#zevriel lavellan

[for-the-ninth]

Hello hello! How about a song prompt for DWC this week: These Bones by Azrai ft. Momo O'brien

Oh dear gods, these lyrics hit me right in the chest! Immediately reminded me of my Inquisitor, Shielan, and her childhood best friend, Zevriel. Shielan abandoned her clan shortly after getting her vallaslin and without telling Zevriel. He found her a few years later, and up until the Kirkwall rebellion, they met once a year and exchanged letters. At the time of joining the Inquisition, Shielan has been apart from her clan for 10 years, and hasn't heard from Zevriel in 4 years. This letter will probably end up in the bottom of her satchel somewhere. @dadrunkwriting

You named me a hero once, 

But my fighting days are numbered

So please forgive the things I’ve done

In the moments I forget you ***

Dear Zev,

You were in my dream last night—and before you ask: no, it wasn’t a sex dream; fuck off! Remember when we tried to convince Vunora to skip out on Healer’s training with us (and she said no, because of course she did)? Well, she said yes this time, because Dream Zev is, apparently, far more convincing than you. But it wasn’t anything like we’d planned. It rained all day and our veils got soaked, and Deshanna was royally pissed by the time we made it back. Come to think of it, that’s exactly what would’ve happened if she’d come with us. Nobody gave a shit when you and I fucked off for the afternoon, but Vunora? Can’t let the clan’s prized Healer go running amok with the riff-raff. Maybe that’s why I didn’t try to manipulate it, to turn it into something warm and picturesque, like my other dreams. Too perfect and it wouldn’t have felt real. I needed it to feel real. 

It’s been too long since I’ve heard from you, Zev. My hope is that Deshanna’s called you and the others home, where it’s safe, until the rebellion blows over. My fear is you lying dead in a ditch somewhere because some foolish shem dragged you into their war, same as they did me. Did you hear I sealed a giant hole in the sky with some weird hand magic nobody's ever fucking heard of? I mean, it wasn’t just me, but they act like it was. They call me a hero—a prophet—all because I was in the wrong place at the worst fucking time. I guess some ancient darkspawn bastard tearing the Veil to bits for world domination is just too big a pill to swallow if there’s no savior to swoop in and make it all better. 

They look at me like you did when we were kids, after that shitty little brat made fun of you for being a flat-eared orphan and I knocked his crooked teeth out. I thought Deshanna would throttle me, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t your fault your parents left you any more than it was mine my parents left me. You didn’t deserve me leaving you behind either, but you forgave me anyway. Why would you do that? I shoved every memory I had of us to the back of my brain for years after I left, and the moment you found me, it was like no time passed at all. Somehow that was worse. I wanted you to be angry with me, partly because I knew I’d earned it, but also because I just needed someone to be angry with. I imagined us arguing, yelling, maybe throwing a few half-assed spells around or drawing our daggers for show, knowing in the end, it’d all be fine. But the world is on fire, and I have no idea what I'm doing or where you are, so it still isn't fine, is it?

If you’re still alive, I hope you forget about me the way I forgot about you, because you deserve better. You have always deserved better, Zev.  - Shielan

[for-the-ninth]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Andraste, preserve me," Cullen hissed.

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

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

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

[for-the-ninth]

DADW: "Trembling, I step forward" with any characters!

Thank you for the prompt! @dadrunkwriting

I have a hard time writing from first person perspective bc it always feels like a self-insert and then I project my shit onto the character so I'm gonna do a 3rd person POV here.

The raucous winds of a tornado swirled around Shielan and her comrades, knocking some back and freezing the others in place. Even Bull, who was pushing against the wind with all his might, was struggling to move forward.

"Bloody hell," Sera shouted over the din. She was staggering backward and nearly fell on her ass before Shielan reached out and yanked her to her feet. "Any idea when this fuckshit will stop?"

"Her wings will tire soon," Solas called out. He pointed Sera to a cluster of boulders that reached high above the dragon. "That cliff will be your best vantage point."

Much to Shielan's amazement, Sera had nothing sarcastic to say in return. She only nodded and dug her heels into the ground, bracing herself against the rest of the dragon's onslaught. The moment the great creature rested her wings, Sera sprinted to the base of the cliff and clambered up to the ledge like it was the last thing she'd do.

For a moment, Shielan was overcome with guilt. Sera really hadn't wanted to come with her to begin with, in no small part because there were rumors of a dragon in the area. But Shielan had dismissed her concerns entirely, figuring that as long as they stuck to lesser known pathways they could avoid it. She had not considered that the beast's younglings would spot them and go crying to mama.

With an almighty shriek, the dragon spit a vicious ring of fire around herself, catching Bull directly in the flames. He stepped back from the creature and patted himself down, but now that he'd gotten her attention, she didn't let up. She crawled toward him with her neck low to the ground, and Shielan's stomach sank as she realized what was about to happen.

The winged beast opened its cavernous mouth wide as she approached Bull, and for the first time since joining the Inquisition, the towering warrior looked genuinely afraid. Shielan sprinted toward him and thrust her palms out, wrapping him in a gust of wind that extinguished the dragon's flame. The creature responded with pure rage, stomping her feet with such severity that the entire crew—Sera included—fell to the ground. Without hesitation, the dragon lurched forward and flicked Bull across the field, smacking his head into a boulder. Sera screamed in horror, and the dragon turned on her next, rearing up on her hind legs as if ready to snatch her from the cliff side. Shielan dug the spiked end of her staff into the ground and hoisted herself up.

"Hey!" she shouted, marching forward and banging her staff against the ground. The dragon turned to look at her, but held its position as though waiting for Shielan to make the first move.

Trembling, she stepped forward and threw her staff to the ground, harnessing all the bravery she had left to smack a wicked grin across her face. Might as well smile in the face of danger, Zev had always said. She straightened her posture and threw her shoulders back.

"Come and get me then, bitch."

[for-the-ninth]

For DA DWC: a gentle “i love you” whispered after a soft kiss, followed immediately by a stronger kiss

ooooh yes thank you for the prompt!! @dadrunkwriting

This is between my fave childhood besties, Zevriel and Shielan.

The day was long, arduous—a "royal pain in the ass," as Zev would say. Tedious meetings with dignitaries who cared more for their reputation than the impending doom that was Corypheus; a run down of intel gathered by Leliana's spies; letter, after letter, after pointless letter. Finally, as the sun sank behind the Frostbacks, Shielan closed her door and latched it tight, uttering a silent plea to the gods for a quiet night, void of disruption.

She slumped down into the chair behind her desk and leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as she rubbed the exhaustion from her face with calloused hands and sighed. Zev plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with his fingertips, then passed it to her. She smiled weakly, nodding in appreciation as she placed it between her lips and inhaled. They remained this way for a time, silently passing the cigarette back and forth, taking turns blowing smoke rings into the air of her bedroom, giggling occasionally at Shielan's clumsy failed attempts. At some point, Zev abandoned his claim on the rest of the cigarette and stood behind Shielan, placing his hands gently upon her shoulders and running his thumbs along her sore, tired muscles. She hummed in appreciation as he worked, relishing the last few puffs of herb before extinguishing the cigarette with her fingers.

When Zev finally felt Shielan's muscles relax, he turned his attention to her hair, unraveling her messy black braid with tender, well-practiced hands, and she sighed in contentment. This ritual of theirs was decades old, part of an unshakeable bond that faithfully outlasted time, space, and distance—an expression of care that rendered words unnecessary, though he spoke them anyway the moment her hair was free to cascade down her back.

"I love you," he whispered, and bent down to lay soft kisses against the nape of her neck as he'd done every time before.

"I know," she replied, and shivered at the familiar tingle of his breath against her skin. She rose from her chair and turned to face him, reaching upward to wrap her hands around his neck. But he cupped her jaw with both hands and pressed his mouth against hers before she could. There was no resistance, no waiting with bated breath, or nervous shuffling of feet. The bed they fell into was new; the room in which they stripped off their clothes was unfamiliar—even their bodies had changed, each marked with fresh scars and bruises. Yet the joining of their naked flesh was the beginning of a long-awaited journey toward home—their home; the one they shared only with one another; a home that stood the test of time, no matter how much of it had passed.

He loved her and she knew. That was all they needed.

[for-the-ninth]

Welcome to DWC! an OC Codex prompt :) : something written about your OC by a shop keeper

YESSS you read my mind! I was hoping for a codex prompt. Thanks for being my first for @dadrunkwriting!!! This one is about Zevriel Lavellan, Shielan's childhood bestie.

Met one of them strange elves today—Dalish, I think they're called. Had tattoos all over his face. When I asked about 'em, he grinned and lit a funny smelling cigarette, but didn't answer. Nice enough fellow, though a little chatty for me. Had quite a lot of questions about my wares, particularly the knives. Made me take 'em all out and spread 'em across the counter—said he was looking for a big one. Then, he asked if I could set up a dummy for him to practice on. Strange thing is, I let him. Didn't even question it. Then, he thanked me for the knife and walked out the door. Wasn't until he left that I realized he hadn't paid, and by then I couldn't find the bastard. Gave him that knife like he was an old friend asking for a favor. Why did I do that?

[for-the-ninth]

Hello! Selected this from the Caring edition prompt: "Try to breathe slowly" for a platonic pairing, please? Thank you.

Thank you for the prompt Cat! I'm three shots in at this point (I'm tiny lol) so let's see how this goes. @dadrunkwriting

I'm gonna introduce a new character here—Vunora Lavellan, another of Shielan's childhood friends—and we'll pretend this is the first time she's meeting Cullen. Zevriel Lavellan will also make an appearance because I love him.

*Note: Lifelight is a non-canonical term I made up; it refers to a specific type of Healer in the Lavellan clan. They take vows to never harm a living creature (even in defense) and their entire life is planned around sustaining their clan.*

"Hello, dear. I'm Vunora, and it's very nice to—"

"I'm not sure he can handle an introduction right now, Nora." Zev was leaning up against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other and a cigarette between his fingers. He puffed on it casually, as though Cullen weren't sweating and shaking at his feet.

Vunora gave Zev a swift kick in the shin, startling him to such a degree that he dropped his cigarette. "Aren't you supposed to be helping?"

"Elgar'nan's ass, Vee!" He bent over and plucked the cigarette from the ground, placing it between his lips as he rubbed the place where she'd kicked. "You're the fucking Lifelight. What do you suggest?"

She shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't know Zev—how about anything other than blowing smoke in the poor mans' face?"

With the cigarette still between his teeth, Zev raised his hands in a show of surrender and backed away from Cullen, prompting Vunora to roll her eyes.

"To the Void with you," she hissed, and then crouched across from Cullen. He was sitting in a tight ball, head in his hands and sweat dripping down the sides of his face as he rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself. Vunora lay a gentle hand on his knee, and he flinched.

"No need to be afraid," she murmured. "I'm a friend of our dearest Shielan." Cullen looked at her with the wide eyes of a child who's seen far too much. He took her by the elbows and fiercely whispered something in a language she was certain did not exist.

Vunora twisted her neck over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Zev, who was staring up at the ceiling, grinning. "Blessed Mythal, how much did you give him?"

"The same dose I always take, obviously," Zev replied. "Have you seen these drawings?" He was gesturing at the ceiling now, tracing the invisible designs with the tip of his finger and giggling like a madman.

Vunora muttered a string of untoward curses under her breath and put both hands firmly on Cullen's knees. "Look at me, dear." He stared at her, lips trembling as though he were about to cry.

"Try to breathe slowly," she said, then took a big inhale through her nose and out through her mouth. He clasped his hands over hers and nodded his head, trying to match her breathing pattern.

Just then, Shielan burst through the door. "Oh boy, have I got news for—"

Cullen whipped his head around, saw Shielan and scrambled backward until his head hit the wall. He was panting again, his eyes darting to every corner of the room as he clutched his chest.

Shielan marched over to Zev and yanked him by the earlobe. "You gave him Blood Lotus?!"

"Ow, ow, stop!" Zev groaned, smacking Shielan's hand away. "We were just having a bit of fun."

Shielan shoved his face away and gestured to Cullen. "Does he look like he's having fun to you, Zev?"

Zev sauntered over to Cullen and sank down next to him, grinning.

"Not at the moment," he said, throwing his arm around Cullen and pulling him closer until his head was resting on Zev's chest. "But good things come to those who wait."

[for-the-ninth]

Welcome! For DADWC, “I can tell you’re lying.”

Thank you!! @dadrunkwriting

Note: Ripper is the nickname given to Shielan Lavellan by Zevriel when they were kids.

"What's your name?"

"Cullen Rutherford."

"Where are you from?"

"Honnleath."

"How do you know Shielan?"

"I'm the former commander of her army. I met her through the Inquisition."

Zev shook his head and threw his hands in the air. "You're lying, and I can tell."

"But that's technically the truth!" Cullen said. His eyelids drooped in the corners, and his voice was raspy from the cloud of smoke Zev insisted upon blowing directly into his face. Cullen had asked if he'd put the damn thing out before they got started, but all Zev said was, "It's a distraction technique. Buck up."

"How can you tell, anyway?" Cullen asked.

"Your left eyebrow twitched, the middle finger of your right hand flexed outward, and the angle of your neck shifted."

Cullen tried to think of something to say, but came up short. He could only stare at Zev with an open mouth and brows furrowed in utter confusion.

"Listen, pretty boy"—Zev leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees—"we're going to be dealing with a fuckin' Mind Reader here. I need you to get your shit together." He took the cigarette from between his teeth and sucked down a drag like it was his last. "Fuck it. Let's go again."

Cullen straightened up in his chair and breathed deeply. He nodded his head and Zev gave him the first question.

"What's your name?"

"Cullen Rutherford."

"Where are you from?"

"Honnleath."

"Are you in love with my daughter?"

"Of course I am."

Zev stood and smacked Cullen upside the head. "By the gods, do you want to get our Ripper excommunicated?"

"Is she really going to ask me outright like that?" Cullen asked.

Zev took the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it between Cullen's teeth as he bent down to whisper in his ear. "She may ask you all sorts of untoward things, and you must be prepared to answer them with a face of steel." He snatched the cigarette back, gave Cullen a swift pat on the back and resumed his position across from him.

"Now," he said. "Let's try this again."

[for-the-ninth]

For DADWC, the following prompt from the DA Specific prompt list, for the character of your choice, please. Thank you.

The fresh smell of elfroot

Thank you Cat!! @dadrunkwriting this one features Cullen, and my OCs Shielan Lavellan and Zevriel Lavellan.

"Inquisitor?" Cullen ran to Shielan's door and banged on it with full fists. A stream of smoke had wafted down the hall to him, so thick he could see it emerging from beneath her door. He felt the wood, trying to determine whether it was hot, but it was too thick and there was no time. Without waiting for her answer, he threw it open.

A thick haze of smoke hung over the room, reaching every corner. He covered his shirt with his mouth to stifle his cough as his eyes darted through the room in search of a flame. But he soon realized there wasn't one.

Zev and Shielan sat on her bed, both red-faced and hunched over with laughter.

"Take off your shirt," Zev said.

Cullen's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Rutherford." Shielan was rolling her eyes and shaking her head as tears of amusement rolled down her cheeks. "He means take the shirt off your nose. There's no fire."

Cullen did as he was told, albeit reluctantly, and took a whiff. Indeed, the smoke did not smell of burned—well, anything. Nothing was burning. No, something was burning. It smelled like—

"Is that..." He sniffed again, brows drawn together in concentration. Shielan had taught him about this one, he was certain of it. "Elfroot—it's elfroot, right?"

Zev waved Cullen over, and he obliged. The pipe Zev handed him was filled with half burnt leaves in charred shades of green and purple. Cullen looked to Shielan as though waiting for an explanation, but she was humming with her eyes closed, blissfully unaware of his questions. He turned to Zev instead.

"Am I interrupting some sort of... ritual?" he asked sheepishly.

"You could call it that." Zev's shoulders shook with a hearty chuckle as he brought a lit match to the leaves and leaned forward, touching the mouthpiece to Cullen's lips. "Breathe in."

Cullen sucked in air and Zev yanked the mouthpiece away, saying, "Bloody hell, pretty boy—take it easy!"

Zev was right. Cullen's lungs punished him by immediately attempting to expel whatever he'd just inhaled. Just as he'd made an internal promise to never try it again, an overwhelming sensation of warmth pooled in his chest. The moment he made eye contact with Zev, both men burst into another fit of laughter.

"Wow," Cullen said, grinning like a fool. "I feel—"

"Lighter?" Shielan opened her eyes and reached for him, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingertips. "Good. You deserve it."

[for-the-ninth]

happy friday! from the dramatic poetry lines: i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world

Thank you for the prompt! First one I've responded to in weeks thanks to a mean bout of writer's block. This was fun to write!

Characters are my Inquisitor, Shielan Lavellan, before she was Inquisitor, and her best friend, Zevriel. @dadrunkwriting

***

“This tavern is a shithole.” 

“Whole city is a shithole with all these damned refugees. Least the drinks are half-way decent.” 

Two well-armed and wholly inebriated human men had gone round and round, bitching about everything between taxes and death—all of which could be blamed on the refugees, unless it had been a problem before they arrived, in which case it was the fault of those damned knife-ears. Not the Blight, nor the Viscount. Just people. Regular people.

Shielan couldn’t see them, and she didn’t need to. Their weapons clinked when they moved, the timbre and inflection of their voices—one deep and raspy, the other tight and tense with nasality—gave away all the information she needed. The one with the brash tone, who didn’t speak so much as holler, was younger than the other. His voice grew louder each time he told a “joke,” so as to gain the attention of men he wanted to out-man, and women far too sharp for him to bed. Over the course of a half-hour, he’d downed at least five drinks, and it was enough to slur his words. Insecure, boring, and a light-weight at that.

Each time the younger one got loud, the older man lowered his voice. When the barmaid came round for a refill, he politely declined. His laughter was hollow and forced—accompanied by a tight smile and tense shoulders, no doubt—and he responded in a tone more collegial than friendly. She guessed he’d been charged with training the new recruit, and was certain he regretted accepting the assignment. 

“Maker, you see the ass on that one?”

The option to cut his tongue out grew more appealing by the minute. But she was here for information, and information she would get, drunken templars be damned. The young fool would keep drinking and his comrade, assuming he’d no real authority over the boy, would let him. Something would slip—a seemingly innocuous tidbit neither would think twice about dropping at her feet. That would be enough. And if it wasn’t, a healthy dose of poison would be. 

She scanned the room. More were coming in to escape the rain and their woes. Good. A crowd reduced her chances of being noticed. The barmaid met her gaze from behind the bar, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Shielan smiled politely and shook her head. Her cup was full, and with the exception of a few feigned gulps to avoid suspicion, it would remain full. She didn’t need anything clouding her judgement. 

The idiot behind her slammed his fist down on the table as he laughed, and she clenched every muscle at once to avoid whirling around to choke him out for the sheer joy of it. He was a carbon copy in a long-line of drunk, cocksure assholes she’d encountered since leaving her clan, and every time, she wondered: how do the shem live alongside people like this? The Dalish were hardly immune to arrogance and drunken fuckery, but something about this particular brand of prick rubbed her in all the wrong ways. 

Another wave of people burst through the tavern door, and the din grew louder. Shit. She debated whether to move closer or change angles. Her thoughts were cut short when the unmistakable crack of a skull against the table rang out from the other side of the room. She snapped her head in its direction, one gloved hand flying to the dagger at her waist, and stood carefully. It was just a bar fight—it was always just a bar fight, until someone drew blood. 

The man with the growing welt on his forehead took a knife from his boot, eliciting both pleas to “Take it easy!” and shouts to “Do your worst!” from the onlookers in equal measure. His opponent hadn’t even the chance to draw a sword before the enraged man shoved his own knife through his own palm, a wicked grin stretched across his face. 

The templars behind her sprung to action—well, one did. The other tripped on his own feet and nearly took the entire table down with him. This was her opportunity to make a quick and quiet escape.

Shielan weaved in and out of the crowd, and made a beeline for the exit. The storm was loud, the rain thick and heavy as it soaked through her cloak. Flashes of lightning illuminated the otherwise darkened streets. Shit. Finding a place to camp-out for a night was hard enough in the wilderness. It was a fuck of a lot harder when you were an elven apostate with a giant face tattoo slinking through Kirkwall. You should try Kirkwall,  they said. The Circle has an extensive magical library, they said. They neglected to mention there’d be templars around every goddamn corner. 

A pair of boots—lightweight, no steel fixtures, almost silent—followed her twelve paces behind. The right foot fell heavier than the left. She quickened her pace, then slowed it down again. They matched her gait, adjusting their steps along with hers. She broke into a jog, and then a sprint. They pursued, but she was faster. 

She made it round the corner of a closed shop, drew her dagger and pressed her back against the wall. Moments later, they flew round the same corner, right into her trap. Her free hand caught them by the throat. She threw herself off the wall and used the momentum to push them flush against it. A breathless chuckle fell from her stalker’s lips.

“Elgar’nan’s ass—you puny fucking demon, you spooky little shit.” She sheathed her dagger and stepped back. “I ought to knock you out for the fun of it, Zev.” 

Zevriel peeled back the hood of his cloak, revealing a toothy, self-satisfied grin. “Aw, I’ve missed your little potty-mouth.” 

Shielan rolled her eyes. “That was one of the most predictable almost-assaults I’ve ever faced. Our training was wasted on you.” 

“It wouldn’t have been predictable to most people.” He pushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “But you’ve never been like most people, have you, Ripper?”

“I suppose not.” Shielan lay her hand over his, leaning into his touch. “It helps that I know you better than the back of my own hand.” 

He touched his forehead to hers. “Let’s get you out of this rain.” 

Her investigation could wait for a night.

[for-the-ninth]

Greetings, friends! I've had two pieces of art commissioned in the past few weeks that I'd like to share with you all.

First up is this fantastic portrait of my devilishly handsome OC, Zevriel Lavellan. He's Shielan's childhood best friend - the one who gave her the nickname Ripper after she pinned down a bully of his and used her magic to rip every single hair from his head.

He's chaotic, he's bisexual, and he's an avid smoker of herbs.

@wolfssketches brought my handsome scoundrel to life and I can't thank them enough for it! They were fantastic to work with and I'd highly recommend commissioning them if you get the chance.

This lovely five color palette sketch comes from @palepinkycat, who was equally lovely to work with. Its a sweet, angsty scene between Cullen and Cole from an upcoming chapter in my fic, Future of a Summoner. I wish I could tell you more, but alas spoilers abound!

Both artists somehow managed to create exactly what I had pictured in my head (witchcraft, I tell you) and it's so cool to have pieces of my story brought to life like this! Much love to y'all ❤️

[for-the-ninth]

(Gorgeous artwork by @wolfssketches !!)

Zevriel Lavellan

28 years old (same as Shielan when she joins the Inquisition)

Resident Chaotic Bisexual™️

Childhood bestie of Inquisitor Shielan Lavellan

Dropped off with the desert-dwelling Lavellan clan when he was three, and Shielan took to him immediately

Often bullied by the other kids for struggling with magic and being a flat-ear, but showed an immense talent for lying his ass off and enchanting merchants with little more than a smile and a wink

Gave Shielan the nickname Ripper, because she pinned down one of his bullies and ripped every hair from their head, one by one

Chain smokes herbal cigarettes like it's his day job

His day job is stealing, flirting, and occasionally, a wee bit of murder

Will gladly fuck a shopkeeper for a discount (or just for fun)

Would (and has) taken an arrow for Shielan, which she'll never let happen again

Is a baby but doesn't know it

[for-the-ninth]

For DWC: "Please don't hurt me" [fluff edition] for anyone you want?

oooooh this falls in line perfectly with the plot of my longfic but I'm going to use my willpower and chill before I spoil the story lmao. Thank you for the @dadrunkwriting prompt!!

Zevriel (Shielan's childhood best friend; Ripper is his nickname for her) comes from clan Lavellan on Deshanna's orders to look for Shielan, under the impression that the Inquisition is holding her hostage. He finds Cullen first.

I realized after writing this that it's actually not very fluffy but tbh, this is about as fluffy as Shielan gets because her heart has been hardened to stone by the time she joins the Inquisition.

Cullen woke as though he were still in a dream, with the once-sharp features of the world around him blurred into shapes barely recognizable. His head pulsed with an aching throb that banged against the back of his skull, and it felt impossibly heavy. A rough, burning sensation prickled at the skin of his wrists. He tried to look down at them, but dizziness overwhelmed him. The next time, he moved his eyes instead of his head, and discovered he was bound to a chair by rope. A shadowy figure took shape in front of him.

"Please," he said, his tongue still heavy from whatever drug he'd been given, "don't hurt me."

The figure leaned down until they were at eye level with Cullen. A hood and black cloth mask concealed everything but their piercing green eyes, yet their twinkle alone told him they were grinning.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I'll have no reason to." They took a knife from their belt and held its blade against Cullen's neck, just barely pressing against his skin. "Where is Shielan?"

"I don't know," he replied.

"This could've been so easy," the figure said, dragging their knife along Cullen's skin. "But here you are, making it difficult." They took the knife from his neck and pressed its tip beneath one of his fingernails, pushing in just hard enough to make him cry out. "I'll ask again: where is Shielan?"

Cullen strained to keep his eyes open, ignoring the pain of the blade for a moment as he tried to take stock of his blurred surroundings. Green curtains, a mahogany desk cluttered with papers and half-read books; a light breeze floating across the bare skin of his forearms. They were in her room.

"Depends on who's looking for her," he said. The figure chuckled and slipped the tip of their blade deeper, pushing at the sensitive bed of nerves beneath his fingernail. Cullen growled through gnashed teeth.

"Let's say an old friend was hoping to find her here," the figure replied. "Would you tell me then?" They wiggled the tip of the knife, threatening to pry his nail clean off.

"The same thing I told you the first time," Cullen replied. "I don't know."

"And here I was, hoping we could be friends too," the figure sighed. They flicked the tip of their blade upward, splitting Cullen's fingernail down the middle. He bit down hard on his own tongue, filling his mouth with blood as he attempted to stifle the cry. But the figure slipped their knife beneath another nail and pushed hard.

"Last chance," they said, lightly twisting the blade back and forth. "Where is she?"

"I wouldn't tell you even if I knew," Cullen spat, and as soon as he said it, pain shot through his cuticle. The figure pried his nail off and flicked across the room with little more than chuckle, and this time, Cullen couldn't stifle his scream.

Footsteps came barreling down the hallway. Someone tried to open the door, but quickly realized it was locked. Moments later, Shielan blasted the whole sodden thing off its hinges and strode into the room with her hood up and her palms outstretched. She blasted the figure backward until their head hit stone and continued advancing until she was between the figure and Cullen. Even the most experienced fighters would've held their head and groaned from such an impact, but the figure's rebound was nearly instantaneous. The next minute seemed to occur within the blink of an eye.

The figure approached Shielan with two daggers drawn. They dodged Shielan's first three spells. She took two of the six knives around her waist and hummed them in the figure's direction, one after the other. One missed. The other sliced across their cheek. She armed herself with the two largest daggers on her belt and danced around the figure, waiting for their next move. They sprinted toward her and she narrowly dodged, but before she could take advantage of their misstep, they were already on the move. This time they stood behind Cullen with their knife pressed against his throat.

"I'm looking for Shielan Adelahna Lavellan," they growled. "Tell me where she is, or I'll kill—"

Shielan dropped both daggers and made three short motions with her fingers. The knife in the figure's hand disintegrated to ash, and they looked down in confusion. Shielan used the opportunity to blast them with another wind spell, knocking them flat on their back. She picked up one of her daggers and ran to Cullen, frantically sawing her way through the thick ropes around his hands and ankles.

"Are you okay?"

"He's up."

Shielan sprang from the ground and stood between the figure and Cullen, dagger in one hand, flame in the other.

"You've found me," she said, chest heaving. "And I'll burn this entire fucking castle down before I let you touch him again."

The figure removed their hood and slid the mask down from their face, revealing a wide, toothy grin. "Damn, Ripper. You almost had me."