#i haven't written anything creative for months i need to get back into the swing of things

[in-maidjan]

title: just a secret. words: 1.1k. summary:

“You said they didn’t know, so…well, it should sell the image more.”

“I never said they didn’t know.” 

“Until we’re sure they can be trusted – until they’ve earned our trust – you use these…it’s bad enough we are Dalish in this place. It would be worse if they knew you were a mage also.”

A lil thing I decided to write for my Lavellan sibs! I haven’t written in Ages so I’m little bit out of practice, but damn it feels good to write again. Full story under the cut!

When Vir’athim had first set his sights on Haven, he wanted to defy the Keeper and return home immediately. The mountain path to Haven had been littered with patches of snow, but the township itself was blanketed in it. Why anyone would choose to live there was beyond him.

He missed the heat of cracked earth, baked by the sun, underfoot. He missed walking along the paths with the earth feeling alive, warm and welcoming. At Haven, he woke each morning with misting breath, and if stepped outside of his quarters without a pair of wool-warmers and boots, he’d lose his toes in seconds.

If he ever got to leave, he would sail for the Free Marches in an instant. He would swim there, if he had to.

If, that is.

Tearing his gaze away from the soldiers training outside of Haven’s gates, Vir’athim turned over his left palm. The mark was seared into the flesh of his palm and fingertips in strange, circling patterns. The grooves were shallow, like a carved fingerprint, and every so often that soft green glow would flicker through it in a rippling pattern. He favoured his left for almost everything, and now it felt wrong. Whatever magic that made the mark was unknown to him. It had burned all of his nerves away, leaving only the mark and phantom pains.

They needed the mark, and by extent, they needed him. For how long, he didn’t know, and the thought of returning home became more of a dream with each passing day.

The weight of a heavy wool-lined blanket falling onto his shoulders jostled him out of his thoughts, however. Vir’athim welcomed it all too quickly, curling his hands around the edges and pulling it tight across his chest. He looked up to see Atisha’lin crouching to swing her legs over the wall, settling herself beside him.

“A thank you would be nice,” she said, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles.

He could not stop the chuckle that parted his lips, made him grin in turn. “Ma serannas, Attie.”

“I have something else for you. An actual gift,” she said, holding up an object about as long as her forearm that was wrapped in leather. She held it out to him, and when he took it from her, he noticed a pair of gloves tucked under the leather cord that kept the object bound.

“Attie you were made as a blessing by the Creators,” he said, eagerly yanking them out from under the cord. He rubbed his hands together quickly for a moment, not paying any mind to how Atisha’lin laughed at him, before tugging the gloves on. They were simple but finely made, with tight stitching and lined with fleece.

Beside him, Atisha’lin pointed to the leather wrap on his lap. “That too, open it.”

He waited a moment longer, savouring the knowledge that his hands were no longer exposed to the frigid mountain air. When she elbowed him, Vir’athim laughed, and batted away at her arm while promising to open it. The leather was light, but whatever was within was hard and weighted. Pulling open at the edge, he saw the gleam of a set of blades, slightly curved with a wrapped hilt.

“I had the smith make them,” Atisha’lin said. “You said they didn’t know, so…well, it should sell the image more.”

“I never said they didn’t know,” he replied in a hush. “I gather Solas knows. He would have sensed when he was examining the mark, most likely. If he’s told Cassandra, which he likely has, then they’d know.”

“Solas, huh? I’ll have a word with him.” She spoke again, this time with a sharper edge to her words, but before Vir’athim could interrupt whatever foolish idea just spurted in her mind, she continued. “Until we’re sure they can be trusted – until they’ve earned our trust – you use these.”

“The soldiers aren’t templars, not anymore. They left the Chantry–”

“–It’s not about the soldiers. Not just them, at least.” She let out a heavy sigh, lifting her head to look at the soldiers training. “Josephine told me rumours. The usual ones, but…it’s bad enough we are Dalish in this place. It would be worse if they knew you were a mage also.”

Vir’athim was quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in. It wasn’t as if he were blind to it – the looks, the sneers, the whispers of ‘herald’ and ‘knife-ear’ in the same breath. They’d both seen the destruction of the Mage-Templar war, all the way from the Free Marches into the heart of Ferelden. They had heard stories on both sides, of templars taking the sword to any they suspected of magic, and of mages who were so paranoid that they attacked any they too suspected of being a templar. Then there were the power-mad ones, those who just didn’t care about who the hurt. The ones who enjoyed the bloodshed of the war at its peak and didn’t want to lose the thrill.

There weren’t many stories about the templars and mages who protected each other, fought together, just to get through another day.

Atisha’lin had made it their rule, when they left the Free Marches. He wouldn’t use his magic, not unless they were entirely alone. He wouldn’t carry a staff, either, so he left his with Keeper Deshanna for safe-keeping. He understood why Atisha’lin was so fretful, but it pained him to hide his magic. He had never felt shameful for it, or fearful of it. The world, however, did not care.

“I’ll use them,” he said after a moment, taking them from his lap and placing the daggers at his side. “But you’re not allowed to go threatening people. Especially not Solas.”

She looked indignant. They both knew it was feigned. “I never said I would threaten him.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

The indignant frown twisted, curled into an unwilling pout as her brows furrowed beneath the curls falling across her face.

“I can’t promise that. I made a more important promise,” she replied.

He didn’t have the resolve to stand up to her on that front. She was here, after all. In a foreign place she’d never been before, surrounded by people she didn’t trust, not after hearing the worst of stories about them. He knew it in his heart, that she was as afraid as he was.

He pushed the daggers further back, scooting along the wall to lean against her side and rest his cheek against her shoulder. He felt her arm snake under the heavy wrap that was curled around his body, her arm hooked under his elbow and her hand squeezing the top of his.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Vim.” She spoke in a soft whisper, but her voice was harder than steel.

“I know, Attie.”

#oc; virathim #oc; atishalin #kites da ocs #kite writes #dragon age #da:i #i haven't written anything creative for months i need to get back into the swing of things #but this was a good way to start at least! and fun to do im love attie and vim #god bubs but ones who make bad decisions #also canon who don't know her in this house we don't acknowledge bioware until we have to