#Anyway I only did this so I could properly watch Conclave for the first time in a while

[vetinarihavelock]

Plugged in my secondary monitor for the first time in over a month. Looking at my quality edits sideblog on it, and I'm reminded why it's always a good idea to look at your work through multiple screens: You'll never get a perfect match (thx a lot technology), but it's a good way to make sure that whatever tweaks you do it will look as not-horrible to as many people as possible.

(That being said, why does my Samsung make everyone's shit look like they wanted to play with Hue and Saturation settings like a clueless five-year-old? We just don't know.)

[scarletaire]

flowerfall

A/N: Not my usual Jurdan fare, I know, but after reading A Sky Beyond the Storm, this fic poured out of me and I was helpless to stop it. Canon-divergent for Chapter LX, but mostly follows canon for everything after.

WARNING: Spoilers for A Sky Beyond The Storm!

Fandom: An Ember in the Ashes by Sabaa Tahir

Ship: Helene Aquilla x Avitas Harper

Genre/s: Fluff

Rating: T

Links: Masterlist | Read on AO3 

[Summary and tags under the cut because spoilers!] 

Description: 

When Avitas Harper falls, the Blood Shrike makes a deal with Death.  Snapshots of their life together after the war.

Tags: Harper Lives, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Helvitas Living Their Best Lives, We Stan One (1) Power Couple

_______

When Avitas Harper falls, the Blood Shrike makes a deal with Death.

It happens as Mirra of Serra takes her knife to Keris Veturia’s neck. The blood and the life leave her body, but the Shrike cannot revel in it, for her love is dead and cold in her arms.

How is it possible that she still had anything left to lose?

But of course, to love someone is both to gain and to lose a thousand pieces of the world all at once.

She roars in the face of it.

In the face of Death.

And this time, with the bridge between worlds on the brink of evisceration, Death answers.

I need power, says Mauth to anyone who will listen, weakened, and scrambling for any strength to beat back the storm. Power to fight.

The Blood Shrike has never heard the voice of Mauth before, but what he asks for is familiar. She knows all too well the pursuit of power, the search for anything to keep fighting. It is what she searches desperately for now.

Give him back, she orders Death with the voice of a girl who has still too much to lose, give him back, and I will give you the strength you need.

The power of the Star. The power of song and healing. The power of Rehmat, reborn again through the centuries and a thousand times in her blood.

Whatever it is, it will be enough.

It has to be.

The maw opens its jaws. The Nightbringer succumbs to the maelstrom. The Sea of Suffering overtakes the sky.

And Helene Aquilla sings her last song.

____

For a moment, there is only the storm. It surges through the escarpment, it rages across the cliffs, it consumes everything in its path.

For a moment, all is lost.

For a moment, she thinks that at least she didn’t have to wait long before following him.

And then, between one breath and the next, the maelstrom disappears.

Beneath her hand, Avitas Harper stirs.

____

In the end, her deal hadn’t mattered. It wasn’t Mauth that saved them all. It was Laia of Serra, because of course, of course, who else could have done it but her. Helene is full of a strange mix of pride and awe when she pulls Laia into a hug. The girl she once tried to kill, the girl who pieced together the broken world.

The once Beloved, the once Forsaken now rests in chains of mercy, and so the world continues on.

Mauth never speaks to her again.

Maybe because there is nothing she could possibly offer anymore. Maybe because the next time Mauth speaks to her, it will be at the end, when his words will be the last thing she will ever hear.

Briefly, she wonders what Death will do with the power she gave him. Then she thinks that it doesn’t really matter much to her, anymore.

____

She stands with Elias as they take in the bodies of their dead. They are spread out in lines across the forest floor. There are too many of them, Martial, Scholar, Tribal – it isn’t important anymore. They were divided in life. Today, they are united in the loss of it.

Above her, around her, the forest blooms alive, like a panacea for the death and destruction spilt upon the soil, blossoms of apricot and cherry and Tala filling the air with their sweetness, falling to the ground like colored snow.

It is a good thing, then, that Harper is alive. If she had lost him, truly lost him, then she would not have been able to bear the sight of flowers ever again.

____

It turns out dying and being brought back to life takes a toll on a human body.

“When will he wake?” she whispers into the quiet of the healer’s tent. “It’s been days.”

She knows the body lying still before her is merely asleep, but she remembers the way he had looked with all the life drained out of him, and it is a sight she will never forget.

“Give him some time,” Elias says. “Being resurrected by Death itself is no easy thing.”

She raises her eyebrow at him askance.

“I know a thing or two about being resurrected by Mauth.” He shrugs, and the movement is so familiar, so genuinely Elias that she feels the corner of her lips tilt. “Guess it runs in the family now.”

Avitas Harper wakes two days after.

She doesn’t give him a chance to get his bearings. The words are out of her lips before he can even try to sit up, like a song she can’t keep silent any longer. “I love you.”

He raises his fingers to her face, tracing the scars there like a benediction. “I got my wish.”

Emifal Firdaant.

She presses her palm against his hand, trapping it against her cheek. “With all due respect, Captain Harper, it was a bleeding stupid wish. So I did you the courtesy of vetoing it.”

When she kisses him, she feels like she can breathe again after a millennium of holding her breath.

____

When Mirra of Serra takes up the mantle of Soul Catcher, Helene watches the life return to Elias’s eyes, and the hope return to Laia’s.

The Bani al-Mauth turns to Harper. “I suppose I should thank you. For offering me shelter and safety in the bowels of Antium.”

“It was an honor, Lioness. You repaid me in kind when you helped the Blood Shrike through the tunnels.”

“And when you aided in the battle with Keris,��� Helene adds.

Mirra scoffs, white hair dancing in the wind. “I worried that the Shrike wouldn’t be able to keep the secret to herself. Not like you. A mind like a steel trap, you have.” She slaps Harper once across the chest. He does a fine job of hiding his grimace as she knocks his healing wounds. “Think you’ll be a fine brother-in-law for my daughter.”

Elias splutters, Laia flushes, and Helene feels a laugh bubbling up in her chest for the first time in ages.

____

As their troops begin to file out of the Forest of Dusk, she sees the figures of two men talking under the shade of a tree. Elias is taller, but Avitas is older. And so it is he who holds out his hand for his brother to shake.

And it is Elias who takes it, but uses it to pull him into a hug instead. She sees Avitas’s back stiffen in surprise, but he doesn’t push him away.

“It shouldn’t have taken so long for this to happen,” Elias says. “I’m glad you’re alive, brother. I’m glad I wasn’t the one to have to pass you on.”

____

When Quin Veturius proclaims her Empress in front of the conclave of their people, her eyes immediately seek Harper.

Help me, she tries to convey. Knock the old man out before he actually convinces them.

“Stand strong,” he says aloud, instead, love and pride sparkling in his green eyes, “Empress.”

____

Later that night, when she sings Zacharias to sleep with a soft lullaby, her blood doesn’t sing with her. It’s silent, dormant. The air is empty with the ghost of her magic.

Leaning against the door a few feet away, Avitas has closed his eyes to listen, his lips curled up at the edges.

And it should feel like something has been stolen from her, but really, it feels more like a blessing than anything else.

____

She dances with Avitas at the Moon Festival in Nur, and the night is warm and they’re both still in armor, and neither of them really know how to dance properly anyway, but it is enough.

It is more than enough.

Skies, it’s more than she could have ever asked for.

He lifts his arm and she twirls under it, catching the twinkle in his eye, and suddenly, she wishes they weren’t in such a crowded place full of other people. Suddenly, she wishes they were alone, in a room, flushed and pressed up against each other just like this. Dancing a dance they both know the steps of far too well.

On her next twirl, she catches Musa’s eye, where he leans against a table, flirting with a pretty Scholar girl. He winks at her, as if he knows exactly where her thoughts have strayed.

She’s far too happy to be annoyed in any way, and so she almost sends him a wink of her own before Harper pulls her close against him again and the thought is forgotten.

____

It occurs to her later in the night, as the festivities draw to a close and she glimpses Musa walking back to his tent alone, that she had come far, far too close to understanding his loneliness in a way she hates to imagine.

____

At night, the Empress walks her city.

Avitas Harper walks with her.

The blue irises native to Antium are in full bloom, littering the ground.

One year, she thinks, as she cups her hand around a petal that floats down to her through the air. It’s been one year since the last flowerfall.

The one in which the world was broken. The one in which the world was remade.

____

Sometimes, she wakes thinking of her family. Of Livia, bleeding out in front of her son. Of her mother, father, Hannah. All of them, their throats cut, their lives lost, gone.

Sometimes, she wonders if they will hate her for bringing back her lover instead of one of them, any of them.

Sometimes, she wonders if she will ever forgive herself for any of it.

____

Avitas Harper, as it turns out, is a shockingly good babysitter.

The first time he gets Zacharias to sleep in under ten minutes, she chalks it up to dumb luck and good timing.

The second time it happens she almost kisses him despite the baby in his arms, too grateful for the peace and quiet after a long hour of listening to her nephew scream.

The third time it happens, she stares at him in disbelief.

“Did you bring back anything from the afterlife, maybe? Does Mauth have supernatural baby-charming magic that we don’t know about?”

He flashes her that half-smile that she feels underneath her skin.

Her next decree, she decides, will be outlawing all attractive men in armor from holding adorable, sleeping babies. It should be absolutely illegal by now, the sheer power of the sight before her.

____

She may be the Empress, but she is a soldier first and foremost.

When the Karkauans hold hostage the Martial ambassador she had sent over to confer the peace treaty, she is first in line for the mission to take him back.

“It’s not over yet,” she tells her men, when all efforts at neutral negotiation fall through. “I’m most dangerous when I’m cornered.”

Harper stands strong at her side. Her Blood Shrike, always watching. “That makes two of us.”

They march together into the fray.

____

The next Moon Festival, Mamie Rila finally succeeds in shoving her into a dress.

She puts up a good fight, doesn’t go down easy. In the end, it takes the combined forces of Laia, Afya, and an exasperated Mamie Rila to wrangle the Empress into the thin, strappy excuse for a gown.

“What is this supposed to be, a slip? Where’s the rest of it?”

Laia furrows her brows. “What are you talking about? That is the rest of it.”

Helene gapes. “I can’t wear this. I’m the Empress. I can’t walk around looking like I’m one stiff breeze away from a public scandal!”

“If you ask me,” says Afya, “a public scandal might do you some good. Just the thing you need to convince some of those troublesome, barbaric Karkauans to ally with you like you’ve been planning.”

“Burning, bleeding hells.” Elias’s eyes go wide when he walks in. “Who are you and what have you done with the real –”

He chokes off as Laia elbows him in the gut. “Don’t listen to him. Or Afya. You look great. Harper will love it. Shall we get on with your hair?”

Helene rears back, because her hair is the last bastion of normalcy she has.

Harper looks like he's been stabbed in the heart a second time when he catches sight of her, and Helene vows to never wear a dress again.

But when his fingers find the hem of her skirt under the table, tugging first, testing the stretch of the fabric against the skin of her thigh, and then slowly inching under, and then up and up and up — well. Maybe dresses aren’t so bad after all.

____

Sometimes, when she walks, Laia is there beside her. There are some nights when the ghosts of the past seem to walk with them, too. This night, in Serra, is one of those nights. Spring has come, and the flowers here are different, cushioning the road on which they walk with bright yellow petals.

“I can’t forget their faces.”

Laia has never been a killer. But she has dealt her fair share of death during their war, and that leaves a mark on the soul that can never be burned away. The difference now lies in how one goes about dealing with those marks. No, Laia has never been a killer, even when she had to be.

Helene, on the other hand, has spent too much of her life wearing the skin of one, and so she speaks as much to herself as she does to her friend when she replies.

“And you won’t. Just don’t forget the ones you saved.”

____

The first time Zacharias speaks a full word, it’s in the middle of supply negotiations with Tribe Nasur. She has just been reunited with her nephew after months in the capital and so is making up for it by carrying and snuggling him everywhere she goes, even if it is to a highly political trade meeting.

Fortunately, Tribe Saif is in close relations with Tribe Nasur, and so no one throws dirty looks when the baby babbles nonsense right when someone tries to speak. The Fakira even smiles encouragingly when Helene begins to bounce him on her knee.

That’s when Harper enters behind her with a missive from Blackcliff.

“Empress.” His voice is warm, and she realizes that it’s because Zacharias has noticed him, and is dimpling up at him with his head tilted back in that way that only babies can do. “We have positive turnout for the new recruits at –”

“Hapa!”

The whole room stills, as if everyone understands the gravity of this moment. Helene feels a grin break across her face, and she realizes that this is a first for her, too. Her first real grin in so, so long, after so much pain. Harper’s large, brown hand comes over her shoulder to pat Zacharias’s downy head in gentle praise, and she forces herself to get it together in front of all these important Tribespeople.

The meeting goes on. But then, one little detail niggles at her, like a tiny pebble in her boot.

Later, when she’s pushing him against the side of an empty caravan, her lips maybe a little too punishing against the skin behind his ear, he has the gall to chuckle at her.

“Are you jealous? Because his first word was my name and not yours?”

And so Helene sinks to her knees and shuts him up the best way she knows how.

____

Once, and only once, Mirra of Serra, Bani al-Mauth, visits her on a balmy night. The snow is almost over, and the Empress stands at her balcony overlooking the grounds, singing a lullaby to a sleeping Zacharias. He is getting too big now, and so she relishes any moment with him while she can still carry him in her arms.

It is on a dying winter wind that the Soul Catcher comes to her, the white locks of her hair stark against the night. “So it was you. I should have known.”

Helene glances at her out of the corner of her eye. “Known what?”

Mirra casts her gaze out into the city, and beyond, seeing something that only the Chosen of Death can see.

“There is a song across the river,” she says. “In the Waiting Place. All the ghosts ready to pass on hear it. It gives them peace.”

Ah, Helene thinks to Mauth, even though she knows he isn’t listening, so you used my voice after all.

____

When flowerfall comes again, and she has lost count at this point, how many it’s been, Helene Aquilla does not need to walk outside to know.

The blue petals of her beloved city, so familiar now, drift across her window like rain. The air is sweet with the smell of it, and with all that the two of them had done during the night, tangled together in the sheets of her bed.

She lifts a hand to trace the outlines of the silver Mask on his face. He pulls himself out of his doze just enough to smile at her.

“I know I said I would never marry and have children and all,” she begins, and the words are slow like honey in her mouth, “and I stand by my vow as Empress. But the adjoining room to my chambers is empty and I was wondering if –”

“Yes.”

She blinks at the swiftness of his answer. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. How else will I keep you out of trouble, my love?”

And so their lives go on.

_____

End Notes: 

Thank you for reading!

I did not foresee ever writing for this fandom, but after that ending, writing this was the catharsis I needed. Now back to regularly scheduled programming! 😂

* Didn’t tag anyone for fear of spoilers, and also because I wasn’t sure if they’d be interested in non-Jurdan fic 🙈But if you’d like to be tagged in any future stuff, I’d be honored to do so! ❤️

[goodmorningmissmorgan]

One of my first bits that I wrote for this little disjointed Blackwall/Trevelyan story, and still one of my favorites (although in desperate need of revision+polish.) Blackwall and Evelyn chatting at Haven. CW: alcohol, snippet under the cut!

She eyes the warden from across the tavern as she pokes at her food. It’s richer fare than she’s used to, and stew never quite settles properly in her stomach.

He holds his spoon and adjusts his napkin on his lap with a care that suggests he’s trying to be polite, but he can’t seem to stem the speed with which he eats. Habit or hunger, she can’t tell which; he eats like a man starved. He wolfs down two bowls of stew, scarcely coming up for breath, before he tears into his bread roll. 

He didn’t seem quite so ravenous in camp. Perhaps it has more to do with the abundance of food, here, or the fact that it’s a real meal and not just dried rations or scraps of meat. 

By comparison, the ale he savors as though it could be his last; the first sip makes him close his eyes momentarily. He takes another, longer sip after that, and his shoulders droop on a sigh. He sets it down, considers, picks it back up again, and simply holds it to his mouth for a moment before sipping a third time.

Maybe proper sit-down meals are a luxury for wardens?

She finds herself gathering up her meal before she’s even thought it through. It’s too late to change course, though, so she takes the empty seat across from him and sets her stew and watered-down ale on the table.

He looks up, surprised and something else - alarm, perhaps. She freezes.

“Sorry. If you don’t want company, I can…”

“No! No.” He waves off her suggestion and tips his chin towards her. “Please.” 

She eases back down into the chair. He’s eyeing her stew. “Not hungry?” He asks. 

Sheepish, she pokes at it again with her spoon. “Oh… I’m just not much of a fan of stew, to be honest.” She blushes. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound terribly spoiled. It’s just that they serve it a lot, and it’s rather… rich.” Maker, take her. Here’s a man who clearly doesn’t often have the luxury of such a meal, and she’s turning her nose up at it.

He doesn’t disagree with her, that much she can tell, but he’s kind enough to at least smile about it. “If you…?” She nudges the bowl towards him in offering. 

He’s gazing at the food with interest, but hesitates. Maker’s blood, he probably feels like some sort of charity case. “If you want,” she offers, weakly. With a chuckle, he reaches forward, pulls the bowl towards him, and begins dabbing at it with his bread. No harm done, then, she hopes. She sips her ale just to have something to do. 

“So,” he starts, after he finishes chewing and wipes his mustache with his napkin. “‘Herald’, is it?” He’s looking at her with those aquamarine eyes, sharp and inquisitive, and she squirms beneath his gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She had intended to, initially, but the idea of referring to herself as Andraste’s Herald had the words sticking in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. And calling herself an ‘agent’ wasn’t a lie - not really. She does the work the Inquisition needs doing, does she not?

“No,” he says, lightly, and then considers. “Well… perhaps. Yes.” He laughs, a dirty little growl of a sound, and scoops a spoonful of stew - her spoon, she notices with a small amount of interest - into his mouth before continuing. “Seeing you close that damned rift was a bloody surprise, I’ll tell you that.” 

They had run into it midway through the frostbacks; the way back should have been clear, the path already traveled, but a new rift had apparently opened up in their wake. Blackwall’s eyes had nearly bulged out of his head with surprise when she ripped off her glove and sealed the thing. “I’m sorry,” she says, and she means it. She cradles her marked hand in her other one, staring down at it with distaste.  

He follows her gaze. “Does it hurt?” He asks, quietly. 

“It did. Not anymore - not lately, anyway. More… itchy?” She opens and closes her palm a few times, watching the green light shimmer, and then sighs and tucks it back under the table. “You have no idea how disconcerting it is to have this magic… thing… strapped to your hand when you have no magical ability to speak of yourself. I feel like I’m going to wake up to find it’s chewed my arm off.” She grins at him and takes a large swallow of ale.

He’s almost finished with his third bowl of stew - her stew - and seems to be thinking as he cleans the bowl with the last of his bread roll. She nibbles on hers. 

“Do you think you’re the Herald of Andraste?” He asks. 

She’s asked herself the same question many times over. She’s a faithful Andrastian - at least, as faithful as any regular folk. She makes her Chantry donations, she’s confirmed as every other Trevelyan has been, she frequently attends services. But to be a Herald? She doesn’t feel like one. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. 

He seems to take that as answer enough, and takes a long, large swig of ale before popping the last of the stew-soaked bread into his mouth. His hunger is satiated, she thinks, from the way he leans back with a content sigh and traces the rim of his mug with a finger. When he catches her curious gaze, he smiles wearily. 

“Been a while since I’ve had a proper meal.” That explains that, then. Hunger, not habit. “Hopefully I’ll put some of this weight back on. Winter was a bit… rough.” He plucks absently at his sleeve. 

She wouldn’t have guessed that he’d lost any; she’s no great judge of figure, but supposes he looks somewhat gaunt in the cheeks. He’s mostly muscle and belly, veins and tendons standing out like thick vines along his forearms. “I can’t imagine how lonely that must have been,” she says.

He’s running his finger along the handle of his mug, now, and tilts his head as he watches her. There’s an odd, calculating look in his eyes. “Aye,” he agrees. “It was.” He scratches his chin and squints. “How did you end up involved in all of this, my lady?” 

“Ah.” She drums her fingers along her leg, once, twice, and throws him a sheepish look. “Do you know the Trevelyan family?” 

“One of the richest noble houses in the Marches? Aye, I’ve heard of them.” He cocks his head, curious. “Are you…?”

“I’m the youngest daughter, yes.” An expression crosses his face, too quick for her to catch. “My father sent me as a representative to the Conclave. To represent our interests, that is.” She examines her fingernails, suddenly self-conscious. “Everything went to hell, obviously, with the explosion, and this.” She holds up her hand for a moment to indicate the mark, and he nods. “So… now I’m here.”

“I see.” He considers her quietly, sipping his ale. “That mark keeps you here, then?” 

She flushes at this new line of questioning. “I’m the only one who can close the rift, it seems. So - yes.”

He’s still eyeing her curiously with that cool, unnerving gaze. She could leave, she knows; get up and just go to her cabin. Perhaps the drink is making her bolder, more defensive. She stares back at him. 

“You just… don’t strike me as a noble lady,” he comments, finally. “You’re capable. Strong. Willing to get your hands dirty.” 

She’s not sure whether to be offended or flattered. “And, what, you consider us incapable for our status?” 

He holds up his hands in defense. “I’m only saying that some folks get soft when they have wealth. Let servants do the work for them, think the little people beneath them. You…” He shakes his head softly back and forth. “I mean no offense, my Lady.”

[randomnotebookstories]

Nightmare - Cullen x F!Trevelyan

Hey, all. I’m back to re-posting and editing my stories. Now that my tattoo has healed enough that I can lay it on my keyboard comfortably. Anyway, remember you can skip ahead and read all the rest of my Cullen x Trevelyan work on my AO3 here. Have a great week, everyone!!  Thanks so much for the love so far.

---

The night sky was blanketed with heavy clouds as snow began to lightly fall from the sky. All of Skyhold was quietly asleep, having just begun their rest as they prepared for whatever the Maker had next instore for them. It was the well-deserved moment of quiet they needed before the Inquisition was to make its trek to Orlais and the Winter Palace in the morning.

But shouts of urgency soon started to spread throughout the keep as candles and torches were lit. Cassandra, in full armor and hand on the hilt of her sword, was marching out of the main hall, addressing the soldiers that began to gather below her. 

“Find the Inquisitor!” she commanded, trying to keep her voice strong, even though she was worried and trying to keep a stern expression. “Check all the halls, any signs of entry into Skyhold. Prepare for the worst!”

Natalie had gone missing at some point during the night, and it was only noticed when Josephine went into her quarters to leave a report on the Inquisitor’s desk to read in the mornin. But she found that the room in complete disarray. Papers were thrown off of the desk, the fabric on one side of the canopy bed was torn off, and half of Natalie’s collection of daggers - usually kept in a very organized jeweled box - were embedded into the wall next to the fireplace. From there, Josephine went to waking Leliana, Cassandra, and Cullen, and soon everyone in the keep knew she was missing.

The entire keep was abuzz as soldiers and the Inquisitor’s companions rushed about the keep, trying to find the missing woman. Cullen had tried to keep himself firm and orderly, ever the presence of a commanding force, but he had worry tugging at his heart as memories of stolen kisses and quick glances came flooding to his mind. He had to find her. To hold her and know she was safe.

But as an hour passed and then two, there was still no sign of the Inquisitor. Cullen had begun to have thoughts of doubt as he entered the garden, heading toward the small chapel and the shrine of Andraste. He needed a moment to clear his mind and find guidance. 

Anyone could have missed it, the small blanket tucked just behind the shrine of Andraste, especially with the room being as dark as the night outside. And the whisper that was so quiet that even Cullen wasn’t sure if it came from a voice or the wind.

The whisper became clearer as he stood in the silence, and this time Cullen could make out what it said. “Alex.” Taking slow, delicate steps toward the statue, he bent down to his knees and released a breath he had held for what seemed as a lifetime.

There in the dust on the cold floor, Natalie was curled up into a tight ball, clutching her knees to her chest a she shivered under the thin blanket. Her hair was loose, but tangled in a mess of knots at the back of her head. And she kept whispering in her restless sleep, her eyes pinched tightly together. “Alex.”

“Natalie,” Cullen whispered as he removed his gloves and placed a hand gently to her arm, waking her enough that she gently opened her eyes and looked at him. “Are you alright?”

Her red, bloodshot eyes locked with Cullen’s for a moment before all that happened that night crept back up in her mind. She sat up, slowly, the blanket falling to her waist. She had only on a light shirt on that left her arms bare and trousers that matched, stopping just above her knees. Cullen reached to bring the blanket back up over her shoulders, using a slow and gentle motion as though Natalie was a spooked horse. “I had a nightmare.”

“Your room looks as though you were attacked by a nightmare,” he commented, bringing a hand through her hair to get it to lay flat, but more so that he could make sure that Natalie was really there with him. 

A single tear began to roll down Natalie’s cheek, and she tore her gaze away from Cullen and back to the statue of Andraste. “I know,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I had to get the thoughts out of my mind somehow. I felt trapped.”

“Would you like to tell me?” he asked, watching as Natalie slowly crumbled back in on herself. It broke his heart to watch the woman he respected – and, dare he admit it, loved and admired – fall apart in front of him. Even if he couldn’t save himself from his own dreams, he felt like he needed to be able to protect her from her own.

Natalie took a weak breath, but nodded her head as her hand clutched to the pendant on her neck. “I told you of my younger brother, being in the Circle at Ostwick – Alexander. He was at the conclave, and was the last thing I remembered seeing before I got my memories back.”

Her breath caught again, but Cullen knew what she was thinking. That her brother had died at the conclave and that she blamed herself. “When I went to close the rift that first day with Cassandra… A body at the Temple still lay in front of it.” Natalie’s knuckles were white as she tightly gripped her pendant. “I could tell it was him because he still wore our family’s mark around his neck.”

Tears freely flowed down Natalie’s cheeks, and Cullen wrapped her in his arms, silently thanking he hadn’t worn his armor as she pulled herself to his chest. “He’s gone,” she cried, clenching her hands into Cullen’s shirt. “I should have protected him, but I couldn’t.”

The door to the chapel opened, and a messenger stood in the doorway unsure whether or not he should approach. “I have her,” Cullen called over his shoulder before he placed his lips to the top of Natalie’s head, breathing in the scent of her hair that always managed to smell of lilies. “I have you.”

Natalie’s body began to shake as sobs took control of her. Her hands clutched to the dampened fabric of Cullen’s shirt, holding him like he was the only thing keeping her above the flood; the only thing real in a sea of dreams. And all the while, Cullen just rested his lips on the top of her head, stroking one hand along her back while the other held her tightly to him.

When her breathing finally began to slow and become more regular, Cullen was sure she had fallen asleep. But her one hand began to run along his chest, and he glanced down to see that Natalie was watching as she traced the wrinkles in his shirt with the tips of her fingers. “Do I have to go to Orlais?” she whispered, her voice barely stronger than a croak.

It was unthinkable a moment before, but Cullen did chuckle a little as he bent to gently kiss one of the stars by her eye. “If it were up to me, I would see to it that you had all the time that you needed grieve. But the Inquisition needs its Inquisitor.”

She nodded her head in recognition, but still asked, “Is there someone else who wants to have the job?”

“If anyone deserves to defeat Corypheus and be called ‘Inquisitor,” Cullen started as he shifted so he could lift Natalie into his arms and stand, “then I can’t think of anyone that is more deserving of that victory than you.”

The Commander carried the Inquisitor out of the garden, through the main hall, where many of those who were a part of the search and Natalie’s companions finally let out a sigh of relief when they entered. He brought Natalie up the many stairs to her private quarters, where everything had been organized and replaced. The bed had been freshly made with clean sheets, and while one side of the canopy still was missing a curtain, the blankets had been pulled back so all that Natalie had to do was lay down.

Cullen placed her gently onto the bed, and pulled the blankets over her legs. But when he went to place a kiss upon her lips, he caught himself at the sight of her finally sleeping peacefully. Even for a kiss, he couldn’t imagine waking her, so he doused the few lit candles in the room, made sure that the fire was burning properly, and then quietly left Natalie to sleep. The Maker knew he wouldn’t find any rest tonight.

When he finally entered into the main hall again, many of the people had returned to their own quarters, but Liliana and Josephine stood in his way. “The Inquisitor is asleep,” Cullen stated as he tried to get around them. “May I ask why the two of you are not letting me pass?”

The two women shared a glance before Liliana looked at him with one of her many mischievous grins. “I wonder… Do you know how to dance, Commander?”

[akkeyagentofhelheim]

Agents’ Imbalance

[1071.03.24 -  02:00]

Trips to the Jaw were kept to a minimum ever since the Rebellion took their residence there. Akkey and Liam had begun experimenting semi-regularly with his newfound ability, but other than that one instance where she went to him--it was perfect timing, truly, seeing Yun and Nala’s spar--, she would ask him to come to Yrus instead, to the cove. Tonight, however, she had a different purpose for visiting. A question that nagged her at the back of her mind for the past few weeks.

A portal stretched open in a place towards the far north of the old god’s bones, where the stronghold was the thickest and most isolated from people other than the scheduled entries. It was well into the night, not a cloud to be seen, swathing the landscape in light.

“I swear to Hel, you’re getting more and more difficult to find.” Akkey grumbled, one boot planting firmly into the bare ground, her arms crossed as she regarded the tall, lean figure that stood underneath a lone tree, perfectly in the guardtowers' blind spot and hidden from sight.

“Language,” Juro turned to give her his usual crooked grin. His scarf fluttered at both the motion and the wind that decided to blow in that moment. He returned her gaze properly, “Is that how you speak about your divine mother?”

“Oh, shut up.” 

He let out an annoying chuckle, before sombering slightly. Particularly since they were on the topic of maternal figures. He asked quietly, “How’d that day go? The 13th...” Her mother’s death anniversary and her original birthday was extremely recent after all.

She was slow to reply, but when she did, there was cautious satisfaction in her voice, “...better than usual, actually. Shadowing’s been helping a lot, I think.” Her eyes were cast to the side when she said that, always a little iffy on the subject.

A leaf crunched as his foot shifted, amber eyes watching her carefully, “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah…”

Their gazes met once again, locked between colleagues that could’ve been friends, but there were too many layers to uncover, a gap between them that couldn’t meet. Physically, Akkey was older, but Juro had an ancient aura around him that seemed to keep people at a big, unreachable distance from him, despite both of them entertaining their childish side more often than average. Two powerful agents contracted under Helheim.

The wind blew again, and her long dark hair and his light fringe moved in simultaneous waves. There was a shift in energy as Akkey opened her mouth in careful question, finally deciding to break the silence, “Why are you here, Juro? Is there something wrong?”

The Bookkeeper raised his brows, smile pleasant on his handsome face despite being in shadow, “...merely enjoying a moment of solitude to myself before returning inside. What’s with the sudden interview?” His tone was low to match her caution.

She shook her head, "No. You know what I mean. Why are you here? Now?” She raised her wrist slightly to motion towards the Jaw, and Juro followed the movement with his eyes. The quiet tension between them remained.

“The battle against the Conclave was progressing. I needed to witness it for the Library.”

“By risking life and limb to save Yun?”

The mutual apprehension tangibly heightened when she asked that, and the wind dropped with it in contrast. Juro blinked. His face remained unchanged, lazy grin and calm regard towards her, but Akkey knew she had hit something. That was why she came here in the first place.

“...no.” His reply was even.

“I saw you, Juro.” She wasn’t letting it go. Unlike their last conversation as agents, when she finally understood timelines and alternate souls, and broached the topic of his neutrality. She let it slide then, but the inconsistency and sheer strangeness of it wouldn’t let her this time.

There was an effort to keep himself steady now. She didn’t miss it, as his smile became stiff. Her ears picked up on something, although she couldn’t put a pin on what it was exactly. 

She continued anyway, “I felt your portal. You intentionally opened Virion beside the construct, that was no accident. The sword. The stun. You screamed…” She pressed forward with a step, and Juro involuntarily reacted, taking his own backwards. 

“When the construct was finally defeated, you were right beside me. I know what you were up to--I was doing the exact same thing. Every decision you made leading up to that point was for the purpose of rescuing the time jumper, even ignoring Stonegit, who was just as fucked up as Yun was.” 

His breath was shallow as his cadence faltered, "I didn't…"

“No help, no harm. For twenty years, you keep preaching that obnoxious mantra to me. Neutrality, and whatnot,” she jabbed a finger in the air, pointing towards the construct that peeked over the canines, “None of that was neutral.”

The sound became clearer. It was metal against metal, linking then pulling at intervals, like they were adjusting and positioning themselves. Juro was becoming visibly agitated, and Akkey could tell he wanted to teleport away. She understood. She would have as well, if it were the past. That’s why she had to be quick.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it. For fucking once you helped without me having to beg for it with a story. But you don’t get to break your oath, your Bookkeeper code, something that I know for a fact that you follow with every will and breath you have, so much so that you would let innocents die before your eyes--” Akkey grit her teeth at the memory from their old days, but she pushed it away, and went on, “--and then now that suddenly doesn’t matter because Yun was trapped?”

His hand had come up to his chest. Akkey saw it tremble once as the space behind him bent out of invisibility and into Virion’s physical form. Its wings were raised slightly, bristling. Juro shook his head, almost desperately, “It does matter!” 

“Then why did you save him? I was right there for Stones! I could have helped him for you, and you fully know that! I don’t go by your dumb rule! What is so special about this kid that you would do that?”

Akkey was less upset and concerned now, and just more confused as she thought out loud, albeit aggressively, “He’s… he’s… we barely know him! Sure, he told us about the Conclave in the first place. And now he’s here to fight Frigga, don’t get me wrong, I‘m grateful, I’m hopeful, I’ll be supporting him any way I can, but other than him and Milae having the same soul, he’s noth--” 

Wait… she stopped short upon the realization.

Her head swiveled to look at him, “...Milae.”

Juro jolted at the name, “Don’t…” Virion flapped its wings threateningly, hovering slightly off ground between both agents. The air from the movement blew outwards, and the wind picked up, hair and clothing beginning to flutter wildly.

“It’s because he’s Milae, isn’t it?” Akkey pressed. She eyed the golem with caution, but she was certain now, “You knew that from the beginning. With Milae… you are super--” her hands waved slightly panicked as she tried to settle on a word, “--I don’t know, weird about him.” 

She paced as she put two and two together, the breeze turning into a gale with her, “I thought I was imagining things. It may not be by a lot, but I know you better than a lot of people on Aidorin. You don’t stick around one person for very long other than me, and that’s only because of work. It gets in your way.”

“But you did that favour for him, with Frigga, and ever since then I saw you with him more often. Like--like a curious kid. Following him around. You went to the Fallfeast and--” She squinted. The festival was a little hazy, she was drunk, but even then… “--every time I think back to seeing you there you were with him, talking, laughing. And here… after the mass teleportations. He was worried about you. He stayed by your side.” 

“Akkey, please--” It was unmistakable now. It was the scrape of chains that filled the air, coming from nowhere yet also everywhere. A raucous cry came from the golem, training all six of its eyes in anger towards the nix. But Akkey didn’t stop, instead her brow creased further in her need for an explanation.

“You like him. Not like Dario does, no, but you--Jin Juro, Agent of Helheim, Bookkeeper of Neutrality… are no longer neutral. You’re attached to Yun Milae. A friend.”

The rush of air, clinking chains, and animal screeching that had continued to build in waves over the conversation suddenly ceased, like the world had stopped to take a breath, going completely white like it was covered in snow. Then like a dam, it broke into a torrent of magic, the golem bending out of its form in streaks of grey-blue and white, twisting in the space between them as Hel’s given magic surged above, before collecting, shrinking, and drawing itself into Juro’s staff that had appeared in his grasp.

The Bookkeeper held the stick in both hands like a sword, in a form with which Akkey was familiar, but only from him, as it morphed into what looked like a mirage of a different weapon, the base staff still in his grip but giving an illusion of a long, sharp, slightly curved blade with dancing cranes engraved into it, and a simple, squarish hilt peppered with golden flecks in the black canvas. 

He was right up at Akkey in a sudden burst of speed before she could blink, and she only managed to throw up an elemental blade of her own right on time. Weapon clashed with weapon in an explosion of energy and ice as Juro bore down on her, using his height and raw power to make up for his lack of comparable combat skills. Akkey grunted at the effort to keep herself upright as the pressure from above increased. Virion’s grey-blue and white energy pulsed once, casting Juro’s face half in shadow and half in light. It was a dull amber that stared back at her, lifeless and lacking his usual spirit, his face blank.

It sent a shiver up her spine.

A portal opened below her and she slipped through, causing Juro to lose his balance as she appeared behind him, arms raised high, ready to slash downwards in an attack from above. But he turned at the nick of time, meeting her blade of ice in a wide arc up. Again, magic collided.

The surge of Hel supplemented power blew their hair back violently, whipping Akkey’s dark locks wildly in the air. An olden, intrusive memory of another swordswoman Juro knew that looked like her crossed his mind in barely an instant, but it was enough to intensify the sound of scraping chains. 

They were locked in the struggle for another breath, before Akkey twisted her grip and sent out two shards flying from her makeshift weapon. They caught the Bookkeeper on the shoulder, slicing skin in quick succession. The pain shifted his grip and both blades slipped, and they pushed off each other in the momentary lapse, increasing the distance between them once again as power levels continued to rise, sending forceful gales in opposite, outward directions.

“Juro!” Akkey called out in agitation. This was a Juro she had never, ever seen in her life. They had sparred many a time, absolutely, but he always approached it with humour, amusement, a teasing grin pulling at his face. But this… this was nothing.

His hold on the sword became slack for a moment, letting it almost touch the ground as he trained his gaze towards her. Red began soaking the torn fabric on his shoulder as he bled, but it was short lived. Light shone from the wounds, magic pouring from it but in blues and golds instead, until it stitched the cuts close. The dark splotches of blood stopped growing.

Akkey started at the display of energy, uncertain if it was controlled or not. It definitely didn’t look intentional, but the colours and the power from it were familiar… and it wasn’t Hel’s.

“That’s yours,” she breathed, almost nervously, as she recognized it only due to recent events, “That’s from before, you used that on Yun. After the construct…” He lifted his head, and his face was finally illuminated properly by the moon, still completely void of emotion. The scars on his jaw caught light and seemed to glow unnervingly, casting a strange, unrecognizable aura on the blonde man.

Akkey clenched her fist as she approached him again, gradually picking up speed, unable to quell the annoyance in her at his refusal to give any type of straight answers,  “You said you didn’t have any! Since when did you have your own magic? Has it always been like that? Why have you never used it before?!”

Juro predictably had no reply. Instead, his enforced weapon slipped into the belt of his pants and out the side, mimicking a sheathed sword, his stance widening as his right hand hovered above the handle, eyes watching Akkey’s approach quickly closing the distance, waiting for the perfect moment. 

It came in a flash of silver and a water tendril, shooting out in a dangerously fast streak of light when Akkey threw her left arm forward like she would a ball, but much quicker and much more easily missed. But Juro met it head on. His staff unsheathed at lightning speed, swifter than any sword movement Akkey had seen before, and cleanly knocked her attack away.

But Helheim agents would as agents always would, as both twisted in a second attack hidden behind their first. Akkey threw her right arm up at the exact same point and time that Juro swept his sword arm around and willed his golem to open at the end of his weapon.

Portal collided against portal.

The characteristic hums turned into a high pitched, ear grinding whine, two frequencies twisting, looping, turning into one, then booming into a massive roar, deafening with the sound of chains that continued to scrape against the back of their heads. Agents strained as gravity and dimension warred against each other in immense tension, churning, curling, each unwilling to give in, contracting smaller and smaller into a disc as it pushed into the other, surging and fighting in a nauseating twist of magic. It crawled against skin and bone and muscle, bending, warping, pulling space and water unnaturally to its extremes in their struggle for power, building higher and stronger and bigger over the other in suffocating layers--until it could no longer hold itself in.

It exploded.

The pressure that contained it fractured, an eruption of energy flooding from between them. There was an outpour of light and colour many meters high into the darkened sky, splashing against each other then cascading with a perfect split in the middle-- blues and golds towards Juro, purples and bluey-greens to Akkey. It was bright, blindingly so, as it shattered the landscape and blew them apart, sending them flying fast and far, bouncing and rolling painfully against the cold, hard ground as the air was knocked out of them, bruising and scratching their skin.

Akkey cried out as she landed heavily on her side, covering her head while the force of the detonation of energy kept her down, a cacophony of chaotic magic that gushed across the flats of the Scrublands and crashed against the side of the Jaw like a wave of ocean water on the shoreline, but immediately dissipating upon impact. It was many seconds before it died down, the wind calming itself and the overwhelming light finally fading back into darkness, leaving only the moon and stars behind. 

The sounds of the sudden short battle disappeared, and she got to her feet painfully, cautiously observing her surroundings as it cleared, searching for her colleague. Juro was nowhere to be seen at first, but finally she saw him in the far distance, his prone figure on the ground.

Shit--! “Juro!” She immediately appeared a few feet away from him, running as quickly as her thin legs would take her.

But she couldn’t reach him before Virion burst from the weapon he used, which had fallen out of his grip and returned to its mundane pen form when the impact rendered him unconscious. It rose to its twelve foot form and surged forward in a blur of feathers, catching her torso and arms cleanly underneath one talon and dragging her into the ground, dirt piling up around her as its weight had her completely trapped. 

“Gah!” She grunted as her back hit soil once again. Virion bent its head down, six beady eyes glaring into hers as his wings bristled in anger at the provocation the nix had brought onto its master.

“V-Vir.... Let her go…” a rough voice strained to make itself heard from behind the golem as it screeched its vexation over her head. Virion twisted its long neck around to regard its master questioningly, as Juro stirred, carefully picking himself up. It bristled again in disagreement for a few seconds, but relented soon after, lifting its leg off her and sweeping its wings to land beside him, helping him up to a sitting position. He shook his head, a tiny smirk slowly creeping its way back onto his face, “I was the one who attacked first…”

Virion could only croon in dissatisfaction, nudging him to lean against it as he caught his breath. The Bookkeeper obliged, without the energy to put up a fight, as he turned inwards for some introspective examination.

The initial attack was a haze to him, in similar fashion to the incident with Sylar's body. The barrage of questions as Akkey had gotten closer and closer to the truth placed an intense amount of pressure on him, and her realization regarding Milae finally voiced things he had been denying, ignoring, finding loopholes around, and it escalated into that uncontrolled surge of emotion, forcing him to turn all senses off and let body take autonomy. 'Friend' echoed unwillingly in his mind and he threw it aside in a panic, hurriedly bringing his attention to the seal instead.

It was dangerous for a while there, but it seemed intact, starting with the Modern Bookkeeper first, his direct opposite yet the closest copy there could be that wasn't an offshoot from his timeline. Lines to several broken and jittered timelines had unfortunately snapped a little early, snuffing out their Bookkeepers' lives, but frayed threads like those were due for fracturing soon. Every time his seal was threatened, especially as of late, they were the first to go, to keep all other unbroken, stable threads unharmed. It would have ended much more disastrously if this happened to anybody other than Akkey. It was a close call.

He sighed in relief to find everything still in place, then slowly turned his head to face her, who was sitting up with great care, feeling where she would expectedly be sore in the morning. She groaned and cleared her head, “What the fuck, Juro…”

Green locked with amber, and it was a tumultuous range of emotions, anger, shock, confusion, and concern--but it was all one sided. Juro’s break in character was expectedly temporary. His mask had returned, with a lopsided grin and a raised brow, and Akkey let out a long, annoyed exhale at that, "My confusion is valid, alright, if I have to work with you until one of us dies--probably me--and you've begun acting like this, with magic of your own, then I deserve some sort of explanation--"

“My answer hasn't changed, Akkey...” he interrupted. His cadence was even once more as he referred to their conversation up in the rafters, "My Helheim contract, the Library and the Bookkeepers, my neutrality… I still won't explain. Even if you ask."

She felt a wave of unexplainable sadness wash over her when he said that. The light in his eyes went empty for a moment, a deep loneliness crossing in them, resigned to his fate of solitude and silent suffering. 

Resigned? To describe it like that was slightly incorrect, but she couldn't place it as accurately as she would like to. Intensely dependent… Unhealthily so…

Her brow creased in further worry, "Juro--"

He shook his head, wincing slightly as pain flared up down his back, yet firm in interrupting her thought, "There's a disturbance on the timelines right now, and my involvement in the battle was in the interest of that. Hence why I'm here, why I appeared near the construct." That was only half the truth, and both were highly aware. That's why Juro said it almost forcefully, unarguably the end of that conversation. 

It was several moments of stubborn egos that played tug of war, but she huffed in eventual surrender. Still, not before Akkey added a final thought, "Fine. I'm sorry for prying. I won't ask anymore," The slight insult at being kept in the dark remained, but only temporarily as she softened, regarding him with care and worry that was almost motherly, if the nix were even capable of instincts in that vein.

"But suppressing it and running away like this will only bring you greater pain later on, and you'll end up regretting it," she said. They both knew she spoke from some experience, "There is no comfort in living like this, faltering, wavering, walking the neutral line. You'll hurt a lot more people than you want to."

Her eyes bore into his this time, and he took it, unchanging, two souls who end up finding each other sometime, somehow, across timelines, in a ripple of cause and effect. 

The moment was interrupted with a shout from above, and they broke their gaze to see several guards and their dragons flying towards them, as they had noticed the explosion of power from their positions. Their fight wasn't exactly subtle, no matter how short.

"Ah shit," Akkey cursed, feeling the familiar wash of meek regret at the constant consequences of her impulsive actions. There was barely any physical damage, thankfully, but it was light and sound that definitely was not inconspicuous, "Lila might kill us…"

"And this is where I take my leave," Juro cracked a wider, cheekier grin, the previous tension forgotten, "The Commander will have my head before yours." Virion immediately swirled into a portal for a place Akkey knew she couldn't follow.

"Hey! You bastard--!" she whirled around in indignation as the Bookkeeper escaped, "Don't you fucking dare run!"

She stomped up to him, standing taller than where he sat, when his smirk lessened slightly as his tone became serious, "I am not. I think I might have some more information about Frigga, but I have to research a little more. If anyone asks… I'll be at the Library," he tilted his chin up to meet her eyes again. Akkey paused, then nodded in understanding, "Alright."

It was another heartbeat before he split his face into that exasperating smile once more, and fell backwards into the open portal, "See you later, Chief." He disappeared from sight as the dragons landed behind Akkey, who was massaging a temple in annoyance, left to deal with the aftermath by herself.

[lets-break-free-from-our-chains]

Dawn of A New Age in Ice-Roan x Wife!reader

Requested: I would like a king roan x reader were the reader is pregnant with roans child and tells him. after the conclave he survived because he hold his breath and stopped moving and later a little bit after 6 years, there child or children what you want have a different special blood called: Azblida ( ice blood) and the story  is up to you if you want. from the 100 I would like that :)        

A/N: Hi guys! I promised you all a Roan x Reader and I finally was able to find the time to sit down and write. It ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be, but that's okay because the more Roan the better! Let me know if you guys want me to go into more detail on the whole Azblida story and do another imagine that’s a spin off of this one but focuses more on the twins, Malia and Tobias. I don’t own the any of the gifs and pictures I used, they all belong to there rightful own. Also the picture is not what the twins look like in the story; you can decide what your kids would look like with Roan, lol. Anyways I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think; I always love hearing from you all -xoxoxo

Word Count: 5.5k

You can barely remember what the sun felt like on your face, and how fresh the air smelled. It was radiation-soaked air, but never-the-less your sentiments were the same. It was beautiful and now it was gone. Azgeda, your beloved home was gone; forever. Though you always remind yourself that you have more, from the old world, than most. You have your husband, your twins, and your life. You have far more than most do and so you always remember to humble yourself when you find yourself becoming to melancholy about the Red Dawn Bunker.

“Your lips are pursed and your making that all too familiar face, again.” a strong voice, chuckled from behind you. There was no need for you to look; you knew that heavenly voice anywhere.

 You turned in the chair at your writing desk to face Roan and found him leaning on the side of your bookcase. You sighed as you spoke,

 “And your leaning on my bookcase. Again.”

 Roan’s eyes widened slightly, and he had the decency to look sheepish as he quickly straightened his stance away from his notorious spot against my bookcase. The bookcase would start to become loose and wobble back and forth from the pressure of his gigantic frame leaning against it. Very rarely, did you let small things bother you, but that was one of the few things that could always irk you. However, you knew Roan didn’t do it on purpose and that’s why you were always gentle in your reprimands towards him for the absent-minded tendency.

 “Forgive me, my love.”  he says, as he approaches your chair; to place an intimate kiss behind your right ear. “I always seem to forget, despite my best efforts to remember.”

 “I know, darling. It’s why I remain forever patient in my regards to that specifically vexing habit.” You slyly caught his eyes, with a playful smirk. He laughed at the good-natured slight, as he caressed the sides of your upper arms and dropped a light kiss to your left temple.

 “Well thank you for being so patience with me, my queen. Perhaps, the day may yet come when I remember to refrain myself from such a vexing habit.”

 You threw him a humorous hum with a ‘We shall see’ look on your face, as he playfully shakes his head at you with a highly amused chuckle.  Something was missing though, and it was then that you realized the twins weren’t with him; as they normally would have added their own funny sarcasm by now.

 “Where’s Tobias and Malia at? It’s not safe for them to be without guards.” You mused out loud.

 “No need to worry, (Y/N/N). The twins are training with Gaia and Indra. With plenty of guards to watch over them while they train.” Roan hastened the words out into the air, as if sensing and quickly, seeking to placate your slightly distressed stated; to which you sighed in relief.

 Only to have the distress flood your body once more and turn your blood ice cold. You stood, so quickly, that your chair scraped against the floor as it was pushed away. You moved to sit next to Roan on your shared bed, where you leaned into his enormous figure for much needed comfort and security. You whispered so soft, it almost wasn’t there, “Blodreina won’t be there, will she?”

 “I don’t want her filling our babies’ heads with insanities and atrocities.” You managed to choke out, distressingly harsh whisper, before Roan wrapped you in his arms and gently hushed you. Roan knew you were forever worrying about what Blodreina was up too.

 While the both of you gave your support to her leadership, you were far from comfortable with her power. Especially since she was given her well-earned title; Blodreina. When Roan informed you that people were calling her by that title, you nearly fell out into the floor. Roan didn’t see the big deal in the name until you told him about the eternal and infamous story behind The Red Queen. He’d never heard about the story of the red queen, and while Roan was very intelligent and educated; he hasn’t ever been the kind of person to sit down and read fairytales, and you’d never been able to imagine a dimension where Nia read him fairytales.

 He began to share your same worries after you told him about The Red Queen in the fairytale and historical women like Queen Mary I of England who was later named Bloody Mary for killing hundreds of people, in a five year reign, who didn’t believe in what she believed in. Then, there was Countess Elizabeth Báthory who was given the title, The Blood Countess for killing over an estimated 650 people and most likely more just to satisfy her base pleasure for blood sport.

 You told Roan that those women had plenty in common, but their self-destruction was marked by one particular poison. They had power and eventually they began to like that power. Finally, along the way they developed an obsessive love for that power that inhibited their senses and left them without the ability to see that there are limits and there are lines and we cross them, it builds a wall where those lines used to be. It’s nearly impossible to break those walls down, let alone climb them, to get back to the other side.

 “The twins are two of the few fortunate souls in nightmarish bunker. They were only babies when the Dark Year happened; they don’t have to know the turmoil of trying to find a way to live with the horrific crimes they committed against humanity. They are two of the only ones that are truly pure and innocent.”

The desperation and fear in your soft voice was loud and clear to Roan and it pulled at his heart in ways most couldn’t understand. You’re his wife and the mother of his children, to see you in despair of any level hurt him more than words could describe. You were right though; the twins were lucky when it came to all the things everyone in the bunker had to do to survive.

 It’s times like that when you want more than anything to be above ground where you and Roan where rulers and could properly protect your children. Though you are protecting the twins by making a deal with Blodreina, you both knew that at any moment she could decide to break off the deal and her cult followers would only continue to follow. There no sense of true honor in the bunker anymore. No, that moral luxury died in the fighting pit years ago; the Dark Year to be exact. However, you and Roan were both aware that no matter how much protection you give the twins, there would always be danger to close for peace of mind.   they were the luckiest and also the most unfortunate, at least when it comes to power, that is. Azblidas.

 Nearly invincible creatures it seemed like. When you were pregnant with the twins it felt like you were always freezing, and they were active and strong from the very first kick that appeared to never cease it seemed. Not that you minded, it felt like you were bonding with them and that’s one of the reasons you’d read aloud to them even when you still carried them in your womb.

 |Flashback; Waiting for Roan’s Victory|

You waited behind the flame that told you, your husband, the king was still alive and fighting. Echo waiting anxiously with you, and what would have been consider your Lady’s maid in a time before Primfiya, Cordelia, forever by your side, offered you the support and comfort you desperately needed. Cordelia was a woman in her early thirties; she had smooth olive skin with heart shaped lips, big brown honey-hued eyes and framed by thick dark brown hair. You tried to decide whether it was wavy or curly before settling with the decision that it was both; Delia’s hair was gorgeous either way. She was a strong and wise woman, and she was just as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. She stepped towards you from behind you, to whisper in your left ear;

 “Did you tell him?”

There was nothing you hid from Delia and there was nothing she hid from you. She took care of you every day, ran errands for you, helped you with your responsibilities as Queen, offered you wisdom and comfort, and generally just made your busy and chaotic life easier for you. She with you every day, all day even if you hadn’t told her you were pregnant, she was more than smart enough to figure it out all by herself.

 You turned your head to the left, though your eye lingered on the flame representing Roan’s life; “No, I didn’t want to distract him from the conclave. I wanted him to have a level head and his guard up. He has enough to carry on his shoulders, I will not knowingly add to those burdens.”

 You could see she was about to say more but stopped and thought about it a few seconds longer before she looked at you with understanding eyes and soft smile, followed with a gentle nod.

 Your attention was directed back to the room around you as Indra’s daughter, Gaia came from the balcony. It was down to Octavia, Luna, and Roan; you held your breath as the scout approach remaining flames with a candle snuff.  Gaia voice sound like it was far away and somewhere underwater; “Roan kom Azgeda, yu gonplei ste odon.”

 You swear your heart stopped as the nameless scout destroyed Roan’s flame. It felt like you could breathe, as if someone had cut you open and ripped your heart and lungs from your chest. The pain was…unbearable. You manage to let out one long mournful wail, that chilled the blood of everyone in the room, before that became to painful and physically impossible for you it seemed.

 You suddenly felt faint and reached out for something to steady yourself with. Cordelia was shaken out of her shock when she saw you stumble backwards in a slight sway. She rushed up behind you and settled a strong right hand on your hip before clasping your left hand with hers. “My Queen?! Your Grace, can you hear?! (Y/N), it’s me, Cordelia!” Delia waited for a response, but only received a soft breathless gasp that sounded faintly like ‘help’. Cordelia didn’t have any time to ask again before she felt your body give out. She caught your body and gently lowered the both of you to the ground.

 “HELP! GET HELP! Find a healer, the Queen’s fainted!” Delia cried out, in desperate panic. You could see Delia and Echo’s faces above you and their mouths were moving, but you couldn’t hear anything as darkness invaded and conquered your vision.

 |Flashback; prior to The Final Conclave|

 The happiness and relief you felt, when you had woken to Roan’s handsome face, was unlike any kind of happiness you ever felt before. You first thought that you were dead and that you had actually died of a broken heart, but you soon realized that you were in fact alive when you saw Cordelia; perched on the edge of her chair, to right side of the bed, in anticipation.

 Roan was so elated to see that you had awoken and pounced forward to press a passionate kiss to your lips. You’d frozen in surprise and slight shocked till you relaxed into the welcomed kiss and poured your love and longing into the greatly needed moment. Cordelia smiled; quietly backing away and turning in the other direction to give her king and queen privacy. You felt him gently place his large hand over your womb where your child rested. You would later come to find out that it was two babes not just one.

 When he reluctantly pulled away, you could see the questions in his eyes, but he decided it was best not to overwhelm you in your delicate condition. Normally you would have bristled at the someone deeming you delicate, however, at that moment you were grateful because no matter how much you refused to admit it you really didn’t have the energy to talk about something so serious.

 Even if you did have the energy you still had bigger problems. Roan informed you that Octavia had won the Final Conclave and decided to give one hundred spots to each of the 12 clans to show that we were equals and were destined to unite as Wonkru. You were surprised to hear he accepted the notion. He was so adamant when it came to winning the Red Dawn solely for their clan’s survival.

 When he saw your unbridled surprise and questioning gaze as you studied him, he merely chuckled fondly; “The only reason I’m alive is because I didn’t give up, I held onto my last breath until that psychotic Natblida released her hold on me. If I’m going to give up my last breath to anyone, it’ll be to my queen. Preferably in my beloved queen’s arms, in our old age after living a long and meaningful life.”

 You being who you were, had replied with a forever-loving and playful taunt; “Oh Roan, you’re secretly a hopeless romantic! Good thing I find that an attractive trait in my king, huh?”

 He had given you an amused smirk and eyeroll, but the look in his eyes soften considerably when he heard you whisper a heartfelt ‘Ai hod in yu, Ai Hairein…’

 “Ai hod in yu too, Ai Haireina”

 |Flashback; Birth of the Bluebloods|

 The pain was unimaginable and overbearing, as it crashed over you in relentless waves; only getting strong and more painful as time dragged on. Cordelia was to the left of you trying to make you as comfortable as possible, while Roan sat behind, in between you and the metal headboard, as he spoke words of encouragement into your ear.

 You were sweating ice chips; how you could sweat and still be cold was beyond your comprehension. Perhaps its better that you were cold and not hot because there was no “wasting water” of any amount in the bunker; not even to cool off a pregnant woman in labor.

 You screamed and growled in pain, only to spat insults at Roan; while attempting to break every bone in his hand, for compensation. He was a good, but slightly terrified, sport about it and continued encouraging you with the occasional apology. One final push and your shrieking baby was born. Abby looked at the squirming irritated babe in her hands with slight panic.

 “What? What’s the matter?” You asked in confusion, before the unbridled panic set in; “Is something wrong with my child?! Give me my baby!”

 You held your arms out, expectantly, only to become furious when Abby handed the babe off to Jackson; who took her to a different part of the room.

 “NOW! GIVE ME MY BABY, NOW!” You wailed, your angry and agony, over your baby’s wellbeing, beginning to enter twine. Roan began to become angry to, as he saw the state you’d quickly been reduced too.

 “Give us our baby, now; or I’ll have your heads” He snarled but was interrupted by a different and sharper cry of pain, leaving your lips.

 Y our hand quickly cupped your swollen belly to soothe the pain in your lower abdomen.

 “There’s another!” Abby whispered; “I had to have Jackson check your daughter; she was ice cold and had a blueish tint to her skin, but you need to concentrate on the birthday of your second baby.”

 “Daughter? Roan and I have a daughter?” You whispered, with hitched breaths induced in pain. To which Abby confirmed with a firm nod and soft yes.

 “Malia.” Roan said.

 Your smile, at hearing her name, left your face as another pain hit you and you focused on delivering your second child. It took 4 more pushes before your second baby was brought into the world. Abby looked at the child and told you and Roan had a son, before she hears Jackson perplexed voice.

 “Huh, Abby? Do you have any idea why this baby was born with blue blood?”

 Everyone’s held shot to Jackson as he held up a tube of blood with a blueish silver to show Abby.

 “Azblidas!” Gaia exclaimed, with an awe-struck face; “Queen (Y/N) was given birth to a god and goddess among men. Far more sacred and rare than Natblidas and a lot stronger and faster than them too. They’re nearly invincible, its incredibility hard to mortally injure an Azblida. They hold the highest positions in grounder society and each one is as legendary as the next one. An Azblida hasn’t been born in over a century and now there are two.

 Gaia had come to the delivery in the hopes of your child being a Natblida but was graced with not one, but two children destined to be the most powerful beings in your world.

 “This is a sign that the old ways of the faith are not dead. We must show our loyalty to the faith; protect them at all cost and train the Azblidas in the sacred ways, when they’re old enough.” Indra spoke, as she stepped up next to her daughter side. Indra had thought the days of the faith were dead, but she had been proven wrong; in more ways than one.

 “Well now that we’ve decide my babes are strong and healthy; can I have my babies now?” You tiredly asked.

Abby and Jackson gave you and Roan your children and everyone left to give you privacy. “We have a beautiful son and daughter, my king”

 He contently hummed in agreement; “Malia and Tobias, the strongest of the strong; you did an amazing job, my queen. I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 |Flashback; The Dark Year|

 A famine had stormed the bunker and threatened to take everyone to the shores of the afterlife. No environmental calamity on earth had ever scared you as much as this famine and you lived through the Second Pramfiya. You were born in Azgeda and lived through the deadliest winters know to man, deep within the territory of Azegda, at the royal dwelling built in a region named; The Land of Eternal Winter. Those winters in perpetual ice glaciers and snow was easier to deal with than this famine.

 You had been sick to your stomach ever since you and Roan’s meeting with Octavia and the other advisors. Cooper had told you the extent of the damage to the hydro farm and the only response to Octavia question on how to feed 1200 people, was Abby’s. You could live with throwing real criminals, that truly threatened the people surviving, into the pit. However, throwing people in there to fight to the death so we had a protein source was horrifying barbaric; even for Azgeda.

 “This is wrong. It dangerous.” You stated, and everyone turned to you; “All of you know as well as I do that what your considering is a pandora box waiting to be open. That’s always what happens…It. Never. End. Well. For any of us!”

 “Then give me another option.” Octavia’s eyes pleaded you. “Please!”  she begged, in whisper to you. She didn’t want to consider what Abby suggested, you knew that, but it seemed to be the only option if she wanted her people to survive the six years.

 You and Roan shared a worried look before Octavia ended the meeting.

 ______________

 You and Roan sat side by side at the same table with Octavia and the other advisors; where your gaze lingered down at the big red cube. Roan’s face gave a slight grimace at the sight of his cube and when Octavia gave her speech and took a bite, you knew it would end badly. You and Roan remained unmoved, and locked gazes with one another, before Abby called your name.

 “(Y/N). If you don’t get the nutrients your body needs, eventually it becomes a very high outcome that your body will stop producing milk and you’d no longer be able to feed Malia and Tobias.”

 Your eyes widened at the very likely possibly. It hadn’t crossed your mind that the affect to the rest of your body would also affect your babies only food source. Still you needed to know from someone you could completely trust, so you call out Marcus’ name to which he responded.

 “Is it true, Marcus? It that a very likely possibility?” He hesitated before sighing with a nod. You looked in Roan’s direction to see his heavily burdened and troubled eyes; he to hadn’t consider the possibility.

 You couldn’t endanger your children any more than they already were. Roan grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers as he whispered;

 “Together. We do it together like we always do.”

 You gave a slight nod, “Together. To ensure Malia and Tobias survive.” You gazed at the cube in exasperation and dread.

 This will end badly. For everyone.

 |Flashback; training the twins|

 Tobias and Malia were growing fast and would be nearing their 6th birthday soon enough. The older and stronger they grew, the more Blodreina showed interest in them. Whether the attention extended from what they and their blood could give her or take from her, was unknown. That notion alone was an unsettling and endless haunting, that antagonized the forever-watchful parents.

 To you, Blodreina was a red serpent, hidden and patience, waiting to strike and take all you held dear and sacred. You never imagined you’d see Octavia as your enemy, but now Octavia wasn’t just an enemy. She was your greatest enemy, and the most dangerous of all the enemies you’d ever faced. One thing you were 100% sure of; Blodreina was a threat, that you and Roan couldn’t afford when it came to your Azblida children.

 She wouldn’t do anything questionable, as of right now, though. Your children had acquired quite the following from both former Trikru and Azgeda alike. Not only people of the old faith, but also people who turn away in disgust of the way people live in Wonkru and believe Blodreina has truly crossed some of the most important limits and lines.

 There was a little over 400 faith followers; leaving it an even fight after hundreds died in the fighting pits for sport among other reasons. Despite what Octavia may think about Wonkru’s strength, it wasn’t enough to overthrow 300 years of faith. Especially after the wonders you delivered into the world when you bared your ice-blooded children to your husband.

 Gaia and Indra were finishing up the twins’ lessons for the day when suddenly everyone in the room was silenced by a loud roar coming from down the hallway. Malia abruptly turned to the sudden noise only to get whacked in the arm with a practice staff, by her slightly younger brother, Tobias. Mal sharply turned back to look at Tobi out of the corner of her eyes, with a dangerous glint in her gaze. She needn’t say anything for her glare said more than her words ever could; as if to say, ‘Back off! Or you’re gonna get it, Tobi.’

 “Mal’s got her mother’s glare, for sure.” Roan guffawed, when he saw Mal’s reaction. Tobi gave his sister a sheepish look and a soft apology.

 “Tobi’s got his father’s guilty stare, for sure.” You softly snarked, with a whisper of a smile; letting Roan know you were only joking. He heartily chuckled at the tongue lash as he pulled you into him to give you a deep kiss; to which you gave back. Malia stormed over a question she asked many times, but never got an answer too.

 “Momma, what’s that noise we always hear from the end of the hallway? Behind the red doors with the strange symbol on it.”

 Gaia and Indra halted as they shared a look with each other before sharing a similar one with you and Roan. The guards and the two women wait for your response to the inquisitive girl’s question. You sigh before you decide to tell them.

 You leave Roan’s arms and walk to the young boy and girl; “A faithless and immoral world lays beyond those doors. A world bathed in red- “

 “Why red, Ma?”  The soft voice of Tobias spoke, as his head cocked to the side.

 “Because it is a place where blood flows and never stops. It will forever be painted in blood and living in that world are monstrous creatures declaring themselves human; who never cease in their howls for carnage. Many people have died in that place for simple pleasure. The monsters in disguise made those people fight in a lonely and terrifying place, known as the pit. Similar to the Gladiators of Ancient Rome and all the while they only roar in hunger for more. You must never find yourself in that position. It is the one place in the world where you will truly be alone. You’ll have no friends, no support, not even each other.”

 Malia and Tobias hang onto her every word; “Why couldn’t we just fight our way to each other and our freedom, Momma?”

 “You can try, my darlings. However, even if you were to kill all of your opponents, there will be a Great Red Serpent, coiled on a throne of chrome, waiting hidden and patience. Even if you’re the last one standing, she still gets to decide whether you live or die. Promise me you will never find yourself in such a place that lacks all honor and humanity. Even if you do find yourself unfortunate enough to be in such a place, promise me you’ll do whatever it takes to free yourselves.”  

 They both immediately swore it to you, and you gave a firm nod in acknowledgment. Once they returned to finishing up their training you looked to Roan and you both shared a look of understanding as you sought the comfort of his arms. It was only a matter of time.

 It was all just a big waiting game.

 |Flashback; Bellamy saves your family|

 You slowly approached Bellamy from your place at Roan side; sliding through the space between Tobias and Malia, who were hugged, protectively, to you and Roan’s bodies. A defense mechanism developed early on in the time since your twins were born, and rightfully so.

 Several emotions seemed to flow over Bellamy’s face at the sight of you; Shock, happiness, love, and a look you knew only too well. Fear. You and Bellamy were best friends, practically brother and sister, ever since you first met in Polis. It was an unlikely bond formed between two people from two different worlds, but somehow you both were able to look past that particular difference.

 When you saw the fear pass over him, all you wanted to do was show him you weren’t mad at him for not being able to keep his promise. In a way he did come back and that’s exactly what you told him. You looked at him in awe as you reached him and quickly pulled him into a tight hug, “You came back…you kept your promise to me.”

 You’ve felt and seen enough fear to last a lifetime, but that is no more, now that Bellamy had freed you all from the serpent cloaked in red death. You knew the words registered in his mind after a few seconds because his arms immediately tightened around you, in a comforting strength. You placed your lips near his right ear to whisper, “Thank you, Bells. You saved us all from the Red Serpent.”

 As you pulled away and watched his reaction, he looked at you in a questioning worry. “(Y/N/N) …” he whispered, before his concerned eyes connected with Octavia’s soulless irises.

 His gaze dropped back to you and what appeared to be a sad but edged anxiety shrouding your tired features. Your eyes and words told him everything and nothing about what he needed to know. Then, his attention was captured by two, inhumanly beautiful and young, twins nestled safely against Roan’s sides.

 ‘You and Roan had children…’ He mused, in mild wonder.

 Realization struck Bellamy, when he realized it was a well-guarded and deeply apprehensive fear; heavily veiling your face.

 |Present time; Ascension to a Hollow Kingdom|

 You assured the twins, after they began to fuss in worry, that you would be waiting for them to ascend, at the top. Poor Tobias looked sick with stress as he watched you like a hawk. He was almost always worrying over something, no matter how big or small, and the fact that he was a Momma’s boy didn’t help his fretting. Roan would fondly say their Tobias takes after his mother; when it came to worrying and pondering.

 Tobias was as cautious as he was dangerous, which said a lot to people if they knew him. Malia and Tobias may have been young and not have extensive training, but their mere existence was dangerous; because their blood marked them with a promise of what they could be.  

 Malia’s blue eyes squinted, at Bellamy, with an edgy distrust. You could help but chuckle when you saw his slight gawk at a 6-year-old glaring at him with a no-bullshit seriousness. He even looked around the area to see if it was really him, she was staring down. It was a glare so familiar that Bellamy couldn’t decide whether the girl inherited the expression from you or Roan.

 You and Roan shared a brief but passionate kiss before you made your way to Bellamy, and the rope that would lift you and your family to your freedom. Bellamy wrapped his arm around your waist with a quick side glance to Malia and her relentless hawk eyes.

 “Bells, you’re not afraid of my 6-year-old, are you?” You teased, as you were both lifted up. Bellamy’s head slightly jerked back as he spoke;

 “What? Of course not, she’s just a kid.” He said, quietly as if he were almost afraid Mal would hear.

 “Uh huh, yeah whatever gets you through the day.” You taunted, “By the way, I like the scruff. Very sexy.”

 He laughed at the playful comment, as he slyly looked at you, and jokingly says; “I thought you might. You always had a thing for men with scruffs”

 “No, I always had a thing for Roan with a scruff.” You giggled with mirth. The two of you, soon enough, reached the beautiful and blinding light that glowed around you. Two foreign men helped you to ground level and you froze in awe as you take in the sight laid before you. It was a wasteland, but it was Earth, your home. You vaguely felt Bellamy’s eyes, hovering on you, but you were more focused with all the open space as far as the eyes could see.

 Something you had forgotten while cramped into that hellish bunker with 1999 other people. “all go down to get your kids and then Roan.” He said, to which you nodded.

This is what’s left of Polis, a place where all the clans could unite in peace. You didn’t have time to ponder anymore on the thought as you heard the voices of your children.

 “Move your hand, rockhead!” Mal snapped at Tobi; only for Tobi to glare at her with pursed lips, “Move your face, halfwit!”

 Bellamy appeared to be making great effort to not laugh and looked to you for help. You took mercy on him and called your twins attention to you, “Alright, that’s enough. Can’t you two go 5 mins without making attempts to rip each other a new one?”

 They both mumbled an apology before looking around with a new wonder in their eyes you haven’t had the pleasure of seeing until now. “This is where you come from Momma?”

 You smile and nod, “It’s different from when your dad and I lived up here though. Before the Second Pramfiya, it used to be covered in fields of grass and trees and bushes as far as the eyes can see, but never-the-less I’m glad to be home and I’m happy that I get to show you our world.”

 They smile and cheer before venturing the foreign area, while still remaining close to your side. You turn as you hear Roan’s voice; “I think this is the happiest we’ve ever seen them.”

 You turned and hugged him as you watch them explore. “I think you right, but hopefully we’ll be able to give them happiness now that we’re free.” Roan nodded in agreement.

 “They look so beautiful and sweet together.” You said before Roan leaned down to place a kiss on your lips. You both pulled away when you heard the twins bickering;

 “Shut up, Mouthbreather!” Mal practically spits out, and Tobi turns back to his twin to give her a good tongue lash;

 “Oh, that great coming from you, Colonel Flap-jaw!”  

 Bellamy couldn’t contain himself any longer and starting howling in laughter at the twins’ insults; he continued to laughter as he looks at you and Roan, “Yeah, those are your kids, alright!”

 You and Roan sharing an amused glance before chuckling at your kids.

[crystalessenceswrites]

You’re Enchanting--Chapter Two

Summary:  Delphine always told Elazar she would do anything to help him if he was ever in trouble, even knowing his knack for finding it. She didn’t expect to be helping him save the world after someone blows up the Conclave and tears a hole in the sky. Nor did Delphine expect to be falling for anyone, let alone a troubled, former templar, while she’s watching her best friend shape the future of their world with a green glowing hand.

Pairings: Cullen/Trevelyan & Dorian/Lavellan

Warnings: none I think? Includes discussion of mage/templar opinions of the other but nothing extensive 

Can also be found on AO3

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three]

Chapter Two- Focus

“So, you don’t have a clue as to how you got the mark on your hand, except that it happened during the explosion, which also opened the Breach that’s allowing demon rifts to open and terrorize the good people of Thedas. And knowing this, you joined the Inquisition because the mark closes rifts and they want to seal the Breach in the sky and save the world.” Delphine sat on the edge of Elazar’s cot, rubbing her temples. “Do I have that all correct?”

“Pretty much,” Elazar shot her a half-assed grin. She knew he was getting too much enjoyment out of watching her try to wrap her mind around the events of the last week.

“And people are believing that a Dalish elf is the Herald of Andraste?”

Elazar’s fingers lightly traced over the blue ink below his eye. “That has surprised me just as much as you… but it’s better than people calling me some sort of darkspawn.”

“I can agree with that,” Delphine sighed. If becoming a religious icon protected Elazar from such accusations, she would let it stand for now. “Does it hurt? The mark, I mean.”

“Not so much anymore. Right after the explosion, when the Breach was still growing, the mark was spreading. Solas and the apothecary here, Addan, managed to keep me alive long enough to seal it… and once we did, the mark stopped consuming my arm. We think…”

Delphine could spot his fake optimism a mile away, but he wasn’t just trying to convince her that the mark was no longer a danger but himself as well. She hated that he felt the need to do so around her. They hadn’t been apart for that long, had they?

“Well, I guess that’s good to hear. There’s still the fact that it’s there at all, but that’s a problem that needs a solution later on. You will let me know if it starts bothering you again, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course, Del. You’re the last person I could hide it from anyways,” Elazar chuckled.

“That’s true. I can read you like a book.” She grinned back.

Maybe it hadn’t been that long after all.

“Which reminds me! I lent you a copy of Early Orlesian History before I left the Circle. Please tell me you left that in the tower and that it didn’t go up in flames in the explosion.”

The color draining from her elvish friend’s face didn’t give Delphine much hope.

“Ha- I was hoping you forgot about that.”

Delphine pressed her palms over her eyes, all hope of possibly appeasing her uncle next time she saw him was gone. That is if she ever saw him again…

“My uncle lent me that copy! I’ll never hear the end of it from him, ever!” The man could hold a grudge, which stands as quite a testament to character considering her family and their reputation.

“I’ll apologize to your bookworm uncle myself if I must. And I’ll see if I can find another copy to replace it with.” This was not the first time one of his books had been destroyed by Elazar’s mishaps, and apology and a replacement might not cut it this time around.

“Elazar, between worrying me and destroying my uncle’s prized library, you will be the death of me.”

.

In short order, Delphine found herself in the presence of the Inquisition leadership. Elazar, true to his charismatic nature, cheerily introduced her to Leliana, the Left Hand of the Divine, who eyed her with unabashed curiosity. Delphine was used to being ogled like an exotic pet but considering it was the Divine’s spymaster looking at her with such intensity gave slight cause for concern. Next, she was properly reintroduced to Cassandra, the Right Hand of the Divine. Despite knowing the woman was formerly a Seeker, Delphine was not nearly put off in her presence. Maybe it was the fact that her eyes weren’t nearly as cold and sharp as the other Seekers she’d crossed paths with over the years.

Josephine greeted Delphine with a practiced gleaming smile and a myriad of questions, the first of which was on her relationship to the Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick. She shouldn’t have expected any less from the ambassador.

“He would be my father.”

Delphine wondered if she should be more concerned about the ambassador considering the glee that washed over Josephine’s face at the answer.

“Lady Trevelyan, you and our ambassador are soon going to become fast friends.” Leliana sounded thoroughly amused at the development.

Josephine quickly voiced her agreement before Delphine had a chance to correct the Spymaster. Delphine had not been considered a lady since she was a child, and honestly, she held little desire to return to that position. The only title she savored was the one she had earned through dedication to her studies and craft.

Lastly, Elazar reintroduced Delphine to the Commander, who stood near the back of the room, his hands resting crossed over the hilt of his sword. The stance was as close to relaxed as any templar could allow themselves while still being able to perform their duties. Delphine did her best to keep her skepticism from showing as he greeted her in return. She also tried to ignore the way he looked her over in a not so subtle manner.

“I have asked Delphine to stay and help… after all, she is the smarter of the two of us. She may prove to be more helpful to the Inquisition than I.”

Delphine had never been fond of how Elazar put himself below her. He was just as talented in magic as she was, if not more so.

“That’s not true. We’re no longer in the Circle so I will not have this argument with you again,” she scolded. “And you are the one with the glowing hand in all this, not me.”

Cassandra looked rather amused but did not interject, deferring to Leliana. “I am sure we all agree that any assistance Lady Trevelyan can offer would be most appreciated, Herald. She is most welcome here.”

Cullen and Josephine nodded, the ambassador looking more pleased with the development than the commander.

“With the settled, we should discuss the names that Mother Giselle supplied us with. I believe having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”

Elazar had briefly explained why he had been sent to the Crossroads following the developments at the Temple. Delphine was skeptical that any in the Chantry would even dare to gather in public right now.

“You can’t be serious.” Cullen balked, and Delphine had half a heart to agree with him.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong: at the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana shot back.

“Let’s ask him.”

Elazar shrugged, “what can they do? It’s just talk.”

Had he skipped all of his history lessons while they were apprentices?

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words. An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Delphine nodded in agreement, Leliana had more than a fair point. “Never doubt the power of public opinion.”

“I will go with him to Val Royeaux. Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

Cassandra was a woman of action, and deserved credit for that, even if the idea did seem rather fruitless. All the Chantry would do for such a meeting would be a charade. Leliana seemed to be of the same opinion.

“But why? This is nothing but a-”

“What choice do we have, Leliana? Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready we will see this through.”

Begrudgingly the rest agreed, Leliana and Josephine would begin sending out letters and agents to bring together those they could in Val Royeaux in a few weeks’ time. Delphine offered Josephine any help she needed. She had not seen this list of names yet but it was entirely possible she knew of or was related to one of two of the clerics suggested to be amenable. It was the most she could do, for now.

“In the meanwhile, I plan to return to the Crossroads. There is still much to do,” Elazar declared. Always one to make such decisions on his own. At least that much had not changed.

.

The pair spent the rest of the day settling into Haven and planning what they could. Due to the already apparent lack of housing it was decided Delphine would bunk with Elazar. Another cot appeared rather quickly and was situated across the cabin from Elazar’s. It was more privacy than she had expected upon her arrival in the small village. Someone else came by not long after with fresh clothes more suited to the mountain winter. Delphine heartily thanked the elvish woman who looked at Elazar with wide eyes.

After bathing, something Delphine needed even more than fresh clothes, Elazar sat with her on her new bed and combed out her long sandy locks. Her elvish friend had been enamored with her hair since they had met. There had been plenty of nights over the years where he would sit behind her while she studied, dutifully combing and braiding. Delphine had tried unsuccessfully, on many occasions, to convince Elazar to grow his own hair out. She thought he would look rather charming with long dark hair. He always shot the idea down, content with his current messy floof.

“It makes me appear more the dashing rogue, don’t you think?”

Delphine would always roll her eyes, “if that’s what you believe, El.”

Maybe he would be some dashing heartbreaker had he been left to live his life outside the Circle tower, as his people intended.

Elazar’s hands lingered across her shoulders as he finished styling her hair. “I missed this- I miss you, Del.” He wrapped his scrawny arms around her shoulders, leaning across her back. “I’m glad you came… I don’t know if I could do this, whatever this is, without you.”

She couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged her. They hadn’t been on speaking terms last time they saw each other face to face. It had been too long.

“Well someone has to keep you out of trouble, El.” She lay one hand over his, rubbing soothing circles across his knuckles. “So, you won’t be getting rid of me so easily again.”

“Thank you, Del.”

.

Delphine felt much more prepared to face the day as she readied herself the following morning. Requisitions had supplied her with suitable clothing that actually fit, unlike the hastily bought traveling gear Del had purchased for herself upon her arrival in Ferelden. It was much easier to tromp around Haven in fur-lined boots that weren’t threatening to fall off her feet. She admittedly was also more comfortable going about her business in a skirt than the leather trousers she’d been wearing.

“You almost look like a proper Ferelden lady.” Elazar had snickered as she finished dressing.

She rolled her eyes in response. A brown lambswool sweater, cream skirt, and sturdy boots just made her appear ready for the weather, not Ferelden. Perish the thought she would ever be anything besides a Marcher.

After breakfast they parted ways, El wanted to discuss plans for returning to the Hinterlands with Cassandra, while Del wanted to see about having armor prepared. Next time Elazar went out on one of these missions, she wanted to be prepared to go with him. Del would leave nothing up to chance or fate now, she would have her friend’s back, defend it if she must.

Most of her day was spent in lively debate with the blacksmith, Harritt. He was hesitant at first, Delphine assumed because he spied the staff at her back the moment she entered his forge, but began to open up the longer she was able to hold a conversation with him. Back in the Circle Delphine had studied mage armor as a purely academic topic. It was not something they would ever be allowed to make or own as they weren’t permitted to fight, but there had been plenty of books and schematic references in the tower library. She may have never had the opportunity to craft but the theory behind it was one she understood, and it was the theory she needed now. Harritt would concern himself with the actual creation, Delphine simply had to supply the instructions.

Harritt was the first person outside of the Circle who seemed to enjoy, and dare she say, respect her knowledge. For the first time Del wondered if Elazar was right about people outside the Circles. Maybe it was possible for people to find common ground with mages. Could it be that the rebels found sympathy for their cause outside of their own kind? Delphine had plenty of time to sit and ponder the thought as Harritt got to work on her enchanter armor. It would take a few days to complete, as the blacksmith also had to manage the growing need for standard armor and weapons for the new recruits. She was not in any particular hurry and went about helping Josephine the best she could in the meanwhile.

Like everyone else Josephine had plenty to do. There wasn’t much Delphine could do concerning politics, a subject Del was much more removed from outside of mage and Circle politics, but she had decent penmanship and some tact with words. She did what she could helping pen the letters out to the Chantry Mothers, and offered what insight she could on the clerics themselves. One was a distant cousin by marriage to Delphine’s mother and another had been one of her brother’s sponsors when he had pursued his calling. Giving her name to those two letters did not feel like much but Josephine reassured her that every bit of influence that could gather would help.

“You do not understand the power of your name?” Josephine seemed rather confused by it, but Delphine decided it was not something to hold against the Antivan woman. How was she supposed to understand the hesitancy of a noble turned mage?

“It is not a name that is truly mine,” it was difficult to put to words, although it was her name and would forever be the family she shared blood with, any power it held had been stripped away along with her title all those years ago. Most days, Delphine was alright with that fact. “I have not been a proper member of the Trevelyan family since I was sent to the Circle.”

Josephine’s usually bright face dropped, “I see…I did not consider that fact. There is that much separation between mages and their families?”

“Most never see or speak to their relatives after entering the Circle. I was lucky due to my family’s position in the city.”

“I see…”

The Ambassador was rather apologetic the next few times Delphine stopped by to offer her assistance, though there was no need for her to be. She was not offended by the topic. Delphine imagined most had little to no knowledge of what life as a mage entailed. It was not something she’d ever consider holding against the woman, especially when Josephine had been otherwise nothing but kind to her. Delphine wanted to do what she could to help the bustling woman but found there was not much she could take off her hands.

Delphine soon found herself with more time on her hands than she knew what to do with, particularly after Elazar departed for the Hinterlands. It was a different kind of lonesome that Del was not accustomed to. Much of her isolation in the Circle had been self-imposed. This was the kind of where she sat and prayed, hoping Elazar would return in one piece.

.

Eventually, she fell into a routine, checking in with Josephine and Harritt in the morning to offer what help she could. If there was anything for her to do, it was usually wrapped up by midday, so Del would spend her afternoons sitting on the side of the main steps of the village, taking in what sun she could and watching the soldiers train by the frozen lake. It was oddly satisfying to watch them continuously drill and spar. Delphine had enjoyed people watching in the Circle, this was just a kind of people she had not had the option of watching before. Additionally, it seemed to annoy Joshua. He would often spot her staring and shake his head or act as if he was shooing her away. They had been playing this odd game of theirs for just over a week when the Commander caught Joshua in his usual display of displeasure.  After what seemed like a thorough chewing out by his superior officer, Joshua waved her to come over.

Delphine made a point of approaching solemn-faced, worried she too would be getting a lecture from the former templar. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“The Commander asked to speak with you.”

She must have grimaced because Joshua looked absolutely thrilled to usher her towards the blond soldier.

Delphine wasn’t frightened by the ex-templar, per se, but after a lifetime of being watched by men and women like him, she had been instilled with a healthy sense of wariness around them. It did not matter if she was in the tower or at one of her family’s estates being guarded by one of her uncles or cousins, they all viewed her as a potential danger and they acted as such. She didn’t necessarily disagree with their view. Delphine understood the dangers of possession, but she had no reason to trust someone who already mistrusted her. Delphine had yet to see the Commander interact with any of the mages who remained at Haven, besides in their initial meeting. Most seemed to avoid him, which stood as no surprise. She had yet to see him mistreat one of her kind but that did not mean he didn’t either.

She wanted to make up her mind about the man, but there was a small voice in the back of her mind that urged her to look closer. She had not heard him utter any disparagement towards mages, even in the few war room meetings she had attended in the absence of Elazar. There was also a certain steel that he lacked. He was gruff, yes, the lip scar and light stubble made him appear the rough soldier, but his voice lacked a certain bite that Delphine had become accustomed to with templars.

“Ser, you asked to speak with me?”

In the time she had spent watching from afar, Delphine had concluded the Commander had two kinds of days. On occasions she could read him like a book; these were the days when the stress seemed to overwhelm him physically, leaving him looking sickly and gaunt in his bulky armor. The rest of the time, she could not discern what he was thinking. There was no doubt that the man was strait-laced and knew how to act the part of a leader. As for today, Delphine stood cautiously next to the former templar as he looked out over the training recruits, she could not read his hardened stare.

“The Herald said you two studied together in Ostwick, correct?”

Delphine blinked for a moment, she still did not associate Elazar with his new title, despite the advisors all referring to him as such. “Y-yes. Elazar and I met in the Circle.”

“Then you received some proper amount of training?”

A proper amount of training? Maker’s balls she was an Enchanter!

Not trusting her voice to not give away her frustrations, Delphine gave the ex-templar a cautious nod. She wondered if he was worried that she wasn’t aware of the threat of possession she faced? As if she had not been living with the constant reminder for nearly twenty years.

He appeared satisfied and quickly turned to shout at the soldier currently sparring with Joshua. “You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy, you would be dead. Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander.” Joshua quipped before he promptly knocked down the younger man with a shield bash.

Turning back, the Commander seemingly returned to his earlier point. “We’ve received a number of new recruits- locals from Haven and some pilgrims. They are progressing well but some have never even met a mage before, let alone faced one in combat.”

Delphine had an idea of where this was headed now.

“I believe it would be beneficial for the new recruits to practice defending against magic. Would you be willing to assist with this?”

“I…I want to be as much help as possible, ser. But in truth I have next to no combative magic experience.” He was an ex-templar, surely he was aware of the fact that Circle mages were not trained in such magic. Any “combat” primal magic Circle mages knew was self-taught, personally developed, or from banned literature. Delphine had been taught healing, crafting, and barrier magic, disciplines meant to protect and serve.

Yet the Commander looked a bit surprised by her admission. “The Herald said he had been part of the group who rebelled against the templars at Ostwick so I assumed you had as well. Did you not agree with the others?”

Delphine thought it best not to mention that Elazar had been the one to lead the rebellion at Faxhold.

“No, I left the tower before Elazar and the others rebelled. My family is made of templars, ser, I couldn’t find it in myself to fight against those in my Circle either. I took the cowardly way out and ran away so I wouldn’t be forced to choose one side or the other.”

He paused for a moment as if to wrap his mind around the fact that there were mages out in the world that did not inherently desire the death of all templars. “Well, I do appreciate your sentiments. But now might be the time to come to terms with the fact we are in the middle of a war, with a giant hole in the sky.”

“I have been thinking long and hard about that,” Delphine quipped back. She was not so naïve to believe she would walk away from this all without raising her hand against another person. When it came to Elazar, she would do all in power to protect him, fight for him if the need arose, but it was a sense of defense, she did not seek out violence. Yet in this case, the Inquisition was the force trying to quell a rising storm in their world, using her magic in defense of that idea was not inherently violent, was it? And by helping these soldiers with their training, she could possibly be saving lives down the road. Wasn’t that worth it?

“I want to assist you, ser. I’m just worried that despite what training I do have, I am going to hurt an untrained recruit instead of teaching them properly.”

His lips pressed together into a thin line as he ran one gloved hand through his hair. “You have a valid concern, Delphine. The freshest recruits may not be ready to face an untested mage. It may be best to stick with demonstrations for now. Would you be comfortable sparring with a trained templar instead? Someone who already knows how to handle your attacks?”

Delphine was surprised by how quickly he was taking her concerns into consideration but nonetheless appreciated it. Perhaps the Commander wasn’t such a typical templar.

“That would make me worry less. Thank you, ser.”

“You really don’t need to keep calling me “ser,” Delphine. You’re not one of the recruits.”

“Oh, that’s a bit of an old habit, I suppose. Is Cullen alright then?”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

Delphine could have sworn she saw his lips twitch up into a small smile but it was so brief and with the afternoon sun reflecting off his well-polished armor she could have been seeing things.

“Whenever you are ready, come down to the field and I’ll have someone set to run demonstrations with you.”

.

Elazar returned from the crossroads the following day to find Del throwing balls of fire at a shield wall while Cullen explained how the stance was an effective way to defend against an apostate mage or rouge’s fire attacks.

“Cullen has even roped your friend into training the new recruits.” Elazar jumped about a foot off the snow, not having heard the Spymaster approach. “And it seems to be going well so far. What she lacks in experience she makes up for in talent.”

“She did always have a good grasp on her studies. And she spent more time with her nose in her books than I ever did, if we’re being honest.”

“Are you worried about her Herald?”

“Perhaps a bit. I know she’s capable, more than capable really. But I am the reason she’s here and I don’t know what I would do if something happened to her. At the same time, I also don’t know what I would do without her. She was the only person in the Circle I truly trusted.” And she was all Elazar had left from the Circle. Everyone else they had ever known was gone.

“Well, the faster we can seal the Breach, the faster the two of you can head home.”

“That’s what I hope.”

[Masterlist]

[thedasreacting-blog]

So how about DA:I companions and advisors react to a blood mage Inquisitor? (maybe romanced reactions too?) thank you <3

Thank you for the request, dear anon! I’m sorry this took a bit longer; I wanted to consider each reaction carefully before answering. I hope I did them all justice. Enjoy! ^-^

~Hakkon

Cassandra: When the only survivor of the explosion at the Conclave turns out to be a mage– and a blood mage, at that– it takes a great effort for Cassandra not to antagonize them. She is cautious, to say the least; until the Inquisitor manages to gain her trust, they are on thin ice. A Seeker’s job is to protect, and should they become a danger to innocent people, she will do what must be done– Herald or no Herald.

Cassandra, if romanced: Her lover turns Cassandra’s world upside down in more ways than one. The Inquisitor is everything the Chantry warns about, and yet here they are: helping people, saving lives, mending a broken world by making use of– yes, blood magic. So what if they’re a blood mage? Cassandra is not unreasonable. She can change her opinion based on new information. What she cannot do is stop worrying for her lover’s safety as her heart skips a beat whenever blood is spilled in battle.

Solas: Blood magic is magic like any other, and a most effective tool when properly used. He has said it before, and he will say it time and again when everyone else seems to condemn the Inquisitor for their choices. Solas is curious to find out how they have learned the skill, and always happy to lend his expertise. It is good to have someone who is not indoctrinated by the Chantry around.

Solas, if romanced: He is proud of his vhenan for standing up to a world that would see them slip up and fail. He knows they are more than capable of taking care of themselves, and he does not insult them by offering perfunctory warnings about the dangers of demonic possession. The only grievance Solas nurses is about the difficulties a blood mage faces when attempting to enter the Fade. But even so, he helps the Inquisitor tune their magic to make it easier for the two of them to meet in the realm of dreams.

Vivienne: “A fool,” she calls them. “Irresponsible, weak, and ignorant.” She has no reason to hide her disapproval. Why would she? The situation is crystal clear for Vivienne, and she is not interested in hearing the Inquisitor’s excuses. She has heard it all before. More than anything, Vivienne finds it pitiful. The Inquisitor has the chance to set a positive example as a mage, but they are throwing it all away by resorting to blood magic. Alas. She can only hope that they will find it in themselves to keep it hidden, and not flaunt it in everyone’s face as if it is something to be proud of.

Sera: Wait, this is a joke, right? A bad joke. Inky can’t be a blood mage. That’s just frigging daft! They’re the Herald of Andraste and Andraste hates blood mages. It doesn’t make sense, but they’re here anyway and they help the little people and they stop the baddies, so Sera will make sense of it: Inky is not blood magic; Inky uses blood magic. It’s different, yeah? Just need to keep that demon shite at bay. Can’t stop Cory-friggy if you’re possessed.

Sera, if romanced: Sera isn’t picky with her lovers. She’ll take whoever is right and feels right, and few things are actual deal breakers. Demons and blood magic and Fade rubbish are among them. So here’s the dilemma: Inky feels right, but Inky is a blood mage. And they’re so frigging– normal. Shouldn’t they be scary, with an army of demons following them around, all “Muahahaha!” and “Obey me or perish!”? If some blood mages can be good people– better than all the noble shits she’s met, even– then Andraste may as ruddy well suck it up. Sera loves Inky. They’ve never given her reason not to.

Blackwall: Maker’s balls, now how’s that for a turn of events? “You are who you choose to follow,” says Blackwall as he follows a blood mage. Can’t sink much lower now, can he? He’s well aware he’s in no position to throw stones at the Inquisitor, not after all he’s done. Too many people die in wars that aren’t theirs to fight, and Blackwall knows this better than anyone else. He’ll be there to make sure the Inquisitor won’t hurt the innocent and the helpless; he can promise them as much.

Blackwall, if romanced: Blackwall’s lover is an honorable person, a capable fighter, and a leader worthy of following. It so happens that they’re also a blood mage. Any weapon, when wielded responsibly, can help and protect, and Blackwall is relived that the Inquisitor uses it as such. When they’re fighting demons, he throws himself in battle harder than anyone else, and the demons meet his sword before they get a chance to take notice of the Inquisitor, always a few feet behind his protective shield.

Cole: “Blood that burns and boils and bites. It’s an old song they know, but they can’t sing it. It’s real, more real than they’ll ever be, and they want in. They don’t want to hurt you. They want to be like you. If you bind me, they’ll stop. The other mages will stop too. We’ll both be safe. Please, please– don’t let them use me.”

The Iron Bull: Demons crap and Fade crap and blood magic crap were to be expected when he joined the Inquisition, but Bull always assumed they would fight all that shit. Turns out, the blood mage is not only on their side, but also leading them. As uncomfortable as he is with this arrangement, he can tell the Inquisitor’s intentions are sincere. “You should’ve been a ‘Vint, boss,” he says and he laughs, but his good eye scans their face for signs betraying hidden motives all the same.

The Iron Bull, if romanced: His kadan is the toughest, wisest, most beautiful person Bull’s ever met. The fact that they choose to practice blood magic doesn’t change this reality one bit. Through them he learns how to allow himself to love and trust the things he was trained to be apprehensive of his whole life. The Inquisitor is what the Qun hates and fears the most, but at the end of the day Bull loves them enough to make up for it.

Dorian: He’s seen enough blood magic for a lifetime, and recognizes the Inquisitor as a blood mage before they even have the chance to practice their skill in front of him. Blood magic is not inherently dangerous or evil, no. Few things are. But the temptation to push for more is always there, and Dorian worries, but jokes about it nonetheless, as he always does.

Dorian, if romanced: “Please be careful. Please don’t do anything stupid,” he thinks. “Ah, isn’t it wonderful? Just like home,” he says. Dorian’s amatus is a blood mage, and the notion alone makes his own blood run cold. He loves them, he trusts them, and he knows that they wouldn’t turn against him. Not all blood mages will try to break his mind– Dorian knows this. There’s a long way from knowing to truly, genuinely believing, and each day spent with the Inquisitor is one step closer.

Leliana: Sister Nightingale is one of the first to hear the rumor that the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but doesn’t jump to conclusions before checking the information with the Inquisitor themselves. “Nowadays a mage sneezes and someone will cry blood magic.” It’s a risk they’re taking, yes, but she’s unfazed because she trusts they’re capable enough to hold their own. If the Hero of Ferelden is a blood mage too, she’s even more adamant in supporting the Inquisitor.

Cullen: Out of all people who could have found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, it had to be a blood mage that would survive the explosion at the Conclave. It had to be a blood mage that would end up leading their efforts to stop Corypheus. For a long time, Cullen is suspicious and uncomfortable around the Inquisitor. Years upon years of templar training aren’t so easily forgotten. Torture at the hands of blood mages even less so. Despite all this, he’s willing to give them a chance. Just the one. 

Cullen, if romanced: Relationships between mages and templars are strictly forbidden by the Circle. “You must act quickly, without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded.” But he’s no longer a templar, the Circle is no more, and the Inquisitor might be a blood mage, but they’re not a monster, not like the Chantry teaches. They’re putting themselves at risk, more so than being a mage already entails, and he shudders to think about everything that could go wrong. Andraste preserve him, he can’t lose them this way. He will not lose them. 

Josephine: Josephine is not particularly well-versed in matters pertaining to the arcane, but two things she knows for sure: 1. blood magic is dangerous, and 2. blood magic is scandalous. While the Inquisitor may be able to deal with the former on their own, the latter falls on her. There is no way the nobles houses of southern Thedas would ever publicly support a Chantry-shunned organization led by a blood mage. Josephine does admire and respect the Inquisitor, but at the same time she wishes they would be a little bit more discreet with the blood magic. “It is such a terrible mess to clean up.”

Josephine, if romanced: The Inquisitor and the ambassador being involved romantically is already seen as outrageous by many. The Inquisitor being a blood mage and involved romantically with the ambassador is truly the stuff of legend– and not the good kind, Josephine fears. In spite of all this, she’s willing to go to great lengths to protect them from the public’s unforgiving eye as well as she possibly can. She doesn’t doubt her lover’s ability to defend themselves, yet each time the Inquisitor is away, she watches Skyhold’s main gate from behind small windows, with restless steps and her heart in her throat. They have to come back. They always do.

Varric: Well, shit. Blood mages really are like lost socks– they turn up where you least expect them. He’s not surprised, of course, not after meeting Merrill and possibly a mage Hawke. It’s almost funny; ‘Home is where blood mages are’ should be the title of his next book. He doesn’t try to change their mind or convince them to stop. There would be no point in doing that. Still, he does keep a close eye on the Inquisitor lest it all ends in tragedy.