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5lazarus · 3 years

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Masterlist of My Stories

My Writing

Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, I post a snippet of what I'm currently working on.

On Mondays, I post the last lines of the stories I'm finishing up, as well as lessons learned from the previous week. I post this under the tag #last line monday and #lessons from the week.

On Wednesdays, I throw up a snippet of fanfiction. I post this under the tag #wip wednesday.

On Fridays, I write at least seven lines of my own stories, either poetry, essays, or fiction. I post this under the tag #seven line friday.

On Sundays, I post at least six lines of fanfic. I post this under the tag #six sentence sunday.

For more information about me, check out my About Me page. I don't answer personal questions unless I share an asklist, I don't take prompts unless I share a promptlist, and I don't keep anonymous asks on. I've also made two promptlists--one a writing challenge, the other a list of poetry prompts! Find my work archived and updated under hes5thlazarus on Archive of Our Own.

Below is a catalogue of my stories, broken down by fandom (Dragon Age, Harry Potter, Star Trek):

My Dragon Age Stories

There Is No Ithaca Three moments where Solas loses his home: Solas wrecks his revolution on the altar of Mythal. Solas returns from war to find Ghilan’nain incubating the Blight within their own home. Fen'Harel negotiates the end of the world with the Thaig of the Bastion of the Pure. Answers to various asks from brightoncemore's wonderful promptlist.

Ultramarine Sylaise attempts to trademark the color blue, initiating a civil war. Fen'Harel disapproves. Felassan, at this point, is just along for the ride. Highlights include: Andruil attempts to create biological weapons out of the conquered children of the stone and sell them to absolutely everyone, Mythal may or may not involve, Solas greatly disapproves, and everyone wants to kill Fen'Harel for disapproving. Also an explanation as to why Solas has to think before answering Sera on whether he has ever pissed magic by accident. Sorta a love story, sorta a comedy, sorta a story about political intrigue--but hey, Solas said Arlathan was even worse than Orlais! A big thank you to potatowitch and isomede for talking me through this and getting me to finish it--and for giving me the best ideas for it.

Overheard at the Hanged Man Thirty-one stories written in Nightmare-mode for Beyond the Veil's 2020 Artober Challenge, ranging through the entire series, from Arlathan before the Blight to the Chargers in Serault.

Alistair the Accidental Heretic Alistair gets bored during morning prayer and starts changing the words of the Chant as he sings. Mother Prudence and Knight-Commander Greagoir are less than pleased, and soon he finds himself tripping up over accidental heresy even within the kitchens of Kinloch Hold. It's not easy, being a half-elf templar with a conscience, because even having a sense of humor is heresy.

The Starkhaven Crier A portrait of two future apostates at ten-year-olds: Jowan and Surana are bored, get dragged to the Chantry for the good of their souls, and accidentally make the new girl from Starkhaven cry. Featuring Surana determined to be the one Dalish against letting the Maker come back, the self-hating mage in the Surana/Amell origin as the Starkhaven Crier, and the same Mother Prudence who sent Alistair to bed without supper. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Morrigan at the Crossroads Morrigan reaches her breaking point, confronted with the one person she cannot flee: her six-week-old son, who cannot be soothed back to sleep, struggling in the Crossroads. From a prompt musettta3 sent me.

Shartan's Riddle Surana talks Mahariel through writing Leliana, after Leliana leaves to work for the Divine. Shartan promised them a home, and Mahariel worries Leliana, devout as she is, cannot give it to her. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Winter in Amaranthine The Wardens' companions decide to leave, and Warden-Commander Arana Mahariel cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Palimpsest Velanna and Sigrun fight some darkspawn, talk around the past, and write some letters. Written as a gift for hellbell, for the Sapphic Solstice 2021 Gift Exchange.

Phosphorescence A Despair demon in the Foundry district is clogging up the whole city with a miasma of misery. Justice runs into an old friend of his, during Anders' first few weeks in Kirkwall, and the three set to work. Heavy-handed allegory abounds, but, Justine opines, that’s the Dreamers’ fault. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Labyrinth "Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse.

Kirkwall Thunderstorm Family squabbling as the storm sets in, Hawke flees to face the thunderstorm head on, and laughs, because what's more to life than this, chasing a storm all the way down to the harbor? From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Debutante Leandra manages Hawke's debut ball, and surprises herself by having a lot of fun. From an OC ask I decided to turn into a prompt.

Dregs Anders baits Varric, or Varric baits Anders, both drunk at the Hanged Man. There's no resolution to an argument when they're both just angry, thinking about dead mages. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

The Scent of Pomegranates Merrill brings a pomegranate to the Hanged Man, to try and capture some of the way her clan celebrated the new year. Fenris is oddly moved. Written for the DA Den's 2020 Holiday Gift Exchange.

Anders in Autumn Anders and Fenris, over the course of one gorgeous autumn in Kirkwall, find common ground, a common goal, and even tenderness, as the city grows cool and vibrant in the changing of the year. Justice returns to the streets of Kirkwall, one way or another, and it is as transformative and loving as justice truly is. An answer to an Artober challenge from cozy-autumn-prompts

Warp & Weft Anders wakes Fenris up in the middle of the night talking, and then not wanting to talk, about weaving. What they remember and what they have forgot climb into the bed with them. A gift for potatowitch.

Landlocked Merrill goes looking for Isabela after a night of drinking at the Hanged Man, and finds her considering the sun rising over the horizon at the docks. They're landlocked and the salt's drained them both dry, but maybe it's not all been a waste. They're shipless, not shipwrecked. Part of a personal challenge to write more femslash, after realizing how little there is in Dragon Age fandom.

Love and Red Ink Varric tries his hand at a more literary Bildungsroman about his youth as a Kirkwall bohemian. Bianca tears it apart, editing for his own good. Sometimes love is in the margins, your almost ex-girlfriend telling you--I wasn't that pretty, when I was that young.

The Most Boring Sex Party in All Orlais Josephine and Leliana both admit the night they met ended with someone's smallclothes pinned to the Chanter's Board--but what happened right before? Josephine says, “I have played the Game before, and understand its cutthroat stakes. But I must admit, I never thought I would witness the opening salvo of a coup at the most boring sex party of all Orlais.”

Catabasis Kirkwall's in ashes and Hawke and their friends are on the run. Varric might have ended the story at the docks, but the conflict continues. The question persists: should they separate? And what brought them together in the first place? From a series of prompts ellie-effie and musetta3 sent me.

The Domestics Alistair runs into an older elven woman on the battlements, watching the children play in the Skyhold courtyard below. They get to talking: isn't it nice that the mages get to keep their children now? Then, in the course of the conversation, Alistair figures it out. Alistair says, “I always wondered. What my life would’ve been like, if she could’ve kept me. I always kinda knew she didn’t have a choice. King’s bastards are the king’s, not whoever carried them. If she were a servant and if I’d end up in the kitchens or, better yet, the dairy. I really like cheese. But if she were a mage, I guess we never had any of that. Unless she ran away.”

The Bane of Red Crossing In the astrarium cave in the Storm Coast with Inquisitor Lavellan, Cole, and Solas, Sera opens a chest and finds a beautiful bow, named the Bane of Red Crossing. But what is the Bane of Red Crossing? According to the codex: "Ser Yves de Chevac used this bow in the Exalted March against the Dales – specifically, in the liberation of Val Royeaux, where the chevalier famously struck down the elven forces' commander with a shot to the throat at two hundred feet." Lavellan is not pleased, but does not know how to communicate effectively with Sera. Cole and Solas make it worse. Sometimes there is no adequate resolution, when you are faced with the instrument of your great-grandparents' destruction. Sometimes there is nothing that disinterested compassion can say.

To the Victor the Spoils In the Skyhold gardens, in Adamant's wake, Solas meets Loghain. A character study of two trickster-kings, speaking a little too honestly. As Loghain himself says, "The past is always with us. It’s in our bones and our blood and we wear it on our skin. You can think otherwise, but you’ll never get far without it."

Dead Man Hiking Solas broods over what has been lost. Dorian interrupts, and Solas dangles hidden knowledge in front of him like a carrot. They both take the bait, because, as irritable and sad Solas can get, "he wants to give wisdom, not orders," and Dorian loves to learn. Written for Beyond the Veil's 2020 Satinalia Gift Exchange.

So Much Lore! So Much Information! Dorian has a wonderful conversation with the Skyhold Librarian about improvements to the library's filing system and the innovations coming out of Minrathous when Vivienne comes by and points out he's just talking to himself. He's been waxing rhapsodic about the Tevinter equivalent of the Dewey decimal system to a spirit--or maybe a demon. So clearly they must investigate.

Dirthara Ma! May You Learn After the Exalted Council, Solas stops for a drink and a sulk in a quiet tavern in Ostwick. He is convinced no one will ever recognize him with a full head of hair and a beard. Then the Inquisitor walks in. The first in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series.

White Nights A year after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a new lover to a quiet inn in Val Royeaux. She steps out to the balcony for a quick smoke under the stars, looks over to the balcony adjacent to hers--and who is there but the Dread Wolf himself, slightly disguised, with a glass of wine? Despite themselves they talk, and do not stop talking. “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.” The second and most comprehensive in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Ligaments Briala has loaded her dice when playing the Game. Gaspard throws her in prison, but her message goes out to both the Dread Wolf, keen to better his reputation for catastrophe amongst the elves of Orlais, and the Dalish Inquisitor, who is still reeling from the loss of her arm. “We do not necessarily know he is the enemy,” Leliana says. “And it is exciting, no? To have that rush of danger and destruction between every kiss.” The third in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I've written in 2020.

Out From Under the Dread Wolf's Eye Briala and Merrill try and steal an eluvian out from under the Dread Wolf's eye. It doesn't quite work, but that doesn't mean the day's a failure, not when there's dinner to be had and a connection to explore. Written as a gift for hellbell, for a prompt they gave for the Sapphic Solstice 2021 Gift Exchange, but not submitted to the collection.

The Domesticities Solas adjust to a new, gentle love that has gripped his heart and will not let him go: a Lavellan who heralds a world he did dream of, and learns how to survive grief and his own betrayal, learns how to surrender the high moral ground and focus on the domesticities. A series of Solas-POV ficlets from my story, Fen'Harel's Teeth, where Lavellan is a mother and leader in her own right, and barely keeping her head above the water of her own deep grief. Not in chronological order!

He Who Hunts Alone Solas will restore the Elvhen People as he knew them, even if this world must die. It is his only purpose as he understands it. But a magical accident leaves him in another world, where a version of himself has made a very different choice. Solas is forced to reckon with a desire he has never let himself explore. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan, both his friend and adversary, is dragged with him, as they move from their world, to a world where Solas seems to have won it all, to another that seems both their worst nightmare. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan: the rebel apostate mage, romanced Josephine Inquisitor Imladris Lavellan: the Dalish First, romanced Solas, featured in Fen'Harel's Teeth Inquisitor Brigid Trevelyan: the faithful Andrastian prophet, rogue and noble, Tara's sister, romanced Blackwall and then Cullen Written in tandem with my partner, batsy22-me, and likewise abandoned when we got bored of it.

Fen'Harel's Teeth First Lavellan, Imladris Ashallin, thought that her audience with the Divine against templars' harassment of Dalish mages would be a token protest, and that her people would use it to draw the city elves closer to the Vir Tanadahl. She didn't think her Keeper's calculations would catapult her to the top of the Chantry's leadership, manipulating the powers of Thedas to leave her people be. Meanwhile, Briala foments revolution in Halamshiral, using the eluvian network to sabotage the armies of Orlais. A new movement erupts in the Dales, and elves across Thedas look at this so-called "Herald of Andraste" and see Mythal's vallaslin. Fiona breaks the chains of mages across Thedas, and Fenris starts whispers of a new age in Tevinter--one where the slaves throw down their masters. A new age is coming, and all of Thedas look to Lavellan to usher it in. My baby, my never-ending story, my current work-in-progress.

My Harry Potter Stories

Harry Potter Daydreams Archiving my old Harry Potter headcanons from Tumblr onto AO3. These are not necessarily nice to the characters from canon, and focus what I find interesting--their flaws, and how that could create conflict in their lives.

General Snape Headcanons Archiving my old Harry Potter headcanons from Tumblr onto AO3.

Augury Gang Eileen's mother curses her, and she dies not too long after giving birth to Severus. Tobias, a millworker and a proud union man, does his best.

Snape in the City Instead of dying, Snape moves to New York. A Severus Snape/Narcissa Malfoy and Severus Snape/Regulus Black story.

An Incident at the Mill the millrat AU A series of vignettes on what could’ve happened if Tobias Snape had been badly injured in an accident at the mill, forcing Severus to drop out of Hogwarts before the Prank. Predominantly Lilycentric. Snily shippers, rejoice: most of the vignettes are from Lily’s point of view, featuring her as flawed, passionate, bullheaded, comfortable in her sexuality, quick to curse and quicker to laugh at herself–and with a complicated relationship to alcohol and the Wizarding World. A big thank you to eleniaz and deathdaydungeon for sparking the initial headcanons that became this series.

Saplings 1980 Albus asks Minerva to tend to the "tender new sapling" of a Potions Master. Minerva looks at the manic-triggered recovered Death Eater and thinks they're doomed for failure. Snape thinks she's right. A couple of friendship & mentorship & not-quite hurt/comfort ficlets, where Severus oozes despair and McGonagall fails, completely, utterly, to be of service. There are two pieces of fanart floating around Snapedom, one of Snape oozing, the other a comic eleniaz did years ago. Unfortunately I've lost the links.

Harry Potter and the Summer of the Stepfather In an alternate world where Neville Longbottom is the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter's parents divorce relatively amicably. Eventually, Lily starts dating again, and Harry finds himself actually enjoying the summer Snape stays over.

Last Round at the Hog's Head Thirty-one ficlets written for the 2020 Snapetober challenge.

Your Body's a Revolution Eight stories written for the 2020 Trans Snape Week challenge.

July 1977 Snape stews in teenage melodrama, eating lunch at a cheap fish-and-chips shop in Upper Cokeworth, beset by memories of a wasted ex-girlfriend, who couldn't be Lily Evans--what Bertha Jorkins saw behind the greenhouses, and what came after. Revised from an earlier account, cross-posted from fanfiction.net.

Maleficari's Mutinous Munitions Sprout grew the wrong kind of mandrakes--mandragora, rather than English mandrakes, and no one knew that there actually was an infinitesimal difference--so Severus needs to save the day before Lockhart can. A little of Slytherin cunning, a willingness to embezzle, and a sense of spite wins the day. Prompted by masaotheheckindog.

Honeydukes Horror Remus Lupin genially humiliates Severus Snape as he attempts to order chocolates. Some schoolboy grudges never get better, and nothing Severus can say will let him seem the better man. Prompted by snapescapades.

Weavers Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. "He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: 'Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!' The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape."

They Call This Closure? Severus comes to consciousness into a dream of Potter reenacting his worst memory-and then Lily Evans comes tearing in at age sixteen, rather than as the more mature adult his subconscious normally designs her. They call this closure? Officially dead, officially incomplete: and I call this closure?

Harry Potter and the Cursed Mark Triple-cross! Mitarashi Anko of the Village Hidden in the Leaves joins Severus Snape as one of Dumbledore's agents, seeking to train the Boy-Who-Lived to understand his mental connection to Lord Voldemort. Snape thinks that they really didn't need to hire a goddamn technicolor ninja to fill the DADA position, but at least it's not one of Fudge's underlings taking charge--wait, he has to put up with her anyway? More seriously, Anko and Severus discover a connection between their cursed marks and the Potter boy's scar, Dumbledore expedites the plot, and Voldemort weaves an insidious plot, inspired by Lord Orochimaru, to take over the Resistance--from the inside. Incomplete and officially dead.

My Star Trek Stories

Raktajino Kira Nerys stews over the history of Terok Nor and the Occupation over a cup of raktajino, soon after she meets Marritza, and Garak just does not know when to leave a bleeding wound alone. Written as a gift for batsy22-me.

Open Mic at Quark's Thirty-one stories written for Trektober 2020, ranging from TOS, the movies, to Lower Decks and Discovery. Includes Keiko joining the Maquis, Spock introducing Amanda to Saavik, Mariner and crew getting lost on a road trip, and more!

Splash Quark takes a dip in a hot spring. Odo follows. It is not, Odo insists, sexy. Regardless, Quark is going to enjoy tormenting him with mutual nudity, since he was the one who interrupted his bath, after all. Prompted by saathiray.

Lore and the Prophets Lore thinks he can sneak off Deep Space Nine and get through the wormhole without anyone noticing. The Prophets have other ideas. Written for the Star Trek 2020 Gift Exchange, for electricsunrise.

Jambalaya Before Worf's wedding plans take over the station, Benjamin Sisko tries to find out what happened during the Founders' occupation of Deep Space Nine, and why Odo won't look him in the eye. Of course he investigates in the guise of inviting everyone to dinner.

Tear of the Prophets Was prompted by saathiray to write about Kira Nerys repatriating an artifact sacred to Bajor from Cardassia, and this is what we got! The Shakaar cell leads a procession after Cardassia returns the Orb of Contemplation to Bajor, to collective joy. Kai Opaka says, "So I say to you my people, the survivors of atrocity and keepers of the wormhole—the Prophets cried for you millennia before you were made. They sent their Tears from their temple as a safeguard as to what was to come. And now that it is safe, now that we have won—their Tears are for all." Featuring Latha having an Orb experience, explaining why he became a vedek.

Jane Austen Book Club Dukat reads Pride and Prejudice to help him understand human relations (and fuck the Sisko). He thinks he’s being Darcy but really, he’s just Mr. Collins…and evil. Garak lends him a copy of Jane Austen and a horrific cravat, and really, it's all downhill from there.

Miscellaneous Stories

Fireworks, a feminist deconstruction of Naruto Sarada takes one look at the Uchiha legacy and decides she wants no part of it. Sakura, who has built herself a life independent of the husband who abandoned them, tries to reckon with how her daughter cannot actually decide the path her life takes. And Hanabi is happy to offer advice and consolation, as Sakura tries to talk her best friends into letting Sarada be a civilian. A feminist deconstruction of Naruto, where everyone is taken seriously and treated with the same love Sakura offers to all her friends. No character-bashing, just contemplating what could have happened if, when Sasuke left Sakura and their baby the second time, Sakura decided to file for divorce rather than wait for him to come back. Of course they still love each other. Of course it's not simple.

Same Time Next Week?, a Babylon 5 fanfic Vir and Lennier meet for their usual drink. A pre-relationship, lightest of touches, beginning of it all story.

Sunrise, Parabellum, a Disco Elysium fanfic Early Wednesday morning, before Harry's woken up and before they've closed the water lock and headed to the fishing village, Kim Kitsuragi gets up and wants a cigarette. He has a cup of coffee instead and contemplates his partner's newfound sobriety. Sunrise, parabellum: he gets up and prepares for war.

Dragon Eyes, an Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic On a diplomatic mission to the Fire Nation, Katara leaves the children with Aang to have tea with Zuko and Mai. But the two of them have something they want to talk about. They've lived enough of fathers neglecting one child for the other, and they have seen enough. Katara wishes they had propositioned her, rather than bring this up.

Cages, an Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfic Mai visits Azula. It is not easy.

#5lazarus #writing #masterlist #dragon age fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #star trek fanfiction

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jellydishes · 3 years

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hello hi this is your regular reminder that baby bi bethany hawke used to love visiting the lothering chantry specifically to hear leliana's stories. we all know bethany is all tangled up about her faith so it could be as simple as her wanting to hear a pretty girl tell familiar stories, but let's take this moment as a family to think about bethany just, with steven universe stars in her eyes as she listens to leliana talk about big cities

maybe she not so casually prods at if leliana was ever, close, with other women and maybe she doesn't but it's still something i treasure

#dragon age #bethany hawke #leliana

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whocanretell · 3 years

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Some Extremely Jewish Banter between Rivka and Varric

(with all my love to @extravagantliar) Varric: So, Red. Rivka: That’s Leliana’s nickname. You can do better. Varric: I’m working on it. You’ve got a lot going on right now--makes you hard to place. Rivka: I’m in right in front of you, if that helps. Varric: Thanks. I’ll make a note of it. Varric: Hey Rivka, did you ever run across a Dalish clan on the outskirts of Kirkwall? Rivka: Oh, Clan Sabrae. They’re cousins. Some of them split off fifty years ago to be with us. Varric: What’d you think of the aftermath of all that mess? Rivka: Marethai failed her First. That much is clear. Varric: I didn’t expect Daisy to have defenders. Rivka: She had more than you’d think. A Keeper failing her First, especially if they’re talented, can lead to censure and exile, even if they’re dead. Arlathvhen should be fun this year. Varric: Sounds like you were hoping to throw your weight around.

Rivka: I’m not sure if all this will tip my hand or win them over. Guess we’ll see. Varric: Hey, take it easy, Thistle. He’s already dead. Rivka: Thistle? Varric: You don’t like it? Rivka: Why Thistle? Varric: I did a bit of digging. Old legend from the Dales--when a group of Templars tried to ambush an Emerald Knight’s camp, their leader stepped on one. His yell woke them up. Rivka: I know the story. What’s that got to do with me? Varric: I think it suits you. You’re easily underestimated, prickly underfoot and you look good in purple. Rivka: (Hums thoughtfully) I do look good in purple. Varric: There you go. Varric: Rivka, how would you describe yourself? Rivka: Are you writing a new book? Varric: Something like that. Rivka: Are you stuck? Varric: Humor me. I’ve got something, but it’s not quite there yet. Rivka: All right. I am great and I am beautiful and when I walk into a room, all eyes turn to me because my name is a holy name and you will listen. Varric: Andraste’s ass, Thistle--I didn’t ask for poetry. Rivka: Tell other people’s stories enough and you pick up a few things. Varric: Do you believe all of that? Rivka: It’s what I tell myself every morning. Something to live up to. Varric: You know, Thistle, I’d kill for your poker face. Rivka: It’s a blessing and a curse. People take yours better when I tell them the truth. Varric: I wouldn’t go that far. People see what they want to see. I’ve told you about my great-great-great grandfather’s axe, right? Rivka: I don’t think you have. Varric: We left a lot of things behind in Orzammar, but my mother smuggled this out. It’s been passed down to us through ten generations. We’ve replaced the jewels, recast the blade, reworked the silver. For all the time spent on it, it’s held up pretty well, even with the faults and cracks it’s gotten. Varric: Might not be the same as before. Doesn’t mean you need to throw the whole thing out and start again. Rivka: (Quietly) You do understand. Rivka: Varric, I’ve got another line for you. Varric: All right, let’s hear it. Rivka: I am the morning and evening star. When I say day is night, it is written. Varric: (Whistles) Rivka: Too much? Varric: You’re getting into villain territory. Let’s take it down a few notches. Rivka: I came upon a little dime, tra lai lai, lai lai lai~, the old dime wasn’t even mine, tra lai lai, lai lai lai~ Varric: Let us all be happy, see, come and grab a drink with me~ Rivka and Varric: Drinking brandy, drinking wine~~~~~~~tra lai lai, lai lai lai~

#c: rivka #h: rivka #meta: rivka #[i need a varric tag]#extravagantliar #[a stealth prince of egypt reference and discworld reference just for u]#[gut shabbes]

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rosalesbeausderholle · 4 years

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Who are your TOP 4 and BOTTOM 4 DA companions???

😏

Ok so best companion characters

Top 4:

1. Leliana (my love my life my sun and stars my wife my goddess my everything Leliana could do anything ever and we would still stan I'm Obsessed I Will Love Her Forever)

2. Dorian (I adore him so much and his story is so sad and he's the best and why the hell couldn't I punch his piece of shit father???? He deserves the whole world I wish unromanced Dorian got a better boyfriend than Iron Bull tbh but meh at least he's happy at the end and they're cute in Trespasser).

3. Morrigan (you know how people say they would like to romance Morrigan as a female character? I get that too but tbh Morrigan Friendship >>>>> Morrigan Romance. Her romance has some very misogynistic lines because it was written with het guys in mind, same with her character design tbh, but her friendship with her learning to trust other people and when she calls you "a sister" and then says "know that I will always value your friendship even if I don't prove worthy of it????" Hello???? That's the most beautiful shit ever 😭😭😭😭😭)

4. Sera (deserved better!!!! She's such an interesting character and her perspective on things is not only different in a good way but also a lot more complex than everyone gives her credit for (but then everyone treats her like she's dumb D:) like it feels like she wasn't developed as much as the others when there was A Lot you could have done with her!! Because there's a lot of stuff she says which if you look between the lines it could make for amazing character moments. Also first lesbian LI so she's a queen just for that. Bioware doesn't deserve her give her better writers. Oh, and when she tells you that the best gift you could have given her was to not be ashamed to tell everyone else that she's your girlfriend???? ❤️😭❤️😭❤️😭 That shit hurted)

Top 4 WORST:

Since this is limited to companions, I can't put Cullen at number 1, but in my heart it's Cullen I hate him like I have never hated any other character ever and it's entirely for petty reasons and because he gives me the creeps. One time I let him keep being an addict in DA:I just because it's the only outcome you can get where he "dies" (and he doesn't even die then he just maybe-maybe-not-dies and even then the narrative still tried to woobify him, come on game it's possible to kill/screw over pretty much everyone in these games but HE gets the fucking pass?!?)

But, for companions (1 is the worst, 4 is the least worse on this list):

1. Oghren (why ever the fuck does he exist? He's annoying, he's misogynistic as hell, and has some really lesbophobic remarks to make too, the drunk stereotype has been done to death, ugh, and then in awakening they have him become a Warden too??? Go away!!)

2. Iron Bull (the only reason I hate him is bc he's like into bdsm shit and that makes me uncomfortable as hell lol. Otherwise he could be an interesting character tbh esp with his personal quest, which I actually like from a character perspective, but he makes me uncomfy so... #DorianDeservesBetter)

3. Blackwall (I don't actively hate Blackwall tbh I'm just like, I don't see the point of him, at all, he's so fucking dull and boring, like, why? I just hate him because he's boring as hell, at least his friendship with Sera is cute Sera deserves a good friend.)

4. Solas (listen, from a villain standpoint? I love Solas, i think his character is super interesting, I love his backstory A LOT I think his motivations are super cool from a lore point of view BUT the fact that he is incredibly pedantic, that he insults your character no matter what, that he is a love interest therefore the fandom woobifies him and his (which can be considered manipulative and abusive) relationship with the inquisitor and that, due to his popularity, everything is full of posts about how Solas Did Nothing Wrong, just makes me hate him lol like... stop glorifying evil male characters!!!! Also his design is a travesty, he's so ugly)

There's other characters that I'm more indifferent towards like for example Vivienne or Sten or Varric which I'm like "eh? You're there I guess?" but they don't awake strong feelings in me so I can't put them on the list.

#this has been a rant

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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years

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FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [5/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 4000 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Usually, Adaar liked nothing better than being on the road. Clear nights like these were best of all. It was easy to pick out constellations she knew, stars she'd once navigated by on her own, crisp against the velvet map of the heavens. She'd lain on a thin bedroll staring up at that sky more nights than she could count, and when she'd closed her eyes, she'd slept peacefully.

The view afforded her very little peace just now.

Four more days to Val Royeaux. Six more until this party that Adaar was supposed to appear at. She'd made up her mind as she left Josephine's office, though. She hadn't promised anything. Leliana had sent along the tools and information Adaar would need to deal with the House of Repose. Damn the woman, but she had done Adaar that small favor.

Her people answered to the Inquisitor, not the Ambassador. When they arrived in Val Royeaux, she would do what needed to be done. No more games.

Josephine would be angry, but the damage to their friendship had already been done. What did one more blow matter?

Best not to think about that. To hope, as was her habit, that Josephine had kissed her back and meant it. That it hadn't just been relief, or gratitude, or the heat of the moment, or…

Adaar would send her back to Skyhold with Leliana's people when it was all over, but she would not be escorting them. The additional protection Adaar and her companions offered would no longer be required. They could ride far faster than a handful of carts. They would go south, to the Emerald Graves, and Adaar would get back to doing what she did best.

She did not plan to go back to Skyhold for a long, long time.

She shifted a little in the open bed of the cart, easing her legs out of one position and into another. Wouldn't do to get too cramped if someone crept up on them in the dead of night. She needed to be quick. Quicker than she'd ever been. She blinked her bleary eyes and surveyed the lonesome wilderness around their meager campsite again, searching for anything that didn't belong.

Behind her, canvas rustled. She turned her head to note it, squinting through the dim starlight. Paranoia prickled at her, insisting that an assassin had slipped by both her and the four others on watch, but the part of her still capable of logic expected to see one of their own party leaving their tent.

She just didn't expect it to be Josephine.

Adaar looked away, back to watching the road and sparse woods behind. She briefly considered the merits of lying down flat in the cart, concealing herself from view entirely, but that was both too childish and too dangerous. She knew how likely she was to fall asleep, even on these hard boards, if she arranged herself horizontally.

So she listened, with pricked ears, to Josephine's footsteps. She hoped they would circle away, paired with whatever guard had the unfortunate task of protecting people while they pissed, but instead, they drew closer.

Shit.

They hadn't spoken much since leaving Skyhold. She'd avoided Josephine, staying close enough to watch her back but far enough away to ward off conversation. Josephine seemed to have picked up on this, accepted it; she hadn't said anything beyond a simple greeting this morning.

But they'd also been surrounded by others: scouts, guards, Adaar's companions. Perhaps she'd just been waiting for the right moment, when they'd be overheard by the fewest possible ears.

The right moment for what, Adaar had no idea. Another plea for Adaar to understand? An apology for being so cursed stubborn about this? A reprimand for kissing her? An entreaty to do it again?

Josephine paused when she drew alongside the back of the cart, just within Adaar's peripheral vision. "Inquisitor," she said softly.

Adaar watched the woods. "Ambassador."

The cart dipped a little with Josephine's weight. For a moment, they sat in silence, two feet of space between them. Adaar saw Josephine's head tip back, taking in the view of the heavens, but only out of the corner of her eye. She didn't think knowing the way starlight looked on that face would make this any easier.

"I brought you something," Josephine said at last, and Adaar realized she held a small wooden box. She set it down on the cart between them and opened the lid. "If you're not going to sleep, you'll need your strength."

Adaar glanced down at the box. A pile of little round cookies nestled on a linen napkin inside it, some of their edges crumbling.

Well, maybe she could rule out a reprimand, at least. That was...something.

"I don't know that sweets are the best choice for a long watch," she said, but she took one, anyway. "I don't recognize these."

"Polvorones. My favorites. My father's, too. He sends me quite a few of them, for fear that I'll get too homesick, the way he's always done. I usually hide them away for myself, but…" She clasped her hands in her lap. "I thought they might be an adequate peace offering. Or the beginning of one, anyway."

Adaar turned her attention back to the road as she took a bite of the cookie. It crumbled in her mouth, on her hands, sweet with a trace of almonds. She swallowed, took a sip from her water skin to wash the rest of the crumbles down as she considered.

It was abominably hard to tell this woman No, which was why she'd avoided situations where she'd have to do it at all costs.

"Danaya," she said, raising her voice.

Josephine's head turned toward her, but she didn't interrupt. Quick footsteps approached.

"Yes, Your Worship?" the guard said.

"Watch the rear. I am being distracted."

"Yes, Your Worship," Danaya agreed, and wisely moved a solid thirty feet down the road to take her post without further comment. Good woman. Didn't make a single face whatsoever.

"I'm listening," Adaar said to Josephine.

She heard Josephine's relieved breath. She unfolded a napkin over her lap, and her elegant fingers dipped into the box to pick out one of the polvorones for herself. "I've been thinking, these last few days. I realized how poorly I've behaved. We had an agreement. If you still want to deal with the House of Repose directly…I am a woman of my word. I won't argue further."

Adaar blinked. The possibility of an apology had occurred to her, and not even as a long shot; Josephine was mindful of other people's feelings. She'd certainly noticed how...off...Adaar was. Adaar was not that adept at concealing it.

But this? She hadn't expected this.

"Okay," she said slowly, testing. "That does make things a little easier, since I planned to do just that when we arrived in Val Royeaux."

Surprise—distress—flitted over Josephine's face, but it quickly smoothed. "That is fair."

"I would have told you," Adaar said, compelled to defend herself, "but frankly, I don't hold up very well to your silver tongue. Best not to risk it."

Josephine chuckled, a little sadly. "No, I understand. I just have one request."

"For my sake, please make it a reasonable one."

"Even when you have every right to be angry with me, you are amusing," she said, but pushed on before Adaar could reply. "I would like to explain why I've been so opposed to your plan, to Leliana's plan. Prove to you that I'm not being mulish, or stupid, or naïve, or..."

"I don't think you're any of those things." Adaar picked up another cookie. She'd finished the first one without noticing. She did tend to eat her nerves. "Well, maybe a little stubborn. Usually that's a good quality. But if you'd like to tell me, go ahead."

Josephine dipped her head. "I used to be a bard, you see."

She paused there as if deliberating, and Adaar tried to imagine it. She was a deft negotiator, but Adaar had a hard time picturing her in such a place at court just now, with the pretty ocean-blue shawl held around her shoulders to ward off the chill, her long dark hair woven into a loose braid over her shoulder. Rumpled by sleep, or maybe a lack of it. She belonged among her books and her missives, her pen and her ink. Hard to imagine her hiding daggers in her clothes instead.

She'd had a letter opener in her sash that night. Adaar pushed the thought of it, its inadequacy, as far away as it would go.

"What, like Leliana?" she asked. "With the singing, and the story-telling, and…"

"The spying," Josephine finished. "Yes. I was young, attending university in Val Royeaux. It sounded so...romantic, so exciting. Trysts, secrets, fascinating people. Very different from my responsibilities to my family."

"Ah," Adaar said. "So even you can get tired of paperwork sometimes."

"Especially at that age." Josephine sighed, as if the memory embarrassed her. "So I put on a mask, told myself that my siblings would get along without me, and practiced the Game in as thrilling a way as I could."

"I suppose I can imagine that. Well," she amended, "parts of it, anyway."

Josephine nodded. "Parts of it, yes. The charming conversation, that I was good at. I had some skill with a harp, though my singing has never been as good as Leliana's."

Adaar made a mental note to find a harp at the first opportunity, then remembered herself and crossed it out again immediately. Her plans after Val Royeaux had not changed. She would maintain the distance between them. It was for the best.

The words would ring true someday, she was sure.

"And the other parts?" she said. "How did that end?"

Josephine drew her shawl a little more tightly around herself. "Very poorly. You know that I am not a fighter. I had an aversion to violence, even then. But I convinced myself that I needed to play the part, that I could learn, that I would adjust to it. I practiced."

"You got hurt," Adaar guessed when Josephine hesitated.

"If only." She straightened up as if steeling herself. "During a particular intrigue, another bard was sent to kill my patron. We...fought, if you could call it that. It did not feel very much like the epic duels we sang about. I was terrified. I think that he was, too. We were at the top of a steep flight of stairs. He drew a knife, and I pushed him away from me…you can imagine the result."

Adaar could see the shame on her face. The guilt, even after all these years.

Adaar remembered the first person she had killed, too. The way she'd thrown up on her knees in the dirt after. It took a lot of practice to stop doing that part. Demons were easier. Hell, Red Templars were easier. They weren't really people anymore.

"It was self-defense," she said, trying to be gentle. "He would have killed you."

"But it was such a waste!" Adaar had rarely seen Josephine so animated: the words burst out of her, not loud, mindful of the guards, but sharp. Devastated. Her eyes gleamed, and Adaar fought the impulse to touch her, to comfort her. "And when I took off his mask, I knew him. We'd attended parties together. If I'd stopped to reason, if I'd used my voice instead of scuffling like a common thug…"

It was just another blow to an old wound. Adaar weathered it. She knew Josephine didn't mean it like that, would never be that cruel, but Adaar knew the truth about herself, too. Knew, and accepted it.

Cassandra kept saying that she was the person they'd needed, exactly when they'd needed it. Stood to reason that sometimes the world needed a common thug.

"I will always wonder who he would have turned out to be," Josephine said. "That is why."

Adaar returned to the problem at hand. "These aren't boys on their first run, Josephine. They're part of a guild of assassins—"

"I know that. I know." She shook her head, impatient. "It is not their lives that most concern me, though I do think their deaths would be pointless. For what? For an old grudge so easily forgotten that the surviving descendents would sweep it away for a favor of status?" She scoffed. "They're bound by that old agreement, but no one else feels the same."

There was truth enough in that. Adaar had seen some of Josephine's exchanges with the Du Paraquettes. Hard to imagine that a hundred years ago, these families had been at each others' throats. They were just strangers now.

"What most concerns you, then?" she said.

Josephine looked up at her. Her fingers had pulled one of the cookies apart in her lap; it was a pile of crumbs now. "The lives of our people. Any of them could get hurt, could die, trying to destroy this contract. You could die."

Adaar considered her for a long moment. "You see our impasse, then," she said at last. "You are not willing to send me into mortal danger, and I am not willing to let you stay in the same."

"Yes." There was disappointment, but understanding, in Josephine's eyes. "I do see. And you have honored my request, above and beyond our agreement, so you can do what you see fit with a clear conscience. I won't protest."

Damn her. Even as she released Adaar, she bound her. Adaar wondered if she'd just played the Game for so long that she couldn't stop playing it, that she did it even subconsciously. That she knew, instinctively, that where pleading or begging wouldn't change Adaar's mind, this would.

And Adaar admired Josephine's idealism. Always had. Maybe she was cutthroat when it came to maneuvering alliances, but it was in metaphor only; she did her best to mitigate harm. She advocated for opportunity, for a future, not an ending.

Adaar wanted the world to work that way.

"This is exactly why I haven't talked to you in four days," Adaar muttered. "I knew you would talk me out of it." She took another cookie to console herself and stuffed it whole in her mouth. Maybe the crumbs would choke her, put her out of her misery.

"I mean it," Josephine pressed. "Do what you think—"

"—is best," Adaar finished. "Yeah. Wish I knew for sure what that was." She dusted her hands free of crumbs. "If this minister so much as looks at me funny—which is very likely, given the manners these kinds of people usually have—I'm storming the House of Repose that very hour."

Josephine reached across the space between them to touch her hand. "Thank you."

Adaar only nodded. Hard to do anything else as she looked at those soft fingertips grazing the backs of her knuckles, thinking inevitably of the last time they'd touched.

Josephine withdrew, and Adaar hoped that she would get up and leave; that she had gotten what she wanted, and there would be no need to discuss anything else.

"There is one other matter," Josephine said, her words more hesitant by far now.

Adaar didn't dare look at her face. She listened, waited, for the guillotine to drop.

"You kissed me," Josephine said, and Adaar closed her eyes against it. "After…"

Adaar would never forget it. Never. The relief she'd felt all the way down to her weary bones when she arrived outside Josephine's door to hear voices, to hear her voice, to realize that she was safe, alive—only for that relief to twist, become a terror so stark she'd never felt its like—

"I only…please understand, I don't want to assume that you harbor any tender feelings for me, I just…" Josephine let out a frustrated breath. "Listen to me stutter. I only want to understand what you meant by it."

Adaar opened her mouth before she even knew what she planned to say; she shut it again. Josephine waited, patient, not pushing.

Adaar could lie. Wave it off. Make the same excuses she'd imagined Josephine would make. Things would be awkward, probably. After all this, it was hard to imagine that they'd ever be as close as they had once been.

But Josephine deserved better than that. She'd gone out of her way to apologize, to explain. Now she asked to understand, to be given the same courtesy in return.

It would still be awkward, but maybe they'd get past it, someday. She could hope. It had carried her this far.

"I care about you," she said. She sounded steady enough. "Very much." She paused, cleared her throat. "Thought it was sort of obvious."

Josephine didn't reply. The silence—a few seconds that felt like years—pressed down on Adaar, threatening to crush her. She had to look, had to see…

Josephine stared at her, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. She looked an awful lot like she had after Adaar had kissed her.

Breathlessly, she said, "I thought...I thought it was possible, but…"

"I know. I didn't send an eyebrow poem." She fell back on bad humor like it was some kind of defense, like it wouldn't just make things worse. "Just a bunch of stupid trinkets. Awfully unclear of me. Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomf—"

She had not known that Josephine could move so quickly; she'd pushed the box of cookies out of the way, thrown herself against Adaar's side, and pulled Adaar's head down to kiss her before Adaar knew what was happening.

She'd tried not to remember. In those moments before the few hours of sleep she'd scraped for herself, she'd tried not to think about how it had felt. Josephine clinging to her, safe and warm and alive; Josephine pressing close to her, matching Adaar's desperation with her own fervor; Josephine's soft, sweet lips yielding beneath hers.

She was just as demanding as she'd been that night. Adaar had never expected, never imagined that—when she'd dared to imagine, anyway. That Josephine had a fire burning inside her to match Adaar's torch, and when their lips met, they knew one another's heat.

Josephine's hands framed Adaar's face, held her in place. Without Adaar's explicit say-so, her arms had wrapped around Josephine. She drank in the blissful noise of delight that came from Josephine's lips, didn't bother to catch the shawl as it fell and fluttered to the cart. Josephine touched her like she was something beloved, and she melted beneath the worship of those fingers, fell to pieces beneath the care of this deepening kiss, sweet with that lingering taste of the polvorones. Another few seconds of those soft lips moving with hers and she'd be tumbling Josephine down into the bed of the cart, and she doubted very much that Josephine would protest—

One of the guards called to another. Despite the heat, despite Josephine's body against hers, she heard it. It was a proprietary remark; there was no danger. But it felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over Adaar's head.

She tugged away, just enough to break the kiss, letting the cold night air come between them. "Wait."

Josephine made an impatient noise, following. "There are no assassins out—"

"It's not that."

Josephine's eyes searched her face. They looked a little glassy with want, with lust, with starlight.

It was a very good look on her, but it wasn't helping Adaar keep her head straight.

"Then what?" she asked. Her thumb ran over Adaar's cheek, once, twice.

She would not get through this if Josephine kept touching her, but she had to tell herself to let go three times before she actually took her arms from around Josephine. Josephine settled back to the cart, waiting, brow knit with confusion.

"This isn't a good idea," Adaar said.

Josephine leaned a little away, clearly stung. "Why not?"

Adaar glanced down the road, toward the nearest guard. Danaya's back was to them, but she wasn't far enough away, not nearly.

"People talk," she said. "As you've told me yourself. Even a short entanglement—"

"Short entanglement?" Josephine repeated, a thread of anger weaving through the hurt. "I am not interested in a fling, as you well—"

"Let me finish. Please."

Maybe something on Adaar's face convinced her; she took a breath and gestured, as if to say go ahead.

"This whole deal is going to restore your family's status," Adaar said. "Right?"

If Josephine found the change in subject strange, she didn't comment on it. "It will take more work than that, but—yes, this is the necessary beginning."

"How do you think that status would dip if everyone knew you were involved with me? What trade opportunities would you lose? Who would exclude your siblings from parties, your parents from plans?"

Josephine didn't answer right away. She thought about it, giving it a moment, turning it over, before she answered. "No one who has not already excluded us," she said. "No opportunities I have not already lost."

"Are you sure of that?"

"No one can ever be absolutely certain of anything," Josephine said evenly. "But I do not care."

"I know that isn't true. You've worked so hard to make this happen. Not just these last few months—years and years of work. What if just…being with me…would reverse all of that?"

Josephine slid off the cart and turned to face Adaar. Silently, Adaar offered out her shawl, and she took it, but let it hang loose from her hand.

"For my family, yes, I have worked," Josephine said. "So that they might get along without me, one day, if the worst were to happen. But I set all my trappings aside to join the Inquisition, knowing that I might well be cast as a heretic with the rest of you." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, as if this didn't trouble her at all. "It does not appear that this is our trajectory any longer. I've turned a deaf ear to many slights, but there are fewer of them every week."

"You'll have to turn a deaf ear to many more," Adaar said. She had to make Josephine understand. "Supporting me politically is very different from declaring a romantic relationship with a common thug."

Josephine looked at her, silent, inscrutable, and Adaar almost squirmed under the weight of that gaze. It felt like Josephine saw a great deal. Things Adaar didn't want her to see, things she didn't intend to show her.

"You know that I don't see you that way," Josephine said.

"But other people do," Adaar argued. "Other people will—"

"Other people think many silly things," Josephine cut across her.

"Tell me if this is silly, then. When this is all over, if I'm still standing when the dust clears, I will have a very simple life left to me. A little land, a little house. You have connections, responsibilities, that won't fit in the space I have to offer. Would you give all that up to sink to my level?"

Josephine let out a low breath. "I see."

The way she was looking at Adaar, Adaar very much doubted it. "See what?"

"You are afraid that I am going to hurt you."

Adaar spluttered. "That's not what I—"

"You think that when this is over, you will not be special anymore, and I will not want you anymore." Josephine stepped forward, just enough to wrap the shawl around Adaar's shoulders. "You're wrong."

She patted the fabric into place, as if to protect Adaar from the chill. Every touch of her hand weakened a little more of Adaar's resolve.

"I am not going to change my mind," Josephine said. "When you have gotten over your reservations—"

"My reservations? You're the one who should have—"

"I will be here, Herah," Josephine said, relentless. "And I will still want the same thing. Lest you accuse me of manipulating you with my silver tongue, I will leave you to think."

Adaar had lost all language, all ability to protest. Josephine took one more polvorone from the box, but left the rest with a last pointed look at Adaar.

She was not afraid.

...Was she?

Go to Chapter 6 -->

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #mutual pining #friends to lovers #developing relationship #class differences #universe writes

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trvelyans-archive · 4 years

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lost and found

a commission for the lovely @scoundrel <3 thank you again for commissioning me ! i hope you enjoy <3

The pain in her arm is so intense that Herah doesn’t notice Solas slipping through the Eluvian.

His silhouette is obscured by her tears, and any sound is drowned out by her whispered, desperate pleas as the magic from the Anchor rips through her arm and shoulder like a volcanic eruption. It certainly burns through her veins the same. She doubles over, panting into the ancient rocks and trying to get some sort of footing on the ground to run after him but ultimately fails, stumbling onto the ground face-first and breathing heavily as tears stream down her cheeks and she tries not to pass out.

It’s hard. Very, very hard.

Surely her friends are close behind her, right? Surely they’ve heard her screaming for help and are on their way to rescue her? Surely she’s not going to die in the middle of nowhere, alone, after being betrayed by one of her closest friends, a man she’s spent two years searching for just to find out why he left shortly before he did again?

Surely this isn’t how it ends?

Herah grits her teeth, hard enough for them to turn the dust, and forces her head sideways to look at her arm. The place where Solas took the Anchor from her is a sick concoction of magic and puss and blood that drips onto the ground in a dark pool. She inhales sharply, using her arm – her other arm – to try and push herself upwards once more.

She’s a healer. She’s a mage, and a strong one at that. If a mage can hurt her like this, she can put herself back together.

But he’s not just a mage. And he’s not just an elf. He’s an ancient Elven god, and any magic he possesses – especially the kinds she doesn’t know of – will be far more powerful than her.

Maybe this is how she dies. Alone. Afraid.

She has so much she wanted to do. She wanted to take Cole back to her hometown and introduce him to her parents. (They’d love him. Other people might not, but they would. She knows that much.) She wanted to travel with the Valo-kas again, fight alongside them again. She wanted to sit around the campfire with them and share stories and sing campfire songs and then fall asleep with nothing but the stars overhead. She wanted to see Tevinter with Dorian. She wanted to laugh in a tavern with Bull and the Chargers while Krem dares Cole to try Qunari alcohol.

She wanted to kiss Cole again. She still wants to. She just doesn’t know how likely that is.

She won’t let that stop herself from wishing for it, though.

She’s bleeding out, now – of the little she knows, she knows that – and stares at the steps her friends will take to reach her if they come in time to save her life. If she does die, has she done enough? Did she lead a good life and do the things that she always wanted to do? Will people curse her name and spit on her grave, or will they love her the way they love her now long after she’s gone?

Will people forget about her? Her family, her friends, her followers?

Will Cole make himself forget to spare himself the pain?

There’s a soft noise somewhere in the distance. It’s nothing, she thinks to herself, her eyelids growing heavy and her breathing growing shallow. Perhaps it’s an animal. Some sort of trick. The voices in her head are whispering to her – in tongues she’s only just begun to learn, in tongues she’ll never get the chance to continue learning if she dies now – but where they’re usually so loud, they’re so quiet, and that does nothing to comfort her. In fact, it makes everything hurt more. Her arm, her body, her heart.

Everything hurts so much.

There’s a sound behind her. She turns her head, as much as she can from where she lies on the ground, and clenches her eyes shut briefly to clear the blur from her vision. When she opens them, she can see the surface of the Eluvian rippling, the scene behind her and the sun setting on it distorted in the reflection.

Cole comes through the mirror first. Dorian and Bull are on his heels.

They’re bloody and bruised – though not as much as she is – but still, seeing them fills Herah with a sudden strength, and she pushes herself up on her arm once more. “Cole,” she whispers as loud as she can. “Cole, you came for me.”

His eyes grow wide when he notices her. He rushes towards her, drawing up in front of her body when he notices the blood.

He doesn’t say anything. Whatever comfort he could’ve given dies on his pale lips as he drops to his knees.

Dorian hurries to Herah’s side while Bull inspects the area for intruders, holding his earhammer at the ready while he steps through the rubble. “You can’t die on me now,” Dorian tells Herah, managing a laugh while grabbing her shoulder with one hand and the mangled end of her arm with the other. “I have a whole day planned for us in Minrathous and everything, so it would be a shame if…”

He trails off.

“Oh,” he says, his eyes widening.

Bull turns around. “Dorian,” he growls, “get a move on. She’s going to die if you don’t do something about it.”

If it was meant to be encouraging… well, it isn’t.

“I…” Dorian glances up at Herah’s face, his eyebrows screwing together. “I don’t… I don’t…”

“Dorian!” Bull strides over, grabbing the mage by the shoulder and shaking him. “Get your shit together and help her.”

“The magic is different than anything I know – it looks very ancient, I –“

“Listen to me.” Bull crouches down beside him. “You have to help her. Whatever you fuck up, making her wait it out will be worse.”

Dorian stares into Bull’s eyes for a moment before nodding. “Alright, alright.” He pushes Bull’s hand away, rolling up his sleeves. “I will. I’ll do it. You’re in great hands, Inquisitor, don’t worry.”

Bull nods and returns to his inspection, patrolling the area for any enemies while Dorian starts to work, his previous apprehension disappeared. Cole wraps his arms around Herah’s waist and eases her onto the ground, and once she’s settled, he pulls her head into his lap and runs his long, thin fingers through her hair, pulling it out of her bloody face and away from her sweaty forehead.

He’s babbling under his breath, but whatever he’s saying isn’t much. She can’t make a single word out. Still, she listens to it anyway. He doesn’t need to say anything to comfort her – his presence alone is enough. She reaches up with her uninjured hand and runs her thumb across his chin, up his jaw, and smiles to herself despite the trail of blood her touch leaves behind.

If she’s going to die, at least he’s here with her. That is consolation enough.

“What happened?” Dorian asks. He’s torn a piece of her cloak off and furiously cleans the blood up with it so he has something to work with. “You disappeared through the Eluvian– we had no idea where you went, and we tried searching for you before –”

“I found…” She clears her throat, unfocused eyes staring into the sky. “I f-found Solas.”

She can hear Bull stop behind her. Dorian stops, too.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Dorian,” Cole says, voice tense with worry. “Her arm.”

“Right, of course,” Dorian responds. He continues cleaning up her arm as Bull returns.

“You saw Solas again?”

Solas abandoning the Inquisition hit them all hard. It surprised Herah most of all, considering their friendship, but everyone else was affected by it, too, in their own ways. Leliana devoted a lot of her time to trying to find him. She sent out search parties; she followed leads all across Thedas. They lost soldiers and scouts and they used up precious resources. They did many things for Solas that they could never take back, and still it never worked.

This, through the Eluvians with the Qunari, is the last place anyone would expect to find him, yet here he was. And now he’s gone, with the Anchor, and Herah’s bleeding out.

Still, she nods, glancing in Bull’s direction. “I did,” she answers weakly. “But he’s – he’s not really Solas.”

Bull leans his warhammer against a boulder and crouches down beside her. “What does that mean?” he questions.

Herah sighs. “He’s Fen’Harel.”

Dorian looks up again, blinking. “What, the ancient Elven god?” he scoffs. “The trickster of the Evanuris?”

“Yes,” she answers. Dorian recoils in obvious confusion – it wasn’t the answer he was expecting. “I –“

Before she can continue, blinding pain tears through her arm. She gasps and cries through the aftershocks as Cole twines their fingers together and raises her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles reverently. She’s never felt this pain before. She can tell by his hesitation that Dorian hasn’t healed any kind of injury like this before, either. To help him – and perhaps to distract herself – she offers him assistance. She knows more healing magic than he does, after all.

The pain slowly grows worse and worse as she guides him through the healing process, however, but at least now that the blood and the puss and the Fade matter has been cleared away from the end of her arm, she can see it better – as well as the damage left behind. Her end of her arm is torn into tatters. They’ll have to amputate it, she thinks.

Whatever pain she feels now, that will be unbearable. She tells Dorian just that as she shifts in Cole’s lap and stares into his wide, watery eyes, trying to muster a smile big enough to comfort him too.

To no one’s surprise, she lasts a few seconds longer before passing out, with Cole’s lips on her forehead as the world fades to black.

She wakes up a while later, in a comfortable bed with crisp white sheets in what looks like a room in the Winter Palace. She doesn’t recognize the room as her own – there isn’t nearly enough sun – but she recognizes the architecture. As she sits up in bed, she winces and falls back onto the mattress. Her entire body aches, especially her arm, her hair is matted against the side of her head, and her brain throbs painfully behind her eyes. She could probably stand to have a lot more rest.

Still, she tries sitting up again because she knows that there is going to be a lot she needs to do.

With Solas promising to destroy Thedas as they know it, the Inquisition is going to have to help. After all, they have the resources – in manpower, in diplomacy, in alliances – and they’ve worked alongside Solas. They know how he works.

At least they used to. Herah isn’t sure she knew him at all, anymore.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do. Does she go after him? Does she use those very same resources trying to hunt him down once more, only this time with the certainty that the path will be littered with bloodshed? However ready she was to lose herself, waiting at the foot of the Eluvian and watching Solas disappear as she prepared to die, is she ready to lose everyone else? What cost is she willing to pay?

How long does she have to figure it out?

The door creaks open, and Cole steps into the room. He’s carrying a small tray of food with a roll of bandages beside a water glass, and he nearly drops it when he sees Herah awake and sitting upright in bed. The dark bags under his eyes are even more contrasted against his pale skin than usual, and his movement is slow and inelegant. She wouldn’t be surprised if this is the first time he wasn’t at her beside, waiting for her to wake up.

“Herah,” he breathes, hurrying over to her and somehow not spilling a single drop of water or knocking a single crumb off the plate. “You’re awake.”

She nods, running a hand – one hand – over her cheek. “I am,” she says.

He sits down on the bed beside the tray and glances down at her arm. “You’re bleeding again,” he comments. “Bloodied, battered, but the light no longer blinding…”

“Cole,” she whispers, closing her eyes.

A moment of silence passes. “You’re different now,” he says. “Without the Anchor.”

“I know,” she replies. “I feel different, too.”

She tries moving her arm to see the damage, but Cole holds a trembling hand out. “I’ll replace the wrapping,” he offers. “But I… I can’t help you forget.”

“I know,” she responds. She had a feeling. “I wouldn’t want you to, anyway. This is something I need to remember.”

He nods and shifts forward with the roll of bandages. Herah doesn’t look down at her arm while he works – only when it’s wrapped up again does she dare to glance at it, at the frayed bandages where her arm used to be. Her bicep and shoulder hurt – which is no surprise, since the effects of the Anchor’s magic are likely still lingering beneath her skin – and it’ll certainly take some getting used to, but…

She’ll be fine. Thankfully, she’ll be fine. But she can’t say the same for anyone or anything else.

#my writing #my commissions #thank you again for commissioning me <3 i loved working on this one ! excited for the next piece :)) <3

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iawv · 5 years

Text

She Called Him Fen’Harel - ‘Freedom’ Chapter 11

Also on AO3

"Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides."

― André Malraux

Most days he spent in his cottage or in the forest near Haven. The Fade eluded him lately, perhaps because of the noises and the crowds. Haven became a shelter for many in only a few weeks. He started to miss their missions outside this irritating place.

He grabbed his cloak and closed the cottage door behind him just to be greeted by the gossips about their Blessed Herald of Andarste. Everyone was talking only about her. Whenever he wanted to avoid any new stories or comments, he was finding himself in the center of it, as if everyone were against him.

"She seems unfriendly, but when my husband was sick she delivered herbs and potions" he heard.

"It must be magic, I tell ya. Nobody looks that good being 30!" some lady seemed annoyed, "She is weird. A savage, dalish, I've heard."

They evaluated on her every move, every gesture, her clothes, her interactions with the inner circle of the inquisition. The gossips circulated each day in new ways, such as having a drink with Varric, or how in the next day, she spent an hour with her commander. News spread that perhaps the whole village is witness to a blossoming romance between the two.

It was tiring, even if he experienced it so many times before, maybe this is why it was so tiring. The unwanted déjà vu.

What a cynical, empty, and hopeless age this was.

He passed the small tavern taking his steps towards the main gate - a day before he had found an interesting spot to clear his mind and study books delivered by Lady Ambassador. The woman had quite good contacts; still, he wished he could have access to better resources. His thoughts ventured to the Vir Dirthara.

"What do you mean I cannot leave Haven?" Lavellan's voice reached his ears, and he looked up at the Herald. Her voice polite and calm at the surface but by the signs of the body language and deminer, hands folded behind her back told him anything but of tension and a hint of defensiveness.

"I mean, you cannot leave alone to risk your life in search of one animal Herald" Cassandra explained slowly.

"Must I remind you, Seeker, I could easily change my appearance and leave Haven without you knowing of it?" the answer came quickly and smoothly. Solas slowed his steps just to observe this verbal exchange.

"You could..." Seeker gaze darkened but Lavellan ignored it.

"I would not. That is why I am asking you to give me permission to investigate the case of the corrupted wolves." he could hear an unspoken plea in Herald's voice.

"I appreciate that but as I said, Herald" Seeker straightened her back, folding her hands behind her back in a similar manner as the Herald, face tense, unease in her eyes "You can't leave alone."

"Ah. I hear it somewhat different. I can't leave without you, Seeker. You have other matters which force you to stay in Haven for at least a week," Lavellan murmured, her gaze momentarily sliding past him to some distance, and it seems as if an idea struck her, as her gaze refocused onto him, pinning him.

The Seeker frowned and followed Herald's gaze, the woman opened her mouth, but Lavellan was quicker with a response "I suppose I can travel with Solas and Varric then. Will you agree, Cassandra?" Solas could recognize the purposeful use of the Seeker's name, "We will report at every Inquisition's camp."

What a manipulative woman, he thought. He had mixed feelings about any excursions with her.

A long sigh escaped Seeker's mouth "Alright, Herald. Do as you must."

"Ma serannas. Ha'hren," her eyes found him once more, "When you can prepare yourself to depart?" a slight excitement in her gaze and the sudden smile on her face dazzled him for a short moment, the way it changed her features, softening it...

He cleared his throat "In a few minutes, Herald."

His expression stayed polite and calm as she brushed past him, her steps light and quicker than ever before.

"We really are in the ass-end of nowhere now," Varric stated over the silence. Falherna chuckled reaching to her traveling bag, her features lightening up as she pulled up a bottle of what seemed to be Grey Whiskey.

"For you," she handed it to him, "Perhaps it will quiet down your complaints."

Varric chuckled, which transformed into genuine laughter, "Oh, Brighteyes, I wish it could be so simple.".

"You are not the only one wishing it," she murmured, scanning the road and trees. They walked in blissful silence for a while. She could hear Solas' bare feet ghosting over the ground.

Her thoughts drifted to their conversation from two weeks before. Since then, she did not seek him out because her mind was occupied with other matters; still, she longed to another chance to speak with him about the Fade. His input was interesting, to say at least. His voice was pleasant to her ear, the pace of his words fascinated her, reminding her of nights under the stars when her father read her poetry. Hearing Solas speak left a similar impression in her memory.

"So, elf, did our Herald explain to you what kind of mess we are going to clean up today?" Varric said as he walked at Solas' side.

"She did not, Master Tethras." Falherna sent them both a quick glance.

"No need. Solas overheard my conversation with Seeker Pentaghast," she replied.

"Varric, you joined the Inquisition when seeker Pentaghast questioned you?" she accepted the change of a subject with relief.

"She was very insistent that I help." Varric chuckled, and she could hear he was a little surprised by Solas's question.

"Interesting." the apostate murmured.

"What's interesting?" Varric sent him a curious glance, frowning a bit.

"It surprises me that an elven apostate is the one who joined the Inquisition voluntarily."

She observed him by the corner of her eye. He seemed relaxed, calm, resolutely marching beside her, but she could tell there was some tension in his eyes.

"Nobody thanked you for that?" she asked quietly scanning his face. Was it the gratitude he was missing or perhaps he was so arrogant to point out his action?

The genuine roll of his laughter surprised her. "I do not seek gratitude, Herald."

"No?" she insisted without knowing why it was so important to get an honest answer from him.

"No."

"Understood." she murmured. "Still, in my opinion, it is very admirable. You decided to remain. Thank you, Solas." Falherna sent him a soft smile.

There was something in his expression as he looked at her. Something different. Something she could not place. Before she could try it disappeared.

"It will be interesting to watch this fledgling Inquisition make its way. I will stay to see it. For now," he stated slowly, sending her a quick glance, "I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution."

"I do," she exhaled and shook her head. "You came here to help, Solas. I won't let them use that against you." She looked at him, straight into his eyes with this internal wish to convince him that nobody in Haven will suffer as long as she is there.

"How would you stop them?" The question pierced her heart. Solas' tone low, his expression severe and intense as if he really wanted to know the methods she would use.

"However I have to," she replied in the same manner.

The moment stretched out between them, staring at one another.

"Thank you." He was genuinely surprised.

They walked in silence for a time. She started to count the steps, staring at the trees, expressionless. One, two, three, four, five...

Thoughts in her head slowly changed their speed, finding their proper place and the order, the priorities were again clear for her.

"By the end of Hard in Hightown, almost every character is revealed as a spy or a traitor," she heard and smiled. She did not notice she left Varric and Solas behind till now, she tilted her head slightly to listen to their conversation. She would never guess Solas is the type of person who reads Varric's novels.

"Wait, you read my book?" Varric laughed, shocked.

"It was in the Inquisition library. Everyone but Donnen turned out to be in disguise. Is this common?" She could not help but chuckle.

"Are we still talking about books, or are you asking if everyone I know is a secret agent?"

"Are there many tricksters in dwarven literature?"

"A handful, but they're the exception. Mostly they're just honoring the ancestors. It's very dull stuff. Human literature? Now here's where you'll find the tricky, clever, really deceptive types."

"Curious." He really seemed interested.

"Not really. Dwarves write how they want things to be. Humans write to figure out how things are."

"The elven history has one of the biggest tricksters," she stated calmly, guarding her tone.

"Here we go again, Brighteyes..." Varric laughed and sighed.

She smiled and carried on, not at all discouraged.

"In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he was kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them." she laughed loudly.

"I am sure you know all these Dalish stories, Solas." she looked at him and found him frowning.

"Stories?" he asked with a calm voice, but she had the impression he was transfixed.

"What else would you call them?" While speaking, she drew a map from her pouch and studied it for a while. Leliana's agent had delivered it to her a day before with a marked location.

"Dalish called themselves the best hope for preserving the culture of 'our People'," "she continued not waiting for any response, throwing words and letting them hang in the air.

"Ah, our people. They use that phrase so casually. It should mean more... but the Dalish have forgotten that. Among other things,"

Falherna scanned his face for a while, processing the words. Was it sadness in his voice? Hidden upon measured tone?

"Is it sadness in your voice that I am hearing, hahren?" her thought formed into words unexpectedly.

He sent her a quick glance "Perhaps, Herald," he said then fell in silence. She let him stay quiet, observing him with a corner of her eye. Suddenly she knew he will open his mouth and speak again. She came back to counting her steps anew.

"While they pass on stories," Falherna heard his voice when her counting reached three, "mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not." Solas said quietly but fiercely.

"Hey Fal, do we need to march everywhere?" Varric looked at her over his shoulder, "I thought master Dennet's horses would be a better way to travel." he sighed, and she smiled.

"Tomorrow they will arrive,"

"Great," he murmured under his breath as he wiped his forehead with a sleeve.

"Whiner," Falherna chuckled slowly chewing.

"What you do have there?" Varric looked at her with curiosity and a small smile.

"An apple. I know the answer already but do you want one?" she teased him.

"Nah, thanks," he kicked the rock on the road, and he brushed his hair.

"Solas?" She looked at the elf, wondering if he was disappointed about the interrupted conversation as much as she was, but he seemed distant and calm. Always so stoic, almost indifferent.

"Thank you, Herald. I am fine," he answered, and this time, he didn't bother himself to look at her.

Fal leaned heavily on her staff, silently cursing their misfortune.

The pain grew hotly over her leg. A wolf's sharp claw had sliced through her armor, and she could feel blood spurt down her calf and onto her feet.

"Fenedhis!" she cursed as she sent an unrelenting fire into a wolf. The animal howled loudly. The pack moved, like a flock of birds, a wave, in one smooth move.

"An alpha," a whisper escaped her lips. A big, beautiful alpha male.

Such a waste, such a loss, she thought.

Falherna growled, and with a single sweep of her staff, she called the power of thunder paralyzing the wolves. Solas took the opportunity to lock them in a sheet of ice, freezing them in place while Varric finished them with a rain of arrows.

"We must move!" Solas screamed towards her. She nodded and started to sprint deeper and deeper into a cave. She could feel bones cracking under her feet, remnants of small animals. The den was more prominent and darker than a previous one.

Behind her back, she heard Varric's grunt and a twang that echoed through the walls of the cave. Solas caught up with her panting quietly.

"We're close," he stated what seemed obvious to her. Perhaps she was simply half-elf, but she had heightened senses, and she could recognize the quiet stomps of a creature that wasn't a wolf. A sudden scream spread throughout the entire cave, and Falherna inhaled deeply preparing herself.

"We kill the demon. If it's possible to spare the wolves, do it." she whispered.

They found a small pit hidden behind the rock, a great spot both to stay unseen and to observe the area.

"Fal..." Varric looked at her with a deep frown.

"Just the demon," she insisted scanning the cave, counting wolves, regarding them carefully while searching for a sign of Fen.

She glanced at the demon, stomping slowly amongst wolves, a lesser terror it was. They had fought it not once before with success.

She sent a quick glance to Solas, and Varric giving them a nodding sing and she rose slowly. The wolf on her left growled. Cold green eyes held hers. Green like the Breach, vacant and transparent.

"Now!" she screamed. The pack focused on her, the demon turned towards her screaming loudly. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated and sent a chain lighting to stop the screaming while Solas locked the beast with winter grasp. Varric waited for it, finishing the demon with his arrows.

"That wasn't hard..." he mumbled.

"Wait," she commanded, straightening her hand.

"Herald," Solas murmured, but she dismissed him with a small shake of the head.

"I know what I am doing." Her voice remained amazingly calm. She maintained eye contact with the wolf and started to slowly back away, waiting, observing the fading green light in the animal's eyes.

"Back away slowly." One step.

"Don't turn your back." The second step.

"Look him in the eyes." Third.

"He will not attack," Fourth.

You are so beautiful, she thought, looking deep at steel eyes.

She smiled to herself when the wolf nonchalantly turned around and disappeared on the other side of the cave.

The others joined him.

"Brighteyes, that was insane," Varric's voice startled her back to reality.

"Was it?" she asked. She stared at the fire but watched Varric out of the corner of her eye. She had never seen him so concern before.

"Herald, it was risky" Solas added as he approached her. "Can I take a look at your leg?"

"Yes," her voice never changed, showed no emotion. And regardless of her choice of words, it was sometimes difficult to tell whether she was excited, bored, or utterly disinterested.

Varric shooked his head, sighing.

"They would not attack us, Storyteller. They were confused, but their behavior was rather a display to intimidate and scare off intruders," she kept her voice sincere, though she didn't want or need to justify herself.

Solas knelt in front of her, running his eyes along her body as if checking for injuries.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He looked up at her when she didn't answer.

She shook her head, scanning his face. His fingers circled her calf as healing magic bled into her skin, and she winced as the soft trickle of magic strengthened.

His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing slim but muscular forearms. This time Falherna let her eyes slowly study the length of his forehead, ears, nose, staying longer on his eyes. He seemed tired, drained of energy.

He caught her staring at him, and when their eyes met, she held his gaze. She didn't care if he saw the concern. In fact, she wanted him to see it.

"The bards would love this one. Andraste's Herald and her brave companions perished by the corrupted wolves," Varric laughed, interrupting the moment that spread between the two mages.

The dwarf took a sip from the bottle she gave him earlier.

She moved to his side and said, "Are you alright?"

"Now I am," he sent her a smile, lifting the bottle. She snorted and patted his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Solas?" She turned her gaze to the elf unfolding his bedroll, his head tilted slightly, so the only thing she could see was his profile.

"Yes, Herald." All he gave her was a short answer. Far less than she expected but she was starting to accustom to it.

"We are all fine, Brighteyes," Varric choked. "The farmers can have a good night sleep. They are safe from the wolves." he mumbled as he turned over on his bedroll and closed his eyes "Goodnight, kids."

"I expect the wolves are also pleased to be freed from the demon's control," Fal smiled hearing those words.

"I am sure they are," she murmured gazing at the fire, unconsciously running her fingers along her calf.

"It will leave a scar," Solas stated casually, and she shook her head in answer. His sudden care seemed so illogical, she irritated him after all. Why did he bother himself with her scars?

"So? It will match the others." Her voice sounded harsher than she intended. She cleared her throat and tried again, "It does not bother me."

She loosed her hair, unwrapping the leather strap, combing it with her fingers. Solas took off his coat and belt as he sat down on the wooden log, and she discreetly observed him in his undershirt. He seemed leaner, taller, humbler, and tired. His eyes met hers, the hair on her hands rose as if the air was filled with electricity. She felt it before, the first time when he took her hand and closed the rift. His eyes stirred up complex silt of emotions in her, feelings she'd rather have left settled.

Falherna turned her gaze to the trees waiting for her companion to fall asleep, but Solas just sit there in silence.

"Solas," she turned to him, tense as his name laid on her lips.

He looked at her "Lavellan," he answered with a low voice.

"Can I join you?"

"Please," he smiled, pointing a place next to him.

She got up, throwing some pieces of wood into the bonfire, and sat beside him but not too close.

"You're a somniari, am I correct?" She caught him by surprise.

"Yes, I am. It's interesting that you know about their existence."

"My father was interested in them." She smiled.

His mouth distracted her, so she focused on her hands.

"Will you tell me about your explorations of the Fade?"

He looked pleasantly bewildered but hesitated, "I will if you answer one question."

She sighed quietly suspecting a question about her past, looks, lack of emotions; questions she had heard before.

"Why were you given the name which is the anagram of 'Fen'harel'? He looked her straight in the eyes.

Nobody asked about it before. Nobody was smart enough to get an idea of what her name really was. He impressed her.

He sat so close she could touch him, her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt the urge to touch him.

"Tomorrow," she said with her usual manner.

"Tomorrow?" He arched his brow but seemed genuinely interested.

"The story is too long for tonight" she sent him a smile "Well, I wish you a good night," Falherna was ready to stand up and let him be, but his next words stopped her.

"Do you think I will not share my stories with you since you did not answer my question?" He smiled warmly.

"Yes. That was your condition," she chuckled and relaxed sipping water from her skewer. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at Solas.

"I'll make an exception if you wish," he smiled weakly before his face fell to a more melancholic shape.

"Yes, please," she murmured, looking up at the sky and stars.

Solas looked into the fire "What would you like to hear about, Herald?"

"Old ruins," she answered, simply trying to hide a note of excitement in her voice and disappointment of the fact that he still called her 'Herald'."

"Ah, I found in the Korcari Wilds a humble cottage far removed from any of the simple tribesmen. The trees and weeds had not reclaimed the home, nor did the chasind dare to come and steal the trinkets still remaining. It was empty, long abandoned but the world feared that she might return." he was narrating quietly, each word taking significant effort, his voice scraping against his throat. She could've been mistaken, but she heard a subtle warmth in his voice.

"Flemeth's cottage," she whispered. He said nothing, studying her silently for a moment.

"Your ability to sleep in those places is fascinating," she said, and she really meant it. Her father had the same ability, and it fascinated her too. She even felt jealousy when he was telling her specific stories. Stories about old gods, Arlathan or Fen'Harel.

Solas send her a smile "Thank you. It's not a common field of science, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything."

"I'd like to know more about you," She untucked two of the chess pieces from the velvet-lined bag and gave Solas one.

He took it silently, his jaw clenching tightly before he looked at her "Why?"

"There's no other motivation besides my will to know something about you, Solas," she studied him carefully, speaking calmly as if he was a small child.

"I am sorry. With so much fear in the air... What would you know of me?" he seemed relaxed again, but something in him was off.

He is lying, she realized.

"What made you start studying the Fade?" she regained her composure quickly, meeting Solas' gaze.

"I grew up in the village to the North. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, Spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined. I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome."

"The same can be told about being in the Fade."

He didn't respond, but she could feel him watching her, examining her response.

"Did spirits try to tempt you?" she looked at him out of the corner of her eye digging her teeth into the last piece of cheese.

"No more than a brightly colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore," Solas' voice was dry, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, his gaze was locked on her.

"I gather you didn't spend your entire life dreaming."

"No, eventually I was unable to find new areas in the Fade."

"Why?" she knew the answer to that question, asked years ago in a different place by a small girl who sat next to her father with wide and innocent eyes.

Truthfully she wanted Solas to continue, to hear his voice.

"Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our imaginations. To find interesting areas, one must be interesting."

"You must be very interesting then."

Surprise flashed across his face, transforming his features.

Falherna's brows furrowed "Considering how many areas you have visited, Solas. Is this why you joined the Inquisition?"

"I joined the Inquisition because we were all in terrible danger. If our enemies destroyed the world, I would have nowhere to lay my head while dreaming of the Fade."

"Ah, yes, we all view the world through the prism of our selfishness," she whispered, liking that hesitant delight in Solas' eyes every time she caught him off-guard.

"That is a surprising acknowledgment from one so young."

She laughed, "Of course for you, it is."

For a while, she studied his face, his mouth opening, and closing, mind searching for an answer. It was amusing, but she decided to change the subject.

"I wish you luck," she said, poking the fire with a stick.

"Thank you. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade." he smiled.

"How so?"

"You train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit."

She winced, What was that? Indomitable focus? What was he trying to do?

It wasn't what she expected from him.

"You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads to a destination you enjoy. As have I." She held his gaze, conflicted inside.

"True," she agreed. "Indomitable focus?" The question was a simple result of her curiosity and intention to understand his words correctly. He spoke strangely, using metaphors and anachronisms.

"Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be... fascinating." he said, his voice lowered.

She almost snorted but remained still and emotionless. Silence spread between them, and there was an awkward tension in the look he gave her. She handed him the water, he nodded and took it. Their fingers met, the mark awoke, vibrating. She sent him a curious gaze, seeing his eyes were tight as he stared down at her mark.

As if nothing happened, she withdrew her hand, clenching and unclenching it. A small puff of wind touched her cheeks, brushing nearby bushes. She looked that way. Solas stilled for a moment, eyes scanning, seemingly trying to sense something.

"Da'len," he whispered suddenly, "I am convinced your wolf found you."

The hair on the back of her neck rose as she scanned the dark.

She smiled, seeing him, her wolf hidden by a tree, looking straight into her eyes.

#She Called Him Fen'Harel #my fic #Solavellan #Solavellan fic #fanfic #DAI fanfic #Solas #Falherna

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threadgoodethebard · 5 years

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OC INFO MEME | Rhoswen Cousland (Dragon age Origins)

tagged by: @lelibela thank you so much, I loved this! I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but I love it lol tagging: @thegoldenpieceoflife @caffeinated-mabari @aclarencecollins @decormier

BASICS

Full name: Rhoswen Eleanor Cousland

Gender: Fem

Sexuality: She honestly doesn’t know, and doesn’t really think about it. Before Leliana, Rhoswen would focus solely on her training and studies, skillfully avoiding every suitor her mother tried to introduce her to. And after Leliana, well… there has only been Leliana.

Family: For seventeen years, Rhoswen lived with her older brother Fergus, her mother Eleanor, and her father Bryce in Highever. At a young age, she managed to dodge the guards and flee the castle in order to “have adventures”. She freed a mabari puppy from a trap, and it was that same mabari that protected her from some nasty spiders. The girl named him Dane because she had always loved heroic tales, and ever since Bryce and the guards found the child and the little mabari in the woods surrounding Highever, Rhoswen and Dane have been inseparable. After tragically losing her parents, Rhoswen found new families: the ragtag group that helped her stop the Blight, the Grey Wardens, and Leliana. Rhoswen, Leliana, Dane and Schmooples started a little family of their own, full of love, music, and laughter.

Pronouns: She/her

OTHER

Birthplace: Highever, Ferelden, 9:12 Dragon.

Job(s): Grey Warden; Warden-Commander of Ferelden; eventually, First Warden.

Phobias: Ever since the night of the betrayal, and after spending so much time camping under the stars, Rhoswen has had trouble to sleep in closed spaces. She always needs at least one large window opened so she can hear any suspicious sounds from the outside (and in order not to feel like she is suffocating, or have flashbacks of that night). She is not too concerned for her safety, because Dane is always guarding her.

Guilty pleasures: Her competitive side makes her unable to turn down a challenge or a game, as stupid as it may be. Wynne would sigh in frustration many times as she prepared some herbal tea for two moronic Grey Wardens who had spent the previous night eating way too much (even for a Grey Warden’s standard) just so they could defeat each other. Rhoswen just gets too much of a kick out of silly competitions.

Hobbies: Reading and listening to heroic tales. She has always loved them, so she is captivated by all the stories Leliana tells her;

Sword training. She spends hours practing her techniques, and she loves it;

Running with Dane. It keeps her quick on her feet and gives the two a good chance to roll around in the grass.

MORALS

Morality alignment: lawful good/neutral good. It depends on the point of her journey.

(those are xtian concepts and i’m not xtian neither is she so i changed it) (i’m just coping Diana now haha)

Sins Bad qualities: can be too naive at times, can find it difficult to open up (especially after the night of the betrayal), can get stuck on “doing what is right” and then having to face the consequences, can be quite reckless (especially in a fight), can be stubborn.

Virtues Good qualities: a good listener, a good leader, is open to change, loyal, kind, truly cares about people, very skilled with a sword (two, actually), quick on her feet, fast learner. Also, dutiful (Couslands always do their duty first, am I right?) (also, can you tell I love her?)

THIS OR THAT?

introvert / extrovert / ambivert

organized / disorganized

close-minded / open-minded

calm / anxious / restless

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient (this one REALLY depends on the situation, so I’m not picking. I’d say she is patient with people and impatient with problems that need to be solved)

outspoken / reserved

leader / follower / flexible

empathetic / unempathetic

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / unmotivated

RELATIONSHIPS:

OTP: Rhoswen and Leliana. Rhoswen was in awe of the redheaded woman who cared so much, wanted to help so badly, and was so warm and funny as she felt so lost and missed her family so much. And Leliana was taken aback by someone so honest and accepting after years of masks and being judged. Nowadays, they are two very powerful people who support each other and continue to try to make the world a better place. They understand, respect, and love each other.

Acceptable ships: Only Rhoswen and Leliana for me, I’m very particular about this one lol

OT3: Not for Rhoswen, sorry (ask me about Gabrielle Hawke later tho)

BroTP: Rhoswen and Alistair, the disaster Wardens who become siblings; Rhoswen and Morrigan, the unlikely friendship that means a lot to the two of them; Rhoswen and Zevran, especially as he was the lovable third-wheel as she and Leliana traveled together after the Blight; Rhoswen and Shale, the bickering yet loyal duo; Rhoswen and Nathaniel, the Cousland and the Howe overcoming past tragedies and becoming great friends; Rhoswen and Thom, the battered Wardens.

Bonus: Rhoswen and Wynne are more of a mentor/student thing, as the older woman provides Rhoswen with much needed advice (and care); Rhoswen and Sten, two very different people who come to respect each other deeply.

NOTP: I don’t know..? I mean, I ship her with Leliana only, but I can’t think of anything that would be way too gross to be a not… oh, wait. Don’t ship her with Oghren, thank you.

#oc prompts #my ocs #rhoswen cousland #leliwarden #dragon age origins #thank you so much diana i loved this!

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servantofclio · 6 years

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DAO ficlet: On a peaceful night (Warden/Leliana)

(I went with: “massage the dialogue a little to better fit the characters.”)

ladykissing ahead!

Leliana said, “I enjoy the nights at camp. The night always seems more peaceful to me. Safer.”

“I know what you mean,” Nim said, leaning back on her hands to look up at the stars. She knew their enemies were still out there, but there was something comforting about the warmth of the camp around them, all the same. The campfire crackled with warmth, and everyone’s tents gathered around it. Tonight, everyone had separated off to their homely tasks of mending and washing and cleaning weapons. It rested the spirit and made Nim feel at home, even though they were on the road.

“I feel like the night grants us a reprieve from the troubles of the day,” Leliana said.

“Mm.” Nim nodded assent. The two of them had settled a little ways from the fire; Nim had been cleaning her boots while Leliana fletched some arrows.

Strictly speaking, Nim had taken a good deal longer than necessary to clean her boots, just to stay in Leliana’s company.

Leliana laughed quietly. “Silly, isn’t it? The darkspawn never sleep, and they lurk in the shadows.”

Nim suppressed a shudder. If she let herself think things like that, the velvety darkness seemed a good deal less safe. “Ugh, don’t say that. It’s not silly to try to lay down your burdens.”

“Mm, I suppose not,” Leliana said. “You know, I especially enjoy those nights when we stand watch together, talking to pass the time in those small hours. Well… I talk and you listen.”

“I like hearing you tell stories,” Nim said, and immediately bit her tongue. She loved listening to Leliana, whether she was spinning tales out of legend or talking about her adventures as a bard. The rise and fall of her voice was always smooth and melodic, even without her actually singing.

Leliana smiled. “Sometimes I even succumb to sleep, and wake to find you still watchful. And I know you’re watching out for me.”

Nim shrugged awkwardly, the back of her neck growing warm. “You never have to feel afraid with me. I mean, sometimes I doze off, too...” She trailed off.

Leliana leaned forward, her eyes bright and earnest. “What I am trying to say is that I trust you. I am comfortable around you. I know that you will be there when I need you. You are our leader, and my friend, and sometimes… I think that we could be more than that. Maker, look at me, stumbling over my words like an ill-educated peasant girl. Some bard I am...”

Nim stared at her, stunned silent. Friends, yes; she’d treasured her friendship with Leliana, hugging every conversation and friendly touch to her like a favorite blanket. But… more? Leliana thought… that? Leliana had said that, and was pink-cheeked now, teeth pressed into her lip, darting looks at Nim through her eyelashes?

“Are… are you nervous?” Nim blurted. Realizing her mouth had been hanging half-open, she shut it hard enough to make her teeth click.

“I’m not!” Leliana protested. “I’m just flushed because of the… heat.”

They weren’t that close to the fire, and the night was cool around them. Nim almost made these objections, but stopped herself. She wasn’t that foolish, and she couldn’t leave Leliana hanging like that, not when Leliana had spoken words that made her heart race. “I… I’ve always wanted us to be more than friends,” she admitted.

“Really?” Leliana sounded utterly astounded. “You felt the same way and you didn’t do the courtesy of informing me? Y- you let me say all those things! Why couldn’t you have said them first?”

Nim winced, momentarily afraid her shyness had led her into an awful mistake. “I didn’t think you felt that way.”

“So we were both waiting,” Leliana said. “Oh, how very awkward.”

Nim swallowed, searching for some words that would make things right. She twisted to face Leliana. “I’m glad you said something.”

Leliana’s frown faded away. “Well, I shouldn’t be a baby about it, then, should I? I suppose someone had to speak first.” She laughed a little and shook her head. “I must be a sight, spilling my guts like that.”

Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Nim. She was a sight, always, but not anything embarrassing at all. Her heart hammering in her chest, Nim took a deep breath and leaned forward. She hesitated for a bare second, meeting Leliana’s eyes, but found only encouragement, and pressed her mouth to Leliana’s.

Her lips were so soft and she kissed Nim back at once, with no hesitation or fumbling; Leliana tilted her head to find a better angle, their lips slid against each other as if they belonged together. This close, Leliana’s hair brushed across Nim’s cheek, and the sweet floral fragrance she wore filled Nim’s senses. Nim closed her eyes, a thrill racing through her body, and pulled back a fraction of an inch, her lips parting. Leliana’s fingers slipped across her cheek, and then back into her hair, cradling her head and renewing the kiss – deeper, warmer, her tongue brushed against Nim’s open lips, a little tease that made Nim shiver. She reached out herself, shyly, putting her hand on Leliana’s shoulder and sliding it up the back of her neck. Maker, she’d thought more than was reasonable about the soft skin on Leliana’s neck.

Leliana made a soft muffled noise and leaned closer, kissing harder, and Nim’s mouth fell open, Leliana’s tongue slick against hers, filling her mouth as if she could taste all the feelings Nim had been bottling up for weeks. Nim kissed Leliana back, open-mouthed, and warmth spread through her chest and down her spine and right down into her toes and fingers, and when they finally parted for breath, she felt incandescent, light in every limb.

She blinked, dazzled, as Leliana smiled back at her, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Well,” Leliana said, her voice low. “Hmm.” Her full lips pursed, flushed pink. “That settles it, then.”

“It does?” Nim asked, breathlessly.

“Most certainly.” Leliana leaned forward and gave Nim a quick, soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “More than friends it is. Don’t you think?” Her lips moved sideways, planting light kisses across Nim’s cheek, and along her jaw.

“Oh,” Nim said, and wrapped her other arm around Leliana as well. “Yes. Definitely.”

There were a great many more kisses – before, Nim could have counted all the kisses she’d had in her life on her two hands, but she rapidly lost count. She kissed Leliana’s neck, too, like she’d dreamed of, down the smooth line of her throat. Leliana squeaked when she did, which filled her with satisfaction so that she was fit to burst. She fell back against the ground and Leliana went with her, her arms around Nim, Nim’s fingers combing through Leliana’s hair.

She had no idea how long they went on before Leliana pulled away abruptly and sat up, fiddling with something on her sleeve. Nim sat up, too, blinking, cold in the sudden shock of Leliana’s absence. Only then did she register the approaching footsteps of their companions, whose existence she had briefly but utterly forgotten. Her cheeks heated, and she shook her hair across her face to hide her flush. Leliana answered Alistair’s greeting in a perfectly ordinary way. Her voice was calm and cheerful, betraying nothing of their recent activities. Nim, unsure that she could do anything other than giggle or stammer, envied her composure. She breathed in and out, slowly, trying to regain a sense of calm and quell the fluttering excitement inside her. She only waved as Sten and Zevran and Wynne trooped up as well, for a last rest by the warmth of the fire before they turned in for the night.

Later, she thought, watching Leliana, who seemed to be talking effortlessly. We can find more time alone… later.

Leliana glanced at her, as if she’d heard the thought, and sent a half smile Nim’s way. Nim smiled back, her heart quickening, and settled down to wait.

#dragon age #leliana #nim amell #warden/leliana #clio fic 2018

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kagetsukai · 7 years

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If I wait a thousand days [Cullen x Eurydice]

I’m behind on Kissing Day posting!!! That being said, here’s a story I wrote for the wonderful @star--nymph, whose stories give me life. I absolutely love and adore Eurydice, so writing a Kissing Day blurb about her was NOT difficult. I hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/Eurydice Lavellan (pre-relationship)

Prompt: Touching

Read on AO3

Accompanying song: Trespassers William - I know

Cullen had heard of the nights at the Herald’s Rest, where the members of the Inquisition’s inner circle got together to share stories and get unbelievably drunk, but he had never attended any of them himself. Not that he was against socializing, of course; every so often he would find himself at the tavern with his lieutenants in tow, drinking, laughing, and swapping barrack stories. The problem was that the constant guest of these parties was the Inquisitor and the sole thought of her piercing eyes on him made his chest constrict with lack of air.

“There’s a gathering at the tavern tonight. You should join us, Commander.”

Josephine’s voice had a interesting lilt to it and Cullen had a distinct impression she wasn’t giving him an option on the matter. The four of them stood around the war table, their meeting finished, and he could feel the pressure of their stares against his neck.

“I don’t think--”

“Everybody will be there, Commander,” Leliana added and briefly glanced at Eurydice.

The Inquisitor’s exotic eyes met his and for a second he felt the world fall away. In his youth, he had read poets speaking about love completely changing a man, but he never thought his life would become tinted with purple.

He realized he was yet to respond.

“I…” he hesitated.

Her eyes fell down to the table and she spoke in a shy, quiet voice.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “No, I’ll be there. I’ll come.”

Cullen could have sworn he saw a smug expressions on both Leliana and Josephine’s face, but in that moment all that mattered was how Eurydice had a ghost of a smile that brightened the shadows around her eyes..

When the time came to head for the tavern, he found himself fussing excessively with his appearance, especially uncertain of what he should wear. In the end he chose to leave his armor on, wanting to have at least one thing that made him feel comfortable. As he slowly stepped along the battlements towards the Herald’s Rest, he let the high winds cool his overheated skin; just thinking of the crowds he’d have to deal with made his temperature spike.

As he stepped through the door, he noted how the third story of the tavern didn’t have any patrons; people usually felt a presence there, invisible eyes watching from a corner, and most preferred brighter tables closer to the bar. Cullen felt certain that Cole would probably already be downstairs with the rest of the companions so he didn’t look around to see if he could spot the strange boy. In certain and almost-steady steps, he took the stairs and joined the chaos on the ground floor.

The inner circle had taken up an entire table to themselves and when he approached it, he could hear Varric recounting yet another one of Hawke’s tales that Cullen was fairly certain never happened. Instead of the usual chairs, benches had been pulled up to fit everybody and he tried to find a spot to sit down.

“Commander! You made it,” Dorian cried out loud. “Here, I saved you a spot next to me.”

The exclamation only briefly stuttered Varric’s tale, though he could tell a lot of eyes turned to watch him sit down.

“I’m glad you could make it. I know how much you hate coming to the tavern.”

Cullen shrugged. “I come here often enough. I just don’t like it when it’s this crowded.”

Dorian chuckled and took a long sip of his wine.

“People do like to come down here when they know the Inquisitor will make an appearance.”

The mention of Eurydice had Cullen quickly looking around the table, but the signature shock of white hair was nowhere to be found.

“She had to step outside for a moment,” Dorian supplied helpfully. “Something about having too much ale all at once. Should be back shortly.”

Cullen nodded, not willing to interpret the knowing smirk on the other man’s face. He flagged down one of the maids, asked for an ale, and willed himself to relax. Listening to Varric finish the story about Hawke riding a dragon’s head into its death made him smile and shake his head.

“Are any of these stories true?”

A soft voice at his elbow almost made Cullen jump out of his skin. He quickly turned in his seat, only to come face to face with Eurydice.

“Inquisitor, I didn’t hear you--”

“There you are!” Dorian interjected. “Here, sit between us. I’m sure the Commander and myself can make enough space for your cute little arse.”

A few chuckles sounded next to them and Cullen’s ears prickled with embarrassment. He shifted closer to Josephine and tried his best to not think about Eurydice’s perfectly round and pert posterior.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile for the men around her and plopped down in the space provided. “But tell me, Cullen, how made up are Varric’s stories?”

Their thighs were touching, her scent assaulted his nose and Cullen had a hard time focusing his thoughts on anything other than her beautiful eyes.

“I must admit that I’m not as intimately familiar with Hawke’s exploits as you might think,” he admitted quietly, for her ears only. “I found it healthier for my sanity to keep out of her way.”

Eurydice giggled behind her hand and the sound immediately lifted corners of his mouth.

“If even half of Varric’s stories are true, I think you made a good choice.”

Cullen actually chuckled at the sentiment and nodded in agreement. Before he could say anything else, his ale arrived and he leaned back to let the girl set the mug down in front of him. She was a pretty redhead and she definitely leaned in too much to give him a perfect view down her shirt; he politely turned away his face, hoping his face didn’t betray his discomfort. The moment she went away, he noticed how Eurydice’s face had fallen and she was staring down at her hands. He desperately needed to hear her laugh again.

“So, what’s the occasion for this get-together?” he intoned as he took a sip of his drink.

Eurydice shrugged and nodded in Varric’s direction again.

“It was his idea. Apparently Kirkwall celebrates a Kissing Day today and he wanted to get everyone here because, and I quote, people shouldn’t be alone on Kissing Day.”

It took all of Cullen’s willpower to not spit out the mouthful of ale he just took. With narrowed eyes he glanced around the table and caught several people giving him knowing looks, while Dorian shot him a very obvious wink. He tried his best not to groan, but it was a battle hard won. Of course; he should have known.

“That’s very thoughtful of him,” he commented through his teeth.

A ghost of a smile danced across her lips and she looked into his eyes.

“Have you ever celebrated a Kissing Day with anybody?” she asked innocently.

Sweet Maker, he was going to turn beet-red from this line of questioning, wasn’t he? In a valiant effort to keep his wits, he shook his head and took another sip of his ale.

“The Templar Order doesn’t explicitly forbid romance, but I have always been too focused on my duty to seek out company on Kissing Day,” he explained. “Plus, I am of the mind that romance should not be limited to one day only. I think love should be celebrated everyday, otherwise it means nothing.”

Cullen had no idea where these words were coming from, but he blamed the alcohol. He chanced a look down at Eurydice and his heart did a wonderful little flip in his chest: her eyes were still turned up at him, the purple irises glittering in the copious candle light, and her lips spread into a happy smile that turned his brain to mush. One sharp tooth lodged itself into the corner of her lip, drawing his eyes there, and he suddenly felt really, really warm.

“I am glad you feel that way,” she whispered and shyly looked down.

He was going to say something else, ask for clarification of her words, but all thoughts went silent the moment he felt her shift even closer to him, her thigh firmly pressed against his. And just when his night couldn’t get any better, he felt a tiny hand timidly loop his elbow.

While Cullen used to be indifferent to this holiday, perhaps he could grow to enjoy Kissing Day, as long the day could be tinted with the shades of purple.

#Kissing Day 2017 #Seal's Kissing Day Celebration #cullavellan #cullen rutherford #eurydice lavellan #mutual pining #pre-relationship fluff #fluffy #super fluffy #companions being 'helpful'#what else is new?#cuteness ahoy!

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5lazarus · 3 years

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My Dragon Age Fanfiction Masterlist

In chronological order, from Arlathan to post-Trespasser.

Overheard at the Hanged Man Thirty-one stories written in Nightmare-mode for Beyond the Veil’s 2020 Artober Challenge, ranging through the entire series, from Arlathan before the Blight to the Chargers in Serault.

Alistair the Accidental Heretic Alistair gets bored during morning prayer and starts changing the words of the Chant as he sings. Mother Prudence and Knight-Commander Greagoir are less than pleased, and soon he finds himself tripping up over accidental heresy even within the kitchens of Kinloch Hold. It’s not easy, being a half-elf templar with a conscience, because even having a sense of humor is heresy.

Shartan’s Riddle Surana talks Mahariel through writing Leliana, after Leliana leaves to work for the Divine. Shartan promised them a home, and Mahariel worries Leliana, devout as she is, cannot give it to her. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Winter in Amaranthine The Wardens’ companions decide to leave, and Warden-Commander Arana Mahariel cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Phosphorescence A Despair demon in the Foundry district is clogging up the whole city with a miasma of misery. Justice runs into an old friend of his, during Anders’ first few weeks in Kirkwall, and the three set to work. Heavy-handed allegory abounds, but, Justine opines, that’s the Dreamers’ fault. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Kirkwall Thunderstorm Family squabbling as the storm sets in, Hawke flees to face the thunderstorm head on, and laughs, because what’s more to life than this, chasing a storm all the way down to the harbor? From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Debutante Leandra manages Hawke’s debut ball, and surprises herself by having a lot of fun. From an OC ask I decided to turn into a prompt.

Dregs Anders baits Varric, or Varric baits Anders, both drunk at the Hanged Man. There’s no resolution to an argument when they’re both just angry, thinking about dead mages. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Catabasis Kirkwall’s in ashes and Hawke and their friends are on the run. Varric might have ended the story at the docks, but the conflict continues. The question persists: should they separate? And what brought them together in the first place? From a series of prompts ellie-effie and musetta3 sent me.

Dead Man Hiking Solas broods over what has been lost. Dorian interrupts, and Solas dangles hidden knowledge in front of him like a carrot. They both take the bait, because, as irritable and sad Solas can get, “he wants to give wisdom, not orders,” and Dorian loves to learn. Written for Beyond the Veil’s 2020 Satinalia Gift Exchange.

White Nights A year after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a new lover to a quiet inn in Val Royeaux. She steps out to the balcony for a quick smoke under the stars, looks over to the balcony adjacent to hers–and who is there but the Dread Wolf himself, slightly disguised, with a glass of wine? Despite themselves they talk, and do not stop talking. “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.” The second and most comprehensive in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Out From Under the Dread Wolf's Eye Briala and Merrill try and steal an eluvian out from under the Dread Wolf's eye. It doesn't quite work, but that doesn't mean the day's a failure, not when there's dinner to be had and a connection to explore. Part of a personal challenge to write more femslash, after realizing how little there is in Dragon Age fandom.

The Domesticities Solas adjust to a new, gentle love that has gripped his heart and will not let him go: a Lavellan who heralds a world he did dream of, and learns how to survive grief and his own betrayal, learns how to surrender the high moral ground and focus on the domesticities. A series of Solas-POV ficlets from my story, Fen'Harel’s Teeth, where Lavellan is a mother and leader in her own right, and barely keeping her head above the water of her own deep grief. Not in chronological order!

He Who Hunts Alone Solas will restore the Elvhen People as he knew them, even if this world must die. It is his only purpose as he understands it. But a magical accident leaves him in another world, where a version of himself has made a very different choice. Solas is forced to reckon with a desire he has never let himself explore. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan, both his friend and adversary, is dragged with him, as they move from their world, to a world where Solas seems to have won it all, to another that seems both their worst nightmare. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan: the rebel apostate mage, romanced Josephine Inquisitor Imladris Lavellan: the Dalish First, romanced Solas, featured in Fen'Harel’s Teeth Inquisitor Brigid Trevelyan: the faithful Andrastian prophet, rogue and noble, Tara’s sister, romanced Blackwall and then Cullen Written in tandem with my partner, batsy22-me, and likewise abandoned when we got bored of it.

Fen'Harel’s Teeth First Lavellan, Imladris Ashallin, thought that her audience with the Divine against templars’ harassment of Dalish mages would be a token protest, and that her people would use it to draw the city elves closer to the Vir Tanadahl. She didn’t think her Keeper’s calculations would catapult her to the top of the Chantry’s leadership, manipulating the powers of Thedas to leave her people be. Meanwhile, Briala foments revolution in Halamshiral, using the eluvian network to sabotage the armies of Orlais. A new movement erupts in the Dales, and elves across Thedas look at this so-called “Herald of Andraste” and see Mythal’s vallaslin. Fiona breaks the chains of mages across Thedas, and Fenris starts whispers of a new age in Tevinter–one where the slaves throw down their masters. A new age is coming, and all of Thedas look to Lavellan to usher it in. My baby, my never-ending story, my current work-in-progress.

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction masterlist #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus

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scottishvix · 7 years

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The One Chapter 4: The One Who Will Live On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That floored me. “Sing prophecies for Andraste?”

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

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

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

I have fought to see the other side.”

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

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

I am the one, who will live on.”

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

“Time stood still for a while,

Your hand was holding mine.

The stars that shine in your eyes,

Don’t let them go by.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is anyone listening to him?” Leliana asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to sing it,” he replied.

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

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

“Hang with me in my MMO,

So many places we can go-o.

You’ll never see my actual face.

Our love, our love will be in virtual space.

I’m craving to emote with you,

So many animations I can do-o.

Be anything you want me to be.

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

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

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

“Describe her please, Lady Cassandra.”

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

“Sister Leliana, what was she carrying?”

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

“Commander, what was she wearing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tha gaol agam ort - I love you

mo gaisgeach - my hero

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

Tapadh leat - Thank you

Cach - Shit

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

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sky-scribbles · 7 years

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Tagged for the 8 OC Facts meme again by @smartarsedlittlefcker, this time for my dwarf commoner Warden, Magda ‘Maddie’ Brosca.

Here’s what she looks like:

And here are eight facts about her. This was kinda hard, ‘cause most of my ideas so far for Maddie have been talked about in previous posts... I mean, she hasn’t even passed Ostagar yet in-game. XD But let’s see what I got:

1. Maddie is a surprisngly spare eater. Once her initial Warden-hunger has faded, she takes small helpings at most meals. It’s partly because she’s spent her whole life making do on little food, and partly because she doesn’t like to take any more food than she really needs due to her whole internalised I-don’t-deserve-things-I-want issues.

2. That said, she has a sweet tooth. When the team have coin to spare, Leliana likes to buy Maddie little sweetmeats, fancy pastries with honey, chocolate when they can find it, and Maddie loves them. For the rest of her life, she associates sweet things with happiness and positive change, because accepting those little presents from Leliana was a step towards realising that she can have things she likes and it’s a good thing.

3. Many dwarfs are freaked out by the sky on going to the surface, but for Maddie, the sky’s a symbol of one amazing fact: she’s not in Orzammar any more. She associates the sky and all its craziness with her newfound freedom from the caste system. She loves standing in the rain, she loves watching the stars come out (and lying on the grass listening to Leliana tell stories about them), she loves seeing different colours and patterns of clouds. (Though the first time night fell when she was on her way to Orzammar with Duncan, she yelped, tugged at his sleeve and shouted, ‘What’s happening to your sun thing? Is it dying?’)

4. Kinda linked to the above - Maddie loves birds. After a brief moment of shock the first time she saw one (‘Duncan, that animal just fell into the sky and it’s staying up!’) she was absolutely thrilled by the whole concept of them. One of her most treasured possessions is a guide to Fereldan birds, a gift from Wynne. (Because if the Warden showers their party members with trinkets, the party are surely doing the same back, right?)

5. Even though my PC version of Awakening is unplayable (this is my issue if anyone knows a fix, the one suggested there didn’t work for me), I know that Maddie and Sigrun will be best friends. Aside from the obvious parallels of being former casteless turned to crime and then finding freedom with the Wardens, Maddie will be utterly overjoyed by her life story becoming an inspiration to the other casteless. They frequently gush over how much they love the surface together.

6. Maddie does not react well to finding out Alistair’s heritage. (I won’t take him to Redcliffe the first time, and headcanon that he couldn’t summon the courage to tell her then; he was scared of how she’d react because he could already tell she hated nobles.) So it’ll come out when Eamon’s cured. She’ll refuse to speak to Al for days, not entirely sure why she’s so angry - I think at heart, she knows having a king for a dad doesn’t change anything about Al, but she’s scared that her friend, who she’s fought beside and made jokes with, is now going to be above her, and they won’t be able to have the bond of equals they shared before. In the end, though, they’ll sort it out and she’ll make Alistair king, because she reckons it’s much, much better for someone who’s known a commoner’s life to be in power.

7. Maddie’s father, Thanar, is a former member of the Miner Caste. He went into voluntary exile from his caste to live with Kalah Brosca when she gave birth to a daughter, but could never quite get used to living in poverty - and while he loved his daughter, he’d really been hoping for a son, so he could accept him and Kalah into his home. Eventually he left for the surface, intending to make some money there and send for his family to live with him, but instead he got into debt with a stonemason named Voldrik Glavonak. Voldrik agreed to take him on as an apprentice and let him work to pay off his debts... so come Awakening, when the new Warden-Commander arrives at Vigil’s Keep, there will be a reunion.

8. If later games permit me to give them a happy ending, Maddie and Leliana will someday adopt a little Qunari girl, because dwarf and human mums raising a Qunari, come on. Maddie will call her Wren, because a) birds and b) irony.

I’ve tagged everyone for this already, so I won’t inflict it on anyone, unless they want to do it!

#tags #dragon age #dragon age origins #warden brosca #dwarf commoner #warden x leliana #oc: magda brosca

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thecommandersinquisitor · 7 years

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All right kids, gather ‘round for the love story of my Inquisitor Kyra and Cullen.

A/N: I decided to make this into a seperate post cause THIS GOT A BIT LONG and they’re my bbs ok? From Cullen’s POV She caught his eye instantly, he didn’t quite know but maker, he walked out and saw her and something just clicked. He heard Cassandra speaking to her, but it sounded like an echo in the distance. His eyes were set on her and hers were set on him, somehow. He recollected his thoughts, remembered how to speak and said to her what he had intended to say before walking away from her again. As soon as he was walking away he tried to focus on the chaos, on the hell around them and scoffed at himself for the mere audacity to look at a woman that way when he was in the middle of a warzone. This was not the time for such a thing, and he had presumed he had grown immune to such an immediate effect but that proved not to be true. He brushed away the thought, decided to behave professionally and put the needs of the Inquisition first. Safe to say: that did not work out as planned at all. He was fine until she started asking questions about celibacy because obviously that implied certain things had crossed her mind. Still, he replied, continued what he was doing and spent the rest of the day trying not to think about it too much. She was the Inquisitor, there was no way that she, that they could... No. He banned the mere thought of it. But then he got to know her, he saw how much effort she put into their cause even though she never asked for such a great responsibility. He knew she never had wanted to be the saviour. That it was on the verge of being too much for her to handle, yet she carried the burden with a sense of determination he had rarely seen before. She was a natural at it, at being a leader without letting her humanity slip away. On top of his already high opinion of her, she also proved to be an indisposable asset to the Inquisition for more reasons than just her hand. Even if sometimes her ideas, which she far too often concocted with Leliana at the wartable, made him want to throw up his hands and walk out. Slowly he started to notice that she did value his opinion nevertheless, and showed it through her choices. As soon as he did, he also saw this glinster in her eye whenever she had gotten a reaction out of him. And what was more, he realised he too enjoyed their banter. Obviously, he was caught off-guard when Leliana and Josephine started asking him about what was going on between the two of them when the Inquisitor was not around. He quickly focussed on other topics or walked out after muttering another excuse while they kept hounding him over it the way his sister would. In the meanwhile, she kept flirting with him and he noticed but he wasn’t sure enough that she wasn’t just doing that for her own amusement and didn’t mean anything by it. This time, he would keep his heart guarded even though it was overflowing with thoughts of her already. When she came around as he was playing chess, Dorian of all people had just recently mentioned something about him having to finally act like a big boy next to the battlefield as well. Somehow, that was the final push he needed. Someone close to her who encouraged him giving it a try; Because surely Dorian would know. He and Kyra seemed to be talking all the time, commenting on whatever they saw fit or unfit. He knew Dorian to be her closest friend and had to admit that he had been relieved when Dorian ensured him that he needn’t worry about either of them falling in love with the other with one of his hearty laughs. He mentioned that she seemed to prefer the blonde, golden eyed and handsome men regardless. He had been pretty close to asking him whether she had mentioned him at all for Dorian to say such a thing when she showed up. In that split second he decided it would be better to try than to give up before even getting a chance. He gathered up his courage and spoke to her, flirted back, tried to figure out whether her response to it was positive or not in the meanwhile. Instead, he mainly realised how much he enjoyed talking to her. He wanted to do this all the time, talk, banter, knowing she specifically was listening to him and he could listen to her. That night he stared up at the stars from his bed, maker that magnificent woman had some effect on him. He went through a dozen ideas on how to approach the situation, how to make that move. He refused to ask anyone so instead he decided to take her somewhere secluded enough, away from most people and where he just preferred to hang out when he needed a break. He opted for the battlements, asking her whether she had a moment to speak to him. “You wanted to talk?” As soon as she had joined him he had to fight every urge to abort the mission and talk to her about how well the new recruits were doing instead. But then he looked at her again and realized that not telling her would mean a bigger distraction to him than doing so. If she were to say no he could get over it, move on. If she wasn’t, then... well. He decided to just get on with it already. After his... confession and her responses he felt a warmth spreading through his body, she was... she hadn’t recoiled. Hadn’t turned him down. So he decided to inch closer to her, finally. Cullen could not have imagined a worse moment for Jim to walk in on them then in that exact moment. Jim was a good and loyal man but for just a second Cullen felt tempted to toss him over the battlements. He wasn’t certain whether Jim had walked back where he came from because of the stern look in his eyes or because he noticed what was going on but he didn’t give a damn. When he turned around he was determined to let nothing stop them anymore. He wouldn’t allow this to taint his confession because he lost his resolve so he kissed her the way he always wanted to, always meant to. And he was lost from the moment he did. After their first kiss he just discovered more facets to her personality, to who she was, and he fell in love with each of those too. She helped him to ease up a little, act more on what he wanted to do instead of trying to hold back every impulse. It was also around the time he figured out some of the other members of the Inquisition had placed their bets on how long it would still take for him and Kyra to confess their ‘undying love for each other’. They also had bets up on who would be making the first move. Not only her kindness but her willingness to stick with him through his struggle soldified their relationship to him. She had enough on her plate without having the man by her side also battling an addiction but she never even mentioned taking some distance. When he did, she always just shut him up and said she would stand by him no matter what. And she did. She was there beside him, stronger and more beautiful than ever. Keeping him grounded and encouraged to fight for the Inquisition but especially for them. For that seemingly faraway dream of building a home together, away from the battles. Where they could finally adopt that mabari and perhaps even... even have that family he never thought he’d be so lucky to have.

From Kyra’s POV Cullen caught my Inquisitor (Kyra)’s eye the moment they met, because he was looking at her even while Cassandra was updating him. When he looked and essentially told her she’d better be worth all their efforts she was only half-listening. Partially because she was feeling a little overwhelmed (Hey! Your magic hand is gonna save us all if you play your cards right! No pressure at all!) and partially because their eyes locked and remained locked from the moment he walked up to her. She’d heard about this thing that when you look into someone’s eyes long enough it forges some sort of romantic connection. She figured that kind of thing was utter nonsense until that very moment. When she saw him again as he trained his men, she was curious to find out more about him. He seemed inclined to flirt back but it was as if he hadn’t quite figured out how yet. From that moment on she messed around a little, trying to flirt whenever she could, reveling in his responses and in how he never seemed to commit to flirting back yet also never turned her down. She then got to know him a little better, over the wartable, over difficult encounters in which his solutions and just his sheer level of being *done* with her and Leliana’s plans amused her. She ended up picking his side in the end most times though. Not because of his pretty face either, because she knew he had the intelligence and tactical mindset to give them an edge. She quickly learned of his protective nature and how hard he tried to keep his men safe. They were no disposable pawns to him. She was no mere pawn to him. The moment she realised that she didn’t just want to flirt with him was when they were playing chess, when he leaned back and grinned at her. She saw that sliver of misschief in his eyes and took it as a challenge to bring it out a little bit more often. Before she could really make a move though, he did. On the battlements, in spite of Jim’s interruption he grabbed and kissed her. From that moment on, he let her in on the more vulnerable side of him and she fell hard. That’s when it got serious, when the ‘is this a fling or is this for real’ started tipping over to ‘for real’ side. She noticed she sought out his presence whenever she could, that she low-key loved everyone gossiping about them because it meant people knew he was hers and she was his and that his arms started to feel like home. The deciding moment though, was when he told her about the lyrium and how he allowed her to be something to cling to when it got difficult for him. He let her in. The frustration and exhasperation broke her heart but damnit, the fight in him made her want to fight harder as well. He didn’t shy away as it got serious, instead loving unconditionally for it. They were gonna get through it all together one way or another. As thus, she knew she never wanted to be apart from him again, because they could rely on each other no matter what. Because he trusted her and talked to her when he needed it. Because she was fighting for their future together too now. When they slept together for the first time, it was no wonder they knew how to move together because they’d done it in every other way already.

#cullen rutherford #cullen #cullen x inquisitor #dragon age:inquisition #commander cullen #dai

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fluffleforce-mysdrym · 7 years

Text

Andraste’s Witch - Chapter 70 - NSFWish?

Pairings: Slowburn Cullen x F!Witch!Inquisitor

Rating: M for later chapters which will include violence, PTSD, withdrawal, angst, body horror (think red templars), and possibly other stuff that I will be sure to tag. This is not actually a grimdark story, but I just wanna give people a heads up for stuff that will happen. There will also be fluff and friendship and magic (though to be fair, this is Thedas, so magic will not always be positive and very rarely as adorable as that last statement implied).

Genre: Action/Adventure with elements of romance

Summary: Cullen’s mulls over his past and wonders about the present.

I should probably wait until next week to post this, but fuck it, lol. Thank you for reading <3

Andraste’s Witch

Chapter 70 - The Commander’s Broken Heart

Since the night he’d held her at the edge of camp, Finley had been avoiding him. Cullen was sure of it.

Maker, Josephine had even suggested they talk. She’d said that Finley seemed even more on edge than usual and that Cullen seemed to have a way with her, but the way she said it had made Cullen worry that perhaps Finley had said something to her, and she was trying to resolve matters before Denerim.

There was tension between them, and he knew Josephine had to noticed it.

He’d tried to tell himself that he was just overthinking things, but…

But everything was making him on edge.

Worse, he kept hearing people whispering about some damned bet. He’d asked Cassandra about it, but she’d simply shrugged and said she’d heard of one that was how long it’d take her to kill Varric, so she wasn’t really interested in knowing what the newest one might be.

With the pace they’d set for Denerim, there wasn’t a lot for him to do, other than ride and think things over. And his mind was merciless. It replayed his most recent interactions with Finley, thinking about the way she might reach for him, then pull away, as though she were troubled by something. The way she twisted under his gaze, like she was…afraid.

Of what?

Him?

He would never hurt her…

He almost wished Alistair was there, if only to give him a distraction. The man had spent his childhood screaming in Chantries, so Cullen didn’t doubt he’d be good for a laugh or even an argument. At this point, he would have taken listening to a victory speech about how ‘witches’ had to be real.

Unfortunately, Alistair had stayed back at Skyhold. When Finley had asked Alistair if he was coming with them—stars in her eyes and hope in her voice—he’d said no.

Well, there had been snorting, extreme exaggeration, and even a short giggle from Finley despite herself.

The famed grey warden was certainly good at drawing a smile from their Inquisitor…

But no, Alistair was going to wait for Hawke to get back, as Hawke had sent word that they’d found something important. Considering how he’d marked all of his letters to Skyhold as important, telling them that they needed to allocate resources they didn’t have to help people who wouldn’t let them in their country, Cullen wasn’t sure how serious to take the latest message. However, Alistair had been firm in staying behind.

Cullen was fairly certain Finley wanted to toss Hawke off a cliff for claiming the warden’s attentions, but Cullen hadn’t been able to mind that part so much. The man could trip into a room, and Finley was giddy and girlishly adorable.

She never did that with him…

He supposed he ought not to be jealous, considering she was sleeping with him, not Alistair, and yet he could not keep his scowls at bay. And a relationship between the Inquisitor and a warden outside of the Inquisition wouldn’t cause the same sort of stir as her finding comfort in her commander’s chambers…

Maker, help him.

Even with Finley’s adoration for every warden she met—at least it seemed so—he still wished Alistair was around, if only to distract him from the facts that Finley was avoiding him and that he had no desire to meet with King Cousland.

Maker, don’t let that man remember him. Please, please, please…

He’d been a no one back then, a pitiful wretch, mad from the horrors he’d seen, when Warden Commander Brosca had led her group in to save the day. It had been bad enough that Alistair had seen him that way, but he’d never thought of the strangers.

That he worked with Leliana now was a certain level of misery, as he still expected her to bring up Kinloch Hold at some point, though she never did. He was glad of her silence.

Perhaps, even if the king did recognize him as the raving madman from the tower, he would keep quiet about it.

It was a hollow hope.

King Cousland had been one of the more vocal members of the group who had saved the Circle. At the time, Cullen had thought the noble a blessing, a voice of reason that should have given credibility to his own demands.

He could still taste that bitterness in his mouth from when Knight-Commander Greagoir had refused to kill the remaining mages, not seeing them for the dangers he was certain they posed. With all that had happened, all those who had pretended to be a decent sort only to turn into murderous abominations, how anyone had been able to argue with him had been madness in his mind at the time.

Cousland had agreed. Better to cut them down now than to have them take out the remaining templars and make sure that the Wardens’ treaty could not be fulfilled.

Warden Brosca had been ready to toss both Cullen and Cousland into the lake, hissing that she’d like to see them swim in their armor. She’d had more choice words, though they’d been directed at Cousland rather than Cullen, and all he’d known was that Alistair and the others with them had managed to calm things down.

In the end, they’d gone on to save the world, and he’d gone to Greenfell to ‘recover’. As though all he’d been through was something that could be gotten over with a bit of fresh air.

Granted, after the first month, he’d thought that…

He’d been a fool, a young, traumatized fool, who’d sought comfort in the first arms that would take him.

Ellendra.

He’d needed someone, anyone to keep him grounded in reality, and Ellendra had offered him her hand and her bed. He’d been desperate to learn and please, to do anything that distracted him from his memories, anything that kept him awake long enough that he was too tired to have the nightmares that haunted him.

He hadn’t loved her, but at the time he thought he had. She’d been his first, and he’d felt that with her he could build some semblance of a life, something constant, something different. He’d even mulled over leaving the Order a night or two, though he hadn’t known what he’d possibly do with his life if he wasn’t a templar.

And then that had fallen through as easily as it had started, and he’d requested transfer, again wanting to be anywhere but where he was.

Knight-Commander Greagoir had suggested he not head off so quickly, that he take the time to allow himself to get better—that he would fight for the Order to allow Cullen that. He came by a few times—when he could spare—to check up on Cullen, though he’d seen the old man’s visits through a haze of betrayal, after the lenience at the hold. The knight-commander had tried again and again to talk to Cullen about what had happened, to encourage him to work through his problems.

But he couldn’t.

And he couldn’t stay in Greenfell. To know he was just one in a long line of Ellendra’s lovers, to know that he’d meant as much to her as he had to the demons that had toyed with him…

He’d needed to be anywhere else.

And so even though Kirkwall was the largest Circle in Thedas, he’d gone there when he’d heard of an opening, hoping to recover some part of himself that he’d lost by throwing himself back into the dream he’d had ever since he was a child.

He would be a protector, someone who would keep the innocent safe from monsters.

Before he’d thought that meant keeping regular people safe from abominations, and keeping mages safe from mobs.

After the madness at Kinloch Hold, though…

His concept of monster was already blurry when Meredith had gotten ahold of him, and she’d done nothing but make sure that the lines were redrawn in all the wrong places, the places he feared they should be.

She had been so confident, so firm, that he’d trusted her. She’d been the strict, stern leader that he’d wanted Greagoir to be. She didn’t give the mages chances to fall to temptation, she protected people.

Or so he’d thought at the time.

Because of that, he’d been her most loyal templar, one of the many reasons that he was promoted so quickly to her second in command.

There were rumors that he was Meredith’s plaything, though it held no merit. Their relationship was strictly professional, and he’d figured that any relations with mages or other templars would lead to nothing but heartbreak or manipulation.

Linda had been a poor waif in Lowtown who somehow always managed to be around and in need of saving. While he’d initially looked into her, suspecting her of helping blood mages seeing as she was always somehow involved with them, it ended up that she was there for him. She fancied him and risked most anything for a moment or two to talk.

After a particularly bad night, he’d fallen into her arms much as he had with Ellendra, just wanting a distraction from everything that was wrong with his life.

She’d been kinder, gentler, and yet he’d never been able to coax his heart into their affair.

They’d carried on for a few years, until one day she came up and told him that she was getting married.

Cullen had been surprised that that hadn’t hurt him like he would have expected it to, but he’d figured that that was what his life was. A series of short reprieves from the usual misery of the horrors that lay just beneath the surface, that haunted his nights.

After that, he’d limited himself to The Blooming Rose when he absolutely couldn’t stand the loneliness that smothered him.

It had been well enough, good enough for someone like him.

Though, as he’d realized what was going on in the Gallows—what he was letting happen—he’d turned away from even that.

Meredith had not been amused when his gaze had turned inward toward the templars, when he’d started listening to Ser Thrask and First Enchanter Orsino.

She’d been even less thrilled when he’d brought several templars to the Grand Cleric’s attention for their crimes against mages after Meredith dismissed him.

It was like he’d made a declaration of war against his superior, and even as he feared lines would be drawn within the templars, he learned that they were already there, and that he’d been on the side of the real monsters.

Maker, he’d been one of them.

Suddenly, he’d found himself having to make sure Ser Thrask or one of the mage-sympathetic templars were out hunting down apostates with him, or he’d find himself getting shouldered into boulders or shield bashed in the face as a fellow templar ‘mistook’ him for a mage in the heat of battle.

All accidents, of course.

And while it was a monster coordinating these things, he couldn’t help the slithering, twisted self-loathing that curled inside him, whispering that he deserved at least this much.

He deserved to be hurt, to be lonely, to suffer as those he’d neglected had suffered.

When he’d left the Order to join the Inquisition, he’d hoped he could find a way to atone, to…not to make up for what he’d done. That could never happen. But he’d wanted to try to be the man he’d dreamed of being when he was boy.

A protector.

He’d never even considered he might find someone…let alone a mage who held the key to saving the world. That someone like Finley could even consider him…

He’d given up on romance long before he realized he didn’t deserve it, and yet here he was, jealous of a hero because of the way the woman he loved seemed drawn to him.

His mind stopped at that, for some reason, slowly playing back his most recent string of thoughts.

Cullen nearly fell off his horse as what he’d thought processed. Snapping up and alert, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his near accident, though no one seemed to be paying him particular mind.

He ran his fingers through his hair, staring ahead, heat creeping up into his cheeks.

Maker, he loved her.

He loved Finley.

How?

How could he love her already?

Even as he wondered, all he could do was think of the way she spoke, of the quiet, hesitant smiles she gave him, of the way she came to him before anyone else, the way…

Maker, help him.

He wanted to offer her a ride on his horse, just to feel her body against his. Theirs was a slow enough pace that they could have talked off and on.

Talked and touched and…

And she was avoiding him.

Had she figured out before he had and been scared off? This was…it was far too soon. Love was something that took time and…

And he needed to see her.

When they’d camped for the night, he made sure the guards were posted and then searched for Finley, only to find that she was being as elusive as usual, though Leliana had assured him he needn’t worry and so he’d figured the spymaster had eyes on her wherever she was. Despite wanting to keep looking for her, he’d given in, his body weary from the days on the road, and headed to his tent.

However, when he reached it, he found a small paper tied to his tent flap’s tie. He unraveled it, a mite bit annoyed, especially seeing as the delivery reminded him of Sera, and she was supposed to be back at Skyhold.

He scanned the letter carefully and then sighed. The misspellings screamed that Sera had stowed away with them. While he didn’t care so long as she didn’t cause any mayhem, he knew that Josephine would be concerned if she found out.

Perhaps he’d forget to bring it up.

The note, however, said that he’d find something important at the stream just south of where they were camped, and so he headed off, even as he wanted to do nothing more than crawl into his tent and pretend to sleep as his mind played through every interaction he’d ever had with Finley and why she might be mad at him at present.

When he reached the stream, he found another note tied to a branch—almost hidden—that pointed him to the right.

As he wondered if he should have his blade drawn, he wandered along the brush, watching the water flow past, quick enough that it was clear and crisp. The underbrush and foliage were dense enough that—while it could hide someone easily—he doubted anyone could move through it easily to prepare a sneak attack, so clearly the notes hadn’t been alerting him to a possible weak point near the camp.

If this was some simple diversion tactic…

He forgot about sneak attacks and pranks the second he heard a surprised gasp and looked up to see Finley. She was sitting on a large rock beside the water, washing her long hair.

It was one of the first times he’d seen it nearly tangle free, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched her, imagining for a second it was his fingers in her hair.

“Commander.” Her voice was hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. He was surprised by how much that caution hurt.

“Finley.”

At her name, that small, quiet smile he so loved whispered across her lips. It was gone too soon. “Has…something happened?”

That was what he wanted to know.

“Someone left me a note that I should come out here.”

“Oh…” He could see the gears turn quickly in Finley’s head as she assigned blame to the appropriate parties. So she knew Sera was here.

Wonderful.

She’d shed most of her clothes to keep them from getting wet as she fought with her hair, and the way her under shirt clung to her made him want to take her in his arms and cast it aside with everything else. To feel her heart beating with his, to…

“You shouldn’t be alone out here.”

“I’m used to being alone,” she retorted, shrugging and turning back to her original task.

Cullen stepped up beside the rock she was seated upon, watching her muscles in her bare arms move beneath her skin a few minutes before he managed to gather his thoughts.

“You could be hurt.”

“I’m used to getting hurt.”

Cullen flinched at that. A thousand responses flitted through his mind. He was sorry, even though he’d never hurt her himself. He wished she wasn’t used to it. He wanted to make sure she wouldn’t be ever again.

There were so many things he wanted to say, and instead, he stood there, close enough that he could reach out and cup her face in his hands, and yet feeling like he couldn’t.

“Finley.” Before he’d realized it, he’d knelt in front of her, peering up into her face, searching her expression. He wanted to ask what had happened between them. He’d found her in the woods early on when they’d started traveling, and she’d been crying, and she’d… He’d held her for a little while before taking her back to her tent.

The next morning, there had been a change, though, and he wasn’t sure what had caused it.

“Cullen.”

Her voice was soft, but the sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver through him.

“I just…” she trailed off, letting her hair fall against her back and shaking her head. “I miss the Wilds. It’s a lot easier when you know what to expect and what will likely happen and…here…nothing makes sense.”

Without thinking, he finally breeched that impossible distance between them, fingers gently brushing across her jaw and cheeks. He just wanted to do something, anything that would help her. “You’re not alone with that. Everything’s a bit of a mess right now.”

Finley leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she brought her hand up to hold his. Even as she pressed a kiss into his palm, she straightened up, worried. “Am I…should we even…” He leaned toward her as she struggled to find her words. “I don’t really get how to do this. With you. Everything is so complicated.”

Cullen blinked, staring up at her, at the earnest worry settling on her features.

She looked away from him, wincing as she started to say something, and he couldn’t help himself anymore.

Leaning forward, he caught her lips with his, moving his hand back to the nape of her neck, as he moved his lips, seeking to memorize hers.

There was a second’s hesitation that almost made him stop, before her fingers were in his hair, tugging him closer.

He moved with her, surging up and pushing her down onto the rock, his knee propping himself up slightly over her as their hands wandered over each other, desperately seeking bare skin. One of her legs slid up along his to wrap around his waist, though Finley stopped short, pulling away a little.

As she caught her breath and he fought the urge to simply kiss her again, she bit her lip. “Cullen…your sword is pressing into my leg.”

“That’s not my sword.”

“What I’m talking about is.”

With a glance, he saw the problem—obvious thing that it was—and felt like an idiot. Of course he was still wearing his sword on his hip. Even as he cursed how in the way it was, hand reaching to his belt he stopped himself.

Something had cracked in the woods. A stick.

Cullen held his breath, waiting to see what would come of it. Finley was the one to dismiss it. “It was just an animal.”

When he looked back at her, however, he couldn’t shake the fact that someone could have snuck up on them, and they would have been caught off guard.

Maker, he was supposed to be protecting her, not putting her in more danger.

She seemed to be on the same page, already sitting up and running her fingers through her hair to make sure it was still clean.

“I’ll…stay with you until you’re ready to go back.” The words were forced, and he was half afraid to meet her gaze, that he might lose himself in thoughts of touching her again.

She simply nodded, reached out, and squeezed his hand. Then she was back to finishing up with the last few tangles in her hair. Cullen watched her, trying to keep his attention on their surroundings as well, though he had a hard time with that when they were so close.

Turning his back to her, he walked away a few paces, trying to think of something to calm the fire in his blood. Abruptly, he straightened up and looked back at her. “You were going to say something.”

“Hmm?” Finley braided her hair quickly and turned back to her clothes.

“When I kissed you. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I just…” He wasn’t sure what to say that would excuse his actions, but he didn’t want her to think he would just kiss her to get her to stop talking or…

She hesitated at that, fingers gripping her shirt with more force than necessary as she stared blankly at the fabric.

“It wasn’t anything important.” She tugged it over her head and then gave him a hesitant smile. “Just a silly fear.”

That gave him pause.

That she’d been willing to open up to him made him want to press the matter, and yet…

Cullen could understand not wanting to talk about things well enough, and so he nodded, reaching out and lightly catching her hand. “Alright.” A light blush settled on her cheeks when he squeezed her hand, and he motioned back toward the camp. “We should get some sleep.”

As he let go of her, she drew in a slow breath, nodding before she exhaled. “We reach Denerim tomorrow, yes?”

“We do.”

“We…we’re not going to be there more than a few days.”

Cullen gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be heading back to Skyhold by the end of the week.”

As he gave her that assurance, she let out another slow breath, tilting her head back and staring up into the branches overhead as they wandered back. “I’ll be glad to have this past us.”

“As will we all.”

And for the first time that night, she gave him a more genuine smile, stretching up on her toes to kiss his cheek before winding her way back through the trees to camp with the soft, quiet ease that made him wonder if he hadn’t been wrong in assuming it would be hard to have a sneak attack in this area.

He’d order a few more guards before he went to bed.

He’d messed up so many times before, but this time he would act as the protector he’d sworn he would be.

He would.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #cullen rutherford #witch!inquisitor #cullen x f!inquisitor #romance #action/adventure #angst #andraste's witch

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