#shannara's month of mayhem

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - “No. Regrets.” - @laraslandlockedblues

Wedded

"Sylaise enaste var aravel. Lama, ara las mir lath. Bellanaris."

"May you be blessed in the eyes of the Maker," the priest intoned, faltering for a moment under Josephine's hard glare before adding, "And gain the blessing of the elven gods as well."

Enaste grinned, squeezing Josephine's hand, lifting it to her lips to press a tender kiss to her wife's knuckles. They weren't invoking the blessing of all the Evanuris, though she doubted there would be any objection from that one whose name was a whispered curse. For all his activities and the mere threat of his existence, Solas would have blessed this union, for the sake of his friend if nothing else.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you ... Lord and Lady Lavellan-Montilyet."

The little bower erupted with cheers and applause as Aran turned to face his friends and family, his new wife tucked close against his side. His eyes swept first to his mothers - to Enaste and Josephine, hair touched with gray, faces lined with age, smiling and laughing and crying happy tears to see him so blessed. He had kept them waiting for this day for too long, he knew, feeling a warm thrill in his heart that his happiness was theirs, too. They had struggled to be accepted for more than twenty years, pretending to the world that they did not hear the bigoted whispers and cruel taunts the world threw at their backs as they passed. Until he was a man, he had not even been aware that not everyone supported a union of women, much less a union between elf and human, lucky to have been drawn into the merry warmth of the Montilyet family along with his mother when she had made Josephine her wife and taken her name.

He drew his wife over to the two women who had raised him, laughing as Josephine abandoned Enaste to throw her arms around Isandre, the human mage he had fallen in love with what felt like a lifetime ago. Enaste reached up to hug him in turn, the one-armed embrace no longer as strange as it had been in the months following the end of the Inquisition. She no longer bore her pain like a badge, no longer tried to hide the loss of her left arm above the elbow. He was proud of her, so proud to be her son, lifting her off her feet as she laughed and kissed his cheek.

"No regrets, Mamae?" he asked softly, setting her down on her feet once again.

He watched her eyes turn toward Josephine, saw her expression soften as years of warmth and love and companionship flickered through her mind, as her smile gentled and deepened, glowing in the radiance of the adoration shared between herself and her wife. Her one hand squeezed his fingers as she looked back to him, bright with happiness that was all her own.

"Never," she assured her son. "No. Regrets. Ever."

He laughed with her, turning to receive his kiss and embrace from Josephine, his other mamae, wiping the tear tracks from her face before allowing Isandre to pull him away toward her own parents, who were themselves old friends - Cullen and Mila Rutherford. There were so many old friends here, people who had shaped who he was and who he had become. Friends who had helped Enaste accept who she was in the aftermath of the Conclave - Chargers, scouts, advisors, Jennies. Only the Divine had been unable to attend, but even she had sent a gift to bless the marriage of the Inquisitor's son. Even Clan Lavellan had sent a representative, though they no longer acknowledged Enaste or Aran as their own.

But that didn't matter. He had a clan, built on love and trust - the Montilyets and the Rutherfords, and as time went on, there would be others. Yet he would have none of this without his Mamae, and the woman who had gently wrapped her heart in all the love she could muster.

No, no regrets. There was no need.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - A lazy morning in bed, but person A tries to wake up person B in the nicest ways possible (stroking, petting, kissing, cooey voices) before moving on to the equivalent of an industrial bulldozer smashing through the wall. - @inquisitorsmabari

Good Morning

Slow sunlight crept through the wide windows of the Inquisitor's rooms at Skyhold. Outside, the fortress was already awake, bustling with business from one end to the other. But inside - in the warmth and softness that filled these rooms that Enaste had made her own - there was stillness.

Ggnnnnaaarrk.

Josephine opened her eyes with an affectionate sigh, turning her head toward her sleeping companion. Enaste had returned from the Frostback Basin late last night and all but fallen into bed, exhausted from the journey back home. She was sprawled now on top of the covers, bare to the world, with her backside pointed just a little up at the ceiling, and a small fist clenched underneath her jaw. And the noises she was making ...

Josephine laughed quietly to herself, rolling onto her side to trace a gentle finger over her elven lover's skin. How could she object to that appalling snoring? It meant Enaste was home and safe and sleeping peacefully. There was nothing to object to in that. One long finger gently skimmed the fall of short blonde hair back behind one pointed ear, teasing down over the sleeping mage's neck, over her shoulder, down the line of her back.

"Enaste," she murmured in a sing-song tone, softly urging her lover to wake up.

Ggnnnnaaarrk.

Josephine rolled her eyes above her smile, hardening her touch just a little - no longer a tracing skim of a finger, but her whole hand, warm and firm, smoothing over the dimpled bottom arched toward the roof. She slithered a little closer, brushing the tip of her nose to Enaste's.

"Time to wake up, my love," she called, still soft in the lazy morning that wrapped about them.

Ggnnnnaaarrk.

"Enaste!" This was a little louder, accompanied by a gentle shake applied to the elven woman's side. "This is a ridiculous way to waste a morning better spent with you."

Enaste drew in a deep breath, her fist uncurling to rub at her nose for a moment before she relaxed back to sleep. Josephine laughed again, tilting her head to brush tender kisses to the pale shoulder closest to her.

"Please wake up, my darling," she cajoled her lover, wriggling until she could press a kiss to those snoring lips. "I have missed you so."

Ggnnnnaaarrk.

"Fine, I give up."

Josephine rolled off the bed, catching up a robe that lay nearby to cover herself, and moved down the stairs to open the door. Aran had been given a room of his own in recent months, following construction work within the tower - his door lay opposite his mother's. The ambassador knocked, and a moment later, the lad opened the door, disheveled from sleep himself. He grinned up at her.

"Is Mamae snoring?"

She chuckled, bending to kiss his hair.

"And good morning to you, too," was her greeting. "Yes, your mother is refusing to wake up. She is all yours."

Aran's grin grew wider at the kiss. He was thriving on the rarity of having two mothers, though he had yet to call Josephine Mamae and Enaste would not force him to. He loved them both dearly, but he did enjoy the feeling of conspiracy that reigned between himself and Josephine whenever Enaste was being difficult.

Given permission, he skipped past Josephine and into the Inquisitor's quarters, accelerating up the stairs as Josephine followed at a more moderate pace. She heard him yell, heard him land on the bed, heard Enaste curse ... and heard the thump as they both fell off the other side of the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Well, it was certainly one way to wake the woman she loved.

[shannaraisles]

And now I’m all caught up!

Prompt - Enaste develops a sweet tooth for something the cooks make at Skyhold one time, so her LI/best friend tries (and possibly fails) to acquire some more from other sources before asking the cooks to make this one thing again? - @inquisitionartist

Peaches

"... do not want any further excuses! I am perfectly well aware that peaches are in season in Rivain at this moment, and should you fail to fulfill my order a second time, rest assured that House Montilyet will take great pleasure in blackening your reputation as an honest trader in delicate comestibles!"

Enaste paused on the steps down into the lower courtyard, hidden from view behind the large trees allowed to flourish at the base of Cullen's gate-tower, fascinated by what she was hearing. She had been intending to find Josephine anyway, but it was nothing short of remarkable to find the Antivan lady soundly scolding a merchant in the middle of the fortress. And over peaches, no less?

"I assure you, Lady Montilyet, we have a shipment on the way -"

"On the way is not good enough!" Josephine insisted. "This order was placed over a month ago, there is no reason not to have a crate among the goods you have brought with you today."

"If I could perhaps know the reason -"

"No, you may not. Two weeks, Goodman Jarron, or my business shall be taken elsewhere."

As the merchant mumbled an apology and yet another assurance that the desired peaches would be at Skyhold sooner than that, Enaste peered around the greenery, smiling at the sight of Josephine huffing a breath through her nose as she turned away. She's so cute when she's riled up. The elven woman was about to step down and make her way over, when she heard Leliana's voice speak up in amusement.

"Really, Josie, the world will not end without peaches."

"That is not -" Josephine paused, taking a moment to calm herself. "That is not the point, Leliana," she told the spymaster in a more normal tone of voice. "We do not know when the order will come to march into the Arbor Wilds, and Enaste deserves to enjoy what meals we provide her before then."

Hidden behind the branches, Enaste felt her heart thump, not only at the sound of her own name on those kissable lips, but at the fact that Josephine was riled up on her behalf.

"But peaches?" Leliana was asking, her smile audible in her voice.

"She ... she likes the Antivan peach slices," Josephine told her hesitantly. "The ones with almond? It was wonderful to see her eating with enthusiasm. And the cooks informed me that she and Aran steal what is left over every time we have them."

Enaste bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Josephine was absolutely right - she'd never had much of a sweet tooth before coming here, but those peach and almond slices were divine. She hadn't realized that stealing the leftovers so often had been reported back to the ambassador, though. Or maybe she asked the cooks what I like, she realized, feeling her heart flutter this time. Maybe Dorian was right, after all.

"That is why you were stamping your foot in the courtyard?" Leliana pressed her friend as they passed by the foot of the steps on which the Inquisitor was concealed.

"I was not stamping my foot," Josephine objected. "I simply ..." She sighed, her voice beginning to fade as the two women walked back toward the steps up to the main keep. "She has so many cares, Leliana. I want her to know that I - that we - care for her in return ..."

Hidden behind the greenery, Enaste could feel herself grinning like an idiot, her whole body thrumming with absolute delight at this unexpectedly wonderful discovery.

She likes me.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Saying sorry when you don’t want to - @lyriumyue

Diplomacy

"- little savage should have been drowned at birth -"

"Marquis!"

Josephine frowned sternly at the irate Orlesian nobleman standing in her office. He had a neat little bite mark on his hand, courtesy of Aran Lavellan. Not that it seemed to have been unwarranted, but things were still a little delicate following the transfer of power in Orlais. Thankfully, the Inquisitor understood this, but that didn't mean she was exactly happy about what she now had to do.

Indeed, Enaste was glaring at the human noble as though she'd like to do more than just bite him. And, if she was honest, Josephine would quite like to see the elven woman go to town on the offensive aristocrat. She was very fond of Aran Lavellan, and though she hadn't witnessed the altercation, she was more inclined to believe the boy's version of events than the man he had bitten. Indeed, Lady Trevelyan had backed up Aran's tale with cheerful goodwill. Still, sometimes pride had to take a back seat to enable stability. She was very lucky that Enaste knew this without needing to be told, though she was sure there would be consequences for the noble who had dared to lay hands on the Inquisitor's son. In fact, she was rather determined to make sure they happened herself.

"Marquis Ponmarde," Enaste said, her tone crackling with the effort of keeping her temper. "I ... apologize ... for my son's behavior. It will not happen again, I am sure."

Josephine brushed her quill in front of her lips, hoping to disguise the hint toward a smile she could feel rising. There was more threat than apology in those words, but only someone who was familiar with Enaste would recognize that. Evidently both Cullen and Leliana recognized it, too, given the way the commander had to turn his face away briefly, and the spymaster openly smiled.

"You should cage that little monster," the marquis began.

"My son was reacting to a situation he deemed to be of personal danger to himself," Enaste pointed out. "Need I remind you that you laid hands on him first?"

The marquis's jaw clenched, but by now, tales of the Inquisitor had spread far and wide. He knew not to expect her to be more than fair in such a case, and if he pushed his luck, he could expect less than fair treatment.

"I demand an apology -"

"You have received an apology," Josephine said sharply. "And now, since you clearly will not wish to remain among savages and monsters, you will be leaving us. Commander?"

Cullen nodded, his expression straight once again. "An escort has been readied to see the marquis safely to the Orlesian lowlands," he agreed. "I understand the carts are being loaded as we speak."

The marquis' mouth worked silently, outrage pouring from him.

"Yes, marquis?" Enaste asked coldly. "Was there anything further you wished to add? No? Then kindly see yourself out."

Without allowing the man an opportunity to express himself any further, Leliana and Cullen fell in behind him, ushering him out of the office and out to the courtyard. In Josephine's office, Enaste was seething.

"I should have set his smallclothes on fire," she growled. "How dare he - how dare he touch my son? Call him a savage and a monster, and -" She let out a frustrated sound. "And having to apologize to that ineffectual streak of pizzle! Was that really necessary?"

Josephine touched her hand gently. "They are just words, Enaste," she reminded her dear friend. "Words that only he heard. The world will see him expelled from Skyhold, and though he should shout his version of events to the sky, no one will believe he did not transgress. A spoken apology in private means nothing, and it got him out of here faster."

Enaste let out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the desk. "How do you do it, Josie?" she asked in amazement. "You listen to these idiots and their complaints all day every day, and you never lose your temper. And I know there's a temper in there, I saw what you did to Sera for the bucket trick."

Josephine chuckled gently. "It is diplomacy," she said simply. "I have a talent for it."

Enaste's face relaxed into a warmer smile. "You have much more than that, Josephine."

The lady ambassador's smile turned shy, but shone with pleasure with this praise, allowing herself the daring luxury of holding Enaste's hand a moment longer than she might otherwise have done.

"I am very pleased you see it, Enaste."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - The Inquisitor jumping over the rail to shortcut from Dorian’s library and break their ankle/the desk/Solas on landing. Bonus points if you can manage two out of three of that. Double bonus points if the Inquisitor refuses to ‘fess up it was them and hobbles around Skyhold complaining loudly about battle wounds. - @chiclet-go-boom

A Momentary Impulse

"I could do it."

Dorian snorted with laughter.

"My dear Inquisitor," he said with charming certainty, "I have a bottle of vintage cherry wine that says you never will."

Enaste raised her brow, grinning back at him as she pushed from her lean against his bookshelves.

"Prepare to lose that bet."

With a unearthly yell, she took off at a run, hands landing on the railing around the rotunda library to launch herself over the wooden barrier in a graceful leap that embodied all the beauty of motion and badly-thought out impulse. It really was a beautiful leap - her form was perfect, her trajectory gorgeous. The only problem was the landing.

Her feet hit Solas' desk solidly, there was an ominous crack ... and the desk collapsed, tipping her backwards with violent force directly on top of the indignant elven mage who had already had to ask her son not to do what the mother had just done without a second thought. They crashed onto the floor in a heap, both groaning as elbows, heads, and knees thumped against the stone to the tune of Dorian's incredulous laughter from above.

Enaste rolled onto her back, winded, but grinning. She pointed up at Dorian triumphantly.

"You owe me a bottle of cherry wine!" she declared, chuckling as her friend sagged against the railing above her, still laughing too hard to actually answer. "Sorry, Solas ... it was too good to pass up."

Lying on the floor beside her, Solas sighed, waving away the hand she offered to help him up.

"In hindsight, lethellan, I should have known Aran's wilder tendencies came from you."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - “You will take the fall for this” for Enaste and Solas. - @kagetsukai

Trespasser

"I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die."

Even through the crackling agony of the Anchor lancing from her palm to her shoulder, threatening to grip her heart, Enaste felt the horror implicit in what Solas was saying. She had come here, fought her way here, thinking Solas needed her help, thinking a friend was in need ... only to find that friend more than capable of defending himself. Only to discover that he had filled her Inquisition with his own spies, that he had manipulated her into setting herself against the Qun, and now planned to destroy the world she knew, the people she loved, in some misplaced sense of duty.

Where was the teacher she had trusted, the friend she had respected? Still here, perhaps, but his eyes were turned to an unfathomable future that would break her heart. Was that truly the action of a friend?

"Why does this world have to die for the elves to return?" she asked, breathless with the pain that would not relent.

Solas did not turn back to her.

"A good question, but not one I will answer."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why are you doing this? You fought to save this world - you shed your blood beside me, you taught me to be a part of the world outside elven society! Why are you condemning it now?"

Josephine's lovely face swam before her eyes - a face that Solas' plans threatened, the loving home that had healed her broken heart. As an elf, she would survive whatever he chose to do - her son would survive - but her lover, her friends ... they would all perish. And grief was not enough to answer this calm certainty with. Anger pulsed through her, burning through her veins as she struggled to find coherent thought through the exquisite pain that would not let her be.

"I am not Corypheus," he said quietly. "I take no joy in this. But the return of my people means the end of yours. It is my fight. You should be more concerned about the Inquisition."

"I will stop you," she promised him, even as the pain drove her to her knees, tears squeezed from her eyes as she struggled to hold onto the anger. "You will take the fall for this. I will make sure everyone knows what you're planning, what you're capable of. I will not stand by and let you kill the people I love!"

Green fade light erupted from her palm, ripping a cry of anguish from her throat as her right hand wrapped about her left, as though squeezing that burning limb might somehow quench the affliction that was so close to killing her.

"I'm sorry."

Solas moved to kneel before her, placing his hand over her glowing palm.

"We are almost out of time," he told her, and despite her anger, despite the pain, she believed the regret that radiated from him. Her friend was still in there, somewhere. Solas was still inside Fen'harel. "The mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you ... at least for now."

"Solas ..." Her voice was tight, choked, each word a struggle to speak aloud through the agony. "You don't need to destroy this world. I'll ... I'll prove it to you."

His expression spasmed with some pain of his own as his other hand touched her temple - the touch of the teacher who had saved her life, years before.

"I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend." He rose to his feet, offering his hand to her. "Take my hand."

Sobbing through the pain, the anger, the fear, Enaste raised her glowing hand, forcing her numb fingers to curl through his own. Despite it all, she trusted him, either to end it now, or to save her life.

Solas covered her hand with both his own, meeting her eyes for the last time as he gathered his will.

"I'm sorry."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - “MAYHEMM!” for Enaste and any others such as Harding, Bull, Krem, or the Chargers - @ripplesofaqua

MAYHEMM!

"Ataashiiiii!"

The roar echoed around Skyhold, jerking sleepers awake in a moment of existential dread, half-lidded eyes drawn in horror to the play of flame outside their windows. Was it a dragon? Had Corypheus left the Arbor Wilds to attack them directly here? Was his archdemon breaching their walls as they slept?

As it turned out ... no.

Cullen lurched out of his tower, his breastplate half on, only to discover that the unheralded attack was, in fact, the Inquisitor sat astride the Greater Mistral skull she had triumphantly had brought back from her latest dragon hunt with her son hugging her neck, hands outstretched to make it appear to breathe fire as the Iron Bull and his Chargers ... well, charged. A glimmer of magic over them caught his attention, and he leaned over the parapet to find Dorian seated comfortably on a barrel, wine bottle in one hand, maintaining the barrier over the warriors as they did battle with their dead enemy. Enaste was laughing uproariously, cheeks flushed, slightly unfocused eyes a testament to just how much she'd had to drink this evening.

The commander sighed, rolling his eyes as he headed back into the tower.

"One of these days, I'm going to have to talk to her about the things she does when she's drunk."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - "Now is not the time to be looking at me like that!” after a particularly controversial choice she makes. - @kagetsukai

Deceived

A prison cell, a foreign land ... a stranger speaking to her from behind the bars.

Anger pulsed brightly in Enaste's heart as she listened to the man she had thought was a hero tell her in bland terms the crime he had been running from for years. Pride recoiled from the understanding that everything had been a lie, that she had fooled herself into thinking she could ever find some peace with a shem. And horror, too ... horror coursed through burning veins as she acknowledged the full extent of his misdemeanors.

"Are you even capable of remorse?" she heard herself ask, her voice dull in the stillness of the prison.

Blackwall - no, Rainier - had the gall to be angered by her question.

"Why do you think I'm here?" he demanded in return. "You think a man incapable of remorse would give his life for another's?"

"I think you sanctioned murder for nothing more than gold," she snapped back at him. "I think you stood by and did nothing as your men slaughtered children for your own advancement. And when it became clear you would get nothing for it, you ran away and took the first opportunity to pretend none of it ever happened. A man who felt any guilt for what he had done would have taken his punishment then and there. He would not have sheltered behind the name of a hero, pretended to live a Grey Warden's life, played at being a friend and-and ... I don't know what you are, but you are not capable of remorse for what you have done. Even here and now, you're using another man's goodness to justify giving yourself up."

"And what would you know of it?" he snarled back at her. "Dalish elves live their lives apart from the world entirely. You wouldn't even be here if you hadn't taken on that mark at the Temple."

"I never ran from this!" was her cutting answer, raising her marked hand as though to remind him what she carried every day. "I accepted it; I have exiled myself from my clan, my people, to accept the burden of having this mark and what it makes me. But I have never killed anyone for personal gain, and I would never kill a child. Don't you dare compare our situations."

"I'm doing what's right -"

"Too late for it to mean anything to anyone but you," she growled in the stillness. "If someone offered you gold to kill one of my friends, my son, how long would you consider before you took it?"

"I would not harm a hair on that child's head!" Blackwall roared at her, rising to slam his hands against the bars between them.

"Only because of what you might lose if you did," Enaste pointed out, and he couldn't argue with her. There were no words that would ever make his deception right in her mind.

She held his gaze for long time, searching his eyes for any spark of the man she had thought he was. She saw his anger, his fear, his pride; she saw the silent plea for her to extricate him from the mess he had walked into in a moment of unexpected morality. But where was the man who had kissed her, held her, reassured her in times of darkness? Gone, forgotten, never existed. How could she ever trust a word he said now?

"Just tell me one thing," she said, each word a coiled snake ready to strike. "How big a fool did I make of myself in opening my heart to a murderous shem?"

For just a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of the softness they had shared in his eyes, sadness at her justified anger - just a brief moment, before his gaze hardened. She could see him gathering his darkness around himself, a shield against whatever warmth they had shared.

"You were easy to seduce," he told her, his words harsh in the silence. "You bedded a monster and never even thought to ask why."

Enaste reeled back, biting hard into her cheek to keep herself from a sudden wail of grief. All a lie. It was all a lie. I gave up a piece of myself to ... to this. She whirled away, marching back through the empty cells and out into the guardroom above, desperate for sunlight, fresh air, to get away from the shame of having been so easily taken in.

"Inquisitor!"

She stumbled to a halt, barely raising her head in answer to the unexpected sound of Cullen's concerned voice. What was he doing here?

"Leliana's agents reported," he explained, without her needing to ask. "We have full disclosure on Blackw- Rainier, if you would like to -"

Enaste shook her head vehemently. She didn't want to see it written down; didn't want to read the words and know in the icy depths of her heart that she had almost loved a murderer of children. It was too horrifying to even contemplate. There was a rustle of parchment, and Cullen cleared his throat quietly.

"There are options," he told her, his voice low to keep from the ears of the guards around them. "We can have him released. Just say the word."

She smiled bitterly at his offer. The commander was a good man; a man who would offer to have his rival released from prison for a crime committed years ago, purely because she might want it to be so. She turned to meet concerned brown eyes.

"He made his decision," she said, each word clipped and painful, remembering that silent plea to be rescued. Hardening her heart against ever giving that selfish man what he wanted ever again. "Let him stay and face the consequences he should have faced years ago."

"Inquisitor, are you -"

Her hand snapped up, a warning finger pointed directly at her commander's nose.

"Now is not the time to be looking at me like that," she informed him. "If he would rather play at doing the right thing too late than face the enemy he swore he would face beside us, then let him. I will not have him within fifty feet of my family or my friends ever again."

Cullen's eyes widened at the fearsome anger in her words, but he nodded slowly, allowing that leaving the prisoner in his cage was also a decision. He eyed Enaste warily, uncertain quite what this shock would do to their usually unflappable leader. Under his gaze, she straightened her back, smoothed her expression, hid away every sign of the distress roiling through her.

"Let's get back to Skyhold," she said calmly. "I'm sick of Orlais."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Enaste wakes up one night in the middle of Skyhold’s main courtyard with no idea how she got there. Shining at the gate is a light, which blinks as it moves in slow, hovering circles. She gets a strange feeling that this light wants to be followed out into the mountains. What happens next is up to you! - @thursdaysshepard

No More

"Hello?"

No reply. No sound at all, not even the clank of feet on the battlements in the darkness. Skyhold was sleeping ... but it didn't feel like home.

Bathed in the green light of the Breach, Enaste crossed the courtyard, her eyes fixed on the dancing light in the gateway. Her limbs felt sluggish, weariness dragging at her body and mind, but still she walked on, following the light as it passed over the bridge to the tall tower that was the only approach to the fortress. Through the great doorway to that inner staircase ...

"Enaste."

That voice sent a shock through her, jolting her to a standstill in the opening as she stared, wide-eyed, at who awaited her. He sat at a table, his tools scattered in front of him, those familiar dark eyes turned toward her where she stood.

"Tuelar?"

Her bondmate, dead these seven years or more. Her best friend for much of her life, Aran's father, the future she had chosen in accepting her place as Deshanna's First ... a choice that had destroyed the craftsman sitting before her. He had been unable to accept her elevation while he remained an apprentice, frustrated enough to seek out more and more dangerous materials to work with. Frustrated enough to take a risk with his own life and lose, rather than be patient and live.

"This isn't real," she said quietly, shaking her head. "You're dead."

"And whose fault was that?" he asked, and the voice was the same but different. The same warm tone, the same cadence, but filled with a malice she had never heard from him before. "You left me behind, expected me to stand at your back and watch you shine. I helped you, I guided you, I gave you a place in our clan, and you repaid me with humiliation and death."

"I didn't kill you," she countered, swallowing hard. "I mourned you. I almost died with you, and brought our son with me."

"You should have died," another voice interjected, and this voice brought panic to her heart. "You bring nothing but death to anyone who comes close to you."

She whirled away from the door, from the presence behind her, stumbling to press her back against the wall as Blackwall stepped into the tower, his eyes hard with anger.

"No." She shook her head. "No ... no, no, this isn't real. This is the Fade, and I can wake up whenever I choose."

"Not this time, my lady," Blackwall told her.

Or ... no, not Blackwall, and not Tuelar, either. Demons, drawn by her reckless use of magic, preying on her sleeping mind. She'd acted out of despair, and Despair had answered her. And with her mana so low, she had nothing to fight them with. Nothing but the knowledge of what they were, and her own consciousness of being in the Fade.

"I can't wake up," she agreed. "You're right, I can't. Not yet. But I won't give in to you. The faces you're wearing ... it's a good try, very impressive. But Tuelar made his choice, and so did Rainier. And I am done feeling responsible for them."

She held out a hand, focusing her will, and felt the familiar warmth of her staff grip in her palm. The demons before her, staring out from those familiar faces, took a step back, uncertain in the face of prey that had decided to be predator.

"I have too much to live for to let you win now."

With a yell worthy of the Bull's Chargers, she spun her staff, attacking with every ounce of strength left to her. The demons fought back with ice and pain, but still she fought on, bringing the blade of her staff around to cut off the heads that taunted her.

The tower faded, the silence fell, and she sank to her knees in a shadow of the Emerald Graves, sobbing out her pain and torment, finally letting herself feel it all. She had pushed it away, held it down, all the tragedies of her life - being turned out by her blood kin, sent away by the clan that had found her, the loss of Tuelar's friendship and his death, the pain of exile from Clan Lavellan, the weight of expectation from the humans, the misplaced responsibility for the death of a man she had made a fool of herself over.

Tears too long held back poured down her cheeks until her chest ached ... and gentle hands took her shoulders, lifting her to her feet, turning her against a chest that was solid and real. The jawbone pressed into her cheek as she clung to Solas, never more grateful to her hahren than in this moment, when he had followed the scent of her through the Fade to bring her home.

"Enough, lethallan," he murmured to her, drawing back as the tears subsided. "You have fought, and you have prevailed. And now you must wake up."

Her eyes snapped open. She heard a curse, and a thump, and the sudden warmth of Varric's laughter echoing around the familiar enclosure of an Inquisition tent.

"She's awake!"

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - “Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.” - @out-of-the-embers

Regrets

Dawn brought calm to Skyhold, at least for Enaste. Dawn was her time with Aran, the two of them quietly engaged in slow stretches on the grass that continued even when they were miles apart. A slow, gentle start to the day, every day, and one the kitchen staff had timed to perfection. As mother and son rose out of their resting stretch, they often found a platter beside them, laden with fresh-baked bread and seasonal fruit - their breakfast of choice over the meat porridge that seemed to be so popular among the rest of the inhabitants of the fortress.

This morning was no different, the slow start winding to a close in a warm cuddle despite the chill in the air as Enaste and Aran ate their first meal of the day together, absently watching the rest of Skyhold beginning to wake up around them.

"Mamae ..." Aran said curiously. "Sera said that Master Blackwall isn't coming back. Is that true?"

Enaste hesitated, an apple slice halfway to her mouth. She should have expected him to ask; the pretender had not been a close friend to her son, but he had been a constant presence for a time. She hugged her free arm warmly about her little boy, lips brushing his tight brown curls.

"Blackwall decided to leave the Inquisition," she told him honestly. "He decided to face the consequences for something he did years ago. I do not think he will be coming back, da'len, no."

"Was it a bad thing he did?" Aran asked her, tilting his head back to meet his mother's gaze.

"Yes, da'len, it was a very bad thing," she answered, never one to lie. "He was pretending to be someone he was not, to hide from being punished for the bad thing he did. Now he is not hiding anymore."

"But you could help, couldn't you?" the boy pressed. "You're the Inkvisitor now. You could make him come back."

Enaste swallowed the bitter response that wanted to be known. Aran did not deserve to know all the detail of what had been done and said.

"No," she told her son quietly. "If I do that, I am taking his decision away from him. Everyone should be allowed to make their own choices, and he was very clear that this was his."

Not that she would have rescued him from his own mess if he had asked her to, but Aran did not need to know that. He did not need to know how angry his mother was, how hurt and betrayed she felt. He didn't need to know how close the pretender had come to breaking his mother's heart.

The child nodded slowly. "Will a bad thing happen to him?" he asked in a softer tone. "To make a balance with the bad thing he did?"

Enaste hugged him closer, hiding her expression from him in a kiss to the top of his head. "I think it probably will."

"Inquisitor?"

Interrupted before any more questions could be asked, Enaste raised her head, a half-hearted smile on her face for the sight of Josephine standing at the corner of the armory, so wrapped up in coats, cloaks, and scarves that it was a wonder she could move at all. There was something very endearing about their delicate ambassador and her extreme aversion to the cold, but the seriousness in her eyes warned against teasing her this morning.

"Aran, why don't you go and drag Varric out of bed?" Enaste suggested to her son. "He promised to give you a reading lesson, didn't he? Perhaps he'll read you some more of the Hero of Ferelden's tale."

The little boy produced a bright grin in answer, scrambling up onto his feet. Lessons with Varric almost always ended in story-time for Aran without much learning going on at all - no wonder they were among his favorite. As he ran off toward the keep, Enaste rolled their mats up and stood, moving to join Josephine with a more sober expression.

"What is it, Josephine?"

The Antivan woman handed her a small piece of rolled parchment.

"Word from Val Royeaux," she said quietly. "About Captain Rainier. I thought you would wish to know, before there are too many eyes to watch you react."

Enaste stiffened, the icy fury settling in her stomach all over again at the sound of the pretender's real name. Josephine pressed the message into her hand, the warmth of her palm lingering for a long moment.

"Would you like me to stay?" the ambassador asked gently. "Some company, as you read?"

"He's dead, isn't he?" the elven woman said, her tone dull with the effort of not screaming.

Josephine's dark eyes glistened, though whether it was grief over the pretender's death or worried concern for how it would affect the Inquisitor, Enaste could not guess.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Thom Rainier was executed two days ago for the murder of Lord Vincent Callier and his family."

Enaste closed her eyes. He's dead. You could have stopped it, but you let him go his way. Because of you and your pride, he is dead. Josephine's hand closed over hers again.

"Enaste ... you should not regret this," she said in a gentle tone. "As you say, he made his choice. He knew what would happen."

“Do I regret it?" Enaste opened her eyes, meeting the full weight of concern in Josephine's gaze with a bitter smile. "Yes. I left a man to die, of course I regret it," she admitted. "But would I do it again? Probably. I don't forgive easily.”

"It was an unforgivable crime," Josephine agreed. "Such a deception used to gain your trust, your heart ... it is shameful that he thought he could keep such a secret in the throes of love."

Enaste blinked, startled to hear this. "I was talking about the murders," she began, cut off when Josephine squeezed her hand.

"And I was talking about his treatment of you," the Antivan woman said firmly. "To knowingly hurt you, my friend, my leader, someone I admire greatly ... that is unforgivable, Enaste. And you must allow yourself to grieve for what he has taken from you."

"Perhaps."

Enaste drew in a slow breath, glancing down at the message crumpled in her hand. She had to read those words, she knew; had to see for herself the report of his death and understand that she was just as responsible for his blood as anyone.

"Thank you, Josephine. I'll join you in the War Room when it's time."

The ambassador released her, inclining her head in understanding.

"Of course, Inquisitor, take all the time you need. Corypheus will just have to wait."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - in Emerald Graves Enaste has to face the enemy corrupted by red lyrium all alone because her party members are wounded and she has to protect the camp. She has to resort to desperate measures to fight the enemy (maybe some difficult ritual or a dangerous borderline spell?) - @away-with-eastern-wind

Reckless

Giants and interfering brontos were bad enough, dragons were just plain bad luck, but now red templars, too? Was this nightmare never going to end?

Enaste was never taking Bull anywhere there might be a dragon ever again, she had decided. He'd run straight for it, throwing all of them into a fight they hadn't been ready for, the first to go down and stay down. Varric had followed swiftly, not fast enough to avoid the dragon's ice bearing down on him. The only luck they'd had was in the dragon's vulnerability to fire, Enaste's preferred element, and even then, she'd gone down to a well-timed tail-swipe that had knocked her clear across the ruins and out cold. It was only Cassandra who had still been standing by the end, and even she was battered and cut all over.

It had taken their combined efforts to get Bull and Varric into some kind of shelter hastily created against one of the crumbling ruin walls that had remained intact during the fight, knowing for certain they couldn't even begin to think about returning to a camp through the giants' stomping grounds like this. All their health potions were gone, courtesy of Bull's apparent inability to take more than one decent hit without needing to down an entire bottle. Then Cassandra had collapsed, exhausted, leaving Enaste to gather firewood and take the watch, despite her own weariness. Her mana was depleted, her head ached, and all the while, there was that hated voice inside her head.

You're killing them all. One by one, they will fall, and it will all be your fault. You already killed the man you thought you loved. How much longer before the people you truly care for start to peel away from you? How much longer before you accept that you bring nothing but pain and death?

In the dark of the night, that voice was impossible to escape, blurring her tired eyes with tears as she wallowed in the guilt and responsibility she felt for having allowed Rainier to end himself like that. For having turned her back on someone she had thought to love, denying him any absolution for lies that must have burned him inside. He had called himself a monster ... but she was the monster. She could have saved him, let him find a way to redeem himself. She had chosen his death for him.

And now death was coming for her friends, helpless in their injured state, unaware of the circling approach of the behemoth and its cohorts. Red lyrium glowed in the darkness as Enaste heaved herself onto her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. She didn't have the mana to take them down, didn't have the physical strength to fight them alone. A sensible elf would have screamed; sent out a call loud enough, clear enough, for the Dalish investigating the ruins to answer. They would answer it, too, knowing she was out here and one of their own. But sensible elves didn't stand by and let death come for a lover; sensible elves knew they were not a god.

Power, I need power ...

The Anchor pulsed on her hand as she scrabbled at her belt for a knife. No mana to cling to, no strength to fight with, but she was not defenseless. Your Trainer had warned her never to push all her strength into opening a rift, but she had no choice. She would not see her friends slaughtered because she had stood by.

Not again.

Fade green light flared as the blade sliced through her palm, opening the mark  to pour blood into the magic stored there. She felt the tug at her life's essence immediately, the heady shock of blood magic used for the first time with reckless disregard for her own life. Clinging to her staff, she waited, gathering her focus, gathering what remained of her strength, watching as the red templars circled closer and closer, until she could feel the heat from the lyrium that infused them, hear their labored breath, see the whites of those eyes that remained open to them.

She thrust her hand up, calling on the Anchor to open a rift above their heads ... and screamed as the power surged through her. Green light erupted, brighter than daylight in the black heart of night, blinding her even as she willed the alien power to take root, listening to the erratic beat of her heart as the Anchor fed from her, the rift growing in size and power, tearing at the enemy that could not escape its reaching grasp. Their cries of pain mingled with her own, slowly fading to nothing, but still the rift grew, stealing everything she had to offer, more than she had to give, feeding itself on her blood, her life, as she sagged to her knees, helpless in its grasp.

She heard Varric curse, heard Cassandra calling to her, telling her to stop ... but she couldn't. This Anchor, this power that had been forced on her, was too big, too much for one person to control. And she had given it license to take everything, in payment for the lives she had already taken herself. In payment for her pride's part in the death of a man who might have been good one day.

"Inquisitor ... Enaste ... you have to stop! It's killing you!"

A low rumble she thought might have been Bull answered when she did not, the roar of the Fade too loud in her ears to make out the words, too blinding to see who was approaching her.

"Maker forgive me," she heard at her back.

Then something hard crashed against the base of her skull ... and everything was dark.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - “Speak of this to no one, you hear me?” someone finds out who Enaste is sweet on and she’s terrified of rumors making rounds - @kagetsukai

Sera

The screech that echoed around Haven originated on the steps just outside the main village gate. By the time Cullen got there, even from his position not very far away, there was already a small crowd gathered, and in the center of that crowd ... the Herald of Andraste and Sera, slapping each other silly. It was a fight, but not one that either side intended to actually use force to win, thankfully. Still, it took the efforts of both himself and Blackwall to separate the warring parties.

"Come on now, ladies, what's this all about?" the Grey Warden asked as he hauled Sera upright and off her feet with a firm grip around her waist.

The Red Jenny, all flailing arms and legs, opened her mouth, but Enaste got there first, red-faced as she pointed her marked hand at her adversary a little too aggressively for Cullen's peace of mind. She was a mage, after all.

"Speak of this to no one, you hear me?" Enaste snarled at the other elf, who flipped her off in answer. "Sera!"

Cullen caught the furious elven mage about the waist as she lunged, pulling her back from beginning the fight all over again.

"That's enough," he said, as firmly as he dared. "Herald, this is hardly appropriate behavior. Blackwall, could you ...?"

"Aye, we're leaving," Blackwall agreed, hoisting Sera over one shoulder to turn and head through the gateway at his back, not entirely unaware that she was still making rude signs and noises at Enaste, still held at bay by Cullen's arm.

Enaste was calming down, however, her cheeks flushed as she pushed out of the circle of the commander's arm and brushed the snow from her clothes.

"Thank you, commander."

Cullen frowned down at her in concern. "Herald, was there a reason for that display?"

Enaste's blue eyes flared with heat for a moment, but it looked more like embarrassment than anger. She sighed as, not for the first time, he watched this rather remarkable woman slide her emotions inward, hiding everything behind the serene mask he had to admit he found just a little intimidating. Attractive, but intimidating.

"Nothing that should concern you, commander."

"I see."

Nodding, he was about to turn away when Sera's voice hollared from inside the village proper, audible not only to them, but to everyone within the vicinity of the lake.

"Roses are red, Elfy is weirdy, 'cos she's in love with Cullen and Beardy!"

"SERA!"

He got his hand on her collar just in time.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Enaste, no.  Enaste, YES. - @scahill42

Haven Lost

Chaos inside, pandemonium outside, and here, right here, in this moment where life and death balance on the edge of a knife ... no choices left.

Enaste raised her head, watching as the strange boy took Roderick to the back of the Chantry, to lead the innocent and the wounded to safety. Somewhere in that pushing shove was Aran - my son, the last part of Tuelar left in this world - and she hoped, oh, how she hoped he was obedient to her command to stay with Leliana. The spymaster would keep him safe, she was certain of that. Someone had to, now that death was at their door.

Her eyes skimmed her companions, seeing the worry, the anger, the defeat. They all bore injury from some skirmish or other, testament to how hard they had fought to protect this place that had become home for all of them, one way or another. Who could she trust to do what had to be done? She couldn't go out there alone ... but she alone had to end this.

"Bull, Sera, Cassandra."

Yes, they would do what she needed them to do. They would keep her alive long enough before obeying the command to retreat and leave her. Bull could see the necessity; Sera held no personal love for her; Cassandra would do her duty, whether she liked it or not. The Breach was sealed; of everyone here, Enaste was expendable. She was what this Elder One wanted. She would face him.

But not everyone agreed.

"Enaste, no."

She turned at the warm hand on her arm, looked into the fierce dark eyes that looked on her as more than a symbol, more than an elf; eyes that saw the woman who struggled and fought on, even when everything was lost. Blackwall was shaking, more angry to be left behind than anyone else, terrified that this would be the last goodbye when there had been no chance to be more than just a friend.

"Enaste, yes," she countered, shaking her head as he opened his mouth to argue. "Blackwall ... Gordon ... I have to do this."

"You're not leaving me behind," he insisted, and despite her fear, she felt herself smile at his ferocious refusal to abandon her. "I won't let you do this alone."

"That's why you can't come," she told him, half-aware of the soldiers being gathered by Cullen by the doors, of the slowly emptying nave, of the others not named who were helping to herd the innocent to safety. "I can't trust you to leave me when the time comes."

"I won't leave you at -"

But his objection was stilled by the gentle touch of her bloodstained fingertips against his lips, feeling the prickle of his beard under her palm with quiet regret. What could we have become, if death had not come for us, she wondered, marveling once more at this sweet tenderness she felt for a human, a tenderness grown from quiet conversation, from her admiration for a Warden who had sacrificed everything to guard against the greatest evil of the world, from his admiration for an elf who had found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had never felt it for Tuelar, but he had been no more than a friend whose child she had borne. Blackwall was hers, whether he knew it or not, and though her heart still felt some confusion, she could make claim to being his in return.

"I need you to take the others to safety," she told him. "You're a Grey Warden; your duty is to serve and protect. You cannot protect me, not tonight."

"You can't ask me to watch you walk away," he begged, his voice low for fear of being overheard. "My lady, I am your man -"

"And I am ordering you to retreat," she said, her tone as firm as she could make it, softening in the face of his reluctance. "This might not be goodbye, lethallin. But ..."

But just in case this was the last time she spoke, breathed, wished for herself, selfish pride would not let her leave without tasting what she might have had. Her fingers gripping his shoulder, pulling him down into a bruising kiss, filling her nostrils with the scent that clung to him - oil, metal, rust-spotted cloth, blood, smoke, wood - tasting what might have been on her lips and in the stinging surge of her heart as he clung to her in turn.

"Go," she whispered to him. "Live."

She pushed away, leaving Blackwall to stumble back toward the retreating remnants of Haven's people, forcing aside the selfish desire to cry for all the times she might not now have ahead of her. With her chosen companions beside her, she nodded to Cullen, watching as his people lifted the heavy bar from the doors.

"Enaste ... if we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance ..."

She looked up into whisky-bright eyes that were dimmed with sadness, yet fierce with hope. Cullen nodded to her as the icy wind swept into the Chantry, ruffling the fur of his mantle in the rush of snow and ash.

"Let that thing hear you."

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Her and the party of your choice getting lost on their way to complete a war table mission. Could be a made up mission or one that actually exists! - @savvylittleminx

Temporarily Misplaced

"The foliage in these parts really is remarkable."

Enaste glanced over her shoulder at Dorian. The Tevinter mage had been conspicuously quiet for the last hour, though anyone who managed to get Cassandra riled up enough to handle her sword hilt meaningfully had good reason to keep his mouth shut. He was gazing wistfully at a shrub beside his elbow ... a shrub bearing a tuft of cloth that looked remarkably like the patch torn off her own elbow about an hour ago.

"Ah ... uh, Cassandra?"

The Seeker turned sharply back to her from the track ahead.

"What?" she snapped.

Enaste gestured to the shrub Dorian was contemplating. "Are you absolutely sure we're not lost?"

"I am never lost," Cassandra declared, but her eyes had narrowed as she spied the cloth hanging from the thorns. "Do not say it, Tevinter."

"My dear lady, Maker forbid I should ever test your temper twice in a single day," was his rather suave response. It didn't save him from the disgusted sound that emanated from the Seeker's throat.

Enaste sighed, rubbing a hand over her naked elbow absently as she looked around. She wouldn't have said it aloud - at least, not where Cassandra could hear her - but they had been walking in circles for more than half the day, by her reckoning. Purely because Varric had annoyed the Seeker about her map-reading to the point where Cassandra had stalked off at speed declaring that she always knew where she was and where she was going.

"When are we supposed to meet this ranger from Ostwick again?" she asked as mildly as she dared.

Cassandra glared at her. "Tomorrow morning," was the answer.

"We may be a little late," Varric offered, rolling his eyes as the glare was transferred from Enaste to himself. "Come on, Seeker, admit it. No harm in admitting to a little mortal frailty now and then."

"And I suppose you know exactly where we are," Cassandra growled back at him, her tone filled with acid.

"Nope, not a clue," the dwarf said cheerfully. "I figured we'd let Momma find the way back to the actual road before dark, what do you say?"

"Oh, yes, let's," Dorian agreed. "The Dalish are supposedly awfully good at navigating through wild places, and oh, look! We have one right here!"

As Cassandra's annoyed gaze returned to her, Enaste sighed once again. "Thank you so much," she murmured to the other two.

She hadn't wanted to show Cassandra up, if at all possible, but this was getting a little ridiculous. She gestured to the east, attempting to make it look apologetic in the face of the Seeker's increasingly short temper.

"That way."

Cassandra scowled, but headed off between the trees in the direction indicated. The other three fell in behind her. Only Enaste winced when the unbeaten track opened up onto the main merchants' road after just a few minutes. She shrugged innocently as the Seeker turned that glare on her once again.

"And which way down this road do you suggest, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked in annoyance.

Enaste pointed north. "We're about an hour out from where we were hoping to reach, if that helps," she offered. "You did bring us most of the way."

"Through nug-infested forests," Dorian pointed out helpfully, "when a perfectly good road was right here."

"Then you can navigate back to the mountains once we make contact with this Trevelyan," Cassandra informed him sweetly. "Not a word, Varric."

The dwarven rogue made a creditable attempt to look innocent. "Who, me? My lips are sealed."

"They had better remain that way."

Enaste rolled her eyes as they set off down the road once again. All this, just to make contact with some human noble who might have some information about where Corypheus was headed next. Still, she had learned something. She was never letting Cassandra try to read a map again.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Solas giving his reaction to her conscripting the mages - @sdfdhgd0315

Consequences

"Are you relieved to have mages back under control?"

Enaste didn't move from where she stood, her head bowed against the warm wood of her staff. She should have known Solas would not waste time in scolding her for the decision she had made.

"Perhaps when you're done, you could leash them like the Qunari do," he suggested, his voice dripping with scorn and disapproval.

"Ir abelas, hahren," she murmured, closing her eyes against the guilt and hurt she felt at being spoken to like a child.

"How will you make this right, da'len?" he demanded, his gaze hard as he looked on her. "How can these mages, your own kind, ever trust you now?"

"How can I trust them?" she countered, raising her eyes to his. Solas was her friend, her teacher, but he was not her conscience. "You like to hold yourself separate from The People but even you cannot excuse the fact that one woman, in fear, sold herself and her fellows, even the children, into slavery under the magisters who would gladly see us all enslaved again."

"Yet they trust her still to lead them, as you should," Solas pointed out, but Enaste was shaking her head.

"How do you propose I trust her?" she asked him, and for once, Solas didn't have an answer ready for her. "She sold them once already; she invited Tevinter to establish a foothold in southern Thedas after how many centuries without their interference? There have to be consequences for poor decisions, hahren."

"Consequences I do not see you suffering, Enaste," he commented, and visibly flinched when she flared in anger, slamming the butt of her staff into the ground.

Her hand rose, the glowing mark casting green light over his face. "You think this is not a consequence of a poor decision?" she snapped, more hurt than angry at his insistence on scolding her. "I should never have come to Haven. I wish to the Creators I had never agreed to come. This mark, this thing that is going to kill me before my son fulfills the life before him, this is my punishment. And this conversation is over."

She turned away sharply, aware of Solas' attempt to speak again. And there was Blackwall beside her, his hand gentle on her arm, his presence more than enough to calm her angry upset as he warned Solas not to push his luck. Today had been hard enough without widening the cracks between their fellowship.

The consequences were as much hers to weather as anyone's.

[shannaraisles]

Prompt - Dark rainy night in the middle of the fall, she and companions of your choice are at the tavern, drinking. Some really upbeat music with sad lyrics is playing in the background. - @away-with-eastern-wind (lyrics are from Пей, себя не жалей, by The Hatters)

Drink Up

Don't need any words, just open up the bottles ...

The wind howled through Skyhold, snow turned to rain that stung anyone who dared to venture forth tonight. The newly-named Herald's Rest was alive with people, mostly those who had been blown in by the storms and wouldn't leave until it let up. Maryden's lute played over the chattering voices, each beat uplifting in melody ... yet the words hit home in Enaste's heart.

... shot after shot, let's wash down the liquor ...

She sat in a quieter corner behind Bull and his Chargers, Aran curled close on her lap. Her little boy was exhausted after a long day spent helping anyone who had a job for him to do; there was still so much that needed to be done to the keep that even a child could make himself useful. She would have preferred to be over in the armory by now, where she and Aran were currently bedding down with Cassandra in lieu of a more private place to sleep, but with the rain lashing hard against the windows, she was loath to take her son from this warm, albeit loud, sanctuary.

... fill the cup; drink it up-up-up ...

It all felt ... wrong, somehow. Since Corypheus' attack on Haven, she had dedicated herself to thwarting him and his armies at every turn. Yet that goal had taken her to places that pulled at her bleeding heart. The Exalted Plains, a place that had once been the heartland of the Dales, now nothing more than a battlefield peppered with Andrastian iconography celebrating the destruction of the elves. How bittersweet it had been, to rescue humans from their own folly on land that was soaked in the blood of her people. And there was worse to come, she knew ... her journeying would take her to the Emerald Graves yet, to former Halamshiral. Places she knew belonged to the elves, yet had been stolen and twisted by humans who could not accept that her people had a right to a life untaunted for their differences.

... something's always bad and lies heavy on my heart ...

And here she sat, watching people dance to a song that reflected the ache in her heart. Was she really doing the right thing in helping the Inquisition? What would her help cost, in the end? She wrapped her arms a little tighter around her son, kissing his dark curls as he whined and nestled in closer. Dalish caught her eye, raising her cup with a knowing nod, and Enaste nodded in answer. If anyone understood her conflict, it would be Dalish.

And beyond Dalish, her gaze lit on Blackwall, watching her with fond eyes from the shadows by the bar. He never came near her when she was with Aran, she realized suddenly. A man she had shown her preference for, a man she had kissed, given her time to, seemed afraid to do more than exchange a greeting with the seven year old boy who ruled her heart. And why should he do more, she mused. He was a Grey Warden, a hero of the realms. He probably didn't have time for such simple things as home and family. But he made time for her, and each of those times left her tingling and breathless, wanting more in a way she had never longed for with anyone.

So why wasn't she celebrating with everyone else?

... when did my winning streak become the roughest patch I've ever had ...

Aran sighed against her neck, and she smiled, tucking him closer. Perhaps Sera would let the boy rest in her room for an hour or so, just until the storm died down. Creators knew there was no love lost between Enaste and the Red Jenny, but she had noticed that Sera would do almost anything for Aran. Perhaps that was enough. And perhaps she could tease something more than affectionate words and longing eyes from her Grey Warden tonight, safe in the knowledge that her son was sleeping peacefully under a trustworthy eye.

Perhaps.