#fael lavellan

[sunflowerpirateart]

Artfight friendly fire on KuroCyou

[kurosmind]

oh oggi è la giornata Parla la tua Lingua :D questo mi ricorda che è anche l'anniversario dell'esistenza di Fael Lavellan, my boy.

[kurogoesinthedas]

him....

[strzygon-xart]

i finally sat and finished this old piece for @kurogoesinthedas

i’m so sorry it took me like 3 years to do it please don’t judge me T-T

[tevivinter]

Today is @kurogoesinthedas‘s birthday so I drew her precious boi Fael :D

I hope you like it! You’re one of my inspirations as an artist and I wish you the best ❤

[jawsandbones]

for @kurosmind

A rattling rasp, the harder crack of bone. The wheeze of an exhale, the inability of an inhale. The blow strangles not his throat, but his lungs themselves. There’s a measure of cold in it. The rock, yes, but also the lyrium. A contact which sears with frost, ice spreading through his veins. Dorian pushes himself up against the barrier they are trapped within, a hand against his chest. Torn threads drift against the back of his hand. A waste of new robes. Fael will be terribly upset. Another attempt at pulling breath, another attempt which fails.

Sounds slur, mix together. Some cacophony of yelling, the rumble of rock against rock, of spells slamming against the guardian. Swords which find no purchase except in the bright blue veins of lyrium, that glowing blood slashed against the ground. There’s black around the edges. A fog which seeps closer. With all his strength, he focuses on him. He’s still casting spells, standing in front of Dorian protectively. Fael’s head turns, that sway of white hair. He’s saying something, shouting words to him. Dorian wishes he knew what he was saying.

He slumps over, unable to hold himself up any longer. The ground is cool against his forehead. As he closes his eyes, he thinks he might hear his name.

“Dorian!” His name burns in his throat, aches in his mouth. Fael turns his staff, turns the pain to fury, and feels it weave into the spell. The guardian seems to pay no mind to his magic. It heeds Cassandra, as her sword sinks deep into already cracked stone, lyrium spilling all about her. It lashes at Cole, ever so light on his feet, darting out of the way of those strange tentacles. Fael turns, when he feels it, when he sees it, magic which adds to his own.

The spirit still claws. One hand raised out of Dorian’s chest, throwing magic directly from the Fade. Another arm, a palm pressed against the ground, trying to pull itself from him. It looks just like him. The same curl of hair, the shape and feel that he knows all too well – but it’s the face, the eyes, which tell it true. They are empty of everything, and void of what makes Dorian, Dorian. Blank white, expressionless, and the simulacrum spirit hurls spell after spell. Fire bursts from its fingertips, lightning following close behind. They edge close to Fael, enough he can feel their heat, as the spirit lacks any careful nature.

This thing stays half embedded in Dorian. Slumped Dorian, barely breathing Dorian. Unnaturally entwined, a link unable to be broken. Fael forces himself to look at the guardian, and not at it. The guardian swings wildly at the intruders, the interlopers which have found the Titan’s heart. Cassandra is shoved backwards, a blow caught by her shield. Cole flits back, struggling to find a clear path of attack. Cassandra shakes out her shield arm, dives back in, her sword held tightly. Cole slips between tentacles, digs his daggers into the heart of the thing. It’s all Fael can do to keep its attention on him, and not on them.

The sweat beads at his forehead, an ache in his arms as he moves his staff with each channeled spell. He feels the fire before he lets it go. He shakes with lingering lightning after it leaves him. He stretches out his hand, the anchor gaping wide on his palm, and pulls directly at the Fade itself. The Rifts are dangerously easy to open. Raw Fade devours the guardian readily, starving for a meal of the real. The harder thing is to control it. Let it not grow too wide, too fat with what it fills its belly with. Worse is closing them. The craving, the want, the yearning reaches into the anchor itself. One day, Fael thinks, it might swallow him whole instead.

Attention he wanted, and attention he receives. The guardian makes no sound, save for what groans between rock and lyrium. Stone sliding against stone, half of its shell taken. Cassandra takes advantage of the exposed heart, and Cole punishes it from the other side. The guardian swings at Fael, and he takes a step back, nimbly out of its way. Beside Dorian, the ghostly image of him. The spirit clings to his body, protects him as best it can. It isn’t the same as weaving spells together. The spirit shows no recognition of him.

It’s a fairly complicated thing to light the lyrium which bleeds from the guardian. Finding the right temperature, the right mixture which lingers somewhere between oil and flame. Fael twists his spells, a notch each and every time, until – it burns blue. It screams upwards, past its defensives, past its tentacles. Cassandra and Cole get out of the way in time as the heart shatters, bursts, sending a fine powder across the area. It flutters, as though snow, but glitters brighter, falls even softer.

Fael instantly turns, the staff clattering against the ground as he goes to his knees beside him. The spirit is retreating, no longer needed. He cradles Dorian’s head in his hands, pulls him into his arms. He leans his head close, holding his own breath as he listens for Dorian. A steady inhale, an almost whistling exhale. He struggles with the sigh of relief, holding it back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He pulls the health potion from his belt, tilts Dorian’s head back. He thumbs off the stopper as best he can, raises the mouth of it to his lips.

“You have to drink Dorian,” he pleads with him, knowing full well he cannot hear him, “drink.” It bubbles in mouth, but the swallow is instinctual, muscle memory. Slowly but surely, Fael guides the entirety of the potion into Dorian. He casts aside the empty bottle, and it rolls away, stopping at Cassandra’s feet. Both she and Cole are silent, watching, giving as much space as is needed. Fael’s hand moves to Dorian’s cheek.

A thumb against his cheekbone, a fond circle at the mark beside his eye. His fingers curl, and his other arm holds him tightly against him. White strands of hair fall as gently as that strange powder, against Dorian’s face. Weakly, softly, “you are crushing me.” Fael’s head snaps back, just in time to see Dorian’s eyes slowly open. He puts his own hand against his chest, his magic guiding the healing potion in places it needs to be. The broken rib will need some extra work but – he breathes in fully, just to know his lungs are still there.

He struggles to sit up on his own, but he’s barely moving before Fael is planting his lips solidly against his. He still tastes like the potion. Crushed herbs, a certain bitterness, and the iron of blood around the edges. Dorian, startled, soon lets his hand rest on Fael’s shoulder. The hard kiss, followed by the quicker one, the fluttering of butterfly wings which seem to never cease. “I’m alright, Amatus. It will take more than that to kill me,” Dorian says.

“Don’t say things like that,” Fael says, the briefest of pauses in between the kisses.

“Apologies.” A crushing kiss, of his own, wholeheartedly returned. “You can scold me some more later,” he says. “For now, help me up?” Hand in hand, pulling each other to their feet. Standing shoulder against shoulder, and neither of them pulls away their hands. Dorian brushes his thumb over Fael’s knuckles as they smile at each other.

[allenvooreef]

A quick doodle for @kurogoesinthedas who can't draw right now due to an arm injury. Thought I'd draw her character Fael while she's unable to! He can definitely relate to her pain right now 😖

[rainbowd00dles]

i dressed @kurosmind‘s boy, Fael

thanks for letting us dress him up ! 

[luinquesse]

@kurogoesinthedas I dressed up your son :3

Oh lol that’s so blurry

[vicekings]

expectations vs reality

or when your lord protector, inquisitor, and sworn shield are more concerned with goofin

ft etienne, @kurosmind‘s fael, and @daihell‘s elden

quick doodles i did today to warm up & then to wind down 

[thereluctantinquisitor]

🎶 Fael? :3

Some Nights - Fun

I just feel it captures Fael’s uncertainty but stubborn drive to keep pushing forward and put on a brave face, regardless of who loves him or hates him for being Inquisitor. 

Plus I like to think the martyr in his bed is Dorian, who helps ground him and remind him that he is enough, no matter how hard it gets or what anyone else thinks.

[b0zart]

@kurosmind my half of our trade :D hope you like these dorks being very much in love and happy!

[kurogoesinthedas]

Happy end of 2020! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆ 

[cherrypikkins]

The chibiquisition has another new member!! Everyone welcome Fael Lavellan to the fold! Thank you so much to @kurogoesinthedas for letting me draw him <3

[seboostianillustrations-ina-blog]

Some warm up sketches that ended up taking forever, because I have no sense of time when I draw. RIP. 

These wonderful inquisitors belongs to their respective owners, which are ~ 

Galathan Lavellan @awaari | Fael Lavellan @kurogoesinthedas | Shokrakar Adaar @ironbullsmissingeye

Elden Trevelyan @daihell | Malloy Lavellan @midnightzoe | David Trevelyan @tessa1972

[vanilladella]

connection between white hair and a chaotic personality, recent study shows

@kurogoesinthedas‘s fael lavellan aand @lavellanpls‘s lilith lavellan!