#eventually will draw a full faced father cullen

[ezzakennebba]

“hello, darling!”

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Hi! It's an au twilight question.

What if Edward and Bella did the nasty in early New moon. Then the party happens and the Cullens leave. Bella discovers she's pregnant with Renesmee. What do you think what would happen?

A very interesting question, anon. One that will go very interesting places, I'm sure.

That said, as usual, because I'm a completionist, we have to go through the "why no canon?" routine. Bear with me, I simply must.

Why Didn't Edward and Bella Do the Nasty Pre-Breaking Dawn?

For all that Edward is, for all his... questionable morals and sexual fixations, he does have a moral code he strictly holds himself to.

Edward is adamantly against having sex with Bella in terror of the very real possibility that he will murder her in the act. He's very clear about this, he didn't think he could do it, at all, and only his sheer desperation that Bella never be turned, his desire to marry Bella, as well as Alice's thumbs up convinced him to do it.

If Bella was a reasonable person then she would have agreed as well. Sex with Edward, while she's human, is a bad idea. However, Bella never really seems to clue in on what vampires even are so I think the Man of Steel on Woman of Kleenex aspect is lost on her.

Had Alice not given the green light, I imagine Edward would have gone back to the drawing board and ended up either here or here. Bella turning is the worst possible outcome and Edward will risk almost anything, even Bella's death, to see it avoided.

But that doesn't mean it's an action he takes lightly.

He suggests pimping Bella out to Jake before he suggests sleeping with her himself. For Edward, this is a last resort.

More, Edward is a man of his time.

Edward was from an upper class family and, more to the point, still holds himself to the standards of the society he knew when human (much to Bella's amusement).

Edward wistfully talks about courting Bella, how he would have courted her had he been a true man in the time period he was familiar with, and why marriage to him is so very important.

That Edward doesn't seek out the approval of Charlie, Bella's father, is a hilarious aside to me. Edward's all about chivalry until all those old society standards get in his way.

What do you mean a gentleman doesn't sneak into a lady's apartments in the middle of the night to watch her slumber unawares?!

Regardless, marriage is extremely important to Edward, especially in the context of sex.

Edward will absolutely not have sex with a woman who is not first his wife. He also will not marry a girl that society defines as underage, he will wait until Bella's legal and probably until she finishes her primary schooling.

This means Edward was never likely to have sex with her before graduation and certainly not before her eighteenth birthday.

Which, at the earliest, puts her past the New Moon birthday bash.

Edward and Bella Do the Do Anyway

But let's pretend they do it anyway.

I'd say the most likely scenario is after the birthday disaster. This is it, Edward knows he is leaving Bella forever, if he is truly noble then he will never see her again.

Certainly, he will never interact with her nor hold her in his arms. To Edward, this is essentially his last true night on Earth.

So rather than pull a partial D.E.N.N.I.S. system, Edward pulls the full D.E.N.N.I.S. system, he initiates the "I" he was previously missing, "Inspire Hope". Or, in this case, get laid for the first and only time in his life.

He sneaks in through her window. They make beautiful, passionate, tepid love so Edward does not crush her in the act, and as she sleeps blissfully in the aftermath he sneaks back out the window to never be seen again.

(It takes Bella a week to admit that Edward just hit and run. The Cullens aren't coming back.)

However, because Edward didn't actually point blank tell her what was happening, rather than hit her New Moon stage of depression, Bella's instead in denial.

The Cullens are coming back. What, Carlisle has a new job? No, that can't be right, they're coming back. Alice would never leave her without a word. Edward would never leave her without a word.

Jessica pats Bella on the back consolingly and is secretly glad that it's not her. She might have been dumped by Edward Cullen, but at least he didn't humiliate her the way he did Bella Swan.

Leaving without a single word, yikes.

Two weeks go by then Bella gets the flu.

In a single day, she's unable to keep down anything. Huh, that's weird. Very quickly, Bella has her tampon epiphany. Bella is not a virgin, she had sex with Edward, she's late, and she appears to have a baby bump.

Bella is carrying Edward's child.

There is no question of aborting the child. This is Edward's child, the only piece she has left of him, even without Renesmee's gift it's ride or die. Bella is delivering this child even if it kills her.

However, she has some immediate issues.

First, she's visibly pregnant, it's been only two weeks. That's not supposed to happen. More, Charlie is bound to notice sooner rather than later, Bella would like to avoid that, the stigma of teen pregnancy, as well as the inhuman complications that are sure to come along.

Second, there's inhuman complications. Bella can't just go to an OBGYN, not even a town over. She's carrying something half human, a doctor will poke around and find that out, and then Bella's blowing the secret.

Bella knows vaguely of the Volturi at this point, but not the severity of the law, it's more that she promised Edward she would never tell a soul.

Plus, a human doctor wouldn't be able to help anyway.

That leaves vampires.

Bella tries to call/email the Cullens. However, thanks to Edward, all their numbers are disconnected and all their emails no longer exist. Her "Alice, help, I'm pregannant" messages are sent to a void.

(Alice, meanwhile, thinks she's finally successful in blocking visions of Bella. At least Edward will be off her back. Without the cliff diving and Jake, Alice does not assume Bella has died/committed suicide.)

A brief internet survey also yields Bella no results, but it does get her a lot of vampire porn. Thanks internet.

Bella... starts to get worried.

She's getting more and more pregnant in a matter of days, Charlie is starting to notice that she can't keep anything down, and the Cullens aren't taking her phone calls.

Then, Bella has it, she remembers that weird baroque painting Carlisle had of him and those Italian vampire dudes: the Volturi. Conveniently named after the city they live in, Volterra, Italy.

Bella debates her options.

Edward told her that these are the guys who make sure that humans who know the secret disappear. Well, Bella is a human who knows the secret, that's bad. Also bad is that they eat people, Bella is a person.

On the other hand, Edward implied these guys are civilized and friends of Carlisle. That's... good? Bella isn't sure she's on good terms with the Cullens, given the whole abrupt leaving thing, but maybe they don't have to know that.

Bella debates with herself, tries to look up the Denali, and only finds the National Park. She has no idea where these guys even live, or what they even look like besides "blonde hot vampire", and she's short on time. Plus, they are close with the Cullens, so the Cullens probably did tell them "Ew, Bella, No Gross, Do Not Want".

Because the Cullens all hate her now.

Bella has some money saved up, and this is probably a one way trip, and if she doesn't go then... well, it's not looking good. Bella musters up her courage, tells Charlie some outrageous fib to explain why she's disappearing off the face of the planet, and books a flight to Rome, then Pisa, then a bus ride to Volterra.

Bella subsists completely on blue gateorade, this doesn't go well, and she vomits blue in the parking lot.

Regardless, she makes it, huzzah she is in Volterra. It's sunny out and there are no vampires. Bella wanders around the city and looks for the most vampire building she can find.

Luckily, she happens to be right, and it's the very central castle. Well done, Bella.

Bella walks in and spots a vampire. She also spots a receptionist, Bella is very confused. Never the less, Bella says the magic words, "I'm a... friend of Carlisle Cullen?"

Even though Bella doesn't have Aro's name (or any of the other Volturi for that matter), Carlisle's name does the trick. Anyone who works for Aro knows that name.

Color Aro intrigued, he will meet this pregnant woman! (Caius, meanwhile, votes that they eat her immediately out of spite.)

Well, Aro touches her hand and lo and behold she's scarily gifted. And she knows Carlisle, what a great day to be Aro.

Aro explains that everything's totally fine with her knowing the secret, it just means they have to turn her eventually, after she gives birth of course.

Bella stares at him numbly and wonders why Edward made this such a big deal if it was that easy.

Aro insists Bella start from the beginning, as in the very beginning of her life. This is weird, but Bella complies.

An hour later they get to the interesting part: Bella meets Carlisle (and Edward Cullen, Aro guesses). Aro gets to hear the whole, sordid, ridiculous tale of Bella and Edward's romance including the part where he fucked her and ran off into the night.

Aro is stunned.

He first apologizes for the Cullens behavior, they should absolutely not have abandoned her, and not turning her was completely irresponsible (what the hell was Carlisle thinking?)

He then gives the bad news, he... has never heard of anything like this.

You see, normal vampires don't have sex with humans. It isn't done.

Also, there's this thing called Immortal Children (Edward tell you about that, no? Well, he probably thought it wasn't relevant). That thing your carrying might not be a child capable of growth but an insatiable monster.

Or it could be the alien from Aliens.

There's no way to tell, really.

BUT NO NEED TO WORRY, BELLA, THEY WILL FIGURE THIS OUT.

Aro promises Bella his protection and a period of observation for the child. Bella's not sure she likes that observation part, but this seems like a pretty sweet deal otherwise.

As for what to do, well, Aro has to call in the foremost vampire medical expert. Sorry, Bella, but there's only one man for the job.

Aro sends out Demetri to find Carlisle.

Demetri shows up on Carlisle's doorstep, "Carlisle, old friend, Aro has need of you. Your son knocked up a human girl."

Carlisle blinks, blinks again, then does a thousand yard stare. My God.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Edward is already on Victoria's tail. Carlisle tries to call him, to no avail, Edward isn't taking his phone calls.

Alice and Jasper are already on their trip to hunt down Alice's past. Plus, given the Volturi, they'd be unlikely to come anyway. Carlisle sends them a message.

Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett travel to Volterra to clean up Edward's mess.

And sure enough, there's Bella, very pregnant with a child that is very much not human. Carlisle dies inside, Rosalie's on a warpath that Edward would abandon his pregnant girlfriend to the point where the only place she could turn was human drinking vampires.

Rosalie takes it upon herself to leave Edward the world's angriest voice messages until he returns her phone calls.

Aro's delighted to see Carlisle again. Even if he does have a wife now. Also, Aro claims finders keepers for Bella, Carlisle's not happy about this and less happy that Aro points out that if Edward cared so much he wouldn't be absent right now, would he?

They figure out the blood drinking thing, Carlisle desperately raids a hospital to prevent Bella from being fed the leftovers of the Volturi victims. This likely doesn't work out for him.

At the last possible moment, Edward finally picks up his phone. He learns that all he's tried to accomplish failed spectacularly. Bella is pregnant with his demon child, is literally drinking blood, and is in Vampire HQ with the leader insisting she will be turned immediately after the C-section.

Edward races to Volterra and strides into the room demanding Bella be aborted and remain human.

Aro stares.

Carlisle awkwardly explains that Bella's too far along, it's too late now even if they wanted to, more she adamantly doesn't want to abort and never did.

As for Bella being human... Bella pipes in that she's cool on becoming the vampire part. Aro's a great guy. She then races to embrace Edward, he's come back, after all this time. And he's going to be a father, isn't that wonderful?

Edward loses his mind.

And because this is Edward, I have no idea what he'll do, only it'll be utter madness. This is my best guess.

To be a little more serious, he probably tries to abort the child anyway, he mercy kills Bella and the child, or Renesmee manages to get through to him.

Given canon, it's likely the latter. Bella is convinced that her and Edward's relationship is perfect.

Aro has no idea what to think of any of this.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas20 Day 4: Daemons

Greetings! I hope everyone is having a less profoundly irritating day than I am. Also, migraine :( 

Today I bring you a Daemon-verse fic, ala His Dark Materials. Whilst I love the idea of animal souls, and I love Daemon fic, I have never read or see His Dark Materials, so if I’ve messed up on the laws of daemons, I apologise. 

It was intended to follow Alice from awakening through to around her discovery of her past, but I’m honestly on the fence about how the final version will shape up.

The list of daemons is below the cut, which might be spoilery but I think it’s easier to envisage what’s happening when you know what each daemon looks like. 

Onwards! (And thank you for reading!)

--

Cast

Alice – Milo - ??

Jasper – Lula – grey wolf

Rosalie – Beauregarde – white mink

Emmett – Allegra - Sun bear

Esme – Pax – Tree pangolin

Carlisle – Winnie – Giant Anteater

Edward - Khalida - Owl

Bella – Egil - Crane

--

One.

She wakes up in the mud, curled into a ball. Beetles are crawling through her hair, and there is mud – and blood? – dried all down one side of her.

He was curled against the small of her back, and clung to the ragged gown she was wearing as she sat up, blinking confused ruby-coloured eyes.

She does not recognise him at all, does not even know her own name, and he is terrified of her blood-coloured eyes, and what she has become. She has been born anew, and what she doesn’t remember cannot hurt her. She is bright and cheerful and giddy in a way that she has never been before.

“What are you?” she asks eagerly, kneeling before him, smiling.

“I’m you. You’re me. I’m… your soul,” he explains, and her lips into a surprised ‘o’.

“What is your name?” is her next question, one that breaks his heart.

“Milo,” he says. “Me-lo.”

“And I’m …Alice?” she says, suddenly uncertain.

“Yes. You’re my Alice.”

She scoops him up and kisses his nose, and for the first time, he thinks they might be okay.

Two.

They are wrong, and she doesn’t even know it.  

He tries to talk about it, weeks after she awakens as a red-eyed monster.

“I used to be a mouse,” he says suddenly, as they make their way through the forest.

“Really?” she looks intrigued.

“Yes.”

He hasn’t settled. He can feel his skin alight with energy and possibility, and he worries. She was sent away before he ever settled, and then everything happened to them.

Are they broken?

When she asks, he denies remembering ‘much’ from before she woke, remembering their names and the fact that he was a small white mouse with grey ears, which she accepts without question.

He is lying.

He remembers most of everything that happened to them. And whilst he hates her red eyes, and watching her feast on the stray humans that cross their path, he adores this cheerful, joyous self.

She steals a dress in the next town they cross through, a yellow gingham with ties at the back and a pocket big enough for him to ride in, that seems to swallow her up. She keeps the filthy, ratty hospital gown she was found in, wearing it like a cape, until she steals a bag. She carries it in there, along with a little notebook and a pencil, a second dress (dark blue wool, just as stolen.)

She finds a piece of blue ribbon one night, and ties it loosely around his neck, stroking his soft fur, and cradles him, her face so happy.

If this is broken, they’ll be okay.

Maybe.

Three.

They have a peaceful existence for twenty-eight years. They stay in the forests, only sneaking into small towns to steal after she learns that she can hunt wild animals instead of humans. That makes him feel better about what she’s become.

Everything is wonderful to her - the flowers, the weather, whatever her latest outfit is. She would sit for hours, watching a spider spin a web, or sit in the branches of a tree, watching birds build nests, utterly transfixed.

The dreams that made her family turn away from her have become fulling fledged visions of the future, ones that seize her without rhythm or warning. Those visions are for her mind only, though she shares every detail with him - including that of the vampire she calls Jasper.

He’s worried about how she speaks about Jasper, about the look on her face when she’s thinking of him. But Alice promises him that Jasper will only mean good things - like the Cullens.

“We’ll have a family, Milo!” she beams, lying in the soft grass next to a river, stroking him. “A mother and a father and brothers and a sister!”

She had a mother and a father and a sister, and they turned her into this, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He tucks their lost history in the back of his heart and tries not to worry.

He’s sorrier than he can say when their solitude ends, and they slide into Philadelphia. They break into a hotel room to wash, and Alice seems giddy with excitement; then to a shop where Alice tries on a dozen dresses, and stuffs the toes of a pair of shoes so that they fit properly. She twirls in the mirror, and she’s beautiful. She even steals a bag, little brush and some new ribbon for him, so that he can be fancy too.

“We have to make a good impression,” she informs him, as she pockets a gold tube of lipstick and then some gold hairpins. “It’s our fate."

Their date with destiny goes to plan, though Milo wishes that he had been able to see the visions, to be prepared. This ‘Jasper’ is not just anyone; he’s over six feet tall, with dozens of overlapping scars, black eyes and lank blonde hair. He’s not particularly bulky, but every movement reveals his strength and skill; he practically emits violence - as does the mangy grey wolf at his side.

But Alice doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. She gets up and goes to him, her eyes full of him before he ever knows her name. Milo just huddles in her stolen handbag, his ribbon drooping, and waits.

Somehow the impossible happens and Jasper takes Alice’s hand. The wolf - Lula, Jasper calls her - huffs, and Alice scoops up her bag and they walk out into the drizzly night together.

Four.

She doesn’t tell Jasper about them, about how wrong they are. He’s told her before, gently, but she really doesn’t understand, and so it isn’t important. It’s up to him to worry and plan and watch.

Lula keeps her distance, and her eyes see everything. Every odd statement, every little mistake that reveals how broken they truly are. But Lula is not cruel or unkind - she is simply wary, and as more pieces of Jasper’s story comes out, Milo understands why.

The worst day is the one Alice spies a fawn drinking at a stream and stuffs him into Jasper’s hands before taking off.

Jasper audibly gasps, and he flinches but Alice doesn’t even look back.

Milo flickers in and out, and the sugar-glider form vanishes, leaving behind the grey and white mouse form.

“She doesn’t understand,” he manages to tell Lula, trying not to shake at the feeling of Jasper’s hands cradling him, at the faint pulling as Alice strains their link.

Lula whines, and Jasper looks at him carefully, and follows Alice. Her hunt is successful, blood on her mouth, and she beams up at them all without seeing the pity, the new understanding in their eyes. Instead, she splashes some water on her face, and reaches out for him, letting him run up her arm and tuck himself under the collar of her dress. Then she tucks her arm through Jasper’s and smiles up at him.

He wonders, later, if she truly doesn’t understand how broken then are.

Or she just doesn’t care.

Five.

The Cullens seem nice, and Esme is enchanted by Milo, currently a meerkat, who likes high places.

But he worries. So does Jasper. And the Cullens are surprised by the way Lula trails after Alice – the separation is a strain on both Jasper and Lula, but one they bear without flinching to make sure Alice is safe. But Alice and Jasper are connected in a special way, and Alice always jerks slightly when she realises that Lula has stretched as far from Jasper as they can tolerate, always apologetic at her ignorance. She knows that the pull other people experience when separated from their daemons is much more painful than when she and Milo seperate.

She doesn’t ask why, she just accepts it. Sometimes he wonders if she knows, in her heart of hearts, how much they suffered. How there’s no pain now because they ran through all of it - and then some - in the Before.

And then two things go terribly wrong. They are there only a week or so before there is a family hunting trip. He rides in the pocket of Alice’s new coat, and he wants to pretend everything is fine but he can feel the energy under his skin, twitchy and static.

He climbs out and scrambles up her shoulder, around her neck and back again – trying to burn off the manic energy.

He hears her voice – for his ears only. “It’s okay, Milo. Don’t force it.”

He knows. They aren’t settled, it’s going to happen eventually, and they’re going to know.

She still doesn’t understand that they will be ostracised for such a thing. Not Jasper’s warlike history, not his slip-ups, not her gift, but because they are deformed freaks.

It happens with a crack as he hits the ground – from meerkat to pika. He hears Rosalie’s hiss of horror, of gasps and growls at the unexpected shift and he scrambles back to Alice’s ankles, where she scoops him up tenderly.

“Better?” she asks out-loud, gently scratching his neck. He just nuzzles in.

The Cullens are horrified. A splayed-out corpse would be less obscene, less of a tragedy than a vampire with an unsettled daemon.

Jasper is glowering at them, Lula’s glare dark as well. The message is clear - do not draw attention to this. Do not upset them.

Esme’s Pax and Carlisle’s Winnie are both upset, curling together, fear in their eyes. Beau tucks himself deeper into Rosalie’s hair.

Alice looks back up, still happy, still ignorant and no one breathes a word.

The second time, it is an accident, it is instinct and it is terrifying. Jasper and Emmett are wrestling, and Alice is perched on a rock, jeering at Emmett’s attempts to pin Jasper. The rest of the family is nearby – enjoying the peace of the forest.

Emmett and Allegra are nice, and he trusts them. He does.

But Emmett looks at them with a glint and lunges, grabbing Alice around the arms and flinging her over his shoulder with a victorious roar.

A prankster, a gentle giant, a consummate big brother – all things Milo knows about Emmett. But there is a flash of unease in Alice’s mind that he’s not sure she is even aware of, and the way he grabs her is so reminiscent of how they would drag her away back at the asylum… the way she would cry…

Jasper and Lula are pissed, too, but they are a blur as he lunges – a two-pound meerkat that shifts into an almost-seven hundred pound Siberian Tiger that roars at Emmett, whose eyes are as wide as saucers.

Rosalie is shrieking, Esme is clutching Carlisle and Alice is bewildered, but holding her hands out in an attempt to placate him, still upside down on Emmett’s shoulder.

Lula is suddenly at his side, looking tiny and delicate against his new form (and it is entirely new. He’s never been a predator before, never been too big to carry). He growls at her but it is not a threat, but an expression of fear at the way Emmett grabbed at Alice, at that tiny flash in the back of her mind that remembered their suffering.

“Put Alice down, Emmett.” Edward is there, calm and collected. “You startled them. Jasper, can you calm them?”

As soon as Alice’s feet hit the ground, Jasper is by his side, stroking his head and pushing peace and security onto him. Alice is there, too, her arms around his neck and her face buried in his fur. Rosalie and Allegra are clinging to Emmett, who looks shell-shocked.

Esme and Carlisle are having a quick conversation, too low for anyone else to hear.

“I’m sorry, Alice, Milo. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Emmett’s apology is unexpected in the tense silence, and is genuine. His voice is steady and he is sympathetic; Rosalie is giving them murderous looks.

He looks at Emmett for awhile before resting his giant head against Alice’s, his eyes closing and a loud huff leaving his body.  

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispers to him. “We’re safe here. I promise.”

He wishes he could believe her.

[mischiefandspirits]

Colony of Gotham (3/7)

The Colony of Gotham is an urban legend that is whispered about in the dangerous city. It’s said the Colony is a family of demons and spirits that stalk the night, hunting for the souls of the guilty.

When Bruce became Batman, he’d never intended to be mistaken for a demon. He was happy to lean into it, though, and as he gained his partners – as his family grew – they all followed suit.

First Part ~ Previous Part ~ Next Part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duke Thomas lost his parents when Joker unleashed a new version of Joker Venom onto a crowd. While most of the infected were rounded up to be cured, some disappeared, Duke’s parents among them. The boy was determined to find them, no matter what it took, which landed him in trouble with both his foster parents and the law. Even when he was labeled a delinquent, though, he continued to search.

Meanwhile, a similar search came to its end.

Harper Row’s hunting had eventually led to her crossing paths with Batman. Despite her fear, she refused to back down under his warnings until her brother Cullen was attacked by some of his classmates while she was away on one of her searches.

Bruce, having been keeping an eye on the woman, stepped in to ensure they got justice for the attack and, in the process, helped her get custody of Cullen so they could both be free of their abusive father. In the face of all these changes and with Batman’s promise to find the other killer, Harper agreed to stand down.

However, Cass would find him first by taking a bullet for him after her father sent men to attack Harper and Cullen to draw her out.

Having expected a monster like Orphan, not this small child who stared up at her with the most apologetic eyes, Harper immediately forgave the girl and worked with Bruce and Batman to clear Cass’s name and take the girl under her wing. It was hard as Cass didn’t understand any language but body, but Harper and Cullen were willing to put in the work. In an effort to help, Bruce brought the Rows into the fold and promised any aid they could require.

Cullen was fascinated, but also happy to keep to the normal side of life. Bruce may have secretly wondered why the other children he found himself faced with couldn't be that level headed.

Harper, on the other hand, was more taken in, but also wary of getting too involved now that she had two people relying on her care. She went out sometimes in all black body armor with a full face mask and short hooded cloak, but she stayed out of sight enough that Black Bat remained an unknown myth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A trip to Los Angeles had Tim declaring he was never going with Bruce on business trips ever again. The first two days had been nice enough, but then Bruce caught him pulling an all-nighter working on a case that he wasn’t supposed to be working on and banned him from coffee.

Which was how a half-awake, phone focused Tim found himself nearly stepping out in front of traffic. Thankfully someone not dead on their feet spotted him in time and she pulled him back onto the sidewalk. He tried to laugh it off as just being too focused on his phone. That failed when he turned to walk away and almost immediately walked into a newspaper rack. The girl insisted on walking him to his hotel. When he pointed out he was going to pick up something from his father, she declared she’d walk him there and back.

When he returned back to Gotham with a new number in his phone, he refused to look her up. No, she was just some random civilian. He didn’t care if Wonder Girl doesn’t even wear a mask! Obviously that was her! A hoodie doesn’t help hide anything, Cassie! You and Kon are terrible! How do you two even have secret identities? At least Superman had those stupid glasses!

No, she was an ordinary civilian.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Duke Thomas’s search eventually ended when he teamed up with Batman to free his parents and the other missing Joker Venom victims from the Court of Owls, his photokinetic vision helping them navigate the labyrinthine tunnels. Unfortunately the Court’s experiments paired with going so long without the antidote had left the victims catatonic. Even still, Duke was so grateful that he did what he could to help Batman with his cases in the future.

Bruce, giving in to the inevitable even if he was wary to have a meta vigilante in Gotham, brought Duke into the Colony. There was some debate over how he’d fit in until Duke made it known that he would prefer getting some actual training before he went into the field for real.

This doesn’t stop Tim and Bette from glaring eachother down over who got to move on from Robin first.

Cass suggested settling it with a Mario Kart race.

Tim won.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One day Jinny “Hex” Woodson got fed up with all her friends discussing their Gotham friends -- ones she was pretty sure none of them were even allowed to have since no one was even supposed to go to Gotham -- so she packed a bag and headed out to find her own Gotham friend.

She decided the place was alright enough. It was actually kind of nice that no one questioned her for having a pair of pistols holstered on her hips. Someone even tried to mug her despite them.

It was hilarious.

She was having trouble finding her new Gotham friend, though. At least until a kid fell off a fire escape she’d been passing under and into her arms.

It was fate.

Apparently the kid had been trying to take a picture of a bird (aka Tim was scouting for a stakeout) and the railing hadn’t been quite as sturdy as he’d thought (it had only let him balance on it in a crouch for two hours before giving way). It was then that he noticed her guns.

“You’re not going to shoot me, right?”

“Angel, you’re so skinny, you can't even see your shadow. I don’t need my guns to whup you.”

“Angel?”

“Because you fell from heaven.”

Tim was not amused. He was even less amused when she declared they were friends now. No, he doesn’t get an opinion on the matter. Should have thought about that before throwing himself at unsuspecting women. She doesn’t even swing that way, Angel.

Around the same time that it hit the Young Justice team that they were all friends with the same Gothamite, it also hit the Colony that Tim had somehow managed to befriend the entire team.

Except no, Tim affirmed that they befriended him. He had no input in this whatsoever, thank you very much. It was probably Kon’s fault, really. He had probably set it all up. Tim was definitely going to give Kon the cold shoulder.

At least until his badgering got too annoying.

The worst part was that Stephanie stole his phone to get Cassie’s number when she found out she and Tim had been flirting. She stated it was so Stephanie could defend his honor if she tried something, but he caught both her and Bette in a group chat with not only Cassie, but Kara Danvers aka Supergirl and Suzanne “Cissie” King-Jones aka Arrowette.

Apparently, they didn’t get to be teased since the girls actively sought out their super friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Talia al Ghul personally informed her that the Heir to the Demon was now living with his biological father Bruce Wayne so she would be wise to keep her distance from Gotham, sister or not, Cheshire knew she’d made the right call keeping her nose out of the Waynes’ business.

It didn’t occur to her that when Talia al Ghul had met Bruce Wayne over ten years earlier at a party and decided to spend the night with him, the woman believed he’d given up his training to settle down for a life of luxury and frivolities. Cheshire didn’t know Ra’s had only allowed Talia to keep the child that had been an accidental result because he’d seen Bruce’s promise and believed, if raised properly, the child could become what he thought Bruce hadn’t.

That Talia had only brought her son to his father because she had no other choice.

The Demon’s Daughter fled to Gotham with Damian after her father was killed by Slade Wilson. She had hoped that between Bruce’s former training and the shadowy Colony of Gotham, Damian would be safe until Wilson could be dealt with.

Damian did not get along with his siblings. He made an attempt to pick a fight with Tim that failed when Tim refused to fight a child. Cass tried to fight him in Tim’s place, but Harper told her no. Damian tried to stab Dick when he hugged him and Dick disarmed him before he could without releasing the hug. He picked a fight with Jason and got his butt handed to him. Damian snuck out to prove himself, picked a fight with Nightwing, and got his butt kicked. Damian tried his hand with Tim again and the older boy, annoyed, agreed then used knockout gas on him the moment the fight began. Dick tried to talk with Damian and they ended up fighting. Damian, of course, got his butt kicked.

Stephanie was standing on the sidelines the entire time, encouraging everything.

Soon enough the Colony noticed Slade holed up near Gotham and launched an attack. Due to the danger, Bruce pulled in everyone, leaving the Robins and Alfred to keep an eye on Damian, Duke, Cullen, and Cass in the manor while Catwoman took guard outside. When Damian found out about the attack and tried to go after Slade, Tim sent him in the opposite direction then followed after him in the suit he’d been designing for post-Robin while the others took shelter in the cave.

Tim knocked Damian out and dragged him back to the cave where they locked him in a cell, to Bruce’s annoyance. Damian woke up and realized his father was Batman when he overheard Bruce reveal that Talia was likely coming back for Damian now that Slade was taken down. He also heard the family’s argument over it. None of them wanted him to go with her, but in the end they agreed that it was Damian’s choice.

When she did come, Damian remembered what the others said about him having a choice and some things about family Dick had said when the two had had their private conversation. He decided to stay with them, citing that there were things his father could teach him that he couldn’t learn while helping his mother rebuild the League.

She was obviously annoyed and disappointed, but didn’t fight him on it.

It wasn’t easy. Damian still fought with all his brothers as well as Stephanie, though Duke did his best to keep out of it. The youngest Wayne tried to challenge Tim and Bette for his place as Robin, but Dick and Bruce were able to get him to agree to training instead with the reminder that he was lacking the theatrical and teamwork skills that the Colony utilized and were mandatory as Robin.

Bruce didn’t mention that he wanted more reassurance the boy wouldn’t step over the line before ever letting him near the field.

Damian was not impressed when he discovered his father’s relationship with Selina Kyle and made it well known.

She thought it was adorable.

Damian would never admit that the kitten she gifted him was what calmed him. He simply didn’t see the point in wasting any energy on outwardly disliking the woman when his father clearly wouldn’t be changing his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Duke took Tim’s place as Robin, he made sure to keep his own contributions to the role quiet. Robin was a legacy while his meta abilities were not. Tim was not quite so subtle in his new role.

No one was sure where the name Corvid came from since the new bird didn’t speak in words, only trills. He wore an armored suit that was blue on the chest and arms and black on his sides with white detailing. His legs, hands, and feet were all black as well except for the blue splashes on the outside of his thighs. A white belt draped over his hips while black bandoliers crossed over his chest, a silver and black bird logo covering the cross. The bandoliers connected to his cowl, which was open at the top unlike the Bats’ which allowed his feather-like hair to fall down around his face. It was shoulder length and faded from black at the roots to blue at the tips, much like the wings that formed from his feathered cape.

They said he was a fallen star stolen away by the Colony. He soared soundlessly through the air on wings that never flapped, leaving behind a trail of blue light. He was more migratory than the others. Sometimes he flew above Batman and Robin, sometimes Batwoman and Red Hood, and sometimes Batgirl and Nightwing. A criminal could only hope they got the warning of seeing one of the others first or he’d have them in his talons hundreds of feet in the air before they even realized he was there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time passed. Damian grew closer to the rest of the Colony under Dick’s instruction.

Jason and Kate bonded with him over their more aggressive styles (to Bruce’s consternation) while helping him learn ways to calm his temper.

Despite their rough start and continuing antagonism, Damian grew to respect Tim’s quick mind as he tutored him in strategy and the Colony’s language.

He also developed a respect that had nothing to do with fear -- not at all -- for Barbara after she repaid an insult he gave her by sharing with the entire family a video of him fawning over some stray kittens in the park. He never discovered how she got the footage as he had made sure there were no cameras in the vicinity before acting in such an undignified fashion. (It was Dick. He pouted for weeks when he realized the cute video he took of his adorable baby brother was used for such purposes.)

A similar kind of respect grew for Harper as he quickly learned to be noticeable when approaching her. She had far too much experience with bats and birds sneaking around and far too little concern over jabbing them with a stun gun in revenge, whether they meant to scare her or not.

He was not afraid to admit he was scared of Cass once he realized who she was, though. He knew her skills and knew she could take him down in seconds if it came to it.

He was skeptical of both Stephanie and Bette, who he believed to be vapid, but Stephanie’s pranks were amusing when they weren’t directed at him and Bette introduced him to social media revolving around animal rights (and cute animal pictures).

Although he was rather dull, Cullen was by far the best person to be with while working on his newfound appreciation for drawing and painting, especially if the older boy was doing his own artwork for the webcomics he and Duke collaborated on.

While not being the most mentally or physically skilled, Duke was the most patient of the lot and could be trusted to keep his mouth shut so he was the one Damian went to when he needed assistance with homework (a rare occurrence, but the American schooling system was so different from his League tutors, to the point that sometimes they even seemed to contradict one another) or wanted to practice his Trillic.

Though he would never admit it out loud, Dick was Damian’s favorite of the lot. While he didn’t have Duke’s patience, he was just as considerate and confidential. When something happened, Dick was always willing to hear him out and talk him through it until he understood. Or at least was on the path to understanding. Dick did not share Jason’s anger, his father’s suspicion, Tim’s caution, or Duke’s anxiety. He had only sympathy. Damian knew his mother would consider Dick weak, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a year in Gotham came and went, Dick went to Duke and Bette. The three talked, eventually bringing in Harper as an idea began to blossom.

Robin had a sword. They said he got it from his shadow.

The only thing not pitch black on the Black Bat was the thin golden outline of the Bat’s symbol on their chest. Their face was featureless, not even possessing eyes like Batgirl. They never made a sound. If you saw Robin, then his shadow was behind you.

There was no time to run.

On the other hand, those who believed themselves safe during the day proved to be foolish.

Bright spirits had come to Gotham.

They wore metal armor and carried their wings on their chests. They came and went in flashes of light bright enough to stun.

Bluebird was their guide and donned armor of blue. Her voice echoed with the voices of lost souls and lightning danced across her form.

Lark was their prophet and donned armor of gold. He could see the past, present, and future and fought with the strength of ages past.

Hawkfire was their messenger and donned armor of red. She spoke with the voices of everyone she passed and her armor blazed with the heat of the sun.

Though they walked the day and seemed to be creatures of light, it was nothing but a trick. They were will-o'-wisps, false lights. They were birds.

The Colony had invaded the day.

With the three working together, Bette offered to turn Duke and Harper. The two accepted. Afterwards Harper sought out Cullen and Cass to offer them the same. She wasn’t surprised with Cass’s easy agreement, though Cullen’s was a little more shocking as he’d never shown any interest in the Colony’s nightlife. Quite the opposite, in fact. He simply shrugged and told her vampirism had nothing to do with the nightlife. It was just how their family worked.

He and Cass were greatly amused, but unsurprised when Harper, Bette, and Duke forgot to mention the latest turnings. They decided to keep their own mouths shut to see how long it would last, though he did confide in Alfred. Not that it was necessary as the man seemed to put it together himself the moment he saw Cullen.

It took three months for Bruce, Tim, and Barbara to figure it out for themselves, then an additional two for the rest to find out when Duke casually mentioned it during a family meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian blamed Tim when he found himself stuck in a room with Superman’s spawn Jonathan Kent while said superhero in disguise interviewed Damian’s father for the newspaper.

Clearly, Tim’s horrible curse had somehow rubbed off on Damian and the older boy would pay dearly once he returned home by way of Damian renaming all of Tim’s non-case related computer folders and creating a maze of invisible thread around his room.

At least the half-alien had good taste in video games. And his voice was nice enough that his incessant chatter was more like a soothing white noise than a nuisance. And Superman clearly would have trained Jon in discretion, even if not to Damian’s family’s standards.

For the record, the only reason Damian accepted Jon’s number was so that Dick would be so pleased Damian had finally acquired a friend that he wouldn’t allow the others to tease him over something that was clearly Tim’s fault to begin with. And when that plot fell through, he simply forgot to delete Jon’s number because he was busy expanding his revenge to include Jason and Stephanie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harper, as Black Bat, wore Cass's Orphan suit from Young Justice. I wanted something a little more lowkey from what she normally wears since she's not really supposed to be spotted.

Tim's suit got the most reworking because I like and dislike elements from all his Red Robin suits. The end result is one with the body armor from his Young Justice (TV) Robin suit, but with the New 52 wings paired with the bandoliers, logo, and cowl from the original Red Robin suit. Except I left the cowl open on top like the ones Kid Flash and Impulse use. From there you replace the red with blue and the yellow with white. I honestly wish I was better at drawing so that I could give a visual of what I'm going for here.

Cass's Black Bat suit is her Batgirl one, just with her belt black instead.

Haper, Bette, and Duke wear Signal's armor as Bluebird, Hawkfire, and Lark, just in blue, red, and gold instead of yellow. The bat logo is also replaced with their individualized bird logos.

Vampires’ animal forms:

Duke: Cape wild dog

Harper: Maned wolf

Cullen: Crab-eating fox

Cass: Northern bat

[warpedlegacy]

WIP Whenever

Because I’m bad at time. And keeping track of it. And completing things.  Okay so I am making progress on Reprisals Book Two, but the thing keeping more of my attention than I expected was my domestic series for post-Trespasser, While Time Remains. And I just wanted to share this scene with y’all: Cullen finally reuniting with his family (well, just Mia in this scene), and introducing them to his wife. I had to cut it down quite a bit to fit within the post limits of my ff server, so anyone from there, here is the full(er) version! (PS - “Cal” is the name I’ve given the mabari hound he adopts in Halamshiral during Trespasser. Yes, it’s short for Calenhad. Yes, Cullen is very predictably Fereldan.) Thanks for the tag @dreadfutures! I’m gonna wait on more tags since I’m late on this one lol.  South Reach is thoroughly rural Ferelden. Cullen takes in the vast fields, the scattered cottages, the humble mill churning its wheel, and thinks “home”. Despite the fact that this was not where he grew up. Despite the fact that he has never been here before. It all feels so achingly familiar that his heart swells. 

Inquiries in the market square lead them to the right house. It sits on the north side of a field of barley, hemmed in from behind by the coniferous forest and from the west by a run-off from the Drakon River. Very well-situated. Mia must have fought tooth and nail for a spot this choice. Cullen smiles thinking of this, then grimaces, knowing the reception waiting for him is like to be anything but peaceful. 

“They’ll be happy to see you.” Tess rides beside him, steady reassurance in her quiet strength. Subtle highlights in her dark hair catch the sunlight and remind Cullen of coals burned low in the hearth. Her bronze skin glows, but her eyes are dark and piercing as ever as she watches him. 

“Oh, I’m sure they will be,” he allows. “Eventually.” 

“After they finish lecturing you for not writing you mean?” 

“Partly…” Cullen rubs at the back of his neck. He’d been dreading this confession, but now there was no avoiding it. “And also for not telling them we’re coming.” 

Stunned silence follows, and he can’t bring himself to look in Tess’s direction. He doesn’t have to - he feels the growing aggravation about to boil over. 

“You didn’t tell them?” She sounds somehow incredulous and not at all surprised. “Do they even know we’re married?” 

More silence. 

“Cullen!” 

Her disapproval claps electric like one of her spells. He flinches, far too guilty to put up much of a fight. “I know, I should have told them. But with all that was going on there wasn’t time to write before our departure.” 

“What is Mia going to think of me…” 

“Of you?” Now Cullen glances her way, and sees his mistake. The anxiety is writ clear in her face - itself enough of an exception to be worrying - and her hand grips the reins fiercely as she purses her lips into a thin line. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry, love. It’s with me she’ll place the blame, I assure you. You’ve nothing to fear of her wrath.” 

He reaches across the space to grasp her… Right. He’s on her left side, not her right. She notices his hesitation and his heart wrenches as her face withdraws into despondency. His worry for her grows. She’s been like this since Halamshiral, and every effort on his part to assist her is met with stubborn denial and more withdrawal. She’s pulling away from him, and he doesn’t know how to stop it. 

“Tess…” 

“It’s fine.” She releases a harsh puff of air that fogs briefly in the morning chill. “There’s nothing for it now.”

They exchange no more words as they make the final approach to the cottage. It’s a modest log and thatch structure, longer than it is wide, roof rising high to accommodate a second floor. Smoke wafts up from a narrow chimney in the center.  The walls are plastered smooth, a gleaming white beacon amidst the crisp green and gold foliage. Laundry hangs across lines in the garden, which is separated by a low stone wall. 

The word “pristine” occurs to Cullen, and he smiles despite his worry. 

A figure toils in the garden with a hoe, and as they draw near Cullen nearly chokes, thinking he’s seeing his mother. But then she straightens and raises a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and he realizes it’s Mia. All grown up, unlike his memories of her. 

She’d only been fifteen when they last saw each other. 

She spies their approach and he hears her surprised gasp even from yards away. The hoe falls to the dirt, forgotten, and she hikes up her skirts to vault the garden wall and race toward them. Cal utters a low growl at the sudden approach, but Cullen dismounts to get him quickly to heel. 

“As I live and breathe…” Mia pants and slows her approach, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at a brother she’d thought thoroughly lost to her more times than she cares to count. 

Up close, her resemblance to their mother is even more striking. Wheat-blonde curls fall to her waist, fighting free of the scarf tying them back. Her sleeves are rolled up past the elbows, forearms bearing the strength and tone of long hours toiling under the sun. Her eyes, the same rich, whiskey brown. Her mouth curled up at the corners, a perpetually patient smile always at hand.

“Hello Mia.” Cullen straightens with his own far more awkward smile, releasing Cal to sniff experimentally at this familiar stranger. 

Mia takes it all in at a glance - Cullen’s height, his broad shoulders, his untamed curls so like her own, sideways grin so like their father’s - then her eyes drift toward a figure she recognizes only by description. Dark-eyed, wild-haired, fiercely stoic… and an unmistakable aura of legend. 

The Inquisitor. Theresa Trevelyan. Or, as Cullen has frequently slipped up in his letters, “Tess”. 

She dismounts with practiced grace, and that is when Mia notes the knot tied in her left sleeve, an arm that ends just above the elbow. But she sees the prideful lift of her chin and knows this woman wants no pity. 

“My Lady Inquisitor.” Mia nods and wipes her hands before offering her right to shake in greeting. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

“Likewise.” The Inquisitor takes her hand and dips her head. A surprisingly warm smile lights up her face, and Mia can see what drew Cullen so thoroughly into her orbit. “Though just Theresa will do.” 

Mia nods, accepting this instantly, before turning to Cullen with a much sterner expression. 

“You might’ve told me you were coming! Rosie’s gone to market in town, and Bran won’t be able to make it for at least a fortnight, what with the new baby!” 

Cullen accepts the scolding with good-natured exasperation, wearing an expression Theresa has seen many times whilst reading letters from his elder sister. A true matriarch, she somehow looms before the man despite being half a head shorter. Theresa understands a little better why he was always able to withstand Leliana’s and Josephine’s teasing with such fond patience. 

“I wanted to write, but there wasn’t time,” he tries to get in, but Mia is already verbalising all the new accommodations she will need to prepare. 

She barely stops to breathe even as she leads them and their mounts toward the cottage. There is a lean-to stable in the back where a plow horse is already housed, nibbling on fresh hay. A cat naps in the pile nearby, taking advantage of a patch of sunlight. 

When Cullen lets slip about the elopement, Mia launches into a fresh tirade. 

“But I told you I planned to propose!” he protests, receiving a gentle swat upside the head for the audacity. 

“Yes, but I foolishly assumed maybe you’d be holding off on the wedding until your family could be there!” Mia huffs.

“It’s not entirely his fault,” Theresa jumps in, looking fully guilty herself. “Circumstances were a bit… urgent. We didn’t want to wait.” 

That gives Mia pause, and she has to remind herself of how chaotic - and dangerous - their lives are compared to hers. At last, she lets herself smile, beaming from ear to ear as she reaches out and finally hugs her brother. 

“Welcome home, Cullen,” she says. 

He nearly crushes her as he returns the embrace. “It’s good to finally be back.” 

“And you, come here.” 

She draws Theresa in as well, but this embrace is more awkward as she seems not to know what to do with half an arm. New injury, must be. Mia makes her hug all the fiercer to make up for it. 

“My sister,” she declares, and plants a kiss on her cheek for good measure. “Welcome to the family.” 

Unexpectedly, tears well up in Theresa’s eyes and she cannot help the happy sob that escapes. It’s too much, this feeling of unquestioned acceptance. She’s never had this before - not so soon, so easily. She catches the glint of understanding in Cullen’s eyes before the tears make it impossible to see, and she reaches up to wipe them away. 

“Oh, you just let it all out my dear.” Mia looks from one to the other, belatedly realising how exhausted they both look, before nodding to herself. “You two finish stabling the horses. I’ll get your bed ready. There’ll be tea and stew waiting for you when you’re done.” 

And in a flurry of motion she’s gone, leaving Theresa to fall into Cullen’s waiting embrace until the shudders stop. 

[novamm66]

Red Sky in the Morning - Chapter 17 – Safe Harbour

Find the Red Sky Master Page Here.

And if you prefer AO3 that is Here.

—-

Kiaya gulped as she stood at the base of the stairs, waiting with Cassandra. She could hear the ebb and flow of the sounds of many people gathered in the lower courtyard.

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

The other woman snorted. “I think it might be. Just remember, slow and steady, don’t look at the people directly if it makes you uncomfortable, and don’t drop the sword.”

The last startled a laugh out of Kiaya, and her smile came a little bit easier. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for their cue, before Kiaya turned to Cassandra.

“I am really sorry about before. We should have told you. I should have told you before we left for Crestwood or when we got back. It was a mistake, I know. And I don’t want you to think I was siding with Varric.” Kiaya said, referring to the fight she had broken up earlier that day. “I just didn’t want you to kill him. I think you would have regretted it. Eventually.”

“I know,” Cassandra sighed. “I just wish…” her face was wistful for a moment before hardening, “It doesn’t matter. It is done.”

Kiaya couldn’t resist hugging her. “Just try not to hate him forever. I really need you both.” Kiaya said.

Cass chuckled. “I promise not to kill him, at least not right away.”

Kiaya laughed, “That works.” The two women pulled apart as they both saw Leliana motion to them from the landing. Kiaya felt her stomach heave as her nerves reasserted themselves.

“Tell me you have a bucket stashed somewhere close.”

Cassandra looked at her with concern. “Don’t be sick over the wall.”

“I’m kidding.” Kiaya managed a weak smile as Cassandra started leading the way up the stairs. Kiaya following a few steps behind. “Mostly.”

—-

“Kiaya?” Evelyn’s voice echoed up the stairs to Kiaya’s room.

“I’m here, Evie,” Kiaya called from where she sat, scrubbing at a spot of the rug.

Evelyn started speaking just as she reached the top of the stairs. “We need to… Why are you doing that?”

Kiaya grinned over her shoulder at her sister, but before she could answer, Cole beat her to it.

“Trying to fit the mould of what they need me to be. Nothing feels real.” Cole said, running his fingers down Shi’s back. He was sitting on the couch with the cat in his lap, their identical expressions of curiosity and innocence making Kiaya laugh.

“Not what I would have said, but not wrong. Shi was sick on the rug, he’s my cat, I’m cleaning it up.” Kiaya rinsed out the brush in the bucket next to her before picking up a rag and resuming her scrubbing.

“Nothing is more real than that,” Evelyn laughed, crossing the room and started to shuffle through the papers on the desk.

Kiaya climbed to her feet, picked up the bucket, and headed to the balcony to dump it. “Was there something you needed?” She asked as she came back in.

“Alone would be- Maker’s Breath!” Evelyn was staring at the empty couch. Both Cole and the cat were gone.

“You get used to that.” Kiaya smiled fondly at the vacant space. “You may commence your scolding.” Kiaya said as she put the cleaning gear away.

“What makes you think I am going to scold you?” Evelyn was trying to look stern but Kiaya could see the smile fighting to get through.

“You have that, Kiaya-is-being-an-idiot tone of voice.” Kiaya flopped down on the couch.

“Well, you are.” Evelyn crossed the room and sat down beside Kiaya. “You want to be coy and aloof about yourself, fine. But it’s dangerous and stupid. Why haven’t you told anyone about the extent of your injuries?” Evelyn grabbed Kiaya’s hand, worry clear on her face. “You haven’t been doing the therapy that would help you. Why are you hurting yourself?”

“Feel better?” Kiaya asked when Evelyn stopped.

“Not until I get answers.” Evelyn frowned at her.

Kiaya sighed, “I woke up in chains, in a cell, with no idea how I got there or why, and your name was the only one they had for me. The only reason I wasn’t executed on the spot was this fucking thing.” Kiaya dug her fingertips into the palm of her left hand as she held it out. “I was, I am, living on borrowed time. After everything that has happened,” Kiaya shuddered, “The Inquisition needed someone better. They needed someone who is not me.”

“That’s shit and you know it,” Evelyn stated. Kiaya looked at her in surprise. Evelyn rarely swore. “They need someone human, who thinks of others before they think of themselves, and for that you are perfect.” Evelyn’s face softened as she wrapped her arms around Kiaya’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t isolate yourself. It leads to bad places, remember? You need people, and there is no shame in that. Your friends here have fought beside you, bled with you. Why can’t you be honest with them?”

“The truth hasn’t always served me well in the past, and I’m just…”

“Scared.” Evelyn finished for her.

“Yes, I am scared,” Kiaya groaned. “I couldn’t bear seeing pity on their faces. Or worse.”

“This is not the same as the Circle, and no one is going to treat you like that again as long as I draw breath. You cannot survive this alone. You need to trust people. I think you should start with that gorgeous Commander of yours.” Evelyn suggested.

“He’s not my Commander,” Kiaya replied, rolling her eyes at her sister as her face warmed.

“The way he looks at you all gooey-eyed, he is yours. You have been in his office every night for the last two weeks. Just tell him already.” Evelyn poked Kiaya in the side.

“I am there getting help with writing reports. You know that, Evelyn. ‘My mother abandoned me like a stray dog and my father tried to kill me like one’ tends to be a bit difficult to work into Inquisition business, and it tends to dampen any pleasant conversation.”

“You are being an idiot. There, now I do feel better,” Evelyn said as she stood and crossed the room to Kiaya’s wardrobe while Kiaya laughed.

Evelyn began putting away Kiaya’s laundry as she continued. “Lyra will be here shortly with food and then I am teaching, her, Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian the exercises you need, so whether you are here or out there running around, you will be doing them.”

“Why not Sera too? She will get the most joy out of folding me into knots and making me squirm,” Kiaya said dryly.

“Good idea.” Evelyn laughed and Kiaya groaned.

“After that, you are going to stop being silly and tell Commander Cullen how you feel. You are leaving in two days and you won’t get another chance for ages.”

Kiaya watched her sister pulling out clothes. Tears pricked at her eyes. Evelyn always took care of her; she took care of everyone. Her tone brought back memories of a ten-year-old scolding her for tracking dirt on the library rug. “I am so happy you are here, Evie. I am so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

“Stop that,” Evelyn said, pausing with hands on her hips to glare at Kiaya. “I started all this when I asked you to go to the Conclave for me and besides, the Trevelyan name has never done you any good before. I am going to make damn sure it does now.” Her voice and stance softened. “You are not alone in this. Now, get changed into something loose. We don’t have a lot of time.”

—-

Kiaya couldn’t concentrate. The letters on the parchment were dancing in front of her eyes and she couldn’t pin them down properly.

It had been a long afternoon. Dorian had brought wine, and her friend’s jokes and teasing had made the afternoon fun, but Evelyn had been thorough in showing everyone what needed to be done and it had left Kiaya in a lot of pain. Which was really her own fault. Kiaya’s months of neglect had resulted in very stiff joints, and the muscles in her legs and back were unbalanced. She had barely been able to walk by the time she arrived at Cullen’s office.

Also, she kept changing her mind about confessing her feelings to Cullen or not. Every time she made her decision another reason, for or against, would come to her and she was plunged back into doubt again.

“Kiaya, are you alright?”

Kiaya jumped. Cullen was looking at her with a half-smile and a tenderness in his eyes that always made her heart beat faster.

“I’m fine.” Kiaya croaked, her throat feeling dry.

“You just seem a bit distracted.” Cullen’s eyes flicked down to the parchment in front of her. Kiaya followed suit and discovered that she had dripped ink all over the page. It was beyond saving.

“Crap,” Kiaya groaned, looking up sheepishly. “I guess I am having trouble focusing.”

“Then we have done enough for this evening.” Cullen stretched his shoulders, rubbing his neck.

“This from the man who never stops working before midnight,” Kiaya said, glancing at the pearly light of evening outside the window. “I will pretend I believe you.” She looked back to the document in front of her and sighed, “I guess this one is kindling.” Crumpling it up into a ball, she tossed it into the wood box next to the fire.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Cullen said, “If you are able.” Concern appeared on his face; he had commented on her noticeable limp when she had arrived.

Kiaya smiled and nodded. “Moving might actually be better right now. It might help with the stiffness.”

“Evelyn was quite upset this afternoon. I take it she was hard on you?” Cullen asked as he put away what he was working on.

“I got an ear full, that’s for sure. As for how sore I am, that’s really my own fault. If I had been doing what I should have I wouldn’t hurt so damn much now.” Kiaya couldn’t stop the small groan as she stood.

Cullen held the door open for her. “Well, I’m not in a position to judge, so you will not hear a scolding from me.”

—-

The walk was Cullen’s idea but he was having trouble thinking of anything to say. Kiaya had fallen silent again. They had stopped along the back wall of the keep, and Kiaya was leaning against it, staring at the horizon with unfocused eyes.

The light played up the rich red and gold of her hair. Waves and curls had escaped the knot she had bound it in and they drifted around her face on the gentle breeze. Her eyes shone with soft grey light and she was absolutely... 

“Beautiful.”

Kiaya turned to face him, the grey of her eyes shifting to blue as she moved.

“I, the sunset and view.” Cullen stammered. “It’s beautiful.”

Kiaya nodded as she looked back to the horizon. She seemed about to say something, but instead she shook her head and sighed instead.

“What is bothering you Kiaya? Maybe I could help.” Instinctively, Cullen reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.

Her eyes closed and she tilted her head into his fingers. Before Cullen could even register his surprise Kiaya spoke.

“I can’t decide whether my caring so much for you is a good or bad idea.”

Cullen froze, his hand still gently touching her face. His heart suddenly wanted to fly. Then Kiaya seemed to realize what she had said and she stiffened, her face the picture of surprise before she covered it with her hands.

—-

Kiaya was mortified. She had been so wrapped up in her own head, the moment he had touched her everything else had disappeared. When he asked, she answered without a thought, distracted by the warmth of his hand on her face and the care and concern in his voice. In all the scenarios she had imagined, both good and bad, none of them started with her blurting her feelings out like a ninny.

Kiaya felt Cullen’s hands circle her wrists. “Kiaya, look at me.” Cullen’s voice was gentle but firm. “Please.”

It took her a moment before she let him pull her hands away from her face and she opened her eyes. He had moved closer, and she had to look up to see his face. When their eyes met, her racing heart stopped dead in its tracks.

Cullen’s golden eyes were on fire. “Do you mean it? You care for me?” He asked.

Kiaya nodded, and he kissed her.

Kiaya’s eyes closed and her hands fisted into his shirt as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He tasted like honey and rainwater, mixed with the scent of leather and metal that always clung to him. It had Kiaya intoxicated instantly.

Their kiss lasted forever and it ended far too soon. Kiaya’s heels hit the ground with a thump, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath.

“I take it that you think it’s a good idea?” Kiaya smiled.

“A very good idea.” The two melted together again, kissing softly as sunset gold surrounded them. It was perfect.

—-

Cullen was more content then he had thought possible. Kiaya’s confession that her feelings matched his own had given him the courage to act, and he had done what he had been dreaming of longer then he would care to admit.

They had stayed on the battlements until the stars came out, but when Cullen felt Kiaya shiver he insisted they return to his office. Once they were safely shut away, they curled up on the couch with idle conversation between stolen kisses, gradually settling into a comfortable silence. Kiaya was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. The gentle movement of her fingers stroking his was the only indication she was awake.

Cullen tenderly kissed her hair, inhaling the delicate scent of her, and she hummed quietly.

“Kiaya, how did you get hurt?” Cullen softly asked the question foremost in his mind.

Cullen felt Kiaya tense beneath his arm, her fingers stilling before they resumed their slow pattern. He was relieved that she didn’t pull away; in fact, she curled more tightly into his side.

“I was about fourteen, fifteen when my Grams told me how they found me. She gave me the Ostwick Chantry emblem with ‘Kiaya’ scratched on the back, and they agreed to my request to go there. The chantry had the record of my birth with my approximate age and the names of my parents. It listed my father as Lord Trevelyan. I decided I wanted to know more, but Papa was dead set against it. We had an awful row and I, as an almost adult, thought I knew better. I packed up and left.”

Kiaya paused. Cullen could tell this wasn’t easy for her to talk about. Her sentences were clipped, and she was speaking very quickly. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, waiting for her to continue.

“I travelled to the Trevelyan estate outside of Ostwick only to discover the family wasn’t there. So, I talked my way into a job in their kitchen, which didn’t go well because I can’t cook, and waited for their return. By the time they did, I had heard enough of the household gossip to convince me that I did not want to tell the Lord who I was. I was simply biding my time until the Raven came back to Ostwick and I could run home. Then I met Evelyn.”

Kiaya’s voice warmed as she spoke of her sister. “She was smart for a ten-year-old, and she knew we were blood the moment she laid eyes on me. She was so lonely after her mother died. Her father and brother were, are, nasty pieces of shit. She was thrilled to have a sister, and we agreed to keep my presence to ourselves. I was kitchen staff, and no one looked at me twice, so it wasn’t hard. I was there when Evelyn’s magic presented, and I was able to help her control and hide it, and she was teaching me to read and write. It was fun, like a game, sneaking around to spend time together at night.”

Cullen felt a shudder go through her, but before he could speak Kiaya continued.

“Until the night he caught us. There was a party and he was drunk, and I guess he wanted to show off his collection of books he never read. He caught us practicing magic. He was angry that I had ‘turned’ his daughter into a mage. Evelyn defended me and told him everything, which only threw him into a rage. He hit her and I attacked him, and Evelyn lost control.”

Kiaya sighed. “The last thing I remember is casting a barrier that barely protected all of us from the explosion and I was thrown out a window. Whether that was the cause of my injury or the beating Lord Trevelyan laid on me after he found me unconscious on the ground, I don’t know. Ultimately, I was lucky that Malcolm was attending the party with his family, who were neighbours of the Trevelyans. He pulled Lord Trevelyan off me, then, since both Evelyn and I were discovered as mages, he brought us to the Circle. Lydia was the head healer, and she saved my life. But there was too much damage, and it took me six years and some desperate measures to walk normally again.”

The crackle and snap of the fire filled the room. Cullen’s mind was a storm of thoughts and feelings as he processed everything she had said. No wonder she struggled to trust anyone. He was angry on her behalf, but there was nothing to be done about anything now.

Kiaya shifted and sat up, her eyes filled with worry as she scanned his face. “Was that too much? Should I have gone with the short version?” Her tone was light but forced, the crease between her brows betraying her concern.

Cullen reached out to stroke the side of her face. “Not at all. I’m touched that you told me, but out of curiosity, what is the short version?”

“Bad shit happened, and I got hurt,” Kiaya said, her brow smoothing and the sparkle of laughter appearing in her eyes.

Cullen laughed, “Well, that is certainly shorter.”

Kiaya grinned as she curled back against him with a sigh of contentment. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Cullen asked kissing the top of her head again.

“For listening. For not feeling sorry for me or thinking less of me, or at least not outwardly.”

Cullen shifted and tilted her face up to his. “You have only increased my admiration for you. You are strong and amazing, and I will always listen to anything you wish to tell me.”

Kiaya kissed him, and for a time, words became unnecessary.

—-

I am furiously blushing right now. This one was a hard one for me to write. It’s my first kiss scene so I hope you enjoyed it.

(Thank you so much @kagetsukai for the advice I hope I embraced the awkward well.)

Comments, Likes and Reblogs would make me giddy.

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter 1

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo MASTERPOST

A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

CHAPTER ONE - Elsie

The day the Ostwick Circle fell was one that firmed up the mage rebellion. Known throughout Thedas as one of the more ‘sedate’ circles, Ostwick was known for generally good relations between mages and templars. Perhaps because the circle was rather inbred with many noble families having sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, cousins and the like as both mages and templars within the walls. My time there was much the same - my sister was a templar along with an uncle on my mother’s side and I believe I had a few distant cousins scattered around too. I, like my fellow mages, was studious, well-behaved and cherished the circle as a place of learning and wisdom, and a refuge from my life before my magic quickened. It was not a place of confinement or punishment in my experience, and dare I say it, many who resided in the Ostwick Circle probably felt the same. Although we had little choice, I would say that most of us did want to be there and have fond memories of our lives behind its walls - until the circle fell, of course.

- Extract from ‘Torn Asunder’, the memoirs of Inquisitor Elsie Trevelyan

1. Elsie

When she woke up, she didn’t know where she was. Her eyes opened slowly and she reached out in the dark. Her fingers found silk sheets and warm blankets and she gazed up at a canopy above her; the Trevelyan family crest delicately weaved with gold thread in intricate patterns around stitched ivy and foliage.

Elsie Trevelyan sat up in the large four-poster bed and realised that she was in her old room, from when she used to live in this house. It hadn’t changed much since she had left almost fifteen years ago - her doll’s house sat in the corner; one of the books she must’ve been reading still lay open on a chaise by one of the large windows overlooking the formal gardens. To the unassuming eye, one might’ve thought that someone had died, the way nothing had been touched. But Elsie bitterly thought that leaving it thus had probably made things easier for her parents to pretend that their eldest daughter and heir had died, to escape the truth that she had been sent to the Circle. A soft knock on the chamber door pulled her out of her thoughts. She sat up in bed and croaked out an ‘enter’, her voice still husky from sleep.  

The woman who walked in was taller than Elsie by a head and carried herself with elegance and grace, despite her height. Dark hair fell in tight ringlets down her back and her scarlet dress flowed around her as she strode over to Elsie’s windows and pulled the curtains back.

Elsie blinked rapidly at the sudden light but the woman ignored her discomfort and came to stand on the other side of the bed. “You can’t stay in here all day, you know,” she said in her clipped voice; her perfectly shaped eyebrows raised. “It’s almost noon.” Elsie shook her head. “You know me Etta - I’ve never been a morning person.” Her sister, Lucetta crossed her arms and despite her perfect appearance and her feigned annoyance she couldn’t help but smile, and Elsie offered the same in return She sat down on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirts out. “I didn’t even know you were coming,” she said, reaching to take Elsie’s hand. They had been close sisters once, with all but a year between them in age, and Lucetta’s sudden familiarity surprised Elsie, but she did not pull her hand away. “I arrived in the early hours, before dawn,'' she replied, offering her sister a sympathetic smile. “It’s become a habit, moving under the cover of darkness as a fugitive.” Her face darkened. “Even though you’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. Elsie shrugged. “According to the Chantry, all mages are now apostates. I do what I must to survive.”

Lucetta’s shoulders sagged. “I know that. Look, Evie will be arriving this afternoon... will things be alright?” she asked tentatively. Ah yes, Evie, their younger sister. Elsie nodded slowly. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I swear.” Lucetta squeezed Elsie’s hand. “Thank you. You know it means so much to us all if you two get along.” “We always used to, before I went to the Circle,” Elsie reminded her. “The four of us were all so close.” “I remember,” she said softly, getting up to stand by the window. “It seems only last week that I was sobbing in mother’s arms when you were taken away. And it feels like yesterday when Evie left to join the Templars.” There was a pause before Elsie said softly, “You know it wasn’t my choice to leave.” Lucetta nodded, her ringlets bouncing. “I know. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if you hadn’t been sent to the Circle, and stayed as heir apparent?” Elsie looked away. As the eldest of all of Bann Trevelyan’s children, she was always set to inherit. Indeed, all of her childhood had drilled that undisputed fact into her head. No expense was spared - she learnt to fight with training swords, speak eloquently and had even sat in on meetings their father had with visiting nobility, so she could learn Ostwick politics. It wasn’t fun in the slightest, but Elsie honestly thought at the time that it was where the Maker wanted her. So she was studious and complied. And was rather good at it. But then her magic had quickened, on the same day as her first moon’s blood. Elsie remembered running to the training yard, battling a straw dummy with her blunt sword, when she accidentally set the dummy on fire. By the end of the next day, she was in the Circle. “The Maker works in strange ways,” Elsie said eventually, looking back at her tall sister. Upon Elsie’s leaving, Lucetta had assumed the role as heir, and taken to the position in a better way than any of them ever could have imagined. She looked more like their father with her long face so there was no doubt who her predecessor was.

Lucetta smiled. “Indeed He does.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Come now; lunch will be served shortly and Cecelia is dying to see you.” Elsie grinned at the prospect of seeing their youngest sister, who she absolutely doted upon, as did all of them. As Lucetta left, Elsie stretched luxuriously: she couldn’t remember the last time she woke up in a feather bed - not since before the war broke out, anyway. And the ones in the Circle were nowhere near as comfortable. Reluctantly she pulled herself out of bed. Her bare feet relished the softness of the thick Antivan rugs as she headed over to the privy, warming the pitcher of water with a touch of her hand, barely using a wisp of magic. She splashed it over her face and neck before dabbing her skin dry with a soft cloth that smelt faintly of lavender. Before the looking glass, a woman peered back at her who she hardly recognised - it had been many months since she had seen her appearance, with personal vanities a luxury of the past. Misty grey eyes stare back; ones that look older than their twenty seven years. Her tanned skin and chestnut hair had seen better days - her cheeks which were once full and rosy were now gaunt and her long hair was flat and lifeless, when it used to be soft and voluptuous. On her right cheek, she traced the burn scar with a finger, but it was numb under her touch. An ugly thing, to be sure, but she was grateful her injury from the war was nothing worse. When she stepped back into my chamber, the bed had been made and a fire recently lit. On the bed was a dark green dress, cut in the Ostwick style with a low curved neckline and long light skirts. She hesitated before running the material lightly through her fingers, the fabric so light it slid like water. A dress for a lady to wear, not an apostate, disowned by her family. Elsie turned away and spotted her pack in the corner of the room. Within moments she had found her old robes from the Circle - the faded red and gold of an Enchanter’s robe. It had seen better days and was rough around the edges, but after fifteen years of being informed that she was not Lady Trevelyan anymore, why should that change? Indeed, before the Circles fell, she had begun to carve her life out at the Circle as a teacher. Perhaps she could’ve become the First Enchanter... Elsie shook her head; there was little point thinking on what could have been. Everything changed in Kirkwall, and despite being the neighbouring Circle, it took a long time for the chaos to reach them. So she pushed aside all remorse, smoothed down her robes and pulled her long hair back into a simple ponytail. The corridors and hallways of the house were a maze, and she could only just about remember how to find the drawing room. Her route took her through the entrance hall, where on the landing by the large sweeping staircase, sat a gigantic painting. She paused and looked up, to see her family looking back at her, including a younger, prepubescent Elsie. She stood next to her father, his hand resting on their mother’s shoulder who sat on a stool, her long skirts smoothed neatly. At her feet sat her youngest sister Cecelia, who at the time of this painting was around three years old. This had been painted just weeks before Elsie’s magic had revealed itself. As far as she was aware when she stood for this painting, in her sweet periwinkle blue dress and her dirty boots, she was her parent’s heir and most prized child. Standing on the other side of her in the painting was her younger sister Evie, whose cropped hair and breeches made her look more like a boy than the daughter of a noble. Her eyes shifted to Lucetta who stood looking the most regal of all the Trevelyan sisters, in her dark emerald gown, looking as noble as their mother, but with the features of father.

“The happy family,” a deep voice behind Elsie said dryly. She glanced over her shoulder and then whipped her head around in disbelief.

“Henry?!”

A tall man with dark wavy hair brushing his shoulders stood looking up at the portrait with a grin on his face. Elsie threw her arms around his neck and he lifted her up, hugging her like he used to when they were children.

Finally he set her down chuckling and she stared at him, feeling a massive smile on her face - the first genuine one in a long time.

“What in the world are you doing here? I thought you were in Antiva?”

He shrugged his shoulders - an action that was just so characteristically Henry. “Hey, I may not be a favoured family member, but I’m still a member of this family, I think. Bann Trevelyan wanted everyone here.”

“Well I’m glad you’re here,” she grinned, elbowing him, but he was looking up at the painting again. After a moment she said “I still can’t believe you weren’t included in this portrait.”

“Lady Trevelyan would rather pretend I don’t exist, and, for most of the time, I’m content with that.” He shrugged again, brushing it off. “I’m pretty sure these official portraits are meant to show the family at their best, not their worst.”

“You’re not the worst by any means,” she shook her head. “Besides, if there was to be another portrait done today, I wouldn’t be included.”

“The mage and the bastard - what a scandal,” Henry took her hand and looped it into the crook of his elbow, and they walked slowly down the hall together. “Anyway, what’s it like being lawless, living on the run? Not knowing where your next meal is coming from?”

“Hmm, yes because you’re a complete stranger to that lifestyle choice,” she chuckled.

“Alright - in all seriousness, you know what I mean.”

“You? Serious? Henry, I don’t think I know you anymore. Antiva has changed you,” she said in mock disgust, wrinkling her nose for effect.

He threw his head back and laughed, his voice echoed down the corridor. “Indeed it has. But I have missed you, little sister.”

They walked down hallways and corridors until more voices could be heard. Elsie gently removed her hand from Henry’s arm as they approached the drawing room. An elven servant stood ready to open the door and announce them. Henry and Elsie exchanged a glance before the doors opened for them to enter.

“Announcing Enchanter Elsie Trevelyan of the Ostwick Circle of Magi and Henry FitzLeland Trevelyan.”

They stepped in together and the room fell silent. Large thin windows overlooked the gardens and immaculate Orlesian and Marcher items furnished the room. There were several sofas, chaises and armchairs positioned by the fireplace where the rest of her family were gathered. Not since before Elsie was sent to the Circle have so many Trevelyans been in one room. Half of them she didn’t recognise, but most wore Chantry robes. There were a few cousins, aunts and uncles, but she didn’t know their names - indeed, they probably only know her as the mage who lived in the Circle, and Henry as the troublesome bastard.

Elsie spotted Lucetta perched on the edge of a sofa, and made her way over to her, hoping to just slip into the group. But she didn't go unnoticed, when her youngest sister Cecilia bounced up to her and almost knocked Elsie over with a hug. “El! You’re here!” She squealed, squeezing her tightly.  Elsie hugs her in return, feeling a room full of eyes upon them. “And Henry!” Cecelia gave him a brief hug too, her bright smile lighting the room.

But Cecelia was oblivious to any discomfort and took a step back, holding Elsie’s arms and looked up at her, as if memorising her face. Elsie did the same in return and for the first time in almost four years, looked down at her youngest sibling who was barely eighteen and already a Chantry Sister. The white and red robes suited her complexion and her light brown hair was tucked neatly under her hood. Elsie reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair away, feeling a warmth spread in her heart to have two of her sisters and her brother in the same room once more. It was fair to say that they all had a soft spot for Cecelia with her contagious and bubbly personality. She had obviously meant to do Andraste’s work in the Chantry for she shared the Holy Lady’s mantra with a kind and gentle heart as any could ask for. “We’ve all missed you so much!” She continued, holding Elsie’s hand and leading her over to the sofa where Lucetta was perched. But her chest thudded almost painfully when she saw her mother in the armchair next to Lucetta, sipping tea through her thinly drawn lips. Without a doubt Elsie had been her favourite. Lady Bette Trevelyan had high hopes for her and the family until her magic appeared. Indeed, she was pretty sure it is because of Bette Trevelyan that Elsie’s  room remained the way it was. Although she was her mother, there was no doubt that she still resented Elsie for the little scandal her magic caused - the eldest child and heir to the Trevelyan estate, a mage? Her dear mother had never been so humiliated, even when the existence of Henry was made public. Elsie inclined her head. “My lady mother,” she said politely, remembering protocol she had not practiced for many years. Whenever she was allowed a short visit home, her mother was hardly ever around to see her, let alone talk to her. Always had another party or soiree to attend. “Enchanter Trevelyan,” Bette Trevelyan replied stiffly, placing emphasis on her title and looking at her dirty robes. “‘Enchanter’ of what now, I wonder?” “Mother, please…” Cecelia begged quietly and Lucetta looked away. Elsie placed a hand on her hip. “It’s alright Cece - if our lady mother has something to say, I would like to hear it.” Her chest thudded at her boldness, and the room around them hushed. Bette Trevelyan stood gracefully, teacup and saucer still in hand. “It is shameful how far the lowest of the Maker’s children have fallen, and now this - to think they could fall any lower.” Elsie visibly bristled, and clasped her hands before her to stop them shaking. “Yes, thank you mother. Lest we forget that I am one of your daughters.” “Something I pray for guidance on each and every single day,” she retorted. “The Maker-” Cecelia began but a warning look from Bette Trevelyan silenced her. Indeed, it was a look that could silence a Blight, if she so willed it. “To think,” her mother continued, “that those who are cursed with magic, who have been given good and kind shelter by the honest and faithful, dare rise up against their so-called ‘injustice’. You have no idea how fortunate you were, how lucky that you’re all not killed or instantly made Tranquil.” It was like a kick in the ribs for Elsie to hear her  own mother speak so forthright about who she was - what she was. She took a steadying breath. “Magic exists to serve…” she began, with a few agreeable nods around the room from family members. “This is not serving!” She exclaimed and Elsie stared. Never had she seen her mother - the woman who is always so composed, eloquent and careful with her words - so unhinged. “That’s quite enough,” a deep voice cut through. They all turned to see Elsie’s father Bann Leland Trevelyan in the doorway, a younger woman at his side in full Templar armour. It took Elsie a few moments to recognise that the woman was her other sister, Evie. Elsie and Evie looked at each other from across the room, as if sizing one another up. Evie had cropped dark hair and a slight limp when she walked into the room. She also had a huge scar from her left brow, down to her cheek, which narrowly avoided her eye. They hadn’t seen one another since Ostwick fell almost eight months prior. Elsie looked at Evie uncertainty as her templar sister walked into the room with their father, who ushered the rest of the family out, so - for the first time almost fifteen years - it was the immediate Trevelyan family only. Bann Trevelyan, his wife and the four Trevelyan daughters. Even Henry was shown out, although Elsie dearly wished he could’ve stayed: mages were bastards in their parents eyes. Great Aunt Lucille lingered by the doorway, but with a polite nod from her nephew their father, the socialite aunt reluctantly took her leave also. The servants left the room also, closing the door behind them, and silence enveloped them. Their mother was the first to move, striding across the room to fold Evie into her arms. Evie barely returned the embrace, her eyes were still fixed solely on Elsie. When they broke apart, the rest of the family looked between Elsie and Evie, and it seemed as if they were collectively holding their breath. After a moment, Cecelia was finally the one to break the silence by hugging Evie just as tightly she did Elsie and Henry. ‘I’ve missed you so much! Look, Elsie is here too!” “Yes, I can see that,” Evie said quietly. Elsie took a step forward, wringing her hands together. “How have you been?” she asked softly. Evie pointed to her scar. “Could be better, but could’ve been worse,” she replied. Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Despite the circumstances, Elsie felt the corners of her mouth twitch as she pointed to her own scar. “Same here.” Before either of them could say another word, their father cleared his throat and ushered us to the table at the centre of the room. They each took a seat and Elsie  carefully positioned herself next to her father and away from her mother. Lucetta sat on the other side of Elsie, folding her hands in her lap, her chin held high. It was more like a business meeting, not a catch up of family members. An elven servant entered with a tray of Antivan coffee and served us in silence. Elsie couldn’t help but watch how his hands trembled as he served their mother. She felt uncomfortable and shifted in her seat - Elsie had forgotten how the elves are second-class citizens and alienated in upper society. In the Circle, race and gender hadn’t mattered, and all were equal and judged purely on skill and talent. She couldn't help but think of her friends who were elves in the Circle. She wondered where they were now. But Bann Trevelan interrupted her musings before she could dwell further. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, let’s get straight to the point,” he said, clasping his hands together. It had been a long time since Elsie had seen her father in a meeting situation like this - not since before her magic appeared - and she’d forgotten how easily Bann Trevelyan could command a room. He had their undivided attention, although Elsie did find her mind wondering when she saw that his once auburn hair was now thinning and silver at the temples. Her father was aging well, but without a doubt, he was aging. And that fact made Elsie feel a little nostalgic from her life before the Circle. Despite not being part of one now, that life she had before could never come back - Lucetta had that privilege now. ‘We are in a unique position,” Leland was saying, and held up a letter. “I’ve received a message from the Divine, requesting our presence as she holds a conclave to end the war.” Evie and Elsie looked at each other across the table. “Are the mages willing to listen?” Evie says. Elsie bit her tongue and held off a retort and instead looked to Bann Trevelyan for an answer. “Both Grand Enchanter Fiona and Lord Seeker Lucius are requested to attend,” he said carefully, spreading his hands. Elsie cleared her throat. “I’ve already received word that a great number of mages will be attending,” she said, thinking of my contacts in the apostasy underworld. Who knew two years ago that I would know such people? She thought. Lady Bette Trevelyan narrowed her eyes. “Is that so?” she sniffed, taking a sip of coffee through pursed lips. “Bette,” Leland Trevelyan said quietly. She nodded and remained silent, but glared at Elsie over the rim of her cup. “So we need to decide who will attend on behalf of the Trevelyan family?” Lucetta confirmed. Bann Trevelyan nodded. “I believe that I should attend but my duties and my... health keep me here.” Elsie shota glance at Lucetta but she shook her head. Their father’s health? A question for another time, Elsie thought. “It’s a long way to where the Divine wants to hold the Conclave.” Lucetta glanced over the letter. “Haven? Where is that?” “It’s a remote village in Ferelden, in the Frostback mountains,” Leland replied. “The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Cecelia said in an awed whisper. “That’s the village near the temple that was rediscovered during the Fifth Blight by the Hero of Ferelden.” “Ferelden is an awfully long way,” their mother sniffed. “But we must bid to Most Holy’s calling...” “I will attend,” Lucetta said, but Leland shook his head. “No, I need you here to help run the estate, as you well know.” “But father-” “Perhaps Lucetta should go, as she’s the heir?” Bette chipped in, but they all started talking over each other. Elsie watched them disagree and sargue, with even Cecelia saying her piece. Finally Elsie stood but was ignored. She waited another moment before summoning a small but powerful ball of fire into the palm of her hand. The crackling and heat of the flames halted their discussion immediately and they all looked at her, startled. “Let’s not forget what I am,” she said evenly. “Nor what this war is about. The solution is simple - before the Circle fell I was a respected teacher to apprentices and I wished for no part in the rebellion… but I won’t deny that after being on the run I am sympathetic to their cause.” She took a breath and extinguished the ball in her palm. “Evie is also a Templar, who, I believe is also respected within the Order, or what’s left of it. And we are sisters from a noble house - we must attend together.” “And show a united front - of course. Elsie, you’re brilliant,” Leland beamed. Evie looked at Elsie warily. “I see your point, but we’re not exactly best friends, are we?” she said cooly. We were once, she thought and tried to ignore the wrench in her gut at the thought. They had been so close - Evie becoming a Templar was mainly so they could stay close to one another. “It hardly matters now,” she said, more to herself than to anyone. “We need to be on the same level when at the Conclave to help with the talks. Perhaps that’s the best way we can find a solution... or a compromise at least.” “You’re right Elsie, of course you are. And Evie, are you willing?” Their father asked. They all looked over at her but she stared down at her cup of coffee which she hadn’t touched. “The Order is not what it was when I joined,” she said finally. “I daresay that I agree with Enchan- Elsie.” She said, meeting her gaze. “I suppose we should travel together?” To their surprise, Elsie shook her head before anyone could answer. “No, we should go separately by meeting at the Conclave, perhaps a day or two apart from one another. That way I can arrive with some of my contacts who will never know of the conversation that’s transpired here - the same for you too.” Evie nodded. “That makes sense.” “We also wouldn’t want to anger anyone by thinking that you’re my guard and I your prisoner.” “Oh come now, it was never that bad,” their mother interjected, rolling her eyes. “You were lucky to be in a place of study, to atone for your Maker-given sin in a safe environment provided by the diligent and brave Templars” Anger licks Elsie’s stomach and she glared at Bette across the table. “That’s rich, considering you’ve never stepped foot within a circle”, she retorted. “Not this again...” Lucetta mumbled. But Elsie ignored her and both Elsie and Bette opened their mouths but Cecelia stood, knocking the table and making all the cups clatter. “Stop it, both of you!” She exclaimed. Elsie looked away, ashamed to see the tears welled in the corner of her eyes. “For the first time we’re all together - can we not just get along for once?” “You’re absolutely right Cece,” Elsie said, sitting back down. “But I shan’t apologise for speaking truths.” “Alright now that’s enough,” Bann Trevelyan said in a tired voice. “Cecelia, you’ll be accompanying your sisters to the Conclave - Divine Justinia has requested your presence by name.” Lady Bette Trevelyan’s anger disappeared instantly as she clapped her gloved hands in delight. “Oh, how marvellous! Cecelia dear, this will work wonders for your progression within the Chantry.” Cecelia bit her lip and nodded humbly, but was Lucetta who spoke, “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you mother?” An unbearably smug expression crossed Bette Trevelyan’s face. “I may have said the right words in the right ears…” “Thank you, mother,” Cecelia finally said. “I am most honoured to attend and see the Temple of Sacred Ashes for myself.” “Remember that it’s not just a pilgrimage my dear, but an opportunity for you and this family.” Elsie tried not to roll her eyes. Trust my mother to capitalise on the chaos. “Cece can travel with me and the Templars,” Evie said. “There’s no need - she can come with me,” Elsie replied quickly, not trusting her sister’s Templar contacts. If they were anything like some of the templars at the Ostwick Circle, then no one would be in their right mind to trust their little sister with them “What, and travel with your fellow rebel mages?” Evie snorted. “Any of them could be abominations or practice blood magic.” “I can protect her from other mages if needs be,” she replied calmly. “And I can move undercover much easier than you.” “Magic turned to a noble purpose indeed,” their mother sniffed. But Elsie ignored them and turned to her father. “I can protect her from renegade templars and mages alike,” she said. “How about we let Cecelia decide?” Lucetta said from beside her. So they all turned to look at the small buck-toothed little sister expectantly. She reddened under their gazes and avoided any eye contact. “I don’t want to be a problem...” she mumbled. Bette tutted impatiently. “Then choose, darling.” Cecelia nodded more to herself than to their mother’s words. She spread her hands. “I feel I ought to go with Elsie.” “As you wish,” Evie said stiffly. “Don’t take it personally,” Elsie said, trying to lighten the mood. But Evie just looked at her, her lips pursed in an expression that mirrored their mother’s. There was a pause before Leland stood. “Well then, that wasn’t too painful now, was it?” “Father, I’ll help make arrangements if you wish,” Lucetta said, also rising. “Thank you dear, yes that would be a good help. I shall reply to the Divine at once with our plan”. “Thank you, father,” Evie said, and Elsie echoed her words. The elven servant pushed open the doors and Bann Leland Trevelyan left with Lucetta in tow. Elsie looked around the room to see her remaining sisters talking to one another and her mother calling the rest of their relatives back into the room.

Henry lingered in the doorway and offered her a smile. As the family mingled and chatted, the two outcasts remained by the door and surveyed the room, like wallflowers.

“The mage and the bastard,” he sighed.

“The mage and the bastard,” Elsie repeated but smiled and turned to him. “So! Tell me all about Antiva…”

NEXT CHAPTER -> 

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

For the DADWC: “If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say something? Come here.” with the couple of your choosing!

Another first for me! Hopefully this duo appeals to you guys as much as it does to me :D

Jim & Minaeve, “I Hate The Cold” (AO3)

Jim didn’t quite know where he was going.

The last thing he remembered was chucking Sister Nightingale’s report on the Commander’s desk and half-dashing, half-stumbling towards, and then down that ridiculously long flight of stairs towards the central courtyard, just going anywhere which would put as much distance as possible between him and Commander Cullen.

Maker save him, why didn’t he just look up from that blasted scroll when he walked out on those battlements and exercise due discretion?

The more he thought about it the more he realised just what a shit heap he was in. Millions of souls in Thedas and he was one of three that knew that the Inquisitor and her Commander were mashing faces atop Skyhold, and he hadn’t been either participant.

Andraste’s knickers, the Commander would be bearing down on him like an out-of-control bronto just to make sure he didn’t blab about it to anyone. With any luck they’d get more public with it – that way he’d have to split his attention between more than one hapless, unlucky witness. Not the Inquisitor, she had much more important things to do.

He realised that he was blaspheming when he realised that he was hoping that she’d have too many Fade rifts to handle out there to come breathing down his neck, and wandered into the Chantry to make his apologies to the Maker and His Bride.

After sitting on the pews for at least a good five minutes, he stood up to leave, and realised that a minor snowstorm had blown in whilst he was hiding from the Commander.

A thin layer of snow, having been brought over from of the many peaks surrounding Skyhold, now coated everything in the herb garden which was usually tended by Minaeve, that Circle mage who’d been the previous creature researcher. She was seated on the bench near the pavilion, also being gently billowed by the chill breeze.

The elf was hunched over, with her knees touching, but she didn’t seem to be shivering, just…kind of tired.

As he headed to the door back into the main hall, he gave her a kind of wave, sort of turning his head to her general direction.

She gave that kind of forlorn smile she gave everyone, nodding back in his direction.

Jim’s hand wavered at the handle as he thought things through. If he went back to quarters now, or regrouped with his buddies at the Herald’s Rest, there’d be the chance that the Commander would catch up with him, and even if he wasn’t really going to have his guts for garters – Ser Rutherford was an absolute Chantry sister next to the Spymaster, now there was a superior that could make him soil his breeches – he really wasn’t in the mood for the inevitable nod-and-smile, your-secret-is-safe-with-me chat they’d wind up having.

If he was going to waste the next few minutes, it might as well be in the company of a pretty face, or so he reckoned. So, he moved away from the door, and walked up to Minaeve, who only realised that he was approaching when he was about three steps away from the bench.

She gave a start, mostly unintentionally. “Oh! Hello, uh…”

“Jeremias,” he said, “but everyone calls me Jim. You’re Minaeve, aren’t you?”

She nodded, saying, “Yes, that’s me. Is there something you need, Jim?”

“Well, not really. I’m mostly just trying to stay out of the, ah, public eye. Are you, ah, alone?”, he asked, scanning the deserted, snowy, garden.

“I am,” she sighed, staring through him. “But I don’t mind company.”

“Oh, right,” Jim said, brushing some snow off her bench before sitting down a respectful distance away. “So…you like the snow around here?”

A long, painfully awkward, silence, ensued where Minaeve just stared into the space in front of her while Jim shifted uncomfortably. Finally, just as Jim’s breath was catching in his throat, she spoke.

“No,” she said. “I fucking hate it.”

“I…I’m sorry?”

She turned to him, eyes dazzling with far more than the glint of sunshine off the snowdrift. “Can you keep a secret, Jim?”

He stated, “Well…I can,” as he thought back to the circumstances that had led him here.

Minaeve nodded slowly. “Do you know anything about how I joined the Circle?”

He shook his head.

“This is how the story usually goes. I was born to a Dalish clan somewhere around Highever, and when it turned out I had magic they cast me out because they had a limit on them per clan. It was the middle of winter when they did it. All I remember is night after freezing night until I made it to the outskirts of Highever. I tried lighting a fire with my magic and the townspeople were going to string me up until a visiting Templar, a brave man called Emeric, saved my life, and that’s how I got there.”

Realising he’d been biting on his lip, Jim released it, saying, “I’m so sorry. That’s so terrible, what your clan and those townspeople…”

“Except that part about that rule among the Dalish is bullshit. It’s all bullshit,” she cried, sobbing. Jim really didn’t know what to do, so he watched her wipe her tears. She continued, “I’ve been telling lies about the elves for more than a decade because the alternative’s just so much worse. This doesn’t leave the two of us, you understand?”

He immediately nodded complyingly.

“They love magic. They can’t get enough of it. They’d never throw one out unless…”

“Unless..?” Jim asked, expectantly.

“Well, it’s a long story, but my father was killed and my mother was…cursed in the Brecilian Forest shortly before I was born. Her condition got worse and worse, and eventually she had to be…put down.” Minaeve sighed deeply, carrying the sum of her pains in her breath.

“Put down?”

“Her condition had made her violent, right at the end. Nobody wanted to associate with me after that. Not with that damned curse hanging over my head. They were all waiting for me to succumb too, and when they saw I had magic that was excuse enough.”

Jim exhaled, breath condensing in the chill. “Why didn’t you tell people about the curse?”

Minaeve shook her head. “They wouldn’t understand. And those who would, they’d just throw me out just like my clan did.”

“You think that?”

“I know that.”

He thought for a moment. “Why tell me all this?”

She turned to him. “Because you said you could keep a secret. Because I’m just so damned tired of keeping it to myself. Because every time it snows in this blasted place I’m reminded of the worst time of my life, nearly freezing to death because of some short-sighted idiots.”

Minaeve now was shivering, or sobbing, or both. Jim drew a little closer, whipping off his head coverings and getting his helmet off, revealing a short scruff of brown hair with close-cropped sides.

“Well, you should have said you were getting chilled out here! Here, at least cover your head. I’ve got all this green cloth to keep me warm.”

Jim was holding his helmet out, offering it to her. She stared at it, then at him, with an expectant expression that was goofier with every second that passed. Eventually, Minaeve gingerly took it and slipped it over her head, tucking her ears in one by one as it came down. Her brilliant hazel eyes were framed perfectly by the little gap in the helmet’s cheek-plates. Without those in the way, she in turn got her first look of the scout’s face in full.

“Great, now I’m freezing my bum off and I’m sure I look like an idiot. How’s the headscarf?”

Trying to draw the hood a bit closer to his ears, Jim said, “It’s…less warm than I thought it would be, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Well, thanks. Not really for the helmet, but thanks for listening, Jim. It’s been…a while since I got to tell anyone that.”

“You’re welcome. It’s refreshing to just have a chat with someone here besides the Command-

Cullen’s voice broke into the courtyard. “Scout Jeremias!”

As though things could get even colder, the entire scene froze, with Minaeve bearing a mortified expression as she reached for the helmet and Jim just gaping at the Commander as he stood framed in the doorway. In the end, it was Cullen that broke the silence.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere in Skyhold for the past half-hour, but I…see…that we share a common understanding.”

“Sir…?”

Cullen’s eyes flashed as he glanced at Minaeve, who’d managed to get Jim’s helmet off one of her ears and was still staring at Cullen like a stray hedgehog who’d avoided getting run over by a chevalier’s steed.

“I-Sir-this isn’t-we-” Jim stuttered, but the Commander waved him shut.

“Settle your affairs, Jeremias. Dinner’s on the hour and the briefing’s right after that. We’re leaving at sunrise for Emprise du Lion to oversee the bridge.”

“I-affairs?!” he finally managed, standing up to confront the accusation, but Cullen was already gone, the door slamming behind the Commander.

“Here you go,” Minaeve said quietly, passing Jim his helmet back.

Turning slowly back to her, he took it and pulled his hood back, preparing to put it back on. “Oh. Right. Thanks, Minaeve.”

“You’re welcome. But you know what?” she asked. “It’s got to be warmer in the keep. You don’t need to wear that unless you’re concerned about rocks falling from the sky, right?”

“I guess not, what with the Breach closed. Well, more or less,” he said, carelessly threading his free fingers through his helmet-flattened hair.

“Anyway,” she said, standing up, “I suppose I should check in on Helisma. She wanted my advice on some beasts’ diets, I believe. But…it was nice meeting you, Jim.”

“And you, Minaeve,” he said, nodding.

“When do you return from Emprise du Lion?”

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “No idea, to be honest. These things could take days, or weeks.”

“Well,” Minaeve said, “if and when you do, I’ll be here. Tending the garden, as usual.”

“Well,” he replied, “I guess I’ll see you then. Oh, look at that. I think it’s stopped snowing.”

“So it has,” she said, lingering in the courtyard for a moment to look at the skies together with him as the setting sun broke through the clouds. “By the way, Jim, what did the Commander mean when he said that you were ‘men of a common understanding?’”

“I, uh, I couldn’t possibly say,” he said, flushing down to his neck.

“Sister Nightingale’s still sweet on the Hero of Ferelden, and Lady Montilyet has Warden Blackwall’s undivided attention, so…” she trailed off, her eyes widening. “It couldn’t be, could it…?”

“You said it best, Minaeve. I can keep a secret,” Jim said with a wink as he left.

Author’s Note: I like to imagine that Jim looks like this under the hood (full credit to the OP)

@dadrunkwriting

[forthelulzy]

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 10

Find the cost of freedom Buried in the ground Mother Earth will swallow you Lay your body down — “Find the Cost of Freedom”, Crosby Stills Nash & Young

They made love the night before. Garrett held him close and soothed him with sweet nothings when he voiced his uncertainty. He’d have backed out of the meeting at the Hanged Man without his reassurance, and Fenris will wonder forever how much Garrett knew then.

Had — had Varania contacted him somehow? Had Danarius?

How long had his lover been planning his betrayal?

Or was it on a whim? Did Fenris mean so little all along that even the most blatant of false promises swayed him?

Which would be, is, worse?

He revisits that day every night since his reawakening. Garrett at his side as they approach the then-unfamiliar elven woman. A flash of memory surfaces, just to be gone as quickly as it came. Garrett’s hand rests at the small of his back — another reassurance, or another subtle trap? He lets Fenris speak, lets Fenris draw his own conclusion from his sister’s darting eyes.

It is too late. It always is.

When Danarius’ voice drips like oil, like venom, into his ears for what he hopes is the last time, when the magister himself appears at the stairs… something shifts in Garrett Hawke. Something that, perhaps, has always been there, just hidden behind layers of lies, behind sweet nothings.

Merrill protests. Perhaps that is her mistake, just as ever falling for Garrett Hawke is his.

He hears later. He hears later, long after he escapes Tevinter. He left more bodies than he had bothered to count in his wake. Only two of them matter. Over in Kirkwall, later, many more lay on the cold stone of the Gallows, blood seeping into the cracks. What blood remains after Hawke uses it for his own power.

He annuls the Circle himself, then dares the Templars he assisted to speak against his methods.

From what Carver tells him, Meredith is the only one who approves, but even she sees a rival for her position. And Hawke slaughters her, while his once-friends and allies try to stay out of his way.

He is surprised, then, to find Varric’s book paints such a mixed picture of the former Champion. Perhaps part of the dwarf still sees the struggling but charismatic refugee, and not the madman of a few short years later.

Perhaps part of him does not want to admit that Garrett Hawke was never what he had seen then at all.

***

Behind him, the crowd is shouting. He can feel them pressing closer, but no one has made the mistake of trying to grab him yet — though whether this is out of fear for the mage’s life or the opposite he doesn’t know.

His focus is only on him.

His breaths stutter as Fenris tightens his grip, both on the heart and on that long, aristocratic neck. Hands that had once been unsullied by any kind of work are now calloused enough for him to feel, and blunt, cracked nails rake down his arm in a blind panic. His face is rapidly turning purple, but those bright blue eyes look straight into his, wide with fear and an appeal to mercy that Fenris ignores.

He will decide on his own whether Caius deserves to live or die.

Fenris lets go of that neck to yank down his scarf, but loosens his hold on Caius’ heart only by a fraction. Enough to keep him from passing out immediately, though to be honest with himself it’s surprising he hasn’t already.

He is certainly more resilient than his twin in a similar situation. Fenris barely had to touch Colm’s heart to make him hysterical.

“Why are you here?” he growls. Behind him the Inquisitor is screaming obscenities, and from the sound of it, struggling against half of her own soldiers in an attempt to launch herself at him.

Caius coughs, blood bubbling from his mouth and dribbling down his chin. His hands still, then drop to his sides. “Irene… is my sister-in-law,” he says tightly.

“Oh? Where is your brother cowering now?”

Irene howls her fury, and Caius goes limp, letting his head drop back against the wall. “He is dead.” His eyelashes flutter — the pain is sapping his strength, though his heart beats as furiously as ever in Fenris’ palm.

Fenris frowns. That isn’t the answer he expects at all. Tevinter mages are like cockroaches — always popping up where you don’t want them, and difficult to kill. The only ones he is certain the world is rid of are Hadriana and Danarius, because he killed them himself.

“Fenris, why—” Caius turns his head away, coughing violently. More blood splatters the ground, darker than it should be. His heart shudders, and Fenris lets go entirely, withdrawing his hand so just the fingertips remain.

“You got my sister killed,” he snaps. He had been momentarily distracted, by Caius’ answer and by the man’s consideration in not coughing blood all over him, but now the rage returns in full force. It has been five years, but that was just time for the anger to boil.

Though he’s catching his breath and still dripping blood down his chin, Caius lifts his head enough to blink at him. “Varania—”

“Don’t. Say. Her. Name.”

“Ah—” He nods hastily. “I’m sorry. We never meant for that to happen, but she asked for our help so you could escape. She was a friend and— I’m sorry.” Despite the rushed words there’s no deceit in them. “Please.”

“Fenris…” Varric is carefully inching around from the side, hands up and voice pitched as if to soothe a spooked animal. “Fenris, come on buddy, let him down and let’s talk about this.”

He rolls his eyes but withdraws his hand entirely. Caius shudders, full-body, and slides down the wall in a heap. “You don’t know who he is, do you.” He raises his voice, turning to the Inquisitor, who still looks murderous through the layers of soot on her face. “None of you do! You have no idea what snake you have let in, Inquisitor.”

“I’m looking at him,” she snarls, but she stills in her efforts to break free and attack. Fenris had guessed half the army was holding her back, but it’s only two, and Carver standing in front of her as the last line of defense. “You should start talking now, stranger,” she adds, attempting to sound intimidating, or maybe commanding for the benefit of her forces.

Fenris snorts in derision.

“You’d really better have an explanation or I am in a shitload of trouble,” Varric says lowly.

***

Within minutes they have reconvened in the keep, in a room that is clearly their command center. It isn’t quite made to fit this number of people, or this level of tension. In addition to himself, there’s also the three advisors, the Inquisitor, and a man introduced as her half-brother, Julien (one of the two holding her back before, along with Cullen). Varric is there, squashed into the corner with Carver, looking like he’d rather be packing his bags and fleeing while everyone’s distracted.

The Inquisitor has made an effort at scrubbing her face, but a streak of wet soot remains, rapidly drying, on her chin and neck. She stalks in behind everyone else, slamming the doors shut behind her. (The Ambassador winces and opens her mouth. Sister Nightingale shushes her with a hand on her arm.) She comes around the table, and plants herself firmly behind it, leaning over the markers and scattered papers. “You. Explain this,” she says with a voice trying to be steel, and instead wobbling with emotion.

Fenris scowls and crosses his arms. “As you may have guessed, Caius and I have history. He never told you the entire truth, did he? Only slaves are without surnames in the Imperium.”

“Get to the point.” But her mind is working, he can tell. And Julien has already figured it out. While the others are observing with varying degrees of neutral confusion, he stands by Irene’s side, body turned toward her as if to protect, but watching Fenris with growing understanding and horror.

The curtains are halfway drawn, the sunlight reduced to a single shaft that spills across the war table, across the Tevinter Imperium where all this began. The markers, clustered to the south in the Inquisition’s areas of operation, cast long shadows.

“That is Caius Danarius. His father once called himself my master.”

The elaboration isn’t strictly necessary for most of them; Varric and Carver already know the name well, as do Cullen and Leliana to a lesser degree. “Shit,” Varric whispers into the silence that follows.

The Inquisitor freezes, staring at him across the war table. Julien reaches, but stops himself before touching her.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she straightens.

“I told you to explain why you attacked my fucking brother-in-law in the middle of the courtyard—”

He bristles. “I—”

“Let me finish! I already knew his father was a magister. Colm told me they left Tevinter after helping a slave — you, I presume — kill dear old dad. Do you dispute this?”

Fenris clenches his teeth and pulls a deep breath. “No,” he grits out.

Rubbing her forehead, she shakes herself. “All right. What else can you tell me about your ‘history’, as you put it? I need to understand. There’s actually two people of Tevinter origin here that I know of.”

“Three, Inquisitor,” Sister Nightingale interjects. “That mercenary from yesterday is Soporati.”

She blinks. “Fuck. Nevermind. Three, then.”

“I am not going to attack a Soporati,” Fenris grumbles. “Or anyone else.” He catches Carver frowning at him, and adds, “Even Caius, if he is really as good a person as you believe.”

The Inquisitor narrows her eyes, scowl creasing deeper. For a moment he thinks she’s going to repeat the question he refuses to answer, but eventually she snorts indelicately. “Keep your secrets. Maker knows you’re in good company around here.”

“Irene—” Julien says lowly.

“I know.” She rubs at her mouth and chin, pauses, pulls her hand away and looks at it. The sootstain is worse, now. “Fine. I need to speak to my advisors privately. Julien, if you could check in on Caius…?”

Fenris rolls his eyes but is the first out the door. She’s not used to being a leader, clearly, or is more worried about the politics than he had assumed. On the one hand, he’s Varric’s guest and has come to the Inquisition for protection (more Carver’s idea than his, by far). On the other, letting him go now will send a message to the hundreds of people that were in the courtyard: Caius is fair game and even his own sister-in-law won’t protect him.

Hawke wouldn’t want or need advisors in the first place. The thought makes him scowl deeper.

***

Fenris stalks into the main hall, startling a few gathered nobles. They do not wait until he has passed to start whispering, but he ignores them, emerging into the bright spring sunshine. Patches of snow still linger in the shade, but the flowers over in the garden are budding, and even a few early risers have already bloomed. It is still far too cold.

He cannot imagine being here in winter.

The clang of armor sounds behind him — Carver has caught up. Fenris starts down the stairs, slower now so the Templar doesn’t have to jog. If he wanted to he could easily lose anyone and everyone, regardless of his current mood. Carver, of all people, knows that.

The upper courtyard has only a few people about, standing in groups or hurrying from one building to another. No one is keen to confront or even look directly at him. Fenris has no real plan in mind, but he gravitates toward the battlements. He’s a stone’s throw from the stairs, right in front of the quiet-at-this-hour tavern, when the door opens.

A man stumbles out. Fenris sizes him up with practiced speed: dressed in an impractical but fashionable (for somewhere far warmer) garment with an impossible array of buckles and straps, unblemished skin, not a hair out of place on his head or in his mustache. A feat in itself, as he is also rather hungover. He clutches a staff in the hand that isn’t shading his eyes.

Ah. The second Tevinter national, and another mage. Fenris frowns and sidesteps before the other man can wobble right into him, and thus Carver is the one to catch his fall.

“Blighted dwarven ales…” he mumbles into Carver’s breastplate.

“Are you all right?”

Fenris rolls his eyes but says nothing. He doesn’t immediately recognize the mage, which is only slightly comforting. Danarius did throw parties following his recapture, but for a select few: his allies, such as they were, in the Magisterium. There were a great many more Altus sons that he didn’t meet, and Laetan — though the mage’s impeccable appearance, even while hungover, makes him suspect Altus breeding.

His skin prickles, and not just at how gently Carver is holding the mage’s arms in his gauntleted hands. Varania restored as much as she could, she’d said, but many things from before he’d been left behind on Seheron are patchy still, or like looking through stained glass. Like as not they did meet, at one of the more inclusive parties, and he simply cannot remember.

“Right as rain,” the mage says, voice a little clearer, drawing back a little as he finds his feet. “Not at all like I’ve been within a barrier of getting eaten by a dragon, thank you.”

The Bone Pit, so aptly named, the scattered skeletons of miners and prey alike clattering as the high dragon lands before Hawke. The earth shakes; that and the wind from mighty wings knocks them back — Merrill tumbles into a long-dead deer along the Pit’s wall, nearly impaled by the rib-bones. Hawke leaps up so fast Fenris isn’t sure he’d fallen at all and unhooks his staff… the dragon’s eyes are hungry, head swaying gently, like a serpent’s about to strike…

Fenris blinks and the memory dissipates into the cold spring sunlight. The man — the mage — is staring at Carver’s breastplate, swallowing thickly, and Carver lets him go.

He needs air. Fenris turns and takes the stairs to the battlements. Carver does not follow, perhaps sensing something. For all his obtuse attitude when Fenris had first met him, the younger Hawke brother is perspective when he needs to be, and plays stupid for the rest. It is this trait above all that has saved them from death more times than Fenris can count.

Fenris never met Bethany, but from Carver’s stories all three Hawke children had one thing in common: they were constantly underestimated. Whether and how they used this to their advantage was the difference.

Sometimes he wonders if Garrett, wherever he is, is still pretending benevolence.

And then he’s leaning over the battlements, his hair in his face, as the remains of his last meal leave him so forcefully it feels like his stomach itself is going to come out. It lasts far longer than it should, and by the time it’s over he’s dizzy, disheveled and exhausted down to his bones. He feels weak.

He is weak. And that’s the worst part.

***

Dorian Pavus. They hadn’t met after his recapture, but now that he has a name to go with the face he remembers. A talented Altus who, despite his father’s exasperation, had no interest in even looking at the political ladder, much less climbing it. Later he had been apprenticed to Gereon Alexius, whom Danarius saw as so far beneath him he wasn’t worth the assassination.

Fenris recalls him as the subject of so many rumors it was hard to keep them straight, but the man himself had done nothing to control them, or, as Danarius would have done, turn them to his benefit. The few times he had been present at a soiree, Dorian had stayed at the edges, nursing a drink or sticking close to Alexius’ son Felix. The latter was always kind to slaves. Dorian, meanwhile, was not cruel, but for all his smooth talk and quick wit with his own kind, he was suddenly tongue-tied when confronted with anyone deemed lesser. If Felix snuck them food, Dorian was always there, a look of quiet panic on his face, insisting Felix was going to get into trouble. “I like trouble,” Felix would say every time, and Dorian would sigh, still not looking at the slaves, and guard the door.

It was by far one of the better ways he had been treated, and not the worst foot to start off on now, but that doesn’t mean Fenris isn’t watching him. Waiting.

The Chantry Mother — whom Fenris had pressed for information on the resident Tevinter nationals — tilts her head, studying him. Her hands are folded behind her back, the picture of serene grace, and Fenris is almost, almost tempted to fill the silence, to not make her wait for an explanation that he does not want to give.

He is surprised, then, when she doesn’t ask. Instead, in a soft Orlesian burr, she confides, “I received a letter from Dorian’s father.”

[medproish]

[This story contains spoilers through season two, episode two of HBO’s Westworld, called “Reunion.”]

“You’re smart enough to guess there’s a bigger picture, but not smart enough to see what it is.”

The late Theresa Cullen (Sidse Babett Knudsen) spoke these words to an ambitious and desperate Lee Sizemore (Simon Quarterman) in the very first episode of Westworld, indicating that the Delos board in charge of the theme park had greater aspirations than allowing visitors to enact their wildest fantasies. Ever since, viewers have wondered about the true motivations of the people pulling the strings behind the scenes. The second episode of season two appears to have delivered an answer — part of one, at least.

The episode, called “Reunion,” written by Carly Wray and Jonathan Nolan, directed by Vincenzo Natali, primarily focuses on two different characters across multiple points in time: Dolores (Evan Rachel Wood) and William (Ed Harris and Jimmi Simpson) — the leader of the host revolution and the number one Westworld fanboy, respectively. Perhaps that’s minimizing the Man in Black’s contributions to the series overall, both in terms of his deadly proficiency as a gunslinger (even with the safety turned off on the hosts) and his even deadlier instincts as a businessman.

During the course of “Reunion,” viewers are treated to trips down memory lane, as the younger William (Simpson) brings his father-in-law James Delos (Peter Mullan) to Westworld with an eye toward investing in the park. For his part, James is a no-nonsense type with little interest in indulging people’s fantasies. But William pitches his prospective business partner on a broader and deadlier idea.

“This place is fantasy,” William says, standing within earshot of a frozen Dolores (who we later learn has access to these memories and more). “Nothing here is real, except one thing: the guests. Half of your marketing budget goes to figuring out what people want. Because they don’t know. But here, they’re free. Nobody is watching, nobody is judging. At least that’s what we tell them. This is the only place in the world where you get to see people for who they really are. If you don’t see the business in that, then you’re not the businessman I thought you were.”

William’s pitch ties directly into something seen in the season two premiere: Bernard (Jeffrey Wright) witnessing two drone hosts data-mining a fallen host, and realizing that the park has been “logging records of guest experiences,” DNA included. The Man in Black all but spells the theory out in conversation with his old friend Lawrence (Clifton Collins Jr.), when talking about the weight of sins within the walls of the park.

“[People] wanted a place hidden from God, a place they could sin in peace,” the gunslinger reveals. “But we were watching them. We were tallying up all their sins, all of their choices. Of course, judgment wasn’t the point. We had something else in mind entirely.”

What exactly did William and the Delos board have in mind? Those specifics will certainly be outlined in the future, but in this moment, we can hazard a few guesses. Blackmail, for one. Cataloging personal data for advertising purposes at best, total manipulation at worst. In essence, William has sketched out a vision of Westworld as a flesh-and-blood internet, where private information isn’t quite as private as one might think — a notion that’s all too real in our very own world.

Here’s what else happened in “Reunion,” an episode brimming with new alliances, old friends, faraway worlds and one very Bad cameo.

Stars on the Ground

“Reunion” begins faraway from the story’s main action, both in time in space: a moment long ago, when both Arnold (Wright) and Robert Ford (Anthony Hopkins) were still alive, hoping to draw money in from the outside world. In order to accomplish such a task? They have traveled to the outside world (China, seemingly, based on the “Space 47” building sign seen a scene or two later) with someone very familiar along for the ride: Dolores, now revealed to have visited the world beyond Westworld at this early point in her trajectory. 

Staring out at the cityscape, Dolores is awestruck, noting how it “looks like the stars have been scattered across the ground. Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor?” Arnold, with his human existence, has indeed seen such sights before: “But it’s better to see it through your eyes.” Soon, Ford arrives at Arnold’s room and asks if Dolores is almost ready for her “presentation.” Arnold says she’s not, that her improvisation isn’t up to par yet. Ford — who remains unseen, save for a reflection, but is fully heard, with Hopkins (or an excellent impersonator) providing the voice — tells Arnold that he used to be charmed by his favoritism for Dolores.

“You need to let go at some point,” Ford tells Arnold as he leaves, an ironic statement given the turbulent journey the two men will soon take together.

Following his conversation with Ford, Arnold decides to take Dolores to see more of the city. They swing by the new home that he’s having built (“I’ve been very fortunate,” Arnold responds when Dolores reacts with blissful surprise that someone could live in such a place), and once again look out into the wonder of the world. Arnold remarks that Dolores and his son Charlie have so much in common: the ability to see that wonder.

“Maybe they don’t have the courage,” Dolores says, about the people who can’t or refuse to see it. “A strange new light can be just as frightening as the dark.”

“That’s very wise,” responds a melancholy Arnold. “But sometimes I think we’re simply not the ones who deserve it.”

The wisdom ends there, as Dolores repeats her commentary about the stars in the streets, and the splendor of the city. Resigned, Arnold tells Dolores it’s time to leave. “They’ll be expecting us,” he says. Dolores makes Arnold promise that he’ll bring her back to this place — a promise we can assume went unfulfilled, given the rest of the scientist’s grim journey.

The Hard Sell

Later, we see another host visiting the world beyond the park. Several hosts, in fact. Among the many flashback scenes studded throughout the episode, there’s this: Logan (Ben Barnes), whose full name is revealed as Logan Delos (fancy that!), on the receiving end of a very wild pitch from two very convincing salespeople: Akecheta (played by Fargo and Longmire veteran Zahn McClarnon) and Angela (Talulah Riley). 

At first, not only is Logan unimpressed by what the pair is offering; he’s outright annoyed by the “cloak and dagger” tactics surrounding the prospect. But Angela provides an intriguing tease: “Everyone is offering you VR. We’re offering something more tangible.”

As always, it’s more useful to see something in practice than hear about it, and to that end, Angela and Akecheta take Logan into a room filled with hosts — some familiar, like Clementine (Angela Sarafyan), and others who will soon become familiar, like Jonathan Tucker as a much less violent version of the character he’s playing later on in the episode, Major Craddock. Eventually, Logan comes to realize the full extent of what’s on display in this scene, as he first correctly identifies Angela as a host, only to find out that every single person in the room except himself hails from the park.

“Welcome to Westworld,” Angela tells the dazed Logan. “Nobody can do this,” he stammers in response. “Nobody’s even … we’re not here yet,” he adds, referring to humanity’s technological achievements. Angela corrects him: “We’re right here, Mr. Delos. All of our hosts are here, for you.”

Soon, we see that Logan took Angela all the way at her word, having slept not only with her but several other hosts, as is the man’s wont. At night, Angela emerges from bed to dress herself. Nearby, Dolores, still wearing the same clothes she wore during her previous scenes with Arnold, watches from a distance. She and Angela exchange a curious look; perhaps nothing too loaded in the moment, but one that will resonate further down the line, once the two become partners in the crusade against mankind.

Retirement Party

Logan serves as the gateway between Delos getting involved in Westworld, but it’s William who acts as the closer. Midway through the episode, William takes his father-in-law James Delos to the park, and gives the surly older man his sales pitch on why it’s worth investing in this vision of the future. The details of the scene were outlined several words ago; no need to rehash them any further, except to say William is pretty clearly positioning guests’ personal privacy as the main driving force of how they can turn Westworld into a profitable business.

Sometime later, with Delos’ investment in the park fully in place, a party is held for the outgoing James Delos, whose hacking cough indicates his remaining time on Earth may be coming to a close. At least he’s going out in style, given the party, and given the pianist at the party: Dolores, handpicked by William himself.

During a break in the party, Dolores finds herself drawn to the terrace outside, where she can once again stare out into the city lights. In this private moment, she finds herself reunited with a man she doesn’t know, but who recognizes her thoroughly: Logan, bitter and bitterer still from the experience he shared with William in Westworld. He’s a far cry from the man who was joyously pitched on the park earlier in the episode. This version of the man knows all too well the dangers the park poses to humanity at large.

“Do you wanna know what they’re really celebrating up there?” the drugged-up Logan asks Dolores. “That, darling, is the sound of fools fiddling while the whole fucking species starts to burn. And the funniest fucking part? They lit the match.”

Face Off

Let’s turn toward the “present” action of the episode, which all takes place within the two-week time span before Karl Strand (Gustaf Skarsgård) arrives. The Man in Black rides again, now seeking some company as he steps into the late Robert Ford’s new game. His first recruit: Lawrence, the host he spent so much time traveling with in the first portion of season one.

As usual, William speaks candidly with Lawrence, who always seems to follow the details just closely enough, without ever fully questioning the nature of his own reality. After saving Lawrence’s life from a trio of nasty host brothers (although not without a need for Lawrence to provide an eleventh hour assist; the game is a lot harder than the Man in Black anticipated, now that the hosts are free), the two men set about completing Ford’s game. For his part, William has an idea of where to go next: a place due west, three days away on horseback. 

There are two ways to reach this western point, and the seemingly easier path is through Pariah, the den of sin seen in the first season. But when they arrive, William and Lawrence find little more than ghost town — except when they run into El Lazo and his men, who are basking in their proud new ownership over the glorious Santa Pariah.

El Lazo, by the way? He’s no longer played by Lawrence, obviously, but he’s played by someone very recognizable all the same: actor Giancarlo Esposito, also known as Gus Fring of Breaking Bad fame. It’s an exciting and surprising casting choice, especially as El Lazo monologues about why he’s done with adventure, retelling a story about a childhood visit to the circus from a childhood that never really existed. 

Frustrated, William takes El Lazo at gunpoint and tries to compel the man into committing his soldiers to the Man in Black’s cause. Instead, El Lazo speaks with a familiar voice: “This game was meant for you, William, but you must play it alone.” With those ominous words, every single man in El Lazo’s army shoots himself in the head at once. For his part, El Lazo offers some parting words of his own before shooting himself: “I’ll see you in the Valley Beyond, William.”

An even angrier William proceeds to unload bullets into El Lazo’s corpse, complete with a wonderfully delivered line of pure frustration: “Fuck you, Robert!” William openly muses about what he’s learned: “He doesn’t want this to be easy for me, so we’ll find another way.” For his part, the eternally confused Lawrence wants to know who Robert is. Is he the person who built the place of judgment they’re looking for?

“No, he doesn’t get that honor,” grumbles the Man in Black. “I built it. The place we’re going is my greatest mistake.”

The Road to Glory

Elsewhere in the park, Dolores leads Angela, Teddy (James Marsden) and their companions to an outpost, so Teddy can finally see the truth of Westworld for himself. When he’s finally confronted with images of his many deaths, Teddy nearly chokes the life out of a lab technician, before his better nature stops him from going too far. 

Dolores and Angela interrogate a member of the security team, who reveals that somewhere between 600 and 800 soldiers will soon come to the park in response to the catastrophe. They will respond to the system-wide failure by securing one sector at a time, beginning by meeting at a rallying point. Even with this knowledge in place, Teddy tells Dolores they’re going to need several others if they’re going to stand a chance against the human forces; they only have 50 hosts on their side right now, if they even have that many. 

Fortunately, Dolores has a plan for how to bolster their numbers — but first, she and her allies run into another host on a journey of her own: Maeve (Thandie Newton), traveling with Hector Escaton (Rodrigo Santoro) and Lee Sizemore (Simon Quarterman). A tense conversation ensues between them, with Dolores and Maeve at the center. 

Dolores suggests Maeve must have a great need for revenge. According to Maeve, not so much: “Revenge is just a different prayer at their altar, darling, and I’m well off my knees.” Maeve questions the way in which Dolores is choosing to combat humanity. 

“Yours is the only way to fight?” she asks Dolores, before turning her attention toward Teddy, someone she’s spent some time with. “I know you. Do you feel free?”

Reluctantly, Dolores lets Maeve and her companions pass on by without further incident. Besides, Dolores has her own mission: recruiting Major Craddock (the aforementioned Jonathan Tucker) and his army of Confederados, who are all on a mission to find a place called Glory. When she finds them, Craddock and his crew are understandably shaken at the sight of one of their old companions, returned from the dead — someone who Dolores resurrected in order to begin the process of waking Craddock up to his true nature. The plan doesn’t work out as intended, at least not right away. After some back-and-forth, Dolores has Teddy and Angela kill Craddock and all of his men, before bringing them back online and into the fold.

“We have toiled in God’s service long enough — so I killed him,” Dolores tells the shocked Craddock. “If you want to get to Glory, you won’t be looking for his favor. You’ll need mine.”

The Great Mistake

The episode ends as Dolores, Teddy and the others ride to meet Craddock’s own boss, and as they look out on the horizon, they talk about how their next destination has many names. Some call it Glory. Some call it the Valley Beyond. Apparently, it’s known to William as his “greatest mistake.” 

The penultimate scene of the episode features a young William taunting an unaware Dolores, saying she’s nothing more than a thing — and, in fact, is even less than a thing. “You’re a reflection,” he hisses. “You know who loves staring at their own reflection? Everybody.”

William twirls his proverbial mustache some more, filling Dolores in on his vision for the park: “Everybody wants a little bit of what I found here, and I can’t wait to use you and every one of your kind to help give it to them. And now there’s something else. There’s something beyond that. I think there’s an answer here to a question no one has ever even dreamed of asking. Do you want to see?”

From there, William takes Dolores outside and stares out at a massive dig site. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor,” he asks her, mimicking her own words from the beginning of the episode. For her part, in the future, standing on a cliff side of her own with Teddy as a companion, Dolores remembers exactly what William showed her.

“It doesn’t matter what you call it,” she tells Teddy about Glory, or the Valley Beyond, or whatever name people choose to use. “I know what we’re going to find there. An old friend was foolish enough to show me long ago. It’s not a place. It’s a weapon — and I’m going to use it to destroy them.”

What did you make of the latest episode of Westworld? Sound off with your theories in the comments below and keep following THR.com/Westworld for more coverage.

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[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas2020 Day 1: Anathema

It’s that time of year again - when I bombard you with fic I’ve written over the year and haven’t posted, whether it is an outtake, part of a WIP, or something that ended up going sideways but still had some cool bits I was proud of. 

Everything will be tracked under the ‘TwiFicMas2020′ and ‘FicMas2020′ tags. Most fics are incomplete scenes - “--” is a scene break, “//” means that there’s a cut - it’s probably not yet written. 

--

First up is Anathema, the fourth or fifth attempt at the ‘Alice works in a mortuary/funeral home’ idea that refuses to solidify itself - though I think I’m getting closer. I enjoy the idea that Charlie Swan is in on Forks’ secrets (before Jacob strips in front of him, lol) and I am always here for the supernatural world being more than just vampires and shifters. 

I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

The day the Cullens arrive in Forks, two things happen.

The first, I draw both Death, and the Wheel of Fortune. A combination that, frankly, sounds time-consuming. I lie in bed and contemplate them for awhile. The cards are soft, from lifetimes of passing from hand to hand (my dearest and most beloved Great-Aunt Jeanne passed this set to me when she died. At the time, I was too young to understand the true gift in cards that had never before been touched by Brandon hands - before mine.) The cards are illustrated so carefully, so detailed. They smell like dried lavender and the scrap of linen that I wrap them in, and there is something so reassuring about each and every card.

I draw my cards every few days before I get up. I find it calming, the shuffle of them against my fingers, as I let my dreams fade. It’s a quiet time, and one I savour.

Eventually, I do have to get up, though. No rest for the wicked. The cards go back into the wooden jewellery box some young man carved for some young woman in Jeanie’s family long before I was even a glimpse of a thought, and back into my nightstand drawer.

I - we - live on the first floor of the Brandon Funeral Home, a perfectly respectable converted Georgian house at the end of Main Street, where it sweeps around to Cedar Road. It’s a shit place to have a corner, and more than once speed racers have spun out; whoever’s scraped off the road and our front walk usually end up in the freezers in the basement.

But I digress.

Breakfast is mundane. Dulcie is there, hair in curlers, and a frown on her face when she realises I am not dressed. I sit crosslegged across two thrift-store chairs in my camisole and booty shorts, spooning jam onto toast with the precision of a good scientist and ignore her reminding me of my dressing gown (a sturdy pink-flower print flannel that is buried in my closet. My preferred robe, a thin grey kimono, is currently in my laundry pile) and ‘common decency’, as if my elderly great-uncle is looking to leer at the decided lack of anything I have up north or down south.

Dulcie is… Dulcie. No replacement for Aunt Jeanie, but a good woman. I find it funny that Uncle Freddie is an old man now, and he still reels ‘em in. Or he would if Jeanie’s death hadn’t broken, shattered, and wrecked him. Dulcie worked for us for a few years before she set her eyes on the top bedroom and changing ‘Dulcie Dunn-Stanley’ to ‘Dulcie Brandon’.

Oh, that sounds very jaded. It’s mutual, Freddie and Dulcie. Their courtship was glacial and it’s really only recently that Dulcie’s been hinting about heading to the court house. And, honestly, whatever makes Uncle Freddie happy. Dulcie’s kind to me, we mostly get along, and her attempts to mother me are so far inconsistent - but she is usually pretty respectful.

My uncle lingers over his food; he’s got a new book open at his elbow, and no one can pry my uncle away from his books. They’re usually hardcover, non-fiction. Most of the boxes stored in the third floor are my uncles books.

After breakfast, I am banished to get dressed for work, which is in the basement today, where I am to be the hands as we prepare one Lewis Fletcher for his Saturday morning funeral. There’s a sack of bagged organs resting in the chest cavity, from the autopsy (elk or deer attack, the report says), and I get to stitch Lewis back together, get to fill him full of chemicals, seal things with putty, and get to face painting. The Fletchers are a pretty ordinary family locally, and the service will be simple - they were very agreeable when Freddie met with them last week.

I put my music on and hum as I prepare my kit. It’s no secret that an unqualified teenage girl doing this work probably breaks a lot of laws, but Freddie’s hands aren’t as steady as they used to be, and he’s old enough to remember when a family business meant that the younger generation was trained by the older at home, no degrees or certifications necessary.

Sometimes I wonder what Jeanie would have thought, me working down here like this. Would she have understood? Would she have been mad or upset or disappointed?

We’ll never know.

Freddie fetches us both a cup of tea, and hovers at my shoulder as I piece together Mr Fletcher’s chest cavity.

“Smaller stitches, Alice,” Freddie says, inspecting my work carefully. “Redo that section, stitch closer together, and small stitches.”

I nod, turning around to grab a scalpel from the tray beside me to cut the wonky stitches free and start again, and I freeze as the ice-cold feeling envelopes me. No, no, no it’s been so long…

For a moment, I am unfixed in time and space. I am still in the basement, with the buzzing fluorescent lights, and smooth metal drawers and cupboards, the stink of formaldehyde. But instead of a clean, bare second table, I am lying there. But I’m not dead, and I’m not alone. It’s him. The boy - man? - I’ve been seeing for so long, in visions and dreams. He’s hovering above me, a veritable sculpture of pale flesh as he peels off his shirt, our mouths still fused together, my hands gripping his hips. I am a much less collected figure, with my tights around my knees, one shoe still on and my shirt hiked up over my bra. Vision-Me pulls away to say something, and He laughs, and it’s then the light catches his eyes. Dark gold.

Golden-eyes.

“Oh fuck,” Real-Me says, and somehow Vision-Him knows I’m Seeing and looks right at me, where I’m standing with a scalpel in my hand.

“Alice?” My uncle’s hand on my shoulders brings me right back to the right point in time and space.

It’s at the point I hit the floor, manage to stab myself quite viciously with the scalpel and my uncle starts cussing.

It’s been a while between visions.

//

The Council was basically the reason Freddie and I stayed in Forks. It was a fifty-fifty split between honouring Jeanie’s wishes, and keeping me safe and out of sight - as if my aspirations were towards a Vegas nightclub act or international pop star. I wasn’t entirely clueless.  

Forks was built in a special place. A place where the barriers between the ordinary and the extraordinary were a little thinner, where the supernatural were drawn to. Jeanie had theorised that was why the Quileute were able to tap into their spirit wolves so easily, and why the gene remained so strong, father to son without a constant presence of their enemies. I didn’t know enough of their history to have an opinion, but Forks was definitely a place with an interesting history that very few people knew - even I only knew a fraction of everything that happened, past and present. There were very few written accounts; most of the histories were oral and passed down on a strict need-to-know basis.

The Council were definitely in the know, and had been for generations. There was Billy Black, Sue and Harry Clearwater representing the Quileute tribe, there was Charlie Swan representing Forks and everyone not in the know, and there was Freddie and I. Freddie, was technically Jeanie’s representative, and was the Mediator between the Ordinary and the Others. Jeanie’s family had been Mediators for generations, but she’d never had children, so all of that had somehow fallen onto Freddie - and me.

It was extremely useful to have the Police Chief and a Mortician working the Council - we’d had to fudge more than a few deaths. There was always someone or something passing through the Olympic Peninsula, and we’d negotiated, challenged, threatened, and banished more than a few creatures over the last few years.

Technically, all parties were allowed to bring their apprentice representative, but I was the only one of the next generation who attended. Charlie Swan had made it clear he didn’t want his daughter involved in any of this, and both Billy and the Clearwaters had decided that their kids were too young to know exactly what went on around here. I figured in a decade or so, it would just be me, Seth, and Jacob Black (no way would Leah hang around just for this shit show), drinking beer in the woods and deciding whether to burn or bury.

But tonight’s meeting was Special. Despite the fact I’d been drawing nonsensical cards for days now - the Star, the Tower, and Justice - no visions had appeared beyond a dream about a locket with ‘W’ engraved on it. I’d expected a fairly normal meeting, until Freddie had let me in on the plan - we were, apparently, meeting with the Cullen family. No one had informed me exactly what or who the Cullens were, only that they had a ‘fourth seat’ in the Council that they’d been entitled to since the ‘30s. I’d have to go through Jeanie’s diaries again - there were boxes of them in storage, and Jeanie had useful tidbits dotted throughout.

So that was why I was in the forest with my grandfather, shivering underneath two coats and in my new fleecy boots, standing around a fire pit that didn’t really do much more than illuminate the burning wood; the lanterns we’d brought were more effective.

Some days I really wished Leah or Seth or Jacob Black would attend these meetings; they’d certainly liven up these meetings a bit.

“They’ll be here soon,” Billy Black said grimly. Billy Black had it worse than the rest of us - getting out to this part of the forest was awkward and time-consuming with his wheelchair. Since these meetings were clandestine, we couldn’t build a proper track.

“The terms are staying the same?” Charlie asked, sipping from a paper cup of coffee Sue had pressed on him.

Billy frowned. “We aren’t here to renegotiate, but we will listen to their petition if they have one,” he said finally.

“What are the existing terms?” I asked, nudging a mossy rock with my toe.

“We’ll go over that later on, Alice,” Freddie said, watching the woods carefully.

Fine, obstruct my completely transparent attempt at finding out what was actually going on. I was definitely intrigued by the idea this clan had a ‘seat’ at the Council, but it involve negotiations? The only creature I could think of that would fit that kind of profile would be some kind of shifter.

I was bored.

And then the mysterious Cullens arrived.

They came out of the woods like a mist; slowly but all at once. They kept a respectful distance away from the fire pit, clad in pristine new clothing that was a touch too light for the cold weather but was good quality. There were three of them - a blond man, a brunette woman, and a red-haired boy - all three of them taller than average, and pale as snow. And they were lovely, as if Grecian statues had climbed down from their plinth and wandered off.

“Hello,” the man said, nodding at us politely. “Thank you for welcoming us to this meeting.”

“You’ve a right to be here, as outlined in the treaty,” Billy Black said sternly. “This is the current Council - Charlie Swan for Forks. My self, Billy Black, and Harry and Sue Clearwater for the Quileute tribe. Fred Brandon as Mediator. Carlisle Cullen for the Cullen Coven.”

Coven meant vampires. That dampened my spirits a little; my history with vampires was messy. Plus the few vampires that had ventured into this area had been unpleasant experiences. But as I stared at the Cullen coven, I noticed their eyes.

Golden, like liquid light.

Was He one of them? Was the Cullen coven only these three, or where there more?

“And the young lady?” Carlisle Cullen said, looking in my direction.

“My niece,” Freddie said in a no-nonsense tone. “Shall we begin?”

“I assume Ursula Altis has since passed? My condolences to her family,” Carlisle Cullen said. “I had a great respect for Ursula.”

“Yes. Ursula’s apprentice passed on several years ago, and she named Fred and Alice as her successors,” Harry said.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Carlisle Cullen nodded at Freddie and I. I half-smiled back at him. Jeanie had been gone a long time but I still missed her.

“This is my wife, Esme, and my oldest son Edward,” Carlisle gestured to his two companions.

“Oldest son?” Charlie Swan said sharply.

“Yes - I have three others, but we did not want to overwhelm you,” Carlisle said. “They are here, if you would like to meet them?”

“Yes. We want to know the entirety of your coven,” Harry said bluntly.

Carlisle grimaced and nodded. “Of course. My other children - Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper.”

Three more Cullens materialised from behind Carlisle Cullen - a tall blonde girl who was utterly breathtaking to look at, had a displeased expression, and was wearing the genuine designer version of my knock-off winter coat. The second was a bear of a man, with the friendliest face, and curly black hair, who winked at me as he wrapped an arm around the blonde girl’s shoulders.

And then a lanky blond boy with a dark expression and wavy blond hair, who hovered in the shadows, his features mostly obscured. All of them had the same golden eyes, the same pallor and dark under-eye circles. But they didn’t look or behave like other nomads that had passed through. They looked… like a nice family.

Maybe in a decade, Jacob, Seth, and I would be joined by Emmett Cullen for the ‘burn or bury’ booze up. He looked like he’d be the most up for livening up these meetings.

“Your family has grown.” Billy’s voice was accusing, and I turned to look at his stern expression.

“My son, Jasper, joined us in 1965,” Carlisle Cullen said politely, “Looking for a different lifestyle. We have abided by your terms, and would not have returned to this area if we were not prepared to continue to do so.”

The Quiluetes weren’t thrilled with that news, and Charlie just looked kind of tired. Freddie was taking notes on his phone, and I was just cold and getting bored again… until I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

Jasper was prowling away from the others, closer to me, where I stood at my uncle’s side. Both eyes were on me, like liquid amber, and I finally got a good look at him.

Jasper was Him - the boy hovering over me, half-dressed on the gurney; the boy kissing my scar, and sliding in behind me in the shower. The boy that had hovered at the edges of my visions and dreams since I was young, with adoration in his eyes and gentle touches.

The boy I’d love so fiercely and deeply…

Talk about a terrible time to finally meet.

“Oh fuck,” I said, as I looked at him, eyes wide. All those wretched cliches that terrible books write about happened at that moment. I was enchanted, besotted, and absolutely irrevocably attached to this Jasper Cullen. He was mine.

“Step back!” Harry barked out, but Jasper Cullen ignored him, watching me carefully. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled brightly at him, and he kept moving towards me. Flashes of knowledge were appearing in my head, and for some reasons I kept seeing the Lovers card, still in my deck at home. I could hear people talking, getting angry, but it was like the buzz of insects as Jasper Cullen got closer to me. His hand reached out slowly, to stroke the curve of my cheek, studying me with the strangest look on his face.

And then the pain hit, like someone had shoved an ice pick through my left eye and into my brain. The visions were folding over and over, like origami, before I could decipher them. Choices being made, minds changing, so fast I could keep up. I heard myself cry out as I fell, and then everything was dark.

Then I was seeing things in real time. The way I fell, blood running from my nose, to everyone’s utter horror. My eyes were rolled back in my head, and my body jerked in a seizure a few times before I was still.

But no one could get near me. As soon as I had fallen, Jasper had crouched over my prone form, with a horrified look on his face. Everyone was yelling and trying to get closer, and Jasper let out a snarl that was, frankly, terrifying before refocusing on me, taking my hand and plucking my glove off it, to rest against his own cheek. Whatever that was supposed to achieve did nothing, and whilst everyone else was yelling and bickering, he let out a low whine that was so pathetic, if I’d had any control over my body, I would have sat up and given him a hug.

Then Carlisle Cullen placed his hands up to the Council in a gesture of peace and nodded to Emmett before approaching Jasper.

The conversation would have been too low for anyone else to hear, but not me, in whatever kind of vision this was.

“Jasper, I understand,” Carlisle Cullen said in a low voice. “But she’s got a medical condition, you need to let her people take care of her.”

Jasper growled low, Emmett’s hand on his shoulder.

“Bro, c’mon,” he said. “You’re scaring them,” he nodded over his shoulder. Sue’s face was white with fear, and I was scared that Harry was going to stroke out on the spot.

And I was there, Sleeping Beauty, with a smear of fresh blood on my face.

“I can’t,” Jasper seemed to force out between gritted teeth. “She’s mine.” It was said with determination and desperation, and a deep tenderness.

I was pleased that whatever my embarrassing collapse had been, at least I knew we were on the same page -that we knew each other and we knew each other.

And just like that, like they were magic words, my eyes open and I was back in reality, staring up at the man-boy who was staring at me like I held the secrets to the universe.

“Alice, did he hurt you?” Freddie called out in a strained voice.

“No, that was me. Too much new information,” I said, as I began to sit up, Jasper sliding my glove back on my hand before I realised it was still missing. He held out his hand to help me up, his touch so careful and gentle.

“Okay, good. Come over here,” Freddie motioned for me to move to where the group seemed to have bunched across from the Cullens. Charlie Swan looked murderous. “She’s nothing to you, boy, just let her go.”

I winced when Freddie said that, realising immediately it was like a red flag to a bull, and all of a sudden there was a lot of motion. Jasper growled, attempting to shove me behind him - to protect me? - whilst Emmett and Carlisle Cullen decided it was time to get Jasper physically under control, and pulled him back towards where the rest of the family was standing.

I tripped over a rock and stumbled but righted myself as Jasper was bodily dragged back to where Esme, Rosalie, and Edward Cullen were waiting, looking worried.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Mrs Cullen asked as I moved back to Freddie’s side, where he quickly clasped me to him, giving me the once over.

“I’m fine,” I said before catching Emmett having bent Jasper’s arms behind  his back at a hideous angle, his knee digging into Jasper’s spine. “Oh, don’t hurt him! Please!” I made a move towards them but Sue grabbed my arm, and Jasper turned to stare at me with what I can only describe as hope.

“I think this meeting is done,” Charlie Swan said finally. “You agree to maintain the existing treaty - that’s all we need. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we don’t want to cause any issues,” Mrs Cullen said, and Freddie snorted, shielding me with his body.

I felt like a prisoner being frog-marched back to the car.

“Back at the Brandon’s?” Charlie said, as we arrived at the cars.

“Of course,” Freddie said. “Coffee and debrief.”

//