#tevinterbound

                remote clatters, clumsily tossed forth without much care for where it lands. tv is off now, the images erupting into black and drowning the room in silence. he hadn’t warned her, knows the whole sequence of actions is going to make him look like an asshole. an asshole who interrupted date night by peeling away from their comfortable, snug position to ruin the half - finished movie by turning the tv off. he’s on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on knees and palms cupping over chin, exasperated. 

                    “ hey, uh. can we - can we talk? “ michael isn’t looking at her, uncertain and perhaps afraid of what he may find painted into her delicate, beautiful features. the topic is suffocating, closing and swelling around his throat, denying him any ease in just spitting it out. it’s not what he’s trying to say, that perturbs him so : he’s spoken about it, been to all the therapists, met with all the reporters, tried to patch up what he could with friends. what frightens him is her - how she’ll look at him once it all comes out, the prospect that it could be different. but it needs to be done.  

continued x

The dying glow of the setting sun has enfolded them within its warm, rosy hue. As he watches the stretching shadows of dusk dance across the delicate contours of her features, he finds a vulnerability in the way she holds her arms in front of her as though she wishes to wrap them around her wavering form, which she has never before revealed to him. In that moment she seems so small and fragile, that when the warmth of her lips greets his own, he fears the weight of his touch upon her skin. 

He has always sensed the mystery beneath her desire not to bare herself from her defenses; the quiet tragedy behind the way she sometimes steals her gaze away from his questioning eyes. Yet he has never felt it wise to challenge her wish to protect the reasons for her ways. Instead he has learned to allow her the choice to confide in him when she comes to find the right moment, and this is no exception. 

         SHE HEARD HIS APPROACH, AND HAD BEEN EXPECTING IT. Not a night went by wherein he didn’t seek her company, as if he knew, without needing to be told, how enveloping and torturous the dark could be since discovering the fate of her family.

Ariadne looked up at him, eyes tired and expression restless. The book was a familiar one, filled with tales of the Creators, those her father used to recite when the nights were cold and the shemlen lingered in the shadows of trees; she traced its delicate lettering with the tip of her finger, but still her gaze remained fixed on Jorah. “ Each one is a little shorter, ” she assured with a smile, finally allowing her focus to fall to the gift, the aged leather comfortable within her palm as she lifted it into her lap. “ Stay for a while; no Dalish elf tells a tale to an empty room. ”

No Dalish elf tells a tale to an empty room. Jorah nodded.

“You never have,” he rumbled, the words like a stream.

She seemed to like it. A glimmer went off behind those tired eyes and the Dothraki sang, the sound of their drums floating through the window like secrets. Like bedside whispers. Night of the Summer Rain. She ran her fingers over them, the elvish letters all worn and long, long faded.

This wasn’t their first. For many nights, he found her here in the tucked-away corner of the castle, a window open to the oasis and the rushing waterfalls, and here they would read about history and the people, about starry-eyed fantasies and forgotten things. The space between every word grew smaller each night, and the books she read shorter. She smiled at him, Ariadne. The chair creaked as he took his seat beside her.

"Night of the Summer Rain,” he murmured softly, looking to the book then back. “No one knows what stories they tell --- Only that they're old as the roots of many trees. If not more.” Or at least he didn’t know them. None here. None besides the Dalish.

"if i ask you something,” sidri states quietly, “you must promise to be honest.” it’s a quiet evening in skyhold, which is rare, and the absence of papers to be signed and treaties to be negotiated and nobles to be entertained has allowed her a few moments with her thoughts and moments now shared with ariadne. 

she leans against the ancient stone wall, glancing towards her companion before continuing. “solas does not seem...eager to speak well of your kind, as i’ve certain you’ve no doubt taken notice of.” a long pause and she allows herself to take in the cool breeze, become refreshed by it. “des it bother you, ariadne? i think it would bother me greatly, were our places reversed. if it does, i can say something to him.” 

         AND EVIDENTLY, THIS WAS NO GREAT LOSS. For Ariadne, it was difficult to face a supporter of the Tevinter Imperium when the scars of servitude still tore across her skin. As subtle as Sabina’s allegiance was, (wouldn’t make for much of a SPY had she made it obvious, after all) it was little more than the occasional remark or passing glance that lead the elf to the conclusion she’d reached. What had she meant by someone like you?

Someone UNLIKE her.

“ I get the impression you have something of a soft spot for the Imperium, ” yet she spoke impassively enough to keep her opinions on the matter to herself. “ Have a liking for warmer climates? ”

❛  i think if i tried to explain what was going on here it’d give us both an aneurysm. ❜