#i bet varric has a line too

[barbex]

Happy DADWC! Could you write a scene with “I’m better when I’m with you” between whatever pairing you wish to write? :)

Catching up with the backlog tonight for @dadrunkwriting.

Thank you for this prompt! I made it fenders again, I'm predictable like that, and I managed to keep it under 2000 words, just barely. Go, me!

---

Anders steps out of his cabin. Not quite his cabin, he's been assigned to live here, in the line of sight of the guardhouse in front of the gate. It's not quite freedom, but it's better than a dungeon or the Circle. Varric made that possible. As viscount, he ordered Anders to be under watch but not locked up. 

He should be grateful. He is, of course, he gets to see the sun set over the sea and watch it rise again in the morning; he has a garden to tend to where he grows elfroot and other medicinal plants. People leave him alone for the most part, the guards even protected him a few times from angry citizens, who wanted to hang him on the next best tree for his crime. Lucky for him, there's few trees this close to the coast tall and sturdy enough to hold his weight. He probably owes the protection to the fact he healed one of the guards when he stepped on a rusty nail, and that the other officer is Donnic.

It still surprises him that he has friends from the time before. Before he removed himself from everyone, pushing them away to protect them. Justice had been his only friend, but now he's gone. Anders still doesn't know how it happened, but when Meredith died, burning up from inside from the poisoned lyrium, they both felt the pull of the Fade and Justice followed it. There wasn't even time to bid him farewell.

He is alone now, but that's how it should be. He was supposed to die; he expected Hawke to kill him, and what could be more lonely than death? But Hawke let him live. It's only fitting that he is now alone, not burdening anybody. 

In truth, he isn't always alone, Donnic visits him for tea and brings him books, Merrill visits him, telling him about her projects in the alienage or brings him new patients. Even Varric comes around occasionally, and a few people leave the city to find their way to him and ask him for healing. The desperate ones, or old friends who knew him in Darktown.

The afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, soon the first autumn storms will begin, and Anders gathers firewood in his arms to carry into the cabin. He isn't surprised when he hears footsteps coming up the path behind him, Donnic often comes over around this time. He turns to greet him and the firewood falls from his arms.

It's Fenris. 

He hasn't seen Fenris in more than a year, not since he sailed away with Isabela and Hawke. He should say something, anything really, instead of gaping at him with a piece of wood in his hand. But before he can find his words, Fenris frowns and turns around, stomping away, further along the path towards the city gate.

A little while later, Donnic knocks on his door. "Hello, bet you can't guess who I've just met."

Anders piles logs into the nook under the fireplace. He turns to grin at Donnic. "I would win that bet and that wouldn't be fair. I saw Fenris too."

"Damn, I thought I would win for sure."

"Win what?" Anders laughs. "Firewood? Elfroot? I don't have much to offer."

Donnic settles down on a chair and pours himself some tea. "It would have been symbolic. Did he talk to you?"

"No, he just glared at me." Anders pours himself some tea and sits down at the table. "Pretty sure he didn't expect to see me alive and is now on his way to Varric to complain about that."

Donnic chuckles at that. "You're thinking too bad of him."

"No, I think I'm just realistic, but it doesn't matter, anyway." Anders stretches his arms and looks up at the low ceiling. There's a burn mark from when an experiment went wrong. "If he comes back to kill me, there's nothing anybody can do."

"Don't say that, he won't kill you." 

Leaning forward, Anders fixes Donnic in his gaze. "Just promise me you won't get in his way. He's too powerful, don't risk your life by fighting him." 

"Now, wait a minute —"

"Promise me."

Frowning, Donnic studies his face as if to make sure that Anders is serious. "Fine. I promise."

"Thank you." He lifts the lid to check the can. "More tea? I can make some more."

"I'm good, thanks." Donnic drains the rest of his cup. It clinks when he puts it back on its saucer. Such a luxury, cups with saucers. He never had that before in his life.

For days, nothing significant happens. Fenris doesn't show up, Donnic hasn't seen him either, and neither has Merrill, which is not surprising. But she heard about him being in Kirkwall. It's maddening to know that he's there, inside of the walls, so close, but still as far away as Seheron. Anders is not allowed to go into the city. 

One day, Anders has finished all his tasks for today and settles down with the book that Varric sent him, there's a knock on his door.

"Come in, is it an emergency?"

The door opens. "It is not."

Anders sits up and nearly drops his book. He would recognize this voice anywhere. "Fenris." He closes the book, putting it on the table at his side. No need to get bloodstains on it. He even pulls the bookmark out, he won't need to know his place in the story anymore. Waiting, he looks at Fenris, steeling his heart against his anger. Fenris has every right to be angry, it's expected, but it's entirely unfair that he still looks so beautiful, even with his face half hidden under a hooded coat. 

After what feels like hours, Fenris still hasn't said anything and Anders bites his tongue to stop himself from filling the silence with chatter. He used to do that, all the time, but he tries to listen more and chatter less. 

"Anything I can do for you? Would you like some tea? Merrill brings me all sorts of teas and —" Glowing eyes under a deep frown turn to him and he snaps his mouth shut. Less chatter. It's a work in progress.

At last, Fenris speaks, his deep voice filling the tiny room. "Why are you here?"

"Me?" Anders looks around. The cabin is barely large enough to fit the bed and the table with two chairs. "I live here. What are you doing here? You came across a lonely shed and thought to check if a mage hides inside?" He grins, it feels like old times, banter, jokes, but another look at Fenris sobers him up quickly. Fenris is not here to make jokes. Anders wipes his hands on his shirt and gets up. "We should go outside." 

Fenris steps out first, just because there isn't enough room for letting Anders go past him inside the cabin. "Do you want to look at the sunset?"

"It's poetic, isn't it?" Anders turns his face towards the setting sun, blinking against the light. 

"You always enjoyed watching the sunset."

Anders looks at Fenris in disbelief. "I had no idea you noticed that." 

"We were intimate," Fenris says, his voice halting on that last word. 

Smiling to himself, Anders nods. "Yes, I have not forgotten. Doesn't mean you had to notice things about me."

"It is difficult not to notice you."

Anders avoids looking at Fenris, at reading anything into the things he says. They kissed, they had sex, they almost had something like a relationship, where they would drink tea together in the morning and talk. That didn't happen, but it almost did. He stayed the night, once. Just once, before he realised he brought danger to anyone who knew him. 

A dead man shouldn't have friends.

The sun turns a dark red as it touches the horizon. He lets out a long breath, calming his nervous heart. "Why are you here?"

"I thought you were dead." Fenris lets the hood of his coat fall back and closes his eyes. Anders can shamelessly look at him, at his beautiful face, glowing in the light from the red sun, watching his lips as he speaks. "I thought if I wandered enough, if I saw enough places, I would find what I was missing. But I did not."

"What were you looking for?"

Fenris opens his eyes, pinning Anders in his gaze. "With you, I was better, I felt better. I felt complete. I was searching for that." 

Anders' knees buckle, he grabs for something to hold on to as he sways. Fenris takes his arm, steadying him. "You're not here to kill me?"

"Why would I want that?" Fenris' hand tightens around his arm, painfully. 

"Many people want me dead. It would be just." Anders stares at Fenris' hand on his arm, the familiar sharp-tipped gauntlets pressing into his skin. "All of this is temporary, I'm well aware. If Varric gets called away or someone else becomes viscount..."

Fenris notices his gauntlets shredding Anders' shirt and pulls his hand away. "I apologise."

"It's no problem." Anders rubs over his arm, missing Fenris' touch. 

"Can you accept I do not want you dead?"

Anders lets out a helpless laugh. "At the very least, you should hate me." 

"I do not." Fenris opens the buckles of his gauntlets and pulls them off. "I thought I did at first. I was confused and angry, I felt abandoned. You... the way you turned away from all of us, from me..."

"It was safer that way." Anders hardens his expression and turns back to the cabin. "I don't ask for your forgiveness. I don't expect you to understand, but —"

"But I do." Fenris' gauntlets clatter to the ground. "I do understand." 

Anders turns back to him, a shadow against the last rays of sunlight, his face hidden. "What does this mean?"

With quick steps, Fenris closes the distance, takes his face in his hands, and kisses him. 

After a second, Anders' brain catches up. Fenris. Kissing. Wrapping his arms around the elf, he can't suppress a whimper, and kisses him back like his life depends on it. 

Lingering on his lips, Fenris breathes in. "I've missed you. I tried to ignore it, but with every mile the ship put between us and Kirkwall, I missed you more. I just did not understand, at first." 

Anders leans back to look into Fenris' eyes. "You missed me?" 

A smile lingers on Fenris' lips. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I do not... I didn't dare..." Anders tries to breathe, but his chest hurts. "Someone like me can never..." He tries to step away, but strong arms pull him back, hugging him tight and he finally lets the tension fall from his shoulders and buries his face in Fenris' neck. "You're here, for me."

"Yes, mage." Fenris cards his finger into Anders' hair and holds his head. "Stop hating yourself."

"I don't know if I can," Anders says. Something shatters inside of him and he can't help but cry, making Fenris' shirt wet. 

"Anders." Fenris' voice is incredibly gentle. "Can we go inside?"

Wiping his face, Anders nods, leading him inside. 

He cries some more as they sit on Anders' bed. Fenris holds his hand and he keeps staring at it, not quite believing his eyes. They fall asleep like that, Fenris holding his hand, Anders' head tucked under Fenris' chin. In the morning, they will have tea together, like people in a relationship do. Anders still won't quite believe it.

[meatbag-status]

undefined

So it’s been 8 years since DAI was released and I just found this area during the prologue where you can kill 3 demons, find a lifeward amulet, AND get more dialogue from Solas, Varric, and Cassandra. Like...dialogue wheel dialogue. WTF!?! I thought I’d flown all over this map. Like literally flown because I have a flying mod and I’ve tried to fly up the butthole breach multiple times. Also, apologies for the lag. My fps drops considerably when I screen record. (Ohh god the video quality is so bad brb)

[theheraldsrest]

Hello! I have a question, how would the companions and advisors react to female Inquisitor revealing that she is pregnant? (Having Cullen, Blackwall, Bull and Solas both platonic/romance)

“Companions reacting to Female!Inquisitor saying she’s pregnant”

Hello and thank you anon! Current mood of the day: head empty, no note, car gone. That is all, have a good day.

-Lord Lex

Cullen

-You’re pregnant? You’re pregnant. YOU. You are pregnant. What. Is...is this even the best time for that sort of situation?

-He’s happy for you, he’s just a little concerned with you being on the front lines in direct combat. Shouldn’t you stick to the back lines or, even better, not go at all?

-If romanced, the first time you tell he just seems to freeze up. Waving your hand in his face doesn’t even stir him

-Finally, after a few worrying minutes, he’ll stand, walk over to you, and pick you up in a gentle yet protective hug. He couldn’t be happier to know that the woman he loves is carrying his child

-Of course, this also means you’re not leaving Skyhold at all, not for anything until that baby is born and you are well rested

Josephine

-She’s laughing and hugging you, congratulating you on the new life you carry. She couldn’t be happier for you and your partner and is already asking if you need anything

-Josey, of course, is already take precautions and even has a room being prepared for the baby’s arrival, a temporary room until things can settle or until you wish to move them

-Also a bit concerned for both of your well beings when you go out to fight, but she trusts you. And she also trusts your companions to keep an eye on you and keep you safe

Leliana

-She’s holding back what she really wants to say, but congratulations on the baby. What she’d like to say is why, at this time? 

-Might not seem like it but she is beyond worried. Not only does this put their leader at a disadvantage but it also puts them in danger along with the life they carry

-But...if you decide you need to be out in the field, she’ll have someone tail you and keep an eye on you, just in case. Also might threaten your partner, just a little bit.

Vivienne

-Leliana might’ve held back, by Madame de Fer will not. Congratulations and all, but why would you think of having a child right now?

-Don’t get her wrong, she’s indeed happy for you. But why. Children are already nasty and gremlin-like. Not to mention that you’re kinda in the middle of a war at the moment

-Oh, you are absolutely NOT allowed to go out and fight while pregnant, she will make sure of it. And you can bet she has a long chat with your partner about treating you properly while like this

Varric

-What a twist! Congratulates you and makes a joke about your partner going down in the legends with you as the “One who Knocked Up the Inquisitor.”

-Honestly sees it as something wonderful. There’s so much death and despair lately that the thought of a baby being born in the midst of it all kinda gives him hope for the future

-Hell, to know you were able to find happiness with all the trouble and problems you had to go through. You deserve it, a nice happy family.

Cole

-Oh, he is excited! He’s only seen the worst aftermath of some childbirths, the ones were the babe usually doesn’t make it or the child falls ill far too early for them to have a chance

-But this, this is wonderful! There’s so much hope and happiness in your face, in you. And within, the small thing is warm, loved, moving. Oh it’s so new and scary, but wonderful!

-He’s by your side most of the time asking absurd questions, like “Will they have your eyes?” or “Do you think they’ll like the snow?” but he’s also looking out for you, sometimes giving you food and saying “They were wanting to try it.”

Solas

-Well that is certainly a turn of events. Solas congratulates you and feels quite honored that you’d be willing to share such good news with him

-He’s one of the first people to actually gift you something for the baby, a small talisman to keep them safe from any harm or bad dreams

-Goes on one of his little rants, but it’s more to reminisce on old times when children had no fear of the world around them. He hopes the same can be said for your newborn

-If romanced, ho boy. He’s...he’s something. He doesn’t know how to feel while at the same time feeling everything. For now, he can only simply kiss your hands and smile

-What would you say if you knew who he was? What should he do? Was this a mistake? But as he looks at your smiling face, he can’t help but feel happy...and sorry for his quickly approaching departure. Perhaps one day you will understand. And forgive him.

Cassandra

-Oh. That’s...Give her a second. You watch her walk away towards your partner before hearing something crashing and breaking. She soon comes back, hugs you, and congratulates you.

-She is most definitely happy for you and worried. She has no doubts that you won’t be a wonderful mother, just...probably not the best time for a child

-But you can bet she will be by your side to help protect you and your child. That, or she’ll make sure you stay in Skyhold for your safety. What, you thought your window was the only thing she could lock?

The Iron Bull

-Man has the goofiest grin on his face as he not-so-gently pats you on the back and congratulates you. And your partner has no choice in getting celebratory drinks

-Bull believes you’ll make a great parent, especially with how strong of a leader and fighter you are. Add any of your partner’s skills to the mix and you’ve got a powerhouse of a kid

-Of course, he sees nothing wrong with you still fighting, as long as you know your limits and to stay protected

-If romanced, the words are barely out of your mouth before you’re being picked up and swung around in an tight embrace, him booming with laughter

-He thinks he’s the luckiest person in the world with you as his Kadan, his love, and carrying his child. Nothing makes him happier and he’ll make sure you know this. Every. Single. Day.

Dorian

-You’re pregnant?! Oh, this calls for celebration! Has a small party for you and any close friends, getting you some very light drinks and little fancy cakes. 

-Honestly? Not too worried. He trusts you and trusts most of your decisions. And he’s happy that you were able to find happiness in the messed up little apocalypse you were going through

-But that doesn’t mean he’s not ready to put you behind him and defend you whilst in combat. Or else, leave you at Skyhold and tell you to develop your “paternal” side. Maker knows you’ve got enough experience dealing with your little group, especially Sera and Cole

Sera

-You’re what now? Riiiiiight, like you got banged up so much that you’re now pregnant? You’ll have to try harder than that to spook her. This isn’t even one of your funniest jokes

-Up until the point of the actual baby coming, she still doesn’t believe you’re pregnant. She just believes that you’ve put on a few pounds but everyone’s too nice to say anything so she just kept the comments to herself

-WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE PREGNANT?! Why didn’t anyone tell her?! This is complete bullshit! She suspected it- No, she definitely had a hunch. Shut up, Varric!

Blackwall

-You know those guys who are like “No. Really? No you’re not. Seriously? You’re joking.”? That’s Blackwall. Doesn’t know whether to believe it or not

-The poor man honestly thinks you’re joking. Keeps telling you to stop pulling his leg. What do you mean, it’s not a joke?

-He is happy for you, patting you on the back and even offers to buy drinks for you and your partner before remembering you can’t drink. He’s trying, ok?

-If romanced, he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as he hugs you tightly, whispering how wonderful of a person you are and how lucky he is to have you

-He’s concerned, worried, terrified but also ecstatic at the prospect of having a child. Especially if this is something you want and you know the truth about him. He just hopes he doesn’t screw this up

[borisbubbles]

My favourite Dorian Quotes

Just as an addendum, since my previous didn’t exactly put across the hilarity of Dorian, here are my favourite quotes/conversations/reactions by Dorian Pavus in Dragon Age 3.  Edit 22/01: added a few more because Dorian just keeps giving.  60.  Dorian: Come on Varric, just answer the question. 😣 Varric: My mother didn’t raise any morons, Sparkler. 🙄 Dorian: But you must have an opinion! And you’re a Dwarf! Completely unbiased. Varric: There is no way I’ll answer “Which Inquisition Mage is the best dressed?”, not for all the gold in Orzammar. Vivienne: Also, the answer is obvious. 🙂 59. Dorian: So what's your estimation, Varric? Think we could win? Varric: 😱 You aren't asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor's success?! 😛 Dorian: What would that look like? Three to one? 🤣 Varric: In his favor?  Dorian: After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking? Inquisitor: You would actually bet against me?  Dorian: Now now, if I weren't here, it would be five to one at least. 😘 Inquisitor: I’ll take those odds, actually. 😏 Dorian: This is why I adore him so.  😍 58.  Cassandra: So Bull, about Dorian... Iron Bull: Yep, it’s true. 😁 Dorian: By all means, let’s discuss this all together. 🙄 Cassandra: If you’re both pleased Dorian: He’s happy, I’m happy, everybody’s happy!  Iron Bull: Awww, you’re happy. 😍 Dorian: 😣 Cassandra: 😄 57. You joke! they’ll be writing books about you, boring ones that will get it all wrong. Just you wait!   56.  Iron Bull: Yesss, we’re going to fight the dragon, boss? Oh THIS is gonna be GOOD.  Dorian: You are way too excited about this. 😑

55.  Blackwall: How do you get your hair to do that, Dorian? With magic? Dorian: With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe the three of you should get acquainted. 🙄 54.  Cole: You’re happier now, Dorian Dorian: Oh is that what this light tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. 😏  Cole: Wishing but wondering, wounded and whistful Cole: What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian: But he did. 😁 Cole: Now you’re smiling. It’s good.  😃 53. Varric: Does this shit make any sense to you? Dorian: Are you referring to the giant gaping hole in the sky, or the creature from a Chantry cautionary tale pretending to be a god? Varric: Either. I’m feeling generous. Dorian: What’s the matter? Some pretender comes along, tears the place down, declares himself king. That’s half of history. Varric: Corypheus is like that drunk uncle who refuses to leave the party? Dorian: Even after he puts a hole in the ceiling. Terribly common.  52.  Sera: You gonna warn me the next time you’re throwing your magic around? Dorian: As long as you’re careful where you shoot all those arrows Sera: You magic me, I’ll put three in your eye! Dorian: 😅 Now we can live together in peace and harmony!  51. Vivienne: Dorian, what did you think of little Sera’s last Red Jenny mission? Dorian: Hmm... I’d call it ‘medium’. 🤔 Vivienne: ‘Medium’, my dear? Dorian: It wasn’t rare, and it certainly wasn’t well done. 😏 50. Cole: Dorian, what is 'a slave'?  Dorian: FESTISBEIUMOCANAVERUM! 😨 Cole: You said I could ask questions! Dorian: I know I did, just... go ask the Inquisitor that one. 49. An optimist! 🤣  such a rare breed, I have stumbled upon a unicorn. 48. Dorian: What I wouldn't give for some proper wine.😫 Vivienne: Skyhold's steward is a sadistic little man who is trying to kill us. 🤢 Dorian: Perhaps he found a bargain he couldn't pass up, on vats of vinegar? 47. Cassandra: Why are you looking at me like that, Dorian? Dorian: I am trying to imagine what you would look like... in a dress.😈 Cassandra: Keep wondering. If my uncle couldn't put me in one, neither shall you. 46. Dorian: How do you want to be remembered, Cassandra? Valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo? Cassandra: I don't have any control over how I'll be remembered. 🙄 Dorian: Sword raised high, blue scarf dramatically fluttering in the wind, sun rising behind you? Cassandra: Blue scarf?😒 Why would I be wearing such a thing? Dorian: It's a painting, of course! Work with me( It'll be fantastic! 🤗 45. Dorian: Why is it so cold? How do you southerners stand it? Iron Bull: What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies? Dorian: My ‘footsies’ are freezing, thank you! 😒 44.  Blackwall: Dorian, I’d appreciate it if you stopped refering to me as ‘that hairy lummox”.  😠 Dorian: When did I do that? Blackwall: At the tavern, the blacksmith’s, the stable. You said it to the gateguards when we left Skyhold! Dorian: hmm... 🤔 yes, that does sound like me.   🤗 43. Dorian: Watch out where you point that thing! 😡 Iron Bull: Dirty! 😏 Dorian: Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon! 😡 42. Dorian: What would you say Blackwall's best feature is, Vivienne? Vivienne: His absence, of course. 🙄 Blackwall: I can hear both of you. 😒 41. Dorian: Did you know we are actually related Inquisitor? Inquisitor: We, what? Dorian: Not first cousins or anything. Can you imagine?  Dorian: I however did a bit of digging in my family tree, and somewhere down the netheregions of my line there was also a Trevelyan. Dorian: Perhaps the one who went to Ostwick to establish the branch? I knew we looked so alike for a reason. 😏 Inquisitor: Um, yay?  Dorian: Indeed! 😁 Yay! 40. I’m always nice. 😏 39. Dorian: I don't know if you've heard, but the rumours are that you and I are... intimate. Inquisitor: That's not such a bad thing, isn't it? Dorian: I don't know, is it? Inquisitor: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Perhaps you would like me to answer in a different fashion? 🤔 Inquisitor:  If you're capable. 😅 Dorian: 😘🥰😚 Dorian: 'If you're capable.' The nonsense you speak. 🤭 38. Dorian: You caught the eye of a young woman in that last village, Blackwall. Blackwall: I'm sure you're mistaken. 😒 Dorian: You're right. She was undoubtedly looking at me.🤭 37. Dorian: Vivienne, I have only the one question - why the Orlesian fixation with masks? Vivienne: It is The Game, darling. You never show the players your true visage. Dorian: A strange custom in a culture where people assassinate each other for putting too much salt in the soup Vivienne: An extra hurdle to be overcome. Fail at The Game, and you die. Dorian: And you people call Tevinter barbaric. 🙄 36. Dorian: You are smiling a great deal these days, Cassandra. 😉 Cassandra: I am not... smiling. 😒 Dorian: Now you're not, but only because I pointed it out to you. Cassandra: I am not a giddy schoolgirl! 😡 Dorian: That would have been easier to believe if you hadn't just blushed. 🤗 35. You’ll be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence.  34. Dorian: Sera, I see you are having fun with your illustruous paramour- Sera: WHAT? 😨 Is it showin'? Dorian: What? NO, oh heavens NO. 🤢 Dorian: I meant to ask if you're enjoying your new relationship. Sera: Then why not just say that? 🙄 Dorian: I did... in words you apparently don't understand. 😑 Sera: What's the point of words you know and others don't? Who'd you say them to? 🙄 Dorian: Letmejustdobothofusafavorandretractthequestion. 😡 Sera: Pity, because we're doing great. That's why I'm following her around with weirdies 🤗 33. It was fun to goad you, Cassandra. You get that knot between your eyes when you're flustered - Ah, look, there it is! Delightful!  🤗 32. Dorian: I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd to criticise my manners. Inquisitor: Where would we be if you mother we really here? Dorian: Short one mage, after he's been dragged out by his earlobe. Inquisitor: I have a hard deal imagining that. 😅 Dorian: Picture me a young boy of five years then. She certainly always has. 🙄 31. Dorian: 'Official Mage to the Orlesian Court'. Well that sounds exciting. 🙄 Vivienne: It's an esteemed position, darling. One many mages should envy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose being paraded around like an exotic peacock is better than frantically running from templars. 🙃 Vivienne: Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many. Dorian: Oh? A dig at my homeland? This should be fun. 😏 30. Sera: Dorian? Those words you say. What do they mean? Dorian: What, you mean like mendicant or ultimatum? 🤨 Sera: No, arse, when you're mad. 'Pish-anty cough-ass'. You're swearing, I know it. Dorian: Ah, 'vishante kaffas'. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases. Sera: And it means what? Dorian: Literally? 😏  'You shit on my tongue.' Sera: 😂 Why not just say that?  Dorian: A mystery for the ages.  29. Sera: Demons! Flappy robes! Dorian: Thieves! Dog Stink! Sera: Culty shits! Dorian: Treacherous teyrns! Sera: Wha- It’s not a proper game of ‘Your people are shit” if you just make up words. 🙄 Dorian: A ‘teyrn’ is a Fereldan title, just below that of a king. I thought you of all people would know that. Sera: Well that’s just... I... smartasses 🤬 Dorian: Too late! I believe that’s my round. 🤗 Sera: Piss! 😠 28.  Vivienne: You’re rather amusing, Dorian. Dorian: Your outfit’s entertaining, I’ll give it that.🙄 Vivienne: Pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and you’ll never be one, darling. They knew this as much as we do.   Dorian: I could have of course pretended, wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not.  Dorian: Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am.  Vivienne: Such snapping for a fish without teeth! 😂 Inquisitor: I cannot believe the way you two speak to each other. 😨 Vivienne: Inquisitor whatever is the matter? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation. Dorian: It’s true. I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home.  27.   Dorian: Varric, you owe me five royals. I’d like them paid in candied dates. 😉 Varric: I haven’t lost that bet yet, Sparkler. Dorian: You said we would be arse-deep in trouble. This is more like knee-high. Varric: I didn’t specify whose ass, did I? 😏 Dorian: Leave it to a dwarf always lowering the bar. 🙄 26. I hope you tried the ham they were serving, by the way. Tasted of despair. Fascinating. 25. Dorian: Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever if you like. Vivienne: Certainly. Provided both of us are capable. Dorian: I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense, you slam Tevinter decadence and tyrrany. Dorian: There's however something more important we must remember. Vivienne: And what might that just be? 🤨 Dorian: At least we're not Antivan. Vivienne: 🤢 Quite right. Thank the Maker. 🙏 24. Cassandra: You're not as handsome as you think, Dorian. Dorian: Ah, but I must be! Or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time.  😏 Cassandra: Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they're not. Dorian: Look at this profile - Isn't it incredible? Dorian: I picture it in marble. 😏 Cassandra: 😒 23. Flying cows over Minrathous? Preposterous! Okay that one is actually true, but the cows didn't have wings. 22. Dorian: I have only one question, Sera: did you cut your own hair?  Sera: Yeah. Why wouldn't I? 🙄 Dorian: You could try using something other than a rusty butter knife. Sera: Oh, excuse me while I dig up my diamond-studded hair-cutting whatevers. 🙄 Dorian: Scissors. 😏 The word you're looking for is "scissors." 😏 21. Iron Bull: Quite the stink-eye you've got going, Dorian. Dorian: You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest. 😡 Iron Bull: That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. Iron Bull: I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns. Iron Bull: I. Would. Conquer. You. 😏 Dorian: Uh. What? 😨 Iron Bull: Oh. Is that not where we're going? 🤐 Dorian: No. It was very much not.😳 20. You can't call me pampered, Varric. 🙄 Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks. 19. Sera: Dorian are you going to warn me the next time you bust out in demons or sumthin? Dorian: 😂 How exactly do you picture me 'busting out’? Dorian: I am just walking along and *OOPS* - demon? Dorian: I mean it could happen, after years of training. You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow. 😏 Sera: So are you going to warn me or not? 🙄 Dorian: Certainly. But only because you're so dear to me. 😘 18. Dorian: For being so unnerved by magic, you aren't shy about benefiting from its effects.🤔 Sera: I don't. I use normal things, not magic. 🙄 Dorian: You consider swathing yourself in flame or ice 'normal' and 'not magic'? 🤨 Sera: For one: it comes out a bottle. Sera: For two: I mess up, I get burned. You mess up, your head chucks up a demon. Sera: For three: Bottle, little burned, no demons. So there. 🤗 Dorian: That was only... you know, if it lets you sleep at night, never mind. 😒 17. Festis bei umo canaverum! I swear, if you don't come through this, I will kill you. 😖 16. Dorian: The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle full of silks and gold. 😍 Dorian: I met a marvellous desire demon as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he tried to possess me. 😇   Vivienne: 🙄😒😠😡🤬 Dorian: Yes? I hear your southern Harrowings are slightly more strenuous. 😏 15. What do they call this place? A "bog"? Lovely word for it.  🙄 14. Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I am sorry? 🙄 Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry.😷 What are you supposed to be, some sort of woodsman? Dorian: Isn't that a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some sort of statement? Solas: No. 😠 Dorian: Well, it says "Apostate hobo" to me. 😏 Vivienne: Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically. 🙂 13. I AM TOO PRETTY TO DIE 😭 12. Dorian: Amatus, it's been so long. Did you miss me? Inquisitor: A little bit. Dorian:  😂 'a little bit' he says. I'll show you a little bit! Just you wait. 😏 11. Dorian: Sera, where do you get your arrows from? You have so many. 🤔 Sera: From your arse. That's where. 🙄  Dorian: My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific. 😁 10. Ah, this reminds me of the time Mother took me boating in summer. Or rather, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.🙄  09. Inquisitor: Things are going well with the Bull, I take it? Dorian: He's glad I've returned, if that's what you mean. Nearly crushed three of my ribs with that ridiculous hug. 🙄 Inquisitor: You say that as if you don't like it. 🤨 Dorian: For such a great beast, he can be such a terrible sap 🙄 Dorian: [bullvoice] "I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian". Dorian: Ugh. 🙄 Inquisitor: 😂 you do like it Dorian: Quiet you! He'll overhear, and then where I'll be?🤫 08. Dorian: Sera, I cannot believe you, of all people, are scared of magic. Surely you can see nothing wrong with a properly used tool? Sera: What about all the mages waving their proper tools in people's faces? Dorian: There's an image. 😁 Sera: "What about Corfyface? How many proper tools does he have under him? Dorian: That's not... I don't think I can continue. 😬 Sera: I don't care how gifted you are, don't cram it where it's not wanted. 😡 Vivienne: Maker, how does she not know? 🙄 07. Just once we should enter a cave and see normal sized spiders. 🙄 06. Cassandra: After all the places we have been, I hardly expected us to find ourselves in another cave. Cassandra: Still, as mad as our lives had been, I would take any chance to be together.  😘 Dorian: Why seeker, after all these years, I never realized you felt this way!! Cassandra: ... Dorian: ... Cassandra: 😒 Dorian: Oh, you meant him. 😶 05. Mountains! 😠 Cold! 😠 "Let's bring Dorian!". 😒 04. Dorian: I heard a little rumour that somebody has been doing some training. As an assassin no less. Inquisitor: I thought the skills might come in handy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose a little flair is welcome, with all the killing you do. Inquisitor: I don't kill that many people. 🙄  Dorian: Are you joking? I'm only surprised you didn't kill someone walking over here. 🤨 03. Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Dorian: 'Death By Applepie' - A lovely poem by our dear friend Cole.  02. Blackwall: Corypheus, one of yours isn't he? Dorian: One of my mine? 🙄  Like a pet? 🙄 Like a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? 🙄 Dorian: "Dorian, why can't you look after your little friends. Corypheus peed on the carpet again". Dorian: In this analogy, 'the carpet' is Haven. 😏 Blackwall: Is he or isn't he a Tevinter magister? 😒 Dorian: Meaning 'the source of everything bad in the world'? They are the same, yes? 😑 Blackwall: Sigh. Feels that way at times. 🙄 01. Inquisitor: No matter what happens, I wouldn't trade the years I spent with you for anything. Inquisitor: I love you. Dorian: I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard. 😭

[a-drama-addict]

WIP whenever

thanks to @dumbassentity for the tag! it's writing time tonight! since art block is being a bitch i went for my other hobby

I'll tag @nomouthtospeakof and @dungeons-and-dragon-age (no pressure as always!)

They say the Champion is known for three things. One, she’s Kirkwall’s Champion, two she has a witty line for any situation and three, she will always have at least somewhat of a smirk when she is walking around. Alas, if you saw her in Skyhold you would not notice the third one. Ever since the Champion had arrived she looked more like a statue who couldn’t change face. The only person that has made her laugh or smile in her time there, was Varric but that’s only because they’re best friends. It seemed like the two had known each other forever. Even then the dwarf hadn’t gotten a real good mood out of her yet. They both didn’t like being away from Kirkwall, especially Chloe. But Varric had a plan, something that was guaranteed to at least get her to be less gloomy - Wicked Grace. In Kirkwall the two of them played every Friday night, it has become a routine for the two. Whether it was just the two of them or if the others joined - didn’t matter. Friday night was for Wicked Grace. And he knew where Chloe was. “Nothing like getting shitfaced before a day filled with adventure! And probably countless injuries and death.” The tavern. While it was no Hanged Man quality, how low that quality may even be, the Herald’s Rest would have to suffice. Varric opened the door, and to no surprise he saw Chloe sitting at the bar. With the Iron Bull no less. “Betting a sovereign you can’t out-drink me, Champion.” The Bull said, playfully hitting Chloe’s shoulder. “Oh please, the beer here doesn’t even compare to what they served in the Hanged Man.” Chloe said, hitting Bull back. Responded by a shove. Which Chloe quickly reciprocated by a shove back. The hitting and shoving continued - until Chloe fell out of her chair. Everyone went silent for a second, until both the Iron Bull and the Champion burst out laughing. The other patrons joining in on the laughter rather quickly. Varric chuckled, “Well at least you’re having fun.” he stated, walking up to Chloe who was still giggling on the ground. “And clearly drunk.” the dwarf added, making Chloe laugh even more. Varric started laughing too, helping his friend get up. “You up for a game of Wicked Grace, Muffin?”

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Blood Lotus and Arbors Blessing for Fane? 👀

Well, well, well, I see you chose one particular plant that lets me demonstrate the sheer amount of alcohol that Fane can consume and still not get drunk! Clever, clever! >:D

Blood Lotus - Is your character a lightweight when it comes to intoxicating substances? How did they come across this fact?

So to start, Fane is not a lightweight by any means and allow me to show you!

**

"Are we seriously doing this, Varric?", Fane asked, arms crossed as he sat at one of the tables in the tavern, watching as the dwarf meticulously set down bottle after bottle of different liquors. He recognized them, since each one was a brand they had stumbled upon out in the wilds during excursions.

Varric glanced up as he set the last bottle labeled 'Dragon Piss' down in front of him before stepping back, nodding with satisfaction and grinning like a fool. Fane didn't like that grin. That grin meant bad things. Baaad things.

"This is a test, Tempest!", Varric proclaimed, reaching forward to pull the cork of one of the bottles, giving it a precarious sniff before making a face that said, 'Oh, that's a strong one' before setting it back down, and grinning again.

Fane lifted a hand, slowly rubbing at his face before sighing. He should have known the dwarf's offer of a round of cards was a bad idea, but he had agreed. Why had he agreed? He should be in bed. He should be doing something other than drinking, but here he was.

"And tell me, what is this test trying to prove?", Fane asked, instantly regretting it as Varric let out a laugh, pulling the cork off another bottle and then another and then another. Oh, this was bad and so was the smell as he grimaced slightly at the one labeled 'Dragon Piss'. His kin's piss did not smell like that. Not at all.

"It's to test if that body of yours is just for taking hits, or if it can take a different type of hit.", Varric explained, finishing his mass uncorking of bottles to plop down into the chair directly across from him, smirking with a twinkle of mischief in amber eyes.

Fane raised an eyebrow, idly reaching out with a hand to grab a hold of a bottle, giving it a swirl, but never disconnecting eye contact with the set watching him. Another glint of deep brown within otherwise bright eyes told him exactly what he needed to know, and it also had him heaving a sigh. He should have known.

"You want to see how many bottles it takes to get me wasted.", he said matter of fact, nearly snorting when Varric's eyes widened a bit before they schooled themselves, cheeky grin still in place.

"Keen eye, Your Holiness.", Varric joked, but cleared his throat when Fane threw a truly venomous glare at it. "But, yeah! I overheard a certain conversation between you and our resident apostate, and it got me curious." That same cheeky grin seemed to grow at those words, making Fane let out another sigh. He and Solas really needed to stop having their talks in the rotunda. Sound carried, voices lingered.

Stone talked to stone.

"I'm guessing it was the one from the Winter Palace?", Fane asked, knowing that it was, but playing the fool. He already toed the line with his earlier observation, as insignificant as it was. He didn't need to pique Varric's curiosity more. "The one where I drank ten bottles of port, five bottles of brandy, and three shots of whiskey?"

Varric nodded. "That exact one!", he affirmed, pointing at him with a finger before leaning back in his chair, propping his boots up on the table. "According to how Chuckles worded it, you were drinking throughout the night, but every time I saw you, you looked as steady as a vessel.", he stated, leaning over a bit to grab his own pint, as if the whole thing happening was a riveting show.

Fane shrugged. "I took swings here and there. That place had my nerves all frayed, and why not take advantage of the free drinks?", he said. The masks had also had him on edge, but Varric didn't need to know that.

"Oh, I get that, but the amount...", Varric started, pointing with his tankard with a thoughtful expression. "...that's the kicker! And why I have to see a repeat!", he declared, taking a swig of his own ale.

Fane let out a tiny growl before just sighing once again. As much as he didn't want to entertain this, his head pounding from today's 'meetings' and Cullen and Cassandra's disapproval with one of his actions, he had to admit, a drink would be nice.

Really nice. He wouldn't get drunk anyways. Not from the meager line up before him, at any rate.

"Fine, dwarf.", Fane acquiesced to the test, sitting up straight to lean his elbows on the table, feeling a tiny, tiny smirk beginning to form as he saw the flash of surprise in amber. "I'll take your test and get the highest marks, too.", he said, raising the bottle in his hand and taking a generous swig with a single flinch. It was strong, it burned going down, but still piss weak.

Varric let out a barking laugh, slamming a hand down on the table and nearly upending all the bottles.

"Andraste's tits! I'm gonna mark this day on the calendar!", Varric roared, raising a hand in a sweeping pattern as if displaying something. "'Fane Lavellan learns to loosen up! All thanks to his friend and loyal ally, Varric Tethras!'".

Fane scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took another hearty swig. He looked down into the opening of the bottle, feeling his face go flat with boredom.

"I'm not going to be loosening up anytime soon with these drinks.", Fane grumbled before shrugging, taking another long, long swig, practically chugging it until he felt no more liquid enter his throat. "See?" He shook the bottle a bit, showing the now wide eyed dwarf it was empty. "Pathetic."

"Oh, we'll see about that once you down all twenty four!", Varric exclaimed, shock wearing off to be replaced with rapt excitement. "Fifty sovereigns says I have to drag your ass up the stairs to Chuckles by the end of the night."

Fane leaned back, taking another bottle with him and mimicking Varric's position. He felt his smirk widen at the challenge, the bet, and felt a warm sense of giddiness in his chest. Maybe the alcohol was stronger than he thought? Nah, couldn't be. Just the room.

"Make it a hundred and a sneak peak of your next chapter, and I'm in.", Fane raised the stakes as he took a generous sip of the next bottle, its front label reading 'Butterbile'. It certainly had an essence akin to bile; musty and...damp.

"You drive a hard bargain, Inquisitor, but I'll take that bet!", Varric agreed to his terms, grin now ear to ear as he took a swig in turn.

Maybe grins of sun when the being that bore them came from the Stone wasn't so bad after all as Fane took another chug, smirking and warm all the while.

(Fane won the bet. And he had to carry Varric up the stairs instead. XD)

***

Arbor Blessing :: What is the happiest ending you can think of for your character?

Fane's happiest ending would be that his kin were free, able to do what they did without fear of being leashed again and that he and Solas could finally rest. Somewhere quiet, disconnected, but still aware of everything they fought for. Maybe the forests, maybe on the road, learning and observing a world they hadn't seen in centuries. An ending where no one had to die. Perhaps scarred and tempered, but not dead, not gone. Fane built friendships with everyone, and while I haven't shown that very much in my writing, it's the truth. He's just like Solas in that he doesn't want to do what he has to do, but sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and push through.

I just see Fane and Solas with Yune (their adopted dragon) just...living. Actually living and not just walking through the world like it's a nightmare, an illusion, a mirror waiting to be broken.

Thank you for the ask, friend! X3

[dragonagecompanions]

hi there, so in love with your works. Seriously *bows head* thank you all so much. If its not too bad, I wanted to know how everyone in DAI from the advisors to the companions would react to a teen inquisitor who is brilliant at cooking? Yet the inquisitor has no idea about people from Leliana's agents to everyone else pinching her food.

Cassandra: She thinks she is being sneaky and subtle, insisting that because of their age and responsibility it is better for their young herald to stay close to camp and not take a watch when they leave Skyhold. There will be time for that when they are older, and bearless of a burden. If they will take on the difficulty of closing the rifts, then the most they should have to do is help around the camp, and after a long day nothing is appreciated more than hot food.

No one contradicts her, and the Seeker is left to silently congratulate herself on enjoying the absolutely divine way that their young leader has with rabbit and Hinterland herbs without making the Inquisitor feel worthless.

(And if everyone else lets her take a lead on that because she has mattered the speech, well...it’s really good stew.)

Varric: Damn, this is the stuff. Its like being back in the Hanged Man, except the bread is trying to actively strange him, and the pies aren’t staring back and.. 

It’s nothing like the Hanged Man, really, but the sheer comfort of phenomenal food at the end of the world? The same kind of warmth as sitting with your friends as the city goes to shit and laughing at a joke no one else gets. Their young protagonist has a good skill set on their hands, and If Varric’s writing table moves a little closer to the door into the kitchens, well.

Keeps the ink from freezing.

Solas: It had been a passing comment about the frilly cakes in Val Royeaux,  some exchange of banter with Varric about time passing and philosophy and the unending banal that one takes on to keep the miles from turning monotonous. He’d had no idea the Herald was listening, and so it makes it all the more touching when- after waqving to them as they take on the climb to the library- he comes down from his painter’s perch to find three petit fours waiting for him on his table. 

It drives home that they are a thoughtful young person, so different from the rest of this world, and if he uses the sweetness of the frosting and cake to drive away the twinge of guilt that his plans still move at speed....it does not take away from their talent, or their kindness. He will be content with that.

Blackwall: Food is food, particularly on the road. Hard tack and sausage has kept many a soldier alive, and he is the last person you’d hear complaining that he can’t put his pinky out eating meat from a spit. Luxury is for soft handed nobles, not men and women striving to make the world better. Let them have the best cuts-- Blackwall would starve before he robs true heroes of a hot meal.

And yet the first time he comes back from gathering firewood to find that the reason the inquisitor was tying so much string around the side of a wild hog was to make a porketta, and he got a good whiff of roasted pork slowly spinning in it’s own drippings....It would be a harder sacrifice. It made the Inquisitor so happy to watch their work be enjoyed and help people though, that it would the crueler not to take some. 

And if he dreams about the tender meat and crispy skin all perfectly seasoned and roasted for days afterwords, that’s no one’s business of his own. 

Vivienne: She cuts an imposing figure, and for the Madame de Fer is quite proud. It has cowed more than one recalcitrant novice into place with only a long legged stride alone, and for that she is a legend in her circle. Of course the stories do not tell how she would never be cruel or unfeeling to a child, and particularly not one far from home and frightened of every shadow like the ones that the Templars rip from families and depost in a new and strange place.

She expects a similar attitude from the young Herald, particularly after her (rahter stunning) entrance on their first meeting. And perhaps they were a bit overawed, but before it could become something she needs to address Lady Vivienne is pleasantly surprised to find their young leader coming to her for advice from a letter from some minor Orlesian lord. And while surely it will be up to Josephine to craft the response Vivienne is delighted that the Inquisitor wants her input.

That they went to the effort to bring beignet’s with them as a bribe...For that, she will give them every secret of the author’s well kept family scandals. 

Sera: Their Bitty Herald can make cookies better than Sera can make cookies, but they aren’t the kind that you throw at people as a prank or that come out all rock hard and brown and blegh. They are the soft gooey kind that make you want to steal the whole plate and eat them on your roof but also throw the plate at their Quizznitor because....because cookies!

She will trade pranks for cookies, who ever her Jenny in training wants to see doused in water or flour or...or...pudding! Pudding for cookies is the most fair.

Dorian: Southern food is bland and tasteless, and Skyhold’s resident ‘Vint will endure it for as long as he must to help defeat this ancient magister and get things on the right track. And the beer isn’t the worst, much to his own dismay as his delicate palette accepts the swill. But the food is all friend or brown or smothered in gravy, and he’d just as soon not.

So when they finally stop for the night under the endless web of branches that keep the sky from meeting the Fallow Mire, the pond water full of dead people sounds more appealing than one more night of Varric’s nug stew. Which makes the fact their valiant young Herald just ladled him a bowl of Minestrone so much more impressive. Their shrugged explanation of ‘I’ve always wanted to make it and the merchants had actual artichokes on the way here and you can tell me if I got it right’ does nothing to take away the warmth and delight the gesture brings to him. 

It would be like coming home, if anyone had ever made sucha rustic and delightful soup for him without strings and hooks attached in Tevinter, and for the first time on the whole mission Dorian isn’t chilled the rest of the night. 

The Iron Bull: He isn’t sure which one of the Chargers talks to the Herald (lies, it was  Krem), but one night half the fortress is piled into the Rest and the Inquisitor is waiting with four bowls of unreadable origin. The explanation that these are four kinds of curry and each is hotter than the last is the best gift he’s ever gotten, but the wager of a single coin (he won’t steal more than that from the kid) that the Iron Bull can’t finish them for the spice is even better. 

Three hours later finds him chewing on one of Stitche’s poultices for a burnt tongue (and throat and stomach and probably ass in a few hours) but one coin richer and hoarse voiced from the roaring laughter he’d gotten after a straight face convinced Krem to try the last bown and he’d literally wept.

Good times. 

Cole: The nug is made of bread, and it isn’t a nug but it looks like one. And it’s wearing a tiny hat! ‘Roll the dough out, has to be thin so it rises to keep the shape, he likes nugs so much and doesn’t ask for anything and Sera bet me I couldn’t.’ You made it for me. Thank you! He says hello back!

Josephine: When their ambassador hears that not only does the Herald have an aunt who married into a merchant house in Antiva but the inquisitor spent a summer there and learned to make authentic Paella, Lady Montiliyet’s mind is a whirlwind of plans and thoughts of just the appropriate bribe that would spare her from getting down on her knees and begging a fifteen year old to make her favorite dish. Eventually Leliana gets tired of little doodles of steaming bowls on all their meeting notes and sends a raven  three windows over, Josie, really with an ‘anonymous’ request to make it and leave it in the war room in exchange for a trade of equal value. 

And when Josephine finds out that all the Inquisitor wants is the creepy love letters from young  Orlesian nobles to go away, she takes great delight in her strongly worded letters to their mothers in between heaping mouthfuils of white wine rice and shrimp and the warm bite of saffron that will always be home.

Leliana: It is written on no report or schedule, and her agents will go to the grave without speaking of it to another soul, but the Inquisition’s spymaster has a man in the kitchens whose only role is to fetch firewood and water and try to one day recover his shattered after a terrible mission in her service. It’s easy work for a man who gave so much, and somewhere he is able to do good work until the tremors and the nightmares stop. The kitchen staff is kind to him and treat him well, but his true mission is known only to himself and his mistress.

The second the herald starts making  Cassoulet he is to fetch her immediately. She won’t be caught in a meeting and miss her favorite food again, damn it.

Cullen: It’s hard for the Inquisitor’s commander to be at ease with someone who is both a child and at least nominally his leader. They are someone he wants to protect, but also the key to stopping the world and someone who must be on the front lines. That is gift alone to the world, but when the rumors begin to swirl that they will also go out of their way to make things that people like it brings a small smile to his face. The world would be better if had more people like the herald in it. 

Especially if they could all make little crocks of shepards pie like the one that sits on his desk after a day of long meetings and a lyrium migraine. That might make everything right again.

-- Mod Fereldone

[tsuraiwrites]

Fic: An Immodest Proposal

@kyogre-blue​ oh no, you left it up to my discretion and my brain decided to go even further off-script – I hope you like it!

for this prompt meme

With Kirkwall’s new Viscount under pressure from the nobles and Guilds to get hitched, Hawke decides to propose fake marriage. Varric recognizes a trope when he sees it.

Hawke’s words take a moment to seep through Varric’s focus on the letter to Brulan Sasca, only halfway through writing another rejection of the guildsman’s daughter’s hand. This is the third damn time he’s had to turn Sasca down, and there are already grumblings in the Guild about Varric needing an heir...

Varric’s quill skids across the parchment as Hawke’s question finally sinks in. He stares at the line of ink for a long moment before looking up at Hawke where the human sits across the desk. 

“Come again?” he asks, not quite believing his ears.

Hawke has never been able to fool Varric – the man’s abysmal attempts at bluffing always failed him, even during Wicked Grace –  but in the aftermath of Adamant and Weisshaupt and Kirkwall putting the Viscount’s crown on Varric’s head, something has changed.

“I said,” and Hawke’s face doesn’t change from its unreadable blankness, but the air around him feels strangely brittle, “that you should marry me. It’ll get Bran and the Merchant’s Guild off your ass–”.

“Hawke–”

“–and I’m famous enough they can’t complain about my status–”

“Hawke, that’s not–” 

“–if you’re worried about it not being Chantry-sanctioned, you know the Inquisitor would officiate–”

“Garrett,” Varric says, and the minute widening of his eyes and the way Hawke swallows in response to the name thankfully shatters that blankness. Varric’s gut clenches when Hawke doesn’t look away. “That isn’t what you said.”

Hawke hesitates, sighs as he sinks further into the cushy chair meant for visiting dignitaries.

“Will you marry me, Varric?” A pause, before he tries to tease: “It worked in your books.” 

At long last, Varric sets down the quill that’s been slowly dripping ink on the ruined letter, rubbing his temples to stave off the oncoming headache. He can still feel divots in his skin from the damn iron crown he has to wear all day.

“This isn’t one of my novels – and you’re thinking of Isabela’s friend fictions,” he corrects.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you didn’t mention a marriage of convenience at least once in Swords and Shields?”

“Okay, in the second– that’s not the point, Hawke.” 

In the face of his frown, Hawke sighs, running a hand through his hair without meeting Varric’s eyes. 

“Look, I heard about Bianca–” and he looks up just in time to catch the wince Varric can’t hide. “Yeah, so I know why you don’t want to marry anyone. I figured, this way it’d be someone you can stand,” Hawke says, mouth pulling into his trademark smile, as if it’s really that easy.

Varric slides his hands under the desk, the better to hide his clenching fists. He’s not in the mood to explain about him and Bianca, not after what happened in Valammar, even if he’s sure Hawke’s heard more than enough from the Inquisition’s side. 

“And what’s in it for you?” Varric grinds out, trying to get them off the topic of Bianca, watching as Hawke’s smile goes tight at the corners of his eyes. Hawke cups his hands together, exaggeratedly pleading.

“Why, my own handsome dwarf to take care of me in my retirement, of course!” 

It could be the truth – Hawke never lost his noble status, despite defending the mage who blew the Chantry to the Void, but he no longer has the deep pockets that came from years establishing himself as a nobleman mercenary in Kirkwall. It makes perfect sense in the context of Hawke looking for somewhere safe to roost after so long on the run. It would also solve many of the problems Varric’s been running into with the Guilds. 

It could be the truth, but it’s not. Varric looks back down at the stack of letters he still has to reply to and finds he doesn’t have the energy to beat around the bush.

“I appreciate the offer, Hawke, but I’ll have to pass.” He gestures at the letter on his desk that he’ll have to rewrite with a sigh. “I’m not really into the whole marriage thing without feelings involved.”

He grabs a fresh sheet of parchment to start anew, sure that’ll be the end of it when Hawke interjects:

“And if there were feelings involved?” 

Varric freezes, glad he hasn’t picked up the quill again yet. When he slowly looks up to meet them, Hawke’s eyes are blank. Suddenly, Varric hates that lack of expression almost as much as he hates red lyrium. 

But Hawke said...

“If there were feelings involved,” he starts, trying desperately to quash the hot hope blooming in his chest, “I’d ask why now.” Why now, and not anytime in the previous decade. 

“Well, you’ve never bitched so much about marriage before–” Hawke starts but throws up his hands with another strained grin when Varric frowns at him. “And you had Bianca, anyway.”

“You didn't know about her until last year.” At that, the grin drops, his mien flashing between embarrassment and discomfort as, for the first time in literal years, Varric watches red seep into Hawke’s cheeks.

“Then it was because you’re not into humans, or men. Because you’re the only one that hasn’t left, and I wasn’t going to fuck that up.” It’s stated like a fact, an inevitable truth of the universe.

Varric doesn’t know where to start with that – all of it is wrong. But he can’t say that, not without being a gigantic hypocrite. 

“I’m an idiot,” he sighs, and stands up from his desk. It’s only because he’s keeping a close eye that he sees Hawke’s aborted twitch. “Half the crew was in love with you, you know,” he says conversationally, making his way around the desk. “We had a bet going on who would actually get your attention.” 

Varric watches the we land, now close enough to watch Hawke’s eyes go wide and dark as he takes in the information. Hawke opens his mouth, closes it, then licks his lips as his gaze flickers over Varric’s face. 

Still, the man hesitates. 

“And.. who did you bet on?” 

“Not myself.” Varric laughs under his breath, and takes a step into Hawke’s space. Sitting down, he’s only a head taller than Varric – easy enough to reach up, to cup a hand to the side of Hawke’s face and drag a thumb along his cheekbone. Hawke turns his head into it, and Varric feels more than sees the testing glance of lips against his wrist. “I owe Rivaini twenty sovereigns,” Varric grumbles, and when he slides his hand behind Hawke’s head and pulls him down, he comes willingly, their lips meeting in a dry press. Hawke pulls back a bare inch to adjust the angle, then they’re kissing again, one of Hawke’s arm’s sliding around his waist, making Varric’s heart speed in his chest. 

Hawke sucks in a breath when they pull apart, their eyes meeting. 

They both break into laughter.

“I can’t believe you proposed to me instead of confessing.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t bet on yourself.” Hawke sounds incredulous. “You’re an author, aren’t you supposed to be more observant? How did Isabela know when you didn’t?” 

“To be fair, she put money down on everyone but Donnic.”

“Everyone but– even Aveline?” 

By the time Varric stops laughing at the face Hawke made, Hawke is looking at him more solemnly, mouth red and wet, crooked in a smile Varric can’t quite take his eyes off. The hug that Hawke pulls him into is unexpected, but he sinks into the tight embrace with the weight of years finally sloughing off his shoulders. 

“I love you, you know,” Hawke murmurs in his ear. Varric sucks in a sharp breath, his heart clenching hard. He tightens his grip around Hawke’s shoulders.

This… this is good. Varric, for once in his life, gets to have what he wants. He turns his face into the crook of Hawke’s neck and presses his mouth just where skin meets the edge of Hawke’s beard.

“Yeah, I love you, too.”

[lesetoilesfous]

“How much of that did you hear?” plus “Are you drunk?” for Hawke/Isabela please! I love them so much

I had so much fun with this and I love them so much and thank you!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Isabela/Marian Hawke

Characters: Isabela, Marian Hawke

Tags: da2 act 3 adjacent, internalised misogyny, Isabela has self-esteem issues, angst and fluff

Rating: Mature

*

“That’s not the point Varric!” Isabela’s voice is loud through the door of Varric’s rooms, and a little high with the force of her feeling. Hawke hesitates, bottle of Antivan whiskey clutched tightly between her fingers (tied with a red silk bow that the Antivan merchant had assured her that her lover would appreciate.) 

“She’s not - this isn’t - damn it all.” There’s a loud thump. Marian slowly comes to a stop outside Varric’s chambers, melting with the familiarity of habit into the shadows beside the door. When Isabela speaks again, her voice is softer, and Marian has to lean closer to the door to catch it, careful to ease the balls of her feet over the Hanged Man’s infamously creaking floorboards. 

“People like her aren’t meant for people like me. I mean, look at her! The woman washed up like every other half-drowned refugee in this city, and turned the whole blighted thing around in less than a decade. Homeless to Champion in six years. There’s a reason those pamphlets of yours sell so well Varric, and it isn’t your purple prose.”

Over the distant sound of the laughter downstairs and the low jump of music, Marian hears the quiet rumble of Varric’s reply, too soft for her to make out the words. After a moment, Isabela responds, warmly.

“I’m sure. But that’s not the point.” Varric speaks again. Marian leans forward, and tries to ignore the prickle of guilt that pulls at the hairs on the back of her neck as an elvhen bartender hurries past, glancing suspiciously at the shadows just over her left shoulder. 

Marian is distracted from the elf by Isabela, and a long soft sigh through the door. Marian’s chest aches, and she tilts forward again, pressing against the rough wall of the Hanged Man and breathing in the salt and bitters taste of old ale. “She’s...a hero. And what am I? Some cheap Rivaini whore who couldn’t shut up long enough to be a decent wife.”

Varric’s voice is louder this time, protesting, but then there’s the squeak and groan of a chair on wooden floorboards, and the quick tap of Isabela’s heels as she crosses the room. “I’m going to get a drink.”

Marian has about three seconds to think, shit, and then the door to Varric’s rooms is swinging open and she finds herself face to face with Isabela herself. For a second, Isabela stares at her, brown cheeks flushing darker as she takes in her position. Weakly, Marian attempts a smile, holding up the bottle of Antivan whiskey.

“Surprise?”

Isabela shuts her eyes, brows pulling her forehead up into a mess of creases as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “How much of that did you hear?”

Marian softens, lowering the bottle as she drops the act. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Varric attempting to make himself scarce as he steps into the other room. She looks into her lover’s beautiful bronze eyes, and offers, quietly, “Enough?”

Isabela swears, and swings forward, toppling a little as she does so, long boots skidding across the soft floorboards of the Hanged Man. Her thick, dark, wavy hair sways around her face and neck, and Hawke catches her easily, fingers curling around the soft muscular weight of her arms. “Sometimes I think one of those damn soothsayers actually did curse me.”

Hawke blinks, supporting Isabela’s full weight now as she leans forward. “Soothsayers?”

Isabela waves her off, pressing forward, and Hawke lets her go, watching as she topples against the far wall of the corridor. “It’s a Rivaini thing.” 

Hawke nods, letting the whiskey bottle fall at her side as she steps forward. “Right. Are you drunk?”

Isabela snorts, shoving a hand heavy with golden rings studded with blue and red stones into a handful of her hair. “I’m barely tipsy.”

Marian nods, bending to set the whiskey bottle down on the floorboards just inside the door to Varric’s room (no pickpocket worth the skill to escape her notice would dare to steal from Varric Tethras). Then she walks forward, steadying Isabela easily. “Right. And that’s why you’re treating the Hanged Man like it’s the deck of the Siren’s Call.”

Isabela scowls, and she flings a hand into the air with the drama of an Nevarran poet. “Don’t! Say her name. It’s...bad luck, to speak ill of the dead.” Somewhere beneath the slurred words, real pain flashes across Isabela’s features, raw and fresh as it had been the first time she’d told Hawke about the shipwreck, six years ago. 

Marian squeezes her arms, and gently tugs her back towards Varric’s rooms. “Come on, love. Sit with me.”

Carefully, Marian guides Isabela into a chair by Varric’s table, scooping up the whiskey and shutting the door behind them. After a moment, Varric steps out, offering Hawke half a wave and a knowing look when he does so. Marian throws him a smile, before returning her attention to Isabela, who’s resting her elbows on the table and pressing her face into her hands.

Gently, soothingly, Marian rubs a soft circle over Isabela’s upper back, stroking the rough canvas of her tunic. When she speaks, she does so softly. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

Isabela laughs, and it comes out a little more like a sob than Marian expects she’ll admit when she’s sober. Outside, in the Kirkwall night, a pack of mabari start up a baying howl at the moon. “Nothing! That’s the problem.”

Marian’s hand pauses in its circles on Isabela’s back. “....Right.” 

Isabela looks up then, and her eyelashes are thick and dark with unshed tears. She smiles at her, and one jewel-laden hand falls to rest on Marian’s own scarred, rough farmer’s hands. “You don’t understand.” 

Marian goes to protest, but Isabela’s thumb runs over the back of her hand as she continues. “People like me -” Marian frowns, Isabela raises her voice, “People like me don’t get happy endings. Which is why this -” Isabela gestures, loosely, to the pair of them, and the warm red fabric and soft wood furnishings around them, “is so fucking terrifying.” 

Isabela blinks, and looks away, the soft line of her throat working as she swallows. “Because I’m going to lose it.” Finally, she turns back to Marian, and her expression is hard with remembered grief. “I’m going to lose you.”

For a long moment, Marian listens to the silence of her own thoughts, and feels the heavy, warm weight of her lover’s hand over her own. Then she takes a deep breath, and feels the tightness of her chest straining against her lungs in the way it has so often done in recent years: when she watched the ogre that took Carver, when she noticed the mottled grey spreading across Bethany’s sun beaten skin, when she saw the monster that had been made of her mother. 

Then she says, softly, “So many people in this city seem to think I’m a hero. And the only person I actually want to believe it is you.”

Isabela stares at her. Marian turns her hand over, squeezing her fingers before leaning forward and pushing a heavy lock of dark hair back behind Isabela’s ear with her other hand, the backs of her knuckles brushing the rough linen of her bandana. The discs of gold tied to the fabric clink when it moves. Isabela catches her breath, lips slightly parted. Marian tries to smile at her, and isn’t sure why it feels so hard. 

“The people of Kirkwall seem to believe that I can do impossible things. But the only time I’ve ever felt that way about myself is when I look at you.” Marian hesitates, then, catching her breath like a fistful of butterflies in her chest. “Isabela...you are the most remarkable, powerful, intelligent, funny, beautiful person I have ever had the privilege of meeting.”

Isabela laughs, softly, and a tear rolls down her cheek, glittering like gold in the candlelight against the sunset bronze of her skin. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”

Marian shakes her head, catching another tear with the side of her thumb as it rolls down Isabela’s full, round cheek. “No. Just one.”

Isabela does laugh, then, leaning forward and lifting their joined hands into the air over the table between them, pressing a rough clumsy kiss against their linked knuckles. Marian’s heart twists, and she shuffles forward, pressing closer.

“Isabela.” Isabela looks at her, and in the dark her eyes glitter like distant gold. “I am occasionally capable of impossible things. And I honestly don’t know how to control it, or how long it will last. But -” Marian’s hand tightens around Isabela’s, pressing the hard edge of her rings into her skin “- if there is a Maker, if there is such a thing as fortune, or fate, or whatever it might be called, I swear to you, love. I will be impossible for you.”

Isabela shuts her eyes, and more tears fall down her cheeks as she bows her head, thick hair tumbling over the soft curve of her shoulders. When she speaks, her voice is so quiet that Marian nearly misses it. “Why?”

Gently, Marian lowers her hand to Isabela’s chin, lifting it up until she meets her eyes. When Marian meets her gaze, she feels the weight of the honesty of her words pressing between her teeth with the fire of a thousand suns. “Because you’re everything. You’re everything, love. You’re everything to me.”

Then she slips her hand up over Isabela’s cheek, and kisses her, slipping her hand into the warm silken weight of her hair. Even through the cheap salt and bitters of the Hanged Man’s ale, Isabela tastes as she always does: of roses and the sea.

[dragonagecompanionsreact]

I wonder what DAI companions + advisors react to the Inquisitor being a Eternal like Fane from Divinity original sin 2 and the Inquisitor having the Mask of Shapeshift to hide their true face in fear being attacked by the locals because of how they look? ( I don't know if you guys knew about this game or not so I hope this is alright with you. ) I also love your posts.

Mod Sumi here! Let me say I love Divinity Sin's 2. Ugh I was obsessed with Fane from the start so I couldn't resist answering this. :D

Cassandra: "Inquisitor should you ever feel comfortable to remove your mask, know the Inquisition will stand behind you." She can imagine how some in Thedas may react to the Inquisitor's true appearance. Some may consider it a blessing of Andraste while others will think more nefarious things.

Varric: "Inquisitor just when I think your life can't get any stranger, you go and prove me wrong." Varric doesn't want to really think about an ancient anything. He barely likes to give much thought to his dwarven ancestors. "But your secret is with me. I'll make sure to omit it from your story." It's not like Varric hadn't twisted some of the truth for The Champion of Kirkwall.

Vivienne: Vivienne finds the Inquisitor's ability to weave such an illusion with a simple artifact  quite remarkable. It's not an easy feat, but given how foolish some people can be it seems a necessary evil. Should the Inquisitor ever want to make their debut without the mask, Vivienne can think of the perfect shade to highlight their bone colour.

Dorian: Ah, the name calling. Dorian knows it all too well. It was just recently that the Inquisition's blacksmith stopped spitting in his general direction. The best way to get ahead of veiled insults is to play the game. Turn their words back around on them and watch them squirm. Dorian is quite skilled in this art. He'll be more than happy to teach the Inquisitor some tricks.

Blackwall: It’s a damn shame the Inquisitor feels the need to hide behind their shapeshifter mask. They have put their lives on the line for Thedas time and time again. Why should it matter that they happen to belong to this ancient race of Eternals? The one thing Blackwall is sure of is that he will continue to stand by the Inquisitor until they no longer feel he is fit to serve in the Inquisition.

Solas: Solas finds the Inquisitor's true form to be fascinating. He has heard of eternals. Those who came even before the ancient elves. Yes, Solas has his suspicions about the Inquisitor. There was something more to them, but he could not put his finger on it. The fact that they must hide their true face is a sad testestment to those who choose to fear what they do not understand. It is similar to the plight of the mages.

Sera: "I bet I can shoot an arrow directly through your skull, Inquisitor. I can try, yeah?" She is disappointed when the Inquisitor shuts down her request with little more than a look. They at least look relieved to not wear that silly shapeshifter mask around some of their close companions. Maybe once they get more comfortable, Sera will be able to convince them.

Cole: Cole always sensed this immense sadness from the Inquisitor followed with conflicting thoughts. "They want me to save them, but how can I when I couldn't save my own people?" Cole lamented one evening, vocalizing the Inquisitor thoughts. They glances at him and it was only then he continued "It wasn't your fault though. It isn't fair for you to blame yourself."

Iron Bull: "Okay boss, you know I don't understand all this creepy ancient magic shit, but I have to say you look pretty bad ass like that." Bull also wonders if the Inquisitor's can detach and still move their limbs if it's a great distance from them. It would certainly come in handy -hah, handy. Need to tell that one to Krem- if you ever needed to break in somewhere.

Cullen: Cullen knows he may have had a different reaction to the Inquisitor's true face had he been younger. It is rather jarring, but they have proven time and time again to be a good leader and loyal friend. He can imagine what others may say should they ever decide to remove the mask. If they so much as look at the Inquisitor wrong, Cullen may not be able to stop himself from making sure they never so it again.

Josephine: "Inquisitor if there are any problems please let me know. I will not allow rumors to be spread on your behalf." She will shut them down immediately if need be. The Inquisitor's appearance should be of little importance and not even part of the discussion.

Leliana: Leliana is disappointed in herself. She prides herself on being able to discover things before anyone else can. When they told the War Council their backstory, Leliana spotted holes in it instantly. However, she never imagined the Inquisitor to be an Eternal. Leliana understands why they felt the need to lie. Thedas can be cruel to those who are different.

[another-rogue-trevelyan]

A thing I wrote featuring Cousland, Hawke, and Trevelyan in a knife throwing contest, feat. Cullenmance

“Commander, Ser...”

“Jim, haven’t you learned not to interrupt me?”

It was a warm, sunny day in Skyhold, and most of its inhabitants were taking full advantage of it. Cullen, however, was deep in a stack of reports, determined to finish them before evening.

“It’s the Champion of Kirkwall, Ser.”

“And what has Hawke done this time?” Cullen asked, not bothering to look up from his work.

“She’s...started a knife throwing contest with her Majesty, the Queen of Ferelden and the Inquisitor.”

Cullen was out the door and down the steps before Jim could gather what had happened. As the Commander crossed the courtyard toward the training grounds, he cursed under his breath. He knew it had been a bad idea to have the three most dangerous women in Thedas under one roof. Especially when all three of them were trained rogues.

A crowd of cheering fans had gathered in the training grounds. As he made his way to the commotion, he couldn’t help but give way to the infectious high spirits that the event had brought to Skyhold. He too was curious, and when he caught the Inquisitor’s eyes, her brief, mischievous grin was enough to win him over fully.

Cullen turned to take in the scene that surrounded him. Varric and the Iron Bull had set up a betting ring to the side, where Cullen observed many of his soldiers lined up to place their bets. Cole sat with them, thrilled with the excitement and happiness. Dorian, Vivienne, and Josephine had perched themselves on the staircase, high enough to see over the crowd. While Dorian and Vivienne expressed mild curiousity, Josephine appeared utterly appalled. Cassandra and Leliana were leaning against the walls, heads close, pointing and discussing the situation. Blackwall and Sera were in the front, cheering just as much as the soldiers, and even Solas had decided to make an appearance, standing a respectable distance away from the commotion.

“What’ll it be, Curly?” Varric asked as Cullen approached their table. “Care to wager some gold on the Herald?”

“I would, but I’m never gambling again.”

“Not even to put some coin on the love of your life?” Cullen blushed furiously.

“She hardly needs my coin to win.” Cullen smiled, knowing that Evelyn actually did have his coin with her - a coin he had given her in one of their rare private moments, which she now wore under her armor on a chain around her neck.

“You’d better hope so, Curly. I’ve taken down my share of demons with both her and Hawke, and this is the stuff my nightmares are made from. As for the Queen, she took down an arch demon with her dog. And she’s a Warden. Even Blackwall seems scared of her. I don’t know how this will end, but I can’t wait to find out.”

Cullen made his way through the crowd, arriving next to Sera and Blackwall. The Queen of Ferelden stood next to the Inquisitor, and he noted that they seemed rather similar. Both had been born into nobility and thrust into chaos, suddenly responsible for the fate of the world. There was an air of regality about the pair of them, who were no strangers to leadership, and the Ferelden and the Free Marcher seemed two sides of the same coin. The only difference, he noted, was that Evelyn had more than enough action in the field as of late, while the Queen appeared to be itching to get back into the thick of things.

Hawke was something else entirely. Raised in Lothering, she had come from humble roots. During Cullen’s time in Kirkwall, he had heard rumors of her working as a smuggler, as poor fortune had struck her family as Ferelden refugees during the Blight. She was a survivor, certainly, but she was also chaos incarnate. What she lacked in poise she made up for in wild energy and sarcastic humor.

Seeing the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall had done little for his nerves. Both had seen him at his worst, and he wished more than anything he could take back his actions in the Ferelden Circle and in Kirkwall. Both had been gracious in accepting his apologies, but the shame he felt from his former life rose in him whenever he spoke with them.

But then, it started.

The Queen of Ferelden went first, throwing a dagger expertly into the target in front of her. It hit dead center, setting a high bar for her opponants. The other women were not to be discounted, however, and performed with equal accuracy. The targets were moved further away with each passing round. Eventually, even this wasn’t enough, and the Iron Bull stepped in to throw objects into the air for the women to hit, as still targets were too easy.

While the spectacle was certainly entertaining to watch, those who had placed bets would surely be disappointed. The women, it seemed, were equally matched, and after many rounds there was still neither winner nor loser. The event ended in smiles and handshakes, and those who came were even more in awe of the women than they had been before.

“Nothing like throwing some knives to relax after a long week,” Evelyn joked, suddenly appearing at Cullen’s side. The crowd had subsided now, returning to their usual evening activities.

“Beautiful and dangerous,” Cullen said, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss upon her head. “I’m the luckiest man alive.” Evelyn laughed, turning into him and reaching her arms around his neck.

“I’ll be entertaining two beautiful and dangerous Fereldens for dinner this evening. Have any pointers?”

“You won’t have any trouble, but if you can acquire a mabari between now and then, that always helps with Fereldens.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Have fun, love. And try not to let Hawke start a demon killing contest.”

“But what if I want to start a demon killing contest?”

“As your advisor, I’d have to recommend against it.”

“And as my lover?”

“I would still have to recommend against it.”

“You’re no fun.”

Cullen laughed at her feigned pout. She was an entirely different woman now from the Inquisitor he had just seen hurling knives through the air. He couldn’t imagine the weight she bared, living up to being Andraste’s champion. The real woman was one few got to see, and Cullen was especially pleased that he saw even more of her than anyone else. He gave her all of him in return, and thanked the Maker daily that she wanted him too.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Cullen asked, rubbing his thumb mindlessly across her cheek.

“Actually,” she said, raising her own hand to his, “I’m rather concerned about the hole in your roof. I can’t have my Commander getting sick from sleeping in the cold. It’s my duty to make sure you’re kept healthy and warm. The task is too important to delegate, you see.”

“What would you suggest?” Cullen’s lips were close to hers now as he waited for her response.

“Come to my quarters this evening after dinner?”

“I’ll be there.”

As their lips met, Cullen was sure of two things. The first, was that this was to be the longest dinner he had ever sat through. The next was that he was the luckiest man in the world.

[senseandaccountability]

Fic update: ‘I can see us gather at the gates’, part 8/32

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Female Trevelyan/Iron Bull Rating: M for future updates Summary: He doesn’t trust mages, she doesn’t trust Qunari; it feels oddly fair. A former Circle mage and an estranged Qunari spy get entangled in each other’s lives over assorted Thedosian drinks. Chapter summary: Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. Notes: I scream into the void with this fic but there you go. :D 

Chapter 8: Dragon Piss (Fallow Mire) (AO3 link)

x. 

He’s just a kid, unhorned and soft -  fat as a qalaba, Vasaad says, racing him to the outskirts of the jungle where the rocks form challenges and the sun never reach - and they climb the old trees and even older stone. They stumble, kids always do up there and that is the very clever reason they are not allowed to go. But they're just kids, far from clever. They stumble and fall and Vasaad is lucky, gets caught on a few softer corners and tree branches; Ashkaari crashes.  Everything after is blurry and gentle, the edges softened by potions.

“What were you supposed to do today?” Tama asks, without removing her hand from his arm.

Slowly, grasping for his memory, he begins to rattle off the tasks and duties; they’re as many as his fingers. Maybe that’s the point, to make them remember.

“So why did you run to the jungle?”

Ashkaari has no answer that Tama will want to hear so he drags it out, pretending to think while her touch remains. "You must take better care of yourself," she says sternly.  The Qun hates wastefulness and dead imekari is a terrible shame. For her, for them all. He doesn't want to make Tama look bad. He will remember.  For several months, at least.

x. “Welcome back,” Armaas says. His commander, the voice in the field. Hissrad can’t remember being gone, but his body is full of pain. A broken rib, a punctured lung, a long, deep wound running from his left shoulder blade to right side and he has to sleep propped up on his stomach in the infirmary. He learns that he has been out for days. He learns, too, that they're right about his commander. Doesn't lose a single man, they say. He leads from the front and shouts you back from the dead if he has to. The intense pair of eyes that follows Hissrad's every move here certainly looks like it belongs to someone who could. Years later, on Seheron, he’ll look into those eyes again before his axe falls down over Armaas's neck. Your soul is dust, Tal-Vashoth, he'll think but he won't be sure ever again. x. “Your blocking is still shit,” Hissrad manages from where he lies propped up by pillows and blankets and a wasted bedroll. Even his horns hurt. “Your plans are still shit,” Vasaad counters. “You’ll be the death of me, big guy. Can’t believe they gave you command.” “Maybe you were the only other option.” “Maybe they just want to let Seheron kill you so they don’t have to,” Vasaad says and there’s warmth and mockery and bone-hard truths in the joke. Hissrad grins. It must be the hundredth time one of them gets wrecked in battle, yet every single one feels like absolute crap, everyone worse than the others. Hissrad has carried Vasaad’s skinny ass across half a jungle, cursing into the skin on his back -  don’t you dare, asshole - and Vasaad’s dragged him out of burning buildings, pits of poison, traps laid by mages and rebels and they’ve always survived. They’ll always survive until one of them fails. x. Their newest Viddathari may be little more than a twitchy kid but he’s got hands strong as iron, knows curses in several tongues and he refuses to leave Hissrad’s bedside until Hissrad gets well enough to carry him out and lock the door. “Hey!” the kid protests but Hissrad is determined. His right arm may still be broken and the bone-deep wound along his side smarts like fuck but malnourished elves are tiny. “Sorry, Gatt,” he says and pats the elf’s head. “Can’t recover with an audience.” x.  Boss is heading towards the building where they expect to find the clan leader of the Avvar, her jaw set and her determination cut in stone, as if she’s gone and become a brawler when Bull wasn’t looking. They have my soldiers. She had been very closed-off this morning, grim and focused, barely had time for a briefing before they set out and her tone is still clipped whenever someone brings something up with her. “Surely you are not challenging their chieftain in battle, darling?” Vivienne’s voice betrays nothing but Bull is willing to bet she isn’t looking forward to having her day ruined by a bashed-in skull. “It will be fine.” At first it almost is. As fine as it ever is, fighting in someone else's stronghold, lacking every advantage of the enemy. But for a while they can make up for what they lack in strength with what they possess in terms of sheer determination. Until they can't. “Take out their mages!” “Let’s not,” Bull growls, carving his blade into the spine of an attacker. In the corner of his eye he can see the Avvar leader rushing forth, his greataxe in front of him, ramming into their flimsy line of defense and Bull curses, trying to wrestle free from the archers he’s stuck with but it takes too long. Vivienne shouts something, Boss shouts something back and when Bull finally shoves the last dead archer from his blade, there’s no time left. He pushes the mages back, hears them swear at him and then, things become a little blurry. --- He wakes up in darkness. Total, throbbing darkness and his first thought is that he’s lost his other eye. That would definitely be shitty. “Bull, can you hear me?” He does, he can. But when he tries to speak, there are no sounds emerging from his body. Great, now he’ll be both blind and mute. What a gift to send back to Par Vollen. Maybe they can put a ribbon on his horns. He feels her hands on his chest, magic flowing out of them and into him and it’s soft, like a warm bath but then she twists it, angles it so he gasps for air instead, crying out in pain, and immediately it stops. She’s leaning over him, judging by her breath against his neck, her voice closer to his ear now. “I’m sorry.” The pad of her thumb brushes over his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Bull, but I have to do that again. I’m trying to find what’s wrong.” Less talking, more healing, he thinks. She does the same magical crap again. And again. The pain is just as sharp, just as staggering. He feels like he’s losing his mind. There’s something broken that won’t mend, something stubborn that won’t budge. “Hurry,” Vivienne says somewhere nearby. “He’s bleeding quite a lot, darling.” “I know. Can you…  shit.” Boss’s touch leaves him and if he could speak, he would have asked for it to return. Magic or not, her hands are soothing and if he’s dying here, he’d like to feel calm about it. Like all the previous times he’s been on the edge of it, dying is pretty overrated. A burning, painful kind of overrated that he could do without. In the end lies glory, so the Qun claims. Perhaps that's right, he just can't see it. But then again his eyesight never really recovered from losing one eye. Even bad jokes are wasted on death. The last thing he hears is Boss, her voice increasingly desperate, telling him to stay with her as she pulls at the threads of his flesh with her magic, forcing it to close over his wounds. --- He drifts in and out of consciousness and sleep and through it all he can hear her voice. In fact, she never stops talking. She’s quiet when she’s nervous and she talks when she’s afraid; he knows this about her. He knows this about her and in this particular setting, it twists its way into the back of his mind, lingers. As the pain torments him and whatever draughts and spells he’s been exposed to do their thing, he hears her mutter her way through what sounds like magical theory in Orlesian. Between a nightmare and a potion-induced episode about ghouls he can discern sentences from a book on the Inquisition of old - he knows because the nights in camp get long and sometimes there's nothing to do but read the only thing someone like Cassandra or Boss has carried with them. He prefers it when they bring Varric’s crappy but hilarious smut novels over the tedious ones on human history, but he’ll read anything. "You can't take blows meant for me," she tells him because - as he’s come to understand - she truly has no idea what front-line bodyguard means, its concept as foreign to her as stealth or frivolity. Bull replies in grunts and monosyllabic words. “Don’t die on me, you stupid man,” she whispers to him as he drifts out of sleep momentarily, blinking as the sunlight from the window falls across her features. It makes her look on fire, lit with the sun itself. If he had been an Andrastian, he’d probably be praying by now.   “I’m sorry,” she says and he’s feeling more awake by then, though not awake enough to argue through the lack of strategy with his boss. He keeps his eyes closed. Feels her hands running over his chest, then quickly brushing against his forehead. She’s got the lightest of touches; it leaves some kind of mark. “This is on me. It’s my fault. Please, survive.” --- He wakes up, properly now, to her sleeping form. The room is dimly lit but his senses have returned, making it possible for him to discern the actual shapes of everything around him. A pile of medical supplies by his bed, a couple of books, a warm blanket and a goblet of what looks like water. Outside the only window in the room, darkness has fallen. He feels sluggish and heavy, unused to his own body. And there’s a sense of oddness somewhere below his chest. At first he can’t tell what the sensation comes from and blinks, prepared for all sorts of bad news as always after being knocked out in battle. You never know what limbs you’ve lost or what new impairment you’ve suffered, any warrior could tell you that. But this, Bull realises rather quickly, this isn’t him. It’s Boss, sleeping with her face pressed into his belly, her arms spread out over his upper body and her hair tickling his chest. Small puffs of warm breath dampen his skin as her body rises and falls over his; there are soft snores and sleep-sounds and there’s an intimacy to the scene that snakes its way into his chest, the unfamiliar outline of it at once thrilling and strange. It’s definitely…  something. All the gentleness in her, everything about her that she keeps hidden as they work methodically side by side to push this damn world back from the brink of destruction, is suddenly visible in the way she’s sleeping, unarmed, undone. Her hair is loose, strands of it cascading over his flesh; her neck is bared and looks more inviting in the candlelight than he’s ever seen it before; lacking its usual multi-layered outfit, her body sleeps free and soft, curved around him, around itself, the generous shape of her ass almost impossible not to reach out and touch. It’s the intense privacy of the moment, he thinks. The intimacy of sleep coupled with the fact that she had worried. About him. He pretends to be asleep when she wakes, startling herself, bolting upright like someone’s caught her in the act which effectively ruins his. Bull can’t hold back a laugh, even though it hurts deep inside him, all the way up along his ribs. Boss flushes bright red, cursing under her breath. The tension in her body is so acute, so severe that it practically cuts through the air. For a brief moment he wonders if she’ll set something on fire. Then, when she forces herself to look at him, he can see nothing but relief in her eyes. It hits him, like a hammer. Maybe it hits her, too, because she scratches the back of her head and looks away. She takes a step to the side. Another one forward. Glances at the doorway over her shoulder. “I’m - this-” she exhales slowly. “Not a word, Bull.” He remains exactly where he is, watching her and grinning - because it seems to infuriate her in a subtle and delightful way and also, mostly, because he can’t help himself. “My lips are sealed.” He gestures towards his mouth, ignoring the pain the motion brings. “I won’t tell a living soul that you snore like a bronto, Boss.” “You’re an ass.” Then, quiet and already half-way outside the room. “I’m glad you live.”

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Hope

Chapter 65 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3. 

In which Fenris and Hawke finally confront the Dread Wolf.

~8600 words; only a very short excerpt here. Read the whole chapter on AO3. 

********************

They stepped through the eluvian and found themselves facing a score of petrified qunari warriors in mid-swing.

Fenris tensed instinctively, and Hawke let out a little squeak of alarm before breaking into nervous laughter. “Looks like we’re on the right track at least,” she said. “Shall we holler for him, do you think? ‘Dread Wolf take me’ or something of the like? Maker, I wish he’d told us he was Fen’Harel when he was still hanging out with us. There’s so much wasted potential for jokes. Good dirty ones, too.”

Her voice was pitched high with tension. She looped one arm around Fenris’s waist and began leading him through the crowd of stone qunari, and all the while she continued to chatter. “In fact, there’s so much potential there that I bet Varric could make a romance serial out of it. ‘May The Dread Wolf Take You’: An Anthology of Fen’Harel’s Finest Philanderings’? Ooh, I bet that would be good for the Randy Dowager. I should submit the idea.” 

He didn’t answer. The mark was throbbing again, a battering pulse like an unwanted heartbeat, and it was taking most of his concentration to keep the snapping magic contained in his hand as he trudged along the cracked and overgrown path by Hawke’s side. 

They followed the path up a hill, and by the time they reached the top, he was out of breath and aching. Hawke squeezed his waist encouragingly. “We’ll catch up to him soon, all right? One foot in front of the other.”

I’m trying, he thought. It was taking all the energy he had to do just that: to place one foot in front of the other, and to keep the magic in his hand from lashing out at her, and to try and find even a hint of the hope that Hawke wanted so badly for him to have… 

He took a measured breath. “Take some lyrium,” he said. “Prepare to defend yourself. If Solas makes even a hint of a move to harm you, I will do everything I can to kill him, but if his powers are–”

“Don’t worry about that,” Hawke interrupted. “He’s not going to hurt us.”

Fenris stared at her. He couldn’t fathom the depths of her denial about the danger here. But before he could start arguing with her, he heard a voice calling out from up ahead.

A familiar voice calling out in a language that it shouldn’t know how to speak. 

“It has ended,” Solas said in Qunlat. “You have all fallen.”

Fenris looked up sharply, and Hawke grabbed his arm. “There!” she cried. “Up those stairs, he’s – fuck, the Viddasala…” 

Fenris’s stomach jolted. Solas was up ahead, unarmed and standing near an eluvian at the top of some crumbling stairs, and the Viddasala was stalking toward him. 

“Your forces have failed,” Solas told her. “Leave now, and tell the qunari to trouble me no further.” He turned and began to walk away from her.

The Viddasala snarled and pulled her spear from her back.

“Fuck,” Hawke gasped. “Fucking Maker’s balls, if she–”

“Come,” Fenris said, and he grabbed her hand and forced himself to run. 

They bolted toward the Viddasala, but she was readying herself to throw her spear at Solas’s unsuspecting back. Fenris gritted his teeth and tried to pick up his pace. They were at the bottom of the stairs now, and the Viddasala was raising her spear, and they were scrambling up the steps and the Viddasala was drawing her throwing arm back and roaring with anger–

Solas turned his head slightly, and the Viddasala turned to stone. 

Fenris faltered with shock. The petrification happened in the space of a second. One moment the Viddasala was a breathing, roaring, flesh-and-blood threat. And in the space of a second, in the blink of an eye, she was stone. 

And Solas had barely even moved. He had no staff and he had barely moved, and he’d reduced a living person to a statue. 

“Maker’s fucking balls,” Hawke panted. She took a step toward Solas. “That was–”

Fenris pulled her back and stepped in front of her. “Solas,” he snapped. 

Solas turned to face them. His expression was mild and slightly sad, and his hands were clasped behind his back. His posture, his humble expression… it was so familiar: so jarringly, strangely, infuriatingly familiar. If not for the armour he wore – tailored armour of wolfskin and strange glimmering metal – Fenris might have mistaken him for the understated elven mage they used to know. 

He narrowed his eyes. Then his hand exploded with light and pain. 

He doubled over and cried out. Hawke gasped and grabbed his arm, and Fenris tried to push her away, but he only succeeded in stumbling to his knees. 

“Keep your distance,” he groaned. “Hawke, stay back…”

Solas tilted his head. His eyes flashed a brilliant white-blue, and the pain in Fenris’s palm abruptly disappeared. 

He exhaled hard, then drew a bracing breath as he studied his palm. It was no longer hurting at all, and it was… venhedis, it was a relief. But the light…? 

He peered more closely at his hand, and his gut twisted. It wasn’t healed. The light was still there, a fine line of sickly green embedded deep in the muscle of his hand. 

He looked up and met Solas’s sad eyes. Then Hawke grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Is it okay?” she said breathlessly. “Is it better? It looks better. Do you feel any better?” 

“Yes,” he said. “It’s… the pain is gone.” But he didn’t dare look away from Solas’s infuriatingly calm grey eyes.

Hawke sighed and patted his face. “Thank fuck,” she breathed. “Thank fuck, thank fuck… I told you, didn’t I?” She smiled up at Solas. “You hairless hero. I knew you’d help him.” 

Solas tilted his head at Fenris’s hand. “That should give us more time,” he said. His gaze rose from Fenris’s hand to his face.

“I suspect you have questions,” he said softly.

Hawke laughed. “We don’t see you for two fucking years, and that’s the first thing you have to say to us? ‘I suspect you have questions?’ Well, I definitely have questions. First of all, where did you get that sexy armour? It’s too bad Dorian isn’t here. He would certainly approve.”

Solas smiled very faintly, but his eyes were on Fenris. Fenris took Hawke’s hand and rose slowly to his feet. “I have always had questions,” he said. “You never deigned to fully answer them before, Fen’Harel.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Ohh maybe 1, 2, 3, and 28? 👀

*takes a sip from my can of soda* Ahhh~! Caffeine for the soul~ >:3

But you know what's better for the soul? Questions! Curiosity! RAMBLING ABOUT CHILDREN! >:D Let's GOOOO!

1. What would your Warden generally think of your Hawke and your inquisitor?

Rylen: 

Now, I kind of see Elise eventually meeting or at least, reaching out to Rylen after the events in Kirkwall. After all, she’s an Amell, and so is Hawke. They’re literally the only family each other has (that’s not ‘found’ family, that is.). So, I think Elise would reach out through a letter or somehow manage a visit to her cousin and...connect. She would see him as inspiring; Rylen always manages a smile and a quip. However, if they were to spend more and more time interacting with each other, Elise would see that Hawke isn’t very well put together, especially after the Chantry explosion. She would question why Rylen chose the templars, why he executed Anders who was a like a brother to her, but eventually she would come to understand the whys. Elise would see it as no different as when she decided to spare Loghain at the Landsmeet; they did what they believed to be right and what would be best in that very moment. Both Rylen and Elise sacrificed their own happiness for the benefit of others, and were still blamed for future complications and there’s something comforting in a finding another who can relate. :3

Fane:

So, I actually have some later fic ideas for a confrontation between Elise and Fane (after Trespasser, kind of Pre-DA4 shenanas~), and suffice it to say, these two have similar ways of thinking, but their methods are entirely different. Fane is rash, prone to barreling head first into conflict without thinking about those around him. Elise is analytical, always assessing and placing the pieces in her head to make sure everyone comes out alive. This isn’t to say Fane doesn’t care about his comrades; he does. There’s countless, countless times he takes a blow for someone else without batting an eye or thinking that he could die. He just doesn’t plan; he acts. Fane can get lost in the moment of battle, in the heady scent of chaos and blood. Elise, at first meeting him, would see him as any typical warrior; eager for battle and a garden of death. But if they were to sit down and talk...I think she might find him endearing and fascinating. More or less she would think, ‘He’s so mature for someone so young. I mean, he’s twenty-four, but...he speaks as if he’s older. His speech is manicured, measured as if decided upon carefully. And his eyes...there’s pain, a deep, deep pain. Like some of the older Wardens, those just hearing the Calling. But also...hope? Conviction? Who are you, Inquisitor? What has the world done to you?’

2. What would your Hawke generally think of your warden and your Inquisitor?

Elise:

Rylen would probably have the same opinion of Elise as she does with him. They’re family, split apart due the misconceptions and fear, and my Hawke cherishes family. He lost everyone else he could rightly consider family. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, and Merrill are the only people he can call family now. (Anders and Aveline are complicated. I won’t go into that can of worms. For now~ >:3) He would definitely feel a level of guilt for what he had to do in Kirkwall with Anders, with the mages, with...everything, but Rylen just tries to make it through another day. If he and Elise started to interact I think it would be extremely beneficial to Rylen. Elise is patient, sometimes stern, and not afraid to lay all the facts out. Rylen would admire that since he’s had to go through life wearing a mask, a smile, a facade just to placate someone else. He would see Elise as another sister and his opinion of her would probably be along the lines of, ‘I won’t let another member of my family be torn from me. Father, Bethany, Carver...Mother.. I failed them. I won’t fail her. I won’t fail her. She’s bright and she keeps her head held high. Heh, now I see how she killed an Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. ...Bet the lightning has something to do with that, too.’

Fane: 

Rylen and Fane, in my head, actually hit it off from the get go. They’ve both had to take mantles of power, even though they never, never wanted to. Though, for different reasons, of course. But Rylen would find Fane inspiring and wholly capable of doing what must be done. He’d be kind of put off that most of his well thought out jokes and pokes would fall flat on Fane, but eventually, Rylen would see why that is. (Draconic nature withstanding.) Also, once my Hawke found out Fane is dragon?  OHHHH, BUDDY. There would be yelling and screeching and cries of, ‘WHY DO I KEEP MEETING DRAGONS, FENRIS?! FIRST THE WITCH, NOW THE INQUISITOR?! ..I’m done. I’m putting my daggers down and stealing away into the mountains. Varric, you wanna come with? I know you’re fed up with this shit, too! Don’t lie! DON’T. LIE.’

3. What would your Inquisitor generally think of your warden and your Hawke?

Elise:

Fane would probably think of Elise as...interesting. Not in a bad way. Just...interesting. Fane isn’t comfortable with Wardens after Adamant. He learns that he can hear the corruption inside of them and that terrifies him. And confuses him. And makes him go, ‘What the fuck am I? I don’t even know anymore. Why do I try?’ But, if he were to get over that and, like I said with Elise, talk? He would have another perspective of the men and women that had let fear take them by the throat. It wouldn’t change his feelings regarding the Wardens entirely, but one level mind, one open mind, is enough to make Fane tap into his nature and consider other sides of a very, very large cube.

‘She’s more...quiet than the others. Maybe because it’s just her? No...Loghain was still loud as fuck when it was just him, so why? Ugh, I’m so sick of these puzzles. At least she’s more stable, but I can see the pain in her eyes; green like mine, but missing the gold. Maybe the Taint is stronger than she thinks? Perhaps, but still she fights, still she claws her way towards something that may be impossible. ...Hmph. How typical. A similarity. This world continues to confound.’

Rylen:

Fane respects Rylen after spending some time to feel him out, know his cues, and piece together which is his actual face. Once that happens, Fane can move into respect with my Hawke. These two have a fairly similar moral compass; pragmatism regarding most decisions. Again, they both have been thrust into a position without asking for it, so that would be a stepping stone upon the bonding path. All in all, Fane’s general opinion of Rylen would be, ‘He’s worn that mask of smiles and bright, grey eyes for too long. It’s cracking at the edges, wearing down to mere mortar. Then again, I have my own mask. I’m in no position to judge and condemn, but...it’s worrying. Even the strongest wings can be torn and all that greets is the earth below. I hope your wings don’t falter, Champion. It would be disappointing for the world to lose someone who cares when those who should are content to point the finger towards anyone but themselves.’

28. What is their favourite location within their own game and what would be their favourite in each others?

Fane: The Emprise du Lion! Snowwwww! Coooold! Ice dragooooon! >:3 ...minus the red lyrium. *snorts* 

Origins: Hmm, I think Fane would like the Brecilian Forest. He enjoys forests as much as he enjoys the cold, the ice, and the snow. He likes the animals, even though he tries not to interfere with them, and he likes the quiet. No chattering, no demands. Only trees, leaves, and the occasional whistle of wind. Also, Fane likes to investigate ancient ruins. He’s not interested in the history, really. He just wants to see if he can find any remnants about his kin that the elves may have left behind. :3

DA2: Probably Sundermount since again, wilderness. Fane doesn’t do too well in crowded areas and Kirkwall would make his heart rate sky rocket. Not just because of the people, but because of the size. Those cramped streets of Lowtown would just make him...eugh. *shivers*

Elise: She adores Orzammar! Especially the Shaperate! The dwarves fascinate Elise since not many tomes in the Circle went into depth about them! :D And if we want to with Awakening areas, I would saaaay...Amaranthine. She’s always like towns and cities due to not being able to experience them until the Blight! :3

Inquisition: Elise would adore the Frostback Basin. Like, really enjoy it! All that flora and Avaar culture and wilderness? MMMM!

DA2: Definitely the Wounded Coast. Hands down. My daughter enjoys the sea so much. The salt in the air, the feel of sand, and the pretty, pretty shells and rolling waves? Every Circle mages’ wet dream. *waggles eyebrows*

Rylen: So, if we’re not talking like open world areas in the game, I would definitely say Rylen’s favorite place is the Hanged Man. The man needs a drink to deal with Kirkwall. Just saying. It’s also where he can just...be himself with the people who know him. 

Inquisition: Hinterlands. He’s a FERELDAN. He wants his MABARI to RUN in native land! He wants to...go home. ;3;

Origins: I like to think the Hawke family went all over Ferelden before settling in Lothering. I mean, they kind of do, but maybe for more than a few months at a time? So, Rylen would enjoy Denerim. He likes to go where people are, where life is. He likes crowds because he can blend into them and not be tracked down until he wants to be tracked down. ...My Hawke just wants to live in peace with his glowy elf husband and run a mabari ranch. Is that too much to ask, Bioware?! Let Hawke REST!

Woo! That was FUN! It really got me thinking, too! X3 Thank you so much, friend! <3

[ellstersmash]

Three: Fifteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

|Previous Chapter| |Next Chapter| |Read on AO3|

--

    [  Results were inconclusive. Again. Any last-minute suggestions?  ]

Athi reads the message from Solas, then reads it again. Is ready to send back [???] but her phone buzzes again before she has the chance.

    [  Apologies. That was not intended for you.   ]

She smirks—

no shit

—deletes her question, taps out a response.

    [  :* i miss u too   ]

    [  oop sry. wrong #   ]

    [  Ha Ha.   ]

    [  sry bout ur results :(   ]

    [  Thank you. What are you doing today?  ]

“That Solas?” Sera says, not bothering to look up from her unbroken line of yellow glitter glue. “Tell him to suck it.”

    [  arts n crafts   ]

Athi snaps a quick picture of the mess they’ve made in their living room and sends it to him.

    [  sera says suck it   ]

    [  Of course she does.  ]

“He says hi.”

Sera gags dramatically. “Thought you wanted to help with all this, not flirt with your boyfriend.”

A snotty retort itches behind Athi’s teeth but she stifles it. Rolls her eyes instead and tosses her phone aside, the device bouncing once to rest face-down on the sofa cushion. She picks up a thick black marker with pungent permanent ink, and gets back to work filling in the block letters Sera lined earlier.

Her boyfriend. Gods, but that sounds strange. Childish. Like they go on dates behind the primary school, or pretend not to be having sex in the room down the hall from someone's parents’. And yet she finds herself giddy at the thought. To be fair, it’s all she has for the moment. The thought. He's off on some adventure, and she's stuck here. Again. They'd only had that one perfect day, breakfast and window shopping and holding hands like real life lovers under trees full of dry rainbow leaves fluttering their applause. And then he took a phone call and went home to pack and left first thing in the morning.

She wonders just how often this happens.

How important could it be? Not like a bunch of ancient artifacts are going to up and wander off if he can’t go poke at them right away. A mental note to ask him later, and she moves this poster to the pile of finished ones and exchanges it for another that says “YOUR VILLAGE —> OUR CITY.” Cute, though maybe a smidge too reliant on humans knowing their history.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” Sera asks.

“That’s not—” Athi sighs. “I told you, I have work.”

“Yeah, but isn’t this more important?”

“I don’t know. Do you want rent paid?”

Sera quiets, kicking her legs back and forth as she works. Her glue bottle sputters, spits shimmer all over. A frustrated grunt and she tosses it aside, rolls onto her back.

“I’m just saying you should care is all. ‘S not going to get any better if nobody makes noise, and nobody’s making it for us.”

“Us?" Athi scoffs. "When we met, you said—and I quote—‘So glad you’re not one of those elfy elves.’”

“Yeah, well, therapy’s all right. Besides, it’s not for elves, or not just. It’s for whoever gets stepped on. That means us.”

“I didn’t know you were in therapy.” 

“Maybe I don’t tell you everything," Sera mutters. “Thought of that?”

Athi caps her marker and lays it down. It’s just a feeling, but it's nagging. Persistent. Like and yet unlike the one she still gets when her papae calls her by her full name. Isalathena Sulahnera Lavellan, come here this instant, and it’s heavy on her chest, sitting right on top of her breastbone. Guilty, but she's not.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. Throws it out there before the feeling gets stale and she decides it's something she can live with.

“Nothing.”

“Right, ok, except for it’s not, so come on. Let's get it out and over with.”

Sera sits up, blonde hair sticking out in a couple new directions. “What’s your problem?”

“You! You’ve been acting weird all week, Ser. Haven’t come in for lunch or been home at night, responded to texts—”

“If you think I want to be in the next room while you and—”

“Oh, so you have a problem with Solas? That was one—”

“No!” Sera groans in frustration. “I mean, yeah, he is kind of old, and talks about old stuff a lot, and he’s all”—she straightens her spine into an uncomfortable posture, then slouches again—“but I like him well enough.”

"Then what?"

Sera stares at her hands for a while. Then out the window. Then at the wall. Then back at her hands. Athi’s patience is thin on a good day, and it takes a lot of willpower to keep quiet as Sera opens her mouth and closes it again, false start after false start.

Finally, Sera blurts out: “I want to ask Dagna to move in.”

Athi has no idea what she was expecting, but not that. Searching for some way to relate it to her own behavior, to justify her feeling or shove it aside, she takes so long to form a response that Sera begins to fidget.

“You what?” she asks at last, thoroughly stumped.

“I want to ask Dagna—”

“Yeah, I…” Athi tries to catch up, shuffles through the past month as best as she can in the pause between. “Here?”

Sera squints at her like she's stupid, but that's fair. It was a stupid thing to say. 

“No, my mother's. Yes here!” 

“I’m sorry, I didn't realize you two were dating again. What’s it been, a year since you broke up?” 

“Yeah. You were out at your friend’s place. Better you missed the makeup sex, though, yeah? More room for fun.” 

At first Sera’s cheeky grin has Athi smiling too. It’s a relief to talk about someone else’s shit instead of her own, but then Sera glances toward the couch and—

Oh.

Oh gods, she wouldn’t have . . . would she?

Athi gets up for a glass of water, makes it two at Sera’s request. Sits cross-legged on the coffee table when she comes back. Just to be safe.

“Isn’t it a bit fast?” she asks.

“Maybe. Doesn’t feel fast, though. If you add 'em all up it's been like, a few years or something, so it sort of works out to normal. If you think about it.”

“I guess.”

Sera empties her glass in one go. “Her lease is up next month,” she says.

Athi nods. “Right. So soon, then. Um… and if it doesn’t work out?” She leaves out the again, but it’s implied.

“But that’s why I should do it! See, I keep losing her because I’m not in. She was serious about us, but I kept messing around. Don’t even know why, really.” She looks on the edge of losing her momentum, halfway to introspection, then snaps back into the room. “But therapy! So this time, like Wicked Grace, right? I’m all in and she’ll see I mean it. And then it’ll work out.”

Her logic isn’t quite flawed but it’s far from perfect. Still, friends don't tell friends to be afraid. Especially when those friends have clearly put a lot of thought into their dynamic-altering life-changing decisions. So Athi drops the questions.

“Wow,” she says instead. “I didn’t know you felt that way about her.”

Sera shifts into soft focus and smiles, a faraway look in her eyes. “Me either.”

She seems so certain. Satisfied, and happy. Really, truly happy. And it’s kind of fucking beautiful.

Feeling overcome for no good reason, Athi goes back to her task. Long thick careful black lines, then short ones. She marks a pattern with them to make it less work and more play. Not that anyone will see unless they’re trying. And as she makes the spaces solid, a thought occurs to her.

“So,” she says, bright. Like it’s no big deal. “Do you want me to move out?”

“What? No! Course not. Why would you say that?”

There’s no time to answer. After so much silence, Sera bubbles over with unused conversation. 

“I mean, do you want to move out? You’re not moving in with Solas are you? Gross. Definitely too fast for that one. Bet he wants to get married first, in a chantry and everything. Is he Andrastian, do you know? Where is he, anyway? He travels a lot for work, right? Must be nice. Wonder if his job pays for it. Is he gone now?”

Too many questions, so Athi answers the last one.

“Yeah. Flies in late tonight. He’s picking me up after work.”

Sera snorts. “What, picking you up? So you wouldn’t get up to take him in, huh? Good girl. Stay strong. Trust me, you drive him once and you're in for forever.”

“No, he didn’t even ask. Figured he’d take a cab or something, but I guess he drove himself.”

“And paid for parking? What’s he, loaded?”

Athi grins and crosses her fingers.

“Real nice. I’m serious, Ath, that’s some weird psychopath shit. Nobody drives their own self to the airport. No one who has friends, anyway.”

"I think he's just used to being alone.”

“Way to make it sad.”

"Alone doesn't mean sad."

"It kind of is though. But then, he’s got people, right? Like Varric, and, well... I don’t know. People.”

Athi shrugs. “Habits can be hard to break, especially when you’re not trying.”

“Ooh. Very wise today."

"Shut up."

"I mean it!"

She doesn’t tell Sera about the other things. The books covering all his furniture. The busted bathroom door that he removed rather than replaced. The singular coaster on his side table. The way he forgets to be hospitable, then overcorrects, asks her if she needs anything three times in a row. His house, his life, is not prepared for the presence of others. Not meant to host company or take in strays or accommodate a lover, meant for him and his needs and his convenience and no more.

And she’s honestly not sure if that makes her an exception or an intruder.

--

“Woah.”

The door slams shut behind her. Very nearly catches her in the ass but she happened to freeze just beyond its reach.

The place is gutted. Or maybe it's not? Ceiling and walls are fine and nothing she can place is missing, tables and chairs and bottles of booze all present and accounted for, but it looks fucking empty. And clean, though she can’t tell if that’s real or just the lack of tasteless decor.

“I know, right?” Tali dumps a bucket of ice in the bin with the rest. “It was like this when I showed up today.”

Athi drifts in slow, perturbed by the smell of cleaning solution and the lack of clutter. Hangs her purse on the coat rack just inside the office, her jacket on top of that. Pulls her hair back, ties her apron, washes her hands.

“Were we robbed?” she asks, only half joking.

“Technically, that would be a burglary.”

“Were we burglarized?”

“You know,” Tali says, “If someone broke in just to take those awful knick-knacks and creepy pictures Seggrit had up, I say more power to ‘em. Enjoy your ghosts, thief!"

Athi giggles. “Worst was the cabin.”

“Are you kidding? I couldn’t even look at that family one. The kid’s vacant stare, blessed Andraste, I wanted to flip it around every time I walked in that door. And you know that cat had seen things. I mean, did Seggrit know them? Why were they on our wall?”

"Somebody had to keep an eye on us."

"And make sure we weren't flirting with tall handsome customers in the back alley?" Tali grins, tongue stuck out between her teeth.

"Why? You make that a habit too?"

Tali wrings out and refolds her bar towel. “Ok, sweetie. Keep your secrets. I'll get my details one day."

"Anyway." Athi gestures at the naked walls. "Change!"

"Right. It was Seggie for sure. He was here when I came in. Must have dealt with all that crap this morning, though I couldn't say what he did with all of it. Or why. Oh! And he left that.”

Tali reaches back and raps a knuckle on the fridge where a sheet of paper hangs. Athi slides it out from under the magnet. Scans its contents. Flips it writing-side-out toward Tali.

“The fuck is this?”

“A cleaning list.”

“I can see that. Seggrit made it?”

“Either that or your writer pal is moving in for real.”

“And that’s not strange to you? That he cares?”

Tali shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe he’s decided to rejuvenate this place. You know? Spruce it up, invest a little time, maybe hire some better bartenders.”

“Hey, don't sell yourself short."

"Bold of you to assume I meant myself."

“This is weird, though. Right?" She reads off the paper. "Sweep out back? Deep-clean the office? Dust the brick wall? Tali, most of these have nothing to do with anything. Where are the temp checks? Or the fucking tap lines? Or, you know, any of the shit we should actually be doing?"

“Beats me, babe. I'm just glad he's getting involved. You should’ve seen him whirling around here earlier. Something seems to have lit a fire under his rear-end.”

Another feeling, but she can't place this one. It all fits together somehow, or should. The list and the bare walls and the lack of fire hazards. Chewing on the puzzle, Athi picks a task at random, takes a spray bottle and a coffee filter to the windows. Even free of five years’ grime and in full sun, they don’t illuminate much. But that’s all right. The list says clean, and they are definitely that.

[enasallavellan]

Enasal Lavellan Pt. 51

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Coliseum Soundtrack (Link)

The clang of metal-on-metal rang through the evening air.  Enasal landed on her feet and dodged to the side, going in for an attack at the side.

“Remember recruits.”  Cassandra called out, “You are protecting something of importance - Enasal, is attempting to take that object.”

Weekly battle training had proven to be of great interest in Skyhold.  It was entertainment for the groups that visited Skyhold and good training for the involved recruits.  

Enasal took a running leap in an attempt to get over the recruits and to the “important object”.  The small flag planted in the ground was made to represent any sort of object, and had been laid flat, stuck into a crevice between bricks in a wall, and planted on the battlements in training battles past.

Her leap was blocked by a shield, and it thumped hard against her body and knocked her back to the ground. A practice sword swung toward her and she rolled away, shooting glances at her second blade that she had lost in the scuffle.

“Twenty sovereigns that Enasal’s stubbornness is going to get her knocked out of bounds.” Bull said.

Varric laughed, “You think I’m going to bet against Seastorm?”

“She seems resourceful.”  Blackwall agreed, “Twenty on Enasal’s victory.”

“Enasal is knocked out of bounds or Enasal’s Victory.”  Dorian said, “Such a good concept, but 50/50 is just… awful.  I bet that Enasal will launch herself out of bounds.”  She smiled and leaned forward, “She does struggle so without us.”

“I’m going in with Varric.”  Krem said, moving so he sat beside the dwarf, “Because she has stupidly good luck.”  He pointed at Bull, “Traitors!”

“Traitors!”  Varric echoed dramatically.

They both looked towards Blackwall who nodded and rattled out , “Traitors!”

Vivienne laughed, “So these are Enasal’s friends at their most natural.” 

“They’re a rowdy bunch, I’ll give you that, my dear.”  Dorian replied, “But they’re an entertaining bunch as well.”

“Pardon me,”  Vivienne said, “But I’d like to place a bet on Enasal’s victory.”

Before another work could be said, Enasal arched over the boundary ring. They weren’t the only group with bets going on, and you could tell who had won or lost money by the cheers that day.  

Enasal was up and shaking hands with the winning soldiers that had bundled into a group, discussing the exercise and giving one-another advice.

“Completely launched away and out.”  Lieutenant Voldin, called from an elevated stand, “Enasal is out of bounds, and victory goes to Ser Landis, Ser Pyth, Ser Anderson, Ser Riana and Ser Bist.”

“The next group will conduct a training battle involving mounted soldiers and…”

“How many times must I remind you that shields are not to be stood on.” Cassandra said, exasperated, “If you have to stand on a shield it should be brief with intent to get off!” 

Enasal laughed. “I was trying to get my footing.”

“You did poorly.” 

Balamb Garden piano arrangement (Link)

She waved and took off.  Enasal rarely spent too much time celebrating after a battle - too many eyes on her right after the fight. She slipped through the main hall and into the rotunda, where she pulled her sketches out of Solas’s desks and started getting her paints ready.  

“Ma da’len.” Solas said as he returned to his own work - much closer to completion than Enasal’s, who had only managed to paint her background.  

“I know what I want - I see it in my head.” She shook her head, “But I’m worried about making it work on a wall.”

“Dilute your paints as much as possible.”  Solas advised, “You can make a sort of sketch and paint over it.”

Enasal nodded and took his advice.  She painted with a watery grey, looking back at her reference sketch every so often.  

“Do you mind telling me about your plan, ma da’len?”  He asked, “Or do you want to wait until it’s done?”

Enasal didn’t look up from her work.  “It’s going to be two different halves.  One before I came to the Inquisition, and one from now.”  She looked towards the bottom, where the dividing line branched to create a triangle at the bottom, “And don’t even ask about that - I did it on a whim and haven’t figured out what to do with it.”

He laughed, “Sometimes, Enasal, you remind me of myself when I was younger.”

She looked around, as though he could be talking to someone else, “Me?”

“Young and temperamental - always ready for a fight.”  He smiled, “Although, I never climbed every surface someone bet me to.”

Enasal shook her head with a grin, “You and Cullen, always scolding me.”

“Ah, the Commander doesn’t like it either?” He said, “I was under the impression he found it endearing.”

“Who told you that?”

“One of his soldiers.” He said, “They were asking questions I refused to answer.”

“...Okay.” Enasal said, “Are you going to tell me?”

“No, ma da’len.”  He chuckled, “Nosy child.”

Enasal rolled her eyes and returned to her own wall. “Maybe… put tics at the tops of heads?”  She said, “Get an idea of where everyone will fall?”

“Try it.”

Dilute water and mix, tinkering of glass and ceramic. Brushes on plaster and cloth.

“Grandmother said that my parents loved old ruins.”  Enasal said.

“Did they, now?”

Enasal nodded, “That’s how they met, showing and copying sketches of elven ruins at the Arlathvhen. She said at first she didn’t like my mother, that she encouraged a hobby that could get him hurt or lost.”  

“And then?”

“They starting bringing back things - my father didn’t record a lot of things he found because she disapproved. All Keepers pray for the return of our own knowledge, but most parents pray their children won’t be the ones running through ruins.”  

She stepped back to look at what she had done before leaning forward and trying to coax the shapes she wanted from the wall. “Old magic and traps, wild animals and cultists, you can find them all around the ruins - I’ve been there. I walked around ruins my clan camped away from.”  She shook her head, “Slept in them sometimes, especially if it was raining.  My grandmother didn’t like him doing it either.  But the things she said my father brought back were wonderful.  That we didn’t really know what we had found, but that it was ours.”

She paused before continuing, “Solas… I know you don’t like the Dalish-”

“Fortunate that you are so unlike them.”

“You’ll never hear me fight for my clan, but Solas, the rest of them are trying their best. They just want to have what was lost.”

“Perhaps things are too lost.”

“Why does that mean we should stop?”

Solas moved the brush from his work at that and pondered, before repositioning himself to speak directly to his student, “Suppose you do. You search your entire lifetime for the Elves of yore and find barely enough to fill a single book?”

She glanced back at him, “Then I found some things.”

“But,” He pointed out, “Not all of it.”

“That’s okay.”  She argued, “Because finding a little is better than finding nothing.” She turned back to her painting, “I bring it up, because I’ve decided that if we run into any of my people, I would like to invite them to support the Inquisition. Maybe try to work some sort of research team - you or even Dorian could lead.  What we need is organization - and not just every ten years.”

Solas’s expression was a bit sharper than normal, maybe as it had been in the youth he spoke of - a hint of a smile and a mild threat of a chuckle, “Remarkable. You really do sound like my younger self.” He paused with the thought before standing and dusting off his pants, “We must keep a closer eye on you than I thought.”  

He gestured for her to come beside him and pointed to his final wall.  “Finished. Your opinion, ma da’len?” 

Enasal nodded, “I love it. It feels like being back at one of the temples.” 

“Would you like to hear the story?” He had asked it before he seen anyone in the doorway, but instead nodded a greeting before getting his own paints.

“Actually”  Solas said, “Why not put your paints away, you have a visitor who has been hovering in the doorway.”

Enasal perked up at seeing Cullen, and waved him in.

“I wasn’t sure if I was allowed.”  He said, looking at the walls.

“Those are Solas’s.” Enasal said, “Mine is still… a background.” 

He stood beside her and looked, “Well, it’s an exceptional background.”

She bumped her shoulder into him, “Hush, you.”

Solas cleared his throat, “Did you need something in particular, Commander, or just to chat with Enasal?”

“Right.”  He shook his head, “We’re wanted in the war room.” He paused, “Well, you’re wanted, I was sent to get you.  So you’re wanted in the war room.”

Solas shook his head but continued to put away his paints.

“I…”  Cullen began, “I talked to the Ferelden mages.”

Enasal nodded, “And?”

“The eldest forgave me, two didn’t seem to care either way, and three told me if they had a chance they’d set me on fire.” He forced a smile, “Eldest wouldn’t let them, though.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t go better.”

He nodded, “As you said, they might not forgive.”

Solas went to Enasal and took her supplies from her, “Both of you, to the war room. Talk on your way there.”  He looked at Enasal, “I’m sure it would be a nicer conversation without your teacher listening in.” He nodded at Cullen, “Commander. Another time.”

Unsure of what to think of Solas’s words, Enasal and Cullen bade him awkward goodbye and left for the war room.

Melodies Of Life  (Link)

“How do you feel?”  Enasal asked.

Cullen sighed and shook his head, “I don’t know. Opened up a lot of old wounds, for everyone involved.”

“That’s okay.  Sometimes that has to happen.”

Cullen nodded, but seemed disheartened.

“I’m with you on this.”  Enasal said. “I have things I have to work on, too.”

“You?” He furrowed his brow.

“Me.” She said, “I… have a lot of problems with Tevinter. And I realized that I couldn’t expect you to work on your problems if I wasn’t willing to work on myself.”  

“It’s that bad?”

“Remember how I reacted to Alexius?”

“Ah, yes. That.” 

“I apologized to Dorian, he laughed and said he was happy I hadn’t tried to stab him like I had Alexius.”

Cullen couldn't help but ask, “What about Krem? You two seem… very close.”

Enasal laughed, “The masa, he just thumped me in the head and told me he didn’t know what I was talking about.” She smiled, “He’s kind of like Shiral was, only less overbearing.” 

She sighed, “So, I’m trying too.  Reminding myself that all those hateful thoughts about people from Tevinter may not be true, and I can’t pass judgement on anyone just because they call that country home or came from there.”

“Maker’s breath, you really are that sincere, aren’t you?”

She looked down and laughed, but her ears were red.

They didn’t speak until they were just outside the war room.

“I… do want to warn you.”  Cullen said, “You’re about to be sent out again - in a few days.”

Enasal sighed and nodded, “I figured it wouldn’t be too much longer.”

“It should actually be something you might have fun with.” He smiled, “We’ll talk more after the war meeting.”  He said, “A time or two around the battlements?” 

She laughed and nodded, “I think I’d like that.”