#*fewer

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Tagged by @fandomn00blr and @cassandra-pentughasst - thanks! ❤️❤️

Lmao, have I written 20 things, like ever? I’m awed by people who can be so prolific. Me, I just flog the same old fics all the damn time. So here we go! In reverse chronological order!

City of Magic (WIP, modern AU) 

They didn’t call it Adamant for nothing.

The gates of the Grey Warden bunker on the western outskirts of March City took two hundred pounds of gaatlok to breach. That was the easy part, it turned out. The Wardens inside were outnumbered three to one, but not one of them was giving ground without a fight.

Words Not Voiced (one shot Divine!Cass angst) 

You could give up the Sunburst Throne for the love of a great man. For a king or a prince, maybe. Or the Inquisitor, the savior of Thedas.

But for a nameless mage from Ostwick? Even a veteran of the Inquisition?

Clean Burn (canon longfic)

Senior Enchanter Owain Trevelyan leaned against the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose, absently running his thumb along the scar on his right cheek. It had been a long day, and, somehow, it wasn’t over yet.

Ok, so some light cheating here... The lines above were literally the first fic I ever wrote, so here are a few later *chapter* openers.

Mirror, Mirror (Clean Burn, Ch. 28)

Memory was a strange thing.

There were the big moments, of course, the obvious ones, the things he expected to remember. But sometimes, the details were what stayed with him. Sometimes, just by saying to himself, “Remember this,” the mundane could be made momentous, the ordinary, significant.

Never Let Me Go (Clean Burn, Ch. 29)

He was moving, but not of his own strength.

Carried, then. Strong arms supported his shoulders and knees. When his head rolled, his cheek came to rest on cool steel.

Cassandra.

Sunrise, Sunset (Clean Burn, Ch. 30)

He had good days, and he had bad days.

Returning to Skyhold should have helped, and in some ways it did, but the comfort of familiar surroundings was tempered by constant reminders of his newfound limitations. They sprang on him when he least expected, these ghosts of what he was and would never be again, even in the smallest details, like the sticky door that was easy with two hands but now had to be wrenched open with one, or the heavy chair he had to push, not lift, across the floor, or the once-reliable stair rail he could no longer count on.

After (Clean Burn, Epilogue)

Cassandra had always known her husband to be an emotional man, prone to feeling deeply, even if it was seldom evident on the surface. She herself had learnt all the signs over their years together, but even an unpracticed eye could see he became freer with his tears after the end of the Inquisition, following the loss of his hand.

If Only (one shot smut-if-you-squint)

Cassandra shut the book and shoved it under the corner of her bedroll, blowing the spent candle out of its misery. With so little light, squinting at the page was giving her a headache. She could fetch a fresh candle from her pack, but doing so would mean leaving this hard-won huddle of warmth. She rubbed the tip of her nose. So cold.

Nothing Wagered (one shot fluff)

She should never have agreed to this.

Cullen shifted in the seat across the table and carefully rolled his sleeve past his elbow.

Cassandra huffed and did the same, pushing up the fabric of her tunic and folding it in place with a deft twist.

A terrible idea.

Victoria (one shot Divine!Cass angst)

Owain tilted his head at the armed sentries that stood watch by her door.

“Are they always in here?”

“They are here for my protection.”

He arched a brow and smirked, an increasingly rare sight these days. “You? Protection?”

City of Lies (modern!AU)

Cassandra Pentaghast hated being late.

Her meeting with Seeker-Commander Corin had run over, and now there was no way she would make it downtown for the start of the Conclave.

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts (one shot fluff)

Late afternoon sun dazzled off the snowdrifts that lined the mountain path below Skyhold. Owain watched stray flakes dance across them on the wind and was so lost in his thoughts that he had no warning before something cold and hard hit him squarely between the shoulder blades. He reached a gloved hand to his back, and it came away covered in powder.

Patterns? I guess I like to start by establishing the POV and dumping you in their head. If you’re familiar with my characters, it should be pretty clear who’s “speaking,” and if you’re not, you’ll get the idea. Then we set the scene.