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The Dove

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ fantasy racism, death, explicit violence, implied abuse, fear, tenderness, injury, hurt/comfort, fingering (f!), oral (f!), p-in-v, unprotected sex

Using the full force of her foresight and the strife within decisions made, Celene's Grand Ball proves to be bloodstained and venomous. Leaving Vella exhausted to old and new injuries, tenderly caught by his soft love...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

"And now, presenting..."

Blackwall leaned low into her ear.

"If you are... underdressed under that cloak, please warn me now."

Vella slid him a teasing salacious smile.

"Grand Duke Gaspard De Chalons, and accompanying him..."

"Maker, Vella..." He sighed, giving her a knowing glare.

"Lady Inquisitor Lavellan!"

"That's my cue, take my cloak, will you?" She purred, pulling her arms behind her back. Dropping her shoulders to let the heavy fabric fall.

As she stepped forward, Blackwall's breath choked, followed by a rattled sigh. The sweetest sound to her entrance. Striding forward with dark cherry red silk trailing her silent step. Gasps of shock risen on balconies.

The dress had, naturally, been Leilana's idea.

The agreed upon silhouette of Orlesian dress was a structured bell with layered fabric and steel boned corset.

The garment that Josephine had brought to her, special made by a seamstress who must've had a terrible amount of amusement fulfilling, was all draped fabric.

Falling from her hips slick as oil, the plunging back tight to her waist and draped on the sides by bishop sleeves. Only girded by featherbone stays with rich indigo beading, matching the traditional Dalish boots that Blackwall had sewn her. The silhouette was all her, only partially hidden by the heavy drape of a shoulder cape, the red and blue of her entourages color coordinated uniform. The cape hung over her left shoulder, leaving her marked hand to only tantalizing glances.

"Nothing makes one more desirable company quite like tasteful scandal." Vivienne appraised the dress, running a finger over the high neck.

"Yes, a beautiful woman who steals the show and clearly holds thinly veiled contempt for the whole affair? They'll be staring like awestruck children." Dorian's eyes glittered with delight.

It certainly appeared to be working.

Vella strode with cold grace. This ball, this whole disgustingly ornate mansion, was beneath her, and she made little effort to hide it. Moving with the momentum of her hips. Letting uninterest carry on her face under her black blindfold.

By the time she reached the stairs, a quiet murmur surrounded like insect song.

Unbothered, she stared up at Empress Celene. Giving a graceful bow instead of the glare her heart called for.

Gaspard's shit eating grin was barely hidden under his ornate mask. Clearly pleased with the devious spectacle of it all.

After all the indulgent pleasantries were exchanged, Celene stared down her nose at her.

"You've certainly come dressed outside of our custom. Is this Dalish fashion?"

Vella laughed lightly behind her left hand, the gash of green light pulsed deep between bone. All eyes on her.

"Certainly not! I'd be wearing much less your Highness."

"Is that so? I'd be a shame if you couldn't see the decor beyond that blindfold."

"Oh, I can see everything I intend to."

The silver glow of her eyes shielded behind the molded black mask. Tied behind the fall of her golden hair with long silk.

The court was quiet in rapture within their exchange.

The whole of them laid out to her. All she needed to know unfurled behind the curtain of her mind. Bordering on overwhelm that she would need to muffle soon. The rolled elfroot cigarettes in their gilded tin assured in the taut garter on her thigh.

The secrets of all of these hateful people displayed to her at rapid speed. Especially Celene. Simmering rage seared under her easy smile.

I know what you did.

"With your lineage, you must certainly hold opinions on Halamshiral."

How many had to burn to soothe your ego?

"Oh, it's all quite beautiful. I'm sure much thought went into the conversion of the scenery. Sculptures and hedgemazes don't sprout up as easily as the humble orchid tends to."

It was a volley of elegant strikes. Words tossed with the air of nonchalance but beheld with bated breath by their audience.

Vella may be Dalish, but she was no stranger to appeasing the sensibilities of people she hated with the whole of her chest. Years held in the gilded prison of the Chantry taught her very quick that a sweet tongue kept you some semblance of safety.

"I wouldn't imagine keeping your company from our guests any longer, Lady Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance."

Vella gave another gracious bow and a sweet smile to her enemy. Striding up the stairs with eyes set only on Leilana as she approached.

"Well played." She whispered as a small smile pulled her cheek. "A word, when you have a moment."

Vella nodded, her own smile already fallen. "I'm going to need a cigarette after that."

"You and me both." Leilana sighed. Stepping back into shadow.

"Please find a balcony first." Josephine urged in a quiet rush. "There's only so much rule breaking that will be taken as alluring here."

Vella cupped her cheek with a gentle hand. "You worry too much. I'm only a savage wandering the most proper of society."

The use of the hateful word was deliberate. Many eyes held on her. Their power to cut her down taken from their mouths.

"Such an awful word!" A younger woman standing at Josephine's side gasped. "I couldn't imagine anyone calling you that!"

"Then you're better mannered than most, but I would expect no less from a lady Montilyet." Her eyes burned with near constant light behind the dark shield. The torrent of Dirthamen unveiled things untold to her as cacophony she focused to discern.

"This must be her!" Yvette giggled brightly behind her hand, blush pink in her cheeks.

"Your reputation certainly proceeds you." Josephine sighed, giving her sister a soft glare. "She's been insatiable for details on... well, you."

"Josephine writes, but she never tells me anything." The sweet yearn in her voice pulled a soft smile from Vella.

She had always wanted a sister. Though she knew that experience varied wildly between siblings, the accusatory stare of endearment from Josephine made her heart twinge with things she could never know.

"What would you like to know?" She offered with a gentle laugh.

"Please don't encourage h-"

"Is it true that Dalish women dance naked under the full moon?"

"Yvette!" Josephine hissed.

"Well, I certainly do." Vella laughed.

This seemed to delight the sweet girl and got her a stern clearing of the throat from behind her. Practically feeling the heat rising up Blackwall's neck.

"My lady, would you like accompanying for some air?" He led in the monotone gruff of his voice.

The flat delivery of his words irked most but she found it endlessly endearing. Especially when her teasing or tenderness softened the cadence.

"Oh, do I need escorting?" She teased, eyeing him beyond the black mesh shrouding her eyes, only seeing the shadow of things. The dark of it staving off the near constant threat of migraine from her untethered foresight.

"We both know that you do." He tried for aggravated, but affection was thick underneath.

"Oh, and who is this?" Yvette batted her lashes at him.

"Go while you still can." Josephine urged.

"I'll find you later, Josie." Vella laughed, led forward by the small of her back through the halls to a balcony.

"You seem to have caught many young ladies' eyes." Vella teased, lifting the fall of her dress to thigh to take a cigarette from the tin.

"Vella, please..." He hissed, sliding behind her to shield the full length of her leg from view.

"Oh, let me have my fun." She shushed, bringing the cigarette between her fingers. "It's going to be all downhill from here. Damn, I've forgotten matches. Where is Dorian when you need him?"

Blackwall pulled a matchbook from his breast pocket.

"Oh, you're so thoughtful." She smiled, leaning into the flame he struck. Speaking through a contented sigh of smoke. "My savior."

"How do you feel?" He leaned down to her.

"Held together with twine and a wish." She sighed, feeling the incomprehensible barrage of information battering her mind dulling. Taking another grateful pull of burning relief.

"But I'm well stocked for tonight, don't worry." She patted her thigh. "Though, if actually do start undressing, I give you permission to tackle me."

"Like at Haven..." He sighed.

The fever of madness had always been terrible. Gods, that whole night weighed so heavy in memory. But it could only be more painful for him.

"We've never really talked about that night, have we?" She whispered, taking in his sweet eyes so creased with worry.

"No, and we're certainly not going to here." The monotone growl filled his voice again, glancing at several suspiciously still backs that had gathered.

"If one more person calls me rabbit... I suppose I should mingle." She sighed, taking a deep pull of smoke. Offering him the cigarette which he waved away, a silly ritual at this point. Another way they played. How dearly she loved playing with him.

She pinched out the cigarette and leaned in to whisper conspiratory to him.

"Don't tell anyone, but you're my favorite."

She could feel his smile as she pulled away.

"I'm going to need a dance from you, my lady!" He called as she strode back inside.

"I'll try to squeeze you in!" She chirped, biting her lip in a smile.

With her heart dizzy with love, she steeled herself to begin her rounds.

The loop of Vella's stride made him exhausted by proxy. With each circle, she passed his post and leaned in to leave a whisper in Elvhen. Often making him stifle a laugh.

"I hope they all choke."

"This place sucks shit."

"That's it, I'm burning it down."

"With us inside it."

He nearly laughed out loud at that last one. Having to stifle it into a cough, nodding in feigned interest at the man prattling on in front of him.

Her echoed resentment of their situation was the highlight of his night so far, but he couldn't help the prickling concern.

She had slept hard the previous night. He wanted nothing less than her to rest, but the longer she slept, the stronger her condition held. He could only imagine the sheer noise that was filling her mind.

She could only hold like this for so long before it started to burn. Until it held her down in that terrible seize. Dropping her to the floor to pull rigid as her body shut down, knocking her unconscious to protect her mind from boiling.

It made him furious how the others seemed content to let her do this. The only steadfast objectors to using her as prophet being Cole and himself.

He wasn't naive. He understood the stakes at hand. They were at war, and even a small misstep could be catastrophic. But the way the others saw her suffering as regrettable but acceptable collateral...

He knew her foresight was an invaluable asset, but Maker, how could he not worry? How could he not wish it would stop whispering madness into her, no matter the advantage?

She approached him again just as a man strode forward. Pointing at him as if he knew him. Panic rose higher and higher in his chest as this noble danced around his identity with drunken ignorance. All while she stood studying the exchange with unreadable eyes.

The other concern, the one he was ashamed to acknowledge: Would it whisper to her the truth of him?

Of course she knew he was keeping something from her. She was too clever, too attuned with other people, to not see it. To not feel it writhing under his skin.

Maker, he nearly buckled under the weight when she confessed her own crime. Kneeled cradling the flowers of her dead family, killed by men like him, then taken in turn by her. Shame so hot in his belly he almost vomited when he had a moment alone.

He had to believe he had atoned in some small way. Maker, please let him have. Please let her not be broken by him.

The man finally wandered away, and he steeled himself to dance around her question. He couldn't stomach lying to her anymore. She shouldn't love a man who lies to her.

"Someone from your past?" The gentle prod of her voice made his throat clench. So sweetly asking him to open to her. To unfold into the warm of her.

I wish I wasn't the one you love.

"Drunks think all men with beards look the same." He grunted. A statement he felt true, at least.

"Hey, I didn't know you had a medal of valor!" Her eyes brightened, so delighted to know more about him. "What is that for again?"

She leaned in that adorable way, like she was telling secrets. "I'm Dalish, fill me in."

Darling, please don't trust me. Not like this.

"Valor, mostly."

She laughed, the sound so bright.

Why did you choose me. Anyone but me.

"Fair enough."

Her demeanor fell back to solemn. Hitching her head to follow.

He nearly sighed in relief.

The silent sprint of her feet was the rush of wind through trees. Torn dress whipping behind her. The clash of her party at her back.

Run, girl. You're out of time.

Venatori tried to rush her, but she had already run through them. Dodging through their fingers seconds before they reached. Arrows and blades seeking to strike before she entered the fray.

The toll of bells striking. She could see the precious seconds ahead of their arrival. The pounding of her blood-soaked step a trail led in a circle of time.

Circled. All spiraled.

No, focus. You're here.

She squeezed her eyes. Leaping onto the banister invisible, she sprinted into the ballroom. Running along marble, pulling her bow from her shoulder. The sea of people gathered wouldn't see her until she struck. Ripping the arrow tied from her thigh.

Florianne stepped forward, a wicked smile on her face. Blade poised on Celene's back.

Vella notched her arrow as she slid to a knee. Drawing back in the same breath. Locked in the tunnel of her prey.

But her hand paused. Time she didn't have. Arrow poised waiting.

She saw it.

The future that Briala would bring puppeteering the hand of Gaspard. The Elven Queen in Shadow. It would bring revolution and civil war, further shattering Orlais.

But her people would be free. Free.

But only if Celene fell.

Her fingers held steady on the string.

Breath a hot wave over her lips.

You're out of time. Decide.

She clenched her jaw to ache. Leveling her sight on Florianne.

She pursed her lips and whistled death. An ancient promise of a spirit.

All heads turned up. The Elven servants gasped and covered their ears.

Florianne's gaze wavered as she froze, just as Celene began to feel the threat. Her eyes wide as the blade met her back.

Florianne's head turned.

She released her fingers.

The arrow snapped into the thin bone at her temple. Florianne's eyes rolled up into her skull as her body dropped. Several shrieks rose.

Vella's body appeared under her again. Kneeled in a torn dress and blood smeared.

Here it comes. Relax.

She let her arms fall, sighing out the tension in her body as the guards arrow ripped through her shoulder. Her drawing arm fell useless at her side.

"Good shot!" She laughed, finding the shaken guards eyes.

The pain unfurled then. Her shoulder screamed, the nerve that ran through a lightning bolt. With breath ragged, clutching the wound, she stood. Left arm tremoring uncontrolled at her side. Arrow still lodged firm under the blade of bone.

Good, it would keep her blood.

The guards swarmed around Celene, discovering the knife that had scattered out of Florianne's hand.

Vella rushed forward one last time. Dagger poised along the back of her forearm.

She drove the blade under Florianne's jaw. Straight into the base of her brain. Her body went limp and gave a few short convulsions. More shrieks rang through the air.

Good girl. It's just the muscles. They're gone.

But they shake like me.

It's mercy. You've severed their tie. They'll get to the Beyond kinder now.

Vella released the hilt. Falling to a kneel, letting her arm fall loose at her side with its twin. Gasping hard into the air with head thrown. Blood pooled up the tear of her dress.

The guards backed away from her. Celene's shaken hand gripped her good shoulder.

Vella slipped the locket into her palm as she pulled the blindfold. Celene's empty hand flew to her mouth.

As the last of the silver fell from her sight, she folded Celene's fingers over the locket.

"Find her."

"Twas a clean strike."

Vella smiled, her eyes meeting amber.

"The blade or arrow, Morrigan?"

"I hadn't gave my name, Inquisitor." She leaned against the balcony. "But you realize that."

Vella offered her a cigarette, which she took. Placing the tin inside her sling again. Letting Morrigan spark her fingers in flame to light both of them.

"You're left-handed. A sign of a witch." Morrigan appraised her, cupping her elbow under her breast.

"Dual-handed. Not sure what superstition that's associated with, though."

"Spirit? Siren? Shapeshifter?" Morrigan offered with a sly smile.

"How many of your clan knew about burning elfroot?" Morrigan appraised the rolled paper between her fingers.

"Not many. Our hahren had me chew bark as well."

"Smart. And this gift you have, I presume it has a price? The Pantheon does not give with two hands."

Vella laughed. She already adored this woman. They both spoke as they had known each other for a long time. Perhaps they had.

"Do you even have to ask? Though, I'd rather take a two edged gift from the gods than whatever the chantry worships."

Morrigan slowly spread a smile.

"Oh, I think you and I are to get along beautifully."

"Then you're joining us?"

"For the time being."

"Naturally. I'd never try to pin you down."

"You are sworn to another, yes?"

"I am."

"A pity." Morrigan sighed. Letting her eyes wander Vella's svelte frame. "I will find your apothecary in Skyhold. That shoulder 'tis too valuable to sqaunder. I will be eager to sate my curiosity of your... condition, upon your return. And, do try to have fun tonight. You've earned it."

"You know, I realize I never caught your name." Morrigan paused at the door.

Vella spoke in Elvhen.

"Nothing is more vulnerable than the named."

Morrigan laughed.

"Of course."

She appraised Blackwall as they crossed path. He stared hard at her in distrust, slowing his gait.

"That poor guard is still shaking. He's insistent on apologizing."

"He shouldn't." She smiled as he leaned down onto his forearms on the banister. Finally close again. "It was a clean shot. We could use another marksman."

He chuckled low.

"Celene's terrified of you now. Don't see her giving much fight to recruiting a guard."

Vella leaned her hip against the banister. Closing her eyes for a moment. A full night's sleep, wretched thing that it was, could only go so far.

"Care to share your thoughts?" Blackwall led.

Vella shook her head. Cupping gently under her elbow.

"It went well. I should be celebrating."

"With these snobs?"

Vella snorted a laugh.

"We owe everything to you, my lady. You deserve to take a moment of respite."

"I'm just..." Vella sighed. Her decision heavy on her mind. How she hated this outcome. That anger she couldn't stifle anymore flared in her chest. How she wished to burn this place to cinder. "No... it's nothing. Nevermind."

Blackwall paused. His eyes steady on her.

"What?" She whispered, bristled up her back. Trying to not feel the resentment that sat in her belly.

"You did the right thing." His hand cupped over hers. "Gaspard is a fucking bastard. And Briala will be a good influence."

Tears pooled on her waterline. She blinked them away.

Traitor.

"Would you still like that dance?" He pulled close, cupping the small of her back. Steel blue eyes staring down so soft with concern.

"I'll make a poor partner." She mumbled. Her arm hung limp in its sling agreed.

"Impossible. You're the belle of the ball. Blood soaked and beautiful."

She knew he was trying to cheer her. She wanted to be cheered. But all she could do was lay her head on his shoulder.

He wrapped around her, kissing her temple. Swaying them in a slow circle. A dance all their own.

"Ah!"

Vella dropped her folded elbow. The sharp pain a clear signal to stop.

She dropped her good arm. Hanging her head.

Not even able to undress herself.

An old shame filled her chest.

The helpless get eaten. Stand up, girl. You are more use to me as meat than weight. And don't you dare cry.

Could she pull her bow again? Oh Gods...

A badger will chew through a leg in a trap. If it doesn't bleed out, it will be hobbled in the cold. Better to go head first.

The cold of shock unfolded along her spine. She tried to flex her fingers.

"We might need to cut you out of that dress." Blackwall's warm voice came to her back. Kissing a tender greeting on the curve of her neck.

"Vella...?"

"I can't feel my arm."

"The healer said that would fade. You'll get mobility back soon." He wrapped his hand around her front. Pressing assurance against the crest of her ribs.

"I can't..."

He circled around her. Concern tight in his eyes.

"Vella. Please, speak to me."

Something bad was coming. She didn't know it, then she did. Closing her eyes tight to the silver. Her senses too exhausted to make it take shape. But it was coming. Soon.

"Please, can we get a drink? I want to have a quiet night."

I want to pretend. Pretend this isn't the last of something.

He smiled, kissing her forehead.

"I'm sure Cabot has some good shit stored somewhere. I'll break cabinets if need be."

She gave a small smile and he tilted her chin up with his fingers. His eyes creased in adoration.

"There she is."

Vella tried to lockpick the door of Herald's Rest with one hand, but Blackwall simply shoved it with his shoulder. The latch gave with a whimper of a click.

"You're more battering ram than man." She smiled. Looking him up and down with trailing eyes.

"The chivalrous thing to do is smash down doors." He growled.

And just like that, they were playing again.

She sauntered inside, giving him a beckoning stare over her shoulder.

"Oh, this is what you've always wanted." She hopped up onto the counter, crossing a leg over her knee. "Me all vulnerable, needing a big strong man to help."

"I am going to enjoy this." He agreed. Circling around the bar to rummage a high shelf. Coming around to sit on the stool in front of her.

"You mind spreading your legs, darling?"

She leaned back on her palm, smiling wide as she unfolded her legs. He set the bottle down between the spread of her thighs as if this was standard.

"Oh, if I was a barmaid..." She laughed.

He full belly laughed, nearly spitting out his drink.

"The men would work here for free."

"The chantry would come with torches and rope." She agreed, her own laugh picking up contagious to his.

It wasn't that funny, not really, but they kept going. The back and forth of their joined laughter reignited the other until they were both doubled over. The song of her high keening melded to his deep bark. Collapsed into each other.

"Ow! Ow!" She laughed breathless. "My shoulder! Mercy!" Weakly kicking his side.

Blackwall wiped his eyes, still breathless in his own laughter. "No kicking!"

"I'm down an arm!" She kicked with both feet.

"Alright, that's it!" He climbed up on the bar and nipped at her throat, tickling her with his beard.

"No!" She shrieked, pushing his bicep. "I'm injured! I can't fight back, you asshole!"

He fell into his laugh again. Bracing on his forearm.

"Maker, my side!" He gripped at his ribs.

"Hah! Take that!"

His laugh fell away again, smiling down at her. Cupping her face so tenderly in his rough palm. Then his brow knitted together, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hmm, the brooding look is doing something for me." She teased.

"Is it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah. I like men sad and wet."

He rolled his eyes but didn't fully return to her playful. His eyes still heavy with something.

"Hey..." She hushed, pushing back up onto her palm. "What's wrong?"

He lifted her in assistance behind her ribs. Leaving his hand there as she sat up close to him.

"Moments like these... when things feel so simple. When it all seems so clear..."

She waited, seeing something building in his pause.

"Like I could do anything with you by my side. Be anywhere. Be someone bigger than myself. It's hard to imagine anywhere without you."

Her heart pounded against its tender cage.

He could feel it too.

"Could you take me to your bed?" She hushed. Her unspoken question clear to both of them.

He cut away the dress with a soft pull of a blade along her spine. Peeling it down her shoulder as gentle as tending a torn petal. Kissing above her bandage in a line.

"My dove with a broken wing." He sighed.

Her eyes flooded with tears. Being treated so soft too much. Too vulnerable. An effort of will to not pull away from it. To allow herself be carried in his palm and not try to bite.

He gently folded her arm back in its sling. Leading her back onto the pelt with the strength of his hands cupped behind her.

"I love you. You're more than I could ever hope for. So much more than I deserve."

He marveled mournfully at her bare fallen under him. Spreading his hand along her ribs reverently.

"There's no future for us with me as a Warden." His palm moved to lay flat above her belly.

She nearly laughed. Then remembered he didn't know.

There's no future with me, either.

"If you're worried about getting me pregnant, I'm going to ask for something from Morrigan in the morning."

"Hmph, that woman... Not sure about her." He grumbled.

Vella smiled and pulled at his tunic, lifting it over his shoulders.

"I like her. She's trouble."

"Of course you do." He sighed, kissing above the curve of her breast. "You're trouble all the way down."

"All the way down?" She wiggled her hips, giving him a grin.

"Cheeky." He scolded. Trailing his fingers down the curve of her hip bone, over the seam of her thigh.

"Oh, if you want cheeky I can turn over." She made to flip onto her belly.

He pushed his fingers into her clit. Rocking slow, mind-numbing waves into her.

"You're staying right here."

"Oh..." She breathed, falling back again. Her eyes glazed as desire pooled warm in her pelvis. Rocking her hips slow into his fingers.

"There we go..." He smiled, kissing around her breast. Trailing over her heart, kissing it with deliberate tender pulses, then returning to her pebbled peak. Pulling the sensitive bundle into the curve of his tongue as his fingers pushed slow into her. Curving up into the place that made her legs shake.

Her mind emptied of all but pleasure. The languidly pulled silk of it wound around his fingers.

"Oh, my love." She sighed in Elvhen, staring down at him with the tender of her heart laid open. Carding her fingers through his dark hair. "My gentle bear."

He looked up at her under his brow. His eyes grew glassy as he trailed kisses down her belly. His gaze steady on her through the water.

"Why are you crying?" She whispered, reaching for his hand.

He wove his fingers into hers as he reached her center. Kissing the golden curls above her sex. His fingers still stroking so perfect into her.

He only shook his head, rubbing her palm with his thumb. Too overcome to speak.

"Then speak to me here." She smiled. Resting their joined hands on her belly.

His eyes closed softly as a crease formed in his brow. Nuzzling into her clit with his nose. Spreading his tongue flat to lap slow waves into her. Savoring each pull like it was the last supp of soup licked from a bowl.

She shuddered with each stroke as his fingers joined with his mouth. The rhythm set to unravel her at her very core. Calling out soft cries as her body slow writhed. The tender touch building to unfold a flood from her pelvis.

"Oh, Gods." She moaned. Starting to feel that delirious pleasure only he could pull out of her.

He moaned into her, the deep of his voice sending tingles of pleasure up her back.

"You're giving me chills." She smiled, closing her eyes to fully fall back. Falling into only her body and the feeling of him washed over her. Not certain he could understand her anymore, but not finding it impossible.

She let it be only her body and his. The devotion of his fingers and mouth. Everything else fallen away. A being of only pleasure.

Her orgasm pulled from so deep in her she wasn't sure where it could end. Letting out a whine she had never made before as her legs curled up. Even the clenches were slow, dragging out until she was panting up into the night air. Barely lucid through the endlessly unfolding torrent.

"You still with me?" He murmured as he rose up her. Undoing his trousers and stroking his cock with the hand that had been soaked with her pleasure, kissing the side of her neck.

"Mm-hmm." She hummed, words still beyond her. Gasping slow labored breath. Holding his wide back as anchor.

He pressed a hand to the back of her knee, angling her open with a gentle push.

"I adore you, thank you, thank you endlessly for this gift." He sighed, lining up below her. Cupping the curve of her face in his hand as he pressed his forehead to hers.

He pushed in slowly. His eyes strained up into lids, groaning low into her mouth.

She let out her own soft cry. The stretch of him sent her pelvis tremoring. Stroking up into that same undoing his fingers found, but beyond that. Pressing into the pleasure deep inside her walls. Filling her to the brim.

"Oh, fuck." She cooed, staring up into his eyes. Her lips fallen open almost in pleading. "Please, slow again."

He nodded, pulling his hips back to rock into her. Kissing her softly in little pulses.

It was unbelievable. Her body sang with pleasure. Babbling out soft cries in Elvhen with each thrust. Pleading in the tongue she was born with. Her own half formed words a new song that she didn't know the words to, but came from deep within the seat of her soul.

She came around him in another keening cry. Grasping his strong shoulder, astonished how fast it had happened. Another building on the collapsed ruins of her as it still crumbled. Tears of ecstasy dripped down her temples. Staring up at him as he unmolded her entirely.

He kissed her cheeks and her forehead, returning his to press against it. Huffing out breath as he picked up speed. His arms braced around her. His face tightened as he started to break.

"Yes, yes." She urged in a fast whisper, cupping his face in her hand. "Cum inside me, please."

She locked her legs behind his back.

"Don't you dare pull out. Fill me until I'm leaking you for days. Please, bear."

He buckled fully into her as his body tensed up into a bow. Gasping out at her words. His eyes lost in his skull.

He pressed his face into her neck, muffling his deep cry of release there. His hips stuttered as he flooded her, grasping with bruising fingers into the other side of her neck. Rushing inside her again and again as his end struck through him. Weeping into the nape of her neck.

Vella woke warm and heavy with rest. Swaddled in what must have been every blanket. Smiling as sleep fell from her as gentle as rain dripped from leaves. Blinking into the soft light.

Then it all fell away in an instant.

Bolting upright, she felt it. Pulling a hand tight to her chest as her eyes lit silver.

The bad thing was here, as certain as the pound of her heart.

This wasn't foresight, this was a premonition.

She glanced down and was confirmed by the carved wooden dove that sat on the pillow. The indent of his head still pressed.

She snatched his tunic and fast draped it around her, struggling with her sling as she rushed downstairs.

A scout met her at the barn door, quickly averting his eyes to her undress.

She pulled him inside, uninterested in propriety.

"Where is he?"

Next Chapter

#ohhh revelations is going to hurt so bad #my girl is going to go through it #lavellan x blackwall #blackwall smut #dragon age smut #dragon age fic #lyrics from: all this and heaven too - florence and the machine

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vigilskeep · 11 months

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“And with what wit has my cousin silenced so sweet a voice?” Celene asked into the expectant silence.

Melcendre paused, uncomfortable, but Gaspard dipped his head, a bow just barely sufficient to avoid undeniable insult. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, still chuckling, “I was pointing out that the young lady’s song had a melody similar to ‘King Meghren’s Mabari.’”

The assembled nobles tittered, scandalously amused. Celene kept her smile in place. It was a good first strike. The song had been popular and harmless decades ago, during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. It told the story of the unhappy Meghren, sent against his will to Ferelden by Emperor Florian. In the song, the hapless noble was comically frustrated at every turn by rough Fereldan culture, including a slobbering mabari hound that ate his mask.

While never forbidden, the song had lost its popularity after King Maric of Ferelden killed Meghren. Since coming to power, Celene had done her best to strengthen ties between the two countries, and the song mocking the crude Fereldans and their uncultured customs had never come back into fashion.

Until now, it seemed.

“I remember singing this with the men during marches,” Gaspard said. “It took us back to the days when Orlais stood poised to conquer the world. Poor Meghren, trapped far from the Maker’s gaze, trying to make himself at home among the dog-lords.” He was a tall man, broad in shoulder, and his doublet and hose were cut with hard lines and silver trim to give the impres- sion of armor. His mask was gold, set with emeralds to match his family’s heraldry, and a tall yellow feather sprouted from the mask—like Ser Michel, he was a member of the chevaliers.

He was also standing not ten paces from Bann Teagan Guerrin, the Fereldan ambassador. The man’s face, bare of makeup, clearly showed his anger at hearing his people called “dog-lords.”

“It was a sad time for all of us,” Celene said, turning to the ambassador with a smile, “and Orlais is pleased to count Ferelden as a friend in these trying times.”

Teagan smiled gratefully and bowed. “Your Imperial Majesty, Ferelden hopes the same.”

“Of course.” Gaspard strode forward. “What’s past is past, eh, Teagan? And now we’re just two old warriors.” He clapped the Fereldan on the shoulder, and Bann Teagan stiffened at the familiarity.

“Did you bring your dog with you to Orlais, my lord?” Melcendre added, the dark-haired bard the very picture of innocence, even as the crowd chuckled.

Teagan turned to her, fists clenched at his sides. “Yes, though not to this ball. I doubt he’d appreciate the food.”

That got a laugh from the crowd. While not a master of the Game, the Fereldan noble was smart enough to see when he was being set up and to try to get the crowd on his side.

“Someday I’ll have to see your dog, Teagan,” Gaspard said, not to be distracted from his play. “But tonight, in celebration of the friendship between our empire and your, ah, kingdom, I brought something for you.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant rushed up carrying a long bundle wrapped in rich green velvet.

Gaspard took the package and handed it to Teagan with a wide smile. Reluctantly, knowing he was stepping into a trap but unable to find a way to avoid doing so, the ambassador unwrapped the package.

Inside, as Briala had informed Celene earlier in the afternoon, was a sword. It was Fereldan in make, largely functional but with a few hints of ornamentation around the hilt and cross guard to suggest that it was the fighting blade of a noble. It was worse for wear, with nicks along the blade and a few spots of rust.

“Grand Duke Gaspard!” Michel moved to put himself between Celene and the sword. The weapon should never have made it into the hall—guards at the palace entrance checked all packages to prevent an assassin from bringing a weapon inside. Which was, Celene reflected, why Gaspard had gone to so much trouble to get the package smuggled in and hidden in the hedge maze earlier that day.

“At ease, chevalier.” Gaspard eyed the blade. “I’d as soon come at someone with a fireplace poker as I would wield that thing.” He nodded to Bann Teagan. “It was taken off the body of some Fereldan noblewoman who got caught making trouble for poor Meghren. Moira, I believe.” Behind his gold and green mask, his eyes twinkled with good humor. “Our servants had been using it to kill rats in the cellars.”

Teagan had gone still, looking at the sword in his hands as though the rest of the court had vanished. The green velvet bunched around his white-knuckled fists.

“That was a noble’s sword?” Melcendre asked, adding just the right touch of doubt to lure the crowd into laughing at the battered blade and drive Teagan further toward saying something that Gaspard could construe as an insult.

i don’t know how many of you have read the masked empire but to me it’s the only depiction of orlesians that really hits and i did mean to share this bit when i read it bc i actually gasped. for the unfamiliar, moira theirin is maric’s mother and thus cailan and alistair’s grandmother, she was ferelden’s rebel queen under the orlesian occupation. she was murdered by orlesians when a fereldan bann betrayed her to them and her head was put on a spike in denerim

#long post #i think you guys need this context when i lose my mind over OUR ARGUMENTS WITH THE ORLESIANS ARE A THING OF THE PAST #they would have eaten cailan alive.

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ym-loreposting · 1 month

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The Duscur Conspiracy

The Tragedy of Duscur is an event that is particularly relevant to the Faerghus centered story lines in Fire Emblem: Three Houses and Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes. It occurred 4 years before the start of both games and led to the assassination of Faerghus's king Lambert and the subsequent subjugation of Duscur. However, the exact events are mired in multiple layers of conspiracy from multiple factions within and outside Faerghus. For a while, I was confused as to what exactly happened and this is more or less my attempt to get it straight and to see who was involved. Spoilers for both games under the cut.

The surface of the Tragedy

Credit to @cartographers-office for removing the names from the Fódlan map used in the above picture.

The Tragedy of Duscur is about the peninsula of Duscur, pictured above. It sits roughly northwest of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and was separated from it by the Sacred Gwenhwyvar mountains. According to the Dedue/Sylvain C Support and the Byleth/Dedue B Support in Three Houses, the two regions used to be friendly with each other for a long time and they were even allies.

This was to change in the Imperial Year 1176, when king Lambert, his son Dimitri, his second wife Patricia and some knights from Faerghus were visiting Duscur, were attacked. All of them were killed, except for Dimitri, who was saved by Gustave, a knight who had stayed behind in Faerghus. Among those killed was the knight Glenn, the older brother of Felix and fiancé of Ingrid.

In the aftermath, Lambert's older brother Rufus became regent of Faerghus and the people of Duscur were blamed for the assassination. As a result, the Duscur region was violently destroyed by the Kingdom as retribution. The land was burnt and many of the people were slaughtered. House Kleiman, a very minor noble house of Faerghus, played a large role in this subjugation according to the Register of Kingdom Nobles and was rewarded with the entire Duscur region as its feudal estate.

In the year these events took place, together known as the Tragedy of Duscur, Lambert was also planning major political reforms in Faerghus. This is explained by Catherine in Chapter 3 of Three Houses on the Blue Lions route, as well as that this caused Lambert to gain enemies. Cristophe of House Gaspard, a minor noble house of Faerghus, was accused of being involved with the Tragedy and subsequently executed by the Church of Seiros.

Roots of the Tragedy

That is the story of the Tragedy on the surface, but there is more to it and its roots run very deep. The earliest ones go back to the coronation of Lambert. As mentioned above, Lambert had an older brother named Rufus and in Chapter 3 of Azure Gleam, a Scholar speaks of the rocky relationship between the two. Rufus is said to be smart and unrivaled in politics, with Lambert being the polar opposite although he had a gift in tactics. Rufus did not have a Crest of Blaiddyd, while Lambert did, which is why Lambert became king despite being the younger brother. Rufus meanwhile became the Grand Duke of Itha, a small territory northeast of the central Blaiddyd territory, and may not have been necessarily happy with that arrangement.

The roots of the Tragedy of Duscur continue around the Imperial Year 1160, when Faerghus was beset by a plague. As explained by Sylvain during the exploration section of Chapter 8 of Three Houses:

"It wouldn't be unheard of. Almost 20 years ago, a terrible plague blazed through Faerghus. It even hit the capital city, taking the queen consort's life…or so I heard. The whole Kingdom was in an uproar over that loss."

A Kingdom Knight in Chapter 18 of Azure Moon explains that the source of this plague was the poorly constructed water system in cities like the capital Fhirdiad. Cornelia, a scholar from the Adrestian Empire, advised that top priority should be given to improving the city's infrastructure. This made the diseases go away and in return, she was given a position in the royal court of Faerghus. In Chapter 19 of Azure Moon, Dimitri also says that before she was given this position, her personality entirely changed.

In the Imperial Year 1171, as explained in Chapter 8 of Azure Gleam and the Dimitri/Hapi support line from Three Houses, Adrestia grew politically unstable and Cornelia requested that her old friend Lady Anselma be rescued. Anselma was a consort of Emperor Ionius IX and the mother of princess Edelgard. She was banished from the court due to a political dispute and was rescued by Lambert. Around the same time, Edelgard and Anselma's brother Volkhard von Arundel also sought asylum in Faerghus and Cornelia arranged this. Eventually, Anselma and Lambert developed feelings for each other and got married, though Anselma went under the name Patricia.

The fact that Patricia was from Adrestia and her very existence were kept obscure from the public, with Cornelia regulating the few visits she and Lambert were allowed to make with each other. The fact that Edelgard was kept in the Kingdom was kept a secret as well as to avoid the Empire demanding her extradition. Cornelia meanwhile told Patricia that Lambert kept Edelgard away from her, until Edelgard and Volkhard returned to the Empire in the Imperial Year 1774.

Two years later, Lambert set out to perform his aforementioned political reforms. This made nobles in the west of Faerghus, specifically Viscount Mateus, Viscount Elidure, Viscount Gideon and the lord of Kleiman (who at the time ruled over a single castle) unhappy, but they did not wish to talk with the king about their concerns. This is because they were sure that they would be drowned out by the king's supporters in the east, such as Rodrigue, the Duke of Fraldarius, and Matthias, the Margrave of Gautier.

Truth of the Tragedy

Due to all the existing tensions within the Kingdom, Cornelia was able to manipulate those unhappy with Lambert's reign into assassinating him. The western lords because they did not agree with his political reforms, while Rufus seemed to have desired the throne. She was also able to get Patricia to join in because she promised her that she would be able to see Edelgard again.

The conspirators arranged some Duscur guides, as explained in the Three Hopes Paralogue Wildflowers for the Future. When the attack happened, one of these guides was responsible for the death of Glenn according to Ingrid:

"That man played a key role in the Tragedy of Duscur. And he's responsible for Glenn's death."

Meanwhile, Rufus claims responsibility for killing Lambert in Chapter 3 of Azure Gleam:

"Every night since I killed my brother, I dream a lion is ripping out my throat."

The conspirators however were ordered to keep Patricia's carriage unharmed and Patricia herself was kidnapped, though Thales claims that she was killed at some point afterwards during Chapter 17 of Azure Gleam:

"A foolish question. She burned to ashes on the pyre of our ambitions long ago."

Dimitri was the only one to survive the Tragedy and saw his attackers, knowing they were not of Duscur and thus did not believe the official story behind the tragedy (as explained in his B Support with Dedue from Three Houses). He would ultimately be saved by Gustave, while Rufus was rewarded by becoming regent of Faerghus and the lord of Kleiman gained the land of Duscur and the title of Viscount. Everyone involved also received money and supplies from Adrestia as recompense according to Rodrigue in Chapter 3 of Azure Gleam:

Which leaves the lords Elidure, Mateus, and Kleiman. We believe they—as well as many powerful western lords—were accomplices in the assassination of the late king. Along with the grand duke, they seem to have received large sums of money and supplies from the Imperial nobility. Thinking this to be recompense for the assassination in Duscur, we investigated the link further.

This implicates the Empire as well, but explaining its role is perhaps best left for another time.

Those slithering behind the Tragedy

All of this does not yet explain why Cornelia masterminded the Tragedy, why her personality suddenly changed and why she made life so awful for Patricia that she was convinced to kill her husband and stepson. This is because Cornelia was replaced by the Agarthan Cleobulus, who is the true mastermind behind the Tragedy of Duscur.

As for why Cleobulus did all of this, the answer is possibly found in the non-Crimson Flower routes of Three Houses. During the time skip in those routes, Cleobulus murders Rufus and frames Dimitri for it. This allows Cleobulus to take control of the Kingdom and to transform it into the Faerghus Dukedom, with it allying with the Adrestian Empire in the war in the second half of Three Houses.

In Three Hopes, Cleobulus seemingly attempts to set these events into motion early by manipulating Rufus into staging a coup against the major noble House Fraldarius. The claim is that House Fraldarius is trying to control Faerghus by eventually installing Dimitri as a puppet ruler, with Rufus attempting to gain the aid of the western lords again. If this were to succeed, Cleobulus could rule through Rufus without opposition, but the gambit doesn't pay off in the end as Rufus is killed and Cleobulus has to go on the run.

#fire emblem #three houses #three hopes #dedue #dimitri #thales #those who slither in the dark #cornelia

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gayest-classiclit · 1 year

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a list of people in the classic literature sexyperson bracket

the following are already on the sexypedia and automatically in:

hamlet, hamlet

atticus finch, to kill a mockingbird

rodion raskolnikov, crime and punishment

sherlock holmes, the sherlock holmes books

arsene lupin, the arsene lupin books

frankenstein's monster/adam, frankenstein

jonathan harker, dracula. (his wife mina is tagteaming w/ him)

gerald croft, an inspector calls

big brother, 1984

erik/the phantom, phantom of the opera

mercutio, romeo and juliet

and the following have been submitted:

inspector goole, an inspector calls

benedetto, the count of monte cristo

edmond dantes, the count of monte cristo

gaspard caderousse, the count of monte cristo

quincey morris, dracula

ivan karamazov, the brothers karamazov

anatole kuragin and helene bezukhova, war and peace

dmitri razumikhin, crime and punishment

nastasya filippovna, the idiot

jean valjean, les miserables

captain hook, peter pan

dorian gray and basil hallward, the picture of dorian gray

charles bingley, pride and prejudice

carmilla, carmilla

helen of troy, greek mythology

benedick and beatrice, much ado about nothing

irene adler, the sherlock holmes books

annabel lee, annabel lee

violacesario, twelfth night

clopin trouillefrou, the hunchback of notre dame

lady macbeth, macbeth

therem harth ir em estraven, the left hand of darkness

eugene onegin, eugene onegin

alyosha karamazov, the brothers karamazov

count dracula, dracula

jesus christ and judas iscariot, the bible

henry jekyll, the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde

cathy ames, east of eden

enjolras, les miserables

hotspur, henry iv part 1

balladyna, balladyna

jay gatsby and daisy buchanan, the great gatsby

ruy blas, ruy blas

grendel's mother, beowulf

gregor samsa, the metamorphosis (by proxy)

eugene de rastignac, the human comedy

chloe, froth on the daydream

the duke de nemours, la princess de cleves

emma bovary, madame bovary

behemoth, the master and margarita

grantaire, les miserables

jane bennet, pride and prejudice

catherine, wuthering heights

milady de winter, the three musketeers

mephistopheles, faust

woland, the master and margarita

medea, greek mythology

prince hal from the henriad

fitzwilliam darcy from pride and prejudice

the woman behind the wallpaper from the yellow wallpaper

don rodrigue from the folktales

robin hood from the folktales this brings us to 63 entries so far! :)

#classic lit sexyperson bracket

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daitranscripts · 9 months

Text

Solas Romance: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

After the Ball

Solas Masterpost

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost First: Gaining an Invitation Previous: Liaison to the Inquisition

Solas walks out onto the balcony after Morrigan leaves and joins the PC at the railing.

Solas: I’m not surprised to find you out here. Thoughts?

Dialogue options:

Pleased: Things turned out well. [1]

Stoic: I’m just tired. [2]

Sad (Celene assassinated): I regret Celene’s death. [3]

Sad (Gaspard executed): Poor Gaspard. [4]

Anxious: I don’t think this is over. [5]

1 - Pleased: Things turned out well.

PC: We achieved all out goal. I’m enjoying the moment of peace while it lasts.

Solas: You should, They’re fleeting enough. Hang onto them while you can.

2 - Stoic: I’m just tired.

PC: It’s been a very long day.

Solas: For everyone, I’d imagine. It’s nearly over now. Cullen’s giving the men their marching orders as we speaks.

3 - Sad: I regret Celene’s death.

PC: I don’t know if I did the right thing, letting the empress die,

Solas: Sometimes sacrifices must be made. Nothing is ever won without something else being lost. Remember the lesson, but do not dwell on it. You didn’t invent war.

4 - Sad: Poor Gaspard.

PC: I never meant for the duke to die.

Solas: He wagered his life for the crown and lost. He knew what to expect. Remember what happened; do not dwell on it. You cannot save people from themselves.

5 - Anxious: I don’t think this is over.

PC: I have a feeling this is only a temporary victory.

Solas: There’s much, much trouble ahead. For now, focus on what’s in front of you.

6 - Scene continues.

Solas: Come, before the band stops playing, dance with me.

Dialogue options:

General: Let’s go home. [7]

General: Give me a moment alone. [8]

General: Just keep me company. [9]

General: Excellent idea. [10]

7 - General: Let’s go home.

PC: I think it’s time we went home.

Solas: I think you’re right.

Solas leads them back into the ballroom. [11]

8 - General: Give me a moment alone.

PC: Could I have a moment alone? I need to clear my head.

Solas: Of course, I wait for you.

Solas puts his arm around them in a hug. [11]

9 - General: Just keep me company

PC: I wouldn’t mind some company. Unless you’d rather rush back to the ballroom?

Solas: I can sacrifice the pleasure of the Orlesian ball.

Solas leaves. [11]

10 - General: Excellent idea.

PC: I’d love to.

They begin to dance. [11]

11 - Scene ends.

Next: The Divine Election

#dragon age inquisition #dai transcripts #dragon age #dragon age transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dai #long post #wewh #wicked eyes and wicked hearts #solas

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shift-shaping · 3 months

Text

fifty sovereigns

enaste 'makes contact' with the mercenaries targeting clan lavellan.

rating: m

pairing: solavellan (broadly)

warnings: canon-typical racism, threats of sexual assault, blood

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

Enaste had been a hunter first, and she liked to think her feet still knew the steps. She wore the moonless night like a cloak, her dark armor obscuring her shape within the tall grass and fertile hills of Wycome's coastal plain. Though her clan's precise location was unknown to her, she had taken notes of Roshan's map and knew the stars above her well.

Isabela had helped her slip away from the rest of her group in the middle of the night. Enaste needed to see her clan first, to determine how dangerous this 'plague' was before she let her companions get too close.

The long grasses hid her well, but they were far from silent. She kept her movements controlled, used magic to muffle the sounds, yet still she felt the itch of being watched. She stopped, listened, and reached out with her will to feel the Veil around her. Spirits shuddered in the dark, the same menagerie that often watched her from the Fade. She heard crickets on the grass, felt the gentle wind rustle at her coat.

Nothing. But still...

She continued on, visualizing the map in her mind, using her staff to carefully part the grass before her. In time she came to a copse of trees, the type of which matched the instructions Roshan had relayed to her. The tall grass gave way to soft, mossy ground and hard-packed dirt.

A man's laugh echoed in the distance. Other voices joined him, jeering, shouting. She froze. They were coming closer. Hoofbeats too, though not many. Two horses, at most, but maybe three times that many men. She ducked behind a fallen tree and cast a silencing spell over her. As she sank down she set her staff gently on the dirt.

The laughter grew close, and then a group of men crashed through the grass and stumbled drunk into the forest. She lowered herself to her knees, peering from behind a branch. Her estimate was right: two horses, riders for each, plus four other men. They were all humans, dressed in mismatched armor and weighed down with heavy weapons. They spoke the trade tongue in slurred Marcher accents, and laughed so loud it pierced the quiet night.

"This is bullshit, Barozzi!" A man with dark, shaggy hair jeered. "That damn horse can't smell a rabbit!"

Enaste’s eyes widened. She sank lower to the ground.

"He can!" One of the riders insisted. He swayed atop a russet-colored horse that seemed unsettled by his wobbling. "We just haven't found it yet."

"He's just smelling the elfroot. Plenty of that around here and it sure as shit isn't what the duke is paying us for." The shaggy-haired man replied. He kicked at a bush and barely kept himself from falling over.

Enaste's brows furrowed. The duke? Gaspard? No, that didn't make sense, not out here. Was that a code name? One of the men wandered off from the rest of the group while loudly announcing his intention to urinate. Enaste's night vision was excellent, and when he strode past her she saw his too-big armor bore no obvious symbols of allegiance. Between that and their talk of being paid for hunting elves, Enaste assumed these were the mercenaries harassing her clan.

A twig snapped behind her.

"Hey Barozzi!" A heavy, armored hand grasped her neck and yanked her violently upward. Her back hit hard against a metal chestplate, knocking the wind from her lungs. She tried to inhale, but her breath choked in her throat, squeezed shut in the sudden vice around her neck. Hot, wet, stinking words seared against her skin. "Think the duke would let us keep this one?"

"I fucking told you pricks!" One of the man gloated. "Reggie can smell rabbit!"

"You got lucky!"

Enaste closed her eyes. The leathered hand cut into her windpipe. She grasped at it desperately, tried to peel the fingers from her neck. Each one cut into her like daggers, pain shooting through her flesh. "What's got you away from the other savages, eh? Sneaking off to meet someone?" Her lungs burned. Her vision erupted into stars. “I bet I’m a lot more fun.”

"She's turning blue, dumbass!" The man closest to them laughed. "They're no fun unconscious."

The grip on her neck relaxed slightly. Her chest screamed with pain as she sucked in a ragged breath. The man's fingers still dug into her skin, into the soft tissue just below her jaw. His voice growled against her. "You wouldn't know, shithead. You've never caught one before."

"What?! I'm not the one who got his ass kicked by their apostate!"

"That's because you ran away the second someone got shot," the man behind her snarled. She panted desperately, her throat aching, her vision slowly clearing. His grip tightened again. It wasn't enough air.

"They poison their arrows! I'm not dying of knife-ear shit disease for the duke of fucking Wycome."

The duke of Wycome?

Enaste had heard enough. This was far from her first interaction with men like this; she knew their kind well, though the strangling was new. The Veil shuddered around her, lightning jumping to her fingertips--

The hand around her neck suddenly released her. Her feet hit the ground. Fire burst through her chest as she sucked in a deep, gasping breath. She turned to see a dagger running through the torso of the man that had held her. His eyes widened, his mouth slack in a shocked gasp.

He fell to his knees, and Cole pulled a long, bloody dagger out of his body. Cole’s hat covered his eyes, and the metal of his armor glimmered in the dark.

Enaste grabbed her staff and lightning leapt from its focus, bolting from man to man as thunder split the air. The sound made the horses buck, their riders crashing to the ground mid-shock. They took off, galloping out of the trees.

"Cole! Get the horses!" She yelled, and Cole vanished after them. Two of the men struggled to their knees, and she slammed them back into the ground with the force of the Veil itself. This time they stayed down.

The six men in the clearing were in varying states of misery. The lightning spell had hit them hard, fueled by her pain. Some groaned, none moved. Obviously, the one Cole stabbed was dead. Three others were entirely unconscious: one of the riders, and both of the ones she'd hit with a veilstrike. The remaining rider, the one she'd heard called Barozzi, curled on to his side with his hands pressed against his head. The other groaned quietly and flinched when she approached. She turned towards the rider, and he looked up at her from under his arm with bloodshot eyes.

"Fucking apostate whore," he slurred, voice shaking.

"How many of you are there?" Enaste asked, a low rasp all she could manage through the pain in her throat. She gripped the hilt of her staff so tight it hurt her palm, and though her voice was quiet, it did not waver.

Barozzi pushed away from her weakly, hatred bright in his eyes. "No. Get fucked. Not sayin' shit."

Enaste glanced back at the other conscious mercenary. He was still shivering in pain, cowering from her. She covered herself with a barrier regardless, and knelt beside the one who could speak enough to curse her. "I don't want to kill you," she rasped, "give me information, and I will let you live."

He glowered at her, lips curling. Blood trickled from a wound in his forehead. "Fucking knife-ear fucking whore."

She exhaled and closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to calm her racing heart and ignore the pain. Then came a voice from behind her.

"Please! I'll tell you, just don't --don't kill me!" Still kneeling, she half-turned towards the other man. He was shaking, eyes wide, one hand pressed to his head and the other laying limply and awkwardly at his side. "Anything you want, anything--" It occurred to her that this was the man who'd walked by her earlier, the one in the ill-fitting armor. "It's not worth it, not for this. It's not enough pay, not to die out here."

"Shut up!" Barozzi coughed. "Shut the fuck up, Klein!"

"No! I'm not dying for fifty sovereigns!"

"That's all?" Enaste laughed, so surprised it momentarily distracted her from the pain in her throat and neck. "The duke is only paying you fifty gold coins?"

"Shut the fuck up, Klein!"

"Yes! It's--"

Enaste looked at the one who'd taken to spitting slurs at her. "I'll pay you double if you tell me what you know."

"I don't want your fuck--" he broke into a coughing fit, and she waited for him to finish, taking the time to attempt to steady her own breathing, to will away the burning in her chest. "I don't want your filthy fucking knife-ear gold!" His voice strained. The blood from his head wound dripped into his eyes and down the left side of his face, giving him a dark, shining mask in the night.

"I do!" Klein yelled, also hoarse.

"Which duke are you talking about?" Enaste asked the compliant one. "The Duke of Wycome?"

"Y-yes," he replied.

"Why?"

"I- I don't know, really!" She said nothing, and he went on quickly. "I don't. The orders didn't say why."

"What orders?"

"Klein!" Barozzi hollered until the pain strangled his voice to a bloody hiss.

"To attack the Dalish!" Klein said. "To get them to leave the valley, at least, or kill them if we had to."

Her heart pounded in her skull, so loud she could barely hear her own thoughts. Her tongue tasted like cotton. "Did you? Did you kill any of them?"

Klein shook his head. "No. Maybe. I don't think so. They --they know the area, they're fast, can't --we couldn't keep track of them."

"Fucking cowards," the other man hissed. "Won't fight us like real men. Hiding in the trees, fucking rabbit bullshit."

"When you met them," Enaste went on, ignoring the whinging bastard, "did they seem sick?"

"What?" Klein's confusion was reassuring. "Sorry --I, no? I don't remember. I don't think so. Sorry."

"How many of you are there?" Enaste asked.

"Not many. Twenty, maybe. Most of us are at camp."

"Where is camp?"

Klein weakly pointed west, and Barozzi groaned. "That way. Follow the deer path down the hill, take a left near the rock formation, can't miss it."

"Traitor!" Barozzi cried. "She'll kill us all!"

"I haven't killed you yet, have I?" Enaste asked, turning back to face him. The man glared up at her, nostrils flaring through the blood.

"You killed the rest of us." He shuddered, then spit at the ground. "You just want to see us grovel. Kill me, get it over with. I won't bow to some knife-ear bitch."

She fell quiet, watching the pathetic, miserable excuse for a man writhe in the dirt.

"You don't know that," Klein said. "You don't know they're dead."

"They might as well be. Rabbit-hunters killed by a fucking rabbit." Barozzi's lips curled in shivering disgust. "Put 'em out of their fucking misery."

She heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her, and turned to see Cole leading both horses back into the clearing.

"Reginald!" Barozzi gasped with sudden, renewed energy. "Don't you fucking touch him!"

Enaste rolled her eyes. She stood and met Cole as he approached.

"They were scared. They didn't want to come. But they like each other, and scratches on the chin." Cole looked at the man on the ground. "Why did you name him Reginald?"

"None of your fucking business."

"Okay."

Enaste exhaled shakily as she looked at the forest around her. The unconscious men were still unmoving. Klein had settled into a sort of shivering, whimpering mess, and Barozzi was swaying back and forth, propped on one arm, face covered in blood.

"They hurt you," Cole said softly. Enaste frowned at him. Cole pointed to her neck. "Aching, burning, lungs screaming, hand on my neck, fingers like daggers." She reached up and touched her neck where the man grabbed her. It felt tender, and hot, and it stung. "Blood rushing. Nothing yet, but it'll smart. Heart so loud there's no room for thoughts. Will the others see? Does it matter? I can find a scarf. They shouldn't worry. I'm okay, I will be." Was it just in her head, or could she still feel the leather on her skin? Cole looked up at her with narrowed eyes, brows knit in determination. "I wasn't fast enough. I didn't stop him before he hurt you." There was a faint glow in his eyes, like sparks before a fire. "It will never happen again."

His intensity was somewhat worrying, but she couldn't dwell on it now. "I'm alright, Cole. Really." She glanced back the way they came. "I thought you were still at Skyhold."

"I am not."

"Right, of course." She swallowed. It hurt. But she forced herself to speak through the pain. "I think we can take both of these men to my clan. They're hurt badly enough they won't be a threat. We can treat them there and get more information about their contract from the Duke of Wycome."

Cole looked at Barozzi, who was quiet now, collapsed fully into the dirt, his bloody face bathed in darkness. "He thought we were going to kill his horse. He thinks the Dalish eat horses." The horse in question bent its head to snatch a branch from the bush one of the men kicked at earlier. "Orange evening, tears on woolen sleeves, brown hair shining red in the dying sunlight. Blunted swords. Only a scratch, but so much blood. Why did it have to be him? Reginald, Reggie, red like ginger hair, like fresh blood on the bandages." Cole paused. "It was play-fighting. He never blamed you. How could he? It was fun." The mercenary curled into himself, and heaved a sob that shook his battered body. "Your mother was hurting. She blamed herself, but she couldn't so she made it your fault instead. The blood wouldn't stop flowing. How could you have known?"

Enaste and Cole took the time to check the other men. They were alive, barely, but Cole thought they would at least make it until the rest of their group came looking for them in the morning. The one Cole had stabbed was long-gone. They left his body where it lay, but dragged the other men closer to the deerpath Klein had mentioned. Klein and Barozzi were in no state to fight as Cole and Enaste tied them down and sat them on the horses. They left behind a warning to the rest of their crew: the constellations Visus and Judex intertwined, burnt into a tree, the watchful eye of the Inquisition.

The first light of dawn glowed on the horizon as they rejoined the path into the valley where Clan Lavellan was camped. Cole offered Enaste his scarf. She wrapped it around her neck, high enough to cover what would surely bruise, and thought somehow it smelled like home.

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#dragon age #enaste lavellan #glimpses #solavellan #this was an interesting bit of character study for enaste #reader discretion advised

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