#varric seems to have a similar situation going in his own family too which like. I'm so glad these chucklefucks found each other haha

[vaguely-concerned]

purple hawke who, at malcolm's death, lost not only a father, a mentor, the single most stable and safe point in their world up until this moment. but also the only person in their life who would consistently, gleefully 'yes, and — ' them. the loss, in one fell swoop, of both a beloved parent and your sole willing — no, not only willing, enthusiastic — improv partner. truly, the most unkindest cut of all that the maker could have seen fit to deal. (there's always so much less laughter in the house, after malcolm's gone.)

and then after all the horrors of the blight and trying to make a new life in the shithole turned shithome of kirkwall....... they meet varric. and something that's been slumbering deep within their soul dries a tear of relief and joy and whispers 'oh we are so back'. and they are so right

[5lazarus]

Hi Lazarus! from the hurt/comfort prompts: “Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” Thank you!!

this story got completely out of control, but I vomited up 2.5k words from this prompt! thank you for sending it! I had a lot of fun with this little story, and while I don’t think I managed to bring it to a successful resolution, it taught me a lot about pacing!

to recap, you inspired a whole story idea with the first hug prompt you sent me. I was thinking about what Hawke & friends must have gone through, escaping Kirkwall, and how utterly miserable and emotionally shattered every single one of them must have been. what would that emotional catharsis have looked like? then ellie-elfie sent me a few prompts, which I looped into the story you inspired here, and then ended with this. I posted it on AO3 as Catabasis, though I realize I stopped the story before they go back underground. Thanks again for inspiring this. This was a lot of fun! 

The warm wet of the woods washes away the ash of the last of Kirkwall. Merrill winds them through the muddy woods. She makes them take their shoes off to confuse their tracks, despite Anders muttering about hookworm and Varric’s hatred of dirt, and routinely casts a spell to shift the leaf litter back over their prints. “It’s going to look like elves were travelling, if they’re looking at all,” she says. “Not four humans, a dwarf, and Dog.” Dog barks merrily at the mention of him and Fenris shushes him. “In Seheron, we had caligo lagoenae,” Fenris says. “Can you do something similar?” “Fenris, I don’t speak Tevene,” Merril says shortly. Hawke puts their hand on her shoulder. She is still irritated over the grammar argument in the cave, and Hawke knows she has refused to learn Tevene as a point of principle. Bethany’s said that the best way to learn old magic is to read the magisterium’s journals. Merrill has said the only elves who know Tevene are slaves and slavers, and she would rather not. She continues, “Do you know it in Common? Or is it a spellword?” Fenris snaps, “Don’t patronize me,” and now it is Anders’ turn to step in and diffuse the situation. “I can work up a fog,” he says. “But you’re better at nature magic than I am, Merrill.” They don’t bother asking Bethany, because Bethany is best at curses and massively destructive rift spells. Hawke smirks to themself. Their family always makes a splash, wherever they go--good thing Merrill knows how to cover it up. Merrill weaves and thickens the humidity of the already cloying woods into a thick fog. Bethany summons a small flame and leads them forward, Fenris at her side, checking for signs that his underground left. Aveline sighs. “Creeping through the forest with a thick fog, as if that’s not suspicious.” She shakes her head. Fenris made her change into a light leather armor and leave her guard’s uniform behind. She looks close to the worn woman that Hawke met, all those long years ago, with the security of Kirkwall of her back. She still clutches her sword. Hawke is sorry they made her throw away the Amell family shield. They cannot help but suspect Fenris took some pleasure out of ordering Aveline out of her uniform. They’ve wanted to do the same for so long too, but they know the only way to balance their friends is to step out of the way. Aveline is an idealist, perhaps even more than Anders is; she finds her disillusionment in her own way. Hawke mutters a curse as they step into a particularly noxious puddle of mud. They’ve pushed her further down it, certainly. “Dunno how you stand this,” Hawke says. “The mud. The bugs. Fungus. Do you ever think you’re going to get infected with, like, mushroom people?” “Mushroom people,” Varric mutters. “That’s a good one. Better than lizards.” “No, really,” Hawke protests, scraping the mud of their feet on a tree. Merrill, irritated, waves a hand and the mud hardens and falls off. Hawke blushes: right, that’s a very clear mark a person was there. “Sorry. But, we’ve all seen some strange things in our time in Kirkwall. Amulets that turn into strange witches who can turn into dragons and eat darkspawn. Trees that turn into angry men-spirit-elf things that guard tombs. An actual ancient elvhen god, living in the sewer.” “You know, it’s not so clear Xebenkeck was one of my people’s gods,” Merrill says testily. “She is referred to as both a Forbidden One in our lore and a Forgotten One in the Chantry’s interpolation of the Tevinter text, and--” “Pedant,” Hawke says fondly. “But given all the weird shit we’ve had to fight, I feel like we’re due for some mushroom people springing up on us.” Merrill says, “That’s not how the Fade works. This is land still roved by the People. Think about it like a garden. A good Keeper prunes back the rot and the overgrowth, and leaves space for growth. And burns it out, when necessary. Kirkwall hasn’t had a good Keeper in a long time.” “Or First,” Fenris says nastily. Merrill says, “That demon took Marethari, Fenris. Not me. And if you’re not able to understand that, I don’t understand how you’re able to tolerate Justice and Anders and not what I did with Audacity.” “Because Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders says angrily. Merrill sighs. “I haven’t the time to argue Chantry propaganda with you. You can lead a halla to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I don’t understand how you can hate the Circles and still impose the way they shape the Fade--” “Oh, come off it, you’re worse than Velanna,” Anders says. “Even you have to admit, that time Hawke dragged us into the Fade, that demons mirror Andraste’s teachings on the seven deadliest sins.” “Only because Andrastians outnumber us now,” Merrill argues. “Because when I dream with my clan, we see spirits inherently different--which implies that there is no set form, as you say. What’s the line between Justice and Vengeance, anyway? Between Pride and Fortitude, Audacity and Courage? Fenris, you must have seen how Seheron feels differently than, say, Minrathous, or Kirkwall, or even Wycombe and the Friendly Homes. Where the Fade touches the Waking World--” “They’re going to go on like this for hours,” Varric says. “And I don’t understand shit. Sunshine, why don’t you ever join in?” “Both of them are far too proud to be fun to argue with,” Bethany shrugs. She pushes the lick of flame over her head and nudges it onward. It warms her tired face. Hawke thinks that she looks like their mother, as beautiful as her too, and Leandra would be furious to see the mess their children had made of their lives, on the run again. But she would be happy that they were alive. They troop through the forest, wet and muddy and irritable, and eventually even Anders runs out of things to argue about. Hawke grows comfortable in the smell of Merrill’s petrichor spells. Though the mud is admittedly unpleasant, they like the feel of wet grass sticking to their feet and legs. The woods are loud, Merrill’s magic feels like a hug from her herself, and they feel like they may just get through this. The ground grows rocky as they climb into the Vimmarks. Varric, though he hates inclined surfaces, argues that it is safer to stay in the mountains and follow a winding path past Ostwick rather than risk crossing them and skirting so close to Starkaven. “Prince Charming won’t think we’ll go up,” he says. “Trust me. One thing Sebastian knows about me, is how much I hate hiking.” They set up camp in rock shelters Merrill picks out. She knows this part of the route better than Fenris. Rain sets back in at night. Hawke wonders if Merrill inadvertently summoned it, with her fog spells. It is hard to gauge what a mage can do, because their friends regularly do the impossible. Varric has plucked arrows out of the air, Fenris can pass through walls like a lyrium-infused ghost, and Aveline took down the eldritch horror of a rock wraith in the Deep Roads. The feel of the caves is fantastic. The air tastes good, somehow, fresh and hungry, and the walls are inscribed with runes, layered through the ages. Some of them Merril can read, and she and Fenris sit down with a notebook and they go over them together, Merrill saying the words aloud and Fenris trying to write them down. Anders sits next to Hawke as they watch them. They are all tired, but the tension has been easing the further they get away from the city. They are not sure any of this can be resolved, but right now, they are too tired to fight. “Has Fenris been teaching  you his dialect?” Hawke asks. “Merrill tries with me, she’s very particular about it. Says my accent is adorably shit.” Anders says, “Justice knows Elvhen. I--sometimes I know it when he says it, sometimes I don’t. It’s easier when the Veil is thinner, but gives me a headache.” “Huh. So spirits speak Elvhen.” Hawke turns to Bethany. “How does that work?” She is the Fade expert, out of the trio, though Bethany disengages with grace whenever Merrill disagrees with her. Bethany shrugs. “Dunno. Maker’s first children? Anecdotally I’ve heard that elvhen mages are more susceptible to the Harrowing--” “That’s not true,” Anders interrupts, “that’s because of templar bias and the way they’re discriminated against--” “Let me finish, Anders,” Bethany says, irritated. “As I was saying. There seems to be a stronger pull between elves and spirits, and Merrill thinks is has to do with Dalish cosmology, though that wouldn’t make sense because Orsino--well, no one has actually studied it. And now no one will, not with what’s happening with the Circles. If they don’t just kill us all.” “Fiona won’t let that happen,” Anders says, face hard. “The Liberati have enough of a majority to push for a vote.” Bethany snorts. “Didn’t know you were that engaged in Circle politics.” “I voted,” Anders protests. “Until it was no longer useful for me.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawke says. “I’m gonna go talk to Varric instead.” The days proceed much like the rest. People talk. Hawke listens. They learn that Isabela, Anders, and Merrill have all met the hero-wardens of Ferelden before. Merrill comes from the same clan as Warden Mahariel, though Sabrae split before the Blight. Anders still corresponds with Surana, who lives in Amaranthine to avoid the stress of warden politics and to support Warden Tabris, who Isabela hooked up with in Denerim. Isabela also slept with the Left Hand of the Divine, they discover, and the King of Ferelden’s lover. “Though we couldn’t talk him into bed with us,” she sighs. “Though Zevran and Tabris and I really tried. He just--I think he got overwhelmed by all the anatomy. Poor boy.” Hawke snickers. The days go on like this, aching their way through the Vimmarks. These are the paths the Dalish take, and escaped slaves, and occasionally mages. They find marks of all three groups overlapping, though Bethany casts enough obfuscation hexes to keep them from intersecting that she collapses in her bedroll at the end of each day, shaking. Likewise cleaning their tracks begins to take a toll on Merrill. She withdraws into herself, focusing on relentlessly hiding their trail, and not even Varric can get her to laugh. “I’m tired,” she says. “And I need to focus. Please stop.” Hawke decides they need a rest day at the border of Hercinia and Wycombe. Fenris knows a cave system that will take them directly to his friends from Clan Lavellan, who promised him refuge the last time they saw him. He claims it will only take two days, but it will be two days without sunlight, and Hawke remembers how depressed Varric got without the sky. They camp in a treehouse built into a grove right below the mouth of the cave. Everyone is quiet, for the most part, curled around the fire. Aveline hums as she patches a shirt for Isabela, and Anders goes through his medicine bag to reassure himself they have enough to heal them through to Wycombe. Varric stares into the fire. “When I write about this,” he says, “I think I’ll keep this for myself.” “Why?” Bethany asks. He purses his lips, thinking. Hawke wraps their arms around Merrill, who is already half-asleep, and enjoys their friends. It is always fun to watch Varric think, he’s the cleverest out of all them, except maybe Merrill. Merrill buries her face in their arms, and they look down, concerned. She is upset, and there is nowhere private to ask why. The fire casts shadows over his face. Varric looks old. They all do. It has been a hard month. He says finally, “Because there’s no romance in it. No one wants to read about the Champion and their friends all fighting, and not really coming to any consensus besides that they want to stop fighting and be safe. There’s no moral in it, nothing uplifting. Just that people fight, viciously. That we make mistakes we can’t fix. And we just have to live with it. It’s not compelling. Not like our story in Kirkwall, which is more about Kirkwall. Who are we without the city in the background? I don’t know. I think I’ll end it in the docks. Or maybe with us watching the city burn. So people can assign us closure. Choose their own happy ending, because I don’t know what ours will be yet.” Isabela says, “Nothing special, just pieces.” She stretches again. “Keep talking like that and you’ll end up a Qunari. Our story doesn’t need a moral, Varric. That’s not how life works.” “I know that,” he says. “But that’s not the point. The story isn’t life. So I can make it work however I want.” Merrill pushes herself up in Hawke’s lap and whispers in their ear, “If they all start arguing again I will either scream or cry, I haven’t decided yet.” The journey has taken its toll on her. Hawkes examines her closely and sees the shadows like smudges under her eyes. She’s paler than usual, and she starts shaking. Hawke inclines to the edge of the treehouse with their head and quickly they move as far as they can from the others. Bethany looks at them questioningly, but they shake their head sharply. Mercifully they are left alone. Bethany is a good sister. She knows exactly when to look the other way and cause a distraction--and that she does, wheedling Varric to read a piece from his book. As the others laugh at the mess Varric has made of them, Hawke turns to Merrill. They ask, “Are you alright?” The fire casts light into Merrill’s eyes like a cat’s. When she looks at them, her eyes shine and Hawke cannot help but remember how otherworldly she is. She bridges both worlds, the Dalish and the human, but sometimes the old magic wills out. Merrill says, “Clan Lavellan doesn’t like me much. Because of Marethari. I don’t get along with their First. And I’m not sure how their Keeper will respond to me.” “Then they’re idiots,” Hawke says, “and we’ll keep moving. Send Aveline to resupply in town, and move onto Rivain. Dairsmuid or Llomerryn, or that Dalish town Isabela talked about.” Merrill is shaking harder now. “No.” Hawke takes her hands, but she pulls away. “I wish it were that easy, vhenan. But there won’t be anywhere to go. Not with the Dalish. Because of me.” “Hey,” Hawke says. “Just look at me. Breathe. That’s not true. Look at me.” Merrill’s eyes flash back to blue. “We got this far, okay? And I’m okay with--I didn’t grow up as nomadic as you, but I can do it. It could be fun. I liked moving, as a kid. Bethany and I are used to it. And if we can get another ship, well, that’ll make things easier. And you know Isabela’s going to get us on a ship at some point. I know everything is changing. If the Divine calls that Exalted March...well, you remember what that dragon lady said.” “Asha’bellanar,” Merrill corrects, lips twitching. “And it was a prayer to Mythal that revived her, there’s something in that.” Hawke sighs. “Well, you remember what she said.” They close their eyes and focus on the words, which has haunted them since--partly because the delivery had been so terrifying. They quote, “‘We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.’ And, well, we’re lying up in the sky right now, so I think we’re doing alright.” Merrill smiles despite herself. “How do you remember that?” she asks. “I don’t even remember it like that.” “Varric wrote it down,” Hawke confesses. “And it sounded so cool I memorized it. It’s good advice.” Merrill turns to the fire, where Aveline is holding a book with a luridly pink cover over the fire while Anders and Isabela cackle and Varric jumps, protesting. She says, “I know I shouldn’t have let Keeper find out about Audacity. She thought I was weak, but I knew her pride, I knew her arrogance. And her fear, since Tamlen died. I should’ve written to Mahariel, who could’ve convinced her. Or gone to the Applewood--but I didn’t. And though I lost my clan, I still have you. My aravel.” She gestures to their friends. “Walkers of the lonely path, who never submit.” She smiles sadly. “I think I fell into that abyss, Hawke. And now I’m starting to float up.” Hawke takes her hand and kisses it. Her nails are bitten to the quick. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” they say. “Can you teach Anders that spell?” “No, vhenan,” Merrill shakes her head. “It’s--it was part of my duties as First, to clear the tracks of the aravel. I can’t teach a human that. I love you all, but that is for myself.” They accept that, and all the ways Merrill pushes herself too hard, and hand-in-hand they get up and rejoin their friends at the fire. There is a touch of mania to the conversation. Everyone is utterly shattered, but they do not want to go to sleep. No one knows what the next day will bring, and they are clinging to the routine they have set up. Hawke blinks and pretends that they are at the Hanged Man for a moment, but the bar has run dry, so they are all stuck being sober and chummy with each other. It doesn’t work. It feels dishonest, and the woods smell too good. Finally, Aveline takes charge. “We need to rest. Especially you, Merrill. Those spells couldn’t have been easy. We’ll get up before dawn and head out then.” Fenris speaks up. “And Clan Lavellan will hide us, for however long we need.” He looks at Merrill steadily. “First Lavellan promised me that. They will not abandon their vhenallin. And she owes me a favor, anyway.” Varric says idly, “There’s a story in there.” Bethany groans. “Not more stories, please,” she says. “Aveline’s right, we do need to rest. This part’s nearly over.” She banks the fire to keep it burning low through the night and they set up their last camp before the descent. Hawke is struck by the faith they have in them, going through their nightly routine. They have been two weeks on the road, camping through the woods, and though they have spent it mostly at each other’s throats, they have made it through. So little has been resolved, and there is still so much unknown. As Flemeth predicted, they stand balanced on the precipice of change, and they know they are about to launch themselves off that cliff. But they have their friends to slow that crash, and by this point, who knows? Maybe the witch will turn them into a dragon. Settling into their sleeping roll, Hawke cannot help but grin. They faced down the Blight, the long march to Kirkwall, the Deep Roads, their mother’s death, and the start of a revolution. What could possibly happen next? They whisper to Merrill, “I feel like this world is dying. It’s monstrous.” They smirk. “Monstrously exciting. Can’t you feel it? A new world is trying to be born.”

[demoiselledefortune]

Dragon Age Inquisition final play-through session!

So finished Trespasser

Overall that's a pretty amazing ending. I'm not sure if it's as interesting if you're not playing a Lavellan/romancing Solas; but it's densely packed with lores and things that'd make a replay (I mean I was spoiled enough to view Solas with hefty dose of suspicion from the start, and I did know he was an immortal of some kind from the beginning; and then got more spoilers as I progressed in the game -- but I expect there's still a whole lot of things to catch better now that I have full context). Trespasser is very well structured and paced overall, between the interludes in the gorgeous gardens of the Winter Palace (although I wish we had better to do in there that those silly and rather frustrating quests), and coursing through the Eluvian (which in itself is great, still allows a few fun sidequests; and lots of great lore drops). The political mess of a situation is a pretty logical follow up from the rest of Inquisition, and that the main choice in the end is deciding the future of the fate of the Inquisition in the political landscape is something I appreciate. I'd have liked if the end choices weren't quite as binary, but I guess that's simpler and ok, it's not like we have that many options. The Viddasala makes a decent minor villain; and of course the whole thing turns the whole Inquisition as an awesome set up to Solas as the kind top tier antagonist that I would put asides to my favourite video game villains. And hey, we even get a dragon fight! Except for once, we had an option of not killing her, which I took because I like getting an option not kill stuff (even though I of course slaughtered eagerly all 10 optional dragons the game provided before -- :3) which resulted in a pretty Hawk-esque fight by which I mean I ended up with all three of my companions down while I was running around trying to figure out how to manage to release the creature; which made for a very fun epic experience in a way that I seldom got from big boss fights in Inquisition apart from that. (I did solo fights due to companion death with Hawk on the first two dragon battles of DA2. Which ended up as good prep for the Arishok fight :3) The end game mechanic of your Mark running out of control, forcing you to release it at close interval was also a pretty great gameplay experience to make the last battles interesting and convey viscerally how dire this shit on your body is becoming...  and almost makes up for how shitty the focus mechanics were overall. That we don't get a third round of discussions with the Companions before the last time in the Eluvians was a bit disappointing though. I guess they kinda ran out of material to discussion. It's also a bit odd that they drop us off at the very end to be solo before meeting Solas without a last framing discussion. The way they did banter spots to trigger though was great. (and a huge improvement on the way banter worked in Inquisition). In term of roleplay my character was the most shaken by the reveal of the Evanuris as False Gods. I always saw her as someone with a huge mystical bend, although not necessarily something that affected her choices a whole lot (besides, say, the Well of Mythal) and someone who values genuineness a lot so that reveal turning out around false premises hit hard; and trying to rebuild a sense of identity and view of the world out of that is going to take her time. She's not even the sort of Dalish who is the most focused on the past (obviously it's important, because it's one of the baseline thing that the Dalish care about; but it's not her main focus compared to trying to work with people, building consensus and exchanging viewpoint. My Lavellan is a diplomat and a community organizer at heart.) The reveal from Solas in contrast was less shattering. She'd figure out that Solas had to be involved somehow with the Fen'Harel organization (from the Vallaslin bit, especially) but expecting him to actually be Fen'Harel was a bit too huge a leap to make on her own... yet something that fell into place when it came and the feeling of catharsis of finally knowing what the fuck was up with him stronger than the feeling of betrayal. In the end I think she had a sense that nothing he could turn out to be would surprise her. She was saddened, bitterly disappointed, horrified; but she never felt like the person she'd fallen in love with wasn't the person in front of her, and she's not giving up on him. She kept the Inquisition as the Divine's guard, of course she did. As I said after Solas left she was sure something bad was coming, and knowing more about exactly what that something bad was only cemented that. And of course, the Inquisition is what she has left, in term of something built up. She has too much emotionally invested in it to discard it when the foundation of her world believes are shaken this way. As far as the other characters go: - Vivienne wasn't the person my character ever got along the best with; and while the epilogue frames her as a big pain in the ass, I think Ireya actually approves of it... what she held the most against Vivienne was always that instead of building herself up as a leader by gathering support from like-minded mages, she'd tried to grasp it parasitically from others in power, and it seems she finally started to do otherwise. Perhaps it's not so bad either for the future of the mages for there to exist multiple competing models... (well it also could result in disaster but what can you do) - I don't have much to say about Blackwall, he was one of my least favourite character and probably mostly for shallow reasons (I never got over that he's such an unattractive character for a romanceable option). His story is interesting yet unsatisfying in term of story integration. My character does have a higher opinion of him than I do and she was happy to see him fulfilling his purpose in the Wardens under his true identity in a way that made him feel better. - Ireya never felt very close to Cullen, but she always respected and relied on him a lot; and is happy to see him continue to work in the Inquisition as well as continuing to work on helping out Templars. - In a way my character and Varric are very similar people (in term of being caretaker at heart) that nonetheless never properly connect (they work on a very different register and of course Varric's feeling of awe at the Herald even though he works at it is a barrier). Still a good friend. I do love seeing him becoming the Viscount of Kirkwall (and annoying poor Bran) which I'm sure will make him happier (he was so depressed during Inquisition). - She always kept a little bit wary and careful with Cole while still valuing him a whole lot, except towards the end, he ended up being the only source of input on Solas' outlook and she's going to miss that. She hopes he will be able to help, somehow. - Iron Bull always impressed me with his emotional intelligence and savviness. He was never someone to underestimate and also someone who brings a lot of things to a group which Ireya valued a lot. Keeping the Chargers alive is a very rewarding choice in term of what that means for Bull's outlook (as well as the Chargers themselves being around) even though I expect you'd only see the difference at the very ending. My character also ended up very invested in his relationship with Dorian, and delighted to see what it brings to the both of them. - It was a joy to realise that Sera has grown up a lot, and reacts with much more tact and sensitivity (in contrast to how she was right after the Temple of Mythal/Vallaslin removal in the main game) when my character felt very shaken about the Evanuris reveal; as well as touched to see they continued being very good friends with the offer of getting into the Friends of Jenny. Keep on being awesome, Sera! - My character started being a bit in awe of Lelianna (she was something of a Fifth Blight stories fangirl XD) but also distrusting her emotional turmoil. She feels very proud of having helped her find an emotional peace once more, and in that context her becoming the Divine is something she's glad of. - While she was sometimes infuriating, Cassandra was always someone whose honesty and willingness to criticise herself earned great respect from Ireya. She was also very fun to tease and someone to bond over being sappy sappy romantic. A very good friend, and I'm glad she's rebuilding the Seekers into something better. - Dorian wears his heart on his sleeve and was a great friend. His ending gives my character great hope for the future. - Josephine was probably Ireya's best friend in the Inquisition or at least the one she felt was the most of the same wavelength, and she's glad to see her fulfil her ambition for her family; but sad to see her go far away. I also really liked Josephine's outburst towards the end of Trespasser, I don't agree with all the points she makes in term of having doubts about the kind of organisation the Inquisition is becoming, yet having some kind of doubts about it is warranted and to have Josephine work her role as moral centre by being worried about it worked very well for me. Overall Inquisition is a bit... too spread out with a lot of things; but still a very entertaining experience as a game!

[batsintheshadows]

Athera the Companion

Inquisitor’s Name: Athera Lavellan Race / Class / Specialisation: Rogue Elf Assassin Gender Identity: Female

Varric’s Nickname for them: Antlers

Short bio: As a typical da’len hunter nearing the time she could recieve her vallaslin, Athera was taken by slavers while away from the camp with her younger brother. Her sacrifice allowed the clan to escape, but lead to a grueling ordeal before she escaped and found her way back home. Now she is a respected hunter and occasionally travels to visit the elves that live in human cities, so they may know more of their history should they be interested. She also assists with problems that the human guards tend to ignore.

What would their companion card look like? I actually commissioned one of these! it hasnt quite been finished yet tho.

Athera aiming her bow high above her head with a victorious smile as the sun rises, a halla head with three arrows in the horns formed from the clouds behind her and a green bird perched on her shoulder, coat billowing in the wind.

More under the cut, because theres gonna be a LOT here.

Recruitment mission: Athera approaches the Inquisition in Val Royeaux, quietly and from a side street. She wears a hood to hide her face and when asked about it she says that she may be making a poor choice, and if she is it would be better to have the option to hide. Athera tells the Inquisitor that she is visiting family in the city, and has discovered that elves have been vanishing. She says she wants to see what’s going on, but has a feeling that whatever is happening is too much for one person to handle. If pressed about her identity, Athera stays vague, saying that she could get in trouble for looking into this at all, and wouldn’t want that to affect anyone she cares about.

If the Inquisitor agrees to investigate she tells them to meet her at a certain location at midnight, and not to worry about her too much. She has enough martial training to help in any fights there might be.

When you meet up with her, Athera is nervous, checking her arrows and pulling her hood down further over her face. If you ask her about it she says she hasnt ever done “anything quite like this” before.

When you enter the building, you discover a slaver ring and some captured elves. Athera strikes first, no matter what you say, and in the ensuing fight her hood comes off, revealing her vallaslin. when everything is said and done Athera very pointedly ignores the party in favour of freeing the captured elves, who are very grateful for her arrival. She asks if they will be able to get back to the alienage safely and one of them says that they can get them there, leaving Athera free to look for letters and talk to the party.

She picks up some letters and folds her arms, and asks the Inquisitor if they are going to take any sort of action now that they know a Dalish elf is meddling in the city. There is an option to tell her that if she joins The Inquisition then the Inquisitor will stay quiet. Athera is silently furious, but says she would prefer this to end without bloodshed if possible. Athera Greatly Disapproves if you pick this option. You can also ask about her lying to the group. Athera claims she never lied and points out the ways that everything she said was technically true.

Otherwise you can attempt to turn her in, which causes her to flee and become unrecruitable. or you can say that you won’t alert the guards. In the latter case, she is grateful and asks to join The Inquisition. When asked why she says:

“I’m not stupid. A big hole in the sky? Demons around every corner? This could be the end of the world. My clan can’t outrun that. You’re the only ones I’ve seen even trying to make a difference. If theres any way out of this, its with the people that arent caught up in petty squabbles. So yes, I won’t like being away from my clan for so long, but I’ll like it even less if the world dies.”

She agrees to meet the Inquisitor back in Haven, and pulls her hood back up, heading off into the night.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: In Skyhold she would probably hang around in the gardens, but move to somewhere around the stables if it was converted into a chantry garden. In Haven she would be on the docks by the frozen lake.

Personal quests: 

Quest 1: After arriving in Skyhold and gaining some approval, Athera will go over what she found in the slavers letters. She says that the slavers were reporting to a merchant called Vivicus, and that she suspects that theyre related to the Venatori. Athera has followed a trail that has ended in Redcliffe, and asks the Inquisitor to go with her as backup. If the Inquisitor tries to bring Dorian, the cutscene will not trigger and Athera will suggest trying again with “company better suited to the operation. Like people that never owned slaves maybe.” Once the cutscene triggers, Athera give you what she knows about the slaver. A small and pretty easy fight with demons ensues as you enter the building, and the party makes it up the stairs to a room with a man in fine clothes sitting on a chair facing away from the group. As the group approaches, the man falls sideways when touched, revealing he is very dead and has a note stapled to his chest that simply says “your move Inquisition -V”. Athera is upset by this, and tells the Inquisitor that they need to be sure the body gets proper death rites. Back at Skyhold Athera thanks the Inquisitor for their help and apologises for dragging them into her mess. She says that itll probably last a while as well, if this guys as much of an asshole as he seems to be.

Quest 2: Occurs after either The Fade or The Winter Palace. Athera is reading a letter, and claims that its information on Vivicus. If asked about where the letter came from, Athera says she’s been tracking weird courier orders and got lucky with this one. Athera says the letter reveals that Vivicus has somehow discovered her identity and is using it against her. She doubts her clan will be targeted, but asks permission to grant them safe passage through the surrounding lands and trading rights at Skyhold. She admits that in spite of what her clan could bring in, its really just a favour to her. If the Inquisitor agrees, you get the option to open a new area on the war table, but cannot select Dorian for the mission. When you arrive, you run into an ambush of slavers who seem to be expecting you. The fight is really difficult, but you only need to defeat half the slavers to trigger a rescue by Athera’s clan. As the last of the slavers fall, Athera gets the attention of one of the hunters and gives him a big hug, introducing him as her younger brother Elgadir. Elgadir is overjoyed to see his sister again and says the clan has been worried since she stopped writing. Athera replies she has been writing weekly and getting letters back as well. After a bit of confusion, they figure out something weird is going on, and tells the other hunters to check if any of the slavers are still alive. One is, and they get to them before the throat cutters do. Elgadir says that he doesnt much like the idea of bringing a slaver back to any of the clans camps, but if this problem is gonna get solved then they’ll probably have to. one of the other hunters goes ahead to warn the clan to prepare for a captive and some guests. Elgadir gives the Inquisition members a warning that if they do anything foolish, they will pay with their lives, but if they approach in good faith, then the clan will be happy to do business with them. The party is introduced to the clan and Athera goes off to talk with her brother and the Keeper, leaving the team free to explore. There are a few quests to help the clan or act like a dick, Athera gets approval or disapproval for them even though she isnt in the active party. To advance the quest, you enter the Keeper’s aravel. Athera sits with her brother hugging her, clearly distressed. The Keeper tells the Inquisitor that they have all come to a consensus that it would be a lot easier to deal with the situation with all the facts, and asks Athera if she would be willing to tell the story herself. Athera then tells the Inquisitor that she was taken from her clan by slavers around six years ago, and though she managed to fake her death and escape, Vivicus has discovered her identity and has been intercepting her letters for a while. The letter that sent her running back to her clan was to be sent to the person that owned her, and she intercepted a similar one at Skyhold intended to sow some discord. Athera says that its probably a game to Vivicus now, and that he will go to any lengths to win. She fears for her clan, as she fears for those she has become close with outside of it. At the prompting of the other two elves, Athera also admits to being very stressed out, since the Inquisitor unknowingly hired someone from the family that used to own her. “Theres a reason I don’t get along with Dorian, I’m scared to death of him.” The Inquisitor can tell Athera to stay with her clan for safety, offer to expel Dorian from the Inquisition (Athera will reject this idea because she knows the Inquisitor wouldnt have let Dorian stay if they didnt like him or need his help.), or keep to the plan of allowing the clan safety in the lands around Skyhold. Back at Skyhold, Athera thanks the Inquisitor for listening to her, saying she feels far more at ease now that someone knows, but begs the Inquisitor not to tell anyone her secret and to make tracking down Vivicus as much of a priority as possible, otherwise she doesnt know what could happen to her.

Quest 3: Takes place after the second main quest you complete after unlocking Skyhold. Athera and Dorian are arguing as the Inquisitor approaches them, though most of the shouting seems to be coming from Athera’s side with a lot of what is obviously swearing in elvish. When pressed, Athera accuses Dorian of going through her letters, and Dorian denies the accusation. “If you would listen before you started screaming at me, you would know that this is my letter. That I was trying to give to you quietly. But if you insist on discussing this in the courtyard...” Athera snatches the letter and runs away, leaving Dorian to ask the Inquisitor to go after her, saying that Athera probably wouldn’t want to see him right around now. When the Inquisitor finds Athera she is incredibly upset, and lets them know that this letter has been opened and Dorian knows who she is now. The Inquisitor can comfort her or be awful, and after theyre done talking Dorian knocks on the door, asking to come in. Athera tells him to keep his distance, and he agrees. Trying to lighten the tension, Dorian makes a joke about how Vivicus is really an idiot if he thinks sending Dorian a letter is going to do anything, what with the whole pariah thing. No one laughs. Athera asks Dorian what he’s going to do, and Dorian suggests using the note to lure Vivicus out. “We’ve been playing cat and mouse for months. I’ll be glad to see it end.” Athera tells Dorian that she doesn’t trust him, and will only go if the Inquisitor comes too. Dorian agrees, and they begin to make a plan, through the door because Athera can’t face him yet. After this, a war table mission to smuggle a letter to Vivicus opens up, and once it is completed a mission on the storm coast opens up called “Trigger Venatori Trap”. Once there the party fights off some Venatori, and Athera slowly breaks ranks with the group, making herself an easier target and leading to Vivicus showing himself at last. The rest of the party sets up a good flanking position and a boss battle against Vivicus, who is a blood mage and ACTUALLY DOES BLOOD MAGE STUFF WHY DID THEY LEAVE THIS OUT OF DAI???, begins as Dorian makes a snappy “oh what an idiot” type remark at Vivicus. The party are victorious, and they return to Skyhold where Athera tells the Inquisitor that she has no idea what to do now, since she has no way of knowing who Vivicus sent letters to. If you did a war table mission to stop the letters, you are able to reassure her that the Inquisition has the situation under control. Athera says that she likes the Inquisition, and whatever comes she would like to stay until the end as long as her and Dorian are kept separate. Preferably on opposite sides of the castle. At this point Dorian wanders past because a little light humour won’t kill anyone and begins yammering on about their victory a little too nervously. He admits that he’s been feeling a bit nervous since finding out about Athera’s past, but has done some deep soul searching and wants to apologise for how the relationship between the two of them has been. He promises to try and do better in the future, to which Athera replies “You’d better! Your family put me through hell! The least you can do is try and make it better.” Dorian doesnt make eye contact, and promises to keep her words in mind. He also says that they don’t need to speak again if Athera needs space. Athera says that would be for the best, but she won’t complain if they end up working together since stopping the end of the world is more important than the hurt one person carries. As Dorian turns to leave, she lets him know that once corypheus is dead all bets are off, and that she’ll probably throw him out the window, but the comment doesnt have much bite to it.

How to get their approval: helping elves and mages, respecting artifacts, killing venatori, freeing slaves, and generally not being an ass.

How to get their disapproval: Cruelty to elves and elven relics, slavery in any form, chantry and templar supporting, being an ass to mages, and victim blaming anyone.

Are they romanceable? Y/N Can you have sex with them? Y/N Are they open to polyamoury? Y/N If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? Sera already gets with Dagna, so odds are Athera wouldn’t get with anyone if unromanced.

Who are they friendly with? Vivienne and Sera (after a while).

Who do they dislike? Cassandra, Dorian, and Solas.

Companion card changes: (use a text descrip. if you have no images)

Loyalty:  Athera stands in the middle of a dark forest, her bow ready to draw and a smile on her face as she moves. the trees are gnarled and twisted, something could be hiding in them. but she is armed, and the forest is her home.

Romance: (if any) The bow and arrows have been put aside, and Athera sits cross legged by a campfire. there are trees all around and Athera has a serene smile on her lips and a look of total peace in her eyes.

Side Missions: (eg: fetch / gather / kill quests) None because fuck those. Ok maybe destroying monuments to the Exalted March on the Dales. Thatd be pretty satisfying. Also a war table mission to ensure that no letters get to the Pavus family that unlocks a dialogue option at the end of Athera’s last quest.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Templars fuck shit up, mages have been friends and guides to the clan and the Templars always try to take them away and people get hurt. She would rather just leave the Templars alone entirely. And of course mages can be trusted with their own lives! Everyone else does it what makes them so bloody different?

She has more nuanced opinions on the Chantry and how it relates to the oppression of mages and elves, and how its all a bid for power, but she’ll only talk abt it with an Inquisitor she likes.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: defiling the graves at the elven burial site in the exalted plains, killing the golden halla, or straight up betraying her.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

Athera is almost unable to speak at all after a year in Redcliffe. She talks in fragments, and when she first sees the Inquisitor she just stares at them for a long time with a blank look on her face, waiting for them to either do something or vanish. Whenever Dorian speaks she glares at him. After all, this guy from Tevinter shows up and then everything fails and the world dies? She’s been blaming him. The Inquisitor has to talk her down.

She puts all her remaining energy into the fight ahead, wordless, expressionless, and merciless. When it comes time to hold off the horde she says in the flattest voice possible “Going out. Hold them off. Do not fail. Dareth Shiral.”

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace?

Athera spends most of the party doing things to mildly offend the Orlesian elite, talking with the elves, and quietly smashing expensive vases when no ones looking. She likes being in Halamshiral, hates what it is now, and corners more than a few nobles and gives them a “history lesson.” She will do the same to the Inquisitor if they ask, but will be less passive aggressive about it. She also complains about the outfits, saying she hates red but Josephine wanted everyone to “present a unified front” and she couldnt wriggle out of it.

She also takes joy in being announced as “Athera Lavellan, Hunter of Clan Lavellan and Emissary to the Cities.” since she’s betting he’s never had to introduce an elf before, let alone introduce one with a few titles.

When asked about it later, Athera says the only good thing at Halamshiral was Briala, with various comments depending on what happened.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave?

Athera does not understand any of this. She shoots arrows, mainly at wolves and terrible people. now there are demons here because its their home that theyre the ones invading and what with recent events theres pretty strong evidence that this sort of thing doesnt end well. Athera isnt mindlessly terrified, but she. wants. OUT.

Nightmare: “What’s this now? Valeria, pretending to be a wild elf? You looked much better in red.”

Athera: “Say that name one more time and I’ll rip you in half.”

OR

Nightmare: “Dont worry about Marcus hating you for leaving him. He died a month later, his thieving ways finally discovered and punished.”

Athera: “You-you’re lying! Theres no possible way for you to know that!”

Nightmare: “That you know of.”

Athera’s grave says “Losing Herself” 

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser?

Athera spent the past two years using the influence gained during her time in the Inquisition to help elves in both the cities and the wilds. she has busted up a few more slaver rings and is one of sera’s contacts. she has traded information with the Inquisition out of respect for her place in it and so leliana can send her some useful stuff back. she’s been using her clan as a safe place, and looks forward to returning every second she is away.

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game?

She becomes friends with Sera, who she likes for not taking things too seriously when everyone else is so grim.

She also has a Talk with a human Inquisitor romancing Sera that more or less amounts to “I know ur cool so this whole thing is probably legit, but if u ever hurt sera i’ll cut off your arm and hit u with it ok good talk kiddo love u bye!”

uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu this took a long time and a lot of thought, but i had LOADS of fun doing it! I always like working on Athera’s backstory, though nothing is quite 100% set in stone yet sooooo... dont quote me on any of this.

I was tagged by @heyscience and i am throwing this tag right back at you! Do it!

[sidhelives]

Oh Good, You're Here

Fluffcember 2020

Prompt: Gifts

Full text under Read More

Anders found that he liked the relative quiet of Skyhold. It reminded him of places that, for a time, he had been happy like Vigil's Keep and Aria's Estate. Not absolute silence, the eerie vacuum that was the Deep Roads, nor the cacophonous rabble of Kirkwall, but something in between. It was a lived-in quiet, and like those happy places, was permeated with a feeling of safety. 

At Vigil's Keep he had been, for the first time his life, free from the Circle and protected from the threat of Templars.

Aria and her home in High Town had been safe havens from the chaos of Kirkwall and the looming possibility of either a forced return to the Wardens or Tranquility.

Skyhold was a different, more pervasive safety. Divine Victoria, the mysterious Sister Nightingale, had abolished the Circles of Magi. The Grey Wardens of Fereldan were independent of Weisshaupt and rebuilding on their own, with no interest in tracking down their strays. And the Inquisitor…

He didn't know what Desdemona was. The idea that she was his enemy had withered and died at some point in the months since his arrival, but did that make her his friend? His lover? Certainly by definition. They had never discussed what they were to each other, if what they had was more than two broken souls fumbling for any touch which might chase away the painful memories of heartbreak. Anders wasn’t sure he wanted to have that conversation; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

"Ser Anders."

The voice caught him off guard, as did the honorific. Anders had been staring at but not seeing one of the fine stained glass windows in the library, an open book in his lap forgotten as he had become lost in thought. The red-headed elf who had spoken his name was familiar, she lurked in the rookery: receiving reports from scouts scurrying up and down through the library and sending ravens to the Grand Cathedral. "Just Anders, please. What do you need?"

"Anders." The elf nodded. Her name was Charter, Anders remembered. "The Inquisitor would like to speak with you."

Speaking of demons, Anders thought. He set the book aside and stretched as he stood.

"Any chance you know where I would find Her Worship?"

"She is in her chambers."

"Alright. Thank you for the message."

Charter saluted him, another irregularity that made his stomach wobble, then curtly turned and headed up the stairs to the rookery. Anders took the stairs down, passing through the brilliantly painted rotunda. He tried not to look at the walls as he walked between them, their clean lines and bright colors reverberating with Desdemona's grief. She had never spoken to him about the room and, to his knowledge, she had stepped foot there only once since his arrival at the fortress: he been above in the library and she hadn't noticed his observation, too busy angrily upturning a table and muffling furious, anguished screams between her teeth. He had spoken to others in the keep, however, about the paintings, the strange distant elf who had created them, and his sudden departure from the Inquisitor's side.

He told himself that it was none of his business, but something inside him curled with revulsion at the sight of the frescos. Something that had a name, and on occasion, a voice.

The stairs up to the Inquisitor's chambers were arduous, and gave Anders time to focus on the question of why she had summoned him; a change in contemplation which quieted Justice's ire. Desdemona had never been shy about tracking him down when she wanted to see him: appearing out of nowhere to share a letter from Varric or discuss magical theory or, occasionally, to shuffle him into a broom closet for hasty half-dressed sex. 

He suspected these irregular visits had more to do with loneliness than her desire to speak with him specifically. Most of her companions had drifted away from Skyhold after the Breach had been closed. Some, like the Qunari, The Iron Bull, was often present, but others, like the infamous Lady of Iron, had been gone before Anders even arrived. Those that remained had started making their departures once it was clear Anders was no longer a threat. Hundreds of soldiers and mages had also evacuated the keep, returning to their families or joining with the newly formed College of Enchanters. At the middle of it all was Desdemona, the unrelenting Inquisitor, continuing the thankless job of doing right in a world that was no longer sure it needed her.

Desdemona was social, and bold, and fed on the interaction with the people around her. When she desired company she sought it out. So why would she send another in her place to request his presence?

"Oh good, you're here." Desdemona spotted him the moment his blond hair cleared the landing. She looked gorgeous and stately as usual, but Anders noticed a nervous energy in the way she tossed her hair behind one shoulder and gripped her elbows as she crossed her arms.

"I'm here. What did you want to talk to me about?"

She gestured for him to come closer. "I have something for you— well not you exactly."

With a quizzical expression, Anders crossed to her, noting the uncharacteristically humble tone of her voice. He reflected that he had never before the Inquisitor sound unsure about anything. When Desdemona spoke her words became truth: she could announce that the sky was purple and he would take it as fact. "For me but not for me. What does that mean?" One corner of his lips quirked up.

Desdemona glowered at his grin. "It's for Justice."

Anders's curious amusement vanished, replaced by slack-jawed shock. He stared at her, waiting for a "gotcha" or some other walk-back of the statement, but she appeared completely serious. He felt the spirit's attention stir: like a coiled snake raising its sinuous head at movement in its vicinity.

"You have something for… Justice?"

"Yes." Desdemona shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "A gift."

Justice seemed to cock its head in interest at that. "Oh?" Anders asked, sharing the spirit's curiosity.

"It was The Well's idea." Desdemona crossed her arms defensively. 

A shiver slid down Anders's spine. The Well, like Justice had, seemed to respond to mention of it. Through his connection to the spirit, Anders could feel the awareness of the entity: not a spirit but not entirely unlike one, a consciousness based in the essence of justice, but more nuanced and terrifyingly human in its motivations than the simplistic spirit which rode along with Anders.

Desdemona's statement clarified nothing about the situation, so Anders continued to stare gormlessly at her, awaiting an actual explanation. She was grinding her teeth, body language spelling out exasperation with his confusion. Mouth half open, presumably to call him an idiot, she stalled. Her eyes fluttered closed and her head tilted to one side, as if listening to voices from an adjoining room. The voices, Anders knew, were inside her: the vir'abelasan, millennia of knowledge from the ancient elves hitched into the back of her mind. Desdemona took a deep breath and her eyes opened again, the aggression in them having melted away.

"Justice is a part of you, just as The Well is a part of me." She sounded surer, more confident, more like herself. "If we are going to continue carrying on as we have, it is included in that. Call it a peace offering." She held out her hand, but Anders couldn't see what she held, his attention caught on her steady expression.

He felt adrift, emotions erratic and unable to settle on any one feeling. Desdemona's words crept between his ribs, reaching and clutching at his core. It was a queer sensation: part awe, part apprehension, and underneath his own reaction was the ballooning approval of the spirit. Justice had already liked Desdemona, or perhaps it was her invisible passenger that it liked, but this offer of amity seemed to solidify its approval.

Anders, for his part, found himself concerned with the implication of her overture.

"Do you intend for us to continue carrying on?" He asked, all levity set aside from his tone.

"I do." Neither her hand nor tone wavered. "If your intentions are the same."

Anders studied her face: the tousled golden curls spilling from her crown like the crest of a mighty waterfall, her ivory pale skin, the sharp acid green of her eyes, her full but petite carmine lips, the imperfect bend of her narrow nose. Nothing remotely like Aria's tanned, dark, regal features. Aria had looked like an exotic goddess of battle; Desdemona resembled a porcelain doll, but for the fire behind her eyes.

He slowly looked down at what she held. It seemed to be a perfect sphere of air with a glowing, pulsing blue heart at its center. He realized it must have been glass or some perfectly clear crystal, cast around the core as it had no seams to speak of, with a loop at one end which a leather cord had been fed through to make it a pendant. Anders felt Justice rise more noticeably to the surface of his consciousness. 

Lyrium.

The word vibrated through Anders's skull. Pure, poisonous lyrium. Knowing what it was he could feel the slight power it emanated, insulated somehow in its crystalline casing.

He looked back at Desdemona's face, a slight smile creasing the skin around her eyes. "I believe it possessed something similar many years ago, lost when it abandoned a former host." She said softly. "This one, however, poses no danger to your body."

Justice affirmed this, showing Anders flashes of a pure lyrium ring gifted to him by the Warden Commander, the touch of which would have eaten away at living flesh. Desdemona's knowledge of this was a mystery to the spirit, as even Anders only vaguely remembered the band of blue sunk deep into the rotting flesh of what had once been Kristoff. The Well, he remembered. It must have somehow shown her the ring and Justice's regret over its loss. The spirit confirmed that this was the only explanation.

Anders began to raise his arm to take the pendant, lips slightly parted, a thank you ready on his tongue, then froze, petrified by sudden indecision.

If your intentions are the same. 

Were they?

He felt himself slipping into her eyes, their hue so like the Breach which had split the sky, a portal to another world. His chest felt tight, heart stirring with a gentle, familiar warmth. It had been there a while, he realized belatedly, slowly building as they discussed societal reform and shared their similar stories from growing up in the Circle. Anders had ignored it, his subconscious deciding that the feeling had no place in what it had worked hard to convince him was a purely sexual relationship. Of course, looking back, it had never been purely sexual, that was merely easier to navigate.

Desdemona's gift forced him to acknowledge that the situation was not so simple.

"You feel affection for this creature."

Justice's voice was low, a vibration in Anders's skull rather than a sound, and made the hair on Anders's arms stand up. He bit his lip, a tactile reminder not to speak out loud before responding. "I do."

"Why do you feel guilt over this fact?"

Anders didn't need to consciously respond, images of Aria flooded the strange byway of their communication: Aria in battle, splattered with blood and eyes sparkling with manic violence. Aria drenched in sweat, lips parted in ecstasy, her hips rolling against his. Aria curled into his side in front of a roaring fire, warm mug in one hand and his clasped tight in the other.

"She is gone."

He felt himself wince. A year gone. Eleven months and five days to be exact, the date etched into his bones. It seemed such a short time to mourn, he should be mourning.

"This creature is not your Hawke. Feeling affection for her does not replace the part of you which the Hawke's passing has rent."

Anders's brow knit. Justice had hit upon the crux, the unacknowledged fear that had made him reject even the passing notion that he might have feelings for the Inquisitor. Aria had been his and he had been hers. He would have faced anything with her by his side. Without her, his vengeance was all that remained: anger and hate for a world that had stolen her from him, but Desdemona had doused the embers and left him with nothing. 

And wasn't that what he deserved? To remain a shrine to the undeserved love given to him by a great woman? To even dream of love or happiness without her was heretical, he was not worthy of such things.

"You are wrong. You do an injustice to yourself, and to the Hawke as well."

Anders felt his skull rattle with the intensity of the spirit's declaration.

"The Hawke affected you profoundly. Nothing will alter that fact. To imply otherwise does a disservice to her memory. I am inclined to believe that the Hawke would wish you happiness."

"Anders?" Desdemona had one eyebrow raised.

With a start, he refocused on her. He reflected that the interaction with Justice had probably occurred over seconds, but the expectant expression she wore made him feel sheepish. She had clearly not anticipated any delay in his response.

"Sorry, I—" Anders cleared his throat. He raised his arm, the movement feeling heavy, and lay his hand over the trinket she held, the edges of his fingers brushing her palm. He could feel the magic dancing within it, almost hear the time which conducted it. 

"Thank you." He managed the words, voice lower and softer than he intended. "Justice, and I, appreciate the gesture." He left unspoken the gravity of what she offered him, and the counterbalance of his conflict with it. The way her smile bloomed and shoulders relaxed at his words suggested explanations were unnecessary, and hinted at a parallel struggle as invisible as his own.

"I hoped you would." She snatched her hand and the pendant from below his. "Let me help." Before he could respond, Desdemona had draped the cord around his neck, the orb of lyrium hanging just over his heart. With a smirk, she readjusted the bauble so it slid under his tunic. "Against skin is better."

"Speaking of," Anders's wry smile slipped into place as quickly as his thoughts turned to lighter matters, grateful for something other than his turmoil to focus on. His hands came to rest in a featherlight touch on her hips. "Do I get a gift?"

Her eyes lit like a gas-fed stove, igniting with a heat that made Anders feel much too warm in his light garments. "I don't have anything prepared, but I could throw something together for you." Her hands slid down his chest to the waistband of his trousers. "Although I expect emphatic thanks." She raised one shapely eyebrow again, her fingers losing the catch on his belt as they drifted lower.

The edges of Anders's vision wavered as he felt her touch through sturdy cotton. "I'm indebted to you, now on Justice's behalf as well as my own. Expressing my gratitude could very well take hours."

Desdemona chuckled, a sound that made Anders's spine turn to jelly, even before she carefully lowered herself to her knees, eyes burning like two miniature stars. "I suppose we should get started then."

[tristinai]

Cullrian Seasonal drabble

The tag needs some love so here’s a self-prompted seasonal drabble, inspired by this list.

10: I forgot to buy a Christmas tree and I tried to cut one in your garden, you caught me, please, don’t call the police, I can explain. (Cullrian, modern Thedas AU, rating T)

Just to note, many liberties were taken with this prompt, the largest being the assumption that Satinalia traditions share similarities with Christmas. Any and all mistakes are my own since this drabble has not been beta-read. Happy Holidays!

Dorian didn't know what he had been thinking when he agreed to be responsible for procuring a Satinalia tree for their weekend outing in Dragon's Peak. It had seemed like a good idea at the time: Ellana was scrambling to make last minute arrangements to secure the family cottage from her (evidently, rather large) extended family just before Satinalia and Dorian had been more than happy to relieve her of some of the planning. Sera and Bull had been left in charge of alcohol (a decision that had Dorian raise his eyebrows because if the two had it their way, everyone would be left drinking cheap whiskey and that Maker-awful spirits qunari favored) while Varric and Garrett in charge of the baking. In hindsight, it was all a disaster in the making, made worse by the final push for holiday shopping that saw Dorian working overtime these last few weeks, all while struggling to find time to prepare for his dissertation. Before he knew it, it was already Friday evening and he had to make the drive up to cottage country, hours later from when he had told his friends he would arrive.

Bloody ridiculous, thinking I had the luxury of going out to buy a blasted tree, he thought, moodily, grunting as he impaled the ax into the tree's base.

That he even had found the tool in his trunk was a miracle that he supposed he'd have Bull to thank for later, who frequently borrowed Dorian's car. It was only slightly worrying that the qunari had done anything recently involving an ax.

Snow flicked off the evergreen branches in an annoying, powdery spray that threatened to muss Dorian's carefully oiled coif and put him in an even fouler mood. Cutting down a tree – incredibly illegal, he had no doubt – had been his last option. Never mind that he was an international student on a Ferelden study visa and could see more than his study rights revoked if he was caught. He was far enough up the road from the nearest farm that he doubted anyone would discover him and the need to not disappoint his best friends outweighed being a model resident in that moment.

He cursed beneath his breath as snow splattered onto his face, pausing to swipe a gloved hand over his eyes. Great. Now his face was wet, he was freezing his arse off because Ferelden winters bloody-well sucked, and he was barely even halfway into chopping down this tree.

“You'll never get it down. Not with that sloppy form. And if you keep swinging like that, you'll throw out your back.”

Dorian nearly choked on his next curse, ax fumbling in his unsteady grip. He hadn't expected anyone to find him this far into the woods and certainly not to sass him upon seeing him committing a crime against the environment. His immediate reaction was a vicious retort to match his bitter mood but panic prevented him from running his mouth before he found himself in even hotter water.

Turning to face the man who had interrupted him, the Tevinter tried not to let his surprise show at seeing a handsome blond standing not yards from where he was chopping, an unleashed mabari at the man's side. The beast had its head tilted, sniffing the air as if to discern whether it liked this trespasser, while Dorian's brain was trying to come up with anything to say other than the word FUCK, which was running on a loop in his head.

“...this isn't what it looks like,” he said, realizing how stupid it sounded once it was said.

“Really?” the Fereldan questioned, a hint of disapproval beginning to creep into his feigned tone of bemusement. “Because if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trespassing on private land and attempting to chop down one of my sister's trees.”

Okay. So maybe it was what it looked like.

Fasta vass. He had been caught with literally ax in hand, hacking away at a tree.

“Perhaps we can come to some agreement that doesn't involve inconveniencing either of us further,” Dorian tried, using that same, smooth tone he had to employ often to defuse the ire of disgruntled customers. “I apologize, take my leave, and we forget this rather embarrassing situation. Poor judgment on my part.”

“Or, I have you fined for illegally attempting to fell a tree,” the man answered, arms folded over his chest, grim lips beginning to curl in a scowl.

“There's no need to get the authorities involved,” Dorian replied, quickly. He didn't even want to think of what could happen to his student visa if he was entangled in a violation of the law. “I'm sure we can find other means to settle this. I'm more than willing to compensate you, Mr...?”

“Detective Cullen Rutherford.”

…FUCK.

It would be just his luck that he ends this shitty week being caught by a police officer in his first flirtation with crime.

How was he going to get out of this without making things worse?

"Detective Rutherford? How wonderfully Fereldan-sounding. Do appease my curiosity and tell me you have an equally endearing middle name, like Nathaniel or Bryce. Detective Cullen Nathaniel Rutherford. It rolls off the tongue quite nicely."

If the detective was annoyed before, he was absolutely baffled by now, staring incredulously at the would-be tree feller. The gray mabari barked at the sound of its master's name while the officer began to flush.

"What are you--t-that's not my--"

"No need to correct my assumption. You can tell me over a cup of coffee. How does next Thursday sound?"

The poor blond looked even more bewildered at the turn of conversation. It took him a few seconds to process the silky, flirtatious tone Dorian was using. And when he figured it out, his face went a deeper shade of red.

"A-are you attempting to bribe an officer of the law with coffee to avoid being charged for a misdemeanor?"

"Bribe?" the Tevinter laughed, his voice taking on a coy lilt. "Is it so hard to believe that I find you far too handsome to pass up this opportunity, even if we must deal with such frivolities as charging me for attempting to cut down a tree?"

"M-Maker's breath!" Cullen mumbled, dropping his red face into his gloved hands. “Th-there's no need to—you really shouldn't—”

And much to the detective's dismay, his loyal companion bounded through the snow towards Dorian, wagging its stubby tail, to which the Tevinter rewarded the dog with a generous pat on the head and some very appreciated ear scratching.

“Man's best friend indeed,” the detective muttered, feeling more than a little betrayed by his pet.

“I must commend you on your excellent choice in four-legged companions, Detective Handsome.”

“Rutherford!” Cullen quickly corrected, looking for all the world like he was about to die of embarrassment.

“A big, fierce beast like this? And you know what they say about a man with a big dog. He's also got a big—!”

“By Andraste, if I drop the charges, will you stop?!”

Dorian smirked triumphantly. “I was going to say, 'big heart'.”

"Look...it's Satinalia. The weather's not the best and it's hard to see anything clearly this time of night. Let's say a would-be violator of Ferelden's rather important,” Cullen emphasized, with a slight glare, “environmental protection laws managed to get away before any real damage could be done and we forget this whole incident.”

“...that sounds reasonable.”

“And for the love of the Maker, please stop attempting to flirt your way out of trouble. It's not a habit you should be employing every time you anger an officer.”

“But it worked, didn't it?”

The Tevinter's answer was a groan but he swore the Fereldan was hiding a smile behind his gloved hand.

“Alright. No more flirting with officers so gorgeous, they're making me rethink my lifelong hatred of plaid,” Dorian said, winking salaciously at the detective. “From now on, I'll curry favor with officers of the law by bewitching their beloved pets.”

“Something tells me Brixon and I will need to have a long chat about accepting scratches from 'perps',” Cullen said, giving a mock glare to his dog.

"Brixon? What a lovely name for a big, scary mabari," Dorian said, smiling down and scratching the mabari's ear once more.

The dog whined, giving what seemed to be a disapproving look at his master, which only made the detective chuckle.

"Don't be like that. I know you're as good as any one of the men and women who serve on the Denerim police force."

Dorian's head perked up at that. "You're from Denerim as well?"

"Transferred from Honnleath only a few months ago," the Fereldan answered. "You've come quite a ways out of the city to find a tree."

The Tevinter had the humility to look somewhat embarrassed at the observation. "I'm spending the weekend at my friend's cottage and, of course, the one thing I was tasked with, I failed to do until the last minute."

The blond fell quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "If it's a tree you need, I may be able to help you out.”

-*-*-*-

"I can't thank you enough for this," Dorian said, as Cullen helped him secure the tree on the roof of his car.

Checking the ropes one final time, Cullen gave the Tevinter a small smirk. "I'd much rather give you one of my sister's left over trees than have you commit another crime."

"Attempted-crime," Dorian corrected, to which the Fereldan simply chuckled.

As luck would have it, Cullen's sister Mia was the owner of the tree farm he had been attempting to steal a tree from. She had been more than happy to treat Dorian to cocoa as Cullen fabricated a story about finding Dorian at the side of the road and helping him to jump start his car. And when Dorian had added that he had been on his way to find a tree farm that would hopefully still be selling trees at this time of night, Mia had generously offered one on the house.

"It's the least I can do after the night you've been having.”

And if that didn't inspire guilt that had Dorian pulling out his wallet, he wasn't sure what else would. But after much insisting, most of it by Cullen, the Tevinter accepted the gift.

"You really didn't have to do this for me," he added once more, standing a bit sheepishly by the door to his car.

The detective smiled rather shyly and as his cheeks grew pinker, Dorian couldn't help but think, for not the first time that evening, how adorable the (“still quite tragically single,” Mia had declared overly loud over warm beverages, earning her a mortified look from her younger sibling) man was. “When you attempted to flirt your way out of a fine, I knew you had to be in some financial trouble. Times are tough. Plus, it's Satinalia. I hope you and your friends put that tree to good use.”

The Tevinter grinned widely. “You have my word, detective. Thanks again for the tree. Please tell your sister I wish both of you a happy Satinalia.”

As he unlocked his car, he paused, glancing sideways, with a smug smirk on his face. “And just so you know, I would have flirted with you even if you hadn't caught me in the middle of destroying the local environment.”

This time, Cullen's blush reached the tips of his ears, which peeked out above the thick, plaid scarf he wore around his neck.

“About next Thursday...”

Dorian, with one leg already in the vehicle, stopped. “Hmm?”

“I-I'm free. If you still want to know my middle name,” the detective said, ducking his face bashfully.

Dorian's stomach did a flip.

“I-it doesn't have to be a date,” Cullen added quickly, still not quite able to meet the Tevinter's eyes. “I-I don't have many friends in Denerim and—well, it would be nice to—and coffee. Coffee would be great.”

“So, in exchange for coffee, you'd tell me your middle name?” Dorian teased. “Then I, in good conscious, must inform you that Mia divulged that information in private while you were feeding Brixon, Detective Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

But the Fereldan took the teasing another way, an apologetic look on his face. “Ah, I-I suppose that means you're busy and—”

“And free after 4. If that works for you.”

Dorian had thrown out a random day when he had initially made his suggestion. Luckily, he had nothing planned after his shift.

When the detective looked back up, his honey-colored eyes widened in shock. “Y-yes t-that's great. I—would you like to exchange numbers?”

In his nervousness, Cullen fumbled with his phone and nearly dropped it onto the road. Dorian did his best to hold back a chuckle but seeing the embarrassed smile on the detective's face made the Tevinter's own lips curl in a grin, a flutter in his chest. Once numbers were exchanged and they had added each other to Let’s Chat, a popular Thedosian app, they said their goodbyes and Dorian started his car.

Before pulling off onto the road, he rolled down his window and called out, “Oh, and just so you know, Cullen, Thursday is very much a date!”

The poor man nearly slipped into the snowbank but that didn't stop him grinning from ear to ear as he waved Dorian off.

Perhaps this week wasn't so terrible after all.

[briseis-lavellan]

Life and Home

Something I wrote for Ao3 as a gift for Songofpsalms297.

Cassandra believes that there is nothing more beautiful than having people to come home to.  (AU)

 It was a long flight after a long business trip away from home. Cassandra was happy to be walking up the familiar driveway that led to the very familiar house.  The occupants must have heard the sound of her luggage bag’s wheels rolling against the pavement, because the door quickly opened and a reddish blonde blur came flying towards her.                    “Mama’s home!” said the little girl as Cassandra quickly scooped her into her arms and held her tightly.  Laying a kiss on top of her daughter’s head, she glanced up and noticed her husband leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed and lazy grin on his face.                    “I have missed you terribly, my darling.” she said as she focused her attention back on the girl.  The child was six years old and took after her father in many ways, but her features were very similar to her mother’s.  She clung tightly to her mother as if the woman would disappear otherwise.  Cassandra’s heart broke every time, knowing that her work often had such an impact on her family.                    “We missed you too.” Varric said as he walked up to his wife and daughter.  Cassandra smiled and leaned down to give her husband a brief but warm kiss on his lips.                    “Eww, gross!” said the little girl, who buried her head into her mother’s shoulder to hide from the sight of her parents kissing.                    “It’s not so bad, Antonia.  A fact that you won’t be discovering until you are in your 30’s.”  Varric said, his eyes still on his wife.                    Cassandra loved her job and the many opportunities she had to help her country as one of the top two presidential advisors.  She had a good rapport with President Dorothea, who was willing to heed the advice of her advisors and council members.  As a result, the country flourished under her leadership and Cassandra was happy to be one of the hands helping it along.  But the job also came with a steep price, which involved her missing time with her family.   Trying to balance her career with raising a child was not as easy as she had hoped it would be.  Varric was very understanding of the importance of her work, but that did not mean that it was not a source of contention between the two.  There had been many arguments, her on the unfairness of the bond he shared with their daughter and him on the fact that she had missed out on several important milestones (first word, first steps, first day of school, etc).  Despite the fighting and the hurtful words that get thrown about, they manage to work through it.  She even dared to say it made them stronger.  The mind-blowing reunion sex wasn’t so bad either.                    Varric took her luggage as they went inside the house and Cassandra paused in the doorway and taking in the familiar smells and surroundings.  She was extremely glad to be home, to be with her little family and not stuffy politicians.  She had missed the sweet laughter of her daughter, the warm embrace of her husband, and happiness that she could only feel when she was with them.        

 They were now sitting on the plush red sofa, listening to Antonia regale her mother with tales of her little adventures at school with her friends, and the fun things she got to do with Auntie Hawke and Uncle Broody.  There were some misadventures with Auntie Rivaini, but Varric quickly headed off any outraged protests by explaining the full context of the situation.  The look she gave him was dubious, but she let it go… for now.  It wasn’t until after proudly showing off a beautifully carved halla that was made by Auntie Lavellan that the little girl started yawning.  It had gotten late and it was well past her bedtime.                    Varric allowed Cassandra the task of tucking their daughter in while watching both of them affectionately.  He would later tell her that he loved the domesticity she exuded while reading to the little being that they both created in love.  How having her home had completed them.  Seven years ago, if someone dared to suggest that she even seemed domestic, she would have protested.  Now she didn’t mind, not if it meant having people who loved her and waited for her.      

 Once Antonia drifted off to dreamland (the ability to dream inherited from her human half), the couple quietly slipped to their bedroom where Varric could finally give his wife the welcome home he had been waiting to give her all day.  He was in the middle of kissing her senseless when the loud and obnoxious, to him anyway, sound of her ringtone interrupted them.  The dwarven author knew that he could just continue and she would eventually forget that she even owned a phone, but he saw the anxiousness in her eyes and knew that it was better to just let her answer it.  Of course, it was work, and since the political climate has been rather stormy lately, Cassandra would want to answer in the case of bad news.  He situated himself on the side of their bed while Cassandra dug her phone out of the pocket of the pants that they discarded on the floor.                  “Leliana, what is it?” She demanded, sexual frustration making her tone sharp.  He could hear a faint voice coming from the phone though he couldn’t make out the words, his wife’s eyes narrowed as she listened to whatever it was Leliana was saying to her.                  “I don’t think that’s… No, I just… What do you mean that’s an order?” the voice continued on and Cassandra sighed in resignation. Varric could feel himself becoming angry.  Usually when she sighed liked that after speaking to Leliana or one of Dorothea’s many assistants, it meant she was packed up to leave the next day.                    “I guess I have no choice but to accept… Yes, thank you Leliana.  We will talk later.”  Cassandra ended the call and looked up to notice that Varric was not looking pleased.                    “I take it that you will have to pack soon.” It wasn’t a question.                  “Yes.”                  “You just got home.”                  “Leliana said that Dorothea ordered me…”                  “Haven’t you done enough for awhile?  Have you not sacrificed enough for them?”                  “Varric…” she began but he interrupted.                  “There has to come a time when you say enough, Cassandra.”                  Cassandra, not Seeker, her old title that became an endearment.  He was not happy.                  “Varric…”                  “No!  I know that you detest ultimatums but at some point, you will have to choose between your family and your… “ He was interrupted as she pressed her lips against his mouth.  Her dwarven husband struggled against the wonderful sensation of having her mouth against his before he finally gave in, both of them opening their lips to allow their tongues to dance, re-stoking the fires that were doused so rudely moments ago.                    She finally ended the kiss, though reluctantly and looked him in the eyes.                  “Stop talking for a moment, dwarf, and I will tell you what she had said.”                  He was still recovering from the kiss, so all he could do was nod.                    “Leliana said that the president recognizes all of my hard work during this whole referendum business and felt that I could use a long well-deserved, break.”                    She kept her eyes on his face, trying to gauge his reaction, which took awhile but a smile crept until he was grinning.                  “That’s great!  Did they say how long?” He set his hands around her waist, slowly running his fingers up and down her side.                    “For about two weeks before I have to fly out to Orlais to attend the conference, but that will only be for two days and I will return and can work here from Kirkwall for the foreseeable future.”                  “That is really something, why all of this though?  Surely there’s more to it than the recognition of your hard work.”                  “It probably has to do with the fact that excessive travel, especially by plane, would not be beneficial for my health in the next few months or so.”                    Varric looked at her, confusion and worry on his face.                  “Your health?  What’s wrong with your health?”                  She smiled and shook her head.                  “Nothing is wrong, my love, I’m only pregnant.”                    It seemed to take a moment before it sank in.  Shocked, he took her hand while staring at her abdomen dumbly.                  “Pregnant...are you sure?” He asked cautiously.  In the last four years, Cassandra had suffered the loss of two pregnancies.  She didn’t know she was even pregnant for either, but the loss was still felt keenly by the both of them.  They worried that they would never again experience the joy of watching a child they made together with their love growing within his Seeker.  He was afraid to hope that it was even real.  It had been another source of contention between them about her work.  He blamed the stress caused by the toxic political climate at the time.  But they had long moved beyond that fight, mending their hearts over the losses.  

         “Yes, my love.” She answered, understanding his wariness.    

 “We are having another one?”                  “Yes, Varric, we are.”                    An ecstatic grin finally broke out on his face before laughing and grabbing his wife by the hands to do a quick happy spin around the room.                  “Another!” he whooped as he stopped.  He looked at her, happiness and maybe tears in his eyes.                    “How long?” his hand covered her abdomen, which had a barely detectable curve now that he knew to look for it.                    “I am about eleven weeks along, though I have only found out about three weeks ago.  I wanted to tell you immediately, but it did not seem right to relay such news over the phone.  I also wanted to make sure that… I kept this one.  The doctor says everything is going splendidly so far and that there is a bigger chance of me carrying to term since I am further along than with the last two.  It is why Dorothea and Leliana are ‘recognizing’ my hard work.  They are ecstatic for us.”                    “I owe them a huge apology for acting like an ass.” He said, reaching up to kiss his wife.  The kiss began as a sweet and loving kiss, but it would soon evolve to something more passionate.  Husband and wife celebrated with the most intimate dance that can only be shared between lovers.  It was a celebration of life.  The life of their daughter, sleeping safely in her bed and the life that dwelled within Cassandra, waiting to make his or her appearance in the world.  Most of all, it was a celebration of home.