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damallarky · 1 month

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Veilguard Prologue, Part 2: Aisling

Guess who finally finished the second of her pre-Veilguard prologue fics? It's Part 2: Solavellan Bugaloo, and by Bugaloo, I mean an emotional rollercoaster. Things need to get worse before they get better, but don't worry, guys; things will get better. I promise.

Also, my Inquisitor, Aisling, has a stutter. I based it on my own experiences with my (admittedly very mild) stutter and the research I did, but if anyone has any suggestions on how to improve or more accurately represent stuttering, please let me know.

If you prefer, this fic is also on AO3. Check it out!

Summary:

Solas's plans will soon come to fruition, but before he can be free of his debt owed to the People, he must ensure the safety of those he loves most. That is how he finds himself at the home of his heart, the former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan and her (and his) children.

AKA Solas and Aisling have their first honest conversation in a decade. Like I said, it's a rollercoaster. Buckle up, folks.

Mentions of my Inquisitor's children Ren and Neria.

Solas stood out on former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan’s balcony, staring at the dazzling blue of the Rivaini coastline below. The Inquisitor and her family had moved to Rivain a year or two ago, ostensibly to be closer to Aisling’s older brother Arin, who was currently living with a certain Tevinter Magister, but also to get away from the ruins of their former home after the demon incident at Skyhold had nearly leveled the place.

Another one of Solas’s many, many failings.

However, Solas quite liked the new home Aisling had built for herself. It was a stone cottage that seemed to be built into the very cliffside it stood on, with stone steps leading directly to the beach and ocean below. Inside, it was homely, with plush carpets and furs, plants in the windows, and books scattered about the place. Momentos from Aisling’s time as the Inquisitor filled the various nooks and crannies, and nearly every wall had some example of art made by her children over the years.

Solas had wished he could have explored further and delved into the life Aisling had led the past decade. But he thought better of it, content to wait in her bedroom until she returned, as she had asked him to do.

Solas had informed Aisling of his arrival, of course. He had sought her out in the Fade and asked her permission to speak with her and see her. His plans were approaching fruition. In fact, they needed to be expedited if he was correct in his assumption on the strength of the Evunaris’s prison. He had taken the necessary precautions. Ran countless calculations to ensure the minimum amount of damage, but…

Solas’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing. Slowly, he turned around and, for the first time since the Qunari invasion, he saw her.

At thirty-four, former Inquisitor Aisling Lavellan looked much the same as she had the last time he had seen her, except, of course, for the prosthetic arm, a strange contraption of gears and lyrium that had the markings of a Dagna creation. Her hair was perhaps a bit longer, currently out of her usual braided updo and hanging in loose curls down her back. Her face, too, was perhaps a bit more worn, age and duty just barely beginning to etch fine lines onto her freckled skin. To Solas, however, she was just as beautiful now as she was when he first saw her in Haven all those years ago… a perfect creature in an imperfect world.

He and his kin had once claimed divinity, but before him was a true goddess. She with her soul that shone bright enough to pierce even the darkest parts of his ancient and wretched heart. His fire-haired lady, with her boundless compassion and endless curiosity. The top of her head just barely reached the bottom of Solas’s chin (perfect, he remembered, for tucking her close to him and breathing in the wool and amber scent of her hair), but still, Solas felt small underneath her gaze. He had to fight every instinct not to throw himself at her feet and declare himself her supplicant. To grovel and plead for her forgiveness for being the penitent sinner that he was.

He could not, however. Not while his people still suffered. Not while he still had to fix the mistakes of his past. A sinner he was indeed and there was penance still to be paid… the price of which was the loss of his heart.

He had only wished that he did not have to take her down with him.

Solas had hoped against hope that Aisling would forget him. That she would move on to someone else, someone younger and more worthy of her love. But as the years went on, she had only doubled down on her efforts to find him and bring him home to her. He had read the reports from his agents about how she would work herself to the point of exhaustion. Had listened to her desperate pleas and disparaging cries from the Fade.

He had wanted her so desperately to live, but instead, she was slowly killing herself, bit by bit. His plan to bring down the Veil would only be the final nail in her coffin.

Then, of course, there was Neria… And Ren.

Neria was, much like her mother, a complication he had not foreseen but, also like her mother, could not bring himself to regret. Solas had made so, so many mistakes in his life, but never would he consider Neria among them. Not when his heart swelled with pride as he read reports from his spies that mentioned her cleverness or nearly burst with love as he watched her from a distance while she played and explored the Fade with spirits of Joy and Curiosity.

Each night, Solas wanted desperately to reach out, to talk to her. To close the gap between himself and his daughter that he had unknowingly carved out nearly twelve years ago, and that only seemed to grow with each passing day.

He knew so little about his own child, and what details he did know were shallow things he knew only through his network of spies (and whatever Joy and Curiosity would share with him). He knew that she loved reading, but he did not know what her favorite books were. He knew she had inherited his sweet tooth, but he did not know which sweets she preferred. He knew that she had a love of animals, but which ones Solas could not say.

His child was practically a stranger to him as he was to her, and oh, did that make him want to weep.

Ren was similar, but different. Unlike Neria, Ren wasn’t Solas’s child by blood, but rather the child of Aisling’s late bond mate who had died before the little boy was even born. Though not related by blood, Solas still felt attached to him. Protective of him, even. He remembered fondly showing the then two-year-old how to build snowmen in Haven, or the shrieks of joy as Solas summoned wisps of light to play with him, or how the boy would toddle after him while he painted in the rotunda of Skyhold. Then, as he and Aisling grew closer, how he would help her put him to bed, telling him stories in Elvhen until the toddler drifted off into the Fade.

After Solas had left, he had felt his loss as keenly as he did Aisling’s and then, later, Neria’s. Regretted the pain he caused just as deeply. In the Fade, he watched as the boy grew into a kind, thoughtful young man, with a spirit much like his mother’s. Ren did not shy away from the denizens of the Fade (Curiosity was particularly attached to him and was often seen in his company if they weren’t entertaining Neria) but engaged with them as well. It was the same in the waking world, if Solas’s agents were to be believed. In their reports, which Solas had started to think were filled with such details for some ulterior motive, they would mention how mature Ren was for his age. How kind and thoughtful he could be.

Solas would have been proud to call him his son, if Ren and Aisling would have let him have that honor.

Yes, he had a duty to his people and a duty to every modern Elf in Thedas. Still, he could not deny that he had a duty to his children as well and, of course, their mother.

Which, Solas had to remind himself, was why he was here. To warn them.

That, and to see them one last time.

“Inquisitor.” He said, voice gruff. “You look… well.”

That was when he heard the growling. From behind Aisling leapt a large mabari, it’s coat a bluish silver hue in the evening light. The war hound put itself between Solas and the Inquisitor, fangs bared and growling warningly. Solas stood his ground, staring directly into the mabari’s eyes in challenge, his own figurative hackles raised. The mabari, to its credit, merely flinched but did not back down from what it now realized was no mere man.

“Sathan, Fenan,” Aisling said, grabbing the dog by its massive collar. It was so large she had to use both hands. “Atish dur!”

The mabari, Fenan, stopped growling at once, though he seemed reluctant to retreat entirely.

“Is ju teldin nuem,” she promised, rubbing the dog’s neck. Satisfied, the great beast trotted off, choosing to sit by the door where he continued to watch Solas like a hawk.

“I’m…” Aisling began, “I’m s-sorry. He isn’t n-n-no-normally like this…”

Solas noticed her stammer, which was usually worse when she was excited or tense. Or frightened. He hoped that it wasn’t the latter.

“When did you get a mabari?” Solas asked, desperately trying to keep his voice casual.

“He was a gift for Neria. Cullen’s mabari had puppies, and he let her and Ren p-pick one each.”

“A fine gift. I have heard that there is no better a companion than a mabari.”

“He and Neria are normally attached at the hip, but he wouldn’t leave my side this evening. He must have sensed s-something was off, and unlike Ren’s mabari, Fenan can be stubborn.

“…Ah.”

“Indeed.”

“Inq-“ he began but stopped himself. They were beyond titles now. “Aisling. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Aisling nodded curtly.

“P-p-pl-ple-“ she gave a frustrated sigh, shoulders slumping as her mouth refused to form the words. She tried again. “P-please sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace before sitting down in the one opposite it. Solas sat down, perhaps a bit reluctantly. He felt a sudden onslaught of nervousness overcome him, being in her presence again after so long.

“You said that you needed to speak with me?” Aisling asked.

Solas took in a deep breath. Exhaled.

“I will be bringing down the Veil soon,” he said. The silence that followed nearly made him wince.

Solas watched as Aisling’s expression went from shocked to furious to exhausted in mere seconds before she turned and stared into the fire, face unreadable once more.

“Aisling, I-“

“When?” she asked, cutting him off.

Solas sighed.

“Less than a year,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Possibly sooner, he thought, if the Evunaris keep chipping away at their prison.

He could feel Aisling’s penetrating gaze on him now, but he could not bring himself to look her in the eye. When he finally worked up the courage to lift his head, he saw Aisling with her chin resting in her hand, her real hand, as she stared pensively into the fireplace.

They sat there in silence, the only noises being the sound of the waves being carried through the open window and the crackling of the fireplace before them.

“Neria will be turning twelve this year,” Aisling intoned, almost casually, before fixing Solas with a penetrating stare, “will… will she even live to see it? What about Ren?”

Solas felt as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath him.

“That is…” he swallowed hard. “That is why I wished to speak with you. I am doing my utmost to minimize the damage bringing down the Veil will cause,” he explained, his words tumbling out of him faster and faster as he went on. “And while I believe I am close to a solution that I believe will benefit the most amount of people in the long run-“

Aisling stared at him slack jawed and in disbelief. She looked at Solas as if he had sprouted a second head.

“-I cannot guarantee Ren or Neria’s safety, unless…

“…Unless what, Solas?” Aisling asked, the apprehension clear in her voice.

“…Unless the three of you go into hiding. I have a few locations, safe houses where I believe the three of you can wade out the worst of what is to come.”

The silence that followed then was nearly deafening. It was deadly quiet; no noise seemed to pierce through whatever spell befell the two of them, not the fire dancing in the fireplace or the waves outside of the window, or even the whining of the mabari still at Aisling’s door.

Aisling stood up from her chair, slowly, as if possessed.

“What?” she asked, her voice colder than ice. Her tone cut right to Solas’s core, and he winced. Aisling then began to pace erratically, back and forth in front of the fireplace like a caged animal.

“Aisling,” he pleaded as he watched her pace, “if you never believe another word I say, please believe this: I promise that I will do everything in my power to keep the three of you safe.”

Aisling stopped her pacing to swing around and face him.

“Everything, except stopping this madness!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up in frustration.

“Do you think I take joy in this?” Solas snapped. “Do you think I want to bring destruction upon the people of this world?”

“So you c-claim, and yet you still continue with a plan to do just that!”

Solas wanted to scream. Why couldn’t Aisling see? Why couldn’t she understand?

“What I do,” he said through clenched teeth, “I do for the betterment of the People. By bringing down the Veil, the lives of Ren and Neria, and Elven children across Thedas would be improved!”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT, SOLAS!” Aisling yelled. “BY BRINGING DOWN THE VEIL YOU CAN JUST AS EASILY GET THEM KILLED!”

Something deep inside Solas, something that he kept carefully buried away for eons, snapped. He leaped from his chair as if burned.

“I HAVE ALREADY KILLED THEM!” he yelled back. “AS I HAVE ALREADY KILLED YOU AND EVERY OTHER ELF IN THEDAS!”

Solas’s ears began to ring, and his legs felt like jelly. Then they gave out completely, and he fell to his knees before the former Inquisitor.

“Do you not see?” He cried, pleadingly, silently begging her to understand. “By creating the Veil, I have already condemned you, condemned both of our children, to death. I have destroyed…”

Solas felt himself trail off, unable to finish his sentence as he struggled to breathe. He felt the guilt of thousands upon thousands of deaths wrap around his neck like a hangman’s noose. Elf or spirit- at this point it hardly mattered. He could feel the weight of all the races of Thedas, every living soul that ever was and would ever be, as they cried out for justice. He could feel their spectral hands grab at the noose around his neck and pull and pull and pull…

“…I have destroyed everything.” He choked out.

Aisling knelt beside him. She took him into her arms and held him tightly, rubbing circles into his back in a soothing gesture. He buried his face into her shoulder, heedless of the snot and the tears he was surely getting all over her as he wept like he hadn’t wept in an age, thousands of years' worth of grief pouring out of him in waves that would have pulled him under were it not for Aisling’s anchoring presence.

“Ar lath ma,” he wept, “ma vhenan, ma ghi’lal elen. Ar lath ma sul bellanaris, i ir abelas.”

“Tel abelas,” Aisling muttered, her own tears spilling down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of Solas’s head while he continued to sob onto her shoulder.

“I am trapped. Trapped on a path I no longer wish to walk.”

“You need not walk it alone, Solas, if you must walk it at all,” she grabbed him by the face, stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. “P-p-pl-please ma lath, if this is something you must do, then let us find a way to do it together. Safely.”

“I…”

For one brief, shining moment, Solas considered it. Aisling had done the impossible before. But this…

No. He couldn’t do that. Not to her. Never to her.

“I cannot,” he said, fervently shaking his head, “I cannot do that to you, Aisling. Please do not ask that of me.”

Aisling let go of him and sat there on the floor in front of her fireplace, looking as broken and defeated as Solas had ever seen her. He hated that he was the cause of it. Solas needed to leave… Leave before he broke her heart even further. With great effort, he hauled himself to his feet.

“I will send word,” he said, his voice hoarse and hallow, “when I have found a suitable location to keep you and the children safe from the worst of the fallout. I am sorry, Aisling.”

Slowly, Solas made his way towards the door, each step a struggle. He hadn’t made it far, however, when he heard Aisling call out for him.

“Solas, wait,” she said. “P-please don’t leave. Not yet.”

He shut his eyes tightly, knowing that, deep down, he should leave before he did any more damage. However, the part of him that was more impulsive and reckless, that was more wolf than man and that kissed her back in the Fade over a decade ago, demanded that he stay. Stay and bask in her presence for as long as he could before he would no longer have the chance to.

Solas turned around and sat back down in the chair. In the end, he didn’t stand a chance.

The silence that followed was painful. Aisling seemed just as surprised that he had chosen to stay as he was.

“How is Ren?” He asked, eventually wanting to keep things civil while also learning as much about the children he abandoned as he could while he could.

“Tall,” she said, “taller than me now,” Aisling smiled softly and stared into the distance, looking at something only she could see. “Ren’s been doing well here in Rivain, though he misses Skyhold t-terribly. He’s been learning magic from myself and Dorian, when he has the time. He’s picking it up fast; I’m proud of him. Dorian even has Ren help him with his research sometimes.”

Solas wanted to ask about what they were researching, but he kept it to himself. It wasn’t his business.

“Ren has also taken quite a liking to p-painting over the last few years. He wants to try a fresco at some point…”

“A fresco?” Solas asked, feeling his heart skip a beat.

“A fresco,” she said with a nod and a knowing smile. “He’s been mostly sticking to canvas, but if he is serious about it, and I believe he is, I can think of a few places here he c-could try it out on.”

“I…” Solas faltered, unsure if he was about to cross some sort of boundary, “…I could send for the type of paint he would need. Brushes as well.”

His fears were unfounded, however. Aisling beamed, clearly happy with the idea.

“He would like that,” she said.

The room delved into awkward silence once more.

“Have you b-been well?” She asked.

Solas couldn’t help the huff that escaped him.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I have been… well enough.”

Aisling quirked an eyebrow, doubt written plainly on her face before she burst into raucous laughter.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes, “it’s just… Neria does the exact same thing, you know? When she’s been c-caught in a lie and doesn’t want to answer. She evades the question.”

“I was not evading the question.”

“Neria says the exact same thing.”

He snorted. Then frowned.

“Neria lies?” he asked, not at all liking the implications, whispers of traitor, harellen, echoing in his skull. Aisling gave him a sympathetic look.

“She’s eleven, Solas.” She said, fondness in her voice. Whether it was for him or for Neria, Solas could not say. “She’s eleven and she has a t-tendency to sneak live animals into her room when she thinks no one is watching.”

“…live animals?”

“Oh yes… You should have seen the snake brood she incubated.”

“Does she have any preference when it comes to animals?” Solas asked, eager for any scrap of information he could gather on his little girl. His da’vhenan.

“Well, she loves wolves,” said Aisling. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she added, “No idea where that came from…”

“A coincidence, I’m sure,” said Solas, unable to stop himself from grinning.

“Of course,” Aisling replied, a small smirk on her face. “She also loves reptiles. And that one, truly, is a mystery to me.”

“She likes… reptiles?”

“Yes. Lizards, snakes, turtles. We see them all the time here in Rivain. She and Ren will spend hours down by the shore looking for them.”

“And does she find any?”

“Usually. She’ll often sketch the ones she finds in her notebook and show them to me. She’s gotten quite g-g-g-goo…” Aisling let out another frustrated sigh, “…she draws very well, too. You would be proud.”

“I am,” Solas declared. “Proud of her, that is. Proud of both of them… even though I know I have no right to be.”

Hastily, he swiped the moisture from his eyes. If Aisling noticed, she didn’t comment on it, merely stared at him sadly. There was so much he had missed because of his duties. First words and steps. Their first sparks of magic. He should have been there for all of it. Should have been there to watch them learn and grow and…

You should be there for them now, a voice in his head hissed.

And he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to… To give up on his wretched goals and go hunt for lizards on the beach with Neria and teach Ren how to paint frescos.

He felt himself spiraling once more, dangling on the edge of some dark precipice, when Aisling gently touched his hand, bringing him back to himself with a start.

“I-“ he began, “Forgive me, I-“

“Solas, would you like to learn more about her? Ren as well?” Aisling asked kindly.

It was not often that Solas found himself at a loss for words. This time, however, he couldn’t seem to be able to get any past the lump firmly lodged in his throat. He could only nod enthusiastically.

And that was how, hours later, the two of them ended up on the rug in front of Aisling’s fireplace. She had regaled him with as many stories of Neria and Ren as she could. Many of them were tiny, inconsequential things, but to Solas, each little tidbit of information was as precious to him as any jewel.

He laughed right along with Aisling as she told him of the time Neria brought a toad she found to her Aunt Vivienne’s fancy dinner party. Both Neria and Ren had tried to catch it, but the frog was apparently evasive and had landed right on the lap of one of the Orlesian noblemen. He was also surprised, pleasantly so, to find out that Vivienne had apparently found it just as hilarious and had a habit of serving that particular Orlesian frog legs whenever she hosted him.

He marveled at the tale of how the children discovered their respective magic; Ren apparently summoned wisps of light one night when he woke up to find his room frighteningly dark, only to excitedly show off his new trick to his mother the very next morning. Neria and Solas couldn’t help the bark of laughter that came from him when he heard the tale, he had accidentally summoned fire. Apparently, her Uncle Dorian had been showing the little girl magic tricks involving small flames, only for Neria to decide she wanted to try it herself. It was a surprise to them both when she summoned her own flames, and luckily, the only damage done was to Dorian’s mustache... And, perhaps, his pride.

He felt a spike of righteous fury when he learned that the Iron Bull had apparently promised both children to take them dragon hunting and only calmed once Aisling told him that she herself had promised the Qunari that she would turn the Iron Bull into the Iron Steer if he ever dared pull such a stunt. Solas couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. Apparently, the subject had never been brought up since.

So caught up in absorbing as much information about the children as he could, he didn’t notice how the two of them were slowly inching their way closer and closer to one another until they had both subconsciously reached for the other’s hand, entwining their fingers together like that was where they belonged. Solas was the first to notice, looking down at his long, slender hand as it engulfed her much smaller one. Aisling followed his gaze and blushed furiously.

She didn’t, Solas noticed, remove her hand.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Solas,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Ah. She is privy to my ways, it seems…”

Solas thought of how best to answer her. The simple answer was that he was painfully lonely, scared, and unsure. But he didn’t want to tell her that. Not after everything else, he laid at her feet. He had already burdened her with enough worries for one night.

He didn’t want to tell her of the nightmares that came more and more frequently as of late. Of the Evunaris breaking free from their prison and hunting him down, hunting Aisling and the children down. Images of their corpses haunted his dreams, and many nights, he would wake up with a scream, so panicked, so unwilling to return to the Fade that was once his home, that he would simply stare at the ceiling until dawn came.

Nor did it feel right to complain about how isolated he felt. How his home, the Lighthouse, that was once a place of refuge, had become something of a prison. How alone he felt as he ate after sharing so many meals with the Inquisition… With his friends... With her… How he had simply started skipping meals, just so he wouldn’t have to eat alone at his long table, meant for more than one single, solitary old fool.

He couldn’t tell her those things. Those were his burdens to bear. Problems of his own doing that he could do nothing but endure alone. He could, however, give her one simple truth.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, finally. “Terribly, in fact.”

At that, Aisling leaned forward, her large green eyes sparkling in the firelight. She was very close to him now, close enough that he could have easily run his thumb across her cheek or tuck a lock of bright red hair behind her ear. For a moment, Solas could have sworn he could smell the scent of wool and amber.

“Truly?” she asked.

“Truly,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Truly, madly, and deeply.”

“Sweet talker,” she replied, and before he knew what was happening, Aisling grabbed him by the collar and kissed him passionately. Then she pulled back, her eyelashes fluttering, and Solas knew if she had asked him at that very moment to give up his mission, he would have done it. Laid down his arms and throw himself at her mercy.

(Months later, trapped in a prison of his own making, Solas would replay this scene in his head over and over again, silently wishing Aisling had asked him and that he wasn’t such a coward so he could have made that decision himself.)

“Stay with me tonight,” Aisling said in a breathless voice that sent shivers down Solas’s spine. “Just for tonight. Please…”

“Vhenan,” he growled.

“Let us pretend. Just for tonight…”

“We shouldn’t,” Solas said even as he went in for a kiss of his own, his hands finding their favorite spot right above the small of her back.

It was a token resistance, and he knew it.

They barely made it off the rug before they were laughing and tossing aside their clothes (or, in Solas’s case, armor) without a care in the world. Aisling yelped, then laughed brightly as Solas scooped her up, bridal style, and carried her off to her bed, laying her down as gently as he could. He crawled over top of her, and as he did, he lavished her body with kisses, worshiping her.

“Ar lath ma,” he whispered with each kiss pressed against her skin. “Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.”

Finally, as he slid inside of her, his body fitting with hers perfectly as if it had been made that way, he did as Aisling bid him to do and allowed himself to pretend. Pretend that Fen’harel and all his terrible duties were dead and buried with the rest of the Elvhen empire and that he was allowed to be simply Solas, the wandering Elven apostate.

In his mind’s eye, he saw it. The life this Solas led.

Solas, with his clever daughter and thoughtful stepson, whom he would be teaching everything he knew. Magic, the Fade, the Elvhen language, painting, chess… it didn’t matter what. If they were interested, he would teach them. If he didn’t know, then he would learn with them.

And, of course, he would help Neria hunt for lizards by the beach and teach Ren how to bind paint to plaster.

He imagined that they would have more brothers and sisters… as many as Aisling was willing to give him. Multiple sets of tiny, pointed ears surrounded by bright red hair. Multiple little voices all calling him “Papae.”

Solas’s nights would be spent much like this one, with Aisling in his arms. He would card his fingers through her long, red hair. Whisper words of endearment against her skin as they made love, slowly, languidly, and without the baggage from before. There would be no secrets, no duties or guilt to come between them, and he would be free to love the woman who became his heart as she deserved to be loved.

Truly, madly, and deeply.

And each morning, he would wake up to soft, freckled skin against his own and to a smile that was brighter than any sun. Some mornings, he imagined, would start later than others, as he would struggle to keep his hands off her… but eventually, they would make their way down to a long table meant to sit their entire family. Breakfasts would be chaotic, but there would be light and laughter and so, so much love…

He wanted it all so badly.

In the real world, Solas buried his face into Aisling’s shoulder as he continued to thrust desperately into her. He tried not to think about how this might be the last time he would ever see her in person. He tried not to think about how he would be gone before she woke up, how she would reach out for him only to find a cold space where he once lay.

“Var lath vir suledin,” Aisling whispered in his ear as if she sensed his growing despair. She probably did.

Var lath vir suledin. It was a promise that she had made before, and it was a promise that she would keep until the bitter end.

Var lath vir suledin. He didn’t know how. But, at least for tonight anyway, he could pretend that it could.

With that, Solas closed his eyes and allowed himself, just this once, to worry neither about the past nor the future and to let himself simply be lost in the sensation of loving this incredible woman and being loved in turn.

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imakemywings · 3 months

Text

To Lead You to an Overwhelming Question

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solavellan

Summary: Lavellan thinks Solas needs to relax, and Solas is fighting a losing battle.

Length: 3.8k

AN: Dragon Age 4 trailers come out and I run back to decade-old kink meme prompts. This one is for a 2016 prompt requesting Solas and Lavellan taking a bath together with fluffiness and a bit of Lavellan's anxiety. Hope you're all enjoying being dragged back into DA brainrot as much as I am!

AO3 | Pillowfort

The sounds of travelers dining and chattering—and occasionally, of Iron Bull’s booming voice in particular—sounded so clearly through the floorboards it was as if Solas had never left the room at all. Normally he might have even enjoyed being amongst them—there was, at times, something comforting about being lost in a sea of voices, unobserved, unnoticed. But that night he preferred the space to himself, and he suspected it would be hours before his companions retired to join him in either of the rooms Lavellan had booked for them there.

She found him there, facedown on one of the beds, not sleeping, and not particularly relaxed.

“Solas?”

“Did you need something?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his forearms.

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I only—wanted to see how you were doing.” Solas could tell himself she’d do the same for anyone else in the group—and likely, she would. But when Blackwall had remarked, offhandedly amidst another conversation, that Solas was special to Lavellan, he had struggled to come up with a believable disagreement.

“Fine,” he said, I f a little tersely.

“If you have the time, we should clean it,” she said. Solas suppressed a sigh. She was right, of course, but he would rather be left to lay like a rag doll on the thin straw mattress and not have to be responsible about things.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said, and didn’t add the rest. He peeled himself off the mattress and followed Lavellan downstairs and out back behind the inn. Rocking forward on the soles of her feet, she presented him with not a basin to wash up in, but a full bath, water steaming no doubt from one of her spells. He thought he caught the scent of embrium wafting off the surface. He blinked. Lavellan looked enthused about this, and he could gather she meant it as a gesture.

It was a leaky wooden tub dumped into the pebbly dirt behind a roadside inn in the middle of ass-fuck-nowhere, Ferelden.

“I thought it might be more pleasant,” she said. “And I’m sure the rest of you needs cleaning too!” She smiled and so Solas began removing clothes. What did it matter that he recalled the bathhouses of Arlathan in gilt marble, when Lavellan had arranged this one just for him, filled and heated the tub herself?

When one spent as much time on the road as they did, one became accustomed to limited personal space. Solas was more than habituated to standing calf-deep in icy mountain streams, hurriedly scrubbing days of sweat off himself alongside Varric, Dorian, Blackwall, and the others—even occasionally joining in their banter and horseplay. Even, at times, with the women of the Inquisition, though with no horseplay and considerably less banter, usually owing to a certain amount of rush on account of Inquisition business.

But that was different than stripping down with no one but Lavellan there, even if she politely turned her attention to the bath, as if the temperature of it might need some careful moderating.

“Thank you, Guinevere,” he said, sliding off his jawbone necklace to drop onto the pile of his clothes.

“Hot baths can fix quite a lot, I think,” she said, turning again as he stepped into the water so she still saw nothing of him.

On that account, certainly, he couldn’t argue; it was all he could do to suppress a groan of relief as he sank into the water, steam briefly enveloping his face.

“It’s rather large,” he observed in some surprise. If she had told him “the inn has a bathtub” he would have expected something that would leave him with his knees jammed up into his face, assuming he could sit down in it at all, but the tub was fairly roomy. His next words came out of his mouth before he could appeal to the better angels of his common sense: “You could join me.”

Lavellan’s attention snapped over to him and suddenly she was twisting her hands about in front of her and turning those great brown eyes up to the sky and shuffling her bare feet on the dirt.

“Ah, well, I…”

Solas had flustered her, and he found it utterly and entirely impossible to deny the pleased pride that ballooned in his chest about that, no matter how little business he had feeling that way. He mostly managed to keep from smirking while Lavellan dithered.

“I suppose I could,” she allowed at length, slowly removing the jerkin over her dress. “I’m sure I need it too!” But this time there was a nervous, girlish pitch in her laugh. “Ah, but first, let me have a look at it, won’t you, hahren?”

Now he knew she was trying to mollify him; this term she almost never used anymore outside of inquiring as to his areas of expertise: she was trying to flatter him with a show of respect. It only made him feel more the crotchety old man, but it was sweet, too, and so he sighed and leaned forward, elbows on the edges of the tub.

“Ah…” Lavellan moved to stand behind him, and ran her fingers over the inflamed flesh around the gash between his shoulder blades, her touch cool to the angry skin. “Yes, this should be cleaned…” She took up a small, worn cloth draped over the side of the tub, dipped it in the water, then cooled it before she began to carefully dab at the edges of the wound.

Solas focused on his breathing and intermittently noticed the rigidity of his back and shoulders. Lavellan had healing abilities; he had seen her tend the wounds of others in the Inquisition. And yet…

(When was the last time someone other than himself had cared for his wounds?)

The cloth moved away from his injury, passing over undamaged flesh on his back before darting back to wipe around it once more. Solas breathed in and out and told himself it was the perfunctory touch of a healer and nothing more.

“You needn’t be embarrassed about it,” she said gently then, which of course, only made Solas feel it the more keenly. “It was a difficult fight. You were not the only one injured.”

What he could not say to her was that it simply was not the same. And, in this instance, no one else’s injuries had been of the severity of his own, a consequence of both of the weakness still lingering after his awakening, and his recklessness in combat, which had been an enemy of his for years.

“I should have been more careful,” was what he said.

“We all make mistakes,” Lavellan said, and Solas bit back a hiss as she dribbled a bit of water over the wound to sluice it out.

“Some cannot afford to do so,” he replied. “We are among them.”

“If we must be infallible to succeed, we are bound to fail,” Lavellan murmured.

Even outdoors, the clamor of the dining room could be faintly heard, and in the other direction, the chittering of birds in the trees. The water of the bath sloshed quietly each time Lavellan rinsed the cloth.

At length, she said: “But that is why we have a team. Where one fails, the others may recover.” She hesitated only briefly before adding: “We look after each other.”

Solas stared into the thin semicircle of trees around the backside of the property and tried to think of the kind of trite, reassuring thing to say that would be appropriate. Before he could get there, he was distracted by Lavellan’s cloth on his shoulders and the back of his neck and automatically his attention returned to her.

“Guinevere?”

“I was here already,” she responded cheerfully, stroking the cloth down his upper arm. He froze, again lost for the right thing to say if for entirely different reasons, and then she froze, and for a moment they must have made a ridiculous tableau. Then she moved away, over to where he could see her clearly, and offered him the cloth.

“Unless you prefer to do it yourself,” she amended. “I did not mean to overstep; I’m sorry.”

“You have never,” Solas said quickly. “Please, if you—if you wish, you may continue.” For his part, he tried only not to shudder when he felt her touch resume. At once he was far too aware of his physical form: of the racing of his heart, the beat of his blood in his ears, the thorough care of Lavellan’s hands as she wiped the grime of travel and war from his body (he even felt the studious tickling of the cloth behind his ears).

His thoughts were a storm-wrecked sea; he could make sense of none of them; they beat too loudly and violently against the rocks. The only one which surfaced clearly was a sharp awareness that he could not recall that anyone had ever touched him precisely as Lavellan was doing then, with such care and concern and—

You’re special to her, Blackwall had said.

I can’t be! Solas wanted to scream.

He couldn’t even try to make the reverse argument; it wasn’t worth the wasted breath. No one else in the Inquisition did he give as much time as Lavellan, and it was wholly apart from her organizational identity. But to break his own heart was a burden he would simply have to bear; to break hers…

When he managed to pull himself back onto the beach of his mind, Lavellan was sitting on the edge of the tub, taking his hand in hers, eyes cast down at her work while she rubbed clean his hand and wrist. Each fingernail she gave a little scrub and he could feel the callouses on the hand grasping his, and he felt lightheaded. Lavellan did not touch him with the reverence of a devotee nor the cold dismissal of an employer; he wanted never to move, to feel her at these ministrations with the rag for the rest of time, and he wanted to grab her hands and kiss every knuckle and every line.

By the time Solas managed to reign in the half of his mind intent on fantasizing about meeting Lavellan in Arlathan, she was sheepishly offering him the rag.

“I imagine the rest you’ll want to do yourself,” she said. Automatically, Solas took the cloth and began a rapid, rote scrubbing of the rest of himself, still dazed.

That was how he missed that Lavellan was undressing.

Because he, stupid fool, had invited her into the bath with him.

She too, was accustomed to bathing with company, he imagined. She had been on the road with the Inquisition nearly as long as he had, and even before that it must have been typical for her. As he saw and understood, privacy was virtually nonexistent among the Dalish; their lifestyle simply did not allow for compunctions about doing virtually anything in full view of other people.

Yes, he had seen her naked before. But there was a difference—a vast, perhaps insurmountable difference, he was learning presently—between catching a glimpse of her a few yards down the river out of the corner of his eye, or staring intently at her face to avoid looking lower while he answered a question, and having her standing overhim near enough that he had to turn his face away to avoid being directly eye-level with the nest of tight black curls between her legs.

Hastily, he attempted to make room for her, idiotically moving his feet apart in an effort to get his legs out of the way so that he effectively invited her to come sit between them.

Perhaps it would have been better if he had never woken up at all.

Fortunately she only laughed a little and stepped delicately into the water, tucking herself against the far rim with a quiet noise of pleasure. Aware that the water had cooled since they began, Solas warmed it again with a gesture of his hand and Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

“Ah, that’s nice,” she sighed.

“I should return the favor for you,” Solas said, sending down a cascade of water as he jumped to his feet. Lavellan’s eyes fixed demurely on the place where the wall of the inn met the dirt; he hurriedly moved out of the tub so she had room to stretch herself out a little more. “If I haven’t spoilt that rag entirely.”

“It can’t be dirtier than I am already,” Lavellan chuckled wearily, tipping her head back against the rim of the tub. Nevertheless, he gave it a good rinse, and Lavellan leaned forward so he could get at her back.

Hours in the Haven jail he had held her hand, draped her limp body over his lap as he picked and puzzled at the anchor in rising frustration and desperation. If he had known a way to do it, he would have killed her then to take it back. But as he had learned when she invited him to show her a few spellcasting tricks, there was yet another difference in handling an unconscious body, and being welcomed to touch a person.

Water glistened off her dark skin and as Solas wiped the rag over her back and shoulders, so simple a motion that felt like running his hands over the firmament, he observed a small scar on her right shoulder.

“What’s this?” he asked, pressing a finger against it.

“Oh,” she said, and then gave a small laugh. She did not withdraw from the touch. “An effort at Dalish entertainment.” When Solas’ only answer was puzzled silence, she elaborated: “We like archery competitions. Only when you’re of a young enough age, you’re meant to be observed by an adult.”

“Ah, I see.” Some amusement crept into his voice.

“Well, you know how young ones are. One of the children around my age forgot to wait for the rest of us to finish gathering our arrows before taking another shot.”

Solas fingered the scar, envisioning Lavellan as a gap-toothed child, running through the fields of the Dales or under the canopy of the Emerald Graves, mimicking the way she saw her elders handle a bow.

“Everyone else was mostly cross he got us in trouble.”

“And you?”

“I was rather more concerned with the arrow, as you might imagine. Although I was also unhappy to be in trouble.” She laughed. “There is a particular shame in being scolded by a healer trying to fix you up.” Solas wrapped the cloth over one finger, and gently scraped behind Lavellan’s ears, observing the tiny wisps of hair that curled there, little locks much too short to make it into her braids. Now that it was he with the license to touch her, he could not have imagined doing less than a thorough job on every square centimeter of her. “That is one thing which prepared me for this, I suppose,” she said meditatively.

“And what is that?”

“Part of a keeper’s job is keeping social harmony within the clan,” said Lavellan. “That means she can spend a lot of time mediating small disputes. Many of these she might delegate to a first, if she has one.”

“Ah, so you were the arbiter of Clan Lavellan’s petty squabbles,” said Solas. No wonder she was patient; he could not have imagined a less desirable job himself if he tried.

“Often, yes,” she said. “And it is a skill I have found quite useful in the Inquisition!”

“I imagine so,” he agreed. “Would you lift your arm?” She did, and he wiped along the underside of it, and then went to wash her underarm, but there she squealed and flinched away.

“Not like that, that tickles,” she objected.

“My apologies,” Solas said graciously. “Allow me.” And as soon as she had exposed her armpit again he did the exact same thing, making her yelp and spin around to look at him, water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

“Terrible!” she cried. “What a liar you are!” But he could see her lips twitching, trying not to smile and so it was impossible not to return the look.

“Perhaps I should allow you to finish yourself,” he said, holding the rag out to her. Lavellan responded by giving him a face full of used bathwater and as he crouched naked in the dirt, dripping wet and taken by surprise, Solas could not stop himself from full-throated laughter. Lavellan’s smile appeared clearly and she snatched back the rag.

“Some Inquisitorial advisor you are,” she sniffed.

“I never saidI wouldn’t do it again,” he pointed out as Lavellan scrubbed at her legs and feet.

“Tch. If I were your keeper I’d give you a time out,” she said, and Solas laughed again.

“Oh, yes? And what does that entail?”

“Naughty children go sit away from their toys and the other children to think about what they’ve done,” Lavellan said, bending over to splash water on her face.

“So this is a punishment for children?”

“If you behave like a child, why shouldn’t I scold you like a child?” she asked, looking up at him, and Solas bit down on a grin.

“I suppose that is fair,” he said with feigned gravity.

“Now, are you going to finish washing up?”

As it turned out, even with a larger-than-expected tub, there was not a great deal of room for two people, so they settled for taking turns. Lavellan sat on the rim with her feet in the water while Solas a enjoyed the tub, and then they traded. As mages, they could keep it warm as long as they liked, and it did feel positively divine on joints and muscles sore from travel and combat, so they had no rush.

Lavellan gleamed in the fading afternoon light and Solas’ eyes traced the path of stretchmarks on her hip he could have reached out and touched. Perhaps she even would have let him. Her own gaze was fixed off in the distance, and Solas did not have to be a reader of minds to guess the Inquisition was weighing on her. As with his own burden, he imagined it was a constant companion—it was just that sometimes she was able to subordinate it to other things.

“This was a kind thing of you to do,” he said quietly when their conversation had lapsed for some time. Lavellan shrugged one shoulder and swung her feet through the water. When she said nothing, he added: “The Inquisition is fortunate to have one at its head with such a heart.”

“I worry it won’t be enough,” Lavellan blurted out, looking over at him. “It should have been someone else. I haven’t the temperament for this. But.” She waved her left hand humorlessly, the glow of the anchor low presently. “They had no choice. It should have been you. You know so much more about these things, and you are so much more certain of yourself than I am. Keeper Deshanna used to tell me I avoided making decisions so much it was like having no leader at all.” She exhaled in a long sigh and tipped her face up towards the sky. “I’m glad it’s not, though,” she murmured.

Solas straightened slightly, tilting his head.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. Lavellan’s eyes fell on him once more and he found her thoughtful expression difficult to read.

“I would not wish this position on anyone for whom I cared,” she said. For a moment—for a moment—Solas felt sure there was something more she wanted to say, and perhaps even meant to say—but she did not.

He stared at her, at her face, at the anchor, and the shame in his breast pierced keener than an arrow. What kind of wretch was he, to play at friendship, at flirting, at love with one he had—albeit inadvertently—put in this position?

“You look tired,” said Lavellan sympathetically. She rose to her feet. “I have disturbed your rest long enough, I think. Let’s go inside. Would you like me to do the healing before bed?”

Solas sighed, and nodded.

“Yes, I think that would be for the best. Thank you.” Healing was never a comfortable experience.

“As the keeper of the Inquisition, I don’t mind,” she said with a smile, stepping out of the water to gather her clothes. A few minutes earlier, Solas might have teased her more, asking if that was the only reason she didn’t mind—but shame held his tongue now.

“Nevertheless,” he said soberly. “I appreciate the effort you give.”

Lavellan’s expression grew more serious, and softer.

“I am happy to do it, Solas,” she said. “Truly.” For a few moments, they were busy dressing, and then she added: “There are so many parts of being the Inquisitor at which I fail, or struggle. This, at least, is something I know I can do. I am glad to have the chance to do it. Not,” she added, looking up in a rush, “that I am glad you were injured! Only that I have the ability to help.”

Solas looked long on her in silence, the upwelling of grief in his chest making it too tight to speak, and then at last he said something he had told her before: “You have a good heart, Guinevere.”

She seemed as at a loss for how to respond then as she had before.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “I am relieved you think so.”

“Guinevere?” Seeker Pentaghast stuck her head out the back door and did a double-take to see both of them beside the filled tub. “I didn’t see you in our room so I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.”

“No demons here,” said Lavellan with a smile. “The water’s still hot if you like, though there’s probably a mud bottom to it now.”

“It is truthfully still tempting,” said Cassandra. “And we should probably wash while we have the chance.”

“That’s what I thought as well. I’m going to see to Solas’ wound now; if anyone else needs healing, let them know I’ll be ready to do it soon,” Lavellan replied.

Seeker Pentaghast returned inside, and Lavellan looked over at Solas.

“Well…do you feel any better?” she asked.

“Yes,” Solas lied, because physically it was true, and the rest was not Lavellan’s responsibility. “Very much so. Thank you, Guinevere.”

“My pleasure,” she said, and Solas knew she was genuine. He felt that much more miserable about it. “Shall I take care of you now?” she asked, gesturing towards the door.

He could not stop the way his eyes softened, or the way his heart yearned towards that question.

“Yes,” he said gently. “I would be glad for it.”

#solas #lavellan #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #guinevere lavellan #da #dai #fanfiction #da fanfiction #rocky writes

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enigmalea · 3 months

Photo

It Needs To Be Larger

Words: 1080 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus/Solas Additional Tags: POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, Literal Sleeping Together, Fluff, Established Relationship, The Western Approach, Cuddling & Snuggling, Humor, Fluff and Humor

Summary:

Dorian, Bull, and Solas confront the fact that some things in their relationship are just too small.

READ ON AO3

written for @peardita for @dapolyshipping

#The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus/Solas #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #da fanfiction #da fanfic #dragon age #enig writes #dragon age: inquision #the iron bull #solas #dorian pavus #rated t

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amaryllis-sagitta · 9 days

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Writing masterpost (2015-)

This list contains all my Dragon Age related published writing so far. Some of it I was proud of when still fresh out of university but wouldn't do again (looking mostly at the old character meta that makes liberal use of psychoanalysis), some helped me trudge through a toxic job, some I have orphaned in a creative crisis overthinking rage.

The list is also available under my blog's public address:

So, here it is:

🤔Cursed ancient meta straight from the Void that stink of Solas’s socks and I would not do them today (2015-2016)

A Glimpse Into Dorian Pavus’s Psyche

How easily can iron break? - A meta on the Bull

😱Ancient fics from Carastes Scrolls (2015-2016)

If I Ever Return to Minrathous (M!Trevelyan x Dorian. multichapter, discontinued)

Bloodline. A Tevinter Fiction (Gen, Dorian-centered, multichapter, post-Trespasser, discontinued)

Cracky Senshi Sailor Bull (Gen, Iron Bull-centered, DAI & Sailor Moon crossover, crack)

Eluviesta Fool’s Day Special (Gen, DAI & WH40K crossover, crack)

💀Reposts from @cheapertevinterglam era (2018-2023)

Speculative Timeline (up to The Missing)

Succession of the Evanuris and symbolic eras in the elvhen history

Some thoughts about Ghilan’nain’s and Fen’Harel’s apotheosis

Hesiod’s Theogony and Yes, Ancient Thedas (AO3)

Awkward PSA (Metaphysics of Thedas pt. 1, 2 & 3, now orphaned - AO3)

18-sign Astrology for Thedas (GDocs)

🌟Tag: By Magister Asinius Vivellius (2024-) - MAY CONTAIN DATV SPOILERS

😱What was I even thinking - a Lenormand reading on The Veilguard

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#pinned #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age meta #dragon age inquisition #dragon age the veilguard #da fanfiction #da meta #master post #sagitta writes

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somethingblu3 · 11 months

Text

Little Moments Of Doubt

Repost Read on AO3 here.

18+ minors dni.

Fandom: Dragon Age, Dragon Age Inquisition.

Summary:

Cullen has a moment of doubt about Kendra's pregnancy. cheesiness abound.

TW: Pregnancy, Pregnancy Doubt, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnancy Regret, Implied/Referenced Abortion/ Pregnant Inquisitor, Implied Breeding Kink, Mentions of no Condom Sex, Reiljious Guilt/Trauma,

Pairing: Cullen Rutherford x Original Female Character (Kendra Lavellan)

Word Count: 943

Divider Credit: cherienymphe.

“This was a mistake,” Cullen said firmly “I’m sorry”

“Cullen” Kendra stressed.

He was having one of those moods again. Those moods where everything was wrong and it was all his fault yet Kendra knew it was the furthest from the truth.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have indulged in my fantasies I-” He stuttered.

Kendra’s heart ached. Cullen had repressed his feelings from the moment she knew him. It took him almost two years to finally accept his feelings for her. And when he finally did a sense of relief washed over them. Their friends, especially Dorian, had known it for years, yet Cullen’s fear held him back like it did now. It held him back in the bedroom too Kendra was certain that during their cuddle sessions after sex, he was praying to Andraste begging her to forgive him of his sins. It was all quite sad really. Their session last month went further than they typically went but Kendra didn’t mind - she wanted it. Creators she craved all of him inside of her burying deep inside her sweet cunt. During Dirty talk Cullen let slip that he wanted her to feel his flesh. He wanted her to feel his seed growing inside of her until she was ready to burst with child and Kendra happily indulged.

When he got up this morning for his run her handprints and bitemarks were still fresh she couldn’t help but smile at her handywork she had never experienced that level of lovemaking it was intense yet also just as passionate at the same time. She knew that it would be a while until she experienced that again him inside of her with no restrictions no condoms just flesh on flesh as The Creators had intended. He was hard at first Kendra was almost worried that he wasn’t going to fit in despite being average-sized but in the end, they finally got there.. She knew that the next time he would be on a work trip when she would be all alone stuck in their apartment that would be her masturbation material. She smirked as her eyes caught a glimpse of the still cum-stained Dildo Cullen had used on her last night. Kendra was still in the early stages of her pregnancy yet they had already needed to be more creative with positions.

Plus Cullen wouldn’t stop treating her like a delicate little flower and it was frustrating her to no end. Of course, it was nice that he cared but at the same time, she wasn’t a doll she wasn’t going to break under his touch no matter how much he had seemed to believe that. She was always aware that through each session she could have possibly ended up pregnant there was always a chance even with birth control.

While the thought of pregnancy scared her to death she also knew that Cullen would be a great father no matter what even if he didn’t quite believe it himself that was what gave her a sense of peace at night. Kendra lowered her head. She didn’t want to press any longer she knew that if she gave the option of terminating the pregnancy Cullen would say yes but then in the morning he would regret it in a heartbeat.

“Cullen…Go to sleep you’ll feel better about this in the morning” She tried to calm him.

“But what if I don’t? What if I wake up and I still feel the same way about this?” He paused and waved his hand down at her pregnant belly which wasn’t even showing yet but she couldn’t even fit into her favorite pair of jeans.

“We’re not ready to be parents Ken. We’re drowning in debt. And what if we mess up? Mess up like my Dad did. I would never forgive myself and you know that” He wailed

Kendra pulled Cullen closer even as he wallowed her fingers intertwined in his blond locks.

“Look we’ll get through this,” She said softly as she kissed his forehead gently.

“How are you so optimistic about this?” Cullen asked as he looked up at her.

Amazement sparkled in his eyes.

“You're the one who’ll actually have to give birth” He reminded her.

Kendra smiled “I’m optimistic because I know whatever The Creators have planned for us we can face it we always have. I’m lucky remember?” She asked as he tugged at her necklace with her thumb twirling around Cullen’s lucky gold coin the one that he had given to her at the lake.

“Maker your such a cheeseball” Cullen complained as he shook his head.

"There's nothing wrong about being cheesy every now and then" Kendra teased as she witnessed a soft smile grow over his lips.

“Speaking of Chese do we still have any of that Brie left Alistair bought us from Val Royeaux?” Kendra asked.

Cheese had been her first and strongest craving so far and she blamed Alistair almost entirely.

Cullen’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red “About that-”

“Cullen” Kendra whined as she swatted him gently.

Cullen got up from the bed and kissed her right cheek pulling back with a smile.

“Don’t worry dear why don’t I go to the corner shop and get you some more while I clear this head of mine?” He asked

“Alright then. I love you” She sighed as she slithered back under the warm covers.

“I love you too. The both of you my tiny little cheeseballs” Cullen murmured as he placed his hand on her stomach ever so gently.

Fine. Kendra reminded herself as her breathing slowed and sleep overtook her. They would be fine.

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justcallmecappy · 2 years

Text

Help me write a Fenders fic (pt. 8)

Fenris and Anders glance at the door, and then look back at each other.

"Pretend we're not in here," Anders says under his breath, and Fenris nods.

Without even realizing he was doing it, Anders takes Fenris' hand in his and leads him to duck behind the bed, out of sight from the door.

There is a subtle click-clacking sound of the lock being picked, and the door swings open with an audible creak.

"Hmm. Empty," Isabela observes.

"I could have sworn I heard them in here!" Hawke huffs. "Well, this is the last room. They probably found a way out and are at the Hanged Man right now, celebrating their escape."

"Or perhaps they're celebrating their escape in Fenris' bedroom," Isabela says suggestively, a chuckle stealing into her voice.

"Hey, save that one for Varric's next serial," Hawke says. "I, for one, have had enough excitement for one day. Let's head to the bar — I think we've earned ourselves a drink."

"On that, we can agree." Isabela and Hawke's voices are already fading with their footsteps, and the door clicks shut behind them.

Fenris and Anders exchange another glance, tension leaving their shoulders like a loosening bowstring. Anders is suddenly reminded of his days in the Circle, having clandestine meetings and secret trysts with his fellow mages in the hidden places of the tower, doing their best to avoid Templar attention. The rush, the thrill of narrowly being discovered makes him slightly lightheaded and dizzy, like he had too much to drink.

Anders lets out a shaky laugh. "To be continued," he murmurs. The words hang in the air like a promise.

Fenris bows his head slightly in a way that is almost shy. He looks as if on the verge of wanting to say something in response, but still working out how to say it.

Thank you to everyone who voted, reblogged, and commented! 🥰

#help me write a fenders fic #again sorry this one took so long 😅 i hope people haven't forgotten or lost interest in this #da fanfiction #fenders #fenris x anders #dragon age 2 #my writing #my fanfic

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fantasy-fallacy-tumblingstone · 2 years

Link

That’s better.

More a snippet/snapshot than an actual story?

#cobert winter fanfic exchange 2022 #ladycobert writes #cobert #da fanfiction

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perlen-gold · 2 years

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A Fenhawke Story

Part III ~ Chapter 6

~ WARNING ~

This might not be an easy read. This is not a comfortable story. Neither a sweet one.

This is raw. This is rough. This is painful.

But if you’re brave enough to dare the leap and reach into the darkness, it might be worth the plunge...

(I’m sorry I’m so late with this chapter, the last week was just too exhausting 😌 😳)

Falling.

A sensation of falling through searing waters, of diving into air.

Cold wetness, an iciness seeping into him.

Fenris saw the ground above, his hands spread to avoid the fall, a bottomless heavy sky below him.

Blindingly white snow.

His shoulders grazed it and the world righted itself. But only so.

His toes, heels and shins sank deep.

Above, crystal-peaked mountains arch high against the forking outlines of bilious green strokes of lightning.

A world shaped itself as mists seeping out from under stone. Curved and arched over.

There was no air to shift around in travels, and yet, inexplicably, the wind had accompanied him and scurried around in whipped and whirled each wild-white strand of his hair afly. Up, up high, the dark sky gathered its storm-heart like a torrent.

Skyhold fortress was gone as if wiped away by the clapping of a giant’s hands. In its place, scattered amidst an the velvet-thick snow, only ruins stood of withered stone-rust and crumbling age.

The bedazzling white around him undulating in his frenzied hair was blaring gouges into Fenris’ darting eyes from the bending mountains around him. As ash from a wet-smoking bonfire, flares of snow rose into the sky, tumbling upward. Next to him, almost close enough to touch, to burn, was a tall, white-capped mountain. It looked as if it had been torn out from among his brethren, ripped like a meek plant’s roots out of the deep earth and then left there, forgotten, to float in the abandoned sky.

There was nothing around him but whiteness.

Whiteness as of gathered ash molded into dry-cold snow.

Whiteness all around, except for small clusters of red flowers spearing out from under thick velvet, specks of rubies, like droplets of blood.

With a sudden shudder Fenris felt his knees, finally, gave way. Crashing, his legs sank deep into the thick, ice-crusted snow. His ribs were shivering beyond command. He folded his chest into his arms.

“Hawke,” Fenris whispered.

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oftachancer · 1 month

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Tranquil Week Continues!

New chapters of Aisles of Memory and Regret are up! Here's a taste:

Fire coursed beneath his skin. He could feel it like a hand gripping his heart too hard, flaying his lungs, and boiling his eyes until he was blind. Karl dropped to his knees, covering them to keep them from exploding free of his skull as his head pounded and his bones screamed. “A few adjustments…” Enchanter Malcolm was speaking, but the words held no meaning. For a moment, Karl felt a reprieve - a pleasant mist of contentment and fog, but then- He screamed, gasping, curled on the paving stones in the dark. It smelled of salt and sweat and blood. He could taste copper on his tongue. Feel it pulsing like a kicking frog inside of his mouth. His knuckles and palms were scratched. Searing. “Stop- please stop!” he tried to beg, “Please!” But all that emerged was a wordless, agonized scream that tore at his throat. Until there were hands. He knew those hands. Anders. He knew the feel of them - callused and strong and smelling of linseed oil. But they were grasping his shoulders, holding him - no- “-trying to keep him steady-” “Anders,” Karl rasped, clinging to him even though the lights burned his eyes and his blood was melting him from the inside. “Anders!” Help me- help me- But the words failed him.

@tranquilweek

#oftachancer writes #midnight writes #midnightprelude writes #dragon age 2 #dragon age #da fanfiction #da fic #karl thekla #karl x anders #tranquility exploration #Malcolm Hawke lives!

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arlathanxchange · 1 year

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Arlathan eXchange 2023

Join us for a Dragon Age fan exchange focused on a celebration of Elvhen characters. Open to gen fic, ships, or solo/introspective pieces.

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▸ Sign-Ups Closed: Sunday, April 9, 2023 at 12pm ET ▸ Assignments Received: by Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 8pm ET ▸ Works Due: Sunday, May 21, 2023 at 12pm ET ▸ Works Revealed: Sunday, May 28, 2023 at 12pm ET ▸ Creators Revealed: Sunday, June 6, 2023 at 12pm ET

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#dragon age exchange #dragon age fandom #elves #elvhen #da exchange #da fandom #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanart #da fanfiction #da fanfic #da fanart

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damallarky · 3 months

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So nothing gets me out of a ten year writer's slump like Dragon Age, apparently. I was going to write a quick character study for my Rook, but then it took a life of its own and turned into a 5000+ word monstrosity.

You can also read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57135346

Anyway, my first fic in ten years. Enjoy!

At the Black Swan tavern in Minrathous, an elven man with bright red hair sat on a massive barrel, tuning a lute. At first glance, it would appear that he was entirely engrossed in the instrument. If they paid close attention, however, they would notice his green eyes dart imperceptibly from guest to guest as if taking stock of each person who entered the tavern.

To be fair, this was exactly what Renan was doing. The Shadow Dragons had been given a tip that the Venatori were having a meeting here tonight. He had been given instructions to keep an eye on them, make a note of how many attended, and if there was anyone there he recognized.

Ren was good at that, using his talent at the lute, voice, and good looks to get him information, and he used his particular skill set often. Sometimes, he played in chamber halls and ballrooms of the Minrathous elite, and they were goldmines, to be sure. But if he was honest, he preferred the establishments of the working class. One would be surprised at how much information could be gained at the taverns and brothels of the world.

Even better, Ren was familiar with this particular tavern, having played here countless times before.

‘See anything good yet, Hope?’ He thought through the bond to his spirit companion, currently flitting between the rafters somewhere. He thought he had caught a glimpse of black feathers once or twice, but he couldn’t be sure.

‘No. Not yet.’ He heard her say.

Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw the vision of a mouse cleaning itself on one of the rafters, not noticing the great, winged beast lurking in the shadows a mere foot away.

‘Hope…’, Ren moaned internally, ‘I just fed you.’

‘Well, yes… But I am still hungry.’

‘Well, I don’t want to find puked-up mouse bones on my pillow tonight. Again.'

‘Ugh. Fine.’ Hope grumbled.

Ren could practically feel the eye roll from his companion, and he struggled to keep his face neutral. He was halfway through tuning a string to A when his own stomach began to grumble. He hadn’t had much to eat today, or at all, what little he did have going to fill his daughter Esana’s belly.

‘Maybe I should catch a mouse for you to eat.’ He heard Hope say.

‘Thanks, but no…’

‘When was the last time you ate?’

‘In the morning.’

‘Which morning?’

‘…’

‘Renan…’

‘…Yesterday.’

‘RENAN.’

Ren winced against the shrill voice echoing in his head. A man sitting at a table nearby gave him an odd look, to which Ren responded with a sheepish wave.

“Lute strings!” He said in way of explanation. “They don’t make them like they used to.”

The man merely grunted and went back to his tankard.

‘Look, Hope.’ He said. ‘I promise I will get something to eat tonight after we’re through.’

‘I will hold you to that, Renan.’

The tavern began to fill in earnest as more workers ended their day shift. Amongst the crowd, Ren noticed a group of shifty-eyed men gathering at a nondescript table closer to the back of the bar. It had probably the worst lighting in the entire tavern, but the darkness made it particularly well suited for those who maybe didn’t want to be watched too closely, such as lovers…. Or secretive organizations.

Interesting…

‘Is Esana still in our room?’ Ren asked as he tuned a string to E flat.

‘Yes,’ came Hope’s reply, ‘She was asleep when I left. Why?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t want a repeat of last time, where she snuck out for an entire hour without anyone noticing after I explicitly told her not to?’

‘Ah, yes. Wherever does your daughter get her complete and utter disregard for authority? It is truly a mystery for the ages.’

Ren couldn’t help but laugh at that. Hope had become quite adept at using sarcasm over the years.

‘Fair.’ He said. ‘I suppose she does come by it naturally.’

‘What is that mortal saying about apples and trees?’

‘Har har. Alright you made your point.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Ren saw a man walk in that he recognized. The thin, balding man was a Magister, albeit a low-ranking one. Ren couldn’t remember what the man actually did in the Magisterium, exactly, only that it was something asinine.

Asinine or note, that didn’t explain what he was doing here, of all places. The Black Swan was a little too plebeian for most Magisters.

‘Well, well.’ He thought ‘Look who’s slummin’ it up with the rest of us. Interesting.’

‘That is the man in charge of grain tax collection!’ He heard Hope say.

‘He is?’ Ren asked. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I pay attention, Renan.’

‘Oh… Well, I’m glad one of us does…’

Ren’s interest peaked even further as he watched as the magister walk to the back, taking a seat at the table with the group Ren had noticed earlier.

Very interesting…

‘Alright, it looks like the Venatori dinner party has started. Table in the back.’ He said. ‘Let’s get to work, shall we?’

‘We shall. Good luck, Ren.’

‘You as well, Hope.’

Ren walked up the stairs to the small stage at the front of the bar. With a bright grin, he played the first few notes of the song on his lute and began to sing.

“Oh, come along with me, love.

Come along with me.

Come for one night and be my wife.

And come along with me.”

While still playing the notes to the chorus on the lute, Ren stopped singing to address the crowd.

“Grata! Bienviedo! Welcome good people of Minrathous.” He said. “My name is Rook, and I am here to add a little song to your evening. But enough with the pleasantries! The night is young, and I don’t know about you lot, but I am far, far too sober!”

His grin broadened as the crowd began to laugh and cheer. Ren heard a few of them shout, “Here, here!” and his playing grew stronger as he egged the crowd on further.

“So, let’s raise a glass,” Ren crowed, “and let the night of drinking and debauchery begin!”

And, with that, he began to sing once more, his voice strong and clear.

“Well it is of a jolly butcher, as you might plainly see,

As he roved out one morning in search of company.

He went into a tavern and a fair girl he did see

And said ‘Come for one night and be my wife,

Oh come along with me!’”

Ren jumped off of the stage and began to weave in and around the tables as he continued his song.

“He called for liquor of the best

And he made such fortune play

‘Come have a drink, it'll make us think

That it is our wedding day’”

‘I cannot hear them, Renan.’ He heard Hope’s voice say in his head as he played. ‘Distract them so I can fly down and slip underneath their table.’

Ren began to maneuver himself to the back of the bar, stopping every so often to play at another table to make it look less conspicuous. He danced around a waitress as she was carrying mugs of ale, giving her a bright smile that made her blush prettily. Finally, he stopped at the Venatori’s table, placing his foot on the edge of the table top with a thunk. Balancing his lute on his knee while he played, he leaned forward and winked at the Magister, who fumed. So focused were they all at the elf and his sheer audacity, that they didn’t notice the small black figure silently fly down from the rafters, dodge the various foot traffic, and tiptoe underneath the table.

‘I made it, Ren!’ Hope crowed, triumphantly.

Ren beamed at the crowd and continued his song.

“Well, he called for a candle to light their way to bed

And when he had her in the room these words to her he said

‘A sovereign I will give to you for to embrace your charms.’

And all that night, that fair young maid lied in the butcher's arms.

Oh, come along with me, love

Come along with me!

Come for one night and be my wife

And come along with me.

Well, about one year later he went roving out once more,

And he went into the tavern where he'd often been before.

He wasn't in there very long when his fair maid he did see,

And she brought forth a baby three months old and placed it on his knee.”

Some of the crowd began to chuckle as they realized where the song was going. Ren’s playing picked up in volume as he reached the punch line.

“And when he saw the baby, he began to curse and swear

And he said unto that fair young maid, ‘Why did you bring him here?!’

‘Well, he is your own, kind sir’, she said, ‘Do not think me strange

Well, that sovereign that you gave to me, well I gives you back your change!’”

The crowd burst into raucous laughter, and Ren couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride as he finished the song.

“Oh, come along with me, love

Come along with me!

Come for one night and be my wife

And come along with me!”

With a flourish he played the last few chords as the crowd’s laughter turned into applause. He gave a bow, and as he stood back up he saw a flash of red dart through the crowd.

“Dammit.” He muttered.

‘What happened?’ He heard Hope ask. He turned to the crowd.

“Thank you! You have been a wonderful audience!” Ren exclaimed. “Don’t forget to tip your waitresses! If you need me, I’ll be by the bar.”

The crowd quickly went back to their food and drink, and Ren made a beeline for the bar.

‘I thought you said Esana was sleeping.’ He demanded through the bond.

‘She was!’ The spirit replied. ‘I thought she was. Oh! But she might have been faking, now that I think about it. The snoring was a bit too loud.’

To which Ren could only groan.

The Maker had to have it out for him. That was the only explanation.

‘Don’t move, Hope.’ He said. ‘Keep listening in on the Venatori. I want to have something to report back to the Dragons before the night is over.’

“Only one song tonight, Rook?” Asked one of the waitresses, Rosa, as she carried a tray full of food and drink.

“Can’t be helped, Rosa.” He said as he approached the bar. The barkeeper, a jovial older man with a wiry frame and bright eyes named Julius, poured him a glass of water with a knowing grin.

“Loose something?” He asked.

“Ugh.” Was Ren’s articulate response. Julius only laughed as Ren downed the water in one gulp before setting the glass back down on the counter with a thunk.

“You didn’t happen to see which way she went, did you?” Ren asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Aye. She snuck out the back door.”

“Thank you, Julius.”

“Best of luck, Rook!”

Ren stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the cool night air to center himself. He needed to remain calm. Esana couldn’t have gotten far.

In the distance he heard the sound of cheering. Children cheering. He relaxed slightly; he had a feeling whatever was going on, Esana was probably around, if not directly involved.

He followed the sound of cheering until he turned a corner and found himself staring at a veritable horde of children all gathered around a circle. In the middle, playing what looked like a game of bones against an older human boy, was Esana.

“That looks like another game for me!” She exclaimed as she grabbed the copper pieces and put it in her already fairly substantial pile of winnings.

The boy didn’t seem too pleased.

“That’s not fair!” He cried. “You cheated!”

“How do you cheat at bones, Dax?” One of the other children asked. Dax’s face only grew more red as the other children began to laugh.

“Yeah, Dax.” Esana taunted as she began to count her winnings. “Don’t be a sore looser.”

“Why you-“

Whatever Dax was about to say was cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the alley. Out of the darkness, a behemoth of a man emerged. He had lank, dark hair that clung to his face and a scar that ran from one side of his neck to the other. He approached the children, most of whom had already scurried away, and sneered at them with yellowing teeth.

“What do we have here?” The large man asked as he loomed over the children eyeing the pile of money. “You brats got some money for me?”

“No!” Esana cried. “That’s mine!” She stood up, putting herself between the man and the coin.

Ren could have sworn his heart had stopped beating then, as he watched the giant man loom over his daughter. His daughter, who looked so very small standing in that man’s shadow. Thinking quickly, Ren grabbed a bottle from a nearby drunkard and flicked a coin his way before the man could complain too much.

“What did you say, little knife ear?” The man sneered as he pulled an out a wicked looking dagger. “Perhaps I should teach you a lesson of what happens when pests like you talk back to your betters.”

Esana’s eyes widened as the knife was held merely inches from her face. The man made to grab her, but before he could do anything, Ren staggered out of the darkness as if drunk, practically barreling into the man. He made a show of spilling the contents of his bottle all over the man’s clothes.

“M’so sorry, serah.” He said, slurring his words together. “It seems I-“ and he hiccuped here for effect “-I can’t seem to hold me liquor! Can’t seem to carry it neither.”

Ren gave his best drunken laugh as he pointed to the almost empty bottle of booze. Predictably, the man took the bait, grabbing Ren by the collar and shoving him hard against the wall.

“Stupid elf! I should gut you here and now!”

Too busy threatening him, the man didn’t notice Ren pull on the Fade, summoning flames in his left hand.

“Gut me?” Ren asked, feigning innocence. “While you’re on fire?”

The man stared at Ren in confusion before bursting into laughter.

“On fire? You must be drunker than I-“

Suddenly, the man let out an inhuman screech as Ren held the flame against the man’s alcohol drenched clothes, quickly setting them ablaze with a satisfying woosh. The man dropped Ren as he tried to quickly strip off his burning clothes.

Ren, for his part, didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing his daughter, he took off running down the narrow alley.

They had made it almost halfway back to the Black Swan when he stopped to catch his breath. He looked down at his daughter and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Getting down on one knee he began to look her over.

“Are you alright?” He asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Ren nodded. That would have to do. For now, at least.

Together, father and daughter ran the rest of the way back to the Black Swan. When finally they arrived at the back entrance, the adrenaline seemed to leave Ren all at once, leaving him drained. He sank onto one of the large crates nearby, placing his head in his hands as the reality of what almost happened hit him like a druffalo.

Esana stood there nervously, sensing, perhaps, that she had crossed a line somewhere.

“Papa, I’m-“

Ren cut her off.

“Esana,” he began, frustration filling the void where fear and adrenaline once were, “How many times have I told you that you cannot go out at night on your own?”

“I was just-“

“And yet, you continue to deliberately disobey me. And for what? A handful of coin?”

“It wasn’t just a handful…” she muttered.

Something inside Ren snapped.

“HE COULD HAVE TAKEN YOU!” Ren shouted as he gripped his daughter’s shoulders desperately. “PAWNED YOU OFF AT THE SLAVE MARKET! OR WORSE, HE COULD HAVE KILLED YOU! DUMPED YOUR BODY SOMEWHERE AND I WOULD HAVE BEEN NONE THE WISER. WOULD THE COIN HAVE BEEN WORTH IT THEN? WELL?”

Hot, angry tears streamed down Esana’s face as she pulled herself out of her father’s grip and ran into the tavern. Ren tried to grab her but she was too quick.

“Esana!” He yelled. “Esana get back here!”

Instead, he heard the sound of a door slamming from upstairs, where the guest rooms were. He looked around the tavern and noticed that it was mostly empty, save for a few stragglers who seemed too deep into their cups to notice the elven family drama going on around them. He also noticed a distinct lack of Venatori. They must have left earlier as well.

Shit.

With a sigh, Ren felt all of the previous anger bleed out of him, leaving him bone-tired. With great effort, Ren dragged himself to the bar, rubbing at his eyes before anyone could see the moisture in them.

“Julius,” he called, “Can I have another glass of water, please?”

The barkeep popped out from the kitchen, a bowl of something heavenly smelling in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other.

“I’ll do you one better.” He said, setting the bowl, some sort of stew, in front of Ren. “Here, eat. You look like you’re about to keel over where you stand.”

“Julius, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

“Yes, yes. Tell me something I don’t know.”

Ren took a few spoonfuls before his appetite left him entirely as the monster currently gnawing at his stomach felt more akin to guilt than hunger. He stirred the soup in lazy circles with his spoon, occasionally making a half-hearted attempt at taking a bite before giving up entirely.

“I need to go talk to Esana.” He said with a sigh.

“Rook, wait…”

Ren looked up and was surprised to see the old barkeep looking at him with eyes full of understanding… and a bit of sorrow.

“I don’t usually tell people this for obvious reasons, but… my father was also a freeman.” He said. “And an elf, too.”

Ren’s eyes widened. A lot of things about Julius suddenly made sense. The slight build, the bright eyes…

The easiness in which he accepted Ren and Esana…

He looked at the man in a whole new light then, silently wondering how he never noticed the way Julius’s ears tapered to a point, a tell-tale sign of the man’s heritage.

“I’ll be.” Ren exclaimed. “I’d had no idea I was in the presence of a fellow knife-ear. I’ll make you a flower crown. Maybe even show you some of my favorite places to frolic naked in the moonlight.”

“I am quite capable of going to a whore house on my own, thank you.”

Both men burst into laughter, loud enough in the almost empty tavern to draw the attention of the last remaining guests. The confused stares sobered both men up fairly quickly, and Julius continued whatever point he was getting at.

“Before I was born,” he said, “my father had somehow managed to buy his and my mother’s freedom. Never did quite figure out how he managed to pull it off...”

Julius’s eyes grew distant as he stared at something only he could see. After a moment, he blinked, and turned his attention back to Ren. In all the years he had known the man, Ren had never seen an expression so solemn on his face as he did now.

“When I was Esana’s age, I also never… appreciated the sacrifices my father had made for my family. For me... And Maker, there were so many…”

“And you do now?” Ren asked.

“Aye.” Said Julius. “I do now. Very much so. And I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but Esana will too.”

Ren considered the older man’s words as he took a few more bites of his stew. He pushed himself off of the counter and dusted himself off.

“Thank you, Julius.” He said. “For everything.”

“Anytime, Rook.“

Ren made his way up the stairs and down the hall to where he and Esana were staying. As quietly as he could, he crept in, closing the door behind him.

They were fortunate enough to stay in a room with two cots this time, an upgrade to their usual fair. He noticed that the cot on the left was occupied by a relatively Esana sized lump buried underneath the blankets. On the desk , underneath an open window, was a rook. It sat atop a wooden perch as it cleaned its feathers with its long, grey beak.

Hearing the door close, it looked up and flew over to where Ren sat on the empty cot, silently landing on his knee.

“Hey, Hope.” He uttered.

“…Why is your doublet singed?” Was the spirit’s response.

“Good to see you too.”

“Renan…”

Ren looked down at his doublet, his favorite one too, and, sure enough, he noticed singe marks all long the bottom hem.

And lo, did the Maker say “Fuck this Elf in particular.” He thought.

“I suppose it does not matter. I am sure it can be fixed.” Hope said kindly. Then, through the bond, he heard: ‘Esana was very upset, but she would not tell me what happened.’

‘She decided to pick fights with grown men and then I lost my temper and yelled at her.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Hope climbed up Ren’s arm to perch on his shoulder.

“I think I am going to go out.” She announced. “Stretch my wings for a bit.”

“Have fun.”

Hope rubbed up against his cheek affectionately, nuzzling him much like she had when he was a boy, newly arrived in the Tevinter Imperium and being sold off like chattel.

‘You can fix this.’ He heard her say through the bond.

With that, Hope flew out the open window and into the warm summer’s night, leaving father and daughter alone to talk. After a minute or two of sitting silently in the dark, Ren spoke.

“I know you’re awake, Esana.” He said. “Can we talk? Please?”

A loud sniffle from underneath the covers was the only response he got. With a sigh, Ren pulled off his boots and set them neatly by his bedside table.

“It’s ok, Esana. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He said as he took off his now singed doublet. “I’ll talk then, ok?”

Ren took a moment to gather his thoughts. He stared down at his hands, looking at the small knicks and callouses from years of playing the lute. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, and let the loose sleeves reveal old scar tissue across his wrists from where too-heavy shackles had rubbed his skin raw years ago. They certainly weren’t pretty, which was part of the reason why he always covered them, but they weren’t the worst of his scars. He knew his back was a gnarled web of lash marks, fifty in total. They still ached from time to time, too…

He made a vow, long ago, that the Imperium would never hurt him, or his loved ones, ever again. And he intended to keep that promise.

“I love you, Esana.” He said, finally. “And I am very sorry that I yelled at you like I did. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

In the darkness, Ren saw two bright blue eyes (her mother’s eyes, he thought distantly) peek out from underneath the covers, watching him warily. Taking that as progress, he continued.

“The truth is, I was scared. What you did was incredibly dangerous. I truly thought that man was going to hurt you, and that terrified me.”

Esana crawled out from underneath the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over and refusing to look anywhere but her bare feet. Ren noticed that she was already in her nightgown. She must have changed after she stormed upstairs.

With a small smile, Ren patted the empty space beside him in invitation. Esana quickly crossed the short distance to sit with her father, but still refused to look up at him, even after he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side.

“I just wanted to help.” She said miserably, swiping at her eyes as fresh tears began to fall. “I thought that if I could earn money like you do, then you would let me join you for once.”

“Esana…”

“I just wanted to be like you. I’m tired of being treated like a baby.”

Ren tucked an errant lock of red hair behind his daughter’s ear.

“Esana,” he said, ��I don’t need you to be like me. In fact, that’s the last thing in the world I want you to be. And while I appreciate the help, I’m your father. It’s my job to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“But I want to help!” Esana cried, almost desperately. “I want to be out there, with you!”

Ren chewed his bottom lip as he pondered Esana’s words. He certainly did not want to expose her to the drunks of Minrathous, but he also knew that soon she would be turning thirteen. Too old to stay willingly cloistered away. Maybe he could bring her along every now and then, introduce her little by little to his world in a way where he could monitor her and keep her safe, rather than having her go out behind his back…

Still, he couldn’t help but feel he was missing something. Something important. There was a frantic edge to Esana’s pleading that Ren couldn’t understand. Not for the first time, Ren wished his wife were still alive. Leena would have known what to do. She was good at that sort of thing.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ren began, cupping his daughter’s chin gently, “how about I teach you how to play that spare flute I have? Then, you could play with me. Sometimes.”

Esana stared up at her father with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Sometimes!” He reiterated. “Only the jobs that I think are safe, ok?”

“Really?” she asked, excitement and a strange tinge of something akin to relief shining in her eyes.

“Yes.” Ren laughed. “Really.”

Esana launched herself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug which he returned without a thought.

“I love you, papa.” She said.

“I love you, too, Esana.”

Not long after Ren noticed his daughter’s eyelids grow heavy and her shoulders begin to droop. He chuckled as he watched her try to stifle a yawn.

“Alright little Nuglette, I think that’s enough excitement for one day. To bed with you.”

“Ok, papa.” Esana murmured sleepily as she crawled back into her own cot. Suddenly, that frantic edge that Ren noticed earlier returned.

“Papa…” she said, “Could I stay in your cot? Until I fall asleep?”

“Sure.” Ren said with a small smile.

Esana quickly scurried from her cot to join her father. She snuggled herself up against him, and he felt her relax as if she had been holding in some sort of tension.

“Esana,” Ren asked as she tucked herself in the crook of his arm, “Is everything alright?”

Esana hastily nodded, not quite looking her father in the eye. Ren sighed.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

Another nod.

“Ok. Good night, Esana. Sweet dreams.”

Ren didn’t notice Esana wince at the mention of dreams. He didn’t notice his daughter squeeze her eyes shut, desperately trying not to think of the monsters in her dreams that hounded her, begging her to let them in.

Instead Ren began to sing softly, voice barely above a whisper as he sang an old Elvish lullaby, one that his own mother sang to him when he was little. It didn’t take long for Esana to drift off into the Fade. No nightmares plagued her this time, safe as she was in her father’s arms and a song promising only pleasant things echoing in her ears.

For Ren, however, sleep evaded him despite his exhaustion. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind and was content to watch the rise and fall of Esana’s chest as his daughter slept soundly, snuggled up against him. Truth be told, he cherished moments such as these because he knew that sooner rather than later, his daughter would grow too old to cuddle with her papa. For now, though, he placed a kiss upon his little girl’s brow and held her as tightly as he could without waking her.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, only that it was near dawn when Hope flew in through the window, the first rays of light gently reflecting off of her feathers, giving them a purplish hue.

“Morning, Hope.” Whispered Ren as he watched her land on the bedside table.

“Good morning, Renan.” She whispered back. “I am happy to see you two worked it out.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Ren shifted slightly to face his friend. “You were gone an awfully long time. Did something happen?”

“I ran into Neve Gallius. She would like you to meet her later this evening.”

“Ah… and what did our favorite Ice Queen want? Did she say?”

“Only that she would like to introduce you to an aquantence of hers. Some sort of… novelist?”

“Of course she does…” Ren murmured tiredly, not really paying attention.

They stayed like that for a while, enjoying the silence of the early morning. Ren was just about to finally drift off to sleep when Hope looked up from where she was preening her feathers and stared out of the window with an unusually concerned expression.

“Renan…” she whispered, so quietly Ren barely heard her.

“Mmm?”

“There is a storm coming.” Was all she said.

Little did Ren know, as he later found himself staring up at the terrifying visages of his Dalish mother's myths, how true those words were about to become.

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imakemywings · 3 months

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: f!Cadash/Blackwall

AN: De-anon of a kink meme fill from a while back for Blackwall getting pegged.

AO3

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There had been a time not long ago when Blackwall had thought to never see the inside of Inquisitor Cadash’s private quarters again. But for Cadash, there had never been a question about that. Even before his revelation, Blackwall had known some of the things she had done which made her inclined to forgive him even a crime of the severity to which he confessed, but after pardoning him—after affirming she meant to keep him in her life—she had coughed up the rest: All of the things she’d been afraid to lay out for him, once she began to care about his good opinion. The fingers crushed under forge hammers, the families threatened, the parties thrown just to slit the throat of a specific target—all of it.

So now it was all on the table. No more secrets, they said. No more lies. No more cowardice.

“You make me a better person,” Cadash had confided in him once, after. “You make me want to be better.”

“That’s funny,” Blackwall said. “I was thinking the same about you.” But she could hear in his voice how much it meant to think that even someone like him—the real him—could inspire someone to something good. It was something he wished for so desperately.

And so Blackwall spent many more nights in Cadash’s quarters. In fact, they had all but officially become his quarters as well—she had given him a small dresser of his own for his things, and he never overnighted in his own bed anymore, even if he was sliding in beside a sleeping Cadash after a late training or scouting session.

Neither of them was the rosy image they wanted to present to the world—but maybe that was alright. Maybe it mattered just that they were trying.

When Blackwall held her on his lap, the mountain moonlight beaming cold against the thick black hair on the back of his head, the candlelight indoors wreathing her in yellow-gold, she believed they could live up to their new ideals.

She dug her fingers into his beard and tipped his head back to seal her mouth over his, grinning as she felt the bulge in his trousers when she rolled her hips against his. There had been a powerful level of decorum and courtesy in Blackwall’s initial treatment of her, and Cadash had simply delighted in getting underneath that to know how much he lusted for her.

“Are you ready to feel the firm hand of the Inquisition?” she teased when she drew back, her lips slick with their mingled saliva, her pupils wide.

“I was under the impression it would be more than a hand,” Blackwall said, though she detected a thread of nervousness in him. She laughed.

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” she promised in her twangy, drawling accent, leaning in to kiss his neck, pressing her hips down against his lap. “As much as you want.” For a moment, she occupied herself nibbling at his neck until he said:

“Are you trying to leave a mark? That’s a bit childish, isn’t it?” He sounded amused.

“Tch, no one will even see it with your collar,” she said. “Besides…” She dug her nails into his scalp at the back his head, “You know how I feel about making clear what’s mine.” She heard Blackwall’s intake of breath and grinned again, kissing him softly against the tendons in his neck. He was always weak for her flashes of possessiveness.

“You’re sure?” she asked then, sitting back on his knees to look him full in the face. “Do you want to see it first?”

“I…yes, perhaps that would be best,” Blackwall allowed. Cadash, with some reluctance, slid off his lap and pranced across the room to where she’d stowed the toy. It was her own—she felt the inquisitor deserved some proper stress relief, though Josephine had not looked her in the eyes when confronting her about the expense—and she enjoyed the idea of putting her own toy to use on her lover.

She’d even bought a new harness for this.

Nearly preening, she presented him with the dildo and let him look it over.

“It’s rather, er—large, isn’t it?” he said. Cadash shrugged.

“I’ve had bigger. Yours is bigger by a stretch,” she added with a cheeky look. For a moment, Blackwall hesitated, second-guessing his request, but then she saw that resolute look enter his eyes.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

“Bully,” said Cadash, taking it back. She set the dildo and the harness aside and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching her legs out to invite Blackwall to remove what remained of her clothing, which he did with that same combination of fervent desire and awed reverence that never failed to get her wet.

When he’d tugged her shorts off at last, she grabbed the loose front of his shirt and pulled him forward into a heated kiss, wriggling until her knees bracketed his hips.

“Someday I’m going to invite my exes to Skyhold,” Cadash announced.

“Why’s that?” Blackwall asked, his voice gone low and rough as it did when she was really having a go at him.

“So they can be jealous.” Her eyes twinkled and she jerked loose the ties on his shirt until it began to slip from his thick shoulders, and he straightened up to pull it off and toss it aside.

“Is that so?” he said, placing his hands on the bed and leaning in to catch her mouth with his.

“Mhm!” she replied enthusiastically without breaking the kiss. Her hands slid eagerly down through the coarse hair over his chest and belly to his belt, which she could not get off fast enough. “They’ll all be perfectly green, I’m sure!”

“I think you maybe just a bit biased,” Blackwall replied, entertained as ever when Cadash suggested he was a prize of any stripe.

“Well, there’s one way to test that,” she said, yanking the belt free of its loops and turning her attention to the laces on his trousers. “You’re making this rather difficult, by the by,” she added, referencing his cock straining against the closed pants opening.

“I rather think that’s your fault, isn’t it?” he replied, making Cadash simply elated with how much bolder and more confident and open he had grown with her since they began this.

“It sure is!” she said proudly, managing just fine with the laces despite her complaint. Blackwall lowered his head to kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and one of his calloused hands slid up her broad thigh.

“Do you want me to get you first?” he murmured.

It was sorely tempting, especially with his sturdy fingers so close to where she’d want them, but Cadash rather wanted the foreplay of seeing him come undone first.

“No, tonight it’s you first,” she decided, sliding a hand down the front of his shorts to palm against his aching cock. Blackwall gasped, his hips bucking thoughtlessly into her hand. “Now, let’s get you ready, hm?”

Cadash had used toys like this on her female lovers, but not before on a male, or at least not one with Blackwall’s set-up, so to speak, so she’d asked Bull about it, and he’d given her a few tips. He’d also been grinning ear to ear when she left.

She’d bought the most expensive oil she could find—one that purported to warm quicker than others—and used her fingers to spread and relax Blackwall’s muscles in preparation. She could see that he was flushed under his beard, embarrassed to be getting this kind of attention, so she kissed his muscular thighs and smiled at him, cooing about how pleased she was to do this. And she was—it wasn’t something she’d considered with him before, but when he mentioned it, she’d been more than happy to agree to give it a try.

Blackwall had never done this either.

“There…how’s that now?” she said. “Does it feel more comfortable? No pain?”

“Yes,” he panted. “It feels…well, still odd, truly, but not painful.”

“Do you feel ready to try the toy now?” He was the one who was going to get fucked, but Cadash felt her cunt thrill at the thought of doing it to him.

“Yes. I think we should try now,” he agreed.

“Swell!” She hopped off the bed and started battling her way into the harness, thinking she really ought to have given this a practice run before showtime.

“Do you need some help with that?” When she looked up at the bed, Blackwall was propped up on his elbows, his lips twitching.

“Are you suggesting the inquisitor isn’t capable of putting on a strap harness alone?” Cadash asked.

“I heard the inquisitor can put on a strap harness one-handed in the dark with a blindfold,” said Blackwall. It was a game of theirs, to make jokes about the ridiculous rumors that circulated about her. Cadash snorted.

“Just you wait, and soon she will!” When it was all in place, she gave the phallus a tug to make sure it was secure, and then climbed back onto the mammoth bed with which Josephine had seen fit to equip her rooms.

Blackwall was eyeing the thing between her legs with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, which Cadash tried to soothe with a long open-mouthed kiss.

“All good to go?” she asked gently when she drew back.

“I trust you,” he said, nodding.

“Just let me know if it’s not working,” she reminded him, settling back between his legs. Regrettably, he was so tall that from here she could no longer kiss higher than his pillowy belly, but she could make do with that.

She spread his legs a little further apart and positioned the toy.

“I’m used to a bigger hole,” she joked, but Blackwall was too on edge to make a response before she began to wiggle the toy into him, pushing carefully to give him plenty of time to cry uncle if it was too much. “Doing alright?” she asked when the thing was halfway in, looking up. Blackwall was as red as she’d ever seen him, biting at his lower lip, but one thing she was sure of was that things were quite alright.

“Yes, that’s—it’s—you can keep going,” he babbled. Cadash grinned and pressed further, sticking with the slow initial pace she’d set.

“There we go,” she said quietly as she eased the toy in to the hilt. “You’re doing beautifully, sugar,” she said. “That’s it, that’s all there is. How’s that feel?”

“That’s it?” he said.

“Not enough, already?” Cadash laughed.

“No, I just…I was expecting it would…hurt a little, I suppose, even if we did everything right.”

“But the inquisitor—” Blackwall snorted. “It feels good, though?” she asked, light concern lacing her voice. She stroked his leg with one hand.

“Still a little strange,” he admitted. “But certainly not bad.”

“Are you ready for me to get fucking?” She tried not to sound too eager.

“Let’s…give it a moment,” he suggested. Cadash nodded. She reached forward and gripped his cock lightly, sliding her hand up and down casually, until he grew impatient and gave her the go-ahead to start.

“I’ll start slow,” she promised, and she did. She had to make him lay his legs flat, so she could reach to brace her hands against the bed on either side of his hips. Carefully, she shifted back, drawing the toy out. In the past, she’d drawn back too far at this moment and had to reinsert the toy, but this time she managed to keep it in, and thrust back in with just a bit more speed. The movement drew a soft groan from Blackwall, and Cadash felt a zing of triumph.

“You just let me know if we need a break,” she told him, picking up just a bit of speed as she drew out and pushed back in.

“I think we’re good,” Blackwall panted. It took only a handful of thrusts before he seemed to forget the discomfort and strangeness of the position, and Cadash moved faster, delighted with the look of thoughtless, helpless arousal on his face. “Oh, fuck, yes,” he groaned as she hit him again. “Maker, do you really have a natural talent for this?”

“You’ll have to try with Josephine and then tell me,” said Cadash, but Blackwall choked on whatever he was going to say about that when she jerked her hips against him, shoving the toy smoothly back in. “I think you may be just a bit biased, though.”

She could feel him trembling and when his cock began to leak precum, she moved faster still, until she was grateful being inquisitor was such an athletic position, because it took effort to do this.

“That’s it,” she panted, trying to move closer, to make sure she was getting all of the toy in him with each thrust. “There it is, that’s it. Is that good? Is it what you wanted?”

Blackwall just moaned, his head tipped back, his cock flushed and rigid amidst the nest of wiry black hair between his legs, and then he was gushing, spilling thick white release over himself, his muscles convulsing, and Cadash thought she must be dripping wet. As he began to come, she pushed the toy in one last time, and kept it there until he slumped limp onto the bed.

“How was that?” she asked, chipper. Feebly, Blackwall flashed her a thumbs-up without lifting his head.

“Bully!” Cadash snickered and slid off the bed to squirm out of the harness, which she left on the floor. She rejoined him quickly, laying down alongside him and snuggling up close. “You liked it?” she purred, resting a hand on his chest. Blackwall turned his head towards her, gripped the back of her red head with one hand, and dragged her forward for a wet, sloppy kiss which Cadash eagerly returned.

“You are wonderful,” he said.

“You really think?”

“I think I owe you,” he replied, and into his eyes came that look which made fireworks go off in Cadash’s belly, when he wanted to show her a good time. One of his hands was already working between her thighs, up to the place where she was damp. He paused and smirked at her, but Cadash was unabashed.

“I had a nice time too,” she said pointedly. Leaning in to kiss her again, Blackwall went on with his fingers, wasting no time in pressing them between her slick folds and into the core of her heat. Cadash moaned, bucking her hips, when he pressed his thumb against the root of her clit. They were tangled together, Cadash somewhat trying to hump his leg at the same time he fingered her, but the thrust of his thick fingers quickly had her too senseless to do much but lay there and take her pleasure.

“How’s this, my lady?” Blackwall murmured, sliding a third finger into her cunt, flexing them so she could feel the spread.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” Cadash gasped, almost whimpering as she rutted against his hand. “Yes, yes, yes, that’s good, that’s good!” Blackwall’s fingers were in up to the third knuckle when Cadash’s muscles tensed and she cried out, spasming against him as she came, digging her nails into his chest. Blackwall kept his fingers in her through her orgasm so that she came around his hand, gasping when she realized she’d been holding her breath.

Only when she was quite finished did Blackwall withdraw his hand.

“Well,” he said, as Cadash was still catching her breath, “I think we can consider that a successful experiment. Don’t you?”

“Perfectly,” Cadash agreed, a dizzy note in her voice. She gathered herself back together and sat up to look at him. “So you liked it, then? Want to do it again?”

“I would…certainly be amenable to that,” Blackwall said. “If you enjoyed it as much as it seems you did.” Cadash grinned.

“I had great fun,” she said. “I’d fuck you anytime, sugar.”

“I am an undeservedly lucky man,” Blackwall declared.

#blackwall #thom rainier #cadash #inquisitor x blackwall #blackwall x cadash #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #rocky writes #dragon age kink meme #fanfiction #da fanfiction #iona cadash

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