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cityandking · 3 months

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Inquisitor as Companion: Narayani

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Inquisitor's Name: Narayani Lavellan

Alternate Name?: Narayani Elama'an

Race & Class: Dalish elf rogue

Specialization: Hunter [skill tree focuses on stealth, crits, and guard/barrier penetration]

Varric’s Nickname: Smiles

Default Tarot Card: Death [upright: endings, change, transformation, transition // reversed: resistance to change, inner purging]

How they are recruited: Narayani's recruitment mission begins with a missive from a messenger, who will hail the Inquisitor when they return to Haven after completing The Threat Remains in Val Royeaux.

The messenger will inform the Inquisitor that they come on behalf of the Redcliffe locals regarding sightings of a lone Dalish hunter roaming the area and supposedly asking after the Inquisition. The messenger asks that the Inquisition do something—she's making the locals nervous, and they have enough going on with the mages and the templars. The messenger also advises caution, as there have been several recent deaths in the area and the townspeople believe the elf is the cause.

On the Inquisitor's next trip to the Hinterlands, Narayani can be encountered on the road between the Crossroads and Redcliffe, where she is speaking to an Inquisition scout. When approaching, ambient dialogue indicates that she is attempting to ascertain the whereabouts of whoever is in charge around here, is that so hard to answer. The Inquisitor can interject and Narayani will introduce herself and offer her services to the Inquisition on behalf of her clan. One of the Inquisitor's companions will mention the deaths in the area, but before Narayani can respond, a group of templars will attack the group. After the fight, Narayani explains the deaths: this group of templars attacked and killed her clan's First and the hunters protecting him, and she has been hunting them on orders from her Keeper. She thanks the Inquisitor for their help in removing the last of the threat and states that now that they are gone, she is free to move on to her next task: rendering her services to the Inquisition.

If the Inquisitor accepts her offer, Narayani will join the Inquisition and can be found near the apothecary the next time the Inquisitor visits Haven

If the Inquisitor rejects her offer, Narayani will not join the Inquisition.

If the Inquisitor demands she face justice for killing templars, Narayani will flee. This instigates the War Table mission Hunt for the Hunter once the Inquisition moves to Skyhold, wherein Narayani can either evade the Inquisition's attempts to detain her (Josephine & Cullen), or be brought to Skyhold for judgement (Leliana).

Where they are in Haven: Narayani can be found up the stairs from the main gate, near the house Seggrit is trapped in during In Your Heart Shall Burn.

Where they are in Skyhold: Narayani can be found between the kitchen exit and the stables, near Blackwall.

Things they Generally Approve of: helping locals, respecting non-human rites and traditions, loyalty, pro-mage choices, directness, Dalish lore and history

Things they Generally Disapprove of: the Chantry, Andrastianism, bigotry, betrayal, excessive sentiment or softness, templars

[Note: Narayani will leave the Inquisition if her approval drops low enough.]

Mages, Templars, Other?: In general, Narayani serves as a pro-Dalish voice in the Inquisition, a counterpoint to Sera and a more modern perspective than Solas.

In regards to the Mage/Templar War, Narayani is pro-mage and anti-Circle. She sees kinship between the plight of the mages and the treatment of the Dalish, and she is direct about her opinions. She greatly approves of allying with the mages, approves of disbanding the templars, disapproves of allying with the templars and greatly disapproves of conscripting the mages.

[Note: Some of her approval loss at conscripting the mages can be won back in subsequent conversation if the Inquisitor expresses a desire to help/rebuild/free the mages after the Breach is sealed.]

Friends in the Inquisition: Narayani is proud and opinionated and will argue with many members of the inner circle. Despite this, she gets along well with Blackwall (until the Rainer reveal), Bull, Varric and Solas. Her party banter includes:

Blackwall: banter about the Grey Wardens, traveling alone, what it means to be a criminal, his deceit, her recruitment [So what? You took the law into your own hands, killing those men? / What law has ever stood for my people? Sometimes the only justice we have is our own. / That doesn't make it right. / I never claimed it did. // Not so righteous now, are you Rainer? / What I did was wrong. At least I know that. / I never claimed to be anything but what I am. At least I know that.]

Bull: banter about spy & mercenary work, the Qun, Seheron, battle scars [At least I kept the eye. / You're not the biggest guy in the room. Harder to hit.]

Cassandra: banter about the Chantry, the Seekers of Truth, the Creators, the power and dangers of faith (Solas will weigh in on one of their later exchanges about faith, tradition, and the elves)

Cole: banter about death, legacy, Cole's "helping", Cole's personal quest, regret [Gone, gone, gone. The empty after sows seedless sorrows. They will not come again. I should have spent more time in the garden. / Dina'ra. ("stop it", lit. "end" + "it/that")]

Dorian: banter about Tevinter, the treatment of elves, freedom, living where where magic is practiced openly, leaving home

Sera: banter about Dalish culture and traditions (the Inquisitor has the option to interject in later arguments), the Friends of Red Jenny, Sera's "little people", making good trouble

Solas: banter about the Dalish and their butchered history, tradition and change (and changing traditions), grief, hope, the Inquisitor's missing vallaslin (if relevant) [Note: Narayani will also comment on the vallaslin directly to the Inquisitor.]

Varric: banter about stories versus truth, putting people on pedestals, the Carta, weird shit they've seen in the Free Marches [It can't be as simple as writing it down. / You'd be surprised, Smiles. Wrap something ugly up in a nice story and it goes down a lot easier. / Like a dog tricked into its medicine. / Exactly. You're getting it.]

Vivienne: banter about mages, the Circles, privilege, power, appearances (literal and metaphorical)

Romanceable?: Yes, by any non-human inquisitor, though elf inquisitors will receive a slightly higher approval bump for initial flirt options.

Tarot Card Change: Ace of Wands [upright: inspiration, growth, potential // reversed: lack of direction, distractions]

Small Side Mission: Relics of the People

Narayani has requested the Inquisitor's help in finding a few old Dalish relics. (Special quest items can be collected in the Hinterlands, Crestwood, the Exalted Plains, and the Emerald Graves. If the Inquisitor collects all eight relics, Narayani will grant a bonus to attack.)

War Table Mission: Accusations

A Marcher baron claims a Dalish elf fitting Narayani's description stole from him before joining the Inquisition. He demands reparations, either paid from the Inquisition's coffers or in the return of the elf to face punishment. Narayani denies the accusation and requests the Inquisitor step in.

Cullen: The man has no proof. We will not give over our people on a baron's whim. If he wishes to pursue these foolish demands, let a contingent of our soldiers remind him of the Inquisition's own dedication to justice. [Outcome: The baron admits he may have "misremembered" the theft. 30 Influence and an Amulet of Power for Narayani. Narayani approves.]

Josephine: It would do us well to avoid the implication of impropriety. We can pay the baron a sum to cover the loss and speak no more of the insult. [Outcome: The baron thanks the Inquisition for their assistance in setting the matter right. 60 Influence and an Amulet of Power for Narayani. Narayani Disapproves.]

Leliana: The man has no sense for the Game. How embarrassing. A noble making so much fuss over one theft surely has other secrets. All we need is a little leverage and he will be the one paying us. [Outcome: The baron admits he may have "misremembered" the theft and apologizes for wasting the Inquisition's time. 60 Influence and an Amulet of Power for Narayani. Narayani Approves.]

Companion Quest: Last Man Standing

Narayani's companion quest will trigger after completion of Here Lies The Abyss.

Narayani has received word that a member of Clan Elama'an was sighted near Crestwood, and she appears to be agitated by the news. She requests the Inquisitor accompany her to speak with this clan member in the caves east of Crestwood village. If the Inquisitor agrees, they can trigger the quest by going to the location marked on the map with Narayani in the party.

Upon arriving at the location, they meets Sahrel, another Dalish hunter from Narayani's clan. Narayani immediately attacks, but before she can kill him, the Inquisitor intercedes and demands to know what's going on. At the Inquisitor's insistence, Narayani will back down and tell the Inquisitor that she has not given them the whole truth about why she joined the Inquisition. While it's true that her Keeper sent her to find out what the Inquisition was, she did not join on behalf of her clan, because her clan is dead. In truth, the Templars she was tracking during her recruitment quest wiped out the entire clan, and it was Sahrel who led them there. Narayani further explains that she is not only a hunter for Dalish artifacts and history; she also collected the clan's blood debts, and Sahrel's is the last debt that must be paid. She joined the Inquisition to make use of their resources in order to hunt him down, and because she had nowhere else to go.

If the Inquisitor challenges her on this, she admits that along the way she began to believe that the Inquisition might actually be able to do something about the conflict and the death, and she admires the Inquisitor's dedication to the cause. Now she is with the Inquisition because she wants to be, but she must still collect this debt. [It is what I am for, Inquisitor. I am the blade-in-the-hand. My clan will not rest until the traitor has paid.]

Sahrel begs the Inquisitor to save him and says that he had no choice, that they swore to spare him. He points out that Narayani is not the only one who is now alone with the clan gone and insists that since she wasn't there to defend the clan when the attack came, their deaths are as much her failing as his. Narayani attacks him again, and the Inquisitor has the option to let her kill him or stop her.

Option 1: The Inquisitor allows Narayani to kill Sahrel. She cuts his throat, then thanks the Inquisitor and informs them that she will meet them back at Skyhold. Upon returning to Skyhold, the Inquisitor can instigate a conversation that begins with Narayani sitting alone in the garden. She will admit she doesn't know what to do now—she has always been the blade of her clan and is unsure of who she might be without the clan to guide her. She feels that in completing this task, she has severed her final connection with her clan, who she admits she has always been a little distant from—a distance she regrets now that they are gone. The Inquisitor can offer a response about their own background and their connection to it, then tell Narayani to give that dedication to the Inquisition or encourage her to find her own path. She will thank them for listening and for understanding and recommit herself to the Inquisition.

[Note: If the Inquisitor is flagged as religious, suggesting Narayani let the Inquisition guide her will result in a slight disapproval gain.]

Option 2: Tell Narayani to let him go. Sahrel will make a run for it and Narayani will turn on the Inquisitor to demand how they could deny her and her clan justice. No matter how the Inquisitor responds, she stalks off and says she needs some time alone. The next time the Inquisitor speaks with her at Skyhold, a cutscene triggers where she talks to the Inquisitor in the garden. She expresses anger that the Inquisitor did not let her finish her job, but also admits that maybe she isn't that person any more. The Inquisitor can encourage her to step away from the clan and find her own path, or to hold on to her clan and keep it alive with her actions. Narayani will thank the Inquisitor for listening and for understanding and recommit herself to the Inquisition.

[Note: If the Inquisitor encourages Narayani to hold on to her clan and their history, and she remains with the Inquisition, one of her Trespasser updates will reference that she found and killed Sahrel at a later date.]

Tarot Card Change: Six of Swords [upright: transition, rite of passage, releasing baggage // reversed: resistance to change, unfinished business]

Bonus Quest — Sit In Judgement: The Dalish hunter Narayani has been captured and brought to Skyhold to face justice for the death of eight Templars across the Hinterlands.

[Note: This quest is only available if Narayani was not recruited, and serves as a follow-up to the War Table mission Hunt for the Hunter should the Inquisitor have used Leliana to complete the mission.]

The Inquisitor can sit in judgement to try Narayani for the murder of a small contingent of Templars in the Hinterlands. Narayani claims she was seeking justice for the murder of her clan. [An eye for an eye, Inquisitor. My justice is served. Whatever you do to me, at least my clan will rest easy now.] The Inquisitor has four options:

Jail — Narayani is imprisoned. [Cassandra approves. Varric slightly approves if Hawke sided with the Templars. Blackwall slightly disapproves. Cole disapproves.]

Execution — Narayani is executed. [Cole disapproves. Solas disapproves. Varric disapproves if Hawke sided with the Mages.]

Exiled — Narayani is exiled from Ferelden. [Blackwall slightly approves. Cole slightly approves. Bull slightly disapproves. Sera slightly disapproves.]

Recruited — With the Underworld Knowledge perk, Narayani can be recruited as an agent for Leliana. [Bull approves. Sera slightly approves. Varric slightly approves. Cassandra slightly disapproves. Blackwall slightly disapproves.]

#inquisitor as companion #lavellan #inquisitor #dragon age #dai #you ever write over 2k about what your inquisitor would be like as a companion or #there are a couple things I'm not Totally sure about (especially her war table mission) but the broad strokes feel accurate #I retain the right to change her tarot card(s) and nickname later #''el'ama'an'' lit. secretly-kept place or secret-keeping place #narayani #companion!narayani

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dragonagekeeper · 2 months

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Disclaimer: This is not recorded in the keep.

Act 1 / Dragon Age Inquisition Polls

See quest descriptions from Dragon Age Wiki below

On the way back to the gates, the blacksmith, Harritt, will ask for help getting into the nearby building. This begins the sub-quest, Evacuating Haven.

Note that rescuing Haven's townspeople is entirely optional. After being rescued, each townsperson will head to the Chantry. It is useful to save the game after each rescue to minimize redoing work if a rescue is botched, particularly Adan and Minaeve.

There are 6 townspeople that can be saved during In Your Heart Shall Burn:

Lysette, Seggrit, Flissa, Threnn, Adan and Minaeve

If Lysette is ignored, she will survive the events of Haven and be present at Skyhold.

If all six townspeople were helped/rescued (only party members):

Varric Greatly Approves

Vivienne Approves

If not all six townspeople were saved, but do manage to save at least one (only party members):

Varric Slightly Approves

Vivienne Slightly Approves

#dragon age poll #dragon age #dai #dai act 1

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inquisimer · 21 days

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in the suffering

I fell behind yesterday, but I'm back with part 6 of the Avexis-as-Cole AU for @tranquilweek! As Haven falls and the Inquisition makes their escape, both Cadash and Avexis make sacrifices to save those they love.

read it on ao3 here!

Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 2260 words | cw: self-sacrifice, canon-typical violence, minor fantasy racism

“Forces approaching! To arms!”

Alarm bells rang out over Haven, giving Avexis such a fright that she spilled her half-drunk ale out onto the snow. The pleasant buzz it had given her faded away as she and Varric stared out beyond the wall in horror. She could just barely see the tiny specks that must be the attackers—but she did not need to see them to feel their agony through the Fade. A horribly familiar agony.

It’s them.

“Who would—“ Varric started.

“The Templars,” Avexis cut him off, grabbing her staff and standing to run. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save.”

Cadash was already at the gate when they arrived, listening to the commander’s assessment.

“Under what banner?”

“None—“

“It’s the Templars,” Avexis interrupted, breathless. “It’s the Templars we couldn’t save at Therinfall.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Cullen asked the question with anger, but Avexis saw the grief and fear that it disguised. She pressed her palm to her chest.

“I know,” she said, answering his question, but looking imploringly at Cadash. “Trust me.”

Cadash nodded. “I do. Cullen, give me a plan.”

“Haven is no fortress…”

Avexis stared at the village gate. The song was stronger, sickly sweet and singing its siren call. At Therinfall, she’d been able to see it as a sickness, to follow the growth of it within and pull it out by the roots. Now, as the Templars crested over the hill, their presence in the Fade was indistinguishable from the red lyrium in their veins.

They're lost , she thought, regret and despair choking her throat. Well, maybe not. Maybe if—

“Avexis, go with Blackwall—“

She snapped back to attention. “No! Please—if you’re going out there, I want to go too.”

Despite the care she had for her companions, Cadash was a pragmatic leader, and she knew how to make hard decisions. Her face was like stone, now. “No. It’s dangerous, and you’re still recovering. We can’t be carrying you.”

“You won’t be,” Avexis insisted. “I can hear their pain—it’s overwhelming. Let me help.”

“We’re not going out there to help them.” Cadash’s words were blunt, but it was a tired hand that ran down the short length of her braid. “If that’s what you’re thinking—“

“It’s not, not like that. I know you’re going to kill them—but the lyrium is rooted so deep, at this point a quick death is the only help they’ll get.”

“Maker’s breath,” swore Cullen, “That’s—Herald, we don’t have time for this. You must decide.”

Cadash studied Avexis’ determined face for just another breath. “Fine. You’re with me—Sera, with Blackwall, get people to the Chantry. And Avexis—“ she added, tossing the words over her shoulder as she turned. “If I tell you to run, to leave, you do it. Heard?”

Heart beating frantically against her ribcage, Avexis withdrew her dagger and nodded. “Heard.”

The dragon’s breath was still hot on the back of their necks as they ran through the gates. Haven was burning. Her people were dying.

“We have to help them,” Cadash shouted, running to a cabin nearly engulfed in flames. “Dorian—“

A well placed bolt cleared the debris, and Seggrit fled to safety as they faced a wave of red Templars that had broken through the outer wall. Bull broke through the tavern door and they rushed in to help Flissa—but Avexis froze. She cocked her head and caught the faintest, sobbing cry. She knew that voice.

“Minaeve,” she whispered. Fear gripped her, and she bolted, ignoring Cadash’s shout as she took the steps to the apothecary’s cabin two at a time.

Both the researcher and Adan were laid out prone, too injured to stand under their own power. In the middle of the clearing sat a number of clay pots that Avexis immediately recognized—explosives, ostensibly for Haven’s defense.

“The pots—“ Adan wheezed.

“I know,” Avexis knelt by Minaeve and pulled her arm over her shoulders so that they could stand. “But as long as—“

As long as there’s no active fire, she was about to say. But before she could get the words out, the dragon swooped above them with a vicious screech and with one horrible breath, set the cabins aflame.

“Andraste’s bloody tits,” Avexis hissed. Minaeve pushed at her shoulder.

“Leave me! You have to get to Adan, he’s too close to the pots, he’ll die!”

Avexis shook her head, clinging stubbornly to Minaeve’s hip and shuffling them closer to the Chantry. “I’m not leaving you. You—you—“

How could she explain? They were hardly the closest of friends—Avexis’ magic was too volatile for Minaeve to really trust her. But the researcher had done something no one else had bothered to do.

“You saved them,” Avexis managed, panting as her muscles groaned under Minaeve’s weight. “Saw them, when no one else did. Someone should save you, this time.”

Minaeve’s eyes flitted to the brand that still marred Avexis’ forehead, though it no longer kept her from the Fade. “I—thank you.”

“We’re far enough, I think,” Avexis said after a few more paces. She lowered Minaeve into a snowbank and looked back. Adan was still struggling, trying fruitlessly to move his broken legs and escape the blast radius.

“He’ll never make it—“ Minaeve began, but Avexis was already gone. She ignored the protest of her lungs as she sprinted back to Adan. But where it had been easy to support Minaeve, Adan was broader and heavier than both of the elves. To boot, he could offer no assistance with his legs as they were. The fire was spreading perilously close to the explosive barrels.

“Get out, girl,” Adan snapped. “Don’t both of us need to die!”

“No, no, we can make it—“

“We can’t—“

Their bickering had given the flames just enough time. Time that seemed to slow as Avexis watched in horror, unable to close her eyes the way Adan had. The trail of fire licked at the open lid of the nearest pot—

And extinguished with a hiss. An arrow, shot into the ground, sprayed up snow that doused the flame. Avexis blinked, mind not quite caught up to her eyes. She looked up and saw Cadash at the top of the stairs, bow at her side and murder in her eyes.

The fire was still coming, though—they needed to move. The dwarf came ‘round to Adan’s other side and between the two of them they carried the apothecary toward Minaeve.

“If we’re both alive in a few hours,” Cadash grunted, taking Adan’s full weight so that Avexis could help Minaeve the rest of the way to the Chantry, “we will have words.”

The mood inside the Chantry was dark, but so powerful was the holy atmosphere that everyone’s terror took on hushed tones. By the time Avexis saw Minaeve to the healers and returned, Cadash and the commander were locked in an irate stare. Then, Cadash caught sight of Avexis, who winced.

“That was the stupidest thing you could have done—“

“It was for a good reason!”

“It was still stupid,” Cadash scowled. “And it’s only the lack of time that’s keeping me from ripping you a new one.”

That was as good as forgiven, Avexis knew, though she couldn’t quite summon a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Cadash’s gaze darted to the commander and Avexis nearly missed the barest shake of her head. Cullen’s frown deepened.

“Roderick knows a way out,” Cadash said, gesturing to the brother who had been such a pest. There was a sister with him, wiping his clammy brow, but his skin was pale as only a dying man’s was. “He’s hurt, but he’s the only one who knows. I need you—” she caught Avexis firmly by the elbows “—to go with him. Help him lead the way. It’s the only chance anyone has of surviving this.”

Avexis nodded, already moving to take the sister’s place at Roderick’s side. “And what about you?”

Torchlight glinted off Cadash’s silver tooth as she grinned. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Just go.”

The pilgrimage path was meant to be walked in the summer for a reason, and it was hard going. But Roderick’s eye was keen, even as his life drained away with each step. He pointed out the landmarks, leaning heavily on Avexis as they went. She held out a potion—it would do little more than ease his pain, but the less pain he felt, the farther he could go before his body gave up completely.

Eventually, the last of the refugees—for what else could they be called, now—were out of the Chantry. Roderick, Avexis, and the advance group of scouts were high up on the mountainside when the call came from the commander.

“We’re clear! Fire the signal!”

An archer drew back his bow and a mage set the tip of his arrow ablaze. As it streaked up into the inky blackness, Avexis caught the commander’s eye.

“Where is she?” she asked, adjusting her grip around Roderick. Cullen just stared at her with pity, and grief, and shame. Realization sank cold over Avexis.

“No—no—“ she cried. She struggled for her tenuous control, biting hard on her tongue to keep her mind her own. But the Fade around them bent beneath her anguish—her anger—and she knew that she would not be able to hold on. Blood-spattered gauntlets caught her by the shoulders.

“She didn’t want to—but it was the only way,” Cullen said grimly, and Avexis appreciated the attempt at soothing, even as it failed to work. “I’m sorry.”

There was a whistling in the air, growing louder, and then a giant boulder struck the mountainside below them. The Frostbacks rumbled and belched forth an avalanche; snow and ice and rocks thundered down to bury Haven.

To bury Cadash.

“No!” Avexis cried again. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was undoubtedly jarring Roderick’s injury with her sobs, but she couldn’t help it. “She can’t—“

“Maker,” Cullen murmured. “Seat her by Your side in death.”

She wouldn’t want that, Avexis thought, bitter through her sorrow. Cadash would have wanted to be returned to the Stone. But the Chantry didn’t care about that. The Inquisition didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about her.

They never had.

“We need to move!” The commander was saying, striding forward decisively. “Clear these rocks, cut back that brush! We can’t stay here.”

“I’m sorry, child.” Roderick coughed, ragged and wet from the blood in his lungs. “She was…well. Her heart was true, and whoever sent her to us knew exactly what we needed.”

Avexis ground her teeth together. It had been Cadash’s last wish for her to keep Roderick alive long enough to save everyone else. That meant she absolutely could not stab him for his asinine comforts.

She stared down at the snow-covered village. What if she had survived? Cadash had stupid luck—if anyone could live through an avalanche, it was her. But she would be injured, surely, and alone. Alone, she would die as surely as if she’d been buried like Haven.

Avexis closed her eyes.

When they weren’t in the Fade, she couldn’t talk to Cole directly. She felt his presence in her soul, or around her heart, particularly when stress and emotion overtook her mind. But she knew that he could hear her, in a way, or at least understand her intention.

You could go to her, help her.

Hesitation, but no denial. And Avexis knew what gave him pause.

You would have to go as you. You would have to leave me.

Affirmation seeped through her. Avexis took a long, slow breath.

The cure for Tranquility was still shrouded in mystery; they knew so little about the specifics of Pharamond’s ritual, or how to apply it safely. But what they did know was that the spirit wasn’t meant to stay with the mage once Tranquility was reversed. In theory, they would touch the mage’s mind, and with the spirit healer’s help, their connection to the Fade would be restored, and the spirit returned to their realm.

Whatever Cole had done, whatever Regalyan had done, it had been off the cuff. Not wrong, really, but not quite right, either. And it meant that Cole had to stay with her for it to stick.

Avexis swallowed. There was no choice, really. Cadash had been prepared to give her life to make sure they survived. She deserved at least one person who was willing to do the same.

Go to her.

The warm comfort that was Cole fretted within her, but Avexis doubled down, thinking her stern determination at him.

Go. To. Her. Find her, and save her. We’re already safe—she needs you now more than I do. So go.

He knew she was right, but his apology was sorrow that lingered in her chest as he slipped through whatever avenue of the Fade only spirits could navigate.

And then it was gone.

She blinked, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, lest they give her a chill and set sickness in her bones. It would be impractical to fall ill when they all needed their strength to survive the mountains. The scouts had cleared the path as Roderick indicated, and Avexis straightened, adjusting her grip on his side for more security.

“Let us go, Chancellor,” she said flatly, voice utterly devoid of the agony from only a moment ago. His brow furrowed, confused. “We must see these people to safety.”

#my writing #tranquilweek24 #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dragon age tranquility #cw fantasy racism #avexis #cadash #cullen rutherford #;-;#tranquility

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serensama · 1 month

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In Sacrifice, Glory: Chapter 2

My never ending love and thanks to @illneverrecover and @femme-moon ❤️

Read on Ao3

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Elissa thanked the Maker that the only people who saluted her the following morning were the soldiers who were stationed around the camp. She still had a distinct feeling that she was being watched, albeit much more covertly than before, but at least she wasn’t in any danger of being asked to bless someone’s baby or heal the wounded with her tears.

Elissa rolled the dull ache out of her shoulders as she walked around the small village; She could hear the distinct din of people training to her right, the clanging of metal somehow soothing to her– familiar even. Her feet had found their way back to the merchant to look through his goods, noting the sword she had been admiring the previous day was no longer available. “Someone bought it already, Miss,” the blond man said when he noticed her at his stand. “Not too long after you were looking at it actually.”

Elissa managed to hold in a squeak but couldn’t quite hide her flinch at being spoken to.

“Oh? Thank you for letting me know; it was a fine sword... I think. I don’t know if I know too much about them, but it looked like it would serve its wielder well, Master-?” “Seggrit. Just Seggrit. Not to worry though; you were right, it was a good sword. But I don’t think they bought it because it was a good sword. They bought it because they wanted to believe it received your blessing. Managed to make an extra 2 gold off of that, thanks to you. Please feel free to keep touching anything else you want here.” “Y’know, if you just stopped talking two sentences earlier, Lady Flash Hand here wouldn’t be looking at you like you just whipped out your own sword for her to bless.”

Elissa turned on her heel to see Varric Tethras grinning up at her, Bianca being cleaned on his bent knee. She quickly bid Seggrit a good day and sat on a log beside the charming dwarf, grateful to have someone familiar to talk to.

“Morning Varric,” she greeted as she tucked her bare hands between her legs for warmth.

“Morning Stormy.” Elissa furrowed her brow at him, curious as to the nickname bestowed upon her. He chuckled at her confusion as he searched for a secondary rag to start polishing up his prized crossbow. “Your magic. Hard to ignore all the lightning and thunder you have at your fingertips.” She smiled at the simple term of endearment and agreed that it made sense. He could have dubbed her Thunderella or Sparky-Pants, so she guessed she should be thankful for some small mercies. “It also matches the grey of your eyes. They’re probably the first thing everyone noticed about you—apart from the green glowing hand of doom you got there. Hey, would you pass me that cloth besides you?” He asked with his arm out expectantly.

Elissa mindlessly handed it to him as she felt the words ‘thanks, they actually lean more blue like my father’s’ on the tip of her tongue, except she had no idea if that was correct. She had tried to recall any image of her father, her mother, or any siblings, and nothing came to mind at all. Just a series of doors she needed to unlock in the haze of her mind.

“So now that we’re as alone as we’re ever going to get in a camp full of people, how are you holding up?” He asked with a genuine look of concern. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining an army of faithful and becoming somewhat of a figurehead here.” “Urgh, you saw that yesterday?” “The dwarves deep in Orzammar saw that yesterday,” he snorted at her, pleased to see that at least she hadn’t let everything go to her head. “I’m just saying that most people would have spread that kind of character development out over more than a day.”

Elissa kicked at the snow with her boot until the brown earth was revealed, relieved to see the ground hard and real beneath her. “I can barely keep up, Varric,” she said, her voice small but her honesty resonant.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Elissa looked up at the rogue and smiled, chasing off days of confusion, sadness, and fear from her pretty features. Varric could feel his gut tingle with the well-known feeling he got whenever he looked at Hawke, and he grimaced. That was not a good tingle.

“Listen, I know you want to help and that you’re a good kid; that much is obvious,” he stated as he gently put Bianca away. “But you may want to consider running away at the first chance you get; I’ve written enough tragedies to know where this is going. We’re going to need a miracle to get us out of... whatever this is.”

She nodded, and her expression turned sombre, her mind twisting upon itself to make heads or tails of the entire situation. The Mark. The Mystery Woman. The Sky. The Villain. The Faith. Too much.

“I’m not quite sure that I believe this isn’t still an ale-driven dream and that I’ll wake with no trousers somewhere and a penis drawn on my face.”

Varric laughed loudly and slapped his knee, agreeing that that would be a sight indeed.

“I honestly don’t know if this is all really happening, Varric.”

He stood up and clasped a calloused hand on her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Me too, Stormy. And if this is all the Maker just winding us up, I hope there is a damn good punchline coming.”

“Yeah... But I just don’t want to be the joke.”

---

Elissa’s expedition around town was a resounding success. From somehow irritating the Quartermaster just by breathing, helping Adan find some misplaced potion notes – which were literally in the first drawer she opened in the cabin he told her to look in – and then Solas.

Solas.

The amount of comfort she found in the older elf was surprising. He was all stories and poetry, and if she were just that little bit more naïve she’d be head over heels in love with the apostate. He never tired of her endless questions, whether it was about magic, his experiences in the Fade, or even his opinion on the lunch they were serving in the tavern; he was always patient and easy with his answers.

Solas allowed his eyes to scan the area around him before leaning towards her, the brunt of his weight held up by his staff.

“And again, she rises. Good morning Miss-” “Good Morning. And it’s just Elissa, Solas,” she chided, eyes squinting at him with mock annoyance.

“My apologies. Elissa,” he corrected himself with a smile, “I could not help but notice during our time out in the field. But... your technique–” “You’re kind to describe whatever I did out there as technique.”

“Ah, well, if you would be amenable to the idea, I would be happy to provide whatever tutelage I can.”

Elissa brightened at the offer, eager to learn all she could after watching the older mage fight. “Yes, of course, thank you. I would really appreciate not electrocuting everyone on the field should I need to sneeze.” “You are too hard on yourself, Elissa, without any help to hone your abilities from the start–” he tried to reason before being cut off with an agitated grumble. “That’s the thing. I don’t know if this is so much a start or a restart, Solas. Like I feel I should know better, but I’m just grasping blindly at air,” she sighed as she leant on the cabin behind him and peered at the green-tinged sky. “I feel like I should know something, but how could I when I don’t even know who I am.” Solas solemnly nodded as he copied her casual stance, the mage looking at the people who went in and out of the apothecary. The two stood in quiet companionship, both seemingly lost within their own thoughts.

“Do you remember the name of the first King of Ferelden?” he asked, suddenly causing Elissa to jump. “Calenhad, of course,” she replied without a moment's hesitation. “The name of the town you grew up in?” “I... Lothering? No... Gwaren? Look, I’m pretty sure I’m Fereldan. I think.” “And the pub in Denerim, what is the name of it?” “The Gnawed Noble.” “How many exalted marches have there been?” “Six. No wait. Seven. No, six– oh, my teacher would kill me.”

“What was the name of that childhood teacher?”

“I... Maker... I don’t know,” she spluttered as her shoulders slumped in disappointment. “How can I know all those things but not know if I’m at least bloody Fereldan? I don’t even know if I’ve been to Denerim, but I must have to be able to tell you that, right?”

“Give yourself some time; there is no need to rush,” he tried to soothe. “I just wanted to test a theory I had– and it seems I was correct. All the memories you seem to have difficulty recollecting are those that pertain to who you are.” Elissa threw her braid back over her shoulder in frustration, a light flush colouring the apples of her cheeks.

“Wonderful, I will be able to recite the family trees of all the great houses of the country, but I will not be able to know if I am deathly allergic to anything I eat. Delightful. I can see it now, the woman who closed the Breach, killed by a strawberry.”

Solas smirked down at her, unable to hide how impressed he was at the young woman’s ability to bounce back from her moment of dejection. “I would not worry too much about errant fruit killing you just yet; remember well that I have offered my help to find these wayward memories of yours,” he reminded as he held up his hand that glowed with a pulse of his mana.

“I know, and I thank you,” she said as she chewed on her bottom lip in irritation. “If it weren’t for the giant threat looming over me and all of Thedas, I would gladly take all the time to mull over things. But as it is, the sooner my forgetful ass remembers everything, the better.”

Solas regarded her with a pensive expression as a surge of unexpected emotion for the girl welled up inside of him, a perfect mixture of empathy, pity, and admiration.

“Oftentimes when things like this happen, it is for a reason Elissa. You have endured a massive ordeal and survived something no one else did. It is likely that your mind is doing its best to shield you – from what I cannot say. However, if the only thing that has gone awry in all this madness is your memory being harder to tap into than before, then it seems we have been given some sort of blessing indeed. Whether it is heavenly given or not, it remains to be seen.”

Elissa turned to face him, tilting her chin up to look into his eyes, mouth slowly curling into a pout. “That was not comforting at all, Solas. In fact, it was the exact opposite of comforting.” Solas brought the back of his hand to his mouth as he laughed through his nose before succumbing to quiet laughter. “You’re an odd, mean old man, Solas,” she said as she playfully deepened her frown, lightly elbowing his bicep.

“You are not the first to say this, and I’d wager you will not be the last.”

--- After what was a surprisingly pleasant meal at the tavern, Elissa knew there was not much else she could feasibly accomplish without understanding more about the camp and what needed to be done. She had heard that there was a meeting being held at the Chantry and wondered if she should make her way down, if she would even be welcome to sit in and listen to their discussion to learn more about their group. In hindsight, it may have been smarter to say yes to joining their merry band after she had seen what they were like, how they treated their people, and receiving general insurance that they weren’t megalomaniacal cultists hell bent on taking over the world with a new Divine carved out of a giant wheel of cheese.

She rose to try to clear her table but was quickly rushed out by the kindly barmaid, who wouldn’t listen to a word of treating her like everyone else in Haven. With firm but polite hands on her lower back, the woman ushered her out like a disobedient child and bid her return when the sun had set for the evening meal. Elissa could feel the start of a flutter of warmth growing behind her ribcage – the familiarity of being cared for or nagged at – she didn’t know, but it made her eyes sting with emotion unbidden. Shaking off the cold a little more noticeably as she headed up the path towards the Chantry, she hoped that her shiny eyes and reddened nose looked like they were just affected by the weather and not by the lingering sadness she didn’t know how to explain.

Once she had reached the entrance, she paused. Should she wait to be summoned? Should she just go ahead and knock and pop her head in to see if they’d let her in? Should she send for a messenger to ask if she was needed?

“Are you well?”

Elissa congratulated herself for not flinching at the sound of Cassandra’s voice and greeted the taller woman with a slight bob of her head.

“Cassandra. I am well, thank you, yourself?” “I cannot complain. Your hand, does it still trouble you?” She asked as she looked at it pointedly.

Elissa looked at it quickly in case mentioning it sparked anything within the mark and breathed out relieved when it just remained its eerie green self, no flashes of pain to be had– at least, yet.

“You’ve given us more time–” “We, not just me.”

“Semantics. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed—provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. But that is not easy to come by,” she advised as they walked together towards the meeting room.

Elissa tried to piece together what that power would look like and paled at the thought of the Inquisition’s entire force standing behind her, only to be unceremoniously squished by an army of Pride demons free falling from the Breach. “Uh, yeah, sounds like fun,” she joked as Cassandra smirked wryly at her.

The Seeker opened the door without preamble and gestured for her to walk into the room, halting the conversation from within immediately. Elissa recognised Leliana easily and was grateful that the woman did not seem to want to slaughter her on sight anymore. Her eyes drifted to another woman, with glorious tanned skin and a wonderful sense of high society fashion. She exuded respectability and held herself with the practised graces of polite society. In truth, when she compared her to Leliana, she did not know who to be more frightened of– the woman who held a dagger or the one with the quill. In between them was a tall, fair-haired man who regarded her with kind civility. In heavy armour and garments of deep red, even if he weren’t so handsome, he would be difficult for anyone to miss in a crowd. Elissa clasped her hands together to stop herself from entertaining anymore of those thoughts lest she tumble down a steep hill of indecency.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” He is welcome to command me–

“Such as they are, we have lost many soldiers, and I fear many more before all this is through,” he said with a slight bow at his introduction, his voice even warmer than she had anticipated.

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” “I have heard much; it is a pleasure to meet you at last,” the woman with the fantastic outfit greeted, manoeuvring her writing board slightly so as not to spill any ink.

“And of course, you know Sister Leliana,” Cassandra added as an afterthought as she caught the redhead’s eyes, “she is our spymaster.”

Elissa quickly looked between Leliana and Cassandra and could feel their exasperation at each other’s antics, one from trying to be as tactful as possible and the other tired of tiptoeing around something that shouldn’t matter between comrades. “It is a pleasure to meet you all, but I can’t help but feel quite insignificant compared to all the impressive titles in here,” she joked, trying to break the ice and earning subdued chuckles from everyone except Leliana, whose countenance was so guarded that she did not know what to make of it. Her stare was fixed on Elissa, boring through her as if she were trying to listen to her thoughts through sheer determination alone, bright blue eyes searching for something she did not feel she could provide. She was so wrapped up in her staring contest with the Sister that she did not take heed to what was being argued about until Leliana replied to one of Cullen’s statements, the spy much more adept than her at paying closer attention to her surroundings.

“The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition,” Josephine stated as a matter of fact before she turned to Elissa, “and you, quite specifically.”

Elissa’s confusion grew; why her specifically? Didn’t she already prove that she was there to help as best as she could? What else did she have to do? Hold a placard at all times that read, ‘I am not a mass murderer; try not execute.’ She was just about to rebut when the Ambassador continued with her explanation.

“Some are calling you, a mage, the Herald of Andraste, a frightening notion for the Chantry. They declare it as blasphemy and the Inquisition heretics–” “That will be the Chancellor’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra sneered as she refixed her arms across her chest in agitation.

“I... I heard some of the people in camp,” Elissa uttered, holding the edges of the table for support. “They were whispering something whilst they looked at me. Maker– even that merchant near the entrance was saying a sword I held yesterday had been ‘blessed’ by me, and I didn’t even pick up on it; didn’t think to ask questions.” Cullen shifted his weight on either foot and took a good look at the woman beside Cassandra, encouraged by her willingness to be transparent with them; grateful she did not feel the need for layers upon layers of diplomacy and fakery.

“Herald of Andraste, now that is quite the title,” he teased good-naturedly, his mouth quirking to the side. “How do you feel about it?”

She took in a deep breath and tried to steady herself; logically, she understood why people would call her that. What with her being the only survivor of the Conclave, being spat out of a hole in the sky and then some random apparition practically hand-delivering her to safe harbour into the Inquisition’s hands. However, that logic did nothing to relieve the ever-present knot in her gut or lessen the fear she felt at the mere mention of being anyone’s ‘Herald’ of anything.

“I– uh, it’s a little unsettling if I’m to be honest,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing prettily as the Commander offered a small but kind smile to ease her.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree,” he snickered. He could just envision Roderick somewhere in a nearby village already avowing their descent into madness to anyone who would pay him any mind.

Leliana walked to her side and stood a little too close for comfort, forcing Elissa to pay attention to what was said next.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you. People are desperate for a sign of hope,” she paused, a flicker of true emotion passing across her face as she fought for control over herself. “For some... you... you are that sign.”

“And to others, a symbol of everything that has gone wrong,” Josephine added sadly.

Cassandra quickly noted when Elissa’s attention went introspectively, something she had done quite often since her release from confinement nearly five days prior. She took an educated guess at what the younger girl was thinking and clucked her tongue at her, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You not being here is not an option, Elissa; do not think we would be any better off without you.” “Cassandra is right,” Cullen said, leaning against the large table, “the Chantry would have censured us no matter what.”

Elissa saw a gloved hand reach out towards her, but as she turned to look at Leliana, she was already putting it down to readjust her tunic.

“There is something only you can do. Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you...” the Spymaster began, not quite looking Elissa in the eye.

“Suuure. Another Cleric wants to speak to me, yet this plan isn’t crying out, ‘Let’s stick the blasphemer full of pitchforks’ to anyone else?” she snarked. “From what I know of Mother Giselle, she is a kind soul. She is tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe. Rest assured she would not involve herself in violence,” Leliana replied as she fell back away from Elissa, allowing more space between them, her normal reticent façade firmly back in place.

Murderer. Liar. Mage. Heretic. Herald. So many titles were gifted to her in less than a week, yet she would give her left tit just to know her own surname.

Hours later, as she walked out of the meeting with a plan to travel out and meet the Mother and help their forces with what she could, she looked towards the open gates of the camp and wondered how far she would get if she took Varric’s advice and just ran away. As she took a look back behind her, she saw Leliana watching her, as if the woman already knew what her little brain was plotting.

She really should have run when Varric told her to.

---

Elissa could not sleep.

She had tossed and turned for the better part of three hours, and still the Fade would not grant her rest.

Huffing loudly, she threw the covers off her body and allowed the chill of the mountain air to steal away the last vestiges of drowsiness from her. After she shuffled into her boots, too agitated to pull them up all the way, she tied the laces around her ankles to ensure she wouldn’t fall on her face as she traipsed through the camp and accidentally get run through by one of the sleepy guards on duty. She pulled off one of the blankets from the foot of the bed and wrapped herself as snuggly as she could to ward off the extra bite from the evening chill.

From the way she naturally moved, she knew she was certainly no rogue, and that stealth was never something she would have been skilled at. Still, she took extra care to close the door behind her as quietly as possible and took slow, measured footsteps so as not to disturb any light sleepers around the site. Elissa looked up to the sky, as she so often did, and despaired at how beautiful the Breach looked against the stars. It was unfair that something so picturesque had caused so much havoc and devastation to the world.

She sighed then chuckled to herself at the puff of smoke that tumbled out of her mouth as if she were still a child, pretending to smoke a pipe. Surely she would be old enough to smoke? Was there a way to check a person’s age like with trees and their rings... She stopped in her tracks when she realised the equivalent would be someone cutting her down and trying to count something within her bones and just decided she didn’t really care how old she was after all.

Elissa did not have a destination in mind for her midnight stroll but found her feet naturally walking towards the Chantry. Perhaps she could review the map and see if staring at the world would entreat any memories to awaken, or maybe read up on any of the new reports that had come through to ready herself for what was waiting for them in the Hinterlands.

She was about to step into the Chantry when she felt a stare on her back that she had become accustomed to. Peeking over her shoulder, Elissa could make out the dim light of a candle close to burning out and the well-camouflaged figure of the Spymaster within her private tent. She was holding a quill in one hand and a missive in the other as she sat at her humble desk, a rather innocuous sight if it weren’t for the intensity in her eyes as she watched her. Elissa had half a mind to just ignore her and continue with her plan to elicit her memories, but she knew with her luck she would end up falling asleep only to be found in a puddle of her drool, snoring away as the advisors held their morning meeting around her.

Besides, she really wanted one day to pass where she didn’t feel like she was getting belted by Leliana’s ever vigilant gaze.

Bemoaning her lack of self-preservation, Elissa turned around and plodded her way to the Sister’s tent, waiting for confirmation she was welcome to enter. “How can I help you, Herald?” she asked as if she was a tavern wench forced to attend to the town drunk. “Why don’t you like me?” she blurted out, too tired to care for small talk. Leliana sat back, a look of complete bafflement painted across her face. “I do not dislike you, Herald,” she responded as she tried her best to focus on what she had hoped to write, although failing to even remember what she had read in the first place. Elissa snorted and sat down, twisting the blanket around her to bunch up around her comfortably. “It’s true; I do not harbour any ill will towards you at all.”

Elissa tried her best not to roll her eyes at Leliana’s words but could not help herself.

“I never know with you,” she started, her eyes finally adjusting to the light and seeing all the scrolls littered across her desk. “When I first met you, you were threatening to skin my face. Call me crazy, but that doesn’t seem like the friendliest offer you could provide to someone who had just woken up in chains.” To her credit, Leliana appeared to have regretted that particular interaction and ducked her face away from Elissa’s view, emboldening the mage to continue.

“I don’t even understand what that was all about; you were perfectly civil one second, and then you take a look at me, and suddenly it’s Princess Stabbity Stab the other– woah, woah! Hey, are you alright?” She panicked as Leliana fumbled with the lantern she was trying to light, the latter hissing softly at the newly made mess on her table.

Leliana swiped at the documents and swore in Orlesian under her breath. Elissa was surprised she could understand her perfectly— perhaps she had spent a lot of time in Orlais prior to the Conclave?

“I am perfectly fine, Eli–Herald,” she corrected herself, her voice as tight as the grip she had on the bridge of her nose. “I am merely tired. I have a lot of work to do and am pressed for time, so if you please-”

“I could help!” Elissa offered, hoping that by taking the initiative that she could bridge whatever gap was between them. “Tell me what you would like for me to do, I really just want to help. I… I could even be your scribe!” she suggested as she picked up a spare quill and blank parchment, scribbling something at the top of the page. “Besides,” she continued offhandedly, “I can’t sleep very well, so may as well make myself useful before you all change your minds and put me back in prison.”

Leliana gazed at Elissa with a vulnerability that she had not allowed herself to feel for nearly a decade–a distant memory of finding her friends behind enemy bars and her assistance in rescuing them. She could feel a smile playing at her mouth as she recalled the ridiculous ploys she and the assassin pulled off in order to save their friends and leader; some people would have been traumatised by the memories, but she always found great consolation and joy in them.

“I will never let that happen to you again, Elissa,” she whispered as her eyes sparked. The Spymaster broke eye contact first and continued with her task of lighting the lantern, though much more carefully.

“I should hope so! I literally hold the key to all that is good and wonderful in the world in the palm of my hand; we should not let it fester in a cell,” Elissa joked as she leaned in closer across the small table, still doodling on the vellum. “Do not worry, Sister Leliana; I will ensure that I am on my best behaviour around Mother Giselle so no one will have reason to imprison me again.”

“Knowing you, it will be your best behaviour that will land you in trouble,” she smiled as more memories quickly danced through her mind. “You were always one to push limits.”

Elissa’s smile faltered. Was she always one to push limits? Did that mean she had known Leliana prior to all this? Was that why she was so quick to change her tune when she realised she was no demon?

“Oh really? When pray tell, did I ever push limits?” She purred coquettishly, batting her lashes and splaying one hand demurely on her chest.

Leliana’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she sat back in her chair, a warm, intoxicating mirth settling over her as she allowed herself a moment to bask in the memory. “Oh, as if you don’t remember! Bann Teagan in the Chantry at Redcliffe, you giant flirt!” She did. She did know her from before.

Like an animal who could detect a storm coming, the Sister could feel the change in the air and quickly realised her mistake. Leliana sat up straighter, and the happiness from her face twisted into alarm, and Elissa could see as the cogs in her brain whirled ever faster to spin the situation in her favour. The Spymaster knew she had been had, lulled into a cosy complacency. She had easily led herself into the self-made trap of believing something she had only dreamed about for so many years was real, and let herself get caught as if she were one of Marjolaine’s fledgling recruits.

“You know me. Don’t you?” Elissa asked with her voice low and steady, belying the flurry she felt within. Leliana began busying herself with reorganising her desk with the best nonchalance one could muster; if Elissa was not actually sitting at the edge of her seat with anticipation, she would have given the woman more props.

“Answer me, Sister Leliana.” Leliana cleared her throat, looked her straight in the eyes, and shook her head. “No, I do not know you.” “I did not know Sisters of the Chantry were so well versed in deception to be able to lie so coolly under pressure,” Elissa spat as she sat back onto her chair, her distaste more than evident.

“Herald, it is very late. I have many things that require my attention, perhaps if there is time before you leave for your journey to meet Mother Giselle--” “There is time now. You will make time now,” she demanded with one long index finger stabbing into the desk. “I assume you have been told that I do not know who I am, correct? That I have lost my memories?” Leliana took in a deep breath before closing her eyes and nodding once. “So you know how much more fucking terrifying this all is for me, yes? If you knew me, you could help me remember, and in turn, I would be much more helpful to the Inquisition than I am now,” Elissa reasoned, impressing herself with how well she held herself together even though she wanted nothing more than to cry. “Every second of the day since I first met you in that horrid little cell, I have had no idea what has been happening. I’ve been thrust from one shit thing to another, and I don’t even know if I have someone out there wondering if I died at the damn Conclave. Or if anyone... or everyone…if everyone I cared about died there.”

The Spymaster opened her eyes and looked upon the distressed girl in front of her, she was so young and was not yet encumbered by the weight of the world; had not fully experienced the toll of being a hero. She was still that girl that she met in Lothering all those years ago, with barely any experience in the real world and far too willing to take on a friendship with a recently retired bard-turned-Sister, even when everyone else thought she was crazy. Perhaps she wanted to be friends because everyone thought she was crazy.

“I, I knew you once... but the person here in front of me now, I am sad to say I do not know,” she replied after a minute of heavy silence. She watched as Elissa tried to work through her cryptic response before cursing and hitting the table, the noise alerting one of the guards to check in on them both. Leliana shooed him away with a dismissive wave without even acknowledging him and continued to observe Elissa.

“Have I changed so much since you last saw me then? It cannot have been too long if you say I was trying to get into the pants of this Teagan fellow you mentioned. Have I changed for the worse? Or for the better? Have I grown into my looks, or am I ugly now? Please tell me how you could know someone and then somehow cease to know them,” she pleaded before quickly clasping the woman’s hands between hers. “Were we friends before, and then at the Conclave, somehow became enemies?”

Leliana wanted to take her hands and entwine her fingers between hers. To remember what it was like in camp as they held hands like children as they looked to the stars, revelling in her attention whilst she retold Elissa all of her favourite stories. Or as they walked arm in arm down the Imperial Highway when the day was too long and they wanted to forget that they were fighting a battle of impossible odds. To talk of shoes. Or men. Of the fine little pastries and delicacies they both missed from Orlais. Oh Maker, did she want to take her hands and tell her everything, even if she did turn out to be a desire demon and she was handing over her life to live in this fantasy...

“We were never enemies, Elissa,” she whispered, beating up herself with every word she said.

“Then why, when you look at me sometimes, it feels like you’re so angry at me? Did I do something so terrible before?” You died.

“... Did you like this Teagan then? Was I not a good friend to you and tried to take him for myself?” You left us.

“... Did I hurt a lot of people?”

You hurt us all.

“I am, I – I apologise if I appeared to have disliked you from our first meeting. That is not true at all. The Elissa I knew, we were the best of friends,” she admitted, allowing her hands to slip free from her grasp.

“Then why-” “I was angry at myself, and I was angry at the Maker,” she interrupted her, voice hitching with real emotion. “I was angry that it took me so long to recognise you in that cell and then think to hope you were a demon–” “You wanted me to be a demon?”

“I want you to be as you are... but you being a demon would have been easier.” “I am really not following you, Sister Leliana–” “You used to call me Lela,” she said with her bright eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You stopped calling me Sister Leliana one day after you met me.” Elissa could feel the fog in her mind shift, the endless hallway of doors visible for just a moment before rushing out of view again.

“Lela,” she tried the name on her tongue, and while it clashed terribly with the image of the world-weary spy in front of her, she knew it fit her, belonged to her. “Lela,” she repeated, and the haze swirled about her excitedly. She reached for the closest door to her and tried to open it, but it was stuck, but she was so damn close! She knew it! Just a little more, and she’d be able to open it and remember what was missing.

Leliana blinked away her tears and studied the scene before her; Elissa’s jaw clenched in concentration and a light sheen of sweat formed at her hairline, an alarming sight considering her state of dress and the night’s frigid temperature.

“Tell me something else, anything at all,” she begged. Leliana paused and battled with herself; she didn’t know if it was the best idea to push this but to have Elissa back, returning whole as she used to be; there would be no stopping the force of nature she was. She would have all this business with the Breach wrapped up within a year, nothing left of it but a memory. The Sister tried to ignore the voice in her head exposing the crux of it all: her selfishness. She just wanted to have her friend back.

“I used to call you Lissa,” she uttered against her better judgement.

Lissa felt right to her; she liked the idea of being ‘Lissa’, like a piece of her soul lit up at the thought of someone calling her that.

“I was the Lissa to your Lela,” Elissa ventured slowly, smiling, a blurry memory of the two of them laughing. “You said that your name sounded lovelier whenever it was said by a friend, even if that friend was Fereldan and couldn’t say it right.” Leliana choked on her breath; no one else but Elissa or perhaps Alistair would have known that.

Elissa tried to hold Leliana’s gaze, but a sharp pain forced her eyes shut. She found herself back in the hallway, but the doors were shaking in their frames, as if they wanted to be opened, but something was forcing them shut. As they moved to open, she could make out sounds coming from each door– all in Leliana’s lilting tone. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. Lissa. All the Leliana’s were singing in a mismatched chorus, which grew louder and louder as the doors continued to crash against themselves.

Elissa doubled over in pain, her mark sparking menacingly as she clutched at the sides of her head. She had thought the agony of the mark was horrific, but it paled in comparison to the war raging inside her mind.

“Elissa, Elissa! Herald!” Leliana gasped, moving to her side in an instant. She steadied her head with both hands rested atop Elissa’s, sickened as she saw her fingernails starting to dig into her own scalp with enough force to draw blood. “Stop it! You’re hurting yourself, Elissa!” she croaked as she tried to pull away at her hands.

Leliana stepped out of her tent and thanked the Maker that one of her scouts was passing by.

“Get Adan and Solas at once; do not rouse anyone else and do not make a scene; do you understand me?”

The scout stole the briefest of looks between the Spymaster’s face and into the tent behind her, where the pained whimpers of the Herald were starting to grow louder. He paled and saluted her before stealthily running into the camp to do as he was bid.

Leliana rushed back to Elissa’s side only to find her slumped in her chair and passed out, her bloodied hands hanging limply at her sides with her chin lolling on her chest, rivulets of dark red streaming down her face to stain her shirt.

“I am sorry, my friend,” she apologised just low enough so no one else could overhear. She apologised for hurting her with her impatience, her carelessness. For giving in when she knew better. For knowing that she would not hesitate to do it again. For her or for Thedas.

Now she knew that the woman who fell from the Breach was none other than the Hero of Ferelden, somehow resurrected and sent back to the world to save them; as her friend, she would stop at nothing from having a chance to reclaim all that was once lost. And as her Spymaster, she would wield this information as a boon from the Maker himself. There could be no doubt now that Elissa was Andraste-sent, and with them being in the Hinterlands, it would not be long until people would start to talk about the resemblance between their well-missed Grey Warden and the new Herald of Andraste.

She would make sure of it. Chapter 3

#dragonage #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #cullen x inquisitor #alistair x warden #alistair x warden x cullen #alistair x inquisitor x cullen #dragon age 2 #dragon age fanfic

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crossdressingdeath · 2 years

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cullen should have been replaced in skyhold like all the other npcs w roles who were replaced, like seggrit and the quartermaster. would have given a lot more room to do something w his lyrium storyline than 'lol good guys just power through it and throw things a little bit', to have him step down

Yeah, especially since if you're playing a pro-mage/mage/non-human Quiz one of their first acts as Inquisitor would be removing the Templar they were forced to deal with in Haven from authority. Unless your Inquisitor is staunchly pro-Templar and has no grasp of basic diplomacy they're not going to want Meredith's favourite minion anywhere near their leadership! Also I feel like it would've worked really well if there was a "Right, there's going to be a few changes around here" moment after you're named Inquisitor where Quiz actually gets the chance to step up and use the authority that's just been forced on them whether they like it or not. And again, unless your Quiz is super pro-Templar and also has zero political or diplomatic know-how the first change they'd make would be removing Meredith's right-hand man from the head of their army. Like, that's just really bad PR. The fact that Leliana and Josie let Cassandra get away with that is mind-boggling. There is literally no aspect of this that's a good idea, because even if you're pro-Templar and don't care about how having Cullen in any sort of prominent position is going to alienate anyone who isn't down for all the torture and mass-murder he was openly partaking in in Kirkwall (which would be... most people? Most people were not down for that) the fact that he's either going through serious withdrawal or hooked on magic drugs that are starting to destroy his mind means he's a terrible choice for any position that requires a clear head. Which would definitely include commanding an army. There's no logical reason for Cullen to remain in command once you find better options, and there are multiple better options in your fucking party; sure, if you're not pro-Templar you might not want Cassandra, but Bull and Blackwall both have experience commanding men (maybe neither of them have experience with a full army, but they're both gonna be better than Cullen for anyone who isn't prepared to play Coddle The Templar) and Varric and Leliana both know people with experience in positions of command! You have options, and the potential Inquisitors who'd be happy with Cullen's leadership and presence are few, and yet there's no option to get rid of him beyond a lukewarm "Well maybe if he wants to step down he should be allowed to" that Quiz backs down on when Cassandra gets pissy about the suggestion that maybe someone who doesn't want to be in command and clearly isn't in any fit state for it should be replaced.

God, so much of DAI would work better if the game just committed to the initial setup of you being stuck on Cassandra's leash instead of trying to pretend you have absolute control over the situation when you clearly don't. Bioware admit that the cops in your games are shitty people challenge.

#dragon age inquisition #cullen critical #asks #superspy-anon

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vilnan · 2 years

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I KILLED SEGGRIT AND MINAEVE

#I HAVEN'T FAILED IN THIS GAME THIS BAD IN YEARS #not reloading a save though #we're going with this now #this is canon for maud #🎮 vilna plays games

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5lazarus · 3 years

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This Fucking Guy

Solas drives Adan and Minaeve crazy, and it's his bathing habits that finally break them both.

The spiritual, non-sexy sequel to Salt, Flesh, Heat: Adan is not nearly as appreciate an audience as Iron Bull. A Dragon Age: Inquisition story, set in Haven. Read on Archive of Our Own here.

The elf with the glowing hand is locked up in the office in the great hall with the Lady Seeker, Sister Nightingale, and the templar, which leaves Minaeve and Adan to interface with their so-called “Fade Expert.” Expert in the Fade he may be--Adan and Minaeve can’t quite tell, they both took to the practical, material, very firmly real aspects of their training, rather than weird philosophical exercises with demons and spirits. What he definitely is, though, beyond any and all doubt, is a prig, and he doesn’t even have the decency to be moderately good-looking about it.

“Waste of a lovely voice,” Adan mutters to himself.

The apostate, who is still dressed in patched-together homespun despite his Inquisition salary, is lecturing Minaeve on her methodology for examining the fire essence that dropped out one of the rifts the glowy-elf closed. He sounds very nice doing it, as long as Adan does not listen to the specifics. Minaeve, who has “interfacing with other Inquisition experts as needed” written in her job description, looks like she disagrees. Her expression is flat, her eyes narrowed.

“That is all well and good,” she finally says. “But do you have any citations for this—assertion? Because I do need to justify any shift in practice. But if you can provide the text,” she spreads her arms out, “by all means, I’ll discuss it with Mistress Valima and see if shifting our approach is useful.”

The apostate flares his nostrils in one short breath like an angry horse. Got ‘im, Adan thinks. The apostate bites off, “I saw it in the Fade.”

Minaeve says, “Yes. But can you replicate it here? So other people can see? Under the material conditions of reality?”

“The Fade is real,” the apostate says. “And imminently material, as the Breach well shows.”

Minaeve pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can see that. Most of the world can see that. But I cannot justify a change in my methodology by writing ‘An agent of the Inquisition saw this in a dream, once.’”

The apostate laughs. Minaeve glares at him. Adan hides a smirk, busying himself with a book. She never tries to be funny. Merrily the apostate says, “I have seen much in dreams that holds up well in this reality, if only you are willing to dig. And it is a kindness of spirits, I think, that they preserve the motions of experiments unrecorded by mortal hands—or whose records have been burnt. Perhaps you may write—‘An agent was instructed in this by a spirit of wisdom in the Fade, lurking in the ruins of the library of the Dirth.’”

“No,” Minaeve says flatly.

The apostate does not blink. He says something in Elvhen that makes her flinch and leaves, expression unreadable. He does not so much as even glance as Adan as he goes, which is fine. Adan gets enough of him in that stupid fucking hut they’re stuck in, with the dwarf. He’d signed up with the Inquisition to get fed and end up on the right side of the Divine, no matter what happened with the war. Dealing with bratty apostates is out of his pay range.

Minaeve says, “This fucking guy. Fen’Harel take him.” She makes a rude gesture at the door.

Adan says, “He’s such a fucking prick. Nice ass, though.”

Minaeve says mournfully, “Nicest pair of thighs I’ve ever seen on an elf, wasted. That face! That fucking attitude! He looks like a corpse, and smells like one too.”

Adan says fervently, “Maker. Don’t I know it. I live with him!” He clearly only has the clothes on his back, and in the chaos of both his capture—or voluntary surrender, as he needles the Seeker—the elf’s not had the chance to wash them, or order new clothes. To be fair, Seggrit is offering itchy woolens clearly snatched from the corpses down the road at ridiculous prices, but Adan is not inclined to be fair. The man stinks like a dead wolf—probably because of the freshly-tanned wolfskin he wraps himself in.

Minaeve says, “You know, they’ve come up with a basic uniform for the Inquisition soldiers. He could wear that instead. And get those…skins washed.”

“I think we should burn them,” Adan says. “He’s so annoying to live with. He goes to bed as soon as he can and shushes Master Tethras—the Master Tethras—whenever he gets too loud. As if his—beauty sleep—is more important than the tales of greatest living writer of Thedas! Varric’s taken to just hanging outside at the campfire, you know the one near the tavern? Because Solas demands absolute silence for his rest.”

“Ah yes,” Minaeve says sourly, “so he can commune with the spirits of the Fade who tell him ancient Elvhen methodology for recording scientific experimentation and bear that knowledge to the scornful audience of the flat-ears and Dalish wildings.” Adan blinks. She has announced that in one breath; she’s had this pent up for awhile. Minaeve breathes in quickly, trying to catch her breath.

Adan says, “I mean. You can’t really see a demon taking possession of him, at least. At least he’s obviously not an abomination.”

Minaeve says, “Not even the Dread Wolf would try to tempt him, he’s such a prig.”

Bitch session wonderfully cathartic, Adan heads to the tavern to water himself until he can’t walk straight. His plan is unfortunately ruined by Maryden the Minstrel, who keeps singing depressing lullabies about the plight of the elves. He starts booing her, and a girl upends her drink on them all below. Flissa kicks both of them out. To add insult to injury, she takes his half-finished beer stein from him too.

“You can’t be mean to Maryden,” Flissa says. “Yes, I know it’d be great if we could get a proper band in, someone who knows a rhythm we can all dance to. But she’s friends with Sister Nightingale. You don’t want to get on her bad side, Adan. You might find yourself without a tongue.”

Adan sticks his tongue at her and marches through the snow with dignity. He stops by the apothecary and picks up a lavender satchet to place over his face, to avoid the stinky one. Speaking of the stinky one, he’s not standing outside the hut like he normally does, brooding up at the Breach. Maybe Minaeve lost her temper and killed him. Maybe Varric finally won and dragged him to the baths. Maybe the glowy-elf yelled at him for being rude about the Dalish, or fucked him. There has been a generous amount of sexual tension in their conversations outside the hut lately. Adan does not like it, but then again, the glowy-elf herself smells as well.

“No one knows how to wash their fucking clothes,” Adan grumbles to himself. “Gore and grime and rotting flesh still stuck up in their armor. Ugh.” Bracing himself, he opens the door.

A wave of heat nearly bows him over. Then the heavy stench of eucalyptus sticks its fingers into his throat, and he gags. In a large wooden tub sits Solas, glowing gold, rubbing himself furiously with oak leaves. Adan gasps.

Solas, voice liquid, says, “Ah. Shut the door, if you would.”

Adan gapes at him. He has a thin golden down on his chest, following a trail to a cock plumper and larger than he expected.

Solas, more firmly now, says, “Adan. The door. If you would.”

Adan shuts the door. He says lamely, “You’re naked.”

Solas puts down the oak branch and stares at him like he’s an idiot. “The bathing facilities in Haven are primitive.”

Adan blinks.

Solas says, “We do not have the wood to spare for a proper hunter’s bathing house, so I improvised. I can purify the water when I am done, if you still need a bath.”

Adan thinks, well good now you just smell like city mage who’s recently discovered herbal magic. But what about your clothes? He looks around. The horrible wolfskin and the even worse sheepskin are gone.

A bit sheepish, Solas says, “Lady Montilyet is preparing the advisers of the Inquisition for a dinner party with an Orlesian official tomorrow evening. We must, of course, all appear at our best. I have seen such displays in the Fade, of course, but it has been a long time—there are not many opportunities for a woodsman such as I to dine with such luminaries.”

Delight sneaks into the humidity of Solas’ improvised bath house. Adan grins as he translates Solas-speak into real people talk: the Lady Ambassador stripped him down and ordered him to scrub himself into something resembling polite company. That explains why the other bitchy elf was so mad at the tavern. He cannot wait to tell Minaeve.

Mischievously, Adan says, “Got room for one more?”

Solas’ eyes glimmer and he rises, allowing Adan a full look—a redhead then, going gray, a bit older than he thought. Then he strides to his cot and sprawls on the bed, carelessly picking up a book. He is unutterably elegant, with those long limbs, and the fire catches the glow of skin alight. Adan feels suddenly very small.

Solas says, “Surely there is nothing keeping you from your ablutions, Apothecary Adan?” He lounges, idly paging through the book. “Do not let myself at my studies disturb you. The water is quite hot, and the tub itself I inscribe with a sigil to keep it clean for at least another wash.”

Adan thinks, this fucking guy. Maker’s Breath. Is this a flirt or a challenge or telling me I’m so ugly I’m beneath his notice? What the fuck?

He says, “I’m good, thanks,” and flees the sweating room, nearly bowling over Varric.

“Solas’s naked!” he blurts as he runs in the snow.

Varric says, “What?”

Adan slides down the path towards the campfire, where Minaeve is skimpily dressed and attempting to seduce Seggritt, who has his eyes only on his wares. If she tried to fondle one of those rusty daggers, she might have more luck. A better fiddler than Maryden, some scout from the Hinterlands, plucks at their violin. People are gathered by the fire. Adan skitters to a halt, and Minaeve glares at him, annoyed.

Seggritt says, “Need new boots? Got a, uh, new shipment from the Crossroads this morning,” which means some smuggler from the Hinterlands looted the boots off all the corpses and sold them to the Inquisition for a pittance.

Adan says, “No, I like my leather without the spirits of the angry dead, thanks. Minaeve, he was naked.”

Minaeve says, “Who?”

Seggritt says, “Oh, I don’t deal in flesh. You have to ask…” He trails off, and then suddenly leans forward. “Well, if you’re looking for a warm night, I can ask around as to who does—for a price.”

Adan says, “He was taking a bath. He turned our hut into a bath house. He was hitting himself with an oak branch! And he still didn’t smell good!”

Minaeve issues one short breath from her nostrils, like an angry horse. “What did he smell like?” she says very calmly.

Adan says, “Eucalyptus. Stunk of it. I like eucalyptus fine, mind you, but this—“

“That was my eucalyptus,” Minaeve says, “I was researching the magical effects of eucalyptus when paired with essence of embrium and Prophet’s Laurel, because Sister Nightingale.” She stops. Adan and Minaeve turn to Seggritt, who is picking at a scabby scabbard and unabashedly listening.

Seggritt says, “I don’t know shit about herbs.”

Minaeve sighs. “This fucking guy,” she mutters. “This fucking guy! He can’t even take a bath without fucking up my night!”

Adan says, “He glimmered like gold, Minaeve. And he was hitting himself with an oak branch. It was—who bathes like that?”

Minaeve says, “Fucking stinking Fade Experts, that’s who, who come tumbling out of nowhere with perfect Elvhen and the most decorous ancient discipline clearly learned from Dirth’ena Enasalin themselves—from the fucking Fade. Fuck!” She stamps her foot. “Fen’Harel take him, I can’t stand the bastard!”

“And Andraste take care of the rest,” Adan agrees. “Maker hear us on that.”

#dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #solas #minaeve #adan #da fanfic #dai fanfic #humor #comedy #bathing #friendship #kvetching #seggrit #haven #dragon age inquisition #dragon age

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