#the fact my lavellan is so short next to him

[draoithe]

We make this journey together. Always.

[bg3daydream]

At the Winter Palace

Solas x Inquisitor Lavellan Fanfiction.

Summary: A short and fluffy one-shot about Solas' and Lavellan's night at the Winter Palace's ball. This is rated mature but not explicit. 2'3K words.

Stars shone over Haramshiral, but Inquisitor Lavellan was in no mood to appreciate them. She wasn’t sure what was worse, all the murders, threats, and conspiracy, or every decision again weighing on her shoulders, or all the mean gossip and cruel, passive-aggressive comments about her and her advisors and friends.

She’d gone to one of the more secluded balconies, trying to hide from it all for as long as possible. How the dancing, celebration, politicking, and gossiping continued after what had happened was beyond her understanding. Morrigan had followed her out, and it seemed now she’d be her advisor too. Lavellan still didn’t know what to make of her.

Lavellan leaned over the balcony's railing when Morrigan left, glad to have time alone, but someone else walked out to join her. This time it was Solas, though, and his presence was more than welcome.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here,” he said as he leaned over the railing next to her. “Thoughts?”

Too many… She didn’t even know where to start.

“We came here to prevent a murder. Instead, several murders happened and we, I, sanctioned one. That death is on me.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Solas said, matter of fact, Lavellan didn’t know how he could sound so unbothered. “And these people playing what they call The Game, they know what can happen to them.”

“Still…I’m not sure this was the right thing to do…” Lavellan let out a sigh and Solas placed a hand on the small of her back, comforting. “Everyone’s saying this is a victory for Orlais and for us, but it doesn’t feel like it, and we all know this is only a temporary victory.”

“You’re right, there’s much trouble ahead.” Solas nodded, caressing her back with his knuckles before pulling her a bit closer. “But for now, focus on what’s in front of you.”

Lavellan looked at him with a small smile, reaching to stroke the side of his face and cup his cheek with her palm. “You are in front of me,” she told him softly. 

Solas turned his head to kiss her palm, and Lavellan felt her heart swelling as she looked at him smiling at her. He was looking so carefree that night, way more at ease at the ball than she, as if he was actually enjoying it.

“I think you might be a bit drunk, my love,” Lavellan teased, caressing Solas' cheek again.

“I am not!” Solas huffed and Lavellan laughed.

“No? I remember you saying that the food and drink were excellent, and that the servants were happy to refill your glass. How many glasses did you have?” Lavellan kept her teasing.

“I didn’t count,” Solas answered and Lavellan snorted.

“Okay…but you’re not even a bit drunk.”

“Not at all.”

Solas leaned to her and Lavellan thought he was going to kiss her, but then he turned his face to look inside the palace and pulled back. Lavellan wondered if he’d noticed someone approaching, but before she could ask, Solas bowed to her and reached out his hand.

“Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me.”

It took Lavellan by surprise, and for a second she could only blink at Solas, but then she took his hand, her smile growing. Solas had sounded so excited and hopeful, as if he had really been wanting to dance with her, it made her feel twirling butterflies on her belly

“Id’ love to.”

Solas pulled her close, one hand holding hers, the other on her waist, and as they danced, Lavellan’s troubles and worries seemed to pause even if only for a moment. Soon, she found herself grinning, enjoying the moment between them, and her heart fluttered at the way Solas looked at her while they danced. It was the first time she enjoyed herself that evening, and perhaps the ball had been worth it just for that moment.

The band stopped but Solas didn’t, and Lavellan let Solas lead her without music, dancing for a bit longer. Eventually, she stopped, wrapping her arms around Solas’ shoulders, pulling him close and kissing him. Solas kissed her back, holding her to him so tight that Lavellan almost had to cling to him to keep her balance.

Lavellan pulled back from the kiss but kept her arms around Solas, while he still held her close. “I know I’m supposed to be in there, letting people see me and forging alliances but I want to stay here longer…stay with me? Unless you can wait to go back to all that court intrigue you seem to love so much…” She teased.

Solas chuckled, pecking her lips before answering. “I can sacrifice the pleasures of the Orlesian ball in order to keep the Inquisitor company,” he joked back.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and Lavellan snuggled to his chest as they turned to look at the night sky again. Solas nuzzled her hair, then kissed the side of her head before leaning to kiss her lips. It was sweet, making Lavellan feel like she was melting as she kissed him back, holding to him.

She didn’t know when it had happened, but she knew she loved him, and she counted herself lucky that he seemed to love her too.

They stayed like that for a while, snuggled together, enjoying each other's company. Lavellan wouldn’t mind staying like that for the whole night, away from the ball and cuddled to Solas’ side, until they could watch the sunrise and finally go back to Skyhold.

They were interrupted sooner than they would have liked, though.

“Inquisitor…I’m sorry but you’re needed.” At Josephine’s voice, Lavellan pulled away from Solas and turned around to face her. 

Solas kept his hand on her waist, taking her by surprise. She didn’t mind it and she was certain pretty much every one of her companions and advisors knew that there was something between them, but still, Solas had been somewhat private about their relationship, and he’d mentioned how talks about the Inquisitor and an apostate elven mage may hurt the reputation Josephine was trying to craft.

“Sure…what happened now?” Lavellan tried not to sound annoyed, it was not Josephine’s fault.

“Nothing happened, but there’s a noble who’d like to speak with you, and we could really use the support of his house,” Josephine explained.

“Alright.” Lavellan sighed but gave Josephine a tired smile, before looking at Solas. “I’ll see you later, once all this is finished, please?”

She thought either Solas or Josephine might think it a bad idea, that they'd comment about the talk and gossip if someone knew about Solas going to the Inquisitor’s room that night, but he only nodded and Josephine graciously didn’t comment.

“Let’s go, then…”

*

When finally Lavellan was free to go to her room, she was more than glad to find Solas already there. He’d changed from his ball uniform back to casual clothes, and he was sitting down on the desk, reading, but he smiled at her as she walked in.

“Vhenan.”

“Love.” Lavellan greeted as she headed straight to the bed, dropping down on it with a tired sigh. “Finally it’s over. I can’t wait to go home tomorrow.”

“That bad?”

Lavellan wasn’t sure when she’d started to think of Skyhold as home, but at that moment, it felt like it.

Lavellan sighed and undid the buttons of the neck of her uniform, tugging at it. “Not bad, just….I don’t know, too much.  Everyone wants to speak to me, and I don’t know what to tell them or if I’m doing it right, despite Josephine's training, I think I’ve messed up a few times, and then some don’t come to speak to me but I can see them speaking about me, not nicely.” She scoffed.

“Pay them no mind, vhenan, you’ve done well today.”

Solas went to sit next to where she was lying, taking her legs and placing them on his lap. He unfastened the straps of her high boots and then took them off her, caressing her calves in the process. He did the same with her long gloves, tugging them down her arms and placing a kiss on each of her hands as he did.

“Thanks…” Lavellan gave him a soft smile, and she felt butterflies in her belly at his caring, sweet touch. “I probably shouldn’t be lying on a bunch of small knives.”

She sat up and unfastened her belt, which held three tiny blades to her back. She didn’t want to get up, and so she just dropped it to the floor. Next, she undid the cloth that wrapped around her waist like a belt and over her shoulder, and Solas helped her unwrap it from her, discarding it on the bed. Lastly, Lavellan undid the buttons of her jacket and took it off, dropping it to the floor next to the belt.

Once she was only on her undershirt and leggings, Lavellan leaned closer to kiss Solas’ lips before pulling back and falling on the mattress again. She tugged at Solas so he’d lie down with her and so he did, resting his head on her chest. Lavellan wrapped her arms around him, stroking his head softly.

“I’ve had enough of this court and its intrigue, but you’ll have to tell me about the ones you saw in the Fade.”

It took Solas a couple of seconds to answer. “You’ll fall asleep, vhenan.”

She snorted. “Right now, maybe yes. But I like it when you tell me about things you’ve seen in the Fade.” She felt Solas place a kiss on the arm that she’d wrapped around him, making her smile. “I don’t know how it was in the Fade but I didn’t like this court. I hated that they introduced you as the Inquisitor’s elven servant, it was not my doing.” 

Lavellan had wanted to speak up when it happened, but she knew it wouldn’t have been well received and she didn’t want to stress Josephine more.

“I know, vhenan. It didn’t work as I hoped, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nobles act like servants are invisible, talk as if they’re not around. I’d thought perhaps I could hear them say something of interest that they’d not say around you or your advisors,” Solas explained. “But it seems they took care not to gossip around me.”

“That’s smart.” Lavellan hadn’t thought of it that way. “There was this woman, though, she was talking about you, calling you the Inquisitor’s pet mage.” She scoffed, angry again just thinking about it. “I could have punched her. I think Josephine saw it on my face because suddenly she dragged me away because apparently I needed to be somewhere else.”

Solas chuckled, he didn’t seem as upset as Lavellan by what had happened. “You don’t need to defend my honor, vhenan,” he joked.

Lavellan brushed her fingers down Solas’ cheek and to his chin, gently lifting his head from her chest to make him look at her. “I’m going to do it anyway.”

Solas gave her a small, half smile, moving over her to kiss her. Lavellan kissed him back, her arms still wrapped around him.

What started soft and sweet soon turned heated, the kiss deepening as Solas pressed his body against hers, and Lavellan opened her legs further to accommodate his hips between hers.

Lavellan slid her hands under Solas’ shirt, caressing his warm skin, and he moaned softly into the kiss. His hips pinned her and she could feel him already hardening against her. Liquid heat pooled in Lavellan’s belly and she pressed her thighs harder against his sides.

One of Solas’ hands rested at the side of her head, his fingers tangling on her hair, and he slid his other hand up her thigh, stopping at the side of her butt, squeezing. Lavellan gasped, moaning against his lips as she lifted her hips to press her heat against him.

Lavellan tried to pull him even closer, if that was possible, but Solas did the opposite, pulling back. He was breathing hard, his eyes closed tight before he opened them to look at her.

“Solas?” Lavellan called his name softly when he didn’t say anything, and she stroked his face, cupping his cheek. “Something wrong?”

Solas swallowed hard before answering. “You should rest, vhenan.”

“I’m not tired.” All the events of the ball had drained her and she felt more than done with it, but Solas’ kisses had awakened her in more than one way. “But…it’s okay if you want to stop.”

It was not the first time Solas stopped and pulled back after stealing her breath and all thoughts with his kisses and touches. She didn’t understand why, and it was not that Lavellan wanted to press him for sex, not at all, but she could feel he wanted her too, and she didn’t know why he always stopped. He never said anything and she wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming pushy.

“Want is not the word I’d use,” Solas murmured, pulling further away from her and sitting up. Lavellan reached for his hand, afraid he might actually leave.

“Then?” She asked but Solas said nothing. “You can tell me…” She whispered.

Solas looked away from her. His eyes were sad, she’d noticed it before sometimes, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know what was the cause of that sadness in him, and she wouldn’t push him to tell her, no matter how much she wanted to know. She could just hope one day he’d tell her.

“You’re right, we should rest.” She told him softly.

Lavellan blew the candles at the bedside table, still holding Solas’ hand, and got comfortable on the pillows. She tugged at Solas’ hand gently so he’d lie down with her again. He seemed hesitant for a second, but soon he was curling up with her, his head pillowed on her chest.

Lavellan wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her, one of her hands caressing his head, and she placed a kiss on top of it.

“Goodnight, my love,” she whispered.

Solas didn’t say anything, but she felt him snuggling even closer to her.

*

NA:

I just need to write fluffy, sweet things for this two while hoping they'll have happines in Veilguard.

I debated for so long about writing smut in this, I kept going back and forth, but finally Solas decided for me somehow, I kept trying to write it and he'd stop it (I know he's fictional and I write it but...I can't explain the feeling), words wouldn't flow anymore...she here we are, I decided to end the fic like this.

I might write a smutty one (as Cassandra would say), because I keep having thoughts of Lavellan and Solas on his couch and his desk..., if anyone's interested, we'll see if Mr.Solas agrees to smut the next time.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

I hope to write more Solavellan, if anyone would be interested in reading it, although writing Solas is incredibly intimidating. But if you have something you want to see writen, let me know.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[pellelavellan]

Ma da'len eyes burned amber

Chapter One

Words: 1,374

I was young when Keeper Deshanna adopted me. Three years old to be exact. She didn’t know I was a freak, my cousin, Faolan, had strategically neglected to tell her. He was tired of wandering the countryside, drifting from one Dalish clan to the next looking for someone to take me. I can’t imagine it was any task he desired to undertake: taking three children all below the age of ten to seek out a new home. But my mother was dead, my father believed I was bad luck and therefore wanted nothing to do with me,, and my brother and sister would not leave me to fend for myself. As for Faolan, he was running away. Finding another clan to deceive into keeping me was just his way out. 

Faolan had not met another Dalish clan in his entire life, in fact he barely remembered ours.  The last decade of his life had been spent in Nevarra working for a strange man who was a mute. A girl had brought Faolan to him, and seeing potential in the young boy, chose to mentor him into manhood. But he was a firm teacher, and his punishments for disobedience were severe. When Faolan finally fled he knew little else where to go so that he would not be hunted like cattle and killed. So he returned home frantic, paranoid, and dressed in gold and silks finer than his father had ever laid eyes on. Upon learning of me, Faolan was eager to relocate me and himself as far from Nevarra and our family as possible.

He traded the fine clothes and jewelry for a wagon, a horse, and food to feed us at the first town we found after leaving the ruins of the clan settled in. From there, he went about looking for any information he could learn about the Dalish. He learned quickly that humans were not all too fond of these Dalish clans, nor were they of magic. I was to be kept in the wagon out of sight when he spoke to anyone lest someone start talking about us. Talking was bad, it meant some men with swords  might take me away to a big tower and never let me out again. Faolan learned what he could about the Dalish, but he had to be careful about sharing his intentions. 

In time he learned that most clans were nomadic, never staying in one place for too long. While this made it more difficult for him to consider locating any, he kept in mind the commoners advice to keep his eyes peeled for red sails. 

 Many Dalish clans were slow to trust Faolan. He was a grown man, nearly twenty four and yet he had no vallaslin on his face to mark him as one of the people. Moreover, he was reluctant to explain why our clan wished to be rid of me.  I was little help, what with my strangeness and all that. Many turned us away, suspicious of Faolan’s cryptic behavior. They had seen through him, and would not be deceived.

Clan Lavellan was quite different from the other clans we’d convened with. For starters, they were not nomadic, they lived in a village fortified with walls guarded by young men dressed in leathers and kilts. The humans who resided in a mountain village named Redwood had informed Faolan the elves nearby were kind people: they knew the land well and had talented healers who made medicine for the humans in exchange for things the land could not procure. 

Their Keeper was a woman they called Deshanna. Deshanna was short in stature, but stood tall. There was a nobility to her manner, though she carried herself simply. Her grayed hair was tied away from her face in long braids that reached to nearly her waist.

Faolan did not believe in destinies or soulmates, but when I first laid on Deshanna I knew she was meant to be my mother. Deshanna was smitten with me from the moment I wrapped my arms around her skirts and spoke to her about the pink hairless creature I had seen in the woods who had crawled into my lap and licked my fingertips. Faolan was surprised to see me speaking to Deshanna so comfortably, as if I’d known this woman my entire life. It was not difficult to convince her to adopt me. As the clan’s Keeper she was expected to produce a mage child to train to be her successor. Her own daughter was not a mage; nor was her granddaughter. She had been in a difficult position for quite some time as she could bear no more children and had no one to succeed her. As far as she was concerned, Mythal herself had brought me to her. She insisted that Faolan and my siblings stay as well, and so we became a part of Clan Lavellan. 

~~

All of the adults in this new clan had markings on their faces, even my new mother. Dark ink contrasted her pale skin, crawling up her cheekbones like tree roots and forming a beautiful pattern across her forehead. I had never seen elves with tattoos on their faces before, and yet this was normal for my new family. 

When I asked my mother why everyone had markings on their face one evening over supper she smiled that warm loving smile that made me feel so safe. Then she told me about the Creators: gods and goddesses who created us and gave us everything we had.They looked after us, she said, and protected us from all the scary things in the world that would hurt us. 

“What kinds of things?” I asked, my childlike curiosity getting the better of me. 

“I shan’t tell you,” my mother answered. “I want you to get some sleep tonight little halla.” 

“Big scary spiders with long legs that crawl into your ears,” Aela interjected, only to be rebuked quietly by her mother, Deidre,  who was sat next to her. 

“You don’t have to worry about them da’len,” Nara added in. “If anything chases you, Darcy and I will chase them away. Right?” She turned to Darcy with a big toothy grin. 

“I’ll bite them if I have to!” Darcy agreed, grinning back with less teeth than Nara. 

“But Darcy, you don’t have any teeth.” I reminded her, opening my mouth to poke at my two front baby teeth that my cousin was missing. 

My new dad, Ingi, stifled a chuckle, spitting out some of his soup in the process, and Darcy quickly reminded me that her teeth would come back bigger and scarier than before. 

“No one needs to bite anyone,” Deshanna intervened. “As I was saying, Mythal will protect you just like she protects all of us. And we wear these markings on our faces to show our thanks to the Creators for everything they’ve given us. When all of you grow up you’ll have them too.” 

“How?” Darcy asked. 

“I will give them to you,” said Deshanna, setting down her bowl of soup and turning to me. 

“When it’s time for you to grow up,” she began, squishing my full cheeks between her hands. “I’ll use some ink and draw them onto your face. Then you’ll be an adult.” she concluded, poking my small nose before returning to her supper. 

I was still fascinated by the markings, even more so now knowing that I would have them too one day. I wondered what mine would look like? Which of the Creators would I choose to offer my gratitude? How did you even decide? 

When I laid down that night nestled between my parents I thought more on what my mother had told me about the Creators; how they’d made everything that I could see, hear, and touch--even me. I could not help but wonder that if the Creators had made me, did they make my weird abilities too? Did they choose me to have them personally or was it all one big accident? Did they also create the people that only I could see? Who made the Creators? Did a creator have a creator too or did they create themselves? I had so many questions.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Questionnaire

Thank you @1000generations and @rosella-writes for the tags! I love things such as this that allow me to flesh out Fane more! :D

I’ll tag: @oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @noire-pandora @blueheaded and anyone else that’d like to give it a go! :3

----

THE BASICS:

Character’s name: Fane Lavellan/Aterian (The second name is one he’s rarely called until later on. Mainly post-Trespasser by those in his contingent of agents.)

Role in story: The Inquisitor (highly derogatory)

Physical description: Short, messy snow white hair and eyes that hold two colors instead of one (emerald and gold). Bears the vallaslin of Sylaise (full-face). Relatively angular face and holds features that are more indicative to ancient elves than the ones of today. Overall height is 6′1 and is far more muscular in build than other elves, but still slender enough that he isn’t mistaken for a Qunari. Entire body is littered with patch-work scars and has a singular, long scar upon his left cheek (inflicted by Solas) 

Age: Appears 24 (approximately 5,000 years old in actuality)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type: INTP-T (Logician). Fane is very much like me in the fact that he’s extremely analytical. He’s always questioning and trying to piece together ‘why’ or ‘how’. Sadly, social skills are lacking for him, and he comes across as proud or insensitive due to how he words things or his lack of understanding when it regards to why someone might be put off by his views.

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear? 

To be forgotten/Himself

Inner motivation: 

Rebirth. Fane wants to see the world restored to what he remembers (i.e. before the Veil was erected), and he wishes for his kin to thrive once more, to belong to no master but themselves. The birth of Yune (the last of Fane’s specific kin) awakens the ideal of ‘hope’ in his heart and allows him to believe that what he strives for is possible.

Kryptonite: 

Pride and Wrath. Fane has a volatile temper that tends to get him into trouble, on and off the battlefield. He is prone to bouts of proud behavior due to the fact that he’s lived for so long and believes he knows what the ‘absolute’ in the world is. 

What is their misbelief about the world? 

That everything terrible that has happened to him or that he has done thus far since awakening/being awakened is his fault, his choice. At the beginning of my story and in regards to the world as a whole, Fane believes he knows exactly how each person is (personality, motivations, ideals, etc.), even though he has no idea who he is.

Lesson they need to learn: 

That his existence is not a sin. That whoever or whatever he is doesn’t matter. He’s alive and he is loved, he is important. Labels do not need to define him.

What is the best thing in their life? 

Family (Solas, Mhairi, Cyfrin, Yune, etc.)

What is the worst thing in their life? 

That he had to betray family to support family. Fane will do whatever it takes to ensure Solas is never alone again and that his kin can be remembered for what they truly are, but in order to do that he has to make decisions, choices and those decisions carry a lot of pain and heart break. He’ll endure, however. He’ll always endure.

What do they most often look down on people for? 

Ignorance and faith. The faith aspect is mainly people wholly relying on that which they can’t see rather than the strength and independent thought that they possess. Fane despises those who use faith as a tool to manipulate or those who are willfully blind to the cries of the world and the suffering.

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

Primarily, Solas awakens the hidden or muted sides of Fane. Solas represents ‘the sky’ to him, and just a glimpses into the other’s eyes can make Fane feel as if he’s able to fly again. Having someone understand and know him for more than his rage and bluntness also makes Fane feel more alive when he’s used to feeling grey. 

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way? 

Intimacy of presence. Fane feels most loved when those he cares for is content to merely be around him, words or no words. Solas is the one that does this the most often, the two of them having had to use this level of communication in the past due to Fane being a dragon unable to talk or link up mentally with anyone other than spirits. However, Cole, Mhairi and Cyfrin also utilize this means of communication. Solas is merely the one that offers it the most. 

Top three things they value most in life? 

Devotion, Independent thought, and Support.

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why? 

A crimson sash adorned with golden embroidery of halla and leafless trees. It was a gift from Mhairi, and it was given to Fane shortly after their father disappeared and the experiments upon his body ceased. Fane wears it either around his waist or as a scarf. He’s usually not one to accept gifts, family or not, but he kept this one because it offered a lot of comfort where it had been lacking for several years. Fane also adores his sister with all his heart, and to see that she chanced potential capture to gather the materials...how could he spit in the face of such love? He couldn’t, and that’s why he keeps it even Post-Trespasser. He rarely wears it as he used to during that time, but he keeps it safe and pulls it out when he’s alone to remember simpler days.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

Fane gravitates towards clothing that’s loose and practical. He refuses to wear any of the clothing that Josephine or Vivienne might choose for him. To start, Fane wraps his entire upper body in Elvhen wraps to cover the myriad of scars that litter his body. The wraps are usually dark brown, dark green, or black. Next, he opts for cotton tunics, short sleeved or long sleeves, but he’ll have tendency to roll them up to his elbow, and once again, they are either dark or neutral colors (black, grey, etc.). Plain trousers, somewhat form fitting, and most importantly; boots. Fane does not go barefoot unless he’s getting ready for bed or bathing. He also wears a small dagger that he keeps strapped to an upper thigh. Just in case. *winks*

What names or nicknames has they been called throughout their life?

Fae (generally by Cyfrin or Mhairi), ma’isenatha (’my dragon’ and is typically used by Solas), Blackened One (this is the translation of Fane’s ‘second’ name and is used both respectfully/derogatory), He Who Flew Above (used by the Elvhen agents in both Fane and Solas’ respective contingents), White One (Abelas generally refers to Fane as this once he drops the Inquisitor title, Wisdom also calls Fane this), vhenan or ma vhenan.

And last, but definitely not least, ‘Papae’ *whistles innocently* :3 

What is their method of manipulation?

Fane has draconic abilities that can warp emotions. In a way, he implements a form of psychological warfare, but he only uses it as a last resort whether the enemy is a piece of absolute trash or not. Fane has had his mind broken multiple times, died from it once even, and unless given no other choice, he will not break another like that.

Describe their daily routine. 

Fane wakes up at the crack of dawn. He doesn’t like to, but he usually has no control over it due to years upon years of waking up from nightmares and retching. If he manages to awaken without many issues, Fane strides right into his routine of training, with or without eating. Training helps quell his mind of lingering terrors, and establishes discipline to emotions that are volatile. Afterwards, Fane may eat on his own, but generally, Mhairi, Cyfrin or Solas have to acquire something for him and press him to eat. He always relents, even if he glowers and growls. Cole takes a more subtle approach and just leaves it where Fane can easily smell it, awakening the want. 

Mid-day Fane is usually doing his rounds, checking on companions, maybe entertaining a conversation or request, or begrudgingly diving into Inquisition business. (paperwork, letters, etc.) If he’s having a rough day, headaches, mental exhaustion, or physical pain, then Fane is less likely to get much done and that’s because Solas will demand that he take it easy. In those cases, Fane will fight and protest and declare that he’s fine, but a single look that says, ‘Enough’, and he crumbles, taking the offering of a pillowed lap and potentially sleeping for at least half the afternoon. When he wakes up, Fane lingers in the rotunda and with attempt some form of work until evening.

That’s when Fane indulges in more personal pursuits. He whittles wood, reads and writes poetry, tinkers with one of his gauntlets or plating, and lets himself want. He’ll sometimes go to the tavern to see Varric or the Chargers, even if being around Bull makes him a tad uneasy. Or he’ll seek out his sister and see if she wishes to do something with him. Fane doesn’t ask, of course, but that’s because Mhairi bombards him the moment he appears and he accepts and agrees without fuss. Sometimes Fane will visit Leliana in the rookery and go over what she’s heard or what he’s hear, or he’ll spend time with Cole until Solas comes to see where he’s gone off to.

Their go-to cure for a bad day? 

Usually, training or just outright destroying something. Fane has issues controlling some of his emotions, rage most of all, and the only way to get that specific emotion out is to physically take it out. Solas and Mhairi have attempted to help Fane diffuse in different ways, but the only one that seems to work the best is for a dragon to rampage. Thankfully, Fane retreats from Skyhold if that he feels his mind blackening. Solas or Cole will follow and keep an eye on him from a distance, but Solas will intervene if he feels Fane is close to spiraling beyond anger. Then, the go-to is words, soft, but firm.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life? 

Fane’s life Pre-Inquisition and within Inquisition is...rough. Life with the clan was torture for him, literally being called a mistake and monster due to how he acted and how he looked. No one understood why and neither did Fane beyond knowing his father’s abuse had...awoken something in him. That lack of understanding infuriated Fane, to the point where he chose to just...ignore it, turn his back. Add that to the burden placed upon his shoulders unwillingly, and once again being labeled as every manner of being except what would make him feel complete...yeah, Fane was highly dissatisfied with his life. It isn’t until he and Solas reconcile and vow to never be apart again that Fane starts to find purpose and the will to try in his life. That satisfaction only grows Pre-Trespasser once Fane uncovers a lot of answers concerning himself and his kin after going on a little field trip to a place that shall not be name while Solas attends to the Qunari.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

Simply put? Fane wants Solas to be able to rest. That would bring Fane so much joy, to see his sky finally throw down the mantle and rest. All he wants is for them both to be able to be together and not have the world demanding their lives on a silver platter every second of every hour.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality? 

Support. That is one of Fane’s guiding principles when it comes to Solas and what the mage has deemed he has to do. Fane helps to keep Solas on the path, but he knows when to step in if the fog rolls in. Fane doesn’t see right or wrong; he sees paths, choices. He supports what Solas wishes to do because he understands why the man feels the way that he does. Fane is Devotion and Tenacity, and he will die again and again and again before leaving Solas to walk this dark path alone, without support. Because that, all on its own, can change a person’s mind.

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already? 

Fane is only fearful that his support could be causing Solas grief, making him upset due to the fact that the mage feels as if Fane should condemn him. However, Fane presses on and doesn’t let fear shackle him in this. Fear is potent in Fane, that’s the truth, but it all washes away when Solas requires him. Devotion is stronger than Fear, Tenacity grinds Terror into dust, and a dragon will always guard the sky it calls home. 

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of? 

So, Fane’s main fears are being forgotten and himself. The supporting aspect is to combat the being forgotten aspect, partially, but when in regards to himself... That’s a whole other story. Fane grapples with madness coutnless times in my story and the allure of power, something dragons cannot yearn for lest they cause irreversible harm to the world, and he is fearful that eventually...the clock will strike, the hourglass will run out and that he didn’t do enough. For Solas, for his kin, and for the world. Furthermore, Fane is terrified that that madness will eventually harm those he cares for, those he’s vowed to protect and support. So, Fane does whatever he can to keep his spirit from warping, to keep himself from breaking beyond what can be repaired, and having Yune and Solas, and seeing the progress of their endeavors helps keep Fane on the cliff he teeters on.

[blarrghe]

Wip Wednesday

thanks @morganlefaye79 for taggin me! This is something I’ve had ready to shove into Twelve Nights for a while now, and it’s a little heavy-handed but I also think it’s maybe the most important point this (ultimately very fluffy) story makes, and preachy DA character therapizing is pretty on brand for me at this point. So CW for discussions of trauma and addiction, because I aint about to romanticize that shit lol if I introduce a character with a somewhat tropey substance problem we go there. Anyway this is an incredibly long snippet but if you read nothing else from this particular fic, I think you should read this.

Under a cut -- alcoholism/addiction, the ways conversion therapy fucks a person up.

tagging the btv folks: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @ellie-effie | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @moonlightheretic | @kittynomsdeplume | @inquisitoracorn | @dismalzelenka | @drag-on-age

as well as some mutuals if y’all wanna: @midnightprelude @aymayzing @fandomn00blr @protect-him @barbex I love seeing your wips :)

"Hey," Taren spoke slowly, concern crossing his brows like it did sometimes, when he looked at him, "I don't know how to ask this, but," a very loud voice in the back of Dorian's head told him to shout “so don't!”. He managed to restrain it. Taren shifted his weight and played with his lackluster hair while he figured out how to ask the thing that Dorian already knew he was worried about. "Is this okay?" 

"You mean, am I okay." Dorian corrected, as he took a sip of the whiskey. It was delicious. Everything was delicious; stupidly wonderful and probably a dream, and they needn’t talk about things that weren’t. 

Taren nodded, the concern still swimming in his gaze. "You don't have a…" 

"A problem," Dorian supplied, finishing the thought for him while Taren swallowed, "with alcohol." 

"Sera said you were in rehab." Taren was apologetic again, looking away with his hand back in his hair. Dorian laughed, because he couldn't help himself, but it just made the concern in Taren's brows deepen. He attempted to reign it in. He supposed he would just have to do this conversation Taren's way: honest. 

"I was. Several times actually, but my problem's never been with alcohol." He picked a few more things off the cart while he spoke — apricot brandy, gin, and vermouth — pouring them in careful measure into a tall, stainless steel cocktail shaker. "It's with attention." He winked. Just because the conversation had to be honest didn't mean he had to give up all his charms. "You see, I've made some very unhealthy, very loud, very irresponsible cries for it. In response to which my parents usually tried to throw me into someplace expensive with nice clean white walls and scenic views, to fix me." 

He picked out a wonderfully green lime from the selection of citrus fruits in a little glass bowl on the cart and began rolling it against the cutting board. 

"They've spent an outrageous amount of money, trying to get other people to help me be normal." Taren was frowning at him, so he went on looking at the lime.

There was a small, silicone knife that matched the cutting board tucked into a special spot on the cart. He picked it up and sliced the lime in half, lengthwise, and gave its middle a little slit.

"Sometimes there would be a measure of religious fervour to go with: control your demons through strict routine and mind numbing repetition of verses! Doesn’t work, by the way, and anyone who says it does has more illicit secrets to keep than I do. But the quacks parroting fixes with pseudoscientific backing were the worst.” he shook his head, unable to contain a dark grimace from escaping at even this most casual retelling. “The last time though, I did actually learn something rather helpful." Taren came closer, and took a seat on the arm of the long leather couch closest to him, still watching Dorian with a careful frown as he told his story and sliced his lime. "There was this therapist, beautiful man," he looked up from the lime, catching Taren's frown and doing his best to counter it with a sly smile. "Understood right away what I was really in for —" he smiled at Taren again, dragging as much syrupy charm through the words as he possibly could, "that is, being attracted to men, not drugs or alcohol." Taren blushed, and satisfied, Dorian went back to fixing his drink, "we struck up a wonderful little friendship, or as much of one as therapists can have with the mad, I suppose." 

"Did you…" There was a hesitancy to Taren's speech that was different from the last, less concerned, and barbed with something. Was it jealousy? And if so, what did it say about him that he quite enjoyed it? 

"No." He said truthfully, "that would have been most unethical. I don't even think he was interested, if you can believe it. Didn't stop me from daydreaming of course — rehab is terribly boring. But no, nothing happened except talk. Therapeutic talk; he told me about rats." 

"Rats?" 

Dorian finished slicing one half of the lime into perfect little crescents, then squeezed out the other half into the shaker. "Lab rats with addictions to opiates." He clarified, "the Cage Theory of Addiction: give a rat a terrible little cage with a nice little lever that injects a drug straight into his little rat veins, and he'll keep pressing and pressing that lever until he dies." Taren looked upset; Dorian closed the shaker and screwed its cap tightly on, and continued, "the rat has a food lever too, but he ignores it, pressing and pressing for that magical buzz. More and more; more than he can handle. An addict." He picked out a short glass and swiped the rim of it with one of his slices of lime, then overturned it into a perfectly sized little vessel of sugar that was set out on the cart. "But, someone thought: let's do an experiment, and instead of just giving the rat a lever for food and a lever for the drug, they gave him a little rat city. With fun rat playgrounds and soft rat pillows and a few other nice rats to talk to. Guess what happened next." 

Taren just looked at him, not guessing. Dorian tutted and gave the shaker a dramatic spin, shook it, and then popped the lid back off to pour the concoction into the glass. "The little opiate-addicted rat got better. So comes the theory: the rat's problem wasn't the drugs; it was his cage." Taren nodded slowly, and Dorian left the drink cart to join him on the couch. He passed Taren the fresh cocktail with another sly smile, and took a seat. “I looked it up later; read the study myself because I am an insufferable know-it-all,” he went on, “and it turns out that my beautiful therapist had some of his facts wrong.” Now, Taren just looked confused, but if Dorian was going to be honest with him, he was going to be really honest. “No one’s replicated the findings — and it turns out the rats also started having little rat orgies, so that probably helped.” He laughed, though Taren still looked mostly confused. Dorian took a breath. “But, there was a truth there that no one had bothered to tell me before: sometimes the reason why is worse than the thing itself. Sometimes a change in thinking, a change of scenery…” he paused, “someone to talk to,” another pause, longer this time — he’d lost his will to make light of it, somewhere in there. “I’m not a bad person, I know that now.” he said, more quietly than he meant to, "but I live," he placed his glass of whiskey carefully down on the coffee table, and let himself look Taren in the eye, "in a very terrible little cage. And I've done things, things I'm not proud of, just to try to… escape." He shrugged, and picked up his drink again, "but these days, I've more or less settled in. Figured out how to be a productive little rat who doesn't take more than he can handle, usually." He took a sip of his drink, directing a hooded smoulder at Taren as he did, and downing most of it — getting drunk and doing it very much on purpose, "only rattling the bars on weekends, so to speak." 

[honeysofte-archieve]

enquiry.

rating: general

pairing: solas/female lavellan + oc

word count: 546

summary: "I wouldn't trade my magic for anything," Lavellan says. She taps her lips with a forefinger. "But… it's not a fate I wish for my own son."

ao3: here ♥

A/N: another small drabble about my inquisitor’s son. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

---

"Has he shown any signs?" Solas asks one day almost out of the blue, making Lavellan lift her gaze in surprise from the book she’s reading under the gazebo.

Next to her, Solas is carefully eyeing Yevin where he's sitting on the ground, patiently plucking pretty flowers by the root in Skyhold's garden-- specifically the red tulips Mother Giselle herself planted earlier in the spring to "bring light in the bleak of darkness." Lavellan would stop him if not for the fact that Yevin is so impossibly delighted by the act that he's squealing with happiness every time the flower's stem breaks through the soil.

It takes only a short while for Lavellan to figure out what Solas is talking about. She turns her own gaze to Yevin as well.

"No," she says breathily after a pause, shaking her head. She bites her lower lip. "Though I can't say I'm not immensely happy about it." Solas frowns, just for a moment. It’s so small and disappears quickly enough that Lavellan doesn't mind it.

"I cannot say I blame you," he admits finally. Lavellan smiles. "It is not easy being someone with magical talent in this world we know today."

Lavellan nods. One of Mother Giselle's sisters is openly glaring at her young boy though she’s not bold enough to go ahead and scold the Inquisitor's own son.

"I wouldn't trade my magic for anything," Lavellan says truthfully. She taps her lips with a forefinger. "But… it's not a fate I wish for my own son if that makes sense to you. Call me a hypocrite," Lavellan says with a small embarrassed laugh, but Solas does nothing of the sort.

"You are not," he says, touching her shoulder lightly, his fingers warm against her skin. Lavellan moves to entwine their hands together, the gesture casual but more than they usually do in public.

"More than anything I wish my son to be safe," Lavellan says after a moment. "Magic is not safe. It's a gift, yes, but it comes with quite a few attachments."

"Maybe I wouldn't feel differently, were I in your place," Solas murmurs kindly.

"Thank you," Lavellan answers, just as quietly. She's a little taken back by his statement but she appreciates his words even if she's not completely sure about their honesty.

Solas clears his throat. Lavellan isn’t sure whether she imagines a blush on his cheeks. "Who is his…?"

"A hunter from a different clan, actually. I met him in Arlathvhen," Lavellan replies, easily enough. This is the first time Solas has asked. "We bonded after I became pregnant with Yevin. He's dead now."

Solas only nods. He doesn't enquire any details which Lavellan feels no small amount of gratefulness for. Some wounds will never heal properly.

They're quiet for a while, their fingers still loosely touching and folded between them. Lavellan brings the back of Solas' hand to her lips.

"You're a good mother," Solas says then and Lavellan accidentally snorts aloud.

"You don't think so?" he asks, sounding almost truly worried for her. She shakes her head with amusement.

"I think a good mother wouldn't let her son defile a Chantry Mother's garden," Lavellan laughs, pointing a finger at Yevin, his soil-covered face and the utterly destroyed flowerbed.

[modernagesomniari]

Headcanon - The Note Collector

This started out for my Lavellan, but this headcanon could apply to any Inquisitor if you tweak the backstory to fit yours.  I wanted to try and incorporate gameplay elements into canon, rather than ignore them.

Lavellan collects papers.  It started from when she was small and incredibly curious - if they passed any abandoned shemlen settlement, she’d try and find any kind of writing she could.  If she was feeling brave, she’d join a raid and always steal any books/papers she could find.  The Clan didn’t have space for books, so she’d rip out the pages she wanted and scribble her own notes all over them.  It becomes a habit for her and oddly comforting.

This doesn’t change after the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  Even on the way up to the Breach, she picks up what notes she can find and shoves them messily into her pockets.  Even when a letter falls out of Cassandra’s belt, she picks it up and offers it back to her, but when Cassandra tells her she can keep it for all she cares, she does.

When she is in bed recovering after not-closing the Breach, she asks Varric for pen and ink to scribble some notes on some of the adversaries they faced.  Varric, having noticed her pocketing random bits of paper, asks her about them and finds the answer utterly charming.  Somehow, over the next few weeks, he manages to source a leather and metal bound book with space for attaching as many random bits of paper as she wants.  He gives it to her one night when they’re in her shack, drinking bad wine around the fireplace.  It’s not the first time she cries into his chest and it’s also not the last.

As the Inner Circle grows, they all begin to notice that she carries it everywhere with her.  It begins to fill with more than just letters and fragments of journals and historical tomes: here is a string of pages in a strange, ancient short-hand, written down by Solas as she dictates the tale of Tyrdda Bright Axe from monuments in the Hinterlands to him - here is an annotated, illustrated, dreadfully transcribed rendition of ‘Enchanters’ stained with chocolate and cookie crumbs.  Over time, the Inner Circle begin to look out for anything interesting to give her for her collection.  Even Dorian and Vivienne, to whom tearing up books is nothing short of sacrilege, offer their own notes and fragments they find to her collection.

Varric starts it as an affectionate joke at first, but now, whenever the Inner Circle gift her these additions, they almost always do so with a smile and a quip:

“Another one for the Codex?”

(This idea came from reading Cassandra’s codex entry, which is in fact a letter, see here)

[solasan]

otp tag.

tagged by @masonsfreckles​​ and @impossible-rat-babies​​ and like definitely also someone else but my activity is super clogged up so i cant find who I’m Sorry 🥺 but thank u remus and owen mwah tagging: @denerims​​ @arlathen​​ @lvllns​​ @trvelyans​​ @lavellane​​ @chuckhansen​​ @rosebarsoap​​​ @cheydinhaal​​ @darksprawn​​ @deepspeech​​ @yennefre​​ and anyone else who wants to do it tbh

DISAGREEMENTS.

who is more likely to raise their voice?

i mean both, probably? they’re both very passionate people

who threatens to leave but never actually does?

i’ll hesitantly say june but i dont think they’d reach that point

who actually keeps their word and leaves?

neither lmao

who trashes the house?

in day-to-day life, june; she’s very messy. in fights? neither bcos that’s messed up. the Most that’ll happen is adam cracking a piece of furniture in his fist by accident

do either of them get physical?

uhhh they’ll spar from time to time, but outside of that, never

how often do they argue/disagree?

in the beginning?? all the fucking time. every day. they butt heads like they were made to do it. further in, they argue much less, especially once june’s proved adam’s whole “humans are weak!!!” thing wrong

who is the first to apologize?

adam gets bullied into it by nate sometimes. june won’t apologise unless she’s absolutely certain she’s in the wrong, but it does happen. so i guess it depends on the argument

SEX.

who is on top? who is on bottom?

i hate applying the top/bottom thing to m/f ships but adam’s A Top i guess. june is 100% a bottom. but when it comes to actual positioning they’ll change; adam likes missionary a lot, but june likes sitting in his lap and riding him, so

any kinks?

adam is lowkey lowkey very lowkey into orgasm control/denial im calling it. he just likes taking control, but not in an explicit bdsm sense??? june’s into dirty talk and does have a praise kink. she has to coax adam into talking in the beginning but when he gets into the swing of things he loves it

june used to be into getting tied up, but the whole murphy situation kinda fucked that for her

who has the strangest desires?

june probably wins this just purely based on the fact that she wants adam to bite her lmao. he would find that strange. but he would also be into it so

who’s dominant in bed?

adam !!! again not in the traditional like bdsm dominant sense but he takes charge of things

is head ever in the equation?

uhhh, yeah ??? all the time

if so, who is better at performing it?

look. june is very good. she is. but adam has 900 years on her and also more enthusiasm / touch starvation / desperation. adam is a pussy eating KING

ever had sex in public?

the most public they’ve gotten is fucking in the tech lab at the warehouse, that’s it

who moans the most?

both moan, but june’s louder. she’s freer ??? with it ??? but adam grunts and gasps and pants a lot, and when he’s abt to come he’ll groan out her name or a french curse so

who leaves the most marks?

june’s the one that goes out of her way to make marks, just bcos shes a lil sad they fade so quickly. adam leaves the most just bcos june doesn’t heal in the same way

who is the more experienced of the two?

adam might be 900 years old but we all know he’s not had many relationships. june’s more experienced bcos she has one-night stands in college before her and bobby got together

do they ‘fuck’ or ���make love’?

im so sorry but if u look at adam du mortain and think that he doesn’t make love 99% of the time, ur wrong. but sometimes they do get super passionate / desperate for each other, and then they’ll fuck

how long do they usually last?

in the beginning adam lasts like 2 seconds, no joke. that man sees even a hint of june’s coochie and he busts a nut. but further in he can last longer. unless june is being a shit and deliberately trying to get him to come, which she does do

rough or soft?

soft for the most part. if it ever is rough it’s like..... more bcos it’s intense, passionate, less bcos either of them is trying to make it rough. june has some sexual trauma too so really rough sex, like w choking for example, is out of the question (not that i think adam is into choking anyway)

is protection used?

it should be, and when they remember to they do use it. but also they forget a lot shdkshdkd does june look like the type of person to get pregnant on purpose??

does it ever get boring?

nah they keep it fresh. plus they love each other so much it’s just always so good to have each other ???? like after So Long Pining it’s just good idk bro shdjsjdk

where is the strangest place they’d have sex?

idk probably the tech lab like i said above ??? i dont think they fuck in many weird places — not bcos i dont think june would be into it, but more bcos i figure if they ever start getting freaky adam gets them into a bed / somewhere private STAT

FAMILY.

do they plan on having children / do they have children?

yeah they vaguely want them in the future i guess. adam thinks abt june having his baby and has to lie down he 🥺 so hard

if so, how many children do they want/have?

their first kid — emma — is an accident born like a year after they get married, and then oliver comes along a year after that because june always said she didn’t want only one kid. she remembered how lonely she was as a kid :(((

AFFECTION.

who likes to cuddle?

both of them !!! adam is touch-starved and june is starved for affection !!! they cuddle all the time

who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

june 100% no question. WHORE. adam is so done with her but he does always drag her off somewhere to Ravish her so rly who’s winning here

who struggles to keep their hands to themself?

shdkshdkskd both of them. june slightly more so tho

how long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

uhhh i dont think it’s rly a matter of one getting uncomfortable, bcos they do love it. probably it’s just as long as they can hold out before 1) june has to pee, or 2) adam resolves to be productive

what is their favourite non-sexual activity?

adam would never admit it but he loves watching movies with june purely bcos she gets so cuddly and ALSO she gets so into them. she’s the type of person to yell at the screen and ask questions all the time. sometimes they’ll compete to see who can work out the plot / twist / mystery of a film first 

where is their favourite place to cuddle?

in bed !!!!! adam loves having her whole body pressed up against him, all small and soft and smelling like june, and june loves how he tucks her into his chest and makes her feel so safe and warm

SLEEPING.

who snores?

ahskhkdja june !!!

if both do, who snores the loudest?

adam doesn’t snore so june. but she doesn’t do it that loudly

do they share a bed or sleep separately?

they share a bed !!!! it’s adam’s way of making sure june does actually go to bed, for one, but also he doesn’t like to sleep without her

if they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

cozy up together !!!!! adam’ll kiss her hair and tuck her head under his chin, and june’ll wrap her arms around his torso and kiss the hollow of his throat

what do they wear to bed?

june wears raggedy old band tees or oversized hoodies, boxer shorts, lots of comfy clothes. flannel pyjama trousers. sometimes she’ll sleep in adam’s shirts bcos they smell like him and she likes that, but when she does sleep in adam’s shirts they uhhh haha dont sleep for a while ;)))

are either of them insomniacs?

june is !!! i think around book 4, maybe 5, someone’s gonna talk her into seeing someone abt it — because she really doesn’t sleep a healthy amount, i’m talking 5-8 hours a week — and she’ll start taking sleeping pills, but for now she just drinks a fuckload of coffee and keeps herself busy.

adam’s not rly an insomniac per se, but he doesn’t sleep as much as humans do, obviously

can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

later in the series, yeah. i could see her being put on quetiapine bcos that’s what im on and that shit works

do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

wrap their limbs around each other !!!! june’s like a cuddly octopus shdksjdl but adam loves it, honestly. he’ll often wrap his arms around her and put on of his hands up her shirt, over her spine, so he can have some nice skin-on-skin contact. yknow....... as a treat

who wakes up with bed hair?

both !!!! june’s is probably a bit worse bcos it’s longer ????

who wakes up first?

eh, depends. i’d say adam, bcos he’s More Responsible, but june really doesn’t sleep much, so it could go either way

who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

neither ??? june doesn’t cook and adam’s not a good cook

what is their favourite sleeping position?

either adam on his back with june tucked into his chest, his arms around her, or both of them on their sides and adam spooning june. they love em !!!!

do they set an alarm each night?

they do. june has broken multiple alarm clocks, tho, so make of that what u will

who has nightmares?

both :((( june’s are more frequent, i think

can a television be found in their bedroom?

nah. adam wouldn’t want one, and june watches everything on her laptop

who has ridiculous dreams?

probably june. she’ll sleepily recount them to adam the next morning in bed and he’ll either hm? into her neck to show he’s listening or huff a laugh against her skin

who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

june. adam has learned to accept this fact about her. usually he’ll just position her so that they’re both comfier when she does it, but he has been woken by her elbowing his side before

who makes the bed?

adam. june cba with that shit. she’s just gonna get back in it anyways !!!!

what time is bed time?

adam pushes june to go to bed by 11. sorry u gotta take care of ur stupid energiser bunny girlfriend, buddy

any routines/rituals before bed?

eh nothing in particular i dont think ??? nothing out of the standard brush teeth / clean face / get into pjs thing anyway

who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

june is the GRUMPIEST. she’s not a morning person in the slightest

WORK.

who is the busiest?

hmmmmm. they’re both probably equally busy ??? i mean adam’s the head of the unit so he probs has work he has to do, but then june’s basically the head of the department bcos the captain’s never around, so she has a lot of work. and she has to balance that work with the agency. maybe june’s slightly busier ???

who rakes in the highest income?

eh they’re probs around the same ???

are any of them unemployed?

nope

who takes the most sick days?

june bcos adam doesn’t get sick. also sometimes she just wants A Personal Day and / or is hungover

what are their jobs?

he’s a commanding agent, she’s a liaison and also police detective

who sucks up to their boss?

haha adam’s technically june’s boss and she loves to suck badum tss

who is more likely to turn up late to work?

june shdjshdk girl is Bad at time management. sometimes tho they’ll both be late bcos a morning fuck went on too long. june is very smug on these days

who stresses the most?

uhhh both stress a lot ?? june has anxiety. but adam also is constantly on edge so ????

do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

yeah they enjoy them i guess. adam definitely enjoys his. june is..... complicated. she doesn’t trust the agency and she doesn’t rly wanna be a cop, but she doesn’t know what else she could do so ???

are they financially stable?

yeah for the most part. the agency has good salaries

HOME.

who does the washing?

i think maybe june does it more often just bcos as a human she....... probably ???? goes through more clothes ??? that makes sense to me ??? idk hsdk

who takes out the trash?

adam, usually. especially if it’s dark; june ain’t going nowhere at night

who does the ironing?

again, adam. just bcos he’s more likely to have clothes that need ironing. june has never touched an iron in her life

who does the cooking?

i mean june is notorious for not cooking but rather ordering takeout, so...... i mean i dont think adam is a bad cook but he can rly only cook rly bland, simple meals, and he obviously doesnt need to eat so. i guess if it’s one of them it’s june

who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

yeah june sdhskdhksdk she just has a very short attention span bro idk what to tell u

who is messier?

yep june no question. adam’s a lil bit of a neat freak im calling it

who leaves the toilet roll empty?

neither

who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

yeah june. sometimes adam if he’s had a long day tho. or like if theyre getting Freaky and leaving clothes everywhere. but in general, june’s more likely

who forgets to flush the toilet?

ew gross people do that ?? neither

who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

june shdjjsjdk

who answers the telephone?

uhh both ig ?? but they don’t have like a landline or anything they only have their cells

who mows the lawn?

adam, but only once they’ve moved out of june’s apartment after having the kids. june’s got a black thumb bro she’s not allowed near the garden on nate’s orders

who does the vacuuming?

both !!! they take turns

who does the groceries?

june 100% and she always ends up getting shit that wasn’t on the list shdjskdk. sometimes they’ll do it together tho

who takes the longest to shower?

uhhhh i mean. i think they shower together quite a lot so ???? both ???

who spends the most time in the bathroom?

like getting ready ???? uhh depends. if june’s doing makeup, her, but she doesn’t do it often

MISCELLANEOUS.

is money a problem?

nahhh the agency pays them well

how many cars do they own?

originally only june’s shitty little hatchback, but when the kids are born they get a second one. probably it is very pretty and fancy and expensive, because adam

what’s their song?

either dermot kennedy’s power over me, or fortress by bear’s den. like, seriously, look up the lyrics; they’re the ULTIMATE adamjune songs

do they live in the city or in the country?

does wayhaven count as a city, even if it’s like... a small town ??? idk

do they own their home or do they rent?

june’s renting her apartment currently, but when ollie and emma are born, they buy a place at the edge of town

do they enjoy their surroundings?

eh. neither of them are especially fond of wayhaven, but i think maybe it grows on them over time ??? june definitely in her current point in canon is only there bcos she doesn’t know where else to go

what do they do when they’re away from each other?

Yearn like fools. they miss each other shdjshdk they’ll call each other if adam is ever sent out on an assignment away from town or june has to take some kinda business trip. theyre always super happy to be reunited

where did they first meet?

at an abandoned warehouse in book 1. june shot him. it was great

who spends the most money when out shopping?

uhhhhhh bro i genuinely don’t know ??? adam and june both have terrible taste in clothes; he walks around in cargo pants half the time and she’s never not in something oversized and baggy and possibly falling apart ???

ig june spends a lot on technology ??? and on food ????

who’s more likely to flash their assets?

ok i mean adam has already in canon gotten shirtless and flashed his assets at june while convinced he feels nothing for her so. him. he’s a show-off we all know this

any mental issues?

yeah lmao. june already had ptsd before canon from being assaulted in college, and now it’s just worse bcos of everything with murphy and shit. she also has depression, because obviously, and anxiety. also adhd if that counts ??? it probably counts

i think adam’s got some ptsd too from that Terrible Fiery Scene Of Death we saw in the mirror from his past, and probably that’s compounded by experiences since he became a vampire too ??? possibly some depression as well just bcos i’m now considering his whole ‘numb for years’ thing and how that overlaps with depression ?? :/// idk

who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

adam doesn’t trip often but when he does june howls with laughter. usually if he’s tripping it’s bcos she’s done something Very Distracting. one time she took her shirt off in their living room when he wasnt expecting it and he walked into a wall

when june trips (which she often does) adam will sorta snort very quietly or his lips will twitch but he’ll always stabilise her quickly

who’s terrified of bugs?

yep june 100%

who kills the spiders around the house?

shsjdhskdjk ADAM. “june, it’s just an insect.” “um, untrue, it’s an arachnid, those are different fucking things—” “it’s miniscule. even more so than you are.” “okay, ha, ha, very funny, please kill it, adam i’m serious, kill it, it has eight legs, it’s waiting to murder me, fucking kill it!” “i’m killing it, calm down.”

do they have any fears for their future?

yeah. june’s worried she’s gonna get totally murdered lmao bcos odds are someone’s gonna try again. adam is also terrified abt this distinct possibility. he’s also scared that, like... she’ll live ??? as in ??? she won’t ever turn, she’ll stay mortal her whole life, and after waiting 900 years for her, he’ll only get a few decades with her before she dies.

that’s like not gonna happen she absolutely becomes a vampire after emma and ollie are born but still. he’s dramatic

their favourite place?

the warehouse, probably ??? it’s safe and secure and it’s comfortable ??? or else june’s apartment. i think june prefers her apartment just slightly

who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

adam ??? but it’s more likely that they’d go out to a fancy dinner, rather than him cook one

who pays the bills?

they split them

who’s the tallest?

sndjhskdjkd adam. june hates and loves this fact in equal measure. adam is very smug abt how teeny tiny his girlfriend is shdkshdk he finds it very funny. also very sweet he loves it

who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

both, honestly. theyre bad at keeping their hands off each other once they’re together. maybe june is ever so slightly more likely ?? idk

who wanders around in their underwear?

both. adam likes to distract june w his abs bro what can i say. june just is most comfortable walking around in a sports bra and briefs

who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

june !!! and she’ll lean into his face and sing right at him with this big dumb grin too. adam will refuse to make eye contact but he’ll have this tiny lil smile on his face

what do they tease each other about?

everything. june roasts adam on the daily. adam will very dryly retort back every time. they were made for each other im telling u. 

june will sometimes bring up his whole humans are weak thing at the most ridiculous times. like, adam tries to get her to get out of bed in the morning and she’ll groan and start lamenting how weak and fragile she is, she couldn’t possibly get out of bed in this state, adam, i have glass bones and paper skin, don’t u love me ????

adam’s teasing is just dryly taking the piss out of dumb shit she says. she’ll talk abt a fight she had with someone and say she went “wa-pow!” when she hit them and he’ll just deadpan repeat, “wa-pow.” his face totally straight. i wuv themm

who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

i mean neither they both have bad fashion taste. but also june hates the fucking cargo pants bruh

who crushed first?

adam did shdkshdk even if he didn’t realise. june didn’t figure out she liked him until the time between book 1 and book 2, because she missed him and she couldn’t figure out why

any alcohol or substance related problems?

uhhh no not rly. june has a history of using recreational drugs but that was in college and she doesn’t touch most of that shit these days

who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am?

june probably shdjshdk she’ll have a girl’s night with farah, morgan, and tina, and just come home absolutely fucking twatted. adam always tucks her in

who swears the most?

yeah june. she swears in every other word. the first time she made adam curse is burned into her brain seriously she takes such pride in it

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting -- Chapter Six

Been sitting on this lovely commission from @strzygon-x​ of Delphine and Elazar, felt it fit perfectly with the chapter so I just had to share it.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: mentions of blood in this chapter (2 mentions, nothing graphic, just plot points) and some canon typical templar violence towards mages (just fair warning in case the dynamic is uncomfy)

Can also be read on AO3

[Masterlist] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven]

Chapter Six- Ghost

War room meetings tended to leave Delphine feeling significantly more downtrodden than she was beforehand. There did not seem to be much good news to go around these days. Reports of rifts continued to flow in along with rising tolls between the templars and the apostates in the valley and elsewhere. Elazar had returned from the Hinterlands with the Inquisition’s new horse master but his arrival was overshadowed by the introduction of one Warden Blackwall, who did not come bearing any helpful information. He was just as unaware to the status of the Grey Wardens as the rest of them. It was all rather disconcerting. Del could tell Elazar was struggling to remain optimistic as they departed the chapel. She hoped Varric wasn’t busy tonight, El was in serious need of a strong drink at the bar and some outlandish stories to keep his mind off this newfound responsibility for a bit.

“Excuse me!” The pair stopped rather abruptly, not at all expecting the soldier loitering at the doorway to address them. They both looked to the man, wide eyed. “I’ve got a message for the Inquisition but I’m having a hard time getting anyone to talk to me.”

Del was surprised one of Leliana’s agents hadn’t spoken with him yet, normally they were on top of situations like these.

El titled his head to the side, taking a rather obvious curiosity in the man, “who are you?”

“Cremisius Aclassi, with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra.”

The merc had quiet the name, definitely not Orlesian or Ferelden.

“We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work.”

A mercenary company? Was the Inquisition looking to hire more muscle right now? Del couldn’t remember Cullen expressing a need for more troops in any of the recent meetings. Did the more the merrier apply in situations like these?

El beat Del to all the questions though, “why did your commander send us this information?”

“Iron Bull wants to work for Inquisition. He thinks you’re doing good work.”

That wasn’t exactly the answer the either of them had been expecting. El did look pleased though. Maybe this day wouldn’t be all bad.

“We’ll consider your offer.”

“I appreciate it. We’re the best you’ll find. Come to the Storm Coast and you can see us in action.”

.

As many questions as Delphine had on the situation, she had no real desire to go to the Storm Coast and find the answers. El didn’t give her much of a choice in the matter, informing the advisors of their departure promptly after speaking with Cremisius. She was going to have to find some way to get back at the elf because the whole trip had gone from bad to worse. It was one thing to be soaked to the bone from the constant rain, but now she was coated in Tevinter mercenary blood after their party had joined in with the attack on the Vints. El and Varric looked more than pleased with her displeasure.

“Fuck you.” Del spat at Elazar, “I’m never letting you drag me out to this Maker forsaken place again.”

El laughed at her as the Qunari merc captain approached with Cremisius.

“Krem! How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead.”

The one-eyed Qunari grins, “that’s what I like to hear. Let the throat cutters finish up, then break out the casks.” He turns to the pair, taking a quick moment to take in their sopping forms. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

El grinned back at the Qunari, “Iron Bull, I presume.”

“Yeah the horns usually give it away.”

Well, it was a rather apt name, considering.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.”

The mercenary lieutenant gives them a nod and a short smile in greeting, “good to see you again. Throat cutters are done, Chief.”

“Already?” The Qunari looked out over the beach scattered with bodies with suspicion, “have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem rolls his eyes, much to El’s delight. “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Iron Bull barks out a laugh as Krem returns to directing the other mercenaries. El’s obviously amused at the odd comradery between the two; if he wasn’t sold on the Chargers before Del could assume he was now.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Del quirked an eyebrow at that. They weren’t exactly rolling in it back at Haven.

“How much is this going to cost me exactly?”

Elazar had been slowly coming into his position – what that position was, neither of them exactly knew but- he was more confident of himself, in the war room and in the field, more willing to make decisions. Del was proud, El had always drawn people to him, their friends had looked to him when the rebellion grew, after all. Yet he never assumed he deserved to be the one making decisions. Ever humble in that regard, he argued with Del whenever she dared to say otherwise. Now the reluctance seemed to be slowly slipping away.

“It won’t cost you anything personally; unless you wanna buy drinks later.”

Oh, they definitely didn’t have enough coin for that.

“Your Ambassador- what’s her name- Josephine? We’d go through her and get payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don’t worry about that. All that matters is we’re worth it.”

Iron Bull was sure of his company and their prowess.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

Del knew for a fact El had no idea what made a good mercenary company- neither of them did.

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m you’re man. Whatever it is- demons, dragons? The bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

Delphine, like most folks in southern Thedas, knew next to nothing about the Qunari. What she did know was, she could safely assume was mostly propaganda and stupidly exaggerated rumors. She’d never heard of any groups within the Qunari, definitely not the Ben-Hassrath. The Qunari, the Qun, that wasn’t something she’d ever discussed with Elazar. It certainly wasn’t a topic that came up in the Circle. The wide-eyed look El gave her led her to believe the Dalish didn’t know much more than the rest of them. “We’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or, well, we’re spies.”

He’s a spy and was just telling them? Why was he working as a mercenary in the south if he’s a spy? Wouldn’t he be more effective elsewhere? Del’s mind was swimming with the implications.

“The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

That sounded right up Leliana’s alley but was a spy a trustworthy source of information?

Elazar’s wide eyes were telltale enough of his own surprise. “You’re a Qunari spy, and you just… told us?”

Iron Bull shrugs, “whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So, whatever I am, I’m on your side.”

Was he though?

“You still could have hidden what you are.” It wasn’t like they would have known any better. She and Elazar had no idea the Ben-Hassrath even existed before today.

“From something called the Inquisition?” Iron Bull chuckles, “I’d’ve been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me.”

“So…what would you send home in these reports of yours?”

“Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that’ll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you’re doing, it’ll put some minds at ease. That’s good for everyone.”

Del wasn’t fond of the idea of any information making it back to the Qunari- especially anything about Elazar. If there was any kernel of truth to what she’d heard about how the Qunari treat their mages, she was terrified to think of what they’d do if they knew more about Elazar’s “condition.” Though if Iron Bull was telling the truth, and this kept an invasion at bay, wasn’t that a risk worth taking?

“What’s in these Ben-Hassrath reports you’re offering to share?”

“Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It’s a bit of everything. Alone, they’re not much. But if your spymaster is worth a damn, she’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“She?”

“I did a little research.”

Del wondered what exactly qualified as a “little” research.

“Plus I’ve always had a weakness for red heads”

Elazar snickered, proving that even when faced with a Qunari spy he still had the humor of a teenage boy. If El was one thing he was at least consistent. A swift elbow to the gut from Del was enough to get the elf back on track.

“You would run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, Cassandra will eat you alive.”

That’s an understatement.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” The grin splitting across his face made Del believe him. “Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

Krem pouts as the Qunari’s voice cuts across the beach, “what about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.”

Krem threw his arms up, though his frustration was more for show than anything, it seemed.

Elazar was going to be fond of this group for sure.

.

“How’s it going Krem de la crème?”

The merc lieutenant rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn and greet the Qunari as he approached. “I’m so glad he has more people to hit with that joke now.”

“Are you telling me Tiny can’t come up with new material?” Varric scoffs, “I had higher hopes for him.”

Krem quirked an eyebrow, “Tiny?”

The hulking Qunari warrior was anything but small, seemed a rather backwards nickname.

“He’s already got a nickname?” El sounded rather insulted at the realization.

“Dwarf calling a Qunari tiny, that’s rich.” Iron Bull grumbles, single-eyed glare pointed at Varric.

“Some just come easier, Herald.” The author shrugs at El who is not satisfied with Varric’s obvious dodge.

“Nicknames, is that his thing?”

Del wasn’t sure. Varric was usually out traveling with Elazar so she hadn’t spoken with him nearly as much El. She had noticed the dwarf only referred to Cassandra as Seeker, but she figured it was a way of bothering her, considering Cassandra rolled her eyes nearly every time he did it.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Krem.”

“Oh, has the Herald not shared yours with you yet?” The shit eating grin plastered across Varric’s face leads Del to the conclusion she doesn’t want to know. Whatever names Varric and El were coming up with when she wasn’t around, she didn’t want to know.

“Del works just fine, I’ll stick with that.”

“That’s no fun.” Iron Bull chides, “lay it on us, dwarf.”

“Ghostie.”

“Ghostie?” Varric thought of her as a ghost? Or had she become sickeningly pale again without realizing it?

Iron Bull rubs his chin for a moment, his eye trained on Del. She fights the urge to fidget under his stare. “I see where you’re coming from with that.”

El snickers. Del has to restrain herself from zapping him.

“Right?” Varric puffs his chest out, “all in the details.”

“What details?”

“Well, you’re quiet, avoid attention. You’ve obviously mastered fading into the background, and best of all, I’ve seen you sneak up on and startle not just Seeker but Leliana too.”

“Those were on accident!” Leliana was the last person in Haven she would want to shock on purpose.

“Even better! Naturally as quiet as a ghost.”

This wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

If he’d already come up with one for her, Varric must have decided on Elazar’s by now. “So, what’s El’s then?”

“Apparently I’m not nickname worthy.” El pouts, putting on his best kicked puppy face.

“Oh, that’s borderline manipulative, Herald.” Varric chuckles, not at all fazed by the elf’s big doe eyes. “You just gotta wait for it to develop naturally. Some just take time.”

“No need to look glum, boss,” Iron Bull smacks Elazar in the back, nearly knocking him out of his seat, “embrace the air of mystery!”

Elazar? Mysterious? Delphine had never known Elazar as anything but straightforward, occasionally unwilling to talk about his emotions, yes, but never untruthful or purposefully shady.

Del rolled her eyes as the group descended into bickering. Despite being mercenaries Bull’s Chargers were all easy enough to get along with. Delphine could have never imagined they would be camping out, drinking and laughing with a merc band, yet here they sat, Elazar truly smiling and carrying on with hired blades.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep worrying over him so much.”

For such a large warrior, Iron Bull managed to move rather quietly, sneaking up at Del’s side at the edge of the group.

“The life we’ve lived up till now made it a strong habit.” That and El’s sometimes flippant attitude towards authority.

“Constantly looking over your shoulder in the Circle.” Delphine hadn’t mentioned it, and El avoided the topic when possible, but Iron Bull had proved to be more than observant in the few days they’d traveled together.

They’d both been looking over their shoulders most of their lives, for varying reasons, and that shapes a child. “For both our sakes.”

Iron Bull nods, “especially for the sake of the rebel.”

There was no way he’s just a spy.

“He’s always had a penchant for trouble.”

“And you’re the one to get him out of it.”

“When I can.” Del could talk their way out of pranks and whatever general ruckus El caused in the Circle. But Del didn’t have any weight to throw around now; she couldn’t just bat her eyelashes and get the night patrol to look the other way now.

“You don’t share his penchant for rebellion, but you’re dedicated and stick around anyways.” It almost sounded like admiration Del heard in his voice. “He’s lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Although it wasn’t something she would admit out loud, Del was almost proud of the fact she’d kept him out of trouble all these years. Mostly. Nothing she said would have changed Elazar’s mind once he started planning his rebellion. There was no way to talk him out of that trouble with the Knight-Commander.

“How did you know I didn’t rebel with him?” Here she was, living the life of an apostate, same as El. They’d ended up lumped together despite their differing opinions.

Iron Bull chuckles, a gravelly sound deep in his chest that nearly startles Del. “As if the dwarfs nickname wasn’t clue enough? The fact that you’re alive and not dead at the Conclave tells me you weren’t sympathetic to the rebellion.”

Not sympathetic? Del can feel a dark expression slip into place. “Just because I didn’t rebel doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic to their cause. I know where they are coming from, I’ve felt many of the same hurts, I long for change and freedom just as much.”

The Qunari looks surprised at her candid admission and sharp tongue. At least she was able to prove him wrong on one point of his profile.

“So, too prim and proper to join a rebellion?”

Del rolls her eyes, she’d joined the Inquisition, that alone should have proved she was not worried about such things. Or, at least she wasn’t now. “You know that’s not it.”

“Then what motivates you, little lady. Or in this case, doesn’t.”

She almost prefers Ghostie to little lady.

“I have…differing views on violence than the rest of the rebels…”

That lie was so weak it wouldn’t have convinced Cullen. Iron Bull scoffs, “violence against templars, you mean.”

Del gapes at the Qunari- incredibly perceptive for someone with one eye.

“You’re torn- you contradict yourself- makes it obvious enough.”

“I… as much as I hate what was done to us… what we went through… I just don’t have the same hate towards templars that El and the others do, because then I’d have to hate some people very important to me. And I can’t…I just can’t.” Not when Ralf was the one person to always protect her.

He’s solemn for a long moment. Del wonders if he has any sympathy for mages, after all the Circles must be significantly better than whatever the Qunari mages had. Yet, there was Dalish, who despite all her instance on being an archer, was living openly as an apostate within the band and Iron Bull had no apparent issues with it.

“Just because you hate the system doesn’t mean you have to abhor each individual in it… it’s too much work to hate them individually anyways.”

The system. It sounded like Iron Bull spoke from experience.

Elazar wasn’t going to be the only one fond of this group.

.

Upon their return to Haven Delphine decided she much preferred the chill of the mountain air over the bone soaking cold of the Storm Coast- she’d made it abundantly clear that she would not be returning to the region with him again. No matter the business. El had rolled his eyes but agreed anyways, promising to not bring her along should they venture back to the coast. Del thanked the Maker before making a beeline for their shared cabin, all she wanted was a war bath and a warm bed. It was so closed now. She’d leave the war council to El for today.

Instead of finding Del soaking the chill from her bones, Elazar returned to find her curled up next to the hearth of the fireplace poring over a large leather-bound tome, two more study volumes spread across the floor next to her. It reminded him so clearly of the young girl he’d stumbled across in the Circle library all those years ago, stormy green eyes consuming the contents of library as if her life depended on it.

Nabbing a blanket from his cot, El silently settles on the floor next to her, throwing the blanket over their shoulders. He knows once she’s absorbed in her reading, Del will forget or forgo taking care of herself. The blanket breaks her concentration, grinning she leans over, bumping shoulders, and whispering her thanks.

“What’d you find, Del.”

“Someone left these on my bed, nothing but my name on the note. A proper surprise.”

El hadn’t heard excitement like this in her voice in years, it warmed his heart to see the curious spark in her eyes she’d had back from when they were both still apprentices. “They’re all on combat magic, El, spells, theory, practical technique. They’ve got everything!”

He can’t help but grin back, “never thought I’d see the day Delphine Trevelyan gets excited over banned literature.”

“Oh hush, is it really banned when there’s no Circles left to ban it?”

“Sneaking by on a technicality, Del.” He chuckles, “who left them for you?”

She shakes her head, “I told you, total surprise. I have no idea. I didn’t ask anyone for them either.”

Curious, “who knows you’re studying combat magic.”

“Well, I’ve talked about it with Josephine and Vivienne a few times over tea. Cullen and I talked about it when he asked for help training the recruits… maybe his lieutenants, Joshua, once.”

That seemed about right, he knew she’d kept her practice so herself, acted as if she was more confident in her abilities than she was. Del was a decent enough actress to have most folks fooled.

“Josie or Vivienne would have left a note though or given it to me in person, telling me all about where they managed to find it and how rare the print is. They’re not the type for surprises like this.”

“True,” El nods, “Vivienne would probably talk your ear off about it.”

Del rolls her eyes, “probably… but I don’t know why Cullen or Joshua would get them for me. Joshua and I are friendly but not that close.”

“Cullen does seem like the type to be too shy to leave a note with them.”

Her eyes go wide, “you think so? But why would he, off all people, be getting me books on combat magic?”

True, why would a templar willingly supply a mage with books on combat magic? This was giving Del everything the Order had worked to deny her all these years.

“I’m sure Leliana knows, though. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”

Del smiles, settling in so her head is resting on his shoulder, “thanks, El.”

.

“You’re looking much more comfortable out there.”

Delphine tries to mask the surprise that washed over her with the sudden compliment. Although Cullen always thanked her for her help, comments on her magic were few and far between.

“Well the recruits seem to be catching on quick- makes my job a bit easier.” It was easier to focus on her execution when she knew the recruits were able to as least defend themselves from her standard attacks. She’d also gotten enough “practice” in after the trip to the Storm Coast to begin working on refining her casting, something she was rather proud of.

Cullen nods “it’s reassuring to see the progression.”

He deserved to be proud, Cullen was turning farmers and pilgrims into a formidable military force with very minimal support. Del had overheard Iron Bull dishing out compliments on the former templar to Elazar recently as well, which she was sure were well earned.

“I was wondering if you could spare someone to spar with me a short while. I’ve been reading up on some new techniques I’d like to practice.” She was trying to be nonchalant about it, but it was so difficult once Leliana had confirmed Elazar’s suspicions.

Cullen clears his throat, glancing away from her rather hurriedly. “I believe I can spare Ser Rosche for the time being.”

He calls the soldier over as Del gathers up her staff. She didn’t recognize the man, though she could hardly claim to be familiar with most of Cullen’s troops. Rosche’s face was set with deep lines and a furrowed brow- an expression that rang familiar. His armor confirmed it, despite wearing the trappings of the Inquisition, the man’s chest plate still bore the emblem of the Order. He must have been one of the templars to leave the Order with Cullen after Kirkwall, Del figured.

Rosche nods as Cullen finishes explaining the task, the grim expression never changing. He pointedly looks her up and down as Cullen introduced her.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Cullen shot her a small smile as he returned to his post scrutinizing the recruits as they continued to drill in formation.

The templar before her didn’t utter a word before falling into a defensive stance, his stare directed at the staff clutched in her hands.

Well then, down to business.

Delphine plants herself, reaching into the Veil around them, slowing her breathing as she channels that swirling energy through her staff. Rosche easily blocks the flames she summons- a testament to his training no doubt- before beginning to push forward.

An aggressor. He must prefer the blade to the shield. Del aims low, hoping to slow him momentarily while she casts a simplified chain lighting attach. Nothing strong enough to do any real harm, just a stun spell really. The jolt of electricity does little to slow Rosche’s advance, however. Sword drawn, he lunges, Del sidesteps and counters setting an ice mine between them. That proves enough to get the man to jump back, putting a more comfortable amount of space between them.

Del’s blood roars in her ears. This man was not one to go easy on her. Eyes narrowed; his gaze never leaves her. Del tries to match his stare but she’s well aware she’s less than intimidating.

Slowly, he begins to circle again, Del tries to keep the mine in between, to delay any more lunges but Rosche has already taken the lead in the fight, something Del was hoping to avoid. She needed to learn to take control in fights, to maintain the upper-hand against her opponents.

She tries to regain control but Rosche continues to hold the lead. He blocks everything she throws at him, even a fireball sent hurling at him full strength, all while he steadily inches closer. The air crackles around her as Del focuses a lighting spell on the blade of her staff, swingling wide at the templar. He parries her blade with ease, the spell quickly dissipating.

Del staggers back as she realizes he’s been dispelling her magic; no wonder her fireball didn’t even faze him. A shiver runs down her spine as a grin breaks out across his face, vaguely manic. It takes near all her will to tamp down the panic clutching at her chest.

“Is that the best you can do, little mage?”

Del barely manages to block his blade as he rushes forward, taunting grin still painted across his features. She throws up a barrier in response, giving her enough time and space to throw a few shots towards his head and shoulders. It’s quick enough he has to duck out of the way instead of block and dispel. Her pride is short lived as he regroups and presses up against her barrier.

Rosche’s grin has disappeared, lips set into a snarl as he shoves against the barrier again. Del is thrown back as it snaps, air rushing from her lungs as her back meets hard packed ground. Panic washes over her as the man stalks towards her, sword still held high. She casts on instinct, feeling the fire flow through her like it did when she first came into her magic, throwing as much heat at her attacker as she can. The flames never leave her hands.

Del cries out as an invisible weight forces down against her chest and her magic explodes against her palms. Her magic has never rebounded before- at least not of her own volition.

Desperate she reaches out again, chest heaving, for the Veil only to realize she can’t find it. Its as if the world around her had suddenly gone silent. The constant hum of energy around her gone.

“No-” her voice croaks at the realization the man looming above her now is suppressing her magic, keeping her from defending herself.

“Yes,” he sneers down at her, eyes cold.

Staff. She needs her staff. Her fingers graze of the shaft for a brief moment before its gone. Still struggling to catch her breath, Del watches as Rosche kicks it away.

He’s still looming over her, taunting her, as she struggles. Every time she reaches back out for the Veil he pushes back twice as hard, pushing her further and further from her magic. Del’s head is spinning as she stares up at him, wide eyed. She didn’t know magic suppression could physically hurt.

“Too bad, little mage.”

Del doesn’t remember how to move as he raises his sword to strike.

This wasn’t a sparring match.

“Chargers!”

The world around them springs into action as Iron Bull’s voice cuts through the roaring in Delphine’s ears. Something explodes above her, near Rosche’s shoulder, throwing him back. Bull and Krem rush by in her peripheral, weapons drawn. A crowd of Chargers quickly follows after.

Their elven mage, Dalish, suddenly appears above her, worry etched across her brow. “You alright?” Del can vaguely make out the feeling of Dalish’s fingers ghosting over her, checking for injuries. She can’t even find it in her to nod back until Del finds her breath.

“Hit…hit my head.”

“Aye you did.” Dalish chuckles a bit but the mirth doesn’t reach her eyes, “we saw you go flying.”

Well that explained the pounding.

The elven woman’s hands continue to investigate, poking and prodding across her torso. “Well, doesn’t look like anythin’s broken.”

Del coughs out a sorry excuse for a chuckle in response.

“Oh, that’s going to take more than elfroot.” Dalish hisses, slowly taking Del’s hands in her own.

The burning rushes in all at once, across her palms and fingertips. She must have roasted her own hands when Rosche caused her magic to rebound. Fuck.

“Let’s get you up, yeah?”

With a few curses between the two of them Dalish helps Del to her feet, a hand at her back keeping her steady as the world swayed around her.

A few yards off Iron Bull stood over Rosche, disarmed and face down in the dirt, one of the Qunari mercenary’s boots pressed into the man’s back. Krem and the others stood by, faces dower as Cullen stalked towards them, fuming.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Del groaned as the Commander’s shouting mixed with the pounding against her skull.

“He attacked Delphine, ser.” Krem answered, face stern and hands on his hips.

Del didn’t think Cullen’s scowl could get any deeper but she was quickly proven wrong. “They were sparring!”

“He wasn’t.” Bull’s voice was level as he stared down the blond. “He had her cornered and disarmed but ready to land a deadly blow.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up as he looked her way. She must have looked a mess, covered in dirt and melting snow, hands bloody and burned. Messy strands of hair fell in her face, Del figured her braid must have come undone upon impact. She didn’t care much to check; she was still barely holding herself upright with Dalish’s help.

“He was suppressing her magic, Commander-” Bull continued, voice dark- “she was down.”

Cullen’s expression darkened; his hard gaze pinned on the downed templar. “What is the meaning of this Rosche?”

“What’s all the fuss?” He spat, still struggling against Bull’s boot. “It’s just a mage!”

Delphine’s heart stopped. She wasn’t even a person to this man. He had meant to hurt her this way.

“Just a mage?” Cullen seethed.

Cullen could be riled up from time to time in meetings, he could be stern with the soldiers, and there had been moments when Del could see the anger swirling behind his eyes but he never appeared to act on it. Not as long as she’d known him. He stood, shoulders squared, one hand clenched around the hilt of his sword as if he meant to draw it against the disarmed man. If looks could kill Rosche would be long dead.

“Bull, please escort ser Rosche to the cells. I’ll need to inform the Herald and the others of what has happened.”

“Sounds good, Boss.”

Elazar.

“No!” Del’s knees crumple as she tries to rush forward. Dalish manages to catch her before she falls, hauling her back to her feet.

All eyes turn to Delphine.

“Don’t tell Elazar, Cullen, please.”

If Cullen was the one to deliver the news to Elazar, Del knew he would bite Cullen’s head off. El was still upset with Cullen over his comments about the rebellion and the templars, even after finding out Cullen had been the one to gift her with the books. He was never the kind to hold grudges but this, this was going to piss him off and if Cullen delivered the news, El would be sure to place the blame solely on him.

“The Herald needs to know, Delphine.” Cullen’s voice softened a bit but the deep frown did not seem to be disappearing anytime soon.

Elazar would know. There was no way with how small Haven was Elazar wouldn’t know soon, but none of this would end well if he heard it from Cullen’s mouth.

“Dalish, Stiches, take Delphine to Adan.” Iron Bull cuts in, voice booming over growing crowd. “Krem will go find the Herald, bring him to her. Cullen can inform Red and Josephine of what’s happened.”

Thank the Maker for the eagle eyed Qunari. Even in his short time with the Inquisition he already had a solid handle on the dynamics here.

Dalish wraps an arm around Del’s waist, supporting most of her weight. “Got it, Boss.”

Cullen doesn’t look particularly pleased but agrees with the Qunari.

Rosche groans and curses as Bull pressed down on his back. “I’ll take care of this one.”

Del doesn’t doubt it.

[ellstersmash]

Three: Sixteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

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--

Athi moves the rearview mirror a fraction of an inch. Returns it to its original position, then back. Tough to tell if her discomfort is due to a misjudged angle or the fact that it’s been more than a year since she’s driven anything other than her bike. Not as if she could have let him drive, though. Not in his current state.

“Take this to Saelac,” Solas murmurs. 

He has his eyes shut, but his thumb is still softly stroking hers the way it has been since she pulled onto the freeway. She expected him to pass out right away, but then this city’s policy on roadwork seems to be: Not if we can help it. Every street is scarred with what must be two decades’ worth of springtime patches, and if he couldn’t sleep through a little bit of air turbulence, he sure won’t manage it here.

“How was your week?” he asks, words quiet and slurring together. Enunciation is hard work.

So she tells him about the bar. About the missing, well, everything, and the cleaning list, and Tali’s prediction that Seggrit will be getting more involved with the day-to-day operations, and how for all that she gripes about it, his absence is what makes her job mostly tolerable. Solas nods where more or less appropriate, sometimes smiling sleepily at her tale from the passenger seat.

She tells him about the houseplant she bought. Remembers she forgot to water it today. Yesterday, too. Fuck.

And she tells him about Sera. About their argument and Dagna moving in, and how odd that will be. How sudden it all is, and maybe destined to be a disaster but worth a try, right? She gets the sudden urge to retreat. Three steps at least away from this talk of people moving in together, of possible futures that they’re far too brand new to traverse, even in conversation, even unrelated to either of them entirely. And maybe he feels it too, because he perks up only to fixate on the rally. Asks her when and where and what's it for and who's in charge and whether or not they got a permit and has the audacity to frown when she admits she won’t be there.

"How unfortunate," he says.

Athi groans."Not you, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Sera already gave me shit about it, so if that's your angle I don't want to hear it."

"I did not intend to ‘give you shit,’ no. I was hoping to invite myself along."

"Really?"

"Yes, it is a worthy cause. I had no idea Sera was such an advocate for social reform."

“Then you don’t know her very well.”

“Clearly I have misjudged her.”

“Why are you interested?”

“Why would I not be?”

She tries not to twist that into an accusation. "You just don't strike me as that kind of guy."

"The kind who cares, or the kind who takes action?"

Eyes on the road, it’s impossible to tell if he’s as offended as he sounds. She shrugs. "Both? Seems like you'd rather dig up the past than fix the future."

“Perhaps you have misjudged me, for I do not see the two as mutually exclusive. Take this next exit, then left at the light.”

The change in subject is a welcome one, but she needs her hand to downshift. Squeezes his before she lets go. Not an apology, not for that, but a no hard feelings. His house is only a few blocks away from here, but that’s as much as she remembers because the streets in this section are laid out in a grid and the corners are basically identical.

“Third one down, take a right.”

The yellow house with the overgrown garden jogs her memory. The plants are sad and brittle and dying now and the last time she passed it was early spring, so the perennials had not yet bloomed and the rest was only partially planted. But it must be a sight to behold in the throes of summer. The colorful pinwheels and kitschy glass butterflies sticking up from the withering stalks imply a love of whimsy, and there’s a small white bench surrounded by unlit lanterns under a nearby tree. She hopes she gets to sit there one day. Hopes the neighbors are friendly.

He has her park in his driveway, nose to the garage and she wonders if he’s filled it with more piles and boxes of dusty books or if he just doesn’t want to bother with the door.

Solas points out the house key for her, then grabs his luggage. Once she realizes the lock is upside-down and gets it open, she flicks the front hall lights on and it’s jarring. The house has that hush which places sometimes get after a prolonged vacancy—an absence of sound to soak up and spit out, and the jingle of his keys in her hand and the scrape of his suitcase on the doorframe are too loud. Like it forgot it was ever lived in. 

But nothing else has changed. Not the clutter in the office. Not the cobweb high in the corner. Not even the slight skew of the painting hanging in the living room. Maybe if they’d made these plans before he had left, he’d have tidied up . . . or maybe not. She doesn’t know him well enough to guess.

“If you do not mind, I have been looking forward to a shower all day,” he says and leans his bag against the wall. Starts down the hall toward the kitchen, then stops so abruptly she nearly runs into him.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, half epiphany, half confession.

Athi threads her arms around him, pleased to discover the tension between them is gone. “I’m very aware.”

His gaze rests on her lips and he blinks slow, as if the effort to open them again is monumental. When he lowers his face to kiss her it is terribly gentle and maybe it’s not on purpose. Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but it makes her melt. 

Without a reason not to, her hands wander. Slide over the row of tiny gray buttons on his shirt, push the boundaries of his collar. They graze along his throat and through the short dark hair on his scalp, barely there but for the way it catches on her fingerprints. She presses closer before they part, her dazed and him borderline delirious.

“Ok, go shower,” she urges him. “And don’t doze off in there. I’ll have to make fun of you.”

“After that? It is unlikely I’ll be able to sleep at all.” But his dopey grin belies the truth. “Though if you are concerned for my well-being, you are more than welcome to join me.”

Gods, she never sees it coming. He slides straight from stumbling and sleep-deprived to smooth insinuation like it’s his default setting and she wants to say yes. But she knows better. 

“See, that sounds sexy right up until you’re trying to get to sleep with my hair dripping cold water all over the both of us. Besides, I have some snooping to do.” Teasing, of course. She doesn’t care where he keeps his linens or what lies hidden under his socks.

“By all means, peek anywhere you like. Except the attic, which is strictly off-limits.”

Her eyes light up. “Why, what’s in the attic?”

But he only laughs and heads up the stairs. Pauses halfway up and calls down, “Do you need anything?”

Right on cue.

“I’m good,” she assures him. “Go.”

A sharp squeak is followed by the rush of water through old pipes as she skims the shit on his refrigerator. A coupon for an oil change and receipt from an art supply store. Nothing interesting in the least. His magnets are a confused but equally unenlightening collection of local restaurants’ takeout info and unused metal clips.

A few books sit on the island. Sundered: The Scientific Renaissance of Post-Veil Thedas; The Fade: Fact or Fiction?; and An Exhaustive Documentation of Suspected Elvhen Artifacts Destroyed in the Divine Age. She lifts the cover of the top one, flips pages until she comes to a black business card serving as a makeshift bookmark, scans a few lines:

After their own dark period, the Qunari appear to have focused their collective efforts toward adjusting to these new laws of nature. Extensive, detailed records show rapid technological advancement through experimentation and invention, much of which laid the foundation for generations’ worth of progress. Indeed, many modern conveniences can be traced back to their early successes.

Not exactly light reading. Though pretty typical for him, she suspects. What unsettles her is not the books or the boring refrigerator door. It’s the fact that in all of these rooms—the entryway, the study, the kitchen, the living room—all these living spaces, there are no pictures. Not of anyone. His home is steeped in history, but not his own. She's good at being alone, but at least when she inevitably uproots she takes the memories with her. He has nothing. No drawer full of snapshots to match hers, like some sort of trail to prove his existence.

Maybe they’re just very different people. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. Maybe he isn’t the type to take pictures. Or to keep them. Maybe his memories are painful. Maybe they were lost in some tragic accident that hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

Or maybe she’s reading into stuff she shouldn’t be. Again.

At the top of the stairs are two doors and two doorways. Bathroom’s straight ahead, shower still running. Next to that is a closed door, presumably the attic. The leftmost room is closed as well, but unlocked; there's nothing inside but a few file cabinets. The door to the right hangs open, revealing another bedroom. It is small and tidy with minimal furniture: a dresser and a full-length mirror, and a large bed flush with the corner, the thick crimson comforter slightly rumpled near the pillows on one side as if slept in, then hastily remade. A singular nightstand bears a simple swing-arm lamp.

She hunts through his dresser until she finds his T-shirts. Picks a white one with a logo on it from the middle, between freshly-washed and never-been-used. Not beloved—in case he cares—but not the crisp got-it-for-free-and-couldn’t-throw-it-out kind either. Sheds her clothes that smell like beer and citrus and bitters, all but her underwear and leaves them folded neatly on top of the dresser. Then she pulls on his shirt and knocks on the bathroom door frame.

“It’s open,” he yells, and she rolls her eyes. “Extra toothbrushes are in the lower right drawer, and the toothpaste is behind the mirror.”

“Uh huh,” she answers, but is beginning to regret turning down his offer. The shower curtain is nothing but a clear liner and with no door to keep it in, the steam does blessedly little to conceal his form. There’s still time; for more than a moment she contemplates stripping back down and slipping in, but then he shuts off the water and stretches a dripping arm out for his towel so she goes for the toothbrush instead.

By the time he emerges with that same towel wrapped around his hips, she’s finished and gives his reflection an appreciative glance.

He returns it and tugs on her sleeve. “The Lothering Museum of History will be thrilled to have your endorsement.”

“Why am I not surprised that you don’t have a real shower curtain?”

“This curtain is perfectly sufficient.”

“Hey.” Athi raises her hands and follows him into the bedroom. “Not complaining.”

She also doesn’t complain about the precious seconds between him losing the towel and gaining a pair of pajama pants. He’s fit. Cut, not bulky. Studying old stuff and reading books and attending conferences can’t possibly be a direct line to muscle definition and she wonders what he does to work out. If they could do it together. He doesn’t strike her as a runner, but he might enjoy climbing.

Solas interrupts her plans with a brief kiss, trades the overhead light for the bedside one. Four in the morning is hardly late by her standards, but she can tell as his head hits the pillow that he feels it. He tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, sleepy and sideways.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Athi turns her head and kisses his fingers and whispers, “Thank you for getting naked.”

She’ll be the funny one forever if it means his nose will always crinkle like that.

“I am sorry that I am not—”

“No.” She presses a thumb to his lips to cut short his apology. “That’s not what I’m here for. Really enjoyed the view, though.”

His face is shadowed by the same light shining in her eyes, but the expression he wears is warm. He hits the switch and the room goes dark. She scoots in closer. Tangles their legs. Wriggles until she’s comfortable. It doesn’t take long, like a sign, or a nod from the universe.

We just fit.

Solas is asleep before she’s even ready to try. There are freckles scattered across his shoulders, constellations to trace while she waits. Tries to match his languid breathing. Thinks about where his pictures went. Almost there, then hits the last and loudest stop on her train of thought’s meandering track, and she’s jolted awake.

The bookmark. The business card. The cleaning and packing up. The answer has been stuffed into the back pocket of her least-favorite jeans for weeks.

Seggrit is selling the fucking bar.

--

She wakes up alone. Sprawled out in sheets that smell like him but without the him they belong to. Adjusting, she stares into the middle distance and listens to a faraway set of sounds—the fridge opens, then shuts, the clink of dishes and creak of the floor.

Seggrit is selling the bar. She has no idea what to do with that news except to tell Tali, have her check the books to confirm. They’ve been behind by at least a month for as long as Athi’s worked there, usually more, and if he’s really going to get rid of the place he’ll have had to catch up.

She rolls out of bed, digs her toes into the carpet. It could be nine or noon or later for all she knows. The sun here is strange, and there’s no clock in this room to tell her so she goes searching for one downstairs.

A mosaic-faced antique by the sliding door claims it’s noon.

“Good morning,” Solas says from the kitchen.

She mumbles something resembling words. Seven more steps and she hugs him from behind and they fit so well and his heart is beating fast and he stops whisking eggs to stand there with her all quiet and it’s not morning anymore and he should have stayed in bed and she needs to text Tali and—

“I want coffee,” she whines. Doesn’t mean to whine, but there it is. What if he doesn’t have any? What if he’s one of those people that doesn’t keep coffee in their house?

She might cry.

“There is a bag in the cupboard at the end there, next to the mugs. I was going to make it for you, but—”

“Say no more.”

Gods, she’s glad he didn’t. No one makes it strong enough, and he’s too cute to disappoint so she would have had to drink it anyway. Pretend that pisswater was fine.

Cupboard on the end, right where he said. She slides it off the shelf and can’t help but flutter as she examines the packaging. It’s the same as the ones she bought—or tried to buy then he bought for her—at the coffee shop last year. Or maybe he just asked for “something strong” at the shop and this happened to be what they gave him, but regardless, he thought of her and that feels good all on its own. Her butterflies settle as she opens the bag, breathes in deep. Pours a generous pile into a fresh filter and fills the reservoir with water.

“Roast date on this is yesterday. Did you really leave me sleeping alone in your house?” she teases and pushes the button to start the brew cycle. “What if I had woken up and you were gone?”

“I did consider that possibility, but weighed against the certainty of the alternative, it seemed the wisest course of action.” He arches an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Athi revisits the cupboard to shuffle through his assortment of mismatched mugs. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She selects one of the mugs, a pleasantly rounded stoneware dip-painted in orange and teal and gray. Her unofficial favorite. There is a newspaper, folded twice, laying on the counter between a plate covered in foil and two clean ones. Solas is reading rather than cooking. Maybe he’s fine with rubbery eggs, but she’s not so she leaves her mug to watch the coffee brew, plucks the spatula from his hand, takes over.

“Seggrit’s selling the bar,” she blurts out as she gently stirs, then scoops a heaping golden spoonful onto each plate. “I think.”

To his credit, Solas looks up from the article he’s so engrossed in. “Really?”

She nods.

“How do we feel about that?”

She shrugs.

“Perhaps you should buy it,” he says and moves his plate and his paper to the island. Yanks open the silverware drawer and hands her a fork. “You wanted to put your name on something, right?”

She snorts. “Didn’t mean literally.”

They eat breakfast right there in the kitchen. Hip to hip, or as close as she can get. Sausage from under the foil and rich maple syrup and toast and almost-perfect scrambled eggs and coffee he bought and didn’t make just for her.

Not a bad morning, truth be told.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Solas asks out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He is watching her intently and it occurs to her that she’s been grinning at empty space this whole time.

“Oh,” she says, “it’s nothing,” but her face won’t cooperate and Solas doesn’t buy it.

“It must be quite a pleasant piece of nothing to warrant such a smile. Are you sure it’s not something?” His voice drops low and he leans closer. “Perhaps even something you want to share with me?”

“They say 'bits' here, by the way. ‘Two bits for your thoughts.’ Just so you know.”

“Fascinating.” He doesn’t even pretend to sound sincere.

Oh, she wants to be brave. She makes him work a little harder for it. Keeps it locked up tight until he says please, then she scrunches her nose up where the honesty tickles, and spills even though it’s scary.

“I just . . . it’s nice waking up with you, and”—damn her burning cheeks—“I could get used to it. That’s all.”

Meeting his eyes afterward is a rush. Risk and reward all wrapped up in one because he is beaming right back at her.

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Fuck it. Athi polishes off her coffee. Slides her plate away and faces him fully. Fills her chest with air and bravado. “So what do you want?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“Yeah, context. Before we kissed—at my place, like for real—you asked what I wanted. I said I wanted you, which, I mean, I’ve wanted you since . . . ” She wants to say since the beginning but that’s so fucking cheesy. “Gods, since the coffee shop, I think. But when I asked what I meant to you, you deflected.”

Solas pauses. His gaze drifts, then snaps back. “You are right. I apologize.”

“Also not an answer.”

A full minute, or maybe an hour, passes as he percolates. She can almost see him directing his thoughts this way and that, organizing a response that shouldn’t be this complicated while her own mind skitters from one unsavory possibility to the next. 

“Should’ve sent my questions in ahead of time,” she jokes.

A brief, self-deprecating chuckle as he folds his fingers around hers. “In all fairness, your answer to the same question was efficient, but also vague. Is it so wrong of me to consider my own more carefully?”

“Got me there.”

“I was not trying to win. This conversation is an important one, and I feel it must be approached with both candor and subtlety.”

Candor and subtlety? Athi sighs. New tactic. “Listen, did you avoid the question on purpose?” 

She takes a steady breath—

“No.”

—and lets it out. “Well then, to be honest, I was kind of hoping we could make out at some point today so . . . how about we put the heavy conversation on hold, just for now, and I return the favor and make this easy for you?”

Solas’ smile is indulgent, if a bit weary. “That would be fine.”

“Good. Ok.” She leans her chin on one hand. “Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Like, not just sleeping over and having breakfast, even though we’re obviously really good at that. The whole deal.”

He smirks. “Yes.”

“Only me?”

“Yes.”

Athi claps her hands together. “Good! Excellent response time,” she says, satisfied. Stacks their dishes while she speaks. “Anything else to add?”

“That’s it? That is all you want to know?” A mixture of relief and disappointment is plain on his face.

“Ha! Cute. No, see, I want to hear that elaborate answer of yours, I do. I want to know absolutely every single thought you’ve had about me since day one. Also why you stopped coming to the bar”—she starts counting off on her fingers—“and how long you’ve felt this way, what you and Bull get up to at your secret little club meetings, about a zillion other things . . . But as I said,” and she shrugs, “I have plans.”

“I stopped coming to the bar because I already felt this way. Not”—he gestures between them—“exactly this way, of course, but the first stirrings of it. I had been alone a long time, and it frightened me. Next question.”

“Hold on. Same question. You’ve liked me that long?”

“Yes, though I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, did not notice. If anything, I have been too demonstrative of my feelings this past year. Given the circumstances, that is.”

“Too demonstra— Seriously?” Athi is at a loss. Frozen mid-bewildered-flailing, mouth agape like he’s just grown another pair of eyes right in front of her. “Maybe I, of all people, didn’t notice because we spent all that time together and you never said shit, and then—and then!— you invited me over to ask for dating advice which kind of cancelled out any prior feelings you may have demonstrated. I mean, what the fuck?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Solas sighs heavily. “I suppose we may as well sort this out now.”

“Yeah,” she hisses. “Let’s.” She props one elbow on the counter, rests her chin on her fist. Waits for an explanation.

“Athi,” and he scratches his jaw. “I do not know exactly how you remember that conversation going, but the subject of my inquiry—the woman I mentioned meeting—was you.”

Three beats to process, then: “What!?”

He winces—fair, it was piercing—and he half-hides his face in his hands before continuing. “I was attempting to casually express my interest and it did not occur to me that you’d misunderstood my meaning until recently. At the time, I assumed that you were simply not as interested as I had allowed myself to believe and therefore left before the situation became uncomfortable.”

“Well, I did do that.”

“Then, while I was away, I became convinced that a misunderstanding was possible if not probable, so I resolved to try again once I returned.”

“Oh no . . . ” she trails off and grimaces, and Solas just nods.

Such a mess, and for no fucking reason. They stand there in a dazed silence for a while, looking at anything but each other. Finally, Athi peeks over and Solas has his head hanging low like a puppy shamed for eating from the garbage. It’s so sad and so stupid and she can’t keep from laughing. First a little, then a lot, then he’s laughing right along with her.

“So you’re telling me,” she wheezes out between giggles. “We could have been banging for no less than six months already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She’s swept away by another wave of laughter. When it finally subsides, she’s left with aching cheeks and tears in her eyes.

“Come on,” she says and grabs his hand, squeezes it tight, pulls him toward the stairs.

“What? Where are we going?”

“To make up for lost time.”

[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.”

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [843]

“Normally,” Bull says slowly moving his eye up and down the woman’s face, searching for hints, for signs, “When a job involves this level of secrecy just to get the details of it, the answer is an immediate no. No one here needs or wants that kind of trouble.”

“I know, that's why I requested help from Dalish,” Lady Lavellan replies, giving nothing away with her face.

“You knew to target Dalish.”

“I knew that if I wanted your attention it would take more than a sum written on a piece of paper,” she corrects. “And I knew that if I needed someone to speak to you for me that person would have to be able to see the reason for this level of secrecy, and they would need to be sympathetic to my situation. That leaves Dalish and possibly — if rumor is true — Grim.”

Bull narrows his eye at her. “You know a lot about my people.”

“I make it a point to know a lot about everything,” she corrects. “Especially if the subject happens to be something that’s a possible vital component to my plans. I do thank you for being willing to meet with me on such short notice and under such circumstances.”

“Dalish said this was a job we shouldn’t refuse,” Bull says. “Not even considering the pay out from just hearing you talk. I’d ask if you gave her fake platinum, but you seem to be the real deal. The real duchess.”

Lady Lavellan’s lips quirk up at the corners. “And that is the crux of the issue, one that I’m hoping you would be able to help me fix.”

“Oh?”

“Are you aware of my houses’ current state of affairs? I’m sure you must know something. After all, I’m not the only one who makes it a point to know things.” Bull doesn’t know Ellana Lavellan very well, at all, but even he knows that her smile is not, in fact, coy. On another person it would be. On her it’s a trap. One she isn’t bothering to hide.

“I know that your father died in a border skirmish last year and that your mother fell ill and passed some months ago. My condolences for the loss. They seemed like genuinely good people.”

“Thank you. What else do you know?”

“Your brother is a captain in the Emerald Knights, and may eventually become commander. You were a former aide to the royal family before leaving the palace to take on duties as the family’s heir, and now you’re the head of the house. Duchess Lavellan. That’s about it that I know. Unless you want me to give you a rundown on what businesses your family runs.”

Lady Lavellan’s eyes are turned down towards her hands.

“No, that’s enough. One thing,” her eyes raise towards his. “I’m not Duchess Lavellan.”

Bull stares at her. “Oh?”

“I am Ellana Lavellan,” she says, “I am heir to my house. I am a former aide to the royal family.”

“But?”

“But I am not Duchess.” Lady Lavellan’s eyes are hard and cold when she looks at him. “There are certain obstacles that have been put in my way. I’m sure you know this, but within the Dales there are many factions and many factors constantly at play. The Lavellan house has stood for a very long time, and has been closely aligned with the royal family for generations. But we, ourselves, are not especially powerful. Our land isn’t blessed with an overabundance of anything remarkable, our military power is average, and our monetary holdings are only what is expected of a ducal house and nothing more. Ours is a family blessed by connections, by reputation, by strong word of mouth. Ours is a house built on air. Thus, when words turn against us, it can be hard for us to fight back.”

“And what words have been turned onto house Lavellan?”

“A dying house,” Lady Lavellan says. “Ludicrous, really. I’ve so many cousins and relations that we could single handedly people the entire duchy if we called them all back home. But they are — in part — correct. The direct line of inheritance — the direct Lavellan line that traces back to the founding of our house — ends with myself and my brother. Do you follow?”

Bull nods.

Mahanon Lavellan is known to favor those of the same sex. No heir there.

And — well. Ellana Lavellan has never taken a lover, never entertained a suitor, and has turned down all engagement offers.

“This would have been an issue regardless of whether my parents lived to a hundred or died as they did,” Lady Lavellan continues. “But it is not one I expected to be an obstacle so soon. In order to inherit my house as intended there are certain stipulations that have been put forward by a majority vote in the house of lords. Of course, there are certain houses — old houses — on my side who believe that such requirements are a farce. But none of us, no matter how powerful, can overrule the majority without instigating backlash.”

“And I suppose this is where the platinum payment comes in.”

“Whether you accept the job I put forward or not is up to you. This amount of money is for your time listening to my request, and, of course, for your silence about listening to such a request if you refuse.” Lady Lavellan turns and nods towards a small trunk off to the side. “You can open it and count it out now, if you like. If you want you could even take the entire thing to get appraised to make sure it isn’t just plating.”

“I don’t think you have that kind of time, Lady Lavellan. I’ll take you at your word that it is what it is. What is the job?”

She looks at him. She really looks at him. Bull feels a cold shiver run through his body under her eyes. This is a woman you watch out for. Preferably with a sword in hand and an army at your back.

“To gain my title I need an heir and a husband,” she says. “The heir I’ve already secured. The husband I haven’t.”

Bull’s eyebrows raise. “And you immediately turn towards the sell-sword with a reputation for sex?”

“No, I turn towards the sell-sword with some shred of ethical backbone and highest likelihood of accepting the request,” Lady Lavellan replies. “Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one on the list. You’re just the one I’m speaking with currently. There’s no pressure for you to say yes or no either way.”

“You really know how to sell it, don’t you?”

“I understand what I am asking. I am asking for someone to lie for at least a year. A constant lie that they cannot ever break from. It will be a grueling undertaking. You will be required to pretend at all hours of the day. Countless eyes will be on you. Hands hiding daggers will be extended. Honey will cover for numerous poisons. It is a dangerous thing that I ask.”

“I can handle a touch of danger,” Bull says. “Before I say yes, I want to read the contract.”

“What makes you think I have one?” But she’s already reaching under the folds of her cloak to pull it out. Bull grins.

“For the same reason that I’m willing to bet you even have an appointment to meet whoever’s next on your list right after me. I’ll read it over, but no promises. My silence, though, is a given.”

[felassan]

Faces of Thedas Part 1

(Part 2 is here)

Soooo I came across what seems to be the whole of Faces of Thedas free online. 0: 

I’m picking through it and there’s some cool/interesting stuff in there. these parts were the highlights and most notable bits for me so far. not suggesting this is all new or that these things are all good, just that they were what stood out most to me.

- it specifically notes that it’s a useful guide to their characters, with their histories and personalities carefully researched and detailed. i.e. it’s official information. I do have to say there are quite a few typos (Par Vallon? Kal-shirok? Teveinter? Bartran? Sa arebas? bit sloppy) and even several lore-errors in it. not a big deal, just you’d think it’s the kind of thing they would have caught during editing and proof-reads

- blond hair and blue eyes are distinctive features of Anderfels mountain men

- Leliana’s features are very Fereldan

- it describes Cass as a “cactus patch” LOL, dragon-hunting as a limited field with just two classes of practitioners - “skilled” and “deceased” - and lists Anders’ Awakening-era equipment as including Ser Pounce-a-lot (yey!) and dried mackerel (yuk). includes notable quotes from some of the characters; Dog’s is “Woof!” (of course). Varric is totally making Cass a character in his next bestseller. Cole’s equipment list ends “and an unusual hat”. Stitches is one of the best healers in Ferelden. Dalish the Charger is a flirt. Varric’s allegiances include “the Champion of Kirkwall”. ;__; Harding’s role is “Adorably Sarcastic Lead Scout”, and her family mabari Contessa weighs 170 pounds. an aside, but descriptions of Origins-era Anders cause him to strike me as an Enneagram 7

- if Hawke killed Anders for his actions at the end of DAII, disciples (like-minded mages) elevated him to martyrdom for his valiant blow against their oppressors. if Anders lived, after the Kirkwall Rebellion he’s not only a pariah but arguably the most universally despised person alive in all of Thedas. even among the Rebel Mages he’s considered an extremist, and there’s apparently hardly a mage alive who’s in any way pleased with his actions 8| according to this book, hundreds died when Kirkwall Chantry blew up

- one of Alistair’s few indulgences as King was commissioning a custom pike designed specially for him. it’s a masterwork ironbark twohanded spear, and was inspired by Oghren’s old off-color jokes about pike-twirling.

- “Alistair is one of the few truly good people in Thedas”

- he sees siring Morrigan’s child as a fate worse than death

- whatever her outcome, Anora remains a Queen of Ferelden in her heart

- Leliana is still the girl that had a pet nug she named Schmooples, despite it all

- after the Fifth Blight, Dog was allowed to rest/retire, settle down, find a mate, and produce many Mabari pups. these pups share the ferocity of their father, and could prove equally valuable companions to those worthy of their loyalty. after his passing, there’s a good chance that interested parties would be after his bones to display them as a prize or curio.

- far from just using the network of mirrors to hamper both sides in the Orlesian Civil War, back when Briala had control of the eluvians she also used them to bring food to alienages, gaining the support of City Elves in the process, and to aid elves in other ways too. she’s also noted to have been doing what she could to gain the support of the Dalish, and that her logic was that the longer she could drag out and harry the Orlesian war effort, the more time she would have to free her People from their bonds. her goals are for all of the elves of Orlais, City and Dalish both, and she’s making efforts to bring unity between the two. in the Orlesian court she spends time, through intrigue, supporting nobles who support elves and tearing down those who do not. Briala is bae ok I added that last bit myself

- “Many Dalish don’t see city elves as being truly elves and so don’t see any particular reason to help them, and for that matter why would anyone want to have equality with a shem?”

- in need of an Inquisitor to head up their soon-to-be-hatched recreation of the Inquisition of old, and potential allies of the Chantry and the Divine, Leliana had set out in search of the Hero of Ferelden while Cassandra sought Hawke.

- rogue Seekers as well as the templars and rebel mages were in attendance at the Conclave. before the sky opened, Cassandra and Varric were supposed to address the Conclave, so that Varric could recount his tale of the Champion

- I like this snippet on Cass’s development: “introspection is a difficult skill to learn, however, and her brash impulsiveness often leaves her deeply chagrined or ashamed of mistakes that could have been avoided had she taken time to consider before rushing to judgement. Or to paraphrase her own recriminations, recent events taught her anything, it’s the extent of her own ignorance and short-sightedness.” I like to think this sort of reflection and development applies to her looking back on some of the ill-thought comments she made early in the course of DA:I, like asking Lavellan “Isn’t there room for another god?” and similar.

- Cass and Galyan could never make a stable, serious relationship, but they did get together when they could and harbored feelings for each other right up until he died at the Conclave Q.Q

- “Celene does, in fact, have sympathy for the elves,”    ಠ_ಠ

- Cole perceives pain as very nearly a physical thing with which he can interact. his unhesitating stream-of-consciousness recounting of peoples’ most painful memories occurs because he wants to excise the pain by exposing it and helping his subject through it

- This part on how Dorian can potentially be used by GMs in campaigns: “Dorian provides a strong candidate for a high-society Tevinter who would employ the heroes. Due to his position in Tevinter nobility as well as his experience in researching arcane lore, he would be able to provide access to Tevinter archives or artifacts in return for tasks the party performs for him.” Echoes of Dorian’s role in Dragon Age 4, perhaps?

- idk i just really like the parallels in the Grey Warden order recalling Fiona to Weisshaupt and making the shocking discovery that she was cured of the Taint, and the order recalling the Hero of Ferelden upon learning that no Warden died to deal the killing blow on the Archdemon, if Morrigan’s ritual was completed

- literally everything about Fiona

- Fiona’s silverite battlemage staff is emblazoned with the Theirin coat of arms.. my heart...

- the lil section on romancing Harding

- bit more insight into Qunari views on gender and trans people

- an alternate version of the story of Flemeth and Conabar; Flemeth was betrothed to the poet Osen, but they were very poor. The nobleman Conabar struck a deal with Osen to buy her. she agreed but Conabar recanted, claiming he had no money to pay. he killed Osen and imprisoned her. she called upon the demon to aid her, but it only became her guide and never possessed her. she killed Conabar and fled.

- Harding’s calling cards in guerrilla warfare are latrines booby-trapped with Antivan Fire or hornet nests. a former bard and fellow scout even immortalized one such escapade in a spectacularly graphic limerick

- Josie’s dangerousness, hardworkingness, talent, formidableness and high sense of personal responsibility/ethics is emphasized 👏 “she is one of the most gifted communicators and stateswomen alive”!!

- the Charger Dalish “hails from a secret group of elves. It has long been thought that the elves had regained the secrets to lost magic, and Dalish is living proof”.

[cruelangelstheses]

red jenny needs a rhythm guitarist!

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: sera/female inquisitor, sigrun, charade words: 2k additional tags: modern au, punk rock band, first meetings, fluff description: one night while performing with her band, the red jennies, sera spots a beautiful girl in the crowd. a/n: this was supposed to be done for yesterday - @serappreciationweek day 3: headcanons/aus - but i was delayed due to having to evacuate for hurricane dorian lol. anyway this type of au is my fav thing ever and sera said gay punk anarchist rights

read it on ao3

—

The air thrums with anticipation. Backstage, Sera can hear the buzz of the crowd as she finishes applying her eyeliner, fucking it up on purpose because she loves the way it looks. She laughs and sticks her tongue out until it touches her septum piercing. Everything about her calls for chaos: old sneakers with holes in them, ripped skull-patterned shorts, spiked cuffs, tattoos on her arms, a black tank top hand-painted with the anarchy symbol, and a myriad of piercings in both ears—some studs, hoops, a chain, and an industrial piercing. One good thing about being an elf, she’s found, is that she has more space for them.

Behind her, Sigrun whistles the opening of one of their songs. “You about ready?”

Sera spins around in her chair and grins. “Frigging right I am.”

“Well, good,” Charade adds as she makes her way toward them, her bass guitar slung over one shoulder, “because I think they’re getting antsy out there.”

“Dagna said they were almost done,” Sigrun says as she takes a look in the mirror and smudges her eyeliner so that she looks a bit more...dead inside. Her knife earrings, black fingerless gloves, black jeans, and combat boots add to the “don’t fuck with me” look, complete with a black leather jacket that she’ll probably take off halfway through the set so she doesn’t die of heatstroke. Still, her dedication is inspiring.

As if on cue, Dagna, the band’s audio engineer, appears in the doorway of the dressing room. “Everything’s all set up,” she says with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready. Knock ‘em dead.”

Sera jumps to her feet and claps her hands together, grabbing her black-and-yellow guitar from off the floor. “Yes! Okay!”

In the center of the room, the Red Jennies form a tight circle. They’re a three-piece group, a “power trio,” with Sera as the lead singer and guitarist, Charade as the bassist, and Sigrun on the drums. It’d be nice to find a rhythm guitarist so Sera can focus on lead guitar, but they make it work. Charade has her hair tied back into a bun and is dressed in her usual getup: jean shorts, a t-shirt from the thrift store, and a plaid flannel, this one red.

Once they put all their hands in the center, Sera starts their chant. “Never mind the rich tits!”

“Never mind the bullshit!” Sigrun adds with a smirk.

“Never mind the bollocks,” Charade says, laughing.

Then, together, throwing their hands up in the air, they shout, “Here’s the Red Jennies!”

Sera leads them out of the room and up the stairs. The music playing inside the bar stops, and the crowd roars in excitement. They know what that means. It’s a relatively small venue, but it still packs a decent amount of people, and the show tonight is sold out—sold out for them. The Red Jennies are the main act. The idea makes Sera’s head spin.

Sera is the first person to step onstage, and the crowd cheers louder as the band takes their places, Sera and Charade plugging in their guitars and Sigrun sitting down at her drum set. Then Sera grabs onto the microphone with one hand and shouts, “Make some frigging noise, Wycome!”

As the crowd yells, Sigrun taps her drumsticks together four times to count off, and then they jump into their opening song, a politically-charged anthem aptly titled “Eat the Rich!!!” It’s one of their more “screamy” songs, which is why it’s first: perfect to pump up the crowd, as well as remind them why they’re here.

As Sera takes in the crowd, she notices a pair of bright purple eyes shining near the back of the venue. The fact that she can see them glowing all the way from the stage is enough to tell her that they belong to another elf, though she could’ve figured that out by the pointed ears poking out from underneath the girl’s mop of brown hair, as well as the distinctly Dalish tattoo that surrounds her left eye. She’s sitting at the edge of the bar with a drink in hand, watching the show with interest and looking as though she’s never seen the Red Jennies before.

For a short, weird moment, Sera feels...exposed? Judged? An age-old fear grips her, that she’ll be looked down upon—like always—or seen as uncivilized, crazy, a traitor to elves, perhaps all of the above if she’s unlucky enough. But then the girl looks right at her, right at her, and smiles, a snaggletooth grin that transforms her whole face, and those fears wash away, and Sera is herself again.

Alright, pretty elfy girl, she thinks. I’ll give you a show.

The concert is a whirlwind of jumping and sweating, of starting mosh pits and screaming her lungs out to a room full of strangers. It’s wild and cathartic, and no matter how many times she does it, she never gets tired of it—of reaching fans new and old, of hearing people yell her own words back to her, of music so loud she can feel it in her chest. When she’s surrounded by the wailing of her guitar, the heat of the stage lights, Charade’s voice on backup vocals, the rapidfire drums...that’s when she’s home.

Sometimes they hang out after a performance, and sometimes they don’t. Luckily for Sera, they have a day off between this show and the next, and they’re not planning on leaving Wycome until tomorrow, so they have some time to mingle. The girl at the bar only seemed to get more and more into the performance as it went along; Sera will be damned if she doesn’t at least speak to her.

She practically leaves her bandmates in the dust, as she heads back out into the bar barely ten minutes after the end of the show. “Sorry! Have to catch a pretty girl!” she calls over her shoulder. “Updates later!”

It takes a little while to get to the bar, since the crowd still hasn’t really dispersed. Since she’s small, it’s not difficult to weave through people without them really noticing, but she gets caught more than once by a fan. They’re wonderful, though, so she doesn’t really mind. Normally she loves talking to fans, and she still does; it’s just that tonight she has someone specific in mind.

It’s her lucky day. When she finally reaches the bar, she finds that not only has the pretty girl not left yet—the seat next to her is empty. Taking a deep breath, Sera pulls herself up onto the barstool and says, “Hey.”

The girl jumps a little and turns around, her eyes widening. “Oh. Hey!” she says, and Maker, her voice is so nice. “Great show, by the way!”

“Uh. Thanks,” Sera replies, already feeling her face heating up. The girl is even prettier in person, all tan skin and kissable lips and eyes like starlight. Sera doesn’t normally go for elves—too afraid they’ll think she isn’t elfy enough, and besides, a lot of them are too skinny and bony for her taste anyway—but this girl’s arms are more toned than most elves’, and her face is rounder and fuller. “I’m Sera. If you didn’t know.”

The girl giggles a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t, actually,” she says sheepishly. “I’d never even heard of you guys until a few days ago. My brother bought two tickets and gave one to me. Don’t know where he is now, though.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. “I’m Rana. Rana Lavellan.”

Her name sounds like music. Sera nods. “Saw you when I was up there, yeah?” she says, gesturing to the stage. “Your eyes are really...wow.”

Rana smirks a little. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For a moment, they both just kind of stare at each other. Then Sera clears her throat and says, “You ever listened to any punk before us?” She smiles mischievously. “Or did we take your punk virginity?” She says the last bit in a more dramatic voice.

Rana laughs. “Unfortunately, no, you did not,” she says, “though that would’ve been something. My brother invited me because he knew I liked your kind of music.” She deepens her voice in order to impersonate him. “‘Rana! You have to check out this band! They’re a bunch of punk rock lesbians singing about eating the rich! All your favorite things!’”

They both laugh at that. Then Rana adds, “Sometimes I think I’d like to be in a band. But I don’t usually get along well with other people. I have to really click with them, or see something in them that makes me want to talk to them.”

Suddenly, Sera feels immensely honored to be having such a fantastic conversation with her. “Oh!” she says. “What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar.”

Sera swears that the stars align right then and there. “Wait,” she says, trying not to get too far ahead of herself just yet. “Can you play rhythm?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Rana replies immediately, and then it starts to dawn on her. “Oh, yeah, I noticed you’re the only guitarist—”

“Want to join the Red Jennies?” Sera blurts. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Rana blinks a few times, somewhat taken aback. “I...didn’t realize you guys were looking for a new member.”

“Well, we’re not, like, putting up ads on Craigslist,” Sera says, speaking quickly, “but we think it’d be nice to have a rhythm person if we could find one, ‘cause then I can do more cool shite on lead.”

Rana seems to think it over for a few moments, and then she nods. “If the other members will have me,” she says, “I’d be honored.”

“They will!” Sera says, finally allowing herself to get excited. “Really. Sigrun looks scary, but she’s lots of fun. And Charade’s a sweetie. Kind of have to work to get on her bad side. It’ll be good! Promise!”

Something twinkles in Rana’s eyes, something like amusement or endearment or pleasant surprise. Her face breaks into that beautiful snaggletooth grin again, and she says, “Then I would love to join the Red Jennies.”

Sera has to cover her mouth to stop from yelling with joy. Holding an index finger up, she pulls out her phone and sends a text into her group chat with Sigrun and Charade: I GOT US A RHYTHM GUITARIST!!!! SHES CUTE AND COOL AND LIKES PUNK AND HATES THE RICH AND I THINK SHES GAY???? DSJFDKFLKSJKD

Charade replies with some shocked and happy emojis. Sigrun says, pics or it didnt happen

Sera tries not to laugh. “They want a picture!”

Rana raises an eyebrow, but there’s a good-natured smile on her face. “Alright.”

Sera opens up the front-facing camera and holds her phone up so that both of their faces are in the shot. Sera does her standard pose—putting a peace sign up to her mouth and sticking her tongue out—while Rana just stares into the camera with a serious face, like she’s posing for a fashion magazine or something. Sera wonders if it’s possible to die of gayness.

When she sends the selfie into the chat, Charade says, Ahhh Sera that’s amazing!! Can’t wait to meet her!!

Sigrun writes, oh she’s definitely gay

Sera grins and turns to Rana, who is watching her expectantly, as if she’s expecting Charade and Sigrun to hate her. “You’re in, Buckles!”

Rana cocks her head. “Buckles?”

Sera nods. “Right. Buckles. That’s you. Said you’re not too good with people, yeah? Like a boot buckle. Serious. But take the boots off, and there’s the softness.”

Rana stares at her in awe for a moment. “You came up with that just now?”

Sera shrugs. “Well. Maybe a few minutes ago.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she adds, “I can change it if you think it’s stupid.”

Rana shakes her head and smiles warmly. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I like it. I think it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sera tries not to blush and glances down at her phone, where she sees another message from Sigrun. This one reads, Go get her, tiger.

Sera grins. “Well then, Buckles,” she says, “welcome to the Jennies.”

[tropicoola]

Character backstory and explanation for one of my main inquisitors under the cut. Will feature images.

So I wanted to write about one of my main inquisitors, this is Levant Lavellan. She’s not really a Lavellan, because she was adopted into the clan when she was exiled from her home to the west. 

She’s a teenage inquisitor (16 when Inquisition starts and 20 when Trespasser ends) and a descendant of Ghilan’nain’s mutated slaves who escaped slavery before the fall of Arlathan/Elvhenan. It’s been referenced in the game that Ghilan’nain would create creatures and even experimented on her own followers/slaves so this was where I took the idea from, I suspected that there were at least some failed attempts. Anyways, eventually the slaves grew fed up  with how they were treated and attempted to flee. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Fen’harel had heard of this and wanted to help them, so he did but they were terrified. Having heard the terrifying stories of him. In addition, they were afraid they would no longer be treated as Elvhen for how beastly they looked and the fact that they were no longer immortal due to their mixed bloodline. So when Fen’harel was not looking, they escaped him and fled to the west over the Hunterhorn Mountains.

It was a mass exodus of grand peril, for the journey was filled with monsters, dark jungles, chilling mountains, scorching deserts, and, for the most part, uncharted territory. A normal Elvhen would have died, however they were no normal Elvhen. For they carried animalistic traits. For having the blood of animals and beasts, they had claws that could help them climb, some had wings, others had gills, others had fur that kept them warm, and most had unnatural colored skin (green, blue, silver, etc) that helped hide them from predators. Despite their different powers, there was one thing they all had in common - a deep tie to the nature that surrounded them. These people were almost entirely cut off from the Fade and instead they turned to the Earth beneath, but not to the Titans. They paid close attention to the sun, the stars, the winds, and all the creatures that crawled on the crust of the world. They did not talk to animals, but they understood that animals knew the way through these places the best and so they listened to them, followed them, and eventually found a clearing far from monsters and even farther from Elvhenan. It was here where they built their first settlement, living in peace with the animals. Eventually the settlement turned into an Empire and they dubbed it ‘Neo-Arlathan’ and closed its gates from foreigners for a very long time. Ever since, paying respects to natures and having beastly roots have become an intrinsic part of their culture.

I made art of what Neo-Arlathan would look like and although it is by no means as beautiful or intricate like Arlathan, it does have a charm of it’s own. Much of it and the people - I have taken inspiration from myths and legends of Faeries and their courts, their politics, and their appearances. Here are examples of the kind of aesthetic it would have: x, x, x, and x, x, x, x. The last four are mainly to point out how beastly they can look and yes, some do look exactly like that (also follow the artist!! they deserve a lot of love!! i admire them a lot).

(Pictured above, Levant with her claws coming out during Trespasser - a sign she is slowly maturing into whatever form she’ll be in as an adult)

In much of Faerie lore, the Fae are depicted as having pointed ears and dressed in clothes woven from insects (butterfly wings, moth wings, etc) and plants. They are known to be tricksters and volatile when even the slightest bit offended, their politics are commonly divided into two - the seelie and unseelie court. The first being filled with kinder Fae and the latter with more malevolent ones. Levant belongs to the latter, specifically the Autumn court. I won’t get into too much about this but if you think human politics is complicated, Fae politics is ten times more. Taking inspiration from this, the court Levant is in has a High Power (the king or queen) and needs an advisor because of how dangerous the politics are. Levant was studying to be the next advisor and was close to becoming one until a dispute between her and the High Power caused her to get exiled. 

In short, the High Powers (plural because the others in different courts were involved) wanted to 1) destroy any remnant of Arlathan/Elvhenan and 2) rename Neo-Arlathan under the basis of ‘why should we keep records of our abusers? let us burn it and move ahead’. Levant was extremely against this, especially because she was a scholar who was very interested in her people’s past. She even started a rebellion with her colleagues but that was stopped fast by the ones in charge, although her colleagues were allowed still in the Empire - because she was their leader she was sentenced to be exiled into Thedas under the basis of ‘if she loved Elvhenan so much, she can live there for the rest of her damn life’.

Distraught and alone in Thedas, she was surprised to find.... well... a lot of things (racist things, war things, apparently Elvhenan was dead things, and did you know about the Fade? WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF THE FADE things). She literally did not understand anything, that was until she met the Dalish - until she met clan Lavellan. They were literally everything she could have hoped for. Unlike her people, they cared for what was left of Arlathan and Elvhenan. They also worshipped the Evanuris/Creators, unlike her people who saw them as slave keeping monsters (Levant is a rebel, at this point she’s everything against her people). This, in retrospect, is incredibly funny for me. Because she has been fed nothing but the truth since she was born, ‘Evanuris bad, they keep slaves’ ‘We have actual records of them being bad’ ‘Why do you think we look like this, Levant’ and Levant’s just ‘(in Dorian’s mocking voice) tRiTE pROPagANDA’. 

Anyways, although Levant wanted to share what she knew from her home she knew they wouldn’t believe (after meeting with other Dalish that didn’t really agree prior to clan Lavellan). She simply went along with the ‘City Elf who wants to be Dalish’ and she was in (reminder that she was 14 when she was exiled into Thedas)! She became a hunter and was much loved, and she loved everyone back just as much. Yet over time, it seemed like her secrets could not be kept for long. Eventually it got out, drama ensued, and after so much time trying to be Dalish - something she was not, Levant felt something in her broke.  She knew she would never be Dalish, never be like them, so she refused her Vallaslin and told them she had to leave - she needed to see Thedas and find out where she really belonged. Her clan forgave her over time and advised her to be careful, for an unmarked elf meant something - usually easier prey for slavers. Understanding this, Levant made it routine to draw her Vallaslin on every morning with a special ink and wash it off every night. She chose Mythal and clung to her religion of the Creators like a child to their mother’s skirts, praying she’d find her place.

She just never imagined it would be the inquisition. 

Now since we know how inquisition plays out, here are just a few tidbits:

Nobody believes her at first (typical)

Until they find her notes and books she took with her from the Empire (at which point Solas is ??????? ???????? SHE KNOWS ?????????)

Solas’ reactions are the funniest because while she sees him as a mentor and eventually a father figure he is almost constantly on the verge of ‘she has so much potential’ or ‘i need to get the fuck out of here’

Also it’s funny to see him going absolutely crazy at the fact she’s like ‘yeah my people said the evanuris were bad and they kept slaves and vallaslin r slave markings but they’re really not’ and he’s like (in a croaked voice) ‘oh??? who said so?’ ‘the dalish’ (in an even more croaked voice) ‘and you believe them?’ ‘i swear by the creators’ (cue solas’ inner monologue going absolute bonkers) IT’S LIKE SHE’S HITTING ALL THE MARKS BUT SHE KEEPS MISSING THEM AT THE SAME TIME???

‘oh but my people said fen’harel was bad’ ‘at least your people and the dalish have one thing in common’ ‘right?’ ‘.... yes’

which only makes the ending of inquisition and trespasser hurt even more

finding out that her people were right and Levant has been playing ‘know-it-all’ for the past 6 years of her life, that the creators really were bad, that mythal is in a form of a human woman, and that a man she considered her father figure and mentor was the dread wolf? who tried to help her people but they refused him? and now he wants to destroy the world?

her troubles with identity (inquisitor? levant? a lavellan? elvhen? an elf? a fae? a beast? a person? an imposter? a fool?), religion (who to believe, the maker? the creators? the earth and beasts, as her people do?), family issues, and culture.

culture because she suddenly finds it unfair that her people got off this train wreck of a history before the fall, how many lives were spared because they left early. how grateful and horrified she might have been when she saw the shattered library, heard the voices of the distant brethren of her ancestors.

standing before solas at the end and wondering if she should just go home, beg for a place in her court, wait for the world to end - what hope did thedas have? after having her heart shattered like that?

were her people right? was burning anything they had of arlathan/elvhenan justified? were her emotions just stupid, insensitive of the truth of it all? were her people being prideful and haughty as usual, or was there an act of kindness and progress in it? what if they were right? what if they really should just move on? should she move on as well?

god knows if she doesn’t, she might end up like Solas.

but like... despite that i feel like she’d still come to believe what the dalish believe. sort of caught in between her leaving thedas to go back home or just fully 100% acknowledging herself as a lavellan or just being a silent and distant protector of the dalish

yknow, like a wolf (considering she’ll grow to have a wolf and lion-like appearance)

like a neo-fen’harel.

O SHIT I LIKE THAT!!!!!

anyways sorry for all the word vomit but this is what i have on levant so far!

also cool tidbit: instead of Solas offering Abelas another place in the world, it’s Levant who offers him the secret to getting to the Empire in the west. After a lot of talking, he takes it and leaves.

[elellan]

Chapters: 29/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age (Video Games) Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

CHAPTER 29. HALAMSHIRAL

An unfamiliar whisper woke her up. “Shit…”, she grumbled. “Shhh, quiet. Here, slowly, take my hand.” Her head was pulsating and ringing and the floor was hard and cold under her. She opened her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness around her. A torch was giving its last sparkles on the floor beside her. “Inquisitor, do you remember your name and where you are?” “Ooofff…”, she groaned as she finally managed to sit down and discern her surroundings, “Yes, yes…” “I saw who did it, Inquisitor.” Riwan slowly rubbed the back of her head as she started to remember what had just happened. An epiphany struck her as soon as she noticed her empty hands. She gasped loudly, but “Quiet!” the man said. “Where are the papers?” she desperately whispered back. “Gone. Will you please remain calm and tell me how you feel?” “I’m fine” she angrily retorted as she slapped her thighs in frustration, “But this - this shouldn’t have happened.” “I’m sorry, I saw them getting away and-” “You saw them? And you did nothing?” “Yes, but-” “Aren’t you a chevalier?” The angry elf’s eyes made the young man recoil and crawl a little farther away from her on the marble ground. “Inquisitor, if they recognized me-” “Shit” Riwan said, not able to restrain herself anymore, “Fenedhis!” “Inquisitor, please. They must not find us here.” “Who were they? Did you at least manage to take a good look at them?” “Yes, there were two mercenaries and… an Arlequin? They were fully armed. I have only my short sword with me and I couldn’t risk-” “Why are you even following me?” she cut him short, getting up against his advice and massaging her head once again. They had hit her good. Lucky for her to still be alive. “I told you, I’m interested in my uncle’s doings as much as you are. My legacy-” “And I already told you that I’m not formally allied with your uncle or with anyone else in this palace!” “Yes, I know, but”, he reached for her as she swayed a little bit on her feet, but she declined his help, “but be it good or bad news I’m concerned about what he is doing. I want the truth and I want to keep my name clean.” Anger stifled inside Riwan’s chest. She looked at the brass statuette lying beside her feet. “They hit you with that,” the man said as soon as he noticed her eyes darting towards it. Riwan sighed and picked the torch up from the ground. She blew on it, trying to rekindle the fire, but it was no use. Her head still throbbed and she threw the torch on the ground with an angry groan. “May I?” the man said. He took her silence for consent and exited the room with the torch. He came back as silent as a fox after a few minutes, the torch was lit again. “Here”, he handed it to her with a smile, “What do we do now?” Riwan took the torch and examined the face that looked back at her in the dark. The fire made his dark eyes look like glowing pieces of coal, his light moustache and long black hair engulfed his fine face with glossy reflexes. Duke Bastien’s nephew surely must have been a very skilled chevalier and a real womanizer, but to Riwan was proving himself to be a nuisance and a burden, to say the least. Just a few hours before she was gaping at the high ceilings covered with lighted braziers and chandeliers, at the neverending tables filled with cakes and strange, coloured foods, at the orlesian nobles dressed in the most extravagant ways - with huge masks or hats, covered in gems and feathers, in fine iridescent cloth and turbans. And now she was standing in a cold and dark room inside the palace, surrounded by spies, her stomach growling, her head hurting like hell and this guy pestering her like a leech. He had approached her in the ballroom, after the bell had rung a few times to announce the beginning of the soiree, and presented himself as Gerard de Chalons, third and only living nephew to Duke Gaspard de Chalons, captain in one of the countless legions of the orlesian army. He had bowed an impeccable bow as his hair kept tight by a silk ribbon had gently slid on his shoulder. No sooner had Riwan greeted him than he had started talking quickly about himself, his role in the orlesian military, and then about his uncle and he had gently attracted her to the garden where he had openly asked for her help in investigating his relative’s doings. Completely baffled by the young man’s silver tongue, Riwan had managed to finally say a few words, covered by the gurgling sound of the fountain beside them. Anyone who might look at them would have thought that they were enjoying an innocuous amicable chat - if not slightly romantic. She had quickly eyed Dorian, who stood leaning against a column in the distance, a glass of wine in his hand, but who was clearly pretending not to even see her. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Ser”, was all that she could say. Would Josephine approve of her? She suddenly couldn’t remember anything at all about their endless manners lessons in Skyhold. Gerard had sighed and had taken off his feathery hat, then, perhaps in a gesture that was meant to shock her, he had taken off the thin, bright red mask that covered his face. “Inquisitor, I know that my uncle has been having suspicious dealings lately and... “, he turned his eyes around him as if searching for the right words, “You must understand that I have taken the matter at heart: my legacy is at stake, I must know what’s going on. Please, let me come with you.” She knew that she couldn’t trust him, he had been trained his whole life to play the game, even if he was a chevalier, and she found it quite alarming that he had sought for her help so openly. How could he know that she was after his uncle’s secrets too? And not only his but the Empress’s too and even Briala’s. “Ser-” “Please, call me Gerard,” he interrupted her. “Ser,” she repeated, with a more decisive voice than before, “As the Inquisitor, I am here merely to participate in the negotiations and the peace talks. I am not investigating over any suspicious dealing, as you have called it, and I am not interested in digging out secrets about a man such as your uncle is.” The chevalier had sighed and his flamboyant manner had suddenly left him. He looked earnestly towards her, his thin nose twitched over his moustache as he nervously inspired. “Inquisitor, aren’t you as worried as I am about the Empire’s situation? Is the Inquisition going to stand beside the Empress or is it going to be the invisible hand that will strike her down with my uncle’s one?” “You speak bold words against me, Ser.” “I would never do that if I did not see in you a good woman who is ready to do what is right for this land. I put my honour of chevalier at stake with these bold words, Madame.” Riwan had smiled in hearing him say Madame with his strong orlesian accent. His gravity looked quite funny to her and she would have even agreed to accept his help, would it not endanger their whole operation in Halamshiral. “I am ready to do what is right for this land as you are, Ser, and I will do so by joining the peace talks tonight and advising each party as best as I can if required to do so.” Gerard had sighed, his head had jerked in annoyance but soon he got over himself and smiled a tight smile. “I understand,” he said. He eyed her for a moment and then turned towards the fountain, looking at the caprice coins on its bottom. He still made no sign of wanting to leave her, so she waited patiently for him to resume talking. She crossed her arms and tried to look around her as unnoticed as she could. When he turned towards her again he was composed and serene as before, “Then I hope that you will save a dance for me, Madame. The quadrille, perhaps?” “Oh…” she felt her cheeks flushing and tried to remember what Josephine had told her about declining invites, “But I-” “Or are you already engaged to someone else?”. His tone was suave and pressing. She gritted her teeth and smiled nonetheless, thinking about the decisive “No” that Cullen had blurted to her when she had asked him to dance. “In fact, I am not…” she said, feeling like a mouse caught in the paws of a cat. “Very well then!” he exclaimed. His dark eyes shone bright again and lost the malice that had crossed them before, “I will see you in the ballroom as soon as the next bell sounds then, Madame. Unless,” he added while bowing deeply, “we run into each other somewhere else…”. With that, he shot her another quick glance and marched towards the patio door with his shoulders square and his pace secure, his hat and mask already back on his head. “Oh, Mythal, what have I gotten into…” she thought to herself, nervously biting her lower lip. Now, Riwan was glaring at this same man, who was lurking in the shadows as she was doing and was up to no good exactly as she was. He had caught her red-handed sneaking in the palace, clearly searching for the same evidence as she was, and he had - well, at least he hadn’t hit her in the head with a brass statue, for she had turned in time to see someone in a grey vest doing it, while Gerard was covered in the chevalier’s blue and red. She sighed, “Very well, what do you suggest… Gerard?” Her head started to hurt even more as soon as she saw the excited look that the man gave her - he had discarded his mask and hat, or he had probably hidden them somewhere. “Right, so - I doubt my uncle would hire an Arlequin to do this job and…” he started pacing around, his hands making big exaggerated movements in the air around him while talking, “why would he even steal documents that concern him?” “To hide them from us?” Riwan said, crossing her arms, while her eyebrows darted upwards. The chevalier laughed under his breath, “Yes, it could be. But I know my uncle, I bet that he is more preoccupied with uncovering Celene’s dirty affairs, rather than hiding his.” “Very well, then it could be Celene herself-” “No, the Empress is just waiting for my uncle to misstep and-” “So there’s someone else fooling around with us tonight,” Riwan cut him short, moving the torch around so as to light every corner of the room, “Interesting…” “Yes. And don’t forget that we should show ourselves as soon as the next bell sounds. You still owe me that dance, Inquisitor…” Riwan scoffed and looked at the young man grinning in front of her. He didn’t avert his eyes and followed her suit as soon as she moved towards the doors that led to the library. “You’re joking, right?” she finally said, one hand on the handle of the door. “I am not,” he replied, taking one step towards her and grabbing the torch from her hand. “We should put this out, it gives us away, don’t you think?” “Between you and Duchess Florianne, I’ll waste all my time on the dancefloor and our investigation-” “Let’s go!”. He cut her short, put his hand on the handle over hers and opened the door. They crept along dark halls and corridors, passed through pompous bedrooms and over lush carpets and after plenty of sneaking, crawling, hiding and, Riwan had to admit to herself, snickering too, they found a compromising message meant for Bastien signed by someone who certainly wasn’t a chevalier nor even one of the Duke’s personal servants. As the bell rang announcing the impending dances, Riwan clutched the piece of thin paper and hid it in her breast pocket. Gerard had handed it to her with a faint bow - “I trust it to you, Inquisitor”, he said, and Riwan thought for a moment about telling him about the documents concerning Celene and Briala that she had found earlier on. But fortunately, the bell rang again. He took her hand and led her out of the gloomy study they were standing in, “You know what to do with it. Now let’s head to happier engagements.” “I didn’t think you would hand this message over to me…” Riwan stammered, crouching beside him, her hand still tight in his. “I told you already that I think you are a good woman... and,” he added, noticing her puzzled look in the moonlit corridor, “do not doubt me, I will find this mercenary and discover the truth behind this message. I do not need proof, I do not participate in the peace talks like you, Inquisitor. I just want to punch this man and my uncle in the face and know whether I’m going to face disgrace or lead a tranquil life happily ever after”. They darted across the corridor and reached the doors to the vestibule. “Besides, you will help me if my name will be disgraced, right?” He smiled confidently, retrieved his hat and mask from behind a large vase and gestured towards the door. “And what if I don’t?” Riwan said. “You will, Inquisitor. Your army just signed a treaty with my legion one week ago”. He smirked and opened the door, nearly pushing her towards the lit stairs. She bit her tongue as he offered her his arm and led her to the ballroom. She barely saw a puzzled Cassandra looking towards her before exiting the vestibule. “You snake,” she hissed, her anger and the bright light of the ballroom nearly blinding her after the long hour spent in the dark. “Couldn’t you tell me earlier?” “I didn’t? I was too anxious to bring you to my side. Besides, this was more fun right?” Riwan couldn’t possibly think of a clever retort and soon she was standing in the middle of the ballroom, hundreds of eyes gazing at her, while the other couples arranged themselves around them and the musicians tuned their instruments. Panic crept upon her as soon as the shock of the revelation left her and as soon as she understood that she was now going to dance the quadrille in front of the whole orlesian court with one of its renowned chevaliers. Her mouth turned dry and she clutched the dalish brooch on her chest for the briefest moment. Then, Gerard and the other men bowed and the dance started. As they twirled and hopped and exchanged couples as the quadrille commanded, Gerard would speak from time to time, whenever he found himself beside her. Thankfully enough, Bull had proven to be a much rougher companion than the chevalier, and Riwan found herself gently led on the dancefloor, through the movements and the music. “I didn’t mean to deceive you, Inquisitor,” he said, “Besides, I technically did nothing wrong.” “I feel deceived all the same,” Riwan answered, breathless and tense, “Even if we technically are allies.” He smiled mischievously and let her hand slip into another gentleman’s one. Riwan smiled back at her new partner as best as she could and tried to snap back at Gerard as soon as he was by her side again. “Do not doubt me, Inquisitor,” he anticipated her, “Or my loyalty. As I said, it was egoistic motives that put me on my uncle’s tracks tonight. And I won’t endanger an alliance with the Inquisition so proficiently stipulated.” “If only you hadn’t caught me senseless-” “You would have probably stayed there for a while and missed that message completely. Or someone would have killed you first.” He grinned and Riwan breathed in deeply as they started the last sequence of steps of the dance. “Right…” she exhaled and concentrated on her unsure feet. He took both her hands in his and came near her as the instruments played the last note. “We both have what we wanted. But you gained more from our little bargain -”, he bowed deeply while the crowd applauded the dancing couples, “You now have my life in your hands. I will kill that mercenary scoundrel as soon as I find him. And I’ll learn what to do with my uncle after that.” The nobles around them started chatting and laughing as they dispersed around the dancefloor, while both of them remained still, one in front of the other. “But-” “If you don’t find him first, right, but, you see - I have no peace talkings to attend to.” He barely listened to her answer: “What do you mean with 'you'll learn what to do with your uncle'? Are you going to kill-” “That is exactly what I have to do, Inquisitor," he interrupted her. He gave her a charming and confident smile and led her away from the crowd. He didn’t leave her again until he left her in someone else’s company, as etiquette required. He bowed and caressed Josephine only by looking at her. “Madame Montilyet, Madame Lavellan…”. And with that he blended into the colourful crowd, disappearing between the nobles and the diplomats, the feathers and the furs.