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Felassan/f!Lavellan: Ancient History, Part I

Chapter 24 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3!

In which there is a dump of lore and I pray that the 10 hours straight that I spent researching this shit was worth it. [hysterical laughter]

~6300 words; read on AO3 instead, and please check out the endnote on AO3 for sources (codex entries and metas) if you’re interested.

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“I understand that Solas spoke to you of a war,” Felassan said to Tamaris. “One where the Evanuris emerged as heroes and eventually came to be revered as gods?”

“He told me that much, yes,” she said.

He nodded. “What do the Dalish know of the Forgotten Ones?”

The Forgotten Ones? she thought. Was that the enemy that the Evanuris had fought in their big war?

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s a reason we call them the Forgotten Ones, you know.”

He smirked. “Indulge me, avise.”

She sighed. “We thought they were the antithesis to the Creators. They were gods of pestilence and malice, and they resided in the Void.”

“Ah yes, the Void,” Felassan said cheerfully. “And what is that, exactly?”

“Honestly? I’ve no fucking clue,” she said bluntly. “A bad place, I guess, if the Forgotten Ones lived there.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot: our stories told that the Dread Wolf tricked the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris into getting locked in their respective realms so he could have the entire world to himself. That’s one of the stories that all the Dalish share. ”

Felassan laughed. “I wish I’d been there to see his reaction when he heard that particular Dalish tale.”

“Honestly, he didn’t bat an eye,” Tamaris said. “I think he’d probably heard it before he met me. He was pretty good at keeping his calm about those kinds of things, at least at first.”

Varric huffed at this. “Anyone else ever think about how much he must’ve been screaming on the inside during his time with the Inquisition?”

“Often,” Dorian said. “And I thought I was repressed and stifled.”

Felassan smirked. “Well, from what our histories tell, the war that brought the Evanuris their fame was against these so-called Forgotten Ones: a group of elves and spirits of which little was remembered, aside from the fact that they disagreed with the Evanuris and brought strife upon our people. This war had been raging for a thousand years before the Evanuris vanquished them. When the final eight rebels were rounded up, the Evanuris had to find some fitting punishment for these enemies who had plagued them for so long.” He lowered his arms and trailed his fingers lazily along the carpet. “After much deliberation – a few hundred years’ worth, give or take – the Evanuris finally decided on a punishment befitting the Forgotten Ones’ crimes: the rebels were forced into the shape of enormous dragons, all but one of them bound in submission to one of the Evanuris.”

“All but one?” Tamaris said curiously.

“Wait a minute,” Dorian cut in. “Eight rebels, you said?”

“That is what I said,” Felassan replied.

“But there are only — well, there were only seven Old Gods before the Wardens started killing them,” Dorian protested.

“That is what your human histories say, yes,” Felassan said.

Tamaris could practically see Dorian’s frown through the crystal. Then Dorian sighed. “All right, build the suspense. I see how it is. He’s just as bad as you, Varric.”

“Thanks, I think,” Varric said dryly.

Tamaris held up a hand. “But wait. You said one of the eight rebels wasn’t bound to an Evanuris. Who didn’t get a dragon?”

Felassan shook his head. “It’s not a matter of who didn’t get a dragon. It’s a matter of a dragon not having an Evanuris to bind to it just yet.”

Tamaris frowned in confusion, then realized what he meant. “Ghilan’nain wasn’t counted among the gods yet,” she said.

He nodded in satisfaction. “She hadn’t even been born yet. Truly, she was a child compared to the other Evanuris.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “Just makes her all the more frightening, doesn’t it?”

Varric grunted. “All right. So your Forgotten Ones are turned into dragons and forced into submission to the Elvhen… heroes, who aren’t gods yet. But there’s one spare dragon. What happened to that dragon?”

“You know, I can’t really say,” Felassan said. “Maybe it was paraded around like a symbol of the Evanuris’s power. Maybe Andruil just kept it as a pet; she was Mythal’s favoured protégée for a very long time.”

“Her protégée?” Tamaris said. “I thought Andruil was her daughter.”

Felassan tilted his head in an ambivalent gesture. “This is one of those cases where changes in the Elvhen language have caused confusion from my time to yours. I honestly can’t confirm whether Andruil was Mythal’s daughter; by the time I was born, the Evanuris all denied any direct blood relations to each other. But Mythal called Andruil ‘da’len’.” He cocked his head at Tamaris. “Which means what in modern Dalish Elvhen?”

“It means ‘child’,” Tamaris replied. “But it implies a student sort of relationship with someone who is older and more knowledgeable.”

Felassan nodded. “This may be where the confusion arose. In my time, ‘da’len’ was also used to refer to someone younger, but it implied a strong kinship like adopted family — one that you would protect and treat as dearly as though they were family. If the Dalish construed the word to mean ‘child’, they could easily have thought this meant that Andruil was Mythal’s child by blood.” He shrugged. “Maybe that was true. But by the time I was born, Andruil and Mythal were… not on the best of terms, shall we say. I certainly never heard Andruil refer to Mythal with any particular respect.”

Tamaris frowned thoughtfully at this, and Felassan raised his eyebrows at Tamaris and Varric. “Are we ready to move on to the next part of the tale?”

“Please do,” Dorian said.

“All right,” Felassan said. “Now, in the wake of the Evanuris’s victory, the Elvhen empire began to truly flourish. No longer were the Evanuris and their resources bound to the constant demands of war.” He waved one hand in an elegant gesture. “With infinite time at their disposal, they began creating beautiful works of art and architecture and magic. They explored our world in depth to determine its secrets so they could make even more fantastical creations. They wrote songs and created literature that would make you weep to hear and read them. The eluvians were created during this time, as well. Their initial design was by June, but their construction truly was a joint project between all of the Evanuris.” He gave Varric and Tamaris a rueful smile. “A cooperative project between seven confident and powerful mages: can you imagine? It really is something to marvel at.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s not wrong,” Dorian interjected. “It’s hard enough getting even three brilliant mages on the same page. Tamaris, do you recall that argument I had with Solas and Vivienne that almost resulted in a custard pudding being thrown at–”

Varric cleared his throat. “Maybe not right now, Sparkler.”

Felassan snickered. “Save that story for later, though. I would like to hear it.”

Tamaris harrumphed. “We’ll probably need the comic relief later.”

Felassan shot her a quick sympathetic look before going on. “This time of great intellectual and artistic growth is the time that Solas was so proud of, and that he is so wistful for. He told me that this was when he began to grow strong, feeding from and feeding back into the pride that his people had in themselves. He and Mythal became very close during this time, as she was the Evanuris’s de facto leader and the most clever and creative of them all.” Felassan’s expression grew serious, and he looked at Varric. “This was also the time that the Evanuris’s explorations took them underground, to the places that you now call the deep roads.”

Varric sighed and tugged an earring. “Oh shit. Here we go.”

Felassan gave him a wry little smile. “This was some two thousand years or so after the Great War was over. Andruil had made contact with a strange people who lived underground, toiling like ants to tend to something that they called ‘isana’.”

Tamaris frowned. “Isana. That’s the old dwarven word for lyrium, according to Valta.”

Felassan nodded, and Varric frowned. “‘Toiling like ants’? That’s not very flattering.”

“It does seem rather insulting, doesn’t it?” Felassan said lightly. “In any case, Mythal decided to accompany Andruil to the deep roads to get more information about these strange durgen’lin — these children of the stone. Upon her arrival to the deep roads, Mythal found the lyrium that Andruil had spoken of. And she found a race of people who, to her horror and pity, had no connection whatsoever to the Fade.”

Tamaris’s eyebrows jumped up at this, and Varric sat forward slightly. “Hang on. So the ancient dwarves never had a connection to the Fade?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” Felassan said.

Varric frowned and rubbed his chin. “Then why…?”

Felassan picked up where he trailed off. “Why do mages and the Dalish and everyone else think that the dwarves were cut off from the Fade somehow? An excellent question.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “A better question might be this: since when in the history of any culture has something different ever been accepted simply as a difference and not a deficiency?”

Tamaris grimaced at his bluntness, and Varric let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s grim, Jester. Even for you.”

Dorian spoke up in a serious tone. “Grim but true, unfortunately.”

Tamaris looked up at Felassan. “Mythal conquered the dwarves, didn’t she?” she said quietly.

He nodded again, and his expression was utterly somber. “Her intentions were… benevolent, if you can call them that. She pitied the dwarves for their inability to draw from the Fade. She pitied the fact that they could not hear the hum of the Fade. She and Andruil, with Elgar’nan’s support, went into the deep roads and took control of the dwarves’ domain, in the name of trying to help them access the Fade.”

Tamaris inhaled slowly; Felassan’s words were making her feel faintly nauseous. “What do you mean, trying to help them access the Fade?”

Dorian answered. “Experiments,” he said grimly. “That’s what you mean, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Felassan said quietly. “She experimented on the dwarves. The experiments were largely unsuccessful. And yet, despite their inability to access the Fade, the dwarves had access to lyrium: to this incredible source of power that was so potent that it poisoned anyone who approached it. Anyone who wasn’t a dwarf, that is,” he added, “since the ancient dwarves were completely immune to lyrium’s poisoning effects.”

“Immune?” Varric said in surprise. “Actually immune? Not just resistant?”

Felassan pulled a little face. “Perhaps immune isn’t the right word. What is the word I’m looking for…?” He pinched his lip thoughtfully and muttered to himself in Elvhen for a moment, then looked up at Tamaris and Varric. “When you entered the Titan with Valta. You said that something happened to her. She became connected to the Titan in some way?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “She did something that looked like a spell, and she was all… calm and wise.” She looked askance at Varric, hoping for help to describe how strange Valta had been.

“She said she was pure,” Varric said. “It was pretty weird.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “Pure. She used that word? ‘Pure’?”

“Yeah,” Varric said warily. “Is that significant?”

“More than you know,” Felassan said. “In any case, the way she was connected to the Titan, as per your descriptions: from what I’ve been able to discern and from what Fen’Harel told me, this is the way that all of the dwarves were once connected to lyrium — which, as you know, is Titan blood.”

Dorian spoke up. “So you’re saying that there was once a time that all dwarves had perfect control over the power of lyrium?”

“That’s my understanding,” Felassan said.

“Then Mythal appeared,” Dorian said, “and she began experimenting. And she… broke that connection?”

Felassan sighed. “In part. But the experiments were not the only problem. It was…” He sighed again and scratched the back of his head, then shot Tamaris a wary look.

She blinked. “What?”

He eyed her for a second longer, then let out a little laugh. “I can just imagine his face if he knew I was telling you this.”

She frowned. “You’re not his agent anymore, Felassan. It’s up to you to tell us whatever you want.”

“I know, avise,” he said. “It’s just… I can understand why he kept certain things to himself. Not everything,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest, “but some things.” He sighed. “The greatest mistake — the greatest act of Elvhen hubris — was not the experimentation on the dwarves per se, though that was a mistake to say the least.”

“The very least,” Varric muttered.

Felassan nodded an acknowledgement. “Mythal’s greatest mistake was in going deeper into the deep roads — deep enough that she found the Titan’s heart.”

Tamaris’s heart seized. “Mythal killed the Titan, didn’t she?” she asked.

“No,” he said, to Tamaris’s surprise. “She didn’t kill the Titan. She carved out a piece of its heart in order to use its power, and in so doing, she damaged the Titan and forever disrupted its song — an act that had damaging consequences that have lasted to this day.”

Varric sighed heavily. “The song,” he said. “It’s always about how lyrium sings. Regular lyrium has a song, red lyrium has a creepy song, Valta talked about the stone singing to her…”

“The Wardens spoke of the calling as being a song,” Dorian said.

Tamaris frowned. “But that’s different, isn’t it? That’s because they’re tied to darkspawn.”

Dorian hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose that’s true.”

“No, Dorian,” Felassan said. “You make a fair point. Darkspawn are tainted with the Blight, so it is tied to lyrium.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “How? Just because lyrium can be blighted too?”

Felassan waved a careless hand. “You’ll see. All in good time.”

Varric sighed and glanced at the sending crystal. “He’s worse than I am with the suspense-building.”

Dorian and Felassan chuckled, but Tamaris didn’t laugh. She looked up at Felassan with wide eyes. “Wait a minute, though. You told me that Templar powers are just a different form of magic powered by lyrium.”

“That is true, yes,” Felassan said.

“Wait, seriously?” Varric exclaimed.

Dorian snorted. “Oh, that makes a great deal of sense. And is terribly ironic to boot.”

Felassan smiled, then looked at Tamaris once more. “What are you thinking, avise?”

“If Templar powers are just magic,” she said, “then… then the ancient dwarves’ powers — and Valta’s powers — are a kind of magic too. They had to be.”

Felassan’s smile widened. “Exactly.”

Varric stared at him, then slumped back in his chair with a stunned look. “Andraste’s sacred ass.”

Dorian’s reply was indignant. “If the ancient dwarves were magical, why did Mythal think they weren’t?”

Felassan shrugged. “It was magic the likes of which the Evanuris had never before seen or felt. They didn’t understand it, so they dismissed it.”

Frustrated, Tamaris lowered her face to her hands, then dragged her hands over her braided hair. “For fuck’s sake,” she spat, and she glared at Felassan. “Why couldn’t they just leave the dwarves alone?”

He shrugged again. “It’s funny how often people think they must destroy something in order to truly understand it.”

“This isn’t funny!” she snapped.

“And I’m not really joking,” Felassan said calmly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

She blew out a sharp breath, then looked at Varric, and her heart twisted; Varric looked unusually angry.

“Chuckles knew about this, didn’t he?” Varric said quietly, and Tamaris’s stomach dropped; she hadn’t thought of that.

She whipped around to look at Felassan. When she saw the look on Felassan’s face, her stomach twisted even further. “He knew?” she said faintly.

Felasan nodded slowly. “He accompanied Mythal for much of her travels in the deep roads.”

Fuck, Tamaris thought. Solas had watched Mythal experimenting on the dwarves and treating them like lesser creatures, and he hadn’t stopped her?

She took a deep breath to try and ease the pain in her chest. Dorian broke the tense silence. “That explains why there were so many wolf statues in that one place in the deep roads. You know the one, where the qunari were mining lyrium.”

Tamaris took another breath. “Yeah,” she said. She looked at Varric once more, and her pulse jolted with worry. The last time she’d seen him look this angry was when they’d discovered that Bianca had gotten mixed up with Corypheus’s Wardens.

She stood up and went to sit on the armrest of his chair. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head slowly and looked up at her. “Do you remember him talking to me about the ancient dwarves? He made it sound like I was doing something wrong by not trying to bring back my so-called heritage like some Orzammar lord. And he was there the whole time, watching this Mythal person chip it away.”

His voice was hard with anger. Tamaris squeezed his arm in sympathy, then looked at Felassan, who was now wearing that dreaded look of millenia-old sadness. “Solas really agreed with Mythal’s actions against the dwarves?” she asked.

Felassan twisted his lips. “Keep in mind that Solas was still a spirit at the time of all of this. Mythal was proud of her… achievements, shall we say, and thus Solas was proud as well. He reflected and embodied her pride, and he was strengthened by it. But he was not… necessarily capable of understanding what was wrong with what had been done.”

Varric sighed loudly and shook his head. “This spirit shit is beyond me.”

Felassan sat up on the couch and folded his legs. “If it is of comfort to you, he realized Mythal’s errors once he became an elf.” He gave them a small twisted smile. “Yet another thing he bore considerable guilt about.”

“Yeah, well, he had a funny way of showing it,” Varric retorted.

Tamaris patted his shoulder soothingly. “He had a funny way of showing a lot of things.” She smiled wryly. “I mean, think about it. His way of telling me he loved me was by breaking up with me, right?”

Varric looked up at her in surprise, and Dorian’s words carried equal surprise. “Did you just make a joke about Solas breaking up with you?”

“Um, yes,” she said slowly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“No reason,” Dorian said. “I mean, you absolutely can. I just… am surprised you would.”

She shrugged. “Well, it’s kind of funny in retrospect.” She looked at Varric, who was looking at her in an appraising way.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s – really, it’s nothing.”

Tamaris tsked and folded her arms. “That’s the last time I try to make a fucking joke.”

“I liked your joke,” Felassan said.

He was smiling at her in a way that made her heart flip. He waved for her to approach. “Come here.”

She huffed. “Bossy,” she muttered, but she rose from Varric’s chair and went to sit on the couch beside Felassan.

He draped his arm around her with a smile, then addressed Dorian. “By the way, I answered your question. The orb of power that Solas had was essentially a refined chunk of Titan heart.”

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Well, that’s almost disappointingly simple.”

“Not if you get into the mechanics of it,” Felassan said. “But we can discuss that another time on our own. If Tamaris won’t be jealous about it.”

She tutted and tried to push him away, but he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.

Varric rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, let’s move on. So Mythal carved out a piece of Titan heart—”

“She and Andruil carved out several, actually,” Felassan corrected. “One for each of the Evanuris. They were still getting along at that time, you see.”

“Right,” Varric said. “So she carves out seven pieces of Titan heart, ruins the ancient dwarves’ connection to the Titans and weakens their resistance to lyrium, and the ancient elves are all, ‘hurray! Three cheers for the conquering heroes!’ Literally.”

Felassan let out a lovely rolling laugh. “An incredibly sarcastic and accurate summary. I like it.”

“As do I,” Dorian said. “Please keep summarizing events this way for us, Varric.”

“I live to entertain,” Varric said dryly.

Felassan smiled at him, then continued his telling. “Now, back on the surface in Arlathan, the Evanuris were rising beyond the status of mere heroes. They had enormous powerful dragons under their thrall, and each of them had become more unfathomably powerful than before thanks to their secret orbs, carved straight from a Titan’s heart. The mining and import of lyrium began, which brought even more raw power into the empire, and the artistic and intellectual endeavours of the Elvhen people continued to flourish. But this new power that Mythal had introduced was poorly understood, and the consequences of this poor understanding would take centuries to manifest.” He looked at Tamaris and Varric in turn. “This is when the Evanuris really came to be seen as gods. And this is when the corruption of my people truly began.”

She smiled faintly despite her disquiet. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”

He smiled in return and squeezed her shoulder. “I know how much you enjoy it. In any case, many things were happening in the heart of Elvhenan. At first blush, this will all seem like gossip, but I assure you that it is relevant.” He released her and leaned back casually. “Andruil was growing jealous of Solas, who was starting to supplant her as Mythal’s so-called favourite. Solas, in the meantime, had made a new acquaintance: a young woman of great power and creativity who bore a special interest in animals and creatures.”

“Special interest…” Tamaris mused. Then she looked up with wide eyes. “You mean Ghilan’nain. Solas was friends with Ghilan’nain?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “A very long time ago. In fact, it was Solas who first brought Ghilan’nain to Mythal’s attention. Ghilan’nain was brilliant and bold, or so I’m told, and her pride drew Solas’s interest. He mentioned her to Mythal, and Mythal sent Andruil to learn more about this brilliant young woman.”

“Uh-oh,” Varric deadpanned.

Felassan let out a little chuckle that fell a little flat. “Quite,” he said. “Andruil quickly became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, and we spoke already of how Ghilan’nain and Andruil… egged each other on, so to speak. But Ghilan’nain and Solas were good friends, and Andruil was already jealous of Solas for having Mythal’s affection and trust… A messy situation all in all.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I wonder if I could sell the rights to some Orlesian playwright and reap the royalties.”

“Please don’t,” Tamaris said flatly. “The humans will just use it as more of a reason to look down on us.”

“I’m kidding, of course,” Felassan said. “This looks worse on me than it does even on you, after all.” He thoughtfully tapped his chin. “Now where was I? Oh yes, the height of the Elvhen empire.” He gave Tamaris and Varric a wry look. “Nothing lasts forever, not even the glory of an empire of immortal beings. Eventually, the cooperation among the Evanuris began to crumble. Competitions and rivalries arose: petty feuds and bitter jealousies. The Evanuris began to form factions — Sylaise with Andruil, Falon’Din with Elgar’nan — but even those factions didn’t last for long. It was during this time, when the strife among the gods began to rise, that Mythal asked Solas to adopt a body and truly join her at her side.”

Dorian piped up from the crystal. “So he became an elf at Mythal’s request?”

Felassan nodded. “Mythal was his closest companion, and the person he felt the greatest affinity to. When she requested his assistance and companionship, he agreed. He left his spirit life behind and adopted a corporeal form.” A slow but broad smile lit his face. “And in so doing, he took Arlathan society by storm.”

Varric quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, what does that mean exactly?”

“It means that he liked to party, and he did it well,” Felassan said with a grin. “He was…” He looked at Tamaris. “How was it that you said he described himself? ‘Young, cocky, and ready to fight’?”

She huffed. “That’s it, yes.”

Dorian and Varric scoffed, and Felassan chuckled. “Hard to believe, perhaps, but that was Solas in his youth. He was charismatic and charming, and beloved by most of Arlathan. Not by Andruil, though; her jealousy only grew worse once she and Solas truly began treading the same paths in society.”

“Does her jealousy, er, matter in the long term?” Dorian asked.

Felassan shot the crystal a mock-affronted look. “You wound me by suggesting otherwise. Of course it matters.”

“My apologies,” Dorian said. “Go on.”

Felassan rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ve been remiss. I should describe what Andruil was like, and perhaps my focus on her will make more sense. She was forceful and commanding, which is not a bad thing in itself, but she had…” He twisted his lips. “Let’s call it a mean streak. She was a brilliant hunter, but one who shamelessly enjoyed the kill. She was compelling, but more out of intimidation than persuasion. As time went on, her mean streak only became more tangible. Her devotion to Ghilan’nain was probably her greatest virtue, but even that was…” He trailed off and smiled at them, but the smile was hardly humorous. “I joked about Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s liaison before, but from what I observed and what Solas told me of the young Ghilan’nain — before she met Andruil, I mean — their mutual devotion was a poison to them both.”

Tamaris pulled a little face. “That’s… that’s really shitty.”

“It is unfortunate, yes,” Felassan said quietly. “How different things could have been if…” He trailed off again, then looked up with a smile. “Forgive me. I’m getting ahead of myself.” He chuckled and rubbed his forehead, but Tamaris could clearly hear the fatigue beneath his mirth.

She shifted closer to him on the couch and rubbed his knee. “Do you want a break? This is a lot to get into.”

He smiled at her. “I can’t stop now. Not when things are getting good.”

She frowned worriedly; his smile wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He stroked her hair, then looked at Varric. “This is the time I was born into,” he said. “My people’s greatest achievements were largely behind them, and our revered leaders were beginning to fight amongst themselves. The pillars of our greatness were being slowly eaten away by a sea of small-minded selfishness.”

His tone was bitter, and Tamaris squeezed his arm. He gave her a tight smile, then took a deep breath before continuing in a more measured tone. “Class divisions were clear, from noble to peasant, but those divisions were… worsening, so to speak.” For Varric and Dorian’s benefit, he explained, “I was born as a servant of into Andruil’s household.”

Varric’s eyebrows rose, and Felassan gave him a crooked and humourless smile. “Oh yes, that cruel and talented huntress herself. I say I was a servant, but by the time I was old enough to understand the difference between a servant and a slave, the distinction no longer existed.”

Dorian sighed. “Fasta vass. I am… so sorry, my friend.”

Felassan inclined his head politely. “Thank you. Truth be told, I was more fortunate than some. I was among the first slaves that Solas ever freed.”

Tamaris took his hand and laced her fingers with his. “I’m glad you didn’t have to suffer for long.”

“As am I,” he said. “Two hundred years or so is nothing compared to the suffering that some endured.”

Tamaris and Varric gaped at him, and Dorian exclaimed through the crystal. “Two hundred years as a slave?”

Felassan waved them off. “As I said, it was a drop in the ocean compared to some. Do not feel sorry for me. You can feel sorry for my parents, but not for me.”

Her gut suddenly twisted. He’d never mentioned his parents before. “What happened to your parents?” she asked weakly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a slow smile lifted his lips. He chuckled and shook his head, and when he met her gaze, his eyes were faintly bright. “Remember how we spoke of Ghilan’nain and her experiments?”

Her heart stopped for a split second. “Oh gods,” she breathed. “Oh fuck. Felassan…” She took his hands in hers.

He chuckled inappropriately, and Tamaris gently squeezed his hands. He took a deep calming breath, then met her eyes once more. “Don’t feel sorry for me, avise,” he said. “It is a pain worn down to dullness like the glass that you find in the sea.”

Varric cleared his throat. “Sorry, Jester,” he said quietly. “That’s rough.”

“You have my condolences as well,” Dorian said.

Felassan let out a little laugh that sounded more normal. “Cheer up, all of you. This story was meant to be entertaining.” He gently disentangled his hands from Tamaris’s, then draped his arm around her.

She tucked herself snugly against his side, and he smiled at her before tapping his chin. “Where was I? Oh yes: Solas setting me free. He’d taken a special interest in the wellbeing of slaves.”

Varric huffed. “That’s weirdly altruistic for a guy who watched Mythal crushing the dwarves.”

Felassan nodded in acknowledgement. “I am not making an excuse for him when I say that adopting a body humbled him. I have known several people who transitioned from spirit to elf, and I can guarantee that the transformation changed the way that Solas thought, if not his general… spirit, for lack of a better word. In any case, he channeled his boldness and his pride to justice for the empire’s slaves. He charmed and tricked and snuck his way into the Evanuris’s households and set free their slaves one by one — a few at a time, so the Evanuris wouldn’t notice — and Mythal welcomed us into her household instead. At least she did at first, when there weren’t so many of us and they could hide what Solas was doing.”

Tamaris frowned. “What happened when there were too many of you to hide?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Give me time, avise. I’ll get there.”

She tsked. He smiled cheekily at her, then began to tick off his fingers as he spoke. “At that point in time, the Evanuris were starting to fight among themselves, and Mythal was trying to keep the peace. Solas’s attention was divided between helping Mythal, freeing the slaves in secret, and his growing concerns about Ghilan’nain, whose experiments were becoming more disturbing. Solas eventually explained his concerns about Ghilan’nain to Mythal, and the Evanuris decided to offer Ghilan’nain a deal: she was to stop her experimentation and destroy her more disturbing monsters, and in exchange, the Evanuris would raise her to their status and would bestow upon her the greatest symbol that signified their status: that final Forgotten One in draconic form.”

Dorian spoke up. “But that still doesn’t explain how there were eight Forgotten One dragons and only seven Old Gods.”

Felassan grinned at Varric and Tamaris. “Is he always this impatient?”

Varric smiled ruefully. “Take it as a compliment,” he said. “That’s how you know you’re telling a story he likes.”

Dorian grumbled through the crystal, and Felassan chuckled. “Oh, good. Anyway, the Evanuris’s attempts to curb Ghilan’nain came too late. Around this same time, Andruil had been taking longer absences from her lands, and by all accounts, she was stranger and more cruel with every return. Much later, later than any of us could have prevented, we found out that…” He sighed. “By the time Ghilan’nain was ascended to the status of an Evanuris, Andruil had already brought back a gift for her from her hunts — a gift that…” He paused and licked his lips. “A gift that unnerved Solas when he eventually discovered it, and his apprehension was enough to terrify those of us who knew him well.”

Tamaris’s gut twisted with dread. “What was it? What did she bring back?”

Felassan smiled at her, but his smile was all wrong. “You know what he brought back, avise.”

She gazed at him in horror, but it was Varric who said the words. “Red lyrium,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes,” Felassan confirmed. “It was Andruil who brought red lyrium to our people from the depths of the dwarven lands — or, as these lands would eventually come to be known, the Void.”

“Why?” Tamaris said tensely. “Why would she do that?”

Once again, Varric answered. “It whispered to her, right? That has to be it.” He sounded tired and sad, and Tamaris shot him a sympathetic look.

“I suspect that you’re right,” Felassan said. “She was seeking power, so she must have gone to its source: the lyrium mine, which was still mainly guarded by dwarves but was under elven control. Red lyrium and its corrupted song would have lured Andruil’s interest and called to her natural cruelty, and upon finding it, she brought it out of the Void and back to our people — specifically to Ghilan’nain.”

“Why the fuck did she need more power?” Tamaris burst out. “She already had a piece of Titan heart!”

Felassan gave her a fond look. “Aren’t you sweet for asking such a question?”

Dorian chuckled. “She is quite precious, isn’t she? Even after everything that she’s had to do.”

Tamaris curled her lip and folded her arms. “Don’t condescend to me, you assholes.”

“We’re not,” Felassan said. “I’m genuinely charmed by the humility that your question implies. To answer your question, Andruil didn’t need more power. She simply wanted it. Or in this case, she wanted it for Ghilan’nain, but she certainly made use of the red lyrium power herself. By the time Solas realized what was going on with Andruil and Ghilan’nain and the red lyrium, it was…” Felassan shook his head ruefully. “His position in society was growing precarious. His work freeing the slaves was too extensive to hide, and he had begun construction of a fortress to house us.”

Tamaris’s eyes went wide. “He started building Skyhold?”

“We started building it, yes,” Felassan said. “He also began working on a type of magical… shield for us that would repel others’ perception and magical interference, and that would allow us to continue freeing slaves in secret.”

“A shield to repel perception?” Dorian said sharply. “You mean that it made you invisible?”

“It made us difficult to detect and to enact magic on,” Felassan said.

“Interesting,” Dorian said keenly.

Felassan smiled faintly. “It will be, soon. Anyway, as popular and well-liked as Solas had once been at parties, his activities with the slaves were making him equally unpopular. Mythal was having great difficulty justifying her favour of Solas when he was actively antagonizing all of her compatriots. When he took his suspicions about red lyrium to Mythal, she almost didn’t act on them for fear of disrupting the delicate balance she was holding between the Evanuris and the counsel of her beloved wolf.”

“What did he tell Mythal, exactly?” Tamaris asked. “What did he know about red lyrium?”

Varric sat forward in his chair. “That’s what I want to know. If this was the first time that red lyrium was ever seen, that means it’s the first time the Blight was ever seen, right?”

Felassan hesitated, then sighed. “What Solas told Mythal is that Andruil brought back a form of corrupted lyrium from the deep roads — lyrium that had a detrimental, corrupting effect on the minds of those who used it. He asked Mythal to go back to the deep roads and seal off the lyrium mines to stop any further red lyrium from being removed.”

“Let me guess,” Tamaris said flatly. “She refused.”

“Not exactly, no,” Felassan said. “She went and investigated in the deep roads. Shortly after, she returned — and by shortly, I mean fifty years later or so, an incredibly short time in ancient Elvhen time. Another few years later, the Evanuris’s mighty dragons were no longer seen at the Evanuris’s palatial compounds.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows quizzically, but Dorian spoke up. “The Evanuris moved them to the deep roads?” he said.

Felassan gestured playfully to the sending crystal. “And so you see, the pieces start to come together.”

Dorian sighed in satisfaction. “That’s a satisfying mystery to have solved. I always wondered how in the Maker’s name a handful of enormous dragons found themselves underground.”

Tamaris frowned. “The Evanuris moved their dragons to the deep roads… but those were their big symbols of power. They wouldn’t have moved their symbols of power out of sight unless something really unnerved them.” She looked up at Felassan. “The archdemons are guarding something, aren’t they?”

Felassan smiled at her, but the expression held only sadness. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Solas said that the dragons were being placed around the Titan to prevent anyone else from taking more power where they didn’t need it.”

“But that isn’t the real reason, is it?” Tamaris pushed. “That’s not really why the dragons were put there.”

Felassan sighed. “I can’t confirm this with certainty, because Solas would not confirm it for me. He was too… frankly, I believe that he was terrified of anyone knowing for sure what the dragons were guarding. But this is what I think.” He looked her in the eye, and his violet eyes held a fathomless depth of sorrow.

“I think that the Titan heart is the original source of the Blight,” he said. “I think the Evanuris placed their dragons there not only to keep anyone from getting in, but also to prevent the Blight from getting out.”

#felassan #save felassan #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

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swanderful1 · 6 years

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Duplicity: Ch 3/?

Summary: Secrets shroud the homes of the idyllic Willow Lane. Its newest resident, Emma Swan is no exception. In a place where perception is everything, the facade begins to crack. And Emma finds herself staring down the deep, dark secrets that the neighborhood was built on and that nothing is as it seems. Not even the blue eyed gardener.

Notes: Hiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!! Back with another update, here’s chapter 3! Hope you like it! Also special shoutout to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta and @shady-swan-jones for the artwork!!!!!!!

Word Count: ~6300

Disclaimer: All rights to OUAT, I own nothing.

The rest can be found on AO3 and ffnet

Two days after Killian had first met with Emma Swan about her backyard he began his first phase of work there. It was early Wednesday, the sun was quite literally still rising, when he pulled his truck in front of the house. Another email from Neal Gold had given Killian a specific timeline of when he wanted to work to be done, and it really was not long at all.

Some sort of party was being thrown at the house in the end of May, giving him just under two months to frame the structure with the appropriate landscaping. For any other house, it would be a simple task. But it was during the height of his busiest season and the yard was quite large. So there was a good chance it may not get done in time.

That and he also had other motives for being there.

He unloaded his truck, slipping on his work gloves so no one would see the prosthetic that replaced his left hand. Killian felt himself being extra quiet as he unpacked, hoping that he wouldn’t wake Emma and her resting husband. But just as Killian was heading to the backyard he noticed Neal Gold exiting the house, it was rather early to be headed to the office, he thought.

“Morning,” Neal said, giving Killian a half-assed wave from the driveway.

“Morning,” he said back. The man, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than Killian made in a month, got into his Range Rover and drove off.

As Neal drove out of sight Killian couldn’t help but envy him a bit. Here he was, living in this massive house. Driving an expensive car. Set to be the heir of the largest construction company in the north east just because he was born. Sleeping in bed each night with a beautiful woman.

And, to Killian at least, it did not appear as though the man appreciated any of it. He certainly had not missed the way in which Emma regarded Neal’s management of the project the other day. As much as he knew it was none of his business what she thought of Neal, he still found himself wondering.

He shook off his jealousy, it was entirely uncharacteristic of him to envy the kind of life he had seen so much of in his years in the business. It irked him that, for once, he was picturing being the person in the house. But, it did him no good to pout. Killian didn’t have the luxury of an inheritance nor a wealthy family.

“Good morning,” said a voice from behind. Killian jumped, not expecting anyone to be awake this early. He spun and saw that Emma Swan was standing on the empty back porch, holding a white mug of what he could only assume was coffee. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hi there,” he said with a smile. “It’s quite alright, I just didn’t think anyone would be awake this early.”

Killian softened a bit, setting his handful of tools down. Despite the early hour, her face was wide awake. Her green eyes bright and her hair tied back off of her face. As she stepped down off of the porch and walked toward him, he tried not to get distracted by the way her clothes clung to her curves and instead focused on what he still needed to get from his truck.

“I’m a morning person,” she said, pulling the mug to her lips with both hands. The rising sun caught the light of the diamond ring on her finger, serving as an ever present reminder that she was completely untouchable. For so many reasons. “I was just about to go for a run. Did you need any help with anything before I go?”

He looked at her quizzically and determined that she wasn’t just offering to offer, she genuinely wanted to help. She was quite different than any of the women he had worked for in the past and he was starting to regret the shallow assumptions he had made about her at first glance. It was a force of habit, and people rarely surprised him in a good way.

“No thank you, love, I’ve got it covered,” he replied.

“Alright,” she said, gulping down the rest of her coffee until it was empty. Killian felt his eyes widen at how quickly she had drained the mug. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

With that she took off, headed toward the front street where he heard her chatting with someone else. Another woman it sounded like, and then soon their voices drifted away. With no more distractions he set to work.

Living in Maine meant warm summers and cold winters. This also meant that Killian did his best to select plants that could grow back after cooler temperatures, so that it wasn’t like starting from the bottom each spring when the weather shifted.

In order to fulfill her wish of a natural looking landscape, Killian would have to get creative.

He had drawn on his sketch pad the layout of the yard. He had accounted for the essentials, factored in the property line. Since the entire back was a plot of dirt plus an empty pool, he had no trouble using a can of orange spray paint to outline where he would be putting things.

When Liam was alive, he had been able to talk to people. Quite easily, which was why everyone was so quick to hire him to work on their yards. Killian well, not so much. He could be charming when he wanted to be, especially with women, but he rarely wanted to be when it came to work. Especially when it was something he could lean on his brother for. Killian knew his strengths. He was the worker, the muscle, the perfectionist. And despite only having one hand, he executed things precisely. So well that none of the people who had hired him in the past fifteen years had a clue he was missing his left hand.

Killian was just about done with the front yard when he heard the chatter of voices behind him.

“Thanks for the run, Emma,” said one woman. Whom he could assume to be Mary Margaret, Ruby’s friend who lived across the street.

“Sure,” replied Emma, her breath ragged presumably from the run. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah! Sounds good!” he heard her say back, before the sound of footsteps carried Mary Margaret away. And then his ears listened for the sound of Emma coming closer.

“Can I get you some water or anything?” she said when she was about halfway up the steps to the front door. He looked up at her from his work on the lawn and noted that she was covered in sweat like she had been the other day when he came to meet her. Killian wondered if she would get into the habit of leaving him alone at her house to go for runs.

“That’s alright, I have some in the truck, and I’m just about done here.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “It’s pretty warm out, I for one am parched.”

“That’s because you’ve been running and I’ve been walking in circles,” he joked.

“What’s the spray paint for?”

“It’s to outline where everything is going to go once the sprinkler system is in.”

“Do you mind taking me on a tour?”

“Sure.” He smiled, and she stepped off the porch. Close up, she was about a head shorter than him, and was thinly built but muscular. Her breath was still ragged but somehow it all worked in her favor.

The backyard wasn’t much at this stage of things, so he found it hard to describe to Emma what everything would come together to look like. He felt himself more than a few times at a loss for words. But if she noticed she didn’t say anything, just followed him around and politely waited for him to talk.

“I know I said I didn’t want too many flowers…” she said after walking around the perimeter of the space. “But there was one thing I was wondering if there would be room for.”

“What’s that?” he said turning his head toward her.

“The rose bushes I saw at the mayor’s house the other day, you did those right?”

“Aye.” Killian nodded. The blasted things had given him migraine after migraine. To make sure they were to Cora Mills liking was a particular challenge that more than tested his patience.

“Well, it might not be so bad to have some of those here… maybe tucked away where the gazebo is going to be?”

As much as he hated putting them in and maintaining them across the street, when he looked at Emma’s expectant face, he couldn’t do anything but smile and nod.

“Absolutely,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“I just thought that they were nice to look at…” she paused as if deciding whether or not to add the next part of her statement. “I wouldn’t mind being able to have fresh roses in the house every once in a while.”

“Then that’s what you shall have,” he said, making note of the change in his sketch. “I’ll be in another neighborhood the rest of the week but I can bring by some floral samples from the greenhouse this weekend.”

“Yeah, that’d be good,” she smiled at him and shifted on her feet.

“I’ll be doing some work next door for Granny Lucas on Saturday morning, I can come by then if you’ll be home?”

She doesn’t need your whole bloody schedule, Killian corrected himself.

“I’ll be around,” she said looking up at him. For a second their eyes lingered, before she broke the stare to walk toward the house. His eyes followed her as she walked up the steps, a confident stroll. Her hips swaying in a way they hadn’t before, he was sure of that.

Killian had a feeling. A brief one, that just barely tugged on his conscious mind. Something that felt like he wanted to give Emma Swan whatever it was that she wanted.

On Friday night Killian plopped himself down on his usual stool at The Rose and the Thorn. After a long week of work he felt he had earned a cold drink. Robin poured him two fingers of rum on the rocks and Killian tossed it back immediately.

“Easy there, champ,” said his best friend.

Killian rolled his eyes, ordering a beer. He wasn’t planning on getting obliterated tonight as he normally did on the weekends. He had a full day tomorrow, part of his itinerary included a visit with Emma Swan. And while there was absolutely no concrete reason why he would need to be on his best behavior around her, he felt himself wanting to be anyway.

“A beer?” Ruby said entering the bar. Bringing over a crate of clean glasses to stack. On weekends she tended bar with Robin to make extra money. With her grandmother getting older, eventually all responsibility would fall onto Ruby financially. She had lost her parents at a young age as well, luckily for her, Granny had been around to raise her.

“Taking it slow tonight, Red,” he said back, sipping on the frothy liquid.

“Any particular reason?” she poked.

“A lot of work tomorrow. So I’m trying to make a good decision,” Killian said snarkily. Now it was Robin who rolled his eyes.

“I hear one of those tasks is making a special house call to bring rose samples over to my new neighbor,” Ruby said leaning across the bar. Her elbows resting on the surface. She was looking at him funny, like she could see right through him.

“It is.”

“Who’s your new neighbor?” Robin chimed in.

“Gold’s son… well and his wife,” said Ruby still looking at Killian critically.

“He has a son?” Robin asked.

“Yes, he’s just about our age,” Ruby commented. “And his wife is….”

“She’s nice,” Killian cut her off, taking another sip. He did not want to get into it with these two.

“Oh I’m sure she’s very nice to you,” Robin smirked.

“Her husband is about to inherit one of the biggest construction businesses in the north east. Forgive me for wanting to stay on the good side of that family.”

Even as the irritated words came out of his mouth, the irony in them was not lost.

“It also doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous,” Ruby said backing up to resume her glass stacking.

“Ah the trophy wife type, very nice,” joked Robin as he mixed drinks for a few young men at the end of the bar.

“No.” Killian had immediately said, but realizing how suspicious that sounded he tried to back track. But somehow seemed to make this conversation worse. “She’s uh, very much so her own person.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Killian Jones?” Ruby asked incredulous to his response.

“Go easy on him, Red, maybe this is a sign he’s finally growing up,” said Robin.

“I just think she’s lonely, alright?” Killian said.

It wasn’t a lie. But he began to think that the reason he was drawn to her was because of the reflection of that loneliness he saw in himself.

“I won’t disagree there, moving to Storybrooke was clearly not within her control,” Ruby interjected. Finally. “Mary Margaret and I spent some time with her this week. Otherwise she would be all by herself in that big house all day. Her husband barely comes home.”

“Sounds like the picture of idealism,” Robin remarked. It was no secret that the three of them hated the suburbs.

“Besides, I don’t think the mayor likes her very much,” Ruby continued. Out of the corner of Killian’s eye he caught Robin’s hand freeze just the slightest at the mention of Regina Mills.

“What makes you say that?” Killian wondered.

“We all know she’s not exactly a girl’s girl….” Ruby alluded to the fact that as each one of the women moved to the street Regina had essentially frozen them out. Again Robin fumbled with the glass.

Killian remained quiet, knowing that Ruby was unintentionally treading on thin ice with this conversation. Between Killian and Robin there were two secrets that only the other knew. For him it was Milah, Robin had known at the time what kind of trouble she was in before she died. For Robin though, it was the mayor. The mayor who was now engaged to the chief of police.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Ruby asked Killian, not noticing how Robin was just about to squirm.

“Eh… probably this, why?”

“Mary Margaret asked me and Granny over for dinner but Granny can’t come because of her book club.”

“Who is going to be there?” he asked, his eyebrow shooting up.

“Well obviously Mary Margaret and David, then you and I… Neal Gold and Emma…”

“I suppose I could escort you.” It wasn’t the first time Killian had filled in as Ruby’s plus one to an event and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “What time?”

“Around 7ish? Will you be done with work by then?”

“Yeah, Red, I’ll be done by then.”

Luckily a group of people walked into the bar in search of drinks which pulled Ruby’s attention elsewhere. He would have to sit at a dinner table with Emma Swan and her husband. Should be interesting.

Among the group of people infiltrating the bar were a few women, one of whom was eyeing Killian. She was pretty, dark chocolate colored hair and romantic eyes. She was precisely his type.

He smiled politely at her before returning his attention to the half consumed beer and in front of him. On any other night he would have sent a drink her way, used it as an opening for a conversation. But he felt himself retreat and instead continue to nurse the drink in front of him, twisting the base of the glass on the black bar napkin.

It was a while before Robin came back over, the bar was full of people. It was a Friday night after all. The sound of chatter drowned out the music that played over the ancient speakers. Killian’s one beer was almost entirely gone now as his friend set down a tumbler of amber liquid, ice clinking against its sides.

“This is from the lady at the end of the bar,” Robin said. His head shifted toward the woman who had smiled at Killian earlier. He nodded in her direction before sipping down the strong liquid, ordering two more and sauntering over to her.

For as long as Milah had been gone, he had never had an issue with seeking out a random stranger in a bar and taking her to bed with him. Killian had done it time and time again in the five years she had been dead. Not once did he ever second guess the choice to cozy up to someone else also looking for company.

“I’m not a fan of being indebted to people,” he said, handing her the drink. She smiled at him a tint of red hitting her cheeks.

“I don’t usually do that…” she said, sipping the drink, her red lips wrapping around the straw. “But you just looked so lonely sitting there I had to.”

“Ah, I see, so it was a pity drink?” he toyed, his eyebrow raising at her.

“Not entirely.”

Her body leaned toward his in the crowded space. The smoke in the air filling his nose. Killian could be charming when he wanted to be.

But by his third round of drinks with the pretty brunette his mind wandered elsewhere. The deep fissures of his brain opening to reveal that his most pressing thought was that, if he was awake early enough, he would have more time to spend discussing roses with Emma Swan.

And for whatever reason, that seemed to be the most appealing task in the world.

Emma’s first week in Storybrooke had been relatively pleasant given the circumstances. Her situation that she was trying desperately to make the best of, was playing out well. It was early Saturday morning when she heard the sound of an old truck pulling up in front of her house. Since the day was nice, Neal and his father had already left to play a round of golf with the mayor’s fiance, Graham. It was interesting to Emma how all of these major roles in the town were filled by people who essentially lived on one street.

When Neal kissed her goodbye she was still in bed, tucked among the white linens.

“I’ll be back in the evening, Em,” Neal said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be at the country club if you need me.”

“Don’t forget we have dinner at the Nolan’s tonight.”

“We do?”

“Yes. I told you last night before bed.” A hint of irritation lingered in her tone. You probably weren’t listening, she wanted to add but didn’t. If she picked a fight each time something she said went in one ear and out the other she would never stop screaming.

As much as Emma was beginning to feel like she was perpetually being abandoned by Neal she didn’t want to start an argument first thing in the morning. She swallowed her comment and made a mental note to call him later to remind him of their dinner with the new neighbors. God forbid the Nolans weren’t the mayor or the chief of police or the superintendent of the schools or anything that could in some way self-serve Neal and his father. Emma glanced at the clock. It was already 8 am, so she instead focused on the fact that Killian would be here to pick out the roses for the backyard.

The day was a comfortable temperature, the blue sky above setting the tone for a nice morning. Emma’s back porch was still bare, except for a stack of collapsed boxes from the move. She could hear the faint sound of birds and cars driving past. The sound of children running around because it was the weekend and no one had school. A crew of three men were working in her backyard to get the sprinkler system installed by Monday before the grass would go in. Two cups of coffee were steaming in white mugs next to Emma and the gardener. She was on her second cup, he had barely touched his.

“Now these are heritage roses, they’re relatively sturdy and don’t require a ton of upkeep,” said Killian as they sat on her back porch comparing the several blooms he had brought over. “Baronne Prevost.”

“They’re what?” she said looking from the pink flower in her hand to him. She was clearly his first stop of the day, as his shirt was white and unstained. His gloves were clean. His pants were pressed. For a second her gaze lingered on his blue eyes. “I thought roses were just roses.”

“That’s the name of the type of rose, love,” he said kindly. If he noticed her eyes ogling him a bit, he remained unreadable.“They would grow on a bush about 5 x 5 in height and width.”

“They’re beautiful,” Emma said focusing again on the flower. Attempting to shift her wandering mind.

“Aye, they are,” he said coolly. “I would imagine they would look rather nice on a kitchen table.”

“Huh?” she said.

“You had said the other day that you thought it would be nice to have fresh roses in the house… these will be ideal for that. They bloom several times per season.”

Emma looked up at him again, knowing that it was his job to remember what she said she wanted, but still grateful that small tidbit stuck enough in his head. She felt her skin flush a bit, probably similar in color to the pink rose in her hand.

“Would you like to see some others then?” he asked.

“No, no I think these will be perfect.”

“Well that was easy,” he said, removing his right glove to write something down in his notepad he always carried with him. And maybe it was from not being able to see his left hand, or her current preoccupation with other people’s lives, but she found herself wondering if there was a wedding band on his left hand.

“I like to think I’m decisive,” she replied.

He had to be married. Or at the very least have some sort of serious partner. He had to, he was gorgeous.

“That’s a nice quality in a client.”

“Yeah, because it makes your job easier.”

“That may be true,” he said with a smirk. But neither of them stood up. A tension lingered in the air as neither said anything else for a few seconds.

“Emma!” called a voice from the yard. It was Mary Margaret.

“What’s up?” said Emma standing from her spot on the deck. Peering over the bannister she could see her newest friend walking toward the porch. As she did, stepping out of whatever orbit she had just fallen into, a part of her felt like she had been caught with something.

“I just wanted to see what you wanted for dinner to-... oh! Hi Killian!” said the cheery woman as she rounded the bend and realized Emma wasn’t alone.

“Hello, Mary Margaret,” said Killian, rising as well to collect his things.

“I didn’t realize you two were working on something, it’s good that I have you both here,” Mary Margaret said. “What would you prefer for dinner tonight, a roast or Italian?”

“You’re going to be at dinner?” Emma looked at Killian who was now standing next to her.

“Aye, Ruby asked me to go in lieu of her grandmother.”

“Oh,” Emma looked away from him, realizing that of course he was dating someone like Ruby. And then internally scolding herself for even remotely minding that he would be there tonight with someone else. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s relatively last minute,” he said quietly, almost like he was only saying it to her.

“Anything you make is fine with me,” Emma said taking her eyes from Killian to Mary Margaret.

“Same here,” said Killian.

And if anyone noticed how uncomfortable Emma had suddenly become, no one said a thing.

That evening, as Emma sat at the breakfast bar of her kitchen, she sipped a glass of Chardonnay she had poured herself. The tall stemware was a Christmas gift she had bought last year when she realized all of her wine glasses were mismatched souvenir cups.

If ten year old Emma could see twenty eight year old Emma, she could only imagine the conversation they would have. She had spent 18 years in the foster system, which meant living out of a backpack. Especially as she aged beyond the cute baby years and into her preteen years when it was a lost cause to be permanently adopted.

As she looked around her new house, she couldn’t help but think about how this had been all she wanted growing up. The big two story entryway with the skylight. The dining room with a big, oak table to have Thanksgiving dinner. The all white kitchen, that had a breakfast nook and bay windows. The living room with big comfortable couches and artwork she had collected over the years.

Beyond all of that though, was the pressing fact that she had essentially assembled this home on her own. Every couch, every picture frame, every glass was there because she had put it there. When they had moved into their first apartment together, when she was 18, Neal had helped every step of the way. Sure, it had been a tiny studio apartment over a laundromat and most of its contents were from second hand stores but still. When they had nothing between the two of them he was there… but now, where was Neal?

Checking the watch on her wrist it was 6:50 and they were due to be at the Nolan’s around 7. She was getting worried.

At 5 before Emma had hopped in the shower, she had called to remind him of the dinner. No answer.

At 5:30 when she was done drying her hair, she had called to remind him of the dinner. No answer.

At 6 when she was ironing a shirt for him in their walk in closet, she had called the country club to see if he was still there. The woman at the front desk had said he had left an hour ago.

At 6:30 when she put the finishing touches on her outfit, simple dark jeans and a cream colored sweater, her usual jewelry, her hair in loose curls she sent him a text. No answer.

The ticking watch on her wrist taunted her, clicking along, minutes going by. All the while hoping he would just call. At the very least, just call. She put up with a lot from him. But how hard was it to call?

Then at 7:05, just as Emma was about to smash the glass in her hand, he walked in the door.

“Em…?” she heard him call out from the foyer.

“In the kitchen,” she said back, her voice an unmistakable monotone.

“Sorry I’m late, we went to dinner in town after the round,” he said, kissing her forehead. What she smelled on him though was the thick stench of bourbon.

“Are you drunk?” Emma sat up in her seat, tugging away from his embrace.

“No.” He stepped back, setting his clubs on the tile floor. The one thing he managed to unpack during the move. “Lighten up, Em. It’s a Saturday.”

“Yeah, well, we’re late for dinner. The one that was actually planned,” she said tightly getting up from her chair. She grabbed her red jacket and threw it over top of her sweater. If she went in on him right now, there would be no making it to dinner.

“We could just cancel.”

“No.”

“Can I have a few minutes to change?” he asked, treading lightly around her.

“That depends….” Emma crossed her arms. “If you go upstairs are you going to magically disappear for 9 hours?”

He gathered his things, pushing past her to walk upstairs. How did we get like this? She wondered while she waited. They hadn’t always been this disconnected. There was a time when he was just about her everything, the only consistency she knew. More so now than ever she felt herself clutching to those memories. But when he started working for his father four years ago, that had all slowly started to change.

By 7:30 they had made their way across the street to the Nolan’s, Emma apologizing profusely for their lateness. When she saw that Killian and Ruby had already arrived, she did just about anything to not be near the two together. So when Mary Margaret suggested a tour of the house, Emma jumped at the opportunity. The woman, being very proud of her home, took she and Neal through each room.

It was very different than their house across the street. The Nolan’s were far more practical than they were. All of the floors a dark, sturdy wood that wouldn’t show dirt. Eclectic, comfortable furniture. The rooms all open to one another so that everything flowed evenly. Pictures everywhere of David and Mary Margaret on trips, from their wedding, from college. Pieces of art made by her students and given as gifts. Books were scattered on just about every surface and candles were lit all around giving the house a warm glow and a lovely smell.

“When we have kids, I want to be able to see them in the backyard from the kitchen,” said Mary Margaret as they finished the tour, looping through the back half of the house. The kitchen was where they ended, the soft brown and beige colors of the counters and cabinets making it feel so homey.

“But for now her being able to watch the dogs is sufficient,” David joked as he handed Emma and Neal glasses of wine. He was the local veterinarian, and according to Mary Margaret, brought home more animals than money. At the moment there were two dogs in the house plus a cat. Which made it feel even more inviting.

“We built this house knowing we wanted a big family… I just didn’t imagine being outnumbered by the animals,” said Mary Margaret. She was the quintessential elementary school teacher. With her sing-song voice, kind face and patient temperament.

“I like to bring my work home,” David said bringing his wife into his embrace. The two leaned against the back cabinets and smiled.

“It’s a good thing I don’t, we’d have twenty two 8 year olds running around.”

Everyone laughed at that, and suddenly it felt a bit more easy to be here. The Nolans were at glance the ideal young couple. But aside from that they were just nice people, and Emma liked that. They were certainly not the worst neighbors she could have.

The dining room off of the kitchen held a modest wood table, filled with different steaming pots of food.

“I hope you don’t mind, I went a little overboard,” said Mary Margaret as they all sat down at their seats. Each place setting with a handwritten, elegant tag.

“Wow you guys are like real adults,” Ruby said as they sat at their assigned seats. David and Mary Margaret at either head. Then in the middle sat Ruby and Killian to the left, Emma and Neal to the right. If her fiance, at all, had a chip on his shoulder about having dinner with the man who was his landscaper he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he was the opposite of what Emma had predicted he would be.

“Everything looks great,” Neal said. He had suddenly become Prince Charming now that they were in front of people.

“How are you two enjoying Storybrooke?” Ruby asked once everyone had begun eating. The light lull of conversation carrying through. Emma looked at her sitting next to Killian and decided that they made an attractive couple. What with their dark hair, angular faces and big eyes. Though hers were green and his were the same striking blue that kept catching her attention from across the table. Something she was probably imagining.

“Well, I enjoy it here, it’s where I grew up,” Neal chimed in. “So it’s always been home to me.”

“I guess I’m just a bit harder to please,” Emma said, hoping that she hid the bitterness in her tone.

“Where did you grow up, Emma?” the well-meaning David asked.

“Foster care,” she said back matter of factly. The quiet that filled the dining room was somehow still deafening. No one ever knew how to respond to that, which meant Emma was always able to recover from the statement quickly. “So living in a place like this is a dream come true for me.”

She grabbed Neal’s hand that rested on the table, and everyone seemed to simultaneously breath. People loved a happy ending, especially one where the baby left in a basket on the side of the road ended up living the American dream. Outwardly at least. It was a story people were relieved by, just like right now at the dinner table. Except that when Emma’s gaze drifted to Killian she realized he was the only one able to look her in the eyes. And she was most definitely not imagining it.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Neal somehow recovered from his drunken day on the golf course and charmed the pants off of the new neighbors. Telling stories and commanding the room. While glass after glass of wine was poured. All the while Emma sat back and watched him dance. He knew he was in deep with her. She would give him that credit, he always worked overtime to make things up to her.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Emma said, while everyone was gathered in the kitchen, distracted listening to a story about Neal’s round of golf with the police chief today. Something about a gofer… she didn’t really care. All she knew was she needed some air.

“Oh… sorry, I didn’t realize you had come out here,” Emma said when she noticed Killian leaned against the pillar of the front porch.

“No, it’s okay, I should get back in there anyway.” He slid his phone back into his pocket, he had excused himself a bit ago to take a call.

Emma could still hear the the conversation going on inside and promptly closed the door behind her.

“Some fresh air, love?” he asked with a half smile, the porch was dim but she could still make out the angles of his face.

“Yeah. The room was a bit… loud for me in there.”

“He’s quite the talker that one,” Killian said, and that made Emma smile. That she wasn’t the only one who was tired of having one person take up all the oxygen in the room.

“Yes, he is,” she said. She knew she should go back in. But for whatever reason Emma just didn’t want to. Instead she plopped herself down on one of the rocking chairs near the door.

The two of them were quiet for a few moments, only listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. Kids getting called in for the night, a car or two driving past, the light breeze that made her curl her arms around herself. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable though, it was like an unspoken understanding. She watched him a bit as his back was turned to her. He wore a pair of jeans and a long sleeve navy blue sweater, it was the first time she saw him in anything other than his gardening attire. Then her eyes shifted to the front of her new home.

It was utterly still, the house, massive but stale looking. True no one was home but it was hard to make the comparison between their house and Mary Margaret’s. Mary Margaret’s was designed to be a home, Emma’s was designed to be a statement piece.

“My brother raised me,” he said finally and Emma turned to where he was leaned against one of the railings, but he was looking out toward the street. She could just barely make out the profile of his face. The tightness to his jaw.

Emma stayed quiet, surveying what his goal was by saying this to her.

“I lost both parents very young. But he was old enough to be my guardian.”

“You were lucky to have him.”

“Aye.”

As Emma looked toward Killian, she noted his body language. His facial expression. And deciffered that his past was not something he tended to share a lot. She didn’t press him though, he wasn’t telling her so they could have a long discussion of their respective parental abandonment. But knowing about it did make her feel like less of an idiot for blurting out her past at the dinner table.

“There you are,” said Ruby as the front door opened. Her green eyes looked toward Emma who was sitting in the rocking chair still. Turning to Killian she said, “I need to get back, I have an early morning tomorrow at Granny’s.”

“I’ll walk you home then,” Killian quickly offered.

The others came out onto the porch through the wide open front door. David, Mary Margaret and Neal filling the space. A mix of goodbyes and thank yous were exchanged between the six people as they all went their separate ways. Emma’s eyes shifted toward her neighbor’s house as she and Neal walked back. While she promised herself it was just to ensure Ruby got into her house okay, she knew deep down there was something else she was watching for.

And when Killian said goodnight to Ruby without anything more than a hug; an unwarranted, undeserved sigh of relief filled her body.

#cs ff #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #cs fic #cs ff au #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones

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