#alexius x inquisitor

[choccy-zefirka]

I was feeling pretty miserable so I decided to absolutely slaughter the part of me that cringes and touch up my very first artwork with The DAI OTP, replacing the outdated proto-Yvie in it with Yvie and just generally switching to smoother lineart and a color scheme that fits the Morning theme of @dragonagekissweek

[2dmenenthusiast]

“Maybe a series. An epic, even.”

(Varric x Elf Inquisitor!Reader)

a very short, fluffy piece for y'all. I've been wanting to write for Varric for a while cuz there's barely anything for him which makes ZERO sense. I need more fanfics about this handsome dwarf :(

I hope you enjoy and comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Summary: dreams of being thrown into the future and watching your comrades die have been plaguing you, and a certain dwarf appears to comfort you

Word count: 1k

Warnings/other info: Mentions of death, nightmares, floof

Another restless night in Skyhold. Unsurprising, but highly frustrating.

You couldn’t remember the last time you got a decent night’s sleep, plagued with nightmares of demons and everything else under the sun trying to kill you. You’ve had them since you first bestowed the mark, but they had only gotten worse ever since Alexius sent you forward in time.

You know everyone would disapprove of you torturing yourself like this, but you couldn’t help it. You imagined every single way things could’ve gone wrong, how you could’ve been stuck in the future forever. You relived the moment you saw Cassandra die, and Varric’s lifeless body was thrown to the side. You remember the enraged look on Leliana’s face as she put as many arrows in your enemies as she could, before she was killed mercilessly as well. Everything was okay now, things were set the way they should be. But what if they weren’t? What if—

You groaned, sitting up in bed and putting some warmer clothes on before walking down to the throne room. It was empty as expected, considering it was— what, almost 3 in the morning? You’d probably only average a couple hours of sleep at this point before you had to go out scouting in the morning. Cassandra won’t be pleased, that’s for sure.

Traveling the path out to the battlements, you leaned your arms against the stone wall and gazed at the night sky. The stars were incredibly bright, and the cool air felt heavenly against your skin. You’re considering just moving your bed out here. Of course, it wouldn't be the greatest idea for everyone in the inquisition to see you in your underwear first thing in the morning.

“If you’re planning on jumping, might I remind you of the imminent threat that faces us that only you can defeat with that thing on your hand.”

You turned your head just enough to see Varric in your peripherals, the dwarf sauntering up to you.

“You think I’d leave you here to fend for yourself?”

He shrugged. “People have made worse mistakes.”

You grinned, and he stood next to you. He set his gaze to the sky.

“I understand why you come out here. Definitely prefer looking at this than the shit we’ve been facing every day.”

You huffed out a halfhearted laugh, leaning your chin against your hand as you looked at him. Varric always knew what to say to cheer you up, even if the comfort sometimes came in vague insults.

The image of his body being tossed to the side like he weighed nothing appeared in your mind again, and you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. Varric noticed, because of course he did. He seems to notice everything.

“Got something on your mind?”

You scoffed. “Only the seemingly imminent end of the world.”

“Oh, come on, Lucky. You know that Corypheus bastard is all talk. You’ve got that mark on your hand for a reason.”

“The reason being I was in the right place at the right time.” You sighed, shaking your head. “Recently, it feels like I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Varric furrowed his brows, forehead wrinkling as he turned his body to face you.

“What’s wrong with you? If I’m mistaken, the only brooding elf I know is Solas.”

Teeth dug into your bottom lip and your hands gripped the stone wall. The mark on your hand slightly pulsed, and you took a breath to try and calm your racing thoughts. Since the Inquisition formed, you’ve grown to care deeply about your comrades and your advisors. You all got off to a rocky start, a few being wary to even speak to you, but with time, you all grew comfortable with each other. Some more friendly than others. And Varric… Well. He was a special case.

You’ve found yourself growing quite fond of the dwarf, beyond levels of platonic, and the thought scared you. Ever since you got the mark, your life expectancy grew shorter every day. There would be times where you’d come back to Skyhold barely clinging to life, only to have your friends berate you for being so reckless on your missions. Because, of course, you were everyones savior. And you had to live. But, after Corypheus was dead, and the hole in the sky was closed, what then? Would you outlive your usefulness? Would you be forgotten?

You imagined you’d be dead, most likely.

So, you kept your feelings close to your heart, making sure  your emotions were under control. But, it was like a boiling pot, ready to bubble over any second. And seeing Varric die in that alternate timeline, it was only getting harder and harder to swallow your feelings.

“I keep… That day, when Alexius sent us into the future where… Corypheus won, I keep dreaming about it. About how you and Cassandra and Leliana sacrificed yourselves so I could go back and fix everything. And I did. We stopped Alexius, we’re still going after Corypheus. Everything is the way it should be. But…”

You sniffled, a familiar burning sensation behind your eyes that you tried to blink away.

“I keep seeing you, and your body being thrown to the floor, and any thought I had of going back to stop all of it from happening was completely thrown out the fucking window when I saw that. Because all I could think about was saving you. And how you died before I could tell you that I—”

You cut yourself off with a huff, reaching your hand up to wipe away the rogue tears that had rolled down your cheeks. Varric’s expression was a mixture of many things. Confusion, shock… sadness. You clear your throat in an effort to compose yourself. It barely helps.

“I’ve… grown quite fond of you during our time together. And when you died, I swore to myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. No matter how ready you might be to throw yourself into the line of fire for me,” you ended with a jab. Some humor to ease your words.

Varric smiled. “Anything to save the hero.”

You shook your head. “I believe you are more of a hero than I.”

“Yes, because being part of the Merchants Guild is a very heroic duty.”

Chuckling softly, you turn to him and reach out a hand, softly running your fingers down the chain of his necklace before looping them through the circle pendant. It shines in the moonlight when you turn it between your fingers, and you let it drop softly against his exposed chest.

“I understand if my… confession seems inappropriate or makes you uncomfortable, so. We can just pretend it never happened if you would prefer—”

“Actually,” your eyes slightly widened when he smirked, gripping your wrist when you tried to pull your hand back, “I think a kiss from the Herald of Andraste would be quite the story to tell.”

You smiled, hand slipping from his grip so you could hold his. “Just one story?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a series. An epic, even.”

You couldn’t control the rapid beating of your heart as you slightly bent to his height before gently pressing your lips to his, his warm, calloused hand reaching up to hold your face. A kiss under the night sky was more perfect than you could imagine. Because every time the thought of kissing the dwarf did occur, it was always in the midst of battle, when things seemed less than ideal, and it might be your last chance of telling him how you felt. Now? There might be a promise of more moments like this to occur in the future, and you couldn’t be happier.

Pulling away, you stood to your full height, but kept his hand in yours. You couldn’t wipe that stupid grin off your face, and he laughed at the sight.

“I’d say it’s time to get our hero to bed, hm? Got a long day ahead of us.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

Varric pulled you forward and led you down the battlements, gently squeezing your hand. “Please. You think so little of me that I’d let you be alone tonight?”

Your cheeks hurt from how wide you were grinning, and you lightly bumped your side into his.

Maybe everything would be okay in the end after all.

[the-northern-continent]

I would love for some future Dragon Age game (maybe including Veilguard, I haven’t seen much of its dialog system) to have a special tone indicator for “make this true”.

So when there’s an option to say something about our backstory, that symbol shows up to say “hey, these options are all possible, whichever one you pick becomes true retroactively”. Those kinds of backstory choices have come up before, but it’s sometimes hard to tell if all the options are true and the PC is choosing what to reveal, or if the player is actively defining their backstory at that point.

Or when there’s an option like Here Lies the Abyss, the “make this true” symbol pops up to show the Inquisitor isn’t really picking who dies, they’re reacting to whoever was going to do it anyway.

Could also allow for more incremental worldstate imports, instead of having to pick everything at the beginning. Maybe someone mentions the southern Divine, and the player sees the “make this true” symbol alongside:

I heard she was a Circle mage

I heard she was a seeker

I heard she was a spy

And then future conversations, codices, and cameos remember this setting.

Inquisition sort of did this with the choices that had the big “this will do X” banners above them, but those weren’t usually about past worldstate (and smaller backstory choices didn’t have the banner). I think it would be neat to have a specific bit of UI that distinguishes between PC decisions and worldstate decisions.

And then if the Veil gets really weak, that distinction can be deliberately blurred. About to attempt some wild, ill-advised Alexius-style time ritual? The symbol pops up, but it’s a choice we made earlier in the game — one that we’re now rewriting.

[rookinthecrownest]

A War of Roses (Alistair x F! Trevelyan) - WIP

Alistair frowns, and decides enough time has sufficiently passed, that the polite pretence of his station has elapsed its usefulness. The mask slips casually, first in the dark, intelligent gleam in his eyes and then in the tension winding his jaw and temple, giving him a hardened, but passably neutral expression to the unobservant. But that was not who he was sitting across from, in the dimly lit comfort of his study. No, the Inquisitor was anything but unobservant. She was too observant for her own good. Even now, as she reclines against the settee, he can feel her unnatural Fade-green eyes burning like the embers of a hot fire against his skin. It’s uncomfortable, stuffy. Although he wants to, he doesn’t shift awkwardly in his plush lounge chair – a credit to those years he spent training as a templar.

Instead, he straightens, calmly takes the wine goblet on the side table to his right and swirls its contents thoughtfully.

The Inquisitor wordlessly mirrors his movements.

“You put a rather dangerous man on the throne of Orlais” He says, taking a sip of the wine and ignoring the feeling of it churning in his empty stomach.

Iris Trevelyan gives him a tight smile that does not reach her eyes, “Right to the point, I see”  

“Come now, Inquisitor” Alistair waves a hand, “We’re far too old for games”. He sets the goblet aside for a moment and leans forward, on his elbows. “I want to know why. Why him. Celene would have made just as good an ally”

And an easier one to defeat if it came to all-out war, she's no doubt thinking.

As he watches the answer form behind her keen eyes, he tries not to think of all the border skirmishes that Gaspard has been careful enough not to let teeter into the territory of a full-on invasion. He was prodding, measuring, testing Ferelden’s response and strength before quickly withdrawing. Something he rarely had to worry about or deal with when Celene was on the throne - too focused on pretty words and glittering parties to bother with overt military action against him.

Iris took another sip of wine, as if to steel herself for her response, and licked the excess from her lips before setting her own goblet aside. The burnished gold tassels on her dress reflected the candlelight, casting her bronze, freckled skin in a warm orange glow.

“If you saw Corypheus’ army you wouldn’t be asking me this”

He bristled at her needling.

Alistair had more than enough to deal with, trying to keep the peace in Ferelden, which regrettably kept him out of the fight with Corypheus. The fallout from Gereon Alexius’ takeover of Redcliffe castle, and the Mage-Templar war had kept him rather preoccupied – and she knew that.

“The answer is simple, really. I needed strength, numbers. Gaspard had the loyalty of the Chevaliers and the might of the Orlesian army on his side and Celene had the attention of a bunch of poncy aristocrats.” She gives him a noncommittal shrug, “You were a Warden not so long ago. Would you take a pampered palace poodle into a swam of Darkspawn over a Mabari?”

Alistair snorts, “Do you think me incapable of understanding your rationale without a dog analogy?”

Iris tucks a stray lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, “Have I insulted your Fereldan pride? I thought you lot loved dogs”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. He decides to ignore the gibe. “Still, you’ve created quite a problem for my country, putting an expansionist warmonger on the throne of the largest Empire in Thedas”

Iris folds her arms across her chest. Her thick brows furrow together and her playful expression grows cold. “When I had the weight of Southern Thedas on my shoulders and an undead Magister with an army of Red Templars to fight, I was hardly making my decisions based on what would trouble Ferelden the least, politically. I did what I had to do to ensure your country lived to see those troubles”

He takes her point and turns it over in his mind like a stone in the palm of his hand.

“So, I should be thanking you that Orlais and Ferelden lived through Corypheus so they could war with each other once again” Alistair grins sardonically, “What a sentiment”

The Inquisitor’s eyes narrow on him, and the distance between them feels much smaller than it ought to.

"Yes, exactly" She answers firmly. "It wouldn't be the first time I saved you from an incursion of Tevinter Magisters, would it?"

Maker's breath.

[anecdotist]

dorian's romantic/sexual history contains just about everything. he started rather young and with peers, though he was several years younger/a few "grades" ahead in the circles. generally just teens being teens, horny, handsy, secretive. getting caught a few times is what cued halward in on there being a "problem" that needed "fixing."

then, in his late teens/early twenties, he mostly visited brothels and spent time with sex workers. it was easier and quite frankly, safer. other nobles came with complications and he simply wasn't interested in having this--sex, pleasure, his relaxation--against him. it's also, ngl, a bit of self harm. losing himself and doing things in such excess and frequency to try and feel some sort of love and affection, to pretend that at least for a little while, someone cares... yeah. yeah. not healthy on his part, but he never lets on (as much as someone drunkenly, desperately looking at you can hide) or is disrespectful.

he steadies under alexius' mentorship and manages to find a few lovers, some that are casual reoccurring meetings (an actor when he's in town, a noble from antiva that visits every winter) and some one and done's (noble peers or older gentlemen at parties). it's fine, but far from what he wants. he does form a slightly longer, possible love affair with another magister's son. when dorian and alexius have their big fallout, after binging on sex and booze (to rebel and to self-harm, he can multitask) for a long while, he nestles up with said lover and is found in his arms when his father decides enough is enough and drags him home.

inquisition, then, is probably his healthiest. obvs with the inquisitor, it's the stuff of dreams. i don't really ship iron bull x dorian romantically (rp free to change my mind), but i do see them as friends with benefits. but for the most part he might find something casual with someone in the inquisition outside the inner circle--like a ranked soldier, scout, messenger, etc. but with all of these relationships, he takes a... it's mostly physical approach. it's fun, they're blowing off steam, but he doesn't see it lasting because he knows they won't come north. they won't survive going north. even though he doesn't verbalize that that's what he's doing until mid- to late-game, he knows inevitably he's got to go home. so either whoever he finds has to come with him (unlikely) or he'll have to leave them behind (so why get someone else hurt, just minimize the damage to just himself).

[mumms-the-word]

Dark Future, Dark Reality

Part 1

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Dorian Pavus, Leliana Summary: When Iren Lavellan is cast into the future via Alexius's spell, she wants to believe everything is just a temporary nightmare. But as she encounters and speaks with Solas, the details of the dark future become all too real to her and she struggles with how much the future has changed her friend. Solas is not the man she has grown to care for in their travels up to this point. Torn between longing for the man she left behind and the man she must leave behind soon, she fights her way through Redcliffe Castle, wrestling with guilt, fear, and a desire to save a man who refuses to be saved. A/N: Did you want Solavellan angst just a week before Veilguard comes out? of course you do. I'm zooming through my new inquisitor's game before the next game comes out but I couldn't let In Hushed Whispers go by without writing a bunch of pining and angst and so on. You know me. Part 2 is here, but the whole thing can be read on AO3 here!

Your spymaster, Leliana. She is here. As are your companions.

Where? Are they all still alive?

I do not know. But you must find them. If you can.

Fiona’s words repeated in Iren’s head as she stepped softly over the cracked flagstones of the Redcliffe Castle dungeons, peering through the gloom. The dungeons were more shadow and frigid water than stone and wood, illuminated only by weak, blue torch flames and the hazy glow of red lyrium. It was difficult to see much of anything, but even so she searched, looking through the bars of every cell she passed. She had to find them. Whether dead or alive, she had to know.

She had dragged Solas, Varric, and several Inquisition soldiers into this mess. Whatever their fates were, they were on her head.

If Dorian and Fiona were to be believed, Alexius’s spell had cast them an entire year into the future, into a world so bleak and broken it was difficult to make sense of. The evidence of catastrophe was all around them, in the red lyrium all over the place, in the way the air felt mutable and wrong, in the heavy, howling emptiness of these dungeons. As though every soul in Thedas had already perished. Each time they passed another cell without any signs of life, the feeling of her and Dorian being the last two people alive in the world increased, pressing down on Iren like a millstone around her neck.

Some cells were empty, their occupants long since dead and disposed of. In others, the dead remained, curled against the floor, their faces cast in darkness, or they stood as twisted, desiccated statues out of which red lyrium grew in abundance. Iren forced herself to study each body, dread churning in her gut, just in case it was someone she recognized. Thus far, Grand Enchanter Fiona and the young elven mage, Lysas, were the only living occupants. Neither were in any state to help. Both were more dead than alive.

She pressed on, stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other to keep searching. More empty cells. More darkness. More silence. Keep searching. Keep looking. Leave no space unchecked. You must find them.

But would she find them dead or alive? Which was worse, in this hellscape?

Keep searching.

She approached yet another room of cages, her cold hands stiff as she pushed the heavy door open. At first, she heard and saw nothing. But then something shifted in the far corner.

“Is someone there?”

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“Solas,” she breathed. She would recognize his mild tenor anywhere. She set a hand on Dorian’s arm as he tried to draw his staff, stopping him. “Wait. That’s Solas.”

“Who?”

But Iren didn’t answer. In the far right corner cell, a pale hand gripped one of the metal bars and then disappeared back into the gloom. She wanted to rush over, but cautious sense prevailed, and she crept forward quietly instead, glancing at the other cells to be sure. All empty.

But she had heard him. She had glimpsed him. There, in the last cell on the right. As she drew even with the bars of his cell, she saw him moving within, his pale form appearing ghostly in the darkness.

“Solas.”

He didn’t hear her. He paced and shifted restlessly in his cramped space, like an animal in a cramped cage. Huge shards of red lyrium grew out of the walls and pointed toward him like dull blades, a constant threat, but he moved around and through them without thought. Dipping a shoulder to pass beneath one large crystal that jutted out at neck level. Turning his head just before a sharp fragment would cut his cheek. Stepping around a cluster of crystals that grew out of the flagstones. Each motion a habit, a series of muscle memory movements that spoke of weeks, months of confinement in this one small space.

How long had he been here?

The heat from the red lyrium seemed to pulse as Iren drew nearer to the bars of the cell, the crystals the only source of warmth, twisted and unnatural, in this freezing cold dungeon. The red haze coming off the corrupted lyrium made the air swim as if she were in a dream, but he was no illusion. This was Solas, in the flesh.

What was left of him.

“Solas,” she said again, softly, taking hold of one of the bars. “Can you hear me?”

He turned at the far wall, dragging his gaze up from the floor, and then jolted to a halt, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, and then—

“Iren,” he breathed. He took a step closer, lifting an arm as if to take hold of the cell door again, and then halted once more, his arm dropping back to his side with a clenched fist. “You’re alive?”

She nodded, tightening her hold around the bar. His eyes glowed with a strange, sickly red light, but any other detail about him was lost amid the darkness and red lyrium miasma surrounding him. “I’m here, Solas.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “We saw you die.” His voice rang with a strange metallic echo, warped and wrong. “Yet you are no spirit. No illusion. How is this possible?”

“We traveled through time. I can’t explain it. I…”

“Allow me,” Dorian said, producing a key they had plucked off a Venatori jailer’s body. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, speaking as he worked. “In brief, no, we’re not dead. Not yet anyway. The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak, plucked directly from the throne room one year ago and dumped here. Simple, really.”

As Dorian explained, Solas emerged from the darkness, out into the blue light of the nearby torches. Iren stifled a gasp.

The red haze from the lyrium clung to his body, flickering around a frame that was dangerously thin. Already a slender yet lean man, now his wool shirt hung off him as though he were little more than bone, the knuckles of his hands like sharp peaks, his cheeks sunken in. Beneath his pale skin, turned bone white and ashen in the strange light of the dungeons, his veins stood out stark and bright red. Each beat of his heart sent a crimson glow webbing outward from his core, nearly in time with the pulsing of the red lyrium crystals around them. The blood vessels and pupils of his eyes shone with that same crimson light, and beneath his eyes, his skin had turned gray and black, bruised by exhaustion and months of torment.

He was a dead man walking. A corpse holding onto the barest thread of life.

But his focus was on Dorian. “Displaced in time,” he repeated, as if to himself. His focus sharpened, a sudden, almost frenzied urgency tinging his voice. “Can you reverse the process? You could return and obviate the events of the last year. It may not be too late.”

“That is the plan,” Dorian said. “You catch on quick. Good to know someone understands me around here.”

Solas frowned. “You would think such an understanding would stop me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

Iren was barely listening. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. His body bore the subtle signs and markings of a year’s worth of living as some madman’s prisoner, but the damage ran much deeper than the surface showed. The red lyrium haze, the glow that pulsed in his veins, that shone out from his eyes…it went far beyond any healing spell she knew, beyond any herbal remedy that she had memorized.

“Solas…what happened to you?” she asked quietly.

His ashen lips twisted in a grim, humorless smile. “Red lyrium. It kills, but slowly. I am dying.”

“Dying?”

She didn’t want to believe it, but she had never seen anything like this. He was…changed. Though he carried himself with the same somber gravity that he often adopted back at Haven, when all eyes were on him, he no longer stood as tall as before. The bend of his shoulders and the gauntness in his face spoke volumes. He was exhausted, worn down to nothing. All traces of his subtle humor and gentle kindness had been destroyed, replaced by cold detachment. His mind may be as sharp as ever, but physically, he was no more than a shadow of his former self.

It made her heart ache with a pain deeper and heavier than she dared name.

She reached out a hand to touch him. To do what, she didn’t know. Offer him comfort. Attempt a healing spell. See if he was even real. But he took a step back, out of her reach.

“Do not.” Though warped by the metallic tone, his words were firm and unyielding, almost sharp. “This is not something your healing magic can alter.”

“There must be something I can do. Or something I can try.”

“No. There is nothing. My death is inevitable. And there are more important things at stake.”

There was no room for argument in this tone. As if his death were no more than a minor, immutable fact. The evidence was carved into his body. Bruised deep into his skin. Radiating within his blood. He was dying.

But Iren pressed her lips together. “You’re not dead yet. Maybe I can—”

“No. I do not matter here. You do.”

A familiar exasperation rose up within her. “So there’s nothing I can do? Nothing at all?”

“No.” His jaw hardened and he clasped his hands behind his back, all sharp angles and steely silence. She clenched her hands at her sides, swallowing frustration that was little more than thinly veiled despair, and glared at him. For a moment, they merely gazed at each other, Solas’s usual grim sobriety weighed against her stubborn stare. Neither budged, until at last he sighed softly, relaxing a fraction.

“What you can do is this: return and make sure none of this ever occurs,” he said. “And if—when you succeed in returning to your own time, it’s best that you do not bring anything from this time back with you. This red lyrium is a slow poison without a cure. I cannot let it affect you, too.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Can the effects of red lyrium spread so quickly? Just by touch?”

“Perhaps. It is better not to risk it.”

“So you don’t actually know.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his features, a ghost of the man she had befriended back in her timeline. It was good to see that that Solas still lived, buried deep within this new corrupted form. That somewhere beneath the unrecognizable frame he now bore, her friend was still within, with all his stubborn pride and ridiculous opinions.

It hurt as much as it comforted. This was no mere dream of the Fade. This was a new reality, a potential future. This Solas, with all his wounds and pain, was real. What he had lived through was real. All of this was real.

And in this timeline, she had abandoned him. He had every right to act coldly toward her.

It was her turn to relent. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. But Solas merely shook his head, silent.

“As charming as all this is,” Dorian interjected, glancing between them, “we should get back to the matter at hand. Alexius? Remember?”

“Alexius is not the one that need concern you,” Solas said. “He serves a master, the Elder One. He reigns now, unchallenged. After you stop Alexius, you must be prepared.”

“Prepared?” Iren asked. “For what?”

“To stop the Elder One.” He focused his glowing gaze on her, more serious than she had ever seen him. “I will tell you all I know. But remember this future, Iren. It may help you prevent it.”

—————

Solas spoke low as they moved through the remainder of the dungeons, checking for other survivors. He spoke of the Elder One assassinating Empress Celene and of the chaos that descended on Orlais. He spoke of an army of demons, pouring out of the rifts that only grew more numerous and more unstable without Iren there to close them. Even more gravely, he spoke of the Inquisition and Ferelden armies attempting assault after assault on Redcliffe Castle, always working separately, only for the Ferelden forces to retreat after three failed attempts. But not the Inquisition. In their final assault, only a few short months ago, they were overwhelmed by the demon armies of the Elder One and slaughtered, down to the last man.

“Even Cassandra?” Iren asked. “Cullen? Our friends?”

Solas shook his head. “I can only assume based on what I have heard, and what little I have seen. I have heard of no other survivors, other than myself, Varric, and Spymaster Leliana. Why they keep us alive now is a mystery. The Elder One has already won.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, sharp. “Anything can be stopped.”

Solas let out a short, rough laugh. “You would not say that if you had experienced these things firsthand. Any hope of stopping this Elder One died when the Veil was torn asunder.”

“You’re talking as if all of this is inevitable, even if I do make it back to my time,” she argued. “I can’t afford to think like that. I have to believe he can be defeated.”

“He can be defeated, but not by fools who ignore the dangers even when they are staring them in the face.”

Iren’s face flushed as her temper rose. “So I’m a fool now?”

“Yes, if you continue to treat this world like some dark fairy tale,” Solas snapped, anger flashing through his words. He stopped to face her. “In this world, the Elder One has already secured his victory, and the world has spiraled into chaos as a result. I am not telling you this to pass the time, Iren. These. Things. Happened.” He paused, searching her face, and then added firmly, “You cannot hope to defeat him if you close your ears to the truth now.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to back down from his stare. But he was right. As was so often the case, he was right, even when she wanted to argue the finer points with him.

Pretending all of this was a dream would help no one. No matter how much she wished to convince herself that this could all be washed away, the evidence was all around her. Even if she did make it back to her timeline, she would have to carry these memories with her. The more tangibly they lingered in her mind, the better prepared she would be to predict the Elder One’s next moves. It made sense.

Much as she hated it.

Dorian, several paces ahead, turned to look back at the two of them. “I’ll just search the next room alone, then, shall I?”

They both ignored him. He shook his head and disappeared through another door, leaving them to their silent staring.

“All right,” she said quietly, after the silence had stretched on too long. “Then tell me everything. Starting with how I died.”

For the first time, a flicker of genuine pain crossed his face and he looked away. “No. Do not ask me that.”

“Solas, I’m not a child. There is no need to protect me.”

“You misunderstand. And it is of no benefit to you.”

She threw one hand into the air, exasperated. “According to who? You’ve talked of nothing but what has happened to everyone else, to this world—”

“Because it is the world that matters!”

“—but never once have you said how I died or what happened to you and Varric,” she continued, raising her voice over his. “How am I supposed to save you, or save myself, if I don’t know what I’m up against when I get back? How can I guarantee anything if I don’t know what I might face?”

“We do not matter so much as the world at large,” he said, his voice rough.

“You matter to me,” she snapped.

He shook his head again, turning his face away, and fixed his gaze on the far wall, his eyebrows lowered. Light and darkness cast his profile in stark relief, black and white, sharpening the planes and angles of his face. Pools of shadow gathered in the hollow of his cheek, of his throat, darkening the bruises beneath his eyes by contrast. In the flickering blue torchlight, the line of his jaw was honed to a knife’s edge. The only color came from the glow in his eyes, a scarlet shade the color of rage, a rage that was not his own but had been forced upon him, sinking into his blood, consuming him from the inside out.

For a moment, he looked lethal, a predator, ready to bear sharp fangs and lunge for the kill. And then the shadows shifted, and all she saw was the hollow death mask of a dying man running out of time.

This world had changed him. He was all shattered glass and ragged edges now. Sharp, brittle, trying to be strong and resolute but shredded raw by months spent in one small dungeon cell while corrupted lyrium slowly ate away at his body, his mind, his will. This whole time, whenever he spoke, his tone had been steely, almost cruel in its coldness. He was less patient here, more frenetic. No more the mentor or the teacher, the wisdom-giving friend, but a dread harbinger.

But the Solas she knew was still in there somewhere. She had seen him, a glimpse, flickering at the edge. And that faint specter of the man she had grown to care for was what kept her tethered here, grounding her in this reality, even as it wrung out her heart to see this world so horrifically twisted and empty. The Solas she knew would want her to equip herself with as much knowledge as possible to stop this Elder One. Even if it hurt. Perhaps especially if it hurt.

And whether this Solas or that Solas liked it or not, she would use that knowledge to save as many people as she could, starting with him.

She took a step closer to him. He flinched faintly and took a step away. Always keeping her just beyond arm’s reach.

“Please,” she whispered. “Tell me what happened the day I di—I disappeared.”

At first, he pretended not to hear her. But then he released a breath through his nose, glancing sidelong at her. It only took another second or two for him to cave. “Very well. I had forgotten how stubborn you were.”

She smiled slightly. “Indomitable focus, remember?”

A hint of a smile passed over his lips. The first real smile, however faint, she had seen in this dreadful world, other than Dorian’s cavalier smirks. His eyes softened. “I do.”

It was the hint of encouragement she needed. She took another small step closer, prompting him with a quiet, “So…?”

This time he didn’t step away. But his expression grew somber again as he lowered his gaze to the floor between them. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“The magic Alexius used to transport you to this time appeared to us as a tear in the fabric of reality. It ripped apart your body in seconds before sealing itself closed, leaving behind nothing more than scorch marks and silence. It was…” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Swift. Swift and unstoppable. There was nothing I—nothing we could do.”

Iren said nothing, letting the severity of the memory settle over her. She tried to imagine it from his perspective…and failed. He had painted the scene in so few brushstrokes…

A realization washed over her with a cold shiver. His hesitancy, the pain that had crossed his features the first time she had asked, his resistance…it all suddenly made sense. It wasn’t her he was trying to protect from the memory.

It was himself.

“With you gone,” he continued, not noticing her sudden chill, “Alexius unleashed his forces upon us, ensuring that none would escape. Varric and I fought to the point of exhaustion, down to the last crossbow bolt and wisp of magic. But Alexius’s forces were too numerous. They wasted no time chaining us to our cells. There, we have remained. Until now.”

“Solas…I…”

He passed a hand over his eyes as if shielding himself from seeing the past. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “If I had been stronger, more powerful…none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she chided quietly. Creators, what she wouldn’t give to touch him, red lyrium or not. She felt so useless standing there an arm’s length away while he tore open old wounds to sate her foolish curiosity.

She shouldn’t have asked. She shouldn’t have pushed for answers. Wasn’t that how they ended up in this mess? In every mess? Because she couldn’t leave anything well enough alone? If the blame had to be laid at anyone’s feet for all the horrors of the last year, it should be at hers, not his.

She chanced another step closer. “None of this is your fault, Solas. You can’t blame yourself for what happened in this world.”

He dropped his hand with a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “You say that with such conviction, but you have no idea what I have—” He cut himself off, turning his face away, his hands clenched at his sides. He took a deep breath. “What I have experienced. You know nothing of this world. It is far worse than you understand. To you, this will be nothing more than a terrible dream. But in this world, an entire year has passed, the people crushed beneath the whims of the Elder One and his armies. If you had seen what I have seen…endured what I have endured…”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and then again, stronger this time, “Solas, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.”

“No. There is nothing you can do or say to cause me any more pain than I have already endured.” And just like that, his vehemence cooled, leaving behind only weary acceptance. “And you are right. You must know what you are up against.”

He took a slow breath, meeting her gaze once more with careful detachment. She struggled to hide her disappointment and her guilt. Any ground she had gained moments ago was lost. He was back to grave business once again, the Solas she knew buried deep down where he could no longer be hurt.

“Now…I trust your curiosity is now satisfied?” he asked. Without waiting for her answer, he turned toward the door Dorian had disappeared through some time ago. “We must find Varric and a way to reach Alexius. That is all that matters here. We should waste no more time.”

Then he stepped through to the next corridor, leaving her alone in the cold darkness of the dungeon chamber.

She struggled with herself a moment, wrangling guilt and shame and embarrassment into something she could swallow. She was such a fool. Silent, she followed after him, heading past yet another row of cells trying to focus on the tasks ahead.

They found Varric shortly after, safe and sound. Or as safe and sound as one could be after a year spent in a dungeon cell surrounded by red lyrium. Like Solas, he looked gaunt and pale, a dying man’s husk for his normally stocky and well-built body, but he spoke with his usual casual levity. Though it seemed more forced and less vibrant than usual, he acted as though none of this horrific future had actually affected him.

But Varric had always been a very good liar.

“Solas told us everything,” Iren said. “The Elder One, all that he’s done…”

Varric nodded. “Yeah. To say it’s ‘bad’ out here is an understatement. The past year has been a damn nightmare.”

“Are you all right?” she asked. She heard Solas snort quietly behind her and winced. “Right, stupid question.”

But Varric just gave her a crooked grin. “I think I look pretty good for a dead man, honestly. Just saying, the not-dying version of this red lyrium stuff? Worse. Way worse.”

“Were you in there with the red lyrium this whole time?” she asked cautiously. She knew how much Varric hated it. How much it had cost him.

“The red lyrium came later,” Solas answered for him, his face carefully blank. “After the first few methods of torture proved insufficient to produce any new information about you.”

Torture. He said it in a tone so matter-of-fact, she nearly missed it. She stared, speechless with muted horror, but he was already moving on. Already gathering himself up and drawing away toward the door.

Varric grimaced. “Aw, Chuckles, you don’t have to scare her like that.”

“She wants to know,” was Solas’s distant answer.

“You were tortured?” Iren whispered, looking to Varric for an answer. But Varric just shrugged.

“These Venatori don’t appreciate a good story,” he muttered under his breath. Then he followed Solas toward the door.

Iren learned to stop asking questions after that.

—————

Iren caught a glimpse of the torture methods of the Venatori firsthand as they burst in to save Leliana. If anything, she looked worse than the others, her skin mottled and unnaturally gray, her blighted flesh hanging off her bones as though all the strength and vitality had been sucked from her body by some vampiric demon. She bore no traces of red lyrium corruption, but she was dying as surely as the others. Everyone was dying here.

Leliana had even less patience for rehashing the details of the past than Solas, though it was Dorian attempting to ask for details this time.

Enough! This is all pretend to you. Some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.

Iren’s eyes had been on the bloodied and rusted torture elements when Leliana spat those words out to Dorian. Though they lay inert now, all she could see were the brands blazing white hot, inching toward her friends’ bodies, the sharp pokers and tools with which they could cut, slice, stab, tear…

What marks did her friends bear that she couldn’t see? Scars healed by time, or possibly even magic, as Alexius forced them to stay alive in hopes that they would reveal some secret about her, even after she was supposedly dead.

Torture. Red lyrium. Demons. Death.

It was real.

Her words rang in Iren’s head as they made their way, stoic and silent, through the rest of the lower floors, creeping ever upward and forward toward the surface. She was only half-paying attention when Dorian opened the door leading out into the courtyard, only distantly aware of the green-tinted light spilling through the doorway. She heard Dorian swear in Tevene and dragged her gaze up to see what had alarmed him.

She stepped out into the courtyard with a gasp.

“The Breach! It’s…”

“Everywhere,” Dorian finished. He looked shaken for the first time in that dark future.

What had formerly been just one ugly, green-glowing wound in the heavens had spread, the very sky rippling and churning with sickly-looking clouds and ribbons of Fade light. Colossal columns of stone hung suspended in the air while whole chunks of buildings and ruined towers floated over their heads, as though bits of the Black City that hovered just out of sight in the Fade had been brought to bear down upon the mortal, living world. The grass at their feet bent not from the brush of a natural breeze but from hazy washes of magic that swept around them like filmy curtains, thin but tangible even to the naked eye. All around them, flakes of ash and small rocks floated skyward, drawn in by the pull of the Breach, by the gravity of a sky so shattered there was nothing solid left to rely on.

The overall effect was so disorienting, Iren nearly lost her footing simply standing just beyond the doorway. More than anything else she had seen so far, this nearly brought her to her knees. Her mind struggled to make sense of where the world ended and the Fade began, where the Veil was supposed to be, which parts were meant to be mutable Fade structures and which were the hand-hewn stones and walls of Redcliffe Castle. She stared up at the broken head of an Andraste statue, larger than any statue she’d ever seen for any Creator, god, or prophet, as it hung suspended and slowly rocking in the sky. No such carving existed near Redcliffe, of that she was certain.

The world was warped, shifting, neither Fade nor not-Fade but something in between that refused to make sense. The longer she gazed up at the sky, the more she felt as though she would fall into it, her feet lifting from the ground like the small stones around her, the whole world tilting as she was dragged upward into that sea of green and gray.

She staggered, catching herself with her staff, and forced her eyes onto something that wasn’t moving. The flagstones at her feet. “I don’t understand.”

“The Veil is shattered,” Solas said, joining her outside and staring up at the sky. He leaned more heavily on his staff now for support, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening in the eerie green light.  “There is no boundary now between the world and the Fade.”

Shattered. There was no Veil here. Nothing keeping the Fade from spilling over and twisting the world, rewriting the rules, and leaving only chaos in its wake. No more Thedas apart from the Fade. No more Fade apart from the world. It was all one and the same.

And it was hell.

She saw Solas’s jaw clench. “It is not supposed to be this way.”

“Understatement of the age, Chuckles,” Varric muttered, but Solas ignored him. He turned to Iren instead, red-glowing eyes intense in the fluid light of the broken sky.

“This world is an abomination,” he said, every word weighted. “It must never come to pass.”

She nodded. Something in his tone spoke of warning beyond the threat of the Elder One, but she couldn’t discern what. And with very little time on their side and the Elder One the most immediate threat, she elected not to ask.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep this from ever happening,” she said solemnly. “Ever again. I swear it.”

“Good,” he murmured.

“Let us put those words to the test, Herald,” Leliana said, drawing her bow and notching an arrow. Iren followed the point of the arrowhead over to the upper level of the courtyard, where several demons prowled, eager for something new to hunt and devour. “There are still many obstacles between us and the throne room where Alexius cowers and hides.”

Iren readied her staff with a nod. Even here, demons could be killed. First them, then Alexius, and eventually, one day, the Elder One. Simple.

For now.

[luzial]

Overgrown - Chapter 20

Ellana Lavellan is an investigative journalist assigned to cover an excavation in the Arbor Wilds. Her editors have received a tip that the dig may uncover new information about the “Final Inquisitor,” a mysterious figure from the Dragon Age about whom almost nothing is known. Ellana teams up with a museum docent to investigate the story.

Solas x Lavellan || Modern AU || Read on AO3 || Read from the beginning

Excerpt:

Ellana dragged her eyes upward, suddenly realizing she hadn’t heard from Solas in quite some time now. She was surprised to find the area nearest to Krem’s truck and the trailer was all but deserted. Just how much time had passed while she was immersed in Sister Jeanne’s daydreams? Far in the distance, at the opposite side of the clearing, she could just make out a cluster of people huddled around one of the dig sites. Even Alexius’ bodyguards were there, sticking out in their dark suits around the outer edges of the group.  Weird, she thought. Had they found something? If they had, why hadn’t anyone told her? And where was Solas? He was usually easy to spot in a crowd, but now he was nowhere to be seen. As if in answer to her question, she suddenly heard his voice spilling out from the open door of Alexius’ trailer. It was a low, furious tone that she had only heard him use once before - when he was threatening to have her kicked out of the museum back in Lydes.

[lesbian-diana-cavendish]

Chomping wildly at warden x leliana angst for 'in hushed whispers'

Alexius starts by telling Leliana about what they did to the wardens and that hers was no doubt sacrificed already, but then there she is leading one of the forces throwing themselves at the redcliff walls to no avail, Alexis drags leliana up to the ramparts after they've captured the warden and forces her to watch as they execute her, maybe in a horrific way that isn't just a quick neck chop (ala being drawn and quartered, just something where Leliana can't even find comfort in it being fast and painless)

.....ooooor with my little Inquisitor Aeducan I got going, lelianas been tortured for a year after watching her lover be disintegrated and she doesn't believe what she's seeing when valda runs through those doors but she feels the rough but familiar hands cradling her face she would remember no matter what and it gives her a second wind to fight to fix everything...

And then it's the wardens turn to watch leliana die, forced to let it happen so she can return back to the time before and make sure this never happens having to practically be held back by dorian....up until this point they had been keeping the fact that she's the HOF secret (it's been 10 years, most people don't even know what she looks like, it would be fairly easy to not be discovered as long as they didn't get caught snogging, bc even if they haven't met her, all lelianas coworkers know she's with the HOF lol...) but when the warden gets back from redcliff she all but tackles leli in pure relief.

[pokidragon]

I just had the stupidest idea ever: skyrim x dai cross over where rhe inquisitor get yeeted into Skyrim when Alexius tries to make them not exist and they wake up on the cart to helgan lolololol

This is so stupid im gonna do it hahahahha

[ao3-diablofic]

by Kosho

Back at it again with Kinktober! My eventual goal is to use both the nsfw and cutesy prompts, but if not, then I’m aiming for at least getting it done.

Day 1: Elsine x Cullen Rutherford Day 2: Youkai x River Ward Day 3: Taki x Zenos Day 4: the commander x daeran Day 5: Cherish x Cullen Day 6: Arakiel x Socothbenoth Day 7: Felix Alexius x Talon Adaar Day 8: Solas x Jack Day 9: Zevran Arainai x Varadin Cousland Day 10: Paladin Danse x Leander Day 11: Female Necromancer x Kormac

Words: 13549, Chapters: 11/31, Language: English

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game), Cyberpunk & Cyberpunk 2020 (Roleplaying Games), Final Fantasy XIV, Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous (Video Game), Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Fallout 4, Diablo (Video Games)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Original Avvar Character(s) (Dragon Age), Cullen Rutherford, V (Cyberpunk 2077), River Ward, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Zenos yae Galvus, The Commander (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Daeran (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Original Inquisitor Character(s) (Dragon Age), Socothbenoth (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Male Adaar (Dragon Age), Felix Alexius, Solas (Dragon Age), Male Lavellan (Dragon Age), Male Cousland (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai, Paladin Danse (Fallout), Male Sole Survivor (Fallout 4), Kormac the Templar, Female Necromancer (Diablo III)

Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, V/River Ward, Zenos yae Galvus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), The Commander/Daeran (Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous), Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Felix Alexius/Male Inquisitor, Male Lavellan/Solas (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Warden, Male Cousland - Relationship, Paladin Danse & Male Sole Survivor, Kormac the Templar/Female Necromancer

Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Kinktober, Pegging, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Nurse - Freeform, Hate Sex, Teratophilia, Sweat, Collars, Tieflings (Dungeons & Dragons), Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Sex poison, Oral Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Loss of Virginity, Virginity, Mage Adaar (Dragon Age), Named Adaar (Dragon Age), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood, Blood Kink, Glory Hole, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation, Dream Sex

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50516668

[choccy-zefirka]

Category 10 OTP event!!!

[mutantenfisch]

I heard it is Gereon Alexius Appreciation Time on @red-hot-chili-tiefling‘s blog? Well here is my Seasonal themed gift I drew about three years back for Chili. I still consider this one of my favourite works and her writing about Alexius, damn her writing in general!, is by far one of my favouritest in the world! ♥

[dalishkadan]

there's a certain ... lacking in fics of older inquisitors ... and also, gereon alexius needs some love and support, so why not solve both problems at once, eh?

[theblackficporium]

*cough* so I’m writing my first fanfic in over a decade

[schattengerissen]

New fic!

So Near and Yet so Far, a new story in my Dorian Pavus/Kai Trevelyan series The Contours of Shadows, is up and complete on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049917

With Dorian absent on a mission to the Western Approach, Kai is lonely, bored, tired of Inquisiting and expecting the worst Satinalia ever...until a mysterious purple envelope arrives...

Feedback always welcome!

[kurogoesinthedas]

“Ah, you’re right. Filthy, rude, an absolute barbarian, nothing to like there at all.”

“Maker, do shut up, yes?“

The Mummy AU scene nobody asked for.  Bonus: obligatory Mummy: Returns Yara

(the “sir” is Erimond)  Support me on Patreon! Link in blog description