#Adaar might bite you... not when... but WHERE you least expect it

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

I wonder how many heart-attacks Blackwall and Solas have per day when Cole is around.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [5/8]

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

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

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

The view afforded her very little peace just now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She just didn't expect it to be Josephine.

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Adaar watched the woods. "Ambassador."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Danaya," she said, raising her voice. 

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

"Yes, Your Worship?" the guard said.

"Watch the rear. I am being distracted."

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

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

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

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

But this? She hadn't expected this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The words would ring true someday, she was sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adaar wanted the world to work that way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me finish. Please."

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure of that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was not afraid.

...Was she?

Go to Chapter 6 -->

[varricmancer]

The Golden Halla | 3

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x OC

A/N: Obviously I’m deviating a bit from canon. It would be rather boring if it was always the same thing though, yes? Anyway, enjoy the latest chapter! PLEASE let me know what you think. 

He was fighting desperately to stay asleep despite the pull to awareness he could feel clawing at him. He was at peace here in the fields with his mystery woman. She’d prepared them a picnic and he lounged on the blanket as he watched her dance around merrily, the skirts of her simple blue dress rippling about her bare feet, her snowy hair floating behind her like a waterfall. He smiled when she caught his eye and laughed, her joy contagious. She had claimed she was dancing his demons away, so there was no reason to be afraid of them or that she was one herself. 

“Won’t you tell me your name?”

She skipped towards him, dropping onto the blanket gracefully. 

Shrugging, she picked up a pastry and took a small nibble. Her features were somewhat hazy in this place, but her lips were still clear enough to keep him captivated. Thin, but not harsh. Soft-looking. He watched transfixed as her tongue appears to flick away some crumbs on the side of her mouth.

“You can call me Hana,” she finally answers with a teasing grin, her lovely amber eyes sparkling with mirth. 

Cullen snorts, amused. “The name of the halla? Well, if I wasn’t so certain this was a dream before, it would be clear now. That creature is taking over my life,” he sighed. 

Her laugh was a gentle thing, as lovely as her. 

“Perhaps.” 

She pauses, cocking her head thoughtfully like she was listening to something only she could hear. 

“It’s time to wake up, Cullen.” 

He loved the way she said his name. Everyone else began his name like they had something stuck in their throat. With her, it sounded like a song - one that she loved to sing. 

“Will I see you again?”

“Sooner than you think,” she chuckled, fading right before him. 

He groaned as he came to awareness, her wave of farewell still branded behind his eyes. 

The distant snickering was the first clue that he wasn’t alone. Next came the realization that there was a very warm body breathing next to him. A warm furry body. 

He cracked up one of his eyes and briefly wondered if he was still dreaming. There could be no other explanation for the fact that there was a halla cuddled up with him on top of his furs. Or that one of his arms was draped loosely across the back of the beast as though to pull it closer. He quickly pulled away in embarrassed horror, his face turning crimson as the low snickers from the front of the tent evolved into outright mocking laughter. 

“Commander, if I’d known you had a thing for horns I would have volunteered my services,” The Iron Bull laughed heartily. 

Cullen groaned and turned to face the front of his tent where Bull and The Herald were both sticking their heads into with unapologetic grins. Of all the people to find him in such an embarrassing situation, the loudmouthed Qunari mercenary and the proclaimed Herald of Andraste were not his first choice. 

He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, snorting as Hana slept on unbothered by their guests. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” 

“We heard about Loranil making it here and bringing the Halla with him. We wanted to see her again, make sure she was doing alright. She wasn’t in her stall though and Cole told us to find you. I was confused about why the Commander of this little party would know where a lone halla was - wasn’t expecting to see you two so cozy,” Kaaras Adaar shrugged with a teasing grin. Bull stood there cackling close enough to the other that their horns were surely clanging against each other. 

“Yes, she’s proven to be rather...friendly. She must have snuck in during the night. I’ll have to speak with the stable boys.” 

“There’s no shame in wanting a warm body during cold winter nights,” Bull drawled, doing what Cullen interpreted as a wink with his single eye. 

“Maker’s breath…” he grumbled, standing up and waving them away. 

“Unless there is pressing business, I’d appreciate some privacy so I might get ready. I’ll walk her over as soon as I’m done and you may visit to your heart’s content.” 

Kaaras nodded, “Alright. We’ll leave you be, Commander. We’ve all been summoned to the war room in three hours’ time for a debriefing of my experience in Redcliffe, however. Cassandra’s getting generous and actually giving me a couple of hours to recuperate from my travels before interrogating me.” 

Cullen actually grunts in amusement and waves as the two Qunari take their leave. It isn’t until he could no longer hear their stomping that the halla decides to wake up, actually yawning and looking up at him drowsily as though to ask, ‘What’s with all the racket?’ 

“This is all your fault, you know? What are you doing bursting into my tent in the middle of the night? How did you even undo the ties?” Cullen grumbles as he quickly throws on his armor and splashes his face with water he kept in a pitcher for such purposes. 

Still, as embarrassing as this whole situation was, at least he’d slept fairly well after the nightmares left him. He actually felt refreshed and starving for a full meal for the second day in a row. Perhaps the worst of his symptoms were over? He’d never heard of them leaving so quickly. Perhaps the Maker saw fit to help him in his efforts to assist with closing the breach. 

Cullen snapped at Hana to get her to follow along, which it seemed like she did reluctantly. Cullen chuckled quietly as she shook her head and blinked at him blearily when she stood up to walk towards him. It seemed even halla could not be morning risers. In a moment of weakness, he reached out and scratched behind her ear, which she seemed to love since she nickered softly and rubbed her head into the touch. 

“Alright, you’ve been spoiled enough from me for today. Back to your post, Miss Hana.” 

He led her back to the stables swiftly, waving her into her stall. As he locked her in, he could swear she was staring up at him in the halla equivalent of puppy dog eyes. 

“You’ve had free reign enough, for now. Perhaps when I take Grace out later you may come. Until then, be a good girl.” 

Hana propped her snout on the top of the gate and huffed at him. He actually cracked a smile and tossed both her and Grace an apple before he left, heading towards the war room to look over reports and discuss some things with the other advisors until the meeting. 

***

“As allies? Are you sure that’s wise?” 

Cullen stared incredulously at The Herald as he explained the horrifying events from Redcliffe. 

“Would you rather us all locked up like your mabari? Give us a sip of lyrium from time to time if we’ve been good little mages?” 

The Tevene mage that the Herald had dragged here with him from Redcliffe like a heavily perfumed stray was not helping his already shot nerves. He glared right back. 

“No. I know very well the horrors of the circles, but I know just as well the dangers that unchecked magic can bring. There are not nearly enough templars here to contain them all.” 

“They are not here to be contained, Commander,” Kaaras answered softly. “Kindly remember that Haven is just that - a haven for all. Including those that are born with something that they often never asked for in the first place.” 

As the old familiar fear receded, he felt ashamed. 

“You are right, of course. Please forgive me. I let my fear cloud my reason.” 

The Tevene mage looked at him strangely then, as though he’d found a puzzle to solve, but went silent. The Herald nodded, understanding shining in his eyes. 

“I’ve heard some of your story, so I understand your concerns. However, let us give them the benefit of the doubt for now. Many are simply happy for a chance to find the families they were taken from, so I imagine they will be much too busy for staging a takeover.” 

“Understood, Herald.” 

The Qunari nodded, adding a soft smile of reassurance that Cullen felt he didn’t deserve. He fell silent and let the others run the meeting as he lost himself in memories. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to stop thinking about such maudlin things. He had better things to worry about now. Accommodations and supplies for an extra hundred people, at least. He’d need to ask about for a more accurate tally. Increased lyrium supplies. Andraste’s ass, there was going to be lyrium everywhere. 

Cullen gulped at the realization, practically tasting the song on his tongue. But no, he could handle it. He’d tell Cassandra to increase her vigilance...and to be on the lookout for a replacement, just in case. Perhaps Rylan. 

When the meeting was over, he strode quickly from the room thinking he’d stop for a bite then take Grace out for another ride. He was halfway to the door when somewhere cleared their throat behind him. 

Turning, he found the Tevene mage eyeing him sheepishly, though he maintained his proud stance. 

“I wanted to...apoligize. That was unfair of me to start our acquaintance in such a way. I’m afraid I was being as judgemental of templars as others are of me.” 

Cullen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“That’s quite alright. I can’t say there wasn’t a time I would have deserved every word and more. Pray accept my apologies as well Magi...err...Lord...Pavus, was it?” 

The mage chuckled lowly, waving his hand with an affected flourish like many nobles were wont to do. 

“Just call me Dorian, Commander. The scary magister is my father.” 

“Alright, Dorian.” 

The mage’s smile is friendly - and perhaps a bit flirtatious. 

“I was wondering where I might bed down around here, Commander. I know many are in tents, so if you would be so kind as to point me in - Venhedis! What is that awful sound?” 

The awful sound was a horrible screeching bray coming from the stables. But it wasn’t normal. It sounded...terrified. 

“Hana!”

Cullen sprinted towards the stables, unmindful of the fact that the mage ran with him. He burst through the door and towards Hana’s stall. She was spooked horribly - her eyes wide and watching everyone fearfully as she reared back, kicking her hooves towards some unseen thing. 

“Shhh, easy girl. It’s just me. It’s alright.” 

Like it was he was her lighthouse in a storm, she latched her frightened gaze on him, letting him lead her back to calm. Once she stopped kicking he finally walked into her stall, taking a moment to note that it was unlatched already. He slowly reached out and stroked her neck, ignoring the ear-piercing screaming as it died down. She finally went quiet beyond a slight nicker, her body shaking under his hand. 

“There we go. Good girl, Hana. I’m here.” 

She stuck her head under his arm, seemingly trying to hide under his coat. 

“Friend of yours?” 

Cullen startled, meeting Dorian’s amused gaze. The mage nodded towards Hana, visibly softening in sympathy for the creature. 

“Of a sorts, I suppose. She was a gift from the Dalish for the Inquisition, but according to another elf around here she’s chosen me or something. I’ve never seen her like this before, though. She’s normally so calm. I don’t see anything that could have spooked her.” 

Dorian looks around the stables thoughtfully, humming as he holds his hand up that soon emits a slight glow. His eyes narrow as he follows some invisible thread leading towards Hana’s stall. He frowns and closes his hand before meeting Cullen’s questioning look. 

“There’s a trace of magic in here. It’s not...evil, but it’s hardly something innocent. It feels ancient.” 

Cullen strokes Hana, as she continues to use him as a shield from the world. 

“They didn’t hurt her though?” 

“No. She appears healthy, although…”

Cullen’s brow furrows as the mage stares thoughtfully at the halla. 

“Dorian, what’s wrong with her?!” 

Dorian shakes his head, “It’s not something wrong, it’s just something strange. She doesn’t feel like your average beast. She has immense power, for one thing. Immense magical power.” 

“She’s some sort of sacred halla for the Dalish...could that be it?” 

“No,” the mage shook his head, pulling on his mustache thoughtfully. “She feels like a mage. Which seems strange given the hooves and rather furry appearance, yes?” 

Cullen pried Hana’s head out from under his coat, holding her snout in his hands. For the first time, he really looked into the halla’s eyes and realized they were a warm amber ringed in black...just like the Hana from his dream. 

His breathing became unsteady as his mind struggled to understand what it was piecing together...or rather had been trying to piece together for a couple of days now. It was impossible, wasn’t it? But...he supposed nothing was truly impossible when it came to magic. 

“Dorian, this is going to sound strange, but is there a way to find out if she’s...really a halla?”

The mage quirked an eyebrow at him, “My dear Commander, I was merely theorizing. It’s always a good idea to throw out the most impossible things to narrow down the possible ones.” 

Cullen stared into Hana’s eyes, which were looking at him with such soft understanding that there was no way what he’d figured out couldn’t be true. 

“Please?” he looked at the mage, plea in his eyes. Dorian straightened and nodded firmly. 

“I’ll do some research.” 

“Thank you. And Cassandra is nearby, next to the training yard. Please inform her of what is happening - quietly, if you please - and that I’d like two men stationed outside of the stables.” 

Cullen smiled warmly at the mage as he took his leave, then turned and settled onto the bottom of Hana’s stall. 

“I’m going to feel awfully stupid if you turn out to be some sort of demon or possessed halla,” Cullen sighed, settling his hand onto her head to pet her once she plopped her head into his lap. “I’m sure everyone is going to think I’m going mad and that I’m going overboard for something they’d all rather cover in spices and serve for dinner.” 

“If someone’s done this to you though, I’ll do what I can to help.” 

Cullen sighs and settles in to keep watch over a single halla, uncaring of the troubles that lay outside the stable doors for the moment. 

[everestv-themuse]

for dwc: tipsy kiss prompt, with Josie and whoever you like!

Thank you for these! I’m sorry these prompts have been in my inbox for so long, it took a while deciding what I wanted this scene to look like since it is kinda important… Trea Adaar x Josephine for @dadrunkwriting​ and @honestly-wilde​ and anon.

“Hey, boss!” Iron Bull greets her as he walks over, two mugs in hand. “Sera said you were in need of some refreshments?”

Trea pushes herself off the wall she was leaning against and uncrosses her arms, accepting the drink readily. “Yeah, she’s not wrong. I know I’m the one who agreed to the party, but…I mean, this is the first time I’ve been left alone all night. And we’re what, two hours in?”

“The demands of power, am I right?” Iron Bull just laughs and settles next to Trea in the dark corner she’s managed to find for herself.  “Can’t blame these nobles for being so fascinated, though. Not every day you see a high dragon head mounted on a pedestal, right? You’ve got a nice set-up in here, that’s for sure.”

Trea glances around at the body parts scattered throughout the hall, each perfectly poised and labeled and surrounded by chattering nobles. She wrinkles her nose and takes a swing from her mug. Immediately, she regrets it. Her eyes blink wide open and she splutters uncontrollably, managing to swallow most of it amidst hard coughs. Once her eyes stop watering, she notices the sheer number of gazes turned toward her. Now her throat and cheeks burn.

“I’m hurt, boss, I really am.” Iron Bull laughs heartily, slapping her shoulder a few times. “You’re still not used to the first swig? What will your subjects think of you, the Inquisitor who can’t handle one drink?”

“Maraas-lok?” Trea grumbles under her breath and nods at the crowd, trying to appease their curiosity. She finds Josephine across the hall, hoping her ambassador isn’t sending her a disapproving or concerned look. It’s neither, however. She’s standing with Leliana and seems to be pointedly avoiding Trea’s gaze. A servant passes by and she replaces her empty champagne glass with another, the epitome of practiced grace. Trea bites her lip and forces herself to turn back toward Iron Bull. “You could’ve at least warned me.”

Iron Bull shrugs and grins winder. “Where’s the fun in that?” He slaps her shoulder again as a parting gesture. “I won’t keep you, though. Seems like you have a certain guest to chase after.”

“What do you—?” Iron Bull angles Trea’s shoulders to face the side door to the garden, just as Josephine slips her way through. She furrows her eyebrows. “Did you see her face? Did she seem okay? I think she was drinking a little more than—”

“Hey, boss? Couldn’t tell you. But I bet you’re the best person to find out.” The qunari waggles his eyebrows and Trea lets out a short breath.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating and I’m not gonna ask. I’m just gonna check on her real quick. I’ll be right back.” Trea takes another hearty swig, thankful this one went down a little easier, and hands it to Iron Bull to hold.

“Take your time!” He calls after her but she doesn’t bother looking back to see that pleased grin of his again.

Outside, the night air is cool against her flushed skin and it’s considerably quieter. She finds Josephine immediately, sitting on one of the stone benches nearby, and her shoulders relax with the breath of relief she releases. It’s not the first time that night that she notices Josephine’s dress, a new and slightly more elegant one that Trea hasn’t seen before, but something about the way the moonlight shines makes it even more fitting, even more beautiful. She smiles and heads over.

“Everything alright?” Trea asks, a little louder than she intends, and Josephine jumps. “Sorry, sorry, I just—”

“No, no, it’s—”

“I saw you leave and wanted to make sure—”

“I didn’t expect you’d leave your own—”

The two huff and break into laughter, finally ending their bout of stumbling over each other. Trea settles next to Josephine on the bench and the two let the moment fade on its own.

“I didn’t mean to make a big deal of anything, really.” Josephine says after a bit, hands held still in her lap and eyes trained determinedly downward. “I just needed some fresh air. You can go back inside if you’d like, the guests might ask questions.”

“Yeah, wasn’t thinking about the whole ‘host’ thing.” Trea rubs the back of her neck as she looks Josephine up and down. There’s something…off about her. “I know it’s my party and all, doesn’t look good to leave early, right? But in my defense, I’m pretty sure I had a conversation with each and every one of them, a few words at least. Don’t think I forgot any names so all the studying we did definitely seemed to help.”

“Yes, you were doing well.”

Trea tilts her head a bit at the response, noticing the faraway look in Josephine’s eye. “Still. Gets a little stuffy in there with all those people. No one can blame us for taking a little break. Right?”

Josephine sighs. “It’s not…them I needed to take a break from.”

“Oh, uh…” Trea sits back and tries to go through the guest list in her mind’s eye. “Was it someone in particular? Because I’m pretty sure Sera isn’t coming back if that’s who you’re thinking of. She got bored of the whole thing after the fifth prank I managed to convince her out of. Was it…was it one of the guests? Because I can always say something if you think it’d help. A few insistent words from the famous dragonslayer herself might scare them off. Right?” Trea waits for a response and glances at her friend, surprised to see her staring right back. “Josephine?”

“I’m sorry, I…” She says the words as an automatic response to being caught, but Trea doesn’t feel any real intent behind them. All she can feel is the weight of Josephine’s gaze. “I never got a chance to see the new formal suit come in. It fits well, I take it?”

“Yes, I…” Trea struggles for the words she wants to say, for any words really. But they’re all moving too fast through her mind and the night air doesn’t feel so cool anymore and all she can focus on is the sight of Josephine’s hand moving towards her. And then the brush of her fingers against her cheek. And then she can’t help but melt into the touch.

Josephine hums and Trea swears she can feel it through her skin. “Is it too heavy? The cloth? You seem very…warm.”

“Oh, um…it’s, uh…it’s a lot of things.” Trea manages, trying to speak around the breath she’s holding, trying to sit very still, trying to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

Josephine leans in closer. “This might help,” she all but breathes as both hands move toward Trea’s collar — slowly, as if asking permission. Trea blinks but angles herself more towards Josephine, tilting her chin up for easier access.

The highest button of her blouse comes undone, Josephine peels back the fabric, and the slight breeze hits the exposed stretch of Trea’s neck. Another button, and then just a bit of her chest as well. Before she can cough out a “thank you,” Josephine’s fingers brush against her skin and trace the line of her throat. Her other hand rests on Trea’s thigh. She turns to meet Josephine’s gaze and can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine.

“Is that better?” She asks and Trea is frozen. All she can see is the way Josephine’s dark eyes seem to darken further, the way the moonlight shines through stray strands of her hair, the way her lips…the way her…

“Can I…?” Trea doesn’t finish the thought. Something changes, something shifts, Trea blinks, disbelieving, and then Josephine is rushing forward.

Their lips crash together unceremoniously — all softness, all bite, all blur of motion. They press closer, then impossibly closer, the breaths between them just barely escaping. Josephine’s hands grasp tightly to Trea’s clothes, tugging slightly, and they shiver. Trea isn’t sure what to do with her own and elects to grip the bench beneath them, trying to hold on for dear life. But she’s bowing to Josephine’s direction, following the leanings of her form, the push and pull and ebb and flow of their kiss. Her mind is blank and a rush all at once. She can’t quite understand what’s happening. All she knows is that she doesn’t want this to—

Josephine pulls away. Her hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes are wide, her form is stock still, but she’s shaking ever so slightly. “You…I…we need to get back…” Her words are barely above a whisper but Trea hears her all the same. She’s buzzing, so in tune with the woman before her that even the slightest of movements would catch her attention.

Yet, she’s barely aware of her own head nodding in response. She’s trying to catch her breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. Josephine’s hands hesitate in her lap but are easily drawn back to Trea’s face. Her breaths stop altogether.

“I apologize, I may have gotten…some of my rogue on your…” She licks at her thumb before moving it across Trea’s lips, blending the color to a more natural shade, with the rest of her fingers flush against Trea’s cheek. She leans into the touch just as Josephine pulls away.

“You should really be getting back, Inquisitor,” Josephine breathes as she puts the final touches on straightening up, adjusting Trea’s sleeves back into place, tugging down her vest where it was rumpled, and finally moving back up to her collar. She leaves the very top button undone and settles with a definite space between them again.

Trea stands slowly, never breaking eye contact, and offers out her elbow with her other arm tucked behind her back. “Shall we, Lady Montilyet?”

There’s a beat of silence and a thousand different things seem to cross over Josephine’s expression. When she settles on a small, sad smile, Trea’s arms slowly drop to her sides. “I’ll be just a moment after you, Inquisitor. We should return to the party just as we left, seeing as there’s no need to raise anyone’s…well. Who can blame us for just a brief chat in the gardens, yes?”

Trea’s skin still thrums at the memory of her touch, her lips still tremble at the loss of contact, she swears she can still taste the champagne on Josephine’s— “Of course. I’ll see you inside. Lady Montilyet,” she lowers her head in a slight bow and walks away, maneuvering up steps and through doors until she gets back to the great hall and before she can tell herself to turn back. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, her thoughts run themselves in circles.

She settles back into her corner where Iron Bull is retelling the dragon slaying once again to another group of frightened guests. She stands close but doesn’t bother listening in. Instead, she watches the party, and particularly the garden door, with what she hopes only looks like vague interest.

Trea grabs a glass of champagne at her first opportunity and looks up when Josephine reappears moments after. Not that she meets Trea’s gaze, or even looks around the hall at all. She walks straight back to Leliana’s side with eyes unwandering, and effortlessly fits back into the conversation she left. Trea bites her lip and turns away.

It’s as if nothing has really changed, nothing that many would notice in any case. Minor details such as the way the ambassador hides her shaking hands in the folds of her dress, or the way that the Inquisitor drinks nothing but champagne for the rest of the night, or that the two women seem to miss each other’s gazes as they stand together, bidding each guest a farewell, before retiring to their own quarters without a word — the untrained eye would never notice.

[basically-sera-blog]

No one expects the Cheerquisition! 

I did two drawings to go with this. I’m not an artist. I’ve given up. Please enjoy, knowing that I have suffered.

Sitting in the gym waiting for The Iron Bull, Dorian can’t believe how much time he has on his hands. Since leaving the Imperium he’s been fleeing something or fighting someone or just trying to survive. Now he has a scholarship intact, no strings attached. He’s safe, he has a great boyfriend, maker, even his classes seem relatively easy now that he can focus on them. If he had one problem it would be...

Dorian’s phone chimes. It’s Bull, telling him the chargers have moved their practice outside to take advantage of the good weather. Dorian is invited to watch them run laps, but he won’t have anywhere to sit. Dorian sighs. If he had to have a problem, it’s that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He loves Bull, and his friends are great, but Dorian doesn’t want to seem like he doesn’t have any of his own. He doesn’t, but he’d like that to appear intentional at least, or like he can occupy himself. If he keeps watching the chargers practice he might soon know all the rules of the game. Disgusting.

Dorian sighs exasperatedly. He texts back that he’ll be fine, and goes to put his phone in his bag. He’s thinking about heading back to the library and looking up old books on Tevinter history, the dirty kind full of affairs and intrigue. Something silver catches his eye.

This could be a perfect opportunity. Dorian pulls out five silver scarves and five gold ones. He’d stumbled upon a very interesting passage in one of his books about an ancient dance involving ten scarves and no clothing. He’d considered maybe, only maybe, learning it for Bull’s birthday. With the chargers gone, no one would come by here for hours, more than enough time for him to try out the steps. He’d put a workout outfit, well as close to a workout outfit as he owned, in his bag for this reason. He could... Dorian pulls out a crop top and shorts from the bottom of his bag. He looks around the still very empty auditorium. He could at least try it.

After an hour or so Dorian is sure he has the steps and reasonably confidant he can attempt them all together. He’s sweating, but he’s happy to find that his muscles still respond like he hasn’t spent a year writing a textbook against his will. He always liked the concept of dancing, of being able to move around with grace and intention. Now he could put all that ballroom experience to better use. Dorian plays something sultry on his phone, a monstrously long mix he created, and connects it to a little speaker. He might as well give it a go. He starts off a little awkward but it isn’t long till he gets into the rhythm of it. He has to keep his back curved, legs arched and angled to create the proper lines, one hand stays near his body while the other flickers the scarves distractingly, catching the light. As the scarves near his belt line begin to fall he has to switch hands quickly. It’s a dangerous dance, but he’s mastering it. Dorian’s hands move faster and faster and be begins to twirl as well, always keeping his eyes locked on a spot where he imagines Bull watching him, captivated. Dorian swings his hips and traces a hand down his body, fingers interlaced with silk scarves before immediately swapping hands again. The dance gets more daring, more acrobatic and he loses himself in it, imagining the look on Bull’s face. The song ends and Dorian smiles. He doesn’t know how the dance actually looked but it felt pretty amazing.

“Whoo! Go Dorian!” Kaffas. The voice that rings out isn’t one Dorian recognizes. He freezes. How much did she see? he lets out a sigh, steeling himself, and looks up. Oh no.

Standing in the doorway is not one person, but an entire gang of them. The woman in the front appears to be the speaker. Dorian must have been too focused to hear the door open because everyone is already standing in the doorway. Judging by their clothes all being school colors, and most of them being women, Dorian has an idea who they are.

The Inquisition is officially known as the cheer-leading team, a part of the student government, and the spirit committee but there are rumors.

“How can we be sure that this is Dorian?” Cassandra asks suspiciously.

“Of course it’s Dorian! He matches Bull’s description perfectly: adorable dork with the world’s best ass.” The woman in front, Trevelyan, Dorian thinks she’s called, speaks again. Dorian’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s true, mostly, but he’d never guess that Bull would describe him that way to other people.

“That isn’t remotely what The Iron Bull said!” Cassandra clarifies.

“He said Dorian is handsome and has dark hair, glasses, a mustache and tattoos.” Josephine assists Trevelyan.

“Which is subtext for adorable dork.”

“And that he’s very fond of him.” Leliana finishes.She has a softer voice and a pleasing accent. In her hand however is an almost sinister expensive black phone with a raven insignia, and she keeps periodically checking and updating it.

“Which everyone knows means world’s best ass.” Trevelyan wiggles her eyebrows at Dorian. Scout manages a snort while Leliana and Josephine merely smile. Dorian must agree with her, it is usually what one means. It’s nice to know that Iron Bull speaks highly of him. It manages to bring forth a small smile as well.

“Come now Trevelyan, that’s beneath you.” Vivienne retorts.

“Viv, Love, I was only joking. You must excuse my compatriot, she has an underdeveloped sense of humor.”

“I have class, darling.”

“That’s what I said.”

“At least she has excellent style.” Dorian joins in without realizing he’s doing it. No one seems to notice and they act as if he’s been a part of the conversation the whole time instead of standing awkwardly and trying to appear casual.

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you have good taste, despite evidence to the contrary.” Vivienne gives him a once over to remind him that he’s wearing a crop top, but her smile is genuine as well as mocking.

“Well, I’ll alert my posterior to the compliments and I’ll ignore the insult.” Dorian quips, “but I must say, I still have no idea what any of this is about.”

“First things first it’s about getting you, and that glorious dance, onto my cheer squad. We’ve been looking for something... distracting, to help out in the upcoming game.” Trevelyan somewhat answers.

“We’ve been investigating options since The Iron Bull’s injury.” Scout Harding volunteers. “It’s not that he’s not great, and won’t do great,”

“But every little bit helps.” Lavellan finishes from behind the group. She’s on tip toe trying to stay involved but doesn’t seem to mind.

“A change in depth perception can affect everything when it comes to sports.” Cassandra seems more in her topic element.

“We were looking at maybe doing something with magic,” Josephine says.

“But it’s dangerous, and potentially against the rules. if it isn’t against the law.” Cassandra interrupts.

“This could be perfect for what we need, dear.” Vivienne is looking at Dorian as if she’s already planning ahead. “With some nice clothes, some larger scarves, this could do the trick.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.” Dorian replies. The women in the group look at each other, trying to find something to say. There’s something in their eyes, something guarded. A part of Dorian stands on edge. He’s used to people with hidden agendas trying to

“They feel guilty that they didn’t help you. When you were being used and chased. They didn’t know, and they think they should have. They want things to be better, they want to be better. I’m sorry Dorian, I’m so so sorry. We’re supposed to be those people. The people that help. We failed you.” The pale boy, Cole, says. Dorian isn’t sure what to do, has no idea how to take that, but everyone else doesn’t seem surprised by the outburst. Cassandra looks away awkwardly. Josephine and Lavellan have the most pitiful looks on their faces. They must be the soft ones. The Qunari merely nods to Dorian, as if to confirm what Cole was saying. Leliana and Trevelyan glance at each other. This was probably their responsibility the most. Scout Harding just bites her lip and waits for the moment to pass. Cole seems absolutely content though.

“If you’re all trying to guilt me into joining the team you’ve failed.” Dorian says it lightly, trying to break the tension. It works. “I don’t think I’ll be joining any school sanctioned events any time soon, but since you’re all eager to help, and its for a good cause I suppose I could try to teach you. Now, which of you think you can actually learn the steps?”

Vivienne glides forwards, along with Lavellan and Josephine. Leliana, Adaar, Cole, and Scout Harding take the middle. Cassandra brings up the rear, looking like she’s been asked to drink poison.  

Trevelyan hangs back for a moment, looking at Dorian with a million thoughts behind her eyes. He sighs over-dramatically to get her to ease up a bit. “I’m fine. Really. Apology accepted for not offering me help when I didn’t ask for it because I still don’t actually know you.” Trevelyan laughs.

“I... I am sorry though. I hadn’t realized how busy we’d become, how out of touch. I... if there is anything you need, a roommate change, help with a professor, blackmailing someone, anything, please let us know. Nothing is too big or small, and we’re not going to feel better until we’ve helped with something.” Dorian rolls his eyes for effect.

“I’ll let you know. Now, do you want to learn this or not?” Trevelyan walks over to the others and Dorian begins. His explanations begin technically, and the biggest shock is how quickly Cassandra and Josephine catch on. They’re vastly outdistancing the others.

“They’re amazing at math,” Scout says in way of explanation.

“Well that’s something.” Dorian sort of likes playing the instructor. Its more fun than he’ll ever admit to. Cole begins to master the movements, but the intention is beyond him. Josephine and Cassandra also find themselves too shy for the magnetism required and they decide to form the back. Adaar is shockingly willing to throw herself into the role of the seductress and seems to make it easier for everyone to loosen up. Dorian never imagined himself correcting forms and walking down the line like a drill instructor while wearing one of his shortest pairs of shorts, but the ladies don’t comment on it. Instead they listen to him, and with time it actually shapes into something. They’ll need more scarves though.

The opening of the doors signals the end of their... practice, Dorian decides to call it. The Chargers are surprised to find he’s not alone.

“Hey Dorian. When did you join the Inquisition?” Krem asks before a wicked smile lights up his face. “Wouldn’t that just be too perfect, head cheerleader dating the captain of the basketball team?”

“Who said anything about head cheerleader? If anyone is going to be,” Vivienne already has her hackles up.

“No. We’re not doing this again.” Adaar shuts her down soundly.

“Agreed.” Cassandra says in exasperation. There’s obviously a story there.

“I’m more of a... consultant.” Dorian decides.

“On what?” Bull asks as if he really wants to know while Krem and the chargers seem more confused than anything.

“Early Tevinter history.” Trevelyan jumps in easily, giving Dorian a look. The Inquisition won’t give him away, the look says.

“Early Tevinter history... and cheer leading?” Krem says slowly.

“We’re very well rounded.” Josephine continues. the Iron Bull seems to pick up on the fact that there’s something they’re not saying.

“Well, I just came to see if Dorian wanted to grab dinner with me, so maybe we’ll head out?” Bull looks at Dorian, who only now realizes he’s starving. Also he’s barely dressed.

“Um, yes, of course. Let me go change.” Dorian rushes to the locker rooms. Bull watches him and blushes, clearly taking a mental picture, but waiting patiently. He’s probably also hungry, but he politely doesn’t mention it.

“Well Cremisius, unless you have any other questions or suggestions we’ll be heading out as well.” the Inquisition closes ranks while Lavellan and Josephine giggle together. Krem probably knows something is going on but has the sense not to do anything more than watch them suspiciously.

Once Dorian has changed back into something more covering and adequately ripped and cut when he hears a quiet knock at the door. Dorian opens it a bit but sees no one there. The knock comes again from... the other door? Dorian opens the door going outside a smidgen. It’s Cole. Of course it is. Who else could have gone around the building so quickly and quietly.

“Yes, Cole?” Dorian does like him, he’s sweet, but Dorian isn’t in the mood for any horrible revelations tonight.

“The chargers and the Inquisition.” Cole seems a thousand miles away, looking at something Dorian doesn’t see. Dorian wonders if that’s going to be it, as Cole pauses there long enough for Dorian to begin looking around. Has it been a minute? Seconds? Is he supposed to respond in some way?

“You need not be so proud, Dorian. They do not merely tolerate you, they like you. You are easy to like.” Cole smiles at Dorian. Dorian simply mouths words before looking behind Cole to see if this is some kind of prank. It’s only a second but when he looks back Cole is gone and there’s no one there.

“What in the maker’s name...”, Dorian sighs heavily. This is going to be such a strange year. They like you. the words repeat in his head and a small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. Perhaps it’ll be a good year though.

[ageofdragon]

Author: @vanhelsing019 Game: Dragon Age Inquisition Couple: Romance, Male Adaar/The Iron Bull Warning: Violence and slight Torture Notes: So posting this with permission. Vanhelsing019 did an awesome fic for my Adaar a while back before Inquisition even came out and is basically his take on the background for my Adaar (though Kaas has had a few changes, like for one being a Dorian and Bull romance). I decided to post this, since I want to write that family fic for Adaar and in order to do so, needed a public reference of his background. I might do my own take on it later, but for now this works perfectly. And I want to thank Vanhelsing019 just for being awesome, as a person and a writer, and allowing me to share this!

Askaas struggled against his bounds, the rope cutting into his skin and the bark from the tree he was tied to, leaving burning scratches on his back.

“You can struggle all you want, Saar Vashedan, you will not escape those bonds.” jeered the Arvaarad, “Saarebas, make sure to drain away all magic from this bas!”

Askaas had decided to take a stroll along the river his mercenary group had been camping next to. He did not, however, expect to run into a Karataam of his people who followed the Qun.

Askaas’s staff was a dead giveaway as the Arvaarad yelled “Bas Saarebas!!” and the void broke loose. He was able to encase one of his attackers in a pillar of ice, impaling another on a collection of stalagmites and finally set another aflame, before he felt his strength drain from him.

He looked to his sides, seeing two Qunari mages casting their spells at him. The one had a miasma of black and neon blue swirling around his palms as he drained away Askaas’s mana, while the other had a purple entropic cloud around him, siphoning away his strength.

They overpowered him easily after that and Askaas now found himself tied tightly to a tree. “Vashedan, you thought you could defeat those who follow the Qun?” said the Arvaarad, punching Askaas in the face.

“At least I have free will! I do not follow a tyrannical religion, and what I’m told like some Imekari-raas!” Askaas spat, earning him another blow to the face.

“You will watch your tongue, Dathrasi, or I will cut it from your mouth!” yelled the Arvaraad as he drew his blade and held its tip near Askaas’s cheek. The young mage recoiled, turning his face away from the blade. He acted fearless and defiant, but in truth he was terrified. The Qunari Arvaraad was an abnormally large being and the large blade he wielded made him seem even more intimidating.

 Askaas’s breathing became rushed and heavy as he felt the blade press against his cheek with an increased pressure. “What’s the matter, Vashedan?” taunted the Arvaraad as he bent down, bringing his face level with his, “No more remarks from that treacherous mouth of yours?” he smiled, the other Qunari laughing at his taunting.

Askaas called upon his power, channeling it to his mouth and spat in the Arvaraad’s face, hitting him in the eye. The large Qunari stepped back, yelling and holding his hand over his eye while the sound and smell of flesh sizzling moved through the air.

Askaas smiled, the acid spit spell having worked, but his small triumph was short lived as another of the Qunari kicked him full force in the stomach. He doubled over as far as his restraints allowed, fighting the feeling of nausea that wanted to overwhelm him.

“Ashkost kata, Dathrasi!” yelled the Arvaarad, a searing burn across his right eye and cheek. “Saarebas-raas, I told you to make sure all magic was drained from this beast!” he yelled, whipping out a control rod and pointing it to the Qunari mage. The Saarebas grunted in pain, forced to his knees as a lyrium blue light encased his body.

As soon as the glow ceased, he got back to his feet and its hands flared with spirit magic once more. Askaas felt the fatigue move through his body, all vestiges his magic being drained for a third time. The young mage caught sight of the angered Arvaarad withdrawing a small dagger from his belt along with a vial of pink liquid.

“No! No please!” Askaas pleaded, trying to back up against the tree behind him. He utterly feared magebane. He had the unpleasant experience of being injected with it once and suffered an excruciatingly bad reaction to the poison. It was not fatal, but his veins felt like they were on fire for days afterwards.

“Begging will bring you no mercy, Dathrasi!” growled the Arvaarad, while pouring the contents of the vial over the dagger’s blade, “If the Saarebas cannot perform his duties then I will rectify the problem.” Arvaarad grinned cruelly, before plunging the entire blade into Askaas’s leg.

“Aaaargghh!!!!” Askaas yelled as searing pain spread from his leg and all the way through his veins and arteries, his breathing becoming heavy and erratic when the poison reached his heart. He chanced a glance towards the Saarebas who was no longer maintaining his draining spell. Askaas gave him a pleading look only to receive another fist to his cheek.

“A true Saarebas’ loyalty lies only with the Qun. Unmoved by the demonic whispering of a Bas Saarebas” boomed the Arvaarad’s voice.

“Hm, Saar Vashedan like you, are not worthy of such remarkable horns.” said the large Qunari, grabbing hold of Askaas’s left horn. Askaas’s eyes widened as he felt the Arvaarad starting to pull on it, “Restrain his head.” said the Arvaarad, causing his burning heart to beat faster within his chest.

Two Qunari came forward, grabbing hold of his jaw and the back of his head. “Cutting these from you is far too merciful for one who has rejected the ways of the Qun,” said the Qunari while giving his horn another tug, “And they would only soil and blunt my blade,” he began pulling harder “Try not to move too much, this might sting a bit.”

Askaas bit on his lip trying to stifle the screams he felt building inside his chest, as the Arvaraad increased his pulling on his left horn. Blinding pain coursed through his head and face as the cracking of what sounded like wood and bones breaking started echoing through the air. Askaas’s mouth filled with the familiar taste of copper as he drew blood from biting his lip.

There was a final crack, before the warm feeling of blood flowing down his face accompanied the searing, throbbing pain around where his left horn used to be. Tears streamed down his face, his whole body tense from the onslaught of pain coursing through every nerve.

Askaas watched helplessly as the giant Qunari lifted his massive blade overhead, before swinging it down towards him…

Askaas shot up from his bedroll with a loud gasp, his skin cold and covered in sweat, while his heartbeat was erratic and his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. He slowly felt over the ragged end where his left horn once was whole, while the other hand felt the scar in his right thigh.

All too sudden, the memories of his nightmare and past experience flooded his mind, releasing tears which flowed down the existing trails that already stained his cheeks. Askaas pulled his knees against his chest and buried his face between them, letting his silent sobs wrack his slender body.

He hoped none of the others were able to hear him. What would they think of him if they knew their leader could be brought to tears by a mere dream?

Outside, though, a very large Qunari felt his heart clench with worry when his ears picked up the distressed sniffles and whimpers coming from the Inquisitor’s tent. This has not been the first time he has heard these sounds coming from Askaas’s tent. He once heard the silent sobs coming from his room back at Skyhold, when he was patrolling the halls.

“What you waiting for? Go see if he’s alright.” Sera’s voice sounded beside Iron Bull.

“I don’t want to distress him any further, Sera, you know how he… how I affect him.” Bull replied.

“I told you it’s nothing personal, you daft tit.” said Sera, placing her small hand gently on his large muscular arm.

He clenched his fist as he recalled the series of events Sera had told him happened to his… their Inquisitor. After that it had all made sense, why Askaas, despite being a powerful and skilled mage, had always seemed to cower into a corner or look as bewildered as a frightened halla whenever he approached him.

“You care for him, yeah?” said Sera, snapping him out of his reverie. “he fancies you too, you know.”

A faint blush spread across the giant’s face, “How is it possible to fancy someone who frightens you?” he asked solemnly.

“I don’t have to fancy men to know you are one fine looking piece of ass, and Askaas knows this as well, if the conversations between him and Dorian are anything to go by,” she smiled reassuringly. “He needs someone who will be there for him, especially now.” she informed after they heard a soft sob coming from his direction. “He needs YOU.”

“What if he shies away?”

“Show him he has no need to.”

Bull gave a contemplative look in the direction of the Inquisitor’s tent. “Go make sure he’s alright, you big lug.” she smiled reassuringly, causing Bull to smile and turn around, making his way towards Askaas. “You old softy.” she chuckled to herself.

Iron Bull paused for a moment outside the tent, doubt creeping into his mind which was quickly expelled when he heard another sob behind the cloth. He silently entered the tent, finding the young Qunari mage huddled in a sitting fetal position, whilst his slender body shook with his silent sobs.

“Askaas?” said Bull, his voice barely above a whisper. Askaas’s shaking ceased and he slowly looked up, his distraught eyes locking with Bull’s concerned gaze. “Everything alright, big guy?” Bull asked, mentally kicking himself. Of course it wasn’t. One does not simply cry if nothing’s wrong.

Askaas shook his head, his lower lip trembling slightly before he buried his face and his silent sobs shook his frame again. “Shhhhh… It’s alright, precious one,” Bull said trying to sound as reassuring as possible, placing his hand on the young mage’s shoulder, causing him to tense briefly before relaxing and leaning into the touch. “I am here for you, always.”

Bull was slightly caught off guard when Askaas lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the giant Qunari, his fingers digging uncomfortably into Bull’s back, but Bull didn’t care. His Inquisitor needed him and there for him he would be.

He gently wrapped his strong arms around Askaas’s slender body, softly rubbing his back and soothingly stroking the back of his head, where the mage’s face lay buried in the crook of his neck. Bull felt hot tears wetting and running down his collarbone as, “I-I’m s-sorry” Askaas’s muffled words sounded against Bull’s neck while he shook with sobs.

“What on earth for, precious one?” Bull asked, while rubbing his large, calloused hands gently over Askaas’s back.

“F-for being s-so w-w-weak”

“Listen to me, precious one,” Bull pulled him closer, “tears are not a sign of weakness, you hear me? Do not let any arsehole tell you otherwise.” said Bull, placing a soft kiss against Askaas’s temple. “I promise you that as long as I breathe, my strength will be yours to draw upon when you feel yours waver. My shoulder there for you when you need one to cry on. My ears here whenever you need someone to talk to…” he placed another kiss on his temple, “… And if you’ll have me, my heart is yours to keep, now and forever,”

Askaas looked him in the eye as his lips formed a happy smile amidst his tear stained cheeks, and leaned his head up to give Bull a soft kiss on the lips as reply. “Will you stay with me tonight? I-I don’t wish to be alone.”

“But of course, precious one, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bull smiled, holding Askaas tightly against him as they lay down and pulled the numerous furs over them. It was not long before Bull found the young mage sound asleep in his strong arms, his breathing deep and peaceful, and its hypnotic rhythm soon sent bull to sleep as well.

[heartslogos]

send the morning [13]

“Listen, Trevelyan, I don’t care how important your hand is to the state of the world; the next time you send me to a fucking bog I’m going to beat you with it,” Adaar says, wiping a hand across her face and smearing off some mud. “That being said, I brought you a present and you can’t return it because your cousin and Cadash got attached to it.”

“Thanks?” Evelyn says, and before Evelyn can ask what it is she starts to gag - “What is that smell?”

“Your present,” Adaar deadpans.

“Evelyn, please, I’m your favorite cousin,” Maxwell says, holding onto the reigns of what looks like some sort of - Evelyn isn’t sure. A four legged animal of the equine variety with a sword sticking out through its head. “Please, please convince the Inquisition leaders to let me have it. Please, I’ll never ask for anything again in my life.”

“The last letter you sent me while you were away you asked me if I would give you half my breakfast rolls for a week,” Evelyn points out.

“Aside from that, never again!”

“Don’t give in to nepotism, Herald,” Cadash says, holding onto the other side of the reigns, “I’ve always wanted a pony. Please.”

“What would you even do with a horse, Malika? You can’t get on one,” Maxwell says and Cadash scoffs.

“Well - aren’t you a noble? Can’t you just buy your own horse?”

“Oh, Malika, you know that’s not how it works. That would imply that someone actually acknowledges me as their child and that isn’t happening anytime this age.”

“Well - act like one and maybe they will! What about chivalry? Women and the younger ones before you!”

“The world chivalry implies ownership of a horse, which I do not have,” Maxwell returns before turning back to Evelyn, “Please.”

“What is that?” Evelyn gapes, “And did a fly just - fly out of its eye socket?”

“It’s part of its charm,” Cadash and Maxwell say.

“It’s a bog unicorn,” Adaar answers sounding entirely too pleased with the situation. “Named by Malika and Maxwell for the fact that we fished it - fished it, Trevelyan, fished it - out of a bog and it has a sword that looks a lot like a horn. Seriously. If you ever suggest to the Inquisition heads that I go to any sort of swamp, bog, mire, or other place again there will be repercussions. Do you understand me, Trevelyan? Repercussions.”

“Maybe we should, er, let the bog unicorn decide,” Evelyn says, “I’ve read that quite often the - uh. Horse. The horse chooses its rider. Right. I’m going to go report this back to Josephine and ask if someone can spare some soap to get you a bath. Baths. I think you might need more than one.”

-

“For fuck’s sake - we don’t have time for - Ellana how did you get here?” Herah grabs Ellana’s arm and snarls under her breath when she finds that Ellana is in one of those strange moments - for the lack of a better word - when she weights at least a ton or more and refuses to be moved. “Fucking - Ellana this isn’t the time for you to be stubborn and unreasonable. Shit, shit, shit.”

Herah moves to block Ellana from being hit by an arrow but Ellana’s hand suddenly flies up and snatches the arrow, breaking the shaft.

Ellana snarls, a feral sound that raises the hair on the back of Herah’s neck, and pulls her arm out of Herah’s grasp.

She has heard Ellana snarl and make all sorts of noises before, but not like that one.

Ellana proceeds to stomp forward, through the fighting, and raises her arm and throws a warden that gets too close to her across the fortress floor.

Herah follows after her.

“I don’t have enough curse words for this,” Herah says, adjusting her grip on her daggers as she does her level best to keep Ellana safe.

“What the hell is this?” Herah turns and Blackwall has his shield raised over Ellana, Herah breathes a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know, I turned around and she was there.”

“Girl this isn’t the time for you to be you,” Blackwall yells and Ellana rolls her shoulders, muscles flexing as she continues to stalk through the fortress - seemingly oblivious to the fighting around her. “Where’s her brother?”

“Ramparts,” Herah answers and yells as Ellana flings herself onto a wall and starts to climb up. “Ellana! Get back down here! How the fuck is she even doing that?”

“Back,” Blackwall bellows, knocking into Herah in time to save her from getting an arrow to the face. “We can’t worry about her now, we’re up to our necks in Wardens and demons. She’s strange - one of ours will get to her eventually. Move Adaar.”

-

“Dennet? Are you in? I’m going to be taking out the Hang-Tooth - “

“Might want to run that by the little miss first, Inquisitor,” Dennet replies, head sticking out of the Courser’s stall. “She may have a better suggestion.”

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise, “I didn’t realize that you didn’t have the run of the stables anymore, Master Dennet. The little miss?”

Dennet’s arm sticks out and points in the direction of the hay stacks.

Evelyn’s eyebrows raise higher. “Is this where you’ve been hiding, Ellana?”

Ellana’s leg lazily kicks off of the pile of hay as she hums to herself, braiding together some grass and flowers. Evelyn smiles walking towards her. Ellana hums, hair spread out behind her.

“I thought you avoided this place since Blackwall took up here,” Evelyn says, “Or is this because he’s out right now?”

Ellana smiles.

“May I use the Hang-Tooth?” Evelyn asks.

Ellana frowns. Evelyn blinks. Ellana shakes her head.

“No?”

Ellana sits up and slides off the haystack, waving a hand for Evelyn to follow. Evelyn follows, more out of surprise than anything.

Ignoring the fact that she’s been made Inquisitor - Evelyn figures it doesn’t really mean much. - and that Ellana is her friend - or at least, Evelyn likes to think so - she didn’t really expect to be denied the use of her own mount.

Ellana stops in front of the stall with the Green Dales Feral and pats the door. The horse comes over, nosing at Ellana’s cheek before turning to look at Evelyn.

“Uh. This one?” Evelyn points at the Feral, who starts to lip at her finger, gently.

Ellana nods, reaching into the feed bucket and taking a bite of an apple.

“So - not the Hang-Tooth. I’m going to the Approach, you know,” Evelyn says, stroking the Feral’s nose.

Ellana shakes her head, then holds out the apple to the next stall over. The Imperial Warmblood reaches out and takes the apple from her fingers.

“Alright,” Evelyn says, “I trust you. I’m hoping that you have a reason, and I wish you’d tell me.” Evelyn pauses here. Ellana remains perfectly mum. “But I trust you anyway. The Green Dales Feral it is, then. Would you like to go for a ride, Dalia? It will be rather hot, but I suspect that you’ll quite enjoy the trip there. Everyone does until they get to the sand.”

Ellana hums, pleased, then goes to climb over the stall wall of the Tirashan Swiftwind.

[idkwhattonamethisbs]

Clocked lol

I wonder how many heart-attacks Blackwall and Solas have per day when Cole is around.