Characters: Solas, Sera, Blackwall, Cassandra Pentaghast, and Ellana Lavellan.
Summary: Solas is subjected to some very inappropriate teasing by Blackwall and Sera, who have a bet riding on who can make him blush first.Â
Solas always tried his best to be patient with the other members of the Inquisition, considering their widely varied backgrounds and beliefs. This decision had served him well, earning him the trust and friendship of most of his companions, although there were still a few with whom he would likely never get along very well.
Sera was one of these, and Solas was uneasy from the start when the Inquisitor announced that the party accompanying her to the Exalted Plains would consist of himself, Sera, and Blackwall. At least the stoic Warden was one of the allies Solas considered a personal friend. He only hoped that the other manâs grave manner would put a damper on Seraâs caprices.
But he quickly discovered that was not the case. They were making their way to one of the many demon-infested forts when Sera nudged Blackwall. Someone less accustomed to monitoring othersâ body language than Solas might have missed the gesture. For him, though, it was a clear sign of trouble. Â
Sera turned to Solas. âSo, you and the Lady Inquisitor,â she said. âInteresting.â
Not about to give Sera the pleasure of getting under his skin, he frostily replied, âYour interest is not my concern.âÂ
Sera laughed. âThat's all right, because I meant boring. The elf always takes the elf so that banging bits will mean something.âÂ
He heard Ellana let out a slight wheezeâwhether from amusement or shock, he couldnât be sure.
âIt is not a topic for discussion,â he insisted.Â
âOh, come on,â Sera taunted him. âDrop 'em and rebuild the empire. Phwoar!â
Ellanaâs laughter rang out louder this time. She gestured to Sera. âOh, stop,â she begged her friend. âYou wonât get anywhere with him.â
âWeâll see,â Sera said.
âYouâre ridiculous,â Ellana teased.
Hands on her hips, Sera insisted, âNot me. Itâs him! And you.â
âOnly one of us is looking sad and foolish, Sera,â Solas said.
âOh, go twang your ears!â she snapped.Â
Sera sulked for the next half hour, and she didnât speak to him for the rest of the day. Solas was thankful that her odd fixation on himself and Ellana seemed to have passed, but he wondered at her uncharacteristic pouting. And there was also the look she had exchanged with Blackwall.
Something was afoot.Â
The next stage of their scheme struck the next day. While Solas had anticipated more nonsense, he hadnât expected its source.Â
Blackwall looked thoughtfully at him. âSolas, I have a question,â he said, then admitted, âIt's probably going to earn me a fireball to the face.â
âBut you're going to grit your teeth and work through it?â Solas asked.
Unfazed, Blackwall continued, âYou make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends?â He paused, then coughed. âIf you know what I mean.â
âOh, for... really?!â Solas burst out. This had all the marks of Sera about it.Â
Still feigning innocence, Blackwall said, âLook, it's a natural thing to be curious about!â
âFor a twelve-year-old!â Solas was indignant, but he admired Blackwallâs entirely deadpan expression.Â
âIt's a simple yes or no question!â Blackwall insisted.
âNothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.â
That earned a chuckle. âAha! So you do have experience in these matters!â
âI did not say that.â
Affecting a conspiratorial tone, Blackwall assured him, âDon't panic. It'll be our little secret.â
Solas snorted. âAss.â
Blackwall roared with laughter. âNow who's twelve?â
Whatever results the conspirators were aiming for, their efforts seemed to have left them unsatisfied. While they had succeeded at annoying Solas, that didnât seem to have been their primary goal. It left him on-guard against the next series of awkward questions.
The next day, Cassandra arrived from Skyhold to join the Inquisitorâs party. One of the targets from her list of enemies had camped nearby, so she came to eliminate them. She arrived just before dusk, barely in time to eat dinner with the rest of the group.Â
As they ate, Cassandra glanced at Solas. âYou look more somber than the last time I saw you, Solas,â she observed.
âDirthavaren is not much of a place for merriment, Seeker. My people suffered too many wrongs in this place.â
She looked as if she regretted her words. âI am sorry. I only thought of the last time I saw you at Skyhold. You looked happier than Iâve ever seen you. Ellana had just passed by with a handful of flowers, and I believe you had one tucked behind your ear.â
âIââ Solas felt his face burn red.Â
âShit!â Sera swore unexpectedly.
Blackwall coughed, and muttered, âwell thatâs that, I suppose.â
Ellana turned a suspicious eye on them. âWhat have you two been up to?â
âI just lost a bet,â Blackwall admitted.
Sera grimaced. âWe wanted to see if we could get old Fade-Face to blush. I figured teasinâ him about you would do the trick easy enough, but I guess you just have to mention flowers.âÂ
âYou two should be ashamed of yourselves,â Cassandra chided them.
Solas groaned with embarrassment.Â
âIâm sorry, vhenan,â Ellana said, laying her hand on his. âBut you really do turn the loveliest shade of crimson.â
âI almost suspect you of colluding with their little conspiracy,â he said, not meeting her eyes.
âThis was all them,â she protested. âAlthough the results were. . .informative.âÂ
He glanced at her face and found her smiling at him. His own face grew hot again, seeing the merriment shining in her green eyes. Well, if the others were going to talk anyway. . .he leaned over and lightly kissed Ellanaâs cheek. Seraâs swearing made them both laugh.Â
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14 Days of DA Lovers Prompts, Day 3:Â âYou Drive Me Crazyâ
Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event.Â
Prompt:Â âYou Drive Me Crazyâ
Pairing: Varric/Female Hawke
Characters: Varric Tethras, Marian Hawke
Warnings: Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Injury, Self-Destructive Behavior
Summary: When Hawke almost dies fighting the Arishok, Varric ends up exposing more of his heart than he planned the next time he talks to her.Â
It was three days before Hawke was awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Every time she woke up, she was in a haze of pain. The last thing she remembered was someone shouting about âthe Champion of Kirkwall,â just before she collapsed in a pool of her own blood.Â
Voices drifted in and out of her dreams. Sometimes she heard one of her friends (it seemed to be Anders often) while at other times she heard Carver or Bethany or her mother. The speakers never seemed to materialize; she only heard their voices, and never any words she could understand. The only exception was when her mother kept calling her Marian. At least I can remember my own name, Hawke thought. That should count for something.Â
Three days after the duel, Hawke finally opened her eyes and the room didnât swim away into the dark. Every inch of her ached. She wondered if this was how a sword felt on a blacksmithâs anvil. Good thing swords couldnât think or feelâat least as far as she knew.
She turned her head. When did my head turn into an iron cauldron full of oatmeal? was the first thought that crossed her mind. Her skull felt so heavy, while her brains felt like mush.
The thought of oatmeal, of mush, sent her stomach churning, which made her head hurt worse. Although âworseâ seemed an irrelevant concept. Measurements of pain didnât seem to apply anymore, once you had reached âmolten metal being pounded into shape by a hammerâ levels of misery.Â
A groan staggered its way up her throat, tripped, and came out half a cough. The motion rattled her ribs and made her eyes water.
âHawke!â came a quiet voice from nearby.
The faint firelight revealed that Varric had been sitting nearby, keeping watch over her.
âHey,â she said. Or at least, that was what she tried to say. The sound that emerged from her scratchy, parched throat was more like a rusty door hinge creaking open. She cleared her throat, winced, and tried again. âHello, Varric.â At least it sounded like words this time.
âHello, yourself.â
âHow long have you been here?â she asked.
âMe?â he looked incredulous. âIâve been in your house for the past three days, ever since they brought the newly-minted Champion of Kirkwall through the door, bleeding like a villain in a Summerday pantomime.â
Hawke tried to laugh. She wheezed instead, but even that hurt. âI guess I took a beating, didnât I?â
Varric let out an exasperated sigh. âThatâs an understatement.â
âYou sound upset.â
He took a minute to reply. That was usually a sign that he was holding back his temper. âHawke, itâs no time to talk about this. I know itâs not. But Iâm not sure it can wait.â
Hawke tried to roll over to face him, but her body wouldnât move. The pain radiated again. âI would at least turn over to look at you, but Iâm, uh, stuck,â she rasped.
Varric looked like she had stabbed him. âOh, Hawke,â he said. âYouâre a wreck.â
She let out the pathetic wheeze that currently served as her laugh. âTell me something I donât know. And donât look at me like Iâm dead.â
Varric took a deep breath, then stared down at his hands, laced tight in his lap. âHawke, what was that duel?â
âOther than our best chance to stop the Qunari from taking the city?â
âNo, thatâs not what Iâm talking about.â
âYouâre gonna have to spell it out for me,â she told him. âIâm not in much shape to think.â
âIâve seen you fight,â Varric said. His voice was full of barely-restrained emotion. The same voice she had heard him use once before, with Bartrand. âIâve seen you fight mercenaries and burglars and Qunari. Hell, Iâve even seen you fight a dragon.â
âLiving the dream,â Hawke murmured.
âOkay, there, Chuckles. Less joking, more listening. Iâm serious this time.â
âI know,â Hawke wheezed. âYou sound like youâre about to pull out Bianca and turn me into a pincushion. Iâm hoping my jokes might save my hide.â
âDonât quit your day job,â Varric advised. âMy point is, I know how you fight, Hawke. And what I saw three days ago was nothing like that. You egged him on, left yourself open too many times, took too many hits. Worst of all, you looked like you were enjoying it, every time he landed a blow.â
âVarric, Iââ
âListen to me. I know youâre hurting, I know losing your mom hurt you worse than youâll admit. But Hawke, I canât keep doing this.â
âDoing what?â
âWatching you try to kill yourself.â
âI thought you supported the duel with the Arishok.â
âI did! Because I knew you could take him! Shit, Hawke, you couldâve wiped the floor with that blowhard. But when you walked in there, I could tell you didnât want to walk out. I donât know what kind of crazy death wish youâre carrying around, but you need to let it go.â
She closed her eyes, wishing for a minute that she could just go back to sleep again. But Varric had found her out, and she knew it was pointless to try and hide anything now. âWas it that obvious?â she said.Â
âTo the others? Probably not. But youâre my best friend, Hawke. Shit, I never thought Iâd care about anything in this damn town. And then I met you. I donât have any family left that will claim me, but you and the others are more family to me than Bartrand ever was. Andâyouâyou matter to me too damn much for me to sit by and watch you destroy yourself.â He seemed to be wrestling with what he was about to say next. Finally, he soldiered on. âAndrasteâs ass, Hawke. I love you. I never thought Iâd say that to someone again. But you walked into my life and settled in like you owned the place. I love you, and you drive me crazy. You get into more scrapes than anyone Iâve ever met and you probably shouldâve died ten times over by now. Which is why I canât stand to see you give up. Not like this. So, whatever problems you have, tell me next time. Or, shit, tell whoever you want. Daisy or Blondie are probably way better listeners than I am. Whatever it takes, just donât throw your life away.â
If Hawke hadnât been in her current state of severe injury, she absolutely wouldâve had a stronger reaction to everything Varric had just told her. But considering her head still felt like a half-mashed potato, she wound up gaping at him like a cod someone had just hauled out of the harbor.Â
With an uncharacteristic show of restraint, Varric ignored her dumbfounded state. âYou donât have to say anything,â he told her. âJust promise me youâll keep trying to survive. If you canât do it for your own sake. . .well, it might be selfish of me to say, but Iâd like you to do it for mine.â
Summary: After speaking with the spirit of Telana, lover of the last Inquisitor, Nessa Lavellan brings an offering to Ghilanânain and considers the loss of her own lover. (Here be angst.)
âWill you wait for me, just a moment?â Nessa asked.
âOf course,â Dorian replied.
She turned back to the island. The place was known as the Ladyâs Rest. Nessa only hoped that the spirit who had lingered there so long would at last be able to find her rest.
No doubt Professor Kenric and Colette would be overjoyed to learn what Nessa and the others had found on the island. But the Inquisitor was growing weary of visiting the graves of her people.Â
Nessa drew a knife from her belt and knelt to cut the stems of poppies. The flowers grew abundantly at the crumbling corners of the house that sheltered Telanaâs remains. She also gathered lupines that grew in the field nearby. Her clan might be lost forever, but Nessa was no less a First.
That evening, while the others were occupied at the camp, Nessa slipped away. The veilfire torch cast an eerie glow on the twin altars. The sight of Andraste raised up beside Ghilanânain made Nessa feel a little sick. She could not imagine marrying her own beliefs to those of the Chantry. She wondered what had brought Ameridan to do such a thing. Perhaps pressure from a friend? She thought unhappily of Cassandraâs question months ago: âCould you not find room for one more god?âÂ
Reaching into her pack, Nessa drew out the flowers she had gathered earlier. She placed them on Ghilanânainâs altar, hoping that the gentle Mother of the Halla would accept the offering on Telanaâs behalf. With a silent spell, Nessa set fire to the plants, watching the trails of smoke wind up through the chill air.
âYou are sad,â a quiet voice came from beside her.
Nessa shied back. Her torch revealed Cole standing near Andrasteâs altar.
She raised a hand to her cheek, realizing that tears had traced a path there.Â
âI suppose thatâs true,â she murmured. âTelanaâs story was not a happy one.â
âYou brought flowers for her,â Cole observed.
âAn offering to Ghilanânain. It seemed the least I could do for her.â
âYou want to help her, but her story has ended. Help her, help yourself, spirit lost, wandering, waiting for her lover, vhenan, Iâm dreaming, banalâabelas, banal vhenan.â
Nessa felt her heart trying to pound its way out of her chest. Hearing Telanaâs heartbroken words bleeding into her own only made their shared pain clearer. Her words at Crestwood, harsher than she had meant, torn from her in the wake of so many other losses.
She was Ameridan, and she was Telana, caught in the stranglehold of destiny.Â
But Nessaâs own lover had abandoned her. Why, Ameridan, why? Telanaâs spirit had pleaded.Â
That was the question Nessa so desperately wanted Solas to answer. Why not this one? Anger and sick sorrow twisted in Nessaâs gut.
Telana had stayed by Ameridanâs side until he left her behind to die alone. Was that what Solas feared? His gravestone in the Fade had said as much. Perhaps that was her answer, after all. Perhaps he feared the fate of the last Dreamer who had followed in the footsteps of the Chantryâs Inquisitor.Â
âIâve spent too much time thinking about my own problems,â Nessa said. âI guess looking for the last Inquisitor has me worrying about what sort of death comes with the job.â
âYou did what you could,â Cole said.Â
âItâs not enough. It never is. Too little too late.â She couldnât stop the Breach, couldnât save her clan, couldnât even make Solas stay.
âBut you gave her flowers.â
âMourning flowers. Poppies for remembrance and lupines to ward the Dread Wolf away. Maybe one day someone will lay flowers on Juneâs altar for me.âÂ
Edit: I was tagged by @noire-pandora and Tumblr decided to bury the notification.Â
Tagging: @blarfkey, @nug-juggler, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @queenaeducan, @luzial, @myrddinderwydd. Sorry for re-tagging most of yâall, but itâs hard to keep up with everyone whoâs been tagged.
2020 was my most productive year for writing, and the first time I published any fanfiction. Iâve put my five favorite snippets under the cut, along with links to my AO3.
From The Cult of FenâHarel, Chapter 4, The Bard and the Bees. This is probably my favorite passage Iâve written so far. I love the idea of Solas getting desperate enough to try recruiting Sera. And it goes as well as anyone could expect.Â
Sera made a face. âDonât want none of your elven glory shite. Did you forget, my people are the friends of Red Jenny? Ellanaâs my friend, and you hurt her. My people look out for each other, donât team up with nobs who hurt us. Besides, itâs all stupid. Your magic and ancient rot, youâll just burn the world down to get what you want. Couldnât make me be part of that.â
âPlease, Sera, think of what you could be, what you could do.â
âI could be dead, workinâ for you! Canât you hear my no? Let me say it louder for you: NO.â
âDonât you see that the elves are just the type of people you claim you want to help? The little people you fight for could finally have something of their own, instead of being relegated to the dregs of society.â
That seemed to set Sera off. She was on her feet and in his face in seconds. âSolas, you nug-sucking, piss-brained, moldy-arsed wanker! Donât talk to me about little people! Iâve seen your altars and shite, you think youâre some mercy-giving god? Fuck you! You never see anybody âcept your elfy elves! You donât give a shit for anybody but your people!â
Her tirade went on for several minutes. Solas remained as still as stone while she harangued him. Truthfully, he feared for his life. He had seen what a powerhouse Sera was on the battlefield. He was only grateful she was too close to shoot him. When she seemed to be winding down, he opened his mouth to speak again.
She stuck a finger in his face. âNo!â
He gently pushed her hand away, then tried to speak again.
She repeated the gesture. âNo! Iâm leaving, and my lot had better not hear a peep outta yours!â
Sera started walking away. Solas took a step in her direction, one last futile attempt to persuade her, and was hit in the chest with a jar of bees.
~
From Daisyâs Garden: This conversation between Merrill and Keeper Marethari is based heavily on my own experiences with an abusive parent. Marethari struck me immediately as someone who gets away with treating Merrill like shit by burying her viciousness in concern for Merrill. Slight verbal/emotional abuse cw.
Merrill couldnât get her breath between her sobs. She didnât want Marethari so near, didnât want to be touched, didnât deserve to be touched. Here she was, crying without a reason, and delaying her lessons, and babbling about nothing. When she did manage to speak again, she simply choked out another, âIâm sorry.â
âWhat are you sorry for?â
âIâm sorry for being a fool,â Merrill said miserably.
âThatâs a terrible thing to say about yourself, daâlen. Youâre a capable, intelligent, beautiful young woman. Just because you take these silly notions is no reason to torment yourself. You simply need to be more careful about not saying every ridiculous thing that enters your head.â
~
From The Cult of FenâHarel, Chapter 5, Fresh Brewed Trouble. This is the first time Solas actually asks Ellana about the cult. It was fun to write him having a complete meltdown about his opposition being. . .less well-organized than he expected.
âWhat is the Cult of FenâHarel?â he demanded.
Ellana grinned mischievously. âEnjoying your reading material?â
âBrother Genitivi,â he spat, âseems to think that they are a Dalish fertility cult.â
âThatâs been the most popular theory, based on âthe proliferation of crude phallic imageryâ found at the sites where the cultists have gathered. Although Brother Burbadur has some unique ideas.â
âThat hack?! They still allow him to publish?!â
Ellana giggled. âSo, you know about Brother Burbadur? Iâve sent you a copy of his latest book. Itâs all about your cult.â
âWith his Snake-Kings and lunatics? Mythal enaste, what have you done?â
âYou mean Moon Men?â Ellana corrected. âDonât you realize, Solas? I donât have to instigate everything. Itâs like Thedas itself wants you to fail.â
~
From The Cult of FenâHarel, Chapter 6, The Mirrorâs Secret. I love, love, love any instances of Solas interacting with an old Keeper Lavellan. So of course I had to send him to Clan Lavellan to bargain with Ellanaâs grandmother. (For clarification, Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel goes by Mae in CoFH.)
Solas coldly repeated his question: âAgain, what do you expect me to do here?â
Mae put her hands on her hips. âWell, I donât want you to join the ârituals,â if thatâs what youâre afraid of. Your followers have been nothing but a nuisance lately. Iâd like you to put the fear of their god in them.â
âHow exactly?â
âYouâre the Dread Wolf. Figure it out. I just want you to chase them off and scare them enough that theyâll stop trashing the altars and stealing the clanâs statues. I wonât mention what we had to clean off those statues last time.â
Solas shuddered.
Boisterous laughter and torchlight from the clearing signaled the cultistsâ arrival.
âTheyâre here,â Mae whispered. âGet to it. Just donât hurt any of them.â
âYou should go now,â Solas warned.
âBefore you become too terrifying for my mortal eyes to behold?â
Solas looked at her pointedly.
She snorted. âIâm not missing this show. But youâd better get out there before they start stripping.â She peered around a tree. âTheyâre barely wearing anything as it is.â
Solas shuddered again. Then, feeling more than a little embarrassed with someone watching, shrugged off his mortal form. The howl of the giant, six-eyed wolf echoed to the ends of the Free Marches.
~
From Of Mages and Moon Men. I desperately want Solas and Dorian to be friends, so writing them having fun together makes me happy.Â
Dorian chuckled and looked at Solas. âIt seems you arenât such a wet blanket after all. Just present you with silly books about ancient elves and youâre downright companionable.â
Solas ignored Dorianâs attempt to bait him. âYou are not such bad company yourself, Master Pavus. I would not have expected it.â
Dorian made a face. âSolas, I will promise never to insult your wardrobe again if you will promise to never refer to me as Master Pavus.â
âDoes it irk you so much?â Solas couldnât stop the smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth.
âI hope to be old and grey before Iâm forced to go by Master Pavus.â
âFair enough. I suppose we can consider this a cease fire between us?â
âCertainly!â Dorian held out his hand for Solas to shake. âIâve never laughed at ridiculous Chantry scholarship with a better fellow.â
Challenge: Post the last 7 sentences I wrote and tag 7 people.
I havenât been writing a whole lot lately, as Iâm trying to figure out my newly rearranged work schedule. But hereâs the last coherent thing I wrote. No title for this yet, and it might not go very far. But it might turn into a Solrian modern AU. In a world where D&D and MTG exist in Thedas.
The Witch of the Wilds gaming shop was several blocks from the university, and Solas always enjoyed the quiet walk. The only issue was the risk of being recognized by someone who knew him. But he had been going there for almost two years and no one had noticed his habit yet.
Friday Night Magic was always a good time. While Solas had his own private reasons for disliking D&D, Magic was just the type of game that appealed to him. There were so many ways to strategize, to build a deck, to lure your opponent into a carefully constructed trap.
It was Solasâs great passion and his greatest secret.
Tagging: @blarfkey, @noire-pandora, @brightoncemore, @midnightprelude, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @myrddinderwydd, @queenaeducan. Let me know if youâd rather not be tagged again, please.
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Summary: Varric is less than impressed with Cassandraâs new reading material. (I took some liberties with my interpretation of this prompt.)
Cassandra was not expecting to find Varric at her desk when she returned from the training yard. Even less expected was seeing him with her latest acquisition from Val Royeaux. She thought she had locked the novel in her desk drawer before she went out to train. A Tender Caress sprawled across the cover in a lurid red script. Two scantily clad figures embraced beneath the title.
âIs this the sort of drivel youâre resorting to these days?â Varric asked.
âAt least I donât go breaking into other peopleâs offices,â Cassandra retorted.
âYou left the door open, Seeker. I just let myself in.â
âWhich explains how you acquired that novel from a locked drawer in my desk, correct?â
A sneaky grin spread its way across Varricâs face. âYouâve got me there.â
âIf youâve finished despoiling my office, you might leave me alone with my drivel.â
âWhat a pity. I was hoping to interest you in my latest chapter.â He flourished a bundle of papers, then tucked it back into his coat pocket.
Cassandra clapped a hand to her face, stifling her pleas for him to stay. But she was certain her horrified expression still gave her away.
âYouâll just have to settle forââ Varric turned the novel in his handâ âPrincess Innocencia of Floribunde lies languishing for the adventurerâs life, but will her handsome guardsman, Harriman Fairstock be able to see the warriorâs heart beneath the velvet gownsââ
Varric was interrupted by Cassandra snatching at the book.
âGive me that!â she ordered. Her grab didnât miss the second time.
She stuffed the book back in the drawer where Varric must have found it. âIâll have to get a new lock for that drawer.â
âWhy, Seeker, is that a challenge?â Varric asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
She had somehow gotten closer to him than she realized, as she stood staring down into his warm brown eyes. Cassandra took an abrupt step back, thankful that the smug expression on Varricâs rugged face kept her from freezing under his scrutiny. Â
âAs if Iâd encourage your thievery!â she snapped, hoping that Varric attributed her red face to her temper.
âItâs not like you have to, anyway. You left your book in the courtyard.â
Cassandra sat down heavily in her desk chair, hiding her face in her hands. âHow did you know it was mine?â
âIâd like to say youâre the only person who reads that tripe, but the truth is, I recognized your bookmark.â
She sighed heavily. âI suppose I owe you thanks for sparing me the embarrassment of having someone else find it.â
âI suppose you do. Better keep it under lock and key as intended next time.â
âThank you, Varric,â Cassandra said through her hands.
âYou donât have to sound so despondent, you know.â
âImagine me having to thank you after you bullied me about my books,â she countered.
âIâll just have to let you read about Princess Floralbutt and Hairyman Bearcock in peace, I guess.â
Cassandra let out a wheeze, which blossomed into a full-fledged laugh. She looked at Varric, who seemed all too pleased with the prospect of making her laugh.
âYou know,â she said, âI wouldnât have to read that sort of âdrivel,â as you call it, if you would show me your chapters.â
âThis is true. Which is why Iâm sure youâre dying to get your hands on the next chapter of Swords and Shields Iâm keeping in my own locked drawer.â
âI thought you had it with you!â the words burst out of her, and she went redder than ever. âDamn it all,â she breathed.
âSo, you are excited.â
âOf course,â she said miserably.
âIâm sure we could work something out, if youâre that invested.â
Cassandra wasnât going to give in that easily. âDoes it resolve the dispute with the Baron?â
âOf course.â
âDoes the Knight-Captain visit the prison?â
âMaybe.â
âIs there a duel?â
âWouldnât you like to know?â
âVarric! Stop torturing me!â
âYouâd like that too much,â he snarked. âBut you still owe me an apology for accusing me of breaking and entering.â
She stared him down. âWhat do you want?â
âOh, not much. I just want you to give an absolutely glowing review of. . .what was the Baredcock novel?â
âA Tender Caress.â
âThatâs it. I want you to convince our dear Sparkler to read it. And then listen to his review.â
âThen youâll give me the chapter?â
âAs soon as I hear him swearing about tender caresses, the chapter is yours.â
14 Days of DA Lovers Prompt Event, Day 4: Candlelight
Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event.
Pairing: Solas/Female Lavellan
Characters: Solas, Nessa Lavellan
Summary: Solas begins painting his frescoes in the Skyhold rotunda and considers his thoughts on the Inquisitor. (The descriptions of Solasâs painting technique were based on this excellent meta post.)Â
The fortress was quiet at night. There was, of course, still the gentle hum of life filling its halls. But the day soundsâshouting voices, craftsmen mending the half-ruined building, the cries of Lelianaâs birds, and so many other noises mingled togetherâwere stilled for the hours between dark and dawn. It was at this more peaceful time that Solas took up a new task he had set for himself.
He had already applied a smooth coat of plaster to the walls of the rotunda, preparing it for the work he would do next. He had made a sketch of his design, as well, upon an enormous sheet of paper. Once the paper was fastened to the plaster, he traced the edges of the images it bore with a sliver of wood, carving their shapes into the plaster. When he had finished with the broader outlines, he used a small bag of charcoal to trace the more intricate details through holes pierced into the paper. Peeling the paper away revealed the foundations he would use to build his work.Â
Afterward, his work began in earnest: filling in the outlines with paint, setting the image into the wall permanently. He made several trips up and down the scaffolding, carrying the various jars of water and paints he would require. Then he began to paint.Â
Centuries ago, when Arlathan still stood in the waking world, Solas had learned the art of fresco painting. The skill had served him well for a while. The powerful were wont to forget the silent craftsman who sat listening to their secrets.Â
Now, he worked in the quiet of the night to still his mind as he wondered at the caprices of fate. Plaster smoothed over fresh-washed walls, spread thin as the Veil between the mundane world and the Fade. Paper laid over plaster, shaping the raw material into substance. Traceworks setting the boundaries to be filled. And finally, paint spreading across the entirety, imbuing it with life.Â
His brushstrokes trailed faint colors, filling the outlines he had carved into the fresh plaster. This would be his gift to the Inquisitor, a tribute to her work. There would be no removing the paintings without destroying the very fabric of the walls. A fitting homage (and admonishment) to the woman whose choices shaped the world.Â
As his brush illuminated the cataclysm of the Breach, Solas considered the events of the last months. Nothing had gone according to plan. Not in a very long while. At first, Solas had been furious. Corypheus was meant to have died. Instead, the Fade was torn open, bleeding demons across the waking world. The Chantry scrambled to make superstitious sense of the disaster, and in the midst of everything was a fumbling Dalish elf with his own magic branded onto her hand.Â
He tried everything he knew to remove the Anchor. She was too weak to bear it. No mortal could without dying. But his powers were too weak without the orb. He managed only to siphon off some of the magic of the mark, stabilizing it and preventing it from killing its bearer. The elf woman who had been led from the Conclave in chains was raised up as a hero, the chosen of a god she did not follow.Â
The next stretch of the fresco revealed the way Solas had perceived the Chantryâs new Herald in those days: transfixed by the staring eye of the Chantryâs military and hemmed in by wolves. A weapon forged by the servants of Andraste, held tight in their grip.Â
And yet she had managed to surprise him. âYou came here to help, Solas. I wonât let them use that against you.â She had reassured him as if it were an obvious thingâas if there were no doubt she would defend him against the Chantry.Â
âHow would you stop them?â he had asked her. It had been a struggle to disguise his cynicism. What could the Chantryâs captive do to defend an unknown apostate?
âHowever I had to,â she had stated. The edge to her voice surprised him. Suddenly, she did not sound like the sort who would give in to whatever the Chantry demanded of her.Â
As Solas drew black paint across the wall, he realized just how strong the Inquisitor had proven to be. The figure he outlined cast a long shadow across the world. Alexius, that snake out of Tevinter, who had altered the very flow of time with his greedy, foolish magic.
And the Inquisitor, not even bearing that title yet, had dared him to strike her down. She stole the mages right out from under the magister, then rewrote history to save the world.Â
The scene Solas filled in showed the dark split of timeâtwo castles at Redcliffe, one marred with red lyrium, the other mundane in the sunlight. When Nessaâthe Inquisitor, he corrected himselfâhad asked him if he remembered the dark future at Redcliffe, Solas lied. It was better if she believed that future existed only in her fading memories.
The rebel mages were welcomed into the Inquisition as alliesâsomething Solas had considered impossible. As unlikely as it had seemed at first, the woman the Chantry had chosen to lead them would not be swayed from what she believed was the right course of action. And Solas could only describe his feeling at watching her defy them as. . .awe. She was not at all what the Chantry was looking for. But they had no choice to follow her. It was that, or leave the world at the mercy of the shredded Veil.Â
Solas chuckled to himself. What a fix the Chantry was in, led by a stubborn, sharp-tongued elf. It served them right. And as for Nessa. . .she had proven herself to be far beyond what Solas had expected, when he had sat by her side, cursing her for taking the Anchor. Perhaps he should speak with her, tell her the truth of how deeply she had impressed him.Â
With that resolution, Solas made his final brushstroke. As he slowly emerged from his reverie, he realized that he had worked late into the night. Only a single candle still burned, barely illuminating the vivid colors beginning to form on the plaster.Â