#faora lavellan

Starring Foara Lavellan and @nyghtlei‘s Paix Trevelyan. For pure indulgence and curing writer’s block, because I love opposites and kissing.

Hide With Me

“Has he moved at all?” Faora whispered. Her face felt heavy with the makeup meant to cover her vallaslin, but she figured she should be grateful that her tattoos weren’t too dark to hide. Otherwise she would have to wear one of those stuffy masks.

She and Paix were sent on an assignment to investigate a harbormaster suspected of aiding the smuggling of red lyrium. Paix was seated across from her looking like a wealthy merchant enjoying a holiday with his assistant. To look the part, Faora donned a modest dress fit for minor nobility with a high neckline and gloves to cover the rest of her tattoos. Being discreet little spies that they were, they couldn’t just openly stare at the harbormaster as he made his rounds and did his duties. So there they were on the terrace of a cafe giving them a great view of the port.

“Still arguing with that ship captain,” he reported exasperatingly. “Remind me again why we’re the ones spying on this guy and not any of Leliana’s agents.”

She sipped her tea nonchalantly and flipped another page of her mission notes. “Your family has connections here, I make good friends with the common folk, and you have that face that’s perfect for recon missions like this.”

Paix gave her a suspicious look. “And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

Faora flashed him a cheeky smirk and looked at him through her lashes. “You always look like you want to punch whatever dares to talk to you. So scary,” she teased with a wink.

Before he could retort, movement on the docks caught his eye. “Pack up, he’s moving.”

Quickly they packed up their papers, paid their bill and made their way to the busy market streets of Val Royeaux. Wherever this man was going, it was well into the less active area of the city. Paix and Faora both took naturally to blending into the shadows and hiding behind the many statues and pillars along the sides of the roads.

Suddenly, the harbormaster stopped at a deserted intersection.

“Wait!” Faora hissed as she jerked Paix into a shaded alley. “Someone’s coming.”

Paix listened intently as the two of them inched towards the edge of the wall. A singular set of footsteps echoed in the empty streets, meeting with the harbormaster at the intersection. They were heavy steps, much like the steps of a seasoned warrior. He fumbled with this belt for his signal mirror and held it up to see around the corner.

The new face wasn’t dressed as a templar, but he certainly carried himself like one. He stood tall and proud, towering over the harbormaster by a full head. His face was marred by his grimace as much as old scars and poorly set bones. His long and spindly fingers twitched at his side, quite possibly ready to act in case something didn’t go his way.

Faora gasped and grabbed at his arm when she looked into the mirror. “I know that templar!” she said a little too loudly. A loud exclamation could be heard from the intersection followed by the pounding of boots.

“I told you to make sure you weren’t followed!” bellowed the templar as he stomped angrily up the street.

Paix swore and clamped a hand over Faora’s mouth as he backed them further and further into the alley, looking for an escape route or a hiding place. “Listen, if he sees us I’ll need you to-”

Faora wrenched his hand off of her face and spun them until she had him pinning her to the wall. “Put your arms around me and follow my lead.”

He looked down at her in confusion, but before he could say anything she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers until their noses brushed. “Do it!”

The templar came to a stop at the dark alley way. He glared into the shadows, eyes searching for whoever made that sound. He heard a quiet and urgent voice and followed it to find a pair of lovers tangled into each other in a passionate embrace.

“I’m tired of sneaking around like this, my love. Why can’t we just run away?” said the woman as she raked her nails through the man’s short hair. Her Orlesian was accented, but he couldn’t place it.

“Not yet. I made a promise, didn’t I?” soothed the man, pulling he flush against his body. “We will be together, no matter what happens. Not even the Maker himself can keep us apart.”

The templar shuffled uncomfortably as he watched this obviously private moment, alerting the two lovers to his presence. The woman let out a dainty gasp and peeked over the man’s shoulder at him. “My love, there is someone here! I thought we weren’t followed.”

The man turned and glared at the intruder, paralyzing the templar with his striking gaze. “Do we have a problem, monsieur?” he growled at the intruder with his heavy Orlesian accent. His arms coiled tighter around the woman protectively.

The templar cleared his throat and backed away. “No, messere, not at all. I was just thinking a pair of nobles like you shouldn’t be playing on this side of town.”

“We go where we please!” piped up the woman peeking from over her paramour’s shoulder. “Now if you don’t have any business with us, please leave.”

Rolling his eyes, the templar mockingly bowed at the waist and turned on his heel to finish his business. “Damned Orlesians,” he muttered.

Faora struggled to hold in her laughter until the templar’s footsteps disappeared back down the street. She lost her composure when Paix’s head thudded against the wall next to her head.

“Really, Faora? Star-crossed nobles who dream of running away with each other? That sounded like it was straight out Varric’s books.”

She rested her cheek on his shoulder, grinning at him. “Back into Varric’s romance series, are we? You seemed to know exactly where I was going with that.”

He smiled back at her with a cheeky glint in his eye. “It’s an old cliche. Everyone knows it.”

To his surprise, she leaned over and planted a quick kiss along the edge of his jaw. He straightened at the sudden affection, but the two of them still kept their arms around each other. Faora winked mischievously at him and slid her arms down to his chest. “Still, I’m glad you played along.”

Paix looked away sheepishly, still blushing from her kiss. “You and your games.”

“You know you love them,” she teased as she gently pulled away and peeked around the corner. “Looks like they moved location. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got a lead.”

“A lead?” he repeated as he fixed his clothes. “How did we get a lead out of getting caught? Thanks to your outburst, if I might add?”

Faora spun around and held up a finger to him. “First off, we didn’t get caught because our cover wasn’t blown thanks to my quick thinking and your scary face. Secondly, that man was a templar from the Free Marches - specifically, from the Ostwick circle.”

As the implications sank in, Paix’s smile grew wider. He crossed his arms and smiled approvingly at his partner. “Clever, aren’t you?”

She shrugged, but blushed at the compliment. “You know damn well I am. C’mon, let’s get back to the inn. I need to get this crap off my face.”

They walked back up the street towards the market shoulder to shoulder. Just before they reached the main avenue Paix took Faora’s hand in his and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Would my lady like to join me for tea this evening?” he said jokingly, switching back to Orlesian.

They were right. This whole time they were fucking right. And the only one who didn’t know was me. If the Maker is real or the Creators or whoever, they’re all a bag of dicks with a sick sense of humor. Fuck you, higher powers. Why the fuck do you hate me so much?

When people ask me if I believe in the Maker or the Creators, it’s moments like this where I really wish I did believe. Then I could have someone to blame for all of this. None of this is my fault, but somehow I’m paying for all of it. It’s not fair.

I’m spending the night with this shelter run by a Dalish woman by the name of Merrill. She saw me wandering Lowtown and asked if I was lost. I told her I was looking for an inn by the docks so I could board the next ship to either Amaranthine or Highever, but she shook her head and insisted that I stay with her. She was so sweet about it, too. I couldn’t refuse.

I’ll only be here for the night. I leave for the docks at first light and set off for home.

Home? Is that what Skyhold is now? It is the only place I have. The only place I’m welcome, I guess. But will they even want me back? Not after they find out what I am. There’s no hiding it. It would be wrong to.

I’m on a boat crossing the Waking Sea to Kirkwall. The waters are as choppy as I remember, but I like it. While others find it maddening, I honestly think it’s comforting in its own chaotic and beautiful way.

We should reach the ports in about two days, give or take. Can’t believe it’s been a fortnight since I’ve left the Frostbacks. Then again, a horse makes traveling much easier. It took me a month to get to Skyhold on foot. The scenery was pretty, though.

But I gotta say, the more I think about this whole mess, the less it makes sense. Last I remember, there were plenty of single young women in the clan, and several unbound. Why would they ask me - who hasn’t been with them for years - over the more desirable and available girls they’re so proud of? Is it because they’d rather keep their prized cows than hand them over to a clan they can’t get along with? Hala shit.

Also, Camrian? Of all people, it’s that pretentious piece of shit that wants me. Not that he ever did! To him, I’m a novelty. A stallion that needs to be tamed and broken. Of course, no one would believe me if I said anything against him. So upstanding and influential. Bet he fucked at least one girl from each clan at the last Arlathvhen with that reputation. He could have any girl from my old clan, and he wants the one with garish hair and a reputation that makes spirits of pride envious. It makes no sense.

Thinking about it now makes me uneasy. As ridiculous as all of this is, there’s just something about it that screams “wrong.” I keep telling myself that it’s nerves and I just need some tea, but I just can’t shake that feeling.

More letters from the Keeper. I can’t believe she hasn’t given up yet. Or how she even knew I’m here. Guess she really is as connected as she claimed to be.

“Betrothed to Camrian Ghilain,” she says. Though, I don’t remember ever agreeing to such an arrangement. I do remember, however, being flirted with on a dare and being thoroughly humiliated when he couldn’t keep up the charade and suddenly had a laughing fit. If anything, I think he’d keep me as a trophy wife. It seems that Clan Ghilain requested me specifically.

It’s a political ruse to make peace between our clan and theirs, apparently. I just don’t know who in the clan suggested that I should be the sacrificial lamb. Especially since they kicked me out and lied to the Keeper about it. I don’t want to go back, and the lady ambassador even said that I shouldn’t have to. But this has to stop. No more lies, no more hidden agendas, no more secrets.