#daficswap

[trashwarden]

Zevran and Falcon for @aly-the-writer (: They were so fun to draw! Happy Holidays ✨ also thank you jess for hosting @daficswap, you are my hero.

[jawsandbones]

My part of @daficswap for @crispych0colate featuring her Inquisitor as a Scout, and Cullen. Cheers!

“There isn’t much new activity in the Hinterlands,” she says as she turns the page, scans the words. “There have been some reports of Venatori sighted in the Hissing Wastes, apparently interested in a few ancient ruins hidden there.” Cullen is rubbing his temple as she speaks, feeling the attention slip away from him. He’s been reading reports all day, monotonous and eerily similar, nothing of interest all day long. Part of him was hoping she had knocked on the door to his office for a different reason, but no, more reports.

“Cyriel.” She looks up, startled in mid-sentence, blinks at her name. “Listen, I – did you want to get a drink?”

“Yes,” she says maybe a little too quickly. “I mean. Yes, yes a drink would be nice.”

“Oh thank the Maker,” Cullen says as he pushes himself up from the desk. He holds out his hand for the clipboard, which she passes to him. He tosses it onto his desk without looking, already heading for the door. He never tires of Skyhold. Stepping out onto the battlements, presented with the glory of the mountains, the delicate pattern of stars overhead. Cyriel has her hands clasped behind her back, a small spring in her step as she follows after him.

Soldiers look over their shoulders as he enters, scouts give him wary looks. This is why he doesn’t take up many offers for drinks. This is why he never goes on his own. His presence is – well, he knows it can be difficult to separate the Commander from the man sometimes. He chooses a table far from the others, from prying eyes, but Cyriel doesn’t seem to mind. She’s already ordering drinks, fingers in the air, smiling at the barmaid.

He stares at the amber liquid in the mug before him, before taking a small sip. “Bah, I still have no taste for alcohol.” Cyriel’s eyebrows rise.

“You came here from Kirkwall though! I thought everyone in Kirkwall was pretty well acquainted with drinking.” Cullen chuckles, scratches the back of his neck.

“There were very few places for someone like me to drink. The Hanged Man was always guaranteed to have someone’s from Hawke’s crew there and if they caught you, Andraste have mercy on you. I had more than one Templar returned to the barracks stuffed in a pretty dress, babbling nonsense, at the crack of dawn. Then there was the Blooming Rose but it – I, ah, never felt comfortable stepping inside,” he tells her.

“I see,” she says, laughing into the back of her hand, “Ladies make you nervous?”

“No! No. The ladies were fine – I mean – you know what I mean. It was the place most Templars felt comfortable drinking and who wants to drink with their Knight Captain around?” At that, he takes a sweeping glance over the tavern, sees more than one head turned towards them. Cyriel follows his gaze, sees the same thing he does.

“You’re allowed to do things on your own time Cullen,” she says.

“So I’ve been told,” he tells her with a smile. How many times had Cassandra cornered him? How many times had even Josephine told him to get out of his office? More than once even Leliana had sent her own scouts to scold him. “Still, I am their Commander. I – have made myself unapproachable, because of that, I think,” he says. Gloves around the mug, drops of condensation rolling onto the leather. Cyriel looks into her mug, peers over into his.

“We have about the same amount. On the count of three, we’re going to drink and the winner is whoever can finish first,” she says. He looks up from where he’s been staring at the table, eyes wide.

“Wait, what?”

“One.”

“Cyriel, I don’t think -”

“Two.”

“Maker’s breath.”

“Three!” At the count of three, both of them raise their mugs. If there was once thing he could always count on himself to be, it was competitive. She’s looking at him over the rim, smiling in-between gulps, before closing her eyes and focusing. They slam their mugs down on the table at the same time, flecks of foam landing on the wood, grinning at each other.

“Too close to call,” she says. Turning in her chair, raising her hand again, calling for more drinks. Cullen laughs, shakes his head.

“This is ridiculous,” he says.

“Good,” she tells him, “you’re allowed to be ridiculous once in a while.” By the third mug, there are people crowded around the table. Soldier, scout and every sort of person Skyhold has collected. Stomping their feet, clapping their hands, cheering as Cyriel’s mug lands before Cullen’s does. Sera is leaning dangerously over the railing, screaming Cyriel’s name as she wobbles back and forth. Coin is being exchanged, scouts triumphant in the support of one of their own. Cyriel whoops, laughing with her hands in the air, cheeks pink with delight.

“This is not fair,” he says with a smile, elbow on the table, pointing at her. “You’re already good at this.” Cyriel smirks as she leans over the table.

“Well, Commander, when we’re sober let’s try something in your area of expertise. Is it paperwork?” Cyriel says smugly.

“Oh you – you are on. And no, it’ll be something in the training arena,” he says. Her smile is infectious, and he can’t stop himself from mirroring her. When was the last time he had this much fun? When was the last time he felt at ease, not thinking about anything else? Soldiers have their hands cupped around their mouth, cheering his name, telling him to win. The table is cleared, another set of mugs set down before them.

“It’s a date,” Cyriel says, wrapping her hands around the mug.

“Here are your orders for today,” Cullen says as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “please. Please just take them. Quietly.” He finds the chair, sits carefully, ignoring the knowing grins his officers exchange. They do their best to walk softly, taking report after report, before finally leaving his office. Until only one is left. He feels terrible, he knows she must feel the same, but Maker, she still looks wonderful.

“How’s the hangover?” she asks with a smile. He makes a miserable grunt. “Me too.” She puts a small box on the table. “Make some tea with this. It’ll help.” He reaches out, his hand over hers, stopping her from leaving.

“Thank you, Cyriel. For this and – for last night. It was… It was a lot of fun,” he tells her with a smile. She happily smiles back.

“Yeah, it was.”

[daficswap]

DAFicSwap for the Holidays

A new round just in time for the winter holidays! Like last time, you can ask for art or fic. Feel free to ask for holiday themed swaps, or whatever you want as a ‘gift’ this year! :)

PLEASE READ. There are new rules this year so if you’ve participated before, please read all sections below. These additions are to hopefully help with issues of posting in the past and to make sure everyone receives a swap by the end of the round.

How to Sign Up and Participate

Read the Guidelines. 

Fill this out if you’re an artist or Fill this out if you’re a writer (Whichever one you most identify with. Indicate whether you are willing to write and/or draw).

I’ll email you your swap buddy info when sign ups are done. Minimum requirements are 500 words or a bust.

***NEW*** When you finish with your swap entry(don’t email me the form), EMAIL your entry to jessicapendragon@gmail.com. Do not post it or send it to your swap buddy. 

***NEW*** There will be a mandatory check-in half way through the swap timeline. If you have not begun or have nothing to show by then, then you forfeit your spot in the swap.

You’ll have a month to complete your swap.

Your swap buddy isn’t a secret! Feel free to contact them if you want.

Deadline for signing up is November 15th. Any questions feel free to send me something!

[definitelyallergictohalla]

@dinah-myles

Happy Holidays, hope you enjoy this!

[merrydisposition]

This is my part for this round of the @daficswap​ for @cherrymilkshake​ 

It took me about two seconds after looking at your gorgeous Inquisitor Bernart Adaar and seeing his LI was Dorian to decide to draw this. I hope you like it <3

[littlemissfundip]

All the Way Down the Rabbit Hole

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: Grazham Trevelyan/Robert de Somonte

Summery: Due to a series of unfortunate events Grazham and Robert find themselves stuck in some rather inhospitable dwarven ruins. Then come the spiders.

Note: A Cristmas trade for the lovely @mureh​ as part of the @daficswap.  It was an honour to write for your babies. I hope I did them justice. Had to repost this because apparently Tumblr’s entire system wants me dead and flat out refused to let me tag anyone.

“This is a very bad idea.” Robert said for what felt like the hundredth time.

If Grazham were in the mood to be honest with himself he might have agreed.

The long forgotten tunnel they traversed was littered with debris. Some little more than piles of dirt but others formed more intimidating obstacles, forcing the pair to climb, crawl, and shimmy to pass further.

It was by no means a safe nor sane place to go wandering but there were things to be done and if Grazham were to wait for what was safe or sane he would never get anything done.

Robert had been vocal enough about his doubts both back at Skyhold when Grazham had first agreed to the task and later before entering the mouth of the tunnel. As they descended though, Robert’s concerns became more frequent until it had become almost a sort of chant.

“So you’ve said,” Grazham sighed, allowing the smallest amount of exasperation to sneak into his voice. “Several times, in fact.”

He appreciated the concern, truly he did, but there were times when Robert’s kind attention felt too much. Too cloying. Too much like something he didn’t deserve. It made his words sharp, though he always found himself regretting them later.

“That being said, you didn’t have to come.” He continued, using his stave to nudge aside what appeared to be the remains of some timber braces. Chunks of dirt showered the floor as well as both men, but the tunnel held so Grazham foraged on ahead. “I’m sure the others could make better use of your mothering.”

It was meant as a joke but the long beat of silence that followed made Grazham flinch uncomfortably.

Perhaps he had gone too far, overstepped his bounds. He didn’t want to drive Robert away; quite the opposite, but it was difficult not to push. Difficult not to pursue.

Especially when he wasn’t sure Robert wanted to be pursued.

Thankfully, Robert broke the heavy silence easily, his voice so gentle that it actually hurt a little to hear it aloud.

“I would never leave you alone in a place like this,” said Robert seriously. His gaze never wavered, not even for a moment, as he stared into Grazham’s eyes.

The force of it, the sincerity in his gaze was too much for Grazham. Glancing away he could feel his cheeks burn and his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest.

It was unfair how Robert could throw him into turmoil so easily. For a man who showed so little interest in romance he let honeyed words drip from his lips far too easily.

“W-well it is strange that there would be an elven artifact hidden in such a place.”  Trying desperately to change the subject before he said something he regretted, Grazham glanced around at their surroundings. “Why would they hide it in a thaig of all places?”

“Perhaps it’s some sort of mistake?” Robert suggested, so hopefully that Grazham couldn’t help but smirk.

“Do you want to be the one to tell Solas you think he’s made a mistake?”

Roberts face shifted for a moment, cycling between emotions until he finally settled on resignation. It was clear that he knew as well as Grazham what awaited down that path.

A long and undoubtedly boring lecture about the history of the artifact as well as the thaig, and the entire history of elfdom if Solas had his way. Ending with them exactly where they were now.

“Point taken,” Robert sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

With no further arguments to be levied, Robert could do little but follow as Grazham led them down into the darkness.

By the time they reached the thaig’s door it became apparent that Grazham was lucky that Robert had chosen to stay. It took the both of them to force away the heavy stone door that blocked the entrance. Together they managed to shift it just enough that they could squeeze through, though it was a tight fit.

Despite its title, the thaig in question certainly failed to live up to its name.

The room, barely larger than the main hall at Skyhold, was so decrepit that it looked ready to fall in on their head should they even sneeze wrong. It was unclear whether piles of rubble lined the walls or if the walls themselves had turned to rubble.

All in all it was underwhelming to be certain.

Raising his torch higher, Grazham took in what he could of the room. From what he could see there were no obvious signs of any artifacts but that didn’t mean there was nothing to be found.

At least he hoped not.

“Did Solas at least give us some sort of clue as to where this elven whatever might be hidden?” asked Robert, similarly daunted by the enormity of their task.

Reaching into the hidden pockets of his robes Grazham pulled out the notes Solas had given him. Lowering his torch Grazham stared down at the pages.

Solas’ writing was neat and clear and complete gibberish. Any landmarks that they might have used were long since gone and the dwarven map he’d provided was equally useless.

Shifting up behind, Robert watched from over Grazham’s shoulder, wincing at the now useless direction. Whoever these dwarves were they were about as good map makers as they were architects.

Turning the map this way and that, Grazham tried to make sense of it all. If he could get some sort of bearing it would be a start at least.

“I think it’s…over here” he said slowly, gesturing towards what he hoped was the north-east facing rubble wall.

To be honest Grazham wasn’t entirely sure that it was the right direction. To a point it all sort of looked the same. But standing around wasn’t going to accomplish anything and it was as good a starting point as any. So, as confidently as he could muster, Grazham head off in the most likely direction.

Together, torches in hand, they began to search.

It was filthy work, moving rocks, shifting through dirt and refuse. Any time something was moved, even down to the smallest pebble it seemed, debris would rain down from the ceiling. Dusting the pair in…well, Grazham preferred not to think about what it was too deeply.

In the dark it was hard to tell how much time had passed. By Grazham’s estimation it felt somewhere in the range of a thousand years.

Every pile of rocks and rubble yielded the same thing. Nothing.

It was by a simple stroke of luck that they found anything at all.

As they passed a partially collapsed wall, Robert paused.

“Is something the matter?” asked Grazham.

Robert reached over, tugging the parchment gently from Grazham’s hands. Glancing down at it, he leaned in closer to the wall, lowering his torch to get a better look.

“I think,” he said slowly, his fingertips tracing over the runes carved into the wall, “this may be what’s on Solas’ map.”

Glancing around, his eyes finally settled on what looked to be a stray pile of slate.

“If this marking is correct the chest should be over there.”

Working together, they managed to drag the heavy stones free. Finally a flash of silver emerged, uncovering to form a tarnished silver chest.

It was old. Not as old as the thaig, but still ancient. Even on the darkened metal Grazham could make out what looked to be elven markings.

“Is that it?” Robert whispered inspecting the box from every angle as though suspicious of its contents. “Are we sure it’s not a trap?”

Reaching out Grazham cast a half smile in Robert’s direction.

“I certainly hope not,” he joked lightly, though his heart pounded loudly in his ears, “or we are dead and have yet to find out.”

Perhaps it would have been more prudent to wait for someone who could disarm any possible traps but truth be told Grazham was more than a little tired of this particular task.

He was tired and covered head to toe in who knows what. Trap or no he was more than ready to be done with the whole thing.

Grabbing hold of the heavy metal clasp, Grazham heaved the lid open. When no heat, or pain, or blinding light followed he let out a small breath of relief and peaked further into the box.

There on the bottom was a small silver amulet. It matched Solas’ description perfectly and Grazham wasted no time snatching it up.

“Well that, as they say, is that,” Grazham said confidently, tucking the amulet into his belt pouch. “I would almost call it too easy.”

“From your mouth to the Maker’s ears,” Robert chided gently, though his tone held no serious scolding. “Though I might agree with you once I’m reminded of what the sun looks like.”

Grazham was about to respond with something reasonably witty when a low sound caught his ears. Raising a hand he cocked his head to the side, listening carefully into the darkness. Then he heard it again. The soft skittering hiss of movement across stone.

Grazham barely had time to toss aside his torch and free his stave before the spiders burst from the darkness. Massive furry monstrosities they almost looked like an encroaching wave of shadows themselves.

With barely a moment to think, Grazham swung out at the monsters. Grimacing as his stave connected he followed up with a fireball for good measure.

The scent of charred flesh filled the air but Grazham did not let it distract him.

From the corner of his eye he could see Robert take out yet another spider with his oversized sword. Alternating clumsily between his sword and his torch to keep the remaining few at bay.

His face was twisted into a grimace, as it always was when he was forced into battle.

Still, Grazham felt his chest clench disconcertingly at the sight of it. In the low light Robert’s skin seemed to glow like he was made of gold. The shadows casting his high cheekbones and squared jaw into sharp relief.

There was an intensity to it. The gap between Robert’s normal gentle self at the violence he was forced to defend himself against. Grazham could not find it in him to look away.

Normally Grazham would have scolded himself for such a slip. In battle such distraction could leave one cold on the ground. This one time though, it turned out to be a blessing as, if it weren’t for his foolish staring, he might not have noticed the lone spider skittering down the wall at Robert’s back.

There was no time to think. Too late to call out and to risky to cast a spell Grazham only had one option left.

With a force that surprised even himself, Grazham launched himself at the spider, swinging his stave with all his might. The barbed edge of his staff connected with its rounded abdomen with a wet thump that Grazham could feel all the way up his arms.

He’d made it. He’d made it in time.

A wave of relief washed over him. That relief was sadly short lived though as a sharp crack reverberated throughout the room

Immediately, almost unconsciously his eyes sought out Robert’s. He was far enough away that no matter what happened he’d at least be safe. At least there was that to be thankful for.

That was all Grazham had time for as the world was devoured by darkness.

Grazham felt like he was swimming.

Or at least what he imagined swimming would feel like. Weightless and warm, he drifted through the comfortable darkness

It was familiar, this feeling of nothingness. A single moment where the darkness closed in, gentle and comforting. A moment where there were no responsibilities. No demands. Only peace.

Still, perhaps it was not truly nothing.

In the back of his mind Grazham could feel the slightest of twinges. A pinprick of something he was supposed to remember. Something he was supposed to do. A place he was supposed to be.

It was little; barely even a whisper at first, but the feeling grew. Like grasping hands it dragged him from the darkness and the world seemed to explode with light.

The first thing Grazham became aware of as he was dragged back to the world of the living was starbursts of pain radiating from…well from everywhere actually. It felt like he’d been kicked by a halla. Repeatedly.

The second thing he became aware of though was the panicked muttering of a familiar voice.

“I thought,” Grazham managed to push past numb lips, “that you didn’t curse.”

Hands scrambled to move him upright. Though careful of his injuries the movement was far from pleasant. It was only when Robert had settled him back against one of the larger stones that he found he could breathe normally again.

“You must have misheard,” replied Robert, though there was far more relief than teasing. “We should have the other healers take a look at your ears when we get back to Skyhold.”

Grazham couldn’t hold back a chuckle even though it rattled his lungs and made his bones ache. Mentally he began to take stock of his injuries.

His ribs felt bruised, making every breath a trial and his head felt strange. Any movement too sharp sent the room spinning. Worst of all was his ankle which ached fiercely. Probably sprained in the fall but there was still a chance something had broken. All in all not he’d been spared the worst of it but the news still wasn’t good.

Grimacing Grazham reached for his staff. His other wounds hurt but his ankle was definitely the most pressing if they wanted to move any time soon. As he reached though, he found his hand grasping empty air.

Glancing around a cold wave of apprehension dawned.

“Have you seen my staff,” he asked, hoping that perhaps Robert had moved it somewhere for safety.

It was the sort of thing he’d do.

There was an unnaturally long pause and immediately Grazham knew the answer wouldn’t be good. If that hadn’t been such a giveaway the look on Roberts face said more than enough.

Slowly Robert reached behind, pulling forth familiar wood and metal. Well, familiar except for the fact that it was in far more pieces than the last time Grazham had seem it.

With a groan Grazham took the splintered staff from Robert, looking over the damage. It was in four pieces, one large and three small. Far too many to be of any use.

“And it was my favourite too,” he sighed, running his finger over the scarred wood.

“I’m so sorry.”

Grazham shook his head.

“It is no huge loss. Better my staff than my neck after all,” the jest was weak but it was enough to make Robert smile if only a little. “But it does mean that I am going to be stuck here for quite a while.”

“What?” Robert’s expression seemed to waver between surprise and concern. “Can’t you heal yourself? You’ve done it before.”

“Not like this,” glancing down at his staff Grazham bit back a shout of frustration. With their luck it would bring the whole thaig down on their heads. “I don’t know how damaged the bone is. If it’s broken I don’t want to risk healing it without setting it first and without my staff to work as a focus…”

Grazham trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. Without a focus and with his head feeling like it were about to pop off and float away he knew he was in no condition to even light a candle using his magic, never mind perform a complex healing spell.

“Oh, well I guess we’ll have to make do then.” With what Grazham could only assume was meant to be a reassuring grin, Robert reached into his pack pulling out a small handful of handkerchiefs. “I always carry some just in case. They’re not ideal but they’ll serve.”

Knotting the pile of linens end to end, Robert set about wrapping Grazham’s foot as best he could.

It was a painful process and Grazham tried his best not to cry out, but each tug of cloth sent a bolt of pain shooting up his leg.

Gritting his teeth, Grazham began to search for a distraction. Something, anything to keep his mind off the pain. After all it would be unseemly for the great Inquisitor to swoon like an Orlesian noble just because of such a small wound.

There was precious little in the thaig worthy of any interest, so Grazham let his gaze fall on Robert.  

It was a nice view to be sure.

His sweat soaked hair curled wildly about his face, even more so than usual. Even filthy and covered in spider blood Robert was lovely. The look of concentration on his face, so at odds with the gentle ministrations of his hands.

Had he the ability Grazham would have loved to paint it. To preserve the way Robert looked in this moment.

Biting his lip, Grazham felt his heart lurch unpleasantly.

It was unfortunate that Robert seemed so oblivious to Grazham’s yearning. As though every flirtation and innuendo missed him entirely.

Unless he did know, but simply abhorred the thought of being with Grazham. Disgusted by his advances but too polite to say.

Suddenly Grazham’s heart hurt far more than his ankle.

Desperately he tried to cut off the unwelcome line of thought before it went too far. Choosing to focus on a stray curl that curved along the shell of Robert’s ear, as opposed to the way his heart seemed to be making a concerted effort to tear its self from his chest.

It wasn’t like Robert only behaved that way with Grazham in particular. In fact, he seemed generally perplexed by the art of romance altogether. Though warm and kind to all, Grazham had never seen him pursue anyone. Choosing instead to focus on what he considered more important things.

That thought was far more comforting indeed. Though Grazham couldn’t help but wish that perhaps he weren’t so disinterested in matters of the heart. It was a far better alternative to Robert despising him in secret.

“There,” Robert said suddenly, breaking Grazham from his musings. “It’s not perfect but it should hold.”

Gently Robert patted the now bandaged ankle. Grazham was relieved to find it no longer ached so sharply, instead diminishing to a low pulse.

Still, movement was difficult and Grazham could tell that the moment he put any weight on it the pain would return.

There was only one solution left and Robert was definitely not going to like it.

“You should go back by yourself,” Grazham blurted out. Hoping that if he said the words quickly enough that Robert might not have enough presence of mind to argue.

Unfortunately, the tactic was less than effective.

“What?”

It was not a question despite its phrasing.

Suddenly every other object in the room seemed more pressing than Robert’s eyes. At least the spider corpses didn’t stare at him with a painful mixture of hurt and sadness.

“I can’t walk like this,” Grazham soldiered on, though still unable to meet Robert’s eyes. “The castle isn’t that far. You could ride for help and be back far more quickly without me.”

“Surely you don’t expect me to leave you here?” Robert’s voice sounded pained, as though he were the one who was hurt by the mere suggestion.

Gathering his courage Grazham turned to stare directly into Robert’s eyes. He was prepared for the agitation and hidden stubbornness he knew he would find in them.

The only way that Robert would ever agree was if Grazham used logic to persuade him. Otherwise they’d be left arguing until the death of the world.

“It’s more efficient this way,” Grazham insisted, holding Robert’s gaze. “You know as well as I that it will take an eternity if you are forced to match my pace and with so much debris blocking the passage who knows where we will be forced to stop.”

Despite the mutinous look on his face Robert appeared to be listening at the very least. It was certainly a blessing for Grazham because he wasn’t sure what he would have done in the face of any more arguments.

“If it’s you alone,” Grazham continued, “you know where the exit is and you’re faster than I am anyway.”

The small joke seemed to fall flat in the heavy air between them, but Grazham held firm. This was for the best. Robert had to see that.

Finally Robert broke first, looking away with a sigh of resignation.

“I don’t want to go.” He said finally.

Thankfully it seemed to be more of a statement than an argument because he began to pack up none the less. There was a set to his shoulders though, a stiffness to his movements that said that he wanted to be doing anything but.

It made Grazham feel for the man. Were their positions reversed it would have taken the business end of a sword to make him leave but there was no other choice.

“I know.” Said Grazham as comfortingly as he could. It might not have been the most eloquent of responses but it was all he had. “Just bring Bull back with you alright? I’d hate for him to miss this.”

That was enough to force a small smile from Robert. Bull would likely laugh himself silly at the Inquisitor being taken out by a pile of rocks but he was one of the few people Grazham trusted to carry his sorry arse out of this forsaken hole in the ground.

With nothing left to pack and no more procrastination he could manage, Robert cast one last long look at Grazham.

“I’ll be back,” Robert promised solemnly, as though Grazham had any doubts.

And with those last parting words, he disappeared around a corner, taking the last of the light with him.

As the darkness closed in, Grazham leaned back and closed his eyes. There was very little point in keeping them open when he couldn’t see anything anyways. Not that there was much to look at even with the light.

Even without the pain from his leg to distract him Grazham was not confident that he could summon even the smallest ball of light without something going horribly awry. With no present danger and nowhere to go it was simply not worth the risk.

So, with little else to do, Grazham settled in for a long wait.

After a while, when he’d finally exhausted every tavern song and ballad he could recall off the top of his head, Grazham found his mind beginning to wander.

The darkness of the thaig was so different from the darkness he had awoken from. There was no feeling of warmth or comfort. No, this darkness felt colder, almost lonely.

It pressed in on all sides until Grazham felt like he was buried beneath it. Like the thaig had become a tomb, which it likely would be if Robert didn’t return with help.

The thought, surprisingly, was not as troubling as it should have been.

Maybe I deserve this, Grazham thought to himself and somehow it didn’t feel wrong in the slightest.

He had hurt so many people. Done things that could not be forgiven. Perhaps this was his penance. To remain here in the darkness. Alone and forgotten. It was nothing less than he deserved.

Here he was no longer a danger to the world. Locked away safely from all those who wished to hurt him and those whom he would hurt in return. In a way it was freeing. No responsibilities. No voices clambering at him to make their decisions for them. Decisions that could mean life or death. Not only for himself but for so many innocent souls as well.

It felt almost as though, in place of darkness surrounding him, those souls he held in his hands were pressing in on him instead. Chaining him to the stone at his back like a criminal and Grazham, for his part, was content to let them.

Grazham wasn’t sure what he became aware of first. The red behind his eyelids or the hand clenched almost painfully around his wrist.

When he opened his eyes though, the first thing that filled his vision was Robert’s worried face. A part of Grazham wanted to reach up and smooth the creases from his brow. But his could not find the strength to move even a single finger

“Thank the Spirits you’re alright,” Robert said, his panic slowly diminishing though his grip on Grazham’s wrist did not. “When I saw you lying there I thought you’d…I thought were hurt.”

“I’m fine. I was just…” Grazham trailed off, realizing that Robert had barely been gone long at all. Certainly not long enough for him to get to Skyhold and back. “I thought you were getting help?”

For a moment Robert’s expression changed. He could not meet Grazham’s eyes and if Grazham hadn’t know better he’d have almost called it bashful. Then his face smoothed to something more familiar.

“I did not go for help.”

Mystified Graham couldn’t help but stare.

“Didn’t go for help but why…?”

Grazham’s question was cut off as Robert stood. Using the wrist he still had in his grip he pulled hard on Grazham’s arm.

“Apologies,” Robert muttered as he tucked himself under Grazham’s arm, stabilizing his bad leg. “This will likely hurt but please endure it.”

Grazham knew his expression probably looked like that of a beached fish but he could do little to push past the confusion of Robert’s sudden return.

They were already at the entrance to the thaig before he could form a cogent response.

“Wait a moment,” Grazham protested, though he still allowed Robert to pull him along. “I’m far too heavy for you to carry like this. It will take twice as long if we do it this way and that’s assuming we make it at all.”

Robert said nothing, instead choosing to help the both of them past the thaig entrance and out into the tunnel.

“You don’t have to force yourself like this.” Grazham continued, desperate for Robert to see reason. He had to see how mad this was. “I was just fine on my own.”

“I know.”

The words, so even and matter-of-fact, stilled Grazham’s tongue though his jaw dropped open slightly in surprise.

“I would not have left you there had I not thought you’d be safe,” said Robert calmly, as though Grazham was a fool for thinking otherwise.

It was infuriating. Grazham simply could not understand. They had a plan. A good one. Why would Robert take such a risk, seemingly for no reason at all?

“Then why?” he snapped, only partially regretting his harsh tone.

Thankfully Robert did not mind in the slightest.

“Did I not tell you,” said Robert, his smile gone soft as he glanced helplessly up at Grazham with a shrug, “that I would never leave you alone in a place like this?”

Whatever Grazham had been thinking, whatever he might have said next vanished in a puff of smoke as a rush of warmth permeated his being. The chill that resided in his bone, always present though usually hidden, seemed to evaporate in the face of Robert’s shy smile.

It was so much like looking at the sun that Grazham was forced to look away. Left scrambling for words that did not make him sound like a lovesick fool.

“Next time Solas can go find his own damned artifacts.” He managed to grumble out, still unable to look at Robert though his grip may have tightened ever so slightly.

Robert let out a sharp laugh that Grazham could feel in his core. A reminder of how close they were pressed.

“Agreed.”

All in all it had been quite a day, Grazham mused. A journey down a hole, attacked by spiders, crushed by rock, and finally dragged back out of said hole by a handsome lunatic. His ankle ached fiercely and he wasn’t sure he would ever be clean no matter how long he soaked.

Still, being pressed close to Robert that he could feel the very beat of his heart, Grazham couldn’t remember ever being so warm.

[ddragontales]

A little late bUT 

Art is hard guys

Anyway, here’s my @daficswap (except it turned out to not be a fic its an Art) for @julissayne ! Halloween in Thedas, so I did Dorian in a Desire Demon costume

Because that’s who Dorian is as a person

I hope you like it! ><

[ponticle]

Gift Fic [DA Holiday Fic Swap]

@urrsari Thank you so much for the use of your OC... I hope I did her justice. Enjoy your holiday! :) Thank you to @daficswap for putting on this event! 

It’s cold outside, but Ryvka doesn’t feel it. Her face feels hot and sweat beads against her collar. She has to get out.

Along the battlements, she takes long strides through the snow. She doesn’t have a destination, but the ember in her guts won’t let her rest. So many details... so many possibilities... so many facets to manage… and any one of a million intricacies that could go wrong.

She breathes in staccato huffs--wisps of rapidly-crystallizing air blur her vision. It’s better; she’d rather not see. She closes her eyes and feels the air fill her lungs: 1, 2, 3…

“Remember your exercises?” asks a voice.

She blinks. “Yes, Solas.”

He smiles, but doesn’t come any closer. They have the kind of student-teacher relationship that never crosses the professional. In fact, Ryvka never exactly knows where she stands with him. Nevertheless, she finds his advice useful. She has ever since the Inquisition’s inception back in Haven.

“What are you doing out here?” asks Ryvka.

One corner of his mouth turns up and he looks like he’s going to answer, but like so many times before, he shrugs--an insouciant movement that creates more mystery instead of dissuading it.

Ryvka smiles despite herself.

“The same as you, I’d imagine,” says Solas.

Ryvka nods. In the months since they came to Skyhold, they’ve caught glimpses of each other across the courtyard or exchanged looks from opposite sides of the library. Being alone is a part of their lives. For Ryvka, it always has been.

“Were you always like this?” she asks suddenly.

Solas squints consideringly. “Define this.”

“Did you always need to be alone?”

He nods. “Yes. But there were many periods in my life when it was impossible.”

They sigh together.

“Which is where you are now, isn’t it, Inquisitor?” asks Solas. He’s still staring off into the horizon.

Now it’s Ryvka who shrugs. Insouciance is catching, she thinks, and almost smiles. It’s amazing, actually… just a few minutes ago she was suffocating--leaving her friends, and even Cullen, in favor of journeying out here into the cold. The desperation is like that sometimes: all-encompassing, engrossing, overwhelming.

...except now it isn’t. Why is that?

“Solas?” says Ryvka suddenly. “Do you think people can change?”

Solas turns his head to look at her--eyes dark and mouth pulling up at its edges. “In my experience no one ever changes; everyone is the copy of someone else… a mask of a face I used to know.”

Ryvka nods. “I think I’m changing, just the same.” She looks down at the anchor; a knot forms in her stomach. Responsibility.

In the months since this all began, Ryvka has changed. She knows it in her gut. She sees it in the way she grits her teeth and charges into battle. She feels it when she does what she knows she must, even if it hurts. She hears it in her voice--confidant and clear, even when she’s scared. And, most of all, she knows it because right now she doesn’t want to go back into that crowded, hot space… but she’s going to. And once she’s there, she’ll laugh and smile, and do exactly what she must… because there’s no one else who can. The anchor glimmers--as if it’s silently reacting to her resolve.

They stand in silence for a long time--it could be two minutes or ten.

“Are you ready to go back?” asks Solas.

Ryvka looks up. “Are you?”

Solas smiles. “No, but we do what we must.”

Ryvka nods, flexing her jaw and straightening her spine. “Let’s go,” she says. “And… thanks, Solas.”

[imaginaryelle]

The former Inquisitor, Lady Mirai Adaar, and Lady Josephine Montilyet on the occasion of their anniversary. Painted by Yvette Montiliyet in the year 9:45 Dragon.

For round nine of @daficswap I was partnered with @misssunnysweden, who requested a portrait of her Adaar Inquisitor and Josephine. This was super fun to work on and I love your Adaar! I hope you like the finished product.

[sugarspunquill]

Rhian Amell and Cullen for my @daficswap partner @sharp-sparks!! I really enjoyed this exercise and I hope I did them justice! ;A;

[trashwarden]

Crossover art of Hanzo and @assassin-yuki‘s Tamlen for @daficswap! It was my first time drawing Hanzo and it was fun :D 

Thank you for wonderful fic yuki!

[cactu-art]

Hawke, mourning. 

For @daficswap, for my swap buddy @phantomhive3108!

Based off a scene from your fic Bloodied and Faded. With an extra version, too. I hope you like it! :D

[beakahdraws]

Reagan and Cullen for @reagans-ramblings

My half of the @daficswap

It was fun to draw her, I hope you like it!

[reagansramblings]

Alistair & Elaina - DAficswap!

My entry to the @daficswap, for my partner @beakah! I loved my drawing of Reagan, and so I hope you love this! I really enjoyed writing Elaina!

The cure wasn’t something to be found; more like, created from an amalgam of things she had collected all across Thedas. It had taken several lonely years to piece together the clues from ages past, to unravel the magic that tied it all together, and, of course, to find a way to make it all work.

After all that, Elaina was looking forward to seeing her husband more than anything else. She was deep in uncharted territory to the west, far beyond the lines of any map, and her thoughts never strayed far from that of King Alistair.

“Piss on my beard and call me Eustace,” said Oghren, upon waking up from the ‘test’ - he’d openly declared himself to be the first to try their cure, which Elaina had allowed because… well, it was Oghren. The man had stared down an Archdemon whilst singing an old dwarven song about nugs in the cold. “It worked!”

“You’re cured?” Elaina asked, both to him and Velanna, who had performed the spell. “No Blight in your blood?”

“He’s free of the taint,” confirmed Velanna, sounding awed. It wasn’t hard to see why…

“We did it,” Elaina whispered. “We finally...”

She turned from the others and moved away from their little campfire, staring out into the distance; the jungle was thick with humid fog at night, making it impossible to see five feet away, but where Elaina looked was far beyond the uncharted wilds and even Orlais itself.

Her mind’s eye had focused on a small, yet opulent, castle in the middle of Denerim. It was several Ages old and had stood through uprisings, occupations, and even Blights.

“We return to Ferelden, at once,” Elaina decided. “Our King will want to hear the good news.”

There was a very faint, very obvious snort from Oghren, who muttered in an aside to Velanna, “because that’s what’s been grinding his gears for the last three years.”

It was enough to break Elaina’s composure; she turned back to the others with a beaming grin, eyes lit up like they hadn’t been in years. “We did it! We cured the Blight! Being a Warden is no longer a death sentence!”

“We should send word to Weisshaupt,” Velanna pointed out, with a small smile of her own, “the others will need to know. They’ll want you there, too.”

“Sod them,” said Elaina, “my husband and I are due a reunion.”

King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden, son of Maric the Saviour, brother of Cailan the Betrayed, was bored beyond belief. He sat on his throne – which hadn’t grown more comfortable over the years, believe it or not – and listened to his advisers, their advisers, and their advisers’ advisers, drone on and on; something about taxes and the Bannorn and wheat.

Frankly, he didn’t care.

One month ago, arriving on the wings of a carrier pigeon, came a letter. On it, Alistair read lovely, impossible words written in Elaina’s fair script. It told Alistair to expect her arrival soon, and nothing else.

Naturally, it had been all he could think of since then. He usually prided himself on being an attentive King – always listening to the needs of his people and what came best for them – but the Maker’s honest truth was that his people didn’t need him.

There were no food or water shortages, no quarrel between humans and the elves of either the Alienage or the Dalish clans, and the last petitioner who had come before the throne was a half-blind farmer who, with the confidence of a king himself, asked for a sheep and a cow so he could ‘breed horses’.

It had been the highlight of Alistair’s week and, in response, Alistair had given the man his desperately needed sheep and cow, with a cheery remark about hoping to see the man’s horses one day.

But that was the highlight of the month, really, or perhaps the year. The last real action Alistair had seen was when the Venatori had infiltrated the palace… a depressingly long time ago, now. And, before that, the last ‘action’ he’d gotten was the night before Elaina had started her venture.

“The tolls -”

Which was five or six years ago, now. Such a long time, with no wife, no best friend, no battle-sister, no Elaina. Frankly, Alistair didn’t know how he’d survived for so long. He half-expected to be picked off by assassins in the first week after her departure. He’d told her as such.

He could remember it quite clearly…

“I’ll die,” he said, primly.

“You won’t die,” replied Elaina, with a laugh like windchimes.

“I will!” Alistair protested, stretched out on the royal bed – which was larger than most small houses. “Empress Celene will send assassins and I’ll be snuffed out by a poncy Orlesian.”

“Celene wants peace between our countries, her sending assassins would make no sense,” Elaina smiled at him, reassuringly smart as always, until she continued on, “it’ll be Gaspard who’ll send them.

Alistair thought of the Grand Duke he’d met last winter and scowled in Ferelden disgust, “fighting another Archdemon would be better than seeing his ugly mug again.”

Elaina, who had been rushing around the room in an effort to pack what she needed, stopped in front of the bookshelf, considering. He knew that look on her face, knew that it often accompanied lots of words that he didn’t understand but repeated in front of Eamon to seem a bit more ‘Kingly’, and knew that he ought to keep quiet.

“Would it be frivolous to take one of my books with me?” she asked, “it won’t be a vacation, but...”

“Love,” Alistair moved from the bed and encircled her waist from the back, kissing the smooth plateau of skin that joined the shoulder and the neck together. “You can take whatever you want. Including me, if you’d like.”

“You are staying here, on the throne that belongs to you,” Elaina primly informed him. She reached up, hesitantly stroking the spine of what he knew to be her secret favourite – Alisonn and Eustace; 1 Knight in Val Royeaux, a love story between a Ferelden bann and his knight/lover. “Should I...”

Alistair pressed another kiss, higher up, “Elaina… you are the Queen of Ferelden...”

“No, I’ll leave it here,” came the forceful command – for a moment, it sounded like she was back on the battlefield, “it’ll give me something to look forward to when I come home.”

She’d turned in his arms, then, kissing and nibbling and wandering and-

“King Alistair!” barked Bann Taffy-something, “are you with us?”

“Y-yes,” Alistair’s brain swerved abruptly and he was left red-cheeked amongst fifteen or so men and women who definitely knew he was anywhere else but with them, “I- I was just considering… an idea.”

“We can’t import any more cheese,” began one woman, as if that was something he asked for everyday.

“Or export,” added someone else.

“Or start making goat’s cheese – it doesn’t matter what they say, people can still taste the difference!”

“Goat’s cheese tastes exactly the same as cow cheese,” Alistair corrected, “but that wasn’t what I meant. The taxes – the banns don’t want an increase that they can’t afford?”

“To sum up what we’ve been discussing for the last hour, yes.”

“Then first we do a tally of their holdings – what they earn in a year, and so on. Then we change the taxes so that it’s proportionate to what they make,” Alistair glanced around the table, seeing only impressed faces. How often they forgot that his wife wasn’t the only intelligent one in the relationship.

It was a week later when rumours began to spread; a sighting of Elaina, riding through Redcliffe. A messenger had awoken Alistair early in the morning, giving him the news. She was closer than ever, and a part of him ached to meet her at the city gates. Unfortunately, as abruptly as she was spotted did Elaina vanish again, with no more information on her whereabouts.

Alistair was left in the dark, once again. For the entire day, he floated through meetings and petitions, and it was only when Eamon – who had been visiting Connor at the Circle – brought up Elaina’s imminent return that Alistair perked up a little.

“A parade?” he repeated, latching onto his uncle’s words. “Elaina doesn’t like parades.”

“It isn’t for Elaina,” Eamon pointed out. “It’s for the people. They’ve gone too long without their Queen; seeing her again, on a royal tour, would boost spirits.”

Chewing on a hearty piece of lamb, Alistair considered Eamon. “I… suppose so. I’ll have to ask her when she returns.”

“Why not have it a surprise?” he asked.

“Elaina hates surprises,” Alistair said. “And I know for a fact that she’ll want rest when she gets back. Not a week of waving. Maybe in a month or two, after everything’s settled down.”

Eamon sighed, though he knew not to push it. He’d gotten away with a lot in the last few years, too scheming to ever stop trying, but everyone knew that he’d met his match in Elaina, who had won the hearts of both the King and his people..

Still, Alistair wouldn’t make decisions for his wife. Elaina had pulled them through the Blight single-handedly and put him on the throne; if she so wanted, Eamon could be stripped of his titles. Oh, Maker, he missed that woman.

Retreating to his private quarters that evening, the first thing Alistair did was unbuckle his ceremonial armour and drop it to the ground, along with his fur cape. Winter was steadily approaching Ferelden, with nights growing colder as time passed. Hopefully, his wife would return by the first snowfall, though with each passing day that hope shrivelled a little bit more.

Alistair collected the official papers from his writing desk, knowing that his duties were far from over, and was getting ready to pour himself a glass of wine when he realised something was off. The wine, usually left by a servant throughout the day, was resting on his desk, next to two glasses. Amongst the papers, personal drawings (usually sketches of Denerim’s walls) and puppets, was a book.

A book that hadn’t left its shelf in quite some time.

Alisonn and Eustace; 1 Knight in Val Royeaux lay there, a slip of paper folded between two pages. Gulping, Alistair quickly strode into his bedroom, letting the papers fall onto the floor as he went. Inside, he was met by a roaring fire providing warmth, and a trail of clothes leading to the partition, near a happily steaming bath.

“I told the servants to keep it quiet,” said a beautifully impossible voice. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Alistair stormed over, turned the partition, and found his wife there, dressed only in a white slip. Her hair, longer than he remembered it to be, flowed freely down her back, and there were freckles across her nose. They hadn’t been there last time.

“Elaina,” he said, because it was her, because she was there, because he was home.

Finally, Alistair was home.

The embrace couldn’t come quick enough, with Elaina tucking her head under Alistair’s chin. She let out a quiet sob, clutching at his arms, and Alistair said the only thing that came to mind, “you’ve lost weight.”

A slap hit him in the chest, “I missed you, too, you daft man.”

“Sorry, really, it’s just...” Alistair pulled away to inspect her properly. “You’re glowing. You never used to glow. I think you’ve got a tan.”

“No tan,” Elaina assured, “no glow, either.”

Alistair frowned, not understanding. He never understood anything with his Elaina.

“I look normal, Alistair. This is what I looked like before I had the Blight,” Elaina’s smile was gentle as she spoke, even as his grip suddenly turned painful. “I did it. We did it.”

“You found a cure...” Alistair said, slowly. It wasn’t a question. He’d known back when she’d left that she’d be successful in her quest – how couldn’t she be, she was Elaina, his wife could solve anything – he’d just never thought it’d be found so quickly.

“I did,” Elaina confirmed. “Tried it on Oghren first. Then me, when floods had us stranded in Orlais for two weeks. Velanna wants to wait ‘til she can teach it to another Warden. But, yes, I’m cured. Blight-free.”

“Will-” Alistair glanced down, very quickly. “Will it work on me?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she asked, a pretty frown crossing her features. He immediately moved to smooth it out; she hadn’t been back long enough to frown. “Yes, Alistair. The cure will work on you. It’ll work on every Warden.”

“I’m rather interested in how you discovered a cure to the Blight,” Alistair began, moving in so their noses brushes. “I would love to listen to the tales of your journey… but...”

Elaina smiled, nose wrinkling like it always did. He’d missed it so much. So very much. “But?”

“That bath is tempting,” Alistair said, nodding towards it.

She considered it, head tilting to the side, and then nodded, decisively, “get undressed then.”

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

It was a rush of limbs, then, as the two stripped of clothes and sank into the tub together, Alistair seating himself so Elaina could curl up against his chest. There was no funny business, nothing except two lost souls finally joining together again.

“I love you,” said Alistair, because it’d been far too long since he’d last told her.

“I love you, too,” replied Elaina, already drifting off.

One year later, Ferelden welcomed a new member to the royal family.

And then another…

And another...

[iamtoothandclaw]

Interlude in Tevinter

For my awesome DA Ficswap partner, @candystrippers. Thank you for the opportunity to paint your Inquisitor-- his design is awesome. I hope you like the results.