#because it's different than how varric takes her under his wing

[flashhwing]

i hate when characters are written out of character in fics unless it's people making anders and fenris be nice to merrill. i think that's good mischaracterization actually

[theheraldsrest]

Hey!

If you’re comfortable with it, may I request the companions reacting to a teen (14-16) Inquisitor? And/or some platonic headcannons with them (like how they may treat them differently to an adult Inquisitor or if they’d be more protective of them because of their age), and how this person who isn’t even an adult is basically tasked to save the world. This feels like it has the potential to be really fluffy and angsty.

Have a nice day/night!

“Companions react to Teen!Inquisitor”

Who’s ready for the Parent-quisition? Because I am! Poor kid’s got 12 parents and they all teach a lesson. Are they good lessons? Maybe not.

-Lord Lex

Cullen

-He’s used to young recruits, but a child leading the inquisition? He’ll argue with Cassandra and Leliana about it but there’s no changing it. You have the mark and you’re able to close the rifts. It bothers him so much to hear you ask what certain things are when an actual leader would. Don’t get him wrong, he’s impressed with everything you do but a child of your age should be worrying about chores or having fun, not leading an entire army. He’ll do his best to advise you. 

Josephine

-I’ve said it before but Mama Bird is watching over you. Out of everyone, she is the most against this. As much as you have proved yourself, you are still young! Yes you have the mark, but can’t someone else run it? She never fully gives up on this argument but she does try to make it easier for you. She’ll even tutor you herself on certain subjects so that you have a better understanding or that you don’t stress too much. Josey’s an older sister, she won’t let you go into this blind.

Leliana

-Listen, she was just as surprised as Cassandra was when they found you amongst the rubble, not to mention with the mark on your hand. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Cassandra back off an interrogation so quickly. But since then, you have proven yourself and have even impressed Leliana. She has no objection to you becoming the Inquisitor. She’ll help where needed and take some of the more gruesome problems to the others so that you don’t have to know the details. I mean, Josey had to stop her from explaining to you how she’ll take down some of your enemies.

Vivienne

-Vivienne never wanted kids, she thought she’d never be able to stand them nor give them a good childhood. And yet, here we are, her watching over you and sitting with you to teach you whatever you like. When she got word that the Herald was young, she hadn’t expected a young teen. She won’t treat you like a child but a growing adult, eventually you’ll have to learn about the world and it would be better sooner than later. Has you under her wing and shows you that the ice queen can, indeed, be warm hearted.

Varric

-Didn’t expect to be adopting anyone when he ‘joined’ the inquisition, but now he’s got two kids, Cole and you. Did he have a choice? No. Does he regret it? No. Makes a great uncle, cracking jokes and trying to educate you to the best of his ability things you should know. Subjects he’d rather not talk about are “Go ask Cassandra.” You shouldn’t have been made Inquisitor, in his opinion. Varric’s got nothing against you, it’s just…he doesn’t want to see another Hawke. You're young, you’ve got a lot to learn, not to mention you’ve got the mark that he sees makes you flinch when you use it. He’ll try his best to make it easy for you.

Cole

-The mind of a child is a wonderful yet sad thing. Usually they have yet to know what awaits them in the real world, but you do. Cole can see the turmoil and wants to help but he makes it confusing sometimes. Other times, he’ll make you laugh. He knows some things and you know others through your new lessons. You teach each other. Tries his best to stay near you to make sure you’re ok while also helping you understand what’s going on.

Solas

-One of the only people who actually thinks it’s a good idea. Most elven children are taught at a young age to be responsible and to solve problems. Not only that, but you also have the mark which is a new type of magic to many others. He sees it as an opportunity for you to learn so many things and he’ll happily help with that. Anything and everything, he’ll educate you. Surprisingly, he also knows how to calm you down when you need it, either with talking, giving you some tea, or just even showing you some magic.

Cassandra

-She wanted so badly for it to be an illusion, a trick of the mind possibly but no, this is an actual teenager who is very much not evil and very much scared. It’s a constant turmoil for her. On one hand, Cass wants to treat you like a growing adult, teaching how to defend yourself and what you must know. On the other, you’re a child. You shouldn’t be in this mess. She really does try to go easy on you but it starts to become overbearing when she tries to keep you from getting hurt by anything. Poor guard got yelled at because you bumped into him.

The Iron Bull

-If you’re qunari, he’ll treat you as any other child would’ve been taught in the Qun. If not, then that’s a different problem. Tries to still apply what he’s learned from his young years to what he’s learned about children of other regions. Trains you to your limit and will try to push a little bit further while also educating you more in military tactics. Doesn’t matter if you're young, he’s going to make sure that you have a fighting chance. Though he will back off a bit and give you time to still have fun and live. As for leadership, he thinks you deserve it but that you should have someone take the more pressing and stressful matters. At least then your plate won’t be so full. You also end up being adopted by the chargers. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Dorian

-Who let a child in here?! After first will try to keep his distance since he doesn’t think he’d be a good influence on you, not to mention the rumors. But if you keep pestering him, he starts to grow fond of you. Dorian’s the uncle that tries to pamper you, getting you little gifts and trinkets to make you smile, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, or even looking for books and other things to help boost that curiosity for history and discovery. Whereas Vivienne might take you by the hand and introduce you to 200 nobles, Dorian keeps you away from dumb matters and only introduces you to those who genuinly want to help you or the inquisition. Was with Josey on not letting you lead the inquisition. He knows what happens when you throw a child into the fray of politics. He doesn’t want that for you.

Sera

-Sera will absolutely follow you into battle. Someone has to be around to keep an eye on you two when you're together because she will most definitely teach you things you shouldn’t know. She actually thinks it's brilliant that you're leading. Certain people are older than time and making shit decisions. But a child? They have so many ideas and thoughts that almost seem ridiculous but could work. She trusts you wholeheartedly and will get into little fights that just end with you guys sticking your tongues out at each other. Feels bad that your stuck to the weird magic hand, though.

Blackwall

-He…is on Josey’s side here. Sure, you’re growing up and you’ll be a young adult soon but making you the leader of the inquisition? Of an army? Just because your hand glows??? Now everyones lost their heads. He’ll be the most father of the fathers and he didn’t even think he’d have it in him. Teaches you how to fight with different weapons, educates you on how to survive if on your own, etc. He’ll act exactly like a father, making sure you’re ok, bringing you food or telling some dumb (dad) jokes. Also, anyone who tries to intimidate you will find a bear standing over you. They should run

[dragonagecompanionsreact]

Dragon Age : Inquisition. How would companions react to Inquisitor's qunari adopted daughter.

Cassandra: She is surprised the Inquisitor has an adopted daughter and a Qunari one at that, but in the end it doesn’t matter. In fact, it's quite a sight to see the Inquisitor manage the entire Inquisition on top of caring for their child. It would be difficult for most men and women, but the Inquisitor almost makes it look easy.

Varric: “Gotta say Inquisitor, the rogue, dashing hero with a heart of gold adopts a down on their luck orphan makes a good story,” Varric comments with a laugh. Like with Hawke, the Inquisitor’s life just keeps making a fantastic tale.

Vivienne: “My dear, I must insist on being this child’s unofficial favorite auntie,” Vivienne insists. “Fear not because I will teach your child to handle these foolish nobles and Orlais with the expertise of… myself, actually.”

Iron Bull: He bonds with the kid without meaning too. She asks him one day while he was training with Krem in the courtyard if there was any way to help with the horn chafing. Given he’s the only other Qunari here, Bull is more than happy to help the kid.

Blackwall: Blackwall is confused when he first meets the Inquisitor’s daughter. “She… has your nose, Inquisitor.” He says, wanting to go jump in a lake when the child laughs and says that she’s adopted.

Cole: Cole finds the child to be very interesting. They are very sweet, always asking Cole to play. He enjoys spending time with the girl, always laughing whenever he sees her standing next to the Inquisitor. The height difference is rather amusing.

Sera: “This kid and I are going to have so much fun doing pranks!” Sera says, giving the Inquisitor a sly smile. The Inquisitor sighs, but seems resigned to the situation that is about to unfold. Smart thinking on the Inky’s part.

Solas: Solas isn’t sure what to think at first, but the main thing he notices is that the Inquisitor’s daughter has a great gift for magic. Despite his internal misgivings at getting so involved, he does take the child under his wing and begins lessons. 

Dorian: “My friend if you are allowing Madame De Fer to be the child’s favorite auntie then I must claim the title of Uncle. With us both as mentors, your daughter will rule Thedas with clever wit and an eye catching wardrobe.”

[virlath]

The elven figures in Solas’ new mural

I have so many thoughts about the elven figures in Solas’ new mural. so so soooo many thoughts.

I was originally going to write off Corypheus and Meredith as filler, but the more I look at the painting, the more I wonder if Corypheus and Meredith unwittingly repeated history with the corresponding figures above them.

I’ve already written about how eerily similar the symbolism is between Mythal and Meredith. If Meredith’s actions echoed what happened to Mythal, perhaps Corypheus is a figure who embodied what Elgar’nan was all about - retribution and arrogance. 

After all, Corypheus challenged his god Dumat and sought to claim his own divinity, even walking physically in the fade to do so. In Dalish legend, Elgar’nan challenged the sun who is also described as his father, and threw the sun in the abyss.

I think a lot of people think the left figure in the painting is Ghilan’nain because of the concept art from the Bioware book. 

It’s a fair point and honestly I can see the left figure being Ghilan’nain and the right figure being Falon’Din, to echo the two old gods yet to rise (Razikale and Lusacan). 

For the sake of theory crafting purposes however, let’s just imagine a different scenario where the left figure is Mythal, and the right figure is Elgar’nan. 

We know that Mythal is known for her cities, and according to Solas, Arlathan was Elvhenan’s greatest capital. Therefore, we can assume Arlathan was Mythal’s grand design. 

If the Dread Wolf is indeed breaking into the Black City in DA4 like what the painting seems to depict, surely Mythal/Elgar’nan must be involved somehow. (this is of course assuming that the Black City is Arlathan, but by now I am pretty certain this is the case).

In the new mural, the elven figures look almost like gatekeepers. Notice they aren’t inside the Black City at all, but imprisoned outside of it, just like his DAI mural below. The spheres behind each figure correspond to the spheres above the eluvians in the painting below too.

If Arlathan was Elvhenan’s great capital and Mythal’s greatest city, it would make a lot of sense that you would need something of Mythal/Elgar’nan to enter Arlathan’s inner sanctum. If they truly wanted to be seen as gods, surely they had safeguards in place to ensure only the “divine” could enter certain parts of it. And what better place to imprison the evanuris than behind an almost impossible to unlock eluvian?

In DAI, the Qunari were looking for artifacts to unlock eluvians in the network. This included anything from Solas’ self portrait to elven artifacts and even Varric’s book.

So, it would make sense that to unlock an eluvian into the inner part of the Black City, you would need a personal artifact of Mythal/Elgar’nan as they are a pair and the ruling leaders of the pantheon. 

We have already seen in Tevinter Nights a Fen’Harel ‘cultist’ was after a piece of Dumat’s Folly, aka a piece of the Black City. What if this was something Solas could use or imbue with magic to unlock an eluvian into the Black City to get to the imprisoned evanuris?

The right figure

The figure on the right looks pretty manly to me with their broad shoulders and neck. The headdress also looks a lot like a sun or moon (an eclipse maybe?), and their robes looks like crab claws, which reminds me of a mosaic in Trespasser.

This is one of the mosaics in Fen’Harel’s sanctuary flipped upside down, where the rune describes the lies of the evanuris. 

"The gods, our Evanuris, claim divinity, yet they are naught but mortals powerful in magic who can die as you can. In this place, we teach those who join us to unravel their lies."

I honestly have no idea what this mosaic is trying to depict, but from the way the rune is worded it seems like the elven gods figured out ‘effective immortality’.

We know Elgar’nan had numerous slaves so it wouldn’t be a surprise to learn he was the one using them to fuel his effective immortality (body hopping).

The left figure

The figure on the left looks female due to the slimmer torso and neck, and interestingly, no noticeable elven ears. Notice also the wavy lines. These wavy lines are echoed in many of Solas’ paintings and forms a part of the executor’s symbol.

The connection to the bronze statues in Trespasser is pretty obvious. 

So, a few things strike me. These bronze statues seem to be a pair or diptych, depicting the sun in the crossroads, and the moon underground. The statues  look female because of the bust/torso, and they also both feature very prominent wings.

We’ve already seen Mythal depicted as a dragon in her statues, and wings are always a prominent feature of that. This is why it makes a lot of sense to me that these statues are for Mythal, who represents the sun and moon because Elgar’nan was a bit of a loose cannon.

Wings are simply a part of Mythal’s aesthetic. She was after all the leader of the pantheon and the divine form of the elven gods was supposedly the dragon. All of Mythal’s statues depict her as a dragon, with wings.

Ghilan’nain on the other hand is known as the mother of the Halla. Her mosaics depict her with swirly horns and when Ghilan’nain urged the Sinner to take wings, it was considered so treasonous Mythal let Elgar’nans wrath upon him instead of judging him.

So if these statues are supposed to be Ghilan’nain, who used to be one of the People and made youngest of the gods, would Ghilan’nain’s winged statues be placed right next to Mythal?

I mean, it just seems like an odd choice.

This is why the imagery and symbolism around Mythal and Ghilan’nain are so confusing. It almost seems like the devs are trying to misdirect us, and why I’ve been saying it seems like the mythos of Mythal and Ghilan’nain has been muddied throughout history.

It’s not just the wings that confuse me. It is the theme of the ocean. It is said Mythal walked out of the sea and onto land in Dalish legend. In the concept art, the monster is clearly a humungous sea serpent, wielding thunder and lightning (which Elgar’nan is said to have wielded).

Then we have Ghilan’nain, who created deep sea creatures and experimented with brine pool horrors deep underground.

The best explanation for all this confusion is that perhaps Ghilan’nain attempted to usurp Mythal’s power and built those statues after killing Mythal. In DAO, the elven artifact found by the humans says this:

A small stone statue of a woman with antlers like a halla, with the moon under her right foot, and two hares beside her. The base of the statue is covered in strange writing.

The moon is representative of Mythal because it’s said she first created the moon as a reflection of the sun.

So, going back to Solas’ painting....I think the elven figures fit with Mythal and Elgar’nan, however I could see them also being Ghilan’nain and Falon’Din purely because they fit with the old gods yet to rise. Yay we’re back to square one! 

[felassan]

Thoughts on Dark Fortress #2

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

So late with this one! some stuff irl was keeping me really busy and hyper-distracting me lately, but it’s finally over now so I’m back on my bioware bullshit. :D

Overall there were a lot of beautiful or awe-inspiring scenes in this issue, and a lot of great, meaningful / poignant character interactions and moments between characters. It’s pretty impressive actually how much was able to be packed in. I posted some of my favorite panels here. also omg! the action sequences! the big reveal! the ending!! woww

cool scene-setting, panned out shot of Neromenian and behind it, the Dark Fortress, to immediately pull you back into the world and ‘where we left off’. the combination of ruined dead trees, red lights, lightning and fire/smoke is very atmospheric and hints at what’s ahead

“From this... city, if we can call it that” is a sick burn and reminds you that the Qunari are technologically more advanced than most of the rest of Thedas, from their cannons to their aqueducts

more individually distinct Qunari soldiers, sth I again appreciate

! last issue there were big ‘You haven’t seen the last of Tractus!’ vibes, naturally, but I didn’t expect him to escape by stabbing and killing the Qunari using a chair-leg..!!

the last panel on the first page of Karasten is really good. the way it’s colored, the way it’s lit, the light and shadow, the fiery backdrop, cinders floating, the details of his expression.. 👌 it also makes me think to the possible future, to DA4 when mainland Thedas may be continuing to face the entirety of the Antaam

in Vaea’s acrobatics scene on the bridge, I know rationally that she’ll be fine but couldn’t help but worry for her. again I like how they don’t shy away from showcasing Vaea’s specific abilities. also the attention to detail - you’d think some rocks are just some rocks, but it highlights the risk she’s undertaking that if she falls it’s into rough seas which could dash her against the jagged rocks :’S. Vaea, gooooo!

Fenris’ “Enterprising girl” line has big “Clever girl” meme energy :D

my heart can’t take Fran and Autumn leaning over the edge after Vaea in worry ;; or Aaron looking back in concern over his shoulder ;; or Fran’s tender reassurance ;; or Autumn’s Worried expression ;; the care and bonds which have grown between this group of characters ;;

notice Aaron starts drinking when Vaea’s away from them and they’re beginning to grow worried about her safety. the poor man’s nerves and stress levels

Fran touching the vegetation while she’s considering if she could use her magic to open the entrance from the outside is a nice touch

did Marius leap in front of Fenris and Fran there when the entrance opened?? damn, he’s quick. and the three of them look all scary and formidable here ready for combat. notice how the curve of the door and the spikes that go into the ground, and the composition of this panel, make it look like they’re standing in front of an opened dragon’s maw? ‘teeth’, a rumbling ‘roar’.. some nice foreshadowing here.

the reunion panels are so cute. Autumn’s lil tum as she jumps and Fran and Fenris’ lil smiles of relief and at Autumn’s reaction to seeing Vaea, then a rare happy beam from Aaron.. feel.. the love ;__;

red lighting in the tunnel sets a dangerous, dramatic build-up mood

👀 more info on Fenris’ past, on the specifics of the process which gave him his markings. in the panel where he says that it took a long time, his shadow on the wall behind him reminds me of the shadow of his past that has dogged him for so long :(

Fenris and Marius height difference

discussion of the process shows the power difference between blue and red lyrium. blue lyrium took a long time, red lyrium is almost instant

Autumn is such an intrepid little explorer and alert scout, tail and ears up, head forward. good girl!

“I just... worry about you, my girl”  ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚  I’ll be so sad if these are death flags for Aaron and he doesn’t make it out of here. also note Fran in this panel, who recently had to kill her own father and is still dealing with that, watching the strongly paternal moment between Aaron and Vaea :(

love Vaea’s faith in Aaron and her sense of humor. also I don’t know why, maybe it’s because Vaea met Sebastian, but her “Maker, no!”, although in a completely different and light-hearted context, reminds me of Sebastian’s “Maker nooo!” at the end of DA2 hh

the reference again to Hawke, who Fenris saw haunted by what they tried to do - save their mother - and couldn’t :’(. also with the shadow in this panel, here’s another person struggling with the shadow of his past qq. this is later emphasized again in Aaron when he continues to talk about his past and in the panel is a chain and manacle. smart visual metaphors, a must in the comic medium with limited space

mushroom skull 💀🍄

“It isn’t about what I’ve done. It isn’t about my failures. Or my choices. It’s about their impact” - he’s misty-eyed here as he thinks back to Ostagar.. does this line btw seem almost meta to anyone else btw? :D it feels like a meta reference to the experience of DA players and PCs, who are always having to deal with the impacts of their choices

I wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die” ;;

So Aaron is also a veteran of the Battle of Denerim

reference to the Hero of Ferelden - “Those were someone else’s battles”. I’m being captain obvious here but I can’t help but [heart pitter-patter] at any and all references to the HoF

I like the.. parallel? is that the word? Aaron’s stories were him trying to inspire people to make a change, or him trying to convince himself of that. and now here’s Vaea, inspiring Aaron with her words in these panels. the little guys can make a difference! in the world of Thedas, you don’t need to be a big bombastic hero or a Player Character to have an impact 

lmao Fenris right on cue. the moments of humor/light-heartedness are nice because they break up the tension and are sprinkled throughout without derailing build-up or taking away from dramatic story impact. yknow?

yeah Aaron!! leave it behind. leave it to rot with mr mushroom skull (and hey the mushroom skull was there for a reason). again tho if this is a death flag i 

Fenris straight down to business with the tactics

its cute how close Autumn has been sticking to Fran

Tessa checking in on Fran again, as she did in issue 1

Could Vaea’s “Well, shit” be an homage to Varric? :D they have met

I also wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar”

the poor dragon :’( big dragon the Qunari had in Trespasser vibes

the sword has a really cool design, kind of reminds me of something a samurai might be depicted wielding

👀 lore-drop! so ancient elven arcane warriors used lyrium-infused swords. this seems to confirm the sarcophagus is an ancient elven artifact, no? makes sense, wasn’t it said that the sarcophagus’ design was based on the architecture/outfit-design type elements of a specific faction, and that this was done intentionally? it looks kinda ancient elfy in make, right? also about the lyrium-infused swords of the arcane warriors, well well well.. remember that the Evanuris and the ancient elves mined the bodies of Titans for lyrium, for power and to use as a resource. here’s an example of that use

as I read through this portion I became increasingly concerned for my boy Shirallas.. we really are in it now aren’t we 😭

the Qunari are launching STRAIGHT-UP ROCKETS ohhhh

pretty ‘lightshow’ over the wall in the “Let’s hope the fortress is as secure as Danarius boasted” panel hh

protective older brother Fenris, impish younger sister Vaea. love that dynamic, we love to see it. sheepish and exasperated Fenris is so cute

the Bone Pit dragon fight with Hawke and co reference!

I wonder how long the dragon has been captive here, and how Danarius/Tractus was able to capture it

lore-wise what are the implications here? when Fenris’ ritual was being undertaken, the sword and the sarcophagus were bombarded with magic, fire spells. in this one they aim to have the dragon bombard it with fire-breathing. is it just fire that makes it work/powers it, or is there magic in dragonfire, in dragons? it reminds me of “Your heart beats with the old blood, as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?”

purple color for the dragon’s growling sounds/typeset is a great idea

lets.. goooo!!!!

Marquette is such a nerd. later on when he activates the sarcophagus he has mad scientist vibes

the dramatic reunion face-offs begin!! as the prophecy foretold!!!!1

true to form, Marius DOES have nothing to say ahahaha, even at this, his personal climax. maybe Marius dies in the next issue, but Tessa lives and gets to go back to Charter

these Venatori look almost Star Wars

Shirallas my boyy.. nooo... don’t do it 😭

ah ah ah! try casting magic with no ARMS

Francesca a beacon of blue light and goodness

the splash combat page is masterful. everyone playing a part, so much going on, everything happening at once. a thing that sticks out to me about it is Aaron’s outstretched hand and alarm as he watches Fran fall 

Autumn with her lil hackles raised

“The Venatori have returned” dun dun dunn

goodbye Shirallas 😭😭😭

the composition of the second to last page with triangle/diamond-shaped panels and the framing of dragon wings is awesome

the Dread Wolf rises, “the Tevinter Imperium will rise again”.. on-point on-point cohesion

there he is, the red wraith

Super Saiyan Shirallas

what a note to end an issue on

wow wow wow!!

and separate to the above, some speculation based on the cover of Issue 3: the piece of metal looks like a broken collar coming off Shirallas, like the one there was on the cover of Issue 2 coming off the dragon. also he’s all bulky now with draconic talons/claws (reminds me of in-world legends of Reavers who dug too deep of their own power after drinking dragon blood and whose bodies consequently began to manifest subtle reptilian traits actually). I’ll be interested to see what results of this allusion between Shirallas and the dragon!!

[aria-i-adagio]

30 Day DA OC Challenge, Day 19: Courtship

Day 19: Courtship

Does your OC get involved romantically or sexually with anybody? When do they first fall for them or get involved? If they fall in love, when does it happen? Does the relationship last?

Anders! (And yes, it lasts, for better or worse.)

[most of this is a repeat from this post]

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. An oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that such relationships shouldn’t get in the way of family expectations and making children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell.

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

[chaosride]

A Divine Appointment (x7)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

“You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” — Franklin P. Jones

Their next weekly Wicked Grace night was interesting. Anders had tried to beg off with the reasoning of not wanting to leave the kids alone all night at the clinic, and Varric had easily told him to bring the kids with him. Anders had expected Norah to run them off, as the owner had made it clear that the Hanged Man was a place for drinking and gambling. However that night Norah had just waved them through towards the stairs to Varric’s quarters. At Anders’ questioning look, Norah shrugged.

“New management,” was all she told him.

It was really all the explanation needed; the Hanged Man changed hands so often between the shadier figures of Kirkwall’s underground that they were under new management every other week it seemed. It was something that made Varric rhapsodize about how the Hanged Man deserved a better owner, someone who knew what they were doing and deserved her. It was no secret that the someone the dwarf had in mind was himself. Anders hoped he wouldn’t be too irritable about it tonight- it made him ruthless in cards.

Varric, however, was cheerful as ever when they got to his room. Hawke, Fenris and Isabela were already there. Aveline was going to come later after her patrol and had asked to bring Donnic along. They chatted as Anders settled at the table with them, allowing the twins to sit in his lap when neither would tolerate being put down. He rolled his eyes as Isabela cooed at them but allowed Cahir to go to her regardless. Primarily because he knew who the boy was really wanting to go to. He chuckled when Isabela called Cahir a traitor when he immediately began squirming in her hold, trying to get to Fenris. The elf let out a very put upon sigh but he was smiling when he took Cahir from her.

“You are very determined, I’ll give you that,” Fenris told Cahir.

The boy had settled down once in Fenris’ lap. Anders determinedly did not stare at them together; Cahir was skittish and didn’t like to be held by many people. He sought out even fewer as actively as he went to Fenris anytime the warrior was around. The sight of them made Anders want things to be different, despite the fact that he had more than he ever expected to. So instead he determinedly pulled the tie free from Cat’s hair and rebraided her curly red hair so it was away from her little face. Anders had learned if he didn’t she would pull at it until it came out in clumps in her small fists.

The mage had worried that the kids would get bored, but he supposed he should have known better. The entire group had learned to sit still and entertain themselves in order to avoid unneeded attention. Even the twins, young as they were, seemed to have learned it, sitting quietly with them at the table and watching them play with curious eyes. Tanner, Rosalyn and Bree had settled on the open stretch of floor a little away from the table, talking quietly amongst themselves as they played some game they had created with pebbles Tanner had produced from his pocket. Raelnor had sat with them at the table at Hawke’s merry invitation for him to join the game.

Anders had thought the entire walk over that he should bring something for them to do but he didn’t have anything. At the clinic they normally chased each other around or played games together but unlike other children they didn’t get loud or unruly without his attention on them really. The older of the kids had become quite adept at entertaining their younger siblings when no adults were around to mind the toddlers, and with them occupied were happy to sit quietly together all evening.

In the end they hadn’t even made it through an entire round before it clearly bothered Varric too much to continue. He laid his cards down despite it being his turn and stood up.

“Y’know, I got a cousin who owns a toy shop, I’m sure I’ve got some of his stuff around here,” he had said.

To anyone who didn’t know him, it would have been a convincing lie but Anders knew there wasn’t a single member of Varric’s family with any such business. The lie was confirmed with how quickly the rogue located the box of toys he presented to the children to go through. Raelnor was watching him with the same puzzled face he used to direct at Anders; bafflement at someone doing them a kindness with no expectation of anything in return.

Bree, the sweetheart that she was, had brought over a small selection of toys for the twins to choose from, showing first Cat then Cahir the ones she had thought they would like. Cahir had latched onto a small rattle drum which he clumsily waved until Fenris gently corrected his grip and showed him how to roll it between his palms to make the small beads hit the drum more consistently. Cat’s choice had been a carved wooden horse with wings and little wheels attached to its hooves. As she rolled it back and forth on the table in front of him, Anders resigned himself to picking it up a thousand times throughout the night as she lost her grip on it. Once content that the twins had gotten something as well, Bree returned to Tanner and Rosalyn. The dwarven boy was showing Rosalyn how to make the top spin with a practiced hand, and gave a proud grin when the girls exclaimed at how long he got it to spin.

Pleased with himself, Varric retook his seat and took his turn. He shrugged his shoulders amicably at Anders’ knowing look without a hint of shame. The healer wasn’t going to complain; he knew the kids needed toys, they just weren’t expenses he could afford. Technically he couldn’t afford to feed himself and seven kids but he was making it work. Mostly.

“So, you had any luck?” Hawke asked Raelnor, who had been sullenly studying his cards.

Raelnor had been moody and temperamental since he had lost his job at the docks. Burgess had been upset that Fenris had interrupted the fights. He had even accused Raelnor of setting him up since someone had massively outbid him at the last moment before the fights and took the entire betting pool in result.

Raelnor had pointed out that he didn’t exactly have the money to place a big enough bet to more than double Burgess’ bet, which was what it would have taken for the mystery gambler to take all the winnings from the betting rather than just a portion. He had bit his tongue to avoid mentioning that without Burgess setting the rule of the whole pot going to the top bet if it was more than twice the second highest bet to benefit himself, he wouldn’t have lost everything. Of course, he had been correct but it hadn’t helped him keep his job.

Anders couldn’t blame his sour mood- Raelnor had spent years knowing he had to make money for any of them to survive, the only one besides Delilah remotely old enough to work a regular job.  Every person that turned him away was a personal failure to Raelnor, no matter how Anders told him they would figure it out. The assurance that there were people around now who would make sure the kids didn’t starve only served to make the teenager complain of feeling useless, like deadweight.

Anders mourned the childhood the boy had clearly given up in favor of caring for the younger children. He wished he could tell Raelnor not to worry about money or finding another job even as he knew logically they needed the extra income for food and necessities for the kids.

“Nothing yet. The only place willing to hire Fereldans, much less one as young as me, is the Bone Pit-”

“I would rather pay to not have to go there,” Varric said.

“Bad news, that place,” Isabela agreed.

“Yeah, don’t take that,” Hawke told him.

“But my overbearing mum told me I would not be working there under any circumstances,” Raelnor finished. He scowled at his hand of cards and set it down face up to show he was folding.

“Yes I did,” Anders told him. “I would rather you not be turned into mincemeat by giant spiders or blighted dragons, Rae,” he began, which the boy waved away dismissively. It was an argument they had revisited a few times since the subject came up.

“Yeah, yeah, like I said mum here said I couldn’t take that one so I’m still looking.”

“Well, that’s good, then,” Varric told Raenor. “It would mean you can’t come to work for me. Think you can handle serving food during the day here?”

“What? You can’t seriously be offering to pay me to come run and tote for you all day.”

“Well, Norah works nights here and they’re going to start serving more meals during the day.”

“Ah, Varric, I know you basically run it but I don’t think you can just offer him a job here.”

The dwarf grinned, the kind he only wore when he was especially proud of whatever trickery he had managed. Usually when one upping petty criminals or raining fire on unsuspecting enemies with Bianca from the backlines.

“Oh, I didn’t mention? I recently came into possession of a little something that gives me a bit more say about what happens here than before.”

Oh, Anders thought, remembering the look Norah had given him earlier when he came in with the children.

“You’re the new management.”

“Aw Blondie, why did you have to steal my thunder? I wanted to deliver it all dramatically,” Varric pouted. When Anders just raised an eyebrow he chuckled and confirmed, “yeah, I’m the new management.”

“Good on you Varric!” Hawke praised.

“Now you can stop bringing it up to Aveline,” Fenris said.

“I know, she was no help.”

“You’re who out bet Burgess,” Raelnor realized.

“The bookie who he had working the fights is an old friend of mine, he was happy to tell me how much he bet and lied about who I betted for. Figured he wouldn’t give you a fair cut even if you did take the dive for him. Sorry if I caused any trouble for you, kid.”

For the first time since being fired, Raelnor’s laugh was raucous and sincere.

“He only scheduled me for that fight because he figured he would kill me. Fuck that blighted nug-”

“Rae, language,” Anders scolded, mainly because all of the younger kids would no doubt repeat what he said, all eager to emulate their older brother. He tried to ignore how Fenris stifled his chortle into his drink he had been raising to his lips.

“Sorry, mum,” Raelnor said, still beaming. Varric winked at him.

“Can you start tomorrow at noon?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good to hear, you’ve got the job, on one condition.”

Raelnor hesitated, his eyes flicking to Anders then Fenris and back to Varric.

“Which is?” he asked nervously.

“No more fighting for money.”

“Done,” Raelnor said immediately. He had already promised Anders (and a tearful Bree) the same thing the morning after his last fight.

“Alright, I’ll show you around tomorrow. Welcome aboard.”

“Anders, we found one of your kids on our patrol,” Aveline called as soon as she and Donnic arrived. Delilah waved at them meekly at the mage when she followed the guardswoman in, Donnic bringing up the rear.

“I thought you were staying at the Rose tonight?” Anders asked her.

Delilah had a bunk there along with some of the other girls where she usually stayed after her shift. She would usually come to the clinic around midmorning to spend time with the kids, taking them out into town or bringing them odds and ends she thought they needed. She had been steadfastly stubborn about not needing anything, to give to the kids instead.

“I changed my mind, was hoping you wouldn’t mind me bunking with the kids tonight. I was fine waiting at the clinic but, uh,” she floundered, and looked at the guard-captain.

“Aveline,” the redheaded woman provided kindly, smiling. “I insisted.”

“Thanks Aveline. Delilah, you can stay whenever you like,” Anders told her.

“You know how to play Wicked Grace?” Isabela asked her.

“Boy, do I.”

---

Delilah continued to stay her nights at the clinic once she was off work. Working at the Blooming Rose usually meant she crept in during the early morning hours. The first few days she looked surprised to find that Anders had waited up for her, but after a few times she seemed to grow used to it. They had established a tradition of sorts; Anders would stop working on his manifesto for the evening when she arrived and they would brew tea and discuss their days before both going to bed.

It was a nice routine, and Anders hadn’t had quite enough of those in his life. Delilah had been very polite and distant at the start, even offering to pay Anders for watching the children. He was just glad she seemed to be warming up to him.

She seemed extra tired tonight though. It was later than she normally got home and Delilah was walking favoring one leg. Anders had noticed that something seemed to be going on with her; something that had made her stop feeling safe enough to sleep at the Rose and jump at corners. He wasn’t sure it was his place to push her though. The other children had been all but officially adopted as his charges. Even Raelnor had come around.

“Sorry, healer, you didn’t have to wait up for me,” she told him softly.

“I didn’t even realize how late it was,” Anders lied. “Here, come sit down and I’ll make us some tea.”

Her smile was weak but sincere. Anders put the lid on his inkwell (improvised, a necessity with kids running around and bumping into the desk) and put his work and quill away. He gave his knee a brisk rub before he got up. From how it and his elbow ached, it was going to storm soon. Delilah watched him as he gathered the tea pot and filled it with water.

“Healer, I can do it,” she said, getting up.

Anders flapped a hand at her and continued with making tea. Rather than the normal tea he normally made, he dug out the last of the mix he had made to help with pain. It was a little bitter but it did the trick. He winced when he stepped wrong and felt the bolt of pain shoot all the way up through his hip.

“Healer,” Delilah protested but Anders was already leveraging himself to sit in his chair in front of the fire beside her, the water coming to boil hanging in the fireplace.

“How many times have I told you to just call me Anders?”

“It just feels weird,” Delilah admitted.

Anders rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. Delilah had tried to call him messere or serah at first but he had finally got her to stop doing that. Maybe one day she would refer to him by something other than a title but every step closer felt nice regardless.

“Guess you could be calling me mum instead,” Anders conceded.

Delilah giggled and glanced towards the back of the clinic where the rest of the kids were resting. Her expression was fond, if not a touch sad. She got up to get the teapot from its hook before Anders could once the water inside could be heard boiling. Delilah poured their cups with a practiced hand and set the tea in it to steep.

“Sorry if that bothers you,” she told him once she had sat back down. “Rae means it in a good way. His dad was terrible and wasn’t around much but he had his mum, even if she spent more time drinking and wailing on him than taking care of him. She’s basically his only concept of a parent, he probably never even considered calling you anything else. He just calls his dad William.”

“It doesn’t bother me. My father… wasn’t the best, usually so I understand that,” Anders admitted. He picked up his cup but didn’t drink from it, content to let its warmth leech into his hands.

“What… ah, you can tell me if it’s out of bound, but what was it like growing up?”

She asked so hesitantly that Anders found that he wanted to answer more than he wished to avoid thinking about his parents or the life he had had, all those years ago. Usually remembering it made him feel lonely and like he was twelve years old again, cut loose and thrown to the wolves.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked-” Delilah began to backtrack, her dark brows furrowed.

“No, sorry, it’s fine. I’m an only child, my parents moved out of the Anderfels to a small Fereldan village when I was very young, and we had a farm there. My mother was a caring soul, and she wanted more children but couldn’t have them. My dad was from a large family that was mainly still scattered all over the Anderfels. He was… bitter a lot because he was homesick. I remember I tried to learn his native language, and called him Táta when I was younger. I thought maybe it would make it… easier. It would be something special we shared, like my ma teaching me about healing. Eventually he told me to stop calling him that and just call him father. I think I disappointed him. His only son, flamboyant and more interested in cats and my mother’s garden of herbs than anything he considered boyish. He was the one who turned me into the Templars. I guess I should have just been happy that I had evaded the Circle as long as I had.”

Anders took a sip of his tea even though it was still much too hot for his taste. It helped force down the knot in his throat even if he still felt a bit like crying. He always felt like this when discussing his father; wistful for what could have been, if Anders hadn’t been so… Anders, shamed that he had not been enough for his own father, mournful and angry in equal measures with the cold, distant man who had wanted to love him so badly. His father had been sad under it all, plagued by darkness Anders could not have understood. More than once as a child when he had gone to his father in search of affection or comfort and had been turned away. Anders had sworn he would be a better father. As he had grown, Anders realized that perhaps his own father was a sign he shouldn’t be one himself. He often drowned in his own feelings of helplessness and desolation, he didn’t want to risk a child suffering for it.

Delilah reached to him and carefully tugged one hand from his cup to fold in her own.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. For him to turn you in, Maker it’s awful,” she whispered. “I was lucky in some ways I think, since I never knew who my da was. I was just another brothel brat, and all the girls looked after all of us kids as their own.”

“Is that how you and the kids found each other?”

She shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Our village avoided the worst of the blight, it was kind of out of the way, but a horde of Darkspawn were pushing in. The… Andraste, some of the villagers got the idea that if they locked the gate from the alienage to the rest of the city and set it on fire, everyone running out the other gate onto the road into the village would draw the Darkspawn that way and they could defend the village.”

“Did it work?”

“I didn’t stick around to find out. I just remember seeing some of the kids running and jumped the gate. Raelnor and I grew up together and he followed me over when he saw me go. We saved what kids we could and ran. Bree and Rosalyn ended up staying with us, we were going to get them to safety but that… didn’t end up happening. We met Tanner when we were passing through Denerim. He asked for help because he didn’t know where to get milk that was safe for babies to drink. The twins had been abandoned outside the local chantry with a note that just had their names. But the chantry didn’t have space for babies or the resources, especially after how hard the blight had hit them and Tanner… he refused to leave the twins even when everyone else in his travelling party moved on. They told him they didn’t have the money to take care of them so he stayed and did it, as best as he could. His parents were killed by Darkspawn, he ended up with other refugees from his village. In the end, we wound up on a boat here looking for some of the people he had been travelling with who said they were coming to Kirkwall but we never found them. Everything else is kinda history I guess,” she shrugged. “I know a lot of people think I’m stupid for staying here and taking care of them but I couldn’t just leave them. We’re a family now, after everything.”

Anders smiled and squeezed her hand. “Yes, you are a family. All those who think you’re stupid are the dumb ones. It’s admirable to do for others with no ulterior motive. You have a good heart, Delilah.”

She blushed and looked away from him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything other than how little they were. Bree was so small then. I mean, she’s still small but she was tiny. I picked her up and she weighed basically nothing. I just… couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. I wasn’t trying to be a good person, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to them.”

“Because you’re a good person, sweetheart,” Anders told her.

She smiled some to herself before carefully pulling her hand back and taking to her own tea. They finished their drinks together, the silence comfortable and contemplative. The warmth from the tea seemed to fill him at his core and slowly the pain ebbed away. He hadn’t even realized the heat of the fire on his skin and the familiar hissing crackle had lulled him into a light doze until he felt Delilah’s lips touch his forehead.

“Night, ta, thank you,” she murmured before creeping away.

He listened to her as she got things settled before slipping back into their sectioned off sleeping area, a smile he couldn’t fight off gracing his face. The healer had planned to get up and bank the fire before turning in for the night himself. Instead when he awoke it was the Cat squealing in joy the next morning. Someone had covered him with a blanket and couldn’t even be upset about being woken up when Tanner was so apologetic about it. His kids were worth more than any amount of missed sleep.

---

It was inevitable that Hawke would need him for an overnight trip. She had agreed to look into demons that were coming from one of the caves near where the Sabrae clan had set up. With how long of a trek it was, they had never managed to make it back before nightfall and always had to make camp along the path back. But Hawke wanted a healer along with them and Anders needed some of the rarer herbs that only flourished on Sundermount.

Of course, that didn’t make it any easier to leave the children. He had given Rosalyn the key to the clinic so they could lock up if they left and had told them where to leave it when they went to bed so Delilah could get in. He had asked Varric to check on them and even accepted Aveline’s offer for Donnic to swing by during his patrol to make sure they were alright as well. He had made sure Tanner and Rosalyn knew where they kept the extra coin stashed in case they needed it. None of it eased the anxiety of leaving them to fend for themselves without him.

“Go, ta, we got it,” Tanner had assured him when he mentioned telling Hawke he would send her with extra healing potions, that he just couldn’t go overnight. He considered asking about the new nickname the kids (except Raelnor) had adopted for him but let it slide. At least they had stopped just calling him healer.

Varric knocked on Fenris’ door in the late afternoon. When he first saw Varric waiting for him his heart had rabbitted in his chest, sure that something was wrong. He couldn’t think of another reason for the rogue to come calling for him when Hawke was out of town for the night.

“What’s happened?” he asked immediately.

Varric chortled at him and raised his hands in a soothing gesture.

“Calm down Broody, there’s no fire. I just figured since I’m going to check on your children you should come along,” the dwarf cajoled.

“They’re not my children, they’re the mage’s children,” Fenris answered, but stepped out of the mansion to follow him regardless. He hadn’t even considered the logistics of where the children would be while Anders was away. Just another reason they weren’t his children; he wasn’t suited to looking after others.

“Whatever you say, elf.”

Fenris had expected they would go to the clinic and find the children inside, or perhaps playing on the landing just in front of it as they often did. They met Donnic coming down from Lowtown, apparently given the same task as them by his wife. The man didn’t look too put out by it though, laughing and joking with them as they made their way through the slums.

Rather than the sound of Rosalyn’s distinct tinkling laughter or Bree shouting or even one of the twin’s excited baby talk, there was the sound of a child crying. Fenris heard it first and took off in a run, hearing Varric’s surprised shout at his sudden departure and the clattering of Donnic’s armor as he hurried to catch up.

When he rounded the corner, his heart calmed some to see all five of the younger children sitting against the wall just outside the clinic’s doors. Rosalyn’s face was buried in her knees as she wailed, Tanner rubbing her back with a contrite expression.

Cahir was the first to notice Fenris approaching and called out, “Da!” to him excitedly just as Donnic and Varric rounded the corner. Varric complained about how fast he was when they caught, practically panting. Fenris made a note to tease the dwarf about being out of shape later.

Once he knew what was wrong with his kids. The mage’s kids, he meant.

“What’s wrong?” Fenris asked Rosalyn when she looked up at him with wet eyes.

Her face scrunched up again before she could speak and she let out a small hiccuping sob. The warrior found himself wrong footed and unsure how to proceed; danger and fighting were more his forte, crying girls and children not so much. He wasn’t sure what to say to calm her but clearly she was upset and needed something. Fenris would have given her anything to wipe away her devastated expression.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Tell me what has happened and I will do what I can to rectify it.”

“T-the healer gave me the k-key to hold onto but I lost,” she choked out before sniffling miserably. “It’s his only one, he’s going to be so mad. He told me he was giving it to me because he t-trusted me with it and-” she sobbed again.

“Well that’s not the end of the world, sweetheart,” Donnic told her.

Rosalyn looked up at the guardsman.

“B-but I lost it, and…”

“No one’s hurt or dying, the sky isn’t falling, the clinic isn’t on fire, and all of you are together,” Donnic told her in a calm voice. He knelt and ruffled her hair.

“If you know about where you lost it we can ask around and see if anyone found it, if not we can retrace your steps and look for it,” Fenris offered when she looked at him.

“Even if someone did pick it up they would have no way to know which door in the city it opened,” Varric agreed. “Not to mention I can just pick the lock to let you in and replace the lock.”

“Oh! We know right where it is we just can’t… uh… get to it,” Bree told them. “You’ll help us, right da?”

Fenris looked to Varric and Donnic, unsure who the girl was addressing only to find them both aiming what Fenris could only describe as shit-eating grins at him. Oh, she means me, he recognized. Looked like he would probably be best keeping his taunts about Varric’s stamina to himself for a bit.

"Yes, we'll help you," he told Bree, already resigned to his fate.

“How ?”

Fenris felt a little bad for his incredulous tone when Rosalyn hiccuped and sniffled behind him but really how she had managed to drop the key where she had eluded Fenris. Over a wall and down the side of the steep rock Kirkwall was built into and on top of, of all things. The kids hadn’t been wrong; they had taken them straight to the key. It taunted them from a jutting section of wall built out to take the brunt of the waves that crashed against Kirkwall’s walls. Occasionally the light winked off it whenever the clouds weren’t hiding the slowly setting sun.

“Cahir saw a bird,” she offered meekly.

All three of the adults stepped away from the low wall they had been leaning over to peer down at the key to turn and look at her more fully. Ironically they were within eyesight of the clinic’s door still.

“Cahir… saw a bird…” Fenris repeated slowly, feeling his eyebrow raise in question against his will.

“He’s been fussy all day and didn’t want to be carried, but if we let him down he ran off. There was a bird here, and he saw it and tried to grab it. Tanner was holding him but he was so wriggly that when he jumped Tanner couldn’t catch him. I did but I forgot… I forgot I was holding the key and it flew out of my hand. I just panicked! I… the spikes, and no one else was close- I had-”

“I see,” Fenris said, nodding. “Things happen, we will figure it out. Cahir is more important than the key,” and he didn’t even want to imagine the boy managing to land on the rusty spikes that lined the outer half walls of Darktown’s walkways.

“Told you,” Tanner told her, “Cahir would have gotten really hurt, I knew they would listen and not be mad, Ros.”

“No, you didn’t, you just said we might as well tell the truth because they would find out.”

“Shh,” the dwarven boy said but wouldn’t look at any of them. “You could have told them I dropped it, I told you.”

“No one’s in trouble,” Fenris assured. “We just have to find a way to get the key now, alright?”

They weren’t going to be able to get the key. It was too far down with no real path to get to it. The three men had stood for a long time discussing ways of getting it before they had given up on the idea. They had discussed trying to hook with something or even getting a boat and going at it from the water. In the end, none of their ideas got them any closer to the elusive key. They had nothing that they would use with any accuracy to snag it and pull it back up, and any boat they would have been smashed agaisnt the rocks around the outcropping of rocks. Their plan of picking the lock itself and simply replacing it was dashed too as one by one Varric broke every lockpick he had in it, growling and cursing the entire time.

“If we got some rope one of us could rappel down to it,” Varric suggested.

“Are you going to go down after it?”

“I know us dwarves are small but we’re dense. There’s no way I would get down without falling, not to mention back up. Donnic? Dashing rescues are supposed to be your thing, just pop on down and grab the key.”

“I’m in full plate armor, I’m pretty sure the rope would snap if I tried. Fenris could go, he’s the lightest of us.”

“I’m able to pass through solid objects, not scale vertical walls,” Fenris informed them drolly when both the rogue and the guardsman looked to him. They stood in silence for a moment and Fenris glanced back at the clinic door. “I can kick that door down though.”

Varric considered it for a moment, tapping his index finger on his chin contemplatively.

“I got a guy that can replace it today,” he agreed.

Donnic perked up. “We have spare locks at the Keep we can install. They’re replacements for the ones on the main entrance to the Keep, so they’re sturdy. And come with more than one key.”

“Okay, so new plan,” Varric said and clapped his hands before giving out orders.

The new door looked almost too nice as it set into its new frame, out of place in dingy Darktown, but there was no questioning it was sturdy. Much more secure than the one Anders had had previous, and could be locked from the inside instead of just the outside, unlike its predecessor. To lock up for the night, Anders had rigged some kind of bar and chain across the door from the inside.

“Sorry about all the trouble,” Rosalyn told them all over dinner. Donnic had left to finish his patrol after helping them install the new lock but had returned for supper and had even brought sweets back for the children to have for dessert. They had all been ecstatic when presented with them, something Fenris made a note to bring them more of.

“We’ve been harping Blondie to change that door for months,” Varric dismissed, “really I should be thanking you for giving me a reason to just take care of it.”

Rosalyn smiled some down at her food and allowed Bree to pull her into whatever the kids were discussing so seriously. Fenris half listened to them, mainly happy that they were all at ease again and there were no more tears.

“Oh, were you two there when Aveline said something to Isabela about the dinner party? She was pretty hurt about her not coming and said she told her about it but I’m not sure I believe her. You know Ave,” Donnic asked them once it was clear the children were absorbed in their own discussion.

Varric snorted. “Oh man were we. Your wife can be ruthless, told Bela that if you two ever had kids together who asked what a slattern was, she’d just point at her and tell them ‘that’s a slattern.’ In the middle of Hightown.”

Donnic’s laugh was startled and boomed out of him.

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” he agreed.

“What’s a slattern?” Bree asked innocently, her head cocked to the side.

“Uh, nothing you need to worry about,” Varric said at the same time Donnic said “you’ll find out when you’re older.”

Both answers just made Bree pout but she dropped it anyway. Fenris hoped she didn’t ask Anders about the word later, as the mage had been persistent about them not cussing around the children. Evidently hearing Tanner call something “absolute blighted nugshit” had been a bit of a wake up call to how much they listened and repeated what the adults said.

After dinner, Varric had said his goodbyes and mentioned he would send Raelnor home with his own key once he got back to the Hanged Man. The boy had been enjoying his new job, especially since he got tips on top of his hourly wages. Donnic mentioned that he had to get home to clean before Aveline got back the next day. Before long it was just Fenris and the children. The elf was tidying up the clinic and trying to convince himself to leave for the night as well when Bree tugged on his shirt.

“Will you stay tonight, da?” she asked him. He wanted to dissuade her from calling him that but couldn’t bear to say anything when she was looking at him with wide earnest eyes. “Please?”

“Yes, fine, but you need to start getting ready for bed. It’s getting late.”

“Okay but you have to tuck me in!”

Bree grinned and scurried away to do as he said without waiting for an answer. Fenris sighed and surveyed the cots available to sleep on for the night. He supposed he should have guessed that he wouldn’t have the heart to return the mansion and leave them alone for the evening. He was just starting to put bedding on one when Raelnor came in and regarding him with a confused face.

“Just sleep in mum’s bed, it’s not like he’ll mind,” he had told Fenris, “those cots are tiny, you’ll never sleep on ‘em comfortably.”

“Da! I’m ready for bed, come tuck me in?” Bree interrupted. She tugged at his hand and Fenris followed her back to the children’s makeshift room, Raelnor’s chuckle following him as the teenager sat at their little table with his own dinner.

Rosalyn was sitting on the edge of the twins’ cot with a book open in her hands. She looked at him in surprise when he came in.

“Da’s tucking us in tonight,” Bree informed them and clambered into her own cot.

“Oh, did you want to read to us then?” Rosalyn offered, and held out the book. It looked well worn with it’s yellowing pages and cracked spine.

“Sorry, I can’t,” he told her.

“O-oh, right, sorry. We’re not your kids, um, everyone say goodnight and thank you,” she said even as her little voice wobbled with tears at being turned away. Fenris laid a hand on her skinny shoulder even as he refused to look at any of them.

“I wouldn’t mind reading to you, I just… can’t. I can’t read,” he admitted, something he had taken pains for even his friends to not know coming out easy when he knew it would comfort the girl. “I will stay and listen though, and I believe I did promise to tuck everyone in.”

He settled down in the rickety chair that was undoubtedly there for Anders to sit in and read to them nightly. Fenris wondered what he sounded like, reading to the children every night. With his expressive face and array of voices, Fenris imagined Anders was a good storyteller for children’s stories.

Rosalyn read a chapter to them from the book, something about a princess escaping a curse from what Fenris caught. The twins were asleep by the end of the first page, and when Rosalyn softly closed the book Fenris looked around and realized that all of the younger kids were out like lights. He tugged Bree’s blanket up to her chin, tucked Tanner’s more firmly around his feet and made sure the twins were not at risk of rolling out of their bed in the middle of the night while Rosalyn extinguished their lantern.

“I can teach you,” Rosalyn whispered to him as she got into her own bed, the book safely put away with a small collection of other books and toys shoved into the corner. “How to read, I mean. I used to teach the kids in the alienage, and some of their parents too. If you want, it’s okay if not, you may want someone else to teach you or-”

“Ros,” Fenris said to get her attention. He knelt beside her cot and brushed her hair back from her worried face. “That sounds very nice, thank you. I would love for you to teach me.”

If I am teachable, Fenris bit back. Rosalyn smiled at him and laid down. He settled her blanket around her shoulders and smoothed her hair back before standing and sliding out from behind the curtain.

Raelnor had put away the bedding he had set out on the cot and jerked his thumb at the door to Anders’ cupboard of a room. He didn’t go back to his cot with his siblings until Fenris had slipped into it and abandoned the thought of sleeping out on the cot.

“What happened ?” Anders asked as soon as he saw the new door the next day.

“Cahir saw a bird,” Bree told him sagely. Around her the other children nodded with serious expressions on their little faces and Anders could only sigh. At least the clinic was cleaner than it was when he left, he supposed.

(leave kudos and comments here please ♥)

[rhetoricalrogue]

In a bar for Rolfe and Cassandra for the kissing prompts if you like!

Thank you for the ask!  This is set in a modern au, purely because I had an image of Rolfe making drinks a la Tom Cruise in Cocktail.

________________________________________________________________

”Come here often?”

Cassandra didn’t even turn towards the voice at her right.  “Not if I can help it.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Rolfe said, leaning against the bar. “You have lively music, tons of people to watch, good drinks, and believe it or not, the food is excellent here.  If you’re hungry, I suggest the hot wings and nachos.”

“I take it that you come here often.”

“As often as I get a chance to.  The staff love me.”  Rolfe punctuated his statement by winking at the bartender, who was busy building drinks for a rowdy group of college kids of dubious legal drinking age.

The bartender rolled his eyes and kept mixing.  “He tips well and the assholes being handsy with the ladies on staff get taken down by half when he steps in, so we like to keep him around.”  Sliding the completed order onto a tray for a waitress, he started up a new order.  “You really want to help, Rolfe, get your ass behind the counter and sling some drinks.  The place is packed and there’s only one of me.”

“See? He loves me.”

“I can tell.” Cassandra didn’t really expect Rolfe to move from where he was sitting, so she was surprised when he did in fact slip behind the bar and start mixing drinks.  “I didn’t know you actually worked here, I thought he was just teasing.”

“Well, work is a technical term.  I told them I didn’t want a paycheck since I can’t be around for a consistent amount of time and I help when I can.  They pay me in free nachos.”  Turning, he pulled a mug of beer from the taps and handed it off to a customer.  “So, what can I get you?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t come here to drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not here to have top quality bar food and you’re not here for a nightcap.  I’d ask if you were in the right place if you didn’t want to have fun, but I don’t want to sound rude.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I’m here because Varric said that he’d be around to discuss the case we’re working on. Since he’s been avoiding me at work, I thought bringing him to a venue he’d be more comfortable at would help.”

“Well, you did happen to throw a chair at him and call him a lying, traitorous snake.  Not the friendliest of gestures if you wanted to get information from him.”

She huffed.  “I was angry, all right? And technically he did lie about not knowing where Hawke was all this time.  I dislike being lied to.”

“Fair point, and I’ll try not to lie to you in the future.”

“You’re a spy.  You lie for a living.”

Rolfe poured another drink, this time a bright neon pink concoction in a martini glass.  “Pentaghast! I’m hurt!  I’ll have you know that I never lie.  I may twist the truth until it’s hard to tell the difference or omit certain facts, but I never lie outright.”

She played with the napkin he set in front of her.  “Sometimes that’s just as bad, if not worse, than lying in the first place.”

Rolfe made change and handed off another beer to a customer that had stepped up to the bar next to her.  “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve never lied or fudged the truth with you.”

Oddly enough, it did make her feel better.  “So that means that if I ask you about your past, you’ll tell me the straight truth?”

He leaned against the bar and gave her a toothy smile, the dimple at his cheek showing up.  “I knew all I had to do was bide my time and you’d want to learn more about me.”  He pointed at a patron who shouted an order at him.  “Tell you what,” he started, pulling a bottle of rum from the shelf behind him and making a flourish with the way he poured it out into a shaker.  “I buy you a drink and tell you a tidbit from my sordid past.  You get a free drink and a little insight into who I am.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

He lined up several shot glasses for another order.  “The pleasure of your company while you wait for Varric to show up.”

Cassandra bit her lip before giving in.  “Nothing alcoholic.  I’m here for information, I need to keep my wits about me.”

“You got it.”  After sending off his round of shots, he pulled out a glass and filled a shaker with ice.  She didn’t see what he poured in, but the scent of lemons hit her nose.

“What is it?” she asked, watching as he picked up a bottle of simple syrup and twirled it around in a way she had to admit was impressive before pouring a generous amount into the shaker.

“I call it the Seeker’s Punch.”

“How original.”  She leaned on her elbows and tried to ignore the blush she could feel color her cheeks.  “What’s in it?”

“One part iced tea, one part lemonade.  Add in a shot of lavender syrup and serve over ice.”  He shook the shaker several times and poured the finished drink into a glass.  “Smooth yet tart, with just the right amount of sweetness.”

She took a sip.  “And the lavender?”

“It reminded me of the perfume Leliana got you with the other day.  Every time I caught a whiff of it in the office, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”  He smiled at her again.  “Maybe I should add a touch of grenadine in at the end, that way it could match the cute way you blush.”

Cassandra opened her mouth, then closed it again.  “I am not cute.”

“No, you’re not.  You’re exquisite.”

She took another sip, hoping that the coolness from the drink would tame the heat that flared in her face.  “I do believe you still owe me a fact,” she said, trying to change the topic.

“That I do.  Okay, Pentaghast, let me think about it while I take a few orders.”

Casandra sat back on the barstool and sipped at her drink.  Rolfe hadn’t added enough of the lavender syrup to make the drink cloying and undrinkable, but just enough that there was a subtle flavor that complimented the lemonade and tea.  She checked her phone to see if she had missed any messages, namely to see if Varric had texted her to tell her that he was there.  He probably isn’t showing, she thought morosely, idly swirling the straw around her glass to chase the cubes of ice around.  She wouldn’t blame him, she had blown up at him the last time they spoke in a fashion she was embarrassed of now that she wasn’t blinded by anger and betrayal.

The sound of Rolfe laughing at something a patron said shook her out of her thoughts.  It was incredibly easy to watch him at ease with himself, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows as he stuffed change into a tip jar she knew he wouldn’t collect later.  She gave a slight smile as she stared at his profile, the overhead lights hitting his hair just so, making red highlights stand out from the rest of the dark brown strands.

“I’d accuse you of staring, but I don’t want you to stop,” he commented, coming back to her.

“I…” she cleared her throat.  “It’s hard not to, you seem in your element.”

“I am.”  He wiped at the bar with a towel he slung over his shoulder.  “It’s easy to be myself with people who don’t have unattainable expectations from me or preconceived notions to my character.”

Rolfe interrupted her before she could defend herself from the teasing accusation.  “But I believe I owe you a fact about myself.”

“I’m at the edge of my seat.”

He smirked.  “Say that with more conviction and I may believe you next time.”  He cleared his throat.  “I unwillingly began my twenty year service to the Chantry when I was seventeen.  My parents threw me into the Ostwick chantry to hide a scandal that had I not been swept under the rug like the dirty secret I was, would have ruined my father’s business opportunities.  As it was, it managed to ruin my sister’s then-engagement and forced her to marry someone she didn’t want to in order to secure yet another business tie for our father.”

Cassandra leaned closer, her eyes wide.  She hadn’t known that about him.  “What sort of scandal would have done that?”

Rolfe made a tisking noise.  “I owed you one secret truth, which I told.  Any more would require another drink.”

She huffed.  “I could have asked Leliana for that.”

He arched an eyebrow.  “Well that answers one question I had.  Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You have the left hand of the Divine as a friend.  She hoards secrets like a dragon hoards gold and yet she’s likely to share a juicy bit of gossip.  I have very little doubt that she knows pretty much everything about me and yet you’ve never asked her to share.  I don’t know if I’m disappointed that you didn’t want to know more about me or if I’m glad that I still carry an air of mystique.”

Cassandra felt her blush come back with a vengeance.  “I’d rather get my information from the source when I can instead of relying on second hand knowledge,” she said defensively.

Rolfe gave her another soft smile that made her heart do strange flips in her chest.  “I’d be willing to share more later, if you’re interested.”

She sat up straighter. “We do have a job to complete.  Discovering who this Corypheus is ranks a little higher than getting to know you.”

The second she said it, she regretted it.  Rolfe’s smile stayed in place, but something in his eyes shuttered closed.  For someone not looking closely, his friendly expression didn’t change a bit, but Cassandra had a sinking feeling that his mood and changed, the jovial expression a well-used mask to hide whatever he was thinking.  “You’re right,” he said, reaching down and grabbing a snifter.  He turned to get an expensive looking bottle of brandy and poured a generous serving.  “Speaking of work, Varric showed up five minutes ago. He’s at a table in the back; take this as a peace offering to get back into his good graces.”

“What?”  She slid off her seat and turned to look around.  Sure enough, Varric was seated at a table at the very back of the bar. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because then you would have gone straight over there and he would have teased you about being eager to get your information, which then would have pushed one of your buttons and you two would have gotten into an argument and you probably would have stormed off without learning anything new.  This way, he’ll probably grumble about being kept waiting, but will stay as long as it takes him to finish his drink, especially since I know for a fact that he can’t turn away a free and very expensive brandy.  The fact that he thinks you sprung for the good stuff will impress him enough to keep whatever barbs he has from being too terribly sharp.  He’ll still try to get a rise out of you, but he won’t go out of his way to try to piss you off.”

She blinked.  It was easy to forget that Rolfe was trained to read people as well as he was.  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for her wallet.  “How much do I…”

He shook his head.  “On the house.  Consider it my contribution to the intel gathering.”

Cassandra picked up the snifter in one hand and the rest of her drink in the other.  She paused, turning to watch Rolfe already building another round of drinks.  He didn’t know that she was watching, which she bet was the only reason why she got to see his shoulders slump as he gave the smallest of sighs as he shook his head while he worked.

“Hey, Rolfe?”

The mask was back in place as if it had never been taken off.  “Yeah?”

“Do you know where that place that Josephine got those sticky buns the other day from?”

“I do.”

She licked her lips.  “If you’re not busy tomorrow morning, maybe we can stop in and have breakfast there?”

He paused.  “You’re just trying to see if I’ll divulge any other juicy secrets,” he teased.

She shook her head, slightly disappointed that the smile he gave her didn’t quite reach his eyes.  He was good at hiding how he felt, but she’d seen enough of his smiles to know better.  “Maybe I want to tell you some of my own secrets instead,” she countered. 

He tilted his head, ignoring the person who yelled from down the bar for their drink.  “I never say no to sweets, especially when they come with good company,” he replied, winking as he blew her a kiss.  “Can I consider it a date?”

She smiled.  “Depends.  Do you want it to be one?”  There was something satisfying to see Rolfe, who usually was never at a loss for words, be stricken speechless.  “See you tomorrow morning at seven?”

“I...uh, yeah.  Yeah, seven works good for me, sure.  See you then, Pentaghast.”

Cassandra felt the tightness that had constricted her chest loosen at the sight of the lopsided smile that made his blue eyes twinkle.  “I’m looking forward to it, Trevelyan.”  She turned back towards Varric, who had spotted her and was watching the scene before him with what could only be described as sheer glee.  She sighed and grumbled a quick prayer under her breath for patience as she walked towards his table.  

“You know, I had some smartassed comment to give you, but I think I’ll save it for later,” Varric drawled.  “I couldn’t hear whatever the two of you were talking about, but I bet I could make something up just from body language alone.”

She sat his drink in front of him and watched him sniff at it and make appreciative noises.  “I already know I can’t stop you,” she told him, sipping at her own drink as she sat down across from him.  “I owe you an apology.  I shouldn’t have reacted as angrily with you as I did, I’m sorry.”

Varric took a sip of his drink.  “Apology accepted.”  He paused.  “I should have told you about Hawke earlier.  I’m not sorry, but I should have told you.”

“As much as I hate to say it, I understand.  You were protecting a friend.  Had I the talent for subterfuge, I would have done the same.”

Varric let out a low whistle.  “I really should be thanking Charmer.  Who knew that he’d be the one to get us to play nice.  If the world wasn’t already on the verge of ending with all these damn rifts spilling demons everywhere, I’d swear that the end was nigh.”

“What makes you think that Rolfe is the reason we’re sitting here?”

“Because, Seeker,”  Varric took another sip.  “He was the one who talked me into asking you here in the first place and he’s the one who knows my preferred poison.  And here I was thinking that he’d be serving me up some watered down well drink instead of the good Antivan name brand stuff.”

“Well,”  Casandra fidgeted with her straw.  “I guess we should make the most of this truce and get down to business.  Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you what I know.  Maybe between the both of us we can make some headway on how to help save the world.”

Varric held up his glass as a salute.  “I’ll drink to that.”  He steepled his hands together and settled into his seat.  “Like most of the things with Gavin Hawke, this story starts out with yet another group of people trying to kill him.”

Cassandra listened to Varric with half an ear, mostly because she could tell that he was adding embellishments in to draw out the part where he and Hawke actually met up with Corypheus  and partly because even over the background noise of the bar, she could still hear Rolfe shout out a greeting to someone she assumed was a regular.

She couldn’t deny that he had a way of making her feel better just by hearing him laugh.  Deciding to tuck that little bit of information away for future introspection, she squared her shoulders and tried her best to pay attention to the story being told in front of her.

[musingmycelium]

god okay i info dumped on discord bc thats just who i am as a person so i’m cross posting it here in case anyone else is curious about my canon world state. under a read more bc its, uh, maybe a bit of a monster.

i've got a dummy complex worldstate for no reason other than i like to make things difficult for the sake of a good story i guess. for origins my canon warden is an apostate, ellanis tabris who in an 'accident' had his leg crushed and it never recovered, causing it to have stunted growth. he uses a cane to get around and his disability helped hide him in the denerim alienage since apostacy is probably one of if not the most dangerous crime for an elf.

he's only one of three, though. his best friends growing up are noure surana and attie nehrios. noure gets taken to the circle when they're 17 (and ellanis and attie are 15) and comes into play a bit later, while attie is a seamstress and budding red jenny.

as far as origins itself goes ellanis' canon route is deep roads - dalish - haven - redcliff - circle - redcliff. fairly standard stuff up until haven/broken circle tbh. in haven during the guardian's first trial instead of shianni ellanis sees noure (whom the alienage presumed dead when arrested bc it wasn't, ah, a clean arrest) as the ghosty thing and during broken circle ellanis finds noure again and 'conscripts' them into the wardens. really he just takes them with him and destroys their phylactery so they won't be followed. (noure's phylactery is stored in kinloch instead of the spire after their fourth escape attempt since it gave them too much of a head start to make the templars wait to get it) theres a lot of Feelings surrounding connor but other than that ellanis doesn't super change things there either. he does, however, not have any idea about the dr. which is the biggest break i have from canon in dao with the exception of my inclusion of More City Elves. instead of morrigan going to ellanis she, as his best friend, knows he'll refuse to do it and instead goes straight to alistair. morrigan actually never tells ellanis anything about the ritual, ever.

during unrest in the alienage ellanis meets up with attie again, who is already working to clear the slavers out herself, and she falls head over heels for morrigan pretty quickly. fast enough that when morrigan sets out on her 'nobody follow me' thing attie does anyways bc thats just who attie is as a person. and besides she can't stay in denerim now that she's maybe or not killed a nobleman for what happened during the wedding.

and now its awakening time 

ellanis meets up with anders for the first time and through him learns a bit more about noure's time in the circle. (noure and anders and karl were lovers for roughly three years before shit hit the fan hard) and fuck canon here because ellanis doesn't have time for this. plus the architect is interesting and yah maybe insane but he's in the place for a little madness. ellanis lets him live and strikes a bargain with him, they share research and any ferelden wardens who prefer to answer their calling not by fighting darkspawn but by potentially furthering the cure are welcomed by the architect. but after awakening ellanis leaves vigils keep in nate's hands and goes on 'offical leave' to work on his own cure..... and to live in antiva with zevran...... lkjkjlkjkjkj

noure, after broken circle and during awakening, goes to nevarra via orlais. it takes them a couple of months to settle but noure finds viuus (yes that viuus) who takes them on as an apprentice of sorts bc he's also in a bit of a jam. it works, sorta, noure learns more spirit based magic and reconnects with a part of themselves the circle tried to beat out of them. it only lasts for about two years, though, because templars find them, one a recent transfer from kinloch and noure isn't exactly a forgettable face. so!

well, its around the same time that anders leaves the wardens for good. and ellanis puts anders in touch with noure. they decide to meet in kirkwall, because rumor has it that's where karl is and thats gonna be the place they need to go first.

attie though, she's just hanging out with morrigan and stirring the pot in orlais as a jenny. she also works with the mage underground and defo either knows or works with briala as a kind of agent. her story is more foggy tho bc i haven't read Super much of TME or played some of witch hunt

da2 comes in and i've Recently, like as of last week i think, decided to swap my canon hawkes. william is now my canon hawke instead of the twins. he's an apostate who's magic is mostly clairvoyancy and a shepherd.. or he was until the blight. bethany dies during the escape and its only the Beginning of the sad times for william.

with his pretty suble magic william makes for a Superb smuggler, and lands the gig with bartrand quickly. he Also, gets a bit of a crush on varric while they're still going around raising money. he takes carver, varric, and isabela with him to the deep roads thinking that keeping his brother close will be safer. and, well, it isn't.

act ii is a bunch of horse shit anyways but william tries to keep out of things until isabela is directly threatened by it and only then steps in seriously. for the most part all of the things which go down with petrice are done with noure and anders. they don't like the qunari being in town either but they, at least, can use the situation to weaken the chantry and by extension the circle. even if its only a bit. during act iii the two of them build up the mage underground and start preparing to take direct action against the circle. william is, still uncertain but he doesn't stop them. his magic has never been a large danger to himself, it's suble enough and under control enough that he's never really had to fear templars. he feared them for his fathers sake, for bethany's sake, but not his own. not really. and well, we know how da2 ends but i hate the retcon of 'hundres of casualties' bithc! where! so no, only the grand cleric and a handful of upper level chantry people where inside when it went up and they deserved it.

ellanis is working on the blight cure during this time and makes it far enough that he and zev are surprised by twins (two girls named adaia and killian) but otherwise ellanis is mostly chillin in antiva

while attie is now definitely working closely with briala both as a jenny and as an agent

and we’re up to dai with my canon quizzy - da'ean lavellan, the clan storykeeper (next in line after his father) who only attends the conclave because idrilla was going to first and they didn't want to loose the clan first. i've got... way more canon deviance in dai than anywhere else bc dai Suxxs but its way too long but basically! 

da'ean romances both dorian and the iron bull bc im poly and i said so, idrilla comes to skyhold as magical advisor and she works where morrigan does in the game (tho morrigan still shows up she's not an offical position as much, which suits her and attie just fine). linayel, da'ean's nas'falon (qp) arrives with her and he slots in as an archery trainer. 

plus, ellanis is the warden contact instead of the many (some really wild??) canon contacts. leliana tries to contact him to be quizzy but he's travelling and misses it, and when noure contacts him on william's behalf and mentions corypheus (ellanis knows about legacy bc william brought noure and anders along) ellanis puts some pieces together and comes to skyhold. he'd already been working to figure out the weird calling (it is and yet isn't the same as the blight he remembered) so he's already a bit aware of the situation. william doesn't stick around for long, basically just long enough to get confirmation ellanis is on his way. even tho he misses varric this isn't his place

adamant goes down wicked different bc ellanis is the fucking HOF. by this time he's developed his magic enough he can pretty much take down all of the wardens within a good 300 foot range just nearly instantly. (a combination of his blight cure research and his natural entropic aligned magic hohohoho) so he makes it to clarel Fast. instead of falling into the fade ellanis (anyone else remember just fucking punching rifts closed in awakening? lol) works with da'ean to open up the rift in the main courtyard and suck the nightmare into the real world. and then he fuckin annhilates it bc he can

WEWH is also different but this time its bc of attie (and morrigan's different now too bc she's been dragged into things by her wife) briala's at the palace yeah, but now she's also got attie waiting in the wings. instead of getting stuck in place by the quizzy attie is able to manuever things to implicate gaspard and celene alone (mostly bc i hate the blackmail on briala it just doesn't vibe well with her character to me). so instead of the shitty options of 'gaspard rules with briala shadowing him' or 'celene and briala end up back together' its 'celene gets put in place by briala and now briala calls the shots'

idrilla romances solas, and as a dreamer she's sure something is fishy but can't figure out what exactly. (until trespasser that is, when she figures it out at the murals) but she provides a good foil to his asshatry and as offical magical advisor steers the inquisition with morrigan's info about the arbor wilds. she knows the rituals and the magic bc she's first and they make it through far faster than in canon, making a quick alliance with the sentinals and beating samson well before the canon battle area. 

(linayel romances cass but their story is still quiet and vague as of yet but linayel mostly remains in skyhold to help train and strategize)

then da'ean kicks corypshits ass soundly becase that fight Sucks Ass.

[elgara-vallas-dalen]

About the Muse

tagged a while ago by @laurelsofhighever​, thanks a lot <3

And as I’m crawling out of the chaos my life has been the last few weeks, I’m tagging everyone who wants to do this.

- your muse’s name:

Evelyn Trevelyan of Ostwick

- a favourite picture / faceclaim of your muse:

Drawing by @galadrieljones

- two headcanons you have for your muse:

While Evelyn can’t bring herself to believe in the Maker or Andraste or anything else, she secretly envies Cullen for his faith. She notices how it’s giving him a hold and sense and sometimes she would like to have the same even though, as a mage, she rejects the Chantry for obvious reasons.

Evelyn truly believes she isn’t special. She thinks getting the mark and becoming Inquisitor war a sheer coincidence and it later was pure luck that she of all people became a symbol for everyone else. She even thinks that, if everybody else wouldn’t have been busy taking care of their own catastrophes, nearly anybody could have stepped into the place of the Inquisition. The people needed somebody to get things done and Evelyn happened to be there and also didn’t have much of a choice, so she tried to make things right.

- three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

reading: Evelyn loves to read even though she doesn’t have as much time for it as she used to. She’s a curious mind and loves learning new things, so books are her way of doing that.

riding: Back when she was a child, Evelyn basically grew up on a horseback and before she was brought into the circle, she loved to ride. Her feelings toward her childhood and family are torn now, but she still values the freedom of riding through the wilderness.

sparring: It began as a necessity but now Evelyn actually likes to train with her friends or teach the Inquisition’s recruits together with Cullen. She likes testing out new strategies and find new ways to fight most efficiently with her friends when they encounter real enemies.

- seven people your muse loves / likes:

Maxwell, her brother: Evelyn’s relationship with her family is difficult at best and a burning mess at worst, but Max has always stood by her side. He joined the templars because he refused to give up on her and believing him dead was one of the worst experiences she made all her life. While being very different at times, there is nothing that could separate the younger two Trevelyan-siblings.

Cullen: Cullen was more or less the last person Evelyn expected to grow close with because he was a templar and because she has learned the hard way not to trust templars, but he kept surprising her and earned her trust. Their relationship is a long row of moments when they have to learn to trust each other but somehow it’s working out and that gives Evelyn a feeling of safety she never knew she wanted or needed as much as she loves it now.

Dorian: Evelyn’s friendship with Dorian was basically love at first sight and apart from the whole “stranded in time”-mess, they immediately understood each other on a deeper level which Evelyn first thought to be rooted in the fact that his humor reminded her of her brother when she thought Max dead. It took her a while to realize it, but, in fact, Evelyn and Dorian are just more alike than she would have thought at first and always understood each other because of that.

Cassandra: Evelyn likes people who get things done and that’s one of the things she values most about Cassandra. Their start may have been a little bit rough, but Evelyn respected Cassandra from the very beginning and that respect started to grow into an honest friendship.

Varric: Becoming friends with Varric was easy for Evelyn from the very beginning because he was the first person to give her the feeling to actually care about her and not the mark on her hand when she stumbled into the Inquisition. His humor also made it easy for her to be around him and beneath that she quickly came to value his big heart.

Lydia, her mentor (deceased): Lydia was like a mother to Evelyn and took her under her wings when she came to the circle as a child. Everything she knew before joining the Inquisition, Evelyn knew from Lydia. She was her teacher, her mentor and her friend and her death left an ugly scar.

Hawke: Evelyn would rarely admit it, but as much as she likes to frown about Hawke’s chaotic energy, she likes her wit and admires the chaos Hawke can cause mostly because it’s something she could never deal with herself while Hawke deals with it effortlessly.

- a phobia your muse has

Being left behind/bringing death to everyone she loves

[breachy-breeches-creation]

Little things

If one ever ask what are Milerias' opinions regarding life in the Kinloch Hold: She was told that she was just a toddler when she was brought to the Circle.

That doesn't mean she likes it. Not one bit.

Even though it is the life she has ever known. Under the constant watchful gazes from the ever-vigilant Templars, there are moments where she finds it particularly suffocating.

Like a bird, it is her nature to want to be free. She wants to soar into the open sky but never taught how. Her wings aren't clipped but what use is it when one can only rattle in a confined cage.

-

There are rumours of mages that successfully escaped from their Circle and become apostates, but it seems more possible to occur when one is already out on the field and "decided" beforehand or in that instance not to return, so to speak. 

It doesn't really help either she was chosen by First Enchanter Irving to become his own apprentice when she is old enough. Not that she cannot handle the training. There are occasional hiccups sure, but in most cases, she aced it with ease. What's troublesome are the attentions she is getting from her peers whether it be envy or awe, and at times fear. It becomes more difficult to keep to herself when many in the Kinloch Hold would either recognized her or known her by name.

If one ever thought Milerias has surrendered herself to the Circle life. Well, she doesn't.

She used to pester the guards all the time with questions in regards to the outside world and why she isn't permitted to leave the Tower. Eventually, she does resign, due to the same old answers she receives each time.

Still, in her defiance and frustration, every so often she would go up the heavy metal door of the main entrance and kick it couple times with her foot despite knowing no avail.

Other times she plays pranks using her mischievous little mind, stirring up ridiculous mayhem for the entire Tower to no one's benefit just to get some reactions from this all too stuffy atmosphere. Irving might scold her and give appropriate punishment, yet the twinkle in the old man's eyes might suggest otherwise.

She is also very aware of this escape "offender" of an individual named Anders. Some might have thought once would be enough. But no, this man makes attempts one after another, never learn to quit. The shit-eating grin that the mage makes since the Templars & Chantry cannot make him, a Harrowed Mage, a Tranquil because it is against their own laws. She admires that.

Ever since his second attempt, she's been paying attention to his movement, carefully slipping messages of encouragement or seemly small insignificant trinkets that he might of use. She giggles with glee when she receives responses with cat drawings.

They never spoke directly.

Apparently, couple days ago the infamous mage manages to bypass the Templars by swimming across Lake Calenhad during the weekly training exercise for the apprentices. The Templars weren't able to chase after him since they wear heavy armour. It is his fourth attempt.

Some might wonder how long he would last this time. Others are even making bets. Partially she secretly wishes to never hear from him again, in hopes that the mage has finally retain his freedom.

-

She finds other snippets of amusements in this what seems an eternal place. 

Being a mage isn't always about casting spells. One must understand the theories and functions behinds it before she or he can any of that. Which means reading.

Lots and lots of reading.

Paragraphs after paragraphs, pages after pages. Knowledge pouring into her head as she organizes them into her understanding.

She loves it.

It wasn't always academic learning however of course. There are few entertaining fictions hiding amongst the vast collection of books - if one knows where to search for.

Milerias enjoys the feeling of the timeless trance as words weave into sight, scent and sound. Challenging her imaginations and bringing her into an entirely different world than her own. At times, forgetting that she's in the Tower.  

Currently, she has a copy of "The Viper's Nest" by known author Varric Tethras, hidden under her mattress.

She also comes to appreciate the smell of musty old tomes and the yellowing of the parchment. Fingers trace delicately on the crooked spine that never really seems to straighten into line.  The item itself seems to have more story to recount than the words and diagrams it records.

Other times she finds herself chuckling at the some of the dramatic annotations she discovers on those pages.

-

Milerias isn't the strongest girl. She's rather petite compared even of her own kind. Her small stature doesn't stop her reaching for books from higher shelves, however.

She just simply climbs it. (Might or not knock over other things in the process)

Sometimes it is because she can't bring the ladders over since it is too heavy and there is no one else around who is unoccupied. Others times she does deliberately simply because she is too stubborn to ask for aid.

It has its advantages - such as hiding in a quiet corner that anyone yet to notice (sometimes she just hides in the space on top of the bookshelves) or squeeze through cracks that others might not able to fit through. Most importantly, much, MUCH less likely to get smacked against the frames of the door, windows or other things. As hilarious as it is to witness when it happens to her clumsy good friend Jowan, it still looks painful.

Accidents stills happen now and again when one's limbs are only that long.

Like this very moment.

Milerias slips off from the ladder while she was trying to reach for that particular tome regarding Force magic she's been searching for ages, and crash landed right top of a Templar (the irony).

Curly blond. Chiseled face. Peeked eyes of soft sepia. Outlined by long, full eyelashes, and above are his arched eyebrows. 

Quite handsome actually - if she has anything to say about beauty standards.

She isn't sure whether he happens to be there or he saw her and run to catch her from her fall.

Regardless, by the time she snaps out of daze from the initial shock, the young man has been fretting over her for a while, concerning her safety and mental state.

He only stops when he suddenly realised his hands are on her shoulder and retreat them immediately. The young man stumbles over his words as he tries to apologize if he is being inappropriate and/or making her uncomfortable. Eyes darting to all direction but her, as blushes creep from his cheeks and quickly spread across to his ears.

The next moment, he just says he would take his leave to get a healer for her.... and he runs off.

“Funny man” she thought to herself, nice guy though if not a little eager. Perhaps she should say 'thank you' next time she sees him. It is courtesy.

-

Just little things here and there.

Little things that make life in the Circle a bit more bearable.

[fanfoolishness]

no words for heaven or for earth (9/9)

Hawke was left in the Fade, but Varric thinks, or hopes, that she’s still alive. And he has some surprising evidence. Read here at AO3.

Part 1: Where’s Hawke? |  Part 2: because you aren’t here | Part 3: the lonely ruined tower | Part 4: what’s real, anyway?  | Part 5: the birds in the hedgerows | Part 6: a rain of parchment | Part 7: the streets of Kirkwall | Part 8: the hanged man, reversed

***

Part 9: every good tale deserves an epilogue

Varric wiped the sweat from his brow, trying not to smudge the ink on the half-written letter before him.  It was the fifth such letter he’d written this morning.  Good news had to be shared, even if it meant writing letters in the stifling desert heat.

He took a break to let the ink finish drying, leaning back in the rickety wooden chair.  He was grateful for a lot of things this morning, but right this second, he was grateful to be in a room at Griffon Wing Keep instead of a cramped tent.  This room was big enough for a camp bed, and it was there his gaze kept drifting to where Min Hawke’s dark hair lay tumbled over the pillow as she slept.

Cassandra, Vivienne, Solas had all assured him that no demons had followed them out of the Fade, and nothing evil had hitched a ride back with any of them.  Hawke was still, improbably, amazingly, Hawke.

She wasn’t unmarked by her time in the Fade, of course.  There were two nasty wounds on her side, the knock to her head from the false Arishok, signs of dehydration.  And there was the other thing… Varric wasn’t sure how she was going to take the news of that development.  He sighed.  She was Hawke.  She would figure it out.

He leaned forward, the pen familiar within his grip, and he finished the letter.  When it was done he blew on the ink until it dried and folded it up carefully.

“Writing more letters, then?” asked Hawke.

He nearly fell over in his haste, trying to get out of the chair.  Maker’s breath, but she looked wonderful -- her hair a tousled mess, a healing bruise on her forehead, her lips cracked.  

She smiled, radiant.

He sat at the front of the flimsy camp bed beside her, hoping it would bear both of their weights without buckling.  “You scared the shit out of me.”  He brushed her hair back out of her eyes, resting his hand against her cheek.

“I scared you?  You do realize where I’ve just been, don’t you?  If anyone’s to be scared, it’s me,” said Hawke, laying her hand on his.  Her eyes were bright.  “Varric, I -- thank you.  Thank you for everything.  For finding me.”

He waved his other hand at her.  “This is just a suggestion, but maybe you should never do that again,” said Varric.  “You really do have the worst luck, don’t you, Sparrow?”

She groaned.  “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she closed her eyes.  “If you need to talk about it…”

“Not yet,” she murmured.  “There was so much -- all of my deepest fears, wishes, longings.  The Fade was never for people like us, Varric.  At least you’ll never have to go again, at any rate.”

Varric nibbled at the corner of his lip.  “Um… about that.”

“Oh?”

“How do you think I sent you those letters?”

She lifted her head, her pale blue eyes clear, and he pulled his hand back.  “I have no idea.  I couldn’t figure it out.  They helped me wonderfully, but I couldn’t understand why they were there.”

“Turns out that unless you’re already someone Fade-adjacent, like a mage or a Seeker, being in the Fade… it’ll do things to you.”  He shrugged.  “I wrote those letters in my dreams.  Something about wanting to find you more than anything else -- ahh, you get the idea.”

Hawke raised her eyebrows, then winced when the action made the bruise on her forehead wrinkle.  “A dwarf who can dream!  What will they come up with next?  Is it permanent?”

“It didn’t seem to be the first time around, but Solas gave me the once-over after we came back out with you,” said Varric.  “Going into the raw Fade a second time… yeah, he thinks it’s permanent.”

Hawke’s mouth fell open.  “Oh, Varric.  I hope they aren’t bad ones, at any rate.”

“They’ll be better now, I think.”  He leaned down, kissing the unbruised part of her temple.  She hummed contentedly.

He studied her face, worn with new lines beneath her eyes, evidence of scars she would always carry.  It wasn’t fair.  She’d already given so much.  She shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.  

She gave him a rueful smile.  “Perhaps your dreams will help you write new stories.  I hear human authors use their dreams for inspiration all the time.”  She paused for a moment, considering.  “Speaking of dreams…”  She frowned.  “Mine seem different.  Richer.  Wider, somehow.  I don’t know how to describe it.”

Varric hesitated.  “Remember how I said being in the Fade’ll do stuff to you?”

Hawke’s eyes widened.  “Varric…”

“Well… um…”

“Varric…”

But she saved him from having to explain things.  The bedspread caught fire under her fists.

“What the --” she shrieked, smacking the flames out with her hands and wads of blanket.  Thankfully, the flames smothered before Varric had a chance to try and help.  “Are you serious?”

Varric shrugged uneasily.  “Turns out that being in the Fade can make the right person… develop magic.  So, uh.  Congratulations.”

Hawke just stared at him for a few moments, smoke black and gauzy in the air beside her, the smell of the scorched bedspread acrid on the air.  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, pursing her lips.  “Shit.”

***

Dearest Bethany,

I’m here.  I’m alive.  I’m going to be all right.

Words can never be enough to thank you for what you did for me, for how you and Varric brought the others to help me.  I will never, ever forget it.

Things are broken with the Wardens.  Warden Clarel was tricked by Corypheus and his worm Erimond; the Wardens were forced into killing each other with blood magic.  The Inquisitor is going to execute this Erimond bastard when they return to Skyhold, and I’m glad.  It was vicious.  I’m so grateful Aveline got you away from them.

Warden Alistair has gone to Weisshaupt to sort it out, and I think the Wardens will recover in the end.  I expect they’ll want to see you again in time.  But I am hoping you can stay near Kirkwall a little longer.

There’s so much to tell you, Bethany.  I made it out of the Fade, thanks to you and Merrill and the others.  But I guess being there in the flesh, for such a long time -- it changes you.  

The mages here tell me I’m not possessed, and I’m still me.  But whatever is in me of Dad, the Fade has brought it out.  

I have magic now.  I’m… a mage.

Not a powerful one, mind.  They were quite clear on that.  I’ll never be able to summon half the firestorms or the blizzards you were always so adept at.  But there are little things I can do… and there are the dreams.  They’re different now, full of birdsong and soft voices, and a green light that never fades.

I’m going to need a teacher, Bethany.  Will you help me?  Like Dad helped you?

Varric is coming back with me, just enough for me to get settled before he returns to the Inquisition.  He’s got to see this Corypheus business through.  I would stay and fight with him, but I need -- I need to see Kirkwall.  And I want to see it again with you.

Expect me at the new moon, sister.  I love you dearly.

Your sister, forever and always,

Min

PS: Have I mentioned that Varric and I have fallen in love?  Because we have.  I’m not joking, either.  And I’ll have all the details for you when I arrive, no matter how red Varric’s ears get.  (If you have the right topic of conversation, he actually blushes quite easily, it’s adorable.)  

PPS: I mean it, Bethany.  We really are in love.  No joking, I promise.

PPPS:  (Yes, we’ve slept together, and IT’S AMAZING, I really do mean it, ALL THE DETAILS when I come home!)

***

The light of the twin moons was pale and wan on the desert sand.  Hawke rubbed her eyes.  It was a beastly early hour, and cold as anything.  Still, though, she knew it was better than trying to travel beneath the fierceness of the sun.  Insects buzzed in the dark, their night-chorus layered and lush.

“It’s a long ways back to Kirkwall,” she said.

Varric nodded.  “Don’t I know it.”  He adjusted Bianca on his back, making sure she sat snugly with his pack.  

“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.  I’ll be all right.”

“I know,” he said.  “You survived the Fade, didn’t you?  But I’d miss you too damn much.”

“You’re terribly sentimental.”

“What can I say, Hawke?  You bring out the best in me,” said Varric.  And he reached out, folding her hand within his own, and she twined his fingers with his beneath the moonlight.  

“It’s only because I love you.”

“Now who’s sentimental?” he asked, his voice a husky laugh.  She bent and kissed him, hard, until they both burned for breath.  She pulled away reluctantly, and only because she knew the dawn would soon be coming.

She put one boot down into the sand, then the other, in a familiar dance.  Varric’s steps beside her felt nearly as familiar as her own.  She walked into the dark beneath the pale white moons, beneath the stars, and she thought of home.

*

*

*

*

*

Author’s note: 

It's finally finished!  I have finally atoned for leaving Min Hawke in the Fade on my very first DA:I playthrough, and also satisfied my deep and burning desire for Hawke to fall in love with Varric.  This is not the end for my stories about these two, but it's such a relief to have this incredibly important part of their relationship finally completed.  I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

A few notes:

Min's sparrow in the Fade?  She thought it was Bethany's.  It was actually her latent magic becoming activated and growing in the Fade, which was why the sparrow became more powerful as the final chapters finished.  Min only half-realized it at the end of Chapter 8, but she had assumed she was imagining it, or that using the sparrow to make weapons was something limited to the Fade alone.

Min's minor mage skills will be easy to manage in some ways, difficult in others.  Her fighting style's going to be awesomely augmented with barriers and spirit blades, but nights will get more difficult, as they will for Varric.

I really want to do some time in Kirkwall with Min and Bethany (and Merrill and perhaps even Anders), and training to use her magic as well as becoming reacquainted with the others.

Min will likely visit Skyhold multiple times during the remainder of the Inquisition years.

Where she and Varric will have obnoxiously loud sexytimes now that the cat is out of the bag.

Varric does learn to use dreams for inspiration.  Some of those books do poorly, being strange and out of the normal realm of his work, but one series inspires an entirely new genre, something one reviewer describes as "scientific fiction."

[firjii]

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: F!Lavellan, Solas (Dragon Age), Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, Cole (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras Additional Tags: invented codex entries, background development, Inquisitor Backstory, Mild Language, brief references to canon-typical violence, Depression, Suggestions of PTSD, Epistolary, POV Varric Tethras

Summary: A non-linear epistolary story about my Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, told via invented codices.

I’ve been posting certain portions separately as they’ve gotten finished, but here’s the full text since I officially completed it and, well, why not inflict a bit of link spam when I have a legit opportunity? :D

Plain text under the cut.

[This is angsty throughout, but the darkest themes are mostly vague and open to interpretation, therefore I decided that “General” was a better rating fit than “Chose Not To Use Warnings”]

Chapter 1

Codex: Entry from a Skyhold Cook’s Journal

I asked Cole why he keeps stealing things from the kitchen. At first, he only said that it wasn’t stealing if it still went into someone’s stomach. It took me ten minutes to explain to him what theft was.

I shouldn’t really complain. He doesn’t take much, and it’s not even hearty food. He takes two-day-old bread, not the fresh sorts – or else he’ll take half-burned things. He takes honey, but only if I’ve spilled spices into it. I’ve offered him the better fare we can make, but he ignores me. He only wants the scraps.

I asked him if he wants it for himself. He asked me why he’d ever want food.

It took me a good hour of arguing to finally get it out of him. I asked who it was for. He said the Inquisitor. I asked him why he was taking scraps and spoiled honey to her. He said they were a feast in her eyes.

I’ll never forget his words: “When she’s seen death, she shivers like the wind that blows the ashes away after the fires. She remembers who they were. She sees embers. She sees the lives they might have been, and they make her forget the things she should remember instead. The only way she can stop shaking and eat is to bite into something old and stale and solid, something to remind her that the world is still solid.”

She’s got a weak stomach, then. That’s no surprise. I don’t think she enjoys killing.

I asked him what the honey was for. He said her throat’s usually raw for one reason or another.

I should tell our spymaster.

Chapter 2

Codex: A Letter in a Shaky Hand

I should’ve guessed that someone like you would know. You probably worked it out somehow as soon as they found me. Who knows what you spied on while I was asleep?

But never mind about that now. I don’t care. You’ve kept your silence well enough, whatever you know about me.

I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you, but I won’t deny it, either. Yes, it’s part of me. There shouldn’t be shame in it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t. It wasn’t my fault, but it is my burden. There aren’t enough people in the world who understand the difference. You do, I think, so I owe you a debt: honesty.

I can’t escape it, but I’m almost not sure that I want to. It probably sounds horrible to say that, but it’s the truth. That’s as much of it as I can spare for you for now. It visits me every day. Every time I see it before me again, it reminds me of what I can’t let myself become. It reminds me of all the things I’m fighting. It reminds me that I’m not wrong. It reminds me that I’m not a traitor to my people for saying what I say. They speak the truth, but not always all of it. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to use our downfall as an excuse to ignore the crimes we commit against each other to this very day.

You asked me what I’ll do when this is over. You’ve asked me that from the day we first met. I damn well better answer you sooner or later. I don’t know. I can’t go back. I still can’t believe that I stayed as long as I did. I was unclaimed, but if you ask some among them, it’s more like I was unclaimable.

What you saw that day was a stumble, nothing more. They happen from time to time. I’m usually more careful, but it was such a scene, and there were too many people. I forgot myself. I forgot where and who I was. It was bound to happen. It’s been a long time since it came that badly. I’m glad I know that it can still be that intense. As you might say, it was instructive. I’m almost glad that it happened. My stomach will be well enough in a day or two. Don’t worry yourself about the marks. They’re old. That’s all we need to say about it.

I’ll be alright. They don’t need to hear about it. It won’t affect me. I’ll make sure it doesn’t interfere from now on. It’s like you said: it’s in the past. I thank you for being so graceful about it. I don’t know what you did, but those few moments were –

[illegible words vigorously crossed out]

I didn’t expect that from someone who loves facts as deeply as you do. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve seen so much, but I didn’t believe you until you acted as you did that day. I’m not sure that I could have trusted the others to see me like that, and you were right: the best thing for me in those moments is quiet.

You offered to help interpret my dreams. I don’t know to what end. I know already what they mean. I only have a few of them. But if you –

[illegible]

You understand. That’s all I need to say for now.

 – correspondence from Inquisitor Lavellan to Solas, carefully folded and hidden in an ancient tome in Skyhold’s rotunda

Chapter 3

Codex: A Letter to Sister Nightingale Regarding Inquisitor Lavellan’s Unusual Constitution

It is most strange: she flinches so easily at small noises as if they were part of war’s deafening din. She sometimes flies into a blind panic at the sight of fire. Throngs of people can agitate her, even if they consist entirely of her closest friends in the Inquisition.

But she rarely reacts to pain in the ways that most people would.

I’m certain that she feels it. I have seen her bleeding like a stuck pig. I have seen her face turn ashen from a dislocated shoulder. I have seen her tremble so much that she fainted (in fact, this is something that all in the Inquisition must be advised to watch for, regardless of the implications that such a fact might provoke). She weeps fiercely from ache and wound alike, but silently, and often only in seclusion. All told, I suspect that she has seen far more of injuries than any one person deserves in this life.

Despite her relative youth (especially for an elf), she almost displays signs of a long-healed stroke – almost. I cannot confirm or deny it, but some of her lackings suggest a peculiar hemorrhage of that sort, albeit clearly something that she recovered from very well as she has no great encumbering loss to show for it. Nevertheless, they are distinct details which are rarely connected to other ailments or injuries. Yet she cannot remember (or cannot admit) any such incident.

As to her – well, I cannot share such details, chiefly because she herself refuses to elaborate on most of them. Suffice it to say that both the conclusion and the actions leading to it still pain her, though for different reasons. As a surgeon, I will attest that there is no immediate urgency or danger. I merely wonder how someone like her – her manner leads me to believe that she has surely always been sensitive in more than one way, perhaps even delicate – endured through it and managed not to succumb to despair. To have a grievous loss be the result of an already grievous offense would make lesser souls willingly hurtle themselves into the Void.

On that note, the scars you spoke of are quite suspicious. It’s true, they may be ordinary wounds, but that kind of coincidence would be unlikely. There is something strangely persistent and repetitive about some of them. They pose no bodily hindrance that I can see, but she acts strangely if questioned about them. I suggest leaving the topic dormant, but it would be wise to note if any new injuries of a similar sort appear at any time.

I have yet to see her howl in pain. Perhaps this is something that the Dalish teach their children – although it would not be altogether logical in her case since she has freely admitted that her umarked face is precisely because of her clan’s awareness of her intolerance to pain.

Perhaps she simply taught herself how to muffle her cries. Perhaps need forced her to learn the habit. In any case, do not assume that her silence is indifference to agony. If anything, she feels it far more acutely than the rest of us.

I sometimes wish that I could do something other than dull her senses for a few hours. I am now firmly convinced that such herbs and potions do nothing whatsoever for her mind.

– an unnamed Inquisition field surgeon 

Chapter 4

Codex: On Literacy - A Report Regarding Inquisitor Bae Lavellan, As Related by Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

She could count the beats of a butterfly’s wings if it suited her. She could memorize the patter of a lame man’s limp and imitate it with her own stride. She could breathe so silently that the most skittish of wild beasts scarcely noticed her presence.

But she could not learn Elven.

It puzzled me from the first early days when she could speak. Certainly she knew the words we use most often in clan life, and she always hid her confusion well. Yet she simply couldn’t understand it. She is a fine scholar, though doubtless she has made some in your Inquisition believe otherwise since she has a habit of dwelling on her weaknesses. She has a strong ear for animal calls and music, and she could always remember our campfire stories better than those whose position was defined by storytelling.

But she could never grasp our own language in the way that others in the clan could. No amount of my efforts seemed to help for her written or spoken attempts. It may seem strange to you that someone who did not grow up hearing Common the majority of the time somehow became more fluent in it than her people’s native tongue, but this is a true and fair accounting of your Inquisitor, as requested. 

In time, I chose to allow her to focus on other studies. Elves may live longer than the other races, but that does not mean that we treat time as less precious than it truly is. Magic is far more important to control than mere speech, after all. Others in the clan sometimes resented her for forcing them to speak the humans’ language – but in truth, she expected very little of them. She spoke to some people as rarely as possible. In fact, she was never very talkative at all. For a time, her parents even wondered if she was deaf or mute.

Thus she grew to think of her surroundings and the people within it, ever wary of offending. If given a chance to explain herself, she will admit that she often gathered her own herbs and fruits and attempted hunting in her own way so that she could avoid being harassed by certain hard people in the clan who insisted on tormenting her despite my reprimands. However you choose to use her talents, you must not bother her with questions about something which she is ignorant of through no one’s fault, including hers.

You need not worry about her knowledge of written Common. She can read it well enough, although elaborate handwriting may prove a struggle sometimes. I suggest using your considerable resources to obtain literate messengers who can read formal letters aloud, or else simply allow your Ambassador Montilyet to summarize them for her.

-Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan

Chapter 5

Codex: A Letter to Leliana

Everyone keeps asking if I’m cold. I’m not, but I can’t stop shaking. It must confuse them. I don’t care about the climate. I enjoyed snow until now.

It’s everywhere. You can’t hike about for more than half a mile before you find more of it. It’s so warm near it. The glow is more than a glow. It seems like a heartbeat sometimes. I’m not a dwarf and I’ll never have stone sense, but this is too obvious to deny and too invasive to ignore. There are ripples in the air near it, and there are tendrils that move about like lightning, only much slower. It seems like they’re speaking, but I can’t hear anything.

The others don’t react, but I’m sure it’s not in my mind. Cole overheard my thoughts when we first arrived here and he seems as nervous as I am, but he doesn’t say much about it. Cassandra tries hard to help me, but her soldiering skills only reach so far when the fighting’s done, and she knows that. She’s careful to watch me eat. Everyone tells me I haven’t eaten as much as I should when I’m upset. That might be true, but how can I think about food when all I can see are those –  

Dorian only remarked on the dangers of lyrium. He’s hardly spoken of it beyond that. But I know what I’m feeling. It’s not the sort of thing you can wish away.

We claimed Suledin Keep easily enough – not that it was easy, but we’ve faced steeper odds. Imshael was difficult, but that’s not what worries me. He did exactly what his nature demanded. He’s not the one who started it.

We shouldn’t keep a presence there. Something’s still not right in that place. Corypheus is powerful, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of Emprise.

It can’t be mended. Everything’s wrong here. I wonder if this was what the last Blight felt like. Emprise was beautiful once, that much is clear. Maybe it still is. My thoughts wander so far sometimes. I haven’t dreamt as I should for years now, and this place seems to be shifting that balance. But everything here is sick now. It’s as sickly as the villagers who – [illegible]

I’m sorry for the scrawling. I lost control of my hand just now. My stomach will always remember what I saw here. You’ll read the agents’ reports soon enough. A few of the captives who weren’t altered have agreed to come back with us to Skyhold to confirm what happened – not that we need much proof. Red lyrium doesn’t appear like this on its own.

Please don’t make me explain it in person. I can’t do it. This time is different. I cherish your friendship, but there’s no advice you can give me. There’s only ice and ruin here.

– Inquisitor Lavellan

Chapter 6

Codex: Transcript of a Young Cook’s Helper in a Tavern

I was tired and I couldn’t think straight, but business is business and there wasn’t anyone else there to do it. It was already a warm day, but the stoves were burning hotter than usual. I could barely breathe in that place anyway. There’s not enough air in the best of times, even with the shutters open. But no one complains if it means somewhere warm in winter.

I was nervous, too. It doesn’t take much for Cook to clip me somewhere. I’m a bungler, and I know it. But Maker! All those scouts. All those Chantry folk, except they didn’t act like Chantry folk. They were too cheerful. I didn’t understand why. Soldiers don’t have a reason to be cheerful.

I didn’t even see the Inquisitor at first. She wasn’t in uniform. Maker, the scouts were in fancier dress than her! Not that she wasn’t well-dressed, but she didn’t look like – well, what does an Inquisitor look like? She didn’t have the Inquisition emblem on any of her gear – not even a brooch. I s’pose that only makes sense. Why put a target on your leader’s chest, eh?

She didn’t say a word. She barely looked at anyone. She traced dings and gashes in a table while she waited for her food. If she hadn’t been nodding when her fellows talked to her, I’d have thought her deaf or dumb, or both. She didn’t act like a leader. She didn’t even act like an equal. Swear to Andraste, she squirmed every time someone bumped her. She blushed when I caught someone calling her Inquisitor. But she wasn’t angry, either. She was patient, or at least better at keeping her annoyances to herself. I thought she was just dour. But what dour leader has happy agents, eh?

Anyway, I didn’t have much time to think on it. I was rushing around to feed all these extra folk. I don’t know where we found the food to do it, but we did it. But it was such a scurry! I barely had time to set food on tables before I had to go back again and again. I don’t know how many times I did it. It must’ve been dozens.

I had a dizzy spell. I didn’t see it coming, it came that fast. I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed, except I spilled one of the plates I was carrying on my arm. It was something with butter sauce. Butter burns are the worst kind. I screamed and fell. By the time I was on the floor, I’d spilled even more of the sauce. I screamed again.

And Maker’s breath, do you know who came over and stopped my head from banging on the floor? Not the cook, not the Chantry sisters, not the mages. The Inquisitor.

No one asked her to. No one told her to. She didn’t even hesitate. She just scrambled over like a horse. She didn’t make me stand up, either. She let me stay there until the dizziness passed. Cook heard all the noise and came out to yell at me, but the Inquisitor waved her away. No, she didn’t just wave her away, she screamed at her. Proper screaming. She picked me up and put me on a bench like I was no more trouble to carry than a baby. She knew what to do about the burn, too. She even gave me a potion before she left – she said it’d help the burn heal sooner. It did.

Now listen here. My mother was an elf, Maker rest her soul. She barely lived long enough to get me out of nursing age. There are other elf-bloodeds in this village – they just won’t admit it. They took me in as one of their own, and I know I’m lucky. But I’ve never met a kind elf. The alienages sound horrible and the Dalish sound fierce. But the only fierceness the Inquisitor had was against meanness in other people. She wouldn’t have known I was her kin. I look human – I’m just a bit short.

If she’s really the one running the Inquisition, I just wonder – what could the world be like if other folk acted like her?

Chapter 7

Codex: Correspondence Between Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras

Varric,

I need a favor and I’m unsure who else to ask. For whatever reason, our Inquisitor trusts you, so maybe you will succeed where others have failed. I’ve merely been asking her about her life. Understanding where someone came from is important, no? But she gets quite upset (or simply ignores me) whenever I ask after a certain name. That name. She claims that she never chose one, but I have my doubts. Leliana has been very standoffish about it, too.

-Cassandra

  Cassandra,

‘Succeed where others have failed’? Do you realize what that sounds like? Can you imagine what Mouse would say if she knew you’d said that? Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I should take note of that and remember it the next time you ask me to go ass-deep into danger when you could choose from half a dozen others instead.

Leliana’s right. As hard as it is to believe, there are some things a spymaster won’t do, even for her own side. For the last time, stop being so pushy. You’re not an interrogator anymore and Mouse isn’t your prisoner. It’s none of your business anyway. If she wants to talk about it, she will, but you can’t force her to do anything before she’s good and ready for it. I know better by now, and so should you.

And what does it matter? She has enough to worry about without you nagging her about something she doesn’t want to think about. Maker knows I wouldn’t, and I’m not even a woman. Don’t run out on brittle ice on a lake and be surprised when it breaks under your feet.

Back in Kirkwall, Aveline tried to ask Fenris a similar question. He didn’t want to answer it either. With all that’s wrong in the world, what the hell difference does a name make?

-Varric

  Varric,

It matters because no one can endure that kind of anguish alone forever. It matters because it will help her talk about it. It matters because when I’ve heard her cry out in the night, she doesn’t scream for the person who should have brought her happiness. She keens against her tormentors instead.

-Cassandra

  Cassandra,

I’d laugh, except there’s nothing funny about it. ‘Tormentors’? Is that really what you’d call them? I won’t even waste time on all the reasons why that was a shitty way to put it. Just stare at the word for awhile and come to your own conclusions.

Has it occurred to you that she might not remember everything? The surgeon told you in no uncertain terms: he thinks she had a stroke. I agree. I’ve met people who had them. Mouse is lucky that it hasn’t affected her more than it did. You can’t hear it in her speech and her movements look damn well close to normal if she’s carrying weapons. She does have her moments, but Maker knows she tries. And usually, she succeeds. End of story. She didn’t let it get in her way any more than we let our troubles get in our way.

But we don’t know what really happened. No one does. From what I understand about it, that’s one hell of a complication. Between wanting to block out what led to it and barely staying in one piece after that, she’s allowed a little peace from conversation about it. She has enough to worry about. And something tells me that she’s always been worried about a lot. You saw the letter from her Keeper. I’ll never understand how the world chooses who it wants to trample. But she doesn’t let that bother her, either – not that I’ve seen or that she’ll admit to, anyway.

So in no uncertain terms, my dear Seeker: BACK OFF. Mouse isn’t alone. I know what you meant, but it’s not true, and she knows that. I’ve told her that and I think she believed me. She knows where to find you if she changes her mind. She knows we’re here if she needs us. ‘Friend’ and ‘force’ start with the same letter, but they can never mean the same thing.

-Varric

Chapter 8

Codex: Personal Notes in a Frustrated Hand

I don’t understand it. It’s as if she doesn’t take pride in being a mage. It’s as if she doesn’t realize what a threat it can be to her own existence. Magic is as natural to her as breath is to me, but she neither boasts about it nor hides it. If anyone asks her a serious question about a spell or a ward, she answers equally seriously in turn, as if she doesn’t realize that she’s been an exotic oddity all the while.

I’ve tried asking her about Dalish life. She hasn’t once corrected me when I make an assertion, but she also refuses to elaborate. Perhaps that’s only the Dalish way, though. Our scholars don’t know everything, after all.

Even so, she hasn’t called a human a shem even once. She shares meals with them, confides in them, even has lengthy discussions with Mother Giselle when the garden is quiet. She banters with dwarves. She acts like that Qunari wall of a man is no different than one of her fellows. She treats city elves as well as some people treat their own blood relatives. And contrary to popular belief, she is not frightened of or daunted by beards – merely a little intrigued by Warden Blackwall’s.

I’ve even seen her lingering before altars. I haven’t dared to approach her in those moments, of course, but it is quite a spectacle: a Dalish elf with no vallaslin and – so it would seem – Andrastian beliefs. Where’s her resentment about being a descendant of an oppressed people? Where’s her outrage about the Chantry’s treatment of mages in the civilized parts of the world? Even I will admit to their severity, Maker rest my soul.

Where’s her vigor? Perhaps it all resides in her magic.

She’s not an elf – not really. It’s ridiculous. She goes around with her bare face as if there’s nothing she was denied. What kind of self-respecting Dalish doesn’t choose marks? What kind of traitor like that would’ve been sent to the Conclave? It’s almost as if the Dalish knew what would happen and wanted to be rid of one of the weaker strands in their weave.

– a page from the journal of an undisclosed University of Orlais student specializing in cultural studies

Chapter 9

Codex: From an Unpublished Anonymous Manuscript Written Twenty Years After the Exalted Council

The Inquisitor was said to have had more than one family.

True enough, she was raised among her own people, but her parents were exiled for some unknown reason while she was still a small child. Part of their punishment was that they leave their daughter behind, evidently for the good of the clan as her magic had already manifested and the Lavellans were in need of strong mage potential.

Curiously by Dalish standards, she and some others in her clan were apparently discouraged from fraternizing too closely with each other. One theory simply poses the notion that her shy tendencies might have been seen by her elders as tenderness exceeding common standards, or perhaps that she was not intelligent enough to understand such inevitable events. Another – the one supported by Mistress Lavellan herself – is that despite the Dalish tendency to shuffle people between clans to prevent inbreeding, perhaps she actually had other siblings or half-siblings. Still other rumors – of a more unsettling nature – can be inferred on close examination of some correspondences. 

The dynamics of her clan – or, rather, their dynamics towards her – at the time of her life were universally acknowledged as unusual, if not difficult. This was in no small part because of her neutrality with regards to other races and cultures, even by Clan Lavellan standards. While no document has ever been found to suggest that they ever disproved of her openness and diplomacy during the Inquisition, it has been strongly suggested that this somehow factored into her decision to not return to her people had they survived.

Though a retreating sort, she was said to have made fast friends with many people in the Inquisition. It would therefore not be an unreasonable stretch of the truth to go as far as saying that the Inquisition was perhaps her true family. One would be hard pressed to find an unflattering or angry description of her by one of her companions. It is even said that she eventually took to calling Varric Tethras ‘Uncle,’ likely the truth given that figure’s general conviviality towards the world at large.

It is said that when she disbanded the Inquisition, she was not dispirited about the organization’s troubles (those had become patently obvious to her by that time and the result was inevitable, however uncomfortable) as much as the prospect of watching her second, adopted family disintegrate or disperse. Indeed, while every companion and advisor thrived outside of the Inquisition and the Inquisitor was in frequent communication with all of them, she was said to have acted as if in mourning for various reasons following the disbanding.

Chapter 10

Codex: A Few Requests Put Forth to the Inquisition’s Advisors

As much as our dear leader enjoys all of your company, there are some things that just need to be said – and the Inquisitor isn’t very good at directness, in case you hadn’t noticed.

Leliana, for Maker’s sake, ease up on offering to threaten people. I’m not questioning your skills or your methods. There are times when there’s really no other way, and it’ll always be part of a spymaster’s job. Fine. Do what you need to do to keep us safe and informed. But please don’t talk about it to Mouse. If you have to do something, do it quietly. Don’t tell her. She won’t want to know. I’ve seen her stay awake all night just because she was re-thinking something that you casually mentioned to her a few weeks earlier. She’s realistic. She knows that death and war are inseparable. But she also tends to take sport in blaming herself. It helps no one and hinders everyone.

Josephine, please stop bombarding Mouse with cultural lessons as soon avs she comes back from a mission. She’s curious and a quicker study than she looks. I think she even enjoys it since it’s a change of pace from fighting. But she also overspends herself. A lot. She’s just too timid to admit it. Teaching her about the world is well and good, but at least consider breaking the lessons up into more manageable afternoons. Don’t try to intensively teach her Orlesian and make her memorize royal lineages in the same day.  

Cullen, stop moping about how we didn’t get the Templars. Fiona’s a powerful ally and there hasn’t been a single truly dangerous incident with the mages since we took them in. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Each and every one of them are every bit as much a refugee as Fereldan humans are right now. Half of them just want to be left alone. It’s not always about power. Mouse is stronger with magic than she’ll admit, but she keeps it quiet for a reason. She doesn’t like to feel powerful. I think you can say the same about a lot of our magically-inclined allies.

And as for all of you – look, whatever you do, don’t rush her…about anything. I don’t much understand it myself, but I don’t need to. It’s how things are. If one of my second cousins used to cut a hole in a frozen lake in winter and make his ass purple from the cold just to make him forget his arthritis for awhile, it’s not that strange if our Inquisitor likes to take things slowly. As long as it doesn’t hobble her in a fight, it shouldn’t matter.

– Varric

Chapter 11

Codex: A Letter from Leliana

Inquisitor,

I am pleased to inform you that seven farmers in Crestwood have agreed to your proposal. They hope to settle in the hallas by the end of the month. They were initially hesitant when we explained that they are independent creatures who tend to resent being penned in, but we assured them that this also means that they sometimes only need minimal herding attention and will manage themselves given the right conditions.

I was also delighted to hear that the blind halla taken along as a testimony for all to consider has chosen to bond with a young boy. The child is deaf, but his stillness apparently caught the halla’s attention, just as the halla’s graceful movements caught the boy’s liking.

I’m afraid that we could not find even more willing participants at this stage, but some families fled weeks ago, and others are still occupied with rebuilding their homes and making arrangements for the missing people recovered from the lake. I suspect that more will come forward in time.

Chapter 12

Codex: A Worn Page Filled With Random Phrases

Trees. Cottonwoods?

Cherries. Don’t know who got them or where they came from.

Laughter. They all had different laughs. Why do I remember them?

Warmth. It was a hot day. But my face was also flushed? Can’t remember.

Screams. Mine? Not a lot. I needed my breath for other things.

White. Gray pulsing stars every time I tried to focus my eyes. They throbbed so hard. I couldn’t see anything after awhile.

The laughter stopped. There was a fly. It was so loud. It felt like it was there for hours. It wouldn’t leave me alone. But I couldn’t move to wave it away. I was tired.

I wept. I was so thirsty. There was a river, but I couldn’t walk to get to it. I told myself to move, but I couldn't. I don't know why.

I crawled part of the way back to the camp. I made myself stand up and walk the rest of the way when sunset came. Got back to my tent at midnight or so. I was sunburned. I hadn’t noticed the sun.

Someone scolded me about a fray in my shirt but gave me clean breeches without question.  

 Varric you prick, this was a stupid idea.

 – from a small journal well-hidden in the Inquisitor’s quarters

Chapter 13

Codex: A Letter in an Unusually Formal Hand

We can’t know what will happen tonight, tomorrow, or next week. We don’t know what Corypheus will try to do to end the Inquisition – or the world.

I understand that a will isn’t worth much without any possessions to distribute, but I’m told that some people use them as an opportunity to give last messages to family and loved ones. Many of you know what I think of you, but in case you don’t, I’ll take this one chance I have left to say the unsaid.

Leliana – you frighten me. You really do. But we’ve trusted our lives to you so many times and you haven’t led us astray yet. I don’t see how that will ever change. Some think that your fierceness is unseemly. I think it’s marvelous. You’re the only person who might really have the will to change the Chantry. I wish you the best of luck.

Josephine – thank you for tolerating my whims about food. I know I have expensive and strange tastes (even by the wealthy’s standards), but you can’t imagine how much it’s helped for me to eat something agreeable when I’m too upset to stomach other fare. It’s a greater kindness than you’ll ever realize.

Cullen – I won’t waste time reassuring you about the future. It would sound hollow. You already know what you need to do. Remember what I said. Don’t give up on something just because it’s difficult. You’ve made it this far. I don’t doubt that you’ll make even more strides.    

Cassandra – Thank you for not hiding your battle scars. I know that won’t sound like much, but seeing them every day made me realize that admitting to my own isn’t as dreadful as I’d been told before now. I’m not sure what else I should tell someone who has been as determined as you are. You say that your faith is your strength as much as your weakness, but I don’t think it’s either. If it guides you to question as much as it pushes you to action, it’s worth protecting.

Dorian – you made me realize something that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about before now. I hadn’t thought it possible, especially given…well, you know what. We hardly have the same story, but we were both forced to be what we weren’t. You’ve shown me that my nature and my desires don’t have to contradict each other. You were the first to notice when I spent more time than was needed with Solas. Your reaction was nothing short of graceful. For that, you will always have my thanks.

Bull – I can’t believe you tricked me into killing a high dragon. Ten times, in fact. I’m sorry we couldn’t have gotten the Sandy Howler, but you saw how it was. At least Hakkon is gone. Thank you for your courage in the face of great and small struggles. Some people might have called you insane. Damned right you are, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Cole – I needn’t dedicate any space on the page since you already know my thoughts, but allow me a moment to indulge myself anyway. The others don’t understand you, but you should never let that discourage you. What you do and who you are is important. You’re doing exactly as you should. I never doubted your motives. We’re kindreds, you and I, and that’s sterner stuff than any words we might speak.

Sera – life always needs more arrows. I can’t pretend we’ve always gotten along, but your energy always reminded me to keep trying, striving, daring. Those are all things I’d forgotten how to do before the Conclave. Always question – but also always remember that there’s usually more than one way to solve a problem.

Vivienne – I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to help your dear Bastien. You showed so much concern for me and I couldn’t even find the wyvern heart in time to save him. Friendships don’t always get the rewards they are owing, and I’m sorry that ours is one of those.

Blackwall – I hope you’ll forgive yourself someday soon. What you did doesn’t matter half as much as what you’re doing. By your deeds as much as my decree, you’re not that man anymore. Learn from your mistakes. Remember them if you must. But never use them as an excuse to hide. Only the truly wicked should hide. Only those who embrace their wrongs deserve to look over their shoulders more often than they watch their feet on the path ahead of them. 

Varric – you’re one of the only people in the Inquisition who didn’t make me grind my teeth every ten minutes. You knew when to persist and when to leave me be. You noticed things far sooner than most of the others. I don’t need to tell you what to do. Don’t let them weep for me. Whether good or bad, don’t let them say I was something I wasn’t. Just tell Maryden to play my favorite song. She’ll know which one.

Solas – banal nadas. Ar lath ma.

 -from an envelope covered with illustrations of various heraldry evidently drawn by the Inquisitor herself

[maiden-of-wolves]

Ariel & Fox - Persistence

“Meeting” Scene Part 1 Part 2

This is a really long one. And we learn that Ariel’s not really a brat, ‘just' suffering on the edge of a mental breakdown from the stress. Depression fueled by anxiety is a potent cocktail. TK just brings out the drama in me. xD

This is definitely an AU to my normal AU with Ariel. She does struggle with this normally, but not to this degree. It was an interesting experience to write.

Please, if you’re battling with depression, don’t read this chapter. It will almost certainly be triggering.

Ariel spent that evening curled in bed, finally allowing herself to de-stress in the only way that worked and she could access in this world: crying. It was a pathetic pastime, but it worked. She’d had a hard time reconciling the healer that had helped her so gently and sweetly with the man who’d all but threatened her life for telling the truth. In the end, she found there was nothing to reconcile: the latter was clearly who he was. She had to give him props for being able to act so well and have a brilliant bedside manner. In one way, she wanted to figure him out and he was fascinating, but she simply didn’t want to keep risking her emotional health just to solve a puzzle. She could sleep, eat or drink some lyrium to recover her physical or even mental health… but her emotional self? That was nigh irreparable sometimes.

She forced herself to turn her thoughts to more pressing matters: the impending alliance and the fight that would ensue afterwards. Her warnings had gone virtually ignored, though it seemed like Cullen was taking some of her suggestions in putting up further spiked walls around the perimeter. Perhaps it was just because that they didn’t take much in the way of extra time and resources.

In the following weeks she poured herself back into learning Trade and pushed her curiosities about Fox aside. Venna would sometimes check on her and ask for her advice. Taevel, a young city elf recruit that had taken her under his wing since he was part of the party that found her, came to take her to training sessions every couple days. Other than that, she was left to her own devices. That was a bad idea. She fell into several different projects to keep her mind occupied and only ventured out in between to grab some bread, sneak a flask of lyrium and fill a bucket with water. She slept, but fitfully as she did her best to avoid spirits that sought her out like bugs to a light. It didn’t help that she saw and heard people’s nightmares as she walked. She wanted to help, but she was too exhausted and numb to actually put forth the effort to watch much less figure out a way to soothe them.

Had she had a mirror in her little cabin, she’d have noticed her weight loss, darkened eyes and limp, straightened hair as time went by. Varric invited her to games at the tavern and she alway politely declined with a sweet smile. He even sent Taevel once, clearly hoping to use her fondness for the younger male to coax her out. It received the same response. It was only when she had her latest project ready for testing that she came out, terribly proud of herself. She waltzed up to the watch post that was normally empty as it overlooked the lake and acted as storage. The two story height of that structure was perfect: high enough to possibly catch the updraft but not high enough to seriously hurt her if it didn’t work.

She was adjusting the stiff wings on her harness into place when she heard someone yelling at her.

“—doing?!” was the only thing she could catch as Venna came running up.

“I’m testing my project,” Ariel answered simply, offering her friend a delirious smile. “Just let me try it and I’ll be right down~”

“You’re gonna break something—”

Ariel shrugged, using the movement to help straighten out the wings. “We’ll see.” With that, she ran along the platform and leapt off.

Venna immediately began reaching out with her magic to catch her, but paused when Ariel apparently did catch some kind of updraft and she fluttered upward a good twelve feet. As quickly as that came, another gust knocked her off balance. Her fall would be quick and jerky. Thankfully, a thick bed of air was awaiting her decent and she only made a small oof in response to landing instead of the likely snap that such a harsh landing on the chilly, hard ground would have provided. “You really are insane...” Venna sighed. “Good thing I was here. Look, at least let me know when you’re going to test these things next time.”

“You’ve got better things to do than baby me,” Ariel replied, chuckling as she hopped off the bed of air and inspected her wings. Nothing was broken, which had her beaming. The first test was a partial success!

“It’s not ‘babying’. It’s caring. And we’re supposed to be friends, right?”

“Well, I’d hope,” Ariel replied, her beaming smile slipping into a self-satisfied grin. “I mean, you protected me from Cassandra and Cullen at first and we talk a lot.”

“We used to talk a lot, you mean,” Venna mused.

“Huh?”

Venna just gave a heavy sigh at that. It was little use telling her she was different. Instead, she shifted to the topic she’d intended to find her for. “There was a really good hunt today, so I wanted to make sure you came to eat something. You can’t live off bread and lyrium.”

Ariel quirked a brow and gestured to herself. “I had fat to spare,” she joked with a lopsided grin, shaking her hips to illustrate the looseness of her clothes and for added emphasis patting her stomach.

“So you did,” the Herald sighed again. “But you’re out now and at this rate you’ll need to ask Josie for a new outfit. So please stop. You’re worrying me. And Taevel. Creators, you’re worrying Varric! Though he’d never say it. He just asks about you and says you won’t play Wicked Grace.”

“I won’t play a game where I always lose? Shocking!” Ariel replied, dramatically raising a hand to her mouth and pretending to be terribly surprised.

Venna snorted and shook her head but continued on. “Point is, you need to come out more. Don’t make me drag you to the meal tonight.”

“Sure,” Ariel replied, reinforcing her answer with a quick nod. “Now that I’ve got this sorted for the moment I can take a break.”

“And you need to stop taking lyrium.”

Well that dampened her mood. She almost snapped a part of her wing harness while putting it away from the strain she put on it while distracted. “Don’t we have a fair supply now? I thought you secured some recently.”

“Yes, but it’s getting harder to deal with what you’re taking. You don’t need it, so stop taking it. I’ll make sure to tell the Quartermaster and any surface dwarves that handle it to not give you anymore.”

Ariel pursed her lips and stared at Venna. “But it helps me focus.” It was a simple argument, but truthful.

“To a point that you don’t eat more than once a day. And I assume you’re doing something similar with water, but enough to keep you on your feet. Do you even sleep? ”

“Eventually. And?”

“Scouts coming back say they always see light in that window we fixed for you no matter when they come back. Some joke that you’re afraid of the dark.”

Ariel shrugged, completely discounting the idle chit-chat of soldiers and scouts. “I’m being productive.”

“You’re pursuing projects,” Venna corrected her, gesturing to the now folded wings behind Ariel’s back. “Take care of yourself instead. Then we’ll talk getting possibly a quarter of what you’ve been taking.”

No other logical argument came to mind, so Ariel concluded that she’d lost this argument. “Fine,” she sighed.

“You’ll come?”

“Yup.”

“I’m coming to drag you out if you take too long.”

“I know.”

They were friends. Perhaps not always friendly, but still friends. Venna watched Ariel until she could no longer see her among the trees before heading into the walled portion of Haven. She didn’t have to go get her, as the brunette merely dropped off her harness around her desk’s chair before heading back out as promised.

By the time she left she felt full to bursting and she’d mixed it with a fair amount of alcohol. She vaguely remember something about singing and clapping. As she stripped down to her undergarments and settled under multiple layers of furs and then a sheet, she smiled to herself. For the first time in a long time she felt optimistic that she’d have a good night’s sleep and maybe— just maybe— she would be exhausted enough to not have to deal with the Fade.

A few days later, when she was writing notes - in Trade! - a polite knock came on her door. Venna’s insistence had brought Ariel back to a decent state, but without lyrium she was extremely tired. Even the idea of having to move to answer the door made her yawn, but she got up and wandered over anyway. “Who…?” she started, opening the door without even thinking who it could be. “Oh. You.” Probably the last person in this camp she wanted to see, but she wasn’t about to lose her manners.

Fox stood in her doorway and repeated his ostentatious bow from their first encounter. “You look much better, good. I was going to have to have the cats come scratch at your door if you didn’t return to regular meals, since you react so… violently when people do such.”

Ariel snorted, though the noise caught in her throat and turned into an odd, amused growl. “Ah, at least Mr. Sa’alle can learn!” she joked, her lips twisting into a smirk. “And for future reference I only did what I did because you attempted to corner me.” Again her mind wandered to a place she didn’t want it to, realizing that she rather enjoyed watching him. She did her best to push her thoughts fully onto the conversation and not how easily one could get lost searching his eyes. The hidden commentary of him actually paying attention to her despite his hostility during their last conversation was enough to draw her attention. “Though honestly I’m surprised you ever noticed me,” she admitted. “I kept far away from you, since our last encounter was, at the very least, strained. One I’d rather not repeat.”

Fox shrugged, but otherwise didn’t comment.

“In any case, to what do I owe your visit today?” she asked, tilting her head a good 65 degrees in her unconscious and oddly dog-like show of curiosity or confusion. “You’re not here to check up on me, it seems, and I see no kitten bribe this time…”

Fox held out a small, green, sateen pouch with an iron chain hanging out of the top. “From what you’ve told the Herald, thing will come to a head once the Breach is sealed. I thought it best to deliver this before that time.”

For a few long moments she just stared at it. “What...is it…?” she started, carefully reaching out and grasping the chain. Ariel cursed herself for being so trusting, but just pretended it didn’t matter. With just as much hesitation she gently pulled the pouch strings to see what it was hiding. The moment the bag loosened, she pulled it off. Her head tilted the opposite direction as she held the lantern it had revealed  in front of her face. She had been expecting something fancy, as that just seemed to match Fox’s personality, but this was a fairly simple construction and without any real flare. The sharp purple glow that flickered at the center was what was most interesting. “Is that...lighting?”

“Yes. A flameless lamp. Judging from my conversation with Solas, touching the glass should not trigger your resistance, but I thought it best not to risk it, hence,” he paused, gesturing to the crude iron around it. “You may be able to brighten or dim it on your own, but Solas was not forthcoming on your outward magical abilities.”

She straightened her neck, eyes widening and nodding as she listened. At his mention of Solas’s lack of information, she offered a nervous laugh. “Yeah, that’s ‘cause I’m still figuring that out,” Ariel admitted, her free hand rubbing at the back of her neck. “But this is really helpful for me. Thank you, Fox!” For once she actually smiled at him, full teeth. It was brief and she immediately moved away to try and figure out how to set it up on her desk.

“It’s mostly for in the field,” Fox said as he watched her. “The glass is nigh unbreakable and I imagine you won’t want to lose it before reaching…” He paused again. “Skyhold, you said the fortress was called?”

“Good to know. I won’t have to have a panic attack when I inevitably drop it,” she joked. His pause made her look over and just set the lantern down on her desk. “Yup,” Ariel replied easily with a nod, still figuring out just where to put it. She stared at the ceiling, wondering if she could just bash in a nail or two and hang the chain from that. “It’s amazing. I can’t wait to explore it.” She paused, chuckling again, though this time the sound was quite mirthless. “Well, that’s assuming I survive long enough to do so.” After a moment, she shook her head. There was no point getting dragged down in that. Again. Beating herself up for not being stronger wasn’t going to make her any better.

“What is going to happen, then? I caught the tail-end of the Templar refusing to evacuate people on a whim, but no details.”

Unlike before, Ariel decided to couch her words as best she could while still telling the truth. “A battle,” she replied. “A big one. But not from anyone that they’d be expecting.” The fact that Fox refused to call Cullen by his name was a little irritating to her, but she let it go. She wasn’t going to soothe over an entire lifetime of pain with blunt facts and he didn’t like her so there was little use in trying to suggest any changes to him. “Even though Cullen protested, I see that he’s OK’d several more spiked walls. So maybe he’s just hedging his bets with the cheapest defences he can think of that would still theoretically be useful.”

“You said there’s no magic where you’re from, so perhaps you simply don’t understand just how little magic it would take to destroy ‘several more spiked walls.’” Fox shook his head. “You should be insulted.”

“How can I be?” she asked in return. “As he said, technically at this point my suggestions are merely a ‘whim’.” She paused only to shrug before continuing. “Venna listens, but she is only a figurehead at the moment. Her advisors are the ones that hold the keys to the kingdom, so to speak, and I am not one of them. Both Venna and I have suggested magical defenses, but neither Cassandra nor Cullen will allow it. For various reasons, that— while they make sense— are bordering on paranoia. Leliana doesn’t fear that kind of magic, but is unwilling to alienate the templars. So, we are stuck. Council-style leadership tends to lead to equitable endings, but sometimes they end up deadlocked like this. No method is without flaws.”

“And that is why councils should not make strategic decisions that endanger hundreds of lives and incompetent, Chantry-sanctioned torturers shouldn’t be given leadership. Nevermind it, could you not make smaller predictions so that they believed in your abilities? Surely there’s something provable.”

Ariel let out a heavy sigh at his description. It wasn’t that she disagreed— frankly, she kind of agreed, but it wasn’t her call and it wasn’t the smartest option; they’d quickly be overwhelmed with opposition if the Inquisition became a massive mage army with clever and powerful mages at the head. No matter how empathetic they may have been. Ariel wasn’t from here and Venna was a dalish elf. The general unknowing public would rather have their teeth kicked in than accept help from a group like that. While she completely understood his hatred, it was surprising that an otherwise smart man like Fox would not see the basic lay of the world around him. Pushing a cart sideways doesn’t make it move. Especially when you’re not strong enough to make it topple. “I have,” she explained. “I told them who Krem was when he came to camp and that they should recruit the Chargers. That their leader would bring valuable information. I also knew and spoke of details of Leliana’s time with the warden that had apparently never been put into print. I told them what they’d find at each meeting place for templars and mages. It’s not enough.”

Fox leaned against the doorframe and lightning magic crackled along his staff’s blade. He kept tugging on his braid. “So either all three are so blindingly, pitifully, insufferably incompetent that there’s no feasible way they survived into adulthood.” He smirked. “Or, the prophecy simply will not let its machinations be avoided.”

Ariel hooted in laughter to herself at the sharp stab at the advisors. It was harsh, far too harsh, but she couldn’t deny it was truthful. “Oooh-ooh,” she paused, sucking in a breath through her teeth. “Ow. Wow… better be glad you’re talkin’ to me and I find that funny. I doubt they’d laugh.” She really didn’t want to think about his latter suggestion, but it made her sigh again. The noise was much quieter than her previous reaction and slowly the gaiety left her features. “I wonder what I’ve already changed, just being here,” she admitted quietly, fiddling mindlessly with the top of the lantern Fox had given her. She appeared to be staring at it but her focus was really on nothing. “But, if everything works as it did… there’s no way they’ll be able to say I’m not telling the truth. I just wish it wouldn’t take the casualties it will. I know a few who are in places you can save during the battle and I intend to make sure everyone makes it who can.”

“If the prophecy is immutable, there’s no sense worrying about it.” Fox shrugged. “Though now I will say I’m rather perturbed you suggested I bring mage children here for protection when you knew it would fall with extreme casualties.”

“There’s an escape tunnel. The casualties will be almost exclusively foot soldiers and support personnel. Children would certainly be the among the first to be protected and led out,” she replied.

“Clearly you’ve never worked with children on any sort of scale,” Fox said, chuckling.

Ariel gave him a deadpan look, her voice terribly sarcastic. “Clearly...”

He pointed at her. “Two score children in an emergency with almost no life experience outside of confined cells in a tower and with unstable, untrained, volatile magic is a recipe for disaster.”

“Right,” was all that she offered. She wanted to point out that it was said in good intent, but she was starting to get the feeling that that didn’t matter to Fox. “Kids also didn’t have magic back home. Just as a small reminder. Not that it matters, since you didn’t take me up on it. And I’m not in charge of anything. Good thing, too, it seems.”

“Then you might do well not to chide others for rejecting your offers, well-intended as they may be. And as a small reminder getting five children to walk in the same direction on a good day with the promise of treats at the end is a trial on the best of days, let alone two score with magic.”

“Okay, alright,” Ariel sighed, just utterly out of emotional energy. At this point, she just wanted him to leave. It was nice of him to bring her the lantern and it was really interesting… but the rest of this was another emotional rollercoaster and she wanted off. The reason why she’d avoided him so intently was staring her in the face. “Is there anything else you’d like to whip my tiny ego with, or is this session done? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time and talents.”

“Where’s this escape tunnel? I’ve not heard of it before, so doubtless it could use improvements before it’s needful,” Fox said, ignoring her self-deprecation.

Nope. Apparently he wasn’t going anywhere. Great. “Chancellor Roderick said it was a path you’d take on the summer pilgrimage and that it’d be overgrown. It’s not explicitly said where. Since Venna’s close to being ready to choose, I was planning to look for it soon. Just in case.”

“Hm, I’ll see if he deigns to tell me. I tick almost as many items on the heretic checklist as Venna.” He laughed. “Maybe I could leverage his desire to be contrary. Do you want to know where it is if I find it?”

The question echoed in her mind, overriding the concern she suddenly felt on behalf of Roderick. She didn’t like the man, but Fox was terribly intimidating when he wanted to be. Do you want to know where it is if I find it? It implied another conversation with Fox. She didn’t want that. But, at the same time, she wanted to know. It’d be useful. At the very least she could direct others to it. “Yeah. Good luck getting Roderick to tell you… but I suppose if anyone here can, it’s you.”

“Thank you. If not him, surely there are still pilgrims around I can…” He trailed off. “I’ve been made to believe that Nightengale is very good at her job, but you’re saying only the Chancellor knows of this path?”

“Supposed to be,” she answered. Ariel barely stopped herself from saying, ‘that’s what the story said’. It was still in the back of her mind, but she didn’t want to get him pissed off again if she could avoid it. “Leliana is really good at her job, but she and her scouts aren’t all seeing. And sometimes they don’t look in the right places because they seem insignificant. There are only so many hours in a day.”

“No, you misunderstand, I think this is another part of the prophecy at work. For whatever reason, it needs him to be the one that reveals it. For all we know, the Fade is blocking off any independent knowledge of it. Fascinating, if inconvenient.”

Okay, that settled it. She was going to find that damn path. It had to be somewhere around the chantry because that was the fallback point. Ariel didn’t care if she’d look strange feeling the walls for a secret passage. She just wanted to beat down this idea that the ‘prophecy’ couldn’t be changed.

“Maybe,” she offered, not wanting Fox to have any idea about her intentions. Seeing how he tended to spot her around anyway, she doubted she could hide it indefinitely… but hopefully long enough that she could find her target and be allowed one moment of satisfaction.

“If he tells me where it is, we have our answer. If not, I’ll call Ivan in. He’s more familiar with that sort of thing.”

Well that’s new, she couldn’t help but think. This clever bastard has good enough friends that he can just call on them for help? Thankfully, all that came out of her mouth was, “Ivan?”

“My retainer. He oversees the staff watching the children, mostly. Terribly practical man. He’d be able to reinforce the passageway, as well.” Fox nodded, seemingly to himself. “I’ll call him in regardless.”

Oh. So it’s not a friend. Just a guy he can order around. That fits. “Should you remove him if he’s helping with the kids, though?” she asked, only partially asking because she was legitimately concerned.

“...There are plenty of staff. Just how slipshod of an operation did you think I was running?”

Her face blanked again, tone just as flat despite the colorful vocabulary she was about toe employ. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. Jesus Christ on a fuckin’ stick. Do you comb everyone’s words for insults or is that honor distinctly mine?”

Fox just stared at her in confusion. “You explicitly asked if he could leave without it being a detriment. That’s not picking apart your words.”

“Then you could have just said ‘there are plenty of staff’. No need for the bullshit dig at my intelligence. Again.” She sighed again, something that just Fox’s presence seemed to illicit even more than normal. There was just no way to fight back with this asshole. He just got to walk all over her and it was entirely infuriating. She wasn’t a damn doormat and she certainly wasn’t stupid!

“It wasn’t any more a ‘dig at your intelligence’ than your questioning of my decision to summon him was an attack on my ability to run things properly. Perhaps it is due to things being so different in your place of origin, but you seem to be taking everything I say in the worst way possible.”

She groaned, wandering over to her desk. Ariel knew she wasn’t good with people, but this was just ridiculous. “I am entirely exhausted and in a world that—while I know a great deal about it—is in so many ways entirely foreign to me,” she started, barrelling on even as she pulled out her chair and sat down. She leaned over the desk, placing her head in her hands and just raised her voice to keep talking even though she was staring at her desk.

“I suddenly found myself able to use magic shortly after arriving, which, as you remember is not part of my world. This fancy new power I’ve never seen in person’s unstable, so I was a threat to those around me but there was no way for me to navigate daily life properly without assistance because of this new magical ‘talent’, not to mention that it’s not ‘normal’ magic so I really have it all cut out for me. That makes me a burden. My worst goddamn nightmare. I’m supposed to be a goddamn fuckin’ adult but now people have to baby me to keep other people safe?!” She ran her hands into her hair, gripping it, shocks ran along her skin and through her hair. For once she was too emotional to even register the pain that came with the unconscious usage.

“Then, on top of that I keep getting sick ‘cause the bullshit here isn’t the same as at home. So I’m even more of a burden. Weak physically and a danger to those around me. So it’s like, why are they even keeping me around? Isn’t it better for everyone to just force me to write everything I know down and kill me? So, since they apparently aren’t going to do that, I do every damn thing I can to help people or improve myself so I’m less of a complete failure at life and never ask for assistance. Because the moment I do, I’m a burden.” No one ever said these things to her, Ariel realizes even as she speaks, but it all comes out anyway, including the tears that she was trying her hardest to keep away until he left.

“Then you and your distracting eyes and pretty hair and soft smile come along and turn all that upside down; forcefully deny me the only way I know how to not be a damn burden. So I get around it, try to stop it, and it’s straight up stolen from me because Venna somehow thought you’d help me. I had to relinquish what little control I had over myself just because everyone else thinks they know what’s good for me,” she coughed, taking in a deep breath both because she needed to and to clear her sinuses from the tears that were still slipping over her cheeks.

“Then I make the fatal mistake of having feelings and thinking you give any single shit because you cared about my health— because, you know, I kinda trust Venna and her assessment of people— when in fact you just wanted to pry the ‘prophecy’ shit from me and fuck off. And intimidate the fuck out of me in the process, of course. You’d seen what an overload of magic does to me, then put on a lightshow right next to me while clearly pissed the fuck off about how I talked. Not that it stopped me, because, clearly, I’m stupid as a goddamn rock. Magic wasn’t a thing, and I haven’t been in battle yet. It’s terrifying when it’s not coming from me. I felt that lightning in my bones. Every hair stood on end. I tried not to think about another overload from a powerful and pissed off mage, one that could kill me this time and probably think nothing of it. I still think about it even though I did my damndest to throw myself into anything else so that I wouldn’t have time to think about it. Or you.” She paused only to take another deep breath to try and clear her airways before dragging her hands out of her hair. They slammed onto the desk with a sense of desperate frustration, crackling loudly with sparks that almost reached the ceiling. Thankfully the wooden desk and papers didn’t seem keen on catching fire for the moment.

“And NOW you show up here with a cute and interesting gift and for a moment I feel like maybe it’ll be okay. Then I get myself dragged into arguing with you about stupid shit that I admit was stupid but keep somehow stepping in every. Single. Goddamn. Pothole. Possible. It’s like my words are a shovel and I say even one,” she emphasized her word by putting up a finger for a moment before putting it down. “And I just fuck up. Entirely. I can’t handle my magic, so I’m nothing but a danger; I get sick from anything and everything so I’m nothing but a burden; I can’t fight so I have to be taught, taking away resources from actual fighters— so I’m nothing but a burden yet again. Now I can’t even talk?! What does that even mean? Do I need my mouth sewn shut like those Saarebas? It brings me back full circle! Like, why the fuck don’t I just write down every little detail I can think of to the stupid fuckin’ ‘prophecy’ now that I can actually kind of write Trade? Then I could just ‘disappear’ and everyone’d be better off! Including me!”

She seemed to go quiet for a moment, taking several deep breaths, her face running through a plethora of expressions. It settled, strangely, on a tiny smile and a thousand-yard stare. “There’s plenty of wild animals around here,” she spoke up again. “None the wiser ‘cause they’d eat everything,” she continued, actually letting out a mirthless chuckle at the idea. She shuffled her papers around, trying to find one that was relatively empty before pulling it to the front and grasping for her pen. “Or maybe I could just wander into a patch of rogue mages. The overload’d kill me, I’m sure. Or those twitchy rogue templars, after seeing a little fireworks display to confirm my magic. I’m sure they’d know where to stab.”

She wrote out the Trade for ‘The Prophecy’ and underlined it at the top of the page. The thought of this is all that matters echoed heavily in her mind. Externally, nothing changed aside from her tapping the page a few times before actually beginning to write in her very rudimentary chicken-scratch about what will happen to Haven. “Or maybe I should talk Cassandra into getting a Rite done on me.” While normally the idea of the Rite of Tranquility horrified and terrified her, in this moment it wasn’t either. She’d still ‘live’; enough to talk and give them the information they needed whenever they needed it. It was the smartest option. The best one. “It’d be nice to not have to deal with the Fade. Or emotions.” She muttered several things under her breath as she kept working, completely ignoring her puffy, tear-stained face and slight trouble breathing. The only partially encouraging sign was the fact that her magic was no longer flaring up. She had a path now. Multiple choices in how the ending went, just like the game. Except, this time, the choice really was hers.

A cat meowed loudly and headbutted Ariel’s leg. Absentmindedly, she reached down and petted the cat. “I can’t play now.” She wrote fairly quickly for someone that normally felt very uneasy about her ability to write Trade. Haven will be attacked. By an army bearing no flag.

“I don’t expect you’re up to much of anything,” Fox said gently. He’d move further in from the door, but had left his staff there. He was standing out of arm’s reach and was hunched a bit so as to not seem so tall.

“I can write,” she answered, no real inflection or emotion behind the words. It was just a statement of fact. “And that’s all I need to be able to do now.” Varric knows who leads this army. A creature, once a man, but now a darkspawn. A man who walked into the Golden City and found it empty.

“I shudder to think what kind of horrible place you came from that you think so little of your worth. People have value, prophecy or not.” Fox sighed. “And you can keep writing, but I assure you Venna will burn whatever it is, if only to keep you from doing something drastic.”

She laughed at that, a terribly hollow sound from her normal happy bray of a laugh. Still, she didn’t look up. “You assume that Venna will know a damn thing. It’s the smart choice. I give everything I have to offer, everything important, and I stop being a drain on resources.” She continued writing. Hawke killed him, but he doesn’t stay dead. Any blighted creature nearby is his new host and he is reborn. This includes Wardens.

“I was given this house so I wouldn’t be as much of a danger. Drain. Could be used in so many better ways. A longer term clinic, a schoolhouse for the few kids that are here… so many ways. Yet, here I am, taking up space because I’m dangerous.” Another paragraph. He’ll come with a dragon that looks like an Archdemon. While this is his greatest tool, it is also his weakness. Since it is also a part of him, if you kill the dragon, then kill the Blighted Magister Corypheus and have no tainted people or creatures nearby… he will die.

“I can tell her everything you’ve said here, which will, to your mind, increase the burden you’re putting on her, or you can stop for a moment and speak with me properly.”

Ariel swore he’d be able to hear the gears grind to a halt in her head. She certainly felt them. How dare he? She had a plan. A good plan for once in her goddamn life! And he just watlzes in and ruins it. She hadn’t said all this, nor felt most of this until he showed up and started messing with her. And now he was going to put her in a position of being the worst kind of burden there was: emotional.

She did what she always did when she was trying to school her emotions: take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The cat rubbed up against her leg again and shockingly she rolled her eyes. She knew it was Fox, but there had never been a time that she’d turned down a cat’s affection with anything less than an apology. She shook her head, leaning over to wrap her hand around the cat’s middle and quickly shifted it up into her lap. Ariel made sure it was at least somewhat situated before pushing with her feet against the desk to drag the chair back. Looking at Fox was the hardest part. She immediately took notice of what he’d done, gaze flickering to the staff by the door and back to him. A laugh welled up in her throat at the fact that he was even hunched over a bit, but thankfully she swallowed it down. For more grounding, she indulged the cat that was headbutting her arm for attention. “So? I’m stopped. For a moment.”

“How many refugees has the Inquisition taken in?”

“I have no idea,” Ariel answered flatly. “I’ve never helped with admissions.”

“But there are some. Do you consider them worthless burdens? Do you think Thedas would be better off if they died or disappeared?”

Ariel finally saw the connection he was trying to draw. “No,” she answered slowly. “But I’m not just some desperate field hand looking for shelter from demon-spewing rifts. I’m a mage. And an unstable one at that. It’d be like taking in a dracoling. I’ve burnt down two buildings while I was sleeping already. Guess you didn’t hear about that yet. Or maybe you didn’t ask if anyone knew me. Though Venna probably wouldn’t have told you either.”

“Do you think I should throw out the children that start fires, then? Simply because their magic is uncontrollable from fear and worse?” Fox quirked an eyebrow.

“You really think I’m a monster, don’t you?” she asked, words spilling out of her mouth before she could think on it. “That’s inhumane. They’re kids! Who would do that?” She looked away from him, mumbling onwards, “I mean, I guess some magic-fearing parents might, but that’s still awful!”

“What about the teenagers? At what age do they stop being children? When should I tell my people to kick out the ones that haven’t the control? Did your story tell you about the Harrowings in the South? Should I institute those?” He examined his sleeve and brushed off some dirt.

“Yes, they told me about the Harrowings. They shouldn’t be done on anyone that’s just brought in. Regardless of age. Even those that are prepared are often too terrified to do well. And that’s not right. It’s throwing bait fish into the water with sharks and expecting the bait fish to escape.” She sighed and shook her head. “But I’m not in charge of your kids, so these questions are just a theoretical exercise.”

“So you agree that throwing them out, forcing them to learn at some set pace, threatening them with Tranquility if they don’t perform certain standards is ridiculous at best? That’s my impression.”

“Yeah,” she muttered in reply. She knew what he was doing: he was attempting to systematically dismantle her own feelings and the manipulation was quickly pushing her back into fury. First he denies her the way to remove the burden of sickness because he knows better, now he throws away a sacrifice of a willing participant because, no doubt, he thinks he knows better? She seethed internally, but for the moment it remained hidden. “But do you think it’s alright to allow someone who is terrified of their power and finds the removal of emotions as a boon rather than a deterrent request the Rite themselves?” If he was going to speak in hypotheticals, so could she. It would certainly be an interesting answer, considering he was a mage. From Tevinter, where that Rite is probably akin to a terrifying ghost story told to mage children to scare them into behaving.

“Absolutely not,” Fox said when vehemence, “because that is not what the Rite does. Divine Justinia discovered that. That’s the entire reason the South is tearing itself apart. Tranquility does not remove emotions, it makes the Tranquil unable to act on them. They are forced to bottle them up, just as you have since you arrived here. The Tranquil Pharamond went mad when the Rite was reversed.”

Ariel had known that most went mad when the Rite was reversed, but she hadn’t been aware of the idea that it didn’t at least dull emotions. “That would be like… a spinal injury. Unable to communicate, but still very much aware.” Her brows knitted, eyes closing a moment later. “I haven’t kept them bottled up the entire time,” she finally spoke up again. “My mind just…” A heavy sigh escaped her lips and she shook her head. “I’m beyond useless when I just let myself feel what it’d want me to. Anxiousness over a failure two days past that blows up into stress and tears because I can’t fix it. Depression follows the tears. Mania— the spurts I go through where I can focus… is the only way I get anything done. If I take a break, I’m almost immediately back to anxiousness, stage one. I can reason with myself until I’m blue in the face in that state, but it doesn’t stop the stress.” Speaking of which, she paused, to wipe at her face before more tears fell. “I had ways of coping at home, ways of releasing stress properly. And meds. Don’t have those here. I’m telling you, Fox, it would be much better for everyone if I just wrote everything down and disappeared. I’ll probably eventually work myself to an early death if I don’t get caught up in a fight I can’t win when Haven’s attacked.I might as well make sure that I write everything down before then. Just in case.”

Fox spent several minutes thinking before he finally said, “So you’re aware, academically, of the depression and that it can be treated?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice little more than an exasperated sigh. “But we don’t have the meds necessary here to treat it properly and I have no idea what kinds of natural remedies could be made in its stead.”

“Believe me, the Circles of Minrathous and Asariel alone would fall if there was nothing to be done for depression. Nevermind the Magisterium at large. I apologize for not realizing sooner this was a problem. I have been busy, as you can imagine.”

“No,” Ariel snapped, though her voice was choked. She wiped at her face again and sniffed, trying to allow her anger through the stress. “You’re not going to take on my goddamn mental problems. You’ve got far more important things to be doing than babysitting a grown woman who should be able to take care of herself. Shifting the massive burden onto you is still a damn burden!  Just… stop…”

“Ignore that for a moment. Academically, tell me, this kind of hopelessness you have, this desire to be Tranquil and thoughts of worthlessness, do you acknowledge that it is part of the condition? You said knowing doesn’t make you feel better; I don’t expect it to, just tell me again, that you know these things are symptoms.”

“Of course it is!” she replied with a breathless and mirthless laugh. “And I do my best to make sure no one else feels like this. ‘Cause it feels like absolute shit.”

“Yes, so if these feelings are merely a symptom of the larger problem, do you think it’s responsible to act on them in this fashion?”

“‘This fashion’?” she echoed. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“You feel hopeless because of the depression and instead of treating that depression, you are acting on the hopelessness. I suggest at least trying some of the tinctures for it before resigning yourself to death.”

“Who knows if they’ll even work,” she mused. “Considering that magic doesn’t. And the illnesses are different. I’d try ‘em, if that’s actually a thing. But who knows.” She let out another breathless and mirthless laugh, a tiny smirk pulling at her lips. “They might kill me. That’d be nice.”

“I think your disinterest in trying is likely another symptom.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “It will take some time for the tinctures to arrive from Asariel. My mentor will mix them himself, but time. Will you at least stop planning for death until then?”

“It was a joke,” Ariel assured him, her laugh actually accompanied by a toothed smile. “One in poor taste, maybe,” she admitted. She was relieved, were she honest with herself. Her smile barely faded as she looked down at the cat that had been obediently sitting on her lap this whole time despite her outbursts. In the back of her mind she was fairly certain it was due to Fox’s charm over it, but she was grateful regardless. “I…” she started again after a few long strokes at the cat’s fur. She looked up at Fox, worried again but hopeful. “Are you certain this isn’t a burden, Fox? You have a lot to do. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”

“Ordering a tincture is no trouble. I’ve a letter I was sending already, though I’ve made a note that Haven might not be the return destination. Even if you lost your memories today, Venna would lose her mind if something happened to you. Perhaps when you’re more settled we can be friends.”

She had no idea why just the mention of a maybe friendship made her happy. Unconsciously she rocked side to side for a moment as she let the information sink in. “Well, I don’t think she’d lose her mind,” she finally said, laughing softly as she looked down again and moved her hand to pet around the cat’s chin. “But she’d probably be sad, I guess. I make her laugh sometimes and don’t treat her like the Herald.” She swallowed, feeling a bit silly for what she wanted to say, but decided to say it anyway. Nothing could be more ridiculous than what she’d already done, after all. Looking up at Fox again, she offered a rather timid assurance. “I’ll work hard to make sure I can be a good friend.”

Fox nodded and stood at his full height. “Good. I’ll check on you later, too, but I need to send that message to Ivan, as well.”

Ariel smothered a laugh in the back of her throat. “Honestly,” she began with a small exhale. “I’ll probably be asleep. I was running on fumes. On emotion, even. I can’t run on nothing. Maybe things will leave me alone in the Fade if I just lay down there, too.”

“We can only hope.” He nodded to the cat. “He’ll stay with you tonight. Longer, if he likes you. I’ll let you know about the passage.”

She looked down at the furball in her lap, smile flashing across her lips again. “Well, maybe I can bribe him with food when I can drag myself back out of bed. I’d love a furry friend.” A sheen appeared in her eyes again and she frantically wiped at them before looking up at Fox again. “Thank you. And, I’m really sorry. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t apologize for needing help. It’s what makes us people.”

“Is that it?” she asked, a faint smile on her lips but a rather confused expression her face. “That’s the puzzle piece to make humanity. Needing help? Hm.” It was certainly something to think about. She was raised to be fiercely independent, partially because help would be given if you asked but held over your head later. A reminder of how you failed.

Fox smiled, but it was wane and didn’t reach his eyes. “As much as I’ve been able to see.” He cleared his throat and his expression shifted back to soft kindness. He stepped towards the door. “Regardless, I’ll leave you to your rest.”

The wish had been in the back of her mind since he’d insisted their were methods for treatment but she’d pushed it away. As the opportunity faded, she found herself scrambling. She gently picked up the cat in her lap and set him down just as gingerly. He meowed at her, then yawned, as if upset that she’d moved him from his resting place. “Fox? Can I… uhm…” She felt weird asking about this, honestly, and the embarrassment was clear on her face. But, she reasoned, it would have been weirder to just do it. “Hug you?”

Fox held up his hand to stay her movement for a moment, then patted himself down. There was a quiet sizzle as he deactivated the active spells on his robes. “Of course, though given your reaction to magic, it would be best to ask first. As you saw.”

At first she just tilted her head again, confused by his reaction, but as she watched and felt her hair briefly flutter at the back of her neck from the released magic it made some sense. For the moment she was distracted from her actual request and blinked several times as she tried to process exactly what she’d seen. “Ye-yeah… do all Tevinter robes do that?”

Fox opened his mouth immediately, but then closed it. “I’m not sure. Better to be safe than sorry, though. We’re very casual with magic use, unlike here in the South.”

She nodded, mentally noting that she’d need to ask Dorian if his had that kind of thing on them too. She really didn’t want to feel overloaded if she could avoid it. It was weird, but she had to actually gather courage to move. When she did, though, she made sure that her furry friend wasn’t by her feet or in her way before all but jumping into him and wrapping her arms above his waist. She was actually glad for the height difference because it was easy for her to bury her face in his chest. The immediate scent of metal that greeted her nose made her wonder if she’d bitten her lip in the movement but a quick swipe of her tongue proved otherwise. A faint undertone of freshly baked bread was soothing and she barely kept herself from pulling out a very weird ‘you smell nice’.

Fox patted her back gently. “Get some rest, Ariel. The attack is soon and there’s much to do.”

Well that wasn’t helpful. Ariel heard the thought echo loudly in her head. While the reminder may possibly have been necessary, the timing was horrendous. “Right,” she muttered, pulling away entirely without so much as another glance at Fox. Any gaiety that she’d come to the interaction with was gone. Her mind immediately began running through scenarios. Going through what she’d have to do to make sure the key support characters would survive. Running over possibilities regarding possible changes since she was here. She already knew she’d have to go with Venna— Ariel was 99.9% certain that the voice she always heard calling for her in the Fade was Corypheus. His intervention, or perhaps that of another Evanuris beyond Solas, were the only possibilities she’d ever come up with while turning the situation over and over in her head. She wandered back to the bed, sitting down. She could still easily see Fox and the door. “Thanks again,” she offered. It was the only thing she could think to say. He’d already told her not to apologize.

Fox continued leaving, but stopped at the door. He didn’t turn to look at her. “I’m neither stupid nor oblivious. I won’t push now, but if you don’t take care of yourself, I will go to Venna.”

“I never said or implied you were either of those,” Ariel growled. For a brief moment she’d felt like they’d actually made some progress, but here they were again. “But go ahead, keep accusing me. It makes me want to disappear even more.” She barely bit back a comment about making a pact with a demon for invisibility so that they couldn’t find her until it was too late. That would indeed be stupid. Any pact with a demon went poorly, from what she knew, and she wasn’t willing to test if it could be otherwise.

“I can’t spend all evening holding your hand and convincing you these aren’t accusations. I can only imagine no one’s shown any concern towards you that’s not been rooted in cruelty that that’s the only thing you can hear, but that can’t be fixed at once and I can’t be expected to know exactly how to phrase things.”

Honestly, she wasn’t sure how else he could have meant what he said, but there was no argument to be made and even if there was, she was too tired to make it. “No, I suppose you can’t. And I certainly don’t want you sitting here babying me. I just need to learn to shut up. Or, at least, think about the larger context first.” She shook her head, disappointed and exasperated with herself. “Thanks, Fox. And sorry. Again. I’ll just curl up with my temporary furry friend. Thank you for bringing him.”

“He will stay as long as he’s needed. Rest. Rest and remember that you agreed not to do anything permanent until you’ve tried the tinctures. People are worried for you.”

“I know,” was all she offered in reply, but to what statement she didn’t specify. The cat was staring up at her from the floor and she managed a small smile for him. She didn’t bother removing her clothes as she moved the furs and sheet, knowing that she’d taken off her boots when she first came back and that is the only thing she cared about in terms of messing up her bed. Slipping under them was more comforting than she’d thought. The weight keeping her still and the warmth she naturally radiated was trapped in an intense heat that just barely stayed below the level that would have her sweating.

[rhunae]

I wrote a thing. I wanted to explore the Dalish. This is just a snippet. I can’t do short for some reason. And also I failed at getting this done in the month it was meant for. ElFebruary 2018, day 7 is Reunion, but I wont be tagging it now that February is over but I still wanted to at least try to finish something. This takes place a year after this self indulgent mess. You could say this is also incredibly self-indulgent. Because fuck you Bioware, I want my damned dragon. I was also playing with the pov voice. I’m not sure if I’m happy with it yet. I’m open to suggestions? Just be nice. :) 

As an aside, the first thing my husband asked when he beta’d for me, ���Did you write the sex scene?” Er no... but if there is interest, I will. >.>

Words: 2209 Ao3

7. Reunion

Dales, 9:45 Dragon (1 Year after Trespasser)

The Glorious One sailed the currents, her scales glinting like emeralds and obsidian under the noon sun, her neck arching to feel the warmth radiating upon her scales, the leather of her wings stretched, flexing out to collect the sun’s rays. Dipping from a high current high above the clouds, gliding through a cloud to a lower and slower wind current, she circled aloft a clearing far below. The dragon roared, watching the two-legged creatures scatter while others formed lines with bows and arrows cocked. All useless to this dragon, her mage protected Ataashi, the cool sensation crackling over her scales, smelled it in her nostrils, and tasted it on her tongue. The feather touch of her mage sat squarely on her shoulders, and it was to her People this dragon flew to meet; those small beings down below with their bows and arrows and fear. But bound to her mage, the Glorious One would not eat her People. But the halla looked like plump and tasty snacks.

Prior to her capture and torture, the Glorious One would never consent to taxiing around an elf, such puny little creatures. This was no ordinary elf.  The scent of He Who Stalks the Winding Paths still lingered upon her skin. The Touch of the Mother rested upon her brow. A mighty mage with the skill to free Ataashi from her capturers; those insignificant, weak distant relatives. Pissant fools. No, this mage might be missing a wing, but she was no ordinary elf. Ataashi chose to help this elf. The return of the Elvhen meant the freedom of her kin. The Mother promised. 

Yet also, if Ataashi was honest with herself, she was honor-bound to the one she owed her life. A grating admission to be indebted to such a small being. If Ataashi was honest with herself, she enjoyed the strange affections gifted her.

* * *

Hanging onto the leather harness, Serafina leaned down along the dragon’s neck with the wind in her hair as the high dragon swooped in concentric circles over the vacant end of the field, avoiding the other end of the field hosting a plethora of colorful tents and aravels of different sizes whilst white halla roamed gracefully between them. The date of the ten year Arlathvhen arrived and the Dalish gathered en masse. A year previous, she sent out runners to find the clans for this meeting, though she wasn’t expecting many clans to show, nor did she know how many clans there were, truth be told. She hoped enough of them decided to make the journey to the Dales.

Ataashi landed, jarring Serafina in her seat; she still wasn’t used to the rough landings. At least she no longer clung to the dragon in fear of falling off, the harness and magic helped in that regard. The high dragon crouched and extended her wing to help the elf down from off her shoulders. Once Serafina was on the ground, she adjusted the toddler on her back; he was sleeping in his harness, but she didn’t know for how long. Giving Ataashi a pat on the side of her head and muzzle, she left the dragon behind and strode across the field toward the gathering of the Dalish. The hunters had made a semi circle around the dragon, their bows and arrows cocked, but they fell back when one of their own walked towards them. It was not every day a Dalish elf flew in on a dragon. 

The onlookers parted, allowing a group of elders, the Keepers, to step past their lines and approach the new comer. At one point, the anchor marked her as the Inquisitor. Now, the lyrium-veined metal arm Dagna crafted for her became her signature feature. They knew her by reputation, even if they did not know the purpose of this meeting. Word spread quickly among the clans one of their own lead Andraste’s Inquisition.

“You need to send your beast away, lethallan. It will scare the halla.” An older woman with dark skin and black hair, only recently beginning to grey at the temples, said to her, amber eyes darting fretfully towards the poison dragon.   “She is hungry anyway, and the halla were looking delicious,” Serafina agreed, winking at one of the small children who had come closer to investigate. 

Turning, Serafina mentally bid the dragon to find a place to eat and rest. Perhaps a bear with a nice cave.

Ataashi roared in response, her version of laughing. Beating her wings and galloping across the terrain, she kicked up dust and debris as she maneuvered to become airborne, catching flight just before reaching the gathering of elves as they skittered and dove out of her way. The dragon flapped her wings as she flew low over the elves, circling the field until she gained enough height to fly away. Every Dalish stood with mouth agape as they watched her fly off into the distance toward the mountains.

“Mamae. Ataashi?” Theneras pointed with his tiny chubby hand at the dragon circling and flying away.

“She’s going to have lunch, da’fen,” Serafina told him. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes!” He agreed immediately. 

“Is clan Lavellan here?” Serafina called out, crossing the distance between her and the gathering of Keepers. 

“We are here, da’len.” Deshanna stepped out from behind the others and approached, leaning more heavily on her staff than Serafina remembered. 

Her clan would not be standing here if Serafina had not successfully intervened in a Venitori plot four years previously. The dangerous plight of her clan and the Wycome’s elves began with an attack by suspiciously well armed and well trained bandits and the oily deceptive grin of a Duke. While the humans were being infected from a lyrium-poisoned well, the elves showed none, causing jealousy and suspicion among the humans. It was a treacherous dance in subterfuge where any wrong move would kill her clan and the city elves. Each letter she received from her Keeper had her nerves jittering on edge, the bilious anxiety threatened to force its way over her tongue. Often, she would consult with Bull and Solas to assist in navigating her options. Once the plot revealed the Duke and Venitori’s deception, it came down to either diplomacy with the Marchers who listened to the vile polemic of the remaining nobles who fled— or sending Inquisition forces to defend the city before the Marchers arrived. If not for the nagging dread at the back of her mind, she may have chosen diplomacy because her clan maintained friendly relations with humans during peaceful negotiations and trade; however, with tensions running high and the humans looking for a scapegoat, diplomacy would not protect her people. Serafina was all too familiar with the whispers of derision from humans, even as their Herald. She shied on the conservative side, and sent her troops to protect her family. It proved to be the correct choice in the end.  A squad remained barracked there, and the assistance Varric sent from Kirkwall later further cemented Deshanna’s claim on the Council Board.

Serafina smiled broadly, wrapping her arm tight around the Keeper, knowing full well just how close she came to nearly losing her and the rest of the clan, “It’s good to see you again, Hahren.”

Deshanna enfolded her once apprentice and First in her arms, “You as well, da’len. Oh! You have sprouted an extra head!”

Serafina giggled, “Keeper Deshanna, meet my son, Theneras.”

Theneras hid his face in Serafina’s hair, only barely peeking out from under the scarlet strands.

Deshanna wrapped her arm around Serafina’s waist, careful not to dislodge Theneras in his harness, the younger allowing the elder to lead them to the Clan Lavellan camp, chuckling softly at the little boy’s antics, “It’s nice to finally meet you, da’len.” Turning to Serafina, “How far did you travel by that great beast of yours?”

“From Skyhold. It’s a ten day ride by horseback, but a little over four hours by dragon. It certainly allows me to get around much quicker.” Five years since she had seen her clan. Five years since she walked among them, broke bread with them, laughed and argued with them. 

It was good to be home. 

“Four hours without food. The boy must be starving. Come, you must eat before you gather with the Keepers.”  The older woman tugged her forward, leaning as heavily on Serafina as she did her staff.

A tall, slender man blocked their path, Serafina recognized him immediately as Keeper Hawen, “It’s good to see you again, Inquisitor. This meeting, you called us here for a reason. Did you not?”

“Tsk!” Keeper Deshanna admonished him, “Hawen, you can wait. The poor child will expire right in front of us if she doesn’t eat soon. And the boy, too.”

Hawen blinked, leaning to the side as a little face with a shock of ginger atop of his head peaked from behind his mother. “Yes, I see. We should all break for lunch, then meet in an hour at the Keeper’s tent. Until then, da’len.” He turned on his heel, informing the rest of the Keepers the plan, before striding off towards his camp. Thus the group broke apart and went off to their respective camps. 

As the pair, Keeper and Inquisitor, Auntie and Niece, swept through the camp, they passed through circles of laughter, music, hawking of wares, conversations, storytelling, children chasing each other, and shy new lovers peeking from either side of the Matchmakers. Each camp cooked food reminiscent from the various places they hailed from, the different smells causing her mouth to water as they passed. If she wasn’t hungry before, she definitely was now.

Upon arriving to the Clan Lavellan aravels, Luc stepped forward as the pair approached, beaming ear to ear. “I saw the dragon, but I had guard duty here. I heard the rumors you rode a dragon, but did not believe it till now.”

Serafina slipped away from Deshanna to wrap her arms around her cousin’s waist for a hug. A head taller than her, the ends of his black hair resting on his shoulders, and the most violet eyes she had ever seen on anyone; rough around the edges, crows feet, and laugh lines, but still the same Luc, “Yeah, well, comes with the territory of being a bad ass.”

Luc laughs, “As humble as ever. And who is this?”

Theneras hides behind Serafina’s head, giggling and wiggling when noticed. “He’s a little boy getting too squirmy to be on my back, is who he is. A little help if you will?”

Luc  slipped behind her as she knelt on one knee, allowing him leverage to help her little man out of the harness. Theneras freed, he darted off in a burst of untamed energy.

“I wish I had that kind of energy.” Luc said, “It never ceases to amaze me how much energy kids have.”

“You have now met Theneras, my da’fen. He keeps me on my toes.”

“Da’fen, is there a story there?” Luc asked with a side glance.

Serafina leaned in conspiratorially, whispering so Deshanna would not hear her words, “I mated under the full Wolf Moon with the Dread Wolf.” 

He nudged her ribs, “Get out.”

Serafina shrugs nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.”

Keeper Deshanna peered at her with narrowed eyes, “I heard that, da’len. You should not joke about such things.”

Luc snorted, teasing with a hint of seriousness, “Sacrilege.”

A sudden somberness spread over Serafina’s jovial emotions, “Yes, I know, or the Dread Wolf take me.” 

Luc snickered, Deshanna pleased she would take her words seriously. If they only knew the Dread Wolf already knew her scent, knew her as intimately as she teased. A blue moon hung low in the midsummer night sky that night, camped out in the Arbor Wilds with frogs croaking to the music made by the strings of locusts, the following morning they would descend upon the Temple of Mythal; but that night Solas took her by the hand and led her into the jungle away from the rest of camp where they made magic in the moonlight.

Several weeks later, she realized what had happened, that magical burst of sparks she felt was conception. The folly of forgetting her bitter tea for prevention.

The three followed Theneras’ trail further into the circle of aravels when he stopped dead in his tracks in front of his grandparents, unbeknownst to him or them. With introductions aside, her mother fawned over the two year old, spoiling him rotten within minutes.

Deshanna hobbled to the campfire, bringing Serafina by the arm with her to sit down. From there, the clan gathered; her parents, her siblings, their respective families, her cousin and his family, and the rest of the clan. Keeper Deshanna received first choice of the meal, followed by their honored guest. Serafina may be family, but her duties kept her away from the clan for too many years, though she has made sure the Inquisition maintained a close eye on Wycome, and even bought a house discreetly for Keeper Deshanna. With food shared, laughter shared, some heated arguments, but the Keeper quickly soothed those over, the clan overall enjoyed their lunch repast. 

It was good to be home.

[loquaciousquark]

8th August. Genuinely cool today, glorious! Won’t last

I keep having to go to the keep for sundry Champion paperwork ephemera, and I noticed last week there’s a stain right at the bottom of the steps. It looks brown and stubborn despite the scrub-marks on the stone around it—in fact, it’s where Dumar’s head landed, and now that I’ve seen it I can’t stop seeing it. I asked Aveline, and she said she’s noticed it too. She tried to get at it herself with lye while I was out, but she said it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t even know stone could take up blood like that... although I suppose Kirkwall would be the place prone to that kind of thing.

There’s still no news of a new Viscount. Bran’s running the place as best he can (which, as it happens, would be a good deal better if he’d stop wasting so much time rolling his eyes at me every time he sees me), but Lady Ashbridge said on Pelarie’s visit last week that there’s rumors Meredith’s just going to run the city instead. Surely they won’t let that happen, though--how much power does one person need?

Then again...it’s Kirkwall.

I should talk to Varric.

In other news, took Sebastian to dinner the other day as thanks for accompanying me to the ball. Went to the Lime Pavilion, which has a twenty-sov minimum plate, but with Varric at the helm all my money does these days is make lots of tinier little baby monies, so I might as well get some use out of it. He had beef that came in a glass bowl with gold around the edges, and I had fish that was cut in the shape of a fish. Made it even worse that it was the most delicious thing I’ve had in months.

Spent the whole meal quietly panicking about which of my three forks to use. Serves me right for trying to cater to royalty’s nobler instincts. Sebastian covered for me well, but I’d just as soon sit with Isabela off the docks, swigging green liquor from a cracked bottle.

Haven’t heard from her even once since Cloudreach. I hope she’s alive.

16th August. Light showers all day, just enough to curl my hair into a right rat’s nest

I think I’m going to set Pelarie up with my next-door neighbor. Jule’s clever and kind and not quite as flat beneath her mother’s foot, and she’s got a great deal more in common with Pelarie than I do. Forgot to get a bit of drake ichor out from behind my ears the other day and Pelarie turned so green she might have grown gills. Her mother didn’t care for it either. Need to stop being jealous over people with mothers Besides, even if Jule’s not as flashy a catch she’s likely got a much better life expectancy.

Meant that to be funny, not bitter. Ah, well.

23rd August. Cooler again, a bit salty with some northerly winds off the Coast

Had a nice moment today I didn’t expect. I was sitting out back under the yew tree, trying to see if I felt any different with only one kidney, when I heard the back door open and out came Sandal with a bit of wood and a carving knife. He didn’t say anything, just sat next to me on the stone bench, and quietly began shaping it into something small, something with wings. It was...

It was rather lovely, actually.

Made up for this miserable All Soul’s Day at the beginning of August. Everyone dancing on their toes around Mother, as if I might turn to glass at the slightest memory of her. Can’t help but feel Isabela would have

Sandal hummed something I almost recognized while he was sitting with me. Then Bodahn came out and that moment was gone, but in favor of one just as pleasant, because he sat with us on the bench too (the benefit of a wide bench and two dwarvish sets of hips, I suppose), and with only the teensiest bit of coaxing he began telling us (me?) about some of his travels with the Hero of Ferelden.

Some days I wish I were her. Or--at least I wish I had her enemies. It must have been so nice knowing what you fought was evil through and through.

24th August. Still cool

Dreamed last night that I was trying to save Mother from the foundry, but she kept turning into darkspawn. Might know they’re evil, but that doesn’t help the horror at the twisted, slavering teeth. At least Meredith is people-shaped.

Ugh. Can’t get rid of these chills. I wonder if Varric has anything that needs doing.

2nd Kingsway. Saw the first orange leaf today and nearly cried from joy

Went to the Gallows this morning to talk to Solivitus. Had some harlot’s blush I thought he might like, which he did, but for the first time I found myself not entirely at ease with the way the templars’ eyes followed me the whole trip. I hadn’t been there since the Arishok, and Maker but was I glad Fenris and Aveline came with me. I don’t think they’d try anything without Meredith’s say-so, but this was the first time I felt that little tingling what-if in the back of my skull telling me I’d better watch my hide.

We’d be packing up tonight, if this were Lothering.

Anyway, while I was there I saw a girl that looked terribly familiar darting about between some of those market stands. Turns out she’s Pelarie’s little sister--not sixteen yet--who got caught making inkwells tip over from the back of the room while she was away at school. The Ashbridges called some favors and had her placed here, where they could visit.

More than I thought of Lady Ashbridge, even if I wouldn’t send my most hated feather boa into their care. (Meant the Gallows templars, but to be quite honest the Ashbridges too)

Pelarie says she’s been trying to send their grandmother’s necklace to her, but she’s afraid they’ll take it away. Jule (very kind about me crashing their tea) said she’d heard Gallows apprentices are allowed very few personal possessions, but she knew a family who used to send their son fritters and preserves and things all the time, so there might be some strings to pull if I can find them.

Well. What’s this damned title for, if not string-pulling?

8th Kingsway. Brisk and with the faintest smell of those crisp autumn apples from the cart down the street

Went to the Gallows again today. Saw Cullen, who sighs when I come into his office but at least doesn’t reach for a guardswhistle, and told him I wanted Pelarie’s sister to be given her family necklace. He argued with me for a good bit about keeping apprentices’ focus sharp on their studies and the risk of reminders of family ties compromising their emotional blah blah blah blah.

I said I’d work on that rumor about the blood mage cult springing up in Darktown if he’d let her keep it, and he said yes.

My skin has been crawling since I left that place, and that was almost three hours ago.

What if that were me? What if that were Bethany?

Later

For the first time in my life, I thought to myself “thank goodness she died first” after I wrote that line above and it’s rattled me so badly that I can’t

I hate

how could

Maker, I hate

15th Kingsway. One last damned heat wave. The Maker is mocking me. Or Andraste is instead, and I’ve just been rejected by every higher power who ever thought twice about sending this city even the faintest zephyr of relief

Asked Toby today if he wanted another dog in the house. He gave me the archest look I’ve ever seen on a mabari’s face and stalked in high dudgeon to the back garden, where he very deliberately pissed on the stone bench. Haven’t offended him that badly since I tied him all over in yellow ribbon and asked him to dance the Remigold with me.

I’d forgotten how drunk I was at that party

Anders and Merrill and I are going out to the southern side of Sundermount tomorrow. Anders needs elfroot and more spindleweed, and Merrill thinks there might be a supply of ironbark somewhere there she can use to create or work on or something for her arulin...oh, hells. How the Void do you spell that word?

I was considering asking Varric for a fourth just in case, as Aveline has another (and another and another and another) evening with Donnic planned. For as much as she went through getting to this city in the first place, I hate to take her away from the one shining light she’s found in it so far.

On the other hand, she does have our own glorious friendship as a second equally bright shining light. Maybe I can call that in as the cheap bargaining tactician I am.

Later.

Aveline said no.

Varric said no.

Sebastian said no.

Merrill said “arulin’holm.”

Fenris said yes, then no when he heard who was going, and then yes again when I said Anders they would probably be so interested in their own collecting that Anders they would hardly have time to needle.

Also, I begged.

16th Kingsway. I am cursed beyond the ken of mortal memory

We’re stranded on the damned mountain.

It was cloudy when we left and it only got darker, but everyone said to keep going, we could beat the rain before it got bad. Ha! Had to take a narrow path to get to this ironbark of Merrill’s, and while we were up the cliffs a freak storm came from nowhere and washed the whole path to a great lot of boulders and rotten logs. Stopped raining not twenty minutes later, but the damage was already done. Merrill’s been looking for another way down but it’s almost dusk and I think we’ll have to camp.

I keep expecting Fenris and Anders to be either furious or intolerably snippy, but every time I accidentally make eye contact (despite the enormous effort I’m exerting to avoid exactly that), they both seem perfectly cheerful. Well, as cheerful as they get. Anders even smiled at some comment Fenris made about how once when he slept outside, a handful of territorial crows chased him right out of a tree.

Almost said it could be worse. At least Merrill’s managed to get a fire going—everything’s soaked to the bone.

24th Kingsway. Still cold, damp, foggy, grey

Made it home from Sundermount, obviously, and all four of us have the most glorious head colds to show for it. Merrill and I ended up having to carve through a good deal of the detritus from the landslide with magic, which even Fenris didn’t blink at given the alternative was another night in open air. Cold, frosty open air, with occasional winds sharp enough to split a nosehair.

I was strongly inclined to see what Anders’s healing could do for this, but he says a head cold won’t kill any of us and it’s good to let the body fight on its own occasionally, which sounded so much like my father I left his clinic in perfect childlike resentment.

That was yesterday. Surely if I tell him I’m dying today he won’t mind if I touch myself up, just a little. My nose is both so stuffy I can’t breathe and running so badly I’ve taken to shoving napkins up it all morning.

How blightedly unfair. All this nonsense and I can’t even breathe to complain about it properly.

25th Kingsway. See previous, bloody unchanged, and no I’m not upset about it, why do you ask

Maker and all his holy works, but Fenris is pitiful. Never have I ever seen an elf laid so low by a little fever and a stopped nose. I went over this morning with some of Orana’s father’s soup just in case, but he was cocooned so deep in his blankets all I could see was the very tip of one dark, pointed ear. Then he told me to go away with the saddest little sneeze right in the middle of a word.

Made him finish the soup and drink an entire glass of water. He called me a Tevinter word that he claims means “sadist,” but he did at least un-cocoon long enough to say goodbye.

I keep wondering if he’s ever had anyone bother to care he was sick before—at least, that he remembers. Somehow I doubt it.

26th Kingsway, somewhere around midnight, I don’t know

Fenris’s fever worsened all day today, until by late afternoon I couldn’t rouse him properly. Anders came by around dinner and must have seen the panic in my face, because the first thing he told me after examining him was that he’d be fine. He left a vial of something thick—I recognized the elfroot and I think embrium, but to be honest I was watching Fenris struggle to turn over—and said he should have a teaspoon every hour until breakfast tomorrow. He said he’d be fine. We just have to wait for the fever to take its course.

Flames, he looks awful, even asleep. Grey in the face and he’s got a chesty cough that sounds wet. The first time it happened I had a violent flash to Carver in the Deep Roads and nearly upset the lunch tray. Anders and I both worked what healing we could, but there’s only so much to be done for something like this. Maker, my father’s death taught me that, and that was almost ten years ago.

Anders said he’d be fine. He didn’t even stay, which of itself is enough to tell me there’s nothing to worry about.

If Fenris feels half as bad as he looks, he must feel like death.

Later. Early?

Failed to occur to me that in the absence of pinned candles, the only way to make sure Fenris gets one of these doses every hour is to stay up myself.

Not much gets by my eagle’s eyes these days, but I suppose even the most avid hunter misses one once in a while.

3rd bell

Hawk’s eyes. Damn!

4th bell and a bit

Fenris woke up this time, just for a few minutes. He’s not really been present since afternoon, so it was...it was a relief to see lucidity. Tired, too, but one must make allowances here and there.

He was enough himself to complain about the sourness of the potion. I told him if he felt able to be picky about the taste he ought to be able to take another cup of soup and some water, and he called me the Tevinter sadist again.

He just went back to sleep, but he still looks terrible. His breathing is better, though.

Almost 5th bell, still dark as pitch

First time I’ve ever been truly glad I live so close to this blasted elf. Was able to run home and dig out some spare linens from one of Orana’s closets before I had to wake him again. He’s sweated his pillow through and his sheets are soaked. If he’s still improving on this next dose I’ll roll him off long enough to get the fresh sheets down.

Half past, still darker than light outside, though the horizon’s fading a bit grey

He just went back to sleep. Got the new sheets on—he didn’t understand why at first, which...I didn’t know what to say to that except that I knew he’d feel acres better on clean, dry bedclothes, and I intended to change them whether he was willing or not.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it was plain he was relieved to be out of that damp mess.

I was too, if I’m being honest.

Anyway, he wasn’t eager to go back to sleep after, despite the potion putting him just a touch loopy. We chatted about...oh, nothing of consequence, only Toby and apples and Varric’s latest pamphlet about the Championship ceremony and how the weight of that iron circlet has bent better heads than mine, and only time will tell how I carry its burden, etc, etc. Sometimes I wish Varric lent a little less effort to dramatic irony and a little more to my public credentiality. Credentials?

Talked a bit about Stinton and Pelarie and the rest, too. I told him I was doing well enough with their mothers, but that Lady Ashbridge might resent me pushing Pelarie into the arms of another woman right under her nose. Ah, but such is the uneven course of love.

He asked me about his sister twice near the end, which was how I knew the potion was kicking in at last. I had nothing I could tell him either way, and the second time I’m not even certain he was talking to me.

He asked if she was real. Maker, I wish I knew.

It’s not right that no one but me cares if Fenris is uncomfortable in illness-damp sheets.

Almost seventh bell, flames

Dozed off in the chair with the broken foot just before sixth bell. Didn’t come close to waking until a marvelously inconsiderate sunbeam punched me right in the eyes over Fenris’s windowsill, at which point I dropped my elbow off the armrest and gave myself whiplash trying not to tumble from the chair altogether.

Other arm stayed put, though, and Fenris didn’t even stir, which is the only reason I know he took hold of my hand while I was asleep—and possibly while he was asleep, which is the only reason I refuse to read more into it. His fingers were laced through mine, and the lyrium was humming ever so faintly, just enough that I could feel the—the shiver as I let him go.

I could have stayed there for hours, I think, if I hadn’t pulled the Void out of my neck sleeping sideways in that chair.

His color’s almost normal again, though he’s still a trifle wan. Thank you, Andraste. Not that I was worried.

I wasn’t worried. Anders said he’d be fine. I just wanted--someone this sick ought to have a friend take care of them until they’re well. Everyone deserves at least that much. 

Ah, I think he’s beginning to wake up.