#love how he turns away from lavellan every. single. time. :')

[bluecadash]

Solas before and after every kiss in Inquisition

#love how he turns away from lavellan every. single. time. :') #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #solas #solavellan #solas romance #inquisitor #lavellan #dagifs #dai gifs #mygifs* #oc: elin lavellan #blue's queues

[spainkitty]

After the Adamant Nightmare (a.k.a. she FINALLY knows her name)

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

The last place she wanted to sleep was anywhere in the Western Approach. Being near where that Rift had been, where those eyes had stared hungry and terrifying through the Veil, it was impossible. Lavellan walked the battlements of Griffin Wing Keep, arms around her torso tightly, eyes on the dotted campfires. She would rather be down there, hearing the soldiers talk while anonymous and silent and mindblank for a few hours.

Anything would be better than sleep.

She turned from the edge, heading for the stairs with determined strides. She was wearing borrowed armor which would help her blend in. Her own was somewhere being cleaned of its filth and memories.

But not all the memories.

She paused midstride.

Lanil.

Her name was--is Lanil. Lanil Lavellan, once known as Lanil Surana.

She was from Kinloch Hold, born in the Denerim Alienage.

Cullen saved her life. And then Divine Justinia saved it again more than ten years later.

How ironic. She had left Circle and Chantry behind, and she owed her life to servants of both.

She needed to tell him. Soon. Anyone who made it through the Fade and back with her could let it slip at any moment. A juicy bit of gossip like the Inquisitor and Commander having known each other when they were younger would spread like wildfire. Especially if the part where he defied Templar orders to free her from the Circle made it out there.

She knew she was smiling now. For her, it had been the beginning of her freedom. A freedom she hadn't even known she didn't have. He forced her out of that cage and she'd found so much more than she ever could have imagined.

But Cullen.

Her smiled wiped away as the desert's too chilly night breeze sent goosebumps down her skin.

Cullen carried the trauma of what happened at Kinloch Hold inside him. Had carried it for years. Had grieved a girl he thought he'd never see again even while blood mages had used that infatuation against him, poisoned it and his memory of her forever. It wasn't some mystical other girl anymore. An elf girl with grey eyes and white hair who happened to look like her.

What if... what if everything they'd gone through, everything they'd become, was ruined by this? What if the truth of their past turned their present into something like a lie? Would he look at her and see only the wraith, like that first day he'd seen her in Haven?

With an ugly snort and toss of her head, Lavellan--Lanil began to walk again. Knowing Cullen, he'd be midbrief with his night scouts. She refused to let this fester even a moment more.

Whatever their past, whatever she had forgotten and was slowly regaining, they were different people now. They had forged something new, in this new life, together. He cared about her. And while neither of them had admitted it aloud yet, she knew she loved him and that he felt the same.

Probably.

Her steps faltered.

No. Definitely.

Her steps continued.

As she'd predicted, Cullen was wide awake. An Inquisition scout was standing at attention next to him while he scanned a handful of documents.

"I think even our Spymaster sleeps, and if anyone is inhumanly perfect, it's her," Lavellan... Lanil said.

"Lane--Um, Inquisitor." He glanced at the scout, visibly mortified by his own slip.

"I almost died in the Fade today, eaten by my literal worst Nightmare. You can treat me like a friend instead of the Inquisitor in front of a single soldier. Just a little." She held up her finger and thumb, pinching the tiniest sliver of air.

Cullen's eyes closed and a shiver ran over his face. He looked ready to punch the nearest wall and La... Lanil wondered if maybe it wasn't yet time to joke about it.

"Harper, you're dismissed."

"Yes, Commander." The woman saluted and moved to walk past Lanil.

Lanil.

"Your Worship..."

Lanil startled in place and turned to the scout. The look on the woman's face was intense, her words fervent as she spoke,

"Every one of us is glad you made it back alive. You give us all strength and we would've lost something truly irreplaceable today if you had not."

Lavellan stared at her, eyes too wide and heart squeezed in a fist.

"Ha-Harper, was it? Thank you. I..." Lavellan reached out to clasp the soldier's shoulder. "Thank you."

The soldier, Harper, nodded once sharply. Then waited as still as stone for Lavellan-Lanil to move her hand. Another salute, and the woman was gone.

"Well, anything I would say just wouldn't compare to that," Cullen said after a long moment.

Lavellan abruptly remembered where she was and entered the closet of an office Cullen had claimed. He braced a hand on the desk and rubbed between his eyes with the other, sighing softly. All but silently, La...nil, Lanil closed the door and moved to perch on his desk. By the time his red-rimmed and weary eyes opened again, she had already stolen his stylus and was twisting it between her fingers.

"I know I joked about it just now, but I can't sleep. It's there. Waiting for me in the Fade..." she whispered. "It was a Nightmare. In every sense of the word. Solas said it was old, older than anything else he'd ever encountered. Maybe the first Fear Demon ever formed. Do you know what it means that I survived it twice? That it... knows my name?"

"Lane." Cullen's voice shook. But she brushed off the hand that reached for her.

She felt too exposed. Too raw. And she still hadn't told him--

Inhale. Exhale.

Open your eyes.

Meet his.

She gazed into amber, saw his struggle, the twist of his mouth. Desperately wondering what she needed.

She reached up to touch his cheek. The stubble scratched against the back of her fingers, and the glow of her wound cast a sickly greenish light on his too fair skin. She had to pull away and hide the ugliness of it in her fist.

"It told me my name. More than that, my memories, all of them, were there. That's why I couldn't remember me. All the important parts of me were trapped there because it had stolen them."

"Not all the important parts," Cullen denied vehemently.

Her gaze dropped to the desk, chest too tight, throat too full. Which is how she saw when he lifted the hand she'd pulled away, unfurled her fingers, and kissed her knuckles, the heel of her palm, and then right in the middle, his lips brushing the glowing scar.

"Lanil," she whispered. He froze. "Lanil Surana."

He lifted his head and met her eyes.

"That's the name I forgot. I was adopted into the Lavellan clan after escaping the Blight. I took their name to... to symbolically forget the life I left behind. When I was made First two years ago, I got my vallaslin. I found my People, my heritage, my home, because a young Templar broke the rules and forced me to run."

Cullen still said nothing, eyes darting over her face, lips parted.

"You told me you'd protect them. All of them, but I had to go and not turn back, or they'd catch me. Then, you slammed the door shut. I stood there screaming and throwing every spell at it I could, I didn't know you runed the other side, I don't think I cared... until the spiders came. I'd run them out of the storage room days before, did you know? I wasn't scared of them then. But in the dark, all alone, I was... I'd never known fear like that. Not in my Harrowing, not when Jowan sliced open his hand, or when Greagoir wanted to Tranquil me. Spiders and blood mages and demons, they all got mixed in my head and I ran. I ran as fast as I could and I didn't turn back again. Not once. I ran all the way to the Braecilian Forest. The Sabrae clan took me to Kirkwall. I tried to go back to a Circle, but the Gallows... it was..." She broke off. Inhaled. Exhaled. "It was nothing like Kinloch. And none of the Templars were you. Keeper Marethari found the Lavellan clan after that."

"Lanil."

Papers scattered to the floor. The stylus rolled and clattered after them. Cullen had both arms tight around her, so tight she could barely breathe, and she wanted them tighter. She wrapped her arms around his waist as best she could, but with all his layers and width, it was hard to return the embrace as tightly as she'd wanted, needed.

"Maker's breath, Lanil. I thought. In Haven, I thought I'd gone insane. I told myself you were gone, I'd never see you."

"Surprise?" she whispered hesitantly.

He laughed into the crook of her shoulder. Startlingly, something wet spread over her skin.

"Cullen, I didn't--I'm sorry. Is this bad? Should I have told you a different way? Maybe let Leliana do it?"

"No! No, definitely not."

"What about Dorian--"

She mmphed, cut off by a desperate kiss. She melted into it, fingers burying in those gingery-blond curls, pulling him closer. He dragged her over the desk, arms tight around her waist, hands spread over her back. Covering her, enveloping her as completely as he possibly could. It felt like an eternity, and not nearly long enough, when he pulled away. They both gasped for breath, foreheads touching.

"You were... supposed to be safe," he gasped at last.

She burst into laughter, damp and thick and relieved.

"That's not exactly my forte, but I appreciate the effort," she quipped. Their eyes met and she smiled softly. The smile he always managed to drag out of her. "I really do appreciate the effort. You saved my life ten years ago. I should've been made Tranquil, or Uldred should've gotten to me, but you--"

"You never should've been made Tranquil. It should never be a punishment. I believed that then, that's why I did it," Cullen said fiercely. "I believe it even more now, especially since we know about the Seekers and the lies they kept, the people killed to cover it up."

Lanil nodded. "Does this... change us?" she finally asked.

He shifted, moved to sit or lean beside her, only for the whole desk to wobble under their combined weight. Lanil yelped and Cullen shouted wordlessly, and they barely managed to keep from toppling to the ground. They froze, Lanil clinging like a limpet to him, him basically holding her entirely aloft, his shoulder wedged against the wall he stumbled back against. They stared at each other and then burst into laughter. They almost forgot to smother it, desperately pressing their faces against fur and collar.

"This is not Skyhold and that is not my desk," Cullen said.

"Do you make a habit of crawling on your desk?" Lanil asked, smirking.

"I have to make sure it's sturdy. Who knows what's going to happen next. Do you know how many people like to come in and punch it? One time Iron Bull did in the middle of laugh and it didn't even buckle."

"That is a good test of sturdiness." She leaned back to meet his gaze. Despite how little sleep he still hadn't gotten, his eyes didn't look so weary or red. "He was laughing at you, wasn't he?"

Cullen groaned, head tipped back. "When are they not laughing at me?"

She grinned and, because it was there, pressed a featherlight kiss under his jaw. His pulse jumped under her lips, and she wriggled out of his clutches to place both feet on the floor. She didn't quite escape, his arms remained locked around her. But that wasn't so bad

"You didn't answer."

"Hm, what?" he asked dazedly.

"You really need sleep," Lanil said in some concern. She glanced around, found the pathetic cot shoved in a corner, and sighed. "They must've assigned you a better bed than that. You gave it away, didn't you?"

"Dorian needed it more. They gave him a bedroll and I thought he was going to cry," Cullen explained sheepishly. Lanil rolled her eyes.

"He'd never ruin his eyeliner for that, not here where he can't fix it properly afterwards. You've been had." She shoved him towards it.

"Wait, what--?"

"One of us is going to sleep, and as long as we're in the same region as Adamant, it won't be me. So it's you. Sleep." She carefully unwrapped and shoved the cloak he always wore off his shoulders. It would make a better blanket than whatever was lying on the cot. "I'll keep awake for any emergencies."

"No, I have too much to do and you need it more," Cullen protested, slapping her hands away from his arm... things. She glared and slapped his hands back. He meekly let them drop.

"I told you. I can't. I'll accidentally will my consciousness right back to the Nightmare, I know I will. You however are safe, lucky little ex-Templar that you are."

His hand fell over hers on his arm, where she still struggled with the buckles. Why did he always have so much armor on? She huffed, frustrated. Her own armor was all leather and very little metal. Very easy to lace and unlace in comparison.

"I'll go to sleep, I promise."

"Good."

"And it does change things."

She froze, slowly raised her head. His hand cupped the side of her face. Carefully, almost reverently, as if reforging the two pieces of her into one, his thumb traced the line of her golden vallaslin, then down along her cheek, following the scar she'd gotten in Braecilian Forest. She remembered that now. A rabid wolf had attacked her when she'd been exhausted, torn open her face before a Dalish hunter, the first one she'd ever met, had put an arrow through the wolf's heart. The next wolf, Lanil had burnt to a crisp in a fit of bloody, pain-filled rage.

The scar just under her lip was newer, it needed no lost memory. Cullen thumbed it gently. Jagged at the edges where rock had sliced skin open when she'd fallen through the Breach the first time.

"You are Lanil Surana, but you're also Lavellan. Whatever I felt for Surana was important to me then, but what I feel for you, right now, is... incomparable. It changes things, but the parts that matter remain the same. If that... I don't know if I explained that right."

Lanil pressed her cheek into the curve of his palm. "I understand. And agree. Just so you know, I had no idea you had a crush on me then. You were just a Templar, the easiest one to tease." Her eyes glittered when she looked at him. He sighed under his breath. "But I also just... didn't care to notice anyone. I cared about my magic, and that's it. I can say it for sure now. Feeling like this? It's hard for me. If I don't want to feel it, I ignore it until it goes away, and it doesn't even hurt. Didn't. It didn't hurt. I never got this deep into it before, I never wanted to. I don't think I could turn it off now."

Cullen leaned forward. Just like they always did, their foreheads pressed together and she could breathe.

"I'm honored that you, Lanil Lavellan, let me in."

"Yes. That's me." She smiled and brushed her nose against his. "That's who I am now."

"Happy to meet you."

Lanil laughed softly. "Cheesy. So cheesy."

"Yes, I instantly regretted saying that."

She laughed again, interrupting herself to kiss the rueful look off his face.

#dai lavellan #dao surana #my surana lavellan girl #i made her BECAUSE i didnt get a chance to finish my Mage Origins file #she was ALWAYS my little amnesiac surana and played them the same way #ruthless powerful and borderline arrogant #but good hearted and trying her absolute best to do the Right Thing (aggressively) #She literally GirlBossed her way through her Harrowing it was fantastic #cullen x lavellan #cullen x surana #Lanil's Pieces #i fucking hated that fucking nightmare #why is her canon phobia MY phobia #cullen makes lanil soft and it's killing me

[edda-grenade]

Sleep.

Adaar and Solas attempt fadewalking for the first time.

#feral verse, 2000 words. on AO3.

They were lying on a hilltop in the forest, on a fur to keep the cold of fall at bay. Well, Adaar was lying down—Solas had sat up to give her a curious look.

“You wish to leave?”

“No! I mean, yes, kinda—maybe—I don’t know.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“You seem very happy, here,” he said, in that slow, careful way he had.

“I am! I am. I don’t want to leave my family, or this place, or you—”

“Me?” His voice cracked, just a little. Adaar glanced at him from between her fingers.

“Yes, obviously. I know you like to pretend you’re some lone wolf apart from all living creatures or whatever, but you’re my friend, alright? You’re not getting out of that so easily.”

“I don’t—pretend…” He sighed, his skin staining with blush, the faint freckles even fainter. His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile, until he gave up and his mouth crooked. Adaar loved it when that happened. She was pretty good at making it happen, too.

“You do not wish to leave, but?”

Now she sighed and clamped her hand over her eyes again. It was easier in the dark, unwatched.

“The world is so big and so full of things I don’t know,” she said softly, “and I want to learn everything.”

“Adaar…”

She hadn’t figured out if she loved that yet—the way he said her name sometimes, how he looked at her. Like she was the sun coming over the horizon, or a thunderstorm in the distance, or the wind dancing through the fields so hard it sang. At least that’s what she imagined the expression would look like on her face—an expression that was meant for immense and somewhat unfathomable things, not for a single person.

“There is a way I could show those things to you. Not all of them, of course—but more than what is accessible to you right now.”

Adaar sat up so quickly her head spun a little.

“I’m listening.”

He explained, and her head continued to spin, although for different reasons. Lucid dreaming, delving into the Fade like into a cave, how the deeper you went the older the memories imprinted upon the Fade would be…

It sounded ludicrous. Like magic, if she had never heard of it before. It sounded amazing.

“Can we just do that?” she asked. “Right now?”

Solas gave her another weird look; his eyes wide and searching for a brief moment.

“I—yes. Come with me.”

They left the little barren hilltop that poked above the forest behind and instead descended into the small cave Solas had chosen as his resting place. She’d tried often to convince him to join her family at the settlement, but he’d steadfastly refused every time. It didn’t bother her as much anymore—the cave looked more and more like an actual home these days, with a fire pit and cooking tools, shelves he’d carved out of the rock to hold utensils using a spell she hadn’t quite figured out yet herself, and a warm, dry place to sleep.

Solas had a ball of light bobbing in the air above his shoulder, and gazed down at the bedstead. It was cozy: a pallet of hay covered in cowhide, with a blanket and fur to keep warm in winter. It was also not nearly big enough for both of them. At least not if they intended not to share breathing space.

“There’s a bigger bed at home, you know,” Adaar said. “Actual walls and a door, too.”

“I would prefer to try it here. I have set the requisite wards quite often, and I’m familiar with the peculiarities of the Fade in this place.”

She shrugged, glancing around at the runes and sigils he had marked into the walls of the cave. “Yeah, makes sense. I’m just saying, you can get familiar with the farm, too. There’s space for you, it’s not a problem.”

“I’m aware, since you keep reminding me so diligently.”

“It keeps being true.”

She smiled a little at how that statement made his ears dip and his head turn away so she wouldn’t see his face. He cleared his throat.

“I have never… attempted to teach this to anyone else.”

“Because you didn’t want to, or because there was no one you could teach it to?” She hesitated, thinking of his arguments with Lavellan's Keeper. “Or because no one wanted to learn it?”

He let out a low breath. “All of the above,” he replied quietly, “at one point or another.”

Adaar slapped her hands together to resist the urge to hug him, then clapped her palms briefly onto his shoulders because not touching him at all was even more frustrating than being shrugged off. “First time for everything. How do we start?”

Solas showed her how to set the wards—they’d talked about spellwork like it before, but mostly in abstract terms. It took a good while, because she kept stumbling over new questions, like how specific a ward could be, how permanent, how big a space it could cover… They were halfway into designing one that might be used to keep beetles out of the grain, until they managed to get back to the task at hand.

She settled on the bedstead with crossed legs while Solas puttered about by the fire pit and brewed a concoction he insisted wasn’t tea to help them fall asleep. Then she got up again and started pacing, as much as was possible, because her legs were too jittery to sit still. She was just glad most of the cave was high enough that she didn’t have to stoop—she halted, gazing at the stone close above her.

“Solas, did you shape the ceiling, too?”

“What do you mean?”

“The rock here has a different texture.” She reached up to touch it and closed her eyes, searching for that low echo of past magic—and found it. “And it’s been worked with magic.”

“…A little. It is not your fault you are so tall.”

A smile bit into her cheeks. “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“It was a practical consideration,” he muttered, but he didn’t sound like he was actually put out. “You insert yourself into others’ spaces inevitably, it was only a matter of time until you would find your way into this one.”

“That almost sounds like a criticism.”

“An observation. Foremost.” He handed a steaming cup of the not-tea to her, then sipped from his own. She breathed in the smell—chamomile, juniper, and something spicy she didn’t recognize—then exhaled a bit of frost across it to cool it down before taking a sip.

Solas was watching her when she looked up from the cup.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it is simply… nice, to see how certain magic has become easier for you.”

“The frost? Yeah, I barely have to think about it anymore.” She blew a puff of snow into his face to demonstrate. Solas startled, grimacing, and wiped the rapidly-melting crystals from his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Adaar said, very earnestly. “Couldn’t resist.”

He shook his head and grumbled something in Elvish, but he was smiling again. That small, helpless, trying-not-to smile. They finished their cups, put them aside, and regarded the bedstead again.

“I shall take the fur, next to the pallet,” said Solas.

“I thought the point was to fall asleep more easily? And to sleep more deeply?”

“Yes.”

“Then why make it harder on yourself? We just gotta… scrunch up a little, it’s gonna be fine.”

There was a long silence.

“I am not used to sleeping among other people,” Solas said finally, his tone even. He wasn’t used to other people—flesh-and-blood people, that was—in general, Adaar suspected, but she kept it to herself. Right now was probably a bad time to bring that one up.

“Alright, no spooning then,” she said instead and sat down and stretched out along one side of the bedding. Then she remembered she had to get rid of her shoes, untied them, and hucked them against an empty wall. Lying down, the scent of lavender became obvious amid the hay and fur; sprigs had been stuck to the corners to keep bugs away. She’d told him about that trick months ago.

It really was cozy; warm and inviting. She curled onto her side, drawing her feet up, and patted the mattress next to her. Slowly, Solas joined her, folding himself up so he took up even less space than usual. It was still a tight fit, especially since he tried to avoid any real contact beyond the brush of fabric.

“I will attempt to find you once we are dreaming,” he said. “With our current physical proximity it should be an easier task.”

“There’s really nothing else to it? We just fall asleep?”

“It is… difficult to put into words. Question your dreams, if you can. The key is to become aware—awareness begets agency, which in turn begets control.”

Adaar tugged the fur and blanket up to cover them. “Alright. Sleep well?” There was a flash of a smile on Solas’s face before he closed his eyes.

“I shall see you soon.”

It was not soon. Adaar’s mind refused to quiet, anticipation thrumming in her limbs. She kept shifting, unable to relax, and she worried she’d spend the entire night sleepless, when she finally woke up again to a dark, quiet cave. 

She must have fallen asleep at some point, then? So was this the Fade? It didn’t feel different. She was sleepy and bleary-eyed just as she would be when waking up in the middle of the night, and a cursory examination of the cave with a bit of conjured light—a spell that behaved no differently than any previous time she’d used it—told her it looked exactly as it had when they had bedded down. Except…

Solas lay tucked against her front, his body warm, his breathing even. His temple rested against her collarbones and his folded legs leaned against her hips. He was curled up as he’d been before, but now it seemed less about making himself smaller, and more about fitting into the curve of her body.

Adaar stared into the darkness. That was… unexpected. Solas didn’t seek out physical contact. Sure, he usually melted into it for one or two seconds when it was offered before pulling away, but nothing like this.

Cautiously, she tried to brace herself on her elbow to get a better look, both at the cave and at him. She bit down on a sharp inhale when pins and needles erupted in the limb, breathing through it with care until the sensation passed. But even on a thorough second look, nothing changed. The cave was still the cave, nothing remotely immaterial about it, and Solas still slept soundly, curled up against her.

Part of her wanted to wake him up. Let him know it hadn’t worked, at least not yet, and try to figure out what might be changed, because merely the thought of consciously walking in the Fade was enough to make her heart beat faster.

But he looked so much younger in his sleep. His features softened and relaxed, like he might actually be at peace. Adaar wasn’t sure she had ever managed to catch him this unguarded. When they were together, it felt like he hardly stopped watching her.

She let out a small sigh and settled back down, gently wrapping one arm around his waist. Hopefully that wouldn’t upset him, if he woke up before her come morning. Right now at least, a soft, sleepy noise slipped from him, and he rolled even more thoroughly into her embrace.

#don't worry solas is gonna get slammed with the pining soon enough #feral verse #adaar #solas #saar gets her own tag #inquisitor x solas #soladaar #time for those tags to make a regular appearance in this verse :3c #art tag #fanart #fic tag #fic related #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Is it just me or has this week been going kind of slow? It feels like Thursday, but no! It is WEDNESDAY! >:D That means it’s time to shaaaaaare! X3

So, I’m finally getting back into writing, but I’m doing bits and pieces at a time. I think I may have put too much pressure on myself, so everything I wrote and then read looked..bleh. 

However! Due to an ask that @the-dreadful-canine sent me, I found some inspiration! >:D

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! I send you all the hearts in the world! <3

Halamshiral brings out the best in the both the wolf and the dragon~ >:3

"She was friendly.", Fane said, face blank, arms crossed as he let his eyes follow after the elven servant that had just left where he and Solas were against the walls of the Winter Palace; the two of them keeping to the shadows and niches the soft darkness held.

He had sought out the Elvhen man, thankfully without much interference, to mention another spike in the air around them. There was magic somewhere in the palace, but he couldn't pinpoint its exact placement. Solas had agreed with his assessment after the first time, and the few times Fane had passed through this particular hall, the one lining the small courtyard, he had noticed his sky's brow furrowed slightly and his eyes glued ahead as if he were listening for something.

So far, neither of them had had any luck determining a focal point, but it had to be a rift; his mark proved that. It wasn't flaring violently, but the pulse was deeper than usual and his arm burned as the magic scorched through his veins. It was why, even after notifying the other about the fluctuation in the Veil, he had lingered.

Now, Fane wished he hadn't as his eyes continued to watch the retreating servant girl, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining with something he knew all too well: infatuation. That would be fine on it's own, he wasn't one to judge or condone another's feelings as his very nature encouraged them to blossom, but the person that gaze was directed towards…

That was another story entirely. Why did he feel so...bitter? This prison of marble, gold, jewels, and stone was infuriating and confusing.

Solas chuckled, his eyes, too, following after the young woman, but they were still, clear, uninterested, but yet, Fane felt odd. "Indeed she was. Many of the servants have been. I believe they find my presence intriguing, and perhaps, comforting.”

"Makes sense. You have a certain air here. More relaxed, even if every shadow holds a knife. Confident, really. Makes you approachable.", Fane muttered out his observation absently, glancing down to be met with questioning orbs of blue-grey; the color was mixed due to the shadows dancing within and around them. They looked midnight in hue and they were trained on him now; no one else. “The responses to me have been the exact opposite. Not surprising, but annoying. I tried to question a pair of them outside this hallway, and they shooed me off.”

Solas gave him a small, but reassuring smile. “So I saw. Merely a precaution, I think, vhenan.”, he said, casting midnight orbs around once more, essences of lavender glinting from starlight. They landed upon a small group; three servants, each elven and they appeared to be wholly uninterested in ferrying about between the nobles. “Servants have long walked within the halls of power, unnoticed, but ever-watchful of those who see them only as inconsequential. Wariness is their greatest weapon against those who flaunt without reservation. The elves along these walls and in these dark corridors know what you represent, and so they keep you at arm’s length. ”

Fane hummed, pursing his lips a bit. "So, they’re fearful of me. Again, not an uncommon reaction.”, he said. albeit a bit bitterly. Typical. He should have known that was the case. Dressing a wolf in sheep’s clothing didn’t not make it a wolf, after all.

Except, he was a dragon. A dragon playing politics, playing with power. Fane was surprised he hadn't combusted as soon as his boots had touched the inner gate's threshold. The night was young, though. Sadly. Unfortunately. Miserably. How his sky, who was now leaning against the pedestal of a bust, appearing calm, collected, and enthused as eternal irises gazed up at him had done this almost day in and day out was baffling and honestly? Terrifying.

Solas shook his head. “No. Not of you as you are, my dragon.”, he denied simply, glittering jewels of deepest blue shifting like the sky just visible through the windows they stood beside. “They’re fearful of the power you possess. Elves have long been the victims of misused power. They wonder if you are the same as the Grand Duke, the Empress, the Duchess, or any here that have dealt a heavy hand without provocation.” A sigh and a warmer smile, midnight shifting to the paleness of moonlight. “However, I have seen gazes begin to linger among the groups each time you pass. They hold hope; a dream of opportunity. You are proving you are not the same, ma’isenatha. Unlike many, who believe themselves entitled. Continue to do as you’re doing, and a society will open up to you. Be patient, be mindful, and be true in a place rife with lies.”

Fane raised an eyebrow, keeping their gazes locked. “So, continue being a near ass to every atrociously dressed fop and priss that gets it in their head to waltz up to me?", he questioned before growling in the next moment. "The last prick I had the misfortune of walking within sight of nearly got a claw up the ass when they touched my arm.”

The mage smirked,  but it seemed...dark, eyes sharpening like metal at his last statement. “I would not call how you’ve been carrying yourself being a ‘near ass’, vhenan. It is far more nuanced than that.”

“Oh? How would you label my attitude then?”, Fane asked, keeping his eyebrow raised before a light of mischief and nostalgia flashed within blue, turning his curious expression into a blank slate. “What’s that look for?”

Something about the air was shifting due to this conversation. It wasn’t magic or anything, but it was...heightening, taking on a heady blend, power and emotion, present and past mixing with odd harmonies. Solas had mentioned something like that when they first arrived...

Solas hummed, eyes taking on a softer edge, primal darkness dispersing in both the curve of his mouth and the depths of his eyes. “It is nothing.”, he dismissed, the glint of nostalgia apparent upon every sharp line and curve of his sky’s face. Razor sharp eyes of blue steel shifted away casually once more, a single finger beginning to tap against where hands overlapped. “Suffice it to say, I am...pleased with this side of you as I am with every facet of personality you gift me with. The evening has been full of surprises, and hopefully, it will end on a high note."

Fane scoffed, leaning back a bit to rest against a windowsill; the marble was cool against the back of his legs and it helped soothe both his mind and the scars upon his legs. The material of his pants were better than most, but not what he was used to. “You’re just tempting the world to answer with that call, my sky.”, he said with a sidelong glance in Solas’ direction.

Solas responded with a sidelong glance of his own. “And what if I am?”, he retorted. There was something...cheeky about the elf’s tone and it wasn’t something Fane heard often, if at all. Yes, things were shifting, but not detrimentally so.

Fane kept his face blank, but he felt..light; a feeling of warmth in his chest apparent. “Then I would have to intervene on its behalf.”, he quipped, dropping his voice a few octaves and narrowing his eyes. These words falling from their mouths, mixing with shadow, candlelight, hushed whispers, and quiet refrains were interesting. They came with ease, they fell with grace…

...they sang with pride. That would usually terrify Fane, one of seven sins that could, but right now, with the sky gazing up at him from the side, body lax and garbed in black much like his own was, and expression titillating, ethereal, he was anything but frightened.

He was enthralled.

Solas hummed, eyes tempting with silent wishes. “My voice would harken a dragon to respond, would it?”, the mage pushed, or rather, pulled him in with that hushed question; the silk that Fane associated with his sky’s voice wrapping around his hearing like a gossamer sheet.

Fane shrugged a bit, bringing his arms up to cross them as he did so with his legs a bit; boots scuffing against pristine marble. He leaned back further against the ledge of the window now, but part of him wanted to inch away, ascend to the sky gazing up at him from hooded lids. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Remember,”, he began before pausing, a tight feeling of warmth ensnaring his chest as Solas’ eyes flashed with quiet indigo and so he pressed back with velvet. “...Fen’harel?”

*screeches* Why do I love these two being suave fools?! The brain worms are strong in this Chili’s tonight! 

Tagging (with no pressure, but all the court intrigue! >:3): 

@oxygenforthewicked @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @varric-tethras-editor @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @blueheaded @drag-on-age @shift-shaping @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share and revel in the court! *cackles* 

#wips wednesday #my writing #i'm very proud of this scene #it is equally steamy and silly :3 #i was debating whether to put down the steamy bits but i want to flesh those out a bit more >:3 #this all came from an ask because i blurbed and i was like 'I like this. LET'S FLESH IT OUT >:D' #*pats self on back* #dragon age #oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #is that jealousy I see Solas~? #and what about you Fane~? #*cackles*

[noire-pandora]

Welcome! For DADWC, "When was the last time you ate anything?“

Hey! Thank you for the welcome and for this fun prompt. I love writing about a mother hen Solas xD. This prompt ended up a bit too long, sorry for that. For @dadrunkwriting

The cawing of Leliana's ravens mingled with the low murmur of people reading in the library, creating a soothing flow that Solas came to appreciate as the days passed. Normally this rhythm did not bother him, but today it prevented his mind from focusing on the document before him, no matter how hard he tried.

With a sigh, he rubbed his face and dropped the quill he had held motionless for five minutes in a failed attempt to write a complex and riveting account of the nature and uses of Veilfire, but his mind refused to dwell on the subject.

Instead, he stubbornly returned to the memory of the night he had spent in the Inquisitor's bed, wrapped in heavy and warm furs, her arms and legs drapped around his body. For more than an hour, his eyes memorised every line of Lavellan's face as the moon highlighted the pale freckles on her cheeks.

As she slumbered deeply, no concentrated frown playing about her brow, a deep peace softened her features and brought the long-desired calm to his mind.

To his surprise, as the morning dawned and they resumed their well-rehearsed roles, the pleasant numbness of his mind ensued, thwarting his efforts to concentrate. The image of his half-naked Vhenan clinging to his body somehow prevented any intelligent thought. Even when people spoke to him.

Solas smiled at the scroll in front of him, half amused and half irritated at his adolescentine like behaviour. He shared the bed with a beautiful woman (with nothing else happening in the double bed) and the intimacy of the moment made him feel as useless as if he were touching the thighs of a woman for the first time.

She is no ordinary woman, a thought wiggled in his already worked up head. The women I have touched in the past are pale shadows in comparison. None were as exquisite and provocative as she.

Yes. Lavellan was no ordinary woman. Under his fingers, her hot skin burned away every single barrier he'd built to keep emotions and passions at bay. Raw desire shook his body beneath her touch, a desire he'd thought long forgotten.

He shook his head to dispel the temptation as a tingling sensation rose in his belly. It was the wrong time and the wrong place to indulge his fantasies.

The sound of the chair scraping on the floor caused the ravens above him to startle as he decided to stretch his legs and look for a distraction to his wandering thoughts. As he exited the rotunda, his stomach announced with a loud growl that it was time for lunch.

Solas nodded and waved as various people strolling the halls of Skyhold paid him varying degrees of respect. The shadow of a smile played around his lips at the familiarity of the scene: he had returned the same greeting many decades ago, even if the ones offering them were the immortal elves of Elvhenan.

It took him a few minutes to descend the stairs and reach the castle's kitchen. The many aromas that emanated from the room tickled his nose and intensified the growling of his stomach.

"Messere Solas!" One of the cooks, a tall Fereldan with bright hazel eyes, smiled at him as he entered the room. "I knew you would come."

The kitchen swarmed with people in a hurry to prepare meals for those who had time to eat at Skyhold. The sound of clanging pots and pans, clinking silverware, and clattering dishes warmed his heart; this was where he truly belonged, among the people who understood the joy of a simple life. A life he had lost many years ago.

"Hunger has finally defeated our dear Inquisitor, hasn't it?" The cook laughed and placed two steaming bowls of meaty stew on a wooden tray, two fresh loaves of bread beside them. "I knew she’d send you."

Solas frowned. Every few days, when Elluin’s workload allowed it, they would share the delicious meal the cook prepared for them in the privacy of her room. A habit the cooks of Skyhold had learned and grinned at. A small romantic gesture he allowed himself.

But that was not the case today.

"No. I have not seen the Inquisitor yet today. I assumed her duties would keep her busy."

"Oh," the cook frowned. "I haven’t seen her since lunch yesterday."

"I see," Solas sighed.

Elluin preferred to eat in the kitchen, for the majority of the time, and though it took a few months for the surprise of the Inquisitor eating with them to wear off, the people of Skyhold accepted this strange behaviour.

"Is the Herald skipping meals again?" A young cook and one of Elluin's apprentices interjected into the conversation. She clicked her tongue as Solas nodded. "And she tells me never to skip a meal."

"The child is right, Messere Solas. Skipping meals is bad. Especially for someone like her." His eyes stared into Solas' soul, almost blaming him for Elluin's decision to skip meals.

"Indeed. I will personally search for the Inquisitor and bring her here. Please keep the food warm."

The cook nodded with a grin, and Solas felt the tips of his ears grow warmer. No matter how hard they tried, the truth about the depth of their relationship spread like wildfire, and the people of Skyhold gave him the same knowing smile when he worried about her safety.

It took him only a few minutes to find Elluin. A small group of noisy nobles arguing in the middle of Skyhold's courtyard and an exasperated Inquisitor clenched and unclenched her fist behind her back in what he assumed to be an attempt to keep her calm.

In the shade of a tree, he watched as the smile on Elluin's face grew wider, dangerously showing her teeth. The heated conversation continued for another five minutes until Lavellan's patience ran out and he dismissed the spoiled men with a promise to meet another day and analyse the situation.

Solas’ heart beat to his throat as she ran a hand over her face, the wrinkles of exhaustion marking her unusually pale face.

"Inquisitor, could I have a moment?"

For a second, the same forced smile she wore in front of the nobles tugged at her lips, only to be replaced by a brilliant grin, its warmth reflected in the green of her eyes. "Solas! Of course you can. As many moments as you need. Did something bad happen?"

"Depends on what you mean by bad. The cook found your absence from his kitchen worrisome."

Elluin's smile vanished instantly, to be replaced by a pout. "What a traitor."

"The cook is not a traitor. He cares about you and is concerned for your health. So am I.

She rolled her eyes, but Solas learned her strategies for shrugging off the importance of a subject. "You two worry too much."

"When was the last time you ate something, Vhenan?"

Elluin puffed out her cheeks like a child caught in the act, and Solas suppressed a smile that formed on his lips at the cuteness of her gesture. He had to stay strong.

"Elluin..." he warned, and her eyes grew wide at the mention of her name.

"Fine, fine. I can’t the last time I ate," she confessed, raising a finger in the air as Solas opened his mouth to speak. "Before you reprimate me, I didn't do it on purpose. I just had so many things to do that I just forgot. But I am fine."

The dark circles that stained the skin beneath her bloodshot eyes spoke against it, but Solas knew she could not care less about those signs of exhaustion. No, if he wanted to convince his Vhenan to change her erratic eating habits, he had to adopt a different strategy.

"Vhenan," he began, "your body is constantly fighting the ravaging effects of the Mark. Such a tremendous effort requires proper nutrition. If you continue to ignore this truth, your body will capitulate to the alien force that inhabits it.

"Solas," she tried to interrupt him, but he continued without giving her the opportunity to contradict him.

"If your body fails, I will be forced to use my healing powers to give it the strength it needs to continue," he saw the spark of realisation that pushed the growing annoyance from her face. "And when I do, all my healing powers will be used up to keep you alive, thus...."

"Thus you will use up your healing powers and your other patients and any incoming injured soldiers would be left without their experienced healer," she nodded, nibbling on her lower lip. "I understand."

Victory.

"Indeed. The only way to prevent that is to fuel your body to withstand the attacks of the Mal. With food."

Elluin wrinkled her nose as she stared at him, and he could almost see the little wheels turning in the back of her head. It was a flimsy strategy, but Solas knew she cared more about the safety of the people who worked under her than anything else. More than her own health.

He offered her his arm with a gentle smile of encouragement. "Come. The cook is waiting for us with a warm rabbit stew. Let us not keep him waiting too long."

Elluin snorted, but accepted his offer and the two sauntered on as their stomachs growled in protest.

#dragon age #solavellan #solas #lavellan #elluin lavellan #noire writes #dadwc #prompt

[melisusthewee]

WIP Wednesday - Let’s Talk Music

Thank you to @cleverblackcat @kittynomsdeplume @noire-pandora and @morganlefaye79 for tagging me!

I don’t have any writing to really offer today.  I’ve been trying to work on that Haven fic but unfortunately Aloysius hasn’t been co-operating with me despite all my best efforts to make him speak.  I may take a break from writing and pivot towards completing some art memes, but Wednesday just sort of crept up on me and here we are.  So instead, I’m sharing something that both is but also isn’t a work in progress?

It’s “in progress” because while I’m happy with where it currently is, I’ve said that about playlists and soundtracks before and later changed them.  I’ve worked hard on this and talked several friends’ ears off about songs I’ve heard or artists that seemed to work and thanks to their feedback I think this is a really good one.  It’s gone through several edits as well, and may potentially even go through more down the road.  So I’m saying this counts for today.

If you give it a listen (and I hope you do because I’m very proud of it so far), I hope you enjoy it and maybe discover an artist you didn’t know before.  It clocks in at around 51 minutes and features 13 tracks which span Quinn Trevelyan’s story and important events of the main game through to Trespasser.

If you are interested, below the cut is a list of tracks and a brief blurb or description about who or what they’re meant to represent.  I was going to go into things in more depth and talk about how I built it, why I picked the songs I did, and the B-Sides that were left on the cutting room floor, but after realizing I had written nearly 4 pages about just as many songs, I realized it was too much for anyone to read.  So below is just a very brief summary and I think that most of the music would speak for itself, but I’m happy to expand more on anything that anyone finds either interesting… or confusing.  (There is also Solas content because I knew a few of you love that.)

You have to click on this sentence to go to the playlist because Tumblr’s coding for “Read More” seems to be conflicting with the HTML code to embed a functional playlist.  Because of course it is.

Quinn’s tarot card is the Wheel of Fortune as his story is a series of unpredictable highs and lows.  What the Maker giveth, He also taketh away.  The playlist follows that trend of highs and lows with upbeat songs followed by darker or more mellow ones.  Whenever I create a playlist, I try to think of a general tone or sound that I want to be carried through the soundtrack.  I want the overall genre or sound to tell the story as much as the individual songs.  Because of that, you’ll see artists repeat a couple of times, and when they do it’s always intentional.  You’ll also notice that most of the vocalists are male.  This was again intentional because this is Quinn’s story, and he’s a man.  They are his songs and I wanted the vocals to reflect that.

The Cult of Dionysus - pre-Conclave Quinn

Quinn at his most basic and stereotypical before any character development happens whatsoever - poppish, upbeat, and maybe just a little obnoxious.  He smokes, he drinks, he fucks, and nothing else matters.

The Sound of Silence - Aloysius’ Theme

I like Aloysius as a more practical view and examination of Quinn and the cult that grows around him.  He affords an opportunity to look at Quinn both as the Herald but also as just a person.  He is stoic and mild-mannered, a dutiful soldier, and an excellent foil for Quinn.  This is also absolutely a reference to an Arrested Development joke.

Isle of Dogs - Quinn’s true theme

Quinn is a walking disaster constantly falling victim to his own hubris.  There’s a morose sort of resentment to the lyrics, of someone who is constantly struggling against the tide.  In a lot of ways, this is basically a reaction or push back to all the crap I have put him through.

Providence - “In Hushed Whispers”

There are no Templars here.  The first few lines relate a lot to the dismissal the fledgling Inquisition receives from what remains of the Chantry, but the rest of the lyrics are very much about the mages and Fiona’s dealings with the Venatori.

Seven Devils - “In Your Heart Shall Burn

No male vocals in this one to symbolize the change in perspective.  This is both a bit of an easy and obvious choice for this story beat.  Female vocals for Corypheus might seem strange, but when I created my Warden’s soundtrack I tended to use powerful choruses and female vocals for anything related to Blight, Archdemons, or the darkspawn.  I carried that idea over to this as Corypheus is one of the seven Magisters.

Caesar - becoming the Inquisitor

This is a softer and quiet interlude in the wake of the loss of Haven and struggle through the snow.  If the previous song marks the end of the first act, this song marks the beginning of the second.

King - “Here Lies the Abyss”

In my written world state, Alistair is both the king and the Grey Warden contact (this goes back to that longform fic I am working on).  I suppose it’s a bit unfair because in the end that has a major impact on why Quinn makes the decision he does at Adamant (a rather threatening letter from the Warden helps too).  Think of this as a duet between Quinn and Hawke.

My Type - the love interest

“Here Lies the Abyss” was completed first, then a romance triggered, then “Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts”.  This is that sort of inbetween interlude and is very much inspired by how I may have flirted with multiple characters a little too much and basically triggered several romances at once.  I also went into Quinn’s playthrough having no idea who I was going to romance and just let him shop around.  And it came down to a coin flip in the end, so “you have a pulse and you are breathing” is pretty much the only standards he has.

Boheme Supreme - party at Halamshiral

All I have to say is that I love techno swing, every single lyric in this song is perfect, and I want you all to picture Quinn Trevelyan walking into the Winter Palace with his Inner Circle entourage around him, dressed up in that outfit I drew with that peacock feathered cap and having a drink in his hand throughout the entire night’s affair.

Hell’s Coming With Me - “Doom Upon All the World”

This is the climax of the main game, the rematch between Quinn and Corypheus which I have to imagine is more impressive in concept than it was in game.  I chose the dialogue option when Corypheus calls Quinn an imposter, “I am the Maker’s chosen” as his final challenge.  Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this main is actually very Andrastian.  But he is, and the lyrics, “I am the righteous hand of God/And I am the Devil that you forgot/And I told you one day will see/I’ll be back I guarantee/And that Hell’s coming with me” are the perfect declaration.

Paradise - Jaws of Hakkon & The Descent

Another interlude song.  If the previous one is triumphant than this one is the beginning of a bad turn.  In the interim between the events of the main game and the Exalted Council, things begin to go wrong in little ways.  His relationship with Cassandra begins to break down, eventually ending in the two of them having frequent spats and going their separate ways after returning from the Frostback Basin.  This song is deceptively sarcastic about how good things are.

I Still Love You, Judas - Solas’ Betrayal

Solas… oh, Solas.  Does this song indicate a very complicated and layered relationship between Quinn and Solas?  Yes! Have I attempted to unpack any of this?  Nope!  Have fun with this one!

Tagging for this week: @kita-lavellan @silvanils @nivenor-krosis @drag-on-age @rosella-writes @inquisitoracorn

Battle Cries - Quinn and Cassandra

I saved this one for the very end because it is a story within a story.  It is sad and bittersweet, but also not.  This entire thing feels to me like a duet between Quinn and Cass on what was good, what could never last, and that it’s all over now but that’s okay.  Because “this isn’t a breakup, dear heart, it’s a season finale.”  Does this mean that Quinn sounds like Joey Batey when he sings?  Sure, why not.

#wip wednesday #oc: quinn trevelyan

[blarrghe]

Twelve Nights

Modern au fic where BusinessMan McMoneybanks Dorian Pavus meets LocalArtist Outdoorsyguy Taren Lavellan whilst on a trip to a Fancy Ski Resort In The Mountains with his Terrible Family, and learns the True Meaning of The Holidays (it's love). Now with added subplots and a plan! This fic is my holiday obsession, it's going to be tropey and fluffy and sweet, and not terribly long. Set in some kind of vaguely Thedasian modern au, with Dalish elves and dwarves and the like, but no actual magic, only *~holiday magic~* Rated M for not-very-explicit sex. Excerpt under the cut. Read it on AO3!

The air was crisp, and perfectly still. The thunk of Dorian’s car door slamming shut sounded out soft, almost muffled by the quietness of the snow-covered street. There were no other cars parked in the tiny lot in the centre of it, which divided two rows of quaint little shops on either side. The street rejoined itself around the empty parking lot and wound away in either direction. The side streets that branched in awkward zigzagging patterns off of it, sparsely lined with picturesque little cottages with wide yards of snow between them, weren’t even plowed. The main road ran up and down; up, winding slowly through a forest of trees and disappearing into the mountainside, and down, towards a glowing town square lit up at its centre by a tall, festively decorated pine tree. 

Dorian watched his breath form a cloud of mist in front of him, and pressed the little button on his keychain. His car’s lights flashed, and the horn beeped once, obnoxiously loud against the silent scene. For a moment, he glanced up the road, and then lifted his head higher, arching his head way back to take in the peaks of the mountains overshadowing the quiet town. The sky was fading into sunset, and pink light glowed through the trees and sparkled off the snow in the distant mountaintops. The mountains loomed quietly, shining in orange and peach with dark evergreen trees blanketing around their roots, and among them little golden lights from mountainside cabins were glowing softly through the snow. It was beautiful and serene, like a scene directly out of a holiday card, and Dorian hated every single thing about it. 

He sighed, breath forming a long whispering mist from his mouth and disappearing into the air, and rubbed his hands together. He scanned the shops on the street before him, windows all dark, signs all turned round to ‘closed’, and then with another, more irritated little sigh, looked at his watch. 

Half past four, said the large gold analogue contraption on his wrist. He sighed again, and strode forward across the street, his shoes slipping awkwardly against the packed down snow. He stepped up onto the sidewalk and frowned at the crunch of coarse salt under his foot. Then he glanced up and down the line of shops one more time, his eye landing on the only lit window on the whole street, and with one last heavy sigh, walked carefully towards it. 

The buildings looked old; stone foundations with thick wood or brick walls, mostly two stories tall with little apartments slotted in above, and topped with high-pointed dutch roofs complete with smoking chimneys. He passed a dark-windowed chocolatier with displays of intricate candy ornaments and gold foil wrapped chocolates in the window, and a bakery with windows decorated with paper snowflakes and quintessentially charming gingerbread houses. All closed as of four in the afternoon. 

"Ridiculous." He muttered aloud to the empty street. 

The open shop, when he came to it, had a large sculpture of a wooden bear in the window, and a tower of suede moccasins on display. Lavellan's Crafts, said a sign on the door. Looking in through the window he could see more display stands; postcards and keychains and little animal figurines. 

Fantastic, thought Dorian bitterly, a chintzy souvenir shop. Just what he needed. 

He pushed the heavy wooden door open, and it grunted on its hinges as his feet stomped over the welcome mat. And it was a Welcome! mat, woven out of some coarse fabric and dotted with thematic pine cones and holly leaves, the happy greeting stencilled on in uncomplicated calligraphy. 

The warmth and the smell of the place washed over him immediately. The walls were left unpainted, beautiful old wood varnished and shining in the warm incandescent light from an intricate wooden chandelier that hung overhead. A nearby shelf littered with artisanal scented candles and boxes of "genuine" incense sticks wafted out a mix of bold scents; patchouli, sage, maple, pine. He moved away from it, scanning the other shelves and displays. 

Beaded decorations and windchimes hung in one window, and further into the shop, past the little rotating displays of animal figurine keychains and greeting cards, larger items stood out with hefty price tags. Large canvases displayed boldly painted landscapes of the local scenery in all seasons, and portraits of rustic looking elves engaging in various traditional activities. His eyes lingered on the paintings a little too long, caught up in the crisp lines and bright colours. The people all had joy on their faces; rosy cheeks and bright eyes, dancing in colourful dresses that very nearly looked to be moving. As he stood struck by their expressiveness, he almost forgot to remain unimpressed. 

He picked up a bar of handmade soap scattered with gritty bits of lavender, sniffed it, and put it back down. Then he wandered over to a display of wooden tree ornaments, and spun it absently, watching the little wolves and caribou and bears sway about. 

"Looking for something specific?" Said a soft voice out of a dark nook behind the counter at the back of the shop. 

Dorian turned to look with a start, and before he could think better of it, he complained.

"Got anything that says 'happy holidays, thank you so much for dragging me out to the frozen middle of nowhere to spend the holidays working out of some stuffy old cabin that doesn't even get cell service. Not that it matters, since the entire dull little village shuts down at four in the afternoon and in all probability there won't be anywhere for miles to find decent company or a decent brandy’ ?" He asked. Then with a twinge of self-aware guilt for his attitude, he amended the rant with a vaguely apologetic "no offence". 

Behind the counter, the soft voice was laughing. Then an elf came into view, leaning his elbows over the counter and looking at Dorian with sparkling green eyes. He kept laughing, chuckling mildly under his breath and shaking his head so that golden light danced off the messy curls of his dark red hair. His face was tattooed, like the elves in the paintings, and they glowed against his warm-toned skin. Dorian had never seen work like it in real life, and once again found his eye lingering a little too long.

"Sorry, I don't think so." The elf said finally, a sideways smirk resting on his full lips, "but the shop down the street sells chocolate truffles filled with brandy that are quite nice. They don't open again until ten tomorrow, of course. Can I interest you in a postcard of our dull little village, instead?" 

Dorian's cheeks burned, and not half because of the chiding tone of the shopkeeper's rebuttal. Mainly, he was busy getting hot at just how striking those eyes were; how they glittered across the room at him with perfectly patient bemusement. 

He sighed. "Apologies. Long drive." He muttered, quickly grabbing an ornament carved like two fish swimming after each other's tails, and a wintery postcard decorated with a photograph of the tree in the town square. He walked himself up to the counter and set the items down, hastily digging into his pocket for his wallet and avoiding the elf's still-penetrating gaze. 

"If it's for someone you don't like, you should go with the wolf." Remarked the elf, still leaning his elbows on the counter and making no moves to ring him up, or stop smirking. "Around these parts, we tell stories about a Dread Wolf who tricks tourists into getting lost in the mountains." His smirk broadened. 

"Then why put it on an ornament?" 

The elf shrugged. "They're good stories." His soft voice lilted with an accent Dorian couldn't place, musical and sweet, but there was still a good deal of cheek to his tone. "Actually, the wolf represents strength and loyalty. The Dread Wolf is just a local legend." Then he winked at him, and slid the postcard across the counter to the register. 

"Strength and loyalty." Dorian shook his head, "and fish?" 

"Balance." 

Balance. As in work-life? Ironic, given the intended recipient. "I'll stick with the fish." 

"That everything?" 

Dorian nodded. 

"Hold on, I think I have something in the back that might interest you." The elf disappeared into his dark little nook and through a storeroom door, the teasing smirk never once leaving his face. When he came out again he was holding a single gold foil wrapped chocolate, and he nudged it across the counter with a friendly nod. "Happy holidays." He said, and the smile on his face shifted into one that was somewhat less amused, and more sincere. 

Dorian took the chocolate tentatively, and finished paying for the ornament and card. It totaled more than he would have expected for some faux-Dalish tourist fare, and he took a second to properly look over the ornament before tucking it into his pocket. No factory logo, just the initials TL burned into the wood. So maybe it wasn't quite a chintzy souvenir shop. 

"This all local?" He asked, suddenly feeling a new wave of guilt over his earlier disparaging comments. 

The very obviously Dalish elf in front of him raised an eyebrow and nodded. "There's a collective." 

He plucked two business cards and a pamphlet out of the brochure stand in front of his cash register, and slid them across the counter. The business cards had gallery names on them, and the pamphlet advertised the services of a local community centre, including an ongoing holiday craft fair. Dorian glanced over the rest of the brochures in the stand. There were a few other business cards for local shops, and pamphlets for companies offering various adventure packages; mountain climbing, horseshoe tours, trail rides. 

The elf's gaze followed him with a faint degree of amused judgment, and the expression fell on his striking features in a way that made Dorian's throat dry. He cleared his throat, picked out a general ‘Village Businesses’ brochure from the stand and smoothed out his expression. It was entirely unfair, this striking elf looking at him like that. He could fix this. 

"Well, now I've made a fool of myself, can I more humbly ask for a recommendation?" He passed the brochure over the counter with a gracefully apologetic smile. 

The elf unfolded the page on the counter top. Then grabbed a pencil from somewhere out of that mess of hair, and flashed him a quick, toothy grin before bending over it and beginning to circle and scribble away. 

"This might help keep you from getting bored, even without cell service. When do you leave?"  

Dorian's heart jumped at the retort, and the elf glanced up at him with another quick flash of taunting teeth.

“In about two weeks.” He answered roughly, throat dry again. 

The elf passed back the brochure, and tucked the pencil back into a braid behind his ear with a slight frown. “Not really enough time, but hopefully you can manage to enjoy some of it.” He said, leaning back and smirking again. Dorian went back to feeling flushed. “But we close in five minutes.” Of course you do, he thought. "If you want, I could show you where to get a good beer, if not good brandy.” Oh. Read the rest on AO3!

#pavellan #da fanfic #my fic #my writing #dorian pavus #taren lavellan #my ocs #the hallmark movie I deserve #holiday fic #fluff #gay holiday romps #subplots for socialists #dai #dai fanfic #modern au

[maleficarfic]

Empress

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Mildly Dubious Consent

Summary: Fen'Harel sweeps across the nations like vengeance, and all that will stop him is Ellana Lavellan as his wife.

On AO3: Link

He had razed Halamshiral and built in its place a palace of crystal spires that speared the heavens with their glory. Sunlight glittering off balustrades and parapets and reflecting off towers and arches blinded the devout and the apathetic alike. It was a castle meant to inspire wonder and awe, and it did those things well. It also inspired fear. Bone-deep, icy fear that clawed at the spine and twisted the stomach, and as Ellana stepped from her carriage and regarded the magnificent work of his magic, she felt that fear.

That terror.

Magic had built this castle. The magic of the ancients, once lost and now resurrected. By the man she’d called Solas. The man who was Fen’Harel.

That one name was enough to bring out a host of feelings in her, and fear was the least of them. Her emotions roiled inside of her, a confusing mass of sensation that left her dizzy and weak, and she hated feeling weak. If only she had time to sort through her thoughts.

Time.

He tantalized her with promises of time, coming to her in dreams as he swept across Thedas with his armies. If she would just give in to him, if she would come to him, if she would love him once again, he would give her immortality. He held her in her dreams, possessed of a strength she hadn’t seen in him before, and he’d stroked her hips, her back, her breasts. “Come to me, vhenan’ara, give yourself to me, and I will give you immortality and freedom and a heritage of pride.”

She’d spat in his face. “Look what pride has wrought,” she had snarled, and that dream had dissolved.

But he was nothing if not persistent. Night after night, he had slipped into her dreams, sometimes to whisper promises, sometimes to tease her body to the point of madness, and sometimes to gloat over all he’d done. How Fen’Harel had brought nations to their knees, causing mighty Tevinter to crumble and proud Ferelden to fracture. Orlais, he promised, was next. Unless…

Unless.

Ellana lifted her chin, set her expression into one of stony indifference. She refused to be cowed by his glory, even if she had, at last, agreed to his terms. Her hand in return for peace. She was bartering her body and soul for all of Thedas.

And some dark, awful part of her delighted in it. Her body thrilled to the knowledge that he wanted her so desperately that he would stop his tireless march in exchange for her. The death would stop because she was giving herself over to him. A god desired her beyond all other things.

She took a shuddering breath, horrified at the ache between her legs. It was Fen’Harel who wanted her, the architect of her people’s destruction and, now, the vehicle for their salvation.

Closing her eyes, she took a minute to compose herself.

She was alone, without any of her companions to offer council. She hadn’t dared bring them when she finally gave into his summons. She knew what they thought of him. Half of them wanted to crush him and were still dedicated to resisting him at every turn. The other half simply despised him.

“God or no god,” Vivienne had said with fury lacing her tone, “I will not bow to him.”

A hand touched her elbow, reminding her that she wasn’t truly alone. She allowed herself a moment of fantasy, that the hand belonged to Cassandra. Cassandra would murmur a line from the Chant, tell her she was strong, tell her she was making the right choice. But it wasn’t Cassandra’s hand. The hand’s owner was the only person Ellana’s honor guard.

Once the Hero of Ferelden, now Fen’Harel’s general.

Exerting a subtle pressure, General Mahariel urged her forward. Opening her eyes, forward she went.

In their traveling together, the General hadn’t spoken a single word to her. There were stories that spoke of the Hero as a quiet soul, so Ellana hadn’t expected great amounts of conversations. Maybe a few traded pleasantries. Instead, she hadn’t even received a hello.

Mahariel guided her into the great palace. Its insides were as grand as its outsides, all glittering and glimmering and, quite frankly, breathtaking. Overwhelming. The vaulted ceilings were so high she half expected to see clouds gathered at their peaks. Instead, the ceilings were painted to look like the sky, and starlight glittered in their far reaches.

Magic crackled over her skin. Even a warrior like her could feel it. It pressed all around her, a static force. It tickled her naked arms, ghosted up her legs, curled against her thighs. She stopped walking abruptly, taking long, slow breaths to steady herself. The magic felt like his. She knew well what it felt like when he touched her with the Fade, when he bent the Veil around her to caress her and leave her gasping. How many times had he done that to her in dreams? How many times had he sat, just watching, as he brought her to quaking orgasms with nothing more than the force of his will.

She swallowed a whimper, and still Mahariel said nothing.

So she straightened her back. She took a deep breath, inhaling sharply through her nose and ignoring the spice of his magic on the air. Lacing her fingers before her – ostensibly to appear composed, but truthfully to hide their shaking – she strode forward to meet her destiny.

Destiny, it turned out, was even more breathtaking than she could have imagined. Some part of her expected his throne room to be gaudy to better show off his power. It was not. It was simple, understated, made of white marble threaded through with rich veins of emerald. Golden mosaics on the walls were inspired by those they’d seen in the Temple of Mythal but were clearly crafted by Orlesian hands. They depicted scenes of elven liberation and magic. They depicted him, in his glory. But nothing about the mosaics was tacky. Nothing about any of it was tacky.

All around the throne room, conversations died. The words simply dried up, turning to ash that floated away on a cold wind. Just like her freedom. But this was the duty of a Keeper, and Ellana had no illusions about who and what she was. She was no mage, but she was Thedas’s Keeper now, and Keepers stood between the Dread Wolf and their people. She stood between him and Thedas.

As her eyes swept over the people, her heart broke. There was Tevinter’s once might Archon, now a trembling, broken man. There were rings of scars all over his body, as though someone had tried to flay him. Across from him, the King and Queen of Ferelden. They watched her with hollow eyes. Accusing eyes. If you had done this sooner, they seemed to say, our people would not have suffered and died.

She had failed.

Worst of all was the sight of Celene. Because when Ellana saw Celene, she realized that Orlais was not the last bastion of a dying world. Orlais had fallen long ago, and Celene… Celene was a shell of herself. Gone was the mighty, assured Empress. In her place stood a woman who wore the trappings of royalty without any of the power.

Briala stood beside his throne in the position of a favored retainer, and Ellana had a moment of clarity. Briala had been the first.

Finally, Ellana’s gaze shifted to him. Once Solas, now Fen’Harel, and her breath caught in her throat. He had turned from a missive held in Briala’s hands, straightening slowly. His every motion was grace given physical form. Power dripped from him, distorting the air around him. Gone was the unassuming apostate. The man on the ironwood throne, wearing cloth of gold and a cloak of midnight, crowned with flame, was a god.

His expression didn’t change from one of mild interest as he rose.

All around her, the court went to its knees. Ellana’s eyes darted from face to face, finding rage and hatred on some and devout reverence on others.

“Welcome home, my queen,” he said, striding down the dais. He stopped when he stood an arm’s length from her and extended his hand.

For Thedas, she reminded herself, but she was unable to keep her face as blank as his. He regarded her with the same kind of curiosity one reserved for ants. She felt her expression twist into one of pain.

She hated him. She loved him. She craved him. She despised him.

For Thedas.

She put her hand in his.

His eyes softened with heat and longing, and he drew her close. With barely any space between them, his magic curled around her like a palpable force. It swept over her skin, caressing her cheeks, her throat, the daring neckline of her gown. He’d give her the dress. She’d worn it as a sign of her submission, but she detested it.

“Andaran atish’an, vhenan’ara,” Fen’Harel said to her in a voice so low it rumbled between them. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the swells of her breasts.

“You summoned me,” she returned, trying not to stiffen at his greeting. Trying not to melt.

His brows rose. “Ah. I see it is to be like this between us.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, brushing her knuckles across his lips. His tongue flicked against her skin and she ground her teeth together, ignoring the flood of wet heat between her legs. “It need not be, ma vhenan.”

“You made it this way,” she said tightly, “when you abandoned me only to come sweeping across Thedas, killing everyone who stood in your way.”

“An act of justice for our people.”

“Murder.” She whispered the word, sharing it with no one except him. “Murderer.”

A grin tipped up his lips, but it was not kind. “You see yourself as Thedas’s Keeper though you are not a mage. You view this as a failing. You did not fail, vhenan’ara, this was as inevitable as the changing of the tides.” His thumb brushed over her palm, drawing circles against her flesh, and she shuddered at the prickling heat he conjured beneath her skin.

“You crushing Thedas beneath your heel? Doing to the humans what they did to us?”

“No,” he said, nonplussed. He leaned forward, into her space. The magic that wreathed him curled around her breasts, stroking her nipples through the thin fabric, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She strangled a whimper in the back of her throat as the fingers of his freehand brushed over her cheek. “You coming to me.” He chuckled lightly, softly. “And, soon, for me. I have long dreamed of this day.”

Drawing away from her but not releasing her hand, leaving her trembling and all but panting, he turned to his court. “Let us celebrate,” he called. “Let us feast, for our empress has come at last.” And then, shifting close to her, he murmured, “Come, vhenan’ara.”

Fire washed through her, fierce and sudden, and his magic pressed between her legs. She would have stumbled if he hadn’t taken her arm. Gasping, she clung to him as an orgasm tore through her, sudden and impossible to hold out against.

She lifted her eyes to him, not sure if she should be starting at him with fury or lust, and she found him gazing back with barely concealed lust. “Come,” he said again, gently, and an echo of the pleasure rolled through her, making her legs tremble as he brought her to his throne.

Throughout the wedding, which was vaguely Dalish, and the feast, which was also vaguely Dalish, he toyed with her. He fed her from his own fingers, leaned close to whisper filthy promises in her ear, and used his magic to stroke and caress every inch of her body. She could barely lift her goblet of wine she shook so badly, and when he noticed, he plucked the glass from her hands.

“Allow me,” he murmured, and he lifted it to her lips.

She despised his proprietary behavior, as if he had the right to bring her food and drink. What made it worse was that, now, bound to him, he did have the right. It was his right and his right alone, and there wasn’t a single person in the throne room who would stop him.

“Why do you tremble so?” he asked her as he brushed his thumb over the corner of her lip. His long-fingered hand curled around the back of her neck. Slid between her shoulders. The gown he’d chosen had no back, so his caress fell on naked skin.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, arching away from his touch.

Something like a tongue licked her inner thigh. Fingers of magic caught the crotch of her smallclothes, pushing inside to stroke through the swollen, wet lips of her cunt.

“I plan to.” His voice was so steady. So assured. As if he wasn’t using his magic to wring pleasure from every inch of her body. In public. Where his defeated enemies watched. “Slowly, Ellana.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name. “So very slowly.” He brushed his lips over her ear. “Ellana.”

She went rigid, clenching her hands into fists in her lap. The tongue licking her thigh turned inward. Apparently cloth was no barrier for magic because the tongue swept through her folds without any hindrance, and she gasped softly, all her muscles tightening even more.

“Ellana.”

“Enough,” she spat. “I’m your wife, your empress, at least treat me with respect.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he drew away from her. His hand lingered on her back, but the magic pressing against her cunt withdrew. “You are right, Empress,” he murmured, and he lifted a fruit from her plate, offering it to her.

After a second’s hesitation, she closed her lips around his fingers. Tit for tat, she figured, tucking the fruit to one side of her mouth. Her tongue swept over the tips of his fingers. Her teeth grazed his skin. When she released his fingers to bite into the fruit, he was watching her with wolf-like intensity, his eyes hooded. “Do not tempt me,” he said softly.

The remainder of the feast passed slowly for her, dragging by in agonizingly slow measures. His hand never left her back, and instead of being a comfort it gave her a sense of dread. Soon enough, that hand would be on her hips, her breasts. Between her legs. Before he’d returned, before he’d left her, he’d teased her mercilessly in the Fade, touching her until she screamed for him. But never once had he done anything but kiss her in the physical world.

No one had done anything more than kiss her in the physical world.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to bed someone. In the Clan, there had never been time, and then once she became Inquisitor, it had always been him, and he had always been very strict about where they drew the line for physical intimacy. After him, she’d had Cullen and Blackwall both being incredibly solicitous, but she could never bring herself to do more than kiss either of them. It just seemed wrong.

And now he was leading her down a shimmering hallway into a room draped with fluttering strips of cloth, a room where the light came from the walls themselves. There were no windows, only gorgeous, vaulted arches, and though it the night was chill, warmth seeped from the very stones beneath their feet.

Neither of them, she realized with a start, were wearing shoes.

He led her to the massive bed in the center of the room. Circular, it had no head or foot, but was laden with sumptuous blankets, pillows made from silk and velvet with gilded fringe.

For Thedas, she reminded herself as he stopped beside the bed.

He released her, lifting his hands to her face. Tilting her head back, he gazed at her with a soul-shaking tenderness, his eyes soft and gentle. He was so much taller than she was, towering over her.

The wicked part of her mind whispered, For you, Ellana.

Beside him, she was so small, so vulnerable. She once thought she was physically stronger than him, but she doubted that was true. He had magical and physical strength, the wisdom of ages, and she had nothing.

“You are terrified,” he observed, and she was.

With him staring down at her, she already felt naked. Her limbs trembled, feeling weak in a way she’d never felt weak before. Even standing before Corypheus, she hadn’t felt like this. Like she was giving away part of herself. It was for the greater good, everything she did was for the greater good. Part of her would die in this room, in his arms, so that everyone else could live. So the fighting would end.

Life was a series of sacrifices. Either you sacrificed yourself or someone else, but in the end, someone had to go to the knife. All she could hope for was a quick death.

Withdrawing his hands, he stepped away from her. She watched him, swallowing hard, trembling as her stomach twisted and turned. All the food he’d fed her burned the back of her throat, but she forced it back down. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her throw up. Then she thought maybe she should. Maybe it would turn him off her.

But she didn’t want to turn him off her. She just wanted things to go back to how they were before all of this, back to the times when he slipped into her dreams. When he—

All the breath left her. He had dropped his midnight cloak and shrugged out of his golden tunic revealing a body that could only be described as perfect. Seeing him in the Fade was one thing. In the Fade, things could be manipulated. He could manipulate them. Reality was… She licked her lips.

How was she supposed to hate him when he was everything she wanted?

“Ask me questions, ma vhenan,” he said as he settled on a padded bench. He didn’t look at her, but she didn’t feel as though he were being dismissive. Rather, as he unwound the lacing around his ankles and calves, he was offering her privacy. Or keeping his. “Let us relearn one another.”

She bit back a waspish first question. Demanding to know why he razed half of Thedas wouldn’t do either of them any favors. Instead, she asked, “How much older than me are you, then?”

He paused, his fingers hovering over his calves. Then he straightened, turning to her with a look of dry amusement. “I make many mountain ranges look young.”

“Cradle robber,” she muttered.

The most miraculous thing happened. He threw back his head and he laughed, a full, rich sound that made colors ripple through the air. She tasted those colors on her tongue, bursts of bright citrus, and felt them like silk against her naked arms and chest. Heat unfurled in her belly, a warm rush of need and want that had her panting.

“Was there ever any doubt?” he asked her when his laughter subsided.

She was still too stunned to answer.

He rose from his chair, naked except for his trousers, and he passed her, moving toward one of the walls. A mural covered it. A living mural of a great forest that stretched for miles, so real she thought she might be able to step into it. He touched it, brushing his fingers over the wall, and the scent of pine filled the room.

“Another question, perhaps,” he said, and he turned back to her, padding slowly toward her. He moved… simply. Still elegant, but not predatory. It was a man’s walk, not a god’s. It set her at ease.

“Do I call you Solas or Fen’Harel?”

“Are you asking who I am or which I prefer?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Solas was a mask you wore to bear your shame,” she said softly.

“Just so,” he agreed.

The setting sun poured scarlet and violet light across the room, across him, painting him in fire and midnight. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to see if his skin burned or froze, but she was afraid to. Afraid of what she might feel if she did. She wanted him, desperately, but he was still the Dread Wolf. She was Thedas’s Keeper. By that logic, she really should just give in to him.

“Fen’Harel,” she breathed, testing the name.

He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin. This time, when their gazes met, his was full of hunger. Desire. Heat flared in her in response, and he inhaled sharply. “Let me show you that it will not be such a burden to be my wife,” he murmured, his fingers sliding over her jaw, along the length of her ear. She shivered, allowing him to draw closer. “My Empress.”

She licked her lips, a flick of her tongue over dry skin, and he groaned softly. It was a sound of need, of weakness, of helplessness, and it made more of that delicious, electric heat crackle through her. A god wanted her. She made a god weak.

“Allow me to taste you, vhenan’ara.”

He’d moved so close that his chest brushed the tips of her breasts, a tantalizing tease. “Yes,” she whispered, hating herself for giving in. A Keeper stood against the Dread Wolf, and here she was giving in to him in the most primal and elemental way.

His mouth brushed over hers. It was hardly a kiss at all, just a simple caress. A strangled sound escaped her. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and drag him against her. She’d never had the patience for these sorts of kisses, these light, teasing, ephemeral things. When she kissed someone, she liked fire and heat, passion and torment. She wanted his arms banded around her like iron, wanted him to crush her to his body as he pressed her to the bed, parted her legs, and—

Wrenching back, gasping, she pressed a hand to her chest, staring at him. Such a light touching of lips should not inspire such a conflagration. But more than that, the ferocious depths of her desire terrified her more than he did. She wanted him beyond reason, with all the strength of her spirit, and it made her shudder with uncertainty and fear.

“Ma vhenan, my Empress,” he said, so gently, so kindly.

“I…” She choked on the words. “You…” She’d faced dragons and darkspawn and terrors untold, and the simple act of going to bed with a man frightened her more than all of them.

Because he wasn’t just a man. He was a god, the one she had been taught to respect and fear more than any other. And he was the man – the god – that she loved. With everything she was, she loved him, and that should make this easier. That should make giving herself to him simple. But there was all the hurt, all the pain, and the deep, yawning stretch of the unknown.

“What frightens you so?” he asked softly. He hadn’t put his hands on her yet. Though he stood achingly close to her, if she stepped back, his arms wouldn’t cage her. His eyes searched her face, bright with wisdom, and then he let out a quiet sound of comprehension. Of wonder. “Virgin.” He uttered the word with no small measure of awe.

Balking, she turned away from him, even though she was acutely aware of how close they were. How every breath brushed her breasts against his chest. How their breath mingled in the space between their bodies. “It doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t…” She choked on the words. She hadn’t been saving herself for him. Before he left, she had fully intended on him being her first, but after that she just hadn’t wanted anyone else. It hadn’t seemed right.

One of his hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. He turned her gaze back to his, and his eyes were full of banked heat. Of want. Of predatory desire. She began to tremble.

“No, no,” he murmured, settling one hand on her hip. In spite of all the lust in his gaze, his touch wasn’t heavy. It was possessive, but not caging. He would let her run if she so chose.

Of course, he would probably chase her. And like it. She knew better than to run from a predator, from a wolf, so she remained in his hold, still like a deer.

“I’m not who I have or haven’t slept with,” she finally said, her voice strangled. She fisted her hands in the gauzy fabric of her skirt, twisting it, wringing it.

His teeth flashed. A feral grin. Animalistic. Unnatural. So much more than elven. “You are mine,” he growled, and he bent his face to hers, brushing his lips against hers in another of those wispy, ephemeral kisses. His gazed fixed on her own eyes, and she released her skirts to brace her hands against his chest.

He felt like fire against her palms. Fire fierce and deadly, like the sun had taken up residence in his form.

“People don’t belong to people,” she whispered against his mouth, shocked that she was arguing with a god.

“My Empress,” he returned, his voice like gravel, rough-edged and jagged. He stepped closed, into her, and she felt the hard line of his cock against her body.

Suddenly, she was in a memory, in the Fade, with him wrapped around her, kissing her, whispering the sweetest things against the point of one ear. His heart, his love, the breath in his lungs, the light by which he saw. His hope, his joy, his relief, his succor. He rubbed against her in that memory, her legs around his waist, their clothes a flimsy barrier between them. And then she was back with him, truly with him, in his arms. His lips were hot on hers, tongue tracing the line of her mouth.

She opened for him, needing that kiss to quench the fire he stoked inside her. Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him to her, against her, and it was all too much and not enough. She thought she might sob with relief that she was holding him again. That he was holding her. That it was real.

The minute his tongue touched hers, he changed. He all but dragged her against him, wrapping one arm around the small of her back so she couldn’t escape. She felt the strength in his embrace, so much greater than any man’s had a right to be, and her body answered it with a flood of wet heat and burning need. He snarled softly into the kiss, the sound one of delight not violence, and he moved her, pushed her, crowded her until her legs hit his massive bed.

Together, wrapped around one another, they tumbled down. He twisted to take the brunt of the fall, landing on his back with her on his chest, and still he kissed her. He devoured her. His tongue swept into her mouth and consumed her with a passion that stole her breath. With him, she didn’t need to breathe. He was all the air she needed.

She was trembling when he finally drew away from the kiss, his hand still in her hair, and it wasn’t from fear or uncertainty. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, because he looked at her like there was no one else alive in Thedas. Like it was just the two of them. Like there was no such thing as time or conflict or anything else.

“I need to see you,” he said, and though it was a god’s command it sounded like the plea of a desperate man.

It gave her strength. Not the kind of strength it took to swing a sword or lift a shield, but the strength that women held over men, a sexual power of mystery and allure. The power of pleasure promised by the hollows of her body.

Straddling him, she pushed herself up, freezing when the motion brought her into contact with his cock. There were still his trousers and her smalls between them, but that pressure, that rub, arrested her entirely. She gasped, palms flat on his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Slowly, carefully, she rocked against his cock, like she had in so many dreams, and a little moan escaped her.

“Later, ma vhenan,” he said roughly, grasping her hips and stilling her.

“Now,” she insisted, trying to move in spite of his hands and not succeeding in the slightest. He was too strong, too firm, too everything.

“Later,” he said again, rising, trapping her against his chest. “Your gown. Remove it.”

She shot him what she hoped was a venomous look as she started shrugging out of the dress. The sleeves were just caps on her arms, there was no back so there were no buttons. It was a gown for an elven queen, something he’d commissioned and sent to her. Truthfully, it seemed made for slipping into, and out of, easily.

“No.” He stilled her with gentle hands, but his expression was intense. Intent. “You have me in your power, my Empress.” He leaned close, tipping his head to the side and kissing her softly, lingering for a moment. “Kill me with it,” he breathed against her mouth.

She was panting when he drew back, a little dazed by his words. Then, slowly, she rolled her shoulder and drew one of the straps down her arm.

A quiet groan escaped him, and his eyes followed the path of the sleeve. Watched her arm pull free. Fixed on the place her scandalous décolletage started to gape and sag. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but he didn’t. He simply turned his gaze to her other arm and waited.

There again was that feeling of power. Of control.

Emboldened by his rapt attention, she pushed lightly on his chest. “Down,” she said. He gave her an arch look, and though it pained her, she added, “Please.”

“As my Empress asks,” he murmured, and he stretched himself across the bed, still watching her fixedly. Hungrily.

Astride him still, she felt the hardness of his cock rubbing between her legs, and she had to steel herself against the faint, burgeoning pleasure of it.

Slowly, she stroked her hand over her shoulder, dragging the sleeve with it, her fingertips trailing along her skin. She gasped softly, back arching, surprised by how her own touch sent pleasure feathering through her. When she released the fabric, her bodice sagged, falling away from her breasts. They were firm and high but terribly small, and she’d always been self conscious about them.

He stared at her breasts like they were the humans’ Golden City, like they were the most beautiful things he’d ever beheld. So she lifted her arms above her head, struggling against shyness, and arched her back.

A string of Elvish she couldn’t understand flowed from his mouth, and then his mouth was on her, on her breast, sucking her deep. She cried out, stunned by the shock of pleasure that tore through her, by the sudden fire that burst in her veins. Her body curled toward his, her head bowing over his own, and she shuddered as he suckled her, as his teeth worried one hardened nub. He bit her, just hard enough to hurt, then soothed the pain with a stroke of his tongue, and she was panting, gasping, barely capable of breathing.

“Fen’Harel.” She whispered his name, and he groaned against her breast, turning to the other. His hands swept up her side, lifting her breasts for his teeth and tongue and kisses. His hips shifted under hers, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him. Rubbing over him. The motions were instinctive, needy, and felt so damn good.

Reality exceeded everything he’d ever done to her in the Fade. Which, admittedly, hadn’t been much. Their clothes had never come off. He’d never seen her. Never touched her like this.

His arms came around her, and he bore her gently down to the bed. Then he rose over her, staring, taking her in. The shyness overcame her then, and she started to cross her arms over her breasts.

“No,” he said firmly, catching her wrists in his hands. “Don’t hide from me, ma vhenan, my Empress.” He paused, briefly, before adding, “If you do, I will bind you to my bed. Let me drink in your beauty. Let me feast on the sight of your body.”

Her body flushed with heat at the same time her mind suddenly screamed protests at her. This was Fen’Harel. This was the man who slaughtered his way to his throne. Who had betrayed her. Who loved her, the forgiving part of her whispered. “Who talks like that?” she said aloud, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

He arched a brow. “I do. Hmm.” He ran his palm over one of her breasts, and she arched into the touch mindlessly, already addicted to the reality of him. “Hands above your head, Empress.”

She hesitated for just a moment before obeying, lifting her arms and dropping them above her head as commanded. His eyes swept over her, over her breasts and the toned musculature of her stomach. His fingers followed his eyes, dipping into the valley between her breasts and then following those lines of muscle. “You were always magnificent,” he murmured. “You still are.”

His fingers dug into the fabric of her gown and he pulled it down her legs in a single motion, pulling her smalls with the dress, and he tossed both aside. Leaving her naked. She cried out in surprise, feeling suddenly, terribly vulnerable. But instead of leaning back to stare at her, he stretched over her, curling her against him, and he kissed her.

He kissed her for what felt like hours. The tension in her melted away, replaced by sweet fire. Her body pressed against his, molded itself to his form, and he laughed into her mouth. She whimpered in response. One of his hands curled over her naked hip, pulling her leg over his, spreading her, opening her, and it didn’t frighten her. Instead, she arched against him as he ran his tongue over her lips, into her mouth. She moved sinuously against his body, his cock trapped hard and hot between them, and she moaned softly, eagerly.

“Please,” she whispered into their kiss, the fire inside her becoming too much. Too strong.

“Ah, my sweet Empress, what need have we to rush?” he asked, but he urged her onto her back, settling between her legs. Open-mouthed kissed scalded her neck, her chest. He laved her nipples with a rough tongue, and she shivered against him, whimpering. His hands swept over her sides, curling around her hips, and he rubbed himself against her, the friction of his clothing almost unbearable against her sensitive cunt.

His tongue traced the lines of her muscles. His teeth bit the arch of her hipbone. Then he drew back. He looked at her, splayed and open before him, and there was nothing but desire in his eyes. Hot, hungry desire, and she was too fascinated by it to be ashamed of her nakedness, of her openness.

One of his knuckles brushed over the outside of her sex, stroking her, and the electric pleasure of it bowed her back. She cried out, feeling as though she’d come out of her skin, and anxiety, sharp and terrible, replaced pleasure. Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Release me, ma vhenan,” he said so softly she nearly missed the words.

Her eyes flew to his, and she realized she was pushing him. She didn’t want to push him. Well, that was a lie. She wanted to shove back against him. Maybe grasp his cock and stroke it to repay him for that caress between her legs. She wanted more power. More control. With his every touch, he stripped control from her even as he gave her power. Power over him.

“I…” How could she tell him the intensity of this was overwhelming her? Subsuming her? She felt like she was drowning, and it was wonderful and terrible at the same time. “I can’t.”

“This is no different from the Fade,” he said, prying her hand off his wrist. He kissed the tip of each of her fingers and then set her hand aside.

“I wasn’t naked there,” she whispered breathlessly, staring at his face like he was a solid anchor.

He slipped off the bed, and she didn’t know whether to feel relieved or bereft. But then his hands were at the sash holding up his trousers, pulling the knot free. He tossed the red slash of fabric aside, and she stared as he began stepping out of his trousers. Then she turned away, but not before she saw his cock, hard between his legs.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to focus on breathing. But breathing was next to impossible. She wanted him but was afraid of him, she loved him but she detested what he’d done. No, no! She was giving herself to him to save Thedas, not because she cared. Not because she wanted. Not because she desired.

She certainly didn’t want to see him naked.

What a lie that was.

She felt him settle beside her, felt his naked skin on hers. “Now we’re both naked,” he murmured. “Does that help?”

“No.”

His mouth found her ear, and she shivered as he traced the shell of it with his tongue. He took the point of it into his mouth, sucking lightly, and she whimpered. At the same time, his hand settled on her belly, and her eyes flew open as it crept lower. But curiosity kept her silent.

“I dreamed of touching you,” he murmured as he released her ear, as he kissed the tip. “Of dipping my fingers between your legs and finding you wet with your need for me.” She trembled as his fingers curled over her mound, slipping between the swollen lips of her sex. “I have often wondered what I would do to find you—” He broke off with a growl. “Wet,” he hissed, and she moaned as his fingers stroked her, teased her.

“Wonder no more,” she said breathlessly as he began a ruthless perusal of her body.

“Indeed.” He kissed her cheek, the corner of her lips. “Look at me, my Empress. Let me see your face.”

Shaking, she obeyed him as his fingers stroked her, caressed her, traversed every inch of her. He was meticulous but not dispassionate. Every time he coaxed a quiet moan or whimper from her, a restless, needy sound broke from him. His brows drew together, his lips parting. She bit hers, not to hold sound in or for any logical reason. Just because. It made him growl.

Then he slipped one finger inside her. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders hard enough to bruise, her nails digging crescents into his skin, and he snarled, dragging her against his chest. His finger curled inside her, moving hard and fast against tender, sensitive flesh, and she cried out again, her head falling back as her eyes drifted shut. All she could feel was the pleasure, the burning intensity of it, of him.

He whispered to her in Elvish as he stroked her, caressed her, as he burned her with that single finger inside her. She didn’t know the words, but she didn’t need to. She understood his intent. Either he was complimenting her or speaking filth, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was how he was touching her. It was so much more than having her own fingers inside her, so different. So surprising. He did things she’d never tried, stirring her, pressing against her, curling that finger against one spot that made her scream.

“Fen’Harel!”

He snarled against her neck, slipping another finger into her. His fingers stretched her, and there was a shocking, obscene pleasure to that. She let out a keening wail that transformed into his name and then into senseless pleas for more.

She thought he’d bring her to a swift completion.

Wrong. She was so wrong.

He tormented her, thrusting into her and building the pressure but never letting it overwhelm her. She was drowning in it, swept up in it, suffocating in it, but it was wonderful. He was wonderful, and she’d never known. She hadn’t guessed she would find this in the Dread Wolf’s arms, this pleasure, this mindless, aching need.

As he worked her body over, as she arched and twisted and begged senselessly for him to give her completion, he pressed his mouth to her ear. “Beautiful,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Indescribably beautiful. You are perfection, vhenan’ara, my Empress, my wife, and you are mine.” He snarled the word. “No one else shall ever have you. No one else will touch you, taste you, fill you. You belong to me.”

“Yes, yes,” she chanted, beyond any sense of arguing with him.

“My name, Ellana.” He all but purred her name, dragging it out with sinfully rounded vowels. Her body rippled around him, and he laughed, the sound delighted. “My name, and I will give you everything.”

Arching into his hand, trying desperately to get him to touch some nameless place inside her, she whispered, “Fen’Harel.”

His thumb brushed over her clit, his fingers curled, and she came with a shattered, broken cry. Pleasure coursed through her, burned her, scalded her. It devoured her body and left her empty and formless, a piece of clay for him to remake.

Before her orgasm died, he was between her legs, spreading them wide with his hands and dipping his head. She tried to stop him, to tell him not to, but then his tongue touched her, and she was lost. Oh, she was lost to everything except him, except his touch, except the sheer agony of him.

He consumed. He devoured. His tongue ran over every part of her sex until she was shuddering and trembling beneath him, until she was barely sensible. Every thought of resisting him was gone, replaced by the singular need to have him. To be had by him.

She reached out blindly, her back bowed as she gasped his name, and he laced his fingers with hers, his thumb tracing the scar of the Anchor on her palm. She cried out, gasping, for that simple touch made her burn brighter, hotter. He laughed against her, and the sound resonated inside her, shattering her, breaking her into a thousand little pieces as she came undone for him again and again, until she lost all sense of anything but the endless pleasure.

It was dark when he slid up her body, still holding her hand. It was midnight when he finally eased into her. “Ar lath ma, vhenan’ara,” he whispered against her mouth, and she drank in the words, unable to repeat them for her murmurs of more. More of him, more of his pleasure, more of everything he could possibly give her.

There was no pain when he was finally inside her, no discomfort. Only glorious, impossible fullness. She rolled her hips against him to test the feeling, gasping with delight at the pleasure that sparked through her. Her revelation of ecstasy made him laugh again, and his laughter delighted her. She’d never seen him so pleased, so happy. But his eyes shone as he braced himself above her and thrust slowly into her, taking his time taking her.

He brought her hand to his cheek, nuzzling against her palm, and then he kissed the green slash of light. It flickered, crackled. Then he licked the mark, and she whimpered, staring at him.

Releasing her, he bent his head to her lips, teasing her with promises of kisses but making good on none of them. She chased him as he thrust into her, his pace even and steady, until the friction of his cock in her became too much to ignore. Then she wrapped herself around him and pleaded for more, for something, for some end to their dance.

“Do you want it to end?” he asked her, his lips brushing her ear again. “I could make love to you until the sun rose over the mountains and bathed us in its light. I could make love to you until days turned to weeks, my Empress.”

She gasped, straining beneath him. Sweat slicked their bodies, and they slid together so sweetly, so perfectly, but it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” she whispered. “I want…”

“What do you want?”

She wanted to come with his cock inside her, but he was denying her that, keeping her on the edge. She wanted him as mindless as she was.

So she did the only thing that seemed logical. She bit him, digging her teeth into the unyielding flesh of his shoulder, and he howled. Her name echoed through his room, and then he was moving against her, driving into her, his hands on her hips to hold her.

Elvish words spilled from his lips, and she understood some of them, more of them than she expected. He spoke of filling her, of completing her, of branding her with his essence. He snarled softly and dragged her mouth to his, murmuring more words into their kisses as one hand slid between them to find her clit.

He touched her, and with that touch, he ended her. Her world dissolved, and she drowned in the shattered pieces of it, crying out his name as her body clenched around him, rippled around him, grasped at him with greedy pulls to drag him deeper. And again he laughed, the god and the man jubilant and victorious.

“You are magnificent when you come,” he told her, still moving inside her, but now his thrusts were harried instead of measured. “Your sweet cunt squeezing me, your back arching, your gasps and moans.” A groan escaped him, then another. Then his hand closed hard on her hip and he jerked into her, his head falling back and his lips parting. He breathed her name as he came, as he spilled hot jets of his seed into her pliant, open body.

Her fingers curled over his shoulders, brushed over the base of his neck. “Yes, yes,” she whispered, awed by his face, by his pleasure, by the look of utter freedom and contentment he wore.

When he was finished, he dropped his forehead to hers, and for a time they stayed like that, still wrapped around each other. Their gazes locked, they simply breathed.

Then, softly, as if the words might break her if spoken to loud, he murmured, “I have waited ages for you, vhenan’ara. You are the heart that beats outside of my chest.”

She smiled at him tentatively, and because the world and its troubles seemed so far away, she said, simply, “You are everything.”

#Female Lavellan/Solas #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age: inquisition fic #fanfic #female lavellan #solas #dai

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Involved

Chapter 9 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up on AO3! 

~5780 words; read on AO3 instead if you prefer.

******************************

Felassan’s first session of mana-building exercises didn’t go particularly well.

They practiced together for over an hour. In that time, Tamaris was eventually able to make a barrier that lasted for three seconds — almost her limit, since she was able to hold a barrier for four seconds at most. Felassan, on the other hand, managed to make his hands light on fire only one time, though his palms were constantly aglow with ember-like energy by the end of the session.

“An excellent start,” he said to Tamaris. “If ever I’m on the road again and a foe should attack, I can offer to toast guimauves for them.” He laughed, but it came out like a snarl.

“This was the first try,” she reminded him. “You can’t expect to get your control back in a single session.”

“I’m aware of that,” he snapped.

“I know you are,” she said calmly. “I just thought you might want to hear it out loud.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and Tamaris sympathetically studied the sheen of sweet on his forehead and his nose. “You just need practice,” she assured him. “We’ll start doing this every day.”

He opened his eyes. They were still faintly lit from within by his mercurial magic. “You’re going to watch me struggle with this every day? It’s going to be about as interesting as watching grass grow.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “And I won’t just be watching you. I’ll be practicing too. It’ll be a good routine for both of us.”

He studied her silently for a moment, and the angry glow gradually left his eyes and palms. “What if this takes months? You’re willing to do this every day for months?”

“I told you, yes,” she said. “You can do this, Felassan. You’re going to get better. You just need time and a safe space, and you have it now.”

He didn’t reply. His expression was turning soft and understanding, and Tamaris frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You see Marin in me, don’t you?” he said.

Marin. The sound of his name stopped her heart for a second. She dragged in a breath and shrugged. “Maybe I do. And he would have gotten better too, if he’d gotten the help he needed. So what if I see a little bit of him in this situation?”

“I am not complaining,” Felassan said quietly. “I’m just stating a fact.”

“Good,” she said in a harder tone. “Because I’m not going to watch someone else I care about get dragged away by fucking Templars. So we’re doing this every day until you get better, all right?”

“Of course,” he said. 

He was still studying her in a contemplative way. Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Paint a fucking picture, will you? It’ll last longer.”

He reached out and tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “And what a picture it would be.”

A shiver spilled down the back of her neck at the touch of his hand. Then he leaned back and rubbed his hands together playfully. “All right. We’ve earned a break. Shall we continue peeling off the wallpaper in the foyer, or do you want to start packing those wonderful gold-plated dishes for Varric to take to the market?”

She swallowed hard. Her nerves were jangling from his gentle touch. Calm the fuck down, she told herself, and she gave him a half-smile as she stood up. “Let’s peel the wallpaper. It’s way more satisfying. I like when I get full strips off the wall in one pull.” 

He chuckled and stood up. “They say that the simplest pleasures are enjoyed by the simplest minds.” 

“Says the man who takes extra time to arrange fruit plates by both size and colour,” she retorted. 

He pressed one hand to his chest as he followed her through the study. “You wound me, avise.”

She smirked and led him to the foyer, and they spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon peeling the awful gilded wallpaper from the foyer walls and making fun of each other. That evening, Felassan made a delicious meal of roasted chicken basted with butter and herbs accompanied by another amazing salad, and they were both tired enough from the mana-building exercises that morning that they went to bed relatively early — in their own separate beds, of course, though Tamaris had a hard time falling asleep as she mulled over the tantalizing thought of going to Felassan’s bedroom. 

No, she told herself firmly. She couldn’t go crawling into Felassan’s bed until she figured out why exactly she was feeling so weird about the idea of a casual fling with him. He’d been honest with her about his expectations, and the least she could do was try to be honest in return, even if it meant looking inwards in a way that she’d refused to do for… well, for about the same amount of time that she’d spent either sleeping with Bull or drinking herself into a stupor almost every night. 

As she gazed up at the ceiling, she began to wonder if part of the problem — her problem — was, in fact, that Felassan was being so honest and open with her.

And if that was her problem, well… then she even was more fucked up than she thought.

The rest of the week passed in a similar vein. Their days actually became quite busy, filled as they were with a number of activities. They packed up various items left behind by the previous owners of the mansion and kept slowly peeling the wallpaper from the main rooms of the house, and when Varric brought them a bucket of deep blue paint, they started painting the foyer. They still spent time discussing This Shit Is Weird, though Felassan’s reading slowed down when their mana-building exercises began, and it wasn’t long before the mana-training sessions took up half of Felassan’s days as he started doing them for longer and longer without Tamaris’s supervision.

Felassan was making visible progress every day, though not without his ups and downs. He’d decided to focus on producing ice since it would be less destructive if an accident should happen in the house. By the end of the week, he was able to produce a blast of ice during almost half of his attempts, though the strength of the blast varied. At one point, he flash-froze a plant that was on the other side of the room, which prompted a laughing jag that lasted for so long that Tamaris actually needed to talk him through it for fear that he’d pass out from the hysteria. After that particular incident, they started lining up golden wine glasses filled with water for Felassan to focus on during his sessions, and this mitigated the messes he made – for the most part, at least.

Then came a day when his training session went particularly poorly. They’d already eaten dinner together on the roof and shared a relaxing joint, so the conditions seemed perfect for training. But when they settled in the library to practice their mana-building exercises together, for whatever reason, Felassan struggled to produce any ice at all. 

After the tenth or eleventh unsuccessful attempt, he let out a harsh laugh. “Fenedhis lasa. This is—” He broke off with a snort of mirth before speaking again. “It was going fine yesterday.”

“Maybe we should take a break,” she suggested.

“No,” he said. “I need to do this.” He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. A bead of sweat rolled down his face as he tried to summon ice in his upturned palms, to no avail.

He exhaled heavily. “Fuck,” he muttered.

She raised her eyebrows. “Swearing in common now? You must be pissed.”

“I am just a touch enraged, yes,” he bit off. “And I blame you.”

“Me?” she said in alarm. “For your — for the… for the no ice?”

“No, avise. For the common-tongue cursing.” He gave her an awful grimace of a smile. “But in a situation like this, a crude common-tongue curse feels more fitting.”

His hands were starting to spark with lightning. Tamaris shuffled closer to him. “It’s frustrating, I know. But honestly, I think a break–”

“I am not taking a break!” he barked.

Her heart seized, but she kept her expression calm and lowered her voice. “You can’t produce ice right now,” she said. 

He let out an awful sarcastic laugh, and a tear rolled down his face. “Pointing out my inadequacies now? Is that supposed to help me?”

“Look at your hands, Felassan,” she said quietly. “Just look at them.”

He looked down at his lightning-laced palms, then burst out another laugh. “Ah. I suppose frozen water is somewhat incompatible with lightning.”

“Just a little,” she said with a small smile. She squeezed his knee. “Come on, let’s go to the roof.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly. 

She waved him off. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Let’s just take a breather and try again.” She stood up, but Felassan stayed seated on the ground.

He looked up at her, and her heart twisted; his face was painted with tears. “Tamaris, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Hey,” she said softly. She kneeled in front of him and rested her hands on his knees. “It’s not your fault. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He shook his head and burst out a laugh before wiping his face. “This is a waste of your time. I’m–”

She cut him off. “Felassan, you know this is normal for training any kind of skill. There are always going to be some better days and some harder days no matter what you’re trying to do.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard!” he yelled. “I know the theory behind this method better than–” He broke off and pressed his lips together, and she gazed sympathetically at him. 

“Better than me?” she finished. 

“Fenedhis,” he snarled. “I’m – you see? This is making me into a monster!”

“You’re right, though,” she said. “You do know it better than I do. Which is why I know you’re going to master it again, even if it takes months. Even if it takes years.”

He burst out a particularly hysterical-sounding laugh. “Years!” 

“I don’t think it will take that long,” she said more loudly, “because look how much progress you made this week alone.”

“Progress?” he demanded. “You call this progress? Let’s explore the progress I made this week. I made enough chalices of frozen water to fill a bathtub, and I killed an innocent bystanding plant. Striking, stunning progress.”

His furious voice rang through the mansion, and his eyes were sparking with lightning now. Tamaris took a breath to calm her nerves before replying. “This is one day,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “One single day in the course of a week. At the start of the week, you wouldn’t have been able to freeze that plant. You need to look at the overall pattern.”

He clenched his jaw, then let out a laugh that was accompanied by a fresh spill of tears. Tamaris carefully took his sparking hands in hers, and when Felassan squeezed her hands, she ignored the bite of static in her right palm as she squeezed his fingers in return. 

“This is one day,” she said. “Just take a second to catch your breath, and we’ll go up to the roof for a bit, okay?”

He burst out a maniacal-sounding laugh, though his lips were trembling at the corners. “You are the embodiment of patience. It’s breathtaking.”

She smiled faintly and released his hands to pat his knee. “Keep it in your pants, you rogue.”

He laughed again, then sobbed and buried his face in his hands, and Tamaris’s chest ached at how heartbroken he sounded. “Hey,” she said softly, and she squeezed his shoulder. 

He shook his head and let out another terrible laugh-sob. Tamaris shuffled closer and stroked his back. “Hey, come on,” she murmured, and she pulled gently on his wrist. 

He finally lowered his hands from his face, and her heart quailed; his face was a mess of tears and grief twisted with humour. 

“Come here, brat,” she said gently, and she pulled him close for a hug.

Felassan suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his body so she was straddling his folded leg. She was a little startled by his sudden embrace, but she didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms just as tightly around his shoulders. 

He buried his face against her shoulder and sobbed. His body was wracked with tremors and she could feel his tears bleeding into the shoulder of her shirt, and she held him close and stroked his back as he wore himself out. 

Some uncounted time later, when his tears had finally dwindled to the odd hiccup, he shifted his face against her shoulder and sighed. “I have to confess something.”

“What’s that?” she murmured.

“This was all a ruse to seduce you,” he said. “And I believe it worked.”

She huffed in amusement. “Uh-huh.”

He lifted his face and smiled half-heartedly at her. “Look at you, sitting on me like this. If you were so… what was that word? Randy? — all you had to do was ask.”

His voice was humorous but still thick with tears, and his eyes were puffy and red. She chuckled and gently flicked his ear. “Shut the fuck up, Felassan.”

He chuckled as well and tucked his face against her shoulder once more. His arms relaxed to rest loosely around her waist, but he didn’t let her go, and Tamaris didn’t let him go either, even though she knew she should. He was calm now, so there was no reason for her to still have her arms around him, or to still be straddling his leg. 

Just like there was no reason for his head to still be nestled against her shoulder so that his slow and easy breaths were ghosting across her neck. 

She nervously nibbled her lip. She’d meant to hug him, yes, but not in such an intimate way. And now that they were entwined like this, she wasn’t sure how to move off of him without making it awkward. 

Worse yet, she wasn’t sure she wanted to move off of him at all. Holding him like this — being held like this, with the warmth of his breath on her skin: it felt… Creators, it felt really good, and Tamaris didn’t want it to end. But as soon as she started thinking about how intimate this contact was, that awful feeling of nervousness started to nibble at the back of her mind. 

She swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to dismount from his leg without making it awkward. Then Felassan sighed again. “Thank you, Tamaris.”

His words were a hot rush against the skin of her throat — hotter than before. With a thrill of excitement and nerves, she realized that his face was closer to her neck than before. 

A ripple of goosebumps traced along her arms, and she instinctively tightened them around his shoulders. “You’re welcome,” she breathed.

He nodded, and his nose brushed lightly against her neck. 

Her breath hitched, and her pulse kicked into a rapid beat. Then Felassan touched his lips to her neck.

She froze. Felassan pressed a tiny kiss to her neck, then brushed his nose up along the tendon in her neck with an exquisitely gentle touch, and Tamaris’s eyes fluttered shut. She was still frozen, still unmoving in her straddled pose on his leg, but on the inside, she was completely flooded with a sudden rush of lust thanks to the butterfly-light touch of his lips.

His nose traced a slow and delicate line from her neck up to the angle of her jaw. He placed another delicate kiss just below her jawline, and Tamaris couldn’t stop herself; a tiny moan burst from her parted lips, and she craned her neck slightly to the side.

He let out a breathy hum of pleasure, then pressed another kiss to the exposed side of her throat, and she gasped; his lips were parted now, and when he lifted his lips from her neck, the tip of his tongue skimmed over her throat in a quick featherlight caress.

She shivered with excitement and tilted her groin down against his thigh, and his fingers clenched against her back. He restlessly shifted his hips and kissed her neck again, and when he grazed her skin very lightly with his teeth, her fingers tensed convulsively against the back of his neck. 

Felassan nipped her neck again, and she gasped. “Fuck,” she moaned.

“Please,” he begged. “Tamaris, please…” Suddenly his fingers were tugging at the collar of her shirt and pulling it away from her shoulder. He licked her collarbone, and Tamaris whimpered and feebly plucked at his shirt. 

“Hang on,” she breathed. “Felassan, wait…” 

He moaned and grazed her collarbone with his teeth, and a tiny sob of pleasure escaped her lips, even as she pushed at his shoulders. “Stop,” she gasped. “Stop, we… we can’t.”

He went completely still. Then his arms loosened, releasing her from his embrace. 

Tamaris carefully shifted off of his leg, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. Once they were apart, Felassan rubbed his face with one hand. 

“Fenedhis,” he muttered. He wasn’t looking at her, and his chest was still rising and falling with heavy lustful breaths, and Tamaris stared breathlessly at him, wracked by guilt and lust and even more guilt for being so completely bowled over by her own lust. 

“Felassan,” she said weakly. “I’m so… fuck, I’m sor—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. He lifted his face, and a fresh pang of horrible guilt curdled in her belly; his face still bore the evidence of his tearful outburst, and it only made it more clear that she should never have encouraged his carnal attention.

“I am so sorry,” he rasped. “I shouldn’t have—” 

“No,” she blurted. “No, it’s my — you’re not in control, it’s not your fault—”

“Stop making excuses for me!” he yelled. “I’m not — everything I do is not governed by the Tranquility cure!”

She recoiled slightly at his shout, then squared her shoulders. “In this case, it was,” she said. “You wouldn’t have… kissed my neck like that if you weren’t in the throes of it. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“That is an excuse and you know it,” he said scathingly. “You’re so intent on being alone that you refuse to accept that my interest is real.”

His accusation hit her like a punch to the gut, but he wasn’t finished. “I am not trying to deceive you, Tamaris. I like you, and I find you extremely attractive. The Tranquility cure is not blocking this. You are.”

She stared at him in shock. How dare he… Intent on being alone? How could he — she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to be this way. How dare he accuse her of — of pushing him away because of some half-baked notion that she wanted to be this bitter, burnt-out shell?

She swallowed the lump that was swelling in her throat and stood up. “You’re so intent on trying to fuck me that you can’t see how much the cure is affecting you,” she snapped. “You want to convince me that you actually want me? Then take this seriously. Take a fucking break when I suggest it and stop complaining about how hard the training is. Then maybe I’ll believe that you’re serious.” Without waiting for his response, she stormed out of the library and went straight to her bedroom, then slammed the door behind her. 

She plopped down on the edge of her bed, then slid down to sit on the floor and glared viciously at the wall. Fucking Felassan, she thought angrily. She couldn’t believe he’d accuse her of wanting to be alone, or of using his recent Tranquility as an excuse to keep him an arm’s length away. That wasn’t – it wasn’t at all what she was doing! She was just cautious after what Solas had put her through. She’d thought that Felassan of all people would understand how badly Solas had burned her. Not just by breaking up with her, but with all of his fucking prevarication. 

He’d purposely misled her in a spectacular manner for over a year. He’d given her incomplete answers about everything she’d ever wanted to know. But his prevarication went deeper than that. Solas had always kept her in a perpetual state of uncertainty about where exactly she stood with him. To this day, Tamaris wasn’t able to remember his warmest and most loving moments without also remembering how aloof he was when she did something to upset him, or how angry he would sometimes get without explaining himself in a way that was at all satisfactory. She’d always been in this unnerving position of trying to figure out how he felt. So how could Felassan blame her for needing space to lick her wounds?

You didn’t need time to lick your wounds before fucking Bull, though, she reminded herself. And once again, she was back to circling the same problem she’d been trying half-heartedly to untangle since the day she’d kissed Felassan on the roof: why the fuck was he different from Bull? Both of them were offering her the same thing: uncomplicated, no-strings-attached sex. So why was Tamaris feeling so much more uncertain about accepting the same offer from Felassan?

She sat on the floor in the dark for a long time trying to parse her own twisted thoughts. When she finally circled around to the likely answer, it wasn’t at all pleasant. 

Maybe it wasn’t the issue of Bull versus Felassan that was the problem. Maybe Felassan had been right; maybe the problem was her. She was treating Felassan differently than Bull because she felt differently about Felassan than she had about Bull. Bull was just a friend that she’d been fucking for a year. Felassan, on the other hand, was… he was…

He was someone she’d only known for a couple of weeks, for fuck’s sake. She shouldn’t be feeling any special fondness for him, because she barely knew him. 

But that wasn’t true, either. In the course of these past two weeks, he’d been forthcoming enough about himself that Tamaris did feel like she knew him. She’d also talked to him more about her family and herself and Solas in the past two weeks than she had to some of her friends that she’d known for years, and for Tamaris, that was… unprecedented. 

I am not trying to deceive you, he’d said. My interest in you is genuine. He’d been honest with her — surprisingly so, considering that he was accustomed to being a spy — and she had no reason not to trust him. 

No reason except for the scorched, wounded feeling deep in her chest that Solas’s repeated betrayals had left behind. 

She closed her eyes against a sudden burn of tears and leaned her head back against the bed. “Fuck,” she groaned. She really, really wished she could have a drink. She really ought to go to the kitchen to get some of Felassan’s withdrawal tea, but she still felt too raw to risk running into him. 

The thought of the withdrawal tea made her gut curdle with guilt. Felassan was so thoughtful, always coming up with remedies to help her and making meals for her, even if he was the one who insisted on cooking. He made her laugh when she honestly wasn’t sure she’d be able to laugh at anything anymore, and he always forgave her for snapping at him or for hermiting herself in her bedroom without explaining why.

Or at least, he had forgiven her until now. After what she’d said to him downstairs, she wasn’t sure she deserved his forgiveness. 

She sighed heavily, then stood up and lit the alchemical lamp on her bedside table. She trudged into the en-suite bathroom to tidy up for bed, then shuffled despondently back to her bed and removed her leggings and her mechanical arm before crawling under the sheets to stare up at the flickering shadows as they danced across the ceiling.

She shouldn’t have yelled at him. It was unfair to accuse him of not taking his mana retraining seriously, because he clearly was. He’d spent the whole week working so hard, and the only reason he’d had a fit today was because of the Tranquility cure making his emotions hard to control. And this wasn’t Tamaris making excuses for him; he was emotionally volatile, and she… fuck, she’d basically crawled into his lap, even knowing what he wanted from her and how vulnerable he was in that moment. 

She needed to apologize to him. As awkward as it was, she was in the wrong here, and he shouldn’t have to spend the entire night feeling shitty because of the unfair things she’d said to him. 

She closed her eyes for a second to gather her courage. Then she dragged herself out of bed. With some difficulty, she pulled her leggings on with her right hand, then padded over to the bedroom door and opened it. 

She jumped back in surprise. Felassan was standing at the door, and he looked just as shocked as she felt. 

She clutched her chest. “Fuck,” she gasped. “What are you — why are you standing there?”

“I was just about to knock,” he said. “Contrary to the evidence from earlier, I am not a lecherous creep. I haven’t been standing here for long, I promise you.”

She exhaled heavily. “That’s not what I… ugh, fuck.” She gestured hopelessly at him. “I was just about to come and talk to you. I don’t think you’re a lecherous creep at all. I shouldn’t have—” 

“Please,” he interrupted. “Let me speak first.”

She eyed him in surprise. “Okay,” she said slowly.

He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I thought about what you said, and you are right. I’m… unreliable. I am volatile, and I can’t… I cannot apologize enough for that. But…” He tugged his ear. “You said you would think about my offer, but we haven’t spoken of it for a week.” 

She wilted. “I know. I’m—”

“Tamaris, please,” he said quietly.

She winced. “Okay, sorry, sorry.”

He leaned against the doorjamb, and she was struck by the contrast of his casual posture and his serious expression. “I think it would be best if you tell me now if you want me to… to keep pursuing you, or to leave you be. Don’t get me wrong: it is not my intention to push you. But it has been a week, and…” He broke off and tugged his ear, and Tamaris felt a gut-punch of guilt.

She suddenly understood what he must be feeling: the same way she felt with Solas’s constant hot-and-cold. 

Felassan gazed steadily at her. “I would like to know if you are interested in being involved with me or not. I will respect whatever you choose. I just…” 

“You don’t want to be jerked around anymore,” she said sheepishly. 

He gave her a faint smile that tugged at her heart. “You are eloquent as always, avise.”

She tried to smile in return, but she couldn’t quite wrestle her face into the right expression. She didn’t want to lose the chance to have something more with him, but now she was horrified at the thought of hurting him the way Solas had hurt her. 

Unfortunately, her expression seemed to be far from reassuring; Felassan bowed his head and he took a step back. “I understand. I’ll—” 

“No,” she blurted. “No, don’t — I’m just…” She dragged her hand through her unruly hair, then gave him a frank look. “Felassan, you don’t — I’m a fucking mess, okay? You don’t know what you’re asking for with me.”

“I do know what I am asking,” he said calmly. “And I won’t ask for more than you can give.”

She gazed skeptically at him. “I’m still going to be a bitch sometimes.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “It’s an integral part of your charm. Besides, you always apologize in the sweetest ways.”

She scoffed. “No I don’t! My apologies are shit.”

He gestured elegantly at her. “See? This is a fine example.”

She gave him a sardonic look, but his expression was so open and warm that she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked away and awkwardly scratched her ear. 

Then Felassan spoke in a gentle tone. “I know you feel that things are complicated. But I meant what I said before: this does not need to be complicated. It can continue to be what it has been all along: two people enjoying each other’s company.” He smirked. “We would simply be adding another enjoyable component to the routine.”

She huffed. “It’s that easy, huh?” 

“Life is rarely easy,” he said more seriously. “It is hard and often bitter. But I have always enjoyed the sweetness of stolen moments of pleasure whenever they can be found.” He gave her a slow and heated smile. “And I suspect that you would be a pleasure that’s especially sweet.”

She laughed at his boldness, even as his words triggered a shiver of interest low in her belly. “You are fucking unbelievable.”

His smile widened but he didn’t speak, and Tamaris understood why; he was waiting for her to make a choice. 

Her heart flipped with nerves. Despite his reassurances, Tamaris wasn’t sure she’d be able to push aside her inexplicable qualms in order to fully enjoy what Felassan was offering. But… Creators, she really wanted to try. The memory of his seductively thorough kiss and his lips illicitly tasting her neck: these were signs of what he was capable of if she just gave this a chance – if she gave him a chance. 

And in this moment, with his heated amethyst gaze steady on her face, she really wanted to try. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, but she could feel her face lifting into a smile. Finally she shrugged. “Fine then. Yes, I… I do want to get… involved with you.”

He smiled more widely still. “Well, well. Did I just win you over? It seems that this arrow is not so broken after all.”

She shot him a chiding look. “I told you you weren’t.”

“And it seems that you’re as wise as you are beautiful,” he replied. 

She burst out a little laugh. “Fuck’s sake, Felassan, you can give it a rest. I already said yes.”

He chuckled and pushed himself away from the doorjamb. “All right. Now that this is… settled, I will have mercy on you for tonight and take my leave.”

A pang of disappointment dropped into her belly. He wasn’t going to… try anything? Well, she supposed that was actually considerate of him, since he could clearly see that this was tricky for her, even if he didn’t fully understand why. 

Even if she didn’t fully understand why. 

She nodded. “Okay. Um, goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he said. But he didn’t make a move to leave. His eyes were tracing slowly over her face, and when his eyes landed on her mouth, the tip of his tongue darted out to wet the fullness of his lower lip.  

Her belly lurched with excitement. Say something, she scolded herself. Don’t just stand here staring at him. Do something. She couldn’t think of anything clever to say, though, and there was a tingling feeling of heat in her cheeks and her limbs that was somehow stopping her from moving. 

He pushed himself away from the doorjamb and took a small step closer to her, and her heart thudded eagerly. He was nearly looming over her now with his superior height, and when he stepped closer still, her breath stalled in anticipation. 

But he didn’t do anything. He didn’t move and he didn’t try to touch her, just stood there staring at her with that loaded look in his eye, and Tamaris finally snapped. 

She planted her fist on her waist. “Well?” she demanded. 

Felassan smiled – that fucking smug curl of a smile – then he dipped his head low and kissed her. 

Her lips parted instantly on a gasp. Felassan nipped her lower lip before sealing his lips over hers, and then his palm was sliding up her neck and into her hair, and a flood of excitement surged through her blood so quickly that it made her dizzy. 

She moaned and tilted her head so he would deepen the kiss, but he wasn’t giving her any of his tongue; he was kissing her only with his lips and a tiny bit with his teeth, and when Tamaris darted her tongue out to try and find his lower lip, he released her hair and leaned away. 

She gaped at him, stunned by the torturous tease of his kiss and the swiftness with which he’d pulled away. His chest was heaving and his eyes were bright with lust, but when their eyes met, he gave her a cheeky smile. 

He stepped back and bowed his head politely. “Goodnight, Tamaris. May only the finest dreams touch your slumbering mind.”

He was such a smug handsome ass. She let out a breathless little laugh. “Fuck off.”

He laughed – that rolling, gorgeous laugh, Mythal save her – then he sauntered back to his bedroom and closed the door. 

Tamaris blew out a shaky breath before retreating to her room and closing her door as well. She slumped against the door for a moment and tried to collect herself. She closed her eyes and breathed, but all she could focus on was the insistent beat of her pulse between her legs, and all she could see behind her closed eyelids was the bright lustful spark in Felassan’s violet eyes.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she opened the door and padded down the hall to Felassan’s bedroom. 

#felassan #felassan romance #the love that grows from violence #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #save felassan #pikapeppa writes

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [948]

"When the ninety nine percent rise up I hope they go for you first, and that’s a compliment.”

“Thank you,” Max says to Sera. “I’m assuming it’s because of the polo. Is it because of the polo?”

“It’s the polo,” Sera confirms, “Combined with the khaki and the weirdly white brightness of your unnervingly straight teeth. The only thing that distinguishes you from members of some kind of cult is the fact that your nose is crooked."

“Again, thank you. Thank you. I knew it was the polo. It’s always the polo.”

“And yet you still don’t change out of the polo.”

“No, how else will people recognize me as coming from wealth?” Max replies. “All the better to lure the rich into a false sense of security and then surprise them with my left leaning ideals, featuring heavy socialist themes.”

“I can’t believe we’re friends when you look and sound like that, and then you say those kind of things and I go. Yeah. You could be a lesbians friend,” Sera says.

“Now, not that I don’t appreciate you constantly making remarks about my veneer of affluence, but is there a reason why you’re bringing it up right now?” Max pauses, gesturing for Sera to wait. “Actually. I have another more pressing question.”

“Shoot.”

“How come you never tell Evelyn or the Lavellans this kind of thing? Evelyn and I are cousins, we come from the same dirty blood money. And the Lavellans, despite all odds, have a surprising amount of material goods to their name.”

“The Lavellans don’t count,” Sera says. “Because they’re like, sharing all their property among their huge ass family communally. They’re like their own communism and then they share with all their friends and like — adopt people into their family for the sole purpose of sharing stuff. Doesn’t count, they’ve got a lot of wealth that they’re constantly giving away. And Evelyn doesn’t count either because she doesn’t look the part like you do. For one thing, I don’t think she owns a polo. Also the closest she’s come to khaki is an Inquisition combat uniform.”

“That’s fair. So why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because you’re supposed to say something nice to your friends before new years. It’s tradition.”

“Ah. In that case, uh — well, Sera. There’s no one I know who’s better than you at keeping a person nice and level,” Max says. “ But is this truly the best time or place for this lovely new years tradition to happen? Surely you aren’t on a deadline.”

“There’s never a wrong time to let your friends know how you really feel.”

“Sera, at this very moment Bull is attempting to break out of his own house while we watch, being incredibly useless as all of our friends gather on his yard to watch.”

“Yeah, I’m gearing up to do something. So I figured — might as well tell you how I feel about you now before I possibly kick it from interfering with the Lavellans and their crazy holiday competition.”

“Good thing Bull’s arm healed, huh,” Krem says walking up to them and holding out a very large plastic container filled with white and red cookies. “This isn’t from the Lavellan kitchen, by the way. These are from ours. Dalish and Grim made them. It’s from a box recipe so you know it’s safe.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Max takes a cookie. “So any of us figure out how we’re going to bust Bull out of his own house without letting the Lavellans know they’ve lost their taste tester?”

“Nope. We’re trying to find someone willing to sacrifice themselves to the noble cause of being the first to go onto Lavellan taste testing shifts. No takers yet,” Krem carefully holds the box of cookies under his arm as he waves at Bull. Bull flips him off. “I’m not volunteering that’s for sure. Last I heard the Lavellans are heavily invested in testing out every single type of nut they can get their hands on. I never knew there were so many ways to put walnuts into a cookie. Chopped, ground, whole, in the center, around the edges, just on top, folded into the batter — and that’s just one nut. They haven’t even gotten into the concept of mixing nuts together.”

“He’s going to be diabetic by the end of this,” Sera says, and then, “Put me on for first shift with the crazy bakers.”

“That’s very noble of you, Sera,” Max says. “So what’s the catch?”

“Look,” Sera points at the house. “The Lavellans are like, basically calling in all of their PTO for this thing. All their shit is overflowing onto the rest of us. And it sucks. I’d rather be in there with them eating five different variations of the same cookie rather than at work having to figure out what complex kind of schemes they were juggling around all of Thedas like a traveling circus. So yeah. Sign me right up and tell Dagna that I love her but I can’t fuckin’ handle this anymore. It’s like, some kind of irresponsible that those two had so much responsibilities assigned to them that the second they call time off at the same time as each other our intel and transport divisions descend into absolute butt-fucked chaos.”

“Eloquently put,” Krem says, turning and yelling at a group of their friends standing in Bull’s driveway, “You guys can quit it, Sera’s volunteered to go first. We gotta figure out second now.”

“What were they doing?” Max asks.

“The most intense game of rock-paper-scissors you’ve ever seen in your life. You could televise that shit and award prize money for the kind of deep psychological strategies those dunces were using. If only they could apply that sort of concentration to their actual jobs we’d be doing fine. Maybe we should just send criminals to the Lavellan’s house for punishment rather than threatening them with jail. Seems to work as a good incentive for our employees.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

[merrybandofmurderers]

OC Facts ft. Yuo Lavellan

                                                            art by @meat-mill​

PLACE IN SOCIETY

✖ FINANCIAL – wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

Living a nomadic life comes with certain trials; there are lean times, depending on the whims of nature and human tolerance. Still, Yuo’s never felt that he wanted for anything. Clan Lavellan has been around a long time, and they know how to provide for their own. No doubt those who live comfortably in cities look down on their lifestyle, but the Dalish have different values. Just because they do not measure their lives by the weight of a coin purse does not make them poorer for it.

✖ MEDICAL – fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged

Yuo is very physically fit, with excellent endurance and stamina. He trains frequently and eats well and has a lean, well-toned figure. That being said, his method of fighting and chosen specializations are hard on his body. He has to take care with his many scars so they don’t tighten up or cause him pain. Even so, old wounds have a tendency to flare up, especially when the weather turns. Recurring pain is a reality of his life that Yuo has had to account for. (And, of course, the loss of his preferred hand post-Trespasser is an adjustment.)

✖ CLASS OR CASTE – upper / lower / middle / working / unsure

Being Dalish puts Yuo at a certain remove from the classes of human society. Life among the Dalish requires hard work, but the people are not split into arbitrary groups based on the perceived virtue of that work. Of course, he is considered lower class by most humans, although becoming Inquisitor has changed that. It chafes Yuo that he is considered a peer to the nobility he has so long disdained.

✖ EDUCATION – qualified / unqualified / studying

Yuo has an intense curiosity and desire to learn. Any place he sleeps always ends up surrounded by scattered piles of books. He keeps a journal to make notes of his travels, the things he encounters and experiences. He investigates every ancient ruin or mysterious magic artifact he finds. He has a broad scope of knowledge thanks to his clan’s travels, and life experience has granted him wisdom. He enjoys debating magic with his mage companions (even Solas), and has no qualms about going to someone more educated on a matter than he is.

FAMILY

✖ MARITAL STATUS – married, happily / married, unhappily / engaged / partnered / divorced / widow or widower / separated / single / it’s complicated

Yuo and Dorian had a very long road before ending up together, and even when they did, things were rocky. They are deeply in love, but their respective hang-ups and conflicting worldviews do not make things easy. That said, they are devoted and ultimately make it out the other side still committed. Following Trespasser, they are married among Yuo’s people before Dorian’s return to Tevinter. It’s initially a long-distance affair, what with their respective duties, but eventually they are able to settle down together.

✖ CHILDREN – has children / no children / wants children / adopted children

Yuo adores children and he loves mentoring them. In his late 20′s, a single mother in the clan died, and he and his sister took her three children into their care: the clan’s first Mahanon, his twin sister Danae, and their elder sibling Ephraim. Yuo doesn’t consider himself a father to them, more of an uncle/older brother type guardian, but he has put infinite care into raising them.

Some years after being married, once the issue of Solas is dealt with, Yuo adopts a half-elf boy with Dorian named Invictus. They raise him together, between Tevinter and Yuo’s clan, and ultimately he succeeds Dorian in the Magisterium.

✖ FAMILY – close with sibling / not close with siblings / has no siblings / siblings are deceased / it’s complicated

Yuo has one sibling, an older sister, Anavi. They have always been close and understand each other intuitively. As children, they were very competitive; as adults, this dynamic developed into a playfully teasing one. Their personalities are complete opposites, but their core ideals are the same, and they would give anything for each other.

✖ AFFILIATION – orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by both parents / it’s complicated

Yuo’s mother died when he was 19, just before he received his vallaslin, and his father when he was 22. He was close with both his parents and took their deaths hard; though he has learned to live with the pain, he never really recovered from it. His parents were attentive and loving to both him and his sister and raised them with strict values. Yuo inherited his looks from his mother, much of his personality from his father, and from both his unwavering sense of responsibility to the People.

TRAITS & TENDENCIES

✖ disorganized / organised / in between

From the outside, Yuo definitely seems disorganized. His personal space is messy and his belongings are often in disarray. However, Yuo knows exactly where everything is, and so does not consider himself disorganized.

✖ close-minded / open-minded / in between

Yuo has strong ideals and is definitely biased against certain factions which have proven themselves harmful (such as the Chantry, templars, and general nobility). That said, Yuo is willing to be proven wrong and to admit it. Aside from that, Yuo has no judgement for one’s race, identity, or lifestyle. Yuo has a firm sense of justice and no tolerance for prejudice.

✖ cautious / reckless / in between

Yuo is confident, but not arrogant; careful, but not inhibited. He enjoys the adrenaline rush of battle and is not against spontaneity in his daily life. He knows when to be cautious--he would not have lived this long otherwise--but he indulges in moments of impulsivity when he can get away with it. He is wary with people, a free-spirit tempered with age, but not opposed to seeking pleasure when the opportunity presents.

✖ patient / impatient / in between

Yuo is.. not patient. He can be, when the situation calls for it, but he is not inclined toward waiting. If there are things to do, then they should be done. There is so much to wait on as Inquisitor; politics are infuriatingly time-consuming. Yuo’s patience is reserved for children, animals, and students. Everyone else must deal with Yuo’s restless hands and huffy breaths and pinched brows.

✖ outspoken / reserved / in between

Yuo’s voice has always been loud, and he’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself. He might be reserved on personal matters, but when he has something to say, he will not hold his tongue. If one has offended him, he will not hesitate to let them know; when he is joyful, he shares it with all. Yuo’s voice has always carried, whether in anger or exuberance, and as Inquisitor, Yuo’s voice is well-recognized by his followers.

✖ leader / follower / in between

Yuo can be a good follower. He listens to his Keeper, follows her advice. He knows when to defer to the authority of someone with more experience. That said, his assertive and confident nature means he can easily slip into the position of leader. He is not comfortable with the scope of his role as Inquisitor, but he would bear the responsibility before putting it on anyone else. He can make hard decisions and deal with the consequences. He is content to follow one who has earned his respect, but if Yuo can take control, he is not inclined to leave the handling of a problem to others.

✖ sympathetic / unsympathetic / in between

Yuo is often uncompromising when it comes to his ideals, and he may seem callous and harsh to those he disagrees with, but underneath is a heart easily bruised with compassion. Yuo is incapable of seeing suffering without doing something to right it. The gentleness he displays with children, with the wounded and downtrodden, always surprises people. Yuo never developed the skill for healing, but he took Sylaise’s vallaslin because he wished to emulate her care and protection. Yuo may seem harsh, but he possesses the skill to understand even his most despised enemies.

✖ optimistic / pessimistic / in between

Yuo was optimistic, once. He’s lived through too much loss to retain it. Yuo is definitely on the more pessimistic side of realistic. He considers loss and hardship an inevitability; when it happens is simply a whim of fate. It is not so debilitating as to keep him from fighting, but hope, for Yuo, is something he has in short supply.

✖ hardworking / lazy / in between

Yuo is a person defined by duty, perpetually burdened by responsibility. He does not know how to live selfishly. His parents raised him to value community above all else, and his life has been largely spent in service to the clan. He could not shirk his duties any more than he is capable of living without breathing. He would work himself into the ground if his companions let him.

✖ cultured / uncultured / in between

Another thing the Dalish have different values regarding. Yuo fits in among his people, but he’s certainly.. rougher around the edges than most. He takes care of his things, but has no interest in putting on airs. He has a vast scope of knowledge and follows the etiquette of his people, but has no patience for meaningless niceties. No one has ever accused him of being a gentleman. No doubt humans view him as uncouth, and he’s fine with that. Or he would be, if his role as Inquisitor didn’t require him to rub elbows with nobility.

✖ loyal / disloyal / in between

Once Yuo’s trust has been earned, he will be loyal almost to a fault. There are lines--betrayals harsh enough to sever his loyalty--but unless that line is met, Yuo is the zealous type, willing to lay down his life for a loved one. His clan and family have his utmost devotion. Yuo’s loyalty can a frightening thing.

✖ faithful / unfaithful / in between

While Yuo is comfortable with non-monogamous arrangements and has been more inclined to them in the past, he does not cheat. Such arrangements only work with the consent and understanding of those involved. And Yuo is far from unwilling to be monogamous. He may never fully close off the possibility of inviting guests to a shared bed, but he is a devoted lover, and whatever his partner needs from him, he will do his utmost to provide.

SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION

✖ SEXUALITY – heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / omnisexual / demisexual / queer

Sexuality for Yuo is a bit complicated as he is genderfluid. In modern parlance, he would consider himself gay and queer, as he is masc-leaning and has a sole preference for men.

✖ SEX – sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable

Yuo is a very sexual person. He very much enjoys sex and uses it as both a means of connection and stress relief. His clan always had a relaxed, open-minded attitude regarding sex and relationships, and Yuo grew up with a group of friends he often engaged in casual sex with. He’s had far more casual partners than he has romances and that suits him just fine.

✖ ROMANCE – romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable

Throughout his life, Yuo has been more inclined towards casual relationships than committed, intimate ones, but that’s mostly by happenstance than a strong preference. When he was young, Yuo viewed such relationships as a means of enjoyment; if he didn’t enjoy himself, he did not stay. He’s had only a few serious romances in his life, but not because he has anything against romance specifically. After putting his trust in someone who ultimately betrayed him, he’s been cautious whom he gives his heart to. Sex is easier than romance for him, but when he falls, it’s with his whole heart. Falling for Dorian was a particular combination of trials, but ultimately he followed his heart and never lets anyone doubt his feelings.

✖ SEXUALLY – sexually adventurous / sex experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / uninterested

Yuo has been around the block more than a few times when it comes to sex. There’s not a lot he hasn’t tried, and he’s usually willing to try anything once. He knows what he likes, and there isn’t much he doesn’t. Yuo enjoys tender love-making, but his craving for adrenaline definitely shows up in some of his sexual tastes. Sex is one of the few things Yuo doesn’t have any hang-ups over; he’s confident in his abilities and enjoys exploring various pleasures with his partner. Dorian had some exciting escapades in Tevinter and was rather surprised that Yuo was the one teaching him things when they finally fell into bed together.

ABILITIES

✖ COMBAT SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Yuo is extremely skilled as a mage and in combat, but he never lets himself be complacent. There is always more to learn, and Yuo learns eagerly. He’s been in a lot of conflict throughout his life and met many different peoples, and he’s learned something from all of them. Yuo was granted a lot of raw power with his magic, and while he’s not a natural prodigy, he works hard to learn, to hone his skills. He never takes his abilities for granted or treats them lightly. Yuo’s experience, knowledge, and innate power make him a formidable enemy on the battlefield

✖ LITERACY SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Yuo is a largely self-taught polygot, taking every opportunity he can to learn and practices languages. He can read and write Trade, as well as Elvish. He can speak Antivan and Qunlat, and knows bits of Rivaini and Tevene, as well. Yuo craves knowledge and reads everything he can get his hands on. He journals extensively for matters of record-keeping and research. Dalish history is filled with so much loss, Yuo understands the value of information, of knowledge, of making sure things are passed down for future generations.

✖ ARTISTIC SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

Yuo can make sketches of various plants and monuments for journaling purposes, but other than that, he has little artistic ability. He enjoys music, but cannot sing, and resigns himself to humming at the behest of his companions. He learned carving from his father, and often whittles to keep his hands busy, and it’s the only thing close to art he does. Still, his carvings often have little embellishment and detail. They are blunt representations, and while Yuo would not consider them art, his companions find them charming for their rusticity.

✖ TECHNICAL SKILLS – excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

If “being good at learning things” is a skill, Yuo has it. He is good with his hands and generally only has to do something a couple times to get a grasp of it. He’s good at following instructions and has a logical thought process (which surprises people); this does mean he struggles with things that require creativity, like art and cooking. But Yuo learned young how to maintain his armor and equipment, and Dalish life required knowing various tasks and being able to pitch in when necessary with jobs that weren’t necessarily your own.

tagging @prplhawke​, @embajadora-montilyet​, @marcothehobbit​, @1orweth​, @sweetheartmerrill​, and anyone else who wants to do!!

#my stuff #oc: yuo lavellan #but seriously if you wanna do feel free to say i tagged you i love learning about ppl's ocs #i just dont wanna be presumptuous in tagging ppl i've never interacted with before #ANYWAY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG BUT I FINALLY FINISHED IT OTL #pls excuse any typos for the time being i'm tired of looking at this lmao #oc meme #oc stuff

[branwen-lavellan]

Day 8 of @14daysofdalovers​‘s prompts.  Solas/Lavellan with my Inquisitor Branwen.  This is mild NSFW.

It’s been a rough week, and I’m super behind.  Hoping to get caught up in the next couple of days.

“Ow!” She cried.

“It Abelas, Vhenan,” said Solas, “but you must sit still.”

The four of them sat around the campfire: Branwen, Solas, Dorian, and Bull.  Branwen sat with her right leg extended forward and as relaxed as she could make it, given the circumstances. She had a massive gash in her thigh that oozed thick blood. Solas stitched it closed with black thread. 

They had fought a high dragon in the Hinterlands and won, a massive victory, but it had left them depleted of all resources.  No more health potions to mend their wounds, and no more mana potions for Solas to replenish his stores. Nothing left save one cracked jar of bees.  They’d chucked that into the woods, fearful of what might happen if the crack expanded. 

So, with no magic left to help them, Solas was left to do things the “normal” way.  Branwen had chugged from a flask that Bull had handed her, then braced herself. The small, hooked needle sunk into her flesh, sliced through the tissue, and popped out again, drawing fresh blood as it did. She winced.  “Fuck!”

On the other side of the campfire, Dorian winced along with Branwen as he watched Solas pull the thread taut.  He and Bull, who stroked Dorian’s head as it lay in his lap, had already been patched up.  Branwen had insisted they go first.  Bull had enough basic medical training to be a help.  He and Solas had made quick work of Dorian, who had taken the worst of it.  He’d been thrown across the field by a swipe of the dragon’s tail and been left with a nasty head wound that Solas had healed with the last of his mana.  He’d cracked a rib, too, but, Solas felt that it was less pressing.  Bull had wrapped his chest in bandages to add support.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever felt pain like this,” said Dorian, wincing.

“You’re good, Kadan,” said Bull, “I’ve got you.”

“We should have been more precautious,” said Solas, low near Branwen’s ear, “but we managed to accomplish a great feat today.  You should be proud of yourself, Ma Lath.”

“I’ll be proud once you’re finished,” she said.  “It hurts like a mother.”

Bull snorted, and the laugh, however small, caused his knee to jerk.  “That’s a colorful image.”

Dorian cried out, clutching his ribs. “Damn it all!” he said, sitting up.  Bull moved to help him, but he waved him off.

“Sorry, Kadan,” said Bull.

“It’s alright,” said Dorian, before adding, with a mixture of affection and disdain, “you oaf!”  He took a deep breath, wincing as his lungs expanded.  “Vishante kaffas.  How am I meant to get back to Skyhold like this?”

“When our mana is replenished, Dorian, I will heal you further,” said Solas, still stitching Branwen’s wound. 

“You May have to teach me to do that myself. I’ve never been the best with healing magic, though. Still, worth a try.”  He stood, despite the pain. “I think I need to lie down for a bit. I don’t think I can watch much more of this,” he said, nodding towards Bran's leg. 

“I don’t blame you. Ow!” Cried Branwen, “fuck!”

Dorian turned his nose up at the whole scene. He walked by Branwen, reaching a hand out to clasp hers as he passed. “Sorry I’m not more supportive, but I was never all that good at bedside manner.”

She waved him off. “See ya in the morning, Dorian.”

He hobbled into one of the tents, cursing in Tevine as he lay down. Bull stood and followed after him.  “You need anything, Boss?”

“More of whatever you were drinking.”

Bull laughed and threw her the flask. “I’m gonna go check on our favorite Vint.”

Branwen watched him go. She was, frankly, a little surprised at how far things had progressed between the two of them, given Dorian’s frequent denial and protestations. Whatever the case, they seemed happy. 

“They seem like a good fit for each other,” she remarked. 

Solas did not look up from his work. “A surprising pair, to be sure.”  He pulled the thread taut again, rubbing a thumb along the side of the wound to massage the pain away as best he could. “But good for each other, I think.”

Branwen smiled. “To think, if all this madness had never happened, they never would have met.”  

He looked up at her, then, and smiled. “To think,” he agreed.  He continued his work. “I’m almost finished, Vhenan. It won’t be long now.”

She looked off into the distance, out over the vast hills of the Hinterlands, imagining simpler times. “This is nothing,” she said, “you should have seen me when I received my Vallaslin.”  Compared to the feeling of the tattoo machine pricking ink into her face over and over again, the pain in her thigh was nothing.

She felt a sharp tug, then heard the snap of the thread. When she looked back, he was tying the ends and cutting off the excess with one of her daggers.  “There,” he said. He reached out a hand for Bull’s flask. “May I?”

Branwen sighed. “What a waste of whiskey.”  

Solas unscrewed the top and poured the contents over her wound, and she hissed at the burn. Then he handed her the flask again. “I suspect there is enough for one more sip.”

She took the flask and made a toasting motion towards him. She sucked the drink down, savoring the burn and the way it clouded her head and numbed the pain.

Solas said little. He was a quiet man at times, but there was something in his manner that worried her. He was so much more quiet than usual, more reserved. “Are you alright, Solas?” she asked. 

He continued to massage the area around her wound tracing little circles in her skin. “I am fine, Vhenan.”

“Just fine?”

He did not meet her gaze, but rather stood and gathered more wood for the fire. “I am very tired,” he said as he threw another log on and poked the pile with a stick until it caught. 

She frowned. “I know you well enough at this point to know you’re not, Solas.  What’s wrong?”

He watched the flames for a moment before finally meeting her gaze. He smiled, a bittersweet look in his eyes. He shifted, settling down right next to her. “There was a moment during the fight,” he said, “where I thought we might not survive.  I thought you might not survive.”

“Well, I did,” she said, bumping against his arm. “We all did.”

He closed his eyes, lost in thought. She waited in silence for him to respond. At length, he turned to her, his head pressed against her head and said, “come to bed with me.”

She reached a hand out to his face, tracing the worry lines that had etched their way along the corners of his eyes.  He closed the gap between them,  pulling her close and pressing her lips to his.  She breathed him in, the taste of whiskey mingling with the taste of him.  The kiss was desperate, just like those first kisses they had shared in the Fade and on her balcony.  The longer they had been together, the more comfortable and relaxed he had become, but every now and then, that edge of desperation would push through again - that need, as if he hadn’t been touched in so long.  As if this was all coming to an end.  She loved that he kissed her with such passion.  It took her breath away every single time.

He broke the kiss with a gasp.  “We shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” she asked.

“Because you are hurt,” he said.  “Because you need rest.”

She huffed, worrying her lips to hide a pout.  Then, she got an idea.  She flashed a wicked grin at him.  “You know,” she said, “this whole ordeal has left me feeling awfully stressed.”

He furrowed his brows.  “I can certainly imagine.”

“I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to get the rest I need,” she said.  “Not when I’m so worked up.”

He narrowed his eyes.  He was starting to catch on.  

“If only there was something I could do to help me relax,” she said with a smirk.

He chuckled.  “You are as cunning as ever, Vhenan.”  He looked away, thinking.  “Fenedhis,” he said.  “This is unwise.”

“But oh so fun,” she said, rubbing his thigh, her hand shifting ever higher.  

He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over her lips.  Her heart leapt in her chest.  “I have some conditions.”

“Oh?” she asked, “and what are those.”

His nose bumped against hers, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.  He whispered to her in Elvhish, “you have to be on top.”

She blushed, though maintained her composure in every other way.  She responded in Elvhish as well.  “I think that can be arranged.”

“Then come to my bed,” he said again.  Before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, stealing a kiss and her breath all at once. 

#14DALovers #day 8 #Solas #fen harel #solas x lavellan #solavellan #branwen lavellan #solavellen hell #lavellan

[mrstethras]

Fade Child [Solavellan oneshot]

I wrote a quick Solavellan one-shot as a gift for @kita-lavellan​ and her Inquisitor/Solas. Playing around with the loss and longing for Solas post-Trespasser. Non-canon, pretty angsty.

Solas inched the very corners of her dreams -- where the edges blurred and wavered, tangled and intertwining with the thrum of the Fade, an endless dark forest beyond, curling black roots gnarled and writhing beneath his bare feet as he padded the ground, silent and watchful. Lilac eyes followed the ghostly glower, to a single open space, where vibrant veilfire illuminated all the things Kita had subconsciously shaped in the dreamspace as she slept. And Solas recognised, with a soft smile, the rushing waterfall in Crestwood, the spot where he had taken her vallaslin, years ago. Drawn the blood and magic from her face, as those wide eyes had watched him curiously, closely -- so close -- full of trust. It tugged at his heart to see it still, as it played in her thoughts, those moments repeated, as it had done for him ever since. How he had wanted to tell her all, then. But had dared not ruin her, as his cooling magic cleared her face of the vallaslin, Solas wished not to mar her again with his own tainted past.

There was snow on the ground, crisp, sparkling and virginal, as it had been out in the wilderness -- Haven, Skyhold. The scent -- trees -- fresh and piney, as though the winds blew through from the Emerald Graves themselves. They had stood together once, alongside a statue of a watchful wolf, surrounded by lush greenery, blanketed by stillness, as Kita reminisced her life to him, crystalline eyes glistening, how she’d played there as a child, wild and free. Solas was certain that even the dead, curled in the roots of the silvery trees, were quietly listening and equally captivated.

And there, jutting oddly, out of the snow, the wood, the cavernous waterfall, all at once as the Fade made possible, layers of memories upon memories, was the ruin of Calanhad’s Foothold. Solas remembered, a whispery breath of laughter as he reminisced the days, how had made the comment only once to her, how he had hoped to explore the crumbling wreck of the castle further in the Fade, for Kita to then make camp there on their travels through the Hinterlands. How she woke him gently the next morning, eager to hear what he had seen. She’d stayed there, only for him.

He remembered.

He remembered all of it.

As tangible and real, as though he could taste it.

As did she.

Vhenan...

It sounded as soft as breath, like the gentlest gust of breeze. For a moment Solas wasn’t sure if it had passed from his lips, or he had heard it drift through space. Then it came again. Vhenan. And his chest ached with it, his throat tight and dry. He eyed the dreamspace in search of her, stepping through the undergrowth and into the snowy meadow. It crunched but there came no cold. He would leave no footprints in this place. This sacred place Kita had filled with her most intimate memories. He would not desecrate this Fade realm, built on the very fabric of their times in love, and all of her longing. 

Vhenan.

It echoed. Rippled. Like a finger dipping into a watery surface, Solas felt the disturbance and the dreamspace felt changed. It had been some time since he had visited her in sleep -- as he lifted the Veil, the world and Fade were both changing. He regretted that he had neglected Kita, tried his best to ignore and avoid her echo ringing out for him. Her search for him. He had not been watching over her as closely, as the chaos of the things to come had pulled his attention and direction elsewhere. Solas stepped gingerly, curiously, the landmarks of their love served as his guide. He longed to call out to her, as he felt the ripple again. His mind, the vision, the Fade, vibrated. Something disturbed her once peaceful slumber. A giggle bounced upon moist stone and reverberated for longer, and longer and longer. An eerie sound when it seemed not to end. Solas’ brow furrowed as he stalked the crumbling entrance of the ruin. Unfamiliar to him, he was cautious, wary. Fingers felt the damp moss, rolling the gritty mortar between his fingertips.

Var lath vir suledin. 

It was his own voice that called out from Calanhad’s Foothold. Solas’ stomach writhed at the words. Words that were not his, but hers. Spoken in a voice akin to his own. A mocking reflection. He was snapped from his thoughts -- now worry, hurt, filled his heart. He hurried onward, weaved fallen pillars, a stoic statue of a wolf whose muzzle was turned away, and Solas saw her then, aglow in the azure blaze of the firelight. A campfire -- veilfire. The vision of her -- of them -- had him stunted, collapsing back into the derelict wall as though winded by the sight alone. There she was, his vhenan. Kita Lavellan, her eyes reflecting the blue haze of the flames, the magic dancing across her pale skin. How young and vibrant she looked without her vallaslin. The soft, plumpness of her lips. She was smiling -- she was beautiful. The purest look of love in her eyes that wracked his body again. And there, by her side, sat a child. Laughing. Giggling. As they weaved together crowns made of Arbour Blessing. Small pale ears poking out of a mass of dark hair, big, gentle eyes, purple iris in the ambient light.

A trick of the Fade --

Or --

He could barely stand it.

He knew the child to be his. At least - - in her imaginings brought to life in the Fade, this was so. The way Kita brushed the plumpest cheek, tucked a curl behind an ear, he felt the pain like an arrow to the heart, struck hard and true. A life they were forbidden to have together, one that she clung to, the way Kita looked with such adoration. Solas could hardly stand it. And there he sat too. By the fire. Flickering and faltering against the sparking of the campfire. Ghostly. False. A demon of desire that laughed along with them -- having taken and bastardised the thoughts and feelings of their host. Solas felt sicker too, to watch it in his shape, take Kita softly by the jaw and plant the lightest kiss upon her lips. To see her happiness shining, as she closed her eyes and drew it in. The three of them, a family. How the spirit of love had been corrupted in Solas’ absence -- how it now filled Kita’s dreams with all that she desired.

Anger boiled in his blood, a rage he could barely quell, his stomach knotted, fists clenched, chest panting. It was not the demon -- the spirit -- that was to blame in this. But the hole he had left in Kita's heart, he had left it wide open. For the lingering and the curious to crawl right inside. The guilt clogged behind Solas' collar. Having brought down the Veil and exposed her, so vulnerable that she was - - he could feel her longing for it matched his own. Solas watched, winced, as the demon played amongst their things like a curious child itself, and giggled, laughed and spoke, all at once, to keep Kita enthralled by it’s visage. Playing on her every whim. On the love they had shared, that they both longed to share still. 

Solas shrank into his own darkness, anger -- seething -- panting madly -- as he curled back into Fen’Harel, a great and momentous shape, a fleeting blackness. Fur and Fade. Blooded eyes, jaws snapping madly, eyes upon eyes opening, roving and glowering madly as he darted from the shadows of the ruin and out into the snow, trampling the fire where they had all sat together. Fen’Harel yelped as the child, like a wisp, disappeared into the ether the moment he trampled the ash, and Kita reeled from the sudden, maddened chaos. The demon with his face had been taken by surprise. It’s guise fell, and white eyes turned on him, snarling too. Horns that veered up into the sky, the desire demon's mouth flew wide, claws and flesh and screaming. Fen’Harel pounced to tear at its middle, clamped within his jaws its screeched loudly and painfully, as he tossed it aside, grievously wounded.

Away with you. He warned, a low rumble that shook the dreamspace -- the demon stuttered in it’s shock it vanished, child, fire and laughter too. The ruins, the snow, the waterfall, all descended into immediate darkness, endless, where Kita scrambled, alone in the black abyss, the demon had swept the substance from her sleeping mind. The sadness in her eyes as she turned to him, blinded and lost in the nothingness. Solas watched her in stillness as his anger turned to sadness.

 And Kita cried out. 'Solas?' reaching through the blackness, Fen'Harel shuffled from her outstretched hands, as she looked for her love. 

He felt the lightest of touches, as Kita’s fingertips brushed at his fur, and with horror, Solas saw the sudden understanding that flitted across her features, torn again by a new agony. Raw and realising. And real.

'Is that you?' She breathed, into the dark. 

He whined.

Kita stepped forward -- she reached again, ‘I know you’re out there,’ and he --

Not yet, Ma Vhenan. 

Fen'Harel recoiled, into the nothing. Away from her reaching arms and eyes that streamed, tears hovering in the absence of everything. He could not go to her. 

Not yet.  Fen’Harel turned to the very fabric of the Fade, and plucked at it with claws as long as knives. He was thankful for the endless darkness, that Kita could not see him in this monstrous form. Regretfully, his chest aching in misery, Solas finally spoke.

Wake up. 

#solavellan #Solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #kita lavellan #Dragon Age: Inquisition #fanfiction #da #fen'harel #my writing

[noire-pandora]

Family

Another prompt for #storiesofthedas on Twitter. Also on AO3.

Words: 1642 Warnings: none

Elluin Lavellan learns more about what family can mean.

 At noon, when the sun shone shily behind the dense banks of clouds,  Skyhold’s yard burst with people. Human, elves, dwarves hurried to finish their numerous tasks, each one of them paving the way for a better world. The Inquisitor walked amongst them, greeting them but anyone with a keen eye noticed how her smile failed to lit up her eyes, how her answers, short and brisk, lacked the usual cheerfulness. A few of them frowned at the unusual display, but no one dared to ask or console her. After all, who dared to question the Herald’s moods?

Elluin, oblivious to the concerned glances, chatted and forced herself to smile in an attempt to push away the melancholy shrouding her soul. It came, uncalled and unwanted, a few hours after her adoptive brother finished his visit and left Skyhold. Her smile dropped when his silhouette gradually shrunk as the distance between them grew. Her heart urged her to join him, to go back to her clan, to her family, to spend a few weeks with them. `Impossible`, her mind admonished her. She had a duty; she had to lead the Inquisition. The shadow of a mad god loomed above them, and she had no time, no right to relax. She agreed with her mind and turned her back at the path leading away from Skyhold. As hours passed, his absence brought a heaviness in her limbs and her mind.

She strolled aimlessly, her legs leading her nowhere, hoping for a distraction to wake her from this state, but as she walked amongst the people of Skyhold, the loneliness grew deeper. All those people saw her as the leader, as the Inquisitor, their fear mixed with respect, building an impenetrable barrier, one that stopped her from creating real bonds. The only ones who truly understood her were kilometres away. She was alone in a sea of people.

“Boss!”, Bull’s booming voice startled her. She blinked a few times, the sudden pull of reality unbalancing her. She immediately smiled at him, the mask of the joyful and undisturbed leader covering the melancholy in her eyes. 

“Hello Bull,” she greeted him as he joined her. “How are you today?” 

“I’m good, Boss, just hanging around, looking for someone to have a drink with. And you?”

”I’m fine,” she shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “Just strolling around.”

He patted her back vigorously and grinned at her. “Boss, don’t try to lie to me. I’m a spy. What’s the problem?”

Before she could explain, he grabbed her shoulder and dragged her towards the tavern, his fingers clutching her. She had no chance to dodge him. For a second, she thought about lying, to smile and pretend everything is well.

“I am sad, Bull”, she whispered. “My brother left, and I couldn’t go with him. I have no family here. No matter where I go, this loneliness won’t leave me. I don’t know what to do anymore. “

Bull hummed and squeezed harder but said nothing as they arrived at the entrance of the tavern. He let go of her, pushed the door and gestured for her to enter first. The warmth of the tavern embraced her, and the smell of wet clothes, cheap ale and hearty food assaulted her nose. She instantly relaxed, the familiarity of the place welcoming her as a mother holds her child in her embrace. Every soul in the tavern turned around to look at the new arrivals, and a few of them loudly greeted her. A soldier got up from his chair and bowed at her, his hand touching the floor in an exquisite gesture of politeness. She giggled at him, her hand furiously rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Yeah, yeah, stop kissing her ass,” Bull snickered, dragging Elluin away from the Orlesian soldier. “We’re here for a beer. Stop flirting with her. She’s taken.”

She sucked a deep breath in as a blush dusted her cheeks. “Please don’t say that out loud, Bull. I am trying to keep it a secret.” 

Bull laugh reverberated in the tavern, drawing everyone’s eyes to them again. She slumped down on a chair, staring at the table in front of her. Her mood soured as dozens of eyes analysed her every movement. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the wall behind her, wishing she could merge with the wall and disappear. 

Bull joined her a few moments later, a tankard with cold, foaming beer in his left hand and a mug with hot, steaming chocolate in his right. She gulped down the chocolate, the hot liquid burning her tongue. 

“Speaking of lovers,” Bull finally spoke after tasting his beer. “How come you didn’t talk with Solas about your feelings?”

She slowly licked her lips while eyes examined the tavern, looking for a place to focus her attention on. “I don’t know. I’m not sure he would understand. When I asked him if he has a family, he told me he had none. I don’t want to put him in an awkward situation.”

Bull snorted and drank again. Her eyes shifted back at him, and she squinted. “Do you have a problem with this?”

He shrugged. “No. It’s just funny how oblivious you can sometimes be. Maybe he has no family, but what if you are his family now, huh?”

She opened her mouth a few times to speak, but she gave up, closing it with an audible click. Her head dropped, and she stared at the table again.

“I see the thought didn’t pass your mind. Well, there’s another one for you: what if we see you as our family?”

Her head snapped back and hit the wall behind her. She hissed, the contact with the wall sending ripples down her spine. 

“Thought so” Bull commented, shaking his head at her. 

“Bull, I--” she tried, but he raised his hand and spoke again. 

“Let me finish. I know how you are. You left your clan as a kid and faced a lot of weird stuff. I can’t blame you for that. Slowly, you learned you couldn’t put your trust or your faith in others because you’ll end up hurt. Some of them died or left. Some of them even tried to kill you. And you convinced yourself no one would care about you. Every single person you meet will leave you in the end. You laugh, make jokes and wave your hand in dismissal at everything. You put a wall between yourself and the world, too scared to get attached. But what do you do when others get attached to you? You scramble around confused.

“I’m not saying you aren’t allowed to miss your clan, to miss your mom and your friends. But maybe it will help you to know others are glad to have you here. Some of us see you as a sister. One of us is in love with you. You have so many people you can confide with, yet you decided to steam in your sadness. That won’t help you at all, Boss. It will drain you away and distract you from the things that matter. You have a family here. You have to open your eyes to realise it.” 

He paused, winked at her, and swallowed down the rest of the beer. “I’m going to get another beer, do you want something else?”

She shook her head at him. Her stomach clenched at his words, and she doubted any liquid could help her. She learned how to be independent to a fault, how to stand on her two feet and make it through life on her own. At times she felt proud of this, of his strength to carry on without any help, but right now, Bull’s words shook up that pride. His words may have been harsh, but they hold the truth. So many people helped her when in need, so many offered their shoulder for her to lean on, and she pushed them away, too prideful and afraid to accept it. She suffocated in her sadness and ignored the ones who could help her. 

When Bull returned, she gave him a sheepishly look, shifting her feet, folding and refolding her hands before her, unsure how to continue. 

“If you want to apologise,” he began, “stop it”. You have nothing to apologise for. It took me a while to learn that. I’m just passing the knowledge.”

“Thank you, Bull.” she managed to say. “I have some thinking to do.” 

“All right, Boss. Take your time. I know it’s hard to trust others, but we’ve been through a lot together. Try to see if you can trust us. “

She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were cut short by the arrival of Bull’s team. His noisy group greeted everyone and cheered for another mission completed. Krem made his way to their table, a big grin on his face. The grin dropped at the sight of the Inquisitor’s face. He slapped Bull’s arm, the clap resounding in the tavern.

“What did you do to her?” he inquired, his voice coloured with concern. “What did he say to you, your Worship? 

“Hey, now!” Bull protested, rubbing his arm. “She was like this when I found her; I didn’t do anything.” 

Elluin laughed. A hearty, warm laugh, one she thought lost when her brother left. “Isn’t his fault, Krem. I’m just an idiot. Nothing new.” 

Krem eyed both of them, but he stopped to stare at Bull. “You said something, and now she’s covering for you, didn’t you?”

Elluin giggled, watching the two men bickering, but Bull’s words echoed in her mind. The thought surprised her but home, she realised, was not a place but an idea, a feeling, that blossoms in one’s heart, as long as one lets the others touch their heart.

#dragon age #characters appearing: bull elluin lavellan #prompt #family #elluin lavellan #noire writes #da fanfiction #my stories

[l8rose]

Smith From Another Land

Chapter 68

Ellana had quickly co me to realize that this trip might be just one b ig mistake after another.

H er plan had been to take the time to work things out with Ara but every single time she looked the woman, she simply could not shake what had been said.

That revelation of different worlds.

“I am not from your world.”

It bounced around her head almost daily.

So instead, she focused on something else. Anything else than that idea that her gods and her people were wrong. That even the Chantry was wrong. That there was more to the reality of things than just the world that they knew. It was just easier to think of the tasks at hand instead of the sheer size of that revelation.

It made it hard for her to even try to talk to the other woman. Her uncertainty and frustration making her lash out each time they tried to talk. It certainly did not help that the other woman did not seem keen on talking with her.

Ellana still could not bring herself to talk even as they entered the gaping chasm and concerns over the lyrium rose up in her mind. She had thought to watch over Ara as they went, just in case, but it seemed Solas was doing a fine job of that. In fact it had been weird to watch the way he had practically stared at Ara as they went.

So she just left him to that and believed he would be the one to tell her if something happened.

Even after the whole incident with the ceiling collapsing and Ara saving her life, Ellana still could not bring herself to really talk to the other woman.

It had been horror that crossed her mind when she realized that Ara had simply put herself in way of the danger that could have killed them both. That despite it all, Ara was still trying to protect her.

At least that was what she kept telling herself. That it was just irritation over the woman endangering herself at her expense. Not the fact that Ara had just shown magic that was even further outside the realm of what her Keeper had even known.

Of that, Ellana was certain.

Especially since Solas’ gaze on the orc had intensified. Like he was trying to see anything else that might hint at dangers brought on by being this close to the lyrium mine.

E llana had never been more glad to discover there were more darkspawn down below. Fighting was not something she enjoyed but it was enough to think about that instead of Ara and everything that went with her.

It quickly became a tedious walk through one cavern after another. Something that required cogs that they found laying about everywhere. The darkspawn and other monsters that crawled in the darker corners of the earth. T here were only the few minutes of respite as they travelled haphazardly through the depths. Not that her mind did not wander back to the other issues.

There was very little logistics involved in travelling down into the Deep Roads, another thing she was glad for, just a few points to mark down for the others to investigate further. She decided she would pass the message back to her scouts once they set up camp.

Ellana had no idea what to think when she heard Renn mention a nest of darkspawn. That idea was a bit frightening but that fear was pushed down as she remembered who she was and that it could not be any worse than any of her other problems.

She said a small prayer to Mythal just as she opened that doorway to find a room that seemed full of fire and darkspawn.

It was unsurprising that t he fighting in this room was like every other battle.

Magic, weapons, her allies shouting in the heat of battle. Everyone moving in unison as they worked together.

P erhaps it was her determination not to focus on the t hings truly bothering her but she saw too late a genlock had come running at her. Ellana had stumbled back away from it even as she prepared a spell.

Only for Ara to seemingly run out of nowhere to slam that massive maul down into the creature’s face. The orc had time to swing a second time before Ellana managed to regain her wits even as she watched Ara finish off the creature before moving on to another.

Ellana found herself checking where the other woman was every other breath.

She could easily see what others had pointed out before. How the woman was indeed placing herself in the way of things that might potentially be bad just to keep her safe. Even despite what had happened, Ara was still doing her best to protect her.

Even though Ellana was still trying to sort it all out, Ara was still trying to be a physical shield between her and the enemies.

A nd it was then that Ellana realized that it was not just Ara that was doing it.

Solas and Varric were both positioning themselves in a way that they would only be a few steps away if something major was coming her way.

The three of them were taking the brunt of the assault, cutting down most of the monsters that could get to her. Like they were her shield against the darkspawn.

“Get to the Emissary Leader! Cut it down and they’re done!”

Ren n’s shout moved her thoughts far from t he building guilt.

Ellana turned to look for the particular darkspawn that was leading the horde. Tall, with most of it’s face hidden, and radiating magic as it floated behind the front line of the darkspawn. Varric seemed to notice where her gaze had gone or he had heard Renn’s shout. Whatever the reason, he focused his attention on the darkspawn mage.

The creature did not last long with the combination of her magic and the crossbow bolts from Bianca. It seemed that it only used a shield for one type of damage. Something she decided she was going to think about later.

It was not much longer before all the darkspawn were thinned out, leaving a few stragglers as no reinforcements seemed to arrive.

The Legion cleared out those that remained with loud cheering. Someone said something about ensuring they did not lead any more darkspawn back to them but Ellana had the feeling the creatures were done for the moment.

She watched them go even as her group moved closer to her. No one came close enough to invade her personal bubble but she knew they were giving her a once over to ensure she was unhurt. Something she had gotten used to over the months that the Inquisition had been together.

Only Ara still hung back, a little further away from the rest.

“We should keep moving.” Renn called from where the rest of his men were quickly returning. “We may have routed them from this spot but who knows when more might return.”

Ellana nodded but said nothing, striding off into the only direction they could go. She knew the others would fall in behind her, just like they always did.

It was in that moment that the guilt and bitterness truly began to creep in.

How had I never noticed?

She had considered that they were putting their lives on the line for her several times before but she had never actually taken notice that they were doing it during battle. They had pointed out Ara but they had all been doing it.

Ellana felt a sudden weariness that seemed to travel all the way to her bones.

How did this happen?

She had done everything to not think about what had been said instead of realizing that she was letting everyone else work harder just to keep her safe. Not once had she ever considered the idea that she was not pulling her own weight.

That she was the burden.

“You okay?” Varric’s voice was quite and just to her left. A small private conversation between the two of them.

She hesitated a step for a moment before she spoke.

“It’s nothing... I’ve just never seen a darkspawn before...” She sighed as if that was the problem bothering her. Her poker face was terrible, of that she was certain, and she only hoped Varric would believe the lie. “Or one up close for that matter.”

“And we’ve found enough to last a life time.” Varric said with a small chuckle even if his eyes did not quite reflect whatever humour he found in the situation. “Surprised your Clan didn’t encounter them at all.”

“We kept to the Free Marches.” Ellana shook her head. She did not doubt for a second that he was not aware of where Clan Lavellan had been over the years. “We heard the stories but well... stories don’t really cover... them.”

“The stench, the sound.” Varric nodded in agreement. “It’s different down here in the dark.”

She turned to quirk an eyebrow at the dwarf and wondered where his thoughts had gone. Silence hung around them but she was loathe to break it, hoping that maybe he would explain what he was thinking.

There was only the sound of their footsteps as they walked down the large hallway.

It did give her time to get a closer look at her companion and the tired lines that seemed to crease his forehead. It almost seemed like he wanted to talk about something.

“Perhaps we should set up camp nearby.” Ellana let her voice carry over the people in the little group that was moving forward.

“That’s actually a good idea.” Valta answered back before anyone had a chance to object. “We’ve been travelling for a while now, I’d guess it’s close to night time on the surface.”

The Legion all moved like that was the signal for setting up camp and Ellana was in awe of how quickly they obeyed the woman.

It was almost as quick as how the soldiers back at Skyhold fell over themselves to do what she asked.

“I could definitely use a rest.” Varric said with his voice once more that cheery tone. “Gotta give Bianca a once over, think one of those darkspawn got a little too close once or twice.”

“I as well.” Solas added.

Ara was the only one who said nothing. She merely shrugged and walked away from the main camp. The woman walked to the edge of another precipice – apparently the ancient dwarves had loved making their homes on ledges and sheer cliff faces – and Ellana wondered for a moment if she was going to jump.

Ellana quickly shook that thought from her mind before she set about helping to set up the camp. The camp was small, just the four of them and the f ew dwarves whow had come this far . Valta briefly mentioned that a scout would probably catch up to them once the Legion confirmed the way was clear.

It was not long before they had a rosy little fire going and all the bedrolls laid out for places to sleep. They had begun discussing watches while they arranged the camp as defensively as they could manage.

“I’ll take first watch.” Renn said in a flat but almost commanding tone.

“Very well, I-” Ellana started.

“I will take second.” Ara’s voice boomed out from where she stood.

Ellana felt a frown blossoming across her cheeks as she glanced over at Ara.

“You need rest as much as the rest of us.” Valta piped up, clearly attempting to be the voice of reason.

Part of Ellana was glad that someone else had suggested it but another part of her almost wanted to remind the Shaper that Ara was one of hers.

That thought was surprising enough that she remained silent.

“No. I don’t.” Ara’s tone was sharp and Ellana was fairly glad that they could not see the woman’s face.

“That’s true.” Varric said as he rubbed his chin.

Valta looked over at him with confusion, her eyebrows furrowing together at the unspoken question.

“Ara’s sleeping habits are a bit unusual.” Solas provided with a friendly tone. “And she’s a bit stubborn when she sets her mind to something.”

“Does that remind you of anyone?” Renn said with a laugh as he elbowed Valta. “Fine by me, one of us and one of you.”

“Alright, if you two are fine with it.” Ellana did her best not to shrug as she spoke.

Even if she could see herself liking these two, perhaps even trusting them, she knew she had to appear as the Inquisitor. She had to be the leader.

“Well, I for one am glad I’m not going to be on watch.” Varric responded. “Not that I’ll be getting much sleep.”

“Not enough sky for you?” Renn laughed again.

“Nah, the floor is bad for my back.” Varric answered with his own laugh.

“You should try the beds in -”

Ellana only half listened as Valta spoke. She listened even less as the conversation slowly bled away to the dwarves discussing the differences between things in Orzimmar and Skyhold.

Instead, her attention was slowly drawn back to where Ara still stood. Still as stone and staring out into that abyss.

Sighing to herself, she finally got to her feet and walked through the dark towards the other woman. The conversations around the fire slowly faded into the background. She could still hear them but it was more like noise she pushed to the back of her mind. That look from Varric earlier was forgotten as she walked towards that edge of the chasm.

She took another breath and steeled herself as she stopped a few foot steps away from the orc.

“Ara?”

“Yes?”

“I... just wanted to see.... how you’re doing?” Ellana asked as she took a few steps to Ara’s left so she could gaze out into that darkness. She could see the edges of that bridge that stretched on into the dark. Further on, she was certain was a lift like the others they had used but even her eyesight could not quite make it out with where they stood.

“I’m fine.” Ara sounded almost perplexed and just a little hopeful. “You?”

“Fine, just a little tired.” Ellana answered truthfully.

“Fine is good.”

Silence chased after the words and Ellana’s mind dipped back to what the older version of this woman had said all those months ago when Ellana had been shuttled off through time.

“She is your friend, remember that.”

The fresher words of Ara’s identity and not being from this world still hung over her mind but those six words played through her head in that moment. She tried hard to think of something. Anything she could say to keep that silence from hanging over them.

“I...” Ellana paused for a moment. “I’m sorry for yelling at you back there. It’s just...”

Ara actually turned to look at her and Ellana could see her face painted grey in the dim flickers from the nearby camp fire. Too distant to truly light up where they stood but enough that she could see the arching of an eyebrow and the faintest look of surprise crossing the orc’s face.

“I don’t want people putting themselves in that much risk for me.” Ellana could not keep the weariness out of her voice as she spoke. “I know that if you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be standing here but at the same time... you could have been killed. I don’t want any one to die for me. Especially not my friends.”

Once more silence hung around them and Ellana was not sure what to think. Not when Ara cocked her head ever so slowly with what could only be seen as a confused expression.

“I’m your friend?” The statement finally came after what felt like an eternity. Quiet and almost hesitant.

“I would like to think so.” Ellana said with a small nod before she frowned. “I mean... I hope we’re friends. I know I haven’t been the best friend lately but you said you were mine first.... well the older you in that really messed up time.”

“Ah... the dragon break.” Ara frowned for a moment before she smiled.

It was not a full cheek to cheek smile but it was a genuine one which had Ellana breathing a sigh of relief.

Even if she chose not to ask about the dragon break words or the meaning behind them as she was certain that would be a little too much for her to handle right now.

“Friends.” Ara said with a nod before holding out her hand to Ellana.

She gladly took the other woman’s hand, shaking it warmly.

“You know you don’t have to take a watch right? I mean, you can get some sleep.”

“It’s fine.” Ara bobbed her head at her. “Remember, I don’t sleep much.”

Ellana did know about the woman being off smithing at all hours of the night but she assumed that Ara had at least slept a little bit through the night.

At least she didn’t respond angrily.

“Yes, but you did just close a rift.” Ellana pointed out softly.

They still had no answers for how Ara had done it but Ellana was not going to push that. Definitely not right now when the woman actually seemed okay with talking to her. For once anyway.

“Had to be done.” Ara said with a small roll of her shoulders.

“I know, but closing rifts takes a lot out of me. Can’t imagine how much it does to someone who doesn’t have the mark.” She responded with a growing grimace.

“Then you should sleep.” Ara crossed her arms with that stubborn look.

“I plan on it. I just mean... if we’re the only two who can close rifts... we should rest. Both of us.” Ellana paused for a moment. “I’ve also been meaning to ask. How... how did you close it?”

Ellana found herself frowning in return. She had heard the reports and both Dorian and Bull had informed her of what they had seen. No one had the slightest idea how Ara had managed to close the rift. The other mages just kept repeating that she probably used magic like a hammer to slam it closed.

Something Ellana thought was not far out of question for the woman who seemed more at home in the smithy than anywhere else.

“Magic.” Ara said even as the barest look crossed her features. A conflicted look that was easily replaced by a stubborn one.

A look that quickly said Ara was not going to explain it any further than that. Ellana knew she should have asked further but she simply could not bring herself to do it. She just was not sure whether it was because she did not want to start arguing with the woman again or if it was because there was the faintest glare coupled with that look of stubbornness.

She was almost certain that there was a slight glow to Ara’s eyes too but that had to be a trick of the light.

“Inquisitor, our scout is here if you wish to send a message back.”

Valta’s shout from the campfire was a relief and Ellana quickly took that as her way out of this conversation.

“Oh, thank you!” Ellana called back over her shoulder only to turn back and see that Ara was once more peering out into that darkness. “Uh... ummm... is there a message you want to send back?”

Ara turned to her again with her head cocked once more to the side.

Almost like a confused animal.

“No one to send anything back to.”

“Oh... uh... right.” Ellana mentally cursed herself as she recalled that the only people the woman talked to was here on this trip or already on their way to the Storm Coast. “Well... let me know if you see anything down there and do try to rest when it’s not your watch.”

She did not say anything else as she fled back to the safety of the others.

#smith from another land #sfal #ara #ellana lavellan #ellana lavellan pov #Dragon Age Inquisition #Dragon Age #Skyrim #Crossover #Dragonborn #dragonborn is not inquisitor #chapter 68 #dai #skyrim dragon age cross over #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #ao3fanfic #Also posted on AO3 #writing #my writing #the descent #ao3fancition

[blarrghe]

Lavellan Bros: Meet Kiara

Did someone say more Lavellan Bros? Did someone say THEO HAS A KID? Welcome to more Lavellan bros, Theo has a kid and I have died. @serphena‘s Theo in this with my Taren Lavellan, and it can be read as taking place in either AU tbh.

Theo was nervous as he led Taren out into the gardens. He didn't say much in the way of explanation, and what he did say was muttered and fast. "There's someone I want you to meet" was the gist of it, the rest was apologetic and evasive. "I promise I'll explain later I just," head shaking, hand wringing nervousness, "you should meet her first."

 Taren followed him, curiously straining to look ahead into the gardens, searching for this big reveal.

 There were several people about, tending to the medicinal plants or relaxing in their leisure time. He spotted Cassandra, keeping close to a small dark-haired child, an uncertain smile on her face. The child giggled and poked at Cassandra's armour, and the Seeker looked mostly amused, if a little stiff.

 "Kiara!" Theo called out next to him, taking a wide stance with arms outstretched. The little girl and the Seeker both looked up with relieved smiles, and then the little girl was rushing toward them, springing into Theo's arms.

 "Papa!" Theo took her up in his arms. She was a tiny thing, and she didn't share his winter pale complexion and startling silver hair, but she had his face; in the nose and eyes, even the smile.

 "Taren," Theo turned to him, securing the toddler into a comfortable spot on his hip, "meet my daughter, Kiara." The little girl smiled at him, and it was definitely Theo's smile now, though more dimpled and sweet - like his had been, long ago. "Kiara, this is your uncle Taren."

AO3 Link or read the rest under the cut!

"Hi, Kiara." Taren smiled, offering the girl a friendly wave. This was the last surprise he would have guessed at, but it was a great one. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Hi!" Kiara wriggled her little face toward her father's, her smile expectant. "Can we play now?"

"Papa really has to talk to uncle Taren for a minute..." Theo began to answer apologetically, setting the little girl down again on the ground. Her disappointment was evident, and Taren was standing back, grinning at the entire interaction. He bent down.

"I think it can wait, right?" He confided in the girl, who nodded, "we can play for a bit first."

Kiara grinned, and in an instant was running back into the garden's grassy clearing, demanding that they chase her.

She was surprisingly talkative, for one so young with someone so new. She insisted on piggy back rides and on being spun in the air by both of them, chattered happily about her papa, the castle, herself, and asked quick, excited questions about everything and everyone else. And Taren, delighted, obliged her requests and indulged seriously every single curiosity she had:

"Why is your face like that? Pappa has swirls on his face too but you have so many!" She reached out, touching the spiralling tattoos on his cheek with curious pointing fingers, tracing the lines with a look of wonder. 

"We get them when we become adults. You know I was there when your papa got his? He didn't like getting them, that's why he doesn't have as many as me." Taren was sitting in the grass next to her now, having won the game of “catch me” and then been directed to observe a pretty flower that sprang up outside of the sectioned off herb gardens. They were dandelions, but that didn’t mean they weren’t pretty.  

"I like them. They're pretty. Can I have some?" She bounced with her questions, playing with the grass as she spoke, touching his clothes or hair or whatever other little thing caught her attention. 

"Maybe, when you become an adult."

A thoughtful pause. "Do you like apples? The lady gave me an apple while we waited for papa."

"Sure, I love apples." Taren answered, plucking a few dandelions and weaving them into a chain. Kiara watched, enthralled. 

"Do you like red apples or yellow apples?"

"Hmm.” Taren considered the question, come to think of it, he did have a preference. “Red apples."

"I like yellow ones!" Kiara volunteered happily. 

"Okay, I'll give you all my yellow apples and you give me your red ones, deal?"

"Okay!" Another thoughtful pause. "Do you know any songs? Sing one! There's a singer lady in the big building but papa says I can't go there..."

He taught her a repetitive song about ducks, and he was pretty sure he caught Theo glaring at him some minutes later while she laughed and danced about the gardens singing it on a loop.

Cassandra had slipped away when Theo had taken his daughter from her care, and she must have arranged for them to be left unbothered, because by sunset no one had come to them with any work requiring attention, and the little girl had found her way onto her father's lap, still sleepily singing about ducks.Theo gathered up the little bundle of sunkissed limbs and dark hair who was falling asleep on top of him, and brought her inside. Taren followed him up to his chambers, waiting outside for what was sure to be a very long conversation.

---

"So I guess I have to stop calling you da'len." Taren said with a nudge at Theo's shoulder. They sat on the battlements just outside the door to Theo's room, while the sun dipping low behind the mountains cast the whole fortress in a soft violet glow.

Theo chuckled, and his smile was real. Peaceful. "I think you're her new favourite uncle. I'm never going to get that song out of my head, thanks to you."

"She's incredible. I can't believe you have a daughter. You!" He smiled, but there was silence for a moment, as soft rose coloured clouds drifted by overhead.

"You aren't mad, are you?" It was a silly thing for Theo to ask, but the nervousness in the question was serious enough.

"Why would I be mad?"

Theo shrugged. "Because I didn't tell you, didn't tell anyone..."

Taren frowned. "I'm not mad, Theo. But why didn't you?"

Another shrug, this one sadder. "We were going to. But after her mother... we weren't even bonded." He shook his head.

Taren sighed. The girl couldn’t have been more than four, which would have made his father only a teenager when she had been born, barely of age. As for not being bonded, well, perhaps there were some who might have cared, little as he liked to admit it, but it did hurt to think he might have been included in such fears.

"You think I'd care about that? Really? Me?" He nudged Theo again, prodding the smile back out of him.

"I just... didn't want us to be a burden." What an even sillier thing to say, but he supposed he understood it. Her birth would have coincided with the breaking of Kirkwall's Chantry; the beginning of the war between the mages and Templars. The chaos of the human world had been hard on the clans of the Free Marches. In those days they had been moving again, more frequently than ever; hunting was dangerous and food more scarce. Even Taren had taken to spending long stretches away from the clan, aiding their sister clans and gathering information when the fighting lessened the numbers of their scouts. Children born in those turbulent times did put a stress on the clan, but never anything but a welcome one. He wished he could have known then, had the chance to help.

"What happened to her? Kiara's mother?" The question had been in the back of his mind all afternoon. She was present in her daughter's skin and thick brown hair, in the colour of her eyes and the laugh that fell heavier than Theo's did, bold on such a little thing. But she was missing from Skyhold, and she was missing, as well, Taren realised now, from Theo's smile.

"She died." It wasn't a real explanation, but the weight of it was heavy. Theo looked away as Taren peered imploringly at him, telling his story to the sky. "We were traveling with some of her friends, they wanted to join the clan but... in the end, only Kiara and I made it."

"You didn't stay." It must have happened while he was away, out on some mission of his own. Why had no one told him that Theo had been back and gone again, with a child, no less? "Theo, you know we would have taken care of her, no matter what." She could have grown up with friends, family, a whole clan to look after her.

Theo shook his head. "I know." the admittance fell reluctantly, his nervousness giving way to something more apologetic. "The clan was moving again, and I had to go. I couldn't just leave her."

Taren nodded in solemn understanding. That, Theo did not have to explain. One orphan need not explain such things to another. “Tell me about what happened.” He suggested it softly, a request more than a demand. He wanted to know the full story, just as he always did, but he sensed too that it was about time that Theo told it, for his own sake. 

Theo began by describing her, the short-lived and sunny love he’d found unexpectedly in his travels. He talked about how they had fallen together, become inseparable, made plans for a future she never got to see. He described some of her friends, too, the ones who had been their companions and which might have been a family, if things hadn’t turned against them so unfairly. Their deaths he got out with little detail, a quick summary of events that were violent and painful, his face twisting into a tortured grimace as he skimmed past that bit of the tale. It was a long story, full of sorrows and unfair circumstances. Some of the recollection was edged in anger, and even the threat of tears. But through it all, he returned always to Kiara, to seeing her grow and teaching her about the world as best as he could - how to be safe in it, but also how to appreciate its beauty; the names of plants and animals, badly remembered Dalish tales before she slept at night. 

“And now we’re here, and it’s safe...and, it’s time I let us stay in one place for a while, I think.” He looked at Taren, straight in the eye and full of determination. “She’s not going back to the clan, understand? She stays with me.” As though he would have it any other way. 

“I wouldn’t ask it even if I thought I had that power.” Taren replied, reassuring. 

Theo breathed out, calmer, now that he was empty of his secrets. “You’re supposed to be the next Keeper. Isn’t it your job to send us home?” 

“Da’len, you are home.”

#my writing #my fic #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #taren lavellan #theo lavellan #kiara lavellan #my ocs #other people's ocs #lavellan bros #familyyyyyyy #soft #also hi I teach kindergarten and I MISS KIDS