#Anchor consuming Inquisitor I guess

[dinrenants4]

When you try to make a good skin but these little details bother you to no end!

[drag-on-age]

A Letter from Varric

I wrote this because of dialogue that happened while I was traveling with Cassandra and Varric and it made me cry instantly.

“About Hawke…”

“Don’t, Seeker. Just… don’t.”

“But, what about Anders? Does he…”

“He knows. I sent a letter. Leave it be.” 

Bethany sighs as she braces herself to knock on Anders’ door. It had been one week since she received the letter from Varric. She took the week to mourn alone. She would not let Aveline, who received her own letter, in when she came to check on her. She was completely distraught and no one needed to see that. She was strong and tough. Of course she was. She was a Warden. But being alone allowed her to feel what she needed to without being seen.

Varric had sent her Anders’ letter as well. He was “just being cautious of Blondie’s… condition.” Varric thought it was best if Anders was with someone else when he heard the news. Varric was probably right.

Aveline had taken both of them to a secluded part of Eastern Ferelden when the Wardens started falling to Corypheus. Fighting him with Hawke before allowed Bethany to see that the direction they were heading was dangerous. It allowed her, and a few other Warden friends, to run before things got worse. Bethany knocked on Anders’ door. 

“Oh, hello Bethany. Is there something wrong? I haven’t seen you around much. Are you alright?” Anders asked as he opened the door.

She swallowed and looked away from him. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes when she told him. This was already painful enough. 

“Bethany?” Anders repeated. “What’s wrong?” 

She took a shaky breath before she said anything. “Varric sent a letter.” 

Anders seemed confused. 

“What do you mean? Did he only send one to you? What happened?” 

Bethany stepped inside Anders’ room pushing him aside. She shoved the letter in his hand before turning around to sit at the table in the corner of the room. Anders turned it over in his hand a few times, inspecting the House Tethras seal. 

“Bethany I-”

“Anders please. Just read it. I can’t… I’m sorry.” She still couldn’t look at him. 

Anders walked over to sit on his bed before breaking the seal. He took the letter out and began to read. 

Anders, 

I don’t really know how to start this letter. I guess I should apologize for giving yours to Bethany first. I trust you, and I trust you're under control but what I am about to tell you might… cause some problems. Anders… It’s about Hawke. She’s dead. I don’t have any flowery words or long winded descriptions to help soften the blow. This is it. Our worst fear has come to life. I’m sorry. 

We were in the Fade. The actual Fade, our physical bodies were actually there, not some dream. I wish it was. We were stuck in some sort of nightmare demons section of the Fade that had sealed the memories of the Inquisitor. I think. Honestly, I don’t know much about what was actually happening. I do know that Hawke sacrificed herself to save us. She fought off the Nightmare alone, while Inquisitor Lavellan and Stroud escaped. The Inquisitor exiled the Wardens from Orlais and honestly, I think it’s the best decision she’s made so far. If it weren’t for them…  

No. Sorry I won’t subject this to you right now. You don’t deserve it. I’m so sorry Anders. I was really rooting for you after everything that happened. I’ll write again soon. You and Bethany, please take care of each other. 

    -Varric

Tears started running down Anders' face almost as soon as he started the letter. Hawke was gone. She was dead. Killed by some fucking thing that Corypheus alied himself with to… what? Become a God? His Hawke, his love, was dead because of some delusional Magister who just refused to stay dead?

“Anders. Anders you have to calm down.” Bethany stood from her seat. Anders slid to the floor as he clutched his ears and began to scream. He could feel Justice surge through him, trying to take control. He was consumed with a need to take Vengeance for Hawke. She did not deserve this. She was the last person in the world who should have sacrificed herself. Why couldn’t they just have left her alone? She had been through enough the last several years. 

Bethany ran to his side and took him by the shoulders, now crying herself. “Anders, please. Stay with me. You’re the only family I have left. You have to stay here.” 

“Why did she have to die? What did they do to her? Corypheus will pay for what he has done to her! I will rip apart the Fade to find what did this!” 

“Anders you can’t help her if you do that. You have to hold it together for Hawke. You have to help her by being here. Protecting yourself and helping me. The mages still need your help. She wouldn’t want this. Anders you have to fight this, please.” Bethany kept going, trying anything to keep Anders anchored to her. She couldn’t let Justice take control. Not now. 

It took a while, but eventually Anders was able to regain control of himself. They sat there, holding one another unable to control their tears. Sobs wracked Anders' body as he knelt there. Bethany kept her arms wrapped around him as she cried alongside him. They sat there for a long time before Bethany sat up, wiped the tears away from her face and said, “Come on. Let’s go see what booze Aveline has stored in the kitchen.”

[feralrosie]

Lullabies at Night

Fandom: Dragon Age Relationships: M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus Rating: General Audiences Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

Skyhold was hardly ever quiet, even during the coldest hours of the night and, Maker, it was cold. Dorian woke up with the sound of wind escaping through the door and a chilly shiver running down on his spine. He looked for the blankets, patting the bed around him, but suddenly realized there was more missing. Sitting on the bed in a startle, he found himself alone in the Inquisitor's bed. Took a few seconds of drunken thought, but he quickly stepped out of the bed to change into proper clothing and leave the room, avoiding the looks of occasional guardsmen who were chatting in low voices. There were few torches lit at that time, so Dorian could easily sneak past them while looking around the castle—not that he needed to, but wished to avoid gossips later. Anything related to his relationship with the Inquisitor seemed to be specially tasteful for the tongues of nobles in Skyhold.

He searched everywhere and begun to really worry for his lover. Would he leave the castle all by himself? Or was he back to his bedroom? Where else could he be hiding? The mage looked around once more, standing in the middle of the central courtyard. His gaze fell on the main gate, which led to the longest bridge he'd ever seen in any old castles, and noticed that one of the escape doors was slightly open. Lifting one eyebrow, he followed that lead, taking the road on the bridge to reach the lonely tower that watched over for the rest of the castle, despite not being used by the Inquisition's forces at the moment. As he approached, he thought he heard a soft lullaby playing in distance and every new step confirmed there was indeed music playing on top of the tower. The door was open and the stone staircase was large enough for it not to be claustrophobic, so Dorian got up the tower fast and in silence. On the last level, where the stairs met the battlement's floor, he peaked through, wishing to have a look on what was happening.

His Elven lover was sitting on one of the large crenels between the even larger merlons, hugging his knees with his arms while his hands held an ocarina. He was playing the most lonely lullaby, soft and slow, echoing into the night. His golden curls were loose and seemed like dancing with the cold breeze, following the movements of the green cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders. Dorian had never noticed that cloak, but it looked old and overused, showing up a few tears here and there, but nothing that could not be fixed by skilled hands. The full moon was shining over his pale skin and hair, like his whole body was made of polished marble. It was a delightful sight.

The inquisitor did not seem to notice as the man stood a few centimeters behind him, enjoying the music. Dorian thought it felt like a song a mother would sing to her children after telling them that their father could not come back home and was watching them from the stars. His heart skipped a beat and he let the thought perish.

"I did not know you could play" he said finally in a tender voice. Elrian jumped harshly on a startle, almost letting his ocarina fall off the battlement, but the mage behind him was quick to hold it in the air, chuckling softly. "I am sorry, Amatus. I did not mean to scare you"

"Dorian!" he cried in some sort of relief "Don't creep behind me like this, I could have fallen down"

"A risk that could easily be avoided if you have stayed in bed with me" Dorian approached, leaning down to rest the weight of his body on his arms against the parapet where his lover was seated "What troubles you?" his voice was soft but still packed with concern.

The inquisitor bit his lip, looking away, "I just couldn't sleep. Had a dream and woke up"

"A nightmare? Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Not a nightmare. It was a good dream." he sighed, then continued in a low voice, trying to not sound too sad "I was back at my clan. It was summer and we were celebrating someone's birthday, dancing and feasting. My father was showing tricks to the little children, they loved his magic. And my mother was calling me and trying to put flowers on my hair." he smiled and his eyes glittered as tears came to life.

"I am sorry, Amatus" Dorian reached for the other's hand, but Elrian was quick to turn his palm up to show the glowing anchor underneath his skin.

"I hate this thing." he confessed, "And yet I'm grateful I can do some good to the world because of it. I just wish I could do more." he closed his hand on a tight fist "I wish I could have saved them"

Dorian slid his hand over the elf's wrist and made his way to hold his hand, opening his fist softly to tangle their fingers together, "Your family would be very proud of you, Elrian. Do not think otherwise. Their love did not fade away"

"I… know" he wrapped the cloak more around his body, as if trying to shrink his own size "I just miss them so much"

The Tevinter said nothing, for there was nothing else to be said. He passed his right arm around Elrian's body and held his left hand with his own, spooning him and resting his head on his lover's shoulder, kissing it softly. They stood there for a couple minutes before Dorian begun to shake a bit, still not used to the Ferelden cold.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Vhenan. Get in here" Elrian chuckled, opening the cloak and putting over Dorian's shoulders as well.

"Thank you for acknowledging my presence here" he provoked, joking, and hug the elf underneath their improvised blanket, still standing up on the battlement behind. "I've never seen you wear this one. Where did you get it?"

Elrian smiled, caressing the green fabric along the lines of golden embroidery that formed the pattern of vines. "I was wearing it at the Conclave. My mother gave it to me when I got my vallaslin and it was my only fancy piece back home. It survived that night's events pretty well, I think"  

"It is beautiful." Dorian was also appreciating the details "I take the ocarina was also with you that day?"

"It was. It was my father's. Have I ever told you about them?"

"I don't think so." he tightened the embrace "but I would love to hear"

Elrian smiled tenderly. "My mother was a hunter. She taught me how to fight and survive in the woods if I ever needed to. And my father was the Halla Keeper, First to our clan. I was the Second and therefore had to learn both from him and from our Keeper. He told me how to take care of the Hallas and how they seemed to enjoy the sound of the ocarina, so if one of them got lost I could play and let it come back on its own. I enjoyed it just as much. Once all my friends made fun of me because I spent a whole afternoon playing and by night there were dozens of Hallas around me, sleeping" he laughed to himself "They told me I was so boring that not even the animals could stay awake"

"Oh, how dare them?" Dorian laughed.

"When I turned 16, I was convinced my vallaslin would be Ghilan'nain's, the mother of Hallas" he continued "But it was Mythal's, the great protector. At the time I was reluctant and not sure if I was worth it. From that day on, my free time was consumed by extensive lectures from both my father and the Keeper, since I was bound to assume the clan's guidance someday. I think I was failing, to be honest"

"Why do you think that?"

"I was too soft and insecure. Still am, I guess. My father sent me to the Conclave so I could put all my training to test and deal with it all by myself. And when I was made Inquisitor, he sent me a letter saying he always knew I had the soul of a Keeper and was sure I could assume the responsibility. My mother also wrote this letter and said they were very proud. She also told me to be respectful but not bow my head"

"Excellent advise. In my opinion, you are following it just right." Dorian placed a few more kisses on the Inquisitor's shoulder "Sounds like they were great people, I'd loved to have met them"

"My mother would have loved you. She loved all my friends and boyfriends, as long as they took good care of me"

"And do I?" he mumbled, caressing Elrian with his lips.

"More than you can imagine" the answer came in a low and loving voice, the type that usually accompanied blushing. Dorian didn't need to look at his face to know he had colour on his cheeks.

"What about your father? Would he also have approved us?"

"You're from Tevinter, Vhenan" he chuckled as it was an obvious counterpoint.

"Oh, right" he laughed.

"But eventually he would, yes" Elrian leaned down to steal a kiss from his lover's lips "You'd always be welcome"

"That's good to know, Amatus. I mean it" he whispered against his lips "Not only were you destined to make yourself great, but you were also raised as such" he moved away so their eyes could meet "Do not doubt yourself. Your roots are stronger than you think and I trust my life to your leadership and reason. You may think you're too soft, but a passionate heart is greater than the strongest army"

"Thank you, Vhenan" the elven mage whispered back, smiling, but letting a rogue tear run down his cheek.

"Now, now, don't do that. You know I'm awful with feelings" he wiped the tear out, taking the chance to also caress Elrian's face and hair "Say, why don't we go back to your room and you play to me that boring song that makes cattle sleep? We can put it to test"

Laughing, Elrian got down of the crenel "You're a jerk"

"So I'm told. Also spectacularly handsome"  

Both of the men walked side by side, holding hands in the most soft manner, whispering jokes for one another. Elrian also took his cloak off to cover his lover's shoulders and shield him from the cold, which was accepted without ceremony. Back at the Inquisitor's room, Elrian discovered that stroking Dorian's hair was just as effective to put the man to sleep as that lullaby was for the Hallas.

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

OC Interview!

featuring my girls, Melanthe, Eden, and Aisling!

Tagged by @schoute, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I’VE WANTED TO DO ONE OF THESE!!! Thanks for the tag!!!!!

Tagging @coptix! (frick yeah Luna Hawke!!!!!) And also @markuilleam (no pressure tho lol)

Rules: Answer the following questions as your OC of choice.

I couldn’t pick just ONE, so I said screw it and went with my main three!

1. What’s your name?

Melanthe Ashirill Lavellan. [She grins and bows low and dramatically.] How do you do? [She glances at her sister.]

[Eden clears her throat.] Eden Lavellan.

[Hawke smiles pleasantly and crosses her legs.] Aisling Mariann Hawke.

2. Do you know why you are named that?

[Melanthe shrugs.]

Hawke: No.

Eden: A friend suggested it, I thought it sounded nice, and that’s what I’ve gone with ever since.

3. Are you single or taken?

Hawke: I gave an angsty Tevinter elf my heart, and I hope he keeps it forever.

[Melanthe cackles.] Always the romantic, aren’t you Hawke? As for me… [She pulls an ivory wolf’s jawbone pendant out from under her tunic and waves it around.] Yep.

Hawke: You…went with Solas?

[Melanthe nods.] Yep. The resident egghead Fade expert is mine. And my dear sister is in love with the Commander!

[Eden blushes slightly.] He’s…he’s nice.

[Hawke and Melanthe elbow Eden playfully.]

4. Have any abilities or powers?

[Eden holds up a glowing left hand.] Mel and I have the Anchor. It lets us open and close tears in the Veil.

[Melanthe high-fives her sister with her own glowing hand.] Yes! And we can make tiny holes in the Veil to kill demons sometimes!

Hawke: I’m a mage, specifically a spirit healer with force mage training. It’s pretty cool. Eden’s a mage as well.

Melanthe: And I’m good at poking hundreds of holes in people via a truly epic assortment of knives. [She winks.]

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

[The three women exchange puzzled glances.]

Hawke: Run that by me again?

Melanthe: I don’t remember killing someone by that name. Nor do I remember any bartenders with that name. Maybe…eh. Nah.

6. What’s your eye color?

[Hawke raises an eyebrow.] You mean to tell me you can’t see it? Blue.

[Melanthe leans in close to the interviewer for a moment.] Gold, but not the same shade as my sister’s. Mine’s better.

Eden: I’m not inclined to disagree.

7. How about your hair color?

Hawke: Black. Like obsidian but, alas! Not as shiny.

Eden: Just..dark red.

Melanthe: Like drying blood!

[Eden makes a face.] Mel, please.

Melanthe: Okay fine. Going with Hawke’s mention of shiny rocks, how about garnet red?

Eden: That is better, yes.

8. Have any family members?

[Hawke suddenly finds the floor most intriguing. Melanthe perks up.] Oh, lots! There’s the twins, Tessa and Feyrand--they’re older than me--Iolanthe’s younger than Eden, we’ve got an even younger brother who has a habit of disappearing and we’ve got cousins galore! There’s Kahris, Maralah, Saelethil…not to mention our clanmates! They’re family too.

Eden: My friends are my family, too. Hawke, Fenris, Cole, Cassandra, Solas, Varric, Sera, Blackwall…the whole inner circle, really.

Interviewer: What about you, Hawke?

[Hawke jerks her head back up.] Oh, sorry. Well… [She coughs into her fist.] I have Fenris and my ducklings, and the Lavellans. That is…all.

9. Oh? How about any pets?

Melanthe: Too many.  There’s my palomino horse, I call him Corvo, Eden’s got a hart named Red Velvet, a halla named Evune, probably a dozen different birds, three hamsters aaaaand a rabbit on top of that-

Eden: In my defense, they were mostly rescues.

[Hawke points behind her with her thumb.] There’s an undead bog unicorn in the stables. And a giant nug. And as for me? My mabari Birch is all I need.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like.

[Hawke deadpans.] Red lyrium.

[Melanthe grimaces.] Oh, I feel you there.

Eden: Stuck-up ancient Tevinter morons who blow things up and then monologue villainously.

Melanthe: Oof, true! Also the Chantry. The Chantry can go- [She spews a long string of obscenities that just about rivals a sailor’s cursing.]

[Eden nods thoughtfully. Hawke’s eyes glint with mischief.] And the TEMPLARS as well, especially the ones who were in KIRKWALL working for MEREDITH-

[Cullen hollers from the next room.] I heard that, Hawke!

[Melanthe and Hawke high-five. Eden shakes her head.] Hawke didn’t mean you, ma atish’an.

Melanthe: Oh yes she did. [snickers]

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

[Melanthe leans back in her chair, putting her legs on the table.] Stabbing. Drinking. Kissing Solas. Pranking everyone in Skyhold, the usual trouble.

Eden: Painting, reading, gardening. [A timid smile slowly spreads across her face.] Singing, or playing the harp.

Hawke: Now that you mention it… I write poetry, and sometimes turn them into songs. Journaling is also something I like, and pressing flowers, and-… [Her gaze strays to the wall.] Yeah, that’s about it.

12. Have you hurt anyone in any way before?

[The three women glance at each other, at the interviewer, then back to each other.]

Melanthe: Pfft. What kind of question is that?

[Eden toys with a bracelet.]

Hawke: Oh no, of course not.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

[Hawke grabs a champagne glass from the end table next to her, and sips it.] Me? Never!

Melanthe: I heard you used the Arishok’s skull as a flowerpot.

[Hawke nearly spits her drink everywhere.] Who told you that?

[Melanthe simply winks at the interviewer.]

14. What kind of animal are you?

Hawke: A dragon. Guarding my treasure hoard~

[Melanthe wiggles her eyebrows.] A sssssslippery sssssssssnake!

Eden: Sorry sister, you’re more of a mountain goat. You’re everywhere you shouldn’t be and you consume an unholy amount of whatever food’s available.

Melanthe: She’s a barn owl. Or a cat, maybe?

15. Name your worst habits?

Hawke: Fenris says I’m a bit overprotective of my friends. Too loyal, too stubborn, too willing to risk my life for others, I “involve myself in the affairs of others” too much, or what have you. But I’ll let you in on a secret: I used to ignore the vast majority of the mail I got when I was a noblewoman of Kirkwall.

Eden: I stay up late reading fiction when I should be dealing with all my mail and- [she lowers her voice.] Sometimes I skip war meetings.

Melanthe: I run exclusively on caffeine and volatile emotions.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Hawke: Eden.

Eden: Hawke.

Melanthe: Iron Bull, Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen, Leliana, Josie, Tess, Feyrand, Krem, Sera, Solas, Vivienne, Cole, Dorian… [She grins wickedly.] But not you, sister. I’m still taller than you.

Eden: Not if I wear heels.

Melanthe: Not if I stand on Bull’s shoulders!

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Hawke: Mm, straight.

[Melanthe considers this a moment, then shrugs.]

Eden: Just because I have a boyfriend doesn’t mean I’m into…that.

18. Do you go to school?

Hawke: My parents taught me a lot.

Melanthe: Dalish don’t really have school.

19. Ever want to marry and have any kids one day?

Hawke: I’d like to, yes.

Eden: Marriage? Absolutely, but kids I’m not so sure of.

Melanthe: To be honest I haven’t thought about it. Too busy stabbing demons and undead and corrupted templars and whatnot.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Hawke: Do lovers count as fans?

Melanthe: HEY SOLAS! ARE YOU A FANBOY?

Solas, from the other room: Am I- what?

Melanthe: He’s a fan of the Fade. And me. But be serious, very few people in Skyhold AREN’T fans of me. [She winks.]

21. What are you most afraid of?

Eden: Spiders.

Hawke: Corrupted spiders.

Melanthe: Bears.

22. What do you usually wear?

Eden: Simple Dalish robes.

Hawke: I inherited a bloody awesome coat from my dad complete with belts, a bright red sash, and some shoulder armor. With bonus knee protection, because you can’t protect your knees enough.

Melanthe: I’ve got a sick coat, made of phoenix scales, ring velvet, Highever weave, with lazurite details. I’ve got other coats made of varghest scales, dragonling scales, and gurgut webbing.

23. What one food tempts you?

Melanthe: CHOCOLATE. What kind? Doesn’t matter, it’s MINE.

Hawke: Ham that tastes of despair is okay, but there’s enough despair in the world, and not enough lemon cheesecake.

Eden: …cinnamon rolls.

24. Am I annoying you?

Melanthe: Nope. I’ve got aaaall the time in the world.

Hawke: After all the people I’ve dealt with, it’ll take a lot more to be annoying.

Eden: You’re not a fussy Orlesian noble. You’re doing just fine.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

[Hawke gestures for the interviewer to continue.]

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

Hawke: I was an apostate, then a refugee apostate, then a noblewoman apostate, then the Champion of Kirkwall, and now I’m little more than a fugitive, so truth be told, I’m not sure.

Eden: a Dalish First turned Inquisitor. I…don’t…really know?

Melanthe: High class for fancy parties and fancy murders, low class at the tavern.

27. How many friends do you have?

Hawke: About ten.

[Melanthe snorts.] Um, almost a whole castle’s worth.

Eden: My inner circle, plus the ducklings, plus the animals… [She tries counting them, but loses track.] As many friends as I need.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Hawke and Melanthe, in unison: Lemon meringue is the best.

Melanthe: Chocolate is equal.

Eden: Pies of all kinds are good. I wish we had them more often.

29. Favourite drink?

Melanthe: Whiskey.

Hawke: That peach liqueur I used to buy in Hightown.

Eden: ….hot chocolate?

30. What’s your favourite place?

[Hawke smiles wistfully.] I have many, but the place I like best is wherever Fenris is.

Melanthe: Awww!!

Hawke: And somewhere we’re not being attacked all the time.

Melanthe: I’m rather fond of that little oasis in the Western Approach. And the Wounded Coast. Storm Coast was pretty, too.

Eden, softly: I liked the Emerald Graves.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Melanthe: We’re all dating someone at the moment. And we told you that.

32. That was a stupid question…

Hawke: We all say dumb things sometimes.

Melanthe: Some people more often than others.

33. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

Hawke and Melanthe: Ocean.

Eden: Lake.

34. What’s your type?

Melanthe: Type of what? Blood? Weapons?

Eden: Preferred type of magic?

[Hawke tries not to laugh and fails.] Broody and sometimes glowing.

35. Any fetishes?

[Melanthe smiles brightly.] Stabbing demons.

Hawke: If you think you’re going to get an answer to that, think again.

[Eden squirms and twists her bracelet around her hand.] Next question, please.

36. Camping indoors or outdoors?

Melanthe: Wait….indoor camping is a thing? What is it with you shems and constantly coming up with new nonsense?

Hawke: Pillow or blanket forts, I think.

Eden: …..outdoors?

I stayed up SO MUCH LATER THAN I SHOULD HAVE writing this, but heck if it wasn’t awesome!

[lillotte17]

Endings

So, I recently finished my PT with my M!Lavellan who romanced Dorian, and it hurt me in places. Which means all of you have to suffer with me. <3

Tauron woke with a gasp of pain as the anchor flared to life in his palm, burning its way up his arm. Every day it seemed to reach a little higher, slowly but surely gnawing its way upwards towards his heart. He was dizzy and sweating, and a bit nauseous, but he was accustomed to waking up like this by now, reaching for the pitcher of water on his bedside table without thinking.

He jerked in slight surprise at the feeling of a hand in his hair. It took a few seconds to remember that he had not actually gone to bed alone. The smell of a very particular perfume helped his mind catch up, though. He had been assured that it was very expensive. Only a few people in the Imperium knew how to make it properly. Tauron had always thought it was too strong, maybe a bit fussy- if a smell could be fussy- and definitely very…human. But association with the person who always wore it had made it into something comforting. Something that smelled like home.

“Vhenan,” he breathed out in a deeply satisfied sigh.

“Is this why you asked me to stay?” Dorian wondered. His voice sounded soft and worried; Tauron’s arm must look even worse than he thought.

“Can’t I just want to have you somewhere that isn’t a few countries away from me?” Tauron replied groggily, a faint buzzing ache still radiating up from his hand.

“Well, yes,” Dorian conceded, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist a bit more firmly, “but you didn’t say anything to me about your mark in your letters. That means it must be serious.”

“It seemed silly to make you worry about something you couldn’t do anything about,” Tauron replied lightly, “And I don’t believe for one minute that none of our compatriots told you about it.”

“None of them told me it was making you scream bloody murder in your sleep,” Dorian returned, the edge of annoyance sharpening in his voice.

“Don’t worry; you won’t have to hear me scream when you go back to Minrathous,” Tauron snapped, “Which you didn’t tell me about, so I guess we’re even.”

Dorian stiffened behind him. The room went dead silent for a few heartbeats as the weight of their current predicament seemed to settle in around them. It hardly seemed fair, after all Tauron had ended up sacrificing, that they couldn’t even enjoy a single night together without the world stepping in to ruin things somehow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered thickly, “I know what you’re trying to accomplish in Tevinter is important. I know it is. Every time I get word about everything you’re doing for your country I am just…so proud of you. I don’t want you to turn down this opportunity to instigate real change. But…you won’t even let me come with you, and I…”

“It is no crime to have occasional bouts of selfishness, Amatus,” Dorian said gently, “And I can’t say that I am eager to be apart from you for another two years either, or however long it takes, but we’ll…figure something out. We’re two of the most handsome and clever men in Thedas, I refuse to believe that we could be thwarted by something as mundane as a bit of space between us.”

It was Tauron’s turn to go still for a few moments. Dreading what he knew he had to say next. Feeling that somehow saying it aloud would make it more real.

“Vhenan…the anchor is killing me.”

“…What?” Dorian sputtered.

“The voices from the Well told me,” Tauron continued flatly, “The mark will continue to spread until it consumes me. Even cutting off my arm won’t stop it. We can’t… I don’t have another two years to wait for you.”

“You can’t just believe everything you hear from a bunch of disembodied elves,” Dorian scoffed, trying to mask his panic and not doing a terribly good job of it, “I’m sure there have been magical advancements since their time. You’re the Inquisitor, we’ll find you the finest Healers available, and they’ll tell you that you’re simply making a fuss over nothing in order to keep me with you- which is perfectly understandable, as I am quite marvelous- and then, once we’ve both gotten old and fat and useless, we’ll sit around drinking wine and laughing at your charming antics.”

“Dorian-” Tauron began, twisting in his arms to face him.

“Don’t,” Dorian countered hastily, “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Like you’ve given up on life. I absolutely refuse to believe that the Maker let you walk out of the Fade on two separate occasions, travel through time, kill a dozen dragons, and defeat the first darkspawn just to let you die from getting a bit of magic stuck in your hand.”

“The anchor is hardly just ‘a bit of magic’, Vhenan,” Tauron sighed in exasperated fondness, “And I don’t believe in the Maker, remember? All of my gods were just a bunch of elven magisters drunk on power.”

“I…I know, Amatus,” Dorian replied, letting out a long breath of his own and tilting forward to press their foreheads together, “It must feel as though everyone and everything here is set on tearing you down. But you have friends who would fight for you until the bitter end. People who care for you. And no one more than me.”

Tauron kissed him for that, slow and sweet.

“I was going to ask you to marry me, you know. Whenever you managed to come back to me for good,” he confessed afterwards, his throat tight with unshed tears, “We could’ve moved to Wycome with my clan. A whole new set of people for you to impress and offend. You’ve never had a scolding until you’ve had a Dalish scolding.”

“It couldn’t possibly be worse than Mother Giselle, could it?” Dorian asked with a strained-sounding laugh.

“Much worse,” Tauron insisted, “I’m fairly certain that I’ve seen Keeper Deshanna strip the paint of an aravel just by glaring at it.”

“Well, it certainly sounds tempting,” Dorian admitted, “I would hate to think that becoming your husband would rob me of my label as a pariah. And we both know how much I love camping out in the woods.”

“I know that Tevinter generally looks down its nose at the Free March cities, but I’d hardly compare a house in Wycome to living in the rough,” Tauron chuckled, “Of course, I could still build you an aravel, if you wanted. It’s actually a tradition in some clans. You’d really raise some eyebrows if you rode into Minrathous in a land ship pulled by halla.”

“I do like to make an entrance, but I am rather less interested in sleeping in bear pelts on the floor,” Dorian hummed thoughtfully, “And I must say, you are acting detestably confident that I would agree to marry you. Naked and rumpled in the middle of the night; what kind of proposal is that? Your timing is atrocious.”

“Are you telling me that you would say, ‘no’?” Tauron snorted in disbelief.

They shared a look, and he was all but certain that he was about to be treated to another glib response. Possibly a playful denial, or a demand for something absurdly expensive and difficult to come by as a wedding present. But then the mood seemed to shift ever so slightly, and Dorian's expression crumbled in on itself. His hands tightened on him, as though suddenly afraid he was about to disappear.

"Well…it wouldn't do much good to get married now, would it?" he choked out, a few tears finally making it past his defenses. "Not when you… If you're going to-"

"Dorian, Dorian…Vhenan ara," Tauron soothed, cupping the other man's face between his hands and gently wiping the wet from his cheeks with his thumbs, "I am… I'm so sorry. I wish we could have had a different ending. But I'm not sorry the Mark came to me. That I got the chance to meet you. I…I wouldn't trade what we had for anything. Not even a hundred more years on this earth. I love you, Dorian. So much."

Tauron's reassurance seemed to have the opposite effect than the one he had been aiming for. Dorian was really crying now.

"I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard."

[veridium]

How did Josie react to finding out Theia was hiding it from her?

(Oh boy, I’m sorry this got so long, there was so much I wanted to include and it just kept snowballing)

It was late when the Inquisitor finally made it to her bedchambers in the Winter Palace. A thousand thoughts and concerns streamed through her mind as she ripped off her formal wear. She could go the rest of her life without being cinched up in that red jacket and unforgiving blue sash. Finally able to breath in nothing but her slacks and chest wrap, she paused for a moment. 

She put her hands on her hips and meandered to the gilded window beside her equally gilded bed. She held her breath and she gazed out aimlessly. 

“When were you going to tell me?” Josephine’s voice was cold, hurtful to hear. The Ambassador had been sitting on the chair by the fireplace, turned away from the door in such a way where her presence wouldn’t be immediately detected. No need, though, Theia already knew she was there. She knew back when she confessed to the Council that Josephine would hunt her down, covered by a face and demeanor of poise and grace so as to not let anyone on that she was upset and betrayed. Perhaps she just wanted to pretend for a moment longer that she was alone. Perhaps a part of her just wanted to keep hiding.

Regardless, she knew this wouldn’t be good. She looked down at the floor and grit her teeth.

“Josephine, please,” she murmured hopelessly.

“’Josephine, please, Josephine, this was beyond you, Josephine, it was better if you did not know. Gah! You are so predictable!” Josephine’s voice grew heated, though she tried not to be the yelling sort, her commitment to such a cause was being thoroughly tested.

Theia looked over her shoulder at her as the Ambassador lept from her seat and began pacing by the fire. 

“You have always done this. When it is magic or the anchor, you turn from me. You made me look like an oblivious fool in front of the Divine and Commander Cullen. You’ve relied upon me to keep this Exalted Council intact while you run off and cause whatever else to go wrong!” Josephine continued, hands animated with her anger.

Theia watched her quietly, a stone-face expression on her face as she tried to keep herself from creating a more bombastic situation than necessary.

“Do you have anything to say to me? You stand there like a boulder against a stiff, unforgiving wind, and you cannot even bear to admit what you did was wrong?” Josephine let a hint of sadness and pain show in her face and tone, Theia’s heart ached at it.

Quietly, Theia turned and faced her, hands still gripping her hips. She bit her lip and got the courage to look her lover directly in the eyes. When she did, a chill went down her spine: Josephine’s gaze was seething, looking for answers. She had never been the destination of her eyes like that before, and it pained her.

“Josephine, I had little options. I was afraid if it became common knowledge it would contaminate efforts for the Exalted Council. I cannot be a powerful force for our cause if people believe me doomed,” she tried to explain herself, but she could already take a guess at Josephine’s retort.

“So, you blind those who are your most-trusted allies so as to debilitate them when you need their support most?” Yep, textbook counter from the Lady Ambassador. 

“No, I. I told who I needed to.”

“Who in the world?”

Theia remained silent, once again looking down at the floor. A moment passed, and then, clarity.

“Dorian.” Josephine growled, turning away and looking towards the bright and ravenous fire. “I am going to kill both of you one day, mark my words,” she cursed under her breath. 

Theia sighed. “He is the only one besides…” she stopped herself from saying his name. The long-gone friend, who longed for an orb long shattered, and whatever else spurned his soul to leave without saying goodbye.

Theia took a breath, releasing him from her mind for a moment. “Dorian didn’t even know what to do, at the end of the line. He couldn’t just stay locked up with me and find out what was wrong. None of us know.”

“So, you thought since you brilliant, talented Inquisition Mages couldn’t, surely no one else could be of use?” Josephine was unrelentingly critical. 

“When I thought it was a lost cause, my mind went to protecting the Inquisition and the Council. I had to make a choice, and I made it. I didn’t want to scare you…” Theia was cut off.

“You certainly did make a choice. And now everything is at stake, and we are underprepared. We have no protocol for if we lose you beyond what we have provisionally agreed upon. The Inquisition will be in even worse jeopardy. Why do you have so little trust for those around you, Theia? After all we have been through, after all that has been sacrificed!?” Josephine’s voice elevated to the line between arguing fervently, and yelling. 

Theia was pinned and squirming under the weight of her choices. A tense silence filled the air before she broke it with a vengeance.

“I don’t know! Okay? I was wrong. I was scared, and I thought I was dying. I still think I’m–” she stopped herself again and turned away harshly, a hand going up in her hair.

Josephine’s chest fluttered with fear. The interweaving of her anger and the terror was overwhelming her, and she was infamously known for not losing her cool. It was scarcely charted territory for her. Meanwhile, Theia knew she was overwhelmed, and instead of fighting it, let it undo her for this one moment. 

Angrily, Theia punched the dresser drawer closest to her, creating a slight crater in the wood grain. That would have been bad enough, if it didn’t start fizzling with electricity from her skin, creating an indentation of static rage. It continued to sizzle and crack for a moment before dissipating; with the lack of contact with her skin, it was nothing more than an elemental outburst.

She kept her back to Josephine, not out of indignance, but out of guilt. She couldn’t bear to look her in the face after what she had done. 

The silence was only disturbed by the crackling of the fire and the forcefulness of Theia’s breathing. 

“Josephine, Maker knows you are as angry as a Wyvern for what I have done. I knew you would be hurt if you ever found out. I’m sorry for making you feel like a fool, like I somehow think you below me, below Mages. The truth is, I…I…” her voice cracked as her throat felt like it was calcifying from the tears bubbling over in her eyes. 

Josephine’s face softened a bit, caught off guard by Theia’s crying sounds as they erupted from her chest. Theia’s cries were deep in her lungs, the cries of a woman with too much to bear. 

“Mi Amor, I–”

“Please.” Theia’s voice called for a pause.

Josephine stopped and looked down at her hands coupled together in front of her. She was still fuming a bit, but now the full reality of what was before them had made itself known. She could lose the woman she’s loved vigorously for years, the woman she’s had to share with the world, share with all its evils and machinations. The woman who always found a way back to her, despite all odds, despite all predictions. It felt like the palace walls were caving in around her: after all those times she never lost her to the great wide unknown, she could lose her with her standing right in front of her eyes.

Theia at last turned to face her again, walking closer, until she was only a few strides away. Her face was quiet, but damp with tears that she let go unchecked. “I want you to know that everything I have done has been with the peripheral fear of losing you. No matter how much pain this causes me, it does not compare to the mere idea of being without you. Protecting you, not as my Diplomat, not as my ally, but as my Love, has been one of the foremost obsessions of my actions. It blinded me to my trust in you. I was wrong. But, it was only out of the deep, entrenched desire I had to fix it so that you would never have to worry.” 

Josephine’s eyes were now the ones welling up with tears as she listened to Theia’s testimony for her reckless actions. She swallowed roughly, trying to choke back the tide from her eyes. 

“You are so foolish,” Josephine breathed, closing her eyes and letting her chin lower in humility. A taste of bittersweet humor in her words.

At that sight, Theia’s hands made their way to Josephine’s face. Softly, she tilted Josephine’s chin back up to where it had been, high and dignified. Her eyes stayed on hers. “My love, there are worse things to be,” she whispered low.

Josephine became hungry for her even more. Anxiously, she grasped Theia’s left hand and kissed her open palm, tears now falling from her ocean-colored eyes.

Theia in turn kissed Josephine’s forehead, before finally having her lips land on Josephine’s. The kiss simmered from sweet to passionate, passionate to tireless. Eventually the inertia compelled Theia to walk backwards towards the bed. Within what felt like a small but consuming moment in time, all of the garments fell to the floor, and for at least another night, their hands were for each other.

[thema-sal-shiral]

Confessions of Change

The moment where Solas realizes that he’s gotten a bit too deep in this parody of a relationship with Thema. Also, contains Thema backstory.

Warnings: Suicide mention, lots of backstory

It took time for them to settle into whatever this was they had. Arguments still raged, but not nearly as volatile and potent as they had once been, when anger turned into lust and adrenaline swept through their bodies. Unspoken rules confined their need: no holding, no talking, and above all, no kissing. They were easy rules to hold onto.

At first.

Then things started to change.

Solas was the first to realize it, and he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. The grip of his teeth had softened in her skin, along with the hold of his nails, and lust was being traded for comfort. It was comfortable to seek release with the elvhen woman, comfortable in their routine of fighting and sex. Sometimes he sought her out, surprising her to bypass traded words just for the high of physical contact. That didn’t mean he broke the rules, but he bent them sometimes.

He knew exactly where the change had started and he blamed her entirely for it.

Thema had come to him that night, more bottles of wine in hand, but she had seemed… scared, distant; the look in her eyes almost pleading for help. That look scared him as well, the word ‘no’ dancing on the edges of his tongue. Yet damn him, damn him to the Void and back, he couldn’t turn her away.

Solas had expected fear of the role she’d been thrust into, fear of the anchor. What he wasn’t expecting was her story, the answers to how she’d known who he was, what his plans were, and even the story of how she came to be here.

A shared dream with hundreds of thousands of others, a ‘global network of consciousness’ she called it,  all taking different paths through Thedas, each a different Inquisitor. The blood in his ears was like the blacksmith’s hammer when she said that they all knew the truth of him, that some wanted to kill him, that some would be very willing to join his armies. Half of the bottle of wine she’d given him had disappeared after that, his mind trying to wrap around the information she’d thrown down on the table. Her world must be more like Arlathan than he would have guessed.

Thema let him try and reconcile her words before launching into the second part of her tale. Her own meandering journey into this world.

There was a little backstory on her world, the lack of magic, what science was, that there was nothing but humans on the round rock called Earth. She had been one of them, a bit similar in looks to the body she wore now, but about as tall as him, with darker skin. Once she started on her life it all spilled out, the chaos of her family, running away from them, fighting in back alleys and throwing herself into drink and the beds of strangers.

That brought back quite a few memories of his own and they shared an awkward chuckle.

She had grown ill. Her arm had broken, and a trip to the healer had uncovered corruption in her bones, what she called ‘cancer’. It was advanced, and that callous man told her she had three weeks to live and left the white room. Solas tempered his anger, watching her face as her bottom lip quivered yet she tried to seem unaffected by the retelling. A second opinion was sought, from a kinder healer, but the verdict was the same: corruption of the bones and not long to live.

He would never forget the shaky breaths, the deep drain of wine and the barely concealed sobs as she forged further. This was not what he was expecting, that he would be the one she would tell this to – but who else could she tell? - and that he would react with emotion not as detached as their sex was. That he wanted to reach out a hand for her to hold, to steady her as she faced demons she hadn’t yet faced. He wanted to run form this but his feet wouldn’t move.

There were painkillers given to make the pain in her bones bearable and instead she had…

Bitter laughter wrapped around her words. ‘I can remember looking down at my body on that backwoods path, wondering what was going to happen now.’

When the Conclave had been destroyed and the Breach opened, it had reached her world as a tiny green speck. She had touched it, been consumed by it and thrown into the Fade. At her feet, the dying Lavellan, Divine Justinia trying to save the elf. Thema had stepped into the body just as the other left it, the flesh still alive but the shape all wrong.

Now he knew.

Now he knew why her spirit seemed to extend beyond her body, why it felt malignant and erratic. It didn’t belong here. Her spirit was trying to adapt to the new body, to the magic around it, and her spikes of anger, the arguing, the emotional instability made sense. Top that with the cherry of her death and rebirth, missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place. His curiosity was spiked, the anger over the bridge incident fading, and he felt more like himself, in control and seeking answers.

He could help, possibly having to do so without her consent, with the aid of the Fade. A spirit was a malleable thing, it could conform to situation and necessity like water filled a pitcher or a glass. A nudge and guidance were all it needed.

That night they had parted ways without touch or unkind words. She needed to rest, wobbling on her feet from alcohol and the release of memory, and he needed to search the Fade for answers and solutions.

That’s where the change had started.

He watched her, prodding from a distance with the knowledge he’d gleaned, molding like a gardener guided trees and plants into shape. Soft touches, trying not to change who she was, always keenly aware that a push too hard could either destroy or change her beyond recognition.

That constant observation also made him notice little things: her pointed ears hugged her head in a way that was considered unattractive but he liked it, she had freckles hiding in the tone of her skin, the way she walked that made her hips sway – even more exaggerated when she noticed him watching -, that she actually cared about the people around her. Thema could be found playing with the few children in Haven, curious in the way the town ran, and even though she was blunt and callous with little patience for idiots, she was willing to listen to those worth her time.

The more he noticed, the more he started to care.

They still fucked, of course, but the anger was gone now. Why they still continued was a mystery, perhaps because they were two strangers in the same world.

It was when he studied the marks on his body in the mirror of a stream that he really knew everything had changed. She left red curtains of nail marks on his shoulders and hips, bruises on his neck and shoulders from her teeth. They had never bothered him before, more badges of pride and pleasure in the little sparks of pain, but now he enjoyed wearing them. People could see them above the collar of his wrapped undershirt, and the growing ‘Inner Circle’ knew that they were having sex, something that had stopped bothering him quite a while ago.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning under his breath. The path had been tread too far to stop now, and he wouldn’t stop even given the choice. Something would need to change in their arrangement and soon.

Perhaps after Val Royeaux they would speak again.

[wootensmith]

Kirkwall

The dirty slush of frozen seawater and the crowds of the destitute made the Kirkwall docks even worse than he remembered from his short visit a few years past. So many people. Some leaving in hopes of a better future elsewhere, some tumbling from ships just arrived searching for the same. It was a scene he had witnessed countless times. Different cities, different ages, but always akin to this. Everything changed, except this. He had seen enough empires rise and fall to know that. Why was she bothering? Risking so much to help slaves escape. She would only send them into a different kind of slavery on another shore. And in a few years— it would all be finished anyhow. Why couldn’t she rest? Why can’t you? he thought. Haven’t you done the same, over and over again? He had thought it mattered, once, how the people he’d left behind had lived. How they’d struggled to right things. To do better, to be more. Some part of him knew he felt that way, still, though it was buried under a deep despair. That the right words, the right people could draw it out of him again. He wound his way through the slowly milling crowds toward the boats, the tang of salt and filth pricking his nose. The harbormaster was shouting at a frostbitten dwarf who cowered next to a fallen load of bundles. Solas bent to help him pick them up, placing them carefully together and retying the snapped cord while the harbormaster continued to scold. “What do you want, knife-ear?” he scowled at last. Solas helped the dwarf lift the awkward, shifting parcels onto his back before answering. “I wanted to find passage to Tevinter,” he said coolly. The dwarf scuttled off before the harbormaster could renew his tirade. The harbormaster glanced skeptically at him. “Most of you people are trying to escape Tevinter.” Solas remained silent, waiting. The harbormaster shrugged. “Only ship willing to go that far is the Casus Belli. Third one in the far dock.” He waved a calloused hand down the pier. Solas didn’t bother thanking him.

He knew he should go. It was perilous to linger here. If the Inquisitor saw him— if she tried to stop him, he knew he would yield. But leaving without being certain that she was well— what does it matter? he asked himself, even as he found a seat among the barrels of fresh water that waited on the dock, her fate is the same as all the others. A few years, maybe. And then— He pushed the idea away again, as he always did, and wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. A simple illusion made certain he was hidden to any casual passers by. He was relieved the ship was still in port. He’d expected her to slip out earlier than the prescribed week. His people had watched the house around the clock, but had seen only Dorian and Varric enter or exit. He’d camped outside the city, and each day passing without a sign of life from her was a heavy stone added to his back. The Inquisitor that he’d known would have protested the wait, eager and restless to be off. She’d have persuaded him within the day, and yet there was no sign of preparations and no ravens flew from the rooftop of Bartrand’s house. Who is left to send a raven to? he wondered and felt the hollow in his chest grow larger. He should take her with him. Once she left Dorian in Tevinter, only Cole would remain. And he did not need her. Or Josephine who was gone often on business for her family or visiting Orlais. An army of soldiers who didn’t realize she was flesh instead of stone, and Cullen who had no idea what to do with her. A smattering of shouts roused him. The sailors were readying the ship and Varric’s voice carried over the tumult directing the carriage of luggage and stores aboard. “Out of my way, rabbit,” snarled an impatient man. “I apologize,” the Inquisitor’s voice was a low current beneath it all and Solas strained to catch it. “I’ll thank you not to address my attaché with so little respect.” Dorian’s anger sizzled and Solas caught sight of the man hastily touching his forelock and retreating. “We should lay low,” said the Inquisitor. “It will be a long journey. We should try not to make enemies—” “It was rude. I would have said something even had it not been you. But as it is you—” Dorian sighed. “If you’re going to make me pretend to be your ambassador—” “It isn’t pretend, Dorian,” she protested. “Even so. We may as well use it to our advantage. Let me play my part. Let me lead. You promised, sorora.” “I did, you’re right.” “Good. Rest here. If anyone asks, you’re ensuring no assassin boards.” “But—” “Varric?” asked Dorian. “I’ve got her, Sparkler.” They were quiet for a moment and Solas shifted silently, wanting to see her fully without breaking his enchantment. It won him a partial glimpse between the barrels. “Stop worrying,” said Varric, patting her shoulder. “It’s going to go well. A gull from Isabella came this morning. They’ve reached the Eyes of Nocen. Everything’s in place.” “What if—” “Whatever you’re thinking, it won’t.” “She’s thinking, ‘What if the anchor gets bad again? What if I sink the ship?’” murmured Cole. “It won’t. Dorian checked, remember? You checked. You both agreed—” “What if we’re wrong?” she whispered. “I wish we could be sure. I wish—” she broke off and Solas could see her shoulder rise and curl inward. And then Varric’s arm around it. “He’s not coming back. I know you don’t want to hear it. I know the others don’t want to say it. We have to make do. We can call this all off, right now. No one would blame you. Go home, Inquisitor. Or stay here, with me. Retire. We’ll tag along with Fenris to find Hawke. You’ve done enough.” “No. I haven’t. This is important.” Varric let her go, and her shoulder straightened. “You’re right,” she said, her voice hardening. “He’s not going to return. Not yet. And there is work to be done. We’ll just have to hope that whatever— illness this was, is over.” Her hand flexed. Cole’s feet shifted uneasily. “Like a sapling cut back in spring. It will be months before it spreads again. The boat is safe. He knows better, now. He will be back before it swallows you.” “Andraste’s tits, kid—” hissed Varric. “He loves her,” protested Cole. Solas couldn’t help but send a silent thanks to the boy, though he knew it was probably best left as Varric had. “Thank you, Cole. It makes me happy to hear,” said the Inquisitor. “I know,” said the boy. “All hands hoy!” called a sailor and Varric gave them both a hasty hug. “Don’t worry,” he told the Inquisitor, “You and Dorian are the mask. We’ll handle the rest. I’ll see you in the spring.” “Be careful,” she answered and Solas heard her feet on the ramp.

Elgar’nan’s glare did nothing for his mood. Perhaps he should restore the statue. Just to decrease the balefulness of those dark pits where its eyes were meant to be. A project for another time. Before he brought her here. He was too tired to wonder when it had moved from a longing to a resolution, but he was certain the Inquisitor would be here before the end. She’d never have stayed in Skyhold. It was always meant for others. Maybe the escaped slaves she was helping. Maybe just the Inquisition, itself. Vhemanen’s expression of pity was harder to face. She said nothing when he entered, but her long look at the door, as if she expected another behind him, was enough. Harden your heart, he told himself, There is work to be done on my part, as well. “Loranil will be relieved you are back,” was all she said, handing him a warm plate of food. “He is tired of looking after an old woman.” “I think you are tired of looking after him,” said Solas, sitting on the hearth beside her. “He’s itching for the training yard.” “He would be better served training with you. Did you tell him how long you guarded the temple?” Vhemanen smiled. “Invisibility has served me well.” She plucked at the thin spot at his tunic’s elbow. “It’s served us both.” “Yes. But there are times I long to be seen, all the same.” “The boy is sweet and obedient. Too obedient. He’d never risk an ear tweaking for a bottle of Elgar’nan’s Heart.” Solas groaned a laugh. “Then he is wiser than I. That bottle was worse than the punishment. Very well, perhaps Abelas will tame his restlessness for a time. I would see them happy while time remains.” The smile faded from her face. “And you? Your time runs as short as ours. Is she— did you stop the spread?” “For now. Have you found anything further on Isevun? I fear she will lose the arm next time. It was much more dire than I had anticipated.” “No. Only that the growth of the magic becomes more rapid every time. Elgar’nan was not successful. It eventually consumed Isevun. I’m sorry.” He nodded. “As am I. But it was as Abelas warned me. I didn’t expect to find an answer, though I hoped I might pick up where Elgar’nan left off.” “Perhaps the Veil will slow the process.” “Perhaps.” She watched him for a long moment. “Why didn’t you bring her to us?” He smiled, but it was bitter. “Are you so certain she would have agreed?” “Solas, you forget that I saw her. How she longed to stay in Mythal’s home. How crushed she was at Abelas’s pronouncement. How she looked at you. I am certain she would have agreed. Just as I am certain you did not ask.” “She has her own work that must be done.” “As important as this?” asked Vhemanen. His heart rebelled, but his mind knew better. “Yes,” he said. “And we have our tasks here. I will bring her here, in the end. But it is not yet time. How is the spellwork on the amulet?” She straightened, aware that he was shutting it away, replacing his mantle again. “Stable, I think. It has always been difficult for me to measure these things since the Veil. Like touching something in the dark and trying to guess its shape.” He stood up. “If it holds, the amulet should be finished within the week.” “And then?” she asked. “And then I must find a way to either convince Mythal of my story or destroy the Titan before Andruil reaches it.” Vhemanen shook her head. “But you and I were not yet born when Andruil first found the Titan. And all the records are lost. Her people were buried with the titan. I’ve never heard of a single survivor. How are you going to find out how to stop her? As soon as you arrive, you will be lost.” She waved a hand toward his face. “And unmarked. You’ll be spotted immediately.” He touched his cheek. It was not something he’d considered. The vallaslin would have to be put back. He shuddered at the idea. “I will have to find someone who knows how it happened. Andruil’s people cannot be the only ones that know. Ghilan’nain’s people, perhaps—” he stopped as she shook her head. “They’re all gone, Solas. So few entered uthenera with us and of those, so many, like me, were woken and stayed awake. That any of us remain was unlikely. That someone with the knowledge you need did… Perhaps you should ask Abelas. He was alive, at least, when it happened. Maybe he will know of others who remain. Maybe they’ll be able to piece the story together for you. Enough so that you aren’t immediately killed.” He flexed his hand, staring at it, feeling the extra power he had drawn from the anchor pulse through him. “I will not die that easily.” Vhemanen crossed her arms and stared at him. “Do not fall for the same lie as the Evanuris. Their power did not save them. And it was not your might that trapped them. Your strength is in cleverness, Solas, it always was. All of us are depending upon it now. Do not go unprepared.” She was right. He nodded. “I’ll find Abelas in the morning. For now, I have more spells to start.”

[daemurae]

sweetly unintended, blissfully unaware

Word count: 1684 Pairing: Cullen x Lavellan Rating: K Summary:  Just a brief few moments of peace and calmness after the storm between our dearest lion and his Lavellan - before the kiss, before the confession, back when they were just completely oblivious to each other's emotions and utterly falling in love against their own struggling better judgement - luckily though, it doesn't do much to stop them. Notes: Slow burn, pre-confession/relationship fics are my huge weakness, especially when it’s about these two puppies falling in love. Also, this was written in midst of an exam frenzy so sorry if it’s a bit rambly at some parts. ♡ 

you can also read it here ♡

     The sun was warm and burning bronze against the horizon when they walked out on the battlements, the colors bathing the walls so rich and inviting, it almost made the cold mountain air prick slightly less sharply against their skin. It has been mere days since the events at the Winter Palace and the atmosphere everywhere around them was sharp, excited and bathed in anxious anticipation – it felt good to have something feel more serene, at least for a few moments, before the sun sets down and everything turns as dark, cold and frightening as the recent events.

     For a moment, the young man stopped and turned to stare at the setting sun, perhaps to savor the moment it was creating, and the elf slowly came to a halt as well, joining him as she leaned her arms, crossed against the harsh stone, her small frame somewhat relaxed for the first time today. The commander though, had his arms crossed behind his back and his posture rigid and tense, his expression not as at peace one might expect from someone admiring this view. The Inquisitor studied his face with worried eyes. He was often the pillar that held this entire organisation, its meetings and events calm, focused and strong. But there wasn't really anyone who kept him strong. She felt an incredible urge to gently place her hands on his cheeks, to smooth out all that worry and sadness and replace it with the peace and happiness, like moulding clay. However, that was neither possible, nor was such gesture appropriate, so she kept where she was, returning her gaze to the horizon.

     „I never thanked you...“, he suddenly spoke out quietly and Lavellan raised her eyebrows in a confused manner. He noticed and offered a small, albeit still troubled smile.

     „For your advice a few days ago.“

     Because the events in Orlais weren't the only thing that transpired a few days ago. Immediately after that evening, Cullen reached yet another difficult decision, one in which Lavellan aided him in a way she thought was best. But seeing his features even more tired and anguished than usual lately, it made her doubt whether it truly was the best choice to support. The worry in her eyes deepened as she tilted her head and observed him carefully.

     „Cullen, are you alright?“, her tone was quiet and gentle, matching his own. He tried his best to put more enthusiasm in his smile, but it didn't quite work.

     „I will be.“

     Her eyebrows furrowed, her lips parting for a moment but her words stayed stuck firmly in her throat, because she knew, deep within herself, that, in the long run, this was the best for Cullen, this should make him feel better, healthier, in the long run. Her jaw clenched nervously as she suddenly dropped her gaze. It should make him feel better – if it doesn't kill or ruin him in the process.

     He must have noticed the subtle mixture of fear and doubt his reply planted in her so he quickly added, „It was the right thing to do, I know it. Don't feel bad for helping me see that...“

     Lavellan just nodded, still looking down. „How are your dreams? Do you sleep well?“

     Cullen sighed, averting his own gaze downward as well. „Not any better, yet. I make by. I function. I'm not a liability to our cause,“ his words were now more stern, almost rehearsed.

     Lavellan quickly raised her brows, hastily placing a hand on his shoulder.

     „No, I didn't mean that-... I mean, I…“, it seemed as it was just now that both she and Cullen noticed her palm on his armor and she pulled it back in an instant, awkward movement, briefly eyeing her palm as though she just burned it on an open flame, before planting it firmly beside her body – something about that gesture seemed more sudden and cold than she intended and Cullen reprimanded himself in his mind for the way it seemed to have stung him right back.

     „I want you to feel better because of yourself, not me or the Inquisition,“ she finally finished.

     Cullen's expression softened once more, „I will, it just takes… time.“

     Lavellan sighed, leaning her arms back on the stone surface in front of her as they stayed silent for a few moments while the sky began turning its colors to a set of darker orange hues. Sera and Dorian were having a mock duel with a pair of steel practice swords bellow, Sera's warm, high pitched laughter piercing the quiet and bringing a gentle smile on Lavellan's face as she watched them.

     Cullen chuckled quietly in a low, soft rumble, that made the girl's smile widen even more.  „I admire them so much for being able to be so carefree in the midst of all of this...“

     Seeing him smile as well, especially under the strong lights of the sunset in front of them, made him appear so much younger and innocent, probably similar to how that curly haired templar boy looked like more than ten year ago when he first started serving at the Fereldan Circle, before everything in his life descended to madness that turned him into the troubled, wounded man that he was now. Lavellan cherished those very, very rare moments like these, when he seemed younger and happier again, his smile almost mischievously crooked and his eyes cheery, liquid gold and glistening.

     „If you want, you can teach me how to sword fight as well, guarantee that it'll make you laugh for days, only I don't take any responsibility for the eyes, noses or other minor body parts of passerbys that I end up poking out on accident in the process.“

     He let out a chuckle again, this time louder and more vivid, making her grin brightly.

     „How about trying to teach you some bow and arrow skills in return? If we aim you in a good enough of a direction, there's a significantly lesser chance of poking anyone's facial features using that particular weapon.“

     Lavellan's jaw dropped as she feigned shock and offence, „You underestimate me, Sir!“, and then they both laughed.

     Without realizing it, Cullen made a step closer to Lavellan as he turned to face her and lean on the battlements wall.

     „I like this,“ his smile finally radiated a more sincere, relaxed light and it rose color in Lavellan's cheeks and caused her heartbeat to gently grow more rapid, „Moments like these. Brief as they are. Makes me feel like we are all still people through it all. Not soldiers, not politicians, not chess pieces, but people“, his attention drifted back to the friendly 'duel' below, now with Iron Bull sitting besides them and howling roaring cheers – those for Dorian being ever so slightly louder. Bull probably failed to notice this little fact, just as Cullen failed to notice that, upon viewing the rosy hue on Lavellan's cheeks, his own face felt warmer than a moment before.

     „We are just ordinary people. The pain and fear that come with all of this only reaffirm that. There's something bittersweet about that, actually,“ Lavellan moved her attention to the anchor on her palm and clenched into a soft fist a few times, „The day we turn cold and unresponsive is the day we'll truly be ruined.“

     Cullen's own palms lifted up in front of him as he judged their shaky shapes with inescapable discontent and sorrow. „That's a very positive way of seeing it. I'm....“ he took a deep breath and clenched his own fists, although he did it with less patience and tenderness, and it did not help their shivering one bit, „ …not quite as able of seeing it that way.“

     Tentatively, nervous and shaky in her own way, Lavellan's palms gripped the young commander's and pressed them together. Which in turn did not help her racing heartbeat one bit, though she could hardly care less right now.

     She smiled, „To tell you the truth? Me neither. But I'm getting there.“

     Their fingers tangled together in a forbidden embrace and, by the Maker, Cullen never wanted her to let go. But he knew he wasn't allowed to feel that way and she wasn't expected or advised to reciprocate in any way. Though this never stopped him before to marvel at the beauty of the shape of her eyes, of the way her smallest touch sometimes sent electricity up his spine, of the way he admired her wisdom, her humor, her voice, her company and her grace more than of any other person he met before. How it always took him a moment too long before stopping himself from imagining that, if their lips met for just a few seconds, she could heal every little wound, bad memory and fear inside of him like a soothing, consuming flame of sweet remedy.

     He let out a breath and lifted up her palms until they touched his lips. He was forbidden anything more, but she didn't flinch away and he allowed them to linger there for a few seconds before letting her go and turning back to his previous firm stance, his face once again troubled, though Lavellan would never guess it was, in this moment, for a different reason.

     She held her arms close to her chest for a moment, perhaps she wanted to keep the warm, bright sensation from before for just a while longer, wanting desperately to store it in her heart permanently, because she felt there probably won't be another moment like this. In her case, as in his, she felt her devotion would never be reciprocated, nor was it proper, nor was she what he deserved. And the Inquisitor should most definitely refrain from making herself appear as a stumbling, blushing child with an unreturned crush in front of her commander.

     No, it wasn't possible, or wise. And yet they both remained close to one another until the sun set. Simply standing together in silence. After that, they made their courteous, formal goodbyes, as colleagues should, and they each went their separate way.

[ramblinganthropologist]

3. ‘I haven’t decided if I’m actually going to kill you yet but first, either way, what did you DO to piss off the Canadians so badly.’ Jackel and Trevy

Summary: Trevy just wanted to go home and eat some pudding. She doesn’t’ get a snack, but she does find a friend. That pudding would’ve been nice, though.Pairing: NoneUniverse: That Modern Dragon Age AU; Inquisitor Trevelyan AUWord count: 1.9k----

“Well, this is awkward.”

“You're telling me. They didn't say you were this tall.”

There were a couple of things Aeronwen Trevelyan usually expected when she came home for the day. Her living room would match her bedroom by being a mess and covered in books from a long night of research. It would be dark since she hadn't yet turned on the light. However, the one thing she would have come to find would be that she would have been alone from the moment she shut the door. That one, the most basic of facts about her apartment, was now untrue. Someone was sitting in her favorite chair, looking at her with a rather confused expression painted on her face. 

The mage sighed as she put her bagdown by the door; her staff was out of reach, but she did keep thebones of a rather mean alley cat that had died the year before ofnatural causes in a jar just in case. A wiggle of her fingers, andLady Honeytooth would be ready for battle. Judging from how heavilyarmed the elf in her chair looked, she might need her.

“I'm guessing this is the partwhere you're supposed to kill me?” A nod of the head made her sigh.“Did your employer at least tell you what you'd be expecting? I'dhate to sic a dead cat upon the uniformed. You make the worstnoises.”

When the would-be assassin's facenever changed, Aeronwen shook her head and started towards her smallkitchen. If she was going to have to attack someone, she at leastwanted a cup of tea and the last of the pudding in the firdge.

Much to her surprise, the small elfwas at her side. “Hope you're not wanting any of that pudding,because I ate it while I was waiting for you.”

Lady Honeytooth's bones rattled inthe jar as she assembled herself for battle. In life, she'd been amass of muscle and matted fur. Her neighbors had sworn the cat had tohave had something wild in her to get that big, but examining thebones months later didn't point to any markers. She had just been abig old girl who'd like to eat, maybe with a bit of Starkhaven Nugcat in her. Now, she hissed to reanimation, leaping from her restingplace to knock the assassin flat on her ass.

“The store didn't have any morethis week. I really did want some.” Aeronwen sighed as she snappedher fingers to make the water in the kettle boil. “Would you likesome tea to go with your stolen pudding, Miss...”

The elf on the floor groaned as arather heavy skeleton sat straight on her middle. “Call me Jackel.Can you call your attack cat off? Gods, why is a bag of bones soheavy?”

“It's rude to ask about a lady'sweight.” Tea for two it was then. With a glowing hand, that wasn'texactly easy, but she managed it. “So, who hired you to take meout? You sound Dalish, so that knocks out the Antivan Crows and halfthe Ferelden gangs.”

Jackel at least managed to sit uponce Lady Honeytooth had moved to turning her legs into goo with thepower of her undead purring. For an assassin, she was a tiny thing;most of her was skin and bone. Maybe she had needed that puddingafter all. Still, she could have at least asked. That had been alimited spring flavor.

“Call it an act of ill will fromthe clans. We weren't sure whether to trust you or not.” Shepaused, as if she was mulling over her thoughts. “I haven't decidedif I was going to kill you yet, but what DID you do to piss theOrlesians off so badly? I had to knock off two guys who had acontract on you just to get into your apartment.”

Well, that'd explain the blood stainsshe'd found two days prior. Part of her had wondered if it was justher cat taking out the competition for her unholy hunting grounds.Then again, cats didn't tend to leave scraps of trousers with them.At least her curiosity was sated for the moment.

Aeronwen returned to her living roomwith two cups of tea and a couple of chocolate cookies she'd found atthe bottom of her favorite jar. Jackel hadn't seemed to help herselfto those, so at least there was hope for some form of sweets. With asnap of her fingers, Lady Honeytooth was kneading into her plush catbed instead of bothering the guests.

“You can sit on the couch if youpromise not to try to kill me.”

Her assassin nodded as she perched onthe edge. “I've decided not to kill you anyway. Anyone who summonsa dead cat named Lady Honeytooth can't be all bad.”

Well, praise the Maker.

Aeronwen rolled her eyes as shehanded Jackel a cup. She sipped from her own as she settled back intoher favorite chair. The elf hadn't even managed to keep it warm forher, so it dampened some of her good cheer. She was still sore aboutthe pudding, so it didn't help.

“I hope the Dalish spy network isgood enough to know I was a Circle mage once.”

Jackel snorted as if she had beenhanded a grave insult, all the while adding enough sugar to kill aBuffalo into her tea. Maybe she had some Qunari in her. “We mightnot be as well organized as your precious Lilybird's forces, but weknow a thing or two. Until the big war, you were in Monstimmardcircle. Never harrowed, can't imagine why with skills like yours.”

“Well, that's why the Orlesianshate me so much.” The mage reached up to remove the cloth she kepttied around her forehead. Once the knot was removed, it fell into herlap. Exposed to the air, the brand on her forehead twinged slightly.It still hurt some days.

The fact she had been Tranquil wasone of those things the Chantry tried to hide. After all, it wouldn'tdo to have the so-called Herald of Andraste be one of the magesthey'd kept compliant and vacant of any will to live. Five years ofher life had been spent under the brand, and it would have been therest of it if not for the convenient exploding Chantry and a war thatthreatened to kill her for real this time. But hey, months oflearning to control her rediscovered magic and emotions had beenworth the look on the elf's face.

Much to her surprise, Jackel'sknuckles turned white around her tea cup. “They branded you?”

“Please don't break my cup. I likethat one.”

At least the elf put it down beforeshe made a fist to pound into her leg. “Why? What could a 15 yearold girl have done to earn something like that?”

Aeronwen sighed as she closed hereyes. She had asked herself that every night since she could thinkagain. Her fingers traced the outline, burned both into her memoryand her flesh. Even after regaining her powers, no healing magicwould make it vanish. She was stuck with it.

“I ran away from someone who triedto hurt me.” A sad smile spread across her face as she looked overat her would-be assassin. “Does your family love you? Mine doesn't.They proved that when they handed me back over to the Circle when Iran to them. My own brother was the Templar in charge of myretrieval.”

She didn't have a lot of memoriesfrom the branding, so if he was there or not when they sealed hermagic wasn't exactly clear. He might as well have been for all thegood he'd done to protect her. As far as she knew, he was dead andthat was just fine by her.

Jackel looked like she needed topunch somebody. Much to Aeronwen's surprise, tears were beading inher green eyes. She wiped them away, but the grimace on her facelooked almost painful. Strange, given she had been trying to killher.

“Those bastards.”

“I have stronger words for them,but that'll do for now.” The mage sipped at her tea. “So, whatare you going to do? I assume the Dalish are going to want to know myfeelings on them. You don't have to worry, the Chantry and I aren'texactly friendly. If you need an ally, you have my hand.”

However, that didn't placate the elf.In fact, soon their eyes met over the table. It was rare to seeemotion like that in the face of another. The Chantry sisters hadonce taught her about righteous fury, but to actually see it wassomething else entirely.

“I want to make them pay.”

When she didn't ask who, Jackelcontinued. “You're clearly going to need someone to keep theassassins off your back. I also do legal work, though Orlesian lawtheory isn't exactly my favorite. Should be able to figure outOstwick inheritance law if you give me a couple weeks.”

Aeronwen found it hard to speak.“I... don't exactly need a lawyer.”

“But you do need a friend. A coupleof them, if my brothers get in on it.” The elf held out her hand.“I'm going to make them pay for what they did to you, Trevy.”

Nobody had called her that in years,not since she was young and new to the Circle. Something long dead inher stirred. Maybe she could trust the elf, at least with theassassinating the assassins thing. If worst came to worst, there wasat least someone she could eat sweets with. Provided she asked beforeconsuming, it might work out.

So, she stuck out the Anchor andjoined their hands. “You're going to need to talk to Leliana beforeyou do anything. I don't think she'd appreciate having another spymuscling in on her network.”

It was funny; both the assassins inher life had red hair. Her current spymaster didn't have tattoos likethose, though. If she remembered right, they were for Mythal. Maybehaving the embodiment of Justice on her side might be a good thingafter all.

“Don't worry, I'll handle thingswith Lilybird. You just focus on making the sky close and annoyingthe shit out of the Orlesians.” For the first time, Jackel smiledas she reached down to eat her cookie. “Damn, I didn't know youwere hiding these. I would've left the pudding.”

Trevy laughed as she reached for herown cookie to keep it safe. “Next time I'll let unexpectedintruders know what snacks I'm keeping for myself.”

“Good, that'll get you far.” Theelf beamed. “Now, why don't I introduce you to my brothers? You'regetting a demolitions expert and kickass mage with me; it's a threein one deal.”

No doubt that was going to annoy thehell out of Cullen when she told him on Monday. Good; the assholeneeded it. Trevy still wasn't too sure what was going to come out ofthis arrangement, but at least there was someone on her side. Thatwould help.

She was still kind of mad about thepudding, though. Even being Herald of Andraste didn't put the berriesback on the bushes.

[cherrymilkshake]

Writing Inktober

Fell behind because I spent the weekend on a trip, but I’ve caught back up and finished!

27: Cage

The Anchor was a beacon in the Beyond, drawing spirits and demons that normally would not approach Eloni in her dreams. She had never been a large target for demons before—she wasn't quite powerful enough to serve as a worthy vessel. (In truth, she was powerful enough to hide her aura well.) But nothing could smother the Anchor.

She woke in a cage. In front of her, Hanin was on her knees, hands bound behind her back. Her dark eyes were wide and frantic as they stared at Eloni. Her normally bouncy black curls were limp, damp with sweat. "Vhenan," she gasped as their eyes met. Her voice was a hurried whisper. "Vhenan, please, help me. They're going to kill me."

Eloni was already moving, pressing herself against the front of the cage, rattling the iron bars. They stank of rust. "Who's going to kill you?" she hissed. She tried to call upon fire, to melt the metal against her palms, but her magic didn't come.

Hanin looked over her shoulder and back. "Hurry, please!"

"I'm trying!" But her magic remained just out of reach, teasing her with its distance. "Fucking thing!" She yanked hard on the bars.

Suddenly, fire flashed against her hands and, for a moment, Eloni was elated, glad to be able to melt the metal.

Until the screaming began. Eloni watched in horror as Hanin's body was consumed, her bounds breaking and her hands covering her face as she turned to the smoking, skeletal forms Eloni had seen in the Temple's ruins.

As Eloni threw herself against the bars to get to her wife, the corpse shifted, drawing its hands down, revealing an eyeless, toothsome face. "Give into your despair," it whispered. "Give me your pain and your longing. Give me yourself. What use are you now?"

Eloni breathed, taking in the stench of the metal and… nothing else. She didn't answer the corpse, focusing on her memories. How had she gotten there? Where was this cage? As she focused, the fog began to lift, and her magic returned to her hands.

"You will not take me, demon," she said, rising to her feet. With a wave of her hand, the cage collapsed to dust. "And you will be punished for desecrating her face."

28: Power

The first time Andrin entered the war room as the Herald of Andraste, they didn't know what to expect. Would they be giving an opinion, one vote of four? A rubber stamp of approval? Or even just an observer?

Instead, they found the humans deferring, asking them, an ex-Carta smuggler with no leadership experience, genuinely what should be done. The power was… overwhelming in its headiness, but also in its pressure. Should things go sour, it was now their fault.

Andrin had always been a cog in a machine. A dagger in the dark. A spy in the bedroom. They didn't know what to do with actual responsibility.

But that didn't mean they weren't going to fake it to their utmost ability.

"We received this letter from a Fereldan nobleman, a Lord Kildarn," Josephine explained, showing Andrin the vellum. This Kildarn was requesting that the Inquisition drive out some refugees attempting to settle on his lands. "Lord Kildarn is a pariah even among the Fereldan banns," she continued. "I recommend a polite refusal, especially considering how he seems to think that elves and mages cannot also be refugees in these difficult times." Her lips pinched.

"Why not court his favor even so?" Leliana suggested. "We have few allies in the Fereldan court. I could send some agents to relocate the refugees."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "You are personal friends with the King, Leliana," she said.

With a lilting laugh, Leliana turned over one of her raven-shaped map pieces. "The King is not his court, Josie. Alistair himself is often harangued by them."

Cullen coughed. "We could send some patrols, but honestly, I'd rather they help the refugees, not the puffed-up bann in his manor."

And they looked to Andrin, who met Leliana's gaze. "It's probably better for the refugees to not be on his land anyway, given his attitude toward them," they said. "And we're not in a position to turn away any possible allies, unpleasant assholes or not."

Leliana chuckled. "Glad you and I see eye to eye on this," she said.

Andrin raised an eyebrow. "Sister Nightingale, I do hope you weren't joking about my height just then."

She smiled. "Never, Your Worship." She set her map piece down on the Hinterlands. "Now, this next letter is from the Teyrn of Highever…"  

29: Invitation

Cullen'd had a long day. By the time he got back to his office, he was nursing a terrible headache, sniffling from the cold mountain air, and was stiff-jointed from standing and walking for hours around the fortress.

He sat heavily behind his desk, groaning as he took a moment to cross his arms and lay his head down. Something poked into his ear. He almost cried as he sat back up and grabbed the little card. A joke from Leliana perhaps—a "love token" from one of his "Orlesian suiters"? He shuddered and opened it.

In dark, messy scrawl it said:

Cullen-

When you can, I would like to see you.

- Amelia

His heart sank. Was the dream coming to an end?

He got to his feet. Better to face it than hide from it. His boots thunked heavily on the stairs as he climbed the Inquisitor's tower. When he knocked on the door, Amelia's voice echoed out, bidding him to enter.

But when he got into the room, instead of finding mournful and serious, she was smiling, sitting behind a small table, a spread of food laid across it, and a bottle of wine sitting in a bucket of ice in the center. "Sit," she said, gesturing to the seat opposite her. "Cassandra told me you were exhausted, and I had time, so I had Josephine help me arrange a proper private dinner." Her eyes sparkled. "Feel free to take off your coat and armor and such. I expect to keep you for the rest of the evening."

Maker, but Cullen loved this woman. He slung his coat over the back of the couch and quickly unbuckled his armor, setting it across the cushions. Then finally, he sat with her. She poured him and herself a glass of wine, and raised the glass in a toast. "To taking a much-deserved break," she said.

"To you, Inquisitor."

As he went to clink his glass, she pulled it back, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed. "Sorry. To you, Amelia."

They had a lovely meal and a warm, enjoyable evening.

30: Secret

After Bianca locked up the mines, she split off from the Inquisition's group, making her own way home. She and Varric didn't speak.

Andrin looked between her retreating back and Varric's melancholy expression in the light of the campfire and decided to say nothing. They did offer Varric some whiskey from their flask however, which was taken with a grateful half-smile.

When they arrived back in Skyhold and Andrin had gone to the usual debriefing meeting with their advisors, they found Varric brooding again, his desk covered in half-crumpled papers. They poured some whiskey into the empty mug on the desk and placed it in Varric's hands. He laughed. "I don't know if you're trying to make me feel better or just get me drunk."

"It can be both," Andrin said with a grin. "But if you wanna actually talk about it, I have time."

Varric considered them for a moment, then knocked back the mug. "Sure," he said. "Why not? Let's take a walk, Inquisitor."

They climbed up onto the battlements, where the wind was cool and crisp, and the din of people in the entrance hall faded to silence. "She was right," Varric said, his eyes on a distant wisp of cloud. "I don't deal with things, least of all things with her."

"What's the history there?" Andrin asked.

Varric shrugged. "We met while we both lived in Kirkwall. I was looking for a smith; she's the best damn smith the world has to offer. We hit it off. Her family is Kalnas, so…"

"Well, shit," Andrin said, pulling a face. "Smith caste, I'm guessing. What's Tethras?"

"You don't know the story?" Varric seemed genuinely shocked.

"Nope. My family's been surfacers for years. We don't keep up with the drama unless it affects us directly. Or it's really juicy."

"Then you've heard about the guy fixing Provings, 'bout forty-five years ago?"

Andrin's eyes widened. "Oh shit, that was Tethras?! Even my mother heard about that."

"Yep. Whole family had to pack up and escape to the surface. We ended up in Kirkwall, where I was born."

Andrin offered the flask, which Varric took with a smile. "So," Andrin began, after Varric gave it back, "why does the Merchant Guild want you and Bianca not to meet exactly?"

"Well, her family picked out a nice Smith caste boy and… Well, long story short, there was almost a clan war. My brother was not thrilled. So now we're not supposed to be within 3000 leagues of each other."

Andrin whistled. "That's a long ways. Is she worth it?"

Varric sighed and leaned against the wall, looking out over the people milling around Skyhold. "Sometimes I wonder," he said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder."