#skyhold scholars

[lavellander]

got hollis on the brain….. specifically their first encounters w some of the inq folks :^)! she’s not great at first impressions god bless

[felassan]

supposedly isolated from Orzammar for almost 1000 years, having to do some questionable things to survive and possibly in some way Tainted.. I wonder if Kal-Sharok has a sorta 'city in the BG-world Underdark' vibe? what do you think it looks like?

thinking again about the recent teaser, Speaker 1 is an Antivan Crow speaking as we view Antiva, and Speaker 3 is a Grey Warden speaking as we view the Anderfels. Speaker 2 speaks with reverence about the "Risen Gods" as we view Rivain, where dragons have become increasingly aggressive of late and been attacking ships. maybe Speaker 2 is a dragon cultist (something that isn't exactly the same as being an Old God cultist) speaking of reverence of their dragon 'gods', and the actions of a dragon cult are why dragons in this area have been becoming bolder? there have been dragon cults throughout Thedosian history. after the First Blight, many desperate Imperial citizens turned to the worship of actual dragons to replace the Old Gods (who had failed them). “A dragon, after all, was a god-figure that they could see: It was there, as real as the Archdemon itself.” there are also reports of dragon cults in places which never worshipped the Old Gods:

Members of a dragon cult live in the same lair as a High dragon, defending its young. In exchange the dragon lets them kill some of them and drink their blood, which confers benefits on them like increased strength (sounds like Reaver abilities, basically). Scholars aren’t sure how these mutually beneficial relationships begin. Nevarran dragon hunters reported mad rants and tales of godhood from such cultists.

it also reminds me a bit of Kolgrim's Disciples of Andraste Andrastian-offshoot dragon cult from DA:O. so perhaps Speaker 2 is a dragon cultist, and the problem Rivain has been having is dragon cultist activity and subsequent increase in/increase in the boldness of dragons?

if 9:52 is when DA:D is set, then it's been 10 years in universe since Corypheus' defeat in 9:42. if DA:D then releases in late 2024 then it's been 10 years irl since the release of DA:I. one might say that both we and the characters have been.. dragon ageing at the same time

something else the "the peace and comfort of my reeeiignnn" voice lowering into a draconic rumbly growl before a wolf howls in the distance reminds me of is Fen'Harel's draconic wolf/lupine dragon form, as shown in the Skyhold rotunda mural and described in Tevinter Nights. the speaker of that line isn't Solas ofc (wrong accent etc). neat imagery though. and the sfx or soundmixing of the dragon growl then the echoing howl is just rly cool to me 👌

[dragonagecompanions]

The Well of Sorrows has always been interesting to me. What do you think would be the romance options reactions to a non elven inquisitor speaking elvhen in their sleep after drinking from the Well?

Cassandra: This is...unsettling.

Of course, she has been unsettled about this since they left the Temple. No matter her misgivings, the Seeker can only hold them closer and vow -to them and to herself- that she will be at their side as long as they can when the price of their action is finally due.

Blackwall: Maker's Breathe, that's...a bad sign. He won't blame them for the decisions made with the inquisition in mind, but even in the horse warmth of the stables the would be warden feels a chill. He can't claim to know what is coming of all this, but he doesn't intend to let them face it alone.

In peace, vigilance. It will be his watchword.

Dorian: Given that in the course of their relationship thus far his amatus has shown no keen understanding of that ancient tongue, Skyhold's resident necromancer is understandably unnerved by the development. Unnerved enough to set wards about his person, should his lover awaken with someone else nehind the eyes he has come to love.

In the daylight hours he focuses his already keen mind to a razer point, hunting for anything that might shed more light on the gaes they are under-- and how to remove it without even greater toll.

iron Bull: Demon ancient elven god crap. The Qun might be broadly considered a religion, but the mercenary captain has never taken much truck with the divine of any race. To have tangible evidence that someone besides him has taken residence within his Kadan is infuriating and terrifying.

Truncated sleep will become the norm, as the inquisitor is shaken awake each time those nightly monologues take form, until they can work out something that settles them both. In the interim he will be sending letters out to every contact he still has, trying to learn more about what they will be facing.

Sera: Nope, nope, nope. She has never tolerated elfy shite and Red Jenny doesn't mean to start now! They are beating this out right quick, no matter how many times it takes. She wants her honeykiss back, now.

Cullen: Unnerving as it might be, he has spoken as bad or worse in his time-- and sleep has not always been his companion. He will guard her, as much as he can, and what he lacks in understanding of this strange deal with the well of sorrows he will simply compensate by being ever at her side.

Josephine: For the moment, until her letters to scholars and Keepers and anyone else who might help comes back, Skyhold's ambassador simply holds them close and painstakingly writes down (phonetically) everything they say. She might not know what they are murmuring in their slumber, but someone will.

Knowledge is the only power she has, but no one has ever accused Josephine Montiliyet of not knowing how to wield what she has in hand. They will yet come to the end of this puzzle together.

Mod Fereldone

[rosella-writes]

Ro, I see you're looking for prompts for Virelan and Solas. How about this one:

that glance at your body with their eyes subtly widening, almost gulping as they take in your attire. fuck.

Sending lots of inspiration your way! Oh, and if that prompt doesn't speak to you, just delete the Ask, don't worry about it <3

I took my sweet time with this one, sorry! Thank you, Cat. 💚 I'll share it for @dadrunkwriting tonight.

Pairing: solavellan Rating: T Words: 400

~~~

In Virelan’s defence, Solas started it. 

He began in the rotunda — an innocuous place, deceptively private despite being the heart of Skyhold. One passed through it to reach the library, the rookery, Cullen’s office, the battlements, and yet Solas’s quiet air of studiousness and artistry lent it a hushed atmosphere. Virelan often took her book to the chaise against the wall and curled up on its cushions, content to share space with her scholar as he went about his work. 

Today he seemed particularly aware of her. He kept his back to her as he bent over his table, shuffled through papers, and thumbed at his lower lip. She spotted him casting a glance over his shoulder at her — no, she was not peering over the top of her book, of course not — before standing straight, rolling his shoulders, then beginning to roll up his sleeves. 

Virelan took in a sharp breath through her nose, then adjusted on the chaise until she was out of view of anyone on the upper landing or rookery. She laid a hand on the clasps of her vest. 

“Solas.”

“Yes, vhenan?”

She could hear the grin in his voice, and he hadn’t even turned around. She undid another clasp. 

“What captures your focus so completely, da’len?”

Solas’s ears dropped and flattened — an immediate sign of submission, and from him? Someone whose ears hadn’t so much as flicked with annoyance when she bullied him in Haven? He may as well have dropped to his knees. 

“A measurement of the frequency of the Veil in the regions where we have activated relics, in the hopes of —”

He had turned as he spoke, gesturing with his hands — showing off those forearms and wrists and fingers, the cheeky boy — and his voice tapered off as he took in the sight of her. She watched his eyes widen, and a flush rose high on his cheeks. His throat moved as he swallowed, as his gaze dipped to the generous slice of umber flesh she now displayed between the two halves of her vest. Her breasts nearly spilled out upon the cushion she laid on. 

“Here?” he whispered. His ears remained flat and down — he would, if she commanded. 

She smiled and began lazily fastening her vest once more with one hand. He swallowed again as she hid her skin from view. 

“Upstairs, da’len,” she said gently, firmly, lovingly. “Now.”

[vigilskeep]

Had a weird dream last night that in Inquisition there was a comedic side quest were a mysterious illness made its way through skyhold and one of the symptoms was excessive sneezing. Dorian was doing as a scholar does and researching different magics in an attempt to cure it right?

Anyways, long story short he was examining the afflicted and got sick himself, sneezed so hard his mustache flew off his face and I woke myself up laughing.

dorian becomes a spirit healer tragic backstory

[cullenakingirog]

Inquisitor Drawing Meme 1: Skyhold Outfit

Finally, we have Mahalina Kato Bagaoisan, First to Clan Bagaoisan, Son of Keeper Luwalhati, Father to Luningning and Kundiman, Inquisitor and local stressed team dad who acts with the regality of a king and is a walking Philippine Epic hero checklist (handsome, radiant and resplendent, stands tall and proud, beautiful to behold)

His tattoos are the mountains and the sun. The mountains mean journey in life, strength and sturdiness while the sun means life. He’s more of a scholar than a warrior but when push comes to shove he is capable of warfare to protect his family and his people. He’s also known to play the kolitong and also to help teach the young men of Clan Bagaoisan how to dance the Lawin-Lawin for their coming of age celebrations. He’s also a traditionalist. Like Dalisay and majority of Clan Bagaoisan, he has a glamour spell to hide his scars. 

[danceswithdarkspawn]

16,17,18,19

16: Are one-shots really underrated?

How do I say this without being unhinged.

YES.

(General 'you' here) If you're the type of reader who writes off short works, such as drabbles, ficlets/microfics, or shorter works in general, I'm not judging you, but you're missing out on some gems.

17: Past or present tense? Why?

I think this depends on what you want. From a reader's perspective, past tense is easier for me to read/get into. There are some cases where present tense could potentially work better however, such as first or second-person POV where the aim is to make the reader more immersed in the story being told. Both are good, and truth be told I don't have a preference. It's all a stylistic choice.

18: First, second, or third person?

This is basically the same as above. I gravitate toward third because it's palatable to more people, is easier to write than first or second in some ways, and is more forgiving of mistakes. I do, however, adore first person and use it where I can.

19: Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

I'm leaving out a very important part at the beginning, I shan't say what it is.

After conducting business in the war room, he came up on a scene of chaos in Skyhold's main hall. A number of mages, scholars, and dignitaries gathered outside the entrance of the rotunda, and still more were being escorted out by Leliana's agents. Among the thralls, Josephine and Charter assured those displaced that yes, they would receive their belongings, but that the tower was closed and would remain so for some time.

He'd earned a reproachful look from Josephine for even daring to oggle for as long as he did. Charter, meanwhile, looked as indifferent as ever, but watched him like a bird of prey.

By nightfall, the rookery and indeed the entire tower that contained it was completely locked down. Each of the many entrances were sealed off and guarded by a pair of elite agents. For three days it stayed that way, with only a select few moving in and out of the tower, and always followed by armed escort.

No amount of backhanded prying got him the confirmation he wanted. All of Leliana's agents repeated the same mantra that they were not to speak of their liege's state. Josephine politely redirected the matter the way he'd expected of a skilled diplomat.

Charter was the only one to give him anything. He came to her claiming to have received intelligence that required Leliana's discretion. Charter informed him that the information was hers to know, and that effective immediately, she was the Inquisition's spymaster.

[contreparry]

'patting the other’s head' for the pairing of your choice? happy friday!

Absolutely! Here’s some Sera x Dagna for @dadrunkwriting !

She was a tactile sort of person, which Dagna understood and appreciated. She was like that as well. Much easier to get a grasp of a thing when you could hold it in your hands and fiddle around to see what made it work. She wouldn’t be half the scholar she was if she was only confined to books and observation. She needed to touch in order to know. That she had Sera had that in common was a comfort.

But Dagna had to confess she wasn’t quite used to Sera’s companionship yet. The woman would drop in at the oddest of hours for a chat. Not that Dagna wanted complain, of course, because she was always happy to see Sera and it wasn’t like she kept a reasonable schedule herself. But Sera would clamber in through a window or slip in through the door and pounce like a kitten, ruffling her hair and kissing her all over her face before darting around her workroom to see whatever new experiment she was cooking up. And Sera got into everything, picking up ancient artifacts and dangerous alchemical solutions and turning them around in her clever hands as she peppered Dagna with rapid fire questions: Where’s it from? What does it do? Funny little thing, innit?

And this was something Dagna loved about Sera: she might act indifferent and incurious, but she had a thirst for knowledge that rivaled her own. She was just a little more reserved about it. Dagna longed to ask her why, but she had a feeling (a tiny, wriggling little thing) that Sera would bolt if she asked too soon. No, best to keep that question in reserve until Sera was ready to answer it. Instead Dagna watched Sera hold up a vial of quicksilver up to the sunlight and swirl the contents around.

“Been askin’ Inky about this quicksilver stuff, since she’s an alchemist an all-“ Sera said slowly. “Well, botanist and herbalist, but she said somethin’ ‘bout having to be good at your alchemy to be good at herbalism.” Her eyes were fixed on the quicksilver like a magpie staring at her collection of treasures.

“Magical fields of study do tend to intersect, or so I’m told,” Dagna replied. It wasn’t a surprise that the Inquisitor was skilled in alchemy, considering how she utterly dominated the herbalist work area when she was in Skyhold. Dagna mourned the fact that a fellow scholar had to take to the battlefield so often. The work they could have accomplished had they lived in more peaceful times- but thinking of what might have been wasn’t very useful, and besides! If things hadn’t been as they were Dagna might never have met Sera, and that was a terrible thought!

“Right! So I was thinking, she told me ‘bout quicksilver and the fumes it lets out. And how they can make the fumes give off a bright light if you run some electricity through it,” Sera explained, and she held up the tube. “Maybe make it a tougher bottle, make sure the lightning magic stuff doesn’t blow it all up, but with it all worked out-“ Sera waved the vial of quicksilver in the air excitedly. This, Dagna thought as a smile overtook her face, was why she loved being around Sera. Sera was curious and clever, and she was utterly fearless. She had a thought and she’d say it, and then work out the way to achieve her goal. It was refreshing- and very, very attractive, Dagna acknowledged as Sera lithely hopped off the windowsill to strut about the room, quicksilver vial in hand.

“Light! Good for your readin’, Widdle, and maybe if we make it REAL bright-“

“You’re not planning to blind people with it, are you? Might blind yourself in the process,” Dagna cautioned, but visions of lamps that ran without oil and a candle-less future danced in her eyes. Now, to find a proper energy source…

“I don’t plan for shite, you know that,” Sera declared. “But might be fun. Do an experiment an’ all that.” She wandered over to Dagna and patted her head, tangling her fingers into Dagna’s curly hair. Dagna leaned back into Sera until the back of her head was pressed into Sera’s stomach.

“Between the two of us we can figure something out,” Dagna promised. “Though we might set a few things on fire during the process.”

“Ooo, fun! Let’s give Commander Uptight something to really complain about, hmmm?” Sera cackled, and she pressed a kiss to Dagna’s forehead before darting away towards the box of scrap parts, vial of quicksilver still in hand.

[elvhenfaer]

First off, thank you @chantry-scholar for posting these murals, but this one in particular.

I’m obsessed with this one. Ever since I found it in the game, I’ve loved it. At first, it was just the imagery, just a beautiful piece of artwork that I found particularly appeasing.

For those who may not recognize it, this is a wall mural in Skyhold, in the armory where Cass hangs out but up one more floor from here where there’s just a third story balcony with some benches and some rolled up carpets, it sorta looks like Cass sleeps there but it mostly reminds me of where me and my friends used to smoke weed in a little hippie alcove of their apartment.

Anyway, there’s no reason to go up there. Not a single one. So I found it after playing the game for months and just dicking around exploring. It got a little stuck in my head.

Because Solas is the painter of Skyhold. He’s the one doing murals and whatever. Now, we know that Skyhold was once his fortress way back in the age of Arlathan, so we CAN ask ourselves if this is old or new, but I just want to vomit my thoughts out real quick.

It looks like a bear at first glance, sure, but then I noticed the seven stars. Reminiscent of how the Dread Wolf is depicted with seven eyes, done in black, with the big ol’ claws, looking ferocious and ominous. The figure embracing this monster is depicted in white, a color representative of purity and wholesomeness. This figure has antlers and a flower crown, both things typically associated with Dalish elves.

IS THIS A FUCKING SOLASMANCER MURAL?

Does he think of his Dalish Inquisitor lover as this pure and ethereal person who is embracing him, the beast he knows he is? I mean, he knows he’s lying to this person who he loves, and that guilt has to be tearing him up, and he expresses that through his art that no one else would be able to interpret because they can’t recognize that monster as him. But WE can, because we know. I just feel like he would do that edgy sadboi shit.

And of course, the mural is there whether you’re romancing Solas or not, but it’s just… idk… it fits. Does anyone else have thoughts? I sorta thought it could be the Dread Wolf and Mythal but Mythal wasn’t really associated with the antlers, that would be more of a Ghilanain thing and I’m not sure a relationship between Fen’Harel and Ghilanain was ever referenced.

[lavellander]

⚡️SKYHOLD SCHOLARS COMEBACK TOUR⚡️ part one: solas & hollis 😌

[theluckywizard]

For the DADWC: "Lyrium dust suspended in a clear fluid," perhaps for Vivienne?

Thanks Ann! I had some fun with this one. Started last Friday but fell asleep before finishing as is tradition! @dadrunkwriting

The Talk

Vivienne & Rose Trevelyan

WC: 1304

CW: discussion of sex and pregnancy and family planning

The note arrives for me via Vivienne’s personal staff, handed to me between two fingers in an elegant flourish.

Be so kind as to visit me in my personal quarters on the upper level, darling. There’s something important to discuss.

-Vivienne de Fer

This was an unusual request. Vivienne most often wished to speak in her favored space in the mezzanine over the main hall, so I immediately inferred some manner of gravity. It could be any number of things given the tumult of the last month and I’ve long suspected she might vacate the Inquisition entirely having been immensely displeased with the failure to defend Haven, describing the catastrophe as amateur. 

Knocking politely on her chamber door, two over from the one I’d first stayed in upon arriving Skyhold and enter when she invites me in.

“Rose, darling. Thank you for coming,” Vivienne says, rising from what appears to be some manner of alchemist’s work bench in an elegant robe I’d never seen her in, one that is more staid than her usual fare and in a stroke of practicality covers more of her in case of accidents. I know she's a specialist in alchemy, but her demeanor always seems to suggest that work of any sort was beneath her and she and I rarely speak on matters of the arcane. I’ve overheard enough of her arguments with Dorian and Solas to know that she is a true scholar, but to see an actual laboratory of sorts in her bedroom astonishes me.

“I can’t lie. I never did expect to see the inside of your quarters, Vivienne,” I remark, taking it all in. Her alchemy workbench is impeccably tidy, tools carefully organized on velvet cloths, jars of solutes clearly labeled and alphabetized, crucibles and mortars and pestles of varying sizes lined up neatly along the wall. 

“Indeed. But this conversation requires a measure of privacy few other places in Skyhold can supply.”

“Well then. Now I’m curious,” I say. Vivienne eyes me in a way that feels strangely motherly, drawing a few different items onto her workbench. A suspension of lyrium powder that shimmers in the wan light that slips in through the narrow windows, a bit of chalk, a sizable ring of some kind of polished mineral. 

“Can I offer you some refreshment before we start? I know you have finer tastes than most. I doubt you’ll find better in Skyhold than what I've managed to procure.” 

She pours me a delicate glass of Orlesian port which I take in equally delicate sips, still reflexively watching my manners around her for some reason. Vivienne turns to me and buffs her nails gently as she speaks into them, her eyes flicking up to mine finally.

“I’ve been observing the growing attachment between you and Commander Cullen. It’s obvious where this is headed."

“I— I don’t think—“ I fumble momentarily and then sigh. “What are you getting at?”

“Maker, dear, I wasn’t born yesterday. The pair of you can’t keep your eyes off each other. And if my projections are correct you’ll be needing the means to prevent unwanted consequences.” My mouthful of port jumps past my lips as I cough, the revelation over her intentions walloping me out of nowhere. “I— see that I’ve caught you off guard. Which I anticipated, but if you could be so kind as to swallow your port, my floor would be grateful.”

“I suppose you mean a child,” I remark, dabbing at my lips with a handkerchief while I recover myself. 

“Pregnancy. Children. Women in our positions cannot afford such inconveniences.”

“In Ostwick we took potions for that sort of thing.”

“I’m relieved to hear that you’re familiar with such practices, though I would hardly rely on something so questionable. Its efficacy depends heavily upon the skill of the herbalist and the quality of the ingredients, none of which will be readily available here in the Frostbacks of all places.”

She turns, sliding cat-like along her workbench and retrieves the ring she’d pulled out earlier. The light catches within the crystalline structure revealing veins and inclusions.

“This is fade-touched Nevarrite. I acquired this for you when I felt coitus was inevitable.” I nearly eject another offering of port, but manage my shock better, clutching at my forehead as a flush sprints from my cheeks to the tips of my ears.

“Maker, Vivienne. When was that?”

“Around the same time Cullen made an impassioned plea to find a way to protect you from the spell meant to close the Breach,” she says simply.

“Ah.”

“Rest assured that not everyone is as perceptive as I am. Although Dorian seems to be aware of it. And Sister Leliana. And now Alexius.”

“For Maker’s sake,” I mutter, pressing my fingers into the heat within my cheeks.

“Properly enchanted this ring will prevent pregnancy and suspend your courses while you wear it.”

“Wait— you’re saying you can suspend my courses?”

“But of course dear. I could hardly be asked to suffer such gross inconveniences.”

“And I could have had this months ago? You’ve been holding out on me.”

“It is not easily acquired. Nor is it cheap. But I think you’ve proven your worth and the seeming imminence of your coupling lent a sort of urgency to the situation. The Herald of Andraste must remain free to close rifts. And now that you’re the Inquisitor it is doubly true,” she says.

“Is it… a bracelet?” I ask but it seems a touch small. Vivienne’s laugh rings across the chamber, delighted.

“No, darling. It is worn inside.” I stare a it skeptically wondering how exactly it would fit. “If you need a lesson I am certain there’s an illustrated encyclopedia of human anatomy available in the library.”

“No, no. I— gather where it’s meant to sit,” I mutter. I take another tentative sip of port like she could induce another explosive reaction, but she doesn’t, leaning gently on the edge of her table.

“It’s a gift, Rose. It will make your time together less worrisome and secure your position as Inquisitor. We cannot leave such things to chance as women of consequence.”

Her words send me reeling back to conversations with my mother. Her obsession with establishing me in a role of influence, narrow as her imagination was— power within the chaste confines of the Chantry or power producing heirs for someone with greater standing. I snort softly to myself thinking of it. And here I am at the head of an entire Inquisition, free to be whatever destiny calls me to be.

“Thank you, Vivienne. I gratefully accept,” I say, my cheeks still burning bright.

“Marvelous. No need for blushes my dear. I understand all too well the overpowering draw of love. But we can’t let it hobble our aspirations. I will enchant it presently and send it to your quarters when it is ready. But I’ll need a lock of your hair and a swab from your mouth.”

“By all means. Take whatever you need,” I answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, and she wastes no time, my submissions organized onto clean white linen for alchemical use. 

I leave her still unreasonably flushed, laughing to myself that she believes such activities are imminent. But I allow the thought of it to send a wave of faintness through me, the kind I’ve felt when I’m near him, the kind that Lieven once provoked with his too-bold looks and too-bold hands while we hunt. Maker, I need a good roll.

And though I also feel that it’s imminent on some level, it still feels just out of reach, like the Inquisition's mountain of tasks and the appropriateness of it lies like a wall between us.

But perhaps that’s just my lack of courage masquerading as an excuse.

[calicostorms]

16 and 17 for my baby boy Fen'an please 💗💗💗💗

16: a conversation between your oc and their best friend

[A conversation overheard between Fen'an and Mirassan near the stables in Skyhold]

Mirassan: Cam'mui, you seem... quiet.

Fen'an: I am; I'm weaving.

Mirassan: No, not like that. More than usual. Not content quiet like you get when you have a project— just sad quiet like you were when you you first joined our clan.

Fen'an: [Noise of acknowledgement]

Mirassan: Well, kind of. Not to anyone else, but I can tell.

Fen'an: State your point.

Mirassan: You can talk to me, you know. About the attack on Haven. You're hurting.

Fen'an: ...Ma serannas, wili.

17: a future historian's account of their family

Codex: A Complete History Of The Liberatium Movement

[A section from a pristine book written in trade tongue with a section at the back full of Elvhen translations]

By all accounts, Fen'an Alahannon's main motivator was his family. However, few records survive surrounding his precise relationship to each one respectively and few of his compatriots were willing to discuss his life with scholars from the University of Orlais despite numerous attempts to do so.

It is widely speculated that he was a former slave himself, though no records are known to substantiate this claim. Still, it is compelling, particularly given the drastic physical differences and his intense, lifelong devotion to the anti-slavery cause. He is recorded to have one sister, Dhaviera Alahannon, best known for her unique necromancy abilities and fierce assistance to the Inquisitor as a close confidant and fighter.

His other siblings are mere speculation— I rather scorn the notion he was related to Iselan and Mirassan given that Dalish often refer to close clanmates as siblings. This does not make it so to the Andrastian world.

[The author continues in another section to discuss Fen'an's parentage, clanmates, and close companionship with Dorian Pavus]

[spainkitty]

There Isn't

Part II / III / IV

Takes place a year after the end of the main game, after Solas has ~mysteriously~ disappeared, and a year before Trespasser. Both Descent and JoH take place after the end of the main game in this 'verse.

tw: pretty heavy discussion & break up BUT there is a planned happy ending and it's almost finished 😀 Also, this is a hella long post. my bad?

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

Sigrid Gulsdotten is a very, shall we say, interesting choice of recruit, Inquisitor. Commander Cullen has had a great deal to say on the matter. Still, we've had interest from scholars and mages beside themselves at the chance to speak with a "stable" abomination. (Especially since the Chantry is too weak to forbid it with any force.) I believe that Gulsdotten, with a guide and some guards for her own protection, would be a valuable guest to send to select lectures and salons.

Ambassador Montilyet

You cannot be serious.

Commander Cullen

.

"This is a great idea, Ambassador!" Lanil walked, well, more like ran, into the war room on her first morning back from the Frostback Basin.

She was definitely not thinking of the conversation she'd had with Dorian about him leaving soon. Or that Varric hadn't even come back to Skyhold with them, instead heading straight to Amaranthine to catch a ship to the Free Marches. Or that the Iron Bull, Cole, and Cassandra were the last ones of her close-knit friend group still in Skyhold since Sera went off to Nevarra to meet with the newest Red Jenny, someone named Johi, to help 'kick arseholes in their holes'.

No, of course not. She was only and entirely excited by the missive in her hand that she'd almost forgotten about in the hectic mess of finding Ameridan and stopping yet another god-dragon-creature from stirring up shit. If only Solas could be here to see that people were beginning to care, to ask questions, about the Fade and Spirits! She herself couldn't wait to sit with Sigrid and get to know her and her teacher.

"My Lady?" Josephine startled in place, nearly dropping her writing tablet.

Cullen and Leliana also did a double-take at her sudden appearance, but Lanil didn't bother looking at them. Her attention was solely on Josephine. She slapped the paper down on the table and leaned across it towards Josephine.

"You're serious about this? The lectures and salons and universities?" Lanil demanded.

"Oh! You mean about Lady Gulsdotten. Enchanter Sigrid?"

"No, I don't think either of those work. You can ask later. But yes, about her and her teacher!"

"Her teacher?" Cullen repeated.

His tone sounded... off, but Josephine was riffling through papers and handing them over to Lanil. She snatched them and read through the invitations and requests eagerly.

"They've been pouring in since I sent out a few... discreet messages to a few more renowned professors and Enchanters," Josephine said with a strained smile. She glanced towards Cullen, who was suddenly standing at his full height, arms crossed over his chest, a frown slowly growing darker and heavier on his face. "We all assumed you didn't like the idea when you didn't reply."

"It wasn't exactly an emergency or a priority. The god-possessed dragon was a bit more pressing at the time. But this is a great idea! I'll ask Sigrid myself how she feels about it--"

"You cannot really be serious," Cullen interrupted.

Lanil finally noticed his expression and her eyes began to narrow. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"A problem?! You used the words 'god possessed dragon' in the same breath as offering to send a possessed mage around Orlais for, what, tea and demon summoning?" Cullen snapped.

"If you noticed, she's not a dragon nor is she trying to be a god or summon demons," Lanil retorted. "She's a mage, an Avvar mage, and the Spirit is her teacher. This is a chance for people to understand Spirits and the Fade better. A chance that most mages across Thedas would never have otherwise."

"Unless they decide to use blood magic and possess themselves or others," Cullen said sharply. Lanil bared her teeth, ready to bite out something caustic.

"Excuse me, Inquisitor, Commander, we don't even know if she'll agree. Perhaps we could wait--" Josephine tried to interrupt, her voice gentle and soothing.

"It shouldn't be an option at all!" Cullen slapped his open palm on the table. "This is madness. If you must, have this Avvar abomination meet with our own scholars. In a small room. Far from anything. With a templar present."

Leliana's eyes closed. Josephine inhaled sharply. Lanil, however, slammed both her hands on the table and leaned across it, eyes burning silver.

"She is not an abomination."

"She is possessed. Of course she is. Don't be naive, Inquisitor."

"By your Chantry terms. Your Chantry rules," Lanil snarled. "In Avvar culture she is a mage. Her Spirit is her friend, her family."

"My Chantry? Did you forget you're part of the Inquisition? A Chantry organization?"

"Barely a Chantry organization! And I'm Dalish!"

"You were raised in a Circle!"

"And they were going to cut my soul in half! I'm Inquisitor because you broke the Chantry rules!"

Cullen threw up his hands and backed away from the table. "This is not the same."

"Josie, maybe we should--" Leliana murmured.

"No, we're not done here," Lanil snapped. "Ambassador, how soon can you organize this tour?"

"Oh, um, only a few--" Josephine stammered.

"You can't do this. I won't allow it." Cullen ordered firmly.

"You won't allow it?" Lanil hissed.

"As your Commander, I have to think about the safety of the people. Maybe you don't think she's dangerous, but I knew a mage who allowed a Spirit to possess him, and he blew up Kirkwall."

"Maybe he was right!" Lanil shouted. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all reared back. "Maybe it had nothing to do with the Spirit, maybe it did, but if you hadn't noticed, the world is always on the verge of exploding! If I had stayed there, if I had lived through the utter bullshit of the Gallows, it was called the Gallows, Commander, maybe I would've helped!"

"You can't possibly mean that," Cullen managed to force out, sounding strangled.

For a moment, Lanil wanted to stick to it. To plant both feet and stand firm. But it had been obstinacy more than belief that had her spitting out those words. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at a far wall.

"I... I don't know..." Lanil said, barely more calmly, her control in tatters. "Maybe not. I knew Anders, too. He was my friend once. I believe that he believed it was the only path he had. Maybe Justice pushed that in him, maybe they... they sickened each other. But some of what I've done here has been just as bloody, and I have as high a body count, if not higher. I didn't need to be possessed to do it."

"This was a war that you didn't start, it's not the same," Cullen argued, shaking his head. "And what of Varric? He knew Anders in Kirkwall. What did he think of your decision to bring Gulsdotten here?"

Lanil scowled fiercely. And was silent.

"Exactly. It's dangerous. It stops here, at Skyhold, where we can make sure--"

"No." Lanil tipped up her chin and met Cullen's gaze. "No. Ambassador, make the arrangements."

"Lanil--!"

"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. A single person gets hurt, and you'll have yourself a new Inquisitor when I leave to take accountability for it. I hope that assuages any misgivings, Commander." Lanil turned on her heel and left.

"Void take it, Lanil!"

Josephine and Leliana watched as Cullen followed right on her heels. Slowly, Josephine met Leliana's eyes. Leliana rubbed her temples and sighed.

"I really don't know what to do here. I didn't think it would turn out like this," Josephine said, rather unnerved and rattled.

"It was bound to happen eventually. You're going have to choose by yourself now."

"What?!"

"Who do you want to anger more, the Commander or the Inquisitor?" Leliana asked with a humorless smirk.

"Oh, dear Maker," Josephine whispered.

...

Lanil stormed towards the main doors. She was going to go and find Sigrid. Or Dorian. She paused. Sigrid was probably in the mage tower, but Dorian prefered the library in the Rotunda. Actually, Sigrid might be there, too. She turned abruptly left and headed that way.

A hand grabbed her elbow.

"Lanil, we were not done--"

"Yes, yes, we were."

Lanil yanked her arm away and glared up the foot of difference in height. She had never seen Cullen this angry, his frown a snarl that almost matched her own. The closest he'd been was when he'd told her about Samson, or anything to do with Samson. Which had her blood immediately boiling--not very difficult when she was already furious.

"You can't just walk out of a meeting and consider it closed."

"And yet, I did." Lanil jabbed her finger in the middle of his chest. "You pushed me there. Not allow? Not allow me, Cullen? I am not a child."

"I..." He stopped mid-word and looked around. There weren't many guests or visitors a year after Corypheus' defeat, but every single one of them was obviously hanging onto every word they said. "We should speak privately?"

"Fine." Lanil snapped and began walking towards the door to the Undercroft.

"My office would--"

"No. It's not private enough and you're not coming to my room." She ugly-snorted and shook her head. "That's right, my room. More than a year later."

"Lanil, you're not going to derail this conversation with that," Cullen muttered under his breath as they stomped their way down the stairs.

"Screw you, Cullen."

"Damn it, Lanil."

She glared at him hotly. He shouldered his way through the bottom door, scowling just as darkly.

"Commander! And the Inquisitor, too! Uh oh..." Dagna set down the tools and wiped off her hands on her leather apron. "Something is not right in the state of the world again."

"Another darkspawn god coming down on our heads, Inquisitor?" Herrit asked, mostly confused but a little concerned despite himself.

"Nothing like that. This is rude, but could you two get out. Until we're done..." she glanced at Cullen and then back at them, "discussing."

"You got it, boss. C'mon, Herrit, let's go enjoy the sunshine."

"There's sunshine coming through that big hole there."

"Okay, let's go enjoy it anywhere not here." Dagna shoved and pushed Herrit past the angrily seething couple, then up the stairs and out the door.

The moment it closed, Cullen dragged both hands through his hair, wincing when it caught on his gauntlets. Lanil crossed her arms, her stance wide, and glared silently. Furiously. Somewhere in the back of her head, deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt it coming.

Mythal, let her be wrong. ...little odd praying to Mythal after meeting her in person...

Cullen finally spoke, "Let's get the easy thing out of the way--" Lanil snorted and barely kept from tossing her head like a horse, too. "I said I wanted our relationship private, and you agreed. Moving into your room is not private."

"That was over a year ago. Everyone in the Inquisition knows by now, so who cares?"

"I do!" Cullen inhaled sharply. "It's one thing for our people to know, but it's another for... for everyone else. Rumors and gossip, fine, but it's not gossip anymore when a dozen nosy nobles see me follow you up to your private rooms every night."

"But you do sleep up there almost every night! You just sneak in like a damned thief instead of my lover."

"You're the Inquisitor! You need to be above reproach--"

"So you'll fuck me, but won't publicly stand beside me," Lanil retorted dryly.

"Don't talk about us like that. It is not like that and you know it," Cullen snapped.

"Do I? Do I really? Sure feels like you're ashamed of us being an us," Lanil said through gritted teeth. "Are you scared your Templar friends will judge you, or your precious Chantry?"

"Lanil, now you're being an ass."

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm pissed."

"We can talk like adults--"

"Argue. We are arguing like adults. And I, for one, am an angry adult who doesn't like being patronized."

"Then, stop throwing my faith in my face like it's something that makes me less, or like it makes me love you any less!"

"Your faith has drilled into your brain that me, and all my people, not ours, my people can't be trusted. That Spirits can only be evil, awful, destructive things! You know that's wrong! But every time, every time this comes up, you're suspicious and close-minded first!"

"Because every time it ends badly!"

"That's obviously a lie since the Avvar have been doing things their way for hundreds or thousands of years, Cullen! Sigrid and her teacher are not violent. They aren't sickened. They choose to be together, to work and learn together, they are family and they keep each other safe, and they keep others safe. They know things and understand things about Spirits and the Fade in a way Circles and Dalish don't."

"You said yourself she was supposed to get rid of the Spirit and she left because she refused to. She's bucking the very tradition you're defending."

"The augur said that some mages never lose their Spirits. The same kind of mages that your Chantry brands with lyrium! Maddox, and people like Maddox, like Anders' Karl, they didn't have to be Tranquils. They didn't have to die. If we had lived with Spirits like the Avvar--"

"You can't be serious," Cullen scoffed, turning away and rubbing his face.

"Say that one fucking more time, Cullen, I swear!" Lanil dug her hands in her hair and growled. "Yes, I am serious! Me and Solas used to talk about it. What kind of world would it be if there was no Veil, if the Fade was like... like a state of being, like the weather, always around us. What would it take for Spirits to live among us peacefully. I used to imagine it, all the things he'd tell me, all the places and Spirits he'd seen. I want that world, Cullen. A world with less fear and more magic, more wonder. Learning from the Avvar, living a little more like they do, we could get closer to that."

"Worshipping Spirits as gods and sticking them in dragons to destroy us all?" Cullen asked tightly.

"That was one clan. Fen'Harel's bloody teeth, Cullen, some Templars rape mages, but you don't see me calling you a rapist."

"For fuck's sake, Lanil." Cullen punched the nearest bench and Dagna's tools rattled. "That is out of line."

"No, it's not. Or you wouldn't be so damned angry about it."

"How much of this sudden crusade to make the world more like the Fade is because of Gulsdotten, and how much of it is you hoping Solas is going to come back?"

Lanil froze, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. "What?" she wheezed.

"I know you miss him, but he left," Cullen said, his voice softer, his gaze heavy. As if he was being gentle. As if his words were fair. "He left, he didn't say good-bye, and he's not coming back. Making friends with every Spirit and abomination you meet isn't going to bring him back."

Her rage was no longer a fire. It was lightning. A storm. It raged and howled and thundered through every nerve ending. Solas once said her magic felt overwhelming, that if he listened, it drowned out everything else. She understood what he meant now.

The next thing that came out of her mouth was going to shatter something fundamental. Break it perhaps beyond repair. She felt the words burning her throat, her tongue, scraping at the back of her teeth.

"How much are you worried about another Kirkwall, and how much are you terrified of me?" she asked.

Cullen stepped back, his face a picture of bewildered shock. "What, I'm not--"

"What if I meet the right Spirit, Commander? What if I meet a teacher like Sigrid's who promises to show me the Fade in a way I can't see it alone? What if it promises to teach me lost Elvehn magic? What if one night, while you're sleeping next me, I say yes?"

Cullen turned white.

"That's what you're scared of. You're scared that Sigrid is an excuse for me to try it. You're terrified I'll become an abomination. That you'll make up one morning and a demon will be lying beside you. You don't trust me."

"Lanil, that isn't true. Of course I trust you," Cullen said. He was shaking his head, but his skin was too pale, too sweaty, his gaze nowhere near hers.

"You can't even look at me." Cullen's shoulders went tight. "You will always be scared of that part of me. Cullen, we can't work if you hate what I am."

His head snapped up and he stepped towards her, paused, and then crossed the short distance in long, determined strides. Gently, he cupped her face in both his hands, something he'd done a thousand times. His hands were shaking like the last leaves on a tree in winter. But his thumbs traced along the lines of her vallaslin. Gentle. Loving. Her chest cracked down the middle.

"This is--I do not and can never hate you, Lanil. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"A part of me is of the Fade and the Fade is in me. My soul and whatever Spirits are made of... we're like... like cousins. Family. And you hate it. You'll never trust it. So you'll never fully trust me."

"Lanil. Don't do this."

"We're over."

His forehead bumped hers and she felt wooden. Empty. Like maybe she'd already carved out where he fit inside her. A hole in her chest where she'd kept him.

Vhenan. How many times had that words slipped past her lips to brand his?

"I'm the Inquisitor," she forced past numb lips that ached for the shape of different words.

"Lane."

"You're the Commander."

She gently took his hands. Pulled them away. Thanked the Creators that he wore gloves so his skin, his pulse, were hidden under leather and metal.

"Lanil. Don't. We can still talk about this."

"Don't worry, Commander," she smiled, a useless emotionless thing, as she met Cullen's too-wide eyes, "you don't have to worry about my reputation now."

She dropped his hands and it didn't feel like her fingers, her hands, her arms were moving. Someone else's feet encased in leather boots scraped over stone. Someone else's legs moved, carried someone else's body up the stairs.

"Lanil, there has to be..."

He couldn't even finish it. Because how could he? There has to be a compromise? A middle ground?

"There isn't."

She closed the door before he could make another sound. Her footsteps echoed. One after another. One more. And then another. The sounds in the main hall rang weirdly through her ears. Like trying to listen through thick glass. She didn't remember how she made it through, or how long it took to get to the doors. She didn't remember crossing the courtyard down to the stables.

But she saw Faith. Shining white and silver and beautiful. Cloven hooves picking their way delicately over grass and dirt to stand in front of her.

"Could we run, my friend? Could you take me anywhere but here?" she asked. Her lips still felt numb. Her skin icy. Faith lowered herself enough for Lanil to slip onto her back. "Ma serannas, falon. Ma ghilana mir atish'an."

When Faith ran, it felt like flying. The halla leapt with a grace and strength that belied her tiny frame and slender legs. They rushed past the guards so fast, they didn't have enough time to see Lanil's face let alone salute. She tucked herself as low and close as possible on Faith's back, her face whipped by the soft white hair stinging and sharp against Lanil's eyelids. Down her cheeks.

She gritted her teeth and let the halla guide her. Mountain air, the smell of wild heather and gorse crushed under hoof, the cries of wild birds; she thought of nothing else. No words. No broken expressions and brown eyes too dark and too bright. Just Skyhold's mountains and Faith.

It wasn't quite dinner time when Lanil returned. She gave Faith a few carrot and dried apple pieces from Dennet's secret stash. With a gentle rub of her bony chin to Lanil's head, mussing her already tangled hair, Faith went into the barn. Probably to ruin a bale of hay to lay indolently over it like a queen. Lanil had heard Dennet curse about it plenty of times. Finally, Lanil went on her way. There was someone, a few someones, she needed to speak with.

...

"Lady Lavellan? Lady Montilyet told me... My lady?!" Therilla gasped, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Lanil grunted, kicked the bed's headboard, and then cursed.

"Yes, I asked her to send you. Would you mind helping me pack for a long journey? In those bags there?" Lanil waved at the tattered and weather-beaten saddlebags in question.

"Um. Of course, but. Why are you stripping the bed? And moving the furniture?

Lanil huffed. All her sheets and blankets had been thrown onto the balcony. Her bureau and desk had switched places. The bed was halfway across the room, where Lanil was now standing.

"I realized I have that whole... um... loft? Indoor balcony? Up there. And I'm going to put my bed there. Make room for some sofas and a table. A little sitting room for guests, like what Vivienne did for her room when she was here."

"That sounds like a lovely idea. Perhaps I could go ask for some help?"

"No need." Lanil raised both her hands, scowled, and then hefted the entire bed up onto the loft area with a loud thud as her hands glowed blue. "I just wanted the right angle for it. Didn't want to accidentally break a leg. The bed's leg, not mine."

"I see. And the bedclothes?"

"I was half hoping the wind would take them. You can give them away." Lanil shrugged and started up the ladder. "I'm going to Val Royeaux to shop with Vivienne."

"Shop. You're going shopping with Madame de Fer?"

"Yup. It'll all be sent here. Make sure they make it look nice, won't you? I trust your taste better than mine. If Josephine wants to help, I don't mind, either, but I think Leliana will officially be in Val Royeaux as Divine by then. Any day now, she said."

"You won't do that yourself? The arranging?" Therilla asked. She slowly opened the saddlebags. Everything Lanil owned could probably fit inside.

"Nope. After Val Royeaux, I'm going around with Sigrid Gulsdotten to sit in on some of her salons. Dorian wanted to see a few of the lectures himself, so it works out great. Then, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and I are going to meet up with Varric in Amaranthine and we're going to the Free Marches together. We already sent him a raven, so he should wait for us, or he'll meet us in Kirkwall and show us around. After that, I'll escort Dorian to the border, I want a glimpse of Tevinter, but that's it. Then, I'm going to Wycome to make sure everything really is stable, visit where my clan..." She broke off slightly, hands freezing mid-air where she held a stack of books, then continued with that same overly perky voice, "Of course, since I'll be travelling, I should go to Nevarra to visit the Enchanters' College they're rebuilding, help out a bit. I'll probably stop at a few of our holdings and keeps around Orlais and Ferelden, too, make sure everyone is satisfied and doing well. Check out any rumors of rifts or demons or darkspawn. I'm pretty excited about it."

The entire time, Lanil was pushing and shoving her bed into the perfect position. Then, came down to start throwing clothes in the bags while Therilla rushed to fold and pack them neatly. She paced to and fro, grabbing books from the shelf, her portable writing desk, more clothes. Barely stopping to breathe, all the while with a fixed and crooked smile on her face. Flitting about like a bird branch to branch.

Therilla huffed and a frizz of hair fluttered over her nose. She was surrounded by clothes and books and a strange number of knives for a mage. Perhaps she cut a lot of herbs?

"What brought this on, my lady? It seems like you're planning to be gone years! Is the Comman--"

"A year at most. Before I forget." Lanil went into her closet and came back out with a large satchel. It was mostly empty, but it felt like it weighed more than a trunk filled with bricks of gold.

A pair of gloves. A handful of styluses worn down to the nub. A tin filled with a solution of elderflower and oakmoss that he swore to everyone else he didn’t use. Papers covered in bold, too-heavy handwriting not her own. Books with feathers or ribbons or dried elfroot for bookmarks, whatever had been nearby. Letters from South Reach carefully kept in their envelopes to preserve them as long as possible. The coin they passed back and forth. Slipped into a pocket or under a pillow or in a boot.

He'd laughed that time. He hadn't been able to figure out how she'd managed to get in it there while he was wearing it.

The satchel dropped with a sad little rattle and thwap.

She was not going to morbidly and symbolically compare it to the past eighteen months.

"That should be returned to the Commander's office. Maybe at dinner or before breakfast, when no one notices."

"Oh. Oh." Therilla's brown eyes glistened and her hand covered her mouth.

"It's nothing. I have a journey to finish packing for." Lanil grinned and spun on her heel. "Do you know what the weather is like in Val Royeaux?"

"Sunny, my lady. The weather should hold for a few weeks yet," Therilla murmured.

"Excellent."

...

Lanil hefted the saddlebags a little higher and shoved through the door into the main hall. Therilla had offered to help carry, but Lanil was more than capable of doing it alone. They weren't even full. Early dawn light trickled through the high stained-glass windows. Soon enough, the hall would be filled with so much sunlight it'd be impossible to walk through without squinting. But for now, the stone beneath her feet took on an unearthly quality, a pearly sheen that reminded Lanil of the Fade.

Dorian met her at the door and raised an eyebrow at her armful.

"You realize you have paid servants to do that for you?"

Lanil scowled at him. With an exasperated sigh, he took hold of the wide strap nearest him. She scowled a little harder, but they walked out the front doors with the saddlebags hanging between them. Funnily enough, even at this early hour, there was a large crowd forming at the front gates. By the time they got close enough to hear the words, Lanil also picked out a familiar voice. And then she saw his blond hair, curlier than ever, and dark fur ruff in the middle of the crowd.

She was surprised dust didn't rise around her boots, she reined herself to a stop so fast. Dorian jerked to a startled halt beside her.

"Lane, what--" He stopped, concern creasing his forehead deeply. She was staring at him, mute and ashen-faced, lips pressed into a thin, white line. He turned back to the crowd and saw Cullen bracing his hands on his hips and arguing heatedly with an Avvar stranger.

"I need to--stables. Go to the stables," Lanil said hoarsely.

"I knew this sudden plan to travel like a migrating goose was rushed and odd. Darling, you can't just run off after a fight," Dorian scolded. She didn't even bother frowning. Just stared at him. Slowly, the vague niggles of amusement ebbed. "Lanil, it wasn't just a fight, was it?"

Still nothing.

"Inquisitor!"

Lanil flinched, then drew herself up straight and square-shouldered so fast Dorian almost missed the first, involuntary motion. He turned to see Cullen striding towards them as suspicions mounted. Seeing the untamed curls and too dark circles in Cullen's wan and weary face more than confirmed them. The way both of them resolutely met eyes with entirely blank expressions, facades as perfectly painted as any Orlesian mask, made Dorian want to sigh. Or cuff them both 'round the head. Or shake what happened out of them.

Of course Lanil was running. Of course Cullen would say nothing.

"Commander," Lanil greeted blandly.

"Care to explain why--" Cullen stopped mid-sentence and stared at the bags hanging between Dorian and Lanil. "What are you doing?"

Dorian rolled his eyes skyward. Of course Lanil was running and hadn't warned Cullen.

"Leaving."

"Andraste's ass, Lane," Dorian whispered. He cleared his throat, though Cullen couldn't tear his eyes from the saddlebags. "We're accompanying Gulsdotten for the start of her tour before heading to the Free Marches. I will be going on to Tevinter after that."

"I said I'd take responsibility. The least I could do if be there to take the blast if Sigrid loses control," Lanil stated. Inflection still flat. Tightly and completely controlled. Cullen frowned darkly, but Dorian could see his hands shaking before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No one likes a matyr, darling. Stop being so dramatic. We'll all be fine," Dorian said smoothly.

"We're going to be late," Lanil retorted, turning again towards the stables.

"What about the bear?" Cullen gritted out.

Lanil's facade broke as her head tilted. "The bear?"

"That man over there brought a bear and claims you know all about it," he said, waving towards the Avvar man.

Dorian couldn't help smirking at the bare-chested, fur-wearing man amid all the armored and multi-layered soldiers. For all their oddities, at least the Avvar knew how to appreciate the male chest. It was too early for the courtiers to be out & about, which was both disappointing for the scandalized twittering he was surely missing out on, but very fortunate for Lanil and Cullen's sake. Who, despite their carefully dull expressions and monitered voices, were as obvious as the Breach-made scar in the sky.

Suddenly Lanil's eyes lit up as the Avvar man neared them and she almost smiled.

"Storvacker!" she exclaimed.

Dorian couldn't quite repress his grin. "They actually sent Storvacker here?"

"You knew about this?" Cullen demanded. "Both of you?"

"Of course." Lanil tilted up her chin, mulish and stubborn. "I made the judgement. Storvacker is your agent now, Commander. Treat her with all due respect."

Cullen sputtered. The Avvar nodded to Lanil and grinned, all wide and toothsome and handsome. Alas that the only Avvar in Tevinter were those ne'er-do-wells causing mayhem with the goat-throwing Movran.

"Augur, it is a pleasure to see you again," the Avvar greeted.

Alas that this one only had eyes for women, it seemed.

Lanil nodded and then paused, head tilting again as she squinted.

"I know you. You were the first one up the wall at the Fortress."

"Tommar, augur. It's not often lowlanders tell us apart," Tommar said, obviously looking her up and down.

"You did an impressive job. Of course I remember. Where is Storvacker?" Lanil asked without a pause. Not noticing either Tommar's sudden prideful posturing or Cullen burying his face in his hand.

"Could this morning get any worse," Cullen whispered hoarsely.

Dorian's heart went out to him.

"She's down at the river, augur. She'll come up whenever she's ready," Tommar said. "I could take you to her now? I volunteered to come visit your Sky's Hold and offer you my services."

Dorian would not laugh. He caught the look on Cullen's face and, no, he really wouldn't laugh. Cullen met Dorian's eyes. Dorian hadn't seen him look like that since he'd watched Lanil training to face spiders again while she was slowly overwhelmed by her own panic.

Heartbroken and unable to say a thing.

"I'm about to leave Skyhold for the foreseeable future, Tommar, but you're welcome to the Inquisition. Commander Rutherford here is the leader of our forces, you should speak with him. About joining and Storvacker." She waved a hand at Cullen.

Tommar sized Cullen up, arms crossed. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"My services were to you alone, augur. I'll return to Stone-Bear Hold once Storvacker is settled."

Lanil blinked. "All right." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Faith!" She shoved her saddlebags into Dorian's arms. He oofed loudly. She pointed at Tommar and ordered briskly, "You, with me. Dorian, I'll meet you by the river."

She ran past without a single glance back. Tommar shrugged with a grin and jogged after her. What was left of the crowd watched her leave before slowly dispersing, all muttering and whispering and carefully not looking at Cullen. He stood too still in the courtyard, hand clenching and unclenching and clenching into fists at his sides. Dorian hefted the saddlebags over a shoulder and approached him.

"Whatever it was, she'll come back," Dorian said quietly. Cullen startled, as if he had forgotten anyone else was around. "She'll come back and then you two can figure things out."

"No," Cullen whispered. "I don't think we will."

"If I may ask--" Dorian tried to ask without sounding like he prying. He didn't get far.

"You may not."

Dorian sighed. "I suppose this is our farewell, Commander. You are a good man and I am glad I got to know you, I hope you know that."

"I do now. Thank you." Cullen closed his eyes and his head lowered. "Please, watch out for her. As much as she'll allow."

"For as long as I'm able," Dorian agreed. He reached out to grip Cullen's shoulder. "She's the best friend I ever had, and that means... more than I can describe."

"Good. I..." Cullen broke off. His voice too thick and low. "Good. Safe travels, Dorian."

"Commander... Cullen, you are also are a good friend. Quite unexpectedly."

Cullen's shoulders tightened briefly, then he abruptly marched away. Dorian's hand left hanging in mid-air. Dorian frowned at his broad back, wishing there was any way, any words he could say, to help. In the end, he could only turn towards the stables and get started on those safe travels.

Part II

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I am convinced people who don't like Viv haven't actually taken her out much/spoken to her at Skyhold and instead are running on 'grrr mage who likes circles bad bad'.

Vivienne was not born in Orlais. She was born in Wycome to merchant parents who were constantly on the move, though she was taken to the circle relatively early. I feel like one thing Viv gets shit for is her place in the Grand Game (despite Leliana and Josephine also being adept players). But it's important to note that Viv is well aware her position in Orlais is not one born of friendship and that she is indeed widely hated (TW for in-game racist comment about Viv below):

"Oh but Viv desires power! That's bad" yes well 'power' allows her freedom and a life beyond the circle walls. She has dialouge where she specifically talks about how you must learn to live with restrictions but adapt to give them the best life they can give you. And that's what she's doing! Constantly! Besides, her desire for power is one of the fun things about her character and something she has in common with plenty of other dragon age characters (Leliana, Josephine, Solas, the Inquisitor etc.) She's just more open about the fact that that's what she wants.

She also enjoys the game (as do Leliana and Josephine) but she's right in the Winter Palace when she tells you if she wasn't good at it she'd be dead. World of Thedas Vol. 2 mentions how after she began her affair with Bastien multiple bards and assassins were sent after Viv ('half of them were returned to their employers frozen solid. The rest were persuaded to work for her instead' shdkdkdlf I LOVE her).

Anyway, as for her views on the Circle, I also don't agree with them. But it's worth noting where they come from:

So, here we learn that Viv is scared of the templars in some capacity, but still believes they are necessary. Perhaps that belief is because of what happened during the rebellion and the trauma she suffered from seeing various mages and tranquil killed needlessly. I truly believe that when she calls the templars a useful 'tool' but accepts that there are rotten eggs among them, she means to enact reforms from the inside that would stop the sort of behaviour we see. I'm not sure this would work, but it's worth seeing it from her side. She sees the templars as what they were founded to be: to protect magic and mages, both from those who would seek to destroy it from the outside and demons who would prey on mages. Do I agree with her? No! But! Plenty of fandom favourites hold basically the same philosophy about the mage/templar conflict: Cullen and Fenris in particular.

And Viv? Viv has so many more qualities than just the above parts of her characterisation. She Cares. I find the people she will shout about if they fall particularly telling:

The two 'youngest' members who she has contentious relationships with, she is genuinely worried about in battle.

And then we have:

(This post is getting v long but also please see: every single Bull/Viv interaction because she basically adopts him, and every single Sera/Viv interaction because they wind each other up but Viv also does play her own 'pranks' right back at Sera which is delightful)

She cares. She even cares about Cole. And she cares about the first victims of war, the serving staff, in the Winter Palace. She cares about the tranquil when you enter the hut and find out the truth about the shard skulls. She cares. But she also knows caring is a weakness that could lose her her power and position so she's careful with it, guarded. Which in itself is such a wonderful lovely characteristic.

She's funny, sassy, clever. She is considered an 'exceptional scholar' (World of Thedas Vol. 2). Just like Solas, she is actually envious if you go to adamant without her because she finds the idea of being in the fade physically to be fascinating! And just like Dorian she's underestimated when it comes to her intelligence because of everything else about her.

(Side note: she's was also friends with Bastians wife and there's no jealousy between them which i love, and Bastian sent her enough flowers to fill an entire floor of the circle tower when they first met which is just. V sweet)

She's just an amazing character. I love her deeply. I wish more people loved her and saw the complexities of her. Because she is so interesting, her interactions with the other characters are interesting. And, like I said before, she's no better or worse in her views than Cullen or Fenris when it comes to mages and yet the fandom makes 12 page long think pieces about those characters and why it's okay for them, but will vilify Viv and pretend that's not a double standard.

Anyway. I love her. And just felt like expressing that this fine morning.

[dycefic]

In The Interim

I must have read at least a dozen variations on the 'ancient and forgotten order of something or other is revived by the Chosen One and some ancient mentor or something' story, in which ancient relics or fortresses or holy places usually play a significant part. I've often wondered what happens to them in the interim, while their orders are scattered and their existence forgotten. I'm always fascinated by the generally elided parts of a story - what happens after the evil empire collapses, or while the dystopia is setting in, or the time between the fall and rise of the order of something or other.

Also, you know, I play Dragon Age. Skyhold is... inspiring.

---

There is an ancient fortress that waits in the mountains for the day when its people will return. Dust covers the floors, and many of the ancient statues have fallen.

I do not know what the fortress waits for. Was it an order of scholars? There was a library, with shelves full of scrolls and books. They are ancient and fragile now, so I never enter the room except to light a fire to dry the air, now and then.

It could have been an order of warriors. There are rooms full of ancient weapons. I know what a sword is, though I have never seen swords shaped like this. There are blades on long poles, like some strange mating of an axe and a spear, and other things I cannot name. What is not too rusted, I oil and tend.

Perhaps it was a religious order. There are many statues, and one motif that repeats often, a woman holding a lamp in one hand and a flower or leafy plant in the other. There are statues of her, and paintings on the walls, and even a mosaic of stones in one of the courtyards. I dust the statues and the paintings, and sweep the mosaic. In the room that seems to be a shrine, I keep a light burning on the altar, as the signs tell me others have done before me.

I don’t know what most of what I find signifies. There are chests full of faded and rotted fabric that was clothing once, but I do not know what the sigils mean. There are devices on shelves whose use I cannot begin to guess. There are letters or symbols carved into the stone in several places, but they are not in the language I know.

But there is a garden. Even after years of neglect, the soil is rich. I do not know the language the people here spoke, or why they lived here, but I know the herbs they used. I know the vegetables they ate. I recognised the bones of chickens and goats, when I dug in their midden for fertiliser.  I found the bird cotes, and replaced rotted perches and lured the pigeons which had gone wild back with seeds and insects from the garden.

Some of the perches were large, too large for any pigeon. I don’t know what birds roosted there. But sometimes I see a large bird circling high up, a crow or a raven, and I wonder if it’s a descendant of those birds.

The kitchen has been used more recently than the other rooms. In a small room off the kitchen I found an old straw bed, and clothing that is not too unlike my own. And on the wall of that room, scratched on the stone, I found a series of crude drawings.

A figure in long skirts walking up a slope between trees. A crude representation of the fortress. The same figure, standing in the garden, with crude plants around her feet and what are probably meant to be birds in the air over her head.

These I read easily. “I climbed the mountains and found this place. I lived here.”

The next row was different.  The same figure, repeated several times. Then a crude outline of a skull. Then a door with a symbol on it. It took me a while to figure that out.

Then I found the door with that symbol, deep below the fortress. When I opened it – cautiously, remembering the skull – I smelled the faint memory of decay.

When I went down, I found an ancient crypt. There were niches in the walls, like narrow beds one above the other, and ancient bones within them. Some had the rusted remains of armour, some the dusty shreds of what might have been robes.

And I found other bones. They were not in niches, but laid on the floor at one end of the room. Twelve complete skeletons were there, and I could see, looking at them, that they were not all the same age. One, at the far right, looked almost as ancient as the bones in the niches. The one on the left still had shreds of flesh here and there, and hair spread around its head. When I examined that one, I found that one of the legs was broken, and had not healed.

They are all women, I think. The newest is still wearing skirts, and I can see the decayed remains on some of the others. What hair remains is long, though it is not certain that either man or woman living in this isolation would cut their hair, and some bones are still encircled by bracelets or necklaces.

They were called here, I think, as I was.

There is a long history of hermitage, among my people. It is more common among men than women, but now and then one will be moved to retreat from the world into solitude and contemplation. Usually they are moved by a god, or go to tend some sacred relic or shrine.

I was alone in the world, when I felt the calling. I packed up my belongings, bade farewell to those few who might miss me, and set out to walk into the mountains. I did not know where I was going, but I knew I was going somewhere. And then…

Then I found this place, and I knew. It is empty, but it is not abandoned. It is only waiting. Waiting until its people come back, until some great need calls them, or destiny, or the turning of the wheel. And while it waits, it is… lonely, perhaps. So it calls out, to those who are right, who will be content in this quiet solitude, who will feed the pigeons and tend the garden and light fires in the library and oil the weapons.

The woman before me broke her leg. Perhaps it bled too much, or wound-rot set in. She must have known she was dying and dragged herself down to lie beside the others. When I know my time is coming, I will go too. If I do not have warning, if death comes quickly, I conjure you who come after me to carry my bones down to that crypt, to lie beside my sisters in peace, until the fortress lives once more.

I leave this record in hope that it will help the next hermit who comes, when I am only bones. And if you who read are no hermit, but coming in some dire need or peril, if you come to awaken again what sleeps here, to give the lady with her flower and her lamp a name, or perhaps to earn your own, then welcome, for we have kept this fortress against your coming.

It has been waiting for you.

(This short account, written on parchment, is preserved by the Order as one of its most precious relics. During the Interim, the period of almost eight hundred years in which the Order was largely forgotten and the fortress was left empty, sixteen women are believed to have been ‘called’ to preserve and tend it. Aside from the bodily remains in the crypt, and a few images scratched into a wall, this is the only evidence they chose to leave of their existence. None have ever been identified, and the parchment is unsigned. Nevertheless, the sixteen Guardians are venerated by the Order for their faithful, solitary service to powers whose name they never knew, and their bones are entombed together, side by side in death as was their wish. Without their care, we believe, there would have been little left for the revived Order to return to.)

[enasallavellan]

Chapter 134

The rest of the Inquisition returns from Adamant and Enasal struggles to wrap her head around the fatalities.

Click on the link to listen to the music that helped me write this section!

[Joe Hisaishi] Ghibli Best Stories - #01. "One Summer's Day"

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The breeze had gone a bit cool.

Enasal sat on the battlements as she had every day since they had gotten word that the Inquisition army had departed the Western Approach. She still went to the tavern to eat, to her bed to sleep, to Solas for daily lessons - but she always returned.  With a book in hand or perhaps a snack, she would watch the horizon, waiting for any sign of movement.

1,563.

They had lost a total of one-thousand, five hundred and sixty-three.

Enasal had written out the number on a piece of paper.

Had tried to count so high.

Looked out into the practice fields and tried to imagine how much smaller morning drills would seem with such a great number cut down.

How many stars was that?

She rubbed her eyes.  

The breeze picked up again and she shivered.

She squinted as she tried to think of what month it was. The last time she had noted the date was her own birthday, but so much had happened since then.  She took her time, going over the days and weeks that had passed.  As she counted along her fingers and knuckles, she guessed it was sometime in August, maybe even Kingsway.

But, certainly too early for an autumn breeze.

“Still here, Seastorm?”

Enasal glanced up at Varric and nodded

He leaned against the parapet she sat on, “You may want to take a break.”  He chuckled, “Your face is getting all burnt, you don’t want it to hurt when Curly kisses you do you?”

“It’s not just that.”  Enasal rubbed her face and winced. 

She was burnt.

“Alright then, what is it?”

She fussed with her hair, “I… did you ever hear the final count?”

Varric lowered his head, “Yeah, Seastorm.  Some people are saying we did pretty good but… tell that to the families.”

She rubbed her arms, “I can’t picture it, Varric. 1,563… I didn’t even know we had that many people in Skyhold.  I couldn’t even count that high, I started losing track and getting lost.”

“Hm…” He frowned for a few seconds before standing up, “Come on, I have an idea.”

Hand against her back, he walked her to the library and settled her in one of the chairs.  He scanned the books, going from bookcase to bookcase until he found what he was looking for.  “ The Wind Through the Trees , You read this one not long ago, remember?”

She nodded.

He opened the book and counted along the first line, then the number of lines.  After a moment of thought, he got up and grabbed some parchment, laying some pages in front of her, “If we wrote everyone's first name, this is how many pages it would take.

Enasal looked up at him, almost afraid to count. But she did - eight in all.

“That many?”

He nodded, “That many.”

“That’s…” Her eyes filled with tears, “That’s almost a chapter.”

“I know.”

She stared down at the pages, separating them on the table and matching them end to end.  They took up so much space. 

“But, hey, look at this.”  He plucked the book from the table and put it in front of her, “This book? That’s the Inquisition.”

Enasal looked up at him.

Varric reached over, turning the pages as he spoke, “Every soldier, every craftsman, every scholar and healer and citizen.” He closed the book and patted it, “I’m not saying that those eight pages aren’t worth anything - that’s a lot of people to lose.”  He scooted it towards her, “But that’s still a lot of people who want to keep fighting, to keep doing what the Inquisition was formed to do.”  He leaned forward, “And I guarantee it, Seastorm.  Every last one of the fallen would do it all over again.”

Enasal carefully stacked the eight pages together and put them beside the book as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Varric lightly hit the table, “Come one, let’s go get some food - then we’ll go to the apothecary and get you something for that sunburn.  I know you like apples, but you don’t want to be the same color as one.”

Through her tears a smile curled her mouth, “Thanks Varric. “  

“That’s what I’m here for.” He winked, “Now, come on.”

But a messenger cut them off, eyes bright as he announced, “Inquisitor, we’ve spotted the army - they should arrive within an hour.”

Enasal glanced at Varric, who chuckled, “We’ll get it to go.  I’ll wait with you, sound good?”

She was much too anxious to eat, not truly.  When Varric would look her way she would take a bite, but the swirling complex of emotions made her stomach turn.  Concern for the morale of their army, excitement to see Cullen and her friends… and a bit of guilt for that excitement. It seemed petty and selfish, to be so happy when so many were dead.

But she spotted the army.

Cullen rode at the front, his weariness obvious even from this distance.  On seeing him all the emotions crashed together into a muddled mess, and Enasal burst into tears, calling his name.

He looked up and his eyes widened.  His own voice called out as he spurred his horse into a gallop, barely letting it slow before he dismounted and plucked Enasal off the ground.  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in the crook of his neck as her feet dangled.

“Maker’s breath, I’m so happy to see you.”

She tightened her grip, “Me too… I was scared something would happen on the way back.” She pulled back again, taking his face in her hands and touching her forehead to his, “How are you?”

He sighed, “As well as can be expected.”

“I’m helping you write the condolence letters - it’s too much to do on your own.”

“Enasal, I’m not sure I want you involved with something so-”

She pulled back to look at him, “I didn't ask. I’m helping you - they fight under my banner, don’t they?”

He smiled weakly and set her down, fingers in her hair as he kissed her, “Alright… but if I think it’s starting to cause you too much pain, it’s done.”

She shook her head, “It’s okay, I can handle it.”

“No, Enasal.  I need you to agree to this.”  He ran his fingers through his hair - his eyes were red from exhaustion and rimmed with a deep purple.  “I’ll not have you…”  His shoulders dropped, “Please, give me this peace of mind.”

She heaved a sigh and nodded her head against his chest, “Only for you.”

“Thank you.”  He tilted her chin up and kissed her again, murmuring between kisses, “Maker I’m glad to-”

“Commander Cullen?”

He pulled away, raising his eyebrows at Enasal and muttering, “Really?”  Before standing straight, “Yes?”

“Ser, forgive my intrusion, but Mother Giselle would like to meet with you about…”  He glanced at Enasal and whispered, “The final rights, Ser.”

His eyes cast themselves downward and he nodded, “Yes, of course.  Tell her to come to my office.  If you could give me a moment?”

The soldier saluted, “Forgive me for my intrusion.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, “Not a moment to lose, I see.”  

Enasal squeezed his hands, “I’ll bring some lunch to your office later- we can get started whenever you want.”

He kissed her fingers and nodded, “Yes.  I’ll see you soon.”

And once again, the words stuck in his throat, even after the hundreds of times he had practiced how to say it; the pronunciation, the tempo.

Ar lath ma vhenan.

Instead, he kissed her forehead and left her to check on everyone else. 

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Read the full fic at my A03 here!