#post trespasser

[hrtiu]

Me until Veil Guard comes out

[too-many-lavellans]

After the Storm -- (please don’t tag/comment with your inquisitor, thanks)

[swemtpotamtam]

completed my inquisition playthrough a few days ago and decided to draw my Lavellan post trespasser ;v;

[hoiist]

♚

[doctor-aceus-art]

I just need them to be happy, okay? 😤

[moonlightheretic]

“You have memories you’d aspire to forget…so do I.” He stated lowly as his hand hovered over the board. “The Veil I suppose.” I surmised as I selected my next move based on his. Solas plucked his Pawn from its dock at A6 and observed it, twisting the stippled token in his fingers. “It was a grand spectacle when the Evanuris played chess, they didn’t use marble carved pieces such as these. They used slaves armed with weapons.” I relented my gaze from the board to stare at him in growing unease, no longer able to concentrate as I listened to him continue.  “Swords for the King and Queen, lances for the Knights, daggers for the rest. There was so much blood one could no longer see the checked tile. Deleterious entertainment.” Solas set the piece down, his tone tempered with notes of repressed rage. "Is that how you became so skilled?" I murmured, thoughtlessly. "Who fought on your behalf?"  "You don't know what you suggest." He growled, his fist curling around the table. "Countless lives were lost, lives spent as if they meant nothing, no one fought on MY behalf. Do not equate me to them."  “And yet, when the mighty veil comes crashing down, you’ll free them. Those that are so evil. What happens if they escape your vague plans?” I chided, smug that I had something to wield against his supposed perfection. “They will never see the light of day.” Solas raised those churning eyes to my own.

The Heretic

[wrenbee]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age) Characters: Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Fade Spirit(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Angst, Eventual Healing Summary:

Aura has been a beacon of light and hope for a world at its darkest hours, but when she loses the light within herself how can she find it again? What can be grown in the dark?

[sketchyelvenasss]

Self-Defense

read on ao3 or v v v

Early combat training session because the ex-inquisitor definitely needs to teach his kid how to fight. 476 w

“Kaffass!” Rhys shouted barely dodging the bolt of lightning that sprung from the ground.

“You have to be faster than that Rhys.” Lyvius said from across the training yard as he sent a magic missile after him.

Rhys ran, but the magical energy followed him. He gritted his teeth as he dead stopped, turned and raised one of his daggers to block. The projectile bounced off the lyrium infused blade, but it soon redirected to come back at a different angle. Rhys blocked a few more times before he gripped the hilt of his dagger tighter. This time, when the missile clashed with the metal the lyrium suddenly burned with a bright blue light and the blade became charged with lightning. He swung the dagger like he intended to cut the air as he willed the magic to do what he wanted.

With a crack, lightning shot from the metal towards Lyvius. The experienced mage easily dispelled it, but he smiled warmly. “That was very good. It is hard to redirect a spell like that.” He walked over to Rhys who was catching his breath.

“Let me show you something special about lyrium infused weapons.” Lyvius said. He took one from Rhys’ hand and immediately its glow stopped, and the humming went silent. “They bind to their weirder, for me they are just daggers,” he placed it back into Rhys’ hand. “For you, they channel your energy like my staff does for me. Now hold them at the ready.”

His son did so. “When I cast this spell don’t think of deflection, think instead, of absorption.”

Rhys didn’t really understand what Lyvius was getting at, but he did his best. When the sparks came striking the dagger they didn’t bounce, they were sucked into the lyrium. The magic ran through the weapon and up his arm. The sensation made him gasp. It was like he was a glass half full that was suddenly overflowing.

“Instead of redirecting a spell that your enemy can see, absorb their energy ma and cast your own spell.”

Rhys nodded. He’s only been learning how to manipulate magic in a combat setting for a few weeks, but Lyvius was a good teacher. He was patient, explained things well and though he was casting real spells they were at a level that if Rhys was unable to block or dodge it would not harm him.

The next part of the training was going to be how to combine the melee attacks with magic, but before they could start Dorian came down from the house to see them.

He smiled at them. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but lunch is ready.”

They smiled back. On their way back Dorian wrapped his arm around Rhys’ shoulders that seemed to be broadening by the day.

“Tomorrow I’ll show you some tricks even Lyvius doesn’t know about.”

[kintheartist]

Here, actually, I'll post a little snippet of a Swan/Dorian drabble I was working on. As a treat.

            There’s a sharp intake of breath, the sound of metal-laced footsteps, and warm hands take his face, fluttering over his skin.

            “Amatus,” Dorian breathes, pitched up in worry. His fingers comb restlessly through the downy crop across Swan’s scalp. “You cut your hair!”

            Swan just sways there. No words could express the breadth of his emotions. Relief, to see his love--revulsion, as well. Shame. Confusion. And grief, always grief.

            He can hear Varric ushering people--and Hawke’s mabari--out of the room, and the muffle of their voices after the door is dragged shut. Dorian’s anxiety continues to grow, but his magister sensibilities have begun to check his behavior. Fingers trembling lightly, he steps back, taking Swan’s hands in his own. When he brings them to his mouth to kiss them, a wave of grief crashes into Swan at the memories this simple action brings back. All those times, all those kisses. It feels a hundred years gone, though it’s only been a matter of months.

            He’s no longer the person he was then.

            Perhaps Dorian can see it in his eyes, then, because he pulls Swan tightly into his arms. His voice is raw as he repeats over and over-- “Amatus, amatus...”

[too-many-lavellans]

Von's special brand of motivation. [continuation from this]

(please don’t tag/comment with your inquisitor, thanks)

[warpedlegacywrites]

Chapter 12: The Wolf's Jaw Pendant

While Theresa and Cullen are out of town on secret Inquisition business, Rosalie has a most unexpected encounter.

[Rosalie] follows [Feynriel's] gaze to a nondescript elven woman, stout but tall – taller than most elves Rosie has seen. She bears no Dalish markings, but something undefinable in her demeanour tells Rosie that she’s no ordinary city elf, either.  Feynriel greets her in Elvish, sounding cautious. The woman responds in kind. Her tone is polite and calm, but whatever she’s said, he clearly doesn’t like it. His hand tightens around his staff, and the wisp at its apex begins to vibrate with the rising energy he’s gathering.  “State your business,” he orders in Common, sharp and brittle, more fearful than Rosie’s ever seen him.  Frantically, she tries to remember how to summon a barrier. It’s been so long since she’s practised anything but nature spells.  “There’s no need for that,” the stranger answers, also in Common, attention shifting to Rosalie with a smile that’s chillingly uncanny, as though the muscles aren’t quite sure how it’s done. “You’re frightening the poor girl.”  Feynriel doesn’t take his eyes off the stranger. “Don’t trust it, Roe.”  “Why not?” Rosie’s heart hammers in her throat, all attempts at a barrier forgotten in her mounting fear. Wait, “it”?  “That’s no elf,” he says. “It’s a spirit.” 

DAFF tag list: @rakshadow, @rosella-writes, @effelants, @bluewren, @breninarthur, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @dreadfutures, @ir0n-angel, @inquisimer, @crackinglamb, @theluckywizard, @nirikeehan, @oxygenforthewicked, @exalted-dawn-drabbles, @melisusthewee, @blarrghe, @agentkatie, @delicatefade, @leggywillow, @about2dance

[feykrow]

Shiloh doesn’t talk much, so it’s extra special.

[heylittleriotact]

In case anyone is keen on a completed Solavellan fic set after Trespasser that’s about as cheerful as a Baz Luhrmann flick. What with Veilguard and stuff:

Summary:

The beauty of free will is that it is as dangerous as it is liberating. The fact that she is most certainly dying is a good enough reason to put that theory to the test as well as push the boundaries of what is and isn't possible in this world. This suits her just fine; friends don't let friends leap off of towers with wax wings on sunny days.

Add in a number of complicated feelings regarding the man she knew as Solas, and it's clear that El'una Lavellan is bound to attract some attention during the course of her swan song. Whether it's wanted or not is something she's going to have to deal with.

[hoiist]

shout out to @wabart for the help

[doctor-aceus-art]

✨️They finally work✨️

[moonlightheretic]

His True Name

“I learned so much, I saw so much; of him, of us, of them. I could see in seven different directions all at once, seven prisms reflecting seven prisons, and every whisper that dared trespass into the fade funneled into my ears. Secrets, his secrets, his desires, his regrets. I ate until my belly ached, but I could never satisfy the craving.”

Sahma’el could no longer conceal the grimace planted between her lips. This woman needed help, but it wasn’t the type she could offer, but she did understand satiation and perhaps she could suggest a small token of relief. “Have you tried a vintage cabernet? Certainly drowns my sorrows, well enough.”

Moon’Hwa laughed, a hollow chime, that hurt more than it salved, and the woman coughed violently, folded into her knees and hugged herself.

“You really believe you were trapped in the belly of that thing, don’t you?” She regretted it, instantly. It sounded insincere, so many years spent hardening herself had done the trick, and sympathy wasn’t easily found or given.  

“I was the beast.” Her quaking fingers brushed over her teeth, “Arcades of fangs, severing their bones, crunching heads rolling under my tongue, their cries tasted so sweet...like honey.” Her gaze was pulled, strung taut like fishing line to some far-off place. “I was the beast, and nothing could stop me…it…I was witness to all their deaths, their final words tumbling down my throat.”

The young elven woman found herself struggling to draw words. She nearly believed her, or rather she didn’t want to consider whatever reality this nightmare existed in.

“Right, well I think I have heard enough.” Sahma’el backed slowly towards the door, “I’ll finalize the details with Varric.”

“and there is one last thing you should—”

Sahma’el twisted on her heel, “What?” She growled, anticipating another campfire ghost story.

“You should know his name. His true name.”

She scoffed, “I do know his name, and he seems to have three. Fen’Harel, The Dread Wolf, and Solas.” She counted off her fingers and then wrung her hands as if she were shaking off something foul and wet, “You would think this lunatic was an actor.”

“Pride.”

Sahma’el paled, “But that’s a demon. I thought he was a man.”

A soft smile chiseled dimples into the corners of her cheeks, but there was no joy to be found.

“So did I.”