#aria trevelyan

[wyvernscales]

Symbols I associate with ocs - Worldstate: Then Let it be Ruby

Lucia Cousland: roses, swords, ribcages, vintage photos of women, marble statues

Rita Caron: the color blue, lace, skulls, shadows, ravens, torn and weathered flags

Adelaide Hawke: birds, the ocean, pirate ships, sand, sunset, sea glass

Tessa Adaar: fields of wildflowers, moths, lambs, flower crowns, owls

Aria Trevelyan: sunbeams, fire, heart lockets, the blade of mercy

Marzia: blood, veils, snakes, Victorian ghost pictures, claws

#junk speaks #mine #my ocs #my warden #my hawke #my inquisitor #worldstate: then let it be ruby #lucia cousland #rita caron #adelaide hawke #tessa adaar #aria trevelyan

[tempest4ngel]

#solas #aria trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #my ocs #my post #dai

[phillipsgraves]

i was tagged by @jendoe, @nightbloodraelle, @corvosattano, @minaharkers, @shegetsburned, @leviiackrman, and @shellibisshe to make some ocs on this picrew! thank you loves ❤️ went with my da kids this time :3

little late already but i'll tag @loriane-elmuerto, @jackiesarch, @florbelles, @unholymilf, @sstewyhosseini, @risingsh0t, @detectivelokis, @denerims, @indorilnerevarine, @simonxriley, and @jennystahl! sorry for any double tags 😅

athela mahariel 🗡 | andreas cousland 👑

alex hawke 🩸 | dominik van markham 🛡

aria lavellan 🌿 | antonio trevelyan 🔥

#AGH I JUST REALIZED DOM DOESNT HAVE A NAME THAT STARTS WITH A #my streak... #anyways here a picrew i promise im alive #just been very fatigued..like always LOL #tag games #oc: athela mahariel #oc: andreas cousland #oc: alex hawke #oc: dominik van markham #oc: aria lavellan #oc: antonio trevelyan

[aria-i-adagio]

Sketchy sketch

So, A) that line in trespasser gives me feels, B) Rhys absolutely did some adolescent-level drama shit (look... when you spend your teenage years in a circle, you might now manage erickson's stages of development in order, kay?) and decided he wasn't going to cut his hair until he saw Dorian again, meaning that yes, the little gremlin showed up at the Exalted Council with a man-bun. Josie isn't sure that she's ever going to forgive him.

Will I do anything more than a sketch with this? Probably not.

#rhys trevelyan #pavelyan #aria arts with varying degrees of success

[nowandthane]

OC Name Meaning

got tagged by @sillyliterature to do this! thank you <3

Rules: google and post the meaning of your OC'S name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too.

this is gonna be long i have a LOT of children 🧍

Sarani Shepard: meaning protector, guardian or path (gotta be honest, i knew about the first two and it's why i chose the name, but the third is a surprise to me when i googled again for this). I already kinda HCed Sarani (who had a different placeholder name at the time) as being part Indian so I was intentionally finding an Indian name that would fit. her LIs call her Rani sometimes which means 'queen' and 'joyous song' and that second one feels especially fitting as she doesnt let anyone else use her first name, and she is very happy to have people she loves and trusts 🥺

Mars Shepard: my new child i just made last night whose face isnt done yet xD got the idea of using space names from @xoshepard (thank youuu <3) and I went with Mars because roman god of WAR and also gender fuckery 😌 she's gonna be romancing Kaidan!

Nayima Surana: means gentle, delicate, tenderness. this is kind of hilarious because while that's how she starts off being her experiences have hardened her a lot 😔 i dont have a pic for her im gonna remake her when (if) i ever get back to playing dragon age. also goes by Naya (renewal, fresh). we can say that shot of darkspawn blood renewwed her and freshened her up!

Riyaad Hawke: my canon hawke is garrett riyaad is a random dude the hawkes adopted dfjkghk. name means 'beautiful garden'. if you cant tell, i almost stole his name for myself xD

Bintang: 'bintang' is the Malay word for star

Arianwen Trevelyan: means silver, blessed. she's an andrastian and blessed made sense because of that, and her hair is like blue-silver so yeah (silver when she was born, darkening to blue, was the canon i made for her i believe)

Bronwen Trevelyan: similar meaning, fair/white and blessed. she's aria's twin so it made sense.

Veara Lavellan: my lavellan used to be Valora and pretty much just chaged her name for veara. the most i found on the internet is that it means 'special' lmao

anyways i do have more OCs around here somewhere but i'll stop there kjdfhgkd

no pressure tags: @mxanigel @xoshepard @poetikat @sweetmage @azurechicken @malabadspice @illusivesoul @westernlarch @menacingmetal <3 <3 <3

#tag games #oh god now to tag all of them dfjkghdfl #sarani shepard #mars shepard #nayima surana #riyaad hawke #bintang #arianwen trevelyan #bronwen trevelyan #veara lavellan

[bitchesofostwick]

wip wednesday

been tagged somewhat recently by @captastra and @vakarians-babe but i was working on an art trade fic so i wasn’t able to share! i’m back working on HB tho so i have something to show for this week :) tagging @mournholdmushroom @vvakarians @cullenvhenan @star--nymph @ava-du-mortain

***

“Let me see it.”

“What?” she asks. As though she could fool anyone with such a question now. Least of all Avery.

“Your hand. The anchor. Let me look.”

“Dorian already—”

“I don’t give a damn about what Dorian’s done to it. He can mend a wound well enough in the thick of a fight, but he’s no healer. I am. Now let’s see it.”

No sooner does Ellinor stretch out her hand to her brother does Lyssa snatch it away, tugging her wrist so abruptly that Ellinor nearly falls over.

“No,” she whispers, and Ellinor struggles to no avail to pull her arm back.

Avery sighs. “You knew it was like this. I told you it was getting worse, I—”

“Ellie!”

She looks away, face turning red.

“Lyss—”

“Ellinor Aria T—” Lyssa stops herself. “Not even Trevelyan anymore.”

“What are you going on about?” Avery demands.

She supposes she should get used to her hand no longer being her own, she supposes, as Lyssa—still gripping her tight around the wrist—shoves it in Avery’s face.

“She’s been married!” she cries. “And she didn’t even tell us!”

Avery gapes at them both. “T-to Cullen?”

“Of course to Cullen!” Lyssa all but shrieks.

#wip wednesday

[nirikeehan]

happy friday / dadwc!! for your Thalia Trevelyan & Vivienne, may I prompt: "Pouring unfamiliar potions into bottles of fogged glass"?

Yes, you may!! What a thought-provoking prompt. I went pretty deep researching alchemy for this one, and I rather like how that part came out.

This probably will feature in the next chapter of nightmare au/Through a Glass, Darkly. I keep saying that but this time it's true I think, lmfao. For some context, "the rot" is the colloquial term for accelerated red lyrium corruption, and Cullen has been missing for a few days, making Thalia increasingly worried about him.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 624

---

Thalia’s boots echoed on the stone floors of the Chantry chambers, falling in time to the clicking of Vivienne’s heels. Down a dark hallway, Vivienne paused outside a heavy wooden door, fishing out a key from a chain that plunged deep into her neckline. 

Once the lock clicked, Vivienne pushed open the door and beckoned Thalia to the room beyond. Whatever its previous function, it had been converted to an alchemist’s station, laden with tools of the trade. A liquid so purple it was nearly black bubbled in a giant alembic. The iridescent cerulean of distilled lyrium glowed in another bulbous flask, accompanied by beakers, bottles, and crucibles of unidentified substances. Hanging from the walls were several varieties of dried herbs. Thalia recognized elfroot, vandal aria, and rashvine at a glance. A mortar and pestle sat on one table, its contents half-ground, as if someone had put it down only moments ago. 

“Vivienne,” Thalia breathed in awe, “what is all this?” 

Vivienne clucked her tongue, gliding over to the alembic dripping the violet-black liquid into a container of spherical glass fitted with a spigot. “I take it you never reached Advanced Alchemy in your Circle studies, my dear?” 

Thalia bristled at the insult’s subtlety. “I opted for the Herbalism track in the Natural Sciences discipline.”

“Ah. A practical move,” Vivienne cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, “for someone of your skill level.”

“Was there anything you’d like to accomplish here, Vivienne, aside from asserting your superior intellect?” Thalia asked tartly.

She paused, waiting for a scornful remark about falling short of her full potential due to the abolition of the Circles. Thankfully, Vivienne seemed to know how to pick her battles. Without another word, she placed a small bottle of fogged glass under the spigot. Using a set of metal tongs, she opened it. The steaming liquid oozed into the bottle. 

Thalia stood by, anxious. “What exactly are you—?”

“Shh, my dear. You wouldn’t want me to spill any.” 

When she finished, Vivienne turned off the spigot and turned to her, holding out the bottle. “Drink.” 

Thalia hesitated. “What is it?”

“You said you wished to leave the village to search for the Commander. This is a preventative measure. To protect you from the rot.” 

Thalia took the bottle lightly. It was warm to the touch, though not scalding as she’d been expecting. “I thought you said something about — mages having a natural immunity?” 

“A natural resistance, we think,” Vivienne corrected gently. “That is by no means a guarantee.”

 She watched Thalia expectantly. 

“Who is ‘we’?” Thalia asked.

“Myself, a few local Chantry scholars, and my trusted guard. The formula has been tested over many months on myself first and them second. Then, we introduced it to the general townsfolk. It seems to have a deterrent effect, yes.” 

“Local Chantry scholars?” This was the first Thalia had heard of them. “Where are they now?”

“They did not survive the last bandit raid, I’m sad to report.”

“If you’ve had this potion this whole time, why didn’t you give some to Cullen when you saw him at the gate?” Thalia asked archly. 

“‘Preventative’ does not mean ‘curative,’ darling. Surely you learned that in your Herbalism lessons?”

Thalia sighed. She stared at the bottle, smoking ominously. 

Vivienne pressed her lips together. “Of course, given your time in close proximity to the Commander, one cannot be sure whether this remedy is entirely—”

Thalia put her mouth to the bottle’s rim and downed the concoction in one go. It burned thick and slow along throat; she fell into a coughing fit. When she straightened and wiped the moisture from her eyes, Vivienne stood with a look akin to admiration. “Well, you never did lack for courage, Inquisitor.”

#thalia trevelyan #vivienne #nightmare!au #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

[atypicalacademic]

WIP SOMETHING

Thank you for the tag, @aria-i-adagio , I recently had a Cyberpunk-ish DA dream and this is a snippet of the result -

Tagging @memaidraws and @dumpsterhipster if you feel inclined!!

"How's it feel, huh?" Stitches glanced at her over the swab. "Freedom."

Amell was green in the face, from the liquor or the dizzying pain Mesmer couldn't tell, but she smiled, all dimples and chubby cheeks. "I don't know how to thank you, Serah."

Mesmer shrugged. "Its all paid for."

If Mesmer won't be stupid about it, they could score more spare parts to tinker around with their lenses with what the Hawkes paid to get their pretty little cousin out of the Circle Tower. There was a brother, too, or at least a slender, loaded business card colored the Pentaghast bronze, mirroring a fair bit of the holographic lanes soaring over the tar-paved Deep Roads.

Lanes that led where the money went.

Trevelyan green, Valmont gold, Hawke-Amell red.

But she, Amell, would have to slum it in the terribly tangible world of Dust Town's fumes and vodka anaesthetics and oil-soaked leftovers till the coast cleared.

Mesmer rolled over listlessly and reached for a shot. They'd almost gotten used to Solas' soft, downy sheets, the world all off kilter like a handful of fairy lights out past the windows of his penthouse.

#mesmer seyras #tatiana amell #dragon age

[spindlewoed]

new da teaser got me thinking about my inquisitor. im diseased

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #the iron bull #aria trevelyan #draws

[toni-sparkles]

Day Thirty: Teeming

This one took a while to do but it was worth it in the end.

Wanted to do another action scene for this prompt, and my experience with this particular rift in the Hinterlands was the one that hit me right away.

I also wanted to do one with Aria, my human mage who’s Circle uprising was one of the more violent ones. She is shown here with her multiple facial scars from that time.

Just simple lining for this one with how tiny some of the details are. I will totally be doing a color version at a later date, so there will be a lot more to the depth than seen here.

#my art #dragonage #inktober #inktober2018 #dragonage:inquisition #dai #Inquisitor ​Aria #human inquisitor #Hinterlands #waterfall rift in the Hinterlands #you all know the one #inquisitor trevelyan #Aria Trevelyan #mage inquisitor

[wyvernscales]

Woe, full names be upon ye

Mi'var "Brielle" Atheraniel Mahariel of Clan Lavellan Cian Ronan Hawke Feja Anika Aestyth Valda Angyalka Aeducan Eth'las "Elias" Atheranion Mahariel of Clan Sabrae Talani Brosca Elara Assanniel Sabrae of Clan Lavellan Ghilana Elariel Sabrae of Clan Lavellan

Lucia Mairyn Evandra Cousland Marguerites "Rita" Hèloïse Caron Adelaide Elspeth Hawke Hissera "Tessa" Adaar Adralla "Aria" Anne Trevelyan Marzia [?]

Alaric Theodemir Amell Syl'vhenan Andras Kirta Deka Kader Nikolas Kay Hawke-Amell Rihannon "Rynn" Shea Cadash Lorelei Surana

#dragon age #junk speaks #worldstate: the maker's (un)chosen #worldstate: my valley my shadow #worldstate: then let it be ruby #my warden #my inquisitor #my hawke #my ocs

[tempest4ngel]

#dai #inquisitor trevelyan #aria trevelyan #my ocs #my post

[phillipsgraves]

how do you keep going when the worst thing has happened?

[ vet, aerie, hilda, addie, rosie, and cress belong to @jendoe! ] [ template by @marivenah! ]

#half of the people here belonging to aj i love our worldstate so much #also if hela's vallaslin looks badly edited. thats bc it is but i tried ok ❤ #also i was gonna do aria too but i dont. have an fc for her LMAO sorry girlie maybe next time #all my da protagonists having a-names is the funniest trend i've ever done #my edits #oc: athela mahariel #oc: alex hawke #oc: antonio trevelyan

[nowandthane]

OC Tag Game

Tagged by @my-dumb-obsessions <3 thank you! I'll just be doing my Dragon Age and Mass Effect OCs

Tagging @elvhencore @malabadspice @sillyliterature @daedrabait @ace-trash-boi @yurissweettooth and anyone else who wants to do this! No pressure though <3

Favourite OC: I feel like this changes based on who I'm writing atm, but right now it's Sarani Shepard. Working on her story and relationships the past few months have been great escapism for me, and writing it now is so healing. I love them so much. She was meant to die in the end and I changed their ending because I just could not stand it. I need her to be happy.

Newest OC: Okay this was kinda hard lmao. I thought it was Riyaad, but I made him ages ago and just reworked him recently, so he doesn't count. I have a Templar OC in mind but they don't have a name yet. So I guess it's Nayima Surana! My new HoF <3 I am retiring my old one for Reasons, but designing Nayima has been really great for making me desperate to write DA again.

Oldest OC: That'll be Valora Lavellan, who used to be my canon Inquisitor. She has also been retired from my canon for Reasons, but I'm planning on bringing her back. Been thinking about her relationship with Veara (who is my new inky) and I might make them siblings. We will see!

Meanest OC: Hmm. Probably Nayima or Lara. They're the ones with the least shit to give.

Softest OC: Arianwen Trevelyan. Funnily enough, I think on the surface she'd be my meanest, but she's really incredibly soft inside.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Bintang! Bintang is a healer who helps Anders in the clinic and with the mage underground. She joins the Inquisition to hunt for Samson, her former lover. She's one of my 'side' characters I never really talk about but her story and character is one of the most fleshed out xD

Dumbest (Affectionate) OC: ok lmao, just because he's like 5 years old, it's Aidan Trevelyan, Aria's son lmao. The competittion is too steep baby I'm sorry <3

Smartest OC: I'll go with Rain Surana. Who is admittedly also a child (16/17) but they are a magical prodigy so

OC I'd Probably Be Friends With: Riyaad Hawke, who is not technically a Hawke but gets adopted into the family. He's kinda insane. So we'd get along really well. It's the mental illness.

'Dragon Age and Mass Effect OCs' there is only one ME character on here lmao

#thank you so much for the tag omg #this was so fun! #tag games #sarani shepard #nayima surana #valora lavellan #veara lavellan #lara #arianwen trevelyan #bintang #aidan trevelyan #rain surana #riyaad hawke #damn garrett really didn't make it onto the list huh #im so sorry baby #none of the origins characters did either but i havent really fleshed them out yet

[trekwanderer]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age) Summary:

Aria Trevelyan is feeling the pressure of the Inquisition, and needs to be alone. Or so she thought.

#dragon age inquisition #cullen x inquisitor #dai #aria trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday! For DWC, might I suggest "Delirium" from Bad Things Happen Bingo for Blackwall/Thalia Trevelyan?

Omg yes you may!! I'm sorry this took so long to write. It's been haunting me for months. Also the lovely @rosella-writes asked for the same prompt for Cole and Dorian, so I combined them.

Things got long. And weird.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

One for Sorrow

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Characters: Thalia Trevelyan, Blackwall, Cole, Dorian Pavus, and a cameo from someone's dead sister maybe

Word Count: 3766

---

“Let me get this straight,” Dorian said, easing delicately onto the blanket to avoid getting sand on his robes. “You’re no longer speaking to Blackwall, yet you’ve still asked him to accompany us on a trek to the bleakest end of Thedas?”

Thalia slid over to give her friend more room, leaning her elbow heavily on one knee. She stared resolutely ahead, where the man of whom Dorian spoke helped Cole with his tent. His movements were smooth and methodical, voice patient as he explained the specifics to the flaxen-haired boy. Thalia felt a pang in her chest that could either be longing or fury. “That’s not his name.” 

Dorian sighed. “You know who I mean.” 

“And it isn’t that I’m not speaking with him.” She raised her chin defiantly. “He’s not speaking with me.” 

“Why ever not?” 

Thalia shrugged, at a loss for an explanation. The betrayal still smarted, but not as much as his rejection. And after the lengths to which she had gone to save him! No gratitude, no apology, just scowls and accusations — that she was backing him into a corner, that she was just as corrupt as the institutions she sought to overthrow, that she had compromised her principles for a man he’d made clear wasn’t worth it. She tried often to remind herself this spiteful stranger was only trying to hurt her with such words. (Sometimes, late at night, when she considered the cost of her actions, she worried he might be right.)

Regardless, the mission went forward. Venatori had been spotted excavating unknown ruins in a Maker-forsaken land known as the Hissing Wastes, and Thalia had assembled a team. Dorian had been a shoe-in — prior experience with the Tevinter supremacists was a must. Cole was a bit of a wild card, although she trusted him more now that he had embraced his human side. She needed stealth and insight, and he provided both, often in unorthodox ways. And Blackwall — well, the man who had called himself that name…

He had been her protector for months. Maybe it was force of habit that made her include him, even though she could have taken Iron Bull or Cassandra and obtained the same skillset. 

I don’t want Bull or Cassandra, Thalia thought sullenly. In the dim pre-dawn light, she watched the lines of Blackwall’s face, the way the wind moved through his hair. Her heart beat faster. I want things to go back to the way they were. 

She stood abruptly. “Excuse me for a moment, Dorian. I need some fresh air.”

Dorian tilted his head, concerned. “The sun will be up soon, you know.”

“I know.” The Hissing Wastes were so foreboding that the Inquisition had been forced to operate at night, framed by a vast sky of stars and a bloated moon. The days were for sleeping through the oppressive heat. “I won’t be long.” 

Thalia trudged up the sandy canyon, feigning interest in scrubby flora. She spied amrita vein and vandal aria, the spindly remains of death root. The breeze felt cool on her face, and the faintest bit of light loomed on the far horizon. 

She plopped down under a small outcropping of rock and buried her face in her hands, ignoring the familiar tug of fatigue and a bizarre urge to cry. She wished for an escape — not from her colleagues, or these damned Wastes, but everything. Since the Winter Palace, her life felt like a blur of one crisis after another, during which she’d been tugged in diametrically opposed directions. No, that wasn’t right either. It was all of it, every damned thing to happen since the Conclave, that had thrust her into this position of potential greatness, so she could break the shackles of the past, craft a vision of the future.

For what? Sure, the Templars were all but dismantled, her mage brethren free to practice their craft unrestrained, but tyranny still loomed. Despite being beaten back on several fronts, Corypheus seemed more powerful than ever. 

And Blackwall hated her.

Thalia sighed, leaning against the rock. Plump berries hung on hanging vines beside her, gleaming a blackish-purple in the waning darkness. She frowned at them. She had an interest in herbalism, a subject she’d easily excelled at in the Circle, but she was not so passionate as to possess encyclopedic knowledge of every plant. 

“One for sorrow,” said an intense voice, startling her. Cole crouched on the other side of the vine, picking berries with one hand. “Two for joy. Three for a girl, four for a boy.” 

Thalia wrinkled her nose. She recognized the rhyme, but the context was off. “Isn’t that supposed to be about magpies?”

Cole’s blue eyes seemed to burn as he met her gaze. “Have you seen any magpies here?” 

“No.”

Cole bobbed his head in an exaggerated nod, as if that explained everything. He continued counting, filling his palm with berries. “Five for silver, six for gold.” 

Thalia reached up and plucked one off the vine. “Seven for a secret never to be told.” 

Cole’s face was bathed in shadow. “But the secret was told, and now you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Thalia protested. 

“You’re sad that Blackwall isn’t Blackwall. You think you loved a lie.” 

The potency of his words shook her. “Cole, please.” It wasn’t love. It was just a silly schoolgirl’s fancy.

Cole looked over her shoulder, into the darkened canyon, licking chapped lips. “The parts you loved weren’t lies.” 

“All right, Cole, that’s quite enough.” Thalia popped the berry in her mouth and chewed fastidiously, as if destroying the evidence would break his train of thought. It was tarter than she imagined, and it wasn’t until she was sucking the black juice from her fingertips that she remembered the warning from her herbalism professor. Never, ever eat a plant you haven’t identified. 

She lowered her hand and squinted at the vine in the brightening dawn. She didn’t feel any different, and wasn’t inclined to panic about it quite yet. “That’s not the only version of the rhyme there is, you know.” 

Cole blinked pale lashes at her. Thalia reached over and plucked the berries from his palm, laying them down on the sand between them. “One for sorrow, two for mirth…” She paused, struggling to remember. She’d known it a second ago. How had it gone? 

Cole put his hand over hers. “Three for a funeral.” 

“That’s right.” Her mouth felt cottony, and his words sounded scary, with a vast echo to them, although he spoke quietly. “And four for a birth.”

She was shivering despite the warming air. A sweat broke on her brow. 

Cole frowned. His face doubled in her vision. “Thalia?” Fear edged into his voice. “How does the rest of it go?” 

She felt sleepy, and wanted to lie down. 

— 

Blackwall — he could still go by that name, if he chose — tamped down the last corner of his tent, and straightened to find Dorian Pavus in his face. 

“Dorian.” Often his feelings about the flamboyant Tevinter mage could be summed up by the vehemence with which Blackwall uttered his name.

The younger man returned the sneer. “You ought to apologize to her, you know.” 

Blackwall let out a derisive laugh. “For what?” 

“You know for what.” Dorian spoke with the authority of the entitled, and surely thought himself intimidating. Blackwall wanted to tell him exactly how silly he looked: a boy in the school yard standing up for a slighted friend. As if Blackwall had pulled Thalia’s pigtails and made her cry. 

“She’s a woman grown,” he growled. “She’ll get over it.” 

She would have to. When they’d met, Lady Thalia Trevelyan had been young enough to still believe in the kind of knights that existed in songs and romances: bound by duty and honor, instead of greed and corruption. He had disabused her of that notion swift enough. 

“So it’s true, then.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed to flinty slits. “That injured martyr persona of yours was nothing but an act.” 

Blackwall clenched his jaw and imagined, with immense pleasure, hurling his fist into that smug, mustachioed face.

“Quickly,” cried a voice at the edge of camp. 

Cole stood, silhouetted by rays of the rising sun, carrying a limp Thalia in his arms. Blackwall had never thought the lad to be so strong, but demon-spirit-boys often surprised even the most curious minds. Within seconds he and Dorian were at Cole’s side, the squabble forgotten. 

“What the blazes happened?” Blackwall demanded. 

Cole shook his head with mute terror. For a dark second Blackwall wondered if the boy had done her harm, but both Cole’s daggers remained clean and sheathed on his back. He searched Thalia for signs of wounds or blood, but found none. Her face was slick with sweat; the Circle of Ostwick tattoo ringing her eye stood out prominently against her blanched skin. 

Dorian pressed a hand to her forehead. “She’s burning up.” 

“Cole, tell me.” Blackwall had no time for theatrics.

“Magpies,” whispered Cole, incoherently. 

“What?” 

“We were counting berries black as magpies.” The boy was shaking. “Three for a funeral, I said.”

That wasn’t much better, but the description of the berriesmade sense, at least. “Did she eat any?” 

Swallowing hard, Cole nodded. 

Blackwall swore under his breath. “Stupid, stupid girl.” He reached out and took Thalia from Cole, cradling her close. As light as she was, the dead weight frightened him. Her head lolled and her eyes fluttered open briefly; blue irises flashed and were gone. She mumbled something he couldn’t hear. Blackwall turned without another word and strode toward his tent, a terrible heaviness growing inside him. 

Dorian kept pace, flitting about like a gnat in his ear. “Rainier, what is the meaning of this?” 

Blackwall ground his teeth against the invocation of his true name. “Look around, Dorian. Nearly every bit of wildlife in the Hissing Wastes can kill you. They’ve adapted out of sheer need for survival. If these are the sort of berries I think they are, they cause high fever, hallucinations, and, in large enough quantities, death.” 

His grim words sobered Dorian, momentarily. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And how is it you know so much about the botany of this region?” 

There was no reason to hide it. “Been here before.” 

“Have you? To this desolate heap of sand? I’m ever so curious as to why.” 

His tent loomed, bathed in orange sunlight. He needed to get her shaded. The more fluids she lost, the worse it would be. “A job,” he grunted. 

“For the Orlesians?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Or someone else?” 

Blackwall halted in front of the tent’s entrance and turned to the Tevinter mage. “Is now really the bloody time to accuse me of treason, Dorian?” 

“This entire place is positively crawling with Venatori and Red Templars, and you’re about to take the Inquisitor into your tent to — I assume — treat her for so-called ‘poison.’ So yes,” Dorian said, lowering his voice dangerously, “I think now is the essential time to understand your intentions.” 

The tightness in Blackwall’s chest twisted like a dagger in a wound. This was the price one paid for treachery  of his degree. Even though he’d been “pardoned,”suspicion followed him everywhere, clinging to him like a bad smell. Tiny seeds of doubt lingered, planted themselves in others’ minds, and bloomed at the worst moments. He had never liked Dorian overmuch, but Blackwall had been willing to die for him countless times over. None of that mattered; nor did the countless times more he had put his life on the line for Thalia. 

Fury coursed through him. “Was it not enough for you,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “to walk up on that gallows and beg them to fit the noose round my neck?” 

Dorian’s mouth twitched, a scathing rebuttal undoubtedly loaded on his tongue, but something stayed his shot.

“Need water,” Cole gasped, appearing between them. 

“Not right now, Cole,” Dorian snapped. 

“No, need water. For Thalia.” Cole held up an armful of canteens. Blackwall recognized them as the entire party’s water supply, filched from their packs. 

“That’s good, Cole. Our best chance is to keep her hydrated.” Whether the kid had plucked that bit of knowledge from his head or divined it elsewhere, Blackwall didn’t care. “No small feat in the desert. We’ll need all that and more.” He eyed Dorian. “That all right with you, or should we waste more precious seconds examining my motives?” 

Dorian inhaled deeply, as if summoning all the patience he could muster. Then he opened the tent flap and stepped away. 

Blackwall nodded in thanks and carried Thalia inside. 

—

“Sorrow,” Thalia mumbled, as Blackwall wrung out the rag and replaced it on her brow. “For… one, two. Sorrow for us, too.”

“Hush now.” He balanced elbows on his knees and pressed damp hands to his face. Her nonsensical rambles would only parch her more, and he was having a difficult enough time as it was getting her to drink. 

The air in the tent was hot and close, even in the shade of the spindly tree where he’d erected it. He’d laid her out on his bedroll and sat beside her on a stool. The water he’d poured into the wash basin was tepid at best. If only Vivienne were here — her spells were as icy as her demeanor, yet he’d never longed for them more. Every time he touched Thalia’s skin, she felt hotter. If this continued, he imagined her internally combusting before anyone returned. 

Blackwall was not sure how he’d gotten Dorian to leave. Perhaps his bedside manner was better than the mage had anticipated, or the prospect of letting Cole go alone to the Inquisition supply line for a trained medic had been too risky. Either way, he’d convinced them both, and Thalia Trevelyan was now the sole responsibility of that notorious traitor, Thom Rainier. If she died on his watch, he had no doubt his execution would swiftly follow — and rightly so. He had sworn to protect her, and his damned pride had gotten in the way. 

He mustn’t think like that. Before leaving camp, Cole stood in the tent entrance, scorching wind mussing his stringy hair, and whispered urgently: “Don’t start picking flowers yet.”

Maker take the boy for his powers, for slipping in and out of one’s darkest memories. Cole’s words had lodged themselves deep within his heart. He felt the shade of his sister nearby as he clutched Thalia’s limp hand between both of his. Liddy too had been wracked with fever, shivering in the summertime. And that terrible cough, keeping the whole family fretting awake night after night, until… 

“Funeral makes three,” whispered Thalia. 

“It was a bloody stupid thing to do,” Blackwall snarled, heart pounding. “You ought to have known better.” 

He saw her seated atop her throne, brow furrowed and voice firm as the guards shoved him forward. She made a decent show of it, but he had been close enough to see the agony in her eyes. He’d tried to dissuade her, but she would have found a way to free him if she’d had to gnaw through his bindings with her teeth.

“Fat lot of good it’s done you, eh?” 

Now it wasn’t just him they whispered about in the halls of Skyhold, but her as well. Why would the Inquisitor pardon a creature like him? Does she have similar misdeeds to hide? Her power had always been precarious, as he’d tried to warn her. He knew how easily it could slip from one’s grasp. Allies turned to enemies in the blink of an eye. Last night’s dinner companions condemned you in the streets today if given half a chance, and enough gold. The Game was never only played in Orlais.

“Here we are, two people on borrowed time. Maybe we do deserve each other.” 

And if she died here, what would be said? Poisoned herself, the silly little fool. Never should have let her out of the Circle, mages can’t care for themselves. No, Dorian probably had the right of it: Thom Rainier was bribed by the Venatori to bump her off, no doubt. His heart’s treasonous to the core. See how her kindness was repaid? Poor girl.

“Bloody hell.” Blackwall leaned forward and kissed her desperately on the forehead. “Wake up, Thalia. You need to wake up, Maker damn you. I didn’t survive the gallows just to see you die like this.”

Thalia lay still. Her eyes moved under their lids, as if dreaming.

Blackwall sighed. He sat back and grabbed the canteen at his feet. Perhaps he could at least get her to drink a few more drops. 

—

Thalia was floating. Though she was as light as air, sound came as if through water. Warped voices echoed above her. Blackwall she recognized, though not his words. He sounded wracked with despair, but so far away.

Before her stood a young girl, small and pale with a mop of curly black hair and bright grey eyes. She seemed vaguely familiar, although Thalia could not place her. 

“Look,” the girl said, pointing. “Magpies.” 

They stood on a cobblestone city street, and the birds swooped down from the rooftops. “Do you know the rhyme?” Thalia asked. 

The girl nodded solemnly. “I can count, too. One for sorrow, two for…” She flagged, struggling to find the next word.

“Mirth,” Thalia urged. “And three for a funeral.”

The girl frowned. “That’s not how Thom taught me.”

The name shot through Thalia like an arrow. “Thom?”

The girl nodded, oblivious. “My brother. He’s round here somewhere. He never lets me go too far.”

 Thalia wrapped arms around her torso. The girl’s accent, she realized, had the lilt of a Markham peasant. 

“Thalia?” the girl asked. “How’s it go after that?”

“Four. For a birth.” 

She blinked, and stood in a room filled with sunlight, overlooking the sea. By the window, she recognized Blackwall with a young woman. She had long auburn hair that fell past her shoulders and held a swaddled baby in her arms. Ever so gently she passed the infant to Blackwall; a look of joy alighted his face. The young woman was her, she realized. A future that will never be, said something deep and dark. 

“Five for the Fade.”

The murky black-green of the Fade, where sound echoed strangely and abominations roamed. The cemetery stretched out before her, gravestones etched with the deepest fears of her closest friends. She tried to run, but tripped and fell, grabbing Blackwall’s to catch her. Himself, said the stone. 

What’s wrong with you? she had wanted to scream when she’d first seen it. What are you hiding? It can’t be that bad. 

She’d been wrong. 

“Six for the Veil.” 

She plunged into blackness, surrounded on all sides by a horrific tearing sound. Corypheus’s voice loomed close, yet she thought she noticed a tiny bit of light far off. She must still be floating, deep down in a lake. She tried to swim toward the surface and the sun. 

“Seven for the Dread Wolf, may he never prevail.” 

As she swam and shapes lighted around her, a shadow lengthened into a smooth-faced elf, with pointed ears and pointed teeth. She stared in wondered. “Solas?” she tried to call, but water pushed down her throat, into her lungs.

Thalia? Thalia! 

The voice came from above. The wolfish apparition vanished. She tried to swim, moving her limbs through water thick as molasses. 

You need to wake up, Thalia… Maker damn you, wake up! 

She swam and swam and swam, until she grew too tired. The water filled her to the brim and dragged her down. I’m drowning, she thought. I’m drowning in the desert… 

—-

She awoke, drenched and sputtering. The canteen slipped from Blackwall’s hands and fell to the tent floor. “Andraste’s tit,” Blackwall swore, scooping up the container before it could leak out too much water. “My lady, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

Coughing, Thalia nodded and tried to rise. A meaty hand connected with her shoulder and forced her down onto the bedroll. “Oh, no you don’t. Lie still for a spell. You’ve been thrashing about in your sleep something fierce.” 

Irked but exhausted, Thalia did as she was told. She felt overheated and chilled all at once, wet and grimy. Hacking cleared her lungs, and at last she found the energy to speak. “Blackwall… the… the little girl called you Thom…” 

He stilled on the stool beside her. “Did she?” 

Thalia nodded, unsure if he was merely humoring her. He usually grew angry when she used his real name.

“Did she say anything else?” he asked quietly.

Thalia thought back; it was like grasping the strands of a dream, evaporating as she reached. “We were counting magpies. She said… you were her brother…” 

She watched him swallow under his beard. “Don’t worry about it, my lady. You’ve been feverish and dreaming.” 

“Yes.” Thalia looked around uncertainly. Oh Maker, she was in his tent? “What happened? I remember… Cole and the rhyming, and the berries…” She pressed a hand to her clammy forehead, overcome with embarrassment. “It was the berries, wasn’t it?” 

Blackwall nodded solemnly. 

“Well, that makes me a proper idiot, doesn’t it?”

For the first time since before Val Royeaux, she saw him break into a chuckle. “It certainly bloody does.” 

She had an urge to crawl off the bedroll and into his lap, to kiss him as fiercely as he had that night in her quarters — before he’d begged her to end their flirtation and, in confused distress, she’d obliged. She had believed he’d blamed her somehow, and that had been unfair of him, and she’d been angry about it, angry for so long. She understood now, the full scope of what he’d been trying to stave off. It could still work, she wanted to say, thinking of the bright room and the seaside view and the baby between them. 

But she was too tired to move, never mind rise. Then the tent flap was moving and there were Dorian and Cole, relief etched on their faces. They were accompanied by Inquisition soldiers and a dour medic, ready to fill her with potions and lectures about ingesting dangerous plants. 

In the shuffle, the man once known as Blackwall stood quietly and retreated from the tent. If he noticed the soldiers’ glances of scorn, he gave no sign. For a long while, Thalia watched his shadow cut its way across the walls of the tent as he kept vigil in the blazing sun. 

#blackwall x trevelyan #thalia trevelyan #blackwall #fics #why can't i just let them be happy #I HAVE THE POWER #but it never works #hurt/comfort #mutual pining #dragon age drunk writing circle #bad things happen bingo