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ayamikasai · 30 days ago

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god touched. / chapter fifty.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas | F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 1.1K Story Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Tags: Slow Burn; Muteness; Canon Divergence; Dreamer Lavellan; Retelling; Romance; Angst; Neurodiversity; Two Lavellans; Emotionally Repressed; Hurt/Comfort; PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Body Horror; Solavellan Hell; Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity; Alternating POV; Third Person Limited; Canon-Typical Violence; (Future) Polyamory; (Future) Polyamory Negotiations Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 50: THE KING'S GHOST

King Alistair Theirin was crowned ruler of his kingdom after the end of the Fifth Blight, with the legendary Hero of Ferelden reigning as his queen. Both former Grey Wardens are wildly popular in their homeland, though some claim Alistair is not of Theirin blood and that his bloodline as a king’s bastard son is a lie imposed on Ferelden to depose Queen Anora. Thus, the royals’ rule has been plagued with trouble, both within the kingdom as well as with neighboring Orlais. —Excerpt from A History of Ferelden’s Royal Lines, author unknown, circa 9:36 Dragon.

The sound of syncopated metal drew closer and closer. Two rows of royal guards entered, flanking the massive hall with unshakable ownership and the open hostility of a Frostback winter. Straight through the middle of them came the most important man in Ferelden: King Alistair Theirin.

And he was furious.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” he said coldly. His anger was somehow contained by, frankly, shoddy looking leather armor. The only indication he was a king was a fur-lined cowl closed with a cord and the thin coronet nestled upon his brow. “Imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe castle away to a Tevinter magister.”

“Your Majesty.” The slight Fiona approached him timidly, casting glances at the shivering Herald from where she’d fallen out of her second rift.

He continued in a voice that could freeze a river, “Especially since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to-”

The pale-as-death Herald had been largely forgotten this entire time, still lying in a heap on the floor surrounded by Solas, Iron Bull, and this humble chronicler, but anyone with a brain could tell where this conversation was headed. It was already hot enough to cook over (or cold enough to freeze over if you care for metaphoric consistency).

Even in an unconsciousness from which Solas had been trying to rouse her through magic, physical touch, tender words, and everything short of a kiss of life, Thenera must have sensed things were dire. The unwavering sense of duty roused her from her poisoned nap and she sat up, supported heavily by Solas and the large hams that passed for the Iron Bull’s hands.

The Dalish elf gathered as much of her voice as she could and, in a truly heroic burst of energy, proclaimed, “We need them.”

“Maker’s breath,” the King said, probably surprised that a corpse was speaking. “What happened to her?”

“Oh, just your run of the mill time travel mishaps,” said Dorian amiably. “Fell into a bad future. The average mage experience.” Despite the good humor, Sparkler's face was pinched. Stressed. “This is the Herald of Andraste. She was trying to recruit the mages to help her close the Breach.”

(“Oh, PISS.” was heard loudly from the back of the hall which the King and Dorian both overtly pretended not to hear.)

Square jawed Alistair, once just a king’s bastard, considered the news. Chewed on it for a moment. Then shook his head, dismissed the objectively insane explanation, and turned narrowed amber eyes back to the former Grand Enchanter.

“Have your mages agreed to this?” he asked Fiona in a voice that could only be described as “threatening”.

She looked from Dorian to the Herald to Alistair to Alexius, doing the math. Angry King, dying Herald, upset the Inquisition…

“Y-yes,” she said. “Although we have not yet discussed the terms -”

“Good,” Alistair interrupted with a sharp nod, crossing his arms. “Then you can all leave Redcliffe. Now. We’ll discuss your future in Ferelden, if there is ever to be one, later.”

Leliana, who had until now remained completely hidden, stepped out from behind one of the guarded pillars. The guards drew weapons on her, but she gave a deep Orlesian bow (also known as condescension in physical form).

“King Alistair.”

The King, who hitherto had been completely engulfed in his righteous fury and totally implacable, cleared his throat and looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “L-Leliana.”

If a word could be a person, “Leliana” was a tumbling acrobat. A fumbled emotion or twelve swung back and forth with each syllable.

“Leliana,” he repeated, now in control of his words again. “You look…well. It’s been a while.”

“It has.” Leliana smiled sharply back. “Such a shame I had to leave you prematurely last we spoke. I apologize we have to meet again under such unfortunate circumstances.”

It was hard to say if Leliana or King Alistair was behaving weirder. Every word meant three other things. A past romance, a past wrong, a past what?

(They’d travelled together, hadn’t they? Anders had said something about it. So had Leliana. So had Cullen, come to think of it. But when?)

“If I may, Your Majesty?” Leliana’s eyes glittered.

Alistair made it clear she may the fuck not, but nodded anyway. “Go on, then.”

If there had been tension in the room when Alistair entered, there was now a full blown war on the horizon. And it seemed to Varric that the King of Ferelden had the worst Wicked Grace face in Thedas.

“As you can see, the Herald of Andraste has been grievously wounded in the pursuit of restoring your uncle’s castle.” The Inquisition’s Spymaster stood tall, arms tucked behind her back and chin held high. “Surely you could allow an old friend and their new allies a night to dress our wounds?”

You could hear a pin drop in the following silence.

The King finally shifted in place and gave another royal nod. “I haven’t been in a position to help your Inquisition, but I will give you my blessing on this.”

Something about Alistair’s demeanor said he was extremely relieved to see Leliana, and completely ready to order her executed on the spot. Maybe it was the way his hands gripped the fabric of his sleeves where they were crossed tight against his chest.

“You may have the night, and your companions as many nights as they need, but the mages must be out by sunrise tomorrow.”

Leliana bowed again.

“Your kindness would raise Andraste herself. And please,” she said, giving him a smile so warm it was practically volcanic, “send my love to the Queen, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Alistair’s jaw was clenched so the words were clipped and curt. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to death to hear from you.”

He swept out of the room with as much dignity as he could muster. The sound of his honor guard echoed through the halls as they followed in their liege’s wake.

In the silence that followed their departure, the Iron Bull spoke before anyone else could. “What the fuck was that about?”

What the fuck indeed.

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ayamikasai · 1 month ago

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Garrus commission for red_robin on Discord ♥️

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

♥️ Donate!

♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, Instagram, BlueSky, Xiaohongshu

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ayamikasai · 1 month ago

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Commission for LadyCrazyDragon on TikTok for a Expedition 33 inspired Solavellan piece. ✨

So, I haven’t played the game so this is all greek to me but I loved how it turned out.

❤️ Discord (junyami) for commissions!

❤️ Donate!

❤️ Prints!

❤️ Tiktok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiahongshu

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ayamikasai · 2 months ago

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god touched. / chapter forty-eight.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas | F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 5K Story Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Tags: Slow Burn; Muteness; Canon Divergence; Dreamer Lavellan; Retelling; Romance; Angst; Neurodiversity; Two Lavellans; Emotionally Repressed; Hurt/Comfort; PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Body Horror; Solavellan Hell; Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity; Alternating POV; Third Person Limited; Canon-Typical Violence; (Future) Polyamory; (Future) Polyamory Negotiations Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 48: THE SECRETS OF DARKEST MAGIC

Alexius has failed. The work here thus becomes all the more vital. Secure the site at all costs. The Elder One will not tolerate another mistake on our part. —A written note found within Redcliffe Castle, circa 9:42 Dragon.* *A note from the Herald of Andraste clarifies that the date is indeed correct despite being one year in the future.

How much time has passed?

Between singed clothing, skin blistering burns, and general malaise, the aftermath of the skirmish saw all of them worse for wear. And without the cacophony of combat, the castle had fallen into an unsettling silence. The calm before the storm, as it were.

How long before I succumb to the poison?

Thenera struggled to keep her footing, strength seeping away by the minute. Dorian’s arm around her waist gave her something to lean on as she caught her breath and tried to ignore the pounding in her head.

Am I past the point of no return?

“Almost there,” Dorian said in what was probably meant to be an encouraging tone. But, despite his best efforts, there was the unmistakable undercurrent of fear. “Just a bit further.”

Is this really how I'm going to –

“This damn song won’t get out of my head.” Next to her, Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Someone wanna start humming something else for a bit?”

“I was unsure if you could hear it at all,” Solas murmured. He hummed a few measures of a haunting, discordant tune that sent shivers up Thenera’s spine. “Something like that?”

It was like untreated halla fur scratching against sensitive skin.

Varric bristled in agitation. “Yeah. It’s the same shit my brother Bartrand was singing after he got his hands on that damn red lyrium idol we found under Kirkwall.”

There was an untold story lingering behind those haunted eyes. A memory best left forgotten by the annals of time. So, a perfect time to change the subject.

“H-hey, Varric. Why…” Thenera leaned heavily against Dorian, panting. “Why do nugs have hands?”

The Iron Bull’s question had worked to get her mind off of an arrow to the gut. Surely it would work to distract the dwarf from bad memories. Or so she hoped.

“Weird, huh?” The question, thankfully, had the intended effect — Varric laughed. “A lot of folks raised them in Orzammar as pets. Never understood the appeal, personally.”

“Don’t let Leliana hear you say that,” Sera muttered. “Loves the little blighters, that one does. Might wake up with a bed full of knives. Or you full of knives.”

“Oh, Red’s welcome to try to sneak into my bed anytime.” The qunari grinned. “But maybe you can settle a bet, then. Cause I was telling Thenera my theory: armed resistance against the dwarven bourgeoisie.”

“I think they’re f-for baking,” Thenera murmured. “Nug cupcakes.”

Varric snorted. “I dunno anything about armed resistance or baking, but they’re known to shove their fingers up your nose if you aren’t careful. And lemme tell you, that shit hurts.”

Thenera giggled, unsure if she found the idea of Varric howling in pain with a nug’s fingers up his nostrils amusing because of fever or blood loss.

Probably both.

As they rounded a corner, a sudden hush fell over their group. Before them loomed a massive set of ornate doors, crackling with magic so thick it made the hair at the nape of Thenera’s neck stand on end. Dorian’s grip on her tightened as they approached.

“Well, this is it,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Sera and Varric went about slotting the red lyrium shards into the door. The Iron Bull cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders in anticipation of another fight, his eye roving over the intricate carvings adorning the doors. Solas stood tall, expression unreadable. The only sign of stress was the white knuckled grip he had on his staff.

But behind this door was the architect of this nightmare.

I’ll make that bastard pay.

Thenera gave Dorian a weary look, then nodded. He carefully unstrapped her staff from his back and passed it to her.

Even if it kills me.

Dorian carefully released her, hands hovering just in case she were to falter, but Thenera remained upright by leaning heavily against the sturdy sylvanwood staff. Taking a deep breath, she approached the giant double doors, flanked by her companions.

With a flare of magic from Dorian’s staff, the wards faded and the doors slowly creaked open to reveal the same chamber as before. But now the tapestries were tattered and torn, with the once lustrous mahogany refectory table dull and in obvious disrepair. Dusty plates with the rotten remnants of numerous half-eaten meals littered the length of it, with wine stains crowning overturned goblets.

Truthfully, Thenera expected to see Alexius standing triumphant and defiant. But what greeted them was a broken man who didn’t even bother to turn and face them. His shoulders were slumped, head hung and with a crouched figure lurking at his side.

“Shitballs.” Sera spat a mouthful of blood onto the marble floor. “Guttershite won’t even put up a fight?”

A guttural groan sounded from the Magister’s side — a sound of agony. The shape was human, but closer to the corpses Thenera had found in the Fallow Mire than anything else. Deep bruises surrounded hollowed eye sockets and accented sharp cheekbones. The emaciated figure wore dirty yellow garb and seemed to collapse in on itself with a pathetic whimper. It took a moment for recognition to settle.

It can’t be –

“Felix?” Dorian’s voice cracked with barely concealed rage. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

There had been some semblance of a plan — Thenera had intended to make Alexius use the amulet to send them back. But looking at the Magister now, and looking at the shade that was once his son, she suddenly understood. None of this had been in the sole pursuit of power or even in service of the Elder One.

Magister Gereon Alexius had destroyed the world out of love.

And having already gone this far, he would unquestionably continue to do so knowing that it was too late to go back. A sunk cost with an unimaginably high toll. And unless they used the man’s son against him, there was little hope for success.

Sera seemed to have a similar thought. While Alexius turned his focus onto Thenera, the archer skulked around the edges of the room towards the human’s blind side.

If she could reach Felix, then they could —

“Magister says ‘what?’” Sera nocked an arrow and drew the bow to its full capacity.

Oh no. Thenera realized too late what she was doing. No, no, no!

This was no plan – this was the simple revenge of a wounded child. Not a warning nor a crippling shot, but a lethal one.

Andruil have mercy and let her miss.

Sera didn’t wait for a response.

Nor did she miss.

The bow twanged, arrow flying and finding its mark with deadly precision. It made a dull thud as it punched straight through the back of Felix’s skull and erupted between empty eyes. His blood smelled of copper and rot as it washed down his face in thick rivulets.

“Oh, sweet Maker, no…” Dorian’s voice hitched in despair, shouldering Thenera behind him. “Alexius, please, just listen to me—”

But any hope for diplomacy had died with Felix.

The Magister roared in pain, raising his staff in a blind rage.

The air burned as the Tevene men both pulled flames through the Veil. Solas grabbed the edge of Thenera’s tunic and dragged her into the closest point of cover, throwing a barrier up to protect them from the worst of the heat.

“Creators, Sera, why?!” Thenera cried in anguish.

“Oh, piss off!” Sera snarled. “You mages think you’re so clever!” Another of her arrows deflected off Alexius’ barrier uselessly. “You break the world with a spell and think you can fix it with a spell. Like nothing that happened here was real to you!”

But it was real and could still be real.

“We’re t-trying to prevent this from ever happening!” Bitter tears welled in Thenera’s eyes. “How c-could you be so — ”

But Sera had fully succumbed to mania.

“Well, I know what’s real, and that’s making shit tits hurt like he hurt people!” Sera shrieked, eyes blazing as she rained more and more arrows down onto the Magister’s defenses. “I’ll die knowing I hurt the bastard. Made him pay!”

There was no reasoning with her. A year’s worth of pain lashed out in a tantrum that may well have doomed them all. And all Thenera could do was watch helplessly.

“Alexius, stop!” Dorian begged. “It doesn’t need to be like this! We can still put things right!”

But grief and rage had likewise consumed Magister Gereon Alexius. Emotions that had only a singular outlet — them. The mages they had fought in the Hinterlands looked like children compared to the raw power a Tevinter Magister called forth.

The Iron Bull rushed forward, trying to get to three of them in time to take the brunt of the attack, but he had been caught out of position. Solas’ barrier wavered in the face of an onslaught of flames. Another surge and it dissipated entirely. The next wild flood of magic struck where Thenera stood and knocked her to the floor.

She had fallen plenty of times before — from the back of a halla, from tree branches, off wagons. Bone on stone was a sensation she knew. But this…this was a whole new agony. The entry wound warmed with freshly spilt blood as cauterized flesh ripped anew.

The rest of the fight dissolved into a series of heartbeats.

Dorian, dragging her back into cover.

A leather coat shielding her and the rhythmic thunking of Bianca.

The Iron Bull singing something in guttural Qunlat.

Solas’ voice: “Hold on, da’len!”

Sera’s body landing limply next to her, little more than a burnt husk, gasping for breath.

An empty bottle rolling across the stone floor.

The pain didn’t subside so much as it sublimated with a rush of fear-laced adrenaline. Thenera sat bolt upright, groping for her staff, but only found Sera’s charred hand. With a cry, she jerked away.

“Herald, we have the amulet,” Dorian said urgently. Kneeling in front of her, he had the look of someone who had been explaining the same thing repeatedly to a simpleton. “We have the amulet. We’re almost home.”

“The amulet…?” Thenera whispered weakly.

“Yes.” Dorian’s eyes flickered between hers, searching for…something. “The amulet. I need time to reverse engineer Alexius’ spell, but we did it. We can go back. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Thank the Creators for small mercies.

Then, as if in answer to the flickering of hope that lit in Thenera’s breast, an earsplitting roar of rage shook the very foundation of Redcliffe Castle. Dust and detritus fell from the rafters, and it was only Dorian’s quick reflexes and magic that kept her from getting crushed under an errant piece of dislodged ceiling.

“You must hurry!” Solas cried out in anguish. “The Elder One approaches!”

Varric turned to the Iron Bull, and the two shared a knowing look. The hulking qunari nodded with silent understanding.

“We’ll head out front.” With the giant great axe slung over his shoulder, the Iron Bull started towards the double doors. “Keep them off your tail.”

“N-no!” Thenera jerked upright. “I won’t let you walk off to d-die! We'll…we’ll…”

What?

What could she do for them at this point?

It was a stupid sentiment. She couldn’t bring them back with her, obviously. There was already an Iron Bull, a Varric, a Solas, and a Sera waiting for her to prevent this catastrophe. These…these versions of her companions were dying or already dead here — damned to be left behind in this hopeless future.

“It’s alright, boss.” The Iron Bull looked over his shoulder, smiling sadly as if reading her thoughts. Knowing him, he probably had. “Leave it to us.”

“We’ll buy you as much time as we can. After that, well…” Varric hefted Bianca up and adjusted some kind of mechanism. “Give ‘em hell, Chuckles.”

Solas laid a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Likewise, Child of the Stone.”

Then the two were gone, with only Solas remaining as a last line of defense. The doors thudded closed behind her friends with an eerie sense of finality.

This is what it must feel like to be on the executioner’s block.

“I always did my best work under pressure.” Despite Dorian’s blasé tone, there was a thin sheet of perspiration on his face. The altus turned away from her and pulled the amulet from his robes. “Well, here goes nothing.”

As he began to chant, a soft glow emanated from the necklace where it hung suspended in front of him.

Thenera met Solas’ gaze as he took Dorian’s place. From where he knelt down in front of her, his eyes roved over her face as though committing it to memory.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, lethallan,” he murmured. His hand lifted towards her face, but he caught himself and dropped it to his side in a balled fist. “But while I draw breath, nothing shall touch you.”

It took Thenera a moment to realize what he had called her. Not da’len, but lethallan.

An honorific that held the connotation of equals.

“S-Solas, I…” Lips trembling, she wanted nothing more than to hug him. To reassure and comfort him in what was likely to be their last moments. “I’m s-so sorry I w-wasn’t able to — ”

“Hush.” He hesitated a moment before slowly removing the jawbone necklace from around his neck, pain lining every inch of his face. “If all goes according to plan, you will return to your proper time and this will be nothing more than a bad dream.”

Sera’s words prickled in the back of her mind. ‘Like nothing that happened here was real to you!’

How can he even say such a thing?

“To you, it w-was all real,” Thenera whispered fiercely. “The l-last year of torment and every h-horrible thing this Elder One caused…you’ve had to…had to live through it. That makes it real.”

He flinched, a muscle in his jaw twitching. For a moment, it looked as if he were about to argue, then thought better of it.

“Your words hold a wisdom I would have done well to heed long ago.” Solas smiled sadly and glittering crimson-tinted tears swam unshed in his eyes. “But it’s too late for that now.” His breath hitched as he released the cord and the wolf’s jaw dropped into Thenera’s outstretched hand. “When you go back, tell the version of myself from your time…” He hesitated, then laughed softly. “Tell that prideful old fool that Felassan was right.”

Who in the Void is Felassan?

But now was not the time for questions. “I…I will.”

Thenera lifted the jawbone necklace, slipped it over her head, and tied it so that it settled against her chest. Shaking, blood-stained fingers brushed over the sharp fangs.

It was heavier than it looked.

Standing up, Solas’ eyes dropped to where it lay between her breasts with a melancholy expression. “But for now, we must survive.”

Demonic shrieks and their companion’s battle cries began to bleed through the sealed entryway. As Dorian murmured incantations behind her, Thenera watched while Solas returned to his pacing, staff weaving through the air. She heard him singing softly in smooth, lilting elvhen as he went. In response, wards flickered upon the floor and walls surrounding the room’s entrance.

A shiver of trepidation rushed up Thenera’s spine.

She flinched as the doors shuddered violently. Dorian’s eyes flickered between Alexius’ amulet and the front of the room, yet his chanting spell work never faltered even as another earth shaking impact sent wooden splinters skittering across the floor. Solas’ wards flared, reinforcing the entrance, but it was only a matter of time before they would collapse under the onslaught.

The sounds of battle grew closer and louder, muffled shouts and demon shrieks bleeding through the thick wooden doors and Solas’ wards. Then came another roar from whatever monster this Elder One possessed that filled even Alexius with dread — a bell, tolling for the soon to be dead.

They’ll buy us enough time. I know it.

Thenera’s fingers curled around the sylvanwood of her staff, the weight of this blighted world falling heavily upon her shoulders. Stress, piled upon stress, kept her pinned to the ground and stole the strength she needed to stand. The stakes had never been clearer to her. Without the Anchor, the world they knew would be condemned to this nightmare.

It cannot be. Spite and determination warred with the poison flooding through her veins as she fought to remain conscious. It will not be.

With every fiber of her being, Thenera clung onto that sliver of hope like a drowning woman would a raft. Then the wooden door shattered into a million pieces. The wards flared and instead of an explosion of shrapnel, they clattered harmlessly onto the floor.

A terror demon contorted itself through the remnants of the doorway, flanked by a group of Venatori. In its many hands were the limp, shredded forms of the Iron Bull and Varric, covered in blood, and faces contorted in frozen death grimaces. The creature tossed the corpses of Thenera’s friends carelessly aside like broken dolls.

A simmering rage swelled behind her breast. Elgar’nan, grant us the strength to fell our enemies.

Solas stood defiantly in the center of the room, staff lifted high above his head, and voice rising as his song echoed through the room. A glittering barrier flared and surrounded Thenera and Dorian, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the room.

Fire, ice, lightning, and raw Fade essence ricocheted off the walls, but his barrier held strong against it all. Each wave of demons and Venatori dispatched served their purpose in weakening Solas — a death of a thousand cuts. But he wove between blade, claw, flames, and thunder with a lithe grace Thenera had hitherto not seen.

But while a capable fighter, Solas was only one man.

Blood sprayed when an arrow inevitably found purchase in Solas’ shoulder. The Veil itself shuddered violently, but his barrier never once wavered. Through the haze of smoke and destruction, Thenera met Solas’ crimson eyes as fat droplets of blood hung suspended in the air.

Solas’ bellow reverberated through Thenera’s ribcage. “DREAD WOLF TAKE YOU!”

She could only stare in horror as his blood began to swirl and coalesce into a maelstrom of raw power. The crystal at the center of his chest flared with an explosion of light, bathing the room in a prism of garnet fractals.

It was so bright.

Eyes watering, Thenera turned away. But once the light faded, she looked back towards the battle.

Blessed Creators have mercy…

The singular crystal at the center of Solas’ chest had blossomed into a grotesquerie of jagged spikes that lined his spine and sternum alike. The shards pulsed rhythmically. Blood leaked from where they protruded from his chest, eyes, nose, and lips. Even his hands became encased in the blighted lyrium, fusing them to his staff as he continued to cast. His magic flared with renewed strength, but with each spell, more and more blood poured into the crystals.

Venatori and demons alike fell, but more flowed through the doors to replace them.

Even as his skin grew paler, bruises and cuts standing out in stark contrast, Solas’ eyes held a deep, simmering rage. Lips pulled back in a snarl, his voice raised once again with another lyrical refrain. The magic he had woven into a protective cocoon around Thenera and Dorian, which moments ago had been a transparent shimmer, shifted.

Each verse of the song twisted blood and lyrium together into a network of throbbing veins and matrices of viscera. The magic pulsed in tandem with Solas’ ragged voice. With each thrum of power, his skin tightened — each subsequent layer of the barrier pulled from his very life’s essence.

A forbidden practice that had left its mark on Thenera from the moment of her birth, but one she’d never bore witness to ’til now.

Blood magic.

As the ephemeral barrier finally strengthened into visceral reality, Solas was little more than a skeletal husk. Yet his voice remained as strong as ever, shouting in defiance as a hailstorm of arrows embedded themselves into what little flesh remained unmarked by blighted lyrium. The crystals thrummed in time with his rapidly fading heartbeat.

This wasn’t the Solas she knew, not really.

But he could still be if she failed to put things right.

How can I not try to help him?

Thenera made to stand.

“Don’t!” Dorian grit out between clenched teeth. “You move, and we all die!”

So instead, Thenera watched.

She watched as Solas fell to his knees, arms dropping limply to his sides. She watched as the demons and Venatori drew closer to him with claws and blades bared. She watched as the expression of rage and rebellion on his face fell, deathly exhaustion taking its place.

Yet, when he caught her gaze from across the room, a glimmer of hope flickered within those blood-red eyes. His lips moved, and while she could not hear him, she recognized the shape of the words:

Vir suledin.

‘We endure.’

Then, Thenera watched as a Venatori slit his throat.

Solas’ lifeless body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him in an ever-growing puddle. The red lyrium continued its pulsating glow, each beat weaker than the last. The barrier shuddered, veins throbbing in sync with the crystals.

Once, twice more…

Before falling still.

Thenera’s chest heaved. Rage, terror, and despair bubbled from the pit of her stomach and tore free from her throat in an acidic scream of agony. And, as if in answer, came an enraged roar that shook the castle’s foundation.

Death was upon them.

The Elder One.

A demon shrieked in victory and surged forward. Razor-sharp claws ripped and shredded at the failing barrier inches from Thenera’s face.

It’s not fair. We were so close.

But before despair could tighten its hold on her, Dorian hastily scooped Thenera up. It took great effort — as both of them were beyond exhausted — but he carried her into a swirling apex of magic. There was another tug behind her navel. But this time, she was not alone in falling into the abyss.

The two of them clung tightly to one another as they hurtled through space and time. The world around them contorted, colors swirling and melding into a beautiful yet terrifying display of power. Thenera felt Dorian’s heart thudding in sync with her own as they continued to fall through the Void.

And just as abruptly, they landed with a bone-jarring thud.

Dorian just barely kept a hold of her, fingers digging into her with bruising intensity. Collapsing to his knees, the human slid an arm out from under her to point at one of the Inquisition archers, and bellowed, “Assassin!”

Oh, right. The Antivan Crow.

Thankfully, the Iron Bull did not hesitate. The would-be assassin had Thenera in his sights for the second time – then, in the span of a heartbeat, he had no arms. Only bloody stumps remained, the freshly dismembered limbs and bow splattering and clattering to the floor.

Then the man started to scream.

Everything blurred. There was shouting, shapes moving about the room frantically, the smell of blood and bile. The world felt as though it were spinning on its axis, the dull pain in Thenera’s belly pulsating through her like a relentless drumbeat to match the stuttering cadence of her heart.

But despite it all, Thenera laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed some more.

Then vomited a stream of bloody bile across the polished stone floor.

Hysteria faded and exhaustion gladly took its place. She tried to focus on each struggling breath, fighting to stay conscious through sheer force of will.

But there was no strength left in her.

Flashes of heat.

The taste of copper, bitter on the tongue, coats the back of a swollen, sore throat, oozes from every pore. There are shards of crimson, sliding under feverish skin, in an aching chest, and roiling guts. Every breath and movement is agony.

Sickening crystalline blossoms erupt from gums, fingers, eyes, chest, back.

Every swallow tastes of the tainted lyrium and every touch infects the world with its rot. Veins throb, carrying the corruption further and further until every last cell has been polluted and rushes to replicate itself until the red lyrium is all that remains.

Next come the voices, echoing through the darkness.

“Give them hell, Chuckles…”

“Break the world with a spell…”

“But for now, we must survive…”

“Keep them off your tail...”

Then united and echoing in a singular voice:

“YOU ABANDONED US!”

Too hot.

Too tight.

Too cramped.

Can’t fucking breathe!

Thenera came to, thrashing violently and screaming her throat raw, as blind, animalistic panic granted a burst of strength. Lashing out, her elbow connected with something hard and unyielding.

“Woah, there, calm down!”

Eyes snapping open, the Iron Bull’s face slowly came into focus. He was cradling her, gently but firmly, against his chest.

“You’re safe, boss.” The qunari’s voice had lowered to a soothing timbre. “Take a breath. We’ve got you.”

Please, please, please —

Thenera searched his face frantically. There was no sickly aura, no glimmer of crimson in his eye —

Eye!

Trembling fingers yanked the Iron Bull’s eyepatch up. Underneath was only an empty pit with knotted scars.

No red and no sliver of crystals to be seen.

“C’mon, boss.” One of Bull’s large hands came up and gently pulled her hand away and lowered the eyepatch back into place, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re starting to scare me.”

But what about the others?

Turning her head, she made out Solas’ blurred form.

To see is to know.

Leaning forward and ignoring the Iron Bull’s protests at the sudden shift in weight, Thenera pressed her hand against Solas’ chest. Under her palm was smooth muscle with no trace of a mineral’s jagged edges. The only pulse being the steady thrum of his heart. Warm, but not burning.

There’s still time. We can still stop it.

Collapsing back against the Iron Bull, Thenera buried her face in his neck and shattered. Her shoulders shook with gut wrenching sobs and her fingers gripped the leather harness she’d bitten into to stifle her screams.

They didn’t die in vain.

“So…” One of the qunari’s large hands rubbed soothing circles against her back. “Wanna tell me what the hell happened to her stomach?”

“Well, the you from the future said it was a Crow hit,” Dorian said impatiently. “Poisoned arrowhead.”

“Ah, shit.” The Iron Bull’s grip on her tightened. “Do you have the — ”

“Here.”

The qunari shifted, nestling Thenera in the crook of his arm like a newborn babe. Her head lolled against his shoulder from tear-soaked fatigue. Taking the fletching from Dorian, he peered at it with a critical eye. It looked comically small in his hands as he turned it this way and that. Satisfied, Bull set the feather aside and took the sharp metal barb. Lifting it to his nose, he sniffed before recoiling with a vicious curse.

“That bodes well,” Varric muttered darkly.

“I carry most common antidotes with me.” The words rumbled against her back. Even though Bull was clearly speaking the Common tongue, it took her longer than it should have to process. “But this one’s a Crow specialty. Has to be brewed as needed since it has a short shelf-life. But I can send word ahead to Stitches to get some prepared. Varric, you got a — ”

“Way ahead of you, Tiny.” A quill scratched across parchment rapidly. “Ready when you are.”

Thenera shifted and stared intently at Varric’s hands.

No lyrium under the nails means more stories. More heroes and happily ever afters.

As the Iron Bull started listing off ingredients, Thenera nestled her head against his neck. Gods, but she was so tired.

Just a little nap wouldn’t hurt...

“No, no, no. None of that.” Dorian knelt down, cupping her face in his hands. Too warm. He was much too warm. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I need you to stay awake.”

“D-don’t wanna.” The words came out horribly slurred.

She blinked.

Solas had replaced Dorian.

“We have to move quickly.” His beloved features swam in and out of focus. “Sera, I’ll need — ”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” came Sera’s surly response. “Royal or regular?”

“Royal.” He brushed sweat-slick strands of hair out of her face, fingers delightfully cool against feverish skin. “And embrium, if you can find some.”

Thenera smiled weakly. He called me lethallan…

The-Solas-That-Would-Not-Be-Solas.

That meant something, didn’t it?

But there was something important nipping insistently at her heels. Something she was supposed to tell this Solas that came from the Future-That-Would-Never-Be. Squinting against the throbbing pain nesting behind her eyes, Thenera fought to pull the words from the syrupy abyss of her poisoned mind.

They slipped between grasping fingers. Her thoughts were thick and heavy, hard to focus. She needed crispness and clarity. Reaching up, Thenera clutched the jagged fangs of the wolf’s jaw necklace that hung between her breasts.

Sharp. Like a knife’s edge. Or a pair of pointed ears.

Solas’ eyes followed the movement, then his lips parted and all the color seemed to drain from his face. “How did you…?”

A prick of pain and she had them! The words from a Future-That-Never-Was. Leaning forward, Thenera released the amulet, took his face in her hands, and pressed her forehead to his.

The words rang, clear and true, from numbed lips:

“Felassan was right.”

Message delivered.

Duty done.

Which left Thenera adrift and lost at sea.

There wasn’t a shred of crimson. No blood in the water, no magic conjured from flesh and viscera, no fiery heat of blight. There was only the color of the sky just before the sun fell below the horizon — an endless expanse of the most beautiful shades of violet and blue Thenera had ever seen.

Twilight made manifest…

…followed by the darkest of night.

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ayamikasai · 3 months ago

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Gale of Waterdeep wearing THE dress. 🌊

Part 3 of ??? of bg3 boudoir series.

Prints for this and the other ones are available in the link below! 👇

♥️ Discord (junyami) for commissions

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♥️ Prints!

♥️ TikTok, BlueSky, Instagram, Xiaohongshu

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ayamikasai · 3 months ago

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god touched. / chapter forty-six.

Pairing: F!Lavellan x Solas | F!Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford Chapter Word Count: 4.2K Story Summary: Thenera and Lalen Lavellan are sent to observe the gathering at the Conclave only to find themselves embroiled in a desperate fight to save the world. A Dalish elf becomes the messianic figure in a wholly alien faith and struggles to find her place as a symbol to an organization that has long sought the extermination of her people. A former Tevinter slave finds herself adrift in an insane world as the only anchor she has known slowly crumbles under the weight of responsibility. Tags: Slow Burn; Muteness; Canon Divergence; Dreamer Lavellan; Retelling; Romance; Angst; Neurodiversity; Two Lavellans; Emotionally Repressed; Hurt/Comfort; PTSD; Nightmares; Panic Attacks; Body Horror; Solavellan Hell; Loss of Identity/Regaining Identity; Alternating POV; Third Person Limited; Canon-Typical Violence; (Future) Polyamory; (Future) Polyamory Negotiations Author Note: Amazing cover and tarot art by the lovely @ayamikasai! <3 <3 <3 You can also find me over on BlueSky!

( Read on AO3 )

Next Chapter. / Masterlist. / Previous Chapter.

CHAPTER 46: IN HUSHED WHISPERS

Alexius keeps asking for patrols of the walls. Waste of time, if you ask me. The Inquisition ground themselves to a pulp against the walls ages ago. Ferelden made three attempts to lay siege here before the last life got crushed out of them. Who’s left out there to threaten us? The mountain barbarians? But Alexius seems to expect a siege. Man’s gone completely mad. —Excerpt from a guard’s journal, found within Redcliffe Castle, date unknown. *A note from the Herald of Andraste clarifies that the date is indeed correct despite being one year in the future.

Pain and nausea clouded the details after Dorian gently leaned Thenera up against a nearby wall of the dungeon next to Solas’ cell and left in search of a keyring. The world tilted on its axis. Blood pulsed in her ears, throbbing in time with the sharp pain in a mangled stomach. Leaning back, the cool stone against her back was a balm.

“En’an’sal’en,” Solas breathed from above her.

Blessings to you, too, hahren. For what little they’re worth. What else was there even left to say? This was a death sentence he had already suffered for a year, apparently. May Falon’Din guide our souls.

The Iron Bull spared her from having to say anything. “That feather fletching…ah, shit.”

His voice came from across the corridor, and Thenera lifted her head to see he was in much the same state as Solas. His eyepatch was gone. But where there should only have been a pit where an eye once lay was a cluster of crimson crystals. Then there were the slivers of red that scored his skin alongside the sickening realization: every single one of the qunari’s countless scars had split open to reveal even more of the loathsome lyrium.

His one remaining eye flickered between her stomach and face.

“What is it?” Solas asked nervously.

“This is a Crow hit. And if it’s a Crow hit, I can guarantee that arrow’s been poisoned.”

“Poison?” Thenera tried to sit up but remembered the arrow sticking out of her torso and stilled herself.

A hazy memory of a conversation between some of clan Lavellan’s hunters floated to the surface of her mind. How, if one were to be bitten by a venomous creature, the most important thing was to keep calm. A quickened heartbeat would only hasten the venom’s journey through the body. Then came the image of Solas, sweat slickened, gaunt, and not much different from the vision before her, sick from a spider bite.

Well, chances were good that the same could be said of poison.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Dorian was back already, unlocking the cell holding Solas.

“Fenedhis lasa.” Once freed, Solas rushed to kneel by her side and pulled his roughspun tunic off hastily to reveal a pulsating crystal protruding from the center of his chest. His amulet fell back into place, clattering against it. “Under normal circumstances, I would not remove it. But if there’s even a chance to minimize the poison’s yield, we must try.”

That sounds promising.

Another jingle from the keyring saw Varric released next.

“Varric, I will need your knife,” Solas said.

“And here I thought you were just happy to see me.” Varric chuckled and slid a blade out from one of his boots.

At first, Thenera thought the dwarf was unaffected by the lyrium. But as he placed the dagger safely on the ground next to her, there were signs of growths beginning in his hands. Tiny shards of red crystals peeked out from beneath his blunted fingernails, and dried blood colored the tips of his fingers.

Enough that holding a quill would be agony.

Noticing her scrutiny, he winked at her — but there was no humorous spark left in those once amber eyes. They were lifeless scarlet gems that glittered with a simmering despair.

I have to fix this. Thenera looked away. Somehow, I will fix this.

Another cage clanged open.

Hair a wild mess well past her shoulders, Sera walked free with an expression twisted in understandable skepticism. Her lips parted, and an unnatural glow leaked forth. Dried and fresh blood stained her lips and dribbled down her chin, where clusters of crystals crammed the crevices between her teeth.

“Don’t ask me for shite,” Sera spat, glancing angrily between them. The archer’s words were sluggish, each one thick with pooled blood. “I’m not gonna pull elfroot out my arsehole. Smoked that away the first week in this blighted pit.”

The last cell opened, releasing the Iron Bull.

Snatching up Varric’s dagger, Solas quickly went to work slicing the sleeves from his tunic and began cutting them into slim strips before spreading the bulk of the fabric out on the filthy ground. “On your side, da’len.”

Under different circumstances, Thenera would have been thrilled to have Solas shirtless and bidding her to lie with him. Alas, it was not to be. But she shifted and struggled to do as he asked.

Mayhap if I live through this…

Well, it never hurt to be optimistic, right?

“I'll replace the bandages,” Dorian said softly, finally kneeling back down next to her and smiling. “Don’t fret, my dear. We’ll have you right as rain, won’t we?”

With barely a grunt of acknowledgement, Solas set about weaving makeshift bandages to pass to Dorian to further stabilize the arrow. His hands worked deftly and with a sense of urgency that betrayed the fraying mask of composure he wore. The untold horrors he had undoubtedly faced in this strange future etched worry into the lines of his face—both familiar and new.

Dorian took Varric’s knife and sliced the blood encrusted blanket strips away. After quickly replacing them with the new bandages, he carefully helped her settle back onto her side.

So…tired. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her head up.

The fabric of Solas’ tunic held an unnatural heat to it. And layered alongside the familiar scents Thenera associated with him of aged parchment, herbs, and the slightest tang of ozone, there was something other. Something akin to sweat mixed with copper, with hints of rot underneath that reeked of wrongness.

But even after a year of neglect, it was still soft to the touch. A small comfort, all things considered, but a welcome one.

Just let Lalen be safe. Wherever…or whenever she is.

“Fenedhis.” Solas grimaced. “It will need to be pushed through to the other side.”

“I — what?!” Dorian’s mouth hung open in shock, his eyes wide as saucers. “Y-you must be joking, surely?”

Any sense of comfort Thenera had felt vanished. I probably look much the same.

“Unfortunately not,” the Iron Bull said soberly. “Unarmored target equals barbed arrows. It’ll only do more damage if you try to pull it back out.”

“Bugger this shite.” Despite the aggressive tone of her voice, Sera looked like she was going to be sick. Thenera couldn’t really blame her — she was in a similar state and was purposefully not looking down at the arrow in question. “I — I’m gonna go look for our stuff.”

Creators, but she’s so…young. Thenera watched her flee out of sight. Barely twenty namedays and facing her worst fears.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fucking fair.

Sera should be off stealing Cullen’s pomade, drawing all manner of vulgarities on Josephine’s reports, and making Flissa laugh so hard that ale came out of her nose. Or finding love and contentment in someone’s arms while sharing all her hopes and dreams.

But this world was an abomination — a world of darkspawn and demons, betrayal and bloodshed. One where mothers wail as their children starve at their breast and nightmares flood through into reality.

Thenera’s left hand clenched. And it all started with this gods-be-damned mark.

Between the grim expression on Solas’ face and Varric’s uncharacteristic silence, dread settled itself behind the metal lodged in Thenera’s belly.

The Iron Bull unbuckled one of the belts from his chest harness and set it next to her, and she peered up at him in bleary confusion.

“Trust me, you’ll want something to bite down on.” He tapped a large, ragged scar on his left flank. “But you’ll be alright. We’re gonna get you through this.”

“Found our stuff!” Sera’s voice echoed from somewhere down the hall. “Oy, could use some help — ” There was a loud crashing sound followed by a series of exasperated curses. “This shite’s heavy!”

“I better check on her. Bianca’s delicate, after all.” Varric looked relieved as he turned and strode through the doorway.

“The fewer distractions, the better,” the Iron Bull said, standing with a grunt, “so I’ll keep them outta trouble. But we’re still in shouting distance. If there’s any problem, give us a yell.” He looked down at Thenera and gave her a weak smile. “Just keep breathing, boss. You’ll be alright.”

Right. Just keep breathing.

The qunari followed the elf and dwarf, which left only Dorian and Solas…who up til then had been going back and forth on how to proceed. Thenera tried to focus on the sound of her own breathing (in for four, hold for four, out for four) as she readied herself for what was to come.

“First, you need to snap the arrow shaft,” Solas was saying. “Just under the fletching so you can still maintain a grip to guide it through.”

Dorian did so.

The vibration of it shuddered through her belly and Thenera swallowed the urge to gag.

“The next two steps will need to be done in tandem. You need to quickly push the arrow through at an angle — away from her spine, and away from any major organs. Then, once it is through, you will need to cauterize the wound immediately, as it will bleed profusely.”

It was odd to hear Solas speaking so matter-of-factly about the horror of the situation — as if this kind of situation was an old hat to him. Thenera tamped back a fresh wave of panic and continued to focus on her breathing, eyes sliding shut.

In for four. We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore.

Hold for four. Walkers of the lonely path.

Out for four. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.

And under Dorian’s breath, “Kaffas…”

The Tevene curse brought Lalen to mind, and the knot in Thenera’s chest loosened ever so slightly. She sent a whispered prayer to Mythal that her journey would be safer than…whatever this was turning out to be.

Solas’ voice, terse and with a tinge of annoyance: “If you think yourself not up to the task, now is the time — ”

“I’m perfectly capable of that level of spell control, thank you.” The human sounded offended at the very suggestion, but his next words held a tremor of fear despite his attempts to hide them behind the bite of sarcasm. “I’m just…not accustomed to pushing arrows through someone’s entrails.”

May the slow arrow go up both your arseholes.

“I can still hear, you know,” Thenera groaned.

Solas ignored her. “Quickly, now — push it through.”

Bull’s leather strap was rough against Thenera’s tongue and her eyes squeezed shut. She buried her face into the heavy fabric of Solas’ tunic as one of Dorian’s hands gripped her shoulder, the other wrapped around the blood slickened haft.

Sylaise’enasalin.

There was a sickening, squelching sound and Thenera felt pressure tugging behind her navel.

Then she was apart from herself — floating, looking down at the scene playing out in front of her.

Dorian, with sweat dripping down his aquiline nose and chin, hair plastered to his forehead, hands covered in blood — her blood — and carefully guiding the dark arrow shaft through her torso.

Then there was Solas pacing in front of them like a caged animal. Yet his eyes never left her prone form as she bit into his tunic to muffle an agonized scream. His expression was a grimace of agony, his hands curling and uncurling with impotence, lips moving and giving instructions that were lost to the thunderous pulse of blood rushing through her ears.

Through the dissociative haze, Thenera made out Dorian’s murmurs of soothing nonsense. A mantra of placation and praise of how well she was doing, how still she was staying. That it would be over soon. Someday they’d have drinks and laugh about all of this madness. Whether it was for her benefit or his own was a bit of a mystery.

Mayhap both.

Head swimming, Thenera could only watch numbly as the metal head of the arrow slogged its way through the flesh of her back. She knew she should feel something — pain, nausea, horror, fear — but where those feelings normally lived was a gaping void of nothingness.

From above, it all seemed so…small. Insignificant. Two ants fussing over a third. But what happened to the world when that third ant held the only hope of saving it? And what if all that little ant wanted, more than anything, was to just give up?

Creators forgive me, but I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.

But then came the stink of burnt, cooked flesh and she was abruptly jerked back into that horrid reality.

Dorian’s magic worked to cauterize Thenera’s insides and all those feelings returned with a vengeance as unwanted memories threatened to burst through the blockade she had crafted. So, in a pathetic attempt to protect herself, Thenera tried to pull her knees up towards her chest.

“This is difficult enough without you squirming around,” Dorian hissed, one hand pushing them back down. “I know I’m hurting you, but please, you must lie still.”

“Creators, it’s the smell.” Thenera gagged. “I can’t…I’m — I’m going to be sick.”

“Focus on my voice, Thenera.” Solas ceased his pacing and knelt down, face swimming in her vision. “Breathe like I once showed you. In for four — ”

She met his gaze. “Hold for four.”

He nodded. “Out for four. Just like that. Again.”

Thenera struggled to comply, her body trembling with shock and pain. But through gritted teeth, she managed it. The rhythmic breathing acted as a lifeline in the sea of agony that threatened to drown her. The world around her faded into muted colors and indistinct shapes, but through it all was Solas.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. She clung tightly to the lifeline he had given her and held his gaze stubbornly.

He breathed with her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. While the smell of burning flesh still lingered, it was easier to ignore now.

Dorian continued his spellwork. Thenera glanced over at the human. Sweat streamed down his face, and he had an expression of utmost concentration in lieu of his usual glibness. And though she barely knew this man, Thenera felt a surge of affection towards him.

A complete stranger held her life in his hands. And a human from Tevinter, at that.

Yet that shemlen was doing everything he could to see her through this, fighting to keep her alive. In just a few short hours, Dorian Pavus had done more for her than her own clan ever had. And the weight of his hand on her shoulder helped ground her, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this nightmare of a future.

“There.” Dorian sat back and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. “All patched like an old pair of ill-fitting trousers. Although, you know…in Tevinter, we usually just throw tattered things away.”

“In my clan…they usually j-just threw tattered things away.” Her stomach heaved and a burst of heat surged up from her belly to nest behind her eyes. “Hot…so hot.”

The human placed the back of his hand against her forehead. Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t anything good.

“She’s burning up with fever,” he said.

Because of course she was. Just another thing to add to the ‘gone to shit’ pile.

I shouldn’t be surprised, really. Thenera whimpered when he lifted her to rest against his chest. Just another joke from the gods, I suppose.

“Isn’t there anything you can do about the poison?” Dorian was shaking. “You’re the closest thing we have to a healer.”

“I dare not.” Solas’ jaw clenched, eyes glowing in the hollowed pits of his skull. “I fear that even my magic may be tainted by the blighted lyrium. Our best hope is to get you back to your proper time as quickly as possible.”

Back to our proper time…Thenera’s head swam with the implications.

That all of this would be erased from existence.

Dorian cursed under his breath. “Useless!”

Solas sneered. “Oh, I do apologize for my having been locked away and force fed blighted lyrium for the past year, but — ”

“Not you! I meant myself.” The human’s face twisted with grief and frustration. “All that time studying magic without a single healing spell? Magic should serve man, indeed.”

He was falling into a spiral she knew all too well. One that would swallow him to despair and leave him wrung out and distracted when they all needed to keep their wits about them.

Have to break it. For all our sake.

“You’ve done the best you can,” Thenera said weakly. A wave of dizziness washed over her and she gripped Dorian’s forearm to ground herself. “It…it will be enough.”

It must be.

The Iron Bull entered the small cell block, axe slung over one shoulder. Seeing her relatively upright, he grinned. “Tougher than you look, boss.”

Thenera groaned as the molten iron ball in her temples pulsed angrily. “Necessity more than toughness, I think.”

“Either way, you’re up.” He pointed at the blood-soaked arrow next to her. “Probably a good idea to keep that. It’ll be useful for getting an antidote prepared, if nothing else.”

How optimistic.

While Solas and the Iron Bull spoke in muted voices, Dorian once again shifted her weight before helping her secure the fletching and metal arrowhead away in one pocket of her pack.

“Thank you, Dorian.” Thenera reached out to take the human’s hand, her own trembling with fatigue and fever. “Truly, if we get out of this, I will owe you my life.”

“An accomplishment I shall never let you live down, don’t you worry.” He patted her hand in return, gaze softening. “We’ll get you back to your Dalish mud wrestling soon enough.”

Thenera opened her eyes, although she didn’t remember closing them. Dorian and the others were gone and, for a worried moment, she thought she was alone.

Then someone cleared their throat. Even in her stupor, she recognized the noise as coming from the Iron Bull. Craning her neck from where she lay swaddled on the floor, she saw him sitting just down the hall from him.

“You know what I’ve always wondered?” he asked amiably. “Why do nugs have hands?”

Thenera grunted in pain and put a hand to her head. It was pounding. “I beg your pardon?”

The Iron Bull continued, practically as if she hadn’t spoken. “Have you ever actually looked at them? Little bastards have hands. Opposable thumbs and everything. But for what? Are they plotting an armed resistance?”

“I think they’re for…” Thenera searched for a logical answer and then gave up. The Iron Bull was trying to distract her, as Dorian had. So she took the bait. “…baking. They make tiny cakes in nug-sized ovens.”

“So that’s why the little shits are so popular in Orlais.” The qunari nodded sagely. “Cupcakes are just a nug’s version of cakes.”

“We’ll have to tell Madame de Fer and Leliana that we know their secret if we make it back alive.” Everything felt shaky, and the hallway was freezing. “Where are the others?”

“Trying to find keys to get into the throne room.” The Iron Bull rested his hands on his knees. “I’m sorry. I wish I could offer you something. You look like shit.”

“Well, thank you,” Thenera replied sarcastically. With a grimace, she shifted slightly. “A throne room? If Alexius is there, I imagine it would be magically sealed.”

She thought of her own clan’s use of magic. They used all sorts of wards to lock doors, caves, tombs, and even entire campsites. Surely Alexius would have done the same.

“Yup. Needs red lyrium shards to open it, apparently. Asshole got paranoid after you…ah.” The Iron Bull stopped talking as something clicked into place. “Because he knew you survived, but didn’t know when you were going to show up.”

“So he’s just been sitting in this castle the whole time?” For a moment, Thenera almost forgot her pain.

“Not just,” the Iron Bull said. “He’s working for someone called ‘The Elder One’. They killed the Empress and rolled a demon army through everyone. He played a part in that somehow.”

“Elder One?” Thenera’s heart stuttered.

Her thoughts turned, unbidden, to the Dread Wolf from the Conclave. That hulking monstrosity that devoured the Beyond with inky blackness and furious fire for its many eyes.

“Not sure what that is. Caused the Conclave explosion, but details have been a little sparse, what with the prison cells. Guards sometimes taunted us with tidbits here and there, but we’ve mostly been kept in the dark.”

The creature at the Conclave. So not the Dread Wolf.

“Do you know what happened to…” Thenera’s throat tightened.

Lalen, Cullen, her clan, the people of Haven?

“No,” the Iron Bull said bluntly. “You don’t wanna know the answer to that. All you need to know is that it wasn’t good.” He shook his head and couldn’t meet her eyes. “Dorian said Alexius might be able to undo the spell. If that happens, this all becomes a dream. You don’t need to carry the weight of nightmares that might never come true.”

Thenera touched her head to the stone. The chill felt nice against her fevered cheek. Not having to worry…that would be so nice. “And if we’re stuck here, trying to undo this?”

The Iron Bull’s expression softened, then let out a boisterous laugh. “I can tell you this. Leliana was a prisoner here for all of a week before disappearing from the dungeons.” He recounted the tale like just another war story of his. “Everyone says she turned into a flock of crows and escaped.”

Thenera smiled as she pictured Leliana being confronted with the rumors. The knowing smile. Downplaying it coyly to make it seem like there was no way it wasn’t true. Then a cryptic quote suggesting it was somehow part of the Maker’s plan.

Her smile didn’t last long as the sounds of running feet echoed down the hall. The sounds of combat followed, and then the voices of Thenera’s friends bounced along after.

“ — more of this and all I’ll be able to do is bullshit them!” Varric’s voice sounded strained.

A flash of fire lit the hallway and the retreating forms of her companions came into focus. The Iron Bull stood, leaning heavily on his axe as a crutch.

“Just tell them there are dozens of us and they’ll have to give up,” the qunari called out to the others as he ran forward to join them.

“You could at least try to not alert the rest of the castle.” Solas’ tone was devoid of emotion.

Thenera struggled to stand. If nothing else, she might have been able to help light one of the bastards on fire.

Their pursuers came into view: some of Alexius’ Venatori minions and a handful of armored guards. Solas released a large bolt of red-tinted lightning he had been holding. It sizzled through the first, onto the second, then bounced between the metal clad group.

“We tried asking nicely, but they turned us down,” Dorian said over the shouts of pain and crackling.

“Da’len, I know what you’re thinking.” Solas eyed her suspiciously. “Save your strength.”

Thenera let the staff drop from where she had been trying to muster the energy for a bolt of flame. This must be how Solas felt after being bitten by that damned spider.

Weak.

A liability.

The Iron Bull reached the battle and waded in with a flourish. Blood sprayed where the sharp edge of his axe took two limbs off one of the Venatori with one swipe. But in response, another lashed him with a burst of fire against grey skin. Where the embers charred flesh, red lyrium bled out and clinked onto the floor.

“Get rid of the bastard in the back!” he called out, blocking the hallway with his bulk.

Dorian broke off from the group and joined Thenera. He threw his left arm under her arms to support her. “Good to see you back with us,” he said cheerfully. “Just give us a minute to get rid of my pesky countrymen and we’ll have everything we need to say hello again to my old mentor.”

“Bull said you have a way to reverse this?” Thenera said weakly.

“Yes.” He thrust his staff forward, driving a lash of flame down the hall to pick off an archer trying to draw on Varric. Then his voice dropped lower, barely audible above the sounds of fighting. “It’s a slim hope, but it’s the only one we have.”

In that case, I pray that the Creators look favorably upon us all.

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