ITS WHERE MY DEMONS HIDE

APPREHENSION  UPON  APPROACHING  THE  SMALL  GROUP  OF  INQUISITION  SOLDIERS…   she’d  been  tending  to  for  the  day   &&   lèonie’s  heart  sank  upon  finding  one  of  them  had  left  us  while  she’d  gone  to  make  some  tea   .   hastily  setting  the  hot  cup  down   ,   she  moved  to  check  for  a  pulse  on  the  young  man’s  neck   ,   regardless  of  his  deathly  appearance   .   thin  brows  furrowed  before  she  moved  to  cup  her  head  in  her  hand   .   it  wasn’t  supposed  to  be  like  this   !   not  at  the  START…   a  small  weep  escaped  her   ———   before  moving  her  hand  back  down  to  her  waist   &&   wiping  a  tear   ,   she  breathed  out  a  final   ,   quiet   .   “   ir  abelas   .   ”

@justivelives

          he didn’t want to hold a grudge. varric took pride in not being the grudge-bearing type. but kirkwall had been his home in every sense of the word, and anders had taken away the right for him to even call it that. truthfully, he should have done more. he should have done so much more instead of just sit and watch as his friend slowly spiralled. he just kept trying to reach out and crack jokes and make contact with the pal he knew, no, thought was still in there somewhere, and in the end… well. the sight of the familiar blond now - in skyhold - ignited something in him not unlike anger, but there was something else, too. relief, maybe. or regret. it bubbled up and clawed at his throat, and his lip just about bled where he bit it. “blondie,” he nearly choked in greeting, in disbelief, in sorrow.

His tattered mind never lost the face of Varric. He had considered the dwarf a dear friend, someone that was so easy to speak too. Varric knew everything in Kirkwall. Justice, his loneliness, his struggle. And he was a little bitter that he didn’t help when the signs were given. Yet he regretted his hatred towards the dwarf after his leaving Kirkwall. Did he hate him still? No. He missed him. 

Sighing softly as he prayed a safe travel of the soul of the now departed victim of war, he heard a voice. He froze. He knew that voice and a part of him inside trembled. Trembled out sadness; out of happiness. He hadn’t felt happiness in a long time. Turning, he looked down at his dear friend. “My storyteller.” His words trembled; voice shaking with a sob.”I-I’m sorry... I’m so sorry for everything.”

The sarcastic quip got Anders a stern glare. “Not funny.” But his demeanor shifted slightly. He didn’t like taking off his armor. He barely did it anyway. He took it off before bed, but…”Of course.” He removed the straps of his armor and pulled his roughspun shirt over his head before situating on the cot again. “I bet your loving this.”

“The…rebellion. Not the…Maker’s breath.”

What if he did love it? It was no secret that their dearest Commander was rather good looking. Oh. He meant the rebellion. Slowly washing the dirt off his hands with the water basin, he kept his eyes avoided.”Perhaps I enjoy both.” He admitted, taking a piece of cloth and drying his hands. Walking over to Cullen, he knelt down before him; hands coming to hove over the wound. Glowing hands worked magic through him. “Just so you know.” He began softly. “He’s been dormant since Kirkwall....” His voice was soft, almost a sadness clinging to his tone. Vengeance was apart of him now and feeling an absence left him-- empty. Could he be considered an Abomination now that the demon rests?

@justivelives reacted for a starter

He’d heard the rumours, of course, who hadn’t? The arrival of another Grey Warden had made him cautious, but then he’d heard the stories whispered in the taverns – people even bothering to whisper to him, and he’d recalled something told to him, long ago. Another life, it seemed. Standing in the doorway to the tent, he watched the man for a moment, before clearing his throat to alert him to his presence. “I heard a story about an Anders once,” he started, wondering if this was just going to leave the man defensive. “He had a cat.”

He had had a long day with death and suffering. He just wanted to relax, read a book and perhaps be surrounded by his cats. They were the only ones that really understood him-- loved him. They didn’t mind the monster behind skin. “I’m on break.” He grumbled as he heard the movement of fabric. Then his name rang out then a word. C A T. He sat up quickly, staring at the other. Warden Armor. A heavy sigh. “I’m not going back.” He paused a long while before slowly standing. “Taking a man’s cat is is worse than the damned Darkspawn. Where the fuck is Ser-Pounce-A-Lot? Feed him to the damned dogs?”

Sora smiled and rolled her eyes. “Templars are also up their own asses.” Sora watched the healer work, mesmerized with how he worked. “Do…you need help?” They asked. “I’m fairly decent with healing but only the first aid bit. I wouldn’t mind learning healing magic, but most of my magic comes from being angry and shooting fire at people who make me mad.”

He stared at the man for a few moments, he hadn’t any idea what to truly say to him. To even think about him, “Well should you find pleasure in books with no pages be my guest take them all!”

@justivelives reacted for a starter

Cullen sat, grumpily might he add, in the healer’s tents, his lips turned down in a perpetual frown and brows furrowed tightly. Of all the healers. In all these Maker-damned tents. He had to get the one he was most mad at.

“I would have just bandaged this myself, but it was too deep to just wrap.” He didn’t care about scars, but he did care about bleeding out. This was the last time he let the recruits convince him it was a “good idea” to get practice with a “real sword”. Little shits.

“You deserve to live with it,” Fenris snarled, “you deserve to die with it on your conscience. Whatever work you do here - with the inquisition, with that thing still inside you - it will not save your soul now.” Fenris stepped back, aware that they’d gathered quite the crowd. Some had drawn their swords, likely to protect their darling healer. Though Fenris wasn’t ashamed of his actions, he was surprised to find he still had such fire inside him and stepped back only to give himself space to control his temper. “You may say you’re here to redeem yourself but you will find it an impossible task to convince me there’s no … ulterior motive.” 

“Have I mentioned how annoyed I am with everyone calling me an apostate? Kaffas, aren’t all southern mages apostates now?” Sora had gotten sick of the shit they’d been called. Rabbit, go fetch me some water. Knife ear, grab that sword. Apostate, stay in your designated area. Blah blah blah. She was about to go crazy from it all.