#varlen lavellan

[thereluctantinquisitor]

So... I used my free Fantasia on Varlen...

[sunshinemage]

Inktober 2019 - Day #17

Featuring @thereluctantinquisitor‘s Varlen <3

[cobaltash]

Day 24 if for the gorgeous Varlen Lavellan, who belongs to the lovely @thereluctantinquisitor! I hope you like it!

Pose reference by DamaiMikaz.

[magic-and-dragons]

It’s been pretty much three years since I have drawn Varlen. This handsome lad belongs to @thereluctantinquisitor

[reluctantwrites]

The measure of a man

Thank you for the prompt - some long-overdue Pavellan it is! In which Varlen’s insecurity spikes when he realises there are a lot of differences between his knowledge and Dorian’s... (approx 1500 words) <3

Prompt from THIS LIST.

“Am I not enough for you?”

Dorian started, the words arriving like a slap to the face.  His hands, which were already gripping the edges of the tome he was studying, tensed almost painfully, his knuckles bleeding to white as Varlen’s words – his sudden accusation – sunk in.

“You know, part of me doesn’t even want to dignify that with a response.” Turning, Dorian fixed Varlen with a sharp look. “Varlen. Amatus. If you cannot tell by now how deeply I care for you, then I’m not sure there is anything I can say to convince you otherwise.” He sighed tightly, reaching up to rub his eyes. When was the last time he had slept? “May I ask what in the Maker’s name brought this on?”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Varlen was standing at the far side of the room. Their argument, because apparently they were arguing, passed back and forth through the empty air between them. “You spend so much time in here, with your books and your scrolls and your tomes. It feels like it’s all you do now! And I can’t even understand half of them, and then the other half are all to do with magic, which again, I don’t understand. Even when I try, I feel like I’m just in the way or slowing you down, a-and… and at some point…” He broke off, his once-sharp gaze sliding away, the anger melting into something impotent and uncertain. Distressed. “Just… answer the question, Dorian.” He swallowed tightly. “Please.”

For a handful of moments after Varlen’s outburst, all Dorian could do was stare at his amatus, dumbfounded and at a loss for how to reply. “Varlen, the research I am doing here is to aid the Inquisition. To help your sister. It is important.”

“I know.” Varlen’s voice was rough. Hoarse. His gaze remained fixed on the side wall, head turned away. “I know it is. I just…” He pulled in a shaky breath. “How can you stand it? Being with someone like me when you’re so…”

Genuinely not sure where Varlen was going with the thought, Dorian cocked his head. “So…?”

“Smart.”

The way Varlen admitted it… it was almost heartbreaking. No, there was no almost about it. He��d practically spoken the word to the floor, as though just saying it aloud confirmed something he had been trying to ignore; trying to hide.

Oh, that simply would not do.

Dorian closed his book with a soft thud, the pages so stiff they creaked like old wood underfoot. “Varlen…” He rose from his chair, bones protesting, muscles aching as he stood. He ignored it. “Amatus, look at me.”

Even Varlen’s body language, his arms wrapped around himself, screamed uncertainty. Discomfort. Shame. But at Dorian’s instruction, he did as asked, those pale blue eyes rising until they made connection across the empty space. Holding his gaze, Dorian began walking towards him, his approach slow and careful. As he moved, he began to speak, his words forming just as slowly and carefully as his steps.

“You know, I have met a lot of people who call themselves smart. Scholars. Politicians. Intellectuals, if you like. There are many such people, in places like Minrathous, who believe that the measure of a person’s worth lies in the depth of their lexicon. The breadth of their understanding of an absurdly narrow field. Their willingness to…” Dorian ground his teeth for a moment, but pressed on, the distance between himself and Varlen closing. “Their willingness to push the boundaries and discover the unknown at the expense of the moral. At the expense of themselves, and everyone around them.”

Varlen was shaking slightly. Dorian could see it now, as he came within a few feet of the elven man. It was something he should have – would have – noticed before, had his vision not been so closely aligned to the proximity of pages. 

“I don’t understand,” Varlen said softly. Even that small confession seemed to further ingrain his belief that he, for some unfathomable reason, was not enough.

But Maker, that was so far from the truth.

Reaching out, Dorian slid a hand past Varlen’s cheek, barely brushing his skin. His fingers nestled softly in his hair, caressing him, curling gently around the back of his neck as Varlen hung his head, seeming for all the world like a man about to break. And for what?

“Varlen… promise me you will never bow your head because of people like that.”

Confusion seemed to replace shame for a moment, and Varlen stiffened beneath Dorian’s touch. “What?”

“Promise me,” Dorian continued firmly, stepping in until they were so close he could feel the warmth of Varlen’s breath mingling with his. “That you will never think yourself inferior to people just because they know more words, or have read more books, or can recite dead languages to a room full of people just like them in everything save name.” He breathed out, tipping his head forward, gently touching Varlen’s forehead with his own. “I certainly don’t, amatus. Not for a single moment.”

There was something in Dorian’s voice; a plea mixed with a promise of his own. A rawness that might be because he was just too tired to cloak his words in bravado, or simply because he needed Varlen to believe what he said was true. And it was true. Every word of it.

Slowly, Varlen’s hand rose to wrap around Dorian’s arm, tentatively pulling him closer as though afraid the move would be met with rejection. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I just… I know we’re so different. I keep thinking that… that it would be so much better for you, if you had someone who could actually help you.”

“You do help me.”

“How?”

Dorian’s free hand found Varlen’s; threaded their fingers together. “You keep me sane. Keep me grounded. You show me what it means to be open to people. To ideas. To change.” He gave a soft, endlessly fond laugh. “You show me which plants will leave my stomach in knots for days, and which will cure a headache. You show me every single day that there is more to this life than what I can learn on the pages of a book.” He smiled gently. “And might I say, no scholar, politician, or intellectual has ever been able to show me that.”

Varlen snorted, a faint smile curling his lips, a sheepishness to the expression that sent Dorian’s heart to its knees. “Even sleep-deprived and stir-crazy, you somehow manage to be disgustingly charming.” Dorian chuckled at that, and Varlen released a slow breath, some of the tension in his shoulders flooding out with it. “It’s just hard, to feel like you can’t be something. It’s like to be smart, you have to fit certain criteria. You have to be worldly and knowledgeable and wise and you need to have learned from the right books and listened to the right people speak and… a lot of other things I’ve never done.”

Dorian just shook his head, his hand tightening slightly around Varlen’s. “You know, I have it on remarkably good authority that very few smart people fit that criteria either. But that is beside the point.” He leaned back slightly to look Varlen in the eyes. To really look, and see the man who had won his heart with a smile moments after they met, and kept winning it over and over again every day since. He did it with who he was. With what he did, and continues to do. With the way he treats others and the way he faces the world time and time again, no matter what it throws at him. “So, if you want my opinion, no. You’re not smart, Varlen...” Dorian leaned in and kissed him, their lips lingering even as he felt Varlen’s brow crease in brief confusion at the mixed message. “You’re brilliant. Charming. Bright and with endless wit.”

Varlen’s hands shifted to wrap around Dorian, pulling him closer as he let out a  quiet laugh. “Yeah, like you’re one to talk. I think I got a lot of it from you, you know.”

But Dorian just shook his head, caressing Varlen’s face with his hand. “No. You are you, Varlen. And with every dusty tome in this god-awful place as my witness, there is no one else I have ever learned more from.” He smiled, then kissed him again. Varlen made a quiet sound - something like a sigh - his hands loose and relaxed on Dorian’s back as they held each other, awash with the warmth and relief of being in one another’s embrace.

In the end, it didn’t need to be said, but Dorian said it anyway. He said it because it was the truth. He said it because his heart demanded him to.

He said it for all the times in Varlen’s life when he hadn’t heard it.

“Varlen, you will always be enough.”

[thepundemonium]

I think this might be the best thing I did in ages. It’s a slightly altered re-draw of an image I did like 9 years ago, and I honestly love it.

Media used: Regular copy paper, and a pencil no. 2 with an eraser.

The two cute elven boys in the picture are my OC Zarael on the right, and @thereluctantinquisitor‘s Varlen on the left. I actually have no idea if Varlen would voluntarily give away a winter coat if he had a spare one, but he’s doing it now, for the sake of cuteness. Also his vallaslin didn’t turn out perfect, but in my defense, I used the eraser to rub the lines onto his skin - same technique I used for the snowflakes - so I think it’s neat enough.

I’m really proud of how the entire drawing turned out, and I hope y’all like it too!

[magicrobins]

[Open Scene: Varlen in a white open-chested shirt, posed dramatically by a window. A breeze trickles in, billowing the fabric] Ah, Galen! Dear boy, come forth. Let me look at you. Now, you want my advice? Go on a blind date! Here is how to prepare: block out the windows and the cracks beneath doors, wait until the darkest time of night, swathe yourself in ebonweave, then instruct your lover to enter your midnight sanctum. They will adore being unable to see you. Or anything. It's /mysterious/...

Galen: [trying his best to keep his eyes above Varlen’s chest] “How did you…? When did you…? Wait, is ‘entering my midnight sanctum’ code for something…? And wouldn’t they know where I am because, well, we’re elves and our eyes glow so my eyes would be glowing? Should I put a blindfold on so they don’t see my eyes?”

[ephemereon]

[Open Scene: Varlen, positioned sensually behind the leaf of a decorative house plant] Well... if it isn't the lovely Xalynir. Please, come in. Fear not, for I heard your cry for help, and am here to offer you my relationship advice. Shhhhh. Just /listen/. When you find yourself doubting your partner, ask them to do this one thing: kneel on a chair, lean forward, and place their hands on the floor. If they can do this, then you know for certain... that they are head over heels in love with you.

Xal internally : Oh maker. Oh maker. It’s THE VARLEN.

Xal : what if the partner isn’t flexible ? I mean what if they can’t do it ? i mean they can get hurt and-

Xal : wait. That’s a metaphorical pun isn’t it… *blushing furiously* I’m making a fool of myself AGAIN

[operatingfromtheshadows]

[trashwarden]

“Varric? Are you ok?” Happy Birthday to @thereluctantinquisitor !! I made you something quick from Bareback in the Frostbacks - A Majestic Love Story aka the fic that still cracks me up hahaha thank you for always being there

[thereluctantinquisitor]

psst you mentioned making varlen in baldurs gate a while back. I was wondering... if you ended up doing it? :3

Oh boy did I...

I am calling it his “oh please guys I’m totally not a model” AU, in which all Varlen does is vogue for the camera while failing skill checks

[sunshinemage]

💭? ;D

Nin on Varlen:

Such a lively one, Varlen. Cheerful, cheeky and kind. Many don’t see past that, but he gives very, very good advice, and understands a lot more than he thinks.

He gives himself too little credit and can be too hard on himself. Everyone makes mistakes, and I hope he can realise that he can’t blame them all on himself.

Thank you

[kurogoesinthedas]

Happy Birthday @thereluctantinquisitor! I’m so sorry this came late ;w; but I couldn’t not draw you at least some warm cuddles T^T  I hope you like it ;w; thank you for being such an amazing person ♥ 

[thedragonblessed]

@thereluctantinquisitor Here I am with more drawings of Varlen and Dorian because I just can’t help myself and think about them too much. I wanted to draw them when they both just woke up <3 

[reluctantwrites]

Surprise

Thank you @thistlecrow for the drabble prompt! Set post-trespasser. Pavellan. In which Varlen is injured and Dorian was not expecting a visitor.

“You’re out of your damn mind.”

Panicked breaths, fumbling hands. Sometimes, Varlen wondered how they could have ever spent so long apart, when the sensation of his shirt being tugged open still spiked something warm and urgent inside him. Dorian was so close he could smell the wine on his lips, his evening meal forgotten the moment Varlen staggered in from the balcony and collapsed on the marbled floor.

“This... isn’t exactly how I thought this would go,” Varlen rasped, then cringed, teeth gritted as Dorian inspected the crossbow bolt jutting from his side. “S-Shit, that hurts.”

“I imagine so.” Dorian glanced up at Varlen, meeting his gaze for the barest moment, and Varlen swore the man was angry. But Dorian’s touch was gentle as he swept back his sweat-matted hair, pushing it from his face, silver locks dyed jet black. A different kind of marble. “Amatus, what have you done?”

Varlen tried to turn then cried out, his vision fogging slightly as a flash of pain left him voiceless for a moment. When it returned, Dorian was cradling him, eyes wide with panic, a spell already fading from his fingertips. “You’re... not wearing your liner,” Varlen mumbled, reaching out tentatively to brush a thumb beneath Dorian’s eye.

All Dorian could offer for the observation was a disbelieving laugh. “Yes, well, forgive me for not expecting you to come staggering in an hour from midnight.” He shook his head, his eyes flicking back down to the bolt jutting from Varlen’s skin. “We’ll get this fixed, amatus. Not to worry. Try not to move, yes?”

It was a difficult order to follow, because in that moment, Varlen wanted nothing more than to sit up and kiss him, bolt be damned. He wanted to for a number of reasons. Because the situation was a mess. Because he was in pain. Because Dorian wasn’t wearing liner. He’d never seen him without liner.

Because he had called him amatus.

Because it was Dorian.

But he didn’t. He didn’t because Dorian had asked him not to. Even as they lay there on the floor, the mage’s hands worked silent patterns in the air, his fingertips pressing to the site of the wound, cooling the area, numbing it until Varlen released a breath of relief, no longer at he mercy of blinding pain. “Creators... that’s better.”

“Good.” There was a sense of uncertainty to Dorian’s reply. In fact, now that Varlen could properly see, it was written all over his face. 

“That bad, huh?”

Dorian started slightly, like a thief caught with a hand in his mark’s pocket. “Nothing that cannot be mended,” he insisted, then hesitated. “Just... not by me. I have called for a healer. She will be here shortly.”

Shivering, nodding, Varlen let himself sag back down onto the cold stone floor. Focusing his attention on his breathing; on Dorian’s gentle urges that he stay awake. He barely even noticed when a second figure joined them in the room.

“Silvania. Please.” Dorian’s voice was rough and urgent, met by the frantic sound of footsteps. 

His eyes closed, Varlen could only hear the woman drop to her knees on his other side, the soft rustle of fabric marking her descent. “Maker’s breath, what happened to him? What is this?”

Slowly, weakly, Varlen raised his left hand before Dorian had a chance to reply. Both mages fell silent, dangling by a thread, waiting for him to speak. Then, with as much flair as he could muster, Varlen spread his fingers and wiggled them in the air.

“... S-Surprise.”

[opposablethumbsonabear]

Happy belated (or 51-weeks-early?) birthday to Kayla @thereluctantinquisitor! Varlen has always been a light in dark times for me, and I thought it only proper I show my appreciation of you and your boy.