#tevinter nights. i will never forget what you did for me. and the crows.

[mohntilyet]

getting surprised that people think illario is bad at what he does. i have to remind myself he’s hilariously bad at lying in the game and if that’s all you’re going off from then it does seem like he was born yesterday. not everyone has an extensive rewrite where he gets to be more competent. “why doesn’t anyone believe in him” says tumblr user who has convinced themselves using only wigmaker’s job, delirium and prayer

[jentrevellan]

SUMMARY: Cullen’s POV to the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Cullen x Lyla Lavellan (Mage)! One-sided Solas romance! Some in-game scenes expanded! Plus lots more to come! Reblogs, likes and replies are loved. ^^

**Updated every 2 weeks!**

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-> Read on Ao3 -> Read on FF -> Artwork by @anafigreen​

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Letters

The letter sits on my desk, unopened and untouched. I know that writing - it’s clear and crisp and holds many memories and regrets. I’m leaning against the stone wall, staring at it for what seems like an hour until I finally muster the courage to unseal it.

"Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen" Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine commander survived Haven. We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you? It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try. Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?) Mia

I re-read the letter several times, to digest every sentence, every word. The guilt of it all rattles through me, making me grip the hilt of my sword for support as I pace my office. I read it again, just to take in that familiar handwriting and I scrunch it up. I throw it to the floor exasperated. My legs jerk as I hesitate again before swooping down to pick up the letter once more and flatten it on my desk just to read it again. My elation from the memories of Lyla and I sparring before she left for the Western Approach are extinguished as if to remind me that I don’t deserve to be happy. I do not deserve Lyla when I have let so many others down; let my family down. If I’m not careful, I will let Lyla down too and the thought cripples me.

To tell my sister that I have, in-fact, written to her many times over the years only to end up as kindling, would drive her mad with anger. But it is has been so long since I’ve seen any of my siblings, that I find myself struggling to remember their faces, their voices.

I spend the rest of the afternoon mulling over reports, only to re-read Mia’s letter again and again. I know I’m in desperate need of a distraction with the absence that Lyla has left since her mission to the Western Approach. Any day now, a report is due from them and I am anxious to hear any news, feeling useless that we are left in the dark about the unknown.

It’s late in the evening when there’s a gentle knock at the door. For a moment I forget that Lyla is away, and my stomach flips at the thought of seeing her. But Leliana enters the room, a crow on her arm.

“I thought you would still be up,” she says. “I’ve got messages from the Inquisitor.”

“Messages?” I repeat, puzzled.

Leliana tugs out the rolled parchment from the crow’s ankle. “There’s her official report but also another, addressed only to you.”

I stand abruptly, and the crow flaps its wings at my sudden movement. Leliana coos to the bird, stroking it’s chest with a gloved finger.

I take the letter from her outstretched hand, and recognise Lyla’s loopy script reading just ‘Commander Cullen’. I turn it over, noticing the seal is already broken.

“Intercepted?” I ask, glancing at Leliana.

She shakes her head. “I have to check these things, you know. I ought to get her to write in code, really.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Well it was attached to the same bird - I had to check, just incase.”

I sigh, tucking the letter into my pocket, wanting to read it in my own time, alone. But the apprehension of reading her letter is an awful temptation. I can feel it burning in my pocket.

“Cullen, I should talk to you about Inquisitor Lavellan... and you.”

I still, waiting for her to continue, dreading her words.

“Whilst my teasing is all in jest I just need to make sure that… things won’t get complicated if they-”

“They won’t, Leliana,” I cut across.

She inclines her head slightly. “I only mean… does she know about your… headaches?”

“Yes. Although she knows little of how bad they are. I do not want to be a burden.”

Leliana nods. “I don’t want either of you getting hurt. And it’s probably best, for diplomatic reasons, that whatever is going on between you, remains as private as possible.”

“Diplomatic reasons?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Josephine is negotiating and handling all new queries regarding lineage and betrothals for both you an the Inquisitor. Don’t worry,” she says, as I open my mouth to protest. “Our ambassador is very good at holding them at bay. But in the interests of alliances, I suggest you keep this a private matter, yes?”

“I intend to,” I say, a horrible taste in my mouth, hating the ways of the great game.

She sighs. “I remember during the Blight, Alistair and the Neria falling for each other. Oh, they caused such a great scandal when Alistair refused the Kingship to remain a Warden. We all know he did it to stay with her.”

“I won’t abandon the Inquisition, if that’s what you’re implying,” I say.

“I know that… but you know that Lyla will have to abandon Clan Lavellan if she stays with you?” Leliana says softly. When I don’t reply she turns to leave, handing me the report with the Inquisition seal. “Just be careful. I’ll meet you in the war room in the morning with Josephine so we can discuss this report.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” I say, looking down at the report. She backs out of my office, closing the door softly behind her.

I walk slowly back to my desk, unrolling the neat report and preparing myself for the news. At least I know she is safe, and that gives me a little hope, despite Leliana’s words.

Dear Advisors, It is much worse than we thought. The Grey Wardens are not in their right mind, with Warden mages under complete control of Corypheus, through a Tevinter mage: Erimond. What’s worse, is that those who aren’t possessed are simply following orders, hoping this will stop a future Blight. They are scared and desperate and are congregating at Adamant Fortress, to the west, using blood magic to summon demons.

We have learnt a great deal, but will need to get into Adamant Fortress before Corypheus’ demon army can be summoned by his Warden puppets. In an attempt to secure the Western Approach, we have procured Griffon Wing Keep - Captain Rylen is setting up a base here for the Inquisition.

We are returning to Skyhold as quickly as possible and will be back within the week, Creators permitting. I shall explain more when I arrive.

Signed, Inquisitor Lavellan, Herald of Andraste

I scan the letter several times and immediately begin planning for an inevitable assault. I spend most of the night pouring over maps and documents, writing plans and orders, counting recruits and composing regiments. It’s tedious work, but I’m admittedly pleased for the distraction, knowing that the Inquisition’s army are almost ready. I speak to Blackwall late in the night asking for his opinion, but the man is elusive with his knowledge of Adamant Fortress. Even so, he’s clearly had experience in an army, but I’m too intent on organising a potential assault, that I don’t probe him for more.

I can see light starting to appear on the horizon when I finally get up from my desk and stretch. It’s a few hours before the rest of the keep will awake, and normally I would be meeting Lyla in the training ground for our sparring match.

With a jerk, I reach into my pocket, suddenly remembering her letter. How could I have forgotten? My eyes are heavy and I know I need to sleep before the meeting in a few hours, but to know that she has written to me - just me - greatly lifts my heart. I smile as I climb the ladder, peeling off my armour and standing by the window. Finally, I roll open the letter and read by the faint light of dawn at the window.

Dear Cullen, You’ll have seen my report from the Western Approach to you, Leliana and Josephine by now, but this is not a report. Leliana - I know you’ll read this anyway, but please, this is informal and strictly off-the-record.

It seems so long since I was at Skyhold, saying goodbye to you at the stables. It seems even longer since that soiree. How ridiculous does that sound? Dorian is currently reading this over my shoulder as I write and is scoffing. He’s becoming insufferable.

There is sand everywhere, it’s not even remotely comfortable. I never thought I would miss the cold and snow of Skyhold, but here I am praying to the Creators for snow instead of sand.

Really, what I’m trying to say is that I miss you. And I'm not very good at this. Take care, Lyla

I read the letter again and again, my chest lighter, my tiredness easing. I grin at her words and scan the letter once more before collapsing on my bed into a blissfully dreamless sleep; the letter still clutched in my hand.

True to her word, Lyla returns less than a week after her letters arrived. I’m standing in the war room with Leliana and Josephine, awaiting her arrival. Unlike her usual returns to Skyhold, there is no victory to celebrate, only the nervous apprehension of the battle which is sure to come. I rest my hand on the pommel of my sword at my hip, hoping to keep my hands still. I know, that as soon as Lyla arrives, we will plan straightaway for our departure. There will be little to no time to see her, except as our Commander and Inquisitor selves.

But we are at war, I must remind myself of this. Every moment where we are in the same room is a blessing and I will not forget that. When she finally pushes open the doors with Hawke and Alistair behind her, I cannot even try to smile when I see how exhausted she is.

Still in her travelling gear, her hair is windswept and her nose is pink. Her breeches are faded and stained with sand, dirt and now damp from snow. She smiles faintly as she takes her place opposite us at the table, but I can see the way she’s favouring her right side as she walks, and worry plucks at me.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” Josephine says, offering a smile.

“Thank you. Although I fear we will need to depart as soon as possible.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair and looking down at the map. I pass her a roll of parchment with clear drawings of the fortress which she browses over as we each present our updates following her letters.

“Adamant Fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” Leliana says.

“Fortunately for us, that means it was built before the age of modern siege equipment,” I reply. “A good trebuchet will to major damage to those ancient walls, thanks to our Lady Ambassador.”

Josephine beams. “Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisition her soldiers. They will deliver the trebuchets.”

“That is the good news,” Leliana says bluntly.

“… and the bad news?” Lyla prompts.

“Erimond called the ritual at the Western Approach a test. He may already be raising his army of demons in the fortress.”

I point to the plans of the fort on the table. “The Inquisition forces can breach the gate, but if the Wardens already have their demons…”

“Look at these records of Adamant’s construction,” Leliana points to similar drawings of the ones I’ve already seen. “There are choke points we can use to limit the field of battle.”

“That’s good,” I say. “We may not be able to defeat them outright.” My mind is working a mile a minute to plan this down to the tiny detail. I turn to Lyla. “But if we cut off reinforcements, we can care you a path to Warden Commander Clarel.”

Lyla looks away, picking at the hem of her gloves. “Taking this fortress is going to get a lot of good soldiers killed.”

I open my mouth to reply but quickly close it. No matter what I say, it’s not going to help. She speaks the truth, but that is the price of fighting a war for peace. To think of those who may die and the lives they leave behind is a luxury I cannot afford to think about.

“Our soldiers know the risks, Inquisitor,” Josephine says softly. “And they know what they’re fighting for.”

“It will be hard fought, no way around it. But we’ll get that gate open,” I say, confident in the men and women I’ve been training. Knowing that for them, they are itching for a battle, to fight in this war.

Josephine glances behind Lyla to where Hawke and Alistair are talking just outside of the doors. “It’s also possible that some Wardens may be sympathetic to our cause.”

“The warriors may be willing to listen to reason,” Leliana concedes. “Though I doubt they will turn against Clarel directly. The mages however, are slaves to Corypheus. They will fight to the death.”

We fall into a contemplative silence as we digest the news. Lyla doesn’t dare look at any of us, but keeps her head bowed, eyes tracing the maps and plans before her, as if absorbing everything to memory.

“We’ll leave on the morrow,” she says eventually.

The meeting is adjourned and we all swiftly return to our duties. In the main hall, I hesitate as I watch Lyla slowly make her way towards her quarters. She stifles a yawn and I'm loathe to disturb her, but cannot think of a reason why I shouldn’t. I know that to be alone on the eve of departing for battle is the last thing you want.

With my mind made up I hand my reports over to one of my men and head towards the kitchens, which are unusually busy at this late hour. I’m blissfully ignored as the cooks and servants hurry around preparing food for the journey with packs of salted meat and sugary treats. I spot lemon cakes on a stand in the corner, knowing that they were meant to be for a welcoming feast with Lyla’s return.

I manage to slip a few onto a plate, pop them on a silver tray and head out to the wine cellar, pulling out a small bottle of chilled wine with none of the servants noticing me. I slip into Josephine’s office and find it - thankfully - empty. Placing the cakes and wine on her desk, I rummage for some parchment and a quill and scribble a quick note:

Inquisitor, Thought you could use a little something sweet to help you relax before our march to the west. Cullen

I cringe over my clumsy words, not knowing what to say. It makes no sense, but I hope it’s something. Before I back-out, I place the parchment on the tray next to the cakes and sweep out of Josephine’s office, pushing the Inquisitor’s quarters door open with my shoulder. With each step I take up the tower, my feet like stone and the tray appears to get heavier. When I finally stop outside of her closed chamber door, I place the tray down, determined not to knock, incase she is already asleep. However desperate I am to see her, I know that calling on her in the night like this, on the eve of our departure, really isn’t proper.

Kneeling down, I place the tray on the floor outside of the door. I straighten, resist the final urge to knock and back away. As I turn and head towards the stairs back down, a shiver runs up my spine and I freeze on the spot. The door is opening.

“Cullen?” her voice is soft, quiet and questioning.

I don’t reply, I don’t trust myself. But she says my name again and I am compelled to turn and look at her at least. I tell myself not to speak, not to move, just to respond to her questions. Not to bother her.

She stands in the doorway, a hand on the catch. Her light hair tumbles down in soft waves around her face and her lips are parted slightly. To me, she looks so enchanting, dressed so simply in a leather breeches and a loose shirt. There’s a faint smile tugging the corners of her lips as she glances down at the tray by her feet.

“What’s all this?”

I rub the back of my neck, looking anywhere but at her. This was a terrible idea. I should not be here.

“I… I thought… ah, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ah, lemon cakes!”

Lyla picks up the tray and turns to take it with her, but looks at me over her shoulder. “Won’t you join me for a glass?”

Every part of me wants to say yes, to pick her up with the tray and take her to her rooms, but I remain rooted to the spot. Her face falls a little, so instead she carefully puts the tray back down on the floor, steps over it and walks towards me.

“I shouldn’t be here,” I say quietly, when she stops in front of me.

“I know,” she replies softly, leaning up and kissing my cheek.

Something in me snaps and I take her waist, desperate to feel her as close to me as possible: it’s been so many weeks since I helped her onto her horse, even longer since we had kissed on the training ground. My nervousness is replaced by determination as I pull her close, knowing more than anything I want to cherish her, protect her and spend just one night ignoring our responsibilities and those cursed ‘appearances’. Despite this, with restrain I don’t know I had, I pull her into a hug, resting my head on her shoulder, breathing in deeply her light scent of strawberries and sweat.

We’re silent for a few moments before she kisses my temple. “Cullen,” she says, breathlessly. It sends a shiver of desire through me. Oh Maker, this is not good…

“Cullen,” she repeats. “Your-your armour is-ah-”

With a start I pull back. “Sorry!” I exclaim.

Lyla shakes her head, smiling. “Thank you, Cullen. I…” She chews her bottom lip and carefully steps back. “I should… I should go.”

I’m deflated but I know it’s right so I nod. “Me too. I just… needed to make sure you’re alright,” I say lamely.

“I missed you,” she replies, picking the tray up once more. “And not just because you brought me lemon cakes and wine,” she chuckles.

I grin at her and rub my neck. “Well, goodnight, Lyla.”

“Goodnight Cullen.”

The door closes softly and I’m left in the dark corridor knowing that sleep will be hard to come by tonight.

[jewish-gay-elves]

Doomed Love 1/?

AO3 Link

Zevran and Daolin have an odd relationship. These documents were collected to try to understand what exactly they were doing after the Fifth Blight and the destruction of Amaranthine.

Words: 3431, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of the Daolin Tabris: The Family You Don't Choose

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Zevran Arainai, Male Tabris, Male Warden, Anders Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Tabris, Zevran Arainai/Male Warden, Zevran Arainai/Male Tabris Additional Tags: this is a bunch of like letters or just documentation following my warden post-blight, and post amaranthine, idk how long it's going to be, Dialogue Drabble, talking about the Taint

[Recovered drafts found in the desk of the Warden Commander of Ferelden, Vigil’s Keep 9:36 Dragon]

Dear Love,

I remember being nineteen summers when we first met. It was hot and sticky in that little crevice between hills which probably wasn’t hot at all compared to Antiva for you. I was worried when that human came up to us, Cynbayd had already given a warning growl and Alistair was bristling as she delivered her plea. Alistair grabbed my shoulder perhaps to try and warn me, but I wasn’t feeling the warmest towards him at the time. Still was having night terrors about Vaughan even months after what happened. Didn’t want to help her but didn’t want him touching me more. Just to spite him I shrugged him off, nocked an arrow, and followed the girl. Instead of, well whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t the sight of you standing there waiting, along with that blasted tree collapsing above us.

The fight that followed may have been one of the most difficult I fought in that year. Alistair probably still has a bruise from where you ended up punching him. Though you seemed to be very thankful that his shield didn’t bash your nose into your skull. Looking back it is a wonder that none of us died, I think about that everyday now it seems. It may be because I keep hearing the story repeated in these taverns I find on especially cold nights. Regaled around tables over the warm piss for ale everyone seems to serve.

Remember after the final battle, when my father came up to us, the face you made may be my favorite thus far. How he demanded we sit down for a proper meal, and wouldn’t let you slink away after I said you were the reason fate hadn’t let me get married. Wasn’t surprised when he also demanded the whole story. Glad we glossed over how we actually met. A horde of mercenaries and a trained Antivan Crow, that certainly would have given my father a heart attack had we told him. Glad he thinks you’re a charming devil. You’ll look out for him whenever you’re in Denerim won’t you? Afraid I won’t be in the region for quite some time. Won’t be in the country for quite some time.

That leads to why I actually wrote this letter. You know me, can’t get to the point if my life depended on it. I’m leaving Ferelden my love. Sounds silly to write it like that when you haven’t been here in what feels like years. Without you, I’m not home. Regardless, Ferelden is all I’ve ever known. Not sure for how long I’ll be gone. Not sure if I’ll be back. Not sure if I’ll be able to write as often. Wouldn’t want to bore you with details, just know that I will think of you every day. I think of you daily anyway, but I don’t want you to forget that. I love you, Zevran.

Yours,

Daolin

[The bottom of the draft is rumpled from a small amount of water damage]

[Discarded crumpled bits of paper found amongst the Warden-Commander’s personal belongings 9:41 Dragon]

Grand Enchanter Fiona

-Must find more records of her time as a Warden.

-Montsimmard

-Apparently now serves the Inquisition.

-Redcliffe? Skyhold?

Avernus

-Blood Magic

-DO NOT ATTEMPT

Must figure something out, Weisshaupt will have nothing. Nothing for me to look at, at any rate. Why would they want to cure the Taint if they know that is what keeps half of their men with the Wardens? Zevran is starting to wonder why I haven’t told him what’s going on. He won’t believe I’m acting on Weisshaupt’s orders much longer. He’s not stupid. So clever, too clever. Just knows me too well to ask questions yet. Just need to tell him what is really going on. That I’m scared of the Calling. That I’m scared to become a ghoul. I’m scared I’ll end up hurting him. I’m so scared.

[The rest of the paper grows increasingly scratched on and marked out, as if ideas were written and quickly discarded in anger and frustration]

[A page torn out of the apostate Anders’ journal dating around 9:43 Dragon]

Andraste’s flaming knickers I thought I was being careful. I got found today. Thankfully it was just the Warden Commander. Though I don’t know what he wants so I may not have much to be thankful for soon. The Commander is a ranger however, that may be how he was able to find me despite my best efforts to travel unnoticed. He hasn’t explained why he was looking for me yet. Just came into the cave where I was, drenched to the bone, and demanded I build up a fire. He always did remind me of a cat, especially his hatred for being wet or cold. I remember we were in the Blackmarsh and all of his orders were practically spat at us. Didn’t particularly help things when that spirit showed up in Kristoff’s body. To be fair, Kristoff wasn’t actually using it anymore, but he had a point that the dead deserved respect.

Regardless, we are as far from the Blackmarsh as can be. Practically skirting around the borders of the Tevinter Imperium at this point. There aren’t as many Venatori around here, I suspect they’ve retreated back to their hidey holes in the Magisterium. Though I imagine that even if there were Venatori here, they wouldn’t be for long. In this kind of weather the Commander’s rage wouldn’t be limited to just darkspawn. However, I had heard stories from Oghren that suggest the Commander might not need more reasons to wish death on Tevinters. Apparently they had a slave operation running out of Denerim’s alienage during the Fifth Blight.

Almost makes me think of Fenris. Or maybe Isabela. But then again, Isabela didn’t grow up knowing those people who were about to become slaves. She still freed them though.

The Warden-Commander is starting to unnerve me. He hasn’t said a word since he got here. He was never one for words in the first place but this is getting creepy. He’s just been standing guard near the cave entrance, as if he were waiting on something. Or someone?

[The entry ends there to be picked up an undetermined amount of time later]

Turns out my guess about waiting was correct. Not long after I wrote that, a mabari started barking. Very, very, close to the cave. Scared the piss out of me, but the Warden-Commander just laughed at me but then eagerly stood outside in the rain looking for the mabari. Actually went out into the rain willingly for it. I’ve never seen that man step into the rain for anything less than total annihilation or the threat of darkspawn.

Could barely see a thing through the thick downpour but where I thought the Warden-Commander was he bent down to see this lump I assumed and then the mabari stopped making noise. Then another humanoid figure appeared next to where the Warden-Commander was crouched, I almost shouted a warning but then he surged to his feet and collided with the other person, tackling them into the mud. I almost ran out there assuming that he was being attacked but over the sound of the rain I heard loud laughing, laughing of the kind I hadn’t heard in over a decade.

After standing out in the rain for a moment longer, holding on to my staff, the one Hawke had given me, I started trying to get closer, seeing the lump jumping around where the Warden-Commander had gone down. I called out to the Commander, trying to be quiet so that we wouldn’t get anymore attention drawn to us. The lump stopped and I could finally see that it must have been that mabari who was making all the noise. The laughing died down and then I saw an arm reach into the air and wave from where I guess the Commander was on the ground.

Eventually I gave up and headed back inside the cave. They have to come back inside sooner or later, and knowing the Commander it’ll probably be sooner. I should stop writing, he hates it when it seems like I’m not paying attention.

[The rest of the page is torn and any sentences that are written are incomplete.]