#you might have heard of him; he ended up fucking blowing half of kirkwall into smithereens

[invinciblerodent]

I just got slapped in the face with a note on this old, old post, so I'm bringing it back, because I'm close to climbing up the curtains about it.

He went back. Left his lover and all his personal desires behind. Followed protocol. Acted with principle. Alright. What did it accomplish?

He freed all the slaves he personally could immediately, and beyond helping those select few, on the grand scheme of things, it just generated some mild controversy, branded him an eccentric.

The Lucerni, the fledgling group for which he left all he wanted behind (in hindsight, perhaps with a bit too much optimism) was formed, and then it failed- so spectacularly that it directly-indirectly cost Mae her position in the Magisterium, and forced the group to transition their operations into a secret, underground organization. By now, their slogan, "Bring the Light", is pretty much the only thing that remains of its roots.

He spoke on the Magisterium floor clearly, openly, with passion, on record, multiple times, and each time, he seems to have hit brick wall after brick wall- they shut their eyes and plugged their ears, because the scissors with which the disapproving passages of the very law that instated slavery were cut out were large and gilded, and he couldn't even endorse the Shadow Dragons' work openly, because (even though they covertly had the support of the Divine, as well as many of the people) his name served their goals better while it remained free of the associations with them.

And those eight years of his life, the ones given to campaigning, and petitioning, politicking, and screaming his voice raw, were paid for in late nights, grey hairs, blood, and baby steps forward.

For all the performative grousing about wrangling the Imperium into submission and yanking it into the present he did in Trespasser, for all the trying, the urging, the demanding he must have done in the long years in-between, I'm sure it was a process that was slow-moving and beyond frustrating- especially keeping in mind what he had to leave behind, of which I'm sure he was always keenly aware.

Of how they both knew that leaving was a sacrifice, but staying would have been as good as treason.

Every time I think about what might happen in (and to) Tevinter now, I can't help but recall what Dorian says in his proposal to Rook about becoming Archon (something he never actually wanted for its own sake), how passionate he is to finally stop talking and start acting, and how the elation quickly fades into anxiety if Rook agrees with him, and (finally, finally, finally) puts the power to act into his hands.

For the naked disdain he once showed in talking about how the good and great families of Tevinter noblesse "breed" their children in hopes that one of them will go on to become Archon, and how adamant he was in Inquisition's early parts about never desiring the lies, the scheming, the political machinations, that kind of dirty power for himself... this ending, it feels appropriate.

Fucking Vivat, Archon Pavus, I know you'll do great things.

..... Try not to dwell on whether it was all worth it.

It honestly breaks my heart to think about how happy Dorian must’ve been to return South, and just how violently that joy was ripped from him, by just one letter.

How it must’ve felt like coming home, how excited he must’ve been to see the man he loves again (after all, “letters are a poor substitute for your company”), and then, just like that… the promise of a moment of peace and quiet, of rest, is torn right from his hands. The responsibility he didn’t even know he still had is thrust upon him, without warning.

Suddenly the man he once respected more than anyone else is dead, suddenly he’s no longer just Dorian but Magister Pavus, and he knows he has to go.

He has a platform now, to make his voice heard. People are finally going to have no choice but to listen. All he has to do is to leave all that his heart wants, behind.

Even though there is nothing he would want more than to stay, he has to go. He has to abandon the silly, juvenile fantasies of disgustingly romantic domesticity, about the house on the hill and the smiling townsfolk and the soft clink of wedding bands when they take each other’s hands, and trade them all in for artifice, and treachery, and screaming into ears that might as well be deaf until his throat is raw.

And I’m so proud of him.

It must’ve taken so much resolve, so much courage, and so much fucking integrity to still go, even though giving in to the Temptation, ducking his head under the blanket, and hiding in blessed complacency would have been so much easier. Sacrificing just a little kernel of his self-respect could have bought him a lifetime of peace and quiet and unconditional love, but he still leaves, and he still goes on to change the world for the better.

Because someone has to, and it has to be him.

Someone else might get it wrong.

[hamingo]

Dragon Age OCS

Just a big ol' info post about all of my inquisitors~

(Under a cut because it’s very long)

Sarya Adaar:

• My only actual Inquisitor (the others are all made to be companions or just other ocs I made in dai for fun)

• Also the only one on this list with the canon backstory (mostly)

• The biggest girl but also the softest girl (She’s 6′6″)

• She's just trying her darndest honestly, but gets super stressed easily

• Specilaizes in Rift magic and the Fire + Spirit trees. Rift was because, well, she already had the mark, so she figured why not? The fire magic was what she felt most natural using, but it was so destructive she wanted to learn spirit/healing magic as well, to fix anything she might accidentally break

• She is actually just the sweetest babe ever

• Her magic came through when she was 11, in the same instance that her father died in. She wasn't the one to kill him, her magic was more of a desperate act to save him (but it didn't work). She lost her mother (who was also a mage) two years later (haven't decided how yet) and wandered alone for a while before coming across the leader of her merc gang. They basically raised her, and that's where the canon Adaar backstory kicks in

• I’m upset that qunari are not tieflings, and are just various shades of grey instead of being colourful. Just know that if this were D&D, she would be bubblegum pink and thriving

•  Has a Ukranian accent for really no reason other than I’m Ukranian and will take any excuse to make my characters that as well. I don’t know what the Thedosian equivalent to eastern Europe is, but that’s where Sarya was raised when learning to speak I guess

Cyran Lavellan:

• His whole situation is a little all over the place so bear with me: in the Canon Universe (the one in which three friends and I all merge our games and characters together) he is named Cyran Mahariel, but he's NOT the HoF. He's the son of my Inquisition companion Kelley and the HoF's little sister, Valynne Mahariel. However, I turned him into a Lavellan so I could play him in dai, and his backstory is still essentially the same but he's not related to the HoF, who is Amell in this universe because Mahariel is actually Paige's and Cyran Lavellan is a character in my OWN canon without my friends and it's just... a lot going on there, I could make a whole separate post about it. 

Long story short, he’s the kid of Kelley and Valynne (who is the keeper or either clan Sabrae or Lavellan depending on the universe)

• He's 5/8ths elven, his dad turned out to have an elven grandfather, and because genes in the da universe are stupid, I use that as an excuse as to why he has elven features and not human

• He doesn't have a specialization, and in-game, he uses shock magic, but I imagine him with nature magic

• His mom is the keeper, and he worked his ass off for the position of First once his magic came through, cause he knew he had both a human father and other people thinking his mom was just picking favourites to work against to win his clans respect and being named First

• Eventually, he gives up his childhood dream of being Keeper one day to stay with Sarya and stop Corypheus

• Travelled amongst clans and visited ruins and did all he could to learn all he could about ancient elves in a way of trying to prove (Mostly to himself) that he is dalish despite who his dad is

• Mihla thinks he's too hard on himself. She's right

Mihla Lavellan:

• Younger sister of Cyran

• She doesn't have cool magic like her brother, so she grabbed the biggest sword she could find and started swinging that around

• The Cool Sibling

• Much more accepting of her human side than Cyran. She was always the one who suggested going to Denerim to visit their dad instead of getting him to visit them at the clan

• She's also prone to flipping off anyone (elven or human) who tries to make her or her brother feel like they don't belong

• She goes to visit Cyran at Skyhold with the message that their mother is going to be forced to get a new First if he doesn't come home soon, but ends up going back and forth between clan Lavellan and Skyhold because she digs the action. Also she absolutely hooks up with Krem while there

• Eventually also leaves the clan and joins the chargers. Cause once again. She digs the action. (And the cute boy)

Natalia Trevelyan:

•  My very first Inquisition character. I made her before I even got the game

•  Also not an Inquisitor, she’s always meant to be a companion. She’s a con-artist who joins the Inquisition when she fucks over some Inquisition guards and abuses the title “Herald of Andraste” for money, and is captured by said guards and taken back to the Inquisition, where she is pardoned so long as she uses her talents to benefit the Inquisition 

•  She’s a protector and has devoted herself to keeping her mother and brother safe and fed

•  She is a Trevelyan, but not a noble. Her mother was a lower class citizen from Ostwick and fell in love with one of the younger Trevelyan sons when they were both very young (Probably 17-18). They were married in secret when Natalia’s mother got pregnant with her, and their union managed to remain a secret for six years before his family heard, and fearing the blow to their reputation, ran Natalia and her mother out of town. They ended up in Kirkwall, and immediately lost the well-off lifestyle they had grown accustomed to

•  She picked up how to defend herself and others by picking up long objects and swinging them at offenders. The objects got bigger and bigger until she eventually upgraded to an actual sword when Paige’s Inquisitor stole one for her when they fled Kirkwall together

•  Is only 5′2″ but will fuck you up if you mess with someone she cares about

•  Her specialization would be Guardian if they had that in Inquisition, and she uses a two-handed greatsword that is like as big as she is

•  Is a lesbian and always down for messing with rich pricks, so naturally she romanced Sera

•  I’m low-key in love with her

Kelley:

•  Younger (half) brother of Natalia

•  When they came to Kirkwall, the only way Natalia’s mother could make enough money to support them was by selling herself and eventually she worked her up to the Blooming Rose, where she eventually got pregnant with Kelley. (His mother doesn’t have a last name, and not knowing who his father is has left Kelley without one either)

•  Along with his mother, has a recurring illness that affects the lungs and can be fatal (It’d be like what the refugee’s wife has in the Hinterlands), and since the family doesn’t know a cure for it, they often have to gather as much coin as possible to bribe an apostate to help them

•  When Kelley was eight and Natalia was sixteen, the three of them decided to leave Kirkwall in search of a better life in Denerim, where their mother said she had a friend who could help them. However, this was during the Fifth Blight, and so they had a hard time finding a ship going back to Ferelden. They did find a small cargo ship smuggling an apostate, but refused to take all three of them. Since their mother was suffering from the illness at the time, Natalia convinced the cpatain to take their mother so the apostate could heal her, leaving her and Kelley to find their own way to Denerim (On this journey they met Paige’s Inquisitor!) 

•  The family friend had unfortunately perished in the blight, leaving the family in the same situation only in a different country

•  Once in Denerim Kelley took to pickpocketing and occasionally breaking and entering to make money, but once he reached his later teens he took to the same work that his mother had in order to keep a constant flow of money coming to the family

•  Joins the Inquisition at only nineteen after Natalia is taken by them, and the Inquisition discovers him while looking into her and take him and their mother in as well

•  Dual blade rogue, specializing as an assassin

Evelyn Hawke:

•  Daughter of Marian Hawke and Anders. In my canon, Marian was like a month pregnant during the finale there, and so Evelyn was born while both of her parents were on the run

•  Was assigned male at birth, but transitioned pretty early on in her teen years (And thanks to a stroke of luck during cc is now the hottest babe in Thedas LOOK AT HER OMG I’M SO PROUD OF PRETTY SHE IS)

•  MAGE RIGHTS!!!!!!

•  Is a mage, and specializes in winter magic

•  Also legally does not exist, as both of her parents are technically fugitives and so kept the knowledge of her existence limited to only their closest and most trusted friends

Lorraine Surana-Amell:

•  Daughter of Neria Jaydin and Leliana

•  Her existence is also pretty iffy because the Divine really shouldn’t have kids. And officially she didn’t there was just a period of about six months where Divine Victoria "got really sick" and very few people were allowed to visit her

• Is a mage (because I love mages) but instead of a traditional mage, she channels her magic through her bow and arrows, and so she can easily pass as non-mage and still be able to defend herself

• Also she’s Orlesian and I am so down for that (because I’m a sucker for french accents)

[loquaciousquark]

4th Solace. I’ve just realized I’ve missed the worst of the summer heat thanks to the Arishok’s oversized toothpick. If I’m being honest, not a bad trade

Odd thing happened today. Gamlen was here visiting again--which, that has been odd enough, for all that I've been glad to see him (even if his concern throughout my whole recovery has been markedly acidic). We were in the library, three layers deep into Bodahn’s date buns, when all of a sudden Orana knocked and announced Lady Audrey and her son, Stinton Forrester, were here to visit. They live about seven estates down the way with the extravagantly bitter Lord Willem Forrester and his unkinder mother, and I don’t think we’ve ever spoken to each other in our lives.

Anyway, in they came. She was in purple silk and he had a suit with puffier sleeves than my entire wardrobe; Gamlen was in his workcloth shirt with the seam I mended in pink thread two years ago, and I had a grease stain on my pants the shape of Antiva from that time we stumbled into the raider tripwires in Darktown.

I will say the shower of crumbs as I stood to greet them was remarkable, as was Toby’s alacrity in removing them from the carpet. After that scintillating beginning, though, I wasn’t sure what to do, so we ended up perching on the chairs and staring at each other for a good bit. Eventually someone ventured a remark on the weather and someone else responded in kind, and then we were making the small insipid talk I’ve heard at every one of Mother’s parties, and even Gamlen restricted himself to quiet snorts and rolled eyes instead of his usual biting commentary.

To be honest, that worried me more than anything else. Lady Audrey was never a great friend of Mother’s so far as I knew, but for the solicitousness of her concern over my injuries I might have thought she and Mother were the closest sisters in Thedas. Endless questions about my comfort, my recovery, endless advice on salves and creams to reduce scarring. Stinton just sat there and stared at me. I don’t think he said ten words.

They stayed just long enough to make the room thoroughly uncomfortable, then sailed out in a silk cloud. Stinton smiled at me when Orana came to walk them out. I’d forgotten two of his bottom teeth are turned sideways.

I haven’t the faintest idea what just happened.

Later

Gamlen says Stinton intends to court me. I say Gamlen needs to stop drinking the moonshine Jo Mallen makes with goose dung.

11th Solace. Steaming hot. Suppose I haven’t missed the summer after all

Stinton’s been back to visit twice. As have Orwen, Pelarie, Derrick, Braeden, Sage, and every single one of their mothers.

Shit.

19th Solace. Stormed hard but cleared up by midmorning. Everything marvelously dank, just like it should be

They’ve set the ceremony to make me the city’s champion for the last day of Solace. Stinton’s hinted three times he’d like to arrive on my arm. Or--me on his, as I suspect he’d prefer. He’s stopped coming with his mother. I wish he’d stop coming at all. He has the most abominable habit of saying my name every few words, as if he wants me to be absolutely certain I have his full attention. Feels more like he’s trying to piss dominance over a prize bitch.

No one’s called me that name since Mother died, and even then it was only when I’d been caught making trouble. It’s not for you, you pompous prick.

23rd Solace. Hot again. Foundry smoke’s been drifting over all day. Wish the smell would be kind enough to blow elsewhere, tired of nightmarish memories

Pelarie Ashbridge is entirely too shy to be caught up in this mess. She barely comes up to my shoulder for all that she’s over twenty, and no matter how her maid dresses her in cashmere and taffeta she still seems like a girl forced too far too soon. The only time I’ve ever really seen her smile was when I told her about the time Carver and I stole a sackful of unripe pears from Barlin and were sick for three days afterwards. Of course, that only lasted until her mother The Most Dour Woman In Thedas pinched out a smile and said something about how all children must learn to be ladies eventually, and Pelarie’s smile fell off her face like an anchor’d been tied to it.

Joke’s on her, though. I was nineteen when we did it.

(She certainly didn’t care for my pointing that out, especially given my glee in the doing. Pelarie smiled again, though, so I suppose it was worth the spite.)

Flames, but I wish these idiots would stop using their children as leverage. For all Mother’s faults, she never once tried to sell me for profit.

27th Solace. If I imagine hard enough, I can almost convince myself the city’s beginning to cool

If the hand is shakier than usual, it’s because I’m laughing hard enough I can barely breathe.

We came home--Andraste’s glorious girdle! I’ve got to get through the setup before the punchline, but the delay might very well kill me. We were out on the Coast today for Aveline, rooting out some smugglers who’ve been peddling qunari detritus at a tidy profit. First real fight since the Arishok--did fairly well, all things considered! Mana’s still a trifle weak, so some of the firestorms were more like fire trickles, but the battle ended with them dead and me with only a cracked shin, so all in all a resounding victory so far as I’m concerned.

Invited everyone over to celebrate, naturally, but Sebastian was already pushing late for Chantry services and Aveline had dinner plans with Donnic, so in the end it was just Fenris and me walking back to Hightown together.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but I told him about these fool visits at Wicked Grace last week. He hadn’t laughed like I’d thought, just gone...quiet, I suppose, is the best word for it. Frowned at his cards for three hands and lost every coin he came with, then excused himself early. I hadn’t meant to go after him--Maker knows his running wouldn’t thank me for the chase--but I saw him fiddling with that damned red band on his way out and knew right where his mind had gone.

Caught up to him right outside the door. It was cool for Solace, I remember, because his northern arms had gone to gooseflesh in the chill, and he’d actually shivered when I’d touched his shoulder to turn him. Wouldn’t meet my eyes, either, for all he stayed put, and it wasn’t until I reached down and tucked my fingers around his wrist (the wrapped one) that he came back to a little life.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. More than I should have--I’m fairly certain I offered to start hanging paint buckets above doors at his druthers--but it only garnered the slightest smile until I stepped a hair too near and he moved just a bit too close and--all at once--I had nothing to say.

All this time, and that was all it took. The slightest lean in instead of away, and my heart leapt so high in my throat I could hardly breathe.

I told him I wasn’t going anywhere.

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t know what else to say, but he looked up when I said it, and that uncertain smile shifted into something a little deeper, and then he closed his eyes and his forehead came up against mine for just a moment or two, just long enough for a breath that took a thousand years with it on the exhale.

He left after that, and I didn’t try to keep him.

Funny, I don’t feel like finishing this now. I’ll come back to it another time.

Later.

All right. I’m three shots of Antivan liquor and most of a rotisserie chicken in, so let’s get on with this.

We came home from the Coast, is the short of it. It was easy enough between us after that conversation so I wasn’t thinking about much, just enjoying the walk, and then we came in and who should be sitting in one of those overtall embroidered chairs in my library but Lord Stinton Fucking Forrester in orange and ivory silk and slashed sleeves.

His face. Oh, Maker and his Bride, I’m crying at the thought of it. That pristine little suit, and in we come covered in blood and mud and sand with Fenris picking sinew out of his cuirass. I might as well have struck him upside the head with a frying pan.

Gaping isn’t a strong enough word. I started laughing the moment I saw him--couldn’t help it, too absurd--and managed to struggle through an introduction while shaking bone bits out of my hair. Stinton barely got out a stuttering hello, looking at me the whole time like I was quite alien, but Fenris--Fenris! that insufferable magnificent ass! gave such a deliberate flourish of his sword before sheathing it and setting the whole massive thing one-handed against the wall. Then he gave Stinton the most Tevinter half-bow that managed to signify more disrespect than a formal Kirkwall snubbing ever could, and I had to bite down on my tongue to check the giddiness.

Even that would have been enough. But then Orana--and Maker bless every bone in her body, for I think she dislikes Stinton as much as I do--came in with a bowl and a handful of rags the way she always does when we come home covered in gore, and kept a gloriously bland smile on her face the whole time we wiped off the worst of the blood. She even asked how many we’d killed this afternoon (which she hardly ever does), and pretended it was a perfectly normal thing when Fenris answered her with “sixteen.”

It was possibly the most Tevinter-esque conversation they’ve ever had in front of me, and my heart’s still singing for it.

Anyway. This continued on in the same vein for several minutes, Stinton looking nervously between the two of us, until there was an unfortunate lull, whereupon Stinton took it upon himself to ask how long Fenris had been serving in my household.

Oh, journal, but I bristled. Fenris hardly seemed concerned--resigned only, which I hated just as much--but I kept my temper enough to inform him quite frostily that he was a dear friend and had been so for years, and I had been honored to fight in his company today.

Which was all true, though I haven’t the faintest idea who was more surprised between the two of them.

Stinton didn’t stay much longer after that. He looked as though he still wanted to speak to me privately, but the Void would have to tear open my library before I’d ask Fenris to leave it for Stinton’s sake, and he left within a few minutes of Orana carrying away the bloodied bowl. I wasn’t sorry to see him go.

Then it was just Fenris and me left, and a silence that ought to have been awkward but wasn’t. Instead it was just comfortable, the both of us tired after the fight and that fool and willing to forget them as fast as we could.

I asked him if he’d come with me to the ceremony. As a friend, if he wanted, but I said I’d like to have him there.

He didn’t answer for a long time. Then he said no, which didn’t surprise me, but he looked sorry to say it, which did. He said he’d make a poor showing in dented, stained armor and he hadn’t time to get new things. I said I wouldn’t care in the least--it was him I wanted there, not his clothes--which made him laugh even if it didn’t change his mind. He said it would be a bad idea to draw attention to himself given both Danarius and the fact that he’s still squatting in that rotting mansion.

I couldn’t argue with that. So. He left, and I’m left to Varric and Sebastian as my only acceptable escorts. Not that I don’t--but--well. I knew it was a long shot.

Well. Nothing to be done about it now. It was still a wonderful thing to see Stinton slinking out like the weasel he is.

29th Solace. The day before my doom is fittingly dreary

Felt bad all morning over mocking Stinton to his face yesterday. Sent a note to him this afternoon asking him to come by for a few minutes so I could apologize.

He accepted it, ungraciously as it was given, which made me feel even worse--right up until the point where he told me he’d be happy to continue his attentions towards me only if:

a) I stop “trouncing about with Kirkwall unsavories”

b) I tone down my use of magic--so difficult to overlook when I keep throwing it in people’s faces

c) I dismiss the elf from my service (not certain if he means Fenris or Orana, though given his sneer I suspect the former)

d) I stop permitting Lady Ashbridge to bring Pelarie to visit, and Orwen and Braeden and the rest, no matter how gentle Pelarie is when her mother’s not crushing her under her heel.

I’m not often stunned speechless, and I’m pleased to say this was no exception. I’ve forgotten exactly what I said, but I know at one point I used the phrase “barbaric bollocking boor” and was fairly pleased with myself. His face turned all sorts of colors but ended a mottled red, and when I was finished he turned and walked right out the door without waiting for Orana.

Burned that bridge right to the ground, I suppose. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

30th Solace. Cold. Grey. Blustery. Pfeh

Orana has been at me for hours with more perfumes and salts than a magister’s bathhouse.

Just put me in the damned dress and let me go. No one who likes me will be there except Aveline anyway, and she’s seen me naked and covered in mud. That was one memorable trip up Sundermount, I’ll tell you that.

She’s coming with a fistful of gold pins for my hair. Maker save me

Later

The carriage is at the door; I can hear its squeaking wheels and Sebastian’s just come in the foyer. I can hear his voice from here. I asked Orana if I could pretend to be dead and she said she didn’t think the ruse would take. Damn her

Snuck the journal in my useless clutch. Serves her right. I’m drowning in poorly-scented sweat and Stinton keeps sneering at me across the floor. Pelarie’s here, though, and I’m determined to dance with her at least once to get her mother off her back. Sebastian’s been a darling to take my temper and he looks marvelous in russet and white and gold. Plus he knows the dances, which makes me look a good deal better. He’s dancing with the oldest Allencourt girl now. I foisted him off to spare him from me awhile--she’s sweet, if a bit dim, and guaranteed not to snap when he offers her a canapé.

Music’s changing again. How much longer?

Ceremony’s done but I can’t leave yet. Snuck off to some fainting room and locked the door--Cullen of the templary curls offered to escort me to get some cooler air but I said I’d rather avoid any surreptitious branding, which I think genuinely shocked him. Meredith didn’t seem to hear for all she’s been staring at me all evening, so I suppose I should count myself lucky and shut my mouth.

Aveline’s here. She’s in uniform, but it might as well be a golden gown for how adoringly Donnic’s watching her. Lucky thing.

Too many people altogether, all looking at me. Orsino, Meredith, Cullen, Elthina--even Bran showed up and brought me a champagne flute. I asked if it was poisoned. He looked at me sourly and said if he’d meant to poison me, he’d have done it when I was still the vagabond refugee fumbling with a wineglass in the Viscount’s office. 

People keep knocking. Told them to go away but I guess I can’t have fainted then

Sebastian says I can leave in half an hour. The Champion of Kirkwall gets an iron circlet and a medal and a piece of paper in the mail. The medal’s in the clutch, but there’s not much to do for this damned circlet. My forehead’s going to be dented for weeks

Later

It’s almost three in the morning, but I’m finally home. The candle’s nearly out so I’ll keep this brief as I can, but--

Fenris came.

It was just for a few minutes, so quick I might have blinked and missed it. I’d stepped out for the last time--the Viscount’s gardens back right up to the great hall, and there was a wonderful shrubbery thing in a great brown pot that hid me marvelously in the shadows, even with the crimson satin. Only this time I stepped out and--there was someone already behind it.

I will say I repressed the scream admirably. I can’t say I didn’t stumble back with the most ignominious trip into the gravel I’ve ever had, except the shadow reached out and caught me.

Maker. I even write besotted.

Knew him as soon as I felt his hand. Knew the calluses well enough, certainly, but the lyrium I’d recognize blind and deaf and dying. He stood me on my feet, and I looked at him, and...

Sometimes, in Lothering, Bethany and I would go out to the creek that ran behind our fields. There was a wild hydrangea bush there, taller than the two of us together, and in the last days of spring we’d find the little buds and Bethany would coax them with her magic to see if she could get them to bloom. She was much better than I was at it--I tended to get impatient and wither them instead--and most of the time they’d only open a bit, only slivers of brilliant purple peeping out between waxy green sheaths.

Sometimes, though--sometimes, if everything was perfect--she’d thread her magic into the leaves and I could see it take, could see the leaves growing and greening and beginning to furl away, and the bud would swell and swell and swell until all at once the bloom would burst open--in perfect silence--and a glorious purple blossom larger than my head sat in her curled fingers.

They were beautiful. And I...

That happened in my heart, when I saw him. Silent and sudden and beautiful and overwhelming, and there was no going back after it opened.

He wasn’t in his armor. He’d found a dress tunic--Tevinter in style, high-collared, but with long sleeves that gathered snug at his wrists, and black trousers that fit him beautifully, and I’d never felt so near crying from gladness in my life. I don’t know where he found them. I don’t care.

He said he couldn’t stay, that the guards would only ignore so much, even well on their way to drunk, but he misliked the idea that his fear of Danarius might control him even now. He said he knew I needed no protection from fools (like Stinton, implied), but if I needed refuge from their mothers...

I shouldn’t have hugged him, but I did, and I don’t regret it. He held me back, so he couldn’t have hated it that much.

I told him he was the best thing I’d ever seen. He told me I was beautiful, and he didn’t let go of me until I’d pulled away first.

Lady Everlyn came out only a few seconds later with Braeden at her heels, so there wasn’t much more to the moment, but he was still watching me when I stepped away to keep him hidden. I told him he’d be standing up with me next time, not hiding behind a bush. He said, “Hm,” but he was smiling when he did.

The candle’s long out and I’ve been writing by magelight for twenty minutes. I’d better stop before Orana ties me down with my own bedsheets.

(I’m determined there will be a next time. If nothing else, I need to see him in those trousers in proper light, not in the shadow of a shrubbery.)

(He came for no other reason than I wished him to and he’s kind, even if he doesn’t want anyone to know. If he’s trying to make me forget him, he’s gone the wrong way about it.)

(My face is so flushed the damned iron circlet feels like ice.)

(He said I was beautiful.)

[roguelioness]

A Rogue’s Finesse

Chapter 1: Before The Inquisition

The first time the would-be Herald of Andraste slipped on the ice-covered lake, Cassandra chalked it up to nerves.

After all, the woman had just woken up from a state closer to death than life, had a strange, painful mark on her hand, and had been interrogated by Sister Nightingale. And Daniella had agreed; after all, she’d been bombarded with a flood of new information, had been accused of the murder of thousands of innocent people, and was in peril of having an angry mob stone her to death.

So slipping on the ice was just a minor blip in the day. Insignificant, really. No harm, no foul. Nothing damaged but her pride.

If only it had remained that way.

She’d made her way up the snow-covered slopes to where a bald elf and a stocky dwarf were furiously battling the shades and wraiths that fell out of the rift. Daggers in hand, stealth activated, it had been simple enough to dispatch the few remaining stragglers, and though it had absolutely confounded her when the elf had directed the mark on her hand to close the rift, she was silently proud of herself for being so lethal and efficient. Solas, she learned the man was an apostate, a hedge mage well-versed in lesser-known magics, and the dwarf - who’d immediately captivated her fancy with the wide, friendly smirk and the gorgeous crossbow on his back - was Varric Tethras. The Varric Tethras, whose books she’d read over and over; she’d wished that she’d been part of the Champion’s group as they battled evil in Kirkwall. And now, he was here, in front of her, and all she could do was gape at him.

“You’re Varric Tethras? The Varric Tethras? Author of Tales of the Champion?”

“Heard of me, then?” he laughed.

“I… uhhh… yes,” she replied hurriedly. “I’m a huge fan. I’m Dani. Dani Trevelyan.”

The stocky man winked at her. “Good to know. Autographs after we sort this shit out though.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

And then the four of them had pressed on, making their way to the forward camp where Leliana - the terrifying woman with the red hair and the ice-cold gaze - was waiting for them, when Solas yelled out a warning. “Demons ahead!”

Well. This was a chance to show off her skills to her favorite author.

“I’ll flank the bigger one,” she said, pulling out her daggers in a fluid motion. As she moved into stealth, a coat of strange magic fell over her - from the elven mage, no doubt - and she moved across the ice lake to where the massive shade was lurking, jaws dripping with a foul green-black liquid.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her blades and readied herself for the attack, when her foot slipped.

Surprised and startled, she gave a yelp that pulled her out of stealth, and limbs flailing as she desperately tried to regain her balance, she hurtled towards the shade, ramming head-first into its torso.

Lucky for her, her little mishap had stunned the demon into stillness, and even though she was sprawled out ungainly on top of the beast, it was easy enough to plunge her daggers into its neck. The shade exploded into a geyser of rotting blood and ichor - which then landed right on top of her.

When she pulled herself up, Varric was bent over double laughing. Even the stoic Cassandra and the composed elven mage had smiles on their faces, though the Seeker tried to cover hers up by letting out a huff of disgust. She ignored them, desperately trying to clean off her coat as best as she could.

“You’ve got some tricks there, Kitty,” Varric chortled, and Dani flushed beet red.

“Yes, well,” she muttered. “Didn’t quite plan on that, but I got the job done.”

“You keep doing that, and you might just surprise the Breach into closing itself,” the dwarf teased.

“Ugh,” Cassandra huffed. “We need to keep moving.”

She spent the rest of the time wondering about her sudden lack of grace. Where had that come from? Whatever it was, she hoped it was over and done with. The last thing she needed on top of everything else was to become accident-prone.

No one had ever heard of a clumsy rogue, and she wasn’t going to be the first.

Meeting Chancellor Roderick pushed her straight into a headache. The man’s loud rants, combined with the throbbing, painful pulsing of that stupid green mark, made Dani feel absolutely queasy - which resulted in her throwing up all over the Chancellor’s table, vomit and bile landing on his [surprisingly clean, given the chaos] robes.

If looks could kill, she’d have been dead twice over.

Unable to bear the agony of the Anchor, she opted for the direct route; given the amount of pain she was in, and factoring trecherous mountain passes and sheer drops, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to make it through them in one piece.

Thanks to the Maker, she made it past the rift and into the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes without any mishaps - which was a good thing, because she’d looked competent and skillful in front of the Commander - the broad-shouldered, leonine man with eyes of bright amber that burned with fiery passion - and it had also given her some confidence.

Because now, as she stood under the giant rift that shuddered and rippled and trembled, she needed all the confidence she could get.

“The fuck is this,” she mumbled to herself. “What the shit. What. The. Shit. How did I get involved in this fuck up?” Dani cleared her throat. “Are you sure that I’m the only one who can deal with this? I mean, just look at it. It’s massive. And it was opened with magic. Do I look like a motherfreaking mage to you?”

The elven apostate sighed disapprovingly. “This is the first rift, the biggest. We have to close it. And, as you have demonstrated before, the mark on your hand is the only thing that can do so.”

“Right, right,” she nodded, “but can’t I just, you know, give you the mark so you can do it? Seeing as how you’re a mage and all?”

“Believe me,” Solas’ voice was filled with annoyance, “if it had been possible to do so, it would have been done.”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s get this over and done with. I better get a fucking medal if I’m still breathing by the end of this.”

“You close that, Kitty, they’ll make a statue in your honor,” Varric grinned.

“That’s the least they can do,” she breathed out a forced laugh.

“The Breach is closed, but not properly. We must open it and seal it properly. It might attract attention from the other side,” Solas warned.

“That means demons!” Cassandra pulled out her sword, thumping the blade against her shield. “Everyone, stand ready!”

“I really hope it’s a teeny tiny demon,” Dani whispered hopefully as she connected her mark to the rift. “A small one. One that I can squish without any trouble. Andraste, if you’re listening, could you please arrange that for me? Please?”

The rift glowed brighter, and expanded, and seconds later a ball of Fade-flame thundered out of the tear, booming, menacing laughter echoing around the stone debris, and… a Pride demon unfurled itself, whips that crackled with sinister electricity clenched in its hands.

Well, fuck me. She joined Cassandra unenthusiastically as the Seeker charged towards the demon, leaping out of the way of the whip’s slice - only to land awkwardly on a rock and twist her ankle.

“Fucking fuck fuck fuckity fuck!” she swore loudly as pain exploded in the joint. She moved to stand, but her leg gave way and she fell to the ground again.

“Kitty, this is no time to be taking a break!” Varric called out, Bianca rapidly spitting bolts.

“It’s not like I want to!” she retorted.

“Solas!” Cassandra yelled over the din of the battle. “Can you help her?”

The elf was already by her side, fingers on her ankle glowing with a soft green light as he healed the swollen muscles. She rolled her foot, testing it. “Watch out!” Solas shouted, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the way of the demon’s whip. “You are a rogue, are you not?” he chided. “You should be more aware of your surroundings!”

“Thank you for that,” she replied, half-sarcastically.

He ignored her. “Come,” he urged. “We must seal the Breach!”

Charge the demon, slice, strike, retreat, attack the rift, weaken the demon, charge again, repeat. It was an easy enough formula, but the execution was difficult. The ground was too uneven. The demon’s hide was too thick. The rift was too unpredictable. Dani was bruised and bleeding, and her hands trembled with the effort of attacking the Breach and the demons.

But she pushed through. They pushed through. They systematically wore the demon down, and finally Cassandra was able to make the killing blow, ramming her sword into the demon’s back, and it disintergrated into a puddle of demon guts with a deafening roar.

“Now!” Solas commanded. “Use the Anchor! Seal the Breach!”

“Right,” she nodded tiredly, and moved towards the green haze that surrounded the tear in the Veil… and promptly tripped. Again. And this time, sprawled out on the hard, rocky, blood-covered stones, she was half-tempted to just remain as she was.

“Maker, Kitty,” Varric muttered. “How are you still alive?”

She climbed to her feet as elegantly as she could, dusting herself off in a dignified fashion, and pointedly ignored the dwarf. Taking a deep breath, she let the mark connect with the rift, gritting her teeth against the agony of it, and willed it to close with all her might.

Her vision grew blurry, then the edges started to darken, and when the triumphant cries were raised she was already halfway to the ground, consciousness having fled.