Pretty in Pink

Before you leave, you spot a pile of crumpled letters on his desk. You ask about them and it pulls a smile out of him. 

“My brother. He keeps pushing about sending resources and I keep telling him to stop fretting. We haven’t seen each other in almost fifteen years and he still treats me like I’m a little kid.”

You give him a puzzled look and he realizes he hasn’t told you he’s the second son of a bann back in Ferelden. 

Before you go, you take a jab at him and call him “my lord” as you depart. 

You sit down for a game with Delrin and he tells you a bit more about his family: mother passed away during the Blight, so it’s just his father and brother, and his father’s friends, and his childhood friends he still kept in touch with. He recalls a few memories about his brother and you realize both of them are close. You ask if it’s really been fifteen years since he last saw his brother, which makes him pause. 

“Bit longer than that. I was sent away fairly young.”

But they stayed in touch. 

You tell him that you enjoy talking to him like this, no work or wars or anything. Just some light chatter. He smiles warmly and says he enjoys it as well. 

But in between are the looks, the sidelong glances and the way neither of you can stare too long. He’s gentle and very kind. You try not to think about how soft his voice gets when he’s around you.

On the battlements at night, you both run into each other. There’s quiet at first as he joins you, but then you find yourselves talking bout menial things. He’s got a lot to say about the stars and the stories he remembers his mother telling about them. You can almost picture a smaller version of him, a spindly kid hanging around all his brother’s friends and listening intently. Somewhere in between, you start thinking about all the little things: the little half smile he gives when he’s alone but safe, the tiny sigh he lets out when he tries to assure people not to fuss over him, the solid stance he takes in battle that brims with glee every time the Iron Bull and Blackwall pick themselves up off the ground cursing…

You ask him if there’s anyone but stop your sentence right there because you are afraid of the answer. He looks at you and holds your gaze for several long and agonizing minutes. 

“Just the one.”

On the balcony, you take in the night air and try to forget about the threat of the end of the world looming in the distance when a voice calls out to you. 

You almost laugh when you see him because you remember how he got into a spat with Vivienne’s tailor. His formalwear is aggressively Fereldan, “born and raised a dog lord” is what he told him with finality. It looks good on him, still fancy by most people’s standards but it’s the cape that really does it for you. He’s wide in the shoulders–the very ones that carry a million burdens. 

“I was worried about you,” he says, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

You tell him Corypheus will retaliate and he agrees with you. But he isn’t afraid. Not like at Haven. It comforts you just a little. 

He taps your shoulder and points towards the dancing couples in the center. You asked him if he wanted a dance earlier and he was coy about it. You two are flirting. You aren’t so afraid to admit that anymore. But it is the Winter Palace and you don’t want the Orlesians to have fodder for court gossip. They don’t deserve it. 

“I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t ask…” He offers his hand and gracefully bows. It’s endearing. “Share a dance with me?”

But he’s devoted to the Order. Or rather what it stood for before this mess happened. 

“It’s twisted. I don’t recognize this mess. To be a knight stood for something, but it wasn’t supposed to be this.”

You ask him why he left the Order. No, really. Why did he leave the Order. 

He is silent for a long time. 

“I won’t act like I understand everything everyone feels about it, but I know fear when I see it. My first assignment was a mess but I wanted to keep innocent people safe. I did. I…” He sighs heavily. “It’s not supposed to be above anyone. I thought the other knights would see this madness and think about what it would mean to turn its back on the people, but most of them did. Most of them chose themselves over their responsibility.”

You wait for him to take a breath and that’s when you notice: that thing he does with his hands, one folding over the other and clutching it tight. His hands are shaking. Your heart sinks. How long has he kept this secret?

“I was scared shitless when I took my vigil. Shaking and trembling just like this. But it brought calm on me when I thought about why I was doing this. What I was doing. I didn’t come here to toe a line or keep in check: I came because I wanted to keep people safe.”

You wait once more. 

“The Order is sick. Really sick. I hate it some days but then I still love it too. It gave me a lot and took a lot from me. I want to fix it, but how do you do that? Where would you even start?”

Another long silence and you ask him if he’s still taking lyrium.

“Stopped when I left. It’s been a couple of years but I hear it calling to me some days.” He pauses. “They don’t tell you what happens when you stop. They don’t talk about the nightmares or the shakes or nothing. Just one of the burdens you take on when you join, I suppose.”

Graceful. 

Cunning.

You can tell he’s been holding back on Bull and Blackwall, but he exerts the absolute most effort against Cassandra. 

“It’s like fighting three of Bull when you go up against her.”

You shudder because you know he’s right.

The caravan clears the road and back at camp, you find him still working some of that energy out on a makeshift training post. You admire the view for a while until he makes a remark about you staring. You trade barbs for a minute before he says something that eggs you onto the battlefield. The soldiers are gonna be upset knowing their commander and Inquisitor went toe to toe and no one saw it. He holds nothing back against you.

Fights like his life is on the line, tripping you up and making you go on the defense. He’s got bravado and he’s got guts. Wields the sword and shield like he came out the womb with both in hand. There’s a boyishness about how much fun he’s having pushing you on the ropes. But when you turn the dial up, meet him pace for pace, he just grins. 

You both go until the sun goes down, a last ditch attempt to down you sees him tackling you both to the ground. 

There’s laughing and you fight him. Sort of. He’s wearing his favorite cologne. He’s sitting right on top of you. 

And there’s a moment where you ask yourself, “what are you doing?”

He’s your commander. You’re his Inquisitor. This is. Oh. This is a lot. 

You’re staring at his lips. 

“I–I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–” He moves but you grab his wrists. 

“I’d like to–”

You both are bad at this. 

But there’s a moment when you both grow quiet and realize you don’t have to dance around this anymore. You can dare to think about him like this. It’s clear he thinks about you the same. 

You lean forward and he leans towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and if you close your eyes, you hear his too. 

Closer, you both keep leaning. 

Closer and you kiss stubble. All stubble. 

“Inquisitor–”

“We fucking missed.”

You both are horrible at this.

You both erupt into a fit of laughter and go tumbling onto your backs on the ground. You missed. His whole mouth. He did the same but it’s worse because you had your chance. His laugh comes from deep inside his chest, fills the air with this warmth and this calm that sets the whole world around him at ease, and you’re staring at him and he calms down and stares right back at you. 

“We missed,” he says. 

“That just means we need more practice,” you say. 

He’s angry but you know it’s not directed at you. His first siege goes well, incredibly well. He’s a talented commander and his every accomplishment makes you proud to have him here.

But he’s angry. He catches you in a tight hug. Squeezes you close to him and close to his heart. 

“You…almost died.”

You can’t imagine what must’ve gone through his mind when he saw you plummet to your death off the crumbling remains of that cliff. Did his heart sink? Did his blood run cold? Was it Haven he thought of? The promise he made to you when you reached Skyhold?

There’s a sniffle and your throat closes. 

“…you almost died.”

It’s empty when you arrive, signs of a hasty retreat rather clear all around. You fight what’s left of the Red Templars left behind. But amidst the chaos, there is one man. A tranquil mage: he calls himself Maddox. 

Maddox is dying, which shocks him. 

“But…why…”

“Because he saved me.”

Meredith Stannard is a name shrouded in infamy–the Knight-Commander driven to death by the same red stuff corrupting the Templars into the monstrosities they’ve become. People know her, but they don’t know her the way the mages of the Gallows did. You feel physically ill when Maddox tells you what she did to him.

Even more so when you realize that he speaks the truth about Samson.

When Maddox dies, Delrin carries him out of the burning remains of the temple and lays his arms by his sides. The others search the place for more clues and he seems in shock. 

“Most of the tranquil were abandoned. Cast aside or completely forgotten. Or…”

You hold your tongue about the ocularum. 

Vivienne comes back with a stern look on her face and a piece of paper in hand. “There’s something he’s written. Addressed to you.”

He takes the letter and reads through it, eyes scanning every word and body growing more rigid with each. He crumples it and looks at the dead bodies and the red crystals jutting up from each.

“What’s this supposed to mean?” he asks. “He murders innocents at Haven, harvests red lyrium from people, leads this!” He gestures at the dead bodies riddled with corruption, twisted into monsters and shells of what used to be humans, “And he saves a man from the likes of another monster! What madness is this? What…”

He stops because he’s afraid. Or maybe he doesn’t want to know. Asking would mean admitting he’s been thinking about it: why this? Why choose to do this? What does Samson stand to gain from this?

Delrin bows his head, shaking it and then glancing at Maddox. 

“I…Could you stay with him?” he asks. “If he was working on Samson’s armor, his tools are probably still here.”

Preparations have been made and you will all march to war soon. Soldiers pour out of his door and you walk in facing his back. He is calm although his hands still shake. You’ve seen him shaking the worst he’s ever shaken, rambling and jittery, staring at the box in front of him before smashing it to pieces. 

The Order doesn’t tell them what happens when they stop. They just let them suffer. Maybe they’ll come back ready to toe the line like good little weapons. 

Only, he didn’t. 

He refused. 

Because the Order is sick and it doesn’t stand for what it’s supposed to stand for. He vowed to heal it, even if he doesn’t know where to start and how to do it. 

He turns and his smile warms your heart.

“Is it odd that I feel good about our chances?” he asks. 

His conviction is strong but his audacity to be hopeful is what endears him to you. He takes your hands in his and they shake a little. You lock eyes with him and he takes a deep breath. 

“You’ll go forward on my order. I’m sending you to battle. To–to him.” 

You gently touch his face. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, but I’ve been too afraid all this time. It’s…it’s been a really long time since I’ve felt like this for anyone. Couple that with a war and…well…”

He leans close but you don’t kiss: your foreheads touch. He’s warm, so incredibly warm. You tell him it’s okay for him to ask. 

“It’s just…You mean the world to me. I never thought I’d have this–find this. I’m scared and I’m anxious and I’m…just a mess.” He looks at you and there is warmth in those green eyes, fear and a lot of love. Oh. “Will you…would you…like to stay with me tonight?”

Moment of truth and you realize how bad this axe needs to be ground.

Moment of truth as the court stops and no one utters a peep when Samson is brought in. 

Moment of truth as you glance at Delrin and feel that tense stab of fear when he only stares blankly at the man in front of him. Even more so when Samson stares right back at him. 

You expect ranting and raving, mad ramblings of an evil man that cast his heart into the void simply because it meant he could expect power in return. It was easier to see him as a monster. As a Templar reject that just wanted to crush everyone under heel and take over the world. Monsters are easier to fight.

What you get is a tired old man, pathetic and defeated. Everything he once had cast into the void years before this moment and you can see Delrin shaking his head with every inquiry. 

“The Chantry takes everything from you. Stuffs the blue down your throat but don’t tell you about the bad shit that happens next. First it’s the jitters and shakes, then you start hearing the song. Stick around long enough and the words come out clearer.” Samson glances up and your head snaps towards Delrin who has said nothing. “But you know that, right, Commander?”

It surprises you that it comes out as a genuine question. 

“Why?” Delrin is shaking his head. “Why did you do this?”

Samson looks away. “To give them hope.”

Because the Chantry took it away from them: from Maddox who dared to love, and from the mages at the Gallows who dared to cry foul, and from the people who believed in them, and from the broken knights left to wallow in their misery when they stopped being completely useful. 

You order Samson to be returned to his cell. You can’t decide like this. 

You find Delrin in his office and take a seat right next to him on his desk. 

“I thought I’d be angry, but instead I just…I want to throttle him. Make him realize what he did and what he’s done, but. He already knows.” You thought as much as well. He sighs. “It was easier to fight him when I thought he was just a monster. Now I look at him and I just see a man. A tired, sad old man. He took everything from those Templars but then again…the Chantry already did that before he came along. Fill ‘em with purpose and they can be alive again. Give ‘em a reason to fight and they can feel something again.”

You lean on him. “You feel sorry for him. For them.”

He is silent for a while. “They still chose this path. They’ll have to face the consequences.”

It’s over and you are over the moons with joy. 

You march back to Skyhold, proud and alive. 

He stares on at you from the steps proud of you coming back alive.

He, Leliana, and Josephine bow when they see you. Leliana and Josephine are kind enough to let you have a moment so he can hold you–feel you–confirm that you are in fact alive.

There’s a party and he thanks you for giving him the chance to prove himself. 

“Me? That was all you.”

Because he wanted to protect people. Fix this mess. 

“Thank you.”

When you head to bed, he sneaks up behind you and wraps his arms around you. For a moment, the whole court pretends that they can’t see either of you. You share lighthearted banter before leading him up the stairs into your room. There’s a lot of stumbling, some groping. You’re glad he decided to forgo the armor for tonight. 

Morning takes a long time to come and you sit up to watch it rise. 

“You’re here,” he says absently. 

“I am,” you respond.

There is comfortable silence, a rarity considering, and he sits up with you. 

“I don’t know what happens next, but I know where I need to be. Where I want to be.” You look at him and there’s that warmth and that love. Three years–how far you’ve both come in three years with the end of the world looming over you. His demons and your demons, his devotion and your sincerity–you don’t know what happens next either, but you know where you want to be too. He kisses you so tenderly, so softly. “I love you.”

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

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"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

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"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

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The minute I saw you You know why I locked right into your eyes (eyes) I'm mesmerized, can you tell me why?

If you were also an art piece, then whoever created you... must have loved you dearly. [x]

Sylus: Magnum Opus

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