#dragonagesecretsanta

Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa! Have a wonderful holiday and a very happy New Year!

//Thank you so much @dalishflame !! This made me so happy~ I’ve been meaning to publish it earlier but I was too scared that it’d get lost if I try and post it on my phone... I don’t trust tumblr mobile. But this is so sweet and pure and aöldkjöalsdk Happy Anders and Cat is just my jam! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas time as well~

“I don’t understand,” you said, because you didn’t. “My brother is here? At Skyhold?”

Josephine didn't look up from her schedule scroll. “He arrived one hour ago as a diplomat from your clan. We have found him proper accommodations and he has already settled in.” She still refused to look up. “He wishes to see his sister and I have managed to shift your duties for the day...but Inquisitor, please remember to watch him carefully.”

What? Your brother, dangerous to you? The idiot who fell out of a tree during a hunt only last year?

Josephine, perhaps sensing your confusion, finally looked up, her amusement clear. You simultaneously relaxed and tensed.

“He was last seen flirting with your Tevinter friend...and trying to kill Cullen with a spoon once he found out the two of you were--involved.” Josephine’s eyes sparkled with wicked amusement. “Said it was an accident.”

You flung the blankets to the side and launched yourself out of the room.

-

The second dining hall, where nobody but the Inquisitor’s friends gathered, was crowded with familiar faces placing bets.

You pushed them to the side (completely useless, no reason to keep them around) and ended up in the middle of the room, where Cullen was trying to protect himself with a jam-stained plate and your brother was trying to stab your lover with another spoon.

Cassandra grabbed your arm. “Calm those fools down before we attract more attention. Maker knows what they’ll kill each other with.” She had apparently confiscated your brother’s dagger, if the Dalish sheath hanging down her hip was anything to go by. You felt a rush of affection for her brilliance. (She could stay, you decided.)

“How dare you seduce my sister!” your brother chose that moment to roar, which is when you chose to step in.

You knew all your sibling’s weaknesses. A quick hand to re-direct his spoon, a firm hand to stop his other arm, one leg to halt his advance.

“Sister,” he said, clearly surprised. His breath smelled like herbed bread. “You have sand in your eyes.”

-

“I am so, so sorry.”

You gently placed the cold cloth to Cullen’s arm, where an angry bruise was already forming. The blonde man laughed awkwardly as your brother fumed at your side, the dagger back on his hip.

“It was nothing,” Cullen said. “Er, not that your sibling wasn’t a, you know, powerful opponent--”

“He used a spoon,” you interrupted. “Like a child.”

“You’re the child,” your brother snapped.

“Go flirt with Dorian,” you replied back, not sparing him a glance. (But you felt him shift hesitantly and then dash out. Handsome mages were his biggest weakness and you had little shame.)

“I am so, so sorry,” you repeated. “He isn’t usually so...aggressive.”

“No, no,” Cullen said immediately, waving his free arm. “I understand a brother’s protectiveness. If Mia ever got involved with someone I didn’t know and--well, I’d probably try to have at him with a spoon, too.”

You smiled, and scooted closer. He flushed a little, remembering you doing that just last night, and then leaned his forehead against yours. The scent of Cullen cocooned you sweetly, sending a small thrill throughout your body.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you. I would overcome all kitchen utensils to stay at your side forever.”

You laughed and he grinned and it would have been a perfect moment if a Dalish dagger wasn't suddenly embedded into the wood above Cullen’s head.

-

The war map in Skyhold was, quite frankly, the most important in all of Thedas.

Daggers and carved figures drew all the attention to certain locations and, written on pieces of paper next to those locations, all the information the War Council had. Leliana’s spies’ positions, the number of Cullen’s forces, Josephine’s advice and contact usefulness--all of it was on the war map, ready to save life as all knew it.

So of course you were agonizing over it.

“We need more funds but Josephine can’t ask the nobles again...so Leliana would have to...but she needs to concentrate on Tevinter right now, with all that’s going on...but she’s spread too thin with all those resources we haven’t received yet from the Hinterlands…” You resumed pacing. “And Cullen needs to see to the new recruits, the Fallow More resources, needs to have enough men to look impressive when the arls come...Josephine needs to be with them all day every day, but with Orlais...and Ferelden’s monarch writing all those letters, and that fiance she hasn’t shaken off yet...Leliana still hasn’t finished Varric’s favor, Josephine hasn’t gotten a response back from the teryn, one of them needs to deal with the college...”

“I could deal with that.”

The dagger marking a recent mission was snatched off the map and hurled at the intruder. The Iron Bull calmly stepped to the side, then very thoughtfully picked it up and began making his way over to you, the dagger hilt first.

But when you reached to take it, he grabbed your arm and pulled you forward in one smooth move. You ended up with your face on his very naked upper-body, which, honestly, you couldn’t be upset about.

However. “Bull, let me go. I have missions to take care of.”

“Kadan.” You felt the vibrations of his voice flow down your spine, the slightest shiver being the only sign you were affected. “You’ve been working too hard in this little room. You need to relax, or you’ll crack.” He raised an eyebrow when you looked up, ready to argue. He tapped his temple. “Ben-Hassrath, remember? I can read people.”

You tried pulling away. “I know, but some things can’t wait and the sooner I deal with them--don’t look at me like that. This is important. I’m the Inquisitor--”

“And the Inquisitor needs to learn how to let others help with the burden.” He waved a hand over the entire room. “I can write a book about why that’s important--your advisers will feel needed, respected, you’ll have more time for yourself, little issues won’t have the chance to bother you, you’ll be able to sleep at night…” he trailed off at the look you shot him. “Look, all I’m saying is that a pint at the tavern won’t signal the end of the world. I’ll buy.”

You suddenly remembered the three hours of sleep you got that night, Cullen’s blank look when you dismissed him, Varric telling you sunlight was recommended by healers.

Returning to the war map would be an actual nightmare. You hesitated, remembered Leliana offering to help, and then forcibly relaxed your stance.

“Yeah, you’ll buy,” you said weakly. “I’ve seen your paycheck, it made Josephine sob.”

His sudden laugh filled the cold war room and warmed your body from the inside. You walked out feeling lighter, reassured, an easy gait in your armoured step.

(But then, everything was always so much easier with him.)

-

Four pints later and you couldn’t remember what a map did.

But you remembered Bull’s roaring laughter and there was a happiness you couldn’t name but stayed with you long after you woke up the next morning.

(Which was really the only positive because the headache was truly atrocious and you may or may not have vomited all over Dorian’s new boots. Oops.)

-

So I had some huge ambitions to do the secret santa, started doodling the day I got assigned and then BAM got an art block.

Unfortunately this is all I could manage for the moment. I will be painting it as soon as my body remembers how and probably try to doodle that nsfw scene since that's what caught my eye to begin with >3>

For resoan!

The amount of time it took Velahari to get acclimated to Skyhold was significantly shorter than it took compared to Haven, or so she felt. Maybe it was due to the people trusting her, or maybe it was due to her keeping herself busy.

Since the crowning, or anointing, or whatever the shems called the ceremony that declared her Inquisitor, she didn’t really know how to react until Bull took her aside and dragged her with him to meet some of the normal footsoldiers in the Inquisition. It was a nice change of pace, and got her to realize that this whole Inquisition is basically a shem version of a very large, eclectic clan. So she took it upon herself to help out with something \ at least once a day (which led to her meeting new faces), and then taking time to explore the lesser-used hallways of skyhold to …make sure no one got lost in there, however that was probably her projecting her own concerns outward. It was astounding how a fortress so high up in the mountains would be so comfortable in temperature. Even with the cracks and holes in the various walls or windows, the blistering cold always stayed outside of the perimeter.

One time, her wanderings led her to the second floor of the rookery, although she wasn’t quite sure how she managed that, and thankfully Dorian was not facing in her direction to see the look of confusion on her face. Glancing around, she noticed there was something different about the rookery, and she wasn’t quite able to put her finger on what until she looked down to the floor below.  Solas had painted a wonderful mural along a part of the circular wall, depicting all of the events that have happened to her so far, and it was astounding. The simplicity in the murals helped to emphasize how effortless everything looked, like it was always that beautiful. The style of painting was quite different from the one she had just seen in the cellar level. She had realized that she hasn’t spoken to Solas much at all since moving into Skyhold. Just loud enough for her feet to make sound that he could hear, she walked down the stairs to the level that Solas had claimed, more or less, as his study.

He turned to look as her as she entered the room, a brush in one hand and a board of some sort with paint atop of it.

"Greetings." Solas's eyes were calm with a hint of something she couldn't quite place, as was usual. "I was not expecting you." With a smile, Velahari stepped into the room completely and her eyes immediately went to the beautiful paintings on the wall.

 "I wanted to see how you were doing." She paused, eyes returning to Solas's. "Are you adjusting to Skyhold well?" 

"As well as I can," and he turned to the wall again, inspecting his work. Looking closely, Velahari could tell that the walls actually had some type of paper, no, plaster attached that the paint was used on. Or was it paint that took the shape of plaster using magic? Velahari had always had an interest in the arts, but it was never fully allowed to blossom when she was living in the clan, even though in her eyes it would be a great way to help he people remember the past. 

"You seem to have been busy these last few weeks - I have hardly seen you at all." His voice shook her from her thoughts, and she didn't realize that he was once again looking at her until that moment. 

"Ah, yes - I wanted to make sure everyone was doing well, considering this is such a large change from where we once were." She looked back at the wall, "I didn't realize that I would miss this being made, though." 

Solas smirked, noticing her curiosity. Oh, no, she just accidentally said that last sentence out loud.

"I could show you the basics of how to paint in this style if you wish, da'len." 

Velahari could feel the blush starting to creep along her face and up to her ears. "Oh no, you don't have to. I was just curious to know how the paint dries to look like plaster." The way his eyes and ears moved, she could tell that he was surprised, maybe by her lack of knowledge.

"Actually, you are partially correct." Her eyebrows rose, so she wasn't completely wrong? "What I do is I take the plaster and apply it to the wall. While the plaster is still drying, I add the paints. The pieces of the paints interact with the plaster and, for lack of a better word, fuse together."

She studied him with intent. Ah. "So the paint and the plaster are magicked together to become one substance?"

Solas chuckled, which Velahari took to mean that she was wrong. Again. "No, da'len. It isn't magic. It is simply what happens when this type of paint is applied to the still-wet plaster. Think of it as how a fire affects a piece of paper. The paper is forever changed, but it still exists. That is what is happening here, except that the paint and the plaster become one." He went on. "Now, there is a spell that I have researched that would allow us to imprint the drawings from this plaster onto the wall behind it, but it is surprisingly fickle, and could cause the coloration of the plaster to smear together and create a muddled mess."

"That would be unfortunate." She heard herself saying. "It is beautiful so far."

With a small smile, Solas walked toward her, no longer focused on the work in front of him. It appeared that he was done with this latest section. "If you would like, I could show you how to paint in this style." He paused, probably noticing her blush and her eyes, which excitement she couldn't erase from them. She was not skilled at lying, especially through her face. "Of course, on a smaller surface."

Before her mind could wander as to what type of surface he meant, a soldier practically ran into the room, looking around desperately until he spotted Velahari. "Lady Inquisitor! Commander Cullen wishes to see you regarding troop formations!" The soldier seemed quite out of breath, and was almost comical.

Velahari moved away from Solas, just then realizing how close their bodies had been, and thanked the soldier, relieving him. After the man was out of the room, she smiled and turned to face Solas before heading out to see the Commander.

“I hate this forest.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as beside you, Alistair burst out laughing even before he turned around and Zevran turned his chuckle into a cough.

You turned around, fully composed. “Something wrong?”

Eyes glowing with malice met your innocent ones. “Yes,” Morrigan snapped, “something is wrong.”

“Whatever could it be?” murmured Wynne, brushing away a leaf from Morrigan's tangled locks.

Though, at this point, “tangled” was a compliment. After being tackled by werewolves one too many times, the maleficarum's hair was disastrous: twigs and leaves were inserted at random, the strands were either fizzy or limp, and one side of her hair was in a clumpy ball.

“I demand we stop.” Morrigan planted her feet in the dirt path and crossed her arms proudly. Very maturely, she ignored Alistair's continued guffaws.

“A grand plan,” agreed Leliana, her lips not twitching once. Whatever she did in her past, it clearly made her into a diplomat.

They made camp in the Brecilian forest wearily. Alistair and Sten were sent to patrol the area because one of them couldn't stop laughing, Zevran was made to stand guard, and Leliana began digging something out of her bags. Morrigan sat away from them all on a rock, murmuring curses under her breath as she roughly tugged out twigs.

Wynne touched your shoulder. “Friends should help each other out, mm?”

Leliana took that moment to hand off two dark ribbons and a single hair clip. “All I have left,” she admitted, flicking her own bangs away from her eyes.

Wynne slipped a pretty bottle of hair tonic into your hands. “Go help our friend with her hair or we'll here forever.”

“I can hear you!” Morrigan snapped in return.

“Then I won't have to explain,” you called back. You walked over and sat behind her on your knees, beginning to gently remove leaves with an easy grace. A moment later, almost grudgingly, she handed you a brush from a nearby pack. You took it and began brushing through her black locks slowly, starting at the ends and working your way up. The tonic took care of the worst and eventually, as morning shifted into afternoon, Morrigan's tangled hair began to turn smooth and silky once more.

The sun was hot on your back as it peered through the foliage. A few birds sang in the distance and the chatter of your friends washed over you like a tide, warm and kind. The smell of something cooking drifted past your nose and brought out a hunger spasm. Your hands, calloused but taken care of, began to tire with every new stroke of the brush.

“Done,” you said, letting your hands hang limply. “All pretty again.”

“I am always 'pretty,'” Morrigan snarked, but the usual bite was missing and she seemed almost at peace, sitting in the sun as Wynne scolded Alistair over his socks.

Her dark hair hung loosely over her back. You thought of all your work going to hell and fought the ache in your arms as your raised them again.

“Be still,” you murmured, pulling her hair into her usual style using only the hair clip and tonic. You went so far as to brush her bangs back over her forehead, and when Morrigan opened her unique eyes, they were almost fond.

The warmth that settled in your stomach spread throughout your body. You held your hand out.

“Let's go eat and then hunt down those werewolves.”

Morrigan ignored your hand but she walked beside you instead of going ahead and that made all the difference.

(Later—years later—Morrigan will stumble upon a pretty bottle of hair tonic and feel phantom fingers run along her scalp. The memory of a warm afternoon will come unbidden to her mind and though she will never weep, a heavy weight will stay in her chest all day.)

-