#seron lavellan

[midnightprelude]

Teasing a new Dorian x Ril piece that @oftachancer​ and I are putting together about falling in love in the midst of grief. I’m thinking we’ll post in May for 30 days of Dorian? Maybe? (Though posting 3 long-ish fics at once... HM.)

CW: grief, death mentions, mourning. I’m placing it under a cut in case anyone would like to avoid such content!

He paced the floor of his condo, boots clicking against the polished wood flooring, echoing through the largely empty space. Thin tendrils of guilt tightened around his abdomen, turning coffee and pastries and the little bit of egg he’d eaten into bricks in his stomach. Dorian stopped on his heels and stared at the little crayon drawings Seron’s niece had sent as a response when they’d asked her parents if she’d be their flower girl. Little auburn braids, in a dress the color of ocean waves on a sunny day. 

It had been so simple to relax for a moment, to forget, to allow himself to talk without the tightness in his chest that had accompanied every day for the past months. So easy to flirt with a random stranger who’d shown him a sliver of kindness and- 

Had it not been enough, those minutes under the bright awning? Taking the flowers from Tula’s hands like he’d taken them from Palanna five years ago? Their energies were the same, laughing grins, even if that was where the resemblances ended. 

He’d only had the pleasure of meeting the girl twice. Once at his wedding, once at Seron’s funeral. Dorian fought his sister on where they would bury his body and- Well, that had ended that. He wasn’t likely to see the girl again.

Selfish. He’d thought if he kept Seron close, buried him using the old methods, a part of him might still be close. But either it hadn’t worked, or the man was set on ignoring him. Each time he visited the sepulcher, Dorian maintained a small candle of hope that his husband might deign to speak with him. Each time he left, that light was guttered, leaving only disappointment in its wake. 

Tagging the usual suspects to share a WIP of any sort: @kemvee | @coffeebirby | @ashalle-art | @jentrevellan | @zuendwinkel | @lavellanvibes | @dalish-rogue | @hollyand-writes | @dismalzelenka | @enigmalea | @kunstpause | @elveny | @thefoxinboots | @blarfkey | @charlatron | @a-shakespearean-in-paris | @queen-kass-the-writer | @blarrghe | @wardenari | @nug-juggler | @johaeryslavellan | @laniardraws | @faux-fires | @ramonadecember | @noire-pandora | @jentrevellan | @decimdraws

[leaphia]

Seron Lavellan for @midnightprelude and Hvanasyl for  @woonadaar

Thank you so much for the requests!

[lesbian-lorkhan]

Warden Serathra Surana and Inquisitor Seron

The Lavellan twins

[elvhenmage]

My canon inquisitor is a trans man, Seron Lavellan. He was one Hawke's companions who was made Tranquil. He loves his boyfriend Dorian, his twin sister, his step sister who is half qunari, and his adopted daughter Orana (the part of him being the canon one is really ironic)

another case of twin lavellans! sick! i hope seron is living his best life with his beautiful family

[midnightprelude]

Candles for Dorian

I do not know what’s up with me and angst today. I’m so sorry. 😅 For @dadrunkwriting !

Dorian’s gaze scanned the cold stone hall filled with hundreds of unlit candles. A statue smiled down on him, next to the empty plinth on which his own likeness would rest, one day. And though Seron Lavellan would never be interred in the Pavus mausoleum - he had wished to have the rites of his people - Dorian would damn well honor him there.

He lit the candles one by one. By hand. If there was any doubt that Dorian had loved, still loved, the bloody bastard-

He tightened his jaw. There were words to be said, over the memorial to the Lord Inquisitor, even though no one would be there to hear them except Dorian himself and the spirits of the dead.

[midnightprelude]

I would love to hear more about Seron and Dorian! How about 3 moments that made them (one or both of them) realize they were in love? -signed your secret palentine!

Thank you, secret palentine, for asking about these lovely bois! 

“Hmm…” Dorian said, tapping his chin with a slender finger. He was seated in the enormous velvet armchair that he’d had some of Cullen’s men help drag upstairs into the alcove he’d claimed. “When did I realize I was in love with our illustrious Inquisitor? Such a personal question!”

It was an act, really. Dorian knew the exact moments that clicked for him, had been thinking about them for years. It was the telling he wanted to get right. The story needed to be perfect if it was to be immortalized in one of Varric’s novels.

Though, he supposed, Varric is going to make up half of the details anyway.

Dorian took a deep breath and began.

“The first moment I realized I’d grown attached was during the siege at Adamant fortress. Seron had opened a rift into the Fade to try and escape a dragon and the lot of us fell in with him. We fought off a giant demon before climbing through another rift back into our world, and he was right behind me, but when I stumbled through the portal he was gone.” Dorian’s jovial expression had been replaced with despair, the memory still stung. “I thought I failed to protect him—that we had lost him. That’s the first time I knew for certain."

He sighed, sipping his wine, trying to banish the feeling of a stone dropping in his gut. “It wasn’t all doom and gloom though. The first time I saw him with one of those stray cats we have around Skyhold was like something out of a fairy tale. He picks up one of the cats, scrawny little thing, and gives it a few drops of a healing potion—the poor thing had sores all over its body. It looks up at him and starts squirming, so he puts the mangy little beast down and follows it. Right to a brood of kittens!”

Dorian shook his head, even as his skin began to tingle. “Ridiculous man, I was bottle feeding cats for weeks, so he wouldn’t have to do it alone, and I’m allergic.”

His gaze turned wistful as he looked out the stained glass window, shifting in his chair.

“Sometimes I wonder what he sees in me. That’s the last thing, I suppose.” Dorian turned back to the interviewer. “How could I not love someone who sees me and doesn’t think ‘evil necromancer’, but actually took the time to know me? Someone who knows who I am and what I gave up and doesn’t question it?”Dorian smiled into his goblet, looking at his reflection in the wine. “I’m the luckiest man in Thedas.”

[midnightprelude]

For the DADWC: "You can always talk to me.”

For @dadrunkwriting, thanks so much for the prompt!

Dorian held the sending crystal to his lips as though he could feel his lover’s ragged breaths, green light pulsing with each sharp inhale.

“I don’t even know what we have anymore,” Seron managed to gasp from the other end of the device, miles away. “This… It doesn’t feel much like living.”

He held the chain more tightly around his neck, his own heart sinking in his chest. “I don’t understand, we speak almost daily! That was the entire point of the device. You can always talk to me, no matter what, and I’ve always made the time.”

The room was growing dark, the candles were at risk of burning out. He wondered if Seron hadn’t been able to sleep, wondered what he had been doing to keep himself warm. Dorian had been writing when he felt the crystal’s familiar warmth and he tossed his pen aside to answer.

“Dorian, this is untenable,” Seron’s voice was wavering. Dorian couldn’t tell if he was crying, or just on the verge of it. “Let me come to Minrathous, vhenan, I need to see you, to hold you again.”

He shook his head, even though he knew Seron couldn’t see. “I would be putting you in danger by allowing you to live here. The Magisterium could use you against me and I will not permit you to be bait.”

“Then…” His voice had grown soft, as though he spoke from the other side of a tunnel. Which, Dorian supposed, he was. “Then I’m not sure what else there is to say.”

[midnightprelude]

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss for Seron and Dorian? :)

A continuation from this lovely prompt for @dadrunkwriting!

Inquisitor Lavellan,

It feels so formal to write that title, where I once would have tossed endearments at you like those snowballs you and Sera pelted me with that first winter in Skyhold. The world was simpler then. We were too, I suppose.

That’s not how I meant to start this letter, but I’ve rewritten it so many damned times already, I’ve promised myself that this will be the last time. I know you are hurting—I am too, I’ll admit it. My blood has turned to ice since we last spoke and nothing has been able to warm it. Not the substantial heat of the Minrathous summer. Not the light acidity of an expensive Tevinter red. Not company, not work, not exercise, not food, not dancing.

You told me that you weren’t sure what we had anymore. Those words have been replaying through my head for the past weeks, an incessant drone in my mind, slowly driving me mad. I didn’t know the answer, until it hit me like one of the aforementioned snowballs, right in the face.

I know what we have, amatus. A future, if you’d still like one. If you can forgive me.

I need to see you, need to hold you, need to kiss you again.

Damn the consequences. If I have to take on the entire Senate to be with you, I will. This life we’ve been living… None of it feels worth it if you’re not here with me.

Let me make it up to you, love.

Yours always,

Dorian

The letter was growing worn in Seron’s hand, creases threatening to tear and ink beginning to smudge in places. The handwriting was art in and of itself; he wished he could preserve it perfectly, but he needed to hold it close and admire it, a reminder that his lover still wanted him despite time and distance.

He’d read its words a hundred times, sleeping with it under his pillow during the long journey from Jader to Minrathous. He could almost feel Dorian’s lips on his each night as he was lulled to sleep by the undulating waves. Farther away from his clan than he’d ever been, with the promise of seeing Dorian again, the hope of whatever ‘future’ he had meant, Seron felt like he was journeying home.

[midnightprelude]

For the OC of your choice - how did they get one of their scars?

Thanks for the ask, friend! I’ll answer for Seron, my cinnamon roll inquisitor, who is just too soft for this cruel world.

“You see, my dear Seron here was saving a troupe of child actors from a pack of brigands when one of the scoundrels nicked him across his eye with a poisoned blade!” Dorian said, laughter in his voice as he took another sip of wine.

After a loving glance at his partner, Seron turned to the interviewer with a sheepish grin. “I tripped over a log when I was picking berries.”

[midnightprelude]

prompt: Where, Curse, Tender :)

Oof, this one took me a bit! For @dadrunkwriting! Thanks for the prompt, viking! A bit of snowy Pavellan. :)

“When you asked me whether I wanted to do something interesting, I thought we would find a secluded area in the castle, perhaps one that has a slightly smaller hole in the ceiling than usual, to keep out the draft. There would be at least a bottle of wine, probably more. Cards, maybe? We would have a fire going, of course; I don’t understand how you don’t freeze wearing that thin outfit you’ve always got on.”

Seron Lavellan grinned, placing a hand on Dorian’s exposed shoulder. “At least my body is covered, vhenan.”

 The snow crunched under their boots as they made their way through the forest, moonlight trickling through the trees, casting long shadows before them and imbuing the world with an ethereal glow. The wind was howling through the branches and the men’s hair was hopelessly tousled. Dorian hadn’t dressed appropriately for the weather, it was true. He held out a stubborn hope that if he dressed as though he could be lounging at the beach, the weather couldn’t possibly be cold enough to freeze the lakes. The efficacy had proven limited thus far, but he had not stopped trying. Seron had already given him his cloak, which pride nearly forbade him from accepting, but his shivering forced him to concede.

 Dorian continued. “The last thing I could possibly envision is the two of us trekking across the Ferelden wilderness in near darkness to some unknown destination because you have a feeling we’ll find something worth finding. What do you mean, a ‘feeling’ anyhow? For example, I have a feeling that my feet are sore and my nose is cold, and…”

 Before he could finish speaking, Seron’s lips were on Dorian’s nose, warm but chapped from the wind.

 “Did that help at all?” The elf was laughing as Dorian’s look of confusion melted into a warm smile. “I could do it again if you wish.”

 “If I wish?” Dorian flashed a wicked grin. “The audacity of such a suggestion! I wish for quite a bit more than that, truth be told.”

 Seron took Dorian’s hand in his own, leading him on. “Would it surprise you to know that my desires are the same?”

 “Not at all,” Dorian said, chuckling lightly, the sound nearly lost upon the wind. He pulled Seron close enough that Dorian could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheeks. “You would be a fool to think otherwise.”

 Seron pulled him closer still, his lips brushing against Dorian’s neck. “I’m told that love makes fools of men. For example, I’m so foolish that I’d have you wait, love. I have something to show you. Besides, making love in the snow isn’t as romantic as it sounds.”

 Dorian felt blood rush to his cheeks, glad for the near darkness.

 For all of his complaining, Dorian did find this area beautiful. In a frosty, uncomfortable way, certainly, but Ferelden was not utterly without charm. Seron, of course, found everything marvelous. He would stare at the empty branches, investigate tracks in the snow, and stop to pick up the hardy little plants that popped up despite the chill. Unbothered by the cold, he was light upon his feet, nearly dragging Dorian across the landscape.

 “Do you have the slightest idea where we are, amatus, or are you just leading me around in circles so you can look the part of the bold, dashing hero who carries me back to Skyhold when I collapse from exhaustion?”

 “Of course!” Seron replied, smiling, his green eyes glowing softly in the darkness. “I spend some time in the Hinterlands with my clan. If I remember correctly, the place we’re looking for is just over that…”

 Seron had stopped walking and was keenly surveying their surroundings, brow furrowed. His eyes were sharper in the dark than Dorian’s and he always seemed to pick up on sounds that Dorian missed. He had read that it was a trait of the elves, particularly those living amongst the Dalish clans, but had never so strongly wished he could see just a bit better at night. Whatever Seron heard had him incredibly worried.

 “Fenedhis,” the elf cursed softly, turning to Dorian. “Bandits, or another group of armed men. I do not know how many of them trail us.”

 They were standing near a clearing, at the bottom of a ridge. Seron’s eyes were fixed upon the high point of the hill, which Dorian was assuming was the direction of the noises he heard. He still could not make them out himself. The two of them were still shrouded in the darkness that the trees provided; luckily, their clothing was in the deep browns and greens the Inquisition scouts often wore, so they should not stand out.

 “A perfect excuse for us to return to the castle,” Dorian said, hopefully.

 Seron shook his head. “I want to see what they’re up to; if they’re dangerous, there is no telling who they could hurt if we leave them to their devices.”

 Dorian shook his head, sighing. “Always the valiant knight, aren’t you? Come along then, let’s try to sneak up on them.”

 “The sound of your steps could wake the entire forest. I’m going up there. You stay here.”

 “Absolutely not,” Dorian said, but Seron was already halfway up the rise. Dorian sighed, crossing to the other side, staying within the line of trees to avoid alerting the men. He ascended the gentle slope under the cover of darkness, avoiding the direct route Seron had taken.

 He heard the elf’s voice ahead of him, calling out. Dorian gripped his staff tightly, moving as quickly as he could through the snow.

 He was not prepared for the sight before him.

 Seron had his arms wrapped around an elven woman, while a small child wrapped her arms around his legs. A man stood to the side, smiling near the campfire.

 “Dorian!” Seron was positively beaming as he pulled away from the woman. “I’d like you to meet my sister and her family.”

 “Aneth ara,” she said softly, grinning.

 Dorian looked between the four of them, utterly baffled. Seron hadn’t spoken much of his family before. He had known he had a sister, but had no idea they were coming to visit.

 “I…” Dorian stuttered before recovering. “I’m very pleased to meet you, my lady.”

 Try as he might, he couldn’t be angry at the elf for bringing him to meet his family without any warning. Seron just looked too delighted with the entire scene.

 “Thank you for taking care of my brother,” the woman said, before wrapping Dorian in an embrace. “He has a gentle heart… From his letters, I can tell he really loves you.”

 Dorian looked between Seron and his sister, his cheeks growing rosy. “I… I love him too. More than anything.”

 He felt a tug at the bottom of his robes and saw the girl looking up at him, eyes wide. She was missing a tooth. “Are you going to marry Uncle Seron, serrah?”

 Balking, Dorian turned to Seron for help, but the elf was only giving him a wry grin.

 The woman scooped up the girl, tickling her chin. “Perhaps we can ask that question of our new friend later, eh? After we’ve all gotten inside and warm.” Seron’s sister looked at Dorian and winked, mouthing the words *she’ll be asleep*.

 The two men helped the family pick up their camp supplies and Seron led them all back to the castle, clutching Dorian’s hand the entire way. As promised, the girl was asleep long before they reached the gates.

 When they were back in the Inquisitor’s chambers, Seron pounced on him, pinning him to the bed. “So, marriage, Dorian?”

 “Seal the Breach, kill the Magister, and if we both happen to survive those things, *then and only then* will we speak on matrimony. I am too pretty to be a widower, and so are you.”

 Seron grinned, peppering him with kisses. “So, your answer is yes?”

 “Amatus, are you even…” He sighed, kissing him back. “One day, yes. I can live with that.”

 The chill of the evening had worn off completely, between the fire and the press of their bodies, the snow and all it brought was temporarily forgotten. Dorian was filled with love; he had never expected to find it, here of all places, with this man of all people. He made ‘one day’ seem as possible as a man walking out of a hole in the sky and living to tell the tale.

[midnightprelude]

“28) Who writes poems/stories and love songs about the other? Do they sing the songs the write for them?” For Seron/Dorian?

Seron would write the poetry and songs and Dorian would make them passable for public consumption (he once tried to see how many different ways he could compliment Dorian’s butt in one poem, that one went straight into the fireplace). 

Dorian’s got a lovely baritone and will sing sometimes, but only if he’s had some wine or they’re alone and Seron’s feeling down. Seron’s more of a whistler, he’ll do it when they’re out in the field  and can mimic some native bird calls.

Thanks for the ask! Accepting from this list from the OTP meme!

[midnightprelude]

For an OC of your choice: which one is more likely to be afraid of the dark and why?

Thanks for the ask, friend!

Definitely Seron Lavellan, he’s a bit of a scaredy cat. He’s used to at least having the light of the moon and stars to see by. Dorian surprised him in the cellars in Skyhold once and the poor man dropped his candle, jumped about 3 feet in the air, and screamed so loud it woke half the castle. 

He now makes Dorian fetch any alcoholic beverages while he stays in the library or his chambers, warm and bright with the fire going.

[midnightprelude]

WIP Wednesday

It’s that time again! It’s been a while, but I wanted to write something about my cinnamon roll Inquisitor Seron and his sparkly mage boyfriend this week. They haven’t gotten any love yet and it was past time!

“When you asked me whether I wanted to do something interesting, I thought we would find a secluded area in the castle, perhaps one that has a slightly smaller hole in the ceiling than usual, to keep out the draft. There would be at least a bottle of wine, probably more. Cards? We would have a fire going, of course; I don’t understand how you don’t freeze wearing that thin outfit you’ve always got on.” 

Seron Lavellan grinned, placing a hand on Dorian’s exposed shoulder. “At least my body is covered, vhenan.”

The snow crunched under their boots as they made their way through the forest, moonlight trickling through the trees, casting long shadows before them and imbuing the world with an ethereal glow. The wind was howling through the branches and tousling the men’s hair hopelessly. Dorian hadn’t dressed appropriately for the weather, it was true. He held out a stubborn hope that if he dressed as though the temperature would be reasonable for once, it couldn’t possibly be cold enough to freeze lakes and men alike. The efficacy of this tactic had proven limited thus far, but Dorian had not stopped trying. Seron had already given him his cloak, which pride nearly forbade him from accepting, but his shivering forced him to concede. 

Tagging forward to @johaeryslavellan, @pikapeppa, @schoute, @lethendralis-paints, @thesaltyhealer, @tryvyalsynnes, @aban-asaara, @theherocomplex, @levikra, @kallielef and anyone else who wants to pick up the tag! Share a WIP of any sort if you like! No pressure as always. :)

[midnightprelude]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @faerieavalon, thanks friend. Tagging forward to @thesaltyhealer, @johaeryslavellan, @lethendralis-paints, and @tryvyalsynnes if you’re interested.

I’ve got a bunch of random crap that may or may not turn into anything (probably not). Here you go, random crap. I haven’t been feeling great lately, but it’s good to know that I’m still writing. A lot. It’s random shit, but it’s still writing, so that’s something I guess.

One. 

Unfortunately, now I must find a new meaning for myself without you or a calamity to guide me. I no longer know who I am, amatus. I cannot go back to who I was before we met; you have changed me in so many wonderful ways. I am free to trust, to stand proud against my father, to fight for justice, to admit I was wrong, to learn from my mistakes. Knowing you, loving you, has made me stronger than I ever could have been alone. However, I still feel as though I am not yet the man I must become. My country needs a miracle. That the entire mess was the doing of my people, ancient and otherwise, was a blow.

Two.

“No,” she laughed, brushing a curl off her nose. “I should think not. We have plans tonight, Dorian. You’ll never guess who I just ran into!”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Unless it’s someone who will grade these papers for me and write a couple of grants, I’m afraid the only plans I have for the evening are take-out and a date with this pen.” He twirled the ballpoint between his fingers.

Three. 

Anders was smiling. Dorian couldn’t help himself; he bent over, kissing him, both men sighing with pleasure. Avoiding thoughts of the future had become their solace; they had both decided simultaneously and wordlessly that they would squeeze every moment of happiness out of the present before their lives fell to pieces.

Four. 

Her brow furrowed, searching for a memory that wasn’t tinged with sadness. “In truth, the things that hold the most weight in my mind are those that caused me the most grief. The contented ones were all shoved away. I had thought it better to believe that only sorrow existed, more fuel to add to the flames. It allowed me to function. The juxtaposition of what was with what could have been… It always hurt too much.”

Five.

They were supposed to be learning about the history of the Circles, but Anders had fallen asleep again. He hadn’t been resting properly at night since the Templars had brought him back, carted him in front of Irving and Gregiore; his lessons were the only place he could sleep these days. There were plenty of people about, the rooms were well-lit, and the enchanters droned endlessly. In essence, classes were the perfect draught; they set Anders right to sleep without fail.

Six. 

Fog descends over the dusty city as the small man behind the desk rolls a cigar. Red hair, red jacket, red chair. The shade stands out against the general darkness of the room; it feels like all the other colors had simply given up and walked out leaving only vibrant reds and dull grays.

The man pulls a lighter from his breast pocket, and the red flame casts his face in shadow, just for a moment. The end of his cigar catches alight and he sighs, leaning back. He offers a drag to the person facing him, but their refusal suits him just fine.

“It’s been a long time since anyone has had much in the way of hope around here. Kirkwall is a pit, it’s true, but sometimes you just find a whole and think to yourself, well, if I die here, at least nobody’ll have to start digging.

“The name’s Tethras. I’m something of a storyteller, those these days nobody is much in the mood for stories. But I’d like to think that once we stop telling them, that’s when life has ground us all down into such tiny pieces that there’s nothing left to salvage. Floating through the air like motes of dust.

“So, I’ll keep talking, as long as you’re listening, friend. I’m just a bit player in this story, but I know enough to tell you that it’s one worth sticking around for. Gets better with every telling.”

[midnightprelude]

WIP... Saturday...?

Tagged by... @johaeryslavellan and @lethendralis-paints I think? Tags back to both of you and then forward to @thesaltyhealer, @elveny, @faerieavalon, @badpriestessofbuttsburgh, @hollyand-writes, @resjade, @smuttine, and @enigmalea to share art or writing or whatever else you’re working on. :)

From some random stuff I was writing with @tryvyalsynnes, who I will always write random stuff with. Feat. my new jellybean Inquisitor being cute. No title yet, since we’re not sure where or if or when it’s going. XD

He frowned. “And I’m sorry about the manacles. They look dreadfully uncomfortable.” He snapped, the metal glowed blue, and they crashed to the floor. He winced at the noise, metal on stone echoing through the dungeon. “At least until I leave. I think I can handle a single apostate and if you kill me, I’m sure the guards won’t be too happy. You seem nice enough anyway.”

[midnightprelude]

Fall Prompts

It’s still too hot here, so I’m trying to will autumn into existence with some fall prompts! Feel free to reblog and share!

1. Well-worn leather 2. Baked apples 3. Full moon 4. Humming whispers 5. Clinking glass 6. Silent libraries 7. Misty dawn 8. Glinting torchlight 9. Chilled nose 10. Dancing shadows