#red lyrium blackwall

[riverwinde13]

Thank you DAI devs for making red lyrium infected Solas and Blackwall be super hot and all heroic. Like I just want to play that quest line over and over and over...

[dollfat]

i realized why i didnt find blackwall that interesting: you don't need to care about his opinion at all. having him greatly approve when finding grey warden stuff was a mistake.

[dawningwinds-s]

Wow I can't believe making a good build on this rpg right made the game go better. Who'da thunk.

[weaveandwood]

In Hushed Whispers

There was a little interest in me posting some Dragon Age: Inquisition fanfic here, so I'm going to share the one shot I have written! I know I have a few mutuals who are also doing their first playthrough of Inquisition, so if you haven't done the quest this one-shot is named for, don't read this! Consider this your warning!

Pairing: Cullen/Female Lavellan (Brinni, my dual wielding rogue) Words: 1,374

Angst

Read on AO3!

Cullen threw the crumpled up message across the room and leaned over the war table, shaking his head, willing himself to take his next breath even as dread constricted every fiber of his being. 

Dead. 

He slammed his fist against the table, toppling over the markers that had been so carefully placed earlier that day. He told her it was a trap - he told them all! She wasn’t an idiot, she knew it was clearly a trap as well. Still, she was determined - and that determination had doomed them all.  

He paced the length of the room. Back and forth, over and over, replaying their last conversation in his head, trying to figure out what he could have said differently. 

“Redcliffe has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it,” he had told her. Of course, there was the unspoken reason he hadn’t wanted her to go, one he was too foolish and too scared to voice. No, better to have her believe he only saw her as a tool, a weapon for them to wield. Nothing more. 

Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana argued the optics of marching on the castle, the consequences of leaving a foreign magister in power on Ferelden land. It appeared they had been outplayed. No matter how hard Cullen stared at the table, a strategy would not come to him. 

“There has to be something we’re not thinking of,” she had said quietly, finally breaking the silence and looking at each of them. “Another way in.”

Discussions took place. Brinni paced back and forth while Leliana and Cassandra spoke of the secret entrance for the family and planned the “distraction” Brinni and her envoy would be for the magister. Someone suddenly barged into the war room with insider knowledge of the magister’s plans - Brinni seemed to trust him and his easy confidence, so everyone else did as well. 

It was settled. They would leave first thing in the morning. 

 “The plan puts you in the most danger - we can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you,” he said to her before parting, his cool demeanor soothing over the storm within. Don’t go. It’s a trap. You will die. 

She went. So did Blackwall (prisoner), Varric (prisoner), and the new mage, Dorian (dead). 

Dead. 

If he had just talked to her, told her how important she was - not just to the Inquisition, but to everyone in their inner circle even after this short amount of time, how he looked forward to reading her messages from her seemingly never-ending duties in the Hinterlands, how their conversations while he was overseeing the training exercises were the best sort of distraction…

He sighed. She still would have gone. Still would have died. 

He walked out of the building, staring at the breach in the sky. What were they going to do now? 

Months passed. It was almost a year to the day since the Inquisition lost their one hope at closing the Breach. Cullen had been right about Redcliffe. He threw troops at it, but they were no match for The Elder One’s demon army. Thedas was gone - everything was covered in red lyrium. Leliana had been captured on a spy mission months ago. Cassandra and Iron Bull led a charge soon after the news of Brinni’s death reached Haven with the rest of her companions - they never returned. Josephine tried her hand at diplomacy and was caught by a demon possessing a nobleman. 

Dead, dead, dead. 

Only a handful of troops remained. Templars, warriors, and even a few elves had traveled to Haven after everything really started going south about a month after…after her death. They fought for the fallen Herald of Andraste. He fought for her. Brinni Lavellan. He still found his thoughts easily drifting to her. He did a double take every time he saw an elf with short white hair the color of starlight. He missed her, even now. Even as he mounted his favorite horse outside of Redcliffe Village, ready to lead one last charge against the castle. One last attempt at saving the world, though it was certain they would all end up the same as everyone else who had tried.

Would he see her once this was over? He mulled the thought over as they marched on the castle through fields of red lyrium, the power surrounding it warm and intoxicating. He saw corpses with crystals growing out of them and shuddered. What world was left to save? They got to the bridge and he dismounted, taking all of the riding gear off of his horse. He dropped it to the ground before slapping the horse’s hindquarters, sending it off to live whatever life it could manage. There would be no one left to care for it after today and he could not bring himself to watch the horse die in battle. He smiled to himself. “The Commander has a soft spot” - she had teased him about that once in the stables, long ago.

A horrible grinding noise brought his attention back to the present, the telltale sound of the demons that had laid waste to the land and the people of Thedas. This was it. He raised his sword, rallying the small troop behind him and charged. 

They fought as well as they could, taking down a few demons while the demons took down more of them. He watched as they fought and fell, their numbers shrinking further and further until only a true handful were left, each fighting their own hopeless battle. A cry, a thud. Dead. A shout, a demonic laugh. Dead. 

“Sir, behind yo-” someone called out, seconds too late. Cullen started to turn, his sword preparing to strike when he felt a sharp pain in his chest, followed by searing heat and frigid cold seeping through his body. He fell to the ground, looking up at the roiling green-grey sky and tried unsuccessfully to remember what it looked like on a clear, blue, cloudless day before magic destroyed everything. He was lying in something warm and wet and he was tired, so tired. His eyes fluttered and the world grew dim. The cries of battle were quiet now and the grinding noise from the demons drifted further from his consciousness. 

It was over. 

“Sir? Sir? A message from Redcliffe,” a voice called from outside the door of his office, accompanied by urgent knocks. 

Cullen startled and sat up. Had he been sleeping at his desk? The long nights and early mornings had caught up with him, it appeared - he would need to keep a better schedule. He cleared his throat, calling for the messenger to enter and took the small envelope from him. 

He quickly ripped it open to read the missive from Brinni’s operation, his eyes scanning desperately for a key word to indicate how the mission went. He quickly crumpled it up and threw it across the room to prevent himself from spending all day reading it over and over again before leaning over his desk, his head in his hands. 

Mission successful. Recruited mages as allies. Will explain when we return. - B

She was fine. She didn’t die, she wasn’t taken prisoner, and she had recruited the mages as allies for the Inquisition. Once again, she exceeded his expectations. He leaned back in his chair, his face to the ceiling and laughed loudly, the cord of tension within him that had been wound so tightly since they left finally loosening. Was the tension he had been harboring solely due to the fate of their Inquisition? They would be able to continue closing Fade Rifts and perhaps close the Breach with the assistance of the recruited mages. Or…was it something that was beginning to take hold inside him, gentle and warm, just like the way she smiled at him during her rounds the other day when she found him in the stables, brushing his favorite horse’s mane and talking sweetly to it? “The Commander has a soft spot,” she had teased him. 

It appeared that the Commander may have had more than one.

[vigilskeep]

did you watch all the personal quests and would you rank them for our entertainment?

1. blackwall. it’s a great plot, i love that the war table options for it are two thirds unhinged, and the way blackwall talks back to the inquisitor about it all is really refreshing. i like that they let blackwall say fuck and that the romance version is deeply insane. no notes. this man belongs in a better game

2. cole’s seemed kinda fun! i love a spirit companion. i would’ve killed that guy though

3. sera’s i have actually played. i like when she kills that guy. like a lot of these i don’t think it really addresses anything major about the character it’s just like hey remember how this character is this character. and then gives you the opportunity to throw her out (again)

4. varric’s was fun it didn’t seem very interesting to play but i quite liked bianca actually. are there any consequences about the entire red lyrium thing being because he told his ex or

5. solas is alright i guess. another one i have actually played. i guess it’s what you can do when you can’t reveal who the character is yet?

6. demands of the qun is fine and krem’s existence upgrades it a few levels. i like krem he’s nice. conceptually i like the idea of a quest silently setting up a betrayal later. but i just don’t care for how the qunari are written ever so it kind of does nothing for me

7. i didn’t rewatch last resort of good men because i watched some dorian videos a while back and i vaguely remember it being fine. i don’t think it really offers a moral dilemma? oh i just remembered he can be convinced to talk it out more with his father i think. why

8. vivienne’s is. well. it’s very short and relies on it being a surprise that she’s a human being with feelings. i also don’t get the weirdly judgemental misdirect abt it being a youth serum and why they wasted other character moments on it like in here lies the abyss. it was a bit funny when her guy just immediately died

9. cassandra. oh nooo the seekers are bad people. who could have predicted this. am i supposed to be gasping

[sorceresssundries]

The Herald and The Warden

Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Blackwall/Female Quizzy (My gal - Sparrow)

Warnings: Mentions of torture and trauma, death, angst. SPOILERS - HUGE SPOILERS FOR BLACKWALL'S STORY ESPECIALLY IN PART 2 - TURN BACK IF YOU HAVEN'T GOT THAT FAR.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Ok, so Part 1 takes pace during the 'In Hushed Whispers' wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey mission if you choose to side with the mages.

May be a little confusing if you haven't played that mission, time travel is SO HARD TO WRITE GUYS holy moly.

“You shouldn’t be here” 

For a moment, Sparrow could only stand there, frozen by the sight of him. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat as she forced herself to move closer.

He was huddled in the gloom of the farthest cell, his back pressed against the damp stone wall, head bowed. The man who had once stood tall and unbreakable now seemed shrunken, diminished. The armour he had taken so much pride in was battered and bloodstained, pieces of it missing or discarded. Light reflected off the jagged shards of red lyrium embedded in the bricks, throwing distorted, eerie shadows that warped the space around him, making it seem as if the walls were closing in, as if the prison itself was a living thing, flexing its grotesque muscles until all hope was squeezed into useless pulp. 

Sparrow waited for the breath to find its way back into her lungs, or for the muscles in her body to soften so she could move. She was frozen in a time that wasn’t her own, in a future she didn’t belong in. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here either. Not in this twisted, fractured reality. He belonged wherever she was. Not here, not like this. 

He stood stiffly, and his eyes, dull and empty, flickered when they met hers.

“No. Not this. Please. The dead should rest in peace,” he said, but the words came out wrong. Hollow. Distorted. It was all wrong. That voice - his voice - had once kept her steady when everything else fell apart. It had rolled like distant thunder in the belly of a hot sky, rich and deep. It was so full - of warmth, of security, of certainty  - and now it was empty. His words sounded like they had bounced around some long-abandoned space and been bent and broken before finding their way to her; shattered echoes of something she had once loved. The shrapnel of them cut at her heart.

“Blackwall” Her own voice was barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him flinch. “I’m alive.”

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept that she was really there, flesh and blood. Her feet were rooted, and her hand hung limp at her side; useless. Unable to pull him back from whatever abyss he was trapped in.

She had to fix this, she had to fix him. 

She stood in helplessness as Dorian explained how the portal Alexius had opened had moved the two of them forward in time by an entire year, and how they were trying to fix what had happened. The dulled scarlet of his lyrium-plagued eyes tried to understand. She missed the stormy grey of them, how in some lights they looked almost blue and sparkled like a sunlit seascape when he flirted and teased her. The way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, that mischievous glint that promised trouble and adventure, had captured her completely. And on those darker days, when the burdens of his past weighed heavy on him, his eyes would cloud over and darken too. Even then, they were beautiful. He was beautiful. No man had ever looked at her the way he had, no gaze had ever held her so tightly. No one had looked into her with such intent and focus when she spoke, as though he was taking in every word and holding onto it for later. For when she needed them back again.

She needed them now.

This version of Blackwall wouldn’t look at her. He kept his gaze averted, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her, or worse, as if he didn’t recognise her at all. The distance between them was a chasm she didn’t know how to cross, and it broke her in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“More punishment,” Blackwall murmured, speaking to shadows, "It is deserved... But this... her... too much. Too far." His words were being pulled from the depths of a mind long broken. They were heartbreaking untruths, twisted thoughts crafted by a tortured man.

She winced. It was easier for him to believe this was a nightmare. She had gilded above the horrors of this last year like a bird over a storm. She had taken the easy route whilst he had been dragged through raging waters, salt-stung and drowning. How he must hate her. 

“If what you say is true,” he rasped, his voice wavering as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself, “then this nightmare… everything I’ve been through… is a mistake.”

“I should have been here,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. We’ll set this right.”

His response was a dark, cruel laugh. “Now I know I’ve gone mad,” he said, shaking his head. “Set this right? You can’t imagine the things that happened after you...” His voice caught on something, and he struggled to pick it back up “...after you died. The Elder One had the Orlesian Empress killed. And in the chaos that followed, his demon army invaded. The Inquisition was crushed. Anyone who didn’t convert was slaughtered. There’s nothing left out there.”

“Once we go back, none of that will happen,” she said, trying to clutch at something. Some shard of light or hope or truth that would set him free. An offering, a plea, a chunk of her still-beating heart, anything, she would give him anything. None of it would ever be enough. 

“It did happen.” His eyes finally met hers, and the pain in them cracked her. She couldn’t hold his gaze, not with the truth of it staring back at her. He had lived it. She had not. And no matter how hard they fought to change things, what had been done to the man in front of her could never be undone.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the key to unlock the cell. When the door creaked open, she took a step back, giving him room to come out into a world that had left him behind.

“Come,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact as he pushed past her, not sparing her a glance. “I know where they are keeping the Bull.”

—♜—

The further they pressed on, the more Sparrow learned about the horrors that had occurred over the past year, the harder it was to pull her determination out from the deep, hopeless place it had sunk to. They found Iron Bull in another cell. The smart and sassy Qunari, who was soft as a lamb beneath it all, was changed. Detached. Even his sharp mind and quick wit were not a strong enough barrier to hold back the taint of Lyrium.

And Leliana… 

Sparrow almost couldn’t recognise her. Emaciated, with a sharp, alien edge to her, Leliana was still terrifying—perhaps more than before. She had always been ruthless, the bard who was more of a blade, but now, she was something else entirely. The notes they had found about her torture were horrifying, detailing inhumane acts that would have broken anyone else. But Leliana hadn’t broken. If anything, she had hardened into something colder, more brutal.

Sparrow had wanted to stop when she read those notes—wanted to retch, scream, burn this cursed place to the ground. But she kept going, numb and angry, unwilling to show weakness when everyone else had been forced to endure so much more.

Leliana was straight to the point of what was to be done. There was no time to believe in nightmares and ghost stories. 

“You need to end this.” The spymaster commanded. Her cold eyes that sat in hollowed-out sockets bore into Sparrow’s. “The Magistar is probably in his chambers.”

“Do you not want to know how we got here?” Dorian had asked, confused. 

“No.”

But Dorian wasn’t ready to let it go. “Alexius sent us into the future,” he explained, his voice urgent. “This—his victory, the Elder One—it wasn’t meant to happen. We have to reverse the spell, undo all of this, if we could just get that amulet…”

Her stare snapped to him from the shadow of her hood. “Enough. This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.”

Dorian fell silent, taken aback by the venom in her words.

“Just finish it.” She hissed. 

The shame flooding Sparrow was unrelenting. Blackwall stood in the doorway, watching her, trying to work her out. A dying man visited by a ghost. 

He had always been a man guarded, by what she still wasn’t completely sure - but still, she knew him. Like few ever had, she liked to imagine. He planted seeds in the garden when no one was watching, he talked to the horses as he brushed their manes, he treated Sera like a sister and Cole like a person. She had coaxed smiles and laughter and softness from him on the days where he was weighed down and burdened. She had slipped through all those hard-built, self-assembled defences like rainwater - She didn’t force her way in, she didn’t need to. His heart had yielded to her in small, imperceptible ways and although there were many things unsaid between them, that didn’t mean they were unfelt. No matter how hard he tried to push her away. 

But that was in the time before. Before the world had turned cruel, and she had abandoned him. Those unsaid things had withered and left him, just as she had. This version of Blackwall should not exist to her, and so - this version of her should not exist to him. They were a universe apart, and she could feel it. 

Even his fight had gone. It was obvious as they moved through the bowels of the castle and cut down the agents of Alexius who stood in their path. 

A year ago, a lifetime ago, when they fought side-by-side it was an intuitive dance - her spells and his sword entwined. They could read each other so precisely they may as well have been strikes from the same blade. Now, it was clumsy. He was too close to her. She could feel him crowding her space, disrupting the delicate balance she needed to draw her magic. The air she tried to pull from felt thick and heavy, weighed down by his worried breaths. He wasn’t focused. His eyes were on her when they should have been watching his attackers. His movements, once fluid and sure, had become hesitant, as if he second-guessed each swing. And because of that, he was suffering more blows. The sharp, reassuring ring of steel on steel had been replaced by the sickening thuds of impact against his armour. He was slower, distracted, and she found herself having to cover for him, diverting her focus to shield him, to protect him. It left her exposed, vulnerable in ways she wasn’t used to.  

They had lost their rhythm, and so it was inevitable she would lose her footing and suffer a slice of an enemy's blade. The hiss of pain from her seemed to grant Blackwall strength from somewhere, and with a brutal kick to the chest sent the last abomination plummeting down into the pit below them. She gasped and clutched the wound, seeing the blood spill through her fingers and mix with the mulch on the dank floor. The sight of her blood, of something real, seemed to spark Blackwall back to life. She was a ghost no longer. 

“Are you alright, my lady?” 

She fluttered at the concern in his voice, a voice she had feared she'd never hear again, at least not with the warmth that had once made her feel safe. A different, deeper wound healed in some other part of her. “So, I’m still your lady then?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips, the familiar flirtation slipping back between them like a lifeline, even now, even here.

“Always,” he replied, and for the first time since she’d found him in this twisted reality, his eyes met hers in a way that felt like him. He was in there, she could see him.

“There you are,” she breathed, her hand moving of its own accord to cup his face, her palm resting against his cheek. His whole body seemed to relax at her touch, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that she was real, that this moment was real. “I was worried the Blackwall I knew had faded.”

But as the words left her lips, she felt a shift in him, something different, something unsettling. He reached up and took her hand, pulling it from his face and holding it between his own, clutching her small, soft hand as though it was the only thing keeping him sane. 

“My la… Sparrow,” he said, his voice faltering. He rarely used her name, and the sound of it from his lips sent a ripple of fear through her. She felt her heart begin to race, a gnawing sense of panic clawing at her insides. “My mind may be slipping, but I have enough wits about me to know what happens next. This is not my future, this is my present. Do you understand?”

“It doesn’t have to be. I can change it.”

“Of course you can,” he said softly, his eyes full of a sad resignation that twisted the knife deeper into her chest. “You could do anything you set your heart to. You’re the fiercest woman I’ve ever known.” He paused, steeling himself for what he needed to say next, even as it tore him apart. “But you’re changing it for that man who was waiting for you a year ago.”

“For you,” she insisted, her voice breaking as the icy realisation began to seep into the softest part of her bones, into the small, protected chambers of her heart that she had always kept empty. The truth was cold and merciless. 

Blackwall’s grip on her hand tightened as the castle rumbled and shook. “We need to move. Now."

As they pushed on, the horrors continued. The warping taint of lyrium grew heavier and more oppressive. Sparrow’s skin was so slick with cold sweat, she could barely grip her staff. The tinge of pulsing red was so present everywhere she looked, she began to think it must have settled into the whites of her eyes. The air was thick with it. Time was running out. 

They found Alexius almost too easily.

He knew they were coming and put up no fight. This was not an all-powerful magister or a blade of the Venatori, just a father who had failed to save his son. That was all. He had tried to bend the will of time, but she was indomitable, relentless, and unforgiving. And so, inevitably, time won, wins, is winning—always.

Alexius didn’t care about the Elder One; he never had. He just clutched at whatever hand held a cure for his child.

He had given up long before they reached him, and he knew the end had come. It was over quickly, another tragedy to add to Sparrow’s ever-growing list. Felix and Alexius both fell before them, and she hoped in this future, somehow, they were together again. She hoped in the past, they would be granted more time.

It was done. They had the amulet. All that was left was to cast the spell to take them back.

“Give me an hour to work out the spell he used. I should be able to reopen the rift.” Dorian’s eyes were wet, as he turned the bloodsoaked amulet over in his hands. 

“An hour, that’s impossible - you must go now!” Leliana shot back.

Then, the castle shook. A quake so mighty it knocked Sparrow off her feet as great chunks of the cursed castle tumbled down around them. A shriek like an ancient warcry rang around them, and trembled the very marrow of her bones.

“The Elder One.” Blackwall stated, helping Sparrow to her feet. “It’s coming.”

Him, Iron Bull and Leliana all exchanged a pointed look, and Sparrow knew what they planned to do before they moved. 

“No. Don’t you dare!” She grabbed his arm as he began to move towards the door, where the army of demons and dead would descend upon them at any moment. 

“Hush now.” He brought her to him, and she buried her face against his chest. He didn’t smell the same as he used to. He used to smell like the outdoors - woodsmoke and cedar and rain on a dry day. He felt thinner beneath his armour, the bulk of him had wasted away while she was gone. 

“I won’t let you die.”

"Listen to me," he whispered, cradling her head with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. His lips brushed against her hair, murmuring into the top of her head. "I’m already dead, and this is the only way to protect you.”

Her heart clenched painfully as she looked up at him, eyes searching his face for the right words—any words—that could make this moment stop. But nothing came. In the silence between them, her body acted before her mind could catch up. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. Even now, she didn’t dare assume he wanted her with the same fervour as she felt for him.

"I love you," she breathed, the words barely a whisper as she began to pull away from him, to let him go. 

But Blackwall’s response was immediate. His arms encircled her waist with an urgency that surprised her, pulling her back against him. This time, the kiss was not chaste. It was deep, deliberate, and slow—his lips tracing hers as if he were committing the shape and taste to memory. Each lingering moment felt like a lifetime, every gentle press filled with a quiet desperation. This was their first kiss, and he knew, with heartbreaking certainty, that it would be his last.

Time stopped. 

She could feel him trying to hold onto her, as if he could make this moment last forever, but forever was not theirs to keep.

“My lady—my fierce brave lady,” Blackwall’s voice was steadfast. “I have loved you for more than a year, and I will love you for far longer still. If there is another lifetime where I… where we…”

His hands came up, gripping her shoulders, holding onto her as everything he knew came to its end.

“There are truths to be told. But not here. Not now.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I am undeserving of you, I always have been. But if there is another life, a future where I could stand in your shadow for even a moment longer… I would die for it”

She tried to move her hands, to clutch at something, anything. To cling to him like a broken wave on sun-warmed sands, but he kissed her wrists and let them go. 

“Go,” he commanded, his voice hoarse, “Thrive. And know that every time I look at you—from wherever I am, whether it be the stables or the battlefield, or just sat beside you—I am loving you, just as I am now.”

Still, she stood rooted. 

“Don’t worry” he smirked slightly, and it reached all the way between her ribs and squeezed her heart. “You will see me again, very soon” 

“But… you…” Her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat.

“Have the love of a woman worth dying for,” he finished for her, “And that is enough.”

He left then, turning away from her without another word, his broad shoulders set with determination as he faced the oncoming storm of screeching monsters and twisted magic. His sword gleamed in the dim light, raised high like a hero from a storybook, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him. The sight of him standing against the darkness tore at her heart.

“Sparrow.” Dorian’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts, pulling her back. “I need to cast the spell, we must go. Now.”

His eyes, usually so warm and full of mischief, were now hard and focused. She started to follow his gaze over her shoulder, but before she could turn to look, his voice stopped her.

“Don’t look.” He was firm, sad. “Don’t look back.”

And she didn’t.

—♜—

She sat back at Haven, out in the clean, fresh air and stared unblinking into the flame of the campfire. There was an ice in her that wouldn’t melt.

Alexius was imprisoned. That horrific future was prevented. And the people she had met there… Blackwall and Leliana and Bull.. well, they were dead or nonexistent. She should feel relieved. But somewhere, somehow, there was a man she loved and who loved her, and he had suffered terribly. He was still brave and kind, right to the end. The thought wouldn’t leave her. 

Curse this key. Curse the breach. Curse the Elder One and the Maker and the Divine. All of them. All of it. The mages, the templars, the wardens—everyone who had ever had a hand in bringing her to this moment—were all to blame. She wasn’t a herald, she was a harbinger. She had bathed three times since returning, but the smoke and doom of what she had seen still clung to her skin. 

She wanted to let the rest of today plod along next to her. Slowly meander through each hour as though they were fresh paths never walked before. She didn’t want to think that there was a future predetermined, where her failure had made itself inevitable.

A warmth suddenly enveloped her, as a thick blanket was draped over her small and weary shoulders along with the scent of Cedar and Petrichor. Blackwall sat next to her, and threw some more wood on the fire. 

“You want to talk about it?” The steady, rich timbre of his voice was warmer than any blanket. It was a relief to have it back in her life. 

“No. Not yet.” 

He loved her, he had said so - but that was a broken, evaporated universe away. One that never existed, so… he had never existed? Those words had never been said. His lips had never met hers. Except they had. Her head hurt from trying to work it all out. The only certain thing to her was, she loved him; and it was not the time to tell him. She wanted to offer her love to him wrapped in joy, and not scorched by grief. 

“I understand,” he replied. For a while they sat there, as she slowly thawed out next to him. He didn’t press, or push, like the others had done. He sat beside her, and adjusted her blanket when it slipped, and passed the spiced wine he had made for her. But he kept quiet, letting her breathe. 

A feeling like sunlight passed over her, and she turned to see him gazing at her. He quickly looked away and cleared his throat, as though caught doing something he shouldn’t be. Sparrow smiled, for the first time since she got back. 

“I am sorry, for all the times I have pushed you away.” He was solemn. “You deserve an explanation, about who, what, I am. You should meet me tomorrow, at the Storm Coast. There is something I wish to show you” He gave her a final, soft look and for a moment she thought he would lean forward and brush his lips against hers, but he didn’t. 

There were truths to be told, and weights to be lifted. But it wouldn’t be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, Haven would fall. 

[crossdressingdeath]

Sera: I got caught stealing when I was little, yeah? You get alienage or worse for that, but the "Lady Emmald" took me in. She was sick and couldn't have children. I had no parents. It worked out. Anyway, she gets a year sicker, so I ask about her cookies. Because mums make cookies. I can pass that down, or something. Turns out, she couldn't cook. She missed that talk with her mum. The ones she "made" she bought and pretended. Aw, right? Well, no, she was a bitch. She hid buying them by keeping me away from the baker. She did that by lying that he didn't like me, didn't like elves. She let me hate so she could protect her pride. I hated him so much, and I hated... Well, she died, and I hate pride. "Pride cookies."

I wish Sera's story had actually... y'know, done something with this. Show her working through her shit and improving as a person! Hell, even have her acknowledge that this little plan only worked because so many people hate elves that "the baker hates elves" wasn't worth questioning. But instead this is the only time anything about this comes up. And I won't lie, the petty, grumpy part of me does wonder if that's because the rest of her backstory (the street kid taken in by a kindly noblewoman who caught her stealing and instead of turning her in to the guards raised her as her own and left her a fortune in her will only for it to be stolen from her by the government because she was an elf) doesn't fit the whole Robin Hood schtick the game keeps trying to pretend she has. They could've focused on that, the fact that even being a noblewoman with a good-sized fortune wasn't enough to protect Sera from anti-elf prejudice! But that would've required her writing acknowledging that elves are the epitome of "little people" in Thedas and DAI does not like elves one bit, so of course it doesn't do that.

And I won't lie, this backstory is like... okay, it's not that it's not sad, but in comparison to the wide array of horrors that everyone else has going on it feels... kind of boring? The noblewoman who took her in, raised her as her own and left her a fortune lied about a random baker hating elves (with zero mention that she ever did anything else so much as unkind to Sera). That's unfortunate. Cole's currently terrified about being controlled by Corypheus, Solas's friend has been captured and tortured because it doesn't count as a person to most people, Josie has assassins after her for trying to keep her family from destitution, the love of Vivienne's life is dying, Leliana is facing the fallout of her dear friend's death and those are just the companion quests that I currently have active. I've already dealt with the reveal that Dorian's father nearly tried magical conversion therapy on him that might have left him a vegetable and only didn't because he left first, Bull having to choose between the religion he's served his whole life and his family in the Chargers, and Cassandra learning that the leader she respected and looked up to was infecting Seekers with red lyrium and that she was made Tranquil as an initiation rite. I haven't even started Blackwall having to face up to the crimes of his past because he finds he can't run from them anymore. Basically Sera's thing could've been a big meaningful backstory... if it wasn't for how completely overshadowed it is by everyone else's shit and how Bioware does literally nothing with it.

[shift-shaping]

ice fishing and bad futures

Enaste reflects on what she saw in the bad future of Redcliffe. Solas joins her by the docks. They have a Very Normal and Not At All Loaded Conversation.

rating: general

pairing: solavellan

previous fics | 1 2 3

Enaste Lavellan had been to the future, and she did not like what she saw.

Who could? It was a map of a world without her, and it was hell. Red lyrium had overtaken Redcliffe Castle like the building itself was alive. Her allies were dead, or missing, or turned into some kind of fuel for more Blight. Leliana's face alone sent shivers down her back when she remembered it. And the Veil was gone, the world swallowed up by raw Fade.

And the only difference was her.

She sat at the edge of the dock outside Haven, feet dangling over the frozen lake, her fishing pole held loosely in her hands. One of the locals had shown her how to find fish in the ice, and she'd carefully lowered her line into a circular hole in the lake's surface. She draped a thick wool blanket over her shoulders, and drank from a mug of warmed cider that tasted like a ghost of what she had at home.

It was sickening to know how much she was needed. Enaste was trained to be a leader, to be a Keeper, but not to be a savior. And certainly not the herald of a human goddess. She could handle organizing patrols, ensuring they had adequate resources, maintaining knowledge, even caring for animals or leading hunts. She was a scholar of the old ways of the elvhen and would have been a stable leader for her clan. She was comfortable in her place at Keeper Deshanna's side and wanted, with an ache so deep it made her dizzy, nothing more than to return to her people.

The future at Redcliffe had upended her again. She'd settled in to a sort of bitter acceptance at Haven, speaking little to the people who insisted she be someone she wasn't and letting Cassandra drag her from one annoying meeting to the next. She still felt like a prisoner, surrounded by people who would happily chain her again if it meant she could be their Herald.

Now she didn't know what to feel. The line bobbed, and she expertly reeled in another thin winter fish and added it to her bucket. At least she could eat something besides venison and potatoes.

"You are going to drain the lake of stock," a familiar voice said. She turned, and instantly felt a pang of guilt seeing Solas.

"I'm sorry. I know we were supposed to train today." She'd sent a messenger to tell him because she didn't want to talk to anyone after what she'd seen in Redcliffe. Especially not Solas or Blackwall --she'd seen them both die for her, and the image made her sick. "We can meet again tomorrow. I needed a break today."

"I understand." The dock creaked beneath his footsteps as he joined her. She wished he wouldn't. He was quiet for a moment, and she took the opportunity to bait and cast her line again. "You are quite proficient at this," he observed. His voice sounded softer than usual, and she was grateful for it.

"Thank you. I enjoy fishing." She looked over her shoulder at him, smiling slightly. "I actually prefer crab to fish, but fishing is more fun than setting traps." She shifted on the dock. "Would you like to join me?" It felt rude not to offer. "Perhaps you could learn something from me."

He returned her smile, and accepted. At first she worried he might be cold, but then felt warm magic radiating off him. An odd urge to move closer struck her; she shook it off. "You say that as though I have not learned from you already."

She looked at him warily. "I thought you disliked hearing about the Dalish."

"I did not say that."

"You don't have to. I can tell." She shook her head. "Sorry, we should focus on fishing. Here," she passed him her rod. "Hold this."

"I am familiar with fishing, lethallan."

"Let me pretend I know something you don't, alright?" She smirked, and he agreed to go along with her.

They sat in silence for a long time. It was much easier than she'd expected. Eventually, though, her curiosity got the better of her.

"You were there in Redcliffe," she said, and he hummed softly in response. "You aren't curious what you were like? In the future?"

"It will not come to pass. We should learn from what you and Dorian witnessed there, but there is little benefit to dwelling on my own appearance."

She was quiet at first, considering this. "I'm... Having trouble not dwelling, to be honest with you."

She felt his gaze on her. The cool mountain light made his grey eyes almost violet. They were beautiful.

"You, and Blackwall, and Leliana. You were all there. And I watched you die. For me."

He shook his head. "Not just for you, for the world that was. What you and Dorian saw was a future that should never have come to pass."

"I... Tried to stop you."

He smiled slightly. "I take it you failed."

She nodded. "But I could not watch you all die for me."

"You must understand that people are already dying for you." She swallowed and looked back towards the lake.

"I don't want that, Solas." He started to respond, and she shook her head. "I want to --I want to go home. I want to study our artifacts and oversee the building of aravels. I want to help deliver children, and count halla, and check traps for game." His expression turned withering, and part of her wanted to hit him. Not hard, but enough to make him take her seriously. "I miss my brother, and my uncle's cooking, and Keeper Deshanna's stories. I want to be a Keeper, a really good Keeper. I want to be with my people. I don't want to be the Herald of Andraste." She closed her eyes tightly and exhaled through her nose. "I know you don't like the Dalish, and I don't care. I miss my family, and it's--" she gestured vaguely towards the mountains. "It's too fucking cold here!"

"Enaste," he replied evenly, and she realized with a sudden flush of warmth that this was entirely inappropriate. She shouldn't be confessing this much to anyone, even Solas. She started to apologize, but he held up his hand. "Stop."

"Don't give me orders--"

"It is a suggestion, then. Please."

She took a shaky breath, rage bubbling in her gut. "I'm --I'm sorry, I should not have said anything."

"Enaste, in the future you witnessed, where was the Inquisition?"

"I..." She blinked in confusion. "Dead. Gone. I saw --I found the bodies of our agents in the castle, and... Leliana would rather die than give up information about me. There was no Inquisition. Not... Not anymore."

"Who are your people then, if not the ones who died for you?"

"They didn't die for me, they died for what I represent to them."

He smirked, mirthlessly, and shook his head. "Tell me, truly, what difference does that make to them?" His voice was kinder than she expected. She forced herself to listen, to calm down. "The people who offer their lives to protect you know you do not claim divinity. If they choose to think otherwise, you cannot stop them."

"But... I want to."

"You cannot." He let go of the fishing pole and reached for her left hand. She turned her palm upward, and where his fingers touched her skin she felt electrified. He looked at the mark, and it sputtered under his gaze, as though emphasizing her reaction to his touch. "I am sorry, Enaste." Deep sympathy etched his voice. He let go of her hand. She wished he hadn't. "You should not have to bare this burden." Their eyes met, and she lost every word she'd ever known. "But... at least you need not do it alone."

A long, heavy moment passed between them. She had a sudden urge to pull him close, to feel his body against hers. He was broad, for an elf, and would surely overwhelm her. His lips were soft and full. How would it feel to kiss him? Would he kiss her back?

Then he looked away, and began to stand, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She turned back towards the water, her skin so hot she wanted to slip beneath the ice. He cleared his throat, and the dock shifted under his weight. "All of us are here to help you, lethallan. You may call on us whenever you need support."

"Of course. Th --thank you, Solas." She looked over her shoulder to see him slowly stride away. As soon as he was out of sight, she tossed the blanket off her shoulders, cast an ice spell, and pressed her freezing hands to her burning cheeks.

<- prev fic | next fic ->

[lunian]

okay, I can't be mad at Blackwall idk, dude is funny

I accidentally got in some Deep Roads to find red lyrium smugglers and all, but we found a bunch of darkspawns so my man asks him "Blackwall, how many of them there?" bc yeah, GREY WARDEN POWERS and he is just "Uhhhh hard to say, let's be cautious"

so my Inquisitor, Varric (who def remembers a lot of Anders' commentaries and complaints on their Expedition bc Hawke dragged him there) and Dorian probably being like:

[fatale-distraction]

Canon World State

Decided to compile my main world state for Dragon Age in anticipation of The Veilguard.

This world state is mostly compatible with comics/novels, with the exception of Alistair. I figure events are basically the same, except instead of king, he’s just a Grey Warden. *BIG SHRUG*

Massive post under cut. Feel free to steal this format, I literally just listed all the choices in The Keep and added a few extra things.

EDIT: Added some major companion choices for Inquisition, still missing Blackwall’s resolution. Will update that later.

Edit: Added screenshot of Hawke, some Judgement results from Inquisition; still working on this one.

Halina (Hal) Mahariel

Dalish archer, Ranger spec, she/her, b. 9:09

Status as of 9:54 - Presumed alive, age 45

Recruited All Companions minus Logain

Killed Logain

Returned Sten’s Sword

Zevran alive & well

Wynne alive & well

Leliana alive & well

Dark Ritual completed with Alistair

Killed Flemmeth & acquired grimoire

Prologue -

Fed deserter

Cured Mabari (recruited)

Broken Circle -

Supported Mages

Irving Survived

Did not agree to Cullen’s request

Nature of the Beast -

Brokered Peace

Brought Camden & Gheyna together

Saved the Halla

Returned Deygan to camp

Brought Ironbark to Varathorn

Told Athras about his wife

The Arl of Redcliffe-

Helped Redcliffe Fight

Helped Redcliffe Prepare

Freed Bevin & Paid for sword

Helped Owen’s Daughter Escape

Bella owns tavern

Connor Alive, not possessed

Isolde is alive

Paragon of Her Kind-

Killed Branka and Destroyed Anvil

Dagna left to study

Bhelen rules Orzamar

Said Ruck died, but spared him

Didn’t help Burkel

Helped Zerlinda reconcile with family

Proved Legion of Dead connected to noble house

Completed Rogek’s lyrium deal

Helped Orta join Assembly

Denerim-

Ser Landry alive

Told Bann Sighard about Oswyn

Brought scroll to Sister Justine

Helped clear customers out of the Pearl

Handled the Crimson Oars

Completed Slim Couldry’s crime wave

Gave Alfstanna Irminric’s ring

Returned amulet to beggar

Completed Master Ignacio’s assassinations

Sent Marjolaine away (softened Leliana)

Helped Alistair find Goldana (softened Alistair)

The Landsmeet-

Anora rules Ferelden

The Battle of Denerim-

Halina killed the Archdemon

Awakening-

Allowed Architect to live

Nathaniel alive & well

Oghren & Felsi reunited

Keep & Amaranthine protected

Witch Hunt-

Halina did not go through the eluvian

Warden’s Keep-

Didn’t drink concoction

Slayed Avernus

Stone Prisoner-

Shale is alive and well

Matthias & Amalia both alive, neither possessed

Above: Ashe Hawke and Halina Mahariel

Ashe Hawke

Mage, Primal & Elemental Spec, she/they, b. 9:11

Status as of 9:54 - Presumed dead, would have been 43

Recruited all companions; friends with all but Sebastian

Humorous

Slept with Isabela & Fenris

Flirted with Aveline at every chance

Romanced Anders

Friends with Varric

Bethany died leaving Lothering

Carver became a templar

Carver did not die in final battle

Bartrand not killed

Helped Varric discover cause of haunting

Varric did not keep red lyrium idol

Isabela returned the tome to the Qunari

Didn’t give Isabela to Arishok

Fenris alive & well

Spared Fenris’ sister

Helped Merrill fix Eluvian

Gave Merrill Arulin’Holm

Merrill alive & well

Sent Feynriel to the Dalish

Encouraged Feynriel to train his powers

Supported Mages

Approved of Anders’ actions at Chantry

Anders alive & well

Aveline married Donnic

Aveline stayed with Hawke

Merrill’s clan was not killed

Sebastian became Prince

Didn’t make Tallis angry

Kissed Tallis

Ellanasha (Ellana, El) Lavellan

Dalish archer, Tempest Spec, she/her, b. 9:17

Status as of 9:54 - Alive and mostly okay, age 37

Emotional

Recruited all companions; friends with all

Romanced: Solas

Cole - Spirit*

Vivienne - Gave her the Snow Wyvern heart

Josie - Resolved contract peacefully

Solas - stopped him from killing the mages

Varric & Cassandra - reconciled

Dorian - encouraged him to reconcile with his father

The Iron Bull - Saved The Chargers

Sera - pulled pranks with Sera

Cullen - Helped him quit lyrium

Flirted with Cassandra at every chance

Judgement:

- Alexius works for Inquisition mages

- Mayor of Crestwood conscripted to Grey Wardens

- Armed Avvar and sent to Tevinter

- Recruited Bear

Allied as partners with Mages

Left Hawke in the Fade**

Conscripted Grey Wardens

Celene reconciled with Briala***

Destroyed Samson’s armor

Drank from the Well of Sorrows****

Supports Leliana (softened) as Divine Victoria

Disbands the Inquisition in a fit

Vows to convince Solas of this world’s value

*Later wonders if this was the right call, in spite of assurances by Cole that he is happy

**Constantly struggles with this decision. Alistair is technically her family (second cousin once removed by marriage), so there’s no other choice she would ever have made, but it still kills her.

***Ellana regrets this when she learns more about their past, expresses that she would have put Briala in power with Gaspard as a puppet ruler instead.

****Names the dragon Butterpat

Prior to DA:O

NOT CANON TO GAMES:

In an unknown year, Felassan is awakened after an indeterminate amount of time by the Fade spirit of Fen’Harel in order to prepare him for reawakening. His primary duty is to track down magical artifacts to help Fen’Harel regain his power and to discover what changes have occurred.

Above: Althera and Miriam Lavellan

In 9:10 Felassan meets Althera, Keeper of Clan Lavellan at the Arlathven. She introduces him to her wife, Miriam and they invite him to travel with Clan Lavellan to learn how they’ve kept a clan full of mages safe for the last several generations. In 9:13, Evelyn is born to Felassan and Althera. In 9:17 Ellana is born to Felassan and Miriam. Fen’harel has become suspicious of Felassan over the last seven years, and although Althera has been using her significant power to protect him, Fel knows he must return eventually. He uses Ellana in an ancient ritual to wipe the Lavellan clan from Fen’Harel’s memory in an effort to protect them, resulting in the loss of her magic. Ellana is the only non-mage in Clan Lavellan in four generations.

In 9:18, Felassan leaves Clan Lavellan. Ellana’s memories of him are limited to a smell, a voice, and a smile. Evelyn remembers and hates him for leaving.

Ellana meets her 2nd cousin once removed, Halina Mahariel and idolizes her. Mahariel is Miriam’s 1st cousin’s daughter.

In 9:24, Althera (40, F) and Miriam Lavellan (35, F) are presumably killed defending their clan from Tevinter slavers. Miriam has just given birth to twins. They leave behind their children Levas, Susan, twins Pallas and Peras, Litha, Seryl, Lethas, Evelyn, Ellana, and twins Aneth and Athim.^ Deshanna Istimaethorial becomes Keeper.

In 9:29, Ellana (age 12) falls extremely ill. Her sister (18) Evelyn travels alone to find a rare herb to cure her sister and is cornered by Darkspawn. She is captured by templars and brought to Kinloch after using magic to defend herself, where she spends several months. An older brother and sister come to rescue her and Cullen helps her escape with her phylactery while the remaining siblings stabilize Ellana. Ellana’s growth is stunted from the months she spent being ill.

After Ellana is captured by the fledgling Inquisition in 9:41, Evelyn, as the First of Clan Lavellan, deposes Deshanna Istimaethorial as Keeper. Once she determines that Ellana is safe, she leads clan Lavellan to Haven. Clan Lavellan stays with the Inquisition until the defeat of Corypheus, at which point they move on and settle near Wycome to form a permanent Dalish township called Lavellanlea. The town becomes a haven for elven slaves fleeing Tevinter, and for elves from alienages all over Thedas who oppose the Agents of Fen’Harel but seek to better the lot of their race.

Above: Evelyn and Ellana, post Inquisition, prior to Trespasser

In 9:44, Cullen proposes to Evelyn and she accepts. They are married in 9:46.

^Lavellan Siblings listed in order of age.

Althera’s biological children:

Levas (he/him)*

Susan (she/her)

Litha (she/they)**

Evelyn (she/her)***

Miriam’s biological children:

Pallas (he/him) and Peras (he/him)*

Seryl (they/them)**

Lethas

Ellana***

Aneth (she/her) and Athim (they/them)

* shared father 1

** shared father 2

*** Felassan

[daitranscripts]

Before the Dawn Pt. 3

Sahrnia Quarry

Before the Dawn Masterpost First: Source of the Red Templars Previous: Lyrium Smugglers

If the PC goes to the mines before the quest: PC: Red templars. What are they guarding here?

PC: Cullen would be interested to know about this place.

—

The PC goes to Sahrnia Quarry after talking to Cullen.

PC: Cullen said this mine is the main red lyrium supply for Samson’s army.

Party comments:

Cole: There are templars ahead. Red inside.

Iron Bull: I’d expect guards. Big ones.

Cassandra: No doubt it will be well-protected.

Varric: I’ll watch for company.

Sera: So there will be guards and yelling. Wad up.

Blackwall: Swords at the ready.

Solas: Expect guards, then.

The party comes across some of the red lyrium growing near one of the carts of villagers.

PC: There’s a corpse in this lyrium!

Party comments:

Vivienne: So that’s how the red templars created it so quickly. Blood, to speed the growth.

Dorian: So that’s how Samson grows it. That’s why there’s no end to it.

Solas: Interesting. The red templars sped its creating by “growing” it from the dead.

Blackwall: Maker’s balls. Is that how they’re getting the red lyrium? Growing it off people?

Sera: Ugh! It’s growing out off him!

Varric: It looks like it just burst out of him. Or… her. It’s hard to tell.

Cassandra: They grow it. From the bodies of the living and the dead.

PC: Cullen will want to know about this.

The PC finds some letters in the mines.

To confirm: yes, I've heard the reports. The Inquisition is on the rise, but they'll be a toothless hound once our Master deals with them. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ We stand between the enemy and Corypheus. He gave us what the Chantry never would: a second chance. I don't want to see a single man let him down. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Sow the lyrium. Let it follow where we walk, take root where we settle. Never forget that your footsteps - yours - mark Corypheus's path to victory.

PC: I’ve found a letter. From Samson himself.

To Paxley, ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ I've seen the transformations. It's a horror to watch your soldiers' faces change, to realize they might not remember you day-to-day; it's a sword in the guts. But the ones who make it through are near invincible. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Feed elfroot to the soldiers hurting, as much as they want. Beyond that, it's just waiting until they stop feeling pain. Remind them they spread the lyrium. It grows at our touch; with the "materials" I've sent, they'll grow enough for a dozen armies. It's proof we're on the right path, that any suffering is worthwhile. Remind them. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Samson

PC: A note from Samson, about spreading red lyrium.

To Besen, ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Maddox needs twice the usual red lyrium to modify my armor properly; taking over as the Vessel means it has to be perfect. Have the amount ready in three days, and you and your squad will get a chance to serve as Corypheus's honor guard. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ My own proving goes on. When I first donned the armor, I thought I was drowning in fire. Without Corypheus to stop me, I'd have torn my own skin off. Now the armor's settled, I can march for days without rest, break a man like kindling. I'm finally fit to be the Vessel. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Maddox may come to you to work on my armor's modifications. If he gives you instructions about the lyrium, follow them to the letter. Treat Maddox like you'd treat me. ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ Samson

PC: Cullen would be interested to hear about this.

The PC clears out the mines of the red templars.

PC: We should inform Cullen that we’ve taken care of Samson’s red lyrium hoard.

Party comments:

Cassandra: He will be pleased.

Dorian: Our dear commander might crack a smile for once.

Sera: Should cheer him up. Shift that stick in his arse. Vivienne: Thank you for the delightful image.

Iron Bull: Wish we could be there when Samson hears about it.

They return to Cullen’s office.

Cullen: I’ve been reading the letters found in the quarry. Samson is making red lyrium from people?

PC: Not anymore. Not in that mine.

Cullen: I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous. We have to put an end to him. Look at these orders from the encampment. That armour must give Samson extraordinary power. We may not be able to stop him.

Dialogue options:

General: All the more reason to try. [1]

General: Then we break the armor first. [2]

General: Everything has a weakness. [3]

1 - General: All the more reason to try. PC: Samson’s a menace. If we can’t defeat him, no one stands a chance. Cullen: Then we must destroy the armor.

2 - General: Then we break the armor first. PC: Take away his armor and the lyrium, and Samson’s just another man.

3 - General: Everything has a weakness. PC: That’s what he wants us to think. But no one’s invulnerable. Cullen: Then we must destroy the armor.

4 - Scene continues.

Cullen: I couldn’t say how. Templars are trained not to destroy expensive magical equipment.

Cullen (Dagna recruited): Perhaps Dagna has some ideas? She crafts the impossible every day. Cullen (Dagna not recruited): We need an expert in enchantments. Perhaps they could find a way to ruin Samson’s armor. [You must recruit Dagna to continue the quest.]

Next: For Testing!

[thecoffeerain]

Blackwall x Aodhan Lavellan

With his unwilling curse being red lyrium infused valaslin, Aodhan believes the only man close to him he can be around and not hurt is Blackwall... how wrong was he..?

[dareactions]

I'm a sucker for angst and tragedy, so I'd love to see your take on how Romances would react to an Inquisitor who's become corrupted by Red Lyrium- maybe sort of like Corypheus? God-like powers at the cost of sanity... but it's fiiiine cause they're on *our* side... right?

So, I'll be honest I think a lot of them would dip if this went down, like instantly. Specifically Iron Bull and Blackwall probs? I think they'd either try to make you reach your expiration date faster or run for the hills, but like, what if they didn't.

Also this was written while suffering some real shit health issues so apologies for any spelling mistakes ;; I haven't really been able to move around a lot rip

Cassandra: She isn't one for staying silent. Cassandra watches quietly for the shortest of moments before she voices her concern over the situation, it's hard to not do so to the Inquisitor directly but Red Lyrium makes people temperamental at best. Cassandra is the first to bring up being ready, in case something ever goes wrong. In case they finally step over the threshold Corypheus did. There's something so unsettling about watching someone you know slowly crumble underneath a pressure they have no control over, watching them slowly go from a perfectly normal person to the husk of who they were. Romanced: It's worse when it's someone you love. Her eye keeps searching them for any trace of the person she loves and sometimes, just sometimes, she can see it in the edges of how they look at her but it's not the same. There's nothing to really remove the evergrowing pit in her chest, the way it aches and cracks more and more every day as they go further down a path that Cassandra can't really do much to save them from. Being the person she is, there's that obvious need to protect- but you can only do so much to protect someone from their own downfall.

Blackwall: It's really hard for Blackwall to not just instantly run off. To not tuck his tail between his legs and dash out in the dead of night because he made a promise to follow the Herald, the Inquisitor, someone who stood strong and bravely in the face of disaster- not whatever has taken their place. He does his best to spend as little time around them as possible because in a way they feel like a bigger reminder of his own failings. The inquisitor gave up what is practically themselves for the greater good, and he is well aware he could never even consider following their lead. But that doesn't change the unease, the way he can't help but feels his fingers twitch for a blade whenever they get more obviously inhuman so to speak. Romance: His heart will never recover from this. After everything, all the ups and downs and this might just be what makes Blackwall properly break. He watches their gradual change with a twisted expression of grief and knows he can do nothing. There is no talking someone out of this, once it begins it doesn't really stop. Blackwall can make as many toy horses or wooden ornaments as he'd like, it doesn't ease the stress of knowing the person he loves is slowly dying and he has no power to stop it. The worst part is even if he did, Blackwall isn't entirely sure if he would. They made this choice, a choice that cost them everything but a choice made with so much love for the world around them he isn't sure if he could take that from them.

Dorian: In some ways, it reminds him of Blood Magic. The way the Lyrium corrupts and takes whatever it gets its hands on, and he is equally uncomfortable watching this. Dorian has seen people fall for less and the idea that the Inquisitor is now walking the thin line that most have failed to walk before without tipping in either direction makes him nervous, to say the least. It's heartbreaking, really, to watch someone you cherish and in the past looked to for guidance become this and Dorian will probably never stop questioning if he could've done something. Magic can do so many things but not the thing he wants it to do. Sometimes he sees a hint of the old Inquisitor, and that's almost worse than dealing with the current corrupted personality he sees daily. Romance: Dorian never dealt well with grief, it's not quite an emotion he likes to linger on. And here he is, feeling it heavy on his heart more so than ever, watching the love of his life slowly dwindle into nothing more than a memory. He isn't really sure how to cope, if there is a right way to go around it, or if he can even do anything to help. There is one thing he knows for certain though and that is that people are far too quick to give up hope. Dorian can see his love in the small actions that nobody else seems to notice, the remaining sliver of hope shining like a beacon in the dark. The Inquisitor is slowly becoming more and more corrupted, but Dorian loves them and he isn't ready to give up hope yet and he isn't sure if he ever will be.

Iron Bull: There are some things Bull doesn't fuck with, and demons are one of them. Even if this is different, a corruption, unlike anything he has seen it is eerily familiar. He doesn't want to be on guard around the Inquisitor, they're taking one for the team- they're pushing themselves so far they're willing to become something unrepairable. And maybe that is a part of the reason he feels bad whenever his fingers twitch to reach for his axe when he holds his breath occasionally when they pass. There is a level of trust but it is far more brittle and he isn't sure how to go around it. Bull has seen more stable people do horrible things and the fact that every day the Inquisitor threads closer to something similar to Corypheus horrifies him. Romance: I can't see him not making his stance on the matter very much known instantly, if this was an accidental thing there is just heartbreak- but if the Inquisitor did it as some self-sacrifice I imagine him to be very hesitant to even let them. It's their choice, it is their sacrifice to make but Bull loves them so wholeheartedly and he wonders if there really isn't any other way. He values every little second more than ever though, the small moments have all the more importance because he knows it might be the last moment where they are themself. It is partly overshadowed by the fact that he knows that if it comes down to it, there might be a day when they're gone and there is just an empty husk in their place and he isn't sure if he will handle it.

Sera: The way Sera pulls away is instant. She doesn't fuck around with demons, and even if the Inquisitor isn't one entirely- they're all the same in her book. They're doing it for the greater good- blah blah, it doesn't matter. Because at the end of the day, she has absolutely no reassurance this won't turn around and backfire. It just shows that the inquisition is like every other political faction and organization in the world, it doesn't matter who is being torn down or hurt if it's for the cause. As long as it's for the good of the people a little damage doesn't hurt, which is fine and dandy when you're fighting rogue templars or mages- but not when you watch your friend and leader slowly turn into a less horrific version of the man you're trying to end. Romance: She has never really been one to hold back and that doesn't change even when she is in a relationship, I think there'd be an instant discussion because if Sera doesn't like something- she won't let it happen. Her words become snappier and the occasional comment becomes a daily occurrence, her distaste for the situation is obvious and she has no intention of hiding it - and if she is ignored she'll take her leave even if it breaks her heart a million times over. She isn't going to watch the person she loves break themselves down from the sidelines, she isn't the person to do that.

Solas: Oh, what has he done? Solas always edged on the feeling of remorse, pity, and regret for the fact that these are the steps he has to take to reach his goal. This wasn't in the plan. There is something so grotesque watching someone pull themselves apart at the seams because of you, because of something you put in place and orchestrated. He watches the Inquisitor lose themselves with morbid curiosity and horrified dread because it's something that in many ways is on him. This is his goal and agenda affecting the world and he gets to see it in the worst possible way. Solas keeps telling himself it is worth it, even if he feels an unsettling sense of dread settle in his stomach more and more every day. Romance: Every action, whisper, and loving word is given with a steady hand that is entirely held up by a devouring sense of guilt. Whenever he looks at them, their form and being slowly corrupting more and more with each passing day and sanity fickle- he knows it is his doing. Yet Solas selfishly loves them, he takes and gives and then takes some more because gods the way they smile at him and say his name - it's enough to make any sensible man lose their wits. But he lays away, staring at his hands as he wonders just what he is doing- what he has done. He ruined the person he loved, but it's for a cause, it's a must. A necessary sacrifice, or so he will continue to tell himself as they crumble from the ripples of his actions.

Cullen: Every time they are in the same room he feels that familiar suffocating panic that he did in the tower. There's only so much he can ignore, so much to look away from and it tears him more every day. But Cullen is no stranger to dealing with horrible conditions and accepting questionable morals to get the job down. He has no issues swallowing his doubts and concerns if it means the world becomes better, and they save people. If that means being unable to rest easy at night or holding his hands closer to his sword than he is comfortable doing, so be it. If Romanced: There isn't much that can make Cullen falter in his affections, not even this. If anything, to him this is a showing of his own failings. Damned, be this templar and his ability to turn everything into something he has done wrong or can fix. He isn't as blind as most probably think he is, Cullen sees the alarming signs of instability and they scare him- of course they do. But Cullen is just better at hiding it than some of the others, he just knows how to keep his concerns within the innermost circle, and keep the crying behind closed doors. But it's tearing him down slowly and it's just a matter of time before his love just isn't enough.

Josephine: From a work basis, she despises it. Josephine has always been quite good at separating her feelings when it comes to work, she can look past her own feelings on the matter to realize just how hard this will be to sell to the world. To make them realize the price someone is paying for their safety. But then there are obviously the personal thoughts, the ones that creep in late at night as she stares into the burning candle on her desk. The Inquisitor is a friend, a close one at that and she has to watch them slowly die practically. She isn't sure what to do about it, what she can even say or do or think to make this situation not feel like watching a person get tortured. Josephine lives every day with the anxiety that one day there might not be recognized in their eyes when they look at her. Romance: Nobody knows when Josephine will break, but mostly everyone knows she will. It's obvious in the way she seemingly cradles the fragility of her relationship with the Inquisitor in her hands. They will one day be gone and she probably won't get to do the things she wanted. Go to places they discussed, have her family meet them properly- these are all things that won't take place because they're a walking corruption. Proof of the fact that the veil keeps taking from everyone- the Inquisitor especially. One day she'll crumble into pieces and not be able to entirely pick herself up, and it'll be the day that the Inquisitor is the closest thing the world has ever seen to a god- and that will be the day they will most likely be killed, and Josephine will be defenseless to do anything.

[inquisimer]

in the suffering

I fell behind yesterday, but I'm back with part 6 of the Avexis-as-Cole AU for @tranquilweek! As Haven falls and the Inquisition makes their escape, both Cadash and Avexis make sacrifices to save those they love.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 2260 words | cw: self-sacrifice, canon-typical violence, minor fantasy racism

-

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

Alarm bells rang out over Haven, giving Avexis such a fright that she spilled her half-drunk ale out onto the snow. The pleasant buzz it had given her faded away as she and Varric stared out beyond the wall in horror. She could just barely see the tiny specks that must be the attackers—but she did not need to see them to feel their agony through the Fade. A horribly familiar agony.

It’s them.

“Who would—“ Varric started.

“The Templars,” Avexis cut him off, grabbing her staff and standing to run. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save.”

Cadash was already at the gate when they arrived, listening to the commander’s assessment.

“Under what banner?”

“None—“

“It’s the Templars,” Avexis interrupted, breathless. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save at Therinfall.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Cullen asked the question with anger, but Avexis saw the grief and fear that it disguised. She pressed her palm to her chest.

“I know,” she said, answering his question, but looking imploringly at Cadash. “Trust me.”

Cadash nodded. “I do. Cullen, give me a plan.”

“Haven is no fortress…”

Avexis stared at the village gate. The song was stronger, sickly sweet and singing its siren call. At Therinfall, she’d been able to see it as a sickness, to follow the growth of it within and pull it out by the roots. Now, as the Templars crested over the hill, their presence in the Fade was indistinguishable from the red lyrium in their veins.

They're lost , she thought, regret and despair choking her throat. Well, maybe not. Maybe if—

“Avexis, go with Blackwall—“

She snapped back to attention. “No! Please—if you’re going out there, I want to go too.”

Despite the care she had for her companions, Cadash was a pragmatic leader, and she knew how to make hard decisions. Her face was like stone, now. “No. It’s dangerous, and you’re still recovering. We can’t be carrying you.”

“You won’t be,” Avexis insisted. “I can hear their pain—it’s overwhelming. Let me help.”

“We’re not going out there to help them.” Cadash’s words were blunt, but it was a tired hand that ran down the short length of her braid. “If that’s what you’re thinking—“

“It’s not, not like that. I know you’re going to kill them—but the lyrium is rooted so deep, at this point a quick death is the only help they’ll get.”

“Maker’s breath,” swore Cullen, “That’s—Herald, we don’t have time for this. You must decide.”

Cadash studied Avexis’ determined face for just another breath. “Fine. You’re with me—Sera, with Blackwall, get people to the Chantry. And Avexis—“ she added, tossing the words over her shoulder as she turned. “If I tell you to run, to leave, you do it. Heard?”

Heart beating frantically against her ribcage, Avexis withdrew her dagger and nodded. “Heard.”

-

The dragon’s breath was still hot on the back of their necks as they ran through the gates. Haven was burning. Her people were dying.

“We have to help them,” Cadash shouted, running to a cabin nearly engulfed in flames. “Dorian—“

A well placed bolt cleared the debris, and Seggrit fled to safety as they faced a wave of red Templars that had broken through the outer wall. Bull broke through the tavern door and they rushed in to help Flissa—but Avexis froze. She cocked her head and caught the faintest, sobbing cry. She knew that voice.

“Minaeve,” she whispered. Fear gripped her, and she bolted, ignoring Cadash’s shout as she took the steps to the apothecary’s cabin two at a time.

Both the researcher and Adan were laid out prone, too injured to stand under their own power. In the middle of the clearing sat a number of clay pots that Avexis immediately recognized—explosives, ostensibly for Haven’s defense.

“The pots—“ Adan wheezed.

“I know,” Avexis knelt by Minaeve and pulled her arm over her shoulders so that they could stand. “But as long as—“

As long as there’s no active fire, she was about to say. But before she could get the words out, the dragon swooped above them with a vicious screech and with one horrible breath, set the cabins aflame.

“Andraste’s bloody tits,” Avexis hissed. Minaeve pushed at her shoulder.

“Leave me! You have to get to Adan, he’s too close to the pots, he’ll die!”

Avexis shook her head, clinging stubbornly to Minaeve’s hip and shuffling them closer to the Chantry. “I’m not leaving you. You—you—“

How could she explain? They were hardly the closest of friends—Avexis’ magic was too volatile for Minaeve to really trust her. But the researcher had done something no one else had bothered to do.

“You saved them,” Avexis managed, panting as her muscles groaned under Minaeve’s weight. “Saw them, when no one else did. Someone should save you, this time.”

Minaeve’s eyes flitted to the brand that still marred Avexis’ forehead, though it no longer kept her from the Fade. “I—thank you.”

“We’re far enough, I think,” Avexis said after a few more paces. She lowered Minaeve into a snowbank and looked back. Adan was still struggling, trying fruitlessly to move his broken legs and escape the blast radius.

“He’ll never make it—“ Minaeve began, but Avexis was already gone. She ignored the protest of her lungs as she sprinted back to Adan. But where it had been easy to support Minaeve, Adan was broader and heavier than both of the elves. To boot, he could offer no assistance with his legs as they were. The fire was spreading perilously close to the explosive barrels.

“Get out, girl,” Adan snapped. “Don’t both of us need to die!”

“No, no, we can make it—“

“We can’t—“

Their bickering had given the flames just enough time. Time that seemed to slow as Avexis watched in horror, unable to close her eyes the way Adan had. The trail of fire licked at the open lid of the nearest pot—

And extinguished with a hiss. An arrow, shot into the ground, sprayed up snow that doused the flame. Avexis blinked, mind not quite caught up to her eyes. She looked up and saw Cadash at the top of the stairs, bow at her side and murder in her eyes.

The fire was still coming, though—they needed to move. The dwarf came ‘round to Adan’s other side and between the two of them they carried the apothecary toward Minaeve.

“If we’re both alive in a few hours,” Cadash grunted, taking Adan’s full weight so that Avexis could help Minaeve the rest of the way to the Chantry, “we will have words.”

The mood inside the Chantry was dark, but so powerful was the holy atmosphere that everyone’s terror took on hushed tones. By the time Avexis saw Minaeve to the healers and returned, Cadash and the commander were locked in an irate stare. Then, Cadash caught sight of Avexis, who winced.

“That was the stupidest thing you could have done—“

“It was for a good reason!”

“It was still stupid,” Cadash scowled. “And it’s only the lack of time that’s keeping me from ripping you a new one.”

That was as good as forgiven, Avexis knew, though she couldn’t quite summon a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Cadash’s gaze darted to the commander and Avexis nearly missed the barest shake of her head. Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Roderick knows a way out,” Cadash said, gesturing to the brother who had been such a pest. There was a sister with him, wiping his clammy brow, but his skin was pale as only a dying man’s was. “He’s hurt, but he’s the only one who knows. I need you—” she caught Avexis firmly by the elbows “—to go with him. Help him lead the way. It’s the only chance anyone has of surviving this.”

Avexis nodded, already moving to take the sister’s place at Roderick’s side. “And what about you?”

Torchlight glinted off Cadash’s silver tooth as she grinned. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Just go.”

The pilgrimage path was meant to be walked in the summer for a reason, and it was hard going. But Roderick’s eye was keen, even as his life drained away with each step. He pointed out the landmarks, leaning heavily on Avexis as they went. She held out a potion—it would do little more than ease his pain, but the less pain he felt, the farther he could go before his body gave up completely.

Eventually, the last of the refugees—for what else could they be called, now—were out of the Chantry. Roderick, Avexis, and the advance group of scouts were high up on the mountainside when the call came from the commander.

“We’re clear! Fire the signal!”

An archer drew back his bow and a mage set the tip of his arrow ablaze. As it streaked up into the inky blackness, Avexis caught the commander’s eye.

“Where is she?” she asked, adjusting her grip around Roderick. Cullen just stared at her with pity, and grief, and shame. Realization sank cold over Avexis.

“No—no—“ she cried. She struggled for her tenuous control, biting hard on her tongue to keep her mind her own. But the Fade around them bent beneath her anguish—her anger—and she knew that she would not be able to hold on. Blood-spattered gauntlets caught her by the shoulders.

“She didn’t want to—but it was the only way,” Cullen said grimly, and Avexis appreciated the attempt at soothing, even as it failed to work. “I’m sorry.”

There was a whistling in the air, growing louder, and then a giant boulder struck the mountainside below them. The Frostbacks rumbled and belched forth an avalanche; snow and ice and rocks thundered down to bury Haven.

To bury Cadash.

“No!” Avexis cried again. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was undoubtedly jarring Roderick’s injury with her sobs, but she couldn’t help it. “She can’t—“

“Maker,” Cullen murmured. “Seat her by Your side in death.”

She wouldn’t want that, Avexis thought, bitter through her sorrow. Cadash would have wanted to be returned to the Stone. But the Chantry didn’t care about that. The Inquisition didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about her.

They never had.

“We need to move!” The commander was saying, striding forward decisively. “Clear these rocks, cut back that brush! We can’t stay here.”

“I’m sorry, child.” Roderick coughed, ragged and wet from the blood in his lungs. “She was…well. Her heart was true, and whoever sent her to us knew exactly what we needed.”

Avexis ground her teeth together. It had been Cadash’s last wish for her to keep Roderick alive long enough to save everyone else. That meant she absolutely could not stab him for his asinine comforts.

She stared down at the snow-covered village. What if she had survived? Cadash had stupid luck—if anyone could live through an avalanche, it was her. But she would be injured, surely, and alone. Alone, she would die as surely as if she’d been buried like Haven.

Avexis closed her eyes.

When they weren’t in the Fade, she couldn’t talk to Cole directly. She felt his presence in her soul, or around her heart, particularly when stress and emotion overtook her mind. But she knew that he could hear her, in a way, or at least understand her intention.

You could go to her, help her.

Hesitation, but no denial. And Avexis knew what gave him pause.

You would have to go as you. You would have to leave me.

Affirmation seeped through her. Avexis took a long, slow breath.

The cure for Tranquility was still shrouded in mystery; they knew so little about the specifics of Pharamond’s ritual, or how to apply it safely. But what they did know was that the spirit wasn’t meant to stay with the mage once Tranquility was reversed. In theory, they would touch the mage’s mind, and with the spirit healer’s help, their connection to the Fade would be restored, and the spirit returned to their realm.

Whatever Cole had done, whatever Regalyan had done, it had been off the cuff. Not wrong, really, but not quite right, either. And it meant that Cole had to stay with her for it to stick.

Avexis swallowed. There was no choice, really. Cadash had been prepared to give her life to make sure they survived. She deserved at least one person who was willing to do the same.

Go to her.

The warm comfort that was Cole fretted within her, but Avexis doubled down, thinking her stern determination at him.

Go. To. Her. Find her, and save her. We’re already safe—she needs you now more than I do. So go.

He knew she was right, but his apology was sorrow that lingered in her chest as he slipped through whatever avenue of the Fade only spirits could navigate.

And then it was gone.

She blinked, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, lest they give her a chill and set sickness in her bones. It would be impractical to fall ill when they all needed their strength to survive the mountains. The scouts had cleared the path as Roderick indicated, and Avexis straightened, adjusting her grip on his side for more security.

“Let us go, Chancellor,” she said flatly, voice utterly devoid of the agony from only a moment ago. His brow furrowed, confused. “We must see these people to safety.”

[lyriumlullaby-ao3]

okay i’m sorry i didn’t rejoin tumblr and the da fandom to just spew forth meta all the time, but…

tryna keep this short but pls yell about this with me if you wanna, i just!! i refuse to believe it’s a coincidence that there are seven Old Gods/Archdemons and seven Evanuris (not counting Solas)—

and then if you read the creation story in the Chant (Threnodies 5 but also check out Drakon’s vision in Exaltations, while you’re at it, it’s catalogued as being about “the return of the Maker” and very clearly contains the formation of the Breach and the start of the Inquisition!), where “the Maker” creates the Veil and casts out the seven “Archdemons” and seals them in prisons of earth…?

so one, Solas is the Maker, this is not a doubt in my mind anymore, but more importantly… are the Evanuris the same as the Tevinter Old Gods and the Archdemons?

there’s one more thing Cole says in the deep roads during Trespasser that makes me wonder, he says, “They made bodies from the earth. And the earth was afraid. It fought back. But they made it forget.”

now would be an appropriate place to say that i think it just makes sense that the blight, the contagion that’s spread by darkspawn and red lyrium, was a biological weapon created by the Evanuris during the war with the titans, it somehow lead to Mythal’s death (i have theories about that too, but i’ll save it for some other time) and Solas creating the Veil to seal it away. it just makes sense, trust me for now.

and Solas likes the idea that if all the Archdemons are dead, there would be no more Blight (capital B, the times when darkspawn infect an Archdemon and overrun the surface lands, as given in a party banter with Blackwall; tryna keep this shorter but poke me if you want details), but is upset about the idea of the Wardens seeking out the Archdemons to prevent it?? there’s more to that then he lets on, guaranteed.

anyway i don’t 100% know where my thoughts on this are heading but. here you go, have fun with them

[thebookworm0001]

Bragging Rights

Summary: After traveling, Ellana and her companions settle into camp for the night. But her friends aren't keen to go to sleep quite yet. With the help of a little to drink, they decide it's time to get to know each other a little better, and earn some bragging rights while they're at it.

ao3 link

The noise around the fire was raucous. Ellana had collected an eclectic bunch into her inner circle. She couldn’t claim that any of her companions were particularly serene, though some were less boisterous than others. All of them had their own unique view of things, and a unique way of sharing them. She tried to balance things out as well as she could - it was usually a good idea to keep Sera and Vivienne far away from each other, for example. Both were experts at getting under your skin in their own unique ways, and both were as like to turn those skills on each other as anyone else. Better to give them space to use them where there was plenty of room to escape the fallout. Cole was quieter, but unnerved most other members of her party. Blackwall did well with him, though, and could be a good influence when he wasn’t feeling cheeky. But pairing Varric, The Iron Bull, and Solas? She wasn’t quite certain what had possessed her to make that grouping, aside from Cassandra being out of commission due to a shoulder injury and Varric getting antsy about the red lyrium they had been steadily destroying in their travels. Putting a group of storytellers together, however, would always lead to some kind of shenanigans. Assuming they didn’t rip each other’s worldviews to shreds, first.

Luckily, they’d had an easy day - enemies were few and fell quickly, and the bandits they had been seeking was easily dealt with. Leaving them free to indulge in some wine and whatever spirits might be found at the forward camp, and in playful teasing. What had started as a retelling of battles - Solas of those he’d witnessed in the Fade, Varric of those he’d been in with Hawke, and Bull of various skirmishes with the Chargers - had quickly turned into a contest. Who’d seen the largest battle, the most intense, the most ridiculous and survived. Then, who had the proof to back it up. Ellana was pleased to simply watch, shaking her head as they sniped back and forth about how no one could have possibly survived so many silent sisters or argue how giant spiders really weren’t so egalitarian as Solas would have them believe.

“Spiders,” Solas said, “are usually content to live and let live. Deepstalkers, on the other hand.” He slid a leg of his trousers up to reveal a collection of overlapping circles. She knew those scars. He’d set up for the night in a shallow cave, set his wards, and gone to the Fade. He’d been woken up by a family of deepstalkers that had not taken kindly to another moving into their home. He had scars from more lethal encounters, but the clear teeth marks left a distinct impression. 

Varric raised a finger at the group, bidding them pause, then fumbled for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. It caught on his head briefly before he wriggled out of it, the rest of his chest now free from the low-cut tunic. He swung the finger back to his torso, pressing it deeply into the space just below his right collarbone where the  skin was oddly shiny. A place that had already been visible before removing his shirt. Ellana couldn’t help but think he was trying to compete with Bull’s own lack of a shirt. Ridiculous. “Tried to shoot Bianca while drunk,” he said, “Snapped the bone clean in two.” 

“Lover’s quarrel?” Bull teased. Neither of her other companions looked amused. 

“Something like that.” Varric drank. “What, don’t tell me you’ve never stuck yourself with your own weapon.” Bull’s lips curled into a smile, and Varric groaned. “Oh, not like that, Tiny.”

“Oh, it’s anything but tiny, I assure you.” Another round of groans. Ellana couldn’t help but scoff quietly, though it came with a smile. Varric moved again, shifting and wriggling in his seat until she saw boots fly into the air. 

“Alright, how about this.” He threw a leg into the air, where a thick blanket of hair was interrupted by several clean lines of skin, parallel and twisting.

“I didn’t know you shaved, Master Tethras.” She heard the smile in Solas’s voice. And the sound of a boot hitting his side. 

“Ever found a nest of dragonlings before dinner time? I don’t suggest it. They get cranky when they’re hungry.” A closer look found the scars to be slightly sunken into his skin - the dragonlings had taken some of Varric with them. Her own leg panged in sympathy. Bull inclined his head slightly. If anyone could respect a dragon taking a chunk out of someone, it would be him. He was not to be outdone, however. 

Bull yanked his large, billowing pants up, up, and up. Past his knee, his thigh, until he was one good pull away from showing off his ‘weapon’. He shifted his leg to expose the inside of his thigh, where a scar, white and raised and gnarled, curled around the impressive muscle. A fair bit of the leg had been cut out, leaving the skin to twist around the missing flesh. Varric’s once-shattered collarbone and Solas’s deep punctures seemed rather dull in comparison, then. 

“How about you Kitten? Got any goods to show?” Ellana snapped her head up and Bull leaned toward her, one large arm draped over his exposed leg. A wicked smile warmed his face, and, suddenly, Ellana realized all her companions had, at some point, relieved themselves of some article of clothing in their poorly-veiled pissing contest. Varric, what little shirt he had and both his boots. Solas, his tunic and a leg of his trousers. His pale skin gleamed in the firelight. Her mouth went dry as she realized all eyes were on her. 

Varric narrowed his eyes, studying her, then leaned back. “Nah, Violet’s got all that fancy Dalish healing,” he drawled. “Not to mention Chuckles here. Cassandra would have his head if he left so much as a scratch on her.” He waved his hand in the air, as though to chase the idea away. Then he downed another swig of his canteen. A canteen she didn't recognize, and suspected was responsible for the dark stains on his discarded undershirt. Bull drank from his own, and nodded sagely. His eye twinkled with mischief. 

“Mmm, maybe not his head. Can’t have the anchor get wonky and not have the resident expert on weird shit around to help calm it down. Maybe just an arm. Or a pinkie toe. Or something else.” Bull pitched his voice low and waggled his eyebrows. Solas scoffed, but heat filled Ellana’s face. She walked toward the fire, rolling her eyes, and swiped Bull’s drink from him. He held his hands up in surrender, a shit-eating grin still decorating his face. 

“Pinkie toe?” Bull turned his attention to Solas, face scrunched up in an expression that was equal parts confusion and disappointment. 

“That’s the part you stick on? Yeah, pinky toe.” He shifted his weight, drawing attention to his bad ankle. “Shit’s more important than you realize. Can’t balance worth a fuck without one. ‘Least for a while.” Solas seemed to consider the information for a moment before nodding. 

“I believe she could be convinced to let me keep my extremities, given extenuating circumstances.” Solas sipped from his wineskin, and Bull raised an eyebrow. When Solas did not continue, he waved an arm out in invitation. 

“Such as?” 

“Perhaps a very large bear,” Solas said, deadpan. Varric let out a harsh laugh.

“Cassandra tortured-me-over-a-book Pentaghast giving you grace for a bear? I’ll believe it when I see it.” Varric held out his canteen as if in a toast, then downed the rest of it, disappointedly holding it over the ground when not so much as a drop would fall from it before tossing it haphazardly behind him.

“A fade-touched bear, perhaps. With very long claws.” Solas smiled at her from behind his drink before taking another sip. She smiled back. Why he was drawing attention from her, she didn’t know. But she was glad for it. Bull, however, noticed. His eye darted between them both, and he settled back against the rock behind them.  

“Aw, I’m sure she’s got at least one good story. Can’t have magic all the time, right?” He lifted one finger and aimed it at her head. “What about that one? Don’t even have to take your clothes off for it.” She flushed again - now thankful for the chill in the night air. If he was going to keep teasing her, she might’ve needed to remove a layer or two. Which was, perhaps, the point. Ellana rolled her eyes, but slid her fingers across her hairline and pushed her dark locks back on her head. A jagged scar followed the edge of her hair, ever so slightly sunk into her skin. The pale edges caught in the firelight, appearing almost opalescent. It was a small thing, especially in comparison to the wounds her companions carried, but the injury had been deep. Bull pursed his lips.

“Not bad,” He said. Ellana shrugged. “Where’d you get it from?” The sound of plate metal clanking flashed in her mind. Sunlight glaring off unsheathes blades, a sharp pain in her skull. Then fire. First, between her and the suits of armor. Then behind her, climbing into the trees and eating into the brush. 

“Hit my head,” she said, and let a stray lock of hair fall over the scar.

“No shit,” Varric laughed.

“Don’t tell me you tripped into a tree or something,” Bull drawled, disappointment and disbelief coloring his words.

“No.” She said, and swiped his drink. “It was a statue, and I didn’t trip.” She took a swig from Bull’s wineskin and recoiled. It was ale, shitty ale. The maraas-lok she’d shared with him had tasted better. And she’d nearly coughed up a lung after a single drink. Somehow, she’d expected a stronger - and less rank - drink to be in his pack. He chuckled and took the wineskin back.

“Well, don’t leave us hanging,” Varric said. She realized both he and Solas had set their drinks to the side, now watching her with rapt, if fuzzy, attention. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself.

“It’s really not all that interesting, but alright. I struggled with my magic, when I was younger. When the other mages in my clan had already mastered summoning vines and small storms, I had yet to even break through the veil. The Fade was always just out of reach - I could feel it, but…” She shook her head. “Nothing. So I started sneaking off. There was a place in the woods where the veil was thin. I thought that maybe I could, well-” Ellana shrugged. “Anyway, there was this statue of Fen’harel not too far away. The rest of the clan avoided it for the most part, and so did the humans that passed through. It felt…  safe. I could stay there for hours with no one to watch me struggle to even light a candle. I did that for a while, actually. Trying to call on magic at the feet of the Dread Wolf.”

“Let me guess,” Varric said, leaning forward to aim a finger at her. His eyes narrowed in concentration. “It bit you. Weird shit like that always happens with elves and forests.” Ellana rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway.

“No, the statue did not bite me. And there wasn’t any weird shit, just templars.” The air grew colder, the amusement at Varric’s jest leaching from the air. Even with most of her companions having little love for mages as a whole, they understood the danger templars posed to a young elf on her own. As had she. The discordant melody of rust and steel as they marched through the forest still rang in her ears. She remembered sliding her sylvanwood dagger from its sheath, the leather grip, molded to her hands from long hours of practice, suddenly slick with sweat. Then the scream of her cloak as an arrow ripped through the fabric at her shoulder. How the world exploded in white and heat as she shot up, the wolf’s stone jaws splitting the skin and, she would later learn, her skull. “I hit my head trying to get away. And for whatever reason,” she flipped a hand palm up and summoned a small flame, the same heat and bright orange-yellow light that nearly consumed the forest now tame in her hand, “this came with it.”

She ought to have come away with more than just a mark to her head. The fire had licked up her legs, kissed her cheeks. She’s become intimate with the pain her power could cause within moments of  it finally settling, snapping into place. And had spent much of the frantic journey out of the forest writhing in an aravel as her grandmother and other healers had worked to heal the damage. They’d done well - the scar on her head was all that remained of her injuries. A reminder for herself of what could happen should she lose control again. But that was information she’d share another night, perhaps. There was a fair chance that Bull would request she join them in discarding their clothes to prove the lack of any other meaningful marks from that night. 

“I’m guessing the fire didn’t just stay in your hand?” Bull quirked an eyebrow, his distaste of magic thankfully quelled by curiosity.

“Wouldn’t have kept them off me if it had,” she shrugged. “Besides, Fen’harel isn’t known to hand out easy escapes. I’ll take a forest fire over some of the other consequences he’s handed out.”

“I was going to say, Daisy didn’t make him seem like the helping kind.” That he wasn’t. Not that she could blame a trickster god for his nature, but there was a reason her people prayed that the Dread Wolf did not catch their scent. 

“Do you believe that he was with you, then?” Ellana’s attention was stolen by Solas. His question was quiet, tentative even. Though he’d become significantly less pointed and arrogant in his discussions with her about her people’s beliefs, his own perspective often seeped through even his most well-meaning inquiries. That he stared at her now with only a somber press of his lips was unlike him. Though his melancholy was keen to grow as much as his levity when he drank. Perhaps that was all it was. She offered him a small smile.

“I don’t know.” She shrunk the flame, and let it dance between her fingers, angling her hand this way and that. “We say he’s the only one of our gods free to roam our world. Maybe he thought I needed a lesson on straying too far from my people. Or maybe I was simply lucky to escape. I suppose I can thank him either way.” Solas’s brows drew together, his thoughts circling behind his eyes as he focused on the flame in her hand.  She adjusted it once again, pulling all the heat and light into a small orb, then sent it shattering in a cascade of sparks that fizzled and disappeared into the air. “Couldn’t do party tricks like that without him.” She laughed as Bull and Varric scoffed. They’d had close calls with some of her larger ‘party tricks.’ But Solas was smiling softly on the other side of the fire, so whatever critique they threw her way was well worth it. 

“Try out one of those tricks with the next diplomat,” Varric siad, “see how Josephine feels about them.”

“Careful,” Bull said, a wicked smile curling his cheeks, “Some of them may get off on that.” A groan spread through the camp, and Bull let out a laugh that shook the trees. Varric made a show of taking a healthy swig from his flask, as if the liquor could wish away whatever image his overactive imagination had conjured. Ellana reached out her hand and begged for the drink, hoping for the same, only for him to turn the offending thing over to show a meager drop falling from the lip. She groaned with a wide roll of her eyes, and Varric stood to comfort her, a hand reached out toward her shoulder. He didn’t make it. Nearly as soon as he was upright, he was tilting to the side like a weight had been tied to his wrist. Ellana surged forward to catch him before his face found the ground. Only for sharp pain to lance through her skull. A curse loosed from under her breath, echoed by another. One that was deeper, and in elven. Above her, Solas stood, chin in hand. He stretched out his jaw, looking as though he were yawning for a moment, teeth glinting in the firelight, then he looked down, brows drawn. His eyes, glassy as they were, cleared when he saw her hand rubbing into the sore spot at the top of her head. 

“Ir abelas, I did not mean-”

“It’s alright,” she said, letting a laugh color her words. “You’re softer than a statue, at least. See,” she lifted her hand and turned her palm to him, where her fingers were colored a pale orange by the firelight. “No harm done.” The hurt had already faded to a dull ache, soon to be forgotten with the next breeze of easy conversation. And Varric, somehow, had wandered to Bull’s side, where he leaned against the Qunari’s giant shoulder as he begged for a drink from his still-full wineskin. 

“I ought to have been more careful.” She shrugged, but it did nothing to convince him. Tension still held his shoulders, concern still pinched his face. She offered a small smile.

“You can heal me if you’d like,” she said, and took his hands in hers. Best ensure he let her finish her sentence before he jumped at the chance. “But truly, I’m fine. If you must make it up to me, I have a much better idea anyway.” She squeezed his hands, then released them. She backed up a step, careful not to lose her balance and risk a repeat performance. Fine she was, but she had no desire to bruise her head this evening. The million muscles in his face twitched as he considered his options, his own empty wineskin exposing the way his thoughts churned in his mind. They settled, eventually, and he nodded. 

“What do you have in mind?” Ellana bit her lip to hold back a smile, and nervousness suddenly appeared as Solas’ eyes widened. 

“You never did share how you got that scar.” She pointed to the one on his forehead. The one that looked suspiciously like he’d had a bad run in with the corner of a table. Solas laughed. A true laugh that set her ears and heart ringing. His eyes closed tight, the crows feet at their corners taking flight, She made a quiet promise to herself to try to make him laugh more often.

“Ma nuvenin, I shall tell you how I got the scar.” His eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief, and she suddenly wondered if what she was about to hear was anything at all like the truth. But, she decided, as he kept hold of her hand, bringing them both to settle onto the ground, what did that matter? He could posture and peacock all he’d like, showing off as much as Dorian ever did, though he’d never admit to it. In the end, she would be lucky enough to brag that she’d brought a genuine smile to his face. And really, she’d much prefer that, aching head and all.