#solas is one (1) bad day away from killing everyone in skyhold and then himself

[dailydadoodles]

Sera?? no???

[ranawaytothedas]

WIP Weds!

farI was tagged by the wonderful @faerieavalon

I am going to tag, @sasshole-for-rent , @lyrium-lavellan , @cornfedcryptid

I have two little things I am working on and have been for a couple weeks. 

Also Keep in mind these are edited or possibly even spell checked yet O.O

1. Cullen/Maeve - Oneshot - “A Letter”  - this is actually smut.... just over-glorified smut... 

Maeve’s guilt over the letter ate at her as she watch Cullen read over several passages multiple times. She assumed they were the harsher portions of the letter, and Maeve wasn’t wrong. It was unfair of her sister to assume so much about Cullen’s character after so long. Not giving any thought to how much people can and do change over the course of a decade. Slowly, Maeve reached her hand over and placed it on his arm. “She doesn’t know why you left the Templars, that you are a different man than the boy they found in the tower…” Her tone was soft, gentle and full of love as she spoke. She knew Cullen was a good man. He made bad choices, had horrible things happen to him. Yet he never used them to excuse his behavior. When ever they discussed his past, he owned his faults. It was Maeve who often tried to make excuses for him and it was something he would never allow. Always reminding her that he had free will, that no one forced him into anything.  

For a man who held himself in such low esteem, seeing someone else share the same opinion of him was far mor jarring that he expected. He had said horrible things to Morrigan. Accused of her trying to manipulate him when she had only bening trying to help him. She has every reason to feel this way, I am the monster she thinks me to be. Perhaps, all this needs to end.  As he was drawing the conclusion he glanced back at Maeve. Her face, soft and sweet. Her eyes filled with love and concern as she gazed up at him reminded him why it couldn’t. No one has looked at me like that. She loves me, Maker, why does she love me? I would die a thousand times to spare her life. Their relationship wouldn’t end, it couldn’t. Maeve was his reason for waking up each day, she was his hope for a life after all this. He wasn’t going to let her go because he was afraid, that was not the man she saw when she looked at him. Cullen held up the letter and let out a nervous laugh. “She is going to kill me..” 

“No… that’s not her way…” Maeve corrected quickly. “She may try to turn you into a rat but I promise you I won’t let her get that far.” Clearing her throat Maeve looked at her feet. “Alistair… well, he may kill you. He was with the Wardens that passed through Kirkwall during the start of the Rebellion. He had very strong opinions about how the Templars behaved. I know that you did not do anything horrible to Mages yourself, but you were Knight-Captain. He will hold you responsible. ” She muttered her eyes peering up at Cullen’s face at it drained of all it’s color. Everyone knew of the great AlistairTheron, who should have been King of Ferelden and was a fabled hero of the fifth blight. He was the last man Cullen would want to go toe to toe with over his relationship with Maeve. “But he adores me, like a little sister. I can likely talk sense into him… more than likely.” Her nervousness over the whole situation was apparent in how her voice wavier 

Cullen laughed nervously again as he turned around to face his desk. “Wonderful… oh Maker…” He exclaimed as he looked at the letter again. “I couldn’t just find a nice, uncomplicated girl… you know a baker perhaps…” He mused shaking his head, silently scolding himself for even momentarily wishing he hadn’t met Maeve. He set the letter on his desk and turned around to see the pained look on her face. His words had cut her deeper than he expected and his heart sank as he saw tears well in the corner of her eyes. 

“I am so sorry, Cullen…” She started shaking her head as she brought her hands to her mouth. He was right. He would have been infinitely better off with anyone but her. As she looked away she cursed herself for being too selfish, too much of that foolish child that Morrigan always called, to see it till he pointed it out. Her breath caught in her throat as she went to speak. Her golden eyes closed as she choked out. “I ruined everything.” Her mother’s harsh words, faded and jumbled in her memory called out to her. Nothing but a mistake. She called out harshly. You have ruined all my plans Maeve, you have cost me everything! Of all my ungrateful daughter you are the worst! Her mother was not what most would have called kind, Morrigan has shielded her from most but there were hazy memories that still cropped up any time that Maeve was feeling particularly hard on herself. Tears started to roll down her cheeks as muttered. “Mother was right…” 

2. Solas/Tamaris - Oneshot - “His Heart” - Inspired by the art that @pookyhuntress did for my loves that you can find.... here

And the whole world changed…

Solas’s words echoed in Tamaris’s mind as she stood over a large, plush bed with one tiny figure curled into a ball in the middle. Her faced was nuzzled against the soft pale yellow wool of her favorite blanket. Clutched tightly in her arms, a small pink Nug. Tamaris felt blessed she remembered in the frantic moment to grab her daughter’s favorite things because she knew there was going to be no turning back when she saw Abelas darkening her door.  The Council had not been going well and Solas always had interesting timing. 

Tamaris would have preferred not to have had the experience be so traumatic for Shivana. It was never going to be easy, leaving everything she knew. Leaving, Cullen. Shivana sobbed, so loudly they nearly got caught as they snuck back threw the Eluvian. It wasn’t until Solas had taken her from Tamaris’s arms did the child stop crying, for the moment. Change overwhelmed Shivana, who had spent most of her life in the relative confinement of Skyhold. In a few short weeks, she had traveled across a long distance, stayed in a grand place and now was someplace that was not real, but wasn’t a dream either. Solas said it was the safest place for them to be, though he had yet to explain just where they were. 

He had yet to explain quite a number of things, in fact. 

Solas had helped her settle into his rooms, or what Tamaris assumed were his rooms in the hidden estate that he did explain was the base of all his operations. Abelas and some of the other sentinels appeared to live there as well, though Solas assured her they would leave her and Shivana alone. He spent a little time helping Tamaris settle Shivana before Abelas came to tell him he was needed. Tamaris in the moment had a great deal of sympathy for Dorian and dealing with the same intrusions for Mathras. She was also reminded that her brother and Dorian were likely beside themselves, likely being to mount some half-cocked war to try and rescue her.

[aniastrevelyan]

Trespasser head-canons part 1

Garret Trevelyan leaned against the balcony railing of his lavishly appointed guest apartments in the winter palace of Halamshiral. He’d just arrived – fashionably late (Vivienne would remark) for the start of the exalted council. His procession of attendants, advisors and companions had made its way through the gardens some scant hours before dusk. The dinner hour was painfully behind them, no time afforded for mingling or searching for old friends. A travesty, Garret would bemoan to other dignitaries, as though his arrival, and it’s timing, had not been carefully planned and orchestrated.

Josephine would have liked the full party, networking and appearances and hand shaking, maybe a few dignified words  – but Garret never had the stomach for such extended pleasantries. Even less so no these days.

Garret felt quite the perfect picture, gold and red formal wear, and gloves up to his elbows. Every bit the powerful leader of Thedas’ most powerful organization. He had grown out his hair since his last visit to Halamshiral – much to Josephine’s annoyance. The scar above his left ear had been a permanent fixture of his appearance for years. It curved in an arc, like a sideways smile, from the top of his ear to the crown of his head. His hair was short in the circle and he kept it that way after leaving – it made him look clean cut, respectable – but he didn’t like seeing the lopsided smile of the scar.

It was a long time ago, he was a boy and still with his family in Ostwick. His magic had begun to manifest. One moment, he was laughing with his sister, playing or play fighting. The next – she was screaming at him, the air between them crackling with electricity like static. She didn’t tell. Not for a long time. When Garret was finally caught, it was too late. He had hurt someone. To stop him, his elder brother knocked him out, leaving the scar. When he woke up, he was in the circle. He never resented that action, nor being in that place.

He worked hard to control his magic after that. Becoming Inquisitor had made him more powerful than he could ever have believed. Even so, every time the anchor surged with its own indomitable will he remembered that old feeling of helplessness. How much did he control it, really?

In the here and now, Garret watched the sun setting over the courtyard. The soft green mouth of the breach – lips closed now but ever gaping in his thoughts – smiled down at him from between purple and pink painted clouds. He turned his attention to one of the fountains several stories below the balcony. The surface of the water glittered with a golden, shimmering light. He could almost touch the top of the spray. Occasionally, a strong breeze carried droplets of the golden water to his cheeks.

The weeks ride from the Frostback Mountains had taken a toll on him. With Corypheus two years defeated, Garret’s body was not as used to riding as it once was. A few hours of sparring a day, the occasional peacekeeping mission or excursion to the Frostback basin or deep roads – the fights were fewer and farther between. The rides shorter, the beds softer. The council wouldn’t really begin until tomorrow, so for tonight Garret was free to relax. Relaxation however, was no more a part of his routine than riding.

Despite his unease, or perhaps because of it, Garret looked forward to seeing his friends. Mother Giselle had mentioned “the Tevinter ambassador” casually as though his cheeks didn’t redden. It had been months since Dorian and Garret had spoken. Tersely worded letters a poor substitute for the long talks they had shared before he left. On top of that, other friends and companions had returned for the council and Josephine was going to take him to an Opera. The next few days were promising to be busy and exciting, terrifying and maybe just a bit fun.

For tonight, however, he was alone.  

In one hand, he casually toyed with a caprice coin. He twirled the gold between his fingers nimbly, spinning it behind, then back to the front of his index finger with the help of the pointer and ring. He did this with his right hand. His left tensed and relaxed around the anchor. It glowed and pulsed and spread. The anchor meant outside forces. It meant wrong and unnatural, but it also meant power and authority. It made him strong, changed who he was – gave him purpose – but it was also killing him.

He might not have been sure before – not certain when the thought solidified into fact – but it’s obvious now.

There are those he should tell.

The very companions who demonstrated their continued devotion by coming to Halamshiral for a start. Garret thanks the maker for each one of them, but he cannot share this.

Leliana would offer him quiet, sympathetic support. She would offer to have her agents double their efforts on his behalf, research all manner of elven lore – do anything. Then she would nod, her eyes warm but distant, and retreat.

Cullen would be warmer. In the years since Corypheus’ defeat Cullen had become a close friend. He would scrunch up his face, thump Garret on the back, and promise the same as Leliana.  He would fight harder in the sparring ring; he would bury himself in paperwork.

Josephine would be distraught. A master diplomat, expert at The Game, but she would not hide her grief from him. Not after the countless hours they spent talking and working and waking across a desk from one another. Come to think of it, she might cry. A terrible situation worth avoiding.

Sera would swear, threaten, and posture. She would want to shoot arrows into something, make something bleed. Sera was a force to be reckoned with and Garret had done a lot of reckoning with her. Fighting and arguing and talking – and laughing. They had done their fair share of laughing. Her laughter was important to him, it made him feel like a real person, it tethered him to himself. No point spoiling the fun, if she knew he were dying the laughter would be spoiled.

Thom – formerly Blackwall – would be very quiet. Thom had been absent from Skyhold for a long time. He was on his own journey and Garret was just glad to have a chance to spend time with his friend. When you got Thom, Sera and Garret in a room together – the night tended to wind mysterious paths and end in strange places. Their friendship was vital. If he told Thom, the big burly man might hug him. Maker forbid, almost as bad as Josie.

Cassandra would move mountains. She would rally the armies, employ every researcher and scholar and enchanter who would heed the call of the Divine and she would promise him everything. She would say exactly what she thought he wanted to hear, I won’t let this happen. You’re going to be fine. The Maker would not let this happen. Cassandra was one of his dearest friends. A pity he hadn’t spent more time with her in the last two years.

Bull wouldn’t say much. He was a constant, reliable rock that formed the foundation for Garret’s life as Inquisitor. His loyalty and support would never be questioned. His advice could not be priced in gold. Bull would keep it straight and honest and tell him exactly what no one else would, exactly what he needed to hear, this is shit.

Cole might have some small wisdom, some overheard thing. He might pull out Garret’s thoughts and spill out his feelings in front of everyone, or worse, spill their feelings for him. He would want to help – but be able to do nothing and Garret would have to look his friend in the eye and know the pain reflected there was caused by him.

Vivienne would be straightforward – comforting but not condescending. She would promise him results; promise him to look into this herself. I have something for that, she might say. Rub this on it. Let me see that. She had an answer for everything and never accepted defeat.

Varric would be hurt. You didn’t say anything before now? Well shit. Garret remembered the dwarf after the fade, after Hawke, and it still hurt somewhere under the rib cage. What letters would he write when Garret died? Would he be the one to write to the Trevelyans or would that fall to Josephine?

Sometimes Garret thought about Solas. If he had somewhere to write, some way to contact his old friend he would. If anyone could tell him what was happening, it would be him. Solas would have some answer, some insight into the Elven magic that was slowly sapping at Garret’s life. He would know what to do. Damn him for leaving, for disappearing. Garret had been telling Leliana to continue the search, to redouble the efforts to find the elf. Maybe she knew why. She doesn’t argue.

And then there’s Dorian.

Garret forced his attention back to the golden coin held now between his thumb and pointer finger.

Before the caprice coins came to be tokens in The Grand Game, status symbols thrown away to prove you have money to spare, they were something different. Sacrifices to Andraste on behalf of Chevaliers. Bribes to keep the soldier safe. Bring him home.

Superstitious – perhaps.

Garret rolled his shoulders up and down his back to relieve the stiffness in his spine. He pressed his lips quickly to the golden coin and tossed it down into the fountain. Not sparing another look, he retreated, hoping to get a few hours of sleep before light broke. He closed the doors to the balcony and pulled the velvet drapes over the breaches smirk.