#solas is planning on killing the people already here to give *someone* back the past one day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

broodwolf221 · 7 months

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very stressed again so I'm just gonna talk about solas bc he's my comfort blorbo atm

one quick clarification: I tend to use elven to describe modern elves and elvhen to describe ancient elves. it's just smth I started doing a while back and now it's habit.

I've already talked abt his personality/behavior and my theories on his distant past. so now I wanna talk about his actions.

joined the inquisition

even with lowest approval won't leave the inquisition

kept the inquisitor alive

helped seal the rifts/breach

painted the inquisitor's actions

helped kill corypheus

"killed" mythal

exposed the qunari plot

spoke to the inquisitor at the end of trespasser

now to dig into these.

joined the inquisition

this one is pretty wild. according to his conversation in trespasser, he woke a year before the conclave. one year. afaik it's unclear when he drew the veil vs. when he slept, but what is clear is that he woke up and had only a year to begin acclimating to a wildly different world, one he held significant guilt over causing to form. in this short time, he manages to acclimate enough to gain agents and find out about corypheus, someone he feels he can use. and solas wouldn't mourn corypheus' death, nor would the world, so it must have seemed such a perfect solution

then it obviously goes all to shit. and solas is too weak to take charge of the situation and remedy it on his own - besides which, his anchor is now attached to someone else. so what does he do? well aware that this world hates and fears both "apostates" (that must have been a strange revelation for him, considering how elvhen culture lauded mages) and elves, he nonetheless turns himself in and surrenders his staff

he decides to help. and no, it's not selfless - he needs the anchor. but there's so much more to it than that. he wants to help ease the harm he's inadvertently caused, the damage corypheus wrought. he's not trying to "save" the world, exactly, but he is trying to give it peace while he works to restore the world to what he feels (maybe rightly!) it should be. it's selfish. it's selfless. it's kind. it's deceitful. essentially: like him, it is nuanced.

but still, pretty wild that an elvhen apostate joins the human chantry's arm (and eventual army) of change

won't leave the inquisition

the reasoning here is fairly self-evident. he needs the anchor, and he wants to help. the inquisition is his sole means to achieve both goals. but it's still worth noting that even if he absolutely hates the inquisitor, he'll stay on as a core part of the inquisition right up to the bitter end.

and it's interesting bc he doesn't actually have to. he could have made sure the inquisitor wouldn't die and taught them how to seal rifts, then left. or he could have left after the breach was sealed. the inquisitor - and by extension, the anchor - would NOT be hard for him to find, because everyone and their dog knows where the inquisitor is at all times. also, at this point I'm not sure if he knows he'll need the anchor.

further, he could "leave" but continue to spy, including through the fade. but instead he stays right there. he leads the inquisition to skyhold. he involves himself at a fundamental level. it's interesting. he didn't have to.

does he get dragged in despite himself? does he grow attached to the rest of the inquisition, or its goals, even as he tries to hang onto the comforting lie that these people are so much less-then the people he knew? does he feel obligated to help right the harm he caused, their drawn out suffering harder to bear than their sudden cessation?

kept the inquisitor alive

I have to assume there's a reason for this, a reason he couldn't just take the anchor from them while they slept. likely it was because he was still too weak to remove it, although that seems a little strange - what was he planning to do once corypheus died opening his orb? but given the potential nature of the inquisitor, including many non-mage options and including dwarven options who are cut off from the fade itself, it stands to reason that getting the anchor placed by touching the opened orb may be much easier than removing the anchor, even prior to it being used.

perhaps he could have removed it, but was worried the inquisition would kill him. early on, how was he to know that cassandra's bark was so often worse than her bite? and it's entirely possible that she might have killed him if the inquisitor had died under his watch, particularly if the anchor was "mysteriously" removed at the same time.

I also imagine that he genuinely didn't know if the anchor would function if he just... cut their arm off and ran with it. but at the same time, I assume he was constantly monitored so that probably wasn't much of an option

helped seal the rifts/breach

couple of core reasons for this, I think: first, he genuinely wants to help. the people of thedas are terrified and at risk; so too are the spirits from the fade who are being drawn into the waking world against their will, which may well be a stronger impetus for him to work on sealing them. second, I have a theory that he won't be able to, or fears he won't be able to, tear down the veil in one with all these rifts.

rifts are tears in the boundary, right? so if he tried to pull the veil down around them, what's to stop the veil from catching against the rifts and keeping these boundaries in existence? like... trying to remove a sticker when parts have been nailed in. not only will the parts under the nail remain, but whole strips might be left behind. what would that create?

and the thing is, everything he's attempting and considering is so highly theoretical. maybe it wouldn't work like that at all. maybe it'd be fine. maybe it'd be worse. he doesn't know! but it feels safe to assume that, given his character, he'd want to proceed in the safest way possible with the best likelihood of a good outcome. he's methodical that way.

painted the inquisitor's actions

this one gets me just like it gets everyone. there's so much to it... he's using an ancient elvhen technique to memorialize the decisions of today's holy order and its leader. he's creating frescoes which are meant to last, and he doesn't know if they will. he's creating meaning in the moment, for the inquisition itself, and possibly for the future, even a future where everyone he knows is gone, killed through his actions.

it's a way to honor them. it's a headstone. it's a history. it's a gift. it's art. it's effort he doesn't need to expend. it's the closest he can come to an apology.

helped kill corypheus

of course, he's always wanted corypheus to die, so in that sense this really isn't that surprising. and in game corypheus can sometimes feel ridiculously easy to kill. but the fact is, corypheus is perceived as one of if not the single greatest threat they have to face.

and solas helps face him.

what if he died? what if he was killed? it's wild that someone who's so determined to change the world constantly puts himself at such risk, but it's part of both his nature and the means of meeting his goals. it's necessary. but is it necessary for him to face corypheus?

the time has come, the inquisitor and inquisition are prepared.

why doesn't he leave? come back after the battle and reclaim his orb? yes, the inquisitor broke it, but I don't think solas even recognizes that as a possibility. to him, the orb would have been there. and, bonus, maybe the inquisition is so damaged in the battle that they'll struggle to pursue him. if he has the orb, or thinks he would have it, he wouldn't necessarily need to protect the inquisitor any longer, because why have the anchor when he has the orb? unless of course its power was transferred to the anchor, which is a distinct possibility, but in that case... why mourn the orb so?

I think that he at least believed the orb could create another anchor. so losing it meant he needed to possess the anchor currently in existence. but again: he went into this battle thinking orb and anchor alike would exist at the end. why risk it? why not just dart in and recover what he needs?

he cares about them. even if he hates the inquisitor, he cares about the people of this world. he won't turn his back on the inquisition in their hour of need, even if he risks death

"killed" mythal

I've given this so much thought. I understand why he did it, to a point, but at the same time... it's always put me at a loss. he sealed the evanuris away because they killed mythal. he killed her to take her power, presumably a necessity after the loss of his orb in order to reclaim the anchor. and I do agree that she may very well still be alive, either entirely or in a way. I'm not sure if he's aware of that, though.

but it's all very complicated. he knows he should be the one punished - these are his sins he's trying to right, for the people (elvhen? spirits? everyone? including but probably not primarily dwarves? I've seen so many takes on this and it's always fascinating)

so. he takes something of mythal, very possibly believing he's killing her, and possibly actually killing her, in order to restore the world to what it used to be. he doesn't want to do this. it's utterly tragic and horrifying at once when you see it the first time (and, well, every time after if you're me). it's painful. but he does it.

he's willing to shoulder so much pain. loneliness, too, because mythal is presumably the only one left from his time. he destroys his sole connection to his past in order to right his mistakes. putting aside the issue of whether he's right or not, that is a monumental burden to bear.

he endures. he always endures. how horrible to always endure.

exposed the qunari plot

because I've discussed this previously I won't dig too deep into it, but the fact is 1) he didn't have to do this, 2) doing this actively makes it easier for the inquisition to pursue him, 3) doing this might actually make it easier in a way for the qunari to focus on strengthening the veil, and 4) apparently, he did it. not an agent. he dragged the qunari into the winter palace.

why? why risk himself like that? to get a glance at those he left behind? did he rush through the motions and disappear, or did he linger? did he look at them and consider what more he would have to endure?

spoke to the inquisitor at the end of trespasser

he needed the anchor, yes. but did he need to answer the inquisitor's questions, soothe their inevitable curiosity? absolutely not. he could have kept lying. it would have been smarter to keep lying. why, why tell them who he is, why let the entire inquisition know?

he already gave them a clear path to chasing him down and possibly stopping him. now he's telling them his basic plan? sure, he spares the details, but what does that really preserve?

and the thing is, even if he absolutely hates the inquisitor, he still tells them the basics. the way he does it is... genuinely so funny and it cheers me up inordinately he is so sassy about it but that's not important. what is important is that he even tells someone he loathes who and what he is and what his basic plan is.

why not just leave? "the anchor is killing you and it's mine, i'll take it back. goodbye." why not just that?

it's hard for me to believe it's anything other than: he wants to be stopped. a part of him wants so, so badly to be stopped. the same part that wanted to tell a romanced inquisitor the truth in the crestwood scene. the same part that keeps giving all these hints and answering questions sincerely even when it makes people wonder about him. the same part that only lies by ommission.

the part that is lonely and wanting and cares.

not only is he fundamentally a kind, caring man who wants to minimize the harm he does, not only does he value and want to reward curiosity, but he wants to be stopped. and the inquisitor/inquisition is about the only force in the world that can stop him, directly or indirectly.

they know him. he knows them. and while it's implied that the inquisition/inquisitor can't stop him directly because of this familiarity, they are the ones who find new forces to array against him. if he'd just lied and left, that wouldn't be a possibility.

he made himself an enemy. he could've had a clear playing field and all the tools he needed: instead, a force at his back.

#solas #solas dragon age #meta #as always: feel free to rb/comment/interact #broodmeta

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blarfkey · 4 years

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director’s cut, director’s choice of ⭐️Dear Fen’Harel⭐️? (Though generally speaking, I’m intensely curious as to how you develop characters because everyone you write is so brilliantly layered)

So um, this exploded. And I apologize. I am very much a character-driven writer versus a plot-driver writer. Also, how I develop characters is not a process I think about, it just happens, so this is also me finding out for myself how my own brain works, haha. If you want the full fucking three page essay this turned into, there’s more under the cut.

If not, and I don’t blame you, TLDR: I break a canon character down to their parts based on what I see in-game, I look at how their personal quest affects them, and I try to find a modern day equivalent to that. Each character has an issue they need to get past and I create situations to challenge those issues. And Ellana was created to be a foil for Solas and I dumped all my negative traits into her because neither she nor I can afford therapy so this is our best bet.

First of all, developing characters in fanfic is different than OC characters because I have a pre-set personality to work with rather than making someone from scratch. So for this, Ellana’s development is different from the rest of the cast.

For fanfic characters, obviously I look at the source material and see how they’ve reacted to certain situations and what they have canonically expressed about themselves in both deed and word. Honestly, I pay more attention to what they have DONE versus what they have SAID because a lot of characters tend to fool themselves into thinking they’re one way when they’re not (here’s looking at you, Solas).

Because DF is a modern AU, I take what I have seen in Canon (which is a lot because Bioware is very good at giving so much material to work with having all those different dialogue trees) and I apply it to the Modern Day. Some characters fit very easily – Dorian was made for Academia. Krem seems a more modern character anyway with how he constantly roasts Iron Bull. Josephine’s prowess in DA:I translates very easily to political science. Varric kind of has a modern writer’s career anyway.

Some are not easy – Solas is actually super hard for me to write in DF than he is in Thick as Thieves because so much of his characterization, his world views, his prejudices, are rooted in the fact that he is an ancient being out of time – which is impossible to have in this AU. I have crafted a sort of back story for him that might explain some things later, but it’s flimsy at best, haha.

So I’ve had to really look at what Solas is like in Inquisition when he’s pretending to be a “normal” hedge mage hermit from nowhere and how he behaves in his romance and extract from that. Solas is a nerd, he’s socially awkward from self-imposed isolation, he constantly struggles with what he wants and what is the morally correct thing to do and the temptation to be loved usually wins out over his convictions until the last second when he gets his common sense back and ruins everything.

It helps that in both DA and DF Solas is keeping a massive, massive secret from the Inquisitor about his identity that will shift the power balance between the two, so I’ve used that to guide me when I’m unsure. He still feels off to me, but it’s whatever at this point, lol. I did my best.

Once I’ve boiled a character down to their usual traits, I figure out how I’m going to have them grow throughout the fic and use their growth to help Ellana’s growth. I try to pull from their personal quests as much as I can, when I can get it to fit.

Some people, like Iron Bull, are static because they’ve already gone through their journey and have reached acceptance. I didn’t really know how to work his Leaving the Qun story line in the modern day, since it is tied so closely with war and potentially killing the Chargers, so by the time Ellana meets him, he has already left the Qun and made his peace with it. I use his static nature to help guide Ellana when she’s conflicted about her identity.

Some people, like Josephine, have personal quests that don’t fit with a modern era but I want to show them grow anyway, so I create something else for them. Right now, Josephine is mired in family drama and trying to figure out how to balance shouldering the weight of her responsibilities to her family with being her own person. That I drew from my own personal experience with being the only sane person in my family with their shit together, haha.

Or Cassandra, who is definitely NOT going to be Divine here, lol. So instead she gets to struggle with her art and how she can express herself in a way that leaves her vulnerable to scrutiny and yet can be so freeing.

Some people, like Krem, get a character arc that I think should have been explored but never was. Krem being trans is something that’s mentioned and talked about a little and never explored. I mean, he’s not a main character, so I get it. And I liked that Being Trans wasn’t his entire character. But there was no way to put him in the modern AU without his trans identity impacting some of his story and growth, even if he had already made his peace with it.

Now, I will say this upfront: I am not trans, and I haven’t had the opportunity to be close friends with a trans person, but I have done a lot of research on what trans people have said about their own experiences, and combined this with other research I’ve done over the years with other minorities and tried to put together what could be lingering insecurities for him and how he could overcome them.

I’m definitely not saying that I’ve done this perfectly and I’m always open to any trans reader who would give me correction, but being trans was not an aspect of Krem’s character that I wanted to ignore just because I wasn’t familiar with it.

I will say that his romance with Josephine was Not Planned. It just kinda happened and I happily ran with it, haha.

Varric’s arc with Bianca is just wishful thinking because I hate her so so much and Bioware just dropped that bomb in Varric’s lap and then just lets him keep holding on to it and it’s bullshit.

The other character journeys are just ways to explore vulnerability in them that I didn’t think got enough attention in the game or I think they could realistically have even if it wasn’t in canon. Like Dorian dealing with his father. Now, in the game, Halward doesn’t have a disease and he dies unexpectedly. But I wanted Dorian to have a realistic reason why he would reach other to his estranged father in this AU and a ticking countdown to an inevitable death seemed right.

Now we get to see Dorian really struggle with this new-found connection with his father that he always wanted to have and now it’s temporary and heartbreak is inevitable and is it still worth it to him? I think Dorian has similar feelings in Trespasser when he found out his father was murdered because he still invested himself to rebuild a lost connection, only to lose it so soon after.

Zevran’s past with the Crows is also something that I really wanted to explore because in the game he is sad for a hot second and then moves on with the Warden and his newfound goal of destroying the entire Crow organization. So I wanted to see Zevran struggle with his inner worth, the fact that he can’t hide forever and his past puts his loved ones in danger, the fact that he can even HAVE loved ones and how it scares the shit out of him. I wanted to have a character who puts on such a good front about not giving a shit about anything to hide how very deeply afraid he is. We are going to see more of this also before the story is over, lol.

Now, Ellana. Like all original characters, Ellana has a lot my personal experiences tied in her. But I originally created Ellana to fill a need for a type of character that I wanted to see with Solas and don’t really get to. I mean, I have not scourged the corners of the internet to find it so I’m sure there are other characters like her, but I haven’t found very many.

I see a lot of very beautiful, very delicate and feminine, very kind and gentle Disney Princess kind of Lavellans. I see a LOT of them. And I don’t hate that necessarily. I mean, Josephine is all of those things and more and I adore her and I sort of crack ship her with Solas anyway, in the secret recesses of my heart. And I love seeing a female character who is the epitome of a “weak” female use those “weak” traits to succeed.

But I am also not very beautiful, I am NOT delicate at all, I’m not gentle. I am not anywhere close to a Disney Princess or a Josephine. And it was disheartening to see Solas romance all these Ocs that were nothing like me after a while because it kind of gave me the message that someone like Solas, a character that I admire and def have a fictional crush on, would never want someone who looks like me or acts like me. That even with unlimited freedom in creating a romantic counterpart for him, I saw so much of what society already reinforces as an ideal that I will never match up to. It doesn’t help that Bioware’s body diversity for elves ranges is nonexistent.

So I made Ellana for me. Not because I want to hate on other Ocs or prove that mine is superior, but so that I would have something that I connected to. And I wanted to explore a dynamic with Solas that I didn’t get to see very often.

So when I first imagined Ellana, I wanted her to be strong and tall and muscular and powerful in a way that makes a lot of unenlightened men uncomfortable. I wanted somebody used to manual labor and dirt and the outdoors and solving problems with their fists and just totally unrefined because I wanted her to be the complete opposite of Solas. (So like Cassandra but in elf form, haha).

I did not want her to be soft or conventionally attractive at all. Ellana doesn’t shun femininity, because I don’t think femininity is inherently wrong, but she is uncomfortable with it and she doesn’t indulge in it.

(Just FYI I am NOT built like Ellana at all either, haha. This is the wish fulfillment part of the OC. I greatly resemble the dwarves, which is why I love them so much.)

But I also needed her to have a reason to leave home, and to have some points of commonality with Solas, so I made her a nerd. A jocky nerd who is insatiably curious and stubbornly independent. And then because I wanted Ellana to feel like a real person instead just a wish fulfillment fantasy, I needed her to grow. So I gave her all my complicated anger issues, my bluntness, my struggles with homesickness, the way I compartmentalize negative events in my life so I don’t have to deal with them just so they can bite me in the ass later, my experiences of going from a lifestyle where all my needs were met and I was oblivious to how great I had it to living with serious poverty for the first time.

And then I devised situations with her life and the other characters where Ellana has to confront these issues and learn to accept them and either move past them or learn to control them. Sometime she gains wisdom and imparts it to people like Sera or Dorian when their struggles come up. And her biggest challenge has yet to arrive, so she’s still cooking, so to speak. Ellana still has a long way to go before she really reaches maturity.

As far as her relationship with Solas goes, I wanted her to challenge him and give him a total upheaval everything he thought he knew about his own culture and his own self. And I wanted him to do the same for her. And then when all the pieces are done falling, they have grown into two people who can handle being together.

So that’s basically it. If there is any character in particular you want to know more about or why I made certain decisions, always feel free to ask!

#asks #dear fenharel #my fic

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pastellarts · 4 years

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To the edge of your sky - Chapter 2: Hope is what we need now

Warning: Scenes of violence, death and grief in this chapter.

A big THANK YOU to all my readers! Words fail me to express how happy I am for all those who have taken the time to read Chapter 1, to follow/like my story and of course to leave a comment.

Special thanks to @bustedflipflop for her beta reading. I love you lady!

Chapter 2 has 6 scenes separated by ~oOo~ The author recommends listening to the following music tracks for certain scenes:

For scene #3 (Battle), listen to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80VIgVJor_4 For scene #4, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eDTRkCcMmE For the last scene https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kSOWfFrw_0

“Does it trouble you?”

Cassandra’s question caught him off-guard, but it was enough to break the awkward silence. He might have pissed her off last night in the tavern. He didn’t exactly regret it because he had to make it clear he was a free man now, not a Circle mage.

But his attitude could become more temperate. If he were honest with himself, she had treated him better since the battle with the demon at the big rift, fairly even. His gut told him he was dealing with a decent and honorable woman. He couldn’t recall any negative rumors circulating about Cassandra back in Ostwick so she definitely wasn’t one of the infamous Seekers.

“It’s stopped spreading, and it doesn’t hurt. I just wish I knew what it was. Or how I got it.” Alexander replied with honesty. No point in withholding any information about his mark. It was the most valuable weapon to the Inquisition.

“We will find out.” Cassandra’s voice came with a certainty of conviction. “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed – provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?” Alexander dared to retort in a sarcastic tone.

“Hold on to that sense of humor.” Cassandra’s lopsided smirk surprised him even more than her concern.

Well. It seemed the Seeker was quick of wit under all this armor. He could work with that.

They entered the War room where Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were already waiting. After a brief explanation of the roles and responsibilities, Cassandra went straight to business.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good.” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help.” Leliana offered.

“And I still disagree. The templars could serve just as well.” Cullen suggested. A shiver ran through Alexander’s veins.

“We need power, Commander.” Cassandra intervened fast. “Enough magic poured into that mark—”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so—” Cullen pressed on. He couldn’t be suggesting…

“Pure speculation.” Leliana cut Cullen off.

“I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Alexander bit his tongue. He could not let his nervousness show. Didn’t Cullen know he was talking to a rebel mage?!? How could he ever suggest they should appeal to the templars for help?

Remember, cooperate. Calm yourself.

“Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.” Josephine managed to ease the tension and pull him back to the meeting.

Cassandra remained silent. Did she also share Cullen’s opinion?

They continued with their planning for the upcoming trip to the Hinterlands to meet Mother Giselle. Scout Harding’s report was grim and left no doubt about how harsh the situation was. It looked like both apostate mages and templars had become far too aggressive, not giving a care about hurting and killing innocent people as a result from the clashes between them.

If Cullen had read this report, and Alexander was certain he had as soon as Leliana had received it, there was no doubt he proposed to seek the templars for assistance.

Alexander left the room, followed by Cullen and Josephine who went straight to their working posts. He looked back at the war room only to see the darkened silhouettes of Cassandra and Leliana engaged in a deep conversation. Cassandra listened with her head and shoulders hanging downward. Her right hand kept rubbing the lower part of her face as she nodded once, twice to the what Leliana was telling her. Leliana stopped talking and ran a palm along Cassandra’s arm in a comforting way.

The moment ended when the Spymaster noticed him. She got lost in the shadows and Cassandra straightened herself and exited the war room. There was a somber light in her eyes, and her lips were slightly trembling, but she walked towards him with the determination and the unyielding posture he had come to know of her.

He would not ask if she was ok. He didn’t feel entitled to share her troubles and what led to that moment of weakness. He was an agent of the Inquisition because he could close the Breach.

“Herald, please visit Master Harritt to acquire a pair of gloves. Your hands need protection from weather and other threats. I have already spoken to him.” Cassandra said in a professional tone. A pragmatic suggestion from her side.

“I… thank you Lady Pentaghast.”

He spent the rest of the day preparing for the trip to the Hinterlands, choosing supplies and potions, trying on the gloves from Master Harritt, and getting to know more of the people who had also joined the Inquisition. It was a welcome revelation that most of them were determined to overlook their past prejudices and biases against mages but not to ignore the threat of the Breach and contribute towards their common goal.

Before sunset, he exited the gates of the village to the training grounds where Cullen was still running drills to the recruits. He was not yet ready to talk with him, even though the Commander had shown no signs of animosity against him. He should remember that not all templars were bad people, and Cullen had left his order to be part of the Inquisition. Perhaps another time.

A familiar grunt grabbed his attention and he noticed Cassandra whacking at a training dummy with a sword, displaying what looked like the collective force of ten soldiers. Her moves were most impressive; however, he wouldn’t dare a compliment at her current state.

“I think you need practice dummies made of sturdier stuff.” Alexander commented from a safe distance.

“That would be nice.” Cassandra rolled her shoulders and gave another hit.

“Like maybe iron.”

Cassandra walked to the next dummy. “Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life.” She paused her training and her voice cracked with emotion. “One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

“What’s going to happen now?” he asked.

“Now we deal with the Chantry’s panic over you before they do even more harm.” The grit was back in her words, accompanied by a good hit on the dummy. “Then we close the Breach. We are the only ones who can.” Another hit. “After that, we find out who is responsible for this chaos, and we end them. And if there are consequences to be paid for what I have done, I pay them. I only pray the price is not too high.”

Cassandra was willing to sacrifice her entire career and lifepath to the Inquisition. She made him feel like his own level of commitment to the cause was lacking passion and honesty. But her steady and resolute guidance was indispensable. Any doubts from her were a luxury the world could not allow.

“You didn’t have any choice.” Alexander attempted to reassure her.

“Didn’t I?” Cassandra hit the dummy with two precise blows, and it smashed in pieces. She dropped her sword to the ground. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Her apology and regret were welcome like a deep breath he had forgotten to take, but his gut guided his response to her. Again. “It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me.” Alexander couldn’t but acknowledge the fact.

“I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone.” She started for the gates but paused. “I’m curious… Do you even believe in the Maker?” she asked.

Her question was simple, yet it felt like he was about to give a loaded confession and he could not lie to her. “I think so. I am not certain about many of my beliefs lately.” Alexander replied.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to be seen where it leads us. See you tomorrow at sunrise at the gates, Herald.”

~oOo~

Two and a half days later Alexander, Cassandra, Solas and Varric reached the Hinterlands by horse relay, making use of the staging posts for Leliana’s scouts. They left their mounts at an Inquisition post with some soldiers to avoid attracting any attention from the conflicting parties and headed for the Outskirts Camp on foot.

“It occurs to me that I don’t actually know much about you.” Cassandra was walking by his side and was once more the one breaking the silence between them. Her bluntness should disconcert him, and yet the simplicity of her ways made him less tense.

“What do you want to know?” Alexander said.

“I’m… not sure. Where are you from?” Cassandra asked.

“I thought you knew that.” He was taken aback by her inquiry.

“I suppose I could ask Leliana. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I want to hear it from you”, insisted Cassandra, kindly. This was not the ‘take-heads-first-questions-later’ Seeker, this was his companion and bodyguard.

“I was born in Ostwick, and that’s where most of my family is.” Alexander said. No point in hiding personal information that she could access elsewhere.

“The Trevelyans, is it not? A large clan with a rather clever coat-of-arms. Tell me, do you consider the Free Marches your home? Are you eager to go back?”

They spent the rest of their trail talking about their families and the places they grew up. He shared some facts about his Circle that he was certain she was aware of already. Nevertheless, she showed genuine interest. She claimed her own story about becoming the Right Hand of the previous Divine Beatrix ‘isn’t as exciting as some drum it up to be’ but he wanted to hear the longer version from her perspective. Perhaps another time, when they would not be rushing to stop the fighting between mages and templars from getting any worse.

The Inquisition banners of the Outskirts Camp became visible and a dwarven woman, apparently Lead Scout Harding, came to greet them. According to Harding, the situation was dire, with templars, apostates and bandits striking anyone, making it impossible for everyone else to travel any distance with safety. Harding’s clear and urgent tone made Alexander extremely nervous about what they could discover.

As they took the path down to the Crossroads, he cast a protective spell on their party and readied himself for upcoming attacks, wishing for enemies that did not bear any familiar faces.

~oOo~

The apostate mages were desperate. They had hired mercenaries for their protection and had setup ice mines everywhere. Despite his calls and Cassandra's pleading to listen to the Inquisition representatives, they seemed to consider any mage who wasn't openly allied with them as their enemy that should be killed. Their party had just located the apostate stronghold in Witchwood and things had gotten very ugly.

Avoiding stepping on an ice mine just in time, Alexander saw a spellbinder preparing to cast a fire mine upon Cassandra who was fighting against two other mages. He took advantage of the cave setting and cast an energy barrage spell to lower his opponent’s resistance. The projectiles bounced across the cave walls, sweeped across like whisps and hit their target. Seeing the barrier down, Varric fired an explosive arrow and finished the job.

"One down!" yelled Alexander and cast a protective barrier on Cassandra before turning his attention to Solas. Trevelyan was running out of mana and there was no time to catch his breath. Perhaps he should join Cullen's recruits for some morning drills to improve his stamina. The explosion and closing the rift had taken a lot from him.

Physical strength had never been his forte. Spells, potions, knowledge, studies, those he could do well in the Circle of Magi in Ostwick. The Circle was no place for restless mages and his conscientious personality and noble birth allowed him to have a relatively uneventful life there. He had grown into a strong and promising scholar senior Enchanter who could still raise a mean spirit blade if he wanted to. But as soon as the mage rebellion started, he turned into a survivor, a protector of the weak in a time of need. A battlemage for the rightful fight against years of oppression.

Until the Conclave.

"I need some help here!" Solas yelled.

The elven mage's call caught Alexander unprepared. The battle was endless. The barriers by Solas were getting shattered by two very formidable spellbinders. Alexander drowned a lyrium potion and cast a dispel and a barrier on Solas. Sweeping his sweat, he turned to Varric who was aiming for a long shot against a mage hidden behind some bushes. Alexander felt the veil changing in a familiar pattern and focused on the hidden figure. The aura and the robes were... No, it couldn't be...

"Varric, no! Stop!"

Too late. Alexander abandoned the battle and ran towards the injured apostate. The arrow was impaled in her stomach. Blood was spurting everywhere.

Shit.

"Olivia! Olivia! It's me, Alexander!"

Cradling her in his arms, he opened a healing potion. The wound was fatal, there was no way to control the blood loss, but Alexander prayed the potion would give her a bit of pain relief and some time to say goodbye.

She coughed weakly, twice.

"Trevelyan... Word spread only you survived the explosion in Haven. I'm glad..." Olivia regarded him with a sad smile.

"You should have come with us Olivia, you would be safer." Alexander stroked the hair out of her face.

"I got to see the world Alexander, the real world. It's beautiful..."

Olivia coughed some blood spots on his sleeve. Not much longer. Not the time for regrets.

"Were you with Rian?" he asked her.

"Templars in red killed him last month..."

"I am sorry."

Olivia took hold of his hand and focused on him. "I am with child... Love is easy, beautiful, lazy, free... We were free Alec... Finally, free…"

The fighting sounds had stopped. Cassandra seethed her sword and ran to them. She immediately pulled out a handkerchief from a pouch and applied pressure to the wound. Alexander nodded to her to leave it be. Olivia started shaking. Any time now and the pain would be over.

"Tell me about the child. Where would you raise it?" He smiled down to her.

"If it were a girl, we would name it Leanna, after my late sister. If we had a son, Rolf. We wanted to reach Orlais... Alec, you got some strong magic now... Be that Herald if you must, but live my friend, live... and love... You can do so much good..." Olivia uttered between violent coughs.

Gone was the colour on her face, and blood started to flow from her mouth. Alexander kept stroking her hair.

"I would never be alive without you Olivia. Maker bless your soul, old friend."

He didn't cry when her last breath came out of her body. He eased her eyelids down and stayed for a while like this, holding softly her lifeless bloody torso, praying silently for Olivia, for Rian, for their unborn child.

Cassandra was still there, silent and calm, keeping some kind of vigil. Her demeanor offered him a comfortable sense of safety and support. It felt strange but not unwelcome.

"I would like to bury her before we leave. Properly." Alexander uttered in a wobbly voice.

Cassandra got up and went to meet the others.

"Of course, Herald. You have my support. I will send for a Chantry sister."

"Thank you, Lady Seeker."

Exhaustion overwhelmed him and for the first time since the explosion that ended the Conclave, Alexander wept.

~oOo~

Cassandra dismounted her horse and after nodding to Master Harritt, she made a break for Leliana's tent outside the Chantry. She glanced back at the Herald who kept mostly silent since the fight in Witchwood. He had turned out to be a fierce mage in action and left a positive impression on her about his skills during their travels.

The Left Hand of the Divine was talking with two of her agents but dismissed them as soon as she acknowledged Cassandra.

"Welcome back. I take it your trip was successful, based on the reports I have received."

"We made contact with Mother Giselle who should be arriving later or tomorrow and refugees should be safer now. The Herald's actions have been rather effective so far." Cassandra affirmed.

"But?"

Leliana grabbed a paper parchment and a small pouch from a table and motioned towards the Chantry. This was a conversation that had to be done in private.

"Nothing bad. On the contrary, I am quite pleased so far. We have allied with 3 agents, the fighting between templars and mages is much less and the refugees are no longer in danger, Master Dennet will probably agree to provide us with horses as soon as we build some watchtowers and there is promise for further support."

But he was close friends with a blood mage.

They entered the war room and Leliana shut the door behind her.

"Spill it Cassandra, I don't have all day."

"One of the apostates we fought was a friend of his from the Circle. The Herald called her Olivia and mentioned she had saved his life. Varric shot her and Lord Trevelyan only managed to give her some comfort before she died. I sensed a blood magic spell on the making before she got shot."

"My agents have mentioned nothing of blood magic practices for Trevelyan." Leliana frowned.

"I also don't believe he is one. He didn't even yell at Varric. He said he never believed in this war and Varric couldn't have known."

"Sensible and matter-of-fact. Good." The Spymaster smirked with satisfaction. “Has he mentioned if he belonged to any of the fraternities?”

“He did mention the Aequitarians but he could be a Libertarians sympathizer as well.” Cassandra knit her brows.

“Pure speculation at this point. It will come up sooner or later, especially if he decides to meet with the rebel mages in Redcliffe.” Leliana remarked.

"He brought back with him some of her possessions. He claims them to be notes and books on magic and astronomy. Could you—"

"Of course."

Cassandra breathed a relieved sigh and nodded. How she had wished for Leliana's presence in this trip. Her insight and ability to see though everything and everyone was uncanny and the Seeker needed the reassurance of her old time companion and friend. She turned for the doors.

"Cassandra. A moment."

Leliana's hesitation was very brief but enough for Cassandra to guard herself against the news she was about to hear. The Spymaster left the pouch on the table and unfolded the parchment.

"While you were away, we have managed to identify some more victims of the explosion. I have their names here if you want to take a look."

Cassandra reached for the list. Leliana never took her eyes off her.

"Still no sign of Justinia's body or what is..." Leliana trailed off.

The Seeker felt her legs give away and leaned on the table. Her hands trembled. One drop and then another fell from her eyes and stained the parchment. She pushed it away. Leliana remained by her side.

"We recognised him from the seal and the blade he carried with him. It was as you had described it to me."

Cassandra let a sob and broke down. She had no idea how long Leliana comforted her but she was grateful for doing this away from everyone. They could not see her as weak, helpless, lost, alone. She was Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, the founder of the Inquisition. There was no time for mourning. There was nobody left to mourn. Every person she had loved was dead.

"I will leave first and keep away anyone that might give you trouble. You‘ve had no time to mourn for Regalyan and Justinia. You have now. Take as much as you want, my friend." The doors closed with a soft click when Leliana left.

Cassandra opened the pouch and took the blade in her hands. It was her last gift to Regalyan, to protect him against any danger whenever they parted ways. It was part of every single staff he had owned since that day.

But the blade had not saved her former lover from the explosion. Nothing could have saved him from it.

The Divine, Galyan, her brother, her Order, her purpose. All gone.

For the first time since the Conclave, Cassandra let her tears and her loneliness beat her.

~oOo~

"What about the supply caches?" Alexander pointed at the map where the Crossroads were located.

"We received news yesterday that they were distributed immediately. Again, thank you, Herald for looking into this matter", Cullen nodded at Alexander.

"It was just the right thing to do and I wasn't alone. But before we go," he exhaled heavily and paused before addressing Leliana. "Did you have any luck locating the bodies of my fellow Enchanters?"

Cassandra turned to look at Trevelyan. All these weeks she had been so focused on the Inquisition matters and her own grief that she had forgotten to ask him if he had lost someone close to him in the explosion. He had not been there as a spy or out of curiosity, he had been a member of the delegation from the Circle of Magi of Ostwick. They were working together with a man who had lost people who mattered to him and yet he had not hesitated to cooperate with their cause and do the right thing even if they had treated him as a mass murderer at first. He wanted to be a free mage, but he also wanted the war to end and the Breach to close.

“We have recovered two bodies that bore the seal from the Circle of Ostwick. Sister Jeanette can tell you where they are.” Leliana informed him.

“Lord Trevelyan.” Cassandra ventured to interject. “Some clerics will perform a burial for many of the victims. It can include your friends. Of course, if you wish for a specific ritual, it can be arranged.”

The Herald gripped on the desk with both his hands and let his head hang low for a moment. He then pushed himself off and focused on her. His gaze exposed a conflict of emotions, vulnerable and determined.

“I appreciate that, Lady Seeker. Thank you, thank you all.” Alexander cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice was no longer brittle. “I will go see researcher Minaeve.”

The door closed behind Cassandra’s back and Josephine began to speak.

“We have received some letters from the Trevelyan clan about—“

“It is a matter concerning the Herald’s family and it is only fair he should be present as well.” Cassandra interrupted her. She- They had to show him respect.

“I suppose you are right, Lady Cassandra.” Josephine acknowledged her and checked her tablet. “One last thing before we leave. Marquis DuRellion…”

~oOo~

Cassandra held the urn with Regalyan’s ashes as she looked for a place to bury them. Long after his pyre had died out, she simply stood staring at it for a while, tears coursing down her cheeks. She thought of scattering them, but then she recalled how the terrible smell after the explosion in the Temple had burned her nose. She should write to his friends in the White Spire—

If there was anyone left alive. Or had they joined the rebel mages in Redcliffe..? Perhaps they had become apostates. She didn’t know.

‘Cassandra, you are the bravest person I've ever met. And the most beautiful. ’ (*)

Many had called her brave, but nobody had called her the most beautiful person ever again. At least not like him. The young love they had shared for years never ceased to warm her heart and the remembrance of their relationship gave her courage in dark times. They had eventually drifted apart and remained distant friends since Justinia’s appointment as the Divine. Had he survived, she doubted they would ever become lovers again. Nevertheless, when she had learned he would attend the Conclave, she had looked forward to meeting him. It was the best news she had heard for a long time, an opportunity to catch up with each other, listen to his vivid laughter, shove his arm at his insatiable need to flatter her any time anywhere, make fun of the wrinkles around his bright green eyes, hug him...

His loss would ache for the rest of her life.

She spotted a tree that reminded her of the adventure that brought them together, placed the urn on the ground and started to dig with her sword and her hands. Each jab was loaded with anguish and the urge to revenge for his death, for all those deaths. She was so lost in her mourning she never heard Trevelyan approach.

“Need any help?”

She gasped and almost lost her balance. Alexander raised both hands slightly up and made an apologetic grimace.

“I am sorry if I scared you. I was just passing by.”

“It’s alright.” Cassandra gave an indifferent nod with her head and continued with her digging. She was soon joined by the Herald who used a small shovel to help her finish her task.

“Where did you find the shovel?” she asked him.

“Master Harritt gave it to me when I asked if he had any. Apparently, he made a few due to the circumstances.” Alexander replied and stood aside when the hole was large enough.

Cassandra took the urn and placed it in the ground. Trevelyan’s presence had distracted her from her sorrowful thoughts, and she finished covering the urn with soil without shedding any more tears. Not in front of him.

To his credit, the Herald had stepped aside to give her the privacy the moment needed. She used a blade to carve Regalyan’s initials on the tree, taking a silent oath to make a proper grave for him as soon as she found the time. When she finished, she placed her palm on the trunk of the tree and whispered her parting words and a quick prayer. And just like that, it was done.

She met the Herald and they started walking back to the village.

“Have they found the Divine’s body?” It was Alexander who broke the silence this time.

“No and I don��t think we will find anything. If your memories from the rift were right, she was at the center of the explosion.” Cassandra replied.

“Have you lost many people at the Conclave?” She appreciated his tactful inquiry; she could not handle talking about Galyan now. And Trevelyan wasn’t her friend to share more.

“People who I knew from the Chantry, as well as templars and some Enchanters.” Cassandra gave a vague response. “And you, Herald?”

He looked at the shovel and sighed. “Derrin and Amethyne, both Senior Enchanters, both good mages. I was friends with Derrin, not so much with Amethyne.” Alexander paused and his face broke into repressed laughter. “The irony is that those two hated each other’s guts so much, they couldn’t stand being in the same room for more than what was necessary. And now they lie next to each other in ashes inside their urns in the ground, forced to coexist in peace, both in the Maker’s side.”

His words brought a small smile to her face and she began to snicker. “I am sorry, I should not be laughing, it is not the right time or place.” Cassandra attempted to restrain herself.

Alexander wore a wide grin and amusement danced on his eyes as he watched her fighting her own smile. “I am sure our friends would laugh with us too, if they were here.”

Galyan would. And he would coax her to relish the moment, in his unique dashing way.

Cassandra followed Alexander in the tavern, hoping to wash away the sorrow of the day with some rye. When Flissa came to take their orders, Cassandra asked her to leave the bottle.

“Was Olivia a good friend of yours?” Cassandra let out the question that had been troubling her the past days. The mist that covered his eyes could have been from the large gulp of rye, but she suspected that was not the case.

“She was like a sister to me in the Circle. She saved my life when I got there. There was— I would never pass my Harrowing without her. I owe her my life, literally. The war broke us apart, I remained with the rebellion and she and Rian joined the apostates, eager to fight in the Mage-Templar war.” The Herald kept his gaze fixed on his drink and didn’t look up. It was noticeably difficult for him to speak about her so the issue of blood magic would have to wait. She would get her answers some other time.

“What about the rest of the Enchanters from your Circle?” Cassandra changed the subject. What roused him in lowering his guard only appealed to her curiosity. She did not want to let his mood for sharing go to waste.

“All Senior Enchanters are dead. Two of them were killed when the rebellion started, along with First Enchanter Lydia. The other three you already know. I assume some mages have joined the other rebels in Redcliffe.” Alexander professed with a grim expression.

“I wish the Seekers and the Chantry had done more for the mages.” Cassandra admitted.

“What will happen to the Chantry now?” Alexander asked her.

“It is difficult to say. They have no templars, no leadership, and no one left who is worthy of succeeding the Divine.” Cassandra finished her glass with one gulp and served herself a refill. “It has fallen apart when everyone needs it the most. I ache to think what this will mean in the days to come.”

“I’m surprised you rebelled against the Chantry.” Alexander was now leaning on his left arm, his eyebrows pulled slightly together.

“I left my own Order when they took the wrong path. It is no different. But in neither case did I stop caring. Indeed, I care so much that I feel drastic action is necessary. I suppose history shall one day judge my actions.” Cassandra hoped she didn’t sound like a zealot.

“Would you serve a new Divine?”

“That depends on whether she would have me. I’m a rebel now, remember? And even if she would, I… do not know.” Cassandra stared at the rye as she swirled it in the cup. She started to contemplate her life so far. Would she remain the Right Hand to a new Divine? Would she return to the Seekers? For all she knew, it could be time for a new direction in her life.

“I first met Divine Justinia two years ago when I was presented to her as a newly appointed Senior Enchanter in a ceremony in the Grand Cathedral. She left a positive impression to me, aside from her speech. It was a bit boring.” Alexander interrupted her musings and she took a peek at him. He was still leaning on his arm, looking to his left as if reminiscing.

“She was never a big fan of speeches.” Cassandra assented with a half chuckle. “I think I was absent from that ceremony…”

“You weren’t there.” Trevelyan said quickly and leaned towards her. “If you were, I would definitely remember you.”

Cassandra stared at him with mouth slightly open. Did he just..?

“You flatter me.”

“I’m trying.” Trevelyan shrugged with a pleased expression and leaned back on his chair.

Cassandra let a disgusted noise and took a large sip. He had done it again, set her off-course and let her trip on incredulous notions that she had absolutely no need of right now.

“Lady Pentaghast.” The Herald dispersed her confusing thoughts, his voice fearless and crisp, his gaze clear and hopeful like a fresh breeze. He straightened his pose and raised his glass. “A toast to all the rebels who never stopped caring and will always care to do the right thing, who defy chaos and hope to make the future a possibility.”

She should be more wary of that silver tongue of his. Yet, at that moment, she couldn’t help it. Cassandra’s face lit up with a small smile that he returned in full. “To allies that join causes with honorable goals.” She raised her own glass and they both savored their drinks without breaking eye contact.

He was not her friend, no. But he was earning her respect with each passing day and she dared to have faith that he would be a kindred spirit in the struggle against these troubled times.

His fetching smile made it also not so terrible.

_________

Note: I always wondered what happened to other people that were along with the Inquisitor in the Conclave, no matter the race. There was no cut scene or mention of any loss, so I decided to give Alexander some backstory with friends from his Circle that died in the explosion or in the Mage – Templar War.

(*) It bugged me that they didn’t mention anything about Regalyan’s death and how it affected Cassandra. It was not only Justinia that she lost. If you don’t know who Regalyan is, “Dawn of the Seeker” is an anime movie and I love the penultimate scene where Regalyan and Cassandra look at each other with those dreamy eyes of young love. This quote is from that scene.

#da:i #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dai #cassandra x inquisitor #Cassandra Pentaghast #Alexander Trevelyan #cassandra x m!trevelyan #cassandra x male inquisitor #leliana #josephine montilyet #cullen rutherford #my writing #dai fanfic #dai fanfiction #inquisitor trevelyan #writing dragon age

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allegrafitzgerald · 4 years

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BASICS

Name: Allegra Genevieve Fitzgerald

Gender & pronouns: nonbinary, they/them and she/her

Species: wereworlf

Age: 27, October 28th

PERSONALITY

Traits: resourceful, cautious, cynical, organized, wary

Moral alignment / MBTI / enneagram: lawful neutral / istj / 8

Values: order, loyalty, compassion

Flaws: unforgiving, pride, envy

TLDR

Just to jumpstart plotting: Allegra is relatively (a few months) new to town. A wolf that was bitten at 18 and shunned by her family of hunters. She doesn’t trust anyone, doesn’t want to do anything other than survive, and Blackrock’s her best bet for that. Secretive and closed off, craving stability and secretly longing for a home! Very similar to my original take on Allegra from when I was here briefly at the start, but with minor adjustments

HISTORY

TW: Minor Violence, Suicide references

You are Allegra Fitzgerald, the first daughter of Richard and Emilia Fitzgerald, both prominent members of their social circles. They are sure, they are confident, they are icons. You are to be the same when you’re of age. And so, they teach you. They teach you to read and write, they teach you how to speak and how to listen. Tutors and teachers are brought in. You sing, you write, you dance. You also learn archery. A funny thing for someone so light and airy, but your parents insist on it and no questions their word.

Despite the oddity of the bow and arrow placed in your small hands, you think that this is your favorite of your lessons. You don’t know why but it feels right when you pull the string taut, arrow notched and carefully aimed. You feel like you were born for this. One day, you’re certain, your aim will be true every time.

Your parents take a lot of trips when you are young, leaving you alone with nannies or with friends. When you are older, around fifteen, you find out why. Your parents are not the benevolent socialites they always made themselves out to be. They are hunters. At first, you were confused, but they continued to explain. Werewolves, apparently, existed. Your parents were heroes to humankind still, defending others from monsters that could tear them limb from limb.

You are to be just like them, an heir to a monster-hunting throne.

You do not object.

You learned young that you’re meant to be the person your parents are trying to shape you to be. There’s no room for disobedience, for questioning their edicts. The idea of rebelling has never occurred to you.

But you’re still training, three years later, when, the unthinkable happens. You are in the woods, not too far astray from your parents and their fellow hunters. It is the first time your parents brought you on a hunt with them, the first time you’re expected to truly do your part. You might have been dawdling a little, nervous and wondering if this is right, but a beast rushes out of the woods and the next thing you know you are on your back. There is a wound to your middle, rough and tearing. You cry for your parents, but when they come, you don’t recognize the looks on their face. It’s disgust. It’s hatred. It’s because of you.

They give you a gun and tell you to do what needs to be done.

Then they leave you.

Had one of them been in your shoes, things would have ended differently. But you? You hesitate instead. You can’t kill yourself for the betterment of humanity.

Instead, you run.

You run and you run and you run.

You find home in the mountains, cold enough year round that you can be a wolf full time. It’s easier that way. You don’t have to think about your family, you don’t have to think about their abandonment. All that matters is hunt, eat, and rest. That becomes your cycle. Hunt. Eat. Rest. There is nothing more to you.

You are, at your core, a wolf.

You’ve lost count of the years in your wandering. You stay near those mountains, but sometimes you like to stretch your limbs, pace the woods and explore. You avoid humans. They make you think, which is something you refuse to do.

But sometimes you wander too close to town, catch sight of families and even your wolf starts to long for that. You can only be a lone wolf for so long before something snaps, and one day, you shifted back.

This exploring comes back to bite you. One day, you are only minding yourself, when you feel the sharp sting of a bullet grazing your side. Hunters, like your family had been, like you were supposed to be. They found you. So you do what you do best. You run.

It is safer to hide in plain sight, so against everything in you screaming to do the opposite, you follow your instincts and find a town. You’re human again for the first time in a decade.

You hate this.

You were not meant to be human, not since you were eighteen, not since your family turned you away.

Blackrock is name that tugs at your memories, ones you’ve carefully buried in the years you’ve been a wolf. It’s familiar because it’s where Spruce is, the only person from your old life that feels anything close to safe. It’s a risk, still, but you arrive in town half off instinct, desperate to survive in this world.

Desperate to live.

Blackrock is what you expected. You keep yourself as isolated as you can, distrusting any kindness that you encounter. People aren’t good. You learned that the hard way already.

You do not want to be a part of this pack. It feels wrong. It’s not right. You are jealous of them all, these people, these wolves, who have close ties with others. They have family. You don’t have that, not anymore. You were cursed with a bite, and with just one moment in the wrong place at the wrong time, everything was stolen from you. Of all the paths your life could have gone, of all the choices you could have made, this wouldn’t have been the one you picked for yourself. But there’s safety in numbers, so you ended up here. They don’t know much about you, they don’t know your past or your family. You are just a wolf who needs a safe place to rest.

DEVELOPMENT

So obviously this is a minor rework of Allegra from when I was previously in Shiver, and the long-term plan for Allegra is the same-that eventually she will come to terms with the fact that, just because her family rejected her and didn’t want her, not everyone will. She could come to admire, maybe even love, this new pack that has allowed her a safe haven. However, that won’t come soon, and I think the added dynamics with Spruce and Reed will build on that struggle to find peace, to make herself a home here. Even once she does find her place within the pack, she is always going to have a sense of paranoia to her, a sense that maybe being alone and by herself in the woods will be better than --- than this. She still has a sinking feeling that she needs to run.

She isn’t as grounded as she likes to present herself to be, too skittish the second anyone gets in her space. Not even close to her-just close enough for her to perceive them as a threat. As she slowly starts to let members of the pack in, her defenses are slowly going to calm down for those few people. She’ll likely never be one to go for physical contact, but eventually she won’t tense if someone is within an arm’s length of her.

CONNECTIONS

[ ZACH ] seems to want something from me, why else would they be this kind? I don’t trust it ( Allegra hasn’t known kindness in far too many years, and they can’t accept anyone doing anything out of the goodness of their heart )

My past is the past, it shouldn’t matter to anyone here. So why does [ OPEN ] ask so many questions ( They were supposed to be a hunter. Allegra might never have killed a wolf, but that was the path they were on and they’re scared of how that will impact things with the pack if it gets out. This person is pushing, asking too many questions, making them scared they’ll have to run again )

Something about [ SOLA ] makes me feel at ease. I don’t understand why, but I’m drawn to them. I’ll do my best to avoid them. ( Friend or family or loved one, it does’t matter. Allegra has only had themselves since the moment they were bitten, and they didn’t have much prior to that to begin with. Closed off she might be, Allegra wants to let this person in, they just don’t know where to start )

[ OPEN ] doesn’t know how to mind their business, and it’ll come back to bite them one day ( Allegra is going to fight someone, wound too tightly to relax and finally snapping )

I was young when I turned, and I never got to experience some aspects of my humanity while I was living as a wolf. [ OPEN ] is part of that ( Allegra spent almost a decade after turning 18 as a wolf, and it turns out that hooking up is fun and good and the only form of contact that doens’t immediately set them on edge )

#[ shipper ]#i'm standing in the ashes of who i used to be [ musings ]

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cutieink · 5 years

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Long Lost Lavellan

read on AO3

Solas x Mabel Lavellan

Zevran Arainai x Quinnel Surana

9:45 Dragon

Mabel Lavellan sits at her writing desk, staring off into her unfinished letter as she thinks of how much has changed. It’s been a year since she decided to continue the Inquisition as a way to protect her Divine and find a way to stop her Vhenan from ending this world. Not to mention losing her arm. Just had to pick up that blighted orb with my dominate hand didn’t I? She often thinks when she struggles to do tasks that use to be so simple. She has worked hard on her penmanship these past months, trying to get some of her independence back. It is still scratchy but at least it is now legible to most…yet still not as pretty as the way she used to write. She lets out a long sigh as she finally looks away and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Ah, is this a bad time my dear Inquisitor?” Mabel jolts out of her chair with a yelp to quickly find the source of the voice. Behind her she sees a dark figure rest against the window sill, cackling at her jumpiness.

As her eyes adjust she sees the intruder is wearing a black hooded cape with sliver plated armor cascading down his arms and legs that shined in the sunlight. She relaxes and rolls her eyes with a light scoff before answering. “Makers breath! Spymaster Arainai, I told you to stop coming in through the windows!”

The man steps forward and gracefully tugged his hood off revealing his long, graying, blond locks. “And I have told you to call me Zevran instead of my title on plenty occasions and yet here we are, defying each other! Tsk tsk, so naughty of us.” Zev says with a grin as he walks towards the desk and sits with his legs draped over the side.

Mabel sits back in her chair while glaring up at the Antivan elf which was only returned with a devilish smile from him that somehow made her expression soften. She lets out a sigh. “I suppose that’s fair…Zevran. Now I assume there is something you wanted?”

“Ah I only wish to waste your time if you have a moment. You seemed quite…busy with your thoughts yes?” He question with a quirked of an eyebrow.

Mabel let out a small chuckle at his expression. “Did I now? Well it’s nothing for you to worry yourself about I assure you. Just a personal matter.”

“I see…” his gaze lowers to the paper on the desk that only says “Dear Keeper,” in very jolted writing. Mabel sees where his eyes have drifted and quickly puts her hand over it as her face turns crimson. “Trouble with the famiglia I take it?”

She knew he would keep pressing the issue, his wife Quinnel Surana had warned her about that before leaving him and their daughter in her care while she went off to continue her mission to find a cure for the Calling. “You can’t hide anything from him, trust me I’ve tried. He just finds a way around your silence. I’ll be quite cross with him though if he tries to make you talk the way he...persuades me too.” the hero had said with a nervous chuckle. Guess there is no point in lying. She thought.

“It’s…been a long time since I’ve written to my clan.”

“Hmm, how long?”

“About a year,” She raises her wrapped residual arm and let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m sure you can guess why.”

He releases a chuckle and furrows his brow in confusion. “Forgive me for pestering you with silly questions my dear but you could have had someone write for you till your regained your writing skills, no?”

“Obviously, I did after…what happened, but I have not sent word since…not personally at least.” She looks up at him and see’s how he is cocking his head to the side awaiting her to elaborate. “…Let’s just say they weren’t super thrilled with me telling them everything our people believed was a lie and my ex was the Dread Wolf.”

He stroked his chin in thought. “Hmm, yes I can see why that might cause some…tension between you all. They did believe you, yes?”

“I’m not entirely certain. They could believe Solas was who he says but they don’t believe his story. Can’t say I blame them…he was our God of betrayal in our tales.”

“But you certainly believe.” His voice is less brash then before. It catches her off guard hearing what sounds almost like…sympathy in his tone.

If she was honest she did. Maybe it was foolish after his deception, but her love for him made her see the truth in his sorrowful eyes when he told her everything that day in the crossroads. “His story did line up with the information we obtained in the crossroads, sadly I doubt that is enough for the world to believe him or I…but it doesn’t matter what anyone believes. What matters is his intent is to end this world and I have to change his mind… somehow.”

He thought to ask what she would do if she could not change his mind but…he knew. He was sure that she had discussed the morbid alternative enough and it would only agitate her more than he had already. “…Well! If anyone can change his ways, it would be the lovely woman who stole his heart! A man can only deny his desires for so long. Trust me I speak from experience.” He gave a dashing grin while winking at her.

Mabel’s ears perk up at his words, trying not to crack a smile. Most people doubted her plan to change her Vhenan’s mind, while other said they understood but she could see judgment in their gaze. Yet in his golden eyes…she could almost believe he meant it. “Sadly I doubt my seduction skills are enough to sway him. Maybe if I send you to find him we might have a chance.”

“Ha-ha! I am quite the charmer am I not? Alas, I cannot compare to someone such as you. I sadly doubt I could make an Elven God swoon the way you have.” He dramatically rests his hand on his forehead while leaning his head back.

Mabel’s composure fully releases and lets out an enduring laugh, something she had not done in a long time in front of someone. With most of her friends gone off to live their own lives away from the inquisition, she rarely has reason to laugh nowadays.

“Ha! Such a lovely laugh, I wasn’t sure you could do that my Inquisitor.” He teased while nudging her shin with his boot.

“Well in this environment there isn’t much to make me.” Her smile falters as she is reminded of all her friend’s scattered across Thedas. A selfish part of her wished they stayed by her side, but she knows they all had their own duties to attended too. That did not stop her from longing for their affection. She caresses the calling crystal around her neck, reminding herself she has not lost contact with them all. “…at least not like before.”

Zevran notices her quick change in mood. He’s never been wonderful at consoling others. That was more of his loves line of work, yet he felt the need to try. He lets out a nervous chuckle. “Well I will do my best to give you reason then.”

She looks up at him and slowly smiles once more. “I…appreciate that Zevran. Thank you.”

Smiling brightly at her he hops off her desk. “Anything for you my dear Inquisitor. Truly you can ask anything of me, you are paying me after all.” He lets out a yelp as she scoffs and hit him in the shin with her boot.

“Ass.” She says with a giggle. He holds his shin for a minute glaring at her but joins in her little giggle fest.

“You are lucky mi amor is not here. She does not take kindly to people abusing me so.” He said pouting.

“I’m sure she’d know it was justified.” She said with a smirk.

“Sadly I think you’re right.” He sighs in agreement. “Anyway I do hope you find something to say to your Keeper. I’d give some advice but I fear I don’t have much knowledge on family quarrels.”

Mabel only knew a little of Zevran’s life before he joined The Hero of Ferledon’s fight to stop the blight. She knew he was part of the Crows and thanks to his wife was freed from their hold on him, but she had never asked how he even became a Crow. “Forgive me if I’m out of line, but were you taken from your family at a young age?”

Zevran’s eyes became hooded by her question. He gave a faint smile while looking at the floor. “Not at all Inquisitor, I have no problem discussing my past with you. And no, in fact I had no family to speak of. My mother died giving birth to me so I was raised in the whore house she worked in…and I was not “taken”; rather I was sold to them when I was but a boy of 7.”

Her eyes widen in response. She knew the Crows to be cruel; why else would she help him destroy their organization in return for his help with the Inquisition. But she was unaware he had spent most of his life with them. She could only imagine what he must have endured. “Zevran…I’m so sorry.”

“People always react with such words of sorrow. I do not understand why, it is not like you were the whore who sold me or the men that instructed me to kill my brothers and sisters in arms.” He folds his arms uncomfortably while leaning against a bookcase near the desk.

“True enough…but I’m sorry all the same that you had to go through such things.” She said rising from her chair to look at him.

He averts her gaze and scoffs. “You sound like my wife; needlessly kind. Truly though I would not change anything if you are wondering.”

Her gaze left him as she leaned against her desk. “I wish I could say the same.” She said under her breath. She regretted everything and nothing if that made any bloody sense. She would not trade the world for the friends she had made after becoming the “Herald of Andraste” and yet every so often she wished it all never happened to her. Never getting close to people she’d care more for then they probably did of her and never foolishly falling for a God who threatens to take everything she loves away. Was her heart not enough for him? He said he took no joy in what he felt he must do and yet she felt as if he and the world mocked her pain. When she sees him in the fade while she dreams, she cannot tell if he is tormenting her or longing for her as she idiotically does for him. She feels breathless and feels the urge to weep as her nails dig into wood of the desk.

Zevran sees her struggling with her thoughts. He sees a young girl forced into a role she never asked for and is paying for not only her actions but everyone’s. Such an over told tragedy, and yet I know not how to help…a change of subject perhaps? He thinks. “Y-you know my mother was Dalish…at least that is what I’ve been told.”

Her attention immediately snaps back to him as she clears her throat to gain her composure back. “Really? How did she…how’d she get to Antiva?”

“Ah oldest tale in the book you know? She fell for an elven woodcutter and left her old life behind to run away with him only to have him die of some filthy disease, leaving her with his debt to pay off by selling her body.” He said with a shrug. Mabel’s eyes widened in shock, strangely…this was similar to a tail she had heard growing up.

9:29 Dragon

“Da’len! Come here!” Mabel’s grandmother called to her in a very hoarse voice. A small Mabel lavellan walks quickly to her side.

“Did you need something grammy?” Mabel said in a shy but cheerful tone.

“No Vhenan, I am fine. I only wished to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Why?” Her grandmother gazes at the other children in the camp.

“I’ve been watching you my child. Rarely do I see you interact with the other Da’len’s in our clan. You worry me my dear.”

“I just don’t feel like playing with them. I’d rather play with the halla!” she exclaimed with a wide smile showing off the gap in her front teeth. Her grandmother couldn’t help but smile back even with her worry.

“Hmph, you may look just like your father, but you remind me so much of my first daughter.”

This confuses Mabel. Mama never said she had an older sister. She puzzled. Her grandma see’s the confusion written on her face.

“Ah…I doubt she has told you much of her…she never did forgive her for leaving. But you should know of your aunt. No one should be forgotten so easily.” She pats the grass near her. “Sit, Mabel.” With wide eyed fascination, she did as she told not breaking her intense gaze from her grandma. She was given a weak smile in response by her before she let out a long tired sigh.

“Long before I had your mother, I had another daughter named Kiera. She was much like you as I said. Shy but if she loved something she was quite passionate about it. She kept to herself most of the time. She loved exploring the forest outside our clan.” She furrowed her brow, defining her wrinkles even more. “One day, when she was a young woman, she came back from a stroll and told me she met a city elf, a woodcutter she said, and that she wished to see him again. I told her she should not trust anyone outside our clan…but she went and saw him again anyway.”

“Were you mad at her?”

“…I did not react well to her defiance. So, yes I was…and I’m afraid my anger drove her away. When your mother was just a few years younger than you, Kiera left a note and vanished in the night as we slept. She had run off with the boy to Antiva City and said she was never coming back…and she never did.” The old elf’s voice cracks with grief and bows her head. She feels her da’len’s arms wrap around her arm, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“Do you want me to go find her when I’m big and strong Grammy? Maybe I can bring Aunty Kiera home.” Mabel said with hopeful eyes looking up at her. Her grandma’s golden eyes well up with tears as she looks at her.

“No Vhenan. If she is even still…if she does not wish to come back to us, then that is her choice. I will ask one thing of you though my dear.” She said petting her granddaughter’s hair.

“What is it?”

“If you ever feel like straying from your people, please…do at least write to us. So we know you are safe. That is all I ask.” She sees her Da’len let out a faint giggle.

“I’m not going anywhere Grammy, but if I did, I promise.”

“That’s my girl.” She whispers as he hugs her granddaughter as tight as she can. Not ever wanting to let go.

A single tear trails down Mabel’s face as she stares into the same golden eyes as her late grandmother.

“Lavell-I mean Inquisitor, are you alrig-oof!” He almost loses his balance as Mabel crashes into him and squeezes her arms around his torso but shifts his stance in time to hold steadily. He slowly wraps his arms around her small frame with sincerity yet confusion. “I…feel like I’m missing something.”

Her sobs turn into a light giggle. “I’m sorry. Maker you must think I’m crazy. Honestly I don’t know if you’ll believe me if I tell you.” She admitted while wiping her tears away quickly.

“Try me, Inquisitor. I am sure I have heard crazier in my lifetime.” He said smoothing his hand across the apex of her back. It is so much to take in; that the aunt she longed to find has been dead for years but fate had sent her cousin to her side. She might have failed to keep contact with her clan like her grandmother asked, but maybe finding this closure for her family will be a way to make amends.

The thought is comforting enough to give her confidence to finally speak. “Well…I believe I just found something to start my letter with; how I just found another Lavellan.” She raises her eyebrows in a way to ask if he gets what she is trying to say. He cocks his head to the side while squinting his eyes at her. Obviously not she assumes.

She lets out a sigh and continues. “Zevran…I was told I had an Aunt that left our clan years ago to run away with a city elf to Antiva. We never knew what happened to her…but I think I just found out.”

His eyes slowly widen in realization. “You…you can’t possibly be serious. I do enjoy a good joke Inquisitor but I’m afraid this is not one I enjoy.” He hisses as he backs away from her.

“Zevran I swear to you, I would never joke of such things! I would only say this if I was certain.” She takes one of his hands in hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I-I believe you are my cousin.” His face softens at her words and hesitantly walks closer.

Zevran never imagined he’d find his mothers clan, then again there was a time he never imagined creating a family of his own. Yet now he stands here in the present, with a beautiful wife and daughter and now… a cousin. A bright smile bursts onto his face as he squeezes her hand back before letting go to pull her into a death grip of an embrace. “Mia Cugina, ho un Cugina!” he muffled into her shoulder. He feels her pat his back almost frantically.

“Zev…can’t breathe.” She manages wheeze out.

“Oh! Apologizes Cugi-I mean Inquisitor.” He exclaimed with a gasp, letting go of her quickly. As she catches her breath she laughs.

“No need for formalities Zevran.” She puts her hand on his shoulder. “We are family after all.” She lets out a chuckle with tears still streaming down her face.

Ah chuckle leaves his lips as well while he tries to rub her tears away with the padding of his gloved thumb. “Hehe, that we are.” He pauses as he contemplates what he should say next. “I-I have so many questions but I do not wish to bombard you all at once, and I doubt you know much of my mother.”

“Well I know her name was Kiera.” She sees him repeat his mother’s name under his breath with a bashful smile. “My Grandmother said she was quite shy but a very passionate person, and loved to explore. I assume you must look a lot like her…at least you do look like my grandmother.” Zevran’s eye lit up. Even if she did not know much, there was oddly satisfying learning more about the mother and family he never knew.

“Passionate and adventuress you say? Ha! So that is where I get it. Please do tell me how I resemble your Grandmother! She must have been lovely!”

Not always true to his word, he did bombard her with questions. For the next hour they lounged on the floor of Mabel’s room as Zevran asked every question he could summon about their clan. Any questions she was unable to answer, she began to write down as she finished her letter to her clan as they chatted away. At one point he realized he needed to send a letter to his wife telling her the good news so Mabel gave him a quill and paper so he could write to her while they still sat and enjoyed each other’s company.

“Are you finished Cugina?”

She looks at her letter and thinks she is finally content with it. “I think so. Are you?”

“Sì.” He says standing while stretching his arms over his head, letting out a groan of disapproval as his back cracks.

“Getting old are we?” she says with a devilish grin as she folds her letter to fit in an envelope.

“How dare you! I am as spry as a child…I just sat for too long.” He huffed while glaring down at her, making her giggle in response. He sighed while extending his hand to help her from the floor. She pinches the letter between her frail bicep and side so she can take his hand. As she stands she looks up at him and sees he is warmly smiling back at her. She returns it for a moment but it begins to fade quickly.

She was happy but she could not help but let her mind wonder back to upsetting thoughts. Maybe this news of a lost cousin wasn’t enough to mend the hurt she must have caused her clan or what if they wouldn’t accept Zevran as family. He seemed so excited at the prospect of extended family and the thought that she had gotten his hopes up made her wish she wasn’t so quick to tell him all of this. “Is something wrong Cugina? Did I upset you in some way?” The worry in his voice snaps her back to reality and she shakes her head.

“No not at all…I just…I should tell you Zev, I have no idea what my clan will say about all this. If I’ve lost their trust, they might not even respond to me.” She looks down remorsefully with a sigh. “I fear I may have raised your hopes for nothing.” A chuckle leaves his lips causing her to curiously look back up at him.

“My dear, it does not matter to me if not all my questions are answered let alone being a fully fledged Lavellan! Why ever would I need such things? I live a fantastic life as it is! I have a stunningly beautiful wife, a perfect daughter, powerful friends all over Thedas and now…I have you to call my family as well, yes?” He raises his eyebrow in question. Her eyes sting from the tears she holds back as she lets a faint laugh escape her.

“Maker of course, Zev. If we weren’t I wouldn’t have allowed you to call me cousin in your native tongue for the past hour now would I?”

“Ah a fair point indeed. In that case I am truly a lucky man. I never expected to learn anything of my mother or her clan so finding you is truly a miracle.” He delicately takes her hand in his. “I have been gifted many in my lifetime so trust me I know when I see one in front of me, and I have learned to treasure them always.” His other hand gently holds the back of her head so he can leave a chaste kiss on her freckled forehead.

The display of affection loosens her hold on her emotions once more as a single tear escapes her duct. Trying to hide it she buries herself in his embrace, not knowing what to say. He does not seem to mind as he lovingly pets her hair till he breaks the silence as he clears his throat and guides her to look at him once more.

“Well, I should go and tell my darling figilia she and I have a new cousin. She will be over the moon I’m sure! She is quite a lucky little pup is she not?”

“Yes I’m sure she’ll be quite ecstatic knowing she’ll have yet another highly regarded person to spoil her rotten. Because trust me I will if I haven’t been already.” Mabel says with a chuckle as she wipes the remaining tears from her face.

“Haha Yes, her mother The Hero of Fereldon, a uncle as King, an aunty the Divine and now her Cousin, The Herald of Andraste herself! Only the very best for mia figlia, no?” he says beaming with pride.

Mabel couldn’t help but feel just as lucky in this moment. There was much in her life to feel burdened by, but for the first time in what felt like ages, she felt hopeful. She had not be sure this past year if she had a family anymore but at least now, she knew even if she was cast away by her clan, she’ll still have family. “Yes and a loving papa to boot. Perhaps spoiled is not a strong enough word for what she is.” She says with a warm smile.

He tries to hide his reddening cheeks with another hardy laugh. “Ha! You may be right about that my dear, and yet I’d have it no other way.” He plucks Mabel’s letter from her hand causing her to yelp in surprise. “Before I see her though I will take our letters and see that they get sent off, yes? Oh! And after I do so, would you care to have dinner with us tonight? I’m thinking…crab cakes?”

His puppy dog stare and almost pleading grin easily makes her give into his offer. “Thank you Zevran that would be lovely. I just need to make a quick call before I take my leave.” She said as she grips the calling crystal around her slender neck.

“Excellent! I will see you soon then yes?” she gives him an eager but quick nod. “Then I will take my leave my dear Inquisitor.” He bows dramatically, “Do tell your handsome Magister friend I say hi!” He gives one final dashing smile and then begins to make his way down the stairs to the door. Mabel smiles and begins to open her necklace till she lets out a gasp in realization.

“Oh! Wait Zev!” she shuts the necklace closed and begins her way towards the stairs till she sees a head poke out over the banister.

“Hmm?” He hums in question awaiting her response.

“You never told me why you came up here in the first place. It must have been important enough for you to not just come through the front door.” She props her fist on her hip with a raised eyebrow, ready for any news, good or bad. Zevran lets out an abrupt laugh in response.

“Oh, that! I but wished to check up on you my dear, nothing more. You seemed more on edge than usual today and I know you are not one to open up easily so I thought maybe sneaking up on you might get you talking.” Her mouth dropped in bewilderment. “One cannot say my devious plan didn’t work, hmm?” he asks with a prideful smirk on his face as he rests his chin on the banister.

Slowly she returns his grin and huffs out a laugh as she looks down. “I suppose so…Cousin?”

“Yes?”

She meets his gaze again and gives him a warm smile. “…Thank you.”

His grin softens to a bashful smile as he backs away from the banister and starts to descend the stairs again. “See you at dinner Mabel.”

She stands in the middle of her room once again alone with her thoughts, but for the first time in what feels like eons, her head is not fogged with painful reminders of the past or future. She does not think of her friend’s absence, her clan’s disappointment, and stresses of being Inquisitor, not even her Dread Wolfs betrayal or plans infiltrates her happiness in this moment. A happy sigh leaves her full lips as she allows herself to indulge in a true moment of silence. As she smiles to herself thinking of what the rest of the day has in store for her thanks to her Cousin, she feels a vibrating hum against her chest pull her back to reality. “Oh!” Mabel gasps remembering she had forgotten why she was even still in this room. She fumbles her necklace open as quickly as she can. “Hello Dorian!”

“There you are! The blighted sun has most set over here and you have not called me once today... I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about poor little old me.” She can almost feel his pouting from across Thedas. She rolls her eyes but giggles at his annoyance of her tardiness.

“Oh stop your moaning, how could I ever forget about my dearest and most handsome friend?”

“Hmm, that is true. Fine you’re forgiven! But seriously where were you… is everything alright?” She smiles as his concern knowing for once when she said everything was fine, things truly were.

“Yes everything is fine I’m sorry I took so long I had some personal matter to deal with.”

“Oh? Did you finally send that letter to your clan?”

“Yes, yes I finally did. Thanks to Zevran actually.”

“…That flirtatious new spymaster of yours?”

“Yes oddly enough. He says hi by the way.” She hears him chuckle but allows her to finish. “Actually I found out something quite amazing about him today.”

“Oh really? Do tell.” She bites her lip in anticipation of what her friend’s reaction will be. She takes a deep breath and begins…

“Well, it might be hard to believe but...”

#dragon age #post dragon age inquisition #zevran arainai #fanfiction #solavellan #zevran x warden #zevwarden #zevran x surana #zevran x quinnel #solas x mabel #fluff #fan fiction #dragon age headcanon #my headcanons #my writing #cutieink #papa zevran #dragon age fanfiction

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johaerys-writes · 5 years

Text

Dorian Pavus x Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 5: Brave

The battle of Haven and the appearance of the infamous Elder One does a number on Tristan’s nerves. Who would have thought that surviving an explosion that levelled a mountain, uncovering a Venatori plot, closing a giant breach in the sky and getting knocked out for a few days as a result would only be the calm before the storm.

Read here or on AO3!

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The trek up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was as cumbersome as Tristan remembered. Cassandra was hopping up the stairs two steps at a time while he lumbered breathlessly behind her. His knees were practically trembling when they finally reached the charred remains of its gates. He almost laughed at how out of shape he was. A few practice sessions with Blackwall would do wonders for his stamina once he got back.

If I get back, a small voice reminded him. He did his best to ignore it.

The huge tear in the sky crackled and writhed above them, sending jolts of energy up the mark on his hand. Within the few months since the explosion, it had grown from a few fine lines on his palm to a network of scars past his wrist. Solas had said that if the Breach wasn’t closed, the mark would spider its way to his heart until it eventually killed him.

If I even live that long, the small voice whispered again.

He tightened his fists and clenched his jaw as he took a few steps forward. The mages were waiting patiently in their ranks behind him, ready to channel all of their energy to the Breach, but he felt all alone. Just him and it, the crack in the sky that threatened to swallow him whole. He felt rather than heard Solas approach him.

“It is time” he said, his voice low, but full of determination. It was comforting, somewhat, to know that at least one of them was determined. “Are you ready?”

Tristan wanted to scream “no” at the top of his lungs and flee, but he nodded instead. The elf’s eyes grew dark for a moment before he turned to the mages.

“Mages!” he exclaimed. “Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you!”

The mark on Tristan’s hand burned, pulsating rhythmically. He felt raw energy racing through it as he lifted it towards the chasm in the sky. It seemed so far away, high above him, but in an instant it felt like he was there, in it, around it, floating between this world and the gaping, horrible emptiness of the Fade. He screamed as it pushed and pulled and erupted in green flames around him, sending jolts of pain through his body.

Then there was nothing.

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

A shiny bald head was the first thing he saw as he came to.

He was in his bed. Solas was sitting next to him, bent over Tristan’s hand as he examined the mark on it. He straightened his back when he noticed Tristan’s eyelids fluttering, and placed his hand carefully back on the bed. “Good evening, Herald” he said.

Tristan sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around the room. Someone had tended to the fire, making the hut properly warm for once. There was a jug of fresh water and a cup on the table next to the hearth, which brought to his attention that his throat was parched. As if he could read his mind, Solas stood up and filled the cup with water, then brought it back to him as he sat back down on his chair. Tristan managed to nod in thanks before gulping it down thirstily.

“How long was I out?” he asked, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Two days, more or less” Solas replied calmly. “You fell unconscious after closing the Breach.”

Tristan’s heart thumped in his chest. “So… is it over?”

A hint of confusion passed over Solas’s features, but it was quickly gone. “The mark on your hand has stopped growing, as I predicted. That should give us enough time to find out more about it. The sky is scarred, but calm. Many questions yet remain, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“That’s good to hear” Tristan said distractedly as he examined the mark on his hand. It looked like a normal scar running over his skin. Nothing unusual about it. Barely conspicuous. For once, he felt neither pain nor the tingling sensation that he had become accustomed to ever since he got it. It was an odd thought, but it suddenly didn’t feel as strange on him. It was like it was a part of his hand, as surely as his fingers and his muscles were.

“Is the mark troubling you?”

Tristan lifted his eyes to find Solas’s inquisitive gaze on him. He shook his head and glanced at his hand again. “Not really. I’m just thinking…” He let out a long sigh. “This mark feels… almost natural to me. As if it was always meant to be there. As if… all the decisions I’ve made have brought me to this.” He eyed Solas, who was watching him intently. “Do you believe in fate, Solas?”

Solas looked at him, but it was like he was gazing past him, far into the distance. “I believe that each of us forges their own fate. There’s no divine plan, moving the world forward. Of this, I’m certain.”

“You don’t think I’m a chosen one, then? That’s a relief.”

“Every war has a chosen one. A hero.” He fixed his dark grey eyes on Tristan. “I’m curious what kind you’ll be.”

Tristan’s mouth twisted sourly. “Hopefully one that won’t set the whole damn world on fire” he said quietly.

They stayed silent for a while, the crackling of the fire and the commotion from outside the only sound between them. Solas stood up and threw his cloak about his shoulders. “You should join the celebrations for the closing of the Breach as soon as you’re ready. The people of Haven will be expecting you.”

“Of course” Tristan said, his sarcasm unmistakeable. “It wouldn’t do to reduce morale now.”

“No, it wouldn’t” Solas said solemnly. With a last, lingering glance at him he turned towards the door. “So long, Herald.”

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

After thoroughly stretching his aching limbs and putting on his leather armour, Tristan walked out of his hut. The celebrations for closing the Breach had already begun. Fires had been lit throughout the camp, with plenty of music, food and drink. The sounds of song and jest were carried swiftly through the cold air to his even colder ears. He ascended the wide stone stairs leading to the upper layer of Haven amidst cheers and merry laughter. Everyone was smiling. He hated to admit that it made him feel quite proud. He quickened his step, determined not to get used to the feeling.

With a quick glance around, he easily spotted what he was looking for – a short, stubby fellow with an ornate crossbow slung over his shoulder, a wide grin and more chest hair than anyone had a right to. Varric was holding what was probably not the first mug of ale of the evening, and narrating what was definitely one of his funnier stories from Kirkwall. Sera was laughing heartily, spilling most of her drink in the process, while Dorian was sipping on his wine in between throaty chuckles. His eyes were glinting with keen interest as he listened to Varric’s tale, his glossy black curls catching the amber light from the fire every time he threw his head back in laughter.

Tristan’s steps slowed to almost a halt. Painfully embarrassing memories from when he had last seen the dark-haired mage flashed before him. The urge to return to his hut, tail between his legs, was tempting, but he couldn’t well do that now. Not with so many people staring. The only option was to stand straight, walk towards them, get a drink, and act as lordly and graciously as he could while pretending that nothing at all had happened.

“Blondie!” Varric exclaimed with a wide grin holding his ale mug high up in the air.

Someone shoved a mug of ale in Tristan’s hands as he approached, and soon everyone around him was toasting to him, shouting praises to the Herald of Andraste and his bravery. Tristan took a hearty sip of his ale, intent on hiding the crimson flush on his face behind the rim of his mug.

“Cheer up, Herald. The people love you” Dorian said with a smile after the clamour had died down. “You did save the day, after all.”

“I did nothing of the sort” Tristan said sharply. Then, flinching inwardly at his curt tone, he let his mouth curl in a small smile. “I would hardly call almost being killed by a hole in the sky ‘saving the day’.”

“Brave and modest. I have to say, Herald, you never cease to impress. I wonder what the Chantry historians will write about you.”

“That I was a madman and a heretic, probably. I have a feeling that Brother Genitivi would consider setting his books on fire and diving in a pool of holy water after a brief conversation with me.”

Dorian’s chuckle came out muffled behind the rim of his mug. Tristan’s smile got wider and wider, and soon he was chuckling, too. Varric glanced at them curiously from across the fire as they both shook with laughter. Dorian’s eyes were shining, the golden flecks in them catching the light of the flames when he looked at Tristan.

Maker, but he was beautiful.

The thought came naturally, unbidden, as if it had always been there. It wasn’t a mere observation, like it had been other times, but a profound realisation. Dorian Pavus, Scion of House Pavus, was beautiful, striking, bewitching, in every sense of the word. Tristan wondered that he had not fully realised that before. Oh, he had noticed how attractive Dorian was the first time they had met, and every time he saw him thereafter. But not like this. Never like this. He paused for a moment, vaguely aware that he was staring.

Dorian raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is everything alright?”

Tristan came back to his senses with a start. “Of course” he said, glancing away. He hastily sipped on his drink, wondering if someone had slipped something in it when he wasn’t looking.

From the corner of his eye he saw Cassandra approaching him. He tried to ignore her, but when she came and stood right beside him, he had to face her.

“Seeker” Tristan said with a curt nod. He noticed that Dorian had made himself conveniently scarce as soon as she appeared.

“Herald” she replied. “Are you feeling better?”

The warm smile on her face surprised him. He wasn’t used to the grumpy warrior regarding him with any sort of fondness. It made her look almost…friendly. “I’m quite alright, thank you.” He peered at the place in the sky where the Breach used to be. The scar that it had left on the heavens was still visible. “The Breach has finally been sealed.”

“We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

“Has it?” he smiled. There it was again. Pride. He cleared his throat and looked away, over the campfires. “I wasn’t alone in this. You know how many were involved. Fate put me at the centre.”

Cassandra nodded as she followed his gaze. “You are right. This was a victory of alliance, one of few in recent memory. But that does not change the role you played in it. You were… very brave.”

The admiration in her voice was unmistakable. Had he not been sober, he would have doubted his own ears. He looked at her, and was startled to see the admiration reaching her eyes as well. He smiled at her, and for the first time it was not forced. “Thank you, Cassandra. I-“

The sound of frantically ringing alarm bells made him forget what he was about to say. The music and laughter died down abruptly, and everyone looked at each other, searching for the cause of the alarm. He turned around to look past Haven’s wooden gates and his jaw dropped.

An army, the largest he had ever seen, was marching towards them.

Before he could realise what was happening, Cullen was running past him. “Forces approaching! To arms!”

“What-“ Tristan started, but Cassandra grabbed his arm.

“We must go to the gates!” she said, drawing him forward.

Varric and Dorian ran to his side, the same panicked expression on their faces as he imagined he must have had. “What’s going on?” Varric asked, panting.

“We’re being attacked” Tristan replied, not quite believing it himself. His hands instinctively fell to the daggers hanging by his belt. He ran after Cassandra, Varric and Dorian at his heels.

They pushed their way through the crowd gathered by the gates until they reached Cullen. He was pacing up and down barking orders, the soldiers running wildly around him as they fell into formation.

“One watch guard reported a massive force, the bulk over the mountain” he told them as soon as they approached him.

Tristan shook his head in disbelief. “Under what banner?”

“None” Cullen replied, his voice edged with worry. “No banner, no communication, no demands. Nothing.”

A loud bang on the main gate drew all of their attentions to it.

“What in the Maker’s name-“ Cassandra started, but another bang drowned her words.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” a voice from outside pleaded.

“Was anyone left outside?” Tristan turned to Cassandra, but she just shrugged, confused. Without waiting, he ran to the gates and unbarred them. A young man, his leather armour more than a little dishevelled and his face obscured by a wide brim hat, was standing before him. Several dead bodies of armed men were sprawled at his feet. The daggers in his hands were dripping with blood.

“I’m Cole” he said, panting. “I came to warn you- to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know-“

“What is this?” Tristan stopped him, struggling to make sense of what the stranger was saying. He glanced at the dead men, blood still pumping from their wounds. Their coat of arms was foreign to him. “What’s going on?”

“The Templars come to kill you” the man that called himself Cole replied quietly, his voice suddenly bleak and emotionless.

“The Templars?” Cullen growled as he advanced towards them, making the boy recoil in fear. “Is this the order’s response after our talks with the mages, attacking blindly?”

“I have an inkling they weren’t particularly pleased about it” Dorian said behind them.

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him?” Cole whispered, drawing closer to Tristan. “He knows you. You took his mages. There” he said, pointing at the mountain range behind them. The Templar army was spilling over the top of the mountain, the neat lines of soldiers covering the ground towards them steadily, like ants. A dark and abnormally tall figure emerged at the summit, leading them. “He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

“Cullen” Tristan said, his stomach tightening in knots. This was way beyond his comprehension, and they needed to act fast. “Give me a plan. Anything.”

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

“Take that, you filth!” Dorian screamed as he threw a fireball at a Templar’s face. The latter fell on the ground, writhing. Tristan could actually hear the man’s blood boiling inside his armour. Ordinarily, that would be enough to bring his supper up, but there was no time now to even allow himself to feel sick. Wave after wave of Red Templars were coming at them, swords and axes drawn, teeth bared, eyes glowing red from the red lyrium flowing in their veins. A particularly angry one was almost upon him, and Tristan barely managed to step back in time to dodge his attack. With a quick leap, he found himself at the man’s back, where he plunged both his daggers between the gaps in his armour. The Templar groaned as he staggered and fell to his knees. Tristan raised his dagger to finish him off when an arrow flew through the man’s head, and he fell face-first in the snow.

“I think that’s the last of them” Varric said, looking around from his vantage point on the top of an upturned carriage.

Tristan wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. The snow beneath their feet had turned to red mush. The stench of blood and burnt flesh clung to his nostrils like tar. He placed the daggers back in his belt and made his way towards the last trebuchet. With his hands on its wooden handle, he took a deep breath and pushed for dear life.

“This… is…too hard” he said when it didn’t budge an inch.

“I’ll help” Cassandra replied and grabbed the other side of the handle.

Dorian shook his head as he pulled out a lyrium potion out of his satchel. “I’ll leave this in your capable hands, Seeker. I’m not going anywhere near this cursed apparatus. I think I threw my back out trying to aim the last one.”

“Perhaps you should have taken up Blackwall on that offer to help you exercise, Sparkles” Varric laughed, throwing his crossbow over his shoulder.

“And spend my precious time with that hairy lummox instead of running around the countryside, killing random strangers? Perish the thought” the mage replied, downing the potion.

How these two were able to jest when all of them were on the brink of disaster, Tristan could hardly understand. The trebuchet was finally turned to position, and both he and Cassandra were heaving with the effort. “Everybody stand back!” he yelled. When they were all at a safe distance, he fired.

A loud, crashing noise filled the valley as the large stone from the trebuchet landed on the side of the mountain, causing an avalanche. The cries of the Templars being buried under it was deafening.

“You showed them how it’s done, Blondie” Varric smiled, tapping Tristan on the back. “Let’s go to-“

He hadn’t even finished his sentence when the trebuchet exploded in flames. A huge shadow darkened the sky above them, followed by an ear-splitting screech.

“A dragon?” Dorian breathed. “Was that an actual dragon?”

“More like… an archdemon.” Cassandra was following the beast with her eyes as if she were in a dream.

Tristan’s blood curdled in his veins. If that was an archdemon… did that mean that this was another Blight? Right at their doorstep? Oh, this is wonderful. Just bloody wonderful.

“To the gates!” he yelled, sprinting forward. “Everyone back to the gates!”

They all flew towards Haven so fast, one would have thought they had not spent the better part of the evening fighting off crazed, red-lyrium filled Templars. Cullen was standing at the gate, holding it open. When all of them were safely in, he pushed the heavy oaken doors shut. Tristan bent forward to rest his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

“We need everyone back at the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against that… that beast” the Commander said. His forehead was slick with sweat, his breath creating thick, white tufts in the air as he spoke.

Dorian was suddenly next to him. “Let’s go” he whispered, putting his arm around Tristan’s back to help him forward. Tristan straightened up and followed him up the big stone stairs towards the Chantry building.

A muffled scream from a burning hut nearby drew Tristan’s attention. Exchanging a glance, both he and Dorian ran towards it. The wooden building was slowly being engulfed in flames, but the frantic screams and banging from inside made Tristan’s breath catch in his throat.

“They’re trapped inside” he gasped.

Dorian nodded, his brows drawn down in grim determination. He gripped his staff firmly and took a step forward. “Stand back!” he yelled at the people inside. With a flick of his fingers the door exploded, splinters flying in every direction.

Flissa, the innkeeper, was on the ground, and next to her a man. Tristan recognised him as one of Harrit’s, the blacksmith’s, assistants. It was a face that was hard not to recognise, dark haired and bushy bearded, with a scar that ran from the top of his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. Tristan ran to help him carry Flissa out.

“She’s unconscious, my lord” the man said, his voice choked by the smoke and the flames. “I tried to…”

A loud creak sounded from right above them drowned out his words, and several heavy planks fell around them. Tristan lunged at the man, pulling him out of the way of a wooden beam that fell inches away from him. They both tumbled to the ground, raising a cloud of dust and smouldering ashes.

Tristan’s eyes were burning from the smoke and the dust. “Are you alright?” he asked the man, scrambling up to his feet. The man was simply staring behind Tristan, eyes wide in shock.

Tristan turned around, only to see a mountain of burning wood lying where Flissa had been. His stomach was seized in an icy grip. Like the man beside him, all he could do was stare at what was certainly Flissa’s lifeless body underneath the ruins.

Dorian’s voice stirred him out of his shock. “We have to go!” he shouted, grabbing him and the other man and pulling them outside. As soon as they walked out, most of the hut, or what remained of it, fell down with a loud thud.

Watching the flames and smoke rise high up in the night sky, Tristan thought he was really going to be sick this time.

The three of them ran to the Chantry Building, coughing and wheezing. Chancellor Roderick was at the Chantry doors, helping the injured get inside. His own robe was crimson red, clinging to his body. “Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter” he kept saying, his voice thick with pain. The doors were barred with a heavy steel rod as soon as everyone was inside.

The Chancellor took a step before he collapsed. As if he had emerged from the shadows, Cole caught the old man right before he hit the ground. “He tried to stop a Templar” Cole said matter-of-factly. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a… charming boy” the Chancellor managed to say before his face contorted in pain.

“Herald” Tristan heard Cullen say behind him. He turned around meet the Commander’s solemn gaze. “Our position isn’t good. That… thing”- he grimaced as he said it- “has stolen back any time you might have given us.”

“I’ve seen an Archdemon in the Fade” Cole said, as if talking to himself. “It looked just like that.”

Cullen flinched as if Cole had pricked him with a needle. “I don’t care what it looks like!” he growled. “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Cole blinked at him like the Commander was saying the most absurd thing. “The Elder doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“Why? Why does he want me? What have I ever done to him?” Tristan blurted out, his voice choked with his anger. His heart was beating so hard, his ears were buzzing. His patience was getting thinner by the second.

“I don’t know. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him” Cole muttered, shaking his head. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like…?” Cullen grunted in frustration before turning to Tristan. “Herald, there is no way to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche you caused. We could turn these trebuchets, create one last slide…”

Tristan simply gaped at the Commander, his breath catching in his throat. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven. And us with it.“

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” The Commander’s brows were furrowed, his lips a tight line. He really looked like a man who was ready to die, who had made amends with the possibility long ago.

Fear slithered up Tristan’s spine, its icy tentacles freezing him to the core. He regarded Cullen levelly, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice steady. “We can’t go down like this, Cullen. Not without a fight. There’s got to be another way.”

A faint cough came from Chancellor Roderick’s direction. “There is… there is a path” he whispered, struggling to sit up on the chair. “You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me… Andraste must have shown me, so I could… tell you.”

Tristan glared at the cleric. “What are you on about, Roderick?” he spat, annoyance bubbling inside him. Of all the times in his life he might have needed to hear about Andraste or whatever other nonsense Chantrics spouted left and right, this must have been the worst possible one.

The old man took a laboured breath, and fixed his eyes on Tristan. His eyes had taken on an odd, glazed expression. “It was a whim that I took this path, years ago. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know, Herald.” He winced at the pain, but he held Tristan’s gaze intently. “If this simple memory can save us…” The man sank back in his chair, placing a bloodied hand at his side.

Tristan turned to the Commander. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

Cullen regarded the Chancellor carefully, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Possibly. If he shows us the path. But what about your escape?”

Tristan looked away, his stomach in knots as he tried to force himself to think of something, anything. The Chantry building was full to the brim with injured soldiers, men and women clutching the only belongings they had managed to salvage from the attack, children clinging to their parents, too terrified to even cry. They were all watching him and Cullen, their eyes wide and glittering in the near dark, their breaths bated.

A sudden, violent rage flooded him. That damned Elder One, or whatever he was called, would stop at nothing until he got his hands on him, even if it meant cutting down hundreds of innocent people. Who the hell did that bastard think he was, sweeping in and destroying everything and everyone in his path, as if they were nothing but ants to be crushed under the heel of his boot?

“Never mind me” he heard himself say in a low growl. “Get the people out of here. I’ll find my own way out.”

Cullen’s eyes shone with steely determination. He turned abruptly towards the crowd standing behind them. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!”

Cole placed the Chancellor’s arm over his shoulders and pulled him up. The man groaned as he took a step. His robe was dripping with blood and his face was ashen. “Herald… If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this… I pray for you.”

Tristan nodded grimly before he ran to the door. Perhaps, this once, a prayer might actually save him.

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

Tristan ran out of the Chantry Building, Cassandra, Varric and Dorian at his heel.

“We have to keep the archdemon’s attention on us if the others are to have a chance” he said, following the path towards the remaining trebuchet.

“Being noticed happens to be a specialty of mine” Dorian said, twirling his staff in a flourish.

Swords hissing and battle cries greeted them as they neared the trebuchets. Without missing a breath, Cassandra drew her sword and leapt into battle. The man approaching her was tall and built like a tree-trunk. With a roar, he lifted his enormous axe over his shoulder and brought it back down to crush her. Stepping to the side with more elegance than Tristan would have ever imagined, she brushed the axe away with her sturdy shield and plunged her sword into his neck. He only made a gurgling sound before he collapsed.

Dorian was hurling spell after spell, laughing maniacally as he watched the Templars disperse in panic, while Varric, situated on the platform of the trebuchet, was picking them apart with his crossbow, one by one.

“Keep them off me!” Tristan told Varric as he ran to the trebuchet. With as much strength as he could muster, he pushed the handle, aiming the trebuchet towards the mountain.

“You got it, Blondie!” the dwarf shouted nocking an arrow. By the time Tristan had finished aiming the trebuchet, only one Templar remained standing. With one swift blow, Cassandra finished him and he fell to the ground with a thud.

“Ready to fire?” she said, placing her sword in its scabbard. Tristan nodded and placed his hand on the lever.

A fireball exploded next to the trebuchet, knocking Tristan on his back. He pushed himself up, looking around him frantically through the thick cloud of smoke. The flapping of enormous wings echoed everywhere around them, but the archdemon was nowhere to be seen.

“The trebuchet is on fire!” Cassandra exclaimed.

Dorian cast an ice spell, quenching the flames. “That should do it” he said, dusting his robes.

“Where is the Archdemon? Can you see it?” Tristan looked around, straining his neck.

“I can’t see it, but I can hear it. And it doesn’t sound good” Varric said.

The earth trembled with the thundering roar, and Tristan finally spotted the beast. It was flying right above them, circling them slowly when it stopped abruptly and prepared to dive towards them.

“Run” he muttered under his breath as he took a step back. “Move! Now!” he yelled at the others, that were staring at the dragon wide-eyed. Tristan’s panicked screams shook them out of their daze, and they started running towards the Chantry. Sprinting after them, he stole a glance at the fiend over his shoulder. Suddenly, he found himself face-first in the snow when he tripped on a rock.

“Herald!” Dorian shouted and turned back to help him. With a sharp wave, Tristan stopped him.

“Go! Run!” he said, pushing himself up. Dorian stared at him, unmoving. “Just go!” Tristan shouted desperately at him, arms flailing. Finally, with a pained grimace, Dorian turned around and followed the others. Tristan stood and watched his form disappear behind the clouds of dust and smoke, wasting precious seconds that he could have used for his own escape. Right then, suspended in a moment that felt never ending, he couldn’t really bring himself to care about that. At least one of them would have a chance to get the hell out of that place.

His tentative relief didn’t last very long. The gust of wind that hit him when the enormous beast landed in front of him pushed him flat on his back. Its eyes, peering at him from under thick, rock-like skin, were glowing like embers in the night.

“Pretender” a deep and raucous voice said behind him. It looked like a man, or what once might have been a man, but its features and body were twisted and shaped beyond recognition, red lyrium crystals sprouting from its abnormally large skull. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“What are you?” Tristan yelled, hauling himself up to his feet. More than fear, he felt anger. Hot, burning anger, directed at the cause of all this pain and destruction. “Why are you doing this?”

The creature took a step forward, its long, spindly legs crushing the snow and ice beneath him. “Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.” He lifted a bony arm, and pointed a long and sharp claw at Tristan. “I am here for the Anchor that you have stolen. The process of removing it begins now.”

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

The trebuchet fired with a loud, thunderous crash. Before drowning in a sea of white, Tristan remarked absently that being brave was perhaps a little overrated.

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus fic #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #dorian x tristan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #a world with you #johaerys writes

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matazz · 3 years

Text

My Feelings on Roy Endoza

sooo i wrote this basically after a big thing happened in our campaign. it was basically a way to vent to myself and i never ended up sending it until now. anyway, here’s a couple of ramblings.

It’s Carter and it’s finally getting to the end of Campaign 2. It’s been over a year since Roy Endoza has existed as my character and he’s so different to how I originally imagined him. Anyway, I have a lot of thoughts and feelings so I’ll divide it up into categories. I’m writing this as how I’m feeling so it makes sense its whatever comes to mind first and makes sense chronologically but you can read it how you want but this is gonna be definitely from the most impactful things to the least.

Basically my Thoughts on how I wrote Roy

For starters, he was this unempathetic doctor who stole corpses from hospitals to practice necromancy for fun, and lies about being dead because its hilarious. I eventually evolved him into this gentle guy who adores the people he loves because I decided to give him a boyfriend; Milo Corazon (his name is cute because it means “My Heart”. Roy’s name means nothing symbolic). Milo was just meant to be there to make him have more depth as a character, and that’s exactly what I did. I got really attached to him though, and I came to the realization that I need to seperate Roy from Milo for the campaign to start.

And as tropey as it is, I decided to kill him. And I didnt just want him to die from illness or an accident or get “murdered by a syndicate”. Milo is soft, he’s innocent and gentle and sweetness and sunshines and thats exactly why Roy Endoza fell for him. So I made Roy kill him through the irony of his own necrotic practices.

Since even before the campaign started I’ve been threading it along that Roy is dead. He’s a corpse who was brought back from the gods mysteriously. I even faked being a cleric. It’s a fake backstory I made to counter the real one, and everybody believed it. It didnt counter anything, it made sense.

And even before that, I’ve known he was going to lie and I’ve known he was going to try to use necromancy to bring his boyfriend back and I’ve known he was going to continually lie to keep himself safe.

Basically my Thoughts on Royce

At the start of the campaign he got the letter. An opportunity. He met Fox only a while after his accident and he got attached.. to this lost confused boy who was just as lost as he was. And then we met all of you.

Shortly after, I told Ayce about my “lie” first... and then Ayce had the exact same thing going on and I took it as an opportunity. I saw the opportunities with Roy betraying Ayce and using him. And I thought about how fucking beautiful it would be if they were a romance and how much more impactful it would be if they were. Not only did it make sense with Roy’s motives of finding a way to bring back Milo, but it made sense for Roy and Ayce to “empathise” with eachother after going through “the same thing”. And holy fuck I took that opportunity and RAN with the wind and I’ve not regretted it.

I absolutely fucking adore Royce even for those messed up reasons. It just works. Ayce is absolutely the type of boy that’s Roy’s type. Kind of small and good for hugging, has fluffy hair and a nice smile, a bit cheeky and dumb but still clever and really charismatic.. and the relationship between the necrotic boys and bonding over that was a bonus. It probably would have worked in a universe where Ayce’s life wasnt fucked and Roy chose not to do necromancy. It was sweet and cute and perfect without the angst but it was heartbreaking and tragic and awful WITH the angst. I loved the potential for the love and cute bits and even more so I loved the potential for all the heartbreak and the angst.

Endoza loves Milo Corazon with every ounce of his heart and he was interested in Ayce because it was Ayce that made him know it was possible. Truly, and really possible, to bring back someone from the dead.

I know that’s evil for me as a player to continue this plotline but it made sense in character. Roy was interested. And it was mistaken for romantic interest.

And Roy... didn’t mind. He genuinely loves Ayce. More than he expected to for just a person he was going to use as a stepping stool for his goal (it sounds awful, I’ve KNOWN this). And I as the player loved it.. I loved Royce because not only did I get to attach my character to something else but it just worked so well narratively. It was unexpected and it was beautiful and it was tragic and I’ve known that the honeymoon phase of Royce was only going to last for a few months before it collapsed into this deep well of never turning back and yet I kept pushing and chugging for this relationship to happen bc I really wanted the drama that I knew would come along with it (also it just WORKS narratively)

Basically my Thoughts on The Gods / Being a Champion

To be honest I’m unsure how none of you ever found my story to be bullshit when Roy himself never had faith in the gods. He has absolutely no relationship with his god and he only used them as a stepping stone for his lie and it worked, even though I messed up so many times and admitted I never trusted them.

Which.. why would Roy trust a God who doesnt know him at all? Or even more so, if the God supposedly knows “everything about Roy” yet didn’t attempt to stop Roy on his endeavour of necromancy despite being heavily against necrotic magic. Or why the Gods who are so against necromancy would choose a boy who was bought back to life and a necromancer himself. It was silly and Roy thinks the gods were stupid in their choosings.

In his mind Roy believes that the gods have no power. They’re weak and that’s why they make people to their gritty work, because they can’t do it themselves. In his mind, Roy doesn’t quite believe everything their saying. Roy Endoza doesn’t care about about being a champion, but he’s curious...

Beshaba was obviously wanting the keys because of their immense power, so he thought that maybe he can use it for himself. Unlock a power that nobody else has or could, use it not for anyone but himself and Milo. He wasn’t on anyone’s side. Neither the gods or Beshaba. He only wants to save his loved ones and himself even if it meant committing blasphemy.

The first time I ever talked to Lathandar he was already so far down the rabbit hole. Roy already had no respect for the gods and was going through with his plans anyway, so his god trying to talk him out to it just felt like a massive joke to him. Why do you care now when you never cared before?

But yet I asked him questions anyway. To use him, to find out more. I asked him about the magic readings and I asked him about the keys and I asked him about the world beyond Sanctuary and I asked him about Beshaba.

All to find out that the gods are.. basically inefficient and that they were evil once. That beyond sanctuary they were corrupt and then they suddenly “grew a conscious” (Roy finds it hard to believe that people, even Gods, can just “stop being corrupt”) and when they got embarrassed of their actions, closed off the rest of the world. They do nothing except sit and let their champions do things and are scared of Beshaba; one God vs the four of them. But why are they scared when they have collective power and the keys? They could banish Beshaba themselves with their power alone. This is why Roy doesn’t (and has never) believed in what the gods stand for. He is only using them, and the only reason he stayed was because of Ayce and Fox.

As I’m writing this, it’s just after the Gala episode. I’ve put my heart and soul and emotions into Roy so a part of my kind of has a distaste for them too (I’m so fking sorry Keiran but theyre just so lazy I cant 😭)

Anyway, it's weird. I've been playing this entire campaign knowing that everybody puts their entire faith and trust into the gods but I just never have.. (or at least Roy doesn't so it's hard for me too). I'm really only following them to benefit myself, and that's exactly what happened but I can't help but feel like Beshaba might actually be trying to save us from this prison of the world they've made (or something poetic like that). I guess I also just think it's because it might be cool that the main villain was the good guys all along and we were the bad guys. Maybe it turns out that I'll be wrong, and I won't even be mad for it. But maybe I'll be right and I'll be the smuggest bitch in the world. Who knows what will happen.

I guess some insight on how I feel abt Roy and the PCs

I guess it doesn't really matter bc at this point in the campaign I've already made my actions and set myself as a villain. Whether or not you guys see me as one is a mystery and I'm both dreading and excited what your pinions on Roy will be as he's made his downfall into a villain.

It's funny, to be honest. With the way I wrote him, I always was going to make him progressively more hatable. He starts off as a trustworthy guy but you eventually find out that he was lying about his past to cover up for himself. He breaks the trust of the players and he uses them for his own progressive goal. But when I wrote him, I thought playing a character like this would be hilarious. I've played him exactly how I imagined, even better than I imagined, but I didn't think I'd feel so attached and heartbroken breaking your trust.

I think for the entire campaign I've believed that it was possible to save him.. maybe just talking to him and getting him to open up a bit more. It might have made all the difference. I'm not blaming my actions as Roy on the players not helping him, bc it definitely was Roy's fault, but I like to think of the alternate universe where I felt less lonely bc despite having friends and a boyfriend there was so many points where Roy just feels so alone and I just felt this deep pit in my chest from that lonliness. It's so dumb and stupid how much love I've put into Roy that I can feel what he feels.

And so all that fighting after Solardome when our friends got kidnapped, all the arguing and the stress and disagreements and then eventually Fox leaving and Ayce not interacting.. it was all just little pieces of sadness and loneliness trickling down and then by that point it was just too late to save him.. I like to think that maybe if it was a bit earlier then he could have got over it. Changed his mind, maybe.

Despite that all and desite feeling stressed and lonely and mad and everything that Roy ever felt, I've absolutely loved writing and playing this genuinely good person and seeing him turn rotten and become a villain on his own without realizing it. I never thought I would ever write a character go from the top and fall to bedrock, or even that I'd do it

well

, but he's so much. I think right now I love it. I love the drama I love the suspense and I love seeing what you'll all think of when you discover the Fall Of Roy.

Basically my Thoughts on Miss Winters

So the campaign moves on and I meet Miss Winters pretty shortly and we make a deal to "Discover How To Bring The Dead To Life". It was shortly after I met Ayce so I was aware it was possible. Roy absolutely had nothing to lose at this point, and he would do anything so he said yes. So for the duration of the campaign we helped each other trade information and most importantly look for a spirit stone.

At Solardome, the President Medeanne asked us to eradicate the witch and her skeletons and provide proof. And Roy wrecklessly put himself at the forefront without thinking. At that point I thought maybe she had lost her mind or something.

And then we unmasked her and she was dead. A rotted corpse.

And after making you all leave; I killed her.

Roy Endoza’s never had difficulty putting down the undead and so one more wasn’t a huge deal, but at the time it felt like such a loss because it was his only connection to information. In the end, it hadn’t of mattered because we retrieved a spirit stone anyway.

It was really only about a session or two later when I realized that I never actually killed Miss Winters. I only killed the corpse she was controlling and that real Miss Winters ran off with two spirit stones.

And so it took a LONG time (or at least in real time lmao) before we ended up going back to Origin, which was the only place I knew where to contact her and she was.. gone.

#roy endoza writing #roy endoza #writing #roy endoza musings #musings

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lafaiette · 7 years

Text

Joy and Humility - Chapter 7

Scarlet Lavellan’s parents decide to visit Skyhold and finally meet Solas.

Mama Lavellan is thrilled. Papa Lavellan is not exactly amused.

(In which Papa Lavellan finally starts to consider Solas part of the family and his worst fear is confirmed.)

Chapter 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

Other Solavellan fics: here

“And then Solas used one of his spells – don’t ask me what it was, ma’am, because I have no idea – to burn to a crisp the darkspawn attacking us in Storm Coast.”

Bull swallows a big gulp of ale, while Nehn next to him graciously accepts the salted nuts the Chargers offer her.

“And then…!” the Qunari continues, flashing a grin, “he used that weird Fade magic he knows to make a fist appear out of nowhere and kill the last one of those fuckers, saving Boss’ life!”

“Oh, my!”

Nehn turns to her daughter, smiling happily, clearly enjoying Bull’s colorful descriptions and stories about Solas.

He and the others have been telling her things about her daughter’s mate for a good hour, now, and she knows exactly what they are trying to do. She isn’t sure whether to believe everything they are telling her – Varric swore Solas (or Chuckles, as he calls him) froze a dragon midair, making it fall onto the ground and crash into million pieces -, but she admires and respect the sentiment and doesn’t doubt that the elven mage is talented as they say.

There is a large bag at her feet, full of books and volumes Dorian and Vivienne gave her during her visit at the tower Scarlet restored for the mages in visit at Skyhold; they are mostly simple books about elven history and lore, but they are incredibly precious for the Dalish and her daughter assured her that she can bring them to the clan if she wishes to, because the mages already copied them down or there are more copies to be found at Val Royeaux.

Truly a miracle, Nehn thinks, before thinking about her husband and Solas, currently exploring that underground library she heard so much about all by themselves. She hopes they are alright and that nothing bad happened; she saw and heard her husband apologize to Solas and they left quite happily, but her husband is a stubborn man and Solas carries his pride in his name.

“He kisses Scarlet’s eyes every night before falling asleep.” a new voice tells her, close to her. She gasps and turns, then a smile blooms on her face as she recognizes Cole. He smiles at her, too, not seeing Scarlet’s blush and not hearing her strangled noise.

“One kiss to wish her goodnight, one to wish her a good morning for the next day.” he continues and even if that detail is much private and causes Bull to make a whistling sound and Cassandra to gasp with pleasure while Varric takes note of it on his journal, Nehn is overjoyed by it. It tells more about her future son-in-law than all the stories Scarlet’s companions told her.

“Is that so?” She turns to her daughter and sees her blush and look down at her lap with a bashful smile. “Oh, da’vhenan! I knew he was a romantic!”

“They always walk hand in hand.” Dorian adds and Varric senses that’s a good moment to speak up as well: “They gave me the inspiration for a new chapter of my smutty book, you know? Not that I saw them doing anything racy in daylight. But they are quite passionate.”

“Guys!” Scarlet exclaims, redder than her hair and the wine Cabot is pouring with a smirk.

“They call each other ‘ma sa’lath’.” Cassandra says, mispronouncing the word a little, and Nehn giggles at that, while her daughter groans and bangs her forehead against the counter. The older Dalish woman is even more convinced, now, that Solas is the right man for her daughter and she begs his friends to tell her more.

And even if Varric and Bull tend to exaggerate a lot and Sera keeps insisting that he is an ‘egg’, for some mysterious reason, she sees and finds truth in their words and her joy increases, spreading across her face in the shape of a blush and two big dimples, while Scarlet listens with a goofy smile on her face and eyes cast down, long fingers playing with the hem of her precious shirt.

And that’s when Solas and Athim enter, the latter carrying a second bag full of books. They are talking civilly to each other and her husband is even smiling, a small, but warm smile like the ones he gives only to his family and close friends.

Solas looks more relaxed, at ease; he walks with his hands behind his back and he stands tall, but he is actually walking behind Athim, even if almost imperceptibly, to offer him respect and show that he isn’t superior to him. He is smiling, too, and his smile only grows when he spots Scarlet at the counter.

Bull and Varric whisper something to each other, then the first roars, letting everyone in the tavern hear him: “And then Solas summoned a giant fireball and the whole group of Venatori surrounding us kneeled on the ground, begging to be spared, and the mage of the group even complimented his magic and…”

“Now that’s a story I’d like to hear.” Athim snorts, smirking at the Qunari before turning to Solas, who sighs and blushes, shaking his head at his snickering companions. Dorian and Cassandra have the gall to look completely innocent, while Bull and Varric don’t deny what they are trying to do.

“How was the underground library? Did you like it?” Scarlet asks, rising to kiss her father on the cheek. Nehn takes his hand, squeezing it lovingly, because she knows that he and Solas behaved well and she and Scarlet did well in trusting them.

“I see you found some good books, too! Dorian and Lady Vivienne gave me some incredibly interesting volumes, vhenan, and Scarlet said we can take them to the clan!”

“Are you sure?” he asks his daughter with wide eyes and she laughs, nodding.

“Of course! We have copies of them and I’m sure Keeper Deshanna will find them useful for her lessons.”

“Speaking of lessons…” Dorian starts, curling his mustache with nonchalance. “Solas is extremely skilled in teaching, you know? Scarlet and I once watched him teach a new trick to the young mages in visit here.” He grins at Scarlet, who has gotten all red, probably remembering a very particular detail of that episode. “I remember you complimented the way his fingers moved, my friend.”

“Dorian!” she hisses, but Athim seems unfazed by it for once. He just grunts as he sits down next to his wife, while Solas glares at the Altus and his ears turn pink like Scarlet’s.

“Well, I witnessed his great knowledge just earlier.” Athim says, gratefully accepting the cup of wine Cabot just poured him. “We met two Dalish elves, Cillian of clan Ralaferin and Loranil from Hawen’s clan.”

The companions and Scarlet pale at that, while Nehn gasps and brings her hands to her face, beaming like a star. Everyone suspects the worst, everyone fears the meeting went bad, that Solas was mortified or left in a corner and everyone - except for Scarlet, who has no idea what Loranil feels for her - thinks the young Dalish elf ignited his jealousy and self-deprecation.

“I heard many things about Cillian and his clan! Oh, I had no idea he was here!”

“He is a good fellow.” Athim says with a smile and Dorian and Cassandra exchange a worried look, while Varric desperately thinks of something else good to say about Solas and Bull tries to come up with more extravagant stories.

But then Athim turns to Solas, who is sitting next to Scarlet with a surprisingly pleased expression on his face, and adds: “Solas knows much about the discipline Cillian is studying, so he accepted to teach him and others the ancient elven ways he learned in the Fade.”

Everyone turns to Solas at that and his smile grows, turning a bit timid, but also proud, and his eyes are filled with love when Scarlet cheers and throws her arms around him. It’s a great step in the right direction, she thinks, the perfect way for him to finally have more friends, connect with more people, and let himself go around others.

And the way Athim spoke, clearly glad of what happened and respectful of Solas’ knowledge, means that the old Dalish man is finally changing his mind about the other elf, if not quickly, at least surely and steadily. Nehn is aware of that, too, and she thanks her husband with a discreet kiss on the lips.

“He knows every corner and every shelf of the library, doesn’t he?” Varric intervenes, continuing his and the others’ plan to celebrate Solas and put him under the best light possible. “Chuckles always had a great memory.”

Some playful light twinkles in Athim’s eyes and he hums, before nodding and observing his daughter talk animatedly with the elven apostate; she is talking quickly, excitedly, oozing joy and warmth from every pore and red strand of hair, and Solas looks at her with loving eyes, a hand on her waist, the other on her knee.

“Always so brilliant, always so ready to help.” Dorian continues and it’s true; despite Solas’ aloof manners and his maybe-too-polite smiles, he is also very kind and many people witnessed his gestures of selflessness, when more refugees than usual came to Skyhold and he helped heal them all, or when he personally prepared potions and concoctions for the sick, coughing pilgrims and their children.

“Always eager to learn more.” Cassandra adds, hoping the Dalish appreciate curiosity, and Cole enigmatically says: “He knows much, but now he wants to learn everything about this world. He likes it now. Sniffing the air and thinking it has a good smell, he explores the new woods.”

Athim shoots him an odd glance, thinking that if anyone here knows what Solas’ haunted past is – because he is sure the young man is haunted by something -, that someone might be Cole. Spirits are supposed to know a lot, right? And this one in particular – Compassion, he was told – might indeed reassure him immensely.

“Say, Cole,” he starts, fully turning to the mysterious boy, whose giant hat almost hides his pale face completely, “Solas told me you’re a dear friend and a very special creature. Person.” He clears his throat, not wanting to offend the boy, but Cole looks extremely pleased and happy.

“You’re very dear to my daughter, too.” Athim continues and Cole looks about to burst into an explosion of light and bubbling laughter. His smile is a particularly sweet sight.

“Thank you!” he exclaims and the old Dalish elf can’t help but chuckle at that.

He turns to the others, who are listening intently, and he doesn’t miss Nehn’s confused look. They don’t understand what he’s trying to ask, so he hurries to do so, turning back to Cole and saying:

“You know him well, right? So…”

“You want to know if they’re happy?” Bull interrupts him, scratching his chin. “Man, everyone can see they are!”

“No.” Cole says gently, never looking away from Athim. “You want to know if he will keep making her happy in the future, too.”

“Yes.” Athim’s tone changes suddenly, turning heated, impatient, urgent. He grasps the spirit boy’s wrist, not too strongly to avoid hurting him, but the grip is powerful all the same. The spirit’s skin is cold and dry, maybe too thin, but he tries not to focus too much on that.

“Once this awful war is over, do you know – can you know - what will happen to them?” He glances furtively at Solas and Scarlet, who are still discussing his future lessons and this great opportunity.

Nehn looks about to protest and tell him to stop, but she is Scarlet’s mother and even if she clearly trusts Solas completely, while Athim still wants to be a little cautious, she has every right to worry and expect some enlightenment from a spirit. So she holds her breath and leans closer to Cole from her stool, clasping her hands in a silent prayer to the Creators.

The others are curious, too, included Dorian, who should know that Cole’s abilities can’t look into the future; he knows that and Cassandra knows it as well, but Cole is such a peculiar spirit and there is always a first time for everything and the Fade and its inhabitants are great mysteries that not even the greatest expert – probably not even Solas – can completely explain up to the smallest detail.

And since Cole looks so serious and solemn - a rare event since he usually looks either gloomy and shy or enthusiastic and curious -, they have all the reasons to move closer and wait for his response.

“I don’t know.” he answers in the end. Athim deflates a little at that, but Nehn keeps looking fervently at the spirit boy and he slowly continues: “But if they keep talking like they are doing now, things will be fine.”

“Communication is an important part of a relationship.” Nehn confirms, nodding solemnly, and Cole nods, too, more solemn than her. They look like two elven statues, Athim thinks, full of truth and answers.

The companions briefly redirect their attention elsewhere to discuss what Cole just said – they have been reassured, comforted, and they believe there will be no dark shadows on the horizon for their dear friends, for sweet Scarlet and brilliant Solas, because how could communication ever stop existing in a relationship like theirs? They always talk, they always fix everything by talking, opening up to each other, and revealing their biggest fears to the other.

Athim is humble and so he accepts Cole’s prediction humbly, thanking him, but he’s also stubborn and even if he likes Solas, even if he knows he loves Scarlet a lot and he’s willing to welcome him into the family, he still can feel something isn’t right, like a minuscule, black dot on a white sheet, slowly spreading and showing itself to the world.

He grasps Cole’s shoulders – so bony and sturdy at the same time – and leans even further in until he’s hidden under his hat with him. And then he whispers, locking eyes with the spirit, gazing into his deep, blue irises so full of knowledge and innocence:

“He’s hiding something, isn’t he?”

Cole doesn’t answer, but his silence is answer enough and Athim sees something flicker in his eyes, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation. He tightens his jaw, sets his mouth into a straight, thin line, then pulls away, sheepishly smiling at Nehn, who didn’t hear his question and is fretting over him and the boy.

“Athim, please! What is this about?”

“Nothing. It’s all good now.” He kisses her to apologize, then thanks Cole again, but the spirit boy has become unresponsive and his face – ageless and young at the same time – is thoughtful, as if he’s lost into deep, important considerations. He smiles a little when Nehn talks to him and brushes back the hair from his face, but there is a weight in his posture, now, and Athim feels responsible and guilty for it.

The rest of the day proceeds well. He visits the mage tower and the rest of Skyhold, with its many rooms, nooks, hidden passageways, and doors. He listens to Solas, asks him questions and answers his and a sincere affection for the young man grows in his heart, replacing the silly jealousy and fears he had before.

He doesn’t bother Solas and Scarlet when they kiss or smile at each other; he still tries to catch his daughter’s attention, because he hasn’t seen her for so long and he thinks he deserves to spend more time with her before leaving, but he happily shares the rest of his time with her friends and her boyfriend and soon he’s busier than ever.

Nehn blooms under their daughter’s attention and care; it didn’t look like it before, but Scarlet’s departure from the clan affected her greatly, too, and only now she’s recovering from it, sure that she will be protected and kept safe, respected and loved. She cries on multiple occasions, always out of joy, and Solas becomes a second son to her, so much she asks him to accompany her everywhere and her motherly affection puts a big smile on his face and a nostalgic light in his eyes.

They decide to stay there five more days, accepting Scarlet’s tearful, hopeful offer, and time passes quickly; Athim and Solas talk a lot before falling asleep and he still has some doubts and he doesn’t always understand what the young man is talking about or studying, but he has seen Scarlet’s joy and that’s enough to convince him.

A shard of fear remains stuck in his heart, but he calmly ignores it, preferring to concentrate on Solas’ smile whenever he mentions Scarlet, the light in his eyes whenever he talks about her brilliance and kindness, his confidence as he tries to explain his theories and studies.

Cole hasn’t told him anything else and Athim doesn’t have the courage to insist and ask more, but his instincts are rarely wrong and he observes Solas sleep at night with a serious expression and a quiet acceptance in his troubled heart.

Then, the five days end and he and Nehn stand at the gate of the fortress, holding their crying daughter and reassuring her that everything will be alright, that they will always be there for her.

Five guards – gentle, robust people from all races equipped with well-crafted weapons - are respectfully waiting on the bridge; they will accompany them safely to the Free Marches, ensuring their safe return to clan Lavellan - Scarlet’s orders. Athim is actually grateful for it, because the big majority of Thedas knows about him and Nehn, now, and he doesn’t want anyone to try hurting their daughter through them.

Nehn apparently adopted all her friends, too; Sera is still wary and awkward around them, but she gives them two jars of good, Nevarran honey, stolen from only-Creators-know-where, and she accepts Nehn’s hug with red cheeks and a weird, endearing pout.

Dorian, the Tevinter, actually sheds some tears. He is “our shem son”, Nehn told Athim, and he never dreamed to ask for something like that, but the lad is a good man and he was able to get to know him better and appreciate his humor, kindness, and irony in the past days. Scarlet adores him and he adores Scarlet, so Athim has learned to approve of him, too, and Nehn always seizes the chance to smooch his cheeks and fix the collar of his robes.

And then there are the others; Bull and his Chargers, which Nehn recognized them as his family and treated as such; Cassandra and her pragmatic, but warm manners; Varric and his stories, often revolving around him more than he realizes and admits; Lady Vivienne and her motherly ways; Blackwall and his quiet, humble bravery that Athim admires a lot; Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, each with their own kind of kindness and thoughtfulness; and then Cole and his sweet compassion, accompanied by the secrets he keeps for others.

Solas is the last one they hug and say goodbye to, because they want to do it right and memorize his smile and touch before they go. Nehn holds him tightly and he timidly returns the hug, like a child who isn’t sure his mother wants to be hugged today. But Nehn always accepts hugs and she already loves him greatly, so she pats his back and Solas finally smiles.

“Take care of my da’adahl, yes?” she says, cradling his face in her small hands. He nods, swallowing a hard lump in his throat, and if Nehn misses the scared flicker in his eyes because she has to dry hers, Athim doesn’t and he approaches Solas with a calm, but serious demeanor.

“Lethallin.” he says, pulling him into his arms before pulling back and clasping his shoulders. “Once this war is over, we will wait for you at the clan.”

Something breaks in Solas’ eyes, but he holds his emotions back – or at least tries to – and his only answer is a slow, short nod and the hint of a shaky smile. So up close, Athim is able to glimpse tears in his eyes and his worst fears come back, together with the half-formed certainty that things won’t go as well as everyone is sure of.

He will keep this to himself, though, because he can’t be completely sure and maybe it’s just his paranoia whispering ill things into his head. He saw the joy and love in both Scarlet’s and Solas’ eyes, he saw how happy they are – he can’t keep causing her trouble and pain like he did the first day.

“Watch over Scarlet for us.” he continues and there is a promise written on Solas’ face, now, and he finally speaks, his voice soft and hoarse: “Of course, hahren.”

Solas squeezes his arm, then lets him go and steps back to take Scarlet’s right hand. They stand there, under the main gate, with their friends and wave at them as they walk across the bridge with their guards.

“Isn’t he a good man?” Nehn says as they wave back and she’s still sniffling and barely holding back her last tears. “I’m so happy, Athim, so happy! I can’t wait for this wretched war to be over, so they will finally be able to get married.”

“Yes.” He watches his daughter and her mate from afar; he can see the sadness and worry in her stance, in the way she waves her hand, just like she would do when she was little and he had to leave the clan to go hunting with the others and she feared for his wellbeing.

Those memories bring tears to his eyes – he’s afraid of losing her to Corypheus and his mad minions, afraid of seeing her suffer because Solas couldn’t stay, afraid of her discovering what is haunting that man so much, something that can’t be anything good.

He’s scared and he isn’t able to refrain from crying, even if quietly. But Nehn of course notices it – she is always so very sweet and observant, just like their daughter – and her hand holding his gives him strength.

“Don’t worry, vhenan.” she says as they resume walking, turning back every ten steps or so. She is still crying, louder than him, and the five soldiers of the Inquisition accompanying them patiently wait a bit far ahead, never complaining, never asking them to hurry.

“We will see her again.” Nehn continues and she makes it sound like a beautiful, certain promise. “I know we will. She will win and she and Solas will visit us at the clan to get married. I can already picture it in my mind.” She giggles, a wet, but cheerful and joyous sound. “I can even picture all her friends sitting around the fire! I want that dear boy Dorian to dance with us.”

“Your imagination is a blessing.” Athim chuckles, kissing her ruffled hair. He turns to watch Scarlet one last time and his heart beats painfully fast in his chest, hope and fear mixed together, a dangerous combination that won’t let him sleep for months.

They slowly leave the bridge and his fear is replaced by sudden surprise – and a bit of alarm – when wolves start howling in the far, snowy distance.

“It’s alright, my lady.” one of the guards, a young dwarven woman with an honest face, says to Nehn when she gasps and looks around. “There are many wolves living near Skyhold, but they never approach the fortress. They are basically harmless.”

“It’s strange.” Nehn chuckles, recovering from her scare. “It’s like they are saying goodbye. Do you think it’s a good omen from the Dread Wolf, vhenan?”

“Hm.” Athim grimaces, looking at the majestic Frostback Mountains all around them, as though he could catch a glimpse of the wolves on their rocky, white sides. “I hope so.”

He turns for the last time towards Skyhold and sees that Scarlet, Solas, and the others are still standing by the gate.

They aren’t waving anymore, but he can still recognize their shapes and forms, Solas’ pale face and his sweater fluttering in the cold wind. He’s still holding Scarlet’s hand and Athim clearly sees him press a kiss on her cheek. He can already imagine her red cheeks and shy smile.

Athim abruptly looks away and his hope manages to win over his fears, as the wolves howl louder.

Another long fic completed! ( ´ ▽ ` ) It started rather funny and lighthearted and it ends on a sadder, melancholic note. ;_; You can't fool a parent's instincts, after all.

I had a lot of fun writing it and developing Nehn and Athim's personalities - maybe I'll add one or two more chapters focusing on those days spent at Skyhold or even set after Trespasser. Athim's rage would be something to fear.

Thank you so much!

#dragon age #da:i #solas #scarlet lavellan #solavellan #lafaiette's fic #THIS FIC STARTED SO LIGHTHEARTED AND NOW WE ARE HERE #i'm so happy i completed this one too though #now vir suledin remains

13 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 7 years

Text

newfragile yellows [31]

“So this is what it’s like to be a man,” Solas’ face grimaces, and the oddly emotive and open fluctuations of expressions on his normally mild ice makes everyone - in everyone else’s bodies - stare in bafflement. “It’s really over rated, how do you pee?”

Bull’s body laughs, “I like this.”

Dorian’s body wrinkles his nose, “Da’len speak to me later.”

“Don’t you touch your body using mine,” Cassandra’s body says, turning to glare at Solas in Dorian’s body, “Don’t.”

“This is all very eerie,” Cole says looking between all of them, “You all feel strange. I know how you feel but I don’t expect it from the direction you are in and when I look at you it is like I am not looking right. You are still you except for how it’s not you and it feels wrong.”

“Now you can really call me tiny,” Varric’s body says, hitting Vivienne’s knee.

“I feel like I am going to get killed,” Vivienne’s body says.

“Why, have you done something wrong to my body?” Vivienne asks from Blackwall’s mouth.

Sera, in Bull’s body, waves her arms, “Holy shit, your dick is huge.”

“It’s proportional,” Bull says from Varric’s mouth.

“No, it isn’t possible to sleep off,” Solas says from Dorian’s mouth at Cassandra in Sera’s body and Blackwall in Lavellan’s.

“So, what’s it feel like to be the Inquisitor of Thedas, aside from short?” Varric asks.

“Wet,” Blackwall says, awkwardly standing with Lavellan’s legs apart.

Lavellan laughs, holding Solas’ sides as she doubles over in his body, “I’m missing my time of the month for this. I love it! I absolutely love it! Bull, Bull in Varric’s body, not Sera in Bull’s, look!” Lavellan spins on Solas’ heel. “I’m a hahren now. Does that mean people who do what I say instead of just pretending to do what I say and then going to find someone they think has more authority? Like Cullen or Leliana?”

“Joke’s on Cullen, they just go around him to Rylen,” Bull says, “Yeah, I see you. It’s weird having two eyes again.”

On cue, Sera in Bull’s body violently windmills his arms. Everyone attempts to duck - awkwardly, unused to each other in their new bodies.

“How the hell do you swing around a giant metal sword when you can’t see shit?”

“Practice,” Bull shrugs, reaching around to unholster Bianca.

“Oh no you don’t,” Varric grabs Bianca from Bull’s hands, “Bianca is a finely tuned machine. You aren’t touching her.”

“Don’t touch that dirty crossbow with my hands, I won’t tolerate the smell of oil,” Vivienne snaps, pulling Bianca into Blackwall’s hands. “Varric, as much as I do respect your adequacy at socializing I’m going to have to tell you to keep your mouth shut as soon as we leave this room. I absolutely cannot have you ruining my reputation.”

“I want to die a little every time you move in my body,” Dorian says, “You don’t know how to work my angles at all.”

Dorian’s body pointedly looks away from Dorian in Cassandra’s body.

Solas’s body bounds up to Varric, quickly crouching down to be at eye level, “I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to be Varric because maybe then I could have found Varric’s notes on his next book for Cassandra much easier. Hahren, your body feels creaky, did you know that?”

“I am well aware of my age, Lavellan.”

“Yeah, be gentle with my body Sera,” Bull says, “I have plans for that body.”

“Gross,” Sera says.

“Bull looks, I have freckles,” Lavellan laughs, pointing at Solas’ face.

“I can see it, boss, I’m really weirded out by it, but I can see it fine.”

“You can’t give cats milk,” Cullen quickly bends down, picking Lavellan up off the floor before she can drink out of the saucer Dorian put down. Lavellen makes a quiet oop sound as he adjusts his hold on her. Lavellan immediately twists in his arms and starts climbing onto his shoulders, settling into the collar of his coat.

“Since when?” Dorian asks.

“Since always,” Cullen says, moving his neck to allow Lavellan a little more room. “Kittens can drink milk; fully grown cats get sick when they do.”

“Spoken like a true farmer,” Bull says, entering the room, “Hey boss, still a cat?”

Lavellan meows loudly into Cullen’s ear, going easily when Bull reaches for her and picks up her up.

She’s been a cat for the past week, some sort of elven ritual that she underwent without telling anybody about it. From what Cullen understands, it’s meant to give her new insight or some sort of awareness. He’s not particularly sure about it, all he knows is that it’s possibly botched considering how Solas reacted when Lavellan went up to him and started to kneed at his foot.

(“Figure it out, da’len,” Solas had said, bemused as he looked down at her, “You started the ritual, now you finish it.”

Lavellan let out a loud and unhappy meow, tail flicking up before she haughtily pranced away to begin to mew and whine and generally make herself look quite sorry at Cullen; he apparently acted appropriately in looking upset about Lavellan’s predicament because now she’s been going to him for sympathy whenever someone else rebuffs her and tells her its her own mess.

Cullen privately agrees, but he isn’t going to say anything because he still is concerned.)

Lavellan curls up in the crook of Bull’s elbow and begins to purr.

“Still a cat,” Bull confirms, “So, any progress?”

“Before or after Lavellan started to meow at me for an unknown reason?” Dorian asks.

For the most part Lavellan has proven herself to be quite clever at making her wishes known. When she really, really wants to. Or has to.

Otherwise, it’s anyone’s guess what she means whenever she meows, yowls, purrs, chirps, hisses, snarls, and such. So far the only one who seems to be having no trouble understanding her - aside from Cole, who just cryptically repeats her sounds back when asked to translate - is the Iron Bull.

Cullen is mostly just here to make sure they don’t poison her by accident. In example - he had to bodily lunge across the table the other night to make sure she didn’t eat an orange slice.

Lavellan looked cross at him.

(“She misses healthy food,” Bull said.

“She’ll miss living more,” Cullen replied. And then he gave Lavellan a firm shake by the scruff of the neck when she kept trying to reach for the plate of cut fruit with her outstretched paws and chided, “Stop.”)

Lavellan reaches up and smacks Bull’s chest with her paw, meowing for attention.

“Yeah?” Bull looks down at her. Lavellan twists in his arms, flicks her tail and sneezes, “Alright, yeah. Sure.”

“What did she say?” Dorian asks.

“She wants to go to the barn,” Bull says, already walking towards the nearest exit to the courtyard, “Stop catching mice, you always feel bad for them when you do catch them.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

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calamity-writes · 7 years

Text

Eh 27.3 Endgame

Cast: Haylan ( @siriusdraws ), Rythlen Theirin ( @picchar ), Milliara (me!) Theseus Trevelyan (@perditionxroad), Peanut Adaar ( @cupcakelogic ), Fiowyn ( @shyquisitor )

Guest appearance: Karya and Aldes ( @kingsdragonage ), Kenslynn ( @megan-mayhem ), the DuMarcs ( @fangrl-esque )

~4600 words, Rated R for violence and language

Fiowyn - Skyhold

Fiowyn stood stock still, holding Nils behind her with one hand, while the other stretched out toward the woman that stood between her and the exit. Tall, regal and imposing, the so-called First Enchanter had pressed her lips together primly at Fi’s refusal to hand over the boy.

“You’re only making this harder for everyone involved, dear,” the woman said with a small sigh. “Here you are, pitifully defenceless and rather drunk, and you plan to stand against me?”

Fiowyn took a deep breath, trying to keep her eyes on the woman with the weird horned hat as she turned to speak to over her shoulder to Nils.

“Nils, sweetie,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you crawl under Mamae’s bed for now? I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out. Until then, cover your ears and close your eyes okay?”

Nils gave her hand a squeeze and scrambled under the four post bed. It was huge, and it would keep Nils away from any blowback or spells. Fi didn’t doubt that the mage had the upper hand, but she couldn’t -wouldn’t- just hand Nils over so some prissy Orlesian woman.

“A poor decision, darling,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “The boy needs a proper education and he’ll get one despite his mother’s misguided opnions on the matter. Such a shame she went… native with you lot,” she said, voice icy. She flicked her grip on the staff she held and a blast of force struck Fiowyn square in the chest, knocking her back to the floor by the bed.

“I would stay down if I were you, dear,” Vivienne said. Through the ringing in her ears, Fi heard the woman’s heels click on the floor, approaching where she lay and where Nils hid just a arm’s length away.

Fiowyn looked over at the boy, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears like she’d told him. Something glinted by him, and Fi said a silent prayer of thanks to whichever of the Creators fuelled Millie’s paranoia. stuck to the slats of the bedframe was a pistol.

“Whatever it is you think you’re going to do,” Vivienne said, “Don’t.” Fiowyn watched the mage lower the head of her staff until it pointed directly at Fi’s nose. The tip started to glow, and the hairs along Fi’s arms prickled with static.

“Say goodbye to your nephew, darling.”

Theseus - Winter Palace

Another night and Theseus would have let the questions go. Another night, when his… his… when whatever Milliara was to him, hadn’t killed her ex. When she wasn’t trying to shut him out for no reason. When his blood wasn’t flush with lyrium thrumming with every beat of his heart. He tried to shake the questions off but they chewed at the back of his mind, fuelled by Lyrium.

It was one of those lesser known side effects, like losing your memory after several decades of use. The Chantry didn't tell you the rush Lyrium gave you until your first draught. They let you feel the way it made you bolder, less afraid, and told you it was for when you had to face down abominations and blood mages who would sooner show you your own spine than listen to reason. Whether it was truly the Maker giving him courage or just a chemical reaction tot he lyrium, it didn't matter. The effect was the same. The thrum of the drug in his veins pushed and pushed at the questions until he couldn't take it any more.

Three long strides took him up to where Milliara was stalking forward, muttering to Rythlen.

“Millie, talk to me. Please,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you? Did he-”

She flinched away from him, yanking back from his hand. The flash of fear in those silver eyes cut deeper than any words she might have flung his way. He’d never done anything to hurt her, never. Did she still think he would? She'd said she trusted him, but that was before she'd chosen the bastard Chevalier to watch her back. Now Rousseau had hurt her, forced Milliara to kill him. He might have deserved it, but if Theseus had been there, if he knew what happened maybe he could help... somehow.

“Don’t,” Milliara growled up at him. “Don’t push this right now, Theseus.”

Looking up at him, he watched Milliara put on a mask of anger to hide the fear. She didn’t have to, not around him, didn't she know that? It wasn't as though they were in the middle why did she try to hide that she was just human? Theseus winced internally at the phrase.

He realised Milliara was squinting at him, eyes flicking back and forth as she stared at his face. It took him a heartbeat to realise what she was staring at. He had forgotten she had such good eyesight in the dark. With her eyes, she'd be able to see that his pupils were still contracted to points,

“Are you… high?” She hissed.

“Lyrium doesn't make you 'high',” Theseus said, frowning.

“You- you took lyrium. What, here?” she asked, eyes wide. “Why would you take lyrium here? For all you know someone could have poisoned it, or worse, corrupted it with that red crap!”

“You’re being unreasonable,” he snapped back. He'd thought she was over this. He needed the lyrium to be effective in combat. She'd said she trusted him. Looks like she didn't anymore. “I took it so I could protect you. We don’t know what we’re facing out here, and you kept leaving me behind-”

“I almost lost you at Adamant. I wasn't going to lose you here.” Milliara jabbed a finger into his chestplate. Her glowing vallaslin flickered angrily in time with what would be her pulse. Theseus knew she was truly angry now, but so was he. The only thing that stopped him from raising his voice was her admission that she'd been scared for him, not of him.

Shit.

"Millie I'm sorry," he started to say. She didn't give him a chance to continue. Grabbing his chestplate, she pulled him down to her eye level.

“But this is bigger than you, and bigger than me and bigger than Fred. If I have to cut through you too because you were a dumbass and took lyrium in the fucking Orlesian-godsdamn-court, I will. I’ve done it once and I’ll do it again.”

Milliara let go and smacked his hand away as Theseus reached out to stop her, to try to smooth things over. She'd done it once? Did that mean when she'd been at Redcliffe she'd killed whatever she thought had been him? Or did that mean she'd killed Fred, and wouldn't hesitate to kill him too?

“Trevelyan, take Dorian and find Leliana and Cullen. Tell her what happened. Ry, Solas, New guy, we’re going Duchess-hunting.”

“Mil-”

“That was an order, Knight,” she snarled over her shoulder. “Move your ass.”

Theseus watched her stalk away, unable to meet Rythlen’s eyes as she glanced back with an empathetic face. Instead he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

He had his orders. He hated them, but he had his orders.

‘I’ve done it once, and I’ll do it again’.

“I thought we were past that,” he muttered to himself, then turned to scowl at Dorian.

“Don’t look at me,” Dorian said, holding his hands up in defence. “I did try to tell you to drop it.” The Altus clicked his tongue. “But really, trusting Lyrium here to be untampered with? I hope you’re right and it was untouched.”

Theseus shook his head, starting towards the doors that would lead towards the main ballroom.

“I mean, in Minrathous you’d already be dead by now, but I hope you’re right.”

“You didn’t need to add that part, Dorian,” Theseus said over his shoulder.

“Hm. I suppose you’re right. Well, let’s go save an Empire, shall we?”

Maeve - Winter Palace

Everything happened so fast.

The Empress approached the dias and microphone to address the crowd and had yet to even say anything when the doors to the ballroom burst open and militants with harlequin patterns on their armor strode into the crowd, rifles raised and voices shouting for everyone to get onto their knees and put their hands behind their heads.

Cullen and Maeve both reacted on instinct. He punched the nearest bard, grabbing and twisting the gun from the man’s grip. Maeve slammed her glass into the woman behind him’s throat, grabbing the rifle and pointing it to the cieling and away from the civilians and nobles.

The masqued woman squeezed off a spatter of shots on reflex, the bullets punching into the gilded moulding of the ballroom cieling, sending chunks of plaster and dust falling down onto the screaming people below.

Gritting her teeth, Maeve grabbed the woman by the collar and twisted, throwing her over her hip and to the hard floor. Viciously, she yanked the rifle free and squeezed off a burst into the bard’s chest.

“Get to the Empress,” Cullen was shouting. Maeve could hardly hear him over the screams. But behind him there was another bard, there were too many. She couldn’t leave him and lose him like she’d lost-

Maeve grabbed Cullen’s lapels, twisting and throwing herself between him and the bard. She felt the first bullet punch into her back, tracing a line of fire through her that bloomed into white static in her chest. The other two shots were distant thuds, a hand pounding her back as she choked on the hot froth that bubbled up her throat.

“Maeve?” Cullen sounded so scared. She tried to cup his jaw, but her hands weren’t working right. “MAEVE?!”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let- I’m sorry.” Her lips were still moving, but they were numb now, her whole body cold and numb aside from the trails of fire through her chest. “I love you.”

Warm arms wrapped around her, and Maeve smiled.

Cullen was always so warm...

Milliara - Winter Palace

“Soo...” the new guy said, keeping up as Millie and the others jogged around towards the balcony that jutted out into the courtyard from the head of the ballroom. It was where the peacetalks were to take place, an oasis from the crush of nobles and where the true business of Ruling Orlais was done.

It was also a back way in that Florianne wouldn’t expect.

“What,” Milliara said, turning through the maze of trellises and hedges. She wasn’t stopping, they’d wasted too much time already.

“Do you two always argue? Not that I'm complaining, it makes missions more entertain-”

“Get to the point or stop talking,” Millie said.

To his credit, the new guy took direction well. He coughed awkardly but let the poor attempt at banter drop. Theseus could learn a thing or two about that, Milliara thought bitterly. She'd said not now, and she'd fucking meant it. This wasn't the time or the place to talk about feelings.

"May I have a weapon before we find the Duchess? Pretty please?” Galaren asked. "Unfortunately her men took mine before-"

Without looking behind or slowing down, Milliara pulled the handgun from the small of her back and held it out to the side for the New Guy to take.

“Just take the gun,” she said, biting back a sigh. "And try not to shoot anyone wearing black."

Milliara felt him take the weapon and heard the click as he checked the magazine. At least he knew that much. Whatever witty reply he might have had was cut off by the stutter of small arms fire that ripped through the night air.

“Shit,” Milliara said, breaking into a run. The balcony was just ahead, with the trellis she remembered still there. Bless the void for small favours, Milliara leapt up onto the wooden lattice, climbing up it as fast as she could. Inside the ballroom there was screaming and more gunfire until a familiar voice spoke on the sound system.

“Lords, Ladies, dear Orlesians,” Florianne said. “Welcome with me an end to the corruption of Orlais, an end to the infighting and pointless Civil War. Welcome with me the reign of the only true God, the Elder One!”

Leaping from the trellis to the balcony, Milliara landed and rolled on the flagstones, absorbing the worst of the sound. She crept forward, bent low to hide behind the feast table that stood between her and the ballroom until she reached it’s edge. Peering around it, she could see Florianne standing next to a kneeling Gaspard and Celene. Each had a Bard in armor standing behind them with a handgun pointed at the back of their heads.

“Mother fuckers,” Milliara breathed. She glanced over at Ry, and signalled she was going in. They’d have to catch up, there was no time to waste.

With no gun –damnit New Guy– she was limited with what she had to work with. Millie peered at the top of the table, plucking two cheese knives from the spread and tucked them into her belt.

She took a breath in and held it, letting it out as she stepped out from behind the table and launched her two daggers at the gunmen. There would be others, and a knive thrown was a knife you couldn’t count on getting back.

The first gunman stumbled with a cry, the gun falling from his hand. The second grunted, legs buckling underneath him as the superheated blade of Milliara’s dagger bit through the back of his neck. She didn’t stop to watch if the blade had paralysed him or not. Pulling to stolen cheese knives free from her belt, she ran them over the spongey pouch at her hip, coating them in poison. If they weren’t already, this was Orlais after all.

The attendees at the ball gasped as Millie appeared from the darkness of the balcony. Milliara twisted, slamming her foot into the head of the injured gunman and knocking him over and away from Celene.

Behind her, Milliara could hear the others landing on the balcony, and she felt the cool prickly of magic settle around her shoulders. Solas, she guessed, but in the thick of things, it could be anyone who’d cast the spell. Millie just open it was a friendly spell and not a malicious one.

“You are as stubborn as ever,” Florianne said, lips peeling back from her teeth. “But before you move further, let me ask you: how much do you love your son?” Milliara froze, cheese knives in each hand. The chill she felt may well have been ice water poured down her spine.

//Never let them see you bleed,/ she reminded herself. The next words were unbearable, but she said them because she had to, because if she didn’t, she’d give up what was most precious to his… hyena in silks.

“I don’t,” Milliara lied. “I would have thought you’d understand bargaining chips, Florianne. Keeping Nils meant keeping Frederic in line.” She forced her lips into a smile with too much teeth, even as she prayed to the void that Nils was safe. Skyhold was remote, it was patrolled and Fiowyn, Peanut and the others were there. Nils had to be safe. “Of course now that Fred is out of the picture… he’s a child as any other.”

Florianne hesitated. It was only a flutter of doubt but Milliara saw it in the Duchess’ eyes before she turned to face the crowd. The courtiers, sharks one and all, caught it too. Blood was in the water, and it wasn’t the Inquisitior’s.

“I don’t believe you,” Florianne said, gesturing up toward the screens hung around the dias. They flickered and cut away from a shot of Florianne to an image of the inside of Milliara’s rooms at Skyhold. More specifically, the floor where Fiowyn lay on one of he rugs that had been brought in at Josephine’s insistance. Nils liked to run his toy ships along the curling vines woven into it.

Now, Milliara watched as her cousin stared up at whoever was wearing the camera. A staff was outstretched toward Fiowyn’s face, crackling with energy. The camera spun, knocked off balance and Milliara caught a glimpse of dark manicured hands reaching out and throwing a ball of energy towards the two figures that now stood in the doorway. The audio crackled and popped, static and shouts of surpise as a Very Angry Qunari who was wearing a ruffly pink apron and bows on her horns, charged. Kalieth behind her was shouting, but whatever it was that she said was lost in the static and feedback.

The camera tumbled, bouncing and rolling to the side to show Peanut haul Vivienne to her feet and physically throw her into a wall.

“Hmm,” Milliara said, placing her hands on her hips. “This is going really well for you, Florianne.”

Vivienne tried to rally, reaching into the ether and pulling out a glowing blade to slash at Peanut. But a shimmering barrier sprung up, sending the blade skidding off harmlessly.

From underneath the bed, a small face and hand could be seen, and Milliara’s heart swelled up painfully as she realised her son had helped to protect his tutor. She swallowed hard, trying to regain the cold mask of indifference. It was too late.

“Don’t love him hm?” Florianne said, smug. She reached up to her collar and pulled at the butterflies there. Whatever magic or engineering had held the dress together released, letting silks fall to the floor. Underneath she wore light armor, similarly painted in ugly harlequin red and white. Orlesians.

“Look,” Milliara said, giving up on the pretense of indifference. “You’re not going to win this, Florianne. Surrender now, and I’ll let you live. You tried a play and it failed. There’s no shame in admitting you lost.”

“No shame?” Florianne asked, placing a hand to her breastbone in shock. “In losing to an elf? Please, I would rather die, rabbit.”

Milliara felt her lip twitch up into a sneer at the slur.

“That can be arranged. How about a duel? One on one. The winner takes the game tonight and the other’s life.” Milliara glanced out at the crowd, eyes scanning and catching key faces. Leliana, Josephine, Alistair were all there. Accounted for. If she could minimize losses, if she could just keep this from getting worse-

“Hm,” Florianne said, tapping a finger against her lips. “No.”

The Grand Duchess pulled her other hand around from her hip, now holding a handgun similar to those her henchmen had held before Milliara had incapacitated them. Instead of dodging to the side, Milliara threw herself forward. The gun flashed, bucking twice in Florianne’s hand before the elf was on her. Cheese knives or no, they were sharp and coated in the strongest poison Milliara had been able to make earlier that day.

The broader of the two slammed into the crook of Florianne’s elbow, slicing through the thin material there to bite into flesh. The poison was fast acting, not lethal but enough to disorient, and hopefully enough to turn the odds into Milliara’s favour. She had, after all, brough cheese knives to a gunfight. Not one of her best moments, she knew.

Florianne’s spare hand snapped into a hard punch to Milliara’s face, splitting the skin over her left eye. The hot blood that poured out stung her eye, and Milliara squeezed it shut to keep it from distracting her. But the hit had been enough to dislodge her grip on the Duchess. A sharp kick send Millie sprawling back onto the marble floor for the second time that night, and she wheezed and rolled back onto all fours.

Bright bolts of energy arced over her head and slammed into the Duchess, sending her staggering back. And Rythlen, beautiful, warrior queen that she was, charged forward and slammed the edge of her shield into the Duchess’s stupid masqued face. Florianne toppled, arms flailing at her face, now shattered by the Warden Queen’s strike. Hands were helping Milliara up, but he Inquisitor didn’t take her eyes off Florianne. The Duchess had let out a garbled cry for help, but her agents weren’t coming to her rescue.

Spitting blood from her mouth, Milliara snatched up the thermobladed dagger from where it was still buried in the gunman’s neck. With three strides, she was by Rythlen. The Queen sliced low with her sword, taking the Duchess out at the knee. Milliara, aching and exhausted, stepped forward and slashed her dagger down into Florianne’s exposed throat. Red sprayed out onto both Millie and Ry, staining pale skin. It was the second time tonight, but this time Milliara didn’t feel sick as she watched the body slump to the floor. This time she just felt relieved.

Looking up at the crowd below them, she saw that the guests had risen up and overpowered the Harlequins. Alistair and the Starkhaven Prince now held rifles and fallen agents lay by their feet in slowly spreading pools of blood.

“I really…” Miliara wheezed, bending over and bracing a hand against the railing of the balcony they stood on. Her chest was aching and she realised that one of the bullets had struck her chest armor, bruising already hurt ribs. “I really missed this.” She offered a half-smile to Rythlen.

“Bullshit,” Ry said, sheathing her sword and deactivating her shield. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you sitting down and have someone take a look at you.”

Milliara debated a smartass remark, but by the time she had anything half-way decent she had Ry on one side of her and the New Guy on the other, helping her out to the night air where the negotiations and feasting table still stood, relatively undisturbed.

“So, is every mission like this?” Galaren asked, helping Ry ease Milliara down into a chair. It was upholstered in white velvet and Millie took a deep, perverse, pleasure in knowing she’d stain it beyond all saving. Fuck Orlais. The only good things here were the music, the coffee and the cakes.

“Yes,” Milliara said, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. She winced as cool hands touched her forehead, just above the cut on her brow.

“Apologies,” Solas murmured. “I can help ease the swelling but it will take some time to heal. I do not have the skills that Enchanter Haylan does when it comes to medical arts.”

Milliara heard the swish of skirts approaching them, along with a delicate clearing of a throat. Reluctantly opening her non-blood covered eye, she looked past Solas to where Celene and Gaspard now stood. To their credit, neither one looked as though they’d just had their lives threatened. Calm, composed, the dust was even gone from Gaspard’s knees.

“We owe you a great deal, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “You have saved our life, and exposed a plot to drown our Empire in chaos. Yet, we still must resolve the matter of the Orlesian Civil war, or tonight’s sacrifices will all be for nothing, non?”

“Briala and Gaspard both were aware of the plot and tried to turn it to their advantage,” Milliara said, gesturing with her hand towards Galaren. “He can attest to Gaspard’s role.”

She watched the Empress feign horror and had to resist rolling her eyes at the display.

“But-” Milliara said before Celene could demand Gaspard’s head. “The Inquisition requests that you don’t kill Gaspard. Just exile, he can serve with the Inquisition until the Magister Corypheus is defeated then go off to… fuck, wherever,” she said, waving her hand vaguely. “Just not Orlais.”

Celene huffed, but nodded gracefully.

“As a favour, we grant this request in face of all you have done for us tonight, now, if you will excuse us, we need to see to clearing up this mess. Guards, escort our dear cousin Gaspard to the Inquisition forces, and fetch a healer for the Lady Inquisitor.”

Washing off the blood and grime of the night was cathartic, even though the cut on her forehead stung when water touched it, Milliara had stood with her head under the shower head for a full minute, just to feel the water wash off all traces of Fred and Florianne.

If she’d been allowed a choice, Milliara would have stayed in that shower for the rest of the night. It was safe and quiet, and most importantly away fromm qyestions about what had happened with Fred. Reluctantly, she’d dried off and fixed her hair and makeup in the guest suite Celene had given to them to use. Rythlen had already finished and now was pulling on her gown again.

“Rather impressively, casualties were low tonight,” Leliana said, standing by the door with her arms crossed at her waist. She’d arrived while Milliara was in the shower, and waited until she’d finished drying off to start the debriefing. “However, Cullen is… despondent. Maeve did not survive despite the best efforts of Celene’s healers.”

Milliara was quiet at that, and glanced down at her right palm, where the Anchor’s scar glowed green on her hand. In another universe, had things worked out differently? Would she be the one who had died tonight, and Maeve who had survived to save Orlais?

“Who else?” Milliara asked, standing slowly from her seat at the vanity and crossing to where her change of clothes hung from the closet door.

“A few minor nobles, Frederic of course, and the serving staff. We discovered Briala’s body in the front garden, whether she’d been attempting to escape or help the Empress, we will never know”

“Millie,” Rythlen asked, perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you doing okay? With everything that happened tonight…”

Her first reaction was to snap at Ry, tell her that she was fine. But, she wasn’t. And Milliara had had enough lying to friends for one night.

“No,” she admitted, unzipping the garment bag and pulling out the dress inside. It was white, simplly cut but embroidered with glimmering beads. Like her suit, the dress had a plunging neckline, and was slit up the centre to allow her to move easily. It was a far cry from the confections Fred used to dress her up in. Thank the Void for that.

“I’m not, but, I will be eventually,” Milliara admitted after a moment. She winced, pulling on the dress gingerly over the bruises that had started to bloom along her ribs and back. "Right now, I just want to try to enjoy what's left of the night. The food and wine and music and maybe listening to that Starkhaven Prince talk about anything."

Leliana smiled. "He does have a charming voice, doesn't he?" the bard said. "I'll tell our people to keep an eye on you and to fend off the suitors."

Milliara paused in the middle of pinning on the Inquisition broach and looked over at Leliana in horror.

"What... suitors..." she asked carefully.

Leliana just smiled, and opened the door.

"Go on, enjoy yourselves," she said. "I'll manage the rest of the evening so you two can relax. I suggest trying some of the petit fours, they're quite delicious."

Milliara watched Leliana slip out the door, then looked to Rythlen. Tall and strong, the elf wondered how the Queen managed this, the life of ruling and court and everthing. Every day.

"Hey... Ry?" She said quietly. "Thank you. For being here." For being a friend. "It means a lot to me."

#Entropic Horizons #Endgame #Milliara #Theseus #Rythlen #Fiowyn #Peanut #Kalieth #FRANNNNDSHIP

5 notes · View notes

ahrorha · 7 years

Text

Flame of Winter

Chapter 5

The sun shone brightly as they travelled down the mountains into the green rolling hills of the Hinterlands. Farms, fields and small woods dotted the rocky landscape.

As they drew near Redcliffe the impact of the war and its devastating effects had left its mark on the once peaceful lands. Farms were burned down to the ground, others were looted and abandoned. Dead mutilated corpses of civilians, apostates and templars lay rotting beside the roads. Areas were frozen solid from misused magic. . When they approached the Crossroads, they could hear people screaming in the distance. Terrified refugees came running towards them, fleeing the small village. Fresh bodies lay on the side of the road, the brutality of the fighting evident on the horrific wounds they carried. Eirlana followed Solas as they ran into the village. It was chaos, Inquisition forces tried to guide the refugees to safety while templars and apostates clashed with each other. They didn't seem to care who they wounded or killed in their bloodlust. A woman came running along the path, a templar chasing her. She tripped and fell to the ground a couple of yards away from them. The templar swung his sword to slash her. Ryan and Cassandra sprinted towards him, trying to save the woman. They wouldn't make it in time. Before Eirlana realised what she was doing, she trusted her arms out, propelling forth a force of magical energy to push the templar away from the woman. Solas felt the air rushing past him as the invisible force collided with the templar sending him flying back. He stole a glance to his right at her, she looked both terrified and relieved she had hit the right target. “Stay close!” he yelled at her, as he erected a barrier around Ryan and Cassandra who were engaging the warring parties.

Solas noticed that Ryan moved further and further away from them. His fighting style was reckless, not paying attention what the rest of his comrades were doing. He kept a watchful eye on him as he and Eirlana both tried to support the fighters as best they could. Freezing enemies with their spells, protecting them with their barriers. Varric fired bolt after bolt, taking out several archers. The combat went well until Ryan ran right into an ice mine one of the apostates had laid. He was flung back, his legs wounded from the ice shards. Solas rushed forward to protect him from a sellsword, who tried to take advantage of his prone target. He managed to lay the protective shield around Ryan just in time. “Solas! Watch out!” He stumbled forward as Eirlana pushed her back against him. Quickly turning around he saw her create a barrier of ice spikes between herself and a charging templar, impaling him in the process. He would have been attacked in the back if she hadn't interfered. . The fight was soon over. Inquisition forces began to set up stations to protect the citizens in case any more templars or apostates would show up. People were wandering around looking for their loved ones, many were wounded or dead. Solas stood next to Cassandra who helped Ryan to his feet. “Damn those mages.” Ryan cursed as he tried to stand on his wounded legs. “We need to get that looked after. Where is Eirlana?” Cassandra asked as she supported him. Solas shook his head. Of course, let's bring in magical healing to the man who condemns magic. He turned around and caught a glimpse of Eirlana leaving the village. . Eirlana stood petrified, staring at the chaos around her, the moaning and crying of people. She shuddered, she had killed someone. She had seen deaths during her life as a slave. In the Fade, she had seen countless battles re-enacted by the spirits, but never had she used her powers to end a life. Feeling sick she made her way past people and troops, bumping into a few of them. She needed to get out of here. Outside the village it was calm, birds were singing, leaves rustled in the wind. The long green grass felt cool against her feet. Eirlana collapsed on a boulder staring at her hands, still covered in blood from the templar. Solas found her there. Rubbing her hands frantically, trying to get the bloodstains off. He cursed silently that she was pulled into the battle. She wasn't ready, her mind still recovering from her terrible ordeals. She flinched when he squatted before her, looking sympathetic at her. “Here.” Opening his water bottle, he slowly poured water on her hands, so she could wash the blood away. When he handed her the flask, she took a big gulp. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “Thank you. I... this... have you...” Her eyes turned to the ground, her mind was chaotic. She knew he had killed before, she had seen him kill her captors. It felt terrible ending another man's life, she had never imagined how heavy it felt. Solas waited calmly for her to find the words. “Does it get any easier?” she raised her eyes up, meeting his own. Solas looked away, his face torn with grief. “Sadly it gets easier, but that doesn't mean it doesn't weigh on you. It still hurts, but this world gives you often little choice.” “Can that be changed?” “I hope one day it can change for the better, but the path leading to it is one I do not wish upon anyone.” He looked so distraught when he said this, she felt her heart break. There was a heavy silence between both of them. Solas was the first to break it, they needed to focus on the tasks ahead. He rose to his feet “The Herald is injured. Are you able to take care of him?” He offered her his hand. Eirlana took another deep breath and accepted his hand. She straightened her back and followed him back into the village. . “I will stay here.” Solas looked at Eirlana in disbelieve. They had finished their business at the Crossroads and were about to set out again. “Are you certain?” “They need me here, there are still many wounded.” Cassandra nodded her approval. “We will be back here after we secured more supplies for the refugees.” Solas didn't feel comfortable leaving her here, even with the Inquisitions troops securing the village. “Solas, I will be fine.” she stepped closer to him and added in a whisper. “I am sorry, I can't keep up with the fighting. I... I need more time.” “I understand, if something happens, go back to the camp.” “I will. Stay safe.” . Ryan and Cassandra let the way through the green hills and cliffs of the Hinterlands. Solas and Varric followed them. When Solas looked back at the village, he heard Varric grin. “You worry too much Chuckles.” “And you are not worried, Master Tethras?” “On the contrary, this shit doesn't make any sense to me. Compared to this, the things that went on in Kirkwall looked like a walk in the park.” “I imagine you didn't find it that easy at the time.” “You can say that again. One thing I learned during that time is to trust your friends. Though we have a short supply of them at the moment.” he let out a sad sigh and continued in a louder more upbeat voice. “So here we are Chuckles, cleaning up another human mess.” Cassandra looked back at them, clearly not pleased. “What do you mean by that?” she growled. “Every greater mess I've been involved in was usually initiated by a human. Except for that one time my brother left me in the Deep Roads to die.” “With so many humans around, it is hardly surprising.” Solas suppressed a grin, Varric's talent to aggravate the Seeker was unmatched. “If you think about it, we the minority are fixing their mess. We should ask for a payment.” “It is hard to imagine what the Inquisition would do without our stabilising influence, Master Tethras.” “I assume they'd just start burning things.” “That does sound like most humans I know.” Cassandra frowned at them, daggers shooting from her eyes. “If you gentlemen are quite finished?” “Now, now, you don't need to get touchy. We're just here to lend you, simple humans, our help.” “That reminds me Varric. You joined the Inquisition, while the Seeker brought you here for questioning.” Varric rolled his eyes. “She was very insistent that I help. But no matter how hard she tries Bianca doesn't like to share. I'm torn by all this attention.” “Interesting.” Varric glanced at Solas. “What's Interesting?” “That the two elven apostates are the ones who joined the Inquisition voluntarily.” “You two are in a league of your own.” he laughed. “Maybe not the smartest move but I for one am glad you two decided to join the team. You are far better company than those two.” he pointed to Ryan and Cassandra. “I enjoy your company as well Master Tethras.” . They spent the rest of the day fighting stragglers, securing food and supplies for the refugees. Solas was pleased the Inquisition had decided to help the refugees, the suffering done to these people wasn't necessary. They also encountered a few rifts. Solas was worried about the instability of the Veil. The Breach had weakened it significantly, creating many soft spots where rifts could form. It had spread farther away than he thought. Though he had planned to bring down the Veil, it was not with this level of violence done to the Fade. He needed a broader picture of what was happening to the Veil. When they returned to the camp, the sun had already set. He found Eirlana asleep in their shared tent. She lay curled up on the far side of their tent. It had become chilly, and her blanket had slipped off. Carefully he covered her again, trying not to wake her. Exhausted he lay down on his own sleepingroll. Concentrating on his breath, he quickly dived into the Fade. He needed more information. . The people of Fereldan were spirited, independent, believers in hard work. Eirlana could sense the deep pride of the land they lived on, as she wandered the Fade. The area had a long history, the pride and love people felt had seeped through to the Fade and spirits had gathered to enjoy the sensation of it. She always liked the curiosity of the spirits, their honesty. People were much harder to read, their thoughts and emotions not so straightforward. She had to smile as a small wisp circled her. Its playful nature curious at what she was doing here. She was relieved that the Fade here was mostly undamaged by the events. Compared to Haven it was peaceful, she felt at ease here. Sadly staying here was not an option. The world wouldn't wait for her, and she was being pulled into a storm of changes. She had to adapt and learn fast if she wanted to play a part in it. Did she even want to play a part in it she wondered? Focussing her thoughts the Fade began to shift around her, it was time she visited her teacher. It had been months since she last saw him. .

Eirlana still could remember vividly how they met for the first time. It had been a frightening time. Only a child she was running through the Fade, afraid and alone. How long she had been there, she didn't know, but it had been many days. She could feel her connection to her body growing thinner by the day. The experiments had weakened her, it became harder and harder to remember that she was alive, that she was a person. Already her appearance in the Fade was fading. When she held her hand before her eyes, she could look through it. Maybe I am turning into a spirit she thought. The part of the Fade she was in was grey and empty, memories of events so long ago that even the spirits had begun to forget. Feeling tired and lost, she came upon some ruins. She had stumbled upon the territory of a more powerful spirit. Glad she had escaped the clouds of nothingness she collapsed against a broken pillar. “Garas quenathara da'len?” Startled, Eirlana looked up and saw a tall elf, clad in beautiful dark robes, embroidered with gold. His long dark hair fell over his shoulder. It was bound together with several golden bands. “Thu ma venal silaima'an?” “Is that elven?” she asked shyly. His intense green eyes studied her as if he was wondering what to make of her. “What is your name da'len?” his voice was deep with a heavy accent, not used to the common language. Tears started to run down her cheeks. “I don't know. I forgot.” “Then we need to find you a new one.” he smiled at her. “Come da'len. Tell me, how did you find this place?” He took her hand and guided her deeper into the ruins. So began their friendship, he was her teacher, her guide. He thought her magic, elven, how to keep herself together in the Fade and how to shape it according to her will. After they started to use the collar on her, she couldn't visit him as often anymore. Eirlana was ashamed she hadn't visited him since Solas had freed her. Her mind had been too preoccupied. Too much had happened, with her recovery, the Breach and everything else, it was a wonder she had kept up so far. The Fade changed around her, and she could see the outlines of the old ruin. “Ghi'lan!” she called him happily as she entered the ruins. She froze in her tracks, where once stood the study of her teacher a green rip was visible. A rift had opened where her teacher lived. “GHI'LAN!” she yelled as she tried to sense his presence. There was nothing. He had vanished. . Solas was deep in thought, he had searched this region in the Fade looking for any sign of the condition of the Veil. What he found didn't bode well. The Veil seemed to have weakened naturally over the centuries, and the Breach had caused even more damage, opening up the scars that already existed. How significant or permanent this damage was he couldn't determine without more study. He needed a more accurate reading. Luckily he had stumbled upon an artefact from his time during his search. It was used to measure magical energies when activated. He could use it to get a greater understanding what the state was of the Veil. Maybe he could use it to think of another method to dismantle the Veil in the long run. He needed to find the artefact, but he doubted Ryan would act upon it if he told him its purpose. Although there hadn't been a fallout between them in the last couple of days, he had to approach this carefully.

Since they had arrived in the Hinterlands, they had managed to stabilise the region. They defeated pockets of templars and apostates that had set up camps on the land, secured horses for the Inquisition and closed a few rifts. Solas approved these actions, but Ryan's deep distrust of magic and his deep-rooted belief in the Maker and Andraste was a hindrance. “Solas?” He had to blink a couple of times as Varric disturbed him. They had set up camp at a small waterfall next to a lake and were resting before the would return to Haven. “What is it Varric?” “Do you know if something is troubling Snowflake? She has been more withdrawn than usual.” “If I have to guess it's all the fights we have been involved in, but I go to talk to her. Do you know where I can find her?” “Over there.” he pointed. “At the other end of the shallow waters.” “Thank you Varric.” On his way, he decided to speak to Ryan. “Herald if I may have a moment.” Ryan turned towards him. “What is it?” “When I was exploring the Fade here, I felt the presence of elven artefact. According to my research, it was a ward, meant to strengthen the Veil. It may be useful to locate and activate it to protect this area against tears.” Ryan frowned. “We have no time for wards. Who knows, what else we unleash with such ancient magics.” “But...” “Enough! We received reports of bandits close by. We will leave shortly.” “Understood.” Solas frowned and walked away. . He walked towards Eirlana, his feet wading through the cold water. He had noticed she had changed after their first encounter at the Crossroads. She became more involved in the efforts of the Inquisition, travelling with them, fighting alongside them. They hadn't spoken much, he had been too preoccupied the last couple of days. Eirlana sat on a rock, one foot dangling in the water, hugging her other leg. Her eyes stared at the rippling water surface. Solas sat down beside her. She noticed his tension. “What happened?” He looked at her. “Nothing worth mentioning, I had a disagreement with the Herald.” “His thoughts and opinions are shaped by his faith. It is almost natural for you two to disagree.” He let out a laugh. “Your observation is accurate. Sadly it doesn't make our task easier.” “You have been withdrawn the last couple of days.” Solas waited patiently for her to speak. “What is death for a spirit like?” she asked softly after a while. That wasn't the question he had expected. “It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of a spirit returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again.” When she didn't respond, he asked. “Why did you want to know?” Eirlana looked at him. “My teacher has disappeared. I have looked everywhere for him, but he is gone. I can't find him. There is a rift at the place where he lived.” Solas voice saddened. “Hopefully he moved away in time. It is rare to encounter a conscious spirit who can reflect reality. Even if something would reform one day, he most likely won't remember you. I am sorry.” “He was the one who named me. He said I remembered him of the ice flowers you only see during the winter.” “Is this the reason why you decided to fight?” “In part. I want to help before more spirits are harmed. And when I come along, I don't have to worry if you or Varric are alright. Staying behind and wait is difficult.” “I must confess I was also worried when you said you wanted to stay at the Crossroads the first day.” “Solas! Eirlana! We are moving out!” Cassandra yelled over the water. “Duty calls.” Solas stood up. “If you want I can help look for your friend.” “Thank you, but I am sure he is gone. And thank you for checking on me.” They slowly walked back through the water. “You can talk to me if something is on your mind.” Eirlana smiled and shook her head. “You have already done so much, I don't want to bother you.” “It is not a bother.” . On their way back to Haven they camped at the base of the Frostback Mountains. Solas rested against a tree, a short distance from the camp. A light hovered next to him as he read the History of the Chantry to gain a broader perspective of the paths the Herald and this Inquisition most likely would take. His ears twitched as light footsteps drew closer. Without looking up, he knew who it was. Eirlana sat down across of him. He could feel her stare. His eyes looked over his pages to her. She was biting her lip pondering on something. “What's on your mind?” She looked at her toes curling in the grass. “Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you.” “You aren't.” It was the truth. He wondered when was the last time he didn't mind getting disturbed. “Solas, I have a favour to ask.” He put down his book, giving her his full attention. “What do you need?” “Can you teach me how to read?” He raised his eyebrows. “You can't read?” “They don't typically teach slaves, and there is only so much you can learn in the Fade.” “I have to teach you also how to write as well then.” A bright smile formed on her face as she scoots next to him. Solas chuckled. Apparently, I will start teaching her right away, he thought. “Is something funny?” “No, I am just surprised at myself.” Until deep in the night, she repeated the letters he showed her. It had been long ago since both didn't miss slipping into the Fade. . Varric saw them talking, bent over a book. He turned around back to the camp. “They are alright Seeker. They are reading some book over there.” “A book? At this hour, it's already dark.” “They are both mages. You think they can't fix a simple light?” Varric shook his head as he joined Cassandra and Ryan at the fire. They were discussing their upcoming visit to Val Royeaux. It was on nights like these he really missed the old gang. Cassandra and Ryan were no fun.

#flame of winter #solas romance #solas x oc #solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #fanfic #eirlana #dragon age solas

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