â Â you make me feel and I donât like it. I want it to stop. now. Â â cyrus/darren
âYou make me feel and I donât like it. I want it to stop. Now.â
The words were as ridiculous as they were shocking. At least, to Darren. âWait⊠what? Cyrus, hold upâ!â
It had only been a few weeks since Cyrus returned to the farm, and he was already trying to run off again? Heâd barely even been back on his feet for three days! A kind of strange, unmarried panic washed over Darren as he jogged after his friend, managing to snag him by the elbow and swing around in front of him, blocking his march up the hill towards the gate. âJust wait a minute, okay?â
The scowl on Cyrusâ face should seem familiar, but there was something just⊠not quite right about it. Like heâd painted it over something much truer to himself. âJust - let me go, damn it - back off!â He jerked his arm out of Darrenâs grasp, but didnât try to get past. Not yet, at least. âYou asked me why I was going and I told you, so what the fuck is your problem now?â
âMy problem?â Something akin to anger welled up inside Darren. He forced it down, but it took every ounce of his willpower to do it. âCyrus, why wouldnât I have a problem with that? Feeling isnât a bad thing!â
âMaybe not for you.â Taking a half-step back, Cyrusâ eyes were shallow pools, barely concealing razor-sharp rocks. âListen, Iâm not⊠itâs complicated. You know that, so stop pushing it.â
A few years ago, that would have been enough. Even now, standing there, some part of Darren felt inclined to back down, like a pup before a wolf, all hackles and teeth. But it wasnât a few years ago. Heâd grown his own claws. âSaying âitâs complicatedâ isnât good enough for me to let you walk back out there on your own again. Seriously? Do you really think I care that little about what happens to you? Makerâs breath, you only just got out of bed a few days ago!â Darren knew his voice was rising, but he didnât try to lower it. Not this time. âSo explain it to me. Explain why it is so bad to feel something for once in your life that isnât just fucking misery.â
Darren wasnât sure if it was his tone or the language he used, but it seemed to stun Cyrus for a few moments, his expression going slack. When Cyrus didnât immediately respond, the cold fear that Cyrus actually was miserable gnawed its way into Darrenâs stomach, leaving behind a sick, helpless feeling he hadnât experienced since he was back at the Inquisition. If he didnât know better, he would guess a despair demon had torn through the veil and straight into him.
âIâŠâ Cyrus licked his lips - a nervous tick of sorts - and cast his gaze towards the distant fence. Anything to avoid looking at Darren. Some things never changed. âI canât, okay? I just⊠I spend time here, and itâs all just soâŠâ
Darren cocked his head slightly. âSo⊠what?â
âFucking perfect.â
The frankness of the response startled a laugh out of Darren. âWhat? So you like it too much here so youâre going to run off?â He shook his head. âCyrus, you know that doesnât make any sense, right?â
âI know, okay? I get it.â The way Cyrus wrapped his arms around himself was like he was trying to keep someone out. Or hold something in. âI never said it made fucking sense.â
One of the most difficult things about Cyrus was how often he left Darren at a loss for what to do. What to say. Everything. Maker, Darren had done everything to try to make Cyrus happy and comfortable. Heâd spent night after night by his side, tending to his fever, making sure he drank enough and tried to eat at each meal. None of that had been done under sufferance - heâd volunteered without an ounce of hesitation. Cyrus was his friend, after all. The fact that Darren loved him was just another part of that bond. One he hadnât forgotten or lost, even after four years apart. If anything, it felt stronger than ever.
And now that it seemed Cyrus was actually starting to reciprocate that feeling, he was running away.
âOkay.â Releasing a sigh, Darren ran a hand down his face, pausing to scratch his stubbled skin. âHow about this: until you can find a way to explain why youâre running back out there with nothing but the clothes on your back, you stick around. Because seriously, if you leave like this Iâm going to come after you. Youâre not well enough for me to let you go for anything short of a really good reason.â He paused, and a sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. âAnd feeling something? Maybe even being happy for once? That isnât one of them. Youâre just going to have to stick around and get used to that until you find something else.â
At first something almost offended swept across Cyrusâ face; a kind of open-mouthed expression of affrontedness at being denied exit from the farm. Realistically, Darren knew if Cyrus really wanted to leave, he couldnât - no, wouldnât - force him to stay. But the problem? Well, Darren was pretty sure Cyrus didnât really want to go. There was just something in him; something quiet and buried deep; that convinced him to run at the first sign of comfort. Like there was a danger in it. A snake lying in wait beneath anything soft and warm, waiting to sink its fangs into him.
âYou canât make me stay.â
âI know.â The response came easily. The truth always did for Darren. âBut I can beg you to. Iâll get on my knees and clasp my hands like a Chantry mother if thatâs what it takes.â
That got a wry snort from Cyrus, whose gaze finally drifted back to regard Darren properly. âPlease, spare me. I had enough of those theatrics to last me a lifetime.â
Chuckling, Darren reached up and ran his fingers though his hair, pushing it back off his face. âGood, then. So can we justâŠâ He nodded back to the farmhouse. âYou can unpack your things. Meet me in the kitchen.â He winked at Cyrus. âMy cookingâs gotten a lot better, you know.â
It was an easy way out of a difficult conversation, but sometimes that was the best thing to do. Darren knew he wasnât going to get answers out of Cyrus standing there on the path, pack in hand, breathing hard just from the walk up the hill. He should be sitting down. Recovering properly. Eating well. Darren could at least see to that.
âYeah?â With one final glance at the distant gate, Cyrus shouldered his pack. For a second, Darren thought he was going to make a break for it - he had that calculating look in his eye. But then the look melted away, and Cyrus shifted his attention towards the farmhouse. âGuess Iâd better be the judge of that, huh? My last memory of your cooking was that strew in the Western Approach. You know, the one thatââ
ââTasted like dried bootstraps? Yeah, I knowâŠâ Darren made a show of cringing, then laughed warmly, slinging an arm around Cyrusâ shoulders and slowly moving back towards the house. âTime for me to regain my reputation!â
Cyrusâ reply was so quiet Darren almost missed it. âItâll take more than one meal for that.â
It may have been meant as a jibe⊠or maybe not. Either way, Darren favoured his friend with a bright grin. âYeah. I reckon it will.â
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14. Overgrown for Lux and Syla, 15. Trembling hands for Thel and Tu, or 16. In dreams for Emma and Tam.
âRight...now, a noun. Plural.â
âUmm...â Sylathiâs eyes darted around Skyholdâs courtyard for inspiration, a slow smirk spreading across her face as her gaze settled on the deep blue of Luxâs scarf.
âAnd donât say âscarvesâ. I already told you, just saying whateverâs right in front of you is cheating.â
âItâs not!â she exclaimed, swatting at the air in front of him. âItâs simply...finding inspiration in the world around you. Donât you do the same with your stories?â
âWell, yeah, but these stories are better if you donât actually try to make them good. Just take whatever it is that pops into your mind first and go with it.â
âVery well,â she said, with a cheeky grin. âScarves.â
âUGH. Fine. An adjective, and it better not be âblueâ.â
Judging by the way Luxâs mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed, she wasnât being quite as subtle in her search for inspiration as she thought. âOvergrown.â
âYes!â He scrawled it down, snickering to himself. âMuch better, yeah? ânother plural noun.â
âLegs.â
âPfft. Okay, a verb.â
âSmile.â
âAnd another, but past tense this time.â
âTripped.â
âHa!â Making quite a big show of it, Lux looked out over the courtyard, searching for whoever inspired that one, and seemed quite disappointed when she appeared to have come up with that on her own. âAll right, letâs see...another noun.â
âBrush.â
âA verb?â
âPinch.â
âLast one, yeah? So make sure itâs a good one. An adjective.â
The opportunity presented itself, and Sylathi saw no reason not to take it. He did tell her to say the first thing that came to mind, after all. She fixed him with a wry grin, and let him have it.
âBlue.â
Lux only stared at her for a moment, face scrunching comically as he tried to make sense of why she was so proud of that particular answer. It came to him in the form of a loud, wide-eyed gasp and a long, drawn out âohhhhhh!!â. Shaking his head, he filled in the last of the blanks on the page, and held the journal proudly in front of him.
âRight. All finished.â He slowly turned his head to look at her, a mischievous smirk on his face. âReady to hear your award-winning masterpiece?â
Sylathi straightened her posture, folded her hands in her lap, and gave him a resolute nod.
âThey say a pot never eats, but anyone whoâs picked the tea of Rivain at morning might disagree. The flowers and books head to the tents at midday, the soft quills and scarves go back to their...pfft, overgrown legs to smile over the ways they got tripped, and the brush pinches blue.â
Both of them struggled to wait until the story was over to erupt into laughter, and it was even more of a struggle for them to stop once they started.
âThat was...ridiculous,â Sylathi remarked through intermittent giggles, wiping away the glaze of tears over her eyes before leaning back on her hands. Lux has long since collapsed backwards, and lay on the ground beside her, still rumbling with laughter.
If you're feeling up to it of course, I'd love to read your interpretation of the name Vaharel. I think Vaharel is an Emerald Knight and I named one of my character's birth clan after them. :)
sure, and thankyou :) this sort of thing is prolly my fav kinda question !!
Vaharel: Vaharel was a revered elven hero from the time of the Dales, likely an Emerald Knight, famed for leading the capture of the human city of Montsimmard - not long before the then-Divineâs call for a second Exalted March. A Life-Tree was planted in their honor and remembrance, in an area that came to be known as the Emerald Graves.Â
The Dalish use harellan to mean âtraitor to oneâs kinâ, and harel itself variously means âdreadâ, âlieâ, âto trickâ or âto deceiveâ. Added to era as in Eraâharel it means âdemon-mageâ, as in the entities which are similar to Arcane Horrors. Not the nicest slew of meanings and connotations. However, per the Rebel God Codex entry, harellan does not appear in any elven text that can be dated as being from before the Towers Age (3:00 onwards) - and in order to be an adult fighter around 2:10 Glory, Vaharel must have been born during the Divine Age. Although at this point in time FenâHarel was indeed known among the elves as FenâHarel, the Dread Wolf, I like the possible inference that Vaharel was named during a time when harel and associated words were not ascribed such completely negative meanings. As we can read, the ancient root-word is related to harillen (âoppositionâ) and hellathen (ânoble struggleâ). The connotations here are more along the lines of rebellion - particularly ones with good causes - and even a call for justice - albeit a violent one - given how it seems to have percolated down through the years to modern City Elves and their concept of mienâharel. I like to think Vaharelâs parents named them with these latter sorts of meanings in mind.
Itâs a stretch but I take va as a short form of var (âourâ - Varharel flows off the tongue poorly or more clumsily in comparison), meaning that to me Vaharel means âour revolutionaryâ; one who will bring justice and challenge the system. Vaharelâs parents must have had high hopes for their child. Arguably they lived up to these hopes, being remembered as a storied hero, and - for a time, at least - enacting elven justice/vengeance upon humanity for their ancestral crimes against the People, via the conquering of Montsimmard.
27. What makes you excited about their relationship? for our ships! Emralan, Thelio, and Runaren :)
Um, Iâm excited about Emralan because theyâre EVERYTHING, and you are well aware of that :P
Seriously though, Emmaâs relationship with Tamralan is an opportunity for her to be soft with someone who isnât Lux, but not pressured into being so soft it becomes out of character for her. And since itâs not pushing her boundaries in ways that are going to make her withdraw, sheâs embracing it, being soft with him in a way that sheâs comfortable with and is still her, loving and being loved in a way that isnât scary. Tam is so patient and good, and being with him lets her see that being her and being in love are not mutually exclusive, and she doesnât have to be someone sheâs not to feel things she feels. I love thinking about them together because of that tender kindness, and I canât help but smile when I do.
I feel like we made Thelio to kind of offset all the fluff from Emralan and satisfy our goblin brains, haha. It IS sweet, though, the way they both come to accept that things theyâd thought about themselves and othersâ perception of them arenât really as infallibly spot on as they thought. TĂșlio learns that people can find him intrinsically interesting, without pretending of any kind, and that he can fuck up royally and still be worth loving. Plus, they just have fun together and I really love that, as simplistic as it sounds? They laugh, they joke, they goof off and fool around and give each other something to genuinely enjoy about life and I am just over here like... âgood for them.â
Runaren is kind of like Emralan in that itâs a lot of understanding and patience, but itâs also interesting to think about because there arenât grand gestures and flowery dialogue with them; itâs practically all body language so itâs a challenge to think of how theyâll get their feelings across without much talking, just looks and touches. Itâs all they need though, and it makes them happy. :)
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you think i did this on purpose? For Ralon :) I miss the boy
It was a nice evening, Ralon supposed. The light fading at the edge of the treeline. Warm. A slight breeze that tickled his legs and sent a shiver across his skin.
He should really go pantsless more often.
âYou are such an asshole.â Cyrus huddled over a pair of torn pants, needle in hand, jaw clenched. Whether he was frowning in concentration or sheer rage, Ralon couldnât quite say.Â
âYou think I did this on purpose?â Reclining, Ralon tapped his bare feet together absently, drinking in the quiet campsite. It was weird, being sent out on a mission with just Cyrus. Then again, you didnât really need a full squad to check in on a couple of farmhouses. The nearby rift had been closed that morning, but that didnât mean a stray demon or two hadnât slipped by earlier. âYouâre the one who made me gather firewood,â Ralon continued helpfully. âI told you, the Inquisition uniform doesnât account for my... assets.â
âKill me...â Cyrus muttered as he thumbed the needle through the fabric. âHave you tried not lifting things like a fucking idiot? That might help.â
âAnd strain my back instead? No thanks. Iâd rather tear my pants any day. I mean, have you ever felt how good the breeze is around your---â
---Â âDonât.â Cyrus' gaze sliced through the air between them. âI swear to the Maker, Iâll let you walk back with your ass hanging out if you say one more word about... that.â
There was no use trying to fight the grin that spread across Ralonâs face. He liked getting Cyrus all fired up. Mostly because it was interesting to see how much harder it was getting. Back in the day, Cyrus would have probably swung at him for being a smartass. Now, even though he was pissed off... he was still mending Ralonâs pants, the needle dipping and swooping its way through the dark cotton. So, rather than push him any further, Ralon changed tact.Â
âWhere did you learn to sew?âÂ
Cyrusâ hand paused briefly, then continued working away at the tear. Ralon knew that kind of pause well. It determined the difference between the truth and a lie. âA... family friend taught me. I had a habit of tearing holes in my clothes.â
Despite Ralon remaining quiet, Cyrus offered no further detail. Ralon supposed it made sense. âYou probably got in a few fights, huh?â
Cyrus snorted softly. âYeah. Something like that. Figured itâd be better if I solved my own problems...â He raised the pants slightly. âThis included.â
The wind picked up, sending the leg of the pants across where Cyrus was working. As the Orlesian cursed, Ralon hopped up and leaned over, picking it up and holding it out of the way. âCome on, itâs the least I can do,â he said after receiving a suspicious look from Cyrus. âMaybe I can learn a thing or two if I watch you do it.â
The idea of not having to mend Ralonâs pants again seemed promising, so Cyrus just shrugged and allowed Ralon to stand beside him. For a few seconds.
âCould you at least sit down or something?âÂ
âWhy?â
Slowly, Cyrus turned his head. Fixing Ralon with a flat look, his eyes flicked down, then up again. It took a few seconds for Ralon to work out what the problem was. When he did, he burst out laughing.
âMy bad! Probably not the best view from down there, huh?â
âJust sit down and shut up. Iâm almost done.âÂ
âHanin? But heâs so serious.â for a character of your choice and Syla! Because I remember a certain shipping ask where we both agreed they would have a very Pocahontas and Kocoum dynamic :P only if you're up for it, of course!
âHanin? But heâs so serious.â Lyrene made a face and leaned against the stable wall, regarding Sylathi with a vaguely amused expression. âListen, I get it. Heâs got that tall, silent type appeal... but heâs about as fun as a bag of wet flour. You can do better.â
Sylathi, who seemed about ready for the ground to swallow her whole, sighed softly. The brush in her hand swept down the mane of one of a snow-white mare. âI know all of that. I do. Itâs just... I donât know. He seems dependable.â A faint laugh drifted humourlessly from her lips. âThat seems to be in short supply, lately.â
âWell, thatâs fair. Iâll give you that. But thatâs not really...â Lyrene groped for the words for a while. âI mean, come on - you need someone whoâll put a little excitement in your life, Syla! Sure, heâll be around when you need him, but if being present is all you want in a relationship you could just, yâknow... date a rock or something.â
The absurdity of it startled a laugh out of Sylathi, the sound bringing a smile to Lyreneâs lips. âA rock! Ly, I appreciate the sentiment, but Haninâs not that bad. Heâs just a bit...â
âSilent? Obsessive? Married to the job?â With a playful smirk, Lyrene hopped up on one of the nearby crates, legs swinging over the side. âYouâll always be competing with Atisha, you know. And the Dawn Squad.â She grinned. âYouâd have to adopt us, you know. Pretty sure itâs in a contract somewhere.â
Sylathi snorted, then cooed gently as the mare shook her head at the sudden sound. âIr abelas... itâs all right...â She glanced back at Lyrene. âAnd okay. You win. I get it. Maybe heâs not ready for... whatever it is I want.â Groaning quietly, she rested her head against the mareâs. âCreators... I donât even know what I want.â
âHey, thatâs okay. Donât go fretting about it!â Hopping down, Lyrene moved over to drape an arm around Sylathiâs shoulders. âPlenty of folks out there whoâd be tripping over themselves to take you out somewhere fancy while you figure things out.â
A light blush tinged Sylaâs cheeks. âI donât need fancy...â
âOkay, well... somewhere scenic and exciting. Like the Fallow Mire.â
Lyrene just managed to dodge the swat coming her way, grinning as Sylathi shook her head and set the brush back on the nearby shelf. âI am not falling for that again. Next time you invite me along on a mission I am going to do some research before agreeing.â
âïž Whatâs something your OC wishes they could forget? Why is this? Or, what is something that your OC has forgotten? (or do both!) For Ralon!
Ralon doesnât have all that many regrets, but he does wish he could forget what he did the night his older brother disappeared. He and Damiros never really got along well (their relationship was more antagonistic), but every now and then Ralon thinks back to that evening when Damiros didnât come home. At the time, he was like âgoodâ, because it meant he wouldnât have to deal with Damirosâ shitty âfriendsâ causing trouble anymore. Now, Ralon regrets not going out looking for him, or even asking around as soon as he noticed Damiros wasnât where he was meant to be. His parents were devastated, and the implications of Damiros just vanishing began to weigh on Ralon too.Â
Damiros wasnât the reason Ralon left home. But heâd be lying if he said he hadnât been keeping an eye out for anyone who looked even remotely like him.Â