#that he was in clan lavellan for a bit? sure. that he was in wycome before that? yeah. that mhl borderline adopted this kid? no.

[gnawednoble]

playing a rook that's already met the inquisitor means that a lot of conversations are a little ???. but honestly i think it would be funny if ilan had just kind of assumed everyone already knew abt him knowing at least half of the inner circle bc harding had mentioned it or that he'd been clear enough for them to have figured it out based on one of his comments. but no one has bc its not the conclusion they'd jump to first

and then they all get the scare (maybe at different times?) of ilan going 'oh my aunt, divine victoria' or god forbid him actually saying 'uncle varric'

[definitelyallergictohalla]

Hey, you know that fic I mentioned I wanted to write? The Illario POV? Here's the first chapter. >:3c

Edit 11/27/2024: Now you can read the chapter below, too! I will likely continue to do this each chapter (per request from a friend of mine), but maybe a few days after I post on Ao3 so I receive more traffic there.

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/Neve Gallus/Rook, one sided Illario Dellamorte/Neve Gallus, Illario Dellamorte/Original Female Character(s), mentioned Female Lavellan/Solas

Characters: Illario Dellamorte, Neve Gallus, Original Female Character(s), Tarquin (Dragon Age), Rook (Dragon Age), Lucanis Dellamorte

Additional Tags: redemption arc, Illario POV, Antivan Crows, Shadow Dragons, Clan Lavellan - Freeform, Pining, Jealousy, Minrathous/Treviso Choice - Treviso Saved (Dragon Age), Shadow Dragon Rook (Dragon Age)

Summary: Illario Dellamorte, traitor Crow, is tasked to help Neve Gallus with a job after the fall of Elgar'nan. He doesn't expect what comes next. (A redemption arc of sorts for Illario, post Veilguard.)

Notes: I like it when the Antivan Crows are morally grey. Also, fuck Caterina (she's not currently super relevant to the story but she haunts it... despite being alive)???

Some notes on my world state that should be seen:

Rook is a Shadow Dragon, as well as a Qunari Mage; leans blue/purple in personality

Treviso saved

Illario spared and not in jail

Harding died during the fight with Ghilin'nain

Neve was kidnapped by Elgar'nan but survived

Solas was given the chance at redemption and (warrior) Lavellan went with him

Clan Lavellan survived the battle of Wycome

Inquisition was disbanded

Tags will update on Ao3 as I go!

Chapter 1: One Job Illario Dellamorte, known traitor of the Antivan Crows, was not a coward.

That being said, as he walked the bustling streets of Dock Town with a duo of Shadow Dragons in tow, Illario had to admit that he was getting a bit sick of attempting to win his back his family’s favor.  Sure, he was thankful that he wasn’t shoved into a prison cell – or worse – after the stunt he pulled…  Yet when getting back home to Treviso post such a dangerous fight for the fate of the world, the man had not expected to be pulled aside by Viago a few weeks later to be sent back the damned city he could have died in.

He should have expected it.  Viago had mentioned that the job about ‘helping him see what he did was wrong’.  The idea stunk of Rook, the bastard Qunari who seemed to have successfully wooed his cousin, despite the latter being an abomination.  It frustrated Illario to see Lucanis cling as the first person who helped him out of the Ossuary, but it wasn’t his place to comment, at least not anymore.

Despite this, Illario was fully intending to make best use of his new situation, turning his attention to the pair of rebels behind him.

“So,” he began, noting the direction all three were heading “What’s the job today?”

One of them - Tarquin, the man – acknowledged the question with the furrow of his eyebrows.  Even shorter than Lucanis and sporting similar hair and beard, Tarquin did not share Illario’s cousin’s good-natured yet-haunted personality.  Illario had met him at the Archon’s palace, but it didn’t take him long to discover that the Shadow Dragon was sarcastic, as well as often rude.

“I take it that you don’t remember the letter?”  Tarquin snarked.

Illario rolled his eyes, flinging the vitriol back at the other man.  “I didn’t read a letter.  Viago did, if I had to guess.”

The other Shadow Dragon – a Dalish elf named Ethena  – glanced over to Tarquin while grimacing.  “You know, I didn’t get a letter either,” she muttered at him as she scratched the back of her head, messing up her cropped copper hair even further.

“I know that, I was planning on filling you in as we went,” Tarquin replied as they made it to the edge of the docks.  “I’ve heard you’re resourceful like that.”

Illario bit back a retort about how he was plenty resourceful due to Crow training, but a look of annoyance skewed his facial features anyway.  “An agenda would be nice.  And maybe a drink while we’re at it.”

“Good thing we’re already stopping at the Cobbled Swan,” Ethena mentioned causally.  “Since we’re meeting our client there.”

Tarquin nodded as gestured in the direction of a large pub, not far from where they had stopped walking to talk.  “Drinks aren’t on the agenda, by the way.”

The trio continued onto their path and walked into the dimly lit pub.  It was neater than what Illario was expecting, but still dirtier than anything he saw in Treviso; occasionally he’d see seagulls attempt to pop in through the front door and windows, only to be beaten back with a broom by an elderly elven man.

Eventually, they wandered to the back of the main of the pub, greeted by who Illario could assume was either the owner of the establishment.  The man was dressed in the closest you could get to fine attire this section of Minrathous; nothing overly showy to be considered a target, but the man’s dark green out was tailored to his tall, slim build.  The details of a business man, however, starkly contrasted his shaved, military hairstyle and the faded scar that ran down the left side of his face.

Regardless, the man smiled warmly at Illario and the Shadow Dragons next to him.  “Ah, I assume you are the help the detective suggested to hire?”

Tarquin came forward and waved an envelope, sealed by teal-colored wax.  “Is she in storage room?” he inquired.

“Indeed, please feel free to go back there yourselves, I trust that a savior of Minrathous would have fine taste in company.”

Ah, mierda.  Of course, he was working with Neve Gallus on this job.

Illario had met her initially when Lucanis was freed from the Ossuary, then during the siege on the Archon’s palace.  Gallus has been briefly fucked up, eyes red from the blight magic Elgar’nan had used to control her mind.  Then poof, the moment the elven god died, she was back in nearly top shape, free from having to go to the Wardens for whatever help they could offer.  Of course, she still looked exhausted, nearly collapsing onto of Rook several times as he helped her move to get checked out by a healer.

And now, as she walked out of the storage closet towards her comrades and her client, her prosthetic leg clicking on the stone like it was a stiletto heel, Illario couldn’t help but to notice how different she felt from the battle three weeks ago.  A sense of swagger and confidence as she set her strides.

Sexy.

A few moments passed, and the owner of the Swan let the four of them talk amongst themselves.

“Glad to see you all here,” Gallus greeted.  Then the detective arched an eyebrow at Illario.  “Interesting choice for Viago and Rook to send you, though”.

Illario bowed a mock bow.  “Anything for family, ma’am.”

Gallus shook her head, clearly unimpressed.  She turned to Ethena.  “Do you have any extra paper, per chance?  I ran out.

Ethena groaned loudly in response as Gallus smiled, perhaps slightly sheepishly.

“I was in a rush this morning,” the detective insisted, and although elven woman clearly didn’t buy it, she tore out a few pages of a fancy leather-bound journal regardless.

“You owe me a new journal,” Ethena muttered, sounding pained.

“Sure thing.  I always give back what is owed.”

Over the next hour, while in the back of the storage unit surrounded by Gallus’ notes, Illario and Ethena were filled in on the job; the owner of the Cobbled Swan, last week, had found the dead, mutilated body of one of his bartenders, an elderly Dwarven man who had worked there for years.  Gallus had since picked up a few leads (the Venatori were involved, of course), but needed a team in case of any violent altercations.

“Will Illario’s former allegiance cause any trouble?” Tarquin asked when there was a pause in the detective’s words.

Gallus glanced at Illario coldly at the Antivan.  “I think he knows what’s at stake if he messes up or causes any issues.”  She turned away to carefully organize her papers into a pile.  “Besides, I trust-”

“Rook’s judgement?” Tarquin suggested.  He rolled his eyes as Gallus continued to shuffle papers around, not answering.  “Not sure that’s a wise decision for Dock Town.”

Illario couldn’t help but to laugh internally as the attention turned to Rook.  He was a hard topic for the Shadow Dragons, too, maybe because of the first attack on Dock Town that the Qunari had ignored in favor of helping Treviso.  Perhaps he could use that information to leverage things.

“When do we start?” Illario inquired.  “I could use some practice with my knives.”

“Tomorrow at sunrise,” Gallus answered, back still turned.  “I need to ask a shopkeep nearby if he has heard any noises, and he’s only around during the weekly fish market.”  She then spun around to face him.  “Hope you can keep up.”

Illario feigned hurt.  “You wound me, Gallus, and you don’t even have a knife in your hand.”  He placed a hand over his heart for exaggeration.

That got a smirk out of her.

Later, the four of them wandered out of the storage room of the Swan and into the streets of a darkening Dock Town.  Confirming their plans to go to the market tomorrow, they all split ways to their other obligations, except for Illario, who needed to find a room to rent.

The Antivan man strolled casually past the many criminals and vagabonds on the side of the street.  This was going to be an easy job, and he’d back home to Treviso in a few days.

Perfect.

[dreadfutures]

From the damage sentence starters: ❛ you’re not at war anymore, you can come home. ❜ ?

For @dadrunkwriting!

Pairing: Kieran & Mahariel & Merrill

-:-:-

Halevune enters the grounds of the Arlathvhen in the middle of the Inquisitor's entourage. Though she is no longer Inquisitor officially, she is still Inquisitor to most of Thedas, and she still travels as one. It is a comfort of a sorts, to be hidden in their ranks, but it also fills him with unease; Halevune is certain that none of the Clans look at the Inquisitor's people and sees the Dalish among them. His people, gathered here, see only *us* and *them.*

He wishes suddenly that he had not brought Kieran. The thought that the boy might be rejected from his people here threatens to cripple Halevune.

Clan Lavellan has set up near the outskirts, and they act as a welcome party of sorts. From Halevune's recollection, that's typically where the Clans with the most flat-ear adoptees are most comfortable. They are supposedly tasked with constant vigilance, serving as the sentinels watching for anyone approaching with ill intent. But it remains true that the only ones further from the center of the Arlathvhen were the Dread Wolf statues spaced evenly around the perimeter of the gathering, facing outward, lonely in their vigil at the edge of the firelight.

Halevune lingers near one with Kieran and Merrill as Ixchel greets Clan Lavellan; she is welcomed warmly, despite his fears, and the young half-elven woman and the Keeper embrace like kin.

Merrill releases a shaky breath, her wide eyes growing misty as she looks around the gathered crowd. It's a bit too good to believe that they might truly be so welcoming. Halevune can't trust it enough to step into the throng and introduce himself. What would he even introduce himself as? Halevune-My-Clan-Is-Dead? Halevune, landed nobility of a shem kingdom that sold its city elves to slavery? Halevune, Warden-Commander but Warden no longer?

He does not even have the wherewithal to stay silently by Ixchel's side and let her introduce him. He can only stand in the back, his shoulders hunching, and watch in suspicious disbelief as she disappears into the crowd.

"Well," Merrill says, her voice trembling a little as she weakly feigns optimism, "I met most of them in Wycome already. Might as well see if they remember me!"

"You helped them," Kieran says kindly. "They cannot have forgotten that."

Merrill puffs out her cheeks and smooths down her apron. "Right. I've never forgotten anyone who's ever been kind to me. Just need to remember everyone's the same. Hopefully. Oh, Hal."

She turns to him with wide eyes.

"They really are very nice," she insists. "I know there must be people you want to see, but can I introduce you?"

He doubts anyone would recognize him now, even if he were to remember them. His hair is bone white, when it had once been jet black; his skin is only now regaining color from years of Tainted pallor; his long ears are no longer pierced, after he had gotten them caught in a fraught battle and learned their dangers the hard way. And he has little memory of anyone from the past Arlathvhens he had attended. Those faces are gone, washed away and replaced by companions who had fought alongside him in the face of the apocalypse and turned the tide.

"You’re not at war anymore, papae," Kieran says.

Halevune may be accustomed to Kieran's ability to read his thoughts as surely as they might have been spoken--but he is not and will never be comfortable with the way Kieran knows exactly how to respond to them.

Kieran holds his gaze, his now-golden eyes as fierce as his mother's, but twice as gentle.

"You're home," he says to Halevune. "You're allowed to come home."

Halevune does not relax, does not allow his body to reveal just how Kieran's words comfort him and hurt him at the same time. Instead, he stoically inclines his head to Merrill.

"I will come with you, lethallan," he says, but the relief on her face does not actually lift his spirits. He feels his face settle into its grimmest mask just as it always does when he is about to meet dignitaries certain to scorn him. Usually, they are humans, though, not other elves, who look at him as an imposter.

He cannot decide if he is more afraid of that for himself, or for his son.

Kieran begins to follow Merrill, and Halevune follows him, and he tries to find some comfort that his son has inherited the confidence of his mother instead of his own.

[heniareth]

for all three astala, ilanlas, and marelas #11: Who is your muse’s muse? (What or whom inspires/drives them?)

A very good question! I've been doing some soul-searching for these three and the answers have been interesting.

Ilanlas is an extremely self-motivated person. Doing something well is his way of "earning" his place in whatever group he finds himself in, and of making up for the fact that he's a prickly guy. Quite literally, his drive stems from his own feeling of inadequacy. Good stuff, that /s. On the other hand, he is, I think, also in a position where he could start to let himself be driven by what he wants instead of what he thinks he needs to do. At the moment, those two things coincide: slay darksoawn, stop the Blight and find Tamlen. After Tamlen has been found, the Blight has been stopped and the archdemon has been slain, he will have no clear direction. Sure, he'll want to continue being a Grey Warden and he'll do his very best to be good at that, but being a good Grey Warden is a more nebulous thing without a Blight. I want to do an Awakening run with him; see what direction he takes during and after the game.

Astala's biggest hero as a kid was her mom (Cyrion was relegated to the status of "only my dad". She loved him but they both knew he wasn't hero material (although I do think he could surprise himself one day)). She grew up on tales of other cool elves, most of them rogues who'd one way or another carved their way through a group of shem at some point. They all died in the end and so did her mother. Nowadays, what drives her is the need to protect her family and to put her skill to good use, but this is off-set by a strong wish to simply make it out alive and then have a somewhat normal life. The poor girl really wanted to have a family.

For Marelas, his role model is definitely Keeper Deshanna. He’s been her first for a good fifteen years by the time Inquisition rolls around, and everything he knows about leading people, resolving conflicts and fostering collaboration he’s learned from her. How she manages to turn Wycome around until it is a place where humans, city elves and the Dalish can actually live more or less harmonically with one another is a big ol’ font of inspiration (and consolation, when things don’t work out on his end I only looked up the last step on how to have clan Lavellan survive. I'm proud of that). Another person he thinks about often is Inquisitor Ameridan. For the life of him he doesn't want to end up like Ameridan. It's kind of a situation where the fear of something makes you work harder, y'know? And, last, for all his shortcomings, Marelas's father always had a very "I believe in you, you'll be great" attitude. That drives Marelas forward as well; by nature, he's not a very active person, but a parent's... not expectations, but rather, let's say, lofty dreams for you will give you a kick in the rear every now and then.

Thanks for the ask!! This was a fun one to answer (although it got a bit sad in places. It's the thing about wanting and not getting). And I really want to do that Awakening run with Ilanlas now. I'm curious how he'd evolve, but I'd have to do an Origins run with him first to get him to where he would realistically be at the start of Awakening

[musetta3]

Look I love the Scarlet Pimpernel, so I had to pick one from there. Super curious about "Hiding from the enemy in a hollowed-out tree." for Cullen x Inquisitor because I love action-adventure romance also ok ok :3 Happy Friday and Happy Writing!

Hi Niri! Ahhhh! The Scarlet Pimpernel prompts YESS!! I’ve been hoping for one of these all week! Thank you for sending, friend! For @dadrunkwriting I give you ‘A Tight Spot,’ featuring Cullen and my Inquisititor, Aranehn! <3

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cullen/Lavellan

Genre: Romance & humor

0o0o0o

This was not how Ara thought she would be spending her evening. When Cullen had invited her on a moonlit hike, she had expected… the moon. The stars. The beautiful lake he had told her about back at Skyhold.

Not the inside of a tree, hiding from a Creators-damned bear.

“This is madness,” she whispered, wedged between her vhenan’s shoulders and the trunk. Splinters pressed into her skin, rough bark scratching her knuckles as she held herself up. “I knew we should have brought our own picnic basket.”

“But I wanted it to be a surprise,” Cullen replied, disappointment clear in his tone. “Cassandra said she would handle everything; she wanted it to be ‘romantic,’ so she had a picnic waiting for us. Fancy Orlesian cheeseboard and everything…”

Aranehn couldn’t help but smile at their friend’s good will, despite being bent like a Nevarran pretzel. “It was a delightful idea, vhenan, thank you. I appreciate the sentiment... even if the plan didn’t go well in the end.” She propped her foot up against the trunk with a grimace. “Oof, now I feel where that bandit got me a few months back—”

“What does that mean, ‘venna?’” Cullen asked, adjusting his position. “You used to call Solas that before he…ahem.” He trailed off. “B-Before.” ���Before.’ That was their term for back when she and Solas were together.

Aranehn shifted uncomfortably at all the memories the word brought up, grateful for the nighttime shadows concealing her expression. She remembered all those late night painting lessons and poetry sessions in the rotunda. Stealing frilly Orlesian cakes and sharing them up on the roof. The way Solas’s eyes would crinkle when he laughed…

That fateful night in Crestwood that robbed her of her vallaslin and her man both…and how Cullen had comforted her afterwards. She couldn’t help a nostalgic smile.

“It’s ‘vhenan,’” she murmured. “Elvhen for ‘love.’” A small strangled noise sounded somewhere by her hip. “Cullen? Are you alright?”

“M-Mhmm,” he replied, voice noticeably higher. “I-I’m fine.”

“You…sure? Are you in pain? You sound pained. Let me down, I have an injury kit in my bag—”

“How long have you been calling me that?” Cullen interrupted. His whisper was sharp, urgent. Pleading. “Ara. Tell me.”

“I…” she bit her lip in thought. “Since the letter from Wycome, I think? Possibly longer, I don’t know.” She felt him fall against the wood beneath her.

“Maker’s Breath,” he murmured. “A-All this time?”

“…You didn’t know?” Her beloved, evidently, didn’t know; she could practically feel the shock and surprise radiating off him. “You were the light in my darkness, Cullen: after that letter, I had lost everything I had ever held dear. My family, my heritage, my home, my people: their loss shattered me. You picked up the pieces and helped me put myself together again. How could I not love you?”

She would have given anything to see his face. Cullen’s breath shuddered, fogging warm on her thigh. “You…love me?” He laughed, “Andraste’s arse, am I dreaming?”

“No—owww! Did you just pinch me?” She let go of the tree to rub her thigh.

“Sorry, sorry! Thought that was my arm—oof!” In her haste to rub her pinch, Aranehn dismantled her support, sliding down the trunk… and squarely into Cullen’s arms. He braced himself and caught her, arms strong around her waist. She smiled; the moon she has wished for had finally emerged from beneath the clouds, illuminating her beloved’s features in delicate silver.

“I love you, Aranehn of clan Lavellan,” he said, caressing her cheek. “Heart of my heart, and joy of my joys.” Her eyes filled when he referenced the meaning of her name.

“And I love you, Ser Cullen of clan Rutherford. So very, very much.”

She wished she could vanish inside his kiss; she closed her eyes, winding her fingers through his golden curls, etching every sensation into her heart. The sun shone in her soul, warm and soothing. Aranehn smiled against his lips. After months of feeling like a tree without roots, she was finally home... and she had a gourmand bear and Cassandra Pentaghast to thank for it. 

[silvanils]

Interview with your OC

Thanks to @noire-pandora​ and @morganlefaye79​ for the tags!

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

I’m Ashiran Talin Lavellan, but most of my friends call me Ash. I’m also known as the Inquisitor, Lord Lavellan in certain circles, but I’m still not particularly used to that. It gets stuck on my tongue.

What are your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

Haha, are you serious? That’s a bit nosy of you. But if you insist… I’m a man who has enjoyed the company of many different sorts of people, but I am very happily taken by a wonderful man from Tevinter.

Where and when were you born?

I was born in the Green Dales in 9:16 Dragon. I was fourteen when the Fifth Blight happened in Ferelden and twenty-five when I became the Inquisitor.

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

I use daggers or a bow, depending on the situation and terrain. I’ve always been pretty stealthy and good at hand-to-hand fighting, but I’ve really honed my close combat skills during my work with the Inquisition.

Lastly, are you happy?

Absolutely. Things could be better, of course, but that’s always true. I’m taking things one step at a time, and enjoying every day as it comes.

Family and friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

I have three younger siblings: my sisters, Saeris and Tamaris, and my brother Isasha. They’re all much younger than I am, so I was a third caretaker for them when they were small, but we get along well despite the years between us.

Tamaris wants to be just like me, and Saeris is such a little tease. Isa’s a bit shy and skittish in general, but he came to me a lot when he got scared and wanted someone to be there with him.

My parents, Faron and Sena, are the clan’s head craftsman and Keeper’s First, respectively. They’re both always pushing the boundaries of their crafts. They always used to joke that I got the best of both of them - my mother’s wisdom and my father’s bravery.

My father also has siblings who still live with his original clan, and my mother has family in Wycome — but I don’t know any of my distant relatives very well.

Have you ever run away from home?

No, never.

Would you consider marriage or having children?

Yes, on both counts. I’d like to tie the knot whenever my lover is ready for it, and… maybe once things settle down, we could talk about raising a child together, too.

Do you secretly hate any of your friends?

No? If I hated someone, I wouldn’t call them my friend.

Which friend knows everything about you?

Well, I’ve told Varric and Dorian plenty of stories, and Leliana and Bull are good at gathering information even when I don’t tell them things… So, those four would probably know the most about me. But I doubt anyone knows everything about me.

Asked by fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

My mother taught me to read and write, and I studied a lot of different things with our clan’s teachers and hahren. Ultimately, I chose to apprentice as a hunter, but my parents still taught me about their trades as well.

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

I’m not sure if this counts, but not long after we came to Skyhold I told Cassandra that historians would probably try to forget I was an elf and she told me that was preposterous. Then, when we were investigating the Jaws of Hakkon I started to think “well, this feels familiar.” So I told Cassandra “I think Ameridan was like me.” And I was right.

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realise?

My father likes to embellish stories and make up silly stories just to entertain the little ones. This only dawned on me when he started telling stories to my little sisters, and I was already about fifteen then. I called him out on it when they were asleep and he just ruffled my hair, pinched my nose, and told me I was still a “silly little wean.”

Of course, he did grow up near Arlathan forest, and that place does have some weird shit going on. So, who knows. Maybe his stories are all true, and I’ll be embarrassed again later...

Do you have mental or physical problems?

As far as I know I’m mentally sound. Of course, I am under constant stress, worry about a lot of things, and have mild social anxiety, but it’s nothing I can’t cope with. Physically, the anchor is my worst problem — it does hurt sometimes.

What is your current main goal?

To keep the peace and mend any rifts that still remain. It’s… no easy task. I’ve had less trouble getting little children to behave.

Choices

Drink or food?

How is this a choice, exactly? A person needs both to live?

I will say my favorite drink is coffee and I love a good hearty stew with meat and tubers. Or sweet pastries. I probably enjoy those a bit too much...

Cats or dogs?

Cats, though I never had one of my own before coming to Skyhold.

Optimist or pessimist?

Optimist, usually. I think it’s better to look on the bright side and remain hopeful that things will turn out all right, even if you have to be prepared for the worst case scenario.

Sassy or sarcastic?

A bit of both — it depends on the situation.

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

Oh, yes. Several times. My family lived in a little aravel, it was nearly impossible to sneak out without waking someone up. It was a bit embarrassing, sometimes, all things considered. My father eventually told me I might as well stay over with my lover instead, if this was going to continue happening.

Broken a bone?

Yes. I snapped my left arm falling out of a tree, once. And I fractured my right femur when I slipped in a shallow river. My mother was able to heal my femur because she was there when that happened, but I broke my arm when I was out scouting. She was able to mend it once the clan caught up with me, but the other scouts had to set that one for me.

Received flowers?

A girl at an Arlathvhen once gave me a whole bundle of wildflowers to let me know she liked me. And a pinecone, for my hair, later. Ithelan used to bring me moss and mushrooms he grew himself, which was awfully sweet of him. And one night, Dorian brought me flowers, wine, and chocolate all at once because I’d been teasing him about wanting to be properly wooed.

That was nice, though. Very nice.

Ghosted someone?

Not intentionally. I wasn’t exactly able to reach out to my family for a long time after the Conclave, and a LOT happened in that short span of time...

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn't get?

On occasion, but I’m not very good at it. Everyone always seems to know.

[noire-pandora]

Letters

Another prompt from this list. Also on my AO3

Words: 2419

Warnings: none

A few of the letters Inquisitor Elluin Lavellan exchanged with her adoptive mother and her adoptive brother.

Mama,

This is the moment when you can say “I told you so”. I got in trouble. Big trouble. Have you heard about that explosion at the Conclave? Where the Templars and the mages were supposed to make peace? (like that could ever happen). Well, it seems I am the cause of it, or at least that’s what they think.

And no, before you ask me if my magic finally went nuts, it wasn’t my fire magic but a type of magic I never met until now. It got stuck to my left hand, and it’s slowly spreading in my body and only one annoying elf can understand it and keep me alive. He’s getting on my nerves and I wish I could tell him to fuck off but I might die if I do that, so here I am, stuck with an elf I can’t stand. The irony in that, huh? There are other humans here that get on my nerves, but I try to be as respectful as I can. They can kill me so easily. My only salvation is the Mark (that’s how they call it) on my hand.

Besides that, the humans are calling me the “Herald of Andraste” because I physically walked in the Fade and I have been saved by a woman. They believe it was Andraste. And I can’t remember anything. I walked in the Fade, outside a dream and I don’t remember it!! It makes me so furious! I can’t believe my mind betrayed me. It never did that!

Anyway, if you hear the humans talk about a Herald, they are talking about me. No, I don’t like it.

I’ve lost my sketchbook in the Fade. I cried for an entire hour when I realised that.

Are you well? How is everyone doing? How are they baby hallas? Have they started kicking everyone around?

With love,

Elluin.

P.S: I’m in Haven. It’s so cold in here, my bones hurt at night.

---------

Lethallan,

My instincts never failed me. Since the last time we have met, my dreams warned me about your fate every night. A vast shadow looms above you, one shaped in the form of a wolf. My dear child, this is a bad omen. Fen’Harel is testing and tricking you. Please open your eyes for any sign of his presence. The explosion at the Conclave might be his doing.

My dear, since childhood, you had a knack for trouble and your curiosity hurt you many times. I beg of you, do not get distracted. Do not forget our teachings. It worries me you do not understand this magic hurting you. Pay attention to the elf who understands it. He might know more than he shows.

The Herald of Andraste? I do not know if I should cry or laugh at this. They truly have no idea who they are giving this title to. You barely believe in our gods, the gods you were raised with, and they expect you to believe in their human prophet ? The gods have  a peculiar sense of humour. Or the humans are truly disparate.

My daughter, I do not understand what fate you have brought upon yourself, but the appearance of this hole in the sky is worrying. I wish you were not trapped in the middle of it. Stay safe, my sweet child.

I will send you two blankets made with halla’s hair. They should keep you warm at night.

The hallas are growing. They still do not know how to kick, but I imagine they will learn soon.

The soldier you have sent with this letter is becoming nervous to be in the middle of a Dalish Clan and the children are terrifying him with their curiosity. I will stop now before the poor man starts running frightened.

P.S.: This is a prayer I offer to you, child. Keep it in your thoughts every day.

“May the Dread Wolf never catch my scent,

May the Dread Wolf never hear my step,

May the Dread Wolf never feel my breath

May the Dread Wolf never steal my soul.”

----------

Mother,

Thank you for your kind words. But not all that takes place in this harsh world is the fault of the gods. Sometimes, the greed and hate of the mortals are sufficient. And please give that prayer to someone that needs it. I am no one; I am irrelevant. Usually gods like interesting people.

Thank you for the blankets! They smell and feel like home. I can sleep much better like that.

You worry too much. We already have a solution for closing the Breach (that’s how we call the hole in the sky) and in a few months, it will be done. I will come back to you after we close it. This ordeal made me realise how much I miss you. I can’t wait to be scolded by you. It’s going to be even better than your delicious food.

Please say hello to everyone in the clan and tell them I miss them.

All the care and love from your rebellious daughter, Elluin.

------------

Mother,

I guess the words of Haven’s destruction reached you. We survived it. I survived it. Barely. It was terrifying. I got lost and drifted in the snow for three days. I almost died. I don’t remember how I made it to my friends. All I can remember is the cold gnawing at my bones and the trail of blood behind me.

I am sorry it took me so much time to send this letter. I have been busy because now I own a castle! A castle, mother! I never had my room and now I have a castle! We call it Skyhold. It’s a wonderful place, but it needs a lot of repairs and I have to make certain all goes well. Many people joined the Inquisition and I am taking my time to meet every one of them.

Oh, I almost forgot. They made me the Inquisitor. A mage, the head of an organization who formerly hunted down mages. This world is going mad.

Remember that annoying elf I told you about? He saved my life, again. This is the third time he does that, and I don’t know how to thank him anymore. And I’m in love with him. I don’t know what to do with all those new feelings. I shouldn’t fall in love in times of war. But here I am, doing the stuff I am not supposed to do again. I don’t need more complications in my life right now. But my dumb heart races every time I see him because of his kindness and his intelligence. You should see him rant about anything. He will talk and talk and talk for minutes at a time, and I can’t stop listening to him. He’s wonderful.

Please don’t let Alaion about this love part. I will never hear the end of it next time I see him.

I love you, and I wish you were here to give me advice. But the clan needs you more. Please stay safe and don’t let anyone hurt you.

Send all my love to the others too.

Inquisitor Elluin.

---------------

My child,

I wish I could have seen you at Wycome. I understand why you had to remain at Skyhold, but I do miss you. I have told the Commander to send you our thanks with this letter. I do not know what we would have done without his help. He is quite the dashing young man, and he seems to have a deep respect for you.

We are well. A few of us are terrified to be close to humans, but I find this situation a perfect moment to teach the children that humans can be good too. Not only mean and dangerous as those who tried to murder us.

I apologize for the problems we have caused. I should have known people will try to hurt you by getting to us. We will be more careful from now on. After all, my wonderful daughter is the head of an important organisation now. I am proud of you, even if I would have liked to see you in a safer position.

About the previous letter. Alaion read it first. I thought he would die of laughter. He is coming to Skyhold in a few weeks. He wants to write a few words in this letter to you.

El!!!! I can’t believe it. You’re in LOVE! I can’t wait to see his face. I asked the man you sent to help us, and he had no idea you’re in love. But he said his name is Solas. Really, sister? You’re in love with a man who calls himself PRIDE? Actually, that’s not surprising, we’re talking about you. You always had peculiar tastes. I bet he’s a stuck up elf who is so boring, he makes flowers fall asleep. I can’t wait to meet him. He must have something special if he made you fall in love.

We miss you, sister!

--------------

Mother,

Alaion arrived at Skyhold in one piece.You should have seen his face when he saw Skyhold from up close. I thought he swallowed his tongue; he didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I think he might be jealous, but I wish he wasn’t. He’s the leader of his clan, and that’s much better than being here, surrounded by people I can barely understand.

Somehow, I ended up confusing my feelings to the man I love. And, to my surprise, he feels the same. It took me a bit to persuade him, but it seems we are together now. This is going to be interesting. But I am happy, he seems happy, so I guess that’s good.

Alaion was a pain in my butt, always nagging and teasing Solas. And Solas tried to be polite because he knows I care about Alaion a lot. Solas has a sharp tongue and if it wasn’t for me, he would have destroyed Alaion with his wits. But instead, he sighed and gave me a pained look every time my brother opened his mouth.

But I had a wonderful time with my brother. I am glad he likes Skyhold. Having him here gave me the strength to carry on. And he told me he thinks Solas is the best match for me, even if he has a pole stuck deep into his arse. My brother never disappoints, does he?

We are getting close to defeating Corypheus. Just a few more months and I can be done with this mess. I want to come home for a while. Rest a bit. I will invite Solas to join me. He needs to spend a bit of time with a peaceful Dalish clan and learn not everyone is there to get him.

I gave my brother a few packages with food for the Clan. Please give the sweets to the children. I’m sure they are going to love them. I have a present for you. I hope you’ll like it.

I love you, mother.

Elluin Lavellan.

-----------

Elluin,

The knitted scarf is perfect. I can see your knitting skills have improved quite a lot. I am proud of you.

Alaion talked for an entire hour about you, Skyhold, your friends and your lover. He had to stop before losing his voice. He is fascinated by your work and I believe he would have joined you if not his duty to his People. Everyone here is amazed to know you are a great leader. But I am not. Since you were a child, I knew you could move people with your words and actions. This was the reason why I asked you to be the leader of this clan. I truly wish you remained here to lead us, but it seems fate had bigger plans for you. You are the only one who can save the world. And I am proud of you.

You can come back to us at any time. We love you and we miss you. And you can bring your man, too. I am quite curious myself. His mind must be as sharp as a knife if he amazed you with his intelligence.

Fate be in your favour, my child, may the gods offer you their blessings. I will pray for your safety at night.

Mythal enansal.

-----------

Mother,

It’s done. We have won. We defeated the monster. Corypheus is dead. It was a terrible fight; it drained all of us, but we killed him. Finally, after two years of fighting for the safety world, I am done. I am so proud of my friends. They helped me get through it, without them I’d be dead.

I can’t come back just yet. There are a lot of things I need to do. A lot of stuff needs fixing. They still need a leader. Thedas is a mess right now, and it won’t get better if I leave. Now it’s time to help my People. To use my position and power to make things easier for the Elvhen. I helped the mages. Now it’s time for us to grow.

It might take a while until I will be able to do it, but I will. I promise.

I hope you are well. Please tell me if you need anything. I will send my soldiers to help you, no matter what. I love you.

P.S : he left. Without a word. I think I wasn’t good enough. But it is how it is.

------------

My dear,

I knew you would save the world. I am proud of you. You fulfilled your destiny. The world is safe now, and I know you will change and make it a much better place to live in. For everyone.

He left? Your lover? Do you know why? How peculiar. Alaion told me you two looked very in love and he could not keep his eyes off you. Are you sure you are all right? I know you do not like to speak about your feelings, but you said you loved him. I find it impossible to forget your first love that fast. I am here for you, my child. No matter what.

You are not alone in this, Elluin.

----------

Mother,

Forgive me.

Forgive me, mother, you were right.

They are real. The gods, they are real.

And Fen’Harel came. And he stole my heart and my soul.

I don’t know what to do. I am lost. Help me.

[crqstalite]

in autumn.

OCtober prompt ‘autumn’.  yes! i am four days late as of publishing this 10.4.2020 at one in the morning but i digress. the prompt wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is lol. just a fluff piece about a bit of reflection and one cold elf girlfriend.

ship: marzeyna lavellan/cullen rutherford word count: 2,060

-

Skyhold in autumn.

Creators, it was beautiful. 

Or at least, Marzeyna thought so. Sure, she’d experienced it year after year with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, but it made her smile at the fortress they’d moved into earlier this year. The shades of red and orange and the hues of yellow that had slowly taken over the trees as the year wore on, she couldn’t think of any other place that she’d want to be. Other than back in Wycome to assist with rebuilding, sure, but she was happy enough to wander the place on an off day.

Of course, nothing ever just lasted forever did it? She’d also be ripped away from it in favor of visiting Halamshiral -- damned place within the next few weeks to prevent an assassination. Beyond the fact she would be the first of her living Clan to be there in their lifetimes, she would also have to endure nobles.

Plenty of human nobles. With all their fancy dresses, and all their fancy wines and the Games they liked to play with the people who attended the event, and their distaste for elves.

To say the least, she wasn’t particularly excited. 

Evidence of their impending trip being the overly complicated ‘art’ Vivienne had done to her hair earlier this afternoon. She trusted the woman with anything and everything presentation (the dress she’d commissioned from Val Royeaux was nothing short of show-stopping, something Marzeyna would have to get used to the idea of but was still drooling over hours later), but she’s still picking the glitzy pins out of her hair nearly three hours after the afternoon spent bathing in the cooling sun in Vivienne’s loft. Relaxing, sure. She rarely had time to talk about the mundane with anyone.

By the time they got back from Orlais, chances are the snow would start to set in and it’d be Haven all over again. No more crunching leaves under boots or the off-chance she’d see a stray cat lounging on a window sill, just the freezing cold (well, more than usual at least) starting to set in to her bones and making her grateful she could get out of the mountains.

Then again, there’s also the impending doom of Corypheus.

But for now, she could enjoy the cool and crisp air whipping around the battlements, playing with her hair like flames fanned by the wind. She loves it, and there haven’t been enough moments as of late to take solace in what she likes. For the first time in weeks she’s actually sat down in her own desk, and for the first time in other weeks, she’s sat down with Josephine to go through every diplomatic issue she’d missed since she set out for the Arbor Wilds.

(They could not pay her enough to do that again, Inquisitor or not she did not have the attention span or willpower. There are still stacks of reports left for another date in her quarters. Under a paperweight, because she hasn’t gotten enough of the beautiful autumn breeze and has left the windows open. If a few blew away, well, nobody would be any the wiser.)

A door clicks open on her left, and she turns from scenic view of the snowy valley, pushing another rogue curl behind her ear and blowing another out of her face. Marzeyna had come up to the battlements mostly just to walk, but also to pull another diligent person away from his work, as she typically did whenever she was back in Skyhold. She smiles to herself anyway, as annoying as the rest of the world could be, at least she still had Cullen Rutherford by her side.

As tired as both of them have been as of late, it is still good to see him. Since they’d been decidedly moving further and further out from Skyhold, the more and more he had to deploy soldiers and the like. Another thing that not even Varric could pay her enough to do -- that wasn’t her favorite thing to do and she was not interested in learning.

“Long day?” She asks, leaning against the half wall while he runs a hand through his hair, “Looked like you could use a break.”

“I could, yes. Though--”

“Though nothing. Look how nice of a day it is out, it’s already autumn here.” Marzeyna replies, grinning.

That pulls a smile out of him, “That it is. I’d assume you like the change in weather?”

“Well, it’s no longer sweltering but it’s not freezing just yet either. Like a lull in the storm,” A leaf flutters up from one of the trees in the courtyard, dancing in the wind before disappearing back down the wall, “Relish in this, I’m sure we’ll come back to snow by the time Orlais has had it’s way with us.”

She nearly pouts at the smirk he gives her, mildly offended he’s taking amusement in her dislike of the coming snowfall, “Then the Inquisitor isn’t a fan of the winter months?”

“Just because you have the fluffy mantle and heavy armor doesn’t mean the rest of us can compensate nearly as easily,” She teases, just barely holding herself back from crossing her arms, “It gets so cold at night, there’s no using a fireplace to offset it.”

“Didn’t Josephine requisition more of the down blankets?” Genuine concern, that was sweet the way he asked.

“She did. But it’s also been weeks since I’ve been back in Skyhold. I got used to the warmth in the Wilds and the Plains,” She pulls at her overcoat as if to wrap it tighter around her. It wasn’t like she could drag them around the fortress either, collecting dirt and who knew what else on the tail of it. She really needed to find a proper coat that didn’t hinder her magic if she intended to make it through the winter, “It’s not a fair comparison.”

“Isn’t it?” Her look must be that sour that it’s at least amusing, “Fine then.”

Marzeyna pauses again, letting them bask in the quiet for a bit, admiring the changing colors of the leaves and wind blustering around them. It’s been nothing but fighting Venatori for the last few weeks, that and the undead and whatever giants they can imagine. No more running for now, and she’s not kept to Cassandra, Blackwall and Dorian for company anymore (not that she doesn’t adore them, but...well). It’s good to just sit and acknowledge how much they’ve gotten done, how much things have changed. 

Cullen looks at peace at least, a far improvement from how he’d been just before she left the last time. He notices her smiling directly at him, and visibly flushes.

“I did...miss you,” She offers, pointedly looking up at him. She pulls her hair over her shoulder, standing properly again, “Were things okay while I was gone?”

He knows what she’s referring to -- more withdrawal symptoms, “Not as many, no. A minor improvement, I assure you. You needn’t worry.”

“I will worry regardless, Cullen, I don’t want you in pain,” Another pause, “But...that is good to hear.”

“Most likely only because you pushed to keep me off of it.”

“That was all you, and you know it. I can’t fight that battle for you, but you’re still winning it.” She offers. That much was true, she may have been another opinion in the situation, but he was recovering, little by little.

He sighs, glancing out to the horizon for just a moment, “Yes. I suppose you’re right, and I thank you for the strength to go on.”

“I do what I can,” She steps closer, gauging his reaction, “And yet? No one can quite replace you, as I’m finding. I was wanting to be back sooner than this -- letters are just not the same. Surely you understand?”

“As much as you love to write them.” He responds, surely referring to her inability to write the shorter reports than the others of the Inquisition are capable of. She likes to go on and on and doesn’t even realize it until she’s run out of parchment paper. Usually she only has enough room to squeeze in her own name at the bottom of the page in the loopiest handwriting.

“You read them?” She asks, surprised, and maybe a tad embarassed now -- considering they aren’t always the most academic. She would’ve thought they’d go directly to Leliana, considering just how much sneaking around they’ve done as of late, “I thought you were only getting the shorter ones.”

“The ones you send to me directly?” He smiles to himself, “Yes, I read those as well.”

An arm snakes around her waist, careful, tentative as she goes on, gently leaning into the touch and placing her hands on his chestplate, “You know it’s almost been a year, Cullen. Since all of this started, and now we’re here. Could you have imagined we got all of this done in such a short time?”

“It has been an experience, yes. Demons, Venatori, among other things. I don’t believe my past experiences would’ve prepared me exactly for that.” He responds, only slightly flinching when she leans her head against his chest.

“You’re telling me there wasn’t anything on what to do if demons started falling out the sky in the Templar instruction book?” She’s got such a stupid grin on her face again, but he chuckles anyway at her joke, “I’m surprised, they really didn’t teach you enough to be effective.”

“I don’t believe such a manual exists, but should you wish it, I’ll write one and distribute it to our Templar allies,” And now she’s chuckling herself, as halfway serious as he sounds. 

Oh why does she care for him so? A mage and a Templar, for Creators’ sake.

The humans’ Maker is probably throwing some sort of fit right now, wherever up in the sky He is.

“I’m serious though, Cullen. It seems like just yesterday Cassandra was content to yank me out of the chantry’s dungeon to force me to answer for the Divine’s death,” That was one downside to the mostly...interesting memories, “And here we are, such an international power that we’re being invited to make an appearance at the Winter Palace.”

“Believe me, I am aware,” He muses, “You’re a very capable leader, Lavellan.”

“I didn’t do half of this -- you know the Inquisition would simply fall apart if any of you just walked away,” She rolls her eyes, sighing, “I just close the rifts with the glowing hand, not much else.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “You act as if this isn’t a result of your determination to save the world. It is. I would say you’re doing an admirable job.”

She highly doubts she would get the same flood of affection with anyone else, or that anyone else’s compliment would feel nearly as genuine as his does.

“Thank you, Cullen. We made it to Kingsway, I can’t say anything else about the rest of the year though. That’s decidedly still up in the air.”

Marzeyna feels distinctly...tingly. The good kind, like just before her magic would flare again during a fight, except the fight or flight response doesn’t accompany it. She’s just undeniably happy, and if anything arcane flickers under her fingertips, she doesn’t notice. Her ears are twitching though, probably moreso than usual when he presses a tentative kiss to her forehead.

It was much too pretty a day out, but she was content to rest her for just a moment, letting the world continue on. 

The wind gusts around them again, and she shivers, audibly chilled by the cold and trying to press herself further into his embrace, the fur of his mantle tickling her cheek, “It’s much too cold out here.” Marzeyna barely keeps the whine out of her voice, she wasn’t a child, but she also didn’t feel as if she had to hide the fact she was having no fun dealing with the change in seasons from him either.

“Would you like to go inside then? You...could come and sit for while, there isn’t much work to be done this evening.” He offers.

“I...would like that. As long as you don’t want me reading any reports,” She makes a face, “I would be happy to spend the evening in your presence.”

[cidnangarlond]

hi I’m gonna put this here about my da:i OC Sparrow because this was 5 pages and a result of an idea I had that hurts me greatly :)

Sparrow sighed as she looked over at all the points on the war table, seeing many things that needed her attention across all of Fereldan and Orlais. Some were even farther north into the Free Marches and Starkhaven. Varric mentioned knowing the current prince there; he could be a good ally. There was one specific mission Sparrow eyed, though: Clan Lavellan, her clan, was in danger and under attack. That was their first priority, and it was to be done and settled first.

She thought about the missive she had been handed, written by her keeper and mentor Istimaethoriel. Bandits, well-armed and in large numbers, were attacking the clan and might force them out of their temporary home in a valley by Wycome. If help didn’t arrive in time…

Well, Sparrow didn’t want to think about that.

“What are my options?” Sparrow asked their advisors.

Josephine spoke first. “The Duke of Wycome. He’s an ally of the Inquisition, so it is quite odd he has yet to do anything about the bandits so close to the city. We could ask for his help.”

“These don’t seem to be regular bandits, though,” Leliana piped up. “Considering their numbers and how much they have with them, I think more is going on here. Some of my men can go harass them while Clan Lavellan escapes.”

Sparrow looked to Cullen next, who looked deep in thought, perhaps calculating how many men he would need. Eventually he spoke, saying, “I agree with Leliana. They don’t seem to just be bandits attacking so forcefully. I can send my men to support your people.”

It was Sparrow’s turn to be deep in thought. There were three options presented in front of them, and they were all good. They were glad to have such smart, well-connected, and confident advisors. But a decision had to be made soon, and quickly; lives were at stake and every moment, every minute counted.

“The Duke,” Sparrow began, “would he get there in time Josephine?”

She nodded. “Considering his city might be in danger of these… forces, whoever they may be, I feel he would act quickly.”

“Even though he has yet to act?”

A pause. Sparrow looked up at Josephine. “Would he act quickly?”

Sighing, Josephine looked at her notes. “He wouldn’t do anything to make enemies of the Inquisition, I know that. If he wants to prove himself an ally, this is the time to make it known.”

The Inquisition needed all the allies it could get, noble or otherwise. The more noble allies they had, the more that would join, and the reputation of the Inquisition being champions of justice and fairness would spread and be well-regarded. The Duke was a middle-man, however; they would go through him to get to Clan Lavellan instead of sending forces straight there. It was a tricky decision, and not one made lightly. They were the only family Sparrow had.

“I agree with you Josephine,” Sparrow said as she bit her nail. “Contact the Duke. Have him prove himself.”

Josephine nodded as Sparrow then went on to organize other missions; Leliana would infiltrate the castle in Denerim to weed out the spies there on behalf of King Alistair, and Cullen would help Sera help Red Jenny gather… bees? They would make an interesting bomb in combat, that’s for sure. Maker knows they would take anything they could get to have the upper hand in battle.

The advisors left the war council room as Sparrow placed their hands on the table and looked at the small piece representing where her clan was. They had fought stronger enemies before, and they knew that the Lavellan were fighters to the very end. Never again shall we submit. That was part of the Dalish motto. Last of their kind. Keepers of lost and old lore, to be passed down from generation to generation. If push came to shove, she knew they wouldn’t back down and surrender.

Somewhere in Sparrow’s things were old poems, either transcribed from tales told to the clan or ones they had written themself, and in the back of their mind there was one line they could recall: Boldly they rode and well into the jaws of death. That was one written many years ago by herself to pass time as they moved to a new valley, a new field, a new home. No, they wouldn’t give up.

---

The letter from the Duke of Wycome was the first thing Josephine saw on her desk when she walked into her office. With eager but nervous fingers she unfurled the parchment and quickly scanned over the short letter. Josephine paled at what she had read. Rolling it back up she hurried to see Leliana.

Leliana sighed and shook her head when Leliana had told her of what the letter said. “We knew this was an outcome. One we didn’t want, but it was an outcome nonetheless. Have you told them yet?”

Josephine shook her head. “I was about to go tell Cullen. I woke early and before the Inquisitor did, who is very much a morning person, you see, so I could read this before they called the council together.”

The two stood in silent contemplation before Josephine said she should hurry to Cullen.

Cullen had much the same reaction. Shock, sorrow, sadness. He repeated what Leliana had said of this being an outcome, and a regrettable one.

“Is the Inquisitor awake yet?” he asked.

“I am unsure,” Josephine said. “I should hurry back and meet her there. I- We don’t want to keep them waiting.”

---

The first thing Sparrow did as soon as she woke up was to call the war council. She had to know what became of her clan.

“If I may go first,” Leliana said, looking at Josephine - a look which Sparrow hadn’t seen. Sparrow nodded.

Leliana cleared her throat before reading the missive from King Alistair. The cultist spies had been found and it was a rousing battle, one which he reminisced reminded him of old times; Leliana had a small smile on her face as she remembered fighting alongside him a decade ago during the Fifth Blight.

Next went Cullen, who said he got what was needed for the Red Jennies, for which Sera was grateful. He added Sera brought him a slice of cake, which he took as thanks for the help, but he was still hesitant to eat it in case it was one of her pranks.

Sparrow looked at Josephine. “My clan. How are they? What happened?”

The advisors shared a look between each other, shifting nervously and not wanting to make eye contact with her. Sparrow knew what this meant.

“Josephine,” she said quietly. “Tell me what happened.”

Josephine looked down at the letter and began to read it. “Ambassador Montilyet,” she began, “I regret that my help for your Dalish allies came too late to be of use.”

Sparrow took a deep breath to calm herself as they looked down at the map of Thedas, and nodded to continue.

“By the time my forces arrived in the area, the Dalish had been scattered or…” Josephine hesitated to read further. The bearer of bad news. Sometimes that was the job of the ambassador; she couldn’t falter here. “...or killed, and there seems to be little left of their clan. I understand your Inquisitor must be feeling the loss of her clan. Please accept these gifts and my promise of future help whenever it is necessary.”

Rolling up the parchment, Josephine finished by reading, “Yours, Duke Antoine of Wycome.”

A tense silence filled the room. No one wanted to speak, and the advisors waited to see what Sparrow would do or say next.

She took another steadying breath, then nodded once more. “Thank you, Josephine. That will be all for right now.”

The group disbanded as Sparrow placed both hands down on the table and let the thoughts run through her head. She slammed a fist down, hard enough to shake the table and move the markers on the map, some falling over. The next thing they did was to tell Josephine she didn’t want to be bothered until late that evening, and Josephine understood.

Sparrow went up to their quarters and paced, before finally breaking down and crying. But it was worse than crying. It was wailing. Gut- and heart-wrenching sorrow. The sounds of someone who had lost everything. You couldn’t make those sounds unless you were feeling that way, knowing it was all gone. It was like having the floor fall out from under you and the falling feeling in your gut never went away. She felt sick to her stomach, distraught, the tears flowing endlessly.

As they ran their hands over their face, they remembered when they turned 18 and got their face tattoos, the vallaslin. The keeper did it herself. Each tattoo corresponds to a specific Dalish deity; hers was to June, god of crafts and building. Historically, June was the one who taught the elves how to make clothes, weapons, things they needed to survive. Though a wielder of magic, Sparrow liked the story of helping people this way. To build things to help others, to create. She used her magic to help keep the young children entertained and create small ghostly animals to train them.

Memories of helping them train and raise the halla, of showing them how to pass time as they rode in the aravels across every kind of terrain. The lifeblood of the clan, their future. Eyes filled with hope and wonder. Teaching them the three tenants. The Vir Tanadhal. The Way of the Arrow, to fly straight and never waver. The Way of the Bow, bend but do not break.

Oh no, Sparrow thought. The children. This made her weep more; innocent children, lives lost forever. Lives taken indiscriminately. Frightful images flashed in her mind and she shook her head to rid herself of them, but they came back. Images to haunt them. Regret to destroy them.

Loss. An indescribable feeling until you feel it yourself. Every other emotion disappears and you are just left with your thoughts, the pit in your stomach. An empty void consumes you and your throat becomes hoarse from the screaming, the wailing, the anguish. Eyes red and puffy. Snot everywhere. It’s not pretty.

But then again, loss isn’t pretty, either.

The Way of the Forest: together we are stronger than the one. But what do you do when you are the one? Sparrow would have to figure that out on her own. Was she the keeper now? Of a destroyed clan? The lone survivor. More grief and anguish. Over time it will lessen, but it will never leave them. They can only hope it stays quiet.

[in-arlathan]

Eyes Wide Open

Back in the writing game with a new Solavellan story. When I started writing, I was convinced it would be this short fluffy thing. Oh boy, I was so wrong. It turned rather dark towards the end and I love it. I hope you do, too.

A want to give a big shoutout to @serial-chillr who beta’d this for me and help me really polish this piece. Your advice was amazingly insightful. I can’t thank you enough ♥︎ 

This is available on AO3, too.

___

One of the first things her father had taught her about hunting was to watch out for the green light. 

“When you’re in the forest and see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run. When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.”

She remembered his words with such clarity it was as if he was standing right next to her. A flicker of emotion danced on her skin, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

“Don’t let the patches of sunlight in the underbrush distract you,” she heard him say. “Your eyes won’t know where the Fade is thin and where it’s not. In some places, it quivers and if you’re not careful, you will attract attention from the other side.”

His words carried all the grief and sadness of a man who had lost a brother to the temptations of the Fade and even without an ounce of magical talent, Elenara could see the trauma it had caused him. She had wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and hold him close. 

She wondered what he might think of her now that she bore the mark upon her hand. Would he be afraid of her? Would he run? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

Elenara leaned closer to her own reflection in the mirror, tracing the fine lines around her eyes with her fingers. At 32, age had already begun to mark her and the blood writing of Dirthamen was slowly fading. But that was not what set her teeth on edge…

With two fingers, she pulled open one eyelid. Her eyes had always been as green as the leaves of a birch tree. Her mother’s eyes, as her father often reminded her. Another cause for grief he never learned to let go. Another loss she would rather not remember. A wave of guilt washed over her.

The dead never leave us, do they?

Pushing her feelings aside, she focused on the color variations in her iris – the fine lines of dark green intertwined with strands of lighter green and yellowish-brown that reminded her of the woods near Wycome. And flecked across it all, new sparks of ghostly green that  gleamed like stars in the vast and endless sea of the night sky. Green as the rifts that had been torn open all over Thedas. Green as the Breach that threatened the world. 

She let her hand sink, resting it on the washbasin below the mirror. It hadn’t been an illusion then. Her eyes had changed since getting the mark. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

The demon that had tempted and consumed her uncle had come from a rift that barely deserved the name. More like a fissure, as her aunt, Irileth, had told her. And yet it had been powerful enough to let Desire slip through, possess Tere’lan Lavellan and claim his life.

Oh, how she wished her aunt were here. Her father, too. But one was with their clan on the other side of the Waking Sea, and the other rested forever in a burial site in the Vimmark Mountains.

Elenara sighed. Since the keeper had graced her face with the blood-red vallaslin that declared her an adult among her people, she had known so many things – her place in the world most of all. And she had known what she was capable of. Now, she was not so sure. The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had changed everything, and now she walked among humans to fight in the name of a god she didn’t even believe in. 

“Creators, I have no idea what to do”, she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away and sniffled, pushing back her feelings once more.

Outside her cabin, Haven was slowly awakening. The talk of townsfolk mingled with the bells of the Chantry ringing in the distance. Not long until her party would set off to Val Royeaux. Surely, Cassandra was already saddling their horses. 

Elenara splashed a few drops of water from the wash-basin on her face, then turned to the bed and grabbed the boots standing next to it. They were sturdy and warm and not nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected them to be. Still, she hated those boots with a burning passion. She missed her foot wrappings and the feeling of grass between her toes as she stalked the open plains of the Free Marches, looking for a ram she could hunt down for dinner. 

Someone came knocking on her door while she was still struggling to tie the laces.

“Lavellan, are you still in there?”

That was Varric’s voice.

She coughed, then said: “Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”

A second later, the door swung open and Varric walked in. But he wasn’t alone. Solas was beside him, carrying his staff as if it was a holy relic. 

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said. “You look like shit, Lavellan.”

Elenara forced herself to smile. “You’re a real charmer, Varric. Has anyone ever told you that?”

If he took offense, he did a perfect job of not showing it. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. “Or any night since we returned from the Hinterlands? Because you sure don’t look like it.”

“Not a wink,” she said and sighed deeply.

“Well, shit.” Varric scratched his head. “Is it because of the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux? I know they can be a bit intimidating, but Cassandra and Chuckles and I will be there to have your back. If they so much as point a finger at you, we’ll be glad to chop it off.”

Elenara smiled again. Genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Varric.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Solas pursing his lips. Was he pitying her? 

“What are you looking at?” she asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

Solas blinked and his chin jolted upwards as if she had awoken him from a pleasant dream. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand. “I was just… wondering…”

Her brows furrowed. “Wondering? About what?”

“Have you noticed any… changes since you stopped the Breach from growing?” he asked.

She cast a curious side-glance at Varric, but the dwarf just shrugged. 

How can he possibly know …

The thought perished as she remembered what Varric had told her about Solas. How he had stopped the mark from killing her while she lay unconscious. The apostate clearly knew what kind of magic they were dealing with. Or he had a decent grasp of the situation, at least, and that was more than Elenara could say about herself.

Once more, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Promise me to run”, he’d said to her. But she couldn’t, not any longer. All those cautionary tales about the dangers of magic were utterly useless to her now. Maybe her best option was to give herself to magic and have a skilled mage help her deal with the problem at hand. 

“There is something,” she said slowly. “My eyes… they’re…”

Solas didn’t let her finish her sentence. He bridged the distance between them with three quick strides and kneeled before her. Then he placed the staff beside him on the stone floor and took her face into his hands, his fingers resting lightly on her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

Despite herself, Elenara held her breath and stared at him.

She had never noticed the true color of his eyes before. From a distance, they looked grey, like a storm cloud on an autumn day in the Free Marches. Now, she saw the hues of blue and violet mixed in there. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said, lost in thought while examining her eyes. “It seems your body is responding to the magic that has placed the mark upon your hand. An uncommon occurrence but not completely unheard of. Most mages undergo a process of change when their talents make themselves known.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” 

Solas offered a smile, his gaze still locked with hers. He brushed her cheek with one thumb.

“I would not worry if I were you. As long as the Breach remains stable, you are safe. Still, if you find any other changes or feel pain of any kind, let me know. I will look into it and help as best I can.”

Elenara felt her hand twitch with the urge to reach out and touch his face to trace the lines of his chin and mouth. She licked her lips and wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. 

Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This must be the worst of all the bad ideas you had in your life. For all you know, he’s an apostate who has no love for the Dalish. Creators, he might leave as soon as the Breach is sealed, just like you. 

And yet, there was a fluttering feeling that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave – like some kind of premonition.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly. 

“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I came to help after all.”

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

Varric coughed as noisily as possible.

“Great,” the dwarf boomed. “So, we’re done here, right? We should get going before the seeker sends a search party to look for us.”

Solas pushed back and let go of her face. She, in turn, rubbed her cheeks to cover up the blush that bloomed there. “Yeah,” she murmured and hurried to collect her travel bag. Solas, however, took his time to pick up his staff and get back on his feet again.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to keep Cassandra waiting,” he said.

Elenara shouldered her bag, casting a sidelong glance at Solas. He cradled his staff with one arm and watched her intently while she readied herself for the journey, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. To say she was confused by this would have been an understatement.

“Tell me about it,” Varric said to Solas, then turned to Elenara as she grabbed her bow and quiver. “You’re good to go?”

“Yes,” she told Varric and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lavellan. We’re right behind you.”

********

Solas cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. She wished she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers as she stared into his eyes, searching for the man she loved so deeply.

Two years had gone by since she had been this close to him. Two years wondering where he had gone, why he had left her. And now she knew. 

His name was Fen’Harel and he was about to shatter her world.

“My love,” he breathed.

The magic of the anchor flared and sent a wave of agony through her body. She bit her lip and forced herself not to cry out in pain. In this moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and that nothing had changed between them.

She wondered if he could still see the light in her eyes. It had spread more and more with every passing day since the Exalted Council began. The green glimmer flickered and flared just like the anchor and the pain almost blinded her. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas while he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with his gloved hand.

She had promised him that their love would endure. There was nothing in this world or the Fade that she wanted more. And yet, as the magic drained her life, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father had been right after all. Maybe she should have run when she still had the chance. If not from her duty as Inquisitor, at least from the elven mage that she had come to care about so deeply, despite knowing so little about him. When he had left her in Crestwood, she should have seen it as an opportunity to begin again and find someone new. She could have been happy, for a while.

And still, when he brushed his lips against hers, the world began to make sense again. He was her destiny and her duty and she would hold on to him as long as she could. He was hers again and that was all that mattered, even if it was only for a moment.

Elenara focused on the delicate movements of his mouth and pushed aside the pain that seared through her left arm. She remembered the day when she thought about kissing him for the first time. Back then, she had brushed the impulse off as just that: a terrible idea that had crossed her mind. Now, she felt incapable of going on without him. 

Tears filled her eyes, as he withdrew from her and got back on his feet. She didn’t even dare to look at her left arm. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas. He gazed at her with a stricken expression on his face.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered.

She saw him turn away ever so slowly as if walking away from her caused him physical pain. 

And with that, it was over.

Light erupted behind her closed eyelids, rendering her blind within seconds. She leaned forward, clasping her healthy hand around her left upper arm. The magic of the anchor went wild, roaring inside her body and soul one last time. She cried out in pain as her left hand and arm dissolved into nothingness. 

Overwhelmed by agony, she barely heard Solas slipping away through the eluvian. All she could think about were the words of warning her father had spoken to her all these years long ago that she had completely failed to follow.

When you see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run.

“You were right,” she hissed, repressing another wild cry. “You were always right.”

She had failed her father, just like she had failed her clan. Maybe she should have turned her back on all of this when she still had the chance to flee back to the Free Marches. She might not have been able to save her clan from the treacherous dealings of the Venatori in Wycome, but at least she would have died knowing she had honored her father’s teachings. Instead, she had chosen to run into her own misery with her eyes wide open.

What was she supposed to do? she asked herself, hoping secretly that a voice from beyond the Fade would answer her call. The world was in grave danger. And it still was. 

I’m sorry, father.

Elenara inhaled sharply, still blinded by the green light that reached across the Veil, and focussed on the low thrum of her own heartbeat. Steadying her breath, she waited until the pain in her arm slowly faded away.

Carefully, she let her right hand slide down her arm. A dry sob escaped her when her trembling fingers reached her elbow–or what was left of it. Through the remains of the chainmail that had protected her arm, she could feel the cauterized wound. And then… nothing…

She let out a long, controlled breath. To stop the mark from spreading, Solas had taken a part of her with his ancient magic. Maybe she should be thankful. Without the anchor, she had one less burden to carry. If only her heart did not feel as heavy as if it was made of pure lead.

When she opened her eyes, the world remained a bright haze of light. She blinked and new tears streamed down her cheeks. Slowly, the shadows came back. Blurry shapes of rocks and foliage surrounded her as she drew herself upright. Her knees shook violently as she made her way back to the mirror she had come through, passing by the frozen shape of the Viddassala. Elenara paused and pushed back the urge to touch the stone statue’s arm. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, she thought. Just like me.

As she walked over to the eluvian, the shapes sharpened around her and the world regained its vibrant color. She saw bushes and trees swaying in the wind and the golden streaks of sunlight dancing on their leaves. “Creators help me,” she whispered with a bitter taste in her mouth. The words had never felt so hollow before. With all that she had uncovered at the Temple of Mythal, her faith in the elven gods had faltered. Now, it was all but shattered. 

Maybe I should evoke the Maker instead. Or even Andraste. They haven’t had their chance to let me down yet.

The eluvian was still dormant when she finally reached it. Weakened from the fight against the qunari, exhausted from the truths she had learned that day, she leaned against the silvery surface of the mirror and closed her eyes. 

She had come so far only to realize that she had been set up to fail right from the start. Oh, how stupid she had been. All her meddling in politics to steer the world onto a safer path had ultimately amounted to nothing. Maybe the hunters had been right to mock her for her interest in history and shemlen politics. She should have run like her father told her to. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

But in truth she had known there’d be no going back ever since she had seen the terror of the Breach with her own eyes. With a threat that dark and powerful, there was nowhere safe to run to. And so she’d done the only thing that had seemed plausible at the time–she had joined forces with Cassandra and the others to heal the sky. And along the way, she had come to know the world so much more intimately than she could have imagined as a young girl devouring books about faraway lands and long-forgotten kingdoms. She had her companions to thank for that. With their love and friendship, their ambition and folly, their victories and failures, they had shown her what Thedas truly was and what it might be. It had kept her going despite all the fear and darkness she faced.

And while she thought of Varric, and Cassandra, and Cole, and Dorian, and Blackwall and all the others, she knew she had to take at least one more step. Because all these years of fighting would have been for nothing if she gave up now.

“I have to get back”, she whispered and her breath fogged the mirror’s surface. “Please.”

She could feel a ripple as her naked hand touched the eluvian. A moment later, the portal unlocked itself, its surface warping into a cascade of violet light. 

Elenara breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through. 

“She’s back.”

“Inquisitor!”

Before she knew it, Dorian was by her side, slinging an arm around her waist to help her stand. Varric and Cassandra, who had been standing by the corpse of the enormous Saarebas they had been fighting before, rushed to meet them. The Divine hissed as she beheld Elenara’s missing arm.

“Holy shit, Lavellan.” Varric looked more miserable than she had ever seen him. “What happened over there?”

“I found him...”

Her knees gave out and she would have sunk to the ground if it wasn’t for Dorian. “Careful,” he whispered soothingly.

Cassandra swore under her breath, brows furrowed. “Solas did this to you? Why would he do such a thing? I thought he and you were… ” 

The former seeker let her sentence trail off

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Elenara replied wearily. “We have to get back and warn the others.”

Dorian cast a quick glance at the dead qunari that lay scattered among the old elven ruins, then cocked his head in disbelief. “Warn them? About what?”

She gave him a sad smile. “This is not over yet.”

____

Thanks for reading. <3

[beaubartley]

For @scharoux ‘s @14daysofdalovers prompts.

Day 8 - Patching Up

Pairing - Post Trespasser Solavellan

—————

It was cold in Wycome. The early morning air was getting crisper and harsher each day. Lavellan watched the light blues of the sky outside the window, Deshanna sipping slowly on their tea across from her. The Inquisitor could feel their old eyes on her, but she continued to ignore it as she looked out at wispy clouds and cool hues. Her Keeper always did this, especially when mulling over some unpleasantness, sip slowly and stare. Then, Deshanna placed their cup back in its saucer and took a folded bit of fabric out of their pocket. They handed it to her.

“What’s this?” Lavellan asked slowly, taking what was being offered and unfolding it slowly.

“We’re making a quilt.” Her keeper said.

“Deshanna no,” Lavellan whined, somehow still managing to hang onto that childlike petulance that always came about in moments like this.

“I’ve had my say. You’re barely eating, you wander about us like a ghost. You are keeping yourself hidden away and I will not let you unravel like this. A quilt, we start at sundown.” Deshanna had already stood from the table, it was clear that this was a nonstarter.

Lavellan couldn’t help the well of guilt that started to pool in her stomach. She gripped the corners of the cloth tightly as she looked down on its blankness in her lap.

She hadn’t meant to let herself get to this point, hadn’t meant to be a burden or to alienate. She didn’t know where else to go after the Inquisition had decided to, essentially, fuck all at the Exalted Council. She couldn’t go back to Skyhold after Solas had revealed everything to her— couldn’t stand the memories of him and all the new implications thereof from his confession to her.

She wanted her family…, but when she arrived she didn’t know how to be in that family anymore.

Lavellan went about finding some thread and needles to get started on her square. As reluctant as she was to be at the center of this, she was not about to go and completely dismiss the wishes of her Keeper and guardian. She made several stops to procure the required colors— giving brief hellos and receiving a few ‘welcome backs’ from those of her family she hadn’t gotten around to seeing yet.

Blacks and reds and silver and greens. She stared down at the spooled threads back in her room, not really sure what to make of it all.

It was going to be a nightmare doing this one handed. Regardless, she got to work.

A quilt. There had been several of them over the years. Usually for the untimely passing of a loved one, once for an attack on the clan that had almost left more dead than alive.

Lavellan herself had one for her parents. She still remembered the way her tiny hands had trembled as she pulled thread through cloth, embroidering memories into the square she had been given— surrounded by her clan’s love and so very uncertain about what she was supposed to do without her Mamae and Papae. Hours later, when the last stitch was placed and all the fabric aligned, she hadn’t necessarily felt less sad, but that uncertainty had diminished. Her quilt would keep her warm and close, much like her Clan would in her parent’s absence.

Lavellan shook her head as she looked down at her progress. Definitely not her cleanest work, but the shape of a towering wolf with electric greens coming from his maw was beginning to take shape. She clenched her right hand, massaging her aching palm against her kneecap for some relief.

She picked up the red thread, threading it through a thicker needle, and got back to it. With each stitch Lavellan buried more memories of Solas into the cloth. The curve of his cheek when she would catch him in a rare laugh. Push, pull. The shift of his fingers at his chin when he had a particularly interesting point to make. Push, pull. His eyes and mouth and words and touch. Push. His dreams, his lies, his pain, his love—

Tears started to splat against the dark threaded fur of the wolf she had made followed by several upon the fractured red heart she was diligently working on. The colors started to blur in her compromised vision.

Lavellan brought the back of her hand up to her teeth, trying to keep the sob as muffled as possible and she closed her eyes to her quilted square.

It wasn’t that Lavellan didn’t think Deshanna’s quilt wouldn’t work, but for this… Well.

They were going to need a very big quilt to try and patch up the mess that was her and Fen’Harel’s relationship.

[branwen-lavellan]

Surprise Kiss

Day 10 of @14daysofdalovers prompts.  Dorian/Lavellan.

This scene is from a future project and takes place around a year and a half after Trespassers.  In my world state, the Duke of Wycome betrayed the Inquisition and had Clan Lavellan all but wiped out as part of a political plot.  The game mentions that there is little to know sign of what remains of the clan, implying they are almost entirely wiped out.  I tweaked things a bit from there.

Elba Lavellan, who was also adopted by the same man that took in Branwen when her parents were killed, lived with the clan as First to the Keeper.  When the “bandits” strike, Deshanna stays behind with the adults and instructs Elba to flee with the elders and children, naming him the new Keeper should they not survive.  Elba successfully saves part of the clan when Solas finds him.  Despite having broken things off with Branwen and deserting the Inquisition, Solas seeks to protect what remains of the clan as a favor to the woman he still loves.  It’s around this time that other elves around Thedas begin disappearing to join Solas’s army, so I have made the conclusion that the survivors of Wycome’s attack have joined Fen’harel.  

This scene takes place after Branwen and Elba have been reunited in a future scenario that I am working on.  Branwen still seeks to change the Dread Wolf’s heart, but, has been thus far unsuccessful.  Though Elba was initially loyal to Solas, the man who, in his mind, saved his clan, he ultimately joins Branwen and Dorian on their quest to save Thedas.  

Sorry for the long backstory, but I wanted to give context to this scene.  I fear it may not make sense without an explanation of my world state.  

Elba walked away from the campfire, retreating to the dark edges of the camp where his mount was tethered.  He wanted nothing more than to be left alone.  He was in the middle of nowhere with no one but his sister and a Shem for company, and it was more than he could bare.  How many times would his world crumble around him?  How many times would he be forced away from all he loved.

He would not lose Branwen again, of that much he was sure.  Not even if it meant traveling with a Tevinter Magister.

He’d met Dorian before, all those years ago, when Branwen was still Inquisitor.  If he were honest with himself, he might remember the butterflies that he’d felt with the Shem had walked into the room.  He might recall the devastation he’d felt when Branwen had told him that Dorian was with that Qunari - the Bull or whatever he was called.  None of it mattered now.  Not after all this time.  He’d assured Branwen as much.  There were no lingering feelings in Elba at all.

The look she had given him said she didn’t buy it.  Which was, of course, absurd.  He absolutely meant what he’d said.  There were no lingering feelings there, and Branwen should mind her own damn business.

Which is why he hadn’t sat anywhere near Dorian at camp.  And why he set up his tent as far from Dorian as possible.  And why he’d stalked off alone, in the dark, to the very outskirts of camp.  Would a man so over Dorian give Dorian so much space?

But Dorian was making it difficult, which was driving him mad.  When Elba had sat on the other side of the fire from him, Dorian’s eyes kept glancing to where he’d sat.  When he’d made up his tent, Dorian had offered to help.  And when he’d left to care for his mount, Dorian had followed.

Elba seathed.  He’d been through too much, was hurting too much for this to be the thing on his mind.  He wasn’t looking for anything.  He just wanted Dorian to leave him alone.  He turned only long enough to watch Dorian approach before he returned to brushing his mount. “What?” He spat. 

“The last we spoke, well, I thought you were Solas’s man through and through.  You said… well, we both remember what you said.  But now you’re here.  What changed?”

“My sister is here,” he said, coldly.  “She’s the only family I have left.”  He gritted his teeth, resolved to stay calm, to not betray his feelings - not about his heart, and definitely not about Solas.  Dorian was many things, but a graceful winner he was not.  Elba did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right on that front.  

But Dorian would press the issue, anyway.  “But you believe us, now, don’t you?  About Solas I mean?  You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Elba continued brushing his mount, but in his anger brushed a little harder than he meant to. The hart gave a loud shriek. His true feelings betrayed, he chucked the brush into the trees and spun on Dorian. “You were right!” he yelled, “You were right about everything.  Happy?  You were right!  So go ahead!  Gloat!  Rub it in and get it over with!”

Dorian’s brows furrowed, and there was genuine pain in his eyes.  “I’m not here to gloat.”. 

“Then why are you here?”

“Branwen sent me,” he said, “she wanted me to make sure you were ok.”

Elba scoffed. “Why would she send you?”

“Because she knows me all too well,” he said, “I think she knew I wanted an excuse to talk to you.”  

Elba didn’t pry further. Dorian’s statement was loaded, and he worried where it might lead.  “Well,” He scowled, “I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” Dorian said. “Because fits of rage are usually the best way to prove to the world that you’re fine.  ‘I’ll yell at the person asking me how I am.  Then he’ll have no doubts at all that I’m as happy as a lark!’”

“What do you want, Dorian?” he said, glaring at the pompous windbag of a man before him.  “What do you really want?”

An awkward silence lingered between them. The only sound was the rustling of his mount, the distant chatter round the fire, and the humming of cicadas.  At last, Dorian gave his answer.  It was straightforward in a way that Dorian so seldom was.  

“There is something I want,” he said, “And it’s selfish of me.  What you’ve been through… the choices you’ve had to make.  I don’t pretend to understand them, or the pain they’ve caused you.  But, I like you.  More than I should.  More than might be wise.   I don’t expect anything.  But I’m a bit of a fool, and I’ve begun to hope that this might go somewhere.  What I want is to know where this is going - this thing between us.  We end it here, I walk away.  I won’t be pleased, but I’d rather now than later.  Later might be dangerous.”

It wasn’t really what Elba had been expecting.  His mind was completely blank.  He sputtered out the word “Dangerous?” not meaning at all to ask for clarification.  He’d just said it, repeating it back, questioning not Dorian’s meaning, but the very fact that he had said anything at all.

Still, Dorian answered him.  “Walking away might be harder then.”

He watched as Dorian closed the gap between them.  He slipped a hand to the back of Elba’s neck and pulled him closer, pressing their lips together.  He only lingered a moment before Elba pulled away, eyes wide.

Dorian looked concerned.  “I’ve overstepped, haven’t I?  I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

Elba’s mind was still blank.

“This is Branwen’s fault, you know,” Dorian said with a hollow laugh.  “She was all but convinced you liked me.”

“I-”

“It’s no matter, Elba,” said Dorian, holding up his hands.  “I can certainly take the hint.  This is me, walking away.”  He stepped backwards, edging back towards the camp.  When he turned his head was hung low, his shoulders tense.

Elba watched, lost.  All these years, he’d thought of Dorian, and now, there he was with Dorian right in front of him, and he blew it.  “Wait!” he called.

Dorian turned back to him, a question on his brow.  

Elba was still gobsmacked.  His words tumbled out of him in a tangled mess.  At best, he managed, “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?”

He looked back and forth between Dorian, his feet, and some speck of nothingness off in the middle distance, hoping that in the time his brain reeled, he might come up with a reason for why what just happened happened, or, better, a decent response to all of it.  “You like me?” he asked.

Dorian outright chuckled.  “I thought that much was obvious.”

Elba shook his head.  “Then what the fuck am I doing?”  He sprinted towards Dorian and grabbed his face with a smack, Dorian’s cheeks sandwiched between his palms.  He kissed him in what might have been the sloppiest kiss he’d ever managed.  He’d probably look back and be embarrassed, but he was too happy to care.  

Dorian broke free this time, laughing too hard to sustain contact.  “You had me going there a moment,” he said.

“Can you blame me?” said Elba, “Here I was, thinking there wasn’t a hope in the Void for the two of us, and here you go kissing me.  You can’t just do that with no warning.”

“But I absolutely can,” he said, “I just did.”

“I guess I can’t argue.”

Dorian traced the line of Elba’s mouth with his thumb.  “So, what exactly does this mean for us?”

“I think it means I like danger,” said Elba, his voice low.  

Dorian laughed.  “Then you shall have it, Amatus.”

Elba meant to ask what that meant, but he never got the chance.  Dorian’s lips were on his again, warm and inviting and everything he had ever hoped. 

[theaologies]

We’ll Continue (to be disappointed) [fic]

Fandom: Dragon Age Ship: Solavellan (implied) Rating: Gen Summary: Charter delivers some news Wordcount: ~1700 Notes: I haven’t written anything in... so long... god. A drabble, some character introspection mostly Read on Ao3

HEAVY SPOILERS for TEVINTER NIGHTS

“Is that all?” Cassandra asks, dropping the bundle of papers that has occupied her hands for the past hour or so on the small, stained wood table their little group stands around.

The basement they find themselves gathered in this time is small and damp, the scent of fish drifting in from the port outside mixing none too sweetly with old ale that has spilled through the floorboards of the tavern above. The cramped space barely fits the four women with their table, which tilts precariously whenever something heavier than a dagger is placed upon it, and Leliana has joked more than once that if Cullen had joined them he and his pauldrons would have had to play door for them.

But this isn't a matter to disturb Cullen with. Not while he's enjoying his retirement and time with his family.

No, this little party is made up only of those absolutely necessary; Cassandra, Leliana, Lavellan, and Charter.

Charter, who is the one who retrieved this information for them.

The Elven woman nods as she watches Cassandra drop her notes, folding her arms across her chest. “That is all, yes. And since I was the only one spared we won't have to concern ourselves with cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassandra sighs, frustration evident in her voice. “I suppose you're right.” She nods, rubbing at her chin, “though I admit my confusion at your survival- he'd kill all those others in attendance, yet not you? Just because you... asked?”

“I had done nothing to wrong him,” Charter tells her, leaning over to gather the papers up once more. “The others had lied or slandered him or posed some kind of risk. I merely sought out information- and it was information he was willing to share.”

“He doesn't want to kill Elves,” Lavellan supplies, finally speaking up for the first time since their meeting began, “he will if he absolutely must, but Solas is... trying not to kill other Elves. He's still trying to recruit them into his army.” She glances up at the other Elf, violet eyes both hard and exhausted at the same time, “you said it yourself- he asked you to join. And it probably would have looked worse for him had you not returned.”

“He wants us to know he can be anywhere at anytime,” Leliana says, “even though we've officially disbanded he knows we're still working against him- he wants us to know just how big of a threat he, personally, is to us. Any of us. All of us.” The Divine, cloaked in a simple disguise, spreads a hand out over the small map of Tevinter tacked down on the table, looking over it dutifully. “We'll have to be more careful from now on- well, even more so than we have been.” She sighs, a frown etched across her lips, “I'm afraid our infrequent meetings will have to become... even more infrequent. And those of us who are traveling will have to do more to cover our tracks. It will be difficult but we can't afford to get lazy now- or ever.” Nimble fingers pluck at the tacks, carefully rolling the map back up before depositing it in a tiny canister. As she straightens she eyes both Charter and Lavellan, “I'm sorry to say, but that means being more careful around other Elves, as well- if he'd go so far as to attempt to recruit a known spymaster-”

“No, you're right,” Lavellan agrees quickly, though she doesn't meet her eye, “anyone could be one of his agents, at this point. There's no telling. Caution must be taken, especially with those Elves coming out of Tevinter.”

Leliana gives a single nod, seemingly pleased with her understanding. “Yes, exactly. We cannot, at the moment, take any unnecessary risks. Now-” her eyes sweep over the other women as she tugs at the hood of her cloak, ensuring her hair is completely covered, “I'm afraid I must take my leave. Cassandra and I must be present later tonight at the Viscount's banquet- there had to be some excuse for use to travel all the way to Kirkwall, after all.”

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise from the space by the door as she dons her own cloak. “Politics.”

“Now, now, Cassandra,” Leliana chides playfully, a smirk replacing her serious expression, “I'm sure Varric won't make it too unbearable for you. Perhaps our dear friend will even give you the next copy of his book.”

The dark haired woman rolls her eyes, turning toward the door quickly to hide the blush that creeps its way up her neck.

“Charter, if you wouldn't mind passing this information to Harding when you have the chance?” Leliana requests, “she'll need to know the details of this meeting in depth and what to keep an eye out for in the future.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Charter agrees, tucking the papers away into a leather pouch hidden inside her vest, “I will get this to her as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Leliana says, then turns to Lavellan, “I'm sorry you can't join us tonight,” she tells her sympathetically, “If there were a way-”

But Lavellan just lifts her hand to stop her. “It's fine,” she says, “I spent some time with Varric yesterday- we caught up then. Had lunch. It's no big deal.” She shrugs. “Besides, I'm to start trek toward the Arlathan Forest early tomorrow. Varric gave me information to catch up with one of his and Hawke's friends who's been working on dismantling the slave trade there. Thought I might be some help.”

Leliana doesn't miss the way she fidgets with the hem of her sleeve, though; fingers tugging at the fabric to try to hide the dragonbone contraption Dagna made to replace her missing arm. “You had said before,” the redhead starts carefully, “that you were considering stopping by Wycome on your way. Do you still-”

“I might,” she cuts her off again, still not looking her in the eye, “I haven't decided yet. I know reports have said that some of my Clan might still be out there- but-” she sighs, rolling her shoulders to try to stave off the shudder that threatens to run through her, “I just don't think it would matter if I went back. I doubt they'd want me back, after everything. If they even recognized me at all.”

Cassandra turns back to look at the Elven woman, a soft pity in her eyes, “Inqui-”

“Don't,” Lavellan says quickly, sharply, then deflates, letting the sudden anger rush out of her. “I'm not the Inquisitor anymore, Cassandra,” she tells her with a wavering smile, “let's not pretend I still am.”

The other woman frowns, though instead of her usual frustration it's one of sympathy. “Yes, of course.” She agrees softly, “I- just know- if there's anything you need-”

Lavellan nods, looking up at the human women, a fake smile plastered across her face. “I know, and thank you. But I'm fine. I'll be fine. Truly.”

There's a pause. Lavellan returns to her subconscious fidgeting. Leliana chooses not to say anything of it. “Very well,” The Divine relents, moving to join Cassandra at the door. “We'll be seeing you, then. Just be sure to keep in touch, wherever it is you end up. I've never met Fenris personally but I know he can be... a bit touchy, as Varric's said. And perhaps... don't mention your mage sympathies.” She then looks over toward Charter, giving her associate a nod. “And you know where your duties take you next?”

“Of course, My Lady. I will continue to inform you of any developments in the Imperium.”

“Thank you. Walk in the Maker's Light, both of you.” She tells them, and then follows Cassandra out the door, the dark haired woman giving a nod in farewell to both of them.

The door shuts with a click, leaving the two Elves alone together.

An awkward silence blankets the room as they wait until they are clear to leave. Lavellan has no idea if Charter is one for small talk- they never were more than acquaintances during their time with the Inquisition- but where Lavellan used to be, she's found she hasn't had the spirit to summon the casual lightheartedness that had been so central to her demeanor all her life.

At least not for the past year and a half.

So she lets the silence be. For about an hour the two Elven women simply sit in silence; Lavellan finding a discarded crate and fiddling with the more mechanical components of her arm while Charter perches on the table itself, pouring over a small, well worn notebook. Once, Lavellan briefly catches her sleeve in a joint and curses under her breath, waving Charter off when she looks up in question. It proves to be the extent of their interaction.

At least, until right before Lavellan rises to leave.

“Wait,” Charter stops her, just as she goes to tug her hood over her head. A scarred brow quirks in the spy's direction, watching as she tears a leaf of paper from the little notebook. She looks at it for a brief moment, as though second guessing herself, before holding it out for Lavellan to take. “I don't know that Leliana would... approve of me giving you this information,” she says as the other woman carefully takes it from her, “but for him to have said it...” she hums softly, tucking away the notebook, “he allowed me my life. Delivering it to you- it's a debt paid.”

Lavellan wills her hand not to shake as she looks down at the parchment, a sudden weakness trembling in the pit of her stomach.

“When you report back to the Inquisitor... Say that I am sorry.”

“For all that it's worth,” Charter continues, moving to stand, “it did sound like he meant it.”

There's the silence once again as Lavellan's eyes stayed glued to the page, that weakness trying to decide whether to manifest itself as sadness or anger. It's such a shock, for him to address anything directly towards her after all this time, that when if finally hits her throat it culminates as neither- a tiny, humorless chuckle escapes her mouth instead. “A teahouse.” Is all she can bring herself to say; just a whisper of the word, with an almost unwilling fondness trapped behind her teeth.

Charter smiles- just a little, with just a hint of pity- and lightly claps Lavellan on the shoulder as she slips past her and out the door, disappearing into the quickly setting sun.

[roguelioness]

Scars

He could see that Val Royeaux sat heavy on her soul, the Chantry mother’s words a slow-bubbling acid. It made little sense. Why would she let herself be affected by such inanities, such meaningless blatherings, when he knew her to be certain of her own motives?

Unless… unless they had woken old, painful memories..

She had taken first watch. Cassandra and the dwarf were fast asleep, and he should have been in the Fade, but curiosity had gotten the best of him. He sat next to her, close enough to have a whispered conversation, but not so close that he would be intruding into her personal space.

“You seem troubled, da’len.”

She gave a mirthless chuckle. “That obvious, is it?”

“Surely you cannot believe what the Chantry says. And as for the Lord Seeker, even Cassandra admits that he does not seem his usual self-”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

Her lips parted slightly, as though she were about to speak, but she hesitated. “Old wounds.”

“If they trouble you so greatly, perhaps you should talk of them, da’len. Do not let the poison fester.”

She let out a long, slow, sigh. “Ah, ha’hren, the truth is my burden to bear.”

“It need not be.”

She sighed again, poked the fire with a long stick. Little sparks jumped out from the logs, drawing attention to the scars on her face. She’d told him once, that she had been attacked by an animal while on a hunt, and he could believe it. He observed her face now, the many claw-like cicatrix that covered her cheeks. It must have been a vicious attack; indeed, one of the marks was perilously close to her right eye.

She shifted restlessly, stretching her legs out, then drawing them in close to her chest, wrapping her hands around her knees. “You don’t like the Dalish, do you?”

The question caught him off-guard. “My experiences with them have not been very positive,” he replied cautiously.

“Why?”

“They- I have learned a great deal from the Fade. When I offered to share my knowledge with them, I was met with… intense opposition. They strike me as obstinately close-minded.”

“You’re not wrong,” she muttered.

“You have-” he cleared his throat. “You have never mentioned a clan?”

“That’s because I don’t have one. Not anymore.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“You’ll get all judgey, so no.”

“Does it have something to do with your name?”

Her eyes flew to his, fury burning in their depths. “What would you know of my name? What would you know of me? You, who calls himself Pride, you want to judge me?”

He remained calm. “I judge people on the merit of their actions, and no more.”

Her shoulders sagged. After a long, long silence, she spoke softly. “I had a clan once. Clan Lavellan. We- They wander the Free Marches mostly. I think they’re near Wycome now. The Keeper… the Keeper was my mother.”

“Why would she bestow such a name on you?”

“I wasn’t always Linarel, you know. I… the Keeper took away my name after…” she swallowed, hard, and Solas could see, in the firelight, the sheen of tears in her eyes. “The Dalish… if you wish to be a hunter, you must pass a Trial. Sight a predator, track it, and slay it, then return with the pelt. It proves to the clan that you can protect them, as a hunter must.”

“Something happened during your Trial.”

She nodded. “A large wolf. It had been attacking our halla pen, nearly killed one of the halla. The Keeper warned me not to go after it, to leave the creature for the other, more experienced hunters. But I wanted to prove myself… so I set off after it. But I was careless in my tracking, and-” she gestured to her face. “The hunter became the hunted.” The sound that followed after that statement was filled with bitterness. “I fought it the best I could, but it was strong. Very strong. I could feel myself dying, and- I was scared. I didn’t want to die. So I prayed to the Creators. I prayed to Mythal, to Andruil, to Ghila’nain. I pleaded with Elgar’nan, begged Falon’din to spare me, cried out to Dirthamen and June. No one answered me, There was nothing but the sound of the wolf tearing into my flesh. I could feel my life trickling away from me, In desperation…” she cleared her throat, turned her head away. “I prayed to Fen’harel. I implored him to save me. I promised that I would serve him, and only him, for the rest of my life if he would come to my aid. I even swore my soul to him, in exchange for my life.”

A strange swirl of unnamed emotions churned within him. “What happened?”

“The wolf left. It could have killed me, but I think it was distracted, and left me. And even then, I could have died, but- I didn’t. Another hunter found me, I don’t know how much time had passed, but he found me and took me back to the clan. And even though I had failed my Trial, the elders were impressed enough that I had fought the wolf and lived, to deem that I was worthy of receiving my vallaslin.”

He watched as she traced her face idly with her fingertips. “I had wanted Andruil’s but after the encounter I decided on Sylaise. Everything was ready, they had blooded me, the ink mixture was prepared fresh, the needles were passed through flame. They even had fresh bedding for me, straw and lavender so I would remain calm. I shut my eyes, bit down on the leather strap the ha’hren ghi’myelan gave me. The pain… it was terrible, but I made no sound. It took them all morning to tattoo the design on me. By mid-afternoon, the vallaslin was gone, as though it had never been there.”

She looked at him now, giving him a half-sided smile. The scar near her lip lifted, and he had the sudden, strange impulse to reach out and stroke it. Instead, he took up the stick and stirred the embers of their campfire. “I am sure that would have puzzled the Keeper.”

“It did,” he watched out of the corner of his eye as she drew out the dagger she always kept on her belt, and began to sharpen it. Her way of fidgeting, he thought to himself. “They tried many times more, but it wouldn’t take. They tried using more of my blood, then no blood, but the ink would not remain in my skin. They thought it was the scars, had the healers prepare potions and poultices, but even those did not help. They thought perhaps I was not meant for Sylaise, but none of the other Creators fared any better. The clan was confused - and scared. They had never encountered a person being so thoroughly rejected by the gods. They did not know what to do, and they were frightened of what would happen if they let me stay. The Keeper... my mother… she came to me one night, with the elders. They gave me a potion to drink.” She exhaled heavily. “Orichalcum, deathroot, and prophet’s laurel. Extracted under the right conditions and mixed in the correct quantities, it makes a potion that will make the drinker speak only the truth.”

“They learned of your vow to Fen’harel.”

“Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “They were so angry, so betrayed. They stripped my name from me, stripped it from my mind. Linarel, the Keeper was so, so sad. My name, a warning. They would not keep me in the clan. My mother sent me out, in the dead of a new moon’s night, with only my bow and nothing else. For years, I wandered, avoiding both the shems and the Dalish. For years, I kept no one’s company but my own. But…” she shrugged. “One can only be alone for so long. I feared my voice would leave if I did not use it. So I found myself in a town. Found a mercenary company that would have me. Found people to talk with, people who did not know the meaning of my name. It wasn’t so bad. They think me dead, but I survived. ”

He did not know why he was so angry. “Could they not have excused you given the circumstances? You were young. You were dying. You would have perished! Was it so wrong to-”

Her short bark of laughter was filled with the harshness of experience. “They would rather I had died, than swear myself to Fen’harel,” she explained. She shook her head. “But the truth is, I do not regret it. I may have lost my home and my name, but the Dread Wolf kept me alive when everyone else would have let me die. He may be a Trickster, but he came to my aid when I needed him the most. And even though the clan thought I would die by myself, I did not, so he must have had a hand in keeping me alive.”

“A heavy punishment. To lose your name, your clan…”

“Some days I wonder if I would have been better off dead,” she confessed. “But I made a promise, and I will keep it. I would rather walk with Fen’harel than live with cowards.”

He did not know what to say to that.  At last, he spoke. “Why did the chantry mother affect you so?”

“The Chantry believes I am no Herald of Andraste. I agree. I am no Herald, and I do not believe in this Andraste. That I am alive - that I am still alive - is because of Fen’harel, is it not?” Her laugh was genuine, and it warmed him.

What she said next, he would never forget. If I am the Herald of anyone, it would be the Dread Wolf.

[midnightprelude]

"There's only a handful of people in this world that I actually like. You may or may not be one of them." For Solas and your Lavellan! 😊

Thanks so much for my *first ever* prompt! I’m so excited to be writing for @dadrunkwriting A door creaked and Solas stood quickly. He had fallen asleep at his desk again, face lying directly on the book he had been studying. He absently hoped that his face didn’t harbor any of the telltale red lines of an awkward sleeping position. He’d not have his visitors think he was sleeping while the world was ripping itself apart.

He tried, poorly, to suppress a smile when he saw who was approaching his workspace. It was late when he had begun working and it was later now. Still, the Inquisitor may be the only one in their entire party who slept less than he did. He was glad to see her, even at such a strange hour.

If I’m truthful, the hour is quite irrelevant. Seeing her would please me, no matter the time or place.

While he tried to hide his expression, her own smile would have been visible from across the room. It was only slightly mischievous. He caught himself lingering just a moment too long on her eyes. He was fascinated how they seemed to adjust based upon the lighting—green one moment and blue the next.

He didn’t notice the tray she was carrying, until she stumbled, nearly spilling its contents across the stone floor. He passed through the Fade briefly, just long enough to catch both her and her burden as she fell. His left hand underneath her tray and right supporting her shoulder, he helped her steady herself.

His eyes met hers for an instant and they both started laughing. Whether it was the lack of sleep or the near brush with calamity, he could not say.

Seeing that she had recovered, he dropped his hand from her and clasped them behind his back, not wanting to linger too long. “I thought all of your training as a warrior would make you slightly less clumsy.”

“And I thought that all of your time in the wilderness alone would make you less chivalrous,” she retorted. “It seems both of us are destined for disappointment.”

He nodded, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps some may call it that.”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t?”

“That still remains to be seen.” He gathered up the books scattered across his desk, sliding artifacts back into drawers to make room for her gift. “I see you’ve brought more than just clever comments. What do you have there?”

When she smiled, she did so with her entire body. Her shoulders softened, lines appeared near her eyes and mouth, her nose pulled to the side ever so slightly, and a small dimple appeared seemingly from nowhere.

She looks too glorious happy to be in the position she’s found herself in. Leader of the only line of resistance against the end of the world. If only…

“I… may have made a terrible mistake, but it will need to be tested anyway.” Her words shattered his reverie, pulling him back to the waking world. She sat her tray upon his recently cleared desk, silver lid concealing whatever was inside.

“Oh? And how am I to be involved with this experiment?” he said, head cocked slightly to the side.

Her smile turned into a mild grimace. “I’ve… made you something. It was probably a dreadful idea, if truth be told. Now that I’m standing here before you, I think I regret it.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Whatever you’ve got in there must be awful if you, our illustrious Inquisitor, are afraid to even show me.”

She sighed, leaning her head back. “It’s tea.”

“Tea?”

“Yes, tea.” She moved to pick up the tray from his desk.

His hand caught hers, preventing her from taking it away. “I thought we’d discussed this. I don’t like tea.”

Sighing again, she nodded. “I know. You just drink it to stay awake. I thought that maybe it simply has never been prepared correctly for you. I’ve seen what you drink—black as charcoal. No wonder you don’t like it. I became friends with an Antivan merchant for a brief time when I was representing my clan to the viscount of Wycome. He made tea for me once—spiced with cinnamon and softened with cream—and I’ve never taken it another way since.”

“You made it yourself?” He found himself smiling, despite the likelihood that he’d soon find himself consuming tea for the sake of consuming tea.

She nodded, finally lifting the lid of her platter. “I hope you like it, but if not, I also pinched half a cake from the kitchen.”

He saw that she had not been kidding. Half of what must have been a frosted monstrosity sat next to a simple silver teapot, two small cups adjacent. “What did you do with the other half?”

“I lost a bet to Sera.” She laughed, shrugging. “I’m sure she’s off stuffing her face somewhere. Probably throwing bits of cake at people from a bannister. Who can really say?”

“Well,” he said, lifting the pot and pouring two generous cups for the both of them. “To Sera, then.”

She took her cup, lifting it and touching it gingerly to his. Her eyes followed him as he pressed his to his lips. He was not expecting much.

It’s actually quite good.

He eyed her suspiciously. “I think there is something more in here than just cream and cinnamon.”

“There may or may not be a touch of spiced rum in there…” The conspiratorial look in her eyes told him all that he needed to know.

“The tea is surprisingly pleasant. I cannot say whether it’s due to the cinnamon, or your alcoholic intervention. Despite your attempt to spike my drink, I may or may not be starting to like you. There are so few in this world for which I can say the same.” He smiled freely and was pleased to see that his smile was reflected in her own features.

She raised her eyebrows, laugh lines still clearly visible in her face. “Solas, you need not play coy to attract my attention.”

“And you need not get me drunk to wish to spend time with you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her smile was nearly enough to make his heart stop.

This woman will end me, if I allow her to.

[saphylee]

Soft angst starter: “don’t give me space. that’s the last thing i want with you.”

Thelrand’s chest felt tight and no amount of air was enoughto fill him, if he could breathe at all. The letter shook in his hand while hetapped a war piece incessantly on the edge of the table with the other. Hereread the words over and over again as if that would rearrange the letters,forming different words with a different meaning, changing reality to a betterone.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine started, though didn’t continue whenthe tapping stopped.

It seemed his advisors had enough sense not to speak. Theyall had read the letter, so they all knew what befell the Lavellan clan, howthey were too late, how they made all the wrong moves, how they, no, he, couldn’tsave them.

Thelrand looked up from his letter without uttering a word,all three of them avoiding his cold steel gaze. He couldn’t put all the blameon them; even with their guidance that had many different outcomes, heultimately was the one who set up his clan for execution. Even so, he wouldn’tabsolve them of guilt.

He tossed the piece towards the cluster that sat overWycome, knocking them all over, then turned on his heel to storm out the warroom, the letter crumpling in his clenched hand. He was glad that his quarterswere so close by. He couldn’t stand to see the gossiping courtiers thatlingered in the main hall.

The letter laid still crumpled on the desk, the embersbarely glowing in the fire pit when Hanin found him several hours later. Thelrandwas sprawled on the couch, arm covering his eyes, a nearly empty bottle of winedangling from his fingers over the edge. A couple more empty bottles weresettled nearby.

When Hanin lingered, Thelrand sighed, a quick puff of airfrom his mouth. “I thought the locked door made it clear that I didn’t wantvisitors.”

“Ah,” Hanin began. “I figured but..” He paused when Thelrandsuddenly sat up, stepping towards him when he swayed dangerously forward. Hecorrected himself and Hanin frowned. “You’ve been up here for hours. No onewould tell me what was going on.”

Thelrand bit his lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He opened hismouth, but nothing came out, instead gulping the last of his wine. He didn’tknow how to begin to explain what happened, how he failed their clan in theworst way. He was supposed to protect them, keep them safe, and now they weredead. His head spun with wine and his stomach lurched with guilt.

The deafening silence dragged until Hanin sighed. “Listen, Iwon’t force it out of you and you’re clearly… drunk, so I’ll just… give youspace.”

Thelrand reached out to grab his wrist, his fingers brushinghis skin before he tumbled off the couch. “Shit..!” He landed on his hands andknees, lowering his head to the ground to fight off the spinning before pushinghimself up to his knees. Tears welled in his eyes. “No, Hanin, don’t give mespace. That’s.. that’s the last thing I want with you. You’re all I have left.You and Syla are the only family I have.” His voice cracked near the end and hebroke down sobbing.

Hanin knelt in front of him, not sure where to put his handsbefore settling on his hunched shoulders. “What do you mean? We’re the onlyclan members here, yes, but you know everyone will welcome you back home.”

Thelrand shook his head, clutching Hanin’s sleeves. “N-No,you don’t understand!” More sobs interrupted him, wracking through his body,almost turning into mournful wails. “The clan… They’re.. They’re gone. They’redead!”