The longer this thing went on, the unhappier Caerye became. This whispers and jaded insults about her she could handle. No, she became more frustrated with how these miserable shemlen, humans and elves alike, continued to insult her companions. Tashaath was getting the worst of it, though the longer the qunari charmed the court, the fewer insults were said aloud.
She almost lost it when one of those shemlen, whom she had just overheard not an hour before insulting Tashaath, calling her an ox-woman and how much better she would be on her knees sucking on his cock, started pretending that he and Tashaath were friends. Her wine glass that was still almost completely full since the beginning of the night was clenched so tightly in her fist, it was surely going to shatter.
A light touch on her hand, and she looked to see Strike looking at her with a look between amusement and concern. Her grip on her glass loosened slightly and she just scowled.
âThereâve been reports of a scary elf dominating part of the ballroom, terrifying the small folk with her scowl.â
âWonder why that could be. I mean, I absolutely adore being here. Watching these pathetic shemlen scurry, bending over backwards to get Tashaathâs blessing while simultaneously spitting on her very name.â
âCome on, letâs get out of here. Tashaath can handle herself. She knows how to be careful and plus, Josieâs watching her like a hawk.â
Caerye relented, though she took a moment to call upon the distant magic that seemed only an echo to her to untie the offending manâs shoe laces and tie them together. Petty? Absolutely. Worth it? Absolutely.
Out in the fresh air on a balcony, the ballroom and its Game seemed much more distant. Music echoed to them faintly and Caerye let herself take a deep breath and leaned against the railing, arms crossed.
âI hate it here. I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here.â
âI donât blame you,â Strike replied with a smile. âYouâre probably not too used to this kind of stuff.â
âOh, no. Itâs just like Arlathan. Complete with the snobbery and petty remarks. This one just has more humans.â
âHuh⌠Well, dance with me.â
Had she heard him correctly? But as she turned to look at him and saw his hand outstretched to her, she realized he was serious and she flushed slightly.
âIâŚdonât dance.â
âYou donât dance⌠Makerâs balls, you donât dance. Iâve seen you float like an Orlesian ballerina when you think no one is watching. Besides, it might get your mind off of the shitstorm in the ballroom.â
Busted. She sighed slightly and put her hand in his. He led her through a waltz, and much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She was very distracted from anything in the ballroom. His hands were warm and calloused much as her own were, and the golden flecks in his eyes reflected the light from inside. They both may have looked ridiculous in the uniform they both had to wear, but that didnât matter.
The song ended and so did their dance. For just a moment, they stared at each other, completely silent. Then Caerye abruptly pulled away putting a few feet of space between them just as a messenger arrived to inform them that the Inquisitor was looking for them. Caerye practically bolted, leaving Strike to follow her.
She had wanted to kiss him. She had wanted to, but they were friends. Their dance was as friends. It was just a friendly dance.
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Sheâd been lucky. She had been on the ground, away from Arlathan, idly watching a cluster of wisps at play, chasing each other and intertwining. Their abrupt alertness and then disappearance was all the warning she received as the world trembled and shook at her feet. The magic that she never really used but felt comfort in having ripped away from her, leaving her screaming on her knees.
When she managed to recover from the gaping absence of her magic, she looked to see that it was all so very different. The spirits were gone, Arlathan itself was gone. She ran, hoping, praying to anybody who may have been out there that she could do something, but all she managed to gather was that it was just gone and FenâHarel had done it. He had split the Material Plane from the Fade. He had severed them and shut away the Evanuris. The elves were ruined, now and forever. They no longer had the strength to keep back the Tevinter Imperium.
Caerye watched her people disappear into remote locations or become captured slaves. She watched until her heart couldnât bear it anymore and then she slept.
When she woke, the world was very different. The Dalish roamed, proud and free. Her people that remained in cities were oppressed, forced to work and live in terrible conditions. The Tevinter Imperium existed still but had been considerably weakened. She learned of the Qunari, the grey-skinned horned people from across the sea that continued to engage Tevinter, and while she did not approve of the Qun when she learned of it, she understood, and her intolerance for Tevinter was so fierce, for a time, she went and fought with the Qunari against them. Her magic was too weak; she could barely feel the connection to the Fade anymore, so she did not use it. She just used her sword instead.
When she tired of fighting a pointless war, she left. She wandered, wondering what the shattered remains of her people knew and what they believed. The Evanuris had become gods, vallaslin had become honor markings, and everything else had just become so wrong. But her people were stubborn, and some of their new traditions were better than the old, so she remained quiet on her history.
She found some of her ancient fellows and tried to coax them out. But her people were stubborn, and they refused to accept the world for what it was, so she left them, continuing to wander on her own.
She could have resented FenâHarel. She could have cursed his name as the Dalish and Ancients did. But she did not. The world had changed. She had to adapt and change or be destroyed like the rest of her people. She wondered what became of him. She wondered if he was proud of what he had done. But she wished him well, despite knowing that he had ruined their people.
This was the way the world was. She couldnât change it. She could only accept it and move on.
But when the world shook and the sky ripped open, the Veil sundered, she knew that FenâHarel was not yet finished. She would fight and she would not rest.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared as rain pelted down furiously. Caerye squinted as she tried to make out the path but could only hazard a guess as the wind whipped the rain into her face. She and her group should stop for the night, she knew, but they were almost to the camp. It wouldnât be that much further. Thus they pressed on.
One would think the storm system roaring through would stop bandits from attacking, but of course, this was not meant to be. Caerye, Strike, and Tavia fought them, keeping them at bay and defeating them one by one.
She should have seen him. She should have, she would have, if it wasnât for the rain. A shriek sounded from behind her, and both Strike and Caerye whirled to see nothing but the dead body of a thief. Where was Tavia?
âCover me!â Caerye shouted at Strike as both he and her started running back to find her. The enemies werenât gone yet. He hesitated for a moment before returning to the fight, trusting her to find his sister.
Tavia dangled precariously off of a cliff, clutching at the stones desperately, struggling as her hands kept slipping and the stones started to come loose. She kept trying to cast magic, she knew she could just float herself up and be done with it, but no, no, no, her magic wasnât working and she belatedly realized that the dagger that the thief had managed to strike her with before she killed him must have been laced with Magebane. She couldnât cast, and she couldnât hold on.
Her fingers scrambled for purchase, finding none, and she shrieked as she started to fall. Her shriek was aborted however, as a spray of mud and rock shot off over the cliff and Caerye grabbed her wrist. She had dove towards the cliff and was now hanging half off.
âI have you,â she shouted over the roar of thunder. âI wonât let you fall, I promise!â
Though even as she said that, she knew she was slipping off the cliff herself. Her dive may have caught Tavia, but now the ground was even weaker. It wouldnât hold the both of them for much longer. She looked past Tavia to the sea that crashed upon the cliff face below and made a decision.
âBe ready,â she warned, though not for what, and Tavia had only a moment to prepare as Caerye pulled, giving Tavia enough of a boost for her to be able to get herself back on solid ground.
âNo!â Tavia shrieked in desperation as she scrambled back to the new edge of earth that had formed as Caerye had fallen, plummeting into the ocean below. âCaerye!â
Strike finally finished the last of the bandits as his heart dropped to his feet. No, no, no. No no, no, no. Together, he and Tavia desperately tried to see past the rain into the depths, but it was too dark, too wet, and too risky. They would not find her tonight.
Caerye plunged into the ocean, gasping as the cold water was a shock to her system, losing some of her precious oxygen. The waves tossed her around and she was disoriented; what way was up? Desperately, she tried swimming in a direction and caught a lucky break as she managed to break the surface and catch a breath. But back down she went, and mercy, mercy, she didnât have enough.
Focus, she told herself and reached into the Fade. A pocket of air surrounded her head, and she coughed and spluttered before the force of water pushed her into rock, threatening to crush her, and she screamed, spell breaking. She was so cold. Fatigue from struggling was starting to settle in even as she fought desperately to try and get to an actual shoreline.
She wouldnât die here, she told herself. She wasnât going to die. But as she struggled more and more, losing some of her armor to the sea, being unable to catch a proper breath, it became a simple joy that at least Tavia was okay. Tavia wasnât going through this. Strike wasnât going through this. She stopped trying to swim and just let herself be. She thought of them, safe and warm, and it was that thought that comforted her as her world faded to darkness and the taste of sea water.
Morning arrived, and Tavia and Strike were on the coast, desperately searching for their friend. The sun was shining today, even though it was still raining and the sea still surged angrily. They searched up and down the coast, hoping, praying to anyone that would listen, that they would find her. Hours passed with no sign. They wouldnât give up, however, and it was that determination that let them find something.
A piece of her armor. One of her shoulder guards. It was crushed and crumpled on one side, as if a giant had stepped on it. Had stepped on her. Strike picked it up gingerly and gently dusted the sand from it. He held it for a moment, staring out over the sea before handing it wordlessly to Tavia.
Sheâs not dead, they both silently agreed, though they knew with armor like that, she very well might be. But a piece of armor was not enough evidence, and so they kept looking.
She was warm. She was too warm. Caerye stirred and shifted the blankets to let in some of the cooler air, and she realized she was next to a fire as well. She let out a muffled sort of whine. She was too tired to move.
âAh, youâre awake.â A womanâs voice. Caerye didnât recognize it but also couldnât muster the energy to care. âYouâre quite the lucky person, yâknow? Surviving a dive like that. It takes a lot.â
Caerye didnât answer, and her eyes started to drift. The woman let out an amused hum, and there was the distant sound of wind chimes.
âGo back to sleep. Your friends are looking for you. Theyâll be here soon, so donât worry.â
She drifted back off, not a worry to be found. Her friends were coming. She was safe.
Tavia and Strike stumbled across a shack that stood in much better shape than many of the other buildings that were scattered across the Storm Coast. They eyed each other, questioning, though thinking the same. She might be in there? How she could get in there, they werenât sure, but it was worth investigating.
A wind chime that hung outside the door no longer rang as its centerpiece had gotten caught and wrapped around the charms. It just clacked awkwardly as Strike knocked on the door. There was no answer, but something inside him told him to try opening the door. He did so, cautiously peering in.
It was clear that no one had occupied the place in some time, as dust and grime coated most of the large room, but despite that, there was a roaring fire in the hearth and a bundle of blankets in front of the fireplace. Peeking out from under the blankets was familiar blonde hair, and Strike immediately rushed in, pulling back the blankets. Caerye flinched from the sudden cold air and grumbled something groggily as she was startled awake, but neither Strike nor Tavia cared. She was sandwiched between the two, both of them thanking everything that she was there.
She was alive. She was safe. She was warm. She was awake enough to greet them, though still tired. Her arms and legs felt like noodles but she gave a good attempt to hug them back. Later, there would be much yelling and crying and apologizing. For right now, though, they let themselves take it all in.
Feat. Caerye, her mabari Fenânas, and her love interest**
** I wrote this before we decided who her love interest was haha.
Caerye picked her way through the snowy foothills around Skyhold silently, Fenânas leaping and bounding around her excitedly. It was walk time, and while Skyhold was fine, sometimes Caerye just needed a break from all the people.
She tossed a broken branch for Fenânas to bring back to her, and the mabari was just overjoyed to get to spend time with her. In the distance, she caught sight of somebody and signaled for Fenânas to come back to her side. She slowly approached, curious as to who else might come out of the walls.
When she saw that it was her love, she couldnât help but give a tiny wicked grin. They hadnât noticed her yet, and the snow was freshly fallen from the day before. She gathered the snow in her hands, compacting it into a few balls. She winked at Fenânas before standing and calling out a greeting.
The moment they turned around, Caerye let loose one of her snowballs, and it made a direct hit to their face. Caerye cringed slightly; she needed to work on her aim. She moved forward to check on them.
âOh, are youââ she was cut off by a wave of snow in return.
The pair grinned at each other and Fenânas barked, and it devolved into full-on war, snow getting flung back and forth and shoved down shirts and other clothing. Fenânas helped by knocking the both of them over several times, and the two just couldnât stop laughing. It ended when they started wrestling in the snow and Caerye managed to pin them down, straddling across their body.
She smiled brilliantly down at her love, cheeks pink from cold and exertion.
âI love you.â
They met in a kiss and remained a tangled set of limbs until Fenânas kicked snow on them. It was still playtime, right? Both Caerye and her love then chased after the dog, laughing and giggling fools, while Fen'nas's stubby tail wagged so furiously, her butt wiggled.
There were few perfect moments in the world, but that was one that Caerye would treasure for eternity.
It was early morning on the battlements of Skyhold. Caerye could see her breath as she exhaled slowly, trying to ease the anxiety that had risen from old memories that had returned as nightmares.
It had been as though she was back there, fighting on the shores alongside the Qunari against the Tevinter army. She could still hear the faint echoes of shouting in both languages, the screams of the wounded and dying. She could feel the blood running from the cut near her eye from a Tevinter blade. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see the shore, the trees, the fog, all of that damn fog.
Yet she kept her eyes closed, focused on her breathing, trying to remind herself that all of that wasnât real; it was all in the past. She tried to steady her shaking hands, placing them on the solid, freezing stone, and the cold air was a balm to soothe her troubled soul.
ââŚ.Itâs not cold in Seheron,â she muttered to herself. âGet back to reality. That was then. You arenât thereâŚâ
She heard distant footsteps approaching her and she fell silent, expecting them to pass her. She realized they werenât going to just pass her by as they started picking up pace and she heard a cheerful call of her name. She turned slightly to face the arriver, silently steeling herself to ensure that she wasnât going to crumble in front of somebody else.
Of course it had to be Strike, some bitter part of her groaned. She loved him dearly, so she really was hoping not to see him until she was feeling better. She didnât want to worry him since she knew heâd know right away. But here he was, and she couldnât just run away. Take a breath in, let it out. Feel the cold stone on your hands and see the breath youâre releasing. Relax.
ââŚ.What can I do for you?â
âHere!â he thrust a small bear plush out at her and all she could do was stare until he sheepishly explained, âIâŚknow it can get really hard for you. But I donât want you to feel alone or lonely⌠So, I made him for you. As a reminder that we care for you and youâre not alone anymore.â
Wordlessly, she took the bear from him gently, staring at it and then him. Here it goes, she thought in the back of her mind as tears starting pricking at the corners of her eyes. Before those tears could actually fall, she hugged him tightly.
After a moment, she pulled away, swiping at her teary eyes with the back of her hand and sniffling slightly. She cradled the bear close, taking comfort in the soft plush on her face and the smell of Strike that lingered.
ââŚThank you, StrikeâŚYouâŚalways know just what I need.â
Strike smiled crookedly. He was just happy that he could do something that could help her, and he told her as such. His friend was always in so much pain, sometimes physically, sometimes mentally, sometimes both. Even if she didnât want to be around other people or if she was in too much pain to try and socialize, he hoped that she would at least never feel lonely.
Together, they shuffled out of the cold and into the warmth of the tavern rafters. The warmth and fatigue from stress gradually lulled Caerye until she finally rested her head on his shoulder and dozed off, bear tucked under her arm. Strike simply smiled slightly and let her rest. She needed this.
Both of them knew that the warmth would pass, and she would be hurting again. In the meantime though, let her be at peace.
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One of the moons shone down brightly on Skyhold, not a cloud to be seen. Silence hung in the air as easily as the ice crystals that hung in the air. The tavern had long been closed for the night; few aside from the night watch were awake.
Caerye was one of them, her bare feet padding silently on the freezing stones of the battlements. She seemed comfortable despite wearing nothing more than a pair of skivvies, a night shift and a blanket to act as a shawl around her shoulders. Her hair, usually up in an almost impossible braid/bun combination, hung loose, shining silver under the moonlight. As she walked, she gazed up at the moon and the sky, seemingly lost in thoughts all on her own.
She made several rounds around the battlements, keeping the same even pace. The guards that saw her didnât question. They had seen her do this many times, and though she seemed so delicate and fragile when she was walking like this, they had also seen her fight and toss a would-be assassin over the walls. In some ways, they felt safer on the nights she did her odd patrol, though they did wonder why she did it only on some nights and not others. Most just figured she couldnât sleep and left it at that.
When she was finished with circling Skyhold, she headed indoors. She couldnât really feel her hands or her feet, but she also couldnât feel the aches and pains that plagued her either. She started a fire in a hearth and settled in, comfortably wrapped in her blanket. Slowly, so slowly, she let herself sleep, warm and safe.
While she never knew who stoked the fire while she slept or placed the extra blanket on her, she never minded. It was part of the routine, and it only made her feel all the safer, knowing that there was someone watching over her.
Happy Holidays! Attempted to write a cutesy holiday thing because well, itâs the holidays. Meant to be Strike/Caerye but dangit, I never worked in the kiss I wanted. Oh well. It would have been out of place otherwise. Without further adoâŚ! ~Sammi
Satinalia. A holiday Caerye had never really celebrated since the fall of Arlathan, but what reason did she have to celebrate? Sheâd slept for hundreds of years and even when she found other people, she could never really get in the mood. There was always that bitter cloud hanging over, reminding her that any friends she used to have were dead
This year was different, though. She had made true friends, ones she would stand by for eternity, and she was determined to get everyone gifts. Even if it meant a tripâŚa trip to Val Royeaux. Ugh, Orlesians.
Tavia was probably the easiest gift. A beautiful journal, bound in black Antivan leather, for her to write notes on when she was studying anything, though she suspected itâd most likely go to magical purposes. To go with it, a new inkwell that contained her favorite color and a Great Horned Owlâs feather pen. All items sheâd found in Val Royeaux a month ago.
For Quentin, a new set of bracers. Sheâd gathered the resources out in the field herself, though she made use of the schematics in the Undercroft to put it together. The small enchantments they had ensured that arrows he fired would rip through an enemyâs guard and have a better chance to find those critical areas.
For Tashaath, the Inquisitor, she crafted some horn decorations that had an Elvhen design. They were finely made of silverite, shining softly. They looked delicate, but they had a certain strength to them that said that they wouldnât break easily. Though even if they did ever break, Caerye would be more than happy to fix them for her.
Strike was impossible. She knew heâd like anything. She knew he wasnât expecting anything from her. But she wanted to give him the perfect gift. A scarf felt too simple. Heâd just made himself a new weapon, or sheâd craft one for him. A piece of armor was too close to what sheâd done for Quentin. It had to be practical since she was ever the practical type. Nothing sheâd found in Val Royeaux was right, though she also wasnât entirely certain of what she was looking for.
More and more days passed and now there were only two days before the holiday. Sheâd scoured everywhere, looking for the perfect gift, and she hated that sheâd have to settle for something less. At this point, sheâd have to craft something, so she rushed down to the Undercroft and started rummaging through schematics.
She could never craft a full chestpiece in time. Any other armor piece felt like itâd be a cop-out to Quentinâs gift. He had no use for a single-handed weapon, shield, bow, arrows, magic staff, orâno that could work. Wait, no, it was bad luck to give knifes. She audibly yelled aloud in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the waterfall and for Dagna to notice her stress.
âWhatâs wrong?â she asked curiously. âCanât figure out what to make?â
âYeahâŚ,â Caerye groaned in response. âI canât figure out what to make for Strike for Satinalia. I made Quentin bracers, and I donât want to just copy thatâŚâ
âWell, you wanna keep him safe, yeah? Why not make him a helmet? Or boots! Everyone needs new boots.â
Caerye looked uncertain for another moment before rummaging around and pulling out the heavy armor leg schematics and perusing them carefully. She selected one and set to work, pulling together the metal, cloth, and leather and turning them into something amazing. When she finished, she stood back and examined the work.
She hated it. They looked clunky. Nothing like her usual work. And would they even fit his feet? She could never give those to him. She half-wanted to throw them in the waterfall. Instead, she left them on the workbench and stormed upstairs.
Two days later, she still had nothing. Reluctantly, she returned to the Undercroft. MaybeâŚ.maybe she could rework some of it? Tweak it somehow? She surveyed the mess and dismantled it. Time to try again.
Hours passed, and Caerye was still working away. She didnât notice the door open and close, too focused on her work. She didnât even really notice that she was being watched until a quiet cough gave him away. Caerye whirled to see Strike, and she immediately stepped in front of her work, cheeks pink.
âHey!â she greeted awkwardly. âWhatâs up?â
âUh, well, the festivities have been going for awhile and we havenât seen you. Norman mentioned you came down here this morning and you hadnât surfaced all day. Just wanted to check on you.â
âOh. JustâŚgot carried away making something.â
âBoots.â
âRight. Boots. Theyâre um⌠not finished.â
âNot finished? They look incredible! The amount of detail youâve put into them. Itâs amazing! Youâll look great in them!â
âTheyâre for you.â
He said nothing and looked her straight in the eyes with the most serious expression. Wordlessly, he reached past her and picked them up. He slid his boots off his feet and put the ones she made on.
ââŚThey even fit my feet. Thank you!â
He beamed at her, a bright ray of sunshine, pulling her into a tight hug, and Caerye smiled, hugging him back. The boots were finished. They had a wearer. There was nothing more she could do to them.
âYou knowâŚtheyâre perfect just as they are now. Happy Satinalia, Strike.â
âHappy Satinalia! Come on, Iâve got your gifts upstairs with the others.â
He took her by the hand, and together, the pair stepped up the steps and into the blasting warmth of the hall, where festivities and joy echoed around. Strike led her to a table where Quentin, Alanna, Tavia, and Corrin sat and immediately showed off the work Caerye had done to anyone and everyone. Caerye sheepishly admitted to Quentin and Tavia that she didnât have their gifts with her at the moment but assured them they would receive them later.
Together, they celebrated the year that had passed and the year that would come. They celebrated their friendship, their bonds, their love for each other. And for the first time since the Fall of Arlathan, Caerye loved every minute of it.
