#then there's that one line from Solas in Haven.. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

britcision · 1 year

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So my partner @ekwolfwood got me into Dragon Age Inquisition

I warned you I would become something terrible

SO HERE HAVE A FICLET FROM THE FOUR HERALDS AU IN WHICH TIME MAGIC FUCKERY HAS CAUSED THERE TO BE FOUR HERALDS OF ANDRASTE INSTEAD OF ONE

(It’s fine they unionized early the plot relevant parts are in progress)

Today’s bullshit featuring the talents of:

Corin Cadash - Carta blacksmith sent to the Conclave because the actual smuggler and spy got sick and literally no one else was available, as discrete and stealthy as a bag of loose bells (they/them Problem On Purpose )

Lluciano Lavellan - Dalish rogue and spy sent to the Conclave because in his heart he is a fucking golden retriever and outsiders are suckers for his big puppy eyes (he/him omnisexual disaster)

(Do you see the pattern? Good cuz the other two are Tavi Adaar and Séamus Trevelyan)

——————

Herbs

No one had specifically mentioned what species the healer in Redcliffe was, and Cadash hadn’t expected it to matter this far into the chaos.

The exhausted elf tucking herself back into a corner did not agree. Lavellan did most of the talking, since he was the nice one.

He’d had a bug in his ass since someone had mentioned needing a healer down at the crossroads, and someone else mentioned there was one here, in Redcliffe.

One healer for two settlements was a guaranteed shit show either way, but at least Redcliffe was still tucked in the woods. And apparently not treating one of their most valuable citizens well.

“Look, I don’t care,” the healer finally cut Lluciano off, raising a hand. “The people here barely tolerate me as it is, and that only because their human healer is dead. I’m not looking for a new place to be called a knife-ear.”

Lavellan’s earnest, hopeful smile crumpled almost at once, and Cadash was just glad they hadn’t brought Solas along for this trip. He always seemed to know just what to say to upset vulnerable elves.

They’d heard the derogatory words humans used for elves, dwarves, qunari for as long as they’d known humans. Hell, the Inquisition was the longest they’d gone in their life without hearing most of them.

Lavellan though… well, Lluciano Lavellan hadn’t had much to do with humans until he’d been sent to spy on the Conclave. The fact that even he clearly knew the word was… telling.

“Look,” Corin cut in, stepping forward neatly to dodge Cassandra reaching for their shoulder. Probably specifically to prevent this.

They might not be the most tactful member of the Inquisition, but sometimes straight talk helped.

“Times are shit and you’re a healer. No matter what blood you’ve got in you, it’s worth more than gold right now. You’re under personal protection of the Heralds and if anyone says one word to you at the crossroads, I’ll walk you to Haven myself and let them remember how well their bullshit treats their wounds.”

As far as they were concerned, anyone stupid enough to buy into any of this speciesist crap deserved whatever joys it brought them.

Cassandra subsided back, her lips pressed together in a tight line. The elven healer didn’t look convinced either, though something like a smile danced on her lips.

Lavellan stepped forward again, his hand coming up to hover between them, an offer for her to reach out.

“These are strange times,” he agreed with a slight nod to Corin, “but there is a lot all of us can do to help. I know I’ve been hearing it less than I thought I would. Perhaps this is how we change things?”

The healer hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze flicking from Lavellan to Cassandra, to Cadash and to the Iron Bull. Always back to Lluciano.

Finally she sighed and nodded, glancing around the small house.

“Alright. I suppose I’ll be safer with the Inquisition soldiers around than I am here anyway. But there are some things I’ll need first, for my patients here. I can’t just leave them,” she added, sounding almost bitter.

A damn good healer then. Cadash nodded as Lavellan happily stepped back, all adorable and flushed with success.

“Sure. What do you need?” They could probably find it while she packed, solve the whole thing, bring the healer to the crossroads themselves on their way back to Haven.

It’d give Corin a chance to impress their personal opinion on Corporal Vale. While dropping off some of the other supplies they’d grabbed. Carrot and stick and all.

“Just some herbs,” the healer explained, already turning to the shelf behind her to pick through what she could carry, “elfroot and spindleweed.”

And it meant she just so happened to be looking the other way when Lavellan lit up like a little sunbeam, practically bouncing on the spot in excitement.

And all four of his companions groaning loudly, though the noise grabbed her attention at once.

“I can help!” Lluciano told the now puzzled healer enthusiastically, already digging into his pack.

Varric sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall. Unlike Cadash, he didn’t always bother pushing through the taller people. He didn’t need to to be heard.

“Lavellan picked every elfroot in the Hinterlands on our way here,” he explained dryly while Lavellan pushed his pack into Iron Bull’s hands so he could root in to the shoulder.

How the damn herbs slipped from the top when he’d been grabbing them half an hour ago at most was beyond Cadash. But Lavellan did like when the Iron Bull flexed his muscles.

The healer looked like she was torn between laughing and shock, her mouth opening and closing until she finally settled into a startled laugh when Lluciano dropped double fistfuls of herbs into her arms.

“Is that all? Are there any other herbs you’ll need?” He asked hopefully, looking for all the world like an excited puppy.

The poor healer just stared at him for a moment, her mouth opening and closing.

By the door, Varric snickered.

“We’ve travelled from the Storm Coast to Val Royeaux, and the Herald’s picked every damn plant that even might be useful. Anything you need is in that bag,” he added with a nod to the Iron Bull.

“And the other one hauling every damn scrap of iron and serpentstone out of the rocks,” Iron Bull grumbled good naturedly, because he was a traitor.

Cadash huffed, settling their heavy and clinking pack more comfortably over their back brace.

“And here was me, about to measure you for some nice new gauntlets. I suppose I can put it all back,” they said archly.

Bull chuckled and shook his head, still holding Lavellan’s pack even as he bounced in place, waiting for the healer’s next request.

“Point taken, Cadash,” he said simply, and Cassandra huffed an exasperated laugh.

“Yes, well… that is one more thing we can promise you with the Inquisition,” she told the healer, her usual stiff formality cracking with the release of tension, “the Heralds will personally ensure that you want for nothing that could be foraged from the hills.”

Cadash narrowed their eyes as the healer fell back into shaky giggles.

“Was that sarcasm, Cassandra? Did you forage sarcasm in the Hinterland hills?” They asked mock suspiciously, grinning in triumph when Cassandra rolled her eyes at them.

“It was the only thing in abundance with you, Lavellan, and Varric that was not already snatched up,” she said simply.

The healer shook her head, tension slipping from her shoulders as she gave Lluciano a proper smile.

“Thank you… yes, there are a few other herbs I need, and then I can go. I suppose the Inquisition forces at the crossroads will have an easier time with the supplies I need.” She didn’t sound like she quite believed what was happening.

That was pretty much the normal reaction to a visit from the Heralds though, so she would find herself in good company at the crossroads.

Lluciano dived straight back into his pack, pulling out his various bundles and sorting them as the healer listed the different herbs she needed.

Nothing he didn’t already have in abundance either, as he happily dug through his bulging pack.

The Iron Bull just held it out for him, watching with a fond amusement that was just fucking adorable while Lavellan rooted around, chatting cheerfully about the different herbs and where he’d found each damned leaf.

So what if it was cute. Lluciano was always cute, it was like a fucking curse. Cute, weak ankles, prone to jumping or falling off things.

Catching Varric’s eye, Cadash nodded to the door and the two dwarves slipped outside. Cassandra followed, leaving the elves to their talk.

“It’s about time we headed back to the crossroads,” Corin mused, glancing up at the sky and frowning.

There was a lot that was wrong in Redcliffe, a lot that didn’t make sense and what did was absolutely not good.

Though they were pretty sure Vivienne was going to get a real kick out of what Fiona might have gotten herself into. And how many of the other mages were not on board.

A smile tugging at their lips, Corin stuffed their hands in their pockets. They could see it already; Vivienne’s smug smile, her plans to use the other mages’ discontent.

The complete unawareness that she could have probably actually done something useful for them before joining the Inquisition.

The fact that she could probably gain something by listening to them now. Learn something about the world beyond her circles.

Nope, Vivienne was going to thoroughly enjoy someone else’s plan failing, and Cadash would enjoy watching her try to weave it into all her own plans, blissfully unaware that the discontented mages wouldn’t follow her either.

Sure, a couple wanted to go back to circle life. But those outside, who saw more of the world, would be much less likely to fold themselves in under Vivienne’s plans.

Those now talking to all the other mages who had been pushed to breaking, who’d been living together, hearing their concerns.

They still wanted to reform the circles instead of burning the system down, sure, but that was all part of the system too. And when Vivienne failed to make any of the substantial changes, they’d decide it was because she was wrong.

Not that the system had been designed from the start with all of them in mind, and had channels to turn those who wanted to change the system from within into its strongest supporters.

It was a depressing ass pipeline, but Vivienne was a very intelligent woman. There was a chance she’d work it out before it was too late, if the Inquisition kept the circles empty long enough.

And if she hung around more templars, and mages whose towers were made of something less glamorous than her own.

And if that meant Vivienne travelling back to Redcliffe with them, if only to be smug at Fiona in person? It’d be good for her to spend some time with her feet in the mud.

She could join them all following Lavellan up and down every blasted hill and cranny, scooping up every weed in the fucking Hinterlands. Again.

———————

Because there is nothing I like more in DAI fanfic than Inquisitors who are explicitly and obviously still video game characters, with every stupid and nonsensical thing that entails 😁

Quite a few have been spun off from little side quests or pieces of party banter, and of course none of that would be half so easy without the fabulous work of @missnovelist at the Genitivi Chronicles!

It’s the full transcript, they’ve got most of the way through the main plot so check it out and I bullied them into making a Patreon so if you love this resource as much as I do

(You will the party banter is fucking killer and if your play through is anything like ours those MOTHERFUCKERS will NOT talk to each other no matter how little you fast travel

Vivienne is the villain of Varric’s new series)

Send them a few bucks for this massive labour of love! You get different dialogue options for each species of Inquisitor, for each background, and for half the decision trees so it’s one hell of an undertaking

EDIT: BEHOLD! The masterpost!

#dragon age inquisition #dai #the four heralds #alternate title: you cannot prove the inquisition is not a sex cult #soon to be featuring leliana’s league of loyal lesbians #elfroot hunter lavellan #dai fanfic #inquisitor lavellan #inquisitor cadash #oops all inquisitors #dai fic: herbs #not smoking these ones but elfroot is marijuana #so lavellan will work it out eventually #the four heralds au

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thebookworm0001 · 1 year

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Something like Family - so wretched, so precious update

Chapter summary: In the early days of the Inquisition, Solas is injured in battle. Ellana won't let him be until he accepts help.

Chapter below the cut.

Ellana stood between Solas and the camp. The fight had been short, chaotic. Templars had set up an ambush, presumably for the rebel mages in the area. Their party - comprised of several mages - was unfortunate enough to catch their attention. Blades and mana purges fell on them all at once. Their wards had been the only thing that gave them a chance to retaliate. And they had, with brutal force. Ellana could still smell their flesh cooking in their armor. And it had seemed they’d all escaped relatively unscathed. At least until they’d found a place to settle for the evening, and Ellana had fallen behind Solas. His jacket was soaked. The dark green fabric, layered over his usual tunic, was now a muddy, damp brown and bore a wide slash just below his shoulder. When she’d asked to take a look at it, he’d shrugged her off. When she’d pressed again, and once again he’d refused aid, she’d put her foot down. Literally. She’d sprinted around him, thighs aching from their earlier abuse, and refused to let him pass until someone had inspected the still-bleeding wound.

“I will be fine until we reach Haven. You should conserve your magic.”

“I’m sure,” she said flatly. He huffed, attempting to walk past her, but she moved into his way once again.

“Either you let me help you, or I’m getting Vivienne.” His lips thinned to a hard line, his jaw flexing as he struggled to maintain his calm. Ellana simply crossed her arms. Vivienne was skilled in all kinds of magic and healing was no exception. She was, in fact, a much better candidate for assessing and repairing the damage to his back. But they could hardly spend two moments in each other’s presence without one of them aiming a well-considered barb at the other’s ego. And Vivienne was not likely to pass up the opportunity to chastise Solas, certainly not when Ellana had always turned to him for matters of healing. After a moment more with no response, she shifted her weight onto her back foot and raised her eyebrows. Still, nothing. She turned her head to their companions and called out. “Vivienne!”

“Yes, my dear?” The Enchanter’s honeyed voice reached them across the clearing.

“That will not be necessary.” His words were stilted, pained, laced with a hiss as he’d forced them from between his teeth. Ellana shifted her gaze back to him. Though his shoulders had dropped, his eyes had taken up residence at the top of his head in a show of annoyance. Tantrum or no, she’d take it. Healing him was more important than him being happy about it.

“Would you set the wards? I don’t want any stragglers to catch us by surprise.”

“Of course, my dear.” Vivienne’s robes fluttered behind her as she turned back to the camp, a wind she could not feel making the silk dance as she began tracing the intricate patterns with her staff. Ellana turned her head back to Solas, cocking it to the side expectantly. Still, he did not move. She huffed. Would she really have to spell everything out for him?

“Sit,” she said, and gestured to a felled log. He looked at it skeptically, as though it might transform and bite him. She sighed. “I can’t reach if you don’t sit.” He seemed to consider for a moment, glazing briefly back at the camp where Vivienne was shaping protecting spells into the air around their tents, then lowered himself to the ground. As she weaved around him to get a better look at the wound, Solas grasped the back of his collar and pulled his tunic from his body. What awaited her was a mess of flesh and muscle. She bit the inside of her lips to trap a gasp, then the words that threatened to whip out at him. Heat rushed through her veins at the idea that he would have concealed the injury rather than ask for help. But she bid her anger cool, breathing in deeply. She could yell at him later. Right now, she needed to take advantage of the fact that he was accepting assistance at all. Ellana dug around in her pack, pulling out her wineskin and a clean tunic. She grabbed his shoulder above the wound, and he jumped. Rubbing her thumb along the intact muscle to acquaint him to her touch, she whispered an apology.

“This may hurt.” He stiffened, and she waited for his muscles to release. When he was relaxed, she picked up the wineskin. Ellana pulled the cork out with her teeth, then poured. He hissed as the alcohol coated the wound. To his credit, he stayed still, even when she began wiping at his back with the tunic, removing blood and debris until she could clearly see the wound beneath. Tension melted from her shoulders as she saw the truth of it. Messy, and certainly painful. The blade had cut along the bone, but not terribly deep. Or, at least, had stayed shallow enough that her own paltry healing magic could do a fair job of repairing the damage and, more importantly, preventing infection. She searched for her connection to the Fade, the final dregs of her mana eventually piercing the Veil between this world and the one of dreams. The world grew brighter, clearer, and she pictured his muscles, his skin knitting itself back together into smooth flesh. The air beneath her hand glowed a soft, pale blue, and the world bent to her will. His back was whole. Ellana smoothed over the shiny, pink flesh, feeling for any mistakes in how his body had repaired itself. She found nothing but healthy tissue.

She did not remove her hand, though, her fingers continuing to trail along the lines of lean muscle – and the old scars that covered them. Swaths of silvered skin interrupted the freckled landscape. A dark circle from an arrow here, a twisting mess of veins from a mage’s blast there. All old, from long before she’d met him. All other wounds either avoided or healed by a mage more skilled than she. He tensed as she came to a set of faded marks - pale, jagged lines that reached from the base of his neck to the top of his hip. A memory almost forgotten by his body, but not quite. They reminded her of the deep gouges in the ground they found anytime they stumbled upon a dragon’s nest - dragonlings’s claws ripping into the earth as they wandered about looking for their next meal or an unfortunate intruder.

“Do they hurt?” The words slipped from her lips before she could catch them. Solas became very still. She silently cursed herself, then shook the guilt away. It wasn’t a cruel question, not meant to drag up old pains. She was allowed to be concerned. As a leader, yes - it was important that she knew where her people may need additional or different support - but, they were friends. Or something like it. Weren’t they? He didn’t have to answer, but she would not feel badly for merely asking. They both deserved to know she cared.

“Not for a long time now.” His voice cut through her thoughts. “Though,” he said, a hint of pride infecting his voice, “I cannot say the same for the beast who gave them to me.”

“Oh?” She tried her best to sound only passingly interested. And failed. Her curiosity overtook her, making her voice bright and loud, and sending her to her feet. She leaned over him, resting her hands on his shoulders for balance, and caught his gaze. A smile pulled at his cheeks, making his eyes light up in a way that made her heart jump.

“I was a much younger, more foolish man.” he said. “I had thought I could fell it without assistance.” He shrugged then, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. “In my folly, I took one of its limbs, not realizing I had expended my wards.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he had the decency to look sheepish. It did not last long, however. Pride leaked back into his voice and posture. He sat straighter, chest puffing out. “I was correct in my assessment of my abilities, however. The beast believed me dead, and I slayed it when it intended to make a meal of me. ” She pictured him, prone on the ground beneath some strange beast - corrupted bear, starving drake, giant spider - back shredded and weeping, only to turn and stun the animal with a blast of magic. Perhaps driving the end of his staff into the thing’s chest, emerging drenched in its blood, were he feeling particularly dramatic. He likely was. She shook her head, a fond smile softening the roll of her eyes.

“Perhaps you ought to consider different tactics in our future battles?” He held her gaze, brows pulling together as he searched for something in her face. She was very close to him, she realized. The whole length of her body was pressed against his. A simple shift of her arms, and she’d be hugging him. Though, she supposed, with her grip on his shoulders, she already was. But the impulse to pull away, to put distance between them and the intimacy it implied, did not strike. Instead, she squeezed his shoulders gently and leaned further into him. Something softened in Solas’s eyes, then, and he covered one of her hands with his own.

“I shall take it into consideration.” He thumb swiped over the back of her hand once, then he leaned into the embrace. The thought occurred to her that she hadn’t had a friendly touch since… before the Conclave? Sera was still trying to determine if she was too ‘elfy’ for a proper friendship. Vivienne didn’t seem like the kind to be particularly physically affectionate, nor did Cassandra. Josie, she supposed, was one of the few people who had reached out in kindness, rather than necessity. But even then, she was ruled by propriety. And propriety dictated that an ambassador not be overly friendly with the woman she was trying to prop up as Holy. But looking at Solas, she wondered if it had not been much longer for him. He’d implied he’d traveled alone for a long time. Years, maybe more. She squeezed him gently, sinking into the feeling of having another person pressed against her for a moment longer before pulling away.

It seemed to take him a moment to realize that he was no longer being held still, and that he was free to return to their companions at the camp. He blinked a few times, then reached for his tunic. When he stood, clothed once again, she laid her hand on his arm, not quite ready to let go.

“Thank you.” He looked down at her questioningly. “For letting me help.” Something sad passed behind his eyes, the side of his jaw clenching. Her hand felt warm, so did her cheeks. But she let her touch linger on him a moment more before pulling away. His eyes followed it as it returned to his side.

“I shall try to do better in the future.” He ducked his head, and turned toward the camp. He would try, she trusted. But she supposed, much like his battle tactics, he’d need some reminding. But she could do that. Remind him to let others help. That he had friends here to help push through the tight, gnarled tissue to free the healthier stuff underneath. She could get a little bloody for him, just as she had for her clan, now far across the Waking Sea. And this Inquisition, well, they were something like a clan, weren’t they? Something like family? She could help him do better. She would help him do better. Maybe he’d even thank her for it.

She snorted. That was about as likely as him agreeing with Madame de Fer.

Still, it was worth a try.

#then she put pen to paper #my writing #dragon age #solas #solavellan #lavellan #oh hey i decided i was done #aint nobody looked at this but me so #good luck #i actually do like this though i think the second half is pretty sweet #the ending is. fine. i don't have it and that's as good as it's gonna be.

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plisuu · 11 months

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2. Apathy

As Cassandra tries to make sense of the chaos left in the Conclave's wake, she is presented with the impossible.

Read on Ao3 | Start from the beginning

Snippet:

“Your prisoner is no mage.”

Cassandra made a sound somewhere between disgust and frustration as she stormed around the torch-lit room beneath Haven’s Chantry. The heels of her boots echoed off the stone as she watched the apostate elf examine the prisoner’s hand with growing impatience.

“He is a templar,” she corrected. It was obvious, of course. She had seen the armor that had been stripped off the prisoner when he was brought back from the temple unconscious. She felt the lyrium in his blood, faint but unmistakable. It seemed clear that he was responsible—the sole survivor, the only one left to blame, and yet...

“He is tranquil.” Solas stood, wiping his trousers of the dust that thickly coated the prison floor.

“Do not lie to me, elf,” Cassandra snapped. She didn’t believe him for a single moment—didn’t want to believe him—but no matter what she wished, there was no denying the Chantry Sunburst that marked the prisoner, stark against his skin in the dim light. The brand looked recent, raw and angry red. It seemed unusual, especially in the wake of the rebellion, and she wondered if perhaps, somehow, it was fake.

Solas's eyes followed hers, his mouth set in a hard line. “You see it as well as I.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #my writing #cullen x trevelyan #cullen rutherford #cassandra pentaghast #lol sometimes i wonder why i even post these here #in flame forged anew #connor trevelyan

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bluewren · 1 year

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Character Song Tag Meme!

ohhhh👀Thanks for the tag!!! @nirikeehan I've so many songs that I love from Tali's playlists but never share enough. So here goes!

The rules are: Choose one of your characters and list songs that fit them.

I have three playlists for Taliesen Lavellan, one for herself, one for Taliesen/Solas, one for Taliesen/Sera

For Taliesen, the builder told to wage war:

ONE OK ROCK - Stand Out Fit In

I know they don't like me that much Guess that I don't dress how they want I just wanna be myself, I can't be someone else Try to colour inside their lines Try to live a life by design I just wanna be myself, I can't be someone else Someone else

Paramore - Pressure

Now that I'm losing hope And there's nothing else to show For all of the days that we spent Carried away from home Some things I'll never know And I had to let them go I'm sitting all alone Feeling empty

One of Taliesen's biggest struggles as Inquisitor is that she is she felt disgusted at being the leader of religious organization for a goddess that she isn't a believer in. Another moment that her oppressors got to decide who she is. So she lashes out a lot while feeling trapped inside the cage.

Taliesen/Sera: Chloe Moriondo - Strawberry Blonde

Her hair isn't dark, strawberry blonde And when I'm with her, nothing is wrong Takes my hand in hers when the lights aren't on Smaller than mine and oh God I am gone I wanna be with her all day (all day) I'm a bitch to everyone else anyway It's hard to keep a tight leash on my head All I wanna do is kiss her lips in my bed

There's a funny bit of wordplay for this song, Sera and Tali are both blondes. 😆 So the lyrics can apply to both of them. For Taliesen, Sera was the first one that told her that she didn't owe anything to the world and she can be happy for herself.

Taliesen/Solas: SVRCINA - Meet Me on the Battlefield

No time for rest No pillow for my head Nowhere to run from this No way to forget Around, the shadows creep Like friends, they cover me Just wanna lay me down and finally Try to get some sleep We carry on through the storm Tired soldiers in this war Remember what we're fighting for

Solas is the first friend that Taliesen made at Haven, they were the types to instantly get along. 🥺Her own beliefs about elves needing their own culture in the present, meant that they didnt have much to argue on that topic. Solas became the only person who allowed to be just nerd out to in the beginning. That built instant trust between them.

#sad again for my dear Taliesen😿#Taliesen Lavellan #character playlists #tag game #sera x lavellan #lavellan x solas

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inquisimer · 1 year

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Hello and happy DADWC!! For a prompt, how about: Cullen/Lavellan, ugly boots?

hellooooo happy friday!! a bit of post-IYHSB fluff for these two tonight🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

“Put them on.”

“No.”

“You must.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You must,” Cullen repeated, squatting next to her cot. Neria refused to meet his eyes, crossing her arms and staring petulantly at the canvas tent over his shoulder.

He pushed the boots toward her once more. “We have nothing else.”

“Then I’ll go barefoot.”

“In the Frostbacks? We have no idea how long we’ll be here or how far we’ll have to walk once we find somewhere to go.”

He nudged the boots forward again. Neria regarded them as one might a pile of nug shit.

They were well made, though larger and more obtuse than the soft pair she’d been skating by on since coming to Haven. She longed for the footwraps she’d had to give up upon reaching Ferelden. She missed their soft comfort against her arches and how they still smelled faintly of elfroot and aravels.

But the colors.

Despite the fading of time, the majority of the boots still glowed like a torchbug in the dead of night. There were stripes and swoops of neon pink and blue, dusty and grimy but unmistakable. The cuff between the upper and lower parts was still yet another blue, more like the sky in the midst of a clear day, but one which clashed horribly with the already mismatched shades.

She refused to wear such a hideous visage.

“Solas does it,” she countered. “I’m sure he can teach me whatever spell he’s using.”

Cullen sighed, a weary sound from deep in his throat. “You need to preserve your strength. Or have you already forgotten that a whole mountain fell upon you?”

“Hardly.” Her eyes snapped to his, fierce and glaring. Her arms and legs were littered with scrapes and tiny wounds left from the splinters she’d fallen through in the wake of her confrontation with Corypheus. Healing magic had left a sting in her extremities, better than frostbite, but still unpleasant in its own right. And of course her mark, though stabilized once more, had spiraled out to cover her entire palm. The lines closer to the center of her hand were a darker green, almost black, while those that stretched toward her wrist and fingertips now mirrored the Breach.

“It’s not something one forgets so easily, if at all.”

“Then you know that you don’t have the mana to spare when there are perfectly decent boots here!”

“I’m perfectly capable of judging my own magical limits, thank you.”

Cullen ignored her snipe. “These are all we have left. Any few pairs we managed to collect in the retreat have already been passed out to villagers. We—the people need to see you on your feet.”

“The people should have raised up a profit who cared what they thought,” Neria muttered. But her words lacked all bite and Cullen knew it.

Of course she cared. But that didn’t make her any more keen on the boots.

“Is the idea of keeping all ten toes and rejoining this” —he gestured toward where she assumed the remainder of the camp stretched— “chaos truly so unappealing?”

Neria pressed her lips together.

“Please, Neria.” His voice dropped and Neria could hear the utter exhaustion that weighed him down. Usually held back by his immense willpower, the fall of Haven and their retreat into the Frostbacks, and his subsequent responsibility for dozens of citizens in a frozen wasteland—real or perceived—had worn it away.

“We’ve talked and fought in circles. We need a fresh perspective—or at least someone who can stem the arguments when they stop having purpose. You are that person” —he held up a hand at her noise of protest— “you are. That’s how we got this far.”

He offered her the boots once more. “Please.”

“Fine.” Neria pulled the boots toward her and began loosening the laces with a grumble. “But don’t expect any miracles. And don’t be surprised if everyone assumes Andraste’s withdrawn her favor when they see these.”

“Ah, but how could She withdraw what you never had?” said Cullen cheekily, turning her own insistence back on her. With a chuckle, he ducked out of the tent.

Neria shook her head. “Touché, Commander, touché.”

#my writing #dadwc #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #oc: neria surana lavellan #neria x cullen

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noire-pandora · 1 year

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(Late) WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! Long time no see. I went through a rough patch life and creativity wise and now I’m slowly crawling my way out of the mud and writing more. I’m trying to continue my work on Daughter of Fire and here’s a bit from the next chapter! This might be a bit clunky as I am warming up my writing muscles!

Thank you for the tags @rosella-writes @musetta3 @raflesia65 @anderstrevelyan @fandomn00blr @cleverblackcat @knuttydraws @crackinglamb and to everyone that tagged me in the past few months. I appreciate that you still thought of me even if I barely posted any WIPs. I won't tag people this time cuz I’m late but next week I’ll bug you all again. As usually, let me know if you want me to tag you next week.

Elluin sighed and rubbed her forehead, the skin turning as red as the intricate lines of the Vallaslin tattooed there. "Of course it is. Right, we'll figure it out when we get to Haven."

“You agree to bring the children to Heaven?” Solas asked, unable to contain the undertones of his surprise as the fatigue drained away at his patience.

“Yes, Solas,” she frowned at him and wrinkled her nose. “And before you protest, no, I won’t tell the parents to forget about their children. I won’t allow it.”

“And I never suggested that. I am merely surprised you will allow it.”

“We don’t have a choice, do we?"

"We? Did you not say you cannot be a savior?" Cassandra challenged her decision and Solas almost tsked, convinced the Herald and the Seeker would start another endless argument.

"I did." Lavellan shrugged with no signs of anger to stain the rash of freckles covering her cheeks. " And I still think I can't do it. But I have to try. Or else I won't be able to look Hirrum in the eyes on the other side."

“Is that so?” Cassandra insisted, but the Herald turned her back to the Seeker, winning a chuckle from Varric.

Lavellan sighed again, and rolled up her sleeves, even if she harbored a deep disdain for cold pinching at their noses. "Right. Let's get going.” She slapped her palms and spun on her heels. “We have a long day ahead. Cassandra,” she pointed at the Seeker,” can you help the people who don't know how to put the saddle on their horses? I saw a few people looking at the harnesses like they’ve seen nothing more strange than that.” Before Cassandra had the chance to agree or disagree, she pointed at Varric. "Varric, can you help with the carriages? You’re good with people. I’m sure you’d make the wounded laying in them smile and feel better with your clever remarks."

When Lavellan pointed at Solas, memories of times long gone came barging into his mind and shook him to the core. Memories of a man as young and as eager to order his friends around for the sake of the world he had no choice but save.

“And Solas,” she continued. “Can you--,” she stopped, head slightly tilted to the right. The unspoken words parted her lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hmm, like how?"

How did she notice it?

"Like your dog finally obeyed your commands."

"I am not. And you certainly are not an obedient dog."

Now in full force, the headache tested his patience alongside the searching look Lavellan threw at him. Her green gaze had a power he did not notice until then. It reminded him of the teacher he had many, many years ago. A teacher that scanned him from head to toes when he lied about the reason for his tardiness.

"Yes, you were." Her lips scrunched into a pout, one he would have found amusing, in a calmer situation. "Nevermind."

#wip wednesday #solas #elluin #lavellan #cassandra #varric #daughter of fire herald of spirit #noire writes

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theluckywizard · 9 months

Note

For the DADWC: "Lyrium dust suspended in a clear fluid," perhaps for Vivienne?

Thanks Ann! I had some fun with this one. Started last Friday but fell asleep before finishing as is tradition! @dadrunkwriting

The Talk

Vivienne & Rose Trevelyan

WC: 1304

CW: discussion of sex and pregnancy and family planning

The note arrives for me via Vivienne’s personal staff, handed to me between two fingers in an elegant flourish.

Be so kind as to visit me in my personal quarters on the upper level, darling. There’s something important to discuss.

-Vivienne de Fer

This was an unusual request. Vivienne most often wished to speak in her favored space in the mezzanine over the main hall, so I immediately inferred some manner of gravity. It could be any number of things given the tumult of the last month and I’ve long suspected she might vacate the Inquisition entirely having been immensely displeased with the failure to defend Haven, describing the catastrophe as amateur.

Knocking politely on her chamber door, two over from the one I’d first stayed in upon arriving Skyhold and enter when she invites me in.

“Rose, darling. Thank you for coming,” Vivienne says, rising from what appears to be some manner of alchemist’s work bench in an elegant robe I’d never seen her in, one that is more staid than her usual fare and in a stroke of practicality covers more of her in case of accidents. I know she's a specialist in alchemy, but her demeanor always seems to suggest that work of any sort was beneath her and she and I rarely speak on matters of the arcane. I’ve overheard enough of her arguments with Dorian and Solas to know that she is a true scholar, but to see an actual laboratory of sorts in her bedroom astonishes me.

“I can’t lie. I never did expect to see the inside of your quarters, Vivienne,” I remark, taking it all in. Her alchemy workbench is impeccably tidy, tools carefully organized on velvet cloths, jars of solutes clearly labeled and alphabetized, crucibles and mortars and pestles of varying sizes lined up neatly along the wall.

“Indeed. But this conversation requires a measure of privacy few other places in Skyhold can supply.”

“Well then. Now I’m curious,” I say. Vivienne eyes me in a way that feels strangely motherly, drawing a few different items onto her workbench. A suspension of lyrium powder that shimmers in the wan light that slips in through the narrow windows, a bit of chalk, a sizable ring of some kind of polished mineral.

“Can I offer you some refreshment before we start? I know you have finer tastes than most. I doubt you’ll find better in Skyhold than what I've managed to procure.”

She pours me a delicate glass of Orlesian port which I take in equally delicate sips, still reflexively watching my manners around her for some reason. Vivienne turns to me and buffs her nails gently as she speaks into them, her eyes flicking up to mine finally.

“I’ve been observing the growing attachment between you and Commander Cullen. It’s obvious where this is headed."

“I— I don’t think—“ I fumble momentarily and then sigh. “What are you getting at?”

“Maker, dear, I wasn’t born yesterday. The pair of you can’t keep your eyes off each other. And if my projections are correct you’ll be needing the means to prevent unwanted consequences.” My mouthful of port jumps past my lips as I cough, the revelation over her intentions walloping me out of nowhere. “I— see that I’ve caught you off guard. Which I anticipated, but if you could be so kind as to swallow your port, my floor would be grateful.”

“I suppose you mean a child,” I remark, dabbing at my lips with a handkerchief while I recover myself.

“Pregnancy. Children. Women in our positions cannot afford such inconveniences.”

“In Ostwick we took potions for that sort of thing.”

“I’m relieved to hear that you’re familiar with such practices, though I would hardly rely on something so questionable. Its efficacy depends heavily upon the skill of the herbalist and the quality of the ingredients, none of which will be readily available here in the Frostbacks of all places.”

She turns, sliding cat-like along her workbench and retrieves the ring she’d pulled out earlier. The light catches within the crystalline structure revealing veins and inclusions.

“This is fade-touched Nevarrite. I acquired this for you when I felt coitus was inevitable.” I nearly eject another offering of port, but manage my shock better, clutching at my forehead as a flush sprints from my cheeks to the tips of my ears.

“Maker, Vivienne. When was that?”

“Around the same time Cullen made an impassioned plea to find a way to protect you from the spell meant to close the Breach,” she says simply.

“Ah.”

“Rest assured that not everyone is as perceptive as I am. Although Dorian seems to be aware of it. And Sister Leliana. And now Alexius.”

“For Maker’s sake,” I mutter, pressing my fingers into the heat within my cheeks.

“Properly enchanted this ring will prevent pregnancy and suspend your courses while you wear it.”

“Wait— you’re saying you can suspend my courses?”

“But of course dear. I could hardly be asked to suffer such gross inconveniences.”

“And I could have had this months ago? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It is not easily acquired. Nor is it cheap. But I think you’ve proven your worth and the seeming imminence of your coupling lent a sort of urgency to the situation. The Herald of Andraste must remain free to close rifts. And now that you’re the Inquisitor it is doubly true,” she says.

“Is it… a bracelet?” I ask but it seems a touch small. Vivienne’s laugh rings across the chamber, delighted.

“No, darling. It is worn inside.” I stare a it skeptically wondering how exactly it would fit. “If you need a lesson I am certain there’s an illustrated encyclopedia of human anatomy available in the library.”

“No, no. I— gather where it’s meant to sit,” I mutter. I take another tentative sip of port like she could induce another explosive reaction, but she doesn’t, leaning gently on the edge of her table.

“It’s a gift, Rose. It will make your time together less worrisome and secure your position as Inquisitor. We cannot leave such things to chance as women of consequence.”

Her words send me reeling back to conversations with my mother. Her obsession with establishing me in a role of influence, narrow as her imagination was— power within the chaste confines of the Chantry or power producing heirs for someone with greater standing. I snort softly to myself thinking of it. And here I am at the head of an entire Inquisition, free to be whatever destiny calls me to be.

“Thank you, Vivienne. I gratefully accept,” I say, my cheeks still burning bright.

“Marvelous. No need for blushes my dear. I understand all too well the overpowering draw of love. But we can’t let it hobble our aspirations. I will enchant it presently and send it to your quarters when it is ready. But I’ll need a lock of your hair and a swab from your mouth.”

“By all means. Take whatever you need,” I answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, and she wastes no time, my submissions organized onto clean white linen for alchemical use.

I leave her still unreasonably flushed, laughing to myself that she believes such activities are imminent. But I allow the thought of it to send a wave of faintness through me, the kind I’ve felt when I’m near him, the kind that Lieven once provoked with his too-bold looks and too-bold hands while we hunt. Maker, I need a good roll.

And though I also feel that it’s imminent on some level, it still feels just out of reach, like the Inquisition's mountain of tasks and the appropriateness of it lies like a wall between us.

But perhaps that’s just my lack of courage masquerading as an excuse.

#cullen x trevelyan #vivienne & trevelyan #vivienne & inquisitor #not going to hand wave it #vivienne is a contraception guru #because of course she is #portal those eggs to the fade #cullen x inquisitor #cullenmance #in the shattering of things #rose trevelyan #vivienne de fer #madame de fer #dragon age inquisition

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monsterthalia · 2 years

Note

‘long ago, how madly i loved you.’ for any characters you like ✨

Heyyyy I'm back in the @dadrunkwriting game with some Cullen/F!Trevelyan, wooo Rating: T Pairing: Cullen/F!Trevelyan Words: 2109 Everything was going to shit.

Back in the War Room, when Evelyn had insisted that they go and investigate Alexius rather than meet with the Templars, she’d said lightly, “What could possibly go wrong?” She’d done it just to wind Cullen up – and sure enough, that little wrinkle appeared in his scrunched nose as he glared, and that was worth it alone – but now she was sure that the Maker had been watching, and was having a great laugh at her expense.

‘What could possibly go wrong’, she had discovered, included ‘You could be sent forward in time by a Tevinter supremacist cultist and find out the world ends in less than a year’. OK, lesson learned.

She’d already found Iron Bull and Sera, or rather what they had become. The sight of them with red lyrium in their eyes, the sound of the unnatural timbre of their voices, had put her into a strange kind of denial. This was horrific, yes - a nightmare, unquestionably - but of course she and Dorian were going to travel back to their own time and ensure this never came to pass, so it would all be fine, so it wasn’t really real. She’d chosen Iron Bull and Sera as the biggest ‘fuck you’ to Tevinter she could muster out of her new band of friends - how could something like this come out of something so stupid?

She was going to make it back and change things because the idea of this being real, being the future, was literally unthinkable. Her thoughts would not even humour the idea for an instant. So she kept her eyes forward, proceeded through the castle methodically, and ignored the howling nightmares hammering at the numb barrier around her heart.

Fiona had said Leliana was here, but she hadn’t named anyone else. As they crept through the passages, she couldn’t stop her racing mind imagining the fates of the others. Cassandra would have held the line at Haven as long as she could, of course, and Blackwall and Varric as well, but she hoped they’d retreated when it was clear the battle was lost. Vivienne and Solas might have fled, having their own motives rather than being driven by any particular devotion, but Cullen would have stayed to defend the Inquisition to the death, she knew, and her heart clenched painfully at the thought. He’d never abandon his troops.

Unbidden, the image of his body floated into her mind – lying in rubble in the burned out chantry, snow blowing in flurries to cover the blood leaking from so many wounds, still face vanishing beneath the white.

She tried to dismiss it, to see only the stone of the castle corridors, but it lingered like a spirit, hovering before her eyes both open and shut. It seemed more real than everything around her. If you fail then he’ll die. If you fail then he’ll die. If you-

She saw him so clearly that when she turned a corner and found him in front of her, it was as though she’d summoned him herself. Her heart leaped, and her name rose to his lips on a rush of relief just to see him alive, her Cullen, and she called out, “Cullen!” in that instant it took her head to catch up with her heart and observe two things.

One, that she was alone - the others had fallen behind, letting her scout ahead.

Two, that this was not her Cullen.

This Cullen was taller, broader, encased in shining plate emblazoned with a red sword, and his eyes - surprised, but rapidly narrowing at the sight of her - were shot through with the red as well.

“Shit,” she breathed, trying to raise her staff-

The scent of ozone hit her nose a split second before the Smite, and she bent double, as all the wind was knocked out of her along with her magic. Get up get up get up she yelled in her head as she wheezed, struggling to rise - but before she could force her abdominal muscles to obey, a gauntleted hand grabbed the front of her tunic and hauled her upright instead - hauled her all the way up, until her toes barely brushed the floor, her leathers cut painfully under her arms as she instinctively dropped her staff, grabbing for the fist that now held her like a tiny prey animal in its grip.

Cullen was staring at her with - something she couldn’t quite identify. Surprise, yes. Amusement, also. But other emotions flitted through his eyes in seconds - wonder, doubt, anger, fear, confusion - and all he said was, “Evelyn?”

She was surprised enough to stop fighting. He’d never called her by her first name - always ‘the Herald’ or, even more charmingly, ‘the Prisoner’ before that. She wasn’t entirely convinced he even knew it. But at her reaction, a smile spread across his face.

“The Herald of Andraste,” he said slowly, enjoying every word, “Back from the dead? And to think you were such a reluctant saviour.”

She rapidly assessed the situation. Red - he was taking red lyrium. He was with the Red Templars. By choice or not, he was there. Maybe he’d felt he had no other choice. Maybe he’d jumped at the chance. The old Evelyn, the one who’d attended Conclave as quiet eyes for Fiona, would have believed it - once a Templar, always a Templar - but the Evelyn who he had in his grip here today, who had shared words with him by the frozen lake, laughing awkwardly talking about Chantry vows - could only believe the red lyrium had been poured down his throat as he fought every step of the way.

“Listen to me, Cullen,” she said in a low voice, rapidly, “You need to let me go. I can still go back and stop this from happening.”

His brows furrowed, and that wrinkle appeared on his nose again. Oh Maker, this was her Cullen. Even as his smile widened and she saw too many of his teeth.

“Stop it?” His grip on her tunic tightened and she coughed, reflexively, the fabric pinching like a vice around her throat, cutting off her air. “Why would I want you to do that?”

“This isn’t you,” she said firmly, not looking away, “Not the Cullen I knew. This is-”

“No,” he growled, and the smile vanished. “This is better.”

“Cullen, I-” She was cut off as he shoved her back into the wall, knocking the breath from her lungs all over again.

He stepped with the push, stepped right into her, looking down at her, face in shadow from the light behind his head. “Did you know,” he murmured, and she had to crane up to look at him, “that I was in love with you?”

She froze. Her heart ceased its panicked flutterings and went very, very still. His hand clenched around her shirt loosened, relaxed, but remained, pressed lightly to her collarbone. To her heart. It was a gentleness at complete odds from the rest of his posture, tensed with barely restrained power like a ballista ready to fire.

“From the first moment. At first sight.” Even amidst the horror, a slight tone of wonder entered his voice. “Like a child. I didn’t even think I could do that any more. It seemed to me like-” A bitter laugh escaped him, and he was so close, she felt the rush of the breath over her own lips. “Like another miracle worthy of Andraste herself.”

Her voice was dead in her throat, her head empty.

“I was a hopeless, blind fool, a dog beaten too many times and still begging for anyone to hold the leash,” he went on, words falling from his lips like bitter poison, “The Chantry, the Circles, the Inquisition - desperate to follow, desperate to serve, desperate to not be alone. And you-” He chuckled quietly, dangerously. “That suited you just fine, didn’t it? You hated me, but I was still the only Commander you were going to get for your ragtag little band-”

“I didn’t hate you.” The words rushed out of her, an automatic protest, but he froze at them. Stared at her.

Rage clouded his features, and he bared his teeth as he stepped closer, hissing, “Don’t lie to me-”

“I was stupid about you.” Her heart was hammering again, and the words spilled out of her, almost babbling in the hope of saving her skin just by admitting - “I couldn’t think straight around you. I teased you because I didn’t know what else to say. I hounded you because I couldn’t stay away. I challenged you because I knew it was safe, that you’d never hurt me. And -” she swallowed, as he kept staring down at her like he was just seeing her for the first time, “- all this was just hours ago for me. So… I still do. Know that.” She took, released a shaky breath. “You wouldn’t hurt me.” He said nothing. “The version of you I could have come to love as well, anyway.”

Her voice trailed off into a whisper, and they stood in silence, staring into each other’s eyes. She could see the glowing red lacing the little blood vessels, but his natural eye colour still burned through.

“Evelyn?” They both heard Dorian call in the distance. “Herald!” Coming closer. Maybe a minute away.

Cullen was still resting his hand against her chest. She thought he could probably feel her heart thumping away beneath it. “I should take you to Alexius,” he said slowly.

She dared push away from the wall, step closer into him, put her own hand over his own. “If I’m really doomed, I’ll end up there soon enough anyway,” she said softly. “But if you want a chance - a chance for this to happen all over again, and happen right this time… You just need to let me go.”

She was close enough that she could hear the red lyrium song at the edges of her hearing. It was like someone calling her name from a long way off, the way it snagged her attention, pulled it like a fishhook. The way it surrounded Cullen, emanated from him, made her step closer to him again without thinking. The song crept louder into her ears, curled into her brain -

He suddenly stepped back from her, releasing her hand. “Go back the way you came,” he ordered, “This corridor just leads to guard barracks. Go back to the central landing and take the left staircase up. I’ll go and stall them as long as I can.”

It took a second to snap back to herself, to realise he was letting her go. She shook her head, once, clearing it, and began, “You could-”

“Go back with you?” He shook his head. “If this future dies, let me go with it. Let my old sorry bastard self have his second chance. Or however many chances he’s on now…”

“Evelyn!” she heard Dorian call, closer now, but she just looked at Cullen, looked over every inch of him, fearfully committing him to memory before he was taken from her.

“Do me a favour, though,” this Cullen added to her quietly as an afterthought. “When you get back - tell me how you feel. Because I - he - will never figure it out on his own.”

Evelyn nodded. “I will. The second we get a quiet moment - I will.”

Cullen gave a laugh at that. “Not sure when you’ll get one of those, but sure.”

“Evelyn!” Dorian must be just round the corner. They were out of time.

She rapidly stepped in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She stepped away and met his eyes again, which were soft with wonder.

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded. “Go.”

He turned and headed back the way he had come, even as she picked up her staff and turned to meet Dorian rapidly hurrying down the corridor towards her. His face was a knot of concern which immediately gave way to exasperation when he spotted her.

“There you are! Wandering off, I thought I was accompanying the Herald of Andraste, not a mischievous child-”

“I can be both,” she said, and started jogging back the way they’d come. “Come on, this path doesn’t lead anywhere good, we need to go back.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all-”

“Ha ha ha. Oh, and I owe you five silver.”

“Really? Wait, for which bet - the Solas one, the Iron Bull one, the Cullen one-”

“You’ll see.” Amidst all the denial and horror blanketed in numbness, she felt the stirring of something new. A fresh flicker of flame. Of hope. “When we get back.”

#dadrunkwriting #dragon age

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lairofdragonagelore · 1 year

Text

Arbor Wilds: Temple of Mythal - Part 5

Main Quest: What Pride Had Wrought

The Temple of Mythal was a place of justice, where petitioners walked religious rites of passage in order to have their pleas for justice heard by Mythal. According to some, it is also the site of some mysterious religious artefact called the vir'abelasan.

This post contains the following sections

The Well of Sorrows

Drink from the Well

[This is part of the series “Playing DA like an archaeologist”]

[Index page of Dragon Age Lore]

The Well of Sorrows

We finally reach an inner garden of the Temple which walls are decorated with more mural paintings: the standing elf, and several golden hallas. Some statues of the dragon Mythal are broken on the top of the wall. On the highest part of this garden, looming over the whole garden, we see a gargantuan statue of Humanoid Mythal. Probably the only statue with god-like dimension in all this Temple.

The Well of Sorrows is at the end of the path, on top of a big platform. As we reach it, Solas says “So Mythal endures”. Which is strange. Did he not know she was alive? Is this a line meaning he realises in this moment she is truly alive? Or part of this Well has a “will” of Mythal, so the existence of this artefacts means that Mythal still can exist? It’s curious his wording in this precise moment.

We learn from Samson that the Well contains wisdom/knowledge that would allow Corypheus have access to the Fade without even having the anchor. This is such a brutal lore-concept. The Vir’abelasan contains a power that allows to cross the Veil without any artefact.

If we talk to Calpeania [watch the video here] she seems to understand that the well has knowledge and power abandoned by the Evanuris [”The well of sorrows overflows with knowledge, power abandoned by those the elves worshipped as gods. To walk the Fade without the Anchor.”]

After getting rid of Samson or Calpenia, we see Abelas creating a stair of rift magic towards the well, ready to destroy it.

Depending on your respect to the Temple [meaning, you did the rituals at the entrance or you didn’t] we have different scenes in what follows:

Abelas has a duty: protect the well. If he can’t, he prefers to destroy it, losing all the wills/knowledge inside the water. This knowledge has been stored in this artefact over thousands of years, all servants of Myhtal have passed their knowledge and will to it when they head to Uthenera [once again, this has strong resemblances with the codex A Flowering Imago, explained in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara.

Solas encourages Abelas to stay in this world and perform another duty. Solas says “your people linger”, and then he confirms “Elvhen such as I”. Here is pretty clear the “People” that Abelas and Solas kept referring to: the Elvhen.

If the inquisitor asks for permission to drink from the well, Abelas says something that reinforces what he said: one doesn’t ask for permission to drink from the well, one has to work hard to get Mythal’s favour [“one obtains the right”]. So it is obviously implied that the Servants of Mythal were less than unwillingly slaves and more like willingly servants. However, I feel that this contradicts some mural paintings we saw along the Temple.

If the inquisitor asks for the price of drinking from the well, Abelas says “no boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost”, meaning that receiving a favour from Mythal is something you have to work hard to obtain, and there is always a price. I think this produce an extra indirect implication with Flemeth along the DA series: all the favours that Flemeth has been granting to several characters in books and previous games have a price that was never explicitly said, but it was implied in an obscure way.

Then, Abelas says something that called my attention: Anyone who drinks from the well is bound to the will of Mythal. In The Shrine of Dumat, and in the Attack of Haven, Corypheus made always an emphasis about being the “will of Corypheus”. This makes me suspect that Evanuris, and their “hard to kill” characteristic has to do with this “will”, a will that can jump into other bodies to survive.

Morrigan mocks a bit the idea of being bound to someone who, in her opinion, doesn’t exist anymore.

Abelas and the rest of the servants of Mythal are bound to her. What this exactly means, it’s a bit more speculative since the game says little in an explicit way.

It’s surprising for me that Abelas, despite mourning the death of Mythal for ages, answers that anything is possible when asked if Mythal still exists. Did he meet Flemeth? Or Flemeth, since she is nothing more but a fragment, a shadow of what Mythal was, has changed, and preferred to never interact with these sentinels? The motherly goddess, abandoning her children because the world betrayed her and death changed her [we know via Solas’ words and Avvar’s codices in the DLC that all spirits return when killed but not in the same way. How much of this aspect of the spirits still remains in the Evanuris/Elvhen?]

Abelas, an elvhen who lived the time of the Evanuris, says that Dalish tales are wrong: The dread wolf had nothing to do with the death of Myhtal. Mythal was murdered.

Those who destroyed this temple were who killed her. [This bit of information is so vital yet we have nothing. In all the temple, what little we see destroyed, is mostly via Red Templars. But Abelas is referring to a very well known enemy by him. It’s not a modern enemy. When we enter to the chamber of petitions, he doesn’t know who Corypheus and his red templars are. So we can’t assume he is referring to them when he says this line. It’s a group of people form his past. In trespasser, Solas says that the last straw that motivated him to seal the Evanuris was the murder of Mythal. So, those who destroyed this temple had to be other Evanuris, but who? I can’t find any link. In the post Arbor Wilds: Temple of Mythal in detail I work on some potential hypothesis of these enemies, but there is no lead in-game.

Solas invites Abelas to look for purpose elsewhere. I have the impression, and this is mere speculation, that Solas is recruiting him as an agent.

Here, Abelas speaks of Uthenera, and not mere slumber. Uthenera is something more definitive, to never come back.

He also reinforces the idea that the fall of the Elvhenan empire was exclusively Elvhen doing.

In this comment we can infer, in combination with the codex Unstranslable Writing from Ancient Elven codices, Temple of Mythal, that elvhen kept changing their name depending on their role. And this makes so much more sense if we keep in mind what Solas has been repeating to us for ages about the nature of the spirits: a spirit’s name is its purpose. And elvhens had a spirit-like nature. They are more vivid that the mere spirits we find in the Fade, which are described by Solas as “semi-existent”. Elves have always been more complex, fluid, and able to embrace more than one aspect than the spirits [this is also repeated by him several times when people question Myhtal’s duality of being fierce but also motherly]. That elves change their names as their purpose/duty is reshaped makes sense, it works similar to spirits: Wisdom spirits change their name to Pride when corrupted and their purpose is disfigured. And probably this change of name is vital, since acting against their purpose twist their nature.

On the other hand, if you showed a disrespectful behaviour towards the Temple, and Abelas is determined to prevent the spoil of the Well, we see an interesting cinematic [video here]

When Abelas is asked if he can claim that Mythal was a god, he seems to understand the truth of the Evanuris, since he says “to you... it shall make no difference.”

When Abelas attacks, we see the same kind of special effects that Mythal shows when she appears in the Altar [grey smoke, soft blue sparkles] and a blue glow inside his eyes [same as Flemeth when she commands the one who drank from the Well to stop Morrigan]

When he is destroying the well, the magical effect in his eyes makes me remember the old effect of the Archdemon, black, purplish fumes in eyes and breath [putting aside the differences of engines, of course]. Not because I want to relate Abelas to Archdemons, but because I wonder how close these powers are related to the Blight itself: a purified, non-corrupted version of them. We see similar ominous effect in Flemeth, and in the last seconds of the end of the Game, in Solas when he consumes Flemeth’s powers.

When Abelas dies, he says “Mythal Sulevin”. Sulevin is the elven word for “purpose”, as if he were saying: the goal of Mythal or the purpose of Mythal. What does this exactly mean? Has Flemeth planed this? We can ask her about how much she controlled the situations in her Temple and with the voices of the Well when we are in Flemeth’s Fade, and she praises the cleverness of the Inquisitor as an answer [see the post about Flemeth’s Fade]. So, Mythal has already told these elves to let the Well be consumed or destroyed? Or being killed by Flemeth’s chosen daughter was the real purpose of Abelas? Too vague.

Solas reacts to this unnecessary death, explaining: “he was defending all that was left of what once was.”

Once the well is consumed, there is similar effect around the drinker and the inquisitor [due to the Anchor, I imagine]: a smoky effect that Abelas had showed a moment before when trying to destroy the Well.

Curiously, it’s the same visual effect of Corypheus [hence my association with the old effect in the old engine of DAO in the Archdemons] It’s quite an ominous effect for magic related to the Fade.

Drink from the Well

Once Abelas is rid of, we have to decide what to do with the Well, learning some details in the process:

This well is the key for the activation of this Eluvian.

The well has a presence in itself, and something negative: a hunger, a compulsion.

Morrigan assumes that it’s the mere nature of knowledge: it begets a hunger for more.

Morrigan and Solas have a discussion. Solas asks for them to take the knowledge, but not giving it to Morrigan who represents, to his eyes, a person with too much ambition to trust this power.

If you offer the Well to Solas, he simply denies it, without any explanation and any chance to ask him again.

Morrigan suspects there is a remaining compulsion in the magic of the Well.

An Inquisitor with skill or knowledge in the arcane, can sense something else that Morrigan didn’t: the idea of “will” is reinforced again. And here is where I think the bound process and the wells are something that may be related to the codex A flowering Imago in Ancient Elven codices; Vir Dirthara: the whole persona, their will, is in this well, bound to Mythal forever, feeding a pond of memories and knowledge. It’s not just knowledge from the ancient elves. It’s their will, their “souls”. If we think that before the Veil elves were closer to spirits, these kind of Wells are aberrations: they bound their whole being to this pond.

The collective will of priests puts a compulsion in the person who drinks it. A geas. Corypheus knew about this [probably thanks to the orb] and for this reason he wanted a vessel [Samson or Calpenia]

If the inquisitor drinks, we can see the procedure of the bound: inside the well, we hear the will of all those priests, I imagine. They know how to stop Corypheus, and mark the inquisitor with a standard overused snake-glyph that I showed in the post General glyphs and magical symbols. I think that speculations on this glyph have little to offer, the game has a limited amount of glyphs to give particular meaning to each of them.

As the inquisitor recover their consciousness, all the water has been consumed.

No matter who drank from the well, the inquisitor is surrounded by a dark smoke and blue reflections that make them glow. This kind of power is the same one we see in Abelas if he tries to destroy the Wll, or in Flemeth when she leave the Altar of Mythal. It’s the same effect that Solas has after consuming Flemeth’s essence at the end of the game.

With the Well inside the inquisitor or Morrigan [the same scene can be seen no matter who drank it], we can activate the eluvian and escape Corypheus’ wrath.

This is a scene that always was a mystery to me. I am not sure what happens here, but suddenly, the Well has water again and we see an entity raises from the water. It has the shape of a female human [rounded ears] and closes the eluvian behind her. This entity is one of the biggest mysteries to me. Nothing of what Abelas said, and all what we analysed before says anything about this creature. The only remote hint is that, if this Well had a piece of Mythal inside it, that piece could be shaped into a female human because Mythal merged herself with Flemeth’s soul and both are now a single entity [similar mash-up happens with Anders and Justice]. Honestly, I am not very convinced on this hypothesis, and it’s really hard to speculate what this human-spirit is.

Returning to Skyhold, we discuss some details:

Because the Inquisitor was not as prepared as Samson, Calpenia or Morrigan were, they can’t use the knowledge of the Well properly. In fact, it’s quite useless for the rest of the game. This powerful tool should allow us to understand so much more lore, but still yet the devs were quite cowards in that sense. For the inquisitor works like a google translator of ancient elven, and nothing more, sadly.

Morrigan seems to make a better use of it, but we can’t know all what she learns from it.

We learn that Corypheus’ dragon is not an archdemon but a mere dragon where he put part of his power. If we kill the dragon, he can’t jump to other bodies. This is very retconned since in DA2 we don’t see any dragon, and yet Corypheus jumps to Janeka’s or Larius’ bodies anyways.

At the end of this quest, we can speak with Solas and analyse some vague bits of information he drops. These details will be posted in “Lore by Solas”.

Arbor Wilds: Temple of Myhtal - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

#playing DA like an archaeologist #main quest #temple of mythal #well of sorrows #mythal #eluvian #abelas #elvhenan #elvhen

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the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 1 year

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Transfigurations 10:1-3

Okay, here we are: the Val Royeaux chapter. Ava gets a horse and a very interesting invitation. There will be one or two individual scenes following this, introducing some new companions, and then there will be a very fun chapter before we dive into In Hushed Whispers, so stay tuned. Link!

You arrive back in Haven to a flurry of activity. Soldiers and civilians flit to and fro with purposeful strides, and the town overall feels much more crowded than you left it. People still stop and look when your group passes by, but they’re too busy to gawk, quickly resuming whatever they were doing before.

While you were gone, someone, presumably Dora, had taken the initiative to set up a large training yard just outside the town walls. Soldiers spar, strike at straw-stuffed dummies, and run through forms with their weapons under the watchful eyes of instructors. The blacksmith forge is a-flutter as well. Harritt the smith barks at his assistants as they hammer away at half-formed blades and rivet together each ring in a chainmail vest. Lilith breaks off from you here, intent on giving over her shield for repairs after all the bashing and bludgeoning it did.

Inside the gates, Camila and Solas take their leave, Camila to bully the stingy merchant Sergitt into selling her discounted arrows, and Solas to go… wherever it is he goes. You, Beatrice, and Mary walk together up the hill toward the Chantry. Mary lightly bumps your shoulder when she leaves, claiming she needs to speak with Threnn, the quartermaster, and saying she’ll see you at dinner.

So it’s just you and Beatrice by the time you reach the Chantry doors, and you are surprised to find Mother Superion standing outside them, speaking in quiet tones to a spritely, hooded man dressed like a scout. She dismisses him when she sees you, standing imperiously with her cane as you approach.

“Welcome back,” she greets. “I trust you encountered no trouble on your return journey.”

You shrug, but Beatrice is more forthcoming. “Nothing unusual, Mother. It seems that neutralizing the two most violent factions has already helped promote stability.” Neutralizing is a hell of a word. It makes it sound clean. But you have to swallow hard and push away the memory of hazel eyes by digging your nails into your palm. “Trade is picking up again, and the Inquisition is inspiring confidence among the refugees to start rebuilding their communities.”

Mother Superion nods. “The refugees are not the only ones feeling inspired,” she tells you, her lips twitching upward. “As I’m sure you have seen, more volunteers are flocking to us by the day. It is a trickle quickly becoming a flood. Mother Giselle arrived a few days ago as well, singing your praises.” You flush pink at this, still quite unsure what to do with such information. “She has provided us with critical intelligence for reaching out to the Grand Clerics. It is good that you are here now so we can discuss next steps. Come.” She turns abruptly and beckons you to follow her into the Chantry.

Unlike before when you were racing to keep up with her, now she keeps pace with you, and she glances down at your left hand. “Does it trouble you? Your Mark?”

You glance at it yourself. When it’s inert, it’s almost invisible, just a thin, pale line stretching across your palm. Harmless, if one doesn’t know better. “It doesn’t really hurt now, if that’s what you mean. I just wish I knew what it was. Or how I got it.”

“We will find out. What matters now is that it is stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time to catch our breath, and before you left, Solas speculated that a second attempt might succeed.” Her lips thin. “Provided that the Mark has more power.”

“More power?” Beatrice asks.

Mother Superion nods. “The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place.”

“That would be extremely dangerous!” She protests, in the same manner she had protested your plan with. “That kind of power could spell an even greater disaster!”

“Peace, Beatrice,” the Mother chastises, loudly tapping her cane on the stone floor. The younger girl holds back whatever additional objections she has, but you can tell by the movement of her jaw that she’s gritting her teeth.

“Okay,” you cut in before the tension rises further. You touch Beatrice’s elbow the way you’ve seen her do to the others, and you feel her relax ever so slightly as you address Mother Superion. “Clearly, you guys have something in mind. What’s the plan?”

“That is what we’ve been working on while you were away,” she says, pushing open the door to the war room. Dora is waiting inside, along with a beautiful and fancily-dressed woman you’ve never met.

“You know Dora, of course,” Superion says. She indicates the fancy woman with a small, secretive sort of grin. “But this is Josephine Montilyet. She has agreed to be our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

The woman, Josephine, smiles prettily at you, the kind of smile that must charm the stockings off most people she meets. “I have heard much. A pleasure to meet you at last.” Her accent is strong and interesting, one you’ve never heard before.

Your cheeks turn pink under her gaze. “Um, it’s nice to meet you too.” Pull yourself together, loser. “So, Mother Superion says you guys have a plan?”

“The makings of one,” Superion clarifies. “The Mark needs more power. In order to get it, we must seek outside help, and our options are limited. However, one open avenue is to approach the rebel mages for help.”

Dora steps forward. “Respectfully, I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well.”

Mother Superion shakes her head. “We need magical power, Commander. Enough magic poured into the Mark—”

“Could destroy us all,” Dora cuts across, echoing Beatrice’s concerns. “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so—”

“Pure speculation.”

Dora sighs, frustrated. “I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of.” This admission sends a shiver of cold through you. She was a Templar? You knew she was a tough warrior obviously, but knowing that she was one of them? To think you considered trusting her… You take a hard step back from the war table, ignoring a questioning look from Beatrice. You’ll never show your back to her again.

“Unfortunately, neither side will speak to us yet,” Josephine inserts before an argument can begin. “The Chantry’s denouncement is an inescapable black mark on our credibility. Mother Giselle’s endorsement and the news of your actions in the Hinterlands help, but only so much. Some are calling you, an apostate, the ‘Herald of Andraste’, and that frightens the Chantry.”

“I never asked or wanted anyone to call me that,” you assert hotly.

“I understand,” Josephine says, her pretty accent lending a calming quality to her words. “But that is the situation. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

Mother Superion sighs. “I suspect it was Francesco’s doing, at least in part.”

Josephine nods with a knowing expression. Is she aware of their history too? It certainly seems like she’s known the Mother for some time. “It limits our options. Approaching either the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

You groan in heated frustration. “Just how am I the Herald of Andraste anyway? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Ava, language,” Superion chastises you. “People saw what you did at the Temple. They have also heard about the woman seen in the Rift when you first appeared. They believe it was Andraste. Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading—”

“Which you have not,” you grumble, crossing your arms. She fixes you in place with a stern look.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

“But they’re wrong,” you insist. “I’m not a herald of anything, certainly not Andraste.”

“Ava…” Beatrice tries to interrupt you with that familiar, uncomfortable expression on her face, but Dora speaks before she can.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and while it isn’t done with intentional menace, it feels menacing all the same.

Mother Superion rubs the bridge of her nose. “People see you as a sign of hope, Ava, something they desperately need.” Again, as if beckoned, your Friend peeks out at the Mother through your eyes, assessing something about her.

“And to others, you are a symbol of everything that has gone wrong,” Josephine comments grimly.

“Will the Chantry attack us?”

Dora snorts. “With what? They have only words at their disposal.”

Josephine frowns. “And yet, they may bury us with them.”

Speaking of words, there’s a sharp knock on the door. An Inquisition scout peeks in, looking between you all. “‘Pologies,” he says in a thick Fereldan accent. “But there’s some trouble brewing outside, Herald, my ladies.”

“What kind of trouble?” Mother Superion asks.

“A mage and one of the ex-Templars are about to go for each other’s throats. They’re arguing about the Conclave by the sound of it. Gathering a crowd too.”

You freeze. There are Templars here, in Haven?

“Maker’s breath,” Dora curses, moving quickly around the table and storming out of the room in the direction of the Chantry’s doors. Mother Superion and Josephine follow quickly behind, leaving you and Beatrice alone. She moves toward the door, lightly tugging on your sleeve, but you don’t budge.

“Ava, come on.” When you still don’t move, she turns back. “What’s wrong?”

“There are Templars here?” You ask, grateful when your voice doesn’t crack.

“Ex-Templars,” she corrects, her brow furrowing. “A handful of them, survivors of the Conclave. They swore themselves to the Inquisition after we rescued them.” You can hear the large doors opening and the sound of loud voices. Beatrice’s head whips back in that direction, and she wraps her fingers around your wrist. “Come on now. Let’s see what’s going on.”

When she tugs you this time, you go, but unease swirls and rolls in your stomach. You catch up with the others and take in the scene outside the Chantry. As the scout described, a mage and a Templar stand snarling and pointing in each other’s faces, watched by a growing crowd of onlookers.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” The Templar bellows, spittle flying from his lips. There’s a slur to his words that makes him sound drunk. That's all you need, a drunk Templar looking for a fight.

“Lies,” the mage spits back harshly. “Your kind let her die.”

“Shut your mouth, mage!” The drunk goes to pull out a sword, and every muscle in your body tenses.

But Dora shuts it down before the blade can leave it scabbard. She jumps between the two men and forces space between them. The drunk Templar exclaims in surprise. “Knight-captain!”

“That is not my title,” Dora barks, pointing sharply at the man. “We are not Templars any longer.” She looks from him to the mage. “We are all part of the Inquisition now.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” A gruff, snooty voice asks. Sure enough, you all look to see Duretti standing on the edge of the crowd, with hands tucked behind his back, watching the scene unfold.

Dora huffs. “Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I certainly think you have, Francesco,” Mother Superion asserts derisively.

Duretti’s mouth twists in anger, but he doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he says to Dora, “I merely wish to know, Commander, about how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.”

“Of course you do,” Dora grumbles, before addressing the crowd. “Back to your duties, all of you!” Once the gawkers disperses, she looks at Duretti again. “Your attempts to discredit and undermine the Inquisition work directly against that goal, Chancellor. It’s as if you believe a broken Chantry with no Divine will be able to close the Breach with thoughts and prayers.”

“The broken state of the Chantry is exactly why we must wait for the new Divine to unite the faithful and address these problems. A lawfully chosen Divine, not a rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’.”

Anger and frustration overwhelms your prior unease, and you stalk up to the man. “Listen buddy,” you growl. “I don’t believe I’m Andraste’s Herald any more than you do, so stop acting like I do.”

He spares you a second of consideration, but no more. “That laudable humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception whenever it suits them.”

“But the Breach is the real threat here,” Dora insists. “And even a unanimously elected Divine will not have the power necessary to stop it. Whatever you want to believe, Chancellor, that is the truth.”

Duretti doesn’t offer further rebuttal because Mother Superion denies him the chance. “Enough, Francesco. You should save your breath. Ava will meet the Grand Clerics in Val Royeaux, and regardless of their decision, the Inquisition will carry on. Snide words and contrariness will not sunder this cause. Go, before the guards have to escort you.”

Duretti harrumphs indignantly, but does take his leave, storming away across the snow. Mother Superion watches him go and sighs again, something she seems to do frequently. “Inside now,” she commands the lot of you. “Before any more interruptions can spring up.”

Back in the war room, you address what she said to him. “You still think I should go to the clerics in person?”

She nods. “Mother Giselle is not wrong. Right now, the Chantry’s one great strength is its unity of opinion. Strike that down, and they have nothing. We have already sent word requesting a gathering.”

You shift your weight anxiously. “I think walking into that pit of vipers will end worse for me than for them.”

Josephine smirks. “They are not vipers just because they like to hiss.”

“Puffed up cats would be a more accurate comparison,” Mother Superion concurs, sharing the ambassador’s smirk. “But I will not discount the potential danger. There are always risks. That is why I will be going with you.”

“Really?”

The Mother actually smiles at you, a small thing, but momentous. “They may call me a heretic and blasphemer if they wish, but they will have to say it to my face. We will see how fearsome they are then.”

To Val Royeaux it is, then. Word of the clerics’ agreement reaches you the following evening, and travel plans are quickly made. This time, you don’t travel with everyone. Solas and Mary both elect to stay behind. Solas makes the case that he would have nothing of special value to offer in such a circumstance, whereas his status as both an apostate and an elf could do more harm than good. Mary simply says that she doesn’t deal with “weird Chantry shit” as a personal policy, a liberty that does not extend to you. So, that leaves you, Beatrice, Camila, Lilith, and Mother Superion packing up to leave before you’ve even spent a full 72 hours back in Haven.

Unlike your long hike to the Hinterlands, you now have horses. And unlike the hike to the Hinterlands where you never had to think about it, you are now faced with the harsh reality that you don’t know how the fuck to ride one.

“It’s not terribly difficult,” Beatrice tries to reassure you. “We won’t be going faster than a trot at any given time.”

“I think anything faster than a funeral march is going to put me in the dirt,” you tell her, panic-stricken, as you stare at the line of horses outside the stable. She just laughs at you. “Beatriiiicceee,” you whine, stomping your foot like a kid.

“I’ll ride next to you,” she says, but her eyes are totally still making fun of you. “And if you start to fall off, I’ll just lasso you up and pull you straight again.”

“You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

“Around you, Ava? Definitely.”

True to her word though, she does ride along next to you, and she even lends you a hand climbing up onto your horse, a monstrous giant that Dennet calls “average size”. Its name, apparently, is Mud Pie, due to the large, irregular patches of deep brown in its otherwise pristine white coat. So that’s great. Beatrice’s horse, incidentally, is pure black and carries the much more respectable name of Drakon. It goes without saying that she hoists herself onto his back with significantly more grace than you.

“Are you some kind of secret horse whisperer?” You ask, in an effort to take your mind off the movement of the beast beneath you. Your knuckles are white on the edge of the saddle, and you make absolutely no effort to control or affect the horse’s movement as it carries you out of Haven behind Lilith and Mother Superion.

“Hardly.” Beatrice smiles brightly, clearly at ease. “I simply have more experience. Not that much, granted. After I entered the Circle in Montsimmard, there wasn’t much opportunity for riding. But I learned how as a child.”

“And you weren’t terrified?”

She laughs. “Of course I was, at first. But as with everything, I started with the basics and learned from there. Lesson number one,” she says, leaning over and gently unwrapping your death grip on the saddle. “Is to relax. Horses are intelligent creatures. They can sense nervousness and uncertainty in their rider. Straighten your spine and sit back in the saddle. Hold the reins firmly but not tightly.” She demonstrates a motion with her own hands, pulling her reins this way and that. “You direct the horse’s movement like this. This way for right, and this way for left. If you need him to stop, you pull back with both hands. It’s simple.” So she claims.

You do start to relax, slowly, as Haven slips out of view and the snowy expanse of the Frostbacks stretches out before you. It helps that your party keeps a walking pace for now. The horse (Mud Pie, you remind yourself begrudgingly) seems content to just follow the other horses in whatever direction they go.

Lilith and Mother Superion are eminently comfortable astride their own mounts. They maintain the lead all the way through the first day, as they are also evidently familiar with the route to Val Royeaux. Indeed, the only person in your group who doesn’t seem like they were born on top of a horse is Camila, though even she sits more comfortably than you. She brings up the rear of your band with Jenny, her white and gray-speckled mare. As before, she helps the long hours of travel go faster with her singing. You’re getting to be a big fan of Andraste’s Mabari, and the Ballad of Nuggins makes you laugh, and in no time you’re past the Frostbacks and descending into Orlais proper.

You sigh in relief when it becomes warm enough on the second day to shed your heavy furs and change into something breathable again. One of Harritt’s assistants stayed up late cleaning your armor to a polished sheen, but wearing it again so soon makes you intractably queasy, so much so that you strip down to just your pauldrons, bracers, and greaves over your clothes. The others take a similar approach, wearing just the basics. Even Lilith sheds her extraneous armor pieces, wearing just her vambraces, greaves, pauldrons, and chestplate. The Mage-Templar war hasn’t touched Orlais to nearly the same extent as Ferelden, and you are not harassed along the road to the capitol.

When the gates first come into view, they stun you. They are tall, ornate to the extreme, and gilded from lock to hinge. Brightly colored buildings and domes stand visible beyond them, draped in banners of red and blue and glittering in the sunlight. A long bridge made of white stone extends from the entrance across the Waking Sea, dusted with flower petals and leaves blown off the landside trees. Ships and small boats glide across the shimmering water to your right, and the city’s docks visibly bustle with activity.

“People actually live here?” You ask incredulously. You know they do, obviously, but the city’s pristine image makes it feel like something out of a painting, something unreal.

“Over 100,000,” Mother Superion tells you. “The city extends much further than this view would imply, including large sections well-hidden behind its walls.”

“Like what?”

“Like the poor quarters, and the alienage,” she says matter-of-factly, while your hands tighten on Mud Pie’s reins. You suppose you should have guessed that. You know what alienages are, conceptually: designated areas within a city for its elven residents to live. You know from half-remembered whispers in the Circle that they generally aren’t nice places to live, but you’ve never visited one to know. You’ve never seen a city like this (or any city) before, either. Your mother’s decision to hide you away at home had been absolute.

You dismount your horses at a large stable bracketing the road on both sides. You manage, through unparalleled dexterity, not to fall on your ass as you roll off of Mud Pie, who only chuffs at your efforts with an unmistakably bored expression. “Yeah whatever, buddy,” you grumble at him while you try to remember how to walk. The others, of course, have no such difficulties, and you have to limp to keep up with them as they head toward the bridge.

The sun is still bright this early into the fall, and most of the leaves haven’t changed, so the landscape is a blur of green and blue that captivates you. The golden gates shine so luminously that you have to shade your eyes, and heat radiates off the abundance of white stone to make you sweat in your leathers. It’s uncomfortable, but novel. You’ve never seen a place like this before, and despite the anxiety you’ve been stewing in since leaving Haven, you can’t help a fluttery feeling of excitement for another new experience you never dreamed of having before.

The excitement tempers when you register the atmosphere of the place. It is not dour, but solemn and distinctly somber. The streets are quiet and almost empty, and there are many black curtains and banners hanging alongside the reds and blues. You reach out and trace the seam of one that hangs low from a darkened window.

“The city still mourns,” Mother Superion comments, watching you. “Justinia’s death has shaken it to its core. I have not seen it so quiet since it was closed at the start of the civil war.”

“The civil war?” You ask. Did you mishear her? How many wars can there be at one time?

She nods with a dark expression. “The war between Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard. They battle for the throne, and have sent their armies to bloody each other in the plains at the heart of Orlais.”

“Even now? With the Breach threatening everything?”

“Even now,” she confirms grimly. “It is not enough merely to threaten the world’s end to silence these conflicts. The Breach will have to swallow the ground under their feet before they give it more than a passing thought.”

“You sound like you know.”

“I do,” she tells you. “It’s only been a decade since the Blight. Loghain Mac Tir’s name is still a curse in Ferelden. The belligerents may be different now, but men’s hearts do not change. I have seen all of this before.”

You contemplate that silently for a long moment. “How are you so sure we can help, then?”

Unexpectedly, she grins. “Because while the wickedness of mortals does not change, neither does our goodness. Wars, rulers, and empires come and go like the seasons, but as long as good people choose, again and again, to stand against darkness, the world will heal and march on. This too, I have seen before.”

You keep moving through the silent city, passing closed shops and cafes that must burst with life on any other day, and eventually turn down a long street lined with marble statues. The statues all depict a man in various positions holding his head in one hand. Each statue also has a plaque underneath it, and you stop to read one as you pass. Carefully carved and gilded text reads: “Maferath, lamenting his betrayal of Andraste.” And scrawled underneath in much more chaotic handwriting: “Maferath, walking into a low door frame.” You can’t help your loud snort of laughter or the disapproving looks it draws from the others.

Beyond the statues, just outside of a large square of some sort, an Inquisition scout waits in the shade. She is hooded like the one you saw Mother Superion talk to in Haven. Go figure, then, that the Mother is not surprised by her presence, skipping introductions and jumping straight into questioning.

“Report,” she commands the scout.

“The Chantry Mothers await you, Nightingale, Lady Herald,” the scout says, nodding deferentially to Superion and then to you. “But so do a great many Templars.”

You all share looks of surprise. “There are Templars here?” Superion asks.

The scout nods. “People seem to think the Templars will protect them from… well, from the Inquisition!”

“They wish to protect the people from us?” Beatrice repeats, stunned.

You scowl, anger swirling in your gut. “Protect them from me, more like. From the lying demon they think I am.”

“But surely, they can’t believe such a thing!”

You wave in the direction of the square beyond, feeling downright contemptuous. “Why not? They would be right in line with the Chantry.”

“No, something’s not right about that,” Lilith cuts in, shaking her head. “Lord Seeker Lucius would not come to the Chantry’s aid after everything that’s happened. They must be here for something else.” She looks at Mother Superion. “This could be our chance to speak with him and form an alliance.” She sounds hopeful, even confident. “The people will see the Inquisition and loyal Templars as a united front.”

To the Void with that, you think. Lilith is delusional if she believes you or any sensible person would ally with the Templars. Something also nags at the back of your mind, something that feels like sadness. It’s your Friend’s sadness, you realize, and it’s directed at Lilith. Why? You ask Her, but only receive more of the feeling in response.

“Perhaps,” Mother Superion concedes, but there is doubt in every letter of the word. To the hooded scout, she says, “Return to Haven. Someone will need to inform them if we are…” Her lips twist as though reacting to a bad taste. “Delayed.”

“Yes, Nightingale,” the scout chirps obediently. She puts her fist over her heart, bows first to Mother Superion, and then to you. “Good luck, my Lady Herald. I pray for your success.”

Please don’t, you nearly say, biting your tongue until she’s gone.

“Let’s go,” Mother Superion says to you all. “Let us see how the game pieces have aligned themselves.”

The square is large and, contrary to its terminology, round. A small but ostentatious tower sits in its center, surrounded by 4 pedestals topped with large, glittering lions. Vaguely, you remember that lions are the special animal or whatever for the imperial family, so go figure that they’d fucking line the streets with them. Shops and fancy apartments mark out the borders of the square, and already you can see faces peering down at you from open windows.

You discover that everyone here is masked. Men and women both cover their faces to some extent, though not enough to prevent anyone from identifying them if they went without. Some cover only their eyes or one half of their face, and each mask shines in a variety of colors. The overall effect is somewhere between comedic and unsettling. Comedic because wearing such ineffectual masks is so stupid that the jokes write themselves. Unsettling because the masks accentuate rather than conceal the shock, fear, and intrigue on their owners’ faces as you walk by.

Mother Superion ushers you past the creepy onlookers and toward a large stage at the back of the square. A woman in Chantry garb stands on it, with other clerics at her back, and several Templars are positioned around it, ostensibly as guards like the scout suggested. But something doesn’t feel right, which, when discussing Templars, is really saying something. There’s a coldness in their faces that you know well, but it isn’t directed at you, as they haven’t seen you yet. They stand tall and stiff, scanning the crowd, giving the impression that they’re waiting for something, and when they finally do see you, their expressions do not change.

“Hold steady,” Mother Superion advises you quietly, as the rest of the crowd catches on. “That is Revered Mother Hevarra. She is known for her theatrics, and I believe the show is about to begin.”

The woman on the stage, Hevarra, regards you with arrogance, superiority, and just a hint of fear. She waits for you to get within a few yards of the stage before speaking. “Good people of Val Royeaux,” she addresses the crowd. “Together, we mourn our Divine. Her naive and beautiful heart silenced by treachery!” In your peripheral vision, you see Mother Superion’s hands tighten around her cane. “You wonder what will become of her murderer. Well, wonder no more!” The woman says, before pointing directly at you. “Behold, the so-called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved Justinia fell. We say that this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage in our time of need!” Again, you see Beatrice stiffen in distress, her hands tightening into fists.

The swirling in your gut becomes a whirlpool. Before the woman can continue her diatribe, you stalk up to the foot of the stage, uncaring of the Templars or the hand Superion puts on your arm to hold you back. “Oh, shut up!” You yell, eliciting gasps from the crowd. “You have some balls to stand up there acting high and mighty when all you do is spit self-serving lies. You agreed to meet with us and this is what you do? There’s a fucking hole in the sky and demons everywhere, and you’re talking shit about the only people trying to stop it!” You turn to look at the crowd, who collectively take a step back. “So what if I’m a mage? So what if I’m not chosen by the Maker? Huh? When the demons come knocking on your door, are you going to debate theology with them? Will you take satisfaction in sticking by your bullshit biases as they rip you apart? Or are you gonna get off your asses and help us fix this mess?”

“It’s true!” Mother Superion says, changing her mind and coming to stand at your side. “The Inquisition seeks only to end this madness before it is too late!”

Heavy, marching footsteps interrupt before either of you can say anything else. The Templar guards abruptly turn and walk away, heading toward a mass of armored bodies now approaching the stage. “It is already too late!” Hevarra says as the horde grows closer. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more!”

The Templars are led by a man in Seeker armor with a hard face and graying hair. He and another step onto the stage, and at his nod, the second man walks up to Hevarra and punches her square in the face. She falls to the floor with a cry and the crowd gasps in shock. You merely blink, your brain taking a second longer to register what just happened. When it does, you look up at the gray-haired Seeker.

“Bold entrance,” you tell him. “But who exactly are you trying to impress?”

He sneers down at you. “Not you, assuredly.”

You cross your arms as a familiar urge wells up inside you: the urge to be a little shit to a Templar. “Good to hear, because I’m not impressed. You didn’t even hit her yourself, you just told your one-punch chump to do it.”

His lip curls into a snarl before he turns wordlessly on his heel and starts to march off the stage, leaving the Chantry mother lying there in a heap. You watch him step down, your body tensed in case he tries to start anything, but it’s for nothing. Instead, he just keeps walking, until Lilith rushes past you to catch up to him.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” she says, somewhat breathlessly. “It is imperative that we speak with—”

“You will not address me,” he spits without looking at her.

She stops in her tracks. “Lord Seeker?”

Lucius spares her only a glance. “Creating a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste’s prophet. You should be ashamed, Lilith.” He spits her name like a curse, and she recoils as if struck. He then looks past her to the crowd, the Chantry clerics, and you. “You should all be ashamed! The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages! You are the ones who failed. You who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear! There will be no return. I will make this Order a force that stands against the void. We will excise the disease of mages from this world without you!” He turns to his knights. “Templars! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection! We march!”

With that, he leaves, the knights falling into formation behind him. Lilith stands in his wake like a statue, speechless. You don't know what's going through her head, but you now keenly understand your Friend’s sadness. Lilith carried a lot of hope with her before coming here, and you just watched this Lucius guy destroy it with one punch. The deeper irony is not lost on you either. The knight-captain had been a fool. If he had only followed orders, he would have gotten exactly what he wanted. Lilith slew him for deserting, for choosing to fight on his own, only to find out now that the Lord Seeker intends to wage the same war.

You approach her slowly and carefully, coming up next to her where she can see you in her periphery. Startling her, you think, would be a very bad idea right now. “Lilith?” Her hands clench into fists, her gaze lingering on the Lord Seeker’s back as he gets further and further away.

“What is this?” You hear her whisper. “Has he gone mad?”

And oof, you are so not the right person to be having this conversation. You gulp to clear your throat before speaking again. “Do you… know him well?”

She exhales roughly. “He became our leader after Lord Seeker Lambert’s death. He’s a good man, he would never… I don’t understand this.”

“Could he calm down enough to talk?” The question alone puts a bitter taste in your mouth, but truth be told you aren’t asking it seriously. You ask because you have the increasing sense, punctuated by your Friend’s melancholy, that Lilith may be starting to spiral, and that won’t be good for anyone.

“I… I don’t know,” she admits.

“We’ll find another way.” It’s all you can think of, but it’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because she flinches, turns on her heel, and storms away, out of the square and back toward the city gates without a word or a glance backward. You look to your other companions, who seem almost as surprised as you. Only Mother Superion looks unfazed. She says something quietly to Camila and pats her shoulder. Camila smiles gratefully, and then takes off in the same direction.

“I don’t know what I said,” you tell the remaining two helplessly.

Superion sighs. “I suspect there was nothing you could have said. We will leave her be for now. Camila will look after her.” Her sharp eyes then turn back to the stage. “We are not finished here just yet.” You and Beatrice share a look as she leads you both back toward the platform, where Mother Hevarra is struggling to sit up, clutching her face and being doted on by two of the other clerics. Hevarra’s eyes latch onto Superion.

“This victory must please you greatly, Sister Suzanne,” she hisses, but the words don’t hit the same. She looks, and sounds, utterly defeated.

Mother Superion shakes her head solemnly. “We came here only wishing to speak with you and the other Grand Clerics, Hevarra. I’m afraid that this is your doing, not ours.”

Hevarra scoffs quietly. “And you had no part in forcing our hand? You know exactly what you do, you always have. And now we have been shown up by our own Templars, in front of everyone. And my fellow clerics have scattered to the wind, along with their convictions.” She looks at you, and her eyes, cloud gray, hold on yours. “Just tell me one thing, then. If you do not believe you are the Maker’s chosen, then what are you?”

Fate’s bitch, you think darkly. That’s been the story of your life thus far. “A victim of circumstance,” you rephrase. “Trying to make the best of things.”

She considers this. “That is… more comforting than you might imagine.” She gingerly probes the darkening bruise on her face and winces. “I suppose it is out of our hands now. We shall all see what the Maker plans in the days to come.”

“What do you believe about me, really?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

She is silent for a moment, and mournful. “Our Divine, Her Holiness, is dead. I have seen evidence for everything except what would comfort me.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

She sighs. “For you to be true, a great many things must be false. And if you are false, a great many things must have failed. I fear your existence will bring chaos, whatever your intentions.”

“Chaos was already here,” you tell her frankly. “Things aren’t suddenly bad now because of the Breach, or the war.”

“That may be, but I fear what more may come if we are unable to restore normality, return to the way things were before.”

“The way things were before was awful,” you say fiercely. “Disgusting. Broken. There’s no going back to that.”

Mother Superion nods. “Your words have merit, Ava. The old way has clearly failed us. It has created the very situation we find ourselves in now. It must change, and we must change with it.”

“Are we capable of that?” Hevarra asks. “After falling so far?”

“Trust in the Maker,” Superion tells her. “As Her Holiness did when she penned the Writ.” There is grief in her voice, heavy and thick, but her words don’t falter.

“The one who repents, who has faith, Unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace.” You turn to look at Beatrice in surprise. She stands with head bowed and one hand over her heart. A position of prayer. Seeing it makes your heart hurt, but you don’t know why.

“Well said, Beatrice,” Mother Superion compliments. To Hevarra, she continues, “Justinia’s faith is the foundation of the Inquisition. She believed we could find a better way.”

Hevarra shuts her eyes tiredly. “I hope against hope that she was right.”

The conversation ends on a whimper rather than a bang. The other clerics help Hevarra to her feet and escort her away, the crowd begins to disperse, and the three of you are left standing alone in the square.

“I cannot say this turned out the way I would have liked,” Mother Superion said. You snort softly at the obvious understatement. “But it is good that we came here. We have learned a great deal from this encounter.”

“Like what?” You ask, brow furrowing.

“About who our true enemies are, for one thing,” she says, before giving you a speculative look that makes you twitch. “And about ourselves. While I would have perhaps said it differently, your address to the people was inspired, Ava. Your passion and sincerity were plain for all to see.”

You blush and scratch at your neck. “I was just angry. That’s nothing special.”

“Perhaps, but anger turned to righteous purpose is often the first building block of change. It is something to be tempered, not suppressed. You did well.”

In your periphery, you see Beatrice smile at you, warm and encouraging. Your face heats even more. Shit, are you sweating again? “Th-thank you.”

Mother Superion nods briskly. “You’re welcome. Now, our business here is concluded. We should find our wayward duo and return to Haven.”

As you leave the square and make your way past the Maferath statues, a man steps out of the shade to greet you. “My ladies, if I may have but a moment of your time?” He smiles warmly at the three of you with his hands clasped behind his back. He is middle-aged, with light brown skin and thinning, curly hair. He wears gray robes accented with silver and a sapphire brooch pinned to his chest.

Superion regards him suspiciously. “A moment, perhaps, but no more, sir.”

“That is all I require. Thank you, Mother Superion.” She frowns, visibly unsettled by him knowing her title. He keeps smiling, turning from her to address you. “My Lady, I am Enchanter Kristian, formerly of the White Spire, and I am here to extend to you an invitation from Grand Enchanter Jillian Salvius.”

“Jillian Salvius?” Beatrice repeats with a look of shock and unease. She crosses her arms over her chest and regards him with a piercing stare, imposing as a lioness. “What business does the leader of the rebellion have with us?”

“We heard that this gathering was taking place, and Jillian asked me to come and observe,” he tells her, unfazed. “To see if the rumors were true, and to offer an earnest suggestion.”

You cross your arms, trying to mirror Beatrice’s stance. “A suggestion for what?”

“If you are looking for assistance in stopping the Breach,” he says. “Then you should perhaps seek it amongst your own kind.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You want to help us stop the Breach? Why now, when you wouldn’t speak to us before?”

“Before, we didn’t know what to make of you,” he states plainly. “You emerged quite suddenly after all, freshly in the wake of the Conclave. After such a shocking turn of events, it was difficult to know who we could trust. Your arrival in the Hinterlands was especially troubling, but your extraordinary actions there have given us a fuller understanding of the situation.”

“So are you or are you not going to help us?” You ask, cutting past his wordiness to the best of your ability. You’re sure this guy would get along splendidly with Solas, to the detriment of everyone around them.

“We are willing to discuss it with the Inquisition, at least. An alliance could help us both,” he says. “Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe: come meet with your fellow mages, and put aside any Chantry propaganda you may have heard. Jillian is a formidable and admirable woman, and she understands the threat that the Breach poses. I have no doubt that we can join our sides and discover the solution together.” He bows briefly. “But I have now said my piece. I won’t ask for any further concession on your time.” He straightens, and smiles at you again. “Good day, my Lady Herald. I hope to see you again soon.”

With that, he leaves, turning down a side street before disappearing out of sight.

“Well, this day gets more interesting by the minute,” Mother Superion says. She graces you with a wry smirk. “If there’s one great feat Val Royeaux can claim, it’s that life here is never boring.”

“I don’t trust him,” Beatrice says hotly, her arms still folded over her chest, knuckles white. “How could he know about the gathering today? Even if the Chantry had made a public announcement the moment they received our request, that news could not have reached Redcliffe soon enough for them to send an emissary.”

“Likely, he was already in the city, or at least nearby,” Mother Superion speculates calmly. “Jillian is sure to have spies spread throughout Orlais. It would be foolish not to, and she is no fool.”

“Do you know her?” You ask curiously.

She shakes her head. “We have never met, but I know her by reputation. She did not become Grand Enchanter through luck.”

“Even more reason not to trust her then,” Beatrice insists. Your brow furrows, and you study her tight-lipped expression. She’s really worked up about this.

Mother Superion notices too, and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Calm, Beatrice. I suggested nothing of the sort.” Beatrice relaxes under her touch, but only begrudgingly. “However, the offer is on the table now. It’s our move, so to speak. We will have much to discuss upon our return. Let’s not tarry any longer.”

You find Lilith and Camila waiting at the stables with your horses. Lilith doesn’t seem any happier, and Camila looks tense, but they don’t protest when told to saddle their horses for departure. Mud Pie stands patiently while you scramble onto his back again, and you think that maybe you should have been born a horse. They don’t seem to worry about holes in the sky, political alliances, or saving the world. It must be nice.

#warrior nun #dragon age #da: inquisition #dragon age au #ava silva #sister beatrice #my writing #i hope this reads well because I didn't get as much time with it as I would have liked #also lmao i'm just making up the verse numbers from the chant #the verses are real but the wiki doesn't number them like bible verses so lololol whatever #it's time to introduce some new characters now babyyyyy #starting with the Iron Lady herself

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rosella-writes · 2 years

Note

Maybe I've asked something similar before for dadwc but maybe for early relationship / pre relationship solavellan, solas seeing Virelan interacting with children? Perhaps telling a story or listening to one?

So this wound up more like... VERY pre-relationship lol. Thank you!!

for @dadrunkwriting

Rating: G Pairing: Virelan Lavellan x Solas

~~~

Virelan did not listen.

She was proud, self-absorbed, arrogant — Solas gnawed the inside of his cheek every time he longed to correct her, for he knew she would disregard his words without a thought. She had always snapped back at him before, so what was the purpose of such futility if not to simply hear himself speak? She would just stare levelly at him, shake her head slightly, and go on as if he had not spoken.

There were a few instances where she had lingered, wordless but for a few prodding questions and grunts to continue, as he had spoken. He'd once spent an afternoon in Haven seated beside her on a low stone wall, gesticulating irritably as he attempted to reason her through the personhood of spirits. She had pricked and prodded him with ignorant questions and senseless counterarguments, as if forming them simply to mock him, he was certain of it. Surely she was laughing at him, even if none of that mirth showed on her face.

Solas had allowed, for a brief moment, that perhaps she would not have wasted more and more time with him if she were simply disregarding it all. She seemed only irritated in his presence, as if his very existence rankled, but returned day after day. He spoke to her until he was hoarse, sometimes late into the night, and went to bed more frustrated and confused than he had upon rising that day.

It was only now, at the Crossroads in the Hinterlands, that some of the puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

He paused while removing ram meat from his pack, eyes trained on the Herald, and slowly placed the paper-wrapped package into the hunter's hands. He accepted the man's thanks with a mute nod and took a seat by the fire, busying himself with readjusting their equipment, as he watched her.

It was as if she couldn't stand idle. She had found two children, both human, huddled about a fire — she settled a wool blanket from the apostate caches they'd found around their shoulders, then knelt to their level. The children's mouths moved — too far away for him to hear what they said — and Virelan simply nodded.

Solas recognised the look on her face now. Her brows were furrowed, and she encouraged the children with little nods as they grew more animated in their tale-telling. She pushed back dirty, stringy hair from the girl's forehead, then licked her thumb and scrubbed a bit of dirt from the boy's cheek.

Her eyes held the same intense, level gaze that they did whenever he spoke. When she spoke up, it seemed clear it was to clarify whatever the children had said — they were quick to shake their heads and seemingly correct her, which she accepted with a mere furrow of her brow. When she rose to her feet and patted them both on their shoulders before turning away, Solas looked down at his pack and busied himself.

Her footsteps were nearly silent, but the soft clinking of her axe on her back gave her away. She squatted beside him at the fire, arms on her knees, and accepted a bit of cooked ram from the hunter with an inclination of her head.

"Orphans," she said without preamble. She gestured with a shrug of one shoulder at the children behind her. "Mother lived down the road in one of those cabins we passed. Kept a farmstead and traded in Redcliffe. They said there's a curse on the house now, one that killed their ma."

"Quite the tale," Solas said drily. "I am surprised you had the patience to pry it from them."

Virelan grunted and took a bite of her meat. When he looked aside at her, her glare into the fire seemed like a thoughtful one. The lines of her face made more sense, cast this way.

"I don't think it's a curse," she finally said. "That's just what they understand, how they can explain it. Said a ghost got their ma. Sounds demony to me."

"A rift?" he asked.

"A rift," she confirmed, meeting his eyes. A sharp little smile flitted across her face. "Wanna go close it?"

Solas closed his pack. "Yes. Let's."

#dadwc #my writing #solavellan #solas #virelan lavellan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #virelan x solas

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solavillain · 2 years

Text

Solavellan Playlist + Song Explanation

So this is mostly a lil compilation thing for me that I’ve wanted to do but I figured some folks might find it interesting! This will probably be quite a long post so after the first couple songs I will put it under a read-more. I’m also making two parts since this is A Lot and I don’t want to post walls of text lol.

To start, here is the playlist I’ve put together :) Tis Spotify. I’ll preface with the fact that this entire playlist is an attempt to chronologically catalog the Solavellan relationship, and I especially think of the songs from the Inquisitor’s perspective as being from my own Inky’s POV.

1. Lost Elf Theme – Trevor Morris

Though this song plays at the end of Trespasser - and even plays after the Dark Solas Theme - I feel like this song encompasses both the beginning and end of Solas’ journey in Inquisition/Trespasser. He awakes in an entirely new world, centuries apart from everything and everyone he knew. He is, quite literally, a lost elf. Beyond that, the song seems to have some small motifs from the Thedas Love Theme, which is especially heartbreaking as a Lavellan romancing Solas.

2. Six – Sleeping At Last

What would it feel like

To put this baggage down?

If I'm being honest

I'm not sure I'd know how

…

Fear won't go away

But I can keep it at bay

These invisible walls

Just might keep us safe

These were the lines that drew me to this song first as a Solas POV song. He is very clearly a man on a mission from the get-go, still so torn up inside over what has been done to his people by the Evanuris as well as himself – but knowing that he needs to push forward and bottle all of that up if he is to succeed in righting the wrong he caused with the Orb.

3. Viva la Vida – Coldplay

I used to rule the world

Seas would rise when I gave the word

Now in the morning, I sleep alone

Sweep the streets I used to own

…

One minute, I held the key

Next, the walls were closed on me

And I discovered that my castles stand

Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

So I know Solas/Fen’Harel was never technically a king, nor even really a god (as far as he has told us, that is). But these lines as well as the general vibe of this song just fit him so well - he never wanted to be “king”, never wanted to have to close off the Fade, or lie to those in the Inquisition. But he felt he must.

4. I’m With You – Avril Lavigne

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?

Won't somebody come take me home?

It's a damn cold night

Trying to figure out this life

Won't you take me by the hand?

Take me somewhere new

I don't know who you are

But I, I'm with you

I'm with you

Ilaera is thrust into the Inquisition suddenly after the events at the Conclave. She had expected to discover information for her clan, and return home to hopefully be made First. But the anchor and Corypheus derailed her life entirely. Her one comfort in the whirlwind of the early days of the Inquisition was Solas. A fellow mage and elf, she would stand outside his small hut at Haven for hours listening to his stories and musings, when he would let her. I think this song is a good representation of her growing attachment to him, when she was first falling for him.

5. Heart’s A Mess – Gotye

Let me in

Where only your thoughts have been

Let me occupy your mind

As you do mine

…

Your heart's a mess

You won't admit to it

It makes no sense

But I'm desperate to connect

And you, you can't live like this

I envision this song as Ilaera pleading with Solas quietly to just let her in. Especially after the move to Skyhold and their subsequent meeting/kiss in the Fade, he still continues to hold her at arms length, acting friendlier with her than the others perhaps, but not allowing himself to get any closer. At the time, of course, Ilaera doesn’t know why he’s acting that way, so it’s hard not to feel just a little hurt by his ignoring of the moment they had shared.

6. Drumming Song – Florence + The Machine

There's a drumming noise inside my head

That starts when you're around

I swear that you could hear it

It makes such an almighty sound

…

As I move my feet towards your body

I can hear this beat, it fills my head up

And gets louder and louder

It fills my head up and gets louder and louder

At this point, just before Solas and the Inquisitor embark on his mission to rescue his spirit friend, she is consumed by her feelings for him, especially now that they seem to be either unrequited or that Solas is unwilling to act upon them. Every mission in the field, every late night at Skyhold, even her dreams are filled with thoughts of him. She puts on a calm exterior now that she has been appointed Inquisitor, but on the inside she’s burning for him, and I think this song reflects that perfectly.

7. Who Knows – Avril Lavigne

How do you always have an opinion?

And how do you always find

The best way to compromise?

We don't need to have a reason

We don't need anything

We're just wasting time

I think there's something more

Life's worth living for

…

Find yourself

'Cause I can't find you

Be yourself

Who are you?

Solas has returned from his time spent mourning, and has told Ilaera that he could hardly abandon her now - that she had been a true friend in doing what she could to help the spirit. He seems changed, however - softer, more open. This song reflects the hope that occurs just before their trist on the balcony - I feel like the Inquisitor can sense his resolve about their relationship here. But she also wants him to stop wasting time deliberating, and to figure himself out before continuing anything.

8. Two – Sleeping At Last

Sweetheart, you look a little tired

When did you last eat?

Come in and make yourself right at home

Stay as long as you need

Tell me, is something wrong?

If something's wrong, you can count on me

You know I'll take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat

…

I don't even know where to start

Already tired of trying to recall when it all fell apart

I just want to love you, to love you, to love you well

I just want to learn how, somehow, to be loved myself

This song can be from either perspective, though I enjoy thinking of it as a Solas song for the most part. For a brief time he is fully committed to Ilaera, thinking that perhaps he can find a way to live in this world and accept it the way it is, Veil intact. He would likely be especially doting during this time, trying to take care of his vhenan, but not quite knowing how to let her do the same in return.

9. arms – Christina Perri

I never thought that You would be the one to hold my heart

But you came around

And you knocked me off the ground from the start

You put your arms around me

And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go

You put your arms around me and I'm home

This song is an interesting one. Half of it can be from Lavellan’s perspective, as in the stanza above (also… the first three lines are also from MY perspective, lol. I did NOT expect Solas to be who I liked most from the Inquisition romance options). But later in the song you can view it from Solas’ perspective, since it goes on to lament not being able to open up so easily - especially with the line I’ll never let a love get so close.

10. Cosmic Love – Florence + The Machine

I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map

And knew that somehow I could find my way back

Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too

So I stayed in the darkness with you

At this point in the playlist I just started adding a couple love songs without complete direction, though I think this stanza is fitting for Solavellan. I like to think that they had at least a few months of happiness before the scene at Crestwood…

11. Good Enough – Evanescence

Under your spell again

I can't say no to you

Crave my heart and it's bleeding in your hand

I can't say no to you

Shouldn't let you torture me so sweetly

Now I can't let go of this dream

I can't breathe but I feel

Good enough

Above everything else, Solas has always been someone Ilaera admired, even looked up to in terms of magical knowledge and practice. And with his hesitancy after their kiss in the Fade, it’s not hard to see why she would feel a bit “less than” in their relationship once it began in earnest. I think at this point in their journey, though, she would finally feel good enough - to consider herself his equal, if not in strength or power or knowledge than emotionally. And she can only dream that he feels the same.

12. Thedas Love Theme – Trevor Morris

This marks the halfway point on the playlist as well as their relationship - though I’m putting it as the signifier for the Crestwood scene. It may be the last scene we get of them in the main game (until after Corypheus is defeated, though that’s not exclusively a romance scene), but due to Trespasser, it’s only half of their story. That scene is also the first time the Inquisitor is able to tell Solas she loves him - albeit in a desperate attempt to get him to change his mind and stay with her. I think it’s a fitting transition for the next half of their story and the playlist, however!

If you read all of this, thank you for reading my ramblings and probably way too detailed thoughts on this ship lmao, I am clearly deep in my feelings about it. I will do another one of these posts soon for the second half of the playlist, which will be all angst and yearning and anger! Hehe.

#solavellan #solas #dragon age solas #solas x lavellan #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #inquisitior #lavellan inquisitor #fen'harel #dread wolf #dragon age #da inquisition

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thebookworm0001 · 2 years

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"Don't look at me like that" for the prompt ask? :D

Thank you so much for the prompt!!!

This went silly, then sexy, then silly again. Enjoy!!

ao3 link: here

Ellana avoided looking at the heavy door that led to the rotunda, hoping her purposeful gait would ward off any stray visitors or companions from catching her attention before she found her way into the undercroft. Neither Dagna nor Harritt were in their customary spots, a fact which Ellana breathed a sigh of relief over. Both the old blacksmith and new arcanist were fine enough company, but she worried that one of them might somehow read her thoughts if she spoke to them. Especially Danga. She wouldn’t put it past the dwarf to have made a device that would let her project another’s thoughts into the air as an amusing side project in-between curing the Blight and designing an enchantment to permanently seal demons in the Fade. Though Ellana had a sneaking suspicion she was working on other, less world-altering projects in the Herald’s Rest. Something that involved honey, if not bees themselves. Hopefully it would keep her occupied long enough for Ellana to spend her day unnoticed.

She made her way to the weapons forge, where raw supplies and discarded scraps lay scattered from the past days’ work. Harriet had been experimenting with new designs for the inquisition’s warriors with little success. Ellana, at least, had a schematic in mind - a new attempt at a war hammer for Bull. It needed to be sturdy, so the Reaver’s preference for Dawnstone wasn’t an option, but she figured finding a suitable metal with enough pink to satisfy her friend would take her the better part of the day. An alloy, perhaps. Or a plating if possible.

Ellana was deep into her calculations to determine how she might combine molten silverite and drakestone into a suitable whole when the door to the undercroft lurched open, and she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound.

The unfortunate servant apologized profusely, but insisted their message was urgent. Ellana had thanked him, glanced at the still-warm seal on the letter, and decided if it were urgent enough another messenger would find their way to her. It was a sentiment which proved true enough, with several servants from various parts of the castle arriving with missives, each of white she directed to deposit their envelopes and pieces of parchment onto a nearby work-bench. When it became clear none were returning to request a more timely response, she settled into her work. She began shaping the weapon itself, determining weight and composition and balance, and left the growing pile of papers to speak for itself.

By the time the setting sun began to tint the sky beyond the undercroft’s balcony pink and orange, Ellana had long since grown deaf to the opening and closing of the heavy wooden door. Neither Danga nor Harriet had returned, occupied by whatever obligations they held beyond the forge’s walls, and so when the door opened again, she paid whomever entered through it no mind. But when they cleared their throat, a polite and apologetic noise, she froze. Then her whole body turned hot.

“Inquisitor,” Solas greeted her stiffly. “I was wondering if we might discuss what you experienced in the Fade last night.”

“I-“ If it were possible for her face to become more flushed, Ellana was certain she rivaled dragon fire for color. And heat. She set her tools aside and stretched her fingers. She kept her gaze focused on the way she bent each digit back against the muscle memory that ached to curl them against her palm. “It wasn’t as though I planned to- even with the anchor and the exercises I can’t control-”

Images of her dream flashed across her mind. The innocent beginnings. Haven’s courtyard. A conversation so like the ones they’d had in the Inquisition’s early days. The sun was warm on her face and bringing a light to his that she’d so rarely seen. Solas glowed. New freckles forming on his cheekbones and the deep-set lines fading from his face. She couldn’t help herself from reaching out to touch. And when she had, he’d caught her thumb between his lips. She’d pulled back, startled, then suddenly found herself caught up in his arms, pressed tightly against him in a way… it had been years. And the warmth then was different. Calmer, more languid. This was a new warmth. Insistent. Needing. It made her grasp at his sides and her thoughts silent to everything but his mouth against hers. And the distant fact that his bed lay mere feet beyond the doorway behind them. Nearly as soon as that knowledge made its presence known, she had found herself inside. The edge of his mattresses pressed against the back of her thighs, and her stomach flipped at the way his hands slid down her body to cup her ass.

Then the air had shifted, little more than a breeze off the mountain, and her attention was drawn to the figure who had appeared in the now-open doorway. The world froze, floor and furniture alike icing over, when she realized it was Solas. Solas who was watching her, cheeks pink and lips parted, as she’d practically flung herself at an imitation of his form. The spirit, for that’s what it had been, sighed, then dragged itself away from her. Tendrils of desire clung to her as it dissipated into the blurred edges of her dream. Then she, blessedly, woke herself. Only to find the dream still lingering in her body and mind and her spirit too wracked with embarrassment to do anything about it one way or the other.

She had successfully avoided Solas, and this conversation, until now.

“I will try to ensure it does not happen again.”

“That is not necessary.” He spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. Ellana’s gaze shot to Solas, whose eyes were wide as though surprised at himself. She sat, frozen, as he cleared his voice. “What I mean to say is,” he said, slower now, “dreams of that nature, lucid or otherwise, are not unnatural. Spirits of Desire are some of the oldest and strongest beings in the Fade. In my journeys, only beings of Pride rival their number. To be visited by one is rather common. Though I understand you may have less experience with them than some.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, but gave no other sign of emotion. “I wanted to assure you that there was no harm in exploring such… encounters. Given reasonable boundaries.” He nodded his head once, an action that seemed designed to reassure himself of the end of his lecture rather than signal any sort of approval on his part.

“Reasonable boundaries,” she squeaked. She could have slapped herself. Creators, why couldn’t she have just thanked him and gone back to pretending like she didn’t exist. Or spontaneously combust. Blame it on a demon and be done with the conversation.

“I- yes.” He wet his lips. “A spirit is no more a dangerous partner than any made of flesh. So long as all parties are not pushed into actions they would not otherwise take, there is no harm in letting a dream take its course. Should the dreamer be aware, there would be other considerations. But as you said, you were not conscious of your actions.” Solas’s cheeks turned pink, the color spreading from his face to his ears and neck.

Ellana shifted her weight from foot to foot, lowering her eyes from his gaze. It was some consolation to know he was equally as mortified by his observation as she. But that didn’t dismiss the yawning pit in her stomach. Or the thought that perhaps jumping from the retaining wall of the undercroft was, in fact, an appropriate way to avoid ever encountering Solas again. Though she doubted anyone would be inclined to agree with her. Instead, she tried to find the words that would release them from their discomfort without simply walking away. They deserved the dignity of a half-assed excuse, surely. One would not come to her, however. Instead, she continued staring at the floor like a da’len caught thrown on their ass by an angry halla.

In the end, she decided she would simply say farewell and nurse her injured pride in a cold bath. But when she managed to meet his eyes again, embarrassment was not the only thing she saw there. His pupils were wide, darkening his soft gray eyes into a deep black where a familiar hunger lived. She had seen it before - when she had kissed him in the Fade, and he’d responded by pulling her onto his leg and returning her stolen pack with a fervor matched only in Cassandra’s smutty literature. The idea that Solas was embarrassed not for intruding on her lurid dreams, but for something else entirely…

Somehow the thought made her stand up straighter. In the past, such kinds of attention had made her shrink. Or, given from Anhen, culminated in evenings which she was glad to share with him, but could not find it within herself to seek out on her own. The instinct to press forward, to pursue, had never been natural to her. But the spark of it caught, somehow, and her curiosity of where it might take her seemed enough to put aside her thoughts of fleeing.

“And,” she said, turning her head and looking up through her lashes, half-hiding behind the stray locks that had fallen from her braid, “If I had been conscious?”

The air grew thick around them, and Solas swallowed. His lips parted as he searched for words, then closed. He lowered his brows and lines of concern decorated his forehead.

Shit.

She shouldn’t have pushed. New feelings aside, he had asked for time. This, whatever this was, was not time. And this was not the time or the place or Creators anywhere close to the appropriate circumstance to bring up that conversation again. She cursed herself again, and readied an apology.

She did not have the chance to utter it.

“I suppose it would depend.” He took a step toward her, and she had to lean her head back to see his face.

“On?” she breathed.

“Whether you were seeking an encounter with a spirit.” His fingers wrapped around the tail of her braid. “Or the imitation of another’s company.” Ellana’s hair stood on end as his fingers ghosted over her skin. “If it is the former, that would be between the spirit and yourself.” He tilted his head as if examining how the tendrils of her hair fell over his hands was his singular focus. He tangled his fingers in the ends of the leather cord that held her plait together. She wondered if he would untie it. “If it is the latter…” His gaze traveled up, and landed on her lips. “There are occasions, rare as they may be, when the Fade alone cannot do the waking world justice.” The long delicate lines of his fingers traveled up her neck and rested beneath her chin. His thumb teased her lower lip, the very edge of a time-worn callus tracing its outline. Light from the setting sun bounced off the mountains, scattering droplets of rose and gold along the high plains of his face. It was though the gold leaf he favored in his murals found a new canvas to adorn. In her mind’s eye, she reached out to brush the gilding from his cheeks. And in the waking world, her body followed.

His face was so very close to hers. Slivers of the soft purple in his eyes shone in the dusk light. And his lips. When she turned her gaze to them, she could not pull it away. How could she have not recognized she was dreaming? The spirit has achieved the broad strokes of him but had not managed the details. It had not managed the gentle curl of his ears or the slight hook to his nose. It had not remembered the bags under his eyes - fine circles won from age and experience rather than a lack of sleep. Nor did it remember the small split in his lip, newly pink and healed, from their last excursion to the Hinterlands. She hadn’t seen him take the blow that caused it, only the bloody aftermath. He’d allowed her to attempt to heal it, an improvement from the last time she’d asked to practice her meager skills in that kind of magic. Her hand had hovered over his lips, a pale blue light tinting his face, and the wound had knitted itself shut. It had taken her too long to pull away. But he had not moved away either.

Warmth bloomed on her waist, and a lithe hand urged her forward. Solas spoke, a string of elvhen whose meaning was lost behind the rush in her ears and the way the whole of her attention was focused on the way he cradled her jaw in his hand. But his words were delicious. Foreign as they were, she knew that much. And she wanted to taste them. To swallow them as he spoke and learn their meaning from his tongue. His mouth was mere moments from hers. If she tilted her chin just so…

Ice doused her body as the ancient creak of the undercroft door sent adrenaline pouring into her veins. Ellana sprang backwards, heart hammering in her every cell, only to be held tight by the sudden shift of Solas’s grip to her hand and neck. His fingers dug into her flesh, seeking the center of the Anchor and her pulse. The tension in his skin and the glow of the magic in her palm turned his fingers a sickly, pale green.

“Oh! Goodness!” From the corner of her eye, Ellana saw Dagna light up. “Are you studying the Anchor? It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Her arcanist was ever cheery. And apparently oblivious to the nature of the scene she’d interrupted. Otherwise Josie had managed to overlook quite the diplomatic resource. Regardless, Solas gave no indication that his presence was anything more than professional.

“Indeed,” he said, eyes fixed to the center of her palm. “Beautiful and dangerous in equal measure.” His fingers slid across the delicate skin on her throat to the back of her neck, a movement easily written off as a shift of his grip as he measured her pulse. But it left his thumb resting on her pulse, a placement that made it all too easy to confuse another’s heartbeat with one’s own, and his fingers had found their way into her hair. He still did not look at her.

“I know; it’s amazing! Like a little piece of the Fade is stuck in her hand.” She let out a small, excitable noise. “Since you’re here, do you think I could take more samples? The first ones already told us so much - I can’t imagine what we might learn from how it’s changed over time.”

Solas’s lip twitched. “I suppose,” he said, “that would fall to the Inquisitor. I see no harm in it. And she has been exceptionally generous with herself as of late; I doubt you would find her much opposed.” He looked at her finally, his eyes shining with mischief, and it took all her willpower not to stare at him open-mouthed.

“You have been pretty helpful lately, Inquisitor. Sera says you’re starting to stretch yourself a bit thin actually.” Dagna scrunched her brow and pursed her lips. “Maybe another time then. We should be getting to bed anyway. Can’t save the world with a tired mind!”

“Well said,” Ellana managed, and cleared her throat as the arcanist disappeared into the darkness now masking the undercroft’s landing. She dipped her head, trying to ward off the incredulous smile that threatened to overtake her face. Solas, meanwhile, had no such reservation, an amused smirk capturing his mouth. Ellana rolled her eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Solas released her and placed a hand on his chest in false ignorance.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” He smiled widely. The sun dipped below where the horizon could reach, and the darkness enveloped them both. His eyes flashed, and the sconces lit with veilfire. Before they settled into a warm orange glow, though, she swore she saw figures dance and entwine in the flames. “Sweet dreams, Inquisitor,” he whispered, lips brushing the edge of her ear. She turned to grab him, but her hands grasped nothing but air. The door creaked, and she was alone.

Creators, she was screwed.

#then she put pen to paper #my writing #solavellan #solas #lavellan #dragon age #i am incapable of writing anything remotely short #have almost 3k of ridiculousness

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