#rawrwrites

“And that was how I charmed the Arch Deacon of the Tower ofMinrathous to exclude me from his Foreign Magic seminar.”

His tea partner had to put her cup down to let out an uncontrolledlaugh, which almost felt like stealing desserts from his family house’s kitchenat night. It was very unlike The Iron Lady to do anything uncontrolled, whichmade these little visits of theirs that much more exciting. They had decided tocall it Wednesday Tea. It didn’t happen on Wednesdays, just whenever the two ofthem could find a few hours to spare in between their busy schedules ofmeetings with nobles and going on ventures with the Lady Inquisitor. The fellowmage was one of the only brushes of civilized conversation he could find in theKeep.

“Marvelous, darling. You’ve always been quite the charmer,haven’t you? There had to have been a time when you weren’t this suave.” She accused,slowly swirling her spoon into her cup of tea as her gaze never left his. Therewas a steeled demeanor about her that made him feel like he could never say no.Almost like his governess.

“These kinds of things do not come for free, dear friend. Ishow you mine and you show me yours?” A moment of silence passed between thembefore she slowly nodded while taking a sip of her usually dark brew. In hisopinion she let her tea steep for far too long, but she was not a woman oflighter delicacies.

“There was a time in my life where, well – “ He sipped hisdrink as if it were a stiff brandy for courage before continuing. “I left the Orderof Argent, left my family – and lived in an elven alienage in Minrathous for months.Hah – never quite lived up to what my father wished, but, what does he know?” Hesmiled through the pain, a ritual he had learned in Tevinter politics. Alexiuswas quick to catch him up not only on magical teaching, but the ways of theMagister.

“Oh Dorian, I am so sorry. They took you in?” Vivienne asked,her posture softening as she set her teacup down on the table between them.

“Most of them were escaped slaves or non-mages. None were consideredhighly in Tevinter. I guess they took one look at me and knew I needed help. Iwas able to be of use by making simple potions and giving notes to their magesin hiding. That was in between my hangovers and nights trying to forget myfather. It worked out in the end, I suppose.” He finished with a shrug, finishingoff his tea before relaxing back into his chair.

Opening was  … nothis strong suit and apparently made his posture stiff. Vivienne responded in kindby rolling her shoulders and glancing over to make sure that nobody waslistening. He even felt her barrier expand through him to sense any lifeformsthat could be in hiding among the walls. Dorian smirked. She had obviouslylived in Orlais with that amount of distrust.

“After the Duke and I began communicating, the Orlesiancourt began making their opinions known. At first it was just anonymous lettersand spies ransacking my home in an attempt to find any sort of incriminatinginformation.” She said it matter-of-factly as she crossed her legs and restedher arm on the top of her chaise lounge.

“Predictable.” He clicked his tongue on the back of histeeth with an eye roll.

“Correct. After that didn’t work, those opposing my positionbegan to send more lethal forms of communication. The first two I was able torecruit to my side. They were weak willed and in search of someone who coulddirect them and pay handsomely. To this day they are still in my employ.” Shepursed her lips into a thin line, looking out the window of her balcony. “But thethird was different.”

Dorian leaned forward and rested his elbows on top of hisknees to support his head. “How so?”

Madame de Fer took in a deep breath, every feature in her facehardening. “They sent a child.”

The silence between them was deafening and he rubbed bothhands through his hair. “Bastards.”

“He was quite skilled, managed to get into my bedroom withoutsetting off my alarms. He startled me in my sleep, so I responded as I had beentrained.” Vivienne ran her nails over her scalp while groaning at the memory.As restrained as she was, it was obvious to him that she was disturbed by it. “Theice spike hit his heart perfectly. He did not suffer long. But it was longenough for me to see the shock and pain on his face. I would guess he was maybeeleven? Twelve summers?”

“What happened after that? Did you discover where he hadcome from?” He was half tempted to reach out and touch her in a show ofsympathy, but that was not their way. They bonded through words as kindredspirits, not actions.

“No. It was wise not to give his employer the benefit ofrecognition. It was swept under the rug, like everything else. Orlais forgothim, but I have not.” She finished, each word turning sharper with frigid mourning.There was no regret. He would be surprised if she had any, but there were timesthat they wished could be erased away.

“Kaffas, Vivienne.I am so sorry.” He said defeatedly.

“I am not. I did what had to be done. But wasting a life,especially one so young. It should have been avoided. Now that I did make known.” There was a wicked smirk on her lips thatcaught his attention.

“Oh? How did you accomplish that, my friend?”

“I cut off their trade with many noble houses, the Circle,and the Chantry. Then I burned their library and offices.” Her smile only grewbut he simply raise a brow and tilted his head in question.

“Why those places? Why not the whole building?”

Thanks for the prompt! :D

Stress did not work well for Lady Trevelyan.  

Oooohhh this one couldn’t come fast enough. 

Time.

It was an odd thing to have when you typically had none. “Go on a break”. They had told him. For what? There was still plenty of things to do for the Inquisition, even with Corypheus gone. The soldiers needed to be tended to properly, letters sent to update worried families, the equipment needed to be repair and calibrated just in case some of the Tevinter’s rogue followers wanted to attack and –

“Maker’s mercy.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with a groan. He hadn’t taken a proper break since before he entered the Templar Order. Typically he wouldn’t have left Skyhold, but there was much pressing and he had been backed into a corner by her and his sister. They were stopping by Honnleath on their way to Denerim to visit the King and for him to participate in a tournament on Skyhold’s behalf. He knew the Fereldens were going to be the type to hold a grudge. He also knew he would not allow himself to lose for the sake of another person. It wasn’t in his nature to hand over victory so easily.

Still, the travel to Ferelden would help clear his mind and get him away from Skyhold. Denerim would also provide him the opportunity to catch up with Alistair. They hadn’t seen each other since the Wintersend Ball at Skyhold and the King had been preoccupied with Corypheus and political matters.

Mia was insistent that he visit their parents old home. It felt odd to think about going there. The scar of the Blight was visible all across his homeland, and the emptiness of his childhood home only deepened that old wound. They had fought to the bitter end, and thankfully him and his siblings weren’t at home when the Darkspawn struck. But, a letter wrote that they had fought to their last breath, his mother wielding a Warhammer from her blacksmith shop. Unfortunately, her trademark tool couldn’t be found and he was sure one of the blighted had taken it with them.

He was supposed to relax. His thoughts felt like a thousand of Sera’s bees roaring in his head so he forced himself to open his eyes and look at the water. It had been a spot he always ran to for an escape.

The stillness of the water and the faint light coming in through the trees created a space of peace for him. The night before he was taken away for Templar training he came here by himself and spent the night. For some reason, this location just settled his mind no matter what was happening.

He leaned against the post at the end of the dock and sighed, relaxing his posture for what felt like the first time in months. There was nobody coming to find them. There was no battle in the near future he needed to prepare for. Everyone was safe. He repeated the words to himself like a mantra until he almost believed them, a faint smirk coming to his lips. The sun was setting in the distance and the final burst of light hung in the air like the glow bugs that were beginning to appear in the shadows of the trees and on the surface of the water.

Finally, Cullen Rutherfod was at peace.

Time stretched in that moment of realization, filling his body with warmth even as the sun left his place of solace. He could have stayed there forever, but they had matters to attend to. Still, it was a start.

Before he could turn he heard a voice call to him. “Cullen! Are you alright?”

He turned from the end of the dock and smiled at the woman with brown curls sitting on the back of her horse, her black wolf weaving in between the creature’s legs. Cullen dug into his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the top of a familiar coin before flipping it into the air with half a laugh.

So this was a terrible idea given to me by a few readers and @solverne-02 about what happened after Redcliffe to Athena and the others in the year before the Inquisitor and Dorian show up in my fic Tales of the Fadewalker. 

So I wrote it - trigger warning for minor torture and wounds - just in case.

It had taken three months for The Elder One to come to full power.  

Without the Mark, unnatural tears in the Veil conquered the skies.  

The members of the Inquisition that were in Redcliffe Keep fled when Dorian and the Herald of Andraste did not return. But without a keep such as Skyhold to protect them, the people of Haven fell.  

The final battle from the Chantry was led by Commander Cullen, who so bravely stared into the faces of a thousand demons and struck them down by one by one. Watching him fall was the thing to break the Inquisition’s resolve. When the demons broke through the Chantry doors, they did not kill everyone on sight. They were led by their corrupted Templar masters and ordered to drag the survivors back to Redcliffe for information.  

Corypheus and Alexius were still paranoid of the return of the one who could close the rifts. But even more so, his Nightmare Demon had whispered stories of one who had crossed the Veil. One who had crossed from worlds and clung to secrets of Thedas. Those rumors spread through the remaining members of the Inquisition and one by one they turned.  

You could have prevented this!

You knew!

Unfortunately, she knew. Even worse, she knew that they would all be destroyed in this reality. They would cease to exist the moment the Herald came into this reality and disappeared again. It was difficult to hold onto that hope when every day she was dragged through the sludge of Redcliffe’s underbelly and thrown onto a rack. They grew unique in their tortures.  

The obvious first was physical. She was lashed until the leather of their whip hit bone. She was held underneath water until she thought she would never know air again. Joints broken, skin torn, everything but her spirit was attacked in those opening days. All for shreds of knowledge in a world that didn’t matter anymore.

 Then there was the mental. The Elder One had endless demons at his disposal and Nightmare was particularly skilled in breaking through her walls. With a body that was barely a shell, how hard could it be to break though the mind? But she still held on, and with each passing day the screams faded. She had accepted her reality. She had accepted the future of the millions of stinging wasps that demons fabricated into her mind.  

The Elder One did not care for weakness, and there were no healers in their ranks. They had to force one of the Inquisition’s own to do that sort of work for them. So, every day, for months, Athena’s broken body was thrown onto a cold, hard table in front of an elf. The sight of him used to bring her joy, adoration even, but when her secret was revealed to the Inner Party he became as detached as the rest of them. He would fix her body when it was broken, mend the wounds and return her to her cell so that it could all be repeated the next day.  

It wasn’t until her mind began to break that she saw the first signs of sympathy on his face.  

There were no wounds to stitch together, no blood that was spilt. She was dumped onto his table a trembling shell of a person with his back facing him. There was no more life to her eyes, no more music, nothing but the darkness of what was left of the Fade. “What do you cling to?” He asked once the door closed. It was the first time they had spoken in weeks. He had no more words to say when he let her know what he thought of her knowledge, but she never said a word. She didn’t have the energy to.  

“Are they gone?” She asked, her voice a thousand miles away, trapped within the shard of light that was left in her mind.  

He nodded solemnly, his hands lightly touching to see if they had hurt her anywhere. She could feel that his aura grew weaker by the day and the red lyrium even corrupted his touch then. “They have turned the corner. We only have minutes before they return.” He whispered, his voice low.  

“I cling to knowing it could be worse. For everyone left.” The words tore at the cracks in her dry lips and she tasted blood. It was such a familiar taste to her she barely noticed. Still, he passed his hand over her face and healed that, as simple of a cut that it was.  

“I do not believe that to be possible.” He chided at her as his dwindling magic tingled over her lips. It was the closest thing she had to comfort those days. She reached forward and stopped his hand with hers. His gasp would have once brought her joy, but she was numb to the sound.  

“If you can trust me at all. . . trust me that it can be worse.”

They waited two weeks before bringing her to him again with actual wounds to heal. Each visit, they tried to speak more and more. From what she could gather, there were still a few of the Inner Party alive. She knew this because that time they had changed their routine with a mixture of the two. They had made her watch Leliana’s own process and for the first time she almost said something, but a very stern look from the former Spymaster gave her a bit of strength to keep her silence. So, there she lay, bleeding and cold, on the all-too familiar healing table.  

“There will almost be nothing left if you continue - “  

The predictable sound of a strike broke through the room and her eyes widened, hand clutching the table as fresh anger surged strength through her body.

 “Do your job, or you’ll join her next time.”  

They were left with their silence, but she groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position, ignoring the stretching of her back that brought even more bleeding. They had sliced his cheek open with the punch and even his blood now looked to glow with the corruption of the red lyrium. It pained her to see it, so she gestured for him to come closer. He looked to her with confusion, taking a step forward for her to do something she hadn’t tried in a long time.  

The magic was hidden within her, rolled up into a ball and placed underneath all of the pain, all of the non-stop suffering. The Templars knew how to contain such magic, but she had a glimmer left and she promised herself she would wait for an opportunity to end her own pain. She knew then that they would never allow that. They watched her sleep, the only time she had alone was when she was with him. If she died during her supposed healing, they would kill him in a moment.  

Too precious of a resource.

So, she unwrapped that gift, unrolled it until the magic tingled underneath her fingers and onto his cheek. He stilled under her touch, but did nothing but relax as what little healing magic she knew lightened the bruise and erased the small cut formed from an outlandish champion of Dumat. Somehow, she felt even more exhausted when he looked up but for the first time she felt a glimmer of happiness.  

“That was unnecessary.”  

Athena cracked a broken smile. “So is healing a dead woman, but you continue to do it anyways.”

She didn’t break, proudly, for almost nine months.  

The healing sessions became her reprieve, the few moments of her day where she didn’t have to worry about pain. That, in time, began to be used against her. There was a day where she was just hung from her chains, all day, with nothing but silence as her companion. It would have been alright, if not for the burning in her wrists.  

That was until the first stifled scream.  

It was deeper than usual, but somehow familiar. It was the same sound of struggle she had heard on the battlefield when he tried to cast a spell, or when he was hit by an enemy. He was never one to fully cry out, he was too restrained.  

Immediately she jerked against her chains, knowing exactly why they had started.  

“Stop it! Leave him alone!”  

Her voice was hoarse but she still cried out, her arms yanking the chains back and forth until they made a sound. The groans from the other room stopped. There were armored footsteps and then the door opened, the sparking eyes of a Red Templars piercing through.  

“That was quicker than we thought. Dumat – a fucking knife-ear? It’ll be over if you give us something, Fade-Walker. The Elder One is not a patient man.”  

She jerked against the chains, ignoring the way the metal pressed into her skin. “Like what? He already has half the world and an army of demons at his back.”

  There was another strike and a followed hiss of pain, the Templar not even breaking eye contact with her. She jerked against the chains and felt hot tears sting her eyes. It had been so long, she had forgotten what the feeling was like to cry. “There’s a Temple. . . “ Another strike. “A fucking Temple near the Emerald Graves – now would you please just stop?”

The Templar leaned over and raised his hands then the sounds stopped. “Tell me more.”

Athena shook her head, feeling a small bout of rebellion. “Not until tomorrow.”

 “That will cost you.”  

She waited a beat, shaking her head before meeting the soldier’s eyes. “So be it.”

That day had been the worst. But every strike was worth it, knowing she was saving someone else from getting the same. Plus, at the end of it all, they laid her worn body, slicked with blood, on his table. He, moving a bit more stiffly than before, still walked over to the table and began his duties the moment the door shut.  

“You did not have - “  

“Solas.”  

The tone of her voice was so definite, he didn’t say another word. She waited until halfway before twisting a piece of her hair, what was left of it, unsure of what to ask. “I need to ask you something.”

He made a small sound of acknowledgement as his magic worked into her back and her legs. Her voice dropped to as low as possible, as she gripped her upper arms and asked: “What happened to Felassan after you killed him in the Fade?”

The magic flickered in his hands but he did not stop. She heard him move and looked over her shoulder to see him looking to the door. When there were no footsteps, he looked back to her with a sigh. “It seems pointless to refute it now. When a person’s spirit ceases to exist in the Fade, their bodies loses that connection.” He gasped softly and looked over his shoulder before cursing under his breath. “But with the Breach and your physical weakness you will simply- “  

“Die.” The word felt like a relief in itself. They both sighed and she shuddered underneath the coolness of the table. “Can you do it?”

The magic completely stopped and she rolled over, onto barely healed scars, and met his gaze. He crossed his arms over his chest, took in a deep breath, and nodded. “What more could you be protecting?”  

“I will tell you. . . in the Fade – or whatever could be left of it.” He made a noise of frustration before the sound of footsteps interrupted it.  

“You need to focus past the red lyrium – it is difficult, but it is there. You have shown me your dreams before so it will be easier but we won’t have much time and it may not work.” The door opened and he stepped back to allow them to carry her back to her room. She was able to catch a glance at his eyes before the door slammed quickly behind them.  

Solas had been right, the red lyrium was like a swarm of angry insects buzzing around in her head. But past that, she saw green. It was fragmented, and hurt, but there were some remnants of the Fade there. Spirits were being torn through Rifts and it was difficult to raise a barrier to keep demons out, but within seconds he was there. He ran towards her, each step appearing as a flicker in time but eventually he came to her and she couldn’t help but wrap her arms around him.

 “You.” She finally answered, feeling hot tears of miasmic energy falling down her face from the strain of staying in the Fade.  

“What - “ He started to ask, his hands hesitating before holding her to him as if she were about to slip through.  

“You, Mythal, the eluvians, the fact that the Herald is coming any day now and this will all be a terrible nightmare – he cannot know this. I don’t know how much longer I can last and I do not want to be a liability for the Inquisition. I cannot let others die in vain.” His embrace grew tighter and he turned his head into the crook of her neck, his grip shaky as he nodded and whispered a mumbled apology into her neck.  

“Ir abelas, vhenan.”

I blame you. Warning: I kind of got carried away listening to ABBA and this ended up silly. 

They all were gathered in the War Room, save for the Commander.  

The Spymaster paced on the opposite side of the table with her hands clasped behind her back, a wicked spark of mischief on her face. “Are you sure you are up for this? It could very well be the most difficult mission of your lives.”

I was tagged by the wonderful @ladynorbert, @roguelioness, and @solverne-02 This is from my main fic Tales of the Fadewalker.  “It felt like it been eons since she first fell, and that morning, she desired to taste the sky instead of whatever breakfast was downstairs.”

Chapter 217 of Tales of the Fadewalker has been posted!  Man I really have to get better about posting my writing stuff on here. "Being you now. Are you blissfully unaware, or is some part of the old you banging on the walls, screaming?"

[This is a very late reply, but I was struck by a snippet of inspiration in the car ride on the way home. For @dadrunkwriting]

The Inquisitor sat with three objects in front of her.

 They were supposed to help her choose, help her narrow downher choices to specializations that the advisors and her Inner Party had chosenfor her to go into. Rathein had never considered going into something past whatshe had learned. Her chaotic storm magic had gotten her out of more troublesthan anything else, adding an additional skillset just for the sake of doingseemed pointless to her when she could simply hone her strength and sharpen herskills in the ways of the storm.

 There was the skull: necromancy.

 The spirit blade: knight enchanter.

 Then the Fade Tome: rift mage.