#shadowcrow

We begin with the story in general, moving from the bloody wreck that first stepped off the Nautiloid to a more hopeful ending. Then follow nine specific takes on the Dark Urge. I reached out to a few individuals who were kind enough to name songs that capture some of the essence of the characters they made. I strongly recommend asking them about what they made.

Listen to the playlist on spotify or on youtube

Song list below!

Okay so this took a bit longer than expected since it got away from me a bit oops. (it’s like 2k words now)

Anyways I hope you like it! Enjoy! [AO3 link]

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Beau’s entire body ached when she woke up. Her eyelids felt heavy as she tried to open them and she had to blink a few times to let them adjust to the dim light of the room she was in. She sat up with a groan and looked around. The small, dusty room she was in was unfamiliar. It looked like just another room in another inn somewhere. The little light coming through the curtains told her it was probably late afternoon. Shit. She must’ve been out for a while. It was late last night when they went into battle.

Dairon can’t fucking believe it.

They’re special ops, for the love of God. They’ve trained with the best of the best, they’ve done missions no one else could’ve done. They’ve trained some of the best CIA, FBI and SEAL agents the world has ever seen. (Not that they’ll ever tell Beauregard that). They’re not babysitters.

Dairon doesn’t mind undercover, really. They’re sweet assignments, where they can pretend to be someone they’re not without actual consequences. It’s a job with no beginnings, no middles and no ends: once they’re done with a character, they toss it and build another one for a different mission. They can live and die with that persona and to hell with it.

But there are some assignments they really can’t fucking stand. They thought it was over, they really weren’t going to go on any more of those dumb as fuck missions, that they were rookie jobs. Stalking some celebrity because of potential high risk information and possible corruption? Fuck that shit.

But no, the CIA had requested for them specifically, and Dairon has yet to understand why. They have the horrible suspicion Agent Lionett is behind all this, because Dairon knows she has contact within her assignment.

But a job is a job, and Dairon stares up at the five star hotel “The Lavish Chateau” with a critical eye. They’ve studied their piece, they know their backstory, they know the language. All they have to do is lounge at the hotel for a couple of weeks, collect intel and disappear. They are quite literally supposed to pretend to be a tourist in Paris. How hard can it be?

Dairon clutches their suitcase, smoothing out their button down with their free hand. They can’t remember the last time they’ve worn jeans, but here we go.

Deep breath, and Dairon walks in.

The place lives it up to the name. Dairon has seen two inches of the foyer of this hotel and it’s stupidly lavish, sumptuously rich and ridiculously elegant.

They are greeted within five seconds of walking in, and as they get to their room they find themselves thinking that at least, at least... It can be a nice spot for a vacation. *** Dairon starts roaming the hotel immediately. No time to lose, and it’s not like they have anything else to do anyway. They slip through the emergency exit door, finding stairs. Up or down?

Dairon shrugs to themselves and starts heading up.

They count seventeen floors of nothing before a small laugh makes them jump out of their own skin.

Dairon whips around, almost going for the gun in their hidden holster, and looks behind them. No one. Only darkness. Only...

From the obscured corner of another emergency exit door, a puff of smoke comes rolling out. A cigarette falls to the floor, and a heeled foot presses it down onto the cement.

Dairon stares, as a tall, absolutely stunning woman walks out of the shadow.

“I apologize.” the woman says, and if Dairon didn’t know she was gay before, she certainly knows now, because that accent... “It is not a habit I indulge often. But some days are more trying than others.”

Dairon blinks. They are a good height themselves, but this woman is tall.

Long, tanned legs, loosely draped by the gown of a red dress that hugs curvy hips and soft breasts, with a cleavage that leaves very little to the imagination. But Dairon is a gentleperson, and they stare up at the woman’s face, which is probably worse, because fuck, she is beautiful. Red hair encircling magnificent features and soft lips. And her eyes... They are brown, but with a tint of reddish-purple, something Dairon has never seen.

But she has a gentleness, to her, something that takes Dairon completely by surprise.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke either way in this place.” Dairon responds, automatically. “The Hotel doesn’t allow smokers.”

The woman looks surprised for a moment, then she recoils and offers her hand.

“I don’t think I got your name, handsome.” she asks with a fascinated whisper.

Dairon feels a shiver down their spine. Oh, this woman is trouble. They know the woman probably expects for them to shake her hand, but Dairon takes a page out of Beauregard’s book and goes for it. Fucking assignment, they might as well have some fun.

They grab the woman’s hand in theirs, then press a kiss on the soft, silky skin of her knuckles.

“Skylar.” they say, and they hate this stupid name, but don’t hate this mission so much anymore.

The woman’s eyes spark in amusement, and she giggles as Dairon places a kiss on her hand. She doesn’t let go. Instead, she takes a step forward, almost pressing her body to Dairon, who blinks rapidly.

The woman uses her free hand to place a finger on Dairon’s jaw. Their eyes meet, cobalt blue finding dark ruby.

“Well, Skylar.” the woman says . “Maybe you’ll find my actual name once I find out yours. À bientôt.”

Then the woman drops her hands, and disappears through the same dark corner she’d emerged from before, followed by a soft smell of roses. Fucking poetic.

Hi, @shadowcrow! Thank you for the ask! I’ve answered for my Warden, Valena Cousland, and Alistair. Hope you enjoy. :) 

Valena rubbed the bridge of her nose and groaned. The Landsmeet had been dragging on for several days now, with no end in sight. Endless bickering, petty squabbles—they gave her a headache. She leaned against her longsword to catch her breath, exhausted and sweaty, while the others argued over who would succeed the throne.

“I am the best choice,” Anora said. She looked terrifying, still wearing her blood-stained gown. Stained with her father’s blood, Valena noted. She shuddered.

“I’ve ruled Ferelden in all but name for the past five years; it’s clear who the Landsmeet should choose.” Valena rolled her eyes; if she heard about this one more time.

“You are the Dowager Queen,” she said, voice sharp and clear, “you have no claim to the throne. You have neither royal blood nor royal issue; there’s nothing for you here.”

She scoffed. “I am noble by birth; I have every right as any of you here—”

“And yet by law, your position as Dowager Queen negates it. What a pity.” All those hours with her tutors as a girl, bored out of her mind during lessons, had finally paid off. Valena crossed her arms across her cuirass, triumphant. “Alistair has claim through blood; he’s the last of the Theirin line—”

“You think I’d leave Ferelden to that bastard? He knows nothing of kingship.”

Valena smirked. “Kings are made, Lady MacTir,” she took particular pleasure in that jab, “and I have every intention of making Alistair into the greatest king he can be.” She turned to the Landsmeet council. “I have decided: Alistair shall take the throne, and I’ll rule beside him.” She caught her beloved’s attention as she crossed the throne room to him; his wide-eyed gaze was quite amusing.

“This is usually the point when I wake up,” he whispered to her, “except I’m usually in my underclothes and everyone’s laughing.” She scoffed a laugh.

“I usually find myself bald or toothless in that kind of dream; the royal portraits are ridiculous.” Of all the things she loved about Alistair, his sense of humor was her favorite part of him. He gave her a silly grin that was so him, her heart smiled. His hand slipped into hers.

Anora refused to swear fealty and renounce the throne, which troubled Valena immensely. Even if Alistair had her imprisoned to deal with later, it still wasn’t enough. She told him so, later that evening after all the speeches and toasts were made.

“She’s a danger, Al,” she said. “As long as she lives, she’ll always be threat to us and the throne.”

Alistair paced up and down the room. “There’s a darkspawn horde gathering at Redcliffe; don’t you think that’s more of an immediate threat than Anora?”

“She has supporters among the nobles. They’ll take advantage of the chaos the horde provides and strike while we’re away.”

He heaved a sigh. “You’re right. I’ll… speak to Eamon, come morning. We’ll decide what to do with her before we leave for Redcliffe. Hopefully we can find somewhere to send her; more than enough blood’s been shed.” It was the best she could do, given the circumstance. Valena nodded, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against his chest.

“I heard quite the story at dinner: some hapless man was made king and betrothed all in one day. Remarkable, isn’t it?” Alistair asked. Valena stiffened; sarcasm dripped from every word. He habitually used humor to mask his worry, but also his anger. Which was it now?

“About that. You don’t have to follow through with it—”

“A bit late for that now; they’ve already declared me King!” He heaved a sigh. “I never wanted the throne, I told you that before. But the betrothal—” he held her at arm’s length. “Val. Val, tell me I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You weren’t.” The silence worried her. “Y-You’re not angry about it, are you?”

“Of course, I am! I never got a proper proposal! What happened to the romantic music and the candlelit dinner? And roses! Leliana said there were supposed to be roses at a proposal; I feel rather cheated.” His eyes danced with merriment; she covered her chuckle with a cough.

“I only have one rose, messere. This one.” She pulled out a pendant; a dried red rose fanned beneath the glass panes. His hand closed over hers.

“It’s beautiful, just like you,” he said with a smile, “I’m so fortunate to have you, you know. I’d be lost without you.”

Valena untied the ribbon from around her neck, sliding her father’s garnet ring off. She ran her thumb over the carved gold band. This was the only thing of her father’s she had left; to give it away was such a bittersweet moment. She closed her eyes; she could feel the warmth and love of her father’s embrace around her.

She cleared her throat and fell to one knee. “I have no lutenist to play music for us, but… King Alistair of House Theirin, first of your name, Lord of the Landsmeet, Defender of the Chantry, Protector of the Realm, and heart of my heart: will you marry me?”

It was quite possibly the silliest, grandest thing Valena had ever done—and that was saying a lot, considering the drunken antics she and Zevran had gotten into after drinking Oghren’s ale. But she had never been more sincere about something in her whole life. Alistair blinked hard and nodded.

“Maker, yes,” he said immediately. Relief crashed over her, she remembered to breathe again. She slid the ring onto his finger; much to her dismay, it wouldn’t budge over his knuckle.

“Andraste’s plaideweave knickers,” she cursed under her breath, trying another finger. He couldn’t keep a straight face.

Please, may I have more of the cobalt ruby undercover au? 🥺

Part 2 of ??? Read Part 1

Dairon is distressed.

They’ve worked in the secret services for almost two decades, now, and very rarely someone had spotted their cover so quickly.

If they have to be honest with themselves, it’s not like this woman had clocked in on her whole ordeal, but just the fact that she’s suspecting Skylar is not Dairon’s real name is a huge red flag. It’s something that should be sending Dairon to the airport immediately, because this could very well be jeopardizing the whole assignment.

Dairon waits in their room, gun on their thighs, for almost four hours, for a sign that her cover is compromised. A phone call, a letter, an email, hell, even a squad of enemy forces bursting through the window... But nothing happens.

Dairon is on edge. Rationally, they know they should report this immediately.

But nothing happens until dinner time, and they decide that maybe -just maybe- they can do some more digging, and hopefully find out a bit more about this mysterious woman.

They decide to order room service, and when they call reception, the gentlemen on the other side of the line asks them if Dairon wishes to confirm the seat for the night’s show.

“What show are we talking about?” they ask.

“The Ruby of the Sea, Mix.” he explains, sounding a bit confused. “Guests fly in from all over Europe to hear her sing. We generally reserve spots for our guests, and I see on your file that you’ve reserved one with your booking.”

Dairon closes their eyes. They completely forgot about the stupid concert. It is indeed on their schedule, but mostly as a cover. The Ruby of the Sea is one of the possible sources of information she has to check on.

“Of course.” They end up saying. “Forgive me, jet lag must’ve really messed up with my schedule. I’d like to confirm, thank you.”

The gentleman on the other side seems to smile.

“Of course. Front seat for you is reserved. Great choice, Mix. Have a pleasant evening.”

Dairon sighs, falling back on the ridiculously comfortable bed. Guess they have to find a proper outfit, now.

***

Dinner is delicious, but Dairon is already in business mode. They get dressed, an elegant suit with high waisted dress pants, unbuttoned white blouse and dark jacket, then leave the room.

The elevators are already filled with well-dressed guests, chatting about the show, and Dairon rolls their eyes and takes the stairs.

They try not to think of who they are hoping to meet, and they are definitely not disappointed when they get to the main floor without crossing a soul.

They take their seat in front of the stage, order an old fashioned and wait. Their phone buzzes twice in their pocket, and Dairon raises an eyebrow at the two texts.

[Unknown Number]: I heard you’re in Paris, too, Skylar. Care to join us for dinner one of these nights?

[Unknown Number]: Nice suit.

Dairon closes their eyes momentarily, straightening up and looking around.

It doesn’t take long to find them. Beauregard could maybe disappear in the crowd, but her wife is massive. Yasha could be found immediately and without even looking pretty much anywhere.

The two of them are sitting comfortably a couple rows behind them, hand in hand, elegantly dressed and with comfortable smiles on their faces. They look so disgustingly in love, Dairon wants to cry and puke at once.

Dairon scowls at Beau’s wink.

[You]: I’m on a mission, you asshat.

[Unknown Number]: So are we. But we’re also enjoying the show.

Dairon doesn’t have the time to respond, because the lights dim, and the curtains start to lift. They turn their phone off and focus on the stage, curious despite themselves to see who the hell this Ruby of the Sea is and why everyone would pay what they pay to see her.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for them to have either question answered.

Because the woman -her woman, the woman of the stairs- is even more magnificent than when Dairon’s seen her, a few hours ago.

The Ruby of the Sea is wearing a silky blue dress, and her red hair are french braided to keep strands off her face, and when she sings, her voice makes the air thick of a poisonous sound, a sound of luxurious promises and luscious passion.

Her voice is pure magic, pure fucking poetry as the woman sings, dragging gasps and half breaths from the crowd in front of her.

Dairon edges on her seat, fingers clutched on their drink, and blinks and swallows and oh, she’s so fucked. 

The Ruby of the Sea -Dairon would literally operate her license to kill to have her actual name- waltz on the stage and slowly descends the stairs on the left side of the stage. She keeps singing, one hand clutching her long gown and the other waving at the guests she passes, table by table.

And then.

And then she passes in front of Dairon, looks ahead, then back at them.

Her eyes soften, and her lips curl up in a smile.

It’s the softest, most charming smile Dairon has ever seen on any human ever, and she doesn’t get how this woman can be so alluring and so gentle spirited all at once.

But the Ruby of the Sea lifts a hand towards Dairon and Dairon does what they’ve done a few hours before. They grab her hand in theirs and press a soft, featherlike kiss on the woman’s knuckles.

Their eyes meet again, then the Ruby of the Sea squeezes her fingers and lets go, turns her back to the crowd and heads back up the stage, to conclude her song with a beautiful, inhuman note.

The Ruby of the Sea comes back throughout the show to sing two more times, one at the halfway point and one at the end, to close it. Dairon remains glued to their seat, nursing another drink with their mind lost in thoughts. That woman is dangerous, that much they know.

The real problem is, they don’t know how much.

Throughout the various performances, Dairon counts thirteen vibrations to their cellphone and four to their wristwatch before they decide to switch both of them off. They have no idea how Beauregard has obtained all their contact, but they’re going to keep avoiding their protege like the fucking plague.

Unfortunately, the exact moment the lights turn back on, Beauregard appears out of thin air, and Dairon regrets teaching her so well. Yasha trails behind them with ease and tranquillity, and Dairon resigns themselves to a conversation.

“Bro, what the everloving fuck was that?!”

Dairon shoots a glare at Beauregard. They’ve noticed a few people already glancing in the general direction of where they are and they wish Beauregard didn’t gather that much attention.

“Agent Lionett, I am still your superior, for all intent and purposes, and I would gladly appreciate it if you stopped calling me ‘bro’.” they grit through their teeth.

Beauregard reaches behind her, and Yasha grabs her hand.

Disgusting.

“Alright, what the fuck was that, dude?!”

Dairon wishes glares could kill, but they instead roll their eyes. They notice a couple more people staring at Beau and Yasha.

“Can you please lower your voice? You two stick out like sore thumbs on any occasion, but this is too much attention for my liking.”

Beauregard cackles. She actually cackles.

“Wow. Alright, Mix, I thought you were better at this, but you must be getting old.”

Dairon’s fingers itch to slam a fist onto Beauregard’s face, but instead they decide to interact with the less manic half of the Lionett-Nydoorin couple.

“What does she mean, exactly?”

Yasha shrugs, wrapping one arm around Beau’s waist. Beauregard immediately leans in.

“The Ruby of the Sea generally doesn’t interact with the public that closely.” Yasha explains, softly. “She greets the audience, but no one is allowed to touch her. But everyone could see the first row, so... They’re not looking at us. They’re looking at you.”

Dairon glances around, and it only takes her a few seconds to realize Yasha is right. People are whispering around them, at their tables, but this is not the kind of attention Dairon wants. They’re here undercover, for fuck’s sake.

They make a move to get up, but Beau’s hand on their elbow force them back on the chair. The smile is gone from her face.

“Don’t. People are already suspicious enough. Stay just a little longer, we’ll be able to provide a distraction. Believe me, Dairon. There’s more at play than you think.”

Dairon wants to punch Beauregard more times than she doesn’t, but they’re not stupid: Beauregard is good, she’s fucking fantastic at what she does, and trusting her is a decision Dairon has made many times in the past, and has never regretted. So they stay put, and Beauregard pats their arm.

***

They don’t have to wait long, anyway.

The crowd starts murmuring again, and when Dairon looks up from their drink, is to meet the magnetic eyes of the Ruby of the Sea.

It’s brief, because the woman throws herself at Beauregard first and Yasha after, hugging them and kissing them both on the cheeks.

“Oh, my darlings.” she says, with a motherly tone. “How wonderful it is to see you here.”

“Hey, girl.” Beau says with a smile, and Yasha laughs when the Ruby of the Sea has to stand on her toes to kiss her.

Dairon follows the interaction with curious eyes, not understanding how Beauregard and Yasha can be so familiar with this woman.

But she turns to look at them, and Dairon stands, slowly. Once more, the woman in front of her reaches for them with a hand, and once more, Dairon obliges. Only, after she kisses the back of her hand, the Ruby of the Sea doesn’t let go, and takes a step forward.

Their bodies flush together, warm and soft against muscular and lean. The woman looks around, ducking her head and murmuring: “It is a pleasure to see you again, Dairon.”

Dairon’s head turns immediately to look at the other woman, who keeps smiling at her with mischief and warmth.

“Beau and my daughter have told me so much about you.” the woman continues, ignoring the clear panic in Dairon’s face. “But they had failed to tell me how charming you are.”

Beau scoffs.

“Charming? Dairon?!”

Yasha snorts, turning her head to hide a bigger laugh, and Dairon feels a ridiculous blush growing on their features. Their hand is still clutching the other woman’s, and Dairon wants to run, but they can’t bring themselves to let go.

Something, though, something catches their attention.

Beau and my daughter, the woman has said.

Beauregard doesn’t have many friends, and only a couple of them are female. But whereas Veth Brenatto doesn’t have any parent on record, Jester Lavorre, on the other hand...

“Marion Lavorre.” Dairon exhales, and Marion turns to look at her.

Dairon can see the intake of breath, the soft gasp at the sound of her name, and the way Marion blinks when her cheeks flush red.

“Marion.” Dairon repeats, and they don’t miss the way Marion’s tongue quickly darts to wet her lips.

Marion nods, and blinks again, finally releasing Dairon’s hand.

“Beauregard, my darling.” she says to the younger woman. “Would you be a darling and walk me around to greet the regulars?”

Beauregard nods with a gentle, understanding smile, and Dairon wonders what part of the story they’re missing.

Marion looks at them, blue meeting ruby, and lingers for a moment longer.

“I hope to see you later.” she murmurs before walking away.

Dairon stares. They can not to.

They stare as Marion anchors herself to Beau’s arm and walks away, plastering a polite smile on her face that has nothing to do with any of the smiles Dairon’s been gifted with. They’re all very honest, but there’s something missing now.

“Take it from someone who’s ran from the chance of happiness for years.”

Dairon turns to look at Yasha, whose gaze is glued to her wife’s figure.

Dairon has been there through it all. They’ve been at their weddings, too. They don’t think there’s anyone in the whole damn galaxy who could have what those two have.

Beauregard and Yasha quite literally are the definition of soulmates, on Dairon’s internal dictionary.

But whereas Beau is all loud noises and abrasiveness, Yasha is quieter, softer, in a way, when she talks. She also doesn’t talk much, so Dairon knows when to listen.

“Don’t run.” Yasha turns to look at her, and her gaze holds Dairon down. “You are the closest Beau has to a parental figure, so I know how similar you two are. Don’t run, Dairon.”

Dairon is left staring at the bare back of the ridiculously muscular woman, as she saunters away towards the bar. They hear her words and they drink them in.