#thalon lavellan

[sunshinemage]

Dalish husbands, side by side!

@ourinquisitorialness' son Thalon with Nin's color, mirorring Nin with Thalon's color 🧡💚

#they're old and happy and as in love as ever #i will forever cherish them u_u #thalon lavellan #nin lavellan #dirvhenan #things i drew

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

Relativity (f. Oliver Pentaghast)

Emma Sparrow pays a visit to a friend during a difficult time, and he is not the only one surprised to learn the extent to which another can know and understand what troubles him.  Oliver Pentaghast and Thalon Lavellan belong to @ourinquisitorialness.  ~3300 words.  TW for past trauma and emotional difficulty/breakdown.

-----

Once, Emma handed Cassandra Pentaghast a sack of skulls, and received a promise in return.  Now, the Inquisitor saw to it the Seeker kept her word.  

The letter sat heavy in Emma’s pocket, threatening to burn right through it as she stepped out of the carriage.  Just as those skulls, the skulls of murdered Tranquil mages collected from dismantled Venatori constructs across southern Thedas, sat heavy in that sack as she thrust that burden, that responsibility on a woman whose order could’ve prevented it - and, for centuries, had chosen not to.  A request from the Inquisitor himself, asking for her help in bearing that responsibility, as though she had anything to offer in that regard.  Or any obligation beyond what she’d done already.  Nevertheless, she’d answered that request, and she’d come.  Following several practiced breaths braced against the closed carriage door - two short inhales through her nose, one long exhale through her mouth - to quell the sick in her stomach, she finally turned to face the looming Seeker fortress.  

Thalon Lavellan stood in front of the large wooden doors, wearing a kind, welcoming smile and ready to offer kind, welcoming words as she approached.  A momentary twitch at the corners of her mouth was all the reciprocation she offered, and she followed him inside without a word.

“You should be speaking to Sala.”

She did not look at the Inquisitor directly when she finally spoke, walking the fortress’s dark stone halls, but she felt the furrow of his brow and the stare out of the corner of his eye long before she bothered to return it.  

“And when, exactly, was the last time you saw him?” 

She didn’t answer.  Thalon cracked a tiny smile, the smugness of which told her unequivocally that he already knew what she would say.  “I seem to remember being told that ‘there is no finding that man if he does not wish to be found’.”  His face turned slightly towards her, gentleness returning to the way he looked at her alongside a strong sense of confidence that he did, indeed, know what he was doing.  “In any case, our purpose here today requires skills and knowledge you possess, not him.  That’s why I asked you to come.”

Thalon’s next step brought his feet to rest beside each other.  He turned to face the window beside him, gesturing pointedly with a nod for her to look out into the open courtyard.  Flowers and herbs grew in abundance on either side of a winding stone path, along with some small trees.  A dark-haired man in simple robes tended to them.  Or, rather, stood on the path in front of them, and every so often crouched down and held out his hand to cradle the petals and leaves with the kind of appreciation - no, the reverence one has for something precious and new.

She recognized him the moment he stood, with a wayward glance in their direction.  

“Oliver…”

Thalon glanced over at her, a half smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, good.  You do remember him.”

“Of course, he...we spoke often, in the library where he studied.”  

As often as she could spare the time, at least.  Where others found the Tranquil strange and unnerving, Emma found their calm and objective focus intensely soothing.  Oliver spoke to her of things that made sense, and asked questions with definitive answers.  Truthfully, since the fall of Corypheus sent most of the Inquisition on new paths, she’d missed their conversations a great deal.  That was where she’d expected him to be now: a library, studying, finding purpose and fulfilling it, not...watching over plants as though he’d never seen them before.  

Puzzled, she turned squarely to face the Inquisitor.  “You asked me here to assist Seeker Pentaghast.  Oliver was meant to return to the university once his service with the Inquisition was complete.  He should not be here unless…”

Emma drew in a shallow gasp, and her eyes widened with the realization.  Thankfully, Thalon confirmed her suspicions before she needed to say it.

“Yes,” he replied, noticeably more somber now.  “Oliver volunteered to be the first to undergo the reversal process, which...has been more difficult for him than we expected.”

Sala coalesced in her mind, his gentle, clouded eyes and old hands offering soft reassurance that he’d be right there with her, the whole time, he’d be there to help, and everything would be better when it was done...she would know the reasons behind other people’s smiles, she herself could be happy...and then her heart had raced, forcing her to draw more, faster breaths that never seemed enough to rid herself of the sensation that something was wrong...terribly, utterly wrong, feeling for the first time in her life that intense fear of things she neither knew nor understood.  That first, petrifying loss of control she’d been struggling to remedy ever since.

Like learning to walk, but on legs that have never worked before.

It wasn’t the same.  Not exactly, not for him.  Once, Oliver had been able to use his.  He knew what he’d been missing.

Staring blankly into the courtyard, the memory manifested in little more than a simple analogy, and a steady, rhythmic tapping of her fingers against the outside of her thigh.  

“Would you not find it difficult to walk after a decade with broken legs?”

Thalon offered a sympathetic nod.

“True enough.  I don’t imagine there is much about Tranquility or its reversal that could be considered otherwise.”  He gestured to the far side of the window, where an open door led outside, to a path that would take her to Oliver’s side.  “Given his familiarity with you and your own...experience with such things, I thought you might be our best chance of helping him.”

Shit.  It seemed she could tell Lavellan nothing about herself without coming to regret it later.  

Noting her hesitation, Thalon took a step backwards, nodding towards the door with a stern curtness that contrasted with the warm smile on his face.  Both encouraging and demanding.

Go on.

Slowly, she moved the few steps in front of him to the door, but stopped in front of it for a moment.  Her eyes dropped to her feet.  He was right, after all, loathe as she was to admit it.  Though certain she was anything but the right person for this, who would do for him what he truly needed if not her?  Who else would bring the same comfort now that he could actually feel such a thing, without also understanding the way it felt to have not had the luxury? With a gentle nudge from Lavellan at her back, Emma drew in a long breath, and lifted her eyes as she stepped forward.

Thankfully, Oliver heard it latch behind her, and was already watching from across the courtyard.  At Skyhold, Emma would approach Oliver with the knowledge that she would not easily sway his focus from his task, and simply wait patiently beside him until he was ready to acknowledge her presence with a polite nod and a trained smile she knew very well.  The sort built into routine because it is expected.  

The sort she gave him as he drew close enough to resolve details on her face.

To think, this time the smile that spread widely across his was the genuine one between them.

“Oh, Agent Harper!  It’s you!” he called out, and offered her his hand.

She hesitated to return his greeting, as earnest in its cheerful tone as it was, unable to tell him he looked well with a straight face.  The sunburst emblazoned on his forehead struck her differently now.  He wore a genuine smile now, yes, but where his old smile lay flat over placid contentment, this one masked nerves like old ropes left slack for too long, frayed and straining now that something - anything - pulled on the other ends again.  

“Oliver,” she finally said, quietly, nodding as she took his hand, “I am glad to see you.”

His smile brightened for a moment, and he broke the handshake to usher her towards a carved stone bench nearby.  “Yes, it’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

She nodded again, a fond smile hiding the debate raging in her mind.  For all her previous conversations with him, this one presented an entirely new factor she’d not considered before: subjectivity.  The simplest of pleasantries were no longer so simple.  No definitive answers.  Additionally, in all likelihood no one had performed this ritual to purposely cure a Tranquil in ages, if anyone ever had.  She’d not been there when it happened, nor had she seen it done to know what to expect from it.  Whether or not it would be appropriate to ask.  You are certain of this, Sala?

Not at all.  Never tried before.  Can’t be certain if I never do, though, can I?

In memory, her father’s smile was not as reassuring as he’d wanted it to be.

“Will you be here long?” Oliver asked, breaking the silence before she could. From the look on his face, it wasn’t the first question he’d asked her, either.  “This place can seem somewhat dreary at times, but...this courtyard is nice, and there is a library here, if you’d like me to show you.  Not so extensive as the one at Skyhold, but it’s quiet, and they care for the books well.”

Emma smiled, and Oliver quickly returned it.  “I would, but there is no hurry.  As you say, it is nice here, too.”  

He nodded in agreement, over and over, and turned his head to look out over the courtyard, as if to reinforce his own belief of that statement.  His smile had faltered by the time he looked back.

“I...do not read as often as I did at Skyhold, I’m afraid,” he muttered.  “I try to, of course, but...anymore, the words are so...I lose track so easily…”

Oliver’s hands wrung in his lap, as if with a mind of their own, and it sent gooseflesh cascading up her arms.  Words seeming to lift and float across pages, glancing away for a moment only to find herself completely lost when she turned her attention back to her books again, and the unfamiliar tightness in her chest and flush in her cheeks at the fact that this shouldn’t be happening, it never happened to her before...

“It seems...every little thing is a distraction, anymore.  Which is...frankly, ridiculous…”  He glanced up at her with a look she supposed was meant to be reassuring, though whether to her or to him was anyone’s guess.  It was anything but.  “I was never, even before…”  

Knowing full well where that statement would lead, Emma attempted a reassuring look of her own.

“Oliver, it...”

He stood abruptly, without warning and notably without anything resembling any kind of smile.  

“No, no, it is not!  I am so tired of people telling me that when it is not ‘all right’.”  Frantic, he paced back and forth along the path, one hand clenched into a fist at his chin and the other arm pressed tightly across his body, breath seething out of him in rushed hisses.  “I thought I wanted this.  I thought this would fix everything, that if I could just be whole again it would all be...but there’s just so much...it’s too much, too much everywhere all at once and I can’t...I can’t…”

Oliver trailed off, silent for a haunting split second before he collapsed to his knees, sobbing into his hands.  Petrified, Emma could only watch.  The familiarity of it stung in a way she hadn’t expected.  His words may as well have been hers, and she may as well have been watching herself, all those years ago.  Her fingers tapped again at the outside of her thigh, harder and faster now in cadence with her heartbeat, and she silently cursed the Inquisitor for this.  For asking her here to watch as her dear friend fell to pieces while the world crumbled around him, and herself for coming to him with nothing - no empty assurances he would be all right, no insistence he was making more of a simple frustration than he needed to be.  Just...nothing.  Nothing to say, nothing to do but tap out her own heartbeat on her leg while she, too, cried out inside her mind, it’s too much, too much everywhere all at once.  I can’t…  

You can.  Let me show you.  

Another moment, and a long exhale.  

She could.  She knew how to help him.

Emma rose to her feet, knelt on the ground in front of him and reached out, waiting to see if he recoiled before laying her hand softly on his shoulder.  The other cradled his jaw a moment later, as she quietly coaxed him to look at her, then let her hand settle over his wrist.

“Here.  Focus here,” she cooed, gently guiding his clenched fist down over his chest, and stopped when she felt the pulsing artery there.  “Can you feel it?”  

Oliver blinked hard a few times.  Ragged breath still spewed out of him at a steady, brisk pace, but his eyes began aimlessly trailing around the courtyard, following some invisible thing, the outward manifestation of him searching for what she wanted him to find.  After a few moments, they fell shut, and he whispered a shaky but quite certain “yes”.  

Good.  

Emma gave a quick smile and a nod he wouldn’t see, and gently pried his hand open; not forcing his fingers apart, but gently nudging, waiting patiently for him to allow her to move them.  Trembling, he acquiesced enough for her to press his hand flat against his shirt, and laid her own over it.  Two fingers tapped along with the rhythm of his blood pumping beneath it - t-tap, t-tap, t-tap - in quick, strong strikes of the pads of her fingers against his knuckles.  

Listen, ma’eha.  Listen.

Listen.

“Listen, Oliver,” Emma continued, Sala’s words returning in her voice over the dull, muted sound of t-tap, t-tap, t-tap.  “It feels louder on the outside.  Like despair feels louder on the outside.  That is how it will help.  This means something very simple.  This…” 

She paused, pressing her palm against the back of his hand, drawing his focus.  Making it louder.  

“...means you are alive.”

After a few moments, she began to slow the pace and soften her strikes, only just, and Oliver, although he barely recalled deciding to do so, relayed them onto his chest.  “And this,” she explained, as their fingers fell over and over in time with each other, “is something you have always been able to feel.” 

With each minute decrease in pace and intensity, so too did the heaving in his chest slow, and his breath began to steady once more.  She found hers steadying with it, both in that moment and in memory.  

“You will always be able to feel this.  It is there through any pain, any sorrow, any joy, any despair, any anger...and it will be there still when all of that has passed.  Nothing else you will ever feel can be anything at all without this.  That means any time you feel something you don’t want to feel, you can feel this instead.  All you have to do…”

She lifted her hand from his, letting his hand tap out his heartbeat on its own now, and leaned forward to rest her forehead on his. 

“Is make it louder.”

Oliver breathed a heavy, but quite a bit closer to contented sigh, and his eyes flitted open.  Emma sat back on her heels, and offered him a small smile as she helped him to his feet.

“Better?”

“I...apologize, that...was terribly embarrassing,” he said, and breathed deeply once more while scanning the courtyard for anyone else who might’ve seen before returning to his seat on the bench.  When he circled back to Emma, he forced himself to smile.  “Though, I suppose I ought to be pleased that I can be embarrassed at all.”

“I know.  I know how you must feel.”

It only just occurred to her, seeing the confused and almost insulted way he watched her as she sat next to him, that he didn’t know.  That of all the times she’d spoken to him before, she’d never told him she’d once been like him.  Why would she?  The Tranquil did not speak of their conditions beyond confirming their status as Tranquil, so it had never come up, and it never would have were he not here, now, like this.  The idea that this would have been easier for him if she had dug hard into her skin.

“How?” he spat.  “How could someone like you possibly...”  His eyes widened, and he shrunk away.  He pulled his arms tightly around himself, and shook his head, quietly tutting at himself.  “Ah, that was rude of me, wasn’t it?  Forgive me, Harper.  Regardless, I should not discount your capacity for empathy; I am terribly glad to see you and you have always been...so kind.”

 Emma turned her head, moving her hair away from behind her ear.  A small, old and long scarred-over oval, like a thumbprint, rather than a prominent sunburst, but a lyrium burn was a lyrium burn, and it meant the same thing regardless of the shape of scar it left.  

From the look on Oliver’s face when she turned her head back, he knew.  He understood.

“How long?”

“A long time,” she said.  “Years ago, now.”

Hope lit up his face.  “Then you were cured, as well?  Was it...was it like this for you?”

“Not exactly.  My condition was...somewhat different, but...it did hurt.  A great deal.”  She stopped herself there, both unwilling and unsure how to say more, and well aware her purpose here was not her own comfort.  Realizing that may help less than she wanted to, however, she continued.  “I know it hurts you, now.  But...that hurt is part of what it means to be whole.  The headaches that came with my reversal still remain, but...so do a great many things I have gained since then.  Things I know now I would not give up to be rid of the pain.”  

Oliver scoffed.  Dismissively, she thought at first, but a bit of a smile found its way through shortly after.  

“Is that your way of telling me it will get easier?”

“No.  Not without effort.  Like...standing on once broken legs.”  She shifted on the bench to sit squarely towards him, one leg folded across the bench between them.  “I do not know exactly what pains you, but...I do know I would not walk so well now if I had not had help.”  Her head tilted, and she shifted again, slightly closer this time.  “I am here, Oliver, and I am willing to listen.  If you are willing to speak.”  She reached towards his hands in his lap, and curled her fingers around the one nearest to her.   “When you are ready to speak.  I will be here.”

Perhaps, the longer she had to consider it, she would soon be ready to speak, too.

After a long pause, staring at their clasped hands in his lap longer than anyone but the two of them would have been able to remain comfortable, longer than Thalon Lavellan had to spend watching through the window across the courtyard with that pleased little smile on his face before duty called him elsewhere, Oliver’s lips parted. He drew in a long breath, and held her hand tighter as he lifted his eyes.

#i am SORRY it took me literal years to do this #BUT #IT IS FINALLY DONE #anyway these two and their friendship and understanding is so important to me #emma has lots of support but no one who really GETS what she's felt and thought the way ollie does #and they both need that so much #and i am glad they are there for each other to help each other heal :) #and that thalon is there to give her the extra kick in the pants she needs to actually do it lol #thanks for letting me borrow your boys i love them so very much :') #oc: emma sparrow #oliver pentaghast #thalon lavellan #ourinquisitorialness #leo the lion writes words

[charteredlibertine]

5 OC Gifs - Thalon Lavellan

A couple of folks tagged me to share 5 gifs that describe one of my OCs. Since I’ve been missing my Dalish lad recently, here are a few gifs for Thalon Lavellan, Herald of Andraste and Inquisitor of Thedas. <3

Tagging anyone who wants to give this a try!

#thalon lavellan #i lov my Dalish son

[thereluctantinquisitor]

For Once (Part 2)

part one || part two

So I decided to split this little saga into three parts instead of two. It just kept ending up too long!

Riven Lavellan belongs to the lovely @chaitea09. Also brief mentions in this part of AU Thalon Istimaethoriel (@ourinquisitorialness) and Nindarhmen Istimaethoriel (@sunshinemage).

Approx. 2200 words, most under the cut

“You know, I’m not even sure he’ll remember.”

“Nonsense, ma’lin. If we did, he certainly will.”

At the counter, Riven smiled to herself and continued to strip the leaves off a stem of mint with nimble fingers. Pinching firmly at its base, she ran up the length of the stalk in a long, deliberate sweep, feeling the heat build against the fleshy part of her thumb. The crisp scent mingled with the aroma of cooking stew, like a thread of cool air weaving through a cracked window. Sighing contently, she paused for a moment and allowed herself a few deep, indulgent breaths. What she did not expect was for them to spark a memory behind her closed eyes.

She saw a woman. No, a mother. Her mother. Kneeling down, silver haired, soft of voice. Her hands made familiar sweeping motions, and as small mint leaves fell into a waiting bowl, it left stains of green behind on her fingertips.  They would fade, but the scent would linger on her skin like a perfume. Beside the woman, whose mouth was curved into a faraway smile, was a man. With hair of flax and eyes like moonstones, he bowed over a boiling pot, close enough to brush shoulders with her as he hummed a familiar, wandering tune. Strong arms stirred the steaming contents in slow, deliberate circles. They were the motions of a craftsman, careful and precise. With each pass, he adjusted his speed, careful not to send the stew too close to the lip. He almost did, but only once, when his gaze tiptoed away from his work to rest on the woman. His wife. Those gentle hands, that quiet smile—

“—TsssAGH!!”

Riven blinked, starting, the memory shattering like a pane of glass. With sharp concern, she spun just in time to catch Varlen flinching away from the boiling pot, the spoon he had been holding clattering against its edge with a hollow sound before flipping out and landing on the floor. Droplets of hot stew whipped across the ground in an arc as it fell, splattering against the floorboards. With an irritated groan, Varlen rolled his eyes at the inanimate object, mumbling what Riven could only assume was a colourful string of curses against the skin of his hand, which he had pressed quickly to his mouth.

“Varlen? Are you all right?” She crossed the space hurriedly, wiping her green-stained fingers on her apron. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“… Nmoh…” Varlen lied, mumbling against his skin, blue eyes glassy despite the redness of his face and his obvious irritation with himself. Her brother had always suffered from that problem. Tearing up when he was frustrated. When they were young, their mother had comforted him, assuring him that he would grow out of it. Thinking back, Riven began to wonder if she only said that to calm him down. Knowing how much it upset him, Riven made the wise decision not to call attention to the unshed tears. Instead, she fell into a crouch at his side. He said nothing, but turned his gaze away, clearly embarrassed. Breathing a tired sigh, Riven held out her hand.

“Come on. Let me see.”

Varlen sat quietly, but glanced across at her. He was like a child who had only been caught playing with knives because he had cut himself. Withering before her patient stare, he drew his hand away from his mouth and held it out to her sullenly. It took all of Riven’s willpower not to chuckle as she took it in hers.

“There. Now was that so… oh… ouch.” Riven sucked her teeth sympathetically she inspected the side of his hand. “Creators, ma’lin, what did you do? Stick it in the pot?”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Varlen’s lips. “Well, you did say to give it a personal touch.”

The flat look she fixed her brother with did nothing to stop him from chuckling, some of that low-lying irritation slipping away with the easy sound. Even Riven, who was now pressing cold hands against the angry patch of skin, felt her own lips twitching against the urge to smile. “Funny,” she remarked, then nodded down to his hand, “but that’s going to hurt a lot, you know. You should be more careful.”

“What, you mean that’s not how Renan made it?” Varlen asked, feigning surprise. He only ever seemed to call their father by his proper name. “Ah, damn. And here I thought I’d found the secret ingredient.”

Riven raised an eyebrow at him. “What, elven flesh?”

“Well, I mean, he did keep to himself a lot. Bit strange, don’t you think? Not saying he ate people, but can we really know for sure…?”

Riven shook her head, still fighting off an insistent smile. “You’re terrible, ma’lin.”

She knew it was just his way. How he coped with pain. She took time. Thought. Comfort. Her brother… well, he made light of things. Made them funny. It was easier that way. The humour carried the pain for him. But, crouched there beside him, she could see the truth. No matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a wall of quips. It was in the way his smile wavered at the edges. It was in the sudden stiffness of his shoulders as his gaze slipped away from her, down to the fallen spoon. Perhaps the tears in his eyes hadn’t simply been the result of frustration. Gently, Riven squeezed his hand, and to her surprise, he squeezed back. When she looked back up at him, she found him watching her, a weak, watery smile still somehow finding purchase on his face.

“I just can’t believe it, you know… still…” he trailed off, swallowing tightly. Riven took a breath, focusing on his injured hand, intent on distracting herself as she called ice to her fingers.

“I know,” she said softly. “Neither can I. It just… doesn’t feel real, in a way. For them all to be gone.”

Varlen just nodded at that. Then, he paused, like a person about to lock their door who suddenly realised they left their coat inside. “But I guess that’s not quite right, though, is it?”

“True. We have each other. Hanin, too.” Riven lifted her hand away from Varlen’s and gave the burn another look over. It was still red, but she had stopped the heat – the pain – from going any deeper. It would hurt, but not for long, and shouldn’t leave a mark. She only wished she could say the same for older wounds. Satisfied for the moment, she rocked back on her heels and regarded her brother as he took his hand back and flexed it experimentally. He seemed… distracted. Uncertain, in more than one way. Riven pursed her lips.

“Ma’lin, if you don’t want to do this…”

“I do,” Varlen said hastily, cutting her off. He didn’t give her a smile, but even if he had, she knew it would not have been genuine. Not for this. “It’s just… this was…”

Riven knew what he was trying to say. This was theirs. All of ours. Their mother and father’s. The clan’s.

Should they even be doing this? What was there to celebrate, when so much had been lost?

“It’s what they would have wanted.” Riven spoke the words before she really even thought about them. They were insistent. They found her first. “It always meant so much, for us to all to do this. Together. Today. It was important to us all. It was one of the few things that still mattered to father, even after mother passed.”

“But… it won’t be the same. It can’t be.” Varlen turned to look at her. He seemed so tired, kneeling there before the boiling pot. Like he had spent too many nights without sleep, and knew he had another one ahead, but was dragging himself forward in hopes that soon he would be free and find some small peace. Riven, if she were to be honest, felt much the same. The anticipation had weighed upon her, too. Anticipation and guilt. Guilt and fear. Fear for what was to come. All of it was a mantle on her shoulders. A burden to bear.

“And Hanin…?” Varlen continued suddenly, his face growing uncertain. Pained. “Riv, what if he hates it? He knows better than either of us how it’s meant to go. There’s just… so much missing that we can’t replace.”

“He won’t hate it,” Riven insisted gently, pouring far more confidence into her words than she actually felt. “If anything, I’m sure he’ll appreciate us trying.”

“Yeah, he’s all about that, I suppose.” Varlen sighed and reached over to pick up the spoon. Holding it towards the firelight, he inspected it, then made a low, disapproving noise. He got to his feet with a grunt and trudged over to sink for washing. As he dipped the spoon into the water and scrubbed, Varlen lowered his voice, giving it a gruff, gravelly edge. “If you never try, you’ll never improve, Varlen. It’s midday Varlen. Stop taking naps, Varlen. Run a thousand laps, Varlen. Train until you drop dead, Varlen…!”

He let his rather terrible impression trail off as he rinsed the spoon and returned to the pot, beginning his stirring anew. Riven was pleased to note that he went about it with a touch more care than before. She, too, got to her feet, but not before fixing her brother with a shrewd look.

“You know, he does have a point sometimes, Varlen. You do nap a lot.”

“Hey, I’m good at sleeping,” Varlen said simply, shrugging. “Guess I’ve practiced a lot.” He paused, frowning in thought. “How many hours does it take until you can be considered a master at something again?”

Riven snorted and rolled her eyes, leaving him by the pot as she returned to her work at the bench. “Less talking, more stirring. At this rate, we’ll be lucky to be ready by sundown. The least we can do is start on time.”

She heard the sound of her brother’s sigh, but knew it was one of weary agreement. There were, of course, some things they could make an effort to do right. They worked in silence for a time, the sound of bubbling stew and rustling plants giving the small kitchen a rustic, homely feel. As her hands worked, Riven couldn’t help but imagine Cullen beside her. He would be standing there, inspecting the herbs with a calculating eye, casting aside any that did not meet his rigid standard of quality. The ones that did, he would pass over to her, their fingers occasionally brushing. A fleeting warmth. A shared smile…

Riven paused, then realised she was, indeed, smiling to herself. A blush crept unbidden to her cheeks and she almost glanced around, as if embarrassed that someone else had somehow seen her daydream. Oh stop it, she chided silently, forcing herself to keep working. You’re acting like… like…

“It’s going to be so uncomfortable.”

Riven jolted a little, almost dropping the parcel of leaves and rice she had been in the process of binding closed. “Hm?” she asked, almost too loudly, as though she had something to cover up. Self-consciously, she lowered her voice. “What do you mean? What will?”

“This. You, me… Hanin…” Her brother let the sentence drop for a moment, before picking it up again almost reluctantly. “It’s just… you know how things have been since the Arbor Wilds. What am I meant to say to him? Talk about the weather? About that time I was careless and it nearly killed our friend? About that split lip and black eye he gave me? Yeah, that’d be a great ice breaker…”

Riven closed her eyes, back still to her brother. She didn’t need to see him to know the pain he felt. The entire battle had been horrific for the Inquisition. For everyone. So many losses. So much death. But some things she knew had struck far closer to the heart than others. Varlen still blamed himself for what happened to Thalon, even if he relinquished the point when pressed. But he couldn’t lie to her. Not about something so deeply wounding. The problem was that a piece of Hanin blamed him, too. Even if it was smaller than before. He saw Varlen as someone who should have been able to help; to protect. Maybe he could be, one day, but it didn’t take a Keeper’s eye to recognise that Varlen wasn’t ready for that responsibility. That he wasn’t Hanin.

Then, a thought struck her.

“Invite the others, then. Thalon and Nin. They should come, now that I think about it. They’re practically family.”

“You think so?” Varlen asked slowly. It was clear that he was trying to sound sceptical, but there was a very obvious note of relief in his voice. “Is that, I don’t know… allowed?”

“Maybe not before,” Riven admitted. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught her brother’s eye and smiled. “But it is now.”

Varlen tilted his head, brows raised thoughtfully. Then, his lips curved into a smirk. “Huh. I guess it’s actually our decision to make, for once.”

“Indeed, ma’lin. For once.” She softened her gaze, but nodded pointedly at the pot before turning back to her own work. “So come on. Let’s make the most of it.”

Varlen’s quiet laugh threaded its way through the air behind her. 

“You got it, boss.”

#dragon age fanfiction #varlen lavellan #riven lavellan #hanin lavellan #fluff #mild angst #reluctant writes #thalon istimaethoriel #nindarhmen istimaethoriel #other people's ocs #sunshinemage #ourinquisitorialness #for once

[ladyinthebluebox]

Travelling Keeper’s letter to Master Nindarhmen Lavellan

(Letter brought to Skyhold by a white raven was written with an unusually blue ink, clearly made out of some sort of flowers, whose fragrance was still present on the surface of rugged piece of paper it was written on)

Lethallin, I don’t need to call you Master Nindarhmen now that you are our Seneshal, do I? I know it’s been years since we’d seen each other but we used to be clan mates after all …

I’ve crossed the Waking Sea and set my feet on the Fereldan soil today. In a few weeks, you can expect me in Skyhold. Oh, my journey would be much faster if I had a hart … Maybe you know about a Dalish clan living between West Hill and your castle that might lend me one?

My unexpected visit is caused by a truly unique manuscript I borrowed from one of the clans from Antiva. Letters of it are shining with magic under the touch and when I concentrate enough while reading I… I can see things, Nin! I’m almost sure it is about some sort of an ancient library but, fenedhis, there are still parts that I'm unable to fully understand and it frustrates me. Years of travelling and learnig about our People and it’s still not enough... You must take a look at it and maybe together we will be able to uncover its meaning.

There are so many rumors about both you and Thalon ... Some of them are frightening me, some making me happy but we will talk more about them when I arrive.

I’m sorry about any mistakes. I’ve never been good at writing in common tongue ... I hope that my white feathered friend will find you quickly.

See you soon, Deirdre Lavellan.

P.S. Creators, it’s so cold here!

Hey, @sunshinemage ! Not so long ago you wanted Ocs to write Nin a letter and, since I got a little carried away, I’m posting the one from Derry here...

#deridre lavellan #nin lavellan #dragon age #i got carried away #i'm sorry #butchering english grammar like a boss

[sunshinemage]

oc kiss 2024 bonus: Nin x Thalon 🧡

(hello @ourinquisitorialness!)

#oc kiss week #oc kiss 2024 #thalon lavellan #nin lavellan #things i drew #thalonin #the husbands u_u #they're everything u_u

[leothelionsaysgrrrr]

WIP Meme

@idrelle​ tagged me!  Thanks!! <3

OKAY @ourinquisitorialness​ get ready for a taste of what I’m doing with your boy! :D

Noting her hesitation, Thalon took a step backwards, nodding towards the door with a stern curtness that contrasted with the warm smile on his face.  Both encouraging and demanding.

Go on.

Slowly, she moved the few steps in front of him to the door, but stopped in front of it for a moment.  Her eyes dropped to her feet.  He was right, after all, loathe as she was to admit it.  Though certain she was anything but the right person for this, who would do for him what he truly needed if not her?  Who else would bring the same comfort now that he could actually feel such a thing, without also understanding the way it felt to have not had the luxury?

With a gentle nudge from Lavellan at her back, Emma drew in a long breath, and lifted her eyes as she stepped forward.

AND NOW: 

@sunshinemage @frenchy-and-the-sea @thereluctantinquisitor @chaitea09 @gwynbleiddyn @bladeverbena and @ourinquisitorialness Show me yours :P

And if I didn’t tag you and you’ve got something and you want to show off, PLEASE do and tag me so I can see!

#wip meme #oc: emma sparrow #thalon lavellan #this is really...really enjoyable to write #thanks for the tag <3

[charteredlibertine]

Send me the name of one of my Dragon Age OCs and I'll answer with this info about them:

Name(s): Pronouns: Age: Occupation or title(s): Affiliation(s): (e.g. Grey Wardens, Clan Lavellan, Friends of Red Jenny, etc.) Race and nationality: Class: Specialization: Preferred weapon(s): Religious beliefs:  Sexual orientation: Love interest(s): (if any) Friends: Rivals: Plot decisions: (protagonists only)

If you reblog this meme, put the names of your Dragon Age OCs in the tags so your followers know who to ask about!

#dragon age #ask memes #telhara surana; allegria hawke; thalon lavellan #those are my three protagonists #and then i have a whole slew of companion OCs as well: #aeden; augustine; atisha; bree; ghilethari; halahn; ierys; ihsaan; oliver; renly; talerio #whew okay i think that's all of them lol #oh wait and my new Jason Momoa warden who...doesn't have a name yet whoops #anyway ASK ME PLS as a lil intro for ppl who don't know my DA OCs and a refresher for those who do hahah #i want to enjoy this sudden inspiration spree for as long as it lasts...

[jetcat]

encounters

@ourinquisitorialness​ happy halloween and enjoy the shenanigans! i tried very hard to keep thalon in character.

Josrand is shocked that it took this long for her to finally meet Thalon Lavellan. The soldier trying to bash her head in with a shield is a bit much, but she supposes it could be much worse. 

“Creators, don’t actually try to kill me,” she says, pushing the soldier away and watching them stumble. “We’re just sparring.”

“Right,” the soldier huffs and then gets back into a defensive stance. Josrand completely ignores the feeling of being watched and puts all of her speed into taking the soldier down. It’s frighteningly easy to do. When the soldier hits the ground with a thump and her knee is firmly on their chest, the few people around them groan in sympathy. 

Josrand stands and extends her hand. “You should work on balance,” she tells them, pulling them up easily, “and maybe your reaction times.” 

“Thank you, my lady!” The soldier nods and then walks away with a slight limp. Maybe she went too hard on them. 

Josrand turns away and walks to her things, wiping some sweat from her brow. “My lady,” she grumbles, “awful.” It’s then that she remembers that there is someone very intently watching her. Why? Simply because she can hear the footsteps behind her drawing closer and closer. 

“I expected something more violent, considering the stories I hear about you.” The voice barely startles her, just a slight pause in her movements before she goes back to rolling her sleeves back down.

Josrand considers what her options are, then. She could turn and face the Inquisitor and her anxiety head on, or she could stay facing away. “I make it a point to not kill our allies.” She decides to stay turned away, as rude as it may be. There’s silence for a moment, a moment that feels like an eternity to Josrand, going by so slowly that she can’t bear it any longer. And then he laughs. The Inquisitor laughs, and in her shock, Josrand completely forgets the cause of her fear and turns to face him. 

Casual wear, Mythal vallaslin, russet hair, and freckles. Thalon Lavellan, the Inquisitor, is laughing right in front of her and she’s not sure why. Well, laughing would be too strong of a description. Chuckling is more accurate to what he’s doing, one hand covering his mouth and the other crossed over his chest. 

“I--” she starts to say, too quiet to really be heard. “Are you alright?” 

Thalon stops his chuckling and looks Josrand over. “I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about.” He smiles at her one last time before he leaves her in the sparring grounds alone. 

You have nothing to worry about.

Josrand stands there in complete shock, that one sentence playing through her head over and over again. 

You have nothing to worry about.

She huffs a quiet laugh and shakes her head. Yes. She really did have no reason to worry. 

#thalon lavellan #josrand senrion #i write sometimes

[kurogoesinthedas]

OC Kiss Week - reverse this time? An overdue illustrated scene from the fanfiction @ourinquisitorialness​ wrote me in the last OC kiss week, featuring Thalon Lavellan, for which I am still crying about (you can find it here. Seriously, read it. It’s so heartbreakingly in character for Fael - and heartbreaking overall)   Here’s an excerpt of it: 

[...] It wasn’t hard to find the same softness in Fael, not hard at all to be endeared with that crooked grin – so like his brother’s and yet with a life all its own – that lit up his face when he looked at Thalon, embarrassment forgotten in lieu of a new puzzle, a new challenge, a new discovery.

Thalon placed a hand on Fael’s shoulder and tugged him close to press a kiss to the younger boy’s cheek. Fael’s ears dropped in shock and the embarrassment returned full-force, flushing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, a shade almost as purple as his eyes.

“You see?” Thalon said, with a smile. “Things that seem broken aren’t always beyond mending.”

“I – uhh…” Fael crossed his arms and focused intently on a point somewhere over Thalon’s right shoulder. “Yeah, that’s…yeah. Right. I’ll remember.”

Thalon bit back his laugh and gave a nod toward the tent erected outside the circle of aravels, where Nehlarien and Ghilethari had retreated after their dance, flower crowns askew in their blond hair.

“Come with me, and we’ll see if your brother’s left any seed cakes for the rest of us, hmm?”

#OC kiss week #ockissweek #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Thalon Lavellan #Fael Lavellan #my art #and then things became sad #Lil Fael has a Major Crush™ #(what is even anatomy) #Fael art