#i imagine them they float or something like that when rift mage use their magic?

[knifeearsairaly]

Just a monochrome sketchy Harel and his usual “do i look like i give a single f*ck?” best face👌🏼

#dragon age inquisition #dai #harel #inquisitor lavellan #the little things floating around are rocks #i think #you know the one rift mages throw around #i imagine them they float or something like that when rift mage use their magic? #like the rocks you see floating in the fade #anyway i was very very lazy and i should be in bed already as in 5 hours the alarm is gonna kick me out of bed #but i really wanted to do some relaxing angry elf sketch #so here we are #sveglia non ti temo

[virlath]

Reading into the red lyrium idol and Solas’ end-game

The lyrium idol seems to be a major plot device in DA4.

The story recounts a group of spies sharing information on Solas and his plans, detailing all the information they know so far with a few lies and/or embellishments interwoven throughout. 

There is one thing everyone at the table seems to agree on though and that is: the importance of the red lyrium idol to Solas’ plans. 

But is it the same lyrium idol we know of?

In all the spies’ stories, they describe the idol as specifically depicting two figures.

Carta dwarf: ...It’s not much to look at—a couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves—but it’s sitting there, glowing softly like a ruby lit by the grace of the Maker himself. Mortalitasi: When he opened the thick chest marked with the Carta’s protective runes and drew it forth, we saw it clearly—an idol crafted from red lyrium, which seemed to show two lovers, or a god mourning her sacrifice, depending upon how it caught your fancy. Bard (disguised Solas): ...He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other,

For those of us who have been obsessively squinting at every little detail on the idol from all angles, it’s now quite clear there are in fact three figures on the idol, not two.

The fact that Bioware cleaned up the model from DA2, made the idol the centrepiece of the teaser, and outlined the shape of it in the corresponding mural, indicates that the description of the idol showing two figures in the book is not an accident.

The difficulty in verifying the authenticity of the idol itself is actually one of the biggest questions I have raised since reading the book, and makes me wonder if the lyrium idol in TN is the same as the one Hawke found in DA2.

We already know the Carta assassin was briefed by Varric:

“I’m only here because Viscount Tethras called in a few favors,” he said, smiling broadly, “but I didn’t expect to be the best-informed person in the room. You don’t even know what he wants, and I can tell you that!”

If anyone in Thedas could describe and spot the original idol it would be Varric. He did after all find it with Hawke, and his brother went crazy from it. 

How then could his hired spy get the description of the idol wrong, unless he was lying? And even if he was lying, why did the Mortalitasi and Bard (Solas) back him up by also describing the idol as portraying exactly two figures?

They are all spies in the room- they are supposed to pay attention to detail. How could they miss an important detail such as that? 

So, after reading this story, I have a lot of questions.

Who is the mysterious third figure in the idol and why did no spy notice it on the idol they described?

Are there multiple idols floating around that we don’t yet know of?

Did Solas plant a decoy, hoping to throw everyone off the real idol? Meaning, is he also still looking for the real idol?

Can he or the idol itself affect how it’s perceived by people in reality?

Did a chunk break off when it was smelted into Meredith’s/Samson’s sword, and is a piece still lying around somewhere in Thedas?

===

The idol’s purpose

It seems that the idol is extremely important to Solas and his plans. He claims it belongs to him, and it is clear he intends to reclaim ownership of it no matter the cost. In fact, he claims to already be in possession of it (though I am doubtful of that).

The Bard (Solas): Slowly, he lifted the red lyrium idol from the pillow where it rested. He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other, but I could not make out the words, for I fear they were elven... The idol’s journey is now complete, and it has found its master. He will destroy anyone in his way without regret or hesitation, and whatever he intends, I do not believe we can stop it.

According to the Mortalitasi’s story, the idol is in fact a ritual blade:

When our power, plus the power of our arcane possessions, plus the power of his slaves’ lives, had all come to him, the Tevinter mage raised the idol before him, and I saw a spike of lyrium spring from the base of the idol, so that all at once, it was not merely an idol, but a ritual blade. He slashed his own hand, and a wave of power pulsed through the cavern. It was as though we were the blood, and the cavern was the body through which it flowed, and we fell, all of us, to the ground, our minds pulled into the raw chaos of the Fade by the power of his ritual.

It turns out the Mortalitasi actually intended on using the idol as part of a blood magic ritual to bind spirits to their will so they could repel the Antaam invasion.

...every dream, every demon, every half-interested spirit would urge them back to the north, away from humanity. Their resolve would weaken, their invasion would crumble, and all would go back to the way it should be.

Now remember in DA2, Merrill tells us a story of a blade to end the elven civil war when she recounts the story of the Dread Wolf:

“Fen’Harel was clever. He could walk among both clans of gods without fear, and both believed he was one of them.”

“He went to each side, and told them the other had forged a terrible weapon, a blade that would end the war.”

“He told the Creators it was forged in the heavens, and the Forgotten Ones, that it was hidden in the abyss.”

In TN, Solas seems very sentimental towards the idol. This makes me wonder if he made it into a ritual blade, and took the gambit the evanuris would seek it out and unwittingly use their own power to seal themselves away.

It would be so ironic and totally Solas’ MO if that were the case, that the idol which bears Mythal’s resemblance was the key to their own prisons.

===

Why is the idol so important?

We know of the elven upstart. He is a mage named Solas, and his ritual has already started to affect the Fade. We cannot risk him acquiring this idol and finishing what he has begun.

It seems like the idol is at the centre of everything, anchoring the imprisoned evanuris and the Black City in place.

If the Mortalitasi’s blood magic ritual were to succeed, I could imagine mages becoming possessed by a a demon or even one of the evanuris by becoming a willing host. After all, the point of their ritual was to obtain power to defeat their enemies.

In fact, the Mortalitasi’s ritual reminds me a lot of the ritual described in Solas’ secret room in Trespasser which is also reiterated in the Forbidden Oasis. In both instances, a demon is summoned using blood magic to defeat their enemies.

Mythal seemingly used blood magic to win the war against the titans. What if the ritual the Mortalitasi used was in a similar vein?

“YOU MEDDLE PAST YOUR UNDERSTANDING, FOOLISH MORTAL MAGES, AND IN DOING SO, YOU THREATEN ALL CREATION.” “YOU USE MY IDOL CARELESSLY TO VANDALIZE THE SEA OF DREAMS. NOW FEEL THE PAIN OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED.”

I am convinced the idol/blade could be used as part of a blood magic ritual to summon a demon, either summoning the evanuris (who I believe are “demons” like Imshael and the like) or a demon from the void.

===

Solas’ end-game

We are led to believe at the end of Trespasser he simply wants to restore the world of his time. Imo that’s only partly true.

I think Solas tearing down the veil is simply the necessary first step for him to destroy the Black City and the false gods for good. This is where I think the idol would come into play. 

The veil is also a fabrication created by Solas, and there have been signs throughout the series from DA:O to DA:I that the veil is tearing apart, irreparably.

Demons seize every opportunity, every tear in the Veil, to enter our world. Once the Veil is torn, it is extremely difficult to mend, some say impossible. 

What does it mean to pierce the Veil, that which separates our world from the realm of dreams and demons? For the average man and woman, it is a frightening thought to consider just how fragile this separation actually is.

The Veil is not a physical curtain, not a structure limited to a particular place—it is everywhere. It is in their home, in the streets where they walk, in farmers' fields as well as remote mountain vales. At any moment it could be torn to shreds, allowing demons and other horrors to flood into our world like water through a burst dam.

Apart from the Inquisitor, no person in Thedas has successfully been able to seal rifts.

This means over time, with more veil tears and death, the more fragile the veil will be. Eventually, it will break entirely. I think this would be inevitable, whether or not Solas destroys it. 

Cole calls the Veil wonderful in Trespasser, because it was created to forbid. And we know the veil forbids all the demons and false gods from entering the physical world. With the idol now floating around in Thedas and with a weakened veil, I think there is a possibility using the idol could summon or release the evanuris from their prisons.

His measurements of the veil and testing of its strength indicates to me he is still trying to see how he can fix the veil or work it into a new plan. With the loss of his orb, the idol may be the last piece of security he has.

This is why I don’t buy the fact that he simply wants to tear down the veil and restore ancient Elvhenan like he wishes he was in the past. There has to be more than that- there is no way he hasn’t accounted for the Redcliffe possibility.

Since Solas is the actual creator of the veil, he alone has a chance at preserving what remains while fixing/amending whatever plans he had for the false gods.

It actually makes a lot of sense that Solas would not want to tell anyone too much about his plans, even the Inquisitor. Not only does he not trust people, I think his actions in TN prove he is worried about the idol falling into the wrong hands and the temptation to use it. 

Maybe his actions and letting Charter go free is even an indication that he is manipulating the Inquisition to continue ‘working against him’ when in fact they are a part of his grander plans.

#da4 #dragon age #dragon age 4 #theory crafting #red lyrium idol #solas #tevinter nights #dai #da theories #drabble #tevinter nights spoilers #the veil

[emmybluefire]

Research Notes, Portals

As Emmy steps up to the stage, she waves a hand in a wide, sweeping arch that seems to encompass the entire audience. Dozens of small pieces of parchment, and a thin stick of charcoal swiftly float up to the audience, landing, and resting, right in front of each lap.

“Time, and space, are fundamentally linked. You cannot affect one without affecting the other. It is this very principle that makes the conjuration of portals, or the evocation of teleportation spells, such an intricate science.”

“Greetings everyone, my name is Thaumaturge Emmy Bluefire, Archmage of the Kirin’Tor, and professor of Transmutation, Evocation, and Enchantment here at stormwind university.”

“If my little excerpt earlier didn’t make it obvious already, I will be speaking to you tonight about portals, and teleportation. How do they both work? How do they really affect the world around you? And most importantly: what’s the difference?”

“However, Before I get started tonight, I want you to do a brief activity on the slips of parchment provided. Here’s what you do.”

“Take your piece of charcoal, and draw a dot on one end of the parchment slips provided. Go hard, don’t be stingy, the residue will be useful for the next step.”

pauses and waits for the audience to do as they’re told. A bright, enthusiastic smile on her face while she watches. 

“Alright, next: Fold that slip of paper in half, and press the charcoal’s contact point with the other half as hard as you can.”

“Now. Unfold your parchment, and lay it flat on the ground. What you should be seeing now, are two dots, the one you drew, and a stain that charcoal placed on the other side.”

“Now, imagine this slip of parchment as being the entire universe represented on a two dimentional platform. Your two dots, are now two points in that little space/time continuum of yours. Consider this as we move along.”

“Interestingly enough, despite having very similar functions, portals and teleportation actually belong to two entirely different schools of magic. Portal spells belonging to the school of Conjuration, while Teleportation belongs to the school of transmutation.”

“Does anybody have an Idea as to why that is?”

peers around the room, looking for a show of hands with percolated ears and inquisitive eyes.

*if someone is close, the response is dynamic to the answer*

*If nobody is close* lifts up a similar slip of parchment to the ones she provided, only this one already had the dots on it pre-prepared. “Follow along with me, if you will.” she nodded

“This…” she reaches into the side pockets of her satchel, and pulls out a sticky ball of some amalgamation of plant matter, and places it to the drawn dot. With a few harsh strokes, the charcoal dot is erased, leaving only the stained one. “...is teleportation.”

“This…” she folds the paper directly in half, and holds it up like a target. A swift, ebony fletched raven feather quill whips out of her satchel and stabs a hole through the parchment… it’s tip coming out the other side. “... is a portal.”

“What’s the difference?”

peers around once again for a show of hands.

*at this point someone is bound to understand what she’s getting at. Response is dynamic to the closest answer*

“When you create a portal, you are effectively conjuring up a wormhole. You are pulling one point in space/time closer to your point in space/time and creating a doorway.”

“Hence-because conjuration is defined as summoning/pulling, creatures, people, or objects closer to you-portals belong to this school. This is helped by the fact that most conjuration rituals/spells involve the use of temporal gateways to other realms.”

“Transmutation is defined as changing time, space, and even matter from one form to another. When you cast a teleportation, you are not pulling another point in space/time closer to you.”

“Rather, you’re manipulating space/time in such a way that it places you on your target destination seamlessly, as though you were always there to begin with. It is because of this intricate change in the time/space continuum that teleportation spells belong to the school of Transmutation.”

"So I guess you can say that the difference a portal and a teleportation spell is much like the difference between masturbation and sex. The goal is the same, but how you get there and the potential repercussions of which are completely different... and arguably more destructive."

“With one you’re completely safe from any major repercussions… aside from perhaps the crushing loneliness you feel. With the other, one misstep and you’ll screw up EVERYONE'S life.”

smirks slyly at the audience.

“You need to know when one or the other is appropriate to your specific circumstances.”

“But what are the potential repercussions of a portal? When would you want to use a portal over a teleportation spell, and vice versa? Well, look once again to the slip of paper you stabbed a hole through earlier.”

“Based on just what you see, who can guess what the potential dangers of a portal is?”

*response is once again dynamic to audience answers*

“Due to the very nature of bending the universe in that way--a way it wasn’t necessarily meant to bend--creating a portal puts a tremendous strain on the fabric of reality. In our world, the only reason it hasn’t completely unraveled is thanks to the leylines beneath our very feet.”

“The leylines, in this way, help to mitigate the damage by supplying a steady stream of energy to the veil--the space between realities that insures everything remains in order--to repair itself.”

“It’s, actually, much like folding the torn edges around the hole in your parchment back into place, and sealing it with an adhesive, except far more efficient. With time, the veil will be sealed completely.”

“Here’s the thing though. Sealing the veil takes *time* Time and energy. Energy which the leylines can only provide a limited amount of before they themselves start to break.”

“In that time many dangerous things can happen if the proper steps to creating a portal aren’t followed.”

“The rift can start manifesting juvenile manawraiths. You could tear a hole into the twisting nether and beacon a bunch of wild demons in. You could get places like Kharazahn where nothing makes logical sense, or follows our conventionally held senses of order and normalcy.”

“Heck, I’ve even heard reports of apprentice conjurers disappearing for weeks on end only to return with moon sized heads and mouse sized bodies.”

/laugh

“Okay… that one is a bit of an exaggeration, but it is an exaggeration of a true story.”

“Another unique property of a portal is that it doesn’t quite mesh well with transmutation spells. Such spells malfunction when passing under the threshold of a portal. Often with destructive results.”

“Why this is though, is a matter of hot debate in the scholarly community. Though, the running theory I keep is that the patterns holding a transmutation to a person directly contradict with the patterns that keep a portal open, due to the way both spells are woven.”

“It’s like when you add a positive and negative number together. In reality you’re just subtracting from the positive number and reducing it’s value.” 

“So because portals require significantly more energy to sustain than most transmutation spells, the transmutation spell is canceled out. The resulting energy expulsion being sudden, and destructive.”

“The Kirin’Tor, at this time, would like me to remind you that you should never shove or throw a polymorphed creature or object through a portal. The results are often… explosive. It also leaves a mess of both bodily parts and paperwork. Believe me, *nobody* likes cleaning that up.”

“So what of it’s alternative? Based once again on the activity from earlier, what do you guys think the damages teleportation can cause to the space/time continuum? What do you think the ‘eraser marks’ represent?”

pauses for a moment, once again looking for a show of hands. 

*dynamic responses*

“Brace yourselves, because of all the spells in a mage's compendium, teleportation has one of the most mind-bending principles. If at any point you need me to pause and further elaborate on something, please let me know with a raised hand.”

“There is a spell any mage who specializes in arcane evocation specifically would know, and know well. It’s called ‘Displacement’ . The basic function of the spell is that you blink to the location you last blinked from. A simple concept, really, but it’s application is anything but.”

“When the spell is cast, the recovery period of your blink spell is reset, almost as if it were never cast in the first place. In a sense, you are undoing your last blink spell.”

“This spell is possible due to the way in which teleportation works.”

“Time and space are fundamentally linked. I’ve said it already, indeed. But now you guys get to know why.”

“It takes time to move to a new space. By teleporting, you are skipping that time. So? The universe needs to compensate for it… lest it start to unravel.”

“When a teleportation spell is cast, a lasting impression is left on the fabric of reality. That impression will remain there until enough time has passed.” 

“How much time needs to pass is solely dependent on how much time it would have taken you to travel to that destination on foot, assuming you continue on foot relentlessly, in a straight line, with no obstacles in your way.”

“For a blink spell, the time needed to pass is only a few seconds. Fifteen at most depending on how far you were able to blink. But for full fledged teleportation spells, that take you halfway across the planet? This time can be anywhere from a few weeks to over a year, or more!”

“On the surface though, these impressions seem harmless enough. They aren’t really dangerous to be around, and for the most part you can’t even see them. Not unless you’ve been specifically trained to detect them.”

“But don’t let the relative safety of their presence fool you. Such places are spots where the fabric of reality has been weakened, or frayed. Much like how the spot you erased has become weakened and frayed.”

“This means that, while not necessarily damaged, they are much easier to puncture or rip apart. Put too much strain on the spot by, say, casting a portal or channeling a powerful spell, and you could wind up having the exact same problems you face with reckless portal usage.”

“And that there, combined with the fact that most people *aren’t* trained to detect displacement fields such as these, is what makes them dangerous. This is why the Kirin’Tor, and most other mage organizations, have specifically designated arrival spots for people who enter via teleportation or portal.”

“By keeping these spots located in a controlled environment, they can much more quickly, effectively, and immediately spring into action if something goes awry.”

“So what does that mean for everyone else? Simply put, you have to be cautious about where and when you use one spell or the other. It also means that, if you want to save yourself a load of trouble, you need to be very picky about what mages you pay to transport you elsewhere.”

“My recommendation? Only allow mages who have a D-6 through G-16 license to create you a portal or teleport you elsewhere. Such mages have been specifically trained and formally qualified to use portal spells.” 

“and have been entrusted not only with the health and stability of the leylines, but with your life and livelihood as a person. Never be afraid to ask a mage about their licensing!”

“If you ask, and a mage starts to act shifty, nervous, or calls you out for being ‘rude’ , that is a huge warning sign. It’s a strong indication that they are trying to remain out of the system. Trained mages with D-6 through G-16 licenses are all too happy to tell you as such. Speaking from experience.” Emmy smirks.

“For those who actually wish to cast the spells, then there are multiple things you ought to consider.”

“First, Reagent tax. Repairing a Leyline, and by proxy the veil, is expensive, and requires an intensive amount of magical components to do. The leylines, after all, are far larger than the parchment before you.”

“By the way, to those who use these services, *this* is why you're often prompted to pay.”

“So, if you intend to cast a portal or teleportation spell, be sure you either have the reagents on hand, or have the means to pay for them. It is never a bad Idea to charge people for your services.”

“Next-especially if you’re new to the practice-stick to established city drop-off points. That way, if something goes wrong, you won’t be scrambling to fix the issue on your own.”

“If you want to cast portals to places not within established city drop-off points: then I recommend places you know are both familiar to you, and you visit frequently enough to make preparations.” 

“Creating your own pseudo drop off point, where you can reliably survey the area for irregularities, is always a good habit.”

“So, that’s all the safety jargon down. Much to everyone’s relief I’m sure.” she laughs. “Let's get back into the more interesting stuff.”

“As I’m sure you’ve all gathered already, both spells have their advantages and their drawbacks. Portals are destructive, but also easy to comprehend. Teleportation is considerably less dangerous, but much harder to comprehend.”

“You can also see your destination through a portal, with teleportation you cannot.”

“As a general rule of thumb, creating a portal is much more applicable in a wartime or battlefield scenario. Not only is it simpler to learn, faster to cast, and easier to understand. Your comrades can also trust where their going and would likely be less reluctant to step through.”

“Despite this though, I can never recommend casting a portal in the midst of conflict. You become too much of a target for one. And secondly, your enemies, or your enemies’ projectiles can enter through it as well.”

“Portals also come recommended more when you need to transport multiple people, but can’t exactly do it all at the same time. As long as you maintain concentration on a portal, you can hold it open. With teleportation it’s a one time blip and you’re there.”

“A teleportation spell is not without its merits though. Once again, however, I can never recommend using it in the midst of conflict. Not unless its a mere blink meant to avoid attacks.”

“I would also recommend using a portal when it’s the first time you’ve transported yourself to that destination, and aren’t 100% clear on the details and conditions that’ll be found there. It gives you a brief period of reprieve in which you can assess all of that yourself.”

“For casual transportation use, in which you know where you’re going, I cannot recommend teleportation enough! If you’re able to put the time into it needed to understand the spell, a mass teleportation is always a better option than a portal.”

“In conditions too, where you’re in a warzone, but aren’t actively in conflict, teleportation is a good option as well. Because unless your enemy is known to have a skilled Arcane mage at their side, a teleportation is relatively subtle compared to a portal. Albeit, less common.”

“The only thing I would recommend, especially if you’re attempting to transport a larger group of people, is to draw a circle and insure each teleportee can fit within it through relative organization.”

“I would also insure that the topographical environment you’re teleporting them too is similar, if not exactly the same, as the one you’re teleporting them from. I.E. , don’t teleport someone from a flat environment to a hilly one.”

“This insures nobody gets sunk into the ground, or falls off a cliff thanks to your negligence. It also saves you a significant amount of calculations to run in your head. And trust me, any mage can tell you that’s an absolute godsend… as most of our spells have to be cast in under a minute.”

“So, in conclusion, portals, and teleportation are both extremely useful, but also extremely dangerous. It takes any mage an extreme amount of skill and precision to manage one or the other regardless of the differences in difficulty.”

“If you commission one, insure you can trust that mage’s track record. If you cast one, insure you know exactly what you’re doing, and where you’re going. Always err on the side of caution when you channel one into existence. Especially when the lives of others depend on it.”

(I figured while I’m still doing research on Witchcraft in WoW--which I will try to get out by Halloween btw--I should share my write up for Emmy’s last lecture. She presented this one for Colloquium for Stormwind University, and after tons of positive feedback on it, decided more would like to see it :P Enjoy guys!)

#ic #notes #lecture #mage #magic #portals #teleportation #wow #world of warcraft #in character #roleplay #lore #what is the difference between teleportation and portals in WoW

[fanfoolishness]

no words for heaven or for earth (2/?)

Part 1: Where’s Hawke? is here.

Part 2: because you aren’t here

Footfalls on stone, the taste of blood in her mouth, a voice that she felt more than heard. She scarcely knew what was happening, but the Nightmare had been weakened by the Divine spirit that had helped them, enough for her daggers and her hope to carry her through. The Nightmare`s last cries of death reverberated, shaking the world around her. She ignored it. Ran. Upside down, upside down, running stumbling falling, how her lungs seared!

Was that a scream? It was her scream. She whirled, searched desperately for the green, the gate, the escape, she could still catch them, she could still find them, find him.

But her feet rang empty on the stone, and there was nothing, nothing beyond herself and the Fade-stone and the pale green sky. No voices. No allies. No Varric. Only a crushing, endless emptiness.

Min Hawke sank to her knees and wept.

Varric wondered, dully, if tears would help anything.  He’d never gone in much for them in his books.  His protagonists rarely seemed to need them.  They were self-sufficient sorts, even in the romances, and were more likely to kick someone’s ass than reach for a handkerchief.

But this -- this wound, this tear in the heart of him -- fuck.  He’d cry shamelessly if he thought it might help.

He let Curly lead him away down the steps, away from Namira Lavellan, away from the fortress, away from the horror.  He didn’t really know what he was doing.  One foot in front of the other felt foreign and wrong.  

He could see that Cullen had no idea what to do, either.  The man tried. Varric gave him that.

“Varric, I’m -- I’m so sorry.”  He stumbled over the words.  Varric barely heard him.  His head throbbed, a pounding ache at the front of his eyes.  Was he sick?  Maybe he was sick.  Maybe he’d imagined this whole thing.  But the smell of the battle was still heavy in the air, and the crickets were loud in the dark.

“But where is she?” said Varric.  It was the sixth time he’d asked.  Why was he asking again?  He knew the answer, but how could the answer be real?  If it was, then that meant….

“Nami-- the Inquisitor is trying to find her, Varric.  If there’s any chance she can open that rift again, perhaps the demon you faced will be gone, and maybe…”  Cullen’s voice faded.  

Varric shook his head irritably.  It felt as if he was moving through oil, or that he’d been packed in cotton.  Every movement was difficult, clumsy.  The words were a great effort.  “And if she can’t?”

“Varric, I don’t know,” he admitted, red-eyed with exhaustion.  “Maker knows I don’t want to think of the possibility, but… if she can’t open that rift again, then I’m afraid Hawke is lost.”

Varric nodded.  Forced a tight smile on his face.  He raised his hands, fingers spread, and gestured jerkily at the other man.  

“Fuck you,” said Varric calmly.  “And fuck your Inquisition.”  He left Cullen behind him and stumbled out into the sands, winding around the back of the ruined fortress, his boots sliding with every step.  Tumbled stone had fallen here and there, centuries of effort toppled with their trebuchets and war machines.  He leaned against a rough boulder, gazing up at the walls of the fortress, at the green sparks visible just above the spires.  Namira was trying to reopen the rift.

The sparks never coalesced.  The rift never opened.  The night sky stretched above him, endless and unbroken save for stars.

He cried, then.  But he’d been right.  

It didn’t help at all.

Hawke walked, daggers held loosely in her hands.  Was walking the right word for what she was doing?  Sometimes it was clambering over boulders in her path.  Other times it was steeling herself and leaping from floating rock to floating rock.  Sometimes it was tramping through water that rained upward from the ground away into the air.  What else was there to do, after all?

She was tired.  She’d cried a long time after the last hint of the rift had closed.  A long time.  There was no way to know how long; time itself already seemed a foreign thing.

Her side ached with each step, a nagging rawness.  She’d been half-pierced by one of the Nightmare’s claws.  The blood had congealed between her skin and her armor, sticky and slippery as she walked, and she wished she still had some of Anders’ old healing kits.  They had worked wonders for her before.  For others, too.  She remembered Varric bleeding out in a Lowtown alley in the night, and she shivered.

She gritted her teeth and looked out over the green and boiling sky.

The Black City shone foully in the distance, just as Dad and Bethany had always described it.  She squinted at it, daring its edges to sharpen, daring it to be the impossibility her mind told her it was. The spires remained as blurred and vague as ever.  

“Just as well,” she muttered.  “No need to go there.”

“Clever, not to go to the Black City.  Don’t you remember the Chant?  It’s how the hubris of man created the darkspawn,” said Bethany brightly at her side.

“Shit!” Hawke yelped, leaping backwards.  She dislodged a chunk of rock, which floated upward over her head and into the sky.  Bethany stood beside her, tall and healthy and happy, looking like she was about to go out and work the fields of their home in Lothering.  When was the last time Hawke had seen her so happy?  Before Dad died, wasn’t it?

“Language,” said Bethany, grinning.  “What would Mum say?”

“Mum would say don’t talk to creepy things in the Fade,” said Hawke stubbornly.  “You’re the mage, anyway, you ought to know that even more than I do.”

“It’s all right to feel a little jealousy, Min.  You can’t help your feelings.  But what I do expect you to help is your actions.  You’ve been teasing Bethany too much lately,” said Dad.  He stood next to Bethany, giving her a fond grin.  “I keep trying to tell you that you are no less gifted for not having magic like your sister --”

“And I keep trying to tell you that daggers mean very little when faced with a lightning storm or a fireball,” said Min drily, though her heart pounded frantically at the sight of Dad, looking hale and strong again.  Her eyes pricked with tears.  He was a tall man, lean and brown, his dark hair cropped close like his beard.  And his eyes -- they were her eyes, incongruously pale blue set in a worn but handsome face.  Maker, she had missed him so these years!  But it wasn’t him.  It couldn’t be.  Divine Justinia had not been herself either, right?  

Hawke shook her head, trying to remember how to breathe past the gnawing ache in her belly.  She couldn’t look at him.  The thing that was pretending to be him.  

“This was how it was in Kirkwall, too; I’ve been in the Fade before,” she bit out.  “You lot are going to offer me a happy reunion with the family, or my own magical abilities, or some other thing I want.  Then you’re going to be one delighted demon and run off with my soul.  Well, I don’t want to play.”

“But magic could help you here,” said Bethany earnestly.  “You might be able to open a rift on your own to escape.  Don’t you want to return home?  We could help you get back.  To Kirkwall.  To Varric.”  She stepped forward, her eyes wide, sympathetic.  “I saw him.  He’s -- he’s devastated, Min.  He’s scared to death, he can’t bear to lose you, not like this.”

“I haven’t even had a chance to tell you about the two of us!” Hawke exploded, but her gut roiled, imagining Varric thinking she was -- No.  No.  No.  

Hawke held onto what she knew was real.  “You couldn’t even know yet.  Everything’s been so desperately busy and I didn’t know how to say it in a letter and -- you don’t know any of that, do you, since you aren’t really Bethany.”  She took a deep breath, frightened at how it had only taken a moment for her mind to half-forget that truth.  

She bit her lip, weighing the daggers in her hands.  “I do remember some things Dad taught us.  All of us.”  She sheathed her daggers, staring down the false Dad and Bethany.  It was difficult, but she could start to see around the edges now; there was a light shining through them, glimmering in their eyes.  As she’d insisted, they weren’t human.  The realization was a relief, but a painful one.  “If you’re in the Fade, a demon becomes what you expect it to be.  And if you’re strong enough… you can simply expect it not to be.  I don’t want to fight you.  So I won’t.  Because you aren’t here.”

And they acquiesced to her -- they had no choice -- but when they were gone and she was alone on the rocks, looking out to the distant sea, she wondered if she could have the strength to make them leave again.

And again.

And again.

Until she starved, or until she let them win.

Varric woke up with a start.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

Or, well, that wasn’t exactly true.  There was an ache so dark and deep that he couldn’t even look at it except out of the corner of his eye.  It burned with every breath.  He knew about that, even when denial made him stupid; he knew words like grief and loss and sorrow, even when they seemed far too small to contain the pain.

He’d stumbled through the sands with the others, wending their way to Griffon Wing Keep.  He’d kept a wide berth from everyone else.  He didn’t want their apologies, their excuses, their pity.  Namira tried to talk to him twice, but he’d waved her away.  Cullen, bullheaded, had marched next to him for a time, but they remained in silence.  Cole had tried to sidle up beside him, and Varric had flat-out turned and strode off in the other direction.

He needed to be alone.  This shit still didn’t feel real, and their hovering wouldn’t make it any realer.  He had to sort it out himself.

But there was something else, too, something beyond the disorientation and gut-punches of the grief.  It took him longer than he should to name it.  Then again, it wasn’t something he’d had the chance to practice before.

Solas barely reacted when Varric woke him in the middle of the night in the Keep, a lamp held at his side.  The flames spooled and coiled in the little lamp like a living thing.  The elf was elsewhere one minute and back in the world the next, his eyes glittering in the dim light.

“Varric,” said Solas.  “What is it?”

Varric shook his head, letting out a weary sigh.  “It’s just me.”  He looked blearily down at his boots.  “I gotta talk to you.”

“I will do my best to aid you.”  Even hours before dawn and roused from sleep, the elf was formal beyond reason.  It figured.

“Well, that’s good,” said Varric.  “Because I think I’m having dreams.”

#hawke x varric #varric x hawke #dragon age: inquisition #varric tethras #hawke #min hawke #da:i #here lies the abyss #hawke in the fade

[tk-duveraun]

Sweet Dreams 7/?

Title: Sweet Dreams Setting: Modern Thedas Rating: PG-13 For Strong Language   Genre: Friendship & Adventure, minor Romance elements Pairings: (All relatively background) Ela/Cullen, Doribull Summary: For @elalavella. Ela’s been having vivid nightmares that are starting to feel far too real when the companions she has in the nightmares appear in her real life. She thought it was supposed to be the other way around! Previous Parts: One Two Three Four Five Six  Warnings: Mild violence and gore

The greatsword was heavy in Ela’s hands, but her arms didn’t hurt from carrying it. At least, not that she noticed. She kept her attention split equally between Cole and the eerie landscape they crept slowly across. The ground was scarred and torn from her assault as the Inquisitor. They hadn’t been able to defeat the Nightmare at the peak of their power and with the Mark on her hand. She couldn’t imagine them beating it now. “Green. Blinding, choking, shaking, tearing. You were weighed down by a lot, then,” Cole said. He tilted his head back, again showing off the unnatural eyes of blue fire. “Your body isn’t here this time. Only the important parts.” “I think what Cole is trying to say is that we have the same combat abilities we had before but we aren’t weighed down by our physical forms,” Dorian said. The mage strutted forward without fear. The end of his staff was lit with a soft purple glow and wisps of magic floated in the air around his head. “I’m glad someone understands this demon crap,” The Iron Bull muttered. He walked just behind Ela and in her peripheral vision, she could see his horns move as he turned his head to scout the area. “At least you have two eyes this time,” Ela said. “Do I want to know?” The Iron Bull asked. “No you bloody well don’t. You just want to wake up.” Sera pulled back the string of her bow, aiming around The Iron Bull’s shoulders at shadows. “Sera, Sera, Sera… If you shoot me, I’ll know where you are,” the Nightmare demon said. Its voice echoed against the black rock as well as the empty air and the inside of their heads. Ela fought back a shiver as the voice pierced her chest. She shifted the weight of her sword to her left hand and worried in the back of her mind that her arms were going to start aching. “You’re not real. You don’t have muscles to ache.” “So, Cole, are you going to help us fight this Nightmare or are you just moral support?” Dorian asked. Daggers appeared in Cole’s hands and then disappeared in the next second. That was his only response. “I don’t like this, Boss. I can’t hear anything. Not even our footsteps.” Ela froze mid-step. Once The Iron Bull mentioned it, it was impossible to forget. Her clothes made no sound as they rustled with movement. She swayed her arms and twisted in place, but still nothing, even when she scraped her sandals on the ground. “Thanks for making it a hundred times worse, Bull! Love you, too!” “Already shitballs with the demons, Elalaland,” Sera said. “Something’s coming. I can feel it,” Dorian said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he preened and fanned himself. “Look at that, I noticed something before you did, Bull.” The Iron Bull hefted his greataxe and turned in the direction Dorian pointed. As soon as he did, the seemingly-solid rockwall exploded in a wet spray of ichor and poison. Spiders spilled out of the opening, crawling over each other. The clicking from their mandible was nearly loud enough to drown out the pounding of Ela’s heart in her ears. She swallowed, took a deep breath and charged forward with her sword raised. She was terrified of spiders. She had to call in reinforcements for the tiniest, most benign harvestman, but in the Fade, with the memories of the Inquisition and how much was on the line, her fear of spiders meant little. She remembered fighting dragons and drinking a distillation of their blood. Spiders meant nothing. Little chittering, skittering, biting things with furry legs and slimy carapaces should know that she has a world to save and no time to be afraid of their black blood and too many eyes. Ela slashed the legs out from under one and sensed The Iron Bull at her right hand, doing the same. Arrows flew through the air and pierced clustered eyes with sprays of wet gore and unsettlingly hollow thunks. The air pressure shifted with low whooshes and jarring screams as Dorian launched fireballs and bolts of lightning from his created staff. “Haha! I could do this all day! Why did we ever solidify the Veil, anyway?” Dorian asked. “Might be the demons,” The Iron Bull said between heavy swings of his axe, “or the possession or the abominations…” When the spiders were dead, Dorian lit their corpses on fire. Thankfully, instead of the horrific, rancid stench of burning hair and chitin, the spiders flared almost instantly into odorless ash that dissolved into the vast nothingness of the Fade. Ela leaned her sword against a rock just so she could rub warm into her bare arms, chilled as she was by the sight. However, she didn’t leave the sword for long, picking it up back up in less than a minute. For his part, Dorian was pouting at The Iron Bull. “Well when you put it that way, weakening the Veil sounds like a terrible idea. You don’t have to ruin it. I wasn’t exactly planning to build a vacation home here.” Dorian’s tone was petulant on the surface, but thanks to Ela’s refreshed memories of his past self, she heard the undercurrent of fear and desperation behind his attempts at levity. A few miniscule spiderlings scratched and bit at Ela’s feet, but either their attacks were too weak or her feet were thick with the Dalish calluses her past-self had, because they didn’t break the skin and Ela had much bigger problems than them. Literally. She couldn’t see the Nightmare demon, but she could feel it and she remembered how large it was. Remembered Hawke insisting that she let him stay behind to fight the demon alone. She hadn’t wanted to leave anyone behind. No one deserved to die alone in the Fade. The only reason she hadn’t dragged Stroud kicking and screaming through the Rift behind her was because she knew he didn’t have much time left anyway, being a Warden. And death by Nightmare was probably better than possessed by Corypheus. At least, that’s what she had told herself while crying into Cullen’s shoulder during some of the many sleepless nights in Skyhold. Oh but she hoped the Golden Lion contact really was Cullen. He was a different person, yes, but The Iron Bull and Dorian had found each other and things seemed to be going well. “Yes, Ada’alvhen. Things always seem to go well for you, don’t they? And then they come across deep water.”

#sweet dreams fic #dragon age inquisition #dragon age au #elashorei lavellan

[scottishvix]

The One Chapter 4: The One Who Will Live On

Cullen gets to grips with this strange new girl that’s dropped into his world.

Since Tumblr seems to be making posts with external links unsearchable, if you’d prefer to read it on AO3, you can find the link to my AO3 page in the sidebar. My Tumblr masterpost is here. As of today, that masterpost will also contain the link to my Spotify playlist for this story. Read on to find out why...

I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the blurriness from my vision. I should have gone to bed hours ago, but there was too much to do. We were still trying to calculate the supplies that had survived the destruction of the Temple, make a count of who had been killed in the initial explosion and who had been killed in the fighting until Lady Trevelyan–now being acclaimed by the people as the Herald of Andraste–had stabilised the Breach. And I should make a start on the letters of condolence to the families of our soldiers.

Deciding that maybe a walk would do to clear my head, I left my tent and decided to do a circuit of the town. Maybe the people would take some comfort from seeing the leadership of the Inquisition present and moving among them. I had barely come through the gates when Varric called me over.

“Curly, you met with Oracle earlier. I couldn’t get anything from the Seeker. How did it go?”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra had mentioned that Varric had taken immediately to the shy woman from another world. Having seen the way he was with Merrill in Kirkwall it didn’t surprise me. Varric seemed to be a better big brother to the misfits he gathered around him than Bartrand had ever been to him.

“I mean,” he said sounding exasperated, “is she going to be shipped off to Val Royeaux as a scapegoat for this mess? The Seeker was pretty quick to jump on her earlier and the kid’s obviously terrified.” He squinted at me. “You can’t possibly think she’s the genius behind all this.”

“Nothing’s been decided yet. We’re meeting again tomorrow.” I decided to throw him a bone. “Her story is pretty… unbelievable. But no, I don’t think she had anything to do with the destruction of the Conclave. Either she’s a very good actress, or she’s genuinely traumatised. And it hasn’t been examined yet, but the stuff she’s wearing seems to back her story up.”

Varric seemed to relax. “Good. Is her story as wild as the one people are telling around here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been a little busy to listen to gossip.” Tiredness made me sharper than I had intended, but Varric let it slide over him.

“They say that Andraste brought her from another world to sing prophecies for her.”

That floored me. “Sing prophecies for Andraste?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That hut hasn’t been silent since the Seeker brought her back from your little interrogation. Come on.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” I protested. But I followed the dwarf, unable to suppress my curiosity. Approaching the cabin she and the unconscious Herald were housed in I nodded to the guards stationed there. I was about to speak to them when I heard the voice floating out the crack under the door.

“I have run through the fields of pain and sighs.

I have fought to see the other side.”

Images flooded through my head. Images of her being beaten, shouted at, threatened, and finally stabbed by a slim man with long brown hair and cold, black eyes. I wondered why hearing her sing of suffering caused me to imagine what her husband had done to her so vividly.

“I am the one, who can recount what we’ve lost.

I am the one, who will live on.”

She held the last note for a spellbinding moment before silence overtook us all. It lasted only a moment before she began again with a new tune.

“Time stood still for a while,

Your hand was holding mine.

The stars that shine in your eyes,

Don’t let them go by.”

I looked at the guards. “Has she been singing for long?” I asked.

“All night,” one answered, confirming Varric’s assertion. “Some make no sense, but several mentioned the Breach, there was one about the Grey Wardens and another about the Nightingale. They…” he hesitated. “They make us see things, Ser. Pictures in our head.”

“You see now why people are calling her the Prophet of Andraste?” Varric asked, drawing me away again. “They know she predicted we’d find the scouts alive on the mountain path and that she knew we’d be facing a pride demon at the Breach. Then they hear her singing those songs and they imagine they see things. I don’t think they’d stand for having her executed.”

“Thank you, Varric. We needed to know that.” I hesitated. Obviously I couldn’t tell him what we had discussed in the Council. But it might be useful to find out what he knew. “Cassandra mentioned that you had spent the most time with Lady McKichan on the way to and from the Temple. What did she tell you?”

Varric squinted at me. Then he seemed to decide he could trust me. “Not much. Honestly, Curly, I learned more from what she didn’t say. She was frightened and completely out of her depth. But she was used to being frightened. She spoke up when she knew something that would be helpful, but otherwise she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible. And she seemed to expect that shouting would lead to someone hitting her.” It was as serious as I had ever seen the dwarf. “Someone has tried to beat the spirit out of that kid. And they nearly succeeded. If I didn’t know better, I would say she’d been a slave at some point.”

I nodded. “Not a slave,” I confirmed. “But she has been beaten.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I promise that whatever happens tomorrow I’ll make sure she’s treated gently.”

He gave me a crooked grin. “You know, you’re not half bad, Curly.”

Sister Leliana, Ambassador Montilyet, and I assembled in what Leliana insisted on calling ‘The War Room’ early the next morning. As I expected, the Nightingale had already heard the rumours being bandied about the camp naming our two prisoners the Herald and the Prophet of Andraste.

“We simply cannot accuse them of the destruction of the Conclave now. The people will not stand for it,” Josephine commented, echoing Varric’s assertion of the previous night.

“No,” Leliana agreed. “And Lady Trevelyan’s ability to close the rifts and seal the Breach itself make her irreplaceable. But we must still investigate Lady McKichan’s origins. The story she told us is fantastic but she believes it. Unless Solas’ examinations reveal something else I think we must accept it.”

“She wasn’t acting last night,” I told them. “And having seen that wound you will never convince me that she shouldn’t be dead. I can’t think of any magic strong enough to have saved her.”

“You are sure?” Josephine asked. “It couldn’t be managed by a strong spirit healer?”

I shook my head. “I have known two powerful spirit healers. Neither Wynne nor Anders would have been able to save someone with a wound like that. Even if she hadn’t bled out instantly, the damage to the heart would be too extensive.”

“Cassandra is supervising Solas’ examination of her as we speak. We will know more after.” Leliana’s certainty was final and we moved onto other urgent matters.

It was half an hour later when a soft knock on the door yielded those answers. The bald elf laid down the folded bundle of clothes and inclined his head respectfully before addressing me. “Seeker Pentaghast informed me you believed Lady Lily’s scar indicated a fatal wound?” I nodded. I may be trying to modify my opinion of mages, but open apostates still made me nervous. “You were correct. The size, angle, and depth of the scar mean the wound should undoubtedly have been fatal. I know of no magic that would have been able to act quickly enough to save her. She is a walking miracle.”

“And her clothes?” I expected the question from Leliana but it was Josephine who asked.

He shook his head. “The tunic she called a ‘jumper’ was wool and could have come from anywhere. The rest were of materials I have never seen. And while I can profess no knowledge of such matters, Lady Cassandra informed me that the… undergarments were like nothing she had ever seen.”

I was sure I flushed. Solas had begun extracting small items from the bundle and laying them on the table. “I removed these items from the pockets of her coat after leaving her. I have not asked her about any of them. I believed you would want to examine them first. Again, the materials involved are not to be found anywhere in Thedas. I believe she is telling the truth when she says she came from another world on the other side of the Veil.”

We all gazed curiously at the items before us. Leliana picked up a bright pink pouch filled with small, apparently edible bites. She nibbled the edge off one and declared it bad tasting but not poisonous. Then Josephine picked up a small cream tube the size of her thumb, removed the lid, and sniffed delicately. “Vanilla!” she exclaimed in some surprise. I could make nothing of the two differently sized rectangles, one of which had a small rope ending in coiled hooks attached, but the small red thing seemed to be an unusual kind of whistle. Pressing the button on one end of the short, thick metal tube yielded a light at the other. Doing the same with the thinner metal tube revealed a blunted point that left a smear of ink when I drew it lightly over a fingertip.

“You should perhaps also be made aware that Chancellor Roderick is outside preaching their guilt and demanding that the people help him seize them so they can be taken to Val Royeaux for trial.”

I sighed. As far as I could tell the Chancellor seemed to have been determined to cause trouble ever since the Temple exploded.

“Is anyone listening to him?” Leliana asked.

“Very few,” Solas admitted. “The Herald and the Prophet are seen as greater servants of your god. Most people seem to think the Chancellor is trying to test their faith.”

“Good luck to him with that,” I muttered.

Leliana glared at me before turning back to the mage. “There is one more thing. Cassandra told me you mentioned Lady McKichan’s connection to the Fade was in some way unusual. Can you explain that?”

He shook his head. “She is connected to the Fade, for all she claims it does not exist in her world. Perhaps the Veil is thicker, less permeable.”

“What does that mean for us?” I asked. The safety of the people of Haven was my responsibility. If Lily’s presence put them in danger… “Is she more likely to draw demons?”

“Less likely, I would say,” the elf replied. “I cannot guess what effect it will have. Though she is not a mage she is likely to have powers that are not otherwise present here or in her own world.”

“Such as the images people see when she sings?” Josephine had been quiet for a while.

“Exactly. I do not believe she is consciously projecting them, though she could if she wanted to.”

Josephine considered. “If she could use those powers to show people what we face then she could be useful in persuading people to our cause…”

“I would still like to test this ability,” Leliana was as cautious as always. “Without experiencing it ourselves I would be reluctant to-“

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Cassandra escorted Lily into the room. She looked little better than she had last night, though the dull wool dress that had obviously been borrowed from a servant was cleaner. She was pale and her dark hair hung in slightly frizzy curtains that shadowed her face as she kept her eyes on the floor. Her posture reminded me of a woman who had lived in Honnleath when I was a child. I had once asked my mother why she never looked up. Her husband is not a kind man she had told me. It had been years before I understood what that meant.

“Good morning, my lady,” I said gently. “I trust you slept well?”

She looked up, in surprise. “Well, thank you, Commander.” The dark shadows under her grey eyes gave the lie to her words. Probably she had as little sleep as I did. But the shy smile gave a hint of the pretty woman I thought she must be when you stripped away her fears and insecurity.

Then she noticed the objects on the table. “My phone!” she cried and swept up the palm sized rectangular object. “Please let them still be on there. Please!” she muttered desperately to herself. The black emptiness that had taken up most of one side came to full life and colour beneath her fingers. She tapped and swiped them as quick as instinct in patterns that were too fast to follow. Suddenly she let out a mingled gasp of relief and grief, fingers stilling to take in what was on the object. “Tha gaol agam ort,” she murmured soft and regretful. The words had an elven lilt to them, but the sibilance and hard consonants told me they weren’t words that had ever been heard in Ferelden before.

Cassandra slid the object from the woman’s numb fingers and laid it on the table before us. The blackness had been replaced by an image that could have been a painting had it not been so lifelike. Lily was kneeling in some grass with one dog pressing itself into her side and another resting its front paws on her arm so it could stand to lick her face. She was laughing and looked so carefree. As pretty as I had thought she would be.

She reached down and touched her fingers to the dogs’ faces, whispering those strange words again. I did not need to know them to know what they meant. She loved those dogs and she grieved them. “I’m sorry,” she said softly to the table. “Bear and Mischief are… were my only family. I’ll never see them again, will I?”

“I’m sorry, my lady,” Leliana softly touched Lily’s shoulder. She flinched but did not move away. “But probably not. We have more questions for you.”

She swallowed hard, still staring at the picture of her dogs. “What would you like to know?”

Solas was the one to step to the fore. “There have been some interesting phenomena around you, Lady Lily.”

“Not a lady,” she replied automatically before looking up, though I noticed she looked at everyone but the elf. “What phenomena? Not just the knowing the future?”

Solas ignored that she had ignored him. “A demonstration is needed. You know many songs, Lily?” A nod. “Can you think of one that would make no sense to us, but that brings a strong image to your head?”

“Yes. Yes, I have one.” She picked up the object she had called a phone. “You want to hear it?”

“I want you to sing it,” he replied.

“Okay,” she nodded and began to swipe and tap again. “Okay, but it’s easier with the music. It must be on here somewhere. It’s Emma’s ringtone. Ah!”

Another tap and there was noise coming from the rectangle. Music of some kind, but I was certain no one on Thedas had ever heard music like that. I couldn’t even fathom the instruments that would make such notes. Lily’s eyes closed and her head bobbed and foot tapped in time with the rhythm. She began to sing as another woman’s voice piped the same words out of the phone.

“Hang with me in my MMO,

So many places we can go-o.

You’ll never see my actual face.

Our love, our love will be in virtual space.

I’m craving to emote with you,

So many animations I can do-o.

Be anything you want me to be.

Come on, come on and share a potion with me.”

“Enough!” Cassandra’s voice sounded strained. A tap of her finger and Lily had stopped the strange music. “Who was that woman?”

“What woman?” Lily sounded confused. “The singer?”

“Describe her please, Lady Cassandra.”

“Slim, pale skin, red curling hair,” Cassandra began before Solas cut her off.

“Sister Leliana, what was she carrying?”

“A fake mage staff,” Leliana replies without hesitation. “White staff, black and gold grip, green orb at the top.”

“Commander, what was she wearing?”

I recalled the image of the woman who had been dancing in my head a moment before. “A white dress with an obscenely short skirt. A red corset over it and gold trimmings.”

Lily had been growing paler and paler. “Felicia Day? You all saw Felicia Day in her Codex costume? This?” She dropped the phone back on the table. The bottom half of the image now had strange symbols and moving writing. The top half had a picture, the most prominent part of which was the woman I had seen dancing.

“Yes,” Josephine replied. “When you sang, I could see her dancing, as if I was remembering something I had seen before.”

Lily swayed as if lightheaded. Cassandra caught her arm and guided her into a chair but it was my eyes she sought out. “Am I a mage now? I always played a mage. Is that how this works?” There was real fear in her eyes. Did she think that if she was a mage, I would harm her?

I crouched to meet her eye. “There is no magic in you, my lady. You are not a mage. This is unlike anything I have ever seen.”

Her eyes slid closed in relief. “Thank you, mo gaisgeach.” Her eyes flicked open in fright again. Whatever that last phrase had meant, it wasn’t meant to slip out. Her eyes begged me not to ask what it meant. I didn’t. She was worried enough already.

Solas interrupted whatever pleading her eyes were doing. “I believe it has something to do with the different connection your world has to the Fade. It gives you abilities which are not found here, but anyone coming from your world to Thedas would have.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, taking deep calming breaths. While Lily composed herself, Leliana dismissed Solas, though she asked him to remain close, and we were left alone with her again. She seemed calm again, but how many more shocks could she take?

Josephine seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “My lady, you know the people are calling Lady Trevelyan the ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

She smiled softly to her knees. “They’ve started that already? She’ll hate it, but it’s good for the Inquisition. The Chantry will declare you heretics. You know that, right? If they haven’t already. And I’m still not a lady. Never have been, never will be.”

“They are calling you the ‘Prophet of Andraste.’”

As predicted the result was explosive shock. “Thalla ‘s cagainn bruis! You’re not serious? Mhac na galla!” I hoped those phrases were as colourful as they sounded. “I’m not meant to be any part of this!”

“You are, whether you want to be or not.” Leliana was blunt and to the point. “You are here and the people have heard you sing and seen visions when you do. They know you have predicted things before they happen. They have decided that is who you are.”

“But it isn’t. I’m not what they think I am. I’m not a hero.” The tears were coming again. “I’m just a mouse.”

“You are more than a mouse, my lady,” I told her. “By saving the scouts on the mountain pass and warning of the pride demon, you have already helped.” I looked up at the others, met each of the women’s eyes in turn. “We are agreed that she stays? Not as a prisoner, but as a member of the Inquisition?” They all nodded. “Will you stay with us, my lady?”

Her smile was sad as she met my eyes. “I have nowhere else to go.” She made to stand and I held out my hand for her. “Tapadh leat.” She flushed. “I mean, thank you.”

Josephine was scribbling again. “We will find you some more clothes and necessaries. Are you content to continue sharing the cabin you were in last night with Lady Trevelyan?”

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Leliana was more interested in the business at hand. “Is there anything you can tell us now that will be of use?”

She thought. “Eve will be awake in… two days, I think. By that time, the Chantry will definitely have declared the Inquisition heretical, Chancellor Roderick will still be spewing venom and driving the Commander up the wall, and you may have received an invite for the Herald to go to the Crossroads in the Hinterlands to meet with Mother Giselle.” That seemed to give her pause. “Cach, I hope that doesn’t mean she’ll want to see me as well. The fighting there is horrific.” She shook it off. “Regardless, you will get that invite at some point, so it’s probably a good idea to send Lace Harding out to do as much scouting as she can before Eve and her team arrive.” Josephine and Leliana had both been taking notes but Leliana looked up, startled at the mention of Lead-Scout Harding. Honestly, I hadn’t even known her first name until now.

She looked around again, wary. “I said I would warn about anything that would harm innocents. So I need to let you know that Haven isn’t-“

Her words cut off abruptly and her hands clawed at her throat, as if there were invisible hands strangling her. She pitched forward and I had to dive to catch her as she fell. Cassandra lunged out the door bellowing for Solas as I lowered us to the ground. Her face was darkening and her lips turning blue. Solas was at my side, pale green light flowing from his hands. “She is being magically silenced.” The elf seemed to have lost some of his composure, the words coming out frantic. “This is too powerful; I can’t counter it.” Suddenly her throat was released and she let out a hoarse rasping gasp.

I could only hold her as she wheezed and coughed, clutching at my arm as if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

“Lie still, Lily.” Solas had regained his calm, and his voice was soothing. “I’m going to try and take the pain away.” She nodded, lying as still as she could while her chest heaved to draw in as much air as possible. He held his hands up near her throat and she flinched. Solas paused. “I promise I will not hurt you.” She nodded again. I could feel the push and pull of his magic as the healing flowed into her, watched as her breathing eased and became less hoarse sounding.

When Solas stood, he addressed the whole room. “I assume Lady Lily was attempting to impart some sort of information or warning?” At Leliana’s inclined head he continued. “Someone, I assume whoever brought her here, does not want her to give you that information. This was not a true attempt on her life, but a warning. I would not pursue this line of questioning.”

“Why that?” I could feel her trembling and her voice was weak, but it was enough to have Solas turn. “I was able to give plenty of other information. Why that one thing that could save so many lives?”

“I do not know. But I would not risk trying to speak of it again.”

She nodded again and gave a small smile as she sat up. “Ma serannas, Solas.”

I hadn’t seen him look so startled before. “You speak Elvhen?”

Lily looked a little stronger now. “A few words and phrases. I’m good at picking up languages.” She gave a small smile. “Usually the curses or terms of endearment, but it’s only polite to thank you in your own tongue.”

Solas nodded and returned the smile. “You are welcome, Lily.” He looked up as I helped Lily to her feet again. “I would advise she is allowed to rest.”

The meeting broke up then, Cassandra again escorting Lily back to her new quarters. I couldn’t help but wonder how she would fit into life in Haven. She was so fragile, timid. Even thanking him she hadn’t been able to meet Solas’ eyes. But there was a strength and determination there, too. She wanted to help. And what warning was she so upset about not being able to give?

Tha gaol agam ort - I love you

mo gaisgeach - my hero

Thalla ‘s cagainn bruis - Away and chew a brush (STFU and clean your mouth out)

Tapadh leat - Thank you

Cach - Shit

#The One Who Will Live On #Dragon Age fanfic #MGIT #tw: abuse #tw:dv #Vix writes

[sparemyocs]

The Fade And Fading (Pt 1)

Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan.

Not even a day had passed, but he was here. Walking the Fade again (this time alone), tempting far more than just fate in an attempt to fix a decision he’d made in a distressed heartbeat.

It’d been quiet however. Eerie and dead without The Nightmare’s smothering presence. Hanhari was a little surprised by just how much of a difference the demon’s departure had made. The Fade bent to his will, if not directly under his will even with the demon gone. Rocks, or what seemed to be rocks, rose up before him like a path. Or perhaps more accurately a bridge, taking him high above to the floating islands steadily. He had his staff in hand, grip tight as the gentle tah tah tah of it striking the stone beneath him helping to keep things feeling solid. Particularly when one of the stones under him shifted or shivered. He couldn’t stop if he didn’t outright lose his balance. Slow, hesitant steps also helped as he felt his way up the ‘stairs.’

The sheer lack of demons was distressing, but Hanhari tried to look at it as a blessing. It meant he’d have more energy for Hawke.

If he was even still here.

If he was even still alive.

Where’s Hawke?

Hanhari had never heard such mesilde aven. Despite having command over several languages, nothing quite covered the agony he’d heard in Varric’s voice right then.

And imagining Hawke’s children when they got back to Skyhold without him?

Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris. Hanhari couldn’t stomach any of the images he’d been able to conjure of Hawke’s bonded on hearing the news.

He’d just… trusted the other man. Something about him made it hard to even consider the equally willing Grey Warden at his other side. Hawke was strong and sure and… onharonun.

This was not an acceptable end to that man’s journey.

The Fade around him… It had rahnras inanshos. The higher he went (and Creators help him resist the urge to look down) the further out Hanhari could see. Hazy green horizon, the Black City itself to his left, grey seas and stone in sharp shapes and soft ones and sometimes melting away into what looked like smoke. In the distance (or was it actually under the Black City?), long past where he’d ever be able to reach it, was what surely had to be a mirage of a swamp. This was bellanaris.

…He really shouldn’t be here. No living person belonged here.

Hanhari couldn’t really appreciate the parts of the view that didn’t seem to be actively mocking him, even with the stiff peace. His eyes mostly scanned ahead, searching for anything that would tell him where he was heading. The little sleep he’d gotten had been filled with the undeniable feeling that Hawke was still recoverable in some sense, but it was laced with equal amounts of dread. No demons. In fact, it was the first dream Hanhari had had since the Breach had first opened up. Not that he’d breathed a word about the disquieting absence. Nor would he now admit that he’d probably been strengthening the enemy all this time.

If The Nightmare was dead, then surely…?

The mage tried to ignore the fact that it seemed like he was heading away from where he’d left Hawke. Not just up but… Was that blood?

Hanhari hurried forward at the splatter of red along the side of the floating island, breaking into a run when he spotted a glint of armor. The closer he got, the more he could actually see. The arm was clearly broken. The gauntlet on it had dug into the rock it was contorted around, leaving disturbing claw marks in the side of it. The fingers were still dug in and keeping the hand in place despite the body horror.

The rest of Hawke didn’t really look much better.

Bloodied and battered, most of his iconic armor was in tatters. The bevor was smashed in, but seemed to have done it’s job ultimately. Hawke’s right shoulder had not fared as well. His left arm also looked broken but not nearly as destroyed as it’s twin. One leg had been stripped of the heavy armor that had been there, leaving his foot exposed and possibly twisted but relatively unharmed for how little that meant. The other was less lucky, the armor smashed in. Even his chest looked a little misshapen.

Enastal enal'o telamun, he was still breathing. Somehow neither bled out or rendered lifeless upon whatever horrific impacts he’d suffered. But time was likely not on his side. Hanhari moved as quickly as he could, freeing Hawke’s hand and pulling the big human man onto his shoulders. Again, his desires changed the face of the Fade and he found himself back where he started far faster than he had found Hawke. Likely for the best, he wouldn’t be able to keep carrying such weight.

Tumbling out into solid ground again, Hanhari closed the rift he’d made practically on instinct and refocused on Hawke. Firstly getting the damaged armor off of him. He should have been bringing the man back to camp for help but… No. The healers there were already too busy dealing with the aftermath of Adamant. Hanhari could heal the Champion.

No matter what his methods would mean he’d be losing. Leliana would dutifully cover it up until he’d killed Corypheus at least. Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas. Tel'sael melava.

Forcing the blood still in the man’s body to stay there, Hanhari grabbed his own knife and carved down his left arm. He knew exactly what to do, despite a lack of personal practice.

Too many times watching his father nearly kill himself doing just this probably.

Bones first, loose blood and thick muscle forcing them into the proper places before fusing them enough to hold. Then damaged muscles and sinew and organs. Mercifully few of the latter, thank the Maker. Lastly, most draining of them all, restoring blood and hopefully consciousness.

His vision steadily got darker as he worked despite the fact the sun was likely approaching the horizon. His absence would soon be found, if it hadn’t already.

Garrett woke feeling like the Fade had chewed him up and spat him out.

Wait…. No that was definitely what had happened.

Had Fenris found him?

Hadn’t he been dying?

Or was he already dead and the Maker was still being an asshole in his afterlife? That wouldn’t surprise him at all.

Hawke looked up as he realized the weight on his chest was warm. He felt so heavy. His shoulders were pulled up by his wobbly arms before he could whip his head up.

Short hair and pointed ears. Hair was… red? Still too dark to be sure. It was a man. He was still alive. Small guy.

…Why the fuck wasn’t he in the…

Well shit.

Hawke squirmed to his feet, pulling the limp but light body up with him. It was only then that he realized the Inquisitor was bleeding profusely from his left arm. And those cuts were sickeningly clean.

Blood mage.

Of course the Herald of Andraste would be a blood mage. He was way too perfect otherwise.

Still, the younger mage had been nothing but kind and helpful in the time that Hawke had known him. Mustering up what magic he could, the human sealed the cuts with some difficulty. What they’d been for wasn’t really clear. It couldn’t have been to get into the Fade. He had the Anchor for that. The lack of dead bodies around them said it wasn’t for combat most likely.

…Could blood magic heal? Hawke remembered being a lot more fucked up than this.

Seemed ridiculous, but the man supposed stranger things had happened to him in the past.

Following the closest thing to a trail of small feet as he could discern in the sand with the early morning darkness around him, Garrett headed where he hoped he’d find other people.

Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan - Falon'Din help, I’m an idiot mesilde aven – pathetic words Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris – Mythal bless/grace and protect Fenris onharonun – a wondrous good rahnras inanshos - eerie prettiness bellanaris - eternity/forever enastal enal'o telamun - blessing coming from the bad Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas – He would be a useful tool, enduring his fate Tel'sael melava – Not the first time

#the fade and fading #the fade and fading part 1 #au based #hanhari background stuff #hanhari #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age inquisition #garrett hawke #mage hawke #mentioned fenhawke #credit to project elvhen #yeah this isn't totally done either but eh #fanfiction #mentioned ocs

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 41. In which outcasts gotta stick together

Read the full fic on AO3.

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The reveal of Grand Duchess Florianne's murderous intent had been nothing compared to the astonished whispers at the emergence of the Empress, the Inquisitor and the elven ambassador, Briala, from the tete-a-tete between the powers. Duke Gaspard had been exiled for treason based on all the incriminating evidence they'd found skulking through the Winter Palace, but despite all the things they'd discovered about the ambassador, Briala was now at the Empress' side.

Dorian snickered behind his glass of wine. The Inquisitor was playing matchmaker, eh? During their exploration of the Royal Wing, they'd found Briala's locket among Celene's personal effects, and Evana must have used that information to bring the two women back together. She’d placed Celene safely in power, but with Briala as Marquise of the Dales, the elves would also have a chance at raising themselves to a more equal status. He had to hand it to the Inquisitor. She might hate the Game, but she seemed to play quite well.

Grabbing another bottle of a fine vintage, Dorian found a dark, secluded corner of a balcony and made himself comfortable. Compared to a Tevinter party, the night had only just begun, but Dorian had already tired of the unending parade of snide remarks and gallingly rude questions. And with the revelation of Florianne's Tevinter agents murdering people in the palace, his reception had gone from mildly chilly to downright frigid. It seemed better to beat a hasty retreat… with a glass and some fine wine, of course.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, he sipped his wine under the comforting shroud of darkness and stared into the night sky. He allowed his thoughts to wander as the wine warmed his limbs and the merry lights across the palace took on a pleasant haze of intoxication.

The scuffle of dragging feet drew his attention, and he turned to watch the Inquisitor walk slowly across the balcony to lean heavily on the railing. He made to emerge from the shadows when he saw Morrigan had wandered out onto the balcony as well. If he'd cared about propriety and social convention, he might have revealed himself, but as it was... well, he'd rather hear what the mage had to say. He'd let Evana know he'd overheard later.

"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."

"I would have stayed,” Evana deadpanned, “but the punch ran dry. Scandalous."

Dorian nearly spit wine in astonishment even as his chest swelled with pride. She never would've said that sort of thing out loud before he and Varric got a hold of her.

But Morrigan was speaking again. Dorian strained to hear their soft voices above the music floating out of the ballroom.

"Indeed? Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly. By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations."

Evana did not answer immediately, and Dorian rearranged himself to get a better view of the two mages. Finally, the weary elf leaned her hip against the banister and cross her arms - her defensive posture.

"I had no idea you were interested in joining the Inquisition."

Morrigan shrugged. "The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest. Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own curiosity. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic. Corypheus is a threat to Orlais... and to myself. Thus, I am not opposed to the appointment."

Evana's stance relaxed a bit, but she still exuded wariness. "You mentioned knowledge. What skills do you have that would benefit the Inquisition?"

"I have knowledge which falls... beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rift in the sky to close, after all."

Evana tensed. And Dorian understood why. The Inquisitor's tone took on an acerbic edge.

"So, when you say 'knowledge beyond the realm of most mages,' do you mean blood magic?"

Clearly Evana had tired of the game. She was back to her lovely self - with a large dose of new-found confidence, it seemed. The tentative, withdrawn elf he'd first met in Redcliffe had been replaced by a cool, confident leader. He couldn't be more proud. Morrigan, unaware of the transformation, took it all in stride.

"I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it you might consider blood magic, yes. Should thought of that frighten you, allow me to offer reassurance. Knowledge alone does no harm. What I possess, I place at your disposal to make use of or ignore as you desire."

Evana relaxed once more, this time allowing her arms to drop. "You did help me earlier. I'm sorry if I seem suspicious. This place is enough to make anyone paranoid... Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."

"A most gracious response," Morrigan responded with a tilt of her head. "I shall meet you at Skyhold."

Dorian shrunk back behind a pillar by the doorway as Morrigan passed through. When he relaxed once more, he found Evana leaning on the balcony railing, both hands placed flat on the wide stone. The weight of the evening, indeed of the last few months, seemed to press upon her in this unguarded moment. Her head drooped and shoulders slumped, and Dorian's heart went out to her. As different as they were - and as much as he would never dream of saying it aloud - her consistent and solid support had meant the world to him in Redcliffe. He owed her at least an attempt to cheer her up.

Dorian quietly collected his wine bottle and prepared to step out of the shadows once again but stopped when he saw that the Commander had beaten him to it. Well, that settled things. He certainly wasn't leaving now. Not when it would be much more fun to eavesdrop on the awkwardly adorable lovers. Cullen would make her feel better, and Dorian would get a little entertainment for his troubles tonight. Win, win.

"There you are. Everyone's been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment..."

Cullen approached the railing and stood next to her. At his words, she leaned down further so her elbows rested on the wide stone, hands hanging listlessly off the edge. Cullen did the same.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a low, concerned tone.

So adorable, I think I might be sick.

"I'm just worn out," she sighed. "Tonight has been... very long."

Although they faced away from him, Dorian could imagine the rueful half smile on Cullen's face as he responded. "For all of us. I'm glad it's over."

Cullen paused, but only for a moment. Lifting his hand to rest lightly her shoulder, he lowered his voice, and Dorian had to strain to hear him speak.

"I know it's foolish - you are more than capable of taking care of yourself - but I was worried for you tonight."

She lifted her hand to cover his for just a moment before letting her hand drop. Cullen backed away from the railing. For a split second, Dorian thought he might have to intervene. What was the lummox doing, leaving so soon? She clearly wasn't feeling... oh...

"I may never have another chance like this, so... I must ask." Cullen stepped back and bowed before Evana, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

A-dor-a-ble!

The smile that spread across the pretty elf's face nearly caused Dorian to laugh out loud. This was simply too much. Her voice epitomized that of a pleased lover as she turned and placed her hand in his.

"Of course. But I thought you didn't dance?"

Cullen chuckled as he closed his hand around hers and pulled her to him. "For you. I'll try."

The two spun about the balcony for several minutes simply staring into each other's eyes before settling down into a much slower pace. The elf's grace couldn't entirely overcome Cullen's ineptitude at dancing, but it merely added to their poetry - him all muscle and brute force and her a lithe but deadly beauty. Dorian decided that if he were ever to write poetry, they would be the perfect muse.

Eventually, they moved further away from the doors and deeper into the dim corner of the balcony. Evana circled her arms around Cullen's waist and rested her head on his chest. He slipped his arms around her, his hands clasped and resting on the small of her back and his cheek on the crown of her head. Dorian continued to quietly drink his wine, his mirth slowly dissolving into a strange kind of tranquility. Despite the overwhelming sweetness of it all - something Dorian would normally find laughable and in which he would certainly find a wealth of ammunition for his own special brand of sarcasm - it was actually quite relaxing to watch them. He hadn't realized how comfortable the two had become with each other. They might actually make it out of this mess together.

A strange mixture of emotions poured into his chest - a little bit of jealousy, a larger portion of happiness for his friends and a few vague, unnamable emotions swirling around in the depths. He'd never had a true relationship. Not like what he was witnessing right now. In Tevinter, his preferences were considered shameful, and if one decided to indulge them, one certainly didn't try to have a relationship after. It was sex. Period. Dorian thought he'd been happy with that. But these two - these seeming opposites who were inexplicably well-suited for each other - stirred in him a desire for more. What might it be like to have a true partner by his side? Someone to love him and support him?

His mind lingered briefly on his recent, strange interactions with a certain Qunari companion. The attention, though often vulgar, certainly satisfied a perverse desire inside him to be admired by everyone. Such admiration rarely came his way here in the south - at least not after his origins became known. He harbored no shame about being from Tevinter, but his self-importance certainly took a hit from the cold shoulders and narrowed glances, as if people expected demons to sprout up from the ground behind him wherever he walked. Perhaps that explained why Bull’s words simultaneously embarrassed and pleased him.

Not that he believed anything could come of it. Even a purely physical relationship would be dangerous considering Bull only pretended to be Tal-Vashoth. Contemplating more would be insanity - how could a person ever trust someone who followed the Qun?

And, impossible as it may seem, I’ve had too much wine if am I thinking about that filthy, giant, walking wall of muscle as a potential partner.

The sound of Cullen’s voice murmuring something in Evana’s ear interrupted Dorian’s downward spiral. He leaned forward, trying to hear them. Evana replied, but he only caught the last half.

"-just as guilty as the other, but with Gaspard exiled and Briala at her side, Celene has a chance to really unify Orlais. And... and elves have a chance to improve their standing in society with Briala as the first elven noblewoman. I know you were hoping for Gaspard, but…"

Cullen shook his head. "As long as Orlais remains at peace and we have their full support in our fight against Corypheus, I am satisfied. Gaspard is the right choice for war, but I understand Josephine's argument. How would he lead at the end of this war? I think we could have brokered peace, but Gaspard certainly would have required more work in the long run."

"I'm glad you're not upset... I... I was worried you might be."

Cullen smiled and pressed his lips her temple. "Please trust me that I trust you. And I'm not going to be upset if you don't follow my advice to the letter. As our first encounter with your clan taught us, I don't always give the best advice." He paused as she laughed lightly and then pulled back to look her in the eye as he continued. "Nor do I think my way is the only way. There are usually multiple paths to a desired end. I can give you one path, but that's why we also have Josephine and Leliana. They provide other paths, other choices. I know you'd never do anything that you thought would harm anyone. As long as it gets the job done, just point me in the right direction, Inquisitor."

"Hmmm... Such wisdom - and such trust, Commander. I think you might be my favorite advisor. Don't tell Josie or Leliana."

Cullen smiled again and briefly leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. His voice was quiet, but they were closer to Dorian now, and he just made out, "I wouldn't dream of it."

After a brief pause as they continued to circle the balcony, Evana spoke up in a jovial, teasing tone. "I'm glad I was finally able to steal you away from your admirers."

Dorian stifled a chuckle at Cullen's long-suffering groan. The man was clearly not used to being oogled.

"In the name of all that is holy,” he began in a harsh tone, “if I never see another noble, it will be too soon! I even explicitly told them I was..." He cleared his throat before continuing. "... That I was taken, but it seemed to make no difference."

Evana's teasing took on a tinge of sympathy. "Was it that awful?"

"I know I shouldn't complain when you all were out there risking your lives,” he admitted through a heavy sigh, “but... Maker's breath! I don't know how many times I was manhandled by those ravenous beasts."

"They actually touched you?" Dorian perked up at the dangerous tone in Evana's voice. Jealousy rearing its ugly head?

"One of them grabbed my bottom for sure."

"Which one?” she asked, playing at pulling away from him to go find the person who’d accosted him. “I could immolate them right now. Celene would surely look the other way after all I've done for her tonight."

Cullen laughed quietly as he pulled her back and hugged her tighter against him. "That won't be necessary, but I do appreciate the sentiment."

They were barely moving anymore, just swaying back and forth in time to the music. Dorian smirked. Unless they want the entire Orlesian court to know they're an item, they ought to separate... and soon. As soon as the Commander's back was to the door, effectively blocking both their views, Dorian stealthily moved away from his hiding place and to the door. He immediately turned back around and, raising his glass and bottle, proceeded to scare them both into maintaining a more appropriate distance.

"Why hello! Aren't you two just adorable? How long have you been out here staring dreamily into each other's eyes?"

Cullen gave him a half embarrassed, half irritated glance. "Good evening - or rather, good morning, Dorian. Having a bit of wine to celebrate our victory?"

Dorian snorted. It wasn't fashionable, but he realized he was actually a little bit drunk. No wonder his thoughts had run away with him earlier. He swirled the small bit of wine still coating the bottom of the bottle as he spoke.

"If by 'a bit,' you mean two bottles in, then yes. Don't worry, though. I've got a high tolerance. And I imagine we'll be leaving soon anyway."

Walking up to them, Dorian bowed and held his hand out to Evana. "Which means I need a dance from you, my dear. You need to be seen dancing with someone other than a murdering Grand Duchess and your Commander, otherwise, tongues might start wagging... unless you are happy to let your little love affair become the gossip of Orlais?"

They both sighed and looked at each other. "I should check in with Josephine and Leliana," Cullen reluctantly admitted with a huff.

Cullen stepped away from Evana, bowed and gave her a particular look before leaving them to the balcony. Evana sighed and wistfully looked after Cullen as Dorian began twirling her around the balcony. After all their practice sessions, they fit together quite well. A dancing mage duo for the ages.

"Oh, don’t worry, he'll be alright now,” Dorian assured her. “I've got Cassandra on duty."

Evana looked at him, nonplussed. "You what?"

"I told Cassandra to be his bodyguard for the rest of the ball. Based on her glower, I thought she might start throwing punches at nobles if left to her own devices."

Evana let out an amused puff of air through her nose and smiled. "I'm sure Cullen will be grateful. Cole was even worried about him tonight - said the fat heads were 'hunting' him."

"Well, he is quite a delectable hunk of man,” Dorian agreed with a laugh. “You've caught yourself quite the specimen."

She smiled shyly. "I know. And I owe it all to you."

"To me?" Dorian asked in genuine surprise. "But it was Cole who gave you that tiny insight into Cullen's brain. Tell me honestly, if Cole hadn't 'helped' as he likes to call it, would you ever have spoken to Cullen?"

Evana looked away. Contrary to his natural inclination, he didn’t pressure her for an answer. He merely led her through a few more rounds. Finally, she shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. I'd like to think we would have gotten there eventually. It was more about... well... I guess I couldn't even admit it to myself, but it was more about me truly and irrevocably giving up my clan than anything else."

Dorian stopped abruptly, and Evana nearly tumbled to the ground.

"Creators, Dorian! What-"

"What do you mean, giving up your clan?"

Evana sighed and tried to let go of Dorian. He held her firmly in place as she looked down and then to the side. Anywhere but at him.

"Didn't you know?" she finally answered dryly - only the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her emotions. "I'm surprised with all your research that you haven't come across that little tidbit, yet. Elves who choose to be with humans are disowned by their clans. It's one of the few things all Dalish can agree on."

He could only stare at her. "Does... Cullen know?"

"N-not explicitly... but he asked a question last night that brought it to mind. Based on what I told him, I'm sure he'll reach that conclusion soon, if he hasn't already."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Evana finally turned to look at him, shock written all over her face. "Wha- no! I wouldn't trade what I have with him - with you all - for anything. I never would have admitted my feelings to him if I weren’t serious about... well, us, I guess. It's just... there's a certain amount of guilt that comes with turning your back on everything you've ever known. I don't want Cullen to have to deal with that. He's got enough on his shoulders."

Dorian gave her a sardonic grin and started them moving again. "I certainly have no idea what you're talking about. None at all."

Evana nodded gave him and sympathetic smile. "Exactly. It's one of the reasons... one reason I feel more comfortable talking to you about this. But I suppose we're all misfits in our own way here in the Inquisition." She squeezed his arm as she spoke. "It's been easier the longer I'm away. I always had a fairly academic understanding of the Elvhen pantheon, but when I began studying Elvhen lore during my apprenticeship, my tenuous faith in the pantheon as true gods pretty much faded away. Discussions with Solas since joining the Inquisition have only strengthened that feeling."

"A crisis of faith more than a crisis of family, then?"

"For the Dalish, I'm not sure there's a distinction between the two. Our religion is our culture. It is who we are. To deny the Elvhen gods and defy the necessity for pure Elvhen bloodlines are one and the same in their eyes."

Dorian couldn't think of anything more to say. He’d already emptied his wine bottle, or he'd have had a drink. Evana stopped their dance and pulled at his hand as she moved toward the door.

"Come on. Let's go see if the others are ready to get out of here. I feel a bit like a walking corpse."

"Evana..."

He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but her face as she looked back at him over her shoulder - a sort of goofy, accepting expression – caused him to simply smile at her. What could he say that they hadn't already?

"Very well,” he finally relented. “I think they're out of the good wine anyway."

Evana squeezed his hand. "That's the spirit!"

She dragged him into the ballroom, and shortly thereafter, they were on their way back to the inn. Dorian smirked at Cullen as Evana slid into the seat beside the commander and promptly fell asleep while leaning against his arm. Cullen gently reached around her to pull her against him more firmly and then firmly avoided Dorian’s gaze by looking out the darkened window.

A small, rather wistful sigh from his left drew Dorian’s attention to his seatmate, Cassandra. Even in the dim moonlight, Dorian could see the tender expression on the stoic warrior’s face as she gazed at the scene opposite them. She seemed to sense him watching her and suddenly slouched into her seat with a huff. Dorian couldn’t hold back his low chuckle.

As the wheels clicked over cobblestone roads, he found himself wondering at Evana’s sudden admission to him about her clan. Although, after all that had happened during the course of the evening, he supposed she had good reason to be thinking of her clan. He'd heard the slurs against Evana tonight - likely even more than she'd heard herself. He'd grown up with elves as slaves, so he was barely any better than the Orlesian pigs who spoke of their Inquisitor as if she were chattel or a plaything for their amusement. It was easy to ignore the suffering of others when you never had to experience the hardship yourself.

However, being here, where Southerners eyed "'Vints" with distrust and disdain, had opened his eyes to his own hypocrisy. The whispered insults and thinly veiled jabs still clung to him like a bad odor. It wasn't nearly enough to make him want to go back to Tevinter, but like her, an evening such as this could only end in a fleeting nostalgia for the life he'd left behind, a weariness of the prejudices that left him forever in the fringes. In a rare fit of honest reflection, he admitted to himself that he carried a certain amount of undue disdain for Southerners. However, he could also admit that he’d found good and reasonable people amongst the supposed barbarians of the South. His growing friendship with Cullen was testament to that.

The carriage jolted to a stop in front of the inn, and Dorian helped Cullen guide the tired elf up to her room. Before even unlocking her door, Evana turned, slid her hands around Dorian's waist and squeezed him hard.

"Thank you for everything tonight,” she mumbled into his chest. “I know it probably wasn't fun being around all those rude people. Just know that I appreciate you."

Dorian smiled, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the elf on the top on the head. She must have overheard a few things about him, too. After a moment, he loosened his grasp.

"Now, now. That's enough seriousness for one night. To bed with you, heathen."

Cullen had stepped back for their exchange, but now he moved forward. To Dorian's surprise, Cullen leaned down to kiss her. It was quick - not at all like the kiss Dorian had accidentally witnessed before they left for the Western Approach - but it surprised him. Dorian had never thought the private and stoic Commander of the Inquisition would ever kiss a woman in front of an audience, even an audience of one. Perhaps they were both just that comfortable around him? The thought gave him an odd feeling in his chest, but he decided not to parse it further - not right now.

She smiled up at Cullen. "Goodnight, vhenan."

"Sleep well, Evana."

Evana turned, unlocked her door and then waved shyly at them both before closing the door behind her. Dorian gave Cullen a sidelong glance.

"You know, you don't have to keep up appearances for me."

Cullen had started to turn away, but he stopped to face Dorian now, a confused look on his face. "I'm not sure I-"

"I won't tell anyone if you just join her now instead of later."

"W-wha-?" Cullen stuttered as he rubbed the back of his neck and blushed furiously. "Oh... I... um... we don't..."

It was Dorian's turned to be confused. "I'm sorry. I had thought you two were together. At least, that's what slow dancing on deserted balconies and kissing on battlements, outside stables and in the middle of a hallway says to me."

"Uh... no... I mean, yes, we are together, but..." He sighed and dropped his hand. "We're... taking things slowly, and I'd rather not discuss it further than that."

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. For a moment, he debated needling the man further, but the Commander had likely already been pushed to his limits tonight. He affected a nonchalant expression and waved a dismissive gesture at the other man.

"As you wish. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Dorian."

Dorian turned and headed for his own room, brows pulling together in consternation. They weren't sleeping together? As he walked down the hall to his own room, Dorian tried to comprehend the reasons for such a thing, but he simply couldn't. They were obviously in love. If one were given to theatrics - which of course he was - one might even say they were meant for each other. Perhaps he'd had too much wine or was just too tired to process things properly. It would require a more thorough investigation, and if Cullen wouldn't talk about it, he'd have to come at it from the other direction. At least now he knew why Evana had refused to talk about Cullen's finer points during their trip. She didn't know any more about them than Dorian did.

Dorian unlocked his door, stripped down and flopped into bed. He'd think on it more tomorrow.

#revelation of all things #revelations #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #my fanfiction #dorian pavus #Dorian is my favorite #dorian pov #my OC #real talk #dorian and evana brotp #BFFS FOR LIFE #Dorian is having a feeling #winter palace #halamshiral #wicked eyes and wicked hearts #troat

[elevanetheirin]

"Because I love you" Something angsty maybe? I wanna feel the pain.

Thanks for the prompt @5ftgarden I don’t know how well I will do, I don’t really “do” angst lol but here it goes….

Anders X Fem!Hawkefor @dadrunkwriting

 Hawke had gone to some place called Skyhold to help Varric, which Anders supposed he couldn’t fault her, Varric was her best friend and he was the one that had helped them slip out of Kirkwall after he had allowed Justice to blow up the Chantry. Anders couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong though. She’d been gone for months and Aveline and Carver refused to look at him anymore. Ok, if he were honest with himself Carver never looked at him, but now he actively avoided being even in the same room with Anders and that put him on edge to say nothing of making Justice even harder to control again. Luckily Aveline had taken them out to the Maker forsaken middle of nowhere and there was nothing for Justice to destroy, at least for now.

 A couple of weeks ago a rider had come with a message but Aveline and Carver had behaved like it wasn’t about Hawke. Anders didn’t believe it for a moment but what could he do if they wouldn’t talk to him. He sighed deeply as he picked up Ser Pounce-A-Lot III and headed down to the nearby brook to read. He needed to clear his head of the worry he’d had since the day Hawke had left.

 Absently Anders stroked the fluffy tabby and drifted off to sleep before he so much as cracked the book open. Suddenly he was standing in a place he’d never seen. It looked like the fade but it was different than any part of the fade he had ever seen before. The rocks were floating and there was water dripping everywhere, not to mention the obvious demons roaming around. What was even odder was that in the Fade Justice was the one in charge, had been since the day he had agreed to help his friend and let him become part of Anders, this time however he could see Justice alone a short distance away. After peering at Anders for a moment Justice turned his back on Anders. Was he mistaken or did Justice actually look sad? The whole place was forlorn and forboding. 

Softly at first Anders thought he heard people talking, he turned to the sound of the voices and from around the corner walked Hawke, Anders’ heart lept from his chest as he began calling to her. Hawke didn’t even notice he was running to her. The rest of the voices followed Hawke, there was Varric, and was that? It was! It was Alistair. Anders remembered him from his time with the Grey Warden. With them was a mage in flashy robes with snakes all over it, he sounded like he was Tevinter, a large quite obviously nervous Qunari and a woman whom Anders could only assume was the Inquisitor because the magic emanating  from her hand could be none other than the magic she used to close rifts. No matter what he did he couldn’t seem to get their attention. When he glanced at Justice the spirit only shook his head sadly.

Anders decided the only thing he could do was watch to see what happened. So he followed them. The Inquisitor spent a lot of time easing the pain of dreamers within the fade. They spoke to a spirit who looked like Divine Justinia who helped the Inquisitor remember what had happened at the Divine Conclave. Anders watched the whole thing wishing he could help. The Inquisitor seemed to be in a lot of pain and turmoil from what she learned from the spirit. Even with all that was going on Anders couldn’t help feeling as though something bad were about to happen as they reached what the group continued to call a rift. 

A giant spider-like beast stood between them in what was obvious to him now an opening back into the world, the spirit that had assumed the form of Justinia moved toward the spider-beast causing it to dissipate into the void of the fade. The companions fought hard against the remaining demon, THE Fear demon. He’d watched his beloved and her companions wade their way through the fade ti defeat this beast who wanted to rule the world with fear and help the mad Magister they had freed to destroy everything they knew.

Once the Fear demon was defeated the spider had returned. Anders watched helplessly as Hawke, ever the brave woman she was, he chose to use the term brave even though he also knew she often acted without thinking run head long into the spider distracting it from the rest of the party. 

 Horrified he watched the rift close behind the Inquisitor as Hawke remained behind. She did everything she could to kill the beast and while she succeeded Anders screamed and ran to her side when the realization that she was gravely injured dawned on him. He reached out to grab her up, forgetting that he hadn’t been able to even speak to her much less touch her in the time he’d been with her in the fade. Justice stood just steps away looking sadly at Anders. He fell to his knees begging Hawke not to die, before his eyes Hawke disappeared and Anders laid himself where she had lain and cried out for her. He knew, somehow that he had witnessed her end, his heart shattered, even Justice looked as though he’d died a little when Hawke had disappeared.

“Anders? Is that you?” Her voice broke through the despair that had become Anders’ waking nightmare. 

He raised his head, turning to look in the direction of the most beautiful sound he could have ever imagined, it was like the first time he’d heard her voice in Darktown the the day they’d met.

Hawke walked slowly towards Anders. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think I’d see you again, well at least not while you were still alive…” Hawke smiled

“What…what happened? How could you have done that, you gave yourself to save them, but what about me? What about us?” he was still crying, his face stained with the tear trails down his cheeks and the dirt he’d picked up along his journey in the fade.

Hawke grinned and reached out for Anders. She had become solid, he could hold her and touch her. He didn’t even question this miracle, it was the fade after all and very little made sense here. 

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Justice murmured. He hadn’t approved of their relationship at first but as time went on he’d come to realize that Hawke was the only thing that kept him from turning completely into Vengeance and for that he would always be grateful to her. He left the two to talk. He hoped their conversation would prevent Anders from falling into a despair that no one could get him out of.

Hawke nodded acknowledgement at Justice and turned back to Anders, “I didn’t do it for them, I did it for you my Love.”

“For me? That’s insane, I wasn’t even here!” Anders’ sadness turned to confusion quickly.

“Corypheus would rule the world, with just a little power he controlled you, controlled all the Wardens. I couldn’t let that happen. I saw the chance to save you from that pain, that constant nagging in your head, so I took it. Yes, it helps the whole world, and it helped them leave this place but if I didn’t stop this here and now there would have been no one to stop Corypheus and you would be left with a far bigger inner battle than the one you fight with Justice every day.” Hawke smiled again.

“ I need you, why would you do this? I still don’t understand.” Anders’ confusion on his own face but he was fighting hard to memorize hers knowing when he woke he would no longer be able to hold her, to look into her eyes.

“I did it because I love you Anders, I will always love you, and I will wait for you here in the fade until you’re ready, please don’t make it sooner than it needs to be” Tears filled her eyes. “Promise me Justice, you will look after him, that you two will stop the fighting. The mages have their justice now, thanks to the Inquisitor it’s time you laid down your fight Justice and just take care of Anders, for me, and for you.” Hawke peered at Justice who had turned towards them watching their conversation.

Justice nodded curtly once and turned and walked away. Hawke kept her eye on him until she realized Justice had no intention of returning. At some point it appeared that Justice had decided to stay where he belonged, in the fade. Anders would be completely alone now and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not but she was relieved to find he was gone for good this time.

She held Anders for a long time, the two of them kissing and professing their love. Anders promised to visit her when he slept, it would take some practice but he was sure he could make it happen, after all, mages manipulate the fade don’t they? 

When he left Anders’ heart ached and it was more painful knowing she’d sacrificed herself for him but he’d somehow have to push on, maybe he and Carver could at least TRY to be friends, after all, they only had each other now.

Ok, I don’t know how good this is, seems like I am missing something but there it is lol 

thanks again for the prompt

Here’s my Prompt list if you’re looking to request

#dadrunkwriting #Anders X Hawke #angst #Fear Demon #Fade #Because I love you