Secret Treasury

https://gofund.me/a012e9f5

This was the only explanation for the unprecedentedly violent cough that wracked his body. Solas covered his mouth as he once again lost his breath to a series of coughs, his shoulders shaking, his ribs bruised from the constant abuse. When he came up for air his throat felt scraped raw, his head heavy. Even swallowing hurt. But Solas persevered, and squinted down at the book in his lap. He was being stubborn by continuing to read, he knew, but the boredom of lying in bed unable to sleep or do much of anything was a torture far worse than any simple cold. Lyanna hadn’t been convinced by his argument, but ultimately agreed to his compromise: he could read in bed as long as he stayed—mostly—horizontal and worked on nothing too strenuous.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lyanna entered the room with a cup carefully cradled in her hands. She tossed him a sympathetic smile as she approached the bed. “Feeling any better?”

“I am not,” Solas said with martyred dignity.

Lyanna hid her chuckle behind a hum, then sat by his side. “Here,” she said, offering him the steaming cup, “this will help.”

Even to his congested nose, the scent was unmistakable. He gave a despairing wince. “Tea?”

“A herbal remedy,” Lyanna corrected, a hint of sternness hiding behind the amusement. She pressed the cup to his hands and helped him lift it to his mouth with a determination that brooked no argument. “You know it will make you feel better.”

Solas had no energy to fight anymore, so with a piteous sigh he accepted his fate. The accursed liquid went down his throat, its heat scalding his insides in a way he had to admit felt wonderful, warming him up from head to toe. Despite the detestable taste he could still discern the aftertaste of something… sweet?

“It’s honey,” Lyanna explained when she saw his expression change. “It soothes aching throats. And I thought you’d appreciate it,” she added, with a smile that was fond and unbearably kind.

Such a tiny gesture, but in his weary state it almost brought tears to his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, choked up for more reasons than one.

“Oh, vhenan,” Lyanna cooed, her laughing eyes creasing with compassion. She kissed his cheek and started rubbing his back, the touch infinitely comforting. “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break from reading?”

Solas looked at the forgotten book, left face down on the sheets. “I still have some chapters left.”

“Hmm.” Lyanna’s hand migrated to his shoulder, pressing deftly at his sore muscles. “Maybe you could continue after I leave? Keep me some company while I sleep, my love.”

“You have no reason to sleep.”

“Naps don’t need a special reason.” Lyanna took the cup from his hands and urged him gently down, curling up next to him. “Just for a little?”

“Well,” Solas sighed, rolling on his side to meet her halfway, “I suppose I can join you for a little bit.”

I hope you have a lovely day! 💜

Hello!! So much of my writing for Virelan Lavellan explores this, because a) he’s pissed that he’s so weak he needs protecting, b) he’s stressed about the Anchor, and c) he feels guilty. Virelan just sees protecting him as her job — she’s a warrior, a hunter for her clan, a protector of mages — and getting wounded is just part of the deal.

Solas, for his part, is the King of Barriers in the early game, so Virelan’s barrier failing and allowing her to get hurt would contribute to his guilt. Later on he finds her reckless and foolish and yells at her in that whole “I can’t lose you” sort of way. Virelan doesn’t recognise this for the desperate and scared affection that it is. 🥲 Plus there’s that delicious tension of healing the person who jumped to save you, you know? Peak warrior x mage vibes in my opinion.

here comes a cute one; How would Solas react to Lavellan being too short to kiss him without him leaning down for her to reach? 💜

Thank yOU for asking. 🥰

He'd gloat. He'd be terrible. He'd lean down and tease and make it a big production in an effort to get them to shut him up. My Virelan is a short stack at 5'3, and she has a habit of reaching up and yanking him down by the back of the neck. He likes it tho. 🥰 And the idea of my strong warrior lady going on tiptoes is really cute.

The only details she has from her mom are the shape of her eyes (but they’re still green like Fenris’), and the point of her chin. Otherwise, she’s Fenris’ spitting image. She gets mistaken for an elf all the time because she looks so much like her dad, her ears even have a slight point.

No deeper reasoning for this other than I just think daughters that look exactly like their fathers are cute. I also think sons that look exactly like their mothers are cute. It’s cute!

But- I am me so… I have this thought.

I’ve said this before but Eshana’s mom, my Hawke Avis, dies in the Fade. How she died is its own story but it wasn’t that she just ran at the Nightmare and accepted it. She fought to get back till the bitter end. I have this mental image of her horribly wounded trying to claw her way up to the Fade portal fully believing even then that she’s going to make it out, she’s going to survive this-

She doesn’t.

Fenris is of course, devastated, he takes their daughter and returns to Kirkwall, where he lives in Hawke’s estate. Alone. Just him and Eshana and Kirkwall. 

Fenris isn’t the only one devastated, all of her friends feel it. Varric, Isabela, Merrill, Aveline- they all spend years feeling it.

But Anders? Anders doesn’t know.

- She was born roughly 3-6 months before the destruction of the chantry. Varric omitted her from every version of the story for her safety, and Cassandra was VERY not pleased to be uninformed that Hawke had a child

- She is Fenris’ spitting image, looking almost nothing like her mom. Green eyes, dark skin, flat nose bridge, even a slight point at the tip of each ear. She’s often mistaken for an elf

- Side note to the above point: She has black hair, and my Hawke also has black hair, but I have it so that she inherited Fenris’ natural black hair color rather than my Hawke’s so it’s a slightly different shade. This distinction matters only to me specifically

- However as she gets older her voice sounds very similar to her mother’s, and she is definitely her daughter in terms of how she behaves.

- She, essentially, speaks with Fenris’ speech pattern in her mother’s voice, and has a very Hawke personality overall making her an… interesting mash-up of a person

- In the canon where Hawke is left in the Fade, she was six years old at the time of her mother’s death. In this verse, she keeps a copy of Tale of the Champion with her but has never actually read it

- She is a mage. Something that her father struggles with. In the verse where her mother is alive she helps Fenris overcome his fears over Eshana’s magic, which are based in his love for her and that he might lose her to magic. Her mother helps him overcome this and it’s his final step to letting go of his blame on magic. In the verse where her mother is not alive… things get complicated

- Her memories of her mother are hazy. She doesn’t like to be told stories of her, in truth this is because it makes her feel guilty. She’s always told about how amazing her mother was and how honored she should feel to be her daughter and she just- doesn’t. She can’t bring herself to be proud of her mother when she doesn’t know her, and never will.

Context: My Hawke is well into her pregnancy, and as their child's birth grows close Fenris finds himself struggling with an unforeseen dread. He wakes from a nightmare, and tries to find comfort in his family.

____

He moved close to Avis beside him, deep in sleep. He rested his temple gently against her shoulder, and quietly placed his hand on her stomach.

Avis slept on her back, she preferred it that way, though it seemed their child did not. They stirred, kicked hard against the center of his palm. Avis let out a long breath, a hint of a groan somewhere in the center. He raised himself off of her, let her adjust, turn her hips a bit more to the side. He waited, she didn’t always like to be touched more if the baby was keeping her awake. She kept her eyes closed, but raised her hand to him, and he lowered his head against her chest, where she rested her fingers in his hair. He placed his hand back against the curve of her belly, and their child settled.

His wife’s heartbeat against his ear, his child inside her, safe, sleeping under his palm. He had more than he thought possible. More than he dreamed to imagine and more than some would ever be given. 

He closed his eyes tight, and tried, desperately, to find comfort in it. 

There was something... a knot of dread in his heart. As their child grew, as the promise of his family came closer with every day, it tightened. 

He never thought. He never dared.

And now, even if if he was free, there was no longer anything to want. He had it. He had everything and more. There was no longer anything to gain. 

Hello anon who submitted this months ago. Guess what I finished.

I know you specified “Romance” but these are pretty romance neutral, I tried to sneak it in where I could though, especially in the one at the end!!

Note: All of this is meant to be post DA2, but during Inquisition’s timeline. In my head, these conversations would occur if Fenris came with a romanced Hawke.

____

Solas: Do your markings trouble you, Fenris? 

Fenris: Do the things carved into my flesh against my will, making every touch sting while turning me into a walking weapon, trouble me? 

Solas: I’m sorry. I only ask because... I may know a way to remove them.

Fenris: ...remove them?

Solas: I know a spell to remove markings etched into the skin. Permanently and painlessly. I have used it before, many times.

Fenris: And you would like to use it on me?

Solas: There are risks to be considered. I have never used it on markings with such properties as yours. But yes, if you would let me.

Fenris: I... will consider it.

____

Fenris: What would be the risks? If the markings were removed. 

Solas: It is hard to say for certain. 

Fenris: Try.

Solas: Assuming I am able to remove the lyrium, it is likely you would go through a withdrawal, as the templars do.

Fenris: Hm.

Solas: The lyrium has been in your blood for years. It would be hard, but you are strong. Our people do not suffer the effects of lyrium to the extent humans do. I have great faith you would survive.

Fenris: And after?

Solas: You would lose your abilities. While you resent them, as you live now you’ve known no different. You would have to learn how to live again, in more ways than you predict.

Fenris: I’ve learned harder lessons.

Solas: I believe you, and I believe you would gain far, far more than you would lose.

Fenris: You say that like you have something particular in mind?

Solas: I can make no assurances, but I believe there is a chance your memory... may be restored. Your life before, the people you knew, the places you traveled, they would be yours once again. 

Fenris: (Hard silence)

Solas: Fenris?

Fenris: I do not wish to discuss this further.

____

Solas: I apologize if I offended, Fenris.

Fenris: Thank you.

Solas: Though I confess, I’m uncertain what I said to cause such offense.

Fenris: You enjoy your stories, yes? Allow me to attempt a story.

Fenris: There was a boy named Leto. He had a mother and a sister. He sold himself so they would be freed from the heel of magic. That mother would die without him and he would not know to grieve her. One day he would escape, and that sister would sell him back so she could become the heel.

Fenris: Tell me, is that a story you would want to remember?

Solas: No.

Fenris: Then you understand-

Solas: No, that is not the story. Those are fragmented pieces you have put together and convinced yourself is the whole because you would rather not search for the rest.

Solas (Cont.): I do understand now, Fenris. Greatly. Thank you.

____

Solas: What makes your story so preferable to the truth?

Fenris: It is the truth.

Solas: It is not. It is a shield so you may live without guilt. Just what is it that makes this story worth that kind of ignorance?

Fenris: I am free. I fight for what I choose. I have friends. I am in love. That isn’t enough? 

Solas: You would trade your life to fight and lay with the Champion?

Fenris: This is my life.

Solas: You do not know what you’ve lost!

Fenris: Perhaps. I know what I have.

____

Solas: I saw a woman in the Fade.

Fenris: I’ll inform the Inquisitor. 

Solas: She sits in the basement of a shop, surrounded by the silks. The vibrant colors and softness of which have shielded her more than any stone.

Solas (Cont.): She holds a letter between numb, needle-pricked fingertips. She does not know the name in the signature, but she can hear his voice so clearly in the words.

Solas (Cont.): Over her bitter hope, she tells herself, It’s not him. Where would he have learned to write?

Fenris: You enjoy the sound of your voice, mage. Will you like the taste when I rip it out?

Solas: Fenris, you can’t frighten me. All I feel for you is pity.

____

(Post Solavellan break-up)

Fenris: This is the man you’d see me become?

Solas: And what man is that?

Fenris: A man turning my back on now for a fantasy.

Solas: There is nothing? Truly nothing worth it?

Fenris: Correct.

Solas: If you had to choose between the freedom of every slave in Tevinter, and a life with the Champion, you would not choose the slaves? 

Fenris: Why am I choosing?

Solas: What?

Fenris: Why is Hawke not at my side? Why would they ever make me choose?

Solas: How can you be sure your bond would last through every trial that awaits down that path? Or would you risk the path itself stealing them from you?

Hello I have no idea if this is what you wanted but it was so fun to write. It's shorter than the last one and it's kind of a huge shitpost but listen. I'm working on some weightier banters and wanted to do something light, but I'd love to do another, meatier one with these two eventually.

Enjoy!

____

Zevran: Fenris, my friend, you must know how utterly blessed you are to be with someone as fine as the Champion, yes?

Fenris: I do know.

Zevran: Defeated an Arishok in single combat, lead a revolt against a madwoman's tyranny, all while as beautiful as a god. What a prize they must be.

Fenris, fondly: They are more.

Zevran: Of course... my Warden saved the world.

Fenris: Sorry?

Zevran: Freed a Dalish clan from a wolf's curse, slayed a darkspawn abomination in the heart of the deep roads, and buried their blade through the skull of an archdemon and they survived!

Zevran (Cont.): Oh, the love we made after that. If only I were a bard...

Fenris: Did you bring up Hawke only as an excuse to say this?

Zevran: But of course! You are more than welcome to share your own tales, however, I am ever so curious.

____

Zevran: Is it true you glow while in the midst of love?

Fenris: What?

Zevran: I had heard you glow a gentle blue while loving, I must know if it's true.

Fenris: Who told you I glow?

Zevran: Your dwarven friend's book of course, who else?

Fenris: Varric?

Zevran: I was so moved by how he described your light. You haven't read it?

Fenris: I might, after I slaughter that dwarf.

____

Fenris: I do not glow.

Zevran: What? Certainly I have- ah, I see. That is disappointing.

Fenris: I don't leave Hawke disappointed.

Zevran: Oh! He has some bite after all.

Fenris: Hawke knows that well.

____

Fenris: Varric never wrote I glow.

Zevran: Alas, he did not, but now I know you've read it.

Fenris: I have, and it's dull.

Zevran: Wait...really?

Fenris: I would've expected more of Varric. For all his spouting.

Zevran: You can't just say that, you must tell me more!

Fenris: I can. I won't.

Dorian is two things that Fenris hates, a mage, and a Tevinter. Would make things very interesting is Fenris doesn't murder him on sight when they first meet.

I'm noticing. A pattern

The timeline for this one is post-Trespasser. In my head this takes place solidly at or around the time Dreadwolf will take place.

Assume there's some sort of deal in place here keeping hands from being thrown

____

Fenris: You’ve been staring at me.

Dorian: Oh, I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable. You just have a reputation for tearing out the hearts of my countrymen.

Fenris: For tearing out the hearts of magisters.

Dorian: Yes, so you will forgive my caution.

Fenris: I’ll forgive you for nothing.

Dorian: Then this may be a long partnership indeed.

____

Dorian: You are more... solid than I expected.

Fenris: What?

Dorian: “The Blue Wraith.” I thought you’d be more of a wraith. From the stories I’ve heard, you should also be about ten-feet-tall, and howling.

Fenris: And there is a point to telling me this?

Dorian: Just trying to chip away at the fortress of tension between us.

____

Dorian: I never met Danarius, but-

Fenris: You did.

Dorian: I... Pardon?

Fenris: Wedding of Asiah of House Braheus to Dante of House Osiander. 9:26. Danarius was a guest of honor. You sat with Magister Halward Pavus at the feast table, near the groom.

Dorian: You recognize me from that?

Fenris: I have all your faces seared into my memory as clearly as the markings on my flesh.

____

Dorian: You can’t honestly believe the indiscriminate slaughter of every magister in Tevinter is a proper solution, yes?

Fenris: You would call me indiscriminate while you’re still breathing?

Dorian: You’ve ended the lines of no less than three great houses. What do you think happens now? Where does all that liberated land go? Do you think it just stays there, filling with flowers and frolicking sheep?

Dorian (Cont): No. It goes not to the highest bidder, but the one who cries the loudest. That usually requires demons, and that usually requires death.

Fenris: You are within arm’s length, mage. 

Dorian: Do you think there will be any Imperium left once you’re finally done?

Fenris: No, I don’t.

____

Dorian: I’m not saying your anger is wrong, Fenris-

Fenris: Yes you are.

Dorian: I spent my life breaking under the weight of the Imperium. Choking on my family’s leash. I stayed awake so many nights dreaming of how I’d burn it all down. I understand more than you think.

Fenris: What was your leash made of?

Dorian: My father’s excuse for a legacy, most days.

Fenris: Danarius favored one of dragon-leather, paired with a fade-metal collar. He thought it a symbol of his status, using such fine materials to bind a slave.

Dorian: I... see I have misspoken.

____

Dorian: For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

Fenris: You’re sorry?

Dorian: Danarius was a monster. Most of the houses knew it too. Something should have been done, but no, what happened to you was allowed to happen. You are owed more than an apology, but I am sorry.

Fenris: Ha!

Dorian: Fenris-?

Fenris: And with those words, the bonds fell off every slave in Tevinter.

Dorian: I’m not trying-

Fenris: I am free. Danarius is dead. Do not look at me and pretend you care.

____

Dorian: I do care.

Fenris: I don’t believe you.

Dorian: Is it so hard to believe I might honestly despise the same people you do?

Fenris: No. I’ve never met a magister content in the company of his own kind.

Dorian: So hating me is just an amusing pass time for you?

Fenris: It brings me no pleasure to hate you.

____

Fenris: These magisters you despise, what will you do with them?

Dorian: I’ll have their land and titles stripped. Their workers confiscated and sent to where they’re safe and respected.

Fenris: And remain slaves.

Dorian: No, the ones I can take in will be freed and paid for their work. Regardless, they will all be kept off the streets, kept warm, fed. Their lives will have purpose.

Three tiny banters where Varric, Aveline, and Merrill talk to Fenris about his daughter, Eshana

____

Varric: When’s Eshana coming to Wicked Grace?

Fenris: Eshana my daughter?

Varric: You know many other Eshanas?

Fenris: My infant daughter?

Varric: Elf, I hate to be the one to tell you this but your kid’s got the gift, you learn to spot it in the merchant’s guild.

Fenris: I don’t know if you want me to be horrified or proud.

Varric: Both is healthy, I think.

____

Aveline: Have you thought about teaching Eshana to fight, when the time comes?

Fenris: She’s a baby, now is not the time for such thoughts.

Aveline: She’ll grow. Faster than you think. One day she’ll be on her own and a girl should know to defend herself.

Fenris: No. That won’t be her life.

Aveline: I’m sorry, but you might not have as much choice in that as you’d like.

Fenris: Do not ask me this again.

____

Merrill: You’re a good father, Fenris.

Fenris: I don’t want your approval.

Merrill: You talk about Eshana so fondly. Her future. How you’ll raise her. You’re good for her, Fenris. It’s just true. I thought you’d want someone to tell you.

Hawke: Fenris, would you still love me if I were a worm?

Fenris: Would you love me if you were a worm?

Hawke: Of course!

Fenris: So you believe a worm is capable of love?

Hawke: It’s not just a worm. It’s me!

Fenris: If you were transformed into a worm you’d want to keep your consciousness? Trapped in a tiny, wriggling form?

Hawke: You’re dodging the question.

Fenris: I am asking for details on the question.

Hawke: Okay… if I was magically transformed into a worm with my consciousness trapped in a gross, slimy body, but fully intact so I could love you, would you still love me?

Fenris: Yes.

Hawke: Would you put me in the grass after it rained?

Fenris: If I knew it was you.

Hawke: Would you keep me in a little jar?

Fenris: Perhaps.

The first of the reformatting reposts. This banter is still my favorite out of them all. Maybe one day I’ll write a sequel with the companions that didn’t make it in, but for now!

Hawke is pregnant it’s Fenris’ and everyone has thoughts

————

Fenris and Anders

————

Anders: I really can’t picture you as a father.

Fenris: Nor could I, until recently.

Anders: Holding a newborn in those clawed gauntlets, it just doesn’t fit.

Fenris: I can take the gauntlets off.

Anders: Can you? I was beginning to think that armor never came off.

Fenris: We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t, mage.

————

Anders: What will you do if your child is a mage?

Fenris: That’s none of your concern.

Anders: It’s a great deal my concern. Hawke’s my friend.

Fenris: To your infinite displeasure.

Anders: The question stands.

Fenris: I’ll do what is best.

Anders: Does what’s best mean throwing them in a tower? Locked away from you and the rest of the world?

Fenris: It means I’ll do what’s best for my child.

————

Anders: You know, I have experience delivering children, I could-

Fenris: No.

Anders: I wasn’t asking you.

Fenris: After what you’ve said I don’t want you anywhere near my family.

Anders: Hawke?

(Option 1)

Hawke: Yes, I’d like you to be there.

Fenris: But- …if you’re certain. Fine.

(Option 2)

Hawke: It isn’t a good idea, Anders. I’m sorry.

Anders: I…understand.

————

Fenris and Aveline

————

Aveline: I hope it’s a girl.

Fenris: What?

Aveline: The baby. I hope it’s a girl.

Fenris: Why?

Aveline: Men like you? Your daughters always have you wrapped around their little fingers.

Fenris: I will not allow that!

Aveline: Oh, you say that now.

————

Aveline: Are you sure you should be up and around like this, Hawke?

Fenris: Yes. You talk to her.

Aveline: Already fought this battle?

Fenris: Fought and lost. But please, try.

Aveline: Can’t imagine anything I say will make a difference

Fenris: It would make me feel better, at least.

————

Fenris and Varric

————

Varric: This kid’s screwing up my narrative.

Fenris: Sorry?

Varric: How many great stories have you read where the hero has a baby right in the middle? It just doesn’t work.

Fenris: I’m sorry my child’s disturbing your writing process.

Varric: Eh, don’t be. It’s what creative liberties are for.

——

(Post-birth)

Varric: So, Elf, how’s the pup?

Fenris: More beautiful each day.

Varric: Wow, that was very- fatherly.

Since I have no art, and am not an artist, I offer my most recent written blurb as my donation to the DA Day festivities. Here are Virelan Lavellan and Solas for the prompt, "Reading."

“Solas.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Solas.”

He set his book down, spread open to keep his spot, on his chest. He raised his gaze to Virelan and frowned.

“My heart,” he drawled. “What can I do for you?”

She rose from where she’d spent the last hour, seated at her desk. She stretched, raising her arms above her head, and yawned. “I’m done. I’m bored of writing letters.”

He continued to regard her from beneath furrowed brows. “Being bored of something does not make you done.”

“Yes it does,” she said matter-of-factly, crossing the room to the bedside. Warm sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting her dark skin and darker vest in shades of gold. It highlighted every roping and silvery scar on her bare arms.

He watched her climb onto the bed on all fours, then kick off her boots. He remained still — reclining back on the pillows, ankles crossed and hands clasped over his belly — and turned his face up to receive her kiss. She hummed happily against his lips and briefly skated the tips of her calloused fingers against his cheekbone. Then, with a flop that disturbed the bed, she laid at his side and snuggled under his arm.

“You are jostling my book,” he murmured, turning to nose into the soft, cropped coils of her black hair. “You will make me lose my spot.”

She picked the book up off his chest and closed it, keeping one finger slotted between the pages. “There. Kiss me again?”

He hummed a soft laugh, and when she turned her face up he smiled down at her. He kissed her forehead first — at the center of her swirling, pale vallaslin — then one cheekbone, then the other. She accepted his last kiss on her mouth with a self-satisfied sound.

“Now,” she muttered when he pulled away, “will you read to me?”

She placed the book in his open, waiting hand, then laced her arm around his waist. She slung one leg possessively over his hips and snuggled in.

He propped the book open on his chest, supported by one hand, and traced the other up and down her arm in aimless, swirling patterns. He began reading where he’d left off — in the middle of a scene involving a knight-captain and an Antivan Crow — and gave her no prelude or summary. She made no sound of protest, nor did she ask any questions. She simply tucked closer to him and closed her eyes.

Long after the sun had moved its rays to the foot of the bed, Solas detected the soft, even breaths that heralded Virelan’s descent into dreams. He continued to read aloud, softer now, and threw a bit more of his weight into the accents than he had before — a sleeping Virelan could not tease him for them, after all.