#yes... another Haleir

[scharoux]

WIP Whenever!

Decided to do a portrait of my new Dalish boi....it WAS supposed to be a quick sketch, but my OCD brain was like NOPE!

**It is completely coincidental that he looks like Solas in this, evidently my brain is stuck on the egg**

[buttsonthebeach]

prompt: lucius and ashara form a loving healthy polyamorous relationship w/ laurence breadman. ellana and solas find out. GO

SO WHO IS READY FOR THIS

It’s only been 84 years since you sent this prompt but I wanted to finish Reckoning first! (Speaking of which, this has spoilers for Reckoning.)

Tagging @empresstress13 per your interest in Breadman!

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions

Pairing: Ashara Lavellan x Lucius Talvas x Laurence Marchand (OC x OC x OC)

Rating: EXPLICIT! The smut is short but it’s there, and it is a m x m x f threesome. You are warned.

*********

They met Laurence at the party where they themselves reconnected. His cakes were the dessert, and he had run late perfecting them all, so he was still there when they arrived. He was carefully arranging each one on a tiered display, his eyes narrow with focus. He was a big man - broad through the shoulders and soft in the belly - and he very nearly intimidated both of them when they first saw him. Then he saw them sidling up to the table, and his face broadened into a wide grin.

“Ah, pardon my intrusion. I am Laurence Marchand, the baker of these fine goods. I am simply making sure that everything is exactly as it should be. May I tempt you with something, monsieur…?”

“Talvas,” Lucius said.

“Well met, Monsieur Talvas. And this beautiful lady is…?”

“Ashara Lavellan,” she said. She flushed to hear herself called beautiful. Months of war had not left her much time to think of such things.

“Lavellan - I believe your esteemed mother is the reason I am here, mademoiselle. Unless of course it is madame?” From another man the comment might have been leering, but from Laurence it just seemed curious. Warm.

“It’s mademoiselle,” Ashara said, even as her hand drifted to Lucius’s. They’d kissed on the balcony and it had been a kiss full of meaning after two years apart, but they hadn’t tested the depth of that meaning yet. She wanted to leave the party and twine herself around him and never let go.

“Well, you must thank your mother for me again. And if you like the cakes and you want some more, you must stop by my new bakery. We open next week. I think if I have such a handsome man and such a lovely woman present, I’ll be sure to draw customers.”

Again, it was a comment that might have put Ashara back on her heels if it had come from someone else. But from Laurence it just seemed - sweet. She glanced at Lucius and saw that he had that pleased, embarrassed look he always got when someone praised him, and she wanted to kiss him at once, right there, her Lucius and his sweetness. She was pleased that someone else saw what she saw, even if it was a stranger.

“We’ll stop by,” she said, because the night was full of promise, and she was alive, and she was happy, and so was Lucius, and so was Laurence.

*

Laurence’s new bakery was quite close to the central market square, a prime location that Ashara did not doubt Mamae had helped him secure. Despite his claim that he would need a handsome man and a lovely lady to help draw in business, there was already a modest crowd. There was a selection of fresh rolls and baguettes, and some sweeter additions more similar to what he’d served at the party. He recognized them at once as they walked in, hand in hand.

“Monsieur Talvas! Mademoiselle Lavellan! I am pleased to see you. Come, sit. You must try this coffee I have just brewed and give me your honest opinion. I ground the beans myself this morning. I fear that I ground them too fine and that some made it through the press and into the coffee itself.”

Ashara and Lucius sat, held hands on top of the table, because they did that now, three weeks into this new beginning. This new version of themselves that was an us. Lucius rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand and smiled whenever she glanced his way. The coffee was good, but Laurence was right - he’d ground it too fine, and there was a siltiness to the brew, like river water. He tsked and took the small porcelain cups back.

“I shall try again, if you have the time. And you must try this chocolate croissant with the next batch.”

“We have time,” Lucius said. It was true. They had nowhere else they needed to be. There was a looseness in Ashara’s spine she had not felt in months, and it was the looseness of time.

The crowd had thinned by the time the next batch was ready, and Laurence sat with them as they enjoyed it. This one was perfect. Rich and hot and chocolatey, just like the croissant.

“You will have to tell your mother to come here,” Lucius said. “She would love this.”

“It was her suggestion, in fact,” Laurence said. “She is a very good woman, your mother.”

“She is,” Ashara said, full of pride.

“And she raised a good woman,” Lucius said. He was more bold now than before, at least with such expressions of affection. He seemed to sense how much she needed them after everything that happened.

Laurence looked between them, warmth in his hazel eyes. “We should go out, the three of us. One cannot help but to want to bask in such happiness. And I am still new in this city. What do you say?”

“Of course,” Ashara said, because she was happy, and life was full of promise and sweetness (and she wanted more chocolate croissants).

*

It was after the third time they went out with Laurence - not counting the times they stopped by his bakery, which was fast becoming a favorite among many residents of Enasan - that they first began to realize that he was interested in them. In both of them.

They’d gone out to a pub this time, and they’d drunk expensive Fereldan whiskey, which Laurence promptly declared inferior to Orlesian brandy, but it still made him giddy enough to drape one arm around each of them at different points in the night. To get a high red color on his ruddy face when Ashara leaned in and planted a kiss firmly on Lucius’s neck. They were all a little drunk.

“You are both so lovely,” Laurence had murmured then. Their legs were close to his under the table. “I cannot help but wonder if -”

“If?” Lucius asked.

Laurence looked away suddenly, waved his hand. “It is nothing.”

But Ashara knew it was something. She knew it because she’d started to feel it too, when they were with Laurence. They fit with him in a way they did not fit with other friends, like Haleir. So she decided to be bold when she and Lucius went home, still tipsy. It was a new life. A time to take chances.

“Do you think Laurence intended to ask us to bed tonight?” she asked when they were home. Lucius was already down to his smalls, getting ready to collapse into bed. He paused.

“You caught that as well?” he asked, turning to her. “I thought - well, I assumed it was just the whiskey addling my brain. But it did cross my mind that he might mean that.”

Ashara pictured it in flashes. Her own brain was still addled with whiskey but they were there. They had not known Laurence for long but he was so warm, so confident, so at ease - so different from herself and from Lucius, with their fears and anxieties and constantly moving minds. And he was handsome, and wouldn’t it be an indulgence to have both of them on her, their lips, their hands, their legs -

“And what did you think?” Ashara asked, mouth dry. “Or - what would you think, if he asked some other time, and I said yes?”

Lucius rubbed the back of his neck, cast his eyes down. There was a tenting beginning in his smalls, a rising, a filling.

“Well - I did notice other boys sometimes. In the Circle. But you know me. I was never crazy after sex. I noticed the girls too. But after those first couple of times, realizing I didn’t enjoy it if it didn’t mean anything - and with Tevinter being less open about men loving other men - I  never pursued it. But he is very handsome, and I do -”

Ashara was already in front of him, pushing back on his shoulders so he sat on the bed, kneeling between his legs, taking him in her hand. He gasped, grew to full hardness in her grasp.

“But you might like it?” she asked. “You might like him? If he did this to you instead of me?”

Lucius swore in Tevene. She pumped him, probably a little too quick, a little too rough, but she could feel him pulsing.

“Or would you want to touch him?” she asked. “Do you think he would feel good in your hand?”

Lucius only groaned, gripped the sheets tighter, flexed his hips up and into her touch. She tugged, tugged, kept everything quick and tight, and he came, loud and moaning with every burst of it, his spend hot on her hand. She licked him clean at the very end and he pulled her up, held her close.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so. I would never want anything to change that.”

“I agree,” she said.

He paused. Then: “But - I wouldn’t mind seeing where it goes. With Laurence. I��m not ready for anything drastic yet. I want to know him better, first.”

“Of course. And I love you, vhenan. So very much.”

Lucius smiled, and he kissed her, and they went to bed.

*

Laurence had been serious, it turned out. He made the delicate overture again, a couple of weeks later, sober this time, while they were all relaxing in one of the parks after taking in a show at the theatre.

“I truly enjoy the time I spend with both of you. I do wonder if - you consider our time together as special as I do,” he said.

For all his bravado and confidence, there was some nervous in him in that moment. Ashara reached out and touched his knee.

“I - I think we do.” She glanced to Lucius, caught his quick nod. “Both of us. I think - I think we’d like to continue seeing each other. To get to know each other even better, maybe. If you would like that.”

Laurence beamed, bright as the coffee press he polished every morning in his bakery.

“Good,” he said.

Something in the air shifted for the rest of the afternoon. The teasing was more romantic. Hands brushed more often than they should have. Ashara kept studying Lucius, anxious for his reactions, and saw that he felt the same giddiness they did. As they prepared to part ways that evening, Laurence took both of their hands and kissed the back of them. He did not do it with a flourish or a simpering air like the Orlesian courtiers Ashara had known. Instead he did it with genuine tenderness. Genuine eagerness.

“I must admit, coming to a new city and managing to find myself falling in love with a couple instead of one person may be the most Orlesian thing I have ever done,” he said. “But for once, I think I am happy to live up to the image everyone has of my country.”

Falling in love.

Ashara and Lucius turned those words over that night, in bed. Falling in love. They made love, and they both imagined him there with them, both came panting and shivering with the force of their pleasure.

This was not what Ashara had imagined at all a year ago, fresh from the horror of Clermont. It was not something she had ever really imagined. It was a little overwhelming at times. She had a million questions about how it would work, what it would mean, what people would think (though she cared about that least of all). But if she had learned one thing in her experiences, it was that she had to take happiness wherever she could find it. And she was happy when Laurence and Lucius were smiling, holding hands with one another. She was happy when she and Lucius woke warm and sleepy and burrowed into their covers to keep sleeping just a little longer. She was happy working at the university.

She was happy, and she wasn’t going to let that feeling go for anything.

**

They waited until Lucius felt comfortable before they went any further than kissing, cuddling, wandering hands. It was worth the waiting. Ashara would never forget the sight of the two of them, naked, marveling at each other’s bodies, so similar and so different. She would never forget the way Lucius asked if Laurence would show him what pleased him, the way Laurence guided Lucius’s hand to his cock (shorter, thicker than Lucius’s own, Ashara wanted to touch it too) and showed him the rhythm he liked best. She would never forget curling up behind Lucius, pressing him between Laurence’s body and her own. She would never forget when Laurence oiled his hand and wrapped it around his cock and around Lucius’s and stroked them both together, how both of them gasped and groaned, how their kisses got more and more sloppy. She would not forget the sound of Laurence’s hand working them both faster and faster, the slick tap tap of it, the way they writhed against each other. She kissed and kissed Lucius’s shoulder, ran her hand along Laurence’s face, told Laurence to keep going, said she wanted to see them come like this.

She would never forget the way they both shuddered and groaned and rutted into each other as they came, the glorious mess they made of each other. The way they rested their foreheads against each other and just studied one another afterwards.

“Je t’aime,” Laurence said, soft, the words only for Lucius this time. They did not spark any jealousy in Ashara, though. Only joy.

“I love you,” Lucius said.

Ashara grinned. She cuddled them close. Her two men.

“I do think, though,” Laurence said. “That we are being very rude right now. Our poor beautiful Ashara has been so patient while we learn each other’s bodies. Won’t you show me what she likes best, amour?”

Lucius smiled, rolled over, kissed Ashara hard on the mouth. He sat back against the headboard and held Ashara between her legs and he told Laurence how to use his mouth to drive her wild, how to lick slow and careful all around her aching clit until she couldn’t take it any longer, until she begged him to suck on it. How to fuck her roughly with his fingers while he sucked her there, until she came, and she did come, she came so hard she keened and left marks all over Laurence’s shoulders, so that his square jaw was covered in her slick when he sat up.

“Perfect,” Laurence said, grinning. “You are both perfect.”

“So are you,” Lucius said. They were both right.

***

It was not always easy, for all that it was perfect. There were language barriers - Laurence struggling to communicate in Trade all the time, wishing bitterly that one of them spoke Orlesian, finding Lucius’s Tevene accent confusing. Laurence’s (admittedly casual) Andrastianism occasionally giving him pause, too. Lucius sometimes wanted time just to himself, and that could be difficult for Ashara and Laurence alike. There was the matter of where to spend each night, how to balance the needs of their various jobs.

And, finally, there was the matter of what to tell family.

Ashara’s parents had gone to live with Clan Lavellan, and they had not been back since. They knew she and Lucius were together, of course, and she had mentioned Laurence several times. Mamae was the one who brought him to Enasan, after all. She was pleased to hear updates on his business, and to hear that he had become part of Ashara’s life. But she hesitated to tell them the true extent of things. Neither of them were terribly judgmental people, of course - but still. Ashara did not know any other lovers quite like her and her men.

But they were going to visit them for a midsummer festival, and so soon there would be nothing to do but to tell them.

Ashara stalled and stalled - what if Papae was just as displeased with Laurence as he had been with Lucius at first? What if the more traditional elders of Clan Lavellan disapproved? - but finally her mother asked if Lucius was coming with her one night while they visited in the Fade.

“Lucius is coming. And Laurence too.”

“Oh? I am surprised he can take time away from the bakery.”

“Well, it’s important for him to come.”

Mamae arched one eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because we’re lovers,” she said. “The three of us. We’re in love.”

Mamae’s other eyebrow went up to join the first. She studied Ashara for a moment. Then she burst into laughter.

“Oh, da’vhenan. You went out and got yourself a Tevene first, and then you got yourself an Orlesian, too? What’s next? A qunari?”

Ashara’s anger was flame-hot.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. Who cares if they’re both human, or where they’re from - they’re good men and I love them! Laurence is so good at living in the moment, at reassuring Lucius and I, and - Lucius has always been there for me - and we’re very happy, and if you can’t accept that, then -”

“Ashara, Ashara. Atisha. Listen to me. I don’t care at all that they are human. Your father and I both remarked recently that you seem so happy now. I’m just laughing because I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I tell him.”

“He’d better not be mad. Or treat Laurence the way he treated Lucius.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t promise he won’t grill Laurence at least a little. But he’s taken up smoking elfroot now when he gets stressed, you know. I’ll just make sure he has plenty.” Mamae cupped Ashara’s cheek with her right hand. “And I will make sure there is enough room in your aravel for all three of you. I am so happy, da’vhenan. All I want is for you to be happy, too.”

And they were happy.

No one in Clan Lavellan raised an eyebrow at the three of them. Papae narrowed his eyes at Laurence now and then, asked probing questions about his family and his beliefs about alienages and his feelings about the Chantry and about mages. He smoked some elfroot. And then one evening when he was alone with Ashara by a dying campfire he smiled his gentle, quiet smile and said.

“I am happy for you, da’vhenan. And I think you make both of them very happy, too. Hold on to that as long as you can.”

Ashara smiled the same smile back.

“I will.”

And she did.

[winterfollows]

💏 :3c

Let Haleir Give Smooches 2019 | accepting

@lostson​

19.) for luck

The sound of commotion from another table drew Haleir’s attention, long ears perking. Boisterous laughter and playful jeering as folk gathered around, chairs scraping, copper and silver coins dropping onto old wood–ah, yes. Another round of gambling. Above it all rang a familiar voice and a head of dark tousled hair, quite literally, as a certain long-legged rogue made himself comfortable at the end of the table.

Perhaps it was the ale in his belly, some rarely indulged-in liquid courage spreading warmth in his veins and dampening his inhibitions. Or perhaps he simply felt like stirring up trouble, but Haleir found himself setting down the mug he’d been nursing all evening and rising slowly to his feet.

“My dear gamblers.”

With a saunter in his step and a vulpine smile on his lips he made his way toward the group, daintily running a hand along the back of Vic’s chair before perching himself on its arm, earning him several amused and surprised looks from the table’s occupants. Since when did the Inquisition’s elusive loremaster abandon his corner seat to join in?

He leaned forward, scooping up both dice from the center of the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I bless this match? A luck charm, if you will.” Crystalline blue eyes glinted bright in the low flickering light as he brought one to his lips, then the other, then returned them, as gently as if he were handling robin’s eggs.

“Oh, and one more–”

He gave no more than that as a warning, taking Vic’s chin in his fingers and dipping his head to press a sound kiss to the corner of his mouth while the rest of the table erupted in hoots and whistles.

“…May luck shine on you tonight.”

[selenelavellan]

Devil Woman

Hello yes I fell in love with @scurvgirls House Witch AU so I did a bit of backstory for Selene in it <3.

House Witch AU

Serahlin(Mentioned) is @scurvgirls

Dirthamen is @feynites

(TW for Shitty Parenting, Abuse, and Haleir)

Selene is sixteen years of age when her book is traded away.

“How dare you!” She screams at her father, fury and anger and rage pouring out of her. Fists turning white as her hair where they clench at her hips, every muscle tensed in the aftermath of her 'Wonderful Birthday News'. The curtains catch fire and his potions quake in their bottles on the table beneath the wrath of her remaining magic. Des lets out a long, ear shattering hiss from inside of the warded crate in the corner, still trapped where Elrogathe had drugged and shoved him for the 'negotiations'.

Negotiations that had promised away her hand and her firstborn.

His palm connects with her cheek and it is not unlike the deflating prick of a balloon.

She crumples to the ground, knees banging against the hardwood floors as rage gives way to grief beneath the stinging heat of the assault.

“It is an honor,” He tsks, correcting his potions where they have shifted on the table. “A show of loyalty to the coven, to our people. It is your own fault for causing them to doubt your loyalties, child. Be grateful this is all they asked of you; there are far worse fates than marriage and family.”

“You seem to feel cursed enough by your own,” She mutters.

Elrogathe stiffens as a bolt of electricity strikes at the mirror that had been hanging on the wall behind her head.

“Your mother was worth suffering any curse,” He manages through grit teeth before finally turning to look at her for the first time today. “Even a child so devilish and selfish as you.”

–

She is married on her eighteenth birthday.

To the great grandson of their covens founder. A towering, sun blessed witch with long, bright red hair he keeps in a braid laid over his shoulder. He has been well sought after by many a witch; his bloodline after all, guarantees a very powerful child, and his family has no shortage of wealth or prestige in the circles.

She spends most of the reception searching for her book. Trying to find it, to flee, to run before their bond can be consummated. Des darts from room to room in the extravagantly large mansion, searching and scenting for any hint of their magic.

Neither manages to turn up even a scrap of what they are looking for.

The honeymoon has been arranged in one of his families summer homes, hidden away in the thick of an ancient forest.

There is no moon in the sky that night, and Haleir had driven them off before Des could manage to jump into the car. Her book is still gone, and though this was supposed to be a symbol of her loyalty to her coven, to prove her as finally one of them, she feels farther from her magic and her self than she ever has before.

She spends the night outside of herself, like some captive audience to the horrors being committed.

Des finds her in the morning, and curls into her arms. Some small semblance of comfort for what may now be their new reality. She feels better with him near, even through his exhaustion of making the journey back to her.

More like herself.

At the end of the week, she's made to pee on a stick. It's not the way her father tests for children, but Haleir assures her that this is one type of precognition the mortals have figured out.

The symbols on the display screen don't change, and her new husband makes a disappointed sound and says “Well, we'll just try again then. As many times as it takes, I suppose. I have expectations to live up to you know. “

Selene just nods numbly and runs her fingers through Des's fur as she slides into the passenger seat of the car.

Haleir scoffs down at her familiar and makes a comment about fleas and litter boxes, while his toad makes a loud croak from the backseat in what she assumes must be agreement.

As many times as it takes, her mind echoes.

...surely, that can't be too many more times. Right?

–

Selene is twenty one when she finally has enough.

Enough of feeling like only a piece of herself, enough of vacating her body each night, enough of lying there while her husband dreams of other women and she dreams of a day when she no longer has this obligation to fulfill. Far away and isolated from their coven, from any she might once have considered a friend, and with her only source of communication besides her unfaithful husband, vague postcards from her father unsubtly asking if she has managed to produce an heir yet.

Enough.

Haleir is out on one of his ‘business trips’ when she makes up her mind. It is going to be a full moon, and her own moon-blessings will mean the powers she still has may actually be strong enough to pull it off.

Des is uncharacteristically wary of her plans. He almost attempts to talk her out of it before finally agreeing that this may be her only way out.

It is a cruel plan. Cruel, and tragic, and monstrous.

An act of desperation, and her only chance.

The one benefit of her time spent dissociating over the past few years is that her dream walking abilities have vastly improved; a skill that will make what she is about to do far, far safer.

She lights the appropriate candles and pays in her blood and herbs before finally stripping and settling into the center of the circle of the rug she had managed to bring with her from her own home. One of very few items in this house that could be considered hers. Precious to her, but nothing Haleir will notice is missing if anything should happen to it.

Des is slowly circling the ritual, checking for errors, and she gives him a smile before focusing herself, and managing the incantation in a long forgotten language.

Old, and ancient, and very very dangerous.

Several creatures drift past and through her as she sits in the plane of dreams, most frustratingly uninterested in her offer.

But she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until something seems intrigued enough to stop.

She shivers beneath the gaze of its eyes. And it has many with which to do so. Selene is having trouble making out the silhouette of the spirit as the shape of it is unfamiliar and ever shifting, edges blending into the darkness around them.

You long for freedom.

She doesn't hear its voice, exactly. There is no mouth to speak of, but she can hear them all the same, reverberating somewhere deep in her mind.

“Yes,” She says aloud. The movement of her mouth is awkward, and her voice echoes in the thick silence of the air around them and she wonders for the first time just how long she has been waiting.

What will you do with the child?

Selene hesitates.

She had been planning to leave. To fulfill her obligation to produce an heir and to find her book and to take back the freedoms that had been stolen from her.

...an easier concept when she considers the creature she will be bearing an obligation, rather than a child.

“My first born has been promised to another,” She admits. “But I will need to produce it before I can fulfill that oath. My current...partner, and I, are having difficulties.”

Do they know you are here?

Selene swallows. “...No.”

The spirit stirs a bit, at that.

You would betray them?

Selene snorts. “There is nothing to betray,” She assures them. “There is no love between us. He would rather be elsewhere, as would I. But he holds my book in some hidden place, and I cannot leave without it.”

The spirit seems confused by the concept.

That does not seem like a very beneficial partnership.

“He's more like my captor at this point,” She says. “But I need the key to my cage; and he will only hand it over if I produce a child he can claim as heir.”

This, at least, the spirit seems to grasp.

Their form shifts again, and a single blue eye as large as her head with lashes as long as the curls in her hair settles in front of her face.

Your first born is already promised, the spirit says as one long tendril reaches out to touch her stomach, So I will take the second.

Her vision blurs, and magic swirls around her. Hers, theirs, others that she doesn't even recognize. Swirling galaxies and the roots of great trees flood her mind, her fire turns to smoke and she is sucked into the creature and feels a terrifying and overwhelming sense of loneliness and age and worlds growing and dying and being torn apart and then forced back together. She sees great depths and clear skies and the world feels at once huge and infinitesimal, like she could hold it in the palm of her hand and drown in it all at the same time.

Her breath is stolen from her lungs and returned to her in great heaves as her soul is ripped out and then carefully placed back into her body.

She is shaking and crying and sweating on the rug her mother had once taught her to read on, on her hands and knees and with a migraine that makes the room around her spin. The candles she had lit are long burnt out, wax melted into large pools and already cooled, and Des is looking at her in fear and concern while pawing at the back of her hand.

“I'm alright,” She rasps, throat dry from dehydration-how long has she been here, doing this?-straightening back up and pushing her hair back, curls damp and clinging to the edges of her face.

Des lets out a soft meow, and she knows exactly what he's asking.

Did it work?

She settles one hand over the slight curve of her stomach and lets out a breath.

“...I think so.”

–

Selene gives birth exactly nine months later.

To twins, one with dark hair, and one with white; both with bright blue eyes.

Selene knows that neither she nor Haleir possess blue eyes; but that the creature she conjured for the fertility ritual did.

Thankfully, Elrogathes eyes are a deep blue and his hair a dark enough blue it is often mistaken for black, and with her own green eyes and white hair she's able to convince Haleir that the children are his. A sure sign of his virility, and that their sons will grow into very powerful, very capable witches in their own rights.

She almost convinces herself of it, too.

Almost convinces herself that in her haste and selfishness, she hasn't damned at least one of her sons to a creature that is almost certainly a demon, in retrospect.

The twins are three days old, and still without names when Haleir comes home drunk from a celebratory night with his friends.

“You can't see them like that,” She gripes, blocking the doorway with her still recovering body.

“They're'my'f'ggin sons,” He slurs, half halfheartedly trying to push her aside.

She holds her ground.

He glares down at her-or tries to, anyways. He's never been very good at holding his liquor, and he seems to be having difficulty figuring out which one of her is real.

“B'tch,” He grumbles, turning and waving like it was his decision not to go in. “F'ggin witch bitch...” He snickers. “S'till powerless witch bitch....”

Selene feels her skin heat, thinks of how satisfying it would be to light him up...and remembers the children, sleeping in their cribs behind her. Of her father, sleeping in the spare room down the hall after making the long trip to deliver his grandchildren, and how poorly it might go for her and the children to upset them both at once.

She sighs.

...She cannot leave the children alone with Haleir. He is unfit, and the oath her father signed for her is not their burden to bear.

Damn.

Damn.

She doubles down on her search efforts for her book in the following months, in hopes that if she found it she could leave with her sons. Selene tears apart the home of every one of Haleirs relatives they visit with the children, tracks down old trade ledgers and tries to see where it might have been sent, or ended up. She thinks perhaps there may be a trail to follow over the sea, but ship ledgers are notoriously unkempt and untrustworthy, and it is a very long journey to take with two toddlers.

Toddlers who are not without omens of their own.

Selene explains the first few ravens that show up at the house with lies to Haleir; after all, who could predict why birds behave the way they do? Perhaps Des tormented a friend of theirs and they are out for revenge. Be sure to throw salt over the back porch, and she'll plant fresh lavender in the front when the weather warms.

But she doesn't miss the way the birds watch her children when they play outside, or the way the shadows shift around them. Haleir is disappointed when neither of his children are sun blessed the way he is, and upset that the twins would rather sleep through high noon than watch him perform simple spells and tricks that have only frightened them in the past.

She only says that they should enroll the twins in swim classes when she finds Darevas sitting in the bottom of the pond in their backyard; curious and unafraid of the cavernous sinkhole growing in the center, and breathing as easily as though it were air in the dark and deepening water.

They are far too young for their magic to be manifesting, she thinks in a panic as she dries the elder twin off, Felasel finishing his muffin behind her.

Not for the first time, she regrets the haste in which she acted. If she knew what their biological father were, she might be better equipped to care for them.

And better prepared to protect them, too.

The twins are still six months away from their sixth birthday when Serahlin knocks on their door.

Selene has known Serahlin for as long as the children have been in school, as their children share a class together.

But when she calls her sister, Selene feels a sense of relief she hasn't known since she was fifteen years old. A sense of kinship, and the sort of gratefulness she thought she was long past.

'Thank the gods,' she praises as she opens her door wide and invites the other woman in 'for Sisterhood.'

[rhunae]

I couldn’t keep up with Elfebruary 2018. I tried. I really do try to keep my writing short and concise, but then it gets out of hand and before I know it I’m over 1000 words (1206 to be exact) into the blurb.  I couldn’t exactly pose Serafina and Haleir beside one another, so... have extra screenshots. I get super self-conscious about my writing, so please be kind.

Day 22: Fate

Conclave Meeting, Haven, 9:41 Dragon

“You should return to camp, Hale,” Serafina offered, pushing her staff into the snow, taking a careful step forward, and sinking ankle deep into the drift.

“Keeper Lavellan told me to keep an eye on you.” Haleir muttered, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck under his shoulder-length, blonde hair. He stepped beside her sinking to his ankles in snow. “Too many Templars here for my comfort. Who knows what they would do to you.”

“Nothing,” Serafina spat. They had barely broke their fast and already her annoyance level was high. Striding onto the pebbled path behind a wagon rumbling past, her booted heel crunched on gravel and icy snow, “Half the conclave are mages. I’ll be just another mage among half a hundred dozen others.” 

“You’re Dalish.” Haleir grumbled beside her, settling his hand on his sword hilt, “They’ll look at you more closely than the Circle mages.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Still, the Keeper--” Haleir insisted.

“I know.” Serafina cut him off, increasingly becoming irritated with this line of discourse. Her traveling companion was several years older than her, having left his clan in Fereldan shortly after his wife died in a bandit attack on his clan. With the memories too sharp, he left and headed north across the sea to the Free Marches. It was pure happenstance he found Clan Lavellan. That was several years ago. Before she left, he volunteered to Keeper Istimaelthoriel Lavellan to travel with her behind her back, giving her no recourse to decline his increasing advances. It grated on her.  

Haleir cast a sideways glance down on her, his voice softening, “Lathallan, please. I worry about you. You run into danger without giving any thought about yourself. And this whole event rubs me wrong. I have a terrible feeling about this.”

“Noted.” Serafina grumbled with annoyance. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

“Yes, I did. The Keeper--”

“I spoke to the Keeper.” She snapped at him. When she noticed others glancing their way, she lowered her voice, hissing, “I reiterate, you didn’t need to come with me.” She passed under the gateway arch into Haven, ignoring the two guards watching them.

“Not… initially,” Haleir hesitated, following her up the steps.

Serafina glanced from side to side, trying to determine which direction she needed to go. Locating the chantry up the hill, she stomped up the next set of stone steps to the next level. She halted at the top as a group of chatting humans passed by heading to the tavern on the right, “What’s done is done, Hale. I’m not pleased, but you know that.” 

Behind the humans, her eyes followed a tall, bald elf, wearing a thigh-length green vest belted around the waist, tan colored sweater, green linen pants, and foot wraps that ended at his knees. He didn’t seem part of the group, purposely keeping his distance but heading in the same direction. With wrists crossed at the small of his back, his narrow gaze casually swept the small, crowded village. For a moment their eyes lock, his unhurried gait pausing a heartbeat. It’s all she needed to admire the sideways glance of his storm-grey eyes, the freckles across his cheeks, the floop of his elven ears, the dimple in his chin, and the bow-curve of his deliciously plump lips. Then he ambled away. There was something about his bearing she couldn’t place, it was different than other elves. What she had seen of city elves, they hunched their shoulders like repeatedly kicked, mangy alley dogs; or the wary, distrust of her own defiant people, skittering on the edges of human society; whereas Circle elves had the naivety of the cloistered and oppressed. His bearing had the confidence of a general scrutinizing his troops, despite his clothes comparably appearing stitched together from out of a trash heap. His clothing didn’t define him, nor diminish his pride. A mental image of their two bare bodies intertwined invaded her thoughts, plump lips tracing down her neck to the divot between her collar bone. Fighting the blush trying to spread across her cheeks, she gave herself a mental shake. No time for that. 

“You know I’ve always held you in high regard.” Haleir pressed, subdued.

“What? Oh. Yes. I appreciate that.” Nodding with a flick of her hand, as she tried to wrangle her thoughts to the here and now. With one more appreciating glance toward the departing back of the bald elf, disappointed that his sweater and vest covered so much, disappointed she didn’t have more time, disappointed, or rather perturbed, she was having the same fucking conversation with Haleir since they left Wycome; it took all her will power to turn away from the retreating back of the tall elf to head further up the hill to the chantry. Duty first. She would find out his name later.

“As First, its a welcome relief to know that my clan accepts me. Particularly when I don’t always have time to socialize with everyone.” It was the most polite and dismissive thing she could say at that moment, as they moved through the crowds up the hill, especially since her thoughts kept returning to the brief glimpse between her and the other elf, and the lascivious thoughts that continued to invade her concentration. What in the Creators was wrong with her? Sure, it had been a few… years, ever since — and nope, she wasn’t going there either.

The chantry doors swung open with Serafina nearly plowing into a chantry sister.

“Oh! Excuse me!” The chantry sister gasped, yet attired more formidable than most sisters Serafina had come across. Not that she earnestly went looking for them. 

“Are you here for the Conclave? Obviously, yes? You’ll need to take the bridge to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Pointing in the direction of the bridge, the petite woman spoke with an accent Serafina couldn’t place. The sister wore a dark woolen cowl covering her ginger-red hair, but the fabric color seemed to bring out the blue in her attentive gaze, “A Dalish? We’ve not seen any of the clans here. That’s exciting. Why would your clan be interested in the Conclave?”

“My Keeper thought it would be important to know what is happening. In case it affects us.”

“Oh, very smart. If you don’t want to miss anything, you ought to hurry. They start these things early.” The sister leaned close to Serafina, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, “But if you ask me, its been dreadfully boring. It’s why I’ve remained here. In Haven.”

“Thank you for your time, Sister.” Serafina smiled graciously.

“Oh, I’m not a sister, call me Leliana. Come back in the evening. It would be exciting to speak with you both later.”

“I’d like that.” Serafina replied diplomatically, waving and leaving the chantry behind. Haleir picked up where their conversation left off, though damned if she could remember anything he said when that damn bald elf kept invading her thoughts. They headed down the hill to the bridge across the lake, the warrior at her side heeling like any trained dog. A day would come soon when she would regret the miserable way she treated him.

[lcgacyofages-a]

💏 + Myrrdin

fifty ways to kiss someone. | ACCEPTING

25. …as a ‘yes’.

Myrrdin examined Haleir with a warm gaze, amber eyes seeming to dance in mischief. He leaned closer without another word, pressing a tender, sweet kiss to the other’s lips. He allowed it to linger for a moment or so before pulling away at an achingly slow pace. A smirk rested upon his lips, a loose strand of auburn hair falling in his eyes.

“Does that answer your question?” His voice is low with playful suggestion, matching the look upon his features.

[feynites]

*sneaks some more Reverse Reincarnation AU onto @selenelavellan’s reading pile*

Warnings for gross violence enacted upon an abuser.

Dirthamen dreams of Selene for weeks.

He learns a great deal about her in that time. That her name is the same. That her voice sounds the same. That she is Dalish, still, and that she is somewhere in the Free Marches. That there was a fire, where she lived. That she has since moved away from it. She is careful not to tell him her exact location, or to offer up the names of people in her personal life. She hardly seems to talk about her life at all, and Dirthamen is not certain if she avoids the subject only because she distrusts him, or because she dislikes speaking of it and would not wish to bother even if she trusted him completely.

That could just be his own projections, however.

Des is fascinated with the development as well, of course, but their contract has long since settled, and it makes it difficult for him to exert himself in the dreams he has allocated to Dirthamen. And they are reluctant to change the pattern of the dreams, lest it somehow prevent Selene from returning again. They do not know how she found them, and so they do not dare risk moving, or changing their schedule, or altering the fundamentals of Dirthamen’s dreaming space beyond the usual cosmetic details.

But it has an impact, of course. Dirthamen finds himself… engaged. Almost as if he is waking up, even though he is technically still asleep. And it carries over, too. More mornings, he wakes up feeling more presence within his body. Engaging more with Des, and retaining better memories of what they do throughout the day.

Which, in between Des’ pursuits, usually involves searching all of the databases on Dalish fire refugees in the Free Marches. Records are difficult to access, however, and Dirthamen finds himself calling upon favours he has not bothered with in a long time.

He phones Uthvir.

“You are dreaming about Selene,” they say, in a tone of voice that implies that this not surprising or noteworthy information in any sense.

“It is not a dream construction or a memory of her,” Dirthamen clarifies. “It is another incarnation of her. She has found me again.”

There is a long pause, and then low sound, like a breath being let out.

“I see,” Uthvir replies. “In that case, I should probably come and see you. Where are you?”

Peculiar. Uthvir is generally reluctant to leave their manor. But, then again, this is a highly unexpected situation.

“I do not require a meeting between us, as yet,” Dirthamen nevertheless explains. “I only need assistance in locating her in the real world. I believe she may require some assistance. That seems a plausible reason for her to have sought me out, on some level.” And it is an impression he has not been able to shake in his interactions with her. Something is wrong.

“So you want me to help you find Selene’s reincarnation, whom you have met in a dream?” Uthvir clarifies. “The dreams you regularly have about Selene, which are constructed by Des to be especially lifelike and believable?”

Dirthamen considers.

“Yes,” he confirms.

There is another long pause, and then another long breath.

“I suppose it would not hurt anything to look,” Uthvir decides. “Just so long as you do not take any drastic actions without consulting with me first, if you please.”

Dirthamen agrees, and even Des does not protest. Though, his partner has grudgingly grown to accept Uthvir’s counsel more readily over the years. Des is not particularly good at subtlety, and there have been a few times when he has been in command of situations that have subsequently deteriorated, and required outside aid to escape. Despite their own extreme preference for safety, Uthvir has never failed to help.

They do not disappoint in this situation, either.

It takes several more weeks, and many more dreams, before Uthvir finds a record of an elven merchant attending a Dalish conference on the wildfire incidents. According to the elf’s records, he has a wife, named Selene. Uthvir sends this information with many reminders that it is possibly only a coincidence. They do not recognize the name of the man on their list; Dirthamen cannot blame them. The incident where they might have crossed paths was many years ago, in college, and few had cared to recollect the name of the elf Dirthamen threw out of a window even during their lifetimes.

Dirthamen did not forget, however.

Haleir.

Reincarnation has not made an exception for Selene, it would seem. And this time she is married to her attacker.

Perhaps he is not a bad person in this life, Dirthamen hopes. And he is surprised to find Des echoing the desire. But in the grand scheme of things, he would rather Selene be happy with someone else, than be married to someone who would harm her.

He does not think this is a wish the universe has accommodated, however. The Selene he has been meeting in dreams has changed – but not very much.

Des gets them from their apartment in Denerim and onto a plane to Starkhaven. The records with Uthvir had found for them show that Haleir is a member of Clan Lavellan, which has mostly sought refuge among various shelters around Ostwick. When they land, they find their search somewhat stymied by the chaos and flood of inquiries which are barraging the Free Marches. Politics between the cities remains difficult to navigate, and records of various refugees are being divided between Starkhaven, the chantry, and various regional emergency services. A further call to Uthvir, and some more digging, and they board a second flight to Ostwick.

The plane has already taken off by the time Dirthamen looks towards the seats several rows up, and sees a familiar head of ginger hair.

He stills.

It could be a coincidence, of course. He cannot see the man’s face. But he is very tall, and has visibly elven ears.

Dirthamen stares at the back of his head, and waits to see if the man will move. It is not a long flight, however, and even when Des decides to get up and ‘use the restroom’ so that they can pass him, several other people opt to do the same. So they remain seated. Dirthamen stares and Des attempts to glean some of the man’s desires, instead, to pull a clue from there. But differentiating him from the other people on the flight is impossible. They did not know Haleir well enough the first time they met him to tell, and the plane is filled with a general ambiance of anticipation anyway. A desire to land and be reunited with people and to rest.

They keep an eye on him as they disembark. Confirmation comes later, when they are in the airport again, and they see the man waiting at the baggage claim.

It is him.

Des takes over, as Dirthamen pulls back. Drawn more into contemplation and consideration of their next move. Des purchases a book from the small airport library which is still within view of Haleir’s position. They did not bring anything apart from their carry-on. Dirthamen’s most valuable possessions are in safe storage, and Des enjoys buying new things when they travel, and neither of them knows how long they might be here for. Hours. Weeks. Years.

He finds a chair, and Des pretends to read, and in the meanwhile plucks at the threads of Desire that he can perceive in Haleir. The man is frustrated, so his desires are somewhat conflicting. He wants to go home, and he would have preferred to stay in Ferelden. He wants an opportunity. Nice things. Importance. He is satisfied that the disaster in his clan has put him in even higher standing, but he wants more.

He is looking forward to retrieving his wife and taking her to a hotel room. Of venting his frustrations on her.

Dirthamen considers killing Haleir on the spot. He wants to. Viscerally. The sight of his face again provokes a hatred that he did not know what still inside of him. But, there are many witnesses, and besides which – his presence may have at least simplified part of their search. Haleir is planning to retrieve Selene, which means he will go to her.

He will lead Dirthamen straight to her.

Of course, that would also mean that he will see Selene again. That would not be a permissible outcome, and if possible, should be prevented.

Mind made up, Dirthamen waits until Haleir leaves the airport. Des is much better at navigating the situation outside, and they draw close, nearly colliding with the man in the rush to hail a cab amidst other potential passengers.

“Where are you heading?” Des asks. “Maybe we could split the fare.”

Haleir sizes him up.

“I’m going a long ways out of the city,” he admits. “To one of the villages. Steriton.”

Des beams.

“A lucky coincidence,” he says. “I’m heading that way, too. You… are you Dalish? You must be. The tattoos, and the location – I’m a legal advocate from Arlathan, Des’din Adannaris. Just flew in to volunteer my services at facilitating discussions with some members of your clan who are interested in seeking asylum from Arlathan.”

Haleir blinks. His narrow, just for half a second, before he smiles affably.

“Well that is lucky!” he agrees. “Splitting the fare will certainly help the clan coffers, too.”

“A good cause,” Des cheerfully notes.

They share the backseat of the same cab.

Haleir asks them a few questions, which Des fields easily. He gets the man talking about himself, then, and that seems to be a topic which Haleir is fond of. He is a businessman, he explains. He organizes his clan’s finances and trade, and helps get them good deals on various pieces of craftwork they sell, and comes from a prestigious lineage within his clan. He has married recently, he explains.

“Not that it’s slowed me down much,” he explains, with a chuckle. “But my wife has a good bloodline. You know how it is. Good for making proper elven babies, passing on the traditions and all.”

Des’ returned smile comes back tight. Dirthamen does not like Haleir’s desires.

“Do you have a photo?” he asks, anyway. Just to see. He is not certain if he wants it to be his Selene or not, now. It seems so likely that it is. But perhaps it is not – perhaps she has escaped this. Except, then he would be at a loss as to how to find her again. That is better than the alternative, he thinks, just the same.

Ultimately, however, the universe and his desires are not often in concert. Reality is what it is. That is why it is not a dream.

Haleir shows him a photograph of himself and Selene on his phone. They are dressed in formal Dalish attire. Elrogathe, and a woman Dirthamen thinks must be Selene’s mother – going off of the resemblance – are in the photo as well.

“She is beautiful,” he notes.

“Eyes off,” Haleir says, jovially, but with just a hint of an edge. “She was promised to me since we were children. I’m glad she grew up as nicely as she did – you should see some of the dogs in our clan.”

Dirthamen frowns, until Des’ understanding of his meaning comes through. Ah. He is referring to unattractive women as dogs, not attempting to divert the conversation towards animal husbandry.

It is a long cab ride to Steriton. Dirthamen grows quiet after a time. Haleir even falls asleep for part of it, and the driver makes very little small talk. Her presence is the largest deterrent towards the idea of ending Haleir. That, and the fact that doing so would likely result in an aborted trip, and he still has not learned where precisely Selene is. Haleir gave their destination has a hotel, but no village hotels are serving as emergency shelters.

Still, Dirthamen thinks, he could always visit each of the prospective shelters himself. But killing Haleir is liable to cause disruption. It may upset Selene, even despite his mistreatment of her. And once it is done, it cannot be undone.

They reach the hotel, and split the fare. Haleir heads to the desk first, to receive the key for his reserved room. Des asks after a room for them, in turn, while Haleir moves towards the elevator and pulls out his phone. He dials a few times, frowning, as the concierge explains that they have no vacancies, but recommends an inn on the other side of the village. Dirthamen then pretends to consult his own phone, as he listens to Haleir finally get an answer to his call.

“Alaris!” he exclaims. “Good news, I’m back from the arlathvhen. Where’s Selene? I’ve been trying to reach her but my calls aren’t getting through-“

The conversation moves beyond Dirthamen’s ability to eavesdrop as Haleir gets into the hotel elevator.

However, before Dirthamen leaves the hotel lobby, the elevator comes back down to the ground floor again. Haleir hurries out.

“Is that cab still here?” he demands.

Dirthamen looks, and shakes his head.

“No,” Des says. “Why? Is something the matter?”

Haleir’s expression twists into something more like a grimace than worry.

“My wife’s gone missing,” he says. “I need to get to that chantry, figure out where she’s run… ah, what might have happened. She might have gotten overwhelmed by all of this. She has a fragile state of mind, and sometimes she gets confused, especially when her routines are disrupted.”

Des raises an eyebrow, and Dirthamen goes cold and sharp. Angry in way that is oddly satisfied with his anger, and worried in a way that makes his stomach drop.

“You don’t know where she is?” Des confirms.

Haleir gives him an odd look.

“No. That’s the whole problem,” he replies. “I need to call a cab-”

“I’ll do it,” Des offers. “I saw the number on the driver who just dropped us off. Where’s the chantry?”

Haleir gives him the address, and he calls the cab, and asks if the driver could take a passenger to the chantry on 232 Wheatley Street. The woman doesn’t seem eager, but she also accepts. Haleir doesn’t seem to think twice about it when they follow him out into the parking lot – but then, Dirthamen was already on his way out. It’s a natural flow of movement, to exit the hotel. Haleir still has his luggage with him.

Good.

There will probably be more information inside of it.

“Haleir, look,” Des says, gesturing towards a side street. “Is that your wife down there?”

Haleir spins, and frowns.

“Where?” he demands.

“I thought I saw her, just heading down the back street,” Des replies. “It was a tall blonde, at least. Leggy, with a similar face to the photo…”

Haleir is already moving. Dirthamen follows him until they’re halfway down the side of the building. The brick of the building next to it makes the space small enough for a simple illusion spell. Cover, to make the street seem empty. It’s fairly easy to get Haleir to stop before they reach the street behind the hotel. Dirthamen just settles a hand onto his shoulder.

“Where did…?”

“Haleir,” Dirthamen says.

Haleir looks back towards him, and balks. He opens his mouth, but Des is already moving. Satisfying the desire that has been in him since he first read Uthvir’s message. It stretches Des further away from their body than he has been in some time, but for this, he can manage it. Dark desires have gotten harder for him to follow over the years. Yet Dirthamen’s own desires are dark right now, so the bridge is neatly made.

Oh, Haleir. Tsk, tsk. What did you do? Did you hurt our Selene? You did. You hurt our Selene. You wanted to hurt her. I thought I made my point a lifetime ago, but we will have to try again, it seems. Perhaps death will make the lesson stick better this time. Perhaps more pain will leave a better impression.

It will have to be quick.

More’s the pity.

Haleir’s open mouth becomes a silent scream, as Des’ magic sinks into him, and sets him aflame.

Purple fires arc up Haleir’s body. It takes slightly longer than anticipated. Possibly because there is no smoke, so asphyxiation does not ensue. Dirthamen maintains the necessary illusions as Haleir drops to the ground and writhes, trying to put out fires there are immolating him from inside his own flesh. His skin cracks and bubbles, and it is an effort to disguise the scent, as his flesh cooks and his bowels evacuate, and his corneas turn white and then burst. They flames are very hot. Dirthamen has to take several steps back before they manage to reduce Haleir to ashen bones.

To dust.

It has barely been done, before Dirthamen hears the sound of a cab pulling into the hotel parking lot.

With some effort, he shifts his shape. Turning his hair ginger and changing his clothes to match Haleir’s suit. Des picks up the man’s bag, and runs a hand over their shifted locks; and he drops the illusions, as the wind kicks a strange new ash cloud out into the street.  Then he walks back towards the front of the hotel, and waves in acknowledgement just as the cab driver is opening the door.

“Thank you so much,” he says.

The driver looks at him for a moment, and then shrugs.

“Sure,” she replies. “Other guy’s not coming?”

“Oh, no,” Des replies. “He was a big help, but I don’t know where he’s gone to now.”

[skiesofeternity]

Skies of Eternity Chapter 3 (Tera x DAI crossover)

Skies of Eternity Chapter 3 (Tera x DAI crossover)

Rating: Teen and up

Pairings: DorianXMale Lavellan (in later chapters)

Warnings: None so far

Fandoms: Tera Online, Dragon Age Inquisition

You do not need to know about Tera online to read this story.

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6452602/chapters/20940395

Higher Resolution of scenes: http://miadrawsart.tumblr.com/post/157512111314/better-resolution-of-the-pictures-from-my

Chapter 3

Chance Meeting

[Notes for AO3: Laisa means Lost Soul and Haleir means Snow Fox. Both names are from the Project Elvhen]

[More than twenty years ago…]

A young elven woman hummed to herself, her hands weaving a small grass basket in her lap as she sat next to the calm river. Her hair was braided over a shoulder, flowers of crystal grace delicately hidden amongst the golden locks. Cyren, her halla, nuzzled her face lovingly as she continued in her melodic tune.

The song she hummed was a familiar tune to her before she ended up in this new life-but she could not remember the words, nor who she was before she came to the elven clan.

She knew many of these songs of unknown origin-even if she could not recall the words. Sometimes instead of humming, she would add words of her own-sometimes in common or elven, but most of the time in complete gibberish that somehow made sense to the tunes she sung.

The faint hints when she tried to concentrate on her lost memories showed that she had learned these songs with a group of five other children-but their faces were lost. One of these children had taught them these songs, she remembered. Oh, if only she could recall the words and the faces of her unknown friends! That one child was not like the rest of the others - that was all she knew.

The sound of rustling in the brush drew the woman’s attention from her work by the riverside, The white deer-like creature raising its head in slight alarm. Out from the bushes, appeared an elven man with a staff in his hand. The markings of the elven god Elgar'nan were upon his face, making half of his face dark by the ink.

“Oh Haleir. Aneth ara!” The woman spoke, rising to meet her dear friend and First to their Keeper. The man had always been a good friend to the her, even when much of the clan shunned her for her strange manners and origin.

“Lethallin. I’ve been looking for you. It was not hard, as all I had to do was follow the sound of your voice.” Laisa flushed at her friend’s words. Haleir raised his hand to pet Cyren’s muzzle. The halla then left the two elves to graze on a nearby patch of grass.

Haleir shifted nervously, looking at the ground while fussing with his white hair. “The Keeper has been talking with me. He says I am of age to be looking for a wife soon to help uphold the clan’s numbers.”

Laisa turned her attention from her friend to gather elfroot in her newly woven basket. “And who has caught your fancy then to be your betrothed? You and Lanaya have been close as of late. Even Keeper Zathrian had noted that you two would make a lovely couple.” She giggled. She had a slight crush on her friend but she was worried about the fact that the two were so different that she was too embarrassed to open up her feelings to him. If him bonding with the other mage would make him happy-it was good enough for her.

“Lanaya... is just a friend to me. The one I wish to bond with...is you.” The elven woman froze, quickly turning back to her friend, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Haleir stared at her, his face beet red. In his hand, he held out a round moonstone attached to a necklace cord. “Ar lath ma, ma vhenan.”

Lasia stared back in shock for a long, painfully awkward, silent moment. Immediately, Haleir turned to go, shoving the necklace in his side-pouch. “I, ir abelas! I shouldn’t have been so forward! Forgive me Lethallin!”

Haleir stopped in his attempts to flee when Laisa’s hand gently landed on his arm, holding him in place. Looking back at his friend, he saw her other hand clutched to her chest, a streak shade of dark pink across her face.

“Did you...did you really mean it…?” She murmured, her voice becoming choked as tears formed around her eyes. “Are...are you sure…?”

Haleir dropped his staff and grabbed her by both of her shoulders, raising his fingertips to brush away her tears. “Laisa! What’s wrong? Did I-”

“No. It’s not you. It’s me.” Laisa interjected. She turned her head away from his gaze, the basket forgotten besides them. “I just...I’m an outcast to most of the clan. I don’t even have Vallaslin-you would be better off with a Dalish elf, someone of your kin: a TRUE Dalish-not someone like me! I-” She stiffened as Haleir embraced her.

“I don’t care. I’ve always loved you, Laisa. Vallaslin or no Vallaslin, you have always been a wonderful person to me.”

“B,but what about the Keeper? Does he not object?” Tears continued to fall from her face.

Haleir chuckled. “Zathrian and I may have...argued a for a little bit before I came here...let’s just say that one of the aravals needs mending thanks to the scorch marks.” Seeing Laisa join in his laughter made his eyes brighten. “He eventually conceded in the end.” Holding her back at arm’s length, he wiped more of her tears away.

The elven woman smiled gently through the water in her eyes as she looked back at her friend. “Yes. That is my answer.”

Haleir took the moonstone necklace out from his pouch and placed it in Laisa’s open palm, leaving his hand there. The two gazed at one another, holding each other’s hand.

A gust of wind blew through the tree’s leaves; Cyren continued to graze on their patch of grass while the elves drew together in a kiss.

***

[Present time...]

The Pride demon charged at Quen and the girl in his lap. On instinct, Quen held the mysterious girl close, in hopes to shield her from the impact.

The white-haired girl snapped her head up, leaping to her feet. Swiftly, she was beside Quen, pulling him and the other girl out of the path of the Pride demon, a black mist trailing after the three of them.

Quen’s body was filled with a sudden unnerving chill as the girl’s clawed gauntlets gripped him tightly on the arm. “Erune. You alright?” The white-haired girl asked under her steel mask as they landed safely away. While she had grabbed Quen, she had managed to pick up the staff on the ground along the way.

The blue-haired girl looked back at the older girl, nodding while taking the staff in her hands and got up off of Quen. When the older girl released her hold on Quen, the fearful chill slowly left his body.

The Breach pulsated again, shooting out more green beams. From the lights, a flood of spiny, clawed shapes that Quen recognized as Fade demons flowed into the crater of the temple. A nearby growl told the others that the Pride demon had gotten back up and was already aiming for the soldiers, who, upon Cassandra and Leliana’s cries, began to fight back.

“Erune! Zyllian!” The rabbit-eared girl ran over to the two, followed by the squirrel girl holding her giant axe (Creators, that axe looked heavy, how was that small girl able to carry such a weapon so easily?).

“I’m okay.” The blue haired girl (Erune was it?) reassured the other girls.

Suddenly, the rabbit haired girl whipped her arm over her shoulder as if she was reaching for an arrow in a quiver. A swirl of light traced up her arm, forming a long projectile. She quickly lifted her bow up, more light circling around her arm as she drew it back. A flight of magic arrows fired forth, hitting a Lesser demon that was aimed at Cassandra, the arrows vanishing shortly after impact to expose gaping wounds. Cassandra was stunned by the girl’s strange weapon, but nodded before going back to fighting.

Quen stared back, shocked at the sight of the girls, whose ears and tails twitched authentically.

Solas ran up to Quen, helping him to his feet, handing him his daggers. “We must clear the demons out of this place to seal the Breach!”

“Oi sis,” Quen and Solas looked at the squirrel girl, a wide, toothy grin spread across her face. “Should we help these peeps out?”

“Of course.” The rabbit girl said. “Zyllian, you handle the creatures that are continuing to come forth, draw their attention from the rest of us.” Upon her orders, the demonic-looking girl with the steel mask nodded, diving away into the fray with her scythes trailing behind her. The rabbit eared girl turned to the squirrel girl with axe, pointing at the Pride demon. “Eruno, you handle the big one, keep it distracted.”

“Right!” The fluffy squirrel tail flicked in delight as the girl ran towards the Pride demon that had cornered one of the archer soldiers. As she dragged her axe behind her, faint streams of redness began to cover its surface at a rapid rate. “OI BIG GUY!” The Pride demon turned. “TAKE THIS!” Grounding her heel in the dirt, she swung her axe, the heavy blade slamming into its body. The Pride demon’s clawed hands grabbed in surprise at the thing that managed to pierce its thick hide. “Tch!” She spat, annoyed.

“Erune.” Eirai summoned more magic light around her arms and her weapon. “I’m going to need a mana boost, cover me.” The energy flowed and scattered about her hands as she wove an unfamiliar pattern in the air. Nodding, Erune held her staff out, a glyph appearing under the rabbit girl’s feet. As a group of Wraiths snaked their way towards the two girls, she quickly flicked her wrist out at each of the wisps, bolts of light knocking each of them back, a few more scorch marks to their name.

The demonic-girl, Zyllian, leapt into the middle of a group of Rage demons, the purple smoke left as remnants from where she was before. The beady eyes of the bubbling, molten figures snapped to the girl.

Her scythes whipped out, slicing limbs clean off. Evading another blow, she swung her arms, the blades flying out until the limit of their chain. As she spun her body around, the blades danced around her. Quickly retracting the blades now covered in darkened blood, she flipped backwards in a purple smoke out of the way of a Rage demon’s fire strike.

The cat girl almost felt the Despair demon behind her as her attention was distracted. Quen ran towards her, thrusting his daggers in the cloaked monster’s back. Erune turned just in time to let out a little squeak when she realized the gravity of the situation. Her eyes widened suddenly. “Look out!”

Quen hissed as a Terror demon took a deep swipe at him from the side, leaving a deep gash on his stomach. He fell back, clutching his side while Varric fired a couple bolts from afar to take out the demon. Drawing his hand away slightly, he could see hints of his sliced intestines through the open wound. He grit his teeth as sharp pain sizzled from the acid from the Terror demon’s claws.

“Shit. Frosty!” Varric ran to Quen. The dwarf reached back for a potion.

“Wait!” Varric paused as the cat girl rushed over, her staff still outstretched to keep channeling the glyph under the rabbit girl’s feet. Summoning a light blue aura with her free hand, she focused the magic on Quen’s wound, her eyes closed in concentration.

Quen felt himself slipping away from reality as the blood flowed out of his body - then he didn’t feel anything but the reassuring presence of the rabbit girl and her aura. The fading of the aura left him energized; he glanced at his side to confirm that he was whole once again. “Thanks.” Quen gasped in relief. Readying his crossbow, Varric went back to the fight as soon as he saw Quen fit enough to stand on his own.

By now, the horde of demons had been reduced by half. Leliana helped guide the injured soldiers back from the monsters’ continuing onslaught. Once again, the Breach convulsed, summoning a second Pride demon amidst a group of warriors. The beast let out a haunting laugh, sparks of purple energy erupting from its body, burning the soldiers that were too close to it.

The rabbit girl swore between her teeth as she noticed the newest challenger to the fight. “ERUNO!” She aimed her bow at the squirrel girl, who stood in front of the first large monster. The glyphs around her feet began to flicker as her drawstring arm glowed rapidly.

Eruno wheeled aside, the tips of her hair slightly singed as the projectile flew past.The Pride demon was struck, its massive body staggering. The arrow rapidly pulsed, exploding seconds later, black blood spraying around. Soon after, the creature fell over, its hulking body shattering into green dust when its hide connected with the rubble.

The cat girl began to sway, a bead of sweat rolling down her brow. Quen caught her just in time as she fell; the rabbit girl ran to the two of them. “Erune, what’s wrong?”

Erune panted. “My magic...isn’t as strong here...I needed to use more mana...I’m almost depleted…I’m sorry Eirai...”

Eirai shook her head. “It’s okay. Just stay back then. I’ll take care of you.” Quen handed the younger of the two to the older one. The rabbit girl readied her weapon and fired a few shots at the demons that were aiming for the other soldiers. The cat girl stayed a close distance to her, keeping a watchful eye on the battle. Once Quen saw that the two were fine, he went back to help the others fighting.

The second Pride demon roared, its massive body swaying side to side. It immediately went straight for Cassandra. She was forced backward as the creature collided with her shield, her stance wavering at the onslaught.

Letting out a battle cry, Eruno leapt in the air, swinging the axe down on the Pride demon’s shoulder. The beast howled, thrashing around in anger. It flung the squirrel girl aside before turning its attention to Eruno, preparing to pummel its hulking body into the small girl.

Her tail flicking in annoyance, Eruno slammed her axe head first into the ground. A translucent barrier surrounded the front of her. As the demon’s body ricocheted off the shield, Cassandra saw this as an opening and thrust her blade in the demon’s back hide.

Solas shot a blast of ice magic, creating a wall of icicle stalagmites that slowed the approach of the fiery Rage demons. With a swing of his staff, the rubble behind him was flung towards a Despair demon, knocking it to the ground. Zyllian threw out her sickle to the monster on the ground, using the chain to pull herself to it to finish it off.

The Pride demon countered, bashing its armored arm into Cassandra’s shield, causing her to fall to her knees from the surprise attack. As it lifted its massive claws to swipe down at the woman, Eruno jumped in between the two of them, setting up another barrier with her axe once again, protecting the lady Seeker.

Varric released a series of arrows at the Pride demon to draw its attention away from Eruno while the scythe wielding girl rushed forward, whipping the chains of her blades around the enemy, immobilizing the large creature.

“Now!” Cassandra shouted to Quen. The elf jumped on the Pride demon’s back. Raising his daggers above his head, he slammed the short blades between the plating of the hide on the its neck. Quen slipped off just in time as the massive monster fell face first into the ground before dispersing into green mist which was sucked back into the rift.

Panting, he took a moment to assess his surroundings. The soldiers had taken out the rest of the stragglers. The four strange looking girls had grouped back together and were looking at him and his hand as they whispered amongst themselves.

Solas was by the Quen’s side soon after. “We must close it now.” The mage gestured to the glowing mark. Nodding, Quen raised his arm to the Breach, concentrating with the mark. The scar on his hand immediately reacted, shooting out a green bolt at the Rift.

Unlike the previous times Quen had closed the smaller rifts on his way up the mountain, the pain that came with this one was ten times worse. His throat burned as he tried to scream, green bolts of electricity visibly spasming across his body. He felt as though his whole body was being turned inside out and set aflame. The veins and nerves bulged up under his skin, threatening to burst through. The constant shocks through his body caused his heart to pound against his chest at a rapid rate. His eyes stung as tears fell down his cheeks from the intense pain.

This is it. He thought. This is how I’m going to die.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of small hands cover his own with the pulsing mark. The aching pain began to subside.

***

[Minutes ago…]

“Sis, you think that elf is the one whom the ‘God’ was talking about?” Eruno wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek.

“The glowing scar on his hand is similar to the rift in the sky.” Eirai noted. “And the other elf referred to him to ‘close the Breach’. The white haired elf is probably the one we are looking for.”

“Can he close the rifts is the question…” Zyllian muttered with a hint of a scoff in her voice.

The four Elins watched as the elf lift his glowing arm toward the Breach. The rift countered, forcing the elf to his knees and cry out in pain. Green sparks surrounded him, causing the bald elf to move back in alarm.

“It’s hurting him…” Erune whispered. She watched as the black haired woman and the stocky short man looked at one another, unsure what to do. The bald elf tried to get close but the constant electricity formed a barricade around the white haired elf, blocking his approach. The Priestess’s heart clenched as the pained screams echoed through the crater of the burnt ruins.

It pained the young Elin to see those distress. Her healing magic tickled on her fingertips in hopes to reach and try to at least ease the hurt the elf was going through.

Her body was already exhausted of using up most of her mana, but she felt a need to try and help.

She couldn’t lose another one. She had lost too many people when she was right there.

A woman’s voice suddenly spoke out to her.

Please. Help him.

“Erune?” The Priestess’s twin sister looked at her curiously. Erune’s eyes glazed over as if they were in a trance. She dropped her staff and ran towards the elf encased in the barrier of green electricity. She ignored her sisters yelling out her name as she moved her feet as quickly as she could.

The moment her hand touched the barrier, the shocks around the elf carried over to her. The fur of her cat ears and tail puffed out in alarm from the sparks. The Elin wanted to draw back as her cat ears flattened against her head, but the woman’s voice urged her onward.

Please.

Pushing her small body through the immense power, she made her way to the elf. Gathering up what little magic she had left in her hands, she placed them on the elf’s left hand that was blazing with green light and let her magic flow freely to heal him.

***

Everyone stood in amazement as one of the strange girls managed to break through the barrier made by the rift that surrounded Quen. She had struggled against the magic from the Fade but was able to touch the elf’s hand with the mark. As soon as a soft blue light surrounded their hands with a soothing hum, the green sparks began to cease.

The mark on Quen’s hand shot out once again at the Breach, this time fighting back as the Fade rift tried to counter. The Breach spasmed from the energy, the edges of the large green scar quivering as it folded in on itself. The crystals drew back into the Fade. As soon as the scar shrunk to a thin line, it let out one final blast of energy, knocking everyone surrounding it to their knees.

Quen and the girl gasped in shock as the pulse from the Breach pulled back, the two blacking out and collapsing onto the ground with the girl’s hands still on the elf’s.

The Rift was quiet, but the scar still remained in the sky, the presence of green mist faintly radiating from the line in the air.

Cassandra ran to the two and knelt down a let out a sigh of relief when she saw Quen was still breathing. Her head turned as she heard the other three mysterious girls run over to tend to the fourth one at the elf’s side.

Drawing her blade, she pointed it at the girls. “Who and what are you?” She demanded.

The rabbit girl had pulled the cat girl close to her and narrowed her eyes at Cassandra’s blade. As she spoke, her voice held an air of a military commander-like the Lady Seeker herself.

“We are Elins. We are from the world Arborea. Your Breach and Rifts have made their way into our world and we were sent to help close them here.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened with rest of the soldiers in the crater. Many voices arose as the men began talking amongst themselves while staring at the girls-no, Elins. Leliana quirked her eyebrow, still holding her bow hesitantly in her hands. Varric murmured something about what a twist this whole set of circumstances was while Solas seemed to be in deep thought with himself.

“Cassandra?” Leliana’s voice broke the woman’s daze of taking in this immense information. “What should do you suggest what we do with them?”

Cassandra sheathed her sword, keeping her eye on the ‘Elins’. “Arrest them.” Nodding, the Nightingale and the rest of her men locked their arrows on the four. The Elin with the squirrel tail began to protest when the white haired demonic one put her hand on the other’s shoulder and told her to stand down. “Take them back to Haven. We’ll decide what to do with them once he wakes up.” She gestured to Quen’s unconscious body and called for her soldiers to pick up the elf.

As the Elins were ushered away, the Seeker looked back to Solas who was looking at the Breach. “Solas?” She called out to the mage.

“The Breach has been sealed, but not closed. We must inform Quen when he awakes.”

Cassandra swore under her breath. She had hoped that Quen’s mark would be able to fix the issue immediately, but he had only managed to stop the chaos temporarily-with the help of the Elin girl. “What do you make of the events that had just occurred here?”

Solas brought his hand to his chin in thought. “The Breach connecting to other worlds...how is that possible…? Already the fact that Rifts to the Fade have opened up extensively-but bridging elsewhere…?” Shaking his head, he turned to the Seeker. “I will need to ask those ‘Elins’ what more they know of. Whatever the case, they seem to have come here willingly and helped us in the fight.”

Varric spoke up. “Which leads to my question: Why did you detain them Lady Seeker?”

The Seeker looked away from the mage and the dwarf. “We do not know who they are and it is best that we keep an eye on them until they can give us answers.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Alright then, Seeker. But they didn’t seem to want to hurt us. They even saved Frosty.”

“Nevertheless, we must take precautions.” Leliana reminded the others. Leaning in close to Cassandra, the Nightingale whispered to the Seeker. “I’ll inform Commander Cullen of the news.”

“The Chantry is a mess right now, Thedas is in chaos, and now, this?” Cassandra murmured under her breath. “Most Holy had confided to me of another solution if the Conclave failed. We must look into it. If we are to stem the tide of any more oncoming conflict, we must establish order.”

***

The door slammed open, barely startling the soulless slaves who continued in their tasks. Two figures stormed through, a tall mage covered in diseased flesh with red crystals protruding from parts of his body. He was followed by a large horned man with grey skin and large pointed ears. The horned man’s armor had veins filled with dust of the same red rock that covered the other man. In his hand, he carried a large staff embedded with the crimson crystals.

The magister threw down a large round orb on the work table, scattering aside bloodied tools and such. “That DAMN elf!” He swore aloud.

Frowning, the horned man began to speak. “Elder One-”

“SILENCE!” The magister interjected, his mouth curled into a snarl. “You let that elf get in with the others!” His massive clawed hands gripped the orb. “I expected better from you…”

The horned man’s yellowed eyes narrowed in disgust. So what if the man before was one of the ones whom his ancestors told of. He would not be treated in such a way by some ancient being. He had earned his right to his place in power and would not be treated like a mere apprentice. “Merely an uncalculated part-the elf that is.” The horned man spat. With a flick of his wrist, one of the slaves with glassysoulless eyes brought him a cup of wine. As he took a long drink, he looked back at the other man. “Well, now what will you do?”

The orb on the table barely flickered in the magister’s hands. “The orb’s power is gone...we must wait and see what happens...and should we find a moment of opportunity...we will take it. For now…” The man looked back at the horned being. “How goes the Venatori in Tevinter?”

The horned man smiled his sharp teeth back. “Your blood mages certainly have a talent - I’ll give them that. One of them, Gereon Alexius, shows great promise in some plans for a device he had been working on before he joined us. Perhaps you would be interested? I heard he wishes to play with time, something about saving a son of his…”

[dinoswrites]

Dark Scales

So @selenelavellan has been feeling unwell lately, and I just wanted to show how much I appreciate everything she writes and draws so I thought I would do something in return because thing don’t sound like a lot of fun on her end right now.

Anyway, this is kind of a strange ode to her old mermaid au she wrote some time ago, but it’s pretty different because it’s set in the world of my mermaid au, Black Coral. You don’t need to read that to understand this, just keep in mind the geography is a touch different than an in-game map of Thedas when that comes up.

Anyway. @selenelavellan, I hope you are on the road to recovery soon. I know how frustrating it is to have something wrong with you and no one seems to understand it. I hope this makes you smile at least. :)

Selene belongs to @selenelavellan, this Dirthamen belongs to @feynites

Selene’s dreams turn... strange, when the moon is full.

That is not unusual, she knows, for those with the gift. When the tide is high and that well of power that lies in the depths pulls more than usual, becomes impossible to ignore...

“We can sometimes see a glimpse of the Creators,” her Keeper tells her. “Sometimes they are calling to us from the depths, in hopes that we might release them from their cage.”

So not long after she learns she has the gift—much to her father’s chagrin—Selene swims down as deep as she can. As deep and as far as she can go, until her muscles burn, until she feels dizzy...

One of the hunters finds her, and pulls her back up. It only takes moments, a few strong kicks of his tail, and her head is above water again. She hadn’t gotten very far at all.

“Sulvuna,” he chides her, “let’s save your adventures for when your scales are a year old at least.”

Her father is waiting for her on shore. A scowl on his face, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She’s a strong swimmer already,” the hunter proclaims, once Selene is back on her feet. “You must be very proud, Elgorathe.”

But he only grabs her hand and drags her away. As she is pulled, she looks over her shoulder, to the sunlight reflecting off the ocean and the clear blue sky...

Years later, when the Keeper announces her intention to marry Selene to Haleir, she tries it again. Swims as far down as she can—until even an elf’s eyes can’t make out anything in the dark, and even her shifted form feels cold, her movements sluggish as the water that passes through her gills gives her less and less of what she needs to breathe...

Only once she is as far down as she can go, only with the ocean pressing into every part of her so tightly she thinks she might burst—only then does she open her mouth and scream.

But there is no wisdom, in return for her sorrows. No promises of aid, no whispers of a world long gone. Only her, alone, in the pressure and darkness of the ocean around her that calls, always calls, but never gives anything in return.

When she surfaces again, and slips away from her emerald scales, her coral fins, she returns to her father’s aravel without complaint, ready to spend her last night there. Resigned, once and for all, to the fate ordained to her.

It’s a full moon, that night. The tide is high, humming under her skin, thrumming through her veins, beating in her ears steady, and clear.

She dreams of scales, deeper and darker than the night sky—and interspersed among that void are single scales that gleam, little points of soft, warm light against a blanket of gentle, soothing darkness.

His fins are as great and broad as a dragon’s wings, and he wears a mask of whale bone.

“I heard you cry out in the deep,” he whispers.

She almost laughs. “I did not think anyone was listening.”

And then, acting on an impulse she doesn’t quite understand, she reaches up. Drags her fingers along those dark fins, fluttering as if in a current, to find them soft to her touch—delicate. Textured, almost like a bit of fine lace her mother had owned.

It takes him a long time to reply. As if he is stunned to silence, by just a simple touch.

“Would you like to hear a secret?” he asks, sounding almost breathless.

She hums. Trying to see past the shadows his mask makes over his eyes, and not quite succeeding. “Alright.”

He reaches down then, and presses a finger to her lips. So delicately, as if worried he might hurt her.

His skin is very soft, and very, very warm.

“The man on watch tonight will lie in the morning, and tell them he did not see which way you swam.”

She wakes with a start to cold night air, heavy rain on the aravel overturned above her and her father’s bedroll beside her, empty.

The man on watch is the same one who’d pulled her from the depths as a child—and he meets her gaze, sees her standing knee-deep in water in the middle of a storm, and holds it for a long, agonizing moment before he pointedly looks the other way.

 --

It’s been nearly a year, and she dreams of the dark-scaled man every single full moon.

He never says his name—and she’s got her guesses, but she’s not bold or foolish enough to voice them to him. If he’s even real, or just some figment of her imagination.

She thinks he might be a demon—Des certainly is, though he’s too impatient to wait a month in between his visits. And while Des is always asking—sometimes appearing with dark scales and broad fins because she almost says yes when he does—her monthly visitor never asks her for anything. He only offers—knowledge, spells, what things might help her survive or secure a place for herself in this world—and while she keeps waiting for it, he never makes demands in return.

She thinks that he is... kind. For a rather consistent hallucination brought upon by the pull of the magic trapped in the deep.

Only one night, he doesn’t show up. Des is there—and he makes a really good show at pretending to be him, whalebone mask and all, but he is much too forward with his touches and calls her Sulvuna and she knows...

She is not disappointed, when she wakes to a grey dawn. That is not—no.

Some months ago, her mysterious friend directed her to a small village that rests among the islands east of Antiva. The people there needed someone with a healer’s skills, and are very good at looking the other way when magic is required to heal a wound. And they are content to let her teach the younger children how to read and work some basic numbers, on days when there are no nets to mend or when the catches are poor—which brings her more delight than she could ever have imagined she would find, living with her clan.

She tells stories, helps mend nets, and teaches them what they can eat and what they can’t. Much their parents already know, of course, but they are kind enough to let her take the role of teacher, in exchange for minding the children.

The ocean pulls, of course. It always does. And she aches to slip into her other skin, to feel the currents racing about her once more, and there are days where she wants nothing but to find a wild pod of halla and swim off with them, for a while.

But she is content, here. No one asks more of her than she is willing to give, and they always leave her to be as aloof and mysterious as she chooses.

 --

She is often the first one they come to find, when something strange washes ashore. And with all the battles raging at sea these days, more than once that has been a near-dead sailor, a survivor of some wreck or other.

So she’s not surprised when she hears shouting through her open window as she eats her breakfast—pouring over a waterlogged book on mathematics someone had found for her, and trying to make sense of the faded passages.

“Miss Selene!” one of the girls is shouting as she runs up the path to her home. “Miss Selene!”

With a sigh, Selene abandons her book and snatches her bag of supplies from beside the door.

The children are... distressingly vague, when she asks for details.

“It’s a man!” one says, tugging her hand.

“He’s not breathing,” says another. “But he’s all funny so it’s hard to tell.”

“All funny?” she asks. “All funny how?”

“He’s a fish,” one of the boys says, only for his sister to smack him.

“Emmet, Mom said we can’t call people fish, it’s rude!”

“She just said that about you!”

And she gets nothing further out of them as they bicker and pull her down to the shore.

The first glimpse she catches, she thinks that some small whale has been stranded on the beach—and then, when she sees wide, delicate fins splayed about a dark figure, covered in sand and kelp, she thinks in a moment of panic that it’s a dragonling washed ashore.

“Get away from that!” she shouts at the children poking it with sticks.

They all drop the sticks immediately and obey, wide-eyed. She so rarely yells at them, and she’s done a poor job of keeping the panic from her voice.

One of the older children is there, and he is crouched by the head of the figure, where it’s obscured by the mess of its fins. He doesn’t move—he only reaches forward, ignoring her second shout of warning.

As Selene gets closer—running full-tilt down the sand—the boy stands, and in his hands holds a mask.

Whalebone, she thinks, without seeing it clearly.

Which is ridiculous, and she dismisses the thought instantly.

When she finally reaches the boy and drags him away by the shoulders, she realizes that it’s no dragon, but an elf. Fully shifted, prone, and yes with larger fins than she or any of her clan mates had but an elf nonetheless.

One covered with impossibly dark scales, interspersed with single points of white so bright they almost glow in the sunlight.

Without the mask, she sees that his face is unmarked, his eyes closed, and that he is very, very still.

“Miss Selene?” one of the children says, and she drops her bag in the sand.

She grabs this stranger—not the man from her dreams, that’s impossible—and drags him back into the water. The children shout at her, startled, but she ignores them—just like she ignores the reservoir of magic pooling around her, ready for her to reach into, the itch at her skin, the thing within her that still jumps at contact with the ocean.

It doesn’t take long for her to get him floating—and with a flutter of his gills, his eyes snap open, and his mouth opens and he seems to remember how to breathe.

She stares down at him, into his dark eyes, pupils blown wide, as he just floats there a moment, catching his breath and staring up at her, in turn. As his shape begins to change, his scales sinking into his skin and revealing soft, warm flesh, his fins vanishing, until only faded lines remain on his neck like scars, and he is naked in her arms.

Eventually, he smiles. He reaches up to touch her face—only managing, in his weakness, to press the tip of one finger to her lips.

“Selene,” he whispers, clearly relieved.

And then he passes out again.

When Selene collects herself enough to look up at the children on the shore, they are all standing there slack-jawed.

“See?” Emmet says. “He’s a fish.”

[winterfollows]

@cuervocanto

Zevran watched from a smokey corner as Haleir somberly picked up the pieces of another successful night. A success for both of them, as it turned out, if Zevran’s heavy pockets were any indication.

He crossed the room and plucked the broom out of Haleir’s hands, wearing his most winning smile. There would be all morning tomorrow for the post-mortem. The night was still young, and it was time to celebrate.

“I believe you still owe me a dance.”

He’d been lost in thought, the methodical sweep of the broom an almost-dance of its own as it kept time in long, even strokes across the floor. It would have been an odd sight, surely, the owner of the establishment still decked out in silvered pearls and fringe that swung jauntily along with each swish, except that Hal had made a point to take part in after-hours duties himself for as long as he’d been in business. He could afford to hire someone, he supposed, but this was far better for keeping a level head--not to mention showing appreciation to the rest of his staff. They had enough to do as it was. But he was in high spirits; it had been a lucrative night, if tiring, and the electric buzz of the evening’s earlier excitement had yet to dissipate from the atmosphere.

As a result, he hadn’t noticed Zevran approaching until he found himself empty-handed.

“Zev--” Hal tsked, made to reach after the broom but thought better of it. “I still need to...” He trailed off at the other’s claim, returning that brilliant smile with a weary one of his own. Ah, yes. He could recall an exchange of words from earlier, a bit of playful banter. He’d been busy then, as now...but a promise was a promise. Pale eyes flicked up to the now empty stage, the band having long since left for home, then back to Zevran’s gaze with a slight quirk of one brow.

“Mm. I suppose I do, don’t I...?”

[selenelavellan]

Burdens and Shackles

Moon Palace AU

The next part of This AU by @feynites (Who Dirthamen and his family belong to)

The dawn comes, as Selene is released from the depths of their dungeon.

One of her fathers advisers ask her if she has learned her lesson after spending a night in the stifling darkness of the cage.

Selene has learned a lesson, she thinks. Though, likely not the one they wanted her to.

After a silent morning meal with her parents and bondmate, Selene heads out for her daily training. First physical with some of the soldiers, followed by magical and emotional with the scribes. Nothing particularly interesting or unusual strikes her, a mundane schedule by all accounts. But her mind wanders.

A prisoner they have housed longer than she has been alive.

A prisoner who could change his shape without meaning to, in a cell that should not permit such things.

She knows those wards.

If he can exploit them, it could mean trouble for all of her people.

Although...he did not seem to mean anything menacing with his shape, unusual as it appeared. And if he is unconsciously weakening the wards, that is even more troubling.

She mentions it to her mother, at their afternoon meeting.

“I'm sure it was just a trick, da'len,” Dhaveira assures her. “This is why I told your father sending you to that cage was a poor choice for punishment. He is known for his lies and his secrets, do not succumb to them.”

“He did not seem malicious-”

“Selene.” Dhaveira asserts. “I know you are young, and do not remember the uprising. But he has slaughtered thousands of our people. His family is made of monsters, who sacrificed elves and spirits alike for nothing more than their own power, and lies. They tried to force out our gods and replace them with their pale imitations. His own brother is still rampaging through the west and leaving rivers of our peoples blood in his wake. Make no mistake; if given the chance, that prisoner would be fighting right alongside his brother, and would slay you as soon as you came near enough.” She reaches out, long dark fingers gently cupping Selenes face in her hands before whispering “Do not mistake his patience for kindness. I could not bear the loss.”

Selene lets out a heavy breath, and replies with simply “Yes, mother.”

It does not stop her wondering, though.

The meeting shifts to concerns of food distribution, and a need for cross training in certain fields, and increasing benefits of teaching these methods as incentives to further the peoples knowledge. Selene wonders how many of these decisions will be turned away by her father when they are shown to him, as unnecessary, or wasteful.

Dhaveira will push many of them through, anyways.

And the end of the meeting comes the same way it has for the last decade.

“When will you and Haleir be having children?” Her mother asks in a tone that has become both familiar and unwelcome.

“When he is able to get it up without sticking it in the nearest member of the dance troupe, I imagine.” Selene quips back.

Dhaveira lets out a heavy sigh, as expected. “There is no need for crassness. Perhaps if you worked harder to please him yourself-”

Selene levels a stare at her mother. “I have other things to do than worry about his sexual preferences. If he wants to sleep his way through the entertainers, let him. None of them seem to mind.”

“If this is about when you first spent the night together again-”

“I know, I know. You are tired of hearing of it. And I am tired of the possibility of bearing children for a man I despise. So, it appears we are at an impasse.”

“At this rate, you will never be permitted to remove that mask.” Dhaveira mutters.

Selene shrugs. “I've grown to quite like it anyways.”

With a noise of frustration, Dhaveira gathers her notes, handing small stacks of scrolls to her advisers, and leaves the expansive chamber.

Once she has made her exit, Selene scratches at the skin just under the edge of her mask.

Not a metaphor for the people as they claimed, then. But the confirmation of it as a punishment is reassuring to her own theories, at least.

–

She manages to get through a full week of her responsibilities and research before the itch in the back of her head takes over.

How did he manage to shape-shift in that cell?

Her fingers drum against the hard wood of the library table as she contemplates her options. She could recreate a cell, duplicate the wards, and run an extensive series of measured tests against a control. She could look into who crafted the original wards; perhaps they were unconcerned with shape shifting as a whole, and oversold their abilities. She supposes, in the end, that the simplest way to find out would be to just ask the prisoner how he is doing it.

But perhaps that was his plan all along? Something intriguing to pull her back down and eventually lead to his...what? Release? She wouldn't, couldn't without authorization. A trap then, maybe. Something to do with his brother...?

No matter how many times to looks over the situation though, she can't seem to decipher what it is he may be trying to do. After ending up in too many circular thoughts, Selene finally settles on going, and dealing with potential consequences later.

It is a long walk down to his cage. Past level after level of dungeons, each more isolated than the last. Most are empty, or only temporarily filled. But at the bottom of the spiral staircase, are the final two cages.

Only one is filled, with wings and feathers and black shadows seeping into corners.

She thinks for a moment, he may be sleeping. But as she steps further down, and dismisses the guards for an extended lunch break, his eyes seem to pop open. First one, then two, and then more and more until she is unsure which would be polite to look back into.

She drags the wardens chair over, still several feet from the cage itself, and crosses one leg over the other.

And waits.

Slowly, he inches towards her. Not quite pressed against the edge of the cage, but close enough that she can see him shifting beneath the few shreds of the prisoners cloak that are still intact.

She watches, curious, as his wings shrink. Feathers fall to the floor, twelve eyes become four, and a few of the tentacles seem to solidify into more elven limbs. Whether arms, or legs, she's still not quite sure. But the longer she watches him, the less monstrous he seems to appear.

“How do you do that?” She finally asks.

His head tilts, a neck still far too long for most creatures. “I do not mean to. My form shifts on its own. I do not have so much control over it as I once did.”

He blinks, though not all at once.

“You have asked me that already.”

Selene nods. “I did. But neither answer makes sense to me. The wards in that cell should revert you into your most basic form,” she frowns, as realization begins to dawn on her, just a bit. “Unless, perhaps, you do not have one.”

“That seems likely.” The prisoner agrees.

Selene sighs, disappointed at the simplicity of the answer now that she seems to have found it.

He shifts further though, forming a hand with too many thumbs and moving into what she assumes is a standing position.

“I did not expect you to come back.” He says.

“I was curious,” Selene admits. “I don't understand you.”

“Do you understand most people?”

“To a degree.”

“You must be very clever then. People have often eluded my own understanding.”

Selene frowns slightly. “Do not needlessly flatter me.”

Her disapproval causes him to stumble for a moment, and she notes how genuine confusion carefully envelops him.“My apologies. I meant no offense.”

She leans back further in the chair, rubbing carefully at the space above the mask.

“No, I suppose you didn't. And that only leads to further questions for me.”

“...Am I permitted to ask questions of you as well?”

Selene pauses, and straightens in her chair. That could be very dangerous territory, she knows.

Still.

Curiosity abounds.

“You may, but I make no promise of answers.” she says.

“Why do you wear the mask?”

“For reasons that are not entirely my own.” She admits. “Are you close with your brother?”

“I was, once.” he pauses then, considering his next question. “You said you were a prisoner of Elrogathes, yet you roam free and the guards exit with your approval.”

“That is not a question.” Selene points out.

“Then what sort of a prisoner are you?”

“A prisoner of blood.”

“What was your crime?”

“Ah ah, that's two,” Selene smiles. “It's not your turn.”

He gives a soft noise in affirmation, and shifts further within his cage. The door swings open while she is considering which inquiry to pose next, and the warden steps in.

“My lady,” he says with a bow to her and a scowl to the prisoner. “Your husband requests your presence.”

Behind the mask, Selene rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide the distaste rolling off of her. He would manage to interrupt one of the most interesting things to occur to her in years.

“Tell him I will be up shortly.” She replies, without moving from her chair.

The warden seems caught then, between conflicting orders she supposes, and she lets out a sigh.

“Do not harm this prisoner,” she instructs, recalling the last time she saw the two of them together. “I will be back to speak with him when I am able, and I will be exceedingly cross if he is unable to hold a conversation. Do you understand?”

Once the warden acknowledges her orders, no matter how reluctant he may seem to them, she stands, straightening out her outfit.

“I will see you another time,” she nods to the prisoner, before ascending the stairs to deal with her husband. Likely he has burned through most of his share of credits on keeping himself 'entertained', and will be requesting more again.

She knows it is still better than the alternative.

[selenelavellan]

Clubs and Cookies

Concert AU

Part One Part Two (NSFW)

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear and the Evanuris (mentioned) belong to @feynites

TW for Alcohol and Food and Polyamory

“So, I heard you think we aren't dating.” Deceit accuses through Selenes speakerphone.

She lets out a sigh, and continues chopping up the vegetables for her and Des's dinner. “Well, it is difficult to apply that term to our relationship given that there haven't yet been any actual dates.”

“Of course there have been dates. We've all gone to a few concerts together now.”

“Pretty sure that only counts as a date when we're all actually there together, rather than one of you sending Des a text with 'hey we're performing tonight, your names are on the list. Come watch us and then come over for sex.'”

“Dinner was involved too, as I recall.”

Silently shaking her head as she pours the carrots into the bowl, Selene continues. “The point of dates, you know, is to talk and get to know each other.  Not for one party to sit and watch the other at work, and then crawl into bed together. I'll give you the dinners, but I'm getting really sick of pizza.”

“So why'd you tell Fear, and not me? Or Dirthamen?”

“Fear asked,” Selene shrugs “I knew Des bought them the red pumps already, and I had a dress that paired well with them. When they asked what I wanted to borrow them for, I was honest.”

“Hm...” Deceit grumbles. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. She was lovely, and very sweet.” Selene admits.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you planning to?”

Selene hums, contemplating the matter over as she washes off the chicken, letting them wait for her answer. They deserve it, really. They've all been seeing each other for a little over a month now, and this is the first time any of them have indicated that they might be interested in more than sex. Dirthamen still won't tell her his last name, for goodness sakes. “I haven't decided. We haven't actually made plans for a second date yet, so she may not even be interested.”

“So you're free tonight, then.”

“No, I'm cooking.”

“Great, I'll be there in an hour.”

“That wasn't an invi-” her phone beeps as Deceit hangs up. “-tation.”

A frustrated puff of air escapes her mouth as her fingers tap on the plastic counter top.

“Des!” She finally calls out as she pulls another chicken breast out of the fridge “We're having a guest over for dinner.”

---

“I didn't know you could cook like that,” Deceit compliments as he wipes his hands and Des takes the plates into the kitchen. “You've been holding out on us.”

“Well, if you kept any groceries in the house that didn't have Fears name labeled across them, maybe I could make something for you all once in a while.” Selene teases.

“Noted.” Deceit nods.

She stands, intending to help Des with the dishes in their kitchen.

“Going to change?” Deceit asks instead.

“Uh...” Selene blinks down at her t shirt and accidentally ripped up jeans. “...no?”

“I don't think they'll let you in like that.”

“Am I going somewhere?”

“I'm taking you on a date.”

Selene blinks, and raises one eyebrow, slowly. “Typically, you ask people out on dates.”

“I told him it was fine!” Des hollers from the kitchen.

Deceit grins, seemingly satisfied that he thinks he did this entirely correctly.

“I meant, you are supposed to ask the person going on the date if they want to go.”

“You said you wanted to go on dates with us before I came over,” Deceit points out. “So that we could be dating.”

“That's not exactly how I remember that conversation goin-”

“Wear the blue dress,” Des advises, head poking out from the kitchen, rubber gloves still wet and soapy over his hands “With the gold heels. The strappy ones.”

“That's...” Selene stammers “That's a lot of skin left open, Des.”

“That's the point.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows.

She glances between the two elves, and wonders for a moment how the universe hasn't collapsed around the sheer amount of ego they're exuding. Then she wanders off to her room to change, anyways.

She could use a night out, after all.

---

The club is loud, and the bouncer is familiar enough with Deceit that the two of them are waved inside without even having to stop at the ropes. Inside, the dance floor is crowded, bodies pressed against each other through latex and polyester and leather and flashing lights.

She's ready to leave, already.

Deceit guides her through the crowd, up the staircase and into a more secluded booth. Selene is grateful to be able to breathe through the haze of cologne and body sprays here, at least. She carefully pulls down on the hem of her dress, even as it continues trying to ride up her thighs with each step. Deceit orders some drink she doesn't catch the name of from one of the bussers walking around the second level, and then turn to face her, leaning across the table attentively.

“So. What would you like to talk about?”

Selene lets out a small bark of a laugh “You brought me to a nightclub to talk?”

“This is a good date location for people our age. I asked around.”

She laughs again, shaking her head before giving in and leaning forward on the table again, one of Des's long gold necklaces clinking lightly against the surface. “You asked me here. What do you want to talk about?”

Deceits eyes narrow as they carefully rub their chin in consideration. Two bright red drinks are placed on the table as the busser passes them again. After a minute, Deceit points a finger at Selene. “Tell me about your family.”

Selene imitates a buzzer sound “Hard pass. Try again.”

“Ok. What do you do for a living?”

“Currently, I'm unemployed. I do some odd jobs here and there when I really need the money, but mostly it's freelance writing these days.”

“Like stories?”

“No, textbooks mostly. A lot of math ones.”

“Don't you need a high level degree for that?”

“Yeah, that's why it's a good thing I have a few. Complex Analysis, Discrete Mathematics, and Teaching.”

Deceit lets out a low whistle. “Why aren't you using them then?”

“I was. I taught for a few years, before I...” she pauses, hesitant to tell the truth. “Left.” she finally lies.

“Bold career move.”

Selene nods, and shifts uncomfortably in the booth before taking another sip of her drink.

“So...parents, then. Dead?”

“Dunno,” She admits “I ran away with Des when I was a teenager and haven't checked in since. You were supposed to ask something else.”

Deceit takes a sip of his drink and continues on anyways. “Where'd you run away from?”

“Family.”

“Evasive.” he accuses.

“Still more than I should give you.” She shoots back.

“Ooh, mysterious. Why'd you leave, then?”

“I was unhappy. Not such a mystery, really.”

“How long have you known Des?”

“Since we were kids. We grew up together.”

“Would he answer these questions if I asked him?”

“Not truthfully. I've had to field a lot of questions from bed partners he's told some pretty extreme backstories too.”

“What sort of stories?”

“Hm,” Selene muses, taking a sip of her own drink as she tries to recall a few notable ones. “Well, he's told people he was a very tall dwarf, who disguised himself as an elf to avoid the Carta. Another time, he claimed to be a city elf from Kirkwall who slew a team of templars and was on the run from the Chantry. Oh, and he even claimed to be a long lost heir of the Evanuris family once.”

Deceit nearly chokes on his drink at the last one, and Selene reaches out to try to help before he waves her off. “The uh...The Evanuris family, huh?”

“Yeah, he just likes people to think he's got some dark, broody past. Says people like to try to 'fuck the sad away'. I'd say he's ridiculous, but I've seen it work, often, so...” She shrugs.

“That's...” Deceit chuckles, before muttering something under his breath about not telling someone else about it, and changes the subject back. “So, what do you tell people?”

“I usually back up his stories.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. There's no harm in it, and he doesn't bring them back for a second visit anyways.”

“He seems awfully persistent for a once-and-done sort of guy.”

“Well, he likes you guys,” Selene admits “He's actually not even seeing other people right now.”

“But you don't like us?”

“I didn't say that.” Selene frowns.

“You're seeing someone else.”

“Someone else asked me, and I said yes. You all want to sit down and actually hammer out whatever this is we're all doing together? Fine by me. But don't get mad at me for looking for something serious elsewhere when no one's even hinted at being exclusive. I'm not actually a fan of casual sex.”

Deceit nods, slowly. “Alright. I'm sorry. We...didn't know. We thought you two wanted something loose, and informal.”

“I'm not looking for a multi-year lets-all-sign-a-lease-together commitment or anything this early,” Selene assures him “But I do really like you. All of you. I can't keep doing the casual thing if it's not leading anywhere, is all. It'll hurt too much when it ends. I thought I saw an out, so...I took it.”

“Look for outs a lot?”

“What does that mean?” Selene disapproves, shoulders tightening in defense.

“Well, you said you ran away from your family, you ran away from your job, and now you're saying you were thinking of running from us, so it just seems like you have a habit of leaving when things get tough.”

Selenes fingers tighten around her glass, before she abruptly throws its remnants directly into Deceits face.

Stunned eyes blink back at her as she stands, and straightens her dress. “You don't know a damn thing about me,” she hisses, before storming angrily out of the club, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

He's right. Of course, he's right. She runs from all her problems, she knows. She ran from her father, from Haleir, from her clan. She's running from Deceit, now.

Guess I'm just a coward, she thinks bitterly, sniffling as she works her key into her front door, slamming it closed behind her once she's entered.

“Have a good time you...” Des stops dead in the hallway as he sees Selene, on the verge of tears in their entry way.

She sniffles again, and he races towards her, helping her onto their old, off color couch.

“Did he hurt you?” Des asks, softly.

Selene shakes her head “No. No, no, it wasn't anything like that. I just...” She takes a deep breath, and wipes at the corners of her eyes “He asked some questions I didn't want to answer, is all.”

Des nods understandingly “You told him about the clan?”

“No. No, I just told him we ran away when we were teenagers. Didn't tell him why, or from where.”

“Ok,” Des sighs, wrapping his arms around Selene consolingly as he strokes her bare shoulder “Alright. That's alright. You don't have to tell them anything you don't want to.”

Selene nods, sitting comfortably in his arms on their couch for several minutes in silence.

“...Do you think I'm a coward?” she finally murmurs.

“No. Absolutely not.”

Selene looks up at him disbelievingly.

“Scouts honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“My honor as a mage then,” he shrugs. “Did Deceit call you a coward? I'll beat him up if you want.”

Selene snorts “He would kick your ass, and we both know it. And..no, not exactly. He just...pointed out that I tend to run away from things in my life. Right before I threw a drink in his face and...ran away from him.” She groans “Ohhhh, I'm an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot, and you're not a coward,” Des smiles. “Deceit doesn't know what happened, right? You were brave for leaving, Selene. There is nothing cowardly about leaving a toxic environment, it takes a lot of courage to do what you did with the clan.”

“And I still don't have a job...” She groans.

“Well, that's my fault, really.”

“It's my fault, too. I went along with it.”

“It's the systems fault then,” he concedes. “They shouldn't be able to take away your livelihood just because you had one bad night.”

Selene shrugs, tired and worn out, and feeling a little hurt. She shouldn't be, she thinks. She should text Deceit, and apologize for throwing the drink in his face. But he might be mad, and she doesn't think she could handle being cursed out and dumped right now.

Instead, Des turns the TV onto one of their favorite movies, and lets the background noise fill the room while they fall asleep together on the couch.

---

Selenes phone buzzes her awake around noon the next day.

Fear.

Can you come help me with something?

She pauses, and bites her lip. Des has already left for his own work, and she's alone in the apartment, still wearing last nights dress, although it looks as though Des has removed her heels.

Depends. Who's home? She sends back.

Just Me.

It's probably too much to hope that Deceit didn't tell anyone. Surely they all know what happened by now.

Just us for the day?

Sure.

Let me get dressed and I'll head over.

A thumbs up emoji pops up as confirmation, and she changes into a comfortable pale green shirt and dark pants, washing off the previous nights make up.

She snags her purse, and makes her way over to their apartment.

Fear greets her, wearing an apron, and waves her into the kitchen. “I'm making some peanut butter oatmeal cookies. Give me a hand?”

“I'll try, but I should probably warn you that my baking skills are awful.”

Fear gives a soft 'mm' as they hand her a spare apron. “I hear your cooking skills are pretty good, actually.”

“You spoke with Deceit then.”

“I asked why he came home soaked in cherry juice and wet eyeliner, yeah.”

Selene sighs.

“Are you leaving us?” They ask point blank.

“I don't know,” Selene admits as she ties it off behind her. “I'm just confused, I think? One step forward, two steps back and all that.”

“Deceit can be confusing.” Fear nods. “I often do not understand his ideas.”

“You and me both,” she mutters.

Selene helps fear to cream the butter and sugar, and the two of them are rolling the dough into balls before Fear speaks again.

“So why did you leave your family?”

Selene lets out a groan. “It doesn't matter.”

“It does. Dirthamen has us maxed out on family troubles. If we are going to all proceed together, we need to know what we are all taking on.”

“What are Dirthamens family troubles?”

Fear blinks. “He hasn't told you why he wears the mask?”

“Just that his family makes him. No other details.”

“Yes...well...” Fear frowns “He should be the one to tell you. Suffice to say we simply try to keep him away from them to the best of our abilities.”

Selene places another ball of dough onto the parchment paper. “Are they that bad?”

“When we met Dirthamen, he had been abandoned in the woods by his twin brother. He thought it a prank to 'toughen him up'. It was not funny. He was almost killed by the wildlife and dehydration, convinced that his brother would return to him.”

“How long was he-”

“A week,” Fear tells her bitterly. “They left him there for a week, and were unimpressed that we assisted him to the hospital after. As though their abandonment were due to some flaw of his, and not an utter failure on their part to care for him. We have stuck to his side ever since.”

Selenes pace has slowed to a halt as Fear finishes their tale, and she stares contemplatively down at their granite counter top. “That's...They did that on purpose?”

“They are not good people. But he tries to be loyal to them anyways. It has been a long road. He is still only living here on weekends, but it is something, at least.”

“Will I have to deal with them?”

“If we all agree to move forward into an official relationship, that seems likely.”

“Will I have to hold my tongue, if I do?”

Fear pauses as they close the oven door, head tilting to the side. “I punched his brother in the face when he showed up at the hospital, so I may not be the correct person to answer that inquiry.”

Selene laughs, and Fear nods.

“It was very gratifying.”

“I bet.”

“It is one of many reasons his family does not like us, though. A subtler approach may permit you more freedom in their eyes.”

Selene nods in understanding, and helps Fear move all of the mixing bowls into the dishwasher.

Once they and the kitchen have been cleaned up, Fear turns to her.

“It is your turn.”

She blinks. “My turn?”

“Why did you leave your family?” they ask again.

She sighs. “I...don't let Des know I told you, ok?”

Fear nods, never breaking eye contact.

“My dad was an ass, and wanted a life for me I wasn't interested in. My boyfriend at the time was a lying, cheating, non-consensual ass. Our Keeper wanted me to marry him anyways, and Des convinced me it was worth chasing after the life I wanted. So we ran away to the cities, I got a scholarship and went to school, and Des started working.”

“...You were Dalish?”

“Technically, my parents were Dalish. Des and I left before we gained our vallaslin, so it's sort of a blurry line depending on who you ask-”

“Des was Dalish?”

Selene grins “It's a weird picture, right?”

“I can not imagine him in that sort of environment.”

“Yeah, he fit in about as well as you're picturing. Clan life didn't agree with Des, and he'd kill me if he knew I told you.”

“I will be sure to save the knowledge for a special occasion.”

Selene laughs as the timer dings for the cookies. Fear pulls them out of the oven, placing them carefully onto the cooling racks.

“You are interested in pursuing an exclusive relationship with us, then?” Fear asks, hesitantly.

Selene hums. “Yeah. I should probably apologize to Deceit first, though.”

“He will forgive you,” Fear assures her. “He is out trying to discover an adequate way to apologize to you, already.”

Selene snorts as Fear hands her a finished cookie, and takes a bite. It is...terrible. Somehow raw in the center but burnt on the bottom. Too salty by far, and some of the oatmeal pieces still look pale.

Fear seems to have discovered this as well, judging by the look on their face.

“I have made this recipe dozens of times,” they muse “And I have never had any issue with it. Did you do something?”

“Only what you told me to.”

They frown. “I have literally designed this recipe to be as simplistic as possible, to ensure the optimal result, and to keep it from being able to be ruined,” they glance up at her. “Have you checked to see if you are cursed?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” she shrugs.

Fears frown deepens, before they turn and throw the rest of the batch into the garbage, retrieving another set of mixing bowls from the cabinets.

“Do you need any-”

“I do not require assistance,” they assure Selene. “I will make this next batch. Please, feel free to enjoy our entertainment system. Dirthamen has an extensive blu-ray and dvd collection for you to peruse.”

Selene pouts, and instead sits on a stool on the other side of the breakfast bar, watching as Fear blazes through the recipe.

She should really learn how to do that one day, she thinks.

[selenelavellan]

Lyrium

Concert AU

previous installment

tagging @feynites for reasons.

TW for Prostitution, Past Mentions of Rape, Alcohol, Drugs, Verbal Abuse, Fire, Guns, Violence

Des finds living in a city to be much more suitable to his tastes.

He sells his bow, first. Even manages to get a bit more for it than it's really worth because it's 'authentic'. More likely to be sold to a collector than anyone around here who would actually use it anyways, he supposes. Suits him fine, he's got no use for anything from his time in the clan.

Selene stays pointedly silent about the single arrow he keeps on the top shelf of their closet.

Their first apartment is a sty. It's old, and it's got mold instead of molding, but it's big enough for the both of them to fit into its one bedroom and cram together on a twin size mattress while they try to figure out what to do with their lives now.

'Endless possibilities' are more daunting than he thought they would be.

Selene gets into the local university, gets a scholarship to get her through her classes, and decides after her first semester that she'd like to be a teacher, preferably for mathematics.

Which is great, for her.

Des still doesn't know quite what he'd like to do himself.

Selene asks him to go to school with her, but he's seen the workload and the stress and the schedule she's required to take with that, and being forced into another niche just feels like making the same mistake over again. So he declines, as politely as he can, and looks for work himself.

When he comes home with three months of his share of rent in his pocket one night, Selene freaks.

“Did you rob a bank?” she squeaks as she holds them up to the light.

“Oh please, like I'd need to.” Des scoffs back.

“Where did you-how did you get this much money?”

“Turns out people will pay really well for a good blowjob in this town.”

Selene immediately drops the bills in her hand to the floor as though they had burned her.

“Des...” she says, very slowly “That's prostitution.”

“I'm familiar with the term, yes.”

“That's illegal.” she hisses.

“That's why it pays in cash,” he shoots back. “No taxes. Smart, right?”

“No. No, it's not. You need to find another line of work.”

“But look at this! If I keep this up, you won't even have to work anymore, you can just focus on school-”

“I don't mind working, Des,” She assures him. “I'd feel better if you did a job that was less...dangerous.”

“There's nothing inherently dangerous about sex, Selene-”

“You don't even have a doctor yet,” She lectures. “How are you going to get tested? How will you stay healthy? What if you get forced into doing something you don't want to do by a pushy customer? What if you get arrested and sent to the templars, and I can't help you?”

“What if I get murdered by a client and left in a ditch somewhere-” he drawls.

“Well, I wasn't going to say it, but...Yeah!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air.

“You're being paranoid.”

“I'm being realistic.”

“So I'll be careful about who I take on, then!”

“And how will you know who the dangerous ones are?”

“I'm good with people, Selene, you know that! I'll be able to tell, just trust me.”

“I trust you, Des, it's other people that we can't trust. You never know what they're capable of-”

“I will know, I've got a sense about these things-”

“You didn't know with Haleir!” she finally yells, shoulders high and tight with her face red as she takes heavy breaths.

Des is silent, his own shoulders dropping as he runs a hand through his hair. “Shit...I didn't...I'm not gonna..”

“I didn't think I would either. No one does, until it happens,” she whispers. She lets out a heavy sigh and drags her hand down her face. “If you're really...if this is really what you want to do Des...I'll support you in your decision. But you have to be smart about it. Get a doctor. Stock up on condoms and whatever else you might need. Don't use your real name, old or new. We'll...we'll do some research, somehow, alright? But give it...” she looks at the pile of money “Give it two months, ok? Try to find something else, see if there's anything else that might work for you, or interest you. If in two months you still really think this is what you want to do, we'll find a way to make it work. Just...don't dive straight into it this early, ok? For me?”

“...I don't know if I can do anything else, Selene.” he admits.

She steps forward, hand gentle on the back of his head as she places a soft kiss to his forehead. “You can do anything you set your mind on Des. It's ok if it takes a little time to get there.”

He breathes.

Closes his eyes and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him and so, so thankful to not be doing this alone.

“Two months.” he agrees.

“Thank you,” she smiles. He smiles back, nuzzling his face into her neck affectionately. Selenes eyes turn back to the pile of bills on the table. “...just how many blowjobs did you give today?”

“Mm...like...seven, I think?”

She pats him twice on the back before taking a step away. “Right. Go brush your teeth. Use the mouthwash, please. Twice maybe, for good measure.”

“Awww, but Seleeeeeene!” he teases, puckering up his lips.

“Do not!” she warns, snagging a cushion off the couch and holding it between them as he tries to close the gap. He laughs, arms out and fingers wiggling, revealing his plan to tickle her until she succumbs. She yelps and laughs and runs around the couch until he manages to pin her, tickling her up and down her sides until she accidentally kicks him, hard, off of her.

“Ok, ok! I surrender!” He laughs, hands held up while she remains crouched behind the cushion, poised to run again like a cornered animal.

“Go on then.” she says skeptically, watching as he makes his way into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, gargling twice as she asked.

When he steps back into the living room, she's let her hair down from its usual ponytail, relaxed out on the couch with one of her textbooks in her lap. He plops down in its spot, giving just enough time for her to lift the book out of his way as he settles between her legs.

“Comfortable?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Best spot in the house.” He grins back, even as she shakes her head and goes back to her studies.

He supposes he should start looking for another line of work.

Tomorrow.

–

Des tries working at the grocer down the street, first. They don't need any experience, and the customers like his conversations while he's bagging their purchases. The pay is decent, but he's bored.

A manager catches him napping in the back while he's supposed to be helping with inventory, and he ends up fired after only two weeks.

Selenes not thrilled with the news, but doesn't begrudge him for it.

“We knew it would be temporary,” she shrugs “It's not the end of the world.”

He tries a bookstore, next. That one only lasts a few days, his personality apparently far too 'loud' for the environment.

“That's alright,” she says “I'm sure we'll find you someplace else to fit in.”

The florist, the baker, the diner down the street. Something goes wrong at all of them, over the course of his two months given time limit. Selene doesn't say anything when their stated deadline comes and goes.

Des doesn't go back to sex work, anyways.

He does stop in for a drink at a bar near the car shop he just got rejected from, though. Flips through the menus on his prepaid cell phone, until he finds the internet browser and checks the job list site for new postings.

Nothing.

He lets out a groan, and bangs his head once on the counter.

“Something bothering you pal?” Asks a raspy voice from the other side.

Des glances up, and makes eye contact with an older dwarven woman. Dark hair, an amber complexion and a wonderfully pronounced nose sitting on her face.

She looks particularly unimpressed with his own appearance.

That's fair though he thinks, he hadn't worn one of his better outfits for fear of getting grease on it today.

“I'm having trouble making an 'honest living'.” he admits, with air quotes.

“You and half the people in this town,” she notes. “How long you been looking?”

“A little over two months now.”

“That's not too bad. You have to support anyone else?”

“Nah, my roommates got her stuff all sorted. I'm just the mess holding her back.”

“Oh, now there's a winners attitude,” she snorts. “You got a skill set?”

“I'm good with people, taking leadership in a situation, and following instructions.” he lists off mechanically.

“Any of those true?”

“I am good with people.”

She nods. “Can you mix drinks?”

“Sure.”

“Interested in learning how to do it right?”

Des blinks.

Blinks again.

And his face splits into a grin as he rights himself and tries his best to be charming. “I'm always interested in doing it right,” he winks.

She rolls her eyes. “Don't make me regret this. I could use an extra hand around here so I can focus on a personal project. Come around the side of the bar, and we'll see what you can do.”

Des hops up from his chair and happily swings around to stand beside the dwarven woman. He reaches over to finish his drink, and she smacks the back of his hand with a coaster.

“First rule,” she lectures. “No drinking on the job.”

Des pouts, but doesn't argue.

He could really use the work.

–

The bar job ends up sticking. Carina even trusts Des to bartend on his own after a week or so, for a couple hours at a time during the day.

Selene stops in one day when class lets out early, to check in. Des eagerly waves her over to one of the bar stools.

“What'll you have, cutie?” he grins at her.

“Just a water, thanks.”

Des rolls his eyes, and pours her some water over ice, sticking a lime wedge on the edge of her glass just because he can.

“It's nice,” Selene comments as she looks around. “Nicer than I thought it'd be.”

“Thanks, I try to keep a clean house,” Carina pipes up as she walks out of her office, striding towards the pair. “You must be Selene. Des never shuts up about you.”

“Ah...yeah,” Selene stammers, quickly rising from the bar stool and holding out her hand. “I'm-I'm Selene. That's me. Yesseree.”

“Carina,” she introduces as she shakes Selenes hand. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You are also a pleasure! I mean-that's not-I mean I'm sure you are, but I wasn't-..I didn't mean like...” Selene groans. “It's...it's nice to meet you, I'll just... be heading on out then.”

“It's fine, it's fine!” Carina laughs. “It's cute. You're more than welcome to stay, if you want.”

“I...” Selene hesitates and looks over at Des. He gives her a knowing grin, and nods in approval. “I'd love to. Thank you.” She finally manages.

Des just smiles and pours each of them a cranberry vodka.

Ah, matchmaking.

It's so nice when things work out.

–

Carina and Selenes relationship continues to develop, with dates and dinners and weird math and science talk that Des can't quite keep up with, but they're both happy so it doesn't bother him.

After Selenes first year of school, she and he move into another apartment complex. One closer to school for her, and walking distance of the bar, for him. No mold this time, and they can even fit a dresser into the bedroom with their bed.

Des is quietly glad that Carina doesn't seem to mind the vague relationship going on between himself and Selene. They're not quite a thing. He's still sleeping with other people (just for fun instead of for money), and she's still dating Carina afterall. When he has company Selene usually crashes at her place or on the couch, and when Selene is at Carinas and he doesn't have company, he just goes out and finds some.

It's not a problem. He just has trouble sleeping alone in a bed, is all.

It's still a little jarring the first time Selene refers to Carina as her girlfriend.

“You're banging my boss,” Des sighs, trying to joke it away “My innocent little elven friend, all grown up.”

“I'm not 'banging' Carina,” Selene argues as she places her mug down on their makeshift coffee table “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Des blinks. “Seriously? It's been almost a year.”

“We're taking it slow.”

“Like a glacier.”

“We kiss!”

“We kiss,” Des points out. “Seriously? Poor Carina.”

Selene pouts, then slouches back into the couch beside him. “Am I a bad girlfriend?”

“Probably not. If you're not comfortable with her though, you owe it to her to be honest.”

“I am comfortable with her though. I want to have sex with her, I'm just...nervous, maybe?”

Des nods in understanding, turning on the couch to face her and shifting until his legs are crossed in front of him. “Does she know?”

Selene hesitates. “I haven't told her. I think she's figured out that something happened, though. She's brilliant, and she usually knows when I want to stop before I do.”

“You gotta have the talk,” he advises. When Selene just gives him a blank look in return, he continues. “You know, 'the talk'? You two bare your souls, decide where you want to go with the relationship, and potentially declare your love for each other, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You watch way too many rom-coms.”

“I have a lot of free time.” he shrugs.

Selene just shakes her head.

Shakes it some more.

Then lets out a breath and begins to slowly nods.

“You're right,” she admits. “You're right, I've just got to-to own up to it. It's fine! It'll probably go well. Or she'll abandon me forever, and I'll regret this for the rest of my life, but, you know.”

“She's not going to abandon you,” Des assures her. “Carinas crazy for you. Trust me.”

Selene bites down on her bottom lip, and nods. “Ok. Ok. Ok, alright, I can do this.”

“Yes you can.” Des repeats, planting a quick kiss on Selenes cheek. “Go get her girl.”

Selene nods, determinedly rising from the couch and snagging her coat from the back of the couch before heading out of the apartment.

Des stretches out on the couch.

It's good Selene is moving forward, he thinks.

Now if he could just...catch up.

–

Des is right, of course. Carina doesn't abandon Selene after they have the talk, and their relationship gets more serious and they end up having sex for their one year anniversary.

And then Selene finds out what Des has known for years, and sex can be fantastic, and ends up spending more nights at Carinas than in their own shared apartment.

He'd hesitate to call himself 'lonely', since he's got no end of suitors or bed mates. But he misses her. Carina's better at helping her study, so she's barely even home to do that anymore.

He'd hesitate to call himself lonely.

But he can't seem to find a better term for what he's going through, either.

He's pouring an ale for one of the bars regulars one night. A slower night than usual, only one or two patrons in the whole place.

“Hey,” the dwarf sniffs “You got any hobbies?”

Des raises an eyebrow “What sort of hobbies?”

A small, sealed bag is slid across the counter top, towards Des.

He knows what it is as soon as his fingers touch the plastic around the crushed blue mineral. His body knows it, his magic knows it, thrumming beneath his skin.

“First ones free. I like you, kid. You don't water down the drinks here. We appreciate it.”

Des hesitates.

Then he carefully pockets the bag, and tops off the dwarves glass. “And we're always glad to have your patronage.”

He doesn't touch it again until he gets home and empties the tips out of his pockets. The bag falls unceremoniously onto the breakfast bar, and he stares at it for a moment. Tries to talk himself out of it.

Lyrium is dangerous. It's addictive. He hasn't even opened the bag, and his bodies already reacting to the stuff.

It's a bad idea all around.

He leaves it on top of the bar and steps away. Watches a movie, waits for Selene to get home.

Around 3:15am, he gets a text.

Staying at Carinas, sorry. See you tomorrow?

He stares at his phone for a moment, drumming his recently manicured nails against his thigh. His eyes dart up to the blue substance still sitting in its bag.

Waiting.

For him.

K.

It's all he sends, before he stands, and pours the substance out on the counter.

–

Lyrium is a rush.

His skin tingles with his magic, and Des feels like he could float right out of his body. Purple flames lick at his skin, hot and heavy as he grins, and he's happy he feels so happy, he's never felt quite this happy before. This is marvelous, he thinks. It's incredible, why hasn't he done this before? Really, his body feels lit up, and everything feels so sensational and that ache in his shoulder from pulling on a bow so often is finally gone and orgasms are somehow even more intense than usual.

Why isn't everyone doing this?

–

The next morning is awful.

Des discovers that coming down from a Lyrium high is much, much worse than coming down from Elfroot. Less floating to the ground, and more plummeting off of a building.

But he liked the high.

Oh, he liked it a lot.

The next time that dwarf shows up, Des asks him about more.

“Sure pal,” the dwarf grins. “But only the first one's free.”

“Yeah yeah,” Des dismisses “How much is the second?”

He balks at the price.

“I'm a bartender, what makes you think I have that sort of money lying around?” he hisses.

The dwarf rubs at the bottom of his chin. “Alright, alright, I understand. Maybe you're just not cut out for this kinda thing, not everyone can handle it-”

“I can handle it, I just can't afford it.” Des corrects.

The dwarfs face splits into a smile, and Des notices the missing teeth for the first time. “I'm sure we can work somethin' out.”

–

Drug trafficking is probably not on Selenes list of 'honest work', Des knows.

But she's also only home once a week now, so she really doesn't get as much of a say in how he lives his life anymore.

She left him.

It means he doesn't have to pay much for the Lyrium at all, and he always has some on hand. Which is great for him.

Well.

It's great for his addictions, he supposes. It means anytime he gets a craving, there's always something lying around.

He knows he's doing carta work. He knows it's not something he should be involved in, not something anyone would be proud of him for doing. Knows Carina would fire him instantly, if she knew.

But fuck them, right?

–

It gets worse, as time goes on. Selene graduates, gets her bachelors, gets a teaching job and she and Des move into a bigger apartment again. Nicer. Two bedroom, even.

Des hates having a second bedroom, he finds. More space between them. They hardly even cuddle anymore.

At least it gives him privacy for his hobbies.

It takes another year and a half before Selene barges in without knocking.

“Des, d'you mind if I-” she stops, mid-step and mid-sentence in the doorway.

Looks at the used Templar kit spread out on his bed.

“I...have gotten really into the Chant of Light lately?” he tries.

“What the fuck, Des?” she hisses, slamming the door closed behind her. Carinas over, again, because she practically lives here now too.

“It's fine,” he tries to assure her “It's not a big deal.”

“You're doing Lyrium, Des! You're a mage, this could kill you.”

“If it were going to kill me, it would've done so already,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“How-how long have you been doing this?”

“Like 5 years now, Selene.”

“How did-how did I not know?!”

“You've been busy,” he shrugs. “I needed a hobby.”

“This isn't a hobby, Des. It's an addiction.”

“Oh please.”

“How often?”

“What?”

“How often are you using it?”

Des hesitates.

“Just...like, twice a day, that's-”

“Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What do you care?!” he yells. What right does she have to come in, now, and try to tell him he's wrong? She found happiness without him, he can find his own, too. She's the one who left, it's her fault!

Selenes face fills with guilt, and Des realizes too late that he was speaking aloud.

“I...” she swallows. “I'm sorry, Des. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We can...Ok. Ok, we can fix this, we'll just... You have to stop, you know that, right?”

“So I can go back to being lonely?”

“No. No, I won't forget you again. I didn't mean to leave you alone, Des. I'm sorry. I'll do better.”

Des takes a deep breath, and tries to clear his head.

It's not really her fault.

He probably should have tried to have a talk with her, a long time ago.

“I...” he looks down at the kit on his bed. “I'll try to get better.”

Selene closes the space between them, hugging him tight to her. Instinctively, he returns the embrace. Holds her to him, relaxes into her grip, and lets out tension he didn't realize he had.

“I won't let you go, so don't leave me, ok?” Selene murmurs.

Des nods into her shoulder.

–

Recovery is a bumpy road.

If that bumpy road were full of sinkholes and glass shards and other things constantly trying to kill you.

The first twenty four hours are the worst. Selene sends Carina home as soon as she leaves Des's room. Says he's sick, and she has to attend to him. Carina knows about Selenes background as a healer, and doesn't push the subject, just says to call if she needs anything.

Des ignores the lump in Carinas coat pocket the size of a ring box as she walks past him.

Selene does too, to her credit.

She puts on the TV for background noise, and brews him a fresh cup of tea in the morning after they sleep through the night in her bed. Some detoxifying thing to help him clear out his body. Des feels fine, though. He tells her that, tells her that 'see? Not a big deal.'

But Selene just hums and makes room for him on the couch.

The sweating comes first. He's leaning into Selene, beneath a blanket they picked up at a swap meet years ago, and kicks it off more violently than he means to. He apologizes, but Selene just tells him its ok, and asks if he wants her to turn up the AC.

She does anyways, and it doesn't help.

It actually makes it worse, when an hour later he starts getting cold flashes. Nothing seems to help, not a coat or a sweater, or bundling back up in the blanket. Not even curling up against Selenes whole, unnaturally warm, body.

Nausea hits him next, with dizziness. Selene asks if he needs help, and he snaps at her. Yells that he's not a child, he doesn't need help, and this is all her fault anyways, why'd she have to go and be successful just to prove that he's not, and a whole slew of verbal abuse that he knows she doesn't deserve, but he just can't seem to stop.

Selene just sits there and takes it, and it only makes him angrier. Stop sitting there, stop saying 'its alright', we ran away so you could get away from shit like this and I'm just as bad as they were apparently, and oh god I am a monster, Selene, I'm a demon after all, what have I done, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it, please forgive me, please, please, please don't leave.

And she doesn't.

When he's back in his right mind later, he still won't understand why.

But she stays with him. Holds up a barrier around him when his magic starts to loose, keeps his flames contained in a bubble and brings him bottle after bottle of water each time he settles down. Sings to him, tells him stories he's heard a thousand times, and a few that are new. Reminds him of adventures they had as teens, of how much he means to her, of how proud of him she is that he's doing this.

How strong he is for going through with it.

He certainly doesn't feel strong.

After forty eight hours, Selene lets him go to the bathroom alone. She's already flushed the product he told her about while he was sleeping, and he checked and it's definitely gone. Even the bit under his mattress he hadn't mentioned.

The carta isn't going to be thrilled about that. But now's not the time to worry about that, he thinks.

A week later, and Selene lets Des go back to work, under the condition that Carina's there too.

Carina still doesn't ask questions, but agrees to keep an eye on him during his shift just the same.

When the dwarf enters, Des barely spares him a glance.

“Where's the product?” the dwarf grumbles without pre-amble.

“I'm not permitted to serve you anymore.” Des avoids.

“That was a lot of product to have disappear,” the dwarf warns “I can't just let that slide, kid.”

“I can't get it back, so you'll have to let it.” Des shrugs, still not looking up.

The dwarf shakes his head, and snaps his fingers. Two more dwarves come out of the bathrooms, and make their way over. “I liked you kid, I really hate to do this.”

“Do what, precisely?” Carina asks as she steps out of her office, staring down the trio of dwarves.

The dwarf turns to her, presumably to tell her to turn around, but Carinas already got a gun in hand, finger on the trigger. “I don't want any trouble,” she says “So you and yours, go on and get out of here. Consider yourselves banned from this establishment.”

The man sneers, mustache riding up so high Des is surprised it doesn't disappear entirely up his nose, and mutters out “Ale tasted like piss anyways,” he turns to Des, and points a finger as he makes his way out the door “The Carta gets whats theirs. Always.”

Three beats pass as the door swings shut behind them.

Carina sighs, and re-holsters her gun. “What did you go and get mixed up in?”

“Trouble.” Des admits.

Carina nods in a 'yeah, that happens' sort of way. “Try to keep Selene out of it for me, alright?”

“I'll do my best.”

–

Another week passes, and Des is feeling pretty good. Most of his cravings have died down, his body temperature has stabilized, and he feels like he's gotten over a bad flu, for the most part.

He and Selene are looking through some brochures she's gathered for rehabilitation clinics in the area together. She says its better to have the help and not need it, than for him to relapse because they didn't bother.

He's done arguing with her about things for a while, after some of the things he's said and done, so he agrees straightaway.

Then someone knocks at their door.

They both go on edge; Carina has a key, so she wouldn't knock. And they don't really know anyone else.

Selene's the one who answers it, when they knock again.

A dwarven man with a mustache that blends into his beard and missing teeth greets her.

“Hey. Your roommate home?”

“No.” she responds, and immediately tries to close the door. One of the women behind him sticks her steel-plated-boot in between the door and the frame.

Selene tries to close it anyways.

The trio of dwarves push their way into the house, and the man waves to Des as though they were friends.

“Hey kid. Just here to collect.”

“I don't have it,” Des repeats again. “It's gone.”

“Listen kid. I like you, really. I don't want to have to kill you to make an example like the bosses want. Just give me the Lyrium, and we'll be on our way.”

“It's gone,” Selene declares from where she is still holding the door. “I flushed it. You want it back? Go check the sewers and get the hell out of our home.”

The dwarven man seems to consider this a moment. Then he shrugs.

And snaps his fingers.

One of the women swings on Selene, landing a punch directly to the face before she can react. Selene slams into the floor, and Des dashes forward, snagging a knife from the kitchen.

Selene staggers back to her feet, while the dwarven man gives an overly dramatic sigh “I guess two dead bodies'll be better, anyways. Do what you gotta do, right?”

Selene throws a fireball towards the woman who punched her and ducks down low to avoid the next hit. She slams her hand up into the bottom of the dwarfs rib cage, lifting the shorter woman off the ground and uses her magic to force burst her up into the ceiling. She sticks for a moment, before falling into a heap back onto the tile floor.

Des strikes for the dwarven man, but gets blocked by the other woman, nicking her face instead of his throat. She twists his arm, and he lets out a yowl of pain as his knife clatters to the floor. Selene takes advantage of the distraction, and lights a flame sigil beneath the two dwarves. Their rubber soles begin to melt, making it almost impossible for them to move.

Unfortunately, she miscalculated just how many fire codes the owners of this building fudged in the paperwork.

The fire spreads, quickly out of control. Selene and Des exchange a look of silent panic and make a run for it, locking their door on the way out and pulling the fire alarm to warn the other tenants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Des mutters under his breath as they dart down the stairs, other tenants filing out of their rooms as they go. “I didn't mean to do all this, Selene.”

“I know, Des. Let's just-focus on getting out of here, ok?”

Des nods, and they exit the building, watching as the smoke pours out of their apartments window. Families and neighbors stream out of the building, and Selenes anxiety rises. She snags Des's hand in hers, and pulls him back and out of the crowd.

“We have to leave.”

“Where do you want to go, Carinas?”

“No, I mean we need to leave. Start over again. The carta's not going to leave you alone after all this, we need to find a city that isn't theirs, and fast.”

Des nods, and follows Selene as she makes a casually brisk walk down the street, towards the direction of the docks.

Then something strikes him.

“What about Carina?”

“She's handled The Carta before, they can't hurt her.” She assures him.

“What about you and Carina?”

Selene bites down on her bottom lip, and he sees a flash of regret in her eyes. “It's just...not meant to be. She'll find someone else.”

“She was going to ask you to marry her.” Des says. He's seen the ring, heard her mumbling about proposal speeches during his shift.

“...I know.”

And that's the last time Selene talks to him about it.

She buys them tickets for the ship. Finds out after that it's headed someplace in Fereldan. That's fine though, she assures Des. The Carta doesn't own all of Fereldan.

The boat leaves the dock, and he watches her stare at her cell phone screen, before sending off one final text before chucking it overboard.

He doesn't bother asking who it's for.

Instead he laces his fingers through hers, and places a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I'm sorry.” he whispers.

“I forgive you,” She smiles.

“You and me against the world?” he grins.

She laughs, and neither one of them mention the tears falling down her face. “Yeah. You and me, Des. Always.”

[selenelavellan]

Unfinished Stories

So, I have a few never-gonna-finish-or-edit-them or too short to stand on their own pieces and I wanted to post them in order to clear them and move them around in my folders, so...here we go. AU is listed before each story, and some end abruptly. Enjoy <3.

Reincarnation AU

Felasel drops his stack of files and papers onto the conference table where Selene is already seated with an echoing 'BANG'.

"Alright," He starts "So, this man has his fingers in a lot of our partners pots, so to speak. He's been angling to get a meeting with us for a few years now, and his portfolio is finally extensive enough to bother."

"What does he do?"

"Sales, mostly."

Selene flips open the first file cover with a frown "We don't need sales people."

"He disagrees," Felasel shrugs "If you hate him, we never have to meet with him again, but at least I don't have to listen to my assistant complain that he's left me 5 messages in a day again."

Selene merely makes a skeptical noise in return, but her skin turns cold as the salesman enters the room. Dressed in a fine suit, with a nauseatingly familiar head of orange hair, cut short this time around, but that same smile that had tricked her so long ago.

"Hello there!" he grins :"I had no idea this company was run by such beautiful elves! No wonder you are in such high demand."

"Ugh," Selene mutters with a roll of her eyes.

Felasels head whips around in surprise at Selenes unprofessional reaction, before he extends a hand to the salesman 

"I'm sorry about that. She hasn't had her coffee yet," he lies. "I'm Felasel Lanuris, and that's my associate, Selene Lanuris. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well" he smiles as he shakes Felasels hand and turns to face Selene "My name is Haleir, in case you hadn't heard it yet," He tells her with a wink.

"I have heard your name all too often, I assure you," She grumbles back, not even bothering to rise out of her seat. 

Haleir blinks as Felasel releases his hand, and tries to shake off Selenes abrasiveness. "Ah, were you the young woman I left all those messages with then?"

"No. I run this company, and I promise you that if I had received any messages from you, you would not be standing here now," she growls, fingernails elongating where her hands are clasped in her lap.

Felasels eyebrows crease, as he politely asks Haleir to step out of the room, closing the door behind him and turning to Selene with arms crossed.

"You haven't even heard his pitch yet."

"And I don't need to to know we will not be doing business with him."

"...Someone you know?"

Selene sighs. "We dated. Before I met your father, and before your father threw him through a window."

"What happened?"

Her nails drum thrice against the wooden table before she simply states "My concept of 'consent' when I was younger was not very good."

Felasels eyes flash, an echo of extra accross his face as his head whips towards the closed doorway "I'll kill him myself."

"Unless you find evidence he's still pulling the same or similar crimes in this life, there's no point," Selene dismisses. "I'd rather just keep him as far away from us as I can."

Felasel nods, pressing a button beneath the table for security and indicating towards Haleir with his head as they ascend the stairway.

Ghost Hunting AU (x)

Serahlin and Adannar(both mentioned) belong to @scurvgirl

Dirthamen, Mythal, and Lath belong to @feynites

Ana (mentioned) belongs to @lycheemilkart

Selene let out a heavy sigh as she tied her hair high upon her head.

Today's the day.

The state had sent the notice a week ago; “Your Match has been found. Please report to the main office in Denerim,” with an appointment time that is about...two hours away, now.

Snagging her bag off of the hook, Selene exits her apartment, locking the door behind her to meet her government mandated partner.

–

They stick her in a waiting room. Which is...worrisome.

Serahlins partner had practically tackled her to the ground at the door when they were matched. Which was unconventional, sure, but they seem happy enough with the arrangement. Selene's pretty sure Adannar is planning on proposing soon, even.

Ana never mentioned being stuck in a waiting room when her own partners were found, and she ended up with two.

Maybe something's wrong?

Selene is fidgeting with the strap on her bag, worrying it through her fingers when the door opens, and an older woman with sharp eyes and grey hair enters.

She closes the door behind her.

“Oh, hello!” She stumbles, practically knocking her chair over in her haste to stand “I'm Selene, it's nice to meet you.”

“That's very kind of you child, but I am not your partner,” the woman informs her as she pulls out a stack of papers, and a pen.

Selene raises an eyebrow at the woman, skeptical.

“So...are you with the company, then?”

“Something like that,” she smiles, though it doesn't quite reach the womans eyes. “Why don't you tell me about yourself. Your paperwork claims you are a fighter, is that correct?”

“Yes, that's cor-”

“But I can also see that you are Dalish. I was lead to believe that the Dalish do not fight their ghosts.”

Selene fidgets a bit more and sits back into her seat. “Well, that's true, yes. Our Keepers typically handle all of our ghostly encounters.”

“So that makes you rather redundant, wouldn't you agree?”

“That's-that's not really-”

“So you have no experience actually encountering ghosts? No training in how to defend yourself, or your partner? Wouldn't signing my son over to your care be something like a deathwish, then?”

Selene frowns, straightening up in her seat. “That's not- my heritage has nothing to do with my capabilities. Most fighters don't have any experience until they're matched. I'd keep-wait, did you say your son?”

“I did,” she answers, turning the stack of papers towards Selene with a pen sitting on top. “You will need to sign these papers and agree to our terms before you will be permitted to see him. We have an appearance to maintain, and I will not tolerate sloppy work marring my families name.”

Selene flips through the paper, sighing. It would take her weeks to decipher all of this without Serahlins help. “I have to meet your son within the allotted time, or we both go to jail for treason,” she attempts.

“Then I suggest you sign quickly.”

Selene sighs, and grumbles as she signs through the appropriate paperwork while the woman watches.

She gives a Selene a smile as the paperwork is shoved unceremoniously back towards, tucking it under her arm.

“Welcome to the Evanuris family,” the woman states and walks back out of the room.

Selenes brain short circuits for a moment.

What.

What.

She doesn't have much time to process before a man walks into the room. Tall, and handsome with a square jaw, dark hair, and stunningly blue eyes. She startles and practically leaps out of her chair.

He pauses when he sees her.

“Hello.” Selene squeaks.

“Hello,” he nods back. “I hope my mother did not give you too much trouble.”

“Is she going to kick off all of our encounters? Because I'd like to get some notice next time, if so,” Selene jokes, attempting to ease some of the tension out of the room.

“She will not. There was a dispute when my match was found. My brother had wanted to meet you first, but...My mother was more suitable.”

“Right. Sure.” Selene nods, because she probably shouldn't insult her partners family immediately after meeting him. She holds out her hand “I'm Selene. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Evanuris.”

He eyes her hand for a few moments, before taking it in his own. “Please call me Dirthamen. It is a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

She smiles at him.

Another woman steps into the room, in a pencil skirt and button down blouse with pink curls that cascade down the whole of her, and a name tag that reads simply 'Lath'.

“Are you two ready?” she smiles.

Dirthamen nods, and Selene swallows as she leads them out of the room.

They follow her down long hallways filled with unlabeled doors, as she explains their next steps.

“First you two will need to forge your scythe, to allow Miss Selene a weapon to fight with. Scythes vary from person to person, they're a symbol of your devotion to one another. Some couples have issues getting their energies to coincide, and there are various methods you can use to forge your creation.”

High School Rivalmance AU

“There's no way that's right,” Selene squints through the frames of her glasses.

“You've been dethroned,” Melanadahl nods sagely.

Selene huffs, and nudges him gently in the side with her elbow before striding out of the classroom, hand gripped tight around the strap of her bag while he follows alongside her.

Second.

She got the Second highest grade on the test.

Selene has had the best performance in every mathemagical course she's taken since she managed to squeeze her way into this stupid elite school. It's the only way she can prove she's supposed to be here, that she isn't some pity case for the school to boast about, or some number for them to check off on their 'diversity' reports. Her written exams have been perfect, her practice exams have gone off without a hitch, and she hasn't lit anything on fire in over 6 months!

The nerve of her teacher.

“Should I start carrying a fire extinguisher?” Melanadahl teases as she continues her path through the halls to their instructors office.

“No. I just need to find out what happened,” she grumbles.

Knocking three times on the door, their instructor bids them entry and Selene doesn't bother taking a seat as she demands “My grade is wrong.”

One grey eyebrow arches over their teachers face as he glances up from the pile of papers beneath him.

“Your grade was fine. You're doing exceedingly well.”

“Someone outranked me.”

“Yes, that happens.”

“Who was it?”

“The point of using student ID numbers rather than names on that list, is to protect them in situations like this, you know.”

Melanadahl snorts, while Selene's fist tightens.

“I didn't make any mistakes.”

“You rounded incorrectly on your written exam.”

“The actual answer was 3.049! The nine rounds the four to a five, which rounds the zero into a one!”

“You only needed to round to the hundredths, not the tenths.”

“The instructions on the test said differently.”

Their instructor lets out a long suffering sigh as he leans back in his chair and slings his arms over their rests. “Fine, then I will adjust that in your scores. He still outranked you in the practical.”

“My practical was flawless, you said so yourself!”

“His gestures were more solid than yours, as was his focus.”

“That's a load of nug shit, and you know it,” she argues.

Their instructor rubs gingerly at his forehead. “Selene, sometimes people appear who are better at things than we are. Whether it's a product of their upbringing, private tutelage, or simply natural talent. You will have a far better life if you strive to better yourself from their presence, rather than fight against them. Now, I have 5 other classes with tests that need to be graded. Please see yourselves out.”

Selene opens her mouth to argue again, but Melanadahl drags her back out into the hallway before she has the chance to speak.

“He's right you know.”

“Oh, et tu, Melanadahl?”

He shrugs, before leaning onto the tips of his toes and whispering “I know who beat you.”

Selenes head whips towards his “Who?”

“The new kid. Dirthamen Evanuris.”

“...There's a new kid?”

Melanadahl just lets out a laugh “You've met him!”

“What? No I haven't.”

“You have though,” he points out “In the library, after school on Monday? He was the guy that nabbed the Magical Applications for Trigonometry in Warding book from the other side of the shelf. You chased him down!”

Selenes eyebrows scrunch together before she recalls the blue eyes on the other side of the book case, and dark hair walking away before she had darted around the corner and asked (very politely, she insists) to borrow it instead. He hadn't argued with her, just seemed sort of...stunned? And handed it right over.

Guess he didn't need it anyways, really.

Stupid perfect-score-on-his-practical-getter.

“Oh,” she admits.

Melanadahl teases her for the rest of their walk back to his home for their usual Thursday study session, Selene slipping her shoes off as she enters and follows him up the grand staircase towards his bedroom. As they reach the hallway, Selene rushes to press herself up against the wall as two dark blurs go rushing past them, landing in what she's pretty sure would be best described as a 'jumbled heap' at the bottom, skateboards clattering to the ground.

“Nah, the one at my house gets better air,” Complains the blonde one.

“Whatever man. The others should be here soon, you ready to practice?” Melanadahls brother intones as he stands and brushes off his pants.

“Yeah, I guess-” The blonde ones eyebrow raises as he notices Selene and Melanadahl at the top of the stairs and lets out a lewd whistle “You should wear a skirt next time! Give us something to look at!”

Selene rolls her eyes while she and Melanadahl both jointly flip him off.

“Your younger brother is fuckin' rude,” The blonde elf complains to Enastaren.

“Not my fault, that's on our parents.”

They both laugh over that and wander off to the oversized garage while Melanadahl lets out a groan and walks with Selene to his room.

“I hate that guy,” he grumbles.

“Who is he?”

“Falon'din Evanuris. Your competitions twin, from what I understand. He's been hanging around Enastaren a lot this week. They're doing some 'rock band' thing together.”

“Your brothers taste in people hasn't changed, I see.”

“Listen, he hit on your dad one time-”

“And I'm still not gonna let him live it down,” she reminds him while shrugging off and unzipping her bag to begin their studies.

–

The next day in mathemagics class, Selene does keep an eye out for Dirthamen, though. She finds out he actually sits a couple seats over from her, and never speaks unless called on. As the class draws on, she also notices he tends to favor traditional pencils to mechanical ones, keeps three different notebooks out at all times (One scrap, one work, and one graph), and has a tendency of staying unnervingly still while he's thinking something through.

And also his eyes are piercingly blue, and maybe his jawline looks pretty good, and the school uniforms blazer actually suits him pretty well.

But that's all secondary, of course.

Melanadahl groans when she tells him about her discoveries at lunch “Don't do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” Carina asks as she plops down next to Selene with her lunch bag.

“Selene's got a boner for the new guy because he did better on a test than she did,”

“Ooooh,” Carina nods “Is that all it takes? Because I kick your ass in chemistry, Selene. You wanna catch a movie this weekend?”

Selene throws her hands up in frustration while Carina takes a bite out of her apple, staring up at her from beneath her own square frames.

“Are you serious?” Selene finally asks.

Carina shrugs “Depends on if you say yes.”

“...Yeah, alright. Are you paying?”

“Sure,” she agrees with a grin.

“Woah, woah, woah! What about me?” Melanadahl pouts.

“You have enough significant others, and Selene deserves someone who can treat her special,” Carina points out.

Melanadahls pout deepens.

“Plus I don't put out,” Selene states bluntly.

“Oh. Well, then  I don't care,” Melanadahl finally settles before taking a bite out of his salad “You two do whatever makes you happy, just don't phase me out of the group.”

“Deal,” Selene and Carina agree in unison.

–

The movie actually goes...weirdly well, Selene thinks.

Carina found a small theater showing slightly older movies for cheaper prices, and buys both of them tickets for some cheesy sci-fi movie they enjoy. Selene takes her to a local coffee place that gives her a discount because she helps cover breaks sometimes after school in exchange for their wi-fi password.

They've been friends for a little over a year already, but there's still a lot she didn't know about Carina. Like how her parents fled Kirkwall after their debt to the Carta was technically paid off, or that she has an extensive collection of horror stories and movies, or that her favorite color is midnight blue. Carina ends up asking why they always study at either her or Melanadahls house, and never Selenes, and she has to explain that her parents aren't usually home, and she also, technically, doesn't have a key to the apartment ever since she enrolled in this school. But the fire escape leads right past her window, so she can get in and out that way on her own, and her scholarship gives her a stipend for transportation and uniform pieces and things that she budgets into food or things that she needs.

Carina just shakes her head, while Selene tries to change the subject.

They hold hands on the walk to Selenes apartment building (and Selene tries not to be awkward when she goes to the bottom of the fire escape instead of the actual entrance) when the sun starts to set, and Carina stretches up to kiss Selenes cheek before they part, and thank her for the date.

“Are we....dating then?” Selene asks. She hasn't really done this before, and she's not sure where to go from here.

“Think on it,” Carina suggests “We can be, if you want to do this on a regular basis, or we can just have had the one good date and leave it here.”

Selene nods, and rocks on her feet before bending over to place a return kiss to the dwarfs cheek. “Thank you,”

Carina smiles, and sends Selene off with a wave before leaving.

After crawling through the window, Selene kicks off her shoes and flops back onto her mattress.

Dating could be nice. She likes Carina, certainly. And they get along. But with school, and her studies...maybe this isn't the time for it?

Especially not with someone around and looking to push her out of her top spot.

Resolving herself, Selene sits back up, and pulls out her practice books and some paper, and gets back into her usual routine of study.

--

[winterfollows]

@doloramor

❝ t’would not be the first time being what i am has inspired another to flee. ❞ he spoke mostly of humans. too quick they were to attack or fly from that which they deemed dangerous. monsters. his kind. though true indeed monsters were not to be taken lightly, however, they were not all the same. this, however, humans did not care to know. 

“Of that, sadly, I have no doubt.” When the pale elf spoke, it was from a place of sympathy; from one ageless peer to another. True, Haleir was no Elder Vampire, but so far as the humans Detlaff referred to were concerned, he was no less reviled. Beautiful, yes, but too sharp, too other to be anything but dangerous--simply a monster of a different kind.

He offered a polite nod, teeth flashing in a congenial, momentary smile. “You have not yet given me cause to flee. I do not think you will encounter the same trouble from me.”