#you know what seems likely to me? that there is an eluvian network hidden on Sundermount that was Dirthamen's

[5lazarus]

My Dragon Age Fanfiction Masterlist

In chronological order, from Arlathan to post-Trespasser.

There Is No Ithaca Three moments where Solas loses his home: Solas wrecks his revolution on the altar of Mythal. Solas returns from war to find Ghilan’nain incubating the Blight within their own home. Fen'Harel negotiates the end of the world with the Thaig of the Bastion of the Pure. Answers to various asks from brightoncemore’s wonderful promptlist.

Overheard at the Hanged Man Thirty-one stories written in Nightmare-mode for Beyond the Veil’s 2020 Artober Challenge, ranging through the entire series, from Arlathan before the Blight to the Chargers in Serault.

Alistair the Accidental Heretic Alistair gets bored during morning prayer and starts changing the words of the Chant as he sings. Mother Prudence and Knight-Commander Greagoir are less than pleased, and soon he finds himself tripping up over accidental heresy even within the kitchens of Kinloch Hold. It’s not easy, being a half-elf templar with a conscience, because even having a sense of humor is heresy.

The Starkhaven Crier A portrait of two future apostates at ten-year-olds: Jowan and Surana are bored, get dragged to the Chantry for the good of their souls, and accidentally make the new girl from Starkhaven cry. Featuring Surana determined to be the one Dalish against letting the Maker come back, the self-hating mage in the Surana/Amell origin as the Starkhaven Crier, and the same Mother Prudence who sent Alistair to bed without supper. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Morrigan at the Crossroads Morrigan reaches her breaking point, confronted with the one person she cannot flee: her six-week-old son, who cannot be soothed back to sleep, struggling in the Crossroads. From a prompt musettta3 sent me.

Shartan’s Riddle Surana talks Mahariel through writing Leliana, after Leliana leaves to work for the Divine. Shartan promised them a home, and Mahariel worries Leliana, devout as she is, cannot give it to her. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Winter in Amaranthine The Wardens’ companions decide to leave, and Warden-Commander Arana Mahariel cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Phosphorescence A Despair demon in the Foundry district is clogging up the whole city with a miasma of misery. Justice runs into an old friend of his, during Anders’ first few weeks in Kirkwall, and the three set to work. Heavy-handed allegory abounds, but, Justine opines, that’s the Dreamers’ fault. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me.

Labyrinth "Anders made no attempt at escape during the years they were together." This story is meant to explore everything absolutely horrible about that statement. If the core part of Anders' identity is his refusal to submit to imprisonment, then perhaps listening to Karl was a violation of his sense of self. Things get better, and then things get worse.

Kirkwall Thunderstorm Family squabbling as the storm sets in, Hawke flees to face the thunderstorm head on, and laughs, because what’s more to life than this, chasing a storm all the way down to the harbor? From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Debutante Leandra manages Hawke’s debut ball, and surprises herself by having a lot of fun. From an OC ask I decided to turn into a prompt.

Dregs Anders baits Varric, or Varric baits Anders, both drunk at the Hanged Man. There’s no resolution to an argument when they’re both just angry, thinking about dead mages. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

The Scent of Pomegranates Merrill brings a pomegranate to the Hanged Man, to try and capture some of the way her clan celebrated the new year. Fenris is oddly moved. Written for the DA Den’s 2020 Holiday Gift Exchange.

Anders in Autumn Anders and Fenris, over the course of one gorgeous autumn in Kirkwall, find common ground, a common goal, and even tenderness, as the city grows cool and vibrant in the changing of the year. Justice returns to the streets of Kirkwall, one way or another, and it is as transformative and loving as justice truly is. An answer to an Artober challenge from cozy-autumn-prompts.

Warp & Weft Anders wakes Fenris up in the middle of the night talking, and then not wanting to talk, about weaving. What they remember and what they have forgot climb into the bed with them. A gift for potatowitch.

Landlocked Merrill goes looking for Isabela after a night of drinking at the Hanged Man, and finds her considering the sun rising over the horizon at the docks. They're landlocked and the salt's drained them both dry, but maybe it's not all been a waste. They're shipless, not shipwrecked. Part of a personal challenge to write more femslash, after realizing how little there is in Dragon Age fandom.

Catabasis Kirkwall’s in ashes and Hawke and their friends are on the run. Varric might have ended the story at the docks, but the conflict continues. The question persists: should they separate? And what brought them together in the first place? From a series of prompts ellie-effie and musetta3 sent me.

Dead Man Hiking Solas broods over what has been lost. Dorian interrupts, and Solas dangles hidden knowledge in front of him like a carrot. They both take the bait, because, as irritable and sad Solas can get, “he wants to give wisdom, not orders,” and Dorian loves to learn. Written for Beyond the Veil’s 2020 Satinalia Gift Exchange.

Dirthara Ma! May You Learn After the Exalted Council, Solas stops for a drink and a sulk in a quiet tavern in Ostwick. He is convinced no one will ever recognize him with a full head of hair and a beard. Then the Inquisitor walks in. The first in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series.

White Nights A year after Trespasser, Lavellan takes a new lover to a quiet inn in Val Royeaux. She steps out to the balcony for a quick smoke under the stars, looks over to the balcony adjacent to hers–and who is there but the Dread Wolf himself, slightly disguised, with a glass of wine? Despite themselves they talk, and do not stop talking. “Entertain me,” Solas says. “What ending will Master Tethras write for us? Because I do not know how to leave this gracefully. Though I suppose any ending is better than the last one, when I left with your arm.” The second and most comprehensive in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Ligaments Briala has loaded her dice when playing the Game. Gaspard throws her in prison, but her message goes out to both the Dread Wolf, keen to better his reputation for catastrophe amongst the elves of Orlais, and the Dalish Inquisitor, who is still reeling from the loss of her arm. “We do not necessarily know he is the enemy,” Leliana says. “And it is exciting, no? To have that rush of danger and destruction between every kiss.” The third in a canon-compliant post-Trespasser Solavellan series. From the six Florence & the Machine prompts that ellie-effie sent me. One of my favorite things I’ve written in 2020.

Out From Under the Dread Wolf's Eye Briala and Merrill try and steal an eluvian out from under the Dread Wolf's eye. It doesn't quite work, but that doesn't mean the day's a failure, not when there's dinner to be had and a connection to explore. Part of a personal challenge to write more femslash, after realizing how little there is in Dragon Age fandom.

The Domesticities Solas adjust to a new, gentle love that has gripped his heart and will not let him go: a Lavellan who heralds a world he did dream of, and learns how to survive grief and his own betrayal, learns how to surrender the high moral ground and focus on the domesticities. A series of Solas-POV ficlets from my story, Fen'Harel’s Teeth, where Lavellan is a mother and leader in her own right, and barely keeping her head above the water of her own deep grief. Not in chronological order!

He Who Hunts Alone Solas will restore the Elvhen People as he knew them, even if this world must die. It is his only purpose as he understands it. But a magical accident leaves him in another world, where a version of himself has made a very different choice. Solas is forced to reckon with a desire he has never let himself explore. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan, both his friend and adversary, is dragged with him, as they move from their world, to a world where Solas seems to have won it all, to another that seems both their worst nightmare. Inquisitor Tara Trevelyan: the rebel apostate mage, romanced Josephine Inquisitor Imladris Lavellan: the Dalish First, romanced Solas, featured in Fen'Harel’s Teeth Inquisitor Brigid Trevelyan: the faithful Andrastian prophet, rogue and noble, Tara’s sister, romanced Blackwall and then Cullen Written in tandem with my partner, batsy22-me, and likewise abandoned when we got bored of it.

Fen'Harel’s Teeth First Lavellan, Imladris Ashallin, thought that her audience with the Divine against templars’ harassment of Dalish mages would be a token protest, and that her people would use it to draw the city elves closer to the Vir Tanadahl. She didn’t think her Keeper’s calculations would catapult her to the top of the Chantry’s leadership, manipulating the powers of Thedas to leave her people be. Meanwhile, Briala foments revolution in Halamshiral, using the eluvian network to sabotage the armies of Orlais. A new movement erupts in the Dales, and elves across Thedas look at this so-called “Herald of Andraste” and see Mythal’s vallaslin. Fiona breaks the chains of mages across Thedas, and Fenris starts whispers of a new age in Tevinter–one where the slaves throw down their masters. A new age is coming, and all of Thedas look to Lavellan to usher it in. My baby, my never-ending story, my current work-in-progress.

[furbyhugger96]

Goodbyes and Ghostly Fingers

The Inquisitor’s last months and moments. 

-

Peregrine looked behind her, panting. Varric was lowering his crossbow, Vivienne’s shining golden sword was dissipating into air, and there was Bull, standing tall and streaked with sweat. His great-axe was lodged heavily into the ground, covered in the blood of his people. The Saarebas lay at their feet. His chains were snapped and sizzling, and his fingernails still glowed a faint green from the fight.

Crack.

Peri’s hand writhed and she let out a blood-curdling scream. It felt like something was ripping her hand in half by the fingers, tearing as far up her arm as possible. The companions were on her in a second, Vivienne brushing her hair from her forehead; Bull clutching her elbow and wrapping a huge arm around her. Varric stood behind her, gripping Bianca a little too tightly until there were faint nail marks in her polished wood. Peregrine was weak: weaker than when she stepped out of the Fade, than after Haven, than after stepping out of the Fade that second time... It would be so easy to sleep, to let darkness take her, to just die. 

She looked up at Bull from behind heavy eyelids and reached up to touch his face with her one working arm. He wasn’t crying, but he may as well have been. His jaw was taught and the arms that held her were shaking. It would be so easy... but there was something stopping her. And it wasn’t just Bull. The Inquisition. She had been no one before it; everyone had been no one. The masses had been forgotten until the Inquisition stepped in, closed the Breach, saved the Empress, gathered supplies, created refuge, quelled two wars, destroyed an ancient magister who sought to destroy the world and close the fucking Breach again. It had given her purpose, friends... power. It had given her Bull. She clenched her teeth. And he betrayed them. She didn’t know what Solas’s plan was, and she didn’t care. She was ready to fucking murder him.

Groaning, she tried raising herself. Bull gently lifted her instead and placed her on her feet. Panting, sweating and spattered in drying blood, she gripped her staff and stood. She took a slightly scratched ring off her finger and clenched it into Vivienne’s hand. “Keep it safe for me, alright?” she murmured. Vivienne’s eyes became wet for a brief moment before she smiled charmingly. “Of course, dear.”

She limped toward Varric, who sat Bianca on the ground and began to speak. He didn’t get any words out before Peregrine had him wrapped in a one armed hug so tight he couldn’t breathe. His thick arms circled her hips at a similar strength. “You’re the hero I always wanted to be,” she whispered into his hair. Large hands tightened into fists near the small of her back and she felt his breathing hitch. As she moved away she touched the side of his face, smiling as tears fell in rivers across her ruddy cheeks. She’d barely turned to Bull before he’d enveloped her.

“I’m coming with you, Peri,” he rumbled. “No you’re not. This is something I have to do without you,” she replied. He lifted her with an arm and kissed her deeply, her toes just touching the ground. She held his face feeling the familiar scars under his left eye, his jaw and his lips. “I love you, kadan,” he murmured against her neck.

“I love you too, peaches.” He moved away from her, limping as though it physically pained him. She wished he’d stopped her, torn her away from it all, took off through the miles of Eluvians with her in his arms to safety. But she knew she wouldn’t let him, no matter how much she wanted it. This... business with Solas ended now. She’d called him friend once. They’d grown incredibly close, and for the past few years she’d been studying his old papers endlessly trying to find any scrap of a clue as to where he had hidden. Her chamber bookshelves were pushed up against the unfinished mural panel filled with his work and ones on the Fade, known Dalish clans, the habits of nomads and hermits... anything. She’d sent out scout after scout, put out word as far as her voice could reach, asking about a lone, pale elf with a staff and a small scar on his forehead. Nothing. Not a damn word. And now this. She had to see it to believe it, but if it were true, she would kill him. Their friendship, their bond, made the betrayal immeasurably worse. This was a man she’d trusted, cared for, had helped and protected.

She walked toward the Eluvian, clutching her arm. Without looking behind her, she stepped through. Solas didn’t get to finish his first sentence before she lunged for him, claw and tooth with the express purpose of revenge.

She was told Bull had rushed in after about 20 minutes, having spent half of that time being physically restrained by the other two to stop him from interrupting. Her ‘conversation’ with Solas had only lasted about five anyway, so she was already unconscious from the pain when he arrived. Her left arm was a pile of dust, the mark gone. For the first time in three long years Peregrine wasn’t illuminated at all times by an unearthly green light. Bull tried to shatter the Eluvian Solas had left through in a rage but was knocked back, Varric told her later. “It would have been funny if you weren’t nearly dead,” he’d said by her bedside. He’d smiled and chuckled, but his eyes were tired. The next day Peregrine marched into the Exalted Council, her phantom fingers clenched. They would become an arm of the Divine, mind the pun, and defeat Fen’Harel by any means necessary. She’d been so close to telling them all to fuck off, but Solas needed to pay. She would, as a beneficial side effect, no longer be Inquisitor. She would be high ranking, sure, with lands and title in Kirkwall, a close friend in the Grand Enchanter, friend and ‘ex’ spymaster as the Divine, and a network of Red Jennies at her beck and call. But finally... finally she didn’t have everyone’s lives resting in her lap.

Bull helped her pack and bathe after that day. Even helped her dress. She was still so clumsy. His large hands draped the robes over her shoulders gently, always careful not to touch what was left of her arm for fear of causing her pain. They’d chosen one of the smaller dragons teeth for their necklace, and he fondled her half as they stood in the warm Orlesian bedroom. “I’m sorry for how this all ended, Peri.” She placed her hand over his, pale and small in comparison.

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, Bull,” she smiled. “Bullshit. You could have destroyed Corypheus with both hands tied behind your back. Defeating Solas with one free hand is basically unfair to the poor fuck,” he grinned, pointedly looking at her arm. She loathed her new limitation, but Bull

was making it a little easier. She pulled herself close and grabbed his ass in her one good hand, leaning up to kiss him roughly. “Maybe... just don’t make me have to.” ‘Don’t leave me,’ she wanted to scream. ‘Don’t leave me just yet. Don’t go off killing dragons and getting covered in blood while I struggle to pull on a pair of trousers.’ But that was the good thing about Bull – it didn’t matter if you screamed it or not, he understood. He always understood. His large grey hands cradled her face and he held his forehead pressed against hers.

“I’ll stay with you for as long as you need me, kadan.” She breathed in deeply, her lungs filling with his promise. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

She’d met Varric the day after that as the bustle of caravans and seagulls surrounded them. He was going to catch a boat back to Kirkwall, and she was heading back to Skyhold. They stood on an empty dock and stared out over the dark water; she could see the Breach’s scar reflected in it. “I never told you how much I cared about you, Varric,” she said softly.

“Yeah, that’s what’s strange about you – most declare their love two days in,” he replied. She cocked her head and ruffled his hair. “Hey!” he grumbled, swatting her away. “There is a list of women who are allowed to do that and you, Peekaboo, are not on it.” She raised a hand to her chest, faux-offended.

“No? Not even after all these years? I’m wounded, Tethras.” Varric smirked and returned his gaze to the ocean. They stood in silence for a few more minutes before he sighed heavily. “You did tell me. Back before Chuckles told you who he really was.” Peri looked down. Her right hand gently swung its way over until it bumped with Varric’s. He seemed hesitant, but took hers in a warm grip that tightened as they stood in silence, watching the waves.

“Once the Inquisition packs up, I might come make use of the estate. Bull says he’ll stay with me as long as I want, but I know he’ll dying to be out with the Chargers after a month cooped up helping me tie my laces.” The dwarf nodded, smiling slightly.

“Consider it a holiday. You’ve fucking earned it.” A horn blew, signaling the first call to board. Peregrine smiled as Varric let go and turned to face him. She planted a kiss on his forehead. “Safe journey, my friend.” “You too, Peekaboo.”

They returned to Skyhold, Vivienne in tow. She’d become rather clucky, fussing over whether Peri was getting enough care, who was in charge of her pain sedation, that carriage is far too rough for her to ride in, etc. Peregrine thought it was sweet... for the first few couple of days. Soon enough though, Vivienne was busying herself with something else. She wouldn’t tell them what it was, hushing any who tried to speak to her about it and almost constantly wandering around with blueprints hovering next to her. The Inquisition wouldn’t be disbanded for another month, officially. They were also allowed to use the fortress as a base indefinitely due to its central location. It was still home to her. Bull grinned as he carried her back up the stairs to the Main Hall. Cole was there, quietly waiting. He held a bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots and lavender, her favourite flowers.

“I’m sorry. I knew what he was. But I didn’t know what he wanted to do. He only let me see lies.” Peri studied the flowers in her hands before putting them aside and wrapping an arm around the boy, tears pricking her eyes.

“It’s not your fault, Cole... don’t ever think it’s your fault.” Cole wrapped his arms tightly around her in response, and they rocked from side to side. “He lied to all of us.”

Bull made love to her that night, in that huge bedroom that once belonged to an Inquisitor. She told him to leave all the windows open, even though she was already shivering. She wanted to feel the cold touch of the mountain air and cool linen beneath her as she was wrapped in her lover’s heat. As she cried out into the night, enveloped in his body, head dizzy with his scent – faintly like cool, sweet cream and lemon (he’d washed today) – she felt her ghostly fingers attempt to grip the sheets. Before she could remember she didn’t have a left hand anymore, her dismay was cut short. Their movements had tousled the fabric naturally, but the clump of linen where her hand would have been was sitting rather anomalously...

It looked as though someone had scrunched it up together.

[katalyna-rose]

Poisoned Lies

A direct prequel to A Moment’s Escape

As always, Thema belongs to @thema-sal-shiral and Lyna belongs to me.

The party was boring and frustrating and Thema was showing it. She glowered and slouched and fidgeted. But Lyna kept her serenity firmly in place, smiling and laughing and working the room with her usual ease. Yet it was only long practice and necessity that kept her smiling and happy when the party was for Elgar’nan’s recent victory over the forces of Fen’Harel.

“The cowards didn’t even fight to the last man!” Elgar’nan was saying, swaying with drunkenness as he recounted the tale yet again. He had a slave sitting on his lap and another at his feet, both attractive young women whom Lyna would be purchasing from him as soon as the party ended. He would have already forgotten who they were by then. “We decimated half their force and then they fled into the trees! Didn’t even take an eluvian! They’ll die of the elements before they make it back to whatever hideaway they have.” Lyna struggled not to roll her eyes. She knew about their hidden eluvian network and the fact that every one of Solas’s army was more than capable of living in the wilderness. But that was a difficult thing for one so accustomed to the luxuries of court to accept; Elgar’nan did not remember a time before Arlathan any longer.

“Did you send scouts after them?” Mythal asked, voice overly silky as she glared hard at the two slaves who were rubbing themselves against him. The two women had no choice; they wore Elgar’nan’s Vallaslin and had to do as they were bid regardless of Mythal’s wrath. Lyna would buy them the moment Elgar’nan tired of them.

Elgar’nan snorted. “Of course not. I was not about to lose soldiers to the damn woods!” Mythal sighed in annoyance and Lyna narrowed her eyes on the woman, wondering if her betrayal of imminent. It was becoming increasingly clear that she was more concerned about her husband’s infidelity than their cause.

It was only a short while later that Elgar’nan stood, grabbed the two slaves, and stepped out of the party. Lyna clenched her teeth, wishing she could save them from what was coming, knowing far too intimately what they were facing. But there was nothing she could do until Elgar’nan was finished. She would not have to pay for the two, however; he would believe them dead or simply wouldn’t notice their disappearance. And they would be freed.

“He’s always been a coward, unwilling to sacrifice for the good of the war,” Falon’din declared, waving his glass through the air and conveniently forgetting that he had once fancied the declared traitor. “He always takes the option not to give lives. It’s lost him more battles than it’s won.” He shook his head sadly, also forgetting that it had been Solas’s tactics that had brought him to heel when he waged war for more territory centuries before. Solas was the reason he had been pushed back into his own lands and made to stay there. Then his piercing eyes fell upon Lyna and Thema. “You two knew him best,” he sneered. “Was he always such a coward?” Thema rolled her eyes but Lyna laughed heartily, feeling her soul darken as she did.

“Always,” she confessed, eyes dancing with glee. “If he hadn’t had such a big… talent… we never would have put up with him!” She sat back in her chair, allowing her posture to slouch as she considered the wine in her glass and pursed her lips. “He made many promises he did not keep,” she told them all softly, as though imparting a secret. These words had been carefully thought out, discussed between herself and Thema, but only she could be the one to deliver them convincingly. Thema had mourned the necessity but Lyna had attempted to assure her, yet still she felt her heart screaming in her chest. “He also made many promises that he did keep.”

Dirthamen sat forward, the chance for gossip and juicy secrets piquing his interest. “What promises?” he asked eagerly, leaning on his brother. Falon’din wrapped an arm around the man’s shoulder as all the Evanuris watched her closely. She smiled sadly and it was not feigned; she hated that she had to say this, had to lay this accusation upon her heart, but the others were getting too close. They were watching too carefully for signs of Andruil and Ghilan’nain helping Fen’Harel in some way and she needed to put them off the scent.

“He promised kindness to us at first,” Lyna said in a conspiratorial tone. “He did not deliver. He promised punishments when we did not please him. This he did act upon.”

“But you are as strong as him! Surely you could put him off!” Falon’din scoffed. “There was no need to stay if he treated you poorly!” Mythal’s eyes flashed but Falon’din didn’t notice. Lyna smiled at him and leaned closer, teasing him with a view down her bodice.

“Have you ever grappled with an opponent twice your size who has nullified your magic?” she asked him, voice low and intimate. “I do not recommend doing so. You will not win.” Then she sat back and gulped her wine both for show and for the blessed numbness from the horror of what she was saying. To accuse Solas of the same atrocities she had endured for centuries before taking up Ghilan’nain’s mantle made her feel sick and woozy, but it was a necessary evil to keep herself and Thema hidden among the Evanuris, where they could do the most good. That was what she told herself as she teased the others with vague images of powerless women bent to the will of an evil wolf.

“I apologize,” she finally said as she stood from the table after enduring countless questions about exactly how Fen’Harel had hurt her and responding with implied brutality. “This subject has put off my appetite. I would like to retire for the time being, but I will return before the closing ceremonies.”

“I’ll come with you, vhenan,” Thema said, standing as well. “I won’t let you be alone when you’re not well.” She glared around at the others accusingly, letting them see her displeasure for the sheer volume of questions they’d asked. Though it had been discussed, allowed, it was still awful.

Elgar’nan returned just as Thema and Lyna left, the three of them bowing to each other. Lyna followed Elgar’nan’s trail to a hidden alcove, where the two slaves were curled up in agony and trying to heal each other with shaking hands. They gasped and tried to move away when they saw Andruil and Ghilan’nain approaching.

“Hush, now, be still,” Lyna soothed, sending her magic ahead of her body and washing them both in pain relief. Both relaxed and allowed the two Evanuris closer. Lyna focused on the more gravely injured one first while Thema soothed the other and covered her modesty. Broken bones were easily mended, torn flesh sewn back together, and the woman was healed quickly through the ease of long practice and great power. She sat on the floor, shaking, while Lyna healed her companion.

“What are your names?” Thema asked them. They stared at her in silence for a while.

“I’m Adhlea,” the first to be healed said at last. She had golden hair and a willowy figure, incredibly delicate-looking like a porcelain doll. “That’s Nehnisa.” The other woman was dark-haired but slender and small like her companion.

“Seems like Elgar’nan has a type,” Thema muttered, noticing the similarities between these two slender women and Lyna herself. Lyna only grunted in response, displeased but in agreement.

“Adhlea, Nehnisa, listen to me carefully,” Lyna said in a murmur. She threw up a sound barrier around the four of them so that they would not be overheard. “I know that you have just endured a great injustice because I endured it myself from the very same man. I wish I could have saved you from it but we all would have been killed had I tried. Instead I have come to offer you a way out.” Nehnisa grabbed Adhlea’s hand as they gasped.

“The rumors are true!” she exclaimed on a breath. “You are helping us!”

“As much as we can,” Lyna told them, nodding. “We can get you out and tell you where to go. From there, Solas’s people will find you and take care of you.”

“But what is said about him…” Adhlea protested, brow furrowed. “Better the evil we know!”

Thema snorted and Lyna shook her head. “It is all lies,” she confessed to them, feeling just a little lighter as she told them the truth. “He is a good man. He has always been good to us and he will protect you. You will be free.”

“You’ve heard the whispers,” Nehnisa urged, clutching Adhlea’s hand tightly. “You know the stories. We have to go! I can’t do that again! I can’t be his property anymore, not when there’s another choice!”

“But my sister…” Adhlea protested.

“She can go with you,” Thema told them. Adhlea relaxed. She bit her lip, thinking, then nodded.

“Okay,” she said, and Nehnisa grinned. “What do we have to do?”

The instructions were given, directions to the one of the hidden passages, the path through the eluvians that would take them through three unseen rebel checkpoints before they arrived at the spot where they would be taken in by Solas’s people. The three checkpoints would make sure they weren’t followed, knowingly or otherwise, and alert the others if there was danger as the former slaves passed by. If they were safe, they would be taken in. If they were unknowingly followed the problem would vanish and they would be taken in. If they alerted the guards or any of their masters, everyone who knew would vanish and the hidden passage would be sealed, a different one opened elsewhere. It was brutal, but they could not risk corruption and spies when their goals were so important and so delicate. The two women had been on Lyna’s list of potentials long enough, however, that she was reasonably confident that neither of them would say a word to anyone as they left.

Adhlea and Nehnisa left then, scrambling for what few possessions they had and fetching Adhlea’s sister. Thema and Lyna retreated to their rooms, where Lyna kicked over a small table with enough force to shatter it.

“Vhenan?” Thema murmured, unused to seeing Lyna’s temper.

“I will kill them all,” she whispered furiously, fighting tears and awful memories. Thema wrapped her arms around her and Lyna leaned into her embrace gratefully, but it could not cool her ire.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Thema suggested after a short time. “Let’s drop all the court bullshit and just go! Just for a while, just to escape for a moment.”

Lyna rubbed her face, though it was dry, then nodded. “I spotted some ruins while hunting a few weeks ago that I wanted to explore.”

“Then let’s go!” Thema urged, already tugging off her court finery.

“We promised to return for the closing ceremonies of the celebration,” Lyna reminded her.

“Fuck that!” Thema cried, and that was all it took. Lyna stripped out of her fine dress and began strapping on her armor, anticipating the thrill and wonder of new ruins to explore, new history to find.

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

Random Thought Blog #5: The Mirror of Transformation!  The Makeover of a Mystery

Reviewing our posts (1, 2, 3) about eluvians the other day made me think about the lack of eluvians in DA2 other than Merrill’s troublesome mirror.  “Well,” thought I, “there is Xenon’s weird mirror, but that is just a courtesy to the fans and doesn’t really fit in the lore......wait a minute!  What if it is a really modded eluvian?”

Xenon the Antiquarian is an interesting fellow.  He is not a mage, but his money and long life have brought an untold number of enchanters and mages into his sphere of influence.  He even says that a magister miniaturized Chauncey for him.  In his centuries long search for amazing and magical artifacts, Xenon certainly would have encountered eluvians.  It also appears likely that his agents not only have figured out that these mirrors have magical properties, but have likely made use of the eluvian network.  (More on this in a minute.  Right now let’s set the stage...)

Xenon is always looking for ways to regain his youth and the eluvians probably presented a tantalizing option.  All he had to do was figure out the best way to harness and enhance their power.  We know there are spells that can change a person’s appearance as Wilhelm used magic twice to confirm that Maric was not a magical imposter.  That is a very specific fear to have and, given that shapeshifters like Morrigan exist, it certainly stands to reason that there is a human version as well.  Such an ability would almost certainly be a form of blood magic.  If such a spell was turned into an enchantment and was combined with what looks like a red lyrium enhancement, it might put Xenon on the right track to create the Mirror of Transformation.  

We know the eluvians allowed the ancient elves to travel and communicate great distances in a relatively short amount of time, using levels of connection to the Fade to facilitate the trip.  A connection to the Fade is embedded into every eluvian, so much so that when Merrill creates her mirror, it appears in the crossroads in spite of how little she knew about how they worked.  (That makes me wonder if the demon that taught her how to cleanse the mirror was actually trapped in a crossroads like place rather than just in the statue on Sundermount.  Sundermount, after all, is pretty connected to the Fade itself.  Even its name...Sunder.  Asunder.  Hmmmm.  Sounds like something to investigate at another time.)  So where does that leave the Mirror of Transformation?  

The Fade is the stuff of creation.  Thoughts and ideas can create a new reality, reshaping the unchanging world to reflect the will of the one who summons its power.  Xenon would have a vested interest in harnessing that power in order to reshape his flesh into a younger body.  So far, he doesn’t seem to have had much success.  The mirror doesn’t change your age, only your appearance, but he still seems to be working at it.  In DA2 his mirror looks like it has been modified with red lyrium, perhaps as a source of power.  Lyrium bridges the gap between the waking world and the Fade, so enchantments are literally imbuing objects with a connection to the realm of spirits.  And Xenon’s mirror is covered with the stuff!  It seems probable that the lyrium was meant to enhance the mirror’s transformative powers.  

Now here is where things get really weird.  The mirror we use in DA2 disappears sometime between 9:37 and 9:41, and is replaced with a shiny new version.  Perhaps the new mirror indicates that he somehow ‘broke’ the old one.  There are even baskets of red lyrium in the shop that might eventually be attached to the new mirror.  (Or Xenon got rid of the old mirror because the red lyrium tainted the mirror and he is just keeping the pieces to sell to people who are unknowing of how dangerous it is, or know but still use it (like the Inquisitor).  

Now...you might say that the developers simply used this eluvian so that they wouldn’t have to recreate the model for Merrill’s mirror...except, as you saw in the third image for this post that they did remake the mirror from DA2 for Inquisition (which is suggestive in and of itself.  The mirror is in a part of the crossroads that you can’t even see without using the flycam.  Why go to all the trouble of creating it when it was never used?  Was it originally for a cameo or a scrapped plotline?  Or is it for use in the future....).  So they could have used that mirror in the Emporium for Inquisition, but they chose not to.  There is also evidence that Xenon is taking his efforts to regain his youth to the next level...of the Fade, anyway.  

Accessing the Black Emporium sounds like it is a pretty complicated process, given that a Seeker could spend six months looking for it and not find it.  The shop wouldn’t, of course, actually be in the Fade, but Xenon may have found a way into a wedge it into a crossroads-like area.  He certainly seems to have access to Fade manipulated and Fade hidden objects.  How likely is it that Xenon’s people would just come across the Apples of Arlathan in a ruin and that they would still be in perfect condition?  And how is it that we can view Andraste in Nude Repose when it’s codex entry says that:

“Enchanters were tasked with extending the ethereal that hides the Fade, drawing it around the form like a cloak. Our Lady remains in the stone and in this world, but mortal eyes are forever denied her treasure and glory. She is veiled in every sense.”

The statue is veiled by the Fade!  Even The Basket of Lost Socks and The Emergent Compendium make a lot more sense when a Fade connection is applied to the reading of their codices.  So it seems likely that Xenon knows the true purpose of the eluvians, and has deliberately modified the two in the Black Emporium to serve his purpose of trying to recover his lost youth.  He also seems to have used them in order to gain access to what may be the ultimate repository for arcane knowledge: The Vir Dirthara!

What in the Void is a shield that Xenon values enough to stamp with his name and insist that it should be returned to him doing in the Vir Dirthara?  How long has it been there and who took it there?  Whatever the answers to those questions are, the presence of the Best Defense in the Shattered Library suggests that Xenon’s agents were in the library.  It seems clear to me that Xenon is work on getting access to ancient elven knowledge, perhaps even the Fade itself.  He is likely already connected to the Fade in some way, due to his bargain with the Antivan Witch of the Wilds, but he might need to take that connection even farther.  He has a great start, save for losing his property in the Vir Dirthara.

Honestly, I am starting to suspect that Xenon is actually dead, but Yavana or a former Witch of the Weyrs ‘pinned’ his spirit to his flesh, which would grant him eternal life of a sort, but not eternal youth.  He has unknowingly been fighting to keep his decaying corpse from rotting away while looking for a way to regain his youth.  He could also be attached to the Fade in some uthenera like way, but the connection to the Fade is incomplete or weak due to Xenon not being a mage or perhaps a strong connection is not possible anymore due to the Veil.  Does he even need to eat anymore?!  Could the extra limbs he seems to have mean that he tried to trade bodies at some point in the past?!  So many possibilities!

We might get some new info on Xenon soon since the cover the next Dragon Age comic series features the statuesque form of former Knight-Commander Meredith and we know she is in the Black Emporium as of the start of Inquisition.

Whatever we learn, it should be interesting....

[fancytrinkets]

An Epilogue Is a New Beginning (Dorian/Trevelyan)

The post-Trespasser scene in my most recent Dorian/Trevelyan fic. This part is just soft and sweet. With a proposal, more or less.

Late afternoon sunlight gilds the meeting chamber, making it even more decadent and golden than it was to begin with. Trevelyan stands, one foot on the elegant runner carpet, the other on the fine marble floor, and he thanks everyone for their service. Then he promises to send them all home. And that's the end of it. The writ is fulfilled, the Council is placated, and the Inquisition is officially disbanded. It's all very dramatic, but not particularly exciting for those who could guess what was coming.

Three hours later, on a stone bench in the palace garden, Dorian sits with his arm around the former Inquisitor, who leans against him. Trevelyan is wrapped in a warm outer cloak that keeps his left arm hidden. Whenever possible, he's been trying not to think about the loss of his hand. That won't work for long, of course — he'll have to deal with it soon — but Dorian's not going to bother him about it tonight. He understands the reluctance. Some losses are heavy and slow to heal. You have to carry them for a while, ignoring them when you can, and working through them only when you have to — piece by piece and day by day.

Halward Pavus comes to mind — a brilliant man and often a terrible father. He understood his son so little. And by the time he wanted to try doing better, it was already too late. He ran out of time and chances. But Dorian pushes that thought aside, an unhappy topic for another day. Instead, he gazes up as a barrage of fireworks explodes, silver and gold against the evening sky.

"Are they as splendid as you imagined?" he asks.

Trevelyan shifts closer, resting his head against Dorian's shoulder.

"No," he says. "But I've recently blown up a building full of gaatlok, so my standards for spectacular explosions might need some adjustment."

"Yes, glad we survived all that," Dorian says.

Trevelyan is warm and heavy against him. It's a pleasure to have him here and a relief he's alive and well. He's smiling as he watches the evening sky, his face lit by the fireworks, then falling dark again — over and over as the celebration continues. Elsewhere in the garden, people are laughing and drinking. Music plays, someone's singing, and shouts of joy rise up as the finale approaches and the explosions come louder and faster.

"Sort of like sex, isn't it?" Trevelyan says, glancing at Dorian. "Starts out slow. Fun to watch. Big climax."

There's something sly and suggestive in the way he smiles.

"Oh, is that what you're after?" Dorian asks.

Yesterday, Trevelyan was too tired for anything other than an early bedtime — understandable after everything they'd been through. But his eighteen hours of sleep seem to have restored his usual appetites.

"I'm still so tired," Trevelyan admits. "But if you were to do all the work, I'd lie back and take it."

Dorian chuckles. "I'll take you up on that later tonight."

"Good," Trevelyan says, "because this is lovely, but I want you closer still."

Dorian shuts his eyes for a moment and enjoys the thought of himself and Trevelyan naked in bed, the two of them kissing each other as they fuck. He never gets tired of it, loving the same man night after night.

"You can have me however you want me," Dorian says.

It's odd when he thinks about it. There are so many handsome men in the world. A good number of them are probably good-natured and funny — and compatibly inclined in terms of their sexual interests. And yet this particular man has become so incredibly important, so wholly irreplaceable. It's probably got less to do with who Trevelyan is and more to do with the hard-won tenderness that's taken root between them. Small at first, just a spark of affinity — friends at first sight — their rapport has matured into a profound and life-altering bond. At times, it's felt inevitable. But no — that's not the right word. It's intentional. It's what they've both kept choosing.

Trevelyan's thoughts seem to drift in a similar direction.

"We're exquisite together, you and I," he says. "No matter what happens, I don't want to lose this."

"Yes, about that," Dorian says. His thoughts shift away from pleasant daydreams as he settles into a more evaluative, strategic mindset. "I do have a plan for us, if you'd like to hear it."

He's been thinking about it all morning. Without the Inquisition to keep him busy, Trevelyan will need a new job. And he absolutely can't come to live in Tevinter. He's not as vulnerable without the anchor, it's true, but plenty of nefarious types would still find him far too intriguing.

"Oh?" Trevelyan says, lifting his head and sitting up straighter. "Tell me this plan."

"Well," Dorian says, "I'd like to acquire a linked pair of eluvians, sever them from the network, and use them so we can see each other secretly and often."

Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't see why not," Dorian says.

Leliana's been interested in acquiring more eluvians as well. She's already sent a few of her spies back to the Darvaarad to extract the Viddasala's notes and artifacts. So she's well on her way to pinpointing keys and locations for at least part of the network.

"So, we'd be stealing them from Solas?"

"Yes, but what's he going to do about it? Destroy the world? He wants to do that anyway," Dorian says. "So let's take a few of his toys and get some enjoyment out of them before he manages to follow through."

Trevelyan grins.

"I'm going to change his mind about the whole destruction-of-the-world thing. You'll see."

He sounds as determined as ever.

"Well, in the meantime," Dorian says, "and unless you have other plans, I thought you and I could work together with Leliana on tracking down those eluvians. I'd be in Tevinter, of course, but you'd be free to travel with the best of the Inquisition's former spies and soldiers."

It will take time, of course, to find and to move those mirrors — time that Dorian can use to focus on his own future, getting acclimated to the rhythm of Imperial politics and building up the Lucerni in partnership with Mae. Trevelyan's work might even take a year or two, but after that, with an eluvian each, they can spend their evenings, nights, and breakfasts together — and then go about their day-to-day lives at a distance.

"No other plans," Trevelyan says. "Sera did offer me a job as a Jenny. And Bull said I could join the Chargers, but I'd have to call him boss. And then Cassandra wants me to serve as a live training dummy for her Seeker recruits."

"So many offers."

It's no surprise. Trevelyan's closest friends all know him and love him. They want to help, offering him ways to move forward in the absence of the Inquisition.

"I'd rather be working for you," Trevelyan says.

"For us." Dorian corrects him.

"For us then," Trevelyan agrees. "You can count me in."

Overhead, the fireworks have stopped. All that remains is a cloud of drifting smoke, pushed by the wind and dissipating as it moves away. Trevelyan follows it with his eyes for a moment, and then he looks down, pulls back his cloak, and rubs at the place where his left arm ends.

"I'm glad the anchor's gone," he says. "But I miss my hand."

There are functional prosthetics, of course, both magic and mundane. But that's not the point right now and Dorian knows it. So he doesn't bring it up.

"I'm always here to talk about it with you. Now or later," Dorian says, touching the amulet that holds the sending crystal.

Trevelyan nods. "Maybe later."

The garden is quieter now. The revelers have wandered back indoors where they'll carry on drinking, laughing, and singing until the wee hours of the morning. Under lamplight and starlight, Dorian glances at Trevelyan's lips, signaling his interest. They lean together in a gentle kiss that goes on without escalating much.

"My heart is yours," Trevelyan says when at last he moves away. His voice falls softer still, and he whispers the part that comes next. "Now and for the rest of my days. If you'll have me?"

Dorian blinks and looks at him with more careful scrutiny.

"What's this? Are you proposing to me?"

"Pledging, I think," Trevelyan says. "Like a proposal, but without all the ceremonies and paperwork."

"Pledging to, what, be my husband?" Dorian asks.

"Essentially, yes."

Dorian pauses for a moment, considering.

"Have you bought me a ring?"

"No," Trevelyan says. "But I haven't really thought this through. I'm just saying words as they come to me."

Dorian shakes his head. He shouldn't be surprised by this. The sudden spark of inspiration, the obvious joy Trevelyan takes in improvising his way through an important decision — it's all very typical of him.

"Yes, alright," Dorian says, agreeing to all of it. "No ceremonies, no paperwork, nothing formal and institutional and onerous. But I do want a ring. For both of us."

Trevelyan chuckles. "I think you just want to go shopping for jewelry."

"Oh, well done," Dorian says, teasing him back. "You figured it out more quickly than I thought you would."

It's easier to joke about it. The truth is, he feels overwhelmed by emotions he's not sure how to name. But as Trevelyan pulls him close and kisses him again, Dorian stops trying to identify every feeling. It's enough to say that it's good to have this, and that he doesn't want it to end.

For the rest of my days, if you'll have me — Trevelyan's words stand out like a signpost, marking the pivotal moment.

Somehow, it's both a change and a continuity all in one. And that makes a strange sort of sense. Some divides are nothing more than the space between two people. And it's not much of a divide at all when they're people who've chosen each other, and who will keep on choosing each other, in love and friendship, no matter the distance.