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sotwk · 1 year

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So... Hi. To answer your question I may or may not have accidentaly done a charactor analysis/looked to far into this. *laughs nervously*

In age order:

Mirion; SO, he's the first born, and was (unintentionally) the most celebrated begetting. At the news of his pregnancy the enture kingdom would be celebrating, the king and queen would be ecstatic because elf pregnancy is increadably rare.

Cheehoo hes born, the Kingdom has lots of party's and celebration, excuses for wine. (Also side note, did the tradition with the Calarsil start before or after he was born?) Fast forward, and the little elfling is growing up, the only one of these to be a single child for a brief (to the elves anyway) amount if time, and Thranduil and Meareth dont know for sure if they will have another so this kid gets alot of love.

But also, (again unintentionally) some pressure as crown prince but yet, as we can see from his interaction with baby Leggy (who by the way is a pressious ball of joy and I will protect him to my last breath) and the new parents, he has quite a bit of compassion and diplomacy with people.

Empathy and a cool head, both important things for a future ruler.

He is also a great blacksmith, so, creative output! Its healthy!

Also; ✨green eyes✨ Love them.

Turhir; Second born, His begeting may not have been quite as celebrated as his elder brother's, not by lack of love at all mind you (Thranduil and Mearath are good perants as far as I can tell) he just isnt the first yk. He may have been a suprise, may not have been, but a second pregnancy in an elven family is ✨awsome✨ thank Eru and all.

As a little kid he probably trailed after his brother, thats what tiny thingamajigs like to do, but one day he starts to realize "hey, this isnt as cool as I thought" so his attention switches around and he tales interest in other things, (I personally headcannon that he had a sewing addiction at some point Nanath got alot of handmade gifts) when sudenly he sees Master Ivanil.

He thinks "wow thats cool, I bet I could do that" so he starts training, open hand fighting in particular which takes alot (as somone who started this officially at age 6 can confirm) he probably -to his mothers horror- gets a few injuries.

But he sticks with it and he's flipin good at it. Then he takes a mind to be the training master, "delightful" his mother thinks with a grimace. But this kid is determined and he trains hard, even the master knows it.

You also pointed out thats hes stern, but not so much that he can't realize that his little brother needs a little attention, and he didn't turn Legolas over while he was having his day out, showing he does know when to loosen up a bit.

He's a nice combination of ambitious, instinctive, and compassionate.

Arvellas; third born of our esteemed elven king, again the king and queen are absolutely in love with their precious little elf, though find themselves often reminded "the third child is always the intersting one" the queen probably didnt put much though to this, the child is perfect to its mother.

As he begins growing up he probably spend alot of time tagging after his brothers, and ignoring his studies. (My favorite part about hus chapter is the mental image of Thranduil fliping out about his child being illiterate) so when he starts dissaprearing for long periods of time around the age 13 his Nana is probably "mom worried"(trade mark lol) but he dosnt get hurt... I just imagine Mearath's immense relief to find him reading.

Also I assume he keeps a little journal with quotes written down in it.

From Legolas's love of his book I can tell that he has a brilliant mind and an entertaining style of writing, as well as a sweet temperament and open acceptance of varieing temperaments and tastes.

All in all this guy is a huge sweetheart as far as I can tell, also brilliant. Beacause, he can speak a whole bunch of languages? Including a slight understanding of Khuzdul (I havent read the simarilion but that's suposed to be a huge undertaking fir and elf to even begin?)

Gelir; fourth born, and Oh this guy. At thus point I want to hear the gossip from the people cause the king and queen are lucky.

Despite being one of the slightly less accepting of his brother's presance in his space I think its probably because my boy is insanely more comfortable around animals than other elves.

He likes his time away from palace life and hang out with his more fur coated buddies, he doesn't strike me as an ellon who particularly like conversation. Not to say that he can't in fact he has probably talked the cook out of a few snacks for a wounded animal.

He comes off as kind of distant from Legolas, but it changes when they have somthing to connect over, (baby elk baby elk baby elk-) and he even lwts him stay, regardless of the fact that he may not have anything major to contribute.

He's a nice guy, in his own element, and may be the most mysterious to the elves of the woodland realm.

His ability to ride/tame so many speices suggests that he probably has a calming presence to those he chooses. And hunting takes patience and thought so great attributes!

I'm also 95% sure he's homosexual and 89% sure he and Darthol have some chemistry beyond mere friendship.

And... Green eyes.

All of this (and alot more that I've gotten rid of) to say, wOw, excelant charactors and I dont really know if I have a favorite! There's so much detail in each one even from the brief glimpses we got!

Also I am so sorry I took so long to answer, lots of children to watch here 😅

My SHHEEP friend @laneynoir binge-read my six-chapter work, "Greenleaf's Day Out" and left a quick review for each of the chapters. I asked her to do me an additional favor and answer a simple question for me: "Which of the 4 OC brothers I created for Legolas did you like best?"

In response, she took the time to write out the above extremely detailed and thoughtful analysis of each of the four characters. My mind is blown and my heart is full.

I feel like Frodo when Aragorn pledged his support at the Council of Elrond.

THIS. This is how you make a fanfic writer feel truly appreciated and "I could cry" elated. Obviously she went waaaaay above and beyond, but feedback like this is so powerful; I am over the moon right now and feel motivated to continue writing about these characters. I had been second-guessing the merit of my concept of Thranduil's family/OC sons.

Look around the reblogs, and you will see that I'm not the only creative who suffers from crippling self-doubt and imposter syndrome. I think we all do. We need our readers' help!

Whether it's an artist or writer whose work you love, if you ever feel a desire to support them or slight guilt that they are giving you their work for free, please just tell them what you think about their work. That too is "free", but is utterly priceless to the recipient.

Please consider doing the same for a writer you enjoy/follow. We all need and deserve a reader like @laneynoir. I'm grateful to have you, mellon nin!

#sotwk answers #writing encouragement #support your writers #lotr fanfic #sons of the woodland king #sotwk #fanfiction writers #how to tumblr #how to support writers

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lambden · 3 years

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What better way to break in a new blog than by immediately posting fic? In honour of Nightmare of the Wolf, here’s some Vesemir and Filavandrel!

(read on AO3)

M, 2.9K words, no warnings, Vesemir recognizes Jaskier’s lute when he arrives at Kaer Morhen

Vesemir has been expecting this day for decades. It’s rare for witchers to meet a trusted companion out on the Path, and even rarer to find one who wishes to travel alongside them. But the reputation of witchers has changed in recent years, for better or worse. Their focus is no longer on maintaining the traditional practices of their schools, but on protection— of other witchers, and of helpless commoners. Perhaps the humans can sense that change.

More curiously, the folklore surrounding witchers has changed. Vesemir very badly wants to meet the man who has done so much to change the narrative, but years pass and all Geralt brings home every winter are stories. The younger witchers entertain (and tease) him but no one ever asks where the bard goes during the cold months that Geralt spends at Kaer Morhen. Perhaps even Geralt doesn’t know.

Finally, after hundreds of stories of Geralt-and-Dandelion, Vesemir receives a letter one autumn before he himself has even considered the journey home. His chest warms as he reads Geralt’s careful penmanship, noting how the ink blots at the start of each new sentence. The paper and wax are fine, suggesting that Jaskier used his academic connections to perhaps land Geralt a few contracts near Oxenfurt. Geralt’s lettering may be nearly flawless but his message is stilted, reminding Vesemir of when his pups were nervous children. Does Jaskier really make him act this awkward? Their relationship must be serious, then.

I am hoping you will welcome my guest with open arms, or I fear he may freeze over the coming months. Vesemir looks for a signature but there is none, save a very fancy G at the bottom. No returning address has been provided either, and while he could easily pen a missive to Oxenfurt, it’s probably best not to respond. Each day Nilfgaard only grows stronger, and crueler. Perhaps Jaskier has been caught up in their hunger for power. Vesemir folds the letter up and hides it in his saddlebag.

When the frost begins creeping in, the oldest Wolf begins his trek up the mountain. He’s almost always the first one to arrive; Coën had beaten him to it once and apologized for weeks, and Vesemir would do anything to avoid that again. And if he makes an effort to arrive early this year so that he can make the Keep look as important as it is, well… nobody needs to know.

It takes a week and a half before Geralt arrives, Jaskier in tow. Vesemir spends the time flushing out a bat infestation and dealing with the most perishable of his spoils from the past year. The White Wolf seems to bring the cold with him most years but Vesemir, cognizant of Jaskier’s inferior body, made sure to set out enough furs in advance. As soon as he hears Roach’s hooves approaching he starts a roaring fire, and when the inner doors of Kaer Morhen burst open, Vesemir is ready to make a great first impression.

Upon seeing him, Geralt smiles right away, crossing the room to greet him. Vesemir looks him over; no obvious new scars, no missing body parts. Must have been an uneventful year, but… Geralt is here, safe and alive, so Vesemir allows himself some private, selfish, unwitcherly joy. It’s the sort of thing Deglan would have lectured him for. He finds he doesn’t care.

“I got your letter,” he tells Geralt, who nods solemnly. “I thought it best not to reply. Is Nilfgaard on your trail?”

“Our trail,” Geralt sighs, stepping aside so that Vesemir can meet his companion. “Vesemir, this is Jaskier.”

The bard, dwarfed by a large fur coat, moves forward so that Vesemir can properly scrutinize him. He certainly doesn’t look his age, but Vesemir knows he’s travelled as far as any witcher has gone, and seen sights no human should really have witnessed. “Oh, I’ve heard plenty about you, Jaskier. I was wondering when Geralt was finally going to bring you along for the winter!” That makes Jaskier perk up, and Vesemir chuckles. “I promise that no harm will come to you here.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier says. “Geralt doesn’t like sharing much about the other witchers, but I’m sure you must have a wealth of stories for me to hear!” Sure enough, Geralt frowns. “And I don’t know how much help I’ll be with hunting or gathering, but I would be happy to regale you on the coldest nights—”

And before Vesemir can read into that unfortunate phrasing, Jaskier shrugs off his fur coat to produce a lute. He must have been wearing it strapped around his front on the journey through the mountains, not wanting to condemn such a fine instrument to being jostled around in Roach’s saddlebags. Vesemir squints at the red-brown wood and the golden details under the strings. They almost look like a particular elven design.

Oh. Vesemir’s realization nearly bowls him over. Geralt and Jaskier stare at him, respectively concerned and curious, but Vesemir can’t take his eyes off the lute. “My apologies, I… I forgot something in my chamber. Make yourselves at home, and… I’ll leave you to it.” He leaves without any further explanation, hastening to his quarters and abandoning the pair of them to their own devices. He can still feel their gazes drilling into his back but he suddenly feels weaker than usual.

---

“I heard there was a witcher skulking around this forest,” the spy says. Vesemir is almost relieved to hear them speak; he’s been glancing over his shoulder for nearly an hour now to try and reveal an invisible pursuer. He should’ve known he was right. Just because the spy doesn’t lumber like a human or reek of magic like a monster doesn’t mean he won’t be in trouble.

He stops in the middle of the path, still facing forward. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the second he turns, a very unfriendly knife is going to introduce itself to his ribcage. Or perhaps an arrow, although he hasn’t heard the sound of anything and he’s been listening very closely.

His pursuer approaches. Fuck, they’re light on their feet. If Vesemir was just an average bandit, he’d be done for. He braces himself for an attack, balling his hands up into fists at his sides. The stranger continues, tone still pleasant enough, “Why not stay in town? A warm bed must beat trudging through mud in the early hours of the morning trying to find ground. I’ll give you some advice, witcher; there’s no dry ground. You’re heading towards a swamp.”

“They wouldn’t let me stay in town,” Vesemir admits, already grumpy. He whirls around and sees the stranger; a lean man, just slightly shorter than him. The long hood of their cloak casts a dark shadow over their face, blocking them from view. “If you’re here to rob me, I hate to disappoint, but you’ve followed me all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his empty coinpurse; not to prove himself, just to complain. The stranger titters, a lovely, high-pitched sound like glass clinking against glass, like chimes. Like birdsong. Vesemir’s eyes narrow. “That’s a shame,” they say. “You do love coin.”

There’s something disturbingly familiar about the words. Vesemir decides to gamble with his own life, stalking forward until he’s face to face with the stranger. Up close, his scent is even stronger. Frowning, Vesemir is about to reveal the man’s identity when he does it himself, pushing his hood back. His hair is tied up in complex braids unlike any Vesemir has ever seen, only a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. But it would take more than a lifetime for Vesemir to forget that face.

“Fil,” he declares, delighted, and doesn’t think twice before crashing into the elf. Filavandrel laughs again and though it makes Vesemir feel a little silly, the sound still fills his heart with joy. He embraces his friend tightly, clinging to him for so long that both their boots sink down into the flooded dark soil of the forest. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s like I told you.” The elf pats the back of Vesemir’s neck, unwittingly sending a shiver down his spine. Vesemir’s grip tightens. “My scouts said I might find a witcher lost in the woods.”

“I’m not lost,” Vesemir grunts, finally pulling away. “I just… don’t know where I’m going.”

“Come to my camp,” suggests Filavandrel. As if he even had to ask.

Unsurprisingly, elves make their camps much differently than witchers do. When they arrive Vesemir doesn’t immediately see any sort of bedroll, and then he feels embarrassed for looking. He never feels this way around anyone else; he can make bawdy jokes with Sven or blatantly hit on Luka, but in the company of Filavandrel aén Fidháil, shame bursts through him so easily.

Maybe he just has a thing for pretty blondes who he leaves behind.

Except Fil is here, smiling indulgently as Vesemir gapes like a fool. “It’s nice,” he finally manages to say. “Want me to set a fire?”

“A campfire, sure. Not a big one,” Filavandrel teases. Swallowing, Vesemir turns to a firepit that the elf must have fashioned himself. He takes a bundle of wood that’s already been cut and easily ignites it, all the while trying to figure out why his heart is pounding so damn loud. Thank fuck that Filavandrel isn’t a witcher.

“Have you eaten?”

“No. You?”

“I was going to have some bread, and go hunting in the morning.” There’s a small noise and when Vesemir turns to look, his friend is holding out a large chunk of bread. It doesn’t even look that stale. Vesemir sees that Filavandrel has taken a much smaller piece for himself and growls about it, but the elf snatches the smaller piece away before Vesemir can lunge for it. “I don’t want to hear any self-sacrificial bullshit about how witchers don’t need to eat. Take the damn bread, Ves.”

“... Fine,” Vesemir relents, cowed. He accepts the bread, fingertips accidentally brushing over Filavandrel’s when he takes it. It’s fucking delicious, melting in his mouth almost instantly. Seeds and herbs have been baked into it too, and Vesemir savours every bite, moaning. “You should quit being a professional elf and start a new life as a baker, fuck.”

“I can do both. It’s an old recipe, needs a stone oven. And what does being a professional elf even mean?” Filavandrel reaches up to shove him, except they aren’t very far away from each other so the push nearly knocks Vesemir off his balance. Before he can tip over onto the grass Filavandrel grabs him by the collar of his gambeson and tugs him back, and, well. Vesemir may be a witcher, but parts of him are still human.

Neither of them has to say a word; he opens for Filavandrel like he’s been thinking of nothing but this since the second they laid eyes on each other. Honestly, he sort of has. Fil runs a hand over the shaved part of his head, pressing his palm against the back of his neck to pull him in closer. Vesemir moans, chasing the taste of something sweet and acidic and magic. It certainly isn’t the fucking bread.

Afterwards they lie together by the smoldering remains of the fire, both too spent to clean themselves or dress. Vesemir glances over at the cinders and thinks about making an exit soon. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to stay with Filavandrel. He’s comfortable here, especially right now, and his friend always makes his heart feel lighter. But the Path calls to him; lying here without his weapons or armour, Vesemir can nearly hear Deglan’s scolding. And that thought is enough to ruin anyone’s afterglow.

Before he can move, Filavandrel sits up, arching his back. Vesemir turns to watch him, nearly salivating at how he looks in the low firelight. His hair is radiant, and his skin isn’t nearly flushed enough. He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Selfishly, Vesemir wishes that he’d left more marks.

Fil climbs to his feet and crosses the campsite to retrieve something out of reach. Vesemir cranes his neck to try and peek, and Filavandrel laughs kindly at him. “I was just thinking that something’s missing.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Vesemir says, lowering his head back down onto the ground. “I should have kissed you more.”

The elf pauses at that before finally demanding, “Kiss me later.” A note resounds through the air, clear and beautiful; then a chord, and another. Very soon their little clearing feels more like a fairy circle than a campground as Filavandrel plays music.

He finally walks into view, still naked, still beautiful. Now holding a lute. Vesemir tries to sit up so that he can properly see the performance but Filavandrel is faster, moving over him and then sitting atop his stomach, resting his back against Vesemir’s thighs. He plays the entire time, fingers moving adeptly over the instrument.

It’s a beautiful lute, probably made of some holy dark red wood. The golden design etched into it is mesmerizing, and the strings could have been plucked from the mane of a unicorn. Vesemir hardly spares it any attention, too wrapped up in the sight of a naked Filavandrel straddling him and singing.

He’ll only realize decades later that the elf was probably trying to court him.

Someone knocks on the door to his chambers and Vesemir jumps to his feet, caught off-guard by the sound that plucked him from his memories. He finds Jaskier waiting outside his room, toying idly with the sleeves of his doublet. Vesemir shakes his head, holding the door open for Jaskier even as he apologizes. “I’m sorry for running out earlier. I meant to give you a tour of the Keep, hopefully Geralt will have stepped up in my absence, but I am sorry—”

“No— please,” Jaskier interrupts. Once more he pulls his lute from around himself, holding it out to Vesemir. “I just… Your countenance changed dramatically upon seeing this, so…”

Fuck. “Yes,” Vesemir sighs, staring at the lute. Jaskier has managed to keep it in good condition after all this time. “I… Filavandrel and I are old friends.”

The bard’s eyes bulge out of his head but he enters Vesemir’s chambers, heading straight to the desk to perch on the edge of the chair. Vesemir finds another chair for himself, moving its previous occupant— a stack of books— onto the floor. In his defence, he hadn’t expected the tour of Kaer Morhen to begin in his personal chambers.

“He didn’t mention knowing any other witchers,” Jaskier hums. “How did you meet him?”

“You’re sure you want to know? It’s sort of a long story.” The bard just nods, eager and polite. Instantly Vesemir can see why Geralt likes him. “Alright,” he obliges, reaching for the bottle of wine on the desk. They’re going to need it. “We met long before you would have been born…”

---

South of Kaedwen, the seasons are more aligned than any other part of the Continent. The winters are crisp, the summers lazy. Filavandrel likes to spend his summers here, where the canopy of trees is thick enough to provide shade but thin enough to provide colour. Everything is verdant, the flowers calling to him as he passes each one. When he was a child he had longed to visit towns and experience human delights like festivals but now he knows better. The elves live off the land well enough anyway.

Some of the younger people in his company these days have that same yearning, and some of them even manage it. One elf who resembles Toruviel always runs off to see some different show, take in some new performance. If Filavandrel thought that she could get away with it, he would pay for her to attend Oxenfurt— she’s very good. And the upside of her risking her life just to listen to music is that she’s got a very good memory, and she always brings the songs back home.

Today she’s singing some new ode to a witcher; not that bigoted anthem of lies that the bastard warbler from Posada somehow spread through the Continent, thank the Gods. This one seems to revolve more around making the right choice, and how a real hero does good deeds not for coin or his own profit, but just to be good. Filavandrel thinks about the few witchers that he’s had the misfortune of contacting over the years, and under his breath he scoffs.

Cheesy chorus aside, the lyrics seem to have some merit. The first verse is all about some terrible monster that was taking young girls, transforming them into half-beasts. The hero witcher’s judgement fails him and he blames himself for years, even losing a lover in the process. Filavandrel scowls; despite his own experiences with witches, he doesn’t want to listen to a song written by yet another prejudiced bard.

Then the third verse lands. The witcher grows old and wise and has children of his own, and he regrets his inaction and he tries to reach out to contact his lover. But at that point his lover, who devoted his life to protecting those in danger, was too busy being King of the Silver Towers. Filavandrel stops dead in his tracks as he realizes which witcher this must have been inspired by.

The elven king huffs, starting to compose a route in his head. He thinks a trip up north is long overdue.

#vesemir #filavandrel #nightmare of the wolf #the witcher nightmare of the wolf #geraskier fic #my writing #hey did anyone else see young vesemir talking to his friend fil in the bath and think we were gonna get a Bath Scene Part Two: The Remix?

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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 4 years

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Comin' At My Friends Like a Missile

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

Paring: 12th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2,859

Warnings: a passive aggressive homophobic character (which plays a role in the plot)

Summary: The Doctor takes you, Bill, and Nardole to a fair on a distant planet to try what he says is "the best Candy Floss in the Universe". It’s incredibly busy, and it is almost impossible to find a seat, and Nardole uses it as an opportunity to set you and the Doctor up.

A/N: I just finished reading a duology recently (Crier’s War, amazing) so, inspired by that, this will be a duology too! The next and final part will be out same time next week. (this part hasn’t be edited due to technically difficulties).

The Doctor wasn’t kidding when he said this fair was home to the “best candy floss in the universe”. The area in front of the booth was packed, with people squished up against each other like it was a mosh pit, and not like it was a queue for candy floss.

You stood on your tiptoes, trying to reach the Doctor’s height as the pair of you scanned for somewhere the four of you could sit. It was no use, the Doctor was standing on a box.

“Which is cheating, by the way,” You told him when you petulantly brought up the box again. You had to shout to be heard, the crowd around you was deafening. “You’re tall enough as it is.”

Above you, the Doctor huffed. “I’ve got better eyesight than you, it’s schematics.”

“Uh huh,” you sighed under your breath, then gripped onto his arm so you could balance yourself.

The fair was lively, to say the least. The candy floss booth was in the centre of what seemed to be a food court - if that’s what you could even call it. There wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it, with different shacks set up in a hodgepodge collection, and a myriad of tents scattered behind, where, you assumed, people could eat and relax. It was loud, and you heard snatches of conversation from a family passing by, but you paid little attention to it.

You nudged the Doctor’s box with your shoe, belatedly wondering where the hell he’d found the thing. “So it’s not just your incessant need to be bigger, taller, and more important than everyone else then?”

The Doctor looked down at you. “Y/N,” he said, utterly aghast. “I don’t need to stand on a box for that.”

You rolled your eyes at that, trying not to grin. “So Doctor, what do your elven eyes see?”

The Doctor screwed up his face, his eyebrows hiding his eyelashes. “My what?” He groaned. “Really? Lord of the Rings?”

“The Uruks have turned northeast,” Bill cried out, running up beside you. You turned to see where Nardole was, who was slowly bumbling his way up to you all. “They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!”

You laughed in delight. “You’ve read Lord of the Rings?”

“Nah,” she said. “Saw the movies though.” Bill was bubbling, bouncing up and down on the spot. She must have been really excited to try this candy floss.

You didn’t blame her, apparently it changed colours.

Nardole came up beside you, giving Bill a slight look of disbelief. “The movies, only the movies?”

“Arwen,” Bill said. “Need I say more.”

You hummed in agreement, she was completely right, after all.

You put your feet back firmly on the ground. “So what did you guys find?”

“Well,” Nardole said. “There’s good news and annoying news.”

“That’s not really how the phrase works, but continue.”

“They’ve got tables for us,” Bill said. “The Doctor was right, we just waved the psychic paper at them and boom, instant tables.”

“Tables,” the Doctor said. “No, that won’t work.”

“That’s where the annoying news comes in,” Nardole said.

You gave Bill a look of bafflement, one that she returned. “Alright,” You turned to look up at the Doctor. “What’s wrong with tables?”

“Tables, as in plural,” The Doctor clarified. “Not what we want.”

“Yeah,” Nardole drew out the word. “They don’t have space for a group of four, they only have space for two groups of two.”

Bill shrugged. “I’m honestly fine with it, I just want to try this candy floss.”

“Yeah alright, I’m good with it too then,” You tugged the Doctor’s coat, getting his attention. “I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. We can split up.”

The Doctor grumbled something, you caught snatches of it, something about it not being the experience he wanted, but the crowd was so loud that you couldn’t completely make it out.

“Well,” Nardole clapped his hands together. “Let’s go.”

You yanked the Doctor, causing him to stumble off the box, and the pair of you followed Nardole and Bill. You sidestepped people in the crowd, trying not to trip on the uneven dirt path, and soon arrived at the tent.

A security guard glanced over the four of you, nodded at Nardole, and pulled the flap of the tent back.

“Oh,” you gasped as you went inside. It was… well, it was beautiful. The inside of the tent was a rich mahogany, and was lined with golden embroidery which snaked its way into the roof. The great big pole holding the tent up was a dusty gold, which looked worn down by age.

There were dozens of voices that littered the area, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as it was outside, you could hear yourself think, you could hear yourself breathe.

The smell of sugar hit your nose as you spun around, trying to take in everything all at once, from the white tables, the myriad of rugs that littered the floor, and the floating candle trays that dotted the tent and lit up the room. The smell was sweet and slightly tangy, and was pretty foreign to you.

You loved it, you absolutely loved it.

You turned to the Doctor with a grin. “This is incredible,” you gushed. “Completely incredible.”

“Yeah,” Bill said, her face split into a wide, overjoyed smile of her own. “Thank you so much for this.”

The Doctors face broke out into a small smile at your reactions. “I’m pretty good at ideas, so I’ve been told.”

Nardole gave you a considered look, and you tried not to squirm under his gaze. “Hey Bill,” he said, still looking at you. “Wanna buddy up?”

You narrowed your eyes at Nardole. He did not just do that.

Bill shrugged. “Yeah sure, alright. You’re getting the candy floss for us though, yeah?”

“Could you get some for all of us?” The Doctor asked, his gaze focusing on you.

“Yeah of course,” Nardole winked at you, giving you a wry smirk, and you glared at him. “C’mon Bill,” he said, completely satisfied with the outcome. “Let’s find our table.”

You watched them walk off for a moment, trying to shake off whatever awkward tension had grown between you and the Doctor. It was in your head right? It had to be in your head. Then it dawned on you. “Oh my god we don’t know where our table is.”

You and the Doctor stared at each other for a moment before you burst into laughter. The Doctor chuckled with you, and stood to your side.

“If I had to guess,” he said. “I’d say it would be that table there,” he pointed at one of the only tables that was deserted, and it was pretty close to Nardole and Bills table.

You nudged his side. “It’s rude to point.”

“Ah yes, duly noted.”

You had barely sat down when you noticed it. You had been looking around the room, enthusing over just how breath-taking the embroidered detail was on the tent, or the wonder in the various different people were here, from their clothes, their alien antennae, and their odd cords that they used for communication.

Bill was ramrod straight in her chair. There was a stranger standing across from her, leaning against Nardole’s chair. Bill was giving the stranger an impossibly fake smile, the kind of smile you hadn't realised she was capable of.

Then again, Bill worked in the food service industry, so you really should have known better.

You felt the Doctor tense beside you, and in an instant he was suddenly standing, pulling you up with him. You were disorientated for a moment, finding your footing before you tried to work out why the hell you were both standing.

He was glaring at the stranger, his eyebrows screwed up into his patented (or, well, if they weren’t patented, they really should be) 'attack eyebrows'.

Oh no.

He took a step forward and you reached out to stop him. It had surprised you, lately, that he let you touch him as much as you now did. He let his hand fall over yours for a second, acknowledging your presence. "What are you doing?" You hissed, trying to stay silent so you didn't draw the attention of the mingling crowds that were around you.

He gestured to the stranger. "That woman-"

You slapped his hand. "No pointing."

He turned to face you, doing what you assumed he presumed was a glare but, honestly, was more like a pout. "-Is saying some incredibly harmful things, and I'm going to stop it."  

You cursed his timelord hearing and placed your hand on his chest, holding him back so you could gauge Bill’s body language, the last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

Bills jaw was set and it looked as though her smile was plastered on. Beyond that, she looked like she had the situation well in hand.

You looked at the Doctor, mustering your best stern expression. "Bill’s capable, you know she is. You don’t need to rush in and play hero, that’s not what she always needs. Let’s just sit with her and provide support, have her back."

The Doctor’s face fell into a genuine pout as he weighed up your suggestion – it was actually pretty adorable. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yes, alright, fine. You’ve got a point.”

He stalked forward and you followed, heading to the table. He walked around the table so he was on the far side, and you slid in on the closest side. It meant that the pair of you were sitting either side of Bill, flanking her. Moral support.

You squeezed her leg under the table, and she looked to you in gratitude.   

"Hello, I don't think we've met," The Doctor said, sticking his hand out to the stranger. "I'm the Doctor."  

You frowned at his outstretched hand, since when did the Doctor shake hands? The stranger took his hand and immediately winced. You almost groaned as the stranger took her hand back, cradling it in the other.

Ah okay, so a power play. That was why the Doctor was suddenly shaking hands.

“And you are?” She asked, nodding to you.

“Hm?” You placed your elbow on the table, leaning your hand onto your fist. “Oh sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” you lied, and you felt Bill stifle a laugh beside you. “Could you repeat what you said?”

The stranger blinked a few times, straightened her smile, then cleared her throat. In that order. It was quite disconcerting. “I said my name is Karen, and you are?”

Karen. Huh, okay. So the stereotype transcended planets, apparently.

You introduced yourself, not offering your hand. “So” you continued, and you knew you had been behaving a bit rudely, so you aimed to be more polite. Bill didn’t need a hero. “What are you doing here?"

"Well," Karen sat down opposite the three of you, taking Nardole’s seat. Bill tensed beside you and it was clear to you that Karen had never been offered that seat. "We were discussing, oh, I'm sorry, I really have forgotten. What was it you called it?"

Bill stuck her chin out, her eyes going slightly manic as her smile grew. "The LGBTQ+ community."  

Karen chuckled, it sounded hollow and empty. "Ah that's right, the LGB, C, D, E, F G+ community," she laughed again and the sound crawled down your spine. Okay, so this is what the Doctor meant when he said 'incredibly harmful things'.

You reached your hand that was under the table across Bills lap and held the Doctor knee. You heard his chair squeak slightly, and you knew he was relaxing back into the chair.

No heroics.

"I was just asking your friend here earlier," Karen continued. "You do realise it's a sickness don't you?"

You blinked, pursing your lips slightly. You felt for Bills hand, which was clenched in a fist, and rested yours over it.

Right, so apparently alien planets had homophobes too.

You followed Bills lead, you could humour this woman.

"Are you sick?" You asked, and you forced yourself to sound curious, genuinely interested, like you had actually misunderstood what she had said. "Maybe you should go home then, rest up?"

Karen rolled her eyes and gave you a condescending smile. "No silly, I'm saying your friend is unnatural."

You took in a heavy breath, anger spiking in your chest. You squeezed Bill’s hand again, and nudged her shoulder lightly. Contact was the kind of thing that was important in times like this, it was grounding.

You heard the Doctor’s chair screech and you tapped his foot with yours. It squeaked again and in the corner of your eye you saw his fluffy head sit back.

Bill touched her face lightly, frowning slightly. "Hm, no, sorry," She put her hand onto the table. "I've never had work done, not that there's anything wrong with it of course-"

"See, you were doing this earlier,” Karen’s voice was completely patronising, sticky sweet and awful. “I thought your friends here would give you more sense," She was gripping the table cloth, her knuckles white. "I'm saying, as a woman, which you are – right, that you should be with a man."

You felt sick, it was as though her words were manifesting themselves into actual dirt and grime, then caking you in it. It was grotty.

"Like a bodyguard?" The Doctor asked, catching onto what Bill was doing, what she had probably been doing this whole time, before either you or the Doctor had arrived.

God she was wonderful, you were so proud of her.

Bill nudged your shoulder and you followed her lead, staring at the Doctor with her. "Do you mean him?" She stuck her thumb out to the Doctor, who blinked at the pair of you in confusion. "Because he's not really a bodyguard, he’s more like… a taxi driver."

"No," She spat, then visibly stopped herself. She was leaning into the table and you watched her sit back, fixing her posture and painting on that ridiculous fake smile. “I’m saying," she enunciated the words very slowly. "You should be with a man, for a partner."

"What would I need a partner for," Bill laughed but it was a bit forced "I'm not given any group assignments these days, just a lot of essays."  

"The essays I give you are great though," The Doctor defended, which bubbled out an actual laugh from both you and Bill.

Karen groaned so loudly that it almost sounded like a screech. "Oh you two are no better than her, are you?"  

Bill seemed exhausted, and it was then that you realised that this had probably gone on far enough. There was only so long you could go irritating a homophobe before it started to drain on your own mental health too.

"If you're looking for prejudice in this squad you're not going to find it, if that's what you mean." You said simply, plainly. It was a challenge though, she knew it was a challenge, everyone at the table knew it was a challenge.

The Doctor poked his head above Bills to look at you, screwed up his face in confusion, and a mouthed the word 'squad' at you.

You waved him off with the hand that had been supporting your head.

“The difference between you and I,” Bill said. “Is that I’ve got an actual understanding of what love is. And once you learn that, it’s freeing, it’s – it’s liberating.”

Bill leaned into the table slightly, looking at Karen with sincere remorse. “You’re never gonna have that, and I’m so sorry for you.

“As long as you stay trapped in your own prejudice, you’ll never get to learn or experience the full vastness and depth that love has to offer.

“And that’s gotta be the most awful thing someone could ever face. You’re gonna miss out on all these different amazing people, and all these different wonderful experiences – and you’re never even gonna know.

“And you know what the worst thing is; that’s on you. Not me or anyone else, just you.”

Karen swallowed, her bottom lip quivering. You didn’t blame her, Bill’s speech – just, wow, it had been something else. You were insanely impressed, Bill had such a brilliant way with words, and this innate sense of compassion inside her, you couldn’t imagine anyone else conceptualising and saying anything like she had.

“If you could please leave my friend alone now,” the Doctor said, trying to cut through the heavy blanket that was laid over you all. “That’d be appreciated.”

Karen huffed, standing abruptly and stalking off.

The Doctor popped his lips together and turned to you. “Wanna head back outside?”

Bill swallowed, nodding slightly. “Uh – yeah, um, that’s a good idea.”

You wrapped your arm around her, squeezing her against you. “Hey, you did really good there, freakin brilliant. That speech was something else.”

Bill leaned into you. “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

The Doctor pulled out his glasses, tapping away at the side of the rims. “I’ll let Nardole know.”

#the doctor x reader #twelfth doctor imagine #12th doctor x reader #twelfth doctor x reader #12th doctor #Bill Potts #Nardole #Doctor Who #DW

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gffa · 4 years

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I was talking with @himboskywalker about Tolkien and fandom and fic, because I’m always curious where people’s “area” of the wider Legendarium are at, whether they’re a fan of the Dwarves or the Humans or the Elves or the Valar or what! (As a surprise to absolutely no one, the Elves are where my heart is at, where I very much love the Noldor, but if you give me a choice I’m going to run over to that Sindar-centric fic every time.) Which got us onto the topic of fic recs, where, yes, I’ve done a LOT of Tolkien fic recs but I tend to read something of a wide variety and this is a list specifically aimed at those who are familiar with the wider Tolkien world, but haven’t really read much fic and want to know where to start! Other Recs First: - If you haven’t gotten further into Tolkien’s work (like say beyond the movies), I’ve done something of a primer here, which includes fic recs and brief explanations and links to videos that help explain some things. It’s not as hard as it seems to get involved, honest! - Some other fic recs here, as an addition to the above. - My Tolkien blog (which I haven’t been on in awhile, though, I haven’t let it go in my heart yet) has, I’m not kidding, A LOT of fic recs, I did recs regularly for about three years, so it’s almost as massive as my collection of SW recs. If I Could Only Pick Three To Start You With: ✦ And What Happened After by thearrogantemu - This is the fic that took me from enjoying the Silm characters to diving face-first into really loving them, because it wove such an engaging story about the characters sailing to Aman at the end of LOTR, where various characters you wouldn’t think interacting would be as meaningful as they are, but the fic absolutely sells them on it. Frodo and Feanor having a conversation about language? Sam and Maglor sharing a boat to the West? These things are amazing, as this is a fic about healing and what it means to sail into the Undying Lands. Also, it has a Feanor and Fingolfin reunion that literally put tears in my eyes. ✦ Interrupted Journeys by ellisk - I’m generally not someone who does a lot of rereading of fic just because I have so many new ones to get to, but I’ve read my favorites in this series (parts 3 to 5 are my sweet spot especially) probably four times through now because “Elfling Legolas growing up in Greenwod with a whole cast of characters around him, as the Shadow so very, very slowly creeps towards them” may sound somewhat simple, but the worldbuilding here is off the scale. The weaving in of how much the First Age and various Elven politics influenced Thranduil’s ruling of a Silvan people is a major theme, but it’s also good parents raising that precious Elfling right and he and his cousins+friends getting into all sorts of mischief, so it’s balanced between humor and drama in the exact amounts I want. You can skip the first two fics and jump into the third if you like, which is when Legolas is introduced, but I enjoy the whole thing. ✦ Return to Aman OR Quenta Narquelion by bunn - I can’t pick between these two, they’re both incredible. Return to Aman is basically “Elrond grabs Maglor and drags him to Aman with them” and it breaths such incredible lift into all the characters of Aman, it doesn’t negate the terrible things the Feanorians did, but neither does it negate Elrond’s love for them and his biological family, too. It’s another fic that’s about healing and forgiveness and it made me glow to read it. Quenta Narquelion is basically “Feanor refused the call of Mandos after he died and everything started to snowball from there” and it’s an absolutely heartbreaking look at all our Problematic Fave Feanorians and how they were once good people trying to do the best they could, but bit by bit they slipped into the dark. It’s especially amazing for capturing the complexities of Feanor, as he hovers over his children as a spirit and it really brought me around on his character. The Silmarillion and other First Age Batshit Faves: ✦ The Starlit Sky by Cirth is the fic that really made me get the potential of reading about Maedhros and Maglor raising Elrond and Elros, where it does such a fantastic job of showing that there was genuine affection there, even the midst of all the angst and trauma and pain. You really get why Elrond could never give up on them, after reading this fic. ✦ In Courts of Living Stone by ncfan - “What if Maeglin never left Nan Elmoth and instead, several decades later, found himself on an errand to Menegroth and developed a relationship with Finduilas instead?” isn’t a fic I expected to capture my heart, but boy did it ever. Beautiful characterization and beautiful writing, it really captured my imagination, but also gave me ALLLLLL the Maeglin feelings, as well as made me pine that this Finduilas couldn’t have been more common in fandom. ✦ naught but the shores and the sea by ncfan is more of Elrond and Maglor, where it’s an AU that has Elrond finding Maglor after the disastrous attempt to recover the Silmarils and I loved it a lot. ✦ The Crane Wife by Trebia is one that takes an underused character from Tolkien (Lalwen, in this case) and breathes this incredible life into her, gives her personality and joy and sorrow and meaning and, look, any fic that can convince me that Thranduil would marry a Noldo and utterly believe it, you know it’s well-written! The Second Age Is Kind of Quiet in Fandom But I Love It Regardless: ✦ The Art of Long-Distance Grandparenting by Kazaera is a lovely and bittersweet (but mostly lighter in tone) fic about the separation of the Sea between family members and does a wonderful job with Idril’s character, as she tries to stay connected to her grandchildren while being so distant from them and unable to see them, unless they choose to come to Aman. There’s joy to be found here and it’s a lovely read. ✦ Relativity by French Pony is a lovely look at the final meeting between Elrond and Elros and strikes the right amount of bittersweetness, where it’s awkward and difficult and heartbreaking, but also feels natural and like this was how it was meant to be. I had many, many Elven Twin feelings during the whole thing. (I like all their fic, they’re worth checking out their other stuff for, too!) ✦ A Thing or Two About Elrond by Crookneck is a series of fics about Elrond and the various relationships he has--with Celebrian, with his children, with Gil-Galad, etc.--and I remember being really charmed by all of them and how much shit Elrond has seen over the course of his life. The Third Age, Lord of the Rings Version: ✦ Boromir's Return by Osheen Nevoy - This one is sort hard to summarize, but it’s basically “Boromir lives, makes a friend, and slowly changes everything about the LOTR plot”, but it’s so much more than that, where the worldbuilding is phenomenal, the pacing is incredible, it made me fall in love with Boromir as a character all over again, it contains probably the best portrayal of Denethor I’ve ever read in fandom, and I really loved the OC and so on. It’s utterly engrossing and honestly I cannot recommend it highly enough, even if you’re not usually into this sort of thing. ✦ The River by Indigo Bunting is a fic where Legolas and Sam get separated from the others for a brief time and I love fics that take two characters who don’t interact much, throw them into an intense situation, and sees what happens. It’s not precisely a light-hearted fic, it’s very intense, but it’ll make you fall in love with the sheer good in both characters and the friendship they develop. It’s brilliantly written and I cannot recommend it enough. ✦ A Bit of Rope by Aiwendiel is a fic where Gandalf doesn’t fall at Moria and it changes everything--not necessarily for the better. The slow, creeping sense of things changing, things going just a little bit worse here and there, until you realize how much darker the Fellowship’s journey could have been, was brilliantly done, and one I thought did justice to the idea, it’s not grimdark, there’s still light and hope here, but it makes you feel like, oh, maybe things happened as they did for a reason, even as hard as that seemed sometimes. Gorgeously plotted and utterly engrossing. The Third Age, Mirkwood Version: ✦ daw the minstrel has an entire series of fics about Legolas growing up in Mirkwood and there’s absolutely a reason why she was one of the most well-known authors in that corner of fandom. Her ability to create new characters (including two brothers for Legolas) was incredible, I cared so much about the family dynamics and got swept up in the drama (which was in a very loving family, but Legolas was definitely a mischief-seeker) and they’re fantastic. If you find yourself in something of a stretch with too many OCs and your attention wavers, you can always skip around, they don’t have to be read in order and a lot of the non-canon characters can be skimmed over, imo. ✦ In a Field of Blood and Stone by ScribeofArda is so much better than what The Hobbit movies gave us of the Battle of Five Armies, it does such beautiful justice to the complicated character of Thranduil and Legolas, not sacrificing the warmth there for how difficult these times are and the war they find themselves in the middle of. This Bard is also really engaging and fun to read--I read pretty much the entire novel’s worth in, like, a day or two because I could not put this one down. ✦ Swordplay and Swimming by cliodna_bright has an incredible meeting where Thranduil comes to visit Rivendell, runs into Elladan and Elrohir, who are young enough that they speak without thinking, and it’s not precisely a humor fic, but I was screaming the entire time because it’s so sharply written and so absolutely delightful, I LOVE IT. ✦ Deep and Crisp and Even by rivlee made me fall in love with how Elves and humans may look very similar, but there’s this sense of otherworldliness to the Elves, as shown through Bard’s eyes when he has a meeting with Thranduil. Beautifully written and just the right amount of atmospheric. The Fourth Age Where Everything Actually Does Mostly Work Out: ✦ Far Horizons by Bodkin is the Fourth Age fic of my heart, where the various Elves that we came to know in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are all in Aman and decide to build their own realm there. Which is difficult because Elven Politics even just amongst themselves, much less clashing with all the established politics of the other Elven realms in Aman! But it’s a light-hearted fic (for the most part) that’s about healing and moving forward, balancing their ties to their history versus that Middle-Earth changed them, and I love it for soothing my soul. (Thranduil sailed, you can’t tell me otherwise!!!)(Bonus moments of Glorfindel being pretty hilarious.) I like all of bodkin’s work, but this one has a special place with me. ✦ Age of Healing by trollmela is one where Maedhros and Legolas have a conversation in Aman and it’s about the bittersweetness of healing and how difficult it is, taking two characters who would never have met in canon and weaving something entirely engaging and poignant out of it. Collections That Span The Ages: ✦ This Taste of Shadow by Mira_Jade - This is a collection of dozens of various shorter stories (or sometimes 10k “ficlets”) that you can largely skip around in if you have specific characters you like or you can just start at the beginning and read through. It contains looks at pretty much everyone, from Maedhros to Galadriel to Thranduil to Elrond to Caranthir to Glorfindel to the Valar, etc. I’ve enjoyed pretty much everything I’ve read in this collection! ✦ Fiondil's Tapestry and Tales from Vairë's Loom by Fiondil are in the same vein and I have really enjoyed everything I’ve read from both of them! I especially remember that there was one chapter that had a scene between Thranduil and Cirdan and thinking, ahhhh, why has no one ever written that before!? as an example of the neat things it does. But also lots about Elrond and Glorfindel and the Valar and so on! This probably doesn’t feel like a super extensive list, but those collection series will give you an excellent spanning of Elves, Humans, Dwarves, Hobbits, etc., not just the same central characters, but giving time to a lot of lesser focused ones as well. Like, I feel I’ve read a fair chunk of Elwing fic, but I couldn’t point you to a specific one in my list of recs, which means I’m pretty sure it was in the collections ones or else she got some good scenes in one of the Aman-based fics, so I swear the above is at least a solid place to start for dipping one’s toe into Tolkien fic. AS ALWAYS, OTHER PEOPLE’S RECS ARE WELCOME, god knows I haven’t read anything in the last two years (and will have missed a lot even before that) and so I always need more recs, too!

#tolkien stuff #the silmarillion #fic recs #tolkien fic recs

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aipilosse · 3 years

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For the story prompts, what about 28. 'Odd hobbies' for Celebrimbor and your OC Coroniel?

So I know I said I was trying to do Second Age stuff, but then this perfect Fourth Age idea appeared, and I had to write it! From this list of prompts:

“You’d like to try? Really?” Bilbo was thrilled. Tol Eressëa was a wonderful place. The weather was almost always lovely, there was excellent food and drink that never ran out, and best of all he could speak to many of the legends of the Elder Days himself. In fact, they frequently came to visit him and Frodo in the cottage they had on the outskirts of Avallónë. Just yesterday Finrod Felagund had visited, as wise and merry as Bilbo had always thought he’d be.

Today, he and Frodo had the honor of a visit from one of the greatest elven craftsmen who had ever lived, Celebrimbor of Hollin. Bilbo had briefly met him when they arrived at Tol Eressëa, but those first few weeks had been such a whirlwind of introductions and wonderment that Bilbo hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him until today.

When he’d heard that he wished to visit with his friend, Coroniel of Hollin, he’d been delighted and told him to come over at his earliest possible convenience. They’d had hours of good conversation in the garden over an endless array of snacks and tea. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had as many questions about hobbits as he had about Eregion, and the time had flown by. When he realized that they also could provide another perspective on Gondolin, Bilbo had almost been overwhelmed by the new round of questions he had for them.

“This calls for a pipe,” he announced. Celebrimbor and Coroniel had watched fascinated as he lit up his pipe and blew a few smoke rings. After further interrogation, and a regretful remark from Frodo that it was too bad Meriadoc Brandybuck wasn’t here to share his research into pipeweed, Celebrimbor asked if they could try smoking.

Frodo chuckled. “I’ve been told many times that elves don’t enjoy wreathing themselves in smoke.”

“I’ve spent much of my life surrounded by various fumes; I’m sure at the very least it won’t harm me,” Celebrimbor replied.

“Well, then. I think we both have a spare pipe, don’t we Frodo my lad?” Bilbo said. “I’ll run into the house and grab them.”

He returned with matches, two more pipes, and more pipeweed. They had brought a whole cask of the stuff to the Blessed Lands, and they had already given some thought into how they could find the same plants in Valinor. The stories clearly said that every plant that existed in Middle-earth also existed in Valinor, but Bilbo was afraid the strains would be different enough that it wouldn’t be the same experience. At the very least, he was very sure they’d never find something as good as Old Toby. As far as he was concerned, that was even more of a reason to share their precious pipeweed with their curious guests — how often could one provide immortal beings with something they had never experienced before?

He helped them fill the bowls of the pipes and lit the leaf as Coroniel and Celebrimbor drew on the stems. Soon they were all puffing merrily away. To his surprise there was no coughing or waving the smoke away from the elves, although they did amuse themselves by blowing smoke in each other’s faces for a time.

“How did you shape those rings?” Coroniel asked after a few puffs on the pipe.

“Ah, now that is a skill that takes some practice, although I’ve always found your folk to be quite quick on the uptake,” Bilbo said. “I’ll try to show you how. First, draw a full mouthful of smoke.” Two pairs of eyes, one silver and the other brown, watched avidly and drew in their own mouthfuls of smoke.

Bilbo realized at this point that verbalizing the technique would be a bit difficult. He tried anyway from the corner of his mouth.

“Pruss yur tun don,” Bilbo said. Both pairs of eyes widened slightly as they followed his instruction.

“Then shuck yur cheekf in end make an ‘o’ es ye bluh.” He blew a little ring out with the smoke that had managed to stay in his mouth. Celebrimbor and Coroniel just managed to blow out slightly more concentrated clouds of smoke.

Eventually, with a bit more instruction not obstructed by smoke, the two elves were beginning to blow small rings.

“Well done!” Frodo said, after a mid-sized ring from Coroniel. “You’ll be matching Gandalf soon enough, although I think he cheats with magic.”

“Magic? How does one use magic for this practice?” Coroniel asked.

“I’m not sure, but Gandalf can make all manner of shapes, like ships and dragons and flowers, appear from his smoke.”

“Oh! I suppose you could just shape the air currents as you blow out,” Celebrimbor said thoughtfully and then proceeded to blow a perfect spiral shape.

Coroniel rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just as much of an outrageous show off as the rest of his family.” She blew a second smoke ring, slightly larger than the last one she’d attempted, with a look of intense concentration on her face. “I will continue honing the practice in the authentic manner of your people.”

Bilbo laughed. “I’m sure you’ll be able to match me in smoke rings in no time. Now tell me about Gondolin. Was it really as beautiful as Tirion?”

#Celebrimbor #Coroniel #Bilbo #Frodo #My OCs #Fourth Age #Valinor #Bilbo teaching everyone that smoking is cool #can't believe how problematic he is #thanks for the prompt :)#elennalore #askaipi #my writing

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afni-fics · 3 years

Text

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 11: Bleak Falls Barrow - Interior (part 2)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 11: Bleak Falls Barrow - Interior (part 2) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 11/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read Summary:

Deeper into the Bleak Falls Barrow goes Tim and Lucien.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

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As Tim led the way further into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, his mind began to wander as he examined the ruins and artifacts he found with Lucien.

"I wonder what my parents would have thought of exploring a place like this," he thought to himself as he picked up a book from a nearby table and swept a thick layer of dust from the cover. Idly, but carefully, he opened the book and turned a few pages before closing it again and offering it to Lucien. The scholar cooed over it with delight and began rambling about the tome's age, history, and how well preserved it was.

Tim smiled sadly as his inner thoughts lingered on his memories of his biological mother and father, Janet and Jack Drake. "Mom and Dad always seemed happier when they were on archeological digs than they ever were at home in Gotham." The young man moved on a little further down the hall, zeroing in on some new carvings that were hidden behind a curtain of spider webs. "Even with the bandits and the death traps, this has been interesting and kinda fun. I wonder... If I could've spent time with them on digs like this... Could we have been a better family?"

His thoughts were interrupted when a new voice echoed from deeper down the hall.

"Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

"Did you hear that?" Lucien asked as he put the book into his backpack.

Tim nodded as he nocked another arrow to his bow and began to follow the sound of the new voice down the hall. Once he got to the end of the hall, the serious expression on his face deepened.

"Well, shit..."

Lucien nodded in agreement. "I suppose the ancient Nords who built that trap earlier had to get their spider venom from somewhere."

The entrance into the next large room was covered in curtains of spider webs from floor to ceiling. As Tim tried to peer deeper into the room beyond the curtains, while he couldn't see any giant Frostbite Spiders, he could see lots of web covered skeever and human sized victims littering the walls and floors along with lots of large round pods that Tim reasoned looked like giant spider egg-sacs. He felt a shiver race up his spine.

"Spiders... Why is it always spiders?"

He turned to Lucien and told him to wait there while he went to investigate. Cautiously, Tim crept into the room, cutting a small piece of webbing so he could try to slip in without alerting the creator of the web.

Unfortunately, even those small precise movements were not enough to go completely undetected. Tim froze in the shadow of a nearby pillar as a gigantic Frostbite Spider lowered itself ominously from the ceiling by a single slender web. The beast was far larger than what he'd experienced in the caves beneath Helgen. The body of the spider was easily comparable to that of a large horse, and the addition of the eight long spiny legs seemed to double, even triple its visual volume and height as it moved about the room, looking for the intruder upon its nest.

Fortunately for Tim, it was about that time that owner of the voice who's led him here started screaming bloody murder and getting the spider's attention.

"Hey you! You've got to get me outta here!" an elf trapped in a wall of webbing shouted at the top of his lungs. "Kill the damned thing before it eats us both!"

As soon as the spider turned its full attention to the elf, Tim immediately pulled the arrow back and let it fly at the spider's now exposed abdomen. Though the arachnid was clearly armored with a thick exoskeleton, from the back Tim's arrow was able to slip between the layers of the abdominal plates.

The spider gave off a horrible screech and raised up on six of its legs as it spun around to turn its full attention on Tim. However, it got another arrow in one of the fleshy parts of its mandibles before Tim dashed off to the side. Tim knew he needed to keep his distance from the spider if he was to have any chance of killing the beast.

Suddenly, he stumbled and hit the floor hard on his left side. Tim bit back a cry as pain raced up his burned left arm. A quick look at his feet revealed a fresh glob of sticky webbing that effectively glued him in place as the wounded spider stalked toward him. Tim struggled to free himself, but it was no use! The webbing was too sticky and stretchy. He'd never free himself in time.

The spider was practically on top of him now, rising up and exposing its fangs when out of nowhere a stream of icy shards slammed against the spider from the back. The spider rose up again in pain and screeched. The momentary distraction was what Tim needed. Quickly, he pulled out one of his daggers with his good right arm and lunged upward, stabbing it into the spider's exposed sternum, burying the blade into the creature up to its hilt.

Screeching, the spider scrambled backward both away from Tim and the the constant shower of icy shards. But it was too late for it. Within moments, the giant beast fell down dead to the Barrow floor.

Tim stared at the dead spider as he struggled to catch his breath and calm his racing heart.

"That was too close."

Tim moved his gaze and looked at Lucien. His eyes were drawn to the scholar's hands, which were covered in a sheen of frost. "That ice... was you?"

Lucien nodded as he rubbed his hands together and breathed into them to warm them. "I told you I knew a few spells. Unfortunately, I haven't had much practice using them in actual combat." As of to explain further, Lucien aimed a hand at the spider corpse and seemed to try and fire another blast of cold at it. However, whatever spell he was trying to cast seemed to sputter out at his fingertips. Lucien winced, as if he had a headache. "I'm really quite useless as a mage." Then he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a vial of blue liquid.

"You saved my life," Tim said as he pulled out his second dagger and used it to cut away the webbing at his feet. "I wouldn't call that useless." Tim tilted his head at the liquid Lucien was now drinking. "What's that?"

Lucien paused. "You don't know what a mana potion is?"

Tim suddenly became more focused on the blade as he freed his feet. "I'm guess it's a mage thing?"

"Yes," Lucien said tentative. "I forget you have no experience with magic. It helps me regenerate the energy I use to cast spells more quickly. Kind of like healing potions, but for mages. Speaking of which," Lucien pulled out another vial, this time filled with a now familiar red liquid. "Do you need this?"

Tim almost said no. However, as he rose to his feet, he felt a sharp pain shoot through his left elbow straight up to his shoulder. With a murmur of thanks, Tim took the vial and drank its contents as Lucien went forward to speak with the trapped elf in the webs. It was still a strange sensation to him, feeling the healing liquid work its magic to mend his injuries....

Or at least attempt to mend them.

While the pain had been dulled, there was still a deep ache in the muscles of his upper arm. Tim tested his left hand grip on the blade of the dagger he tried to retrieve from dead spider. With a grimace and a sense of trepidation, Tim noticed that he just didn't have the strength to pull the dagger free, not without a solid spike of pain that forced him to release the blade before he could hurt himself further. Then he switched his hand and found he could easily remove the dagger with his right.

"Hey! Get back here!"

Tim turned to Lucien, who now stood before an empty doorway where the trapped elf once hung.

"What happened?" Tim asked as he sheathed his dagger and picked up his bow.

"That Bosmer bandit ran off!" Lucien said in an offended tone. "Apparently he's got some artifact that's a key to the secrets of this Barrow. Something about a claw and a door in a place called the 'Hall of Stories'. He said he'd show us what it all meant if I cut him down."

"So you cut him down."

"So, like an idiot, I cut him down, and he took off almost as soon as his feet hit the ground."

Tim smiled reassuringly at Lucien and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry... We'll catch up to--"

Suddenly, they heard a blood curdling scream reverberate through the halls from the direction the elven bandit had run.

"I think something has already caught up to him," Lucien remarked uneasily...

-------------------------

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2: Part 2 of Tim and Luci's trek into the Barrow. Here they have their run in with the giant Frostbite Spider and "Arvel the Swift". In the first screenshot you notice the book is glowing. This is from a mod called Unread Books Glow SSE (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20679). This is a brilliant mod because any books you haven't read yet glow, and the color changes depending on if they're quest books, skill books, spell books, or just books for character/clutter/something interesting to read. It's an extremely useful mod for any playthrough of Skyrim!

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls dc #fanfiction #tim drake fanfiction #skyrim fanfiction #tim drake #red robin #lucien flavius #batfam #crossover #wip #afewnovelideas

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secretsfromwholecloth · 4 years

Text

Dragon Age II, day 7.

Glad I decided to scour Sundermount for resources before going to fight the varterral. Glitterdust, silverite, embrium, two pools of orichalcum, and...a dragon? For me? You shouldn’t have, game.

A clean fight, thankfully, but the dragon barely dropped anything. Hrmph.

I’ll have enough orichalcum to bathe in by the time this is over.

Well, that could’ve been a cleaner battle. Poor Merrill. She’s having a very stressful day.

Right, yes, bringing Anders and Fenris on this quest may not have been the best idea I ever had. Boys, be nice. If you can’t be nice, try and restrain yourselves a little.

Sniping at each other is not an improvement.

Gabran may have had some problems so far with repeatedly saying the wrong thing to Merrill, but if you think he can actually resist her sad kitty eyes enough to deny her the arulin’holm, you don’t know him or me very well.

Between all that and giving her the halla sculpture, I may yet be able to pin her before the end of the game, if I’m careful.

Welp. Time for All That Remains.

Taking the Three Rogues Plus Anders party, mostly for emotional reasons (Gabran is having A Day and wants his girlfriend, bestie, and surprisingly dependable healer buddy on hand).

And here we see what it takes for nice Hawke to not only run out of nice, but run out of exasperated snark. This might be only the second time all game I’ve broken out the red responses. Maybe even the first.

Specifically: The snark comes out when his self-control is relaxed, either because he’s pissed or because he’s with close friends who are like that themselves and encourage him to joke with them. If he’s pissed enough to blow past Snarky Gabran into Terrifying Thunderstorm With Knives Gabran? Well, Quentin just found out what that’s like.

Aww, Isabela.

And now, more trouble at the Bone Pit, because of course there is. But isn’t it cathartic to stab spiders and undead?

Xebenkeck went down like a chump to some good old-fashioned stabbing, which was polite of her. Her entourage was more trouble than she was, honestly.

From what I’ve seen so far, Isabela herself is written with a fair bit of kindness and nuance. The issues start to come in with other characters’ reactions to her, Aveline.

I have an unbreakable habit of contradicting Aveline when she says the two elven viddathari’s situation doesn’t excuse murder. For personal reasons, shall we say. It’s very satisfying.

Alistair! Shame you can’t stick around and get to know your cousin-in-law, but there’ll be time for that in the future.

“An old friend”, huh? *eyebrow* *brow of eye*

Shame none of you know that’s her cousin you just handed her thing to—Gabran knows they’re related but doesn’t realize she’s who you’re talking about.

Hello, Meredith. You know you’re terrible, right?

Oof, the big fight in Hightown got pretty hairy—the party was down to just Aveline, who was on her last few hit points. Whew, that’s done.

And hello, Orsino. And Bethany!

This is the first time I’ve had Isabela come back with the Tome of Koslun, and the first time I’ve dueled the Arishok. This is going to be delightful fun.

Now I know what people mean about running in circles around the columns waiting out the cooldown on your healing potions. Though I only had to do that once. I love casual mode.

Gabran is still trying hard not to take sides too publicly. Bless him, he still thinks that helps. He’ll be disabused of that notion soon enough.

Hello, Leliana, it’s good to see you.

And with that, Sebastian is pinned. That just leaves Aveline, who I should be able to get easily enough.

And midnight is far too late for me to still be up when I’ve got work in the morning, so more tomorrow.

#dragon age #dragon age ii #gabran hawke

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turtletotem · 4 years

Text

Breaking the Curse

The last of my Star Bright reward fics, for @covertius-fic! The prompt was--well, telling the whole prompt would give away the entire plot, but it’s a Captive Prince modern AU that involves Damen always falling in love with the worst person at Nikandros’s party. This year, he meets Laurent.

(Also on AO3!)

...

Damen was beginning to wonder if Nik's New Year's Eve party was cursed.

Nikandros had thrown a grand blowout party every New Year's Eve since they graduated law school and got real jobs—Nik at a prestigious corporate firm because he had the talent and intellect to go far, Damen at the state prosecutor's office because he had the desire to fight for justice and the financial ability to focus on his ethics more than his slender paycheck. Even though he and Nikandros still lived in the same city, they moved in different circles and worked very different schedules; it wasn't all that easy for Damen to see his best friend. For that reason, and the fact that the party itself was incredible, with fireworks and performing acrobats and an open bar, Damen did not want to miss it. But he was starting to think he ought to.

Because every year Nikandros threw a New Year's Eve party, and every year Damen fell in love with the worst—or at least worst for him—person there.

The first year had been Erasmus, a shy sweet submissive paralegal whom Damen doted on for ten months… until he reconnected with his high school sweetheart, leaving Damen devastated and on the rebound just in time for the next New Year's Eve party.

That year he'd met the hot and glamorous Kashel, someone else's plus-one who had dumped her boyfriend and torn Damen's clothes off in a closet before midnight—but that went nowhere in a hurry. It turned out that all he and Kashel had in common was sex, which was spectacular but not what Damen wanted in the long term. They parted ways, amicably enough, by April.

Most recently, after a long (for him) dry spell, he'd met Jokaste at the third year's party—a partner from one of Nik's firm's rivals, who hadn't actually been invited. She had proceeded to turn Damen's entire brain inside out for months, before eloping with his brother the day before Thanksgiving. That had made for an awkward family dinner.

"My party is cursed?" Nikandros repeated when Damen told him his theory, pacing his apartment with his phone in one hand and the party invitation in the other. "That's what you're taking away from this? Not, say, an indication that you jump into relationships way too freaking fast?"

"Wow, way to blame the victim," Damen said.

"I'm right and you know it. You always think someone is your soulmate based on warm pants-feelings and a ten-minute conversation in which you don't hate them. And the only time you meet new people is at my parties."

"None of that is true!"

"I think you should definitely come, Damen. You'll meet a new soulmate, or at least a new Kashel—that didn't turn out too badly. Some awesome rebound sex is just what you need."

"No. I don't want a rebound. I don't even want a date. I want to stop getting my heart broken over and over. The woman I wanted to marry blew up my world and my family less than a month ago. I want to rest."

"Well, stay home then, dude," Nikandros said gently. "I'm not gonna get my feelings hurt about it, I promise."

"No. You know what? No!" Damen dropped the invitation to smack one fist into the other. "I'm gonna come, and see my best friend, and have a great time, and not pair off with anybody, and break the stupid curse! It'll be my New Year's resolution—go to your party and fall in love with absolutely no one!"

Nik laughed. "I don't think that's exactly how New Year's resolutions work, but okay, sure! I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Damn straight you will!"

***

A minor emergency at work had Damen late arriving to Nik's party. He stepped out of the elevator into what was a tastefully luxurious apartment on a normal day, and had now been transformed by twinkling lights, multicolored fountains (rented, he assumed) and circulating waitstaff into a revel of high glamour. Jazzy music filled the space between conversations, and people in tuxes and slinky black gowns gathered in knots around the piano, the refreshment table, the bar, and the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the sparkling city.

"Damen!" Nikandros called, waving over the heads of the crowd. "You did make it! Get a drink, I'll be right over!"

Damen waved back, and happily accepted the glass of wine a passing server offered him. He took a swallow, looked up—and caught sight of the most beautiful human being he'd ever seen in his life.

Blond hair, arctic blue eyes, the fine high-cheeked features of an elven prince. His expression was haughty and displeased, but that did nothing to decrease his appeal; it was all too easy to imagine him coolly evaluating the strength of the knots holding Damen to the bed. He took a broody sip from his glass, tipping it up and revealing a pale, elegant neck. Damen felt his mouth fall open.

Cursed, he thought, his stomach going into freefall. This party is definitely cursed. And it was too late to do anything about it. If he turned around and went home right this second, this guy would still be the only thing he thought about the rest of the night.

And then the server who'd given Damen his wine, a dark-haired young man who looked barely out of high school, walked past the arctic beauty. And the arctic beauty tossed his empty glass at him. Surprised and with a tray balanced in his hand, the server couldn't possibly have caught it; instinctively he tried, and in so doing, dropped his entire tray with a shocking crash and shatter of glass.

The arctic beauty looked the devastated server dead in the eye, laughed, and walked away.

As he went, he lifted a vape pen to his lips, and began filling the surrounding air with a cloud of peppermint-scented vapor.

Damen's heart leaped with delight. Yes. This was perfect. The man's behavior was exactly as appalling as his appearance was inviting; Damen had just found the one person at this party who would thoroughly distract him from hooking up with anyone else, while also making it impossible for Damen to fall in love with him. It was the perfect solution.

Other party attendees had already stepped forward to help the server with the mess of his dropped tray; Damen stepped around them and made his way through the crowd toward the jerk, following the cloud of eye-stinging peppermint and the mutters of complaint against it.

By the time he caught up with the jerk, Nikandros had cornered him against one of the windows and was telling him off.

"—and put that thing away right now," Nik said, jabbing a finger at the vape pen. "Don't you have the sense God gave a kindergartener? Any one of them could tell you that's an outside toy."

The beautiful jerk rolled his eyes, taking a deep drag that was equal parts obnoxious and picturesquely sexy, and put away the vape. "Yes, sir," he drawled, in a voice lower than his appearance might indicate, and mocking almost to the point of flirtation. What little of Damen's blood had not headed south started packing for the trip.

"Hey," Damen said, which was all he could think of to say.

"Damen, hey," Nik said, in a tone of abstracted relief. "Um, this is Laurent de Vere, a new junior attorney," he skewered Laurent with a dark glance, "at my firm. Laurent, this is my best friend, Damen. Be nice to him."

"Charmed," Laurent said, and extended his hand.

Instead of shaking it, Damen gave a flourishing bow and pressed a kiss to Laurent's knuckles.

Laurent looked intrigued, his eyebrows climbing. Nikandros looked horrified.

"Nik," somebody called, "there's something wrong with this fountain, it's making a mess…"

Nikandros groaned, made apologetic noises at Damen, and hurried off.

"So what's Nikandros like to work with?" Damen asked.

"You know how some species of water-creature survive being frozen all winter by lowering their brain function to almost undetectable levels?" Laurent said. "Imagine one of those working in law."

Damen choked on a shocked laugh.

"Laurent, I thought that was you!" A middle-aged woman paused on her way past them. "Goodness, I didn't realize you'd been invited!"

"And I didn't realize frosted tips were back, Madeline," Laurent said sweetly. "Oh—oh, you're just going gray. How mortifying. My mistake."

Madeline drew in an outraged breath.

"Er, let's just get another drink, Madeline," said the man at her elbow, whom Damen recognized as a longtime business acquaintance of Nik's.

"Yes, I'm sure another drink is just what you need, sir," Laurent said, which, considering the drunken hijinks the man had committed at last year's party, made Damen bite his lip to keep from cackling. The man turned red, and he and Madeline both slunk away.

"Aren't you just the social butterfly," Damen said.

"Oh yes, my goal in life," Laurent said, "winning the approval of the rich and shallow. I'm just as rich and shallow as any of them, and they know it. I have nothing to prove."

"Let me get you a drink," Damen said.

"Tempting as it is to spend this evening in a haze of alcohol, getting drunk in front of my boss—who is here somewhere—would be even less helpful to my career than skipping this party," Laurent said. "Oh, look, there's Allen Mortimer, whose embezzlement trial recently ended in a hung jury, I simply must say hello…"

Damen followed Laurent around the party, listening in fascination to his seemingly endless supply of cruel and cutting witticisms, both behind the subjects' backs and to their faces. No foible was forgiven, no flaw went unobserved. How Laurent even knew some of these things was a mystery to Damen. Nor did Damen himself escape unscathed; Laurent once introduced him as "Nik's idiot friend, who is hoping to get into my pants," and another time as "my hired escort; the muscles were extra." This last was given, fortunately, to people Damen already knew, who found it uproariously funny.

Every remark—except for the escort one—was both clever and true, and most were hilarious. Laurent was obviously brilliant, and also a remarkably hateful little snot.

"You must be a terror in the courtroom," Damen said.

"I'm sure you are, as well," Laurent replied. "Such moon-faced slow-witted obstinacy is very hard to combat. Like trying to swordfight a glacier." He looked up from the wineglass he'd bullied a server into filling with apple cider. "I'm not going to sleep with you. Why do you keep following me around?"

Before Damen could formulate an answer, a ruckus at the nearest window drew his attention. Several people were gathered at the glass, pointing and exclaiming at something on the other side. Snow suddenly spattered against the glass. A snowball?

He and Laurent reached the window at the same time, pushing their way to the front until they could see what was happening.

A gray tabby cat was tangled in the Christmas lights on the fire escape, thrashing in panic. Some boys, barely visible on the ground below, were hopping around excitedly and throwing snowballs at the cat.

Laurent hissed under his breath, a startling and furious sound, and bodily shoved two people aside to yank the window open. It didn't want to move at first; Damen pulled at the other side, and up it came. Laurent scrambled through onto the fire escape.

"Get away from here or I will make you regret it," he shouted down at the boys, his voice clear and crisp and incensed.

"Up yours," one of the boys shouted back.

Laurent scraped snow off the railing of the fire escape, packed a ball, and pegged that boy in the face hard enough to knock him on his butt—all in less than a second.

Damen was cautiously approaching the cat, making soft shushing noises. It stopped thrashing and stared at him, ears pinned and teeth bared, making the weirdest, scariest bubbling growl he had ever heard.

Below, the boys were laughing at their downed friend, sounds that changed tenor as they noticed Laurent packing another snowball. Their voices and footsteps trailed away as they chose the better part of valor—still laughing, but leaving.

"The lights are around his hips and back leg," Damen said as Laurent turned his attention to the cat. "He's gonna bite me sure as the world if I try to touch him. Maybe if you distract him…"

Laurent made a thoughtful noise, and took off his tuxedo jacket. It was already cold as, well, as a late-December night, fire escape open to the wind and snow, and neither of them were wearing coats, but Laurent showed no sign of discomfort. A minute ago, Damen would have said it was because he was carved of ice himself. Harder to think that now.

"Wrap this around her front half," Laurent said, tossing the jacket to Damen, "and I'll disentangle the back half. Don't let her get away; she's pulled that back leg out of joint. Needs a vet."

Damen looked at the cat's wide-blown freaked-out eyes and glittering claws. "I'll… try," he said. "One, two, three!"

He leaped forward and tackled the cat, throwing the jacket over her head. She screamed pitiably, and her claws went right through the jacket into his arms, but he'd resigned himself to that much. At least the jacket did keep her from biting him.

Laurent had the harder job, trying to hold down her injured leg while she kicked for all she was worth. He swore a blue streak, and came out of it with a score of scratches of his own, but finally the cat was free of the Christmas lights. Laurent shoved the rest of her up into the jacket; Damen did his best to wrap her up.

"Where's the nearest emergency vet?" Laurent called—to someone behind them, Damen realized, and turned his head to see Nikandros staring through the open window. "Or her owner—do you know her owner?"

Nik shook his head. "She's a stray, me and the neighbors have been taking turns feeding her."

"Right. Well, we need to get her in out of the cold, and get her to the vet." Laurent's voice brooked no argument. "Clear us a path to a warm, quiet room, find an emergency vet, and call a cab."

Damen ended up taking a bit more damage to the skin of his arms, wrestling the cat into a cat-carrier Nik borrowed from the neighbor. They'd taken over the bathroom, he and Laurent and the cat, and Laurent used the antiseptic he found in its cabinets to clean Damen's scratches, silent and expressionless as the cat screamed bloody murder inside the carrier.

"Yowch!" Damen couldn't keep himself from flinching from the sting.

"Baby," Laurent muttered, cleaning his own scratches without a flicker of discomfort. "Her leg hurts a lot worse than your arms."

"I'm sure," Damen muttered, watching the cat clawing at the door to the carrier. "Poor thing, she's so scared."

"She'll be fine," Laurent said shortly, but flinched when the cat gave a particularly heartrending yowl—the only sign that anything he'd experienced all night had bothered him.

There's a lot more to you than I thought. Damen found himself watching Laurent—indirectly, in the mirror—as he crouched in front of the carrier making spspspsp noises, and couldn't make himself look away even when Laurent caught him at it and glared.

Damen wasn't actually sure how he ended up accompanying Laurent and the cat into the cab. It didn't take two people, surely, to drop a cat at the vet, especially when the vet was expecting them and already knew the situation. But into the cab he went, and into the vet's office he went, and before he knew it he and Laurent were sitting in plastic chairs together, waiting for the cat's initial prognosis. They could hear her howling all the way down the hall.

"I'm really more of a dog person," Laurent said suddenly, after a long silence. "Not that I actually own one. But I get along better with dogs. Cats are… We're too much alike, me and cats."

One corner of Damen's mouth tipped up. "I can believe that."

"You're more like a dog," Laurent said, and then looked away, as if embarrassed by his own words.

"Sloppy and dumb?" Damen said brightly.

"No, that's not what I—I mean, yes, obviously that, but—" Laurent's ears were turning red.

Damen couldn't stop smiling. "I might be more insulted if you hadn't just finished saying how much you like dogs."

"What is this, Jupiter Ascending? I do not like dogs, and I do not like you!"

"But you like Jupiter Ascending," Damen said. "Enough to have parts of the dialogue memorized."

"Well, you recognized it, so—"

"So we have more in common than I thought." Damen continued smiling, and enjoyed watching Laurent flail for a response.

"You have a low opinion of high society," Damen said after a moment. "You've spent enough time in it to have dirt on everybody, so you know whereof you speak. You hate them all, but you have to move among them to do your job, so you cope by channeling Dorothy Parker. I get that much."

"Oh, you've got my number, have you?" Laurent said nastily.

"Not yet," Damen said. "Because what I don't get is how the man that climbed out on a fire escape without a coat and rescued a cat—and gave up his New Year's Eve to bring it here—is the same man that was willfully cruel to the waitstaff for kicks."

Laurent appeared struck by this. "I suppose that looked bad, out of context."

"What possible context could make it look good?"

"Nothing could make it look good," Laurent admitted. "I wanted to hurt and humiliate Aimeric, and I succeeded. Very petty of me. No moral high ground there. But it might help to mention that the last time I saw him, Aimeric wasn't working as a waiter. He was the personal assistant to a very powerful man, and a witness in a child abuse case against that man, a witness I thought we could trust to turn the tide of the case. Instead he lied on the stand, ensuring that man got off scot free." Laurent closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "He's probably a victim himself, frankly. I ought to try to have compassion. But I had to send a little boy back to a nightmare he thought he'd escaped, because of that piece of shit. So yes, I was delighted to see him reduced to serving drinks, and delighted to have a chance to make his life a little more difficult."

"A child abuse case?" Damen said, somewhat inanely, since that was the first of the many surprises Laurent had just hit him with.

"Yes, I'm part of the firm's family law department."

That wasn't what Damen had expected of Laurent at all. But a lot of this conversation was tending that way.

"Mr. de Vere," said a vet tech, coming into the otherwise-empty waiting room. "We've successfully gotten your cat's dislocated leg back into place, which was her only major injury, I'm happy to say. She's under sedation right now and we'll need to keep her under observation for tonight. Once you get her home you'll need to keep her confined and sedentary—as much as you can, I mean—for a few weeks so she can rest and heal without re-injuring herself."

"She's not my," Laurent began, then heaved a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes. "Right. Okay."

"She can stay at my place," Damen said, the words bypassing any common-sense filter he might have possessed. "I have a guest room."

Laurent stared at him. "You don't even know if she's litterbox trained."

Damen shrugged, not about to back down now that he'd made the offer. "It'll be fine."

"I'm sure can work out the details when you come pick her up tomorrow," the tech said. "For tonight, you can rest easy, knowing she's okay and in good hands."

They turned toward the closest tube station outside the vet clinic, their breaths puffing dragon-like in the cold air.

"I could commit war crimes for a cigarette right now," Laurent muttered, huddling into his coat.

"Cigarette?" Damen said. "I thought you were a vaper."

Laurent sighed. "The vaping is supposed to help me quit. My New Year's resolution last year was to quit smoking, see. So I've spent the last three days desperately pretending I can still pull it off before the end of the year." He gave Damen a sideways look. "I'm probably even bitchier than usual, tonight, due to that." It had the air of an apology.

Damen smiled wryly. "Broken resolutions. I know how that goes. This year I've managed to break my New Year's resolution before the new year even started."

They were walking past a bar; inside, people with goofy year-numbered glasses and hats were cheering and clustering around the TV screens, which showed footage of Times Square and the traditional descending ball. They both stopped to watch.

"I don't think that's how resolutions even work," Laurent said. "What was the resolution?"

"Five! Four! Three!"

"I'll tell you later."

"Two! One!"

"Tell me now," Laurent said, and Damen kissed him.

Laurent's lips were cold at first, but warmed quickly under his, Laurent's gloved hands fumbling with Damen's coat to pull him closer. He kissed Damen back in an artless, innocent, almost clumsy way that was as unexpected as it was charming, and he kept his eyes closed for a second after Damen finally—reluctantly—pulled back.

"Happy New Year," Damen said, leaning their foreheads together.

Laurent tried to speak, cleared his throat, tried again. "Happy New Year. What were you about to tell me?"

"That Nik's New Year's Eve party is cursed. I'm really glad I decided to come."

"You," Laurent said, "do not make any sense. I like that about you." He pulled Damen in for another kiss, and Damen was happy to oblige.

#captive prince #my fic #covertius-fic #tw: animal harm #the animal is okay though #so is the little boy laurent mentions #laurent is able to help him #happy endings for everyone #sb party

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feralrosie · 4 years

Text

Lullabies at Night

Fandom: Dragon Age Relationships: M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus Rating: General Audiences Tags: Hurt/Comfort

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Skyhold was hardly ever quiet, even during the coldest hours of the night and, Maker, it was cold. Dorian woke up with the sound of wind escaping through the door and a chilly shiver running down on his spine. He looked for the blankets, patting the bed around him, but suddenly realized there was more missing. Sitting on the bed in a startle, he found himself alone in the Inquisitor's bed. Took a few seconds of drunken thought, but he quickly stepped out of the bed to change into proper clothing and leave the room, avoiding the looks of occasional guardsmen who were chatting in low voices. There were few torches lit at that time, so Dorian could easily sneak past them while looking around the castle—not that he needed to, but wished to avoid gossips later. Anything related to his relationship with the Inquisitor seemed to be specially tasteful for the tongues of nobles in Skyhold.

He searched everywhere and begun to really worry for his lover. Would he leave the castle all by himself? Or was he back to his bedroom? Where else could he be hiding? The mage looked around once more, standing in the middle of the central courtyard. His gaze fell on the main gate, which led to the longest bridge he'd ever seen in any old castles, and noticed that one of the escape doors was slightly open. Lifting one eyebrow, he followed that lead, taking the road on the bridge to reach the lonely tower that watched over for the rest of the castle, despite not being used by the Inquisition's forces at the moment. As he approached, he thought he heard a soft lullaby playing in distance and every new step confirmed there was indeed music playing on top of the tower. The door was open and the stone staircase was large enough for it not to be claustrophobic, so Dorian got up the tower fast and in silence. On the last level, where the stairs met the battlement's floor, he peaked through, wishing to have a look on what was happening.

His Elven lover was sitting on one of the large crenels between the even larger merlons, hugging his knees with his arms while his hands held an ocarina. He was playing the most lonely lullaby, soft and slow, echoing into the night. His golden curls were loose and seemed like dancing with the cold breeze, following the movements of the green cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders. Dorian had never noticed that cloak, but it looked old and overused, showing up a few tears here and there, but nothing that could not be fixed by skilled hands. The full moon was shining over his pale skin and hair, like his whole body was made of polished marble. It was a delightful sight.

The inquisitor did not seem to notice as the man stood a few centimeters behind him, enjoying the music. Dorian thought it felt like a song a mother would sing to her children after telling them that their father could not come back home and was watching them from the stars. His heart skipped a beat and he let the thought perish.

"I did not know you could play" he said finally in a tender voice. Elrian jumped harshly on a startle, almost letting his ocarina fall off the battlement, but the mage behind him was quick to hold it in the air, chuckling softly. "I am sorry, Amatus. I did not mean to scare you"

"Dorian!" he cried in some sort of relief "Don't creep behind me like this, I could have fallen down"

"A risk that could easily be avoided if you have stayed in bed with me" Dorian approached, leaning down to rest the weight of his body on his arms against the parapet where his lover was seated "What troubles you?" his voice was soft but still packed with concern.

The inquisitor bit his lip, looking away, "I just couldn't sleep. Had a dream and woke up"

"A nightmare? Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Not a nightmare. It was a good dream." he sighed, then continued in a low voice, trying to not sound too sad "I was back at my clan. It was summer and we were celebrating someone's birthday, dancing and feasting. My father was showing tricks to the little children, they loved his magic. And my mother was calling me and trying to put flowers on my hair." he smiled and his eyes glittered as tears came to life.

"I am sorry, Amatus" Dorian reached for the other's hand, but Elrian was quick to turn his palm up to show the glowing anchor underneath his skin.

"I hate this thing." he confessed, "And yet I'm grateful I can do some good to the world because of it. I just wish I could do more." he closed his hand on a tight fist "I wish I could have saved them"

Dorian slid his hand over the elf's wrist and made his way to hold his hand, opening his fist softly to tangle their fingers together, "Your family would be very proud of you, Elrian. Do not think otherwise. Their love did not fade away"

"I… know" he wrapped the cloak more around his body, as if trying to shrink his own size "I just miss them so much"

The Tevinter said nothing, for there was nothing else to be said. He passed his right arm around Elrian's body and held his left hand with his own, spooning him and resting his head on his lover's shoulder, kissing it softly. They stood there for a couple minutes before Dorian begun to shake a bit, still not used to the Ferelden cold.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Vhenan. Get in here" Elrian chuckled, opening the cloak and putting over Dorian's shoulders as well.

"Thank you for acknowledging my presence here" he provoked, joking, and hug the elf underneath their improvised blanket, still standing up on the battlement behind. "I've never seen you wear this one. Where did you get it?"

Elrian smiled, caressing the green fabric along the lines of golden embroidery that formed the pattern of vines. "I was wearing it at the Conclave. My mother gave it to me when I got my vallaslin and it was my only fancy piece back home. It survived that night's events pretty well, I think"

"It is beautiful." Dorian was also appreciating the details "I take the ocarina was also with you that day?"

"It was. It was my father's. Have I ever told you about them?"

"I don't think so." he tightened the embrace "but I would love to hear"

Elrian smiled tenderly. "My mother was a hunter. She taught me how to fight and survive in the woods if I ever needed to. And my father was the Halla Keeper, First to our clan. I was the Second and therefore had to learn both from him and from our Keeper. He told me how to take care of the Hallas and how they seemed to enjoy the sound of the ocarina, so if one of them got lost I could play and let it come back on its own. I enjoyed it just as much. Once all my friends made fun of me because I spent a whole afternoon playing and by night there were dozens of Hallas around me, sleeping" he laughed to himself "They told me I was so boring that not even the animals could stay awake"

"Oh, how dare them?" Dorian laughed.

"When I turned 16, I was convinced my vallaslin would be Ghilan'nain's, the mother of Hallas" he continued "But it was Mythal's, the great protector. At the time I was reluctant and not sure if I was worth it. From that day on, my free time was consumed by extensive lectures from both my father and the Keeper, since I was bound to assume the clan's guidance someday. I think I was failing, to be honest"

"Why do you think that?"

"I was too soft and insecure. Still am, I guess. My father sent me to the Conclave so I could put all my training to test and deal with it all by myself. And when I was made Inquisitor, he sent me a letter saying he always knew I had the soul of a Keeper and was sure I could assume the responsibility. My mother also wrote this letter and said they were very proud. She also told me to be respectful but not bow my head"

"Excellent advise. In my opinion, you are following it just right." Dorian placed a few more kisses on the Inquisitor's shoulder "Sounds like they were great people, I'd loved to have met them"

"My mother would have loved you. She loved all my friends and boyfriends, as long as they took good care of me"

"And do I?" he mumbled, caressing Elrian with his lips.

"More than you can imagine" the answer came in a low and loving voice, the type that usually accompanied blushing. Dorian didn't need to look at his face to know he had colour on his cheeks.

"What about your father? Would he also have approved us?"

"You're from Tevinter, Vhenan" he chuckled as it was an obvious counterpoint.

"Oh, right" he laughed.

"But eventually he would, yes" Elrian leaned down to steal a kiss from his lover's lips "You'd always be welcome"

"That's good to know, Amatus. I mean it" he whispered against his lips "Not only were you destined to make yourself great, but you were also raised as such" he moved away so their eyes could meet "Do not doubt yourself. Your roots are stronger than you think and I trust my life to your leadership and reason. You may think you're too soft, but a passionate heart is greater than the strongest army"

"Thank you, Vhenan" the elven mage whispered back, smiling, but letting a rogue tear run down his cheek.

"Now, now, don't do that. You know I'm awful with feelings" he wiped the tear out, taking the chance to also caress Elrian's face and hair "Say, why don't we go back to your room and you play to me that boring song that makes cattle sleep? We can put it to test"

Laughing, Elrian got down of the crenel "You're a jerk"

"So I'm told. Also spectacularly handsome"

Both of the men walked side by side, holding hands in the most soft manner, whispering jokes for one another. Elrian also took his cloak off to cover his lover's shoulders and shield him from the cold, which was accepted without ceremony. Back at the Inquisitor's room, Elrian discovered that stroking Dorian's hair was just as effective to put the man to sleep as that lullaby was for the Hallas.

#dorian pavus #Elrian Lavellan #dragon age #Dragon Age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai #lavellan #male lavellan #mage lavellan #dorian/inquisitor #dorian/lavellan #hurt/comfort #my writing

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sundayswiththeilluminati · 4 years

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exotics make the noise, boys, but legendaries do the work.

After so many posts celebrating Destiny’s exotics I feel compelled to pay tribute to the other, far larger portion of the weapon pool: the legendary gear that pulls its weight all day every day. These are my top five all-arounders, the weapons I infuse up first, the ones I go to when I don’t know what I’m going up against. These are:

Blast Furnace / Hammerhead

Type: Pulse Rifle / Machine Gun

Slot: Kinetic / Heavy (Void)

Perks: Outlaw+Rampage / Dynamic Sway Reduction+Rampage

Kills: 16827 / 8697

Two of the Black Armory’s pieces, the Blast Furnace pulse rifle (shown here with the Verdigris shader) and Hammerhead machine gun (Amethyst Veil shader) still pull their weight a year after their introduction. Falling squarely on the scifi end of Destiny's scifi-fantasy spectrum, Black Armory weapons are easily recognized by their sleek-but-practical look, not flashy but new and designed and manufactured with great care. They have open straight-edged cowlings with visible internals and usually show traces of the Black Armory’s signature moiré-pattern animation.

Blast Furnace superseded Forsaken’s Go Figure pulse rifle (another of my go-to kinetics) with better stats in pretty much every column. The pulse rifle archetype is already one of Destiny’s best and Blast Furnace’s great stats, great perk pool, good chatter, and friendly sights - not to mention the ease of farming for the roll you want by completing Black Armory weapon frames instead of hoping for a random drop - plant it squarely in most Guardians’ top 10 if not 5. My chosen roll is Outlaw (reload much faster immediately after a precision kill) and Rampage (damage increases with each kill, stacks up to 3x), a classic top-tier perk set.

Hammerhead was one of the first non-exotic machine guns introduced and its decent range (here extended by Ricochet Rounds), 59-round clip, and fast-but-not-too-fast 450 RPM fire rate put it right at the sweet spot where it performs well against both large numbers of weaker enemies or a handful of powerful ones. It also fares well in PvP where heavy ammo is very rare and Hammerhead’s ability to put paid to a Guardian in 5 or 6 solid hits means you get more effective bang for your heavy ammo crate buck. My Hammerhead features Rampage and Dynamic Sway Reduction (holding down the trigger boosts accuracy over time) which doesn't come up much when firing short bursts but helps a lot when pouring an entire clip into a boss’ crit spot. Whenever I’m running an Energy-slot exotic or if I just don’t want to think too hard about my loadout, it’s a good bet I’ll throw on one or both of these weapons.

Subtle Calamity

Type: Bow

Slot: Energy (Void element)

Perk: Dragonfly/Archer’s Tempo

Kills: 11806

Subtle Calamity (Clouds At Sea shader) has no great lore or storied manufacturer behind it; it’s a general world loot drop added in Forsaken. And it’s great. I was already pumped for the addition of bows and Subtle Calamity ended up hitting the sweet spot for daily use. With bows the key stat is draw time; longer draw times equal more power but also, well, longer draw times. Hence why I went for the perk Archer's Tempo, which decreases draw time as you land precision hits. It also has the Dragonfly perk, a flashy ability I like probably more than it deserves, which causes enemies killed with precision hits to explode into AoE elemental damage. Bows are a lot of fun, occupying the middle ground between Auto Rifles and Sniper Rifles that Scout Rifles were supposed to fill, and given how lousy I am with snipers if I need to land precision hits I'll usually go for a bow instead.

In-universe, what's the explanation for Guardians suddenly getting into bows? It's because of the events of Forsaken and the Guardian push into the Tangled Shore and Dreaming City i.e. into more regular contact with the Awoken, for whom it's a culturally-significant weapon - something like a claymore to a Scot or a katana to the Japanese. More pragmatically when the Awoken first returned to our solar system and settled in the lashed-together space derelict habitats of the Reef they faced the problem of using weapons inside said space habitats as well as launching cables and small satellites. Their solution was bows: strong enough to fly far, carry payloads, and deal damage, but unlikely to pierce a hull and far easier to manufacture than firearms. Awoken Corsairs still use bows as near-silent precision weapons in actual combat, relying on technologically-advanced payloads to deal the real damage. Or not so advanced - Sjur Eido puts a broadhead arrow through an inch of Guardian plate armor with little more than determination, skill, and the properties of whatever magical material Wish-Ender is made from.

Tigerspite / Age-Old Bond

Type: Auto Rifle / Auto Rifle

Slot: Kinetic / Energy (Void)

Perks: Outlaw+Kill Clip / Rampage+Fourth Time's The Charm

Kills: 14623 / 11863

Though they come from different sources in-game, I’ve grouped these two together because they’re both Awoken weapons. Age-Old Bond (Circadian Chill shader) drops from the first encounter of the Last Wish raid while Tigerspite (Night’s Chill shader) comes from activities in the Dreaming City. I love both of these weapons and use them all the time even when they’re not ideal for the situation at hand. Tigerspite, like the rest of the Dreaming City weapon set, has an elven high-fantasy style featuring cloth wrappings (?) and long, sinuous curves. The Last Wish raid set has a similar aesthetic but goes for a combination of carved-bone paneling and animated celestial diagrams that recall Awoken tech displays.

Fun lore note: Tigerspite is one of the few non-exotics to be mentioned by name in the lore. Sjur Eido selects a Tigerspite for one round of her duel with Uldren Sov back in the Distributary. It gets referenced again as a standard Awoken weapon after their return to our solar system, so it’s had quite the service life. Tigerspite’s stats were superseded a while ago by newer auto rifles but I love its sights and feel and keep using it anyway. Outlaw (faster reload on precision kill) and Kill Clip (increased damage immediately after reloading after a kill) are a classic weapon perk combo that’s always in season. Also I’m pretty sure a cat gave me this gun. Not a cat-cat, a Dreaming Kitty, one of the nine adorable stone cat statues hidden in the Dreaming City. While doing Dreaming City activities you’ll sometimes pick up an item called “A Small Gift,” a dish of something that “smells faintly of mint.” Since catnip is a member of the mint family, that’s your hint to bring that gift to your nearest Dreaming Kitty. Doing so rewards a weapon and causes the chosen statue to disappear. I’m pretty sure the first or second kitty I ever found gave me this specific gun, which just seems appropriate given its name.

Age-Old Bond is a special weapon to me. It comes from the first fight of the Last Wish raid, an encounter with the Taken Techeun Kalli, the Corrupted, and was the first fight I ever completed with my informal raid crew named “World’s Worst Fireteam.” Last Wish released at 550-590 light at a time when most Guardians were still trying to crack 530 and thus could barely handle redbars on raid day one. We were like most Guardians. But we were unlike most Guardians in being stupid and stubborn, and so we went into the raid anyway, because if we couldn’t get World First, we could still get World’s Worst. We never had a chance at the full raid, but after great struggle and great teamwork we finally managed to bring down Kalli and net ourselves our first Last Wish raid drops. For me that drop was this specific auto rifle - which is not just sentimental, but actually special. Some legendary weapons in Destiny have “curated” rolls, perk and stat combinations chosen by Bungie to be top-tier if not the best possible. Anytime you get a weapon drop you have the chance to get a curated drop instead, which comes fully-masterworked with those chosen perks. Age-Old Bond’s curated roll was the only one at the time with the new Fourth Time’s The Charm perk; when you land four rapid precision hits (they don't have to be sequential) it refunds two rounds directly back to the magazine. This does more than you might think for the weapon’s versatility, since if you’re pouring fire into a single target’s crit spot (i.e. a boss) it effectively gives the weapon 50% more clip i.e. a solid 48 rounds before you have to reload. It won’t replace a Heavy or high-DPS weapon anytime soon, but it’s pretty handy in a tight spot. The other perks on the curated roll max out Age-Old Bond’s range stat compared to other auto rifles, one of the dump stats of that archetype, and with a Counterbalance Stock mod to reduce recoil it’s practically a trace rifle.

I do favor these five weapons, but I also try to mix it up - I picked these five based on my top kill counts, but that biases it towards Y2 guns that have been in service longer. Plenty of newer weapons routinely turn up in my loadout these days: the pleasant chatter and Demolitionist perks of Outlast, Full Court/Field Prep Love and Death, the delightful new kinetic bow Accrued Redemption, Shaxx's broke-ass Crucible pinnacle weapon The Recluse, last season's snappy Patron of Lost Causes, the 600 RPM bullet-hose Arc Logic, and of course the reliable, venerable Y1 IKELOS shotgun. But in the end the only wrong loadout is one you don't enjoy, and the best choice is whatever you find the most fun.

#Destiny 2 #weapon talk #legendaries #purples get some love #Blast Furnace #Hammerhead #Subtle Calamity #Tigerspite #Age-Old Bond #*slams hands on table* LET ME TELL YOU THE GOOD WORD OF AUTO RIFLES #so happy this season brought them some buffs #one time I was using the Love & Death grenade launcher during EP #and a Shrieker started shooting at me #and I leapt up to dodge away and managed to fire a grenade mid-jump that nailed the Shrieker and OHKO'd it #and then I was like that's it that's the coolest I'll ever be in this game #might as well pack it in #I DON'T EVEN GO HERE except now I do

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trulycertain · 4 years

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I’ve just finished Hearts of Stone for the first time (I got the expansion packs last birthday, thanks Ma), and cor, I’m... still a bit dazed. That was one of the best experiences I’ve had with a game for a long time. Heck, in some games that would’ve been the main campaign. It truly feels like a work of passion.

The negative, to get it over with

I had some issues with the portrayal of the Ofieri. The people we see are monsters, mages, mystics and enemy guards. The first Ofieri person you meet is... a toad monster you kill. And then the next ones are your jailers.

And you might say that Temeria and Redania are full of yokel stereotypes - I mean, the “How often should I beat my wife?” NPC line is a clear nod to that kinda thing - and plays on Slavic mythology, folk tales, and fairy tales, and Ofier is the nod to the Arabian Nights... but we don’t get many Ofieri characters, nor clear examinations of those tales. Instead we’re quietly directed back to Robin Hood and Beauty and the Beast homages (which I adore, but). And one of the first introductions you get to their pseudo-Arabic language (which doesn’t feel as researched as Sapkowksi’s cod-Welsh Elven, but I don’t know about Nilfgaard’s language) is a Redanian guy calling it “gargling.” *wince* After the interesting, often nuanced takes on pseudo-Slavic culture and the fantasy non-human racism, I found that a bit frustrating.

And yet... In some ways, it feels like CDPR were aware of this. Because you don’t actually have to kill the rest of the Ofieri guards, and then the next people you meet from Ofier are scholars and thoroughly nice dudes. (And... merchants, which is another stereotype on its own, but maybe I’m reading too much into that and reading British biases into it.) And gosh, I find it interesting what little we see of Ofieri scholarship and spirituality, and runeworking/smithing as prayer. It’s like a mix of Islamic Golden Age mathematics - but with languages instead - and humanism, maybe with some Pagan influences. It’s really, really beautiful, and it’s clearly had some thought put into it. Also interesting is the interlinked duchies/city-states sort of system that the merchant nods at, which I’d love to know more about.

OK, so... maybe this is easy for me to say as an English lass who looks like a flour explosion in a snowstorm, but it feels wonky (to say the least), but... not ill-intentioned. If anything, the portrayal of the Ofieri is rather less biting than portrayals of other countries, though those portrayals also feel less.. loaded. I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I had some issues with how strongly the pack tries to force you into romance with Shani and makes it a bit all-or-nothing. I wish I’d been able to buy her a drink or give her a nice rowan garland (actually, seriously, I need to draw her in that flower crown, it’s lovely and she was adorable) even as a friend, as a way to say goodbye, rather than just... buggering off and leaving her there sad, and failing a side quest to boot. Framing the romance that way made it very clear that “oi, you’ve made the wrong choice,” even if you had your reasons. And when you talk to her later, it’ll still treat things like you romanced her.

The Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t do much. Yay, fancy bandits. But... thanks for the armour, guys? Made a fair bit of cash off that, nice of you.

The positive (my favourite bit)

Shani! I haven’t played the first game or the second (I’ll... get there), so I hadn’t met her before. She’s wonderful. And much as I love Yen - and stayed faithful to her, though I was sitting there thinking, “Would books Geralt do this? I’m really not sure” - I liked how in contrast, Shani often gets into the thick of it with you. I also love a) doctor characters b) characters who put their calling above all else and have such strong purpose. She’s kind and wry and I was seriously tempted to romance her. I also like her admitting that it was a “make the most of the time we have” thing, and that it probably wouldn’t work long-term. I appreciate that honesty and again, that sense of purpose. Much like Triss, she’s not dropping everything for Geralt, who has his own crazy timetable and travels to deal with. That straightforwardness is lovely.

And also... god, I really like her friendship with Geralt. Even if you don’t romance her, they’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s so clear how happy he is to see her. They relax around each other and she knows how to gently poke fun. Seriously, I can see why people liked her and wanted her back.

“And now I have nowt.” Bloody hell, is Olgierd von Everec actually written with Northern dialect as well as voiced with the accent? Is the dashing rogue... Yorkshire-accented? God, they must be Polish, Northerners almost never get to be upper-class or smooth in British media. (Even Sean Bean had to go posher for GoldenEye.) Nice to hear the language spoken properly. I always admire the localisation when I’m playing Wild Hunt; it’s beautifully thought-out and detailed. And yes, Von Everec was an absolute jerk in a lot of ways even before the wish, but... a well-written, nuanced one. Also, considering some of the lasses we see in Skellige: sometime, I’d really like to have seen a female character along similar lines somewhere (one Geralt couldn’t bonk), though I know that won’t happen. (No more Geralt games. ;_; )

“A man must have some moments of madness from time to time. Tells him he’s alive.”

Iris! Goodness, I hesitated for nearly ten minutes over That Decision, and I still feel sad for her typing this post up on my couch, having finished the expansion an hour ago. I think it adds even more that I’d purchased “Starry Night Over the Pontar River” by Van Rogh (I can’t believe they even did that). I played Geralt as genuinely loving her paintings. (And seriously, speaking of assets, that Iris/Olgierd marriage portrait is lovely.) She was as complicated as her husband, though she got less screentime - and some part of me would have gladly trapped Olgierd in a painting and brought her back into the world, but I also know that necromancy in The Witcher doesn’t work like that. A very romantic-fairy-tale take on the tortured artist trope.

I even found Vlodimir interesting. I was glad that Shani called him on what was basically fancy sexual harassment and told him to keep his hands to himself, and he was clearly a real shite in life, but... yeah, even I felt rather sad for him after the dressing-down he got from O’Dimm. And to be honest, he does have some bloody hilarious lines. This series excels in “likeable bastard” characters.

I get shades! And I’ve been going round with the Mastercrafted Wolven Armour and those, doing the look I fondly call Douchebag Geralt, ever since. CDPR’s nerdery. It wasn’t particularly immersion-breaking, and it made me cackle. “Merchant With A Pearl Earring”? “Witness me”? “Geralt: The Professional”? “The Professor’s Glasses”?

All the optional NPC dialogue. You can doom yourself by not researching enough. You can never find the runewright. You can miss half the wedding party dialogue. You can miss things like the Van Rogh painting and the sad, rather interesting story of Vesemir and his lover (and the Viper Armour!). The game always rewards you for being interested in the story, and thorough (you are playing a detective, after all), but because it was smaller, they’ve also made HoS so dense and all that’s here in abundance.

“Delight in the world and all its glorious creations.”

The furious pace. It’s a rollicking, rip-roaring adventure. A frog prince! An old friend/lover! A political plot! A storm! A deal with... something not-good that may or may not be The Devil! A shirtless tied-up action-movie fight with five dudes! Dueling a reluctant immortal! Characters from distant shores! A horse race through the streets of a village! A Guy Ritchie-esque heist movie nod to Robin Hood! Getting possessed by a ghost and sitcom/rom-com hijinks while fishing for boots, herding swine, and retrieving fire-eaters! Haunted mansions and tortured artists and interesting grief and depression metaphors! A Seventh Seal-esque game of wits with something very old and very unkind! O’Dimm promised a big adventure... he wasn’t wrong. And it probably sounds like they’re throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks... and yet, it all makes sense and ties in beautifully. It’s really well-written and thought-out, and balances a touching story with CDPR clearly wanting to give you your money’s worth and take you on the best journey they can.

Gaunter O’Dimm. The one thing I did think was that they’d be more vague about who/what he actually was. I was surprised at the more overt things like the crossroads deal, and the Oxenfurt scholar. But I immensely enjoyed his character, and that trippy finale was fantastic, even if I spent everything after the first second or so muttering, “It’s a REFLECTION, oh my god Gaunter you have commitment to your theme, please let there be a mirror in the house.” (And it’s also kind of perfect that one of the main spectres who attacks you in his realm is a Hym. Punishment for misdeeds, the guilty conscience... I’m seeing a theme here.)

Treasure hunts and new armour.

“Like your new gear, Roach?” We got to see a bit more of Geralt's fondness for this Roach (not sure what number she is, to be honest) and that he treats her well.

Lots of quiet but intense, lovely Geralt moments. The kindness with which he treats Shani, and his quiet, wry joking around with her in comparison to Vlodimir’s crudeness; the fondness and understated grief with which he speaks of Vesemir, and finally getting to hear a bit more of what he thinks about his mentor; the guilt he feels over being pulled here, there and everywhere on adventures and how many people he’s left behind; more stuff on “Witchers are heartless bastards because mutations” and how untrue that actually is; his steadfastness about trying to avoid bloodshed in the heist; how he doesn’t like to see Vlodimir tortured, even if he is... Vlodimir. Course, I play Geralt as a (pragmatic, blunt) goody-two-shoes, so it might be different if you play him bloodthirstier, but there were some lovely not-blank-slate-protag moments. CDPR get that the characters are why people come to the games; I adore playing a game where “go to a wedding reception” and “have a snowball fight with your daughter to cheer her up” are missions.

I’d be interested to see anyone’s takes on this pack, because I was so busy trying to avoid spoilers when it came out (and I think I might have been knee-deep in Fallout 4? Not sure) that I missed most of the stuff on it. But it was full of fascinating characters, wonderful performances, some really sad, achey complex themes, and pulpy adventure. I spent... too many moments trying not to cackle in joy. And much as I tried to be a completionist and do base-game sidequests remaining after the main story and drag it out over several days, I spent enough time on this expansion that Geralt’s beard grew back and my backside went numb. So. Even with its imperfections, probably one of my favourite gaming experiences of all time. So.

...God, and there’s another, slightly bigger expansion to go. I’m not sure I’ll survive.

#tru plays the witcher #hearts of stone #the witcher #the witcher 3 #long post

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in-arlathan · 5 years

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These Stolen Moments

More Solavellan fanfiction, yeah! <3 ______

Time period: During DA:I Characters: Female Lavellan (Elenara Lavellan), Solas, Leliana Pairing: Solavellan Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,971 words Rating: PG-13, Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: One night at Skyhold, Lavellan finds herself unable to rest. Trying to find peace in the Inquisition library, Solas seeks her out to offer some comfort.

A/N: Like many Solasmancers, I thought the relationship between him and Lavellan deserved at least one more cut scene. But since the game didn’t give us that I spun my own little fantasy and transformed it into fanficition. It’s much more romantic than the stuff I usually write, but it made me happy so I wrote it anyway. I hope you enjoy it. <3

You can also read this on AO3.

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The castle was quiet at last. She couldn’t recall the last time things at Skyhold had been so peaceful. Ever since the Inquisition had taken refuge in the old edifice, the courtyard and corridors had been bustling with people. Even the gardens, a place dedicated to silent contemplation, was filled with an on-going hum of conversations and prayers.

Elenara stood in the door that led her quarters in the Inquisitor’s tower and breathed a sigh of relief. She had grown so accustomed to the noise that she almost forgot the comfort of silence.

In her youth she would often steal away from the camp of her clan to seek out the quiet places in the forest. She would look for clearings or a patch of grass by a water course where she would lay down and stare up at the lush canopy and the bright blue sky beyond. In these moments, she felt the vastness of the world that made her sorrows seem small and petty by contrast. She would close her eyes and just listen to the rustling of leaves or the distant songs of birds and allow herself to just be.

How much simpler life had been back then.

Elenara readjusted the stack of books she carried with her and began walking down the great hall.

Once, she had listened to the voices of nature. Now, all she could hear was the sharp metal shriek of blades, the commands bellowed by Cullen and his officers, the battle cries of thousands upon thousands of Inquisition soldiers. And the prayers, of course. More prayers than she had ever heard before. Even at night she could hear the faithful calling out to her. Not much else seemed to exist, but the crushing burden their words carried to her.

So, she was glad for these rare moments of silence. She enjoyed the soft hissing of wind slipping down the hall, as well as the crackling of dying flames in the fireplaces.

She reached the door on her left that led to Skyhold’s rotunda and opened it. The circular room beyond was dark, just like the rest of the castle, and a pang of disappointment hit her. A small part of her had wished Solas would be awake, still working on his mural, but he was nowhere to be seen.

It’s alright, she told herself. You’ll see him tomorrow.

At least she hoped she would. Her entire relationship with Solas – if one wished to call it so – had been a constant back and forth between them. First, she had kissed him, but felt like she messed up. When she tried to withdraw from him, he held back and kissed her in return. Much later, he would come to her, admitting to having not forgotten what had happened between them, just to walk away from her. But not until they had kissed once more and he had said the words that turned her world upside down completely.

Ar lath, ma vhenan.

Her heart skipped a beat every time she remembered this moment. She was not certain if Solas had spoken in Elvish on purpose to conceal the meaning behind his words, or if he did it because he knew she would understand. Either way, she was very much aware of the meaning behind his words.

I love you.

Elenara felt her throat go tight. Solas was a mystery to her, one she would gladly like to figure out. But it would take time and if there was one thing she didn’t have in abundance, it was just that. For now, all she knew was that, if he’d stayed but a moment longer with her on that balcony, she’d told him how much she loved him in return.

You can wonder about this some other time, she thought, chiding herself like a child. Concentrate on what lies before you.

Letting out a sight, she crossed the room and slipped through the door to her left. Her steps echoed on the stone walls as she climbed the stairs to the rotunda’s upper floor.

The library was silent as well and the candles had been put out a good long while ago. Luckily, she knew where Helisma kept the flintstone she used to light them.

Elenara placed the stack of books on the chair Dorian usually occupied during his studies in the library and hurried over to the researcher’s desk. With only soft streaks of moonlight to illuminate the room, she had to fumble around before she found what she was looking for. With the flintstone in hand, she returned to Dorian’s reading nook and lit the candles on one of the candelabras. Their golden glow was soft and subtle, but it was enough to help her read the titles.

She turned to the pile of books and picked the one on top. It was a massive tome with golden letters ingrained on its cover and spine, an old Tevinter text Dorian had recommended to her to help her understand the inner workings of his homeland. The writing was so dry and tiresome, it had taken her ages to get through the text, but it had provided some insight into the cultural shift from the worshipping of the Old Gods to the Chantry, and that was good enough for her.

Scanning the spines, Elenara searched for the spot where the book was kept on the shelves. Thanks to Dorian, all of the books at Skyhold were sorted in alphabetical order which made the task of returning them to the library much easier. When she found the gap on one of the shelves where the Tevinter tome used to be, she put it back and returned to the rest of her stack.

She had just grabbed another book when she heard something. For a second, she believed it was a soldier or a servant walking from the tavern across the courtyard, but she dismissed the idea quickly. The sound had been much closer and much softer, not like the heavy cluck of booted feet.

“I see you are still awake,” someone said.

She whirled around on instinct, her senses on alert, her body ready to fight. Only then did she recognize the elven figure that moved closer from the other side of the library.

“Solas!”, she exclaimed and let out a sigh of relief. “Good Creators, you startled me!”

He chuckled softly as he stepped into the circle of soft candle light. The golden glow covered his face with stark shadows. “I’m sorry, vhenan,” he said wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

She let out a long, shuddering breath.

“It’s alright,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where did you come from? I thought you’d already gone to bed.”

“I was out on the balcony for some fresh air,” he said gesturing towards the door through which he’d entered the library. “Then I heard footsteps and concluded that it was you, so I came to see if you’re alright.”

“You knew that it was me … by my footsteps?” she asked, baffled.

“Of course.” He said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just… something a hunter might do, not a mage.”

“You should never underestimate my tracking skills, vhenan.” A sly smile tugged at his lips. “I survived on my own in the wilderness for a good long while, after all.”

For a moment, he seemed incredibly young. It made her think about a conversation she’d overheard back at the Storm Coast. She and the rest of her party had been tracking down a group of red templars that sought to gain a foothold in the area, when Blackwall and Solas had started to exchange war stories. She remembered the Grey Warden being delighted to share his experiences with another soldier, and also rather perplexed.

“For all your experience, Solas,” Blackwall had said. “You don’t carry yourself like a soldier.”

And Solas had beamed at the elder man. “Oh, you should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.”

She’d never admitted to Solas that she, too, had had trouble picturing him as a warrior in full armor. But now … with this smile …

It made her want to kiss him, badly.

“Why are you still awake?”, she asked quickly.

“There was something wrong with the tea”, he replied and pressed his lips together for a moment. “It was caffeinated and kept me awake long after dark. Well, keeps me awake”, he clarified and looked around the empty library. “I am still waiting for the effect to wear off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said and gave him a warm and soothing smile. She knew Solas found comfort in the Fade just like she used to find comfort in the old tales and legends of her people. Without it, life was much harder to endure.

“What about you?” he asked, looking at her intently.

She weighed the book in her hand and hurried to place it back on the shelves. “Couldn’t sleep either,” she admitted and was surprised by how tired she sounded. “There is just… so much to think about…”

Solas took another step towards her. Before she knew it, he reached around her with his left hand and placed it on her lower back. The faint smell of his skin lingered between them. Her heart jumped into her throat. Suddenly, she was very aware of his presence.

“If you like to share your thoughts with me, I’d be happy to listen,” he said in a quiet voice.

She coughed and looked away to avoid his gaze. His eyes were filled with such longing that it was almost too much to bare.

Studying the tomes on the shelf beside her, she said: “I’ve been reading all lot of these books lately. I had hoped to find some answers in the old text, but all it did was made me think. How can anyone do justice to this world? How can you set everything right, seeing all the bad things happening to good people?”

She sighed. “How am I supposed to do all this?” she asked in a much lower voice. Her throat went tight with grief and the crushing feeling of responsibility.

A saturnine look crossed his face. “I don’t know if I can provide a satisfying answer to your questions,” he said. “I’m not sure if anyone can. All we can do is trust in your capabilities to lead this Inquisition, for better or worse.”

Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “I was afraid you might say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, looking more troubled than she had ever seen him.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It’s not like any of this is your fault.”

His hand on her back twitched ever so slightly, but she noticed it anyway. These days, she seemed to notice everything about him. The slight changes in his moods, the way he carried himself when he thought no one was looking. Even the expression of serene joy and delight when he was working on his mural. He was a miracle with a thousand little details and she wanted to know each and every one of them.

“Is there something on your mind?”, she asked. “You seemed to be on edge these last couple of weeks.”

That must be the biggest understatement in all of history, she thought to herself. Solas was always on edge, especially when he was alone with her.

“It is nothing to concern yourself with,” he said evasively and his gaze flicked to her lips. “My troubles will pass, one way or another.”

“Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?” she asked teasingly.

“A kiss might be a good way to start,” he admitted after a short silence.

Elenara raised her eyebrows in surprise. Did she hear that correctly?

“Come here, then,” she said softly and turned until they stood face to face. Her heartbeat quickened, as she placed a hand on his cheek. He let his hand slip from her back to her waist, bringing up the other one to hold her tightly.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he’d said the last time they kissed. Since then, his words had made her wonder what he truly meant. She knew there was something between them, he had admitted it himself. Yet, he was determined to not give in to his feelings for her. But why?

Was it because she was Dalish, still?

Back in Haven, he had confessed to her that the Dalish had attacked him on sight and that he had no desire to get in touch with the clans any longer. His words had caught her like a kick to the stomach. Though it had not been her own clan who had attacked Solas, she knew it might has well have been them. She herself had fought off countless bandits in her time as a hunter.

Yet, she knew that the clans were only protecting themselves and more often than not, they had good reasons to be suspicious of strangers. But the thought of Solas being wounded by a Dalish arrow had left her feeling guilty and distressed. She wanted him to see the many admirable attributes of her people in the faint hope it would make him feel less lonely. To show him that there was no reason to be afraid of them.

Of her.

“My heart,” she breathed, caressing his lips with her thumb. She smiled at him, then guided his face towards hers. He allowed Elenara to brush her lips against his, while he drew long breaths through his nose. And she drank from him, relishing the taste of his mouth.

When she was out of breath, she pulled back ever so slightly, resting her forehead against his. Letting out a quiet satisfied moan, she let her hands slide down to his chest. He was breathing just as heavily as she was. His chest heaved under her touch.

“I enjoy kissing you far too much,” he said with a soft smile. His breath smelled of honey and herbs, sweet and delightful.

Elenara tilted her head to look at him. Was that regret in his voice?

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

His cheeks colored. “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” he hurried to say. “It’s just... I’m not …”

“… used to it,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “I know. We should do this more often, then.” She let her lips touch his once more. It was not a kiss, not quite, but it set her body on fire nonetheless. “Besides, I enjoy kissing you, too.”

She pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His body tensed and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to flee from her, but when she opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, he finally relaxed. Accepting the invitation, his lips parted and his tongue entered her mouth.

There was the passion she’d first experienced back in their shared dream in the Fade. It washed over her like a rising tide, almost sweeping her off her feet. She returned his kisses with the same fire, losing herself in the embrace. She couldn’t tell if his hunger was greater than hers or if it was the other way around. All she knew was that they both wanted more, fully aware of the fact that no kiss would never be enough.

“I want you,” he whispered.

His body was radiating heat like a bonfire. She wanted to take it all in, even if she might get burned in the process. All her life, she had waited to meet someone like him. Someone that made her feel alive.

“I want you, too,” she said and kissed one corner of his mouth. He sighed softly, his eyes half-closed. It was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard in her entire life – and she wanted more of it.

With the greatest effort, she let go of him.

Elenara took his hands and squeezed them gently. “Come with me,” she said, nodding in the vague direction of the Inquisitor’s tower. Up there, in her chambers, they could continue what they had started in a more private setting.

“I don’t think…”

“Lady Inquisitor!”

She flinched.

That was Leliana’s voice!

In an instant, Solas parted from her and took a step back. The lack of his warmth right next to her hurt more than she would like to admit. “Don’t…” she gasped, but Solas simply shook his head.

“You have other matters to attend to.”

She knew he was right. If Leliana needed to speak to her at this hour of the night, it must be important. That didn’t make it any easier, though.

She only hoped her face didn’t look as warm as it felt.

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” Solas said in a casual tone and took another step back. He bowed ever so slightly just when Leliana reached the top of the stairs. The spymaster stopped dead in her tracks and watched as the elven apostate turned on his heels and headed in the opposite direction.

Elenara felt like her heart would tear apart at any moment, when she forced herself to look at Leliana. “How can I help you?”

Leliana stared, as if she had forgotten, why she wanted to speak to Elenara in the first place. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway through which Solas had made his exit.

“Leliana?”

The spymaster blinked, her focus returning to Elenara.

“Oh, yes! I’m sorry” she said and squared her shoulders. “I have news from Halamshiral, my lady. You should look into this.”

Right back in the mess, Elenara thought as she followed Leliana up the stairs to her office.

__________

Thanks for reading. <3

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #solas #lavellan #female lavellan #solavellan #in relationship #solas romance #fluff #mild hurt/comfort #elenara lavellan

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spacerune · 5 years

Text

Travelling Teamaker: An Odd Friendship Forms (Part 1)

I’ve slowly been working on a series of short fantasy stories and I figured I can share them here until I come up with a better option. Below is a little intro to the series and below the cut is part 1 of one of the stories.

These are the tales of a travelling teamaker named Cyrano. He once led another life, but for the past nine years he has wandered the world searching for the most rare and unusual ingredients for making strange, and occasionally delicious teas.

His search has brought him to distant lands filled with beauty, excitement, and danger. From soft sandy beaches to steep mountain peaks, he’s shied from no terrain. Adventure has taken precedence over safety and even over the quality of the tea he makes. He cares little if the brew is too bitter, or too acidic, so long as the journey has been thrilling.

There is one ingredient, however, that he has sought above all — the petals of the astral lily. It is rumored that the astral lily only blooms under moonlight that has shone through the gossamer wings of an ice dragon. In nine years of wandering, Cyrano has found no clues as to where an ice dragon's lair might be.

An elf of only 113 years old, Cyrano Alfvenias bemoaned the strands of gray that now speckled his rich, black hair. A woman at the last inn he visited, assured him the gray made him look “distinguished” and not haggard. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but grimace at the thought of losing his hair color. His feelings were not assuaged when he asked for directions and a young boy called him old.

"Old!? What do you mean old?" he protested without any wit or charm.

"You're not young are you?" the boy snickered.

"I'm an elf! We don't age the same as humans do!" Cyrano yelled after the boy, but the boy couldn't care less and frolicked away without responding or looking back.

"At least I have directions…" his voice faded as he considered the silly conversation he let himself have with a child.

The boy had informed Cyrano that less than a mile ahead there was a seaside village. He looked forward to trying new foods, drinking too much, and passing out under a roof, rather than out in the elements.

The village was bigger than he had expected, it was almost a small port. The air was thick with salt and low tide — quite offensive to the olfactory senses. Cyrano reached into a satchel at his waist and pulled out a fragrant tea bag which he placed in his palm and brought to his nose. None of the villagers did anything similar so he concluded that they must have been accustomed to the stench.

The inn at the center of town was bustling with rowdy patrons and it didn’t smell much better than the shore. Cyrano didn’t mind the commotion, however. He had been in desolate lands for weeks. The last inn he stayed at had no more than a handful of guests. It was a welcome change of pace and a chance to mingle with the locals, and at the end of the bar, he spotted the exact type of local he would like to mingle with.

A young human woman sat with her back arched. With one hand she twirled her long auburn locks and with the other she traced the rim of her glass, her eyes carefully scanned the room. Judging by her less than modest attire, Cyrano could take a good guess as to her profession and he had more than enough money to indulge in her services. But before partaking in carnal delights, he had to make sure the inn had vacancies.

“Greetings! My name is Cyrano and I am a travelling teamaker. I've been walking for days and would like to purchase a room for the evening.” He bowed graciously to a man near the entrance.

“I don’t work here, pal. Ask Milla, the bartender,” the man grunted through half-lidded eyes.

“My apologies.” Cyrano bowed a second time and made his way towards the bar whilst dodging stumbling drunkards.

There was a single vacant seat at the crowded bar. He squeezed into the open spot, disregarding how the wide brim of his hat brushed the person by his side.

“Greetings! My name is Cyrano and I am a travelling teamaker. I've been walking for days and would like to purchase a room for the evening. Are you Milla?” He smiled widely, finding himself invigorated by being around people once again.

The woman behind the bar looked as unimpressed as the drunk man at the entrance. Heavy bags drooped under her eyes and a frown seemed to be permanently formed into her face.

“Ya, I’m Milla. I think we got a room,” she glanced at sets of keys behind her and then looked back to Cyrano, “Yer an elf, aren’t ya?”

“Um, yes?” He gestured at his prominent pointy ears, “Is that a problem?”

“No, no problem, so long as you don’t cause any problems.” She handed him a set of keys, “It’s the room on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

“Thank you, Milla. I promise not to cause any trouble. Now, what’s a good local drink?”

Without a second thought, Milla reached for a mixing bowl and tossed in several different liquids. She gave the concoction a quick whisking, sniffed it, then poured it into a mug and passed it to Cyrano.

"Consider it a local grog. Tastes a bit fruity, goes down easy, gets ya drunk fast."

Being an elf with little regard for consequences, Cyrano took a hearty gulp on an empty stomach. A drink and a half later, he was whining loudly to the unsuspecting man beside him about the injustices of elven politics.

"Why do they get to decide that? Just because their parents are big shots? Huh? Now that isn't fair...is it?" Cyrano placed his hand on the man's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.

"Uh-um, I really um...doesn't seem fair but uh-"

"Is he bothering you, Jom?" Milla interjected.

"N-not really, well I just don't really know what he's talkin' about." Jom sank in his seat.

"Hey Elfie, how 'bout you talk to me instead of bothering Jom?" Milla ordered with a snap to get Cyrano's attention.

"You sure I won't be bothering you too?" Cyrano drawled with a pout.

"It's my job to be bothered by chatty patrons. Tell me, what's on yer mind?" Milla asked as she began preparing a third beverage for the elf.

In the few moments after Milla stopped his tirade, Cyrano's thoughts drifted to another, equally pressing grievance.

"Well, it's kinda embarrassing, but on my way here, a boy called me old!" Cyrano lamented.

"Oh, how tragic…" she said with an obvious eye roll.

"You don't understand, Milla! We elves are supposed to look youthful for centuries!" he pleaded.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," she started mixing another drink, "you don't look a day over 36 to me."

~~~

The loud exclamations from the boisterous elf caught Brandy Lightrose's attention. She knew if he kept it up for too long, Milla might kick him out. It's not that patrons weren't allowed to get a little noisy, but this particular patron had a way of making the other guests uneasy. Overhearing the insecurity in the elf's conversation, gave Brandy a convenient opening to offer her services.

"Hey handsome," she said as she tapped her fingers on his shoulder.

Cyrano turned to see who was addressing him so pleasantly. Much to his satisfaction, it was the young woman who had caught his eye when he entered the inn.

"Good evening, miss...miss...what shall I call you?" he asked with a small gasp.

"My name is Brandy, Brandy Lightrose. What's your name?"

"I'm Cyrano Alfvenias, but just Cyrano is fine."

"OK, Cyri. How would you like to head back to your room and have some fun?"

"I would love to, but I think Milla here might miss me. She keeps pouring me drinks," he said with a lopsided smile.

"Milla just wants your money," Brandy quipped back.

"Don't you...also just want my money?" he asked with genuine bewilderment.

"Of course I want your money. No secrets here. But don't you want what I'm selling?" Brandy leaned in closer

"Yes, absolutely, yes," he sputtered, "oh darn...that sounded desperate…"

Brandy laughed at the eager, but sincere response. Her hand, still on his shoulder, slid down to his wrist, and tugged for him to follow.

"I've only ever been with one elf before, so I'm a bit eager myself." She winked.

"Eager! Yes, that's good!" He stumbled out of his seat but quickly regained his footing, "I'm pretty sure I'm usually a bit more composed than this but those drinks are potent and— "

"I don't mind it, Cyri! You seem like a lot of fun, just the way you are!"

Even through his alcohol-clouded mind, Cyrano knew this was all part of Brandy's act as a professional, yet not a single part of him minded that truth. Together, they dashed towards the stairs, with Milla yelling after them, reminding Brandy to make sure Cyrano paid for all of his drinks.

(To be continued in Part 2!)

#writing #original writing #original character #elf #fantasy #fantasy writing #low fantasy #adventure #short story #kinda short?#i'm having fun writing this #i hope it's an enjoyable read

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diguerra-moved · 5 years

Note

🌀

Send me a number 1 thru 50 for a word that I’ll use to write either a headcanon, drabble, or starter. Send 🌀 for a random number instead.

37 - Gone

She had been told before she had seen it. Amidst dragons setting the woods aflame and chaotic bloodshed of battle, there was no doubt Quel’thalas had suffered plenty of losses. No one had had the full dimension of it until after the battle, however; but as rain reduced the fire to ashes and washed the blood of attackers and defenders into the earth, the landscape spoke only of ruin and loss. Bodies of all sorts littered the ground: grotesque green skinned orc warriors, the tall figures of trolls, humans who had lived but a fraction of her own life, elves who still sported the determined gaze of those intent on defending their land. Occasionally, one of those may be found clinging to life, breathing difficultly, bleeding too much for their survival to be likely; most were already dead, heart and lungs long ceased to work. For the fallen elves, her people, her heart was heavy with sorrow. For the humans, she held both gratitude and respect, unlikely defenders of Quel’thalas as they were. Yet each time her gaze touched the loathsome forms or Horde warriors, less positive feelings filled her; a dark satisfaction at seeing the corpses of their enemies in such great number — a satisfaction that would not compare to that of bloody revenge, after she had been made to see the entire aftermath of the attack.

She had been told before she had seen it. Alleria had shed tears for her land, beloved and beautiful, not ever before in her life destroyed so atrociously. Such tears paled in comparison to those that followed the news, shed before she even laid eyes on Windrunner Spire. Yes, they had come to her to bring the grim news, even tried to prevent her of running straight to the village, yet she had been unconcerned with who was in the way or what she was to find there. Yet even having been told before, even having had shed tears for the state of her land and fallen comrades, no words in this world could have prepared her to witness the utter ruin of her home.

Quel’thalas was her home. Eversong Forest was one of the places she felt most at home in. Nevertheless, the Spire was truly home: where she had been born and raised, where she had grown up and played with her sisters, where she had danced to her little brother’s music, where she had practiced archery until her fingers hurt so she would honor the expectations placed upon the eldest Windrunner daughter. Although the buildings themselves were not as damaged, blood stained stone walls that had never before been touched by crimson red. Much before her steps carried her to the center of it, her gaze found the first bodies, victims of the carnage caused by the orcs. People she had known her entire life. Her stomach churned, skin turning deathly pale; Alleria was no stranger to death, but to see it so close, to see so much of it, to see it in familiar faces, it filled her with a sense of dread greater than any she had experienced before. Even as pale blue eyes scoured the scene in spite of her recoiling in face of it, she was overwhelmed with terror; seeking for what she knew she was bound to find, terrified of finding that which she sought.

Please — let it be a mistake. Let them be wrong. He couldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have there. Lirath had to be safe, it had to be a mistake. Her little brother was a young one; not even of age to be a ranger yet, though he already claimed his intent to follow the path of his sisters, a casual cheerful confidence always coloring his words whenever he spoke of it. There was always an inherent warmth to her brother’s demeanor, capable of illuminating everything around him. He was special like few people in all of the world would ever be; special to her more than he was to anyone else.

Little sun… you have to be well. Wishful thinking did not make her heart lighter, nor did it dissolve the lump on her throat, neither did it dry her tears. He hadn’t been mentioned by name, the most hopeful parts of her whispered; the Spire had been attacked and many had fallen, but her brother had not been named as one of the casualties. But as her footsteps echoed, loud as only the sole sound amidst deafening silence can be, part of her knew there was no way he could have survived when everything else surrounding their home was dead or dying, the landscape eerily grim.

Moonlight provided more than enough illumination for her elven eyes to see everything clearly; it gave the scene a ghostly tone, pale light reflecting on it and leaving all bathed in silver-blue shades. Even his hair, pure sunlit gold as her own, shone more akin to Sylvanas’ pale blond, night robbing it of its sunshine — night or death, she thought, even as a sob escaped her lips, grief and sorrow and despair felt tenfold. The turmoil raged within her chest, overflowing in tears as she ran towards his body; lying in a pool of blood, blood that could only be his own, blood that drenched her clothes and stained her shaky hands as they touched his face. Her little brother still wore the terrified expression he had died with, making it impossible that she even pretended he was merely asleep, that unconsciousness wasn’t now a permanent state. His chest, torn open by an orcish axe, was a gruesome sight, exposing parts of the body that should never have been on display; against one like her brother, not yet a warrior, this wasn’t even consequence of battle, simply plain butchery the monsters had delighted in doing.

Oh Lirath — I am so sorry, so sorry, I should have been here, if I had been here they would never have gotten to you, I should have protected you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Even the grizzly wound and protruding bones were not enough to tear her away from him, copious crying shaking her body for minutes or hours or days before any would find her there, still kneeling close to his mutilated corpse; time no longer made sense to her. It could have been one second or one century, and it would have felt just the same.

She carries the ruin of his body herself, careful as if he were made of glass, gentle as if merely a brusque movement might disturb his rest; set him carefully where he would be prepared for a funeral alongside the others (she understood the words, acknowledged what was being said to her, made decisions when so requested, and yet the very concept of it made no sense within her mind, as if in spite of her sorrow and what had been made of her brother, she still did not understand the concept of death).

He was gone, forever, well beyond this world; and yet how could he be, when his absence would make the world dark and grim and bleak and senseless? Gone; as if someone like him could ever truly be gone, him who gave the world light and meaning and joy. She had seen what happened to him with her own eyes, his blood still staining her attire and her skin, yet it didn’t matter. He could not be gone, not truly. A world devoid of the Little Sun wasn’t a world worthy of surviving in; and the world seemed much the same. How could the moon glow in the sky above, to bring light to a world her brother no longer lived in? How could rivers run and plants grow and animals live, unaffected, if he truly lived no longer? The world did not share of her sorrow; surely, then, she could only have been mistaken. Surely it was not forever, not permanent. Surely he could not be gone.

Though their bodies had not been too far apart, she only sees her lady mother when her corpse if placed besides her brother’s, her father on the other side. She knows it must be her father, both because he has the right build and because he’s so carefully laid beside her mother — but she cannot recognize his face, crushed with such strength there was nothing left of his strong jaw or high cheekbones, of his gentle smile. Her mother has multiple wounds, none as gruesome as her husband and son. The Ranger General still has about her that familiar air of strength and determination, and it is as if she will rise any minute to scold her firstborn for such blatant disregard in how she presented herself, before stern tone was laced in something gentler. Gone. Alleria had never had the chance of saying goodbye to her, departing to heed the Alliance’s call for help against the Ranger General’s wishes. Father and Lirath had received goodbyes, had been ensured of her love for them just before she went to war; but she could not have done so without the Ranger General stopping her of leaving, and so she had not done it at all. Now she would never have the chance again, her lady mother well beyond her reach in any meaningful manner; all of her family gone, in the blink of an eye, except for herself and her sisters.

“She wanted you to have it, I’m certain you know.” Alleria had known Lorveth practically her entire life, yet even her mother’s second-in-command felt like an otherworldly presence to her then. Grief should have been enough to bridge that gap, perhaps, but her grief was not of the gentle sort, did not seek kinship in one who would mourn the same losses she did. Her gaze fell to the bow offered to her, face blank; she did not reach out to it even though it was offered to her so. Thas’dorah was always meant to fall to her, eventually — everyone, even beyond her family, was well aware of that.

The Legacy of the Windrunners had been passed down through generations ever since its creation, the legendary weapon of the very first Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Perhaps, to others, it seemed merely a bow — it was not. It didn’t have any inherent magical qualities, except for those pertaining the materials it was made of, invulnerable to time and weather, as well as a particular affinity to the enchanted woods of Eversong. A finely crafted weapon, still, near unmatched.

Alleria had seen her mother wield it many times before, was already familiar with the bow’s curves. When she had been but a little girl, already gifted in archery but far from mastering it, Lireesa had taken the time to sit with her and tell her the story of Thas’Dorah, what it meant, what it was beyond a simple bow. Alleria had listened intently, held the bow in awe when her mother allowed so, infinitely careful in her reverence for it. Eventually, when she had proven herself both skilled and cautious enough, mother had rewarded her with letting her shoot with it. Thas’Dorah had always filled her with intense adoration and equally measured dread. It was the legacy of her family taken physical shape; and that she was to be its bearer weighted heavily on her shoulders from the moment she first learned it was to be so.

Alleria didn’t want it. She would have traded all legendary bows in the world, all history and all family’s renown, her very skills as a ranger, if only it would bring those she had lost back.

But they were gone, and there was no undoing it.

There is nothing shaky about her hands as her grip finally closes around the bow, only the certain determination to do well by what is being offered to her now. Her gaze does not look back at Lorveth, and she cannot bring herself to even remember thanking him, then. He does not press; once the Windrunner heir secures the bow firmly, he steps back, allowing her room to dwell in her thoughts. I will wield it proudly, mother. It is a promise she intends to fulfill; and Alleria vowed to herself to put it to the best use possible: by ridding this world of the beasts who even caused her mother not to be here to wield it herself any longer. Her family would have justice, no matter what; and it seemed only fitting that she would bring it by wielding the legacy of the Windrunners.

In the back of her mind, Alleria knew there other worries to deal with. Her sisters would not see the Spire in the state she had seen it, but neither did she want them to see what had been made of their brother and father (Sylvanas would have been strong enough to deal with it, perhaps, but Vereesa, sensitive as she was, would be devastated by the grisly sight). Moreover, her mother’s bow was not all Lireesa had meant for her to inherit. Lorveth’s words may well have been about the mantle of Ranger General itself; mother had raised her for it, always intended for her to become the General after herself, as tradition would have it. Alleria flinched at the thought, unable to guard her reactions in the state she was in. She never wanted to be Ranger General. Her skills were best employed as they were, in the field, than commanding the Farstriders.

And beholden by leadership, she would not be able to fulfill the promise of vengeance she had just made to herself.

There were others who would want the position, though — one other, more specifically, came to mind immediately, in spite of all that felt odd and distant and wrong in her current state. She had sought it as nothing else in the world; and Alleria knew her to have the skill for it, if temper and willfulness got the best of her at times. Willa wanted nothing more than that mantle Alleria was so unwilling to carry. She would have been a good option, if she had the wrong last name; yet that she had the wrong last name made all difference in the world then and there. Lireesa had intended for Alleria to become General, even though, skilled as the eldest was, Sylvanas was the one best suited to commanding. She had valued tradition greatly, had tried to teach her eldest daughter to do the same, if Alleria’s wildness had often clashed with even her own attempts to comply.

She owed it to her mother to pass it on to who would surely have been next in line in her eyes. She owed it to her sister not to deny her of it, when not only was she more than skilled enough, she would thrive in the position. Sylvanas would carry that burden with more ease than Alleria could have ever done. She would not deny it if it was offered to her — she would make their mother proud in a way the eldest knew she would not. She was meant to have it, regardless of Willa’s ambitions; and it wouldn’t be right to take that away from her before Sylvanas had the chance to decide what she wanted to do with it.

Alleria didn’t think her heart could break more, yet she felt even its pieces further shattering, knowing precisely what it would mean to pass the title on to Sylvanas. Willa would hate her. What they had, whatever it was, could not weather this. Swallowing back her tears before they begun falling once again, she braced herself for what she had to do. Even if Willa hated her, she couldn’t do it to Sylvanas — she couldn’t do it to her mother, when she already robbed Lireesa of the outcome she would have wanted. It was the least there was to be done, to give her mother peace, to let her know, wherever she was, that the Windrunner legacy was carried on as she would have wanted it to; the only compromise she could find with her mother’s spirit that would allow them both what they would have preferred, or at least the closest thing to it.

—————————————————————————————-

Her ashen haired counterpart had been there when the Ranger Lords approached her, still lost in sorrow unprocessed, to officially give her the position. She had been there to see Alleria lower her gaze and brace herself before meeting their gaze and refusing to uphold tradition, she had been there to stare intently at the blonde, enough so that Alleria could feel the eyes upon her as if their touch had been of the physical sort. She wondered if Willa had been able to see the apology evident in the her eyes, when the Windrunner glanced at her; if she would have understood it. If Willa had understood her demeanor to be apologetic, she had given no such acknowledgement. Throughout the war they had only pushed each other away, grown more distant than ever before. Perhaps it was for the best; perhaps it would make it simpler to live with her absence, having been offered distancing in smaller dose.

“While it would have been the Ranger General’s wishes, I do not intend to accept it.” Silent shock had been the prevalent reaction, but even without looking at her, Alleria could see the glimpse of hope in Willa’s blue eyes only through imagining it. It did not make it simpler to finish speaking her part. The blonde breathed, deep, swallowing hard, hands closed in fists, strongly enough that nails digging her palms caused discomfort. “My skills are best employed elsewhere… and my sister Sylvanas is better suited to oversee Quel’thalas’ defenses than I am.”

“Sylvanas is the next Ranger General, not me.” Before she had even properly finished speaking, furious footsteps walked away from the scene. Alleria forced herself to stare firmly towards the Ranger Lord in front of her, though she wouldn’t have been able to even name who this one was, looking without seeing; she needn’t turn to know who had departed so enraged. Voicing a decision she so entirely believed in should not have been so hard; should not feel so wrong, make her want to apologize for it even if she would not take it back. It was the right choice. The only choice. Even if Willa hated her.

It still made her feel in the wrong; and refuse to face it as she did, deep down Alleria knew exactly the why. There was more than friendly affection in her where Willa was concerned, more than even physical desire they often had indulged in, only to push away afterwards. She didn’t want to hurt her; she didn’t want to lose her, in spite of Willa not being hers to lose. She knew what this meant to Willa; becoming Ranger General was everything she truly wanted, and robbing her of it, regardless of reasoning, would not be forgiven. If her walking away enraged had led her only meters away or to the other side of the world, it didn’t matter. Even should they stand face to face, Willa would have acknowledged her presence no more than as a nuisance. Apologies would fall in deaf ears. Living and breathing she would be, but just as out of her reach as all those Alleria had lost to death.

Gone, like everyone else.

It would be the last memory Alleria would have of her for a thousand years.

#sunrunnerrs #henlo have a sad drabble #* dynamics: alleria windrunner & willa lightwood / I LOOK AT MY LOVER AND SEE WILDERNESS. [ SUNRUNNERRS ]#* dynamics: alleria windrunner & sylvanas windrunner / A SISTER IS BOTH YOUR MIRROR AND YOUR OPPOSITE.#* dynamics: alleria windrunner & lirath windrunner / THE WORLD LOST SOME OF ITS LIGHT WITHOUT HIM IN IT.#long post cw #death cw #blood cw

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a-gay-bloodmage · 5 years

Text

—Waiting—

Pairing: Leliana x Female Tabris

Pairing Type: F/F

Words: 2,013

Warnings: Outsider POV, Faelyn is Still Her Adorable Self Even Ten Years After the Blight, This Was Written Quick Okay

"Psst!" Varric turned around, trying to figure out where the quiet little hiss came from. Someone was obviously trying to get his attention. "Mister dwarf! Over here!" He turned to his left, and noticed a mass of messy blonde hair and lightly tanned skin, wide green-blue eyes and big floppy elven ears. "Yes! I've been trying to get your attention for ages!" She giggled, her smile showing off large, slightly gap-toothed buck teeth. "Well, maybe thirty seconds, but that's still forever, isn't it?"

Varric hummed in amused agreement. "Of course," he said, walking over to the elf, who was still poorly hidden among the bushes. He had the feeling he knew who she was, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "And what are you doing out here?" He asked, looking into her big, sparkling eyes. "Haven't seen you around Skyhold before."

"No, I just got here," she said, going back to whispering, sounding excited, like she was telling him some big secret. He doubted she was some spy. As sparkling as her eyes were, he didn't think that they sparkled with intelligence. She looked like an elf in her mid or early twenties, but not only did elves age slowly, her simple speech made it hard to tell her actual age. "Do you think you could help me?" She asked, leaning forward from behind the bush and well into Varric's personal space. "I'm looking for a... special someone and I don't know where she is," she said, smiling like she knew he would say yes.

Hopefully Cassandra wouldn't go back to breathing down his neck if this elf turned out to be some incredibly talented spy of sorts. "Why not?" He chuckled. "I'm Varric, by the way," he said, holding out his hand for a shake.

She enthusiastically gripped it with both of her dainty little hands, shaking it up and down. He felt calluses from either labor or blades on her palms. "Oh, you're so sweet, Mister Varric!" She beamed, her whole body moving like an excited mabari's. "Now, you have to be very, very quiet about all this," she said, face suddenly taking on a serious look. She gazed around the courtyard, which wasn't yet full in the early hours of the morning. "One false word and we're burnt bread." Her lisp undercut the seriousness of her words.

"Okay, but I have three, no, four questions before I lead you wherever you want to go," he said, looking over at the elf that was still holding his hand. She nodded, her messy blonde hair and floppy, oversized ears bouncing with the motion. "Okay, question one. What's your name?"

"How did I forget?" She gasped, looking in awe of her own mistake. "Oh, you dumb little rabbit!" She shook herself, and looked to Varric. "I'm Faelyn, but people call me Bunny, too."

"Alright, Faelyn, question two. Are you at all a spy? Qunari, Corypheus, et cetera?"

"Nope! Or, I don't think so, at least..." Definitely not.

"Good. Question three. How did you even get in here?" He knew for sure guards were positioned everywhere and that the gates were not easily opened.

"Oh, I snuck in," she said, buck teeth on proud display as she grinned.

"You snuck into Skyhold?" He asked, almost in awe. No, forget that—he was for sure in awe. Even Isabela would have to at least bribe her way in. Either this Faelyn was incredibly talented, of just incredibly, confidently stupid. "How?"

"I'm good at sneaking," she said, her smile never faltering. "And I fit a lot of places humans don't!"

"Alright, fair," Varric said, shrugging. His hand was really warm at this point. "Okay, last question. Who is it you're looking for?" He asked, looking the slight distance up at the elf. "I don't know all the staff yet, but I'm pretty good."

"Okay, I'm looking for a very, very pretty girl," she said, bending over to whisper close to his face. "She's got pretty red hair and pretty pale skin. With some freckles," she said. Her voice made it abundantly clear that she had a crush on this girl at least. "She's tall and strong and so good at archery." Varric was trying to think of a member of the Inquisition, or perhaps even the staff, but his mind was coming up a little blank. Unless... "She's super good at telling stories, and she can cook really good, and she has this loopy handwriting that's a little hard to read sometimes but just so pretty to look at," she said, giggling. "She has the prettiest smile, too..."

"A name would be useful," he said, raising an eyebrow in amusement. Damn, was this girl good at rambling.

"Oh!" A light blush coloured her lightly tanned cheeks. "Leliana."

"The Spymaster?" He wasn't sure he was hearing her right. Last he checked, the Spymaster didn't cook or tell stories or smile.

"Oh, do you call her that?" Her blonde eyebrows pushed together. "I call her Birdie."

"I'm just not sure we're thinking of the same person," he said. "Unless by Birdie you mean murderous ravens."

"Ravens are very pretty birds," she said, nodding seriously, like that was the answer to his question. "Leliana said she has friends named Josie and sort of Cullen, and she knew some pretty qunari named Adaar. Or Inquisitor. I'm not sure what her name is, really."

"Somehow, we're talking about the same person," he said, mostly to himself. "Will she be happy to see you?" He really didn't want to bring Faelyn to see the Spymaster only to earn her annoyance.

"Would she... not want to see me?" Faelyn asked, her floppy ears dropping and eyes becoming a little watery.

"No, no!" He said, shaking his head and smiling the most reassuringly he could. "I'm sure she'll be super happy to see you!" He really didn't want to see such a kicked-puppy look on the elf again. "I'll take you to her."

"Thank you!" She was immediately back to her perky self, ears pointing straight out. "Now, do you know how to get to her without being... seen?" She asked, looking around the barely populated courtyard. The only reason Varric was up just before the sun was because it was the best time of day to clear his head and jot down plot ideas or scenes without interruptions. Except for today, it seemed.

"Don't worry, I'm pretty good at sneaking," he said, leading her to a door in the wall. There were a mass of lesser known passages in Skyhold, and he was quickly learning them.

"Sneaking is such a useful talent, isn't it?" She giggled, letting go of his hand with one of hers, but still holding on with her other. It was then that he noticed she was wearing two rings—one appearing to be an iron wedding band, and another seeming to be an Orlesian promise ring.

If that terrifying Spymaster was married to such a bubbly little elf, he would really have to ask Bull for some help in character assessment. Because he was terrible at, apparently.

"You have a very nice castle here," she said, looking at the dark, slightly damp walls of the passageways. Only the occasional lamp lit the otherwise pitch black hallway.

"I think your standards are a little low there, kiddo," he chuckled, looking up at her.

"No, I'm thirty-two," she said casually.

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks. He just shook his head and kept moving.

"Birdie's probably upset I didn't send her much in my last letter," she said, chatting away and very much so proving that she was only good at sneaking into places where the guards didn't have ears. "I told her that I hope I see you soon, but oh, little does she know!" She giggled, obviously delighted by her adorable little deception.

"You and our ol' Spymaster go back, huh?" He asked, trying not to sound invasive. He was genuinely curious about the mysterious redhead, and was always desiring to know more about her backstory.

Faelyn hummed a yes. "My Birdie and I go back a while," she smiled. "I met her in Lothering. During the Blight."

During... the Blight? Varric both didn't want to believe it and really wanted to believe what he was thinking.

"She was the prettiest human ever," she sighed in fondness, obviously still lovestruck after all these years. "Of course, I didn't know girls could like girls back then!" She laughed, shaking her head. "Oh, that was so silly of me!"

There is no way she killed an Archdemon. No fucking way. Anders had mentioned The Warden in passing sometimes, but he had failed to mention her sweet idiocy, cheerfulness, and buck-tooth-induced lisp.

"Anyway, she and I are just waiting for the day we can get married!" She said cheerfully.

That meant the wedding band wasn't from the Spymaster. It was... something else. He wouldn't ask. "Well, isn't Leliana the Left Hand of the Divine?" He asked. "I'm sure you two could officially tie the knot with enough words on her part," he said.

"She's mentioned it," Faelyn said, blushing lightly. "I don't mind waiting a little longer if it means the, the..." She stopped walking for a second. "Oh! Interracial ban is lifted," she said, walking on once she found her word. "It wouldn't be very nice if we were selfish and only let it be for us, right?"

Varric nodded. "That's awfully nice of you," he said, unable to stop thinking of Hawke and Fenris. He was sure the two would be happy if such a union was legal under the Chantry law. He had better be invited to the wedding. "A lot of people are a lot more selfish."

"I don't think being selfish is a good thing at all," she said, shrugging. "Except I think I'm being a little selfish right now," she giggled shyly. "Visiting my Birdie when I have so much to do back at my work." She giggled to herself. "Maker, is Alistair going to be mad!"

Alistair. That royal bastard that nearly became king. Yep, she's the damn Warden. "And how could someone get mad at you?" He asked, laughing.

"I forget a lot of important things," she laughed. "That usually does it." She took a deep breath, smiling. "This is a very long tunnel!" She said, jokingly groaning. "Mister Varric, I've been away from my Birdie for so long, this is torture!"

"Almost there," he chuckled, turning another corner. He could the faint noise of ravens waking in the distance.

"Birds!" Her face lit up, and she tugged on Varric's hand for him to hurry up. Thankfully, she wasn't much taller than him and he could keep up, as she had an incredibly tight grip on his hand. "Oh, I've waited to see her for so long!" She said, beaming. She pushed open a door to the ramparts, quickly darting across the stone, up some stairs, and into the rookery. Her bright aquamarine eyes darted around for a second before finding the door to the Spymaster's small bedroom. She quickly turned, got down on her knees, slipped her hand out of Varric's, grabbed the sides of his face, and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you, Mister Varric," she grinned, kissing him again before running up to the Spymaster's door.

She knocked three times, bouncing on the toes of her boots in excitement. A sleepy-eyed redhead that hardly looked like the Leliana Varric knew opened the door, only able to get the w in what out before she was all but tackled by Faelyn. Her face lit up like he never thought it could, returning the embrace tenfold. She spun the elf around in a circle, much to Faelyn's delight. She was giggling and kissing Leliana on the cheeks, the lips, the ears, the forehead—anywhere she possibly could. With one final glance, Varric turned away to leave them to themselves. He wouldn't intrude. It was obvious they'd been waiting for this a while.

#femslashfeb2019 #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da warden #faelyn tabris #da leliana #leliana x warden #varric tethras #wrote this shit in literally like 2 hours #yikes #still cute tho?#fae is SUCH a cutie #anders how dare you not introduce her to your kirkwall squad #this actually goes along with an older fic of mine! ((''A Presumably Empty Courtyard'' (NSFW)))#i love these bisexual babs

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