#that child is what pushes him to cross the eluvian. he needs to be there to raise his son. and oh he loves his son. more than anything

[enby-hawke]

Summary:

For Lucky Hawke, becoming Champion did not mean consequences from hiding his apostacy from the Chantry. 3 years later, he’s gained his freedom, with stringent conditions. 

Hawke is pissed off and decides to test his luck and gets drunk and parties at in his usual Hangout, The Hanged Man. Templars are alerted and Cullen and he get into an argument about him leaving. Cullen is being nice. Hawke is being an asshole.

Ship: Hawke/Merrill, mentions of past Fenhawke and Hawkbela. 

Words: 7,696

Tags: 

drinking tw, anti-templar sentiments, anti-chanty sentiments, anti-cullen sentiments from Hawke, huge spoiler warning for plot, Modern Thedas, lucky getting in trouble with the chantry again

“Sluuuuuuuurrrrrrrp, slrpp, slrrrrrp, slrrrp,” Hawke and Cullen maintained a death stare, neither one blinking. A crowd was gathering at Hawke’s usual drinking table at the Hanged Man, some recording on their phone as Knight-Captain’s Cullen’s face got redder and redder. An obnoxious, “slrrrp” erupted from Hawke’s Coffee Star extra-large extra-foam double whip mocha caramel smores iced coffee anytime the templar tried to speak and it fell silent as soon as the man stopped speaking. And began when he attempted to speak once more.

“Curfew is-”

“Slrrrrrrrrrrp!” And then Hawke would sigh when he was done looking like he was finished. He had his arm around Merrill who was red as a beet and would grow redder and redder each time he slurped, her elven ears as low as they could go. Her meadow green eyes were giant saucers under all the stares and the cameras that always seemed to follow Hawke.

“Vhenan,” Merrill whispered angrily, shaking him.

“Sorry, it’s just a really good coffee,” He smiled at her as if he was not antagonizing the second-highest ranking templar in all of Kirkwall. He was a little drunk and very pissed off, especially since it was Cullen who decided to answer this call. Fenris and Varric, also drunk, were snickering while Sebastian stared into his water not saying anything.

Cullen grunted. “Really-”

“Slrrrrrrrrrrp,” Hawke made a face of pure bliss. “Mmmm they must have improved upon the formula while I’ve been gone. I can’t stop.”

“Lucky, this isn’t funny,” she shook him a second time. “They could take you back to the Circle! Stop acting like such a child.” He looked over and saw her eyes pricking in worried tears. For a second Hawke thought maybe he did take it too far. Shoulders slumped he looked like a whipped puppy and looked away. “I guess I can take the party back to my place. It’s cleaner. I’ve got better drinks and the floors aren’t sticky.”

Varric whistled. “Mark the day Broody. On the 3rd of Bloomingtide, Daisy made Hawke regret being a total dick.”

Hawke grinned moving to punch Varric but the dwarf pushed aside his fist.

“Actually if you have liquor in your home that’s a violation of your-”

But then Hawke was back to slurping, angrily glaring, trying to drown out Cullen’s irritating voice.

Cullen was shouting now, and pushing his way forward so his nose was almost touching Hawke’s, his tight blond curls falling in his knitted eyebrows, “and if you’re in violation of your probation and I’m going to need to escort you to your mansion to confiscate any illegal contraband and-”

Hawke leaned forward, making Cullen take a step back, still slurping. The flash of cameras and the sound of Cullen’s voice growing louder and louder until-

“ENOUGH!”

Aveline, who told Hawke she was at an important meeting that night, pushed herself between Hawke and the Knight-Captain and she shook Hawke and slapped him.

He turned back to the table where everyone was avoiding his gaze except for Sebastian. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Fuck you, Choir Boy!” Hawke almost pounced but Aveline stopped him and pushed him away.

“Don’t get angry cause you don’t have sense,” Aveline growled. “What is wrong with you?”

Hawke rubbed his cheek and considered slurping in response, but he knew that was a sure-fire way to get him knocked on his ass. It’s happened before. “I just want to have a drink with my friends like old times.” That was it.

“Wake up, idiot! You’re on probation. You’re lucky, Lucky, that Orsino released you at all. You know Meredith’s looking for a reason to throw you back in but do you listen to reason? Can you see past that arrogant ass you call your head? You have people that care about you and you seem intent on sabotaging anything good in your life. What do you have to lose for you to see that?”

He didn’t know what to say so he looked at the floor as an awkward silence filled the tavern. “I’m sorry, Aveline.”

“Thank you, Guard Captain, for talking some sense into the Champion,” Cullen said running his gauntlet through his hair. Hawke wished he could slurp his coffee.

“That’s not all I’m doing. Turn around,” Aveline ordered.

“What?” Hawke didn’t understand at first but saw she was bringing out her cuffs.

Hawke was furious. “You’re arresting me?”

“Yes, I am Champion. You are 4 hours past curfew. Turn around!” Her voice spoke of finality.

Hawke’s cheeks were burning and at first, he just glared at her. He considered taking Merrill’s hand and locking himself and her in his mansion, never to come out again. But he knew no way would end well.

“Do not make me force you into these handcuffs. I am done coddling you.”

“But you’ll protect him right, Aveline?” Merrill sniffed. Hawke looked back and immediately regretted it. Varric and Sebastian were on either side of Merrill comforting her as fat tears rolled down her cheeks, her soiled handkerchief clutched in her hands.

“Always,” Aveline said softly, her anger fading. “This is to protect him.”

Hawke defeated, set down his coffee and offered his wrists to her. Now he wished he could take the whole thing back but it was he knew it was too late for that.

She accepted this, forcefully and efficiently cuffing him. “If you cared about Merrill, you’d stop doing this to her.”

The cameras and reporters followed the Guard-Captain’s patrol car from the Hanged Man to the Kirkwall Barracks. Aveline opened the door for Hawke from the back of her cruiser, and as soon as he stepped out, the two of them were swarmed.

“Champion, is the Guard Captain taking you back to the Circle?”

“Guard Captain Aveline are you arresting the Champion because you agree with the Knight Commander?”

“Hawke do you plan do lead protests on the Knight-Commander’s new curfew policy.”

Both Aveline and Hawke knew better than to say anything more than “no comment” until they were completely out of the mess. Hawke was getting used to being blinded by flashing lights every time he stepped out in public now, though that did nothing to alleviate his anxiety. Every time a camera flash Hawke would flinch, wondering if an attack was coming. He was sweating through his shirt, grateful that Aveline was there to guide him through the crowd.

A row of Aveline’s guards formed a wall around the Barracks forming a barricade for the reporters. They parted for Aveline and Hawke and closed ranks as soon as they were through. “What a mess you made,” Aveline growled, squeezing Hawke’s arm.

He was escorted to the barracks in silence but he could tell she was fuming. She uncuffed him in a small cold cell with a metal frame for a bed. She didn’t leave though. He could tell that she wanted to say something. A proper apology?

So he started. “So…I fucked up.”

“You think?” Aveline crossed her arms. “But do you actually feel bad or do you feel bad it didn’t go your way?”

“I am trying to say I’m sorry.”

“And I need you to stop apologizing and think things through for once.”

“You’re just full of wonderful insights tonight,” Hawke rolled his eyes.

“And you never know when to quit,” but there wasn’t any anger in her voice. She did sound worried which made him more pissed off for some reason. “I think you need help, Hawke. Professional help. If Leandra saw what I did tonight, I think she’d be crying alongside Merrill.”

Fury hit him and he almost swung. “Enough! You made your point!” The mention of his Mother erupted a pain he wasn’t ready to face and he knew if he kept having this conversation it would turn into more than an argument.

“Then are you ready to act like an adult, now?” she narrowed her eyes.

Hawke threw himself on the bed facing away from her so he wouldn’t have to look at her anymore.

He could hear her sigh, and after a few moments of silence, she said, “I shouldn’t have to remind you what’s at stake.” She closed his cell door and the electronic lock beeped before sliding into place.

He spent the night in a cold cell with a sheet and 4 bare concrete walls a steel door and a toilet. Aveline had either completely isolated his cell or there wasn’t anyone else committing petty crimes in Kirkwall tonight. Completely isolated, he tried his best to get as comfy as he could and fell asleep.

In the Fade, he traveled to Merrill’s apartment, thinking that’s where she would stay tonight and he was right. She was nestled in an uneasy dream. He was back in the Circle, she was crying herself into a Hawke’s pillow, Boof’s head whining alongside her in her lap. He’d done it again. He’d made her cry.

He stepped into the dream and woke her up. The reality of the dream melted away until they were just in her room again, the eluvian reflecting in the corner of Merrill’s night lights. The tears continued to run her down the vallaslin on her cheeks. “I knew you’d come.”

“Always,” he said and reached for her.

She didn’t reach back and instead put her face in her hands and sobbed. “Why did you do that?”

That was a question he didn’t have an answer for. Not a good one anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you alone, again. I’m an idiot.”

“No,” she said angrily and raised her head, glaring. “You’re the smartest man I know and that’s why you should know better. They’re trying to get you now. Don’t you see that? They’re making it personal now!”

She collapsed back into her knees curled into herself as she short ragged sobs escaped from her throat. Hawke sat beside her, not knowing if she wanted to be touched but she leaned into his chest. That gave Hawke the permission he needed to wrap himself around her.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Hawke admitted. She was trembling, tears hit his chest and for a moment he just held her trying to make sense of what was now his life. Before he knew it, he felt a tear fall off his chin and when he wiped his eyes they came back wet. Crap. Was he was crying now, too?

He cleared his throat, hoping Merrill had not noticed, and squeezed out the rest of his tears before they could swallow him, but the same dark thoughts kept plaguing his mind. He always was a loose cannon. His mouth always seemed to run away from him no matter how he tried to wrestle it. He was always impulsive, always blowing up, always paying for consequences he could have avoided if he just. Shut. Up. He didn’t know how long he spent in silence, replaying the night in his head when suddenly Merrill had pushed her way into his face, staring intensely.

“Talk to me,” Merrill pleaded. She cupped his cheeks and pulled his face close her eyes like a lush, cool meadow, The straight bridge of her nose pressed against his as she bore into him. “We can this figure this out if you talk to me.”

Hawke froze, averting her gaze. He couldn’t. The more she knew, the more she was in danger. She was already Dalish. He didn’t know if he could protect her from the Chantry and he wasn’t sure becoming Dalish again would exactly solve either of their problems if they wanted to stay together. That’s all he wanted. Aveline’s always made her feelings clear. Isabela and he hadn’t talked since she told him she was leaving Kirkwall. Things between him and Fenris were awkward and doomed. Anders and Bethany saw him as a monster. He’d already crossed lines between them ages ago. Even Varric seemed uneasy being connected with Hawke at times even though he’d never say that. Just Merrill. She understood without question why he made the choices he made. Their friendship was awkward but so precious to him. He always saw his friends as family, but Merrill was the only one who never questioned it. He liked the way she leaned on him and he didn’t realize all the ways she let him lean too. And he loved her, adored her, worshiped her. People wrote her off as ditzy but Hawke knew better. She was easily the smartest woman he’d ever met. His research to restore Bethany whole would not have gone so far if not for her help. And she had the kindest soul in the world. He wanted to protect her kind heart.

Why did it take him so long to realize she was the one?

When he finally was able to return her gaze, he knew exactly what he wanted and he grabbed her hands, folding them into his. “Marry me, Merrill,” he said breathlessly.

She pulled away from him, confused, and stopped crying. But when she registered what he had just said her face twisted in anger.

“No!” she cried out. “Wait that’s not my answer. Vhenan, what is wrong with you? This is not the most romantic moment.”

“I’m sorry I’m not good at those. When should I ask?”

“Don’t ask me? It’s supposed to be a surprise!” she pushed him but it was more playful than angry. He was happy he could still make her smile.

“I just need a time frame. Tomorrow? Next week? I just feel it’s kind of urgent cause I don’t know if I’m going back-”

“I’m not listening. I’m not listening and I don’t want to talk about that,” Merrill shut her eyes and Hawke shut his mouth quickly. Finally, when there was silence Merrill shook her head. “People call me dumb but that was the dumbest thing I ever saw. Why? Why did you do that?”

A momentary lapse in judgment? Could he claim madness? It seemed like only Anders knew the loss of control he felt when he was around templars especially when they tried to cow him into line. “I just wanted to stay.”

“You know the rules.”

Hawke gulped down. He had heard that maybe fifty times that night, but he could never bring himself to raise any lip to Merrill. She had a way of making him swallow his pride like he was a kid eating his broccoli. “You’re right.”

She blinked, surprised.

“If there’s anything clear to me tonight it’s that I’m an idiot so if you have any suggestions on how to make things right, I’ll listen.”

“To me…” she said uncertainly, pointing to herself.

“I’ll always listen to you,” he leaned over and kissed her forehead making her blush in the way that always made his heart flutter.

“Well…”she started to think, placing her finger on her chin and then turned to him, looking uncertain. “I think you should make a formal apology to Cullen.”

Oof. But Hawke nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” she said, leaning back surprised. “Then will you clear all the alcohol from your mansion? I’m scared they’ll use it against your case.”

Double oof. But Hawke nodded.

“Then we should listen to the curfew- at least until your probation is over.”

“Well after tonight they’ll probably extend it but, yeah. Yeah, that’s not a problem. Anything you say.”

Merrill smiled mischievously, putting her forehead on his. “Am I the only one that can keep Lucky Hawke in check-Oh, I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility.”

“I’ll try not to be too big a burden,” he teased and leaned into her lips, pressing against her. He wrapped his arms around her to cradle her, but waited, not sure how she would respond.

“Oh, come here,” she said in an annoyed tone and threw her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her.

Lovemaking in the Fade was always an ordeal. There was the threat of demons and curious spirits and they were constantly interrupted, but Hawke had to admit sometimes that made things hotter. After they attracted and defeated a desire demon they decided it was better to just talk. Merrill spent hours just updating him on what happened at work at the Coffee Star, how Orana and Bethany and Bodahn and Sandal were taking care of the mansion, how she was exploring ways to unlock the eluvian and just little stories about their friends that he was missing. She even mentioned Isabela, said she got a text, though the conversation they had was superficial.

The memories of Merrill’s soul merging with his and the memory of her pleasured moans soothed away all the anger he had felt the night before and when he opened his eyes, everything seemed brighter and more colorful. The frame of the metal bed was hard and he was sure he tweaked his back, but he was in a remarkably chipper mood. Merrill didn’t say yes to his proposal, but he knew she wanted to. Now was to just think of something romantic. Surely that wasn’t impossible. He was wondering what the Dalish customs were for courting when Aveline opened his cell. She could tell something was different.

“Good morning Guard Captain. You’re looking rather dashing in that outfit.” He jumped up, brushing himself off, his usual cock-sure grin spread across his face.

“It’s my uniform,” Aveline said warily, waiting for the butt of the joke.

“Well, it always looks fetching on you. So what news? Am I a wretched Circle prisoner again?”

“I don’t know,” she said crossing her arms. “You’re to go home and get dressed and prepare for court. Meredith has called an emergency hearing on your case.”

��She would,” Hawke nodded. This wasn’t good but he could handle that. It would just mean he’d have to think of something more immediate.

“Are you…ok?” she raised a concerned eyebrow.

“So how did Donnic propose again?” He strained to remember. There was something about a picnic and wine on the beach, and how the ring box fell out of his pocket and opened, ruining the surprise, but all the other details were escaping him.

“Is this really the time?” From Aveline’s expression, Hawke could tell she thought he was messing with her.

“Well if I learned anything from my time in the Circle is that it’s precious and shouldn’t be wasted. Every moment is precious, Aveline.” He breathed in the stale air, chemicals and stale blood and some bleach. He closed his eyes happily just grateful to be alive.

“You’re acting weird, Hawke. Should I be worried?”

“No,” he put his hand on her shoulder, grinning. “Just thank you for slapping some sense into me. You’re a true friend.”

Aveline looked utterly confused and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do I need to drug test you before we go?”

Hawke was feeling high, though to be fair, he had gone straight into denial, blissfully pushing the troubles of last night far from his mind. He was still free at this moment and he would stay free no matter what it took. He’d kiss Orsino’s ass, Meredith’s ass, even the Divine’s ass if it meant he could just spend the rest of his life with Merrill and if that didn’t work they’d flee. The only thing that mattered to him was keeping Merrill safe and it had felt like his world had just shifted. It was like the sun touching a clearing after a long rain, he could finally see his way forward.

He put his other hand on her shoulder, face completely serious and stared straight into her confused dark green eyes. “You are a beautiful, intelligent, remarkably fierce, and principled warrior and I’m grateful every day to have met you.” Then he pulled her close, hugging her. “Whatever happens, Aveline, I’m here for you.”

Aveline sniffed in sharply, more confused than ever, but awkwardly returned the hug. When Hawke pulled away he was beaming and she knitted her eyebrows together, worried. Finally, she sighed and led him out of his cell. “Let’s go see what damage you’ve done.”

Orana had already another pressed suit prepared when Hawke walked through the manor. Like always, she anticipated his needs before he even had to tell her. He promptly stuffed himself into and when he asked her to start gathering up all the alcohol in the house she wasn’t even phased. “Messere Hawke?” she confirmed with a nod, her blond hair fastened in the usual neat bun. After all these years she still refused to address him as just Hawke. Hell, he’d even take Lucky. She was practically family now, though perhaps he wasn’t doing enough to make her feel the same. “Should I prepare your Mother’s lumpia for the party?”

He considered it, one more wild night before he was dry for good- or until the Chantry was done crawling up his ass. “Actually, I was planning on giving it all to Varric, well for a fair price, but if you could just have Bodahn and Sandal go ahead and get that packed up before court is over, I’d appreciate it.” Hawke knew if it was still here when he got back he’d get thirsty. It was better he kept a clear head, anyways.

It was Orana’s turn to be confused and she widened her light green eyes but nodded. “I’ll inform Messere Feddic.”

He straightened his tie in the mirror, foregoing his usual cartoon prints for a more serious diagonal black and white stripes. He even had time for a haircut so he shaved up off most of it, but left a curly pile on top of his head, though he kept the streaks of pink.

He had gotten out of the habit of dismissing her, and she just stood there waiting while Hawke continued to pick over his appearance, nervously. Finally, when she realized he wasn’t going to she turned to leave. Suddenly he turned around and said, “Orana?”

“Yes?” she asked turning back and smiled sweetly.

“Are you…happy? I mean…is there anything you need to be happier?”

She smiled even sweeter. “I owe you everything, Messere. I wouldn’t dare ask for more.” He didn’t know what he expected.

Hawke hated the way she flinched around him, and he was careful with his temper. When he was upset, she was terrified. She never disagreed, never showing any sign of pain or discomfort and it made him feel like crawling out of his skin. Anytime he asked her opinion on anything she wouldn’t give it until he gave his, always agreeing with him. She was still afraid of him, still waiting for him to turn on her. He tried hard not to leave messes, to leave things out, but he was so very forgetful that by the time he remembered about them she was almost always already done tidying. The only room that she left untouched was the basement and his office which was the only place he left disasters.

He’d hired tutors to help her learn to read after learning from Fenris that slaves weren’t allowed to, and she often spent her hefty paycheck on books and movies. Her favorite were romantic comedies and sometimes Hawke would join her and Bodahn and Sandal. Since she never left the mansion, he got her into VR and videogames and she spent most of her free time exploring romantic surrealism worlds, or just mundane character simulations or shooting zombies, which she was not bad at. He often came home to find her on his flat-screen or plugged into the internet, sometimes cussing in Tevene. When she caught sight of him, though, she would always promptly turn it off, no matter how much he insisted she could keep playing. Eventually, she got comfortable enough to be Hawke’s second player but she was always apologizing whenever she perceived she made some mistake no matter how small. She agreed to just about anything he asked of her even when he insisted she could say no, and eventually he stopped asking her to do things. These days let her run the house as she saw fit and stayed out of her way.

Hawke sighed. “Well, if you need anything just let me know.”

“You are too kind, Messere,” Orana said.

He wasn’t, but he had stopped trying to convince her otherwise. That conversation only upset her. He turned back to the mirror, wondering if he had cleaned up enough, and when he saw his reflection staring back, he just wasn’t sure.

“I am sorry,” Orana said suddenly.

He turned around again to see her adjusting her sleeve, a nervous habit of hers. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Hawke replied.

“What they are saying on the news…I had hoped…” she started and stopped and looked him in the eye. “You don’t deserve this.”

He didn’t know what to say, but she had too many of her own problems to be fussing over him. He gave a cocky grin and said, “Don’t listen to what that headline says. They’re just trying to sell a good story.”

“But-” she realized she was starting to argue and she quickly clamped her mouth shut. Progress.

“Hey up for a game of Wicked Grace, later? I’m thinking of inviting Merrill and the gang over to celebrate.”

“You haven’t even found out what the Judge is going to say,” she said quietly.

“I told you,” he said, still grinning, and he took one more look at himself in the mirror. His demeanor at least looked, confidant. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Hawke looked at the crates and crates of his super ultra super expensive alcohol collection piled up in the back of the truck and felt like he was going to throw up. But he wasn’t drunk. Maker, he wished he was. And he was especially craving the Ferelden Dragon Piss. Varric told him he just liked it because of its name, but Hawke swore the burn spoke to him, like a dragon fire in his throat. He usually took to burping out flames after taking a shot and he was going to miss that.

Varric whistled, “You have great taste, Hawke.”

“I’m glad it’s going to a good cause,” Hawke laughed, but inside he felt like dying. Why was this harder than he thought?

Hawke climbed up the truck and slid down the door, the metal shuddering as it shut. “This is it…”Hawke pretended to tear up and dramatically wiped his eyes, though if he wasn’t careful real tears would spring. “Just 365 days left until we meet again.”

“I will write a proper eulogy for this moment,” Varric said taking out a handkerchief making a show of blowing his nose. They then laughed, shoving each other.

“You’re so full of shit, Varric,” Hawke laughed. They gave the ok for the Bodahn to pull out of drive away, Sandal was halfway out the passenger seat window as he waved goodbye. As it turned the corner 3 cruisers with flashing lights and a templar insignia pulled up into Hawke’s driveway and formed a barricade around Hawke’s red Volvoroto. In the front cruiser stepped out Cullen with a templar Hawke recognized as Miranda something or other, a new recruit from Ferelden. She had tried to talk to him about being from Ferelden but Hawke shut her down, hard. Now she hated him, like most templars in the Circle. He looked across the other templars, none who he had bothered to learn the names of but instead he kept track of by features: “Bug-Eyes,” “No lips,” “Creepy vibes,” “Baldy #2 and 4,“ and ’‘Braids” but she wasn’t wearing braids today. Nobody looked happy to see him. He just had that charm.

“What are you all doing here?” Hawke crossed his arms at the approaching templars. Varric shifted, his hands in his pockets staying quiet. Some of the templars murmured a hello to the dwarf, and Varric returned the greeting as usual, but the air was still thick with tension.

Cullen wordlessly showed Hawke a court-appointed search warrant stating he was there to confiscate any contraband that Hawke had in his mansion, including alcohol, but not excluding other things Hawke might own that the templars deemed illicit. Hawke looked back up furious. “Look I already followed the order. Ask Varric, I just sold him my alcohol collection.”

“The cheap stuff I’ll keep in the Hanged Man, “donated,” but, uh, if you fine, good sers follow me to my estate I can show proof of sale,” Varric made a motion to his car parked on the street, but Cullen held up his hand in refusal.

“So you’ll still have access,” he said crossly.

“No, I swear. I’m done with the stuff until I’m free and clear. Everything’s peachy.”

Baldy #2 stepped forward with a Breathalyzer and said in a stern voice. “Messere.”

Hawke sniffed angrily and turned to see Merrill coming out of the house. “Vhenan, Varric, why are you taking so long? The food’s getting…” she saw all the templars and froze. “Cold,” she finished awkwardly.

Baldy #2 cleared his throat pushing the machine up to Hawke’s mouth. With a ragged sigh, he leaned forward and breathed into it.

After a few moments, the meter remained 0.00. “He’s sober,” Baldy #2 reported.

“For now,” Cullen snorted pushing past him and Merrill and into Hawke’s mansion. Hawke followed, feeling panicked. Everything had been hidden and they were prepared for a search, but how long were they going to be there? How thoroughly would they search?

“Look, I have nothing to hide.” Merrill crept to his side taking his hand.

“I don’t believe you. And I also believe you’re hiding more than you say you are, so Meredith’s ordered an inspection,” Cullen said. The templars followed closely behind Hawke almost like an escort. They had their hands near their guns as if Hawke would attack any moment. And if Hawke wasn’t careful he would.

Boof must have sense Hawke’s thoughts because he raced down out of Hawke’s bedroom and jumped off the balcony, barking madly.

“Boof, no!” Hawke cried out. The dog rolled as he hit the ground and bounded forward, his teeth baring at the intruders but Hawke blocked Boof with his body. At first, he managed to grab his chest, but he slipped as the dog kept lunging. The templars, including Cullen, drew their guns and pointed it at the dog which Hawke kept blocking with his body. He grabbed Boof by the collar, but the dog was still pulling forward. He snapped at the air, drool flying with unbridled rage in his eyes.

“Restrain him!” Cullen ordered, his handgun still pointed at Hawke and the dog.

“What do you think I’m doing? Put down your fucking guns!” Hawke shouted, which agitated his dog even more and he growled, choking, as his claws raked the ground as he tried to push forward.

“Hey, hey, everyone just calm down,” Varric said looking at both Hawke and the templars.

Merrill’s eyes were wide with panic, but she stepped forward and calmly put her body in between Hawke, Boof and the guns, her hands held up. Her back was to the templars. Hawke panicked thinking she might be caught in the crossfire. “Boof, sweetie,” her shaky voice still sweet. She reached for the snapping dog, slowly with trembling hands. “It’s Merrill. You’re safe right now.”

Fenris, Aveline, Bethany, and Orana had come from the kitchen, their eyes wide in fear as they saw the contingent of templars pointing their guns at Merrill, Boof, and Hawke. He prayed Anders had already gone down through the secret tunnel in the basement, safe, but he didn’t have time to check.

“Merrill, don’t,” Hawke pleaded. “Get out of the way.” It took almost all his strength to restrain his dog, but Boof recognized Merrill, and the dog stopped chomping. Hawke wouldn’t let Boof be slaughtered but he couldn’t let Merrill be shot either.

Boof still growled menacingly, the sound filled the room. She didn’t move closer until Boof stopped lunging. His eyes were trying to communicate something. Hawke was able to adjust his grip, but he dared not let go in case Boof got another idea.

Aveline stepped out marching up to Cullen and pushed down his gun. She was out of uniform now but she was still intimidating even in tank top and jeans. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We have a search warrant,” Cullen explained. “Please do not interfere. We know where your loyalties lie.”

Aveline looked at the warrant conflicted. Hawke knew she was duty-bound to honor it, but she wouldn’t step out of the way. She glared at the templars, fury in her eyes. “You can do your search after you put down your guns.”

Merrill was ignoring this, her focus on the panicked mabari. “Boof,” she said sweetly, and reached over slowly, attempting to pet Boof. A booming bark stopped her. It wasn’t a threat, but he seemed to want Merrill to get out of the way. “I know you’re scared, but it’s ok. No one’s going to harm you or Hawke.”

The dog growled in response, disagreeing.

“Do you have a kennel to put him in?” Cullen asked.

“There’s one in Hawke’s room. We can put him there,” Aveline told Cullen.

Hawke ignored him, focusing on Boof. “Hey, buddy, I know templars fucking suck, but we’re not fighting this battle, ok? I need you to listen. Calm down.”

The dog whined in response, and then returned to growling. This wasn’t working and Boof was going to get himself killed.

“Put him to sleep,” Merrill said, looking straight at Hawke.

It took a moment to register, and Boof growled and barked, and lunged again, trying to break free of Hawke’s grip. Hawke called to his mind great fatigue and channeled it through his hands. The dog barked, and boofed, and then collapsed falling forward on his face and then promptly started snoring. Hawke finally breathed out.

He picked up his 100-pound dog and hoisted him up into his arms, leaning back so he could put most of the weight on his chest. The templars were only now just putting away their guns “What the fuck is wrong with you guys?” he growled.

“Vhenan,” Merrill said, touching his arm and gazing up at him. “Lock Boof up and let’s go eat.”

Her lack of fear puzzled the templars and they exchanged wary glances. She grabbed Hawke’s arm, recognizing that he was starting to meltdown. She said, “Hey, I’m here. Just breathe.”

So Hawke did. He squeezed his dog, the sleeping lug completely limp and just focused on the feel of his heartbeat and felt the coarseness of his long, sandy blond fur. Hawke kept his voice even. “How long will you be here?”

“If you cooperate, only a few hours,” Miranda said. She seemed pleased to see him squirm.

Hawke breathed evenly and slowly, squeezing Boof again. “I am cooperating.”

“Thank you,” Cullen smiled and turned to Merrill. “I’m sorry for this disturbance, Miss. If you’d like, you may continue your meal. We’ll try our best not to disturb you.” It was a little late for that.

Outside of Hawke, Cullen was a perfect gentleman that Hawke couldn’t hate him for. He did kind of start it. But Cullen was an idiot. He didn’t know what was worse, a bad man trying to do good, or a good man not realizing he was doing bad.

Merrill reached up and stroked Hawke’s cheek, bringing him out of his racing thoughts. “Let’s go eat,” she repeated. “Are you coming, Varric?” She was so good at pretending nothing was wrong. How was she doing it?

Varric appeared at Hawke’s side almost guiding him. “C’mon, I’m starving.” Did he look that fragile right now?

Hawke never kept the kennel locked before. It was just a place for Boof to sleep, though he still preferred the foot of Hawke’s bed. He had some difficulty stuffing the dog in, and when he rolled him, Boof started to wake up, his eyes panicked and searching. Hawke kissed his forehead and scratched his ear. “Everything’s ok, bud,” he whispered, and then put him back to sleep.

When Hawke got back to the table his thoughts returned to Anders, but it appeared that he had already slipped away. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping Anders remembered to hide the passageway behind him, but he was Anders, so of course he did. Hawke tried his best to not look so guilty, but his mother always called him an open book. Did he remember to hide everything in his office? It was a disaster in there anyways, so best of luck finding anything. He kept everything illegal in his portal, and also all his journals, but Templars weren’t stupid as much as he wished they were. What Hawke was most nervous about was the hidden wall in his basement that led to his secret lab and Bethany’s charging station. If they found that they were fucked.

The celebration group dinner had turned into an awkward silence, the clinking of glasses and forks and knives on plates accompanied the sound of Hawke’s closets being turned over and desks being searched through and books being thrown of bookcases. Eventually, the noises woke Boof and his panicked barks and the sound of rattling metal filled the mansion. Orana’s lumpia was delicious and the pancet she made had tasted just like Leandra’s but Hawke could not take comfort in his meal.

Orana’s eyes were wide in fear. She sat next to Fenris, her thin eyebrows knitted together. “Messere, what’s happening?”

“They are just looking around, Orana,” Hawke smiled, but he still looked uneasy.

“Your cooking is wonderful like usual,” Merrill smiled, but she also looked nervous.

“Thank you,” she murmured, looking down shyly. “I’d like to just go to my room if that’s ok,” she was almost whispering.

Hawke nodded, still smiling. “That’s ok, Orana.”

She excused herself from the table to leave when Cullen came into the dining room and halted Orana. “Please, miss, I need you to stay in the dining room until our investigation is complete.” Bug-eyes was behind him carrying some books.

Orana’s light green eyes were wide and she nodded, and she set down on an empty seat next to Fenris, not touching anything. She folded her hands and just looked at her lap, shutting down.

Hawke stood up. “Hey, a friend gave me those.” That friend being Isabela.

“These are illegal literature banned by the Chantry,” Cullen said.

“Which is stupid. It’s just erotica.”

Cullen blushed, his face twisted in disgust. “It’s illegal, some of the material blasphemous,” he stated firmly. “We will also be confiscating your supply of lyrium potions.”

“What the hell for?” Hawke cried. “That’s not illegal.”

“Because of your association with the apostate Anders. We haven’t tracked down how but we know you supply him with resources and help shield him from the law. These may be part of your shipment for the Mage Underground.”

Hawke narrowed his eyes, furious. “Come back with proof.”

Cullen stepped forward, his face stern. “That’s what I’m here to find.”

“Vhenan,” Merrill grabbed his hand, her face worried. “Please sit down and eat.”

They searched the house for several more hours, the group trying to pass time with stories and conversation. Baldy #2 kept guard at the table making the conversation superficial, and other templars would periodically check on them to confirm that everything was “peaceful.” They were instructed to stay in their seats. Time passed slowly, and Hawke kept checking his phone watching the minutes crawl. Somehow, with Merrill and everyone else’s help, he managed to stay afloat.

They informed Hawke before they were leaving that they were taking one more thing, a bottle of Tevinter Spiced Wine that Fenris gifted him for his 26th birthday which was also the year they got together and broke up. It was Fenris’ first gift to him, so he kept the bottle. Fenris thought it was stupid, but Hawke lorded it over him. “Somewhere deep down you like me,” he would tease.

“It’s empty,” Hawke argued. “This is stupid.” He should have put it in his portal.

“Hawke,” Fenris said curtly, his stony gaze hard. “It’s just a bottle. It’s not worth the argument.”

Hawke was hurt. So all this time this was what he meant to him. Hawke dropped his shoulders, releasing the bottle from Cullen’s grip.

“Thank you,” Cullen nodded shortly, “for your cooperation. Have a good day, Champion.” And then he smiled wryly. “And good luck with your anger management.”

Hawke almost punched him, and Merrill grabbed his arm, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Don’t,” she whispered.

The templars marched out of Hawke’s estate, loot in hand, but found nothing else. He once again had gotten lucky. Hawke threw his hand, summoning a ball of blue flame muttering to himself angrily. Most of it was unintelligible but it was something along the lines of “fuck Cullen,” “fuck templars,” and “fuck the Chantry.”

Orana had slipped away to her room, understandably needing some time alone. She couldn’t handle seeing Hawke like this.

“This is fucking dogshit. Fucking come in my house and almost shoot my fucking dog and fucking everyone like fucking idiots.” Hawke was pacing and using fuck every other word now. This wasn’t good. “This is fucking bullshit.”

“That got a little messy, but Boof’s ok, Hawke,” Aveline stayed back, wary of the fire in Hawke’s hands. ”It’s time to calm down.”

Hawke’s laughs were always loud and boisterous, but in response to Aveline’s request, he chuckled. It was neither warm and inviting in his usual manner, but chilled the room. “Oh I’m calm,” he said, tossing the blue flame from one hand to another while his friends watched nervously.

Varric warily tried to tear his friend’s eyes away from the ball of blue flame. “Right, you are cool as a the Frostbacks. So maybe put down the fireball before you burn your mansion down, again.”

“I know what I’m doing Varric,” Hawke said, testily making the flame bigger.

“Vhenan!” Merrill said crossly. She marched in front of the path he was pacing and firmly crossing her arms and planting her feet squarely in front of him. There was mana rising from her body as she raised her magic in a wa

rning. “Put it out, now.”

Everyone held their breath, especially Fenris. Hawke felt like he had been punched in the gut and his eyes went wide. Merrill was never this direct at him, but here she was scolding him like she was his Mother.

Hawke gulped down, deeply embarrassed, and resisted throwing the flame into the fireplace. He took a deep breath and held it and clenched his fist. The flame choked and sputtered at first refusing to die. Hawke struggled, his anger all feeding the dying flame. “I’m safe,” he reminded himself, trying to slow his beating heart and racing thoughts. He breathed as evenly as he could manage and it wavered and slowly it disintegrated into smoke.

Bethany’s mouth fell open. “What just happened?”

“Impressive,” Fenris raised his eyebrows amused. Great, now his ex had jokes.

“It worked!” Merrill squeaked, overjoyed. She was bouncing up and down her hands clapping and flailing. Hawke had to admit her cuteness was deflating him.

Aveline put a fond hand on Merrill’s shoulder. “Please do that more often.”

“Yeah,” Hawke cringed, “gotta get used to that.”

As the others were congratulating Merrill for a job well done Hawke felt himself swirling into a meltdown and he held his head trying to calm this rage that burned inside him. He signed up for this. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but he didn’t know how to corral this beast. He knew he needed to change but he didn’t need counseling. He could do it himself.

“Ugh,” Hawke sat down on the ground and put his head on his knees, not sure what to do now. “You guys don’t think I need anger management, right?”

“Actually, I think it’s an excellent idea?” Aveline said.

“What?” Hawke felt the second gut punch. He looked at the woman he was destined to marry for help. “Merrill,” he whined.

“Vhenan,” she sat down next to him and stroked his newly buzzed hair fondly, “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You’ve been through a lot. The Judge was being merciful when he suggested counseling. He might be trying to help.”

“But you heard him. She’s a Chantry sister. This is just some ploy so they can get information out of me. For their fucking investigation. It’s too risky.”

“Then don’t talk about that stuff with her. Talk about that with me,” Merrill said bluntly.

Hawke blinked.

“Merrill, you’re full of good ideas today,” Bethany said putting a hand on her shoulder. It kind of seemed obvious now, but it didn’t mean he liked the idea.

“Not you, too,” Hawke groaned.

“Lucky,” Bethany settled herself next to Merrill and grabbed his hand like they were kids again. It was so nice to be able to hear her voice again and feel her touch again. “You know I love you but…there’s a lot of stuff you don’t talk about and I wish you would. It’s healthy. You need to start learning to let go.”

“I have,” Hawke argued.

“I’ve been in your head. I see it probably better than you do,” Bethany said quietly, rubbing his hand like she used to.

Hawke felt so humiliated he felt like he’d start crying, but then he’d never live that down. He buried his head in his knees and groaned obnoxiously. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“I’d suggest a drink but your court-ordered sober. I have some dry martinis, some cards, and some royal root all waiting in my car for us to party.” That’s right, they couldn’t take the root away from him.

How did that dwarf always know what he needed? “Varric, I love you,” Hawke said not raising his head.

[patricianandclerk]

Mythal’s Mark

“And about— About where I come from—”

“Please don’t tell me,” Lavellan whispered. “Not if it’s not the truth.”

Solas thought about it, for a moment, narrowing his eyes, looking grave. “The truth, lethallin, is… complicated.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “And lies are very simple, are they?”

“No,” Solas murmured. “I suppose not.

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

It was grating, in a way.

Morrigan explained element after element: the depictions in the mosaics, the puzzles, even the statues. It was well enough for the benefits of Iron Bull and Dorian, but she kept catching Lavellan’s eye, as if she thought he needed explanation himself.

“Strange that Fen’Harel should be depicted here,” she said. “It’s like… I don’t know, like depicting Andraste naked in a Chantry.”

“Your ignorance becomes you,” Lavellan said tightly, and Morrigan turned to glare at him, surprise glinting in her amber eyes. “Fen’Harel is depicted everywhere. No, we don’t worship him, not as we do the general pantheon, but he is everywhere.” Lavellan took a step closer, and Morrigan kept his gaze, not flinching. “The god of misfortunes, a trickster, and yet the one we ever offer to. Why? Because we seek his protection. Because he offers protection that other gods will not, would not.”

“I thought the ancient elves above such quaint superstition,” Morrigan said.

Lavellan laughed. It was jagged to his own ears: he was exhausted. When would Corypheus come? Did they have time for this? The puzzles were making his headache, and he only wanted to lie down and rest, but they didn’t have time, not at all. When would it end?

He thought of the diary of the Grey Warden, the Hero of Ferelden. Morrigan was the daughter of Flemeth – Asha’Bellanar, Witch of the Wilds. She was a powerful witch, always wanting more, and the eluvians… Lavellan hadn’t allowed himself to let on that he knew what they were already. He’d asked Varric about them, too, about Merrill of the Sabrae’s attempt at restoration…

“You should know as a mage,” Lavellan said softly, “that superstition comes from myth – myth from history, lost long before. The context goes, but we cannot possibly know how Fen’Harel was viewed, precisely, in the time when this temple flourished. You ought show more caution. You know not where you tread.”

“And you do?” Morrigan asked, arching her eyebrows. “Tis a wonder I missed it, the staff on your back – or has that mark of yours made you an expert in all things magical?”

Lavellan landed on the last stone, and the thrum of magic in the air sung directly through his core, making his skin tingle, making the mark give an answering rush of heat that ran up his arm. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant, and he exhaled.

“Come,” he said, and led the way back toward the petitioner’s entrance.

He didn’t let himself flinch as he heard the elves come up behind them, and he put up his hand in a silent gesture for the others not to react either, not to lash out. He could feel Solas on his left, Morrigan on his right: behind him, Bull and Dorian.

“Lift your hood,” said the elf standing at the outcrop in Mythal’s Temple, and Lavellan hesitated, one hand still on his daggers, ready. The weapons were trained on them, but the elves didn’t even move from their places even minutely: they were utterly still in their rows, their armour not even clinking against itself. “That I might see your face.”

“I’ll lift mine if you lift yours,” Lavellan said. He spoke quietly, but his voice carried in the room, and he saw the other elf’s eyes narrow underneath the shadow of it, but he pushed back his hood. In the same moment, Lavellan copied him, and his hair, loose beneath the hood except for two braids to keep it in place, came half-free about his shoulders.

“You wear Mythal’s vallaslin,” the elf said slowly. “Why?”

“Why?” Lavellan repeated. “We still wear vallaslin – this hasn’t changed.”

“Yes,” the elf said impatiently, “but why hers? Does all your clan wear Mythal’s vallaslin?”

Lavellan glanced to Solas, silently looking for the ideal answer to give, but his lips were pressed tightly together, and his gaze was on the foreign elf, not Lavellan himself. Lavellan inhaled, raising his chin.

“We pick our vallaslin, based on the qualities we seek to embody, to pledge ourselves to. Care was always high in my regard; justice, wisdom. When I took my vallaslin, I sought to be my clan’s protector. I wanted to be the clan’s keeper of lore, as a hahren.”

“You’re a hahren?” the elf asked, tilting his head.

“No. I’m too young, I— I left my clan because greater things are at stake – Corypheus marches now, as you kow. We need to stop him. What is this place? What…?”

“We guard Mythal’s Temple,” the elf began to explain. Always the explanations, and yet…

--

“Sounds rather like destiny,” Dorian said, as Lavellan stared down at the smooth surface of the Well of Sorrows, feeling as if he was about to vomit. “Mythal’s Temple, Mythal’s wisdom, you with Mythal’s ink on your face.”

“There is something in what he says,” Abelas said. “Destiny, here—"

“No,” muttered Solas, and Lavellan took a step forward.

When Morrigan tried to catch his arm, he lashed out with the mark’s power, and gritted his teeth when she hissed in pain. It didn’t make him feel better. Why should it have? Hurting people was never the way to satisfaction. He wished, sometimes, that it was.

--

At Skyhold, Lavellan held a pack of ice against the side of his head, and tried to keep his breathing even. The whispers were constant at the edges of his consciousness, but they were beginning to settle into place. It was like he was digesting them, he supposed, allowing himself to understand them better – it was an overlap of languages, of elvish and the common tongue alike, and even pieces of Tevene, of Orlesian, of Antivan, of Nevarran… So many languages, criss-crossing over one another, and the scant words he knew in one language overlapped with others, clumsy, complicated.

He’d make sense of it.

He’d have to.

“You foolish child,” snapped the voice coming into the room, and Lavellan pressed the ice harder against his temple, not looking up to meet Solas’ gaze. He’d never heard the other man sound so angry, his voice cracking with desperate fury, and he watched Solas’ wrapped feet pace on the ground.

No one ever told Solas to wear boots.

“I told you!” he growled. “And you ignored me. Has my advice meant nothing to you? You’ve given yourself to the service of an elven god!”

“I couldn’t let Morrigan do it,” Lavellan said lowly, trying his best to keep his breathing even. The whispers grew quieter, at least – that was some mercy. “She’s power hungry. You can see it in the way she is, radiating from her, she—”

“And you aren’t?” Solas demanded. Lavellan looked up at him. “You scarcely hesitated! You’re so curious about everything, so eager for knowledge, and that’s respectable, lethallin, but you were so blinded that you—”

“You think,” Lavellan whispered, astonished by how coldly angry his own voice was, “that I wanted this? How dare you?”

He stood on shaky feet, dropping the ice to the side, and he took a step forward. Solas was taller than him, but Lavellan didn’t let that stop him, moving forward and shoving his hand hard against the other elf’s chest, and Solas stared at him as if it was something baffling for another person to touch him.

“Every time,” Lavellan said. “I don’t know why I bother. I don’t know why I bother with you! I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this mark on my hand, I didn’t want to drink from the Well of Sorrows, I didn’t want any of this! Do you know why I drank from the Well of Sorrows? Because I knew I couldn’t let Morrigan! I knew she was untrustworthy, and when I asked you, you said no – so what else was I to do? Ask Bull to drink? Dorian?”

“Your imagined destiny—”

“I didn’t say that!” Lavellan snapped. “Dorian did! And he can’t fucking tell a halla’s brow from a mabari’s backside, so don’t attribute his enlightened elvhen commentary to me! Must you always be like this? Everything I do, you pick me apart, everything, everything! You remind me to be vigilant when I couldn’t be moreso if I had eyes in the back of my head – you are so concerned with the Fade it sometimes seems you can’t even see the trees in front of you!”

Lavellan exhaled hard, rubbing his hand over his eyes.

“You treat me like such a child, Solas, and what is it, I beg of you, that I’ve done to earn it? Every time I think I have your respect, you turn around and remind me I’m not worthy! Every time you say my people, Solas, instead of ours, it cuts me like a blade!”

Solas was staring at him, stunned, his mouth open, and Lavellan wished he could stop his own tongue moving, but it wouldn’t. It was like everything was pouring out at once, and the whispers were loud again, now, drowning out the sound of his own voice so that he only heard the roar of it all in his ears.

“Do you really think so little of me?” he asked, all but shouted the question. “Do you really think I wanted this wisdom, this power, when it came with such a price? When it hisses in my ears like I have my head beneath a waterfall, and makes my head ache like someone’s driving an axe into it?

“It’s not like it is for you, for me. I wasn’t born with this, I didn’t grow with this, I got this crammed into my body with no warning, had my memories ripped out of my head, and now I’ve had a few hundred other voices crammed in as well, and you have the audacity to act like it’s something I’ve done on a whim for a bit of weekend fun!”

The room felt like it was shaking. Was it? Was the ground quaking under his feet, was that him…?

“Lethallin—”

“And you must think I’m so fucking stupid,” Lavellan went on. His hand was aching, the mark burning, rippling up his arm. “You, whose name is pride – you tell me you were just an elf, wandering around, not a city elf, not a Dalish elf. What, you expect me to believe that? You expect me to think you just came into existence in the middle of the woods, got trained in magic by some mysterious travelling elves that are neither Dalish nor otherwise, and just existed in the Fade? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“What you think—”

“I don’t want an explanation,” Lavellan snapped impatiently. “I’m not asking you to tell me lies, if you fled your clan or avoided your vallaslin or even left a Circle, because I know that’s what you’ll do if I press, you'll lie – it’s none of my business, and perhaps you don’t trust me well enough to tell me, and that’s alright. That’s why I don’t press. Because I try to respect you, and you, you treat me like a… You’re not my keeper!” His own voice was roaring above the noise in his ears, and there was so much green—

“Calm down,” Solas said, his hands clapping down on Lavellan’s shoulders, and it was like it all stopped at once. Silence hit him like a lightning strike, leaving him dizzy: the whispering stopped abruptly, the green glow fizzled away, and he realized how he’d been holding his fist, the room had been shaking—

“I’m so sorry,” Lavellan whispered.

A little dust shook down from the rafters, and he heard the noise on the stairs as Dorian and Fiona ran down from the library on one side, Vivienne running in from the balcony on the other. They were all staring at him, held tightly in Solas’ hands as if Solas thought he was about to explode, and he needed to keep his palms on the fuse.

“We heard the shouting,” Dorian said, looking between the two of them. “Bit of a tiff?”

“So rude of you to do all that in elvish, dear things,” Vivienne said softly, looking alarmed, although not much of it showed in her face – only a little in the wideness of her eyes, the set of her jaw. “How ever will Varric make his notes?”

“Debating literature, I take it?” Dorian asked.

Lavellan’s mouth felt as if it was sizzling. He didn’t say anything, breathing heavily.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Solas murmured. “Arguing about history, in fact, not literature. It was my fault – the Inquisitor has a headache, and I oughtn’t have so needled him when he needs to rest.”

“The Temple of Mythal?” Dorian asked.

“Mmm,” Solas said.

Hot humiliation burned up Lavellan’s spine. Losing his temper, screaming like a child, but worse than that – with all this power, Gods, his hand ached, his arm ached, as if he’d shot something molten through his veins.

“We’ll leave you be, then,” Fiona said.

“Quite,” Vivienne said, from the other side of the room, and when they retreated, Solas gently took his arm, leading him across the room. Lavellan went easily as Solas led him to the door to his quarters, hesitated for a moment, and then began to walk with him up the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Lavellan said again, when Solas brought him into his bedroom, gently pushing him to sit on the padded chest at the end of his bed. “I’m so sorry, Solas, I didn’t mean… That was so— I hope you understand I don’t think—”

“Peace,” Solas said. “You…”

He dropped into a crouch in front of Lavellan, holding Lavellan’s hands very gently between his own, and Lavellan pressed his lips together, staring down at him. He wasn’t prone to crying, really. Bull brought him to tears sometimes, and at times he was so frustrated his eyes watered slightly, but he wasn’t naturally tended toward crying, not really…

He wished he could cry, now. There’d be a catharsis in it.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” Solas murmured, keeping his gaze. “I’m sorry. Is the mark causing you much pain?”

“Only some,” Lavellan said. “It happens when I overtax myself. S’my fault. I didn’t mean those things I said to you.”

“You did,” Solas said softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t think of myself as being very hard on you. But you’re right – often, it must seem I think the worst of you, when I only mean to help you. And what good is help from someone you feel doesn’t respect you?” Solas sighed, squeezing Lavellan’s hands, and he looked so ashamed, so ashamed that Lavellan actually felt awkward about it, he couldn’t possibly have made Solas look so… “And about— About where I come from—”

“Please don’t tell me,” Lavellan whispered. “Not if it’s not the truth.”

Solas thought about it, for a moment, narrowing his eyes, looking grave. “The truth, lethallin, is… complicated.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “And lies are very simple, are they?”

“No,” Solas murmured. “I suppose not. But I worry for you, lethallin, pledged to one of these gods…”

“You don’t even believe in them,” Lavellan said, indignant, desperate.

“Do you?” Solas asked. “You were praying, weren’t you, after the business at Adamant – to Mythal, I imagine. Did she answer?”

“It isn’t about answering,” Lavellan said. “Our prayer isn’t like the prayer the Andrastians do – it may as well be a focus for meditation. You know that, you know…”

“I worry for you,” Solas repeated. There was something desperate in his eyes, and Lavellan looked away from it, uncomfortable with the depth of the feeling he saw there. It was upsetting, to think that Solas didn’t care, but seeing him care this much was overwhelming. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t want any of this, I know that, I… Please, Mahanon, believe me when I tell you that if I am impatient with you, if I am… It is no personal slight. I am too much in my own head, as I’ve heard some of you say, and in the Fade – you’re correct.”

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” Lavellan said. “I’ve never… I’ve never shouted at anybody like that before, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” Solas murmured, giving him a small smile. “I’ve weathered far worse than a bit of shouting in my lifetime. You should sleep, you look exhausted. Shall I send for the Iron Bull?”

“If Bull comes, I won’t sleep at all,” Lavellan murmured, and he was slow about moving to lie down, not even removing his clothes – he drew off his jacket and kicked off his boots, and that was it. He watched, silent, as Solas hung up the jacket. “Do you have children, Solas?”

“No,” Solas said. “Once, I…” He trailed off. He didn’t say anything, for a long moment, and then, “Your vallaslin, lethallin. Do you know why they wore the same, at the Temple of Mythal? Do you know what it represented, in times past?”

Lavellan didn’t answer. His eyes felt so heavy, and the whispers were soothing, somehow, like waves beneath a boat.

“Never mind,” Solas murmured, his voice distant. “Do you still dream, sometimes, of the Dread Wolf?”

The whispers overtook him, and Lavellan slept like a stone.

[dinoswrites]

Little Arrow Epilogue: Journey’s End

Solavellan, Post-Trespasser Kidfic. Complete.

Read from Beginning | Masterpost | Read on A03

Evie Lavellan is eleven years old, and her baby sister is asleep in her arms.

She’s all bundled up, swaddled in two blankets to shield her from the cool night breeze rolling off the sea. Evie closes the door to their little home behind her and pauses a moment, looking down towards the little Rivaini fishing village—down a winding path, seaside grasses swaying in the wind. She can see torches being lit as the sun slips behind the cliffs at her back.

Mamae and Papae had discussed where to have the baby for months—nearly as soon as they told her they were having one—and it seems like Mamae won in the end, since they settled in some place by the sea. Remote enough for Solas to feel comfortable, still—Evie doesn’t think anyone in the fishing village suspects for a minute who either of her parents are, or wonders why they’re so content to live up a hill from the village instead of inside it.

There’s a little path that doesn’t lead to the village, but away—and it’s new enough that the grass is only flattened, not worn to earth by the treading of many feet. Evie turns away from the little village and takes that path now, calling a little wisp of veilfire to hover in the air before her, so she can carry her sister with both hands.

Support the head, she repeats to herself, even though she’s heard it a hundred times.

She watches where she steps very carefully—sometimes the wind blows unexpected things on the path, and she doesn’t want to step on one accidentally. She doesn’t want to jostle the baby.

The path leads to a cave, well hidden by an outcropping in the sheer cliffs that rise above their little home. Hidden better still by spells and wards, but they pass over Evie and her little sister with little more than the air trembling on their skin, ever so slightly.

The moment she passes through them, she can hear Papae talking.

“—to be certain, we must establish a baseline.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” Dorian replies, his voice muffled slightly.

“It will be tucked in the far corner, under the statue of Ghilan’nain. The one—”

“The one with the horns, yes, Solas.”

“And when you find it, you’re not to activate it, only to secure it—”

Dorian sighs, exasperated. “Solas,” he says, dryly, “do I need to promise for the five hundredth time that I will not attempt to take the Veil down without you present?”

Evie rounds the corner in the cave’s entranceway, and by the light of Solas’s veilfire she can see the cave open up, wide and high. They’ve cleaned it out a little in the month since they arrived, getting rid of all the bat droppings and some bones that Mamae is still teaching her to identify. There are still bats in the cave, but Solas cast a spell that keeps their droppings away—or burns them, Evie can’t remember.

There are boxes of supplies stored in the cave—not many things, really, but mostly things Solas needs for his work. Old things Evie’s not allowed to touch, usually, though some are just boxes of blankets, and bags of things to take with them if they need to run without notice.

On one wall, Solas and Evie are working on a fresco together—and their supplies are stowed there too, plaster and pigments ready for mixing. The fresco itself is only a red outline on the rough underlayer, now—several adult figures, one child, and one infant.

Evie hadn’t wanted to start it until the baby was born, so it would look like her. Turns out babies are a lot of work, so they haven’t even started yet.

On the farthest wall, there’s an eluvian—the biggest thing in the cave—and that’s where Papae is standing, with Dorian and Bull.

Solas has his arms crossed over his chest, and Dorian is throwing a bag over his shoulder. “Perhaps,” he says, but he’s smiling a little. “Please be careful,” he adds, when Dorian gives him a look. “I don’t believe my wife should be running off to rescue you so shortly after giving birth.”

“That wouldn’t stop her,” Dorian retorts.

“We’ll be careful,” Bull promises, with a chiding look at Dorian. He looks back at Solas. “You get some rest. Have you slept at all?”

“Of course not,” Dorian says before Solas can reply, “he’s trying to make up for missing out on Evie being so small. How is that going for you, pray tell?”

“He burned himself making breakfast,” Evie interrupts, picking her way carefully through the stowed boxes.

Everyone turns to look at her at the same time. Solas nearly jumps in place when he sees the baby, and immediately rushes forward to take her from Evie. Already forgetting, it seems, about her tattling on him—but then, giving him the baby seems to have that effect, she’s noticed.

“It’s too cold to have her outside,” he chides, but only half-heartedly. He is smiling as he looks down at his second child, holding her close. His eyes all soft and full of wonder—as if he doesn’t get to hold her enough. Even though this is the first time in the few short days she’s even been alive that he’s apart from her.

“She wanted to say goodbye,” Evie says, shaking out her arms—babies are surprisingly heavy. “Cole told me so.”

Even Dorian is not immune to the magic of bringing an infant into the room—he has a rather dopey smile on his face as he says, “Going to miss her favourite uncle? She has excellent taste.”

“I’d be my favourite, too,” Bull agrees, giving Evie a knowing look.

Evie can’t help a giggle.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “You’re impossible,” he protests, fondly. “And you,” he adds, pausing to bend down and press a kiss to Evie’s forehead, “you need to make sure your idiot father gets some sleep. You might have guessed it by now, but he gets rather irritable when he’s not loping around on all fours in the Fade every night.”

“I do no such thing,” Solas protests.

The baby jerks in her sleep, suddenly, and whatever else Solas is about to say is gone as he peers down at her in his arms, then shifts her in his grip so he can check her temperature with the back of his hand.

Cole told her that the baby is just surprised, when she does that. That she’s just used to her whole world being Mamae—everything else is new, and sometimes frightening.

Sometimes, Evie wakes up expecting the aravel, so she understands.

Bull and Dorian linger as they say proper goodbyes—Bull teases, Dorian frets, and Solas chides and complains and fusses over the baby, so by the time Bull and Dorian have passed through the eluvian Evie’s toes feel numb on the cave’s stone floor.

“What colours do you think we will need to start?” Solas asks, turning to examine the supplies lined up against the wall with a critical eye.

Evie sticks her hands in her armpits to warm them. She knows it’s not just a question—he’s testing to see if she’s remembering the correct order—so it takes her a moment to consider, scrunching up her nose as she does.

“Let’s do all the background,” she suggests. Solas blocked out some trees, her old aravel, and a winding river. She suspects he’s going to add frogs in when she’s not looking because he’s—how did Mamae put it—hopelessly sentimental.

He quirks a brow at her. “Around the figures?”

Evie shifts from one foot to the other, huffing impatiently. But she squints at his sketch again, and in the light of his veilfire she sees the lines that break up the piece, neatly separating the figures all lined up in the foreground into different segments.

“Oh!” she says, remembering. “Varric and Cole! We’re painting them first!”

“Well remembered,” he praises, finally straightening. “Best to start with the smallest section, on your first try.”

As his light shifts with him, she can see the city of Kirkwall towering over Varric. She remembers the big statues a little—though Solas and she had opted to paint the city as they’d seen it from the road, when the statues were in shadow, so they won’t be in the fresco. She had been so overwhelmed by the number of people there—she’d never seen so many in one place in her life. But Varric’s friend Merrill had shown her the vhenadahl, and she’d gotten to play with some of the children in the alienage.

“Are we going to get it all done before it dries up?” she wonders, following Solas out of the cave.

He hums, turning the baby’s head towards his chest as they exit to the cold night air. “You’ll find out. Tomorrow, I believe.”

Evie gapes up at him, but he’s only smiling. “Tomorrow? Really?”

He nods.

“But—I thought—you’re not kidding, right?”

Still smiling, Solas shifts the baby in his arms so he can lean down, cup Evie’s cheek in his hand, and kiss her forehead. “I will always have time for you too, da’assan,” he says.

Whatever reply Evie might think of making is interrupted by the baby sniffling, and then beginning to cry.

Solas winces as he straightens—shifting his grip to better protect the baby from the breeze blowing off the ocean. “I suspect she’s hungry,” he says. “Let’s go wake up Mamae together, shall we?”

It isn’t that long of a walk, but the baby has worked herself into a ridiculous wail by the time they get to their little cottage. Evie opens the door so Solas doesn’t have to, and as she follows him through she can hear Cole speaking softly in Mamae and Papae’s bedroom, and Mamae muttering sleepily in response.

When Solas pushes open the bedroom door, Mamae is already sitting up, pulling off the shirt she wears while sleeping, but not looking particularly awake.

“Time is it?” she mumbles.

“Bull and Dorian have just left,” Solas says, sitting next to her on the bed.

She hums in acknowledgement, and then, having finally untangled herself from her shirt, lets Solas put the crying baby on a pillow on her lap. She hushes her, gently, and winces once the baby finds her nipple, and stops crying.

“Yeah, still hurts,” she grumbles, and Solas laughs, low and soft, before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Mamae spots her lingering in the doorway, then, and smiles, sleepy and warm. “Evie,” she says, “I feel like I haven’t seen you all day. Come here, da’vhenan.”

Evie joins her parents on the bed—more than a little happy to get the invitation—sitting on her mother’s other side while Cole looks over her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Evie says as her mother slings her arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “You’re resting—I understand.”

Mamae hums thoughtfully before pressing a kiss to Evie’s hair. “That’s no excuse at all,” she says, mostly to herself.

She knows that Mamae is pretending to feel better than she is—Evie can see the dark circles under her eyes, and the fingers that run through Evie’s hair move slower than normal.

So she says, “Papae and I are going to start the fresco tomorrow.”

“Really?” She looks over at Solas.

“I believe we’ve waited long enough,” he replies. “Cole has promised to watch the baby while you sleep.”

Mamae lets out a little huff of a laugh. “The baby,” she parrots, teasing.

He gives her a sheepish smile in return. “I… still have not decided on a name.”

“I gathered.”

“It is… difficult.”

“Mn-hm. Evie, should we give your father a deadline, or see how long we can drag this out?”

Evie tries to hide her grin from Solas in her Mamae’s shoulder. “Varric has a betting pool going,” she whispers.

To her delight, her Mamae rolls back her head and laughs, so loud that the baby loses her breast and starts to cry again. And then everyone’s distracted until she’s settled again, though Mamae’s shoulders are still shaking.

Solas is clearly trying, and failing, to look unamused.

“Two days isn’t that long,” he protests, but his lips are twitching upwards into a smile as he glances down at Evie, who can’t hide her grin.

“You have had months to figure this out,” Mamae teases.

“Longer than that,” he mutters, like he’s confessing something.

Mamae laughs a little, again—softer, this time, and impossibly fond.

They talk for a while, after that, in low, soft voices. Everyone shifts when they switch the baby to the other breast, but after that Evie leans on her Mamae’s shoulder, and listens to her parents speak. Of nothing, mostly—the fresco, the repairs Solas made on the roof. What colour they think the baby’s eyes will be, who she takes after.

Evie doesn’t even realise she’s dozed off until she wakes—Solas is coming back into the room, the baby in his arms, and the door creaks as he nudges it with his shoulder.

“I have done this before,” Mamae is saying. “And I’m not actually bedridden.”

“I know,” he replies, softly, as he crosses the room.

“You don’t have to do everything, Solas.”

He places the baby in her crib—the one Thom made—and lingers there, his hands resting on the rail, his back to them, looking down at the sleeping baby.

“Indulge me, vhenan,” he says, glancing over his shoulder.

His eyes are suspiciously shiny in the candlelight.

Mamae hums. “Well,” she says, wiggling the shoulder Evie’s resting her head on, “I think it’s time we sent this one off to bed.”

“I’m in a bed,” Evie mumbles.

“Yes, but your door has a soundproofing spell on it,” Mamae reminds her, “and your little sister is going to be hungry again in a few hours.”

Evie makes a face, but allows herself to be coerced out of the bed. She unsuccessfully stifles a yawn as her Mamae kisses her on the cheek and bids her goodnight.

When she’s changed her clothes and washed her face, Solas knocks on her door.

“Da’assan?” he calls, softly. “May I come in?”

“Mm-hm,” she replies, crawling under her pile of blankets and furs—some of the few things they kept when they gave up the aravel for the cottage.

He slips inside and closes the door behind him, and then sits at the foot of her bed.

“Newborns are… hectic,” he says, after a long moment. “And I… do not want you to feel left out.”

“Cole would probably just tell you if I did.” She tilts her head to the side, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. It’s a little hard to read his face with only the moonlight through her window to go through, but she thinks…

His brows are furrowed, his gaze cast to the floor.

Evie leans over and pinches the skin on his hand.

He jumps, startled. “What—what was that—”

“See?” She leans back, trying not to smirk. “You’re not dreaming, Papae.”

His expression softens, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile, and Evie can’t help but grin back in return.

“Thank you,” he says, softly.

She nudges his leg with her toes from under the blankets. “So pick a name already! Oh, but don’t tell anyone until Tuesday.”

He raises a brow. “Tuesday?”

“Because then I win, and Bull does our laundry for a week, and Sera our dishes for two…”

He laughs, then. Shaking his head and smiling at her long after he’s done, his eyes warm, the worries from when he sat down thoroughly chased away.

“I forget sometimes, how clever you are.” He leans forward, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, da’assan.”

“Goodnight, Papae.” As he stands, and she settles down into her furs, she asks, “Papae?”

He hovers in her doorway. “Yes?”

“Will I see you in the Fade tonight?”

He smiles. “Of course.”

He closes the door behind him once more, and Evie settles into her blankets. Warm, exhausted, and content, she closes her eyes and as feels the pull of the Fade with every slow, steady breath, she wonders what she and Solas are going to find there, together, with a smile on her face that lingers long after she’s fallen asleep.

[vir-tanadahl]

As the Moon Rises

Chapter 13

Summary: Isera Lavellan was sent to her brother, the Inquisitor, at the urging of their mother. The world is changing and Isera needs to be there to help.

Solas x F!Lavellan.

[Ch1] [Ch2] [Ch3] [Ch4] [Ch5] [Ch6] [Ch7] [Ch8] [Ch9] [Ch10] [Ch11] [Ch12]

[Ch13]

Isera is laying in her bed, exhausted from her flight back to Skyhold. Her eyes are swollen and red, her head is pounding and nose congested from crying. She still does not understand why Solas took her to the cavern only to break up with her. Something doesn’t feel right, but she is unable to figure what it is.

Banreas ascends her stairs. “Isera?” He calls as he round the banister. He looks at her with concern. “What is going on? I received reports that Solas arrived without you…and I have no report on when you returned?”

He halts, staring at her. “…Have you been crying?” He questions. He stands awkwardly in the middle of her room.

Isera focuses on the ceiling. ‘Do not cry…do not cry…’ She thinks to herself. “I…he…we broke up.” She carefully chokes out, blinking back the tears that are threatening to rise. “I chose another method of returning back to Skyhold.” She informs her brother.

Banreas looks away, unsure of what to do. “Why did he…?”

Isera shakes her head, tears falling from the corners of her eyes. “’In another world…’” She mutters, mimicking what Solas had told her.

Banreas begins pacing about her room. “He can’t do that!” He declares at the audacity of the idea. “He didn’t give you an explanation?” He asks, crossing his arms with a deep frown on his face.

Isera shifts in the bed. “No—he went to tell me about how he felt about me…” She pauses, finding the words. “And then he said that the vallaslin were slave markings from Arlathan!” She tells him. “And then he broke up with me! It didn’t make sense!” Tears stream down her face as she buries her head in her hands.

“Wait, what?” Banreas questions. He is confused by her description of the events. “He took you to Crestwood, to tell you about the vallaslin …and break up with you?” Banreas kneels on the edge of the bed.

“Ban—everything was fine,” She sobs. “It felt right. He felt right. He wasn’t making sense. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What an ass.” Banreas hisses. He pulls Isera closer. “I can send him away if you want. Or have words.” He tells her. “Perks of being the Inquisitor.”

Isera forces a sad smile. “That’s okay. You don’t need to do that.” She tells him.

Banreas hums in thought. “Okay—but we can go to the Emerald Graves, and we can tell him we found something ‘elvhen’ by that giant Fen’harel alter we found, right?” Banreas elaborates with a grin. “And we can make it explode! And then we can tell him that he’s cursed by Fen’harel for hurting you!”  He concludes with excitement.

Isera cries out in a mixture of a sob and laughter at the ridiculous notion. Banreas is trying to make her smile.

“You're ridiculous.” Isera giggles, rubbing her eyes.

“My idea is perfect.” He announces. “I think…I think I am going to tell the cook to make frilly cakes that are inspired from the Gods. Just so I can feed them to Solas and say since he acts like he's a god, he should be full of them!

Isera snorts. “He’d act so unamused by your antics.”

Banreas continues to grin as he schemes. “Sera can prank him! She can paint vallaslin on him!”

“Banreas—“ Isera frowns. “You don’t need to do any of that.”

“I want to do something.” He emphasizes. Isera can tell that he wants to protect her and validate her. Avenge the pain she is in.

“You are.” She tells him. “We are adults. And, as much as I want to hurt him as he has hurt me…I want to be the better person, yes?” She gently punches his arm.

He hums, “I think we need frilly cakes.” He announces as he moves from the bed. “Frilly cakes make everything better.” He grins as he rushes out of her room to retrieve frilly cakes.

---

The next day, Morrigan is requesting Isera’s presence in the garden. Isera reluctantly agreed—she didn’t have an interest in socializing, especially with the witch.

Isera’s heart feels heavy. She takes the longer route to avoid the atrium where Solas is usually found. She walks the ramparts near the tavern and passes the soldiers who are sparring. She ascends the steps into the great hall. Isera spots Solas talking to Varric. The hairs on her neck stand as she feels panic fill her body.

Varric spots her, waving her over with a grin. Isera shakes her head as she skitters away from the pair without looking back. Isera can hear Varric ask Solas what was going on as she rounds the door to the garden.

She makes her way into the prayer room that is still decorated with his murals. She is anxious and unhappy. She pushes open the door. “What do—“

“Isera!” Leliana shouts, interrupting Isera. The eluvian is active, shimmering with magic.

“Morrigan says Kieran ran into the eluvian! I’ll get the Inquisitor!” as she dashes out of the room before Isera can ask questions.

Isera stares back and forth between the eluvian and the open door unsure if she should follow the spymaster or run into the mirror.

Isera grumbles as she glares at the mirror, bubbling with magic. “I do not want walk into the mirror of death.” She mutters. “I don’t want to. I’m not—“ She pauses releasing a frustrated cry. “There’s a kid in the damn mirror. Why don’t people watch their children. Just tie them up! That’ll solve ev-ery-thing.” Isera mutters bitterly.

Isera rushes forward into the eluvian. The magic ripples around her as she transported into...the Fade?

Isera spots Morrigan. Morrigan’s eyes are filled with unadulterated panic and fear. “Go back!” She orders Isera. “Kieran!” She calls. “I need to find him!” Morrigan rushes out in desperation.

Isera sighs. “Okay, okay.” She confirms. “It’ll be easier to search together. Let’s keep moving.” Isera opens her hands to show submission and an attempt to be amiable as she walks by Morrigan. The Fade looks as it did during Adamant—illuminated green and spooky.

“Kieran!” Isera calls as they round another corner. She hates that she is in the Fade again. Memories of the Nightmare are returning with each step. He knew her fear of not fitting in—straddling the worlds of city elf and Dalish elf. He said that she was out of place, out of time.

Finally, Morrigan spot Kieran standing…with someone? Isera frowns as they rush forward. She is unsure if they are in danger. The woman kneeling in front of Kieran.

Morrigan sneers, glaring at the older woman. “Mother.” the word is bitter and acidic off of Morrigan’s tongue.

Isera jolts in surprise. She looks between Morrigan and the woman by the boy. “I take it this family reunion was not planned?” Isera jokes, her body tense, and voice tight with awkwardness.

The woman grins with chuckles. “Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, doesn’t it?” The woman states as she stands. She appears unaffected by the chaos she has caused for Morrigan.

The two begin to bicker, but Isera is focusing on the boy. He glows, just slightly, with old magic for someone so young. This is the first time Isera is laying eyes on the boy.

“You will not have me, and you will not have my son!” Morrigan howls as she casts a spell. A green light encompasses her arms in preparation. The woman who claims to be Morrigan’s mother frowns.

“That is quite enough. You’ll endanger the boy.” She demands, then looks at Isera. “Be a good lass and restrain her.” She orders with a calm voice.

Isera feels hot as she is jerked roughly to the side. Her arms are forcibly wrapped around Morrigan, pulling her down towards the ground. Isera yells in surprises as she has no control over her body or actions.

“What are you doing…what are you doing?!” Morrigan shrieks as she pushes Isera off of her.

“I don’t know!” Isera exclaims as she pulls herself up from the ground. The tingling of magic is slowly fading away, and Isera feels that she is in control of her body once more.

The woman chuckles again. “You know quite well. You drank from the well, did you not?”

Isera stares at the human woman. The world feels slow around her as she processes the statement made. “You are…Mythal.” Isera whispers in awe. She pauses, feeling uncomfortable and unsure. “Uh,…it is nice to meet you…” She says out of politeness for the God.

Mythal grins glances to Morrigan. “Now those are manners, girl.” She informs her. “You clearly require a demonstration.” Mythal pushes Kieran forward, giving him permission to return to his mother. He rushes to his mother without looking back.

Mythal shares that the essence of Mythal is only a fraction of what she once was and that she has been carried on over the centuries. Mythal challenges her to consult the voices, and they confirm the truth.

Mythal sighs in content. “But what was Mythal? A legend given name and called a god or something more?”

Mythal turns to Isera smiling. “So young and vibrant. You do the People proud and have come far.” She pauses. “I have gone by many names…but you may call me Flemeth.”

Isera straightens at the name. “Asha’bellanar. The woman of many names. You are her, too.” Isera pauses recalling the stories her mother shared. Isera frowns, staring at Flemeth. “If Mythal is a part of you, why haven’t you helped the People. There are those who call to you, pray to you…” She trails off.

Flemeth looks to the side, a frown crossed her face. “What happened could not be changed.” She tells Isera.

“What about now?” Isera asks. All Isera has known is her attempts to obtain and retrieve elven artifacts. Isera has walked through the Circles, traveled across most of Thedas trying to collect fragments the history of the People. If Mythal could return…it would change everything.

Her face hardens as she looks at Isera. “You know not what you ask, child.” It is clear the God would not entertain the idea.

Isera nods unwilling to pursue questioning her more. Morrigan, on the other hand, continues to challenge Mythal until the god turns away. Isera watches as Mythal took an essence from Kieran.

“So long as the music plays, we dance,” Flemeth announces, pushing her grandson towards his mother, and turns to walk away.

Morrigan tries needlessly to call after her mother, demanding her to stay. She lets out a cry of frustration. “Let us go, Kieran.” She whispers after her mother disappears.

---

The following day the Advisors had called Isera to the War Room to talk strategy. Morrigan, despite Isera’s recent assistance, is quick to berate her for drinking the Well. Isera groans with exhaustion. Morrigan is continuously seeking out arguments. Isera can hear the voices telling her how to defeat Corypheus, but Morrigan will not let her speak.

Isera rolls her eyes as she spaces out, her gaze fixated on a window. Morrigan is a ranting,  concerning her lack of ability to use the power. The voices have given Isera specific instructions on how to find what they need, but each time Isera opens her mouth, Morrigan’s rant rages on anew.

“Shut up.” Isera finally demands, her tone hard and unwavering. She turns to look at the Advisors. “We need a dragon.” Isera shares. She glances back to Morrigan who is frowning.

“And you know where to find one that will fight on our side?” Morrigan hisses.

Isera slowly nods. “Yeah. I do.” She states, her voice low and slow to be condescending. “But you aren’t invited along.”

Isera turns to leave the War Room her head pounding from Morrigan’s bickering.

---

It is time. It felt as though the whole world shook when Corypheus made his move. It was a day after Isera, her brother and a team of Inquisition members secured a dragon who is the Guardian of Mythal.  The dragon would come with Isera called her for, but only once. That was the deal the voices offered.

Isera had rushed down into the atrium as fast as she could after it felt that Skyhold would fall apart at the seams. Commander Cullen had already rushed to rally the troops. Isera around the corner of the atrium to see Solas standing with his back to her, collecting his armor.

“Solas!” Cassandra calls, rushing into the atrium. “The Inquisitor is ordering you for Alpha team, the team directly assaulting Corypheus.” She informs him. Cassandra jolts in surprise at seeing Isera.

“Isera!” Cassandra exclaims. Solas turns, startled she is there as well.

“Thank the Maker I have found you. The Inquisitor is requesting your assistance with--” Cassandra begins to tell her.

“No.” Isera is quick to inform the Seeker as she tries moves to past the her.

“What?” Cassandra mimics her movements, blocking Isera from walking away. Cassandra’s eyes narrow in confusion, followed by displeasure crosses her face.

“Take Dorian or Vivienne. I will stay with the ground troops.” Isera tells her, her arms crossed in defiance. Isera does not to go into battle alongside Solas, as childish as it sounds. She had been avoiding him since that night, and she does not have what the first moment she spends with him to be fighting a darkspawn magister.

“The Inquisitor gave you order.”

“I don’t care.”

Cassandra looks unimpressed. She pulls her shoulders back, slowly walking towards Isera with a smirk on her face. Isera is able to tell that Cassandra is attempting to intimate her. “You will be coming, and you will your brother destroy Corypheus.” She kindly informs her.

“I certainly will not.” Isera smiles, unwilling to agree or give in.

Cassandra continued to smile as she turned on her heels. “Solas.” She departs.

Solas blinks, glancing at Isera. “Of course, Seeker.” He responds before walking away appearing unaffected by recent events.

---

Isera is hiding behind a pillar as Corypheus sends along blast of magic, screaming something about being all-powerful. She dashes out as she lifts a barrier over Cassandra just before he sent another attack. She frowns as she pops open another vile of lyrium.

Banreas and Solas are running defensive with Corypheus beckons his minions as Isera and Cassandra are offensive. Isera had more skill in healing, protecting and recently focused her skills on being a knight enchanter.

Isera is constantly having to heal and protect Cassandra, who is maintaining the brunt of Corypheus’s attacks. After the minions are at bay, Banreas jumps into fighting with a blast of arrows. Corypheus yells in pain as the arrows burst in his chest.

As the would-be god becomes weaker and weaker, he begins to desperately calling out for assistant from Old Gods.

Corypheus attempts to use the orb against Banreas, but Banreas reacts quickly to the threat. He had begun to gain control over the mark and thus when Corypheus attempted to manipulate the power, Banreas used it against him.

Banreas approaches the magister, a sneer across his face. “You wanted into the Fade?” Banreas remarks as the mark glows a bright green. Isera watches in a mixture of awe and fear as Fade opens up inside of Corypheus, slowly tearing him apart from the inside out. His body denigrates as magic consumes his form.

As the last lifeblood of Corypheus is consumed by the mark, the rocks that were being held in the sky by Corypheus’s power had begun to fall down, slamming into the ground. Isera screams as the team scattered about, dodging the falling debris. Isera trips over the rubble, landing on her stomach. She groans in pain as she struggles to get up again.

“Vehnan!” Solas is behind her, grabbing her arms and dragging her across the ground and over a ridge. He presses her body against the stone, as he uses his body to protect her from the rest of the falling debris. The stones stop falling as they both open their eyes to look around.

Isera watches as Banreas makes his way to check on Cassandra, who had taken most of the damage from Corypheus. She feels Solas pull away, rushing to where the orb is laying, now broken.

She pauses unsure if she follows him. He looks heartbroken as he picks up the pieces of the orb, running his fingers over the edges.

Isera sighs as she walks to him, dropping to her knees. “I’m sorry… we can try to fix it.” She whispers as she tugs at his arm. He does not look at her.

He makes a pathetic effort to chuckle. “It will not be the same.” He informs her, looking up at her. “It was not supposed to happen this way.” The pain on his face is evident.

Isera looks at him feeling his pain. “Solas…” she whispers. “I know you wanted to save the orb…” she puts pressure on his arm.

He stands up abruptly, pulling away from her. His head is cast down, and he adverts looking at her. “No matter what comes, I want you to know we had was real.” He tells her as he walks towards where Banreas and Cassandra wandered to meet the members of the Inquisition without glancing back at her.

Isera sighs, holding back the tears that wanted to fall. She stares down at what is left of the orb that he had left behind. She shakes her head as she collects the pieces of object and stuffs it into the small bag at her waist. He has become insufferably vague since that night.

Isera glances at him as he stares down at the Inquisition. Isera walks by him, turning toward him. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.” She whispers. She reaches out to him one more time, her hand squeezing his shoulder lightly before she walks down the steps.

There was a grand celebration after the defeat of Corypheus. Isera had forced a smile on her face as she anxiously scanned the room for Solas. He had not returned to them. Leliana pulls her away, leading her into the atrium.

“It appears Solas has left. I have sent agents to look for him.” Leliana informs her. “He did not leave a note behind…” she pauses, “he left this.” Leliana hands Isera the jaw bone necklace that Solas often wore.

“I know you two were close.” She shares. Isera nods without answer the spymaster. She traces the aged bone, focusing on controlling breathing. Isera knew he would not return.

Months have gone by since the closing of the Breach. Solas had disappeared without a trace, not even Leliana’s agents could find him. Not long after, Isera was gone. No one knew where she went…or did they?

[bricousland]

Chapter 8: For One Day Soon

Chapter  Seven  Chapter Six  Chapter Five  Chapter Four    Chapter Three                                   Chapter Two        Chapter One       AO3

Nanami felt soft green grass beneath her and a hot sun above her. The smell of flowers, tree sap, and elfroot filled her nose. She was surrounded by dense, living forest. She could hear birds and a young halla baying for it’s mother not too far away. She hadn’t seen so much green since she’d ventured into the Emerald Graves. It was like being home again; she took a deep breath and let the warmth of the sun prickle across her skin.  

She felt lighter and realized she was without her armor. In a moment of panic she pulled on the power of the fade, but she stopped as someone she hadn’t noticed before stood up from under a nearby tree. The familiar face marching towards her dissolved her panic and replaced it with rage.

“What were you thinking?!” Solas’s voice boomed in her ears. He knelt down to her level and grabbed her shoulders, “Jumping physically back into the Fade, and for what? A dead man? It was foolish, you could have been killed!”

“You haven’t been around. You don’t get to weigh-in.” She pushed his hands away and stood up, she was tired of seeing his face. Nanami looked around the forested area and saw no sign of her friends. “Where are we, demon?”

Solas looked aghast, “I’m not a demon, you’re safe here.”

She tried to think herself out of the vision only to find that her mind was clear, like when she and Solas used to meet in her dreams. It didn’t ease her anger, however, if anything it fanned the flames. “How did you know where I was?”

“Spirits, Veh’nan, you were easy to find.” Solas sighed, “You know you don’t owe the Warden anything; Why put yourself at such risk for a woman half out of her mind with Blight?”

The familiar endearment smoothed the rough edges of her anger. “You said, “Veh’nan”? So, you still...?”  

He was hesitant; Solas looked down and straightened his sleeve, keeping his attention off of her, “Of course… but Nanami --” She closed the distance between them and kissed him. She had been through too much to allow him to be dismissive. No matter how deep in the Fade they were, Solas was as real to her here as he had been in the warm confines of his study. He felt solid and safe, his arms didn’t encircle her, and his lips returned her kiss half heartedly.

Nanami stepped away from him but he pulled her chin up and his lips pressed against hers in a more attentive kiss. The moment was brief and  he released her before he lost himself.

“This isn’t why I came.” He took a few steps away from her to put some distance between them. His hands busied themselves with tugging at the edges of worn cotton sleeves.

“Then why did you?”

“I couldn’t watch you die.”

“Then, you should come back to Skyhold. It will be much easier to protect me there.”

He shook his head, “It’s not that easy.” His eyes avoided hers again, they looked down at the ground or through the dense thicket of trees.

“It can be.”

Solas laughed, short and shallow. “Because you are the Inquisitor?”

“Yes, because I am the Inquisitor! Solas, I’m not going to wait for answers any longer. Why can’t you trust me?”

“It has nothing to do with trust.”

“Trust has everything to do with it, Solas. Whatever trouble you think you’re in or whatever you think you need to do alone, I can help, I can--”

He took her hands in his. “Listen to me.” His voice was soft and thoughtful; while his eyes were weary and pained, “What we had was real. For a while, we traveled the same road, towards the same goals and perhaps it could have stayed that way had things turned out differently. But, they didn’t. Our paths are taking us in different directions and we must walk them. But you needn’t do it alone.” He touched her cheek and ran his thumb across it to catch a tear. “Some love stories are better as short stories, my love.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and whispered in her ear. “It’s time for you to wake up. Goodbye.”

“Solas!” she tried to reach for him but already, the quiet forest was disintegrating around her and Solas was gone.

~ ~ ~

Briana woke up on a straw mattress with Nanami still fast asleep beside her. Her chest, neck, and shoulders were wrapped tight with cotton bandages. Standing at her bedside was a young boy with round yellow eyes. He had a wet cloth in his hands and smiled.“Mother will be pleased.” His voice was flat and lacked the emotion that usually accompanied ten year old boys.

A demon...

Briana sat up in her bed. The pain in her chest shot through every nerve in her body. She grabbed the little boy by his cotton shirt and reached for her axe. When it wasn’t where she was expecting it, she fumbled and fell out of bed hitting the hardwood floor like a heavy stack of potatoes. She yelped while the boy wrested out of her grip.

“Mother!” he cried, flinging the front door open and disappearing from Briana’s sight.

Briana stayed on the floor and stared at the ceiling. The blankets were twisted around her, and her feet were still propped above her on the edge of the bed. Briana was satisfied (by the pain and embarrassment) that she was, in fact, out of the Fade. She peeked under the bandage around her chest and saw a thick, red scar that was still stitching itself together.

Magic made dying complicated.

She had been stabbed through the chest and still managed to live. Who does that? Not Andraste, or Maferath...or Alistair. Just her, maybe she could find a dragon to fight with her bare hands and test the Maker’s resolve to keep her alive. After the initial anger quelled, the realization that she was alone made her listless, her mind was blank, and her eyes set on the wooden beams above her.

The rusty front door opened and swung shut.

“Well, well, the Hero of Ferelden, awake at last and with such grace .”

Fuck me, this is where it all comes full circle.

Morrigan stood over Briana with her arms crossed and brows raised. “I always said Alistair t’was the idiot but sometimes you make me think I was incorrect.”

“Not now, Morrigan.” Briana made no real attempt to untangle herself from the bed sheets.

“Ah yes, I’ve obviously interrupted something very important. Are you going to get up?”

“Nope.”

“Stop acting like a child and get up.” Morrigan snorted “I would have let you die, if I knew that’s what you wanted. You’re the ones who came through my eluvian.”

“Next time wake me up before you decide whether I should live or die. I’m getting tired of you, your mother, and the bloody Maker making that decision for me.”

“You would have survived even without my help, that wound on your chest should have killed you, but it was healing before I even touched it. Someone isn’t ready for you to die yet, Briana Cousland, so you could at least do them the courtesy of living. Get up; the rest are outside eating supper and you will do the same.”

Maker why?

Briana pushed herself to her feet, this time she moved carefully, using the side of the bed for support. She brushed her fingers through her curls and looked around the hut, “So, that was your son?”

“His name is Kieran.”

“Did Alistair meet him?”

“Briefly. Kieran doesn’t know anything about his father, as promised, and I kept him well away. Though I can’t say Alistair made that easy. Fool.”

Briana walked over to the fire and held her hands up to the flame. She felt cold to the core and the humidity that blew in from the windows was ice on her skin. She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm herself but Urthemiel’s quiet song seeped into her and pulled the heat away. “Thank you.”

Morrigan pulled the blankets back over Nanami who still lay unconscious. “For what?”

“For giving us time. I didn’t realize what you were offering. I was so convinced you had betrayed me; I didn’t even stop to think about another explanation. I did so little with the time I had; Alistair begged to come with me but, no, per-usual I had to put the world before us. I only seem to care when I risk losing him.”

“Why do you think that idiot cared for you so much? Because he could count on you to make the tough choices. Sentimentality doesn’t suit you, Briana-- even in your old age.” She tucked the blankets around Nanami and walked towards the fire, she came up behind her friend and dug a finger into Briana’s  bare flesh. It was black, purple, and bruised.. It disappeared beneath the bandages and was about the size of Flemeth’s grimoire. “When did this begin?”

“Sometime after Alistair and I separated.”

“What do you plan to do about it?”

“Put a sword through my belly, eventually.”

“You’re pathetic, this isn’t the Hero of Ferelden who was ready to do what it took to end the Blight.” Morrigan started towards the door.“Go eat, Alistair isn’t the only person who cares about what happens to you. The Dragon Age isn’t the age to mourn someone’s passing. Too many people have been lost, death is apart of everyone’s life. Keep him with you but remember who you are. Things are not going to get better.”

Briana didn’t respond. She walked away from the fire, grabbed a clean linen shirt and pulled it over her head. She went into the frigid Ferelden air with Morrigan. There was a larger, warmer fire lit in the yard. It chased away the damp cold and left the air smelling of smoke with a hint of fresh swamp. The stars were bright and clear in the sky. Flemeth's hut had gone untouched by the Blight that surrounded it, on the other side of a small stream at the front of the cottage, Briana could see dead grass and blighted trees. The perimeter of the cottage, however, looked exactly like it had the day she had left it after (presumably) killing Morrigan’s mother.

Cullen and Sera sat together on a bench with their faces half stuffed with stew. When they saw her, Cullen tried to regain some dignity: wiping stew from the scruff of his ungroomed face and sitting a little straighter. Meanwhile Sera shoveled more food down her throat, more than happy to stay in gravy-faced bliss.

Briana looked between the two of them, unsure wether to laugh or cry, “How did we end up here?”

Cullen set his bowl aside “When the Nightmare reappeared, another spirit showed up in the form of a wolf and defended us. I don’t remember anything after that. Not saving you, or Nanami, or going through an Eluvian, as Morrigan claims we did.”

“What about Alistair? What happened to him?”

“Well, that’s even a bigger mystery, but one I’m sure you’ll be pleased by.” Cullen motioned for her to turn around.

She turned and her heart stopped. He stood there, his clothes too loose for his skeletal frame; his hair too long and frazzled around his square, bearded face but those eyes. She’d never mistake them, not in a million years. “Maker preserve me.”

“He hasn’t done anything but ask for ya.” Sera said through mouthfuls of food, “An’ give Morrigan these sideways looks but she said tha’s normal.”

Briana threw herself into Alistair’s arms. He hugged her tight. Regardless of how skinny or weak he was it was the safest she’d felt in years. His lips pressed against the top of her head and his fingers ran through her hair. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and just held him..

Alistair chuckled, “You’re going to break me.”

“You were dead.” She looked at him, touched his face, traced his cheek bone down to his chin.

“Me, dead? Perish the thought.” His hand rested on the back of her head, “Come here.” He pulled her face close to his and kissed her. He was warm and solid, the same as she remembered. All of her worries were gone. Anything that had been plaguing her before the kiss simply vanished. Even Urthemiel couldn’t rear his ugly head. Not when Alistair was so close and alive. So very much alive.

Alistair ran his hand through her hair and looked over every inch of her face. His eyes lingered on the top of her head and his brows came together as he touched the area where her rose usually sat. “Briana,” his voice was distressed, “Where’s your rose? You’re never without it.”

Briana felt his entire body tense, she reached a hand up to fluff his hair and soothe him but he was fixated on her rose. She tried to find eyes as she explained,“It shattered while we were in the Fade.”

“Wynne put a protection spell on it.” Alistair was curt and sild his hand out of her hair, “It wouldn’t just break.” He looked at everyone around him like they were part of the scenery and no longer people. “We’ve been through worse bloody battles and it’s always survived.” Alistair pulled out of Briana’s embrace.

“It was more than that.”

“I was free.” His eyes turned away from her and flickered from face to face, becoming more and more distant.

“Al” Briana reached for his hand.

“Briana, get away from him.” Morrigan warned.

“Not again, I won’t let you taint my memory of her anymore.” His voice was soft and shaking; tears touched the corners of his eyes. Briana ignored Morrigan’s warning; Alistair lunged at her when her fingertips touched his hands. Faster than her eyes could follow, his hands wrapped around her neck and squeezed.

Alistair looked through her, seeing a demon no one else could. Briana tried to pry his hands from her neck but the lack of air to her lungs, coupled with her injuries, weakened her. She thrust her hands against his chest and with a hard shove, she pushed him away from her and took a few stunned steps back. Before he could reach her again, Cullen was on him and restrained Alistair by the arms. He screamed,and cursed, and yelled, lost in whatever nightmare he conjured for himself.

Briana tried to go to him but Sera pulled her away. Alistair struggled in Cullen’s grasp. He screamed through heavy tears, calling Briana a demon, an illusion, spawn of the darkest depths of the Fade. He kicked and flailed like a child throwing a tantrum and though he was lithe and light, Cullen clearly struggled to hold him back and he kept shouting “I was free. I was free. I was free.”

Just as Alistair deteriorated from violence into sobs, Morrigan waved a hand in front of his face; magic slid up his nose and Alistair’s whole body froze before he collapsed into sound sleep.

“Alistair believes he’s still in the Fade.” Cullen’s voice was muffled behind the blood that pulsed in Briana’s ears. “I suffered the same after the uprising in Ferelden’s Circle. He was fine until he decided something wasn’t right in his world.”

Morrigan nodded, “Take him inside and tie him to the wooden chair near the fire. He won’t be waking up anytime soon but when he does I don’t want another fight.” Cullen nodded and carried Alistair inside while Morrigan turned her attention to Briana. She began to examine the bruises already forming on her neck.

Briana ran her hands through her hair, expecting to feel the velvety petals but instead felt nothing but dry brown hair.

Morrigan sighed, “Well if that’s all,‘tis simple enough to fix. Temporarily, at least.” Morrigan kneeled and pressed her hands into the soil. Magic penetrated the ground and slowly, fresh green vines rose up. Morrigan pushed more magic into the plant until a single red rose blossomed. Morrigan picked it and wove a quick spell around it before handing it to Briana. “This should help but you need to be careful. If the absence of your rose can set him off, who knows what else may. Don’t be alone with him.”

Briana took the rose and tucked it into her hair. She felt the soft red petals beneath her touch and twirled it between her fingers until it sat just right. “Can you erase the memories?”

Morrigan paused and shook her head, “No, the magic involved and the unintended consequences would be worse than its benefits. I will send you with sleeping potions and sedatives. Tis the best I can do. I’m sure the Inquisitor can put him to sleep if it must come to that.”

“Briana, he can recover. I went through something similar after you left the circle.” Cullen said as he stepped out of the hut, closing the door gently behind him. “With time and patience, he will feel the world become solid again. He’ll eventually begin to trust what he smells and feels. I worked through it and he can too. It will never go away though, Briana. The nightmares are continuous and it’s something the two of you will have to learn to live with. However, I have complete faith you’ll pull him out of the worst of it. Much faster and more whole than I could on my own.”

“You should stay at Skyhold with us.” Sera said as she skipped back over to the warm fire, sat down in a chair, and rubbed her hands together. “Until he’s better yeah? You’ll have everything you need there. I’m sure Quizzy wouldn’t mind and I know Bull and I’d like to watch you knock Cullen on his ass a few more times!”

“Thank you Sera but, I don’t want him paraded around in front of Orlesian and Ferelden nobility. It wouldn’t be safe for him to be seen there like this. We’ll go home.”

“You can’t bring ‘im back to the Wardens acting all Blighty.”

“I never said I would.” She had no desire to return to living under the thumb of the Wardens. Sera was right, with Alistair in this condition they may believe he had Blight sickness. They’d eventually find hers too and she’d be thrust into the Deep Roads like the unwanted problem she’d become, or worse.

Then there was, Skyhold. There she’d have Lilly and the entire Inquisition at her beck and call, but she had no desire to expose Alistair to people that still petitioned him to overthrow Queen Anora. She knew she could trust her allies but had no desire to trust the rest of the Inquisition.

Betrayal came cheap.

They needed somewhere safe, and warm, and surrounded by the people who loved her and not just her title. When she thought about it, Briana smiled “Highever, I think we’ll visit my brother in Highever.”