#just sitting in Emprise Du Lion. I’m so excited now >:))

[cullens-babe]

YESSSS!!! I!! GOT THE!!!

“So, Dorian, about last night,”

LINNNEEE!!! YESSSSS!!! I just had to go through like 1 dialogue and now I got this AGGH! I need to bring them more often to continue the romance bc I NEED this to happen. Idk if this means the romance has begun, but I’ll bring them more often just in case.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #adoribull #Dorian x iron bull #iron bull x Dorian #me playing dragon age inquisition #just sitting in Emprise Du Lion. I’m so excited now >:)) #Dorian can finally be happy🥹.

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning - Chapter 23 - Red Sky at Night

Hurray! A new chapter!  I am so excited to post this because it is the beginning of the end. The next chapter will be the final one and it is already written. I wrote these two together so that there won’t be a wait for the next post. Or at least not a long one. 

Thank you, amazing @lechatrouge673​, my wonderful bata, my teacher, my friend. I owe you so many drinks.

—

It was the dinner hour, so the gardens were empty. The evening sun was soft and warm as it slanted across the patches of earth and grass. Kiaya knelt in the dirt next to Ja’rell, her hands busy clearing dead and dying leaves while he harvested herbs to dry. It was peaceful, but Kiaya couldn’t ignore the passage of time. Soon she would have to go to the meeting that she had called and face both her past and her future.

Kiaya watched Ja’rell work, his hands gentle as he cut stems. She wanted to beg his forgiveness, but she had done that so many times over the last fifteen years that she had lost count. She wanted to ask for his advice, talk everything through with him. She wanted to see her friend looking back at her from his hazel eyes, but it was never going to happen.

“Imshael is here, on this side of the veil. He is working for Corypheus, and I have to face him.”

Ja’rell continued his work, and there was a long pause before he spoke. “Use caution. Your agreement with Imshael doesn’t protect you from its power on this side, but Imshael is likely still protected from you.”

“I remember.” Kiaya grabbed his closest hand. “If I don’t come back, stay close to Evie. You have to protect her for me.”

“Alright.” Ja’rell returned to his work the moment Kiaya released her hand. Kiaya watched him for a few minutes longer, before rising to her feet and heading for the War Room.

—

The heavy doors closed behind Kiaya. Her confession was over. She had told her friends everything and left them to decide what to do. Whatever they chose, Kiaya already knew her plan. She would face Imshael, stop the production of red lyrium and spit in Corypheus’s eye the next time she saw him. She was just really hoping that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

As she climbed the stairs, Kiaya reminded herself that she wasn’t alone anymore. Cullen repeated those words to her every night before they fell asleep together. His acceptance and faith in her had given Kiaya the strength to face her friends, and Kiaya hoped it would carry her through her next confession as well.

Kiaya had asked Evelyn to meet her in Kiaya’s room, and she wasn’t surprised to see her sister sitting behind the desk as Kiaya crested the stairs. Evelyn smiled at Kiaya before going back to her writing. “Once again, Lady Buecette is requesting the Inquisitor attend her son’s name-day party.”

Kiaya snorted. “Isn’t that the third request this month? Where do these people get the idea that we do children’s parties?”

Evelyn put her quill down and rolled her eyes. “Her son is turning twenty-one.”

Kiaya laughed. “She probably thinks the boy can woo the Inquisitor and gain an alliance by marriage.”

Evelyn grinned. “Probably. If we went, we could bring Danin and Cullen, see how they squirm to work around that.”

“Yes, the presence of a husband, never mind that there are two of us, would definitely cramp their plans.”

Evelyn suddenly looked delighted, and Kiaya realized what she had implied. “Evelyn, I have to tell you something,” Kiaya said soberly before her sister could get sidetracked. She crossed over to the couch and sat down, and Evelyn followed her.

“Is something wrong between you two?” Evelyn looked worried.

“No, Cullen and I are fine. This is something from my past, and I am sorry that I kept it from you for so long, but now you need to know.” Kiaya swallowed and looked at her hands, clenched in her lap. “When we were in the Circle, the therapies that Lydia created for me did, and do, help, but they weren’t going to repair the damage that kept me from walking. After I overheard Lydia say that, I found another way. I used blood magic and made a deal with the demon Ishmael, to be able to walk again.”

Kiaya risked a quick glance at her sister’s face. Evelyn had gone very pale, her eyes wide. ”We were so careful.” Tears began to gather and fall from Kiaya’s eyes. “Ja’rell helped me research and prepare, and I made sure he was in no way connected to the act itself. I have no idea how it was twisted to blame him. If I had known…” Kiaya shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed.

Evelyn patted and rubbed Kiaya’s hair, shoulders and back until she calmed. Evelyn was crying as well, and she cupped Kiaya’s face in her hands briefly before rising, retrieving two handkerchiefs from the desk and returning to hand one to Kiaya. Evelyn wiped her own face and hugged Kiaya again. 

“First, you don’t owe me an apology. Second, you are my sister, and I love you. Third, I am not going to scold you, not now anyway.” Evelyn smiled gently. “I suspect you have been flogging yourself plenty for the last fifteen years anyway.”

Kiaya returned the smile weakly and began to clean herself up. “I have a feeling I will be receiving plenty of scolding in the next few days.”

“Why now?”

“Imshael crossed the veil. He is working for Corypheus in the Emprise du Lion,” Kiaya answered, her voice heavy.

Evelyn sat back and eyed her sister. “You’re not thinking of going after him alone, are you?”

“If I have to. I have to stop him, Evie.”

“That would be insanely stupid.” Both women jumped when Varric spoke from the top of the stairs. “Thankfully, it is unnecessary,” he continued as he crossed the room.

“Fuck, Varric. How do you do that?” Kiaya laughed shakily as her nerves made her stomach roll.

“The Kid tipped me off as to the best moment, the rest is just skill.” Varric dipped into a roguish bow. “Smudges, your presence is requested at the Herald’s Rest. Casual attire. ‘No’ is not an acceptable answer.”

“For a public tar and feathering?” Kiaya asked dryly.

“No, for cards and drinks.”

Kiaya stared at her friend in disbelief. “I confess to using blood magic, and you guys throw a party?”

Varric chuckled. “Seems as good a reaction as any. I’m not saying you won’t have some ruffled feathers to smooth over, but we are your friends, and we support you.”

“You are going to make me cry again.” Kiaya sniffed. Evelyn hugged her around the waist while Varric patted her shoulder.

“No more of that, Smudges. It’s time to drink. Cabot has a bottle of scramble just waiting for you.” Varric pulled both women to their feet. “You joining us, Roses?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Evelyn answered, squeezing Kiaya’s hand. “I’ll just swing by the forge to grab Danin, and we are there.”

“Let's go.” Happy tears were spilling over, and Kiaya felt lighter than she had in years.

—

Kiaya hummed to herself as she strolled the walls. The day had turned out better than she expected: no one that had come to the Herald’s Rest had treated her differently. The drink flowed, laughter was constant, and the evening had ended with Cullen making a naked dash along the battlements.

Kiaya giggled as she approached Cullen’s office door. She could hear him swearing from inside as she knocked and entered. Cullen dashed for the cover of his desk.

“It’s just me.” Kiaya grinned.

Cullen groaned, and his embarrassed blush made Kiaya’s smile widen. “I did warn you that Josie was a shark.” She said.

“Yes, I know.” Cullen rolled his eyes then glared at Kiaya. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Kiaya laughed as her eyes travelled Cullen’s bare torso, and she rose on her toes to see over the desk.

“Stop that.” Cullen tried to scowl, but his lips insisted on curving into a smile. He beckoned Kiaya to come closer. Kiaya walked around the desk, holding his trousers out to him, but the moment she was within reach, Cullen yanked her into his lap. “There, that’s better.” He said.

Kiaya settled comfortably against him. “Why did you come here? All your clothes are in our room.”

“I know,” Cullen sighed. “I panicked. Besides, there is no way I am running through the hall or the kitchens naked. I wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I convinced Josie to give me these,” Kiaya said, tossing the trousers onto Cullen’s desk before wrapping her arms around his neck. “You have to negotiate for the rest yourself.”

“And I am grateful for your efforts.” Cullen kissed Kiaya’s hair. “Are you feeling better? With how things turned out?”

Kiaya hummed happily. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the warmth of his chest. “I am. I’m still not convinced it isn’t a dream, but I keep pinching myself, and it hurts, so I’m not asleep.”

“If you keep your eyes closed, you will be,” Cullen chuckled.

Kiaya snuggled closer. “You are very comfortable.”

“Also slightly cold.”

“All evidence to the contrary.” Kiaya kissed his shoulder, Cullen always felt hot to her.

 --

Private message for Commander Cullen.

Dearest,

I know that this is unusal for me to write but I feel horrible about how we left things. I truly wish that you were here with me. I could use you support and love to face Ishmael.

That being said, I do stand by my decision, expsially now that I am here. I would not wish this place on anyone. I am sure it was beautiful once, but now it is a nightmare. There is red lyrium everywhere. It is more like that horrid future then anywhere else I have seen. I feel so guilty for not coming here sooner to stop this. But it was so hard to even get here. Digging through the snow in the pass, I swear we lost Bull in the drifts twice, and Dorian was exhausted from melting a path. Leliana is going to have her hands full getting the troops through. There is ice everywhere, the footing is too dicy for horses, it’s almost to dicy for me. (I fall down a lot. Don’t worry I am fine.)

Getting back to you is wonderful motivation. Take care of your self, and I will tell you everything when I return.

Yours always, Kiaya.

Kiaya held her shaking hands up to her mouth. The letter had taken forever to write, the inkwell kept freezing, the quill too, and she had to hold the page over a candle when she was finished so the ink would melt and dry. Now the parchment was a little brown in spots, but she hadn’t set the whole thing ablaze.

She rolled it up and sealed the letter before passing it to a scout. It was much too cold for the messenger ravens to fly directly from here, so it was necessary to carry the reports out of the mountains to warmer weather.

Kiaya sighed as she headed for the tent everyone was sleeping in, huddled together to stay warm. Tomorrow they were heading further into the quarry and the pain and death that filled the area. Everyone was miserable, and Kiaya was keeping her party small, switching out often. Still, their next foray into the quarry would be deeper this time. Cass, Dorian, and Cole were in for the haul with Kiaya. All of this before even approaching the keep.

With dark thoughts that she couldn’t calm, Kiaya headed for what rest could be had.

—

Kiaya had been wrong. The keep was, in many ways, worse than the future that Kiaya had seen. The keep was full of experiments, living things infected with red lyrium and left to rot. Or if they survived, they became crazy violent. The infected giant took down many soldiers with it.

Everything made Kiaya blood boil, which made it easier to push down her fear. She could see Imshael now, standing next to the parapet, watching the inquisition troops in the courtyard below. The demon appeared human, dressed as a mage, but Kiaya could feel the distortion to the veil around it like a sick twist in her stomach.

“Remember, fifteen paces only and a clear travel path. Otherwise, I won’t be able to pull you back,” Dorian hissed. Kiaya could feel the sticky spell on her back and chest that tethered her to the other mage. He and Sera were Kiaya’s lifeline while she baited the demon. Kiaya’s plan was risky, and none of her friends liked it, but no one had a better idea.

Cole and Varric were off to intercept any minions that might show up. Blackwall, Cass, and Bull were positioning themselves to hit the demon hard once the fight began. No eye contact with the demon was allowed until then. Kiaya was sure that the demon could cause her harm though the blood she had given in their exchange, and possible control and manipulate her magic. Kiaya would not risk being used against her friends, so Kiaya would render herself harmless.

She had already drained as much mana as possible, and she was unarmed. She had a potion hidden in her hand, ready for the last step. Kiaya started to move out into the open, slowly counting her paces. She stopped at ten.

“Kiaya! My child, I was so hoping we would run across each other.” Imshael greeted her without turning around. When he did, Kiaya felt his gaze like a blow. It closed the distance between them by half, opening its arms in greeting. “Look at you! You have grown up so much.”

Kiaya was seized by the compulsion to move forward, and it was a few steps before she locked herself down. Imshael frowned. “You have done so well.” The demon’s voice was warm, fatherly, and it made Kiaya’s skin crawl, but it drew her forward as Imshael glided up to her. “I took this job in the hope that we would meet again. I am so proud of you.”

Kiaya felt his words like a slap, and she found her voice, hatred dripping from every word. “You can take your pride and shove it. I am not proud of what I did, and it has tainted everything that has followed. You will not take credit for any good that has come from my mistake.”

Imshael sneered at her now. “You think what you did was a mistake?” It laughed, “It got you here, leader of thousands. Money and power the likes of which most can’t even dream, but you are not satisfied.” Condescension dripped from every word. It was trying to provoke Kiaya, fuelling her anger through their connection so Kiaya would strike them.

Kiaya took a slow breath tamping down her fury. She did not bother to hide her disgust, and Imshael growled when she resisted its power and stepped back. “I was young and stupid, caught up in my own head, and I believed you then. But not anymore. You wish to break our pact then do it, suffer the consequences, but I will not do it for you, you maggoty piece of druffalo dung.”

Imshael was furious, its eyes were bulging and the human illusion was starting to crack. “Why did you come then? To make another deal for your little Inquisition?” It spat. “I would be willing, you know, for old time’s sake.”

“I will never deal with you again, and I would be here to stop this atrocity if you are here or not. Getting to send you back to the cesspool you crawled out of is just a lovely bonus.” Kiaya eased the cork out of the vile in her hand. Imshael was too distracted to notice. “You arrogant piece of shit. I know that I can’t hurt you, but I can make damn sure they can.” She quickly swallowed the mage bane potion, striping her remaining mana and closing her connection to the fade and Imshael all at once.

“No!”  The demon screamed, exploding outward as its anger forced it to take its true form. Kiaya couldn’t move as it reached for her with clawed hands.

—

Like and reblogs are always appreciated. Asks are very welcome too. 

To read from the beginning the Master List is Here or if you prefer it is here on AO3

#Red Sky in the Morning #Kiaya Trevelyan #Kiaya&Cullen #dragon age fanfic

[chiclet-go-boom]

point of impact 7: always

/shyly pushes to @linguini17 who seems to like these

_______

The outpost they’ve reached is large; larger than he’s ever seen and better organized as well. Somewhere he feels like he ought to be offended by the regimented officiousness of the whole thing but he can’t summon up the energy to feel more than a numb gratefulness to the Orlesian need to coordinate the ass end of everywhere. The fact that the place isn’t even remotely defensible hasn’t stopped them from pretending that it is, and if that doesn’t pretty much say everything that anyone ever needs to know about the collective mindset that is Orlais, he doesn’t know what does.

There are even guard rotations, of all things, moving back and forth with a determined sort of purpose as if there weren’t more gap than enclosure left of the original structure. The camp itself is tidily placed within what was probably a keep courtyard at some point in the long distant past, the cracked remnants of the walls providing at least some wind break in the steadily falling snow. Braziers have been placed every so often so maybe there’s a shot that nobody freezes to death before they can exchange the proper passwords at the cross over points. He knows there have to be passwords; the whole blighted nation lives on coded messages and clandestine behaviour. If they’re here long enough he might even rouse himself to make the effort to learn them.

Over his left shoulder the tents march solemnly in formation, little ice-ward runes on their ridge poles twinkling like tiny stars. It’s a pretty effect, especially when a rush of wind curls up along the ground, throwing even more loose white stuff into the air like an excited child. Emprise du Lion is a magical wonderland and Varric hunkers closer to his chosen bonfire, rubbing his chapped hands over and over pretending to get some feeling back into his fingers.

Problem is that there just isn’t enough usable wood to keep the fires going properly and the heat thrown off by the veilfire woven into the actual flames isn’t enough to write home about. Assuming he’ll ever write again. Assuming he gets out of here with his mind intact enough to want to.

He shifts his shoulders, trying to settle his fleece lined duster a little closer to his skin. The crunching of the snow behind him is enough warning that he doesn’t flinch when somebody sits next to him on the rough hewn bench, settling with a creak of protesting leather. The warrior peels her gloves off and pale hands stretch out to the fire, chasing the same thing he is.  

“I hate this place already.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

The Inquisitor sighs, breath puffing out. “Don’t know about that, Varric. You’ve usually got much better insults tucked up your sleeve for these kinds of occasions.”

“Not this time. I pretty much just hate this place too.”

“I’d ask you again why we’re here but that’s even more depressing than being here at all.”

He has a grin for that, enough to crack the skin of his face at least. “Hey, look on the bright side. We could still be bivouacked ten miles from here, hugging a mountain like we’re about to propose marriage.”

The Herald groans. “Hey, it was a good spot.”

“If you’re into hugging mountains, sure.”

“The captain here says they can have us provisioned by tomorrow and as much as I’d like to stay and enjoy the last bit of civilization we’re going to see for awhile, I think we’d better take them up on the not so subtle offer.” The warrior switches subjects easily, as she often does, and Varric nods. “He hasn’t said it exactly but I get the impression they’re stretched pretty thin and we’re enough of a dent into the supplies that he’s already counting on his fingers when the next supply caravan is likely to make it.”

“Yeah. Any army marches on its stomach and for a skinny human, you sure eat a bunch.”

“Thanks, Varric.”

“Anytime, Inquisitor.”

“Anytime what?”

He blames the cold and the exhaustion but he hadn’t heard Cassandra walk up and her appearance across the fire is startling. Her face looks as pinched as he feels, dark skin contrasting with the drifting snowflakes. Not for the first time he wonders if she appreciates the cold as much as he does, what with Nevarra being on the edge of the the Silent Plains and all. He’s heard rumors that things just lay down and die in the shade there to get some relief. She never complains though. Not at Skyhold and not even here, where even the snow complains about the snow, so far by sliding down rock faces on top of them.

Still, if he was the descriptive sort and the Seeker not equipped with a spine of pure dragonbone, he might say she collapses on the seat like a sack of potatoes. As it is she merely settles herself across from them both, one eyebrow tilting up.

The Inquisitor waves her unmarked hand. “Varric says I eat too much.”

“Now, now, I didn’t say that. Exactly.”

“You implied. You know how much energy it takes to swing this axe overhand and not miss?” The weapon in question is close to four feet of haft alone and he’d shudder if he could.

“More than I want to think about at the moment. I retract the implication I didn’t make.”

“Apology accepted. Cassandra, I’d like to get started after whatever passes for first meal around here. They can feed us at least once more before we set off again.” Her lips thin but whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t voice it. Her voice becomes brisk again. “Everyone make sure to check your packs before we leave, I don’t want to start out shorted on anything essential this time.”

Cassandra nods and makes a noise of, if not acceptance, at least acknowledgement. For a few minutes they all stare into the not-warm-enough fire. Varric rubs his palms together again, feeling the calluses catch on each other in a far-away feeling. Whatever the Inquisitor and Seeker are thinking in turn, they aren’t sharing either.

Finally the Inquisitor sighs and stands, hauling her gloves back on with a deliberate sort of grace. “I’m going to check on Dorian and see if he’s had any luck adapting that fire spell before I turn in. It would be great if just one thing went super right before we’re deep into things, you know?” She drops a hand on Varric’s shoulder as she turns although he can barely feel it through the layers. “See you both tomorrow. Try and get some sleep.”

Silence descends again and he thinks he should break it somehow, only he doesn’t know what to say. He’s all out of his own jokes at the moment and the easy camaraderie brought by the Herald has disappeared with her.

“Varric.”

He looks up without realizing he’d dropped his gaze to look at the Seeker. “Yes?”

“I.. apologize if this is abrupt. Can you really tell where the nearest red lyrium is? I hope you can appreciate that I do not wish us to flounder without direction out here.”

He rubs a hand over his face and considers his options. Then he simply points. “There.” He swings his arm and points again, thick finger stabbing. “And there, but farther.” And he points again for a third time, opening his hand and wiggling his fingers in a vague motion. “And somewhere over there too but it’s not super specific.”

“How do you know?” Her voice is honestly curious and that alone keeps him from snapping at her. It’s not her fault, he reminds himself. It’s probably not even his fault.

“I just do.” Regardless of his intentions, it comes out as a growl. He shifts his feet a little wider and sighs, before trying again. “Sorry. Stuff has me on edge. Yes, I know exactly where it is. No, I don’t know why, not really, but it’s why I invited myself along. As much as I seriously regret it right now.”

“Do all dwarves…?”

“Don’t know that either, Seeker.” He shakes his head, thinks better of it, and then just shrugs. “We’re naturally resistant to the regular stuff, everybody knows that. But the Orzammar clans that mine it still swear they can hear it right through the stone. It’s how they know which direction to start digging. But Bianca...” He hesitates, then curses himself for tripping over the name. His control really isn’t the best at the moment. He starts again. “Bianca doesn’t react to the red stuff like I do, even though it’s scary piled on top of stupid on top of just plain horribly bad. Said it was an annoying buzz, kind of like a mosquito just out of swatting range when she was close. That’s not what I’m hearing. I know for a fact that she can’t pinpoint it like I can.”  

“What is it to you then? What do you hear?”

He knew this question was coming but his shoulders still tighten and he can’t seem to convince them to straighten out. “It sings, Seeker. Constantly. It won’t shut up." He drops his elbows to his knees, leaning forward. He watches himself rub his palms together, slower and slower. "It's a rash I can’t even scratch because it's inside my head. The closer I am, the sweeter it sounds. I swear there are words in it too, like somebody is whispering in another language that if I just… that I could understand if I just convinced myself I could.”

“That must be difficult.” Her voice is measured but for Cassandra it’s dripping with concern and it strikes him oddly, unexpectedly close to the heart. He shrugs that off as well because there’s nothing there beyond what she’d feel for any of the others. The Seeker has a tendency to mother hen everybody in her immediate vicinity, himself included when she’s not busy being mad at him for all his various infractions, both real and imagined.

“You have no idea. Is it me? Is it something to do with being a Tethras? Maker knows Bartrand took to it like a duck to water.” He hears the bitterness creeping into his voice, realizes he’s dropped his gaze again and forces himself to look up across the fire. “Don’t worry so much, Seeker. There's no way I’ll lose track of it, trust me. You can just consider me your personal crow for the duration; I’ll take us right to the stuff and we’re going to smash it all into so much dust.”

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

The weather hasn’t gotten any better over the last couple of weeks but it hasn’t gotten all that much worse either. A couple of small storms that laid down yet more snow since you can never have too much of a good thing, a few days with enough wind to scour his face of several layers of skin that he probably didn’t need anyways but that’s been about it. Small blessings from above, right? Varric does his level best to follow directly in the footprints of the Seeker and the Herald as they choose a path leading along the base of the latest ridge, forging ahead of both him and Dorian. Stumbling off the path they’re making will have him hip deep in the drifts again and that he doesn’t need right now, or ever quite frankly.

But damn them for having such long strides. His thighs are never going to stop burning, he’s sure of it.

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until Dorian laughs. He shoots a sour glance over his shoulder.

“Laugh it up, Sparkler. Don’t see you swanning through this stuff like you’re dancing the remigold on marble floors either.”

The mage waves a casual hand. “I’m allergic to excessive effort. I’m perfectly content to let our two heroes do the hard work since they’re so beautifully suited for it.” In deference to the relatively mild weather at the moment, his fur lined hood is down and he can see the smile on the man’s face. Dorian’s stride is confident, if slow.  “And admit it, Varric, the view is quite aesthetically pleasing from this angle.”

Varric looks ahead and suppresses a sigh. Because when Dorian’s right, he’s right.

The Herald is in the lead at the moment, indefatigably moving through the drifts even as she probes ahead with a long pole to check for deeper pockets that could hang everyone up. Her overcoat has been messily rolled to hang from her hip by straps hooked to her weapons belt. Through the patchy tree line they’re generally skirting, the sunlight catches on her honey hair to spark little glories and her breath and exposed skin steam with exertion. If this was a painting, she’d be some sort of pale avenging demon descending upon the hapless mortals from above, wreathed in white smoke. Her hips and thighs are definitely doing some interesting things beneath the muted jingle of her scale mail tunic.

In contrast, Cassandra has kept her dark cloak on but like Dorian has dropped the hood. She ghosts precisely behind the Inquisitor, dark on black on implacable, her armored weight helping to pack the snow into something traversable. If the pace is bothering her, nothing in her movements betrays it. Varric can only imagine what her hips are doing and that’s the worst part of it. His imagination has a tendency to run away with him when he can’t see things.

As if aware of his thoughts on her, the Seeker picks that moment to look back at both of them. He raises a hand in greeting, trying to move a little faster.

She frowns at something she sees though and stops, turning to call back the Herald. A few minutes later, they’re all standing together and Varric stamps his feet a few times, swinging his arms. Wouldn’t do to cool down too fast.

“We have to be close. Varric?”

He nods at the Seeker, keeping his face impassive. “Nearly on top of it, really. If we go up right here, we can probably fall on top of it on the other side.”

Everybody looks of course, but the ridge of stone they’re traveling along still isn’t showing any signs of a path they can actually use to get over the blocking hump of rock.

The first three deposits had been deceptively easy, pretty much out in the open after a bit of effort and they’d shattered beautifully under the pressure of his explosive bolts and Dorian’s casually impressive destruction. They hadn’t even had to get that close for which he is profoundly grateful. This one however is more than making up for it though in pretty much every way possible.

They’ve been tracking it for days now, working their way closer and closer, switching and backtracking as various approaches had dead ended into impassable terrain or steep ravines or some combination of both. Emprise du Lion, he’d decided awhile back, was obviously designed by the sadistic hand of a maniac god. Which pretty much described most of them when you got down to it but the subtleties of his observation appears to have made little impression on his travelling companions.

More to the point, they’re uselessly close enough set his teeth on shivering edge and after four long days and even longer nights, they still haven’t actually found the Maker blasted thing. He’s just given up on sleeping until they get to it. Standing here doing nothing but talking isn’t helping either. He can feel the lyrium thrumming at him right through the stone, dancing along every one of his bones.

Varric shifts his weight and re-settles his crossbow, trying to distract himself. He swings his arms a few more times. The Inquisitor scratches the back of her oblivious neck, still looking up the ridge before squinting over at the weak, diffused sun. “Okay, then,” she says finally. “We’re going to go for another… two fingers of light I think, and if we still haven’t found a good way up, we’re going back to the last camp and we’ll try around the other way tomorrow.”

It’s not like that’s a different plan than they were already doing but the small rest is something at least. This time when they set off again, Cassandra takes the lead, letting the other woman take a break from path stomping. They travel in single file for an hour, barely speaking. The snow crunches, the world glitters and Varric does his best to keep imagining what’s happening under the Seeker’s clothes. It’s almost enough.

Her shout pulls his attention up from the place it’s drifted into. He stumbles and realises after a few seconds that he’d nearly been in fugue state. She’s staring up and as they all close the distance they’d straggled along, he can see what she’s seeing.

At some point in the past a portion of the ridge ahead had collapsed, leaving behind a sloping pile of scree along the path of travel. Instead of rising stone and no footholds, it was a reasonable, if steep incline. Better yet, it was overgrown with small saplings taking advantage of the loosened soil and dirt and even scrub brush digging its own footholds into the bounty. It was damned near perfect - with some careful footwork, they could probably get up this. He looks over at the Herald but she’s already shaking out her jacket and putting it back on. Right. She obviously doesn’t want to be overbalanced as they climb.

“Varric, you go first,” the Inquisitor is saying. “Then Dorian, Cass and then me.”

“Why does he get to go first?” Dorian’s voice sounds rusty with disuse, and the man coughs and tries again. “I’m as light as a halla in comparison to you burly brontos. I could be there and back before you know it.”

She grins and not for the first time Varric wonders if the Herald is sweet on the Tevinter altus. There’s just something about the way her smile slides onto her face when she talks to him, that tiny edge of ever so eager sweetness. “Because, you darling thing, you might be a golden halla of air and clouds but Varric knows how to move on treacherous terrain pretty much anywhere. Right, Varric?”

“You know it.” He’s already picked up how he’s going to get up most of the way, eyes skipping from spot to spot. “But how come nobody ever calls me a golden halla?”

“You don’t have the wardrobe for it, my dear dwarf. Or the legs.”

“You got me there, Sparkler.”

“So our resident sneak goes first,” interrupts the Inquisitor, “then you, Dorian, since you are so damned graceful I can’t stand it, then Cassandra. I’ll bring up the rear because I’m quite frankly the one most likely to slip and I’m not taking out anybody with me if I’m dead last. If Cass slips, I’m also the one most likely to survive the impact.” She makes a point of flexing in her armor and even Varric finds a chuckle for that, as weak as it is. Cassandra looks over at him with a frown on her face but he ignores it, already starting to move.

He wants this over with bad enough to taste it. He starts to climb.

It’s difficult but not beyond him. City dwarf he might be but he knows how to walk, how to test his steps before committing them, feeling the ground beneath his feet as if it’s a living creature which, with the wrong footstep, it will be. It’s not the same as negotiating a trade dispute or slipping around a column to line up a back shot on an unsuspecting target but he has indeed learned to walk wherever he needs to.

Below, Dorian climbs lightly, obviously trying to follow the line he’s picked out across the slope. The two heavily armored women labour upwards below him in a staggered line. Varric keeps going, and when he finally looks up, he realises they’re nearly there. He reaches for another grip on a sapling tree to test its strength as an anchor.

He hears the curse a half second before anything else. He looks down just to time to see Dorian slip, and he’s helpless to do anything as the mage slides under the crumbling pressure of a weak foothold, scrabbling to get a stable handful of anything as he falls. The sound of shifting stone and earth is frightening and for a heartbeat all he can see is what will happen if the entire slip face goes, burying all of them at the bottom.

But luck is with them. Cassandra has her feet planted, one hand sunk into the root system of the nearby scrubs and she gets her other hand on the Tevinter as he slides past her in a shower of pebbles and dirt. She holds on somehow and miraculously nothing further gives. The small landslide slows and then trickles to a pattering stop. Varric can see the white oval face of the Inquisitor far below, staring up.

“Everybody okay?” he shouts down.

“Dorian?” In answer to the Seeker, the mage sets his knee on the slope and attempts to rise slowly. Varric can’t hear the hiss of pain but he can imagine it as Dorian appears to be unable to get both feet under him properly.

The Inquisitor climbs up with exaggerated carefulness and finally reaches the level of the other two. There is conversation he can’t hear but he’s pretty sure he knows what it is. The warrior is running her hands over Dorian’s leg and Varric curses under his breath, staring up. So close to the top. He can keep going, crest the ridge and backtrack to the lyrium. Blast it into so much quivering dust and make it stop crying out to him. Then, then he can sleep for a thousand years before they go after the next one.

He wets his lips, looking back down the slope.

Cassandra is climbing again, methodically grasping and reaching. The Herald and Dorian however are going back down at a snail’s pace, the one braced against the other. Varric blinks.

“Keep going,” the Seekers calls out as she gets close enough.

His mind dangerously blank, he turns back and keeps climbing.

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

Walking along the top of the ridge is much easier going than slogging through the snow at the foot of it and in easy time they have retraced their steps. They stand together for a moment, pretending to catch their breath.

At some point a relatively shallow bowl formed here, perhaps sixty feet across, somewhat less than half of that again deep. Clustered on the other side, the lyrium has shoved itself through the stone and snow. The crystalline spikes thrust outwards in mass confusion like obscenely hard entrails spilling out from a wound and Varric swallows.

The worst thing is it’s pulsing in rhythm. It feels like it’s driving his blood.  

Varric forces himself to look away.

“Can you destroy it from here?” she asks. Her words steam in the air even as her hand is wrapped around the hilt of the sword, tight enough to be noticeable. He sees it but isn’t sure if he should ask if she’s starting to hear it too.

He shakes his head once and then again, harder, trying to reform his thoughts into something coherent. He delays by scooping up a small handful of snow to swallow it, trying to taste water for a moment instead of lyrium. “Sorry, Seeker. Bad angle and I’m not risking it. I only have so many bolts on me and this one… well, it’s kinda big, isn’t it?”

“Only a little big,” she says calmly enough.

“Right.” He stares down across the depression and disguises a hard shudder with a shrug. He starts picking out his footholds, trying to judge when closer will be close enough. “Okay. I’m going to. Going work my way there.” He points down and right to where his target is, a small ledge jutting out where some piece of the stone split to provide a rough shelf. “Better shot from there, can do this properly. Wait here.”

“I am not waiting here, dwarf.”

“And why the hell not?” he snaps back. “You can’t do anything with that sword except crowd my shooting arm.”

She shifts on her feet and he hates the closed, tight expression on her face. “I am worried for you,” she says unexpectedly. “Do not think I have not noticed what it is happening.”

He grunts in surprise. “Doesn’t matter,” he replies after a moment, fumbling, cursing the noticeable delay between thought and sound. “Just… stay here and I’ll take care of it. If you want, you can carry me back out if you need something to do. Maybe there’ll be a bear or something.”

Her lips tighten but he hopes it’s because she’s trying not to smile. He moves away and starts to pick his way down.

It’s difficult, more than difficult. The slope here is more stable at least than the way up, the stone older and less disturbed but the lyrium wails in previously unknown octaves, distracting. The snow that has drifted into crevices makes things hard to judge, the shifting red light casting wavering shadows that don’t help at all. More than once he nearly puts a foot wrong. He starts, stops, starts again.

But he makes it after what seems like a year and forever, bracing himself along the exposed face. Varric hauls in a painful lungful of air, trying to stay centered and focused. As he thought, the angle here is as close to perfect as he’s going to get, the twisting spires of lyrium all but reaching out to him. He can see right into the center of the mass and for a second the song aching along his bones makes beautiful, incandescent sense.

Varric shudders and drags his eyes away. He starts to pull Bianca off his shoulder, fumbling awkwardly.

Afterwards he has no idea what he did wrong. Did the ledge collapse, some unseen fault with his weight on it? Did his foot slip with his shattered un-attention? Or did, Maker preserve all fools, did he actually step forward? All of those things, none of those things.

He’s somehow on his hands and knees in the snow at the bottom of the basin, spitting shock and blood. He’s bitten through his tongue but doesn’t have time to care about it. His hands are scraped and bleeding. Those are the only two things he actually feels.

He looks up.

He’s fallen nearly on top of it. Twenty feet, maybe less or something more because it’s impossible to judge, only that it fills his sight like a horizon. This close he can all but see his reflection in the crystalline planes, see himself endlessly reflected. His heart twists with sudden panicked horror.

Then it’s gone. All of it is gone, torn away and lost. The surging thrill under his skin is nothing short of a lover’s caress, something he almost has a name for. He staggers to his feet, somewhere dimly amazed that he can.

Somebody is yelling faintly. He shakes his head and that falls away too.

Everywhere he looks is red and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He takes a step. Then another and another, faster. His flesh blackens with exultation, heat and promise and the shrieking edge of understanding. Fingers of it thread through his hair, touch his shoulders with power. Red coils wrap tight around his neck until he can barely breathe for how good they feel. A knowing hand snakes down his hip.

He could have it. He could take it. It could be his.

And oh, it wants to be his.

His bloodied fingers twitch. He reaches to touch the nearest spire. A few more steps.

He's grabbed from behind and he howls, fighting.

It’s a woman with dark hair and darker, wilder eyes. She drags him a half dozen steps before he digs in and then there is a tense, straining stalemate. She’s got a hold of him by a strap and she yanks again, stronger than she looks with her whipcord length. He loses yet another lurching step. It’s his harness, he realizes dimly. She has him by the harness.

He claws at the buckles and the useless weight at his shoulder drops and he sheds both burden and jacket all in a piece like a snake. She reaches for him again.

“Varric. Varric.”

There’s red dancing in her eyes. The lyrium over his shoulder screams through its reflection and he shudders. He flexes his shoulders in inarticulate want, panting.

She hesitates, scanning his face, her hand hovering between them.

She crouches, slowly enough that it seems a dream or a drug fever until she’s before him with one knee in the snow. He can see flakes of white in her dark, tousled hair. Something in her eyes is confusing enough to hold him there.

“Varric. Do you know me?”

He takes a breath. No. Yes. No?

“Varric.” Her voice pleads. Her fingertips raise as if to touch his face, brushing instead the hollow of his throat.

He sets his jaw against it. Her cheek is scarred and he finds himself touching it with a finger without intending any such thing, tracing the heavy line. Blood smears like it’s reopening.

He’s always meant to touch her. He’s always wanted to do that. Yes. Run his mouth over her, taste himself on her skin.

“Seeker.” That’s all he has but it seems to be enough. She smiles, her eyes still frightened. That’s it. That’s the confusing thing. The Seeker should never be frightened.

Her hand is burning hot as it curls around the chain at his throat.

His thumb brushes over her face again. Taste her, touch her. Have her. His.

“Varric, come away. Come away from it.” Her other hand hesitates, then moves to his arm. She tugs once and then again, more strongly.

He growls his answer, rocking on his heels.

She stands, rising like a furious thundercloud, gaining sudden leverage. She yanks viciously and he stumbles one more step, her hand torqued around the metal at his neck, the other fisted into his shirt. Something rips. “Maker, help me! Varric, we must go!"

She should never be frightened. Once she hears it properly, she’ll never be frightened again. And he wants.

He sinks his fingers into her upper arm, deep as mountains and it takes nothing at all to drag her back down.

She loses her grip, collapsing to both knees with a harsh sound. Her free hand starts to fumble at her waist.

“No. Come,” he pants. “Come here, Seeker.”

“Varric, no!”

A step backwards. He’s stronger than she is, he always has been. “Be here with me. Seeker. Seeker. Always.”

He pulls again, inexorable and she cries out in sharp pain, starting to struggle. Her free hand drops from the hilt, scrabbling in the snow.

She tries then, tries to lean back, to pull away and she’s strong, he loves that, he’s always loved that about her but she is only human and he���s not letting go. He tightens his grip into a cage and half turns, dragging her across the ground even as she screams yet again. Back towards the song, back towards the safety of the howling crystals. Red in her eyes, red in her hair, the taste of lyrium in her mouth under his, always, always, always.

“Varric! Varric, no! Don’t do this, don’t do this!”

He’s never seen her tears before.

She’s crying. Cassandra is crying.

He’s hurting Cassandra.

He snatches his hand back as if it’s burning.

Maybe he is.

“...Varric?”

He closes his eyes. He inhales, a breath so deep his entire body freezes with the intense, bitter cold. “Yes.”

She swallows, a wet sound. “Varric, come away. Come away with me. We have to leave this place. Now.”

Lyrium screams again but this time he has something to hang onto.

“Can’t. Can’t, Seeker. Have to… have to…” He gropes after it. “Can’t come back here again.”

“Someone else can do this. Come with me now.”

“No.” He opens his eyes. The wet smear of her face accuses, his blood on her cheek, but her eyes are dark again, the red only a reflection. “No.”

He can’t find any more words but he doesn’t need to. Varric turns and finds Bianca half buried in the snow. It is the work of moments to free her from the tangle and his fingers leave wet, dark streaks on her blond wood as he loads her.

He walks back and finds the angle again, looks into the tangled mess of lyrium, the beating, pulsing, crying heart of it.

He doesn’t remember pulling the trigger, reloading, doing it again and yet again until there’s nothing left that sings at all. But he knows he did it because the next thing he remembers, they’re stumbling into camp together.

#cassarric #fanfiction #varric tethras #cassandra pentaghast #dragon age inquisition

[pookydraws]

Do you like it?

One shot fanfiction by the amazing @kierarutherford. 

I commissioned her to do this wonderful work. 

You also can read this on AO3

Pairing: Cullen x Dahliana

NSFW [Of course!] ;)

“I miss you dearly my love, but I make one request of you. Do not greet me at the gate when I return. I wish to bathe first and I’m certain Leliana and Josephine will want my time, even though I only wish for yours. Come to my quarters after dinner. Without your armor. Please, I promise you will not regret it. I love you, Dahliana.” 

Her letter had read, signed with her usual scrolling hand he knew well. 

Huffing loudly, he flopped into his chair. It had been one month, one painfully long month and he ached bitterly for her. Rubbing his temples, he conceded her strange request after all she had returned and whole. That was enough for the moment. Settling down to his work he began making up for lost time. He’d spent the better part of the morning reading and re-reading over her letter. Trying in vain to sort out what she had planned. Despite his best efforts his mind wandered back to her, and the prospect of meeting her that evening. One month. It had been one month since he’d seen her last and that had been intense. She’d gone out to the Emprise Du Lion and nearly gotten herself killed by a dragon. Cringing at the thought he grumbled under his breath.

“Commander, Sister Leliana has sent word the council is preparing to meet in the war room.” He hadn’t noticed the bright face young scout enter. “Yes, thank you I shall leave immediately.” Rising he gathered his papers, ignoring the scout as they darted from the room. With a small stack in his hands he drew in a deep breath before crossing the bridge to the rotunda.

Solas was at his desk, sipping upon a cup of something hot as he read over another scroll. Cullen acknowledged him with a tight dip of his head before opening the door into the main hall. Life bustled about, the never-ending stream of nobility and pilgrims bent on just trying to get a glimpse of the Inquisitor. Brushing as many off as he could he pushed his way through to Josephine’s office. Arriving he noticed the Antivan woman collecting a large stack of papers as she clipped them to her writing board, “good afternoon Ambassador.” He offered a warm smile catching the subtle sign of exhaustion upon the woman’s features before she schooled them back into her role with ease. “Ah, Commander. Good afternoon. Our Inquisitor is awaiting us within the war room. Shall we?”

“Lead the way.” He waved ahead of him allowing her to pass. Leliana smiled standing at the door to the war room. “Good to see you Commander. How are you feeling today?”

“Just a small headache. Thank you.”

He forced the smile to his lips. Holding the door wide he followed in behind and assumed his position at the table. “Shall we begin?” He stated flatly tapping his papers together and resting them upon the table.

Hours passed as they went through missives, mission reports and critical decisions only she could provide. Each advisor did their best to offer their options and opinions on all matters. At some point Cullen had zoned out. His material had been covered and he wasn’t interested in the ideas for an Orlesian style ball within Skyhold. He’d made his opinion loud and clear enough that he was content to sit silently now.

Silence also gave way to him luridly staring at her. Dahliana was a petite elven woman. More shapely than others he’d met. His eyes trailed over her face, the beautiful scrolling lines of her vallaslin under her eyes. How her shoulder length, rich brown hair framed her pale face like the wings of a song bird. As she spoke she chewed upon her fingernails, a nervous habit from the usual shy girl. He couldn’t help the tilt of his lips as he lost himself in his admiration of her.

“Commander what is your opinion on the guest list options?”

Leliana’s voice was ripe with laughter as he jolted out of his lucid dream.

“I… I will require a full list of members, guards, chevalier and servants attending. Once I receive it and have a chance to pour over them I will render my opinion then.” He grinned back at Leliana. She’d hope to catch him off guard, but he had been paying loose attention, enough to avoid an embarrassing moment.

“Well done Commander,” Leliana smiled wide. “I believe we are done for now. Dinner should be soon, and you look like could use a proper meal. Travel does not do the stomach well.” Leliana bowed her head as she collected a few papers and calmly left the room.

Dahliana looked up, capturing his eyes with hers, “I am famished. The sooner we dine the better.” Her cheeks tinted a soft pink as she winked at him and calmly followed Josephine out the doors, leaving him alone in the war room. Sighing heavily, he too collected his papers, but his return to his office was slower. One month had been too long and it have been a struggle to keep his distance from her. How she dipped at the hip to look at the war table, how she’d leaned to the side and exposed the curve of her backside. It was driving him mad.

Arriving at his tower he noticed the fresh pile of letters upon his desk and groaned. He’d worked himself into a half tizzy along the route and his loins ached. Pulsing and bound within his leather he was in agony. Peeking about he locked two of the three doors. Dinner would arrive soon, and they would simply place the tray upon his desk. There was time for him to change and tend to himself in his loft, if he was silent enough.

Climbing his ladder, he discharged his armor upon the stand with little ceremony. He felt like his skin was burning. Cupping himself over his breeches he gasped at the sudden rush of excitement. Soon, but not soon enough he would join her in her quarters and he wanted to maintain some semblance of proper decorum.

Freeing himself from his pants he took himself in hand. There was no slow teasing or build up of pleasure like when he thought of her all those days she was away. No this was carnal need. Stroking himself he was panting heavily, “Dahliana,” he groaned out as he spilled over his fist. “Not enough…” he groaned as he cleaned himself up. Only she would do, and he was now more than painfully aware of it.

Changing into a loose shirt and linen pant he slid down the ladder back into his office. Sure enough there upon his desk was a steaming bowl of stew with some bread and cheese. His tankard was full, and he set about to reading and eating.

When he was finished he rose, wiped away any crumbles and blew out his candles. He could barely contain himself as he walked across the way towards the main hall. His heart was beating a thousand miles a moment as he took each stride quicker and quicker. Once inside the main hall he was glad it was nearly empty. Only the two guards that patrolled remained. Making a straight away for her quarters he pushed through the first door. Pausing he turned and latched it. There would be no interruptions tonight.

He did the same with the second door, “Dahliana?” He called out as he tried not to look over eager, taking each step one at a time. “Cullen? I’m waiting.” Her voice was like a choir as he came around the bend to climb the last of the steps. “Dahliana I…” his words died on his lips when he caught sight of her. Standing by the hearth she was leaning against the wall, one hand upon her hip, digging into the thin band of a pair of lacey smalls. Her other hand was up near her mouth, one lone finger nail nipped between her pearly teeth. Upon her lithe frame was a delicate long smoky lace garment. Akin to a dress but obviously not meant for wearing outside of the bedroom. It was sheer. So, sheer he could make out her dusky nipples and he had to swallow hard to focus his brain. Her breasts were squeezed together and lifted giving an ample amount of cleavage. Blinking a few times, he noticed the entire top was secured by a thick ribbon tied tightly about her ribcage.

“Do you like it?” She toyed with her fingernail, her other hand slipping and dipping the band of her smalls down past her hipbone and all he could do was groan. “It’s been one month…” he managed to barely get the words out as he stalked towards her. “One month away from you and you… you tease me. Is it wise to do so?” Even as he spoke the words he wasn’t entirely sure if he was asking her the question or himself.

“I believe it to be incredibly wise,” she grinned back as she took a step towards her bed. “Unless you aren’t interested…” her hand trailed from her lips down the plunge of pump cleavage to the ties. Curling the fabric about her finger she swayed her hips as she took several more steps towards her bed. “I can remove it, if it offends.”

“It will be removed momentarily.” That same devilish smirk graced his lips as he reached for the hem of his shirt. Tugging it up and over his head he tossed it towards the couch. “Dahliana, do you…” He’d paused briefly always wanting to be sure before moving forward. He needed her consent, her need to be equal to his own. “Yes.” She nodded as she tugged lightly at the ties. As the bow unfurled and the gossamer lace loosened she just kept the fabric clinging to her breasts. The long flowing bell sleeves slacked down to her wrists, the shoulders slipped over and hung halfway down her back. Turning from him she chuckled at his guttural growl. Her smalls cupped her rear, exposing half her arse, framing it perfectly. “Do you like it?” She sighed, looking over her shoulder as he continued to pace towards her.

“You are beautiful,” he purred as he closed the distance, wrapping his arms about her waist. Skimming his hand over her and material, he enjoyed the richness and softness of it before continuing. Cupping her jaw, he pulled her back to press a searing kiss to her lips. Moaning against him she let the ties fall, causing the shawl to flitter away down to the floor.

Breaking only to catch his breath he panted, “I want to take the night with you, slow and many, many times. Do you want that as well?”

“I do too.” She sighed, spinning in his arms. “Stay with me tonight.”

It was all he needed to hear. Capturing her mouth again, he slid his tongue over her bottom lip. She was all too eager to give to him and him to her. Tipping her back she slipped down to the bed with a giggle. Hooking his finger tips into the band of the lacy smalls he teasingly dragged them down over her thighs, pressing his lips to as much exposed skin as he could, reveling in the gasps and subtle buck of her hips. He towered over her, licking his lips he pressed another sinful kiss to her inner thigh as he knelt between her knees, the fragile lace undergarment dropped to the floor beside him.

Blowing lightly against her core he grinned wide when she sucked in a sharp breath of air. Resting an arm over her hips he traced his tongue over her mound, barely swiping at her molten core. “Cu… CULLEN!” She half shrieked as he carefully parted her with his fingers, exposing the little bundle of nerves, “yes love?” He pressed another teasing kiss to her heated flesh before swirling the tip of his tongue just against her pearl. Another loud gasp and she was beginning to wriggle under him. “Ph…Please…” she could barely get the words out and he was more than happy to oblige.

Flicking his tongue back and forth, she writhed like a woman possessed under him. Sooner than he’d expected she clamped her thighs about his head, her fingers in his hair as he continued until she begged him to stop. Wiping his face off he grinned. She lay panting upon the bed, her half-lidded eyes glossy and dark. “Cullen make love to me.”

Untying his breeches, he was already hard. Using his teeth, he tugged her long lace stockings down, earning him another hum of appreciations. With each stocking removed and his pants in a puddle about his feet, he stepped out of them. She had crawled up the bed, waiting for him to follow.

Follow he did, stalking up the bed towards her he continued to lavish her skin with his lips, kissing, nipping and sucking, leaving marks only he knew of or could see. Settling between her legs he teased her entrance with just the tip of his hardened length. Dipping inside of her just barely before pulling back completely. It was a sweet torture that drove the fire inside of him, burning higher as she whimpered and begged. Carefully he pushed forward, only pulling back slightly to slick himself in her. “Are you okay, my love?” He caught the tightness of her brow and worried for her. “I’m fine. Please, don’t stop.” She gave him a sweet smile before she moaned out again.

Taking his time, he filled her fully, enjoying the sensation of her warmth tight against him. “I’ve missed you.” He groaned as he leaned down to be close to her. Brushing some of her hair back from her face he began to slowly thrust into her. Each rise and fall of his hips had her gasping, and each gasp he tried to capture with his lips. Her tongue played against his in a languid dance that matched their soft love making.

Feeling himself beginning to peak far too soon her reached for her hand, looping his fingers in hers. “I can’t…”

“Please,” she sighed softly pressing her lips to his jaw and down to his neck. “I want to feel you.” Sucking upon his neck he let out a deep vibrating purr from within the bowels of his chest. “Please,” she murmured again against the shell of his ear. It was all the convincing he needed. With her hand still firmly locked in his, he began to pick up his pace, snapping his hips forward before pulling nearly the entire way out again.

Her cried echoed through her chamber, the heat building between the two of them, locked in their lovers embrace. Skin upon skin, soul to soul as they both reached their peak together. Their voices in perfect unison calling out as their crescendo raised their passions to their fullest. Panting and satisfied he turned over, letting himself slowly come down, still inside of her. “I love you,” he sighed out, brushing some of her hair back. “I love you too Cullen,” she smiled as she brought their clenched hands together and pressed a soft kiss to where they joined.

Laying for a few quiet moments he let out a long-held breath, “you don’t have to leave for some time. I hope you dined well tonight.” Smirking wide he caught the giggle from her. “Because I plan on making walking very, very difficult for at least a day or two to come.”

“Cullen!” she laughed as she playfully batted his chest.

“And I look forward to my poor wobbly legs.”

#fic #cullen rutherford #cullen #cullen x dahliana #omg i love this so much #kierarutherford is amazing #dragon age fanfiction #da fic #dragon age #fanfic #smut fic #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x lavellan #dragon age inquisition

[willbeshot]

NAME: Reaver VARRIC’S NICKNAME: Up to any Varric that I interact with! AGE: 286 during the main game, 289 during trespasser - though he isn’t present for this RACE: Human CLASS: Rogue SPECIALIZATION: Primarily archery ( uses a crossbow ), but can dual wield just as easily 

RECRUITMENT QUEST:

Reaver is first encountered at the winter palace in randomized locations during the “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts” quest where he is an optional person to speak with. If the inquisitor manages to find him and speak with him, he will state that he finds the ordeal between Celene and Gaspard to be rather boring, that he truly doesn’t care who comes into power as his place on the court has been solidified, and that he finds the inquisitor and their work to be interestingly entertaining. After all of his dialogue options have been exhausted, he will say that he has “business” to and seemingly disappear once you leave the area you found him in. 

Upon returning to Skyhold, the inquisitor will find that their quarters have been broken into. Nothing will be stolen, but a letter addressed to them accompanied by a single red rose will be found on their bed. The letter will read as such:

“My dearest inquisitor, I did so enjoy our little chat at the empress’ soiree-- A shame we could not converse longer. My work can just be so time consuming. I’m sure that you of all people understand that. Unfortunately, I am not writing this letter to merely spew pleasantries. No, I’m afraid that one of your own has proven that their loyalties lie elsewhere and not strictly with you. I would have taken action against them myself, but I doubt you would want someone not affiliated with you handling your own personal business.  By the time you read this, I will have already found myself in the bustling city of Val Royeaux--  Should you wish to investigate this matter further, you may seek me out there. --And before I forget, your guards are terrible. I managed to sneak all the way into your private chambers and not a single one of them noticed me! You should perhaps do something about that. Yours, Reaver.”

If the inquisitor did not speak to him at the winter palace, the initial part of his letter will read differently; basically saying that he was busy with political matters all night and that he feels terrible for missing out on an opportunity to talk with them.

Heading to Val Royeaux, the inquisitor will be met by a servant of Reaver’s stating that Reaver had instructed that he wait for them, and that he was to lead them to the mansion in which Reaver is currently staying in. On their way to the mansion, the inquisitor and their companions will be attacked by a group of soldiers wearing inquisition armor. In the middle of this fight, Reaver will make an appearance and jump to their aid. Once the fight is over, Reaver will invite them inside in order to speak with them privately. There, he will say that he had heard what appeared to be an inquisition spy speaking with someone from Tevinter, and that from what he overheard, the details that were being shared were seemingly details that would likely need to be kept private. If the inquisitor does not follow this lead, Reaver will not be recruited. If they choose to follow up on this information, they will be sent to Emprise du Lion. There, they will confront this supposed traitor. When being confronted, the traitor will attempt to flee, but Reaver will shoot an arrow through their lower leg and this will cause them to fall. There, the inquisitor has the option to take them back to skyhold for judgement or to kill them on the spot. Once an option has been chosen, Reaver will say that he has found that working alongside the inquisitor is incredibly exciting and that he would love to accompany them further. This will ultimately lead to the inquisitor deciding whether or not to recruit him.

If the traitor was taken back to skyhold and Reaver has been recruited, a “sit in judgement” will ensue. The traitor will confess to his crimes, but say that he had been paid to do what he did. The inquisitor may either conscript the traitor to the wardens ( if they have not been banished ), lock him up in prison, or have him executed. Sparing the traitor will receive medium disapproval, but executing him will result in heavy approval.

PERSONAL QUEST + TAROT CARDS:

Intially, upon recruiting him, Reaver’s card is the seven of coins reversed. This symbolizes Voided ambition, vanity, cupidity, exaction, usury. It may also signify the possession of skill, in the sense of the ingenious mind turned to cunning and intrigue.

Once his approval has been maxed and the inquisitor has switched him out of their party, they will find that they will be unable to have him join up with them once more. If they are away from Skyhold, returning there will cause them to learn why that is.

Reaver has betrayed them.

The inquisitor will be met by an injured soldier who will say that as soon as the inquisitor and their companions left, Reaver had promptly made his way to where the spies typically were and had not only slaughtered most of the ones that he saw ( though several managed to escape and likely ran off to tell Leliana ), but had also seemingly taken various documents upon doing so. As he was leaving, two soldiers attempted attempted to stop him, but the first had his throat slit, and the second - the one relaying the information - had been stabbed in the shoulder; so they ultimately failed to stop him from fleeing. From there, the soldier isn’t sure where he went, but is sure that he left Skyhold. After relaying that information, the soldier will collapse and ultimately die on the spot.

With Skyhold now in utter chaos, the inquisitor will meet with a furious Leliana before ultimately continuing on with their investigation of Reaver’s mess. If the inquisitor insists that she sends more of her people after him, Reaver will eventually kill those which she had sent and leave their bodies scattered around in various locations outside of Skyhold. This will also make it more difficult to keep Leliana unhardened. Once a plan of action regarding the spies has been chosen, the investigation will continue and several important details will be brought to light:

The traitor from his recruitment quest was one of his own men. Reaver had implanted him within the inquisitions ranks back at Haven and once he had been properly integrated into them, had managed to strike from within. This was how he was able to gain the inquisitor’s trust and ultimately convince them to let him join. If you spared the “traitor”,  the traitor himself will tell you this. Reaver had been smuggling out lyrium and mages/templars since he joined. It was a slow process, as taking out too much lyrium or too many mages/templars would be noticed rather quickly, but over time he had managed to steal a great deal of resources. No one was going to notice a few people go missing here and there, and the missing lyrium was typically thought to be lost during transportation to Skyhold. Reaver is an agent of Corypheus. He had been supplying Corypheus with lyrium and bodies even before the conclave. 

He will also leave a letter accompanied by a black rose this time in the same place he left his initial one. The note will state that while he had enjoyed himself and that running around with the inquisitor had proven to be fun for a while, he was now bored and had claimed everything that both he and Corypheus wanted; which meant that he was now going to leave. He would then state not to try to find him unless they wished to die, and that their guards were still lacking in skill.

From here, the inquisitor will track him down to the exhalted plains and be forced to face him in combat. Once captured, a “sit in judgement” will become availible. Due to his immortality given to him by Imshael, a fact which will now be known, death will not be an option for him. The inquisitor may either lock him away in prison or hand him over to Leliana to do what she pleases with him. However, no matter the option, REAVER WILL ALWAYS ESCAPE A SECOND TIME. And unfortunately, he will not be caught again and will ultimately flee to Tevinter.

After this quest is done, Reaver’s tarot becomes the seven of swords. Indicating deception and betrayal.

LOCATION IN SKYHOLD: He can be found either with Vivienne, Dorian, or in the garden.

APPROVAL: Reaver will ultimately approve of the inquisitor being greedy and aggressive. He will also approve if the inquisitor states that keeping circles in place is a good idea. DISAPPROVAL: Reaver won’t like if the inquisitor is too passive, or too focused on being good. He doesn’t care about the needs and rights of others, so focusing too heavily on that will cause him to disapprove.

#THIS ONLY TOOK FOREVER NBD #I'm gonna but this next to his da verse on my verses page #(v.) ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴏғ ᴏʀʟᴀɪs

[veridium]

To read the previous Episode, click here.

The distance between them has grown, and now Lady Inquisitor Treveyan and Lady Ambassador Montilyet must find a way to move forward somehow in their lives. The Inquisitor comes to terms with aspects of her life and the life of the woman she’s falling for - and how everything seems to fall out of place. A return to Skyhold after a hard-earned victory in Emprise du Lion awaits her with the difficult answers she seeks.

The camp was bursting at the seams with laughter and relief, feelings that were all-too-rare in such settings. It was the day of all days: they had captured Suledin Keep, for good. The arduous advancement had brought them to the epicenter, wherein Theia, Cassandra, Dorian, and The Iron Bull battled with the self-proclaimed “Choice Spirit” once and for all. While the Inquisitor had concerns over her shape and ability to be as good as she was before her injury, her success in the battle proved to her that she was inches away from a complete recovery.

Wine jugs and sacks were passed around to encourage the merriment of all. Not too much, to ensure that guard could be maintained. But, for the Inquisitor and her allies, the wine was as therapeutic as it was recreational. Everyone had bandages and scrapes to tend to, and perhaps one night where they could pretend they were the Kings and Queens of the Maker-forsaken winter wasteland they found themselves in could be just as healing as herbs and cloth bandages.

The keep was not outfitted enough to be worthy of such a celebration – surely the grandeur of a snow-filled camp of hide tents and wooden tables would more than suffice.

“Boss, you really had him there with that…ice…thing you did. It was fantastic!” The Iron Bull roared, patting her on the back, so much so it pushed the breath out of her lungs and made her choke in recovery. This was not an uncommon phenomena when the Bull was feeling congratulatory.

“Bull, you have the best way with words!” Theia chimed back, always trying to be a good sport.

“Ahaha! You’re damn right! If only Krem were to come to his senses!” off in the not-too-distant scape, you could see Krem shake his head as he tended to cleaning his armor, surrounded by most of the Chargers.

Theia chuckled and took another sip of wine from her humble cup. She was not planning on getting too intoxicated that night. Tomorrow morning was move-in for the Keep, as well as outfitting Valeska’s watch. Blackwall returned to Skyhold two days prior, having been fielding Darkspawn and Templar skirmishes in her absence.

Somewhere, hopefully near, Dorian was recounting some of the newer troops with the latest and most dramatic news from the front. A battle with a 3-in-1 demon sounded like the final battle with Corypheus if you were to listen to Dorian Pavus go on and on about it. The romances of battle were amiable only to a certain extent for Theia, especially when the said battle was within the previous 48-hour period.

Theia’s eyes perked up as she saw a certain personnel walk past, and she turned her head to flag them down.

“Messenger! Are you sure there’s no more correspondences from Skyhold?” she said, feeling futile but at the same time, harboring a raw strand of reckless hope that perhaps something was being kept from her that would make this night all the more sweet.

The scout turned and nodded her head quickly. “No, ser, not since midday. We have sent all the necessary dispatches about the events of the day already.”

“Thank you, I’m sorry I’m such a nervous wreck,” Theia humored, before turning back to the fire and gazing at it with indifference.

From her right side, also utilizing the campfire for light as she cleaned her sword, Cassandra noticed the Inquisitor’s behavior. “Leliana warned me in passing before we left that something transpired between you and Lady Montilyet. Is this why you keep hounding the Messengers like you’re expecting the worst news of your life?”

Cassandra’s words spoke life to the subliminal anxieties Theia had managed to suppress well enough to capture a keep from the clutches of a demon and liberate villagers from oppressive murder in the Sarhnia Quarry. All in a day’s work for a jilted lover who happened to be Lady Inquisitor.

“Not at all, Seeker, I was simply inquiring as to if we had a note from the person I’m playing a chain mail round of Wicked Grace with. Surprise, it’s Varric,” she gave a front of pure, unadulterated sarcasm.

Cassandra smirked under her breath. “Inquisitor, even I know you do not have the patience for such hobbies.”

“You never know, I am a woman of many wonders.”

“Yes, and many habits.”

Theia eyed her friend and comrade from the side, lowering her posture and resting her elbows on her thighs. “We had a disagreement. It is hardly the end of the wo—you know what, nevermind.”

As the Seeker sheathed her now sterling and clean weapon, she placed it to the side of her and put her attention fully on the Inquisitor. “Well, whatever has happened, I wish you the best of luck. You have remained steadfast and focused even with all that is in your mind’s eye. Your dedication is appreciated, as you can see,” she motioned towards the small clusters of troops and scouts who finally had a night to bask in the accomplishments of their work.

“If anything happens, you know where to find me,” Cassandra said, standing up, still in all her armor and ready for anything. Theia nodded at her simply, and she was off. Did the Seeker ever enjoy a late night of casualty? The world may never know.

That left the Inquisitor surrounded by many, but lonely all the same. It wasn’t that her people always left her feeling that way – it was the circumstances of her departure from Skyhold, and who specifically she left behind on less-than-stellar grounds, that left a hole in her chest. It had gotten to the point where the first person she wanted to tell the down and dirty details of the day, just so happened to be the person farthest away from reach. And now, that person was probably scorned beyond affection.

Theia gazed up at the stars and wondered just how much longer it would be before love would stop driving her wild. When she was a child, the adults made marriage and bonds look so professional, like a transaction. Then, when the truth of everyone’s socially-accepted infidelity came to light, then it was a polarity between feeling nothing and feeling everything like some animal.

Then, in the Circle, it was all about filtering what you did feel for the sake of self-preservation. In the rebellion, it became survival.

Only when she had the courage – some of it was probably recklessness – to pursue Josephine, did the grey area of it all became clear. With it, came wildness.

They would return to Skyhold in the next few days to switch shifts, re-stock, and return the Inquisitor and her team to headquarters. She didn’t know whether to be excited, or scared shitless.

--

The days passed by so slow at first before she found a rhythm again. For Lady Montilyet, work was as much part of herself as anything. Once she was able to throw herself back into her duties and not anxiously look up every time someone with an average build and height with blonde hair darkened her doorway, she could almost fool herself into thinking everything was fine. At least, if you didn’t count the small scrap letter Theia had left her being in her right-hand drawer, for whenever she could steal a moment of unproductivity to herself to be emotionally masochistic.

The reports came in the following morning that Suledin Keep was now a stronghold for the Inquisition. No major fatalities, no major disasters. She was alive, they all were. When she first got a copy of the report, she remembered how relieved she was to know it wasn’t going to end this way. She was going to see her again, and even if that filled her with rage and hurt, it filled her with something.

Her dreams were never quite a rambunctious as that one, the night before they left for Emprise du Lion. Part of it was her refusal to sleep for more than 4-5 hours at a time, much to the chagrin of Leliana, who had taken to checking on her during off-hours in the night. Another aspect of it was just how unafraid Josephine became of such visions.

Josephine did not bother writing, mostly out of self-preservation. However, she also wanted to give them both room to really sit with what had happened, and the implications of their relationship. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? Well, at this point, their hearts should be pretty damn fond.

As she sat at her desk, doing what she did best, she heard Leliana enter from the Council door.

“They are returning in two days time, I imagine, from the reports,” Leliana greeted, gauging a preemptive reaction from her friend who had remained rather closed-off about the whole thing.

“Sounds par for the course. It will be good to move onto the next major challenge,” Josephine remarked distantly, not even bothering to take her eyes away from the letter she was writing.

“Josie, is that all you feel?”

“Should I be feeling more?”

Leliana shook her head at the Ambassador, wearing a sympathetic grin. “My mistake, I suppose.”

As Leliana exited, Josephine bit her lip pensively and sat back in her chair. There was so much unknown, and this would not be an easy landing.

--

It was a fog-ridden morning when the signaling horn rang through the air at Skyhold. The path from the front gates to the main entrance was cloaked in what felt like opaque mountain clouds. It proved an ominous and rather intimidating ambiance for when the Inquisitor arrived. Theia, armor-clad and on horseback, was ushering in the group of troops and wagons of trappings. She was closely accompanied by Seeker Cassandra and Lord Dorian flanking her on each side on their own mounts.

The Inquisitor, wearing a cowl hood that had kept her head warm as they traversed the freezing mountain paths, was relieved to be “home.” For an Inquisition epicenter, it also proved the most stable and welcoming home she had her entire life. Being greeted by the sight of the battlements, weaving in and out of the foggy air, and the dimly-lit windows of the Mage tower and the guards quarters, was heartening to say the least.

Coming to the center of the courtyard, which was lined with people who had come down to see what was arriving, The Inquisitor instinctually looked up at the slope of the Hall stairwell. There, she saw Commander Cullen, looking as reliable and tired as ever. Leliana, intrigued and vigilent as ever. But no one else. By that, she meant no one who looked like the one person she had been anticipating seeing, for better or for worse.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor,” a young man from Master Dennett’s stables approached, taking hold of her horse.

The Inquisitor grinned and patted her horse’s neck. “Thank you very much,” she replied cordially, tossing the reigns down lightly and slipping her feet out of her stirrups. Dismounting without fuss, she turned to face the direction of her allies, who had also dismounted.

“Well, friends, we are home,” she remarked, unstrapping her riding gloves and slipping off the first of the two.

“Indeed. I shall spend the next two days thawing out everything other my smallclothes,” Dorian responded with travel-weary snark.

“Dorian, if you are so off-put by the elements, perhaps you would consider armor that does not expose the most thermally vulnerable parts of your anatomy,” Cassandra retorted.

“Ridiculous! How else would I stun my enemies who envisage their impossibly attractive nemesis?”

“Ugh,” said, well, you know who said it.

Eventually, Inquisitor Trevelyan was able to climb up the stairs and into the Hall entryway. Greeted by Cullen, who reminded her of the reports of soldier and casualty numbers from their other holdings spanning across Thedas, some which needed her confirmation. Leliana, who would prime her later on the intel that had since gathered on various areas of interest.

Two out of three Advisors. Two out of three faces.

As they entered the Hall, Theia took off her cowl and gripped it along with her gloves. “Tell me Leliana, how is she?” her voice was audibly softer now.

Leliana began to speak, but she stopped herself and took a short breath. “You did not go to her. That is all she has told me. She will not discuss it at all with anyone. Not even me.”

Theia took a deep breath and looked around, half-scared an arrow would come flying at her in vengeance. “That’s not good, is it?”

“In a word? No.”

Leliana quickly departed the Inquisitor’s side. A warm welcome indeed.

--

Up in her bed chambers, she was garnering the resolve to go look for her. She knew that the Lady Ambassador wouldn’t step away from her desk for just anything, nor did she retire early from a day’s work. This was all Theia’s fault.

In one minute she had convinced herself to go and do it, and in the next she would stop herself. At the root of her indecisiveness was the fear of what awaited her on the other side of this search: would she be angry? Would she be resolute in her distancing? Would she send her away? She had to reassure her own self that she could endure whatever she was walking into.

Theia made her way downstairs to the Great Hall. The first place she would look, just to be sure, was her office. Peering in through the door, there was no one. Okay, so, that only leaves so many places the Lady Ambassador would feel appropriate in going to.

The Library. Nothing.

The Requisition office. Nothing.

The Gardens. Nothing.

Hell, The Battlements? Nothing.

People were starting to notice that the Inquisitor seemed to be on an at-home quest on her day off. Not finding who she was looking for, she would sigh heavily and make her way back to the center of the grounds. That left only one place left: her chambers. She wouldn’t have guessed that Josephine would simply go to her room to wait out the storm of her return, but, perhaps she did not want to be found after all.

Theia walked slowly down the Hall path leading to the door which would bring her closer to Josephine’s bedroom. She battled with herself in her mind about whether or not it was wise.

Would it be worse if she never tried to see her, though? Not only had she left without a word, but now she would return without one? Something inside her said it would definitely be over in that case.

So, when she made her way to the Ambassador’s door, she felt the nerves in her throat and chest go haywire with the potential disaster that lay before her.

Knock, knock, knock.

The silence felt maddening as the butterflies in her stomach did back flips. Girding herself against whatever was to come.

A noise: the door opening, wider this time.

It was her.

Seeing her face, her beautiful, deep bronze skin, those piercing eyes that had haunted her in her dreams while out in the field. Her shorter hair curls framing the sides of her face. She knew how they would smell if she put her face to them.

Josephine knew from the moment she heard the knock just who it was. Having retreated to her bed chambers proved just out of the ordinary enough to pique the Inquisitor’s curiosity after all. Sometimes the quickest way to gain her attention was to make her come looking herself. She always did look for trouble energetically.

But, admittedly, the second she saw her face, all of the breath that had preserved itself in her chest escaped like in on a getaway mount. There she was, at her door, like a suitor come calling. No flowers, but, her being alive and well was good enough.

A silence filled with so much. Theia’s mouth opened, but she hesitated at first. So much to say, so much owed.

“Lady Ambassador.”

Josephine placed a hand on the door flat, blinking quickly as she finally heard her voice say something so…polite.

“Inquisitor. Welcome back to Skyhold.” She did her one better: an admittance to location and a greeting of warmth. It was Theia’s move.

Theia’s chest tightened, her right hand rubbing her opposite forearm. “Oh, uh, thank you. I…I came to see if you were well. I, uh, didn’t see you in your office, and wondered if—“

“I am well, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, good. I had…hoped you were, um, well. That’s good.”

Another pause, the awkward tension prevailing. Josephine eyed the Inquisitor with a façade of blissful, unassuming geniality. Inside, she knew just how difficult this must be for Theia to be at her door, trying to piece together something that was falling apart at the seams.

“Oh! I had also wanted to ask…” Theia tried to continue.

“Hm?”

“If you had received the note…I, um, left you at your desk.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

Theia nodded, biting her lip with aggravation. Oh, great. So that was the verdict. Wonderful, well, I’ll just go cast myself off into a Fade Rift then, ta-ta!

“…And? Thoughts, opinions? Critique of my handwriting?” Theia wanted something but she didn’t know what that was exactly. Perhaps emotion, like some form of admittance that what had happened resonated with Josephine, instead of hardening her. Her fear that Josephine had tucked away the parts of herself she had laid out in front of Theia’s eyes and ears for weeks with fearlessness was roaring between her ears.

Meanwhile, Josephine was all wrapped up the polarities of her truth. Yes, I did, and it tore me apart for hours. I had to choke back tears every time I remembered that it existed. Sometimes I just wanted to tear it into tiny pieces and toss it in the fire. Sometimes I had to fight the impulse to sleep with it under my pillow. You wrecked my balance. I can never forget that.

“Lady Trevelyan, come in for a moment, would you?” Josephine rejoined, opening the door enough and stepping to the side. Clearly, Theia had come here for answers, and while Josephine wasn’t going to give them all, she could at least stop pretending that what happened, didn’t.

Theia walked in, feeling like she could just as easily be kissed as stabbed. All bets were off, as far as she was concerned.

Turning around to face the Ambassador as she closed the door behind her, she knew it was inescapable, whatever her fate was in this moment.

“Inquisitor, I—“

“What happened to Theia?”

“…Lady Trevelyan.”

Theia held her breath and nodded with surrender. “Fine.”

Josephine stepped closer, folding her arms stiffly. “I want you to know that I have the utmost respect for you and I will continue to follow your leadership with loyalty and admiration.”

Theia’s heart sunk. So, there it is. She continued to listen, although the white noise of anxiety in her head was rapidly growing.

“I hope that you will share my sentiment, that I wish this to be as easy and comfortable for us as possible. A working relationship of respect and cordiality is worth its weight in gold, and I believe we have done well with that--”

“So, this is where it ends?” Theia cut her off, now left with nothing to lose in manners and delicate dancing around nerves. Josephine caught herself, and sighed quickly.

“…Theia, you must understand. You had to have known when you departed that this would be my conclusion. That this would be the right thing to do, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“If all you are to do is repeat my words back to me, I will consider this conversation redundant.”

“Maker’s ass, Josephine, you’re not speaking to one of your assistants or staff. You’re speaking to the woman you shared a bed with and felt up in the ambiance of candlelight and wine!” Theia’s voice grew louder with frustration.

“Oh, please do contain your temper. Or, you can be sure that everyone in Skyhold will know our personal matters like it was published in the fortress periodical.”

“Good, I hope so! Because then they will know just how horrible it is that you are letting go of something like what we have.”

Josephine growled under her breath. “You did that when you left me to go to battle with your last words to me being distaste and disagreement. After all I did to show you how much it affected me to watch you leave. You did this to yourself!”

“I was hurt and foolish, Josephine! I left that note to give you some truth to that. Obviously, you did not think much of my words.”

“No, because they were a knife in my side! You hardly provided comfort or solace!”

“And what did you do? Spent the entire night beguiling and conversing as if your day was going business-as-usual. I was tearing myself up on the inside thinking of how badly I screwed up, and watching you act as if…as if it didn’t matter!” Theia’s arms animated her anger as she spoke.

“I was watching you the entire time, do not be ludicrous! You were the one sitting there at the head of the table, giving your happy dinner toast, elated to share company! I felt like a tossed-out lover left to the machinations of the Court!”

“If you had seen the face I was making at those men seated beside you, you would have sworn I was possessed by something malevolent,” Theia said, her voice cracking now with emotion.

“Oh, I see, so I was just supposed to know? Am I supposed to take notes on the surveillance, then? Tell you names, give you the topics of conversation, a minute-by-minute interpretation of the scene? Be your Bard?”

“You’re circling around, Josephine, and you know it.”

“Maybe I am,” Josephine yelled under her breath, her voice low and intimidating.

Theia turned away from her, placing her hands at her hips and stepping with tense legs as she took a break from this fire-with-fire dalliance. The silence brewed with emotional recklessness. Josephine could feel it, along with the welling of anxious and enraged tears preparing in her chest. The worst possible moment for her to be pushed to tears was right in front of her.

“Can’t you see this is only for the best? Our lives…would be like this for as long as you and I have responsibilities greater than our own desires. We belong to causes bigger than ourselves. I am atyour service as an Advisor. This never would have grown into something sustainable.”

Each word hit Theia like an individual sword strike. The words she hoped she would never have to hear, but nonetheless was terrified of. It made her injury feel like it might as well have been a paper cut.

“Josephine, I came back with the intention of telling you…” Theia let escape from her mouth, but she stopped herself briskly, so as to save them from something truly agonizing. Her voice had calmed, softened with melancholy.

“…What? What were you going to say?”

A pause, while she deliberated on her feet whether she would give into temptation, give into her temper, or just let it go.

“Nothing. I just…” she turned to face the Lady Ambassador, chin up and shoulders straight for some measure of dignity. “I know what I did was unwise. I know what I expected of you was, too. I never wanted you to be my object. I only wanted to celebrate with everyone else just how happy I was to have you. Now that I have obviously lost you, there will be no need.”

Josephine’s heart felt as though it had stopped for good. She remained stoic and kept-together on surface-level, but underneath she was grasping for something stable in a collapsing space. Her dream was echoing.

“Josephine, I…” Theia approached now, making Josephine’s chest do backflips with nerves. She froze in her position, awaiting what it was Theia hoped to accomplish. When she stood closely in front of her, Theia reached a hand up and put it to Josephine’s cheek with a sorry tenderness. “I know you could never be owned, or kept, or controlled, and that I share that fate as well. But, for what it’s worth, it was enough for me to know you’d be there when I returned. It was never my desire to objectify you, because I fell for the way you were indominable. But…when I did not see you this morning, it was far more devastating than knowing that I could never hope you would belong to me.”

And with that, Theia boldly brought her lips to Josephine’s forehead. Josephine closed her eyes, coming undone rapidly, trying with immense difficulty to preserve herself enough to watch her depart. Feeling her lips on her skin, no matter the location, was like trying to hold onto something impossibly feral, impossibly boundless.

Theia did not bother to make eye contact again, for the sake of her own nerves and façade. She left through the door resolutely, shutting it behind her with respect to noise and forcefulness. There she was, Ambassador Montilyet, left to her own devices once more.

A single, aching tear fell from her eye and streamed down her cheek. This was going to be agonizing to endure. She had thought Theia would come back with energy, determined in her opinion. Knowing now that she had softened, that she was ready to compromise. It made her feel like she had ran when she should have walked.

Oh well. Too late now. Perhaps the band-aid had been ripped off for the better. She kept trying to remind herself, as she tried desperately to let go of the way she smelled: like dirt and sweaty grime, but also like a light and sweet bundle of herbs. Herbs she had always carried with her on her travels. Herbs like those she burned for incense in her chambers.

Something that you risk, something that you fear, and something that you need to let go.

TO BE CONTINUED...

#oc stuff #fanfiction #Inquisitor x Josephine #Theia Trevelyan #Josephine Montilyet #romance #heartbreak #I'm sorry ya'll I had to post it because it was eating me up inside

[galadrieljones]

For the DVD commentary, TDS chapter 24

“You seem different,” she said, tracing her thumb across each of his eyebrows. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” he said, soft.

“In the carriage, on the way home,” she said, looking down, “last night. You were out of it. You said some things.”

He reached up, lifted her chin to find her eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Talk to me, vhenan.”

“I just—I get worried sometimes, Solas.”

“I know.”

“I want you to trust me.”

This was an arrow. It struck him, hard. “Of course I trust you,“ he said.

“I won’t push you, Solas.” She was fighting him with her chin. She wanted to look down. He had to let her. “That’s not who I am, but sometimes, the things you say—it’s like you’re asking me. To push you. So that you can push me away.”

“Is that what it feels like?” he said. “Is that what you think I’m trying to do?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, putting her face into his chest. “I’m doing it wrong.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. “Sit up, please. Isene, look at me.”

She listened, sat up. He held her by her wrists. She was watching him now, searching out the insecurities. Where did they live? What were their shapes and noises? She’d sensed them, but she couldn’t see them, couldn’t get her hands on them. So elusive. His eyes were glass now. Shimmer, wet. She’d hurt him, or scared him. She pressed her palm to his cheek, then down to his neck and shook her head. “Just tell me what’s going on,” she said.

“I will,” he said. She could feel his pulse, fast, hard beneath her hand. He seemed to be choking on the words. He sat up, quickly from beneath her, gathered her hands into his, pressed them to his mouth. He looked her in the eye. “I will.”

She almost wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t. It was morning, and she was thirsty, and she hated crying anyway, and there he was, breaking beneath her, so devastatingly loyal. She could see it, in his eyes. She knew it already, but still, it made her weak that morning. It also made her needful.

Sene’s heart, a bright, hot coin with both sides the same.

“Okay,” she said.

He let go his breath. She didn’t realize he’d been holding it. He smiled, still somehow terrified, but relieved. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. The touch, like a renewal between them. A reminder, hot skin. Breath shaking. She held the back of his neck. Something changed.

“I trust you, Sene,” he said. “I trust you. You must know this. After everything. Lanas em dir’vhen’an. Sathan, Isene.”

She shifted, fitting to him, warm and growing hard against her from beneath the sheet. His mouth on her neck now. Helpless to her. “Dhruan in’na, Solas,” she said to him. “You’re a good man.”

I hope I’m sending this in the right place… the character limit on the ask function is too short.

Hey! Yes. Thank you, @noraspancakes!!  Sorry it took me so long to get to this!! Like last time, I’ll stick this under a cut and tag a couple people who may be interested. This contains some mild TDS spoilers, nothing past Chapter 40. Also if anyone else wants me to tag them in stuff like this please just let me know!!

This is a moment that I haven’t really thought about in a long time, but it’s really important to Sene and Solas and their development as a couple, so I’m glad you brought it up!! I’ve recently gone back through TDS to separate it into natural, shorter, single-book-length sections, and this chapter, The Way Out, is actually the first chapter in the second book, Fall. This comes right after Solas’s near breakthrough in the carriage on the way home from the party in Val Royeaux, when he’s a little drunk and on the verge of his first of two serious mental breaks. Sensing his own pending epiphany, he goes to visit Thom Rainier in jail for advice–Thom becomes Solas’s central guide figure then for the majority of TDS. This is the next morning and what I sort of count as his descent into the Belly of the Whale (per the Hero’s Journey), which he continues to toil through until just before their return to the Emprise du Lion.

This moment illustrates three major things: one is about Solas, one is about Sene, and one is about ME. Per Solas, we have a man who wants so badly to tell Sene the truth about who he is, but who can’t for the life of him figure out what the fuck the whole truth is, or where or how to even begin. He’s somewhere between repression and resurfacing at this point, and it’s a lot–A LOT. He’s floundering, quite a bit, and though I never really address it in the writing, I feel it’s at least in part the fancy Val Royeaux party (reminiscent of his day’s at Mythal’s Blue Fortress) that truly initiated the process. 

In the beginning of their relationship, it was okay that Solas was sort of a mystery, even preferable or sexy, but as time went on, of course, Sene becomes privy to the fact that something is wrong, and so naturally, she’s worried. He is very stoic and plays it very cool, and so part of her, being both inexperienced and a little insecure, wonders if this just means he doesn’t trust her, if she means less to him than she initially thought she did.

And so for Sene in particular: this is the moment where she realizes (only AFTER they have sex, which comes immediately after this conversation) how much she and Solas have been using sex to absorb and deflect any and all of their fears and insecurities. Solas is swept away in the worship of her, and her body, and all that she’s given him in the way of an anchor to the world, and she’s swept away by the excitement of their love, its newness, and relatively new seriousness. This is the beginning of a major shift in the dynamic between them. Sene takes the reigns emotionally while Solas sorts his shit out. This goes on for a WHILE. Soon after this very conversation, and Sene’s initial broaching of the topic, Solas breaks up with her in martyr fashion, and then he sort of goes back on that during their conversation on the ledge (post-Abelas). Sene then has to initiate a separation from him, because he seemingly just can’t help himself.

Sene and Solas in physical separation is a major theme I write through a couple times in TDS–when they must learn to overcome their particular codependence and solve their problems alone. No sex or doting lover to enable their cowardice. This is sort of the beginning of their first major separation. The second comes after Corypheus, when Sene goes to Ansburg.

Now, finally, this scene for ME: This is about when I started to realize that Solas would never leave. Up until Crestwood, I thought he was still going to leave. The entire plot of TDS had a very different outcome. But after Val Royeaux, i.e.: scenes like this, I started to accept that this was actually a story about a version of Solas who does NOT leave, and that the story was deeply canon divergent in this way. You can go back and see me vacillating a LITTLE from about here until after his first confrontation with Abelas in Chapter 26: The Winged Girl. I did not make my absolute CERTAIN choice that Solas would NOT be leaving until after Chapter 31: Thirty Years of Snow, where he tells Sene about the miscarriage. I then pointedly forced myself into commitment by having Solas confront Mythal about his change of plans in the Crossroads. It’s shortly after this that the shit hits the fan completely, i.e.: Mythal returns in the flesh.

Anyway, thank you for the ask!! This was interesting. 

Per your interest: @thevikingwoman @amburuthings @buttsonthebeach

DVD Commentary: Send me an excerpt from one of my works, and I’ll give you the in-depth DVD Commentary

#dvd commentary #the dead season #tds #noraspancakes #thank you!! #submission

[tssoni]

truth (for the micro-story thing!)

well. this micro story turned into a full blown fic. AND I WILL NOT APOLOGISE! I DO WHAT I WANT! :D

TruthEric/Astaarit

“I am not acting weird.”

“Yes, you are. You are acting incredibly weird.”

Eric is pacing up and down in the room, one hand on his hip, the other scratching the back of his head. His heart is heavy, the way it beats is almost painful, and there’s a lump in his throat that he cannot seem to swallow. He knows what’s coming, he’s known it for a while, and yet he’s still so nervous. “I… just… what do you want, Astaarit?”

“I want the truth.” The woman folds her arms, and her cold gaze calms Eric’s panic. A different kind of feeling takes its place… sorrow, perhaps.

“You want the truth?” he asks back, trying to buy some time. The more he manages to stall, the more he gets to be in her presence, he figures. “The truth is that… I love you.”

Astaarit’s mouth falls open, followed by a barely audible whisper of confusion. Her stare falls from his face, no longer being able to hold eye contact.

“I’m in love with you, Astaarit. I have been for a while.” He thought he would yell and shout, he thought that he would be angry, but instead he’s fighting against his tears - a battle he knows he will eventually lose. “You’re the most amazing person I have ever met. Everything you do, everything you are, it’s all… incredible. Your strength, both physical and emotional, your intelligence, your beauty - everything leaves me speechless.” Eric only pauses to take a breath. “You make me want to be a better person, and I’m so in love with you.”

The silence that covers the room is not soft and warm like sunlight on a spring afternoon, it’s more like snow in Emprise du Lion - freezing, harsh, and there are icicles hanging from the bookshelves. It’s not exactly the reaction Eric was expecting. He expected that wide smile on Astaarit’s face, the kind that could light up an entire town, the kind that makes his heart skip a beat.

Instead, all he gets is a terrified pair of eyes staring at him under furrowed brows.

“I… I can’t do this,” Astaarit finally speaks, shaking her head. “I need some fresh air.”

She storms out, and the man doesn’t follow her. The disappointment and the heartbreak quickly overwhelm him, and the trip he planned earlier to the garden doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He is just about to lie down and wallow in self-pity when the door flies open.

“Actually, no.” Astaarit’s voice arrives before her body. “I can’t leave you here without a proper reply. You deserve better than that.” Eric looks up at his (ex?) lover; there’s grief in his big, blue eyes, enough to break anyone’s heart with a single glance. He stays quiet, in hopes that the woman will continue her speech. “You deserve the truth too. And that is that I do not feel the same way about you, Eric. I can’t. I do not know how.”

The mage grabs Astaarit’s hand, squeezing it with his own. “It’s okay. We have all the time in the world to learn.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy.” She sighs, and she tries to conceal the way her lips tremble, but she can’t hide such a thing, not from Eric. He always notices the small things - the way that one vein pulses on her forehead when she’s angry, the way her eyelid droops just the slightest when she’s tired. “You deserve someone who loves you the same way you love them. I cannot give you that.”

“We could t-” Eric begins to plead, but he’s cut short by Astaarit’s finger on his mouth.

“Please, Frederic, just accept it.” The woman pulls back her hand and links her fingers behind her back, putting on a more professional appearance. “You’re a great person, and you should be with someone who can appreciate that in a way that I cannot.”

She turns on her heels and leaves, again. But this time, she doesn’t return.

Eric stays in the comfortable darkness of his quarters for days - he finds it somewhat poetic, it’s like his soul has poured out through the cracks and is now looming over him, taking care of him the only way it knows how: by hurting him even more. He doesn’t even want to be able to see, everything would just be a reminder of her, and he’s got enough problems as it is.

His sister, Lee visits him on the fifth day. She practically kicks the door in, and struts all the way to the window to open it as wide as she can.

“This can go on no longer,” she announces, pulling the blanket off Eric with one quick yank.

The man’s response is just an annoyed grunt. The last thing he wanted was this. “Leave me be, sister.”

“Perish the thought.” She shakes her head, and eventually sits down on the bed, right next to Eric. “You need to leave this room. You haven’t seen the sun in days.”

“So? I like it here.”

“Okay, listen… A girl broke your heart. I get it, it’s painful. But you can’t give up on your life because of it.”

Eric rolls his eyes - he really doesn’t need his twin’s lecture. Or rather, he does, he just doesn’t want to say it, not even to himself. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be with. She’s my soulmate.”

“Well, clearly she isn’t. Otherwise she wouldn’t have left you.” With her lips pursed, Lee shrugs. “I know it hurts to admit, but it’s the truth.”

The truth, Eric repeats in his mind, throwing his head back on the pillow. He’s had enough of that to last a lifetime. And yes, even the thought of leaving his bed pains him, but he knows that Lee will not leave until he does, so he sits up with a long, tired sigh escaping his barely open mouth.

“Fine,” he finally says, looking as uninterested as possible. “I trust you have a plan…?”

“I sure do, brother.” The smirk tugging at the corners of Lee’s mouth isn’t exactly promising, but Eric knows his sister, and he knows that no matter what, the two of them together can turn any situation into something funny and memorable. If anyone can cheer him up, it’s Lee.

As the same smirk slowly creeps onto Eric’s face, there’s a thought starting to form in his mind. In the last few days he had the chance to ponder about soulmates, and how certain he was that Astaarit was his one and only. But now, just sitting here with his sister, he realises that Lee’s right: she wasn’t his soulmate. Or maybe she was, for a little while. In that moment, it doesn’t really matter anymore. What matters it hat he has another soulmate, one who’s much more important, one that no girlfriend or boyfriend could ever replace, and it’s none other than his twin sister. Because soulmates don’t have to be romantic or sexual - a soulmate can be a sibling, a parent, a best friend. Anyone, really. It can be anyone, and one can have as many soulmates as they wish - the number is definitely not limited to one per person. He was just too blinded by infatuation to see that.

With this new knowledge making his heart feel less heavy, less broken, he stands up, he puts some clothes on, and he’s ready to follow his sister’s lead, whatever kind of adventure she might take him on.

“There’s a letter waiting for you on your desk, my dear,” Eric’s mother says to him, smoothing his shirt out on his shoulders with a gentle touch and a warm smile.

The man nods, and hurries to check said letter - he has no clue who it could be from, so it’s quite an understatement to say he’s surprised to find out Astaarit wrote to him.

Dearest Eric,

I hope my letter finds you in good health. It has been quite a long time since we last met, but lately… I have not been able to stop thinking about you.

Allow me to explain.

In truth, I did love you. Thinking back to those times now, I know that I was in fact in love with you. I did not understand the feeling back then, and I sincerely apologise for that. For breaking your heart so cruelly, simply because I was afraid. I should not have acted like that, but… it seems it was for the best.

I am writing this letter to you to thank you. Those wonderful months we spent together changed my life, they really did. They have allowed me to accept feelings I never thought I had the capacity to feel. They have allowed me to live a better life, a life full of love.

I am still with the Iron Bull, and, it surprises me as much as I am sure it surprises you, but I can now tell him that I love him and be sure that I mean it. I still can hardly believe it. Love! Ah, such a wonderful feeling.

I do not think I can thank you enough, Eric. All of this is possible only because of you. You’re the most selfless and wonderful person I have ever had the luck to call a friend.

I wish you fortune and happiness, and I wish you receive all the love that you deserve. I hope Cassandra is able to give you that.

Till we meet again,

Astaarit

Leaning against the doorframe, Eric folds the letter in half. He’s got a smile on his face, both because of the letter and the sight in front of him.

It’s a big family reunion that his mother organised. Everyone’s in the manor, both of Eric’s older brothers and their families, Cassandra, Lee even brought Cullen and his sister with her family - unfortunately, only they could rearrange their lives for a little while to visit, the rest of the Rutherfords were unable to attend, but thank the Maker that at least the ones that could did so. The whole place is filled with carefree chatter and children’s loud laughter, and for once, the lady of the house doesn’t bother Lee with her annoying questions about marriage.

Instead, she bothers her with questions about grandchildren.

But perhaps the most heartwarming sight is what happens later in the afternoon, once the initial excitement has calmed down. Talk about the Inquisition begins - the adults would like to know about the adult stuff, things that make the children sigh in boredom. That’s when Lee turns to Cassandra.

“Remember that one time we had to fight a dragon together?” the woman asks, a wide smile spreading on her face. Cassandra looks up at Eric, confused, and his reassuring nod makes her shake her head - she tries to act disappointed and disapproving, but he knows her well enough to know she loves the attention.

“A dragon?!” The middle one of the Trevelyan sons, Tristan’s daughters’ eyes are glittering as if they had just received that red haired doll they’ve been begging for for months. “You have fought a real dragon?!”

Eric sits back and listens, and Astaarit’s letter comes to his mind.

All of this is possible only because of her. If she had never broken his heart, he never would have fallen for Cassandra. He wouldn’t be sitting there at the dinner table, having just finished a delicious meal, watching as her lover’s tale earns small gasps and yelps from the kids, giving them the greatest story of a dragon slaying they have ever heard - a story that they will one day share with their friends, colouring in the details that they didn’t find interesting enough.

This is what love is, he realises. Being surrounded by people who aren’t afraid to laugh a little louder than average. Speaking with their mouths still open, because the food is delicious but they have important thoughts to share. Helping the 5-year-old sitting in the next chair by cutting up their food into bite sized pieces.

And what love isn’t, is thinking that someone can be completely flawless and perfect, that they have never made a single mistake in their life. That they’re a literal goddess, impatiently awaiting for someone to worship them.

#THANK YOU ANON FOR THE MESSAGE! #i enjoyed writing this sooo much #wow #frederic trevelyan #astaarit #i wrote a thing #this tag is where ocs come to live #trevelyan shenanigans #Anonymous

[secretsandhushedwhispers]

“Help.”

Something actually Dragon Age related, although including one of my OCs.

    Emprise du Lion was nowhere to be without a long fuzzy coat and boots to match. A harsh winter pounded the area, partially submerging houses in snow and making life utterly horrible for soldiers stationed there; including the Red Templars.

    Eon was used to the cold. He often wondered if it had something to do with being a Qunari. He could sleep in the blizzards and never get freeze. Though summer had just come around so it was warmer than usual. Cassandra didn’t mind the cold either, though her armor and clothing were padded enough to keep her warm enough. Solas was cold but didn’t complain. They all noted how underdressed he was for the area. No one was sure how Cole felt about the cold. Not even Cole knew how he felt about the cold.

    The group had been fighting Red Templars all around the mines and freeing the prisoners stuck in their cages. They were all so coordinated that each battle took no more than some well-implemented combos and teamwork. They had freed all of the civilians.

    Or so they thought.

    It was around midday when the four were exploring the mines. They were searching for every bit of information they could about the Red Templars and their plans. 

    “We’ve searched this place up and down. We should head out to the next station,” Cassandra suggested. She was getting tired of standing around. Inwardly she wished she had gone with Bull to scout over the bridge. It would certainly be more exciting than this. 

    “I agree,” Solas added. “There are more areas around. We also have not thoroughly looked through Suledin Keep.” 

    “Fine, fine. Let’s move along.” Eon closed a journal he was reading and stuffed it in a bag to take back to camp.

    They continued along the paths until a loud screech was heard above them. Through the cliffs that rose around them, they could all see a silhouette of a flying creature. They would have guessed it was a dragon if they didn’t know any better.

    It continued to fly over them, screeching and cawing. The group continued on, ignoring it. It continued to pester them.

    “Iron against stone, armor clattering, digging deeper.” Cole could hear the feelings of the creature above. It saw all of the work that the Templars were doing. The rest of them recognized the description.

    “Bars shut tight and the door locked. Blood drips down her feathers as she’s pinned to the board. She can’t get up and she can’t fly. ‘Then I must fly away, run. Help. Someone help’.” Cole stopped in order to focus on the thoughts. The rest stopped a few feet in front and looked back at the boy in wonder. Cole cupped his cold cheeks and placed a hand on his daggers. “They’re going to turn her into an abomination.”

    “Who, Cole?” Eon questioned.

    Cole pointed up at the creature circling above them. “His mother. He says he wants to lead us to her.”

    They all look up. The creature swoops down and lands in front of them as an answer to Cole’s call. It turns to reveal itself.

     He is nothing more than a child, a little boy about the age of five. He appeared to be half-bird. His arms were wings and his feet had talons. Tiny feathers created a mane around his neck. Besides those traits, he was totally human. He was shivering profusely from the cold. Nothing but a shirt and torn pants clothed the boy.

    Cole weaved through the others and picked the boy up in hopes of giving him some warmth. It made the little one happier, but he was still afraid and his mother was still in peril.

    “Help,” he simply said. “Help.”

    “Where is your mother now? We’ll get her out,” Solas spoke quietly.

    The boy pointed his wing towards a path on the other side of the mining pit they were in. It was a small tunnel, just barely big enough for them. The four marched their way through.

   At the end of the tunnel was another mining pit. This one was smaller, probably made more recent than the others. Only a few Templars were there. Three miners were hacking away at the red lyrium. It didn’t even seem like they had harvested any yet. Eon snuck closer to see deeper, veiling himself with a potion. At the very bottom of the pit were two barred carts. One of them had the door open and the other closed. Squawking was coming from the closed one, but it sounded forced and weak.

    Eon backed up to form a plan with the rest of the group. “Cole, sit this one out and take care of the kid. Cassandra and I will head down the ladders to flank the Templar Knight. As we approach, Solas, you can use Winter’s Grasp to freeze him so we can take him down. The rest should be easy.”

    The other two agreed. and they headed on their way. This plan was hardly different from the rest. Eon and Cassandra made it down without making a sound. With Eon’s signal, Solas froze the Knight. Cassandra shattered the ice and Eon took a couple quick stabs to kill them. A few parries and two more dead Templars later and the area was clear.

    The miners thanked the Inquisitor and ran off to their village. Cole came down once he saw the coast was clear. When he stepped down from the ladder, the boy jumped from his arms and ran to the cage.

    “Mama! Mama, mama!” His wings were pressed up on the bars as if they were hands.

    The four approached the cage to see a creature similar to the boy. She looked to be a teenager with short brown hair. She was on her stomach, her grey wings with two white dots pinned down to a wooden board. Five knives stuck out of the wings– two on the left, three on the right– blood spilling from the wounds and staining the surrounding feathers dark red. She had human arms. Her wrists were bound and tied to a loop at the top of the board. A tail just shorter than her legs still seemed to be in good condition. Half-lidded, silver eyes stared up at Solas.

    Eon wasted no time in picking the lock to the cage. The creature huffed when she heard the door squeak open. He climbed up into it carefully to jiggle each knife from the board.

    Everyone was worried about the state they were in. They seemed so weak and helpless. It was basic knowledge that a frayed wing was a useless wing. She might not be able to fly.

    Eon yanked out the last knife and jumped out the cage, but the creature didn’t move. Even the little boy was too afraid to go near. She was clearly alive, her back steadily moving up and down.

    “I don’t think she’ll make it,” Cassandra stated, disheartened by the sight. 

    Solas shook his head and held his staff proudly in front of him. He pointed to the creature with it. “On the contrary. Do you know who or what she is?”

    “I assume you do?”

    “She’s a harpy. An ancient creature from the age of Arlathan. Well– they date back to Arlathan. It doesn’t mean this particular one is that old. My readings told me that they were all but extinct.”

    “Ancient doesn’t mean she’s going to survive,” Eon input. 

    Perhaps in pure spite of what he said, the creature sat up and hopped out of the cage. Her wings looked brand new besides the blood stains. The holes from the knives were nowhere to be seen. She acted as it nothing happened.

    The little boy went to his mother and held up his wings, wanting to be held by his mother. She smiled and took him into her arms. They enjoyed the embrace, happy to have each other once again. The woman then turned to Eon and bowed her head.

    “Ma serannas, da’len.” She then turned to Solas and bowed to him. “Ma serannas, Fen’hahren.” With a bright smile on her face, the creature took to the skies and flew off with her child in her arms. The rest of the group watched in awe at the sight.

    When she was finally out of sight, Eon turned to Solas. “What was it that she said? I know it was Elven.”

    Solas hesitated. He didn’t know exactly what to say. “She said thank you to both of us. She also called you da’len which means ‘child’.”

    “What about that other word? Fen’hahren?”

    “I-- am not sure. It’s not a term I’m familiar with.” That wasn’t true at all. He knew exactly what it meant. Elder Wolf. But he kept his lips shut as he wondered if they’d ever cross paths again.

#godsxelves #answered #vince writes