#i need the elf in more off the shoulder crop tops

[noxspost]

trying to outrun five monstrous Jaguars will also try to make sure we don't get our legs bitten off by a Jacobs ladder gator monster

Mictecacihuatl was pacing as she saw her husband Mictlantecuhtli and then she saw the rest of the Aztec underworld council all whispering and murmuring to each other there was even some Mayan deities here they are also panicked as well.

she and Mictlantecuhtli were the rulers since the other gods were In need of a rule in order to manage the souls from both Maya and Aztecs they kept flooding in after the foreigners came and ruined everything so they thought that they were two good choices. 

"well, where is Xolotl?" asked Xocotl who was sitting next to the Mayan god Acolmiztli who was siting next to Techlotl who was half owl which was a elf owl. they all look to the king who sighs "Thanks to my wife's efforts three demigod people are coming over and he's guiding them here just stand the Fortress till they get here."

well then a I started moving in and they had the optic nerve still attached to them and then soon a lower jaw full of teeth arrived and then slowly as they waited human person arrived it was Remus the kid of Mars who died due to their brother being an absolute weirdo he was half wolf considering his affiliation with them and he could shape shift between human and wolf most the time he was like a satyr instead of a goat and a human it was a wolf and a human.

Remus always looked like and was a 28-year man. who had brown hair with streaks of gray hair his eyes were wild, and his grin even wilder he had a gold tooth on one of his canine teeth he also had a couple tattoos specifically one on his shoulder that was of one of an octopus.

he was wearing a tank top which was cropped around mid-torso and short which around mid-thighs, and he had fish nets on his legs that was in the middle of his legs and around the knees going to area. he was wearing a belt around his waist, and it also had a bunch of pouches on it and also two sheaths for two daggers.

he had wolf features similar their lower half often have goat features.

his wolf tail was grey, he had wolf ears on his human ears. he had some fur on his shoulders and neck, he had some scars on his nose and jaw. he also had a couple rings on his finger and a choker which had a silver squid. 

"hello everyone Alright it got a little bit more longer than i thought so I found out what's the problem what's causing the lockdown it is two Titans and about three demigod people that are still followers of Kronos it has been so long since the Kronos war situation and they're still going strong but they're not exactly in the Aztec underworld yet they are still stuck the in between areas of the tunnels leading from the Roman underworld to this underworld we are still fine but still keep it on lockdown." he looked sad and scared.

this causes an uproar of whispers murmurs mutters and growls, and all of their glares were focused on him he raised up his hands in defense and says, "don't blame me don't not shoot the Messenger it took me forever just to get past those people sorry." Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl nodded, and she was sitting on her throne, and she spoke "well it is alright Remus."

Mictecacihuatl had a body a skeleton incased in skin of inky black that allowed the bones to seen. she had the Regal aura of Queen that you would expect but her husband did a very powerful dominating or around him even though he was relatively chill he was a very particular on how it's underworld and the souls inside of it was run.

she was wearing cloth which was in two parts one was the coat which was a cloak and shawl. on the top where the neck and head hole was blue, white skulls and she had a skull face, but it stopped around her top lip and there was white swirls and stripe on her jaw and chin. Jason was looking at her with the sun high in the sky which allowed them to see her better.

Her ears had dish which hung off of her ears and there was leave or feather shape hanging off the blueish grey dish there was a messy red dot in the middle of the disks. on her skirts was fringe same with the edges of shawl. The colors of the outfit were green, purple, blue and greyish.

The dress was close fitting but still hung on her form. Her hair was dark brown and down up with strips of blue fabric and on her head was crown with grey silver stones and small rat skulls. The crown was holding the first bubble in her hair and that had feathers on the back in the colors of purple, grey blue and blue.

Her eyes were warm burning amber, on the eyelids was an orange color and there something fluffy on the where the eyebrows would be. she just looked at her husband who finally stopped Pacing around like a warrior war and sat in town finally letting his worried nerves and muscles finally rest and he said Remus "go find some people to stop those people trying to break through." 

Remus nodded and then pulled his weird Cheshire cat disappearing act.

==

Jason was standing on the threshold between the actual space in them to do the challenge and the hallway behind them he thankfully had an unidentified amount of hours of sleep he felt way better even though his head still was kind of sore from getting clawed at and having bandages on it but thankfully it had collaborated enough so the blood wouldn't drain out of him but he still kept the bandages on his head but they had in fact used duct tape in order to keep them on.

his legs are still a lot we're a little bit shakier than usual, but Leo was watching the blood but both of them saw debris that looked an awful lot like the best friends their partners and their very close allies as body parts and heads and then they saw certain logs that reminded them too much of an alligator or a crocodile's snout.

Nico then spoke "so we're gonna have small bags of rocks tied to our ankles and we're supposed to run through that also not trying to die to the Jacob's ladder crocodile Gator Monster underneath the surface of blood ew that is disgusting."

Xolotl busted out laughing " So all of the years that the Jacob's Laboratory has been invented never have I heard them being used in such a manner." then Jason said, "where's our weapons?"

then Xolotl looks around and the down "look in front of you and look down at that step before you there should be some weapons there. Leo will get two considering he was given the obsidian and iron knife earlier."

then Leo asked, "what else?" he asked snarkier and more forceful he looked a little bit mad "OH about five multi-headed multi-limbed multi-tail jaguars, courtesy of smoking mirror."

well Nico looks at the blood where water should be and the smell of Warrington dying flush, I was also swarmed by the metallic and iron-like scent of blood it reminded him too much of Tartarus and asphodel. he looks at the other two and they didn't see the bruises and small scrapes on Leo, but the big head wound that Jason had plus more of his bruises and small lacerations and scrapes all over his body were concerning he was scared that both Leon Jason would die he wouldn't let that happen.

well, Xolotl was now Tying these small little bags of stones to each of their ankles, and he looked to Jason and said, "some of your wind powers will be useful but you still can't access most of your godly powers sorry." Jason nodded and accepted his possible fate of death. 

Nico felt the weight of the rocks on his ankles. he sighed and spoke "okay... i am ready." then Leo Readjust his tool belt said "well if I die do not forget me!" both Jason and Nico turned her in and said "no one is dying." 

then Xolotl spoke "okay you need to follow me by the fire light of the torture I'm holding and when I stop at a certain point you need to get there before you get before you die because this is not like if you were already dead." his voice was low and serious is this like growls of as they just noticed the same Jaguars that he had described earlier those were stone and there's like cracking as if something was waking up.

then Nico took the first few steps into the river of blood Leo followed in suit while Jason grabbed the weapons and gave them to Nico and Leo. Jason got a sword Nico got a club which had spikes of obsidian on them and looked as if he could do some heavy damage and Leo got more knives.

they were running and they were using the rocks as a way to guide them past these semi-strong currents of the blood water and the rocks thankfully were the safest to breed to use on as they saw body parts from all their friends and allies and even lovers they all knows though they all knew most of those were fake delusions but Nico was mostly frozen as he saw bit of will floating in the blood so Jason usually would pick up Nico as they walked slashed waddled through the blood.

"come on where is the--" and there was the squash of blood and when they all looked behind them with anticipation and fear they saw the monstrous Jaguars about 5 of them with teeth so sharp that they could probably cut through the hide of the lion which Hercules wore as clothing. then Nico curses in Italian as they picked up their speed for Jason it was a lot harder and slow for him thanks to the pounding of his heart now as they quickened their pace which did not help his head injury which he still was dealing with.

leo was screaming and starting to cry as he held up the knives and when he threw one at one of the jaguars it actually set their leg on fire which shocked everyone but no more time for that they had to escape they saw the flame of the torch of Xolotl running ahead and then Jason picks of both Nico and Leo thanks to his strength and his stature he was able to hold them underneath his arms as if he was holding a loaf of bread or a cat and he just booked it out of there even though the weight on his ankles thanks to the small rocks did not help anything.

he did not want Nico or Leo to be harmed so then when they got onto a rock which was flatter than the others he then threw them to the next patch of land which immediately as they were being thrown a snout of a Gator mouth joint thing snapped up almost catching Leo thankfully only 1 of the teeth grazed the skies leg where his pants did not cover right above his ankles.

Nico screamed as his ass hit the ground as he caught Leo as well they both turned around as they saw Leo as they saw Jason pull out one of his other swords that he had gotten from the steps and he just started slashing and hitting at 1 of the Monster Jaguars while the one that got hit with a fire knife that was and the knife was somehow back in Leo's hands the monster screaming and tried to put out the fire while the other three were starting to surround Jason.

then Nico screamed "fucking hell no!" then he got his club and then ran over and sprung it on one of the massive paws of the Jaguar which made it lose its balance which got him which gave him the ability to smack the club so hard on the cat's head with these spikes of the obsidian on the club to him squaring the skull and the cracking of bone could be heard from that then Jason finally able to save both him and Nico.

so he grabbed Nico had done the same way he did before the room back on that patch of land and just jump from that stone all the way over he was also nearly killed by that crocodile snout joint thing.

Leo was desperately trying to help them as he collected the other two knifes he got plus the new iron and obsidian one he had gotten from the first challenge and as Jason said panting almost really exhausted he said "all right that's enough let's go let's go just keep running do not look back I will defend your business can Nico and Leo do not look back whatever you don't... do not look back and try to help me OK I will do this myself." the Jason was cut off "but no you--" Leo was cut off by Jason as they were running "You have to listen to me Leo this is a do or die situation!"

and that should up both of them as all three we're now running in the water not caring if they actually snapped on a snout of a crocodile or gator joint mouth thing.

then Leo Had the Superb genius plan made in pure desperation and fear and adrenaline high was to smoke bomb the blood he grabbed him to the smoke bombs lit the dang thing threw it so hard into the water and it actually caused the majority of the joints that had the mouths on them just snap up and annoyance as these stinging smoke probably hit their eyes.

Jason yelled "fucking hell!" the grabs Leo as he is almost killed by one of the mouths as it almost shut down around his leg like a bear trap jason then uses a bit of his wind power to give himself a little bit of a boost as he throws them to the next nearest safe rock as he literally stabs the crocodiles mouth the top of its entire skull and then books it.

they both saw his fear In the set of Jupiter's eyes they both wanted to help but they had one goal surviving they did get bruises and scrapes from being touched and being thrown and running and bumping into debris like wood seaweed which made them trip a little bit but the smell of rotting flesh and iron and metallic like this metallic scent from the blood and the bodies overwhelmed their sense of smell.

"come on Jason!" yelled Leo. Leo was regretting a ever lighting that bomb on fire it was going to doom his best friend to die.

leo was panicking his breath soon picked up but then Leo was smacked by Nico "this is not a time to panic we can panic when we get out of here!" he yelled desperation tears welled up in his eyes as they ran through the blood through the bodies and debris making sure they didn't die to the bear trap mouths of this monster deep underneath the blood Leo then turned him and yelled "but then Jason's gonna die!?" fire was gathering on his palms and neck.

"well you'll die out soon and you are caught panicking!" yelled Nico with fear and anger they both were breathing heavily as they ran they saw the flickering fire of the torch their safety they were halfway there he turned around once and they saw Jason running and stabbing the Jaguars that followed them.

Leo set the blade part of his knives on fire and threw it back onto the Jaguars they hit with relatively accurate mostly sticking to the haunches the back legs and the front legs of these monsters the one that had been set on fire first came back with more ferocity more anger they could hear the snarls the growls and the hissing of these Jaguars.

which was powered their fear and adrenaline more the lakes were getting numb, but they could not stop running as more of these bear trap mouthed joint things continued to go off the more, they had to zip around if they were panic rabbits.

then Nico went back to one of the rocks as grab the hand of Leo as they see other one of these bear trap mouth Snap up almost catching Leo's back parts of his legs it was Achilles tendon. the blood Made small waves which crashed up against this bigger rock and the eyes of that part of the creature blinked with anger so tried to go up more, but Leo said his palm on fire and burnt a handbrake onto the monster which causes it to crash back down into the blood they were both on the rock.

Leo then starts to laugh and cry as he yells "Jason is going to die! and it's all my fault you cope if I hadn't made the smoke bomb we wouldn't have this." he gestures out openly to the monster Cipactli which was trying to kill Jason and the Jaguars are time teaming the monster then Jason yelled stabbing one of the mouths taking out the sword and then running using his wind powers he was still able to use.

he moved himself to the rock with the other two kids were even though they were well adults they were still children crying on a rock because of the monster is trying to kill them.

Jason then grabbed both of them in his arms and started to run and he said we're going to live and then as he jumped onto another flat piece of land which was a safe area for them to catch the rough bed before he collapsed.

they were 2/3 of the way there but then one of the mouths grabbed at Jason's arm the back part thankfully Leo grabbed one of his knives the obsidian and iron one and stabbed it into the snout of this creature.

They got a better look at it looks like a part date or part alligator part fish and there were millions of jaws on every single joint of its body it was huge it was truly a Jacob's ladder crocodile fish gator it made them all sick as they all ran again not caring if they're beating lung if their lungs burned with a lack of oxygen they needed to run.

Nico almost stumbled into the blood but Jason grabbed him by his shirt hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he had Leo underneath his arm and he just ran did not care for his own legs screamed for rest screamed for a break he kept pushing forward and forward he would not let his two best friends who he see who he saw as brothers die he could prevent it even if it costed his own life.

then he spoke "oh please lady Salus please protect us!" he says as they ran and got bruises from the rocks and other debris and Nico continued to panic more finally letting this panic attack settle in as he saw more and more body parts as lover at will he couldn't let that happen and Jason was panting his lungs screamed for air his throat screamed for water and his heart screamed for him to stop his head ached as he felt his heart even beating up there like a war drum.

they finally got to the last leg only a couple more feet of running and they saw one of the Jaguars swipes at the bleeding wound on Jason's arm but instead it got his back on his left side of his ribs on his back.

this causes him to throw the other two and Leo screams as he hits the safe and end of the challenge.

He had several bleeding scrape scrapes and cuts from the rocks debris from his own knives and from the claws and teeth that got him Jason was still out there fighting with 2 bleeding wounds but finally was able to grab him and grab him thankfully they were able to get to safety and when they finally got to the safety where their guide was Jason just collapsed and Leo just sat down his and swaying a little bit as he let his lungs get air Nico just went to a full on panic attack.

"Hey Nico, we did it." spoke Leo who had Several minor averages and a little bit severe wounds and injuries he had a black eye for he landed on one of the rocks he had a bleeding nose several scrapes, cuts and open wounds like that.

Jason looked worse his shirt now staying with blood also parts of his shirt was missing from the Jaguar the clawed atom he looked dazed as he put his head on the ground and rest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. Nico was breathing Unevenly and dangerously so Leo held both of his hands and squeezed both of them as Leo was breathing steadily which helped Nico calm down.

Nico was still shaking and panicked he was Still worrying about will think I could die in his body to literally be in that river of blood for all they know but Leo's warm dark slightly broken and scarred hands still squeezed his own as Leo still breathed deeply in and out as an anchor to Nico who was slowly started to feel better but he just let the tears fall he was so tired and this was only challenged too this was challenge two that was concerning this was only challenge number two. Leo looked to Jason who was now passed out which made him panic a little bit then Xolotl check his Heartbeat on his wrist and nap nodded and said Don't worry he isn't dead he's just unconscious. 

Leo turned to Nico and said "Will is still at camp half-blood we are safe and sound Xolotl is holding the fire and we have met him with that fire."

Xolotl sighed "oh my chaos... this was the worst way this challenge goes..." he looked so sad and Nico sighs and then he asked Now looking at their blood stained and partially ripped up clothing that's what the clothing situation cause I don't think the rulers of this underworld are going to like us bare without clothing."

"well when we get through the next few hallways we will met Chantico who often leaves clothing and Bandages and stuff like that in the hallways but considering us deities of our pantheon we were always injured in some fashion our clothes were always torn she just never broke the habit and we don't have the heart to tell her to stop thankfully it's good today we still do need the extra bandages and clothing," then he sat down near them and spoke "we usually don't give it out to the mortals cause they're usually dead at this point yeah come on no correction we're gonna wait a little bit for you guys to calm down your breeding hearts cause I can hear them from all the way over here he spoke with his kind but slightly still snarky tone of voice.

"thanks Xolotl." spoke Leo he looked to a tried Nico, and he spoke "rest we don't have to run to the next one yet." he was Smiling calm and warm smile but internally he was panicking he didn't want to die either he just feared that he would fail if he wasn't moral support he was the jokester the one who laughed and cracked jokes and was goofy the moral support not the one who cried and was insecure he was Leo Valdez the very strong child of Hephaestus he wasn't some wimp but a strong tinkerer so he sucked all his negative emotions and bottle them up.

Nico nodded and said "i am fine but you are more wounded than me he said making a wry smile which was pained and forced Leo said "pffft you're wrong I'm the least injured."

#fanifiction #angst #pjo series #pjo hoo toa #my au #aztec mythology #cipactli

[noteguk]

hiii, I'm not sure if you have any rules for requests, but could you do a Yoongi pwp with choking kink? Thank you in advance💗

— contents and warnings; pwp, boyfriend!yoongi x reader, established relationship, unprotected sex, choking, dirty talk, kind of rough sex, slight praise, overstimulation, mention of a terrible attempt at christmas seduction that obviously worked out, yoongi being lowkey whipped 

— words; 1.6k

I powered through this during the last minutes of Christmas just because I wanted to have a themed fic... and nothing says ‘happy holidays’ like choking an elf. 

~

Yoongi took it as a personal offense when he saw you waltzing out of his living room bathroom dressed in that skimpy Santa’s Elf costume, like you were an actual demon daring to step inside a church. As much as you swore, batting your eyelashes and smirking innocently, that you were just trying to get into the Christmas spirit, it was very obvious that you were just trying to get into something else. You knew very well what you were doing — and he knew it too — so it wasn’t a surprise when you two ended up where you did, with Yoongi on top of you, fucking the shit out of you on his pristine white couch. 

“Look at me.”

His voice was so serious that you instantly complied, your eyes fluttering open as you met his own, hooded ones. Yoongi looked like a gorgeous mess above you, his hair sweaty and disheveled, cheeks painted by faint crimson hue. A beautiful frown of concentration decorated his features, his eyebrows coming down as he continued to thrust inside you — slowly, because he was feeling particularly wicked that night. 

Yoongi allowed himself to smirk in satisfaction when you met his gaze, your eyes so disoriented and unfocused beneath him. If his gaze trailed further down, he would see the beautiful curvature of your breasts beneath your tight green crop top, bouncing up and down as he continued to piston his hips against yours. He was a man of clear, objective needs: he wanted to fuck you, and he wouldn’t waste any time with some bothersome removal of your clothes when he could just pull your panties to the side and go to town. 

Besides, that hot little top and skirt you were wearing — combined with the red and white stripped thigh high socks that were making him lose his mind — were the instigators of that Fucking Session in the first place. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to take them off. Yet. 

“I wish you could see how pretty you look when I fuck you… such pretty lips,” he told you in a breathless whisper, lowering his body so he could place a messy kiss against your mouth. You gasped his name when he pulled away, but Yoongi remained unfazed by your reaction. “Pretty hair.” His hand pulled on it slightly, making a needy whimper leave your throat. He smirked a bit at that, but quickly grew serious once more. He didn’t know if he wanted to make love to you, or if he wanted to fuck you so hard that you wouldn’t walk for the rest of the holidays. Probably both. “Pretty neck…”

Yoongi leaned in and attacked your neck for the second time that night, loving the way that your skin was already marked by his previous actions. His tongue came out between his lips, licking the bruises and tracing patterns on your skin, making you moan out as your nails scratched down his back. You two hadn’t opened presents yet, but, if that was his, he was beyond satisfied. 

“Y-Yoongi, you feel so good in me,” you cried out. The sensation of his cock pumping inside you was intoxicating, your eyes rolling back as he placed his hands beneath your thighs and angled your hips upwards, mouth never leaving your neck. The new position got the tip of his cock ramming against your sweet spot, legs starting to tremble as your pleasure increased exponentially. “God, right there, Yoongi, don’t stop—” 

“You’re getting so fucking tight around my cock,” he breathed out, nails digging against your skin. Finally, Yoongi found the force within him to move away from your neck, staring at the beautiful art he had imprinted on your flesh — shades of purple and red blooming on your skin — and then meeting your gaze once more. There, he saw the sparkles of desperation and desire that he loved so much; a small tear at the corner of one of them. 

You were the most stunning thing he had ever seen. 

All of you signaled him that you were close: the blush on your cheeks, the loudness of your whimpers, the vague roll of your eyes and perking of your hips every time he slammed back against your throbbing core. Yoongi wished that he could have this image forever, the perfection of your features making his heart melt inside his chest. He loved you so much that it was almost painful. 

One of his hands left your thighs, brushing up your exposed midriff and grabbing your breast before, at last, finding its way around your beautiful neck. Your eyes widened at the hidden meaning of his action, your tongue coming out to lick your lips in anticipation. “Do you want your present, baby?” 

You couldn’t nod fast enough, your orgasm loudly creeping up on your spine. The sounds of your wetness were filling the living room air, almost winning against the stupid, off-tune karaoke version of “Last Christmas” that you convinced your boyfriend to play. “Please,” you gasped. 

If Yoongi felt the way you clenched around him, he didn’t show it. “Please what, baby?” He teased, just slightly pressing on the sides of your neck before letting it go. “Use your words so I know what you want.” 

“Please, Yoongi, choke me.” You bit your lip, fighting against the guttural moan that almost escaped you. You were so, so on edge. It felt like your entire body was in overdrive; sweat accumulating between your breasts, on your nape; your heartbeat echoing inside your ears and lungs unable to expand fast enough. You just needed a bit more to tilt you over. “Please, please, I’m so close.” 

Because it was Christmas and Yoongi wasn’t feeling like a grinch, he didn’t push you any more than that. Delicately, his fingers started pressing down on the sides of your neck, slowly cutting your circulation; his stare glued to the beautiful pleasure that melted on your face. He knew the signs very well — in fact, he knew your entire body very well, especially after years of being by your side — and so he took the front seat to watch as ecstasy was building up inside you. Yoongi followed it as it grew larger, more overbearing, until you were gasping out his name like a prayer and your cunt was pulsating around him; timid gasps of air leaving your lips. 

Then, he let go. 

Your orgasm overtook you at the same time that the circulation returned to your brain, the sensation becoming one of sheer, unabashed euphoria. With a muffled sob, you came hard around Yoongi, trembling in his hold as he continued to move in and out of you, whispering how good you were for him, how well you took him. It wasn’t long before the pleasure was morphing into discomfort, but you swallowed your complaints. Yoongi had already given your gift, and now you had to give him his.  

Regardless of how your mind saw the situation, your body still betrayed you and your legs flinched at the new wave of sensitivity, making your skirt move upwards. With a foggy vision, you watched as Yoongi’s eyes fell in the space between your thighs, widening slightly as he followed the way his cock pounded inside your wet pussy. That seemed to be the last push he needed to fucking lose it, because, within a second, he was fucking you harder than ever before. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You yelped, head rolling back against the cushions as he pistoned inside you. You didn’t want him to stop, as much as it was starting to hurt, you wanted him to cum inside you. 

“Almost there, baby, fuck,” he cursed, his voice a cloud of heat against your ear. Yoongi was moaning and groaning, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy, and you knew he was serious. You could get lost in that moment, just following his desperation as he lost himself inside you, worshipping you like you were made of gold. “God, you feel like heaven, baby. I’m— I’m gonna cum.”

With a few more thrusts and sweet words directed at you, Yoongi spilled himself inside your pussy, grunting through his orgasm before, at last, he crashed against your chest with a deep, satisfied sigh. 

A tender smirk curled up on your lips, one hand on his shoulder and the other one playing with his dark hair. “Thanks for that,” you said playfully. 

“You’re such a little demon,” he mumbled against your breasts, but his voice was devoid of any actual roughness. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Changing into this stupid sexy elf costume. Making me say the words ‘sexy elf’ as if that’s not a sin on itself.” 

You giggled at that, and Yoongi thought that was the most beautiful sound that had ever graced his ears. He almost forgave you for the Christmas karaoke playlist that you had chosen for the night. “Perhaps,” you told him. He wasn’t looking at you, but he could hear the smile in your voice. “And you fell right into my trap.” 

Yoongi grunted. “I hate this outfit, by the way.” He tugged at the hem of your skirt. “You should wear it more often.” 

#merry crisis #yoongi x reader #yoongi #min yoongi #smut #pwp #yoongi smut #suga #bts #bts smut #bts fic #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #fluff #x reader #x you #yoongi pwp #smut drabble #smut request #bts x you #bts x reader

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au 6

Heads up at the top this one is our “Last Wish Special”. It’s extra long and what should be no surprise to anyone- Jaskier does not have a good time! Please take care of yourselves as we move into plot territory.

Part 1   Part 5 Inspired by @spielzeugkaiser art here And Also now on Ao3 cause that’s probably easier for everyone.

Sometimes, when Geralt got hurt, he’d use his shapes against him.

Help was the word he’d use. To help him. But if Geralt preferred to think of him using his shapes against him then so be it.

“Get off me Jaskier.”

He looked down his snout at Geralt and grumbled his reply before returning to his composing. They would at very least wait until the bleeding stopped to ride back. Since Geralt insisted the injuries were not so grievous as to require proper attention.

He might very well have been right about that. Which meant they could afford to wait for it to stop before returning for the reward.

If Geralt wanted to treat his wounds then he’d let him. But he wasn’t going to let him ride off and make everything worse because he was a stubborn ass. That was Jaskier’s job. Being a stubborn ass. Not that he made a habit of being farm animals. The risk it would sour him to the taste of their meat was far too great. He refused to be vegetarian. Grass just did not taste very good. No matter what Roach claimed.

“Jaskier get off me or I will throw you off.”

He shifted more of his near 400 pound weight onto Geralt’s torso to demonstrate exactly what he thought about that.

“I can.” He growled.

He puffed up his fur telling him exactly what would happen if he tried.

He had bigger forms yet. If that’s how he wanted to play- well. He wouldn’t bet on Geralt winning. Witcher enhancements be damned.

Geralt, seemingly having realized this, ceased his struggling and ventured a new tactic.

Insulting him.

Which got him grumbling and growling at Geralt. But didn’t get him off him. Geralt knew well enough what he was saying. He didn’t need to transform to express his displeasure.

Geralt, a versatile and clever man, switch tactics yet again.

Reciting history facts but slightly wrong- the year was 1123 and he was a duke not a prince Geralt- asking questions about agriculture – cereal crops deplete the soil of nitrogen. Legumes fix this. A fallow field is left for weeds and grazing. The three fields are rotated. Together this system allows farmers to plant more crops and increase production. – and finally just asking him to play for him.

He, personally, admitted that his bear vocals left something to be desired but he didn’t let that stop him from belting out a few heavily modified versions of his favorite tunes.

Geralt covered his ears and glared at him.

It was only after three verses of Fishmonger’s daughter that he finally popped down into his human shape to do the finale justice.

Geralt shoved him off breaking his sustained note.

“Rude.” He squawked from the dirt as Geralt stood.

“I stopped bleeding three songs ago!” He growled at him.

“I’m well aware.” He grinned. “But I do so enjoy a captive audience.”

Geralt threw the bedroll at his head. Which did hit him. But he managed to catch it on the rebound, which counted as a win in his books.

“I don’t need you mothering me bard.”

“Is that what you think this is? I’m trying to keep Nenneke from murdering me next time you need her services. The woman terrifies me Geralt.”

She did. A little. Not in the way he suspected she expected to be feared though.

It was because her eyes always held too many questions about why he’d arrived before Geralt, knowing exactly the condition of the man’s wounds, even though he lacked a horse while Geralt road in on Roach.

He’d fly ahead, unhampered by the twisting of the roads, and set them to prepare for Geralt’s arrival. Or, when the situation was far graver, have them send a cart to meet him. Transforming on the road just outside of the temples view.

His skin itched when she stared at him too long. Like she almost knew what he was and if she watched him closely enough she might figure it out.

Luckily, “I mean the woman already hates me Geralt.” She was easy to annoy into not looking closely. “No need to worsen her to me by damaging the one reason she even tolerates my presence at the temple.”

If all she wanted to see was an airheaded flop of a bard that was all he would show her. Staying within the confines of expectations worked well enough to keep people from digging.

“She does hate you.” Geralt agreed with a smirk. Pleased he’d befriended someone Jaskier had not.

“Naaaah deep down she likes me.”

Geralt bobbed his head, half conceding the point.

People were complicated like that. She hated Most of him. But she liked that he cared about Geralt. Even if she didn’t always agree with how he cared about Geralt.

With how they cared for each other.

So maybe he shouldn’t have poked the insomniatic bear that was Geralt as he dredged up the lake at Rinde. But he was a bear often enough and he didn’t mind being poked. Sometimes Geralt needed to buck up and face his problems head on!

Then his throat started closing.

Which was scary. Sure. But there were plenty of forms that didn’t need his throat to breath. He’d play catfish or pike or bream or – he was just listing fish again- something while Geralt sorted out the curse the djinn smacked him with.

Except.

Except none of them would come.

He tried to shift bigger and his skin pulled too tight like it was yanking away from the muscle and he tried to shift down and his organs compressed in his chest. And he was left folded over in pain from his throat and his lungs and from being trapped.

Trapped in one form. Perhaps forever.

“Can you shift?” Geralt asked him, looking between him and Roach. Debating.

He managed a ragged sob that Geralt translated as the ‘no’ it was.

There was the bumpy ride on Roach- poor girl they weighed far too much together- and the elf with the painkillers – which helped a little. But the world continued its painful descent into darkness.

Geralt was scruffing him by the doublet. Dragging his limp form. Somewhere. He liked being scruffed. It reminded him of the old mouser in the kitchen who’d claimed him as kin when he was barely a boy. Whenever he got in trouble, or was lonely, or scared he’d just run to the old tom and pop down into a kitten. Instantly be scruffed and pulled under the cabinet for a bath and cuddle.

Scruffing meant that soon everything would be okay. He was in pain and terrified but soon. Soon everything would be alright.

 Everything was not alright.

There was a very scary woman with an amphora on her belly and-

And she was a mage.

A powerful mage.

Something in him was singing. Singing at her notice. Her attention.

He didn’t much like that part of him.

His knees near buckled under him as she gripped his nethers and pressed a knife to his throat.

“If you want to keep all you have familiar,” She squeezed him tighter. The singing and terror crescendo-ing in his ears. What do you want me to be? It sung, heart racing in his chest. “Make a damn wish.”

He reached. Reached for. Something. Some shape that would get her away. Small or big or cute or monsterous or something.

Her magic threw him to the floor and it crackled over his skin- she wants you to be human so that is what you shall be – lighting up every nerve with delicious power – do as she says. So that the powerful one might keep you – and burning the tapestry of thread he didn’t know was woven underneath his skin.

“Make your damn wish! Do it now!”

This one is better. Powerful. Be what she wants. “I don’t- I don’t know!” Lightning ran through his veins and fire blazed through his chest and- and- Be her’s. Wish to be hers. Exalted one.

He didn’t want that.

“I wish very much to leave this place forever!”

She turned from him, the burning fading. The singing loud in his ears. Scolding, screaming, begging him to go back to her as he scrambled from the building.

And Geralt was there.

Geralt was alive.

Geralt left him to that witch.

“Jaskier. You’re okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” He fumed.

The singing was quieter now. The smoldering in his chest easing next to Geralt-

Geralt was going back inside.

The building collapsing.

“She could not have survived it.” The elf from earlier- Chireadan- said.

There was coldness in the shape of the lightning flowing through his veins. Ashes in the stitching of his soul where Geralt once resided.

“Why did Geralt go in there? It doesn’t make any sense. What, to save a mad fucking witch?”

“Because she was magnificent.”

She was. The song wept.

His knees hit the ground, the pain of the gravel collision distant, over the shapeless void that pulled him to nothing.

“What am I supposed to do now, hm?” What would be left when this form collapsed into the emptiness in his chest? “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

You should have died with him.

No.

“I’m gonna write you. The best song. So that everyone remembers who you were, what we did, everything we saw.” There was a lifetime there. In the spaces they shared. Not a human lifespan perhaps. But it wasn’t like he was human anyway. “And I will sing it. For the rest of my days.”

“He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.”

A joke. Between him and a dead man.

If he wanted to correct him he should have stayed alive.

Chireadan knelt before him, laying a hand on his shoulder. A tiny beat of comfort in a symphony of pain.

“They’re alive.”

They were very alive.

He ran his fingers down Roach’s neck, unsure how he was supposed to feel.

Relief that Geralt was alive? Jealously that he’d gone to Yennefer? Jealously she choose him over you?

Anger?

Joy?

Hollow. He felt hollow.

Roach nudged him.

He was nearly draped over her.

He wanted that old tom cat to scruff him and pull him under the cabinet. To lick and squish and purr him back to whole.

What would he be if he shifted now?

Nothing. It called to him that nothing.

Nothing wasn’t a shape. Nothing wasn’t Jaskier. Jaskier wasn’t nothing.

Still it called to him.

Roach lipped at a saddlebag. The one he’d nested in as his wing healed.

He shoved his bloody shirt in as a makeshift nest and fluttered in.

If Geralt wanted his peace he could dump him on the side of the road.

Until then. He breathed in the way the leather bag blended Roach and Geralt into itself and fell asleep.

 He drifted back to the shores of sleep welcomed by the gentlest smoothing of his feathers.

He readjusted, further nesting into the callouses of Geralt’s hand.

“I thought.” The pain in Geralt’s hesitating voice forced his eyes open. “That the djinn took your voice and your shifting from you.”

Geralt was laying down on their bedroll watching him with those big sad eyes. Which hurt.

But not as much as the fact Geralt had stopped petting him. He shifted into Geralt’s petting hand demanding he get back to work with a sharp chirp.

Geralt resumed his gentle stroking, lips twitching slightly upward. “So bossy.” He complained.

They laid there as the sun went down; quiet and exhausted.

“We used to do this a lot. When your wing was broken. It was nice.”

He softly trilled an agreement.

“I could smell you on Roach when I got back you know? I thought you had left. I understand if you’d left. After what I did.”

He blinked tiredly at Geralt before standing to shift up. He didn’t want to have this conversation now but if Geralt did then. Well then they’d have it now.

“Don’t.” Geralt’s hands shifted slightly, like they were caging him in. They weren’t. He knew he could get out. Knew that if he wanted to leave Geralt would let him.

He settled back into Geralt’s fingers, more than happy not to.

“Tonight. Can we be that again? Just for tonight.”

Be simple. Be easy.

Nenneke always scolded Geralt for thinking he could deny destiny. Because she cared about him and knew destiny would have her way, willingly or not. It would he agreed. Geralt couldn’t run away from her forever.

But he did help him run away from it. Sometimes. Like tonight?

Tonight destiny could go fuck itself.

Tonight they were just a bird and a man sharing each other’s company.

Tonight they were easy.

#Geraskier #geralt x jaskier #shapeshifter au #shapeshifter!Jaskier #geralt #jaskier #post in the tags darn you #writing

[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love Pt.4/6

Previous

Geralt tugged at the ropes that were holding him captive and growled in frustration. He tried to remember the fight that had led to this cave. The farmer, the crops… the sylvan. He groaned and pulled harder but it was no use. He was stuck.

“This is the part where we escape.” Jaskier half laughed behind him, sounding far too calm for someone who had been captured by a devil and their elves.

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled. “Why are you still here?”

The shifter could have escaped. The ropes weren’t made from dimeritium so Jaskier could have shifted into something smaller and ran away. The blithering idiot was still here because he wanted to be. No wonder he sounded like a cat that had gotten the cream.

Geralt decided that he needed to reevaluate his choice in friends.

“Well as a human, I couldn’t possibly break free.” Jaskier said pointedly. “Oh hello, who are—”

Jaskier’s cheery greeting was cut off by the she-elf punching him in the gut. She spat out angrily in Elder.

“Beast? Really? Wow.” Jaskier muttered. “Never heard that one before. Oi! That’s my lute. Give that back. Quick. Geralt. Do your, your witchering-”

A second elf had Jaskier’s lute and by the sounds of it was starting to strum haphazardly on the strings. Jaskier was squirming against the ties but still not shifting.

Geralt knew that Jaskier was cautious about his abilities. As far as Geralt was aware, no one else knew that Jaskier was a shifter, apart from his estranged family. Geralt supposed that Jaskier’s childhood had taught him that his abilities were something to be feared, that humans would see him as a freak, that he would be hurt and imprisoned.

So why had Jaskier shown Geralt so easily?

Why had he trusted a monster slayer of all people?

Maybe his self-preservation instinct was just that low. He could save himself and his lute by shifting. He could probably save Geralt too.

Bloody bard.

“Does Mister Fuzzball not want to help?” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier grumbled something under his breath and elbowed Geralt in the back.

The elf had had enough of their bickering and yelled at them to shut up, so naturally Jaskier just had to talk back. Geralt was losing his patience with the bard, this would have all been so much easier if he would just shift! He silently vowed to only let Jaskier join him on hunts again if he was in a less fragile form. Fighting monsters as a wolf was one thing but as a human bard? Not so useful.

“Do you want to die right now?” The elf asked bitterly.

“As opposed to later?” Geralt shot back.

“No, please, not the lu —” Jaskier grunted as the she-elf kicked him in the chest. Geralt felt the impact and Jaskier pushed against his back. The sound of lute strings twanged in the cave in time with the kick.

“Leave off!” Geralt growled, pulling again at the ropes. If Jaskier wasn’t going to help himself then it was up to Geralt to defend them. “He’s just a bard.” He lied.

It didn’t help, much. The elf turned her attacks on Geralt but at least she was leaving Jaskier alone. The same could not be said about the bard’s lute, the first fatality of their adventure.

Jaskier, forgetting his reluctance to shift, decided to challenge the elf. The feral little shit.

He was far too chatty as a human. Geralt really should have expected that. Even as an animal he was constantly purring, or whining, or chattering away as whatever animal he’d decided on. If he wasn’t vocalising his thoughts then he would let Geralt know what he was thinking by clawing, biting, flicking his ears or tail, or licking him in the face. There was rarely a moment where the shifter was still, not whilst he was awake.

Geralt didn’t mind… when they weren’t fighting for their lives.

“You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!” Jaskier yelled at the elf.

“Jaskier!” Geralt snapped but it was too late.

“Do you like my place? Hmm?” The elf knelt down next to Geralt. She smirked as she tucked a finger under his chin. “Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?”

Geralt seized the opportunity and head butted her. She fell back and Jaskier cheered, cackling as he threw insults back at the elf, but the ferocious elf stayed down. Geralt hadn’t been expecting that. He’d hit her hard enough to knock her away but not hard enough to seriously damage her. It had been self-defence. He wasn’t in the habit of hunting elves.

“Wait, what’s wrong with her?” Jaskier’s voice changed from jeering to concerned in a heartbeat.

Geralt smiled faintly at that. Of course Jaskier would feel sympathy for their captures.

“She’s sick.” A new voice spat, instantly commanding the room.

He was in charge then.

Filavandrel. He was an interesting person, Geralt thought. He cared deeply for those under his protection but his own pride stopped him from really being able to help them. He let the sylvan steal grain for them but did nothing to save his species in the long term, and for elves, long term was what mattered. Human lifespans were but a heartbeat to them.

Torque was ironically the most human out of all them. He displayed compassion, the best side of humanity. He cared for both the elves and the humans that they stole from. He protested at Toruviel’s attacks and Geralt almost felt bad for breaking one of his horns… almost. The act had been to defend both his life and Jaskier’s. He wouldn’t regret that.

“What’s two humans in the ground when countless elves have died?” Toruviel spat.

Jaskier’s melodic laugh rang out in the cave, silencing her bitter words.

“Right well. You have something to learn about making assumptions, elf.” Jaskier’s said cheerfully.

The bastard was enjoying this.

“This one” Geralt felt Jaskier wiggle behind him. “is a witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

“Shut up, human.” Toruviel snapped.

“And I!” Jaskier ignored her “am only human-ish.”

“Human-ish?” The she-elf hissed.

Geralt smirked. “Finally going to lend a hand, bard?”

“Honestly, dear witcher, I thought you would have gotten us out by now. Clearly I overestimated your abilities.” Jaskier teased him with laughter in his voice.

“Just fucking shift.” Geralt groaned. Once Jaskier was loose, Geralt would be able to free himself.

There was a familiar crack of bones and the ropes went slack around his chest. The elves in the room were visibly shocked as Jaskier shifted. Geralt was finally able to turn around to check on his friend, he laughed when he saw the pile of clothes where Jaskier had once sat. He reached out to help Jaskier out of the pile but found a blade at his throat instead.

“Where is he?” Filavandrel asked calmly.

Geralt looked up at the blond elf and slowly reached out a hand into the pile of clothes. He heard a squeak as he gripped the small bundle of fur. He pulled Jaskier out of the bundle of blue fabric by his tail and the red squirrel scurried up his arm and then leapt to land on Filavandrel’s shoulder.

The elf seemed taken aback but gently petted Jaskier on the head. “Maybe I should have asked, what is he?” He mused with a gentle laugh.

Geralt smirked. Of course Jaskier would have the elf king wrapped around his little tiny squirrel fingers in an instant.

“Not really sure.” Geralt answered, staying sat on the ground even as Filavandrel moved his sword from Geralt’s neck. “A shifter of some kind, but he’s more powerful than any one I’ve ever met.”

Toruviel snorted. “He’s a squirrel.”

Jaskier barked and leapt onto her head, shifted mid-air into a swallow.

Geralt hummed as he watched the shock and awe on the elves’s faces. Jaskier chirped and ruffled his feathers on top of Toruviel’s head.

“Impressive.” Filavandrel noted and then sighed. “But I can’t let you go. Posada will learn that we’ve been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die… on both sides.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the elf and growled. Filavandrel had his blade back at Geralt’s throat.  He didn’t flinch. He felt lighter now that Jaskier was free. Even if he got killed he knew that Jaskier would escape. The elves would no doubt underestimate Jaskier’s shifting ability.

His only hope was to try and talk Filavandrel down, show that he wasn’t a threat. Maybe he could even convince the elves to stop their self imposed segregation and help them to survive.

He didn’t get a chance.

Jaskier had pounced at Filavandrel, a large russet wolf with bright shining blue eyes, baring his teeth and a growl rumbling in his chest. Filavandrel’s sword clattered on the ground and the other two elves suddenly had weapons drawn and pointed at the wolf.

“Jaskier, stand down!” Geralt yelled.

The wolf continued to growl at the elf beneath his paws, but his ears flicked so Geralt knew the shifter had heard him, fucking stubborn ass.

Geralt slowly stood up and ran his hands through Jaskier’s thick fur. “Jask, let him go.” He murmured softly.

The wolf whined but sat down on his haunches, releasing the elf king.

Geralt helped Filavandrel to his feet. He hoped the gesture would earn the elf’s trust. He could still negotiate a way out of this cave with no one getting hurt. He just had to keep Jaskier in check.

He kept a hand in Jaskier’s fur as he spoke with Filavandrel. The elf was infuriating. If only he could see the damage he was doing to his people by refusing to mix with the humans. They were going to starve if they kept up like this. The sylvan was stealing too much as it was, the humans were getting suspicious and if the crop yield didn’t improve then the villagers would know that Geralt had failed his contract and they would hire another witcher to go after the Devil of Posada, or rally up a troop of reckless humans to do a witcher’s job.

Filavandrel didn’t listen to Geralt’s reason but the presence of Jaskier in wolf form was enough to stop them from attacking again.

Geralt eventually gave up and just slung the full coin purse that the farmer had given him into the elf’s hands. Filavandrel seemed surprised by his generosity but repaid the favour by handing Geralt a lute, compensation for Jaskier’s broken one. There was an uneasy truce made between them and Filavandrel finally stepped aside to let Geralt and Jaskier go. Geralt scooped up Jaskier’s clothes and they headed out into the bright sunlight.

______________

Jaskier strummed his lute thoughtfully as they strode back towards Posada. Geralt had stood guard whilst Jaskier had shifted back to human form and gotten changed, and by standing guard he meant that Geralt and stood with his back to him and grumbled about how reckless Jaskier had been and that they were both lucky to be alive.

“Stop your moaning, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed as he thought about their adventure, wondering what ballad he could pull from the experience.

“You’re lucky Filavandrel didn’t drive his blade through your heart, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed.

“I. Am. Fine.” Jaskier accentuated each word with a strum of his lute.

“You should have run.” Geralt insisted.

“And leave you? Oh no. No. no. no. Not happening.” Jaskier walked closer to Roach to prove his point. “You know, you’re much less grumpy when I’m in animal form?”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted.

“It’s easier for you then, isn’t it? To show affection?” Jaskier guessed.

Geralt didn’t reply. He just kicked Roach into a canter and flew off down the path.

Jaskier sighed.

He could catch up with Geralt easily but it would mean dumping his lute and ruining his clothes.

“Oi! Geralt!” He called after the witcher and ran after him. “I’m sorry!” Geralt slowed to a walk to allow Jaskier to catch up, thank fuck, but still didn’t respond. So Jaskier chattered away about their adventure. He hadn’t realised how rough the elves had it. He felt slightly guilty about that. He really should have known. He knew first hand how humans treated those who were different. Geralt stayed silent but made no more effort to run off on him. Eventually Jaskier got bored of his monologue so he began to sing. He had a few false starts but eventually he found an idea that he liked.

Geralt wasn’t so sure.

“That’s not what happened.” He grumbled.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and turned to face Geralt. There was a trace of a smile dancing on the witcher’s lips.

“Where’s your newfound respect?” Geralt asked with a slight tilt of his head.

Jaskier smirked, so the witcher had been listening to him after all.

“Respect doesn’t make history.” He answered, blinking against the bright sunlight, then he continued to work on his composition as he strolled down the path.

Geralt would follow him. He knew that. He may have worried at first what Geralt thought of his human form but the witcher had had plenty of opportunities to leave him throughout their quest.

He suspected that Geralt had grown fond of his company, even if the grumpy bastard wouldn’t admit it.

Sure enough he heard the trot of Roach’s hooves follow him and he smiled as he sang.

__________

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the shape of love #wolfie's witcher writing

[emerald-amidst-gold]

‘Tis long, and the path is dark

What even is that title? Honestly, it’s just in reference to how incredibly long this one shot is. (or could it be a prelude to smut? I’ll never tell~) 

Have some stupid men being soft and guilt laden and just fucking tender! *cries* (I’ll probably make a collection on AO3 for all of these since I just keep spitting them out like cherry pits.)

Pairing: Solavellan (... *shrugs*)

Warnings: None. Except if you’re allergic to feather pillows because this shit is soft! 

Fane found solace in the highness of his chambers. While others - be it messengers or his inner circle - found it disorienting and uncomfortable, he felt warmth and nostalgia amid the chilliness of the mountain and the vertigo invoked from looking down upon the world - well, it was merely just Skyhold and the surrounding mountains, but he supposed that was his world for now.

Nighttime was the most optimal time for Fane to indulge in this particular pleasure of his because the air around Skyhold was far cooler, and despite the darkness, he could see far more than he could during the day - the sun obstructing a lot of his vision from the glare it invoked. 

Tonight was one such night where Fane found himself outside along one of the balconies of his quarters, elbows resting on the stone railing - able to detect the coolness of the surface even through his leather wraps. The air was just as cool, and crisp as he took in a deep breath - letting it out slowly to create a puff of condensed air to which it only cropped up more feelings of nostalgia within his soul.  Emerald eyes shone a pale gold, but not from his own abilities, but rather from the equally as pale glow from the moon in the night sky - its familiarity comforting in the fact that it would always stay the same, unlike the rest of the world which was familiar yet unfamiliar to him. Yes - this was his sanctuary amid a tumultuous storm, and he basked in its stillness where it was otherwise absent. 

“Calm. Quiet. Still. All of which are lost during the day are made apparent under night’s shadowed heart.”, he whispered out softly, eyes narrowing as a frigid breeze kissed his skin and ruffled his already messy hair. 

Fane relished in moments of stillness because they were all too rare, especially with how the world was today. The world to him was chaotic, yet dull. Loud, yet silent. Bright, yet dim. However, it was nowhere near black and white; it was grey - both morally and figuratively speaking. During the day, he found it difficult to keep impending insanity at bay with how much such contradiction infuriated him - the schism of the Fade and waking world causing his draconic nature to thrash and roar with the desire to correct. While during the evening, his mind became still, clear, as a quiet pond did after a thunderous storm - delicate ripples along dark waters the only indication there was yet life beneath its depths. 

In short, he was more connected to what should be during the night time - his nature able to satisfyingly click into place from the sensation of frigid air, and the scent of earthy snow.  

“Ah, I should have known this is where you were.”, a calm, familiar, and welcome voice had Fane glancing over his shoulder from where he was gazing up at the moon to see Solas standing in the balcony’s doorway with a small, yet fond smile gracing his lips. 

Fane offered the elf a tiny smile of his own before turning his gaze back up to the moon to observe its surface once more, “You just come up, then?”, he asked with no accusation in his voice. 

“I did.”, Solas confirmed his question before sighing tiredly, “Your sister is quite passionate in our discussions; she had me losing track of time until I noticed my candle was nearly spent.”

Fane snorted softly at that. Yes, that sounded about right to him. While he was pleased Mhairi had finally opened up to Solas a bit, it still grated on his nerves how the two would bicker endlessly about whatever struck their fancy at the moment - Mhairi normally gravitating towards ‘educating’ Solas about Dalish customs and elven culture, while Solas ‘passively’ shot down each of her bits of information with his own take, albeit most was from actual experience, but it still sent his sister into a fit of passionate arguing which would then spur Solas to become more short tempered. Honestly, the two could probably be fast friends if they didn’t bring history and culture into the mix; that was what Fane observed through their interactions, at any rate. 

“More Dalish wisdom, I’m guessing?”, Fane asked absently, emerald eyes softening as he saw a twinkling star just past the glow of the moon. 

“More or less, but your sister is bright, even if most of her information is born from half truths. Though, that is not her fault, I suppose.”, Solas said, his voice dropping into a slightly more somber tone. 

Fane picked up on the guilt surrounding those words, spurring him to turn his gaze away from the sky to look over his shoulder once more. He saw that Solas had a pensive expression as stormy eyes, which looked more pale from the moon light, were turned downcast to stare at the stone beneath his feet. The sorrow laced in pale blue had Fane letting out a tiny sigh, a small frown etching itself onto his face.

“It is not your fault, either, Solas. It was an unforeseeable consequence of a necessary action.”, Fane attempted to console, tapping a gloved finger against the railing. 

“You have more faith in that statement than I ever will, vhenan.”, Solas told him with a sad smile before pushing off of the doors archway in an indication he was going back inside. 

“Hold on.”, Fane called out softly and suddenly, eyes watching as Solas halted immediately, the mage turning to look at him with a curious expression.

“Hm?” Solas tilted his head slightly before he slowly made his way back to the doorway.

Fane couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight of perplexity on Solas’s usually calm expression. This was another thing he enjoyed about the evening; the vulnerability that both he and Solas would show when the world wasn’t scrutinizing their every move, every interaction, every word. It was a time where they could be..well, them. They could be Solas and Fane; not ‘that apostate’ and Inquisitor. Most of all, they could care for each other without fear of snide remarks or ignorant judgment. It was a sanctuary as much as the rest of night was to Fane; a sanctuary where they could be free. 

“Vhenan?”, Solas called to him worriedly, supposedly from his silence. 

Fane blinked in surprise before clearing his throat awkwardly. Damn, he really needed to stop getting lost in his mind so much.

“Sorry. Just lost in thought for a minute.”, he explained with a reassuring smirk before beckoning to the elf with a tiny jerk of a few gloved fingers. “Come here.”

Solas stared at him in slight bewilderment before slowly making his way out to where Fane was still leaning against the railing. Fane waited until Solas was standing next to him to turn his gaze back up at the moon, softly closing his eyes despite the way he could feel Solas staring at him in question.

“Observe and accept.”, he began with a calm tone, slowly reopening his eyes to examine the stars once more, “Those were the first words taught to me when I was a dragon.”

Fane felt Solas come closer to him when he began speaking, their shoulders brushing together as the mage lightly leant against him. He waited for several moments to see if Solas would say something before he felt right to continue.

“Observe the world around you, and accept that which occurs within its boundaries is natural. Those were the basic fundamentals of my kin.”, he explained before chuckling dryly, “However, there was another basis that was seemingly lost like most information regarding dragons. A basis that would seemingly contradict our roles.”

“Which basis is that?”, Solas asked him quietly, voice curious, but tender as it engaged him.

Fane slowly turned his head away from the sky to gaze down at Solas, who was watching him raptly, but he could see the well of pure adoration in the other man’s eyes. He had to momentarily shift his emerald gaze away from that spring of emotion to compose himself before looking back into stormy blue once more. Fane may be a dragon of emotions, but that didn’t mean he was immune to them, if anything he was more susceptible to them due to his new form - it being far more complex than a dragon’s sheer continuity of endurance. So, sometimes looking into another’s eyes - especially Solas’s - was like receiving the haft of a greataxe to the stomach - the sheer force behind its swing knocking the air out of his lungs with one brutal gesture. It wasn’t as painful as the actual thing, but it was..overwhelming, at times. 

With a steadying, quiet sigh, Fane readied himself for the original point of this discussion in the first place. Right, now wasn’t the time for him to get sidetracked in his head again. 

“Doubt.”, he said simply after a few moments, watching as Solas’s eyes gently searched his face for understanding before the pale blue orbs turned downcast, a tentative hand coming up to delicately place itself on top of Fane’s.

“That would be contradictory, but it is understandable. It is not wrong to doubt the information that you see. It allows you to grow, to change your point of view based on fresh information you may gather that would rend old truths to dust..”, Solas murmured softly, idly stroking his hand in a soothing gesture - Fane was unsure if it was more for him or for Solas himself.

Fane watched Solas’s hand stroke his own for several moments before he gently took it into his own, lacing their fingers together slowly to which the mage responded without hesitation by giving Fane’s hand a firm squeeze. 

“Precisely. It is in every beings’ nature to doubt because they wish to understand why things happen, or why people are the way they are.”, he said, voice practically a whisper as he felt Solas lean into him more, “It is also within every beings’ nature to doubt themselves, even when others do not.”, his intended point beginning to take shape. 

“Are you saying you..doubted your own words from before?”, Solas asked him, genuinely sounding puzzled.

Fane could feel Solas’s stare once more, even as his own stayed fixated on their entwined hands - idly noting the slight difference in size before sighing with a shake of his head. 

“No, my statements referring to your own actions were born from doubt.”, he explained, lifting their entwined hands to lay a light kiss against the back of Solas’s before locking eyes with the man next to him, “Look, I spent months after regaining a series of my memories simply doubting everything. I doubted what I saw and heard when I otherwise believed I understood everything this world had to offer. I doubted myself for the body that I chose thinking it was a sinful mistake until I observed more that allowed me to accept it that while it wasn’t natural, it wasn’t wrong, either..”, he rambled off slowly before laying a firmer kiss against Solas’s hand before murmuring against it tenderly, “..And I doubted you before I accepted your actions, Solas.”

That was the truth of it. After Fane had begun to regain his memories, he had spent a considerable amount of time thinking and attempting to understand everything about himself and the world around him - his draconic nature finally clicking into place to leave him feeling confused about it all. Solas had been no exception to his doubting nature, even if the elven man was incredibly dear to him. 

The first few months after the two had ‘reunited’, Fane had observed how Solas had attempted to keep him at arm’s length, as if the mere presence of the dragon were painful to him. At times, Fane had believed Solas was disgusted by him, much like the Evanuris had been in the past. After all, time changed people, and not always for the better. He was not the same by any stretch of the imagination, and Solas’s avoidance of him had made Fane believe the elven god was sickened by the form he had chosen.

However, as more time passed, and the more Fane observed, he could tell that there was a..weight bearing down on his sky - a heavy rain cloud in an otherwise clear sky. That was when the doubt began to rear its head. 

He doubted Solas would have suddenly begun to simply despise him - especially after the various times the elven mage had treated him softly, even when neither knew who Fane truly was, thus making him back peddle and reassess what could have Solas acting so distant from someone he constantly stated he cherished, even as grief flashed like lightning within stormy blue. 

The more Fane dug into the matter through his own ventures in the Fade, the more dirt he unveiled, and the more the actual core made itself known to the point where he finally remembered the moments leading up to his ‘death’, and the effect it had had on the elven god. It had helped Fane finally bridge the gap between the two of them to where centuries buried confessions were finally given life. 

So, in reference to Solas erecting the Veil, Fane had done the exact same thing; he had doubted, and it had allowed him to accept the truth that Solas still stubbornly denied. The truth that what Solas had done was by no means natural, but it was inevitably necessary, despite the damage it caused. If Fane had still been alive during it all, perhaps he could have intervened to where the damage wouldn’t have been so costly, but he had not, and he had accepted that. Just as he had accepted the reasons behind Solas’s decision pertaining to the creation in the first place. The past could not be unwritten, but the future born from it could be used to restore, albeit in a different manner.

Fane felt Solas lean into him even more, the mage resting his head against his broad shoulder to gaze out over the expanse of mountains before opening his mouth to speak.

“I am not sure if what you say is a compliment or a slight..”, Solas murmured, more to the air than to Fane himself.

Fane snorted amusedly before giving Solas’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s really neither. It’s merely the truth. Doubt is a guide, even when it seems to make us stray.”, he said before closing his eyes to let the mountain air wash over him once more, “I doubted the safety of the edge I pondered to leap over.” 

“Yet, you still leapt.”, Solas stated, chancing a glance up at him with a somber, but tender gaze. 

Fane opened his eyes slowly at the feel of Solas’s own before offering the man a tiny smile - delicately disconnecting their hands to cup a cheek tenderly. Solas leaned into his touch with a small smile of his own. 

“I leapt over a different edge because the one I had originally chosen to leap from proved to be laden with spikes at its bottom.”, he amended Solas’s statement with firmness before leaning down to put their foreheads together softly. “I am not one to jump blindly into ruin, Solas, despite evidence to the contrary. I hold fast to what I believe in because it has come from centuries of observation - from centuries of observing you. If you had truly done what you did because you wished to inflict harm voluntarily, then my nature would have intervened the moment I reunited with you - unaware of my heritage or not. I would have killed you on sight.”, squeezing the hand interlocked with his once more as his face hardened with resolve, “And if you were ever to stray without first doubting your actions like I do, then I would kill you. As I would wish for you to kill me should insanity take my mind once more.” 

He watched as Solas’s eyes went slightly wide before cool hands came up to cup his jaw, a look of stifling anguish cracking the mage’s otherwise calm facade. Fane continued to stare into deep pools of blue despite the same amount of pain he felt from his own words. Again, they were not a compliment or an insult; they were the truth - the bitter truth.

“Ar lath ma.. Ar lath ma..”, Solas whispered to him with a slight shake to his voice before pulling him down to press their foreheads together more flush. “Ar lath ma, ma’isenatha.. I..I will not let what happened happen again..”, the words housing as much emotion as stormy eyes did - a depth that would put the ocean to shame.  

Fane hummed lovingly, bringing his arms around Solas’s waist to pull the man to rest against his body lightly. A strange yearning began to stir in chest at Solas’s words of affection, spurring him to voice his own in a way he normally never did.

“That’s why I know - without a doubt - that those circumstances will never come to pass. You won’t stray from the path because you are smarter than that, Solas. So, let yourself rest, if only in my arms. No guilt, no shame. Just rest.”, he whispered with a gentle voice before humming in consideration before his voice dropped even lower. “Ar lath ma.”, he spoke the elven as if he had a thousand times - the words like silk as they flowed as fluently as the man’s in his arms did. 

He felt Solas go rigid in his arms, blue eyes going wide with surprise, but also..adoration before the elf’s stiff body relaxed with a shudder. Fane merely smiled an uncommon tender smile as he maneuvered his head to begin laying soft kisses along Solas’s jaw. He knew what his usage of elven did to the other man. It was akin to when Fane himself would hear Solas - in the wee hours of the morning - speak the same language to him with reverence and respect. It sparked life in them as a deluge allowed a field of flowers to bloom unbidden.

“Ar lath ma.. Ar lath ma..”, Solas continued to whisper to him - pulling away slightly to bury his face in Fane’s shoulder to continue the adoring mantra. 

“Ar lath ma..”, Fane whispered once more as two natures - so contradictory, yet so seamless - intertwined from the guidance of frozen winds that echoed the feeling of home to him.

The eve was a sanctuary, but not from the storm. It was a sanctuary for the storm; the once turbulent clouds allowing themselves to weep into the earth. Fane would be the sun scorched earth, if only to partake in a sorrowful drink. He would weather the storm, he would accept its flood, and at last, he would allow the sky to clear and rest. 

Emerald eyes slipped shut as Fane pulled Solas closer, resting his chin on the man’s head as quiet sobs reached his ears, his mouth barely moving as he uttered sudden words. 

“The sky shall rest in the earth’s embrace as the moon shadows, but illuminates. Do not hide. Do not run. For soon the sun will signal the judgement of dawn.”, the words like the whisper of wind as they fell from his lips.

No shame, no guilt, no judgement. Those were the concepts that Fane truly adored about the night, as much as he adored the man silently sobbing in his arms. He knew tomorrow would bring more shame, more guilt, and more judgement, but tonight - tonight they would rest under the moon’s all - knowing gaze, knowing that secrets were kept in a pale haze.

******

(Yes, I know Fane is slightly hard to interpret. He understands the costs of the world, and accepts them. Does he support whole scale slaughter? No, but he sees that people will do what they must to accomplish what they believe to be right. He’s pragmatic, and he tries to steer Solas gently, but he doesn’t violently shove him. He just supports him however he can because in this universe, Fane knows Solas. There are no false pretenses between them, so vulnerability is a defining aspect of their relationship.)

#was this an excuse to be super flowery? #mm-hm #i don't know if i've mentioned but Fane has a knack for poetic wording #or rather a love for it #he uses it a lot to express his feelings because other words fall flat #cry solas cry #fane needs you to cry #solas #lavellan #oc: fane lavellan #solavellan #dragon age #my writing

[ask-runaan-anything]

Hurt/comfort stories, except since we always get stories where you’ve been a reckless idiot, a story where Ethari got hurt and needed your care?

I know, but hey

Ethari is grace personified, but accidents do happen. One midsummer day many years ago, the village headed out in the cool of the morning to gather fruit. We all carried baskets and trays, and several handwagons got toted out to hold the filled baskets as the day progressed. As the morning progressed, we all spread further apart, and eventually I could barely see any other elves around us.

That’s when the trouble started. Ethari is used to his big, open workshop, with its flat floors and plenty of hornspace. He always needs to be careful when he climbs trees. Well, he tossed me a star plum from twenty feet up, and then his foot slipped on a patch of wet bark and he went tumbling.

He caught himself by his knees and dangled upside down from a limb before he hit the ground, but as I darted over to help him down, I saw he’d raked the front of his shoulder deeply along a sharp broken branch in the tree as he fell. By the time I got him out of the tree and sitting against its trunk to catch his breath, it was actively bleeding into his shirt.

Not my favorite way to see my soft husband. I pulled one end of his scarf free and pressed it over the wound with his own hand. “Hold this tightly. I’ll get a kit from the wagons. And don’t you dare move.”

“Runaan, I’ll be fine--” he tried to protest.

I pushed on his hand with my own. “You lift your hand and you’re going to turn from a purple elf to a blue one, because you’ll lose all the red you have.”

That got his attention. “Is it that bad? I can’t really feel much.”

“You should be howling. The fact that you’re not is... not ideal, Ethari. Now. Stay. Put.”

I found the nearest wagon and took one of the care kits I always insist the village carries out for expeditions, for just such a time as this. My assassins stock and prepare them as part of their duties, because I teach them that if you’re not actively taking a life, you should be doing everything you can to preserve it.

When I got back to Ethari, he looked tired. I gave him some moonberry juice laced with easeroot, and a soft kiss, and then I started to work on him. His poor crop top had to take one for the team so I could tend to his wound, but I lent him my long tunic to keep warm and promised I’d get him a new shirt. I used some puffroot gel to numb and clean his skin, and then I worked a strand of scarsilk through a fine silver needle that Ethari had made himself years earlier. Then I straddled his lap to hold him still and started stitching him up.

Ethari hates being a bother, but he’s always been good with words. Far better than I am. To distract himself from feeling bad about us having to stop foraging for our little medical emergency, he settled his hands on my hips and asked, “Runaan... do you think my scarf will be okay?”

I kept my eyes on my work, placing even red stitches that pulled my husband’s skin back into one piece. “Yes, my light. Just a bit of tender care and it’ll be good as new. But your scarf will need to take the day off from helping collect fruit. I’m assigning it to wagon duty, where it can help with the final collections, and I’ll need you to look after it for me.”

Ethari smiled and flushed a bit then. “I can do that. Scarves do need a lot of supervision.”

“Nonsense,” I said softly. “Scarves are precious, though, and I don’t want to risk further damage to yours until it heals.” I tied off the stitches and pulled a soft bandage roll from the kit, then I gave Ethari a soft kiss and held his cheek so I could gaze into his eyes. “Your scarf’s safety is very important to me.”

Ahh, the look he gave me! It’s impossible not to melt for Ethari when he looks at me with such open trust and adoration. I bandaged him up and wrapped a cloth softly around his chest and shoulder to hold it in place, and when I was done, he took my hands and clasped them against his heart.

“This is usually my job,” he murmured as he looked up into my eyes.

“It’s good to take turns sometimes,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re safe now. Let’s get you to the wagon.”

I helped him pull my tunic on--it really does look good on him--and as we walked to the nearest wagon, I kept a careful hand in the small of his back. “I suppose it’s only right that I switch my duties up today, since I don’t have a picking partner anymore. I should amble around and see if anyone else needs help. Maybe with carrying their full baskets back to the wagon. I wouldn’t want them to lose time harvesting when I could take on such a simple task for them,” I said lightly.

Ethari smiled and leaned his uninjured shoulder against mine. “Softy.”

I looked around in alarm, but no one was near enough to overhear him. I took his hand in mine and smiled. “Reckless, calling an assassin ‘soft’ out loud. And don’t you dare risk your scarf again like that. I can’t have my craftsman distracted so.” I pulled our hands up and kissed the back of his. “Let me climb the higher branches from now on. For the sake of your scarf.”

Ethari sighed and nodded, tucking the stained end of his scarf under another loop of its fabric. “Only for my scarf, then. And because I wouldn’t want you to worry over it.”

We reached the wagon, and I put my hands on his waist and helped him hop up into the back of it. I rested one hand lightly above his wound and kissed him softly. “If you’ve moved more than ten feet from this wagon the next time I see you, my shade...”

He grinned at me. “I’ll stay put. I’ve received a very important duty and I’ll carry it out with all due diligence.”

I left him with one final kiss. But somehow I found a full fruit basket to return to his wagon every half an hour all day. It’s a good thing I’m a fast runner--the other villagers were scattered all over the forest by then.

His scarf was fine, by the way.

#ask runaan #runaan answers #story time #runaan x ethari #hurt/comfort #silvergrove #moonshadow elves #tw blood #tw injury #tw stitching

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I’m really intrigued by Rayla’s moonshadow assassin peers. I especially am interested in Andromeda because I think she is the only other girl in the group? Do you have any headcanons in how these teen/young adult assassins interacted? Do you think Rayla isolated herself from them because she was always iffy about taking a life? Also TDP finally colored their map and I know you live maps, find any new cool stuff? I especially love how there’s a frozen sea north and a spinning sea south, imagine the powerful Magic’s that channeled to make them.

Okay, so I jumped straight to the map, did 80% of it, and wandered away for a few weeks. I apologize, anon. Let’s get this going again:

I’ve got a few headcanons on the Moonshadow assassins! It seems likely that they hang out mostly with each other, when they hang out, to reinforce their teambuilding and to give them some socialization, since assassins tend to keep others at arm’s length. So I kinda figure they tend to roam as a pack on their evenings out in the village, if they’re not married to a non-assassin like Runaan is.

I think that could be part of the reason that Rayla might not have hung out with the others as much, too: Runaan wanted to be either training or at home with Ethari, so Rayla probably spent a lot of time doing those things just because he did them. And when Runaan was doing more serious training or missions, that’s when Rayla had her free time to run around the forest and make adoraburr friends. 

Runaan could’ve probably insisted that she do something more assassiny with her free time. Shadow an assassin, do more studying, practice certain prescribed skills on her own. But he didn’t. He let her play. Soft assassin is soft!

Listen, anon, I have a fun headcanon for you about Andromeda--and by fun, I mean it’s really angsty half a second after you start thinking about it. Ready? 

What if: Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister. If they’re both Lujanne’s children by different assassin dads who kept dying in battle, but a Moon mage needs an assassin leader partner to defend Xadia with, and Lujanne knew her son Runaan wasn’t old enough to lead yet, so she burned through three or more husbands protecting him until Runaan was well trained enough to lead the assassins himself and had fallen in love with a mage who adored him and would be his partner in her place.

 Andromeda looks a fair bit like Lujanne, too:

Along with Runaan, they all have long hair, side tails bound in silver cuffs, and some form of braids. Andromeda’s hair is sectioned in front similarly to Runaan’s. Her accent sounds more British than Scottish, though she only has the one line: My eyes for truth. And Lujanne and Andromeda are the only two Moonshadow elves we’ve met who have medium blue horns, while Runaan’s are dark blue. Almost everyone else’s horns have purple or pink as their base color.

But then, see, Andromeda went on Runaan’s mission, and she died. Her spirit was the most aggressive in TTM, usually closest to Rayla with her sword out, as if she hated Rayla the most. If she had a vested family interest in Runaan’s mission succeeding, and then it went pear-shaped because of Rayla, that would make sense.

No matter if she’s related to Runaan or not, she’s wearing horn cuffs, so she was in a dedicated relationship of some kind, and that’s so sad. Someone’s missing her the way Ethari’s missing Runaan. :’((((

Anyway, it’s just a headcanon, but since you asked, there ya go.

Okay, on to my thoughts on the map, of which I have a normal and healthy amount:

The Map Border: 

Everyone doodles in the borders. I love to see what they put there.

Starting in the upper left and going counter-clockwise, the five human crowns are cool

Cornucopia swirls center left look like an homage to Cabbage Man from ATLA

Bait is staring at Evenere. his home? Or maybe he just wants to eat the dragonfly on its logo

Human defender has a beard. Hairagorn. He's very heavily armored but has no helmet. Long hair is braided to rest on front of shoulder, like the blond elf in the painting at the Moon Nexus. Old timey hairstyle?

He’s defending Katolis Castle specifically. I wonder if the little white building is kinda random or if it’s supposed to represent the Banther Lodge. Nah, I have a better guess: that’s where Viren grew up

The crack in the map looks meta. It's been repaired somewhat. Makes me wonder if it's an in-world map, whose, who ripped it, and who fixed it. Sir Phineas Kurst seems like the kind of guy to almost shred his really cool map

The star behind Zym's egg has seven points

The two ships on the southern waters are western and eastern respectively. Tidebound elves from Singapore? Jack Sparrow would be proud

There is land just south of the Dragontail, wonder what’s there?

The leaves around the human figure are small and numerous while the Moonshadow elf has fewer but bigger leaves

The elf is standing in the way of one of the six leaves growing out of the rune rose and that leaf's curly tip seems to have been replaced with a curl of the elf's very long hair

The human pose is more offense and the elf pose is more defense. But the elf has two swords, and one has some wicked hooks in it.

Elf has 4 fingers instead of 3 so whether it’s in-universe or meta, they were drawn by a human :DDD

The elf's braid winds around their horn and I think that's clever

High collar shirt under protective layer, bracers and elbow gloves, bare biceps, complex shoulder getup, ornate hair that's butt long and partly braided, two long slightly curving swords... horn cuffs too. This is a Moonshadow assassin in the same gear Runaan's got, poised to defend the Xadian half of the map as the human is poised to defend his side

The rune rose isn't a compass. It has a two sided pointer and six primal runes. Just decorative I guess. ;)

More lettuces on right center.

Maybe a portaling caterpillar on the center knot? Little bug pal, I see you

“The Five Human Kingdoms” lettered in red, “Xadia” in blue. Giving me Stratego flashbacks. Even the flowers on their banners are color coded

Banners in the corners are similar but Xadia has more fluttery tips

Thunder drawn all attacky top center, does he have anything to do with the Frozen Sea being frozen?

Compass rose under Thunder’s wing

Dick island near the compass. Well, Duren is the breadbasket of the human lands. A most excellent cartography joke! 10/10 would chortle wholesomely again

The Human Kingdoms:

Neolandia

Capital Eboreus seems to be a lake city below a mountain and I'm here for all the Lake Town refs. 

It's also the eye of the elephant shape

Not a lot of trees, mostly grasses or desert. Only borders Duren across a couple rivers/estuaries/sea channels

Heart shaped island next to elephant trunk

Land generally broken into several sections by sea/rivers 

If it’s rivers, they seem to generate from the capital’s lake and flow in several directions. And they say there’s no magic left in the western lands! ;)

But if there was exactly one source of freshwater in a desert land, it makes sense that you’d find a way, magical or mechanical, to spread that lifegiving water in as many directions as possible so your people can thrive so kudos to Neolandia’s ancestors/Tidebound elves/whoever managed that, it’s brilliant

I can and will make up explanations for anything on a map. I adore worldbuilding

Del Bar

Two named locations. Since Del Bar’s national symbol is a serpent, I guess Serpentongue is the capital.

Hinterpeak is a sweet name. Looks like Helm's Deep with that retaining wall. What’s it for? Are there dwarves in this land? Is it an Earthblood stronghold? Maybe it’s like the Mines of Moria, and the Earthbloods were chased out and/or killed inside and now it’s full of nasty orcses but someone left a MacGuffin down there so *nudges hero* Off you pop.

Nice forests around the southern mountain range but northern DB is more arid or grassy lands like Neolandia. 

Considering that crops grow well in Duren, which is farther north, I assume there is a massive meteorological gyre over the human lands, with a southern wind blowing down over the western realms and keeping them icy until the mountains of Hinterpeak block and divert them, protecting Evenere. The winds don't blow eastward without warming right up-- and causing thunderstorms in Katolis how about that-- because there is a warmer side to the gyre over Katolis and Duren, blowing tropical warmth and moisture north and providing rain for trees and crops alike. Most years, anyway.

How does the weather fail in Duren for seven years in a row, anyway? That seems like a Thunder issue. Unless it’s a Sunforge issue, which I’ll get to below.

Ahem.

Borders Neolandia, Duren, and Katolis across rivers, but most border is coastline.

Serpentongue probably got its name from the two river heads around it

Cluster of dead little cracks spawns a single river. Looks like someone cracked the tub and it drained away. I wonder how much of this landscape has been affected by the Mage Wars. Big watery basins have flooded and other spots seem dead. The lands may or may not actually touch depending on how deep some of these waterways are

Evenere

Looks like someone punched holes in the land with a giant pencil to make it a separate island. Broken outline with scattered islands

That Pawprint Isles has only four toes

Moon-shaped island is very crescenty indeed

Are these isles home to refugees or outcasts from Xadia? Listen, I want pirates and that sea looks pretty Caribbean to me

No capital city, hmmm what's that about? Is it underground, does it move? Maybe Fareeda’s capital is on the back of a world turtle and she’s constantly on tour around the island?

That arm of land ending in a peace sign, please can we get surfers

The hills emanating from that claw shaped headland look like something is sleeping under the island, hello yes I am here for giant immortal creatures please

Katolis

its capital is also called Katolis, the only human realm to use the same name twice

Weeping Bay could be a ref to the tears the humans shed after they reached the west. Or the Moonshadow elves as they left their forest for the east. Or both. Both, in this case, is bad but balanced

Boomerang island next to the Dragontail

The river the Dragaang rode on was going uphill

The watery slash in the land between Katolis and Del Bar is awfully straight. So is the one between Del Bar and Neolandia. I call magical warfare.

Katolis has a bunch of mountains in the east, part of an old natural border before the lava one appeared

Mt Kalik is probably volcanic. It's a standalone mountain and it's really tall. Rex Ignius maybe? Oh, probably not, I think I see him peeking on the other side of the map

The trees of Duren and Katolis are different then the western lands. Softer green, deciduous. And the land itself is yellower, warmer in tone

Forests centered on Mt Kalik

The Moon Nexus looks like an eye on a dragon head near the Dragontail, and Evenere looks like a severed wing (Yes I am still wondering where Luna Tenebris went, why do you ask)

Weeping Bay looks like the most natural body of water in the western lands

Three red little trees scattered around the Katolis map. Fruit trees? How very Moonshadow.

Duren

The only land border among all the human kingdoms is between Duren and Katolis. Maybe it used to be further south along the river?

Capital is Berylgarten, set on a lake. Beryl is a stone that’s usually green, blue, or yellow in color, very gardeny

Second smallest realm but the breadbasket of the human lands. Has several little forests and great tilled fields

Being a farmer in Duren is probably as awesome as being an assassin in the Moonshadow Forest; you do what you do for all your friendly kingdoms

Northernmost land is cold and craggy, named Skall's Hook along the sea

Third ship in the Frozen Sea is icebound and crushed. Looks western, indicating no possible passage

Lots of colored trees and shrubs as if fruitbearing, I keep comparing Duren to the Yakima Valley in Washington State

Where the lava reaches the Frozen Sea, it melts the ice next to Duren's mountains

Northern Xadia:

Lux Aurea

Most of the center lands of this map has warm tones for its ground. Maybe that’s because of the long reach of the warmth and light of Lux Aurea’s Sun Nexus, and only the lands that are just too far from it are truly cold and icy. It would explain why Duren is a breadbasket realm so far north--it’s just across the border from Lux Aurea.

If there’s anything to that, then I suddenly worry for the fate of all the human lands now that the Sunforge has gone dark. It’s early summer now in Xadia, and crops in Duren will be ripening soon... Unless the sun’s magic was helping them grow. This coming winter could be rough. Next winter, people will die. Unless they can purify the Sunforge again.

Also, I have to wonder if Duren’s seven years of famine had anything to do with Sunforge shenanigans. They’d have happened at Khessa’s command, and we know she despises humans. If she was responsible for all the struggles that humans had to go through without enough food for seven years, and then their desperate attempt to fix the problem by invading Xadia for a Magma Titan’s heart which extended and exacerbated the war, I can see why Aaravos might feel Queen Khessa deserved to die

The city’s shaped kinda like an Egyptian pectoral necklace on this map, and that’s super pretty and not at all ominous

Also that’s a lot of gold for a whole city and I wonder how they got it all

The Shiverglades and the Shards

These areas are north of Lux Aurea and seem cold but not very icy, even though the Frozen Sea is right there. More thoughtful glances at the Sunforge over this one. Is it warming the land, or not warming the sea? Both?

Shiverglades is a play on Everglades, so this is a cold swamp, which sounds super fun I’m sure. Permafrost, tundra maybe?

The Shards seem to be rock islands with ice mountains. Glaciers are cool. 

I wonder if something broke those islands off on purpose. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy worldbuilding? Yeah, well, I like world-wrecking, too.

Storm Spire

Has a good view on everything that happens for miles, including Lux Aurea, the Midnight Desert, the Shiverglades, the Black Tundra, the Uncharted Forest, and Drakewood. 

Defensible position, no other tall mountains nearby

Also able to alert others to danger, especially since Avizandum could teleport like lightning

The Midnight Desert

It’s pretty big! And it looks like it’s littered with ruins of columns and dead palm trees. Like something else used to be in that great space and then something Very Bad happened to it. Maybe there was one great city where all the elves could mix together, and then it got utterly obliterated and the elves all fled to their respective safe places around Xadia. A city of black stone, back when Aaravos wore a crown? Now pulverized to dust and surrounded by not one, not two, but three primal nexuses? Hmmm...

All the wisps could be heat from the sand, or spooky spirit hints, or just an ominous sign of danger from the snakes below, but the overall effect is that the land is unhealthy if not cursed

The oasis is marked, and it must contain a spring since it runs a river out to join the river that passes through the Moonshadow Forest

Also the actual oasis kinda resembles a blue lizard which is adorable and probably also terrifying

Moonshadow Forest

The Silvergrove is the only village marked in the forest, so in keeping with the other lands and general map legend rules, it’s likely the capital/central village for the Moonshadow elves

The village is marked by four round-roofed homes between two tall leafy trees that shelter and hide them. It’s a hybrid balance between the blocky manmade castles of the human lands and the actual forest around them, showing a blending with nature that even the Sunfire city of Lux Aurea did not embrace, with all its golden buildings

It’s a good-sized forest, and it kinda stretches thin to the east but there it tentatively connects to the Drakewood Forest

Moonstone Path to the west just chilling in the lava like a blank alignment chart. Moonstone Path is Chaotic Hot.

Southern Xadia:

Ruins of Elarion

Elarion is a city, and it’s been lost to the humans for a thousand years

The building outlines are squared-off towers like the more modern castles in the west, suggesting that humans in Xadia built for strength and defense as soon as they could. They felt vulnerable and created protections in their architecture. The three elven cities we see also play to their strengths, but those strengths include magic. Elarion’s humans had to find a different strength, and they went with craftsmanship and ingenuity

It seems to be the only human city from before the border was drawn

“Ruins” doesn’t necessarily mean no one lives there at all, but it’s been emptied of humans and no one else has maintained it since

It had a great position on a vast lake, with sheltering hills and easy sea access

Sea of the Castout

This inland sea has five inlets and outlets. It’s hard to be sure which is which with some of them, with the way the water is drawn on this map. But I’m kinda liking the idea that all the water swirlies are places where Tidebound magic has been placed over the millennia, so the water can do whatever it needs to do depending on circumstances. That goes for the human lands, too. Katolis backward river, you’re off the hook.

With a name like "Castout,” I wonder if it was some kind of universal toilet to flush away things you didn’t want--including humans--who might wash up near Elarion and start to build there. Yeesh.

The rivers that flow into this sea pass through or near the Moonshadow Forest, the Midnight Desert, the Storm Spire, Drakewood, and the Uncharted Forest. That’s a lot of drainage.

It’s pretty far from the Tidebound Archipelago, so maybe its name is referencing Tidebound elves who have left their home colony

Was this always a sea, or did something that Xadia wanted to forget get flooded and hidden in the depths?

The land around it seems open and hospitable. It could be a good place to build/rebuild in a time of peace.

The Far Reaches

Open grassland with low hills

Two of the hills look like giant boot prints

Several colorful trees which I hope are fruit trees

Bounded by two rivers from the Sea of the Castout

Looks homey tbh, great spot to retire to get away from everything if there were a war that really shook you up

Ocean Point

There’s a Star rune here, and it could mean many things

The closest other marked location is Elarion

If this was where Aaravos lived of his own free will, I can see why he’d take a shine to the humans. They were his neighbors.

If he is imprisoned here, it’s literally the furthest point in Xadia from the other elven realms, with the Moonshadow Forest being the closest one and Umber Tor not too much further but in a totally different direction. If they were trying to isolate him physically with a portable mirror to watch over him, that’s a good spot for it

Possible location that the cube is leading Callum toward? Portal to the Star Touch home plane? Aaravos’s seaside B&B? Trap street?

Eastern Xadia:

Drakewood

Umber Tor looks to be the tallest mountain in all of Xadia, save possibly for the Storm Spire. It’s more traditionally mountainy, with a nice snowcap. Since it’s labeled, I’m guessing it’s the Earth Nexus, under which an Earth Archdragon sleeps

Also there’s a giant yellowish-brown dragon chilling next to the Tor. Yeah, he seems nice. Rex Igneous, I presume?

Or maybe not, since the neighboring forest is called Drakewood. Maybe this woods is just where a bunch of Earth dragons hang out? Ezran and Pyrrah flew off and returned with a crew of Sun dragons from somewhere, so dragons must have communities too

The mountains that edge the sea are shaped roughly like a stone dragon in flight

Drakewood seems to be the forest closest to Umber Tor, with both deciduous and evergreen trees, though there’s a huge swath of wooded land here, to the north and to the southwest. I wonder what the locals consider the border where the Drakewood becomes the Uncharted Forest and why. The way the evergreens are drawn almost looks like a border, a sort of kingswood set aside for a specific use. Rex Igneous’s best toothpicks?

Uncharted Forest

Okay this is a properly magical name, very mysterious. But uncharted by whom? People with charts? This might be a Sir Phineas Kurst name, which is outsidery, and it makes me wonder if the locals/neighbors have their own name for it, which the human explorer never learned, a la “Thunder” for Avizandum

Maybe “Uncharted Forest” just means no one ever turned those trees into charts though, old growth ftw

If no one lives here, will someone move here? If someone lives here, who are they? Earthblood elves? Moonshadow elves? Humans? This mystery, it calls to me

the trees are mostly deciduous and fill basically all of this whole section of land, up against the mountains and the rivers, so it seems very fertile land indeed

Earthblood elves could live here, but there is no city marked. Maybe because we haven’t gotten that far in the show, or maybe that’s the wrong sort of descriptor for how the Earthbloods live and organize. Maybe the whole forest is their city, like Pando, the interconnected quaking aspen clone forest

The northernmost part of this forest lies right between the Storm Spire and the Tidebound Archipelago, so it might get a regular flyover route for migration or messages

Yes, this forest is the most interesting place in Xadia to me, I desperately want to learn more about it

Black Tundra

Yeah this place isn’t ominous

Similar to the Shiverglades, but where that has shrubbery, the Black Tundra has single dead trees and creepy curving spikes. Scorched? Poisoned? De-magicked?

The water north of this area isn’t frozen, and with a lake to the south and a river and a moderate mountain range, the whole area looks like it would otherwise be decently habitable, but instead it’s cold and black

Is climate change a thing here, or will we get a nice horrible disaster instead?

Tidebound Archipelago

These islands have dotted lines around them, like they’re submerged at high tide, or maybe made of shifting sand that literally moves around like sand dunes across a desert, or perhaps they’re exactly at sea level with half their civilization in the air and half underwater or in cool bubbles, or maybe the islands actually float

Maybe the Tidebound elves even sank them on purpose for defensive purposes

The archipelago is about even latitudinally with the Storm Spire Lux Aurea, Berylgarten, and Eboreus so they probably get pretty nice weather

There’s no ice in sight here in any direction along Xadia’s east coast, so presumably the prevailing current is a warm one

do they have bridges connecting the islands? Ferries, animals who give them a lift across?

the islands have quite a bit of space on them. I wonder if there’s a big population, maybe a shifting population? Do Tidebound elves migrate up and down the coast like gray whales and return to the islands for certain holidays or social events?

This is probably the hub of the Tidebound elves’ culture, but the sea surrounds the whole land and infiltrates it with many rivers and lakes. The Spinning Sea and the Frozen Sea are pretty firm Do Not Enter signposts, but a determined Tidebound could get around either one if they wanted to

What I’m not seeing here is a city. Either it’s not been marked yet, or that’s not a thing that Tidebound elves have in their culture. If they don’t have a city, they’re possibly migratory in family groups, or maybe they stick to small villages like the Moonshadows do, but with even less central leadership

#asks #map of xadia #i love maps okay #xadia #andromeda #rayla #runaan #lujanne #moonshadow elves #moonshadow assassins #tdp angst #angst #through the moon spoilers

[morganaseren]

Human/Goddess AU

I swear, I’ll think of a better title later, but guess who thought of a new AU about Leliana and her female Cousland?! I ended up writing like 24 pages this time around because I have absolutely no self-control over my creativity anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Things to know:

The premise was originally based off this short comic.

No Darkspawn or Blight threat.

Maker and Chantry don’t exist due to polytheistic God/Goddess system (with some inspiration taken from both Greek and Irish mythology). It’s broken down further into a multi-tiered structure of major and minor deities—a ranking determined by power essentially—but all the human and elf deities tend to get along fairly well with one another. Dwarves don’t have deities as they still worship The Stone, which they don’t consider a god, and Qunari don’t have them either since the Qun is more of a philosophy than a religion that follows any god.

The Evanuris don’t exist as we know of them canonically in-game, so Egghead never tore the Veil apart, and none of the Exalted Marches ever happened. Elves are still long-lived and have complete access to the Dales, which is essentially their kingdom of sorts.

No huge racial divides exist, but the dwarves (outside of surface dwarves) and qunari (outside of Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth) still tend to be rather reclusive.

Class stratification, however, still exists between the rich and the poor of Thedas.

Gods play a fairly active role on Thedas for those pious enough to worship them, but their work—stemming anywhere from simply helping crops to grow or even helping to turn the tides of a war—is often unseen. Very few among the faithful rarely ever get to see a deity in person.

Relationships with mortals and gods do occur—and children are born through such unions—but it isn’t considered official unless a courtship ritual is completed, where the mortal partner would be granted the same divine protection of the god and allowed access into the immortal world. That becomes relevant much later in the story.

In this AU, Leliana’s human (she’s 15 when she first meets Niamh, but nothing intimate between them happens until she’s well above age) while Niamh’s a goddess.

Like all my other AUs, this isn’t finished yet. There is a small intimate scene way down beneath the cut, but it’s nothing explicit. Still, if you’re interested so far, check out the additional content below!

Leliana had always been blessed, others had said, but it was not by simple chance.

She was born to a widowed mother—Oisine—who worked to provide for her child’s happiness so that she might one day have a better life than her. For such love and care, however, Leliana wanted to be able to return it one day. Perhaps beyond their quaint cottage by the sea, she could someday buy her mother the riches and luxury she so clearly deserved.

It was also—were she to admit it to herself—a wish of her own desires, for she had always yearned for more than just a simple life.

One day, Leliana wandered into the nearby forest out of simple boredom. She had played amongst its trees for as long as she could remember, and she knew the winding paths of it like the back of her hand. By chance, however, she came across a pair of black-furred wolves who stood upon a trail she had never seen before. The animals didn’t seem at all skittish, and as they turned to travel further into the woods, they looked over as if to beckon her into following. Leliana did, and she eventually found herself before an old, cliffside altar overlooking the sea.

It was remarkably humble in its appearance, Leliana admitted. Strangely enough, she felt more of a… presence to it than any of the ostentatious buildings of worship she had seen in the nearby city. The altar before her barely stood at chest-level, and beneath the light of the full moon, she realized the stone of its structure had been worn smooth by time and the elements.

She frowned when she saw the multitude of dead leaves and dirt gathered around the altar, however, and she wondered when the caretaker of such a monument had last seen to it. Leliana looked over at her two wayward companions, but one was already lazing about on its back in a nap while the other simply sat on its rump, revealing a maw full of pearl-white fangs as it yawned at her in boredom.

“Well, you two will clearly be of no help,” she murmured to herself before proceeding to clean up the various bits of debris around the altar. She began scrubbing at the top slab with a cloth to clean the dirt stain upon it, but she heard something akin to the sound of wind shifting followed by a person’s shadow falling across the stone surface.

Leliana looked up abruptly to see a dark-haired woman standing opposite of her and stumbled back in shock, especially given the path beyond the altar led to nothing but a sheer drop into the sea. There was no possible way someone else could have walked past her without her notice, so how had she gotten there?

Nothing in the woman’s posture indicated she meant her any harm. If anything, she seemed largely curious as she gazed upon the now clean altar while slowly walking around it to meet her.  

Leliana saw that she wore an impressive silvery-white pelt over the shoulders of her cloak—a shade so dark that she couldn’t see any of the individual folds in the fabric. It seemed to simply absorb any light that dared shed itself upon it. To her continued amazement, the woman’s eyes were also gently aglow, and for a moment, she wondered if she had trespassed upon a ghostly specter with that pale grey gaze quietly regarding her.

For even with all the tales she’s heard and even told herself, the utter truth of the matter seemed far too outlandish even to her.

“It’s been quite some time since someone last visited my altar.”

The accent was one that Leliana couldn’t readily place. It certainly wasn’t Orlesian, Neverran, or Antivan. The woman’s tongue didn’t linger on the vowels and consonants in quite the same way, but the intonation wasn’t quite Free Marcher in origin either. Still, there was a calm, soft-spoken nature to it—calling forth the mental image of a downy feather drifting along the sea breeze—that she found soothing.

“This altar…” Leliana swallowed hard to gather the courage to speak her thoughts. “It is yours then? I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude—”

But the woman gently waved off her apology.

“Had my familiars found you unworthy, you would not have been able to find the path here at all.”

At the title, both wolves behind Leliana immediately jumped up at the woman—no, the goddess—and proceeded to nuzzle at her face. They whined insistently for her attention, which only caused her to laugh. On their hind legs, the beasts simply towered over her apparently immortal guest, but she held their combined weight easily against her as she ran her hands through thick fur.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you. I didn’t see a name upon the altar when I was cleaning it,” Leliana admitted.

“Hm?” Luminous silver eyes returned to her before glancing briefly at the stone monument. “Ah. Time tends to pass rather differently in your world. As such, I shouldn’t be surprised to see the text long eroded. If it pleases you to call me something, however, then you may call me Niamh.”

Leliana’s brows furrowed as she tried to place the name from the multitude of deities she had learned about over the years. “You’re the goddess of storms and the night sky, yes?”

Niamh seemed pleased at her knowledge, emphasized by the smile she gifted her. “Indeed I am. In any case, as you were kind enough to clean my altar, you are welcome to ask a favor of me.”

“Can it be anything?”

The goddess’ smile turned a tad more enigmatic then. “So long as the request is of equal value, then yes.”

‘Equal value?’ Ah.

Her mother had once told her to be wary of asking gods for favors, as they would always ask for something in return. It was their Law of Equivalent Exchange. If one didn’t word their wish carefully, a person could end up losing more than they gained, especially if the deity in question felt a mortal’s request wasn’t worth what was offered.

Leliana bit her lip. It would have been far too easy to ask for the riches to bestow upon her mother, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious about the woman before her. She’d likely never get a chance like this again, so she asked for something more manageable. Something that wouldn’t leave her with regret.

“Then, can I ask about you? About where you come from, and what all your powers are?” she asked, excitement soon superseding any apprehension she might have felt. “Are you the only goddess in the area right now, o-or are there more like you?” When those glowing, wintry-grey eyes simply blinked at her, she couldn’t help but blush, wondering if perhaps her usual curiosity and enthusiasm was too much for such an ageless being.

A dark head canted itself. “Just so I’m not mistaken, you desire nothing material for the task of cleaning my altar? You merely wish for my company so that you might ask your questions?” When Leliana nodded earnestly in response, Niamh released a small huff of laughter. “Well, this is certainly a first for me. As you wish then.” She briefly looked over her own shoulder, focusing on a point beyond the horizon, where it seemed impossible to determine where the night sky ended and the starlit sea began. “You have until the sun rises to sate your curiosity. Mind you, I might not be able to answer every question you have.”

Leliana nodded, understanding there might be secrets that needed to be kept.

Niamh then gently pushed one of her familiars away from her. The wolf—a male from what she could readily determine—had been resting his front paws on her shoulder to better lave his tongue over the woman’s cheek in continual affection. At being deterred, however, he uttered a low huff of disapproval before grumpily brushing his side against Niamh’s leg. He circled once around her form after she gave him a few solid pats before he slowly trotted back to Leliana’s side.

At such a close distance, she was better able to tell the difference between him and his female counterpart. While they both predominantly had black fur all over their bodies, the underside of his chin held silver coloring that trailed down to his chest whereas the other wolf’s grey patterning extended from chest to belly. Both seemed remarkably intelligent as they regarded her with aurulent eyes.

Niamh motioned for her to sit, and she did so without question. Leliana gasped softly when the wolf near her immediately laid himself down so that he could curl himself around her body, likely as a way to keep her warm from the cold sea breeze. His counterpart did the same for Niamh, who then began answering a few of the questions she asked earlier.

Apparently, some of the tales Leliana had been told as a child were true.

Niamh was one of three children sired by a mortal warrior that her mother Eleanor—one of the most renowned sea goddesses—had fallen in love with. Her brother Fergus was the eldest and was a god of protection, and her older sister Saoirse was a goddess of victory. Niamh then went on to explain it was entirely possible for there to be multiple deities with the same responsibilities in a given area.

“Even for us, it is impossible to be in two places at once,” she further explained with laughter in her voice—the sound of it as ethereal as moonlight shimmering across the sea. “If one mortal has need of us somewhere, then it’s simply more efficient for there to have other colleagues of similar gifts nearby on the off chance a similar request is made.”

“And there’s never been an issue with sharing an area like that?”

“It happens on occasion. A stronger god might be able to force others out to establish a claim over territory, but it’s generally considered… uncouth to do so, especially if it was done without provocation.”

Leliana frowned. “Then why risk doing so?”

“To gain more worshippers essentially. I’m sure you’ve realized that it’s rare for any one of us to be seen these days, yes? Our ability to linger within this world stagnates the longer we go without worship. If there is no one to remember or believe in us, then we lack… presence here for lack of a better word. Eventually, it means the end of our time here on your world. Some of us might choose to stay here for whatever time we are allotted and simply fade into the ether, or we return home from whence we came.”

“Does this have to do with your Law of Equivalent Exchange?”

Niamh tipped her head, impressed. “You’re well-learned. Yes. As powerful as we are, for us to be here, we need you just as much as the opposite might be true.”

Leliana hummed thoughtfully. “There are still people who pray to gods of the sea and sky for a safe voyage through turbulent seas. I can’t imagine you’d be in danger of being forgotten anytime soon.”

“For the time being. That might fade eventually. While the requests I receive aren’t fleeting, they are made with hollowed hearts. The sailors I help guide may yet one day feel they have no need of me—that my name is merely superstition.”

“Surely not!” She felt indignation rise within her on the woman’s behalf, but Niamh merely chuckled.

“Your world changes at so rapid a pace that it even takes us by surprise.”

“Does it? Is it so different on yours?”

“It… is something I cannot reveal to you unfortunately.”

Leliana had expected as much, but she found another subject to latch on to easily enough. “Well, you also mentioned there were stronger gods before, yes? Is that a common matter?”

“Not entirely. We have a tiered system to judge our respective power, and it’s largely determined by how much we can affect the world around us. Imagine Thedas as a leaf resting atop a pond, and then consider the water’s surface area to be the power of a Sixth Tier god. By that same principle, a Fifth Tier god would be synonymous to a lake while a Fourth Tier would be more akin to a sea, and a Third Tier would be an entire ocean.”

“Then the first two tiers…?”

Niamh briefly pressed a tongue against her cheek in thought. “Hm. It gets a tad more complicated after that. Essentially, a Second Tier would be any combination of seas and oceans, but a First Tier would encompass every body of water mentioned. Again, this is all an extremely simplified explanation of our system.”

“And which tier are you then?”

Surprisingly, the goddess seemed reluctant to state her rank. “Let’s just say I… can’t readily determine the difference in power between a Fourth, Fifth, or Sixth Tier deity.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Niamh shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Yes. The power discrepancy between them all is too subtle for me to notice.”

Leliana was stunned at such a revelation, for save for the glowing eyes and a presence that exuded gentle, soothing power, Niamh seemed like any other woman. She was calm, self-assured, and—she waited until Niamh turned her attention down to her wolf companion and began petting it before finishing her thought—wonderfully attractive.

But Leliana chided herself for admitting the latter fact.

What goddess would be interested in a mere slip of a girl after all? Leliana had only lived a fraction of Niamh’s entire life. Surely someone of Niamh’s status would have her pick of any suitor—mortal or otherwise—over such a long lifespan. She was thankful Niamh was kind enough to indulge her with her questions, and she did have many of them.

As expected of her title, Leliana got to experience how the goddess could manage to change the weather around them to her whims. With a simple wave of a hand, Niamh effortlessly wreathed them all in warmth when a stronger gust of wind blew in from the sea, never once pausing in her explanation regarding her other abilities. She could switch between them with nary a thought, allowing ice to gather at her fingertips like icy talons before a simple flex caused them to shatter, allowing lightning to dance between them instead—a living cat’s cradle.

“They also call you the goddess of the night sky, don’t they? Are you only capable of appearing during the evening then?”

“It’s more personal preference. I like the quiet the night affords me; there is a different beauty to be found under the cover of it. When mortals originally saw me in the past, it was always in the evenings, so I suppose the assumption remained, but nothing prevents me from appearing during the day should I wish it. Ah.” Niamh turned to look back out to the sea. “And it appears our exchange has run its course.”

Leliana turned her attention to the horizon as well, and was surprised to see daybreak just barely beginning to crest it. She had been enjoying Niamh’s attention so much that she hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

“I’ll have Eimear—” The female wolf rose to her feet just as Niamh did. “—and Cillian escort you home, young one.” (Note: Eimear is pronounced “ee-mur” and Cillian is pronounced “kill-ee-an”)

“Leliana.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” She smiled as she pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “It’s Leliana.”

“Ah.” Niamh nodded in acknowledgement. “Take care then, Leliana. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation this long with a mortal. It was a new but enjoyable experience.” From her smile, Leliana could see that she was sincere in her words, and she felt wonderfully dazed at the fact.

“Likewise, my lady.” She had the sense to curtsy gracefully before the goddess. “Will… Will I be able to find you here again?”

Niamh blinked. “Perhaps,” she replied, raising a brow at her curiously. “You would have to give something in return again however.”

“Would you be opposed to exchanging stories then?”

“Stories?”

“Yes, you mentioned how much Thedas changes each time you return. I could tell you stories of things that might have occurred while you’ve been away, and perhaps you might tell me stories of your own—the ones that might have been lost through the ages.”

Her request seemed to interest Niamh, for her lips turned up into a smile. “A sensible exchange. Very well. Should you wish to see me again, travel upon the path to this altar and press your hand atop its stone. I will know to meet you here.”

--

And once a week, Leliana returns to the cliff and that altar—always escorted by the guardian wolf pair—to meet the goddess who has very much become her friend.

As promised, they exchange stories and even songs—much to Leliana’s endless delight—but sometimes their evenings together are simply spent having meals together.

Niamh had confessed that foods of the mortal world provided no real sustenance for her, but she could still taste them all the same. As such, Leliana makes it a point to find new things for her to try, and she discovers the woman liked sweets the best. She can always tell by the way those luminous eyes widen by the barest fraction each time she samples something of interest.

The exchanges rarely last as long as that first night they met, but Leliana doesn’t mind. She enjoys Niamh’s company, and—from those little smiles that always send her heart aflutter—she thinks the reverse might also be true.

--

A year later, Leliana turned 16, and she went to Niamh one night in excitement. Her mother’s employer was taking them to Val Royeaux for a soiree!

“Can you believe it? Oh, it will be my first one ever!” Utterly filled with glee, she did a little twirl in place, and Niamh was the epitome of patience as Leliana explained how fortuitous an opportunity this was. “Val Royeaux is the crown jewel of Orlais, and there will no doubt be so many people there! Mother says there are always patrons milling about, looking for new talent. Perhaps I might be lucky enough to meet one, and I’d be able to sing for them and tell them tales, but…Oh. ” Her excitement then dimmed somewhat as her voice trailed off, something that Niamh noticed immediately.

“But what?” she asked, beckoning her to continue.

“But there must already be some aspiring minstrels there, those who have lived there their whole lives! How could I ever possibly hope to make myself noticed among them?” she asked plaintively, and she momentarily began pouting when Niamh laughed in gentle amusement.

“Leliana, your songs and your stories are wonderful. I have no doubt a true patron of the arts would appreciate your talents,” she reassured, but when Leliana tried to protest, the woman merely arched a brow. “A false sincerity—no matter how honeyed—is still a lie, and I would never be so crass as to do such a thing to you. However, if you feel that you truly need to give others further incentive to listen to you…”

Niamh paused as she reached into her cloak, and Leliana could faintly hear the jingling of metal before the woman pulled out a brooch so beautiful that it took her very breath way.

Multiple pearls of varying size were inlaid into a sharply-curved bed of obsidian, which emphasized the opalescence of the gems arranged artistically into the shape of a crescent moon. Tiny diamonds decorated the scalloped edge as they hugged each pearl, and bisecting the widest part of the brooch’s arch was a simple silver pin. When the goddess proceeded to hold the piece of jewelry out for her to take, Leliana was taken aback.

“But I can’t possibly take this!”

Niamh merely smiled. “I can always make another like it. When you wear this, simply run a finger across each of the pearls, and its magic will take effect. As you perform, those within hearing distance of you will have no choice but to have their eyes drawn upon you. I have blessed this brooch sparingly, however, so while it may help to draw an audience, it is up to your own skill to further keep them there, Little Bird. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but I didn’t even offer anything in exchange,” she said worriedly.

“When you return from this soiree of yours, tell me of it, and I will consider that payment enough.” The cold winds shifted then, and Leliana found that Niamh’s brows had knitted together in consternation. When she turned to her again, those glowing grey eyes were apologetic. “I am beckoned elsewhere, but I have faith that you’ll be able to be able to succeed in your endeavors. Farewell for now, Leliana.”

--

When Leliana returned to Niamh’s altar several weeks later, she was fresh-faced and beaming with delight, dancing in a gown of absolute finery. It was a gift from her patron Marjolaine—a wealthy, widowed woman, who had taken quite a fancy to her talents.

“Isn’t it beautiful? Oh, Lady Marjolaine is so generous! She’s been all over Thedas, and she knows so many things! She’s even teaching me how to use a bow!”

“‘A bow,’ you say?” Niamh frowned. “Any particular reason why?”

“For bard training.” When that only drew a further look of confusion, she hastened to explain. “It’s like… being both a minstrel and a bodyguard to your patron. Still, the world can be a dangerous place at times, no? Marjolaine wanted me to also learn how to defend myself.”

“I see.” If Niamh had any concerns, she didn’t voice them. “I imagine such training would take place away from here.”

“Yes,” she admitted, and an ache filled her then, causing her to slowly wring her hands together. “It is a wonderful opportunity. It is probably more than I could have ever hoped for, but it will also mean that I may not return here again for quite some time.”

“As expected.”

“You’re not... upset?”

“You are a young woman of incredible talent and determination, Leliana. I doubt there is much that even I could say that might deter you even had I wished to. Perhaps it was well past time you spread your wings from here and find what awaits you beyond the horizon. I will not keep you from it. Still…” She turned her gaze upon her altar. “I feel I must at least offer you a parting gift.”

The goddess flexed a hand, and Leliana was shocked to see that a broken corner of the altar’s foundation flew directly into Niamh’s palm. As pale fingers closed around it, energies of black and silver—the night and the stars made tangible—twined around the woman’s fist before disappearing moments later into the ether as she revealed her handiwork.

The stone had been reduced to the size of a coin, and upon its face was the image of a wolf’s head—noble and proud—set against the background of a raging storm. It was an icon often associated with Niamh, who wore two silver medallions of the same imagery on her cloak, which were connected by layered chains, fastening the fabric around her securely.

“Keep this upon your person, and should you find yourself in immediate danger, simply think of me, and you shall be protected,” Niamh said, presenting the gift to her.

“And…” She looked to her curiously. “What would you want for this in return?”

The corners of her lips turned up. “Clever girl… I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that outright before. Well. Would you be opposed to offering me a memory of yours?”

“‘A memory?’”

“Yes. I suspect you’ll make many more away from here, so I merely ask for one of your most cherished moments thus far. Would you find that acceptable?”

“Yes. What would I have to do?”

“Nothing on your end. Simply hold still…” Niamh reached out to press two fingertips gently against Leliana’s forehead, and she felt the warmth of a summer’s kiss gathered there for a brief moment before the woman then pulled away, blinking consecutively several times.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Niamh said, looking at her with seeming consideration.

“Oh.” She didn’t feel like anything was amiss. “Which memory was it?”

Those lips parted briefly in an attempt to form an answer, but she soon shook her head, an enigmatic smile burnishing her features—one warm enough to ward Leliana against the cold of the winter sea. “It is irrelevant. Here.” She pressed the stone coin into her palm. “I thank you for the memory, and I wish you well on your journey.”

“I…” Leliana wet her lips as she clasped a hand against her chest. “I will miss you.”

“Likewise. Safe travels to you always, Little Bird.”

The woman turned on her heel and walked toward the edge of the cliff, and as she made to step off of it, her form simply dispersed like stardust scattering across the night breeze before simply fading before Leliana’s eyes.

--

Leliana learned and experienced much under her patron’s tutelage over the years, traveling from one corner of Thedas to the other, ever a faithful shadow. Beneath Marjolaine’s eye, her skills as a bard grew, honed well upon the battlefield and also in the depths of more private chambers.

Although she travels far at times, Leliana cannot keep her mind from the woman who is the night sky and storms made flesh. She dreams of eyes like moonlight—calm and ancient—watching her with warmth and then a smoldering fire of passion she wishes were true.

It’s a yearning that lingers in the back of her mind, and she finds that even with her growing infamy and riches, they bring her little joy. She begins to re-evaluate her life and proceeds to slowly distance herself from the Game—a fact that Marjolaine is too keenly aware of.

And from there, she learns of her lover’s final lesson: betrayal.

--

She returned to the stone altar by the sea a decade after she saw it last. Niamh appeared as promptly as always whenever she pressed a hand upon its stone, and Leliana saw those dark brows raised minutely in surprise upon seeing her, and she can’t help but smile.

Leliana was indeed much older than when they last saw one another although she feared she hadn’t grown quite as wise as she had hoped. Had that been the case, surely she would have learned of Marjolaine’s treachery much sooner. She explained as much to Niamh, who listened with quiet concern, as she detailed how everything went so terribly wrong.

“It was your coin that saved me,” Leliana revealed gratefully. “Without it, I would have been imprisoned and framed for treason by Marjolaine. If she is capable of committing such misdeeds against me—someone who she once saw as an ally—then she is capable to doing so to others. I cannot allow it to happen again. She will be brought to justice for her crimes.”

Niamh nodded in understanding. “And you came to me for help. Very well. Hold out your hands.”

Leliana did as instructed, and she saw Niamh’s dual-toned energy of black and silver forming before her, weighing down her palms. She kept them steady, and when the magic finally vanished, she found she was holding a new quiver full of arrows and a bow.

The latter was a thing of beauty, carved from ironbark so that it was lightweight but strong as steel. The grip of it appeared to have been made of white halla leather to contrast against the dark color of the weapon’s frame, and upon the widest part of the bow’s upper limb was Niamh’s personal icon engraved in silverite.

“Whisper my name upon the wind, and there shall be no manner of armor that your arrows cannot penetrate.”

“And in exchange?”

“A song sung under the night sky—one for every time you use the bow’s secondary ability.”

Leliana blinked. “Just songs then?”

“Yes.” Niamh smiled then. “I’ve found that I have missed them in all the time you’ve been away. Good hunting to you, Leliana.”

--

Leliana returns to Denerim to confront Marjolaine once more, and—with the blessings of a goddess on her side—she emerges victorious.

She takes a ship back to Orlais that very evening. While Marjolaine stews in fury below decks, Leliana is alone at the prow, quietly singing over a dozen songs up to the night sky. As the wind stirs to tousle her hair, she smiles, feeling like Niamh is there with her, listening in approval for the promise kept.

When she drags Marjolaine to the Orlesian embassy, Leliana informs them all of her former lover’s treason with evidence to back her claims. Marjolaine is consequently imprisoned—all titles and lands stripped from her name—and Leliana is hailed as a heroine. Empress Celene raises her name to nobility and grants her the title of Nightingale of the Imperial Court as her lead reconnaissance expert.

With the act, it becomes abundantly clear to the nobles of Orlais that while Marjolaine had once proven herself a consummate player of the Great Game, Leliana had bested her utterly. Some fear her skill while others hope to ride on the coat tails of her success, but whatever the case, Leliana is simply happy that everything is right with the world for once.

With her new title and riches, Leliana buys a new villa by the Waking Sea—closer to Niamh’s altar—and ensures her mother never has to work another day in her life ever again. Although her new profession involves a bit of underhandedness here and there, she does what she can to help and donate to various charities.

Even with such a busy schedule, she always finds time to visit Niamh, and they reconnect, establishing an old friendship between stories, songs, and meals.

--

Five years after revealing Marjolaine’s treachery, Leliana’s mother falls terribly ill. A combination of wasting sickness and cholera, the healers say. While Leliana assures them that money is no issue for any treatment they suggest, they regretfully inform her that with Oisine’s advancing age, there is little they can do other than to try and keep her comfortable over the next few weeks.

Distraught, Leliana turns to the one person she knows can help.

--

“And you understand the type of exchange this requires?” Niamh asked once more.

“Yes.”

Leliana had just neglected to inform the goddess she didn’t see herself finding another mortal to complete such a task. While she regretted her soon-to-be proposition hadn’t been made under better circumstances, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about something similar over the years. Even after a decade and a half after they first met, Leliana still found Niamh to be as enchanting as ever. She was intelligent, gifted in more than magical ability, and was remarkably sweet and kind.

Surely, with such coveted traits, she wouldn’t object to siring the firstborn the Law of Equivalent Exchange required?

“Very well,” Niamh said, unaware of Leliana’s thoughts. “When you return home tonight, your mother will be in pristine health once more. It will be like she never fell ill at all, and even the memory of her suffering will fade along with the memories of those who had interacted with her since then.”

Leliana sighed in relief. “Thank you so much. She means everything to me.”

“I’m aware.” The woman’s glowing eyes turned apologetic then. “I only hope you won’t find the price of this all too steep, but I suppose only time will tell. Again, you needn’t begin this process right away. As the matter regarding your mother was quite serious, you’re welcome to see for yourself over the next few days that I spoke true in keeping my end of the bargain.”

“I know you wouldn’t betray me,” Leliana reassured, smiling, before mischief filled her. “So when do we begin?”

Luminous grey eyes blinked. “Pardon?”

“You said you wanted my firstborn, no?”

“Yes, and you agreed, did you not?”

“I did,” she reiterated, her smile still present. “As I’ve said, when do we begin?”

Leliana watched—amusement suffusing her—as realization then dawned over the goddess, causing those pale eyes to widen comically.

“Oh,” she uttered, baffled. “I—This was not…I don’t think…!”

Leliana had to bite her lip to keep her laughter from spilling out. In all the years they had known one another, this was perhaps the first time she had seen the otherwise unflappable goddess at such a loss for words. “Is there a problem?”

“Not necessarily…” Niamh grimaced, trying to regain her composure. “This is admittedly quite the first for me. As such, I need some time to prepare. I’ve every intention of keeping my word, but I want to be absolutely certain I won’t somehow hurt you in the process. Would you be willing to meet me in the forest tomorrow evening?”

“Of course.” This was an odd situation for them both after all. If Niamh needed time to assuage her own concerns, who was she to stop her?

“Thank you. Eimear and Cillian will escort you to my desired location for this once you enter the forest. I will see you then.”

--

Niamh’s siblings found out about her latest plight the moment she returned home.

“Can you believe it, Fergus? Why, I never thought I’d see the day!” Saoirse crowed smugly while her little sister glared balefully between her and their brother.

“Indeed!” Fergus reached out to tousle Niamh’s hair playfully. “A human woman managed to outsmart our usually quick-witted sister! And here I thought the mortals figuring out how to cultivate seedless grapes would be the last thing to surprise me.”

Niamh rolled her eyes when both her siblings guffawed heavily at that, and she ducked between them both to speak with Morrigan—the only person she had actually given permission to be in her quarters with her regarding this.

“You’re certain this is safe then? I won’t somehow manage to hurt her with my powers?”

“Yes, yes. ‘Tis a simple enough matter,” she drawled for the third time. “I fail to see your concern regarding this. You have exceptional control over your abilities after all.”

“I’ve never laid with a mortal before, Morrigan,” she deadpanned. “Pardon my concern over potentially breaching the terms of an exchange by accidentally killing the other party involved.”

“So long as you remember mortals do not have the same amount of endurance as we do, and you allow her to catch a breath every few interludes during the act, I cannot foresee any issue that might occur.” She sniffed dismissively, continuing to sift through the many tomes Niamh kept in her private collection. “Truly, given how fondly you speak of this Leliana, I doubt you would be able to do wrong by her.”

Niamh immediately winced at Morrigan’s statement, knowing the reaction it would have drawn from her siblings, and she was rarely ever proven wrong when it came to them.  

“Wait, wait! It’s that human then? The very one she’s been talking about for the past five years?” Saoirse grinned, turning to her older brother. “Fergus, did you hear that?!”

Niamh sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with irritation as another round of teasing ensued. It was during such moments that she wondered—as she often did—why their mother couldn’t have just made her an only child.

--

The following night, Leliana’s wolf companions led her to a clearing deep within the woods, where Niamh was already waiting for her. Eimear and Cillian made themselves scarce once she had been delivered safely, but Leliana barely paid them any mind.

It seemed that Niamh had her comfort in mind, for in the middle of the clearing was a simple bedding of luxurious furs to lay upon, surrounded by gentle firelight. Bowls of fruits and other simple snacks laid off to the side along with bottles of various drinks to be sampled before or after the act. As she eyed the goddess standing in the midst of it all, Leliana was determined it would indeed be after as she took the hand offered to her.

Beneath the moonlight, they patiently explored one another upon disrobing together before proceeding to lay upon the furs and establish the beginning of their exchange.

Leliana was no the longer the bumbling, inexperienced child when they had first met. She had laid with others before in the type of hedonism that could only be experienced in a place like Val Royeaux, but as Niamh hovered over her, gently rolling her hips into hers, eyes aglow with such reverence like the full moon overhead, it was like she was experiencing such intimacy for the first time again. This time, however, it was with the woman—the goddess—she had always desired, who willingly worshipped her with caresses and kisses to flushed skin so sweet that it made her heart ache.

Her back arched as Niamh slipped inside her in gentle exploration. Like a musician, she expertly tuned herself to Leliana, testing rhythms and speeds to determine her preference, and when she discovered the perfect tempo, it was almost too much pleasure to bear.

She came undone beneath her, and Niamh swallowed her cries beneath tender kisses. As she was coaxed back down from her climax, all Leliana could wonder was, “How in the world am I ever supposed to let you go once the exchange is completed?”

Niamh proved quite the attentive lover.

Every few rounds, the goddess made certain Leliana kept herself hydrated and had a few bites to eat before continuing on. It was a long night of pleasure, however, and Leliana soon couldn’t discern whether the sweetness on her tongue was from food, drink, or more intimate flesh. For all of Leliana’s experience in intimacy, however, she couldn’t hope to match the immortal stamina of a goddess, but Niamh didn’t fault her need to rest. She merely encouraged her to curl against her side, which she did without complaint, resting her head on a slim shoulder. As she played with the pale collarbone beneath her fingertips, she sighed contentedly as lips pressed themselves against the crown of her head before one of the furs of their bedding was drawn up around them to ward off against the cold.

It had been a memorable night, and she had been sated, so she allowed Niamh’s warmth and the gentle crackling of the fire around them to lull her to sleep.

--

The light of morning washed over her, and as a warm beam of it crossed her face, her nose wrinkled with displeasure. She reached out beside her, but it isn’t fur, grass, or even another warm body that she felt.

No, it was cold sheets.

Leliana’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly to find that she was at home and in bed.

Alone.

Something within her proceeded to slowly break in painful increments, confused and bereft by such knowledge. Had last night been nothing more than an elaborate dream? She hissed gently as she shifted atop the sheets, attempting to rise from bed, and the sweet aching of her loins told her the prior evening had been no mere fantasy.

But then why had she been left?

For as much as she had heard about Niamh’s parents over the years, her mother Eleanor had elected to stay on Thedas for a time to raise her children with the man she loved. Was that not the standard among the gods at all then? Or did the exchange require a different perspective of what was to be expected of her?

“Lady Leliana?” a voice called from behind the door. One of her servants. “Will you not be joining Lady Oisine for breakfast this morning?”

She swallowed the lump down in her throat and wet her lips before attempting to speak, carefully making certain her voice didn’t shake. “No, I’m fine, Lydia. I’ve reports to finish. Please give my mother my apologies and have a plate brought to me later this afternoon.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Leliana heard the footsteps retreating, and she immediately wanted to bury herself in the sheets, but before she could begin to wallow in despair, she heard a caw at the window. She almost dismissed the sound. Ravens weren’t uncommon around the villa after all, but when she turned to shoo it away after another pointed cry, she paused immediately upon seeing the silver eyes on the bird.

It crooked its head, looking at her curiously. Whatever the raven was searching for, she didn’t know. It simply blinked once at her before turning toward the door, and—seemingly satisfied they wouldn’t be disturbed—it flapped its wings and proceeded to fly slowly toward her. As it did, Leliana watched in amazement as the bird shifted—the image of multiple animals flashing across her vision—before coalescing into the form of the goddess she knew.

Intimately now in fact.

Who was looking down at her in concern.

“Are you alright?” Niamh asked.

“You’re…” Leliana’s lips parted. “You’re still here.”

“Of course.” Dark brows furrowed, but she hardly seemed offended. Merely confused. “I wouldn’t have left you alone to carry our child for the next nine months without aid.”

“When I woke up, and you weren’t here with in bed with me after last night, I assumed…” she trailed off, remembering the dread she felt in her heart mere moments ago, wondering if she had perhaps been abandoned to carry the burden alone.

“Ah.” Niamh rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “I returned you to your villa just before the sun rose, and then I simply sat at your desk afterward, waiting for you to wake.”

“My desk?” she asked, voice raising incredulously.

“Yes.” Niamh seemed uncertain as she continued speaking. “When we made the deal for the exchange, it was agreed we would lay together to consummate the agreement. Nothing within our verbal contract stated that I would be allowed to lay in your bed, and I didn’t wish to seem rude by presuming otherwise, so I elected to just sit and read until you awoke. When I heard one of the other mortals come up the stairs toward your door, however, I made myself scarce so as to not be found.”

Leliana said nothing at first, her mind still trying to wipe the cobwebs of sleep from it amidst the rush of earlier fear, but Niamh seemed to take her silence as disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” Niamh said. “After so many Ages, it’s simply an ingrained instinct at this point. I normally don’t interact with mortals this close to their homestead, so I immediately just thought to hide myself.”

With belated shock, Leliana realized the other woman’s eyes weren’t glowing anymore in the daylight, but they were still such an amazingly pale shade of grey, which were filled with utmost sincerity. Leliana didn’t move when the woman reached out to cup her face, and when a thumb went to sweep itself across her cheek, she was surprised to see it come away wet.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying mere moments ago.

“I am new to relationships such as this,” Niamh continued, “but my need to prevent unwanted questions shouldn’t have superseded your comfort. I apologize. I won’t hurt you like this again. I cannot promise I’ll be perfect in every aspect of this, but I will do my utmost to do right by you.”

--

So—as expected—Leliana became pregnant after their night together, and Niamh inevitably gets pulled into Orlesian society while trying to keep the mother of her child safe. Every day seems to offer its own lesson as the goddess seeks to adapt to society without giving away what she is.

Thankfully, everyone tends to assume she is a woman of foreign nobility given how she dresses and carries herself, and Leliana doesn’t do much to dissuade such rumors. That those very rumors also pair the other woman with her in more romantic a fashion is much its own bittersweet pain, but if Niamh had ever been aware of them, she doesn’t voice them to her.

For beyond that first night, they hadn’t been to bed together. Niamh would hold her when she slept after discussing their respective days together, yes, and she’d still be there the morning after, but nothing intimate ever occurred between those moments. It’s... a comfortable enough routine, but Leliana always longs for more.

Before her pregnancy begins to show, she requests some needed vacation time from Empress Celene, who approves it without question, citing that while she appreciated her dedication to the empire, she worked far too much at times.

Leliana returns back to her villa by the Waking Sea before long, intending that to be where she eventually gives birth. Niamh, of course, is ever present at her side. Unfortunately, while the Imperial Court remained oblivious to the woman’s actual identity, her mother is not so keen to let the matter go…

--

“That woman…” Oisine began, looking at her daughter over the rim of her tea cup, “She isn’t what she appears to be, is she?”

Leliana’s first instinct was to lie, but her mother was always clever. Leliana had inherited the same brilliance after all. Still, she sighed.

“Her name is Niamh; that much is true. She is technically nobility—just not in the same way you and I would think of it.”

“What are you saying?”

“She’s the goddess of storms and the night sky, Mother, and she’s quite powerful even among her kind. She’s here to look over me since I made a deal with her.”

Oisine’s features immediately paled. “What? Leliana, I told you the dangers of entering into such things with them!”

“I didn’t have the choice!”

“Did she force you into this?”

“Mother, no!” Niamh was far too considerate a person—too tender a lover—to ever consider something so underhanded, but she could see that her mother couldn’t be readily convinced without more of an explanation. “I did it because you were dying, and there was no other option to save your life!”

“What?”

When she saw that she was only succeeding in confusing her mother, Leliana sighed, and did her best to explain the circumstances surrounding the relationship between her and Niamh, such as how long they actually knew one another, how the goddess had helped her over the years, and why she helped her again when she found her mother likely wouldn’t recover from her illness.

All factors that led to the culmination of her bearing the child of a deity.

“You’re with child,” Oisine breathed in shock.  

“Yes.”

“And Lady Niamh…?”

“Is the other parent, yes.”

“Oh, Leliana…” Guilt filled the other woman’s eyes, but Leliana didn’t want it. She would have gladly made the offer again in a heartbeat to save her. “You could have lain with anyone else to have a child, and the exchange would have still been fulfilled. Why do it in such a way?”

“Because it has always been her, Mother. I wanted to know her in such a way even if it was only once, but I’m still mortal. No matter what else I am, no matter my accomplishments, she wouldn’t be able to stay with me forever. I’m under no illusions that when the baby is born, she may very well just leave with them once the promise has been seen through.”

Disapproval was evident on Oisine’s features. “Surely you don’t believe that. Mind you, I may have been curious as to her actual identity, but have you not seen how that woman dotes upon you? How her eyes search for you as soon as you enter a room? She would give you anything you desire if you’d but ask her to stay.”

Leliana turned her head away. “Mother, please!”

She couldn’t afford to hope for this.

It would hurt too much if it didn’t come true.

--

Of course, as Leliana and Niamh adapt to the idea of being parents together, they realize their feelings for one another may not be as one-sided as they both initially believed.

They catch feelings is what I’m saying here, y’all.

Their relationship, however, isn’t considered official until a proper courtship ritual is done. Niamh’s not allowed to say what that all entails due to some old laws on her world, but Leliana figures it out anyway due to some old story she dug up thanks to her spy network and because she’s simply brilliant.

There’s also some political intrigue back in the world of the gods who want to close off their world from Thedas entirely, which makes Niamh super unhappy. She’ll have to do something regarding that obviously. Who are they to keep her from her beloved Leliana after all?

Then, some other issues might also occur when some individuals in the Imperial Court learn that Leliana’s pregnant. Players in the Great Game can be merciless.

So there’s action, but there’s also plenty of romantic fluff to round it out. The important thing is that Niamh and Leliana work through it together, and they have a healthy baby, and they all get to live happily ever after for a very long time!

--

So that’s basically it.

Again, like my other AUs, this isn’t as polished as I would like it to be, but your thoughts regarding it are always appreciated! Like it? Hate it? Think I can improve upon it? Is this something you’d like to see me write along with all my other AUs eventually? Let me know!

Seriously, just leave a like, a comment, drop a message in my inbox or the Tumblr messenger, or simply just let me know in an AO3 review. Until next time, guys!

#dragon age #leliana #female cousland/leliana #lee's AU ideas #OTP: What If We Rewrite the Stars? #My writing #fanfic

[gi-maeve-rose]

Dark Matters

Chapter 2: An Old Friend

“Man, I fucking hate Elf Town,” Daryl complained from the passenger seat of the police car.

Nick huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m aware. You say that every time we drive through.”

“Because I hate it every time!” Daryl groaned in distain as he watched the expensively dressed elves go by. “Those Magic feds couldn’t come out to the station? It’s not like they ain’t been there before. They know where it is.”

“You read the email, Ward,” Jakoby reminded, glancing at his partner. “If they were to come out too close around the time of the Wand incident, people are gonna start suspecting things.”

“It’s been two years, man. And isn’t it suspicious that two LAPD officers, the ones who were involved with the Wand incident, are going to Magic Task Force HQ?”

Nick said nothing. He understood Daryl’s apprehension. After their traumaticing encounter with the Inferni, and the revelation that Daryl is a Bright, all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. or as close to normal as possible. No one knew about Daryl being a Bright except Nick and the two MTF agents, Kandomere and Montehugh. Not even his family knew.

“I can’t deal with this shit again, Nick,” Ward continued. “We almost died last time. You did die.”

Nick grunted. He hated being reminded. The scar was reminder enough. “The sooner this is taken care of, the sooner we can go back to our normal lives.” He pondered for a moment. “Well, normal-ish.”

Daryl scoffed, and the rest of the ride was silent. Whatever it was the agents needed from them, he knew it was Magic related. And it was going to take a while.

Although having gather as much information as possible for the moment, Kandomere paced his office once more with more files in hand. Perhaps he missed something. Another, a different, elf involved, maybe not an elf at all? He was desperate for it to be someone else, anyone besides-

The landline on his desk buzzed and he stopped pacing to answer.

“Agent, the LAPD officers are here,” a woman informed.

“Thank you, send them in.” He quickly shut the files away in his desk and sat in his chair as Jakoby and Ward entered.

“Thank you for coming out on such short notice,” he started as they sat. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called for you in the first place.”

“something Magic related?” Daryl asked. He already knew the answer, yet he still so foolishly hoped otherwise.

Kandomere sighed. “The Wand was stolen.” Daryl and Nick stared in disbelief, so he opened his laptop to the security footage so they could see for themselves.

“Fuck...” Ward muttered, running a hand over his face. Kandomere nodded somberly as he shut the laptop. “So, what? You want us to go looking for it?”

“Of course not,” Kandomere reassured. “You two got lucky retrieving it from Leilah, and you only got accidentally roped into that one. You’ll get yourselves killed if I send you out purposely after these people.”

“Then what?”

Nick kicked his partner’s foot and shot him a warning look. Now was not the time to get an attitude. Daryl glared at Nick and rolled his eyes with a scoff.

Kandomere, although annoyed, kept his composure. “I need your assistance.” He handed them a background check sheet. “I have reason to believe this elven woman might be affiliated with the two in the footage.”

Nick handed Daryl the sheet. “Do you want us to bring her in for questioning?” he asked.

Kandomere shook his head as he stood from his desk, grabbing his car keys. “We’re going to go to her. We’ll take my car.” Anxiety hit him like a freight train the moment those words left his lips.

Daryl and Nick followed after him. “So we’re your muscle?” Daryl asked with an eyebrow raised. Kandomere said nothing and continued walking, earning a cocky grin from Ward. “Hear that, Nick? Big, bad Magic fed needs some bodyguards.”

“My partner, Montehugh is busy with gathering more information,” Kandomere spoke sternly, clearly annoyed. “And I need you because she’s a Bright. If she were to try any funny shit, I figured having another Bright may be useful.”

Daryl’s smug smile turned into a scowl at the reminder. He looked over to Nick who only shrugged in response. Daryl shook his head in displeasure as they reached Kandomere’s sleek, black 2020 Audi S7.

The trio found themselves driving through East LA. It was more diverse with humans, orcs, centaurs, and many other creatures of the like. It’s also an area you’d least likely find an elf passing through, let alone living.

Daryl stared out the backseat window in confusion. “Some shit really must’ve gone down with her if she’s living out here.” He looked at Kandomere, who kept his eyes on the road ahead. Daryl’s worry was confirmed. “What happened?”

“That’s not pertinent to this, Officer Ward,” Kandomere answered firmly. “We’re to go in, get the information we need, and get out.” All the while praying that he could keep it at that.

Daryl and Nick didn’t buy into it. There was a history between him and this woman, but they knew better than to pry.

After another short while of silent driving, they arrived at their destination. They pulled into an apartment complex parking lot, taking an open space in front. Two orc children and one human child played in the grass, their parents socializing with each other on the patio. The orc father was the first to notice the car, very out of place in this part of the city. He stood from his seat and approached the three men as they exited the car.

“Good afternoon,” Nick greeted, feeling it was best that he took over for now. “This is Agent Kandomere, with the Magic Task Force. This is Officer Wa-”

“Officers Ward and Jakoby, with LAPD,” the orc resident finished.  Yeah, I’ve heard about you guys. Especially you.” He held his hand out to Nick. “The name’s Markus.”

Nick smiled and shook his hand. Daryl and Kandomere gave each other a relieved glance. Perhaps this would go over easier than expected.

“So what can we do for you? You guys look like you’re far from home.” Markus asked.

Kandomere felt the question was more directed toward him, seeing that he was an elf and all. But he didn’t pay it any mind. “We’re looking Ynshael Cortez. Goes by ‘Shae’?”

Markus nodded with a chuckle. “Ah, I should’ve guessed. She sticks out like a sore thumb around here.” He turned toward the entrance and pointed them in the right direction. “Through that door, up the first flight of stairs, door on the right.”

Kandomere nodded in thanks before heading toward the door. 

“She’s not in trouble, is she?” Markus called after.

The three men stopped and turned back to face Markus. “Do you have relations with her?” Daryl asked.

Markus shrugged. “Her and I don’t talk much, but she’s good friends with my wife and she nannies the kids in the area. The kids definitely seem to love her.”

A moment of relief washed over Kandomere. Shae hadn’t been up to no good after all these years. Or so it seemed. Sadly, he still couldn’t rule he rout just based on a good word.

Kandomere nodded again. “Thank you.” He continued to the door, this time faster. Was it the anticipation to see her, or did he just want to get this over with? It had been over a decade since they’ve spoken, let alone seen each other. How much had she changed? Would she even remember him? The things they’d been through together? If she did, would she even want to see him? They hadn’t exactly left off on good terms...

Before he knew it, the three of them stood just outside her door. Kandomere pushed aside the bothersome thoughts. This was business. But though it was such, he found himself paralyzed.

“Agent Kandomere?” Nick tried. Kandomere didn’t move. Daryl huffed in annoyance and knocked on the door himself, the sound shaking Kandomere from his stupor. 

The first thing they heard was a large dog barking, then a woman’s voice. “Titan, hush! I fucking swear, I never wanted to fight a dog before, but you’re testing my limits, dude.” The clicking of the locks coming undone could be heard from the other side. The door opened. “I love you, but seriously. Can I he-” She stopped the moment her icy blue eyes, smudged with eyeliner, caught Kandomere’s.

Kandomere felt a lump in his throat. It really was her. Wavy black to blond hair falling over her prominent collarbone, a grey, ripped up Metallica crop top hung loosely on her torso, falling off her shoulder. A pair of black spandex shorts hugged her full hips.

She was exactly the same, except... Different. She now sported multiple piercing on her ears, a piercing on one side of her button nose, and one decorating the center of her bottom lip, drawing attention to their plumpness. And so many tattoos... Yes, it was her, exactly the same, yet different.

Kandomere cleared he lump in his throat and pushed away years of suppressed feelings (and the rather new suppressed feeling in his trousers). “Hello, Shae,” he managed to speak as professionally as possible.

“No...” A knowing sharp-toothed grin grew on her face. “...way.” She propped her elbow on the doorway above he rhead and placed a hand on her hip. “Kandomere? Is that really you?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Art by: @morphinetunee

Taglist (open):

@morphituu​ @faeylinn​ @nheireii

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

I do not post to any other website! Please do not repost my chapters to any other website unless I give you my written permission!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bright or any of the characters except for my OCs!

#bright #bright 2017 #bright movie #bright netflix #kandomere #daryl ward #nick jakoby #lapd #magic task force #magic feds #mtf #magic #wand #the dark lord #elves #orcs #fairies #magic creatures #fanfiction #action #fluff #smut

[sportacringe]

Give and Take (ch 1)

Íþróttaálfurinn walks into a bar (and recruits his frenemy with benefits to solve a mystery)

crossposted on AO3

Íþróttaálfurinn finally caught up with Glanni at a rundown old casino on the outskirts of Lake Avarice City. The building was made from crumbling yellow brick and filled with several half-broken slot machines, wobbly card tables, and cigarette smoke. Glanni had been hunched over at the bar wearing a crop top and ripped jeans, sharing a hand-rolled cigarette with a woman who wore flaking makeup over her desperate eyes. The two of them leaned towards each other and talked quietly over the bustle of gambling and static-y country music. They passed the rolled paper between them and stained it with two contrasting shades of lipstick.

After a moment’s pause at the door to take in the scene, Íþróttaálfurinn strode towards them, laying a hand heavily over Glanni’s shoulder and looking past the conman over to his companion.

“Hallo!” He smiled, nodding his head in cheerful deference as he tried to put the woman at ease—if he’d felt a surge of jealousy at her closeness to Glanni he quickly quashed it down. He was here for business, and likely so was she. “I need to speak to your friend here, I’ve been looking for him for quite some time.” Íþróttaálfurinn was prepared to use force if necessary to get Glanni somewhere private where they’d be able to talk, but only if necessary.

The woman glanced at Glanni’s face, which had drawn into a grimace. Quickly the criminal nodded and she left, hopping off the barstool and quickly snatching the cigarette from Glanni’s bony fingers as she left.

Íþróttaálfurinn frowned as he watched her leave, noting the red stained bandage around her leg that peeked out from under her black pleather skirt. She reminded him of Glanni.

“You could have waited until I went back to my motel room,” the conman rasped, looking mournfully at his smoke stained hand.

“If I had, you would have slipped away again somehow.” That’s what had happened in the last town, and although Íþróttaálfurinn favored being polite if possible, he was not above interrupting if it meant that he wouldn’t have to hunt his antagonistic friend down again.

They were friends, for all that neither of them quite knew how that had happened. Over time their goals had shifted from those of enemies to those who sought a common end and then back again like the changing of the tides, and at some point within the ripples they had come to enjoy one another’s company. By the time that Íþróttaálfurinn caught up with Glanni in Lake Avarice City he had come to rely upon the conman as a valuable informant on the happenings of the criminal underworld, if not as someone who was easy to find.

From the look in his eyes it was easy to see that Glanni knew that he’d come to him for answers. The conman had always been able to tell when a visit was for business rather than pleasure. Íþróttaálfurinn smiled at him tightly—his expression friendly but not quite happy—and led him out the door by his elbow with all the grace of a courting gentleman. Somewhere by the slot machines a gambler wolf-whistles at their departure.

  “So what do you want?” Glanni asked, not hesitating for a moment once they were out of earshot of the casino. The heels of his shoes were quiet against the pavement despite their height; the two of them were nearly silent as they made their way west out of the city. Íþróttaálfurinn sighed softly before responding.

“Have you heard anything from Busy City lately?”

“Nope,” the criminal replied shortly as he pulled a half-crushed box from his pocket and pulled out another hand-rolled cigarette, the brown paper crumpled and messy. Frowning, Íþróttaálfurinn slowed and turned to face Glanni.

“Are you high?” The conman stopped, pulled out a steel lighter, and lit the rolled paper, taking a deep drag as if to spite him.

“You asked the last question,” he teased. “It’s my turn now, Elf.”

“Fine,” Íþróttaálfurinn huffed, “ask away.” Glanni could be frustrating but Íþróttaálfurinn was willing enough to slide back into their usual game. Their conversations often went back and forth like this, ebbing and flowing. Whether they were allies or enemies, they always operated on a steady give and take.

Glanni bit his lip, looking pensive. Íþróttaálfurinn wondered if he’d even had a question in mind when he’d pushed back against him. Still, their game was on and the only next step was to wait patiently for Glanni’s query.

“How did you find me?” He asked, after taking a long drag and exhaling a cloud of foul smelling smoke through purple-painted lips. Íþróttaálfurinn laughed.

“There was a trail—wealthy socialites reporting robberies who were too embarrassed to explain how the thief had gotten into their bedrooms in the first place. Some tried to lie and claim that they weren’t at home, but every crime followed your pattern.” He smiled slightly. “And so I followed the trail to you.”

“Are you high?” Íþróttaálfurinn asked again, tilting his head slightly as he watched Glanni smoke.

“Not yet. I’m working on it.” The conman grinned, lopsided and smug. “I only really got one hit in before you dragged me away, and Eva stole my joint.” The woman with the bandages must have been Eva. Íþróttaálfurinn wondered if he should follow up on her later but decided not to meddle—chances were that she wouldn’t accept his help even if she needed it.

“Well please stop, I don’t want to watch and I’d rather not smell like it.” The hero was fairly certain that Glanni was smoking pot, but with Glanni you could never tell. It worried him to see his friend treating his health so cavalierly, but he knew better than to dive into that conversation again when he already had something that he wished to discuss. Glanni seemed to sense that Íþróttaálfurinn meant to get back to business because he pinched the joint out and in the next moment asked—

“Why did you ask about Busy City earlier? Do you know something that I don’t?”

“People are being killed—girls, women,” the hero replied shortly. Íþróttaálfurinn glanced around them, wondering who could be listening in from the shadows. “The method is atypical, almost like assassinations, but the girls…  As far as anyone can tell they’re just normal civilians with very little in common.” When he had read the initial report, his first thought had been that perhaps it had been drug related, or even some sort of hate crime, but the more he investigated the more these very normal women’s deaths seemed to reflect political assassinations.

In a low voice Íþróttaálfurinn explained that the women had all been killed after dark. At festivals. Inside bars. Always at large, loud gatherings and always with a single long-range bullet through the head. It appeared to be the work of a trained sniper who had access not only to a long gun but a silencer. Each time no witnesses had been able to see the killer or hear the shot over the noise and chaos of the setting.

“I need you to come to Busy City with me. I don’t have the contacts necessary to investigate this quickly, and I want this over with before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Well of course not.” Glanni frowned. “You have the subtlety of an ox.” The conman looked contemplative; he rolled the extinguished joint in his hand, smearing ash along his fingers. “What’s in it for me?”

“There’s a cash reward,” Íþróttaálfurinn said. He knew better than to appeal to Glanni’s morality. It was apparent that his friend had standards, but his code of ethics was both loose and decidedly dark gray. Anything that even implied that Glanni was virtuous would cause him to respond with dismissal and theatrical disgust. Over time, Íþróttaálfurinn had learned that allying with Glanni required a certain amount of coercion, but it could be done.

“Now you’re speaking my language.” His interest was piqued. “How much?”

“Two million króna.” The reward was a bit high, even for a serial killer, but the case had been going on for long enough that the local police force had become desperate. Desperate enough to seek out help not only from the Numbered Heroes but the public at large.

As Glanni and Íþróttaálfurinn talked they approached a seedy motel on the edge of town, and they paused outside a door at the very end of the building as Glanni reached into the pocket of his jeans, fumbling for the key to his room. Íþróttaálfurinn peered at him through the dim yellow light of the streetlamps. His friend’s eyes were weary, caked in smudged flaking makeup that did little to hide the deep bags underneath.

From what he’d gathered from his own sources, Glanni had been on the move a lot recently, hitting one wealthy house after the next. Once upon a time Íþróttaálfurinn might have confronted him about that, done his best to bring Glanni to justice, but now he simply wondered where the money was going. He hoped that by leading Glanni to bounty hunting he’d be able to nudge his friend towards a more honest living, but wondered if the conman would ever have the willpower to pass up the instant gratification of crime. Both occupations were dangerous, but he worried that constantly being on the run would slowly drain Glanni dry, until one day his friend would slip up and make a fatal mistake. If he could find a legal occupation, then at least he wouldn’t have to constantly worry about shaking law enforcement from his trail.

The key slipped into the lock, and after a moment of rattling, the lock turned and Glanni opened the door, gesturing for Íþróttaálfurinn to follow him inside.

Before the door was even properly closed, the criminal had kicked off his shoes and thrown them across the room. Íþróttaálfurinn winced as they hit the wall shared with the neighboring room. Glanni flopped onto the bed gracelessly and slouched against the headboard, leaving Íþróttaálfurinn to shift from foot to foot in an attempt to resist the urge to jog in place.  He hated rooms like these, with dirty floors and no space to exercise.

“So will you do it?” the hero prompted.

“I’ll think about it,” Glanni replied as he stretched his arms high above his head, exposing more of his torso as his top pulled up. Íþróttaálfurinn glanced away, feeling the tips of his ears flush under his hat. Glanni laid back languidly, his eyes meeting Íþróttaálfurinn’s. “Do you have a place to sleep or are you planning on sleeping on that deathtrap you call a balloon?”

“I hadn’t put much thought into it, I was focused on finding you.” He hoped his blush didn’t show in his face. Thankfully the room was dim.

“Well now you’ve found me—way past your bedtime, mind you,” Glanni teased again, his wide lazy grin showcasing where his smoking had worn the purple lipstick from his face. To the hero he was as beautiful as he was ragged, and the raggedness was half his charm. No amount of elegance or poise could ever match up.

But he was here for business, not pleasure.

“I did. You know you don’t make it easy? It took me nearly a week to track you down.” Íþróttaálfurinn was probably the only person in the world who could have found Glanni so quickly.

“Well I’d offer you a drink but the only thing you could have here or from the bar is water.” Grin replaced with a grimace, Glanni sticks out his tongue in disgust at the very thought.

“You don’t need to give me anything.” He paused. Glanni patted the spot on the bed beside him and on an impulse Íþróttaálfurinn sat down, feeling the warmth of his friend’s body against his own.

“I know,” Glanni said simply, leaning over him, “but I’m selfish, and for some reason I like you.” Íþróttaálfurinn’s breath caught in his chest as Glanni moved closer.

“I know that if I give you just a little, you’ll let me take twice as much”

#glannithro #glanni glaepur #íþróttaálfurinn #glanni glæpur í latabæ #sportarobbie #lazytown #lazytown fic #my fic #original #i contributed

[compassroseproductions]

Everyone Dice: Session 002 - Sewer Surfin’

Art by @darkthare

[Image Description: The party of Everyone Dice is in or near a river after their foray into the sewers. Foremost and leftmost, Alois is talking to fish and feeding them from her trail rations. She is human, nude, and freckled, with long black hair that protects her modesty. In the center foreground, just to the right of Alois, Cordelia is rinsing her hair and watching Alois curiously. She is a half elf, and also nude and freckled, and her right arm bears an intricate sleeve tattoo that resembles an eye with patterns and music notes around it. In the midground and at the rightmost edge, Shay is tying her hair back into a ponytail. She is a half elf, with long black hair, and she is wading in her crop top and pants. She has intricate tattoos on her wrists. In the far background, framed in the space between Cordelia and Shay, Zaala and Burnie are sitting close to each other on the shore, conversing quietly.

End Image Description.]

Everyone Dice: Session 002 – Sewer Surfin’ 

“Welcome back everyone to the second session of Everyone Dice.” 

The session opened with a discussion about the Itch.io Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality which offered over 1000 games for a minimum price of $5 with all proceeds split between the NAACP and the Community Bail Fund. We also talked about Black Hole Entertainment Comics who featured Lynn in their first edition of Lift Off!

(The Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality ended with over $8 million raised!)

Kacey then quickly recaps the events of session one finishing with the party above the sewer grate. 

“Who is going down the ladder first?”

Scottie: “Me!”

Erin: “Alois.”

May: “Cordelia is definitely last.”

The Party decides on their order as: Zaala, Alois, Shay, Cordelia and Burnie. As soon as Zaala’s feet touch the stone, she hears a gasp and sees a figure in tattered clothes flee into the sewers. Everyone is quickly distracted by who does and doesn’t have Darkvision (only Alois, Cordelia and Burnie do). 

Scottie: “I’m a goliath, goliaths don’t have Darkvision, what do you want from me?”

Erin: “A likely story…”

Scottie: “I get to be harder to kill.” 

Alois and Shay, halfway down the ladder, also see this figure and the three take off in quick pursuit. Cordelia and Burnie follow from a distance. Alois wild shapes into a boar to match Shay’s speed of 40 feet. Shay closes the distance between herself and the figure using step of the wind to push off of the walls. A gap in the path covered by rickety planks proves no trouble for everyone except for Cordelia and Burnie who slip into the muck beneath. Zaala stops to help them even when it means giving up the chase. 

Scottie: “Given who Zaala is, she would be more interested in helping Burnie... and then also Cordelia.”  

With a natural twenty, Shay closes the gap and tackles the target to the ground. Close behind, Alois piles on top of the figure and Shay. The party is now able to see that the figure is a short individual in dark tattered clothes that haven’t seen a wash in days or even weeks. Pockmarks and sweat cover his face. 

Lynn tries to argue her case of using mending to remove the stains from Burnie’s skirt. “What if I cut the skirt where the stains are and then use mending, would that work?”

In a soft form of torture, Alois (still as a boar) begins blowing into the man’s ears while Shay questions him. He claims to have just been doing maintenance, but our insight reveals he’s obviously lying. He’s not wearing a uniform or insignia and tried to say he had not seen the zombies around him. 

Alois manages to find an iron key in the man’s pockets. Shay ties him up and finds out his name (as far as he knows) is Tristan. Burnie tries to talk calmly to him, while everyone else offers help through intimidation. Tristan reveals he is in the sewers on a job, “to make that bastard Ulrich pay” but doesn’t really know the specifics of why. He was hired by Abigail Ulrich, the lord’s sister and in return she will cure his gravely ill sister. 

Burnie suggests the party take him before the lord and Cordelia questions the point, but eventually agrees when Alois claims to have a secret plan. Zaala tosses the bound Tristan over her shoulder and leads the group back to the town square. A small crowd has gathered there, and a guard questions the party. After Alois siphons “an unnatural amount” of blood from Tristan and it follows the party in a fine mist. He is handed over to the guards. 

Burnie: “Question, sir, do you know if there’s perhaps a launderer of sorts open…this late?” Guard: “A launderer…. This isn’t the capital missy. We’ve got a place where you can wash your clothes. No one’s gonna do it for you.”

Cordelia dumps her shoes in the sewer and the party decides to clean in the nearby river. Zaala rests on the bank. Alois and Cordelia are completely naked which draws curious glances from passers-by. Burnie and Shay are still dressed to some degree but are washing in the water. 

Burnie: “Hello Shay, how goes the cleaning?”

Shay: “Um…. It’s going…” 

The two discuss Shay’s homeland of Urtu. Shay calls it boring and dislikes the rules about how people can live. That is the reason she left, to be able to live the way she wants too (though exactly what that means is left vague). The bond over their shared travels and the new experiences they’ve had along the way. Shay is impressed by the prevalence and variety of magic outside of Urtu. 

Alois uses talk to animals to converse with the small silver fish in the river. She easily befriends them with food. The noises of this conversation sound like soft waves and bubbling brooks, which captivates Cordelia. The fish tell Alois about the ‘rotten ones’ they’ve seen travelling nearby, coming from the west. They make a deal: Alois brings more food if the fish find out more information.

Burnie: “I am endlessly fascinated by your magic Alois”

Alois: “Oh neat.”

Zaala attempts to discuss Alois’ shape-changing abilities but finds the conversation difficult to progress. In Zaala’s tribe children are not gendered and are able to choose their own later in life. 

Out-of-character the party gets distracted by how many secrets we’re all keeping. 

Erin: “Session 49: We find out all of Alois’ secrets. Then Session 50 Cordelia betrays us.”

Scottie: “I thought session 50 we find out Cordelia’s secrets, not that she betrays us.” 

Erin: “It’s both, it’s both. The secret is that she’s going to betray us.” 

Back on track, dressed, and clean, the party walks back to the Lord’s manor. Roderic opens the door, surprised to see them so late, but lets them into the meeting room. A minute later Lord Ulrich joins them. Alois explains her plan. Using the siphoned blood, she can track Tristan and suggests they let him escape and follow him to Abigail’s base of operations. Lord Ulrich is unsure whether to trust the party over this plan and first wants to gather as much information as possible from Tristan. Burnie requests the Lord find Tristan’s sister so something may be done to help her illness, and he agrees. The conversation over, Lord Ulrich leaves and the party notices he is no longer carrying the walking cane with him. 

A brief mid-session break happens. 

The party heads back to the Blue Willow Inn and finds a table for dinner. Cordelia begins playing a soft tune under the party’s conversation. Alois calls Thana over and asks for “a bunch of kale soaked in saltwater”. Despite her confusion Thana agrees to have it ready in the morning. Alois then asks for a dinner recommendation as she’s “in the mood for anything”, they settle on six chicken pot pies which she’s never had before. Burnie orders 1 pot pie for herself and Thana offers to just bring a tray of pies for the group. Cordelia is not hungry but amused by the situation and insists on “all the pot pies you have”. 

Thana: “All of them?”

Cordelia: “All the pot pies!”

Zaala: “Are you going to pay for that Cordelia?”

Thana: “That was going to be my next question”

Cordelia: “That depends how many ‘all of the pot pies’ is”.

Eventually they land on 13 pot pies for the table and some venison for the homesick Zaala (it’s not moose but it’s close). The ale is disappointingly weak for Alois as she’s used to Bralian moonshine. Zaala tries Burnie’s fruity wine. 

Zaala: “It’s not…the worst alcohol I’ve tried.” 

Burnie raises the cup in cheers “Well, to not the worst!” 

Alois enjoys her pies and shovels them down. Burnie tries to make conversation while avoiding the day's events as they’re not “dinner appropriate conversation”. Shay mentions tackling Tristan earlier and she and Zaala begin discussing the combat training they both undertook. Shay was not allowed to officially ‘train’ in her homeland but watched others and taught herself. Shay says she wouldn’t be upset to go home but doesn’t really see the need, for the moment her place is the road. Burnie is listening to Cordelia play. 

Burnie: “I’m curious Cordelia, do you draw your magic from the music you play? 

Cordelia: “Yes, to some degree. Though it’s more that the music is the magic.”

Burnie: “I think I’ve heard of that before, but I’ve never met one such as yourself, or such as Alois. Honestly, I’ve never met any people like any of you before”. 

Zaala: “It is my understanding that what I do is, not unheard of necessarily, but rare”.

Cordelia: “I am the only one like me, so I’m not surprised”.

Lynn, very suspicious: “The only one…hmm”

May: “Stop being suspicious of me!” 

Lynn: “You say suspicious shit all the time” 

AJ: “Now you know how I feel!” 

Alois gets the party back on track and in character by asking “So, what’s with all those…clothes, Bunny?” Burnie was simply raised to dress that way ‘like a proper lady’. Cordelia laughs at this response. 

Alois: “Why though?” 

Burnie: “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, it was just the way I was raised.”

Alois: “Yeah, but why?”

Cordelia: “She never learnt to question that.”

Burnie: “I’ve learned to question it, it’s just the way that things are done” 

Zaala: “I think it looks quite nice!” 

Cordelia (mockingly): “Like a proper lady”. 

The conversation shifts to the different ways of dressing people are used too. Alois is not used to people like Burnie. Zaala’s people mostly dress like her as the cold doesn’t bother them. Shay dresses similarly but is used to a warmer climate. Zaala also says the raven feathers in her ears come from her mothers’ companion, as the raven is her family’s symbol. Alois proudly shares the wolf-pelt she’s wearing is her first trophy. Shay is surprised but impressed by this. 

Alois shows off her bear trap: “You should have seen it, I caught it with one of these initially but it broke free. Now that I had some of its blood, I could track it and it was so fun! Took a few days but I got it!”

Shay: “I mean…yeah it sounds like fun. Camping? I bet it was like camping but you know, tracking an animal.” 

Burnie inquires if blood-magic is common where Alois is from. Alois just repeats that she doesn’t understand the questions until Burnie gives up. Alois asks Cordelia what sort of music she plays, to which she responds, “All music”. Alois wants a demonstration.

Cordelia: “You want me to play you all of the songs?”

Alois: “Well you said you knew all of the songs.” 

Cordelia: “Alright! I will do all of the songs, at once, for you.

Cordelia stands up and using both the lyre and her voice performs a cacophony of sound. It is unpleasant but after the initial shock, a melody forms within releasing a uniquely beautiful sound. Alois: “I’m sure it’s going to sound even better when I hear all of them separately”. 

On the topic of music Zaala reveals she has a flute but cannot play it very well. It was beautifully carved from bone by Zaala’s sibling, Veleo. Their brother, Nakein, was the musician in the family, not Zaala. Her people find what they are good at and do it, for her that is protecting people and weaving. “Weaving is a good reminder that my hands are useful for more than just hurting those that would hurt mine.” 

The party finishes dinner and eventually retire to their rooms for the night. Before heading to bed, Burnie says a prayer in privacy (Zaala takes a walk). She retrieves a collection of bones from and lays them out before her. The ceremony ends but she keeps her head bowed and softly speaks. 

Burnie: “I hope you had a good day today. I hope you’re doing alright. I noticed earlier that you were with me when I healed shay in combat. Do you know her? 

Fingers brush against her arm in response.

Burnie: “Do you trust her?”

A soft chuckle accompanies the bones as they shift to indicate “yes.” 

Burnie: “Do I have something to be jealous of?”

More laughter, the bones return to their place.

Burnie: “Alright I understand. I love you” 

A soft kiss is placed on her forehead and she finishes up for the night. 

As Cordelia lays in bed, she falls into sleep enveloped by darkness on all sides. After a few moments it parts but she finds herself in a darker version of her room. Pulled outside, she rises and opens the door, only to step into the town square. The sounds of activity swirl around her but she is alone there. At its centre, in front of the beacon, a metal musical stand has grown from the ground itself. She approaches and with each step the sounds grow louder until a deafening peak. An invisible conductor taps against the stand, stopping the chorus and calling coloured lights to erupt in the distance. A large book of music appears on the stand, its pages blown over by the wind. A strange voice, constructed with a thousand other sounds speaks to her, saying simply “the chorus calls”. Cordelia takes the book, lands on a tune titled The Minuet of Mending. She begins to play but upon the first note, wakes up again in her bed. 

The party awakes in the morning to the knock of a guard, called to talk with Lord Ulrich as soon as possible. They get dressed and ready before heading off to meet him. He greets them at the door, carrying his walking cane once again. Tristan was killed in the night by Roderic, who has now fled to The Geist lands west of town. He had a noose tied to his neck and was strangled. The party agrees to chase Roderic west. Ulrich offers a wagon of supplies to help them and asks for haste. Burnie asks if Tristan could have become a ghost, but the barrier of the beacon prevents undead being created within the town. Alois and Burnie decide to conduct an autopsy on Tristan’s body and leave town in the afternoon.  

Session two ends here. 

#everyone dice #dnd art #dnd #dnd livestream #dungeons & dragons #dungeons & dragons livestream #everyone dice recap #compass rose productions

[mrdraws]

I had a few ideas on how Maren and Miraak end up teaming up, BUT I think this is the one I’m going to go with. Enjoy!

  Solstheim’s beach was utterly quiet. Snowflakes drifted in the early dawn like ash, crusting the mantle of Maren’s cloak and her hair and lashes with frost. 

 She hadn’t thought to make this journey again--at least as a willing, autonomous individual, and not a kicking and screaming hostage. The month she’d spent on the island had been grueling, devastating not only for her pride, but for her mental and physical well-being. She’d left Solstheim that first time a wreck, nursing injury on top of injury, so weak she could barely cling to the edge of the boat to empty the contents of her stomach.

 And now she was here. Again. Because duty demanded that she set aside everything--everything--in favor of her people.

 Fuck the people, she thought sourly, drawing her cloak around her. 

 And it was only going to get worse--because she wasn’t here for the island.

 She was here for the woman she’d left on it.

---

 A Lurch lay tangled in its own entrails on the beach, its ink-black blood seeping down the sand and into the rolling tide. Cultists lay dotted all around it. 

 Someone’s been busy. 

 Maren crossed the beach to inspect the bodies. The Lurch had been cut hip to hip; its guts spilled out of its abdomen in a heap and tangled in its legs. Maren went over to one of the cultists and turned him over with her boot.

 Scorched.

 She was on the right track.

 She continued to poke around the bodies, and found a few droplets of blood about five feet away from them; and then more another ten feet. The tracks that matched them had been erased, but whoever had done the deed wasn’t thorough enough. Maren followed the scant trail up the beach and into the treeline. 

 She lost the trail several times, but a bit of poking around finally took her to a narrow fault in the side of a rocky hill, just big enough for someone to slip through sideways. She peered in, squinting against the darkness.

 ”FUS!”

 Air slammed into Maren’s back and knocked her flat against the cave wall. Before she could recover, a hand fisted in her hair and yanked her head back, and she felt the kiss of a blade against her throat.

 “Hello, Dragonborn.”

 Miraak’s voice was low and sonorous in her ear. She didn’t bother with struggling--Miraak may have gotten the drop on her, but in doing so she’d ended up right where Maren wanted her.

 Miraak’s hand moved from Maren’s hair to jerk her hands behind her back and encircle her wrists, which, again, she didn’t struggle against. 

 “How good of you to join me,” she said. “I thought I was going to have to hunt you down myself--but here you are.” She tested her hold on Maren’s wrist with a harsh yank that sent pain shooting through her shoulder blades. “Pliant, too. What an occasion.”

 Maren grit her teeth.

 “You can stop fellating yourself. I didn’t come here to fight.”

 “Oh? Choice words from someone who has already lost.”

 Maren answered her by slamming the heel of her boot down on Miraak’s foot. She grunted, but that was all.

 “Funny,” Miraak growled. 

 “You think so? ‘Cause next part is going to be fucking hilarious.” Maren craned her neck to look over her shoulder at Miraak. “I want to cut a deal.”

 The silence was palpable. Then Miraak spun her around and pressed the tip of her sword to her neck.

 “Tell me,” Miraak said calmly. “Why should I help you? I seem to recall that you not only ruined my plans, but stole one of my dragons, slaughtered another, and left me to rot on this wretched waste of an island.”

 “I saved your life,” Maren reminded her.

 “And what a life that turned out to be.”

 Miraak’s voice was a low, bitter snarl--and why not? She looked like shit. Her robes were tattered and dirty, caked with blood and sand, and Maren was willing to bet she was still recovering from the wound Hermaeus Mora had left behind. 

 She pursed her lips.

 “You want something.”

 “Everyone wants something, elf. Say something intelligent.”

 If she didn’t think it’d get her trachea cut right out of her neck, Maren would’ve punched her in the throat.

 “I mean, you want something I can give you.”

 “And what would that be?” Miraak said darkly.

 “Freedom,” Maren said simply.

 “I have freedom.”

 Maren looked pointedly at the Lurch corpse that lay dismembered on the beach with cultists to match.

 “Hermaeus Mora doesn’t let go of what is his,” she said. “Even if he was going to discard you in the end. Your soul is still promised to him, and he’s going to collect.”

 “And?”

 “And I can fix that.” Taking a chance, she pushed away the point of Miraak’s sword with her finger and stepped closer. She barely came up to her collarbone. “I can trade my soul for yours.”

 Miraak lowered her sword. Slowly tilted her head.

 “Oh?” she said. Her tone had changed completely. “And what would possibly inspire you to make such a sacrifice? Even your altruism has its limits.”

 “You have no idea where my limits lie,” Maren said. She took a deep breath. “I need your help.”

 “Unsurprising.”

 “Dragons are running amok in Skyrim, burning everything they can reach. A new dragon cult has started to crop up in the further reaches and grows stronger with every passing day. I am outnumbered, Miraak. I can’t do this on my own, and I’m not going to let my country burn because I’m too prideful to ask for help.”

 Miraak’s mask offered no expression, no foothold with which to gauge her reaction. 

 “Let me see if I understand you correctly… you want me to traipse along after you across the petty, squabbling waste of a country Skyrim has become--a petty, squabbling waste that has forgotten me completely, as I am sure you are well aware--to clean up the mess your ineptitude has given way to?” 

 “In exchange for freeing your soul, yes,” Maren said. 

 Miraak chuckled. “I think not.”

 Maren’s stomach sank. If she were being truthful, she wasn’t exactly optimistic when she’d boarded the Northern Maiden, but actually being shot down was… 

 “Fine,” she said, turning away. “Just remember, Miraak. Eternity is a long time.”

 Miraak said nothing as she left.

---

  She came to her during the night.

 Maren wasn’t at all surprised that Miraak had been able to find her camp so easily--she knew this island like the proverbial back of her hand, and their souls were, for better or worse, mirrors of each other.

 Maybe that was how Maren sensed her. She woke from the throes of half-sleep and felt her presence as a dark, physical thing in the little alcove she’d taken shelter in. She opened her eyes.

 “I will come, Dragonborn,” Miraak said quietly. “On the condition that you make the deal with Hermaeus Mora before I do.”

 Maren snorted and sat up.

 “I’m not a fool, Miraak. Don’t play me for one.”

 “I could say the same to you.”

 Maren scrutinized her.

 “We’ll make a blood pact,” she said at last. “I assume you’ve heard of one?” Miraak scoffed and knelt in front of her.

 “Don’t insult me. I have drunk from fonts of knowledge you could only dream of.”

 Maren rolled her eyes. She took off her glove and pressed the blade to her palm, grimacing as it pierced the skin. Droplets of blood beaded up under the blade, sparkling like jewels in the dim firelight. She beckoned for Miraak to extend her hand. Miraak held her hand out, palm up, and Maren made short work of it with the knife. 

 “Miraak, do you swear on--”

 “Words are unnecessary,” Miraak said, cutting across her. “We both know what we want.”

 “Very well.”

 The clasped their hands together, smearing the blood between their palms. The magic was subtle, but strong. Maren felt it sweep through her, a rolling wave through her bloodstream, as ancient and pulsing and inexorable as the sea. She felt Miraak’s blood in hers, hers in Miraak’s, mixing together, becoming one, single thing, binding them to each other. For a moment she thought she could feel the shape of Miraak’s soul, feel its edges, its power, and she reached out with her senses, searching--

 And then it was over. 

 Miraak pulled away; Maren dug through her medicine bag for a short length of gauze to tie around her hand.

 When she looked up, Miraak was gone.

#skyrim #miraak #dragonborn #fem!miraak #dovahkiin #bosmer #wood elf #maren #ocs #fanfiction #writing #the elder scrolls #maren/miraak

[simplysoriya]

To Have Waited So Long...

{Following Vale of Eternal Nightmare Pt.2 &  Qwor wgah za kaaxth }

The sun dipped below soaring peaks; unbothered by the conflict that raged below it, perhaps the only thing that remained untouched. A month had passed since the Black Empire had come to the Vale, sewing chaos and corruption in their wake. Long days had turned to long weeks, run ragged by the ever growing demands of defending a place that was so close to her heart. It was the reason she persisted so in the face of such evil. Conflict was nothing new to her. 

She was there when the heart of an Old One ravaged the minds of the Horde and destroyed the terrace under the Seat of Knowledge in its wake. She fought against the Sha that preceded Garrosh. Even just a few years ago, against her father's wishes, she fought against the Legion that invaded- unable to forgive the destruction of the Peak of Serenity.

Vivid nightmares had littered her dreams since it had started. Scaring her awake even when her body demanded sleep. The first night she heard about the Vale she had dreamt it, and that had come to pass. The second nightmare, however, the one that delved into her personal life and twisted the image of a woman she held dear had yet to materialize. Left only with the empty dull pain in the center of her chest where Kat had stuck a dagger before she snapped awake, nagging at her despite the lack of a tangible wound, reminding her every day of the haunting vision.

As the sun set over those tall peaks Soriya found herself wandering the grounds of her Nightmare much like an unspoken ritual. Searching for the raven haired woman she had grown so accustomed to. Mustering all the hope she could that it was no prophecy, that the dream was wrong, that it was just a trick to throw her off guard, or to manipulate her. At worst a trap set by the voices that haunted her as she slept. 

But despite it all she had to be sure…

Faceless terrors that lurked the Tu Shen grounds, or the acolytes of N’zoth stealing the souls of the Pandarian, just like that had in her dreams. The living Pandarian who were locked in cages,  the terrible obelisks and shrines that had cropped up every time Ny’alotha broached the veil into their world, she had encountered them every night in the past week, disrupting their rituals and dispatching their forces as she went along. Searching for a different brand of heartache. 

The scene she happened on as she walked up the hill that night was like no other; a massacre had befallen the Burial Grounds of Tu Shen. 

Bodies were scattered and strewn around the grassy outcrop decorated with stone steps. Immediately catching her horrified gaze was the monstrous faceless beast- the only thing capable of such a thing, so she thought- lay lifeless on the ground. Her jaw agape as she slowly scanned over the faces of N’zoths minions and Pandarian alike under shattered structures of the Black Empire.

The metallic scent of blood and fresh bile assaulted her nostrils first. Soriya covered her mouth and nose to ward off the stench and hide her grotesque expression. Her forehead wrinkling and ears drooping as a pained expression played out on her eyes as she took in the picture of bodies torn in two. Indiscriminate of their allegiance, Black Empire minions, Pandarian monks, and a Faceless beast lay strewn across the outcropping she happened upon.

Rushing forward toward the fallen Pandaren first, the monk got to her knees before their disfigured bodies under broken cages, to help with any healing spell she knew as they lay motionless, mangled, only to find it all for naught as they were too far gone. 

“Rest now...” She muttered in a sad tone to the dead warrior before her as she placed a hand on her fellow monks chest. 

“I’ll come back for. I’ll give you a proper burial, I promise..” the gentle vow left her lips in both a seldom and sorrowful exchange, as she took an extra moment to mourn the dead.

With a heavy heart Soriya glanced over her shoulder to the grizzly scene wondering what terrible thing had befallen this ancient place. Finally rising to her feet she took stock, only to find a lone shadowy figure standing over a nearby shrine. Draped and dressed in dark leathers the figure stood with it’s back turned, assailing the golden spirit of a fallen Pandarian.

“Hey!” She shouted as she jogged toward the stranger. Her pace hastening as she noticed the golden spirit of an ancient Pandaren yell in agony, a sight she was unfortunately all too familiar with.

The monk's shouting from behind drew her attention, head shifting just a bit towards the shoulder and coming to a hesitant halt with the recognized voice. She stood still for a moment, the raven hair still cascaded to block her visage.

“Hey!!” She repeated in an angrier tone, closer now to the leather clad figure, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

It wasn't until the second before their bodies collided that Soriya recognized just who she was assailing. 

Her face contorted, going pale at the realization. Anger quickly turned to shock, and then to grief, before finally twisting into fear. She wanted to stop, to halt her advance, even just a second to process the litany of emotions that came with the worst of her nightmares coming true.... 

That moment was never granted as she slammed into the ground along with the same woman that had featured as the subject of her last nightmare; Kat Hawke.

Kat snarled and bared teeth as the full tackle connected, riding it out to the ground beneath the monk with a heavy thud against the stone. 

Even if Soriya had landed on top she made no attempt to restrain the woman beneath her. Paralyzed by the sinking feeling in the pits of her stomach, all she could do was lift her head enough to confirm her fears with nothing but a slack jawed stare as their eyes locked and black, lifeless eyes, stared back at her teal hues. 

"No.." Soriya whispered in a low tone, skittering her trembling hands along the rogues frame, once again trying to discern if she was real.

"No.." She denied louder, again, pushing herself from the other woman to sit up on her own. 

"No-, no no.. Kat.. no..." sitting on her shins with the look of disbelief and, strangely, of confirmation, "This isn't supposed to be real..."

The nightmare that had plagued her for the last seven days had come to fruition. Her heart felt as heavy as lead, cracking and breaking against the sinking realization that her vision had a touch of prophecy behind it, dark and twisted as it may be, it had come true...

Kat shuffled a few paces back on her hands and feet like a crab walking across the sand. Her blackened gaze met the monk as she pushed herself to her feet. Silent still, she just stood and stared down at the elven woman.

The moment felt like forever to Soriya, still stuck in the silence of vacant stares, where an already worn. An overactive mind was left to seize upon its worst thoughts. Left only to gaze at Kat's corrupted visage with the same horrified look she wore a moment ago as she stood before a massacre of mangled bodies. 

Finally she let out a whimper as the walls came crashing down and emotion overtook her sense. 

The stinging pain in the center of Soriyas chest returned. Looking down only to find her hand already tightly clutched against the very spot on her chest she had been stabbed in her nightmare. Unsure how or when that hand had gotten there. Removing it quickly she tried to dismiss the notion that this is how it would end. That her dream somehow foresaw how the woman before her, corrupted as she was, stabbing her in the chest on these very grounds. 

Looking back to Kat, Soriya dared to ask,  "W-what...What happened to you?" with a voice that never reached above a shaky whisper. Tentatively with her hand she tried to make contact with the rogue.

Kat's head jerked back and to the side, avoiding the touch of the monk while the void addled gaze remained pinned to the woman. A single step back was taken as her posture straightened, the bridge of her nose wrinkling before an answer was finally given, "Ya' canno' fight th' inevitable, Soriya." Monotone she spoke, lifting her head ever so slightly.

The elf shrunk away as her hand caught nothing but air, Kat's words sent her further into the pits of despair. She sat there alone, deflated and defeated. None of the chipper demeanor she loved to show, like a badge of courage in a broken world. Tears freely began to trickle down her cheek from those wide, sorrow-filled, teal eyes.

You can not save them... The tagline of the omnipotent being that infested her nightmares played in her head on repeat as she stared at the ground. Finally fully understanding the statement that starred in her nightmare. The worst of them being realized in that single line uttered; Ya’ canno’ fight th’ inevitable, Soriya.

Defiantly, Soriyas gaze snapped back to Kat as she scrambled away from the other woman and to her feet, "No." She said wiping the tears from her eyes, "This isn't you. This isn't...-" The words she searched for caught in her throat as her gaze flicked toward the Pandarian burial mound as anger flashed on her youthful features. "How is this inevitable?! What does that even mean! You're better then this! You're-..." her steam wore down as grief once again rocked her.

"Look aroun' ya'!" Kat shouted, sounding impatient. Arms gesturing to either side at the eyes and maws which had sprouted from the mountains. "Nothin' can halt the comin' age. Resistance is pointless, nothin' more than a thorn in the destinies' side." Spite laced her tone in the final few words.

Soriya didn't need to look around. She didn't need to see the terror that surrounded them, the same nightmare she had been immersed in for months. Instead her gaze remained solely on the rogue. "And you'd rather be part of the problem rather than the solution?!" her retort had found its own fire in rebuke.

"You would rather defile the graves of the Pandarian?” Soriya continued, “The same ones that are fighting- once again- in their home. You'd rather live in a world where these ‘things’ roam free?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Closing the gap Soriya swiftly gripped Kat's shoulders. "Kat... just... please. Please come with me. Let me help you through this." She pleaded, despite the obvious anger underlying her words.

Raven brows pushed together, as if the Director was confused by either Soriya's actions or words. Perhaps even both. "Their souls are already forfeit!" Her arms lifted between Sori's, spinning to break the hands from her shoulders before jutting outward to shove the elf away.

The monk refused to be moved, stubbornly planting herself in the ground against the shove. Lifting her hands to her center as if trying to defend herself. As much as she wanted to help, as much as she wanted to take Kat away and talk to her, she couldn't deny the clear fear that had caused her to instinctively keep up defensively. 

"This is the solution, salvation in acceptance. Yer eyes are still blind, ya've yet t'see the truth." Her left hand coalesced with void. "Open yer eyes, Soriya, and see wot will come t'pass." As threatening as Kat may seem she still refused to attack.

"You're not one of them! You're not a monster...!" An arm shot out to her side, as if motioning to the monsters of the Vale. "Kat, please... Please. This doesn't have to turn out like my dream. I don't want to fight you." She pleaded as her voice progressively got smaller and smaller. Pathetically repeating, "Please." in an almost incoherent babble, "I can't let you do this. Just... please..."

"I've always been a monster!" The void laced hand pointed a single finger in the monk's face as she exclaimed. Something about that single sentence, her tone, sounded as if it was coming from deep within. Beyond the void and the magic, but something Kat fully believed herself. That she was, and always has been, a monster.

"So don't fight." The hand dropped, arms lifting half way to either side as the Director began to take several steps back, as if taunting the monk as she attempted to slip away. "Give up, leave this place to its fate. We are all nothin' but pawns in a larger game, Soriya. Don' be naive."

Soriya once again shrunk back as Kat made her stinging, convincing speech. "No." She replied in a whisper denying it all with such a simple word.

"I'm not naive. I'm not fucking stupid, Kat. I know you... I know you're not like this. That this is just some stupid corruption messing with you head. This isn't the woman I met up with every month since last spring just to spend a few hours with-... this isn't you." Confident words came in a broken and strained throat that teetered on the verge of full blown tears. Abruptly the monk lurched forward, both arms wrapping around the others upper torso, arms and all, to pull Kat into a tight embrace. "If you want to get rid of me you're going to have to stab me or something... I'm not letting go." She whispered into the others ear.

Kat's visage remained a stonewall void of emotion as her slow retreat came to an sudden halt as Soriya quickly closed the distance and wrapped herself around her. Hands attempted to pry the elf off of her, but the woman's vice like grip proved resilient. Her failed attempts at freedom freezing as the whisper hit her ear, buying a solid second or two of stillness before she spoke up in her own ice cold whisper. "Fine."

For the briefest second, she thought Kat had conceded, that it was over, that there wouldn’t have to be a fight….

Metal against leather sounded as a knife was pulled from the Director's waist.

Tear stained eyes went wide as she felt the sharp pain enter her gut. The twist adding another jolt of agony, so much so that she couldn't decide what hurt worse; the physical or the metaphorical knife that turned within her belly, held only by a woman she called a close friend.

In the moment Kat would push away again  leaving the knife embedded in the monk.

Soriya refused to untether at first, stubbornly clinging to the Director even as her strength began to fail her and the pain continued to worsen. With her best intentions she was still pushed away. Her arms lazily falling from Kat to wrap around the protruding hilt of the dagger, grasping onto it and turning the hilt as blades sharpness ravaged her once more in its removal.

The dagger hit the soft ground with a thud as the monk took in a labored series of breathes, calling out, "If you want me to stop you're going to have to kill me." Soriya escalated. "I...I wont. I'm not going to just... just leave you here! You're going to have to kill me Kat, because if you don't? If you don't I'm going to devote every waking moment to fucking up whatever plan you have for this place."  Even while she advanced, only a half step behind the Director herself, in that pained wobble, Soriya continued. One hand clutching the incision as the other found the cork of a waterskin tethered to her belt.

"My plan?" Kat chuckled out, amused at the fact Soriya thought it was the Vale in which her intentions lied. "Fight if ya' must, Soriya. But nothing ya' do will change wot will come t'pass."

During their exchange Soriya had busied herself with that vessel of life giving water, pouring it out onto her open wound as her bloodied hand cupped as much of the diluted crimson mixture as it could, applying the gentle white light of chi mingled with dull jade. Sloppily that incision began to pull itself closed, leaving behind a grotesque and raw sore that looked as if it was about ready to pop open once more. 

"Death will come fer ya' just as it did the monks behind ya'. Split open by the servants of N'zoth." The Director barked.

"Is that who you serve now?" The monk had spat back in a thinly veiled attempt to goad her further. "The high and mighty Kat Hawke reduced to a faceless servant? That's how you want to be remembered?" Closing the gap that Kat perpetually put between them, again, the Sin'dorei wouldn't be denied. "I don't want to fight you, Kat, but you need help. You need....-" me snagged against the lump in her throat as she wished it could have been. "You're sick."

"Wot do I need?" Kat instantly snapped back, skipping over everything else that had been said. "You?"

Another puncture came for her already perforated heart as Kat honed in on the word she failed to say.

"If you wont go with me willingly..." Soriya cocked back a fist as she entered into a fighting stance, her legs wide and planted as her second hand came to defend her injury with a folded elbow. 

"I'm no' some fuckin' pet project that needs savin'!" Lashing out as fists rose and shoulders squared, feet shifting into place as she stared the monk down.

Soriya cocked and arm back for a punch, her leg swept backward quickly and subtly, and just as it seemed like she were to throw her balled fist, it only continued back- her leg coming out instead in a sweeping strike of a kick aimed at Kat's midsection. Feigned, but fairly televised and she knew it as well as the other woman likely did.

Reflexes hastened by the void that pulsed through Kats very core aided in the counter, hand snapping downward to the leg which stroke, grasping at the ankle as it collided with her side and taking the momentum into a full body pivot. 

Agilely the elf bounced on her one leg as it was ensnared, keeping limber for the inevitable twist that came with it. That twist coming in the form of an elbow to the back of her standing knee.

Soriya, however, wasn't down long as she took the counter in stride, falling to the patchy grass below with her elbow out to catch her. Just like her opponent had done and using the momentum as an advantage  repaid in kind. With a quick twist of her hips that was leveraged against her newly planted elbow, she sent a powerful foot that took advantage of her longer legs sending the curve of her ankle toward the Directors head. 

The upward kick was predictable, the speed at which it came had not been. A split second to make a decision, not enough to effectively grapple and counter, Kat chose to simply evade. Releasing her hold on the monk as she ducked backwards away from the foot which came a hair from her nose in passing.

As Soriya swiftly recovered back to her feet and regained her stance, she couldn't help but retort, "I wish it could be me, Kat... I really do-” Her words genuine despite the intense exchange. Begrudgingly admitting, “But we both know you won't let me close enough to actually help."  

"Even if you need it. I can find someone to help you, even if it's not me. I can at least do that. Even if you hate me for it." The mixture of determination and desperation made it hard to determine just where her mindset was. Squaring off her stance she inched forward toward her opponent with a flickering, decidedly, with a sense of determination.

Quick to get back on the offensive Kat juggled her weight between legs, digging into that boxer's stance. Anger clear on her face. Refusing to dignify the monks words with a response of her own the Director made her strike. A heavy left hook jutted outward, rolling the shoulder with the attack but feigning at the last second. Instead the leather clad fist on her right snapped outward like a spring, aimed still at the jawline.

Soriya found relief in the attack, as it meant Kat wanted to hit her more then run, now, at the least.

It was unlike fighting an enemy, the pair who had enjoyed long spars, often pushing one another to get better. And while the deadly undertones weren't lost on her? Soriya still found herself comfortably slipping into an easy flow with her movements. Tensing and tightening in anticipation as the leather clad rogue skulked forward with deft and deflective movements. She knew to wait, to keep her guard close and to not over extend- because that was exactly the thing Kat would be looking for.

But this was no spar, this was no playful rump in a forest with a friend. She knew she had to change it up, to surprise her opponent- losing wasn't an option.

Preemptively Soriya sent a probing kick, quick and light, toward the Directors inner shin as her opponent advanced with a fist cocked back in a feigning swing. Just enough to throw the other womans footwork off balance. The second swing from Kat came, and her close guard was rewarded with a block to the haymaker within the padded side of her forearm. 

Wasting no time Soriya took advantage of the closer distance and blocked attack, capitalizing before her opponent could, she launched her own counter; pulling back her arm before pushing it forward again toward the rogues center mass. Her training with chi empowered strikes allowed her to use a shorter distance for effective blows, and with that knowledge, she sent another two punches with alternating fists, working their way up Kat's torso, lightening quick in their inception, as the telltale glow of chi coated the punishing blows. A move her opponent wouldn't be familiar with from their spars.

With each of the chi infused hits making contact Kat staggered back with a hand over the chest where Soriya's fists connected. 

There were no snickers, no smiles, or cute quips after Soriya had scored her blows. That carefree demeanor, perhaps her most defining feature of her personality, completely melted away as she maintained a serene sense of focus on the fight at hand. Resetting her stance once more to that of the Serpent, comfortable in having to wait for an attack rather than launching it, she kept her eyes pinned on the Directors movements. Waiting for her next strike.

Kats left hand, still charred and burnt, rose above her head as a large step forward was taken. Shadows sparked from the palm as coiled outward in a series of chains. Wielded like a whip as the arm swung around, a harsh downward cut off as it changed direction to slice to the side with an abrupt upward cut to ensnare the neck. The length of the chain combined with the flowing motion made it easy to lose track of.

The visible look of surprise played across the elfs creased brows as she stared at the intimidating display with only the slightest sense of awe. Unaware that Kat could even manipulate magic to that degree. But surprise was quickly shaken off as she sidestepped and ducked the swinging chain that drifted too close to her for comfort. The downward slash was avoided narrowly with a hasty pivot, throwing her off guard as it rapidly shifted direction with precise aim. 

Unaccustomed to the unpredictable weapon, Soriya brazenly lifted her arm up to cover her face from the chain that threatened to smash it. Caught unaware, as that chain slapped against the side of her neck, snagging her forearm too, along with its snare. With gritted teeth she struggled as the metallic grip threatened to strangle her regardless of what got in the way.

With a forceful downward tug accompanied by a pivot of the hips with a leg reach back, Kat yanked the chain tight. Whether or not Soriya toppled to the ground didn't matter for what came next; a strong pulse of void magic across the shadowy chain. Kat staring on from where she stood, eyes still widened in rage as her fist clenched the chain with power.

Between the tug and the awkward tether of her wrist that bent an arm half a foot from her neck, Soriya buckled under the pressure down to a knee, still struggling against the weight of the assault. It left her defenseless as the shock of void energy made it up the three tiers of chain that coiled around her, forcing out a prolonged grunt from behind clenched teeth. Eventually ringing out into a pained yelp as the energies stung at her like black ice pressed against exposed skin. 

Soriya managed to look up briefly only to see the rogue brandishing a dagger menacingly before her eyes snapped shut in agony.

In a display of sheer strength, or perhaps stupidity, Soriya used her free hand to grasp further onto the chain, warding off the pain momentarily to steady her grip and put her own might against Kats.

Kat's gaze narrowed harshly on Soriya as she writhed in pain, the corner of her lips pulling it a sadistic grin. Even as the monk grabbed the chain Kat didn't give any ground, channeling the dark energy as she stared.

From her crouched position, the monk took in one deep and filling breath before leaping up into the air, dazzling with a triple spin from just the ground as she unwound herself from the chain. Despite the fast and undoubtedly dizzying twirl, Soriya fell down toward the ground with her head and shoulders poised to crash first- and her position made a recovery unlikely. But in that fall the monk once again stunned with a precise kick to the end of the chain- sending the tip of it back toward the rogues dagger wielding hand with the intent to disarm.

Though despite the uncanny display of acrobatic martial arts, she still landed harshly, awkwardly, and unceremoniously against the dirt below. Her head hit particularly hard. Paying for her flashing move as she lay on the dirt an extra moment longer, dazed from her own stunt. Remaining on the ground longer than a moment, even after she blinked herself back from her daze long enough to roll herself onto her stomach. 

A deep chuckle began to rumble from the Director after she observed the monk's harsh landing. Followed only by the eerie clanking and rattling of metal on stone faint, but ever present.

The telltale clinks of the shadowy metal links against stone and grass was quickly recognized. Soriya knew she had to do something about the surprise Kat had pulled. A weapon that allowed her to keep distance, entrap, and punish her from afar. Once again cursed by her own ill preparation she found herself without a suitable weapon to fight back.

As Kat drew near, Soriya remained, waiting for the Director to get closer to her prone position as she continued to take a moment to recover. But more importantly to close the distance between the two in the least overt manner she could. Counting on her opponents over confidence and, at times, arrogance that led to letting her guard down- hoping that the other woman would take the opportunity to get close and personal to savor that gained up hand. Playing the bait if it meant gaining the advantage.

The sinister chuckle rolled off in a tone of pleasure as Kat continued to move closer step by step, looking down at Soriya. The dagger turning over in her hand in conjunction with her steps, let the chain drag out further to make more noise.

But then it all suddenly stopped with Kat still several paces from the monk, the pleased tone instantly replaced by a high pitched scream of pain. The area lit up as the right side of Kat's body pulsed with Light, making her stagger as the shadow chain evaporated. The left side remained covered in void as the right side of her visage splintered and cracked with Light. The volatile mixture looked as if it could explode out from her very core.

As Kats sinister visage was rocked with Light energy, Soriya had rolled to her back unwittingly catching the rogue in a moment of weakness. Her hands shaped as if she was holding a ball at her chest as she concentrated, focusing her chi energy into a single point between her palms and growing it exponentially with her own life force- Soriya swiftly sent the blast of pure force toward her attackers chest.

Painfully waiting out the moment Kat swung the blade through the air to collide with the chi. The flash of light that came as the conflicting powers mingled and exploded in their fervor was enough to make Soriya shield her eyes. Whatever was happening, it was a far cry away from what she had hoped. In the confusion she looked, locking eyes with Kat one final time with that very same look of hopelessness she wore before they had started fighting. A sadness that lingered within her gaze.

The resulting explosion sent a hail of stones down before larger pieces of jagged, broken earth rained down from the cliff that absorbed and crumbled against the blast. Separating the pair from one another as the rocky cliffside broke apart and slid down between them.

Left with no time to linger as the rocks flung from above threatened to crush her, Soriya got to her feet quickly only to find the  before fleeing the scene with a heavy heart.

A hand came to her side once she was safe and clear, gripping at a nagging pain that had only grown after the dust settled. Feeling nothing but warmth and wetness that caused her to draw back that hand to find both palm and fingers slicked with crimson. The stab wound Kat had gifted her with reopened and freely flowing blood almost certainly to scar her skin just as much as it did her heart.

Desperately she wished to wake up. That it had all just been another bad dream in a string of them. That it was just the voices that had taken purchase of her thoughts and scarred her dreams. But all the way back to the Shrine of Two Moons, she never awoke.

{Written alongside @kat-hawke } {With Kats perspective of this same scene: Uovssh thyzz...}

#fitness & finesse #loooooong post #RP #Canon

[halfblood-fiend]

Every Single Star - Dragon Age: Origins, Cousland x Alistair

Written for Blu’s Discord Secret Santa, here is the first half of my gift for @mothmanaintshit. Thanks for your patience while I do it this way because it totally got away from me but I’m thinking that it’ll be super worth the wait because I am very proud of this whole thing! :D

So here’s my first coffee shop AND college AU, just for Axel with their Warden Cousland, Delilah, and the best ball of awkward, Alistair. <3

Words: 8,257 (big yikes)

Rating: General Audiences

Warning(s): light cursing

Read it on AO3

Ferelden’s capital, Denerim, seemed to always be awake and bustling, which was why the silver and blue light-up sign emblazoned with a griffon and announcing their space as The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters never turned off. Must’ve been a rule here, to appear to never need sleep. The line out the door most mornings implied this rule applied to people as well. They all crammed themselves into the cozy shop, certainly following the smell of brewing coffee more than the desire to bask in “the glory” of the fraying Warden memorabilia hanging on the dark walls. Duncan was proud of “his brand” though, so it stayed, no matter how many sneezing fits Alistair had from the dust.

The commuters rush and the first pinkish lights of dawn had just about died down in favor of a full grey sunrise before the next wave of morning-time ghouls lumbered their way into the café. Instead of the existential dread of a long, slow life in the office, these ones carried with them the crisp air of the first day of autumn. This rush was all new notebooks and shuffling papers and the strangely satisfying sound of polyester backpack straps being anxiously shifted on shoulders as folks rooted around in the bottom of them for Sovereigns.

Alistair and Duncan helped all these idiots get their mornings in some semblance of order before their first classes of the term at the University of Ferelden: Denerim, conveniently just down the street.

The glass doors banged open, the silver bell overhead ringing like mad, a sharp gust of biting wind swirling leaves across the floor. Alistair paused from frantically writing on a black insulated paper cup in a squeaky silver pen and saw her.

A small woman with blonde hair, a thick blue scarf the shade of denim and a cream-colored sweater stood there wrestling the door closed. Her scarf slipped from her flushed, wind-bitten cheeks as she yanked on the handle, the tousled top of her short-cropped hair whipping around her head. She panted and pushed, her pointed face straining until the door closed with a snap and she turned, murmuring a short apology to the onlooking line of patrons. Alistair hardly realized he was staring with a slacked jaw until the elf in front of him cleared their throat and asked how much for the Caramel Griffon Steamer in a voice that told him that this wasn’t the first time they’d asked.

“Sorry, I—? What size will that be?”

They looked at him doubtfully but replied, “Small. The Genlock. It’s literally the one in your hand you were just writing on.”

Alistair flushed hard and coughed. “Oh! Right!” As he pressed the buttons on the register, his gaze wandered towards the back of the line where the woman fell in with the rest, but now that the door had been righted and the wind calmed down, she’d disappeared into the jumble of people. He tamped down the strange disappointment that swelled in his chest as he took the elf’s money and dumped it into the register’s drawer.

The line moved steadily enough, but impatience started coloring his voice with each new customer that wasn’t the Door-Wrestling-Woman. Every once in a while, he would catch a glimpse of her. A cream-sweater-clad elbow, a flash of that scarf or the peeking toe of her shoes. She wore tan boots with a flat heel, skinny jeans neatly tucked into the knitted tops. Alistair amused himself by deciding that meant she was practical, maybe even economical, as though he was some sort of detective from a bad mystery novel. He knew that in reality, those random details meant very little, but it just felt so important to know something—anything—about her. And why that was, was beyond him.

He was internally interpreting the symbolic meaning of wearing a denim-colored scarf and blue denim jeans at the same time when the next person in line stepped forward and made him do a double take.

He had to be the nastiest, most sour-looking man Alistair had ever seen—and he had seen so many people in his time working here. He recalled to his mind every negative interaction to date; every upset PTA parent complaining about the consistency of their latte’s foam and every harried businessman with neckties so tight their purple faces looked like they would pop clean off after Alistair told them they were out of pumpkin spice syrup. He put them all together as one person and this man still managed to look nastier. Something about his long black hair or his piercing blue eyes or the vicious glower that settled just beneath his stern features made Alistair’s guts wilt and curl into themselves like paper in a fire. He looked to be the physical manifestation of every bad thing that ever happened in Alistair’s life thus far, and when his thin lips attempted a brief but grim mockery of a smile, Alistair gripped the counter behind the register to keep from jumping backwards.

Thank the Maker that the expression slid from the man’s face almost as soon as it appeared, as though it pained him to make the muscles in his mouth do that for even an instant.

Alistair adopted the most chipper tone he could manage in light of his desire to dart into the back room away from this man. “Er-Hello, ser. What can I- erm- get started for you today?”

The man’s eyes flicked upwards to the menu as though he hadn’t just spent the last 20 or so minutes waiting with nothing else to do but read the carefully written chalk letters. He frowned. “Do you have just plain coffee in this Maker-damned place?”

Movement from behind him caught Alistair’s eye and the flash of blonde hair and cream sweater grabbed his attention. The Door-Wrestling-Woman’s head snapped up from her phone at the man’s gruff voice and recognition sparked in her eyes. Then horror. She turned away from him in order to pull her green canvas messenger bag in front of her, hold the flap up between their line of sight and begin rummaging around in the bottom of it. Alistair’s brows furrowed at her. The man started to turn to look when Alistair realized that was probably the last thing she wanted and cleared his throat to get his attention back.

“Uhm, yes. We have several signature blends and I’d be happy to recommend some to you. Wha-what are you looking for to satisfy that palate of yours, hmm? Any favorite tastes or flaaaa-vors I should know about?”

Scowling, the man replied, “No. I just need the caffeine and this silly little place happened to be on the way to the university.”

“Ah, so, on your way to school, I see—”

“No small talk. I’m not interested.”

“Oooohkay,” Alistair’s mouth snapped shut. The Door-Wrestling-Woman lowered the flap of her bag a few inches and his eyes found hers. He was delighted to note the scrunched-up touch of amusement in the corners of her eyes.

When the man spoke, she disappeared behind the bag again. “Give me whichever one has the most caffeine and be done with it.”

“Ah. That’d be our Darkspawn Roast! Excellent blend, ser, you are truly a man of impeccable taste. I guarantee you will find it absolutely de-blight­-ful and sure to make your eyes wide as a—” The deep scowl was enough to make Alistair abandon all hope of making the Door-Wrestling-Woman laugh and he cleared his throat instead. “Er- what size?”

“Large.”

“Oh, er, sorry about that,” Alistair began. He really didn’t want to have to break any sort of bad news to this man, but at this point he was contractually obligated to. He hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing he did with his short life. “I aaactually can’t do that. See, there is too much caffeine in the Darkspawn Blend and it is actually quite illegal for me to sell that much to you. I’m afraid I can only give it to you in a Hurlock size, not an Ogre.”

The man did indeed appear as agitated as Alistair worried he would, the curl of a sneer appearing at the corners of his mouth. “Illegal?”

“Mmm, yes. Illegal.”

“Why?”

“Caffeine is a drug, technically, as I am sure you are aware, ser. You’re only supposed to have so much a day. We could be shut down if I sell you Darkspawn Blend in an Ogre because it would be too much caffeine.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah, yes, well, still a no, ser, I’m afraid. I…I’m sorry. I can still give you the Hurlock size…?” His hand edged for the middle-sized insulated cup and Alistair almost wished that he could just sell him the big one and be done, if for no other reason than to get this man away from him. But Duncan was always watching, even as he busied himself making drinks as Alistair took orders. The last time Alistair had sold an Ogre-sized Darkspawn Blend to someone, Duncan had refused to sell Alistair any of his favorite Mabari Cake Pops for a month.

Frowning, the man squinted up at the menu and then asked, “I can add espresso shots to any drink, can’t I?”

Alistair gulped. Ah, the Shrieks. Not the Shrieks and the Darkspawn Blend? At his age, this man would have a heart attack before he left the parking lot. “…yes?”

“Is there a limit to them? Because of that silly caffeine thing?”

“Yes. Five.”

“And I can add them to this drink, too, if I wanted?”

Alistair’s eyes widened and darted to the left where Duncan was busy at the steamer and shaking up other drinks in the line. He really should ask, he thought to himself, though he knew the answer was, technically, ‘yes.’ Sod it, if the man died, he died and it was his own fault, wasn’t it? Alistair had warned him. “Yes,” he said finally, and the man nodded.

“Good. Then give me that blasted medium size and put five shots in it.”

With a shaking hand, Alistair wrote what he was told and repeated the order back while in a vague state of shock. “Darkspawn Blend, Hurlock, five…Shrieks… Uh. Room for cream?”

“No. And no sugar, either. Black, if you please.”

Alistair nodded, but didn’t understand as he wrote the last bit of order. “Name?”

“Loghain.”

Alistair proceeded to make the most terrifying coffee order he’d ever taken in his life. He couldn’t help but hold his breath when he handed over the drink that probably tasted just like the Blight itself and Loghain walked out of the café. Please don’t die in our parking lot, he thought, I’d have to clean it up. As the door closed behind this Loghain man, he breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“Awful, isn’t he?”

Blinking a little to clear the haze of horror that had settled over him, Alistair realized with a start that the Door-Wrestling-Woman was now standing right in front of him, unobstructed by either customers nor her own messenger bag.

When faced with her up close, whether she was economical or practical or whatever fanciful things he had made up about her before this moment, he realized only one thing was abundantly obvious: that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She beamed at him, in all her tiny glory, the wool scarf around her neck the same light blue of her eyes, making them pop and dance. Her hair reflected the light with golden strands. Her slim jaw accentuated the pink feminine curve of her mouth. Her brows, somewhat raised with amusement, furrowed the purple tattoo around her left eye. His greedy gaze took in as much of her as he could, and for the first time in what Duncan might have called ‘forever’, Alistair was stunned into silence.

She misinterpreted that silence, her smile slipping slightly and added, “Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything. He’s like that with everyone.”

Duncan crossed behind him and placed a carrying tray of drinks on the pic-up counter. “Tabris!” he shouted into the room in his deep voice.

And with that, the spell was broken, and Alistair shook himself slightly and returned an uncertain smile. “Oh. You…you know him, do you?”

“Sadly. He’s my Modern Military History professor,” she said with a grimace.

Wrinkling his nose, Alistair echoed, “Modern Milita—what kind of a class is that? What would it even be for? It sounds horribly boring!”

He gulped as the woman’s face hardened at his words. “It’s actually quite fascinating,” she replied cooly, “It’s a part of the Military Series for a Political Science degree.”

Alistair saw his opportunity to fix this interaction with humor and he took it. “Riiight. Political Science. That’s every child’s dream, isn’t it? To grow up and be a corrupt politician. Is there anything better in the world?”

To his horror, she didn’t crack a smile.

“It was my childhood dream to be a politician. Like my parents are now.”

Oh. Well…shit.

“Mmmm,” Alistair hummed and picked up his silver pen to fidget with it. “And, on that note, what can I get for you today? I hear the foot-in-mouth breakfast sandwich is very good this morning. I can make it as an Alistair-special. As you can see, I’m really good at putting them together.”

Blessedly, she did laugh this time and shook her head. The tension in his stomach disappeared immediately and Alistair secretly decided there wasn’t a better sound in the world.

“I mean, you’re kinda right. It’s not a normal thing to want, and you didn’t know…and Professor Mac Tir is the worst…”

“It is quite unfortunate that you have him as your teacher, yes. You have my condolences for that.”

She smiled up at him again and said, “Thanks. He’s brilliant though, even if he is mean.”

Duncan appeared at the register beside them and typed on the keys quickly to log in. He threw a look at Alistair as he called the next customer in line forward that told him that he was bristling not just because he was beardy. You’re supposed to take their orders, Alistair, not chit-chat with them, he practically heard his friend say in his mind. But Alistair pretended not to notice.

She continued, “He just recently published a paper, you know.”

“Oh?”

“And also made it required reading for the class.”

“Oh. So, a total douche, then?”

“A bit. It’s called Philosophical and Theoretical Perspectives on Wartime Justice: The Question of War and Ethics. In case…I dunno, you ever wanna look it up for yourself. It’s good, I’ll admit, but I’ve been staring at it for the last couple of hours because I forgot it was due before our first class. And honestly, I’m getting so sick of thinking about it, so how about some coffee?”

“Coffee! Yes. I do have that, if you would like to buy some!”

Giggling, her eyes briefly roved up to the menu and Alistair took the moment to be relieved that he had successfully navigated out of the hole he’d dug himself into. Good job, Alistair.

“Oh man… there’s a lot of drinks… What would you recommend?”

Wide blue eyes blinked at him, waiting, and he struggled not to get lost in them so he could answer. “Me? I would recommend…hm. The Calling Latte and the Conscrip-uccino are both popular and they’re pretty good. But my personal favorite is probably the Brewed Mother. It’s a pour-over blend of several of our roasts so it’s got all the taste of coffee but is also very sweet and thick and foamy because we use druffalo milk instead of a cow’s.”

“Sure. I’ll try that then!”

“Excellent choice!” Alistair said, double underlining and starring either side of ‘Brewed Mother’ on the cup. “And if you don’t like it, I can give you your money back!” Duncan threw him a dirty look.

But she laughed. “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

Alistair grabbed the size she wanted (Hurlock), took down her name (Delilah—has there ever been a more beautiful name in all of ever??) and sent her on her way. Once she moved on, Duncan signed off of his register and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“We’re too busy to make fools of ourselves in front of pretty girls right now. How about staying on task, hmm?”

Alistair rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he assented to the warm and firm grip of Duncan’s hand on his shoulder. He should have known there would have been no hiding anything from Duncan, even busy as they were right now. Knowing the old man, he probably heard everything, too, and was going to grill him about it as soon as the rush died down. Yet even replaying the embarrassing things he just said to Delilah couldn’t dim the warm glow of happiness that breathed life into his chest and spread all the way to his toes with each fluttering beat of his heart.

His gaze kept flickering to her as he took more orders, but her own was glued to her phone. Each time he looked, she would be squinting at the screen or typing furiously with flying thumbs.

That was just as well, probably. A little voice inside urged him to ask her for her number, but how weird would that be? Hey, I know that I just met you and I insulted your life’s goals but I’d love to keep doing so over texts if you give me your number. Worrying his lip between his teeth, Alistair told himself that would never fly. Rom-Com romances didn’t happen in real life in busy coffee shops near universities. Total strangers didn’t have instant connections, no matter how much he believed it to be true. The only connection Delilah had to him was that she was about to drink his favorite coffee, and once it was gone, that was it. No more Alistair the Grey Roaster in her life.

But he wanted so badly to ask her anyway.

So maybe he just should.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alistair saw Duncan fit a Hurlock-sized cup with a lid, and as he spun it to make sure the lid was fully closed, Alistair spied the silver stars peeking over the cup sleeve. As he turned to take Delilah’s cup to the counter, Alistair wheeled away from the register and plucked it from Duncan’s hand.

“Hey—”

“Switch you!” And without waiting for a response, Alistair marched her cup to the counter and called Delilah’s name.

She looked up and when she saw him, she beamed. And when she beamed at him, a strange shiver of delight rippled through his body and made him grin in return. Like the most wonderful domino effect.

“Your coffee, Future Arl of Denerim.”

Delilah giggled as she took the offered cup. “I’d have my work cut out for me if I pursued that. I’ve got my eyes on a smaller but no less noble prize. Highever will do just fine for me. Though it’ll take just as much work to get there.” She took a sip from her cup and her eyes lit up. “Ooh, this is good! Thanks for the rec. Gotta get to class now. Wish me luck!”

“Me luck,” Alistair said, somewhat breathlessly, earning him a final smile over her shoulder before Delilah disappeared out the door.

As he watched it close behind her, he realized he hadn’t asked for her number after all.

“Alistair! Register!”

Good luck out there, Delilah, he thought, a soft regret constricting his throat. He rapped the counter with his knuckles then returned to the morning mayhem.

Alistair had been wrong. Duncan wasn’t going to tease him later that day. And not that night or the next day or the next. He was beginning to think he was in the clear and Duncan would be cool and never mention Delilah at all… until after the morning rush on Thursday.

Duncan leaned against the counter with the steamer machine and mopped his brow with a handkerchief he produced from the pocket of his grey and blue apron. A few people still milled about at the array of black tables with their headphones on, but at least there was no more line of people and no more orders to fill. It was enough time for them to breathe, for certain, but not enough to relax if the teetering pile of coffee-stained shakers, glass blender jars and measuring cups in the shining metal sink had anything to say about it.

“So,” Duncan began in his baritone, causing Alistair to freeze with his hand inside the baked treats display.

“Soooo….?”

Duncan’s dark eyes bored into his and twinkled with mischief. “Still no sign of the Cousland girl, eh?”

“What?” Alistair’s back snapped straight so quickly that he forgot the sliding glass door he was holding onto and it closed on his wrist. “Ouch!”

Duncan chortled to himself and switched out his handkerchief for a dish towel. He picked up the first dirty serving glass with worn, careful fingers and got to washing. “Why don’t you pick up your jaw and make yourself useful, Alistair. Wipe down the machines while we still can.”

“How…How did you find out her last name?” Alistair asked him. He bent to pick out a clean microfiber towel and Duncan’s favorite all-natural cleaner from a lower cabinet. “And how did you know I was looking for her? I wasn’t, by the way!”

His friend smiled and Alistair heard the low rumble of quiet laughter over the spritz of his spray bottle. Just like Duncan to decide not to answer. But after some washing, he said, “It was easy enough. Her name was Delilah; she said she was a political science major and has wanted to be a politician all her life, like her family is. And she mentioned she wanted to be Arl of Highever. One internet search was all it took to find Delilah Cousland, only daughter of the current Arl of Highever. Even filled in my search bar for me.”

“You searched for a customer?” Alistair gasped, offended for her. Duncan did some socially questionable things sometimes (like take a penniless orphan in and give him a job and a place to stay, for one) but this was low, even for him. “I just can’t believe you would do such a heinous thing. I don’t think I can even look at you!” Alistair moved on to spray the cappuccino machine and made a mental note to search for ‘Delilah Cousland’ on his own computer later. He knew just enough about the current state of the Houses of Nobles, Arls and Teryns to know the Couslands were somebody, but he couldn’t quite recall what they had been known for.

“Oh, good morning, Delilah, welcome back,” Duncan rumbled.

Alistair spun around towards the register and dropped the spray bottle, his hand flying to his hair instead—

—but there was no one there.

The room shook with Duncan’s great, booming laughter.

“Oh, har har, Old Man,” Alistair scolded, flushing as he snatched up his spray bottle from the floor. “What a wonderfully cruel trick to play on your poor employee. Feel good now, do you?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You were looking for her then. You’ve been sullen and sulking after every morning rush for the last couple of days.”

“No,” Alistair insisted. No way was he letting Duncan get the best of him. Not again. “I do not ‘sulk.’ And I’m not looking for her. I don’t even remember what her name is anymore.”

“Oh, so, I can unbookmark her MyPhylactery page and not tell you her current relationship status.”

“Wait, wait, wait! You found her MyPhylactery page?”

Duncan gave him a satisfied side eye, his bushy black beard betraying the wide toothy smile beneath and nodded.

“And…it wasn’t set to private?”

He shook his head. “It was. I invited her to Bond to our company page.”

“But our company page is just your Phylactery!”

He nodded.

“So now you can see all her information!”

Duncan’s eyes twinkled.

“That was a skeevy thing you did, you know.”

“So, you don’t want to see her Phylactery?” Duncan asked again even though it was clear he already knew the answer. Alistair cursed himself for being so blighted easy to read.

“No, no. I’ll look. But I won’t be happy about it, and I will deny any involvement if she ever finds out. I’ll throw you under the cart-wheels in an instant, Old Man, mark my words.”

His threat was only met with snickers.

Alistair didn’t have to wait long at all before he saw Delilah again. After all the waiting and all the eager searching of faces each morning, he figured it was just his luck that she would reappear now, at the end of his break. The break that he had just spent pouring over the link to MyPhylactery that Duncan had sent him and scrolling over every picture and every life update she had posted in the last five years.

As soon as he saw her wander in, he blushed. He shouldn’t be blushing. It…It was perfectly normal to look someone up after you’d met them! Even though…she’d never actually given him her last name. Nor had she really consented to letting Duncan see her private profile. Because how was she supposed to know that he was bad with tech like some strange youngish-Old Person and didn’t even know how to make a business account on MyPhylactery? Alistair felt that he really shouldn’t know that she had broken up with her boyfriend of four years before moving to Denerim to go to school, and that he was still commenting on every single post that she made. Clearly, he couldn’t let her go. It had to be annoying for her. But Alistair shouldn’t have known that, it was weird.

So he blushed scarlet when Delilah waved at him, and his stomach twisted in guilty knots when she bounced forward to order at the counter. Her bright smile, while still dazzling, didn’t quite melt the ice pounding in his veins. He was sure she could read the guilt in his eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, shifting her bag’s strap from her right shoulder to her left. Her head tilted quizzically. There was genuine worry in her eyes. Alistair might’ve felt touched if he wasn’t too busy feeling ashamed. “You look flushed. Are you sick?”

Alistair tried to speak, failed, cleared his throat and tried again. “’S’just warm back here…is all.”

Every impulse in him screamed to tell her, but what would that even do? It wasn’t a big deal! Was it? If anything, he would look like more of a stalker if he just announced to her that he’d looked her up and found out that her brother, Fergus Cousland, had gotten hired to work as a campaign manager for the incumbent Arl of Amaranthine Rendon Howe, and was slated to become the next Arl once Howe gained the Teyrnship, and then she, Delilah, was promised an internship on the committee (which she was very, very excited and grateful for, a sentiment that earned her 106 likes from all her various Phylactery Bonds).

Oh, Maker, no, he should tell her. He should fess up and beg forgiveness before he accidentally let on that he knows more than he should and loses the possibility of a friendship with this beautiful, wonderful, intelligent—

“Did you hear me?”

He started. “Sorry. What was that?”

Delilah smiled and shook her head at him. “Are you sure you’re not sick? You should go and sit down because you seem really out of it.”

“I’m okay, really,” he replied shakily, lifting a hand to rub out a kink that started forming in the back of his neck from the stress of his own personal disaster.

“Well, if you’re sure… I said that I really liked what you recommended to me last time. So I think I’ll just have another Brewed Mother. But I’ll take it in an Ogre this time.” She patted her bag and sighed, “I’ve got a lotta work to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alistair asked somewhat automatically, picking up the large cup and scribbling away. He wrote her name without asking for it and added a star at the end.

Tell her, you idiot. Say something!

“I should—”

“I also said—”

They both spoke at the same time, then they both paused to chuckle awkwardly.

“You can—”

“What were you—”

They shared more uncomfortable titters and Alistair stared at the register keys, willing them to spell out what to do next or to come to life and attack him, or anything really to abate his discomfort. Sweet Maker…

“I-I was just going to say that I had also asked—before, I mean—well, that I didn’t get to catch your name last time. Is all.” Delilah fiddled with the grey and tawny feathers taped to the tip jar. Duncan swore they were real griffon feathers and would encourage people to be more generous with their tips. Alistair was sure they were eagle feathers, which didn’t seem to inspire anyone to give more silvers than they usually would.

Strange thing to ask for, his name, Alistair thought as he glanced down at his apron to double check that his blue nametag was indeed still attached to his chest. It’s right there, after all. But before his brain decided if he should point his badge out to her or not, his mouth was moving, and his name was falling out of it. His whole name.

“It’s Alistair Theirin,” he said, the sounds coming out like a rush of water with no hope of damming it up. His mouth clamped shut so hard that his teeth snapped together and rattled his brain, but he knew the damage was done. Delilah’s face had whipped back up to his and she searched his soul as though she could confirm he was telling the truth if she stared hard enough.

“Theirin?” she echoed in astonishment. “Like the Theirin? Like King Cailan and Maric and—”

Alistair leaned over the register and shushed her more violently than he intended, eyes frantically darting around the coffee house. The only patron now was one dwarf in the corner, and he had on a headset nearly as big as his whole head.

Delilah lowered her voice, but her eyes were still wide. “I-I can’t believe… A Theirin? But then, why are you here?”

Grimacing, Alistair replied, “It’s a long story… One I’d really rather not talk about it, to be honest.”

He expected her to press—the handful of people he’d told over the course of his life often did—but, to her credit, she only nodded. “I’m a Cousland so…so I get it. Kinda. In a not-as-big way, of course, but, yeah… There’s just a lot of expectations to be something, am I right?”

“Right.” Not that you knew the half of it, Alistair thought darkly. Not that being the daughter of a prestigious man repeatedly voted into the House of Arls was really anything when compared to being the bastard son of the late King. But sure. Sure, Delilah “gets it.”

He supposed that he should be grateful. Since she now knew his best kept secret, he felt exactly zero amounts of guilt for knowing what she ate for dinner three nights ago (Antivan Spicy Noodles that looked delicious, 38 likes). No need to fess up about stalking her now. There was no doubt in his mind that she would go home and scour the internet for him now.

“An Ogre-sized Brewed Mother will be five silvers and eleven bits, by the way,” he mumbled.

“Oh! Yeah.”

By the time the coins clinked into the till, Alistair regretted being short and the bitter things he had thought about her. Delilah wandered away more towards the pick-up counter, her phone in her hand, but Alistair found himself speaking anyways.

“It’s not really so bad. The whole…you know, thing. My parents, or whatever.” He rambled while he made her drink and didn’t bother looking up to check if she was even listening. Alistair decided he didn’t really want to know. “I kinda stopped paying attention to it, really. Some people have cared a lot about my parentage, but none of them were my, you know, actual parents, so, what’s the point? I try not to let it bother me.” Why was he saying this to someone he’d only met once before? Just because he was guilty about stalking her social media? Or because there was a slight chance that he could finally get these things that nagged him in the dead of night off his chest? “I figure if they don’t care about me, I shouldn’t care about them. I’m happy to just be…me, you know? I’m just Alistair. That idiot Grey Roaster who talks too much and… aaaaand spills secrets to total strangers. That’s who I am. That’s what I’m here for. Saving the world one Brewed Mother at a time.” He snapped the plastic lid on over the lip of the cup and tried to pick it up by the top to make sure it was on properly. When he was sure, he spun around to slide her drink over the counter and found himself face to face with Delilah.

She had been listening, and if he didn’t know any better, she looked…sad. Not pitying, not disdainful, not any of the kinds of emotions he had come to expect from people when they learned of his very own Tragic Backstory, just…a little moved. A little mournful. Her cool fingers brushed against his own as she took the coffee from him without breaking their locked gaze.

“I understand,” Delilah murmured after a moment. “And… and I’m happy that you’re you too, Alistair.”

He blinked. His mind wiped blank. He had no idea what to say to that. She was…happy for him? No one had ever been happy that he had abandoned his old life before. Even Duncan tried to push him to do something more with himself every now and again. Delilah’s support, even if she didn’t know it, meant more than any words he could think of to describe it. So, he didn’t say anything.

After what felt like several Ages smushed together all at once, Delilah bit her lip and turned away. He watched her disappear out the door again in stunned silence.

She started coming in a lot more often after that. So often, in fact, that Alistair was starting to piece together her schedule. Totally on accident of course, because he had refused to look at her MyPhylactery again until she wanted to send him a Bond. If she ever even wanted to. If they even got to that point.

Delilah came in most Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and some Thursday afternoons. She greeted him each time with a “Hey, Just-Alistair!”, chatted amicably until her drink was ready, and then she was off to class. She tried a few different things off the menu, but more often than not, she ordered a Brewed Mother; a fact that made a tiny flame of happiness light up in Alistair every time. She never mentioned his heritage again.

On a dull autumn Thursday when the grey clouds that always hung low over Ferelden seemed particularly thick and heavy, the bell over the door tinkled and Alistair looked up from his sweeping to find Delilah easing her way in with an armful of large books with faded leather covers.

“Do you need help?” Alistair asked, moving to lean his broom against the counter but Delilah answered faster.

“Nope! I’m good!” She lugged them to a table near the register and dropped them rather unceremoniously with a loud bang that echoed off the glass windows. “Oops, sorry.” She glanced around apologetically and when she realized there was no one else in the shop, she shrugged.

Alistair shook his head and laughed at her. She must have been much stronger than her height let on, he realized. He respected a woman that could bench press her weight in books. “The usual?” he asked, already reaching for a Hurlock cup and writing her name on it with a flourish. And a star. Always a star.

She appeared to consider for a second as she divided up her books into piles over the entire surface of the table and then answered, “Yes. Get me that Brewed Mother. I have a midterm paper to write!”

“Midterms?” Alistair asked in shock. He did the math quickly in his head. There was no way it was that far along in the semester already. “Isn’t it still too early for that?”

“It is,” she agreed, pulling her laptop case and several notebooks from her bag. “Dr. Mac Tir is notoriously picky about papers. He’s got a strict grading scale so he hands out prompts in the first week so that we can start our papers as soon as possible. He’s already given us our final too! Can you believe that??”

Shrugging, Alistair filled her cup with milk from the carton marked ‘druffalo’, set it back in the mini fridge and kicked the door closed. Even only meeting the dreaded Loghain once, Delilah’s story checked out in his mind. “Wish I could say no, but just that five-minute conversation I had with him took 10 years off my life.”

Delilah sniggered as he moved on to the steamer. “You sure all the coffee you drink while working here isn’t what’s responsible for that?”

Alistair allowed himself a smile for a brief moment before swallowing it and turning around to find the plastic lids. He worked hard to keep his face neutral and controlled. “Oh, I don’t like coffee.”

As predicted, Delilah was taken aback, her blue eyes bugging a little. Alistair bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “You…work at a coffee house. At The Grey Warden Coffee Roasters! It’s only the most famous international chain of cafés!”

Alistair let his own eyes go wide and pretended to be just as shocked. If he didn’t have to clean the mess up himself, he might have dropped her coffee. For comedic effect, of course. “What? I do??”

Her eyes narrowed at him and he suspected she was catching on, but Duncan appeared from the back room carrying a large box and spoke before either of them could.

“You won’t for long, Alistair, if you don’t charge her and help the other customers in line,” he growled as he passed by.

“Yes’ser, Café Commander Duncan, ser!”

His friend rolled his eyes and pulled a box cutter from his apron instead of replying.

Dancing back towards the register, Alistair checked that the lid was tight and handed it over. His heart skipped a beat when her fingers grazed his. He grinned. “One Brewed Mother for one brood…y…mother, you know, that made a lot more sense in my head until I said it.”

Delilah held out her handful of coins in her palm, but he waved her away.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. What’s one on the house for my favorite customer?” he told her with a wide dreamy smile, leaning on the counter to cup his chin in his hand.

“Alistair…”

“Did I ever mention to you how astute Duncan’s hearing is? I think it’s something to do with being Riviani. You know, on second thought, I will take those silvers, if it’s all the same to you…”

Handing them over and laughing, Delilah shook her head at him and warned, “Keep going on like this and you’ll get fired. Then what will you do?”

“Pft! Me? Fired?” Alistair shook his head and shot her what he hoped was a cocky grin. “Nah, Duncan needs me. I don’t think he’d know how to run the shop by himself, at this point. He makes me do all the work, you know.”

Duncan kicked at Alistair’s heels as he walked back to the store room with the empty box.

All customers taken care of, Alistair was free to bother his favorite patron, still bent as she was over her books, occasionally pausing to type something on her laptop. He grabbed the broom and unlatched the hook holding the counter between the registers in place in order to pretend to sweep around Delilah’s table.

“You solve that great mystery of wartime ethics yet?”

Delilah barked a short laugh and leaned back in her chair to look up at him. She put her arms over her head and stretched. Alistair realized too late that it gave him a clear angle down her shirt. Blushing, he averted his eyes and worked very intently on an invisible speck of dust on the floor that refused to be swept up. “No, have you?” he heard her reply.

“Oh, er, that old thing? Yeah. I solved that ages ago. I’m on to the secret of eternal youth now.”

When she laughed and her eyes met his, Alistair all but melted. He blushed again, but this time for a different reason. For a somersaulting stomach filled with butterflies sort of reason.

“Great! So you don’t mind writing my midterm paper for me, right?”

“Well, isn’t that plagiarism, dear Delilah?”

She shrugged and replied seriously, “At this point? Not if anybody knew about it.”

Alistair chewed his lip. He saw his moment, plain as day right there in front of him. I would think about writing that paper for you if you gave me your number. No, no. That came off too predatory. Maybe we can work out the details of the midterm exchange over dinner? No, too serious. Damn. The opportunity was there, he could sense it, but for the life of him, his brain wouldn’t make that last connection towards the perfect way to ask. And if he dawdled too long, the knowledge that he’d lose his chance looked over him like a dark cloud.

Sod it, man, speak.

“I-uhmmm.”

Light blue eyes turned up to his and Alistair lost track of what he was doing. He had a vague thought that maybe he would faint.

“I-I-I could, er, write it for you. Er, try to. Aaaaand we-we could, um. We could, um…”

Delilah waited patiently, expectantly, her face open. A small smile settled on her lips, and Alistair willed himself not to glance at them. Don’t you dare imagine kissing them. Don’t think about how soft they would be or how pleasant of a thing kissing Delilah would be. Don’t… no, don’t think about it.

You thought about it.

Alistair tried to clear his throat and made an awful noise that sounded more like a bleating ram than anything human. Delilah politely pretended not to notice.

“W-we could- er, I could bring it to you if we were somewhere else. If we met somewhere else, I mean. Like for coffee, or…”

Sweet Maker, you absolute dunce, why coffee, of all things—you work in a coffee shop, for crying out loud!

A touch of color began rising in her cheeks. “You mean… you would write my paper for me if we went on a date?”

Alistair started to nod but then her words washed over him. “N-no! I mean, the paper was…more of an excuse, really, I-I don’t—”

“Oh, so… just a date then?”

Alistair’s knees buckled and he didn’t trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

The smile spread across her face and her eyes lit up and danced the same way they had when she had first tried his favorite drink. These were good signs, weren’t they? No one glowed like that and then shot a man down. Not that he’d had enough experience to know but… but, Maker, he hoped. What he did know was that someone like him didn’t deserve to bask in her radiating warmth. Alistair drunk from her anyway, letting all the lovely facets of her fill him and make him light. Her kindness, the way she laughed, the brightness of her, it was everything to him. And fumbling and awkward as he was, Delilah was going to say ‘yes’ to him. They were going to make plans and go on a date and maybe she was going to choose to be with him. Him, of all people. Just-Alistair and Delilah Cousland.

The door to the café banged open and both Alistair and Delilah leapt out of their skins. Her wide eyes fixed on the door before he could turn and she uttered a quick squeak of alarm, scrambling to get back to work on her laptop. Alistair’s brain was sluggish in making connections, but the voice that spoke nailed him to the floor.

“Ah. If it isn’t the youngest Cousland,” Loghain drawled, his footsteps drawing nearer to the table. Like flipping a switch, Alistair’s mood changed as ice shot through his veins. If he didn’t know any better, he would say the temperature in the shop just dropped several degrees, even after the door closed to the chilly outside.

He didn’t want to turn and face the last person he wanted to see during a conversation he’d been working up to for weeks, so Alistair closed his eyes and shouted every curse in every language he knew in his head.

Loghain swooped in on Delilah like a hawk on its prey, his shrewd eyes roving over the books on the table. Even his head turned like a bird’s to better read each gilded title. “I take it you’re in need of subpar coffee in order to finalize your midterm paper. I needn’t remind you that you have little over two weeks to turn it in.”

Scoffing, Alistair echoed, “Subpar coffee?” as though he’d never been privy to a more grievous insult to his person before.

The other man looked up at him as though noticing Alistair’s existence for the first time. “Don’t you have something else you should be doing besides eavesdropping, boy? Sweeping, perhaps. Or, better yet, making my coffee. Same as last time: darkest roast with as many espresso shots as you can give me, black, no sugar.”

There wasn’t really anything else for it. Alistair knocked the bristles of the broom against his boots for a second, debating saying something else, but Loghain wasn’t paying him any mind anymore. He’d make Loghain’s coffee. And if Duncan wasn’t looking, maybe he’d spit in it too. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As he stalked away, Alistair heard Delilah stammer a response he couldn’t understand over his heartbeat in his ears, but he did catch Loghain’s reply.

The dark-haired man grunted. “I hope so. If it’s anything like your brother’s papers, I highly doubt it shall be anywhere near “ready to go” without more serious work. But given your source material, I’m willing to be open to the possibility of being surprised. We shall see.”

“Ser,” Alistair barked, drawing Loghain’s raptor gaze from Delilah. “Six silvers and fourty-eight bits. For your subpar coffee.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up and Loghain reached into his pocket to pull out the coins. He crossed to the register. “So, you’re always mouthy, I see—” his eyes flicked to the nametag and then back to his face, “—Alistair. You really shouldn’t speak to your clientele that way. It discourages them from returning.”

Alistair’s face hardened. He didn’t know what it was but something about this man made his whole body shake with anger. He hadn’t felt this much hatred since he was dumped at the doorstep of a Chantry boarding school by a family that didn’t want him. He was aware his voice would shake if he wasn’t careful, and Alistair wanted to be sure nothing was open to Loghain’s interpretation. Whether Duncan would approve or not, Alistair decided right then and there that this man was unwelcome in his store. “That is the idea. The only clientele I want, are the ones who appreciate my work. If you think it’s so subpar, I suggest you don’t come back. Ser.”

“I might just heed your suggestion. But then…perhaps this swill will grow on me, and I’ll come by more often.”

“Pray it doesn’t. The doors are locked, as far as you’re concerned.”

Loghain gave Alistair something impossibly close to a wry smile and handed over his coins. With one hand, Alistair dumped them into the till without counting and with the other he passed Loghain his disgusting coffee.

“Good lad,” Loghain said softly. His eyes bored into Alistair’s, but Alistair refused to look away. He didn’t even dare blink. He believed with all his soul that blinking would mean weakness. “You remind me of someone I used to know. From a long time ago.” He smirked and raised the cup to his lips. Alistair watched the steam curl from the small opening in his peripherals. He knew good and well that was fresh coffee from the pot and he had dumped it into Loghain’s cup scalding, but the man drank it anyway. A long drag of it. “Wonder why that could be,” he murmured.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

With a little shrug, Loghain turned away and Alistair all but sagged onto the counter.

“Good day, Delilah, and good luck,” Loghain said to her as he passed her table and headed out the door.

 Merry Christmas, Axel!!    ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

I’ll have part 2 ASAP!!!

#Dragon Age: Origins #DAO #Alistair Theirin #Warden Cousland #Coffee Shop!AU #College!AU #Secret Santa #Fiend writes

[sinsofaconfessor]

(( Apologies! and warning! This post is LONG!))

The Stormwind streets, an almost peacefully quiet day save the typical shouts of Breels recipes and the local gnews echoing. Syred sat there, slumped at his desk. One hand propping up his head as his dull gaze watched the door. Not many came to his shop, the small demand silently astonished Syred. He was quite certain with the way Stormwind worked, the way azeroth worked people should be flooding for customized weapons, runes and enchantments, potions and poisons. The shop now was a waiting room, an eerie limbo where the elf sat and watched time pass. 

More often than not, he'd close the shop early due to lack of visitors and return home, but today the thin wooden boards that made up the back wall of the shop found a small fraction of curiousity. Syred had discovered his shop shared a wall with what sounded like a guard office of some time. Chatter day in and out of various events, information muffled through wooden planks almost interesting amid what was another day of very little. His gaze turned to the door up the stairs, contemplating bringing Amarah and Ari downstairs. He'd finished working on a book for them, blank pages enchanted to give movement to figures drawn on them. He suspected it'd keep them from coloring on anymore important tomes he'd tried desperately to keep from their hands.

Syreds shop was something he was...fairly proud of, a work of almost gaudy and over the top elegance mixed with the brick and wood theme of stormwind.  Enchantments keeping books tethered to shelves, candles mounted in metallic holders enchanted with levitation spells all for a bit of flare and appeal, if only to advertise some of what the store offered. All the while black and red themed carpets, curtains and tapestries settled and guided the patrons gaze to the wares, all completely matching Syreds own preferred attire scheme.  No one expected less from an elf. Syred enjoyed playing the part a little too much.

the sound of bare feet shuffled across stone, bringing Syreds ears  from eavesdropping on the muffle sounds behind him to the door. A night elf stepped slowly and carefully inside the enchanted parlour. Dark violet skin and muscle framed kilt and glowing runes simmered over the Kal'doreis chest and arms, blindfold settled loosely on the bridge of his nose as jagged horns curved forward and up, marking this one as Illidari, or at least former. Demon hunters.

Ugh, demon hunters. Syreds thoughts turned to telling the elf he was closed, turning him away. Business had been beyond slow, however, and the shop itself hemmoraged money. If Syred had sought to do this for actual profit the business would have gone under months ago. Money wasn't an obstacle, boredom however stalled his typical standoffish nature.

Syred straightened himself out, rising to his feet and offering a slight dip of the head to the demon hunter, noting the lack of glaives with mild curiousity. " Greetings, Welcome to the Needful. What are you looking for today? new steel?" Cordial, though strained he was at least momentarily polite. Syred didn't like demon hunters, or paladins, or cats, or drunkards, fools, Sundays,Lightforged, farmers....It could be said the list of things Syred did like was far shorter. " I'm looking for something to help me kill a demon. The King has sent me on a mission."  

Of course, Syred slouched, almost bored all over, of course the demon hunter was hunting demons. Of course a call to victory from the king. Syred  unavoidably sighed. " I recommend an orb, something to contain spirits and entities. Killing a demon isn't an issue, it's mostly what happens to their essence afterwards..I suspect you're careful enough to avoid overeating since you aren't a pile of ash." Syreds hand flicked, a crystalline orb floated off the shelf closest to the window, slowly gliding toward the center of the room. **Thunk..**

The orb fell to the ground,  its magics failed, in the same instant the whole shop seemed to falter like a gnomish machine running out of power. Enchantments lost their glow, candles fell to the ground spilling wax and rolling across the wood and stone. Everything in the store seemed to go dark. The entire fade of magic brought a moment of pause, confusion over Syreds face evident. All of this seemed...impossible. His eyes turned up to the window of his shop, outside a deep green glow just barely evident, a sign of tampering.

His eyes turned back to the demon hunter standing in the room with him, two feet taller, massive. His eyes stared down at Syred as thick rocky carapace coating his shoulders, arms and claws.

oh.

Oh.

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

Inside the Stormwind office, a simple accountant keeping track. He was seated at a desk, keeping tally of each guards salary in a ledger. Mundane silence and peace. It wasn't even payday when the accountant had the most conversations his entire week. The only break in his silence was the soft scribbles of the quill over paper.It was just enough for the accountant to wish for something else. Maybe -he- could apply for a guard position for a more exciting life! This office was cramped and worst of all, strangely hot this early in the morning. Why -was- it so hot?

The thought was answered in a flash of fate-woven destruction. Splintering wood heralded an explosion of shattered singed and cracked wooden walls. The first sight emerging? A pitch foxtail, cropped by massive violet clawed hands, armored in thick rocky scales. Wood planks thrust outward as burnt discolored wood exploded outward, the accountants only friend  was the desk he'd ducked behind to avoid the shrapnel of splinters and chunks of wood. The immense form of a Demon hunter powered by vengeance burst through the wall, revealing the shop burst in felflames. Massive clawed feet gouged the wood of the guard house as he'd come to a halt, it was evident a charged leap had sent the demon hunter and Syred through the wall. Destruction and flames weaved through the now merged buildings, Syreds head clutched in the demons clawed palm.

Smoke spilled through the office, causing the Accountant to race from his office , screaming into the street. "  FIRE!. There's a fire! " He scampered toward the stocks, quick to call anyone and everyones attention. Amid the plumes of smoke the sounds of violent impacts, wood being crushed and grunts of pain, snarls as the howl of of something whipping quickly through the air. Grunts and audible tears of cloth, and furniture violently crushed tattled the hidden violence behind the smoke. Small sounds of bystanders gathering witnessed not a shopkeep being accosted, but the shadows of two bipedal creatures illuminated by green flame and clouded by smog trading blows.

Books fueled the flames as the second stories support gave way, groaning before shelves came crashing to the ground, support beams weakened and collapsing into the rest pushing smoke into the streets. The crowed scampered back from the smoke, some overwhelmed by the surge and encompassed with in it.

Then? The smoke dissipated,  the witnesses seeing the smoke taking to the sky and flowing rapidly off into the distance. All that remained was the two destroyed buildings, all sounds of violence gone. It was as if the two creatures had vanished, leaving two hollowed frames of buildings burned to ash from entirely within. Syred had now earned himself the title of completely and utterly uninsurable.

Smoke rocketed across the sky, billowing over cliffs and farmland before arcing downward as if the smoke trailed a cannonball now coming to kiss the ground.  What landed was far heavier.  A crash of locked limps and clawed hands sinking into flesh, gashing wounds across skin tumbling across the quarry of the gold coast, set just to the profile of the giant pit. Syreds form scrambled to his feet, shadow magic clouding him and the demon hunter dissipated. The Night elfs rocky skin, forged into spikes jutting alone his forearms, shoulders, and back. The Night elfs skin bore claw marks gashing his flesh over his torso and arms, blood stained his spikes. His jaw, temple and cheek held lines cut across his face. Fire sparked over the dry grass of the plains cropping his feet. His Metamorphosis burned with power, heaving pants and a pleased grin laced in dripping blood over his canines.

Across from the Demon hunter  crouched Syred, his shoes destroyed leaving clawed feet and carapace skin. A long spindly tail swayed, barbed points at the end dripping with the demon hunters blood. His clothes were in tatters, flesh burned a slight green tint over the darker red. Horns curved back over his foxtail. Bruised skin in the shape of fingers painted over his head with blood dripping down over the back of his neck. Cuts  and pierced wounds peppered over the darkened skin of his torso, cropped barely by thin fabric dangling but a few errant buttons clinging to the mockery of the shirt swaying in the air of the farmland. Black carapace wings twitching and lightly flapping behind him. The Demon hunter had revealed Syreds form in the brutal brawl of fire, brimstone and public destruction. Syreds demonic flesh had torn into the fabrics of finely tailored clothes, carapace legs pierced the fabric of his pants as dripping blood leaked down his figure. The bleeding seemed secondary injuries to the large bruise marks forging green welts over Syreds skin and what was likely close to broken bones barely saved by hard demonic sinew and muscle.

Both were panting, staring unblinkingly at one another as Syreds voice gasped out the first words between the two since their first round of brawling. " You...Lose." Kal'dorei cackled. " I lose? I got you alone with no guards to interfere. You..." Lose."

This person was after him? The realization brought a swell of shadowmagic, darkness spilled across the ground, shadowy tendrils birthed from the ground and rocketed toward the demon hunter, sharpened points of magic seeking to skewer and pierce him. Felfire flames burst around the hunter, repelling the shadows around his form as his massive legs propelled him into the air, launching him down onto Syreds form. Felfire trailed around the hunters figure as he lunged at Syred.

Syreds gaze widened, watching the hunter repel his magics, sigils of felflame marking the ground around him. Clouds of shadowmagic surged around him, working to disperse his form from physicality only to be dispelled as a massive clawed hand ripped past the smoke, gripping at Syreds neck and plucking him from his magics influence. Carapace hands grasped at the arm in range before the demons form was gripped, clawed fingers dug into his throat causing blood to drip down his skin. The hunters laugh was instant as his grip allowed him to turn, lifting Syreds shorter demonic body and hurl him into the massive crater of the quarry.

Syreds body tumbled, no mercy granted in his fall as rocks crashed against carapace, bone and flesh until he'd landed at the bottom, limp figure draped over a fallen boulder. This was where a villain would be mid-monologue, talking about how perfect their plan was. It was unfortunate Syred wasn't in a talking mood. The hunter himself wasn't big on words and it showed as a boulder found itself rolled from the edge of the quarry and sent tumbling after the devastated demon. The sound of crashing rocks hitting the side of the quarry brought conscious thought and survival instincts to kick in, pushing Syred to open his eyes and look up. Shadows swirled around him again, pushing past the boulder as it slammed against the bottom of the quarry where his body once lay, the smoke condensed into a cloud, swelling as if staying intangible for whatever reason. The hunter allowed for little time for a reprieve, massive clawed feet pushed the elf off the edge of the quarry as he leapt down and into the cloud, immolating felflames burning through the cloud of magic and forcing Syreds form into physicality.

**CRACK**

Carapace broken, bone shattered and the demons body was shoved back into the bottom of the rocky pit, his left arm bent the wrong way, his torso folded against a clawed fist that cracked into his side, sending the body bouncing uselessly across the ground. Pain Ripped through Syreds nerves, screaming in protest at pain he'd not felt in some time. It was blinding and with so little time to recover the situation only found itself more grim. Syreds brief dispersion had allowed him time to seal the gashed and cuts on his wounds, but did little for new wounds of the devastating connections of the demons fists with his form. Syred fell uselessly again to the ground, magic wasn't working, and in this moment a knock down drag down fight wasn't working either. What else was left to do? Shadows were ineffective on the hunter. " The King wants you gone... Imagine his surprise when I tell him what you really were. A useless pile of demon." The hunter looked to be rolling his shoulders, fuming with power as flames licked the air around him. He approached Syreds prone form, snatching at his leg with a crushing grip to lift his carapaces figure upside down. A moment later the hunters hand twisted, snapping Syreds leg and cracking clear through the carapace to break at his leg. " There will be no nether for you, I'll eat you myself piece by piece...starting with.."

The pain caused an unavoidable howl from Syreds lips, anger, fury and rage boiled up. Whispers began to call at his mind, calling violence and death to his mind. Sanity melted rational thought except for one single synapse, one track snapped into a singular idea.

A boulder smashed against the hunters back, causing him to drop the elf and fall over. The hunter turned, looking at the top of the quarry above him. Had someone come to interfere? His answer came in the form of another boulder -smashing- against his form. Shadowy tendrils had birthed from the walls, magics grasping over the physical, what couldn't be dispelled by the hunters magics. Each Tendril Hurling boulder after boulder from the bottom of the quarry.

Rock after rock battered against the demons spiked armor, crashing and raining a storm of rocks against his body, the strain of physical exertion and the time spent in the form caused the spikes to melt away, grunts and thrashes as the hunter swiped at the number of shadowy assailants with little avail, their distance and use of the projectiles kept hailing any number of gravel. smaller stones hailed at the elf like bullets, pelting against the elfs violet skin until? A sharper rock found it's home in his back. An elongated rock hurled like a javelin pierced elven flesh, the tip of the rock emerged from his chest.

Syreds azure eyes stared from the ground, his mangled frame willing the shadowy tendrils into murdering for his will. The demons gaze turned to look back at Syreds prone form, even with the meat of his body absolutely devastated. Flames licked at his skin as felflames and power built into his form. The hunter laughed at Syred, watching him before.

Chaos, power, flames burst through the quarry. Fire erupted from the hunter in spite and vengeance causing a surge of felflame to burst and cover the entire quarry in the blast. The force of the explosion sent a tremor through the ground in Westfall, green flame lighting the morning sky in a pillar of flame, heat and magic slagging rock and spraying molten magic across the ground.

The eruption was enough to get the guards of sentinel hill to send a patrol, paladins given a call to action and adventurers given quest to find the source of the danger. In hours passed, the guard that came upon the scene found two charred skeletons cemented into slagged rock at the bottom of the quarry, unidentifiable by any clothing or hair, one skeleton submerged in heated rock face down into the bottom of the quarry, the other face up adjacent to him.

#Syred #The King #borderland coalition #Rosemarri

[marianhaawke]

...and they were quarantined! (WIP Whenever)

Chapter 2:

Isabela had, predictably, packed what seemed like her entire wardrobe into a duffel bag. Maker’s breath, Hawke thought, how many crop tops can one person possibly wear? Isabela was also currently rifling through their pantry while Fenris carried their bags upstairs from her car, the Siren’s Call. So named because of the noises it made when you got it past 60 miles per hour- which Isabela did frequently, and with much glee.

               Merrill came in the door behind Fenris, protesting that she could help with the bags while coughing. Fenris just glowered, but Hawke could tell it was softer than his usual glower. He wasn’t a fan of the blood mage, it was true, but Merrill was nothing if not polite even while she was sick. Hawke, of course, lounged on the couch and watched him drop the bags onto their living room floor with a loud thump. Their mabari, Barkspawn, looked up at Merrill and Isabela curiously before returning to his nap.

               “Don’t bother to get up and help,” Fenris said.

               “Sarcasm, Fenris? I really am rubbing off on you,” Hawke said, flicking through Netflix shows. “Besides, I’m an invalid.”

               “Hawke, how are you feeling?” Merrill asked with concern in her voice as she sat next to her on the couch.

               “Never better, thanks for asking,” Hawke said. “How about you, are you doing okay? I heard your fever was getting better-“

               Isabela barged in, holding a can from their pantry. “Creamed corn, Hawke? Really? You know this went bad about a year ago.” Hawke shrugged.

               “I have all the cooking skills of my mother and none of her charm,” Hawke said. “We’re a takeout household, Isabela, you know that.”

               Isabela disappeared back into the kitchen. Hawke, Fenris, and Merrill all sat in an uncomfortable silence.

               “Merrill, would you, ah, like a beverage?” Hawke asked. “I’ve never really hosted before, I’m not sure what the proper protocol is.”

               “I’d love some water if it’s not too much trouble,” Merrill said. “You should probably drink some too, Hawke, it helps with fevers.”

               “You sound like Fenris,” Hawke said. “Fenris, would you be a dear and get us some water?”

               He shot her a glare but got up and walked into the kitchen anyway. Hawke continued flicking through the options on Netflix, settling on a random sitcom, when Isabela breezed in and sat down next to Merrill, flinging an arm over the elf’s shoulders.

               “Why were you looking through our kitchen anyway?” Hawke asked.

               “Just curious,” Isabela said. “You can tell a lot about a person from their pantry, you know.”

               “Really?” Merrill asked curiously. “Like what?”

               “Like that Hawke spends more money on food for her mabari than herself.”

               At hearing himself mentioned, the mabari perked his ears up before settling back down again.

               “Only the best for the best,” Hawke said. Fenris walked back into the living room, carrying two glasses of water. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

               “You two are just so adorable,” Isabela said. “I can see why Varric is writing about you two in his next story.”

               Fenris gave Isabela a piercing glare- one of his finest, really. “The dwarf is doing what, exactly?”

               “He let you read it?” protested Hawke. “He hasn’t let me touch it, yet.”

               “Oh no,” Isabela said with a wicked smile, “I got ahold of his computer and emailed myself a copy. It’s quite… salacious, if you catch my meaning. I was hoping to get a live viewing while we’re here.” At this, she waggled her eyebrows in Fenris’ direction.

               “Maker, I’m going to kill that dwarf,” Hawke said with a sigh. Before she could continue, she was cut off by a fit of hacking coughs. Fenris frowned.

               “That’s it, you’re going back to bed,” he said. “Drink some water, too.”

               As if on cue, Merrill started coughing too. Hawke groaned. “It’s like a hospital in here,” she said. “Fine, fine. You guys can watch whatever you want, just no porn. I’m gonna take a nap. Remind me to kill Varric when I wake up.” With that, she walked into the bedroom, followed by the mabari who seemed eager to jump in the bed with her.

               As she drifted off, she could hear Merrill in the living room valiantly trying to make conversation with Fenris, who was less than interested.

               Then all of a sudden she woke with a jolt. A hand was on her forehead. She opened her eyes and saw Anders standing over her wearing a mask, checking her temperature with the back of his hand. Anders and Merrill? Maker, I bet Fenris is having a great time right now, she thought.

               Before she could say something, Anders cut her off. “Save the witty remark, Hawke. I’m only here on my break, so I have to be quick. How are you feeling?”

               “Fantastic,” she said. “Best shape of my life.” Followed by another coughing fit. Anders removed his hand and looked at her intently.

               “You need rest and lots of water,” he said. “Same goes for the two in your living room. I told Fenris already, but you three need to watch your temperatures. If it gets too high, or if you feel short of breath, come down to my clinic.” He went into their bathroom and washed his hands thoroughly. Hawke could see the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. He must be pulling all-nighters, she thought, feeling slightly guilty for making so many jokes about the virus.

               “Anders, do you need some food? You said you were on break, right?”

               “Some food would be great,” he admitted, drying his hands. “I haven’t had time to eat anything all day.”

               “Varric dropped off a container of chicken noodle soup earlier, you can have it if you want,” Hawke said. Fenris walked into the bedroom and nodded at Anders. Quite the gesture of civility, Hawke thought.

               “Hawke, how are you feeling?” Fenris asked as Anders left to presumably finish off her chicken noodle soup. Ah, well.

“Not great,” Hawke admitted, coughing again. This was answered with a matching cough coming from the living room. So either Merrill or Isabela was awake, too. Fenris frowned and grabbed her hand.

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten sick yet,” she said.

“I have rarely ever been sick,” he said. “Besides, someone needs to take care of you three.”

“Thank you for helping,” Hawke said in a low voice. “I know taking care of Isabela and Merrill can’t be your favorite thing.”  

Fenris smiled. “No, but I would do it again for you, Hawke.” He lightly kissed her on the forehead and went back into the living room. Hawke smiled and burrowed in under the covers even more, leaning up against Barkspawn, who didn’t seem to mind. She drifted off again to the sound of coughing coming from the next room.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #fenhawke #wip whenever