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tomtenadia · 3 years

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Fire in her veins - a Island Dreams AU oneshot

So, yesterday Island Dream reached the amazing milestone of 5k hits on AO3. For me, it means the world especially because ID has a special place in my heart. It was my first long Rowaelin, set in a place that I adore. It’s more than just a story. It’s set in a part of Scotland that has completely stolen my heart.

So, to celebrate I asked for prompts and @whimsicallyreading gave me a brilliant one.

“Aelin accidentally distracts Rowan and their stove catches on fire 🥰 would be funny to see the ID crew interact with a Fire Department 🤣”

inspiration hit in an instant. This fic is set about three years after the epilogue. The twins are 7 and Dalamar is 4. The story has a very Freyja-centred ending, mostly because she is my favourite. She is wild and fierce like her mother and she is funny. (Don’t get me wrong I adore Morrigan and Dalamar too. They are calmer and adorable in their own way.)

If you are new to Island Dream you can find it HERE

Well, without much further ado I will leave you to the story.

Rowan had a busy day at work. The bookshop had become very popular in town and business was good especially since Aelin had convinced him a while before to set up an internet page and an online ordering system. It had taken a while to really kick in but now he was basically serving the whole of the Hebrides and he had started getting orders as well from some remote location on the western highlands. Aelin had been right. She was the one who had started his Facebook page after all. He hated the whole thing - he had even deleted the profile he had created for fun, but he could not deny that it was handy for business. He had started promoting his events, he had hosted some indie authors and also had started a reading club at the weekend. He was proud of the job he had done. And now, with his aunt he was working on another stage. Her cafe had been shut for a few months after the last bad storm and flooding had caused some heavy damage. So when the bill for repairs had come Maeve knew it was too much and had decided to close to the dismay of the locals who loved her cakes and food. But Rowan had come up with a plan. The unit next to his shop had been vacant for a while so, he offered his aunt a deal. She could reopen her cafe inside his bookshop and they could merge the two units together. It had taken some convincing but in the end Maeve had accepted and the works had officially started.

Life was busy but he had never been happier. The twins were seven and were in P2 and Rowan could not believe how quickly they were growing up. Freyja was still as wild and school had been a challenge. She hated being forced to sit at a desk. Hated the uniform. Hated school, but apart from her rebel attitude, the teachers kept telling them that she was a bright pupil and both Rowan and Aelin relaxed. Morrigan, on the other hand was the opposite of her twin. She adored school and was still the quiet one in the family. Dalamar was still at nursery and was meant to start school the following year.

On that day Evalin had picked up the kids and brought them to the shop, something they adored. Then Rowan had taken them to swimming practice. He had kept his part time job as swimming instructor and the kids had followed in his footsteps. The twins being older were taking proper swimming classes while Dalamar just joined the club for the wee ones and splashed happily in the water while his sisters learnt to swim. When Aelin was not busy at the hospital she would accompany them and play with Dalamar.

Usually the swimming classes were enough to exhaust his kids that he could cook in peace while waiting for Aelin to get back. That evening she had texted him that they had a last minute emergency and was running late.

He tried for the umpteenth time to concentrate on a recipe for the evening when Freyja barged in the kitchen running followed by her brother and screaming that a dragon was chasing her.

Rowan grabbed his daughter and lifted her in his arms burying his face in her belly causing the girl to laugh hard “dad, the dragon” and wiggled in her father’s arms to get free but Rowan did not let go. He just walked to Dalamar and offered him his free arm “hop on, oh mighty dragon.” The boy grabbed his father’s forearm swinging like a monkey and Rowan walked into the living room, his daughter under one arms and his son swinging from the other like a jungle creature.

Morrigan joined the chaos a moment later. Rowan kneeled and she climbed on his back.

In that moment he heard the door of the house open and an instant later Aelin waltzed in the living room and saw her husband completely overwhelmed by their children. She laughed at the scene “what is happening in here?” Her hands on the hips.

“A dragon is following me.” Shouted Freyja, with still too much energy in her.

“I am not a dragon, I am a monkey.” Replied Dalamar, swinging a bit more from Rowan’s arm.

“And what are you doing, Morrigan?”

“The dragon has burned the floor.”

Rowan moved to the sofa and started to deposit the kids down “come on, let dad cook dinner. And don’t shout too much, mum is tired.”

The kids slowly climbed down their father and went to greet Aelin who hugged them all “did you all had a nice day? Did you go swimming tonight?”

“Yes.” The two girls shouted “Dad taught us how to jump in head first.”

Rowan roared with laughter “and they still are two clumsy little terrors who smash their bellies.”

“Be careful with that.” Said Aelin in full doctor mode “that type of jump is very risky, they can snap their neck if do not enter correctly.”

Rowan took a step towards his wife and wrapped his arms around her “I know. I would never put our daughters in danger.”

“Good,” she gave him a chaste kiss “now let mum take a shower and dad cook?”

“Tha.” Replied the three kids in unison.

The kids climbed back on the carpet Dalamar going back to his bricks, Morrigan to her colouring book and Freyja just kept swinging her plastic sword fighting some imaginary monster. While Aelin disappeared in the bathroom, Rowan finally managed to get back to the kitchen and think about dinner. It was getting late for the kids and he knew they would soon start to become agitated again and start bellowing for food. He grabbed a towel and threw it on his shoulder and then started preparing the ingredients. He was preparing veggie burgers made out of cous cous and chickpeas. The kids loved them. He was the one who cooked the most in the house since his hours were far more reliable and he had been doing his best to cook healthy meals, to Aelin displeasure as she complained that there were always far to many vegetables in his dishes. But she was okay with the kids following a healthy diet. Morrigan was pescatarian. The girl could not stand eating meat and last time Rowan had tried to give her beef or chicken, the poor girl had been sick all night. Whereas fish, she loved it and she was a happy veggie eater like her father. Dalamar would occasionally eat meat but with very little enthusiasms whereas Freyja was just like her mother. She would eat anything on her plate.

He was busy preparing the patties when he felt Aelin’s hand around his waist and a gentle kiss on his back.

“How the shift at the hospital?” He asked while finishing the patties and heating up the oil in the pan.

“Long.” She sighed against his chest “your dear wife might need some adult cuddling tonight.”

Rowan laughed and turned in her arms, throwing his towel on the counter. A deep kiss that, after seven years of marriage still made her toes curl. Aelin’s hands linked behind his neck and Rowan pushed her against the island and Aelin moaned in appreciation.

Until all hell broke loose.

The smoke alarm pierced the quiet of the room with its grating sound and when Aelin opened her eyes again she saw a quickly spreading fire behind Rowan.

“Rowan!” She shouted.

He turned quickly and looked for something to stop the fire but he was paralysed and he knew enough that water was not an option.

Aelin was already on the phone with the emergency services while Rowan grabbed another towel and tried to smother the fire with the only result of burning his hand.

“Ro, fire department is on its way.” She took his hand “a bad first degree burn.”

He was about to go and put it under the sink but Aelin stopped him.

At the deafening sound, the kids burst in the kitchen but Aelin pushed them away, taking Rowan with her “Come on kids let’s go back to the carpet.”

Morrigan and Dalamar went in their mother arms scared by the commotion. Freyja was standing just near the sofa looking at the fire in the kitchen in a daze.

Rowan noticed her and grabbed his daughter in his arms, ignoring the searing pain in his hand “That is dangerous.”

“It’s pretty.” Said the little girl.

It wasn’t long after that the fire department arrived.

A woman with blonde hair, who was clearly in charge gave some orders and the team had the fire out in no time.

“Is anyone hurt?” Asked her, joining the family in the living room.

“My husband. First degree burn on his hand.” Replied Aelin pointing at Rowan leaning against the back of the sofa.

The woman called over the radio for a paramedic and Rowan scoffed claiming that he did not need one but at Aelin glared at him and he shut up.

And while Morrigan and Dalamar were still on the carpet quite shaken by the ordeal, Freyja was moving toward the tall woman. She reached for the hem of her bunker gear and pulled, claiming attention.

“Hello little one.” Said the woman kneeling to be at eye level with the girl “There’s no more fire. We fixed it. You don’t have to be scared.”

Freyja pouted “I was not scared.”

The woman laughed and brushed her silver hair and the girl grinned.

“Are you a fire woman?” She asked, looking at the adult in front of her with deep admiration.

In that instant another woman and a man came through and gave her a report, the woman nodded and got back to the girl in front of her “Yes, I am.”

Freyja beamed “can I be a fire woman too?”

The fire captain placed her heavy hat on the girl’s head which was gigantic on her but Freyja shouted for her parents but Aelin was busy speaking to the man and her dad was in the capable hands of a paramedic who was tending to his hand.

“You can be anything you want to be.” Said the woman softly, taking her hat back then she stood and Freyja bent her head upwards to stare at the woman while she walked to her parents.

“There is some damage and you will have to replace the stove and probably paint the wall near it.” She explained “I would suggest to have a fire blanket and a small fire extinguisher for cooking oils. They can easily be found online and they are good to have in emergencies.”

“We will. Thank you so much.”

The woman nodded and left with her team, while the paramedic was finishing fixing up Rowan’s hand “Keep it clean and change the bandage regularly. There are ointments that you can use to help the healing process. If it gets worse make sure you go to the hospital.” Rowan looked at Aelin and grinned “thank you. My wife is an A&E doctor, I am sure she will keep me right.”

“That’s why she looks familiar. Western Isles hospital, isn’t it? You are Aelin.”

“Hi Sarah.”

Once the house was quiet again Aelin relaxed for a moment and Rowan went to Morrigan and Dalamar while Freyja was still staring at the door where the fire department had left.

“What is it, my love?”

Freyja turned at her mother’s voice, her face beaming with unbridled joy. They were all shaken by the evening, but her fierce girl was actually smiling.

“That was a fire woman.”

“Yes, my darling.”

“I want to be a fire woman too.”

Aelin crouched down to meet her daughter’s eyes and brushed some hair off her face “you can be anything you want to be, mo chridhe. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Freyja hugged her mother then ran to her father, sister and brother shouting that she was going to be a fire woman.

Rowan joined Aelin a moment later and pulled her to his chest “I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“I got distracted.”

Aelin lightly punched him in the chest “I am the one who distracted you.”

He sighed “we have no dinner.”

“I’ll phone mum and ask her if we can go to her place.”

Aelin disappeared and Rowan stood in the kitchen looking at the mess. The fire had quickly spread and a part of the counter was damaged too. Everything was covered in foam and wasn’t even sure if it was safe to use the oven. The patties lay like burned blobs at the side.

Aelin came back a moment later “mum is happy to have us. She is probably making dinner already.” She tugged her husband “let’s go, buzzard. We’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Once they finished getting the kids ready they went back to their room “So, Freyja wants to be a firefighter. She was staring at the fire in marvel and was amazed at seeing the two women firefighters.”

Rowan pulled Aelin to his chest “She is fearless like you. She has fire in her. I can totally see her become a badass firefighter.”

Aelin hugged him back in silence.

“She is our wee fireheart.”

Twelve years later, when Freyja finished her training at the fire academy and was assigned at the firehouse in Stornoway Aelin and Rowan happily looked back at that night knowing that it had changed the life of their daughter and were never happier of a fire in their house.

#island dreams #rowaelin #rowaelinkids #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #domestic fluff

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themalicealyce · 6 years

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Sarcasm and Puns: Chapter Two

You’re an introverted person, have been all of your life but it wasn’t as if you were shy, you were just content to have your only friends be your brother and your roommate. Though when your brother’s young daughter makes friends with the human ambassador of monsters you open up to the idea of having a larger group of friends.

Everything seems much slower in autumn, the chill in the air causes the world to screech to a crawl as the leaves change, even the city seemed less lively. You always thought this was true but over the course of the last couple of years you discovered there was an exception to the hushed state that this time of year brought. This break from the lull of dreary, sluggish afternoons came in the form of a hyper six year old, fresh out of school, tugging you towards the playground with the single minded determination of a freight train.

Slow burn, like really slow and lots of friendship with the whole group. Originally posted on AO3.

You basically had to drag Morrigan away from the park and by that time the sun had started to sink low in the sky. It wasn’t quite setting, but it was definitely getting late in the afternoon. The earlier azure expanse had been morphed into a gradient mixture of oranges that faded from red to pink to an inky indigo that was partially obscured by the looming grey clouds. These clouds seemed ever present during this time of year and they had only drawn closer together since this morning in a threat of rain, darkening further as you continued in your walk. Unaware or maybe just blissfully uncaring of the general lethargic look of the world around her your niece had held your hand and skipped the whole way back to your brother's place. She told you about her day at school, her hair and backpack bouncing along with her carefree rhythm. Morrigan finally seemed to be settling into the new city and that made you able to breathe a little easier about the decision to press your brother into moving closer to you. For the past few months she had pouted and protested about leaving all her first-grade friends behind and had seemed just as resistant to the unfamiliar school. Your brother seemed to immediately pick up on her sudden change in mood as well, happily taking Toriel’s phone number when you gave it to him in a whirlwind of relieved excitement.

Lost in a haze of your thoughts, you barely even noticed when you came face to face with your apartment door. You chuckled to yourself. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence to find yourself suddenly home after a long session of daydreaming. You pulled your keys out of your pocket with a small smile, you were prepared to sit back on the couch and spend the remainder of your day pleasantly zoned out. Life seemed against you though. You heard a clattering noise followed by a loud yelp coming from inside the small living space. You briefly let your forehead fall against the solid wood of the door with a dull thud accompanied by an annoyed sigh that passed through your lips in a manner that felt all too routine. Pushing yourself away from the door you steadied yourself before easily managing to get it unlocked, taking a moment to mentally prepare yourself for whatever could possibly be waiting for you inside. You flung the door open, perhaps a little more dramatically than strictly necessary, though you would make an adamant argument for your theatrics. You scanned the open layout of your apartment for the source of the disturbance.

Finding it quickly, you stood in the door frame frozen in your tracks, unable to do much more than stare, slightly bewildered, because this was certainly a new sight to come home to. The living room was much more of a mess than normal. All of it seemed to culminate in a cluttered disarray towards the center of the room. You felt yourself caught somewhere between a disappointed groan and unstoppable laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of what was happening.

Your roommate was sat with his back to you, pressed against the coffee table with his legs crossed. He had gotten out what appeared to be one of your old decks of playing cards and was surrounded by what had to be a new case of shiny store-bought plastic poker chips that were scattered haphazardly across the hardwood. He had ditched his usual jacket, it lay flung across the sofa and his hair that was cut short on the sides with the top was dyed a slightly metallic cyan color was messily sticking out in nearly every direction looking like a melted mohawk. He had grabbed onto a tiny black and white kitten that squirmed and let out annoyed little mewls in his hands. He had been trying to force it to play cards, of course he was. He whined distraught when the cat knocked over one of the few stacks of chips that was still standing, even though they were stacked far too high and were bound to fall over anyway. Your recently adopted kitty mewed indignantly and wriggled again, though still weakly, in his hands trying to wander off, unamused by his antics.

"Aw, come on! You’re not even trying!" he reprimanded the cat in a huff before snuggling the small, bored animal closer to him. "Vincent Evan Warren. Will you stop harassing my poor kitten every time I leave you unsupervised?" you asked using your best scolding mother voice as you finally shut the door behind you and tossed your keys onto the kitchen counter.

Vincent, to his credit, managed to look sheepish for a moment at the stern use of his full name, though that quickly dropped into a child-like frown. "I'm not harassing him! I'm teaching Sir Hemsworth how to play Texas hold 'em. He's not a very good at it though." You sighed, failing to repress the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose in a defeated gesture even as you felt a small, amused smile start to creep its way onto your face. "His name is Hemlock." you told him calmly for the umpteenth time since you brought the kitten home. Vincent looked at you as if he was considering the information then lifted the cat up to his ear like a small child might when speaking to a stuffed animal, his short stature and large, round eyes completing the innocent look.

"What's that? Yes?" Vincent thoughtfully nodded along, playfully over acting. "Okay, I'll tell her." he looked up at you pulling the cat away from his face and setting the ball of monochromatic fluff down on his lap. "Sir Hemsworth says Hemlock is a depressing name and prefers the title that the Queen of Kitties bestowed upon him after he was knighted for saving that bus full of baby red pandas." he commented in an off handed manner as if it was common knowledge, already dealing new hands for himself and the tiny cat. You couldn't stop yourself from giggling maniacally because your roommate was such a child sometimes and you knew it was one of the reasons he was your best friend.

“You are a complete and utter dork.” you smirked when you stifled your laughter and regained your breath. He broke into the first real smile since you came in. “Na.” he waved off the comment and made a vague attempt to gather up the poker chips near him into a sloppy pile.

"You don’t get to just say ‘na’ dork.” you shook your head as you walked over to the couch. "Yeah, whatever. Even if I was a dork, not that I will ever admit to that, you would love me anyway." Vincent smirked pushing the cards away, abandoning the endeavor entirely, instead standing to join you.

"I'm not calling him that by the way, no matter how many dumb heroic stories you make up." you added as you slumped ungracefully down on the couch and grabbed the remote that was half buried underneath the mess he made from the table in front of you. "Well I'm not calling him Hemlock." he quipped back, stealing the remote out of your hand as he sat down next to you and turned on the tv. Immediately upon lighting up, the screen displayed a rather flamboyant looking, pink and black, humanoid robot in the middle of whatever campy straight to tv movie that was currently playing. You recognized the robotic monster immediately, flashy costume doing nothing to hide his unique appearance.

You groaned dramatically, looking from the scene to Vincent. “Really?” Vincent had overrun your TV’s DVR with Mettaton, which you couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than his previous anime obsession that ruined your Netflix queue. He innocently turned to give you an oblivious smile "What?" he asked. "He's pretty freaking awesome," he shrugged at your continued deadpan look of judgement. "Don't even act like you don’t binge watch his cooking show in secret like a really lame guilty pleasure." he added, ignoring your distaste to focus back on the screen.

"Well I can't watch it with you anymore.” You answered the accusation snidely. “What! Why?!” He gasped in indignation.

“The last time we did together, I came home the next day and it looked like a fucking glitter bomb detonated in our kitchen." you pointed out rolling your eyes thinking about how you still found stray sparkles in there sometimes. "THAT WAS LIKE ONE TIME!" he protested loudly, startling Hemlock who had nearly fallen asleep in front of the tv. You chuckled quietly to yourself at his sudden defensive tone and hummed noncommittally.

“Well now you get no coffee.” He huffed, getting off the couch wandering off to the kitchen. You could still see him because of the open layout of your shared apartment.

“Nooooo, you monster!” You called sarcastically after him flinging yourself dramatically across the couch with a hand across your forehead in a mock Victorian fainting spell.

Vincent couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Do you want some coffee?” He asked standing at the machine. “Na, I really don’t need to be up too late I got work in the morning.” You answered getting back up into a sitting position. “Well, that’s exactly why I need it.” He answered, easily working the machine. Vincent worked mostly online, but also took frequent trips out of town. He tried to explain it to you, but whenever somebody asked you what he did you gave the vague answer of ‘He works with computers or code or something.’ Soon enough, he was in his work position, laptop on his lap and coffee nearby, face buried in the screen while still listening to the tv. You and Vincent stayed up for a while after that, flipping through tv channels and talking about random things that crossed your minds. This went on until it was past the point that you should have gone to bed especially since you had work so early in the morning. You grunted a good night to your friend who by now was bleary eyed and surrounded by a couple of mugs that had held an unhealthy amount of coffee. He didn't even look up from his laptop as he gave you a weak wave that ended up looking more like he was shooing you from the room. You turned the tv volume down to a whisper and lazily rolled off the sofa shuffling off to your room with Hemlock yawning and following at your heels.

As soon as you crossed the threshold you shed your jacket off and switched out your jeans for a pair of soft pajama bottoms. You collapsed on your bed before leaning over the edge to lift Hemlock up as well since he was still too small to make the jump by himself. You rolled over and found yourself falling effortlessly into a dreamless sleep for the first time in days.

#undertale fanfiction #undertale #sans #sans x reader #sans/reader #fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3

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wootensmith · 6 years

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Morrigan

“That is a problem,” said Abelas. “We have no agents in Denerim.” Solas looked up from the map of the network. “We did— Cyrion and Alarith, what has happened to them?” “Nothing. They are here. They had to be recalled once that— thief joined the royal household. We couldn’t risk it. The vir’abelasan would have whispered to her. She would have known they were yours.” It took him a moment to understand. “Morrigan is in Denerim?” he asked. “Yes. She arrived some months ago.” “Why?” Abelas shook his head. “If I could risk agents, then we might know, but as it is— I didn’t believe Denerim vital to us. Or— to you. The Inquisition has shown very little interest in either crown. Reports are that the Inquisitor accepts that they will force a dissolution. Our only clue would be the information the Inquisition already had on Morrigan. She traveled with Warden Brosca and the King during the last blight. Perhaps she is just visiting a colleague?” “I’ve never known Morrigan to do anything without some ulterior motive. She is in Denerim to gain something. I have no time to debate it, the Landsmeet will happen soon, and the Council even sooner. And the Qunari know they are discovered by now. They will try to enact their plan quickly, before we can stop them.” “Is there still a purpose to keeping your identity secret?” asked Abelas. He felt a bitter laugh well up in him. “No purpose except my own comfort. But that is insignificant.”

“I’ll send Cyrion and Alarith back—” “No. I’ll go myself. My name may not deserve protecting any longer, but my people do. I do not want them found. Or Arlathan. And Morrigan may take the warning more seriously than the King would, precisely because the Well has told her what I am. Let those in Halamshiral be notified— I do not expect the shipment has yet arrived.” “The Council is less than a week away. You will not be able to return in time—” “Then I must trust you to act in my stead. Things begin to move quickly now. The Veil has thinned more than I expected and the Inquisitor will be reaching the edge of her control over the anchor. I must intervene, and soon. She’ll be unable to close more rifts for a time.” Abelas started. “But we only have a portion of the forces you promised. I cannot fight the Evanuris this way.” “I will clear the network of Qunari and call them. We must be ready within the year. That is all the time I have left to give you.” “Perhaps,” said Abelas hesitantly, “it would be kinder to do it now. Before the Qunari attack. Before the Inquisitor falls. Before our people are trained to fight to the last bitter breath.” Solas nodded. “You may be right. But I made a promise. Many. And this one, at least, I intend to keep. As much time as I can give us to find another way. I will not do it sooner than I must.” He pointed at the map. “I will meet you here, when the Qunari have been dealt with. The gaatlok is powerful and unstable. Take care if you must address it yourselves. My first instinct is to pass word to Leliana’s people through Charter. I wish to alert her and the Inquisition both, in case I have missed something. But I leave that to your discretion. You will know better how things lie than I. I must go.” Abelas handed him the staff he had so long carried, but Solas refused it. “No more illusions,” he said, “I no longer require them. Or this.” He paused a moment before handing it back and yanked the small fragment of the orb from its lacing. “This, I will keep,” he said, tying it carefully to the leather strap that had once held the Inquisitor’s hair. It hung from his wrist now, the jawbone, too, abandoned for some time. The only reminders he needed any longer were of her.

Denerim was far more crowded than he recalled seeing it in the past. The Fade had many memories of it, but none were quite as populated as he found it on this side of the Veil. Alistair had proven a good and steady ruler. His subjects flocked to him. It would make obtaining an audience difficult, if not impossible. Solas had other ideas. The guards had marked him quite a way from the palace, noting the armor before his ears, Solas guessed. He was unsurprised to see Morrigan already waiting for him when he reached the gates. She walked with him into the gardens without speaking. “Have you come for the Well, Fen’harel?” she asked after she was certain they were alone. She expected some reaction to his name. He took a perverse pleasure in appearing unruffled. “No. I have no need of it. I wish, for your sake, you had not taken it, but given the choice between yourself and the Inquisitor— I am grateful.” “You would let this power go? Truly?” She stepped back from him and he could feel the electric charge of a spell building beneath her skin. “But you are the great deceiver of your people—” “I am. But you are not of my people. I do not need the echo of Mythal when I carry her power in full.” “You— but where is—” “I am sorry, Morrigan,” he said, feeling a flash of sympathy. He did not enjoy Morrigan’s company, but he knew his tidings were grievous ones. “She is gone.” “Gone? But—” She stumbled sideways and he reached to steady her. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped. She recovered quickly, smoothing over her expression. “It seems I should thank you. You’ve freed Kieran and I of an old enemy.” He doubted that what she felt at the death of her mother was truly so simple, but he let it pass. It was not his affair any longer. “Why have you come here then?” she asked. “I’d as soon ask you the same,” he answered. The problem called for caution. For all he knew, she might have been a part of the plot. Morrigan sighed. “I came because Kieran is Alistair’s son. I never intended Kieran to know but— the King does not wish to repeat his father’s mistakes. We have negotiated since I joined the Inquisition and— I agreed. We are safe here.” “You are not. Nor is the King.” She leaped back from him, magic snapping from her fingers. Morrigan gasped as it slid harmlessly from his barrier. “I knew you could only mean harm,” she snarled. “Peace, Morrigan,” he said. “I am not the threat. If I wanted to harm you, I had only to wait until you slept. You know this.” Her stance did not relax. He shook his head and walked deeper into the gardens. “Was there a shipment in the past few months— likely Orzammar wine? Large metal casks— they arrived at Skyhold in a food delivery.” “I— I am not normally involved—” He turned back to her for an instant. “They are filled with an explosive powder. The Qunari are moving against Ferelden and Orlais, along with the Inquisition. They mean to eliminate as many as possible in the Landsmeet and the Grand Council. To sow chaos and then step in while southern Thedas is leaderless and can’t mount any type of opposition. It will be soon.” “But I’ve not seen a Qunari in Denerim in years. Sten would have warned us— Alistair and Brosca at least.” “The sten may not have known—” “Not ‘the’ sten, our Sten. He’s Arishok now, he should know— he would have done something.” She paced, thinking. “Are you certain he would put your friendship above the Qun?” he asked. “No. But Iron Bull said nothing either, and I’m certain that he would have, had he known.” “Iron Bull has been forced out.” Morrigan sighed. “Yes, I am aware. But you can’t possibly believe all of his intelligence communications have been cut off. I do not. He has had far too many opportunities to build more contacts for me to believe that anything happens in Par Vollen without him catching wind of it.” Interesting, thought Solas, perhaps the plan is not as official as it appeared? He had little time to mull it over. Someone intended to wipe out Thedas’s leaders. The gaatlok would explode regardless of whether it was a rogue faction or not. “Are you going to assist me in locating the casks, or shall I find my own way to the wine cellar?” he asked. “What do you mean to do with it once we find them?” she asked. “I had to dispose of the ones in Skyhold. I suggest finding somewhere quite remote, the explosion was significant. But if you wish to study it, I will not oppose you.” “I don’t understand you,” she admitted. “What interest do you have in this? You’ve never betrayed a fondness for Alistair— indeed, you seem to hold a grudge against the Wardens. And we have certainly never been friends. You’ve eluded Inquisition agents as deftly as I for two years, though— you ought to have little to fear from them. Not as long as the Inquisitor survives. And yet, now you risk discovery. Why? What do you hope to gain?” “A peaceful conscience,” he said dryly. “Enough. I have no more time to justify myself to you. Aid me or do not, as you please. But be warned, if you attempt to further the Qunari plot or stop me from eliminating the threat, I will not hesitate to strike. I assure you that some of the myths you know are true. The vir’abelasan will tell you which.” She shrugged and led him toward the back kitchens. He stayed quiet as she warned the cooks to leave and sent guards to notify the king of the danger. At last, when they were winding their way along through the chilled cellar looking for the casks, he could resist no longer. “Have you seen her recently?” he asked. She glanced back at him. “The Inquisitor? Not for some months. I left shortly after her return from Tevinter. I felt I could no longer be of much use there.” “Is she well?” Morrigan’s eyebrow crooked higher. “I don’t know that you’re entitled to ask that. If you truly cared, you would have been there to see for yourself.” “That is how she thinks of me?” She sighed. “No. Poor fool. She’ll not hear a word against you. Not even when the Well is speaking. ‘Tis what I think of you. But I know what you are, Dread Wolf.” “So does the Inquisitor,” he said evenly. She stopped in shock. “Truly?” she asked. “Truly.” He smiled at her shock and moved past her. “Perhaps she is savvier than I give her credit for,” Morrigan murmured. “I think there are few who give her her due. Myself included,” he said. “Ah. Here they are. Only two. Where is the third?” She peered at the casks. “Those? Three were already delivered to the Landsmeet with the other barrels.” “Five?” he frowned. How many had the Qunari made? How long had they been planning this. She pushed on one of the casks. “Liquid,” she said. “A decoy. The same as Skyhold. You should—” he was interrupted by the loud clang of rapid metal footsteps. Several dozen armed men rushed through the cellars accompanied by the crash of several bottles breaking as they passed. Alistair emerged from among them. “You?” he said, appraising Solas. “Inquisitor’s been looking for you.” “I know, Ser. And I will rejoin her shortly. But first, your Landsmeet and your palace are in danger.” He pried the lid from the far cask. “Pah!” cried the king, recoiling. “Is that dragon blood?” Morrigan looked disgusted but leaned forward to look. “Venom, I believe, among other ingredients,” said Solas. “Where on earth did they get that much venom?” asked Alistair. “Excellent question. We know there were at least eleven barrels, likely more.” He handed the cap to Morrigan. “You should contact your allies and warn them. I’ve only obtained intelligence on these and the ones at the Exalted Council. Nevarra and Tevinter are not likely to escape unscathed.” He pushed his way gently through the crowd of guards. “Where are you going?” asked Alistair. “To find out where they are keeping their dragon,” he called over his shoulder. “What about Orlais? The Inquisitor?” “Already secure,” he said. “But—” He fade stepped away before Alistair could finish the thought.

#Solas #Lavellan #solas and lavellan #dragon age inquisition

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scurvgirl · 7 years

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Queen of the Stone, Part 3

Read on AO3, Part 1, Part 2

She has been a Grey Warden for eleven years, and the taint is beginning to consume her. She needs to find a cure soon. So Elodie Amell sets out in search and finds herself in the city thought long-lost, Kal-Sharok. There she discovers something much bigger than just a cure for the taint running through her body.

A companion story to my other story, In Your Gaze I Wish to Stay, but this can be read separately!

Lost Girls

Elodie descends deeper and discovers a shocking revelation.

They walked for another hour before Effir slumped against a wall, clearly exhausted from the day’s journey.

“Paragon-Elect, I request we make camp,” they asked, eyes half-way closed.

But Karega shook her head, “I know of a spot just up over here. C’mon, Shaper, you demanded to be on this expedition after all.” Effir sighed but pushed themselves off of the stone. Elodie murmured a little spell and gestured towards them, trying to give them the little boost needed to get through this next part.

They eyed the magic suspiciously then waved at it and shuddered when it continued to wrap itself around them.

“What is this? Spirits of the Stone? Leave me be, ancestors!” Their voice broke and Elodie frowned, waving again and making the magic dissipate.

“I apologize –

“Warn a person before you do that,” they growled and took off after Karega. Elodie sighed and reminded herself that the dwarves here hadn’t seen magic in…thousands of years.

She winced at her own insensitivity and followed along quietly once more. They jogged up a ramp that seemed to go on for miles before arriving at a huge open plateau.

Elodie’s jaw dropped at the sheer size of the space.

The ceiling was so high that she could barely see the dangling chandeliers. Towering pillars framed the space and section off other spaces containing large square holes that looked suspiciously like….

“Is this a bathhouse?” Elodie asked. Karega turned back and smiled.

“You reek, and I remember running past this place – two nugs, one bath!” She declared happily. Effir and Pritte paused for a moment before gravitating towards the pillars, recording any and all information possible.

“Are you not going to enjoy a bath?” Elodie called back as she followed Karega in search of a lever to turn the pools on.

“In a bit, perhaps,” Pritte said absently as he scribbled into his journal. Their voices carried through the space, echoing off of remarkably smooth and pristine stone. With a few careful words, Elodie illuminated the room, igniting torches, braziers, and even the chandeliers hanging above.

The light allowed Elodie and Karega to spot various hallways leading off of the main chamber. And in the third room they investigated, they found what they were looking for – or at least what Elodie hoped was what they wanted.

It was an entire wall of levers, pullies, and various notes attached with what Elodie to be descriptions. Karega leaned forward to inspect the descriptions only to huff and swear once more.

“Damn. Ancient Dwarven, you would think our language and writing would not have deviated this much, but here it is.”

“Is there really nothing you can make out?”

“Uh, just barely. Maybe…this lever?” She pulled a lever and a great WOOSH went through the room. There was a pause and then distant screaming, hissing, and clanking sounded out in the main chamber.

“Shit!”

They ran back out just in time to see Pritte burying another axe into a spider’s skull. He looked up, and smiled while Effir, now covered in spider gore, scowled.

“Wrong. Lever.”

Karega snorted in an attempt to smother laughter, earning Effir’s continued ire. The dwarf then dropped their things and proceeded to walk to the chamber where Karega and Elodie had just been. They grumbled to themselves unintelligibly, though Elodie guessed they were cursing herself and Karega for getting them drenched in spider gore.

They inspected the rune work on the wall, then began to pull different levers.

“It is required for the Shapers to know the ancient tongue.” They explained tersely before turning from the wall and heading back out to the baths.

Pritte danced around happily as he stared up at the ceiling where water was now flowing from into one of the larger baths.

“Marvelous! Great work, Effir!” He then quickly began to strip, seemingly uncaring for those that saw him.

Karega was the next to begin disrobing. Elodie and Effir turned away while they both quietly shucked off their rancid smelling robes. It had formed some sort of sticky seal to Elodie’s skin and she gagged as she pealed it off.

“This is disgusting.” She grumbled.

“I hate spiders.” Effir groused before turning and quickly sinking into the bath. Elodie soon followed, testing the water. It was warm, though not to the usual degree Elodie took hers, but she supposed that was easily rectified…if the dwarves did not mind a bit of magic.

“Would you mind me making the water warmer with magic?” She asked politely. Pritte looked wildly excited by the whole idea, scrambling up over the edge of the bath to grab his notebook. Karega frowned and Effir was about to deliver the hard ‘yes’ to the question when Karega shrugged.

“Very well, as long as you won’t fry us.”

Elodie nodded and grabbed her staff, then drove the end of it down into the water, hitting the bottom. She murmured a few words and drew the warming rune. It flickered orange then simmered out and soon the temperature began to rise. Steam was floating off the top in no time, turning them all into flushed versions of themselves.

The bath was amazing. Elodie scrubbed all of the spider gore off of herself, and potentially a layer of skin, but it was worth it to feel clean and refreshed. She was convinced that the water had some mineral in it to aid with cleaning, but she could not tell what it was.

Pritte set to cleaning his beard meticulously, though he babbled on about how he was limited in that there weren’t just some beard oils laying around and oh dear, he forgot to pack some. Effir, like Elodie, scrubbed until raw, but they seemed much less tense with all the ichor now sloughed away.

Karega actually relaxed in the warm water. She leaned back against the wall and let her head dip back; Elodie thought she even took a nap.

The warming glyph eventually wore off and they exited the bath with long sighs. Pritte set to work drying himself off, and with all the hair covering his body, Elodie was a little concerned he would be drying for days rather than hours.

Elodie told Effir to sleep, that she would take first watch and wash their clothes. They scowled at her but eventually reluctantly agreed, seeing as they could barely keep their eyes open.

One of the good things about the Deep Roads was that there was little need for an actual tent, which reduced the amount of stuff they had to carry with them. That being said, Pritte somehow produced a tent-like tarp, pinning it to the wall, creating some privacy for those who wished to sleep.

Elodie took watch and wash, settling down by the now partially murky water to begin the slow process of cleaning fabric covered in spider guts.

She was not twenty minutes in when Karega tapped her shoulder. Elodie turned, surprised to see the woman in such soft clothing for the Deep. But more shocking was she was holding a small portrait that looked very familiar…

“It fell out of your pack when we moved it into the tent,” she handed it to Elodie. The mage took it with a small smile, and looked down at the now rumpled and fading micro-portrait of Alistair. She started carrying it with her when her duties took her away from him. Which made it ten years old. Maker.

“Thank you, I would have missed this.”

“Your husband, I take it?” Karega settled herself next to Elodie, still angling her head at the portrait.

“Not…exactly. He is my love and I am his, but we are not married. He is the king of Ferelden and when he ascended the throne, he had to marry the current queen to ensure unity, which we desperately needed.”

Karega paused for a moment then nodded, “You are his…concubine? Is that the correct word?”

“Oh goodness no! I am his Mistress. It’s a little funny, we were both so hesitant about that but when he became king and I remained at his side, absolutely no one was surprised…or even remotely upset. Even the queen was agreeable with the arrangement.” She tucked the small portrait into her clothes and resumed cleaning the battle robes. But Karega remained, still contemplating.

“Who mothers his children?” She suddenly asked. Ah. Yes, that question. It was always that question. ‘Yes, but who does he sleep with? Didn’t he have to sleep with her? Didn’t that hurt you?’ No, it didn’t. And she wasn’t less for it not hurting. She felt no remorse about Morrigan or about Anora, they were both necessary, and he loved her, not them. Sex was sex was sex.

“Anora, the queen, gave birth to his son, and heir apparent, seven years ago. We…I cannot bear children,” her voice was soft and the old failures crept into her.

The first pregnancy, they had been so happy, ecstatic. Duncan was only a year old and everyone was thrilled to think that he would have a sibling he could be so close to. Alistair had spent that entire month with a goofy smile on his face, cradling his son his arms and touching Elodie’s stomach whenever he had the chance.

The miscarriage was a shock for most, but Elodie was somewhat expecting it. The taint…it ran deep and she knew that bearing a child while riddled with it could be almost impossible.

The second pregnancy was approached with wary excitement. They kept it secret, just Anora, Alistair, and Elodie plus the healers knew. When that miscarriage came, it wasn’t so surprising, but it still hurt, and like the first time, she locked herself in her room for two days, crying.

Her hand fluttered to her stomach and she recalled the third pregnancy. It was the shortest one, lasting only a week after she found out. There and then suddenly gone.

It was the fourth that was the worst. She had the healers swear not to tell anyone until she was past the first trimester. And then the fourth month arrived and she broke out in excited tears. This was the one! Her baby! Her child! But she was careful, and they kept the pregnancy secret once more so as to not stress Elodie and the baby.

A miscarriage in the fifth month was nothing she would ever wish upon anyone. It was more than a miscarriage, of thick blood and cramping. It was a death, tragic and devastating. And the scars were longer lasting, her body not fully recovered and her heart bearing a wound that would never heal completely.

She stopped trying for a child after that, and began searching for a cure. She could be happy with being a second mother to Duncan, and she was. It was not a lack of love that made her want a child with Alistair, but because she loved Duncan…and wanted to be a mother again.

Elodie blinked the memories away and looked at the small portrait in her hands. He looked so young in the portrait, short hair, and a thinner face.

“He looks like a child without a beard,” Karega commented absently.

“Oh he has a beard now, nice and full, not to worry,” Elodie teased. She glanced down at her hands, still healing from the lyrium burns but also still strangely mottled from the blighted tissue removal. She hadn’t told him, but…he probably knew, could feel the taint getting stronger in her than in him.

Wardens made during the Blight had it worse. She was supposed to have thirty years, and it was looking like she got thirteen max.

She was going to die, taken by the thing that had once saved her from a life of imprisonment and ridicule. She would never have reached her full potential in the Circle, would have either languished in complacency or been made Tranquil once they discovered just how powerful she was…or when she began to speak out against the injustices put upon the mages by the Chantry and its Templars.

She would never have met Alistair in the Circle. This life…however short and tragic, was a monumental improvement over the lack of one in the Circle. She would not have loved, not have learned how to embrace her magic, she would never have met some of the most amazing friends and people. And in the end, when she ventured back out into the Deep Roads that actually had Darkspawn, she would be grateful for these thirteen years. Elodie Amell had done a lot of good, had enjoyed a lot of wonderful things, and come death came rest.

The night continued on and Elodie was eventually forced to retire into a wary sleep. And like the previous nights, the hallucinations returned.

A song more infectious and seducing than anything she had ever heard flitted through the air. It led her down halls and up pathways, then down slick passages. There was lyrium everywhere, but none of it was creating such a song. She dove deeper into the depths of the roads until coming to a great pulsating lyrium vein. It ran the height of a pillar once covered in runes, only to now be squeezed by the lifeblood of the Titan.

It drew her in and she was helpless to not sink to her knees, pressing it into the base of the lyrium while she pressed her hands to it.

She gasped as images flooded her mind. She expected to see the man diving into the ball of light once more, but instead she saw…a woman. Taller and slimmer than any dwarven woman, dressed in beautiful ceremonial armor. Her form wavered and suddenly she was standing in front of the great ball of light, a man stood in front of her, himself clad in stronger armor with a great battle-axe waving menacingly at the tall woman.

But she merely outstretched her hand and a…red tinted magic emerged like slithering shadows from her arm, sinking into the man.

There was a scream, a bright flash of light, then a hiss, and Elodie shot up awake in her bed, the palms of her hands bleeding from the burns.

What…was that? She had believed that the first vision had been of Karega’s husband being chosen and that was symbol enough to draw her to the Titan, but this…this was nothing like that.

A woman, overtaking a man defending the Titan? Was this woman…her? Was she supposed to do something like that? That had been sinister magic, nothing like what Elodie actually practiced.

Or was this a story of some sort? Did this happen in the past? And if so…what did this have to do with her?

Elodie went through the ritual of patching her hands, hissing in pain at how tender her flesh was. The burns were excruciating and the dabbing and healing and bandaging didn’t seem to lessen the pain.

“Alright, Long Legs! Time to head out! Let’s move,” Karega shouted from outside.

“Just a minute!” Elodie replied before murmuring a healing spell into her hands and then changing into her traveling robes. They weren’t perfect after yesterday’s encounter with the spider, but they would have to do. She packed the rest of her things and ran off to continue the trek into the deep.

The deeper they delved into the earth, the more her wounds burned. It started as a dull throbbing, but by the end of the fifth day of walking, her body itched and ached from the pain. The hallucinations happened nightly and her body was slowly becoming more encompassed by the burns. There was only so much elfroot could do to stop the pain and the pain itself was fatiguing, requiring them to make more frequent stops for her to regain herself.

Her body groaned under the stress, and as they climbed through yet another spider passage, she hissed at the pain of her skin sliding against the rocks. Tears slipped down her face, dripping in an angle down her neck and onto a burn that hissed at the contact.

She was dying, but she had to keep going.

On the sixth day, the roads ended. A hush fell over the group as they stared at the awaiting abyss.

The only way was forward.

They took a collective deep breath and sojourned forth. Elodie bounced up a light for herself only to have Effir hiss at her to put it out. There were other creatures here who would be drawn to the light, and that she would just have to rely on the dwarven eyesight to see her through.

They attached ropes to themselves, mostly for her benefit she thinks, and slowly began to trudge forward. She had never come across a darkness so complete in her life. No light pollution or refraction from stars or the moon – just…pitch black. Not even lyrium veins seemed to touched this place.

She slid her hands across the rock to keep her righted and with the group. She wished they could talk to further help guide her, but noise in this eerie quiet could spell disaster for them, so she kept quiet.

The darkness stretched on for hours until finally, a faint glow emerged. Relief flooded Elodie as she took a step toward it.

The light moved.

A low sound of discomfort escaped Karega followed by the sound of steel being freed from its holster. Elodie grabbed her staff and ignored the pain in her hands, watching the slow movement of the light. It bobbed slightly before…suddenly leaping up high.

The rope tugged on Elodie and she moved along with the dwarves. They’re being stalked, these were close quarters, it was time to move.

The pace was quicker than before but she fully approved of moving as quickly as possible as a hiss seemed to start at the far end of the cavern and more lights appeared, bobbing and moving even more quickly than the group could manage.

Her feet found the edges of rocks, her body slamming occasionally into the walls. Pain. So much pain, but she had to keep going.

The only way was forward.

The hissing got louder and soon she could hear the thumps of the creatures landing on the rocks above them, nails scraping against the stone as they moved. Vibrations from whatever communicative noises they made filled the void spurring the group to hustle even more quickly.

When the first creature leapt down at them, it purposefully missed. Elodie turned, found the light and sent a warning burst of magic at it.

It growled in pain and the vibrations in the cavern only seemed to increase. She had angered them, shit. The creature behind her leapt once more and this time she was forced to use lethal magic, sending forth a sharp burst of telekinetic energy. There was a sickening crunch and then the light went out.

The vibrations stopped.

Lights around the cavern went out.

Elodie swallowed thickly and prayed that they had left.

Karega screamed as she hit the ground. Effir lunged forward, pulling the group with them as they hacked into the creature attacking their queen.

“Skrimmers!” Pritte declared as he hustled forward as well to aid Effir. The creature, a skrimmer, howled in pain as axes hacked into its hide. Elodie kept her head on a swivel and drew up a barrier around them. She made it exceptionally physical to keep more of these creatures from attacking.

“HRAH!” Karega shouted as the skrimmer was finally slain and hauled off her body.

She shouted something them in her language and they were barreling down the cavern.

“What are those things?!” Elodie shouted.

“Skrimmers! Fabled ancestors of the deepstalkers! Rumored to be twice the size with two heads, brain is located in the body cavity!” Pritte shouted back. Body cavity, that’s where she should aim, got it.

A skimmer hissed and jumped at her from above, but she anticipated the blow and stepped forward before it could land on her. She whipped around and shot ice into the thing, severing its worm-like heads and burying them into the body.

It sputtered and died before Elodie was tugged back along by the rope. She could hear the footfalls of the skrimmers above, hissing to communicate as they jumped down at them.

Elodie tossed up another barrier as two landed, shielding them from more. She felt the hits to her barrier and staged under the weight. There was…power in them, potentially lyrium based, and it wanted to shatter the barrier.

“I can’t help with them!” She cried, but the dwarves seemed more than capable of handling the monsters.

Karega began to spin and promptly hacked into the skrimmers as Effir bludgeoned their heads with their hammer.

A large skrimmer slammed into Elodie’s barrier and she winced. Every blow hurt, but that was the nature of physical barriers, natural extensions of yourself to prevent actual harm to yourself.

She screamed as acid was suddenly spewed against the barrier, her already tender flesh feeling as if it was being sloughed away.

She couldn’t maintain this, it was too much, they were too much. But she couldn’t see them, couldn’t let loose specific attacks that would kill them but not her and her group.

The darkness pressed on them and the lights were still hidden from the creatures.

You’ll have to rely on our eyesight.

Creatures here are sensitive to light, you’ll make us a target!

Sensitive to light!

“CLOSE YOUR EYES!” She shouted and promptly dropped the barrier to draw in all her strength. And let it billow out in brilliant light.

The skrimmers hissed in pain as they flinched away from her. The light died down and she opened her eyes on the last of the dying light to see where they were…and let out a torrent of ice spikes down the cavern.

She slammed her staff down, then whipped it up, directing the magic into their soft underbellies. She extended the ice as far up as she could get it, up and away, impaling and destroying them in undoubted death.

When it was done, a wall of ice containing the broken bodies of a dozen giant skrimmers glowed before them, giving them just enough light to see.

“You can open your eyes now.” Elodie huffed, falling fatigued against a stone wall.

“Shit, Long Legs, that is…impressive,” Karega breathed. Effir watched her closely for a moment before nodding and turning from her.

“Are all mages capable of that, El-o-die?” Pritte asked, fascinated and seemingly no less for wear. Elodie smiled down at him and shook her head.

“No. Magic is unique in every mage, and I have…had some unique experiences that have allowed me to grow my magic.”

“You can grow magic?”

“Like how you build a muscle, more like. Here,” she took his notebook and piece of charcoal, scribbling on it, “when you make contact with the surface, contact the Inquisition and ask for correspondence with their Arcanist, Dagna. She’s a dwarf who studies magic, I think you’d get along great.” She handed the book back and his face lit up.

“A dwarf who studies magic? Fascinating!”

“Pritte, we got some carvings over here, care to translate?” Karega stepped up to them, her rope temporarily removed. Pritte untied himself from Elodie and quickly excused himself to go inspect the carvings with Effir.

Karega stood before Elodie, quiet, imposing. Elodie let out a long breath and looked down at her hands, still covered in barely recovering lyrium burns.

“Can you walk?” Karega asked, her voice low so the others could not hear.

Elodie nodded but it was not reassuring, “You said I had two weeks, but I do not know if I even have three more days. How much longer to the ruin?”

“If we walk through the night, we can reach it by next day.”

“Then we walk through the night,” Elodie decided. Karega nodded, understanding, before calling for a break to eat. They were going to need all the energy they could get for this next stretch.

Her feet ached. Her skin burned. Her head was starting to feel light when the cavern finally opened up and lyrium branches once again resumed to wrap around the rocks. Giant, almost encased river-like lyrium that branched out over every surface of rock possible.

Her teeth rattled in her skull, but it felt good to be able to see again. The rope was removed from her once more, relieving her already stressed back. She leaned a bit more than normal on her staff as she followed Karega into the depths.

The rock began to change color, slowly warping into strange colors under the influence of the lyrium, she imagined. Oil slick colors seemed to cover rounded surfaces while younger stone appeared to be jagged and dull.

There was no dirt, only rock and lyrium as the cavern opened up. Oh. There was also steam…which meant water and fire of some sort, potentially lava. The walkways were suspended over what looked to be an unending chasm, steam billowing up from its depths.

It was interesting, she thought, that even so deep underground, one could find suspended high enough to die.

Pritte stepped forward, “Amazing…” he murmured.

They crossed the bridge and passed into an oddly shaped cavern. There were eroded striations in the rock and precise cuts that allowed the light from a lyrium vein to bleed through. The lines were mostly straight only worn with time, which meant….

“This was shaped by someone.”

“Clearly,” Effir said, inspecting the work more closely. They pulled out their journal and made some quick notes before Karega gestured for them to keep going.

“We’re getting close to where Gurendar disappeared, keep up.” Karega led them through the passage and across a short bridge into another passage that opened up into a great hall. Its ceilings weren’t as tall and overwhelming as the bathhouse, but the pillars were larger, the statues were more ornate and the lyrium had been cultivated along the walls into designated channels for optimal aesthetic appeal. To conserve energy, Elodie did not illuminate the space. Pritte stayed close to her, helping to guide her through the low light.

“You don’t have to stay by me, I know you want to explore,” she told him.

“I do. But you need me more at the moment. Besides, I am thinking of having another expedition down here after this whole thing is settled. You would think we’d know more about this place, but we don’t. It’s quite unfortunate,” Pritte rambled, his voice low and gentle as they maneuvered through the space.

“We don’t know more because of superstition,” Effir commented, falling just a bit behind Karega to join the conversation.

“The senior shapers tell tales of disturbances down here that no dwarf should ever encounter and has long forbid entry without good reason.”

“And this is the good reason.”

“The only reason good enough, to be precise.”

Karega suddenly stopped and held up a hand, “Quiet.” Everyone went on alert, heads turning to examine the wings of the hall. Other than the soft light emanating from the lyrium veins stretching up into the ceiling, coiling around pillars, Elodie couldn’t see anything. But then she heard it. Whispers like the drifting fluff off a dandelion.

Her magic rose in her, orienting her to the far left end of the hall. Her skin prickled and her lyrium burns itched, but she drifted closer to the whispers. The lyrium pulsed a bit more brightly and the whispers moved. Fuzzy, white figures began to coalesce into actual forms of dwarves gathered in the hall.

Karega and Effir shifted away instinctively away from the stone spirits, apparently unaccustomed. Pritte took it in stride, gasping in surprise but yanking a new journal out of his pack to begin furiously scribbling.

Elodie turned to Karega and Effir, lifting her hand in reassurance, “I’ve seen this before in the Deep Roads by Orzammar and Kal-Hirol. They’re harmless…usually.” She recalled the spirits turning on her and her party with vicious intent as they had explored the City of the Dead. She had made sure to be more vigilant about her behavior in Kal-Hirol, where the spirits had been so numerous. The death had weakened the Fade, even in the depths of the roads. It was so weak that the spirits had looked different from those beneath Orzammar. The Kal-Hirol spirits had faces, discernable features, clear, resonant voices, their memories forcefully stamped into the stone.

Karega and Effir relaxed somewhat, but their weapons remained out and their eyes sharp as they watched the spirits flow over the stone. They crossed into the center portion of the hall and a reverberation carried through the hall and into Elodie. She shivered, hair and magic on raw end as the spirits solidified into forms that resembled the spirits of Kal-Hirol more than Orzammar.

They spoke in the ancient tongue, five in total.

“They’re discussing war plans,” Effir murmured.

The forms moved and living dwarves fell silent as they strove to listen and record everything they were hearing. Elodie wondered if she should tell them now that this scene would likely repeat after completion. But she remained quiet and the scene continued. More spirits joined the fray and their faces became more distinct, the details in their attire more profound, making a Elodie’s stomach churn in anxiety. These dwarves were about to be slaughtered.

All at once the spirits turned their heads, looking past Elodie and her crew, down the hall to where Elodie suspected were invaders.

The lyrium around them pulsed, the stone groaned, and the entire space lit up in brilliant display. Elodie felt the Veil waver, pulling back to reveal new spirits, looking more like echoes from the surface than the Stone, running through the hall. The dwarven spirits braced themselves, there shouts and Pritte flinched, coiling inwards on himself as he inched towards Elodie.

In the middle of the invading force stood the tall woman that seemed vaguely familiar. It reminded Elodie of her hallucinations, of a woman standing over the cliff of blinding light, sinking her magic into the dwarf before her…. But this woman was different, in a way. She carried herself with a righteous regality that was unlike the threatening and consuming stance of the woman from Elodie’s hallucinations.

Her spirit let out a brilliant display of old magic, so potent and horrible that Elodie flinched from it, instinctually tossing a barrier up around her and the dwarves. The remembered spell coursed through the hall and engulfed the dwarven spirits, killing them instantaneously.

Effir and Pritte gasped while Karega growled, gripping her weapon with vicious intent. But there was nothing to be done, these were echoes of an event long since passed. The spirits remained, the woman glided through the halls and into more clarity. Elodie’s eyes widened, she was an elf. They were all elves. Tall and slender, bedecked in elaborate armor that wavered with magical enchantment not so unlike the dwarves.

When the woman began to speak, Elodie blinked, surprised she could understand her.

“A pity. They would have served well.”

“Shall we continue, my lady?”

“Of course. There is no time to waste.”

The spirits wavered and dissipated, the Stone no longer supporting the memory far past the death of its own. Pritte sniffled, eyes wide as he turned to Elodie.

“Is it too much to hope you know what they said?” His voice wavered but his hand was still, hovering over his notes. Elodie took a breath and nodded.

“They…were disappointed at having to kill the dwarves. The woman, the leader, said that the dwarves would of served well. Then they moved on, presumably in a hurry.” Pritte took to his journal as did Effir.

“Someone care to tell me what in the Stone’s name was that?!” Karega demanded. Effir glanced up from their notes and slowly put the journal away.

“The Stone takes in the memories. Shapers can make the Stone take it, shaping it into the stone, hence the name. But the practice was inspired by its natural ability to do this. To record. And to sometimes show. This was a memory, Paragon-Elect,” they explained with the slightest twinge in their voice.

“Memories like this one from my experience form because of great fighting and battles. Death,” Elodie continued.

Karega fell silent, her face harsh in the low light.

“Who was that elf? What was she doing down here and slaughtering my people for?” She asked, perhaps more to herself than the others.

“There are no records of this,” was all Pritte could say.

“I thought the you recorded everything.”

“If there is no one to report something, there is nothing to record, just…for the Stone to absorb,” Effir answered.

Karega let out a breath and straightened, “It’s unfortunate, but we are also running low on time. We need to move.” She picked up her axe and set forward again, her stride strong. Effir tossed their pack onto their back and followed Karega, their footfalls heavy and laden with exhaustion.

“I do not understand,” Pritte murmured as he put his things away, “the elves…why would they come down here?”

“I don’t know, Pritte, I don’t know.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder and patted it gratitude before they marched after Karega into a dark side chamber. This chamber was less ornate than the other but a vein of lyrium ran overhead, illuminating the area. Wispy spirits drifted into the room but didn’t say anything, they were just there, unformed until the elven woman and her entourage billowed through, killing the dwarves along the way.

There were three consecutive rooms like this until they came to a final chamber that just…stopped. There were no passages leading out which to Elodie meant to keep looking for a different passage but the dwarves pressed their palms to the far wall.

“We need to go this way,” Effir affirmed.

“There is unfortunately a wall there, we should look for a route around.”

“There is only one way,” Karega agreed and stepped back. She trailed her hands over the wall and Elodie’s magic began to prick at her skin. The lyrium pulsed, flickering and snapping making Elodie’s head pound. Memories flowed into the space, dwarves in ancient heavy armor formed a tight barrier in front of the door, shouting at each other. Effir scrambled for their journal, needing to record.

When the elven woman and her group entered the memory there was shouting on both sides. She switched to the dwarven speech, her voice saccharine sweet and condescending, making Effir huff in distaste.

The dwarves growled a reply that displeased the woman enough to let out a disappointed sigh. She gave her people an order that had them straightening their backs and raising their hands.

They set to cast. The dwarves charged. The relatively confined space was filled all at once with battle and blood, screams, and close quarters combat that the elves should not have stood a chance in.

The warrior elves surged forward to protect their lady, becoming a shield of armored bodies. The spirits flashed into different colors as spells were cast. But the dwarves were unrelenting, pushing and pushing. The elves broke rank and fell back only for a new spirit to suddenly invade the space. A great reptilian head suddenly extended into the space and let out a torrent of fire against the dwarves. Trapped in the room, the dwarves screamed, flailed, and died under the heat.

The dragon stepped into the room and bumped its head against the far wall where Karega, Effir, and Pritte stood. They gasped, shutting their eyes in some expectation to be hit. But it was only a memory of the dragon shoving and shoving against the wall until there was a loud crashing sound.

The dragon pulled back, its head bloody. Its form wavered and suddenly an elf stood where the dragon was, bloody but grinning. They turned back and the leader smiled.

“You did well.”

The memory faded as the elves pressed forward.

Karega growled, “What in the Stone’s name was that nonsense?”

“That elf turned into a dragon,” Pritte commented, more in awe than anything. Elodie blinked and let out a long breath. Well.

“I knew there were shapeshifters, but I did not know that there were shapeshifters who were once capable of that,” Elodie supplied.

“What? The elves don’t just sprout into dragons anymore?”

“I was not even aware that they ever did!”

Karega turned from Elodie and began to curse as she felt along the scarred wall for…something. Elodie leaned against her staff and contemplated. Elves that could turn into dragons. Elves that invaded the deep roads to what? Enslave dwarves?

Elves…that could turn into dragons.

Oh. Oh sweet Maker.

There was no real confirmation that they would be the Archdemons but the thought, the fact that long ago this was possible…could that mean…they were susceptible to the Blight? That the dragon-appearing Archdemons were just that – dragon-appearing because they were not truly dragons but…elves? Elves were susceptible to the blight, they became either Shrieks or Emissaries, depending on magical ability. And maybe…if they were infected while in draconic form…as Archdemons.

Elodie excused herself for a moment and ran into the hall to vomit. She panted and cleaned her mouth out with water and some of the ale they packed. It was just an idea of what the Archdemons were, and really, it was a better hope than thinking they were actually divine figures – just extraordinarily powerful mages. Who could make their souls somehow jump from body to body.

Right.

She rejoined the dwarves in the room who were now bickering in their language to figure out to get the blasted door open. Pritte scrambled along the far left of the wall while Effir handled the bottom. Karega made some sort of odd shimmying move before brightening.

“Aha!” She proclaimed before pushing harder into the wall. The Stone groaned and creaked as the wall began to move outward. Old, stale air blew into the room and light beamed in so brightly that Elodie had to close her eyes to adjust.

When she opened them, all of her breath left her.

Karega had said that Gurendar had fled into an ancient city but she thought they had already made it to the city but no, the comparatively minuscule chambers were nothing compared to the cavernous grandeur before her.

Buildings rose from mist covered depths, built on what appeared to be miniature mountains. More buildings were built into the sides of these outcroppings, with long bridges connecting each rock. There were trees growing out of the sides of the space, walls covered in lichens, mosses, and even vines. The buildings were reminiscent of the architecture in Kal-Sharok but unique and striking.

“Is this…”

“The home of the Titan,” Karega said, brimming with pride.

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #deep roads #dwarves #fanfiction #kal-sharok #elodie amell #karega #amell #warden amell #the warden #pritte #effir #my writing #queen of the stone

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