#shielan lavellan

[snyrtch]

I got tagged by @moss-flesh to do a uquiz called 'what's at your core?' for my ocs!! if anyone I tag wants to do it too, that'd be neat! let me know you do it too bc its fun!! @siennadraws @fade-touched-shenanigans @blarrghe @highwayphantoms

Shielan Sabrae

flightless bird the thought of your found family is what motivates you in your own little world. you touch the clouds, and the soil gives way under your footprints… this is utopia. if you were to erase one thing, it would be your memory. experience is important, but ignorance is bliss. identity, in heaven, should give way to happiness. you'd give anything just to sit by the swings and eat ice cream, but this isn't that kind of world. you have to get up and wash the dirt off of your scraped knees. i think you have an escapism problem.

Taltic

warped metal it's not working out the way you want it to. no matter how hard you try to look scary, the very picture of karmic retribution, your efforts will inevitably fall short. you're out of place here, a broken doll and a used marionette. there's nothing to gain in pretending you can't be hurt like anyone else. there's nothing to gain in pretending you aren't human, that you're made of twisted steel and distorted memories. embrace your humanity. embrace your vulnerability. give in to trust.

Venarla Mahariel

acerbic wit you're a mentor — an old scarred wolf, an injured soldier, a disgraced paladin. your teachings read as shamelessly pretentious, speaking in rhymes and biting down hard into anyone stupid enough to make the wrong move. this isn't your first life, nor your second, nor your sixth — you'll make the most of your time shackled to this world, no matter how many loops it takes to get it right. with every defeat, you reincarnate; a little smarter, a little quicker, crueler and nastier. will you choose to be brutal, equalizing, that final strike in the face of your enemies? will you go soft, become tender and domesticated? the choice is yours. it's not like i can stop you.

Haleir Lavellan

silent admission in tarot, the fool is numbered 0 – the number of unlimited potential. as the protagonist, he is ever present and therefore needs no number as well as no introduction. the world revolves around you in ways that i can't begin to describe, though you'd shrug it off if i were to begin to explain. i need you to know that time is running out. if you want to get this done, you need to start now. sloth is your greatest enemy in this world, and you can only run so far from the opposition when you start with such a disadvantage. keep your head high, yeah? the kid you were is still in there somewhere. you need to show him that it was worth it.

[for-the-ninth]

NINTHHHH welcome back to DADWC!! Hope this inspires you to get back in the swing of things: Confess to me. I'll be your judge; promise I'll condemn. - from the Salvation lyric prompts!

@dadrunkwriting Okay so what if the rebel mages, knowing about all the fuckshit Cullen pulled as a templar, decided to actually put him on trial for his crimes? And what if the Inquisitor oversaw the trial and...the execution ⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️ (idk why I put swords here; Shielan is a mage lmfao) ANYWAY here it is!! (and I'm NOT editing it because i am being good and staying aligned with the SPIRIT of the EVENT dammit!! so sorry if typos lol)

_

Cullen stood before the the statue of Andraste. The Chantry, dimly lit and silent, save for the distant shouting of the crowd outside, served as his final refuge. For years, he'd thought about dying. His life had always belonged to the Maker, and he'd spent most of it bending to His will, though not happily. Dutifully. It wasn't a pleasant task, guarding the mages - so many had been resistant to His will. But at the time, he'd thought it necessary. Sometimes he still thought it necessary.

He never could make that thought go away. Couldn't replace it with any other thoughts, couldn't wish or pray it into nonexistence. It stuck there, hard against his softening heart, like black tar, almost as unbending as the Maker's will. Almost.

In the weeks before his trial, he'd come off lyrium - and damn near died doing it. Inquisition mages, once known as rebels and now heralded as leaders among the revolution, sent him letters of rage. Occasionally one had popped down to the dungeon themselves to berate him - always accompanied by guards, because for reasons he hadn't understood then, the Inquisitor wanted him alive.

Today, this morning, as he stood before Fiona and the Inquisitor, it all came together. The mages' petition to have him incarcerated was merely the beginning. While he struggled day after day in the cells below Skyhold, they waited, praying for his demise. When he lived, they raged. It wasn't enough that he suffered. They needed payment and they demanded it in blood.

He turned from Andraste and stepped into the crisp, mountain air. The crowd bellowed, pulsating with anger. It was time.

Inquisitor Lavellan stepped forward. "Cullen Stanton Rutherford, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, you have seen a fair and honest trial for your crimes.

Let this be a lesson to all who would dare turn their back on the Inquisition and its people: crimes against Thedosian mages by former templars will not be tolerated, nor taken lightly. Regardless of penance, your stain upon our people remains, and today it will be paid for in blood."

The crowd cheered, ravenous. Cullen sank to his knees and bowed his head. The Inquisitor readied her staff.

"On this day, Cullen Rutherford, you are condemned."

[briarfox13]

My half of an art trade with my lovely friend @emeraldfireart of her beautiful Shielan!!

She was so much fun to draw <3 I’m so happy you like her!! 

[totentnz]

OC INFO MEME | ATHRAS LAVELLAN

tagged by: @falkreathh thank u rav ilu tagging: @lavellane | @the-elves | @drithamen | @trvelyans | @bosmer | @ladyinquisitor & anyone who wants to do it 

BASICS

Full name: athras mareloen lavellan Gender: female Sexuality: fucks to survive Pronouns: she/ her

OTHER

Family:  mareloen lavellan (mother) /  liani tiar (step-mother) / lecen tiar (step-brother) /   rasdheas lavellan (father) / shielan lavellan (step-mother) / fisara lavellan (sister)  Birthplace: northern marches Job(s): after the inquisition she buys a lil hut in the woods and sellls potions and such stuff to the people in the near village Phobias: forgetting also people Guilty pleasures: not really a guilty pleasure but she loves sweets? Hobbies: bothering people in her animal forms, having naps, reading books and correcting people

MORALS

Morality alignment: chaotic good Sins: lust / greed / envy / gluttony / pride / wrath / sloth Virtues: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

THIS OR THAT?

introvert / extrovert organized / disorganized close-minded / open-minded calm / anxious / restless disagreeable / agreeable / in between cautious / reckless / in between patient / impatient outspoken / reserved leader / follower / flexible empathetic / unempathetic optimistic / pessimistic / realistic traditional / modern / in between hard-working / lazy / unmotivated

RELATIONSHIPS:

OTP:  solas Acceptable ships: like everyone else? (oc kiss week is soon btw) OT3:  love & happiness! BroTP: her and fisara is the obvious answer but also her and my hawke, lorna NOTP: don’t really have one for her either lmao im up for most things

[shepofshipsart]

Isanami Lavellan and Athras Shielan, commissioned by dirthamensbird for their friend irabelasdalen. It was a pleasure to work with you!

[ellstersmash]

19, 23, 32, 35. If you haven't done those yer for Athi

(Continuing from this post)

(32) How they feel with a weapon in their hands.

It arrives on a wagon filled with supplies, pillowed by grain and barley and oats. Shielan says they’re gifts from the clan’s stores. Gifts, she knows, to appease the humans who may or may not be holding her hostage.

To be honest, she’s a little surprised they bothered. It’s good to see a familiar face, though, even if he does tease her about the whole thing.

He unwinds the humble wrappings that hid its gleam from greedy eyes and places it in her upturned hands. Ironbark, smooth to the touch and stronger than steel. Perfectly balanced by the thick woven branches at one end and the white crystal on the other. A beautiful weapon, and a deadly one.

The Keeper’s staff. The jewel of Clan Lavellan.

“I don’t understand,” she says, smoothing her fingers over the well-worn surface. Mapping its imperfections. “You know I can’t accept this.”

Shielan shrugs and scratches his not-quite-beard. “Keeper said it’s yours.” He produces a letter from his pack. “This, too.”

Athi tucks the folded parchment in her waistband to read later, alone, in the privacy of her cabin, then steps back until there is space enough to move. This staff is lighter than hers, but heavier on the ends. She’ll need to compensate for the difference. There is also no blade, nor a roughened leather grip to keep her palms from slipping, only softly sanded wood.

Still, it fits perfectly in her hands, and she can’t bite back a surge of pride that she might carry such a weapon. She flips it end over end in her hands, testing its responsiveness, altering her expectations, planning any adjustments to her form.

Cullen clears his throat. “Perhaps, ah, there might be a better location for this sort of thing.”

“Relax, Commander,” she mutters and rolls her eyes. “It’s not going to ‘go off’ by accident.”

He looks thoroughly unconvinced, but remains silent–if a bit fidgety–as she runs through a quick succession of practice moves. It always feels good, feels like freedom, to move with a purpose. Feels like dancing. And this is one of her favorites. Her muscles know every step and thrust, turn and strike. And her hands are not prone to falter as they do when she pulls from the Fade. No, here she pulls from years of practice and a grace that sits in her bones. This dance is hers, and she is its master.

She rests one end in the powdery snow. It will take some getting used to, some practice, but then? Then it will be an extension of her, a part of her people, a piece of the dance.

(35) How they greet the sun in the morning.

Waking up is the worst.

Today, she is wrenched from the Fade and thrust back into reality with a whimper. Her eyes flutter open for the briefest of seconds before squeezing shut again. She wants to roar, to rage against the injustice, but her breath sticks in her chest—it takes a monumental effort, it seems, to let go. To breathe. To remember she exists. But she does, she breathes in deep, fills her lungs with the mountain air, cold and sharp and bracing. At its peak, the breath stiffens into a yawn and she stretches her limbs, arching her spine into an aching curve.

The sun burns red against her eyelids, and she grimaces, recoils, flings an arm across her face.

“Good morning, vhenan.”

Athi squints one eye open. Solas sits on the edge of the bed, the skin on his side creasing as he twists toward her. He reaches one hand out toward her face and she bats at it, growling through the crust of sleep still lingering in her voice. His hand drops to the rumpled sheet and he sighs all heavy and judge-y and mean, gives her a look of pure exasperation. She glares right back.

If someone's to blame for the sun being up, it might as well be him.

“Have it your way, then," he says and stands. “I will leave your coffee at your desk. All the way over there. By the window. Where it will, undoubtedly, get cold.”

She weighs the options, quickly, quickly. On the one hand, a few more minutes of sleep, rich and decadent, before another rude awakening. Maybe it won’t be so bad, though. It’s always miserable, of course, but maybe this time it won’t be. Maybe it will be gentle and easy and the sun won’t be so bright. On the other hand . . . coffee.

“Wait!” she croaks, rising to sit in a rush that leaves her dizzy. “Wait.”

He turns to her with the very beginnings of a smug, self-satisfied smile.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” She pats the edge of the bed.

Eyes narrowed, he leans away. “Am I to assume you desire my presence, or merely the stimulating beverage I possess?”

“Well, I do want the coffee”—she offers the most genuine smile she can muster—“but I’ll kiss you for it.”

As anticipated, he yields. Once he is seated, she plants the tiniest of kisses on his temple and swipes the still-warm cup from his hand before scurrying back to the other side of the bed in a hasty retreat.

“I should have known you would cheat me.” His face is all smolder and threats as he follows her across the mess of blankets and sheets.

When he straddles her lap, she protests—"Hey, woah, coffee!"—but she’s already lost. He shakes his head and grabs her jaw and kisses her hard. Kisses her breathless. When he sits back on his heels, she’s dizzy again.

Smirking insufferably, he climbs off her lap and down onto the floor, then saunters over to the desk where a book lies open. As he bends his head to read, she sips the dark, bold brew, savoring its earthy flavor and heavenly aroma.

Slowly, slowly, the sun trades its harshness for warmth, she balances, and the world becomes right.

MOAR FLUFF ^u^ Thanks for the prompts, love. :)

The Game: Send me a number (from this list) and an OC and I’ll write a brief description! [closed]

[snyrtch]

@highwayphantoms did this and left it as an open tag/prompt to do em so here are my babies!

1st is Haleir (he/him) then Shielan (they/them), Taltic (she/they) and Venarla (she/her)

also bonus author vers (any pronouns!)

[for-the-ninth]

For DWC: “I can’t sleep, can I stay here?” - any DA:I characters, please!

oh look, it's my favorite trope *rubs hands together* @dadrunkwriting

Solas sat with his legs folded beneath him, open book in one hand and a lukewarm cup of tea in the other. The young cook, Cahir, was the only one on duty at this hour, and the poor boy never could seem to get it right—though Solas could hardly understand why. Were the directions really that difficult to comprehend? Could nobody remember the traditional methods of—

Soft, barely there footsteps padded down the hall outside the rotunda. He craned his neck, but heard no voices, and saw no shadows. Even the late night drinkers had finally gone to sleep at this hour—he'd made sure to check. Gently, without making a sound, he laid the book pages down on his desk and flitted over to the doorway. Just as he'd begun to peek around the entrance, Shielan burst into the room, and he jolted.

"Sweet Mythal," he said, hands clutching his chest.

She doubled over in a fit of laughter so severe, that by the time she stood up, her face was red and covered with tears.

"I really wish you could've seen yourself just then," she said. "I swear I'd immortalize that face right here on these walls, if I could."

He wanted to laugh, but had to still his thumping heart first. In truth, he felt rather silly. Who had he expected at this hour—an intruder? In a fortress as well guarded as Skyhold?

"After the day you had, I assumed you'd be sleeping," he said.

She shook her head, and took on a scowl. "And I thought you'd be happier to see me."

Solas' brows drew together. He reached for her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "That isn't what I meant at—"

She broke into a grin and he rolled his eyes. "Your sense of humor is unparalleled."

"I can't sleep," she sighed. "I was hoping I could stay here." Her face twisted into an expression of questioning, like she wasn't quite sure if the request was reasonable.

He wasn't sure either, but didn't wait for his mouth to protest. Instead, he took her gloved hands and guided her to modest bed upon which he almost never slept. He peeled back the blankets and arranged the pillows in the same formation he'd seen in her own bed, then invited her to climb in with a wordless, sweeping gesture. She caught his hand as he pulled the blankets over her.

"Will you lay with me?"

His breath caught in his throat, halting any coherent form of speech. But she didn't need him to speak, and he knew that. She only needed him to be there, and so he was. So he would be, for as long as she'd let him.

[for-the-ninth]

@a11sha11fade, @noire-pandora and @dreadfutures tagged me in Six Sentence Sunday and per usual, I missed the "deadline." So here's a snippet from Chapter 11 of The Life That Left Me, in which Cullen has a psychotic break and Shielan struggles to hide a well-kept secret in close quarters.

***

“I’ve managed my injuries for many years now. Yours won’t be a problem.”

“Your clan didn’t have a Healer?”

Shit.

Since the Conclave, she’d remained diligent in revealing no more about herself or her past than absolutely necessary, and only when asked. She’d even given Seeker Pentaghast a fake clan name, so her own clan—should some fanatical shem be both lucky enough to find them and stupid enough to cross their borders—would be safe from any blowback. She’d thought her comment off-hand, not an opening for further questioning, but Cullen’s perceptive nature caught her off guard, and she was left with a nerve wracking gamble. Either she’d throw him a few crumbs of her backstory and pray they’d placate, rather than pique, his curiosity; or spin a web of lies and risk tripping over them later. Regardless, she had to work quickly.

“I’ve been apart from my clan for over ten years,” she said. “Left the day after I got my vallaslin.”

She could feel him staring holes into her skull as she gripped his arm with one hand and hovered her free hand above the worst of his cuts, waiting for him to flinch or recoil again. But he remained still, save for the uncontrollable tremoring of his hands, and when she drew her fingers slowly up the length of his first cut, he made no move to hinder her work.

“I suppose it’d be rude to ask why you left.”

“I wouldn’t know how to answer, even if you did.”

[for-the-ninth]

For DWC: "Negotiations are going poorly" any characters!

Thank you for the prompt!! @dadrunkwriting

Bull sighed. "Negotiations are going... poorly."

"Of course they are!" Josephine threw her hands in the air with a sardonic laugh. "You sent Sera, of all people, to make a deal with—"

"Yes, I realize now it was a bit of an oversight on my part, but—"

"An oversight?" Josephine's voice pitched upward, and she folded her arms over her chest in a futile attempt to give an illusion of composure. But Shielan could tell she was rattled, and she had a right to be. The ambassador read the letter aloud:

'Dearest Archon, Lord of Fancy-Footed Magisters, Grand Dominator of Magic & Men (what's it feel like to be on top? you know, because positions)

Here's a special gift just for you. Try swallowing it and see how you fare.

Sincerely, Red Jenny'

"I'm not one to keep up with politics," Shielan said, withholding her laughter, "but even I know not to fuck with Tevinter."

"Oh, what's the big fucking deal?" said Sera.

"The big f"—Josephine stuttered for a moment, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to curse, even in justifiable frustration. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "The big deal, Sera, is that the Archon will not only refuse to work with the Inquisition—he may even openly disparage us. Despite the overall decline of the Imperium, Tevinter maintains a wide—"

"A wide range of influence, and is therefore a force to be reckoned with," Sera said. "Blah blah, sure sure. Whatever!" She stomped out of the war room with a huff, leaving Josephine open-mouthed and shaking her head.

"That girl is"—the ambassador growled and threw her hands in the air—"unbelievable!" She stomped off after Sera, muttering what Shielan assumed were Antivan curses under her breath.

"Well," Bull said, uncorking his flask and taking a long swig. "That went..."

"Marginally better than expected?" Shielan replied, chuckling. "Who the fuck told Sera where to send that letter, anyway?"

A muffled laugh could be heard from the open doorway. Shielan looked up to find Dorian, leaning on the archway with his head tilted and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "I did. And I have no regrets."

[for-the-ninth]

Thanks for the tags @noire-pandora and @a11sha11fade!!

Though I'm currently working on chapters 9 and 10 of my first longfic, The Life That Left Me, I'd rather use this wip Wednesday to highlight an excerpt of chapter 4, which just went up tonight! You can find it, along with the first three chapters, here.

In this chapter, Shielan finds out the rumors she heard about Cullen & Meredith's behavior in Kirkwall are horrendously true, and confronts him about it (drunk, because why wouldn't she be). My favorite part of this chapter was writing about Cullen's defensiveness, because at this point, he's still downplaying what really happened, and not ready to deal with the guilt he's suppressed and the mistakes he made.

“You hurt people—real, live people lost their freedom and their lives because of you.” The pinching clench of defensiveness gripped his belly. He’d only done what Meredith asked of him—a job he’d sworn himself to since the age of eighteen. Why was everything that happened in Kirkwall his fault? “I had little choice in the matter,” he said through gritted teeth. “Bullshit." She shook her head, a mighty scowl pulling her lips down further. “We always have a choice—whether it’s to aid those in need or risk punishment from those in power, the choice is there, regardless.” “It was a matter of safety,” he said. “We had blood mages crawling through our ranks. I couldn’t very well let the rebels go unchecked—" Shielan threw her flask down and closed the remaining distance between them with a vengeance, sending him stumbling backward. Whatever patience she’d had before disappeared entirely as she shouted him down, loud enough for the whole eastern side of camp to hear. “Rebel movements are not born from nothing,” she spat, eyes wild with unbridled rage. “They are a response to injustice—a last resort when peaceful dissent is no longer an option.” She had him backed against a tree, standing mere inches from him so he couldn’t escape. “You can lay blame upon Meredith and the mages if it helps you sleep at night, but we both know the truth.” The fire in her eyes remained, even as she lowered her voice to a seething whisper. “If anything is responsible for the mage rebellion in Thedas, it’s the callous disregard of their prison guards, Cullen.”

[for-the-ninth]

Welcome to the DADWC! Here's a prompt for you: “All this sneaking around is going to get us into trouble.”

This is a prompt from last week, but I had too much tequila and had to stop writing once the screen got blurry lmfao thank you for waiting!! @dadrunkwriting

Cullen marched down the hall with his eyes downcast, sorting through a disorganized pile of missives and reports. Every other page was in the wrong sequence, with the wrong document, or a random letter that wasn't meant for him. Someone he hadn't seen bumped his shoulder, and loose pages went flying. He stood in the hall for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head before bending down to gather his mess.

"Oh, my," said a voice from above. "I swear I'm not normally this clumsy."

"No, no, forgive me, Miss. I really should've been paying more—"

He looked up. Shielan stood over him with her hands clasped behind her back, grinning from ear to ear. She crouched down to her knees, and ran her fingertips along his jaw. Suddenly he was helpless, a bumbling fool, entirely incapable of coherent speech. He stared at her, mouth open, and she wasted no time filling it with her tongue.

The clacking of heels from across the hall made them both jump, and she broke away from him, still smiling. She put one finger over her mouth and gave him a wink, then took his hand and pulled him into the nearest room. He looked over each shoulder before he crossed the threshold, and briefly caught the eye of the shadowed figure heading toward them. She slammed the door behind them, twisted its lock, and took his face in her hands.

Without hesitation, he craned forward and pressed his mouth to hers with a low groan. Her fingers grabbed fistfuls of hair and clothing, and his hands wrapped her waist, pulling her closer. As his lips trailed soft kisses down the side of her neck, the sharp footsteps stopped outside the door.

A rustling of papers could be heard, followed by: "Commander?" and then, softly: "How odd to leave such a mess here."

Cullen tried to pull away from Shielan, but she held him firmly in place.

"All this sneaking around is going to get us in trouble," he whispered.

She pulled back from him and grinned as she stroked his forehead. "Good thing I love trouble."

[for-the-ninth]

Thanks for the tag @roguelioness !! Here's an excerpt from a draft of chapter 9 in The Life That Left Me. At this point, Cullen has been forced to resign as Commander and military advisor of the Inquisition, and is sitting in a cell, waiting for lyrium withdrawal to kick in. During his first night, a Tranquil survivor of the Kirkwall Annulment comes to speak with him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, and he could swear he heard her smile. “You’re realizing now what you should’ve seen then, aren’t you?” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t need him to. “Others were not so lucky as me, and I’m sure you feel tortured over that too—that my objectively awful circumstances are somehow still among the best of them, if for no other reason than because I do not live with the pain.”

She turned to face him now, and he followed suit, willing himself not to break down when he met her gaze again.

“You were a pawn in a game made to instill hatred toward people born with abilities your kind struggle to understand,” she said, and there was no malice or condescension in her voice, only truth. “This does not absolve you of your actions, and I believe you know that. But I hope it encourages you to consider the broader picture. One man alone is not responsible for centuries of abuse.”

“I am no pawn,” he replied, shaking his head. “I knew what I was doing and felt justified in it.”

A beat of silence passed. He kicked himself for speaking out of turn, but she continued unfazed.

“Tell me,” she said, tilting her head to the side, “why did you leave the Order?”

Because it was a sinking ship. Because after ten years of service he no longer recognized himself. Because he had the audacity to believe he deserved a second chance at leadership—an opportunity to do it well, and do it fairly.

“After Meredith, I…” He shook his head, averting his gaze. “I just couldn’t do it anymore. But I should’ve left sooner.”

“You can spend the next decade hoping they’ll forgive you, and damning yourself when they do not”—the woman reached through the bars of his cage and laid her hand gently upon his—“or you can use what you’ve learned and prevent others from making the same mistakes.”

He looked up at her now, and she dropped his hand. “You mean, reform the Order?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean abolish it.”

Tags under the cut!

@a11sha11fade @oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @scribbledquillz @1000generations @charmcity-jess @teknicianwrites and anyone else who wants to hop in!

[for-the-ninth]

Thank you @noire-pandora and @oxygenforthewicked for the tags!

Here's a snippet from a draft of chapter 8 of The Life That Left Me (first three chapters up now!) that I've been working on this week, in which Shielan gives Cullen an ultimatum after removing him from his post as commander.

“You will stay in the dungeon. Two meals a day, no weapons, and my apprentice will check on you intermittently,” she said. “You fly the coop and I’ll put your head on a spike in the courtyard.” Cullen’s eyes went wide, breath hitching in his throat. “That was a joke,” she said, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her otherwise steely expression. “Which isn’t to say I won’t do it, but considering your penchant for following orders, I’m fairly certain it won’t come to that.”

Tags: @charmcity-jess @roguelioness @teknicianwrites @1000generations @scribbledquillz @a11sha11fade and anyone else who wants to jump in!

[for-the-ninth]

Late dadwc prompt, “Why is there a dead noble in my study?”

YES I was truly hoping someone would pick this one, so thank you for being a hero. @dadrunkwriting

Leliana stood, unmoving—so still, in fact, that Shielan wondered if perhaps she'd stopped breathing altogether. Her eyes were not wide with shock or panic, as anyone who didn't know her might expect. Instead, she stared straight at the body, as though trying to replay a scene she hadn't actually witnessed in her head. Finally, she blinked.

"Why the fuck is there a dead noble in my study?"

"I, uh—"

"You see, the thing is—"

"Sister Leliana, we—"

The spymaster shut her eyes tight and held up her hand. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter." She crouched down and closed the body's eyes, then sighed. "I assume the Inquisitor had a good reason for dispatching him, and it is best for all of us that you say nothing further."

Shielan nodded and grimaced awkwardly. She was by no means a delicate flower, but still, it was unlike her to kill without provocation, and Leliana knew that. Truthfully, she was glad that Leliana trusted her enough not to question her motives.

"I'll arrange for the disposal of the body," Leliana said, standing and resting her hands on her hips. "In the meantime, keep everyone out of here." She gave Shielan a firm nod, and sauntered off without another word, leaving the Inquisitor, Bull, and Dorian standing in the middle of the room, eyes darting between one another.

"So what the fuck happened, exactly?" Dorian asked, scratching the back of his head. He looked up at Shielan with one eyebrow cocked, not as though he expected her to lie, but more as if he were wondering just how much of the truth she'd be willing to divulge.

"Listen," she replied, twiddling with the tail end of her braid. "He didn't give me much of a choice."

"Exactly," Bull said. Dorian cut his eyes at him, and he looked away.

"Were you even there?" he asked Bull.

"No, but uh"—Bull took an overzealous drink from his flask, and actually stuttered his way through a response—"I trust the Boss."

Shielan stepped up to the body and exhaled sharply, twisting her face into an unreadable expression. "He tried to kill me, and well..." She shook her head, and looked up at Dorian through squinted eyes. "I had no choice but to kill him back, I suppose."

To her surprise—and amusement—Dorian relaxed his shoulders and grinned, as though victorious. "In fairness, he was a bit of a dick."

Bull spit out the swig of ale he'd nearly swallowed and walloped himself on the chest to stifle his sputtering. "Absolutely. A total dick."

They looked upon the body of Marquis DuRellion and broke into fits of laughter, one after the other.

"I guess he'll never be able to lay claim to Haven, after all," Dorian said, clutching his chest as his face turned red with giggles.

[for-the-ninth]

For DADW: “Are you sure you want to do this? Because there’s no turning back.”

oooh yes thank you! a little drabble featuring Cullen, Shielan and her childhood bestie, Zevriel. @dadrunkwriting

"You sure you wanna do this, pretty boy?" Zev sat across from Cullen with a hot needle in one hand, and a pool of black ink sitting on the table next to him. A lit cigarette was poised between his teeth, and he exhaled a cloud of smoke in Cullen's face as he spoke. "There's no turning back."

"Thank for the warning, but I know how tattoos work," Cullen replied, waving the smoke away and coughing.

Shielan reclined on the obnoxiously ornate lounge chair next to them, chuckling and shaking her head as she buried her nose in a book. "He'll be fine, Zev."

"Hey"—Zev gestured flippantly with his free hand—"No harm in me making sure, alright?" He dipped the needle into the inkwell and hunched forward over Cullen's arm.

"Wait," Cullen said. "Could you maybe put out that cigarette before we—"

"Absolutely not." Zev jabbed Cullen's arm with the needle.

"Andraste, preserve me," Cullen hissed.

Shielan laughed, but Zev was all furrowed brows and pursed lips as he puffed away at his cigarette and stabbed the little design into Cullen's arm. After an hour, he sat up and cocked his head to the side, observing his work.

"Not bad for your first time," he said to Cullen. "Though it would've gone a lot faster if you'd just let me use the spell."

"Don't let him fool you," Shielan said without looking up from her book. "Rutherford enjoys the pain more than any man should."