i have the van now in addition to the daily driver car that i have because i will be moving into the van, the apartment complex i am currently living with family at.. 2 days ago made a policy about vehicles at buildings, and our apartment now technically exceeds the “vehicle limit”

we are going to have to call and ask for some extra time otherwise theyve pretty much given people until the 9th of oct to move their cars? (not just me, like several people who have a lot of roommates with cars etc?)

its.. horrible

the van needs repairs and i need to work on it as much as possible i mean.. things are already so strained as it is. im 100% overwhelmed. i dont know what to do. i cant drive the van at the moment because i dont have the money to pay for its tires and thats why i have to wait, and i believe someone would let me just park my car until my living situation solidifies but i dont have that option at the present moment 

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

You are drowning.

The horrors they have all witnessed pull at you like angry and desperate claws.

There are too many. Clawing up your body and around your throat.

You can’t breathe.

A little girl is crying. People are saying scary things to her and she doesn’t understand. It’s not right. She can’t find mummy. I can’t find mummy. I just need to find mummy. Mummy is brave. Mummy is soldier. Mummy’s such a good soldier she was picked to keep one of the fancy people safe. Mummy will make the scary things go away.

The girl is crying in an alcove, exhausted and alone. You hold her as she cries and sing the songs her mother sang whenever she was scared. You find her a blanket. It’s worn, but warm. She’ll be warm. You tell the kind old woman taking care of the orphans where to find her.

She lost a child. But that was the Blight. It is an old hurt. A scar rather than an open wound. She doesn’t need you.

She will give all the love she had for her son to these children.

The letter is almost here. The messenger is making his way up the mountain.

A man sits alone in the library drinking wine. The room is still dusty and broken down. But he just wants to be alone. I’m better alone. I wonder what my father will think of this? Surely word would have reached home by now. This is so important, I hope he’s proud. Foolish. Stupid. I’ll be a disappointment, as always. Damn. Should have grabbed two bottles of the red.

You take the bottle to keep it from slipping out of his fingers and shattering on the ground. He’s so drunk it’s easy to make sure he doesn’t see you.

You tell him that what he’s doing is important. He knows that in his heart, and that’s what’s most important. It’s understandable that he wants his father to be proud of him. Every child wants their parents approval. But first and foremost he needs to be confident in his own decisions. He knows himself best. And he is making the right decisions.

He is similar to Alexius, but only in the good ways. He is the best of what Alexius taught him. He won’t make the same mistakes.

The man slumps into the dingy old chair and holds his head in his hands.

Better, but not fixed.

None of this could really be fixed.

You just want to help.

Another hurt grips you and drags you from the library and through the stone halls. Too many are pulling at you. You don’t know which one has won out.

You slide past the old wolf in the rotunda. He looks you in the eye with pity as you pass.

He sees you.

And then you don’t feel his hurt anymore. You’re sad you can’t help, but a little relieved because there was so much of it.

The messenger’s halla is tired. The two of them have been riding for days, but the message is important.

You are dragged down the stairs past the Wild Card. Her fire still burns bright, but she hides it more now. She is scared. It’s all wrong. Too real. Too complicated. Too scary. Herald’s don’t tell you everything is the same and that’s that. They bring new things. She doesn’t know if she’s ready for new. Piss. Too much.

You get pulled along past the Ambitious one. She has been away too long now, with no end in sight. She wonders if the ambition is worth it. She thinks of the kind man, the only one to ever see her weep. He is alone. So is she.

The Resolve stands near her, decidedly resolved. His hurts are old, but you won’t be the one to help him.

She will.

Something in your stomach turns. You didn’t know your stomach could turn. Or that you had one.

The Muscle leans against the old wood watching his family train. He doesn’t like to call them that. It hurts too much to think of them like that when he knows he’ll need to leave someday. You’re being pulled quickly but you have enough time to let him know one thing.

He doesn’t have to leave them.

The Believer shimmers as she strikes the practice dummy. She wants to beat out her own insecurities, but that isn’t so easy. She is struggling to decide what she believes recently. What direction Andraste is trying to guide her in. She has more in common with the Wild Card than either would likely be comfortable with. She is meant to be a bulwark of faith, but she fears her foundation is crumbling. And she doesn’t know if she should hate the other woman for it.

You whisper past her as you’re pulled upwards. Faith isn’t a crumbling castle, it is an ocean. It is enduring and capable of change.

You burst into the air and gasp at the sunrise.

The messenger has left his halla at the base of the mountain. She can recover there while he finishes this last leg.

Two friends sit hidden in the tallest room of the furthest tower. They giggle over ale and old stories. There is so much pain between the two of them. Lost family. Lost friends.

But there is love.

They do not burn with it, but glow.

It is warm and comforting, it helps the pain.

You smile and take a moment to soak it in.

You are ripped from the happiness and pulled down into ash and smoke.

The woman’s fine clothes are stained with soot and blood.

That will be hard to get out, she thinks as another soldier is cut down in front of her, she didn’t know her name. She only knew a few of the others in her escort.

The roof of a hut near her collapses in and the fire rages as high as the pitch of the scream from within.

The woman in fine gold clothes is ushered into the Chantry as her escort runs back into the chaos to help more people. None of them will survive this.

The Ambassador’s clothes are clean now, she is spotless, but she can still see the stains. Her hands can barely hold a quill as she stares at the spot on her sleeve where the embers had landed and left holes. The holes are gone now, but she still sees them. She sweats from the heat of the fire. It’s still burning all around her.

I was useless. What good are words in the face of a dragon and its god-like master? What use am I?

You steady her hands and remove the quill, it’s dripping ink will only stain the letter she’s been working so hard on. You remind her how important this letter is. It will get the Inquisition the supplies it so desperately needs. They don’t have the people yet, but this will help to feed and heal the people already here. That’s important.

They couldn’t do this without her. A war is more than swords and battles.

Cullen may lead on the battlefield, Leliana may gather secrets, but in politics and allies you are the war chief.

She can mourn those she lost, she can fear what is coming eventually, that’s to be expected.

But these things cannot paralyze her, not when she is so desperately needed.

The woman in gold takes slow and calming breaths, and picks up the quill again.

The messenger has reached the gates.

There are so many shemlen here, and he is afraid. But there are enough refugees that no one pays him any mind.

They think he is another convert arriving to see the Herald of Andraste in person. They do not care to learn what his vallaslin mean.

That his devotion is to Ghilan’nain and his people.

He mutters a prayer for safety. This is his first important assignment, and he can’t make any mistakes.

A crowd gathers around the base of the stairs leading to the massive stone fortress. People are whispering and he doesn’t know what’s happening. He clutches his satchel closer. He only brought a small knife for cutting plants and self defense if absolutely necessary. The Elithanasha always says that the shedding of blood is the gravest of all sins, but being here among all these strangers he understands better than ever why people turn to it in fear.

He takes a breath, he is not so weak.

Two shemlen women walk down the steps, the one in gold says something to the hooded one before descending the remaining steps and approaching a blonde shemlen man towards the front of the crowd. Another shemlen woman, this one broad with dark hair, walks through the crowd.

The messenger can just barely see ear tips following her.

His heart sings in hope.

His hopes are proven to be true when the elvhen woman follows the dark haired shemlen up the stairs and he can see her more clearly.

The Raj’ha’haren of Mythal.

He wants to weep, she’s really safe.

The shemlen woman guides her up the stairs where the hooded one has revealed a sword. The Raj’ha’haren looks to the dark haired one and her brow is furrowed as she speaks to her. The dark haired one nods and continues talking.

The crowd is getting more fervent and you feel their fears and hurts abide for a moment as they all revel in the same balm.

Hope.

The Raj’ha’haren reaches out her hand and hesitates for a moment before clasping the handle of the sword. Her other hand joins the first as she lifts it.

Why would the humans give her a sword when she will never use it, the messenger wondered. She can barely lift it. He supposed it was a symbolic thing.

Her face shows some strain but she does lift the sword up in front of her. They all begin to cheer and the messenger wonders what they know that he doesn’t.

The Raj’ha’haren takes her time turning to the crowd as she gazes thoughtfully at the sword she’s holding. After a moment she raises her eyes to gaze at the crowd. The people gathered fall silent, anticipating her words.

“The Inquisition,” she begins, speaking with strength and conviction, “will stand for all of Thedas. As we face Corypheus and his army, we cannot be torn apart by old prejudice and hate. We must be an example to everyone of the strength of true unity. The strength of understanding and cooperation. I am an elf. And I am an elf that will stand between Thedas and all the horrors of the Fade if need be. Will you stand with me?”

Her final words incite cheers throughout the crowd and you are lifted with them. It’s like being back in the fade and you are floating with their aspirations.

The dark haired woman shouts over the cheers, “Have our people been told?”

The woman in gold shouts in response, “They have! And soon, the world!”

The dark haired woman calls out again, “Commander, will they follow?”

The blonde man in the crowd turns to the crowd and raises his arms and shouts, “Inquisition, will you follow?”

Cheers!

“Will you fight?”

Louder now!

“Will we triumph?”

The shouts are thunderous and the messenger has to cover his ears as the blonde man continues over the cacophony, “Your leader, your Herald,” the man pulls out his sword and points it up towards the Raj’ha’haren, “your Inquisitor!”

The Raj’ha’haren looks down at the crowd smiling serenely and allows them this moment of happiness and hope before she turns with the two shemlen woman to walk up the stairs.

The messenger allows the crowd to disperse as what just happened settles in his thoughts.

The Raj’ha’haren has been chosen to lead an army of humans. In the name of their god. The messenger’s blood runs cold.

You walk up beside him and take his hand. You remind him that she has been the Raj’ha’haren of Mythal much longer than she has been any sort of Herald of the human god. She has not changed. She was chosen for the position because of her wisdom, so she must surely have a plan. She will only ever act in a way that helps the people, and if she thinks this will help them, the messenger will trust her.

She will never turn her back on her people

You watch the messenger work his way through the human crowd. The message he carries will test that hope.

He finds the Raj’ha’haren in the main hall. She is surprised to see him, but warmth fills her to see another of her people in this cold human fortress. She misses the warm jungles of home and the crystal waters of the lake. When she embraces him, she can still smell the hibiscus in the leather, he must have been sent from her temple.

The advisors look confused but are respectful enough not to interrupt as the messenger solemnly pulls a scroll from his bag. And kneels as he presents it to the Raj’ha’haren.

The Raj’ha’haren is confused as she takes it.

The messenger tells her, “It is from the Elithem Sul’anasha, with the utmost urgency.”

A chill runs down the Raj’ha’haren’s back as she rips open the scroll with not near as much ceremony as it was presented with. She says a prayer in a heart that nothing has happened to Deshanna, she couldn’t handle that right now. She didn’t know if she ever could. She scans the letter rapidly and you see no reason to step in, there will be no hurt today.

There is fear, but nothing that the Raj’ha’haren can’t handle, she hopes.

She must simply invite her new friends home.

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Elvhen used:

Elithanasha- shorthand for chief priest

Raj’ha’haren- shorthand for high priest

Elithem Sul’anasha- formal title for chief priest

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Hoped y’all like it! Next chapter is Ellana’s and i’m so excited!

Chapter 7 of my season 3/4 head canon (The Path Forward) is here, featuring sweet Peneloise moments, risky sex on sofas, fluffy Bridgerton family scenes and – unexpectedly – a chance of a happy-ish ending for Cressida.

The 7th chapter was meant be the last, but since the wedding and honeymoon deserve more than just a mention I will add an 8th – just because I can.

Oh, and I swapped the blood in the scene where Colin cuts himself on a letter opener for other bodily fluids. I am not sorry.