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thedreadgay · 9 months ago

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please if you can donate to life for gaza before it ends!!!!!

sycamore girl || chapter 6: warriors

THE TZEDAKAH CHALLENGE: every time i post a chapter, if you have $5 or more to spare, donate it to life for gaza, a campaign by the municipality of gaza to restore the city’s infrastructure. leave a comment with how much you donate for me to tally! ONLY 1 DAY LEFT FOR THE LIFE FOR GAZA CAMPAIGN. LET'S MAKE IT COUNT! once life for gaza concludes, the tzedakah challenge will continue with another fundraiser to send aid to palestinians amid the ongoing genocide.

sooo i am just gonna get as much out before veilguard as i can but i finally now have a few chapters lined up so expect a lot more in the coming days. take the chance with lots of new chapters to donate too! ;)

word count: 2408 < prev || chapter masterlist || next (coming soon)

also available on ao3

—

Vivienne’s voice rang clear through the general chaos of the training ground: “Faster now. Start.”

Adahlee kept her breaths full and deep, an anchor as she, once again, slowly formed a ball of energy in her palms. She pulled the magic through the Veil gently, letting it fill and swirl like tendrils of wind between her hands, expanding and shrinking it.

“Stop.”

Adahlee brought her palms together, letting the magic swirl back behind the Veil once more, leaving her hands empty.

“Good—but faster. Start.”

And again. Adahlee filled her lungs as she expanded her hands, now trying to pull the energy in an oblong shape. She narrowed her eyes in concentration, feeling out the balance between flow and control.

“Stop.”

The shape was bigger, but Adahlee collapsed it quicker, directing it to whisk away between her fingers.

“Better.” Vivienne was a stern tutor, much like Solas, but far from unkind. She studied Adahlee. “Interesting creative flair; and it looked quite measured. Did the magic try to push outside your boundaries at all?”

Adahlee shook her head. “It doesn’t go wild if you just sort of… move with it. I think… I think control is less about power over the magic—” She made an open-handed gesture of her palm coming down— “and more about…” Her hand swayed gracefully instead. “Being with it. So you’re one. If you treat it like something to be caged, of course it’ll try to burst out. Where else would it have to go?” She frowned, and shook her head again. “That’s why I knew it was only a matter of time, before, when I was told to just… hide it.”

Vivienne nodded slowly. “Quite right. You have strong intuition, darling—a good skill to have, in an art like ours. Keep nurturing it.”

She was skilled. Adahlee’s expression brightened. “Thank you!”

Vivienne smiled softly. “Control is essential when working with a conduit like a staff. You are a quick learner indeed—in no small part because of your will to apply yourself. I’m confident in your ability to adapt to your staff, even so early in your training.” Vivienne took up her own, a graceful stave of swirling Serault infused glass, from where it was leaned against a wall of rock. “Come, let’s practice.”

Adahlee grabbed her own staff from where it rested next to Vivienne’s. “I’ll do right by you, Mir Thamadahl,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

Oh. “Um…” Adahlee looked sheepishly off to the side, nervously wringing her hands around the haft. “Many mages name their staves, don’t they? Or… do they?”

Vivienne chuckled a little—amused, but not mocking. Adahlee peeked back up at her to see her smiling kindly. “Some do. What have you named yours, darling?”

“... Mir Thamadahl. It’s Elvish. It means ‘my branch.’ My name means ‘tree,’ and Solas said a staff is an extension of yourself,” she shyly tumbled out the explanation, “so… um… yeah. That’s not stupid, is it?”

“Hardly. Chin up.”

Adahlee stood straighter, summing up the will to hold herself up. Satisfied, Vivienne continued: “A name like that puts respect on the tools you use to further your magic—and thus, that respect falls back onto you, your skill, and your beingness.” As she said this, Adahlee thought Vivienne a figure to admire: a powerful, dignified enchanter. She was unapologetic in the space she took up. “That is not ‘stupid,’ and anyone who might claim such is a fool.”

Was Adahlee allowed to declare such respect for herself? Whose permission would you need? She could sum up no answer to that. Besides, she had already declared it without much thought, hadn’t she? Perhaps—perhaps self-respect could be as easy as breathing. And if it was hard to learn, well… she was a quick learner.

Finally, Adahlee nodded. “I understand, Vivienne. I… I do have another concern, though.”

“Yes? I’m here to help you, my dear.”

Adahlee shifted nervously from foot to foot. She took in Mir Thamadahl, the natural points where the magic wanted to come out. “I’m… I’m scared to hurt people. I know I need to defend myself, I just…”

“It is more than a need,” Vivienne asserted. Adahlee glanced back to her; her eyes were hard and focused. “It is your right. You have a right to your life. Come, stand next to me, and follow my lead.”

Adahlee stood side-by-side with Vivienne. She took up a stance with her staff; Adahlee copied her, just being with Mir Thamadahl and its magic, finding a rhythm with it as they transitioned to the next stance.

“Know this: no one has permission to hurt you. Anyone who would act as though they do, deserves however you bite back.” Vivienne twirled her staff slowly around her, so that Adahlee could follow, but still ended the position with the head of it decisively pointed forward. Move with it. Adahlee faced where she pointed her staff. “And make them feel your teeth, my dear.”

Perhaps this, too, was self-respect. They went through another motion, flowing like the magic, to end with the sharp end of their staves angled in the air. An extension of the self. “Make them feel your teeth,” she agreed.

—

The main problem with the Storm Coast, Adahlee decided—darkspawn and cultists aside—is that it was simply too wet. The constant rain soaked everyone and everything to the bone, making it near impossible just to start a damn campfire. Adahlee, at least, got a practical magic lesson out of it; under Vivienne’s careful instruction, she learned how to conjure and control a flame hot enough to still burn through damp firewood. She’d trusted Adahlee to tend to it until dinner; I won’t let you down! Adahlee had promised brightly.

“Impressive,” Bull complimented from the side. “You’ve got good form, for a new mage.”

Adahlee tilted her head, curious. “You would know?”

“Fought a lot of Vints, in my time. Got me wise to how mages do their thing.”

“Oh. That makes sense. And thanks!” She added quickly, not wanting to seem rude. She gestured to the fire. “Wanna sit? I could use the company.”

“Sure, thanks.” Bull plonked down opposite to her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m alright. Just…” Adahlee made a face, and shook out her half-damp curls, gone frizzy in the moisture. “Soggy.”

Bull laughed at that, a rumbly sound that Adahlee could now say from experience sounded like a bear. “Yeah, no kidding. Darkspawn didn’t shake you up?”

Adahlee pursed her lips, considering. She had never seen darkspawn before, until arriving at the Coast. They reminded her a bit of some of her nightmares, all sickened deadness and teeth, and their unearthly screeches weren’t unlike those of demons. But she’d kept well back from them with Sera, and they still fell to Mir Thamadahl. “They’re scary,” she decided, “but… I don’t know. Demons are easier to face than people—I’m starting to think darkspawn are, too. Their blood worries me more than anything.”

“You’ve got more guts than most, then.”

She blinked. “You think?”

Bull offered her a wry, friendly smile. “You know anyone else who complained more about the rain after their first encounter with darkspawn?”

“I… I guess not.” She chuckled, a bit bashful. “Varric does tell me I should give myself more credit.”

“From what you’ve survived? Yeah, I’d agree with him.” Bull sat forward. “Listen—it’s my job to protect you out here, but that means more than just standing between you and darkspawn. World’s a fucking mess, and you’re young to be thrown in the middle of it. If you’re ever scared, lonely, hurt, whatever—if you need anything—I’ve got you, and so do my boys. So don’t be afraid to come to any one of us. Okay?”

Bull was honest; she could tell. A smile slowly spread across Adahlee’s face. “Okay. Thanks, Bull—I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” He relaxed again, leaning back on one hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem like the nervous sort. Didn’t think you’d take so well to having someone like me around.”

“Sorry,” Adahlee murmured shyly, glancing away.

“What are you apologizing for?”

There was a quiet pause. Adahlee glanced back up; by the look on Bull’s face, his question wasn’t rhetorical. He wasn’t demanding, either—just asking. And waiting patiently.

Adahlee thought on it. “For… being… nervous?” She said it like every word revealed the most nonsense train of thought she’d ever had. It was the only answer she could find, but it just made her more confused than anything.

Bull’s smile was kind. “No need to be sorry for that, right? You’ve just got feelings. So does everyone else.”

“... Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” She puffed out a sheepish laugh. “Anyway… what do you mean, ‘someone like you?’”

He counted on his fingers: “Giant, ax-wielding, likes hitting things…”

“But you’re on my side.” Adahlee smiled, and shrugged. “You’re scary to the right people, and nice to the right people, too. You care about your Chargers. You’re a forthright spy, which means you must be very good at your job—but you haven’t lied to me. You haven’t given me reason to be nervous.”

Bull offered her another wry smile. “You know I haven’t lied to you?”

“I can tell.” Adahlee playfully blew a raspberry at him. “And you know I know.”

Bull laughed again, and Adahlee giggled with him. The fire danced and sizzled around raindrops, casting wavering shadows over them both. “You’re observant.”

Adahlee was about to second guess him, but remembered what Varric said. “... I guess,” she relented. “So are you.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug, as if to say, yeah, it’s whatever. “You would make a good spy.”

She hummed, considering. “I think I would be too typical. Most people might expect someone like me—it would take some cleverness to expect someone like you.” She studied him from across the fire, and grinned. “And you play into that, huh?”

Bull made the rumbly bear chuckle. “You would make a really good spy.”

Adahlee breathed another breath of magic into the fire, helping it burn just so. She smiled into it. “I think I like where I am now. I’ve had quite enough of mind games, if I’ll be honest with you.” She turned the smile up to him. “And it’s your honesty that I like, too.”

He returned the smile. “Good thing I intended to stay honest, then.”

—

“Maker, look at it,” Blackwall breathed. He stared up at the Breach, and Adahlee found herself staring too, swinging her feet idly from where she sat atop a crate. The clanging of the smithy seemed to fade in the background, as she watched how the clouds gently swirled, and her mind wandered. Still as it was, and though it hung above them every day, Adahlee had to admit—the Breach was still a sight to behold.

“So much easier to ignore when it’s far away,” Blackwall murmured. Then, he looked to Adahlee. “And to actually walk out of it, to be that close…”

Adahlee briefly closed her eyes, remembering the taste of soot and the sting of scratches on her cheek. When she opened them again, Blackwall's brows were furrowed in concern.

She offered him a small, somewhat tired smile. “I didn’t know what was going on, in the moment. Just that I had to run,” she recalled softly. “I almost couldn’t believe what they told me when I woke up. If I hadn’t been saved by Inquisition soldiers, I don’t know what would've happened.”

“Inquisition soldiers?” Blackwall echoed. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

Adahlee couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Andraste?” She guessed.

Blackwall snorted at her reaction. “You don’t believe so?”

“There was a woman—or a light, a spirit, maybe—she guided me out of the Fade. But I don’t know who she was, and I doubt it was Andraste.” Adahlee made a look of distaste. “I don’t believe in the Maker, anyway. That’s partly why some elves have been calling me a different name.”

“What was it again?”

“Tisulan. The Healer. We have this concept in our cultures—tisun’olam, repair of the world. It’s a call to personal responsibility, to do our part as denizens of the world to make it better, whatever shape that may take. My old hahren said I’m healing the world in a very literal sense.” She laughed softly. “I heal the Veil.”

“I rather like that. And it’s certainly a more practical name, than slapping Andraste on it.” Blackwall chuckled.

Adahlee grinned. “You get it.”

Blackwall’s mustache twitched up, amused. Then he leaned against the stone fence, a far off look in his eyes. “In the end, titles are just titles; what people call you is secondary. It’s what you do, and how you do it, that’s important.”

“Exactly. That’s tisun’olam.” Hesitant but playful, she teased gently: “You’ve got your head on pretty right, for a human.”

Blackwall laughed genuinely at that. “I try to be—right, that is. At least I get it some of the time.” He smiled, almost rueful. Then, he looked more present again. “Just one question, then. How do you think you fit in with all this?”

Adahlee tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Blackwall seemed to mull over his words. “Well… you've been thrown into quite a situation,” he elaborated. “Where do you want to go, from your present place on? Any idea what you'll do with the cards you've been dealt?”

“You know, those are really good questions,” she murmured, miring over her answers. “I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I feel like everything has been about surviving, so far. Trying to figure all of this out. Not just the Breach, and my mark, but…” Adahlee trailed off. She shook her head, and swung her feet again, contemplative. “The future seems so uncertain. Though… I think I know what I'd like from it.”

“And what’s that?” Blackwall asked, curious.

Adahlee looked up at him with a smile so small, but soft. “I want to be happy. I want to be at peace. I want to help others find their peace, too. I choose to be in the Inquisition, because I think that’s how I can best do tisun’olam.”

The corners of Blackwall’s eyes crinkled as he returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Adahlee giggled. “And you’re here to do your part too, right?” She imitated his gruff voice: “Save the fucking world, if pressed?”

Blackwall laughed again, full and loud from his belly. “Maker, is that what I sound like?”

#dragon age #adahlee

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