currently thinks she's closed all the rifts in Crestwood, but is giving the scouts time to do one more sweep. Oh, and apparently the Mayor flooded the old town on purpose to kill everyone with the Blight, and she wants you to send people to search for him. He seems to have run away."

"The mayor flooded the town with people in it... on purpose?"

Cullen kept his eyes closed against the light, but he couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. He'd lived through the Blight and knew the desperation of the times, but this...

Dorian flipped the page over. "Wait, here... there's more on the back..." He read through a couple of lines silently, and his voice dropped. "Oh dear..."

Cullen sat up instantly, eyes opening wide though his head protested at the sudden light and movement. "What? What is it?"

"Don't be alarmed, Commander, she says everyone came out of it relatively unscathed. Varric has a few deep cuts that will need to be healed, and she thinks she broke... oh my..."

Cullen reached across the desk and snatched the letter from Dorian's hands. Thankfully, his vision had cleared enough to read the paragraph himself.

...now, don't be angry, Cullen, but we came across a dragon here in Crestwood that has been picking off livestock and even killed a villager or two...

"Andraste preserve me!" he groaned as he continued reading.

...Iron Bull seemed so excited, and I couldn't see any reason to risk the dragon harming any more people. We took some damage... Varric has a few deep cuts that will need healing when we get back, Blackwall and Iron Bull took some bruising blows under the dragon's feet, and I believe I may have a broken arm. Don't worry, it's not my rift-closing arm. Ha ha. The non-mage healer in Crestwood has set and wrapped it as best he can, and as soon as the scouts return with word that all the known rifts are closed, we'll head back to Skyhold.

Not looking forward to the jostling of the horse on the way back, but I'll be glad to see everyone again. Oh, and I have a surprise for you! Aren't you curious now?

Mar falon, Evana

Cullen put his head in his hands and tried to just breathe. The pain in his head intensified, and a wave of nausea hit him hard.

I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure.

She'd killed a high dragon. She'd actually faced down a giant creature of death and destruction and killed it. Taking an entire keep with just four people - granted, extensively trained and highly dangerous people - had been risky enough. Now this. The woman would be the death of him... if the lyrium withdrawal didn't kill him first.

"Shall I leave you to your reports, Commander?"

Cullen stood up slowly and looked out the small window behind him at the dimming afternoon light. It should be shaded enough now to be outside without much trouble, especially if they took the short cut through Solas' study and the great hall.

"I think I should take a walk - get some fresh air. When I first came in, you mentioned the garden. Shall we walk there, and you can tell me your thoughts on the gazebo?"

 **

 Several days later, Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he woke up with the worst of the episode behind him. The siren song of lyrium still danced in the back of his mind, but he could more easily resist when he felt like this - strong and useful. He spent most of the morning training with the officers in the upper courtyard, letting the more experienced soldiers see if they could beat him. None did, even when two tried to take him down at once.

Leliana had requested to review some things with him in the war room, so he climbed the stairs from the upper courtyard. Rolling his shoulders, Cullen relished the familiar sting of muscles sore from training as opposed to withdrawal tremors. As soon as he walked into the war room, Leliana handed him a report.

"The Inquisitor will be returning to Skyhold tonight. I have arranged for a spirit healer to be available for them in the great hall as soon as they arrive. She will likely need to rest a few days before her next mission, but I'm concerned about the news she sent us from Warden Stroud. She should meet him in the Western Approach as soon as possible."

Cullen read over the Inquisitor's report quickly and frowned. "If what Stroud says is true, if the Grey Wardens have truly joined forces with the Venatori, things have certainly gone awry with the Wardens. Captain Rylen's unit left Val Royeaux less than a week ago. Barring any further delays, it will be at least another week before they arrive in the Approach."

"I wonder if Josephine discovered what caused the delay in Val Royeaux," Leliana murmured.

"From Rylen's brief note, it seems to have been an honest miscommunication, but her man in Val Royeaux promised to elaborate when he arrives. Thank the Maker he happened to be there - not that Rylen couldn't have handled it... just made things much easier." Leliana nodded as he shuffled the Inquisitor's marker to the Western Approach and then turned his attention to eastern Orlais. "I'm also concerned about the reports of red lyrium caravans coming out of the Emerald Graves. Tracking those could lead us to Samson... and to Corypheus."

Leliana looked down at the war table with a frown, moving pieces around Orlais. "If it weren't for the urgency of the Grey Warden problem, I'd say we should send her to the Emerald Graves to meet with the illusive Fairbanks and see what the man knows. But as things stand, he can wait for her return trip." Pushing another marker over the Emerald Graves, she grimaced. "This will be a long mission with much traveling."

Cullen touched the marker in the Free Marches and added, "We'll need to make sure we talk with her about her clan as well. They will not remain safe in their current position forever."

"Yes," Leliana agreed. "Then there are the peace talks between the Empress and her cousin Gaspard to end the Orlesian civil war - we must begin preparing the Inquisitor for that soon, regardless of whether or not the Empress has set a date for the talks. If the Empress is to be assassinated, it will happen there."

They spoke of details and logistics for few more minutes before Cullen retreated to his office for another day of reports, messages, writing out orders and checking up on the progress of Skyhold reconstruction. The garden had been completed yesterday - at least, as much as could be completed. The healers, a few of them Dalish and most of them mages, had gleefully used every available piece of earth to plant herbs and medicinal flowers and now tended to them diligently. Even with the assistance of growing and warming magic, however, it would be several weeks before any real progress would be seen on that front. His only contribution had been to ensure a plot remained for the Inquisitor to plant whatever she might want. Dorian had also added a nice touch with a marble and stone chess table and matching chairs he'd found in a storage room in the basement below the great hall.

He felt a weight in his chest as he thought about showing her the space. When he first began the project, he'd been sure she'd approve, but now it was done, doubt crowded in. Would she be upset that he'd done it without her presence and direction? Would she understand why he'd done it? For that matter... did he? When cornered by Captain Rylen, Cullen had spouted off a litany of logistical reasons for giving the garden priority. And although he'd never say it out loud, he'd justified it in his head as a show of their appreciation for all she'd given up to be with them and to help the Inquisition.

But if he were being truly honest, he simply wanted to see her happy. Wanted to do something that would bring a smile to her lips. Maker, he'd spend the rest of his days making her happy if he could.

He gruffly shook off the useless and improper thoughts to focus on his work. The Inquisitor would be arriving soon, and he wanted his summary report to her to be as complete and concise as possible. The rest could wait.

Darkness had fallen around Skyhold when a small cry went up from the watch that the Inquisitor had returned. Cullen jumped up and took the middle door out of his office. Passing through Solas' study, he looked up at the elf on his scaffolding.

"The Inquisitor has arrived."

Solas stood and began climbing down from the scaffolding. Cullen walked into the great hall just as Varric and the Inquisitor, coming in from the back stairs, entered the hall as well. Solas walked up to her, greeting her with an elven phrase, which she answered, and led her to the healer waiting by the main door.

For his part, Cullen stood by the rotunda door and stared like an idiot. Maker, he'd missed her. The soft undulations of her voice reached into the deepest parts of him, soothing the ragged edges of anxiety and tension. He didn't even care that she spoke with Solas instead of him. In fact, right now, it was probably better that she didn't try to talk with him. He might not be able to form coherent sentences.

As she passed him on the way over to the healer, she looked at him and smiled - the same soft smile she'd left him with. He managed a bow and a return smile before she moved on to greet the healer. Despite her brave facade, exhaustion rolled off her in waves, and Cullen couldn't keep the concern from his face. Varric paused as he passed by.

"You look like someone died, Curly. Relax. Your Inquisitorialness, lauded bearer of the Anchor, is here and in one piece... mostly."

Varric patted him on the back as they watched the healer begin his work, and Cullen gave the dwarf a half smile in return. The healer cast a spell, and she slumped down in her chair a little bit. Taking her arm, the healer then ensured the bone had been set properly before beginning the healing process. It took some time, and Cullen watched as her grimace of pain gradually evened into a placid expression. She glanced over at him occasionally, and he tried to maintain an even expression himself, though the more he looked at her, the more concerned he became for her health. She looked positively worn out.

When the healer finished, he gave her a healing draught to address any remaining issues. She worked her arm free of the binding as she drank, testing her range of motion.

"The draught also contains herbs to help you sleep," the healer warned. "It will take effect in a few moments. You should go to your quarters."

"Oh!" She looked at the empty phial in her hands and then to the Commander. "But I need to speak with the Commander."

"Be quick," the man urged with a stern expression. "You won't be awake much longer."

The healer then moved to Varric, leaving her with Solas. Cullen stepped forward immediately.

"You wished to speak with me, Inquisitor?"

"Yes, Commander, I... would you walk me to my quarters? I just have a small matter to discuss." She turned to Solas, bowing slightly. "Ma serannas, lethallin."

Solas smiled and bowed as well, then returned to his office. She turned to reach for her saddle bags, but Cullen beat her to it, taking one in each hand. She smiled and began walking with him down the length of the hall.

"Aneth ara - hello, Cullen."

He swallowed hard. She was close enough that he could smell the dust from her journey and that soft, earthy scent that he connected solely with her.

"Inqui - my lady. How are you feeling?"

She looked down the hall and took a long breath. "Souveri." Then, glancing back at him, she translated, "Tired."

"Yes, and you should get to your quarters quickly. Whatever it is you need to tell me, I'm sure it can wait until you are rested."

"But that is why we're walking and talking," she said with a smile. "Besides, it will only take a moment. Have you been wondering about my surprise?"

Cullen's mind struggled to keep up as his eyes greedily swept over her face. Despite her fatigue, her eyes sparkled with excitement, and his heart thumped mightily at the sight. He waited until they'd passed through the door from the main hall and started down the long, torch-lined corridor before responding.

"Ah... I..." He cleared his throat and started again. "I was rather too preoccupied with the part where you slayed a dragon to think on it at first." Her face fell slightly, and he rushed to add, "But I admit that after the shock of your letter wore away, I did wonder at it."

And he had, though he had no intention of revealing how many times he'd read over her letter in the past few days in an attempt to suss out some sort of deeper meaning behind the vague words.

Without looking up at him, she plucked one of her bags from his hand and flipped it open. He barely caught her voice, soft and tentative, as she began searching through the contents.

"You weren't... none of you were too terribly mad at me, were you? About the dragon?"

Cullen's brows shot up in surprise at the question. "Mad? No. Not... not mad." Terrified, exasperated, maybe...

She paused outside the door to her tower and looked up through her lashes, her hand still rummaging in her bag, and gave him a quizzical look. "Not mad... but something else? Disappointed?"

"Never," he replied quickly. He fought back a blush at the unguarded reply and diverted the conversation by opening the door and gesturing her through. "My lady, please, if the draught should take effect before you get to your room... I don't want to find you asleep on the stairs in the morning."

"Hmmmm?" The questioning glance dissolved into a dismissive shake of her head, though she did begin walking again. "Oh, no, I'm sure it won't take effect that quickly. We're almost there, anyway."

She'd finished digging through the first bag, and unable to find what she was looking for, traded with him to start on the second. "I know it's in here somewhere... ahhh!"

Reaching deeply into the bag, she struggled a bit before pulling out a large and a smaller sack of something. Her tired eyes shone with delight in the torchlight, and her voice held an adorable undertone of excitement as she paused on a landing to raise up the bigger sack.

"I found this for you! It's the stronger headache medicine bark I was telling you about. I can't believe I found it this far south, but I gathered as much as I could while we were wandering about. I've also shown the scouts which trees they will need to harvest from so we can have more sent here to Skyhold. I'm going to try to make a draught for you with this-" She jostled the big sack before shoving it back in her bag. "But you can have this in the meantime."

She stepped forward to hand him the smaller pouch and stumbled a little, eyelids drooping. He quickly took the pouch, shoving it out of the way in his pocket to make sure he had a free hand should she need assistance.

"Oh, well... I suppose I should... get on up the stairs now..."

The dazed look in her eye worried him as she turned toward the final flight of stairs. Reaching out her hand as if to balance herself, she took a single step forward and then swayed dangerously. Cullen lunged forward, arm outstretched.

"My lady!"

She struggled to hold on to her bag, but the weight prove too much. It slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a thump as he caught her around the waist with his free arm. She leaned into him heavily, words slow and almost slurred, eyes barely open.

"I... I didn't think... it would take effect... so... so ... ... Ir... abelas... ma vhenan..."

And with that, she slumped against him, her head falling heavily onto his pauldron. He let her other bag fall from his grip and thud onto the landing with the first while his arms wrapped around her, holding her limp body against his protectively. Then, placing an arm under her legs, he easily lifted her lithe body.

Taking the remaining stairs slowly, Cullen savored the feel of her in his arms, of her head resting on his shoulder. It was the third time he'd carried her in this way, but this was the first time he'd felt as if she weren't in some kind of imminent danger. She'd returned from her journeys exhausted and needed sleep, but she'd come to no real harm in spite of his worries.

As he opened the last door and climbed the final set of stairs into the prepared, candle lit room, he had to give Josephine and Leliana credit. He'd only seen the bare bones of her quarters while they were still surveying the fortress, but now, soft and subtle yards of dark blue and purple curtains hung from the balcony windows and a giant rug covered most of the floor in its white-gray plushness. A matching bedspread and several blue and purple pillows decorated the enormous, four poster bed. Cheery flames licked at the fireplace, creating a warm, red-orange glow, and a tub full of water stood in the corner.

That would have to wait until morning.

He gently laid her down on the bed and hesitated. He should certainly take off her boots, but what about her armored coat? Starting with the easy option, he unlaced her boots and pulled them off. Then, sitting on the edge of her bed, he tried to work out the easiest way to remove the coat.

Taking off his gloves, he reached up to undo the clasps of her coat and then cursed himself as he watched his hands shake. And you can't even blame it on the withdrawal right now. He lightly worked the clasps open, touching her as little as possible.

"Now comes the hard part," he muttered under his breath.

She stirred at the sound of his voice. A small moan escaped her lips, and his heart stopped as she sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. They were glazed over but somehow still found him in the candlelight.

"Cullen... ma vhenan'ara."

Her voice wobbled with her medicated drowsiness, her words slurring slightly. Not that it made any difference. He didn't understand anything but his name. He repeated the phrase, which sounded similar to the one she'd uttered moments ago.

"Ma vhenan'ara."

She gave him a sloppy grin and reached for him, so he folded her hands into his and gazed at her while her eyes opened and closed lazily. The first part of the phrase she'd spoken in the hall had sounded a bit like an apology - both now as well as when he'd heard her say it in Haven. The second part eluded him, though it started with "ma," which he knew meant "my." Ma vhenan and ma vhenan'ara... Another type of endearment, maybe? Another way to say friend? He spoke the phrase back to her in hopes he'd sussed out the meaning well enough. He harbored no qualms about returning her term of endearment. Whatever it meant, he surely felt it a hundred times over.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan. We have to get you out of your armor. I'm going to lift you up and take your arms out of the sleeves. OK?"

She nodded, and he slid his arm underneath her shoulders to help her sit up. Her head lolled to the side and then fell back. She'd passed out again.

After a bit of struggle involving him sitting on the bed and leaning her slumped, upright form against him, he managed to remove her arms from the sleeves then finally remove the armored coat. He stood, pulled the bedspread back as far as he could, then carefully lifted and deposited her under the covers.

As he leaned over the side of the bed and pulled the covers back up around her - before he could stop himself - he swept a hand across her forehead to push the long bangs away from her eyes. She slept peacefully even as his trembling fingertips lingered on her temple. Then, against his better judgment, he dragged those fingers down to the downy softness of her cheek, sucking in a shaky breath at the feelings evoked by the touch.

Dorian's words came back to him once again as he gazed at her. Did she care for him? Her actions and words seemed to indicate so, but was it just a close friendship to her... or could it be something more? The doubt crushed him. He knew what he felt for her, but what could he do about it? What should he do about it?

And if she did care, could he truly deny her for the sake of focusing on the war? For the sake of the Inquisition? For Thedas?

The answer to that, too, had changed from only a few weeks ago. Before, he would have claimed duty as an excuse to push her away, but now, he wavered. It became harder to breath as his fingers gently traced the line of her vallaslin. A golden picture of her appeared before him, eyes shining, lips parted in words of affection, words of love. He tried to imagine denying her, telling her he did not care. Every part of him rebelled until his vision ended with whispered confessions and lips touching, tasting for the first time. His heart swelled at the thought, and in that moment, he knew: If she cared for him, even a little, he would forsake almost anything to be with her, to be able to love her.

Just then, she nuzzled her cheek into his hand with a soft sigh, and he pulled back as if he'd been burned. Reality crashed through his dreamy haze to reproach him for his liberties. Friendly affection did not translate into love. He had no right to think of her - to touch her - in such a way.

Get out, you fool! You don't belong here.

Swallowing hard, he grabbed his gloves and quickly backed away from her. After retrieving her saddlebags from the stairs, he returned the bags to her room and extinguished the candles on the desk and mantle. He took one last look at her sleeping form before snuffing the bedside candle and then rushed back down the stairs to the cold semi-privacy of his own loft.

Yes. Go back where you belong - far away from the temptation of your impossible fantasy that a woman such as her could ever love a man like you.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 42 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence and threat Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Not Safe Yet

Skyhold was magnificent.

It loomed above the plateau, a fortress far greater than the game had suggested it to be. Not only that, but the plateau itself held something not even Rory had expected to see - a ruined city of stone, clearly elf-built, long abandoned even by those who had made it home after the fall of Arlathan. She had always wondered how the entire core of the Inquisition could possible have fitted into Skyhold, especially given how much of it remained littered with debris and unusable, and now she knew. The fortress was just central headquarters - the army, the visitors, the merchants, even the pilgrims would be housed in the city that stood in the shadow of the fortress. Once the rubble was cleared and the houses rebuilt, it would be perfect for their needs. The bulk of the people would remain in the city; only the council, the inner circle, the Inquisitor, and select others, would take up residence in Tarasyl'an Te'las itself.

There was just one problem. The place where the sky is kept was already occupied. Not by people, oh no ... by spiders. Giant ones. After Kaaras and his party's initial failed attempt to get past the second gatehouse into the fortress, Cullen had made the executive decision to wait for the larger Inquisition force to arrive before they made a push to clear the infestation. Which would have been fine, had the spiders not decided that the beleaguered group camping in the city below were just too tempting a meal to pass up. As night fell, they descended from the fortress in droves, falling upon the hapless survivors to feast.

As the panic spread, Rory found herself barricaded inside one of the few houses still completely intact, together with several of the injured and more than a few of the children. Indeed, the only able-bodied adults in there were herself, Evy, Lysette, and a pair of Cullen's raw recruits. Five people, two of whom were not fighters, to protect a dozen of the most vulnerable of their group, and not a mage among them.

"You and you, secure and guard those windows," Lysette ordered the two recruits, who rushed to obey the templar. "Mistress Rory, Mistress Evelyn, gather them into the center of the room, away from the walls. I will hold the door."

Grateful that someone knew what to do, Rory moved with Evy to do as they were told. Several of those still recovering from injury were armed, insisting on being placed around the edge of their protective circle, just in case. As Rory knelt in that knot of people, absently wrapping her arms about a pair of weeping children with a third clinging to her back, she forced herself not to be afraid. Or at least, not to show fear. The children needed the adults to be calm, at the very least.

Crouched together in oppressive darkness lit only by a pair of sputtering torches, they listened to the chaos that reigned outside. Screams of fright and pain filtered in through the shuttered windows, mingling with the crackle and snap of spells, the clash of swords and zip of arrows against armored carapaces. Worse were the sounds of the many-limbed giants on the roof above them - so many, seeking a way into this poor haven where fresh meat waited in tense fear. The boy under Rory's arm whimpered, and she drew him closer, touching her cheek to his hair.

"It's all right," she heard herself promise him, promise all of them, child and adult alike. "Everything will be fine."

The older boy hugging to her back agreed. "The Herald will save us."

"He won't have to," Evy said, confident despite the tremble in her voice. "Lysette and the soldiers will keep us safe."

As she spoke, however, her eyes met Rory's in the dusty gloom, sharing their morbid thought without the need for words. If the spiders got in, they were all dead, no matter how hard they fought. Right now, all their lives were in the hands of a templar and two recruits, who may or may not be able to keep the ravenous arachnids at bay.

"What was that?"

Her head snapped toward the speaker, an older soldier who had broken both arms in the evacuation from Haven. He was peering into the darkness that cloaked the back wall of the house, scowling in concentration.

"What was what?" one of the others demanded in a harsh tone, fear making him seem aggressive in the watchful room.

"Thought I heard something," the injured soldier said warily. "There! You hear that?"

Rory strained her own ears, trying to listen past the clattering on the roof and battle outside, fighting her own heartbeat to hear what had alarmed the seasoned fighter so. For a long moment, she thought he must have imagined it, his over-trained senses tricking him ... then she heard it, too. The click of spindle legs on stone; the sibilant snap of mandibles clacking entirely too close for comfort. With a muted curse, one of the burned workers snatched up a torch, tossing it toward the sound, and the screaming began as the panic took hold.

There, by the hearth, a giant spider reared back from the flame of the torch, the flickering light illuminating another of the corrupted creatures dragging itself from the chimney breast. They'd found a way in.

As Rory grabbed for the children, trying to keep them under control as she lurched to her feet, she heard Lysette snap out another order. "Here, to the corner! Now!"

Small and agile, conditioned to obey, the children were first to that defensible place, huddling together in outspoken terror as the templar moved to guard her charges against the deadly invasion, the soldiers abandoning the shuttered windows to join her. With no choice now but to ignore her own fear, Rory darted to helped her adult patients to their new place of dubious safety, all the while expecting to feel the clamp of venomed jaws at her legs, or the cloying wrap of webs about her limbs. As battle was joined within the confines of the room, she picked up the second torch, hoping she had it in her to protect these people to her last breath. But that was the problem - she knew she didn't.

By the light of those two flaming torches, their little group watched as templar and soldiers hacked at the spiders that just kept coming, risking their lives with every blow to hold their line. This wasn't honor; it wasn't even duty. This was survival. But for every spider they put down, there was always another to take its place. They were fighting a losing battle, and everyone whose lives depended on them knew it.

Suddenly a fresh scream rose from the group at Rory's back. She spun about, seeing eyes and hands pointed upward. A cold sensation settled over her. Raising the torch, she lifted her own gaze, swallowing a scream of her own as a spider dropped from the ceiling above. The torch was knocked from her hand, scattering sparks over stone, as she fell beneath its weight, flat on her back, those eager fangs far too close for comfort. Eight shining eyes glittered down at her ... and erupted in a spray of ichor and blood as a blade was thrust deep. A booted foot kicked the body clear, a familiar hand reaching down to drag her up.

 "Evy?!"

The Trevelyan pushed her back toward the huddle. "I've got this."

Rory stared at her friend in outright shock, even as friendly hands pulled her to safety. Sweet, shy Evelyn Trevelyan, who cowered from sharp words and had tried to hide from a dragon behind a pub, threw herself into the fight, picking off the spiders that got past Lysette and the others with dual daggers she had clearly taken off a soldier unable to wield them. It was ... amazing to watch.

Evy moved like an acrobat, jumping, spinning, rolling, never quite where the mindless arachnids expected her to be. Her daggers sliced through thorax, legs, eyes, disabling before landing the killing blow, quick to retreat before another could get behind her. Rory's mouth hung open as she watched, scarcely aware of the ichor sliding down her face and trickling through her hair. Of course she can fight. In another life, she would have been the Inquisitor. Just because she chooses not to, doesn't mean she can't. Her jaw snapped shut as an inappropriate thought sprang to the forefront of her mind. Rylen's going to cream his pants. The Starkhaven captain was definitely going to approve of this side of his noble lover. Yet even the addition of a clearly seasoned rogue wasn't enough to turn the tide. They were still losing this fight.

A crash against the main door to the house raised another round of piercing screams, the children clinging to the adults in pure terror. The bar rattled, buckled, and finally broke clean in two as the door burst open. Rory got a brief impression of two axe-wielding Qunari, roaring like maniacs, before Kaaras and the Iron Bull charged into the fray. Bolts sang through the splintered doorway, picking off spiders that got too close; Varric, no doubt enjoying the opportunity to show off. Bianca fell silent, and two figures darted inside - Dorian and Vivienne.

"Hello, darlings," the Tevinter mage greeted the shocked gaggle of adults and children huddled in the corner. "Hold still and shut your eyes, all be over soon."

In the moments before she squeezed her own eyes shut, Rory saw him sweep his staff over the room, feeling the familiar greasy cling of magic in the air as barriers slammed into place around them. Then a burst of light so bright it hurt even closed eyes, the sizzling crackle of a firestorm unleashed through the house, only to blink out and plunge them all into pitch-black silence. Then a deep laugh broke that stillness.

"Good fight," Bull declared with almost offensive cheer. "Someone gonna light a torch in here?"

"If you can find a torch to light, certainly." That was Vivienne, the measured civility of her tone remarkably comforting as Rory steeled herself to open her eyes. "I would suggested not allowing the children to see the result of that spell, however."

"You could be right," the Qunari mercenary agreed. "Kids, keep your eyes shut. This isn't pretty."

"There speaks a man who knows nothing about children," Dorian commented with drawling disapproval.

"How about you stop chatting and get them out of there?" Varric interjected. Rory could just make the dwarf out, silhouetted in the doorway, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. "You all right, Cupcake?"

A faint glow of moonlight was asserting itself, allowing her to count the faces around her. Everyone was accounted for. Rory let out a sigh of relief. "We're all right," she answered, pulling herself to her feet once again. "Where are the others?"

"Curly's rounding them up in the main square," Varric told her. "C'mon out. They're going to need you."

She nodded, feeling a flare of very personal relief at the news that Cullen had come through this as she reached down to take hold of two small hands. "All right, smalls, the coast is clear," she reiterated for the frightened children. "Everybody holding somebody's hand?"

As the children reached out to take hold of each other and the adults around them, Kaaras moved to join them, bending to lift the smallest onto his hip. "We're not running, we're walking," he informed the children with a grin. "Because we're not scared of anything, are we?" A chorus of young voices agreed. "Good. Here we go, then."

Carefully, with the help and guidance of their rescuers, the vulnerable group made their way out into the ruined city, children and injured and all. The rubble-strewn streets were littered with spider corpses and scorch marks; here and there, the awful sight of an unmoving cocoon. Escorted by the Herald of Andraste and his heroic friends, they picked their way to where the commander was mustering those who had survived. Familiar faces stood out in the crowd as they were reunited - Josephine, Rylen, Sera, Leliana, Roderick, Cole, Blackwall, Solas, Harritt and Flissa and Seggrit. All there, except for -

"Where did you go?" an irate Nevarran voice demanded as they handed the children into the care of others.

Kaaras winced, turning to face an incandescent Cassandra. "I went with -"

"Never do that again!" the Seeker snapped as she glared at him. "How am I supposed to protect you when you just run off?"

"It wasn't like I -"

"I don't want to hear it." Cassandra poked his chest, hard. "You are with me, or you do not fight at all."

Rory didn't hear Kaaras' response. A hand cupped her elbow, turning her about, and she found herself looking up at Cullen, throwing her arms about his neck in a rush of sobbing relief, clinging to him as his own arms banded tight about her waist. His face pressed against her neck, both of them heedless of the spray that coated them both. I'm alive. You're alive. I don't have time for sex, so this is just going to have to do.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, drawing back to look him over. Covered with blood and ichor, he didn't seem to be carrying any injury.

He shook his head, tilting her chin to inspect her in return. "Not a scratch," he promised her. "You?"

"Just dirty," she promised him in turn. "Where are they?"

There was no need to ask who she meant; after a fight like that, the healers were essential. Cullen twisted, nodding toward a group nearby, bloodied and white-lipped with pain. Rory squeezed his hand, slipping from his side to plunge herself into her work alongside the few healers who had come through unscathed. This was what she was here for, after all. She just hoped the spiders were really gone. She could do without seeing another one up so close anytime soon.

One thing was certain - she was going to have to do something very nice for Evy pretty damn soon. She saved my life. Maybe it was time Rylen pulled himself together and asked that question he'd had playing on his mind for the last month or so. Wouldn't that be nice?