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shivunin · 2 months

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Petal-Crowned

Borrowing the lovely @greypetrel's Aisling for this piece! I adore Arja and Aisling both and I also think they would be good friends and good for each other. When I saw her absolutely gorgeous piece of Elowen and Aisling, I couldn't help but want to write a piece to fit it. So---here is my contribution. Thank you, as always, for your friendship and for letting me borrow your baby!

(Recommended listening)

(Elowen & Aisling Lavellan | 874 Words | No Warnings)

"yet here’s eglantine, Here’s ivy!— take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine." ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "Sonnets from the Portuguese 44..."

The sun was warm, the air was sweet, and half the meadow’s flowers clung to Elowen’s hair. She felt as if she was half-dreaming here amongst the soft grasses and bright colors of this glade, but she knew that she was not. Perhaps the beauty of this place only felt dream-like because things had been so miserable for so long that beautiful and nice things must feel, by some token, somewhat dream-like.

Thoughts better not to dwell on, she supposed.

“When do you think the others are coming back?” she called to Aisling, who was wandering some distance away, judging by the rustling of her feet through the flowers.

“Hmmm,” Aisling said. “I’m not sure. But look!”

Elowen looked, fingers still busy on the twined flowers in her lap. Triumphant, Aisling held an elfroot plant in the air, dark earth still clinging to its roots.

“I’m going to bring it back to Skyhold,” she announced, beaming at the slender stalk. “I know just where to plant it.”

“It’s perfect,” Elowen agreed, taking in the slight woodiness of the stem, the healthy green of the leaves. It was easy to plant elfroot seeds, but much more difficult to transplant an existing specimen. For all that it seemed to grow all over Thedas, the plant did not take well to being uprooted.

If anyone could coax it to take to a new home, Elowen was certain it would be Aisling.

“Do you want any more of this or should I put it away?” she asked while her friend carefully bundled the plant away.

Aisling glanced at the saddle blanket they sat on, which also held the open pack and the scattered remnants of their lunch. The cheese was nestled under an active ice spell (Aisling’s contribution; Elowen had never been good with frost magic) and the bread had been set neatly aside where it could avoid any potential dampness. The remaining fruit, purchased from the nearby and very grateful residents of Crestwood, was nestled in an open satchel.

“Hmm,” Elowen’s friend said. “We can leave it. There’s time to have more later.”

Elowen made a soft noise of assent and turned back to the half-made chain of flowers in her lap. It took a little deftness to do this without losing anything crucial. Petals wanted badly to fall off once the flower had been plucked, and if she was not careful she would wind up with fingers stained green and a chain of battered stems.

After a time, Aisling sat behind her, back pressed to Elowen’s. Elowen made little progress, half-dozing in the dappled sunlight, and for once she did not blame herself for it. It would have felt silly to hold herself to such deadlines and pressures here. This place was far too comfortable to bring herself to care.

“Elowen?”

“Hm?” she roused slightly, eyes heavy, and almost fell backward when Aisling moved away from her.

“Here!” Aisling said while Elowen steadied herself, “I picked the ones that seemed to fit. See—the green of the leaves here match your vallaslin precisely.”

It took her a moment to comprehend what was happening, fingers still tangled in the chain she’d begun to weave, the sunlight almost too bright now that she’d opened her eyes again. But—while she had rested, her friend had made something beautiful and bright. It hung from her pale fingers now as Aisling held it out: purple and yellow and white against green leaves that—yes, actually would match Elowen’s vallaslin when they weren’t in direct sunlight. The petals of the pansies looked unimaginably soft, velvet-sheened in the sunlight. Aisling grinned at her, smile just as bright as the sunshine in the meadow.

“I think it suits you,” she said. Elowen smiled as the little crown settled over her head and Aisling leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

What a gift this was. A gift—to have the easy company of a good friend, to sit in the sunlight and smell the flowers. A gift, to be safe and full and cared for

“Thank you,” she murmured when Aisling rocked back onto her heels. Aisling clapped her hands together, eyes fixed on the ring of flowers atop Elowen’s head.

“It’s perfect!” she said, grinning.

Elowen leaned forward and pressed her lips to her friend’s cheek in turn, sun-warm and soft as it was.

“It is,” she agreed, and turned her attention back to her lap. “Perfect. It’s beautiful work, truly.”

Forget-me-nots still clung softly to her fingers as she wove a lily into its place near the center. What a pleasure it would be to give her friend the joy she’d been given. How remarkable, to offer something simple and good to someone she cared for.

Behind her, Aisling began to speak again, describing a mishap with her dear horse and a thorny bush. Her voice had a pleasant cadence, rising and falling like a friendly and familiar tune. The bees hummed nearby, drifting from flower to flower. Soft breezes brushed past stems and leaves and bobbing blossoms. Sparse clouds drifted between them and the sun, never obscuring the light for too long.

Elowen listened and found herself glad beyond measuring to simply be herself at this precise place and time. Smiling faintly at the sound of her friend’s voice, she lifted her fingers and wove on.

#aisling lavellan #elowen lavellan #ockiss24 #oc kiss week #shivunin scrivening #the music recommendation is arja's! it fit so well that i had to borrow it too c:

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shivunin · 4 months

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Three-Song Playlists

Rules: Compile three-song playlists for as many OCs as you can/would like to

Thank you for the tag @greypetrel! Like you, I am linking the full playlist in case anyone would like to listen to them c: The songs are in no particular order.

Tagging @star--nymph @zenstrike @daggerbean @ndostairlyrium @dungeons-and-dragon-age @inquisimer @idolsgf @dreadfutures @bitchesofostwick @vakarians-babe @jtownnn @nightwardenminthara @brother-genitivi and anyone who loves music (Please recommend music to me!! I love hearing new songs!!)

Arianwen Tabris (🗡️)

I Spit On Your Grave by ZAND (Spit your blood into my cup and then I'll gulp you down)

Trigger Finger by Coyote Kid (Bloodstains on a kitchen knife/ it wasn't made for this, but I know how to improvise)

Praying Mantis by Jazz Alonso (If I show my teeth, I must be hungry/ in you go, baby)

Maria Hawke (✨)

Nobody Wants to Be Alone by Christian Reindl, Atrel (When you strain your eyes to see the light, I won't be far behind/ Cause it's better in the dark when you're a friend of mine)

Champion by Fall Out Boy (I'm just young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in)

Gracias a la Vida by Mercedes Sosa (Me ha dado la risa y me ha dado el llanto/ Así yo distingo dicha de quebranto/ Los dos materiales que forman mi canto)

Emmaera Lavellan (✉️)

Every Other Love Song by MALINDA (So good at explaining/ at finding the right words/ but when I look at you, I fail)

No Choir by Florence + the Machine (If tomorrow it's all over/ at least we had it for a moment/ Oh, darling, things seem so unstable/ but for a moment we were able to be still)

Comfort by Deb Talan (If you can't remember a better time/ you can have mine)

Elowen Lavellan (🌱)

Overture III/Awake by Sleeping at Last (Today, I'll survive/ tomorrow, make sense of my life)

Soap by The Oh Hellos (I don't know I've seen a thing grow/ without an open coat/ not without a softness showing)

Queen of Nothing by The Crane Wives (Isn't this what you wanted? Time sure feels like it's running out/ Just finish what you started/ Queen of nothing, wearing such a heavy crown)

Salshira Lavellan (🍂)

punchline by KiNG MALA (I'm having a great time/being the punchline to my own joke)

Dutch by Dessa (Love is like liquor/ it burns when it moves you/ Far as I figure/ there's nobody fireproof)

Mean It by K.Flay (So when I say I love you, I want to mean it/ Cause I say a lot of things that I don't mean)

Tavitha (Tav) (🌤️)

Can't Cheat Death by The Ballroom Thieves (There are two things I know for sure: I will be free, I will be free, I will be free/ and you can't cheat death)

Greener by Anju, Uliya (You reached inside and took the parts you wanted out/ maybe you forgot/ you can take what I have, but I grow something better back)

Dancing Plague of 1518 by mollyofgeography(Make room to hold a want that's weighted/shapeshift to sate it/ 'til my head knows my heart betrayed it)

Jesse Shepard (☄️)

Machine Heart by Icarus (You've been looking for some kind of savior/ you created me and turned me into you/ to make me last a lifetime)

Glitter & Gold by Barns Courtney (Do you walk in the shadow of men who sold their lives to a dream? Do you ponder the manner of things in the dark?)

Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash (You wired me awake and hit me with a hand of broken nails...but I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run)

#arianwen tabris #maria hawke #elowen lavellan #emmaera lavellan #salshira lavellan #tav tag #jesse shepard #tag game #music #this took me way longer than i'd like to admit lol

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shivunin · 5 months

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FLORENCE! ✨✨✨✨

Ok, choose only one if it's too much but this list is cool and...

12. What a thing to admit for Elowen

And/or

48. Sweeter than heaven and harder than hell for Maria

Ahhh sorry this has taken so long! I've been fiddling with the last part for what feels like eons. As always, the second prompt will be in a separate post c:

(Florence + the Machine Prompts)

A Sudden Squall

(Cullen/Elowen Lavellan | 1,613 Words | No warnings)

Summary: An unexpected storm forces Cullen and the Inquisitor into close quarters.

“What a thing to admit that when someone looks at me with real love, I don't like it very much Kinda makes me feel like I'm being crushed.” —Florence + the Machine, “Girls Against God”

The rain came all at once, with no warning at all.

One moment, Lavellan and Cullen were sparring in the ring as usual and the next, sleet was pouring from the sky, frigid and grasping. When it first struck her, Elowen sucked in a breath and froze, but Cullen gathered himself more quickly. He reversed his hold on his sword hilt at once, snatched his mantle from the training ring fence, and towed her along behind him by the elbow. The closest shelter was the armory, and he ran there as quickly as possible, head bent against the stinging cold of the rain. The door was, of course, locked—as happened sometimes when inventory was being done.

“Maker’s b-breath,” he snapped, but the sleet was still pouring down, and the Inquisitor had begun to shiver. The path to the great hall would take too long—and though they might manage Herald’s Rest, the idea did not appeal. At least here there was a slight overhang here that they might huddle under; the worst of it would pass soon enough. He hoped.

“Here,” he said, hefting his already damp mantle over one arm and bracing it on the wall above her, “This should keep off the worst of it.”

It had seemed like a good idea—truly, it had. This was simply the most sensible way to shield them both from the worst of the frigid rain, and keeping the cloak close to their heads would help them retain any heat they generated. But.

But.

Cullen hadn’t bargained on how it would feel to lean so close to her, both of them soaked to the skin, her tunic plastered to her torso. Before he’d covered them both, he hadn’t imagined what it would be to feel her breath across his cheek, to see the way her eyes looked when they dropped to his mouth.

Maker—she couldn’t be thinking…but—what else could that expression mean?

“Elowen?” he said, her name slipping out despite himself, and her eyes drifted up to his.

“You called me by my name,” she whispered.

Her hand lifted, hesitated, touched the stubble along Cullen’s jaw. Her hands were like ice. The thought of her so cold ought to have worried him, but all he could think about was that she was touching him. Not for training, not to pass a report, but—for no other apparent reason than the desire to do so.

Cullen was drifting toward her before he decided to do it, drawn closer despite all knowledge that it was foolish, that it was wiser to keep a distance, that she might stop him at any moment. But she wasn’t stopping him; she was tilting her head to the side, shifting her grip on his jaw until she was cupping it, one thumb leisurely stroking an arc over his lower cheek. Was she—were they—he wanted—

As he shifted, the mantle shifted, too; it was only a little, but it was enough to send a wash of frigid, icy water right down his back. Cullen pulled back with a yelp, struggling to set the cloak right again, and by the time he’d corrected himself and hoisted it back into place she was looking away.

He couldn’t read her face; he wished desperately that he could read her face. What was she thinking? Was she wishing they hadn’t…? Was she wishing they had?

His thoughts were interrupted by the creak of a door, and an equally creaky voice.

“That you under there, Commander? Ey, it’s a mite chilly to be standing about, no? Come inside where it’s warm.”

Elowen had slid out from under the cloak almost before the woman stopped speaking, and she’d already darted inside by the time Cullen had slung the sodden cloak over one arm and sloshed in the direction of the door.

“Won’t tell no one about this, Commander,” the woman said in an undertone with a wink, “Keep it between ourselves, yeah? Old Mays knows how to keep her mouth shut, she does.”

“Ah—” Cullen began, then abruptly realized what she was actually saying. He would have flushed bright red if he hadn’t been freezing, but even so he barely mustered a fumbled “Ah—thank you,” before making his way into the room after Elowen.

The Inquisitor stood in front of the massive fire, hands outstretched, shuddering faintly. All of a sudden, he saw not the Inquisitor, slayer of dragons, doer of impossible deeds, but only a woman, cold and alone before a fire. It occurred to Cullen then that before this moment he’d never once seen her as small, though of course she was two heads shorter than he and built more like an archer than a swordsman. She was smaller—and yet, until now, she’d never seemed so to him.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Elowen turned her head and looked up at him.

“Determined to suffer the cold in silence, Cullen?” she said quietly, and he realized he’d just been staring at her, his cloak wetting whatever parts of him had remained dry until now.

Cullen dipped his head, cleared his throat, and drew closer. His cloak spread easily before the fire and began to steam faintly after a moment—a worrying sight for the fabric, but well enough for time being. He wrung out the hem of his tunic and stretched his hands before him, as she had. Heat returned in an uncomfortable tingle up both arms, and he flexed his fingers to disperse some of it.

Maker—he had to say something. That moment in the closeness of the cloak…

“About…what happened just now,” he began, and she looked up at him again. Her hazel eyes flickered with fire, the flames illuminating and shading her face by turns.

“I…can’t,” she said softly, and Cullen straightened.

How to apologize for overstepping—how to make things as they had been before—but she was already speaking again.

“Not yet,” she said, and the words took several seconds to penetrate the haze of panic he’d been collecting around himself.

“I’m…not ready,” she added. “But…I think I want to. Someday. If that’s…if you…”

“I do,” he said, before he could rein the words in. “That is—when you’re ready.”

She nodded once, biting her bottom lip faintly before turning back to the fire.

Neither of them spoke again, but he saw the smile curling her mouth whenever she glanced up at him. For the moment, that was enough.

He held his hands out to the fire and let himself smile into its warmth.

Someday—someday wasn’t never. If Cullen had learned one thing these past months, it was how to wait.

When Elowen reached her bedroom at last, she cast off her damp clothes and stood before her fire wrapped in the warm dressing robe Varric had gifted her months ago. It beat away some of the chill that had settled into her bones, but none of the comforts of her own space slowed the hammering of her heart.

It was as if, for just a moment, Cullen’s cloak had shielded them from her own fears as much as it had shielded them from the rain. For a moment, he had leaned close and she had wanted him, but the moment he’d looked away…

It was ridiculous to be scared of wanting him after everything else, but she was. The fear had tangled its cold hands in her lungs until she had been entirely unable to breathe. IWhat a relief it had been to make some space between them, to think again when he was not looking at her like he’d never wanted anything else. Now, in the warmth of her own room, she could draw the moment out and think about it again.

In the armory, his cheeks had been red with the cold, eyes fixed on hers; he had smiled when she’d told him someday. Cullen could be horribly impatient—she’d seen it herself—but she knew that he would not rush her in this. Whatever pressure she felt, it did not come from him.

What would it be like, to feel his face in her hands and know that she could go on touching him? What would it be like to feel his lips against hers?

It was absurd to be standing here in the middle of the night thinking about his eyes, his hands, the way he’d taken her arm and shielded her from the rain. It would be wisest to climb under the covers and get some rest. She would no doubt need it; tomorrow would be another busy day.

Elowen moved to the edge of the rug and sat down instead, pulling her dressing gown more tightly around her chest. She did not know how long she sat before the fire, palms outstretched. Light that she could not touch brushed over her hands, gold and red and warming every inch of her that had been cold for too long. She could not live forever torn between fear and wanting or she would lose herself entirely.

Yes. She wanted him, too. She admitted it to herself at last and sighed, closing her eyes in relief. Someday, she’d told him. Soon, she hoped. If she could get around the horrible weight in her chest—yes. Yes. She wanted him, just like he wanted her and she no longer wished to pretend otherwise.

When she finally uncrossed stiff legs and climbed into the bed, her hair had dried entirely. The fire went on crackling and glowing well into the night, long after she’d finally drifted off to sleep.

#elowen lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #da fanfic #shivunin scrivening #i never found the painting that inspired this rip #oh well #also anon who sent me fic prompts if you are reading this i pinky promise i haven't forgotten those either!

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shivunin · 5 months

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14 / 38 / 48 for the Florence asks! ✨

Oooh, thank you so much! I will answer one here and do the other(s) in separate posts c: This gave me a push to finally finish fleshing out an idea that's been sitting for over a year, so double thank you for that! 💗

(Florence + the Machine Writing Prompts)

Hold Me Down

Summary: In the aftermath of Here Lies the Abyss, Cullen finds the Inquisitor alone at the edge of the camp.

(Elowen Lavellan/Cullen | 1,206 Words | CW: Blood, descriptions of shock/panic attack)

“Hold me down, I'm so tired now Aim your arrow at the sky Take me down, I'm too tired now Leave me where I lie.” —Florence + the Machine, “Sky Full of Song”

“—foremost priority should be seeking out and destroying any remaining demons who might have escaped the battle,” Cullen was saying to a scout as they walked, “take a group and scour the fortress for any signs, and then relay the information to Commander Rylen. He’s kept a troop in reserve for cleanup duty.”

“Yes, Commander,” the scout said, peeling off. Cullen paused as he saw an odd shape tucked between two tents and a stack of crates.

He knew the shape of that staff.

“Inquisitor?” he called, peering over the stack of crates. The shape shifted, turned slightly, and lifted its head.

Behind the cowl, her face was still spattered with blood; it was almost enough to obscure the pale lines of her vallaslin entirely, and what the blood didn’t smear was peppered with ash and dust. Her hands were set on her lap, just as filthy as her face, half-curled and limp. And her eyes…

“Lavellan?” he said, and she blinked, blood-clogged eyelashes sticking for a moment to her cheek. Her eyes did not come into focus.

Ah—he’d seen this before.

Cullen sidestepped the crates and crouched several inches away, leaving her room on the other side to get away from him if necessary.

“Can you hear me, Inquisitor?” he murmured quietly, and her bitten lips cracked open.

“I am fine.”

“That isn’t what I asked,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder when he heard movement in the camp. Just a pair of sentries wandering past. He returned his attention to the Inquisitor, whose attention remained fixed somewhere over Cullen’s left shoulder.

“Can you hear me?” he asked. “Do you know what I am saying?”

There was a long pause. He noted the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her blood-soaked hands trembled in her lap.

“...yes,” she said at last, her voice faint and flat.

“What do you hear?”

A soft gasp and her hands twitched in her lap.

“You.”

“And what else?”

She was still breathing too quickly. Cullen eased himself down until he was kneeling between her and the rest of the camp. If nothing else, he could shield her from their speculation. A meager enough offering, but it was one he would give her without hesitation.

“The…the tents in the wind.”

“And?”

“Metal on stone. People talking.”

“Good. What do you see?”

A frown collected between her brows and she slowly glanced at him to frown. That was good, too.

“Sand. Tents. The stars.”

“And?”

“Why?”

“Answer the question.”

She sighed, but her breath had slowed slightly.

“The crates. My…my hands,” her voice shook on the last word. “You.”

“Alright,” he paused, “Are you with me?”

“Yes, I…yes,” she moved to set her face in her hands and flinched when she saw them clearly. “I—it was…The Fade was…”

“We needn’t discuss it,” Cullen murmured, shifting onto his knees to tug the tail end of his cloak loose. “You don’t have to say anything now. May I see your hand?”

Lavellan extended one hand silently and Cullen pulled the cork from his waterskin to wet the crimson fabric of his cloak. He could not properly clean her skin here; he hadn’t carried soap with him, and the cloth of the cloak was not especially absorbent. Maker, he was covered in his fair share of grime after the battle. Even so, he could get the worst of the blood off. He knew all too well what it meant to have to deal with such aftereffects of a fight.

To be confronted with the concrete proof of what had happened.

Her hands shook in his grip, and they were cold even through the barrier of leather. Cullen pressed his lips together, trying to decide if he ought to offer his gloves. Would she take them from him? He could not guess either way.

“Is that any better?” he asked when he was done. Lavellan took her hand from him and peered at it in the flickering torchlight of the camp, curling and uncurling her fingers.

“Yes, I—thank you,” she said. She lifted the other hand slightly and froze with it there, hung halfway into the air. Cullen carefully reached out to take it, selecting a different section of fabric to clean the skin with.

Someone ought to be helping her properly. Someone needed to make sure she found a bath, food, somewhere soft to lay her head. After all he had seen of her, all he knew she had done, Cullen knew better than to think she was fragile. Even so—it tugged at him, to see her so shattered now.

“It had so many legs,” she whispered hoarsely after a moment. “Too many. I—I couldn’t—I should have—”

Her voice broke at the end, and when the Commander glanced at her he saw that tears had begun to clear some of the muck from her cheeks in clear, straight lines. They dripped from her cheeks black and red-brown, leaving tiny, damp circles on her coat.

“You’re here now,” he told her, holding her hand for a moment longer than necessary once it was clean. “You aren’t there anymore. It is done.”

“I let him die,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “I—I told him to stay behind. It’s my fault. And the Divine—it’s my fault, Commander. All of it is.”

Cullen waited for her to continue, but she didn’t go on. She bit her lip again, staring at him. Ah—but what could he say to her now? There was nothing to be done about one’s past mistakes. He knew better than most what it meant to live with regret at one’s back. What to say? All he had was the words he gave his own soldiers when they’d made a mistake, and the words seemed ill-fitting here.

“Whatever has happened,” he told her, “I’ve no doubt that you made the best decision you could with the resources available to you.”

Lavellan withdrew her hand. Cullen let it go without protest.

“I…” slowly, the Inquisitor pulled her cowl down and away from her face. She ran her hands over the relatively clean plait beneath. “Thank you.”

It was recognition, but a dismissal as well. Not “thank you for thinking so,” but “please go away.”

Cullen tucked the soiled end of the cloak away and stood, careful not to move too close.

“If there is anything you need, Inquisitor,” he said softly. “Please—do not hesitate to ask.”

Lavellan inclined her head, but she’d turned away to stare out at the vastness of the dunes and stars beyond. Cullen exhaled slowly and moved to step around the crates. He halted when she spoke again.

“Cullen?” Elowen said; not Commander, for once, but his name. He turned to look at her and found her eyes, full of tears but clear and focused on his. “Thank you. Really.”

“Of course,” he said, and cleared his throat. “It was…my honor.”

Her eyes slipped away again, but her hands were clasped softly in her lap. Cullen straightened, gathered himself, and strode back into the camp beyond.

#elowen lavellan #cullen rutherford #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #cullowen #prompt response #da fanfic #shivunin scrivening #i have been listening to this song all day bc it is rainy here #i started thinking about how elowen would actually handled the aftermath of here lies the abyss #so this is the canon version of what happened haha. if she did this first and not the winter palace #as opposed to the 'your fate for mine' version where she decides to just stay in the Fade so nobody else has to die for her

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shivunin · 4 months

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Salshira and Elowen at long last! Thank you @forystr for drawing such lovely pictures of them. It is especially delightful to have a picture of Elowen with the correct hair! (ID in alt)

#salshira lavellan #elowen lavellan #and now i have pictures of all my dragon age ocs c:#inquisitor lavellan #dai

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shivunin · 5 months

Text

From this list: Find one quote from a book, a song, or a piece of media that would make them feel at peace.

Thanks for asking, @greypetrel!

#salshira lavellan #elowen lavellan #emmaera lavellan #arianwen tabris #maria hawke #jesse shepard #tav tag #ask game #oc ask game

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shivunin · 1 month

Note

aaaaand one for Elowen :3 something written by one of the advisors about your OC?

happy writing friend <3

Thank you again for sending all of these in! I've been rather more the tortoise than the hare with them, but we got here in the end c: Thanks, friend!

(Codex Prompts)

A Missive to the Deep Roads

(991 Words | No Warnings)

A letter tucked into a leather belt pouch. The paper was once fine and creamy, but now dirt smudges the surface and there are large splotches of blood on one corner. It is addressed to the Warden-Commander and reads:

My dear Arianwen,

I do hope that this letter finds you well. This thing you have undertaken is a dangerous task indeed, though I do have my doubts that even an army of ogres could keep you from doing what you’ve set your mind to.

No doubt you have heard about our troubles here on the surface. Surely you must have heard tales about the sky splitting open, no matter how deep you have delved in the Deep Roads. If matters were any less dire, I might say that it amuses me to think of you being safer below than we are above for once. As matters are very dire indeed, I will instead say only that we need your help.

I know what you will say, and I know better than most what I am asking of you. The Inquisition is not the sort of organization you might be inclined to trust. For good reason, I suppose. The Chantry has not been the friend to you that it should have been. We both know this to be true.

Our networks, our might, and the faith of those who have pledged themselves to us will not sway you. Let me instead tell you of our Inquisitor and what she has already done.

Several weeks ago, there was an assassination attempt on your favorite king. Many such attempts have been made before, plenty of them averted by your personal intervention, but this one involved an especially troublesome faction of mages from Tevinter. The Inquisitor sent our people to intervene—and just in time, too, it would seem. To hear him tell it, he was all but frozen solid before our people intervened. I have requested a contingent remain nearby in case there is any more trouble.

There are many victims of this war between mage and templar, no shortage of bloodshed. Even so, Lavellan has reached out her hand to the refugees and the downtrodden at every turn. I have watched her haul children from the muck of a ruined street with her own two hands. I have seen her hunt for supplies for the same families even when she was ill or out of sorts. I have seen her clear the roads for people to move freely again. It is not so light a thing, as you very well know, for people to be able to escape when they are besieged.

I have known Elowen to sit alone on the hills, the better to watch the pale hares move through the brush. I have watched the wild wolves heed to her call as if listening to a dear friend. I know that she would leave us for the wilderness and the roads if she could. I know that she stays because she feels there is no other choice—rather like somebody else I once knew well, if you will forgive the comparison.

A teller of tales I may yet be, but I have related only the truth here. You already knew how dire our battles have been. Know, too, that the Inquisition follows one who leads with neither iron fist nor hope of recompense. Know that the woman we follow is worthy of the title in many ways beyond naming.

Know that Thedas—that Ferelden—still needs you, just as it did all those years ago. If ever there was a time to take up the banner of the Wardens and lead those who remain to a worthy cause, it is now.

If you will not come, Warden-Commander—and I hold no real expectations that you will—perhaps you will consider committing what resources you can to the fight in the world above. I cannot overstate how much that help is needed.

Do give my regards to your Antivan beau. I would say that I hope to see the both of you very soon, but I hold no such expectations. Instead, I will say only that I will look for word from you, in whatever form it might come.

Your friend, then and now,

Leliana

A letter, wrapped in several layers of oiled leather and otherwise untouched by the elements:

Leliana,

You’ve always been good with stories. I’ll give you that.

I’m too busy to come myself. You know that. However great a mess the surface is right now, I cannot spare a single blade for your fight. I have more pressing things to turn them against at the moment.

I wish you all the luck I can spare. I’ll throw in a few tokens for good measure, though I am sure you can find better on your own. You always were clever like that.

You are my friend. It has been many years since I have said so, but it is no less true now than it was then. Be well, Leliana. You are greater than your words, however many of them you insist on tossing in my direction.

The enclosed is for your Inquisitor. If even half of what you’ve said about her is actually true, I don’t mind her having it.

Zevran says hello.

—Wen

P.S. I did not say hello. I said that you will either have a grand tale to tell, Bard, or you will find yourself on the other end of a rather sharp knife. For your sake, I hope that it is the former and not the latter. How dreadfully dull it would be to leave all of this grandeur behind to attend a funeral and seek vengeance. You have no idea how often our adventures are interrupted to do silly things like that.

Do take care of yourself. There is something here from me as well—have a glass by the fire and think of your good friends, yes?

—Z

#prompt response #ask response #shivunin scrivening #elowen lavellan #arianwen tabris #zev over here like 'hand me the letter do you have no manners' lol

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shivunin · 2 months

Text

By Dwindling Night

For the last of the @ockissweek pieces, I borrowed @dreadfutures' lovely Ixchel. Thank you so much for sharing her! I have really enjoyed stepping deeper into her story and I hope I've done her justice here 💗

(Ixchel Lavellan & Elowen Lavellan | 952 Words | No warnings)

"Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined, The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." ---Walt Whitman, "O Me! O Life!"

The snow was cold and clinging under Elowen’s bare toes, but the tingling discomfort meant little to her.

Alone, she would not have bothered with the bonfire flickering in her periphery. Alone, she would have crept back into her bed and tried very hard to remember how merrily the fire had flickered when she’d still clung to the shadows of her clan’s celebrations. This night’s holiday had ever been a celebration of life itself—life in the shoots beginning to creep from snow, life in the dead branches giving rise to flame, but life could not persist on its own. It dwelled where one reached out for another in communion or companionship.

Life followed where Elowen and Ixchel danced now.

The two of them, hands clasped together, traced invisible patterns atop a packed layer of snow. The high fire beside them had half-melted the ice and snow closest to it. This would likely all be a dreadful ring of ice in the morning, a hazard to whichever poor scout made their way from the gates of Haven to the hut on the other side of the lake. Elowen, skin slick with swiftly cooling sweat, breath burning in her lungs, knew that she must be making trouble for somebody else. For once, she could not bring herself to care.

Out here, among the snow and under the stars, there were no piercing eyes judging their comportment or manner. There were no tasks to be done or qualifications to satisfy or messengers with urgent voices. Here, there was only Ixchel and Elowen and the dancing flames and the moons so bright they almost blotted out the looming green hum of the rift above.

Elowen had stood before the other woman’s door with her hand lifted for a long, long time before she’d leaned forward and knocked. She did not know for certain, but guessed how fraught Dalish things might be for Ixchel. They were painful and complicated enough for Elowen herself, who had always been held apart from the rest even before she’d abandoned her role and left her clan behind.

She could not say what had tipped the scales in the end. Only—she had keenly missed anything that felt familiar and she had wondered if Ixchel felt the same. If so, she could never have borne abandoning someone else to the same loneliness.

So, Elowen had knocked and she had asked. Ixchel had regarded her for a long moment, head angled to the side, as if reading something in Elowen’s face. The pause had nearly been long enough to force an excuse from Elowen’s tongue. She might have left then, might have passed the night on the cold stone floor before the hearth in her room. Just as she’d decided she’d mortally offended the younger woman and would have to leave at once, Ixchel had nodded and spoken.

“Of course,” she’d said, slipping a cloak from beyond Elowen’s view. “Where are we going? Outside the camp, I hope.”

And that had been that.

There was no music to dance to here. The breath of the fire was a loose melody, the beat of their feet quieter than the hammering of her own pulse in her ears. Between the two of them, she had less stamina for this sort of thing; her skill was in concentrating very hard and imagining things well enough to call the Fade beyond its boundaries. Her strength had never been in her body, though she’d marched down the endless roads as well as any Dalish elf might.

There was no music here, no conductor to call a halt. They stopped at last anyway, stumbling into each other, half-laughing, half-gasping in sprays of pale mist that caught orange firelight whenever they exhaled. Elowen had no idea what made her reach for Ixchel then—the fire, the ice clinging to her toes, the moonlight dimming every other light in the sky—but whatever lack of familiarity the two of them had with each other seemed unimportant in the face of this undeniable sense of unity.

Perhaps that was the point of it all, in the end: to be cold and know that you could reach out for someone else’s warmth.

Elowen rested her hand against the scars along Ixchel’s cheek and beamed at her. Impulsively, for once entirely free of second guessing, she took an uneven step forward and pressed her lips to Ixchel’s forehead. They held still for a moment, both of them still breathing hard. Though her eyes were closed, the fire painted flickers of pink and gold against the other side of her eyelids.

Life, Elowen thought, and leaned back again.

“Thank you,” she said, fervently as she could. She released Ixchel’s cheek and clasped one of her hands between her own. “Thank you. Thank you.”

It wasn’t what she’d meant to say, really. Something more articulate, perhaps, like “we’re still here” or maybe “I am glad we’re not alone.” But “thank you” was what she could manage, at least for now.

“I know,” Ixchel said, and squeezed Elowen’s hand. “I know.”

Elowen hoped she did. Wiser ones than she had found better words for this, she was sure. But now and here, with the winter’s grip still strong at the base of the Frostbacks, her own words would have to suffice.

They turned back to Haven at last when the fire began to die, but they did not stride separately through the snow. Instead, Elowen rested an arm over Ixchel’s shoulders. The snow was just as deep and bitterly cold as it had been when they’d waded out here. The night was just as uncertain.

But—it was easier, Elowen thought, when neither of them had to bear it alone.

#elowen lavellan #ixchel lavellan #ockiss24 #oc kiss week #shivunin scrivening #ohh man i have edited this poor thing within an inch of its life and run right up to the wire here #but i see so many similarities to the two of them at the beginning of their respective stories #and i just wanted each of them to have a friend when they needed one

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