* KEEPER'S / FIRST

          varric arched a brow at that, a smirk of amusement tugging his mouth upward. “well, elves and werewolves, if any of those old folk tales are to be believed. and since i’m clearly not an elf - ” he leaned closer toward the fire, casting a narrow-eyed look at the other through the flames, “ - you might want to be afraid.” he lowered his voice in feigned threat, though the curl of his lips easily indicated at his teasing. within moments, it shifted into a playful wink and he straightened back, idly stretching. at emrys’ mention of the chill, however, he gave pause. varric himself didn’t feel too cold - some of his companions likened him to being a bit of a walking furnace, with the warmth he radiated - but he shifted around nonetheless, looking to see if there was anything that would help. “maybe we should’ve brought extra bedding,” he joked. without any spare material, however, all varric could offer was a distraction. with any luck, it might help the other settle. with a hum, he started, “i ever tell you about this one guy? orlesian. miserable bastard. hated the cold, but lived up in the highlands. so one day, he gets into his head that the best way to keep warm is to build the world’s biggest bonfire…” 

       the  laughter  warms  the  chill  of  his  bones,  night  air  whipping  around  them,  even  the  fire  seeming  to  dance  as  the  dwarf  spins  his  story.  there  is  something  to  be  said  for  the  joy  a  simple  story  can  bring,  merriment  twinkling  in  the  elf’s  eyes,  the  corners  crinkled  in  mirth,  shaped  like  crescent  moons.  his  fingers  curling  in  the  desert  sands,  the  still  sun-warmed  earth  a  comfort  as  the  fine  grains  sift  and  slip  through  his  fingers  as  he  watches  the  other  man,  entirely  enrapt.

The elf stood just out of the rotunda, watching as the Inquisitor moved around the main hall. He was impressed with how far they were coming along. Of course, he would have preferred an elf, but beggars could not be choosers. And Solas was neither.

He fled to the rotunda, gathering up the papers on his desk and setting them up nicely in the corner. The shard the Inquisitor had found was on the corner of his desk, pulsating and ringing softly.

A footstep disturbed his thoughts, and he turned to meet them.

“Tea time already?”

@emryslavellan

         ❛ i  figured  we  could  both  use  a  drink,  all  things  considered. ❜  all  things  including,  but  not  limited  to,  the  uneasy  silence  of  the  still  ruins  hanging  onto  the  edges  of  every  moment’s  peace ;  haunting  his  sleep  every  night  since  their  departure  from  the  western  approach.  the  dark  glass  bottle  hanging  loosely  from  his  fingers  by  the  neck  is  of  mid-tier  ferelden  wine  ( one  day  he  would   trick   convince  the  other  mage  to  try  dalish  whiskey,  one  day ),  something  they’d  agreed  upon  the  first  time  they’d  found  themselves  here ;  emrys  moving  to  lean  against  the  desk,  fingers  smoothing  over  the  grain,  violet  eyes  watching  the  other  man’s  subtle  movements  in  the  low  light  of  the  rotunda,  solas’  nose  turning  up  at  the  prospect  of  actual  tea  during  what  they  had  dubbed  ‘tea  time.’

@emryslavellan

          the fire crackled and licked at the sky. at night, the western approach grew cold, and varric tossed another handful of kindling into the flames as he sauntered past. first, the campfire; then, the tent. after, only once everything was settled as well as they could be in the ass-end of nowhere, varric settled atop a low rock, stretching out his legs as he looked to his companion. scout the north. the assignment had seemed easy enough, though varric hadn’t expected it to take so long - they’d been away from the main camp for days, by this point. though they were now on their way back, he had let exhaustion settle against his shoulders, and he sighed as he glanced at emrys. “i can take first watch,” he muttered, reaching for the flask of their mostly depleted water. “you should get some rest.”

         stretched  out  on  a  bedroll,  long  lines  of  elegant  limbs  crossed  casually  as  he  stares  longingly  into  the  fire,  emrys  shivers  for  want  of  warmth.  he  had  been  so  certain  he’d  escape  the  cold  this  far  to  the  west ;  in  a  desert,  no  less.  alas,  it  would  seem  not,  and  he’d  laid  out  his  bedding  as  close  to  the  crackle  of  the  fire  as  common  sense  would  allow,  violet  eyes  watching  the  flames  with  a  pitiful  sort  of  hunger  as  he  settled.

@emryslavellan reacted for a starter

The strange mixed population of Skyhold never failed to give Blackwall pause – not that he could judge too harshly, in his old life, this was the last place he would’ve expected himself to end up. But now… well, now, this was the right thing to do. And at the very least, he tried to do that. He supposed that’s what most people were doing here – if not trying to escape for protection, then to be here… doing what must be done. He’d seen the elf around, and, ever curious to hear stories of lives that were unlike his own, he sought him out – unsure of why exactly, other than pure curiosity. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to such a crowd,” he commented. “Life of a Warden isn’t exactly… like this.”

         he’d  only  been  crossing  the  grounds,  setting  out  from  the  tavern  to  the  tents,  having  volunteered  to  help  the  healers  for  the  day.  it  was  something  familiar,  helping  those  in  need,  and  carrying  food  to  dole  out  to  hungry  mouths  was  something  he  was  accustomed  to.  it  brought  him  peace  of  mind  in  otherwise  chaotic  times  where  it  was  all  too  easy  to  let  his  mind  slip  into  needless,  useless  worry.

The smile eased his nerves. Emrys was…a strange friend. Not that Emrys himself was strange, but the circumstances of their friendship were something to frown about. Emrys had started taking care of him in the more conventional ways. Food. Rest. The occasional cup of tea.

He returned Emrys’ smile, sitting his work down and neatly stacking it next to another haphazard pile of shit work. He stood and grabbed a chair for Emrys before inclining his head. “I know. I know. I’m terrible at eating at appropriate times. In my defense, I don’t feel hungry right now.” Though it was that exact moment that his stomach grumbled loudly.

“It seems my stomach disagrees.”

         light,  bubbling  laughter  spills  from  his  lips  like  sweet  champagne,  filling  the  room  like  tinkling,  twinkling  bells.  ❛ not  so  hungry,  are  you ? ❜  emrys  teases,  voice  gentle  in  its  mirth  as  he  crosses  the  room,  setting  the  plate  down  on  the  desk  between  them,  careful  to  avoid  most  of  the  paperwork  as  he  peels  back  the  cloth.  there’s  a  moment’s  pause  before  he  simply  sits  in  cullen’s  preferred  chair,  perching  on  the  plush  arm  of  what  he’s  often  referred  to  as  the  commander’s  ‘throne,’  fingers  tapping  against  the  soft  velvet  in  syncopated  rhythm,  legs  swinging  ( once,  thrice ).

@emryslavellan reacted for a starter

Cullen looked up with a small frown from his paperwork. He hadn’t…exactly slept in a day or so. In his defense, they were preparing for more and more missions. Marching and spreading the Inquisition’s influence. So when Emrys entered his office, he sighed.

“Before you ask, no. I haven’t eaten yet and I do plan on eating… Eventually.”

         there’s  a  soft  sigh,  checked  by  the  warmth  of  a  tender  smile,  the  heat  of  a  plate  still  burning  through  the  cloth  he’d  wrapped  it  in.  it  had  become  a  sort  of  pattern  they’d  fallen  into,  ever  since  they’d  come  into  each  other’s  company.  growing  up  dalish  in  the  northern  most  free  marches  where  there  wasn’t  always  enough  food  to  go  around,  making  sure  others  had  their  fill  had  simply  become  second  nature  to  the  young  mage.  especially  as  the  keeper-in-training,  he  couldn’t  help  acting  as  a  caretaker. 

okay so in the same vein as everyone else, here’s a lil intro post for me & my son. so hello all, my name is tommy ! i’m just like a grumpy 60 yo man on the inside and a soft pop punk boy on the outside. but like vintage pop punk bc i’m fckn old like what is this new shit what do you mean it’s not 2009