#she would LOVE completing the rituals in mythal's temple but not out of faith in mythal - out of faith in her own presence as an actor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cedarmoons · 7 years

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heal my soul

so i saw @nipuni ’s absolutely gorgeous art and got inspired, because i just really love angst, apparently. (; ︵ ;)

His transformation is unwelcome, but not unexpected.

The first orb he had found had been Dirthamen’s, buried deep underground, in one of his lost temples. When he had taken its power with the Anchor, fueling himself, he had woken the next morning to crystalline, snowy irises that reflected the light. There had been two sets of slits on his forehead, connected by thin, shadowy lines, resembling the closed eyes of his mosaics.

He reaches into himself, and finds what he had feared most. The ancient being within his soul, the first spark that had shaped his nature, is stirring, feeding on the power he gorges like a glutton yet needing more still. There is no Mythal, no Inquisitor to calm that part of him, now, to soothe and humble, and shrink back into himself.

His attention makes it stir, and its stirring awakens it.

There is nothing he can do, save watch, as his skin turns grey, as hard nodules of scales begin to creep along his elbows, the back of his neck, over his scalp. He watches, despairing, and remembers words he’d once spoken to her, so long ago: I would not have you see what I become.

The worst comes after he finds a way to reach Arlathan. The Fade is close against his skin, teeming with power, though the city itself is blackened by its fate, nothing more than a husk of what it had been. Floating palaces had fallen, crushing the slums they had hidden in their shadows; the colors that decorated the streets have faded, gone grey, drained without magic to fuel its art.

He finds his brethren where he had locked them away, each in their own palace, and takes their power for himself. He rends their sleeping souls apart and drinks the golden ichor that spills across his skin, tasting electricity and dragon fire in every greedy gulp. He takes their symbols, what they had loved most; he takes Andruil’s bow and arrows, Ghilan’nain’s horns, Elgar’nan’s staff, Dirthamen’s ravens, Falon’Din’s mask that allowed its wearer to see both Dreaming and Waking worlds at once. He consumes Sylaise’s irrepressible heat, and the ancient spirit of Ingenuity that had once sparked June feeds his own soul.

The Mother is greatly pleased. You have done well, she whispers in one of his lucid moments, and his Pride swells.

He keeps the physical trophies displayed like trinkets in his war room, where his generals and advisers gather. They admire the tokens, of course, and his Pride is appeased.

He sleeps that night, and is awakened by a searing pain in his skull. The eyes are open, glowing a dull red, and his scalp has cracked in four areas. Solas casts a silencing barrier over his room and curls into himself, screaming as the curved, twisted horns break through the skin and grow.

His nails are bloody from clawing at the ruptured skin by the time the pain subsides, and when he looks in the mirror, he sees a monster. Four slitted red eyes, four curved, twisting black horns. A creature of fear, of glory.

No, he thinks. No.

He casts a permanent glamour over himself, so the others will not know; but it is a half-hearted effort (I want them to know me, fear me, his Pride croons, weakening his will), and more and more of his agents become disconcerted as his state worsens.

Solas cannot blame them, but he has already set upon the path, and he must see it to the final, blissful end.

With the false gods dealt with, he can now deal with restoring the world as it should be. He had thought, at first, to simply tear down the Veil and rebuild from the ashes; but that would bring too much death. He will instead do as Dorian and the Inquisitor had, and turn time back, to when the Mother was alive and all was well. From there, he will take steps to ensure this world, this abomination, would never come to pass.

It will be a painless death for the little mortals. They will not even know. It is good of him to do this, take the kindest route, rather than focus on the death and destruction and pain. It is wise. He is wise.

The next orb he seeks, Elgar’nan’s, is somehow destroyed by the Inquisition before he can reach it. He knows its loss instantly, for the hunger in his bones aches at the waste of power, a pain so sharp it steals his breath and makes him ravenous. That night, the Dread Wolf flies into her dreams, screaming at her impudence. He does not harm her, but he bloodies her spirit, her Pride, her faith in her cause. She deserves every pain he inflicts upon her, because in her impudence she has dared to interfere with a god.

A pretty little mortal, who must learn her place.

Solas wakes from that nightmare and promptly vomits. I am losing myself, he thinks afterwards, wildly, and cannot stop his sobs. Vhenan, vhenan, forgive me.

He writes a thousand different notes, begging forgiveness, but none of them are good enough for her eyes, and there is nothing he can say that would excuse his behavior. Every note he writes is burned.

He sends her roses and Andruil’s bow, instead. His Pride roars at him for giving such a treasure to a little mortal child, and Solas hopes that the golden arrows will find his heart before he can complete his task.

The next orb, Ghilan’nain’s, is stolen from his agents before he can consume its power, and his ravens soon locate it in Minrathous. His ravens see the human armies gathering there, the world’s best and strongest mages preparing rituals to prevent him from reaching the orb. Pride hears these reports and laughs.

“I will go to Minrathous,” he says, allowing a small, smug smile. The generals look at each other, disquieted, and it only amuses him further. “Perhaps my presence there will demonstrate my previous kindnesses, and they will finally see my plans for the gifts they are.”

His ravens come to him in his dreams that night, and tell him of the city. There are seven defenses between him and Minrathous. Six armies, and the seventh, he cannot see; perhaps it is simply a long stretch of land, meant to be a buffer zone between him and the city.

Pride laughs, and laughs, and laughs. When he wakes, he takes the nearest eluvian, ending up a hundred miles from Minrathous. Electricity crackles around his ankles and he draws the shadows of the land around himself. It is effortless, drawing this form; a mere few years ago, he had been too weak to even change his Elvhen form.

The thought is both amusing and despicable.

He hunches forward, and a wolf consumes him, rising up to be larger than the grandest castles, taller than the forest canopy behind him. He shakes his head, adjusting to the rarely-used form, and heads for the city.

When they see him, men gasp and cry out to their absent gods, as the black wolf’s six scarlet eyes open. Black oil drips down his coat, shining his fur. Red smoke trails from his eyes. His Pride is laughing in his mind; it is never silent, never peaceful.

The mages do nothing to him. Their power is a breeze attempting to move a mountain. The soldiers are equally helpless, and thousands get crushed under his paws. He walks through the armies like padding through a shallow creek, smoke trailing behind him, his fur dripping black oil and staining the ground. His ravens circle him, cawing.

He crosses a hundred miles with twelve steps. Each of the six armies fall underneath his paws. When he passes the sixth defense and sees the seventh, he cannot stop himself from laughing.

The seventh defense is not a stretch of land after all. It is a mortal woman, unarmed and dressed in gold, watching him. Pride gazes upon her, and is amused; her stand against him is brave, yes, but stupid. She is a little mortal, just like the others, and she, too, can be crushed under his might.

He lifts his paw, and sees her gazing up at him. Her eyes are... eyes he knows.

Eyes he loves.

Stop! Solas screams. He scrambles back, paw just avoiding crushing her, but a thousand tonnes of earth are pulled up by his frantic treading. Canyons are carved by his claws, and new hills are formed from the mounds of dirt he had kicked up.

She does not move, and the sight of her has Solas pulling the shadows back into himself, where they cannot hurt her. The wolf shrinks, and shrinks, and shrinks, until he is kneeling at her feet, shivering in the cold air despite his golden armor. His thoughts are disjointed, Pride roaring in his mind, why is he kneeling? All should kneel to him, for he is a god, the savior of the People—

She touches him, fingertips brushing his too-sharp cheekbone, and his riotous mind quiets at last. He knows what she sees; a horned man, skin metallic, black scales replacing the skin on the back of his scalp and his neck. He is not what he once was. The tenderness has been scoured from his heart; the artist and scholar she once loved has been killed, supplanted by the general and god.

I am not a god, he thinks, just as his Pride wonders aren’t I?

“Solas?”

Her fingertips are gentle on his face. He does not resist as she lifts his chin, tilting his head up toward her, but he keeps his gaze downcast, too ashamed of what he has become (for the People, all for the People) to look at her. She is draped in gold, a sun too bright and beautiful for a creature such as him to look upon.

“Solas.” The sound of his name, his true name, takes him someplace quieter. Someplace softer. He finally brings himself to meet her gaze, only to see her staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. “Oh, Solas, what’s happened to you?”

His lips part, but he cannot bring himself to answer. Help, he thinks. Please. Vhenan. It is a word he has not spoken, not thought, in some time, but the endearment soothes something broken within him. He lifts his hands, an oblation; too late does he see the sharp, curved nails, that of a demon’s. Unworthy of her.

He shrinks away, but then she is there, her arms around his shoulders, the warmth of her almost burning him. Solas clutches at her, eyes squeezing shut, willing his nails to blunten so they do not hurt her, his precious heart. He bows his head, a supplicant, and his forehead presses against the juncture between her throat and shoulder.

She whispers his name, over and over, and every repetition reminds him of what he was. What he used to be.

What he wants to be, for her.

Her nails scratch at his scales, and they begin to flake off as he remembers what he should be. Who he should be. Solas, not Pride. He can sense the others surrounding him—the soldiers who had avoided his destruction—and he does not move, even when he hears the sound of a sword being unsheathed behind him. She is holding him, whispering her love, still steady even now, even when she beholds what he has become. For the first time since taking Dirthamen’s power, his mind is quiet. At peace.

His Pride protests. But the People—

Silence.

(silence.)

#solavellan #nipuni #;__;#i hope it was ok to do this?? lmao rip #fic

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wyrdsistersofthedas · 7 years

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Well Shit: Dirth of Knowledge (Part 3 of 4)

Previously on “Well Shit”, we deduced that Mythal’s Well was used to keep sensitive information in the hands of loyal (*cough* geas: ie magical binding for instant loyalty and controlability) followers, and that it may have originally been used to help elves and spirits manage emotions and personality which would make it more difficult for them to live in the Fade.

The Well appears to have been essential to the Sentinels’ ability to preserve Mythal’s wisdom. So why wasn’t the Well despoiled along with the rest of her temple? Did the Well only contain the knowledge of the priests who survived the attack on Mythal’s temple? Or was the destruction of her temple merely meant to break her worshipers’ will? Could the geas binding the will of the Well’s recipient been enough to keep her rivals at bay? Or did they already have all the knowledge they could have gained from Mythal’s Well from another source? There was, after all, an elven god devoted to knowledge and secrets...

It would stand to reason that Mythal wouldn’t be the only Evanuris to have an ultra secure pool of knowledge just for the most faithful of followers. Of all of the elven gods, Dirthamen seems even more likely than Mythal to keep a repository of hidden knowledge. Does Dirthamen have a Well of Sorrows? There is a pool of water in the inner sanctum of Dirthamen’s Temple. Could this be the remnants of Dirthamen’s Well of Sorrows? Or could his Well have been secreted somewhere else? There are some interesting hints in the Lost Temple of Dirthamen that may indicate what happened to the knowledge collected from ages of priests who served The God of Secrets. And it seems to be more of a horror story than a sad tale.

In visiting Mythal’s temple, we gained insights into how the ancient elven religion functioned. Supplicants seeking her aid, judgement, or merely worshipping their goddess would complete rituals to show their devotion and worthiness to receive Mythal’s mercy. Dirthamen’s temple seemed to have worked in a similar fashion, although supplicants had to demonstrate their worth before they ever reached the temple. Elves seeking Dirthamen had to find his temple first! Cue the quest for veilfire runes in the Exalted Plains:

“The elven glyphs discovered in the Dales might prove valuable. Cursory inspection suggests they predate the ruins in which they were found──possibly transferred onto the stone from a much older edifice that dates back to the original elven nation or even earlier.”

Although the runes were moved when the elves reclaimed the Dales, their purpose remains the same. Those who sought knowledge or aid from Dirthamen first had to prove their intellectual merit.

Once the seeker found the temple, what would they have found? Most of Dirthamen’s Temple look like catacombs a nightmare might question hanging out in. Was it always like that? And were Dirthamen’s followers always so...messed up?

I see couple of possibilities: 1) The outer areas of the temple could have been another trial for supplicants, testing their mental toughness. 2) The temple was retrofitted to become a burial place after Dirthamen’s priests became so paranoid that they locked themselves in the temple and took their secrets to their graves (in the truest sense of the phrase). 3) It is also possible that Dirthamen’s priests once worked in tandem with servants of Falon’din to teach elves entering uthenera how to let go of their mortal forms to reach deeper levels of the Fade and find the knowledge they desired. If elves entered uthenera in Dirthamen’s Temple, then the bodies might have been those trapped there when the Veil was created or they were deliberately killed in the war that came after, as Briala, Felassan, and their companions found in The Masked Empire:

[Briala, Felassan, and their companions] passed through chambers filled with the urns and sarcophagi, and even great bedchambers where the elves who had not died but instead gone to the eternal sleep of uthernara had lain for their long rest.

When they came to the first of these rooms, Felassan stopped and looked at the ancient corpse half-laying under the satin sheets....[his] face was twisted with grief.

“Unnecessaary,” he said quietly, and Briala, curious, came out of her reverie and looked.

The body lay in a resting position, with clean white bedding pulled up carefully over the chest, leaving only the head and shoulders exposed. It had not awakened to die, nor struggled....But there, at the throat, Briala saw a single thin cut, along with the tiniest trace of old bloodstains on the pillow.

....Briala looked at the white satin sheets. “Revenge, then.”

“Such a waste.” Felassan shook his head. “This one could have helped.” (pgs. 316-317)

4) Or the Dalish did it. (More on this possibility later.)

But I digress. What about the possibility of Dirthamen having a Well? He’s the god of knowledge, for Void’s sake, so he must have had repositories of knowledge. That was his whole ‘divine’ purpose. So where are all the secrets? Again, there are a couple of possibilities:

As alluded to in the analysis of “The Lost Temple of Dirthamen” codex above, Dirthamen gave his priests secrets to ‘hold’ for him until he took them back. Could those secrets have been from his Well of Sorrows? Did these secrets die with them? Were they supposed to die with them? Given that Mythal’s Well puts a geas on whoever partakes of the well, perhaps Dirth did the same. Were the priests actually murderously paranoid or did their geas force them to bind that knowledge at the cost of their lives. A final failsafe. Perhaps the blood magic ritual the priests feared from the High Priest was actually an attempt to break the geas so that the knowledge of the temple would not be lost.

Another possibility is that Dirthamen’s Well could not be stolen from his temple...because it wasn’t in his temple. One thing that is very interesting about that ruin is that there are no effigies to Dirthamen (unless those death’s head statues are supposed to be him). There are halla statues (Ghilan’nain), Mythal in her dragon lady form, and even statues of Fen’Harel near the entrance of the temple and in the innermost sanctum. But there are more images of one particular elven god than any others: Falon’Din. He is everywhere. This leads to an interesting possibility. In the oldest elven records, Dirthamen and Falon’Din are never directly named.

Or it the “lost” temple really wasn’t lost. Not only did treasure hunters find the temple, but they were well into the process of reassembling the High Priest. If they could do it, so could many others. In fact, we know that the Dalish discovered and moved all of the runes necessary to locate the temple when they settled in the Dales. Dalish relics, like inuksuit and inunnguaq stone markers, are scattered throughout the ruin, and perhaps they were the one who buried so many bodies in the ruins. In the almost 300 years that the elves ruled the region, it stands to reason that they sought out and recovered every piece of their heritage that they could put their hands on. (The Dalish are, perhaps, following centuries of tradition from the Dales.) I cannot help but think that Dirthamen’s temple would have been pretty high on their priority list and, while we players often think that our characters are the only ones badass enough to brave all these dangerous ruins, it is pretty clear others made it to this temple first. While I doubt they were able to recover all of God of Secrets knowledge, I really hope they found some of it.

[I wonder if the shield, Dirthamen’s Wisdom, was returned by Dalish worshippers after the fall of the Dales while they were interring a deceased loved one (a Keeper, perhaps) in the Temple. There are tons of Dalish relics in the Inner Sanctum so they seem to have made it in there as well.]

I wonder if Dirthamen would only use one means of protecting his secrets. A god of wisdom wouldn’t put all of his eggs in one basket, would he? So perhaps he had several “Wells of Knowledge” hidden in different ways to prevent any one person or groups with ill intent from obtaining his wisdom. Whether any of these measures were enough (or even existed) remains to be seen.

The final possibility is the one alluded to in this post’s introduction: Could the elves who destroyed Mythal’s Temple left her Well of Sorrows intact, not only to avoid the geas, but because they already had all the knowledge they needed? Solas tells us that the Evunaris were generals before they were gods. Was Dirthamen to the Evunaris as Leliana is to the Inquisition? Their spymaster? If that were the case, his temple would have been the first stop for anyone seeking the knowledge to overthrow the Evanuris. The priests of Dirthamen seemed certain that someone was coming for their knowledge. Could it have been Solas’ rebels? Some other faction, perhaps based out of Arlathan itself? Something in the Fade sure seems to believe that Dirthamen was betrayed, and what greater betrayal could there be than for someone to steal your life’s work.

The sword in the back could even indicate it could have been someone close to him? Falon’Din, or perhaps Ghilan’nain, might fit the bill.

It is even possible that part or all of Dirthamen’s secrets were stolen before the Fall of the Elvhen Empire. The “Sinner” gained the ability to transform into a dragon at Ghilan’nain urging. Morrigan gains the exact same ability if she is allowed to drink from the Well of Sorrows. Did the Sinner drink from Dirthamen’s Well? If Dirthamen had been robbed once, he might have gone to extreme measures to protect his remaining secrets, including giving that knowledge to his most loyal priests with a geas to take his secrets to their graves.

So what does this add up to? A whole lot of maybes...but pretty interesting maybes. The most likely end for Dirthamen’s Well of knowledge is that it died with his priests’ madness. I’m going to keep my fingers crossed that one of the less likely, but more dramatic, scenarios turns out to be the truth.

So far we have only visited two of the Evanuris’ temples in game: Mythal’s and Dirthamen’s. At least, as far as we know. There is, however, a very interesting ruin with human and elven ties that sure seems to have Well of Sorrows. The problem is, it’s hard to say whether it is an original, a remnant, or an attempt at a recreation. The Brecilian Forest is our next stop.

-MM

Think you missed part of the “Well Shit” series? Here are our previous posts:

Part 1: Searching for the Secrets of the Elvhen Gods

Part 2: Origins of the Vir'abelasan

Part 3: Dirth of Knowledge

Part 4: The Elvhen Ritual

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #lost temple of dirthamen #temple of mythal #vir'abelasan #well of sorrows #mythal #dirthamen #evanuris #elvhenan #uthenera #dragon age fade #thedas technology #dragon age meta #dragon age theories #morta's musings #long post

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roguelioness · 7 years

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Neria Idrilla Lavellan

Origins Parents: Radavur Lavellan [father], Idrilla Lavellan [nee Idrilla Sabrae] Siblings: Salshira [sister], Eirlin [brother] Neria Lavellan, the eldest child of the the stoic, serious Radavur and fiery Idrilla, was so much her mother’s daughter that when her magic first manifested at the age of five, she nearly destroyed an aravel with anger-fuelled flame. Though she was berated by her parents, her Keeper immediately took her under her wing. Keeper Deshanna taught Neria how to control her magic, and trained her well. At the age of sixteen, Neria was given her vallaslin, taking Ghila’nain’s to honor the goddess and to pay homage to her own love of animals. Clan Lavellan Neria was passionate and bold, like her mother, but that was tempered by her father’s rationality. She was always ready to act against injustices, but everything she did was tempered with logic. This meant that trading with the shems proved profitable for the clan, for she was always able to analyze a situation and act accordingly. During her first Arlathvhen at the age of eighteen, she received many offers for her hand, but spurned all of them. Neria was a romantic at heart, and wanted the close-bonded relationship her parents had and refused to settle for anything less.

The Conclave She wasn’t very happy about being sent to the Conclave, believing that she would be better able to help the clan if she was with them. She was also apprehensive about being discovered as a mage amidst all the templars. However Keeper Deshanna pressed upon her the importance of observing the Conclave, and told Neria that she was the only one who had the guile and resourcefulness needed to handle the many shems she would encounter. When put it to her that way, Neria could hardly refuse, and set out for the Temple of Sacred Ashes on her own.

Upon receiving the mark, she was terrified, believing she would be killed and her clan targeted as well. She did everything she could to ingratiate herself with the shems, not wanting to antagonize them for her clan’s sake. It was only when she was awarded the title of Inquisitor that she stepped up to the role and really took charge, letting her voice ring out loud and clear. Her title of First, and her Keeper training served her well as a leader.

Relationship with companions

Cassandra Pentaghast - she was always apprehensive of the Seeker, not understanding why the woman insisted on imposing Andraste and the Maker on her. Neria was also oftentimes angry at Cassandra, especially when it came to religion. However she could not deny that Cassandra was honest and had a good heart. The two eventually found common ground over Varric’s novels, eventually going on to form a secret ‘Swords and Shields’ reading club [they met every Thursday in Neria’s room, along with tea and ginger-pear cookies, which the two women greatly enjoyed]. By the end, they were very close friends.

Iron Bull - Neria initially had reservations about the Iron Bull, especially because of his connection to the Qunari [she’d heard of what had happened in Kirkwall, and was wary of another Qunari attack]. As a result, she never really trusted a deal with the Qunari, and refused to sacrifice the Chargers, believing them to be better people than the Qunari ever could be. Though Bull was angry with her for his Tal Vashoth status, and they had a very nasty argument over it which came to blows, the two eventually reconciled and, with Neria as one of his closest friends, Bull eventually came to understand the true meaning of family.

Blackwall - she got along well with Blackwall, having a great respect for the Grey Wardens; however after his revelation, she was disheartened and lost a great deal of trust in him. However, conversations with Sera made her realize that he was a man who made a mistake and had tried to spend his life repenting and trying to make up for it, and so chose to forgive him, bidding him to live his life as Thom Rainier. T

Vivienne - Neria was only barely civil to Madame de Fer, the two women butting heads on more than one occasion. Despite her dislike of Vivienne, Neria acknowledged that the older woman was a mage of great talent, and eventually the two women forged a unlikely friendship over magic. Vivienne came to care for Neria a great deal, the Iron Lady impressed with the Inquisitor’s level-headedness.

Solas - at the beginning, she butted heads often with the elven apostate. She did not understand his dislike for the Dalish, and fought with him incessantly over the matter. However she couldn’t deny how knowledgeable he was, and they forged a tentative friendship over their mutual desire to learn more. Their friendship eventually blossomed into something deeper, and finally Neria knew she had met the man she could truly form a close bond with. She was deeply saddened when she was unable to save his spirit friend, and her anger at the mages who had bound the spirit so cruelly caused her to still her tongue when Solas attacked and killed them.

Dorian Pavus - she viewed Dorian with a great deal of suspicion at the start, because he was from Tevinter, and seemed to be unapologetic about slavery. They argued very often, and very loudly, but after their ordeal in the red-lyrium future the two grew closer, and Dorian eventually became one of her very best friends [on one occasion he froze the pants of a noble who was behaving very inappropriately towards her]. He was also her biggest supporter when she was trying to deal with the heartbreak Solas had bestowed upon her.

Varric Tethras - the dwarf from Kirkwall was very often her link to sanity. Varric taught her all the shem card games, and he always seemed to know when she was down - and found a way to cheer her up every time. He called her ‘Rosey’ not only because of the perpetual red flush on the tips of her ears, but also because he claimed she was “as pretty as a rose, but had some nasty thorns”.

Sera - The two women were as opposite in nature as could be. Neria was staunchly Dalish, and Sera eschewed anything remotely ‘elfy’. The two of them argued at the beginning, then avoided each other, but after her actions at Haven when Neria volunteered to sacrifice herself to save the others, Sera softened up. They became civil, and strangely Neria could understand Sera’s views on elven tradition, even if she didn’t fully agree with them. The two of them eventually went on to become the unlikeliest of friends, though it was greatly tested after the events at the Temple of Mythal. Still, they pulled through, and Sera was with her when they brought down Corypheus once and for all.

Cole - Neria wasn’t sure what to make of Cole, but she trusted Solas and readily accepted him. She eventually grew very fond of him and unofficially adopted him, refusing to let any of the others talk ill of her. When the time came for her to make a choice, it was with a heavy heart that she followed Solas’ advice and returned him to his spirit form. However, she always secretly believed Cole deserved to be truly human, and to experience everything that came with it.

Romance Neria’s friendship with the elven apostate turned into something deeper. Their relationship was the kind where each knew what the other was thinking without having to voice it. They were always found together; Solas accompanied Neria on all her excursions, and even at Skyhold, though Neria was kept busy with her duties, the evenings and nights she would spend with her love. They were two opposites that formed a perfect whole - she was fire, and he was ice. They were both rational, passionate individuals who valued knowledge a great deal. When Solas took her to Crestwood, she believed it was because he wanted to further deepen their commitment to one another. But when broke up with her instead, Neria was utterly devastated and inconsolable. She thought it was because she’d refused to let him take her vallaslin, and once back at Skyhold, in a moment of weakness, asked him to take it away from her if it meant he would come back to her. She lost her appetite and wasted away, and it was only through Vivienne’s intervention that she was able to channel her grief into anger, and took up dragon hunting instead. She knew Solas disapproved of herself throwing herself into danger that way, but she didn’t care - rather she enjoyed the activity further knowing that it annoyed him.

Major decisions Mages or Templars - Approached the Mages and allied with them because she sympathized with their plight, and distrusted the Templars [and did she have some words with Vivienne over this or what]. Hawke or Stroud - Left Stroud in the Fade. She knew Varric had a great affection for Hawke, and she couldn’t sacrifice his friend. She also had a soft spot for Marian Hawke, the two women sharing a similar sense of humor. Grey Wardens - Chose to ally with the Wardens, knowing that for all their idiotic actions they were Thedas’ best chance against a Blight. Halamshiral - Reunited Empress Celene and Briala, rejoicing when Briala was appointed Marquise of the Dales. On Solas’ advice, she went with Leliana’s suggestion to recruit the former Grand Duchess, though she personally believed that Florianne deserved to be executed. Temple of Mythal - She completed every ritual with a great deal of faith, and would’ve spent longer in the temple if it wasn’t for the threat of Corypheus. She was incredulous when she first encountered Abelas, and felt honored to be able to ally with them [although she later came to learn, much to her anger, that the Sentinels did not consider her people their own. She had some choice words for Abelas]. She drank from the Well of Sorrows, believing it to be her right.

Divine - Leliana was nominated Divine, which pleased Neria a great deal. She believed that the softened spymaster was the best leader for the controversial Chantry, preaching a message of love, inclusion and tolerance.

Trespasser The Exalted Council angered Neria a great deal, to know that the shems were so ready to forget about all the blood she had shed for them. Her friendship with Bull meant that he laughed at the Viddasala’s orders. She chose to free Ataashi, angered at how the Qunari had treated the majestic creature. When she met Solas, he shattered all her faith and her belief in her religion, and disheartened, she asked to join him. He broke her heart again when he refused to let her accompany him, and again when she understood that he’d known all along that the Anchor would kill her, but he’d done nothing for two years. She understood what he wanted to do, and knew, in the way only a soul mate could, that walking the dinan’shiral would destroy him. She knew she loved him too much to let him to that to himself, and so swore to him that their love would endure, and that she would find him another, less violent, path. Neria disbanded the Inquisition, considering its purpose completed, and wanting to devote all her time to tracking Solas down.

#Inquisitors #My OC #Neria Lavellan

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