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little-ideas · 3 years

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Once Upon a Fantasy

Invitation to The Mystic Dance hosted by @little-butterfly-writes here

This was so much fun to do! Thank you for having me :3 I started writing and the story just took on a life of its own resulting in my longest piece yet ^^;

I know I don’t usually write OCs, but this story centers around Vanderwood and my CMC Ao (though Saeyoung also features a bit). The setting is supposed to be in an older time, but I have no sense of history’s fashions, technologies, and music, so please just consider this either a fantasy world or some hodgepodged amalgamation of decades/centuries

Hope you enjoy! ^ w ^

Lengthened shadows flickered about the fringes of paper, the glow of lantern flame warm yet small in the dawn of night. Said paper was of fine quality but wanting in splendor next to the companion twould respond. The clinking of metal nib against glass dotted silence, followed by the soft scratch of pen on the paper’s surface.

Dear Mister Vanderwood,

the letter began, each character drawn slow and exact, crafted with as much precision their writer could muster. Before her leaned a slate, smudged with chalk and the scribbles of drafted note from which she now copied. Ao much preferred the flow of ink on parchment to the drag of chalk on rock, but paper cost a pretty penny and could not be wasted on the idle ramblings of initial thoughts, so the slate had done until she knew precisely what she would write. She only wished she knew where to send her letters instead of waiting for Saeyoung to take and deliver them; but no matter, such were simply the ways of the rich, she supposed.

Glancing at the box upon her shelf, she wondered when she might receive another letter from the gentleman.

~*~

He came the week the invitations were delivered. Town abuzz and bursting with excitement for the Mint Palace Ball, Ao had nary a hope she might see Saeyoung’s companion once more before the festivities began, yet he had appeared at her door in lieu of his friend.

“Saeyoung’s busy with the dance, then?” Ao questioned, pouring two cups of coffee. “Couldn’t escape with you?”

“He’s under extra watch after sneaking away too many times.” Vanderwood responded.

Ao flinched, had it been her fault? Vanderwood must have noticed for-

“He likes to skip his tasks to play with the town’s strays,” he explained, sipping from the cup she handed him. Ao smiled, where once Vanderwood had hesitated to drink, now he waited no longer.

Taking her own sip, Ao mulled over Vanderwood’s recent tidings. Saeyoung would be unable to visit until after the dance -her cats would be displeased at that for he always brought them delightful treats- and she would be unable to send any letters. A shame, but she understood and selfish she should not be. Not now, for if Saeyoung was busy, then surely her guest must also be, yet he was spending time here, with her.

“Vanderwood,” she began, trying to keep her tone light, “is it really ok to be here? Surely, you must be busy, too.”

At this he grinned, and for the briefest of moments, Ao felt her heart stop.

“Whose work do you think Saeyoung is doing?”

She blinked, answer unexpected. Then, slowly, his words sunk in and Ao, too, began to smile. Then giggle. Then could not help but laugh alongside him, tears dotting the corners of their eyes. Through Vanderwood’s letters and his own boasts, Ao knew that Saeyoung -their energetic, brilliant, rapscallion of a friend- had a habit of absconding to destinations unnamed and, though she knew not what it might be, forcing Vanderwood to do their work instead. How appropriate, then, that Vanderwood act in kind for the busiest event of the year. They both knew Saeyoung would not learn his lesson.

As the laughter lulled and soft silence settled betwixt them, Ao could not help but admire her friend- the ease of his countenance; his acceptance of her “tiny beasts” pawing at his sides -creatures she and Saeyoung adored but he was not particularly fond; the divide between his conversations both oral and written -the former dictated by necessity, the latter far more relaxed. Upon their first meeting, Ao had found Vanderwood to be terse and intimidating, despite Saeyoung’s introduction, but through months of correspondence, she had grown to know him -far more verbose in letter- and thought him endearing. She feared not the silence amongst them anymore.

It was he who spoke first.

“Will you be going to the dance?” His voice startled her, causing her to jump, and he hid his smile behind the rim of his cup.

“Pardon?”

“The Mystic Dance at the Mint Palace, will you be attending?”

Ao paused before responding. She supposed she should, the whole town would be off, the food was sure to be delicious, and she might even perchance to see her two friends; however, people were different in the eyes of society, and she wondered if the night might end what little relations they currently had. An event open to all, free of status on paper, did not mean such conventions would be adhered to in practice. Looking at Vanderwood, though, she shook head of such notions; he and Saeyoung would not do such, and to think as so would despair their reputation. She smiled at him.

“I will if you teach me to dance.”

~*~

The counts had been easy; the closeness, movement, and posture, not so much. Vanderwood had come several times since his last visit, true to his promise of being her instructor, and Ao might have felt bad were it not for the heat flaming her cheeks whenever she recalled Saeyoung’s laughter at her miserable attempts at turning during their last visit (how he escaped, she knew not, only that she pitied the poor soul waiting on him). She would learn, she’d vowed, if only out of spite.

Determined not to become a spectacle again, Ao’s evenings had been filled with enough practice that her head was now constantly counting off 3s, her shoulders held a dull ache, and the furniture had been misplaced for days. Yet as Vanderwood now led her around the room, she had not glanced at her feet and had only stepped on his once. Maybe twice. Alright, three times, but in her defense, she had tripped! Or so she insisted to Saeyoung, whose rapid applause came the moment they separated.

“Marvelous, indeed! Would have thought you a different lass!” He teased.

Ao stuck her tongue at him, and Saeyoung leaned against his friend, arm draped across his forehead. “Forsooth, Mary, our lady doth wound me!”

Vanderwood sighed at their antics, yet his smile betrayed his amusement.

“Perhaps you’d care to dance with the lady?” He gestured to Ao; brow quirked.

“And risk my toes?” Saeyoung gasped, “I’d never!”

“Saeyoung Choi!” Ao shouted, attempting to stomp on his shoes. “You absolute heathen!” She missed and the two began a chase about the room, jerking knees and squashing stones, until Saeyoung ran back towards Vanderwood.

“Help me, Vandy!” He cried. “A demon gives chase!” His attempt to hide was thwarted by Vanderwood’s arms surrounding his own and holding him in place, grin stretched across his face. Saeyoung gasped in mock betrayal -twisting to get out- before slumping forwards and extending a foot in defeat. A firm press upon the top of his shoe and Saeyoung was freed, rejoining his friends’ sides to complete an afternoon of mirth and merriment.

~*~

Laughter echoed down the streets as people clapped and cheered -fiddlers skipped along the cobblestone roads whilst onlooking peddlers tapped rhythms with the boxes of their wares. Shops were closing, but with the dawning of the ball in a few days’ time, taverns opened early, seeking to make coin from their many guests. In town, nary a room twas available at any inn, yet still the folk kept coming.

Parading after the fiddlers, people poured into the streets, bouncing with the beats as they sashayed along towards open spaces. All this Ao and Vanderwood had witnessed through her windows yet remained inside. Now, rocking upon her heels, Ao grabbed Vanderwood’s hand, tugging him towards the door and the festivities beyond.

Initially, Vanderwood had no intention of participating in such jovialities -his latest letter from the week prior apologizing for his previous and most likely continued absence- but Saeyoung had pulled him from his desk, knocked upon Ao’s door, thrust him at her, and vanished within the throngs of people scurrying about. Graciously, she had offered him welcome and rest in her abode, but Vanderwood had caught her gaze frequently flit to the outside merriment. Having arrived unannounced, it would not have done to kept her from whatever plans she may have had, or so he told himself. Truthfully, he, too, wished to join the crowds -the carefree and lively spirits of the townsfolk were always a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of High Society. As Ao sternly told her cats to mind the house and behave, before pulling him with her into the party beyond; however, he wondered if perhaps that were not his only reasoning.

It was not his only reasoning, Vanderwood realized, watching his friend dance about, the fires illuminating her smile as a new tune picked up. He saw her beam when her eyes met his own, then beckon him over, but he shook his head, lifting his goblet. She rolled her eyes and huffed at him, yet quick as her smile had fallen, it returned, and she twirled around once more.

Vanderwood took a swig of drink, attempting to ignore the beat which seemed to thrum louder now in his chest. He should rest while he could -Ao would soon drag him out to join her, of that, he was sure.

True to form, she had sought him out after a few more songs had pass, laughing as she spun and planted her feet firmly in front of him.

“Mary Vanderwood!” She panted, grin undermining her admonishment. “One does not simply turn down an invitation to dance!” Vanderwood merely watched as she struggled to regain her breath.

“Drink?” He offered at last, holding out his cup as the notes of a new song began. He chuckled when Ao frowned at him before downing its contents.

“Well,” she sighed, “one song can wait.” Then, as though realizing what she had just done, stammered a “thank you” and handed back his cup.

When the music began anew, Ao tugged Vanderwood towards the crowd of dancers, weaving betwixt the bystanders, pattering along seemingly as though she had missed not a beat of song. And as she kicked up her skirts and twirled about, pulling him deeper in with her, Vanderwood was glad the fire’s glow concealed his cheeks’ blush.

~*~

Well, tonight was the night. Donning the dress before her, Ao prayed it would be nice enough -what little remnants of her wages she had after necessities and paper, she had saved for the fabric to sew a proper, formal dress. Though simple in design and decoration, the dress fit her well and complemented her complexion -vibrant red to catch the eye, with a silhouette that tapered in towards her waist before flowing out about her once more. Practicing a few steps, Ao found she rather liked the way it fanned around her when she spun.

Against her neck sat not pearls, but a ring -a memento of family long gone- and she gripped it tight, wishing for all to go well. Drawing her cloak about her, invitation in hand, Ao left for a fate unknown.

~*~

Ao blinked once. Twice. Pinched her hand and -ow! - this was real. The gentleman before her -noble of birth, correspondent of the treasured letters she kept within the box upon her shelf, beloved friend- stood now with hand outstretched and crown atop silken, brown locks. He chuckled at her reaction.

“Well?” He asked, nudging her hand. “I believe one does not simply turn down an invitation to dance.”

Timidly, Ao placed her hand in Vanderwood’s, and he pulled her closer -left hand closing around hers, right palm tucked against her back- before leading her about the floor.

“You never told me!” She hissed, gaze flickering to his crown before eyeing those around them. He laughed, a familiar sound in so foreign an environment.

“You never asked.”

Ao frowned, about to retort when they spun and she tripped, stepping on his foot. For a moment, they both froze. Then, slowly, they giggled, chuckled, laughed, roared -voices filling the room, and their eyes with tears. Vanderwood took Ao’s hand once more and continued leading her around the space, and for the first time that day, she relaxed.

And if Saeyoung saw the pink that tinged both their cheeks? No, no he did not.

#mysme #mystic messenger #Vanderwood #mint palace ball #the mystic dance #saeyoung choi #whoo we broke 2k!!! :D #ao is a commoner and vanderwood the king if that needs clarification #oc #vandy may be ooc but he's king and yolo

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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years

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FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [4/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3800 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

"Hmm."

Josephine looked up from the letter held flat beside her plate. Leliana, just across the table from her, scrutinized her with narrow eyes.

"Hmm?" Josephine echoed, raising one eyebrow.

"I recognize that bauble. The Inquisitor sent it to you some time ago, didn't she?"

Josephine reached up to touch the piece of fire agate dangling from her hair, and though it would only encourage Leliana, she glanced at the empty throne at the end of the keep. Not that Adaar ever sat in that chair a second longer than absolutely necessary, but it did seem a reminder of her absence.

How keenly Josephine missed her, worse and worse every time she departed Skyhold now. There had been times these last few weeks that she'd been convinced she'd heard Adaar's voice in the distance, perhaps just striding into the keep, her smile weary from the road. But every time, moments and then hours passed, and she did not appear at Josephine's desk; she did not appear in the keep for dinner; she had not returned.

"She did," Josephine said, looking back to the letter, though its significance was all a jumble now.

Leliana sighed—a tiny sound, just loud enough for Josephine to hear over the low murmur of the keep—and leaned forward. "I am surprised something new has not arrived from this excursion."

There had been something new. Josephine had just taken precautions. The pretty piece of sea glass had arrived in a letter, which Leliana knew about; it had been addressed to all Adaar's advisors, after all. Josephine had simply taken the liberty of opening it first, away from other prying eyes, to avoid questions at the war table.

Not that she expected trinkets. Just...hoped, given Adaar's past habits. Even more delightful this time had been the small additional scrap of paper, rolled into the larger letter, addressed just to her.

"I'm sure she has more serious matters to attend to," Josephine said.

"Josephine…"

"Leliana," she returned. "I have not changed my mind about this."

"You still believe she has no feelings for you." Leliana's brow furrowed with disbelief.

"Certainly I think she has some feeling for me," Josephine corrected. "I believe we are good friends, beyond our official roles. She has said as much."

In truth, though, she had begun to wonder if maybe there was more to it. She couldn't say as much to Leliana; it would only goad her into more speculation. But she had seen Adaar look at her, now and then, and sometimes that look made her question if...maybe. Maybe Adaar missed her as much as she missed Adaar, maybe in the same way, maybe…

"Then what are all these for?" Leliana said, and reached across the table to flick the fire agate with one finger.

"You and I exchange gifts." Josephine stilled the swaying chain. "Do you have some unrevealed romantic interest in me?"

"On holidays," Leliana said, with a roll of her eyes. "And nothing so…" She pursed her lips, thinking. "Tokenish."

"If she has such feelings, why hasn't she said as much?" Josephine replied dismissively, even as her heart gave a sad little pang.

She'd thought, maybe, that they were working up to such a conversation during their last meal together. Adaar had a way of saying things as if she was not serious, or exaggerating, but she had looked at Josephine so earnestly as she paid her that last compliment. Or was Josephine only seeing what she wanted to see, a reflection of her own feelings and hopes rather than the truth?

It didn't matter, in the end. They had been interrupted, any potential conversation cut short. And Josephine had been left more confused than ever.

"Perhaps she is not sure of your feelings, and fears to act when they might be unwanted," Leliana said. "It would make things very awkward if you did not feel the same."

"Yes, it would," Josephine said pointedly.

Leliana sat back, frustration evident in the way she picked up her goblet. "I think it is obvious in the way that she has handled the House of Repose that there is something there."

"Your opinion has been noted, as always."

Leliana sighed again. "I only want you to think about it, Josie. If she does say something...what would your answer be? What would you do?"

This, finally, gave her pause. "Do you think it's a bad idea?"

Leliana sipped from her goblet, as if considering, though Josephine was sure that her mind had already been made up. "No worse than many ideas that have been pursued lately."

"A resounding endorsement," Josephine said dryly.

Finally, Leliana smiled. "If you care for her, and she cares for you...then I would be glad that you had found some happiness, especially in the midst of all this. I just don't want you to be caught off guard. Or hurt."

Leliana was too much like an older sister, sometimes. "I am happy," Josephine protested. "As happy as one can be when the world is coming apart at the seams, at least."

"I think you could be happier. That is all."

She did not want to give Leliana any further opportunity to dig at this. Not right now. She gathered up her letters and stood, leaving her picked-over dinner plate. "I appreciate your concern, but we also have more serious matters to attend than my love life. We've already given it too much time."

Leliana's eyes danced. "I disagree. But, fine. I am sure you have things to set in order before you leave for Val Royeaux." At Josephine's questioning look, she added, "The Inquisitor is still expected tomorrow. You might set out the day after, I hope, and end this business before anything unpleasant happens."

"If Minister Bellise is amenable," Josephine agreed, and took her leave, retreating to the quiet and safety of her office. She nodded a hello to the guard stationed outside as she passed.

But even after the door was shut, even when she had settled behind her desk and sat a moment listening to the silence, the questions raised by Leliana's poking and prodding remained, distracting her.

She loosed the clasp on her belt pouch and tipped the piece of sea glass into her hand. In the firelight, the shades of blue and green changed, acquiring a new depth. She kept it in her hand as she searched out Adaar's letter, unrolling it with care to preserve the worn paper, and read it over again.

Lady Josephine—

Please excuse me for sending you another useless bauble. As you know, I can't help but pick up whatever shiny thing I stumble across. Since you have indulged me so far, I will intrude on your good graces a little while longer. This reminded me a bit of your eyes, though it still falls significantly short.

I hope that you are keeping safe. I should be able to return to Skyhold soon, but until then, do not stand too close to any windows.

Yours,

Adaar

She wondered—allowed herself to wonder, for the first time since that conversation in the wagon weeks ago—if this was how Adaar's father had courted her mother, long ago. If Leliana was right, and these were more than casual, flirtatious overtures.

It was not poetry and flowers, but these trinkets, these brief compliments spoken from smiling lips or written in a deliberate hand, had a far greater effect on her than any sonnet ever had.

She unearthed another piece of parchment from her desk. The copy had already been sent off to Val Royeaux with precise instructions; the commission would be nearly complete by now. It would be ready by the time they arrived in the city. Whether Adaar was successful in petitioning Minister Bellise to ratify the papers that would make the Du Paraquettes nobles or not, she had gone to a great deal of trouble to help Josephine overturn this contract. She deserved thanks.

And, if Josephine had not overstepped with this gift, perhaps they would return to that conversation that she half-hoped, half-feared to have.

She gathered herself and set personal matters aside, though she kept the sea glass in hand as she returned to her work. As the night wore on, she sorted through more of the day's letters: more information, more requests, more demands for help. She organized, took notes, put down her initial thoughts and suggestions, strategized.

It was later, much later, when she heard the scuffle outside her door. She mistook it for the scratch of the wind against Skyhold's walls, at first. Only when the scuffling persisted, contrary to the sound of the wind itself, did she realize that something had gone awry. Something thumped in the hallway, barely audible, muffled, maybe inconspicuous, but—

But.

She scrambled beneath her desk, pulling her skirts in so that they were well-hidden. Her heart swelled in her throat, pounding. Her fingers clenched around something; in the remaining light from the fireplace, she looked down to see the sharp length of a letter opener clutched in her right hand. She'd grabbed it by reflex, the closest thing resembling a weapon, and now she crouched like an animal reduced to base instinct.

Foolish. She exhaled, tucked the letter opener into her sash so that she could use it if necessary—only if necessary—and listened for the door to open, the sea glass still held tight in the palm of her left hand

With a creak, it swung wide. No knock. That boded ill, she thought, but she hoped it was just a messenger who hadn't learned how to properly deliver reports.

A soft footstep, and then a second. "Come, Ambassador," a voice said. "This is beneath both of us. There is one hiding place in this room, and I did not hear you flee to the war table."

She was not light of foot, like Leliana, like Adaar. They would know that.

She took a steadying breath and straightened up with all the dignity she could muster, eyes searching for a drawn blade. She left the letter opener in her sash. In truth, she had only ever wielded a single weapon with any mastery: words. She would just have to hope that she had practiced enough to survive this battle.

The man standing just inside her office, in front of a newly closed door, was utterly anonymous. Barely her height, and slight of build, his face concealed by a mask. He had dressed very like one of their scouts—perhaps how he had penetrated so deep into Skyhold. Surely he had not donned the mask until his route to her was clear.

"You have been busy," he commented. No weapons in his hands, no blood on his fingers. The contract was only for her; perhaps her guard was safe, just knocked out. "Moving pieces here and there, begging favors; we are impressed."

"Thank you," she said politely. "It has been an undertaking, but it is nearly complete." A pointed reminder of the brief respite she had been offered, more than a month ago. She had made progress; perhaps this was only yet another warning—

"I fear there has been a setback," he said, nearly apologetically.

Her stomach fluttered. "A setback?"

"Minister Bellise." He tutted. "A nut that is too hard to crack, even for you."

She would not beg for more time. Negotiate, yes, but not beg. She lifted her chin. "I believe you underestimate me."

"You? No, no, of course not. But the Inquisitor is the one who must make your case to the Minister, yes? Her Worship is a dangerous foe, but a petition like this requires a sharp tongue, not a blade." She thought she glimpsed a smile in his eyes, even through the holes of the mask. "Or six, even."

As close as the House of Repose had been watching her, they must not have been watching Adaar at all. If they had looked, if they had seen, they would have known how convincing she could be. How relentless.

"She is perfectly capable of negotiating on my behalf," Josephine said firmly. "I trust her completely."

"It is no longer your trust that matters, my lady."

His hand was in motion, flicking a knife from his sleeve, into his palm, into the air; instinctively, she threw herself aside, but this had clearly been his intention. Now she was on the floor, and he was standing over her, fast, so fast, another glinting knife in his hand, plunging down.

She grabbed at his arm, holding it at bay with all of her strength. The sea glass fell from her hand. She was not a fighter. She had turned away from that path long, long ago, and even now she would not have changed it. But she was strong enough to try to hold him off, to fight for her life. If it had been Adaar in her place, one of those clever hidden knives would have already found the gap between this man's ribs.

But Josephine had lost this battle. Words had bought her a little time, but in the end, they had failed. The knife inched closer even as she tried to push it away. She thought of Adaar, Adaar's liquid dark eyes, her quick and easy smile. If only there had been more time, if only—

The assassin gasped. His body went limp, his arm no longer resisting as she shoved it away. He collapsed in a heap beside her, facedown. A blade came free from his back as he fell.

Adaar stood over her, a dripping-blood dagger in her hand, as if summoned by what should have been Josephine's final thoughts. There was a terrible look on Adaar's face, one very hard to put a name to.

"I'm all right," Josephine said, hastening to reassure, though her voice shook. Awkwardly, she pushed herself up to sit.

Adaar reached down to her with the hand not holding the dagger, and Josephine took it, allowing Adaar to heave her to her feet. She swayed a little once she was there, unsteady. Adaar dropped the bloody dagger—it clattered, loudly, on the stone—and folded her arms around Josephine, turning her face to press into Josephine's hair. Josephine didn't think, didn't wonder, only wrapped her shaking arms around Adaar's neck and held on tight.

"Are you sure," Adaar whispered; Josephine had never heard her voice like that, so afraid, so tremulous. "He didn't—"

Josephine shook her head. "You came in time." A laugh rattled out of her. The shock beginning, probably.

Adaar had stooped to embrace Josephine, but now she straightened, lifting Josephine's feet off the floor as though she weighed nothing at all. She carried Josephine away from the body, toward the fire; Josephine felt its warmth at her back, driving out the chill that had crawled up her spine.

Adaar set her down at the hearth and pulled back, hands curled around Josephine's shoulders. The touch was nice, grounding, and Josephine reached up to return it, to steady herself on Adaar's arms.

"You weren't due to arrive until tomorrow," she said.

"I went ahead of the others." Adaar sounded a little steadier, though her eyes searched Josephine's face as if expecting to find some mortal wound there. "I couldn't sleep another night out there, not knowing whether you were safe."

Despite the fear of the last few moments, something in her stomach curled and clenched to know that Adaar had thought of her, had worried for her.

"I'm here," Josephine managed, though it seemed a paltry thing to offer. "I'm safe."

Adaar cupped her hands around Josephine's face and gazed down at her, her dark eyes bleak. "If anything had happened to you…"

Her voice broke, and Josephine remembered her daydreams of a few hours before. Remembered the trinkets that Adaar sent her from the road, and the minutes and hours of conversation stolen between their respective duties, and the looks. The looks that she sometimes saw and told herself she was imagining.

She was not imagining this look. Adaar looked at her like something precious that had nearly been lost forever, and Josephine was still distracted by that, by the fierce intensity in Adaar's dark eyes, when Adaar bent her head and kissed her.

She did not have to think about her reaction. She did not have to think about anything. She only felt: felt the passion in the way Adaar's mouth moved against hers, felt the blood in her veins set afire in the wake of Adaar's hand smoothing down her spine, felt Adaar's shocked intake of breath when Josephine pressed closer, pressed to her.

She'd never imagined it could feel like this. Like her body was sparkling, brimming, overflowing, all from Adaar's lips on hers, from Adaar's arms holding her. Those brief courtships in Val Royeaux felt all the duller by comparison. No kiss stolen behind a tapestry had ever been like this kiss, so desperate, and fierce, and breathless with want. Adaar touched her cheek, tilted her head, parted Josephine's lips with the lightest touch of her tongue; Josephine clung to Adaar's neck like she might drown otherwise, fingers tangled in the length of Adaar's braid—

But Adaar stilled and pulled away, and shook her head at Josephine's noise of protest. "Wait," she breathed, looking toward the door.

There were footsteps in the corridor, Josephine realized, picking up speed. A voice shouted, "Guard down!"

Adaar let her go, reaching up to draw her remaining dagger. She pulled a knife from the folds of her armor and palmed the hilt in her left hand. "Stay behind me," she said. Josephine did not argue, did not have the breath in her to argue; she retreated behind Adaar, head still reeling.

A scout burst into the room. Josephine recognized him; he had been recruited while the Inquisition was still in Haven. Adaar clearly knew him, too, because she lowered her blades, just a fraction. His eyes darted to the body and widened.

"Get Leliana," she said, the waver gone from her voice; now it was very nearly a growl. "Now."

The scout ran right back out. Adaar let her arms fall to her sides, but she did not relax. She had been liquid in Josephine's arms just a moment ago, but now every muscle was tense again.

Tentatively, Josephine reached up to touch Adaar's shoulder. It was rigid beneath her hand.

"I doubt there will be more," she said, trying to offer some reassurance. "At least tonight."

"And once they know that this one failed?" Adaar nodded to the body.

"Yes," Josephine said reluctantly. "Then there will be more."

Adaar turned enough to face her, but still positioned so that she could watch the door. "We had an agreement."

"I know we did, but we're so close." In the right circumstances, she was not above begging. This qualified. "The Minister will be at a party in Val Royeaux. If we leave tomorrow—if you can just convince her—"

"How can I possibly allow that?" Adaar asked, but she didn't sound angry. Despite how taut she was drawn, her face contorted with misery. "How can I live with myself if I allow it? Leliana told me that your blood would be on my hands if this went south, and if I had been a moment later, she'd have been right." Adaar stepped back, putting space between them. Josephine's hand fell away, pointlessly, to her side. "Better to have you angry with me than dead."

"Leliana said…" Oh, that woman. Josephine would have words with her later. Stern words. "You know that isn't true. This was my choice. My decision."

"That will help me sleep so much easier if I'm too late next time," Adaar said bitterly.

"It is only a little while longer—"

"I've waited weeks. Before, I just had my guilt. Just worry about what might happen. Now I have evidence." Adaar pointed one dagger at the body. "If they can get into Skyhold, they can certainly attack you as we travel."

"We will send plenty of protection with you," a voice said from the door.

Leliana stood there, looking down at the body of the guard; a few others crowded behind her, one kneeling. "Alive," he announced, taking his fingers from the fallen guard's throat. "Just knocked out."

"Take her to the infirmary," Leliana said.

"I'm sorry," Adaar interrupted. Josephine recognized her temper, usually so slow to start, was perilously close to boiling over. "Maybe I got knocked out, too. What's this about protection?"

"It is as far to travel, either way," Leliana said, stepping into Josephine's office. Two guards took up positions outside the door. The rest hurried away. "Sneak in to destroy the contract, or speak to Minister Bellise—we no longer have the advantage of time with one or the other. We may as well do this Josie's way."

"I can't believe this," Adaar said, voice rising with disbelief. "An assassin slipped into Skyhold on your watch, but now you're willing to carry on with this? After everything you said to me?"

"We can only go forward, not back," Leliana said, as collected and unruffled as ever, and looked to Josephine. "You should leave at first light. As early as possible. I will send some of my people with you, in case these talks with Minister Bellise do not go as expected." She turned her gaze on Adaar again. "You will be able to deal with the House of Repose, if necessary."

For once, Adaar looked at a loss for words; her mouth opened and closed, as if she couldn't give voice to her anger.

"I can still do this," Josephine said, one last plea. "I swear to you, it will be over soon, and you can rest easy."

It was the wrong thing to say. Adaar's face shuttered; the anger went out of her, but so too did everything else. For the first time, Josephine noticed the hollows under her eyes, the untidiness of her braid, the film of dust on her armor. She looked a step from falling down, and like Josephine's words might have been enough to push her.

"I see that I am now the one outnumbered." It wasn't anger that rode her quiet voice; it was hurt, confusion, fear.

"Herah," Josephine began, but Adaar was already moving toward the door.

"First light," she said, and with a last, unreadable look back at Josephine, she vanished into the keep.

For a moment, the room rang with the silence of her departure. Josephine's pulse was uneven, her fingers clenched tight into her palms. She could not look at Leliana, not with so much confusion and guilt churning inside her; she looked at the body instead, and saw something glimmering in the firelight beside it.

She went to scoop up the precious sea glass, tucking it safely away in her belt pouch.

"She will forgive you," Leliana said. Her voice sounded strangely far away. The shock, again, now that there was none of Adaar's warmth to hold it at bay.

Josephine did not think it would be that easy.

Go to Chapter 5 -->

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #mutual pining #class differences #developing relationship #universe writes

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iamthewatcheronthewall · 6 years

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First Lines Meme

RULES: List the openings of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.

Thank you for the tag @thesparkles59 & @drakhus

My last 10 fics include all 8 of my GOT Jonerys stories, plus a ‘Humans’ one-shot and my last ‘Merlin’ multi-chapter.

I’m really bad at any sort of analysis. In most of these recently multi chapters I appear to drop the reader straight into the action but not always. Some of them open with dialogue or thought. Anyone else got any thoughts?

I’m late to the party as usual so most people I know have done it. @kiyasama

@sirmatthew1972 @jillcfan & anyone else I’ve missed who wants a go.

All 10 openers under the cut with links to the works if any catch your eye! ;)

1. The Prince Next Door (WIP multi-chapter)

Sword fighting was nowhere near as enjoyable as Jon had expected. Watching the soldiers train in the main courtyard had always been thrilling and so he had assumed it would be the same once he learnt. Perhaps it would be better when he got a proper sword? This small, wooden one had felt light when Ser Rodrik first placed it in his hand and showed him the proper way to grasp it but, as Robb's sword hit his repeatedly, sending vibrations up his arm, Jon’s shoulders had begun to ache and he found himself wishing he was five again and could return to the nursery to play with his toy soldiers instead.

2. Insatiable Dragon Drabbles (only written one, 100 word drabble so far, so a very short opener here)

She’s breathtaking.

Whilst Daenerys was staring at the cave paintings, Jon was gazing at her. The torchlight flickered off the dark stone walls and the queen’s pale features, making her appear even more stunning than usual.

3. Warg Riders (complete multi-chapter)

He was reliving the Battle for the Dawn, the great northern ice war, the final, desperate attempt to stop the Night King and his army from continuing their deadly march south and destroying the realm.

And it was exhausting.

As a Warg Rider with exceptional sword skills, Jon was effectively having to be two soldiers at once; mentally directing Ghost and his huge pack of wolves and direwolves, whilst also physically fighting as himself; his Varyrian steel blade able to destroy wights and White Walkers alike.

"How can we possibly win this?" he wondered for the hundredth time.

Every living fighter who died - human and animal - instantly became turn-coat and fought on the enemy’s side and most of the living soldiers held ordinary weapons which required them to 'kill' their opponents many time over to render them ineffective.He felt Ghost bite through another wight, and tried to suppress the now familiar nausea as the taste of dead flesh also filled his mouth whilst, at the same time, Longclaw sliced through another in front of his own eyes. Then, to make matters worse, he received a third point of view, Bran choosing that moment to let his brother know what he could see whilst flying high above in a raven.

"Seven Hells!"

4. Charade (pwp one-shot)

Daenerys took another large swig from her goblet, exchanging a glance with Jon who was sitting next to her at the high table at King's Landing. He rolled his eyes and copied her, obviously feeling exactly the same way about this farce as she did. Tonight would be a whole lot easier if the pair of them were seriously drunk by the time they left the Hall.

And so she was married. Again. This time to Prince Aegon, her nephew and her very best friend although, to Daenerys, he had only ever been Jon and to him she was always Dany. This whole marriage idea was ridiculous in more ways than one. What was it with the Targaryens and their insane need to ‘keep it in the family’?

5. Silent Declarations (complete multi-chapter)

“Why?”

Daenerys paces in her cabin, constantly mumbling the word to herself, even though she isn't entirely sure what question she's asking.

'Why did he bend the knee when I'd already agreed to support him?'

'Why did holding his hand feel like the most passionate of love making?'

'Why did it seem as if he meant something else when he called me his queen?'

'Why does it feel like I'm walking through fire every time I'm close to him?'

Ever since their intimate conversation at his bedside, being around Jon Snow has been delightful torture. She had left his room for very good reason then, overwhelmed by the looks he was giving her and her own unexpectedly strong emotions. So many men have desired her, worshipped her and confessed their love to her but this is different. He is different. It makes no sense how thrilling it feels being close to him.

6. Here Be Dragons (complete multi-chapter modern au)

Daenerys was sitting on a tall stool behind the shop counter studying the accounts; a pen in one hand, mug of coffee in the other and one bare foot resting idly on her largest dog's back. Drogon shifted under her, searching for a scratch, and she did her best to oblige with her toes, far too preoccupied to bend down and fuss him properly. The numbers in front of her barely added up but she didn't really care. It wasn’t as if money was an issue for her, after all, and this new, quiet life was her reward for everything she had gone through before this; a modest flat over a shop full of dragons, fairies, jewellery and magical books. Just her and her three large dogs who were far more than pets to her. They were the loving family she'd never had, the security she had always craved and the honest companionship she didn’t dare search for elsewhere.

They had saved her life. They were her life.

7. Servants of Light (dark one-shot)

Jon rode into the Winterfell courtyard next to Daenerys - closer than necessary, perhaps a little closer than advisable - but his queen might as well have been across the Narrow Sea for all the attention she had paid him since they had left White Harbor.

He knew that the idea of them keeping their distance was a logical one but that hadn’t made their separation any easier for him to bear. And, if it had just been that - the pair of them acting disinterested for the sake of appearances - then he could have coped with such cruel separation, but there was something more going on here. Dany was withdrawn, nervous … scared about something and, no matter how gently Jon had tried to ask her, she would not talk to him about what was on her mind. Would not allow herself to be alone with him at all.

‘It’s for the best,’ he thought, trying hard to convince himself. ‘We do have more important things to think about, after all.’

8. This (boatsex 2-shot)

"Jon Snow's not in love with me," Daenerys declared and yet her heart leapt unexpectedly at the thought.

"Oh, my mistake,” Tyrion countered. “I suppose he stares at you longingly because he's hopeful for a successful military alliance."

Did he really stare at her longingly? Dany thought she had caught that look once or twice, but had just as quickly dismissed it as her own fancy. She would turn towards the King in the North and there, just for a heartbeat, imagined she saw something thrilling in his eyes' dark depths, but then the illusion would quickly vanish, replaced with the impenetrable glower she was now so used to seeing on his face.

9. It’s Just a Little Crush (’Humans’ One-shot)

This was not at all how Mattie had envisaged her reunion with Leo. Although, honestly, what had she expected? She had been so single minded recently - focused on one specific goal - that she'd somehow managed to convince herself that there'd been an element of self-discovery to her search for Odi and the development of the mature code. Some higher purpose.

But she now realised she'd been deluding herself and it had all been for one reason. For one person.

10. A Prison Around Our Wrists (’Merlin’ complete multi-chapter)

“Hurry, Morgana!”

The corridor the three of them were hurrying down was narrow, dark and cold, and her heartbeat thumping loudly in her ears did little to drown out the sound of moans and soft sobs around her. She grit her teeth and continued on, trying not to think about all the others in here, focusing instead on the two warm hands she was holding; one large and one very small.

The metal bracelet around her wrist buzzed viciously, a timely reminder to keep her emotions under control. She took a deep breath to calm herself whilst her companions' hands gently squeezed hers, attempting to give reassurance.

“Nearly there.”

#first line meme #jonerys #jonerys fanfic #merlin #humans amc #ch4 humans #jaqtkd

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