#though lady adaar is the one with the Mark

[paragonrobits]

Lady Adaar and her stabby elf friend Mahaenon have a talk about how weird it is that Solas actually goes by the elven word for Pride.

Also on Ao3 and FFnet!

Haven was a nice enough place to call home. Perhaps not for long, as had mused the inner circle of the fledgling Inquisition's agents; the eight of them, forming the very core of the reborn organization's most powerful and skilled agents, all clustering around the Herald of Andraste. When you were a qunari surrounded by, mostly, humans and ones that might have a ax to grind against anyone with horns and metallic-colored skin, you were grateful for company that was going to protect you from them.

Particularly when you were an apostate. The word meant little but, somehow, Herah Adaar suspected, the so-called authorities of the Chantry would find some way to accuse her of horrible crimes because she was qunari and a mage at the same time.

She quite liked the situation here. She enjoyed the company; the Trevelyan twins were good-natured company, much more down to earth than human nobility could honestly be expected to be, and they were from the Free Marches, same as her. Her husband was along for the ride - if 'husband' was really the same for a long-term breeding pair arranged by them, just for the sake of expanding their families, but they got along well enough and considered the other a great friend - and Kaaras was always a sucker for the notion of protecting the weak, and the small. The dwarven Cadash cousins were reckless rouges, but good ones; she liked them, and she trusted them with her life... if not her sovereigns. And the elves...

Dammit she was pretty sure she was mostly in love there. At least, she didn't want to see them or their clan hurt worse than they already had been.

Guess I'm a sucker for being a hero, too, Adaar thought, as she peacefully drank in the bar Sister Leliana had set up in Haven.

Sitting beside her, and somehow managing to make simple posture do the job of daring the world to try something just because he was Dalish surrounded by humans, Mahanon slugged his drink back, and if the extremely strong rum did more than make his throat tickle, there wasn't the slightest sign of it. A few dwarves - possibly ex-Carta, the Inquisition had been courting their ranks and a lot of them thought that honorary clan status granted by some very tricky political maneuvering through the Inquisition with Orzammar was worth the risk - muttered in astonishment, as did the humans in the tavern and even a couple of the Vashoth that were trickling into the ranks.

Adaar contemplated trying to best him in a drinking contest. She thought better of it; she was big for a qunari, the horned giants of Par Vollen, and elves were small and frailer than humans. He was nearly half her size, but he could just drink and drink without the slightest hint of inebriation. She wondered where he was putting it all. Thinking of how Sera could eat so much without gaining an ounce, Herah supposed that elves had to have a truly wicked metabolism.

Adaar glanced around hopefully. "Damn. Doesn't look like the others are coming around."

Mahanon shook his head, his facial tattoos so pale that they nearly shone against his dark skin. The tree design of Mythal and her chosen role wasn't too different from the vibrant vitaar war paint she wore, even now. "Nah. Doesn't look like it." He shrugged mildly. "Still. I suppose I wasn't really expecting them to."

"Where'd they get of too, then?"

He gave her a vaguely smug, knowing look. "And how do you know that I know, eh?"

Adaar chuckled. "Because you know where everyone is, all the time. Come on." She laid a heavy hand on the table; not her good hand either. She did her best to keep the hand that had been... marked, hidden from view. It still tingled, almost hurt now, and the flashes of green and raw magical energy tended to upset people. And the Mark was on her good hand. It was a bother.

He noticed her doing that, and his face fell as he saw her grunt with the effort of not showing the pain.

Mahanon liked messing with people, and he had a body count higher than the entire Valo-Kas company ('shems that deserved it', he reassured them with a wild grin, and since there were so many humans that deserved swords in the face, his new friends had nodded... including the Trevelyans, who had something of an inside view of the nastiness of human evil), but he didn't like seeing anyone get hurt, either. The two were probably connected; see a shem making someone miserable, kill the shem, end of hurting. He did not have a particularly fraught internal view.

So for once, he dropped the games and came straight out about it. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Should have told you the others couldn't show." He spoke at length, then. "The Cadash cousins are off some kind of reunion with the golem that helped stop the last Blight."

"Wait. The golem that was with the Hero of Ferelden!?"

"Yep. Same one!"

"The self-aware talking golem? The one that's kind of a jerk?"

"Yep, that one. Seems that this... Shale... is an ancestor of theirs. An old-time Cadash warrior, back when she was a dwarf." Mahanon proposed a theory. "My guess would be that... uh, might be trying to figure out how to make other golems self-aware too."

"Huh. That would be interesting. Imagine all the stuff they've have to talk about."

"I figure it'd mostly be dead boring. Golems mostly just toil and smash darkspawn. Might get repetitive." Mahanon changed the subject. "Now, the humans... honestly I'm not totally sure what they're doing. Not specifics. Way I understand it, Josie thought they'd make dab hands at talking with a delegation of Templars that used to serve at the Ostwick Circle. Something like that. Diplomatic garbage." He refrained from saying shem bullshit but you could, as it wear, hear what he wasn't saying. He had too much grudge with humans to just let go of it - too much pain, too much bad blood, too much suffering and things just getting worse and worse by human hands for thousands of years - but he liked the Trevelyans to be cruel.

"What about your sister?" Adaar asked. "I think I saw her earlier today."

"...Oh yeah. I bet you did." Mahanon growled. "Bet my clan-sister is off chatting with Solas," He gave a dismissive snort.

Adaar rumbled. "And Kaaras is off teaching Sera how to do proper stitching. He's found himself a good one to mother." She took a long drink. Something about Mahanon's tone was bothering her. "Solas... huh. You don't like him?"

"Mm. Complicated, Vashoth." Mahanon stared into his drink, like he was trying to see some kind of portent. "I want to like him. He makes it real easy to like him.. unless you get him talking shit about the Dalish." He sneered, but genteelly. "If I wanted to hear someone be a snob about my people, I'd waste my time with... well, honestly, anyone except you and the others. But its worse, coming from an elf."

Adaar nodded gloomily. "Like when a 'real' qunari says anything about Vashoth like me."

"Yeah. You get it." Mahanon shook his head.

"Listen," Adaar said. "I like Solas, but sometimes it's like listening to my grouchy grandpa complaining about the good old days. It's kind of depressing."

Mahanon grinned. He looked thoughtful. "Thought your family was too young generation to have grandparents."

"Okay, fine, fair enough, but there's an old dwarf that hangs out at the farm and complains to mama and papa and all my dozen littler siblings about how much he liked it when he still lived in Orzammar. He's like a grandpa. I guess." Adaar raised a hand. "One of these days I want to introduce Varric to him. Just for the snark."

"Please let me be there, I want to hear all the sarcasm." Mahanon chuckled. "...Solas. Solas. Even the name is weird. Who takes a name like that when you're trying not to creep out the shems?"

Adaar gave him a look. "Come again?"

"Solas." Mahanon grunted. "Come on, friend. I know you've been trying to learn my people's languages. His name doesn't sound weird to you?"

"No? Should it?"

"Huh. Must not have seen it, I suppose. Look." Mahanon gestured vaguely, a sign that he wasn't as together as he liked to pretend. "Solas, it... ah, it translates somewhat into a few words in the common tongue. Hard to convey it. Arrogance, overwhelming ambition... ah." He snapped his fingers, happy at working it out. "Pride is a good analogue. Solas basically means pride."

"Wait. Our elvish apostate - besides your sister, I mean - is literally named pride?"

"Yup." Mahanon gulped down another mugful of rum. "That doesn't seem strange to you?"

"I dunno. It's only a name." Adaar waved a hand with the slightly fussy, extremely precise movements of a mage still knew to the particulars of being a Knight-Enchanter. "Look at my folks. Named ourselves Adaar. I know Bull probably translated it to you as 'weapon', but it specifically refers to those giant things the followers of the Qun use. Big, loud, make a lot of fire? Those things." She grunted. "Doesn't mean much, does it now?"

"You're named after big things that shoot fire," Mahanon said slowly, giving her a wry grin. Adaar sniffed, aware that she was so big, even among the Qunari, that sitting down Mahanon did not even come up completely to her elbow. Standing upright, he wouldn't be much higher than her gut. "You're big. And you like the magic that makes things burny and explodey."

"I'm the exception that proves the rule?"

He laughed at that. "I'm just saying that, if that is his real name, that's very unusual for him to claim so." Mahanon looked thoughtful. "Granted. Shems don't speak my language well too often - Josie does her best, bless her - so he'd be justified in figuring no one would notice. But he still uses it around elves. Dalish and otherwise. You'd think if he was trying to be harmless, what with being an apostate surrounded by grumpy ex-templars with big shiny swords, he'd be trying to present himself less ominously."

Adaar sighed. "In my experience, a lot of humans refuse to take elves seriously at all. Sorry. They're little shitheads that way."

Mahanon nodded sagely. "I find that a couple swords in the face usually sets them straight. I mean. Typically they're dead but it gets the point across." he wiggled a finger. "So, if my sister wants to get her hands all over him, good for her. I like seeing her not get all gloomy and vengeful against the shems for once. But I'm just real suspicious of anyone that goes around calling themselves pride incarnate. It's weird."

Adaar took a drink. A Vashoth who cheerfully followed the religion of Andraste, even if her overall opinion of the Chantry was 'watch it burn with a big smile', she was hardly one to criticize being unusual by local standards. "I don't think anyone here is really normal. This Inquisition thing is weird."

"On that, my big horny friend, we are agreed."

"Please don't call me that in mixed company. It gives the wrong impression."

"Well. Now I feel obligated to do so in really mixed company, for maximum effect. You've gone and challenged me, falon!"

[wardenrainwall]

Finally, finally, FINALLY.

Blackwall’s First Kiss with his LI prompt from @commanderadorkable

What will we do when the world it is ending, And time it is halted for friend and for foe? Try to hold on to the time as it passes. I'll tend to the flame; you can worship the ashes. -Ashes by The Longest Johns

Blackwall climbed the stairs, mug of ale in hand, the music from the musicians below filling the tavern. They were good, though their last few songs had been rather morose, and the current one was no exception. Eyes scanning the tables, the small clusters of people sitting, enjoying a meal or a drink together. 

The Inquisitor though, sat alone. One hand curled around her mug, her cheek resting against the other. Stay away from her, he silently told himself. He had no business getting involved with her. Yasmin Adaar had made it clear she was interested, had flirted from the start, and Blackwall couldn’t deny his interest. She was strong, brave, and so damn beautiful it made his heart ache.

Much as he tried to push her away, to stay away himself, he found he couldn’t. They fought well side by side. A worthy companion in a skirmish. 

Loyal and compassionate, things he wished he could see in himself. He admired her, her dedication to the Inquisition, to its people, despite how she’d been treated in the beginning, and her views on the Chantry. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d crossed to her table, stood at her elbow. “Mind if I join you, my lady?” 

Yasmin looked up, blinked and then a smile curved her lips and she inclined her head. “Of course, Warden,” she waved her hand to the seat across from her. Blackwall sat and looked at her.

“These new musicians are…” he trailed off, depressing was the only word that came to mind.

“I think they are lovely,” Yasmin said and he noticed the way she flexed her left hand, the marked hand. Curling it and stretching her fingers out, absently as if she hadn’t noticed.

“Is it paining you?” he asked and she seemed to jerk in surprise at the question. 

“It’s fine.” 

She curled her hand into a fist but Blackwall reached out, his own calloused fingers sliding along the back of her hand, turning it palm up. “How bad is it?” he asked, voice low as he traced his fingertips over her knuckles.

Her fist loosened and she let him uncurl her fingers. “You know that sensation when a limb has fallen asleep, and then the blood all rushes back in. When it feels cold and as if it’s been stabbed with millions of pins?” Blackwall glanced up to her face, but she was staring at their hands. “It’s like that, a hundred-fold.” 

Blackwall ran his fingertips along her wrist, down her thumb. The soft green glow from the anchor dull in the light of the tavern. “All the time?” he asked, wondering if touching her hand like this was causing her pain.

“It’s worse when I close a rift,” she told him. “The pain ebbs, and I got used to it.” 

Surely, there had to be something that could be done, he thought, though he had no idea what. They sat for long moments, Blackwall touching her hand, tracing her fingers, while silently berating himself. 

Another song started, one more morose than the last. Full of such longing that an ache formed in his chest. “Do you think-” Yasmin broke off.

“Think what, my lady?” he looked at her, her dark eyes glistening, there was a faint quiver to her lower lip. “My lady?” he whispered. “Yasmin.” 

She blinked, met his gaze and the smile was forced. “It doesn’t matter,” she told him then withdrew her hand and stood up. “Good night, Warden Blackwall.” 

Blackwall watched her go, that aching in his chest growing, expanding until he felt consumed by it. Then he downed the last of his ale, stood up, and followed her. He had no business getting involved with her. He wasn’t worthy. He wasn’t good. But oh how she made him wish he was. 

He finally caught up with her in the grand hall. She was a few steps away from the door to her quarters. “My lady,” he called out, his voice echoing in the massive space. He barely noticed the handful of people that still milled around.

Yasmin turned, her hand on the doorknob. “Blackwall?” her dark brows drew together and he closed the distance. 

“I’m not a good man,” he told her and she shook her head. “You and I… there is no future for us.”

She let out a quiet scoff and shook her head again. “Do you really think I’m going to survive this? Varric doesn’t. I’m the tragic hero. If it weren’t for the rifts still out there, you know I’d do more good as the dead martyr than I will ever do while still breathing.”

The thought was abhorrent. “You will live,” he said almost viciously. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything else. Then he took that final step, closing the distance and reached up to cup the back of her head. “You should stop me,” he breathed.

“No,” she rasped, her eyes searching his face. “I want you. I want to be with you.” 

Pushing up onto his toes, Yasmin still had to duck her head, curve her shoulders forward. But then their mouths met. Lips touched in a soft kiss and it was electric. Blackwall was certain he’d been struck by lightning. Her lips were soft and full against his and he knew that he would remember that moment, cherish it until his dying breath. 

Then, in whatever came after, because he knew he wouldn’t have a place at the Maker’s side, whatever paradise there was beyond would shut him out for all his crimes. But so long as he had this memory, could replay this moment in time, he didn’t care if he burned in the deepest pits of the abyss in eternal damnation. 

Drawing back, Yasmin met his gaze, her eyes full of warmth and Blackwall knew he was a goner. He was hers, irrevocably. Her lips curved up into a smile, then her eyes darted beyond him, and he remembered there had been a few people in the hall. He didn’t look. Didn’t care. Her opinion was the only one that mattered to him.

Yasmin reached behind her, shoved open the door with one hand, then the other curled in the collar of his tunic and she pulled, yanking him forward and through the doorway that lead to her quarters.

[magewardensurana]

Dear Creator Letter

Under the Cut!

First of all thank you so much for taking on my prompts, I’m looking forward to seeing whatever it is you create for me!

Okay, general DNWs:

Racism, homophobia, misogynistic language, incest or pseudo incest, sexual content outside of what would be canon appropriate, pretty much every kink going, imbalanced power dynamics, soulmates, rape, animal or child abuse, animal death, AUs (coffee shop, no powers, highschool/uni etc), Avengers Endgame-Complaint fics.

Now onto my Do Wants

Found family, angst with a happy ending, casefics, bisexual ladies coming to their bisexuality later in life, bisexual ladies who knew all along, bisexual ladies who chose men over women (a given for this event), AUs that take canon and make it a little different.

My writing on AO3 is a good indication of what I like, and feel free to check out my tumblr for a good idea of my kind of jam.

Fandom Specific (honestly though these are just prompt ideas. If you have something else in mind go for it)

MCU

I’m not a big fan of Endgame, or most of Infinity War, so if you want to go ‘to hell with this, everyone lives’ then I am more than okay with that. If you want Thanos to have been killed shortly after GOTG2 because Nebula tracked him down and stabbed him in the dick until he died from it then I’m also okay with that.

Carol/Maria - I’d love something pre-canon with these two. Their backstory is so interesting, especially when you factor in they were co-parenting and dating under DADT. I’d also love lots of interactions with Monica&Carol and Mar Vell and Carol. if you want to go for a casefic then, since I do love Natasha, Carol vs a Red Room Loyal Black Widow?

Carol/Valkyrie - Anything post-Ragnarok with the Asgardians (all of them, even the dead ones. Canon is dead and we killed it) on Earth, Would love: a lot of Carol interacting with the Revengers and Valkyrie interacting with literally any female characters because the MCU is bad at that.

Sarah/May - So much potential with these two. Blended families! Second loves! Dating while older and with kids!  I know Sambucky is a logical sistership to this pairing but I’m not a fan of that ship.

Dragon Age

Cassandra/Literally Any Of The Female Protagonists - Big fan of ‘Cass should’ve been bi’ so I’d like something exploring this. I’d like something set during DAI (so after the death of her boyfriend) with Cass coming to realisations about her sexuality. However you want to write the Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor is fine but my preference is for Surana, Sarcastic/Aggressive mage!Hawke and mage Adaar. I don’t like Anders so if you ever want to throw in some Anders hate then I’m fine with that.

Josie/Bela - I’d love something post-DAI with Josie taking Bela home to meet her family, or Josie as a member of Bela’s pirate crew (and putting her diplomatic skills to good use)

Marquis of Serault/Well Read Pig Farmer - I just want anything involving my favourite former Tevinter magister.

Fire Emblem

Three Houses - my preference is for the Crimson Flower route, but if you want to go the angst route of Byleth and El are fighting against each other then Golden Deer is my favourite path. I also love AUs where the three Lords (or four, counting Yuri) team up with each other to fight against TWSITD. Other than that I have no preferences for what you want to do with any of the ships.

Blazing Blade - I’d love to see post FE7, pre-FE6 stuff, with Lyn and Florina being involved in their friends’ lives. Lyn teaching Roy swordfighting, Florina teaching Lilina how to ride a Pegasus. Plus, lots of interacting with Farina and Ninian (especially if you want to build on the Ninian and Florina friendship). Or if you want to do what they were up to during FE6 I’d love that too.

Awakening - No preferences here.

Resident Evil

Rebecca/Claire - AU where Rebecca is still in Racoon City and teams up with Claire and Sherry? Vendetta AU where Claire is there too? Chris and Jill are getting married and neither Claire or Becca have dates and go together? I don’t really mind. For RE2 canon I prefer the 1998 storyline (Claire A/Leon B) but if you only know the remake then that’s fine, or if you want to mix canons that’s also fine. For past relationships I love the angst Burnfield gives Claire but Billy and Rebecca I see as completely platonic.

Jill/Ada - Normally I’m a strictly Valenfield and Aeon kind of woman but I have a weakness for this ship. Jill is heavily associated with the colour blue, has blonde or brown hair depending on the game and is completely on the side of justice. What I’m saying is: she’s Ada’s type. I love the idea of Ada being at the police station early and running into Jill while she’s there in RE3. I’m also a fan of Ada trying to save Jill in RE5 when she realises it’s her actions in Spain that led to Jill’s brainwashing.

Ace Attorney

I don’t have any preference just as long as there’s no Franmaya, which is my NOTP or the Bad Cykesquill (Simon/Athena. Not only is the age difference too high, but they have a sibling relationship and Simon is clearly gay). I tend to headcanon Klaiver and Ema used to date but Mia and Godot never did. Background Wrightworth is always a plus.

FMA Manga//Brotherhood

Oliver/Maria - Honestly it’s not hard to see what I like when it comes to this ship because the AO3 tag is 99% written by me. Put Olivier in suspenders and holding a sword and I’m a happy woman.

Rose/Paninya - a woman whose town was destroyed in riots and a woman who has found a love of doing repair work? And they’re both friends with Winry who is more than happy to play matchmaker? The pairing writes itself. I know that the 03 anime gave Rose a dead boyfriend, but the manga never specifies. They’re lesbians, Harold.

Dishonored

Emily/Alexi - Wyman? I don’t know her! I love AUs where Alexi lives and is on the Dreadful Wale during the events of the game. Also a big fan of Jess Lives AUs if you want to have Emily attempting to court her childhood best friend/bodyguard while her amazingly embarrassing parents cheer her on. And I love the AUs where both Corvo and Emily are the co-protagonists (especially marked!Corvo, flesh and steel!Emily). I ignore the canonical age difference between Corvo and Jess and put them both as being in their late teens when they met. Basically anything where Alexi is still alive and not going to die is a good fic. If you want to include Wyman at all my preference is for female Wyman since I see Emily as a lesbian. Either she and Emily are exes on good terms or have always been just friends.

Anyway, I think that’s everything. Thank you again!

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [7/9]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 2200 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one. Chapter-specific note:  I did not intend to leave this hanging for six months, but 2020 comes for us all, I suppose. I hope, if you're still reading, that you enjoy the conclusion. All of the remaining chapters (7-9) are up on AO3; they’ll be posted more slowly here on tumblr so as not to clog your dashboards.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

"See," Adaar said, pointing, "we’re nearly there."

She leaned a little to the left in her saddle, closer to Josephine, giving her a better trajectory to follow. Josephine's eyes narrowed, searching. At this distance, the landmark was still hard to make out if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

"Strange," Josephine said. "That star appears to be moving."

"Dancing," Adaar corrected. "The old windmill is still lit. There must be someone left." At Josephine's perplexed look, she explained, "The windmill’s practically center of town. Someone got the idea way back when to keep a brazier lit at the top. Like a lighthouse, kind of. Instead of bringing ships in to port, it guided the farmers and herders into town at the end of the day. When you’re closer in, it’s a good way for the neighborhood watch to mark where they’re patrolling overnight, too. From far off, though, it just looks like a dancing star."

Josephine nodded. "Clever. And if it’s still lit…"

"I can’t see bandits bothering to tend it, can you?"

"That depends on the breed of bandit." Josephine’s mare whickered, and she patted its mane absently. "I think this tells us something about what might be happening in Duskfield. Either your old neighbors have already driven the bandits off, and things have returned to normal...or the bandits have taken up residence here, kept all the old habits in place, so that your farmers and shepherds might keep operating. If that’s the case, they’re after some kind of long-term stability and supply."

"And that could be good or bad," Adaar agreed. "Maybe they’re just folk driven to desperation by the current unpleasantness."

"Or maybe they are Red Templars, establishing new routes through the Free Marches while we have been busy elsewhere." Josephine glanced sidelong at Adaar. "Rest assured I do not plan to negotiate with them, should that be the case."

Adaar forced a thin laugh. "I expected as much." She looked ahead again, at the Dancing Star, trying to find something red in the flicker of its light. It was still too far to tell; it looked perfectly normal, just as she remembered it, yellowish in hue. 

And if she did see a bit of red? More easily attributed to her imagination, fear, and anxiety. At this distance, it could be nothing else.

"If it’s an entire band," Josephine said, her voice lowering, "will you be able to manage on your own?"

Adaar glanced behind her, at Cassandra and Bull and Dorian, all riding quiet and alert. "We’ve managed an awful lot," she said. "And we could still run into Leliana’s people. There's some road left to go. If we don’t find them, I’ll sneak ahead to see what we’re working with before we go charging in."

"Is that wise? If you’re caught—"

"Would you rather send one of them?" Adaar asked, jerking her thumb at the others.

"I heard that," Bull said.

Adaar ignored him. "Cassandra makes a noise of incredible menace with every step she takes. Bull's worse, like a small earthquake. And Dorian can’t keep his mouth shut if there’s an opening for a witty quip."

"She’s right," Dorian said easily. "Adaar is the sneakiest giant you’ll ever meet. And that rates somewhat above the rest of us."

Josephine didn't look convinced. Worse, she looked afraid. Adaar tipped her head, silently asking Josephine to follow her ahead, out of earshot. The others kept to their own pace, allowing the road to spread out between them.

"Not reassured?" Adaar asked.

"I don’t doubt your skills. I just…" Josephine's fingers tightened on the reins. "If you’re caught, what then?"

"We’ll figure out the exact timeframe when we get closer, but if I’m not back in, say, an hour, the others can ride to the rescue."

"Has that ever happened before?"

Adaar figured it was best to be honest, but casual. "Sure."

Josephine’s lips thinned; she didn’t reply. Someone else in Adaar’s boots might’ve seen this as a good opportunity for comeuppance. They’d taken care of Josephine’s assassins her way, and Adaar had lost a month’s worth of sleep in the process. Josephine would get a little taste of her own medicine.

But Adaar had never been accused of vengefulness. The idea of Josephine fretting down the road behind her only made her feel vaguely queasy and sad.

"Don’t get caught," Josephine said at last.

Adaar inclined her head. "I’ll do my level best."

"You have to remember that they chose Duskfield," Josephine went on. "Maybe it’s random, maybe they are just desperate people, but it seems an awful coincidence. If anyone bothered to learn enough about you, to try to lure you out, this is how they would do it."

"If it’s a trap, I have a light step. I won’t spring it."

Josephine gave a despairing laugh. "If there’s an opening for a witty quip, are you certain that you will be able to restrain yourself?"

"In all things that matter, I am the picture of restraint."

She'd meant to sound cheerful; instead, the words were a little sour, and she turned her face away before her expression could add to the unintended effect. She didn't want to give Josephine another opening to make her case, not yet. Despite her words, her restraint had been wearing very thin indeed since their conversation on the road to Val Royeaux. One good snip would destroy those last tenuous threads.

But Josephine did not sound disappointed or angry when she replied, simply, "I know."

For a moment, Adaar thought she would leave it at that. They rode in the quiet, to the soft sounds of horses, for plenty of hoofbeats.

Then Josephine asked, "I've been wondering, how long have you...cared...about me?"

Adaar didn't have to answer. The question was put forward tentatively, feeling for where the boundary line was. Josephine would have understood if Adaar reminded her of her promise, the promise of space to think.

But thinking, so far, had gotten her nowhere. She kept chasing it round and round in her head, ever since that night on the road to Val Royeaux. She slept with her head pillowed on the shawl Josephine had left with her, and breathed her scent, and could not stop wanting, no matter how much she wished to. Maybe a little talk wouldn't hurt.

"Too long," she said. "Embarrassingly long. Well before we left Haven."

She looked back to Josephine, who smiled and ducked her head, as if to hide it. "Me, too."

The words struck Adaar like a slap, rendering her speechless. She hunted for what to say, how to react, and came up with nothing more original than, "Really?"

"You sound surprised." There was a teasing note in Josephine's voice now.

"Well, you just didn't…" Adaar floundered. "I don't know. You didn't seem interested."

"Leliana has said that I was being dense," Josephine admitted, with as much dignity as could be mustered with such a sentence. "I only thought that...your attention was split so many ways. You had—have—a great deal to worry about. I didn't think there would be time. And if there was, I didn't see why you would choose to spend it with me."

Adaar shook her head, exasperated. "We’re a pair, aren’t we?"

"I certainly hope so," Josephine said archly, but her smile faded again as she looked ahead to the Dancing Star. "When this is over, can we revisit the issue of restraint?"

"Lady Montilyet," Adaar said, all feigned astonishment, "I had no idea your desires ran that way."

It had the intended effect. Josephine lost her worry again, face flushing, hand coming up to cover a surprised laugh. Adaar grinned, reveling in her small victory. It would help, for what was to come. It would carry her through to the other side.

"Don't worry," she added, squinting at the Dancing Star. "I have a plan."

  The good news: they weren't Red Templars.

Adaar had been gone from home so long that there were people in the village she didn't recognize or know, but she'd gotten good at distinguishing peasant from combatant; she observed carefully from her rooftop perch by The Wet Whistle's chimney stack, and she counted. It wasn't just about who wore armor, who carried weapons. It was body language, alertness. It was the berth that others gave them.

She'd arrived too late to count the bandits as they went into the tavern, but she counted them as they came out—and as a patrol cut through town and continued to the north. These ones carried obvious weapons, and they didn't sway when they walked. They were professional enough to keep their heads clear on duty.

Duskfield was a small village, and this company was enough to keep them cowed. She'd counted eight so far; she was sure there were more she was missing. She just wasn't sure what to do about them.

The bad news: she knew some of them.

Only three, that she'd spotted and recognized. Old neighbors, around her age: Vilya, the blacksmith's daughter; Cossus, her younger brother; Herbert, one of the farmer's sons. He'd been friends with the other two, she remembered.

The others were strangers to her, but they held themselves with more confidence than these three by far. Had they been recruited? What had convinced them to allow these mercenaries to occupy the town, to throw their lot in with them?

She didn't have time in the hour allocated to her to figure out why they were here. She only knew she didn't like the occasional raucous laughter spilling from the tavern below her, or the way the rest of her old neighbors flinched out of the way when one of the rogues stalked past. They were not starving and desperate. They were hungry, but they were waiting.

And there was no sign of Leliana's people. They were on their own.

It was time to return to her companions. She'd learned what she could, precious little though it was, and maybe they would have better ideas. Josephine had spun gold out of less before. Delicately, silently, she crept down the roof and lowered herself to the ground.

Her feet had barely touched down before the point of a sword pricked at her spine. "Not so fast, Inquisitor."

She considered her options. Two shapes in the shadows of the barrels ahead of her formed up and revealed themselves to be people. They, too, held swords, so that was three—at minimum. She'd won out over worse odds before.

But she'd missed these three watching her. What else had she missed? She didn't want to get chin-deep in a fight where she didn't know the stakes. Maybe they needed her alive, but maybe they were happy to dogpile and kill her.

She didn't know enough. Damn it.

"A welcoming party," she said. "Nice of you. I wasn't expecting such a fuss—"

The point of the sword jabbed harder. She sighed and stopped talking.

"I can't believe you actually showed," the voice behind her said. "When Moiraine pitched this idea to me, I almost punched her. 'Moiraine,' I said, 'she's Qunari, what does she care about a bunch of human cattle in some nowhere village?' But tales kept spreading about you—how you'd stick your neck out for any refugee needing a blanket, even if they'd spit on the ground as you walked past." He spit on her boot, for emphasis. Nice aim. "Started to see the potential. Still, though. Didn't expect you to be stupid enough to take the bait."

He lapsed into silence. Adaar waited a moment, then said, "Just let me know when you actually need my input. Hard to tell if there was a question in there. I'm kind of slow, as you've figured out."

"Watch her," the voice said, and yanked her hands around to bind them behind her back. She resisted the urge to fight, mind working frantically. Did she know a Moiraine-the-bandit? No, she was fairly sure she didn't. Did she know any Moiraine? She didn't think she'd ever heard the name before.

"Now," he said, yanking her daggers roughly from her back, "we're going to get comfortable and wait for your friends to come along. Then we'll have a nice little chat, and everyone can go home happy."

"My favorite part of the day," Adaar muttered.

Well, technically, at least, this was still part of the plan. Things had just accelerated somewhat. She was sure the others could work out the rest.

She'd been captured before, bound before. She stayed alert, but let her mind turn to more pleasant things. In similar situations, she'd thought of Josephine. She'd thought, Well, we didn't have much of a chance, anyway. She'd thought, Maybe, if we'd had more time…

This time, though, she thought of Josephine's stately walk, of the fire burning in her eyes, of her sharp and clever tongue. She thought of Josephine riding to her rescue, and she smiled.

[bigfan-fanfic]

New Dragon Age OC List

Hey, everybody! I have an itch to write for some OCs, so I’ll be doing some prompts and stuff for these ones below. Feel free to ask about them!

Returning OCs

Tash Adaar - Inquisitor, Qunari (Vashoth), Mage (Knight-Enchanter) 

His Worship, Lord Inquisitor Tash “First-Thaw” Adaar-Tethras, the Child of Andraste, Lord of Ylenn Basin, and Heir Apparent to the Viscount of Kirkwall. “Dimples” 

Tash, child of Saarebas (deceased) and Kaaras (deceased), stepson of Colm (deceased) and stepbrother to Arno (deceased). Adopted son of Varric and Hawke. His gentle nature surprisingly served him well through his tenure as Inquisitor, belying an unforeseen political acumen. Just a child who likes sparkly things and being nice.

Possible Face Claim: ???

Cal Hawke - Champion, Human (Elf-blooded), Rogue (Duelist)

Ser Callan Hawke, Champion and former Viscount of Kirkwall and self-proclaimed “drunkard husband of the best storyteller in Thedas,” “Waffles”

Cal Hawke, child of Malcolm Hawke and an elven woman, half-brother of Carver, Bethany, and Ava - although he only gets along with his sisters - romanced Varric, sided with mages. Had brief relationships with Isabela and Anders during Dragon Age 2.  Allowed Anders to go free. Harmless and fun-loving until his family is threatened.

Possible Face Claim: Antoni Porowski

Ava Hawke - Champion, Human, Mage (Force Mage) 

Her Majesty, Princess Ava Hawke, the ��Witch Princess” of Starkhaven, Champion of Kirkwall, and Lover of Fenris and Sebastian, “Killer” 

Ava Hawke, youngest child of Malcolm and Leandra, sister of Callan, Carver, and Bethany, although she only gets along with her brothers. Loved Fenris, but fell for Sebastian after he left her. Surprisingly, the Starkhaven heir was the one to suggest they invite the former slave back in. Headstrong and ruthless, she will do anything to protect those she cares about.

Possible Face Claims: Katie McGrath or Lucy Hale

Aster Amell - Warden, Human, Mage (Spirit Healer) 

His Lordship, Chancellor Astyanax Amell of Ferelden, (Technically) Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, King Consort to His Majesty King Alistair, and Mage of Kinloch Hold 

Aster romanced Alistair. Living in Kinloch Hold for as long as he can remember, he is a fish out of water who wants to help everyone he can. He is still technically Warden-Commander, but in name only. As chancellor, he was basically King of Ferelden due to being more capable than Alistair, and their relationship was a very poorly-kept secret until their official marriage about three years before Inquisition.

Possible Face Claims: Ben Barnes or Charlie Cox

MGITs - Modern Girls/Guys In Thedas

Lottie Gamez - Human (Outworlder), Rogue (Tempest)

Charlotte Leticia Gamez

A headstrong young woman working her way up the corporate ladder into her dream job, Lottie fell into Thedas, which she was unprepared and unequipped for. A consummate scholar and veritable polymath, Lottie finds herself already able to speak Antivan, Orlesian, Teveni, and Nevarran, and her intellect helps her to figure out the rules of Thedas fairly quickly. She quickly works out how to conduct alchemical processes to make potions and elixirs as well as explosives.

Possible Face Claim: Odette Annable or Demi Lovato

Katie Dawes - Human (Outworlder), Warrior (Champion)  

Serah Katrina Dawes Cousland, Lady of Highever, Diplomat of the Court of Ferelden.

Only a young teenager when she fell into Thedas, Katie landed smack dab in the middle of the Blight. Through a combination of sheer luck and latent skill in the spear, she saved Fergus Cousland from certain death and earned his gratitude. He took her in as his ward and taught her about his world, believing her to be some kind of Andrastian gift, as she looks identical to his dead sister Elissa. By Inquisition, she’s become a powerful warrior and savvy member of the court of King Alistair and Chancellor Aster.  

Possible Face Claims: Dove Cameron (Origins), Britt Robertson or Diane Kruger (Inquisition)

Henry Lucas - Human (Outworlder) 

Henry Adam Delaney-Lucas, Oracle of the Inquisition 

A college student with “absolutely no relevant skills,” Henry found his way into Thedas sometime during the Conclave, and using his knowledge of the games, found his way to the Inquisition to speak with Sister Nightingale, who fortunately had seen this kind of thing before. He’s training in the sword with Cullen and Cassandra and learning diplomacy with Josephine, but his real benefit to the Inquisition is in his “future sight” and the emotional stability he has.

Possible Face Claims: young Chris Hemsworth or Cody Christian

Morgan Walker - Warden, Human (Outworlder), Mage (Shapeshifter/Arcane Warrior)  

Morgan Rhys Walker, Father of Kieran, Hero of Ferelden 

He was a college student with a promising future in football when he found himself in Thedas during the Blight. Having thankfully played Dragon Age: Origins, he was able to end up joining Aster Amell’s party as a mage, learning magic from Morrigan. Though he was attracted to Zevran, he found himself falling for Morrigan, with her understanding of his status as a being from another world, and he willingly became a Warden and conducted the Dark Ritual to save their friends. He and Morrigan travel Thedas with their son, Kieran, while Morgan keeps in frequent contact with Leliana and Zevran as friends.

Possible Face Claims: Sebastian Stan or Thom Evans 

New OCs

Rana - Qunari (Tal-Vashoth) Craftsman

Master Blacksmith and Assistant Arcanist Ranaath Katoh 

Named “Taarsaad” - “Armorer” - by the Tamassrans, he abandoned the Qun after witnessing a child manifesting magic and being taken away to become a Saarebas. Watching for Ben-Hassrath every step of the way, he eventually found his way to meeting a young dwarven woman who sought to combine his skill in crafting with her knowledge of magic, and the two formed a partnership. Dagna brings Rana to Skyhold with her, and the blacksmith shows his prowess at handling and creating magical equipment.

Possible Face Claim: Marlon Teixeira

Bjorn Winter Bear - Avvar Mage 

Bjorn Hakkonsen of Cloud Reach Hold

Found as an infant by the Avvar of Cloud Reach Hold in a bear’s den, napping next to a mother bear whose cubs were slain by hunters. The bear became the hold-beast, and the boy was christened Bjorn Hakkonsen and given the legend-mark Winter Bear, for he had somehow survived the winter with the bear. Guided by a spirit companion, he wandered Thedas until coming to the Inquisition, eager to help heal the Lady of the Skies.

Possible Face Claims: Jake Gyllenhaal or Hrithik Roshan

Lavinia Nouvelle-Feuille - Tevinter/Orlesian Diplomat 

Lavinia Corvus Nouvelle-Feuille of Val Firmin, Chatelaine of Skyhold

Daughter of an Orlesian nobleman and a Tevinter slave, Lavinia lived with her father while her twin brother Laertes stayed with their mother. She was schooled by her father in the Game and chose to become a diplomat while her father gathered enough money to travel to Tevinter and buy the freedom of her mother and brother. On Vivienne’s recommendation, she was chosen to help Josephine look after Skyhold and the surrounding refugee town, along with her brother. 

Possible Face Claim: Aishwarya Rai Bachchan or Candice Patton

Reyn Caron - Warden, Human, Warrior (Spirit Warrior)  

Ser Reynaud Caron, Acting Warden-Commander of Ferelden

An Orlesian Grey Warden sent to take over Warden-Commander for the new Chancellor of Ferelden - he and Aster were both present during Awakening. Reyn was the one who went on the quest to find the cure for the Joining. A former noble who was kicked out of Les Academie d’Chevaliers for his refusal to harm elves for the sake of it. May or may not technically be a Red Jenny.

Possible Face Claim: Olivier Giroud

[fanfoolishness]

On the Shores of the Waking Sea (Adaar x Blackwall, early DAI)

Hazrine stared into the darkness, willing her eyes to adjust more rapidly.  The afterimage of their campfire, now blown out despite three flame glyphs, still blazed fiercely against the backs of her eyes.  She raised her lip in a snarl of irritation.  She needed to see, damn it, and she needed to see now.

Storms with rain and lightning had never been her forte.  The Free Marches didn’t deal with them often, its weather far more likely to include heat waves and mild droughts.  Most of the time things were actually rather pleasant, especially when you got round Starkhaven or Ostwick:  warm green summers, mild winters.

Kirkwall had been the outlier, living up to its reputation.  It was always a bit of a hole.  It boiled in the summer, and was perpetually damp and steamy and cold in the winters. She and her crew had tried to avoid it as much as possible, but inevitably a job would call and they’d find themselves back again, grumbling all the while.

But Kirkwall had been a calm hole.  Not like this thrashing, seething storm boiling up out of nowhere outside the little cave they had found, a storm that seemed liable to send them all flying off into the night.  Could the wind do that?  She figured herself, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull would probably be all right, but she had genuine concerns that Solas would get thrown up into the air like a bundle of rags and slammed up against the mountainside.  

“Herald!” Blackwall shouted, his voice swallowed up by the roaring wind.  “Have you gone mad?  You’ll be struck by lightning!”

“Are we safe here?” Hazrine bellowed.  Her throat ached with the effort of shouting above the storm, and her skin was stung by the slap of cold and bitter rain.  Wait.  Was that rain?  Or was that fucking hail?  She took Blackwall’s advice and leapt back beneath the roof of the cave, shaking.  

“Not as if we’ve got any other choice!” Bull roared.  He looked just as rain-pelted as she was, despite having stayed in the cave the entire time.  Hazrine squinted at him and the others.  She badly missed the brightness of the fire.  She felt mana stirring in her right hand, ready and waiting for her to attempt to call flames again.

A flash of coruscating green and blue, different from the mark that pulsed intermittently in the flat of her hand.  Solas stood illuminated, a barrier shimmering around him and spreading over the mouth of the cave.  “That should protect us for a time,” he said.  The barrier kept some of the storm’s terrible noise out as well as its rain and wind, a fact Hazrine was grateful for.

“How long will it last?” she asked shrewdly.  She’d never been terribly good at barriers herself.

Solas considered the question.  “I cannot hold it indefinitely.  Luckily, no storm has ever lasted forever.  We should be safe.”

“I hope so,” said Hazrine fervently.

A deafening thunderclap reverberated overhead, sending Hazrine jumping.  She crashed into Blackwall, who staggered from the sudden blow.  A searing jolt of lightning lit the cave, and Hazrine realized, abashed, that Blackwall looked dazed.

“I’m dreadfully sorry,” she said in a babble.  “It’s just -- the storm noise -- I’m not used to them -- I was startled --”

Blackwall raised a gloved hand in her direction, shaking his head.  He looked a little more alert now.  “Not to worry, my lady.  This is some storm.  I’m a little rattled, too, if I’m to be honest.”

“You’re simply saying that to be kind,” said Hazrine, giving an uncertain laugh.  She did appreciate it, whether or not he was telling the truth.

“Warden’s honor,” said Blackwall stoutly, standing straight and holding his hand over his breastplate.  

She chuckled.  The rain and wind outside still shouted, but the roar was dulled behind the barrier.  It was good, not having to shout.  “All right, I believe you.  It’s quite noble of you to try and make me feel better, you realize.”

“Quite noble indeed,” said Solas mildly.  He closed his eyes for a moment, and the barrier flared again, renewing even as it began to fade.

“Thanks for the storm guard,” said Bull.  “At least we won’t flood.”

“It is the least I could do,” said Solas.  He gazed out into the darkness, which was marked only by intermittent flashes of lightning, some well-defined in bolts and streaks, others only in faint flashes far in the distance.  “It is good we were not attempting to make further ground tonight.  Lightning from a mage can be deflected if one is given sufficient warning.  Lightning from a storm is another thing altogether.”

Hazrine shuddered.  “I’d rather not encounter it at all.  This place does live up to its name, doesn’t it?”

***

They spent another hour in the cramped cave, which became steadily more and more humid as the water began to evaporate from their soaking clothing.  Hazrine was almost contemplating telling Solas to lower the barrier and she’d take her chances outside in the storm -- none of them smelled particularly nice at this point -- when she realized that the rain drumming against the stone roof had slackened, and she hadn’t heard thunder in some time.  The others seemed to make the same realization together, and Solas’s barrier dissipated in a gentle swirl of green sparks.

“Thank you,” she said to him.  “When things are a little calmer, and a great deal less damp, would you mind showing me some of your tricks to sustain a barrier over an inanimate surface?  I only seem to have luck getting them to hold over a living person.  It feels as if the barrier doesn’t want to stick, otherwise.”

“It usually doesn’t,” said Solas, looking rather gratified.  “It does take a certain amount of adjusting the way it is cast, as well as a change in mental focus.  I would be happy to discuss the theory with you beneath the light of day.”

She nodded, yawning.  “Bull?  Are you still all right with the late watch?  You were supposed to be sleeping during all of this…”

Bull shrugged.  “I’ve been through worse.  Go on, get some shut-eye.  I’ll keep the watch.”

Hazrine gratefully laid down on a bundle that was the sodden, limp remains of her bedroll.  She was so tired she didn’t even care how damp it was.  She drifted off into a deep and heavy sleep, the Fade only the faintest presence in the back of her mind.

--

She woke suddenly, sweet birdsong a gentle rejoinder in her ears.  She rolled over onto her back, realizing she was still uncomfortably damp, and now heavily chilled.  

“Time to get moving,” she muttered under her breath.  Nothing better than getting out for a bit of a walk when one was stiff with camp-sleep, and once she was out of the narrow confines of the cave she could set out a bit of fire magic to help dry her clothing.  She glanced around and saw Bull nodding, his back against the stony wall of the cave, and Solas sleeping near where their fire had been.  The elf could sleep anywhere.  It was truly a fascinating thing to behold. She had envied him for it more than once.

Blackwall wasn’t in the cave, and she remembered he had claimed the early morning watch.  She suspected she would find him just outside the mouth of the cave, as so far in their time together, she had never known him to break his word or shirk his duty.  The thought settled on her.  It was a comfortable reality.

She got to her feet, careful to move as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Solas and the Iron Bull.  She bowed her head as she got up so that she would not smack it against the roof of the cave, and shuffled outside into a copse of pines dewy with last night’s rain.  They smelled intoxicatingly green. The sun edged over the sea’s horizon, spilling gold out across the water and lining the edges of the trees.  Shit, if it wasn’t beautiful.  And after the terror that had been last night’s storm.  The world was a funny place, sometimes.

“Morning,” called Blackwall gruffly.  She glanced over and saw him sitting on a fallen log several feet away, holding a knife and something small in his hands.  His black hair and beard were terribly rumpled, sticking up and out in several interesting patterns.

“Anything?” she asked, drawing closer to him.  

“Nothing nearby.  Thought I might have heard a bear further out, but it hasn’t wandered this way,” said Blackwall.  “I don’t mind if it keeps its distance.”

She laughed, a bright, piercing sound, and she peered curiously at his hands.  “I’d agree with that.  Now, what have you got there?”

“A bit of whittling,” he said.  “It’s something to do.  You look for ways to keep yourself occupied, when you’re on your own.”  He held up the object in his hand, and she realized it was a little chunk of wood, still damp from the night before.  She stared closely at it, realizing that it looked unmistakably like a Ferelden hound.  A rough, blocky face stared back at her from knife-drilled eyes.

“I’ve never given it a try,” said Hazrine, contemplating the steady, careful action of his hand working the knife.  Tiny shavings of wood slipped over the edge of the knife, falling down between his feet.  “How do you know which bits to cut out, and which bits to leave?”

“You make a lot of mistakes,” said Blackwall, chuckling.  “You don’t want to know what the first thing I whittled looked like.  A face only a mother could love.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t too bad.”

“It looked like somebody had punched a demon in the face and dropped it into a fire.”

“How on earth did you carve it so badly as to look like it was dropped in a fire?” she asked.

He gave her a sly smirk.  “By dropping it into the fire,” he said.  “While I was working on it.  Still tried to keep going with it once I’d blown out the flames.  Learned a fair bit about what not to do, anyway.”

“Sometimes that’s the most important part though, isn’t it?” asked Hazrine. “Learning what not to do can be invaluable.  Like learning not to set out on patrol on the Storm Coast when it’s cloudy.”  She sat down on the log beside him, casting her gaze around to make sure there were no bears or mercenaries in their line of sight.  

He wore a strange look on his face, his mouth twisting up to one side, his eyes guarded.  Then the look was gone, and he was back to whittling, his blade snicking against the wood.  He pursed his lips together in concentration.

“Do you think we’ll find out anything about the Wardens here?” she asked.  “Surely it must be weighing on you that we don’t know what’s become of them.”

Blackwall nodded, his brows knitting together in concern.  “I don’t like it.  It doesn’t make any sense, and it isn’t like the Wardens to vanish when there are clear problems out there that could be solved by good people with swords or arrows.  Something’s wrong, that much is certain.  No darkspawn’s no excuse for a Warden to not be found.”  He sighed.  “Nothing’s gone right in some time, has it?”  The way he spoke it, it was less a question than a declaration.

Hazrine thought of the Valo-kas across the Waking Sea, going on without her.  She thought of her new people here, the uncertainties between them, the uneasiness of almost-strangers.  Maybe it was getting better.  Iron Bull’s jokes, Blackwall’s whittling, Solas’ teaching.  But it was still too soon to tell.

She looked down at her hand.  Green light crackled and spit from her palm, shifting as she tilted her hand back and forth.  She closed her fingers over the buzzing split, forming a fist that glowed.

“I know what you mean,” she said quietly, and the sounds of birdsong and the waves below filled the clearing, drowning out the silence.

[gremlinquisitor]

For dwc: Camellia (I'm thinking bellwall but doesn't have to be!)

Camellia: My destiny is in your hands

For @sulevinblade​ and @dadrunkwriting​

~2000 words, Bellial Adaar/Blackwall, good for all ages

Read it here on AO3

Bellial is sitting on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, in darkness, staring out the open doors and past the balcony at the mountains beyond. There’s been a storm around Skyhold since she came back from Orlais, thunder rolling around the fortress even as she pardoned Blackwall, mixing with the grumbles and gasps of those who had assembled to watch her judge one of their own.

She hears the creak of the stairs when he comes in but doesn’t turn to look. She’s surprised it’s taken him this long to follow her. Bellial cut his chains with a flick of her wrist and left him standing before the throne when she’d turned away from his declaration, marching straight into her chambers and closing the door behind her. He was not the only one standing there with his heart laid bare, and she was not about to let the gawkers watch her crumble. Everything she has within the Inquisition, she has fought for, and she can not allow a single crack to show.

“Bell, you need to stop this.” His voice comes to her through the fog of her anger, as if he’s in other room and not at the top of her stairs. “You’re not finished yet, he’s still out there, and… and you’re scaring people, making it thunder like this.”

Purple-white lightning crackles down to the balcony, striking it without leaving a mark on the stone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. And the correct form of address is ‘Inquisitor’.”

His coat rustles as he steps closer to the bed, and she has to fight to keep from turning to look at him. Bellial has worked hard on this anger, honing it to a fine point, and she’s not prepared to let it soften and melt yet. She hasn’t finished wielding it.

Thom–Blackwall, whichever he is– clears his throat. “I would never presume to tell you what to do, my lady.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you.” She curls her toes in on the blanket. It’s cold in the room, but she can barely feel it. “That’s the thing - you didn’t tell me to let you go to Orlais. You just left. You walked away to die and didn’t care what that would do to me.”

He has the decency to lower his head and look ashamed. “I did care,” he mumbles, taking a step closer. “I still care, Bellial. I told you that.”

“You also accused me of planning to have you shot.” And now she does turn to look at him, one foot sliding to the floor, the other still hugged to her chest. “Let me tell you, here and now, Thom Rainier. Blackwall. If anyone in this Inquisition is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” She snarls as best she can, but her voice betrays her, cracking at the end. He makes a move towards her and she shakes her head, waving him off.

“That’s not what you do to someone you care about,” she continues. “You don’t leave them in the dark, alone, frightened. You take away everything they’ve come to trust, to–”

“This was my burden to bear.” His voices rises even as she fights to keep hers even. “I couldn’t ask that of you, of the Inquisition.”

Bellial surges to her feet, her dressing gown trailing behind her as she moves to stand in front of the open door. She needs the cold air on her skin, needs to feel the lightning spark in the air. “Don’t you know I would’ve fought off the entire Orlesian army to keep you from them? And you delivered yourself right into their hands.”

“I couldn’t let him die in my place. I couldn’t let anyone else die for me.”

He comes to stand beside her, and she lifts her chin and looks away.

“No one else would’ve had to die,” She replies. “Look at where you’re standing. Do you really think that we had no other options available to us? The stroke of a pen, and your man was conscripted into the Inquisition. He’s a good soldier, and we need good soldiers. Now more than ever. We need good men.”

“I’m not a good man,” he protests.

“No, you’re not,” she fires back. The sky crackles, and she turns to face him, folds her arms across her chest and shoots out her hip. “You’re selfish, obsessed with regaining some honor you think you lost–”

“I did lose it!” He yells, equal parts anger and desperation, as if he thinks there’s something here that she doesn’t understand.

“And that honor, with those people, was more important than your honor with me?” She leans down to look into his eyes, pointing off in some direction that might be Orlais, then stabbing at her chest with her finger.  “Your place with me, in my heart. That was worth sacrificing, to swing from a rope in front of people who will not feel better when you’re dead.”

They each let out a frustrated sigh and turn away from the other. She tips her head back and breathes, trying to clear her head. She doesn’t want to say something that she’ll regret later, something that’s not true and thrown at him in anger.

“I wish you hadn’t come to get me.” He’s standing with his arms crossed, and he looks almost like himself again, chest puffed up and eyes clear, full of intent. “I made my peace. I never wanted to let this affect the Inquisition. Now everyone will know that you’re corrupt.”

The laugh bubbles up inside her, and her throat hurts when it comes out, as if she’s coughed too hard or choked on a drink. “We’re an organization of heretics, led by a Vashoth mercenary mage, of all things!” She stalks towards him as she counts off on her fingers. “I’ve killed for coin, lived as an apostate my entire life, never so much as set foot inside a Circle. My closest advisers are, let’s see, right: a disgraced former Knight-Captain who followed a Commander who recommended genocide in Kirkwall, the Divine’s personal assassin, and poor Josie, trying to put out the fires we all start.”

“Do you have a point, Inquisitor?” He spits the word out, and she turns her head to glare at him out of the corner of her eye. She will not be made to feel like less by him. Not a chance.

“Do you really think you’re the only one in the Inquisition who’s lying, who sees this as their new start? You are brave and noble and kind, and your past can’t change that. But how you acted, with me, running away… The man I fell in love with would never have run away like you did. Blackwall would have stood his ground and told me and let me help him, but he didn’t get the chance because the coward Thom Rainier dragged him off to die.”

Thunder booms so that the glass in the windows rattles, and she rakes a hand back through her hair.

“Is it corrupt to save the lives of good soldiers by conscripting them into the Inquisition instead of letting them hang? Is that really corruption? The Grey Wardens can conscript whoever they like, and you seem happy to be one of them!”

He frowns, something in the set of his brows softening, as if her pain is just now starting to register with him, as if he’s beginning to see the full consequences of his choices. “I don’t understand what you mean, Bell.”

“Inquisitor,” she snaps. He nods, resting his hands on the small of his back.

“I let Venatori sink a Qunari longship to save my friends. I traveled through time to save my friends. Conscripting your man and keeping you safe would’ve been the easiest thing I’ve done so far this week, and you didn’t even think to ask for my help.”

Tears make her vision swim, and she lowers her head, pinching the bridge of her nose until her lower lip stops trembling and she trusts herself to speak again. “You care about honor more than I do,” she whispers. Outside the window, the thunder stills as quickly as it had started. “I’ll grant you that. I’m a mercenary; we have different rules.”

She turns away from him and walks to sit on the edge of the bed again. The fire in her is starting to go out, and she doesn’t want it to but she’s too tired to keep it lit, even though her anger is all that’s been protecting her from her pain. “But what good is any of this if I can’t use it to help those I care about most, those I love. Isn’t there honor in that? Is that really so corrupt?”

Boots appear in front of her, and she lifts her head enough to look up at him.

“I do hate to see you cry,” he sighs.

“Then don’t look,” she growls. “Take your newfound freedom and go if you don’t want to see it.”

He furrows his brows as he looks at her. “You really would let me leave. I really am that free?”

“That’s what the word means,” she replies dryly, rolling her eyes to look away from him. “Obviously what I want you to do doesn’t matter, so you might as well just do what you want.”

He reaches out towards her cheek and Bellial sits back, hands falling into her lap. She glares at his hand, her gaze cutting up to his eyes until his arm falls back to his side. He’s lost that privilege for now.

“If I stay,” he starts, shifting his weight and looking down at his feet. “What happens to us?”

That’s the question she’s been asking herself since she found him. There was no way she could leave him there, even if it was tempting in the moment. He’d fallen to her knees in front of her and it had taken all her strength not to reach into the cell and whack his head against the bars so she could haul him back to Skyhold over her shoulder, leaving Cullen to deal with the Orlesians.

“Will you stay?” She wants him to, and she hates that she wants him to. All her life she’s been careful with her heart, and this one time she lets her guard down, lets someone in, and look what happens. But there’s a place inside her now that’s shaped like him, and if he walks away forever, she’ll collapse into it.

“I’d like to, yes.” He sighs. “I know what you said out there, but my destiny is still in your hands. I don’t know who Thom Rainier is anymore, but I know who Blackwall is, the Blackwall you– Your Blackwall. He’s a man who loves you, and wants to keep fighting by your side, if you’ll have him.”

If this was one of Cassandra’s books there would be a tearful embrace, kissing, and a night spent together mending each other’s hurts. Life is so rarely like books, however, and so she stays sitting on her bed, elbows resting on her knees and her hands clasped out in front of her.

“From the moment I started to want anything out of this other than to survive, he was what I wanted. You.” Bellial shakes her head gently as she looks up at him, incredulous that she has to state it so plainly. “If you stay, you must promise me that you’ll never leave like this again. You know now that I will find you and bring you back. Your leaving would only delay our mission. Do you want that?”

“No, Inquisitor.”

She nods, not remotely satisfied, but enough for one night. “Good. Your things are still in the barn where you left them. I’ll be out early to check that you’re still there.”

He nods again, standing at rest, waiting to be dismissed. “Understood, Inquisitor.”

She sighs. “You can call me Bellial, Blackwall. Now go get some rest.”

He lingers for a moment, then steps away towards the stairs. “Thank you, Bellial. Good night.”

[nevaryadl]

Request for Inquisitor au Mari Adaar

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore…”

Ash held his sister’s hand in his, the Mark sitting in her palm glowing softly and the edges of the strange scar agitated and clearly in pain. Frowning at the skin, though thankful the mark was not lashing out again, Ash carefully dabbed pain numbing cream onto the edges of the scar again before wrapping her hand again.

“... I’m sorry,” Ash sighed.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I feel like this burden should be on me,” Ash sighed. “My sister shouldn’t have to deal with all the shit that comes with being Inquisitor.”

“Nah it’s fine,” Mari sighed through a smile, gently cupping her worried brother’s cheek. “Plus you’re a anxious enough man, brother. Being the Inquisitor would wear your heart out within a week.”

Ash snorted but stood to offer his sister his hand.

“Lady Inquisitor.”

Taking his hand, Mari stood and walked hand in hand with her into the courtyard of Skyhold. Various troops whispered greetings of ‘Hail, Harold’ and ‘Your ladyship’ and other such fancy titles. Ash, just a mercenary for hire, was greeted politely enough but nowhere near the degree of Mari. Not that he needed it, he was a simple man of simple tastes and he was right in that he would never survive a week of the nonsense and shit Mari went through.

“Still need to chat up nobles today?” Ash asked as they stepped inside the castle.

“Yep. Should be easy. Unlike you, dear brother, I have quite the silver tongue and penchant for talking people down.”

“... I think you’re right, Inquisitor suits you better, sister. I’d be out of my mind by now,” Ash hummed thoughtfully.

Mari stuck her tongue out at him, grinning broadly before a slightly frazzled Josephine came rushing over to collect her. She offered her brother one last smile before going off to do her job for the eve, leaving Ash to just smile proudly after her.

[pristinepastel]

hm. just realized that osiria’s encounter with envy must have been very interesting!

first off, with her being a healer it could use the angle of slowly poisoning all her patients/dosing them w red lyrium withou anyone noticing until it was too late, alá the real life Angels of Death type serial killers, but also with it getting into her thoughts and memories it could Use her knowledge.

but on the flip side, shes a perfect match for the whole ‘dont give them any response’ mechanic of the whole sequence— not only is she mute, but shes got a tight grip on her ability to communicate through sign language. at the same time, the demon could assume it could get away with not signing at all!

while osiria was sent to therinfal, ostensibly as a tag-along healer with Joanna(formerly known as evangeline, since i;;; had forgotten the name of cole’s templar friend;;;;), shiloh was in redcliffe talking to the mages, a whole divide and conquer thing, though since shiloh was the only one with the mark, envy was unsurprisingly offended. it felt as if it was duped. as a result, it was extremely determined to at least get something, anything to make it better and more important than it was. there werent many templar recruits to be taken on, and certainly not enough to fight the breach on their own, but ser barris was still saved and knight captain denam still judged.

the noble who was so rude to him didnt make it out though, so sad.

… osirias fate in the dark future shiloh saw is better left unsaid for now, i think.

ah, right— Alongside Joanna Trevelyan and Osiria Adaar in Therinfal Redoubt, were Cassandra, Lady Vivienne, and Iron Bull. ofc cole goes without saying.

and in Redcliffe, Shiloh Surana was accompanied by Keeper Sahrel Lavellan, Solas, Varric, and Blackwall. and dorian and leliana obv. it’s probably a good thing— shilohs fate if shed not been the herald and not caught in the time spell…. was perhaps even worse than everyone else’s.

as for my self insert, because eventually i Do want to start on that new and improved ver of that fic, theyre of course still in haven the entire time, but in that dark future they maintained that shiloh would come back until they wasted away. before the end though, a spirit of empathy helped them convince the members of the inner circle to write to their past selves— they made it sound like a venting mechanism, but such objects of intent tend to hold echoes of the writer. so when shiloh dutifully delivered the letters to their past recipients, their future counterparts could at least get some closure.

osiria never got the chance to write one, but solas… hoo boiii

[ripplesofaqua]

Black Emporium 2020 Letter

Dear Author/Artist,

Thank you for creating something for me! I cannot wait to see what you come up with! Please write/draw whatever you are most comfortable with, and feel free to follow your own ideas. But if you are in need of some prompts for inspiration, here are a few things I like (and dislike):

DNWs: major character death, underage, incest,  non/dub-con, depictions of abuse/homophobia/racism/transphobia/etc,  whitewashing or straightwashing, excessive gore/torture/violence,  serious illness, body horror, A/B/O, hardcore bdsm/kink, bestiality,  infidelity, angst without at least a hopeful ending

Feel free to  write whatever rating you’re comfortable with. If you do write smut, I  tend to prefer it on the slightly less graphic side, and always with  clear communication and lots of feels

Things I enjoy:   strong ladies and admiration between them, fluff, banter, angst with a  hopeful ending, humor, balanced and respectful relationships, mutual  pining, slow burn, repressed feelings, (rivals to) friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, oh no  there’s only one bed, huddling for warmth, secret admirer, long awaited reunions, Victorian/historical AU

Prompts: I tried to include lots of pairings, so that there would be plenty of options to chose what you’re most comfortable with. I hope it’s not too overwhelming! I love all these pairings, so please choose what you would enjoy creating for the most. If it helps jumpstart things, here are a few ideas and things I like most about these characters, but this is all optional of course!:

1. Cassandra, Josie, & Leliana: they’re so different, but are all so skilled and work well together as a team. Tender moments, repressed feelings, pining, romantic gestures, palace intrigue - feel free to throw all the tropes at these two! Or maybe think about their relationships before and after DA:I. How did they meet? Did they have to push aside an early crush to work together, except the crush doesn’t go away? Do they lose contact and reconnect after DA:I? Does one of them become Divine? (I generally prefer Leliana as Divine, but am open to other options as well - though please, not too angsty if you that route!

2. Even more Cassandra: just Cassandra being her heroic, grumpy, romantic, wonderful self with a bunch of other amazing ladies! Feel free to throw all the tropes at these pairings, as well!

- Cassandra/Seeker: I love the idea of having Cass rebuild the Seekers into something much better than they were, and going off to the Hunterhorns for some soul searching. Does she meet someone new there, or perhaps reconnect with an old friend from her training? Or do they send letters across Thedas while looking for recruits?

- Cassandra/Hawke: Disaster!Hawke, awkward flirting, banter, meeting heroes, smutty romance novels, secret admirer! How does their initial meeting at Skyhold go? Is there mutual admiration and awe, or sore feelings from Cassandra’s treatment of Varric? Or perhaps have them both at Adamant together.

- Cassandra/Inquisitor: Action packed adventure, romance, slice of life - how do these two get along? Are there repressed feelings, attempts at wooing, or perhaps a rivalry that slowly turns into something more. Does Cassandra reject the Inquisitor at first, and then realize she does have feelings? How would they reconnect after Trespasser?

3. Some more pairings:

- Lace Harding/Leliana: Glances from afar, hesitantly touching hands, working late together. By the end of Trespasser, Harding is one of Leliana’s most trusted agents - how does that relationship grow? Would Harding stay with a Divine Leliana? How would Harding’s optimism and romantic heart mix with a softening, but still hurting, Leliana? Would Leliana show up to Harding’s dance classes, or help her with her fear of heights? Does Leliana inadvertently send Harding into danger, and have to deal with the guilt alongside rescuing her (or have Harding rescue Leliana!)

- Shokrakar/Cassandra or Adaar: Sparring, banter, teasing, shenanigans, and valiant heroics! The letters Shokrakar sends, and her nicknames for Inquisition members, are absolutely delightful. What would happen if they met? What would Shokrakar make of Adaar’s new job leading the Inquisition? Alternatively, how did Adaar join the Valo-Kas? Did they start a relationship back then?

4. Vivienne: Vivienne being in her element and playing the Game with skill and finesse, making impressive use of her knight-enchanter skills, having deep feelings beneath her political mask, and being the nerdy mage that she is! Perhaps send her on some intrigue with Leliana or Josie or Cass - or maybe send them shopping, on a spa day, or to a fancy Orlesian restaurant! Would one of them go out of their way to hunt down a rare book or artifact for Vivienne? Or perhaps, you could have them work through the aftermath of Bastien’s illness.

5. The Avvar: Here are some screenshots if you need visuals! [X] [X] I’d love to see more of their world! Daily life, quiet moments and storytelling by the campfire, sunsets over the lake, blizzards, rock climbing, bears, and the warmest looking hoods! 

- Svarah Sun-Hair: I would love to see her being the badass, competent, confident leader she is - whether this involves fighting, negotiating, or daily duties. How would someone catch her eye and win her heart? The best friend she’s had from childhood, her second-in-command who’s not afraid to challenge her judgment, the Thane of a rival Hold with whom she must learn to work together to reach a common goal? If you choose to pair her with someone outside the Avvar, how would they work through their differences in culture and develop mutual respect and understanding? Would someone from the Inquisition get snowed in or injured and have to live with the Avvar for awhile? Would they fight of danger together, or perhaps work together to open trade in a way that benefits the Avvar? Also, Svarah really knows how to sit on her throne <3

- Cassandra & Storvacker: bear puns! Cassandra becoming friends with her natural enemy! ;) How would these two learn to get along, and what shenanigans (or heroics) would they get up to? (feel free to include other members of Stone-Bear Hold in this too!)

- Sigrid/Trevelyan: How would Sigrid react to a mage Trevelyan - would she agree to join the Inquisition? If you choose Josie for the war table mission, she receives a letter with some interesting possibilities for lecture-circuit shenanigans [X]. Would she and Trevelyan try to outdo each other with explosive results? Alternatively, how would Sigrid deal with leaving or reconnecting with her hold?

- Fullna/Gyda: Fullna is the Hold’s skald (vaguely like a bard), and responsible for keeping their stories and history alive. She’s only had the position a few years and hasn’t yet earned her legend-mark. Gyda is responsible for the Hold’s funerary rights. Would they nerd out together over lore, histories, and nature? They’re both fairly young and new to their positions - how might they support each other? Would they have an adventure (or perhaps something less grand!) that earns them their legend-marks? Would Fullna woo Gyda with a song?

- Linna & Runa: In Up and Away, Linna, a fisher, cannot find her cousin Runa, who got lost climbing. Perhaps you could show that quest from either of their povs? What is the relationship between these cousins like? Did they often get lost and cause lots of trouble sneaking out to climb together while they were kids?

7. Tragic Couples: I’d be happy with both angsty or fix-it fics for these! For easy reference:  the Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe [x], Ritts & Eldredda [X], Jehan & Fabienne [X]

6. The most adorable nerds: bonding over exploring and making discoveries, creative inventions, teaching, awkwardness, showing feelings by sharing knowledge.

- Colette/Harding: Adventure! Mayhem! Does Colette make a big discovery with Harding’s help, and finally get the recognition she deserves? Does she help Harding with her fear of Heights? What danger’s lurk around the Basin’s ruins?

- Your Trainer: she’s given up so much to learn dangerous rift magic, I’d love to see her end up somewhere safe and happy (and the same for Minaeve, too). What knowledge can she share? (Also, feel free to explore an ace or queerplatonic relationship relationship here - or really for any of my prompts, for that matter!)

- Belinda/Luka: adventure! explosives! mushrooms! I just love this multiplayer pair!

[tristinai]

Tagged by @captain-amoruca. Did my best to answer these concisely XD

1. Which game(s) have you been playing lately? 

Dragon Age Inquisition (Inquisitor Adaar/Josephine romance!), The Sims 4, Pokemon Yellow

2. What toppings do you put on your pizza? 

I love making homemade vegan pizza (dough and all!) and I usually end up putting green peppers, onions, broccoli, sweet potato (yeah, don't ask), olives, tofu chunks, and *sometimes* vegan cheese. I am just as happy without the vegan cheese, though.

3. What movie have you watched lately that left you pondering? I recently saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch and there's one song in the film inspired by Plato's Symposium so it got me thinking about soulmates, gender, sexual orientation, and all those heavy thoughts that no half-bottle of wine can silence at this time of night.

4. What fanfiction did you recently enjoy? I've been reading @metatiki's Don't Worry, I'll Protect You (Inquisitor!Dorian/Cullen fic). I highly recommend it :)

5. Do you prefer beardy or freshly shaved Steve Rogers? I'll probably receive a world of hate for saying this but I dislike facial hair. Like, a lot. I basically left Canada back in 2010 and went back after 7 years and was like, "Where did all this facial hair come from???" so hate me, all-knowing internet gods, but I am going with fresh-shaven Steve Rogers.

6. If you could create a video game, what would it be about? (Having intercourse with dragons as Garrett Hawke is a suitable answer.) Well, since you stole the only valid answer to this question, I will have to go with something ridiculous. A game set in a world where citizens exist in a caste-like society based on markings they develop as they reach their early years of puberty. The ruling class is a select few, whose markings also give them (mage-like) abilities and they maintain the status quo with an iron fist, making it illegal to marry/copulate outside of one's "class", punishable by death. The protagonist was born in the lowest tier of society but as they come of age, they discover they have one of the rarest kinds of markings that makes them essentially in line to become the next ruler, possessing a unique form of magic. During the annual census, the government forcefully takes them from their home and murders their family, a standard practice to indoctrinate the protagonist by severing familial bonds and giving the protagonist no incentive to escape their 'destiny'.

During the years of being shielded from the rest of society and being trained to become the next head of state, the protagonist learns to bury their hatred. But it festers, the need for vengeance, driving the protagonist to become proficient in their abilities so that they may someday use it against the people who had taken everything from them. As the protagonist reaches adulthood, they become the target of a terrorist attack and in the chaos of the bombing, are captured by the resistance, a rebel group that's been trying to overthrow the government. The protagonist joins the resistance and together, they plot to take down the government. The game would be stealth-based, sort of like a Dishonored-meets-1984, with markings that determine caste.

...I swear, I have no idea where my mind wanders this time of night...

7. Do you have a resolution for 2018? 

Nothing comes to mind right now. Improve my writing?

8. What is something that marked you in 2017? 

Like, something that made this year different from all the others? I guess coming out as gay. I've spent way too many years hiding behind incorrect pronouns and secret relationships with women, all the while hating myself for being gay. Still not beyond hating myself for it but coming out, and receiving (mostly) positive reactions is a step in the right direction.

9. Do you prefer Wonder Woman or Thor: Ragnarok? 

That's a tough choice because neither film is my favorite in their respective cinematic universes. I'm choosing Wonder Woman because, for as much as I enjoyed Ragnarok, I was really disappointed that Sif, Darcy, and Jane were not in the film at all. The ladies from the Thor films were my favorite female characters in the MCU and I am sad that they may have been written out of the Marvel-verse :(.

10. On a scale from 8 to 10, how awesome do you think Captain-Amoruca is? ;) 

15 :P

[sky-scribbles]

The Adaar Backstory - Part 3

The final installment of Talan and Meraad’s story, covering the years after the latter’s rescue from the Qun, their character development through Inquisition, and of course, their love interests. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get round to doing this!

Part One  // Part Two

Part Three, in which things lighten up.

The years following Meraad’s escape were not easy.

Getting out of Seheron and fleeing to the Free Marches wasn’t even the hard part. The hard part was Meraad’s recovery. To begin with, she was convinced that she was putting Talan and everyone around them in danger, and that she had to go back to the Qun, or be put into a Circle. Talan tried very hard to convince her that she wasn’t dangerous, but after the emotional suffering she’d endured, there was only so much he could do.

For some time, they drifted from place to place, Talan taking mercenary work wherever he could get it to keep them alive. Eventually he was contracted to kill a bunch of apostates who’d escaped the Starkhaven Circle... except instead of doing so, Talan contacted them peacefully and asked if they’d be willing to help shelter Meraad. (Incidentally, this group had been helped to escape Kirkwall by Dalton Hawke, who would later become the city’s Champion - their leader, Terrie, was one of the few to evade recapture and would later receive help from Dalton through the mage underground quests. Small wonder Talan and Dalton get along so well in Inquisition.)

With Meraad in the care of fellow mages, Talan felt secure enough to leave Meraad alone to take work further afield - and eventually, this led to him joining the Valo-Kas. He visited Meraad as much as possible, but knew she wouldn’t be able to cope with the mercenary lifestyle, since she was terrified by the concept of using her magic to fight anyone. Slowly, Meraad’s mental state healed somewhat, though she was still scared of her abilities - but a huge help came along some years later in the form of The Tale of the Champion. Reading about Dalton Hawke - an apostate mage who was unquestionably a hero, had freed fellow mages and even tried to free a Saarebas - was a big step towards Meraad feeling like having magic didn’t make her a monster.

Eventually, of course, Talan ended up at the Conclave and stumbled out of the Fade with a weird mark on his hand. Once the gang were all settled at Skyhold, and he was sure it was a safe place, he wrote to Terrie’s group and invited them to join the mages he’d recruited to the Inquisition - and invited Meraad to come and live in Skyhold with him. Here, with help from Cole and tutelage from her hero Hawke during his stay there, Meraad finally came to embrace her magic.

She came to spend a lot of time in the stables, where she used her blossoming powers of Spirit and Creation magic to heal any injured horses, and where she felt most safe - it was a more isolated part of Skyhold, so she wasn’t around the crowds and noise (which made her even more jumpy and shrinking-violet-y than normal). Dennet and Blackwall, the stables’ only other regular occupants, were both good company - the former was fond of her, thanks to her skill with he horses, and the latter even more so, since her brother was his best friend, and both gave her friendly encouragement and all the space she needed. Often, the two Adaars and Blackwall could be found in three different corners of the stable - one brewing a potion or sewing a tunic, one tending to a horse, one engaged in woodwork, and all three of them enjoying the company of the others in comfortable silence.

Now, of course, for romance!

Talan was taken with Cassandra pretty much from the moment he saw her, but his admiring crush on the tough-as-hell Seeker quickly became more. She had the romantic dreaming streak that had made him fall for Aisha, and the battle-ferocity and utter faith in her cause that had attracted him to Hasa. And she covered his back in battle, stood at his side as he tried to prove that a Vashoth mercenary could save the world as well as anyone. It did take him some time to overcome his insecurities that Cassandra could really care for a Qunari - sure, Aisha had, but she hadn’t been anywhere near so strongly Andrastian as Cass - but of course, everything worked out all right in the end.

As for Meraad... it wasn’t long before she started shooting shy looks at her brother’s best friend. Blackwall treated her kindly and like a lady, respected her personal space, and seemed to her like a solid, noble hero-figure whom she could always feel safe around. After Revelations, however, Meraad’s feelings for Blackwall changed, becoming something rather more mature. Seeing how depressed he was post-reveal, she took it upon herself to comfort him and encourage him, assuring him that she knew exactly what it was like to consider oneself a monster. And Blackwall, in turn, started looking at her with new eyes...

Talan’s instinctive reaction on realising their growing feelings for each other was alarm - this was his precious little sister, after all, and while he’d forgiven Blackwall completely, he had lied - but he quickly realised that Meraad had grown up into a strong woman, and that this was her choice to make. Besides, he trusted no one more with his sister’s happiness than his best friend, and no one more with his best friend’s happiness than his sister.

I haven’t played Talan through Trespasser yet, so I’m not sure what choice he’ll make regarding the Inquisition or how his future with Cass might play out. I do know that Meraad will take the same role that a Blackwall-mancing Quizzie does, joining him as they travel to bring hope to those with none. And then, of course, there’s this gal to consider...

Naara Adaar is Talan and Cassandra’s daughter, probably born a few years after Trespasser. I haven’t worked out much about her yet, other than that while mostly human in appearance, she has slightly pointed ears and is very tall indeed. She grows up not sure whether she wants to take on her mother’s sword-and-board fighting style or her dad’s twin-dagger style... in the end she finds herself wielding a sword in each hand, because she’s that awesome.

Perhaps I’ll update this after I finish Trespasser with Talan. For now, I think that’s everything - this long and unnecessary summary of the Adaar family backstory is complete!

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [8/9]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 5000 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one. Chapter-specific note:  All of the remaining chapters are up on AO3; they’ll be posted more slowly here on tumblr so as not to clog your dashboards.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

"She's late," Bull said.

Dorian rolled his eyes. "You don't say."

Cassandra, ignoring them both, continued to look toward the village through her spyglass. Josephine watched her, hands clammy. They were all awfully comfortable with the idea that something had already gone wrong. Perhaps from long practice. 

Josephine, unfortunately, wasn't practiced at all.

Cassandra lowered the spyglass. "That's the last of them."

"Really," Bull said, doubtfully. "All of 'em in the tavern?"

"Or standing around outside it." She tucked the spyglass into her belt. "Ten, all told. A few in older gear, but otherwise well-equipped."

"I'd've left some men out in the field. They have enough to spare for that. Catch us off-guard when we're in the middle of cracking heads."

"I believe they hope that if they are all in one place, you can be prevented from doing that," Dorian said dryly.

"We'll see how that works out for them."

"No change to the plan, then," Josephine broke in.

They all looked to her, as if they'd forgotten she was there. Fair enough. She wasn't usually here when they did this kind of thing. And after this experience, she hoped she never would be again.

"If she wasn't fast enough to observe without being made, none of us are," Bull said. "So either she's injured or worse, and we need to ride to the rescue sooner rather than later—"

"Bull," Dorian said, not exasperated now, but sharp. Maybe Josephine's face had given away something of how she felt about this hypothetical scenario.

"—or she's just tied up, and we might as well get on with it," Bull went on, perfectly even. "We're not going to figure out more about these people by standing out here with our thumbs up our asses."

Dorian glared at Bull. "If they've gone to the trouble of luring her here, she's probably the picture of—"

"She'd rather know the score than listen to me lie," Bull interrupted.

"We don't gain anything by waiting," Cassandra said, taking over. "She is very good with those daggers, but not good enough to handle a dozen opponents at once."

"She lacks the reach," Bull agreed.

Josephine looked to Cassandra again, who looked back at her, frowning. "They're not Red Templars," she said, not reassuring—that was not Cassandra's forte—but simply conveying facts. "I'm certain of that much. Well-outfitted, but no identifying regalia."

"Professionals, then," Bull said. "Not hungry folk."

"I just imagined I would know more about them than that when I walked into this negotiation," Josephine said.

"We always knew that we would have limited information," Cassandra pointed out. "Besides, you have worked miracles before. I have watched you change the mood at many a meeting in a single blink."

"To you, it may certainly seem that way. There is a lot of groundwork before we reach that point." Josephine took a deep breath. "And the stakes here are higher."

"Nah," Bull said. "Just think—usually we have to do this part without you."

Dorian looked torn between outrage and amusement. "You are creating more and more problems for future Adaar, you know."

"She can handle it," Bull said easily, and winked at Josephine. Well, maybe he just blinked. It was hard to tell.

"Very well," Josephine said, ignoring all of this regardless. "Let's waste no more time."

They took the wagon-rutted road on foot, leaving the horses tied at the turnstile that marked the highway. Josephine took the opportunity, as they walked, to unwind the chain of office that had been packed carefully away in her saddlebags and don it again.

"If they are as well-researched as they seem," she said, to Cassandra's questioning look, "then best they know who they're dealing with from the outset."

Cassandra's mouth twitched toward a smile. "They may be so distracted by the idea of all the money they don't know that we don't have that it will all be over before opening remarks."

"You would like that," Josephine said mildly. "Given your distaste for wasting time."

"Mmm," Cassandra said, noncommittal, but still she smiled. She hadn't drawn her sword, but her hand rested on the pommel; she watched the fields, eyes seeking any sign of movement.

Josephine spoke more quietly this time. "Do you think she really could be injured?"

Cassandra's gaze flicked to her, just for a moment. She hesitated before answering. "Yes. Anything is possible. If this is a hopeful grab for money, though, they would be stupid to seriously wound her." She let out a barely-audible sigh. "As long as she keeps her mouth shut. But if these people know her...if they wish to harm her because of some personal vendetta...well, she is resilient. She will recover."

Adaar had once told Josephine a story too terrible to be false. Now she had a hard time forgetting it, the images it had evoked: the close cellar, the tortured sawing of blade against horn, the just-in-time arrival of the Valo-kas.

She'd promised Adaar that no one would do that to her, ever again. She hoped that she was not too late. 

"And if it's worse?" Josephine asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"She would fight," Cassandra said easily. "To her dying breath. We would already have heard the ruckus." She paused, considering. "And if she got the opportunity, she would run."

Josephine held onto that through the long walk down into the valley, where the light from the Dancing Star still gleamed, brighter and brighter, resolving clearly now into firelight, not a star at all. The others didn't talk much, either, all preparing in their own way: Cassandra, steadily alert; Bull, whistling a low tune; Dorian, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his staff; and Josephine, combing over the possibilities, trying to think of what she'd missed, trying to guess at every angle this adversary might arrive from.

Five mercenaries stood just outside the tavern building, bright with nervous energy. They perked up when they saw the group. "Nice of you to finally join us," one of them—a lean woman with her hair braided tightly out of the way—called out. "No funny business means no mages." She pointed at Dorian. "Give up your staff."

"Of course, good woman." Without any apparent hesitation, Dorian threw the stick at her, maybe a touch harder than necessary. She fumbled the catch a little.

"Boss wants to talk to someone agreeable," she said. She leaned the staff against the wall behind her. "Amenable, like. Just one."

Some might call the diplomats, merchants, and nobles Josephine dealt with mercenary, but she had rarely dealt with actual mercenaries. Still, they were just people, in the end. People she wanted something from, who wanted something from her.

So she had gotten through many moments like this. She had just not been bargaining for her heart, then.

But her head took over. Like Adaar's long years of practice with a blade, Josephine had honed her craft until it was muscle memory, until it was second nature. She did not hesitate.

"Lady Josephine Montilyet," she said, stepping forward. She did not curtsy. "Chief Diplomat of the Inquisition. I believe that I will serve." Before they could get halfway through their uneasy looks to one another—maybe they hadn't bargained on quite so high an officer—she pressed ruthlessly on. "I must insist, however, that I bring some protection to the table. Cassandra will accompany me."

This was important; they would have a hard time inside, at the crucial moment, if only Adaar and Josephine were on hand to deal with the number Cassandra had marked going into the tavern—or, worse, if Adaar wasn't in there at all.

The woman said, "Boss said just one."

Josephine smiled, unthreatening, polite. "Two is not so different than one. We come in good faith; our mage has already surrendered his weapon; this is the nature of compromise."

With a scowl, the woman flung open the door to the tavern. Josephine heard the murmur of conversation through the thin walls. She listened with half an ear in case the words became discernible while she observed the others.

One of the men, standing a few feet to the right of the tavern door, had paled. His eyes flicked from Josephine's chain of office to the tall, tall points of Bull's horns. His armor was older than the rest, not as well-fitted or well-maintained. The mercenary standing beside him wore a similar outfit, but his jaw was set. He did not look at their group at all.

The woman reappeared, a sour twist to her mouth. "You two, go in." She gestured to Josephine and Cassandra. "You two, stay put." She pointed at Bull and Dorian. Bull made a display of scratching his belly and yawning.

"Thank you," Josephine said pleasantly, and led the way into the tavern.

It had been mostly cleared. There were a handful of small tables in front of the hearth, where three of the mercenaries stood; one of them broke off, following Josephine and Cassandra to the table that stood apart from the rest, where one man sat.

Adaar was on the ground behind him.

She still catalogued the rest of the room, took in all the information she could: a third mercenary near the hearth with lopsided leather armor; the old man behind the bar on the wall opposite, shoulders hunched, watching the room from beneath a furrowed brow; the man at the table, tossing one of Adaar's daggers idly as he watched them approach.

But she spared a heartbeat for Adaar, to feel the relief that she was alive, even if she couldn't allow it to show on her face.

Adaar knelt on the tavern floor, a mercenary to either side of her, their weapons already drawn, guarding. The neutral expression on her face spoke to how deeply annoyed she really was; Josephine had seen it now and then, when a visitor to Skyhold got too pushy with their demands. But her dark eyes met Josephine's, and they were steady, unafraid. There was a suspicious red shininess around one of her eyes, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

They'd bound her hands behind her back, a problem she was likely already working on, especially now that the mercenaries were distracted by newcomers. Josephine would need to buy her time.

"Ah," Adaar said, breaking the silence. "The cavalry."

"Shut up," the man at the table said, eyeing Cassandra. "Moiraine failed to mention that your bodyguard is the bloody Hero of Orlais."

"I assure you," Cassandra said, in a tone that no one would have believed, "tales of my exploits have been greatly exaggerated."

It would be best to remove attention from her, immediately. "I don't think it's unreasonable to enlist such a chaperone," Josephine said, "considering the number of soldiers you have in this room."

Six, by her count. Just one more than Cassandra had marked. Bull and Dorian would have their hands full outside once it all began, and in these quarters, she would have a hard time keeping out of the way. It was several feet to the bar counter; she wondered if she would be fast enough to dive behind it before the mercenary standing behind her could act.

She sat. The man at the table still held one of Adaar's daggers, though he'd stopped tossing it. The other lay on the table in front of him like a trophy. She heard the mercenary behind her settle into position—no weapon drawn, and within reach of Cassandra, but the casual threat was clear.

"I assume your lieutenant already introduced me," she said. The man across from her glanced at her chain of office, as if in acknowledgment. "Who do I have the pleasure of dealing with?"

He sneered. "Ellis Koster," he replied. "Of Koster's Carvers."

The company name didn't give Josephine much confidence, but she pressed on. "I wish we'd made this acquaintance under more pleasant circumstances, but we must make the best of what we have." She folded her hands on the table in front of her. "So, to business: what do you want?"

He pulled a folded slip of paper from his breastplate, placed it on the table, and slid it across to Josephine under the point of his forefinger. There was a smug look about his face, every movement slow and exaggerated, as if he'd always dreamed of doing it—holding all the power, dictating to others.

She had been afraid, waiting for Adaar's return, realizing she wasn't coming. But now—now, seeing this foul man put a price on the head of the woman she loved, seeing him crush it beneath his insignificant finger, she was angry. She was furious.

She took the paper, unfolded it, and read the sum with a carefully schooled expression. Even had she been seriously considering the ransom, it was a preposterous amount. No one could be under any illusions that the Inquisition had such deep coffers.

She adjusted her understanding of his intelligence.

"What offense has the Inquisitor made against you to make such an amount appropriate?" she asked, looking up again.

A little surprise tugged at his features. "Against me, personally? None."

"Then I find it hard to believe that you demand this payment seriously," Josephine said, setting the folded paper delicately on the table.

"This ain't a court, Ambassador. I've got something you want; you've got something I want. I baited a trap, and this is the tax you pay to get out of it."

"I see," Josephine said. "Well, then I think you know that this is far too much to demand for one person."

A little of the lurid anticipation fell from his face. "That so."

She did not elaborate; she simply waited, keeping all eyes on her. She had learned early in her career that silence was a powerful weapon. Even now, she saw it doing its insidious work: sowing doubt, planting second thoughts—not just in Koster, but in his thugs.

One, in particular. The woman by the hearth with the ill-fitting armor. The rest of them showed discomfort in other ways, in a hardening of the brow, a shifting of weight, but this one had panic in the twist of her mouth, in the nervous flex of her fingers.

The barkeep, by contrast, had stilled. He glared—not at Koster, Josephine, or Adaar, but at the nervous woman across the room.

Interesting.

"Because it seems to me," Koster said, breaking the silence, "that there's not much of an Inquisition without an Inquisitor."

Josephine felt the flush of a minor victory. He hadn't been able to outlast her, and now, whether he understood it or not, she had reclaimed some of the power he had tried to hold over her.

"The Rift is closed," Josephine said, choosing her tone carefully. Bored, relaying outdated facts. Her attention already turned to other, more serious things. "The days of paying off common thugs so that we can retain the Inquisitor's services are past. There is the matter of Corypheus, certainly, but we will be able to make do, I believe. After all," she gestured to Cassandra, "we are among esteemed company."

She sat back, physically signalling her disengagement, ignoring the discomfort of putting herself any nearer to the thug behind her. Adaar was no longer looking at her, she saw; she was instead focused on the mercenary by the hearth, the woman the barkeep was glaring at. She avoided Adaar's eyes. Her hands had curled into fists.

The barkeep knew this woman, Josephine realized. And so did Adaar.

"That's too bad," Koster said, drawing her attention back to him. "Too bad for you, I mean."

Josephine tilted her head to the side, as if vaguely curious. "Oh? How so?"

He put the dagger down on the table and leaned forward. "You can't imagine I'll let you leave, Ambassador, if you don't give me what I want. The next person to sit in that chair might be more interested in playing ball if we have half your war table in our cellars."

Josephine allowed a beat of silence, and then she brought a hand to her mouth to cover an amused laugh.

"By all means, Messere," she said, twisting the honorific into a taunt. "Show us to our accommodations. We will see who decides to negotiate with you next. For your sake, I do hope Nightingale does not take an interest."

Finally, he betrayed a twitch of unease. She'd guessed correctly; his mercenaries had recognized her, and he had recognized Cassandra. Not a small leap to imagine he'd heard of Leliana—and some of her less savory methods of doing business.

Sometimes it was good to have questionable friends.

"Perhaps it's time for us to move on, then," Koster said, staring Josephine down. "We'll take what we need from these fine people and make ourselves scarce." He had an ugly, unkind grin. "Wouldn't do to leave anyone to tattle on us, though, would it?"

"You said no one would get hurt!" a new, shaking voice broke in.

Josephine judged it acceptable to look toward the woman. She'd taken a step forward from the hearth; the other mercenary, a few feet away from her, put his hand on the pommel of his sword, frowning.

"Vilya," Adaar said, her voice low, "don't—"

"I told you to shut up," Koster snapped over his shoulder. He pointed at Vilya. "And you—"

The situation was rapidly escalating out of her control, but Josephine had bought enough time. Adaar's gaze swept the room, cataloguing and assessing, muscles tensed on the verge of movement. She was ready.

Josephine caught Cassandra's eye and gave the tiniest of nods, one that Koster, distracted by a room of unraveling threads, wouldn't notice. Cassandra's sword made a magnificent, ominous sound as she pulled it from the sheath. All eyes went to her.

In that moment, Adaar was meant to act. Josephine was meant to dive for cover. 

But Josephine wanted more than to cower in a corner while others took care of this creature. He had made it necessary to say untrue things, words that had left such a sour taste in her mouth. She would play a small part more in his demise.

She snatched up Adaar's daggers.

"Catch!" she called, and threw the blades to Adaar.

Adaar was already moving. She had one foot planted on the floor beneath her; her hands, trailing snapped rope, reached up to pluck the clumsily-thrown daggers from midair. Her rise was graceful, effortless, and as she straightened to a height taller than either mercenary flanking her, she left a dagger in each of their chests. She never took her eyes from Josephine.

"Duck," she replied.

The room erupted. Josephine scrambled under the negotiation table. She heard the whistle of a near miss above her; the mercenary standing guard over her had acted, but too late. Only a second later, his body thudded to the ground behind her. Cassandra's sword had found an opening.

Three down, she thought, pulling her knees tight to her chest, so as to present the smallest possible target.

From her vantage point, she couldn't see much. She saw Koster's boots and Adaar's bare feet, moving, in and out, back and forth; she heard the snarls of his rage and Adaar's eerie silence. When she dared glance over to her right, she saw Cassandra's greaves, the occasional flash as the firelight reflected off her sword—and her opponent's. She kept him crowded near the hearth, blocking his path to his commander.

Vilya's was the only face Josephine could see. She'd backed into the far corner, huddled on the ground behind the tables and chairs.

Josephine returned her attention to the fight in front of her. She stared at the light way Adaar's feet moved across the dirty floorboards. Her footing was so sure, so graceful. Koster lunged and hacked, and Adaar, without the benefit of armor or boots, moved fluidly out of his way—and yet, at the same time, closer. Trying to get inside the reach of his weapon. There was a yelp—she'd made contact—and then an angry bellow; her points made, Adaar slipped out of reach.

But Koster was not ready to give up. Josephine had hoped that the blood now dotting the floor would slow him down; instead, he stopped swinging so wildly, waited, focused. She heard him give a mean, breathless laugh, and her blood ran cold.

"I've heard tales of your skill," he said. "Glad you measured up to the challenge. But someone got the better of you once. Maybe I'll take the other horn, as a trophy."

Adaar didn't rise to the bait. Josephine had seen her temper, secret, boiling. But she directed it as she liked; it did not direct her.

Josephine could hear the smile in her voice. "I've been saying for years that I'm just not symmetrical anymore."

The battle rejoined. Their feet moved faster now, the movements so quick they left Josephine breathless. She clenched her fists and watched, not daring to blink.

Now and then, she saw the length of Koster's sword, just barely sweeping into view. It was after one such upswing that she heard a dull, sickening thud.

Adaar had frozen in place, her stance unbalanced, wobbling. Koster gave another nasty laugh. Josephine tossed a panicked look toward Cassandra, but she was still occupied with the other mercenary.

She cast around frantically for a weapon, found her guard's fallen sword, and snatched it up. Then she crawled toward the fight, the scene coming into view as she peered out from beneath the table.

Koster's sword was stuck in Adaar's horn. Josephine's heart seized, but Adaar was smirking, and after a second's panic, Josephine understood why: the sword was truly stuck, about a third of the blade's width trapped in the horn. Koster pulled and pulled at it, the look on his face transforming from triumph to concern, and Adaar only turned her head in a way that made pulling it free harder.

"Sorry, is the angle bad?" Adaar asked, all innocence.

The next time he pulled, she pulled too, away from his sword. The sudden release of the blade threw him off-balance; he caught himself on the backfoot, but not fast enough. Adaar had used the moment to move in, lightning-quick, daggers extended. She crashed into him, toppling them both to the floor.

For a long, terrifying moment, they both lay still. Josephine could not move, could not breathe— 

Then Adaar, with a hard exhale, rolled off Koster's body. The hilts of her two daggers stuck up from his torso. One had left his breastplate askew, no longer protecting his ribs; Adaar must have cut the leather fasteners that held front to back, at his sides, on an earlier pass.

The other, she'd left in his neck. Blood was still pumping from that wound, though sluggishly. Josephine's stomach turned, but she ignored it. She scrambled out from beneath the table, around Koster's body, and to Adaar, who still lay on her back, breathing heavily, mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

Closer now, without a sword in the way, Josephine saw why. Koster's sword had clipped the pointed tip of Adaar's ear in its doomed arc toward her horn; the wound was still bleeding.

"I don't think he understood symmetry," Adaar said, fumbling to feel at her ear. She smiled at Josephine. "Were you going to duel him?"

Josephine stared at her, uncomprehending, then remembered the sword in her hand; with a noise of disgust, she tossed it away with a clatter. She caught Adaar's hand instead, pulling it away from the wound.

Footsteps approached from behind, and Josephine tensed, but then Cassandra asked, "Are you well?"

"Fine," Adaar said. "Thanks for the rescue."

Cassandra snorted. "What will we do with this one?"

Josephine turned. Cassandra held Vilya by the shoulder. The woman stared at the ground. The other mercenary lay dead on the floor beside the hearth.

"Herah," a reedy voice said—the barkeep, shuffling toward them with the aid of a walking stick. "I mean, Your Worship—"

"Don't start with the holiness stuff, Hammond." Adaar sat up with a grunt, holding fast to Josephine's hand. "Please."

"Well." Hammond cleared his throat. "You're not going to hurt her, are you? She's been awfully stupid, but...she didn't fight."

Adaar looked at Vilya and sighed. "I don't want to. But I do want to know what's going on. What happened, Vilya?"

For a moment, Josephine was sure that Vilya would keep quiet—but then she spoke, low and fast, not looking up from the ground. "Trade's been bad. Crops didn't do well this year. Everybody says the war's coming this way, if we don't starve to death first, and when Koster came along, he said he could help us. Get the Inquisition to protect us."

"You knew he was going to lure me here," Adaar said.

"He made it sound so easy! Made it sound like you'd just pay up and be on your way. He said you wouldn't miss it. And the Inquisition wouldn't leave us vulnerable again, after that." Her voice was thick with tears. Josephine felt a pang of sympathy. Here were their desperate folk, driven to desperate things.

"Who else?" Adaar asked.

"Just Cossus and Herbert. I swear."

"They came in one night with those Carvers," Hammond said, "leading the way. No one in town's spoken to them since. They've been sleeping here." He shot a look at Vilya. "Not by my choice."

Adaar rubbed her unbloodied hand over her forehead. "Well, Vilya," she said, "you—and Cossus and Herbert, assuming they were smart enough to surrender—have two options, the way I see it. You can beg your families' forgiveness, work off your guilt here. Or, if you really want the protection of the Inquisition, you can work for it."

Vilya finally looked up. She swiped at her eyes with a fist. "Can we...can we think about it?"

"Think fast. I'm not staying long." Adaar nodded to Cassandra. "See if Bull and Dorian need help. And keep an eye on her and her friends until someone else can."

"Come," Cassandra said to Vilya, pushing at her shoulder.

"Herah," Vilya said, still tearful. Now that she'd looked up, her eyes were fixed on the blood streaking down Adaar's cheek, down her neck. "I'm—"

Adaar waved her off. "Don't say it til you mean it."

Cassandra prodded Vilya along to the door. When it opened, noise poured in: Bull in the midst of a lecture on company ethics; fire crackling beneath the occasional yelp. The door swung shut again, muffling the sound.

Adaar let out another deep, bone-weary sigh. "Sorry about the mess, Hammond."

The barkeep scoffed. "We'll set Vilya and her friends to scrubbing. The blood'll be out in no time, or we'll have them laying a new floor. I'll get you a rag for that bleeding."

"My bag—"

"They took it downstairs. I'll fetch that, too."

Hammond shuffled off behind the bar. Josephine waited until his footsteps had faded, and then she asked, quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Could have been better," Adaar said. "Could have been worse."

"That does not answer my question."

Adaar met her gaze. "I don't think I can leave this place unguarded. There are other Kosters out there." She shook her head. "And other Vilyas. I'm sorry. I know we're stretched thin."

Josephine brought her other hand to cover Adaar's and squeezed. "We will make do."

Adaar's lips quirked up on one side in a tiny, crooked smile. "You know, when you say that, no matter how impossible the task seems, I believe you. Especially after that display." Her eyes danced. "It's a pleasure to watch you work."

"Oh, that man was insufferable," Josephine said darkly. "I could have carried on for another quarter-hour and still found more ego to chip away at!"

Adaar laughed. The sound, bright and joyful, was infectious; Josephine found herself laughing, too, on the verge of hysteria, all her relief pouring out in a flood.

"That business with the little piece of paper," Adaar choked out, between gasps, "can you believe…"

"You didn't see his face," Josephine said, wiping at her eyes. "He was so sure—"

"You showed him."

"No, my dear, I think you showed him, in the end."

Adaar pulled her hand free from Josephine's grasp, but only to reach out, to sweep Josephine fully against her as their laughter died down to chuckles and hiccups. Josephine wound her arms around Adaar in return, pressing close to her welcome, living warmth, savoring it.

"You shouldn't have grabbed the daggers," Adaar admonished. 

"You shouldn't have gotten caught!"

Adaar let out another chuckle. The sound rumbled pleasantly beneath Josephine's cheek. "Fine. We're even."

Adaar pulled back, just enough to look down at her. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind Josephine's ear.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Josephine's heart leapt. Gone were her old doubts; she recognized the intent in that look, the affection, and leaned a little closer— 

"We can put you all up in some of the rooms, Herah," Hammond said, and they both jumped. He hoisted Adaar's pack up onto the bar counter and brandished a wet rag. "You'd better get that wound seen to."

"Right," Adaar said, and with a rueful smile at Josephine, she gently pulled away and got to her feet. She offered a hand to help Josephine up. "Getting blood everywhere."

"You ought to stay," Hammond continued. "For a few days, at least. People'll be happy to see you. You take your sweet time between visits."

"Yes, I was a little preoccupied with the giant hole in the sky for a while—"

"You been Inquisitor for ten years?" Hammond interrupted.

Adaar stared for a moment, then shook her head. "No, messere," she said, much more meekly.

"I thought not. Now, you get yourself cleaned up, and we'll have a proper homecoming." He made for the front door of the tavern. As the door swung shut, Josephine heard him barking names.

"You hear that old codger?" Adaar asked wonderingly. "I lose a piece of my ear, and he wants to have a party."

Josephine tried very hard not to burst out laughing again. She almost succeeded.