#cause that line came up before they knew about solas and any hope to deal with the anchor

[roraimae]

Inquisitor Casper Lavellan, officially having a bad time

[in-arlathan]

Eyes Wide Open

Back in the writing game with a new Solavellan story. When I started writing, I was convinced it would be this short fluffy thing. Oh boy, I was so wrong. It turned rather dark towards the end and I love it. I hope you do, too.

A want to give a big shoutout to @serial-chillr who beta’d this for me and help me really polish this piece. Your advice was amazingly insightful. I can’t thank you enough ♥︎ 

This is available on AO3, too.

___

One of the first things her father had taught her about hunting was to watch out for the green light. 

“When you’re in the forest and see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run. When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.”

She remembered his words with such clarity it was as if he was standing right next to her. A flicker of emotion danced on her skin, making the small hairs on her arms and neck stand up.

“Don’t let the patches of sunlight in the underbrush distract you,” she heard him say. “Your eyes won’t know where the Fade is thin and where it’s not. In some places, it quivers and if you’re not careful, you will attract attention from the other side.”

His words carried all the grief and sadness of a man who had lost a brother to the temptations of the Fade and even without an ounce of magical talent, Elenara could see the trauma it had caused him. She had wanted nothing more than to reach out to him and hold him close. 

She wondered what he might think of her now that she bore the mark upon her hand. Would he be afraid of her? Would he run? Or would he hate her for what she had become?

Elenara leaned closer to her own reflection in the mirror, tracing the fine lines around her eyes with her fingers. At 32, age had already begun to mark her and the blood writing of Dirthamen was slowly fading. But that was not what set her teeth on edge…

With two fingers, she pulled open one eyelid. Her eyes had always been as green as the leaves of a birch tree. Her mother’s eyes, as her father often reminded her. Another cause for grief he never learned to let go. Another loss she would rather not remember. A wave of guilt washed over her.

The dead never leave us, do they?

Pushing her feelings aside, she focused on the color variations in her iris – the fine lines of dark green intertwined with strands of lighter green and yellowish-brown that reminded her of the woods near Wycome. And flecked across it all, new sparks of ghostly green that  gleamed like stars in the vast and endless sea of the night sky. Green as the rifts that had been torn open all over Thedas. Green as the Breach that threatened the world. 

She let her hand sink, resting it on the washbasin below the mirror. It hadn’t been an illusion then. Her eyes had changed since getting the mark. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

The demon that had tempted and consumed her uncle had come from a rift that barely deserved the name. More like a fissure, as her aunt, Irileth, had told her. And yet it had been powerful enough to let Desire slip through, possess Tere’lan Lavellan and claim his life.

Oh, how she wished her aunt were here. Her father, too. But one was with their clan on the other side of the Waking Sea, and the other rested forever in a burial site in the Vimmark Mountains.

Elenara sighed. Since the keeper had graced her face with the blood-red vallaslin that declared her an adult among her people, she had known so many things – her place in the world most of all. And she had known what she was capable of. Now, she was not so sure. The explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had changed everything, and now she walked among humans to fight in the name of a god she didn’t even believe in. 

“Creators, I have no idea what to do”, she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away and sniffled, pushing back her feelings once more.

Outside her cabin, Haven was slowly awakening. The talk of townsfolk mingled with the bells of the Chantry ringing in the distance. Not long until her party would set off to Val Royeaux. Surely, Cassandra was already saddling their horses. 

Elenara splashed a few drops of water from the wash-basin on her face, then turned to the bed and grabbed the boots standing next to it. They were sturdy and warm and not nearly as uncomfortable as she had expected them to be. Still, she hated those boots with a burning passion. She missed her foot wrappings and the feeling of grass between her toes as she stalked the open plains of the Free Marches, looking for a ram she could hunt down for dinner. 

Someone came knocking on her door while she was still struggling to tie the laces.

“Lavellan, are you still in there?”

That was Varric’s voice.

She coughed, then said: “Yeah, I’m here. Come in.”

A second later, the door swung open and Varric walked in. But he wasn’t alone. Solas was beside him, carrying his staff as if it was a holy relic. 

“Andraste’s ass,” the dwarf said. “You look like shit, Lavellan.”

Elenara forced herself to smile. “You’re a real charmer, Varric. Has anyone ever told you that?”

If he took offense, he did a perfect job of not showing it. “Did you even sleep last night?” he asked. “Or any night since we returned from the Hinterlands? Because you sure don’t look like it.”

“Not a wink,” she said and sighed deeply.

“Well, shit.” Varric scratched his head. “Is it because of the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux? I know they can be a bit intimidating, but Cassandra and Chuckles and I will be there to have your back. If they so much as point a finger at you, we’ll be glad to chop it off.”

Elenara smiled again. Genuinely, this time. “Thanks, Varric.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Solas pursing his lips. Was he pitying her? 

“What are you looking at?” she asked, more bitterly than she had intended.

Solas blinked and his chin jolted upwards as if she had awoken him from a pleasant dream. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He raised a hand. “I was just… wondering…”

Her brows furrowed. “Wondering? About what?”

“Have you noticed any… changes since you stopped the Breach from growing?” he asked.

She cast a curious side-glance at Varric, but the dwarf just shrugged. 

How can he possibly know …

The thought perished as she remembered what Varric had told her about Solas. How he had stopped the mark from killing her while she lay unconscious. The apostate clearly knew what kind of magic they were dealing with. Or he had a decent grasp of the situation, at least, and that was more than Elenara could say about herself.

Once more, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. “Promise me to run”, he’d said to her. But she couldn’t, not any longer. All those cautionary tales about the dangers of magic were utterly useless to her now. Maybe her best option was to give herself to magic and have a skilled mage help her deal with the problem at hand. 

“There is something,” she said slowly. “My eyes… they’re…”

Solas didn’t let her finish her sentence. He bridged the distance between them with three quick strides and kneeled before her. Then he placed the staff beside him on the stone floor and took her face into his hands, his fingers resting lightly on her cheeks. “Look at me,” he said and his voice carried a sense of urgency.

Despite herself, Elenara held her breath and stared at him.

She had never noticed the true color of his eyes before. From a distance, they looked grey, like a storm cloud on an autumn day in the Free Marches. Now, she saw the hues of blue and violet mixed in there. 

“Fascinating,” she breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said, lost in thought while examining her eyes. “It seems your body is responding to the magic that has placed the mark upon your hand. An uncommon occurrence but not completely unheard of. Most mages undergo a process of change when their talents make themselves known.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me?” 

Solas offered a smile, his gaze still locked with hers. He brushed her cheek with one thumb.

“I would not worry if I were you. As long as the Breach remains stable, you are safe. Still, if you find any other changes or feel pain of any kind, let me know. I will look into it and help as best I can.”

Elenara felt her hand twitch with the urge to reach out and touch his face to trace the lines of his chin and mouth. She licked her lips and wondered what it might feel like to kiss him. 

Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This must be the worst of all the bad ideas you had in your life. For all you know, he’s an apostate who has no love for the Dalish. Creators, he might leave as soon as the Breach is sealed, just like you. 

And yet, there was a fluttering feeling that had settled in her stomach and refused to leave – like some kind of premonition.

“Thank you, Solas,” she whispered breathlessly. 

“It’s okay.” He chuckled. “I came to help after all.”

“Yes, you did,” she replied.

Varric coughed as noisily as possible.

“Great,” the dwarf boomed. “So, we’re done here, right? We should get going before the seeker sends a search party to look for us.”

Solas pushed back and let go of her face. She, in turn, rubbed her cheeks to cover up the blush that bloomed there. “Yeah,” she murmured and hurried to collect her travel bag. Solas, however, took his time to pick up his staff and get back on his feet again.

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to keep Cassandra waiting,” he said.

Elenara shouldered her bag, casting a sidelong glance at Solas. He cradled his staff with one arm and watched her intently while she readied herself for the journey, a soft smile tugging at his lips. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. To say she was confused by this would have been an understatement.

“Tell me about it,” Varric said to Solas, then turned to Elenara as she grabbed her bow and quiver. “You’re good to go?”

“Yes,” she told Varric and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Lead the way, Lavellan. We’re right behind you.”

********

Solas cupped her cheek with one gloved hand. She wished she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers as she stared into his eyes, searching for the man she loved so deeply.

Two years had gone by since she had been this close to him. Two years wondering where he had gone, why he had left her. And now she knew. 

His name was Fen’Harel and he was about to shatter her world.

“My love,” he breathed.

The magic of the anchor flared and sent a wave of agony through her body. She bit her lip and forced herself not to cry out in pain. In this moment, she wanted to pretend that everything was back to normal and that nothing had changed between them.

She wondered if he could still see the light in her eyes. It had spread more and more with every passing day since the Exalted Council began. The green glimmer flickered and flared just like the anchor and the pain almost blinded her. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas while he leaned closer, caressing her cheek with his gloved hand.

She had promised him that their love would endure. There was nothing in this world or the Fade that she wanted more. And yet, as the magic drained her life, she couldn’t help but wonder if her father had been right after all. Maybe she should have run when she still had the chance. If not from her duty as Inquisitor, at least from the elven mage that she had come to care about so deeply, despite knowing so little about him. When he had left her in Crestwood, she should have seen it as an opportunity to begin again and find someone new. She could have been happy, for a while.

And still, when he brushed his lips against hers, the world began to make sense again. He was her destiny and her duty and she would hold on to him as long as she could. He was hers again and that was all that mattered, even if it was only for a moment.

Elenara focused on the delicate movements of his mouth and pushed aside the pain that seared through her left arm. She remembered the day when she thought about kissing him for the first time. Back then, she had brushed the impulse off as just that: a terrible idea that had crossed her mind. Now, she felt incapable of going on without him. 

Tears filled her eyes, as he withdrew from her and got back on his feet. She didn’t even dare to look at her left arm. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on Solas. He gazed at her with a stricken expression on his face.

“I will never forget you,” he whispered.

She saw him turn away ever so slowly as if walking away from her caused him physical pain. 

And with that, it was over.

Light erupted behind her closed eyelids, rendering her blind within seconds. She leaned forward, clasping her healthy hand around her left upper arm. The magic of the anchor went wild, roaring inside her body and soul one last time. She cried out in pain as her left hand and arm dissolved into nothingness. 

Overwhelmed by agony, she barely heard Solas slipping away through the eluvian. All she could think about were the words of warning her father had spoken to her all these years long ago that she had completely failed to follow.

When you see the faintest glimmer of green, promise me to run.

“You were right,” she hissed, repressing another wild cry. “You were always right.”

She had failed her father, just like she had failed her clan. Maybe she should have turned her back on all of this when she still had the chance to flee back to the Free Marches. She might not have been able to save her clan from the treacherous dealings of the Venatori in Wycome, but at least she would have died knowing she had honored her father’s teachings. Instead, she had chosen to run into her own misery with her eyes wide open.

What was she supposed to do? she asked herself, hoping secretly that a voice from beyond the Fade would answer her call. The world was in grave danger. And it still was. 

I’m sorry, father.

Elenara inhaled sharply, still blinded by the green light that reached across the Veil, and focussed on the low thrum of her own heartbeat. Steadying her breath, she waited until the pain in her arm slowly faded away.

Carefully, she let her right hand slide down her arm. A dry sob escaped her when her trembling fingers reached her elbow–or what was left of it. Through the remains of the chainmail that had protected her arm, she could feel the cauterized wound. And then… nothing…

She let out a long, controlled breath. To stop the mark from spreading, Solas had taken a part of her with his ancient magic. Maybe she should be thankful. Without the anchor, she had one less burden to carry. If only her heart did not feel as heavy as if it was made of pure lead.

When she opened her eyes, the world remained a bright haze of light. She blinked and new tears streamed down her cheeks. Slowly, the shadows came back. Blurry shapes of rocks and foliage surrounded her as she drew herself upright. Her knees shook violently as she made her way back to the mirror she had come through, passing by the frozen shape of the Viddassala. Elenara paused and pushed back the urge to touch the stone statue’s arm. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, she thought. Just like me.

As she walked over to the eluvian, the shapes sharpened around her and the world regained its vibrant color. She saw bushes and trees swaying in the wind and the golden streaks of sunlight dancing on their leaves. “Creators help me,” she whispered with a bitter taste in her mouth. The words had never felt so hollow before. With all that she had uncovered at the Temple of Mythal, her faith in the elven gods had faltered. Now, it was all but shattered. 

Maybe I should evoke the Maker instead. Or even Andraste. They haven’t had their chance to let me down yet.

The eluvian was still dormant when she finally reached it. Weakened from the fight against the qunari, exhausted from the truths she had learned that day, she leaned against the silvery surface of the mirror and closed her eyes. 

She had come so far only to realize that she had been set up to fail right from the start. Oh, how stupid she had been. All her meddling in politics to steer the world onto a safer path had ultimately amounted to nothing. Maybe the hunters had been right to mock her for her interest in history and shemlen politics. She should have run like her father told her to. 

When the Fade opens, terrible things are bound to happen.

But in truth she had known there’d be no going back ever since she had seen the terror of the Breach with her own eyes. With a threat that dark and powerful, there was nowhere safe to run to. And so she’d done the only thing that had seemed plausible at the time–she had joined forces with Cassandra and the others to heal the sky. And along the way, she had come to know the world so much more intimately than she could have imagined as a young girl devouring books about faraway lands and long-forgotten kingdoms. She had her companions to thank for that. With their love and friendship, their ambition and folly, their victories and failures, they had shown her what Thedas truly was and what it might be. It had kept her going despite all the fear and darkness she faced.

And while she thought of Varric, and Cassandra, and Cole, and Dorian, and Blackwall and all the others, she knew she had to take at least one more step. Because all these years of fighting would have been for nothing if she gave up now.

“I have to get back”, she whispered and her breath fogged the mirror’s surface. “Please.”

She could feel a ripple as her naked hand touched the eluvian. A moment later, the portal unlocked itself, its surface warping into a cascade of violet light. 

Elenara breathed a sigh of relief and stepped through. 

“She’s back.”

“Inquisitor!”

Before she knew it, Dorian was by her side, slinging an arm around her waist to help her stand. Varric and Cassandra, who had been standing by the corpse of the enormous Saarebas they had been fighting before, rushed to meet them. The Divine hissed as she beheld Elenara’s missing arm.

“Holy shit, Lavellan.” Varric looked more miserable than she had ever seen him. “What happened over there?”

“I found him...”

Her knees gave out and she would have sunk to the ground if it wasn’t for Dorian. “Careful,” he whispered soothingly.

Cassandra swore under her breath, brows furrowed. “Solas did this to you? Why would he do such a thing? I thought he and you were… ” 

The former seeker let her sentence trail off

“I’ll explain later, I promise,” Elenara replied wearily. “We have to get back and warn the others.”

Dorian cast a quick glance at the dead qunari that lay scattered among the old elven ruins, then cocked his head in disbelief. “Warn them? About what?”

She gave him a sad smile. “This is not over yet.”

____

Thanks for reading. <3

[mojavehearts]

Who Am I

Cole x Reader

Chapter 2 - Flashbacks

Candle light, I can sense it and I am at peace, body warm and comfortable in a bed that smells like me, that is dented where I lay in a shape I had moulded, but a soft smell radiated off my left side, it smelt like old leathers and...Vanilla and crushed elfroot?, I felt truly at peace unlike when I was in the white room or in the darkness I am somewhere that feels familiar to my body but my mind is still wounded, somehow. Still aware of myself yet I know not much else, my name, my childhood, the taste of mothers cooking. All things I could remember yet I didn’t know the people around me as my eyes open they look at me with hope, glistening eyes of worry and even pity.

It came back to me, my name who I was. But that was all, for me I feel as if it would have been better if I did not. The guilt of forgetting was clenching around my heart, numbing my body in it’s angry grasp. I feel guilty for not knowing them, it hits me hard coiling in my stomach, they knew me but yet I could not even recall their names.

That boy from before shrouded in my deep sleep. His scent, he was not there with the other people that watched me, my heart knew that he should be yet I knew nothing of him, not even a name, the ache of my heart was the only thing that told me, it had not betrayed me like my mind had.

“Who is he?” I say hoarsely, voice thick and grainy from the dehydration “who is who?” The strong woman from before says in worry and confusion, I frown. Of course if I didn’t know, these people who seem to care for me greatly would not either.

“I am... Y/N who are all of you?” I must keep my manners even if I could not remember a thing from when I was on my way to Haven they all turn to whoever is beside them, all showing different signs of realisation and sadness.

“I had wished amnesia wouldn’t have been the case,I was mistaken and I am sorry, I will check with the clerics, see to it that I can help” the strong woman says, she blames herself I can see it in her eyes dark and red, lack of sleep, her under eye area purplish and veiny.

With that said she walks away without telling me her name I look down at my hands and move my fingers slowly, turning my hands around to get back circulation then staring in wonderment at the small green glow in one of my palms “We know who you are, if anything we could tell you who you are better at this moment in time inquisitor, I guess recoup is in order yes?” Inquisitor? Is that what they called me?, what did it mean to be an ‘inquisitor’ I turn towards the voice, a woman, finely dressed and decorated her hair secured neatly, warm toned skin that seemed to be kissed by the sun. “I am your ambassador Josephine, if you have more questions after I have you read up on what I have complied since the conclave come to me or Leliana, I have great belief that you will regain your memory” she had to be Orlesian by her accent, that’s right I was at the conclave was I not, she writes on some parchment before bowing her head slightly and heading out the door after leaving some papers atop my bedside table.

“And I, would be Leliana, I am your spy master, I too have things that require the need for you to turn your attention to, all other things that had required your attention before hand will be put on hold, if there is anything you need come to me” I turn again to the other side of the room, hooded, shrouded in purples, she seemed very genuine for her job purpose, her hair reflected red in the dim candlelight, I frown and look down at my legs, guilt punching me harder with each forgotten friend “thank you” I say, softer this time, she throws me a quick smile, dropping papers beside Josephine’s before taking her leave.

“We should cut this short huh? Our friend has a lot to do, I’m Varric your roguishly handsome rogue the woman who left before is Cassandra, I guess you can tell she blames herself for your state right now but she’ll come around and talk to you, I wouldn’t worry to much” my head turns back up to meet the eyes of a dwarf and then to meet his chest hair I raise my eyebrow slightly at the choice of style he laughs softly, noticing my line of vision. “Even when you can’t remember a thing you still poke fun at me, glad to know you’re still you” he speaks to me with great respect and care we must have been good friends, I smile at this.

“I am The Iron Bull boss, but Iron Bull or just Bull, is fine too. I am in charge of the chargers a fine group” even during his introduction he speaks of his men?, he seems very dedicated and proud of them “we did so many awesome things together, like that time in the Western Approach with that dragon! Aw man! It was sick!” The rest of my forgotten friends either sigh, chuckle or roll their eyes, I slayed a dragon? Oh my.

“I am Cullen, I command the soldiers who fight for our cause.” He ends it there, fidgeting the whole time he spoke, his hair was so neatly done he definitely took a lot of time into it. He didn’t seem sure of himself “that’s all you have to say to her curly?, after all that worrying about her day and night?” Varric intercepted “that is not true I worried a perfectly decent amount!” The commander begins rambles in embarrassment and walks out still talking as someone else begins to speak.

“I am Solas, I believe you will need to come to me also on questions you may have about everything once you read Josephine and Lelianna’s documents” an elf, he definitely wasn’t Dalish but didn’t appear to be a city elf either, his voice was smooth and he was very well spoken,judging from the way he carried himself, he was intelligent and he knew it, I nod slowly smiling slightly. The guilt was becoming to much to bare but I needed to be kind, I could not throw a fit, no, not whilst these people who care for me a great deal have to go through me not remembering them.

“My dear, I am so sorry this has happened to you, I am Madam Vivienne de Fer, grand enchanter, or of course just Vivienne to you sweetheart, mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain” this woman was gorgeous, and she knew it too, soft dark skin that almost glistened like specs of the moon had touched the surface. Someone snorts loudly “way to introduce yourself, innit? You sound so funny “I am madam snufflefart and I lay with a married man who can’t get it up” it was the girl from before I fell asleep again, she smiles widely at me as if waiting for me to say something as well, but frowns after my confused silence looking down awkwardly at her feet “I- ugh I hate this, I’m Sera yeah? I help the little guys get the big guys, but not you, you’re good people quizzy” she looked slightly distressed by how things were, I smile sadly eyes beginning to glaze over.

“All this sap, I am not in a good position to be crying infront of everyone so I will, infact, be taking my leave after this, I am Dorian, your fabulously intelligent mage with impeccable style and grace, thank you” the man named Dorian quickly scurries off after talking so surely of himself, it must be hard for him to talk about how he feels. I couldn’t see much of him by the way he walked out but I could tell he had dark hair and dark skin, as if he was caramelised, oh caramel, I’m hungry now that I think of it.

A rough cough sounds from the other side of where Dorian had stepped out of the room, calling for attention. I turn and I’m met with a man who reminded me of a bear, well, a bear that was less hostile than those I usually encountered,his eyes stood out the most, piercing blue standing out against dark brown long hair and a thick beard, he seems slightly older than the rest, maybe he has just lived harder days, his eyes showed pain but also relief in them as he spoke, he seemed to be calculating what to say without seeming as if he was thinking to hard “I am Blackwall, I serve the Wardens and I also serve you, like Sera said you are good people, I am sure your current state will not change that” he was very sincere with his words, he means what he says fully even if he had to think it through.

“Someone is missing” I say suddenly out of nowhere, my words escaped my mouth before my mind could stop them, how would I know this? I could not even remember these people let alone another. “What do you mean Y/N” Varric says, confusion upon his heavy brow “I feel...I’m sorry, I- never mind it must have just been a dream” I sigh and run my hands along my sheets, I pause for a moment and look back to the people who had remained in the room, the Elven man, no, Solas looks away from me, as if refusing to meet my gaze. Did he know something, could he help me? before I can manage to get any words out I am interrupted by someone running into my room, a solider “all of you, you need to come see this, it looks like we have problem” the woman says, everyone exchanges glances and starts walking out at a fast pace Varric turns to me and smiles “you should come too might remember something, are you well enough to walk” I blink slowly and nod, slowly raising to sit up and then swinging my legs off the edge of the bed to stand swiftly, I follow my friends out the door studying as much as I could along the way to try and ensure a quick recovery, maybe I could remember. But I was quick to remember to ask why I have forgotten once the time was right.

We are outside, my eyes turn to the sky, what was that? It seemed green, angry it teared the sky and twisted around the clouds. Looking at it I remembered the emerald portal in my dreams but my thoughts were short lived as a woman began to speak with a solider holding the body of an unconscious man, his hat was too big to see his face I squint slowly, a weird feeling in my chest“I found this young man unconscious in the gardens he appeared out of nowhere! No one can tell me who he was so I asked to speak with the inquisitor personally” she was worried for this young man “I am sorry but the inquisitor is...She... is a bit under the weather right now” the strong woman, Cassandra says suddenly to her having come from another direction as us “Someone here must know who he is” the woman frowns deeply, harsh wrinkles from her eyebrows crease her face in worry, I look around my group to see if anyone had, my eyes shifting to how Solas was shifting his weight between his two feet.

“He needs medical attention why did you not take him to the healers?” Cassandra’s swiftly says, she was cautious of him “that is the thing they said there was nothing wrong with him, but he is unconscious, they said they couldn’t do anything for him, that I should instead find out who he is” the woman was visibly upset now, shaken “I have a son myself this boy, he reminds me of him, please if you can help him” I frown and my feet begin taking me towards them “inqui-“ Cassandra starts to interject but Varric puts an arm infront of her, body language telling her to hold on “I will try” I speak those words with hesitation I was not sure if I could do anything much I must try something the solider holding him slowly puts him down and I slowly sink to my knees, raising the boys hat, I look to his face my body seems to shudder harshly and my arms begin to convulse my head aches and I raise my hands to it hissing and the crying out in pain “inquisitor!” Cassandra yells out before my body falls onto his and everything goes black yet again.

Here I was again, slowly opening my eyes to the white nothingness, feeling the prickling burn of the light yet this time I didn’t feel so alone, I feel it a presence behind me, I turn around speedily yet I see no one, I turn back and gasp softly, a dark purple ethereal figure floated slightly in front of me she smiles

“You must be Y/N” her voice was like a dream like it was not real,it made me feel like I was underwater “who are you?” My voice mirrored hers coming out like vibrations “names do not matter here, what matters are memories, ones you need to find, I am sorry my child while I am here to guide you I can not make the trials that you will face here any less troublesome” she begins to float off beckoning me to follow, she waves her hand slowly over a spot on the white nothingness another emerald portal appearing “my child, you must face these dangers if you wish to become whole again, remember what you must do, and who you are now, I am sure you will return I have faith in you” the portal almost sang to me, filling me with the warmth of a song sang by a loving mother “I will return” is all I say still under a trance from the soft hymns.

I let the portal take hold of me entirely, entering it feeling my body feel weightless but also like a statue, stuck in place.

What was that, loud thumping trembling the ground beneath me, I try to balance myself as rocks fall out of nowhere harshly onto the ground below me, I hear war cries, escaping soldiers throats like if they had swallowed rocks, the rocks now coming out of them as they became ill, but no. All they did was fight, it was the Templar’s fighting against blighted versions of themselves, former bodies of their own. As I begin to start running towards them I see, myself, there with Cassandra, Solas and Varric by my side as we fought running towards the tower I follow quickly behind racing towards myself my legs becoming heavier with each sprint closer running up the stairs, a strange man stands there, he looked...sick, not Ill but sick like his mind had been twisted to pieces until he could no longer think like himself, he was darkness. He grabs the me I see and I try to scream but nothing comes out I reach out to myself and then.

Black, cold, the feeling of nothing, damp but also dry, my body was stuck in place begging for water but begging for a towel I refused to open my eyes, not yet.

Not yet.

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes slowly, suddenly flashes of memories hold my body, frigid, convulsing slightly, Templar’s fighting, flashbacks, a voice of evil and then, the boy from before fighting beside me against something big and scary. An envy demon? , why did an envy demon want me, what happened to me. What is wrong with the Templar’s?, I knew this boy, who was he.

I must remember.

The flashbacks stop my body slowly fading from wherever I was when I woke again, I was still where I was, slumped over the boy from before, time must work differently where I was not even a second had past, Cassandra softly touches my shoulder, I turn suddenly “I’m okay” I reassure her staring down at the boy

“I know him” was all I could say, standing slowly and turning to her “you couldn’t possibly, none of us know this man, unless you knew him from before the conclave there is no way” I frown at her words, I saw him there “he fought with us, the envy demon” I explain, surely she would remember now “we fought alone inquisitor...” she was worried about me now, more than before, was I crazy “I’m sure we know him, even if we do not we need to take care of him” was all I said before lifting him myself, struggling slightly until Cassandra offered a hesitant hand.

I will find out who he is, and why my heart beats heavily in my chest.

[bhaalble]

An Invitation- A Post-Trespasser Fic

So people have been showing interest in Sythia and I typed up this drabble forever ago about her being approached by my Inquisitor, Astyth Cadash. I’m always a slut for “returning heroes” and until da4 comes out, post-Trespasser is my playground

However, due to it being Fanfic Author Appreciation Day, I’d like to turn this into an invitation. Write up a drabble about what your warden, your Hawke, your Inquisitor, whoever you feel, is up to in a post-Trespasser world. How they’re dealing with the impending apocalypse (again). Tag me in it! I’ll try and reblog what I can.

So, without any more rambling...

It feels strange to be traveling on her own. The woods feel lonesome somehow without Sera and Dorian’s constant bickering, or Cole’s strange musings, or even Cassandra’s long-suffering sighs. Bull had offered to come with her, and she’d nearly accepted: it had been a long time since the two of them had taken a truly private trip.

But ultimately this was one she needed to take alone.

Almost all of her advisors had been against this, Cullen in particular. “Hero or no, she travels with one of the most well known and dangerous apostates in Thedas, not to mention one to whom you granted the magical knowledge of hundreds of elven mages!”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with your personal encounter with the Warden, would it Commander?” Leliana had said coolly, though her expression had betrayed nothing as she peered over the missive from Harding.

Cullen had said nothing, but lapsed into silence. There was a story there, one Astyth was dying to find out, but she had a feeling nothing good could come of prodding her commander further. “Apostate or no apostate, I’m sure the Hero of Ferelden can’t have much motivation to see me dead. They have as much stake in the threat of Solas as anyone. Not to mention Morrigan is the only expert on eluvians we have any kind of contact with.”

“While I don’t quite share his...fervor” Josephine said, cutting across Cullen’s retort. “I agree with the principle of what the Commander is saying. Warden Tabris is a chess piece too important and too....volatile, to play in private. If we are going to bring her into the fold at this stage, it would be better to extend an invitation for her to come to Val Royeaux. She would be playing in our court, and additionally, she would be publicly lending some credence to our cause that we lost as the Exalted Council. We should-”

“She wouldn’t come, Josie.” Leliana said, putting the map down and straightening up. “Even if I asked personally, she doesn’t like to play politics.” She looked down at Astyth. “I think the plan is a sound one, Inquisitor, and furthermore, I think you should leave as soon as possible. Get away from Orlais for a bit while the talking heads wear themselves out. When you come back, with any luck, Josephine and I will have smoothed a few ruffled feathers, or plucked them. Meantime, Cullen can focus on marshalling the forces we have left.” She looked sidelong at the ex-templar. “Does that sound amenable, Commander?”

Cullen grumbled something seditious under his breath, but since becoming Leliana had become the Divine he had been reluctant to engage in their usual arguing. He heaved a heavy sigh and looked Astyth in the eye. “Its up to you, of course. But I can’t help but feel this will be a waste of resources at best, and an open invitation to something very dangerous, at the worst.”

“Its a risk I’ll have to take.” Astyth said, rolling up the map. “I’ll set out soon. Tell Dennett to have my horse ready.”

And now here she was, trodding through dense woods in the southern end of the Emerald Graves. Despite the Inquisition’s presence in this region, it was clear that this location had been intended to not be found. She had to abandon her horse to even have a hope of navigating these steep paths, and more than one bear skull mounted on a couple of broken pikes didn’t make for the most welcoming of images.

She didn’t know what to feel as she kept climbing. The Hero of Ferelden....she had just joined the Carta when the Blight began, and at the time had been too mired in trying to find her footing in the underworld of Orlais to care for much outside that. After her ill-fated stint with the Legion of the Dead, though, she knew better than anyone what a feat it was that she had accomplished. The versions of the stories that got to the bards of Orlais had no doubt been twisted and embellished, but they had inspired no small curiosity and admiration of her.

And then there were Leliana’s stories. Astyth flattered herself at this point that she had shaped Thedas’ future more than once, but she had nearly always had the full might of the Inquisition at her back. To do all these things with a ragtag force and next to no official recognition....half of them would’ve seemed unlikely. All of them, impossible.

She didn’t know what to expect. Leliana was fond of her, but had more than once described her as difficult to know. Morrigan had pointedly refused to discuss her while she stayed with the Inquistion, and Alistair had done the same (though, likely for very different reasons). 

Bull had always said she overthought things like this. She always countered that it was her job. She had to care about first impressions, about making a connection with people. Whether or not she actually was Andraste’s herald, her truest power came from her ability to inspire others to follow her. She was good at it too. But if it failed now...

There was a sudden thunk of a blade on wood, and she stopped. 

The path wound ahead for a little ways, but she could hear distant voice, and her instincts ultimately led her towards the sound.

“-depends what you’re looking for.” A woman’s voice. A bit out of breath, and punctuated occasionally by further thunks. “Personally, I prefer a little more-” thunk. “Power behind my strikes.”

“Papae says speed is more important.” A boy’s voice. Well, a teenager, likely, based on the cracks. And strangely familiar.

A snort, and another thunk. “Papae can talk about speed when he manages to take down a darkspawn horde on his own.”

She can see them now. A small clearing. A dark-haired boy she realizes with a thrill is Kieran, a bit taller and a little older now. He is playing with a dagger, watching an elven woman with hair so red it seems to glow chop wood. A bit aways she can see a decent sized cabin, smoke coming out of the chimney.

“Mamae, when are you going to say hello to our visitor?” Kieran says, without so much as looking away from the woman. “She’s come awfully far.”

“Visi-” The woman’s head turns, and she catches sight of Astyth.

For a moment, neither of them move. Sizing each other up, perhaps, or maybe the warden is just trying to figure out who she is. She hoists the axe onto her shoulder, casually, but perhaps also an unconscious warning.

Astyth examines her. Her face is etched with crimson vallaslin, an unusual color, so far as she knows. Even more unusual for a non-Dalish elf. Behind the markings, she can see lines starting to appear. She must be in her mid forties, but looks strong and healthy as can be. Her brow furrows a bit as she seems to give up the puzzle in front of her.

“....I’m sorry, can I-”

“Hello Inquisitor.” Kieran says cheerfully, slipping off the tree stump he’d been perched on. 

“Hullo, Kieran” Astyth says, managing a friendly smile towards him before returning her gaze to Sythia. “How is your mother?”

“She is well, but I don’t think she’ll like that you’re here.”

No, I don’t expect she will, she thought to herself.

“Inquisitor?” Sythia Tabris cocks an eyebrow. “Ah. So you’re her then.”

“I am. Astyth Cadash. Its an honor to meet you.” Astyth says, clasping her hands behind her back.

The elf snorts, lowering the axe to the ground. “Don’t know about honor.” She nods to Kieran, who hands her a basket. Tabris crouches to the ground and begins gathering the split wood. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping for some guidance, if you had some time.”

“Guidance?” She lifts the now full basket and gets to her feet, and Astyth realizes with a start that one of her legs is a prosthetic. It’s well made, but clearly a little worn. “What guidance could the Inquisition need from me? I’m assuming you know which end of the sword to stick in darkspawn, and as for not pissing off nearly every Ferelden noble, well, I was never much good at that.”

“Have you come about the Wolf?” It shouldn’t startle Astyth as much as it does. She should be used to it from Cole. But the child tilts his head, eyes bright with curiosity. “He’s not here, you know. Sometimes I see him at night, but he flits back and forth so fast I can’t ask him where he intends to be. I don’t think he knows.”

“Kieran,” Sythia says, tone not changing from one of quiet politeness. “Why don’t you go tell your mother we have a guest. I’m sure she has some choice comments she’ll want to prepare in advance.”

The boy doesn’t seem to mind, carefully placing the dagger on the tree trunk and running back to the cabin, leaving just Sythia and Astyth alone in the clearing. The warden nods her head towards the cabin and starts walking, leaving Astyth to catch up.

“I have to say, I was expecting you sooner.” Tabris says. Her gait, Astyth notes, only slightly favors the false leg. Clearly she’s used to it. Much more than she is to her own prosthetic, at least. “When I saw Leliana’s agents doing their best impression of field mice I was expecting a house call from your soldiers the next week at least.”

“Things have...been a bit hectic, of late.” Astyth said, running a hand through her white crop of hair. “As I’m sure you’ve heard.”

The warden nods, placing the wood by a small heap of firewood near the door. “I’ve heard rumors. Something about the apocalypse. The usual.”

“Leliana will be disappointed when I tell her you found her agents that quickly.” She says, handing her wood. Sythia gives her a long look before accepting it and carefully stacking it.

“To be fair, I live with one of the best assassins in Thedas, a child with the soul of an old god, and a pretty good guard dog.” She straightens up. “And Divine Victoria should learn to accept the fact that she has a full plate, and not make more work for herself sending people after me.”

She turns and starts mounting the steps to cabin porch. Astyth notes four chairs, gathered in a circle around a small pit holding the ashes of some long dead fire, and a side table holding books, a whetstone, and a pack of cards. Four chairs....Tabris, Morrigan, Kieran, and the fourth....

“My dear, have you seen my-...ah, company then?” 

A blond elf emerges from the cabin, examining Astyth with an amused glint. He’s handsome, to be sure. The lines around the eyes indicating a wealth of smiles, and his hair falls luxuriantly to his shoulders. Sythia’s shoulders seem to lose a bit of tension just at the sight of him, and she points back to the stump. “If you’re looking for your knife, your son has taken a sudden interest in fighting with speed.”

“We can’t all heft battleaxes, mi amor,” He leans in and pecks her cheek, pulling a smile as bright as it is involuntary from the Hero of Ferelden. “We leave that in your capable hands. Now, this is the Inquisitor, I take it?”

“Master Arainai.” She bows her head in acknowledgment. “Its an honor.”

“‘Master’? Now that I could get used to.” A mischievous grin creeps across his face, which somehow only makes him more dashing. “However, Zevran will do. I assume you have business with my wife? I warn you now, however much need Thedas has of her, it will take some convincing to get us to relinquish her.”

“I have no plans to take Warden Tabris from her home, I can assure you.”

“Mother wouldn’t let her anyways.” Kieran says, poking his head around Zevran’s side.

“Very true.” Zevran says, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Now, Kieran, I think its time we give your mothers some privacy while we find something for supper.”

“Can I keep the dagger?”

“Mmm, for now, I think, if only to annoy Mamae.”

The boy giggles, for the moment wholly child, and runs to fetch it. Sythia rolls her eyes and kisses Zevran. “Don’t go too far. As it turns out, these woods are no longer private.”

“Please, when have you known me to be reckless?” He tucks a strand of her hair back, fingers tracing down to linger on a gold earring, a simple gold circle studded with one ruby that Astyth realizes matches one on his own ear. 

“Mm, you’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Sythia says, a faint laugh in her voice.

“I’ll see you soon.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he leans in to whisper something Astyth can’t quite catch. The warden’s face goes red, but suddenly the former Crow is off, guiding Kieran into the woods.

Astyth finds herself missing Bull, for a number of reasons. 

“I-...” Sythia clears her throat and gestures for her to come in, opening the door.

The inside is clean, but hardly spacious. Trinkets and books seem to fill every surface. Some oddities she recognizes (a stuffed nug, an Orlesian mask, a few books she remembers from Dorian’s collection) and others are a mystery (why a rainbow sword?). Every member of this household seems to be some variety of packrat, but regardless, its cozy, with an overstuffed sofa and a fire crackling in a hearth. 

The peace, however, is marred by a clattering of dishes coming from what appears to be the kitchen. The noise is too loud to be accidental, and there are some sharp huffs that Astyth recognizes as Morrigan. 

Sythia looks warily towards the kitchen and gestures to the sofa, holding up a finger to indicate one moment. Astyth decides to take her advice, and her seat as well.

Sythia disappears into the kitchen. The clattering stopped, but is replaced by furious whispers that threaten to become shouting soon enough.

“-taken enough, and if they-”

Sythia’s voice cuts across, gentle and murmuring, until eventually there is silence. Finally, a long heave of a sigh, and Morrigan emerges out of the kitchen like a stormy wind. Sythia is only just behind her but there seems to be some subconscious attempt on Morrigan’s part to shield her from view, as if Astyth might forget she’s there if she can’t see her. “Inquisitor. What an unexpected pleasure.” The sarcasm lingers heavily on the last word, and the apostate’s yellow eyes are crackling with warning.

“Its nice to see you too, Morrigan.” Astyth says, forcing herself to keep her tone light. At other times she had gotten on quite well with the witch, but then, at other times she hadn’t posed a threat to her wife. 

“Before you read off whatever long-winded summons your Chantry has sent you with, let me make it clear from the very start: we are not in the least bit-”

“Morrigan.” Sythia says quietly, slipping a hand through hers and coming along beside her. It’s hard to tell but Astyth thinks she might be a bit amused. “Let’s hear her out before you tear her to pieces at least.”

“I don’t see why.” Morrigan mutters, though her fingers lace instinctively through the elf’s. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“I really am only here to talk” Astyth says. “I do have an offer, but its secondary, if anything. I came here on my own, not as the Inquisitor.” She tries for a wry smile, tilting her head. “At least listen to what I have to say, so I don’t have to admit to Cullen this was the waste of time he thinks it is.”

It’s a cheap attempt, but it does almost seem to give Morrigan pause. That almost pause is enough time for Sythia to guide her into a seat, taking the one next to her. “Well. Can’t have Cullen thinking he’s right about something.” She turns to lock eyes with Astyth, and nods for her to speak.

“So....I’m assuming you’ve heard about my friend Solas then?”

“Bits and pieces. And Morrigan’s been noticing something’s off with the eluvian.”

“And when exactly did you find the time to pry into my notes?” Morrigan grumbles as she sits back. Clearly intending to endure this conversation with as little grace as possible, if she must endure it at all. Sythia only smirks and doesn’t respond to it.

“In any case, I’d like to hear your version of events.” 

“.....well, in order to understand it....I’d think you’d have to understand Solas.” Astyth says. Fingers tracing out patterns in the couch.

-----

She tells the story, beginning with Haven. She plunders her memory for anything, any small detail that might be useful, as she has done time and time again since her best friend disappeared into an eluvian with the promise to bring an end to everything she cared about. 

She tells of an elven apostate, mysterious and distant and a bit condescending, but kind in a way that’s hard to place and infinitely knowledgeable. She tells a story of alliance, friendship....and ultimately, betrayal.

Morrigan spends a good portion of the story making derisive noises and rolling her eyes. But when she comes to the elven orb, and the Exalted Council, the witch falls silent. She bites the corner of her lip in thought and at times her eyes widen in some kind of private realization, though she’s doing her best to mask it.

Sythia, for her part, says nothing. Slowly leaning forward, propping her elbows on her knees, she only watches the Inquisitor intently. Expression neutral, betraying no sympathy, but also no hostility.

Finally, she comes to the final confrontation. With perhaps a touch of dramatic flair, she pulls off the glove on her left hand, revealing a hand of copper metal. Morrigan flinches, just a bit, though Sythia does nothing more than tilt her head a bit.

“As it stands,” Astyth says, rotating her wrist a bit. “I’ve lost whatever control I had over the Fade, at probably the worst possible moment. Which is why I require your help.” She looks them both earnestly in the eye. “Both of you are more experienced than most with the Fade realm. And given that Merrill hasn’t been seen for months, Morrigan is the foremost living expert on eluvians we know of. I wouldn’t even require a physical presence. For the moment, at least, this isn’t your fight. But any notes, any piece of information you find....it may be exactly what we need to save us all from destruction.”

For a moment there is silence in the room. Morrigan has a stormy expression, looking at war between several desires at once. A mortal desire to not have the world destroyed, an apostate’s desire for new and possibly dangerous knowledge.....and a wife’s desire to protect her loved ones from harm. Her eyes keep travelling to the copper shine of Astyth’s arm, as though it is a physical reminder of everything she fears to lose Tabris to.  Just as Astyth opens her mouth to try and provide further assurances, Sythia abruptly gets to her feet.

“I’d like to talk to you alone for a moment.”She says, slipping her hands in her pockets and nodding towards the porch. Astyth hesitates for a moment, but ultimately follows the Warden outside. Morrigan decides not to follow, evidently reading something in her tone.

The story has taken time, and the woods are growing darker and darker. Sythia leans back against the railing and gestures towards a seat, which Astyth takes. “So, first question: where did you get your arm?”

“Oh-...” It takes Astyth by surprise, and self consciously she runs the hand through her hair. “Bianca Davri’s innovation. We commissioned her.”

Sythia nods slowly. “She does good work. Not that I have many complaints with mine.” She swings her leg a bit as if to demonstrate.

“Who did it?”

“Best blacksmith I ever met. Wade, of Denerim. He was eager for the challenge, and possibly owed me a favor.”

“....can I ask....”

“How it happened?” A wry smile spreads on her face as she looks out over the clearing. “Its a long tale, Inquisitor, and I was never much for stories. Suffice to say, curing the taint is no simple task.”

“And have you?  Cured it, I mean.” She had heard nothing of it.

“......It remains to be seen. Regardless, its quieted the damned singing for a few minutes, which to me is worth a couple of limbs.”

“Lucky” The word slips out, and even she isn’t quite sure what she means by it. Lucky to be cured, or lucky that at least there’s a good cause that’s taken your body? Sythia seems to understand, at least.

“I am. In many ways.....” Her voice is soft as she fiddles with something on her hand. A ring, simple silver, but well worn. “Still, when Morrigan found me in the aftermath I thought she might just finish the job. She was furious.”

“She was angry? With you?”

A rush of air through her nose that might be a snort and might be a sigh. “Morrigan’s had....an unusual raising. There’s nothing she’s more afraid of than weakness. Than loss. To her, the leg represents both, try as she might to hide that fear from me.”

“What does it represent to you?”

The elf says nothing for a long moment. “....you know, that warden motto never sat right with me. Perpetual war, perpetual vigilance....comes across as an excuse for anything we might do in the interim between the Blights. But they got something right with the idea of sacrifice.”  Through the woods comes a peal of laughter Astyth recognizes as Kieran. The hunters returning, and Sythia’s head turns instinctively towards them. 

“...I’ve sacrificed a lot to get here. And I’ll sacrifice a lot more to keep it. So to me....its a promise. In the same way your arm is a promise.” She turns to face her. “That there’s hard journeys behind and beyond where you stand now. But where you stand? Well....that’s worth keeping.”

They finally come into view, Kieran on some long-winded musing speech as he circles Zevran again and again. The former Crow has a brace of rabbits in either hand and is listening with amusement to the child’s story. His eyes meet Sythia’s and there’s a glint there Astyth knows. It’s how Sera looks at Dagna. How Krem looks at Maryden.

How Bull looks at her.

“Tell your council: I’ll come to Val Royeaux, if they can provide accommodations for my family.” Sythia says, a slow smile spreading as she waves to Kieran.

“I-” Astyth feels a surge of excitement. This was better than they had ever hoped. “Are-...are you sure? The notes would certainly be more than enough-”

“Knowing how these matters usually go, the notes won’t be enough. You’ll need Morrigan’s expertise, my experience, and a bit of Kieran’s insight. And....well, Zevran’s coming for morale.” She grins, before looking back at Astyth. “You were wrong, Inquisitor. This is my fight. I like this world, and I’d prefer if it went on spinning a little longer.”

“And what dark plans are you two making, hm?” Zevran says, coming to the base of the steps. He hands Kieran the brace and he rushes inside, chattering excitedly to Morrigan. 

“Now, it’s hardly fun if I just come out and tell you, is it?” she says, winking towards Astyth. The Inquisitor returns it: this is Sythia’s request to make of them, and she’ll leave her to the details.

“Aaahh, so its to be secrets then?” He moves to stand next to her, a wicked grin on his face as he leans on the railing. “You know that only makes me more determined to find out what it is”

“If it’s left to your spying ability, it’ll stay a safe secret forever.” 

“Such cruel words from a woman so beautiful.” He tugs lightly on a loose strand of her hair, which makes her cover a laugh as she bats him away. “It can’t be borne.”

“I’m sorry, would you two prefer to be left alone, or...” Astyth trails off suggestively, smirking a bit.

“Not at all, I enjoy it more with an audience.”

It makes Astyth laugh and Tabris blush like a schoolgirl, and Morrigan comes out to see about the commotion, trying very very hard to look annoyed, though she’s biting back a smile. “I suppose it would be too much to ask that you behave yourself in front of a perfect stranger.”

“My dear enchantress, you should know by now I never behave myself without incentive.” He looks down at his clothes with a sigh. “Though the rabbit offal on my shirt is a bit of a mood killer, I’ll admit.” Pushing off the railing, he turns to look at Astyth. “Inquisitor, you’ll be staying for dinner, I hope?”

“Oh, I...” She looks at Morrigan in a silent question. She doesn’t want to intrude. But the apostate only sighs. 

“Perhaps you should. You’ve a long journey back to camp. And at the moment your presence may be the only thing that restrains this one from doing something indecent within earshot of my son.” She pointedly clips Zevran’s ear, who only chuckles and grabs her hand, pressing a kiss to the palm before breezing past her to the door. 

“Excellent. I’ll cook.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll cook-” Morrigan says, following him as their bickering continues further into the house.

“Then again,” Sythia says, looking over at Astyth on her way inside. “Perhaps Val Royeaux isn’t ready for us yet.”

[anjelica-grey]

Fictober Day 24: “You know this, you know this to be true.”

From the Fictober 2018 Prompt List.

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: G

In which Cole is Cole, and Vivienne does not approve.

“My dear Inquisitor, might I have a word?”

Maxwell Trevelyan sighed. With Vivienne, he’d quickly learned, “a word” inevitably meant a snide dressing-down about a near-infinite variety of topics, most of which he found tedious. The woman was undeniably skilled, and though he did not precisely share her opinion on the Circles, his experience in Ostwick was not without value. But she clearly thrived on the Orlesian Grand Game, while the more times he was forced to deal with it, the more he wished the entire court and their ridiculous masks straight to the Void.

He knew better than to think he’d avoid her lectures, however; the woman was as tenacious as a Mabari. He smirked inwardly at the disdain she’d have for that comparison, while schooling his expression into something blandly pleasant; might as well get it over with, he thought.

“Yes, Lady Vivienne?”

“I heard the strangest rumor today, darling. I’m certain it cannot be true, so I came to you directly to address the matter. Surely you have not been reckless enough to recruit a demon to the Inquisition?”

To Vivienne’s credit, she never flinched when Cole appeared from thin air at her elbow. “Oh, no, I’m not a demon. Not anymore. I’m me now.”

“Maxwell dear, you cannot truly mean to allow this creature access to the heart of your organization, wielding more blades than sense? You trained at Ostwick as I did; you must realize demons cannot be trusted. It is only a matter of time until it turns on you, or causes you to turn on others. You know this; you know this to be true.”

“I don’t want to hurt. I want to help,” Cole said, in his soft singsong voice. “So many hurts. Even you—falling Haven, Herald hurting, down in darkness, bleeding, broken, was it enough? Is it ever enough?—you saved them. You helped them. They all saw.”

The Inquisitor, still unused to the title, gave the spirit a melancholy smile. “Thank you, Cole. I hope you’re right about that.”

“She thinks I can never be right, about that, about anything. Demons dragging down to doubting, dreaming death, watching, waiting, wicked. But I am not like that. I only want to help. So many edges, sharp and biting—why are you afraid, Vivienne?”

The First Enchanter’s lips pressed into an angry line. “I do not fear demons. I destroy them, as any reasonable person should do. But if you insist on such an ill-considered approach, my dear Inquisitor, I can only hope others with more sense are present to save you from yourself when your new pet shows its true nature.” She turned with every iota of her usual flawless poise and strolled off as if the whole exchange was simply an idle chat to pass the time, but Max knew the discussion wasn’t over.

Cole watched her leave with a puzzled air. “I don’t understand why her words and her thoughts don’t match. A box of glittering metal with broken glass locked inside, key lost. It must be lonely.”

“That’s as may be, Cole, but I don’t think she would appreciate your help, despite your good intentions,” Max said. “It’s probably best if you leave her alone for now. I’m sure plenty of other people in Skyhold would benefit from your assistance.”

“Yes,” he agreed, before fixing the Inquisitor with his oddly piercing stare. “But it’s sad. Tired, trapped in a perfect prison she put up herself, cells of conviction and control. She thinks she is so different from Solas, but they are more alike than she knows.” And with that, the spirit-boy vanished, leaving Max to ponder yet another of his odd pronouncements.

For a collection of all my Fictober 2018 one-shots, check out Windows in Autumn on AO3.

[galadrieljones]

Fever Dreams

This is a revision and expansion to the giveaway piece “Solas has a Fever,” written for @wrenbee, who wanted a scene that explores what might happen if Solas got sick. Of course, he is just a huge, pathetic puppy about it. Lucky for him, there’s Sene.

Some fluffy hurt/comfort for @submissivesolas. <3

She found him asleep, half-naked in the late, pink light of morning. He’d been sick. Solas never got sick, but there was something really bad going around that early spring. It was a flu thing, and he’d probably picked it up off one of the children in the Beshel Clan outside the village. They all liked to crawl all over him. He was as tall as a mountain, and they liked to remind him of this. Mount Solas, they’d say. Let us rub your bald head! He could not help himself.

The Beshel Clan had a dairy farm and a great deal of land, and Sene and Solas spent a lot of time there, doing whatever. It’s where they bought all their dairy–milk, butter, cheese, and all. Whenever they went, the mothers would all stand by and laugh as their children scaled Sene’s alarmingly big and handsome husband. They would sip their tea and look at Sene with their blushing vallaslin, and they did not say much, but she knew what they were thinking, which was to ask when she was going to get pregnant with this man’s child, and she had a mind to tell them whenever the fuck I want, little ladies though what she really meant was SOON as it had been almost a year since their wedding in Crestwood, and they were ready. They were, but Sene was stubborn and she just didn’t want to give them their satisfaction. Whatever, she thought. Whatever and so there.

That day, Solas had woken up early in the morning, before the sun was even warm yet. He seemed disoriented and feverish, and he wanted to be held. He was a little pathetic—just this big sick puppy who loved her. So she brought him a glass of water, and she put a cool cloth on the back of his neck, as cold as she could get it, dipped in a bucket of water she’d brought up from the cellar. They kept a large tin down there, usually for drinking, but he was way too hot that morning. She had to bring things down.

After he went back to sleep, even though it was a little early, Sene was awake, so she went outside to prune the roses. Sene sucked at pruning the roses, and she hated wearing gloves, so she always got pricked and probably scratched, too, along her arms and somehow even her legs. She could not for the life of her figure out how, despite being so athletic with a bow, she could be so clumsy in everyday life. But the pruning needed to be done, and she knew that Solas would appreciate this small contribution in the garden. Little love languages. She was worried about him, but it was not enough to speed up her thoughts. She just knew how awful it was to be sick, even just a stupid fever, and she wished she could just pet it away.

She came back inside after the sun was up. She poured herself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, and she sat at the table alone and read the post. She read all about how Cullen Rutherford, former Commander of the Inquisition Army, had just moved to a large plot of land out in the cuts. With the addition of Mr. Rutherford, the story read, Crestwood has now become home to no fewer than three former Inquisition leaders, including the Inquisitor herself. Sene was very excited for this. She was very proud. Cullen had sent word of his impending arrival several months back, and she wondered if he would be alone. She wondered if he would have anybody with him.

Cullen had always been a very dear friend to her and especially Solas during difficult times. She was glad for the opportunity to spend time with him again. Though he was dreadful at Diamond Back, always second-guessing himself. In any case, she wrote him a quick note on parchment, inviting him to dinner in a week as soon as Solas had recovered, and she put it into an envelope, and she went back outside and up the grassy walk, past the white fence that Solas had built the summer before, and she put the letter in the mailbox for the courier to pick up that very afternoon.

When she got back inside, she went to check on Solas. Sort of tangled there, flushed. He’d discarded the cold compress to the floor. She got into bed and just lie there next to him, looking at him, hoping he would open his eyes but also knowing he was sick and wishing he would just stay asleep until he was healed. He was very hot. She could feel it coming off of him, and she knew now that this would be an all-day thing and maybe even two until the fever broke completely. She sighed. She waited. He stirred eventually. He opened his eyes, and he smiled when he saw her.

“Big hair,” he said, his eye lids heavy. He put one red curl behind her ear and he let his knuckles graze at her freckled jaw. “Pretty girl. What is wrong with me, vhenan? Am I dying?”

“You’re sick,” she said.

“I am hot, but I am also cold. As a mage of considerable power, I cannot, for the life of me, understand how this is possible.”

“You have a fever, Solas,” she said.

“A fever?”

“Yes. It’s okay.”

“I haven’t had a fever since I was a kid,” he said.

“What did your mother used to do when you had a fever?”

“I don’t know,” he said, closing his eyes, shifting uncomfortably in the sheets. He seemed thirsty. “Lots of ice. Probably.”

Sene thought on this, in earnest. “Well, I can’t make ice. Obviously,” she said. She gave him a glass of water from the bedside table and watched him drink the whole thing. “But you can make some ice, and then I can go do something nice with it.”

“Like what?” he said, handing her the empty glass

“Like wrap it in a fancy towel and put it on your head.”

This made him grin. “I would enjoy nothing more. But I am too tired to make ice, vhenan. Making ice is very difficult.”

“What do you mean?” she said. “I have seen you freeze entire bandits into blocks of the stuff.”

“That is different,” he said. “It is different when you’re killing bandits, vhenan. That is ice in motion. Something like ice, it’s sort of like jumping very far. It’s much easier when you’ve got a running start. Crafting ice out of stillness is like trying to make a standing jump from one side of a ravine to the other.”

“That actually makes sense,” said Sene.

“I don’t remember what it means to have a fever,” said Solas.

“Your blood is hot,” said Sene. “That’s what it means.”

“Is that your expert medical opinion, vhenan?” He smirked. Lazy, but still.

“Hush,” she said. “Be quiet, Solas. No smirking right now. Use your considerable mage powers and go to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can you carry me into the living room?” he said. “You can bring me juice from the cellar, and I will watch you go about your day. I would like to watch you dusting the bookshelves. You smell like the garden.”

“I pruned the roses,” she said. “But I do not have plans to dust the bookshelves today.”

He smiled and closed his eyes. “You pruned the roses?”

“Yes.”

“Did you scrape up your shins, vhenan?”  

“Yes, I did.” She swung around her legs and showed him.

He kissed the little red lines. “Carry me,” he said.

“I can’t carry you, Solas. You are way too heavy.”

“Drag me then. Come on, Isene. Don’t go delicate on me now.”

She shoved him. He groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Then she pet his eyebrows and kissed the bridge of his nose. “You’re so warm,” she said. “Maybe I should send for the healer.”

“Do not worry, Sene,” he said. “You’re always so worried.”

“I am not always so worried.”

“You said it yourself. My blood is just hot. All liquids must cool eventually.”

“Is that your expert medical opinion, vhenan?”

“Indeed, it is,” he said.

“You need to drink more water.”

“Probably, that is true,” he said. “Though I would prefer orange juice.”

“Are you sure you want me to drag you out of here?”

He nodded. “Yes, please. I am terribly bored and alone.”

“You’ve been awake for five minutes.”

“And yet, I am terribly bored and alone.”

She sighed. Solas was the kind of man who could fight huge, floating battles in the sky through cracked ribs and concussions but for whom minor bothers like head colds and paper cuts could cause substantial distress. It was terribly endearing. She helped him get to his feet. He was a sturdy man, even with a fever, and he glided along easily. She dropped him on the blue linen couch in the living room beneath the wide window, but she half-closed the curtains to keep out the sun, and she watched him crash face-first into the pillow.

He said, “You are my nurse.”

And she said, “I am not your nurse.”

“Would you like to be my nurse?” he said. And he smirked again.

“I’m going to finish up in the garden. When I get back, I will be your nurse.”

“What left is there to do?” he said. His eyes were closed. She wondered what he saw there.

“I’m going to water the daisies,” she said. “And then I am going to pull out all the weeds.”

“I would like to watch you doing those things, vhenan.”

“I know, but I am not dragging you outside, Solas,” said Sene. “You are sick.”

“I do not want to be sick.”

She palmed his hot cheeks, and she kissed his hot forehead. She let herself linger. He was a little restless, but he put the hair behind her ear and smiled again, and he was very sleepy—she could see it in his eyes. Even great men like Solas must sleep to recover from their ills. 

“Sleep,” said Sene. “I will be very nearby.”

“Will you bring me juice?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

He let her go, shielding his eyes from the day as he sort of sank into and off of the couch, his limbs long and spilling over. He had one foot on the floor. But it was where he wanted to be, so she let him.

Those days the living was so sweet and sheltered, that Solas’s fever was turning out to be the one and only true tragedy of their lives. For this, Sene thought, as she went to the kitchen to pour him a glass of juice, despite his hot head, she was grateful.

This is a sequel piece to my (nearly finished) Inquisition-era Solavellan story The Dead Season, starring Sene Lavellan and Solas. ^_^

[hunnybadgerv]

Pyrrhic Victory | Dragon Age: Inquisition

August 26: A Crossover 

(Though I know crossing over two games in the same series is kind of cheating, but that’s what I’m going with. Even though it is kind of canon.)

Summary: The return from the Fade is not the celebration Rhys would have liked.

a/n: This is a partner piece to Waking Nightmare. It kind of fits in the center of the first section of that fic.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

Pyrrhic Victory

-1-

Rhys’ knees crashed against stone, sending a jolt through his legs and a shudder through his body. The crash of shields and clang of swords rang around him, but he paid it no heed, turning back to the rift he stared at the vibrant green. He waited.

One heartbeat. Two. Five.

Finally, he swallowed the acrid lump in his throat and raised his hand. The effort was half-hearted. He hoped, somehow, he’d hear her call out, hear her ask him to wait just one more moment. There was nothing beyond the crackle of the rift, the cold pain in his hand, and the sound of battle around him. With a clap like thunder the rift closed.

The crackling quieted and the lightning faded. A sea of demons fell and dissipated like steam in the breeze; their screeches gave way to the victorious cheers of Wardens.

Despite the rush of victory, a deep hole bored through his chest. He’d left Hawke in the Fade. Guilt hollowed him into a thin shell. She’d come to help and he left her. Still staring at the site where the rift had been, a part of him hoped she would just suddenly appear.

A voice pulled his attention away from the scorched stone; his head snapped to the left. The carnage around them seared into his memory. The ranks of the wardens had been decimated by Corypheus’ ruse and his demons.

“No demon army for Corypheus,” Alistair called out to cheers from the survivors. He hobbled toward the inquisitor with a limp Rhys could not recall having noticed before.

Rhys struggled to find his voice. Eventually, he replied in a quiet tone that only the two of them could hear over the raucousness. “It appears the Divine—or her spirit—was right.”

Alistair nodded. “You know that’s not how they see it, though. They just saw their inquisitor work another miracle.”

“They came out of this alive. As far as I’m concerned, they can tell whatever stories they like,” Rhys spat. He wasn’t a miracle worker. As far as he saw it at that moment, he was a murderer. He’d traded Hawke’s life for his own. He felt like a failure, despite the blow they’d managed to deal.

“I suppose ‘the inquisitor and his warden friend escaped by skin of their teeth’ wouldn’t be as good for morale.”

Light footsteps slapped against the stone as a scout approached them. Rhys sealed his lips into a tight thin line. “Inquisitor, the archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori magister is unconscious but alive. Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

Cullen. Oh, Maker. Rhys couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about him. How could he tell his commander that he left the love of his life in the Fade to deal with a demon that surely spelled her doom? Every muscle in his body tensed up to keep him upright and his face implacable. What can I say to him?

Just days earlier Cullen had told Rhys how joining the Inquisition changed his life. He’d said that the good far outweighed the inconveniences. When the inquisitor asked what prompted his opinions, Cullen had said that it was the first time he and Hawke had been allowed to share a life rather than having to deal with quick moments of intersection. And I’ve taken that from him, Rhys thought.

Certainly, Cullen could never find it in his heart to forgive him. Rhys was certain, but he had to know the truth.

“We’ve seen no sign of Hawke since you disappeared over the ledge. We assumed she was with you,” Solas asked, stepping forward from the fray and leaning on his staff. Blood streaked across his tunic in places. Rhys couldn’t recall ever having seen Solas marred by the gore of combat before. One sleeve slit open suggested he hadn’t managed to keep his usual distance from the fighting.

A warden stepped forward holding his side. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s … tragic mistake.”

“Where is the Champion? She is not with us,” Cassandra parroted.

Even she would despise him, Rhys worried. She’d sought Hawke out first to lead the Inquisition, before he stumbled into the wrong room at the wrong moment, like some lost child. And, now, he was only be the man who sacrificed the Champion of Kirkwall.

Rhys’ good eye scanned the faces. They were all staring at him. Wanted answers from him, but he didn’t feel like he had any.

“Where’s Hawke?” Varric asked, pushing his way through the crowd.

Everyone who had accompanied Rhys into the Fade looked away, leaving it to Rhys.

“Where is she?” Varric’s voice bore the same tightness Rhys felt in every fiber of his being.

He chewed on his words a moment and tore his eyes away from Varric. His voice carried through the still crowd reverberating off the stonework. “Hawke sacrificed her life to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus.”

“The Champion is gone.” Cassandra said, her voice somewhere between a question and a statement.

“She gave her life not because she’d sworn an oath or been marked as special, but because someone had to do it,” Rhys told the crowd again.

Varric said nothing, but Rhys noticed him push his way back through the crowd. His heart ached for his friend. Hell, he’d only known Aderyn for a handful of months and came to care for her and call her friend.

The warden stepped forward again. “Alistair, you’re the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?”

Alistair’s gaze turned to Rhys. The inquisitor was almost grateful for the change of topic.

“You stay and do whatever you can to help. Alistair believes that the wardens are worth saving … and I trust him. You’re still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly his Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing.”

Solas sighed and shook his head.

“After all that, you give them yet another chance?” Cole questioned more harshly than Rhys could ever recall hearing from the spirit before. “But they hurt people.”

Alistair ignored the outbursts. “While they do that, I’ll report to the wardens at Weisshaupt. Corypheus won’t catch us with our trousers down again.”

The warden looked up at Rhys then bowed. “Thank you, Your Worship. We will not fail you.”

“Good luck, Inquisitor,” Alistair said, stepping forward and clapping Rhys on the shoulder. “Tell Morrigan … ah, just tell here I stood there looking foolish.” He flashed a wry smile at Rhys, who couldn’t find enough joy in his being at the moment to return it in any way.

Cassandra’s hand replaced Alistair’s once the warden walked away to gather his men.

Rhys looked over at her. She didn’t need to say it. He knew what hollow look in her eyes meant. Rhys shook his head, then changed his mind and nodded. “Please. He likely won’t want speak to me again once I tell him this.”

  -2-

The magister despite his unconscious state had been bound and gagged at Cullen’s insistence and Dorian’s instruction. His men had done good work given how little they had to work with—the makeshift arm spreader and leather gag hadn’t been a challenge, but the silk to bind his hands into fists. Dorian had been forced to sacrifice his own sash for the purpose and did so more than happily, to Cullen’s surprise.

“Some causes are greater than fashion,” the mage had joked with the commander.

The former templar watched over both his men and their charges. His attention turned for a moment when he heard the clamor of cheers behind him.

But there was something about the thin lips and the tight trudging walk of the inquisitor that struck Cullen deeply. His eyes moved past Rhys to Cassandra, then sought any trace of wispy red waves that he should find at their sides.

“Cullen,” Rhys said when he reached him.

There was something laced into that single word that confirmed every latent fear Cullen Rutherford had carried since that bright day near the stream when he first fell into those pale blue eyes and drown.

He tried to speak, but no sound issued from his voice. Cullen just shook his head. Then took a step back, shaking his head. “No.”

“Aderyn sacrificed—”

“No!” the commander yelled in an uncharacteristically undignified way.

He could hear her voice. Just days earlier she’d promised she’d always be there with him. This could not have been what she meant.

“She saved us all.”

Cullen glared at Rhys. Fire burned beneath his skin and threatened to consume him. “Not all,” he growled. With that he turned his back on the inquisitor and walked away. He couldn’t bring himself to speak to the man, not now. If he did, he would regret every word.

Cassandra’s voice and orders to his men barely crested above the sound of his pulse. He stared out over the gulf beyond the walls that the inquisitor, Aderyn, and the others had fallen into when the dragon attacked.

At that moment, he’d thought he lost her. Then they heard the thunderclap of the rift closing and the cheering. He’d let himself hope, which just made it worse.

She’d never broken a promise to him, even the foolish impossible ones. Of course, even he knew that for all her power, she was human. And death didn’t play favorites.

Cullen fought quake in his bones. He could not falter before his men. Taking in a slow, deep breath of the chilled desert night air, he gathered some semblance of his trademark calm and turned to find himself alone on the wall. Cassandra leaned near the top of the stairs. Varric stood opposite her, looking much as shattered as Cullen felt.

The commander felt his eyes sting and his tongue tasted metallic, but with a blink and an exhale. He exerted every ounce of control he could muster over himself and walked toward them. “We should gather the troops and head back to Skyhold before daybreak,” he suggested.

Cassandra nodded and started down the stairs.

“Hey, Curly.”

Cullen stopped, swallowed, and looked at Varric.

“I’m sorry.”

With a tight throat, the commander just nodded at the dwarf and set off in Cassandra’s wake. He could grieve later.