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official-weasley · 3 years

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Charlie's Helping Hand

A/N: For all who don't know @am-i-space and I are (healthily obsessed) with freckled gingers who steal your heart because they are adorable and pure! Two of those are the one and only Charlie Weasley and Commander Gren from The Dragon Prince.

We have made up quite a few stories about them (separate and together) and about a month ago we came up with Charlie being friends with Gren and Amaya. @am-i-space had the idea for a drawing of the 3 of them at once and without really knowing we were doing it, we started working together on this little project below my rambling!

After definitely not losing their mind about the eyes and Charlie's hair EVEN ONCE and me finally getting the inspiration for how to bring Charlie into a different universe, we are ready to post it!

As you might've figured by now the drawing below this author's note belongs to the beautiful, talented and amazing @am-i-space who pleasantly surprised me with every draft piece I received of this drawing and the story behind how this drawing "came to be" belongs to yours truly.

PS. Read to the end to find out how this beautiful piece of art came to existence in the story 💙🖤

“Charlie, you are going to love Katolis.” Gren grinned at his friend as they were walking up the path that will take them back to Gren's homeland.

“I love traveling so I think I will have no problem with it,” Charlie smiled back at him, “and besides you said that it's full of magic and dragons just roam free. It's like you are describing a dream.”

“It wasn't always like that. Dragons were feared and people and magic folk didn't know how to live together.” Gren sighed, remembering the days before their land became one.

“Right, king Ezran and his brother were running away from an elf assassin and they found an egg and joined forces to return it to its mother.” Charlie narrowed his eyes, trying to get the facts straight.

—

It's been almost two years since the great battle at the Storm Spire. The dragon queen has awakened and Zym was finally reunited with his mother. She took care of him, taught him how to fly better – even though Ez did an incredible job already. She also showed her son how to roar and how to use his electric breath.

Xadia was one land again and it thrived like never before. The magic spread to the Five Kingdoms and the people and the magic folk could move freely without sneaking around and fear each other.

Everything was perfect until one day when the dragon prince went flying and got caught up in a giant storm. Because he was still struggling to control his wing movement – when the winds were strong – he got caught up in a whirl and got smashed into a mountain.

Azymondias was found by his mother after she went looking for him as he didn't return home. At first, he appeared to be fine but when the queen wanted to take him flying she noticed that one of his wings was damaged. She sought help from the king of Katolis and his friends.

King Ezran's heart was broken when he found out and gathered a party to visit Zym at once. He couldn't believe it was even worse than he imagined it would be – all of Zym's bones in his left wing were broken and no matter how many elves and how many mages they gathered, nothing could mend his wing.

It seemed that all was lost and that the dragon prince will never be able to fly until one night when Commander Gren was finally ready to talk about his experience of being locked up in the castle dungeon by lord Viren.

He told his best friend general Amaya about everything he heard and seen happening. With his help, they were able to find the coins in which Viren stored souls and with the help of a high mage from the kingdom of Duren their lives were restored and Runaan was safely returned to his husband Ethari and his adopted niece Rayla.

Because Gren found it hard to talk about the whole situation and would gladly completely forget about the horrid experience, he decided to visit Runaan at his home in Silvergrove.

Every time Gren woke up in the middle of the night, having a nightmare that he was back in that dungeon, he felt like he was missing something. He knew that Viren was going down there for a reason and not just to interrogate Runaan. The thoughts kept him awake and he tried his hardest to remember where he was going and if he heard any noises that would help him figure it out.

As Gren expected, Runaan wasn't keen on talking about his experience in the castle of Katolis either but when Gren explained his feelings and the need to talk about it and to help him find out what was happening while they were there, Runaan put his feelings aside and decided to share his part of the story.

When Runaan told Gren about the weird questions Viren was asking him about a mirror and what does it do and how important it had to be for the lord because he seemed very frustrated when he didn't get his answers, Gren decided that it was time to put his fear aside and head down to the dungeons once more.

After telling Amaya everything and informing her of his plan to go and investigate – being so sure that the guards missed something when they rescued him – Amaya wanted to go with him.

She knew Gren more than anyone and it still pained her to this day that she was so far away when everything Viren was doing back at the castle went down that she simply couldn't allow him to relive that alone. She knew Gren was brave and just about the most optimistic and cheerful person she will ever have a chance to meet but she also knew that behind his bubbly personality Gren was hiding all the negative feelings and the trauma of what he went through in those few weeks while being down there.

She knew there will be no way of stopping Gren from going because he has never been so sure that something Viren was hiding down there could help Zym so instead of arguing with her lieutenant she decided to go with him.

As always when they go on a mission they geared up – better be too safe than sorry – and headed to the dungeons.

Before they opened the door that led to the lower parts of the castle, Amaya turned to Gren one more time.

Are you really sure you want to do this? She signed.

I am. I have to see what is down there or I will never have a peaceful night's rest. Gren signed back, his brows furrowed in determination.

Amaya just nodded, admiring how brave her best friend was for facing his problem head-on, and opened the door.

They walked down the stairs and came to the place where Gren was cuffed.

Amaya gave him a worried look while Gren avoided looking at her and the wall he was chained to. Taking a deep breath he first headed to where he knew Runaan was kept. They only found an empty cell with a small window with bars on it so they headed in the other direction.

They have been looking around, opening doors to empty cells for about half an hour until Gren tried turning the knob of a wooden door and it didn't open.

He exchanged a look with Amaya who nodded to him that he should force-open it with his foot. Gren did as he was told but the door still didn't move.

Amaya frowned – not liking when something didn't go her way – so she stepped next to Gren and counting to 3 on her fingers they repeated the action together. The door gave way to their force and they stumbled inside.

The room was a bit bigger than the others they have found. It was windowless making it completely dark with only a small wooden table, a chair, and something covered with a cloth.

Is this it? Amaya signed at Gren who was observing the covered artifact with his mouth slightly opened.

Gren could only muster a small nod. Amaya knew that this was hard on Gren and even though her curiosity was growing she gave him the time to make the step toward it and uncover the object.

The commander shook his head to collect his thoughts and swallowed thickly before approaching it. He lifted his arm slowly, grabbed the cloth, and pulled it down. Amaya and Gren both gasped, not prepared to see a mirror in front of them.

At the first glance, it looked like any other mirror, but then something shone inside it and their reflections disappeared. They saw what looked like an empty office or a library. They knew at once that this was no ordinary mirror and that it would be best if they don't meddle with it but call in someone who might better know what this mirror is for or better yet what it does.

After a month of searching and inviting the best mages in the whole land, including elves from all parts of Xadia, they figured out that the mirror served as a prison in another realm for a startouch elf. They were able to find an elf that knew of startouch elves and who they were.

The only one of their kind the king of Katolis and his aunt Amaya knew was Aaravos who they had to fight to keep Zym alive at the battle that brought them peace. Since lord Viren was associated with Aaravos it was only reasonable that he was the one who was inside the mirror.

King Ezran wasn't delighted to find out that this wasn't the last they would hear of the elf and wanted to resolve the mystery behind the mirror at once.

“You mean the little bug that turned into an elf with a bigger bug around his shoulder?” Soren asked, perplexed when Ezran was telling him, Callum, Corvus, and Opeli what was going on.

“Do you know anything about him?” Ezran gasped, encouraging Soren to tell him more.

“Well, not really. Father was very secretive about him. I remember when we were marching to Lux Aurea he was talking to the little bug on his ear. If my memory isn't deceiving me, Viren was telling him about how he and your dad, Ezran, defeated the dragon king.” Soren said, rubbing his chin and trying to remember more.

“Why would Aaravos want to know about that?” Opeli failed to understand.

“Perhaps he was trapped in the mirror when that happened?” Corvus suggested.

“Viren sounded very proud of his accomplishment, speaking with the voice he uses when he brags about something to someone for who he thinks he did them a favor.” Soren continued.

“Why would killing Zym's dad be a favor to Aaravos?” Ezran thought out loud.

“No!” Callum gasped and stood up.

“What? What did you remember?” Ezran wanted to know.

“No, it's too farfetched.” Callum swung his hand for them to stop paying attention to him.

“No, no. Do tell,” Opeli encouraged him, “perhaps you are onto something.”

“Well,” Callum cleared his throat, “would it be possible that the dragon king had something to do with Aaravos' imprisonment inside the mirror?”

“Get aunt Amaya and gather the elves and the mages again! We have to discuss this!” Ezran stood up and gave the order to Soren and Corvus who nodded and rushed out of the throne room at once.

“It would be possible for the dragon king to entrap the elf inside a mirror.” The high mage of Bel Dur said after hearing the proposal from prince Callum.

“However,” a mage from Neolandia cut in, “in order to do that Thunder would need someone from the realm on the other side of the mirror to help him, making your idea invalid.”

“Why?” King Ezran wanted to know.

“Well, to do that sort of powerful magic, the dragon king would have to have a dragon on the other side of the mirror from which to draw that kind of power.” The mage explained.

“Why would that make my idea invalid?” Callum asked.

“Because there is no such thing as dragons in other realms,” the mage said confidently.

“An hour ago you didn't even know there were other realms and now you are trying to convince us that in those other places dragons can't exist?” Opeli raised her eyebrows.

“Alright,” the mage sighed, “let's say that a place where Aaravos was entrapped does have dragons, how exactly does this help us with the dragon prince's wing?”

“Don't you get it?” Ezran stood up. “Nobody in Xadia can help Zym and this other realm could be full of dragons. What if there is someone who could heal Zym? What if they possess just the magic we would need to help Zym fly again?”

“You do have a point, your majesty,” the high mage of Bel Dur bowed to the king, “however...”

“However, how do we know whoever lives on the other side isn't a threat to us? To the dragon prince, to our kingdoms? Who is to say that they would be willing to help us?” The mage interrupted him.

King Ezran decided to call a meeting with the dragon queen to ask her if she could confirm their speculations and wasn't all that surprised when she told him that it was the dragon king who imprisoned Aaravos in a realm called Earth where magic works differently than in Xadia and despite Aaravos being the strongest and the most ancient of elves, he wouldn't be able to use their type of magic.

After much deliberation, king Ezran has decided to take the risk and explore the realm on the other side of the mirror.

“We have to help Zym. No one in the whole Xadia could mend his wing and we have to try. We can't have the dragon prince not be able to fly. I know it's dangerous and a lot of you will think that I am making a rash decision based on my feelings and me being a kid, but this is how I decided and I am willing to take the risk for Xadia and our kingdom.” Ezran said, his brows together in determination. “We needed years of war and conflict to unite our lands together again and if we aren't willing to help and take the risks needed to move forward then we are back at the beginning and I will not allow that to happen.”

The crown guards and the king's advisors nodded, agreeing with him, while some of the mages from other kingdoms had their reservations.

In the end, it didn't matter as only a day later were they gathering a team courageous enough to walk through the mirror and seek help.

You want to do what? Amaya was signing as fast as her fingers allowed her, frowning at the idea Gren just proposed.

I need to go. I feel that I need to go. I had the feeling about the mirror and look where it brought us. Gren tried convincing her.

You did enough, Gren. Amaya pleaded.

It's been so nice to have him by her side again after being separated on so many occasions during the war and now it will happen again and Amaya wasn't sure she can let it happen.

Soren is going. I have to try. This could be my chance to prove that I am not only good at interpreting.

Nobody is saying that Gren, and you know it.

You never protested so much before, what has gotten into you? Gren wanted to frown but his expression softened instead, looking at his best friend.

I guess I got used to the fact of you being by my side again. Amaya moved her fingers slowly as if she was hesitant to admit this.

“Oh.” Gren breathed out loud before stepping closer to Amaya and pulling her into a hug.

I know. I feel the same but please give me a chance to do this. I will be back before you know it.

Gren bestowed Amaya with one of his warming smiles to which she never could stop her lips from curving too.

Alright, but promise me you'll be safe and cautious. She playfully nudged him in the ribs before hugging him again and saying goodbye.

The next day Gren, accompanied by 5 of Ezran's most trusted crown guards – including Soren – and a mage made their way down to the dungeons once again to walk through the mirror and seek help from the other side.

It took 7 mages to figure out how the mirror works and how to get the crew through it. They warned them they will have a small window to do this that's why they couldn't take more people.

Gren was standing in front of the mirror – the last one to be transported through it.

“Here we go,” he whispered to himself, took a deep breath, and without turning his head to see his best friend one more time, disappeared.

—

“And this is where I come in.” Charlie wiggled his nose, trying to hide that he was nervous as Gren told him the story for the fourth time.

“Look, I know it sounds insane.” Gren sighed. “We found a mirror who entrapped the most powerful elf that ever lived in Xadia and then we went through it, followed the roar of a dragon, found the Sanctuary, and for some reason you were mad enough to say yes to our proposal.”

“In my defense, you said that a baby dragon... No, no, let me correct myself – a storm baby dragon – which is a myth here on Earth, needed help and then you said that you are not from Earth at all but from another realm so you tricked me.” Charlie sniggered.

“Well, my hidden talent to know when someone cares for something deeply has finally come to use.” Gren smiled proudly.

“Just don't get your hopes up. I might be a dragonologist but you said that no wizard...”

“Mage.” Gren corrected him.

“That no mage could help Zym so I am not sure how much I can do.” Charlie bowed his head.

“I know, but it is admiring that you are willing to try and I believe that you will be able to do something, if nothing else advise us what we can do to help the dragon prince,” Gren said cheerfully, looking at his friend.

He and the guards have only been on Earth for a month and they are already going back – needing far less time than Gren or anybody expected them to need to figure out how the people on Earth could help Azymondias.

They were lucky enough that the late dragon king set Aaravos' prison near the Carpathians mountains which also happened to be the secret hideout of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.

They were walking for 2 days before they heard a dragon roar and followed the sound for another day before they arrived in front of what looked like an abandoned gate. The mage tore down the enchantments and without thinking twice about it, they entered.

To say that the people working in the Reserve were in shock and not really sure what they were looking at was an understatement. It doesn't happen every day that a group of people with armor and swords walk straight through the gate.

Luckily, dragonologists are very simple and open-minded people – Gren has noticed – so it was easy to explain what was going on.

The second they said that a dragon needed help, a bunch of them volunteered but Gren knew that they can only take one person back so he asked the kind people if they could stay for a few days to observe their work and then pick the one that seemed the best suited for the job.

Charlie stood out to Gren immediately, because he was one of the few that simply raised their hand to volunteer instead of being loud and jumping in the air. His calmness suited him and he intrigued Gren the second he followed him around the next morning and saw how he handled the dragons.

The fellow red-haired dragonologist reminded Gren very much of king Ezran and how he talks to animals. The second Gren decided that this business was too urgent for him to be shy and not talk to him, he approached the dragon tamer and asked him about his ability to talk to dragons.

Charlie cocked an eyebrow at him and laughed a little, thinking the commander was joking, only to compose himself a second later when he saw just how serious Gren was.

With observing his work and asking him all sorts of questions Gren deemed him perfect for the job.

He wasn't even that surprised that he got Charlie on board without any effort.

The second the sun rose the next morning and Charlie said goodbye to the dragons and his co-workers, they made their way back to the mirror.

—

Gren, you are back! Amaya was waiting next to the mirror for them to come back and hugged her friend the second he came out of it.

I'm alright. It went pretty smoothly. Gren smiled proudly.

Who is this? Amaya signed, nodding at Charlie and scanning him from head to toe.

This is Charlie Weasley, he's a dragon tamer back in the other realm and he is here to help Zym. Gren explained.

He's cute. Amaya winked at her friend.

I thought you were in a committed relationship with Janai? Gren giggled.

I meant for you. Amaya nudged him, making Gren's face as red as a strawberry.

Without replying, Gren rushed everyone out of the room, making the excuse to see Zym as fast as possible.

Amaya sent a squad to bring Zym to Katolis so that Charlie would have the time to settle in and get some rest and that he wouldn't get too overwhelmed by his surroundings.

The second he saw the dragon prince and heard his cheerful squeaks despite having an injured wing, Charlie's eyes glowed and he felt like all his dreams came true to see a dragon that not only doesn't breathe fire but can zap you with electricity.

Gren explained to him to the best of his abilities why they call Zym the dragon prince but when he bowed to the young dragon and heard the people behind him giggle, he knew he took it too far. With his cheeks turning scarlet, he cleared his throat and asked everybody to give him and Zym some space so he could do a proper check-up on him.

Amaya, Gren, Ezran, Callum, Soren, and Opeli all watched as Charlie sat down next to the dragon and started whispering something to him. It only took about a minute for Zym to trust him which – with everything Gren saw back in the Sanctuary – wasn't surprising at all.

Zym let Charlie position him in a way to have full access to the wing, while constantly murmuring something under his breath.

“So, did you manage to find out how to help him?” Ezran asked the second Charlie stood up and walked to them.

“I...uh...” Charlie stuttered not knowing how to begin.

“What? What's wrong?” Callum put his hand over his little brother's shoulder.

“I don't want to be rude so I don't know how to say it.” Charlie was embarrassed.

“Hey, we trust in your expertise so don't worry about it.” Gren encouraged Charlie to speak.

“Well, his wing is broken, you got that right but because dragons here and on Earth are magical creatures, magic can't help them much.” Charlie shook his head.

“So, there's nothing we can do?” Ezran was on the verge of tears.

“Quite the opposite, this is very good news. I thought that we would have to mend his broken bones with magic.” Charlie said in a cheerful voice to put Ezran in a better mood.

“And we won't need to use magic?” Soren got curious.

“No. Because Zym is still so young and will need years to grow fully, we would just have to immobilize his wing as much as possible until his bones mend themselves.” Charlie explained.

“It's that easy? ” Amaya signed, looking impressed and Gren interpreted.

“Yes. Zym is still growing and like with children it's easier to have a broken bone when you are young than when you're an adult. If Zym will be a good boy and obey when I put bandages on him, he should be better somewhere from around 6 months to a year if he is like the dragons we have back at home.” Charlie couldn't hide how proud he was of all the knowledge he had on dragons and healing.

“How are you going to wrap him up?” Ezran was beyond happy to know that his friend is going to be just fine.

“With magic, of course.” Charlie pulled out his wand.

“You made a mistake of trying to heal his wing with magic directly, that simply doesn't work with one of the most powerful beings in the world. In cases like this, you have to turn to the good old remedies.”

He walked back to Zym who extended his wing as much as he could for Charlie to do his magic.

Gren and his friends couldn't quite decipher what Charlie said for pieces of cloth to start flying out of his wand and bandage Zym's wing for him not to be able to move it.

“So our mission was all for nothing?” Gren bowed his head.

“On the contrary, commander,” Ezran grinned at him, “if you hadn't brought Charlie here, we would worry about Zym for years and his bones could regrow in a wrong way, and from what I can see, you wouldn't have made a friend.”

“True.” Gren gave the words of his king some thought.

“Also, I think that mister Weasley doesn't mind meeting another species of dragon.” Opeli giggled.

Gren turned around to where Charlie was trying to make Zym hold still so he could cast the spell with bandages on him a few more times and smiled to himself.

“Yeah, you're right. It was completely worth it.” He observed his friend doing his job for a few seconds more before the heat on his cheeks became too much and he turned to Amaya who winked at him with a smug expression on her face.

Gren playfully rolled his eyes and walked to Charlie.

“So, after you do this, how long is it going to last?” He wanted to know.

“Well, Zym is a very energetic and jumpy dragon and these bandages have to be tight for as long as possible so I would have to change them a few times per day.” Charlie chuckled when Zym let out a happy squeak.

“Meaning you will stay here?” Gren tried sounding normal but was bad at hiding his excitement.

“Would that be okay?” Charlie scratched the top of his head. “I mean I don't know how realms work or if this is even allowed?”

“We can ask the mages but since we stayed on Earth for a month, I think it wouldn't be a problem.”

“Well, I love traveling and would love to help Zym for as long as I can, so I wouldn't mind at all.” Charlie couldn't believe how lucky he was to embark on this amazing adventure.

“What about the people back at home? Won't they miss you?”

In the time Gren spent with Charlie, he had the opportunity to get to know him very well and it became evident early on that Charlie was a man who would do anything for his family and his loved ones.

“They will,” Charlie shrugged, “but they are used to seeing me only a few times per year and besides, it's work-related and they understand how much my job means to me.”

“In that case, I would...” Gren cleared his throat. “...I mean we would love to have you.”

“It's settled then. I am staying. I would just like to ask if there is a way for me to send a message home?”

“I am sure that can be arranged.”

Charlie and Gren turned around to the voice and saw king Ezran smiling at them.

“I would like to thank you personally, mister Weasley...”

“Please, king Ezran, call me Charlie.”

“Only if you stop calling me king,” Ezran giggled, “my friends call me Ez and I think it's safe to say that you are now a friend. Wouldn't you say so, Gren?”

“Exactly!” Gren exclaimed.

“As I was saying, I would like to thank you for doing this. You have no idea how much this means to the magic folk, to us people, and me personally.” Ezran walked to where Charlie was kneeling next to Zym and wrapped his arms around him.

Charlie let out a suppressed chuckle, not expecting a king to hug him, but then returned the embrace before standing up.

“I will need a place to stay.” Charlie giggled nervously as they were standing in front of the castle door, waiting for the guards to let them in.

“You can stay with us,” Gren said and pointed behind him.

Charlie turned around to see Amaya signing to Gren for him to interpret.

“I think you will fit in with us just nicely,” Gren translated while Amaya sent Charlie a wink.

No amount of freckles could hide the dragon tamer's burning cheeks as he couldn't believe just how nice everyone in Katolis was.

Gren and Amaya took him to the garden the second he came from the much-needed shower from all the kisses and licks Zym gave him. They were sitting on the bench and conversing – Charlie trying to take in as many signs as he could because he was determined to learn sign language.

“Charlie, I bring good news!” Prince Callum came out of nowhere. “Ez told me that you want to send a message home and asked me to talk to the mages. They can prepare the mirror for you tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Callum. That is indeed great news.” He grinned at the prince, relieved that he will have a chance to explain to his family where he has gone to.

“Now that it's official and you're staying I think we have to give you a rank.” Ezran appeared next to Callum.

“A rank?” Charlie tilted his head in confusion.

“And armor!” Callum exclaimed.

“What are you two talking about?” Gren chuckled at how excited they were and glanced at Amaya who just giggled as if she was hiding something.

Amaya, what did you do? Gren's curiosity got the better of him.

Well, since Brandon retired last year I am without my third in command so I am giving that position to Charlie. Amaya explained.

“To me?” Charlie jumped in his seat after Gren told him what was going on. “But I can't fight!”

“You are doing admirable work, worth of a title.” Gren interpreted.

“I-I don't know what to say.” Charlie was left speechless.

“Oh, I know what you could do!” Callum gasped loudly before running away from them.

Not even 5 minutes later, he came back with his sketchbook in his hands. Without saying anything he ordered Gren, Amaya, and Charlie – who were sitting on the bench – to stand up.

“We will celebrate with your official portrait,” Callum explained his actions.

The trio exchanged a look and then turned around when they heard someone clear their throat.

“Callum, you can't draw them without Charlie being in his new uniform.” Soren shook his head and handed Charlie a package.

The redhead was looking at it in awe before being rushed to the closest bathroom to try it on.

“Oh, look at you!” Soren and Ezran said together, admiring the scales on Charlie's chest.

“You look...” Gren's mouth fell open, lost for words.

Dashing. Amaya signed and winked at her best friend.

“Uhm, yeah.” Gren nodded.

Come on, Gren. Say it to him. She encouraged him.

“Dashing. Uhm, you...you look dashing.” Gren knew there was no way to hide his strawberry freckled face but seeing Charlie blush at his words too, he no longer cared.

The trio positioned themselves in front of Callum who drew them and as the crew watched him hard at work, sneaking looks at Charlie, they knew their group gained a new friend.

#tpd #the dragon prince #harry potter #charlie weasley #tpd gren #the dragon prince gren #tpd amaya #the dragon prince amaya #commander gren #general amaya

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morganaseren · 3 years

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Warden Niamh/Warden Bethany AU

So because there seemed to be interest in the idea, I decided to expand on the second prompt on this list of AUs I made for Bethany and my Niamh Cousland.

Since Bethany is a Circle Mage in Niamh’s canon verse, I really wanted to experiment with Bethany in one of her other potential routes We don’t talk about the ones where she died not long after escaping Lothering or down in the Deep Roads. Like, what are you talking about? Lalala~ and see if I could work together a happier ending than what the games canonically gave her.

Like most of the AUs I’ve already written about though, this is just a snippet into the verse, so it’s not as polished as I’d like it to be, and the pacing isn’t on par with my main fic. However, there are still 50+ pages for your reading pleasure! Depending on reader interest, I’ll be more than happy to write more about this or other AUs once OtSttCA is completed.

Disclaimer: Any section written in present tense beneath the Read More contains notes or scenes that I’ve yet to expand upon properly.

CliffNotes version of what goes on:

This whole thing takes place sometime after Bethany becomes a Grey Warden and continues on through the years-long breaks between the Acts of DA2. The epilogue will be set sometime after the Trespasser DLC is completed.

Niamh is the Grey Warden who Morrigan chooses to do the Dark Ritual with, and through the obvious use of magic, Kieran is conceived. Because of this, Niamh’s sister Saoirse escapes her otherwise canonical death and gets to be happily married to Leliana.

Because of their mutual respect for one another, and the fact that Niamh went through the trouble of finding Morrigan through the events of the Witch Hunt DLC (she was worried about her friend and their son), she and Morrigan remain in close contact and co-parent Kieran together. Their relationship is often mistaken as a romantic one though.

Bethany eventually falls in love with Niamh over the years, but because she believes the other woman is in a relationship with Morrigan, she keeps her feelings to herself. As such, this is obviously going to be a slow burn romance much like OtSttCA.

Bethany only confesses (albeit by accident) when Niamh nearly dies during a darkspawn ambush when the two woman accidentally find themselves trapped down in the Deep Roads.

There’s a romantic kiss out in the rain along with a semi-NSFW scene later on, which explains why the Read More is in place beyond the fact that this is already super long despite the fact that it’s unfinished...

They both go off in search of the cure to The Calling not long after the Kirkwall Rebellion, and they both eventually get married sometime after the Trespasser DLC with Divine Victoria (spoilers: it’s Leliana) officiating their wedding.

Interested so far? Click below to read more!

“You’re originally from Ferelden, no?” Stroud asked, drawing Bethany’s attention from where she’d been listlessly staring at the cobblestones as they walked away from Amaranthine’s sea port.

The city itself seemed to be thriving with fishmongers and traders of all kinds rattling off their wares to passersby. Save for the workers carrying about lumber and other building materials, one might not have even believed that Amaranthine had suffered its fair share of woes during the onset of the Fifth Blight or the consequent, mysterious darkspawn attack upon its walls nearly a year later. Still, the denizens of the arling were ever a hearty people. For whatever hardship befell them, they continued to persevere.

She supposed she couldn’t bring herself to be too surprised by that.

The Storm Coast had spawned some of Thedas’ most fearsome raiders once upon a time, and they had proven the bane of Orlais in the rebellion that had spanned over half an Age. For the empire’s trespass upon their freedom, they had fought back with a ruthlessness that matched the raging waves of the sea that was as much a home to them as the land. In the face of such an unsympathetic enemy, they depended on one another to see themselves and each other through to another day. Such faith eventually earned them the liberation they had long sought against Orlais.

Bethany could still see evidence of such camaraderie in the way the people greeted one another so whole-heartedly, stopping to make conversation or help with the transportation of wares. It was such interaction that she’d miss in all the time she’d been away.

Kirkwall had lacked such sincere enthusiasm.

Still, in the two years since she’d left it, she was finally back home, but Bethany knew it was yet another decision she hadn’t had a say in. She hadn’t agreed to returning to Ferelden any more than she had agreed to becoming a Grey Warden. Her jaw clenched, remembering how her sister had simply handed her over to them even when faced with the proposition that they’d likely never see one another again.

Was it really so easy for you to leave me behind, Sister? she thought bitterly, and perhaps upon sensing her melancholy, Stroud changed the subject.

“I realize it seems a rather abrupt choice in returning you here, but what I seek is far too dangerous for someone so new to our way of life to accompany me with,” he explained. “I’m meeting with the Warden-Commander of the Fereldan branch so that I might share some information in the event that things go awry. Their group is smaller than the ones seen across Thedas, but no one can deny their efficiency.” Stroud spared a small chuckle at that. “A bit like your sister and her crew, I suppose; I thought perhaps you would be more comfortable in such a setting.”

It had been a thoughtful suggestion; Bethany knew that. Still, she couldn’t help but sigh. She had always felt that the individuals whom had made up her little social circle were more Emrys’ friends than they had ever been hers. Her older sister had the type of presence to draw anyone to her with her rakish charm and absolute battle prowess.

…which was the exact opposite of her.

As an apostate, it was far easier to stay out of trouble by being unobtrusive. If she gave the Templars no reason to suspect her, she wouldn’t be taken away from her family and the quiet life she had always known. Yet, for all her trouble—and for all her desperation to abide by the rules of a society that had long hated mages like her—she had found herself alone anyway.

Bethany sighed as she looked down at the blues and silvers of the brigandine and tabard of her outfit that signified her status as a Grey Warden. Even with her staff openly displayed across her back, she supposed she no longer had to fear being turned into the authorities. Save for a few curious glances, no one so much as batted an eye at them.

She wasn’t entirely convinced this new life was better than the one she’d left. She could have dealt with the ever-present uncertainty in Kirkwall and the endless, interpersonal squabbles of their ragtag group than spending the remainder of her years surrounded by strangers and fighting darkspawn.

But the choice wasn’t hers to make.

Very little ever was.

---

“So that’s Velanna. She took over as Archivist for our branch when the Warden-Constable was promoted to her current position by our Commander,” Nathaniel said as he took Bethany and Stroud through a tour of Vigil’s Keep since the fortress’ respective Warden-Commander and Warden-Constable were currently out on business.

Their latest stop was a library filled with seemingly endless rows of bookshelves and even more that lined the walls of the chamber that consisted of three separate levels. It was impressive, and Bethany was half-convinced she could have spent an Age in this room alone and never be able to read the entirety of its collection.

At Nathaniel’s commentary, she spared a cursory glance at the woman writing intently at one of the tables furthest away from them, paying little mind to her audience. As was typical of most elves, Velanna was a slight woman. Her hair was a shade of blonde so pale that it was nearly white, but there was a surliness in her pensive expression that gave Bethany pause. It was something that suggested the other woman didn’t welcome the company of others easily, and she seemed to have been proven right by Nathaniel’s words.

“Don’t mind her if she’s a bit standoffish at first. Velanna’s usually that way with everyone until she starts warming up to them,” he assured.

“Oh?”

“Yes. She didn’t really like humans all that much to begin with—hardly a surprise considering how terrible some of them were toward her former clan. Truthfully, I think the only people she really respects are our commanding officers—the Constable mostly though.” He spared a soft chuckle at that. “Granted, the Warden-Commander could lead a damn army from one side of Thedas to the other, but only her sister has the type of negotiation skills that could somehow end up with a High Dragon allied with a sheep of all things.”

“Probably a good thing,” said Varel—the Keep’s seneschal. There was amusement in his dark eyes as he stroked his beard, which had long grown grey with age. “Actually succeeding in getting the Warden-Constable angry is a terrifying sight to behold.”

“Please don’t remind me; I still have nightmares from our first meeting…” Nathaniel muttered with a shudder.

Bethany found that curious, but before she could begin to question him, she saw how he blinked at further movement inside the library. She followed his gaze to see that a dark-haired, dwarven woman had entered through one of the side entrances, carrying two, steaming mugs. One had been set before Velanna, who whispered something quietly, but both of Bethany’s brows rose when she saw how the elf’s cheeks quickly reddened by the kiss that had been pressed to them by her latest visitor.

“Ah. And that’s Sigrun there—another one of those few, honored individuals who Velanna won’t immediately snap at,” Nathaniel remarked humorously.

The tour then continued elsewhere with the party entering the Mess Hall. While neat and tidy, it would have otherwise been unremarkable were it not for the lone dwarf snoring loudly atop one of the tables—an empty cask by his side. Bethany and Stroud shared bemused glances while Varel only cursed next to them, running a weary hand down his face.

“I told you we needed better locks for the cellar if we’re to keep Oghren away from the wine stores,” Nathaniel deadpanned.

Oghren grumbled nonsensically in his sleep before promptly rolling off the table and right onto the floor, loudly overturning more than a few chairs in the process. Despite the fall, he continued to doze away, and his snoring only seemed to grow in volume. They then watched as the poor seneschal wearily hauled the dwarf back to his quarters before he could cause another incident in front of their guests.

“…well, that was Oghren,” Nathaniel muttered, rubbing the back of his neck with a weary sigh. “Quite the interesting fellow, that one. With him, you’ve pretty much met every Warden in the Keep save for—”

He was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hallway.

“I told you that I’m more than capable of walking on my own!” protested a feminine voice, irritation evident within it.

“Says the woman who was nearly side-swiped off a cliff by an ogre,” came the deeper timbre of another woman’s amused reply.

Unlike Nathaniel or herself, the latest arrivals didn’t seem to bear the typical, Fereldan accent or even Stroud’s Orlesian one from what she could tell. Bethany could hear how some of the vowels lilted somewhat as they spoke.

“It didn’t really give me any choice in the matter,” was the dry response. “It was either stand before its charge or risk the family in the wagon being swept over the edge instead.”

“I was hardly questioning your bravery, Sister. The people in that caravan certainly wouldn’t, but perhaps leave the more death-defying stunts to those of us with the armor to handle it, hm? I shudder to think what our brother or Aunt Eithne (writer’s note: pronounced Eth-Nah) would say once they find out about this...”

“Perhaps that you were lazing about while I was doing all the work as per usual.”

“Hey!”

Two women appeared in the doorway of the Mess Hall then, and Bethany was startled to find that one of them rivaled her older sister in both height and size. She was a warrior through and through if the impressive greatsword over her shoulder and her overall physique was any indication. Her mane of hair was the color of pale wheat, the length of which was held in a braid that trailed down half her back, and her eyes were a deep, stormy grey. The woman she was carrying—her sister, according to their conversation—was much slighter in comparison.

Rather than sharing in the warrior’s blonde-haired looks, hers was a stark, raven-black. The loose curls trailed to roughly chin-length with a longer fringe that covered one of her eyes—the color a whisper of smoke than the darker grey her sister had. The woman’s arms were also crossed over her chest as she regarded her sister—deeply-unimpressed—before her features cleared at the sight of their visitors.

“Ah. Stroud. Glad to see you and your companion made it across the Waking Sea safely. We weren’t expecting you both for at least another day, or we’d have sent an escort to meet you at the port.”

“No need for the trouble. The winds were kind during our voyage, Warden-Constable,” he said before tilting his head in concern. “Although it appears we’ve arrived too late to help you both. Has the darkspawn presence been more troubling as of late?”

The warrior whom Bethany deduced to be the Warden-Commander merely snorted. “They’re not as plentiful as they were a year ago thankfully. With Niamh’s and Velanna’s respective magic, our branch here has slowly been sealing any access tunnels we’ve come across, but our enemy may just be as awful as vermin with how they manage to reappear in other areas.”

“The incidents have been isolated so far as we can tell, but they’re capable of disrupting travel all the same. On that note…” The Constable trailed off as she turned her gaze toward the Warden who had been showing them about the Keep. “Nathaniel, we have guests from the caravan mentioned earlier. As it’s getting rather late, Saoirse and I decided it was best not to press our luck by letting them travel so soon after the darkspawn attack. Could you and Varel direct them to the guest quarters? We’ll arrange an escort for them to Amaranthine first thing in the morning.”

He pressed a fist over his heart respectfully as he bowed his head. “Of course.”

“Wonderful. Now—”

“Now we get you back to your quarters so that we can tend to your injuries,” her sister interrupted, cheerily grinning when it led to the other woman scowling outright, as if she had been reminded of her current position.

“And I’m more than capable of walking there on my own. Put me down!”

“And risk you further injuring yourself? What type of sister would I be if I were to allow that to happen? Now then!” The Commander directed a smile Bethany’s way, and she jerked in place at the sudden attention. “You’re the latest to join our Order, aren’t you? Stroud mentioned you were a mage. I don’t suppose you know any healing magic, do you?”

“Oh.” Bethany blinked. “Um, well, yes. I have some experience with it.” She had tended to her sister’s and their friends’ injuries often enough back in Kirkwall.

“Excellent. Would you mind tending to Niamh here as best as you can while I go find Velanna? I’m pretty sure my sister fractured a few ribs in that fight earlier.” She chuckled. “And don’t worry if she gives you any trouble; she has a history of being a terrible patient,” she added, earning a pained grunt for her troubles when the woman in question elbowed her sharply in the chest.

---

And before Bethany knew it, she found herself alone with the Warden-Constable in her quarters.

She was trying not to blush at the sight of the woman reclined against the propped pillows at the headboard of the bed. Modesty didn’t seem to be an issue for the other mage. Without another word, she had undressed—with a few occasional winces here and there as the movement pulled at her injuries—and was now bare from the waist up, save for the bindings around her breasts.

Bethany couldn’t help her own wince when she saw the livid bruising that covered the right side of the woman’s torso. It almost looked like the trunk of a tree had been slammed against it if the abrasions and bits of bark embedded into the cuts were any indication.

And she kept insisting to try and walk on her own with an injury like this? she thought in absolute disbelief before delicately pressing the tips of her fingers against the bruise. Despite being as gentle as possible, it still drew a sharp hiss from the Warden-Constable, and Bethany jerked her head up to see the other woman’s clearly pained visage.

“Sorry!”

“No, it needs to be done. Keep going,” she insisted even as pale eyes closed themselves to focus on breathing in and out evenly—albeit with some difficulty.

With permission given, Bethany laid her hand out over the woman’s side, drawing her magic out with a silvery-blue light. From there, she began sounding out the extent of the Warden-Constable’s injuries by feeling where it burned hottest beneath her palm—an indication of how bad the damage was. There was always a tickling sensation that spread out to her fingertips whenever she gently coaxed broken bones back into place. It was akin to puzzle pieces slowly sliding back together before she could encourage them to heal, and she waited for the pulsing waves around them to fade into a dull echo before focusing on the next fractured bone.

As for the bruised muscles surrounding them, they were far easier to deal with. Bethany poured magic beneath the skin in gradual increments—droplets of rain spilling into a cup one by one—until she felt the burning heat simmer down to a more bearable ache. She continued the process, slowly sliding her hand along the woman’s side until the patchwork of blues and blacks which had covered its expanse faded into a yellowish tinge and the superficial cuts had closed themselves. Bethany pulled away then with a satisfied smile.

“What song was that?”

Bethany blinked, turning her gaze up to see silvery eyes staring at her curiously. “Hm?”

“You were humming something while you were healing me.”

“Oh.” She felt heat gathering along her cheeks at the revelation. “It’s an old lullaby my mother used to sing to me. When my father first taught me healing magic, I used to hold my breath while I was performing the spell, but as you can imagine, it’s not a very sound idea unless you want both an unconscious healer and patient.” Embarrassed laughter spilled out of her then as she brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear self-consciously. “After a time, I learned that humming a few songs was useful in reminding me to breathe.”

“I see.” The Warden-Constable smiled, looking a great deal more relaxed as she reclined further against the headboard. “Well, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The Warden-Commander walked in then with Velanna in tow, and the warrior seemed surprised to see her sister still in bed. “Did you actually manage to get her to stay there the entire time?” she asked incredulously.

Bethany blinked in confusion at that since her patient had otherwise been well-behaved. As it was, she could only nod tentatively, causing the other woman to grin openly.

“Hah! Well done! I didn’t expect Stroud to send me someone who could cow her into submission.”

The Warden-Constable’s eyes narrowed then. “It was not my hearing that was damaged in that fight, Saoirse. You would do well to not make such comments before me,” she deadpanned, and despite the threat, it only drew hearty laughter from her sister, who soon drew her attention back to Bethany.

“Stroud said your name was Hawke, right?”

She shifted uncomfortably, having grown too used to her surname being used to refer to Emrys, but she nodded all the same. “I’d prefer just to be called Bethany if that’s alright.”

“Ah. Understandable. Can’t tell you how many times my sister and I both answered ‘yes’ in the same room whenever someone called out for a Warden Cousland.” She smiled. “In any case, welcome to the Fereldan branch of the Grey Wardens, Bethany. We’re glad to have you with us.”

---

After that, Bethany settles into Vigil’s Keep.

She sends letters home every now and then, but they’re usually only addressed to her mother. They’re never really long—just enough to let her know that she’s alive and well. Although Bethany realizes it’s a petty thing, she doesn’t ask about Emrys or send her anything for that matter. She’s still angry and resentful that her older sister managed to escape their adventure down into the Deep Roads unscathed while she got cheated out a future, leaving her to a life of killing darkspawn until the Calling finally takes her into the abyss of death.

Melancholy is ever her constant companion, but eventually, she gets paired with Niamh for missions, who teaches her much about their duties as Wardens over the months, which takes them all around Ferelden. They deal with darkspawn sightings and document areas where they’ve sealed off underground routes into the Deep Roads with earth-based magic, hopefully preventing them from returning so regularly to bother nearby provinces.

As partners, they slowly become closer.

---

"Do you regret it?" Bethany asked one night as they sat by the campfire, watching as Niamh effortlessly flicked a hand to control the size of it just as a strong wind passed beneath the rocky overhang they'd taken shelter under. "Being a Grey Warden, I mean?"

Niamh paused, giving the matter some thought. "There are worse things to be, I suppose." She shrugged. "For a time, I hated the idea of being a mage because it took me away from my family. However, my being a Grey Warden was likely the only thing that saved me from being slaughtered with the rest of them when Howe plotted his coup. It likely also saved me from dying at the hands of my colleagues in Kinloch Hold when one of the Senior Enchanters overthrew it with blood magic and his followers.” She looked over at Bethany then. "Truthfully, I enjoy being able to see more of the world than through the cage the Chantry kept me in. I like the experience of being a part of it even in the moments that people dislike most."

Niamh held a hand out past the edge of the overhang, casually catching droplets of rain in her palm. Bethany watched as a slow smile spread across her features at the sound of another crash of thunder, and she couldn’t help how her own heart seemed to quicken upon seeing that serene expression.

"Our lives are more finite than they ever were," Bethany said distractedly, knowing all Wardens had only a few decades at most after their Joining.

"They are," she conceded. "That’s why I intend to make the most of it." Niamh's expression then turned sheepish as she turned back toward her. "I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No," she admitted, but as mellow as the other woman was, she was hardly surprised. Niamh had a way of remaining positive despite everything else life seemed to throw at them. Bethany smiled in spite of herself. "It was an honest one though. Thank you."

---

Every day is always an interesting adventure.

If not darkspawn, they deal with brigands out on the road or aid people across the countryside. To Bethany’s surprise, their help is openly requested sometimes when they reach a new town or village. Following the Blight, the utter bravery of the Grey Wardens had earned them Ferelden’s deepest respect. Thus, despite the fact they’re two mages traveling about, their regalia draws easy admiration and conversation alike.

It’s admittedly an odd feeling to have as a mage: to be wanted.

Bethany slowly grows to enjoy it though, especially when she can help with her magic so openly without being reviled for it.

Sometimes the jobs asked of them are simple enough: deal with a band of thieves, rid the area of rabid animals encroaching too close to farmland, helping out with some odds and ends around the village, etc.

Given that Niamh is a veteran of the Fifth Blight, Bethany also ends up learning a lot of survival skills from her during their travels together. She’s endlessly amazed by how the other mage utilizes her magic in combat and with other tasks such as hunting or fishing.

Bethany’s understandably shocked when she realizes that Niamh knows how to shapeshift, often scouting the skies as a raven to search for any nearby danger or roaming the wilderness as a sleek-looking, black wolf to hunt for game. It’s an unexpected revelation, especially since the other woman admitted to having been a part of the Circle most of her life before being recruited as a Warden.

She’s never met another mage so intriguing.

While Anders had been a benevolent healer, offering his skills to those most in need, it was his restless anger—an almost blind righteousness—over the plight of mages that gave Bethany pause.

Merrill was sweet in comparison, of course, and Bethany never minded talking with her even if there were the occasional cultural gaps that led to amusing misunderstandings at times. Still, the other woman held an interest in blood magic that Bethany wasn’t entirely certain she was comfortable with. After all, she had grown up hearing about the dangers of such magic from the Chantry. Then again, Andrastian religion also denounced who she was as a person as well, which was depressing in its own right…

While Niamh’s aptitude for elemental magic alone is impressive, Bethany is certain the woman’s shapeshifting draws upon some form of ancient or arcane magic—something well outside of the Circle’s teachings. It draws her curiosity endlessly. As such, Bethany asks her about the skill one day. Niamh just smiles, idly toying with the wooden ring that sits on a cord of black leather around her neck, revealing that a former companion taught it to her.

And that’s how Bethany learns about Morrigan.

---

“What?” Bethany exclaimed when Saoirse revealed how she was able to survive the slaying of the Archdemon. “You’re telling me that she and Niamh were able to…” She trailed off, trying to fight the blush burning across her face as her mind began imagining the possibilities of how such a conception was possible.

“You know, I thought to ask Niamh the technicalities of it once, but given she’s my baby sister—and obviously lacks the essential, uh, tool for the matter—I just decided it was best not to pry,” Saoirse answered dryly. She idly waved her hand about. “I don’t care to learn about her intimate life any more than she cares to know about mine,” she added before the corner of her mouth lifted into a lazy grin. “But for all intents and purposes, Kieran is my nephew, and Morrigan’s very much family now despite her protests to the contrary.”

“And he has the soul of an Old God?” she asked quietly as she turned to look at Kieran and the two women who were his parents.

Oghren had heard of their latest visitors and was—

Bethany squinted in confusion.

He was doing some type of weird jig in front of the baby, who was currently in Morrigan’s arms. Unfortunately, the erratic, uncoordinated nature of it did nothing to amuse him or his mother. Seemingly uncomfortable by the sight, Kieran gave an unhappy whine before reaching out toward Niamh, little fingers grasping repeatedly in her direction. Morrigan transferred him easily into the other woman’s arms when it was clear she wouldn’t mind holding him, allowing her to dryly berate the dwarf while Niamh comforted their son.

“So Morrigan says, yes,” the warrior answered with a shrug. “I originally turned down her ritual because I couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting an innocent life to such a fate, but I can’t be mad at the result. I still have Leliana because of it, and I can see how much Niamh adores both Kieran and Morrigan.” Her smile softened. “She has a piece of the happiness that I always wanted for her—something Niamh felt she could never find in this world, terrible as it is for mages at times.”

Bethany couldn’t help but agree at the latter sentiment.

Looking at the three of them, they certainly did seem like a happy family. Still, Bethany couldn’t help but feel some small pang of envy. While she had discovered that Niamh could draw just about anyone into easy conversation with her, she was rather private about her personal life. It wasn’t until recently that Bethany discovered she was even in a relationship—let alone one involving another woman. She had no issue with the idea or with Morrigan for that matter. The other mage was well-matched with Niamh on the basis of intrigue alone, but…

Bethany bit her lip.

After all those long months together with Niamh, she couldn’t help but feel—

Bethany nearly swallowed her tongue when she realized sharp, golden eyes were staring at her over Niamh’s head—as if somehow reading her thoughts. Morrigan was tall for a woman of Fereldan origin, but not nearly as much as Saoirse. With her dark hair and pale skin, she was as bewitching as she was powerful—her magical aura a fount of seemingly endless, wild energy. Bethany almost felt like prey beneath the other woman’s gaze, and she averted her own nervously.

Thankfully, Morrigan made no comment about it, but Bethany did wince when she heard her suggest turning into bed early to Niamh. She and Kieran had arrived relatively late in the day after all, so they were no doubt tired from their travels. Niamh gave no objections, and they soon headed off to the woman’s personal quarters.

Bethany sighed soundlessly.

She was no stranger to infatuation. Her attraction to Leliana back in Lothering was a testament to that fact. Granted, it was also somehow deeply ironic that her commanding officer was now married to the same lay sister who had since gone on to become the Left Hand of Divine Justinia.

Sometimes she couldn’t help but think the Maker enjoyed toying with her in subtle, annoying ways. In any case, like with any other infatuation, she would just have to wait for the one she had on Niamh to run its course.

It couldn’t last forever after all.

---

Spoilers: it does.

---

During one of her occasional visits, Morrigan left Kieran temporarily in the care of Niamh to follow up on a magical lead involving some of her arcane research. As they weren’t needed outside of Vigil’s Keep for anything, Bethany also got to watch over him as well, and as she did, she brought up a question that she had long been curious over.

"You said you started the ritual with Morrigan when you were already a Warden, weren't you? I thought Wardens became barren after the Joining though?"

"Hm. That's the assumption, yes," Niamh said as she idly waved a stuffed griffon over Kieran, delighting the baby instantly as they laid on the floor together. "I’d been a Warden for a little over a year at that point. Perhaps it was still soon enough that infertility hadn’t affected me yet, or the spell did something to compensate for it."

Bethany just nodded as she looked over at the two of them. "I see bits of you in him."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she admitted easily enough. "There's his sweet nature, the way he seems far too clever for his own good at times, and how his eyes light up whenever he smiles or laughs."

Niamh chuckled, flattered over the assessment. "Morrigan and I are always arguing about it. I see more of her than me in him, but then she retorts that he’s retained my love of sweets and just about every known creature in existence." Her smile widened when tiny, grasping hands finally succeeded in pulling down the stuffed griffon in her hands, and Kieran wasted little time in snuggling the toy to his chest with a pleased hum.

"Do you regret not being able to see him whenever you wish?"

"Sometimes," Niamh answered, "but Morrigan’s mother…" She trailed off with a frown even as she ran a hand affectionately through her son’s hair. "She’s powerful, and she’s hurt her before. I can understand her caution. I’m willing to go years at a time without seeing them if it means they’re safe."

---

Morrigan eventually returns, and she takes Kieran with her to hide and do magical stuff as Empress Celene’s Arcane Advisor in Orlais as per canon.

Several months pass.

Although Niamh had professed to understanding the need for her little family’s relocation, the distance means that visits from them are now few and far in between. Bethany can see how much the other woman misses them and how she worries about their safety. She often catches Niamh distractedly playing with the ring on her necklace, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

As if anticipating that, Morrigan does send letters to Niamh every now and then, and Niamh’s entire expression lights up every time she receives them, learning how the other woman and Kieran are fairing in Orlais along with how their son continues to grow by leaps and bounds.

She cannot fault the happiness Niamh has found with Morrigan, but it also serves as a constant reminder of what life will never offer to Bethany.

Eventually, it gets to a point where Bethany grows resentful of their relationship because her own feelings for Niamh are just so strong by then. It causes her to lash out at Niamh one night in camp, angry with how calm and positive she always is despite knowing they all have a death sentence over their heads.

---

"What world do you live in that you see it through such an idyllic lens?! You can wax poetic about this life all you like! I never asked for this! I never asked for the darkspawn to steal what little I had from life only to be made the gatekeeper against the very things I despise most in this world!"

And Niamh was quiet for the longest time, having stopped mid-sentence over Bethany's sudden tirade. As the silence continued to drift over their camp, so too does a veil of sudden cold air, and Bethany realized far too late that she’d crossed a line with the other woman.

"No one does, really," Niamh admitted at last, the warmth gone from her voice. "Save for Saoirse and my brother, I lost most of my family, but the terrible thing was that it wasn’t even darkspawn that killed them or even the Blight. It was just one man’s petty greed for what he felt was owed to him. He pretended to be my family’s ally for decades, and under the cover of night, he used his men to slaughter nearly the entirety of my bloodline. My parents, my sister-in-law, my nephew… He was only eight when it happened, you see. Oren wanted to a warrior like my siblings. He was trying to defend his mother with one of those wooden swords young boys tend to play with, but against the likes of Howe’s men...” She clenched her jaw. “They gutted him just like everyone else."

Another pause stifled the air between them even as Bethany stared at Niamh, horrified.

"Darkspawn are terrible, yes, but they’re not always as terrible as people," Niamh said, eyes narrowing as she looked into the fire. "We can be so far worse. If I'm at all patient, it's because I try to be kind in a world that offers so little of it. I want to believe it can be better than it was before. I want this to be a better place for our people, but I also want to ensure that tragedies like that never happen again. That the people caught in the middle—victims of simple circumstance—don’t have so suffer. If it means I must be a Grey Warden in addition to a mage, then I accept it. To do otherwise damns them as much as me."

With that, Niamh then gracefully rose to her feet and headed back to her own tent, leaving Bethany alone at the campfire.

The rest of their journey back to Vigil’s Keep passed without much conversation between them despite Bethany’s attempts. Niamh only said enough to give a suitable answer, but she never offered anything more beyond it. A vault door had seemed to close behind the cool grey of the eyes that had long enraptured her, offering little warmth. It was clear Bethany was no longer privy to the other woman’s innermost thoughts and feelings

Niamh wasn’t petty, however.

She still hunted when necessary so they didn’t starve, and as was long part of their agreement together, Bethany continued to cook whatever game she caught. Other than that, however, Niamh offered no friendly greetings in the morning when they woke or any words that allowed her to wander off peacefully into the Fade as she slept.

Bethany didn’t realize just how much she’d miss them.

---

When they finally return to Vigil's Keep, Saoirse is confused by how quiet and despondent her sister seems to be. Given how amiable Niamh normally is, she has a right to be concerned.

She pulls Bethany aside one night to ask what happened since they normally get along so well, but Bethany and Niamh haven't even spoken a word to one another since their return.

Bethany ruefully explains the situation, but she doesn't reveal the actual reason why she lashed out to begin with. As such, Saoirse just assumes it was just the usual stress of being a Grey Warden.

---

"Ah. It happens to the best of us, really. Here." Saoirse handed Bethany a tin box. Something Orlesian, according to the script on it. "Leliana’s currently away on business in Val Royeaux, but she sends care packages out to me whenever she can. This one's for Niamh though. It's tea," she explained with a laugh. "She loves this stuff more than anyone else I know."

Bethany still felt badly over the situation however.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Oh, Niamh’s too well-mannered to outright ignore someone,” Saoirse insisted with a brief snort. “If anything, she becomes more… Well. ‘Distantly-polite’ as my wife would describe it. Besides, I have it on good authority that she never turns down a good cup of tea.” A lazy, conspiratorial grin played on her lips then. “Especially if there’s a spoonful or two of honey in it.”

That eventually culminated in Bethany making tea for Niamh that evening, who had been locked away in her office as of late. Bethany was still nervous despite receiving permission to enter the room, allowing her to face the woman who she hadn’t seen in nearly a fortnight. Concern grew within her when she saw the shadows beneath Niamh’s eyes—a familiar indication that she had been working far too hard. She watched as Niamh struggled to blink the exhaustion from her eyes as she regarded her, but she otherwise said nothing, simply waiting to hear what Bethany required of her.

“I’m sorry," Bethany said at last, contrition clear in her voice. "This isn’t the life I would have wanted for myself, but I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were merely trying to help.” She held out the still-steaming mug of tea in her hands—the very thing Saoirse had convinced her would make for a suitable peace offering. “Here,” she offered with a tentative smile. “If you’re going to be working through the night again, you should at least drink something.”

For a time, Bethany believed the other woman was just going to remain silent. It would have been well-deserved given how terribly she behaved the other week, but then Niamh reached out to gently take the mug from her.

"Thank you," she said at last, the ice slowly melting behind those wintry eyes, and as they did, Bethany could feel the vice around her heart gradually unhinge itself in relief.

---

Things pretty much go back to normal between them.

Niamh and Bethany are back on the road again, especially after several reports of wandering darkspawn near the outskirts of a town.

As expected, however, Bethany's longing toward Niamh is still there—constant as an evening star. Even with the taint of death coursing through them, Niamh’s aura emanates with so much life—like a forest in winter, cool and refreshing with the scent of pine buried beneath its depths, waiting to burst into spring’s lively greenery with just the barest spark of magic.

It fascinates her.

She often wonders if such single-minded focus is a side effect of the Joining other than the enhanced physical strength and the ability to sense darkspawn. She feels a hunger that is never sated, a thirst that is never parched, and also…

Amber eyes wander over to where Niamh is disrobing to bathe in the nearby river, and she catches sight of the elegant play of muscles along her back before she studiously turns her gaze away. She feels the way her face burns even as she feels something else stir in her veins.

---

While still traveling, they get attacked by some hapless bandits, and while the two women aren't hurt, they manage to lose one of their tents to a stray grenade.

They end up sleeping in the remaining tent together, but it’s small, and they huddle together inside it for warmth against the pouring rain outside.

Bethany is surprised when she unexpectedly wakes up in Niamh’s arms—one is around her waist, and the other is curled behind her shoulders—which pull her closer in sleep. Sometimes she’s amazed at just how warm the other woman is, and although she knows she should pull away to avoid any awkward conversations in the morning, she can’t bring herself to do so. This is probably as close as she’ll ever get to the intimacy she desires with Niamh, and while the moment won’t last forever, it’ll be one more memory she can cherish—something no one else can ever steal from her.

Idly, Bethany listens to the rain outside—now a gentle pattering instead of the rage of a growing storm—falling against the material of the tent, and the sound is so rhythmic that she begins to doze off again.

---

Sometime after that, they receive a letter from Stroud, who requests their assistance with a matter out in the Free Marches. Saoirse stays behind to oversee things at Vigil’s Keep, which leaves Niamh and Bethany to travel across the Waking Sea with Nathaniel as additional support.

They arrive in Kirkwall several days before the qunari invasion begins in full, but not long after they do, Nathaniel’s reconnaissance around the city reveals something terrible:

Bethany’s mother was murdered.

Bethany is understandably upset, but Niamh and Nathaniel do their best to comfort her. They end up holding a small wake in honor of Leandra.

By the time they manage to rendezvous with Stroud, the qunari invasion has already begun, and they’re caught in the middle of it, leading to the Wardens running into Emrys Hawke and her companions.

Emrys obviously wants to talk to her little sister, but Bethany is resistant to the idea since her emotions are still riding high with the news of their mother’s death and the ever-present resentment regarding how she was made into a Warden without her say so on the matter.

Niamh recognizes Bethany’s tension and politely tells Emrys to leave the matter be for the time being. There is little point in having a conversation if one half of the party isn’t ready to have it after all.

Running on adrenaline, the warrior objects and tries to push her out of the way, but Bethany retaliates immediately on Niamh’s behalf. She presses her hand against her sister's chestplate and essentially shoves her back several steps, momentarily forgetting her Warden strength. Both Hawkes seem surprised by the ease in which she can do that.

---

“Bethany?” Emrys uttered in confusion, especially as her sister outright glared at her.

"You do not accost Warden-Constable Cousland that way!"

“Wait… ‘Cousland?’” Emrys looked over to the woman in question, taking in the obvious staff situated across her back. A wolf’s head ornament adorned the top of the weapon in exquisitely-sculpted silverite, and her eyes slowly widened in realization, remembering tales of the mage who could bend the very heavens to her whims. “Wait, you’re the Storm Wolf of Ferelden? Sister to the Hero of Ferelden?”

The woman merely gave a long-suffering sigh in response. “I suppose I was being too optimistic in assuming Leliana’s tales would’ve lost their weight this far past Ferelden’s borders…”

---

Despite the chaos ravaging itself across Kirkwall, the Wardens can’t stay to help. As such, they’re not there to see the end of the invasion. It isn’t until Bethany returns to Ferelden with the others that she receives a letter from Varric, saying that Emrys nearly died in her duel against the Arishok.

While Varric takes the time to mention that Emrys is recovering, and that her bravery led to her becoming Kirkwall’s Champion, the idea that Bethany had nearly lost the very last member of her family is so shocking that she's left inconsolable one night.

---

"I was such an absolute wretch to her before we left, and she nearly died afterward!” she wept when Niamh came to check on her in her room. “She’ll never forgive me!"

The other woman’s eyes are sympathetic as she held her in her arms. "Don’t be so sure."

"How can you say that?" Bethany demanded as she looked up at her, eyes red and swollen with grief.

"I’ve seen the way you talk about her, Bethany. The memories stir up more than just hurt within you,” she explained. “They light your eyes up with joy in remembrance of them. I’m sure she misses you and wishes things had gone differently. She wouldn’t have bothered sending all these letters to you otherwise over the years.

"My siblings did the same when I was still in Kinloch Hold, where I often wondered if my family had forgotten all about me. There were times I feared my being a mage would have meant their love for me would have gone away, but it didn’t. I received letters from them all the time—sometimes over the most asinine things like Saoirse’s warhound tossing bits of her armor into the pig pen." Niamh rolled her eyes, but Bethany could see the fondness in her gaze before they refocused on her.

"Your sister has asked for nothing in return even in the times where you never sent word back. I won’t tell you how to resolve this. You were right in saying that no one truly asks for this life, but I believe she only had the best of intentions when she entrusted your safety to Stroud. Trust in that if nothing else, and if you still find the matter wanting, tell her so." Something sad and brittle lingered on the smile she shared with her. "The what-ifs hurt more than the reality of things at times. No one deserves that."

---

Niamh helps to cheer Bethany up over the course of several weeks.

They’re off in a nearby town, investigating more sightings of darkspawn, and Niamh goes downstairs to pay the innkeeper for breakfast while Bethany packs up some of her belongings to continue their journey. When she reaches for her staff, she blinks, startled to find an ice flower blossoming on the end of it. She stares in surprise at the door the other woman had left through because there’s no way someone else could have done this.

It's almost like something out of a scene from one of those romantic tales Leliana used to tell her back in Lothering. She had thought them nonsense at first—that surely no one actually did such sweet things in real life—but now…

Bethany gently brushes her fingers over the beautifully-conjured petals and leaves, feeling the cool aura radiating from them.

Now she’s not so sure.

---

During their travels, they’re ambushed by darkspawn, and in the middle of the fighting, the ground manages to crumble beneath both women’s feet. The fall is long and painful as they slide down an old mine shaft, and soon they find themselves down in the Deep Roads. Unfortunately, it's an area they haven't charted yet, so they have no idea where they even are.

They have rations from the last time Niamh hunted and smoked some game, but they know it won't last forever. They can feel the press of darkspawn everywhere against their senses, and it's difficult to get any real bearing down in the tunnels because of it. The ambushes are sporadic throughout the days as they try to find their way back to the surface. They have taken to sleeping in brief shifts so they’re not caught unaware.

One fight lags on long enough that they have to retreat, but their enemies lead them right into the lair of a broodmother.

Bethany has never seen something so hideous in all her life, but when she turns briefly to Niamh, she’s disquieted to find the other woman looks more terrified than she's ever seen her. She barely has time to think over that before the darkspawn attack them again, but now they have the broodmother and her various tentacles to dodge as well.

The fight rages on for quite awhile, long enough that Bethany voices the thought they might never see Vigil's Keep again.

---

“No.”

"Niamh—"

"No!" she repeated firmly, glaring as she lashed out with an arm, incinerating an advancing line of darkspawn to their right. "I am getting you out of here! I swear it!"

You.

Not us.

What are you planning, Niamh? Bethany couldn't help but think worriedly.

Then she felt the sudden rush of magic—causing Bethany to almost stumble in place at the overwhelming sensation—as Niamh’s aura manifested itself more tangibly in an array of colors. Blinding arcs of lightning and lines of roaring flames raced across her form, and Bethany could see her own breath forming in rapid, exhausted puffs as the temperature inside the entire cavern seemed to drop even as the stone walls rattled ominously from the breadth of absolute magic being conjured.

The power of it was soon unleashed as Niamh slammed her staff end into the ground, allowing countless rays of energy to simply explode from her body. They radiated out like spectral hands of vengeance, and the cries of the darkspawn were nearly drowned out entirely as utter destruction rained down upon them. Each blast hit like deafening peals of thunder, and the echoes of them spanned for several long heartbeats, leaving Bethany’s ears ringing even after everything eventually fell silent.

As the dust and debris finally settled from the turbulent winds, she could see the other mage leaning heavily upon her staff, utterly exhausted. Each breath she took seemed to be a laborious effort, but Bethany watched as those eyes remained keenly alert to their surroundings, waiting to see if any of the darkspawn she had laid waste to would try and attack them again. They both tensed upon hearing the low, wailing groan of pain, and they looked to the far side of the cavern to see the broodmother still alive—albeit barely.

While already repulsive, it was now a macabre mass of flesh, bleeding sluggishly from the wounds inflicted by Niamh’s attack. Bloated skin bore severe burn marks, and entire chunks of flesh were missing. One of the broodmother’s arms had been severed completely, but the heat from one of the elemental attacks had unintentionally cauterized the fat stump even if Bethany grimaced upon seeing the pink-tinged bone that still protruded from it. The broodmother’s entire form seemed to slump back with what they assumed was her final breath, but then the sudden sound of earth breaking behind them alerted them far too late to a final danger.

Bethany turned her head just in time to see a lashing tentacle sprout from the ground, and her mind barely registered the sight of it before she heard the frantic call of her name along with warm hands pressing against her side.

"Bethany!"

As if time had slowed itself, she watched in horror as Niamh pushed her out of the tentacle’s swooping path, but in doing so, the other woman took the brunt of the attack entirely. Niamh was sent flying into one of the naturally-formed pillars of the cavern, impacting it hard enough that it broke at its center, raining rubble down upon the mage resting eerily still at its base until she was buried beneath it.

Bethany’s eyes remained fixed on the sight even as she shakily rose to her hands and knees. An overwhelming sense of disbelief overtook when her longtime partner didn't emerge at all out of the stone pile. In fact, there's a terrifying lack of anything in that direction.

Nothing of the taint in Niamh's blood.

No sound.

No magic.

Just... nothing.

Distantly, she could hear the half-dying moans of the broodmother somewhere beyond her peripheral vision. Although Bethany was all too aware of how dangerous her current situation still was, all she could feel was a staggering rush of absolute rage building inside her. It seemed to grow with every beat of her heart until she could hear it pounding inside her ears—a drumming sound of accusation over the fact that she had been powerless to help someone dear to her yet again.

It was her anger that gave birth to the sudden burst of power—whether a second wind or simply a dying gasp, she didn’t immediately know—but Bethany whirled to face the grotesque beast, magic already gathering within her hands. With an infuriated cry, she pressed her palms out, and she felt the immense displacement of air around her immediately as she summoned enough force magic to take up almost the entire space of the cavern. The pressure of it proved too much against the broodmother, and Bethany watched impassively as its enormous body was flung toward the far wall with enough violence that it was reduced to a grisly splatter of darkened blood, pulverized bone, and putrid meat.

With its death, Bethany felt the presence of darkspawn waiting beyond the cavern retreat even further, as if afraid of tempting her fury. Safe from any immediate threats, however, she wasted little time in rushing over to where she last saw Niamh. She used her hands and magic to try and dig her out beneath the rubble, but when she found her, fear took hold of her immediately when she realized the other woman wasn’t breathing anymore. Desperately, Bethany tried to use her healing magic in an attempt revive her, but to her utter dismay, the chest beneath her hands remained impossibly still.

“Oh, no…” she breathed. “No. No! You can’t be dead! Niamh, get up!”

But her cry fell on deaf ears.

Despite her best efforts, no matter how much healing she tried to force through the other woman’s veins, Niamh didn’t respond. As each minute continued to pass by in silence, Bethany began to wonder what she’d have to tell Morrigan if she ever made it back to the surface, let alone the little boy with Niamh’s kind smile. It would be such a terrible thing, she knew, informing them the woman they loved died trying to save her.

Just like everyone that ever entered her life.

Leaving before she even got the chance to give her goodbyes.

Bethany withdrew her healing magic and began conjuring lightning beneath her hands instead—the same way Niamh had taught her once upon a time—desperate for anything that could attempt to shock some life back into the other woman. Niamh’s body jolted with each burst of power, head lolling about along the dirt, but she still remained impossibly beyond Bethany’s reach—perhaps now wandering past the Fade and into the Maker’s embrace.

At the thought, her anguish soon gave way to anger.

“Damn you, you selfish wretch!” she shouted as she pressed her hand over the woman’s sternum with another pulse of electricity. “I never asked you to try and save my life! You don’t get to do this to me! You don’t get to just leave me here when I never had to chance to tell you everything! Not when you don’t even know I love y—”

Just as she went to jolt the other woman again, Bethany felt a hand firmly wrapping itself around her wrist.

Shocked, she looked up toward Niamh's face, especially as she heard a very weak cough. The other mage hadn't opened her eyes yet, but she saw how the still blue-tinged lips began to move—too soft for her to hear anything. Bethany lowered her head to listen more closely and soon heard a quiet question.

"...are you alright?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and fresh tears began to fill Bethany's eyes again in spite of herself.

Even after everything they had both suffered through, Niamh's first concern had still been solely for her.

With a shaky breath, she carefully curled herself up against Niamh’s form, crying silently even as she rested her hand against the other woman's stomach to continue and apply weak, healing magic.

That was how the other Wardens found them later.

"There they are."

Bethany didn’t pick her head up off the floor, but there was little mistaking Morrigan's distinct voice. Saoirse’s own followed soon after.

"I owe you my thanks for this, Morrigan."

“Thank your sister; I would not have been able to find her were she still not wearing the ring I gave her years ago.”

A weary chuckled greeted the mage’s words. “Ever the sentimental woman, my little sister…”

The sound of heavy footsteps treading closer caused Bethany to look up, and she could see Saoirse kneeling down next to them. The warrior’s face was worn with stress, but there was nothing but relief in her eyes as she saw them both together. "It appears I owe you my thanks as well, Bethany." She jerked her head up then, shouting out an order. "Get a litter for them now!"

"But I'm not nearly as injured," Bethany protested, drawing her hand away from Niamh’s body self-consciously, especially when Morrigan appeared and began to take over healing and stabilizing the woman’s condition with fresh magic.

"No," Saoirse admitted even as her lips lifted up into a tired smile. "But you and I both know what a terrible patient my sister is. I’ll be depending on you to make sure she behaves herself if she wakes up during our trek back to Vigil’s Keep.” She gently clapped a hand over Bethany’s shoulder. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”

“Warden-Commander—”

“No. Niamh and I have lost enough in our lives. It would have hurt me to lose her as well.”

---

Niamh remains unconscious for several days as she recovers back at Vigil's Keep.

Bethany and Morrigan basically take turns looking after her.

Despite the other woman’s position as a member of Orlais’ Imperial Court, it seemed Morrigan returned to Ferelden after receiving a frantic letter from Saoirse, saying that Niamh and Bethany had been missing for several days following a routine mission.

As mentioned in the previous section, Morrigan gave Niamh a ring, which would allow her to find her were she ever in danger. It proved especially useful when Niamh and the other Wardens were imprisoned in Fort Drakon, where Saoirse essentially put her foot in her mouth and ruined their attempt to sneak Queen Anora out of the estate she had been held captive in.

I believe the ring is only canonically available if a player is in a romance with Morrigan. However, I’m headcanoning that because she held Niamh in such high esteem, she gave it to her anyway.

Kieran is also present at Vigil’s Keep because there’s no way Morrigan was leaving him behind in Orlais. He’s about five years old at this point, and he’s grown to inherit both his mothers’ looks. A crown of dark, loose curls sits atop his head much like Niamh’s, and he even fashions a forelock like hers, which hangs in front of his right eye. His gaze is a piercing shade of gold reminiscent to Morrigan’s own. As a possessor of an Old God Soul, he’s also begun to speak cryptically at times, which is understandably jarring to those around him.

Bethany happens upon one such conversation by accident, and she immediately pauses in the doorway when she sees Morrigan and Kieran standing at Niamh’s bedside.

“Sire was caught within the paths of the Fade, Mother. She heard the voices of old ghosts calling to her, but she didn’t follow them.”

Morrigan indulgently runs a hand through her son’s hair. “Indeed; she did not.”

“She missed them though, but she still returned to us.”

“Of course. Why would she desire an eternity without you?” she asked with a fond smile, causing Kieran to giggle.

“That’s not why, Mother! Not completely.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She would have missed the Sunshine too much. She’s been following her warmth for years. It would have hurt her to be without it.”

Kieran’s words pull at Bethany oddly, but she soon pushes them out of her mind and quietly walks away, feeling too much like an intruder upon the small family.

Thankfully, Niamh regains consciousness not long afterward, and everyone is understandably relieved by this news.

As per usual, however, Niamh proves herself to be an exceedingly stubborn patient, but perhaps wanting to set a better example for Kieran after her near-death experience, she remains in bed for the duration of her recovery. The other woman doesn’t seem to mind too much, especially given that her son continues to keep her company, telling her of the various odd things he’s seen around Orlais and the even odder people.

After several weeks under Morrigan’s watchful eye, the witch begrudgingly says that Niamh's okay to begin light duty around the Keep, relieving the other mage immensely. She goes out herb-gathering, an excuse just to get out of the fortress, and Bethany volunteers to go with her.

Things are quiet between them for a time as they begin picking up elfroot to place in the shared basket between them. Their conversations as of late haven't been of anything too substantial. A good thing, Bethany thinks, considering her feelings for her and how close she’d been to revealing them. Soon, however, they're caught in the middle of a light rain shower, and Bethany says they should head back. She begins to lead their way out of the forest when Niamh’s words stop her in her tracks.

---

"I was waiting for you to say it again, you know."

Bethany looked over her shoulder in surprise to still see Niamh standing in the middle of the clearing, her gaze expectant. “What?” she asked nervously.

"When I nearly died, I heard you say something… significant to me,” she revealed, causing Bethany’s heart to pound as she stared at her in disbelief. “However, when I recovered and you never repeated those words again, I thought it might have been little more than a fever dream of mine." Niamh's smile turned sad then when Bethany said nothing else to her words. "Perhaps it was after all... I’m sorry. I’ve made this rather awkward then, haven’t I?” She took a few steps closer, reaching toward the basket of herbs Bethany still held in her hands. “Here, let me—”

But Bethany just let it drop to the ground before she reached out to grab the collar of Niamh’s cloak. The other woman seemed taken aback, but before she can even begin voicing a question, Bethany pulled her forward to kiss her desperately in the rain, swallowing her gasp of surprise.

As far as first kisses went, it was a touch awkward as their teeth clicked together, lips mashed between them. Bethany felt a moment of panic as Niamh pulled back, but before the urge to run away in mortification could overtake her, a warm palm pressed itself against the back of her neck, keeping her in place. There was the brush of knuckles as they ran along her jaw, and Bethany was just able to catch the silver of Niamh’s eyes before all thought fled from her mind upon feeling the soft press of the other woman’s mouth on hers.

Bethany followed into the easy guidance being offered, and they both soon settled into a comfortable rhythm that sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed with giddy delight, and her hands reached out to hold onto Niamh’s hips, helping to ground herself there, as their kiss continued. There was a soft sound as Niamh sighed contentedly into her mouth, as if she had been waiting just as long for this moment between them.

The thought seemed almost too impossible to comprehend, especially when she knew Niamh was committed to someone else. As such, Bethany pulled away first despite the sound of protest it caused. Despite her resolve, Bethany was reluctant to pull away from Niamh entirely, so she settled for gently leaning her forehead against the other mage as they panted quietly in the rain.

"I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, practically speaking the words against Niamh’s lips. "It wasn't my intention to interfere with your relationship with Morrigan."

As close as they were, there was little mistaking the clear confusion in the eyes across from hers. "'With Morrigan?'" Niamh repeated. "What does she have anything to do with us?"

"But… I thought—” Her brows drew together in consternation. “Aren’t you both together?"

"What? No," Niamh answered, almost amused by the idea. "When we laid together for the ritual, it was an agreement of mutual benefit meant only for that night. She's not—Well." An exhale of breath escaped her in the form of laughter. "Morrigan's admitted she's not interested in women—or anyone, really—in quite that way, but none of the male Wardens with us at the time dared to lay with her even if it meant sparing us all from death. She trusted me, and I her. I consider Morrigan one of my dearest friends, and we share Kieran together as a result of that night, yes, but we are certainly not bound together as others seem to believe."

And Niamh’s answer suddenly changed everything.

What Bethany had been feeling, what was now possible between her and Niamh...

She couldn’t help but smile as she finally realized she could have a bit of the happiness she’d always wanted for herself.

---

So everyone knows that they’re a couple after that.

Niamh becomes more overt in the romantic things she does for her—the very same things Bethany had thought were the woman simply being thoughtful. She finds out that Niamh had apparently been interested in her for awhile and had actually been ready to confess her feelings a few years ago, but their first argument, where Bethany had accused her of being too idealistic, had stemmed the thought immediately.

Niamh had been understandably heartbroken by the words, which was why she’d had been so despondent for weeks following the incident, believing Bethany had no romantic interest in her whatsoever. The apology in her office later had restored their friendship, and while Niamh had been disappointed it likely would never evolve into anything more beyond that, she was still determined to be a good friend to her if nothing else.

Bethany’s completely exasperated at the idea that they could have been together long before now, but she realizes it was likely better this way.

She had needed time to get over her anger and resentment regarding her life as a Warden.

She needed time to get past her guilt and the complicated thoughts regarding herself and her faith.

And she needed time to grow into herself and discover who she was as a person.

She’s grateful that Niamh’s been so kind and patient over the years, and Bethany finds great joy in the new facet of their relationship together.

They’ve kissed and been involved in heavy makeout sessions around Vigil’s Keep—much to the exasperation of their colleagues—but barring the incident that led to Kieran’s conception, Niamh’s been celibate for years, and canonical dialogue in DA2 reveals that Bethany’s pretty much a virgin. As such, she’s understandably very shy and nervous about the whole thing. However, she knew every part of her would be in good hands with Niamh when they finally reached that point.

Their first time together takes place several months after their first kiss, where Niamh tries her utmost to make it a memorable thing for them. She takes Bethany to a grove they frequent together outside of Vigil’s Keep for a midnight picnic. The moon is full, and the skies are clear, revealing an endless sea of stars. Little fireflies dance over the surface of the lake while they sit on the grass along its shore.

It’s a casual reminder that for all their hardship, life goes on and finds a way through a magic all of its own.

They stargaze for and handfeed each other little bits of food in between kisses, but soon things start getting a little more heated. Niamh gently tugs Bethany onto her lap, who follows willingly, settling her knees on either side of the woman’s hips. Bethany takes some initiative of her own, pushing at Niamh’s chest slowly until she lowers herself against the grass, and then…

---

Bethany’s breath caught in her throat upon seeing Niamh’s features haloed by the soft glow of the little fireflies. Normally pale eyes had darkened at their edges with both pleasure and interest as she regarded her, leaving Bethany flushed, especially as she realized she doesn’t quite know what to do from there on out.

Perhaps having sensed that, Niamh reached up to gently run a thumb along the corner of her mouth, and Bethany barely resisted the urge to press her lips against the pad in a kiss as slim fingers then went to cup her cheek gently.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Niamh reassured as she brushed a few strands of Bethany’s hair behind an ear. “I quite like kissing you.”

But Bethany did want to.

She knew Niamh had more experience with sexual intimacy, and she worried she couldn’t be able to compare against the woman’s past paramours. There was no expectation in those starlit eyes however. Niamh was as relaxed as she had been when they first started, and Bethany knew she would have been more than content to lay with her beneath the stars if that was all she desired. She was always considerate with her feelings, never pressing her to do more than she was ready.

Thus, Bethany knew Niamh would be patient with her during their first time together.

“If I asked, would you show me what to do?” she whispered tentatively, and she watched as the corners of those lips turned up into soft smile.

“Always,” Niamh answered, gently tugging Bethany’s hand toward the buckle holding the front of her leather and steel-riveted brigandine closed. “Here. Help me out of this first please.”

From there, Bethany quickly realized it all wasn’t quite as simple as the tawdry novels Isabela used to loan her made it out to be. Nothing really prepared for the warmth of the flesh beneath her fingertips as she gradually disrobed her lover of the layers that made up their Warden regalia. Fortune favored the bold, she knew, and she experimented by pressing kisses against skin as more was revealed to her. She smiled against Niamh’s sternum—pleased—when she heard the exceedingly rare quiver in her voice.

As promised, however, the other woman continued to give suggestions on what types of touches would best give pleasure, but she also allowed Bethany to set the pace of whatever she felt most comfortable with. With each encouraging whisper against her ear, each caress and rock of her hand became more confident. When Niamh shuddered beneath her for the first time—the barest hint of magic curling against her own—as she reached her peak, Bethany was convinced that she had never felt more triumphant.

And she didn’t think she had ever felt so unfettered when Niamh later returned the favor by kissing a line of fire down her bare body. Those mist-grey eyes never left her own gaze though. Bethany had long known how attentive the other mage could be. As their lead tactician, there was always a studious quality in how she approached anything set before her.

Feeling the full magnitude of that attention focused solely upon her, however, was another matter entirely. Niamh stared at her as if she had hung the very moon and the infinite tapestry of stars into the night sky. It was like she was her very reason for drawing breath, and the thought of that brought forth a stunning wash of emotions over her as she saw the clear reverence in those eyes—so much so that she couldn’t help the tears beading themselves across her lashes nor her soft, surprised exhale of laughter when Niamh leaned up to gently kiss them away.

It was only when she assured her lover that she was ready to continue that Niamh returned to her exploration. The woman was committed to learning every part of her, gauging every physical response—the touches that made her moan breathlessly or sigh in contentment with the press of lips against her skin—before reacting accordingly. She felt that dedication most vividly as a warm mouth settled between her thighs and began working itself thoroughly there.

Bethany couldn’t help but break eye contact with Niamh as she threw her head back against the cool grass, lost to the new but pleasant sensations coursing their way through her body. Her hips seemed to move of their own volition, especially as the almost overwhelming heat of a tongue pressed itself flat and lapped languidly at her.

After a time, it felt like she was freefalling, and she blindly reached out toward Niamh. One hand sank itself easily into the tousled waves of raven-black hair, but with the other, Bethany found slim fingers gently intertwining themselves with her own. There was strength and reassurance within the warmth of that grasp—a steady tether to ground her—even as Niamh continued with her ministrations, quickly unraveling the foundations of her world.

Were you the answer this entire time?

Were you the one whom my heart was always waiting for?

Bethany found her answer just as her climax crested over her.

---

The next scene takes place several months after Niamh’s and Bethany’s first time together but just before the Kirkwall Rebellion.

Niamh heads over to Amaranthine to see her aunt, Eithne Mac Eanraig, since she's the Arlessa there.

Now, here’s where I’m veering off from canon.

Per the events of Awakening, the Warden ends up becoming the Warden-Commander, and for their services during the Fifth Blight, Vigil’s Keep along with the entire arling of Amaranthine was given to the Grey Wardens. The fortress and the territory originally belonged to the Howes, but after Rendon Howe’s betrayal, all titles and properties were stripped away from them. As such, the Warden-Commander would also become the Arl or Arlessa of Amaranthine.

Per my headcanon though, Saoirse felt that she couldn’t tend to both her duties as a Warden while also ruling over the arling. Thus, she suggests to King Alistair to let her aunt oversee it instead.

While Eithne is technically my own creation, it was canonical that Eleanor had three siblings prior to marrying Bryce Cousland. All the children of Bann Fearcher Mac Eanraig—also known as the Storm Giant—were exceedingly skilled raiders although Eleanor was the most infamous of them. Still, I headcanon that Eithne’s own prowess allowed her to take over as head of the family and their impressive fleet after her father’s death sometime before the events of DAO.

I also headcanon that the Mac Eanraigs and their fleet proved instrumental during the Fifth Blight, allowing desperately-needed supplies to travel to the country without fear of them being intercepted by pirates. When the reconstruction of Ferelden began in full following the defeat of the Archdemon, Eithne opted to expand the services of her family’s fleet, offering to escort any incoming and also outgoing cargo ships. This allowed trade to flourish in Ferelden since the threat of piracy was reduced greatly against the might of the former raiding family and their respective crews. With goods being consistently transported and received, it led to the otherwise pricey import and export tariffs being lowered significantly.

It expanded the influence of the Mac Eanraigs considerably to say the least, and while they were of minor nobility compared to the Couslands, the family was already well-respected for their long connection to the Storm Coast and their role in the Fereldan Rebellion as well as the Fifth Blight.

As such, no objection was given by Ferelden’s Bannorn when the Mac Eanraigs were consequently raised further in nobility by the decree of King Alistair and Queen Anora, allowing Eithne to officially be named Arlessa to the city of Amaranthine.

---

"Aunt Eithne," Niamh began, walking into her office, "may I have access to the castle's forge?"

The older woman was sat behind her desk, looking through various reports when she glanced up at her. Kind, weathered features warmed instantly. "Ah, there's my wee Storm Pup," she said as she rose to her feet to meet her. "You know you’re welcome to anything within the castle, lass. I take it that blacksmith of yours is being stubborn at Vigil’s Keep again?"

As per usual, Niamh found herself looking up at her aunt as she rounded the edge of her desk. While her late mother Eleanor had been roughly her own size, the Mac Eanraigs as a whole towered over most people with their intimidating height and broad-shouldered frames—traits that Fergus and also Saoirse inherited as they grew into adulthood. In her youth, Niamh remembered that her Aunt Eithne had also possessed her mother’s pale blonde hair, but it had since turned silver with age and was now kept in a neat braid that dangled in front of her right shoulder. She imagined that Saoirse would likely resemble their aunt greatly in looks over the next few decades.

…provided they find a cure against the Calling first, of course.

Morrigan’s arcane research had turned up several possibilities, but the latest one she’d found seemed especially promising. Still, Niamh put the thought from her mind momentarily to answer her aunt’s question.

"You and I both know Master Wade won’t allow anyone to go near his forge. He’d pout for weeks on end before we could convince him to resume work again,” she said dryly before shrugging. “Just as well, I suppose. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. What I have in mind is more of a personal project."

Dark grey eyes blinked. "Oh?" she intoned curiously.

"It's... Well." Niamh shifted from foot to foot, a tad nervous to put her thoughts into words. "I'm making matching torcs for Bethany and I, so—oof!"

No sooner after she had stated her purpose did Niamh unexpectedly found herself drawn up into a crushing hug by her aunt, who lifted her clear off her feet with the force of it.

"Haha!" Eithne crowed with delighted laughter as she twirled her about. "Wait until I tell your uncles about this! Why, it’s been ages since we’ve had a wedding in the family!"

"We had one a year ago for Fergus and Olithia," Niamh corrected hoarsely as she tried to wriggle out of her aunt's grip to little avail. Corded muscles built over a lifetime at sea ensured the woman’s strength was nigh unbreakable. "And there was another for Saoirse and Leliana before that."

"Details, wee niece, details," she brushed aside when she placed Niamh back on her feet again, placing large hands over each of her shoulders with a grin. "Honestly, I was half-convinced my ashes would be scattered across the sea before I saw my last niece be married off! Dermot!" she called out loudly beyond the walls of office to her second-in-command, leaving Niamh wincing from the sheer volume of it. "Break out the casks! We’re celebrating tonight!"

Niamh merely sighed, somehow glad that Bethany was currently away from Vigil’s Keep with Nathaniel to tend to a matter out in another seaside province. There was no way she’d be able to surprise her with a proposal otherwise.

---

Bethany didn't know what to really expect when Niamh took her out to their favored grove, but then she was offered a… necklace of some sort. It was thick and sturdy but exquisitely-crafted. It formed an incomplete circle, but there was no clasp holding both ends together. As she took the necklace into her own hands, she found there was a certain pliability to it as she stretched the space between the twin, silverite wolf heads open a bit more.

"I spent weeks getting the details just right," Niamh admitted. "The hardest part was finding the perfect bits of citrine to match your eyes," she added, pointing to the small, gemstone orbs held in the maw of each wolf.

"You made this for me?" Bethany asked, awed.

"Yes. It’s a custom from the maternal side of my family. They’re generally gifted to those of status or individuals who have achieved great deeds. The more bands woven together designate one's importance." Niamh's expression turned somewhat sheepish then. "I don't think it needs to be said that I think highly of you."

Bethany looked at the thick braiding and saw that there were at least five bands wound together in a cord and then welded together.

"I..." Niamh wet her lips briefly, as if caught beneath sudden nervousness. "I realize marriage is usually just a matter of settling titles and heirs, but I believe you know by now that my family tends to eschew commonly-held norms. As such, I would consider it a great honor if you were to become my wife. As for anything official—a wedding for instance—we needn't concern ourselves with it right away. Not if you don't wish to certainly." Silver-colored eyes rolled themselves. "Honestly, my family uses any type of excuse available to throw a celebration. They’ll likely still drink the night away, knowing that I’ve finally settled down with someone."

Bethany couldn’t help but laugh at that. "They were that invested, were they?"

"Before you, they had a tendency to think I was more married to my duty within the Order, and I can’t say that were not wrong in thinking so."

"And that’s changed?"

"Well... I was managing day by day as well as any of our comrades, but I won’t lie in saying that there came a point when you were all I could ever think about in the many moments in between."

It was… quite the confession.

In an instant, all the stories her mother had ever told her of romance paled in comparison to this moment.

"Yes," Bethany said at last, watching as the ghostly-grey eyes across from her widened, but there was little hiding the hope building within their depths.

"Yes?"

"Yes to the—" She stumbled a bit over the word. "—torcs, you said?” Bethany asked in clarification, earning her a nod along with a very relieved sigh. “I don’t want a ceremony.” She bit her lip as she stared down at the thickly-braided necklace. “At least not just yet, but I like the idea of the promise these contain.”

“You would like to have your sister here when the time comes,” Niamh deduced understandingly. “Very well.”

“You can wait?”

A very warm smile burnished beautiful features that she had long fallen in love with so many years ago. “A Chuisle Mo Chroí,” she began, voicing an endearment that never ceased to make her heart flutter, “for you, I would gladly wait a thousand Ages and more.” (Writer’s note: A Chuisle Mo Chroí is phonetically pronounced Ah Khush-lah Muh Kree and means “Pulse of My Heart.”)

The words earned her a heartfelt kiss of gratitude. If Niamh noticed Bethany was trembling, she said nothing of it. In fact, they both had little to say at all as they slowly lowered themselves to the grass and surrendered themselves to the night and the promise of everyday thereafter.

---

The Kirkwall Rebellion still happens in this verse, and because Saoirse's busy butting heads with the higher-ups at Weisshaupt, she sends word to Niamh, asking her to go to Kirkwall to provide Leliana backup if things get bad. Bethany is concerned as well about the well-being of her sister Emrys, and she asks to go with her. Niamh, of course, can't really deny her anything, so they both take the fastest ship across the Waking Sea.

---

"There you are," Bethany declared when she managed to come across her sister and her companions despite the chaos around them. She settled her staff over her back, walking through the tangle of defeated Templars around her to meet them. "We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I'd almost feared you were dead."

Emrys hadn’t expected Bethany’s presence in the city, but she’s beyond elated to see her. At her words, the warrior merely preened. "As if they'd be able to best me. And, uh, what’s this about 'we?'" Emrys asked, confused. “Did you bring the other Wardens with you?”

“Just one.”

As if attuned to her thoughts, Niamh made her entrance then by Fadestepping through a handful of Templars—who had arrived on scene as backup—freezing them in their tracks. She and Bethany had momentarily split up to try and cover more ground in search of Emrys.

Bethany arched a brow at her sister while gesturing toward her lover with an emphatic wave. "You remember Warden-Constable Cousland, don’t you?"

Emrys had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed as she recalled their last meeting, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she regarded Niamh. "Oh. Yes. Uh, about the last time we met—"

But Niamh seemed amused more than anything, waving aside the apology graciously. “Bygones, Champion. No need to worry yourself about the past. My sister’s a warrior as well; I’ve fared worse on the rare occasion."

"In any case, Sister, if you need help, we’ll gladly give it."

“Really?”

“Yes. I…” Bethany swept a bit of hair behind her ear nervously, but as Niamh settled alongside her, offering her wordless support, she continued on. “I wanted to apologize for what happened down in the Deep Roads and for how we parted the last time I was here. You saved my life, but I couldn’t see past my own anger back then. I’m sorry,” she whispered, contrite. “I should have said it long before now. You’re all I have left of our family, so if you need help against the Templars, say the word.”

Emrys looked beyond thrilled at the prospect of having her at her side again. “I’m certainly not going to turn away help now of all times, but…” She shot a look of confusion over toward Niamh. “I thought Wardens weren’t to involve themselves in political matters?"

The other mage merely sighed. “While true, that follows a line of policy that my sister and I strenuously object to, especially given the matter involved here. She and I will deal with the leadership at Weisshaupt later if need be." Slim shoulder shrugged themselves then. "Of course, even if my sister-in-law weren't nearby, Bethany wanted to help, and that was good enough reason for me to be here."

Emrys’ dark brows rose at the claim, and she immediately turned a searching gaze over toward Bethany, who couldn’t help but turn her own away, flushing somewhat.

"Yes… Niamh and I are a bit of a package deal these days."

Unfortunately, the minor shift in movement allowed for something else to be revealed, and Isabela took notice of it immediately as her eyes darted toward the area of her neck just beneath the collar of her uniform.

“Wait… is that a torc?" she asked, brows raising, impressed.

“A what?" Emrys asked, flustered, especially when she saw the matching one that Niamh was also wearing.

“It's a little bit of tradition from my mother’s side of the family,” Niamh explained. “They’re beautifully-crafted pieces of jewelry, but they can be as symbolic as rings, especially in the ceremonial sense."

"'Rings?'" Emrys parroted with a choke. “‘Ceremon—’” The warrior paled instantly as she realized the implication, shakily pressing her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself when she began swaying in place. “Oh, Maker’s breath… I think—I need a moment,” she murmured, and Bethany watched—concerned—when Emrys practically folded in over herself, working to catch a breath. After a time, Emrys’ comically-wide blue eyes turned over to Niamh. “You’re married to my baby sister?"

"Engaged, technically," Niamh answered, blinking owlishly at her reaction. “I proposed to her before we left Ferelden."

---

Annnnd then Saoirse shows up because she got worried about Leliana, and she and Emrys get along like peas in a pod. They’re exceedingly competitive with one another though...

---

“Hah!” Saoirse crowed, grinning smugly at Emrys as she rested the flat of her greatsword along her shoulder. “Is that the best Kirkwall’s Champion can do? I managed to neatly cleave my opponent in half.”

Emrys merely scowled, matching pace with Saoirse as they marched toward The Gallows. “Only because I helped! Besides, that strike wouldn’t have held against him if he had a shield as well!”

“Yes, it would have!”

“Lies!” Emrys scoffed. “It would have been caught halfway through the shield before you would have been able to reach his armor!“

“Not with the proper leverage it wouldn’t have!”

As they argued heatedly about sword techniques, Niamh and Bethany shared a long-suffering glance with one another before moving on ahead of their respective sisters.

“Warriors…”

“Indeed.”

---

Eventually, this all culminates in that huge battle at the end of DA2, where Meredith is defeated. As per canon, it becomes clear that it’s no longer safe for Emrys and her companions to remain within the city without eventually facing possible repercussions from the Chantry. As such, they begin scattering to the winds not long after the end of the rebellion.

---

"You could come with us, you know," Emrys suggested.

Bethany looked over to where her sister stood next to Isabela, ready to board the ship that would take them to Antiva. Emrys’ expression was almost painfully hopeful, but Bethany knew it wasn't meant to be. Although she had resented it once upon a time, she had a duty to the Wardens, and she would not easily abandon it. She said as much to her sister.

"No. Niamh currently seeks a cure that affects the lives of every Warden."

"A cure for the Calling?” she asked, surprised. “Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. She is easily the cleverest person I’ve ever met though. If there is a solution, she will be the most likely one to find it, and I will not stand to be apart from her."

"I see.” Emrys rubbed the back of her neck, shoulders slumping somewhat. “So… this is goodbye again."

It was admittedly a bittersweet feeling, knowing that this had been the first time in years they had seen one another and it would likely be several more yet before they would meet again.

"For now,” she answered quietly. “You have your life, Sister, and now…" She glanced over at Niamh, who was talking to the captain of a ship heading back to lands far to the west—ones that had never been touched by the Blight, according to Morrigan. “I have mine.”

Emrys followed her gaze. “You seem happier."

"I am."

“That’s all I ever wanted for you, you know? Just to know that you were happy.”

“I know that now." Her smile turned more genuine as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around Emrys, hugging her for all she was worth. "I wish the same upon you always. Safe travels to you and Isabela, Sister."

---

And as mentioned in the bullet points up above, they spend several years traveling abroad. Some days are harder than others as they meet their fair share of challenges, but Niamh and Bethany support each endlessly through it all.

They both return to Ferelden several years after the Trepasser DLC when they’ve found a cure for the Calling. With the taint purged from their bodies, they’re guaranteed the long life that would have otherwise been denied to them. As such, Niamh and Bethany finally get married—torcs gleaming bright—as Leliana as Divine Victoria officiates the wedding.

---

And that’s pretty much it.

I have about 20 pages of random scenes I’ve yet to elaborate on for this AU, including one for the huge battle at the end of DA2, so while I don’t see it as being nearly as long as OtSttCA, it’ll likely make for quite the lengthy read when I finally get a chance to work on it properly.

Still, if this verse interests you, leave me a like, a comment, or just swing by my inbox to tell me your thoughts! Until next time, readers! Take care!

#dragon age 2 #bethany hawke #female warden/bethany hawke #female cousland/bethany hawke #fanfic #my writing #OTP: In Search of Silver Linings #lee's au ideas #if bioware's too much of a fucking coward to write any version of Bethany a happy ending then i'll write all of them!#we respect bethany hawke endlessly on this blog!

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fallen029 · 3 years

Text

New Master

Laxus was gone when it happened.

He'd planned it this way.

His grandfather, in a closed conversation, told him that he intended to pass the guildhall onto another master soon and that it would not be him. While he didn't specify who it would be, as Laxus snagged an S-Class job the following day, he thought that perhaps it would be a nice surprise. Even a welcome one.

The job took the slayer far out and he took his time returning home, taking some time out to really consider what direction he might find the guild headed in; and perhaps even consider moving on as well. It had long been on his mind that, perhaps, he'd be better off leaving his family guild behind, forging his own way, and while he wasn't set on the idea yet, it did sound nice when he heard in passing of the new female master at Fairy Tail.

He was certain this could only mean one thing.

And he was happy for her.

Erza.

She would make a good master. She deserved it.

And...it kind of cemented that, eventually, he really would have to put some serious thought into finding a new place to hang his hat.

While Titania might whip Fairy Tail into shape, he imagined that he and her would butt heads far too much, too often to really find a home there any longer.

Maybe he'd find a new guild.

Or just travel around for a bit.

He could even, perhaps, start his own guild, maybe, one day?

It felt like too much of a dream to even consider and Laxus decided to shelf it, as he finally headed home. Something to thing about when things did get bad. For now, it was best to remain hopeful. So hopeful that he'd even thought of a non-snarky, almost welcoming response to Erza, when he arrived back at the hall that day.

Only, Erza Scarlet wasn't around.

Unbeknownst to him, she was out on a job with the rest of Team Natsu, no doubt stirring up unnecessary trouble and drama to eventually drag back home. This was why she wasn't around to congratulate, as his eyes scanned the bar that afternoon. He thought surely she'd be around, standing by the bar and barking out orders, not unlike she did anyways, but now with more, true authority.

He couldn't find her though. Which bothered him a bit, as he shrugged his shoulders, and considered that perhaps she wasn't the new woman who'd been crowned ruler of all. Perhaps it was another. And though he tried hard to think of one that was worthy of such a title, such esteem, he couldn't rightly come up with one.

Not that there weren't many strong women in the guildhall.

Just that there weren't many who he figured his grandfather would deem worthy of holding such an esteemed title.

"Ay, Mira," he grumbled a bit when he found the woman by the bar. She beamed brightly at his attention and, though he secretly wanted to return it in full, he was much better at keeping things close to the vest. "Seen the Thunder Legion?"

Mira shook her head a bit and as she told him about how he'd only just missed them, as the trio headed out on a rather impressive sounding job, Freed leading the charge, Laxus tried hard to pay attention to her words. But it was difficult. While the two of them stood before the bar, he just kept getting distracted. It had long been a game between the two of them, the subtle gestures and remarks, learning just what they could (and couldn't) get away with while drawing no suspicion to the two of them.

Usually, the woman was behind the bar and he could lean over it, to stare deeply into her eyes and speak lowly, mostly unheard by all others, and maybe her hand would graze his, just lightly. Maybe. And her sweet tone would sound somehow even lighter. Maybe. And for a moment, as she allowed her fingers to just ghost over his and the corners of the man's lips weren't turned down, it could feel like they were the only two in the bar.

But she was standing before it now and that was fine, as Laxus only nodded then, to it, before saying, "Get me a drink, will ya?"

Mira, who would normally had taken to this action without it even having to be requested of her, made a bit of a face and opened her mouth to, what he imagined, would be an attempt to excuse her mistake. Before she could get it out however, someone else spoke up.

"Watch yer fuckin' mouth, Dreyar."

He turned to glare, Laxus did, at whoever spoke. The voice gave it away though, before he had a good eye on the man. It was Macao, that old bastard, sitting up at the bar, leaned over a mug, alone, and apparently hankering for a lightning filled right hook.

And Laxus was close to doing him one good on that wish.

The words that came out of his mouth next stopped the slayer in his tracks though as, losing some of the edge, Macao remarked rather gleefully, "Talking that way to your new master. Oughtta be ashamed."

Laxus, who'd tensed in anticipation of putting the man in his place, felt an odd wave of shock fall over him in place of the annoyance and instead found himself staring quite dumbly at Macao for a few long moments before turning back to the woman before her.

"M-Mira," he stuttered some, frowning as he asked, "you're the-"

"Master! That's right."

This wasn't her confirmation, but rather the lingering Elfman, who came to toss an arm around his older sister's shoulders he boasted, "Mira's the biggest man around now."

"Yeah, Laxus," Lisanna, who he noted for the first time behind the bar, preparing a tray of drinks, quipped. "This is the Strauss family guild now. Mess with us, our Master sister will get you."

Elfman added with a nod, "Disrespect with our Master sister, and we'll get you."

And there it was, the shock turning right back into annoyance.

Having many people to take it out on now, he found himself focusing mostly on the middle Strauss as he remarked, "If lack of knowledge was a crime, Elfman, you'd be the first one fucked."

"You can't talk to me like that!" He dropped his arm from around his sister then, the muscular man did, as he took a step towards the other guy. "You-"

"Enough, boys." And Mira made a face at her younger brother. "Elf, Laxus is just teasing. And I sure it is shocking to find out that I'm the Master now. It's a lot to absorb all at once."

"Yeah," her brother grumbled, "if you're a moron. You're the exact person Gramps shouldda chosen. Perfect pick."

"Perfect," Lisanna echoed as, tray all loaded up now, she went to disperse the mugs of ale, "pick."

Macao raised his drink in agreement and it was echoed by some of the others milling around. Laxus though felt out of place in the hall, knocked off a peg a bit, exposed in both the tangible and hidden. He hadn't planned for something like this; Mirajane being crowned the new Master of the hall. Not in his general standing in Fairy Tail or, perhaps more importantly, his relationship.

He felt out of sorts and called out then and, though he wanted to either retreat or lash out, he did find himself taking in a breath before remarking, "It's not shocking. Mira. You're… I'm sure Gramps picked you for an important reason."

"Yeah," Macao snickered and Laxus wanted to slug him all over again. "An important reason. Two of 'em, maybe, even."

But as Laxus turned to glare at him, Mirajane only reached out instead, grabbing the man's arm rather roughly before tugging him off.

"Your grandfather," she explained as she tugged him along, getting some glances from those around, but mostly passing unnoticed thorough the layabouts who frequented the bar, "decided after handing the reigns over to me that he would go on a bit of a vacation. Which is nice, but he didn't clear out all of his stuff from the office before he left and I was kinda hoping that you could, maybe, take a box of his things? To his place? I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you did that."

Still a bit dazed, the man allowed himself to be drug along. When they came to a sudden stop before what was once his grandfather's office, he had to pause before continuing on, even when Mira entered without hesitation. For her, it was a place of business, where she'd count out the money on hard days, bring the Master his meals and bills. But for Laxus, it was where he frequently was reprimanded, as a teen, and held a lot of unsavory thoughts.

It looked different though. Now. Old photos were taken down, just empty wall space now, as Mira worked on getting it filled. The man's old trinkets or mementos from his long life were missing, replaced in some instances, the action not yet take in others. The room was incomplete, in a suspended state currently as Mira had no doubt gotten bogged down by more important things, and Laxus imagined that within the next few weeks, it would be fully fleshed out and all the woman's own.

"There's the box," she remarked, nodding towards where it set beside the bookcase. "It's not much, but-"

"Demon." He frowned some. "You didn't bring me in here to talk about Gramps' shit."

"I wouldn't take you anywhere to talk about that."

"Mirajane-"

"I just wanted to talk to you," the woman insisted and she reached out to just touch his arm now, that slight smile never rightly leaving her face. "That's all. Lax."

She stood before him and something seemed different about her now, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The air about her had changed and it felt wrong to attribute it to something as stupid as a job title, but it had some weight, didn't it? Rising from a barmaid to a the head of the whole operation felt outlandishly ridiculous, almost like a child's story, picked from the commoners to rule over the kingdom.

But it didn't exactly reflect Mirajane.

She wasn't some lowly barmaid. She was a the harborer of Satan Soul, one of the top mages in the guild, and arguably the old man's biggest helper in the past few years. She knew the inner works of the guild just as well as she'd learned the struggles of a working mage. Mirajane was well versed in all facets of the business and though, from the outside, choosing the head of the bar to run the entire guild might not make the most sense, anyone in the knew had to be well-aware of what the demon brought to the table.

And Laxus, though he was still suffering from some residual surprise, was very aware of every single thing the woman brought to the table.

"Plus," she was continuing on then, hand climbing up his arm, fingers tracing all the way to his cheek as the man only blinked down at her. "I thought we should both realize the perks of it. You know? Having my own office."

It had been a bit.

Too long, maybe.

But there was too much going on in his mind then, really to focus on much else and, when they broke apart it was because he pulled back some to stare into her eyes.

"The Master, huh?" He ran a thumb over her cheek, fighting a grin as the woman nuzzled into his touch. "My Master?"

"Mmm," she hummed in reply. "Always have been."

He laughed then, and it broke some of the tension, but while Mira giggled at this, Laxus merely shook his head.

"This is," he told her simply, "a lot to take in. What'd you really do to the old geezer, huh? Charm him? Some demonic arts?"

She lost her smile a bit and now, not sounding so jokey, she replied, "I was the best person for the job."

Laxus was sure that she'd been forced to have this conversation many times over by this point. A stunning reveal fit for stunned underlings, may of who knew Mira merely from working at the bar. The stories did her little justice, at times, and Laxus as he grew older, though he tried to ward it off, found himself less and less enamored with the current youth. When he was younger, he thought he'd awlays feel that way; young. Now, hardly passed the age where these thoughts were at least somewhat socially acceptable, he was frequently appalled by their lack of respect.

Especially when it came to former powerhouses in the guild, such as the woman standing before him.

Was he this way? When he was young? He could recall challenging any and all who would help him hone his power, but to outright believe they were beneath him?

Maybe he had been this way.

In fact, if he were honest with himself, perhaps he was that way for far too long.

Still, he could tell by the way that the woman spoke that his jest hadn't been well-received. It was the slayer that grabbed the woman's arm this time, both of them in fact, and though he was still toying with what all of this meant, his girlfriend gaining control of his guild, there was one thing he knew for certain.

Laxus, staring deeply down at the woman, insisted simply, "Damn right you are."

"Dragon-"

"You are." And he moved to squeeze her shoulders instead, shaking her a bit, even. As if she needed the fact punctuated. "No one cares about this place as much as you. No one. No one could ever give up their life for the guild. Not the abstract concept of the guild, but the literal guildhall. You take care of the hall. And all the people in it. You put that time in. And if someone tries to come for it, you would absolutely kick their ass. You weren't just the best option; you were the only option."

She blinked some, Mira did, before giggling and singing his name in a high pitch, "Laxus."

"Shh." And he glanced behind himself, at the door, "We're not exactly completely alone here, you know."

"It's my office." Reaching up, she poked at his cheek, the one with the zigzag scar trailing down it. "And you've been away for too long. Being all mushy."

"I am not." And he grabbed her finger then, tightly, as his gaze turned harder. "I'm telling you it because it's true. Not because I love you. But because you're-"

"Aw, Lax." She continued to speak in that singsong voice that grated on his nerves. "You love me?"

He merely shook his head before remarking, "You're going to make a great master, Mirajane." Releasing her shoulders, he added, "I mean it."

Mira dropped her own arms, nodding a bit as she told him, "I hope to be. I really do. I...know it's kind a silly, and I don't want to hurt your feelings or anything because I know when you were a kid you did it a lot more than me, but… I kinda dreamed about it. A few times. And when Master approached me with the opportunity… This is what I want to do. And what I'm going to start putting my all into. So… If it's going to eat at you or something, that I'm the Master now, then-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Laxus." And her tone was much the same as his now. Serious and fully separated from all its former joy. "I'm not stupid."

"I'd never say that you were."

"Things get...hard. When a woman had power over a man." She shook her head a bit. "And this is already all tangled up. With hiding our… I just don't want this to end badly. If you're going to have a problem with me being the Master-"

"My," he reminder her, "Master."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I." Laxus took a breath before shrugging his shoulders some and remarking, "You're the Master now. That's great. But that doesn't mean that you're not still Mira, huh? That we should just throw this away without even given it a shot. You don't want this to end badly, but I don't want it to fucking end. Ever. No matter what it's like."

That time, it was into his chest after throwing herself at him, that she muttered while his arms tightly wrapped around her, "Mushy."

"Hardly." Still, he bowed his head some, to rest it against the white locks that welcomed it. "It'll be easier anyhow, huh? Now that you're master?"

"How do you figure?"

"Can cut out any time. Don't gotta stick around till closing. Really, you run this place like Gramps, you mostly just gotta sit about a few hours a week and then can do whatever you want the rest of the time."

"If it doesn't hurt your feelings," she replied as she pulled back some to look up at him. "I actually might love the guild more than you. Just a bit."

Blinking, Laxus thought for a moment before releasing her so he could shrug.

"I'll win you over," he assured her simply. "Having known all of the former Masters of this place, even if only in story, I can assure you, it grates on you eventually."

"I know most of your previous dates, dragon." She shrugged in turn. "I hear you do the same thing."

"You're not just a date, demon." He even smiled from the thought. "You're a lot more."

But they couldn't hide out forever. She'd brought him there under a specific pretense and, unfortunatley for Laxus, that meant he had to lug a huge box of his grandfather's things back to the old geezer's empty house.

Only, he was surprised to find it wasn't really that empty at all.

"What are you doing here, old man?" Laxus griped when he'd been scared half to death when, upon entering the seemingly empty house, a dark energy had fallen over him in the hallway. Turning on his heel, Laxus was equally glad and annoyed to find it to be his grandfather.

"What am I doing here?" Makarov, even in his ever advancing age, could look quite fearsome when the time called for it. And being disturbed from a late afternoon nap, only to find someone rooting around in your hall closet, was exactly that sort of time. "What are you doing here?"

It was with a sneer that his grandson answered this, turning back to the closet as he shoved the box of things Mira had given him inside.

"Direct orders," Laxus replied simply. "From the Master."

Makarov took in a breath then, as he was prepared to remark that he'd made no such order, but he was quickly reminded that while he might not have, it mattered little.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, Gramps." Finished up with the box, he shut it before turning to face the man. "It is."

Huffing a bit, it wasn't with annoyance really that he shook his head, but rather in agreement as he added, "She wasn't who I always pictured as fully taking over, but… Perhaps, one day, if something calls her elsewhere, she'll see you fit to take her place."

Laxus snored. "Don't want it."

"For now," his grandfather clarified, but Laxus only shook his head.

"Just see my life in other ways now," he explained as, finished it seemed, he turned to head out. "It's not all just about who's in charge, you know. It's about a lot more."

He eyed him some, Makarov did, as his grandson seemed intent to leave. Calling out to him, he questioned, "You think you can serve under her? Boy?"

"Yeah." Laxus didn't even need to think about it. "I really think I can."

#Miraxus #Miraxus Week 2020 #Day 2 Master #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction

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wavesofinkdrops · 3 years

Text

Extempore, Ch. I

Read on AO3

Fenris/Dorian (Dragon Age), Rated: T (may get bumped up)

“Maybe Magister Pavus can take a holiday to clear his lungs at the summer home.”

Dorian flashed him a glare. “I don’t take holidays. I don’t get sick, I don’t leave, I don’t take random breaks when the Senate is in session.”

“You also don’t usually find yourself having been replaced into a different body, I presume?” Fenris asked, his voice unamused.

(Magister Pavus, bodyguard Fenris, and a bodyswap thrown on top. All of this promises hell.)

A/N: I do not have an explanation for this fic. It started off as an AU of an AU of an AU that a friend and I were joking about at 2 in the morning. So of course I ended up writing it. This is probably one of the most random fics I've ever written, and I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: No warnings as of now, some warnings MAY apply in the future for Fenris' or Dorian's traumas that may get covered (this may also bump up the rating). Other than that, none that I can think of!

Chapter I: Opening Act

The starting point:

Magister Dorian Pavus woke up much like any usual morning, albeit entirely on the wrong side of his bed. At the time, this was not such a pressing issue.

Fenris, the elf that the Inquisitor had managed to convince into becoming the Magister’s bodyguard, sank further into the bed that felt like pure silk clouds that morning. This was definitely not a problem.

This all, however, did become a problem when Dorian noticed the flare of pain every slight movement brought in him, as he stretched himself out against the rough cotton pillows and sheets. It became a pressing issue when Fenris sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and noticed the distinct lack of white lines against his skin and the lack of any sort of nightclothes on himself.

The progression:

What followed could briefly be summarised as mayhem. The realisation that somehow, through unknown forces, they had wound up in opposite bodies. Fenris now was trapped in the form of an Altus, a Magister at that, while Dorian inhabited an infamous walking lyrium experiment. It had led to a very interesting confrontation in the “Magister’s” chambers.

There was an incessant sensation that made Dorian feel like crawling out of his skin every passing second. The lyrium lines tugged and tingled at best, the feeling from the Fade strong particularly near Fenris—or rather, the body of a powerful mage, despite the fact that Fenris likely had no idea what to do with the magic at his fingertips. And he knew the familiar tug of the Fade, the way it was just within his reach—how he just wanted to reach out to it, and yet whenever he tried, it just brought a fresh stinging wave through the markings.

Fenris, on the other hand, felt oddly blank. There was no pain, there was nothing constantly on his mind and trying to take over his senses if he just let the chronic pain ever overwhelm him. There was just the presence of the Fade, devoid of its usual sting, and now merely… there. Peaceful, waiting for him. Wanting for him. He was curious to try reaching out in there, to see what it might do, but he was worried about what inexperienced magic use might cause. Both for him and Dorian, who already was laying seemingly in clear discomfort—Fenris doubted that adding to that a mage’s reach into the Fade would help the situation.

So their time that morning progressed with locking themselves up inside the room, Dorian trying to find a way to move past every thought and feeling swarming him like he was stuck in the middle of a wasp’s nest, while Fenris spent time trying to draw a plan and getting used to the moustache tickling his upper lip every second. It also was spent among various bickering arguments, one blaming the other for strange mage magic causing problems on purpose, the other blaming disturbances in the Fade from a breathing magical lyrium battery.

And the current situation?

Their disastrous morning had progressed into a sulking noon, the sun high in the sky. Dorian had taken some elfroot to temporarily ease the pain, since Fenris was not keen enough on trying any stabilising or soothing spells for the markings. They’d settled, Fenris in an armchair, casual robes draped over him, Dorian rubbing his temples in the chair behind the desk in their office.

“Well, we can’t appear like this,” Dorian finally snapped.

Fenris looked up, wanting to make a snide comment at the most obvious remark he’d heard in a while. Instead, he held his tongue, knowing that perhaps arguing with an already-irritated Dorian was not a good idea.

“Maybe Magister Pavus can take a holiday to clear his lungs at the summer home.”

Dorian flashed him a glare. “I don’t take holidays. I don’t get sick, I don’t leave, I don’t take random breaks when the Senate is in session.”

“You also don’t usually find yourself having been replaced into a different body, I presume?” Fenris asked, his voice unamused.

At that, Dorian paused. “I suppose this may be some… extenuating circumstances. I suppose it’s better than showing up and being accused of blood magic by the entire Magisterium.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t the first fan of the idea of losing his unbroken reputation of attendance at the Magisterium, but there was very little that was up to them, if they didn’t want to get discovered. He knew he was far too arrogant to act the appropriate part usually played by Fenris, and he knew that in return, Fenris disliked the Magisters and entire higher government enough to be unwilling to attend any sessions.

Dorian leaned back, eyeing his desk with disinterest. That was, until he noted the sheets of paper neatly stacked in the middle of the desk.

The bill of reforms.

Maker, he’d forgotten about that.

“Fenris,” he turned to the elf with wide eyes. “Fenris, you have to attend the next session.”

Fenris looked up at him, clearly considering Dorian insane.

“You cannot mean that.”

Dorian lifted the first page of the bill. “This bill is being debated on the floor of the Magisterium in five days’ time. I’ve already proposed the bill, I’ve coddled and promised and sweet-talked support for it. I need this reform to pass. Slaves need this reform to pass, Fenris,” Dorian emphasised, as realisation spread vividly onto Fenris’ features. Well, really, they were Dorian’s own, very handsome features, but with a distinctly Fenris expression.

“Fasta vass, I can’t debate the bill.” Fenris stood crossing over to the sheets and eyes skimming through them. “I don’t even understand it.”

Dorian waved him off. “You know the basics of the bill! I consulted you enough when I wrote this that you know what it’s about and what it’s meant to do. We’re perfectly settled on that end. The end we need to work on is getting you to argue it to the Magisters. Many of them see only their own advantages, so it’s just a question of making it seem like this is to their benefit, too.”

“You’ve already got all of this figured out when I haven’t even agreed to do it—can’t we just trust this with Maevaris? Call the Inquisitor, surely she’s seen all kinds of strange magic, including switched bodies?” Fenris picked at something at the end of a sleeve of his robe, the only one he’d been willing to put on.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want this bill to be doomed? If it doesn’t pass, it will be either forgotten or purposely blocked by another regulation that they’ll pass in its stead to prevent anything similar coming to the floor again!”

Fenris chewed on the inside of his lip. “I don’t know how you think I’m ever going to speak with the Magisters, let alone convince them of anything. I don’t debate. I prefer to solve things with a sword, it’s much cleaner than the poison in those silver-tongued words.”

“You cannot start a duel in the middle of the Magisterium, Fenris, I have a reputation and policies to protect!”

Fenris eyed him, not as amused as Dorian had seemed to hope that comment would make him. “Your reputation goes above your policies?”

“Of course, the second is nothing without the first. How do you think I would gather support for the bills without my undeniable wit and charm?” He tried for an equally charming smile, but it fell somewhat flat at Fenris’ look.

At that, Fenris scoffed.

“Listen,” Dorian continued, “we don’t have a plethora of options. We have five days from today to figure out what to do.”

“And you want to teach me how to act like a Magister.”

Dorian’s grin turned ominous as his machinations began working. “Oh, I can make you the perfect actor in two days! All I need is a day to cover the bill, really, and then after that, it’s more about making sure you preserve my impeccable reputation!”

Fenris considered the idea for a while. Finally, he leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “I’ll agree to that.”

“Fantast—”

“ If you agree to train with my sword and act the part of my bodyguard. You’re not the only one with a reputation, and I can assure you, I won’t have a prissy Magister start ruining it.”

“Just who are you calling prissy —”

“That tone is exactly an example of what I mean.”

“I’ll have you know everyone considers my bodyguard a ruthless killer and it wouldn’t do him any harm—”

“That’s my condition, you take it or leave it, Pavus.”

Dorian glared at him. He mulled over it, before sighing as dramatically as he could manage. “If I must!”

#fenris #dorian pavus #dragon age #dragon age ii #dragon age inquisition #fenrian #my writing #fanfic #bodyswap au #i have no explanatuin for this #other than being fenrian trash #extempore

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the-halo-of-my-memory · 3 years

Text

Nitpicking & Picnicking (DA Gift Exchange 2020)

Paring: OC Female Inquisitor (Marzeyna Lavellan) x Cullen Rutherford

Word Count: 4,9k

Summary: The Inquisition overhear that Cullen and Marzeyna are courting but have yet to spend some time together outside of Inquisition hours. They decide to help them out with a picnic, much to the chagrin of Cullen.

Warning(s): language, second hand embarrassment, Cullen nearly having a stroke, the usual Inquisition shenanigans, and fluff.

A/N: This is a note to my future self. Future Jess, never sign up for another Secret Santa thing here again. You got so distracted by bullshit this year, you nearly forgot and then panicked for the last 48 hours of this. Nice job!

Anyways, @crqstalite this is my gift for you for the @dagiftexchange! I figured a sorta crack fic with fluff would be perfect for your Marzeyna and Cullen. And naturally, the rest of the Inquisition came with lol. I seriously hope you like it.

I also wanna thank @dorathedestroyer64 and @callthedarknessdown for helping me a million by beta reading this and just being all around sweet friends (ily you guys <3)

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When she wakes the sunlight is in her eyes, and in the not so far distance, the noise of the men and women of the inquisition sparring rings. Swords striking, armor crashing, and the voices of many speaking, yelling, and giving orders.

Nuzzling the corner of her pillow, Marzenya recognizes one voice among the others.

It’s Commander Cullen Rutherford.

Her Commander Cullen Rutherford.

The kiss on the battlements. . . it still leaves her breathless a week later.

It was everything she wanted and so much more.

Yes, she had been kissed before. It was some years ago, back when she was with the clan. It was with a fellow elf and it was just a kiss for the sake of kissing. There were a few others as well.

But with Cullen, she understood why people did it. To have him near her, hands on her cheeks, and his warm lips upon her own...it stopped her embarrassment right in its place after being caught by that scout. Jim was his name.

Nevermind him. The kiss! The kiss was what she wanted to think about at this moment.

When they connected, she forgot to breathe. That kiss robbed her of breath and the burning in her lungs was worth it.

It was becoming a part of her schedule. She would always come up to see him before breakfast, before going off on her duties. To see him not yet the commander and her, not yet the inquisitor. But simply as Marzeyna and Cullen. To say his name without speaking of war tactics or about Inquisition affairs is almost like singing a melody. She can and will say his name whenever she likes when she’s at his office.

And when he says her name, it’s like the winds have said it, biting at her skin, and giving her chills up and down her spine. It makes the blood in her heart run warm and gives her butterflies in her stomach. She’d be lying if she denied that one of the main reasons why she runs to see him was just to hear him say her name.

Marzeyna. . .

And so here she was, in his office. His face lights up at the sight of her, like the sun rising.

“Good morning, Cullen.”

“Good morning, Marzeyna,” he smiles back at her. Oh, the butterflies are back.

“Are you busy at the moment?” she asks.

“Not quite yet,” he says. “But I can spare some time if you’d like.”

“I would, thank you.”

And so they carve out that little space and time talking to one another. Nothing about the Inquisition. That could wait for the time being. Cullen would sit at his desk and she would sit atop it, next to his paperwork.

The moment was only that: a moment. And it had to end eventually.

Usually Marzeyna would usually slip off the desk and give Cullen a kiss on the cheek before leaving, but this time they were interrupted.

“Commander Cullen, we need to make preparations for today’s—”

It was Cassandra. She entered the room with a board in hand with papers clipped on it. Her eyes, glued to the ink, failed to notice the two at first. When she did, she trailed off.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the air. It was awkward, no doubt.

Although caught in only a chaste moment of closeness, it felt scandalizing all the same. This time they spent together was for them alone, and to be interrupted turned the pure intimacy of conversation into an act far more compromising and less innocent than the simple poetry of their enlaced fingers.

There were already rumors circulating around the barracks and the rest of Skyhold as it is. They just had to kiss outside for some to see, didn’t they?

And now Cassandra knows. Great.

Well, she already had her suspicions. Cassandra always kept an eye on Marzeyna (which she was always grateful for) and no doubt she caught the dopey smiles and doe-eyes she subconsciously made when she looked at Cullen during war table meetings.

Yeah, Leliana and Josephine probably know too.

“I beg your pardon,” Cassandra says, “am I interrupting something?”

“Oh! No, seeker,” Marzeyna can feel the heat coloring her cheeks. “I was just heading out,” She slips off the desk and gives a nod to Cullen, who nods back with that crooked smile she adored on his face. Too bad she couldn’t kiss him with Cassandra here. She bids them both a good morning before leaving.

*********

The moment had to end. And so be it.

If only it was a moment longer, Cullen sighs. He didn’t get the kiss he found himself looking forward to every morning, but it was obvious why she didn’t give him one.

Back to business.

The seeker steps forward and lays her board of papers on his desk.

“I know it is none of my concern,” she says, carefully picking her words, “but I must ask. Are you courting the inquisitor?”

“Uh-”

It was a simple yes or no question and yet he did not know how to answer it.

Courting. It was such a strange word. It felt too proper for him, the son of Fereldan farmers. A word meant for royals and nobles. He was neither of them.

But technically speaking. . .

“Er uh . . . yes, I am courting the Inquisitor.”

Cassandra raises a brow, a smirk pulling aside her lips.

"But I assure you, seeker! We are keeping our personal affairs away from our duties with the Inquisition. We will not shirk our duties and—"

"Cullen, that's enough."

She hides her smile with a fist and she's laughing? At him?

"I know you two will not neglect your duties and will remain professional when necessary."

Oh.

"Oh."

"Another question, if I may?"

"Go ahead."

"Have you spent some time with her?"

Cullen’s brows draw together. "Some—some time with her?"

"Yes. You are courting here." She reminds him, amused to have to elaborate further.

"Y-Yes, I am."

Cassandra’s head tilts to the side. "Have you not spent some time with her after hours? Perhaps have taken her outside of Skyhold?"

If there were words in Cullen's head, they seem to have leaked out of his ears.

"I uh. . . haven't had the chance." He realizes.

“A chance?"

"You do remember that we have an Inquisition to run?”

"Of course I do," Casandra scowls and crosses her arms. "But you must make time for Marzeyna if you expect this courtship to be successful."

"Excuse me?”

"Do not worry. Myself and the others shall help." And with that she picks up her board of papers and heads for the door.

Cullen was struck by a bolt of confusion.

"What in the blazes....”

****

Early evening arrived, the sun soon setting in an hour, and candles would need to be lit.

With a familiar ache in his neck and shoulders, Cullen sits hunched over his desk with stacks of paperwork that needed his attention.

Scout reports, operations that require his permission, requisitions, letters, etc.

He could feel a headache coming on. The dull, slow creeping from the back of his skull. Having had so many since withdrawing from lyrium, he knows too well that it will soon spread and pulse along to the beat of his heart and grow sharp, clawing at his mind from the back of his eyes.

A sigh escapes his lips.

Maybe he needs to eat something. It was time for dinner. Perhaps he could find Marzeyna and have a meal with her in his office. Or maybe the garden, have a little picnic there. Watch the sunset together.

Yes . . . that would be nice . . .

Just as he’s about to get up from his seat, the door opposite his desk opens.

“Commander Cullen, may I have a moment of your time?”

It was that Tevinter mage, Dorian Pavus.

This cannot be good.

“Uh, you may.”

“Wonderful!” The mage walks over and puts his hands on his desk. “A little birdie told me that our dear commander is courting our sweet little inquisitor.”

“Was the little birdie perhaps Cassandra?” Cullen makes a face.

“Perhaps,” Dorian says with a knowing look. “Though if I must be frank, we all had our suspicions before the little birdie came flying.”

“We?”

“Don’t be foolish, Cullen. We’ve seen the way you two look at each other. It’s so sweet and innocent, it makes me ill.” Dorian gives a sort of dreamy sigh. “Reminds of my youth.”

Meanwhile the commander had grown two shades pinker. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that.

“It-It was that obvious?”

“I’m afraid so. But nevermind that. The same little birdie also told you that you have yet to spend some time with her outside of Inquisition affairs. Is that true?”

It occurs to Cullen that he wanted nothing more in this moment than to bury his face in his gloved hands and scream.

“Yes, that’s true. Look, Dorian. I don’t know if you noticed, but we are part of the Inquisition. We are in the middle of attempting to close the breach in the sky and defeat Corypheus, all while in the middle of mage/templar war.”

A moment passes for his words to settle in.

“Alright, I see your point.” Tucking a fist under his chin, Dorian appears to be deep in thought. “Have you thought about it nonetheless?”

“Of course I have, it’s just—” Cullen sighs.

“Just what?” Dorian prompts.

“It’s just. . . we have business to conduct. We can barely see each other outside of meetings.”

“Have you thought about making time?”

Wait a minute. . .

“Making time?”

“Yes, making time. Cullen, I know you and Marzenya are busy people. I know we are in the middle of something awful and the two of you and the rest of us are trying to fix everything. The issue here is that you need to spend some time together or your work will consume your relationship. At the end of the day, you’ll want you to remember the memories you made with her, not with all this shit paperwork.”

For a second, Cullen doesn’t know what to say.

“Dorian, that was . . . incredibly touching of you to say.”

“I know it was. People think I like to talk just to hear the sound of my voice, which is true. I have a lovely voice. Now come on!”

By now, Dorian had walked over to the other side of the desk and was pulling the commander up and out of his seat by the arm.

“Where are we going?” Cullen asks.

“To make memories.”

“I can’t I have reports to-”

“What did I say about making memories?”

****

The magister ended up taking the commander to Skyhold’s own pub, the Herald's Rest. Inside, the pub was packed with familiar faces, all engaged in banter and drinks sloshing in their hands. The music was lively and there was not a sad soul in sight.

At least the morale was looking high, Cullen thought.

Dorian takes him near the back end of the pub where the Iron Bull and his Chargers sat and made their new home.

“Dorian! Commander! It’s nice to see you here! Come, take a seat!” Bull did look happy to see them. As Cullen takes a seat with the group, one of them, Krem, hands him a drink—though drinking is the last thing he wants to do while this headache continues to grow.

“So what brings you here?” Bull asks after taking a swig of his drink.

“I did,” says Dorian, “and you can thank me for that. And also, it turns out Cassandra was right. Our dear commander is courting our little inquisitor.”

The incredulous look on Bull’s face says it all.

“Shit, really?! Hey Cullen, congrats, man! Didn’t know you had it in you.” The “pat” on the shoulder he gave him nearly knocks him off balance in his chair.

“Er uh, thank you.”

As Bull is about to say something else, something across the room catches his attention.

“Varric! Blackwall! Get over here! We gotta talk.”

Oh, Maker take him.

The warden and the crossbow dwarf take with them, and Blackwall obliges to take a drink while Varric denies.

“Curly, it’s certainly a surprise to see you here.”

“I could say the same, commander. What brings you here?”

“Nevermind that,” interrupts an impatient Dorian. “What matters is this: the seeker was right. Cullen is courting Marzenya.”

The two men’s eyes go wide and turn to Cullen.

“I knew it!” Varric had a large smile on his face. “Who made the first move?”

The commander’s face felt as hot as a kiln.

“I-I guess it was technically I did-”

“Ha! You owe a sovereign, Tiny.”

Bull groans as he digs in his pockets. “Dammit. I was hoping Zey would be the one to grow balls.”

“I was thinking the same,” Dorian hands a sovereign of his own to Blackwall.

“Excuse me, have you all been making bets on my personal life?” Oh, that headache is coming along quite nicely.

“Relax, Cullen,” says Blackwall, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We mean no harm. It was just you two were quite the spectacle, even back in Haven.”

“He’s right,” Varric nods. “I know a romance in the making when I see it.”

“Alright now, this is the important thing. Cullen has yet to properly spend time with Marzeyna .”

“Oh yeah?”” Bull raises a brow.

Cullen sighs as he feels a blood vessel near his temple about to burst.

“There is a giant hole in the sky we need to worry about first.” He points out.

“That can wait.”

Now that blood vessel is really going to burst. The commander stands abruptly from his chair, nearly knocking it over. His mouth is open, ready to debate, when a hand lands on his shoulder and pulls him back down.

“Dorian’s right,” it was Blackwall. “This is more important.”

“How?!”

“This is a chance of love. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity and you can’t neglect that opportunity.”

“I don’t-”

Dorian interrupts him. “We need to come up with some ideas for him to spend some time with Zey, any suggestions?”

“Have you thought about having drinks with her here?” Varric asks.

“This isn’t the most romantic or intimate place for us,” Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

“Have thought about having dinner with her in her quarters?” gestures Blackwall.

The room is suddenly warming up.

“That’s far too intimate for the time being.”

“Mm!” Bull wipes his mouth after taking another swig of his drink with the back of his hand. “Have you thought about having sex with her?”

The room is now on fire.

“I-! We’ve barely started!” Cullen says through his teeth.

“No no, that’s a brilliant idea,” oh Blackwall, please no. “Sleeping with her will give you a good outlook on how your relationship is and will be.”

“Hell yeah!” Spilling his beer, Bull is adding fuel to the metaphorical fire. “Take those damn gloves off for once and show her a good time!”

Cullen knows his face is as red as apples and he blames the blood vessel that has surely now burst and his hemorrhaging underneath the surface of his skin.

“Knock it off, the both of you,” hisses Dorian. “You know damn well the two of them are not like that. They can barely kiss as it is. We need to keep coming up with ideas. Cullen, have you thought of any yourself?”

Rubbing his chin, the commander gives himself a moment to think.

“I was thinking about having a picnic with her in the gardens.” He divulges.

“Hey,” Varric crosses his arms, “that’s not a bad idea. A little fruit, cheese, and some wine and there you have it.”

“Now that,” Dorian puts a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, “we can do.”

“We?” That doesn’t sound good.

“Yes, we shall aid you in your romantic endeavors.”

“I don’t think-” Bull shuts him up with a wave of his hand.

“Please, it’s just a picnic. How hard can it be to set up?”

Dorian leans over in his chair toward the commander.

“Just ask her to have a picnic with you tomorrow morning and we’ll have everything set up by evening.”

It was honestly difficult to trust these men with personal affairs. Considering his schedule, to have everything set up tomorrow was a gift.

So he sighs and agrees.

****

It was barely mid-morning when Marzeyna’s heart burst out of her chest.

Alright, not literally, but still!

When she went to see Cullen, he had just asked her to have a picnic with him in Skyhold’s garden this evening.

Yes, they’ve shared a fair share of kisses and warm embraces. . . but everything was still so new and so precious, like a newborn babe. So full of love.

She is still in the state that she was in when they first talked at Haven, long before the kiss. Now, her affection is acknowledged by the weight of his own affection.

Marzeyna said yes to the picnic, of course.

Much still needs to be done today and the picnic lingers in her mind in the meantime.

She needs to seek some consultation. And she knows the perfect person.

****

“Oh Vivienne, I’m so glad you have the time to help me.”

“For you, my dear inquisitor, I’ll always clear my schedule.”

They were in Vivienne's room above the court near the library. Evening was in a few hours and Marzeyna wasn’t exactly calm about this.

It was just a picnic with Cullen. No big deal. Noooope.

Oh, there goes her imagination.

“I’ve never properly courted before. I’ve shared a few kisses back when I was with the clan, but nothing as serious as this. I’m afraid I’ll say or do something and he won’t be interested in me anymore.”

Vivienne chuckles as they take a seat on the settee together.

“Oh my dear, you’ve only just started. Do not worry about making mistakes. In fact, this is the perfect time to make mistakes. It shall aid you on how to improve both yourself and the relationship.”

“Really”

“Of course, really. Besides, I doubt a few ‘mistakes’ would deter the commander away.”

As the inquisitor spoke about her conversation with Cullen from earlier, their heads swiveled towards the sound of the door opening.

“Did you two really think you could make plans without us?”

It was Leliana, and behind her were Josephine and Cassandra. They walk over to them and take seats on Vivienne’s bed and a stool.

“What are you three doing here?” Marzeyna asks.

“We thought we’d come and help you with the picnic with the commander,” Josephine said with a smile.

“Help me? How do you all know?”

Cassandra clears her throat.

“We overheard Dorian speaking with Varric about the picnic and gathering things for Cullen. We three thought we would do the same for you.”

Marzeyna swears that though her heart has yet to burst from her chest and out her ribcage, it certainly swells right then and there.

“Oh, you lot are going to make me cry.”

The five of them start to converse and throw ideas of what to do.

“For starters,” Leliana speaks, “We need to figure out what you will wear.”

“Wear?” Marzeyna shakes her head. “This is just a picnic, not a ball. Isn’t what I’m wearing right now just fine?”

“Sure,” said Josephine, “but it doesn’t hurt to dress up for a small occasion like this. It will show the commander that you care and that you want to look good for him.”

“I guess. . .” Humans are a weird race sometimes but that line of reasoning doesn’t sound absurd.

Josephine continues.

“I think I might have some simple skirts in quarters you could try on if you like.”

“I believe I may have some blouses you borrow as well,” Cassandra smiles at her.

“I also have some jewelry if you’re interested,” Leliana said. “Something light like small earrings and a simple necklace. Maybe even a bracelet.”

“And I shall aid you with a little hair and makeup,” Vivienne already had compacts of face paint ready for her.

Okay, now she really is going to cry.

****

Cullen made his way to Skyhold’s garden as the sun was about to set. Soon the sky would turn to different shades of colors and the stars would make their way in the dark.

And to have Marzeyna with him when that happens would simply be a gift for him.

When he arrives, the gardens are eerily empty. Nobody is there except for Varric, who holds a small basket in his arms.

“Curly! I was wondering when you were going to show up. Got everything set up for you.”

Walking over to him, Cullen spots the display before the both of them.

On the grass lays a plain worn blanket, threading at one side. There’s a plate in the middle that holds fruits, cheeses, and sweets. Varric sets the basket down and reaches in and pulls out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“There’s also candles and matches in here in case you want to stick around past sundown.”

For a moment, the commander loses his words.

“You alright there, Curly? We didn’t forget anything, did we?”

Cullen snaps back to reality.

“N-No. No, this is . . . perfect.”

“Good ‘cause it’s not gonna get any more perfect then this.”

As Cullen takes a closer look at the display, he expects Varric to walk away, giving him the much needed space and quiet he’d like to share with the inquisitor. Instead, the dwarf walks over to the ledge a couple feet away.

Just as Cullen is about to call out to him, he hears the sound of one of the doors opening.

“Dorian, what are you-”

“Oh, I’m just here to take in some fresh air,” the mage brushes off. “I’m also meeting Cassandra here for a game of chess. Don’t mind me.” He walks past him to the chess board where he once shared a game with the commander not far too long ago.

Again, why is he here? Cullen goes to open his mouth to say something when the door opens again.

“Good evening, Commander.”

“Er uh . . . good evening, Cassandra.”

The seeker walks past him to join Dorian at the chessboard. They speak in hushed tones that he cannot decipher.

And then the doors open again.

It’s Leliana and Josephine who also say “good evening” before rushing towards one of the garden benches and sitting themselves down.

And then Blackwall walks in and utters his good evening and joins Varric by the ledge.

And then another door opens, but it’s not from either entrance to the gardens. Instead, it’s from the upper level where the bedrooms are. There stood the tall forms of the Iron Bull and Vivienne in her headdress, arm and arm taking what appears to be...a stroll?

The blood vessel from last night suddenly wants revenge.

“What in the Maker’s name-!” he starts but then the door opens again.

Oh . . .

It’s her . . .

“Good evening, Cullen,” Marzeyna says, “I got your note.”

Oh, that's right. He left a note for her in his office that told her to come meet with him in the garden at her earliest convenience.

“Good evening, Marzeyna. . .” he breathes out. “You look beautiful tonight.”

It’s true. He rarely saw her outside of her armor and indoor inquisition clothes that she wore to look the part. But tonight, she wore something else. Her hair is done up with strands of wavy hair outlining her face, showing off the earrings with red gems adorning her ears. Her face itself is painted, her eyelids swept with a glittery yellow, almost gold dust, and her mouth painted a brilliant shade of red that complimented her vallaslin. Her blouse hugged her exposed shoulders and from her neck hangs a simple gold necklace. The sleeves are long and rolled up below the elbow. Below that is a long skirt that exposes her ankles, revealing bare feet half wrapped in cloth.

It wasn’t much, and yet it still steals his breath away.

“Thank you,” she says and walks closer to him.

Their hands meet and he leans over to her to give her a kiss.

Until that is when someone coughs and reminds him they aren’t alone.

Without speaking, Cullen gently pulls her over to their little picnic and sits themselves down on the blanket.

“I am sorry,” he says while pouring her a glass of wine. “But apparently the Inquisition wants to witness our little picnic.”

“Inquisition?” Marzeyna looks around, her eyes widening at every angle. “Oh hell, almost everyone is here. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen rubs the back of neck. He’s seriously going to rub it raw one day. “I was about to tell everyone off when you arrived.”

“Oh shit,” she murmurs into her wine. “They expect some kind of show from this, like a play. Maybe if we just sit here and whisper they’ll eventually get bored and leave.”

“Let’s hope for it.”

Conversations were attempted, but just as they really get into the meat of it, someone whispers, someone coughs, someone giggles. A near dozen pair of eyes were on them and Cullen could feel them burning into him in all directions.

“They really are a persistent lot,” he mutters mostly to himself.

“I’m afraid so,” Marzeyna replies as she takes a bite from a sweet tart from the plate.

Time passes. It feels like an hour, but it’s really closer to twenty minutes.

“Any minute now,” she says, her smile waning away, “they will all pick up and leave and it’ll be just the two of us.”

They both sigh.

Another moment passes. Nothing happens. Cullen’s pretty sure now that Dorian and Cassandra have yet to even make the second move in their game. Varric and Blackwall pretend to be interested in both the sky and ground. Leliana and Josephine appear to lean against one another, ready to fall asleep. The Iron Bull and Vivienne have long since gave up pretending to walk up and down the balcony and now lean against it.

Cullen and Marzeyna no longer stare at each other as they space off into the distance, near tipsy on wine and full of fruit and sweets.

“Alright, I give up.” Marzeyna takes in the rest of her wine and stands up. Cullen joins her as well. “Have you lot gotten bored yet? Nothing’s gonna happen. I don’t even know what you all expected.”

“Honestly, neither did I,” says Dorian getting up from his seat to stretch his legs. “I’ll be off now.”

“Dammit Cullen, take the gloves off already!” Bull yells from the balcony while making obscene hand gestures that Vivienne does not approve of.

“I am not taking my gloves off!” Cullen yells back, his face quick to turn red.

“Prude!”

With that, everyone got up and made their way out, some laughing along the way.

When silence finally fell and the two of them were the only ones there, they sat back down with a sigh of relief.

The silence is broken when Marzeyna starts to laugh.

It starts off as a small giggle and then it builds up to a good chuckle and soon enough, she’s cackling like a child does at inappropriate jokes.

And he laughs with her. They laugh hard and loud until Cullen can feel another headache off in the distance. One he won’t complain about too terribly much.

“I have to say, Cullen,” she speaks as she winds down, “this was the worst picnic I’ve ever had.”

“My apologies,” he replies, clearing his dried throat. “I had a much better idea in my head. It was much more romantic and intimate and not full of witnesses.” She scoots herself closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, it’s the thought that counts.”

The commander puts his hand over the Inquisitor’s and holds it closer to him so he can kiss the knuckles of her hand.

“I appreciate that very much.”

Marzeyna leans towards him and he wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her other hand in his.

“Let me make it up to you,” she says. “Let’s have breakfast in my quarters tomorrow morning. Just me and you. How does that sound?”

Just me and her . . .

“Dearest, that sounds lovely. . .”

“Good, I prefer the sun rises than sunsets, to be honest.”

“And why is that?”

Marzeyna shrugs. “It's something I've always enjoyed since the clan. I like watching the world wake up with me. It’s a beautiful sight that reminds me I am alive and have a day ahead of me to live. And it reminds me of you, when I see you in the morning before breakfast. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up with the sun in my eyes.”

She’s robbing him of words and breath again. He can’t help himself.

Taking a hand to cup the side of her face, he leans in, closing his eyes, and catches her lips with his.

With her, everything is perfect. With her, everything he’s been through is almost worth it.

They part and she starts to laugh again.

“What is it?” He can’t wipe the dumb smile he knows he has on his face.

“Nothing,” she shakes her head. “It’s just that my lip paint is now all over your lips.”

“Is it now?”

“Yeah. Here, let me help you make it worse.”

And she kisses him again.

#this fic destroyed my back #was it worth it?#i hope so #seriously i hope you like it friend #marzeyna is a big cutie #i adore her #my writing #female inquisitor x cullen rutherford #marzeyna x cullen #marzeyna lavellen #cullen rutherford #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai

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fairfaxleasee · 3 years

Note

For DADWC: "You fell victim to one of the classic blunders!" for anyone you like!

For @dadrunkwriting

Sorry, had to change the quote again for the story I wanted to go with:

CW: Body horror references, cannibalism references, Hawke is generally over shit

If she were being entirely honest, this ‘Morrigan’ person was by far Lyta Adaar’s least favorite temporary resident of Skyhold (or at least the woman had better be a temporary resident, her constant negging was starting to strain even Lyta’s patience). Unfortunately, the Orlesians insisted she come and ‘help’ (although Lyta was starting to suspect that might have just been a way to get rid of her) so Lyta didn’t feel like she could kick her out of the castle. At least yet. She was just trying to ignore the woman as best she could. Unfortunately, Morrigan had caught her while she was picking some herbs in the Skyhold garden and was currently talking at her.

“As I was saying, Inquisitor, if you’re ever interested in learning some more... uncommon uses for plants, I would happily assist. I know some people in Skyhold,” Morrigan turned her head to glare at Cassia Hawke, who was minding her own business across the courtyard and appeared to be going over some maps with Cullen and Loghain Mac Tir, “fancy themselves ‘experts’ in it, however I can guarantee you no woefully mundane ex-Viscount knows as much as a properly trained mage.”

Lyta caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up and saw that Hawke, Cullen, and Loghain had stopped looking at the maps. Loghain was leaning away from the table slightly looking at Hawke, who was bent over it with enough tension in her frame that Lyta could see her shoulder blades pressed together through her leather armor. For his part, Cullen was waiving frantically at Lyta, which was the movement she saw. Once their eyes met, Cullen swiped one hand in front of his throat then pointed to an area across the garden where Lyta could just see Varric peaking over the wall that separated it from the walkway.

Morrigan didn’t seem to care that Lyta’s attention was elsewhere as she continued as though nothing had happened (although Lyta had a suspicion that even if Morrigan had noticed something happened, she wouldn’t care). “I can guarantee you, Inquisitor, I am a very good friend to have. Unlike some, I'm not going to be abandoned at Skyhold. I have the talents to help you do great things, if you let me.”

“Lyta, get out of there!” Lyta doubted anyone else heard Cullen’s whispered warning over the sound of Hawke slamming her palms on the table in front of her.

Lyta decided Cullen probably knew what he was talking about so as soon as Morrigan’s back was turned she got up and went to watch whatever bloodbath this was going to be with Varric. Being a Qunari, she wouldn’t be able to hide as easily as he could, but it was better than being totally out in the open.

She made it to cover just in time to see Hawke round on Morrigan and stalk over with her head twisted slightly as she let out an eerily chipper chuckle and started in on the apostate, “Listen bitch, you may be talented at toadying up but it's kinda like widespread slaughter, one of those things that it's fundamentally impossible to be good at.”

Morrigan leaned away from Hawke in cool distain, “Well, you would be one to speak of widespread slaughter.”

Hawke snorted and shook her head, “Nice to see your perspective is actually as narrow as it seems.”

“To speak of narrow perspectives so. You were so overwhelmed by the office of Viscount you and your elven bedwarmer wouldn't have to flee the Marches.”

Lyta wasn’t sure how, particularly given that Hawke wasn’t a mage, but she was positive the temperature in the courtyard dropped about twenty degrees to be a better match for Hawke’s icy tone and frozen eyes. “First thing, if you want your fucking tongue to stay in one piece and where it is I'd better not hear you talking about Fenris that way again. People really underestimate what a versatile cut of meat the tongue is and as you so astutely point out I am on the run. Second thing, the rodents may be of unusual size in the fire swamp, but they're nowhere near as big as they are in Orlais. Nor do they pretend to be anything else.”

Morrigan either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the force of Hawke’s ire, “Do make up your mind, am I a toad or a rodent?”

"And here I thought you needed to be witty to survive in the Game. You're a fucking shape-shifter bitch! You're every lowly parasitic pest anyone is ever forced to endure. And seriously, any time you want to play one of my games, let me know.” She ran her eyes over Morrigan appraisingly. “Lots of other cuts of meat I can use.”

“I certainly hope you don’t think you’re impressing anyone with this display.”

“Aww, not all of us need to turn tricks to get permission to stay.”

“Well, maybe if you had you wouldn’t have been run out of every home you’ve ever known!”

“Given that you’re here, I don’t see that as being a recipe for success.”

“I hope you’re paying attention, Reaper.” Lyta turned towards Varric at his whisper, “You just watched someone fall prey to one of the classic blunders. The most well known of which is, of course, ‘Never get involved in a sea war against Qunari,’ but only slightly less well-known is ‘Never insult Elf if Jigsaw’s around to hear it.’ Actually, she just fell into two classic blunders, ‘Never poke at Jigsaw when she’s twitchy’ is I think fourth on the list.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind.”

Lyta glanced back at the verbal grudge match taking place in the courtyard. Leliana had come down at some point and was, for some incomprehensible reason, trying to intervene.

“I think you should calm down, Champion,” Varric, Loghain, Cullen, and Lyta all winced at Leliana’s choice of words. For her part Lyta had thought Leliana was smarter than that. “Take some time, try to understand what Morrigan is saying. There is no reason why we cannot all be friends.”

Hawke threw her head back and her hollow, empty laughter cut through the courtyard. Lyta looked down to make sure it hadn’t somehow cut her.

“Oh, but there is every reason we can’t all be friends. I don’t want to be her friend.” Hawke snapped her gaze to Leliana. “Or yours. But neither of you have friends, do you? It’s all tools, followers, worshippers, stepping-stones, accessories on your bloody path to power and glory. Oh, but I forget; it’s okay for you to do it, because the maker wants you to, and with your perfect sense of right and wrong, you know exactly what the maker wants.”

Leliana straightened a bit, “You think you see so much, don’t you, Champion? Well do you ever look at yourself? See what you’ve done? The suffering you’ve caused? What do you see when you look at yourself?”

“So much more than you do. But that’s a bit of a truism, isn’t it? That light of righteousness you’re just smart enough to be terrified to step even a bit away from is just so blinding, isn’t it?”

Lyta turned to whisper to Varric, “Same classic blunder?”

“Same classic blunder, Reaper.”

Lyta pursed her lips, she wasn’t sure why, possibly because it was something to focus on that wasn’t what was going on in the courtyard, but she decided to finally ask Varric, “Why do you call me that anyway? It doesn’t really fit you know.”

“Reaper, you’re a giant Qunari woman with a huge scythe, you look like a Reaper. And maybe you should take a page from Jigsaw’s book and consider leaning into it more, you have to be just a bit intimidating, you’re the Inquisitor. If I went around calling you something cute like ‘fawn’ nobody would take you seriously. ‘Course maybe don’t lean into it quite as far as Jigsaw did.”

“If you want her to stop, why don’t you start calling her something cute like fawn?”

“Well, ‘fawn’ would never work for Jigsaw, but maybe...” Varric stood and shouted at Hawke, “Say, Jigsaw? What would you think about me calling you ‘Kitty’ instead?”

“...what?” Hawke didn’t look enthusiastic about the idea.

“I... uh, never mind. And I just remembered I’m on a deadline so I’ll see you later Jigsaw.”

“And that, Inquisitor,” Loghain had gathered up the maps and walked over to Lyta while she was distracted, “Would be an example of the third most famous classic blunder - do not draw attention to yourself if you’re around Cassia and she’s on-edge.”

Lyta looked up at the Warden in confusion, “She’s what, thirty five? How are so many of these ‘classic’ blunders about her?”

“I’d suggest asking your advisors, but people who end up on the wrong end of Cassia don’t tend to enjoy re-living the experience.”

“Well then how many of the classic blunders are about her?” Lyta asked.

“Both more and fewer than you’d imagine.”

Cullen entered the conversation, “Here’s a question for you, Loghain - You couldn't have just left her in Gwaren?”

Loghain shook his head and muttered, “What is it with out-of-their-depths ex-Templars and that question...” He continued at full volume, “I didn’t leave her in Gwaren for the same reason you didn’t want to leave her wherever she was. There are a lot of people who are good, and she’s very good, but when it comes to ripping opponents to shreds there’s no one better.”

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himluv · 4 years

Text

Thoughtful

Another Solavellan oneshot, because this is my life now. Set a week or so after A Different Kind of Truth.

Riallan stood at the war table with her advisors and mulled over what her next steps should be. The Hinterlands were rift-free now, and she’d rescued their soldiers from the Avvar. She knew that she could only delay sealing the Breach for so much longer, but she was adamant that the mages get settled and rest before she called upon them. She could return to the Storm Coast, but she’d only just felt like she’d dried out after the Mires. She wasn’t sure she could handle another week of rain.

“Herald,” Leliana said.

“Hmm?” Riallan looked up to see the ghost of a smile on the Nightingale’s lips.

“It is getting late,” she said. “Perhaps we could continue this in the morning?”

She looked around the table, at the knowing look between Jospehine and Leliana, at the distinctly uncomfortable look on Cullen’s face, and Cassandra’s barely concealed excitement and knew that they were up to something.

It couldn’t be later than five, and they’d worked well past that before, but she didn’t argue. “If you think that’s best,” she said.

Josephine shuffled her papers into a tidy pile. “I know I could use the time. We have several dignitaries from Orlais requesting a tour of our operations.”

“How exciting,” Cullen said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Riveting,” the ambassador said. “If you have need of me, I will be in my office.” She left the room and thus released them from the spell of the War Council.

Cassandra followed Riallan out of the Chantry. “What will you do with your evening?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have dinner in the tavern. It’s been awhile since I’ve irritated Sera.”

The Seeker snorted. “It does not take much.”

She smiled. “Sometimes it’s the simple things, Cassandra.”

“Maker knows, that is the truth.” They paused at the side door to the tavern. “Have a good evening, Herald.” It was an oddly formal farewell, but then, Riallan thought Cassandra was frequently oddly formal.

“You too, Seeker.” Inside the tavern was loud, the evening festivities well underway. Maryden strummed her lute and sang an upbeat song, one a few folks seemed to have already learned.

“This one’s ‘bout me!” Sera crowed when she spotted Riallan. She bounced her head along to the beat, a giant grin on her face. “Catchy, innit?”

She listened for a moment and had to admit that it was. “Not too bad.”

“Yeah. Wait a tick,” she squinted at Riallan. “What are you doin’ here?”

“In the tavern?” Riallan looked around, waiting for the punchline.

“Yeah, you’re s’posed to be--”

“-- in meetings!” Varric said, joining their conversation. “You’re always in meetings.”

“Right, yeah. Always stuck blabbing with ol’ curly hair and stabby whatsit.”

She looked between them and crossed her arms. “All right. You’re being weird.” Sera opened her mouth, but Riallan cut her off. “Weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Varric promised. He covered his mouth so Sera couldn’t see his lips. “Between you and me, Buttercup has had one too many.”

Sera blew a raspberry at him, but didn’t otherwise deny his claim.

“If you say so,” she said. “I’m going to order dinner. If that’s all right with you two?”

Varric raised his tankard to her and smiled. “By all means, Herald.”

If she thought her companions were acting strangely, the bartender confirmed all of her suspicions that her friends were up to something.

“Good evening, Flissa,” she said.

“Your worship,” the woman said, promptly ignoring the two other patrons that sat at the bar. Riallan felt bad, but neither man seemed to care. “Order anything you like. I’ll have it sent to your quarters straight away.”

“My quarters?” She had planned to eat with Varric and Sera. Maybe even see if Bull and Dorian wanted to join them.

“Yes, Ma’am.” She smiled, but her nervousness soured the expression. “We’ll bring it to you, just like he said to.”

“Like who said to?” What was going on in this village?

Flissa covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh. Oh no. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

“Considering that I have no clue what is happening, I don’t think so Flissa.” She smiled, finding the woman’s good-natured panic actually endearing.

“Oh good!” She ran her hands through her hair, then rested them on her hips. “Now what can I get for you, Herald?”

Riallan ordered a larger meal than usual, one with more red meat than she would typically eat. She had a reason to treat herself this evening, after all. She waved to Varric and Sera on her way out, both of whom lifted their glasses to her as she went.

Once outside, she looked up the stairs to where Solas usually stood, but he wasn’t there. The wind bit at her as the sun set behind the mountains, so maybe he’d just gone indoors to avoid the cold. But she didn’t think so; that would be too convenient. He was up to something.

It wasn’t until she stepped into her cabin that she remembered their conversation in the Fade all those nights ago. They’d been so busy, traipsing through the Hinterlands, solving so many problems that she’d completely forgotten they’d even talked about her birthday.

Solas clearly had not.

In the center of her room stood a large tub, steam rising off the water in gentle wafts. It smelled wonderful, like crystal grace and lavender, fresh and floral. The fragrance alone made her want to climb into the tub and let all of her troubles melt away.

But there was more than just a warm bath waiting for her.

A small table sat next to the basin. On it sat a bottle of Antivan Red accompanied by a delicately stemmed glass, a leather-bound book, and a note. As much as her fingers itched to open the book, she started with the note. His handwriting was unsurprisingly neat, the letters crisp and swooping into one another. Somehow, the words looked just how he sounded.

Riallan,

I hope you do not consider this impertinent, but I do not think it unreasonable you have an evening to yourself. Unfortunately, I could not avoid including some of the others in my plans; getting ‘fancy Orlesian soaps’ on such short notice would have been impossible without Leliana’s assistance. The wine is a gift from Lady Montilyet. She assures me that this vintage is particularly satisfying. Dorian crafted the rune heating the water, which he insisted I mention. The book is a gift from me.

I hope all is to your liking.

Annar’vegara’shenathe nuvenehn,

Solas

She stared at the note, blinking back sudden tears. Riallan knew he was thoughtful, that was readily apparent from their conversations in the Fade. But she couldn’t help thinking that this was an awfully big gesture coming from him. She set the note down and took up the book with trembling hands.

She had no idea what to expect in a gift from Solas. Maybe a text about magic, or ancient Elvhenan, if such a thing existed. But the soft, leather cover held neither of those things. It was a sketchbook, and now she recognized it as the book he’d carried with him during their travels so far. She’d noticed him drawing, of course. He’d spent many an evening with the book on his lap, a soft ball of light hovering over the pages as he sketched beside their campfire.

She had no idea what he drew, and she hadn’t wanted to pry. Now she held the answer in her hands. The first few pages were mostly landscapes, quick sketches of rocks and creeks and trees. She recognized some of the landmarks from her time in the Hinterlands. She leaned against the edge of the tub, fascinated by this glimpse into his point of view.

The next drawing was so detailed it barely qualified as a sketch. She recognized the long, bony fingers and the lines in the palm as her own, even with the gash of the mark down the center. There were notes in his tidy script around the drawing, so small she had to squint to make them out.

On the back of that page was a rough sketch of her face. Her brow was furrowed, eyes closed, the lines of her vallaslin drawn in light dashes on her forehead and cheeks. Even though the sketch was obviously a quick one, she felt breathless at how accurate the image was.

After that there were more drawings of members of the Inquisition. Cassandra and Varric, Leliana, even Cullen and Jospehine. They all made their appearance in the pages of Solas’ mind. There were depictions of the Breach and the demons that appeared through the tear in the Veil. Those pages were often shaded with aggressive strokes, the graphite smeared and angry.

As she flipped through the pages she got a sense of the timeline of the book. It started with his journey to Haven, then his time watching over her, followed by the first days of the Breach and the Inquisition. Toward the middle of the book were drawings of plants and animals, familiar landscapes from their travels so far.

And the closer to the present she came, the more she saw her own face staring back at her. Looking back over her shoulder. Sitting at the fire, a smile on her lips. Sitting with her back to him, looking out over the water of the Fallow Mire. There was even one of her barefaced with long hair, as she’d been as a child. As he’d seen her in her dream.

Riallan flipped the page and met with blank space. She blinked, turning pages to find more of his drawings, but the remainder of the book was empty. Her heart sank, the disappointment heavy in her chest. She would have looked at his drawings the whole night if she could. She cradled the book to her and wondered at receiving such a gift. She had no words for what it meant to her.

A knock at her door announced the arrival of her dinner. Flissa brought it herself, hemming and hawing and generally making a fuss. She left it on the table beside the tub and wished Riallan happy birthday, which made the elf blush.

Once she was alone, she eyed the tub. The rune would keep the water warm and she wouldn’t be gone long enough for the food to go cold. Her mind made up, she held the sketchbook tight against her chest and hurried out into the cold night air.

She hesitated at his door for just a moment; she’d never been inside his cabin before. And despite his presence in hers only a few weeks ago, she feared she was intruding. Then she thought of the tub, the wine, and the book in arms.

She knocked gently and instantly worried he wouldn’t hear her. But of course he did.

“Riallan,” he greeted, surprise on his face. He looked her up and down and realized she must be cold. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold and turned to him before he’d even closed the door. “Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t keep the blush from her face or the tremor from her voice, but she refused to let that stop her. “You didn’t have to do all this. The wine, the soaps, this book? Really, it was more than--”

He shook his head but a smile played at the edges of his mouth. “I hardly acted alone,” he said. “Did you read my note?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I read the note! But, Solas, this book?” She shook her head. “It’s amazing. I knew you enjoyed drawing, but I had no idea you were so talented.”

He looked away, suddenly bashful under her gaze.

“I can’t keep it,” she said.

He looked up at her sharply, hurt flashing across his face. She held the book out for him to take, but he didn’t move. He eyed the sketchbook and swallowed before reaching out to take it. “May I ask why not?”

She smiled at him. “It’s not finished,” she said. “I want to see what you’ll draw next.”

He looked at her as if she were some intricate riddle, a puzzle he couldn’t manage to solve. It was that intense, searching gaze she’d come to expect from him, and this time it sent a flash of heat through her.

The flush of embarrassment on her cheeks only made her more self-conscious. “So, yeah. I’m going to go… take a bath now?” She bit her lip at how awkward she sounded. With any luck she would drown and never have to face him again.

He laughed, but opened the door for her, his sketchbook tucked under one arm. “Happy birthday, Riallan,” he said as she walked past him.

“Thank you, Solas.”

Even as she walked back to her cabin, eager to enjoy her evening of solitude, another part of her couldn’t wait until she fell asleep. These days, the best part of her day happened long after she’d slipped into the Fade. She expected tonight would be no exception.

#riallan lavellan #solavellan #dai #solavellan hell #my writing #fanfic #this is my life now

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darlingrutherford · 4 years

Note

A question for all three of you! What's something you haven't done yet but you want to?

Cullen: Return to my office to do actually important work?

[Alistair coughs through his chuckle at Cullen’s response. He’s slipped back into the bed since the last question, helping to hold the blanket over Lana’s chest as she works on detangling her hair.]

Alistair: Something we haven’t done? That is a difficult question... All three of us together, I’d assume?

Lana: Mmm... I’d like to watch just the two of them together, I think.

Alistair: Oh? No involvement of our lovely mage at all?

Lana: You two have such a nice spark between the two of you. I think I’d like to see how much that can grow if I’m not there to draw some of it away. And, um... maybe join in afterwards.

[Alistair hums as he grins at her idea.]

Alistair: I like your idea... Can I say ‘samesies’ on that one? What about you, Cullen? Have a particularly devious fantasy you’ve always wanted to play out?

[Lana looks over at Cullen when he doesn’t respond other than a groan. She gives him a smile and lets go of her hair to gently run her fingers through his hair at the side of his head, causing him to close his eyes and relax his posture quite a bit.]

Lana: Our author is pushing the questions through, not much we can do about it. Might as well have fun with it, right?

Cullen: I suppose... I suppose you are right, as usual.

[He sighs before opening his eyes as Lana’s fingers move to the back of his head to stroke his disheveled hair.]

Cullen: I, well... There was this dream I had, a few times, when we were both at the Ferelden Circle...

Alistair: Were you having naughty wet dreams about a certain elf?

Cullen: I - Yes, I...

[He sighs again.]

Cullen: It was simple, really, but...

Lana: Go on, now I’m intrigued.

Cullen: Well... You were missing, and I had to find you. And when I eventually did, you... rewarded me.

Alistair: Oooh, you want to play hide n seek with a sexy prize at the end.

[Cullen begins mumbling again.]

Cullen: It’s - it’s silly, really.

Lana: Sounds like fun... we should pick a date and time.

[Cullen tilts his head to look down at Lana, obviously a little surprised at her response.]

Cullen: Really?

[Lana nods up at him with a smile.]

Lana: I think there’s a particular plant that grows a few miles away from Skyhold on my map that could be of help with our research. I’ll probably need some assistance, since the terrain is a bit unruly and Maker knows what may be out there... Could be dangerous for a small mage such as myself.

Cullen: I think I can spare some time to aide you... I would not want you to get lost in such unfamiliar territory.

[Alistair sarcastically retches, heavy emphasis on the sarcastically.]

Alistair: Get a room, you two!

#spicy #cullen rutherford #lana surana #alistair theirin #lanistair #cullanistair #dragon age #my ocs #interviews

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kita-lavellan · 4 years

Text

Apple Tree

Our Discord Server, Beyond The Veil, had a little writing challenge. Could we make @noire-pandora cry by writing Angst about Apples? @0zymandius and I took up the Challenge. Tags: Solavellan, Major Character Deaths, Solavellan Hell, Pure Angst, Unhappy Ending, T rating. Spoilers for Trespasser

AO3 Link

Apple Tree

Her laughter was soft as it drifted across the sun-warmed fields, on a refreshing spring breeze. A rare day of peace for the Inquisitor, where all her jobs were dependent on someone else completing theirs, and so Solas had requested her free afternoon and she had happily agreed.

When he had led her out of Skyhold, to the centre of a small copse of trees that were somehow surviving the harsh mountain climate, Kita was surprised, but when he cleared the ground of snow with a whispered spell, and a single large apple tree burst into soft pink spring blossom beneath his touch, she was enchanted.

Sitting beneath that ancient apple tree they spent the afternoon talking between mouthfuls of sandwiches from Skyhold's kitchens, and a collection of frilly Orlesian cakes Kita had ordered the last time she had been in Val Royeaux. Debating magical techniques with softly falling blossom drifting in the air around them, Solas eventually ended up with his back against the tree, legs stretched out before him, and Kita shifted to lay with her head in his lap, staring up at him with crystalline eyes.

His story paused as he watched her in surprise, but the Inquisitor just grinned and waved a hand for him to continue, pleading with him to "not stop there," and with a tender softening around his thunderstorm grey eyes, her apostate fade expert continued speaking.

Voice soft, and cadence soothing, it was only the slowly approaching shadows and chill of the night that forced the pair to abandon their miniature sanctuary, but the tree remained in blossom, and the small copse of trees remained precious to Kita.

Months passed, the war against Corypheus proceeded, and the blossoms turned to small fruit, grew and ripened. A glut of apple-based foods stocked Skyhold's kitchen throughout the autumn, and then Solas took her to Crestwood and her world shattered. Kita didn't cry that night or the next. The first time the tears came, was when she went back out to that small and precious copse of trees, to see the leaves and blossoms gone, stolen by the winter and leaving the tree bare and barren. It felt like one of those sharp branches had pierced her heart, and she collapsed against its gnarled roots and sobbed.

It hurt all over again when Solas left without so much as a goodbye, but oddly Kita understood that. Whatever his reasons for ending their fledgeling relationship, it wasn't for lack of love. That much she knew. It didn't stop the pain, in some ways it made it worse, but the knowledge often sent her out to that copse of trees, to settle against the roots of the apple tree, and draw comfort from the memories of their shared afternoon.

One year passed with no word on the elf who held her heart, and then a second that included building tensions between the Inquisition and the countries Skyhold sat on the borders of. Still, no word of Solas reached them, but the harvest from the apple tree had become a Skyhold tradition, a feast of apple-themed foods being presented from the first harvest each year.

It was a bittersweet pleasure to see her friends and her sister, laughing and enjoying the banquet, while she remembered how the ancient tree had come to bear fruit once more.

Then, she had found him again. In Orlais, or through an Eluvian, and her every perception of the world she knew shifted. The Creators were real, only they weren't gods, just mages. Fen'harel was real, only he wasn't the villain of her childhood stories, but a rebel running and uprising against slave masters.

Above all, he was Solas, her love and her heart, and Kita wanted to throw herself into his arms, but he held himself apart from her, despite the mirror of her own love swimming in his eyes and her pleading.

"Let me help you, Solas."

"I cannot do that to you, vhenan."

"But you would do it to yourself? I cannot bear to think of you alone!"

"I walk the Dinan'shiral. There is only death on this journey, I would not have you see what I become..."

A final kiss between them seared itself upon Kita's very being, and then Solas had walked away, her shattered heart still in his hands, but this time her soul was screaming in pain too, that he believed their love not enough to counter whatever he might do... Kita could not imagine a force stronger than what she felt for the elf disappearing through the Eluvian before her.

Time passed again, but it moved swiftly this time because Kita had a target. She would prove to Solas that they worked better together, that they solved problems better together, and that there was a better way to accomplish whatever it was he was trying to do.

Her first task had been disbanding the Inquisition because he had been right. It had grown too large to manage every aspect herself, and that opened it up to corruption. That left just herself, her friends and Nel at Skyhold, and a small retinue of staff supplied by Varric from Kirkwall.

They made plans, but just as before no one could find Solas. Not even Leliana with the full force of the Chantry behind her, and a spy network that would have made every country in Thedas nervous if they had been aware of it. Summer turned to Autumn, and the apple tree produced it's harvest once again.

Her friends had promised to help, if she could find Solas, but had mostly returned to their own lives by now, and yet they still came back to Skyhold every year for the Apple Banquet. The banquet was reduced to a large meal between friends this year, but that meant more apples could go into storage and Kita was looking forward to spending the evening with the likes of Dorian, who was often miles away in Tevinter, and the Iron Bull who took jobs all across Thedas with his chargers.

It was only because she was finishing up her notes about the latest lead on Solas that she was late to dinner that night. It was a tiny scrap of parchment appearing on her desk in a flash of magical veilfire that had her blood running cold. It was the words written in a heart-wrenchingly familiar script that had her running from her office to the main hall, but Kita had been too late.

"Don't eat the apples."

><><><><><><><><><><

It was cold. Kita could feel the biting mountain wind cutting through her leathers, but she didn't care. Tears were drying on her face as fast as they were falling, but she didn't much care about that either as she stood in the snow and stared up at the withered apple tree.

Poison.

Skyhold was impenetrable, so the culprit had infected the apple tree itself. The fruit were deadly, she discovered, finding her every friend collapsed around the great hall, blood pouring from their eyes, and foam filling their throats as their lungs liquified. Her sister had died in her arms, as Kita emptied her stores of mana in a desperate attempt to save the blonde, sobbing over Nel's cold still body for hours before she'd dragged herself to her feet and fled.

She'd not come to the apple tree looking for answers, but for comfort. To find it withered and dead, the remaining fruit still hanging from the branches, twisted and rotten had made her ill, and the small patch of frozen bile splashed against the snow evidenced her heartbroken grief.

She felt him fade step into the physical world behind her but didn't move. Arms still curled around her stomach and eyes fixed on the shrivelled tree as her mind struggled to comprehend the events of the last hour.

"Vhenan-"

She felt the warmth of his hands reaching for her, the relief in his voice, both of which forced a flinch from her frame, that stilled his motions and voice.

"Did... did you..." she struggled, voice hoarse from screaming her grief to the heavens, but Solas understood the half-formed question and answered anyway.

"No, no vhenan. I would not do this, I would not sanction this," the pain in his voice was clear now that his relief at seeing her alive was beginning to fade, and Kita could feel herself shaking, but whether from shock of the cold she truly couldn't tell.

"Then... who... why...?"

There was a beat of silence, and she could almost hear his reluctance to answer over the whistle of the wind as it moved her long hair around her face, sticking strands to her damp cheeks but after a moment, he spoke again.

"One of my agents. Of their own accord. I'm so sorry vhenan, they'll be punished for this, I swear-"

"Why bother?" Kita spat, voice quiet but slowly filling with anger.

"What?"

"I said why bother?" she repeated, finally turning slowly to face him. He looked exactly the same as he had before, the same armor he'd been wearing when he walked away from her and her hands curled into fists, still pressed against her ribs as she struggled to hold herself together.

"It won't bring them back! It won't give me another hour of Dorian's jokes, or one of Sera's pranks, or Varric's next book, or Nel..." a sob broke her voice, and her features crumbled. Head and shoulders bowing beneath the weight of the pain and she began to fall, to collapse to the ground and give in but Solas' arms kept her up, supported her as she surrendered and sobbed loudly.

"It won't give me back my sister!" she gasped between agony filled cries.

Hands clung, clawlike, against the fur on his armor, and Solas' gentle fingers stroking through her hair felt like shards of glass against her heart. Ravaged and raw and so broken she didn't know which way to turn, Kita crumbled and trusted him, one more time, to help her. Eventually, she realised that the dampness against her hair was evidence of Solas' own tears, and she remembered they had been his friends too. It made her cry even harder, for his loss and hers but eventually the tears slowed, and the sobs eased, her body unable to physically portray the full depth of the agony she was feeling.

He kept his arms around her though, and his fingers continued to move soothingly through her hair in silent support, and apology, and shared sadness.

A wave of exhaustion passed over her then, but she knew if she slept she would never lay eyes on Solas again. He would leave while she was lost in the fade and without her friends, her family, or Leliana's connections, Kita had less chance of finding him than ever before.

"Take me with you," she whispered against the fur at his shoulder, closing her eyes tight when she felt him pause and tense.

"Vhenan..."

"Please..." Kita begged, voice quiet and weak, something she had rarely been in her life, but right now she felt utterly powerless and totally adrift, "please Solas, take me with you."

"I told you. I can't."

Her breath caught in her throat at the repeated rejection, and Kita jerked back from his hold to meet his eyes. His own face was stained with the silent tears he had shed in their shared grief, but he let her take a step back, his own shoulders lowering slightly.

It had been three years now, but she could still read him like it was yesterday they'd been laying beneath the apple tree behind her, and she could see the regret and sadness in his stance, and the slowly building conviction in his expression. If she had any hope at all she knew she had to convince him now, before he set his mind against her.

"Don't you understand?" Kita snapped, eyes narrowing and breath beginning to escape her in harsh angry gasped, "Don't you get it? Solas you're the only thing I have left in all of Thedas!"

The elf before her had been about to speak, she could tell from the way his lips had parted, and his eyebrows had lowered but her words stole his, and he blinked at her in silent shock so she pressed the momentary advantage.

"Your agent killed everyone. My clan is gone, my friends are gone, Nel... Nel is... my sister is... gone... I have no one, Solas, and nothing left. There is no one alive in all Thedas who knows my name , except you!"

Slowly, he pressed his lips together again and frowned. Hands shifted to the small of his back, and she could almost watch him considering the options.

"If you leave now, if you... if you reject us again... this time I have nothing left. I have nothing to go back to... Solas... Solas please, I am begging you, don't leave me alone..." Kita finished on a whisper, her voice losing power and conviction the longer she spoke and he said nothing.

She was shaking again she realised as she watching him, but this time from fear. Fear he would turn and leave, and a small whimper escaped her when he shook his head.

"You don't understand, Kita... I can't -"

"Can't what? Why not?"

"It's better for you if-"

"Is this better!?" she yelled, hands sparking with lightning in her fury as her magic escaped her control, and Solas flinched, pain flickering across his features as he denied her once again.

"I am truly sorry, vhenan..." he whispered, and Kita let her eyes slide closed as the ice-cold of the mountains finally touched her soul.

His lips against hers were soft, and warm, and the velvet slide of his hand along her jaw was soothing in its tenderness, but not even his touch roused her heart this time, because the kiss was filled with 'goodbye' and 'farewell' and 'so long my love'.

"Ar lath ma vhenan," he whispered against her lips, but it was only when she felt him fade step away that Kita moved, shattering into pieces against the snow like a statue of ice hit with an axe.

The keening cry of her agony echoed back from the mountains, reverberating through her mind for eons as her whole world collapsed, and she curled up in the snow and prayed to Fen'harel for oblivion.

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thirstyforred · 4 years

Photo

Maya’s more refined and sorted out backstory and character sheet. also picrew

Character name: Maya aep Anlarr

Race: half-elf

Gender: female

Aliases: Maya of Leyda, Folie Evall [Crazy Horse in Hen Llinge]

Titles: Archmistress [when other mages care about it], The Royal Advisor [long ago], Enid's Pet [not the nicest one]

Age: ~150 [at the time of TW3]

Sexuality: bi & poly

Place of origin: Elven communities in the Blue Mountains

Lodge Of Sorceresses or Brotherhood: Maya was a member of the Council - merely for a few weeks before it and the whole Brotherhood were disbanded. Later she was involved in bringing back the Chapter and rest of the infrastructure and again become a member of the Council, yet later she decided to leave her position. She was invited to join the Lodge of Sorceresses, but because of other obligations at the time, she had to decline. In 1272 she traveled to Loc Muine to vote against the creation of the third Chapter and Brotherhood.

Hair and eye color: dark brown and even darker brown

Notable features: freckles, curly hair, slightly pointy ears, smaller canines

Combat skills: Maya has enough training to in 'classical' combat to get by, but she prefers her magic to bow & arrows or sword.

Powers: As Archmistress of Abjuration she has expertise in this particular area of magical knowledge. And she can and will cast fireballs.

Training: Training in the School of Mirt, where she finished her education mere weeks before the whole city was destroyed by Falka.

Signature Spells: [found in trpg, except for the last one, which is homebrew]

Luthien’s Quill - Named for its inventor, Luthien of Ebbing, Luthien’s Quill can etch writing or drawings into any solid surface. It cannot be used on living creatures.

Urien’s Shelter - Urien’s Shelter, created by the nautical air magician Urien of Cidaris, allows the mage to negate hostile weather effects around them. This negates extreme heat, extreme cold, rain, and snow.

Stammelford’s Earthquake - Stammelford’s spell disrupts the ground and creates a jagged, crumbling terrain, everyone in the area sink into the ground and might die from suffocation. After the spell ends, the ground stops churning but it will remain shattered.

Carn Mithe - Spell created by Maya of Leyda to honor victims from Mirt. Mage casting this spell inscribe a harmful glyph either on a surface or within an object that can be closed to conceal the glyph. The glyph is nearly invisible and once triggered people in the area of effect can: be stunned, fall asleep, lose their minds, or fall dead.

Wealth: Maya doesn't spend much, but she maintains a few bank accounts, one in Kovir, one with Vivaldis, one in Nilfgaard...

In-depth personality:

People often see Maya as an artistic, sensitive soul, which she is, to a point. She already lived long enough and through many tragedies, that there are no traces of youthful naivety in her. She knows ups and downs of life and just tries to make the best of it.

She values honesty and want’s to always be truthful about her intentions and plans. Secrecy and plots are one of many reasons why she stopped appearing on kings’ courts. She values integrity, the will to stand by one's ideals no matter what's the political climate or what opportunities arise. She would values also honor, but she finds it hard to define. The way some people use this concept as a shield... Is what are Scoia'tael doing honorable or not? Was denouncing them honorable or was it a betrayal? And what about mages? They stopped teaching ethics in Aretuza and Ban Ard long before Falka’s Rebellion…

Growing up among elves and then spending her first adult years in man’s lands, taught her to categorize the world around her. There’re men and elder races, there’re artificial order and natural chaos, there’re laws and traditions. There is dualism, and there is a choice - what world you want to live in? For Maya, despite years spent in cities and towns, the call of forests and trees, the elven blood is always a little bit louder.

Maya enjoys anonymity, how she could go on a stroll in Tretogor or Ard Carraigh and be just some noble’s beloved daughter, instead of royal advisor. How she could one day disappear from the court, by simply walking through the front door and then settle down in some small village, deep in the forests, that required the assistance of a clever woman. Not many sorceresses can do this, and even less actually want it.

Maybe, when she was a child or teen, there were ambitions and dreams, but she’s is no longer bothered by unobtainable. Peace is nice. Simplicity. Living a life that makes you content - that’s actually easier than it sounds.

Family:

Mother was a human and while she agreed to carry a child, she knew she would never be happy living among elves. Maybe she was right to climb off mountains and start from scratch somewhere in Kaedwen. Anlarr on the other hand… Anlarr aen Mar’muire was one of the rare kind in elven society - too young to remember Aelirenn’s face, and later too old to die stupid death when Aedirn entered Dol Blathanna. Second, he realized his daughter might have magical talents he sought all over the Blue Mountains for elven teachers willing to work with her. In the end, Maya landed up in human school anyway. In later years they met each other on a few occasions, but the last time she heard of him, he survived Drakenborg.

Backstory:

Maya was born in the 1140s - sometimes it feels like a whole eternity ago, sometimes like a blink. Her father, Anlarr wanted to give her everything, as any father would do, he tried. One of the tutors he found, elven mages willing to work with a child that's not entirely Aen Seidhe, was Francesca Findabair. Enid. But soon after girls become friends, she departed to study in Aretuza, and mages from Mith got interested in Maya herself.

Maya studied in Mirt, the city of mages, clever and intelligent, and so ready to shine. Mages were being hunted, being killed so frequently that the Chapter gave her position in Supreme Council even tho she couldn't be older than 20 at the time. And then Mirt was destroyed by forces of Falka. And even more people died.

But Falka wasn't invincible, and when her Rebellion eventually died out, and all kings were again happy to see mages in their castles, Maya found her place in the court of Dynasty of the Unicorn of Kaedwen. Partially because her monicker 'of Leyda' suggested she is kaedweni in heart, partially because it was nearer to beloved and dearly missed the Blue Mountains.

Most of the time, living among humans, Maya preferred to hide the elven part of her heritage. She learned in a hard and painful way that mages aren't untouchable. But when anti-human voices grew lauder and lauder, she decided it was enough so her. And found her new place on the edge of human settlements and elven mountains, where both could ask for the help of a witch is they needed it.

Years passed and eventually, the one asking for help was Enid an Gleanna. Daisy of the Valleys. They were fiends one, Maya helped her with the restoration of the magical Chapter, but then, with passing decades, they have grown distant. Francesca send her with other young elves to the Nilfgaard, 'to help them wherever they would need magical assistance'. But didn't do it without revealing the risks of this whole operation. So Maya knew from the start what fate awaited Scoia'tael. And didn't tell any of them.

At first, the other solders called her Folie Evall, thanks to her crazy plans and restlessness. But once they were all arrested and stod over the Ravine of the Hydra, watched her getting her cuffs unlocked by redanian officer, they screamed way more hurtful things. "Pet of that Bitch from the Valley". Enid's pet.

Maybe Maya could walk thought the gates of Dol Blathanna, but she never actually tried to. Instead, she started anew in Novigrad, Aldersber, Tretogor, Vizima, moving from one northern city to another.

#witcher oc #maya of leyda #oxenfurt april

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degenerate-perturbation · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

The young man arrived unassumingly, much like all the rest.

The Ferelden Wardens had been so depleted since the Fifth Blight, that if any good had come of the siege, it was that the Wardens’ fame was growing. Recruits were flowing in, from Amaranthine and beyond, from as far as Gwaren. Men and women from every walk of life came to pledge their lives to vigilance.

Yvanne had placed herself in charge of recruitment. She appreciated the bitter irony of it, but the importance of that paled in comparison to what she would do as the self-appointed head of Warden recruitment. She could tell people what they were getting themselves into—exactly what would happen during the Joining, what would happen if they got unlucky, what their approximate chances of surviving was. She could describe the life they would have afterwards—the dreams, the shortened lifespan, that constant feeling that something was scratching at the back of their heads.

Yvanne had the sense that she wasn’t supposed to tell civilians these things, that they were secrets. But she figured that if the First Warden wanted to come and make it her problem, she’d deal with him then, and not before.

Some of those that came turned away and went home when they understood what they would be signing up for. But, most stayed.

She set herself up in the Great Hall, sitting behind an oaken desk she’d had dragged into the space where the Arl’s throne had once stood. There she met with each recruit personally, recording their names and professions and where they had come from. This kind of administrative work should have been Garavel’s—he was the new Seneschal, after all—but somehow Yvanne could never get used to him. He looked so young. He didn’t know the system she and Varel had worked out together. It was easier to just do it herself.

So when the broad-shouldered young man came forward to meet with the Warden-Lieutenant, at first he seemed completely unremarkable.

“Name?” she asked, not quite looking up.

“Rolan.”

“Place of birth?”

“Jader.”

“Previous occupation?”

“Templar.”

The scratching of Yvanne’s quill ceased abruptly, blotting the sheet she was writing on. Her breath caught. Rolan only continued to smile blithely.

She lifted the pen, scattering sand over the blot.

“I don’t think so,” she said icily, not looking at him.

His light brows drew together in confusion. “I swear, ser, it’s the truth. I served in—”

“I’m not accusing you of lying,” she corrected. “I’m denying your petition to join the Grey Wardens.”

At first he stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?!” He slammed his hands on the table, rattling it. She suppressed the flinch. “But the Wardens need skilled warriors! I’ve trained in arms and armor, I understand discipline, I’m an able warrior. How can you turn me away?”

“Like this.” She took the parchment on which she’d written his name, crumpled it up, and incinerated it. She enjoyed his obvious fear as he startled backwards, eyes wide. She brushed the charred remains off her desk. “I wish you a pleasant journey home to Jader.”

He struggled to master himself. “Can’t I at least know why?”

“Certainly.” She smiled. “Many of the highest-ranking and most valued of our Ferelden Wardens are mages. I cannot ask them to tolerate your presence, given your abilities and your prior occupation.”

“Is that what you’re concerned about?” His lip actually trembled. Pathetic. “It isn’t like that at all. I’m not here as a Templar. I’m not a Templar at all anymore! I came here because I wanted to do something noble with my life, something heroic.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t finding standing over helpless imprisoned children with a sword too rewarding? Wanted something a little more personally fulfilling, did you?”

He sputtered. “This is completely against—this isn’t—I thought the Grey Wardens took anyone. I thought you were desperate for recruits.”

Not that desperate, she thought acidly. His raised voice and the small fireball she had just created were drawing attention. Some of the Vigil’s soldiers had their hands on their weapons, watching the situation carefully. Yvanne gestured for them to hold, but Rolan was still talking.

“I thought anyone could come here and turn over a new leaf. You shouldn’t be able to hold my past against me.”

“Maybe not,” she said cheerfully, “but I am. Good day, ser. ”

He stood there gaping. Then he straightened, his jaw twitching. “You don’t have the authority to turn me away.”

“Oh? How interesting,” Yvanne said, disinterestedly. She demonstratively paged through some of the documents on the desk, not looking at him. “And here I thought I was the ranking recruitment officer.”

“ You aren’t the Warden-Commander.”

Yvanne’s smile disappeared.

“ You’re not the one who slew the Archdemon and lived.”

She felt her eyebrow twitch.

“ She’s an elf; I know that much.”

She vividly imagined what it would be like to fill this fool with lightning.

“I want to talk to her .”

“You do, do you?” Yvanne said, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. “I’m afraid the Warden-Commander is very busy, and unfortunately can’t take time out of her day to talk to every fool that demands her attention.”

“Fine, then.” Rolan crossed his arms. “I’ll wait.”

Yvanne’s fingers tightened over her knuckles. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll camp outside the walls until she has time to see me. Every day I’ll come in here and ask to join the Wardens and every day I’ll ask to see the Commander until I get a no directly from her lips. Then I’ll leave. But not before.”

She could tell he meant it, too. She’d have to deal with him every single day until he finally got the rejection from the person he wanted, and every one of those days was another day that a Templar was within smiting distance of her. Within smiting distance of Loriel. And Anders. And Velanna. Yvanne felt a flare of the old hatred, not in her heart, but somewhere in her gut, that pool of brewing roiling viscous bile that for so long had laid quiescent.

She needed to get rid of him.

“Fine,” she snapped. “If you are so desperate to be turned away by the Warden-Commander herself, I’ll oblige you. This way. Garavel, tell anyone still outside to wait. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She rose from the high-backed wooden chair, so abruptly that its legs scraped horribly on the stone floor, and marched off towards Loriel’s office. She would end this quickly and never deal with this cockroach again. He followed her dutifully through the halls, at least doing her the service of remaining silent.

She banged on the Commander’s office doors, waiting hardly a second before barging in. Loriel startled, looking up from sheets of parchment covered in glyph diagrams and arcane symbols beyond Yvanne’s comprehension. Her brow crumpled when she saw her and she opened her mouth to say something before catching sight of Rolan.

“Yes?” she said smoothly, her puzzled expression schooling into glasslike neutrality. “How can I be of assistance?”

Before Yvanne could say anything, Rolan dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “I wish only to pledge my life in service to the Grey Wardens. I wish to protect the innocent, to fight the darkness, to be the shield that stands before the night. I would give my life to it.”

Loriel allowed a drop of confusion to enter her expression. “I see. And is there a problem?”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is,” Yvanne said, dripping with every bit of her old venom. “This man is a Templar.”

Loriel’s expression did not so much as twitch. “Is that true?”

Rolan hesitated. “I was a Templar,” he said, “in my old life. But no longer. I seek a different path.”

“I see.” Loriel laced her fingers together in front of her and looked down at them.

“Oh, come on!” Yvanne burst out. “Surely you can’t possibly—”

“Yvanne,” Loriel cut her off. “ Please.” Yvanne caught the tight, desperate plea in her eye. She bit her tongue. Rolan was still kneeling.

“You understand,” Loriel said finally, leaning forward, “that the Joining is often fatal.”

“I do.”

“And you understand that should you live, I will be your Commander. Warden Amell, as Warden-Lieutenant, would also be your ranking officer.”

“I do.”

“You realize I am a mage. As is she.”

“I do, ser.”

“As well as several other Wardens that have my complete trust. Free mages, whose actions you may not always agree with.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You aren’t uncomfortable with that?”

“No, ser.”

She pierced him with that deep inky gaze of hers. “Knowing that any disloyalty, any failure to comply with orders—any intentional disruptions of the Wardens under my protection—may mean that your life is forfeit?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You would abide by the oaths and customs and bounds of the Grey Wardens? You would sacrifice yourself, if need be?”

He had been nodding along, and now his head bobbed up and down like a clucking chicken. “I would. Ser. I so swear it by the Maker.”

She kept silent a while again. Then she sighed. “Very well. If you wish it, you will be Joined along with the others at the end of Harvestmere. You may report to the recruit barracks.”

He thanked her, and bowed his head again, and thanked her another time, and exited the room practically backwards, and didn’t even ask where the recruit barracks were.

Yvanne waited until the sound of his footsteps was well out of earshot, then slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled.

“What the hell was that !” she shouted.

Loriel noticed that the cap was off the inkwell, and carefully replaced it.

“That’s a fucking Templar, you realize?”

Loriel started cleaning the tip of the quill pen she’d been using, examining the tip as though to check whether it needed sharpening.

“I mean, Andraste’s bleeding tits ! We’ve spent how long trying to get away from these bastards, and you’re inviting one of them over for tea and biscuits? To stay in my Keep? To be part of our Wardens?”

Loriel put down the quill and started organizing the sheets of parchment littering her desk.

“I don’t understand! Have you lost your mind? Are you possessed by some demon of discord and confusion? Just what are you playing at?!”

Loriel left the parchments in three neat stacks on the desk, placing the quill and inkwell in their proper places.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me! To all the Warden mages! To us. ”

Her voice caught. She collapsed into a nearby chair, exhausted. “I— I just—” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Finished?”

“Yes,” Yvanne said morosely.

Loriel rose and stood in front of Yvanne’s chair, where she sat hunched and twisted. She bit her lip, rubbing the knucklebone of her thumb.

“I understand how you feel,” she said carefully. “I’m not entirely comfortable with it either, but my position is—” She hesitated. “—precarious. My people value me more than they fear me, but if I started to behave politically like a mage and not a Warden, that might change. I need to be seen as neutral. The Wardens are meant to be a clean slate. A chance to atone. If I deny that chance to a Templar, how does that make me look? Besides, wouldn’t you rather he be a Warden than a Templar?”

“I’d rather he be dead. ”

“We don’t get to choose that.”

“Since when?” Yvanne demanded. “We’ve killed lots of people. Duncan killed Jory, just for being afraid. Why shouldn’t I kill Rolan now?”

Loriel looked evenly at her. “You won’t do that.”

“No,” she said savagely. “But I ought to.”

“Oh, Yvanne.” Loriel took her cold dry hands in hers. “How long are we supposed to stay afraid?”

“That’s not—” Yvanne sputtered, pulling her hands away and standing. “It’s not about that.”

How she hated when Loriel turned those big sad eyes on her. She held her elbows close to her body, looking small. “Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t about who he is. It’s about what he can do.” Yvanne flashed back to every smiting bolt she’d ever felt, to the warehouse, how they’d barely survived...

“If we need to fear that man because of what he can do, then why shouldn’t everyone fear us for what we can do?”

“Maybe they should fear us,” Yvanne said darkly.

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what I mean.”

“I do know.”

Yvanne said nothing.

“Look,” said Loriel, sighing again, “we aren’t Circle mages anymore. If we’re going to live— really live—we’re going to have to accept that.”

“What are you talking about?” It came out sharper than she meant it to.

She threw her hands wide. “I mean, we aren’t prisoners anymore! And that man isn’t our jailer. Don’t you understand? We’re out of the tower. We have to knock down the walls or we’ll never be able to live.”

“I thought we were living. I was. Weren’t you?” Yvanne swiped her thumb over the ring on her finger.

“I’m—” Loriel faltered. “I’m doing my best. It isn’t easy.”

A steady gaze. “You didn’t tell me.” But I knew, Yvanne thought. I knew, but I thought, with enough time...

“Because I don’t think it’s any easier for you.” She took a breath. “If I choose to be a frightened Circle mage rather than the Warden-Commander, I’ll never escape. Neither of us will. We’ll always be looking over our shoulders, waiting to be caught. If we can’t move past that, we’re doomed.”

“You can’t make that choice for me.”

Loriel looked down. “Maybe not. I’m sorry. But I stand by my decision.”

“I…” Yvanne sighed. “Maybe you have a point. But I might need some time.”

“Alright.” They stood not quite looking at each other. Yvanne’s fingernails dug into her palm. Loriel fiddled with her wedding ring until it chafed. “I love you,” she added.

“I love you, too. But sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”

A faint smile. “Isn’t that the joy of it?”

Yvanne went to her and kissed her lightly, to show that she wasn’t angry, although she was, and left the office. And Loriel was left alone to sit and idly review her diagrams and consider all that had been said and done.

She hadn’t lied, exactly. It was true, all that she’d said. She had pinned her life, and Yvanne’s life, and so many other lives, to the Grey Wardens. If she had done that, it had to mean something. She had to make it mean something. Otherwise she was a monster, wasn’t she?

And it was true, that they had to stop being afraid. That was why she’d done it.

But really...

She’d done it because she’d seen a Templar kneeling before her, and known that his life was in her hands. Known that she could kill him, if she wanted to. Yes, her position was precarious, but not that precarious. Yvanne was right about one thing: Duncan had killed recruits. At least one that she knew of, for such a petty reason, and there were probably more. And who was Duncan, compared to the Hero of Ferelden, the most famous Warden-Commander in centuries? Who would have stopped her? Who would have breathed a word against her?

He’d been at her mercy, and it had felt so good.

It had shocked her, just how good. All these years she’d been a little mouse, afraid for so long that she had not realized what it had been to not be afraid. She’d feared her parents’ anger, she’d feared the shemlen outside the alienage, and she’d feared the Templars, always the Templars. It had made her into what she was, the fear. Now that it was gone, its absence was intoxicating. She wanted more of it, that un-fear. The way she felt watching an ogre barrelling down at her and knowing it would not touch her, the way she felt consorting with darkspawn and knowing she had the upper hand—that was how watching Rolan kneel before her felt.

Yes, she was ashamed, but it was a perfunctory sort of shame. She knew she ought to feel it, anyway. Ashamed enough that she did not want to tell Yvanne, did not want her to know. Yvanne thought her better than she was, and she loved her for it. Maybe she needed someone to see the best in her—else all the worst in her would come up and choke her to death. So she felt just enough shame for that. But only just.

How pathetic it would have been to send him away. To let him win. To admit that even now—as Arlessa and Commander and blood mage and the greatest necromancer that had lived in centuries—she was still afraid of a man for the symbol on his armor.

No. She was done. The Templar could stay if he wanted. and maybe he’d die, and maybe he wouldn’t. And maybe he would be a good and loyal Warden and he would do good things with his life, and that would be good.

And then again, maybe he wouldn’t. And Loriel would boil his blood inside his veins, and that would also be good. But she would never be afraid again.

Not ever.

—

“Did I hear correctly? There’s a Templar among the recruits?”

“Yes,” Yvanne said moodily. “You heard correctly.”

Anders shook his head. “Are you sure? It could be that I’m having spontaneous massive bleeding in the brain.”

“I could give you a once-over, I guess,” she joked weakly.

“You have to talk to her.”

“I already did.”

“Well, can you do it again?” he demanded.

“I could, if I wanted to invite additional strife into my marriage.” She snorted. “But I won’t.”

He rounded on her. “You’re going to allow a Templar into the Wardens to avoid a little marital strife?”

“Step off,” she snapped. “I’m not happy about it, either.”

Anders fumed. “You know this is obviously an attempt by the Chantry to spy on us. I’m sure of it. It wasn’t as though they were going to stand for this many free mages in the Wardens. It was bound to happen.”

“Right, well, I don’t know about all that—”

“What, you think I’m being paranoid?” Anders demanded.

“No? I just meant—”

“And what about Justice? You think this Templar isn’t going to notice a possessed corpse walking around?”

Yvanne threw her hands up. “I don’t know! Half the time, I have no idea what Loriel’s thinking. But she’s always come through before, even when I didn’t understand what she was doing or why.”

“Yeah, well,” Anders said darkly, “You weren’t at Drake’s Fall.”

Yvanne’s hands tightened on the bannister. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, I just meant…you didn’t see her.”

She had, though. She thought about telling him. She’d told Loriel, who claimed it hadn’t bothered her, that she had nothing to hide, but she’d told nobody else. Even thinking about it gave her an unpleasant sinking feeling in her stomach, like she was doing something shameful that needed to be hidden.

“What, exactly, happened at Drake’s Fall?” she asked instead.

He raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She did. She told me everything,” Yvanne said, more defensively than she meant.

“So you know you she made a deal with it,” said Anders. “That darkspawn, the Architect.”

“Yes, I do.” Yvanne drew herself up. “And what about it?”

Anders shook his head, staring off like he was struggling to understand. “She talked to it like...I don’t know, like it was a colleague! An old friend, or something!”

“Doesn’t shock me. She’s always been diplomatic.” Her expression darkened. “Even to the worst monsters.”

“You don’t understand,” Anders insisted. “You didn’t see her. It was like she was a completely different person.”

“You don’t know her like I know her,” Yvanne said smoothly, but inside a little voice wailed, She was, she was different! Who was that woman I saw? I didn’t know her.

“I s’pose I don’t,” Anders muttered. “But it was bad. I mean, I’m not one to judge, personally—Loriel’s a big girl, hey? She can wheel and deal with ancient darkspawn magisters all she wants, no skin off my nose. But Sigrun and Justice didn’t feel that way.”

Alarm bells rang. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they really didn’t feel that way. I almost thought we’d end up fighting to the death about it.”

Loriel had vaguely mentioned their disapproval. Yvanne had even seen part of the argument, in a fashion. But to the death?

Anders was still talking. “It didn’t come to that, thank the Maker. She talked them both down. But for a second there I really thought I’d have to...anyway, it didn’t come to that.”

Yvanne couldn’t help but notice that Anders had failed to mention who he would have sided with, if it had come to that.

But it hadn’t.

“Nothing would have happened,” Yvanne said, less certainly than she would have liked. “They wouldn’t. She’s their commander. Their friend.”

“She was , anyway.” He paused. “Justice probably doesn’t have any hard feelings. You know how he is. Doesn’t really hold grudges. Funny, isn’t it? A spirit of Justice that doesn’t hold grudges?”

“Right. Funny. Ha, ha.” Yvanne had probably never pronounced a hollower laugh.

“In that case, we should figure something out for Justice before the Chantry’s little lapdog goes crying all the way to a Revered Mother about the revenants the big scary mage commander is hiding in her tower of horrors.”

“Probably,” Yvanne muttered, pushing past him.

—

Yvanne roiled deep in one of the worst moods of her life.

She’d been in a lot of bad moods in her life, but never this particular awful combination of contradictory feelings that overlapped and bled into each other like oil swirling upon water. It was giving her a headache. Every time she tried to be angry at Loriel, she felt guilty. And every time she felt guilty, she felt self-righteous at the very idea that she had anything to feel guilty for when she was so obviously in the right. And every time she felt self-righteous, she felt pathetic. Why did she possibly need to be so defensive here in her castle where she and her wife were the rulers?

She and her wife, she thought. Who’d have ever thought such a thing? Who could have ever imagined?

And yet still here she was, roving through her castle like a caged tiger, heartbroken and pulsating like a poisoned vein of lyrium.

She didn’t understand, she just didn’t understand. What Loriel had said made sense. They did need to let go of their past, fully become Wardens and not mere Circle mages. It all made perfect sense and Yvanne still didn’t understand. She thought again of the strange cold woman she had seen in her visions, who she recognized but did not quite know, who was not her Loriel. If only she hadn’t looked, she could have brushed off Anders’ words like so much goosefeather down. But as it was….

She found herself, almost against her wishes, making her way to the new recruits’ barracks.

When she got there, a few of the recruits, two human women and an elven man, were playing dice and chatting about something. Yvanne almost barked at them to get back to their duties before realizing that it was the middle of the night, it wasn’t their patrol, and they didn’t currently have any duties.

“Have you seen Rolan?” she asked instead as they all hurriedly rose to salute her. They didn’t know. He’d gone out less than an hour ago. He hadn’t said where he was going.

What was he playing at? Did he think she would not notice? Did he think her so stupid? She couldn’t stand for that.

She thanked the recruits and turned on her heel. It was late and dark and the lit sconces provided only barely enough light. She could have lit a magelight, but didn’t. This wasn’t a mood to be lit.

The Templar was not in the kitchen. He was not in the entrance hall. He was not in the courtyard.

Finally she found him, in the little chapel at the edge of the Keep. She hadn’t quite finished renovations here yet.

He jerked as she approached, as though startled out of deep prayer.

“Hello, Rolan,” she said, sliding into the pew beside him. She smiled broadly and clasped him on the shoulder.

“Good evening, Warden-Lieutenant,” he said, although it was well past evening. “Do you need me for anything—ser?” He remembered just in time.

“Are you a pious man, Rolan?” Yvanne asked, ignoring the question.

“I like to think so, ser.”

“One would have to be quite pious to be in the chapel this late at night, wouldn’t you say?”

“I enjoy the quiet,” he said, nervous. “It’s peaceful.”

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. “Is this piety why you joined the Templars, Rolan? Did you feel it was your duty?”

“I...suppose so, ser.” His voice wavered. Only slightly, but it did. Good.

Several times he appeared to try to speak, but every time he thought better of it. “I think I’d like to return to the barracks, ser. It’s late.”

She released him. “Yes, so it is.”

He rose and made for the exit, made to escape.

“Wait a moment, Rolan,” she said softly. “That’s an order.”

He stopped and turned around, his head lowered. “Ser?”

“I just wanted to make sure we both knew exactly where we stand,” she said. “After all that unpleasantness from before.”

“Yes, ser.” He bowed his head in contrition. “I’m sorry for how I behaved before. I hope we can put that behind us.”

She regarded him. “You’re very good at being deferent, Rolan. I suppose they taught you that in the Order.”

“Yes, ser.”

“But it won’t help.”

He straightened anxiously. “Ser?”

“I don’t know why the fuck you’re here,” she hissed, advancing.

“I explained—”

“Shut up. You know, one of my Wardens thinks you’re a Chantry spy here to report on the Commander’s activities. What do you think of that, Rolan?”

“I—”

“I said, shut up!”

He tried to speak, but whatever he had meant to say, he suddenly found his magically tongue leaden in his mouth.

She scrutinized him. “I don’t think you’re a Chantry spy, Rolan. You should find that encouraging. If I thought you were a spy, you’d already be dead. But lucky for you, I don’t think that. I think you’re probably telling the truth. I think you really believe all that garbage about a second chance.”

He gave a series of tiny, desperate nods.

“But it doesn’t matter what you fucking believe. While you are here you are a danger to me and mine. So mark my words, Ser Templar—”

He tried to take a step back. He moved quickly enough that it looked to her like an attempt to get away. A wordless gesture sent him slamming backwards against the stone walls, not enough to injure, but enough to hurt.

“Did I say you were dismissed, Ser Templar? We were having a conversation.”

She held him pinned against the wall with the force spell, his feet several inches off the ground.

“I suggest you stay still,” she said. “If I had to paralyze you in order to finish our conversation, I might accidentally stop your lungs.”

He gave the fainest suggestion of a nod, sweat pouring from his temples.

She strolled up. He was a big man, round-shouldered and burly, and she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. “The Warden-Commander may have granted you permission to remain here. And I will not go against her decision. If you wish to stay, then by all means, stay. But let me make something perfectly clear.” She bared her teeth. “If you give me so much as a hint that any of your loyalty to the Order remains, I will kill you. The Commander could kill you painlessly, easily, with barely a thought, but I am not her equal. If I decide to kill you, I may well get sloppy. It may take you many minutes to die. And what long minutes they will be. If you give me so much as a hint, a breath, an inkling of a suggestion, that you are more trouble to my people than trouble to the Commander’s reputation, you will die, and no one will question your death, and that will be that. If, of course, you decide to stay. Do you understand, Ser Templar?”

She released her hold on him just enough to let him nod. Tears sprung to his eyes. They were a watery blue. He was terrified of her.

It suddenly occurred to Yvanne that this boy was probably younger than she was.

She stepped back, a ringing in her ears. He didn’t move. Of course not, he wouldn’t dare. “You—You may go,” she said.

He fled before her fury like a mouse before a lion.

She could have killed him, Yvanne realized. She could have killed him right then, and nobody would have stopped her. Not that she’d never killed anybody before, but never anybody helpless. And he had been helpless.

Shame filled her, hot and acrid. She shouldn’t have come here. Loriel had been right about everything.

Yvanne half-hoped her threat had worked just so she wouldn’t have to see anybody so afraid of her again. And hoped that he’d live, if he stayed, so that she’d have a chance to make up for it, somehow. No light, save from the candles, filled the chapel, and that was just as well. She felt sick and ugly.

She went to the courtyard, taking deep gulps of night air. Her lungs hurt. She drew water from the well, cold clear water, splashed it on her face, then stood gripping the cistern until her heart slowed. She lowered herself to the ground, her back against the stone, looking up at the stars.

Maybe she’d never fully escape the Tower. Maybe a part of her heart was still locked in it. Maybe she’d spend her whole life still trying to escape it.

But she had to try.

She sighed and stood up to go back inside and to bed. At least now she could stop being angry with Loriel. She hated being angry with Loriel.

Yes, she’d been right. Time to move on. Time to live.

—

Rolan lived through his Joining. Yvanne lived to be glad of it, then lived to regret it.

#dragon age #femslash #dragon age: awakening #amell #surana #dragon age femslash #dragon age: origins #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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for-the-dales · 4 years

Text

Chapter 13: Ellana

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

Ellana may have been the only person in the absurdly large company who wasn’t wriggling out of her skin with discomfort. She was nervous, she had been gone for months and surely much had changed, but she wasn’t uncomfortable.

It couldn’t have changed that much, right?

Sera, on the other hand, looked like she would take off into the thick woods surrounding them at any given moment never to be seen again. Ellana had to work not to smile. The only person keeping Sera from fleeing the overwhelming elfyness was Rasa, who had been paying particular attention to the other rogue recently. Unfortunately Rasa wasn’t anywhere to be seen this morning, and Ellana was pretty sure Bull only sat next to Sera so he could grab her if she darted.

When the invitation had arrived. An awkward conversation followed.

Ellana had explained to her advisors that the chief priestess of her order had invited her to bring her new friends for a visit. Cullen was, of course, nervous about leaving Skyhold when they had only just begun setting up. However, the overwhelming need for more people and supplies allowed Ellana to win the argument that they should go.

Cassandra agreed through gritted teeth and stormed out.

It was a good idea.

Even if they would be the first ever shemlen to enter into the sacred Temple of Mythal.

And most of them would rather not have that distinction.

Everything would be fine.

Ellana had been putting off telling the others exactly what they would meet when they arrived, but they were almost there and were likely beginning to suspect it was not a ragtag group of elves piecing together old ruins.

Everyone had come along. Ellana’s advisors had left capable seconds to take care of the business of setting up Skyhold for the month or so it would take the Herald of Andraste to go on her “holy pilgrimage”. They’d made quick work getting down the mountains and into the vast forest of the Dales, but then they’d met up with their escort.

Ellana didn’t see Deshanna’s hand in that. No, this had Soutuelan written all over it. A display of power. Deshanna must not have been able to keep it quiet that she had invited humans to one of the People’s holiest sites. If he was involved it would make all of this that much more difficult. It had already started to.

Still, to send this man to “escort” her was brazen and disrespectful to her office and priesthood. She only knew the leader of this company by reputation, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. She knew them by the red outlines of their Vallaslin. The Sulema’Din. Ellana felt her stomach twist and had to fight down the bile in her throat. Any hope that the journey would be a peaceful dissipated like morning dew on a hot day.

A company of ha’haren of Elgar’nan had met them in a clearing in the Dales, shaded by an ancient Elvhen aqueduct. If Ellana hadn’t been so annoyed, she could have admitted it was an impressive sight. They emerged from around the ruins wearing gleaming ironbark armor. The iron-like wood had currents of silver running through it’s groves and made the warriors shimmer in the afternoon sun like the creek that ran nearby. They were armed to the teeth. They looked like something out of myth.

They looked dangerous.

Sahren was thrilled to be reunited with the other ha’haren of his order, but Ellana was slower to approach them. It was her signal alone that kept her companions from drawing their weapons. Sahren didn’t seem to realize until he was almost to his comrades that the tension was thicker than honey. Ellana scanned the faces of the ha’haren, she knew a few by name, but not many. She had no friends with them. The red paint on their faces was so dark it looked like blood, and knowing of this company’s reputation, it could have been.

He stood in front of his company.

The Raj’ha’haren of Elgar’nan. Arlanan.

This was a man who had earned his name. Ellana took a slow breath and fixed a sweet smile on her face as she reached him. She placed one hand over her heart and extended the other. She had earned her spot too. She would not be intimidated by a thug.

“Arani,” she greeted, “how good it is to finally meet you. Did the Elithanasha send you all the way here simply to meet me?”

Arlanan smiled back at her and she saw that the rumors were true, he had filed his canines to vicious points, “Of course, Da’lath’in, we all just want you and your,” Arlanan glanced over Ellana’s shoulder and disdain dripped in his voice, “new friends to arrive safely.”

He turned back to look at her, smiling again. Ellana bristled at the demeaning name, but bit her tongue. She wouldn’t rise to his taunts. Sahren stood nearby and his face twisted. Arlanan turned to give orders to some soldiers behind him and Ellana caught Sahren’s eye, and shook her head.

Now was not the time to start fights, especially not with a Raj’ha’haren. It was at least a weeks journey to the temple, and Ellana didn’t need any more animosity making it worse. Especially not with this man and his lackeys. The company had brought extra Aravel’s with them to accommodate Ellana and her companions, and they made quick time across the Dales, skirted the Western Approach, and on into the Tirashan. The great forest. Ellana had spent the whole time keeping her companions and the ha’haren as separate as possible. It had been exhausting, but necessary. She knew these were not the sort of people to tolerate even a vague whiff of disrespect.

Ellana looked up at the last star in the sky and offered up a short prayer to Mythal. They would reach the temple by late afternoon. She closed her eyes and focused on what she knew.

She knew she could no longer put off this conversation. She knew her fellow priests would be welcoming. She knew few others would be the same. She knew they could not leave the temple without the aid of her people.

She knew Mythal had chosen her for this. This is what she had saved her for, what she had delivered her to her temple for. She was going to change things.

She was a Herald.

Ellana looked around the campfire at her companions finishing their breakfast. The rest of the camp was already bustling and getting ready to head out, so the chaperones that had been taking turns watching their party were blissfully busy. Sahren was with the other ha’haren packing up and Rasa had slipped away. Ellana was worried about them. She knew Rasa had missed their brother while they’d been apart for their training. She could see the bitterness in Rasa’s face when they saw how their brother joked and flowed with the movement of the other in his order. Ellana did not care for them as a whole, but Sahren seemed to have found somewhere he was happy. Rasa had not, and was hurt that their brother had found a place of ease so far away from his twin. Rasa had spent most of the trip sulking, and Ellana didn’t have the slightest clue where they’d slipped off to this time.

Still, there wasn’t going to be a better time.

Ellana examined the faces of her friends. She sighed and started, “So I’m assuming you’ve picked up on the fact that this visit isn’t just a big deal for the Inquisition?”

Cole, the strange spirit boy that had helped them at Haven, nodded solemnly. His hat flopped on his head. Josephine sat next to him, to polite to move when he had sat next to her, and shifted slightly before answering, “We have.”

Bull set his bowl down and leaned forward, “What are we in for boss?”

Ellana took a moment to choose her words carefully before answering, “I’ve told you that we are going to the Temple of Mythal, the last one standing as far as we know. It’s one of our holiest sites. The priests of Mythal run it, and we serve primarily as the high courts for the People. Any issue that can’t be solved by a clan’s Keeper is brought to us, and we are typically the deciding factor in how to respond to any human aggression. Of the eight priesthoods, we are typically considered to be one of the most influential. The Dalish listen to us.”

“So you’re a priest and a judge?” Varric asked, “Wow, Seeker, you really couldn’t have picked out a better chosen one.”

Cassandra growled, “I didn’t choose-”

Ellana interrupted before they could get off topic, “As I was saying, we are one of the most influential orders. The other most influential order is the priesthood of Elgar’nan.”

Cullen chimed in, “That’s the soldiers we’ve been traveling with, right?”

Ellana nodded, “Right. We are respected for our wisdom, and they are respected for their might. They also tend to,” She paused, considering how to phrase the fact that most of them hated anyone not an elf, “err on the side of caution when it comes to... outsiders.”

The strange spirit boy, Cole, spoke up, “Horrid, cruel monsters. They destroy everything in their path. Only good human is a dead one.”

Everyone turned to stare at the boy for a moment before slowly turning back to Ellana.

Ellana sighed, “Yes, that. Thank you Cole.”

“You’re welcome.”

Josephine asked, “If they hate us why are they escorting us to their holiest site?”

“Because you were invited. ” Ellana answered.

Vivienne examined her nails as she spoke, “A complex legal structure? A military arm?” she looked up and studied Ellana, “My dear, one could almost begin to hope we are not going to be sleeping in little wooden carts for the next few weeks?”

Ellana looked at Solas. He was the only one she’d spoken to in depth about her home. Sahren and Rasa might have talked to the others, but she doubted it. Solas just nodded slightly. Ellana took a breath and answered the other mage, “Because you’re not. Our temples have been continuously inhabited by priests since the fall of Arlathan. Many priests are direct descendents of the original priests who ruled there. They are no village Chantry. They are small cities. They are sites of pilgrimage and commerce. We have residents that work to support the priests who still lead them. We have public baths, barracks, schools, markets, and farms.”

Varric whistled low and Sera piped up, “That’s got to be shite. If you’re all doing so nice and pretty in your fancy elf cities, how come no one knows about you?”

“Because the only way to find a temple is to be taken there by a priest. It’s a very old enchantment, from before the fall of our empire. Many believe these enchantments were put in place by the gods themselves to keep our people safe.”

Josephine looked a little pale as she asked, “Inquisitor, when was the last time a priest brought a human to one of these temples?”

Ellana answered even though she suspected Josephine knew what she would say, “You all will be the first.”

No one spoke.

Ellana spoke first, “So I know it goes without saying, but please everyone, best behavior.”

Everyone except nodded except Sera, who simply muttered, “Piss.”

Ellana continued, “You haven’t even heard the worst part.”

Cullen buried his head in his hands and Ellana had to strain to hear him ask, “What else?”

“My Elithanasha, Deshanna Istimaethoriel, got us the invite. But if we’re going to get the help we need, we're going to have to convince the rest of the Elithanasha, for the first time ever, to insert themselves into the rest of Thedas’s affairs. That would include convincing Elithanasha Soutuelan, the leader of the priesthood of Elgar’nan. He controls our soldiers and if he doesn’t side with us, even if he’s out voted, his priests more than likely won’t help.”

Josephine looked like she might cry, or have a panic attack, or both. Leliana sat beside her and took her hand. The ambassador took slow and deep breaths, Ellana sympathized.

Iron Bull let out a laugh from deep in his belly, “Great! Sounds like fun.”

Sera leapt to her feet and shouted, “Piss! No! I ain’t doing this!”

Bull grabbed her arm as she moved to run.

“Calm down kid, we’ll be fine.” Bull turned from Sera to Ellana, “Besides, I have a feeling our job is mostly going to comprise of not talking and staying out of the boss’s way.”

Ellana nodded, “Pretty much. If you’re spoken too, be polite and respectful, but other than that you’ll be given your own quarters and feel free to spend most of your time there.” She turned to where Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen sat, “I will need you though. I’ll be presenting a case to the Elithem Sul’anasha’an about why this is a good idea, and as the other leaders of the Inquisition I will need you to answer their questions and help me explain to them why this is a good idea.”

Cullen looked a little ill but nodded, as did Josephine. Leliana turned away from her friend to Ellana and said solemnly, “We won’t let you down Inquisitor.”

Ellana smiled and nodded, “I know.”

She knew they would do their best.

The others began to relax, but Ellana wasn’t done, “You will be baited. Most obviously by the priests of Elgar’nan, but by others too. You can’t bite. Please avoid associating me in anyway with the Chantry, don’t preach about Andraste, don’t bring up politics, Teveniter, mages, templars, or really anything involving the ‘glory’ of human history.”

Ellana gave pointed looks to Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne who each nodded in turn. Ellana sighed and leaned back a little, “Good.”

Everything would be fine.

They finished their meal in silence and began to clean up. Everyone was just starting to relax when Arlanan sauntered over, his wicked grin pasted firmly on his face. His teeth shone in the firelight. He looked exactly like the elvhen horror story Josephine had described during her first private conversation with Ellana.

“Good!” He chirped, “You’re all up and ready to go. Wheels roll in half an hour.”

He turned his focus to Ellana, “I’m sure you’ll be happy to see your home again, Da’lath’in, I know how much your Elithanasha has missed you. Though,” he said with a tone of false speculation, “with how busy you’ve been I wonder if you’ve had any time to miss her.”

He cocked his head like he was in thought before turning on his heel and walking away. Ellana’s spine crawled and she couldn’t hold back an unprofessional grunt.

Iron Bull stood next to her, “What an ass. You sure you don’t want me snap him in half boss?”

Ellana nodded, “I’m sure. He’s aggravating, but he’s not our biggest problem.”

“You shouldn’t fight him,” Cole said, suddenly appearing on Bull’s other side and Ellana swore she saw Bull jump just a little, “A name born from the screams of scared people fleeing a burning village. He had so much hate. He wanted them to suffer. He remembers the violence fondly, like a child remembering a childhood story.”

Bull’s gaze slid from Cole slowly to Ellana. She didn’t need to turn to notice the sudden lack of movement and noise behind her.

“It was when he was an initiate. A few Dalish hunters were killed by some humans in the Anderfels. He tracked the humans with a few other initiates back to the village they lived in. They attacked at night and butchered almost every single person in that little town. The only reason there wasn’t another exalted march on elvhen was because they were so brutal that the survivors thought they had been darkspawn. The Elithanasha of his order promised the Elithanasha of ours that he would find a way to control his overzealous new priest. That it had been a mistake born of anger. He had only wanted retribution for the lives the shemlen had stolen. The Elithanasha agreed on the condition that it would never happen again. Soutuelan made him Raj’ha’haren within a year. That was five years ago.”

Ellana turned and everyone was staring at her in varying degrees of horror. Josephine gasped out, “He’s a murderer.”

Ellana nodded and explained plainly, “He is. And you cannot call him that. His Elithanasha convinced many that he was in the right. That after all the violence done against the People over the years, they should learn to fear us a little more. There are still priests in high positions that agree with that school of thought, and Elithanasha Istimaethoriel has kept that inclination at bay for a long time but it is growing stronger.”

Josephine was pale again as Ellana continued, “I really cannot overstate how careful you have to be. You will not be walking into a city of allies. This may be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever asked of any of you.”

Blackwall spoke for the first time, “We have your back my lady, where you lead we’ll follow.”

Ellana smiled, he was a kind man. The others wandered off and Ellana just stood and watched them disperse.

She really hoped this would work out.

She loved her home, and she loved her people, but she knew how important the Inquisition’s work was. She didn’t want to have to pick.

Solas kept glancing back over her way and she had to keep herself from grinning. Now wasn’t the time for this. She couldn’t focus on the clever mage who seemed to know a great deal about everything. She had too many other more important things to focus on, like not letting this alliance fall apart before it began and keeping her people and the rest of Thedas safe from an insane blighted Magister.

Still, she smiled just a little to herself when she was sure no one was looking. She could allow herself that. One smile. That’s all.

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We finally got to Ellana! This is part one of a few. We're gonna stick with her for the majority of the time at the temple. This is the big breaking point from canon y'all. Get ready. Also, sorry for being a little slow to update. It took a new decade for me to have a heart to heart with myself and I swerved from an opportunity that was gonna be a bad direction for me, but the following clean up has been a little hectic. There's a good chance updates might slow for the next month or two. I should be able to pick back up after that.

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Elvhen used

Soutuelan- the creator’s strength (name)

Sulema’Din- To bring death/ death bringers/ Reapers

Ha’haren- casual term for priest

Raj’ha’haren- casual term for high priest

Arlanan- home of vengeance (name)

Arani- my friend, used for more casual acquaintances

Da’lath’in- little heart, describes someone emotional, wears their heart on their sleeve, or is very sympathetic to others. Normally used for children.

Elithanasha- casual term for chief priest

Elithem Sul’anasha’an- plural formal term for chief priest

Next Chapter: https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/618668311403692034/chapter-14-cassandra

#the path forward #ellana lavellan #yay!#so excited #dragon age #dai #dai fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #fan ficiton #fanfic #lavellan #dalish

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yeskama · 4 years

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Prologue Draft: A Tale of Sorcery II: Dance of the Dark Dragon

The following is an unfinished draft of the prologue chapter for my next fanfic. Some pieces might make it to the final draft but I’m pretty sure most of it’s gonna end up nuked. Figured I’d share it before that happens...

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In the southwestern regions of Augustus, 25 miles from the Solidere border, the Fortress City of Delacroix stands vigil. Considered a feat of human ingenuity, she was constructed during the peak of the Agustian Empire, encompassing over 40,000 square meters of the Great Southern Lake. The steel walls surrounding her reach up to 200 feet, while her tallest towers peak at 400. Built on a solitary island, four great bridges provide entry to the mainland, each located at a cardinal point and underneath her foundations, a vast underground mining complex extracts the valued minerals of the earth. Surrounding the city are ten great spires that defend her from any act of war, be they magic, artillery or otherwise. This resilience has always been the city’s greatest boon. Indeed, the Dark Kingdom only succeeded in conquering the city by starving her citizens out. Even then, it took 2 and half years to accomplish Her accolades however don’t end there...

Behind her walls reside the finest tradesmen, crafters and scholars known worldwide. Delacroix’s Shining Star Academy has produced many great magi throughout the centuries, notably Archmage Noah. Her citizens are not only a proud and hardy people but also hospitable. The city boasts the largest demi-human and elf populations in Augustus. The Great Cathedral of Aime not only administers the Ten’s watchful eyes, but even permits other faiths to provide for their pilgrims. All these feats however will never wash away the city’s greatest shame. For it was here, six centuries ago, Lilith was sired. The very woman whose son brought the entire continent to its knees, was at a time, one of her beloved citizens...

Since it’s liberation, the governing body of Delacroix has served her Augustian masters for the past 406 years. The road between her and the capital has long been dubbed “The Golden Road” for its consistently safe conditions. For years, the gates of Delacroix stood open for all...

Now?

Her drawbridges are raised, her waters play host to dangerous beasts, and her citizens have boarded themselves within, sword and staff ready. Cannons line her walls while wyverns dominate her skies. Amongst the rolling hills of the mainland, Legion tents dot the landscape with artillery directed at the city. Bending to the banners of golden flame, the north and west bleed red, whilst across the lake, banners of the white horse stand firm as the lands bleed blue. The time is 11 at dawn and here, situated among the hills of red, two men ready their charges for afternoon drills...

“Recruit-man Lyon!” “Captain Lagnus, sir!” “You are holding your weapon incorrectly, recruit-man...” Unsheathing his own blade, he proceeds to explain. “You want your main hand resting near the guard and your off hand near the pommel. That way you have proper balance. Clutching with the hands together lessens your control...” “Thank you, sir! I will keep that in mind from now on!”

Sheathing his blade, he just gave the lad a reassuring smile and went on his way. T’was a common mistake, especially amongst enlisted civilians. After examining a few more fresh faces, Lagnus found himself staring into the clear blue sky as sweat tricked down his face.

Though the humidity had lessened since yesterday, the summer's heat was still strong. Truth be told. Lagnus himself wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. A man of 23 years with jet black hair and brown eyes, he had served in the Legion for six years now. A commissioned officer, he wore a standard Legion armor set but with a slight personal touch. He had it gilded to reflect his proficiency with light magic (a rather difficult element to master amongst magi) with a blue bodysuit, brown gloves and a gold circlet. Finishing the ensemble was a red cape, bearing the sigil of a gold flame on its back, reflecting the House he served under. While he looked regal in it, truthfully, it was like a mini torture cell! He wanted nothing more but to remove it but doing so would undermine his authority, or so he believed. Wiping his head, he made his way toward one of the nearby canopies wherein he took to the comfort of water, chugging away without abandon. With his thirst quenched, he sighed in delight and took a seat. T’was then another man took to the canopy, the one instructing the magi...

“Hot, Captain?” He greeted him. Lagnus just shook his head. “I can manage, my lord...” The man merely smirked as he went for a bottle of water. “I somehow doubt that...” He answered dryly

Albus Vanthe Amherst was his name and at just 17 years, his reputation preceded him. Captain of the Legion Magi Corps and heir to one of the five great noble families of Augustus. Lagnus was familiar with the stories...a generational prodigy they call him. He graduated the Augustus Magi Academy at 12, enrolled in the Severin Legion Academy at 13 before graduating a year later and quickly soaring through the ranks. It took Lagnus six years to claw his way up to Captain, a feat which Albus accomplished in four. An impressive accomplishment indeed and Lagnus was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt...

...if not for that last name.

He had seen it before, hayseeds elevated through the ranks all on the merits of their family names. Being an orphan, Lagnus did not possess the luxury of a last name, though he was well on his way toward earning one. Regardless, it just left a sour taste in his mouth. His appearance did nothing to dissuade this notion. A face so immaculately crafted, you’d mistake it for a king’s, with piercing emerald eyes and long flowing scarlet hair. His current attire consisted of a black unbuttoned long coat with matching pants and boots, all of which had some manner of gold trimmings. Only the shirt he wore broke the trend, being a plain red in color. Clearly ill-dressed himself for the season, not that it mattered to Lagnus. He was more preoccupied with warding off the heat than anything...

“Done with your charges?” The noble asked. Lagnus nodded. “Indeed. Yourself my lord?” Albus just nodded before reaching into one of his pockets. Pulling out a bag of peanuts, he offered. “Snack?”

Eh, why not?

Rising from his seat, Lagnus stood next to the mage as the two of them picked at the bag. He hadn’t had salted peanuts since he was a boy and had long forgotten the taste. Rough and tangy but still tastey! Unfortunately, they prompted more water down the throat (the wonders of salt). As the two ate, they both looked ominously on the city. Five months have passed since Delacroix declared for independence and so far...nothing. Just what was going on in there?

“May if I inquire about something, Captain?” Albus asked “Go ahead.” “Why are you here?” Lagnus looked at the mage confused. What prompted him to ask such a thing? “What else? To do my duty. The city has rebelled against the crown. Such actions cannot be abided...” “If memory serves me correctly, did you not once call this city home?” He matched eyes with the knight. “When those drawbridges come down, rest assured, things will turn ugly. If that comes to pass...can you bring it upon yourself to draw your sword on your own neighbors?” Lagnus returned his gaze toward the city, “When we joined the Legion, we made a pledge to his majesty. A knight who cannot stay true to his word cannot be called a knight...” Albus let out a soft chuckle upon hearing this... “My friend...you are not a knight...” Lagnus just flashed a brief smile as he went for some more peanuts. “Give it time, my lord.”

It was around this time a figure ascended the hill on horseback. His face concealed by , he was on horseback and had three prisoners in tow, bound by rope and their faces concealed by sacks. One was an adult woman wearing a red maid outfit. Lagnus was well aware of its significance, only those serving one of Delacroix’s governing families wore red. The other two were just children, a boy and a girl. Arriving before the canopy, the shrouded figure dismounted and knelt before them...

“Sir Lagnus, Lord Albus...I have fulfilled my task...” Albus applauded the man as he rose to his feet. “So I see! Well done good sir! Let us meet with uncle, I'm sure he’ll find these arrivals most pleasing...”

Amherst command took up residence in a quaint tent near the lakeside. Inside, sigils of the golden flame stood proud whilst men and women of scarlet (or blonde) hair and green eyes seated themselves before a long table. Food and wine took residence upon its fine surface while its masters discussed strategy, charted maps and schemed against their political enemies. Situated in the back and installed on the most decorated seat was the Lord Victor Penton Amherst, current head of House Amherst, chief advisor to his royal highness and, both figurative and literally, the most powerful man in camp.

Of course, upon first impressions, one would hardly come to such a conclusion. A man of 55 years, Victor had already gone through three wives and sired six children, only one of which, survived to this day. At a mere 5 feet, he looked like an ant seated amongst giants, though none dared to make such a jest. His scarlet hair, now lessening and brushed backward, had dulled to the that of light ginger. This extended to the thick goatee he grew to mask his weathering features. The parts of his face visible were suitably worn, highlighting his high cheekbones and the creases under his eyes, which like the rest of his family, were a deep emerald in color. Whilst his present company were outfitted in decorative raiment, Victor settled on a simple black leather doublet, with matching pants and boot. Situated on his lap and was the Amherst family heirloom, a great tome bearing the family’s ancestral sigil, a golden flame over a red field. The tome itself bore the family’s greatest creation; a magic spell forged from over 200 years of generational knowledge...

Hellfire

Whilst the others squabbled amongst themselves, Lord Victor kept silent, his attention focused on a letter addressed from his majesty. A solemn man, he was not one for small talk, only speaking when he deemed it necessary. Only Albus’s arrival would pry him away from the whims of his king...

“Lord Uncle!” He shouted over the ruckus. Upon the declaration, the whole tent immediately went quiet. Raising his head up, he watched as his nephew hurried to his side.

“What is it Albus?” he asked. Contrary to Lord Victor’s size, his voice was deep and strong. “Have there been any new developments from the city?” Albus just smiled and shook his head. “Afraid not, my lord. But we have procured some...bargaining chips.” Signaling to the entrance of the tent, he shouted...

“Bring them in!”

Lagnus escorted the bound maid while the cloaked figure gently prompted the children in. All eyes were on the pair as they unmasked the captives. The maid was a young woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes, probably in her early to mid 20’s. Her eyes bore a tremendous fury toward the tent’s occupants though she stayed her tongue. Lagnus maintained his composure but was quite dismayed by her unveiling...

For he knew this woman...

Thankfully t’was not the maid the Amhersts were interested In. Rather, their attention was focused on the children. A delicate looking pair for sure, certainly no older than 8. Both bore eyes of red, hair of orange and were outfitted in sleepwear typically reserved for the upper-class. These factors lead little doubt concerning their identities. Like the maid, their mouths remained silent but instead of fury in their eyes, terror took front stage. This fear intensified as the short man in black approached them, his great red tome tucked under his left arm. Kneeling down to the boy, he gently grabbed the lad’s chin and studied. The boy, whose eyes were tightly shut, began to cry...

“Open your eyes boy!” The man asked sternly.

He did as asked and was instantly met by the man’s emerald gaze. He stared intently before breaking his gaze and looking up to the Shrouded Man, who’s head bowed in respect.

“There is no mistaking it. This is indeed Lord Ville’s son...”

Raising to his feet, he ordered all present save his nephew, Lagnus and the shrouded man to leave. Once the tent was emptied, he gave the order to a nearby sentry to escort the children to one of the prisoner’s tents and double camp security. He was taking no chances. As the children left the tent, the shrouded figure snapped his fingers and suddenly, their tears and sniffles were now audible. The display brought a rare smirk to Lord Victor. A silence incantation? Very clever indeed...

“Remove those rags and rest yourself. You’ve more than earned it...”

The figure did as commanded and discarded his concealments, revealing a young man with short chestnut brown hair and piercing brown eyes. Seating himself at the table, he proceeded picking at the ham as Lord Victor wandered over to the maid, eyeing her curiously...

“Who is this?”

The brown-haired youth looked upward and responded, “A servant who got a bit too nosy for her own good...” The cup now full, he took a quick swig and continued, “Give her credit, she was the only one in the Ville household that didn’t buy my story...” Breaking eye contact, he looked downward, “When the opportunity to abduct the kids arose, she was waiting for me in the girl’s bedroom...” He paused briefly before finishing “Not wanting to take any risks, I brought her along...”

The maid glared furiously at the man, struggling to free herself while her mouth silently flapped like mad. Lagnus tightened his grip, garnering him an ugly look from the young woman before she returned her gaze to the brown-haired man. Without warning, she suddenly felt a vicious strike against her left cheek. The blow was strong, so much so, her head swung as she fell to her knees. A red bruise burned brightly on her face and as she struggled to open her left eye, she felt someone grip her cheeks. Orbs of green gazed into her sole opened eye, a horrifying fire having awakened within them...

“If you value your life wench, you will compose yourself...” The Lord Amherst growled. “The Golden Flame has no time for fools. I suggest you prepare yourself for questioning...less you want something unpleasant to befall those children...”

As the maid was escorted out, Lord Victor returned to his seat. Albus took a seat next to his uncle whilst Lagnus sat across from the Brown Haired Man. Lord Victor eyed him inquisitively before asking...

“Have you charted the city’s entire sewer system?” Nodding, the man pulled out three folded papers from his pocket and set them on the table. A brief smirk crossed Victor’s lips upon seeing them. It had been three months since he departed for the city. An insider them tipped off that the city intended to declare for independence. Only the royal family was privy to the city’s one weakness, and even then, their knowledge of it was lacking. Victor sent his newest acquisition into the city before the drawbridges were rose, complete with fake identifications to clear him as a Ville servant. Needless to say, the lad passed with flying colors. Passing the pitcher of wine around, all four pour their goblets and the Lord Amherst raised a glass...

“To you Canne, let us celebrate this moment as one!” “Here, Here!” Albus chimed. “Aye...” Lagnus agreed quietly. Canne kept his silence, his eyes closed as he sipped his wine. Once everyone had their fill, he asked...

“Will the children be harmed?” The question surprised Albus who softly chuckled. “Well, that all depends on Lady Ville! As we are all privy, every woman’s sole weakness is their children...Why else would we assign you to her?” Albus smirked as he raised to goblet to his mouth for another sip before continuing. “I’m rather shocked Canne! Even after three months as a servant you still possess that small-town naiveté? I would think it quashed by now...” Though he did not see it, Canne shot Albus an ugly glance as the noble returned to his cup...

“Is it not strange though?” Lagnus interjected. “What is?” Albus eyed him. “How many of the council seats have changed in the past 6 months? Lord Ville’s sudden death notwithstanding, both the Rochester and Hanniver heads passed away two weeks apart! The Cushings being replaced by the Lees? The disappearance of Lord Dolle and his daughter? And the Monevs being given a seat?! So much has happened amongst the city’s top brass that it’s near impossible to ignore!” Looking at Canne, Lagnus asked “Did you hear anything notable during the past three months?” Canne simply shook his head...

“Nothing significant save rumors and gossip. Amongst the staff, the prevailing belief was that Lady Ville poisoned her husband, though just as many say otherwise. Though the daly atmosphere amongst the household was fairly dismal...”

“Our mission is quell the uprising, not speculate on it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The chapter would have ended with Victor sending Canne eastward to acquire some “important desirables” his majesty requested in the letter (though what they were would not be revealed).

The only noteworthy thing about this was that in earlier stages, Lemres was present. Originally, Lemres was the one training the mages and would pose the question if Lagnus was comfortable with the situation. These interactions were repurposed for Albus with minor adjustments (Albus was always intended to appear, instead he would have been introduced in the Amherst tent).

Why was this changed?

1.) I have reservations about Sega characters appearing in the story so early. Maybe further down the road but not so soon.

2.) Lemres serving in the Legion is just too out of character of him. Also, the implication that he would have no problem blasting rebels on the grounds of treason was just pushing it.

#madou monogatari #puyo puyo #lagnus #fanfic #alternate universe #unfinished #draft

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years

Text

Quick, Bright, Easy

@wardsarefunctioning is the nicest ever and commissioned me to write about Ashara and Lucius, in an AU in which they are secretly sleeping together! Thank you friend <3 <3 <3 It was fun taking these characters into a modern space and playing around with this scenario.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently CLOSED as of 7/29/19)

Pairing: Ashara Lavellan x Lucius Talvas

Rating: Mature. There is smut but it is not overly explicit. Read at your own discretion!

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

As usual, when Ashara made it to Lucius’s dorm room, she was already going a mile a minute. Already kissing him, one hand already on his belt. She smelled like soap and the leave-in conditioner she used religiously on her thick curly hair, and before he was really processing anything, his hands were already tangled in that hair, pulling her closer, breathing harshly against her lips.

“Careful,” she murmured. “I have class in half an hour. Can’t mess up the hair. But also hurry. I have class in half an hour.”

He laughed, and her cheeks pinked with embarrassment.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she said, pushing him a step or two back. “We have an exam today and I’m all wound up and I -”

Lucius silenced her with another kiss, with his hands on her ass now, pulling her tight against him. The sundress she was wearing was thin and he could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric and Maker he was already hard, and minutes ago he had been studying for his own exams and now he’d forgotten everything he’d ever learned about property law and the nature of limited liability corporations (not that he had ever really cared that much about them in the first place). All that mattered now was that Ash was here, and in his arms, her hand already snaking down the front of his jeans, gripping him tight.

Things were always fast with her, it seemed. She thought fast, talked fast, learned fast. She was quick to push him backwards towards his bedroom, to pull the sundress over her head, baring all that perfect brown freckled skin beneath it, the simple brown cotton bra and underwear beneath that. She’d been fast to befriend him after that first day they met in the campus library six months before, at the start of the fall term. She was a firstyear student at the University of Kirkwall but she was already fast knocking out the classes for her degree (Physics of the Fade with a minor in Elvhen Cultural Studies).

And when they’d first kissed, four months ago, she’d been quick to deepen it. They were at a Wintersend party at their friend Laurence’s fraternity, in a quiet corner, and Lucius was tall but so was she and she was on tiptoe and he wanted nothing more than to keep kissing her. But he’d had to pull back, tell her the truth that had been knotted around his heart ever since he realized he was falling for her.

“My work-study program - they have very strict rules about dating. I can’t - we can’t - unless it’s a secret.”

And she’d been fast to accept that. Sure, whatever, it’s fine, we don’t need to be that serious anyway.

And now here she was, in his dorm, fast removing his clothes, kissing his collarbone, grinding against his thigh. And she was, as always, a wonder in his arms, and he feared, as always, that it would be over as fast as it had begun. This secret between them. The sweet sound she made when he slipped a hand between them, played with her over her underwear, pushed the underwear aside so he could feel how wet she was.

“Fenedhis,” she swore, her palms slapping against his headboard, and then she whimpered when he entered her, and he wanted to hear that sound every day, he wanted to hold her hand when they walked to and from class, he wanted to take her to one of the nice restaurants off campus, but he was a poor Tevene student from a poor family and this work-study program was the only thing keeping him in school, paying his tuition and putting food on his plate, and so this had to stay a secret.

But all of that fell away as he watched her, all but riding his hand as he fingered her, her own fingernails digging into the headboard. As she pulled away, fumbled through the drawer in his nightstand and found a condom, took him out of his briefs, rolled the condom down, and then sank down on him. Then there was nothing but how good it felt to be in her, close to her. She bent down and rested her forehead against his and it filled him with a tenderness that overwhelmed all of his senses, that forced helpless sounds up from his throat as he kissed her, bucked up into her, everything forgotten but the present moment -

And then, of course, his phone rang.

He had every single contact in there set to vibrate, except for one - Magister Corix, president of the Kirkwall chapter of the Nicon Estoris Center. His boss, and the reason his feelings for the beautiful woman above him had to stay secret.

"Shit. Sorry. Hang on. I have to take this."

Just as she'd been fast with everything, Ash was fast to listen. She pulled away from him, scrambled to the end of the bed, panting, apologizing. Lucius took a second to catch his breath, cleared his throat, and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Lucius. You sound out of breath."

Lucius closed his eyes, tempted to pray to the Maker he didn't believe in. "Sorry. I'm at the gym."

"I see. Go ahead and wrap up there - I have another mailing I'd like to get out before close of business today and I'll need you to come in as soon as you can."

"Understood. I'll be there in forty-five minutes."

"Sooner if you can. There are at least one hundred envelopes to be stuffed."

Corix hung up. Lucius had been working for him since he was a first year himself, and in those five years he still had not seemed to grasp that Lucius did not have a car, that forty-five minutes was the absolute fastest he could get from the University's Lowtown campus to the Center's Hightown office if he took the bus. Nor did he understand that most voters weren't going to open the mailings that Lucius would painstakingly assemble all afternoon. That was probably a good thing, though. The Nicon Estoris Center was focused primarily on so-called traditional Thedosian politics, and promoting the interests of the Chantry, and Lucius didn't particularly want anyone to open their mailings. He didn't particularly want to work there at all. But it was the only nonprofit that would pay the lion's share of his tuition, and his parents were so proud of him for going to college, and it wasn't like they were as reactionary as the Venatori faction that had been trying to influence Tevene politics and Thedosian politics at large -

And to be frank it hadn't really mattered all that much to him until this year. Until he met the woman sitting nervous and cross-legged at the foot of his bed, chewing her lower lip. The delicate points of her elven ears just visible through the cloud of her curls. Exactly the sort of person that the stewards of the Nicon-Estoris Center would never approve of.

All participants in the work-study will uphold the values of the Center in all aspects of their daily lives. This extends to their romantic involvements. Failure to uphold these values will result in termination of participants' work-study benefits.

They didn't say it explicitly, but Lucius had stuffed enough envelopes and edited enough promotional material to know what they meant. First, no sex outside of marriage, period. Second, that eventual marriage was to be with a Tevene woman. There was no room for any of the things he had ever felt towards other men. Or for what he felt for Ashara Lavellan, an elf, and the brightest and kindest person he knew.

"I should go," she said awkwardly, rising, looking around for the sundress she had discarded.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I've got that exam. Do you think you'll still make it to D&D tonight?"

"I think so. I'll probably be late though."

"That's okay. I'll let the others know. See you then."

She stood looking down at him, dressed but still flushed with desire, pink along the hollow of her throat and the rise of her breasts, the pupils of her big blue eyes still dilated. Before Lucius could say anything else she bent down and kissed his cheek. She drew back but her hand was still cupping his face, her thumb drawing a pattern across his cheekbone. She looked at him another moment, something like fear in her eyes, and then she was gone as fast as she arrived.

Lucius had never put that much energy into love and relationships. He'd been shy and awkward since the day he was born if you listened to his mother. He'd attended an integrated school in Vyrantium, in an era when the Tevene school system was trying to prove that mages and non-mages could have the exact same education, right down to their classes in practical magical applications. The end result as far as his social life was concerned was that he was isolated from the non-mage students who resented those who still had magic, an increasingly rare skill in modern Thedas, and one the teachers still fussed over despite being told to treat all students as equal. And yet his relative poverty isolated him from the wealthy mage students, of whom there were far more than non-wealthy mage students.

And, of course, the elven students, regardless of the other categories they might fit into - mage or non-mage - tended to stick to themselves as well.

Some students were brave enough, gregarious enough, to overcome those divides. Lucius barely had the desire or energy to talk to the students he most closely resembled, no matter how many pep talks his parents gave him. That did not change as he got older, as he became aware of certain girls at his school, and then occasionally of certain boys. He wanted the things he saw other people having - dates and presents and holding hands in the hall - but he wanted them distantly. The same way he wanted to be able to cast a fireball, the way mages had in the past, before magic became so rare and so weakened.

That had changed a little in college, with the introduction of alcohol. His work-study situation had been the perfect excuse to keep things casual. To dip his toes in, see what it was like, and then withdraw before any lines were crossed.

Until Ashara.

Lucius sat in one of the oak-paneled conference rooms at the Nicon Estoris Center, mindlessly filling envelopes, thinking only of her. About how she'd kissed his cheek before leaving. It hadn't been like that when their secret first started. There'd been plenty of kissing of course but it was the hot and heavy kind that happened when you came over to "watch a movie." It had progressed from there. She was frank about her inexperience and he was frank about his and so they learned together, all the way until they'd finally had sex. A first for both of them. But even then she had not clung to him or made professions of love. And she had not kissed him on the cheek before she left.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, trying to refocus on the task at hand. He was obsessing over nothing.

Ash was comfortable with their situation. He would know if she wasn’t. She wasn’t particularly good at hiding what she was feeling. And though no one was forbidding her from dating, or from dating someone who wasn’t an elf, she had plenty of reason to only want something casual. She’d come to the University of Kirkwall from the Republic of Enasan, an elf majority country in the far south. She was the daughter of two well known politicians down there - Solas and Ellana Lavellan - and she was a gifted mage and a gifted student. She was enjoying her first freedom from her parents and their relative fame (though she did always speak of them with great fondness). She was undoubtedly going to go on to great things. She didn’t need to fall in love.

She certainly didn’t need to fall in love with a twenty-three-year-old Business major who still had another semester to go after this one because he’d had to take time off part way through his degree to help out back at home in Vyrantium, who wasn’t even a particularly good or enthusiastic Business major, who had no idea what he was going to do with the degree when he was done with it.

So that was what Lucius reminded himself of over and over again. Not of the way she’d rested her forehead against his while they were having sex, or of the way she’d kissed his cheek or looked down at him with something like fear, something like hope, in her eyes. Of how impossible all of it was. Of how he’d never counted on falling in love anyway.

“Are we expecting more food?”

Laurence’s question cut through the fog of Ashara’s thoughts. She turned away from the door to the hallway, which she must have been watching more intently than she thought she had been.

“No.”

“Oh. Too bad.” Laurence didn’t seem too put out though. He had a plate full of pizza in front of him after all. Their other friend, Haleir, was the one who started laughing.

“Wait - did you actually ask that just because Lavellan was staring at the door?”

“Yes. She usually does that when we’re waiting for the food to arrive,” Laurence said simply, and Ashara could already feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Haleir laughed even harder at that.

“I’m not sure what’s funnier - the fact that she does stare at the door when we’re waiting for food, or the fact that you noticed and got excited.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ashara groused finally, kicking at Haleir’s chair.

“Please no destruction of furniture,” Claudia said, emerging from her room with her mountain of D&D books in her arms. “Where’s Lucius?”

Ashara pretended that the name didn’t make her sit up a little straighter.

“Running late. He had to go to work on short notice.”

“Oh. He didn’t text that, did he?” Claudia reached for her phone, frowning as she swiped through the notifications.

Ashara realized her error at once.

“No - ah - I saw him earlier today on my way to class. He told me then.”

Claudia gave Ashara one long, searching look, and then she dropped it. Haleir and Laurence were busy laughing about something else by that point, which was a relief. Ashara was no good at keeping secrets, if she was honest with herself. She was amazed this one had lasted as long as it had. Four whole months. Four great months. Free to explore and learn and enjoy college and more importantly to enjoy Lucius, the secret world between the two of them - the soft little quirk of his lips when he found something funny about a movie they were watching, because he very rarely laughed out loud - the way he melted whenever she ran her fingers up and down the back of his neck as they kissed - his ticklish spots and the tone his voice only ever took on when it was the two of them -

“Ashara.”

Haleir’s singsonging voice jerked her back. He was the only one who ever called her by her full name, since he was the only other elf in the little group they’d cobbled together over the school year.

“What?”

“What time is he getting here?”

“Oh. He didn’t say. Let me text him.”

She sent the text and then drifted on the tide of conversation as she waited for his reply, observing her friends. She and Haleir were the youngest, still in their first year at the university, and had met in their orientation; Ashara had already known Claudia through their parents’ friendship, which was why they were roommates, even though she was a year ahead of Ashara in school; Laurence, also in his second year in college, had shown up (already high on elfroot) to a party Claudia was hosting, thinking it was a dorm belonging to one of his frat brothers, and had stuck around since. And then there was Lucius, the oldest of them by a good three years, still working on finishing the last credits he needed for his degree, and painfully aware of that fact. She wanted to soothe his feelings about it, to remind him that none of them cared, that probably no one cared. She hoped he was doing okay at work. She wondered why he hadn’t texted back yet.

Claudia got to work arranging miniatures and reviewing her notes for the evening’s session, and then they were all complaining about their midterms when Lucius texted back.

Should be on my way soon. Maybe 30 minutes but then I have to take the bus. You can start without me.

A dart of disappointment hit her chest. He sounded disappointed too. Hopefully he wasn’t too tired to come after all.

“What’s wrong?” Claudia asked.

“Lucius isn’t leaving work for another 30 minutes and then he has to take the bus to get here. He said we should start without him.”

“I can roll for him,” Laurence offered.

“Nope,” Claudia said. “Same rule as always. You miss a session, you don’t get any of the XP or loot. You guys are all back in town right now, anyway. He can let us know what his wizard has been up to.”

Normally D&D was one of Ashara’s favorite parts of the week. A chance to escape from the mundane every day into a world more magical than their own - a world similar to the one her father described in every one of her childhood bedtime stories. A Thedas where magic was not a trickle but a deluge, where the beings whose skulls she saw in museums were real - dragons and varterrals and broodmothers. A world she got to study now that she was finally in college. But that evening her eyes kept drifting back to her phone, over and over and over again.

Things were casual with Lucius. Casual and secret. Both of those things were good. She was too busy for anything else. Too young for anything else.

Right?

But she hadn’t felt casual about him that afternoon, standing there looking down at him in his bed as she got ready to go to class. She hadn’t felt casual when she kissed his cheek on her way out the door.

Well, whatever her feelings were they didn’t matter. He had to protect his work-study benefits. He had no other choice. He was the first person in his family to go to college and even if she did have feelings for him it would still have to be a secret and that would probably hurt worse, and he probably didn’t even want that, and it wouldn’t be fair to put that on him, but she didn’t have feelings anyway so -

“Ash!” Laurence sounded uncharacteristically frustrated.

“Nope,” Claudia said. “Too late. She wasn’t listening and didn’t react quickly enough to help you flirt with the barkeep. He has already moved on in horror and, quite frankly, disgust.”

“What? Sorry, what did I miss?”

“Laurence has failed in his quest to successfully hit on every barkeep in town. He was hoping you would step in and roll to assist him,” Haleir snorted.

“Oh, gods, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, it’s no problem. Perhaps your character wanted to see mine fail, anyway. He is quite handsome in his new set of armor,” he said with a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows.

“If her character is anything like her, I don’t think she dates,” Haleir chimed in, a sly grin on his face.

Ashara felt the urge to argue, and then stopped herself. A secret was a secret, and they weren’t really dating, and there was no reason for that fact to make her feel sad.

“A pity in both universes, then,” Laurence sighed.

Ashara’s cheeks filled with heat.

“You would be correct. My character is a dedicated cleric of Mythal and doesn’t need any distractions.”

“And her real life counterpart?” Haleir asked.

“Not everyone is as obsessed with sex as you two,” Claudia quipped, shooting a glare at both of them.

“Thank you, Claudia.”

By the time Lucius arrived they had moved on from the subject and were heading through a tunnel they’d found in the basement of one of the bars in town, trying to see if it did in fact connect to the Deep Roads, and someone had pulled out a pack of cheap hard ciders, and Ashara was buzzy with laughter, totally removed from the confusion of the earlier part of the day. But then he was there, tall and dark-haired and quiet, and nothing else mattered other than the fact that she wanted to see him smile.

“Talvas!” Haleir crowed. “You’ve really got to quit that job.”

“I wish,” Lucius said, sitting heavily in a chair beside Laurence, accepting the cider he passed over. “What did I miss?”

They launched back into the game. All the while, Ashara wished that Lucius had come and said hi to her, that he had sat in the empty seat to her right and not next to Laurence, and most of all she wished that she didn’t wish those things.

* Lucius was surprised how many levels there were to intimacy. How many shades of difference there were in sex alone, even ignoring the other kinds of intimacy - the emotional kind, the intimacy of holding someone’s hand.

When he and Ashara had first slept together, it had been an awkward, half-drunk thing, and of course it was intimate by default because they were naked and he was inside her but that was a blunt, de facto kind of intimacy, wasn’t it?

It was nothing like the next time they slept together, two weeks after the time they’d been interrupted by the phone call from Corix.

He and Ash had been texting all day, venting their frustrations over schoolwork and parents and high expectations. He could tell even through those words that she wasn’t having a good day. She was an anxious person, and had gone to a therapist for it back in Enasan, but hadn’t found someone she liked in Kirkwall yet. He’d heard her talk about the strategies she had learned over the years to cope, and had watched how she could get so overwhelmed that she forgot to use them. So he texted her again:

Do you want to come over?

Not sure I’ll be good company.

You’re always good company.

:) omw

He was nervous the way he always was when she came over. Excited, happy nervous. But it didn’t unfold the way it usually did. There was no awkward pretense of something else before they dove eagerly into sex. There was nothing awkward about seeing her look so tired, so defeated, and wanting to soothe that away. They sat and they talked about her fears that she was in the wrong major even though it was the only thing she’d ever wanted to study, ever since she was a little girl and her magic first became apparent. How she was wondering now if it was selfish, the height of her privilege to study something so esoteric and theoretical when so many people all around Thedas needed help.

“I don’t see you that way. You went on that volunteer trip to Par Vollen for spring break, right? And you went to that protest against the gentrification of Lowtown’s historic alienage district last week.”

“Yes, but is that enough? Am I enough?”

It was natural to tilt her face back up, to look her in the eye, to say softly:

“Of course you are.”

It was natural to kiss her then, sweet and soft, and it was also the most intimate thing he’d ever done with another person. To hold her close, to hear her breath hitch not in desire but against the rush of tears. To kiss her eyelids and her nose, and then to feel her bury herself against his chest. He leaned back against the couch cushions and they lay there like that, and it was a rush as strong as that first time they’d slept together.

“Do you want to watch something?” he asked eventually. “Or get something to eat?”

“Whatever you want,” she murmured. “I’m happy like this.”

He turned on the TV for the sound of low voices but barely paid attention to what was on it, trying instead to commit to memory what it felt like to be so close to someone. So trusted. Anxiousness bubbled in the back of his own mind - this was too close, too intimate, and the closer and more intimate things got the more it would hurt to keep it secret, the harder it would be - but he kept silencing it over and over again. He wanted not to care. He wanted to be someone who didn’t have to care about these things. So he would be, at least for now.

Ash sat up eventually, bleary-eyed, her cheek creased by his shirt. She’d been sleeping and that realization filled him with a rush of emotion. They had never stayed over with one another. Had never even taken a nap together. And to see her now, when she was slowed down, yawning, vulnerable, not a whirling rush of feeling and thought -

Lucius leaned over and kissed her before he could feel or think anything else. She responded at once, soft sounds dropping from her lips, and he deepened it, and she followed suit, opening her mouth against his, threading her fingers into his hair. He pulled her closer, onto his lap. He could feel himself getting hard between them but he focused only on the way it felt to kiss her, on the present moment, because nothing else was guaranteed for them. Ashara started grinding against his leg. Everything felt slower than usual as she reached for the hem of his t-shirt, helped him pull it over his head, as she ran her hands along his shoulders and chest, still kissing him, still grinding against him. She pulled back, made long and steady eye contact with him, and suddenly there was no rush; they could make the present last forever.

“Do you want to go to my room?” he asked.

She nodded, and they went together, undressed slowly, came together on the bed naked and quiet, covered themselves up beneath the blankets, making a perfect warm secret place where there was only the two of them, and Lucius knew - knew - as he moved in her that this was too close, too intimate, that they hadn’t talked about this, that it could never go anywhere. But looking down at her beneath him, feeling her body so close to his, he could not imagine letting her go.

“Closer,” Ash said, tugging on his shoulders, and he laid down on top of her and she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight and he moved in her until all the pleasure coiled white hot in his core and he came, shuddering, not embarrassed of the sounds he made for the first time, because she was holding him, whispering something in her native tongue.

When it was over he lay beside her, not quite touching, and this time his mind was the one that was fast. Maybe - maybe this could work - it could stay a secret but it didn’t have to be meaningless anymore - maybe -

“I - I should go,” Ashara said suddenly, softly.

Lucius rolled over, saw her lying there stiff, looking up at the ceiling.

“There’s no rush,” he ventured, but Ashara was already standing up, collecting her clothes, not meeting his eyes.

“I, um - I forgot I had plans with Claudia tonight. I’m sorry. I’ll text you later?”

She was gone, and there was no good-bye kiss, and slowly but surely all the maybes in his mind drifted away.

Ashara had known Claudia on and off again, like a distant cousin, since she was young, but Claudia didn’t even need to know someone all that well to be able to read them like a book. And considering that people who didn’t even know Ashara could read her like a book, she probably didn’t stand a chance of hiding what she was feeling from her friend, but that didn’t stop her from trying as she unlocked the door to their dorm and slipped inside.

“There you are,” Claudia said from the couch. And then, about twenty seconds afterwards, before Ashara had a chance to get to her room. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Ashara said, even though she felt like she hadn’t been able to breathe all day, her anxiety a vice that had started the day with its grip on her throat and had been tightening it one notch at a time ever since. It hadn’t been bad like this in a while. Was it just that the flush of excitement of starting college had worn off? Leftover stress from midterms? Why was her brain once again focused on nitpicking every last moment of every day, like a song she couldn’t turn off or ignore?

Was it because of Lucius? Because of how good he’d been at breaking down that panic in her, and how she wanted that in her life every day and couldn’t have it?

“Ash,” Claudia said, her tone equal parts warming and warning.

“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go lie down for a bit.”

Except lying down made her think of Lucius again, about how she’d wanted to stay in his arms forever, about how that frightened her. About how she had no reason to be so anxious and how she really shouldn’t feel bad about anything, ever, because she was so lucky in comparison to so many others, including him. She didn’t have to work for a place she hated and disagreed with, didn’t have to give up on living her life in any particular way, just to get her degree. So really all of her self-pitying moments, all of her fear were stupid, self-indulgent, and she was a piece of shit for ever feeling bad in the first place -

And now she had let all of that fear drive her straight out of Lucius’s arms, right when things had been good, and she hadn’t even explained herself, and she’d probably hurt him, and if there was ever any chance of anything happening, she’d ruined it. And she could not just lie there with that thought sitting on her chest for hours.

So she went back out to the living room, where Claudia was watching one of her favorite fashion shows or another - probably Queer Eye for the Fereldan Guy judging by the group of well-coiffed men on screen - and sat down beside her.

“Are you going to talk about how not fine you are now?” Claudia asked, muting the TV.

“It’s just the same shit,” Ashara mumbled. “I haven’t been feeling like myself. My anxiety is getting really bad and I have no idea why. And I - did something stupid today, and now I feel even worse.”

Claudia frowned.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing - just something stupid. It doesn’t matter what. I just feel awful.”

“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. If it’s nothing, why feel awful about it? Where were you today, anyway?”

Claudia was one of the most trustworthy people Ashara knew. She would never breathe a word of this to anyone. And suddenly the secret was heavy and awful, as if one of the moons was crushing her windpipe.

“I was with Lucius. Like - with Lucius.”

“Ah, so you are dating him.”

“What - no - but how did you know?”

“Well, I didn’t know know, but I was pretty sure. You two always seemed to have a bit of a thing for each other. I just wasn’t sure why you weren’t shouting it from the rooftops if you were dating.”

Ashara was queasy with shame. Of course it had been obvious. Lucius should have chosen someone else - anyone else - to share this secret with. She was useless when it came to this sort of thing.

“Well, we aren’t dating. We’re just sleeping together. Because of his work-study. They have some stupid clause about upholding Estoris’s morals and values in public and private life.”

Claudia’s eyes widened with understanding. “Shit. Estoris was pretty conservative. So I’m guessing being romantically involved with an elf is completely off the table?”

“It’s actually being romantically involved with anyone you aren’t married to. But I doubt he would have considered an elf marriage material.”

“Lucius is totally against all of this, right?” Claudia asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, of course! He hates how conservative the politics are there. You should see him when he gets off of a shift. He spends hours proofreading things he doesn’t believe in and taking meeting minutes for meetings that he wishes didn’t have to happen. But you know what his family’s situation is. He has no other way to afford school, and he’s so close to finishing. So - we decided to keep it a secret. And keep it casual."

"So the stupid thing you did earlier today has something to do with all of this?"

"Yes. I was having a really rough day and he asked me to come over and we talked and cuddled and when we had sex it was - different than before. And I was so happy and then I just panicked and left and barely gave him a chance to say anything and gods I am so stupid, Claudia."

Ashara felt embarrassingly close to tears. Claudia was simply sitting there in front of her, one eyebrow delicately raised, a look of blank confusion on her face.

"So - you were having a good time, connecting with him more than usual, and then you left?"

"Yes. I mean, what other choice did I have?"

"Tell him that your feelings have changed?"

"It won't change the fact that the Center could deny his benefits."

Claudia looked off into the distance, nodding once or twice to herself.

"Let me figure that out. You just need to find out if he feels the same way."

Ashara thought back to earlier that afternoon - how Lucius had kissed her, the gentleness in his tone, the warm cozy closeness as they had sex, so different from excited experimentation or blowing off steam. And yet she still felt afraid.

"Maybe," she said. "We'll see."

Claudia put a hand on Ashara's arms.

"You could always talk to my dads, you know. They lived through some pretty shitty times in Tevinter as far as keeping love secret went."

Lying in her own bed that night, digging her nails into her palms, feeling like the whole world was spinning out from beneath her, like she was helpless and powerless no matter what she did, Ashara came back to that word. Love. She imagined the safety she felt in his arms that afternoon, and that was what pulled her into sleep, what caused her to wake up the next morning, knowing what she had to do.

Lucius already knew that Ashara Lavellan was fast - quick to learn, quick to laugh, quick to feel fear. In the end he shouldn't have been surprised that she would be quick to leave as well.

He'd played the moment she left the day before over and over again in his mind - how she had not even looked over her shoulder as she went. He had to remind himself that she had her own reasons for being okay with their arrangement. For wanting something easy and casual that did not tie her down or alter the dynamic with their friends. He'd panicked her with the intensity of his intimacy.

But then his mind spooled back to the softness of her voice, her words, when they had sex. How she'd held him. He hadn't imagined that.

He'd checked his phone repeatedly that morning but she hadn't texted. He tried to force himself to focus on the textbook in front of him but all he could think was how profoundly little he cared about his degree in business, about the Center and its politics, how he was barely into his twenties and already somehow totally trapped -

There was a knock at his door.

And when he opened it, Ashara was on the other side.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said, heart already in his throat.

"I'm sorry for not texting or calling I just - can I come in? It's okay if you say no."

"Of course."

She was already talking as she crossed the threshold, because Ashara Lavellan was nothing if she was not fast, quick and lively as a flash of sun on the surface of water. About how she was an idiot, and a mess, and she probably wasn't worth the trouble of dealing with what an idiot mess she was, and how she knew things had to stay secret but how Claudia had some type of plan about the Center, and Lucius was caught in the current, happy to see her, not sure he was following, unwilling to interrupt.

"The entire point is," she said, taking both his hands suddenly. "That I like you, Lucius. I don't want this to just be casual. I care about you too much for that. And I don't know if you feel the same way and it's okay if you don't -"

Lucius kissed her, not to silence her but because he didn't have any words of his own for the swelling, buoyant feeling in his chest. Because he would never have half her skill with words anyway. Because he wanted to be quick, too, to show her how he felt.

"I'd like that a lot," he said. "Figuring this out with you."

"Good," Ashara said, beaming. "Then we will."

Lucius had never felt more sure of anything in his life.

#beach writes #beach does commissions #ashara lavellan #lucius talvas #ashara x lucius #eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh #thank you waaardsss

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