#herofabled

ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪᴛᴄʜᴇɴ. ɪ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ɪᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴏɴɪᴏɴꜱ. — ᴠᴀʀʀɪᴄ

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄, her hand halfway to the cup of tea she just poured. She blinks, once, twice, then turns her head slowly toward Varric. A basket of onions ? Of all the places▬▬Heat creeps up her neck, embarrassment settling like a stone in her chest. How in the world did it even end up there ? She swears she only set it on the counter while fetching something. But now, her book, Emmrich’s book, has been marinating in onion scent like some absurd culinary experiment.

ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏꜰꜰ ! ᴡʜᴏ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ?

𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂’𝐒 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 slices through the high-pitched ringing in her ears. Dust clogs her throat, every breath a battle. She squints through the swirling haze, shapes and shadows dancing before her eyes. She attempts to shift, but a sharp, immobilizing weight presses down on her legs. Gritting her teeth, she looks down to see jagged stone and splintered wood trapping her in place, pinning her to the ground like a butterfly in a collector’s case. Her heart pounds, not just from the exertion, but from the relief that she can still feel that pain.

❝ Varric, ❞ she croaks, her voice barely audible over the noise of settling rubble and distant cries. ❝ I'm ‘ere. ❞ She pushes against the debris, muscles straining, but it doesn’t budge. Her breath quickens, chest tightening as a cold wave of fear starts to rise. Non, not now. She swallows hard, forcing the fear back down, gripping the nearest piece of wood so tightly her knuckles turn white. She has survived worse. She has always found a way out, even when the odds were stacked against her. ❝ Could use a bit of ‘elp though, ❞ she manages with a wry smile, voice laced with a forced levity.

"ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ꜱᴛᴜʙʙᴏʀɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ!" - ɢᴀʟᴇ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐀𝐖, even if she does not speak of it. Even if she forces herself to move forward, to pretend there is something at the end of this all. Stephen▬▬her husband, her heart▬▬gone. Twice. Ripped from her by fate, by cruelty, by the sheer mercilessness of the world. And now▬▬now Gale stands before her, another man she holds close, speaking of sacrifice as if it is noble. As if it is something she should accept. No. He cannot ask this of her. He cannot expect her to simply stand by and watch while he walks to his death—for her. For all of them. For some false redemption.

For Mystra.

The name alone fills her with rage, with hatred so deep it nearly burns. That wretched goddess who does not deserve his love, his loyalty, his devotion. And yet he still holds on to her, to some twisted idea that this is the way. That if he does this, if he gives himself to this fate, he will finally be enough for the goddess who discarded him like he was nothing.

⊹ · ⸻ @herofabled ; answered dream letter :

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ … ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏ - ᴅᴀᴠɪɴᴀ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏʟᴀꜱ

𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, her lips struggling to shape more, to make sense of what is happening to her▬▬and he knows. He knows exactly why this is happening. He knows because it is his doing. He had told himself it was necessary, a quiet but cruel solution. To protect her. To protect everything. Yet now, faced with the hollow horror in her eyes, that justification rings as hollow as her words. ❝ I▬▬ ❞ His voice falters as guilt tightens like a noose around his throat. His hands tremble at his sides, and he clenches them into fists, fighting the instinct to reach out. What right does he have to touch her now ? ❝ Davina, ❞ he says finally, her name tumbling from his lips like an apology. His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet the betrayal he is certain he will find in her eyes. The truth tastes bitter, but there is no use in hiding it now▬▬not from her. He forces himself to lift his head, forces himself to face her, though his shoulders sag under the weight of his shame. ❝ I... I wanted you to stop, ❞ the words spill from his lips before he can stop them, hurried and uneven, as if holding them back any longer would tear him apart. ❝ To stop following me. To let me go. I thought it would keep you safe, that it would... spare you from what is to come. But this▬▬ ❞ his voice fractures, a jagged edge to the words he can barely force out. His legs falter beneath him as he takes a step forward. The walls of his composure crumble with every breath, every agonizing second of her pain. Then, he sinks to his knees before her. His trembling hand lifts, hesitating as it hovers near her face, his fingers aching to close the distance. Yet, he falters again, caught between the instinct to comfort and the knowledge of his guilt. ❝ This was never what I intended. Ir abelas, vhenan. Yet it is the only way. ❞

" ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ ? " - ᴠᴀʀʀɪᴄ

𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 plays at the corner of her bow-shaped lips, subtle but intentional. Her arms fold neatly across her chest, the motion unhurried, as if she’s taking her time to piece together the scene she’s stumbled into. What exactly has she walked into? Shifting her weight, she leans back against the stone wall, its coarse texture pressing into her shoulder as her gaze lingers, quietly assessing. ❝ Oh, but I did see something, ❞ she drawls. Her dark eyes catch the light, glinting with a teasing spark as she tilts her head just so, the gesture measured yet unguarded. She studies him with an intent that feels almost playful, like a riddle she takes quiet pleasure in unraveling, her amusement dancing hand in hand with a curiosity she doesn’t bother to hide.

You can't make old friends, It takes a while to get that kind of care. I hope the next life brings us back together, ‘Cause it feels like we’ve been here before.

— »  ᴏɴʟʏ  @herofabled ɪꜱ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ  ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ  ᴛʜɪꜱ.

" ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇ ? " - ᴅᴏʀɪᴀɴ

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏, pulling her back to who she once was▬▬a woman fueled by a purpose greater than herself, a purpose that shattered the silken chains of Orlais and set her free. It took her away from the masquerades, the endless games of nobility, and led her to the rough-and-tumble camaraderie of the Inquisition▬▬to dear friends she never thought she’d have, and even to love. Cullen. He had been a part of that dream, hadn’t he ? He had made her believe in something beautiful beyond the fight, beyond the chaos. She had dared to hope for something more with him▬▬a life that was simple, honest, shared. But dreams can change, and some can fade. She knows that now. When she returned to Orlais, she left all hope behind for what might come after the war▬▬for anything beyond the day Corypheus would be defeated. Dreams, she realized, had a cost. And hers had been dearer than most. There was no more room for them, not now. She glances at Dorian. Like Cullen, it seems he, too, wishes to convince her otherwise. That she should dream still, that she should seek something beyond the duty that has claimed her. ❝ Dorian…, ❞ she begins, her gaze shifting as her eyes drift away, her hands tightening on the edge of the cold stony balcony. The rough texture grounds her, even as her eyes are drawn to the distant horizon beyond the towering spires of the Winter Palace. ❝ You speak of dreams as though zey were so simple. As eef zey were only for us to grasp, eef we are bold enough. ❞ She pauses, her lips pressing together as she chooses her words carefully. ❝ But zere are some things I cannot abandon. My grand-père ees not a man to be left untethered. He ees a danger, not only to Orlais but to all we fought for. If I do not remain to bind 'im,… who else will ? ❞ She knows her voice has grown harder, as she speaks, but it is the truth▬▬a truth she cannot afford to ignore. ❝ The Inquisition does not need another battle. Eet does not need the threat of a Chevalier who seeks power and control, who would undo all we 'ave built. Eef I must sacrifice whatever future I might 'ave wanted▬▬eef I must abandon any 'ope for dreams beyond zis▬▬zen I will. At least I can find solace een knowing you are all safe from 'im. ❞

ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀʀʀᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ. - ᴅᴏʀɪᴀɴ

𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄, Dorian’s sharp tongue cuts straight to the heart of things, as always. A soft smile tugs at her lips, delicate and fleeting, as though spun from threads of gratitude and stitched with the faintest touch of disbelief. It’s been far too long since she’s seen him, this brilliant, sharp-tongued mage who once brightened the darkest hours of her life back with the Inquisition. That sharp wit, that particular air of both confidence and charm▬▬it steadies her even now. Maker’s mercy, she wants to throw her arms around him right here and now, without a single care for the stern-faced First Warden who had threatened to imprison her. ❝ Merci, mon cher ami, ❞ she says softly. The corners of her bow-shaped lips quirk further, a subtle bloom of expression that hints at mirth▬▬or perhaps something gentler still as she studies him▬▬the changed hair, the…beard, those fine robes. He is the same yet different, somehow both sharper and more weathered by time. And yet, he is still Dorian.