#and i did my Dragon Age fic

[niofo]

creative things neve does with her ice magic in the short story:

- creating mist to hide herself when spying,

- slowing blood loss from wounds,

- freezing dead cultist's so a blood mage can't use its lifeforce for spells,

- making ground slippery so enemies fall over.

i hope we can see some of them in fight, or at least in some cutscenes, please

[full---ofstarlight]

anyway. fenris and carver's twitter pfps for band au

[thorinoakenbutt]

Watching newer fans talk about DAV's marketing is funny as someone who was around for DAI's like

Remember how they marketed things that ended up having to be cut from the game like how originally they wanted it to be possible to overhunt animals for materials and have them stop spawning for a while

Or that whole timed sequence with the Red Templars where you could set their boats on fire

[sephirajo]

Look nerds I was literally groomed and molested by an uncle who would tell me over and over how much he wanted to marry me. When I say Daemon groomed Rheanyra I mean it in the most literal way. I am not judging your ship. I dont care. The show doesn't either as the narrative doesn't exactly condemn Daemon for it it just shows it. I've lived this relationship, I know what I'm looking at. Hell I had to take season one in small parts because some scenes were almost word for word (minuses dragons and kings) of things my uncle told me.

It's grooming. Daemon groomed her. This doesn't mean you can't ship them. I am not judging any of you who do. The 3 actors who play them have chemistry after all. But do not come to the person who lived this and say its not grooming. It is.

[ketc7]

In which nightingale has a little 'talk' with the witch.

[rexinasuperomnes]

Krem Week Day 4: Family/Love

Rating: T Warnings: Transphobia Relationships: Cremisius Aclassi/Cole Characters: Cremisius Aclassi, Cole Additional Tags: Transphobic parent, flashbacks, body dysphoria, coming out gone wrong, pre-relationship Word Count: 256

“Love isn’t enough. She loved you, but not you. She thought the becoming was suffering. You became better, but she couldn’t see that.”

Krem jumped as Cole appeared beside him in the sparring ring. “Maker’s tits, Cole.”

“Your hurt is stronger today. Why?” Cole’s haunting blue eyes brought all of the feelings he’d been trying to avoid closer to the surface.

Krem looked away. “It’s not important.”

“Got up early to make a cake, put on my best dress so she can pretend I’m still her little girl. Happy Birthday, mom!”

Krem suddenly felt 12 years old again, remembering that particular day, not long after he had told his parents he didn’t feel like a girl. His mother sat quietly while his father nodded. ‘Why would you hurt yourself like this? Did we hurt you somehow, did we do something wrong?’

“Hope turned to shame. It still slips in where the armor doesn’t sit right, but it isn’t wrong. You aren’t wrong.”

“Cole-”

The strange man reached out and took Krem’s hand in his. “You aren’t wrong. You’re you.” Cole hesitated for a moment. “You’re handsome, made beautiful because of your strength.”

Krem saw Cole’s pale face blush and smiled. “Thanks.” He pulled him into a hug. “You know, you aren’t wrong, either.”

Cole’s breath blew across Krem’s ear. “I’m me and you’re you.” Before Krem could say anything, he felt a kiss on his cheek and then Cole vanished. He touched his face where Cole’s lips had touched and smiled.

“I’m me and you’re you.”

[asimplearchivist]

To all of my non-Dragon Age followers: I apologize in advance for the monster into which I will transform once Veilguard née Dreadwolf comes out.

[maebird-melody]

5, 15, 23

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

Oh man. Let me tell you, every time I get a really nice, effusive comment on one of my fics, I go back and reread what I wrote. "Sympathy for the Dwarf Planet" is probably my absolute favorite thing I've written. It's an outsider POV story, which I think gave me a little more room to play. Some poor schmuck who works at NASA is forced to deal with Danny and his friends as they repeatedly break through their security to reclassify Pluto as a planet. I had a blast.

Other honorable mentions include "A New Haven," a Dragon Age Inquisition fic about another person's Lavellan, "Dreamers," my Hypnos fic from the game Hades, and "Glockwork," a crackfic that continues to be my most popular fic ever, based on another DP fan's artwork of Clockwork holding a gun.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it'd be more popular?

Can't say that I have! Unless inspiration strikes, I can't write. But I have participated in a lot of events where either a) the person you're gifting your fic to dictates the kind of stories they want to see or b) the event has a pool of prompts written by the participants that you can pick-and-choose between. So in that sense, I have written fic based on what specific people want, but in general, I tend to write what I would enjoy reading. I do murder my darlings though when I know that removing things I would enjoy normally will make for a better, more satisfying story. But that's more about good story sense than writing what's popular.

I wrote a fic for my college roommate's book, like, no one knows that book except for a small circle of folks in my city and her readership from the serialization days.

23. What's the nicest review you've ever gotten?

Oh man. This incentivized me to go back and reread the comments in my inbox, because I honestly couldn't remember any specific ones to highlight and had to go searching.

My favorite reviews are, hands down, the ones where the commenter is screaming, unhinged with happiness, about the fic. But the best reviews in my experience are the ones where the reader feels I've captured the characters well, or they've come away with a new understanding or perspective on them because of what I wrote.

The nicest review I ever got was for a Dragon Age fic, back when I was heavily participating in DA fic exchange events. I was actually really uncertain about writing this person's Lavellan because her personality was not the sort I had a lot of experience writing--taciturn, unyielding, and sharp-tongued. But I wanted to push myself, so I read their entire character bible for their Dragon Age OC, then I did a bunch of research on blacksmithing techniques since she was a smith. It was a Solavellan fic, but the relationship between their Lavellan and Solas was a little more subdued and less overtly romantic. Their review was very long, but the part that stuck with me most was this:

"I never realised how often I wrote them just together, and how that togetherness translates best to doing things together vs talking and speaking past one another. You've taught me a lot about her with this, and how others view her vs how I try to present her, and it's an absolute joy."

The fic is "A New Haven" and I do think it might be some of my best work.

[chialattea]

What will win:

my desire to write DA fics

vs

my seething hatred for medieval stereotypes (“haha they thought bathing was bad!!” “haha their streets were filthy and they threw wastewater out of their windows”)

[bluerose5]

A commission of my Hero of Ferelden & Inquisitor, Darrian Tabris, along with his husband, Zevran Arainai by the talented @redreart . Definitely recommend getting a commission if you can. I love this so much! 💙

With a deep breath, Darrian told him, "I love you, too." He paused, reminding himself of the change. The thought alone brought a sunny smile to his face. "Zevran Tabris."

And while they might not have a sunset to ride off into like in the stories, they did have a sunrise to watch from a distance.

Together, they could welcome a start to a new day.

Hopefully, the first of many to come.

[thegeminisage]

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationship: Chris Argent/Derek Hale Characters: Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Kate Argent, Original Characters, Minor Characters, Araya (Teen Wolf) Additional Tags: Asexual Derek Hale, Stone Top Derek Hale, Wolf Derek Hale, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Lovers to Friends, Friends With Benefits, Age Difference, Explicit Consent, Cohabitation, Grief/Mourning, Beards (Facial Hair), Trauma, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Unreliable Narrator, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Sexual Dysfunction, Warning: Kate Argent, Minor Character Death, Blow Jobs, Grief Beards, Asexual Character Words: 55,331 Summary: Derek insists on coming along with Chris Argent and the Calaveras on the hunt for Kate, so he can see her dead for good. While following her trail back to Beacon Hills, they come to understand some hard truths about both each other and themselves, and struggle to find the reason why, after losing nearly everyone they've ever loved, they're still here.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationships: Chris Argent/Derek Hale, Derek Hale & Laura Hale Characters: Derek Hale, Laura Hale, Chris Argent Additional Tags: Wolf Derek Hale, Grief/Mourning, Codependency, Cohabitation Words: 2,278 Summary: Derek's first day back home.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Relationships: Chris Argent/Derek Hale, Chris Argent & Scott McCall, Derek Hale & Scott McCall, Past Relationships:, Derek Hale/Paige, Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Chris Argent/Original Character(s), Chris Argent/Victoria Argent, Allison Argent & Derek Hale Characters: Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Scott McCall, Original Characters, Mentioned:, Kate Argent, Victoria Argent, Allison Argent, Gerard Argent Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Panic Attacks, Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Memory Loss, Repressed Memories, Guilt, Redemption, Codependency, Cohabitation, Asexual Character, Asexual Derek Hale, Sexual Dysfunction, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Murder Words: 36,500 Summary: Twenty-four hours after the death of his sister, Chris Argent wakes in Derek Hale's loft with his hands trembling too badly to load and fire a gun, and no matter what he does, he can't make them stop. He made a promise to protect Beacon Hills in Allison's stead, but now he has to decide how he carries on her legacy when he doesn't know if he can fight, if he can ever lay his guilt to rest, and if he's truly capable of doing good when he has already done so much harm.

...i wrote this series in 2017/2018 as teen wolf was coming to a close, but i didn't post them here since i was a little shy about my rarepair and also they're Extremely Explicit and i had a lot of kids following me for skeleton art. since those kids are all grown up now (?!?!?), here these finally are, on this blog for the first time Ever. the first fic is the best one, obviously - it's almost a ship manifesto, and i am proud to report i have won over skeptics with it <3 derek hale i love you forever

[afterthefeast]

i reckon i’ve said this before but of literally every piece of media i have ever consumed of any kind, the magnus archives is the one fandom i will steer clear of forever and always. not because it was toxic or weird though i am sure it was but because it was home to some of the blandest most asinine takes on genuinely good source material i have ever seen. truly some of the worst media literacy ever to grace this godforsaken website

[bumblerhizal-art]

Rhodri nodded. “I like to experiment with magic, you see, and Fereldan winters get harsh, so I wanted to see if I could insulate the tent. Took ten tries to get the right combination of grease and dry heat to properly seal and thicken it.” She paused and gave him a crooked grin. “The seventh attempt almost set the bloody thing on fire-- well, actually, it did for a moment, but it was worth it!”

I have been slowly reading through Have Warden, Will Travel by @wild-houseplant. I cannot recommend it enough if you’re into zevwarden or autistic antics or the intersection thereof!

[herearedragons]

Hello! :)

From the love your fandoms asks… What about numbers 3, 11, 17 and 20? The first three for each or both of your fandoms!

love your fandom asks

3. a character that fandom has helped you appreciate

Dragon Age: that's going to be a weird answer, but Cullen. I know about The Problems but just from playing the games, I didn't really care about him, but seeing art from people who do made me go "okay, well, I see why one would like this guy". Also, that's going to be an even weirder answer, but almost the exact same thing happened with Solas.

Pillars of Eternity: so in PoE reincarnation exists and throughout the first game you remember flashes of your past life, and it never occurred to me that that past life is also free OC real estate until I saw that other people were fleshing out their PC's past life as a separate character. The potential.

11. if you're a writer or artist, what fic or piece of art are you proud of making?

Dragon Age: okay I have to say something that isn't Homecoming for this one: I'm still pretty proud of this fic about the Arishok fight and this eldritch horror Solas fic.

Pillars of Eternity: the watercolor sketch for this one was more popular, but I'm really proud of this digital painting of my second Watcher. So proud, in fact, that I actually printed it out and it's on my wall now.

17. the thing in canon that everyone loves and that you also love

Dragon Age: The party banters. The Wardens. The tarot cards. Technically not everyone likes every LI, but I'm going to include them also.

Pillars of Eternity: we are all united by our love for two (2) special guys (and one secret special gal), all of whom are voiced by Matthew Mercer. (for the record, I appreciate the rest of the companions also, but I feel like there's an overwhelming consensus about these two specifically)

20. your very first fandom!

...I'm pretty sure that it was Hetalia, and, as I later found out was pretty common, at no point have I actually interacted with any of the source material. I just happened into an online space where people were really excited about a bunch of guys who were apparently also countries but the country stuff also wasn't really the point??? and then I read a lot of fanfiction about it, in which the country guys were really just a vessel through which people told literally whatever story they wanted to because there were no rules. in hindsight, this probably explains a lot about my current approach to fanfiction

[bosspigeon]

Sten SPOTIFY WRAPPED Writing Challenge song 13

to have a little more heaven with you

Many bas misunderstand the point of the Qun, in likening it to their own experiences. What could drive an entire culture to attempt to change the world but fervent, dedicated religion, worship of some higher power, belief that, at the end of one's life, there is some sort of holy reward for a life lived in dedicated service?

The bas exalt their Maker, their prophet Andraste, their gods and their Ancestors, and while Sten finds zealous veneration of any being that cannot be seen–or is long dead and lost to legend–a fool's errand, he leaves them to their delusions.

The Qun is not a religion. The Qunari worship no gods, man or myth, and while there are priestesses, their duties are to guide the people through Koslun's teachings. Perhaps the bas liken Koslun to their Andraste, but they are wrong there as well. Koslun was a flesh-and-blood Kossith, mortal as any other, and the Qun do not worship him any more than they worship any other Ashkaari.

Sten has never understood the desire to worship, to exalt or venerate, to prostrate himself before another being, real or imagined or the overblown legacy of an ancient corpse.

But the Warden has had a habit of inspiring many things in him that he would never have considered possible before.

Surana feels almost fragile beneath him, but Sten is not fooled. Magic hums through the bird-fine bones beneath supple flesh, muscles honed by stubborn dedication to a cause he never asked to champion. There is steel in his spine (though it arches so sweetly), in his eyes (his gaze so intent, it's almost like a touch), in the glint of his teeth when an enemy thinks they have the meek elven saarebas cornered and learn too late their mistake.

Dangerous thing.

Perhaps Sten was fooled, when he allowed the stuttering, sunburnt waif to draw him from his self-inflicted imprisonment, when he followed him into battle that first time, when he saw the glimmer of a spell firing off, when he carefully noted every possible potential weakness for future reference in the event their tenuous alliance fell apart and he was required to subdue the creature.

Slim. Breakable. Weak. Unsure. Thrust into the role of leader by circumstance and sure to buckle under the weight sooner rather than later. Surana was not trained for this. It didn't fit.

His shoulders are broader now than they were then. Sten pushes them back into the bedroll, feels the muscle ripple beneath his hands. Surana only goes with the motion because he wants to. If it were only physical strength at play, the elf's hard-earned physique would still not offer much of a challenge when Sten is still head and shoulders taller and easily twice as broad, but the Warden's strength is not only in the physical. There is tempest within his lanky frame that Sten has tasted firsthand.

A spindly hand smooths up along his broad chest, graceful fingers tracing the fractal pattern of a scar that trails up over his collarbone to the base of his throat. He remembers well the sensation of lightning coursing through his body, the jolt and burn that left him flat on his back and dazed. He remembers how quickly the elf went from meek and stammering to grim and determined to do what had to be done, standing victorious over the man who dared challenge his skill as a leader.

He feels that phantom spark prickle along his skin, skittering in the wake of nimble fingers, and he shudders. A reminder that, however much Surana allows, however willingly he bends, if pressed he could bring Sten to his knees effortlessly.

He thinks, in these moments, he understands what it means to worship.

[greypetrel]

@shivunin 's asked prompt n°22 for "Whomever I wished".

I have nothing else to say except: I'm sorry.

A character ship game had @n7viper suggest a Aisling and Fenris ship and my brain caught fire with a AU. Follow the link to read me rambling with more explanations.

Also this is one of my favourite tropes, there’s one scene in the Two Towers (book) that imprinted in my child brain and never left SO you see, my brain went on fire and I also gave this a proper title. And set the poor blorbos on fire as well. Enjoy.

CW: Mentions of abuse, trauma, difficult pregnancies and abortifacent herbs treated as next-day pill.

(did I mention it would have been very angsty?)

Part 2 here, you're welcome.

Some soundtrack if you need some more suffering.

Tis the prompt list if you want me to elaborate further on these two or have me writing some fluff, my brain is on fire

One for the Road

(Intentionally brushing against the other’s fingers when handing them something)

*Somewhere near the Tirashan forest, 9:34 Dragon*

The Arlathven wasn’t busy, this year. The absence of clan Sabrae was noticeable, and voices were running that Kirkwall wasn’t safe, that a storm was coming, that the Asha Bellanaris had been spotted there. But, after the first two day of reunions and ceremonies, the grand celebration for Mythal at the first moonrise of the first day, and the one for Elgar’nan at sunrise, the second evening was more relaxed, and free for everyone to entertain themselves. Usually, Keepers, First and Seconds were to rest and sleep after the first sleepless night of prayers and offerings to the Mother and the Father. But as it often goes, the younger ones would not oblige, and could be found around the camp village, entertaining and partying.

Pavyn was, as per usual, long gone who knows where, and Aisling and Radha were left on their own to find their fun, holding hands and chatting between themselves as they made their way around the aravels and clearings left for fires, tables, benches. People laughed, people played music and sang, hahrens told stories to fascinated groups of children, one big area left bare had some dancing, and they had been stopped twice already by hahrens asking young adults to taste their latest brews and give their opinion.

Getting drunk at the Arlathven was, after all, a rite of passage per se, as well as getting your Vallaslin. If you managed not to puke during the morning ceremonies of the third day, you could consider yourself officially a grown-up person. And the older elves thrived in the unspoken tradition, trying to lure the younger ones into drinking. Laughters all around, there were at least three different songs being sung at the same time, as the two sisters made their way back to their Clan.

“Do you think we lost her?”

“Keep on walking, now turn left-”

They did, briskly changing their course after an aravel, snaking in the narrow passage between that and the next, walking sideways but still refusing to leave their hands.

“And right!”

“Run!”

They made her way in a larger alley, laughing between themselves and slaloming through people, Radha leading her way and Aisling trodding right behind, smaller but swift on her feet. Another turn, another run, and they stopped in the clearing where the clan’s aravels were, catching their breath and laughing. Old Isene scolded her and reminded that they both were adults, technically, they needed to behave as such. But, they didn’t took notice, dismissing her and coming to sit by the fireplace.

“What happened?” Vyrina asked from their side, grumpy because her big belly prevented her from participating in much of the booze. The Keeper herself told her to stay absolutely put and rest plenty. TAnd after three miscarriages in two years, Vyrina wasn't prone to risk it.

“You remember that old lady from Clan Virnehn?”

“The one that brews that horrible thing with absinthe?”

“Her! She found us and wanted us to drink. We ran back here, she was following us with a flask.”

“Actually, she wanted Aisling to drink. As a celebration for her being First and doing so well yesterday.” Radha pointed out, ruffling her sister’s hair.

Vyrina laughed, bumping the blonde’s shoulders.

“Look at you, making a name for yourself!”

“Yeah, I won’t make a name for myself for the worst hangover ever, tho. I need to be up tomorrow, or Pavyn will eat me alive.”

“Do you remember the last time? I still remember the headache!” Vyrina chirped, giggling as she caressed her belly.

“Does he kick yet?” Aisling asked, changing the topic and lighting up.

“Oh yes, here!”

The mom-to-be snatched her friend’s hand, placing it over her belly and moving it around, a little, until-

“Oh!”

“There! Meet your aunt, da’len, she’s the weird one!”

“I’m not weird.”

“You are.” Both told her in chorus, affectionately. As affectionate was the pout that followed.

“Don’t listen to them, little one, I’m the cool aunt that can make sparkles.” Aisling whispered, bending closer to the belly as the baby inside give her another kick, with decision, and made her giggle. “He’s so tiny and cute! Can’t wait to kiss this tiny footsies!” She cooed.

“Don’t tell me. Honestly, wouldn’t recommend having a little gremlin kicking your kidney from inside.”

“Oh, come on, Vee!”

“If you’re so eager, get one for yourself and you’ll tell me how it is.”

“Fat chance.”

“Come on, as if it was a secret whom you dumped Ydun for!”

“I dumped her because she was bossying me around and never let me speak or decide anything! Also, she didn’t want me to study Tevene.” Aisling rebuked, crossing her arms on her chest and staring intently in the fire.

“So you did dump her to study that particular Tevene!”

Vyrina laughed, as Aisling turned ten shades of red one after the other. It wasn’t a mystery that she had a soft spot for Fenris, and that she did all she could to slowly, oh so slowly, creep behind wall after wall of what became quickly something more than a guest of the clan, ever since they found him on the run out of Hasmal and decided to hide him. He stuck around, weeks became months and months became three years now, the Lavellan moving around enough to make his tracks difficult to follow for whomever came searching, and small enough to slip under the radars. Or well, at least until three weeks ago.

Aisling had put her best efforts in making him feel welcomed and, in time, the two became friends. Good friends, and it was clear to the whole clan that the young First had a soft spot for the grumpy, broody fugitive that somehow tolerated her enough even she was a mage and he certainly made no mystery that he trust not mages, his reasons more than comprehensible. They were, honestly, as unlikely to be friends as cute, complimenting each other and finding common ground instead of each other’s differences, pushing the other in directions that they probably wouldn’t have gone on their own. What Aisling would have wanted, for once in her life, was being able to have a crush and pine over someone with none other the wiser. Without the whole clan looking at her and giggling knowingly, embarrassing her. And, right now, without her best friend bored to death because her hard-earned pregnancy kept her on a low level of activity and adoptive older sister both teasing her.

The point was that, all in all, she knew it was unrequited, and something that wasn’t meant to be. No matter how much she tried to appear reliable and controlled and stable, and help him know that not all mages were evil Magisters: the ambush three weeks ago and the meeting with that horrible woman -Hadriana- had very comprehensibly upset him, and remembered her that no matter how hard she tried… She still was a mage, she couldn’t (and frankly wouldn’t) help it, and he had walls that she couldn’t break, no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t undo the past and what has been done to him. And he had no reasons to more than tolerate her around him. She frankly didn’t know how much patience it took him to just… Deal with her sticking around him.

So no, she didn’t want to joke and speak about Fenris and indulge in daydreams that were just that. He helped her realise her first -and only- girlfriend wasn’t really good for her and she was thankful… But that was it. She wouldn’t have acted on it, no matter how much Vyrina was trying to tease her into it and trying to make her say she would have confessed and they would have been happy and have at least ten children with the greenest eyes ever. She didn’t budge, pointedly ignored Radha’s attempt to stop them from that speech. It wouldn’t do: Vyrina had started daydreaming about huge families with ten babies since Aisling was transferred in the clan and they became friends, and when Fionn asked her to bond with him she already had very detailed plans about everything, from her dress to activities and food and how to decorate the aravels for the party. Vyrina jumped at romances like Aisling jumped at sweets. And both were unstoppable.

In the end, the First was saved by her “fated beau”, as Vyrina kept on calling him, by said elf abruptly exiting from the Keeper’s aravel, not caring if the door slammed behind him and all but marching to sit on a loose stool in the corner, away from everyone as he could be without running off from the camp. It wasn’t the first time he brooded, and everyone by now knew to leave him be when he had that face. The girls stopped jesting, each turning to observe the scene, and Deshanna going out of the cart, as poised and calm as ever, looking at Fenris and shaking her head, clearly wanting to say something but instead turning the other way to speak to the hahrens nestled around the firepit and the dinner.

Vyrina and Radha instantly turned to her.

“What’s going on?”

“Radha’s her daughter, properly, why do you both ask me?”

“You’re her daughter too, and her First. And the one in the clan Fenris actually speaks to. They must have told you something!”

“Not a word… Not after… Well.”

She didn’t need to specify after what. Pros and cons of living in a small clan: everyone knew everything of everyone -save Isene who still ignored how Pavyn was having a tryst with her son, her precious son who had to be bonded to the First of Clan Ghilain in two days. So, everyone knew that a group of mercenaries had finally found Fenris and ambushed him, involving Aisling and Pavyn as well as three other hunters. And that Fenris had travelled with their First and Oshyn, the hunter master, to the hiding place of Fenris’ former master’s apprentice… That was no more. Nobody had really spoken about it as it became clear he didn’t want to, and that Aisling wasn’t really ok either.

It was clear that something happened, but they all got called for dinner, distracted from any other thought. The conversation shifted again, as Aisling and Radha rose to help with the meal, distributing bowls and laughing with the ones that didn’t roam around, and elves from other clans who decided to stay there for the dinner, visiting old friends. Arlathvens were like this: everyone was welcomed everywhere, food and shelter was granted to anyone who asked, no matter the Clan, it was a big party when rituals and meetings weren’t held, the atmosphere chilled and relaxed as they were all protected by numbers by any external threat. It was beautiful and warm. Except…

… Except Aisling had told herself a thousand times that she should really stop gravitating around Fenris and pestering him as she had done from the moment he arrived, relating to his being the new one in the clan. She taught him to read, he taught her Tevene. They were friends. And it was three weeks since they really talked for the last time. She may have feelings for him she shouldn’t be having, that would have been a nuisance for him, she knew well after what he told her. But, she hoped she still was his friend, and friends… Well.

Work done, she took the bowl to the Keeper and kissed her on the cheek just because, thanking her but saying she wouldn’t have sat with her this evening and excusing herself. She waved at Vyrina and Radha, still on their spot around the fire, and at Fionn who reached his wife and soon-to-be child, slung the handle of a goatskin over her shoulder, and grabbing the last two bowls of stew made her way to the most private, faraway corner in the clearing, close to the aravels, schooling herself and putting up a smile as she swallowed her nerves.

“Hello. Hungry?”

“Thank you.”

She handled him one of the bowls, which he took, careful to keep it stable and not to look at her in the eyes. He didn’t invite her to sit with him, didn’t say anything at all. But, she was used by now to his being silent, and it didn’t intimidate her one bit.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

She asked, but she was already sitting down, dragging a second stool closer to his -not enough to invade his space, she knew he cared for distances more than anyone in the clan and had learnt to respect it. It wasn’t a bother. So, she just sat, crossing one leg under her, sitting on her foot and slipping the goatskin down to the ground, with a soft thud, before starting to eat.

“Why did you ask if you just… Sat?” He asked, with that pitch in his low voice that was never clear if it was joking or angry. She didn’t mind and just shrugged.

“Politeness.”

“Weirdo.”

“Broody.”

It at least brought a smile on her face. He never called her weirdo when he was angry or irritated at her. Not with that tone. They kept on eating, none really saying anything or paying attention to the conversation and laughter and merriment around the campfire. Not much light reached them in that corner, casting them in a soft orange glow that really didn’t allow to distinguish colours or fine details. It was cosy, and private as an Arlathven could be. Which was not much, but it was something.

“Is everything all right?” She probed, not looking at him and trying to keep her voice neutral.

“Yes.”

Ok, so yes or no questions. He wasn’t in an elaborating mood. She could manage.

“Arlathvens are a lot, I know. Nobody would notice if you just shut yourself in your aravel for a day or two, really.”

“Mh.”

“But if you decide to stroll around, ignore the old woman with parrot feathers in her braids offering you absinthe liquor. That thing is despicable and is only good to help wood catch fire faster.”

“I don’t think I’ll meet her.”

He said, scraping the last morsels of meat from his bowl, before depositing the cutleries on the ground, beside the leg of her stool. So it would have been easier for her to take it back. A nice gesture, one of the many he had, under the grumpy, rough and unfriendly exterior he was always on the ready to help, and fit in the clan pretty well. At the same time, it was an invitation to go. But, the last sentence left Aisling with a bad feeling in her guts, and she needed to know more. She lowered her bowl on the crossing of her thigh, turning towards him.

“You’re planning on staying here all the time? Or in the aravel?”

He moved his head minutely, enough for silvery white locks to move and let him cast her a sideway glance.

“No, I’m not.”

“Here or the aravel?”

He didn’t reply, turning to look before him and slouching forward, elbows propped on his thighs. Sitting as if he was ready to jump right up. He never was fully relaxed, after all, Aisling didn’t blame him. Least of all after Hadriana. But… But, she knew him a little, and understood what he meant without him elaborating further. She wished she hadn’t eaten, her stomach tying in a knot. Except, she hated wasting food, she knew how hard it was to hunt, and… And so, she finished her meal in silence, turning his words and body language over and over in her head, extrapolating every tiny bit of information she could in search for a counter-theory that she really didn’t find.

“You know nobody in the clan would mind if you stayed, right?”

No answer, he just contracted his hands more.

“You’re… You’re family. You’d have more chances with us.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped, harshly. The same tone of voice he had that day.

She lowered her gaze, not able to reply. He knew he was right, she did too. They both knew. So, she just raised his spoon and piled her bowl on top of his, carefully to place both spoons inside without makin any noise, slowly and carefully. And returning to look in front of her, crossing her arms on her chest. Tight. She would not cry now because he was leaving. She wouldn’t. She would have been an adult, waited for a good moment to rise up that didn’t feel like she was running away, and either jump right in the camp town and get horribly drunk, or close in the Keeper’s aravel and cry until sleep caught her. She was an adult, she helped performed the rites as her Keeper’s First. She could do it, as hard as she found it to be.

But, he must have sensed something, and she heard him sigh, loudly.

“I am sorry. About what happened with Hadriana. I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was… Not myself.” Every word came out slowly and clear, he made sure she heard.

“You disappeared for a day. We had no idea of where you went, we… I was worried.” She admitted. He found them back after a day, as if nothing happened. Except, he didn’t speak to her and avoided her.

“I needed to be alone.”

“I understand.”

He sighed, starting to explain to her who exactly Hadriana was, what she did to him. The abuse, the cruelty, everything. Her heart clenched more, as every time he let on some details about his past before they crossed paths. It pained him to remember, but he kept on talking without stopping or stalling. She listened to him, not replying, not making comments. Just… Accepting what he had to give. Saying she was sorry wouldn’t have helped.

“This hate… I thought I’d gotten away from it. I thought… The clan gave me some respite. But it dogs me no matter where I go and…” He paused, huffing breath through his nose. “To feel it again, to know who planted it inside me… It’s too much to bear.”

Oh, she would have died to touch him, to reassure him somehow as she knew how. Except, she knew he didn’t really like being touched. As much as it was difficult, she closed her hands on her arms, and just… dragged the stool a little closer to his, minding not to tumble the bowls. Not enough for their shoulders to brush, not enough to touch. But enough to communicate she was there, if he wanted.

A minute passed, before he deflated, back slouching a little further and a long sigh leaving his lips.

“Bah. I don’t want to bother you further.”

“… You still don’t need to leave, Fenris.”

She just said, convinced of what she was saying. It came out as more of a beg than anything else, and she quickly averted her eyes as he turned to look at her. Aisling didn’t want to look at him in the eyes and find… anything, really. Anything would have made her crumble and start crying, and he would have asked her why she was crying because he always did, and she would have had to… Explain things. Hurt him more if he wanted to leave for real. So, instead of slipping down that hill, she cleared her throat and bent to take the goatskin from the floor, deftly taking the cork away.

“So. Well. Thank you for apologising. One for the road? You really can’t participate to an Arlathven and not drink, it’s part of the experience. It would put all of us to shame if we let you go without even a drink.”

She started, talking fastly and quick, running to the edge of a knife and, to maybe make that edge a tiny bit bigger, rose the goatskin up.

“Prosit!” She toasted, in Tevene, before taking a gulp. She hadn’t asked which liquor it was, just… Took it out. Turned out it was something made out of sloes, sweet and tangy and with definitely too much alcohol inside.

She huffed, shaking her head as her throat finished burning up, as the elf beside her quietly chuckled. If he chuckled it meant that things were fine, at least, which was good. She didn’t want him to leave in sadness, and if all that she could do was this, she wanted to give him some nice memories and a last… Evening, or day, to remember fondly. That, she could do.

He prodded her, waiting for her to pass the goatskin on, but she stalled. Something nice to remember. Maybe… Maybe it was the alcohol. Or the butterflies in her stomach having nasty ideas of their own to whisper in her ears.

Maybe, just hypothetically… If he was leaving… Maybe she could… And then maybe -just maybe!-, he wouldn’t…

But, she was a mage. And he believed that magic ruined things.

But, he was there with her, didn’t move away when she got closer. He stayed when she sat with him, in a moment when it was clear he wanted to be left on his own. He called her weirdo with that tone of voice that held affection. He apologised and opened up, which was something he never did. Not in so many details and certainly not with everyone. There were things about his past that she was the only one he let on. So… Maybe…

“Are you gonna pass it on, or was it so strong that it struck dumb even you?”

“Maybe it was… Wouldn’t take a lot to strike me dumb, after all.”

He rose an eyebrow, not convinced. “I disagree. You’re very intelligent.”

She smiled, a little bolder from the compliment. She didn’t elaborate further, even if she didn’t agree fully with him. Because she was about to do something potentially very, very stupid. But, it was now or never, she guessed, so… She took another sip of liquor, praying silently Mythal to give her braveness, as he chuckled again at her.

And then, she turned to him, finally -finally­- looking at him straight in the eyes, intently. He didn’t lower his gaze, a small smile softening his face. She handled him the goatskin.

“One for the road, then?”

“One for the road.” He nodded, placing his hand on the container.

She didn’t let go right away, tho. Swallowing, her heart beating loud and fast in her ears, fluttering in her throat so hard that for one minute all that existed in the world was her and Fenris, she moved her fingers to brush against his, feather-light and ready to get away, still looking at him in the eyes. As soon as she realised, as her fingerpads found the back of his hand and brushed against his tattoos, she felt him contract and move, the softness in his eyes disappearing at once.

Something shone blue, she gasped and felt his hands clutching on both her wrists, goatskin falling down on the grass, her arms being dragged at the side of her bust.

It was a moment, nobody saw them as the party was keeping up and nobody paid attention to them half hidden in a dark corner in that one, decisive moment. Aisling instinctively called on mana, but… Stopped. Let go. It was Fenris, and she trusted him. She did, even glaring and towering over her.

And indeed, he folded on himself, harsh expression melting into one of regret and pain. Again, and she hated the comparison, as right after he told her that magic ruins everything it touches. Except, they were far, far closer now than they have ever been, balancing on stools too close together.

He lowered his gaze and let go of her, suddenly, moving back. But, she wouldn’t have it. He regretted it, she saw. She saw him, for a moment, looking down at her lips. She wouldn’t let go without a fight.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Mythal hearing her prayer and suddenly descending over her in some sort of divine inspiration that took all rational thoughts away, she called his name as assertively as she could be -a tone fit for a Keeper-, and when he turned again to her, she bent forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t a good kiss. It was sudden and unplanned and it had too many teeth clanking together, and she tasted blood on her lips, when she pursed them together to make it at least a little softer.

She turned back after a while, all sounds muffled and feeling like her face was burning in embarrassment, as Fenris looked at her dumbstruck, mouth still open.

“I-” She started, fumbling, desperately tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as the weight of what she did hit her. “I-I’m so, so sorry, I shouldn’t-”

He didn’t let her finish, and this time it was him kissing her. With less teeth, and better. Aisling soared, answering to him after a moment of pure surprise. Another break, they looked at each other in the eyes, finding the same dumbstruck expression reflecting in the other’s. Aisling giggled, still embarrassed, and he chuckled, smiling. Smiling for real. She tentatively rose her hands towards his face, he nodded without saying anything. She cupped his face, he tentatively splayed his hands on the small of her back. They kissed again. And again. And then some more.

And then they remembered what she suggested, not too long ago and yet a lifetime before, that if someone would close themselves in an aravel, none would be the wiser or really come looking. It seemed like a good idea to both of them, communicating just by looks and half smiles. He nodded, she took his hand, he took the goatskin – “It tastes good on your lips”- and dragged him inside. He let her drag him, let her undo his belt and straddle his lap.

The gin tasted good on his lips as well, and his skin felt even better against hers, warm and smooth. She let herself believe, and for a moment she was very, very sure of it as he nibbled her collarbone just so that her toes curled and traced her whole spine with rough, calloused fingers so delicately, that it wasn’t one for the road.

---

The next morning, Keeper Deshanna’s First came to the ritual for Sylaise with a lackluster expression, not looking at anyone in the eyes and not at all the cheerful, brilliant mage she has been but 36 hours prior when they celebrated Mythal.

She was dressed as her status required, in her best halla leather embroidered in gold trim, golden hair neatly braided against her head in an austere way. And yet, her eyes felt void, her smile didn’t reach them. She practiced all the rituals alongside her Keeper, didn’t miss a word. Didn’t say a word outside prayers, when it was done.

When the Keeper got back to the Lavellan area, her youngest strongly deflecting and refusing to say what was wrong, and saying it was all right, she was fine… She didn’t find Fenris anywhere. No one, when she asked, had seen him since yesterday evening, but one of the sentinels, who saw an elf with white hair and a “stupidly big sword” leaving quickly at dawn.

His aravel was empty. Aisling was to the working table, pestling flowers and herbs together in a frenzy. She didn’t say a word when Deshanna asked her what she was doing, to stop, at least change your clothes, da’len, it’s gonna stain. She didn’t speak. Didn’t speak at lunch, didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much Vyrina tried, caressing her hair and washing her green-stained hands. She, simply, wasn’t there, and Deshanna’s heart clenched, putting two and two together and remembering those first days, after another Arlathven many years ago, when she was six and finally understood that her mamae wouldn’t have come with her.

Deshanna stopped Radha, as perceptive as her, and even more sometimes, to track Fenris down and beat the hell out of him, saying it was no use. She consoled her middle daughter, caressing her high cheekbones and placating her rage. And sent her after Aisling instead, instructing her to take care of her sister. She would have started bleeding soon, if what she did that morning was what Deshanna thought. And Deshanna, as unassuming and humble as she behaved, as much as she didn’t care to have a bigger clan as long as they were united as they were, was renowned to be extremely talented with herbs and healing. And, she saw how the bottle of rue wasn’t as full as it was yesterday, and how the pennyroyal jar was stained green.

She sighed, kissing her daughter on the forehead before she went and sit close to Aisling, hugging her tight in the way they had of just… Avoid words and saying everything without them.

She needed to take care of things. Find Pavyn and tell him to both substitute her for the next day or two, and go easy on her, even if he was still angry.

It would have been a harsh winter.