#aili lavellan

[lillotte17]

I couldn't help it, yes, I let it get in The helpless optimism of spring Worn out and tired, and my heart near retired And the world bent double from weeping And yet, the birds begin to sing, ooh, oh

Daffodil Daffodil

#solavellan #Solas #Lavellan #dragon age #Aili Lavellan #Pride #Daffodil #someday I will return to this AU #I has been a weird year for writing anything tbh #but I love them #artwork #FYI this is inspired by my fic Daffodil #which is on AO3 #That tumblr will not let me link without blocking me from relevant tags #it's based on/inspired by Feynite's Looking Glass #With Permission

[scurvgirl]

A little early Christmas gift for my dear @lillotte17 <3 

Aili is @lillotte17, Uthvir is @feynites

Some amorphous modern AU, Rating: E

--

It made little to no sense, but there was such a thing as being too tired to sleep. A weird restlessness had invaded Aili’s body when all she very much wanted to do was sleep. Sleep here in her nice warm bed. Sleep curled up against her Vhenan. Sleep so soundly she perhaps would snore and/or drool - at this point, she just wanted to let herself blissfully slip into unconsciousness. And yet, she was awake. Endless work and worries had plagued her all week and they apparently seemed set on continuing to plague her into the night. 

Insomnia was not a problem she was used to dealing with herself. Uthvir was chronically sleep deprived and was known to be up at all hours - but even they seemed to be drifting into a sound slumber while she struggled to force herself to sleep.

It was. Not. Working. 

As carefully as possible to not disturb the usual insomniac, Aili shifted slowly away from Uthvir to make her way off the bed. Maybe if she tried the couch or let off some magic -

“You can’t sleep,” a sleep deepened voice said. Guilt flooded Aili as she turned to look at Uthvir, their face relaxed, eyes half open. 

“Don’t worry, go back to sleep,” she whispered as she attempted to scoot off the bed. 

“C’mere.” They were quick and pulled her back into bed. They shifted so that they were pressed against her, their lips pressing against the hollow under her ear. “I know a way to get you tired.” They sucked on her earlobe and she gasped. Well. If they’re not going to be sleeping, might as well. 

Uthvir’s hand moved from cupping her face to the strap of her nightgown, sliding off her shoulder and down her arm. Not content to let them do everything, Aili brought her hands up to the face and guided their mouth to hers for a deep, open mouth kiss. She made a soft noise of pleasure when they cupped her breast, fingers pinching her nipple to attention. 

They kissed her until the breath had left her lungs. Only then they moved down her body, kissing her neck, chest, sucking a nipple into their mouth. They sucked and laved until she writhed from the pleasure. They left her breast with obvious intent to mouth southward, but she reached down and guided them back to eye-level.

“I want you up here. Kiss me?” They did, long and filled with sleepy desire. Sex with Uthvir was always good, if intense with backs arching and mouths panting as they drove her pleasure higher and higher. This was different. They were slow and soft, not exactly methodical, but definitely purposeful as they caressed and kissed her. 

Uthvir slipped a hand under her nightgown and caressed her thighs, slowly dragging their nails up...up...before their fingers found her sex. 

She moaned their name into the name, earning a grin from them. Her legs fell open as they began to touch and sink into her. Their thumb circled and pressed as two fingers slowly pumped into her, making her moan and push against them. Her hands found their arms, holding on gently as they worked her higher and higher. In and out they pressed, their thumb drawing maddening circles.

“Please,” she whispered, not sure what she was asking for other than...more. They kissed her and increased speed and pressure of their hand. She mewled into their mouth, hands gripping harder, feeling the press of their fingers. It was like liquid fire coiling up from her sex into her belly, and she pressed against them. They added a third finger and it was enough to send her over the edge. She gasped, and clamped down on their hand, thrusting against them. 

Long, languid moments filled with kissing and gentle touches passed. Uthvir lifted their sex slicked fingers to their mouth and licked them clean. Drowsiness began to eek into the edges of her being but no, not yet. 

“Vhenan,” she said breathlessly, reaching for them. They knew, of course they knew. They slipped the waistband of their sweets below their hips, freeing their erection. Uthvir positioned themselves over her, the stiffness of their cock resting against her entrance. With a slow, measured thrust they entered her. The pace was slow and deliciously excruciating. They kissed throughout, eyes closed and feeling each other in all ways. Uthvir took one of her hands and lifted it above her head, extending her back just a little to allow them more leverage. They left her fingers laced with hers as they began to fuck in earnest. But...they left one of her hands free. Said hand found their exposed hip and gripped their ass, feeling it flex as they fucked. 

She approached her precipice in a slow, tidal wave of buildup before it crashed against her. A whine of aching pleasure left her as she squeezed her sheath ‘round their cock. 

“Fuck, Aili,” they crooned before quickly thrusting into her until they spilled their pleasure. 

Moments passed as they slowly regained their breaths. But they remained close to each other. And true to their word, Aili began to feel her body relax into the mattress and against them. 

“I love you,” she murmured before falling into a deep, restful slumber.

#aili x uthvir #sharp and shiny #aili lavellan #uthvir #i write things sometimes #have a christmas smut - you're overworked and i haven't been sleeping #also kinda wanna name this go the fuck to sleep #scurv writes #spicy #fic

[piarelle]

"The veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?" Melancholic scene featuring Solas and my elven Inquisitor Ailis. It's a very beautiful scene in-game but also very sad 😢💔🐺.

(Drew this almost a year ago, keep forgetting to post on Tumblr but here it is now.)

__________________________

Dragon Age  ©  BioWare, Artwork © Piarelle 2022. Produced on Clip Studio Paint.

Visit my LinkTree :)

#Illustration #fanart #Solavellan #Lavellan #Dragon Age Solas #Dragon Age #Ailis Lavellan #Piarelle #Piarelle Art #Clip Studio Paint #drawing #digital drawing #digital art #comic art #my art

[birdfrenchforbird]

(x)

@lillotte17 wrote something that made me cry so I turned part of it into a bit of a monologue and performed it

#lillotte17 #aili lavellan #sylaise's daughter au #dragon age #my voice #ANGST

[feynites]

in Sharkbait companions AU, who is Inquisitor? :)

I’ve left it open so far, since mostly I’ve just been speculating on how things would work with them present, and that would also have to take into account having a variable factor as the Inquisitor. Although I entertained myself a lot today imagining how different Inquisitors might act with them. 

#it was a lot of fun #like aili would probably romance uthvir but not thenvunin #but she'd be nice to thenvunin so they'd probably have a less tense relationship starting out than usual #and ana would probably befriend them both #olwyn would get along really well with thenvunin especially #and maibrit probably actually would too #and miriel would get another dalish to not feel so isolated from her culture around #and selene might end up in a hilarious romance with thenvunin #so many possibilities #also dick from the dickherald stuff would have such a time with both of them #that clueless asshole #ellana-lavellan-official

[buttsonthebeach]

Saltwater

FRIENDS, I love doing character studies. Like, so much. I was so thrilled when @lyrium-lovesong commissioned me to do one with Freya Lavellan mourning the loss of her clan, centered around the quote from Isak Dinesen: "The cure for anything is salt water — sweat, tears, or the sea."

Thank you for trusting me with Freya, @lyrium-lovesong <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots closed for now, but will reopen in June 2019)

Pairing: Freya Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford, but it is veryyy background

Rating: General, although the themes are somewhat heavy

**********************

Freya woke several weeks after she received the news that Clan Lavellan was slaughtered with a grief sitting so heavy on her chest that she could not breathe, and knew that she needed saltwater. It was an old saying she’d heard from the elders of her clan many times - that salt water would cure anything, whether it was sweat, tears, or the sea. She would take the sea if she could get it. But she was in her room in her high tower in the snowy mountains, and she was Inquisitor, and she hadn’t been able to leave to save her family and so she certainly wasn’t going to be able to leave to mourn them, and would the seaside where she’d grown up really ever feel like home again, anyway?

She’d already cried her share of tears. Every kind of tear that could be shed, really. She’d cried heavy, wracking sobs against the warm expanse of Cullen’s chest, his hands big and soothing and sure as they carded through her red curls (I’m so sorry, love, I’m here, I’m here). She’d cried alone, soft weeping tears. She’d cried so long that there were no more tears anymore, and she was dizzy with exhaustion, imaging the faces she would never see again - the cousins and aunts and uncles and friends and gods, her mother and her father and her little brothers - she would never see her mother’s face again or ask her whether she should treat this fever with willow bark or with ginger, and every time she thought of that the grief swelled like the waves she used to play in when she was young.

But today the kind of grief that came and sat at her bedside was not the kind she could purge with tears. She knew that already, even half awake. Grief had as many faces as the Orlesians had masks and she was coming to know them all. This was another new face. One that told her she needed to move, or it would swallow her whole, and there would be no coming back from it.

So she rose, scrubbed her face, pulled on her boots, and went out into the cold grey morning towards the garden.

It was fall, the air crisp and cutting, laced with a taste of the frost to come, and Freya breathed it in deep, until her lungs hurt. They hadn’t really stopped hurting over the past several weeks, though. That letter - that gods-forsaken letter - had kicked the wind out of her more surely than demons pouring from a rift ever had. Maybe she would never breathe right again. But she owed it to every single Lavellan she’d lost to try, and so she went towards the beds of plants and got on her knees and went to work.

They had six beds of plants in all, hailing from all corners of Thedas, and now that it was fall it was time to clear away the ones that had died. Skyhold had some strange kind of magic that protected it from most of the elements, but even that magic wasn’t absolute. The plants had lasted far longer than they should have already, but even they needed time to rest. To renew. Freya would help them with that.

She buried her hands into the rich dark earth and dug down for the roots of one withered stalk of elfroot and, with a heave of her shoulders, jerked it free. Roots, stem, and all. She tossed it onto the length of canvas she had set aside for such a purpose and then sat back on her heels and looked at it, and it looked like nothing so much as a corpse - its limb splayed, its neck broken, the loose soil spread around it like blood leaking from its arteries.

Her breath hitched. Leliana had sent Inquisition scouts to the site of the massacre, of course, but no information had come back yet. She imagined reading it as she pulled up more plants and tossed them aside. The scouts would not know the names of everyone in her clan. And maybe they wouldn’t be recognizable anyway. But she would have to read that report, to picture  all those bodies that she and her mother had worked together to patch up, to heal - Isene, the First, Freya’s best friend, her side gouged by the claws of a bear - her brother Sal, who had stupidly jumped from a tree into a river that they all knew was too shallow for such a dive and broken his collarbone, her other brother Aron who’d gotten in a fight at an Arlathvhen and broken his nose. Every body she read about could be any of them.

Every dead plant arrayed before her on the canvas could be one of them. One more person she had failed to save.

Freya’s breath did not hitch again. She did not cry. That still wasn’t the kind of grief that sat with her today. It was the kind that snapped at her heels and said faster, girl. I’m coming.

She went over to the next bed, dragging the canvas behind her. It was lighter than she expected. Dead plants didn’t weigh that much.

“Your Worship? Can I fetch you any of the gardening tools?” It was one of the young Chantry sisters she saw in the garden now and again. She looked apprehensive. Freya probably looked a sight with her hair sticking out at odd angles, her roughspun breeches and tunic, her arms covered in dirt.

“No, thank you,” Freya said. “I just want to work with my hands.”

“Very well.”

As she went through the second bed - spindleweed, this time, with the small pond they’d dug beside it for its moisture loving roots, spindleweed that was always grown in places where people were sick - Freya reflected that the Chantry sister belonged to the race and the faith of the people who had murdered her entire family. Perhaps she should be angry at her. Perhaps she should be angry at all of them. But she couldn’t make the thought connect with the deep wellspring in her gut, the place where all her truest feelings came from. It was not what any of her family would have wanted. It was not how they raised her. They were the last of the Elvhen, and they would never submit, but they would not hate others for their lives, their beliefs, anymore than they would want to be hated for theirs.

The spindleweed came up more easily than the elfroot did. The broad leaves still had a reddish hue. Freya ran her hands along them and felt how brittle they had become. But the stems were strong, and liquid seeped out when she snapped one in half. Perhaps they might still be used to make the healing mist that Dagna had recently learned to make into a grenade, if they doubled the concentration to account for the decreased potency. She did like the idea of the grenade, and if the forces mounted against them continued to grow stronger she might want to make it part of the standard kit for her party, and for scouts and soldiers besides. Perhaps they ought to make room for another bed of spindleweed on the other side of the pond. It was a fast growing plant, and they could plant it in early spring if they bedded it down with straw to help it survive any frosts…

Freya could feel her, then. Her mother, sitting beside her, talking the plan through. Well done, Freya. That will do nicely. Her mother would not see that spring. None of them would. Freya closed her eyes and breathed deep. She would see so many more springs than any of them would. The tiny spines on the spindleweed dug into her palms. She opened her eyes.

Faster, girl. I’m coming.

“Sister Ailis,” she called, trusting that the Chantry sister was still nearby. She was rewarded with the sound of quick footsteps.

“Your Worship?”

“Could you get me a shovel after all?”

Ailis fretted when she saw what Freya intended, offering to go and get some of the masons who had been at work on repairing the stone walls to do the help, but Freya declined. She rolled up her sleeves and rebraided her hair and she started digging, scattering the dirt left and right, praying as she went.

Forgive me. Forgive me Isene, Mamae, Baba, Sal, Aron. Forgive me. Falon’Din, Mythal, guide them to their rest. I will see you again someday.

Some tears bit at her eyes as she went, but as the sun came up and the autumn mist cleared, it was sweat that covered her cheeks, and not the tears. It was a cool day - she felt that every time the breeze picked up - but she worked herself into a sweat turning over the earth, aerating it. She did not measure the bed or consider who else was watching or stop to think about whether or not she had any morning meetings. She just dug until she hit clay, and rock, and couldn’t dig any more, and then she surveyed what she had done.

She’d dug a grave.

She would not get to dig graves for everyone she had lost. She would not get to plant their trees. She would see the Emerald Graves and those long-lost elven souls before she saw the final resting place of her whole clan. And just like that she was hollow again, spinning with the absoluteness of it. All of them. All of them. Gone.

She reached for the dead elfroot and started shredding it, and mixing it with the clumps of soil she had dug up

“Ailis,” she called, her voice a little strained now. “Can you go to the kitchen and ask for their scraps? The ones we use for compost?”

“At once, Your Worship.”

“You can just call me Freya.”

None of them would ever say her name again.

The wooden compost bucket Ailis returned with reeked of death and rot and it made Freya’s stomach turn. She hoped the scouts would not write about the smell when they returned. She hoped they would be clinical. And then she hated herself for wanting that.

“Your - Freya, do you want gloves?”

“No,” Freya said, taking out a clump, mixing it with the soil and the dead elfroot.

She should have thought ahead enough to ask for a second bucket, a place to mix everything, but she went ahead and did it in the new space she had dug, mixing the fresh turned soil with the dead plants and the rotting food, ignoring the slither of worms across her fingers, knowing that that was all part of the process.

It all was. It happened every year, all over Thedas. She knew the rhythm of the seasons as well as she knew her own heartbeat, or how to use her daggers, or how to tie off an artery that would not stop spewing blood or cure a pregnant woman’s morning sickness. Summer crested and the world was ripe and full with life and then autumn came with its slow, cold fingers and choked that life away, and then winter came and the earth was hard and the sky was all one grey slate and everyone drew closer to one another, to the fire, and waited. And spring always came the same, however long the winter was, however uncertain those first few days of it were, however many times late frosts killed the flowers.

Her hair was slipping free of its braid and sticking to the sweat on her forehead, and her lips tasted of salt, but it was done. The old plants were laid to rest. They would enrich the soil, and when spring came, she would plant more spindleweed. More things that healed. It was what happened. It was what always happened. The cycle no one could control or avoid.

Freya took a deep breath, and this time her lungs filled all the way. She did it again, and again. The sweat was cooling on her skin now. Cullen would chide her if he was here, offer to wrap his cloak around her. Varric would fuss over her like a mother hen, tell her she would catch her death of cold. Sera would probably offer her cookies again. Nothing - no one - would replace what she had lost. The plants she had just buried would never grow again. But they would give rise to new life, just as her parents - her clan - had given her life.

Freya Lavellan would go on, season after season, sowing that new life wherever she went.

#beach does commissions #beach writes #freya lavellan #lyrium-lovesong #thank yoouuu i so enjoyed writing this one #getting to go introspective on such a tough topic

[spitesurvives]

“rip to everyone at the conclave but im different”  — ailis lavellan, 9:41

#❛ ooc. → that's so sad maryden play despacito. #is this not the whole prologue #❛ quotes → well shit. #hey y'all im alive!! ready 2 stir up shit w my elf baby

[lillotte17]

WIP of an armor design from the Sylaise’s Daughter AU because it’s Missing Her hours.

#Aili Lavellan #Lavellan #WIP #artwork #sylaise’s daughter au

[scurvgirl]

The Dragon and the Castle

Fairy Tale AU!

Previous | Masterpost

I am super excited (nervous) about this one!

Selene and Des belong to @selenelavellan

Ana belongs to @lycheemilkart

Vena, Dirthamen, Andruil, and Uthvir belong to @feynites

Anaris belongs to @justanartsysideblog

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

“I hate this plan,” Selene says, frowning deeply at everyone.

“It’s for the best, we can’t both be on the field,” Des argues. He’s right, it’s too dangerous for them to be the battlefield at the same time, it’s why this plan was proposed in the first place. If one of them were to be killed or incapacitated, it has a high chance of doing the same to the other.

The scowl does not lessen, however.

“Des is better at illusions and we will need a massive one to distract all of the soldiers in the castle,” Adannar says softly. It feels bad to tell her this, even though it is true. Selene can create illusions, but her gifts lie in quick battle strikes and healing. In an actual battle, she would be the better choice, but this is a mock battle. Des will be creating a horde of attacking mercenaries with the added strength of the fairy dust Vitality gifted him. They need a show and that is what Des does.

“I like this plan,” Dirthamen says, “it keeps you safe.” She gives him a long adoring look before shaking her head.

“It puts those I love in jeopardy and they expect me to sit back -

“We expect you to keep the home base safe!” Des scoffs. He gestures to Dirthamen. “Falon’din could come looking for his brother at any point.”

Selene crosses her arms, clearly not liking Des’s reasoning. Adannar understands, he wouldn’t want to sit back either, but the risk is too high. Any number of things could go wrong. While he wants as much firepower as possible to go get Serahlin, they all need to be practical - sending everyone in just risks more than what they could potentially achieve. Selene is a terrifying opponent on the battlefield, and he has no doubt that she will return to it one day, but today is not that day.

It takes a bit more convincing, but Selene eventually, grudgingly, accepts that she needs to remain at the Tower. Dirthamen is pleased and even moves to hold her hand.

After they convince Selene to remain with Dirthamen and the ravens, they return to hashing out the details of the assault. The plan is fairly simple, but there are plenty of places where things could go awry.

“Ana will create a thorny vine barrier around the perimeter of the castle,” Vena clarifies, drawing a finger around the castle diagram they have on the table. She nods then frowns.

“That is a lot...it will take some time,” she murmurs, and by the look on her face, ‘some time’ may be more significant than what it suggests.

“What if you took one of the fairy dust pouches? I doubt Des needs both for weaving his illusion,” Adannar points out.

“That would certainly make things easier,” Ana says. Des tosses her one of the pouches, then clearly ties the other one tighter to his belt.

“Des will create an illusion of attacking mercenaries, no banners, to draw the castle soldiers out into the open. They will have to be very convincing, Des,” Vena points to a spot close to the vine barrier that is directly in front of the castle’s main gate. He drags his fingers to demonstrate the “assault” Des will lead.

“Once the soldiers are drawn out, Ana will close off their return with another vine wall. How long would it take to make one that would span...just under two hundred yards?”

“Ten minutes. Des will need to keep them engaged for that long.”

Everyone frowns at that. An illusion is great and all, but it’s hard to keep an entire force of soldiers occupied once they realize their attacking force is well, not real.

“What if I corralled them with fire? I wouldn’t need the dust, fire is second nature to me,” Des offers, drawing his own finger across the diagram. Smoke rises up as he singes the papers.

Vena shrugs, “However it gets done. Who is sabotaging the ranged weapons?”

“I am,” Anaris says, rubbing the heel of his boot where the trebuchets and whatever other ranged weapons the elves have conceived.

“Good. The drain to get into the castle is over here,” he points to a spot on the opposite end of the castle from the gate, “there is a small brook we will need to cross. If we can’t escape through the drain, Adannar will need to fly us out from the courtyard here.” There are technically two courtyards, but the one in question is the larger of the two and is central to the entire keep. There is enough room in this secondary courtyard that Adannar will be able to unfurl his wings and fly into the sky. At least, that’s what Vena believes. Adannar is holding onto that hope. If there isn’t enough room...he could always jump the courtyard walls and take off from there.

“Do we have any idea where Serahlin is being kept?” Des asks.

“Aren’t prisoners held in dungeons?” That’s what Adannar’s always thought. It’s what the elves have always mentioned when they’ve worried about being taken captive. Of course that was hundreds of years ago. Judging by Vena’s grim expression, Adannar isn’t correct.

“Not always,” is all Vena says, however.

“I could cast a tracking spell. But I will need something of Serahlin’s to complete it,” Anaris offers.

“I can pick something up from the cottage she stayed in,” Adannar replies, ignoring the way his heart clenches at the idea of returning to the cottage. It’s only been a couple of weeks since she ran from him and yet their time together seems so far. He longs for her now, but he holds no illusions that she will return that affection.

They nail down a few more details before agreeing to move forward with the plan. Adannar leaves to fetch an item of Serahlin’s for the spell. When he returns hours later, Vena has passed out in a bed with his head in Ana’s lap. She’s stroking his hair and humming an old dryad folk tune and every so often, Vena’s ear twitches, making Ana smile.

Selene and Des are also asleep, twined around each other in a cute sleepy dragon pile. He rumbles happily before lying down next to them.

Tomorrow, he will rescue Serahlin, perhaps just for her to leave him again. But for now, he can sleep and enjoy the comfort of his friends.

**

The illusion of mercenaries begins with Adannar rolling in very real fog to blanket the countryside. Visibility is reduced until he feels like it is safe to begin the trek to Tavathan. Neither him nor Des take their true forms to assail the tower, but rather remain in their elven shapes. Anaris remains perched on Adannar’s shoulder, reserving his energy for facing any issues they may face once they make it into the keep.

Adannar, Des, and Vena all sit upon constructed metal stags, with Anaris perched on Adannar’s shoulder. The stags are large beasts, once crafted to help carry the naturally bipedal magical creatures during the resistance. They have been in the forest, wandering as they please, only returning when Adannar beckoned them home for maintenance. In the time they have been away, their metal has changed from shining coppers and brass to soft green and dark hues.  Hanging moss drips down from their antlers. Unlike Huirin and the other smaller deer, these creatures are silent as they move save for the plod of their hooves.

He imagines it’s quite the eerie sight to see three men riding on these large harts through an imposing fog that one seems to be commanding. But it also feels amazing to be using his magic again like this. After hiding for so long, Adannar has grown accustomed to feeling stifled and unable to flex any of his magic - and now here he is, able to roll the fog in still at his command.

Vena wipes at his forehead, “Didn’t realize fog could be hot.”

“It is when the fog is being cast by a dragon who breathes steam,” Des clarifies. Adannar’s a bit preoccupied focusing on keeping the fog dense to explain himself. “See, normal fog is just a cloud on the ground, but Adannar is heating the hair and commanding the water to coalesce with said hot air. This fog is kept together by magical steam. Feels lovely.”

“You’re a dragon, you breathe fire, this is...hard to breathe,” Vena says, breath clearly laboring. Adannar turns his gaze towards the man and waves a hand, allowing a pocket to form around Vena so he can breathe.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Adannar nods, still too focused to speak.

It is a slow crawl through the countryside of Tavathan. The sun is hanging low in the sky when they reach the village. They stop since Des must go complete his task for Vitality before using the powder. There will likely not be time afterwards to complete the task since they will be on the run from Andruil and her lackeys. The dragon turned elf hops off his hart and shrinks into the form of a fluffy cat before disappearing into the fog.

Twenty minutes later, Des returns looking no worse for wear. There is a peculiar look on his face as he retakes his elven form and mounts his hart once more.

“Anything of note?” Vena asks and Des shakes his head.

“Even if there was, I cannot say.” Another fairy promise then. Very well, Adannar can accept that though he does not know if the elf is so capable. This world of the forest and its creatures is still so new to him.

“Time to rescue the princess, hmm?” Des asks.

Finally, Adannar thinks before urging his hart forward.

Tavathan is a large settlement geographically, but population wise it’s sparse. The village is sprawling due to the sheep fields and the hills that seem to belong to specific families. On the far eastern side, sitting atop several hills is a gigantic keep. There is a tower that rises above everything and on a cloudy day, the tip of the spire is shrouded by the clouds. Not as tall as the Glass Tower, but certainly impressive if no magic was used in its construction.

A brook separate the heart of the town and the keep. They cross it easily and Adannar commands the fog to creep into the castle’s grounds.

“Very good. Is Ana finished setting up that barrier?” Des asks referring to how Ana is tasked with creating a barrier of bramble thorns around the keep.

“I do not know, I do not see the brambles yet,” Vena says.

“I will check,” Adannar whispers, finally able to detach himself from the fog enough to tilt his head to the side to listen. Ana took a small mechanical blue bird with her that is temporarily mystically connected to him. It chirps that she still needs time just as he feels the earth begin to rumble.

The normally quiet harts make a whir of concern then move forward. The ground erupts behind them, tall vines reach toward the sky then curl down, sealing them all in the trap.

“Well, that certainly makes things complicated,” Des says. Once more, Adannar lifts his finger and connects to the bird.

Tell her to open it for a minute where we are. He asks. A moment later, the brambles part, allowing Des to slip out.

“Wonderful. I’m off, boys. One hundred distracting, assailing mercenaries coming right up.” He rides off into the fog, his hart once more silent.

Adannar tries to remain confident as he watches Des go, but it is difficult. Somewhere in this castle is Serahlin, but it also houses Andruil. He is not as powerful in combat as many of the dragons she has slain - what hope does he have if he is forced to face her? If he had any hope of defeating her, he would have to turn to strong magicks and vicious fighting styles that would make him appear as bestial as Serahlin fears he is. How could he to convince her to leave then? He pushes it from his mind and concentrates at the task at hand. These are hypothetical fears, giving them substance will only harm everyone.

“Anaris, please go sabotage any of the large long-range siege weapons,” he requests. The fairy salutes then disappears with a flit of magic. Vena stares at the spot where Anaris was standing and tries not to look overwhelmed.

“Magic can be a bit much for those unaccustomed,” Adannar says.

“Uh-huh, that’s one way of putting it. Can your birdie sense if Ana is doing alright?”

Adannar tilts his head again and listens, “She seems fine. A little tired from the magical expenditure, but fine. You seem fond of her.”

Vena shrugs, “She saved my life, I think that would instill fondness in anyone.” Adannar hopes Vena is right and perhaps Serahlin still holds some fondness for him inside her heart. He knows her trust is gone, but he hopes for fondness.

“I hear Princess Serahlin is quite beautiful,” Vena says after a long moment. Adannar nods and finds himself smiling wistfully.

“Beautiful is too common a description for her. She is radiant, lovelier beyond words,” he says, recalling her ink black hair, her soft pink eyes, the softness of her skin...

“There was a rumor that Princess Serahlin declined a hundred proposals before agreeing to marry Dirthamen.” The comment makes Adannar frown. He is not one for gossip, particularly the sort having to do with Serahlin. He rather doubts the authenticity of such rumors, especially if they were espoused at court. He may be a forest dwelling dragon, but he knows enough to know that there are more lies than truths murmured at court, more betrayals than friendships. It hurts his heart to think of Serahlin growing up in that environment. He knows it’s the reason for the walls around her heart, her natural guardedness. But even with growing up in such a place, she is kind and capable of such softness and love.

“I hope she never has to subject herself to court again,” Adannar says in a grave tone.

“From what I hear, Princess Serahlin was lauded at court. But can’t blame her for no wanting anything to do with it.” Vena shrugs but Adannar can’t shake the discomfort at the idea. Serahlin at court, excelling at the various machinations and plots. It’s not what he knows of her, but then again, she didn’t know a lot about him either.

They have much to discuss when this is all done.

Anaris reappears on Adannar’s shoulder, smelling of smoke.

“It is done. The lines in the trebuchets are snapped and Des is beginning to weave his illusion,” the fairy reports.

“Good, we wait for the signal then,” Adannar replies, shaking off the more negative emotions from his talk with Vena.

“What signal is that?” Asks the elf.

At once, shouts and cries of dismay echo from the castle. Anaris grins and Adannar feels a sick trepidation beat with his heart. May I not have to kill anyone today.

“That signal, of course!” Anaris claps. Adannar tries not to sigh as he dismounts the hart. Vena follows suit as they begin their approach.

With the guards suitably distracted by Des’s illusion of assaulting mercenaries and Ana’s vine magic, the trio will be able to slip in, assume the identity of guards themselves, and then ferry Serahlin out. They have two, maybe three, hours to get in, find her, and get her out before alerting anyone.

Adannar has never been one for stealth, but now is a good a time as any to be silent.

Only minutes later do they come upon the drain Vena spoke of. It is large and circular, but there is an equally large metal grate guarding it from any would-be trespassers.

“You said it was unguarded, but I suppose that did not include a metal grate,” Adannar comments.

“You’re a dragon, can’t you just...yank it off?” Vena asks.

“It’s not that simple,” Adannar whispers, “I will have to semi-shift myself to harness the strength to do this. Stand back.” Anaris hops off his shoulder and onto Vena’s instead while Adannar grasps the grate and allows his true form to bleed through his current one.

It is not a comfortable process. In between states feel stuffy, all at once too big and too small, his limbs are not the correct size and his mind is simply screaming to just pick a size and stick with it. But his dragon form is too big and too conspicuous while his elven form is not capable of the strength necessary to pull the grate free. Skin turns into scales and nail lengthen into claws as he wraps his hands around the grate. He can feel his skull pound with magic as his horns extend back from his forehead. His back ripples and he wonders if his wings will make an unwelcome appearance.

Thankfully, his wings remained furled, keeping his robe in tact. His breeches are not so lucky as his tail rips through the back and falls heavily to the floor. Quickly, Adannar yanks on the grate, pulling it free from the stonework. As soon as he sees they are free to proceed, Adannar starts stuffing his true form back under his elven shape. He shudders and feels his draconic features recede until he looks just as elven as Vena.

“Let’s go,” Adannar says, or at least he means to say, it comes out more of a growl than anything. He clears his throat to make the dragon-y voice clear up.

“Let’s go,” he reiterates.

“That was incredible,” Vena states, still staring at Adannar.

“Thank you, Selene is better at it. You’ll see her with horns or scales, even a tail, while in an elven body - but it’s always felt...difficult for me.” He shrugs, the magic works in different ways for different dragons. His talent has never been in shifting his shape but rather creating his creatures. Selene is better at commanding her shape, but the best shape-shifting dragon Adannar had met was a former spirit of Mischief. They were a smaller dragon, not that much bigger than a moose, but they could shift into anything that had a heartbeat. Word of their talent reached Mythal and she had Falon’din hunt and kill them. When Glory saw the myriad of iridescent scales adorning Falon’din’s armor on the battlefield, they flew into a rage.

Now is not the time, he reminds himself as he climbs into the drain -

“Sweet mercy!” He cries, hand slapping over his face. The smell.

“You brought us into a sewer drain?” Anaris drawls.

“As opposed to a nice unguarded entry point that doesn’t exist?” Vena snorts then winces as he draws more of the foul stench into his nostrils.

Even with the stench, it’s a good access point, and with Adannar’s connection to water, he’s able to keep the disgusting sewage away from them as they make their way through the drain. So much for hoping Serahlin would hug him when she sees him, he’ll stink too badly for that.

The drain is thankfully large enough that Vena and Adannar only have to bend at the hip to walk through. It’s far from comfortable, but it’s better than having to crawl. It’s the little things, really. They move through the sewer system for twenty minutes before they find an exit point.

“I’ll check,” Anaris volunteers. Adannar would argue but Anaris’s small size makes him the ideal one to scout ahead to make sure they’re safe. He leaps up the drain past the grate into whatever is above.

“We’re in the castle proper, I think,” Vena whispers, “probably near the kitchens, maybe the washroom.” Adannar sniffs the air. It doesn’t smell like food, but then again, he can hardly smell anything over the stench of the sewage.

A few minutes later, Anaris hops back down.

“Washroom up there, there are a couple of guards posted not far from it. They’ll make good marks.”

“Is there any way to remove the grate without having to yank it?” Adannar murmurs. Anaris reaches up and waves a hand over it.

“Yes, I will remove it.” with some fine tuned quick telekinesis, the grate pops open.

“Why didn’t we do that before?” Vena asks.

“That grate was fused shut - this one is designed to be able to open,” Anaris answers as they begin to climb up. Adannar tries not to think about what his hand is touching as he hoists himself up out of the drain and into the washroom. It’s a spacious room, filled with large basins and racks. It is open to a small courtyard that are filled with clotheslines, sheets and things waving with the wind.

Vena grunts as he heaves himself out of the sewer, nose wrinkled in disgust at the stench still permeating the room. They replace the grate once he’s out, then set to stalking the nearby guards. Anaris directs them out of the washroom and down the hall to the left. Around the corner is a door with two guards at the ready. Their weapons are drawn and Adannar wonders why they are here guarding a door while the rest of the castle is in a tizzy over the “attack.”

Adannar can hear the bustling soldiers running throughout the castle, their heavy footfalls surprisingly quick as they run out to the front to fortify the keep.

“I’ll put them to sleep but then you must be quick to get them, people are coming,” Anaris whispers before darting off. When the guards collapse, Vena and Adannar rush ahead and drag their bodies back to the washroom. They’re quickly stripped them locked into a closet full of cleaning supplies. Someone will hear them after this is all over and let them out. But for now, the risk is too great that they will wake and alert everyone to Adannar and Vena’s presence.

Swiftly, they don the uniform over their light underclothes. They came dressed for this, not wearing heavy over-clothes, the only exception being Adannar’s robe. With a quick murmured spell, the robe disappears back to his lair. It’s been spelled with him for so long, it doesn’t take much to command where it ought to be now.

Vena was right though, they are good sizes for guard uniforms. With the helmets on, no one can tell the truth. Now, to find the princess.

**

“What are you doing?! Unhand me!” Serahlin shouts, shoving a guard off of her. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but the castle is suddenly full of activity. Three guards came down to the dungeon and are now wrenching her from the dungeon. Ordinarily, she would love to leave such a horrid place. But Uthvir is here, and she is loathe to leave them, especially since Aili clearly won’t be able to escape from her room now.

“Castle’s under attack. Princess ordered us to get you to a more secure location,” the guard says before seizing her again. She tries to fight him but he hoists her up and carrie sher up the stairs. She could use her telekinesis on him, but it would spend precious energy. After working for days to build up her strength, she’s found she can’t keep it up indefinitely. Her power will feel weak and drained if she works it too much. And if the castle is under attack...she may just need it in a more dire situation.

Serahlin lets the guard carry her out of the dungeon. He sets her on her feet and this time she follows willingly. She doesn’t fancy being another prisoner to whoever is attacking the castle. But she has to wonder if this assailant is an ally or would be preferable company to the Princesses Andruil and Sylaise.

They are rushing by a long set of stairs when another cadre of guards rush down them. A short figure with long glowing hair is shrouded behind them. Aili! They must be moving her to this secure location as well! The guards merge into one group with Serahlin and Aili in the middle. They take each other’s hands as they run together. They are ushered down a long hallway and then into a room with a large tapestry. One of the guards pulls the tapestry to the side to reveal a peculiar looking metal door. It’s taller and narrower than the other doors, and even in the dark, it seems to radiate light. Markings are carved in circular patterns all over the door that begin to glow when a guard pulls it open.

Aili and Serahlin are unceremoniously shoved into the room. No guards enter with them.

“What is this?!” Serahlin demands. She can feel the glow in her eyes intensify as she glares at the guards.

“A room to keep you safe.” It is all he says before he shuts the door, leaving Aili and Serahlin alone. Under normal circumstances, Serahlin would be fascinated by the door and this room. It’s a beautiful, filled with plush furniture and tapestries. But today is no ordinary day.

“Who could be attacking?” Serahlin asks as she presses up against the door.

“I saw a large force from my tower - no banner. I heard a guard shout something about mercenaries,” Aili whispers. Mercenaries? Hm. Of all the people Serahlin had worried about, mercenaries were not one of them. They could be after her, but that is only if her mother had discovered her location. Since Andruil seems rather invested in keeping Serahlin around for her own gain, she doesn’t think her or any of her staff informed one of Serahlin’s mother’s allies of Serahlin’s location. Not to mention she has only been her a few days - that is hardly enough time to get word all the way to Eletharan.

That means the mercenaries are here for some other reason, and what are two things all mercenaries have in common? A love for gold and fear for things they cannot kill.

“Our situation has changed, lady Aili,” Serahlin says, hardly able to keep her grin to herself, “we’re escaping this place, today.”

Aili’s eyes widen but it quickly gives way to a steely determination, “We’re not leaving Uthvir.”

“Oh no, they’re going to help us. What mercenary would brave a dragon?” Serahlin quips making Aili grin mischievously. Serahlin backs away from the door and takes a deep breath. Calming herself before using her telekinesis is critical for there to be any success. She extends her hand and focuses on the act of the door opening.

A loud CLANG! Explodes from the door sending Serahlin flying across the room. She screams as her body is flung onto a couch. Fiery pain lances its way through her body, radiating from spine and down.

“Serahlin!” Aili cries.

Serahlin coughs and curls on herself. Before she knows what’s happening, something heavy is flung over her. When Aili begins to sing, Serahlin realizes what’s happening. Warmth and relief sinks into from Aili’s hair and soon she is sitting back up, moving the long hair off of her.

Serahlin rights her clothing and tries to keep the faith. The door is magically warded against anything opening it. They’ll just need to figure out something else.

Aili doesn’t seem as calm, however. She begins to pace, tugging at her hair. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of being stuck in this stupid place! Why does my power have to be healing things?! You can move stuff with your mind and what do I get? Silly, glowing hair!”

“Aili, healing is a wonderful gift,” Serahlin argues but the princess is having none of it. She shakes her head, immense frustration and anger rising within her like an unstoppable wave.

“All it’s done is get me imprisoned. I can’t fight. I can’t do anything! I’m tired of sitting back while my friends get hurt!” Aili throws her hands down in a gesture of frustration, but in that movement, an inexplicable spark flies from her hands.

And promptly takes root in one of the tapestries on the wall. Aili gasps, eyes wide as the golden flame begins to grow and consume the fabric.

“Fire!” She exclaims, leaping from her seat with a pillow. She pats the fire and the fire dissipates, but the tapestry comes crashing down.

“I did that?” Aili whispers in equal measures amazement and horror.

“Congratulations, you are not quite as helpless as you thought - wait is that a door?” Serahlin was still making sure the fire is out when a dark spot on the newly revealed wall caught her eyes. She looks up and sure enough, there is a door - smaller and less fancy than the magical one they entered from, but a door still.

“Can we get that one open?” Aili asks but Serahlin is already working on it. Focusing herself once more, she gathers her power inside of her, picturing the door opening. The wood heaves then stops, remaining closed.

“It’s locked - maybe if you unlock it, we can get it open.”

“I don’t know how locking mechanisms work…” but there are hinges she can see. She imagines the screws in the hinges rising and falling out. The door groans and leans awkwardly as its support is taken away. With the hinges out of the way, Serahlin imagines the door bending itself until it snaps open. Wood cracks and snaps until there is an opening large enough for them to crawl through.

“Let’s go,” Serahlin declares before stepping over the broken door and into a dark lit hallway.

“I had no idea I could do that,” Aili whispers, giddy but nervous.

“It makes sense, my telekinesis was activated by fear - your fire was activated by frustration and anger.” Serahlin shrugs as they creep down the dark, narrow hall. It turns at odd angles and after the second or third turn, Serahlin realizes they’re curving around rooms. How interesting.

“We’re going to break Uthvir out of the dungeon and then we’ll get far, far from this place,” Aili declares with resounding determination.

“I know a place we can go,” Serahlin says softly. She hopes said place will still welcome her, or specifically, the person who resides there. Adannar surely would accept Uthvir and Aili at least, they haven’t wronged him like Serahlin has.

Once more she kicks herself internally for running away so soon. She didn’t hear him out. Yes, he explained himself, but she didn’t listen. For her entire life, she believed what was said about the dragons. That they’re greedy monsters who kill indiscriminately and it is only thanks to the dragon hunters that elven society still stands. Now she realizes how blind she was. Adannar was kinder to her than most elves have ever been. He made her feel things she never thought she could feel. And how did she repay his kindness and love? By calling him a liar when all he was doing was protecting himself from someone who could cause him irreparable harm then running away.

After escaping this place, Serahlin wants more than anything to apologize to him. She wants to hold his face and kiss him and tell him how wrong she was about his kind. How wrong she was about him.

Serahlin starts feeling along the walls for doors or windows. They find stairs first and quickly descend those. Finally, at the bottom of the stairs is a door. It too is locked, but Serahlin handles it the same way she did with the other door.

They step through the doorway into the castle proper. “Finally,” she whispers, taking Aili’s hand once more, “which way?”

Aili points to the right, “I think the dungeon is that way.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.” How they’re going to bust Uthvir out, Serahlin doesn’t know, but she figures that Andruil had to get Uthvir into the dungeon somehow and she rather doubts they willingly turned into an elf then walked into the cell. There has to be a gate or something that opens up to the surface. If they get that open, they can get Uthvir out and leave while the soldiers are preoccupied with the mercenaries. No one expects a dragon to randomly fly out from under you.

“Have you ever seen something that looks like a gate but in the ground? Probably in the courtyard, maybe even from the dungeon side?” Serahlin asks.

Aili nods, “Yes, but it hasn’t been used in hundreds of years, not since...you know.”

“That’s fine, I’ll blast it open and Uthvir will fly us out,” she whispers, lest a nearby soldier hears her.

“What?” Aili whispers back, “Uthvir can’t fly.”

Serahlin stops and turns to frown at Aili, “What do you mean, Uthvir can’t fly?” Dragons fly, that’s what they do. And she knows Uthvir has wings, so - oh. Oh no.

The rage in Aili’s face confirms Serahlin’s thoughts, “It was one of the first things Andruil did. She wanted them to know there was no escape. I do as much as I can to heal them, but it just helps with the pain.” Her fists clench and Serahlin knows that she is fighting that wave of feeling useless again. Quickly, Serahlin cups Aili’s face.

“This is a hitch, one we will overcome. A downed dragon is still a formidable opponent. They can run, or they can shift and we can steal horses and run away. We will figure this out, we will escape.” The fury cools in Aili’s eyes and she takes a steadying breath. Good, they don’t need another accidental fire.

“The chains. We need to figure out a way past the chains -

Serahlin is about to propose finding the guard who holds the keys when she sees a tiny…person? He’s perched on a slight outcrop of stone wearing a devious smile. But his eyes are those of a cat and the two tails swishing behind him only confirm the strangeness of his appearance.

She swallows back a scream but cannot stop her eyes widening into saucers and pointing wordlessly.

“Wha-AH!” Aili starts to screech and Serahlin is quick to slap her hand over her mouth.

“Excuse me, but who, what, are you?” Serahlin does her best to keep her voice from wavering, but there is a tremble at the end that doesn’t quite sell it, so she raises her chin and turns on her imposing regal expression. The...person’s grin just widens.

“Hello, Princess. My name is Anaris and I am what your people call a fairy.”

“A -ai-y?” Aili asks throw Serahlin’s hand, incredulous. Serahlin can’t say she doesn’t share Aili’s sentiment. A fairy? Really? In this place?

“Yes. And I bring you a gift. Now stay right here.” And just like that, the fairy vanishes. Into thin air! Leaving Serahlin and Aili stunned into silence in a small alcove in the hallway.

**

“I found her! Down the hall there, keep to the left,” Anaris says, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder. A thrill runs through Adannar. She’s found! He runs down the hall Anaris indicated, needing to confirm with his own eyes that she is alright.

He keeps to the left, Anaris murmurs she’s in an alcove, he turns -

Serahlin.

She is as beautiful as the day she ran. Her hair is pulled up into a bun that is slowly coming undone and her dress is low and revealing in the Elvhenan style rather than her Elethari dress.

Her expression hardens and she steps in front of the elven woman she had been holding onto, “Step back! I won’t warn you again!” She hisses.

Oh right! He yanks his helmet off, golden hair slipping down his back and around his face. Serahlin stops, a wondrous expression replacing all hostility.

“Adannar?” She whispers in shock.

He cannot hold back the loving smile he has for her. He had been so worried and here she is, relatively unharmed.

“I’m here to get you out,” he says quickly because if he doesn’t say anything he fears he’ll take her into his arms and kiss her. And he cannot kiss her, that time has passed for them.

She chuckles low in her throat, “You’re behind the attack?”

“Actually my friend is, I hear you met him. Des? And it’s not real, just an illusion. But we have to get moving now.” He takes her hand and once more he resists the temptation to pull her into a hug.

“Not to interrupt - but what is going on?” The elven woman asks and Serahlin turns to her, still beaming as joyous relief flows through her.

“Aili, this is Adannar. Adannar, this is Aili - she is Sylaise’s adopted daughter slash captive. She’s coming with us.” Aili, she’s small and cute, but the magic inside of her is barely held back flame, curling within her. It shows in her hair. Something about it is so familiar but he can’t think about that now.

“Very well. She can come as long as we leave now.” He takes Serahlin’s hand again attempting to guide her back to the drain when Aili grows visibly upset.

“We can’t leave without Uthvir! Serahlin, remember? Uthvir, trapped down there? If we leave, they will have no one! I’m not leaving without them!” For such a small woman, Aili stands firm in place. Adannar’s heart goes out to her but -

“Adannar, she’s right. Uthvir’s a dragon, we can’t just leave them here,” Serahlin says and his attention quickly snaps to that.

“A dragon?” He asks, tone turning grave. A dragon is being held captive here? How - nevermind, he doesn’t want to know how this dragon was captured or...kept. The thought is so horrifying to him that it’s best not to dwell.

Serahlin nods slowly, “I wouldn’t believe it myself, but I met them when Andruil threw me in with them to scare me. Their magic is being kept suppressed. They’re chained in the dungeon. We can’t leave them here.”

Uncommon fury blasts through Adannar and he feels his eyes flash to their natural state. Aili gasps.

“You’re...you’re one too?” She breathes.

“Yes. Anaris -

“Ah, this was not part of the original agreement,” the fairy replies. Some part of Adannar, the primitive, draconic part that holds flesh memories and instincts wants to bite him. For a fairy, that would be fatal and would defeat his purpose. He takes a long steadying breath.

“For each person you help me rescue you may have one piece from my hoard with the previous aforementioned conditions. Deal?” He offers.

“No. It will apply to Aili, but this Uthvir...rescuing a dragon is no small task.” Do not kill him, do not.

Adannar grinds his teeth, “Then what do you want?”

“I want something built,” he answers immediately, likely sensing the razor edge Adannar is teetering on. He is not a violent dragon, he abhors violence, but there are few things that enrage him like the abuse and subjugation of his fellow dragons. It also did not escape his notice that Andruil threw Serahlin into the dungeon.

There are moments when he can understand the violence his fellows have been driven to.

“Excuse me, selfish creature, but your demands are foul,” Serahlin hisses, “you have absolutely no regard for life. Do you not realize the implications of Andruil having a dragon, hm? What power she has enslaved? How easily could she turn this dragon’s power against you and your people? And how long do think it is before she attempts to capture fairies? You need nothing built, what you need is to show to these people is that they cannot continue to capture and subjugate the magical people of this world. You will help Adannar, not because you are getting some ridiculous item out of it, but because it is the right thing to do, or so help you, you will suffer the consequences.”

He falls in love with her a bit more with those words, and his heart swells with incredible pride.

Anaris sneers at her, “You will regret those words, princess. You do not understand the fey.”

“And you do not understand me when I say that Andruil needs to be checked lest you all die. That is your payment - your life.” He cannot kiss her right now for that, it would completely undermine her and her ground, but oh does he want to kiss her. Standing up to a fairy even though knowing nothing about them and why they strike bargains. And to threaten him - yes, it’s not advisable, but her bravery is stunning and wonderful, even if it is rash.

“She is right, Anaris. How long would it be until Andruil sets her eyes upon the fair folk?” Adannar asks, which serves to only deepen his scowl.

“They’re looking for power - you have magic, right? That’s why we’re here,” Aili says suddenly, “they’re looking for magical power that they don’t have to break curses or something. Uthvir’s magic couldn’t break them, ours couldn’t either...she’ll come looking for you and your people next.”

“I don’t have people,” Anaris glowers, “but I see your point. Those of us who wander would be...susceptible, if she learned how to capture us.”

“She captured a dragon,” Serahlin deadpans, “I think the odds of her figuring out how to capture a fairy are pretty good. Do this and you put her focus back on the dragons rather than the fairies.”

He realizes that this is how she was at court and that what Vena said was true. She was good at it. She is fierce and stalwart with her words and position. Even while in a position that makes her reliant upon him and Anaris, she stands tall and demands concessions in the best interest for someone who cannot advocate for themselves.

Anaris curses, “Very well. I will aid in the release of Uthvir - but I still get three pieces from the hoard with the pre-existing caveat.”

“Deal,” Adannar says, and holds his finger out for Anaris to clasp it. With the magical deal struck, Adannar turns to Vena.

“Take the ladies to the drain and get them out of here. I will take care of this Uthvir with Anaris.” Vena nods and strides forward.

“Alright, ladies -

“Vena?! How did you get involved in this?” Aili exclaims only to quickly wave her hands, “nevermind, you’ll explain later. And wait, wait - I’m going with you. Uthvir is my friend.”

Adannar shakes his head, “I can’t be worrying about you if I’m going to do this. Rescuing one of my kind is tricky. Please, go with Vena, get to the forest.”

“We can trust him, Aili,” Serahlin says and his heart soars. She...trusts him? Even after everything?

Aili gives Adannar a hard look, “Fine. But you better get them out.”

He smiles, “I will.”

“We have to cut this short, I hear guards,” Vena says.

“There is a door that opens up in the courtyard. Andruil first used it to get Uthvir into the dungeon. One of the guards has the key. Uthvir is also chained in chains that suppress their magic,” Serahlin explains quickly as she is pulled along with Vena down the hall.

“Go! I will see you in the forest!” Adannar says as Vena ushers the ladies down the hall to the washroom. Serahlin gives Adannar a backward glance full of emotion. Soon, they’ll talk again soon. But right now, he has a fellow dragon to save.

**

A sewer. They came in through a sewer. That explained their stench, at least. Vena helps her and Aili through the drain, somehow trudging through the disgusting sewage for what feels like forever until finally they reach the end of the drain.

The water and...other things on her dress weigh it down. Not to be slowed, Serahlin takes the outer layer off, leaving her in the shift and corset. She throws the dress into a pile of sewage, glad to be rid of it.

Just past the drain are two large mechanical harts. She smiles, his creatures now welcome reminders of the safety of the wood.

Aili yelps and keeps behind Vena, “What are those?”

“They’re mechanical harts. Adannar built them. It’s what he does - create life from the lifeless,” Serahlin explains softly, walking to one of the harts. She reaches a hand out and the hart leans its head down for her to pet it. What a marvelous creature. It’s a bit amazing to think that not so long ago she’d be terrified of it, but now she runs her hand along its smooth snout, marveling at its movements and size.

“We’re riding them to safety,” Vena states and Aili scowls.

“We’re going to help, if we ride around that way, we’ll be at the courtyard,” Aili argues.

“Precisely,” Serahlin replies, “we’ll clear the courtyard out for them. Adannar will need space to take flight.”

Vena sighs, “You’ve spent how long imprisoned here? Don’t you want to get away? Adannar can take of himself - he’s a dragon.”

“I’m perfectly aware of what he is, but I also know what is here, and I’m not going to allow it to prevent him and Uthvir from escaping. You can run if you want, but I’m going to fight.” Serahlin swings a leg over over the hart, “After all, I was one of the best riders in Eletharan. Coming Aili?”

“Yeah!” She rushes over to Serahlin’s hart, hopping on behind Serahlin. Aili pulls her hair forward and wraps it a couple of times around herself, still keeping her arms free. Vena gives a long suffering sigh but doesn’t argue as he mounts his hart.

“The courtyard is this way, we’ll need to wait for the right moment to ambush the guards.” Serahlin can’t help but grin as Vena starts to lead them around the castle.

“This is a bad idea, you don’t even have weapons,” Vana mumbles.

“Oh? I can move things with my mind.”

“And I can apparently start fires!” Aili announces proudly.

Vena’s shoulders slump, “Of course you have magic. Everyone has magic now.”

**

Anaris is furious, Adannar can tell. He’ll make it up to the fairy later, but right now there are bigger things to take care of. This Uthvir needs to be rescued. They must be young to have been captured and held against their will. Really young. He can only think of one time in a dragon’s life where they would be so susceptible to this - right after first formation. When the body is young and the former spirit is still growing accustomed to the constraints of a body. Normally, other dragons would guard the newly formed to ensure something like this wouldn’t happen, but this is no longer possible. Any gathering of dragons is seen as suspicious and likely to garner more attention. Now it’s safer to simply let the dragon form and hope it doesn’t garner dangerous attention.

Moreover, Adannar has not heard of an Uthvir. He hasn’t made contact with many of his former friends in quite some time, but he thought he would at least know when a new dragon formed. No matter, he will get Uthvir out and somewhere safe so they can fully come into their draconic glory.

If Adannar goes off of the assumption they were newly formed when they were captured, then they will not have many abilities to help themselves through this rescue. They’ve likely never shifted into elven form and he will need to get them to do exactly that if they have any hope of making it out. They will be too much of a target in their dragon form, and while Adannar has abilities to keep himself safe, not to mention an older and thickened hide that can absorb many blows from typical weapons, Uthvir does not. As an elf, Uthvir will be easier to protect, he can just stand over them like a mother hen standing over her chicks.

Anaris pouts on his shoulder as they make their way through the castle. Who knew finding a dungeon would actually be difficult? It’s been so long since he’s been in an elven castle, and the last time he was in one, he never even thought about the dungeon. He was in the banquet hall, laughing and drinking ale as a guest of honor.

“I’ve had enough of running around,” Anaris says, voice clipped. He leaps off Adannar’s shoulder and disappears for several moments.

“Anaris?” Adannar whispers after the moments stretch into minutes. “Anaris!”

“I’m here,” he states, reappearing on Adannar’s shoulder, “with the location of the dungeon. Turn right.” Adannar follows Anaris’s directions until they look around a corner to see two guards stationed outside a large wooden door. Anaris murmurs something in the fairy language and guards promptly collapse. Adannar rushes forward and searches them for a key to the dungeon. Found, he opens the door and sets down the stairs.

Darkness envelops them, but Adannar and Anaris’s eyes quickly adjust to the lowlight. Everything turns to a grey as their pupils dilate, and their noses wrinkle at the nearly overwhelming stench of the dungeon. Has his fellow dragon had to suffer for long in this horrid place? Disgust and fury flow through Adannar unlike they have before, even during the war.

The dungeon is thankfully larger than what he feared. The ceilings are tall, though not as tall as he would like. In his dragon form, he would have to keep his head low to fit, and even then his horns would likely scrape against the ceiling.

Finding the cell with Uthvir is not difficult. The entire dungeon is built around the large, central cell where an immense shadowed figure is lurking. The figure does not move even when Adannar runs up to the bars.

“Are you Uthvir?” He calls.

A growl emanates from the shadow and chains rattle as they move. Red eyes turn to Adannar as they approach the bars, sniffing the air.

“What are you?” They ask, no pretense. His heart breaks for them to not recognize him as one of their own.

“I’m a dragon like you,” he tells them softly, “and I am here to help. First, you must stand back.” Uthvir growls but does as he requests, stepping back from the bars as Adannar allows his magic to spill from him. He controls it just enough to ensure that when he assumes his true form he does not smash himself into the ceiling or any other supports.

The guard’s uniform he’s wearing shatters under the magic as he swells with his magic. Wings and tail and horns spring from him and soon he is on all fours, ramming his well horned head into the bars. As magically reinforced they are, they are not even comparable to the might of a nearly thousand year old dragon.

Uthvir steps away from him though and he can smell the twinges of their fear. And it is then that he sees them more clearly. They are small for a dragon, much smaller than Adannar, and nearly covered in feathers save for the scales of their forearms, belly, and neck. Said feathers ruffles as they shift back and he catches sight of their wings -

It takes all the effort in him to not roar with consuming rage that sets through him at the sight of the mangled flesh of their wings. Their shoulders are lashed, largely plucked to reveal the horrendous abuse that has been heaped upon them.

He can be furious later, right now, he needs them to trust him. That won’t happen if he continues to project anger at them. So Adannar reigns it in as quickly as he can. Uthvir deserves kindness and compassion right now, not righteous fury. The fury can come later.

“No need to worry,” he reassures, “Aili sent me. She is your friend, yes? I can take you to her and away from this place.”

They regard him carefully before shifting and giving a curt nod, “I will accept your help.”

“Excellent! Let’s start on these chains, hmm?” He lays a front claw on the chains, sensing the mystical enforcement. With a surge of righteous magic, fueled in no small part by offense and fury, he snaps the chain with its enchantment. Except it does more than just snap - it disintegrates.

His magic must have...grown since the last time he used it like this.

Uthvir gasps and their magic, smaller and newer bubbles out from them.

That magic - oh. Oh.

“Sympathy?” He whispers and their heads whips around.

“Where do you know that name?” They hiss even as he is close to weeping, he cannot believe -

“Sympathy, it’s me, Adannar. I was a friend of Glory’s before...when you were still a spirit. We thought you died when - you became a dragon?” His voice is whisper soft, even like this, laced with awe and horror.

It’s been two hundred forty years since Glory was slain in battle, and the last time Adannar saw Sympathy was around that time and they had still been a spirit.

“I...do not…” they stammer, clearly struggling to find the memories.

“Sh, it’s alright. We’ll get you out. There will be time to discuss all of this. You go by Uthvir now?”

“I do not remember not being who I am,” they reply. Adannar resists growling. The enchantments meant to suppress magic all over this place must have created a block on their memories somehow since they were so heavily connected to magic.

“We need to get you out of here. You will need to turn into an elf, here let me help.” He shifts back into his elven form, naked, but uncaring. “Look at me, study my form and think about becoming like me. Let go of all the magic you have and let it fill you, then think about being an elf.” He has to coach them through it for several minutes, their form wavering more and more until shadows envelop them and their form shrinks down to that of a small elf, not that much bigger than Aili. Their hair is long and dark and their eyes even change from a bright red to a warm brown.

For a moment, he thinks it is like looking at a darker version of Glory. Their features share a fine beauty that few others have. But there are clear differences. Uthvir’s eyebrows are more arched, their chin more pointed, and their shoulders do not carry the same bold confidence Glory was known for.

They look down at themselves and quickly frown at their lack of clothes. Adannar summons his robe and wraps them up in it. It is far too long for them, but it will do for now.

“Not to ruin the moment, but we need to leave, now,” Anaris declares from his spot by the ruined bars to the cell. Adannar, now naked as a newborn babe, turns toward the rest of the dungeon just as three guards come into view.

Adannar is not cruel and he normally detests violence. He does not wish to kill these guards, so he draws upon his knowledge of metal and casts a spell he normally saves for his creations when they need to be still. Except the magic reacts differently here with the dungeon’s enchantments. The magic ricochets and instead of rooting them to the ground, the metal is magnetized. The guards yell as they suddenly collide into each other until they are stuck in an odd jumbled mess.

Well, it worked.

“Do any of you have a key to the gate?” He asks and they curse him for his “curse.” Fine. He’ll figure it out. He beckons Anaris and Uthvir to him then quickly makes his way through the dungeon.

Uthvir stumbles frequently, unaccustomed to their legs. They curse, stubbing and scraping their feet repeatedly until it slows them too much. Adannar turns, picks them up, much to their protests, and continues through the dungeon.

It’s huge. There are dozens cells and judging by all the scents, Andruil had certainly been busy, capturing all manner of beasts. The cells are empty now, but they have not been so for long. Finally they come to what looks to be a control room. Anaris dispatches the guards inside and a quick search of the bodies reveals that none of them have keys to the large gate above their heads.

Time to do this the obvious way, Adannar is done wasting time. He sets Uthvir down and has Anaris perch himself on their shoulder. Once his friends are at a safe distance, he transforms once more into his true form. Gathering as much strength as he can, Adannar launches himself up at the gate. He rams his body into the metal, willing it to open. On the fourth ram, the gate bursts open and he follows suit, launching himself upward with a powerful kick.

Adannars roars into the sky, steam spilling from his mouth as he directs it to the largest grouping of guards. They scream as their skin burn, cooking inside those metal suits of armor. He turns and swipes out at the guards closest to him. A few seem to rally, however as they charge at him .They go for his face, stupidly enough. He snaps his jaws and catches them in his teeth before he throws them across the courtyard.

“Climb up my tail,” he calls to Uthvir, who follows his direction and grabs hold of the spines in his tail. He hears them gasp and feels their fear when he hears a familiar sound -

“Behind you!” Serahlin calls as she runs her hart around him. Magic zings in the air and he hears several guards scream.

She’s telekinetic, he thinks for a split second before a guard with a very pokey pitchfork attempts to pierce his hide. Adannar flicks his arm, sending the guard sailing through the air. Uthvir resumes their ascent until they are nestled safely between his wings.

“Get out of here!” Adannar cries, worry bleeding from him as he leaps up to start fighting fully. As worried as he is, no guard comes close to Serahlin. She throws them, or their heads turn in sickening directions, and sometimes they even catch fire. When Adannar turns to handle another guard, Vena is there, lopping the heads off several as he rides ‘round Adannar.

“Fly! Go!” Serahlin yells back at him.

“Where is Uthvir?” Aili yells.

“I have them!” He decries before he feels them tense.

“Men! Form up!” A commanding woman’s voice echoes and he knows it’s Andruil. He can hear horse’s thunderous hoof-falls as she barrels for him. The fog parts enough for him to see her running straight at him, spear at the ready.

The obvious thing would be to breathe his steam at her - but she knows that and it would give her a second to throw the spear directly down his throat. It couldn’t kill him right away, but it would incapacitate him long enough for her to kill him. Or worse. So Adannar doesn’t do the obvious thing. Instead, he leaps up over Andruil, faster than a dragon his size would suggest.

The horse whinnies in alarm as Adannar lands on a courtyard wall. His claws dig into the stone and he hefts himself up the wall. The fear rolling off Uthvir is alarming as is his own heart rate, but he can’t think of that right now. He has to get away. As quick as he can be, take off will take effort. He has expended much magic already today, so he will need to run to get himself airborne.

He clears the courtyard wall and begins to run. It is not a pretty run and it takes all his willpower not to look behind him to make sure Serahlin and Aili leave the courtyard safely. Vena will get them out, he will, Adannar has to trust that, just as Aili is trusting him to get Uthvir out.

He forces his legs to move faster when he hears Andruil once more. She urges her horse to go faster just as he unfurls his wings and attempts to take flight. One beat, two. No go. Faster. He has to go faster.

“Any day now, Adannar!” Anaris calls. He’d answer if his lungs didn’t burn with the effort. There is a hill coming up, if he can just make it to that hill -

Andruil gains ground, enough that he knows that if she throws a spear, she could land it. There is a moment where he thinks perhaps she will wait until it will be a finishing blow, but then he hears the leather on her wrist snap with the effort.

Magic explodes around Adannar as the trickiest of magic emanates from Anaris. Luck. It’s power that cannot be expended frequently, luck strong enough to defy physics and intent.

The spear goes wide and misses Adannar by the tiniest of margins.

Andruil screams in anger and he hears her draw her sword instead. But it’s too late, he’s upon the hill. He spreads his wings and beats them when the earth dips, propelling himself into the air. Magic surrounds him and sends him higher, higher still -

“Dispel that which shrouds, bring what is mine down!” Andruil shouts and magic shoots out of her so accurate that no amount of luck can deter it. Uthvir screams as the spells sinks its claws into them, rending their elven form from them.

“Adannar! She’s turning them!” Anaris shouts as he tries to counter the magic - but he can’t. Once the transformation starts, it cannot be stopped. He is high enough that a fall could potentially kill or permanently cripple Uthvir. But their weight expands, dragging him down, down -

No. The sentiment rises in him so strongly, the Dreaming wavers around him.

He is not losing another dragon to Andruil. He is not losing Uthvir. Not again. He thought them lost after Glory, certain that Glory’s twin-spirit had died with them. He is not losing them when they are so close to being free from Andruil. She will not take this again. And he is not abandoning Serahlin.

“Hold on,” he growls. Uthvir digs their talons into Adannar’s hide but he hardly notices the pain as he forces the Dreaming to bend to him, to buoy him up, up, wings beating harder and faster. They strain with the extra effort, but they move and the Dreaming dare not disobey his will now.

His wings burn with the effort to keep them propped up in the air, but he will not waver. He refuses. Andruil has taken too much and she cannot have them! Not one more!

He calls the Dreaming to him with all that he was and is. With his nearly thousand years of draconic life compounded the six hundred years as a spirit before that. He expands his magic to pull on all the joys felt in the lands beneath him. That is his power, that is who he is. Joy. It is what will carry them.

A roar tears from him. The magic snaps and flows like a dam just broken. It sends him up into the clouds and out of Andruil’s sight. Distantly, he hears Anaris laugh and Uthvir rumble in astonishment.

“You did it! You actually did it!”

Some part of him is aware of the blood loss from Uthvir’s talons, but he cannot be distracted now as he sails over the western lands of Elvhenan. He knows he has crossed into the forest when a swirling mass of magic surrounds them. It tickles his scales and brushes along Uthvir’s feathers. He could land, but he isn’t far enough, it’s not home. He needs safety, he needs - he knows what he needs.

He adjusts his wings to catch a magical thermal then banks to the left.

“Where is he taking us?!” Uthvir shouts.

“His home!” Anaris replies.

Home indeed.  

The thermal boosts his speed so that instead of hours, it is only a single hour before they are flying over the mountain range. He lowers himself in preparation to land. How he will land well, he has no idea. Uthvir is throwing his weight off and he can feel his muscles protesting even as he forces them to carry the weight.

It takes another hour to cross the mountains, and then almost another entire hour before they make it to the waterfall. He feels its pull, calling him home.

Reluctantly, Adannar released the thermal and begins his descent proper. Trees bend and snap as he careens toward the pool of healing waters. So close, almost there, almost -

His wings give out just as he makes it to the pool. Him and Uthvir drop into the depths, sending a great geyser of water up in the air. The magic keeps it so that the water returns to the pool. It surrounds him and Uthvir, warming them, plugging wounds, stopping bleeding - soothing scars that almost send Adannar back into a rage when he catches sight of them.

The rage quickly dissipates when he realizes that they’re safe now and they can heal. They kick until their head breaches the surface of the water, but they make no move to get out of the pool. Adannar climbs out, dimly aware that he means to go back for Serahlin.

“Adannar, stop, it’s time to sleep,” Anaris chides.

“Serahlin?” He asks, collapsing on the ground, unable to move. All magic and strength has left him. He couldn’t go even if he had to.

“I saw her - Vena got her out with the help of the dryad. The wall of vines opened up and they escaped. It’s done, they’re all rescued.”

Oh. They did it. They really did.

“Thank you,” he says, or at least he thinks he says it.

Relief courses through him and the last of his energy finally sputters out. Adannar collapses, consciousness fading to black.

#my writing #fairy tale au #adannar #serahlin #serannar #venavismi #ana #banana #selene lavellan #dirthamen #dirthalene #aili #uthvir #the sharp ones like your shine! #anaris #this was such a labor of love #i really hope that last scene is as big and awesome as it is in my head #feynites #selenelavellan #justanartsysideblog #lillotte17 #fic #long post

[piarelle]

Drew this for Dragon Age Day 2021. A group picture of my inquisitor, Ailis Lavellan and her A-Team :) (She switches them around on rotation but always keeps Solas on the team lol).

________________________

Dragon Age © BioWare, Artwork © Piarelle 2021. Produced on Clip Studio Paint.

Website / Instagram / Redbubble / Twitter / LinkTree

#illustration #fanart #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Solavellan #manga #black and white #screentone #clip studio paint #digital art #manga illustration #Piarelle #my art #Lavellan #Dragon Age Solas #drawing #ailis lavellan

[selenelavellan]

1, 3, 8, 9, 11, 12, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 26, 27, 30, 31, 37, 38, 39, 40, 45, 46, 49, 50, and 51 for the Fanfiction Questions!

3. What is the best fandom you’ve ever been involved in?

Probably this one, the Looking Glass/Feynites fandom. It’s definitely the most active I’ve ever been in one, and everyone so far has been so lovely and supportive of each other and it’s wonderful.

8. How did you get involved in your latest fandom?Oh man. I think I wanted to read more Modern AU Solavellan and I came across the HWRC story and devoured it, then went on to The Dread Wolfs Heart (Because it was completed already and I thought ‘oh by the time I get through this, HWRC will update!’ and it did, once.) and then I read through  TDWH AUs (Specifically the porny ones tbh) and then I wanted to read more and found Feynites tumblr and quietly liked everything for a long long time until more info came out and quietly wrote private stories and drew pictures of Selene and Thenvunin (Don’t judge me, first draft Selene was very different from who she is now and Sharkbait wasn’t a thing yet) because he was my favorite, and then Dirthamen popped up and I rambled in tags about Selene being a good match for him and then Fey messaged me like 'hey tell me more about Selene because Dirthamen deserves good things’ and I made a little list and then I wrote a backstory (that I think Fey is still the only person to have read, whoops) and now it’s taken over my life and it’s great.

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?Pretty much everyone is supportive of each other and it’s nice to have a fandom where when people do try to start drama everyone sort of collectively publicly ignores it and creates more positivity instead of feeding into it.

12. Who is your current OT3?

Deceit/Selene/Dirthamen, But Steve/Darcy/Bucky from the marvel fandom is pretty high up there too.

14. Go on, who are your BroTPs?Aelynthi/Thenvunin, Selanna, Selene/Adannar, uhhhh…there are a lot, tbh. Like a LOT.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?(Does Dirthalene or Desashim count?)  I quietly but intensely ship Haninan and Hildur in LG, and also Aili Lavellan and Uthvir in all of their various AUs.

18. What ship have you written the most about?Dirthalene hands down. I’m almost at 1000 posts on this blog that’s almost entirely dedicated to them and I’m just stunned I was even capable of producing anything. For a really long time I left things very private or just in my head because I didn’t think anyone would be interested.

19. Is there a ship which you wished you could get behind, but you just don’t feel them?Not really? I’m pretty open to most ships, so long as you can show it’s a healthy relationship.

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?Desashim wasn’t supposed to happen, but here I am with headcanons and storylines in my head for them.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?Ehh….I don’t love Mermaid AU. I mean I do, and I liked what it was in my head but I can’t even look at the writing anymore tbh. I don’t regret it per se, because it started a lot of people talking and interacting with it, which is why I won’t pull it down. It’s still something I’d like to redo once my writing skills improve, but I just don’t think I got across what I wanted to with it.

23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.I really like the reincarnation AU. It’s one of my favorites. I like having a Selene whose gotten past a lot of her personal issues and can work with Des rather than against him, and I like that it’s got a lot of fluff and a lot of potential for fluff and porn and I can usually reread my own bits for it without feeling embarrassed about the quality of it.

26. How do you come up with your fanfic titles?Usually I like alliteration or a quote or something relating to the overall theme of the piece. Or a pun. I like puns.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?Summaries. There is a reason I don’t really have any summaries, but I still occasionally title.

30. What inspires you to write?Other people’s writings or art, usually. A tag or something I was tagged in, or someone else posting something and my mind going 'OH OH OH AND WHAT IF THEN-’ and so on.

37. First person or third person - what do you write in and why?

Third person usually. It’s just what I usually read and think in, so that’s what I tend to write.

38. Do you use established canon characters or do you create Ocs?OCs (with permission) are more fun, and less likely to spark arguments in my experience.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer?¯\_(ツ)_/¯

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?Actually Writing.

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?I can’t pick one, I love too many (literally I can barely pick favorites from my favorite authors there’s no way I could pick one fanfic that was my absolute favorite, sorry)

46. If someone was to read one of your fanfics, which fic would you recommend to them and why?This would depend a whole lot on what they were looking for, to be honest.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?Yes, because I thrive on attention and compliments, they make me feel warm and fuzzy and I like knowing that the work and effort that goes into things means something to someone.

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?I got my own computer at the age of 7, and didn’t have an allowance or income so I splurged by reading whatever I could find for free. 

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!I love that people can explore tropes and characters outside of what’s considered the social norm, I love that even if Tony and Bruce are never going to have another on-screen moment together in the MCU, I can hop onto AO3 and find several hundred stories about them getting happily ever afters, or about Tony getting the mental health and support he needs, or that if something terrible happens in canon there will be plenty of other 'canon-divergent’ stories that go AHAHA NOPE, and I love that it’s created this atmosphere where characters in the public eye can become more well-rounded and explored outside of time or budget constraints just because people want them to and I think that sense of creativity and creation and community is wonderful.

Thanks for the ask!

#Answered #Rambling #Thanks for the ask <3

[feynites]

Accidentally Married and Green-Eyed Epiphany for Sharp and Shiny? >:D

*rubs hands together in glee*

We already have the Fake Married AU and Arranged Marriage AU for them, so Accidental Marriage is an interesting twist. 

I would probably set it in the Dragon Age, so Uthvir is a Tevene Dalish and Aili is with Clan Lavellan. Uthvir’s clan makes a rare decision to trek out to attend an Arlathvhen in Orlais, in order to share some warnings about the weird shit that’s starting to go down.

Uthvir’s clan is not exactly going to get a warm reception, considering they are basically heretics who worship the Forgotten Ones. But Clan Lavellan is willing to do business with humans, who have inarguably worse history with them, so they’re among the groups that try and do the diplomacy thing. Cultural sharing and all that. They have a bit of a revelry to try and break the ice and get everyone to calm their tits, and Uthvir meets Clan Lavellan’s charming First, who wants to know everything even if it IS heresy.

One thing and another, and Uthvir ends up showing Aili some artifacts related to revelry and stuff from the FO shrines, and Aili accidentally activates one while she’s examining it and they end up summoning a Spirit of Love which mistakes the whole thing for a wedding and Sacredly Binds Them before they can figure out what’s going on.

Which means it’s not just, like, some futzed up paperwork, they’ve got a magical bond thing going on now.

And of course some people are appalled but some others are just FASCINATED because HOLY SHIT ANCIENT WEDDING MAGIC. GUYS. YOU GUYS THAT IS THE COOLEST!

So they figure, well, they’re going to have to figure this things out - even if it’s only to fix it - so after the Arlathvhen, Uthvir goes back to the Free Marches with Clan Lavellan for a while (since Aili’s First and can’t really be spared, and also going to Tevinter is a much scarier prospect, even though Uthvir’s clan knows way more about FO rituals). Uthvir’s job is to use their knowledge to try and figure out how to undo the wedding bond, while the whole thing is sort of optimistically branded as a ‘great opportunity to build some bridges between clans’.

Meanwhile this Daewyn guy keeps insisting that he is supposed to marry Aili, Aili is his betrothed, they are supposed to get married, it’s been arranged, you sketchy girl-stealing heretic blood mage don’t think you can lay one finger on her because Daewyn WILL kick your ass!

Uthvir is amused by Daewyn.

And then less amused, as the guy starts graduates from insinuating that Uthvir is violating people’s souls and harboring malicious intentions, to insisting that he and Aili should get married as soon as the bond is broken, and hanging around Aili all the time to make sure Uthvir isn’t ~trying anything~, and offering her gifts which is just... well...

Uthvir doesn’t like it, is what.

I’m not entirely sure how Aili would take the whole thing but @lillotte17 might have some good thoughts!

#sharp and shiny ship #aili x uthvir #thanks for the ask! <3333 #scurvgirl

[ao3feed-stevenuniverse]

Moss

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2iG8NpR

by ShadowsOffense

Yes, this is just copy and paste for the series:

Ok, there is a lot of background stuff to read, written by other authors, if you want to try this series. It's really good, so by all means go for it. But don't start here. You will be very, very lost. Read at least the first few chapters of Feynite's Looking Glass and then some of the Baby!Lavellan AUs. Readers' choice, but my favorite, obviously, is the Mana'Din AU... and the Sharkbait AU... and Aili in several AUs... and.... Yeah, just check all of that out first. You can work your way back to this one. In a few months. Probably.

Otherwise, please, skip this series.

Words: 851, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Arlathan's din'anshiral AU

Fandoms: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Steven Universe (Cartoon)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, Gen

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2iG8NpR

#steven universe #steven universe fanfiction #steven universe fanfic #su #su fanfic

[empresstress13]

I’m still doing quick sketches of friends OCs! Just slowed down a bit. 😅

Here is my attempt at @lillotte17 ‘s lovely and wonderful Aili Lavellan! 💜

#my art #my sketch #aili lavellan

[lillotte17]

You see her when you fall asleep

but never to touch and never to keep

because you loved her too much

and you dived too deep

-Passenger

There are prints of this available on my redbubble!

#dragon age inquistion #solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #lavellan #aili lavellan #i had to turn the res down soooo low to load this lol #not quite how i wanted it to turn out #but i still like it #artwork

[scurvgirl]

Recruitment

How I was thinking Miriel joins the Inquisition in the CAM AU. 

Aili belongs to @lillotte17

Uthvir belongs to @feynites

I really want to try and focus on improving my narrative and description skills, so hopefully....playing around with that is at least a bit successful here. 

(CAM stands for Companions Aili and Miriel btw)

Time period: Between the first visit to Val Rayoux and recruiting Bull on the Storm Coast.

An old wagon rolls down the road. The farmer sitting atop of it urges his mule forward with clicking noises and gentle flicks of the reigns. The mule protests the movement through the mud but does its best to continue to the town. They are slow moving and unarmed, and the wagon is laden with the farmer’s harvest. They are a perfect target for bandits.

Miriel waits in a nearby tree, leaping from branch to branch to monitor the farmer’s progress. They have little coin but she promised she’d protect him if she can. She keeps to the trees like she’s been trained to do. Her eyes are sharp and her weapons sharper.

Bandits are not unexpected after the appearance of the Breach. There are always those who are looking to take advantage of chaos to prey on people. And some bandits are simply those who have been created by simple need caused by the chaos. Banditry – when prey become predators.

But she is a hunter and she has hunted more than her fair share of predators in her time.

The bandits are predictable in where they set up – in one of the muddier parts of the road where the mule won’t be able to run, even if loosed from the wagon.

“Hand it over, old man,” the one she presumes is leading the troupe commands. He is a grotesque man, with oily hair and missing teeth so that spit flies from his mouth with every word. Many of the men with him are barely out of boyhood, and none of them look like they want to be there. The older ones are just as unclean as their leader. Their armaments are lackluster, all stolen or hobbled together poorly from piss poor attempts at hunting.

Farmer Griswold narrows his eyes, “You’re not getting any.”

“Bad choice, old man,” the leader spits. That’s her cue. Miriel drops down from the trees and lands behind the leader. She reaches up and breaks his neck, then turns and launches her knives into the older bandits.

She stops to look at the newer members, “You have a choice. You can fight…and die, or you can lay your arms down and beg forgiveness from the ones you robbed.” The young men and shrink back at her appearance. One glances at a nearby sword only to have the kid next to him slap his arm.

After composing himself from the shock, one shuffles forward, “And what…what if they don’t forgive us?”

Miriel turns to Griswold, “What do you humans do with those who break such laws?”

“Jail! That’s what we do,” Griswold says triumphantly.

“We didn’t know what to do! A rift destroyed our town with all its demons, we had no money and then Gunter there said he could help us. We never wanted this to happen,” the boy continues. Miriel’s eyebrows draw together and she lets out a short sigh.

Predators turning prey into predators to make their pack bigger. It’s disgraceful.

“Offer your services to the villagers here – as hands on farms, or guards, whatever they need. Put your skills to work helping people, not robbing them,” Miriel instructs and they heave a sigh of relief. Griswold harrumphs, but he’s not exactly in a position to argue with her.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“I’m no sh – human lady. My name is Miriel,” she tells them and they nod, their eyes darting around her face. She may be the first dalish elf they’ve ever seen, she doesn’t know, and they seem wary enough to not touch her when she gestures for them to help her move the wagon through the mud.

She guides them to town where Griswold directs his harvest to the miller and she takes the boys to the center of the square. There is a small gathering in the square, all staring at her and her new charges. She has them turn around and face those who will decide their fates.

“Your bandits are done with. They leave behind strong capable hands, good for…farming, building, and defending if only given a chance,” she declares. The milling towns people glare at the boys, five in number, but soon people begin to raise their voices. Several are in need of farm hands, and another simply needs someone to help patch the worn-down buildings in the town.

“And what of the rift?” Another asks.

“Which one?” There are two in the lands surrounding the town. None of them know how to handle them, and general instruction has been to avoid them.

“There’s a third one! Popped on poor Mitty’s farm last night, pourin’ demons left and right.”

Mitty’s farm, that’s…north of the town, close. Miriel bites her lip and tries to think of what they can do. Or really her. When the Templars left, they took with them the only force capable of handling such a situation. The guards are used to petty squabbles and bar fights, not demons and magic.

One of the Chantry’s Mothers or Sisters strides forward, her eyes like daggers aimed at Miriel. She is slow and purposeful, holding her hands in front of her but her head is high, topped with what Miriel can only describe as a ridiculously tall hood. The crowd parts for her as she steps in front of Miriel, looking at each person in the crowd before speaking.

“Do not listen to her, good towns people, I warned you about the danger of this woman, but you did not listen. We now have another rift! Why do you think that is? She knows no Maker, only her blasphemous gods,” the mother calls.

Miriel takes a deep breath and bows her head. This seems…inevitable, really. And she had warned Griswold not to accept Miriel’s help. Never mind it’s only been a couple of days and the two previous rifts were here before Miriel’s arrival. But Fereldan superstition and faith runs deep. She is ultimately an outsider, and the Mother is a religious leader who by all accounts is more known and trusted in the town than Miriel.

Yet, Miriel does not flinch away from the woman or her words.

“I do not worship your god, but that does not mean I do not know faith. I have fought bandits for you, I remain here, wanting to help,” she assures but the mother’s eyes narrow and she can see the unease in the townspeople around her. They’ll sooner accept the former bandits than they will her, it seems. The boys are more predictable, even if they were once with the bandits.

“But I shall not bother you any further if it will cause you strife,” she says, stealing the mother’s power to expel her by leaving on her own terms.

Mitty’s farm has demons? She doesn’t have experience with fighting demons, but she knows that they die like anything else if you stick them enough times. And as one of clan Bellenan’s best hunters, she is very good at sticking things.

Her camp is in the woods, small and secure in a small copse of trees. It’s not much, mostly rations, arrows, and a few other supplies necessary to survive away from the clan. She makes her way back to it, avoiding main roads and people. Humans are unfortunately volatile when it comes to her people, tending to err on the violent intolerant side. Even in southern Antiva they faced violence and persecution for taking their aravels through sparsely populated areas. With the mother in the town espousing her intolerance of Miriel’s presence, she knows it will not be long before the whole of the town will turn on her.

But she can help in the meantime.

She slings her pack onto her back and heads out to scout Mitty’s farm. The stench of sulfur and smoke guides her to the homestead where a rift wobbles tenuously above a corn field. Apocalyptic green light spills from the rift, and with it come demons. They are gnarled, old looking things with spikes covering their bodies and horns that sprout from where their eyes should be. A cloaked demon slinks around on the edges of the farm, sticking to the shadows. Its eyes are an icy glowing blue, watching as the other demons stroll undaunted through the farm.

With each shudder of the rift, the demons twitch and lash out at whatever is around them. Fences, other demons, buildings are all slashed in senseless destruction. Curious.

After a moment, it becomes clear that the demons are all moving to surround one structure. A shed on the outskirts of the farm, clearly away from the barn and the main house, but it is a sturdy thing judging how it stands up against one of the larger demons slamming against it. It shrieks a high-pitched wail of the damned that rattles in Miriel’s skull and speeds her heart up.

What is in that shed?

There are four of the green demons, with the largest one preoccupied with the shed. One of them trails around the back of the group, twitching and small, almost deformed in how it moves. The demon in the shadows still lurks, its eyes focused on the shed. There could be more of those, it’s impossible to tell without the telltale glowing eyes. Wisps float around the shed, combining to press against it.

Miriel shifts around from her vantage point. She moves up the back of the homestead so she can quickly run up to the main house. Its wood is broken and charred from the green fires, but it hides her as she pads her way through the house. She climbs to the roof via a nearly dead ladder. The thatched roof is in no better condition than the rest of the house, but it holds miraculously as she stalks forward with her bow. She notches arrows as she goes, keeping herself low to the roof to not draw attention.

In hunting, you go for the stragglers – the ones that can’t get away so easily. They won’t be missed and they will most likely die anyways, and naturally she aims for the smaller deformed demon off the back of the group. But this isn’t just hunting, this is aiming to kill them all.

She adjusts her aim, pulls the arrow taught then looses it. The arrow flies into the head of the largest demon banging on the shed. It yowls in unexpected pain. All heads snap towards her and she quickly notches three arrows together. She lets them fly into the body of the large demon, felling or crippling it so that it crumples to the ground on a scream.

The three smaller green demons shriek in unison and launch themselves at the house. They leap onto the roof and bend unnaturally towards her. The shadowed demon hisses and the air grows cold.

Thinking best of it, Miriel turns and jumps down the hole to the main floor. Something slams into the roof just as she turns and makes a run out the back. She palms a dagger and turns to throw it into the face of the deformed demon. It shudders, its body grotesquely expanding before it collapses into itself. In the blink of an eye, only green light remains of the demon, flitting back in the direction of the rift.

Miriel continues to run, notching another arrow. There are two on her now, plus the wisps, and the shadow demon.

This was reckless, she knows, and there is a solid chance she will die. For humans who want her dead anyways.

Well, shit, she ought to prove them wrong.

She makes for the trees, turning to fire an arrow that lands in the throat of one of the green demons. It gurgles and stops. She runs a bit farther, turns, and puts another arrow into it. But this eats up time, and the last green demon jumps her. She goes down, grappling with the gross smelling thing. It wails at her, saliva drips from its maw as it moves against her.

Thinking quickly, Miriel grabs a knife from her belt and drags it up the demon’s belly, slicing as deeply and thoroughly as she can manage. It seizes, grabbing at her, tearing through her armor, talons sinking into the flesh of her shoulders. But she keeps at it, screaming with the thing until it shudders, sputters, and turns to green light.

She gasps for air, rolling to her feet, only to see the shadow demon barreling towards her with its cadre of wisps. As she is about to run, a loud voice echoes through the wood in command.

“MOVE!”

She leaps to the side just as a large mount barrels past her. She covers her head reflexively and hears the echo of battle through her hands. A despairing moan fills the air accompanied by the swirling twinges of magic. The area is suddenly filled with green light and she hazards a glance up.

The demons are miraculously gone. An armored elf stands beneath the warbling rift, their hand lifted up towards it. A glowing tether connects them to the rift, the green magic wrapping itself around their hand and wrist. Magic ripples through the farm and then the elf tugs. The rift breaks apart like shattering glass, shards of it dissipating into thin air before they hit the ground.

The elf shakes out their hand and turns from the rift, as if it was…nothing. She’d heard rumors of someone able to close the rifts but she didn’t truly believe them, but this…this is irrefutable.

Miriel swallows, trying to calm herself, when a hand lands on her shoulder and another elf takes up her vision. She startles, but quickly settles as her eyes rest upon familiar vallaslin.

“Lethallan, are you alright?” The woman asks, her face familiar but accent different from Miriel is used to.

Miriel nods, “Thanks to your group’s timely arrival.” The woman helps pull her up to standing. She assesses the rest of the seemingly ragtag group now surrounding her. The elven woman who helped her up is small, even smaller than Miriel, with wild blonde curls. She holds a staff that vibrates with warm magic. Off to the side is an elven man, abnormally tall and bald, his face bare. Miriel glances at the elf that had charged down the demons, flanked by a tall human woman with a steel helm.

“Who are you?” She asks.

“The Inquisition, recently formed. Uthvir, the one who closed the rift, is often called the Herald of Andraste.” Pieces fall together in Miriel’s mind as she realizes the rumors concerning the ‘False Herald’ are probably…exaggerated considering this Uthvir’s clear roots.

“You have impeccable timing, that is for sure,” Miriel says, grabbing her things.

“Regardless of title, they are able to close rifts, the nearby townspeople are in great need of that. This is not the only one to be plaguing them, only the most recent,” she tells them.

“I am sure we can spare the time to help them,” the woman assures. “I am Aili, and that’s Solas. Cassandra is riding with Uthvir.”

“Aneth’ara and well-met,” Miriel greets just as Uthvir and Cassandra ride over, their mounts sounding excessively tired from the strain.

“Taking on demons by yourself is excessively reckless,” Uthvir chides. They are all at once familiar and foreign with the sharp edges of their armor but the blood red vallaslin upon their face mirrors Miriel’s own. Miriel grins and shrugs.

“I was the most equipped to deal with them at the time, I could hardly not do anything while innocent people were threatened.”

“That is noble of you,” Solas comments, breaking his silence. She smiles at him and inclines her head.

“Who are you? We were not expecting to see any Dalish in these parts,” Cassandra asks, her accent thick and unlike the others.

Miriel places her hands on her hips and watches the woman carefully. There is a Chantry symbol on her armor and it is difficult to trust anyone associated with the Chantry. Uthvir and Aili, while working with this Inquisition, have familiar faces even if they are new, and it is comforting. Cassandra and even Solas are unknowns and a wariness snakes around inside of her.

“My name is Miriel, of clan Bellenan. I was on my way to the Conclave when it blew up. My clan wanted to know how to react to whatever the sh – humans decided. While you fight your war, our people often get caught in the middle of mindless attacks,” she explains and Aili nods in agreement.

“And your clan did not simply vanish into the woods?” Solas asks.

“It’s a bit difficult when there are eighty people in your clan,” Miriel says dryly.

“Eighty?” Aili asks incredulously. It’s a point of pride of how large the clan is. But logistically, it can be difficult and dangerous to hold such numbers.

“Yes, eighty. Sometimes we give the humans a fright. But that’s not the issue at hand - I got waylaid by these villagers who were reporting issues with bandits. Demons, I am not the best to deal with admittedly, but I can stick a bandit.” Miriel gestures to the shed across the field.

“The demons were trying to get into this shed,” she explains, ushering them to follow her. Something prickles at the back of her skull and she worries what might be in the shed.

Most of the crops are burned or withered away from the polluted magic. They will not recover easily from this blow. Poor Mitty and his wife. Amazingly enough the shed is still standing, albeit scorched and scratched.

She knocks on the door, pauses, then speaks.

“Hello? Is anyone in there? We won’t hurt you, the demons are gone,” she says sweetly. There is a moment of silence before she hears a rustle beyond the door. There is a loud thud and the sound of heavy boxes sliding across the floor before the door cracks open to reveal a small girl, most likely in her teens.

Miriel smiles, “Hello, my name is Miriel. Me and my friends here got rid of the demons, you’re safe now.” She assures them. The door opens a bit wider, revealing a younger girl behind her, her face dirty and tear-streaked. Miriel bends down to look in the girl’s wide eyes.

“Is your father Mitty?” She asks softly and the girl slowly shakes her head.

“He’s our uncle,” the older girl says, “took us in after a rift took our ma and pa.”

Miriel’s face falls, “You’re Paul’s girls, aren’t you?”

They nod and Miriel sighs. She ushers them out of the shed, checking for wounds.

“You know the towns people well enough to know their names?” Uthvir asks.

“I’ve only been here a few days, but I have worked to help as best I can. The town has not been lucky,” she replies, brushing the dirt and sooth off the girls. She pats their heads and brings them close.

“I can take them to town, but I must implore you to investigate the rifts around the area. There are two more, one of the Cander farm and another on the Platchard homestead, a little further out, but they pose threats to the town.” She asks and Uthvir is the first to nod, which…means the most. They are the one who will be closing the rifts after all.

“They will be closed, but you mentioned the townspeople running you off – perhaps you would like an escort? We could use a meal as well,” they venture and she nods.

“If it pleases you.”

They are quick to grab their steed, then surprise her by lifting the girls up onto the horse. The rest of the horses are brought to them and they walk to the town. Miriel informs them of the rifts and the isolated people in the town, as well as the Chantry and lack of people able to handle any threats of demons or even bandits.

“How’d you come through here, anyways? We are away from the Breach, which is your primary focus, no?” Miriel asks.

“The Inquisition has business on the Storm Coast in looking for allies against the Breach,” Uthvir replies.

“I’m glad we came across the town! Creators know what would have happened otherwise,” Aili comments, pulling along a rather recalcitrant horse along. Her nose twitches and she sneezes then curses at the beast. Miriel’s brow furrows and a wry smile spreads across her lips.

“Did you really name your horse ‘Fen’Harel’?”

“Yes, because it is a dreadful, spiteful thing,” she says, sneezing once more. Uthvir smirks while Solas scowls. Perhaps it is a specific Dalish type of humor then, she snorts all the same.

“I am still stuck on your clan having eighty people,” Aili says.

“It’s what happens when people decide to have a lot of babies. Keeper Sulari has six children, Haharen Bainal has eight just to give you an idea of what happened. The last two decades have been very kind, so many of our members are young children. When they come of age, Bellenan will split and the children will take a new name for their clan. And many of them are mages, more than normal. You can understand then why we wanted to be prepared for what happened at the Conclave.”

Aili’s face falls, “And it blew up, some blame mages.”

“I doubt it was the mages,” Cassandra assures.

“Perception and reality rarely depict the same thing,” Solas comments. It’s unfortunate, but he’s right. Mages may not be responsible for the Breach, demons and rifts and the fade are all associations with magic and therefore mages – they’ll be invariably targeted and blamed for this. And clans like Miriel’s will also suffer, caught in the middle of ridiculous shemlen politics and perceptions of magic.

The rest of the ride to the town is quiet but pleasant. Miriel pays close attention to the girls, making sure they aren’t injured in any capacity…well, more than scarred for life after demons just tried to kill them. They’re so young to be dealing with this, but they’ll be strong – they’ll need to be in the coming months. Chaos is a growing, festering thing that sucks in as many people as possible, tossing out victims in its wake.

Miriel guides them across the main bridge leading into the town and the girls are quick to point out their uncle Mitty standing in the town square. There is a group of townspeople around him, holding farming equipment.

Oh no.

“It’s a mob,” Uthvir says in a grim tone.

“To run me out or to confront the demons?” Miriel wonders. The girls look down at her in shock and worry.

“Neither! You rescued us, let us down, we’ll tell them!” The eldest demands. Uthvir looks skeptical but they lower the girls to the ground from the horse. They are quick to bolt towards the crowd, shouting for their uncle.

“We should leave now, quietly,” Uthvir says but it’s too late. The crowd spots them as the girls rejoin their people. Besides Mitty stands the Mother, her form tall in the fading light of the day.

“They closed the rift on the farm, uncle!” The eldest girl says. The crowd falls quiet in disbelief while the Mother goes stiff.

“They what?”

Uthvir coughs while Miriel steps forward, “They are with the Inquisition, this is Uthvir, they have the ability to close rifts. They have agreed to investigate the other rifts in the area, as well.” She tells them.

The towns people begin to talk among themselves, loud and incoherent speech debating on what just happened. Above them the Mother glowers.

“You told us you were leaving,” the Mother says over the crowd.

“Did you not just hear what we said? Those girls are safe because of our actions,” Miriel calls back.

“It may be best to leave the town and deal with the rifts separately,” Solas murmurs from behind her. Cassandra scoffs and strides forward.

“Mother, we are here to help, we are no threat to your people.”

“All I know is that the demons showed up and have not left since the arrival of that heathen, and now there are not one but three. They have turned their backs on the Maker and He has turned his back on them,” the Mother replies.

“The Dalish are not responsible for the Conclave!” Miriel declares.

“Your Reverence,” Cassandra begins but the towns people are closer and quicker, surprisingly to Miriel’s defense.

“She brought my nieces back. Maker keep my brother, no one could save him, but she got his daughters back. And she helped Old Man Griswold. I don’t know anything about no demons or magic – but that don’t sound like the kind of person who would bring demons here,” Mitty says, holding his nieces close.

Miriel’s heart clenches for a moment, despite the fear and anger roiling inside her. Humans aren’t ones to stand up for elves, particularly for the Dalish. In truth, when she had set forth from her clan down to the Conclave, she had worried about how she’d be received, even in passing. Her vallaslin is not bold, but it is there and extensive, as are the rest of her tattoos. Her accent and mannerisms gave her away and for once, she had no way to hide. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

But here she is, standing at the front of a town, watching a human vouch for her. Standing up to his religious leader.

Cassandra appears to be fed up with the Mother as well as she strides through the crowd. She looms over the Mother and there are heated words exchanged. While Miriel isn’t sure what is said, it must be strong enough for the Mother to retreat back into her Chantry, away from the townspeople.

The crowd opens up and surges towards their group. Uthvir, Solas, and even Aili stiffen as humans surround them with raucous laughter.

The crowd then moves them all towards the tavern. For the next hour, the town plies them with beer and food and thanks for removing the rift. Uthvir becomes a center of their gratitude, ooh’ing and awing at the mark on their hand.

Aili and Miriel sit off to the side while Solas not so discreetly simply leaves. Cassandra is presumably still off discussing matters with the clearly distressed Mother. She’s still uneasy, particularly around this many inebriated humans, but she is glad at least to know that they are less inclined to run her off just for her ears and face. Not that it’s a small issue. Humans have shat upon her people since discovering elves, and her people do not bow easily. They fight, often brutally.

“So why did you stay to help the humans?” Aili asks. It’s a good question. Miriel harbors no love for humans, but….

“My father raised me to be kind and to do what I can. The bandits attacked children, I stopped them, and then…it got out of hand,” she tells Aili. Human they may be, but she is not like them. She is good, and she will do what she can.

“I could ask the same of you, the Inquisition a rather human filled organization, no? And Uthvir, as Dalish as they are, ‘The Herald of Andraste’ smacks of the Chantry,” Miriel asks. Aili nods, biting a lip, shrugging in agreement.

“True. But I saw the Conclave explode, saw the chaos, and the demons – this is bigger than us, this harms everyone. And Uthvir is…good, if in a roundabout way. Don’t tell them I said that, they like to think everyone finds them scary.”

Miriel chuckles at Aili’s assessment. Their armor is indeed covered in spikes and they tend to keep their eyes sharp and judging, it is surprising then to find the townspeople so ready to talk with them. Closing the rift must have been enough to convince them.

“I can’t believe a halla rider would be saving our arses – but now look! There are three of’em. Strange days, these are,” a drunk patron says loudly to Uthvir.

Miriel and Aili briefly bristle at the name, but Uthvir gives no indication that they are affronted. Which is good, Miriel thinks. It’s what’s needed in a leader, one who can brush insults off and move past them. The Keeper before Sulari, Nehana, was not so fortunate. And it got the clan into messes that could have been avoided. The clan had mourned his passing, but has heaved a collective breath of relief as the more level headed Sulari took over.

“You would do well to remember this then, the next time a clan passes by your town,” Uthvir replies and several of the townspeople nod, raising their pints in agreement.

“Oh yes, no traps or fires – only beer and gratitude from now on,” Mitty concurs loudly, his speech beginning to slur. It is concerning that traps and fire were the first thoughts that came to the farmer’s mind but Miriel lets it go, uninterested in more conflict.

Today was a victory, and she is going to run with it as much as she can.

Aili leans back in her chair, looking at the half empty pint in front of her. Miriel sips at her own, letting the alcohol warm her insides to a happy inebriation.

“Eighty people,” Aili murmurs again in shock, eliciting a chuckle from Miriel.

“Mostly young. We have thirty members under the age of twenty, it is…a nerve wracking state,” Miriel clarifies.

“Still…and you’re just waiting for them to get old enough to safely split?”

“We could split now…but there are too few experienced hunters and warriors to be able to guard two separate encampments. It’s a line we must toe. Normally an expedition like this would mean sending two hunters, a duo, but I had to leave my partner behind for safety.”

“Right, and to be keeping all the mages and not trading them…”

Miriel smiles wryly, “Keeper Sulari has mostly relegated the training of the mages to the First and Second, but there is only so much Atherin and Lynnan can teach without the Keeper’s oversight.”

“Right, some things must be passed down from the Keeper. How many mages do you have?”

“Nine, they’re thankfully sort of already divided in age groups. Atherin is thirty, Lynnan twenty-five. Then it’s Velahara, Enaste, Sylphin, Ileth, Maren, and Tonlen. Velahara is seventeen, Enaste is sixteen, Sylphin is fifteen, Ileth’s fourteen, Maren is thirteen, and Tonlen is ten. And who knows, we may have more, there are…twelve more children under the age of ten.”

“Creators, what happened?”

“We don’t know. The Keeper says we are blessed by Sylaise with bountiful children, blessed by Andruil to have so much ample food and skilled hunters. We’ve taken down several wyverns in recent years. But we worry,” Miriel concedes. It is odd. Their clan is having a run of good luck, but there is this niggling feeling in the back of the adults’ skulls that they are about to enter dark times, that this luck is fleeting and they have to be prepared. The children do not know much of strife, of just how hard it can be. The year before Miriel was born there was a drought that swept across all of Antiva. It killed much and it embittered the humans to the dalish who wandered too close. Raids were almost weekly at that point.

But now? There is bountiful food, happy children, and even the humans mind their business from them. It…is so good that the members of the clan who have lived in such hardship feel suspicious of it. Judging by Aili’s furrowed brow, she is suspicious of it as well.

“There are rules in most clans about the number of children one can have.”

“Oh we have those too. But it just…happened.”

Aili squinches her eyes and tries to think, “Perhaps you stumbled across a temple to Sylaise? I’ve heard stories of shrines and temples negating all protective measures against having children, before.”

Miriel shrugs. She doesn’t know, the Keeper may, but if she does, she has not revealed it to anyone perhaps save Atherin and Lynnan. Miriel’s job is to keep the game coming in, providing food, and materials to the artisans.

“Whatever it may be, we have to handle the situation now. I was distraught at the Breach and the Conclave blowing up, and part of me thought if I helped humans on the way back….”

“Perhaps you could ensure some safety for your clan,” Aili answers. Her brows draw together again and she looks speculative before she tilts her head and proposes an idea.

“It is still a long journey to Antiva, by then the Inquisition should hopefully have closed the Breach. Perhaps you could stay on, then, help close it quickly?” Aili suggests. Well, there is an idea.

Miriel glances over at Uthvir and the crowd that has assembled around them, listening in awe as they regale them with how they closed the rift. The two girls they saved are curled up sleeping against their uncle, happy and safe. She helped do that. She helped make all of this possible.

Her father raised her to do good where she can, and while it is not exactly her mother’s practicality…there is a necessity in closing the Breach. And there is a gain to be seen that Dalish elves are the ones working to close it.

Miriel clasps her near empty pint and raises it to Aili.

“Very well, Aili of clan Lavellan and the Inquisition, I will join you, and help close this Breach.”

Aili grins and clinks her pint back to Miriel’s. They down the rest of the beer, spiraling into proper drunkenness that has them giggling well into the night.

#my writing #this took so long #cam au #miriel lavellan #aili #miriel #uthvir #inquisitor!uthvir #fic #lillotte17 #feynites #yes serahlin and adannar are part of miriel's clan XP #and they are alive in this AU #as are miriel's parents - i am going for a much lighter miriel for starting out #because why not