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notebooks-and-laptops · 2 years

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Sunsets and Shadows

So. I read every Cole x Krem fic on AO3. Twice. Which means it’s time for me to start producing content for this rarepair as well. *sigh*. He’s the beginning of a series anyway! I hope y’all enjoy. You can read it here on AO3 as well!

-///-

There was a man on the battlements.

This wasn’t unusual; the Inquisition’s commander was one of the most paranoid people Krem had ever met. He kept the walls well patrolled no matter how cold it became, no matter how wet, no matter how late at night.

But this man wasn’t a guard.

Krem had only come up for a bit of air. The Herald’s Rest might smell better than most taverns, but it was still a tavern which meant it was loud, crowded, and boisterous. Particularly on the evenings as the sun set and people finally put aside their work for the day.

So Krem had slipped away; up the stairs past where Sutherland’s crew congregated for drinks, past Sera’s nook, into the rafters and out through the Chief’s make-shift bedroom (the one that he’d been suspiciously absent from ever since the Altus had caught his eye).

The air was crisp, cold. Colder than anything Krem had ever known growing up. It was refreshing, mostly, when he wasn’t complaining about it; like splashing water on your face. Peaceful, in its own way.

But there was a man on the battlements.

Not just on the battlements, on the battlements. Perched on the walls, his legs dangling over the maker-forsaken drop, profile hidden by a large drooping hat.

Krem blinked, half expecting the man to vanish between one moment and the next like some kind of mirage. He looked…familiar and not, all at once.

The guards were giving him a wide berth. Krem figured maybe he should do the same.

Except for the fact that he was a Charger; one ragged piece of a band of ragged misfits. Misfits didn’t leave other misfits alone in the cold, dangling over a sheer drop.

“Nice sunset, huh?” Krem called as he took the steps up to where he could stand beside the man.

Whoever it was, they didn’t look up.

The closer Krem got though, the more he could hear the mumbling. The man was kicking his feet against the stone, muttering under his breath. Under the shadow that his hat created, Krem could see that his hands were clenched oh so tight on his lap, knuckles white.

“Hey, you alright?” Krem reached to put a hand on his shoulder.

The man flinched.

Krem pulled his hand back, “sorry, I just—”

Wide blue eyes turned to stare at him from under the brim of his hat. Krem paused. Hell, the whole damn world paused. There was something about them, something…almost otherworldly. It was like sitting on a precipice in and of itself; like he was falling, or maybe like something was reaching inside him. Krem swallowed, pushed whatever unease tried to rise within him aside. Instead, he forced his shoulders to relax.

It took a moment before he noticed the tear tracks running down the man’s cheeks.

Oh.

“You want to help, even if you’re scared” The man muttered. He’d stopped kicking his legs. He’d gone still instead, almost statue still. “Help, like The Iron Bull helped you, like you both helped Rocky and Dalish and Skinner, and Grim. Help, because you know what it’s like to be alone.”

Well. That wasn’t creepy or anything. Krem swallowed. He should probably get as far away from here as possible, maybe warn one of the others that there was a…mage? Up here. Except—

“You won’t leave. You don’t want to leave while you’re scared. You’re scared because I know things, but you’re also scared because I’m upset.” The man sighed, “I am—I hurt, but you cannot fix it. If I was better, I would make you forget, but it doesn’t stick anymore. I don’t slide off the mind, I bury too deep. Too real, too bright, too solid. Not like before.” The man whimpered, “I don’t know how to be this.”

“Be what?” Krem should probably be more caught up on the make you forget. He was, in a way. That weird sense of knowing and not knowing, familiar and not familiar, pressed against his chest and—

“Be human,” The man turned his head sharply away, dropping Krem’s gaze and looking out to the mountains. “Varric says I have to try, but Solas thinks it was a mistake. Solas thinks I’m broken even if he won’t say it out loud. And now it’s done and the amulet won’t work and everyone remembers.”

Oh.

Cole.

The ghost of Skyhold, the shadow at the inquisitors back, the spirit boy whispered about in hushed tones when the inner circle couldn’t hear.

Krem had known he existed. He was pretty sure they’d met too, which would explain the familiarity. The chief had off-handily commented on the night Cole had drunk with the chargers and put honey in everyone’s wine, although Krem had had no recollection of anything but the sweet taste on his tongue. It was weird; the chief hated demons, spirits, the whole lot. But for all his big talk about that sort of crap, he went for tea with Madame de Fer once a week in her rooms, and he had started watching Dorian with a sort of interest in his eyes Krem had never seen before and he liked Cole.

Krem had asked once, about him. Bull had said he was a bit weird, but good at heart, that he wanted to help so he was alright as far as Bull was concerned. Said he always got the article on his name right too.

And now he was…

“You’re…too human?” Krem tried, carefully, trying to piece together what was going on.

“Yes, yes, pieces of me changing, twisting, becoming something new, something different, but not. Heavy enough to stick, but still not right,” the man – Cole – kicked his legs out again, banging them against the stone hard, “Varric is worried about me. Solas is worried. The inquisitor is worried. Can’t let them see. But it hurts.”

Krem took a deep breath. Alright. Clearly, something had…changed. Happened. And maybe he wouldn’t remember this but hey, he could help while he did. Carefully he pushed himself up onto the wall too, swung his legs out so he was also letting them dangle over the edge.

He wished he knew what to say.

“It’s okay,” Cole murmured, softly, “it’s enough that you want to try. I…think I would like you to stay.”

Krem nodded. Stay. Alright. He could stay.

They were quiet for a while, as the sun sunk lower underneath the mountains, the stars coming out brighter and brighter and—

“Your mother, warm on the hills outside the house, the smell of fresh-made bread, the smell of dye from the fabrics your father sewed every night, her hand pointing into the sky, naming the heavens, teaching the stories. She calls you a name that doesn’t fit, and you wish you didn’t miss her so,” Cole shifted his head towards Krem, those bright blue eyes shining again, “in the end she didn’t care. She just hopes her son is safe.”

Ah. Ah. Shit. Krem swallowed. Well. He’d been warned that Cole would do shit like that, hadn’t he? He knew this would be weird, and he’d agreed to stay anyway. He’d wanted to stay.

“Sorry,” Cole breathed, “usually if you say it, then take away the memory, the comfort sticks but the pain and fear doesn’t. But I can’t—It’s too solid, you see me too well—” he stared down at his fingers.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just…I don’t think about home a lot,” Krem shrugged.

“Hmm. It’s why you avoid Dorian. He’s magi, Altus, and you think he’s good for the Iron Bull, but it worries you what he’d want to talk about if you let him speak to you,” Cole sighed, “Dorian is good, he would not push if you told him not to. He did not see before what it was like for others, but he does now. He wants change.”

Krem swallowed.

“I did it again,” Cole’s voice was a frustrated whine, “I’m sorry. I can’t stop. I can’t be human enough, even though I am now.”

“No I—” Krem reached his hand out, paused before it could reach Cole’s shoulder. Ah. Maybe touching wasn’t the best idea, considering he’d flinched the first time. His hand hovered there, awkward. Uncertain.

“I think…you can, if you’d like. Touch. Humans do it to…comfort. I’m supposed to be human now. I think I might want it too. Want comfort. I think I’d like it.”

“Well, alright then.” Krem gently put his hand on Cole’s shoulder. He was almost surprised to find it solid beneath his touch, warm, even. Krem had barely spent an hour with him, and he knew that no matter how ‘human’ Cole might claim he was, he was…different. But he felt human. Felt real.

Cole didn’t move for a while. Krem didn’t take his hand away. They sat staring at the sunset.

And then, slowly, so much so that Krem didn’t notice until Cole’s head was practically resting on his shoulder, Cole leaned towards him. It was…nice. The rim of his hat pushed against Krem’s chin, but Krem didn’t mind much. It was…peaceful. More peaceful than the tavern he’d just escaped from anyway.

“Thank you,” Cole whispered. "Thank you."

#cole #krem #cole/krem #dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition

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5lazarus · 4 years

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Hi Lazarus! from the hurt/comfort prompts: “Hey, just look at me. Breathe.” Thank you!!

this story got completely out of control, but I vomited up 2.5k words from this prompt! thank you for sending it! I had a lot of fun with this little story, and while I don’t think I managed to bring it to a successful resolution, it taught me a lot about pacing!

to recap, you inspired a whole story idea with the first hug prompt you sent me. I was thinking about what Hawke & friends must have gone through, escaping Kirkwall, and how utterly miserable and emotionally shattered every single one of them must have been. what would that emotional catharsis have looked like? then ellie-elfie sent me a few prompts, which I looped into the story you inspired here, and then ended with this. I posted it on AO3 as Catabasis, though I realize I stopped the story before they go back underground. Thanks again for inspiring this. This was a lot of fun!

The warm wet of the woods washes away the ash of the last of Kirkwall. Merrill winds them through the muddy woods. She makes them take their shoes off to confuse their tracks, despite Anders muttering about hookworm and Varric’s hatred of dirt, and routinely casts a spell to shift the leaf litter back over their prints. “It’s going to look like elves were travelling, if they’re looking at all,” she says. “Not four humans, a dwarf, and Dog.” Dog barks merrily at the mention of him and Fenris shushes him. “In Seheron, we had caligo lagoenae,” Fenris says. “Can you do something similar?” “Fenris, I don’t speak Tevene,” Merril says shortly. Hawke puts their hand on her shoulder. She is still irritated over the grammar argument in the cave, and Hawke knows she has refused to learn Tevene as a point of principle. Bethany’s said that the best way to learn old magic is to read the magisterium’s journals. Merrill has said the only elves who know Tevene are slaves and slavers, and she would rather not. She continues, “Do you know it in Common? Or is it a spellword?” Fenris snaps, “Don’t patronize me,” and now it is Anders’ turn to step in and diffuse the situation. “I can work up a fog,” he says. “But you’re better at nature magic than I am, Merrill.” They don’t bother asking Bethany, because Bethany is best at curses and massively destructive rift spells. Hawke smirks to themself. Their family always makes a splash, wherever they go--good thing Merrill knows how to cover it up. Merrill weaves and thickens the humidity of the already cloying woods into a thick fog. Bethany summons a small flame and leads them forward, Fenris at her side, checking for signs that his underground left. Aveline sighs. “Creeping through the forest with a thick fog, as if that’s not suspicious.” She shakes her head. Fenris made her change into a light leather armor and leave her guard’s uniform behind. She looks close to the worn woman that Hawke met, all those long years ago, with the security of Kirkwall of her back. She still clutches her sword. Hawke is sorry they made her throw away the Amell family shield. They cannot help but suspect Fenris took some pleasure out of ordering Aveline out of her uniform. They’ve wanted to do the same for so long too, but they know the only way to balance their friends is to step out of the way. Aveline is an idealist, perhaps even more than Anders is; she finds her disillusionment in her own way. Hawke mutters a curse as they step into a particularly noxious puddle of mud. They’ve pushed her further down it, certainly. “Dunno how you stand this,” Hawke says. “The mud. The bugs. Fungus. Do you ever think you’re going to get infected with, like, mushroom people?” “Mushroom people,” Varric mutters. “That’s a good one. Better than lizards.” “No, really,” Hawke protests, scraping the mud of their feet on a tree. Merrill, irritated, waves a hand and the mud hardens and falls off. Hawke blushes: right, that’s a very clear mark a person was there. “Sorry. But, we’ve all seen some strange things in our time in Kirkwall. Amulets that turn into strange witches who can turn into dragons and eat darkspawn. Trees that turn into angry men-spirit-elf things that guard tombs. An actual ancient elvhen god, living in the sewer.” “You know, it’s not so clear Xebenkeck was one of my people’s gods,” Merrill says testily. “She is referred to as both a Forbidden One in our lore and a Forgotten One in the Chantry’s interpolation of the Tevinter text, and--” “Pedant,” Hawke says fondly. “But given all the weird shit we’ve had to fight, I feel like we’re due for some mushroom people springing up on us.” Merrill says, “That’s not how the Fade works. This is land still roved by the People. Think about it like a garden. A good Keeper prunes back the rot and the overgrowth, and leaves space for growth. And burns it out, when necessary. Kirkwall hasn’t had a good Keeper in a long time.” “Or First,” Fenris says nastily. Merrill says, “That demon took Marethari, Fenris. Not me. And if you’re not able to understand that, I don’t understand how you’re able to tolerate Justice and Anders and not what I did with Audacity.” “Because Justice isn’t a demon,” Anders says angrily. Merrill sighs. “I haven’t the time to argue Chantry propaganda with you. You can lead a halla to the water, but you can’t make him drink. I don’t understand how you can hate the Circles and still impose the way they shape the Fade--” “Oh, come off it, you’re worse than Velanna,” Anders says. “Even you have to admit, that time Hawke dragged us into the Fade, that demons mirror Andraste’s teachings on the seven deadliest sins.” “Only because Andrastians outnumber us now,” Merrill argues. “Because when I dream with my clan, we see spirits inherently different--which implies that there is no set form, as you say. What’s the line between Justice and Vengeance, anyway? Between Pride and Fortitude, Audacity and Courage? Fenris, you must have seen how Seheron feels differently than, say, Minrathous, or Kirkwall, or even Wycombe and the Friendly Homes. Where the Fade touches the Waking World--” “They’re going to go on like this for hours,” Varric says. “And I don’t understand shit. Sunshine, why don’t you ever join in?” “Both of them are far too proud to be fun to argue with,” Bethany shrugs. She pushes the lick of flame over her head and nudges it onward. It warms her tired face. Hawke thinks that she looks like their mother, as beautiful as her too, and Leandra would be furious to see the mess their children had made of their lives, on the run again. But she would be happy that they were alive. They troop through the forest, wet and muddy and irritable, and eventually even Anders runs out of things to argue about. Hawke grows comfortable in the smell of Merrill’s petrichor spells. Though the mud is admittedly unpleasant, they like the feel of wet grass sticking to their feet and legs. The woods are loud, Merrill’s magic feels like a hug from her herself, and they feel like they may just get through this. The ground grows rocky as they climb into the Vimmarks. Varric, though he hates inclined surfaces, argues that it is safer to stay in the mountains and follow a winding path past Ostwick rather than risk crossing them and skirting so close to Starkaven. “Prince Charming won’t think we’ll go up,” he says. “Trust me. One thing Sebastian knows about me, is how much I hate hiking.” They set up camp in rock shelters Merrill picks out. She knows this part of the route better than Fenris. Rain sets back in at night. Hawke wonders if Merrill inadvertently summoned it, with her fog spells. It is hard to gauge what a mage can do, because their friends regularly do the impossible. Varric has plucked arrows out of the air, Fenris can pass through walls like a lyrium-infused ghost, and Aveline took down the eldritch horror of a rock wraith in the Deep Roads. The feel of the caves is fantastic. The air tastes good, somehow, fresh and hungry, and the walls are inscribed with runes, layered through the ages. Some of them Merril can read, and she and Fenris sit down with a notebook and they go over them together, Merrill saying the words aloud and Fenris trying to write them down. Anders sits next to Hawke as they watch them. They are all tired, but the tension has been easing the further they get away from the city. They are not sure any of this can be resolved, but right now, they are too tired to fight. “Has Fenris been teaching you his dialect?” Hawke asks. “Merrill tries with me, she’s very particular about it. Says my accent is adorably shit.” Anders says, “Justice knows Elvhen. I--sometimes I know it when he says it, sometimes I don’t. It’s easier when the Veil is thinner, but gives me a headache.” “Huh. So spirits speak Elvhen.” Hawke turns to Bethany. “How does that work?” She is the Fade expert, out of the trio, though Bethany disengages with grace whenever Merrill disagrees with her. Bethany shrugs. “Dunno. Maker’s first children? Anecdotally I’ve heard that elvhen mages are more susceptible to the Harrowing--” “That’s not true,” Anders interrupts, “that’s because of templar bias and the way they’re discriminated against--” “Let me finish, Anders,” Bethany says, irritated. “As I was saying. There seems to be a stronger pull between elves and spirits, and Merrill thinks is has to do with Dalish cosmology, though that wouldn’t make sense because Orsino--well, no one has actually studied it. And now no one will, not with what’s happening with the Circles. If they don’t just kill us all.” “Fiona won’t let that happen,” Anders says, face hard. “The Liberati have enough of a majority to push for a vote.” Bethany snorts. “Didn’t know you were that engaged in Circle politics.” “I voted,” Anders protests. “Until it was no longer useful for me.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hawke says. “I’m gonna go talk to Varric instead.” The days proceed much like the rest. People talk. Hawke listens. They learn that Isabela, Anders, and Merrill have all met the hero-wardens of Ferelden before. Merrill comes from the same clan as Warden Mahariel, though Sabrae split before the Blight. Anders still corresponds with Surana, who lives in Amaranthine to avoid the stress of warden politics and to support Warden Tabris, who Isabela hooked up with in Denerim. Isabela also slept with the Left Hand of the Divine, they discover, and the King of Ferelden’s lover. “Though we couldn’t talk him into bed with us,” she sighs. “Though Zevran and Tabris and I really tried. He just--I think he got overwhelmed by all the anatomy. Poor boy.” Hawke snickers. The days go on like this, aching their way through the Vimmarks. These are the paths the Dalish take, and escaped slaves, and occasionally mages. They find marks of all three groups overlapping, though Bethany casts enough obfuscation hexes to keep them from intersecting that she collapses in her bedroll at the end of each day, shaking. Likewise cleaning their tracks begins to take a toll on Merrill. She withdraws into herself, focusing on relentlessly hiding their trail, and not even Varric can get her to laugh. “I’m tired,” she says. “And I need to focus. Please stop.” Hawke decides they need a rest day at the border of Hercinia and Wycombe. Fenris knows a cave system that will take them directly to his friends from Clan Lavellan, who promised him refuge the last time they saw him. He claims it will only take two days, but it will be two days without sunlight, and Hawke remembers how depressed Varric got without the sky. They camp in a treehouse built into a grove right below the mouth of the cave. Everyone is quiet, for the most part, curled around the fire. Aveline hums as she patches a shirt for Isabela, and Anders goes through his medicine bag to reassure himself they have enough to heal them through to Wycombe. Varric stares into the fire. “When I write about this,” he says, “I think I’ll keep this for myself.” “Why?” Bethany asks. He purses his lips, thinking. Hawke wraps their arms around Merrill, who is already half-asleep, and enjoys their friends. It is always fun to watch Varric think, he’s the cleverest out of all them, except maybe Merrill. Merrill buries her face in their arms, and they look down, concerned. She is upset, and there is nowhere private to ask why. The fire casts shadows over his face. Varric looks old. They all do. It has been a hard month. He says finally, “Because there’s no romance in it. No one wants to read about the Champion and their friends all fighting, and not really coming to any consensus besides that they want to stop fighting and be safe. There’s no moral in it, nothing uplifting. Just that people fight, viciously. That we make mistakes we can’t fix. And we just have to live with it. It’s not compelling. Not like our story in Kirkwall, which is more about Kirkwall. Who are we without the city in the background? I don’t know. I think I’ll end it in the docks. Or maybe with us watching the city burn. So people can assign us closure. Choose their own happy ending, because I don’t know what ours will be yet.” Isabela says, “Nothing special, just pieces.” She stretches again. “Keep talking like that and you’ll end up a Qunari. Our story doesn’t need a moral, Varric. That’s not how life works.” “I know that,” he says. “But that’s not the point. The story isn’t life. So I can make it work however I want.” Merrill pushes herself up in Hawke’s lap and whispers in their ear, “If they all start arguing again I will either scream or cry, I haven’t decided yet.” The journey has taken its toll on her. Hawkes examines her closely and sees the shadows like smudges under her eyes. She’s paler than usual, and she starts shaking. Hawke inclines to the edge of the treehouse with their head and quickly they move as far as they can from the others. Bethany looks at them questioningly, but they shake their head sharply. Mercifully they are left alone. Bethany is a good sister. She knows exactly when to look the other way and cause a distraction--and that she does, wheedling Varric to read a piece from his book. As the others laugh at the mess Varric has made of them, Hawke turns to Merrill. They ask, “Are you alright?” The fire casts light into Merrill’s eyes like a cat’s. When she looks at them, her eyes shine and Hawke cannot help but remember how otherworldly she is. She bridges both worlds, the Dalish and the human, but sometimes the old magic wills out. Merrill says, “Clan Lavellan doesn’t like me much. Because of Marethari. I don’t get along with their First. And I’m not sure how their Keeper will respond to me.” “Then they’re idiots,” Hawke says, “and we’ll keep moving. Send Aveline to resupply in town, and move onto Rivain. Dairsmuid or Llomerryn, or that Dalish town Isabela talked about.” Merrill is shaking harder now. “No.” Hawke takes her hands, but she pulls away. “I wish it were that easy, vhenan. But there won’t be anywhere to go. Not with the Dalish. Because of me.” “Hey,” Hawke says. “Just look at me. Breathe. That’s not true. Look at me.” Merrill’s eyes flash back to blue. “We got this far, okay? And I’m okay with--I didn’t grow up as nomadic as you, but I can do it. It could be fun. I liked moving, as a kid. Bethany and I are used to it. And if we can get another ship, well, that’ll make things easier. And you know Isabela’s going to get us on a ship at some point. I know everything is changing. If the Divine calls that Exalted March...well, you remember what that dragon lady said.” “Asha’bellanar,” Merrill corrects, lips twitching. “And it was a prayer to Mythal that revived her, there’s something in that.” Hawke sighs. “Well, you remember what she said.” They close their eyes and focus on the words, which has haunted them since--partly because the delivery had been so terrifying. They quote, “‘We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment...and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.’ And, well, we’re lying up in the sky right now, so I think we’re doing alright.” Merrill smiles despite herself. “How do you remember that?” she asks. “I don’t even remember it like that.” “Varric wrote it down,” Hawke confesses. “And it sounded so cool I memorized it. It’s good advice.” Merrill turns to the fire, where Aveline is holding a book with a luridly pink cover over the fire while Anders and Isabela cackle and Varric jumps, protesting. She says, “I know I shouldn’t have let Keeper find out about Audacity. She thought I was weak, but I knew her pride, I knew her arrogance. And her fear, since Tamlen died. I should’ve written to Mahariel, who could’ve convinced her. Or gone to the Applewood--but I didn’t. And though I lost my clan, I still have you. My aravel.” She gestures to their friends. “Walkers of the lonely path, who never submit.” She smiles sadly. “I think I fell into that abyss, Hawke. And now I’m starting to float up.” Hawke takes her hand and kisses it. Her nails are bitten to the quick. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard,” they say. “Can you teach Anders that spell?” “No, vhenan,” Merrill shakes her head. “It’s--it was part of my duties as First, to clear the tracks of the aravel. I can’t teach a human that. I love you all, but that is for myself.” They accept that, and all the ways Merrill pushes herself too hard, and hand-in-hand they get up and rejoin their friends at the fire. There is a touch of mania to the conversation. Everyone is utterly shattered, but they do not want to go to sleep. No one knows what the next day will bring, and they are clinging to the routine they have set up. Hawke blinks and pretends that they are at the Hanged Man for a moment, but the bar has run dry, so they are all stuck being sober and chummy with each other. It doesn’t work. It feels dishonest, and the woods smell too good. Finally, Aveline takes charge. “We need to rest. Especially you, Merrill. Those spells couldn’t have been easy. We’ll get up before dawn and head out then.” Fenris speaks up. “And Clan Lavellan will hide us, for however long we need.” He looks at Merrill steadily. “First Lavellan promised me that. They will not abandon their vhenallin. And she owes me a favor, anyway.” Varric says idly, “There’s a story in there.” Bethany groans. “Not more stories, please,” she says. “Aveline’s right, we do need to rest. This part’s nearly over.” She banks the fire to keep it burning low through the night and they set up their last camp before the descent. Hawke is struck by the faith they have in them, going through their nightly routine. They have been two weeks on the road, camping through the woods, and though they have spent it mostly at each other’s throats, they have made it through. So little has been resolved, and there is still so much unknown. As Flemeth predicted, they stand balanced on the precipice of change, and they know they are about to launch themselves off that cliff. But they have their friends to slow that crash, and by this point, who knows? Maybe the witch will turn them into a dragon. Settling into their sleeping roll, Hawke cannot help but grin. They faced down the Blight, the long march to Kirkwall, the Deep Roads, their mother’s death, and the start of a revolution. What could possibly happen next? They whisper to Merrill, “I feel like this world is dying. It’s monstrous.” They smirk. “Monstrously exciting. Can’t you feel it? A new world is trying to be born.”

#catabasis #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #fanfic #hawke #merrill #anders #fenris #aveline #dog #varric #bethany #hawke/merrill #anders/fenris #musetta3

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secretsfromwholecloth · 4 years

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Dragon Age: Inquisition, day 5.

Back to Haven to make the rounds before I do In Your Heart Shall Burn.

I made Iron Bull put a shirt on. I’m so sorry, Bull. I can make you a fancy Shokra-taar later once I’ve got good materials for it, if you want to have your nipples out.

Cole, did you just try to wingman for Cullen? Bless.

Got Deft Hands, Fine Tools. WHOOOOOO.

Oh, there you are, babies. Thank you for finally showing up. This is way more deepstalkers and spiders than Anchoret really wanted to be soloing.

...of course it’s Blackwall who makes the “do elves just call it “root”” joke. Really, Blackwall, right in front of the (very Dalish) Herald?

Right, I shouldn’t put this off anymore, let’s get on with In Your Heart Shall Burn.

Putting Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne in the party, because...it seems like a good idea at the time, I guess?

Look, I can’t not smile at the post-Breach-closing celebration scene.

...are Cassandra’s pants always that color, or is it the armor I gave her? Those brown and yellow stripes are...rather bold.

Oh, hello there, Dorian. It’s good to see you. This is certainly a very Dorian introduction.

Well, I didn’t manage to save all the townspeople, but I got closer than usual!

Aww, Cullen, Dorian, you’ll like each other before too long, you’ll see.

Fiona? Oh no. :(

Hello again, Corypheus. You’re very stretchy.

YEET

Sn*w. :/ (It’s a four-letter word, you know.)

The chorale scene is a weird one—I can’t not smile, but I also have to avert my eyes for most of it. Kind of like the romance cutscenes in DAO, now that I think about it. Anyway, that’s a good match for the ambivalent feelings Anchoret is having about this whole business.

Huh, Solas says some things about the orb to a Lavellan.

The investiture scene is so much more emotional with an Inquisitor who’s genuinely friends with Cassandra. (I might’ve thought romancing Cullen would add something to it, but no, it’s Cassandra who’s really the motive force here.)

Thanks for the teleport into the bedroom, Solas, now let’s get our girl out of the beige pajamas. And into another color of pajamas, at the very least...nah, I think the white and red leathers will do for this one.

My first instinct was to hand Denam over to the Templars, but Anchoret has felt rather...conscripty so far. Conscription it is!

...everyone disliked that. Except for Blackwall, because of course he’d approve.

Well, I found Vivienne’s balcony. We’ll see how well I remember the way there once Vivienne is actually there to occupy it.

Anchoret is having some complicated feelings about Dorian, who in her eyes is constantly ping-ponging between genuine goodness and saying some serious Cringe Dimension shit.

Right, time to make the rounds and get everyone’s cut scenes so they move off to their regular stations and I can actually find them again.

Blackwall, dear, please take Anchoret’s admonishment to not get yourself killed in the spirit it was intended. You’re...friendly acquaintances, at least. She’d really rather you not.

It really is extremely Blackwall to meet “don’t die” with disapproval, though.

Right, there’s Varric. And it’s time to put my fingers to some sliders.

I refuse to take screenshots of what Taran and Pavey looked like in this game. I refuse. I don’t want to remember. But I’ve got multiple screenshots of Gabran to reference, and goddammit, I’m going to make him look at least slightly like himself.

*sigh* This’ll have to do. Close-ish, though the right hair wasn’t available, and I can’t quite get some of the facial angles the way I want them.

...he still looks wrong, especially with all the scowling he’s doing. I give up.

OK, Hawke’s Varric impression is pretty great.

...oh no. Poor Isabela. I’m going to make her very sad, aren’t I.

I know I was saying I needed to go hunting to get some hides, but how many goddamn bears am I going to encounter on this one sweep through the Hinterlands?

Anyway. I should be asleep, so I’ll head somewhere more interesting tomorrow.

#dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #anchoret lavellan

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tabikato · 4 years

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If you had asked Hue what his thoughts were on Lothering he would give the response that it was very...brown. The further they moved towards the village, the more open the fields were but what surprised him more was that there was a serious lack of green. Sure there was the occasional bushes and some grass, maybe a tree or two, but everything was so...open. Open and not much excitement save for the occasional darkspawn to kill and raider to chase off. Speaking of which...

“I do not see why you did not just do away with them”, Morrigan frowns, crossing her arms as Hue descended the stairs, the raiders from early chased off easily enough. Though it was rather amusing to see a bunch of grown men run in fear from an elf of such short stature, there was no way Hue could know they wouldn’t come back with reinforcements. Especially with the peculiar information the raiders spouted out, something about these two killing the King. As if Alistair had any sense to accomplish that kind of feat, Hue on the other hand, probably not either but he was much more unpredictable to say the least.

“You suppose I should have killed them?”,he questioned, crinkling his nose at the thought, “Driving them off solved the same problem, what’s the point of killing just because you can?” Well, point taken, though she didn’t have to agree with it. Better to be cautious than to be merciful but then again, she wasn’t one of the mighty Gray Wardens here. Speaking of useless Gray Wardens…

“Well, there it is. Lothering. Pretty as a painting.” Alistair extended his arms out, presenting the hodge-podge village with more flair than needed. Hue leaned on the stone banister, looking over the village in a mixture of awe and disappointment. After Ostagar, the village seems a little lackluster in comparison. Houses made of wood and thatching, patchwork fixes to keep the weather at bay. Dirt roads flattened by the consistent to and fro of workers to their daily tasks. The large stone structure was pretty interesting, so large you could fit a few families in it with a high wall and open arch. So many sounds and smells wafted with the breeze, all so unfamiliar that he fought the urge to jump down and begin exploring. And the people, he’d never seen so many gathered about in different clothes and conversations other than Ostagar! Clothes in various shades of brown, gray, and white greeted his eyes from a distance. It wasn’t “pretty” in his mind but it definitely was fascinating.

“Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you? Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?” Oh no. He had forgotten for a moment that these two, for whatever reason, really, really did not get along. Maybe Alistair would ignore her, act the bigger man and they could continue to the tavern...

“Is my being upset so hard to understand?!”, Or fight back, “Have you never lost someone important to you? Just what would you do if your mother died?!”

“Before or after I stopped laughing?”

“Right. Creepy. Forget I asked.” Ruffles whined and he pet the Mabari behind the ears before turning his attention to the two squabbling hens.

“Are you sure you two aren’t related?” They both gagged, turning away from each other to yell at Hue but he had other plans, “What did you want to talk about, Alistair?”

“His navel, I suspect. He certainly has been contemplating it for long enough.”

“It is a nice navel.”

“Are you honest--what?”, anger rose and fell within seconds, scowling eyes turned from Morrigan to narrow ones at Hue, “No. No, nevermind, I don’t even want to know where that trail of thought is going.” Hue just shrugged, the beginnings of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Down to your navel it seems.” Okay, Alistair decided to ignore wherever that was going.

“So, I get it. This is the part where we’re shocked to discover how you’ve never had a friend your entire life”, his mocking tone earned a scoff from Morrigan, gaining some satisfaction out of her offended look.

“I can be friendly when I desire to! Alas, desiring to be more intelligent does not make it so.”

“Wait...you think friends make you stupid?” Morrigan blinked at the chuckling elf, eyes narrowing.

“I’m beginning to suspect, yes.”

“Anyway...I thought we should talk about where we intend to go, first.” Alistair interrupted, saving them all from yet another looping conversation they were prone to have. The only saving grace of those was that it made the trip seem shorter.

“Got any ideas?”

“This should be good” Ignoring Morrigan’s sneer, Alistair turned to his fellow Gray Warden.

“I think what Flemeth suggested is the best idea. These treaties...have you looked at them?” Hue’s large blinking eyes told him all he needed to know and he sighed, knowing the question about to spill forth, “The treaties, Hue, the ones we got from Flemeth. With these we will be able to ask for assistance, maybe even raise an army.”

“Oh! Those things!”

“There are three main groups we have treaties for: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. I also think that Arl Eamon is our best bet for help. We might even want to go to him first.”

“My clan’s already moved north…”, Hue cocked his head, eyes turned to the sky, “but there’s another that’s usually in Brecilian forest. Wait...why are you leaving this up to me?” With a furrow brow, he turned his gaze back to the human. Shouldn’t he be the one making the decisions here?

“Well, I don’t know where we should go! I’ll do whatever you decide!” Alistair’s voice cracked a bit, shoulders tight as he deflected back onto the other. “Arl Eamon is a good man, but I don’t know for sure he’s where we should go. I’m not going to fight about it!” That was...weird. Aside from the moping, which would be normal for such heavy losses, Alistair had been more on edge. He'd assumed the added tension and constant bickering with Morrigan was it but now he had his doubts. Was Alistair...lost?

“O...kay. Well, I am a hunter so...I guess that’s fine?” What more could he say? Aside from some hunts, Hue’s never led anything his whole life and now Alistair was just expecting him to do just that. “Still, I’d like to know what you guys think too. The group should be in agreement. What about you Morrigan?”

“Go after your enemy directly. Find this man, Loghain, and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety.” Okay, she has a point, it’s a great point but also just a very bad idea in general. One, they have no idea where Loghain was, second…

“Yeees, he certainly wouldn’t see that coming! And it’s not like he has the advantage of an army and experience and-”

“I was asked for my opinion and gave it! If your wish is to come up with reasons why something cannot be done, we will stand here until the darkspawn are upon us!”

“Guys!” His voice cut through, stopping them both, “Morrigan’s right, we can’t fight about this.”

“But we-”

“And you’re right too, going after Loghain now is too risky. There’s no way he hasn’t buried himself in his den, we’d walk right into a trap. For now, let’s get some food and figure things out as we look around.” A heavy sigh left his lips, both humans looked at least a bit guilty. They were all tired and probably just hungry, some food and rest would clear their heads and then they could make all those important decisions.

“There is a tavern not far from the entrance, come.”

All he had wanted was some damn food, maybe a drink, and be off his feet for a moment. Just to relax next to a fire and pretend for just one moment the world wasn't ending. What he hadn’t wanted was to be pulled into a fight right as they walked in the door. The tavern had been full of patrons, chattering and gossiping in a way that filled the whole room with noise. On the upper part he could hear a lute being strummed to some unfamiliar tune. And the smells! He had been eager to try food cooked in a tavern, it always made him curious when the other elves told him about it after their ventures into the villages. His eyes on the prize he hadn't expected to be stopped by some guards, guards that definitely looked like they wanted trouble.

“By order of Loghain, we are to kill the traitorous Gray Wardens.” Again? So this was Loghain’s doing, huh? Not enough to be a coward and let people die in Ostagar but now he was trying to hunt them down? To do what, eradicate the Gray Wardens? Did he hate them that much? A woman with red hair and a soft voice interrupted, dressed in a robe that he had seen people around the Chantry nearby wear. A “sister” Alistair had called them. Sister to whom he had no idea.

“Please, there is no need for violence here.” Had to give her credit, it was worth a shot but the guards were having none of it. Then they drew their weapons and it was chaos. Drawing his bow, he had to be much more precise in such an enclosed space. One miss and he might hit an innocent, the idea that these so-called “guards” didn’t even care about the people screaming in fear around them just made him angrier. Between the five of them, sister included, they had managed to take care of this mess...non-fatally of course. Wow, he’s on a roll today.

“Tell Loghain we know what he did and we’re coming for him” Teeth bared, his red eyes lit up from the fireplace glow, feral as one of the beasts he hunted. With a tight nod they scrambled, pride turned to fear, tripping over themselves right out the tavern. Well, that takes care of that.

“I apologise for interfering, but I couldn’t just sit by and not help.” Anger melted from his face as he turned to the woman...sister. She was pretty and her hair gave off a warm glow in the firelight, as if the flames themselves coloured the strands. The style cupped her face, a braid on the side, with a few strands falling gently on a pale face. Her eyes, blue and clear, were steadfast, holding his gaze before he realised he had yet answered her.

“I appreciate that.” The accent was different though, was she not from Ferelden? It didn’t sound like Marcher.

“I am glad you found it in your heart to offer those men mercy.” A tilt of her head, smile tight, “Let me introduce myself. I am Leliana, one of the lay sisters of the chantry here in Lothering. Or I was.”

“I”m Hue.”

“They said you were a Gray Warden. I’m surprised you’re an elf, but elves must want the Blight defeated as much as humans, no?” Her voice held genuine such curiosity, he didn’t have the heart to interrupt her, “I know after what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.” He blinked. Once, twice, letting the words sink in and when they finally hit him, he let out a confused sound.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“The Maker told me to.” Again...what? The Maker told her to follow him? His confusion must have been plain on his face because her confidence suddenly deteriorated, “I-I know that sounds...absolutely insane. But it’s true! I had a dream, a vision!”

“More crazy? I thought we were full up” Alistair whispered, scoffing at the idea. Considering he was the more religious of the three of them, if even he didn’t believe her…

“Look at the people here. They are lost in despair, and this darkness, this chaos will spread! The Maker doesn’t want this.”, her voice shook, so desperate in her plea that he actually started to feel for her, “What you do...what you are meant to do, is the Maker’s work. Let me help!” Aside from the fact that he was very much not Andrastian, he found he couldn't argue with her. She so passionately wanted to help, to stop this Blight and save people and whether it was the will of the Creators or Maker or what have you, he wasn’t going to turn that away.

“Well then, welcome to the party Leliana!” Arms spread wide, he welcomed her with a smile, warm gesture causing a smile on her face. The other two humans seemed to look a bit incredulous that they suddenly had a new...traveling partner.

“Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought.” All that followed Morrigan's statement was more laughter as Hue walked over to order food. Finally!

After the meal he set about exploring Lothering, drawing exasperation from Morrigan and curiosity from Leliana when he flitted about like a hummingbird. Both women were assured that yes, this is normal, he does it all the time, please don't question it from a defeated Alistair. There was so much to see, so many sounds and smells and people to talk to. What he hadn’t expected was how many people needed help and despite Morrigan’s complaining he solved a few problems around the village, earning thanks and even some rewards. It was nice to be able to do things and it not turn into a giant mess for once.

Giving the elder some of the extra potions he had stored away, he caught a glint of metal. Curiosity moved his body faster than anyone could utter a word, forced to follow after the elf as he made his way to a large cage just outside the village arch. He heard before he saw; a deep voice reciting something in an unfamiliar language. Inside was a man, a giant of a man! Grayish skin stretched over large muscles and tight features, a strong jaw, sharp brow, and large nose made up his face. Large white braids were fastened tight to his skull, drawing to the back. One of this man's arms was at least equal to both the elf's legs! Red eyes widened in pure awe as Hue took in the giant who stood so still, he almost seemed like a statue. That is until eyes opened up and stared him down.

“You aren’t one of my captors.” Short, deep, to the point. Hue wasn’t sure why but that voice had him standing up straighter. “I have nothing to say that would amuse you, elf. Leave me in peace.”

“What are you?” Words, innocent as they were, left his mouth without filter.

“I am Qunari, is that not obvious?” Head shook no but it was only answered with a deep sigh.

“You’re a prisoner? Who put you in there?”

“I’m in a cage, am I not? I’ve been placed here by the Chantry.”

“The revered mother said he slaughtered an entire family...even the children”, Leliana’s voice reminded him that his friends had followed him, all standing behind the elf. Wide eyes froze, turning back to the strange man with that new knowledge.

“It is as she says.” Admittance; plain and simple. Something about that seemed...off to Hue though, what kind of murderer just admits their guilt and with such a tone? “I am Sten of the Beresaad--the vanguard--of the qunari peoples.”

“Ah, I’m Hue. Gray Warden. Nice to meet you.”

“You mock me.”, eyes narrowed but then replaced with confusion, “Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands.”

“Well, I mean...you introduced yourself so politely…”, finger scratched his cheek, was he not supposed to do that? The way this Qunari?...was staring at him was a little nerve-wracking, it was like the taller man was reading him like a book.

“It matters little, I will die soon enough.” Suddenly it dawned on him that Sten was actually locked in that cage, probably meant to starve to death or worse.

“This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn. If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy’s sake alone.”

“Mercy?”, Alistair snorted in surprise, “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage.”

“Yes, that’s what I would have expected.” Morrigan’s words made Hue pause, ignoring their bantering as brow creased in thought. A use for him? It seemed leaving anyone to the fate of darkspawn was much too cruel, that he knew. If Sten had done what he said then yes, he did indeed deserve punishment but Hue just couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to this. It felt...odd and whenever he felt something was odd, he knew it wasn’t what it actually was. Was it?

“Are you guilty?” Sten was silent for a moment, furrowed brow regarding the elf.

“Are you asking if I feel guilt, or if I am responsible for the deed?” A pause and then his expression was stone once more, “However I feel, whatever I’ve done, my life is forfeit now. My regret will not bring back the dead.” And there it was, his decision made, he was going to get Sten to join them and that was that.

As much as he wanted to run and explore the Chantry and all it's nooks and crannies he was on a mission. Soldiers were standing around in various spots, Templars, as Alistair pointed out to him,. So that symbol was did mark them as Templars, that information would be useful for later. Who knows who might become their enemy and if the shem want to run around with large symbols emblazoned on their shields and armor to alert everyone who they were well...that seemed a them problem. Before any of that he marched his group right into the study in the back, determination set on his face.

Despite knowing the crime Leliana had actually helped him convince the Revered Mother to let them release Sten, as long as it was in Hue’s custody. She had caught on to his plan pretty quickly, offering assurances where he could not. Impressed, he smiled at her as they headed back into the main part of the Chantry.

“You’re really smart Leliana!”

“Oh? Thank you...I’m not sure what I did though.”

“You helped me get Sten out”, his smile was bright, genuine and she couldn’t help her own growing, “like redemption right? If he did do it, then stopping a Blight is better than him rotting away right?” Yes, she had guessed that was what he was thinking but it felt good hearing the words spill from his mouth. The Maker had truly chosen a merciful one. She watched as Hue approached the head templar, hands moving in animated fashion to his speech and the templar nodded. Seems he was quite pleased to hear that Hue had taken care of some bandits outside of the village. Her eyes followed the rest of her new companions; Alistair was busy talking to a knight nearby and Morrigan was near the door, eyeing every templar as if they’d attack on spot.

“Let’s go get Sten!” Hue’s cheerful voice popped up, his business done as he looked towards his friend, “Hey Alistair, let’s go!”

“Go ahead, I’ll join you.” With a nod, Hue walked right out the chantry with the two women, heading back to the cage.

“You wish something more of me?”

“Yea, I’m getting you out.” Sten’s eyes widened as the small elf started to unlock the cage, key in hand.

“I confess, I did not think the priestess would part with it.”

“She only agreed as long as you came with me.” The door swung open, Hue looked him right in the eye and Sten could only meet them in kind.

“Fine then, I will follow you against the Blight. In doing so I shall find my atonement.” Stepping out, he stretched out the limbs that had been cramped in that damn cage for too long. A warm smile greeted him, almost child-like in its happiness.

“Thanks Sten! Glad to have you with us!” These thanks and platitudes were undeserving to him, even if he was fighting a Blight he was still doing it for selfish reasons.

“May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere.” With a laugh, Hue led his new friends back to go pick up Alistair as well as some equipment for Sten and be on their way. To where? Creators knew but with two new friends, he felt like it was going to be interesting. They decided to take the back way from Lothering, marching up the stairs when they heard a commotion. On the bridge were two dwarven merchants, cart trashed and boxes strewn about, screaming at their attackers. Only the attackers weren't raiders, the unholy growl of darkspawn was turned upon them as soon as they came into view. Foul creatures wasted no time at all running at them, swords meeting swords as they engaged. Luckily with Leliana and Sten now in their ranks it took no time at all for these damnable things to be slain, pulling an arrow embedded into one's chest. Maybe they could do this after all...

"Mighty timely arrival there, my friend. I'm much obliged." The thankful voice had him turn, looking upon the dwarves who no seemed afraid. He smiled back at the one with the beard, nodding his head.

"You're welcome, uh..."

"The name's Bodahn Feddic, merchant and entrepreneur", that last word seemed important but Bodahn continued on, patting the other dwarf on the shoulder, "This here is my son, Sandal. Say hello, my boy."

"Hello."

"Road's been mighty dangerous these days. Mind if I ask what brings you out here? Perhaps we're going the same way." Hue shrugged a shoulder.

"You can but I don't know if you want to travel with Gray Wardens."

"Gray Wardens, hm? My, that does rather explain a lot", Bodhan stroked his beard, not even thinking on the prospect, "No offense, but I suspect there's more excitement on your path than my boy and I can handle. Allow me to bid you farewell and good fortune, though."

"Goodbye."

"Same to you." With that, Hue waved at them before joining up with his friends. Those two seem nice enough, hopefully they don't find anymore trouble. He could hear Bodhan's voice distantly as their feet carried them further on.

"Now, then. Let's get this mess cleaned up, shall we?"

#dragon age origins #dragon age #zevran x mahariel #zevran x m!warden #dragon age fanfic #Hue #Tabi writings #Alistair Theirin #morrigan

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anjelica-grey · 6 years

Text

To Dream of Dragons, Chapter 20: A Bird in the Hand

(Can't believe I'm at 20 whole chapters, nearly 70k words. Whew!)

Sunday, Solace 17th, 930

Dear Shanna-bug,

Raven and I were happy to get your letter. We just visited the Dalish elves. They were interesting, but not very friendly. They did take us back to South Reach in a wagon pulled by halla, though. The halla are—

“That’s not right,” the scholar interrupted, reading over his shoulder from atop the nearest bale of hay.

They’d camped in a cozy barn on the road from South Reach to Denerim; the farmholders had initially been wary, but relaxed when Leliana said they had their own provisions and offered to pray a blessing over their lands. Given the hint of late summer chill seeping into the air, everyone was pleased to be inside.

“What do you mean, it’s not right?” Rob frowned. “It’s not ‘Raven and me’ – that sounds weird.”

“No,” she laughed. “Your sentence is fine. I meant the date is wrong. Well, it’s written wrong, anyway.”

“... huh?”

After confirming their companions were out of earshot, she explained. “It should be day, date, month, year, and age. So, Sunday, 17 Solace, 9:30 Dragon.”

Rob eyed his sister with scorn. “Really? I’m learning a whole new calendar, and you’re critiquing my formatting? Should I stab myself with this stupid quill when I’m done, so you can make corrections in red?”

“Yes, thanks; that would be helpful,” she quipped, then grinned. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a pain. It’s just better to blend in with everyone else.” He sighed, nodding. “If it helps, be glad you’re figuring this out now. Next month is called August, which is roughly like our September, but starts with All Soul’s Day – basically Halloween. How’s that for confusing?”

He blinked. She laughed. He glared. She giggled harder. The cycle was interrupted when Alistair’s shadow fell across them. “Oh, sorry, I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Raven smiled dreamily and reached up to take the Warden’s hand, tugging him down to sit beside her on the hay. “Never.” Clearly forgetting whatever he’d come to say, he melted into an Alistair-shaped puddle, cupping her cheek in his palm and gazing at her like she was north and his eyes were magnets.

‘Ugh,’ thought Rob. ‘Dear Shanna, Rae’s finally dating that Warden you thought was her boyfriend, and they are so cute it’s nauseating. Please send help.’

To read the rest of this chapter, or for the full story, visit me on AO3. :)

#dragon age fanfiction #agreywrites #ag-dreamofdragons #ag-raven #ag-rob #ag-aedan #ag-shanna #alistair-theirin #morrigan #leliana #sten #zevran-arainai #wynne-dragon-age #cullen-rutherford

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smolpocketmonstercoffee · 7 years

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Banter & Sass

Despite knowing that Shanedan’s personal thoughts on her interactions with Cyrus that morning was bordering on being downright abysmal, Assan couldn’t help but admit to herself that she thought that blue-eyed black-haired human’s sassiness was adorable, like a disgruntled puppy, all teeth and thinking he’s looking all sorts of vicious when she could just reach out and pop him on the snoot if she felt like it.

This was providing she didn’t have a good idea that Cyrus would crack her just for trying and she knew that he could too.

It wasn’t often that she got to witness a spar that honestly put her brother on his toes. He didn’t sweat from mere exercises like that very frequently. But the thing about exercises was that they could still strain and she kept eyeing her brother all through the remainder of the training session until the squad leader, Hanin, dismissed them for the morning.

Shanedan wouldn’t drop one of his weapons to strengthen his defense unless his shoulder was bothering him.

If it was though, he didn’t show any sign of it.

But then again, this was still Shanedan she was thinking of.

He had been that way all her life, pretending nothing was wrong, everything was fine. That his hurts weren’t worth making others worry. She was his baby sister and she still couldn’t convince him that his thoughts, concerns, and pain mattered just as much as anyone else’s.

She wished she could take away those scars and those memories and just let him trust and feel freely.

As they retreated from the training ground, Shanedan met her eye and he spared her a smile like a wince. Fleeting and soft like wet clay. “Are you going back to bed?” he asked, knowing that it was still early for her. She didn’t like being awake at this hour and normally, she would have but not after a spar that had gotten her blood pumping.

Assan wrinkled her lip and shrugged, “There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep after a training session like that.”

“Would you join me for breakfast then?”

Their eyes met and she saw it.

The little bits of emotions in his eyes that he couldn’t restrain despite all of his self-imposed self-control that he had mastered. That was how she knew when things were real for him, that he wasn’t acting.

That expression in his eyes was more important to her than every luke warm smile he had ever worn.

One day she hoped she would be able to see that emotion bleed into the rest of his face, so the rest of the world could see what she saw.

“Yeah. I think I will,” Assan stated before giving him a light-hearted swat on the small of the back, “Go on ahead though, I’ll meet you there.”

A subtle dark brow of his rose in mild curiosity.

“Alright.”

He never did pry into her own personal matters, giving her faith in whatever it was she was going to do, and Assan watched as Shanedan walked to the kitchens to gather them some breakfast.

As soon as he was out of view though, she sprinted back to their lodging to look for the ridiculous bag of seeds Shanedan had made forever ago to deal with muscle aches, dropping a couple hot coals from the dying hearth into the bag and retying it before she snatched up the fur-lined boots she had bought him for his birthday a couple years back and hurried along to meet him at the kitchens.

One of these days her brother was going to lose his feet to frostbite walking around the way he did in his Dalish leggings with nothing else, she was damn sure of it.

Every elf she had seen in Skyhold wore shoes, even that new squad leader of theirs.

Stupid boy.

Shanedan Shanedan looked up from whoever it was he was talking to shortly after she took her first few strides into the hall, taking her by surprise when she realized that he was sitting with a few members of their new team, one of them the sturdy looking human with brown eyes and a scar at his mouth, that cute blonde elf girl too, and not far from him was the jumpy kid and captain asshole himself.

She had known her brother all her life and sometimes it still took her by surprise that he could hear her in such a crowded place. Assan knew that her gait was as familiar to Shanedan as his own heartbeat was and she was almost certain that he had memorized the stride pattern of half of Skyhold’s population by now too. A habit of his that he had tried to get her to do as well but she struggled with. Shane had tried to get her into several of his many potentially life-saving habits but she just wasn’t brilliant like he was.

Striding across the hall over to them, she smirked to her brother, “Making friends?” she inquired as she held out the bag of hot grain and his boots, not moving to sit down until he reluctantly took them from her. It was rare for her to indulge in breakfast considering her normal sleeping pattern but it looked like she would be taking part in it more often since she and Shanedan had been dumped in with the ‘Dawn Squad’.

Shane didn’t need to be there with her, he didn’t cause problems like she did, but she knew why he joined.

He never left her side.

He would always watch her back, and she would always watch his.

She wanted to make sure just as much as he did that they didn’t repeat history.

All they had left was each other.

“Familiarizing myself with our team,” he said softly as he slipped his feet into the boots and then situated the canvas sack under his coat to let the heat soak into his shoulder, his eyes on the table as she sat down to be opposite of him.

The guy, Ralof, Ralon, something like that, looked on in surprise at the gifts that she had bestowed upon her brother. “No boots, huh? Shit, I thought that was just a strange elf thing,” he said, grinning playfully before the elf jabbed him hard in the ribs with her slim elbow, “Ouch! Hey, I’m going to need my own bag of hot grain if you keep that up!”

“There she is—the troublemaker,” the elvish girl greeted, wiggling her fingers and winking, “Welcome to the team! Anyone who’s able to piss off Commander Curly is a decent sort in my book,” she said, grinning.

Assan gave a small laugh, “As far as I’m concerned, it is a weird elf thing. He picked it up from Zese I’m sure, he was the only elf in our merc band,” she said, her lips curling into an almost cruel smile and she held out her fist to the elf, Lyrene she thought her name was, “You I already like,” she stated with a smug grin, Shanedan observing the interaction quietly with a soft curve of his lips, only briefly drawing attention to himself when he flagged down the serving woman.

Lyren snorted, bumping fists with Assan. “What can I say? We elves are an influencial lot. Y’know, once you look past the crippling oppression.”

There was a flicker of discomfort in Shanedan’s eyes that made Assan glance at her brother before Lyrene humorously raised her foot, showing off the sturdy boot it was clad in, Ralon wrinkling his nose when she grazed his cheek with it. “Then again, no one wants their toes dropping off out here! That’d be a pain in the ass.”

Ralon raised his brows, shoving his comrade’s boot back under the table and glanced between the two siblings. “So a mercenary band, huh? Shit. That would’ve been a hell of a thing. Ran into a few of those, traveling south of Ferelden. Rough folks,” he said, trailing his eyes over Assan and she raised her brows with a playful smirk under the inspection. “Can’t say I’m completely surprised though. You look like you could scare folks stiff on a good day.”

“Yeah, and scare them dead on a bad one,” Lyrene shot in with a laugh.

“Yeah well, I wasn’t always so awesomely scary, especially not then,” Assan shrugged, her eyes shifting to Shanedan as her lips pressed thin for a moment. “And Shane, well…”

Her brother filled in for himself, “I’m a runt.”

As though that explained everything.

Ralon nudged him a little, “Hey, well y’know what? Surrounding yourself with a bunch of short-asses like us is a pretty clever move then. Kinda hard to think of someone as a runt when you’ve gotta crane your neck to look at them anyway.”

The statement made Assan let out a bark of laughter and she saw the look in her brother’s eyes, almost matching his smile.

Amusement.

“I’m not much taller than you guys. The squad leader is nearly my height,” he pointed out in all modesty.

“Well, not much taller is still taller!” Ralon grinned.

“Shaaaaaaane,” Assan prodded her humble little brother, “you’re still like four inches taller than him. And a full head taller than Dick Black over there,” she said, jerking her thumb in the direction of Cyrus.

“Assan…”

The grouch in question had been shoveling his breakfast into his mouth when Assan made the comment and shot her a sharp glare. “Huh. I keep forgetting the cow can speak. They don’t serve hay here, you know,” he said snidely, eyes flicking over to Shanedan. “So how about you and the runt fuck off and bother people who give a shit about you. If there are any.”

“This cow can throw you across the hall, pint-size. Let’s not forget that the runt handed your ass to you on a silver plate,” Assan shot back without missing a beat, Shanedan wincing a bit on the other side of the table.

Cyrus sneered, lip curling in disdain. “Fucking try it,” he snapped, “Come on then, I’m waiting. And before? The runt got lucky. I just assumed being slow ran in the family.”

The blond boy, Darren, piped up despite looking like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide. “Stop it. Please. We’re meant to be a team aren’t we? Can’t we just try…”

“This is between me and Horns over there,” Cyrus said, gesturing at Assan with his spoon with his eyes narrowed at Darren, “So shut up and stay out of it.”

“He could have disarmed you five times over the course of that spar, assfuck, that’s hardly luck!”

“Twice,” Assan heard her brother murmur, almost anxiously stirring his food rather than eating it.

Cyrus barked a dry laugh, “Oh look, it’s trying to count now,” and he smirked at Shane’s correction, “Huh, better luck next time. Maybe start simple. Like with zero. Because that’s precisely how many fucks I give about you and your half-pint brother.”

Lyrene piped up on the other side of the table, “Okaaay, how about this? We eat our breakfast and try not to kill each other?” she suggested, motioning about the room, “All the other squads seem to be able to manage it.”

“If you’re waiting for me to give a shit about your opinion, you better pack a lunch, sweetheart, cuz it’s going to be a while.”

“Last I checked, you were the one who came over here looking to start shit with me. You’re real big on talking about it. I’m just waiting for you to put your money where your mouth is,” Cyrus smirked, his gaze darkening. “But seems you’d rather just sit there and call me sweetheart. Cute. But I have a policy: no animals.”

“Cyrus, give it a rest,” Ralon said sharply as conversations around them started to go quiet. “Listen: if the two of you get into a fight now, Hanin’s going to be more than just pissed. So unless you both want to be running laps and cleaning latrines for the next two weeks, you need to calm down. Let it go.”

And then…

Well.

Shane.

“I’m sure the two of them could fuck it out during their mutual punishment,” he said casually to Ralon and Lyrene who both choked on their porridge, coughing and sputtering with laughter, ignoring the copper blush and look of disgust on Assan’s face and both Cyrus and Darren went red—one in embarrassment and one in anger.

“Shanedan, that’s disgusting!”

Those stormcloud grey eyes turned to her, quirking his brows mildly, “Well, since you two seem to enjoy professing your undying affections to each other in the middle of breakfast…”

“You seem real interested in what your sister’s fucking, runt,” Cyrus snapped, fists clenched, “Keep that shit up and people are going to think the two of you are even more screwed up than you already are.” And with that, he shoved his bowl away and stood, glowering around the near silent hall. “What the fuck are you lot gawking at?”

And proceeded to storm out, a few suggestive whoops and whistles trailing from the tables as he passed.

And the door to the mess hall thudded shut behind Cyrus.

“You are disgusting,” Assan told her brother, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” he said simply, shrugging and without another word he returned to eating his porridge.

“Well… That was something.”

Assan glanced to Ralon who was smirking at Shanedan as he took a swig of water from his tankard. “Nice one. Takes skill to get Cyrus to stalk off like that.”

�� At the other end of the table, the boy, Darren, shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry. About him, I mean. You’re not…”

His eyes flicked to her and then back down to his food, “Any of those things he said you were.”

Ralon chuckled but when he spoke, his tone was gentle. “Pretty sure she knows that, kid. Cyrus talks more shit than all of us combined.”

Assan pursed her lips with a sigh and a shrug. “Don’t worry about it,” she told the boy, “that’s hardly the first time either of us have heard crap like that and it sure as hell won’t be the last. We get it from all kinds being vashoth,” Assan explained, trailing to Shanedan with a bit of curiosity on her face, a thought scampering across her brain and then scurrying away.

“That’s probably true… but still, you shouldn’t have to hear it from your own squad, that’s all,” Darren said quietly.

Assan’s expression softened at Darren’s words, her own brother’s smile gentle and some fondness in his eyes from his kind words, and she reached out to ruffle his hair, “You’re adorable, I hope you know that.”

The gesture made the boy’s cheeks tinge a little and smile, pleased that the tension had all but evaporated now that Cyrus had left.

“But!”

Everyone jumped a little when she slapped the table, making Shanedan wince slightly, “Now we don’t have to worry about sassy-pants butting into conversation.”

“He probably wouldn’t have to begin with if you hadn’t mentioned him in the first place, Assan,” Shanedan sighed, although everyone else relaxed to grins and chuckles.

Lyrene gave a half-shrug, “True enough,” she agreed, “but frankly, Cyrus being an ass is about as sure as the sunrise. Would’ve happened at some point.”

“So,” Ralon chimed in, smiling and leaning forward as he fixed Assan with a curious look, “How’d you find dawn training? Added a few nice dents into Connors’ shield.”

She smirked as she gazed back to the man. “Honestly, for a first day, it was pretty mild. My first day training with Ore was a lot harder.”

“You were also six back then, Assan,” Shanedan quietly pointed out.

“Yeah yeah, shut up.”

“Ore… One of the mercenaries you mentioned before?” Lyrene inquired, cocking her head.

“You were only six?” Ralon added, brows raised in surprise. “That’s rough. How long were you both with the mercs?”

“She was our mama,” Assan said at the same time as Shane said, “Assan’s mother.” And she looked at her brother at the same time he realized his mistake and his entire body tensed up subtly. She took a deep breath through her nose and she shrugged, “I was six when Ore decided to start my training. Shanedan was seven when she started his. Probably would have started sooner if she hadn’t been pregnant with me,” Assan admitted, “We were with Ore, Zese, Maltese, Ghorbash, and Katria until I think I was nine. After that… well, Shanedan pretty much raised me, jumping from whatever merc group that would take a nine year old and a sixteen year old to the next.”

Ralon’s gaze flicked between the two vashoth. “Right. Gotcha.” And he gave Shanedan a half-smile. “Older brother, huh? That’s a tough gig.” And he playfully winked at Assan, Assan smirking in amusement.

“So what happened?” Lyrene asked suddenly, ignoring Ralon’s warning glance, “I mean, you started hopping around at nine, yeah? Something must have caused that.”

Shanedan’s expression was unreadable.

His tone flat as he spoke.

“They went on a job and didn’t come back,” he said quietly as he stood, sparring them the courtesy of a smile like a wince. “I’m going to go meditate. I’ll see you all later,” he excused himself softly before he turned to leave, his half-full bowl of food remaining at his spot.

“See you around then…” Ralon lamely said, turning and glaring at Lyrene.

She looked lost.

“Was it something I said?”

Assan reached over to pat her hand reassuringly, “It’s nothing personal,” she explained. “Shane’s an avoidant: won’t talk about things that bother him even if it might kill him.” And she sighed. “We don’t know what happened to band. Shane was left in charge of me and when they didn’t come back by the deadline, we assumed the worst. Shane went from being just my brother to being a parent to me too. If they are alive, we haven’t seen hide or hair of them.”

Ralon sighed. “That must’ve been difficult for both of you. I’m sorry.”

She shrugged.

“What happened was kinda to be expected. It’s part of the risks that come with the career, right on up there with potentially being stabbed in the back by people you think you should be able to trust.”

His mouth twitched up at the corner. “Our squad, we’re not much to look at but we might be better than mercenaries. Maybe.”

Assan smiled with a short laugh. “There aren’t as many risks in an army, which is why Shanedan suggested we come here in the first place. Stability isn’t something you find in many merc bands, especially not the ones we were in.”

“Poor guy,” Lyrene murmured. “At least he’s got you.”

“And my word that we won’t try to stab anyone in the back,” Ralon added. “Even Cyrus, believe it or not.”

He paused though, remembering something. “What was that grain for by the way?” he asked, “Has your brother got a bad shoulder?”

“Kinda. Broken collarbone,” she corrected, tapping the far edge of her own clavicle.

He winced in sympathy, “Ouch. Nasty injury, that. Tends to play up well after the fact. Was it recent?”

Assan finished her bowl of porridge and dragged Shanedan’s half-finished one to eat it too. “Some time last year. Bastard we were working with got pissed and stabbed Shane. If he was a normal height for a Qunari…” she said and frowned.

If her brother wasn’t the runt that he was, he probably would have died.

“There are healers here,” Lyrene suggested. “Maybe they could take a look at it?”

Assan scoffed. “The only way he’d go to the healers is if I personally dragged him. The chance of magic being used on him puts him on edge in the worst way, even if he won’t show it or say it.”

“Not a fan of magic, huh?” Ralof noted, picking at his bowl. “Fair enough, can’t say I blame him. But if it’s causing trouble…” and he shrugged, “Well, it’s an option.”

Lyrene sighed, leaning an arm on Ralon’s shoulders to regard Assan, “So what happened exactly? For you to end up here with us, I mean,” she asked, glancing around the table. “We aren’t exactly the ‘golden team’ after all. Supposedly. I beg to differ.”

“Yeah,” Ralon added. “Shanedan mentioned something about folks getting hurt but didn’t exactly go into detail about it. Whatever it was must’ve pissed off Cullen.”

Cringing a bit, Assan ate a mouthful of porridge to maintain her silence for a little bit, picking her words like she felt Shane personally would. “Well, I didn’t fall back when I was told to. Shanedan came and got me against orders and a few guys that like him covered him. They got hurt,” she explained.

Shane, her brother with a flawless record of obedience, had disobeyed orders in order to protect her.

“Least to say,” she added with some mildness in her tone, “it wasn’t the first time I didn’t follow orders given by that idiot team leader we were under.”

Lyrene snorted, “Yeah. Shit orders are a pain. Sometimes I wonder how they decide who gets to run things around here.”

Ralon rolled his eyes, “Oh yeah, you’d be a much better option, Ly. For sure,” he teased, grinning as he earned an elbow in the ribs. Then he turned his eyes to Assan. “Well here’s to hoping you and Hanin get along better than the last team leader, Assan. This is… well, it’s the end of the line as far as the army goes,” he noted, spreading his hands.

The elf nodded in agreement, expression darkening a little. “Yep. We screwed up here and… well, we’re probably screwed.”

Assan wrinkled her nose with a snort. “We’ll see.”

After a moment, she sighed, fiddling with her spoon, twirling it in the air absently. This team really was the bottom of the barrel and Shanedan didn’t deserve it.

“Shanedan’s the one I’m worried about. He’s got no real reason to get kicked if I do and the only reason he’s with this squad is so he can look out for me.” Like he always was. Like he had been since the day she had been born. “If I’m being honest, this place feels like it’s been good for him so far but…” and she shrugged, “I’m not sure about me. I don’t want him to leave somewhere he might actually like just to look after his kid sister. Again.”

Ralon leaned back, sighing deeply. “Time will tell, I reckon. Either way, we like the two of you. But it gets easier,” he stated, “once you feel like you can trust the people watching your back.”

Lyrene placed a hand over her heart, “Aw, you trust me?”

“Ha! Not a chance. I trust Connors and the kid, you’re a downright liability.”

“Psh. Ass.”

Assan laughed at the banter.

Relaxing some, Lyrene smirked a bit, “I think you’ll be fine, so long as you and Cyrus don’t tear each other’s throats out, that is.”

Assan snorted at the mention of that black-haired, blue-eyed bugger.

“What’s his deal anyway? Cuz that’s one serious stick up his ass.”

They all exchanged glances at Assan’s last comment, and eventually, the blond elf shrugged helplessly. “No idea what his problem is, to be honest. Maybe he was just born a dick.”

“I don’t reckon he was hugged enough, growing up.”

Assan’s golden gaze was in sync with everyone else as they turned to the meek speaker, Darren himself.

“My ma always said a hug smooths away sharp edges and, well… sharp edges are all Cyrus has.”

His eyes lifted from his bowl and he flushed suddenly at the realization that they were looking at him, looking back down.

“Just sayin’…”

Cute, shy, and sweet. What are the odds?

That was just plain adorable.

“Maybe,” Assan subtly agreed, thinking about other assholes she had met in her life. Other mercs, mostly. Ghorbash had been one of them. And she remembered the one time she had spoken to Zese about how hard he was on Shanedan. And she shared the elf’s words of wisdom, “Some people are assholes because they don’t know any other way. Like a self-defense mechanism. Lizards that drop their tails. Frogs with poisonous skin. Butterflies that taste bad.”

She realized she had finished her brother’s porridge when she scraped the bottom of the bowl.

“Either way, it’s like trying to read a closed book. Pointless,” Ralon said with a snort.

And then he rose a brow at her. That amused grin on his face that she was starting to recognize as second nature to him.

Grins like that meant playfulness, and she liked people who were playful.

“And what about you, huh? You like trouble or does trouble just have a habit of finding you?”

Oh that was the question.

And the Qunari grinned shamelessly.

“Yes.”

She had a feeling that she would be right at home among these three teammates of hers. Playful and charming Ralon, teasing and joking Lyrene, sweet and shy Darren.

Yeah.

This felt like a good team already.

Maybe it would be good enough to even draw Shanedan out of his brittle shell.

One could only hope.

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ahvarchive · 7 years

Text

under the cut are examples of companion banter / dialogue with companion!ahv!!

COLE.

Cole: Blood on my hands. It’s beautiful in the sun. She’s beautiful in the sun. Tuelanen, ar lath ash. Tuelanen — Ahvir: Cole. Cole: It wasn’t your fault. Ahvir: Stop. Please.

IF PRESENT:

Varric: Kid, let it rest. Solas: Cole, she does not wish to hear this. Sera: …Shite. Dorian: My condolences.

///

Cole: Want her to be safe. Mythal’enaste, she’s a mage. If they think she’s a mage they’ll — Ahvir: Cole! Cole: Smells like sunlight in her hair. Magic? Or her? She looks so bright when she casts. How could they call that evil? Won’t let them touch her. Ahvir: Cole, STOP! Cole: She didn’t want you to hurt. Ahvir: [ quietly ] I didn’t want her to…it doesn’t matter. Let it rest, Cole. Please.

///

Cole: [ singing ] Iras ma ghilas, da'len, ara ma'nedan ashir? Ahvir: [ singing ] Dirthara lothlenan'as bal emma mala dir. Cole: I’m sorry. I don’t sound like her. Ahvir: It’s a nice thought, Cole.

IF PRESENT:

Sera: Pfft. You’ve even got the demon acting elfy. Ahvir: My mamae sang me that lullaby, Sera. I miss her. He was trying to help. Sera: — Oh.

///

Ahvir: Cole, was that…were you the one who fixed my bracelet? Cole: You thought it was like losing her. It didn’t mean you loved her any less. Ahvir: — Ma serannas.

///

Cole: You don’t have to put yourself between me and them. Ahvir: I know. Cole: You do it, anyway. Ahvir: I know. Cole: She wouldn’t want you to want that. Ahvir: — I know.

///

( if the clan was lost ) Cole: There are so many of them. I’m so glad she isn’t here. Tuelenan, keep her safe. One lives. Ahvir: What? Cole: Keeper Deshanna. Ahvir: — Ah. Cole: She was glad you weren’t there when the humans came. Ahvir: I could have done something. I could have protected them. Cole: Breathing, stabbing, blood in throat. I’m so sorry, da’len. So sorry. Cole: She wanted you to live. She was sorry that she made you hurt.

///

Ahvir: Are you alright, Cole? You took a pretty bad hit that last fight. Cole: [ surprised ] It doesn’t hurt. Ahvir: [ laughing ] That doesn’t mean you’re not injured Cole: He sounds like her. I sound like her? I’m sorry. Ahvir: No, it’s — don’t be sorry. I’m glad. Ahvir: I’m glad you’re so good. She was good, too.

VARRIC.

Ahvir: So, Varric… Varric: Uh oh. Ahvir: I haven’t even said anything yet! Varric: If you’re asking for spoilers to books, I’m not giving any. Not even to you, Dawn. Ahvir: Fenedhis!

///

Varric: Tuelenan. What does that mean, Dawn? Ahvir: It means CREATORS. The gods. Varric: Ah. Speaking of, do you Dalish have any weird curses for them? Ahvir: Like your “Maker’s bursting blackheads!” and such? Varric: Yeah, exactly! I’ve got a new character in my book, real irreverent elf type. Wanna know how I can have him curse. Ahvir: Hmm…the closest I can think of is Tuelenan, ha'lam'shir em'an. Ahvir: Literally it means Creators, end us, but in context it’s more like — Ahvir: Creators, just fucking kill me because you’ve fucked me over so much already that you might as well just finish the job. Varric: Andraste’s flaming ass! Ahvir: Mhmm.

///

Varric: So your clans don’t cross each other very often, do they? Ahvir: It isn’t rare, but it doesn’t happen often. Why? Varric: Just wondering if you might have met another Dalish friend of mine. She was a first, too. She reminds me of you. Ahvir: What was her name? Varric: Merrill. Ahvir: Oh, no. The one from your book? I’ve never met her, ir abelas. Varric: Ah, well.

///

Varric: So, Dawn. You read my books. Ahvir: I do. Varric: Good to know I’ve got a Dalish audience. Ahvir: I would buy the books when we traded with humans. I liked to read the stories to the children. Though I…usually changed the character names so they could be Elven. Ahvir: Not that there’s anything wrong with your stories! There just aren’t many elf heroes that aren’t from centuries ago. I don’t want the children to think… Varric: It’s fine, Ahv.

///

Varric: So…did the kids like my books? Ahvir: Yes, though they wondered why the bad guys just kept dropping out from nowhere. Varric: Everyone’s a critic.

IF PRESENT:

Iron Bull: I knew it wasn’t just me!

CASSANDRA.

Ahvir: So you’re basically a Templar, right? Cassandra: [ sighs ] No. Our abilities are similar, but not the same. Ahvir: I’m more talking about general disposition. Ahvir: You don’t trust mages, do you? Cassandra: I… Ahvir: That’s what I thought.

///

Cassandra: Ahvir? Ahvir: Hm? Cassandra: I could not give you a proper answer before. I don’t distrust mages. Ahvir: Truly? Cassandra: Distrust comes from fear. I am not afraid. Ahvir: Are you unafraid because you know we’re not all evil power - hungry maleficar - in - the - making, or because you’ve killed enough of us to know you can do it again? Cassandra: I —…

IF PRESENT:

Varric: Just keep sticking your foot in your mouth, Seeker. Cole: Both?

///

Cassandra: Ahvir, do you truly believe I’d kill you? Ahvir: — No. Ahvir: Because you know me, now. But I believe you’d be quicker to kill a stranger if you knew they were a mage than you’d be to kill a stranger that you knew to be a warrior. Ahvir: You still think of us as being monsters, somewhere. We need to earn our way into your good graces. We need to earn it for you to look at us as people. Ahvir: That isn’t right. Cassandra: …You’re right. It isn’t.

///

Ahvir: Agh, fenedhis. Cassandra: Ahvir? Ahvir: I’m fine. I healed this wound in a hurry and it just reopened. Cassandra: Should we stop? Ahvir: No, I can get it while we walk. I’m fine. Cassandra: Self - destruction doesn’t suit you. Ahvir: Worrying over nothing doesn’t suit you, either. Ahvir: — Ma serannas.

///

Ahvir: Cass, that was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen! Cassandra: What? Ahvir: You, covered in blood, hacking that monster to bits! Ahvir: I almost swooned. Cassandra: I — do not know what to say to that.

IF PRESENT:

Sera: Can’t believe me and Elfy have something in common. Ahvir: Pfft! Cassandra: Maker help me.

SERA.

( immediately after a battle. ) Ahvir: Fen’harel ma ghilana. Sera: [ mockingly ] Fenny ma gill halla. Ahvir: — What? Sera: It all sounds like gibberish to me, anyway. Ahvir: Weird. ‘Cause that’s what I hear when you open your mouth, too.

IF PRESENT:

Solas: The Dread Wolf guides BOTH of you.

///

Ahvir: You’re not interested in our history? Not at all? Even the little bits? Sera: Nope. Ahvir: Why not? Sera: Why are you? Ahvir: Because it’s who we are! Who we were! And it’s all gone — out culture, our homes, our language. Sera: Yeah, exactly. It’s all gone. Why hang onto it when we could be movin’ forward, right? What’s gone doesn’t matter. What matters is what’s COMING.

///

Ahvir: Sera, you should grow your hair out. Sera: [ suspicious ] Why? Is this some weird elfy thing where everyone has to have long hair? Ahvir: [ laughing ] No, Sera. Your hair just looks nice. I’d like to braid it. Sera: Oh. I — nobody’s ever done anything with my hair before. Ahvir: …I think I could do little braids even now, or some other design. Could be fun. Sera: I’ll…think about it.

///

Ahvir: Okay, top this one. Once, I scared all of the clan’s hunters half to death with a bear imitation. They all ran crying back to the aravels. Sera: Get out! Ahvir: No, swear. Sera: Do the bear imitation now! Ahvir: It’s been a couple years… Sera: Just try it! Ahvir: [ clears her throat ] Ahvir: [ ROAR! ] Sera: Shite!

IF PRESENT:

Iron Bull: We could weaponize that. Varric: Just point Dawn at the bears and we’ll never have to fight another one.

DORIAN.

Ahvir: Dorian, you owned slaves, didn’t you? Doran: [ sighs ] Not me, personally. But yes, my family owned them. We treated them well. Ahvir: Treated them WELL? There’s no way to treat someone well while denying them their personhood! Ahvir: Oh, well, how wonderful that you didn’t rape and beat your objects! You were still making people into THINGS. Dorian: We are not all evil mustache - twirling villains, I promise you. That’s just me.

///

Ahvir: Don’t brush me aside when I’m trying to talk about things that matter. Dorian: Brush you aside? Perish the thought. Ahvir: I suppose you probably just aren’t used to having to respect the speech of elves. Dorian: That isn’t — !! Ahvir: Brush you aside? Perish the thought.

///

Dorian: You were right to be frustrated with me. Ahvir: What? Dorian: I was being — I was unworthy. I shouldn’t have just brushed aside your words as though they didn’t matter. You have my apologies. Ahvir: …Huh. Wow. Dorian: Is something the matter? Ahvir: I don’t think a shem has ever apologized to me before.

///

Dorian: The — vallaslin. Am I saying that right? Ahvir: Close enough. Dorian: They represent your gods, correct? Ahvir: Yes. Each of us takes on the vallaslin of the god we favor, or the one we feel favors us. Ahvir: …Though the process is painful, so some just get very complicated vallaslin to appear tougher to the rest of the clan. Dorian: [ laughing ] Good to know some things are the same across cultures.

///

Ahvir: Dorian! Your kohl! It’s smudged. Dorian: Oh, no. Ahvir: Don’t worry, I can fix it when we get to camp. Dorian: And I have to spend the entire trek there looking like a hopeless wreck! Perish the thought! Ahvir: [ laughing ] You still look fine, I promise. Dorian: But my eyes aren’t being properly emphasized!

THE IRON BULL.

Ahvir: Bull, do you mind if I ask you something? Iron Bull: What’s up? Ahvir: My Keeper once told me that the Qunari chain their mages and bind them. But you don’t seem afraid of me at all. Why is that? Iron Bull: Magic is a lot scarier coming out of somebody seven feet tall with horns, Ahv. Ahvir: But the magic we do is the same. I could learn to do Qunari magic as easily as Dalish magic, or Circle magic. Iron Bull: Are you TRYING to make me scared of you?

///

Ahvir: You never told me why you’re not afraid of me. Iron Bull: I did. It’s because you’re damn short. Ahvir: You don’t expect me to believe that. Iron Bull: [ sighs ] Honestly? I’ve met a lot more shitty warriors in my life than I’ve met shitty mages. Spending so long away from the Qun, surrounded by pretty decent mages, you sorta forget they’re all potential monsters. Ahvir: …I think you just insulted me.

IF PRESENT:

Dorian: I’m SURE he just insulted me.

///

Iron Bull: Have you ever burned your eyebrows off doing magic or something? Ahvir: Absolutely. When I was learning I was always singing hair and eyebrows and such. Iron Bull: Glad you’re good enough not to light ME on fire. Ahvir: Whoops, my staff is slipping — ! Iron Bull: Ahv! Ahvir: [ laughs ]

IF PRESENT:

Cole: The Iron Bull, a slipping staff wouldn’t cast fire on its own… Iron Bull: I know, kid. It’s part of the joke. Cole: Oh.

///

Iron Bull: Ahvir, did you leave the flower crown on my bed? Ahvir: What! So you did get it! I thought when I didn’t see you wearing it someone must have taken it or something! Iron Bull: I still have it, but I’m not sure it’d look it’d inspire fear in my enemies enough to wear out and about. Ahvir: Krem said that if I made him one, he’d wear it.

VIVIENNE.

Ahvir: So, Viv — Vivienne: Vivienne. Ahvir: Don’t care. Vivienne: Then I don’t care to hear what you have to say.

///

Ahvir: So, Vivienne — Vivienne: Much better Ahvir: If you’re so sure mages need to be locked up, what do you think of we Dalish? We’re not overrun with blood mages and abominations. Are we merely flukes? Vivienne: Please, dear, don’t pretend your people don’t fear mages same as anyone. You force excess mages from your ranks rather than house them. Ahvir: You think we do that because we FEAR MAGIC? You don’t know anything, you damn SHEM — agh. If I talk about this I’m going to light you on fire. Vivienne: You’re welcome to try. Ahvir: AGH!

///

Ahvir: It isn’t because we fear magic. Vivienne: — Then what else is it, dear? Ahvir: Clans get decimated all the time. Entire clans, murdered. The shems don’t even need a justification. Ahvir: Rabbit hunting. It’s easy. No one bats an eye. Ahvir: You really think we wouldn’t have even more knights eager to kill us if half of the clan was made up of fucking apostates? Ahvir: If we didn’t keep the mages numbers down, we would be opening ourselves up to more violence, and if we want to survive we can’t do that. We don’t fear magic. Ahvir: We fear humans. Vivienne: — I had no idea. Ahvir: No. You didn’t. So keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about.

SOLAS.

Solas: Mah’vir. Ahvir: [ laughing ] Solas: Odd that your parents would name you for the future when your people seek to regain what is lost to the past. Ahvir: I came late. The Keeper and the healers kept telling my mother I’d be born tomorrow, tomorrow. Mahvir, mahvir. Ahvir: When I was finally born, all she could think was that mahvir had finally come. “Ma Ahvir has finally come.” Solas: Ah. It’s a beautiful story. Ahvir: …I miss her.

///

Ahvir: Solas, do you shave your head, or are you naturally bald? Solas: Does it matter? Ahvir: I’m mostly wondering; if you shave your head, does that mean you shave everywhere else? [ flirtatious ] Everywhere? Solas: Are you twelve? Ahvir: [ laughing ]

///

Ahvir: Such a shame these ruins have fallen apart. I wonder what this place once was. Solas: Some things are best left to the past. Ahvir: I don’t believe that. Solas: You are still young.

///

Ahvir: Why do you hate my People so much, Solas? Solas: Who said I hated them? Ahvir: You look at them the way my Keeper looked at the human children who called her rabbit. Angry and disappointed and disgusted, but supposing them too ignorant to be blamed. Solas: …Ah. Ahvir: If my People have ever called you flat - ear or the like, ir abelas. But — Solas: It is not that.

BLACKWALL.

Ahvir: Are you hurt, Blackwall? Blackwall: I’m fine, Ahvir, don’t you worry. Ahvir: It must be punishing, drawing all the attention on the battlefield. Blackwall: It’s easy to do with a sword this big. Ahvir: [ snickering ]

IF PRESENT:

Solas: Honestly? Sera: PFFT!! Cole: It is a big sword.

///

Ahvir: So. Thom Rainier. Blackwall: Yes. Ahvir: You’re a liar and a murderer. Are you really trying to make amends, or just trying to keep out of trouble? Blackwall: …A little of both, probably. Much as I’d like to believe myself noble. Ahvir: At least you admit it. More than most humans.

///

Blackwall: I feel you glaring at me. Ahvir: I can’t stop thinking about you murdering a bunch of children for coin. About you letting your men suffer for you. Ahvir: You were supposed to lead them and you left them for dead. Ahvir: You’re pathetic. Blackwall: [ snapping ] I know all of this, Ahvir, I don’t need the reminder. I’m sure you’ve sinned before. At least I am trying to make amends.

///

Ahvir: …Ir abelas. Blackwall: Pardon? Ahvir: I’m sorry. For being cruel. You’ve made mistakes and you’re trying to fix it, and I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry. Blackwall: Not as though I didn’t deserve it. Ahvir: I wonder if we’re more alike than either of us know.

///

( if a battle has just finished and ahvir is at very low health ) Ahvir: Fe — Fenedhis. Blackwall: Are you alright? Ahvir: I’m fine. Just hurts like a bitch. Blackwall: Should we rest? Ahvir: If you want to carry me in your arms, you’re welcome to. Then I can get a really good look at your beautiful eyes and plush lips. Blackwall: — You must be injured. Ahvir: I’ll have you know I’m an obnoxious flirt whether I’m close to death or not.

MISC.

( if the inquisitor goes down ) Ahvir: No! I won’t let anyone else die! Ahvir: Fenedhis! He/She’s down! Ahvir: Inquisitor! Ahvir: Someone help the Inquisitor! Ahvir: Shit, my barrier failed!

( if ahvir is very low health ) Ahvir: Shit… Ahvir: That’s a lot of blood… Ahvir: I can’t go on like this. Ahvir: Rem…? Ahvir: Tuelenan, ver em!

( upon being revived ) Ahvir: Huh? I thought I was back with… Ahvir: Thanks. Ahvir: Ma serrannas. Ahvir: Fenedhis, that hurts.

( entering redcliffe the first time ) Ahvir: This is where the mages came? I’ve read the stories…was this really the best place for a bunch of mages?

( if the inquisitor goes to recruit the templars after speaking to dorian ) Ahvir: You’re just leaving the mages to fall to Tevinter?

( if the inquisitor conscripted the mages ) Ahvir: They’re prisoners again, just like they were in their towers. I hope you’re happy.

( if the inquisitor allied with the templars / did not disband them ) Ahvir: Good to know you’d throw your weight behind the group literally built to see people like me culled.

( if something is in the area ) Ahvir: Elf…senses…tingling… Ahvir: I thought I saw something over there. Ahvir: Hm.

( destroying red lyrium ) Ahvir: That’s for my clan. Ahvir: That’s for Isenni. Ahvir: Ir abelas, Lehel. Ahvir: Mamae, Bae.…

( killing red templars ) Ahvir: That’s for my family, you bastard. Ahvir: You killed them!

( killing templars ) Ahvir: That’s for her. Ahvir: FUCKING DIE!

( hostile greeting ) Ahvir: Make it quick. Ahvir: What? Ahvir: Do you need my help again? ( if the inquisitor is human ) Ahvir: Did you need something, shem?

( cold / neutral greeting ) Ahvir: What can I do for you? Ahvir: You need something? Ahvir: What’s going on?

( warm greeting ) Ahvir: You’re back! Ahvir: I’m glad to see you again. Ahvir: Aneth ara.

( friendly greeting ) Ahvir: Lethalan / lethalin! Ahvir: I missed you! Ahvir: I’m glad you’ve come to see me. Ahvir: You’re looking wonderful, as always.

( romanced greeting ) Ahvir: Vhenan! Ahvir: I’m so glad you’re here, ara’lin. Ahvir: My heart jumps into my throat whenever I see you. Isn’t that funny? Ahvir: I adore you.

#headcanon.#:'^)

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barbex · 7 years

Text

Varric and the aliens

For the @daficswap, special scifi round. My contribution for my swapbuddy @aliveria.

It’s crossover time, Dragon Age and Star Trek Voyager. Featuring my Hawke, who is a warrior but has some mage abilities that she has hidden successfully until the fight with the Arishok.

6800 words. (I know! Why can’t I write short?)

Prompt: "The ruins were hidden, covered over by hundreds of years of plant growth. And what was inside had remained untouched."

"Are you sure it's around here?" Hawke has one foot on a patch of solid ground and her other foot hovers above the mud as she searches for a place to stand on.

Varric carefully steps in her footsteps behind her through the swamp. "Got a map with a mark, what more could you want?"

"A description of how to get there would have been nice."

"There is one: it says 'follow the path through the forest of the dying elves'. Serah Annabella is sure that that means the Planasene Forest."

Hawke jumps over a rather large streamlet, and spits out a curse when her foot gets wet. "She is sure? And why does this Serah Annabella know so much about the Planasene Forest but doesn't look for the thing herself?"

Varric sighs, and doesn't even attempt to make the long jump. His boots are already wet anyway. "She can't really walk, not for long at least. She's more for reading and deciphering books."

"Sounds boring." Hawke sits down on a rock and pulls off her boot to change the wet socks for dry ones.

"Some people like reading books, you know." He sits down next to her and also dries his feet. The path from here on out looks overgrown but dry at least. He takes a sip of cold tea from his bottle and ties his shoes again.

Varric goes back on the path, hearing Hawke stomping behind him. Hawke is many things; but graceful and quiet she is not. "Annabella helps me occasionally with research for my books,” he continues, picking his way carefully through the weeds and bushes. The path leads up a steep hill and obviously has not been used in years; it looks more like an animal trail, and they almost have to crawl up on their hands and feet. “She's got a great library in her house."

"Do you think this was a Dalish path once?" Hawke wonders, hefting her sword on her back.

Varric is about to answer when the path snakes through a gap between the rocks and the area opens up, revealing ruins, overgrown with ivy and moss, that look vaguely familiar and foreign at the same time.

"The ruins were hidden, covered over by hundreds of years of plant growth,” he eventually murmurs. “And what was inside had remained untouched for thousands of years."

Hawke looks at him as she catches her breath. "What?"

"Just how I'm going to describe it in the book."

She smiles and he is relieved to see that. Since the fight with the Arishok, Hawke hasn't smiled much. Which isn't either the Arishok's fault or her new title of “Champion of Kirkwall”, it has more to do with a certain elf and his inability to show her how much he loves her. Their dance gives Varric endless inspiration for his stories -- but for the sake of his friend's heart, he wishes Fenris would finally admit to his feelings.

The inside of the ruins are pretty, but nothing special when it comes to elvhen ruins. "Once you've seen one, you've seen them all," Varric mutters to himself. This one looks like it has been thoroughly searched and looted a long time ago; nothing in here is small enough to be carried out.

"Are you sure your friend meant this ruin?" Hawke calls over from the end of the hall at what could have been a place of worship once, or a cooking area by the looks of it. There is a table-like arrangement of solid rock slabs in front of an arching window, and the sun shines on it in shimmering rays through gaps in the overgrown vegetation. Varric half expects to see ghostly figures rise from the table to yell at them for disturbing this holy place.

But nothing happens. The ruin is deserted and so very quiet. It makes Varric's neck itch.

Hawke stands with her back to the table with her eyes closed and holds out her hands.

Varric walks up to her. "What are you doing?"

"I think there's something here."

"Naw, this place has been picked clean." He scratches his neck and changes his grip on Bianca. "It's giving me the creeps, that's for sure. Let's find somewhere close to camp for tonight."

"So you feel it too," Hawke says with a grin. "There's magic here, to hide something and scare people away."

"That's what's making my skin crawl?"

"I bet it is." She turns a bit, her hands still outstretched with the palms up and her fingers seem to try to pinch at something.

Varric waits. But patience is not his best virtue. "No offence Hawke, but you're not the most powerful mage there is. Maybe you got this wrong."

Hawke is a warrior to everyone who sees her and her giant sword, and only a handful of people know of her magical abilities that she has hidden since she was a child. As an untrained apostate, her magic won't win her any tournaments. She opens her eyes and glares at him. "I got this."

She pinches the air again, twists her hands as if to wrap a thread around it and pulls back hard. A sound like the tap of a knife on a glass rings through the inside of their heads and the very air in front of them vibrates and shatters.

"Told you," Hawke says with a self-satisfied grin as they look at a door that hasn't been there before. It doesn't have a handle but when she pushes against it with her hand, it opens easily for her and reveals a hallway sloped downwards into darkness. She lets her head hang and sighs. "Did your friend happen to mention anything about the Deep Roads?"

"She may have said something about an underground cavern..."

Hawke points to the angular design on the expertly cut pillars and the giant figures that seem to hold the ceiling up. "You can't tell me that that isn't dwarven, and if it's dwarven and goes underground, it's the Deep Roads."

"Andraste's ass, I hate this," Varric growls to himself. The last time he was in the Deep Roads was with Hawke and his thrice-cursed brother, and he doesn't like thinking about it. It's not that he loved his brother much, but killing him himself had certainly not been his plan.

"We can still just leave," Hawke says, her voice unusually warm. "We don't have to go down there if you don't want to."

"And come back empty-handed?" Varric shakes his head and steps through the door. Hawke follows him and the door makes a sucking sound as it closes behind them.

"Oh no." Hawke turns back and tries to open the door again. It doesn't budge. "Looks like that's not our way out."

"Knowing this crap, we need a special key to open it." Varric already has enough of this and it hasn't even been a minute.

They follow the quickly descending hallway, the red light of glowing lava in narrow moats on the sides guiding them along. Bright blue lyrium grows like veins out of the walls and snakes up into the ground above them. It is cold here and way too quiet.

"I hate the underground," Varric mutters. He wipes a spiderweb off his head and kicks against something with his foot that looks suspiciously like a bone; but down here you better not look too closely at shit.

Hawke snorts. "That's funny, wasn't it you who dragged me down here?"

"Doesn't mean I have to love it."

They arrive in a huge hall, the ceiling higher than some mansion in Kirkwall. Lyrium veins grow around the pillars, most of them blue, but some are bright red. They make a wide berth around the red lyrium as they cross the hall. It is partially caved in on one side, but still looks impressive. Several doors lead from it, most of them closed.

"Well, Varric, before we decide where to go next, what is our plan now? Do we still look for this artifact, or are we looking for an exit?"

It is very un-dwarven of him but the artifact has already slipped his mind. He just wants to get out of this cavern of dead history and rotting dwarven glory. "Exit, exit is our priority."

Hawke looks at him with her typical infuriating grin. "Come on, not so fast. Just think of all the details you can put in your stories from this."

"As if you know about the level of detail in my stories."

Hawke shrugs and walks up to the first door in the hall. "I've read your books, the most recent one too; I liked it. The details you put in are one of the things I like best."

"Huh." Not the most eloquent reaction from him but he is truly surprised to learn that Hawke reads his books.

"I thought about giving it to Fenris... but I think we'll keep that for later," Hawke says, as she pushes the first door open and hefts her sword higher. There is another empty hallway behind the door and the lava seems to glow brighter as they walk in. "I must say, by now I'd welcome some spiders or baby darkspawn. It's too quiet."

Varric holds his crossbow at the ready, as he has from the moment they entered these caves. His arms are beginning to tire. An archer needs to rest sometimes, even with a custom-made crossbow like Bianca. But there is nothing around to shoot a bolt into... and if that isn't unnerving as fuck by now.

He is about to complain about that, because what else can you spend your time on in this dreadful cavern of death and decay, when a noise makes him halt in his steps. Hawke has heard it too, standing frozen like him before slowly stepping forward. For all her lack of grace in normal situations, when needed, Hawke can be light on her feet like a cat — and surprisingly fast.

She flits over to a broken down wall and peers over the edge. Varric waits for her to signal him to join her and tries his best to be as quiet as her as he walks over. They look into a large room with pillars, wrapped in lyrium vines stretching up high to a red ceiling. The lyrium here is blue, untainted at least; it still makes Varric nervous.

A movement on the far side draws his attention away from the blue glow to two people in strange clothing peering at something in their hands.

"They look weird," Hawke whispers. "Are those nightgowns they're wearing?"

"Doesn't look like armor at least."

"I've never seen colors like that, that red is redder than anything. And the fabric seems to stretch. I wonder how they did that."

"Since when do you know so much about fabric?"

"Since I had to make my own and my siblings clothes as soon as I could hold a needle because mother was terrible at it?"

Varric shakes his head, trying to align the image of this terrifying warrior woman, who is also secretly a mage and almost twice as tall as him, with delicate fabrics and needlework. He can't quite make it work.

They watch the two people for a bit when a familiar noise makes them draw their weapons.

"Spiders," Hawke says and jumps easily over the rubble to aid the two strangers.

Varric is a bit slower in climbing over, but he watches the strangers more suspiciously than Hawke does. It is endearing that Kirkwall has not managed to stamp out the trust and willingness to help total strangers in Hawke, but it does cost Varric some nerves sometimes.

The giant spiders have almost reached the two strangers and Hawke jumps behind the largest and brings her sword down in a devastating blow. The screech of the dying creature draws the attention of the strangers, who pull out short little sticks from their sides. Varric aims at the spider closest to them, but before he can let his bolt fly, the woman points her stick at it and golden lightning comes out in a straight line. It hits the spider and it glows for a moment and then disappears.

Varric aims his bolt at the next spider and Hawke takes out two more, while the man and the woman in the red and black clothing make short work of the rest of the spiders. When silence returns to the hall, Varric allows himself to reflect what he just saw.

"Andraste's dirty knickers, what kind of weapon is that?"

The two strangers exchange a look. They won't tell him, he knows. There is still a bolt in Bianca and he keeps holding her up.

The woman wipes sweat from her brows and puts the weapon in a pocket at her side. "We are not from around here. Our weapons must look foreign to you." She tidies her hair in a bun and comes up to him with a friendly smile.

"Lady, I've been around a lot and I'm sure I've never seen this kind of magic anywhere." Varric lowers his crossbow a bit, but he is not yet convinced that these people are trustworthy.

Hawke has no such reservations — typical, Varric thinks — and steps in front of the woman to take her hand in hers. "Hello, my name is Hawke, currently living in Kirkwall. Where are you from and what are you doing down here? And what is that?" She points towards the magic sticks in their pockets.

The woman exchanges a look with the man sitting on the floor. He has a pattern on the side of his face, kind of like the dalish have but not symmetrical like theirs. And he very much doesn't look dalish, they both look human, if a bit smaller than Hawke. The look that passes between them shows a strong familiarity. These two know each other well.

The man stands up with some trouble — he seems to be in pain — and sweat drips from his forehead. He favors his right leg. "My name is Chakotay, we'd like to thank you for your help." He bows his head towards them and looks towards the woman as if he waits for her to say something.

The woman looks from one to the other. Varric is pretty certain that she is debating whether to tell the truth or to make up a story.

Finally she steps forward. "My name is Captain Kathryn Janeway, Chakotay is my second in command. We’ve been accidentally stranded in this place and we need help to get outside. Quickly."

Hawke has an amused smirk on her lips as she looks the two strange people up and down. "Captain of what?"

"A ship."

"Water is pretty far away from here," states Hawke, still smirking.

The woman sighs. "Not that kind of ship."

Hawke turns to Varric. "Too bad that Isabela isn't here, she would have loved to see this special ship."

Varric stores Bianca on his back; these two seem to pose no danger. As a matter of fact, they both look very ill; and the man, Chakotay, seems to have injured his leg. "I've never seen clothing like yours and I've seen a lot."

"We're not from around here."

"I figured as much," he says. "And don't try to tell me that you're from Orlais cause I'm not buying it." The man and the woman stay silent, and Varric is growing increasingly curious about what these two could be holding out on.

Hawke kneels down next to the man Chakotay and looks at his foot. "You're injured," she states.

Chakotay makes a grimace and nods. "Yes, I tripped when we... when we got here."

"The one time we didn't take Anders with us." Hawke shakes her head and rummages through her bag.

"Who is Anders?" Chakotay asks.

"A healer. He could fix your foot in no time. I'm — " she hesitates, telling someone you're a mage is always a risk and they don't know these people. Then again, all of Kirkwall knows it by now. "I'm not much of a healer but I could set it and spell some ice on it? And I have a healing potion here." She holds out the bottle to Chakotay but Captain Janeway takes it from her and points tool at it that makes little chirping noises.

The woman shakes her head and hands the bottle back to Hawke. "I'm afraid it would not be safe for him to drink that."

Hawke stares at the small bottle in her hand. "Why? This is just herbs and bit of spellwork?"

Captain Janeway fidgets, and it looks so much out of place on her that Varric is sure that indecisiveness is not a typical character trait for her. She is about to say something but hesitates, and to her luck in this moment another group of spiders and a few baby dragonlings decide to attack.

Varric and the foreigners start shooting from what little protection the boulders around Chakotay's resting place offer, and Hawke gets to work. She rushes through the enemies, occasionally freezing an attacker in an ice cone, while hacking and slashing with her giant sword. It looks almost graceful.

When the final monster falls and Hawke returns to them, covered in blood and dragonling intestines, Chakotay gives Captain Janeway a look.

Hawke uses her sleeve to clean her face. "Well, that was fun, but I think it's time to get going." She drinks one of her own special potions, laced with lyrium for her mage abilities. "Let me see that foot of yours again as long as I can still do an ice spell." She kneels down and touches Chakotay's ankle. For a moment there is a soft glow on her hands and Chakotay hisses in pain, but then ice begins to spread around his ankle and his face relaxes again.

"That's all I can do for your foot, but you also seem to run a fever?" She looks up to Captain Janeway. "The potion could help with that."

Again, a look passes between Chakotay and Janeway. The captain sighs. "I'm afraid not. I'm running a fever as well and our sickness will get worse the longer we stay close to these crystals."

"What, the lyrium?" Varric looks around at the crystal vines sprouted all around them. It's not that he loves them exactly, but they are quite beautiful and useful too. "This blue stuff is not tainted, it should be fine. Just stay away from the red stuff over there."

Chakotay takes out the little box again and points it Varric. He eyes it suspiciously as it chirps but it seems to be harmless. Next he points it at Hawke and stares at it while it chirps some more.

"What is that?" Hawke asks.

"It's a piece of technology that gives me information about your and your physiology," Chakotay says and for a moment it looks like Janeway wants to stop him but then she just sighs and lets it happen.

"I hate it when Anders uses big words like that and now you start," Hawke says with a grin as she holds out her hand to help Chakotay up. "We should get going. This place will soon be crawling with nasty stuff and you can tell me all about your... thing while we walk."

Hawke leads them to the other side of the dungeon as if she knows the way out. Which she doesn't, Varric is sure of it. But she has a gut instinct that hardly ever strays her wrong, so once again, he trusts her to find a way out this.

"So what does your apparatus say?" Hawke asks, her eyes taking in every nook, every corner of the empty hallway they've entered.

"It tells me that we are more different than I first thought," Chakotay says. "Your bodies protect you against the radiation from the crystals, and you," he points the apparatus at Hawke again, shaking his head as he looks at it, "you can even convert some of the energy into other things."

"You mean magic."

"If you want to call it that."

Hawke grins, readying her sword as they approach another closed door. "I'm not even very good at it. But I have another question," she turns and the tip of her sword is at Chakotay's throat, "you don't know what magic is, you get sick from just being around lyrium and that stuff is everywhere in Thedas, so — where are you really from?"

Captain Janeway has her shooting-stick raised, but she holds it low and less threateningly. "Let him go please. I'll explain where we are from."

Hawke lowers her sword and Janeway puts her shooting-stick away. The two women look at each other in a quiet staring contest until Janeway sighs and says, "From the stars."

"You come from the stars." Hawke looks up even though they are underground, far away from the starry skies right now. "The stars in the sky?"

"Yes."

A scraping sound from the door makes Hawke ready her sword. "Hold that thought." The door opens and a group of darkspawn spill into the hallway. Hawke carves through them with determination and the others hurry to follow her through the door as she cuts down the first wave. The second wave gets shot down quickly by Varric's bolts and the golden fire from the shooting-sticks, leaving only one especially strong darkspawn for Hawke's ice-spells and sword.

The thing falls, and it is quiet again in the hall. Chakotay sinks down against a wall with a groan and Janeway settles down next to him. They lean against each other in an intimate familiarity.

Hawke comes back to them. "Where were we? Oh right, the stars from whence you came."

Janeway coughs and wipes her brows. "Every star you see is a system of worlds. Many of them even populated. Our ship travels between the stars, we are trying to get home to our own system."

"You're lost?"

"Not really, we know where we have to go but we are so far away from our home that it will take us half a lifetime to get back home."

Hawke holds out her hand to help her up. "Looking at you, that lifetime gets shorter the longer you stay down here." She pulls up Chakotay too and puts his arm over her shoulder to support him. They walk, slowly but steady and Varric and Janeway follow them at a small distance.

Janeway looks at her technology apparatus again. "We were searching for Dilithium crystals when the transporter got hit with interference from these corrupted crystals and dropped us underground instead of on the surface."

"I only understood half of that," Varric says, "but this blue lyrium isn't corrupted, the red stuff is."

"It's not visible yet but it has already started, see." She holds out the apparatus in front of them and he can see an image of the lyrium vine on the thing but in different colors. The tips are still bright blue but towards the bottom, thin red tendrils grow through the crystal.

"Huh, something like this would be really handy," he says.

"I'm afraid I can't give it to you. The charge would eventually run out and it would be useless." She points at the shooting-stick at her side. "Same goes for our phasers. There is no point in giving you technology that you have not developed yourself, as much as I would like to pay you for your efforts." A violent cough rips through her.

"Our efforts won't be good for much if we don't get you out of here soon." Varric takes her arm and pulls her along. In front of them, Chakotay trips but Hawke catches him.

Janeway makes a soft sound in her throat. "You have to save him, he is important." Her face is already red from the fever but now it's even redder. "For the crew, he's important for morale."

Varric grins. "Yeah, sure. Morale, of course." You can't be a writer of romance if you don't have an eye for romance, and he can tell from how Janeway looks at her second in command that there is more to her feelings than just protecting a friend.

Their conversation gets interrupted by another darkspawn attack, and while Varric protects the foreigners, Hawke fights through the monsters again with deadly precision. Janeway and Chakotay help as best as they can with their shooting-sticks but their aim suffers from their illness.

Hawke comes back, pulls up Chakotay again and hurries forward, clearly sensing the urgency. Janeway struggles to keep up and Varric takes her hand and places it on his shoulder.

"You can lean on me like that, I don't mind."

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to be disrespectful towards your height."

"I'm a dwarf, I'm used to being closer to the ground than others. Don't you have dwarves where you're from?"

"On our home planet? No, humans are the only humanoid species native on Earth. But aliens come in all sizes." She coughs again and leans more heavily on him. "We have to go faster, once we're outside we can contact our doctor and he can help."

"We're going as fast as possible."

"These creatures..."

"The darkspawn?"

"Yes, you fight them often?"

Varric nods. "Down here, yes, quite often."

"Don't let them get him."

Varric pats her hand on his shoulder. "We're doing our best." He grins. "I knew you love him."

"Maybe, but it wouldn't be appropriate. I'm his commanding officer."

"Yeah, and I'm the princess of all darkspawn, what does that have to do with anything? Didn't you say you're decades away from home? Is anybody gonna yell at you for finding some happiness along the way?"

Janeway laughs which leads into another coughing attack. "You're a romantic!" she says when she can breathe again.

"Well, I write novels, I kind of have to."

"A writer, how wonderful." Janeway looks back to Hawke and Chakotay and then to Varric again. "What about you and Hawke? Do you love her?"

"Of course, she's my best friend. But romantic love? No, her heart belongs to another." He sighs, for a moment wondering about something that could never be. "Honestly, I think I couldn't handle being loved by her. You have seen her fight, she loves like she fights — absolute, full hearted, pure force. She would burn me up."

"And the one who has her heart?"

"Burns just as bright for her, but is afraid to let it happen." He gives her a pointed look. "Sometimes I'm afraid that they'll wait too long and never dare to be what they could be."

Another coughing fit shakes the woman, and up front they see Chakotay suffer in the same way. Janeway looks at him as she wipes her mouth. "It does feel a bit silly. But I'm the Captain, they all look to me for guidance."

"And you think they won't understand that you'd want companionship too? Do you think Chakotay would not respect you as Captain anymore?"

"No, he would never do that. He's a good man."

Varric walks a bit faster, partly to bring Janeway closer to Chakotay (and if he has to throw her into his arms he will), but also because there is a light at the end of the hallway that looks like sunlight.

Hawke's gut instinct has once again proven to be the safest bet. They break into a hobbling run, as best as they can with two people who can barely stand anymore. However, the closer they get, the smaller the speck of light appears — until they stand in front of a wall rubble and big construction blocks. The ceiling is caved in with lava licking at the sides, and sunlight peeks through a small gap in the rocks.

Hawke gently removes Chakotay's arm from her shoulder, and the man more or less crumbles to the floor. Janeway hobbles to his side, barely aware of her own fever, and holds him. They both look frighteningly pale, even in the golden glow of the lava, and both of them are shivering.

"I'll look if we can move some rocks at the top," Hawke offers, but Varric can hear in her voice that she's not convinced herself. The two of them can find another exit, but the two strangers in their stretchy pants don't have time for that.

"We could shoot a tunnel through," Chakotay manages to say between harsh coughs.

Janeway tiredly shakes her head. "Then it will all just crash down, burying us when we go through."

"Wait," Hawke says, "you could shoot a tunnel through the rocks?"

Janeway looks at her shooting stick and little gems light up in red and green on top of it. "Yes, the charge should be enough for it. But it won't hold, too much pressure — "

The sounds of many footsteps approaching behind them bring a determined frown to Hawke's face. "I'm afraid this is it. Here's what we'll do. I’ll cast ice over the sides, to hold the wall in its shape, and you shoot that tunnel."

Varric sighs and points Bianca towards the back. He doesn't need to ask if this crazy plan can work, because trusting Hawke's gut is once again their only option. "You better get to it," he snarls over his shoulder "We'll have company soon and by Andraste's dirty knickers, it sounds like I would need a whole lot more arrows for this."

Hawke is already twisting her hand, muttering a spell under her breath and a stream of coldness springs from her palm. It crashes against the rubble, crawling through the gaps and forming a hard sheet of ice. At the same time, Janeway and Chakotay hold up their shooting sticks in shaking hands and aim the golden light towards the lower middle. The rocks heat up, glow, and turn to smoke. Varric is fascinated but he has to tear his eyes away from the process.

The first darkspawn comes around the corner, just a few paces away from them and falls from his arrow. The next one goes down as well, and the third in the same way — and if these creatures had any sense, they would have fallen back and been more careful in their approach; but, unfortunately, darkspawn have no sense of self-preservation.

"I could use some help here," he calls back. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him back.

"We're through, let's go," Hawke says, casting a wall of ice towards the approaching darkspawn before she pushes him to the narrow tunnel. They have to crawl on their hands and knees. The rocks are searing hot under their hands, and from above, melting ice drenches them in cold water. The skin on their hands burns but they have to keep going, keep going forward towards the light. The rocks begin to creak, and pebbles fall in a rising staccato of decay as the ice cracks under the pressure of dwarven construction blocks.

Varric crawls as fast as he can, the tunnels seems to be endless. He hears Hawke shuffling behind him. Bianca scrapes against the rock and he just knows he's going to get stuck. Hawke keeps pushing, while he crawls as fast as he can... but it's not enough, he won't make it, he's too slow and he will take Hawke to her death with his.

Suddenly, hands grab his arms hard and pull him forward. He lands face first in sun-dried dirt as Hawke gets pulled out in the same way. Her feet leave the tunnel just as it collapses with a loud crack, covering them with ice-cold dust.

Two people in the same kind of stretchy pants that go up to their shoulders tend to the foreigners, waving strange tools over their bodies and talking to a box on the side. They give them something to drink and some color returns to their faces. Janeway sits up and asks for a report, and people answer her calm and efficiently. Even sweating and sitting on the ground of some sunny hillside, she is still clearly in command of these people.

Varric observes that Hawke is the same to their group as Janeway — but you wouldn't know if you looked at her now, sprawled in the dirt like a lazy dog. She rolls on her side, coughing and laughing at the same time.

"Guess what, Varric."

"What?"

"We forgot to look for the artifact."

"Andraste's ass, I almost got you killed back there."

"Naw, the Deep Roads love me," she says, smirking at him. "I've never seen your ass move so fast, Varric, that's enough of a treasure for me."

"I had to, I'm sure Fenris would have hunted me through the Fade and back if I had gotten you killed."

The grin turns into a soft smile, something like hope glittering in her eyes. "You think so?"

Varric rolls his eyes. "You can't possibly be this clueless, woman."

He looks over to the foreigners, where Janeway is helping Chakotay sitting up, cradling him in her arms. She holds his hand in hers, looking at him warmly. Chakotay seems to be surprised at first, but then smiles at her.

"See? Even those two have figured it out," Varric says.

A woman with grooves on her forehead comes over to them and brings the box with them. On the box is a moving picture of a human with little hair who seems to be rather annoyed at being locked in that box. "I could work much better if my projection was down there, if you would just install the local emitters..."

"Doctor," the woman says with an exasperated sigh, "the emitters don't work here with all the radiation and I'm sure I can apply some band-aids just as well."

"Oh, that is my job description now? 'Hands out band-aids?'"

"Sorry, doctor," the woman says. The way her jaw tenses and the vein on her neck stands out, she reminds Varric of Hawke when she speaks to someone from the Chantry. "I'm scanning them now."

The head in the box shakes huffs in disapproval. "Not human like we know. Adapted very well to the constant background radiation. Some extra nerve clusters for something like PSI powers if I had to make a guess. They seem to be fine, apart from some contamination by corrupted crystal radiation. Use the dermal regenerator on their hands."

A shimmer appears on top of the box. Golden glitter swirls in circles and a cup appears out of nowhere. The doctor in the box grumbles something about how they should drink that to be immune against the more dangerous radiation and then his head disappears from the box.

Hawke hesitates for a bit but then drinks from the cup. Varric copies her. It tastes much better than the potions Anders makes. He certainly doesn't miss the bitter tang of elfroot.

Hawke gets up and follows the woman with the grooves on her forehead drawn in a scowl, looking over her shoulder as she works with the tool. There is a short conversation, some angry growling from the foreign woman and somehow Hawke manages to charm her anyway. The woman hands her the tool and Hawke starts pointing it at everything around her.

Janeway gets up, giving Chakotay's arm a calming stroke and calls the woman over. "B'Elanna, a word." She murmurs something to her, and B'Elanna nods. After some fiddling with her apparatus, the golden swirls appear again on top of the box and leave something behind that Varric has never seen before.

Janeway takes the shiny things in her hand and comes over to him. Hawke darts to his side, curious as to what the foreign woman holds in her hands. Janeway gently takes the tool from her hand; Hawke seems to be very sorry to let go of it.

"As I said, we can't leave our technology here," Janeway explains, "but these glasses will filter out most light while enhancing the infectious strains in the crystals. They adapt to outside light, so you can use them both in sunlight and underground. In the sun they will be dark, and underground they will be transparent; but the poisoned parts of the crystals will stand out bright red." She hands them to Varric and Hawke, and helps them to set the glasses on their noses. "I hope you will accept these as payment for our rescue. You didn't have to, but you saved our lives."

"It's what we do," Hawke says, looking around her through the darkened glass. "This is great!" She turns to Janeway. "How does it look?"

The foreign woman smirks. "It looks good. A bit mysterious."

Hawke grins wide. "I like being mysterious. Thank you, this is a great gift."

"And useful too," Varric adds. "I can see red lines over there in that patch of lyrium but to the naked eye it looks just fine."

B'Elanna comes back to them. "Word of advice: don't look directly at the sun." She points the apparatus in her hand at the patch of lyrium. "Yes, the infection has already started. You should have some of your scientists look into this, if you prefer the blue crystals to the red ones."

Hawke stares at the woman for a moment and then shakes her head. "Your world and my world are very different. A scientist? Only place I would think to look for one is the Chantry and I prefer not to go close to that place."

Janeway comes up to them and smiles. Color has returned to her skin and she has fixed her hair into a clean bun. "A scientist just has to be curious about the world, be observant and take notes."

"We can do that, can't we, Varric?"

"Yes, Hawke, you'll hit things and I'll write down how they fell. Sounds like every other day."

Hawke laughs, and turns back to Janeway. “Thank you, again, for this wonderful gift,” she begins, playing with the glasses in her hands for a bit before taking a deep breath; and something that seems to have been sitting heavy on her mind tumbles out. "I hope you make it home soon, but, please, don't just wait until coming home to find friends and family because you can find those on the way and they are most important, you know?"

"Is that what you found?" Janeway asks, with a slight blush on her cheeks.

Hawke nods and Janeway takes her hand. There is a quiet, wordless exchange between the two women and then they part with a smile. Janeway returns to her group, ordering someone to bring them up. As the air around them begins to shimmer, she takes Chakotay's hand, to his surprise, and waves at them with the other. Varric and Hawke stare in wonder as the foreigners disappear in golden swirls.

The trek around the mountain is quiet, both of them deep in thought. Hawke looks through the glasses while they walk and when she discovers a tendril of corruption in a cliff or under the ground, she marks the locations on her map, taking her new assignment as a scientist seriously.

When the sun begins to sink, they have made it back to one of the main roads in the Planasene Forest. It's almost time to find a place to rest but Varric notices someone running towards them, someone very familiar.

Hawke sees him too, a smile on her lips as she observes him through the glasses. "Fenris," she says quietly. "I see no corruption in the lyrium in his lines, do you?"

Varric looks and shakes his head. "No, he looks fine. Did you think he wasn’t?"

"That's the first thing I thought when Janeway and her team said that the lyrium is corrupted even if we can't see it yet. What if he got infected when we were in the Deep Roads?" She sounds so frightened that Varric has to look twice to make sure that this is still Hawke, terrifying warrior and secret mage.

He puts a hand on her arm. "He's fine and obviously looking for you. Go to him."

She gives him a faint smile and starts running. They run towards each other, coming to halt just a hand-width apart, staring at each other. Varric wonders if he should go over to them to smack some sense into them when, at last, they both lean forward and their lips meet in a careful kiss.

"Finally, thank the Maker," Varric mumbles to himself. He sees the kiss growing more passionate and turns away, looking for a place to set up camp for the night. Once the glasses show no corrupted lyrium anywhere around them, he puts them away in a pocket and sets up a campfire. His friends are still wrapped in a passionate embrace, still kissing, and he just smiles and settles down besides the flames.

He pulls out a piece of parchment and his favorite quill, dips it in ink and looks ahead towards the setting sun. A few stars become visible and something moves fast across the sky before disappearing. "This has been a strange day," he says, and starts writing.

#dragon age fanfiction #daficswap #Varric Tethras #my writing #barbex writes #Varric the writer

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lavellansthree · 7 years

Text

“How did you get that scar?”

Summary: There’s a quiet moment in Skyhold and Varric uses it to ask the real questions of the Inquisitor.

Word count: 1500

“So, Twinkle-toes,” Varric said as he sat across from Lavellan, two tankards of ale in his hands, “I’ve been wondering something for a while.” The dwarf slid one of the tankards in front of Lavellan. The Herald’s Rest was loud with activity, the Chargers the center of most of it.

“Alright, you’ve got me interested,” Lavellan responded, taking the tankard with an appreciative grin, “What’s been on your mind?” The elf always liked indulging Varric’s curiosity about his life. The dwarf always seemed genuinely interested, both as a friend and writer.

“Since we spoke about me possibly writing a book about the Inquisition,” Varric began, glancing over at the Chargers’ usual corner as a loud crash and booming laughter filled the tavern. Lavellan smiled and shook his head, watching Krem help Rocky to his feet as Bull laughed boisterously.

“Anyway,” Varric continued, turning back to the redheaded elf, “I was wondering how you got that scar on your lip? I was thinking some tragic back story could really set the mood for the book.”

Lavellan chuckled softly as he turned back to the dwarf. “Tragic back story, huh?” He replied before taking a drink of his ale, “I wish I could give you what you want, but it isn’t all that tragic. More of a misunderstanding, some clumsiness and a pair of unruly twins.”

“Somehow I figured Sunshine and Peaches might be involved,” Varric said with a laugh, leaning back heavily in his chair, “Though I was kind of hoping it was some injury you got during the battle at Denerim or a run in with some slavers.”

Lavellan chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “I actually came out pretty unscathed in Denerim. The archers were taken to help in the actual fight against the archdemon while the warriors stayed to deal with the hoard,” he said, trying to push back the memories of the foul creatures he had fought, “And most slavers tend to avoid the Dalish. We’re too much of a handful for them. Too wild, as they would say.”

“I can attest to that,” came Bull’s voice behind Levallan, causing the elf to jump. He playfully glared at Bull as the Qunari joined their small table. “There can be a lot of biting. Not that I mind.”

“You going to share some of those details with me now, Tiny?” Varric shot back with a grin, leaning his elbows on the table, “Imagine how the masses would react to the saucey love affair of the charming Dalish Inquisitor and his savage Tal-vashoth lover.”

Lavellan groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands. “You can’t be serious,” he said, trying to keep the smile from his face.

“Don’t make it weird, Varric,” Bull grunted as leaned back in his seat, resting his arm across the back of Lavellan’s chair, “I believe you were asking about that scar.”

“Yeah yeah,” the dwarf responded, turning his attention back to the elf. It was clear he wasn’t entirely ready to give up that topic yet. “So, what’s the story, Twinkle-toes?”

“Well, I’d say it happened about eight years ago. I think the twins had just reached their fourteenth year,” the elf began, leaning back against Bull’s arm as he thought back, “They had wandered from camp, I think they were just wanting to stretch their legs. Even though we live off the land and roam freely, the camp can be stifling when you’re young. I had wandered off on occasion as well.”

Varric nodded as he listened to Lavellan speak, taking mental notes as he went. It was always interesting to hear about the Dalish and their Inquisitor’s life before the Anchor. He rarely spoke of his clan or his time growing up other than the small snippets of his immediate family or the master he apprenticed with.

“The sun was beginning to set when my mother and the Keeper asked me to go collect them,” the elf continued, wrapping his hands around his mug, “We were pretty near Kinloch Hold and the small town built near the lake. I don’t think the Keeper felt comfortable with any children being away from the Clan after dark, especially our clan’s Second.”

“She was worried about Templars” Bull said as he ran his fingers along Lavellan’s back. “Young Elven mage without those tattoos on his face. It would be hard for the Templars to tell he was Dalish.”

“Odds are, they wouldn’t care,” Varric chimed in, “A mage is a mage.”

“That’s not necessarily true. We had plenty of dealings with Templars and they had never acted against any mage in the Clan,” The elf replied with a smile, “Most of the young ones were wary but the older Templars ignored them and simply asked to trade for supplies. Usually potions or dried meats.”

“That wasn’t the case this time, huh?” Varric asked, taking a large gulp from his tankard.

“No, not this time,” Lavellan sighed with a shake of his head, “When I had found them, there were two young Templars. They were probably on their own for the first time when they saw Kida. Apparently, he and Kala had decided to rest near the lake to eat and Kida decided to show Kala some new trick he learned with his storm magic. The Templars saw and reacted like they would with any mage. They nullified his magic and were trying to round him up.”

“I can’t imagine Kala sitting back and letting it happen,” Bull said with a small grin.

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Lavellan responded with a chuckle, “She was, quite literally, kicking and screaming. She was doing everything in her power to help Kida. She was kicking their shins, cursing at them in Elven and making a big scene. During the struggle, they had struck Kala which set Kida off.”

“That’s not good,” Varric said with a deep sigh.

“That’s about the time I intervened,” the red headed elf continued before downing his ale, “I ran up and all but ripped my siblings from the Templars’ arms. I was asking them to forgive them. Being Dalish children, they didn’t know Magic was an issue outside of the Clan or that the Templars were simply acting on orders to keep people safe.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Bull shot, his grin growing,”I bet they knew.”

“Oh, they did and they got an earful from the Keeper and our mother after this was done,” the elf said with a chuckle and a shake of his head, “Then our father got a hold of them afterwards. They really learned their lesson.”

“So what did the Templars do?” Varric asked, his interest piqued.

“Well, they were going to let us be on our way. They were afraid to bring the wrath of the Dalish upon them. I’m sure they heard some strange stories that had them nervous,” Lavellan said glancing to the door as a few soldiers walked in, probably wanting to grab some food before their patrol, “Of course, the twins were still riled up and wanted something done about their actions. I had a hold on both of them, trying to keep them in place and they began to struggle with me.”

Varric and Bull chuckled, imagining two small red headed elves spitting and cursing at a pair of large Templars.

“That was the misunderstanding,” Lavellan said with his slightly crooked grin, “This is where the clumsiness and unruly twins come in.”

“This should be good,” Varric said as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs under the table.

“Well as the twins were fighting with me, one or maybe even both of them knocked me off balance,” the elf said, rubbing his neck as both his companions laughed, “I stumbled a little and one of the Templars tried to grab my arms to steady me which Kala took as an aggressive action against me. She pushed passed me and kicked the Templar in the shin. She knocked Kida to the ground, pushed me forward and caused the poor man to swing his arm up. His gauntlet caught my lip and there you have it. There was a lot of blood, Kala was screaming and crying and Kida was yelling all sorts of nasty things at the poor men.”

“I can just image the look on those poor bastards’ faces,” Bull said with a laugh, “That sister of yours is fiery when it comes to you. Must have scared them shitless, especially with all those stupid stories about the Dalish.”

Lavellan shook his head, a wide grin on his face. “I told you it wasn’t anything tragic or heroic,” he said to Varric with a shrug, “Just a little embarrassing.”

“You’re right,” Varric said, chuckling softly, “That wasn’t tragic at all but it was still good. Makes you more relatable, more like a normal person.”

“I am a normal person,” Lavellan shot back, “I just happen to have Divine bad luck. I’ve apparently had it my whole life.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da: inquisition #story time #skyhold #dalish elf #lavellan #inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #cole lavellan #varric tethras #qunari #iron bull

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ramblinganthropologist · 7 years

Note

"You’re not as quiet as you think you are.” - Miris/Zev and the entire Camp

Summary: After a night of fun, Miris is confronted with some awkward facts in the morning. Luckily, the situation isn’t nearly as grim as he thought - though breakfast still is.Setting: Dragon Age OriginsPairing: Warden x ZevranWord count: 1725

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Morning; wonderful, too early morninghad come upon the camp at last. What birds that were left unblightedand hadn't had the sense to fly the fuck away were tweeting in thebare trees, though they looked like they had lost their share offeathers. It was a gray morning which would become a gray day, andthere would probably be rain. That's how Ferelden did things anyway;lots of rain, usually dogs in it.

Miris could feel every muscle in hislower back as he crawled out of his tent, belongings packed for thewalk that was to follow. Zevran had left earlier, winking and blowinghim a kiss as he did. Things like that made the back pain worthwhile,though it didn't help with getting his shit together.

He rubbed his neck as he yawned,approaching the low fire. Cahel was poking at the flamesabsent-mindedly with a stick, humming to himself some weird Dalishtune that he always fell back on when he was bored. At night, itcould be downright spooky but in the day it lost its power. At anyrate, he was blocking the way to breakfast.

“Move, squirt. I'm fucking hungry.”

Usually, he would get a protest inthe form of shouting and similar insults thrown back at him. Instead,when those big blue eyes turned back to face him, the boy pressed ahand to his mouth to keep from snickering. It failed, because he wassoon chuckling at a low volume.

“Well, I can certainly imaginewhy.” He hopped up, doing a mock bow in order to allow Miris toaccess the pot of last night's dinner boiled over for breakfast.“Here you are, good ser. Enjoy the break of your fast.”

Little asshole was getting sarcasticin his old age. The reaver shot him a dirty look as he walked past inorder to grab some reheated stew from the pot. Thanks to being solate to the party, there wasn't much left. It was enough for him, butit definitely made his back pain a little more annoying. He waspretty sure he heard a snicker when he winced bending over, but itwas too hard to prove.

Sitting, though? No way in hell hewas doing that. Instead, Miris opted to stand by the fire as heswallowed down his breakfast as fast as possible. It tasted less likedespair that way, or at least that was what Alistair said the nightbefore. He didn't trust the human on much, but he had been right onthe money when that was concerned.

Another giggle, and he shot a seconddirty look. Cahel was back to sitting in front of the flames, takinga little knife to a piece of wood in his piss poor attempt atcarving. Most of it wound up in the fire, some even chucked there. Itkept his mouth shut and hands out of other people's stuff, so hecouldn't complain much.

“Something funny, squirt?”

“Oh no, nothing funny here at all.”Another giggle as he carved what looked to be a head. Or it could'vebeen an arm. “Just surprised you're not sitting down. Planning to,shit how did that inn keeper put it last time, dine and dash?”

His eyes were wide with fauxinnocence and his smile was absolutely fox like in comparison. Mirisfelt his face heat up, but he stared his opponent down. Long nightsat home had taught him never to give ground to such a puny opponent.

“If you've got something to saythen spit it out. I ain't got all day.”

As Miris took another bite of hisbreakfast, the small elf's voice rang out in a sing-song tone.“You're not as quiet as you think you are~!”

That mouthful of stew wound upspattered on the ground. Now, Miris knew his face was entirely red.This time it was from coughing though, and he was damn good at it. Itwas amazing that he didn't hack up a lung in the process. His fellowWarden came to the rescue with a few hearty smacks to his lower back,which only made things worse.

“Don't die on me, Tabris! You killstuff for us!”

Eye watering, Miris finally got a fewshaky breaths in. Still red face, he turned towards his rescuer.“What the fuck did you just say?”

Not to his surprise, the littleginger pain in his ass had jumped back at least five feet and was outof his range of a good smack to the head. He was watching him,probably ready to run or slide under him if he did anything stupid.It was that creepy Dalish vision – Cherche did the same thing whenin a corner. Why his mother had thought that was interesting wouldnever make sense to him.

Cahel looked to choose his wordscarefully, which for him was a fucking miracle considering how muchhe talked. “I was just saying, you're not very quiet. We all heardyou two last night after lights out. You're probably going to want toavoid Leliana, because I'm pretty sure she's writing a song aboutit.”

Well, wouldn't that just tickleZevran pink. Miris, on the other hand, was looking for a good hole todie in; maybe somewhere that he could watch the sky as he decomposedand his sun-bleached bones could break somebody's leg if they werestepped on. Of course, anywhere he dropped would probably be a hazardfor years thanks to the damn darkspawn blood he had chugged down likea noble boy during his first night at the tavern, so that plan maybewasn't as well planned out. Regardless, he had a bard to see and alyre to snap.

Still... red faced he glared down atthe boy. “Is this gonna be a problem, squirt?”

“Huh?”

Miris resisted the urge to smack hishand to his forehead. “Me and Zevran. You're not going to do fuckedup shit to me because I fuck guys, are you?”

He wasn't too sure how the Dalishfelt about it, but it had always been sort of a thing kept on thedown low back home. His father had probably not been aware of thatwhen he had arranged for him to be married. Hell, it probably hadn'teven crossed his mind.

The warrior didn't know what toexpect out of his fellow Warden, but laughter definitely wasn't highupon the list. Cahel almost doubled over chuckling, holding hisstomach for support so he didn't collapse into the dirt. Miris' facefelt hot enough to cook the sun, so he sprinted over in order toglare down at him.

“And what the fuck is so funny?!”

The redhead took a shaky breath as hestood. “Tabris, the last person to give you shit for this is me. Ifyou hadn't noticed, I like men too.”

Oh.

Well...

He hadn't expected that.

“Anyway, you and Zevran shouldprobably work on the volume level a little. I wanna be able to sleepwhen I can, you know.” Cahel returned to the fire, taking up hiscarving once more. He left Miris standing there, rather stunned.

However, he wasn't to remain that forlong. Cutting through the familiar aroma of wet dog and despair was aspicier aroma that made goosebumps appear on his arms. It was behindhim, almost too faint to notice but he had become trained to it bynow.

“I heard a lot of screaming,Warden. Is everything alright?”

Zevran had a bowl in his hands thoughwhere he had gotten it was beyond him. Miris hadn't seen him go tothe pot. Yet, the fact he was there at all relaxed him, and the twosat down on a long across from Cahel to eat.

Yep... sitting had been a bad idea.He had forgotten for a brief moment why he had been yelling. A suddenbolt of lightning soreness raced through his body. Training and astrong will were all that kept him from yelping, but no doubt itshowed on his face. At least nobody around the fire laughed, so hecould be thankful for that.

Last night's bed mate gave him a lookof concern, then asked in a low voice “Is everything alright,Tabris? You look stiff.”

“Yeah, fine. Just... a littlesore.” His eye dropped to his bowl of breakfast. “Leliana isapparently writing a song about us.”

To this, Zevran chuckled. “Oh, isshe? I will have to inspect her work once completed. Bards can neverget the description of my nose right.”

He nudged closer, and their shouldersbumped briefly. To others, it could have been seen as an accident,but the warrior knew better. Nothing his lover did was by chance. Itwas his own subtle way of being there.

“We have a long day of walkingahead of us today, my friend.” There was a glint in Zevran's eyeafter he grimaced through a mouthful of stew. “Hopefully it willhelp to loosen those methods. If not, another round of massage couldcertainly be arranged if you were willing.”

Miris knew all too well that verylittle massage would be involved. Oil, yes, plenty of that – Makerforbid they ever ran out – and a lot of touching, but not in theway others would have assumed. A shiver ran down his spine, and hemanaged a nod.

“Excellent. Let us see if yousurvive the day again.” The grimace returned to the Antivan's faceas he finished his breakfast. “I will never understand Fereldensand their aversion to taste.”

The warrior rolled his eyes as hestood, muscles protesting. “Hey, boiling never killed anyone.”

“I will be the judge of that. Untillater, my Warden.”

A blush crept up the back of Miris'neck as he went to finish breaking down the tent. He could have sworeCahel shot him a look as he passed, but he didn't look back. Therewas plenty of work left to be done before they moved out.

After all, he definitely needed to beready for that massage when they made camp again later that night.Proper stretching was crucial.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #Miris Tabris #Zevran Aranai #Warden x Zevran #Dragon Age Origins #reallyfuckinggay

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mistralrunner · 7 years

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Trespasser Liveblog, Part 1: Ruins and Reunions

I decided to post my reactions to playing Trespasser with my Inquisitor, Menel Lavellan, cause why not. I watched @inner-muse play Trespasser with her Trevelyan when the DLC first came out, so I’m spoiled for a good portion of it, but considering I forgot things, didn’t read many of the codices, didn’t have the context at the time to notice some details, and my Inquisitor is rather different from hers, I’m hoping to be surprised by some things.

The game starts out swimmingly as Menel Lavellan’s face isn’t fully loaded and looks derpy for the opening scene. I reloaded.

Negotiations at Halamshiral are always a kind of punch in the face for a Lavellan

I’m so powerful and yet I still can’t get a Dalish homeland.

The march parade thing is two competent diplomats and Cullen, but his whining is very useful for exposition and probably getting the general Inquisition member pov.

Ahh the theme. Ahh the anchor. It’s really happening.

Mother Giselle: The Dales are finally recovering Menel: *knows he should be happy the shemlen aren’t suffering and somewhat is but considering their homes are on land stolen from his people* *is polite and gracious anyway*

I am so happy I get to reference that conversation about the Inquisition putting down their swords in game yesss. I have a fondness for that sort of thing.

Varric you are the best for negotiating a deal with Wycome’s council, especially with cities like Starkhaven around.

I’m honestly surprised they referenced Clan Lavellan’s fate since Inquisition did such a poor job of tying in character origins. Happy, but surprised.

All hail Viscount Varric he who does not wear the silly pointy crown

I wonder what happens if your Hawke took the Viscount position in DA2 though. Cause Tamara Hawke avoided that route like the plague.

I hesitated re: where to go next and then headed over to the tavern cause new songs. Who are these diplomats that I should probably be speaking to first?

I do not regret making Cole more human cause it made sense to Menel and also fit with Menel’s character arc but I do not ship this ship. It came out of nowhere and the implication that romance is a part of becoming human kind of rubs me the wrong way. It’d be nicer if they were just buddies roaming about making people happy. At least Menel’s reaction mirrored how weirded out I am.

Hehehe Menel you nerd distracting Bull are you even taking this seriously. The Veil as a vibration repelling the Fade part is interesting though given what’s to come.

I just realized Dalish and Menel have the same hairstyle. Huh.

Serraaaaa <3

Menel is no Jenny but he is there to be a friend always.

Sera’s journal is a mix of humor and feels as always. I do wonder how obvious Menel’s pain is to the general populace, and not just observant people like Sera. I headcanon Vivienne and her tailor fashioned formal attire for Menel that cloaked the glowing to some extent.

Josieeee my diplomat buddy

I’m so happy she takes a break and that she considers me enough of a friend to invite me.

Glad to see it’s still Leliana despite the silly new hat. Wanting to borrow Scout Harding to find more nugs, and not hiring anyone without first observing them in a room of baby nugs.

Why is there floating cheese?

It’s just hanging in the air near the palace entrance.

For context I should mention I headcanon that Menel was already in talks with Ferelden about disbanding the Inquisition and relocating members and Ferelden is covering it up by acting buffoonishly belligerent cause the Orlesians will absolutely believe that. Of course things are still tenuous cause the Inquisition has power and Ferelden is probably concerned they’ll be betrayed.

Arl Teagan: Redcliffe remembers its savior. Me: Which one?

Aww I can read Alistair’s letter in his voice wait what how dare you

"Someone, presumably His Majesty, has drawn a stick figure weighed down by an oversized crown at the bottom of the page."

I wonder if that letter is different with a warden romanced Alistair, since technically my canon is that @inner-muse’s Cousland and my Mahariel were wardens together and her Cousland becomes queen.

Oooh the landscape is so pretty.

And that makes Menel sad. Cause Halamshiral.

Fitting the journey ends here at the place named for journey’s end

DORIAN

PFFT CYRIL'S THE NEW DUKE OF CHATEAU HAINE PFFT

All references to Chateau Haine amuse me.

Ugh I really hate the reuniting Briala and Celene option. All the options stink but maybe I should have gone for the triumvirate instead. It was out of character to put a warmonger like Gaspard in power for Menel and I headcanoned that the romantically reuniting dialogue didn’t really happen and it was more like Menel and Briala cornered Celene politically but ugh. The commentary is disgusting even without what I know of The Masked Empire and is hard to listen to.

A fountain with Orlesian lions is such a great commemoration for a Dalish elf

Leliana's right next to a chessboard wow

That Leliana conversation was so good on so many levels. Bonus points for the hand focus

"You and I have come so far through the darkness together. It is time for us both to live in the light."

Thanks Leliana I didn't expect these feels

Now can you please please repeat this speech to Rhovan Mahariel

Pupppyy

I'm still angry we didn’t get a mabari. Menel respects the mabari's intelligence and finds it typical of Orlais to abandon one but doesn't understand my resentment

The line about how the mabari should know where they came from is so Dalish

I forgot the dog treats gave you a constitution bonus!!

My initial reaction to said bonus was tied between “Scary mabari magic” and “Honestly Menel will need it”

Dorian needs a hug

Aaaaah creepy purple smoke things even before the Eluvians that spooked me

Okay there are chessboards everywhere. Even more fitting considering who we’re seeing at the end of this DLC.

Spa day with Vivienne! Admittedly I headcanon Menel has full body vallaslin so seeing him in the swimsuit is weird. .

Hehe Sera in the background steals the show.

Glad to know Vivienne still ships Cassandra and Menel

Love how Leliana has her own guard, nice helmets too, oh they still have the same weird face belt thing as Sebastian

I had a weird feeling about that guy and he vanished right in front of me in creepy smoke like the last one

Saved talking to Cassandra for last. I know what Varric tells her in the case of other romances, but would he really lie about a proposal in this case?

Probably

Casssaaaandraaa she’s so adorable when startled and would probably kill me if I said so

Seriously Varric. Not surprised at all, but seriously.

The awkward silence was excellent.

I really like how this was handled. Cause this is not the right time, they’re busy with their respective duties, Menel is increasingly concerned about the state of his hand, and an Orlesian council isn’t really that romantic to either of them, and they both recognize it and accept that.

But her line about not even the Maker can keep her away coming from Cassandra

You know, Varric technically wasn’t wrong. Cause a quasi proposal did kind of happen in the sense of a conversation about are you okay with a proposal sometime in the future

Okay meeting time, which is clearly not going to be interrupted.

Really Teagan those comments about the wardens were unnecessary

The exile meant that there were very few wardens to combat the Blight, which by the way nearly destroyed your country about a decade ago as opposed Sophia Dryden messing things up hundreds of years ago.

I get we have a tenuous secret arrangement but slandering the wardens is not the way to cover it up.

I kind of just want the Hero of Ferelden to barge into the Council cause that would be hilarious.

Also Menel seriously in pain and struggling to cover it up during these tense talks and Josie's look of concern

Nice, this time they actually have guards blocking off the area rather than just no one noticing the obvious bloodstains in the Winter Palace

Eluvian!

*Rhovan Mahariel’s furious screeching in the distance*

*touches the glass and it makes a fun splooshing noise and pretty light effects* *touches again*

Rhovan “DON’T TOUCH THE GLASS TAMLEN” Mahariel is so done right now

The Crossroads is so much prettier as an elf all the colorsss

I don't have to fight the guardian spirits I am so happy. I could only parse some of the elvish but I feel like it’s cheating to look up an official translation if there is one?

We can't imagine why the Qunari think the Inquisition is in cahoots with Fen'Harel it can't possibly be because the Inquisitor talked to the spirit guardians activated by an agent of Fen'Harel and they attacked the Qunari but let the Inquisitor pass

Huh Vivienne is the first to suggest the Fen'Harel as the deceiver thing is propaganda, fitting considering she knows courts

Constant glowingggg Anchor yes

Sera: The Dalish. Are going. To shit themselves. Menel, a Dalish: ...

Cullen shut up Josie's job is important

I'm so sorry Josie. Our plan is falling apart and I'm not helping. You’re so talented but you should not be carrying this weight alone.

Where is the Tirashan where elves like Sentinels supposedly are

I forgot how much I love Cole’s cryptic lyrical statements. All the alliteration makes me happy.

“Your hand hurts. A heartbeat, not yours, hammering the beat of a song in its final verse. I’m sorry.”

“The spirits have fled, flying, fluttering, fast to the farthest Fade. They’re afraid of the Veil tearing again. ”

Also not concerning at all, nope.

Glad to see Sera still ships Menel and Cassandra, even if her humor is admittedly crude.

"Elf-loovians" pfft

Sera: Are you all right with it? The...Creators? Menel: I don't think I am, Sera. Sera: I...don't know words that fix things. But you have friends. We're real. Please remember that.

Excuse me as I cry

Aaaah Sera says the Jenny near Wycome says my clan is doing well aaaaah

Eluvian, part II!

I already know it’s the Deep Roads, so looks like I’m bringing Varric along!

I am really intrigued by this Dalish elf writing these notebooks, and also the fact that there was another misplaced Dalish in Kirkwall besides Merrill and Feynriel’s mother. Admittedly Merrill didn’t really engage much with the alienage community until much later.

I really do appreciate the Qunari ingenuity in finding people who know things and extracting information and then building upon it. The independence and unwillingness to cooperate with anything they don’t control not so much.

Yeah the Fen'Harel and Mythal in cahoots thing is unnerving to Menel. Also it’s been two years and the Well of Sorrows failed to mention anything about that until now? And elfy ruins underground feels so wrong.

#running plays trespasser #Menel Lavellan

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