Drowning in Words Unwritten

a writing blog largely for Dragon Age these days... // main: everestv

[everestv-themuse]

The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin - for the DADWC

Thanks for the prompt! I guess I’m on a friendship kick so here’s some Shaelin Cadash & Dorian Pavus fluff for @dadrunkwriting

“Bad news?” Shaelin asks as she walks up to Dorian’s nook in the library, finding him looking forlornly out the window with a letter held limply in his hand.

He doesn’t turn to look at her, but she notices the way his shoulders drop slightly at the sound of her voice. “Nothing that concerns the Inquisition.”

“You know that’s not why I asked,” Shaelin replies softly, trying not to sound too hurt by the insinuation.

“It’s just not something even the great Inquisitor, famed Hero of the South, can fix this time,” Dorian sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Though I thank you for your concern,”

“Eh, she’s not all she’s cracked up to be,” Shaelin shrugs before moving forward to mirror his position by the window, leaning against a bookshelf and staring out past the glass. “Plus, I hear she’s shorter than all the stories say. Can you imagine? What does the little thing do, stab demons in the shins?”

Dorian allows himself a chuckle. “She doesn’t need to. I hear she can fly through the very air!”

“Exaggerations,” Shaelin scoffs. “That’s only when that Qunari spy hurls her into battle, while the elf criminal she drags along laughs and watches from the sidelines. In comparison, the mage she recruited seems like the most responsible fellow, even if he does come from a land of blood magic and baby sacrifices.”

“He does seem like the remarkable sort,” Dorian smiles and shakes his head. “A saint, even, to run around wrangling all those vagabonds into line. How stressed the poor man must be,”

Shaelin hesitates for a moment, biting at her lip, and Dorian wonders if he’s gone too far. He’s just about to apologize, when she speaks up in a quiet voice. “All I know is that those three truly love and appreciate him. They’d each go to the ends of the earth for him. They’d defend him to the death. Because while he might be instrumental to the Inquisition, he’s even more needed simply as their friend. And I have that on good authority.”

Dorian stares at the young dwarf beside him and recognizes the determined expression she wears. He’s seen it countless times when she’s in the training ring, or when she’s standing at the war table, or listening keenly to Josephine’s instructions — whenever she feels she has something to prove. He drops the letter on a nearby table and Shaelin finally looks to him, her expression never wavering.

He doesn’t consider the decision for very long before he’s rushing forward to scoop Shaelin into a tight hug, pressing close and disregarding the possibility of onlookers spotting the rare showing of intimacy. He doesn’t care, he has other priorities.

“Thank you, my dear friend. It does good to be reminded of my true purpose here,”

Shaelin takes a moment to stand in shocked silence, not quite sure how to respond at first. But the magnetism is inevitable and she soon finds herself wrapping her arms around his middle, basking in the warmth of his sun-touched skin against her own, drinking in the familiar scent of his cologne. She smiles and revels in the embrace.

“That’s what I’m here for,”

[everestv-themuse]

"Satin in candlelight" for any of your characters for the DWC?

Thanks for the prompts! Here’s some coming home fluff for Trea Adaar x Josephine Montilyet for @contreparry @honestly-wilde @talesfromthefade @dadrunkwriting

Trea felt like collapsing and she could see the same sentiment in her companions as they each settled their mounts in their stables. The stars were bright above their heads and the cool night breeze did little to ease the sweat from their brows. They murmured soft ‘goodnights’ as they went their separate ways and then Trea drudged up to her quarters alone.

Making her way up the several flights of stairs took more out of her than she was expecting and she briefly entertained the idea of simply sleeping there on the landing. But after nudging the bedroom door open as quietly as possible and ascending the final flight of stairs, the welcome she was greeted with was more than worth the sore muscles.

Before her, Josephine sat peacefully on the bed, reading by candlelight. A fire crackled in the hearth, everything was still, and Trea couldn’t deny the allure of the softness of the scene. Cast in the flickering glow, Josephine’s hair, her cheek, her skin against the satin night shift she wore, everything shined and Trea’s chest ached as she smiled.

Josephine looked up at her entrance. “Oh, my love, you’re home!” Her voice, wrapped in a familiar kind of welcoming warmth, was also unmistakably soaked in drowsiness.

“No, no, don’t get up,” Trea hummed as she dropped her pack and slid out of her boots, watching Josephine’s attempt at getting out of bed. “I’ll just be a moment,”

On any other night, Trea might have taken her time freshening up before bed. Removing her pieces of armor with care, scrubbing thoroughly at her skin, giving her sore muscles a chance to relax. But she was impatient to get to bed, to feel Josephine’s embrace after so long without.

After quickly stripping down to just a clean sleep shirt, she all but ran forward to collapse onto her bed. Nuzzling into the sheets before moving to settle in Josephine’s lap, she allowed herself a deep breath of her lover’s scent.

“Did you have an easy journey back?” Josephine asked softly, putting her book away and blowing out the candle before threading her fingers through Trea’s hair.

“It was fine. Just long,” Trea hummed and wrapped her arms around Josephine’s waist. “You didn’t have to stay up for me. I know it’s late,”

“I missed you,” Josephine said simply and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Trea’s lips. “It might also have been a bit selfish. I wanted yours to be the last face I saw before I fell asleep,”

Trea smiled and squeezed Josephine’s middle. “Your wish is my command,”

[everestv-themuse]

(Talesfromthefade)The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed, for DWC?

Thanks for the prompt! Hope you like this little thing for Vivienne & Trea Adaar for @dadrunkwriting

“There you are, dear,” Vivienne’s voice sounded in the small alcove above the main hall, eyes only lifting slightly from the tome she was reading. “I was wondering when I would be expecting you,”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Trea allowed, panting slightly from her run up the stairs. “I know I’m late. You should’ve started without me.”

Vivienne glanced at the spread of finger sandwiches and various pastries on the table before her, all left untouched since the servant had brought them up over half an hour ago. She suspected the tea in the nearby pot had also since gone cold and conjured a small flame underneath to warm it.

“Yes, well, I must have gotten distracted in the time waiting for you,” Vivienne replied before standing to replace the tome on a nearby shelf. If Trea had any suspicion that the mage simply made up an excuse rather than admit to wanting to wait for her friend, the Inquisitor kept it to herself. “You’re here now, I suppose. Feel free to dig in, dear.”

“Right,” Trea took the statement as permission to sit as well as eat, settling herself in the opposite armchair as she made a plate for herself.

“My, my,” Vivienne tutted under her breath as she poured the two of them tea. “By the looks of your portions, I’d think you were half-starved.”

Trea glanced up at her friend and consciously made the effort to slow her actions. “I haven’t really eaten all day. Lots of running around,”

“My dear, this isn’t the time to start neglecting yourself. You need your energy as much as your strength.” Vivienne watched keenly as Trea seemed to wince at her words. The way the Inquisitor’s shoulders still held tension, the slightest of trembling in her hands as she held her plate, the hazy glaze that draped itself across her downturned eyes — it gave Vivienne pause. She had thought it was just from the rushing here or the shame of being late, but the unfamiliar mannerisms still hadn’t faded.

“I know. I didn’t mean to. I was just an idiot this morning because I woke up late. And then I was behind on everything else I had to—”

“Have you been sleeping well?”

Trea looked up at that, searching her friend’s gaze to see if the question was some sort of test, some sort of point being made. Vivienne simply stared back with a softness that felt more instinctive than she expected.

“No, not really,” Trea admitted with a soft sigh. “I know it’s important, I know I should be better about it. There’s just been so much to prepare for the expedition into the Frostback Basin. More than usual, I guess. And I’ve just been so scatterbrained trying to keep track of everything...”

Vivienne nodded curtly, recognizing the ache in her chest brought on by the waver she heard in Trea’s voice. “Well well. It appears you need a break then, hmm? Everyone does from time to time, after all. So let us drink our tea, eat our treats, and talk of nothing past Skyhold’s walls. I had wanted to discuss Dorian’s birthday, anyway, and wanted your opinion on the gifts I’m deciding between.”

[everestv-themuse]

"Raindrops on eyelashes" with your Adaar?

Thanks for the prompts! Pre-relationship Trea Adaar & Josephine Montilyet for @contreparry & @dadrunkwriting

“Lady Adaar?” Josephine called out, knocking on the bedchamber door only to have it open on its own at the gesture. Tentatively, she walked in and slowly made her way up the stairs, shivering at the sudden chill in the room. “Lady Adaar, I hope you remember, we were going to go over the...”

Stopping at the top of the stairs, she found herself in an empty room filled with the sound of the raging thunderstorm outside. No fire was laid and one set of balcony doors was thrown wide open. Papers from the Inquisitor’s desk were fluttering around the floor and hugging her arms tightly around her chest against the biting wind, she rushed over to close the doors, making a mental note for the latch to be assessed for damages. She was just grateful the glass didn’t appear—

She froze at the sight before her. There on the balcony was the Inquisitor herself.

Head tipped back, eyes closed, a smile resting on her lips and hands gripping confidently at the stone railing for support, she could very well have been basking in the midday sun. And Josephine couldn’t help but stare.

The image of the Inquisitor in the rain, her imposing stature in complete juxtaposition to the easiness of her posture, the usual hard lines of her muscles suddenly softened and blurred in the storm. To consider it a novel vision would be an understatement. Josephine couldn’t look away.

She had her father to blame for her trained artistic eye. It was almost out of her control, the way Josephine mentally traced the curve of her lips, the flight of her windswept hair, the shine on her soaked skin, the beads of raindrops clinging to her eyelashes. In the span of a breath, the moment seemed frozen in time, even as the storm raged on all around them. It seemed perfect for a painting. If only...

A flash of lightning lit up the sky and she jumped to her senses.

“My Lady! What are you doing out in the rain? You’ll catch your death!”

“Lady Montilyet? I’m sorry, did we arrange—”

“Come inside!” Josephine huffed before darting out only to catch the Inquisitor’s sleeve and drag her back inside. With a great effort, she managed to close the balcony doors and use the perfectly working latch to secure them shut. She let out a breath when she turned back to assess the other woman. “Oh, look at you, you’re soaked! What were you thinking?”

The Inquisitor grinned like a child asked about their favorite toy. “Isn’t it wonderful out? The wind, the rain, the lightning! The thunder that rattles your lungs! It’s beautiful!”

“And it’s just as beautiful to observe from inside, where it’s dry and warm.” Josephine shivered as she glanced around the cold, dark room. “Well, relatively, of course. Regardless.” Fixing her gaze on the woman before her, Josephine’s tone grew firm even if her fingers trembled where they gripped her arms. “I will go and fetch someone to lay a fire and bring up some tea. In the meantime, I expect you to dry off and change clothes. I will not have you collapsing from exposure when there’s so much paperwork you promised to complete.”

“Ah, right!” Trea smiled sheepishly. “We did make arrangements. I must have completely lost track of time...”

***

Once the fire was roaring and steadily warming the room, and Josephine had finished re-organizing the Inquisitor’s desk, she moved to settle on the couch in the center of the room. She poured out two cups of tea from the table in front of her before hesitating.

She reached for the cream, then pulled back. She reached for the sugar, but her hand hovered in the air above the jar. She bit at her lip.

“Oh, did the storm die down?” Trea’s voice sounded behind her and she turned to see the Inquisitor appear from the antechamber, clad in dry clothes and toweling off her mop of short hair.

“I— yes, it appears so.”

Trea walked over and settled on the very far end of the couch. She pointed to the tea tray. “Is one for me?”

“Oh. Yes. I just haven’t prepared them yet. I realize I don’t know how you take your tea,”

“Leave it to me, I’ve become an expert on the both of us.” Trea grinned that same grin from before as she reached for the tray and a spoon. “Two sugars, stir for only a moment, blow just slightly...and here you are, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Josephine said quietly as she accepted the cup, bringing it to her lips slowly as if afraid of shattering a fragile moment. It was perfect, exactly the way she liked it, and immediately she was brought back to the past few nights Trea had visited her office late at night, sharing tea and company.

“You’re welcome,” Trea nodded and if she noticed the slight flush that alighted on Josephine’s cheeks, she said nothing. “And in case you were wondering, that’s one decent helping of cream, four sugars because I can’t help myself, stir thoroughly, and you have my poison. Little more complicated than yours,”

“I’ll try to remember,” Josephine laughed softly and everything seemed worth it to see the way Trea beamed in response.

“So,” the Inquisitor cleared her throat. “Should we get started? I know we have a lot to get through tonight, and I certainly don’t want to take up any more of your time.”

“No, no, I don’t mind. And the paperwork can certainly wait for now,” Josephine waved a dismissive hand before taking another perfect sip of tea. “Let’s just enjoy this for a little while longer. In any case, I’d rather you warm up completely by the fire than overwork yourself at my expense.”

“Your wish is my command, my lady,”

[everestv-themuse]

For DA DWC - the creak of leather

Thanks for the prompt! I loved writing this, definitely tried to do something a little different, a little more subdued, and I really like how it came out. Trea Adaar for @dadrunkwriting

Trea flopped on the bed heavily, rubbing at her strained eyes. She couldn’t believe she had had it in her to stare at a map for that long, moving markers centimeters at a time only to move them right back to their original position, repeating the cycle for hours upon hours—

“Herald?” Called a voice, accompanied by a gentle knock.

Trea growled under her breath at the ridiculous title before dragging herself to answer the door. “Yes? Can I help?”

The servant she faced, still not used to the juxtaposition of her size and the politeness in her voice, stammered for a moment before offering up the large package in his hands. “This came for you. Um, with this note attached.”

“Thank you,” Trea said with a smile as she accepted the scrap of paper and the wrapped object. Once it fell completely in her hands, however, her smile faltered. She recognized it by its weight. Covered or not, simply holding it struck her with a familiarity that rooted itself in her very core. She barely registered the servant still fidgeting in the doorway.

“Um. The note was attached with twine before. Before, uh, Sister Nightingale read it, that is. As she reads all the correspondence coming into Haven. For security purposes, of course. I understand no one else has read it, and that no one removed the wrapping. Not even Sister Nightingale. Speaking of Sister Nightingale, however, she has requested you to come to her tent at your earliest convenience. She would like to speak with you. Shall I inform her that you will be on your way shortly? That is, if you can spare a moment, of course. Then again, this is Sister Nightingale we’re speaking of, and she usually does expect agreement to her requests. But, of course, being the Herald, I doubt she could say much if you were to delay due to another important matter taking up your time. Um. If there was nothing else, I’ll leave you. Thank you for your time, Your Worship.”

Numbly, Trea closed the door and walked to her desk, setting down the package gently and unfolding the note.

Heard your little stint with the humans is gonna be more permanent than we thought.

Tough draw. Wouldn’t trade places with you for much.

Wanted to give this to you in person, but figured that little mountain town couldn’t handle any more horns running around. You understand.

Bet you a pretty sovereign you haven’t been sleeping well without this. You can thank me in a few weeks once this is all over and you’re back with the company again.

Until then, keep your head up and stay out of trouble. Do what you gotta do, play their little game, and come back in one piece.

I really don’t want to have to storm the place just because you landed your ass back in chains. But you know I will if I have to.

Just remember—

Maraas kata

Shokrakar

Trea sniffed, her chest filled with a dull ache as she read over the familiar handwriting. And read it again. Her fingers traced the last three words. She swallowed hard, shook her head, and put the note to the side.

Working quickly, she unwrapped the package before her, and held the bare item in her hands. It was a sheathed two-handed sword. Exactly the one she was expecting. Old and faded and rubbed thin in some places, the leather of the scabbard creaked as she brought out the sword and examined the blade. Every little nick was exactly where she remembered them being, every scratch on the metal and every patch of discoloration. She dragged a finger along the edge and it came away clean, the skin unbroken by the blade long left dull over the years.

She remembered when the sword was so intimidating to hold as a child, remembered when the mere mention of training with it made her sore muscles ache in protest. But she also remembered the first time she noticed the subtle grooves in the grip, the ones perfectly matching the shapes of her fingers. She remembered when she came to think of that sword as hers, even as it lay under her mother’s bed. She remembered when she started to gravitate to it, when she started to realize its true power, and that suddenly it wasn’t a bringer of punishment, but the only source of protection she truly had. She remembered that final night, she remembered the way she held onto that scabbard for dear life, remembered the fleeting intent to fight if her mother had moved forward to take it from her. Because she knew that keeping that sword in her hands was the only way she felt safe enough to stand her ground, safe enough to run away.

She stared at her blurry reflection in the blade for a moment, identifying only a pointed, wavering shape.

She sheathed the sword and walked over to place it under her bed.

She picked up the note, folded it gingerly, and slipped into her jacket, pressed securely against her chest.

She took a deep breath and walked out the door, heading for the spymaster’s tent.

[everestv-themuse]

"Red wine stained lips" for any of your characters for the DWC?

Thanks for the prompt! This is a scene way before their relationship starts for Trea Adaar & Josephine for @dadrunkwriting

Trea was none too embarrassed to grab the closest serving dish in front of her as soon as it was placed on the table. She had especially requested a hearty meal tonight and looking at the spread with wide eyes, her expectations were certainly exceeded.

“Save some for the rest of us, yeah?” Sera jabbed at her side.

“Sorry,” Trea answered, passing the dish to the elf and quickly accepting the one Cassandra had been offering to her on her other side. “M’hungry,”

“A qunari’s appetite never ceases to impress,” Varric laughed from across the table.

“Funny coming from the dwarf with an almost full plate of potatoes,” Iron Bull said, a smirking arched eyebrow flashing to the dwarf at his side.

In between hurried bites of food, Trea looked up periodically and watched the serving dishes slowly make the rounds. It was hard to ignore the last remaining seat left empty, especially once everyone had finished making their plates and dinner was well underway.

She made sure to finish her mouthful before speaking up. “Leliana, where’s—”

“I was just about to fetch her, Inquisitor,” The spymaster replied without looking up, already taking the napkin from her lap and placing it on her chair as she stood. “She would appreciate your concern, I’m sure.”

The steel in her voice, in every word she seemed to utter in Trea’s presence, was hardly new or surprising. There was an indecipherable look passed between Cassandra and Leliana, Leliana made her way to Josephine’s office without another word, and Trea ducked her head to avoid a pointed glare from the spymaster. Out of the corner of her eye, Trea saw Cassandra shake her head.

“Things are still icy, huh?” Sera murmured, unabashedly turning around in her chair to watch Leliana leave the hall.

“No, it’s not that,” Trea shrugged and continued eating, ears pricked for any sign of approaching footsteps. “She’s just...she’s keeping it professional, you know? Formal. If that’s how she wants to operate, I don’t mind.”

Cassandra scoffed.

“Sure, tough stuff,” Sera bit at her lip. “That’s probably all it is,”

A soft voice, lilted but warm, reached Trea’s ears and she looked up to see Leliana returning with Josephine at her side, the two speaking to each other in hushed tones. Once they would have been able to be overheard, they fell silent with a practiced ease. Trea watched as the ambassador gave the group a polite smile, a vague apology, and settled in her seat between Vivienne and Leliana. Clearly, the spymaster wanted to continue their conversation, but Josephine turned to the mage at her side instead.

“Madame Vivienne, would you be so kind as to pass the wine?”

The enchanter hesitated for a mere moment, tempted to make a teasing remark at the uncharacteristic request, but met the woman’s gaze and handed over the bottle knowingly. “Of course, darling,”

Trea furrowed her eyebrows. She watched as Josephine silently filled her glass, took a long sip, and slowly filled her plate with only a passive interest in what Leliana continued to say. Trea understood the reason for Vivienne’s tact, it wasn’t too hard to notice. Though slight, there was a definite way that Josephine’s shoulders hung too low. Though subtle, it was apparent that she held her fork too loosely. Though still, there was something in her muted gaze that suggested she was steadily travelling miles away from the current moment.

“Hey, you gonna finish that?”

Trea watched as Josephine easily finished her drink and wasted no time in filling another glass. In that moment, the gold of her sleeve flashed and weaved around the silverware in one fluid motion, smooth yet darting, completely undisruptive of the momentum of Leliana’s conversation. And then, without missing a beat, she turned to Vivienne at her engagement in the topic. She followed the volley of discussion with ease, swiveling between Vivienne and Leliana at all the correct moments, but she didn’t say a word. She only sipped at her wine, picked at her food, and occasionally prodded at her temples.

“Trea?”

Something tightened in her chest as she watched Josephine. Her hands fidgeted uselessly with her napkin as she struggled with what she could say. Interrupting the conversation would be rude, Josephine was too far to offer a physical gesture of concern. All she could do was watch the ambassador’s mechanical movements, watch as her eyes grew duller in the dim candlelight, watch as her lips grew stained a deeper and deeper red—

“Trea! Hello?”

The Inquisitor jumped at the sudden jab in her side. “Hmm? What?”

“I said, you gonna finish that?” Sera pointed to the portion of bread still untouched on her plate. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your daydreaming over there.”

“I, uh,” Trea blinked, turning between her impatient friend and the plate she had long since abandoned. Then a prickling traveled down her horns. She looked up to meet Josephine’s gaze, her attention suddenly on the unfolding situation, and then Vivienne and Leliana followed suit. Not that Trea could focus on the others suddenly looking at her. She was engrossed in Josephine’s eyes, the look of surprise that flashed across her face, her lips parting slightly, her shoulders stiffening, as if this was the first time she was noticing Trea in the room. A jolt racked the qunari’s chest and she couldn’t look away fast enough. “Sorry. Yeah. You can have it.”

“Thanks,” Sera mumbled, already halfway through the loaf she had taken anyway, and stared critically at her friend’s plate. “What’s wrong? Thought you were starving,”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompt! Decided on writing a very vague modern AU for this since it seemed appropriate. Trea Adaar x Josephine Montilyet for @midnightprelude​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Is that...?” Trea lifts her head from the couch armrest and mutes the TV, rubbing at her eyes and trying to listen carefully. She thought she heard a plink against the window, but maybe it was just her—

Plink. Plink plink. Plinkplinkplinksplat. Trea groans as she stands at the unmistakable sound of rain, padding over to pull back the curtains and look out the window. Sure enough, she stares out at the city street below her, watching as stray raindrops fall, before an onslaught of precipitation suddenly begins pouring out of the sky and pelting loudly against the window.

“So much for that nap,” Trea grumbles, turning to head back to the couch and glancing at the hallway leading to the front door, noticing the deep navy of an umbrella hanging from its usual hook. Her eyes blink wide. “Shit! Josephine!”

Climbing over the couch in one fell swoop, Trea scrambles to pull on her boots and coat, only pausing to grab the left-behind umbrella and lock the door behind her before racing down the stairs of the apartment and hitting the street with a splash. She hastily pulls out her phone to check the time.

“Fuck, I don’t have time for the subway, she’s probably getting ready to leave right now...” Trea glances up and down the busy street in front of her, watching as it slowly becomes the typical crawl of rush hour exasperated by the pounding rain. “Fuck it!”

Without a second thought, Trea sprints across the street, weaving in and out of traffic, ignoring the chain of honks and angry protests from cars and pedestrians alike, umbrella held tightly in her hand.

Since she knows the way to Josephine’s office by heart, her sense of direction isn’t her problem. She’s just not sure if she can make it in time. Whatwith the slippery sidewalks and the building traffic all around her, it takes more effort than she cares to admit to keep herself from skidding in a puddle or colliding with a bumper. Not to mention having to wipe the rain from her eyes every few seconds while concentrating on not letting the drenched umbrella slip through her fingers. She should’ve put the strap around her wrist right away, but she can’t afford to stop now. Not when the office building finally comes into view.

“Homestretch,” she says through gritted teeth as she runs ever harder, all but crashing into the revolving front doors once she finally gets to her destination. Panting, she forces herself to slow her gait and try to gain traction on the smooth marble floor of the lobby. She also has to remind herself to straighten her posture as best as she can, now that all three receptionists at the front desk are staring at her drenched form in horror.

“Hi, um,” Trea starts between breaths, leaning slightly against the desk, trying not to drip everywhere. The receptionist in front of her moves the sign-in sheet out of her watery radius all the same. “I’m here to see Miss Montilyet. Is she, uh...has she left yet?”

The center receptionist looks Trea up and down and her coworkers attempt to return to their work, despite keeping an eye on the conversation anyway. “Did you have an appointment? It’s certainly late for one,”

“Oh, no, I...” Trea takes a few deep breaths to try and calm her racing heartbeat. “I should be on the approved visitors list. I’m Trea. Uh, under Adaar. I just wanted to run this up to her,” she says and meekly waves the umbrella into view.

“Right...” The receptionist says with barely veiled suspicion before typing away at her keyboard. At this point, the ticking of the lobby’s grand clock replaces the drumming in Trea’s ears, and she curses Josephine’s company for hiring new people so often and never getting a chance to recognize her. “Yes. Well. Here you are. I haven’t seen her leave yet so she must still be in her office.”

“Great!” Trea smiles and inches away from the desk. “So could you get the elevator for me? And send it to her floor? Since I don’t have an employee badge and you guys just have such tight security around here. All very impressive, I mean!”

“Of course, Miss Adaar,” The receptionist nods and types a few commands into her computer as if it pains her. Without much of a delay, one of the elevators opens. “Have a good day,”

“Thanks! You too! You’re the best!” Trea calls as she races into the elevator and grins until the doors close. With a sigh, she all but collapses against the elevator walls and begins a mediocre process to try and wring out her hair and jacket. But the ride to the top floor is too quick and the doors are opening again before Trea can make much progress.

Weaving her way down familiar hallways and nodding at familiar faces, Trea continues forward with her mission in mind, only stopping once she finally gets to Josephine’s assistant.

“Oh! Miss Adaar! We weren’t expecting you today!” The kind woman welcomes her before noticing the state of her for the first time. “Oh my, you look dreadful!”

“Yeah, uh, it’s really coming down out there.” Trea runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to smooth it out, hoping the assistant was exaggerating about her appearance. “That’s why I just wanted to run this over. Is she, uh, busy right now?”

“She was on a last minute conference call earlier, but...let me see...yes, she just got off the call. Walk right in!”

“Thank you,” Trea says with a warm smile and approaches the solid door of the large office in front of her, knocking twice before slipping inside.

“Yes, yes, I know I should be leaving soon, but I just wanted to—” Josephine glances up from the file cabinet she was sifting through and cuts herself off at the sight of the unexpected visitor. “Trea! What are you...look at you, you’re soaked!”

Trea lets the shorter woman rush towards her to press cool hands against her cheeks and forehead, checking briefly for a temperature, before she raises up the treasure still held tight in her hands. “I brought you an umbrella,”

“And you ran all this way, in the pouring rain, without using it for yourself in the process?” Josephine asks, but she isn’t really surprised. She helps Trea out of her dripping jacket and leans up to place a brief kiss on the other woman’s lips.

“I, uh...oh, well, I guess I didn’t think about that...I was more worried about missing you on your way out,”

“Of course you were,” Josephine shakes her head with a smile. “So worried you forgot I keep an extra umbrella here in the office for these very circumstances?”

Trea glances at the mentioned umbrella leaning against the coat rack, all ready to go with Josephine’s purse and coat hanging just above. “Oh...yeah...sorry...”

“I appreciate you battling the elements so valiantly regardless,” Josephine laughs and spares Trea another sweet kiss. “You arrived just in time, I was just finishing up. Let’s get you home and dry you off before you catch a cold,”

Trea bows her head sheepishly and rests it in the crook of Josephine’s neck in defeat. “Yes, ma’am,”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompts! Thought I’d write a little something about pre-Conclave Shaelin during her Carta days. Shaelin Cadash & Lantos (they/them) for @contreparry​ @pedlimwen​ @dadrunkwriting​

“What?” Lantos looks up with wide eyes, mouth half-full, as Shaelin approaches them.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” She repeats her question and crosses her arms as she stares them down. Lantos swallows their food with a loud gulp and turns to face her completely on their seat by the campfire.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Shaelin huffs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Lan, you know that’s my one good shirt. I need it clean for tomorrow when I give the mission report in front of my parents. You know what they’re like when I show up just in my field uniform.”

“But it’s so comfortable!” Lantos dips their head backwards for emphasis, rubbing their hands across the billowy sleeves of the shirt and closing their eyes in bliss. “It feels so smooth and cool to the touch,”

“Yeah. It’s silk. Hence being my one good shirt,” Shaelin counters and tugs the other dwarf to their feet with a firm grip on their wrist. “Come on, go get changed. I need to fold it back up before we break camp.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going,” Lantos grumbles and breaks out of Shaelin’s hold, leading the way to the tent they share. Once inside, they make sure to go to the far back and wait until Shaelin turns her back to guard the entrance before changing. They slip out of the shirt slowly, careful to make as little skin-to-skin contact with their chest as possible.

Shaelin bites her lip and kicks at the ground. “I’m sorry, but you know how it is,”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“If it was another day, you know I wouldn’t care.” Shaelin runs a hand through her hair and scratches at the shaved section above her nape. “We share clothes all the time, it’s not a big deal usually.”

“I get it, Lin. Really. Wishful thinking will always be my downfall,” Lantos says with a heavy sigh as they finish dressing in their typical practiced manner. “You can turn around now.”

Shaelin moves to face her friend and accept the folded shirt, watching how their shoulders sink in the fitted tunic of the Carta uniform. “What do you mean?”

Lantos rolls their eyes like their reasoning is a ridiculous notion. “Just that...wearing the shirt and feeling good in it all day...it’s like I can pretend that feeling will never go away, even for a little while. But then you’ll need it and I’ll give it back and it slaps me in the face all over again that I’ll never get to keep something like that.”

“Because it’s made out of silk, or...” Shaelin looks down at the shirt in her hands and runs her thumb over the loosely tailored seams. “Or because it’s a shirt fitted for women?”

Lantos shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “It’s just comfortable, that’s all...”

“Hey, listen, I didn’t realize this was a big thing for you,” Shaelin moves forward and reaches a steady hand onto her friend’s shoulder, shaking it slightly. “Thought it was just you wanting to be an ass and stealing my clothes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the other shit of mine you wear.”

“Guilty,” Lantos allows themself a small chuckle. “It was a little about that too, couldn’t resist.”

“I knew it,” Shaelin smirks with a shake of her head before pulling her friend into a tight hug. “You could’ve told me, though. Earlier, I mean. ‘Cause now? First thing we do is get you a shirt just like mine from that town we passed by yesterday.”

“No, I mean, I get we’re on a schedule. We don’t have to backtrack just on my account,”

“Of course we do,” Shaelin pulls back from the hug and looks Lantos in the eye. “Because my lieutenant suffers from a subpar uniform and a Cadash can afford better for their ranks.”

“That...that would mean a lot. Thanks, Lin,”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompts! This is something of a sequel to my last ficlet, since it mentions a injury from it, but it’s not set directly afterwards. For @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps​ @tevivinter​ @dadrunkwriting​

Sera would be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed Shaelin’s eyes watching every move she made. Not that the dwarf said anything to justify the close supervision. But Sera didn’t need the verbal confirmation. The second she knocked back that arrow too quickly, the second her shoulder twinged and she had to hesitate before the shot, the very moment she let a grimace slip across her lips, she knew that Shaelin noticed.

To say the dwarf was more aware of her on the battlefield would be an understatement. She practically watched Sera like a hunter stalking its prey. She would get that look in her eye that always came before she slipped into stealth to track her target.

It even got to the point where Shaelin was making easy mistakes during fights. Whether it was not watching her back closely enough or leaving herself too open or only parrying a blow at the last possible second, Shaelin’s focus was never fully trained on her own actions. And it wasn’t just Sera who noticed. Dorian and Iron Bull, who were forced to pick up the slack on covering the Inquisitor when she refused to do it herself, couldn’t help but be aware of the situation.

Not that anyone would admonish her for it. Not out on the field. If Cassandra knew, she wouldn’t hesitate to give the dwarf a talking to, leader of the Inquisition or not. But back at Skyhold, in the training ring, there wasn’t an elf inadvertently drawing her focus away, and the Seeker never got a chance to see Shaelin’s recent bouts of recklessness in action.

That’s why when the group finally got back to camp, Sera was surprised there was no quiet follow-up on exactly why the archer was rolling her shoulder so much. In fact, Shaelin hadn’t said so much as a word to her since that last fight. The second they got to the campground, the Inquisitor made a beeline to Maker knows where and Sera was forced to retire to their tent alone.

She dropped her pack with a sigh, barely restraining herself from throwing her bow and quiver of arrows in its wake. At least being left alone had some advantages. This way, she could do her shoulder exercises in peace without having to worry about Shaelin worrying every time she would flinch at an ache or twinge. It had been long enough since that darkspawn fight, the gaping hole in her shoulder had long since healed and scarred over. But every now and then, if her movements were just a bit too fast or she jerked into action just a touch too much, she swore the pain felt like the day she got the injury.

Not that she would have time to stretch out the joint properly anyway. Just as she was moving on to her second set of exercises, Shaelin burst into the tent with a bowl of some sort of green gunk in her hands. The dwarf looked her up and down expressionlessly.

“Take off your shirt,”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s where this is going? Have to say, kinda miss the little ‘please’ you do, but I’m all for switching it up.”

“Cute,” Shaelin rolled her eyes before turning to wait expectantly. Sera just huffed but scrambled to comply. Before long, she stood bare-chested before Shaelin who only nodded in a neutral kind of approval. “Now lie down on the bedroll. No, no, on your stomach.”

“Not my first choice but hey,” Sera did as she was told and rested her chin in the crook of her crossed arms. “I’m not the one making the rules, obviously.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s not like that.” Shaelin moved to straddle Sera’s lower back and place the bowl on the ground beside her. “I’m giving you a massage.”

Sera glanced back at her. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” the dwarf said simply and began rubbing the contents of the bowl into her hands. “I noticed your shoulder was acting up again. I went to ask the healer what she could suggest and she gave me this poultice and taught me some simple massaging techniques. Now stop looking at me like that and relax.”

“I can’t help giving you my signature doe eyes with you being all smushy like that!”

“Smushy? I’m just looking out for—”

“Exactly, Tadwinks!” Sera trilled out a laugh as she settled into the soft bedroll beneath her and readied herself for the dwarf’s warm touch. “You wasted no time once we got back to camp. Just goes to show you were thinking of me. The definition of smush.”

“Yeah, well,” Shaelin smiled a bit, even through her grumbling. “I think about you all the time. It’s friggin’ annoying.”

Sera could feel the flush slowly spread across her cheeks, immediately burying her face to hide it but knowing that it would just spread to the tips of her ears anyway. “Yeah. I noticed. We’ve all noticed. It’s not what I...not that I don’t like it...you thinking of me...it’s just...I don’t want...”

“I know. I’m bringing the team down.” Shaelin’s voice was flat, emotionless and matter-of-fact, just like she had been trained to have in the Carta. Sera’s heart sunk just a bit. “I’ve been stupid, fighting like an amateur. I’ll make it up to you guys, I’ll train harder, I’ll—”

“Or you could lay off me a bit?” Sera offered quietly. “I know you’re worried. But I don’t want to worry you. If we just go back to before, taking care of ourselves, watching each other’s backs when we can, things will go back to normal.”

“Yeah? Because things turned out so great before? I took my eyes off you for one second during that fight, just one, and then you got...I mean, what? You want me to stop caring about you?”

“I just want you to trust me, idiot,” Sera murmured, glancing back again to meet Shaelin’s gaze, her ice blue eyes slowly melting in the warmth of Sera’s misty ones. “Now start rubbing me, I’m getting cold.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Shaelin blinked and got to work, slowly kneading her thumbs into Sera’s lower back muscles before trailing upwards, spreading the poultice across her skin. “The healer said this stuff has a little bit of magical properties. She said it starts off warm, like I’m sure you feel right now, and then it turns cold like ice, and then it switches back and—”

Sera couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her lips as Shaelin finally got to her shoulders, tracing slow circles across scarred skin as a full-body shiver ran through her veins. Shaelin froze and Sera’s eyes blinked wide.

“What?” The dwarf asked softly, voice slowly drawing out until the smirk in her words was undeniable. “Does that feel good?”

Sera let out a breath. “Don’t tease me, not now. Just keep going.”

[everestv-themuse]

Heat of Her Breath in My Mouth (I'm Alive)

Thanks so much for this prompt and for the first ficlet I’m posting with its title! I figured it deserved it since it totally ran away from me and became longer than I was originally planning. Shaelin Cadash x Sera for @honestly-wilde​ @talesfromthefade​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Are you quite sure?” Dorian asks again as the group of them race across the Storm Coast shore, weapons drawn and poised for battle.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Shaelin scoffs from her position on Iron Bull’s head, hands gripping his horns for balance, but ready to draw her dual daggers once closer to their targets. “I’m the one with the best vantage point right now,”

“Yes, as you mention often enough,” Dorian says through controlled breaths, careful not to pant or seem even in the slightest out of breath, before rolling his eyes. Sera sniggers from Iron Bull’s other side. “It’s just...darkspawn? So far out in the open? I simply question what they’re doing in the middle of nowhere on the beach, that’s all.”

“He’s got a point,” Sera speaks up, pausing briefly to send an arrow into one of the hurlocks they were getting closer to, before catching up with the group again. “Darkspawn being around always equals some hole nearby they had to crawl out from,”

“Heads up!” Iron Bull yells at the darkspawn slowly becoming aware of the approaching enemies, just in time to be met with a dwarf armed to the teeth being thrown up over the qunari’s head and straight at them.

The four Inquisition members easily slip into battle positions as they’ve done countless times before — Sera on top of an upended boat at the edge of the fighting, sending arrows ripping through any enemy seemingly gaining the upper hand; Dorian positioning himself directly opposite her at the other edge of the battle, maintaining barriers for each member of the party while casting a volley of lightning strikes here and there; which left Iron Bull and Shaelin at the center of it all, slashing their way through enemies with blades that quickly soaked through in black blood.

Even so, the fighting did nothing to halt their conversation.

“‘Heads up?’ That’s seriously all you got for a battle cry?” Shaelin gives Iron Bull a look as she cuts a hurlock down to its knees, before aiming another clean swing to slash its throat.

“I won’t lie, amatus,” Dorian pipes up above the din of battle. “I was disappointed as well,”

“I was distracted, alright?” Iron Bull just groans as he raises his two-handed axe high above his head, ready to send it crashing back down to slice a hurlock clean in two. But the next second, the same hurlock is crumpling to the ground with two arrows straight through its helmet. Bull looks up to meet Sera’s playful gaze and tongue sticking out at him with a grimace. “Stealing my kill again? Not appreciated, thanks!”

“Oh, just admit you love m—” Comes the cut-off reply.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iron Bull grumbles with his back already turned away from Sera. “Anyway,” Spinning around, he downs two darkspawn with one blow and finishes them both just as quickly. “I would’ve thought of something better, but I was trying to listen to what you guys were saying—”

“Excuses, excuses!” Shaelin laughs as she tackles a darkspawn coming at Iron Bull from behind.

“—and I was trying to think of the cave system nearby and if we had explored it yet—”

Dorian scoffs and swings his staff out once he realizes that Sera’s barrier has been on the weaker side for a bit now. “You say that as if you’ve already memorized the new map Scout Harding sent us this morning. Are we really meant to believe that, love?”

“Oh, sure, doubt the professional spy!” Iron Bull throws back without a hint of real bitterness to his voice. Shaelin chuckles as she cuts down one of the few remaining hurlocks, before turning to Sera’s position to share an amused look with the elf. Instead, she’s met with empty air where the archer used to be. “All I’m saying is we could stand to check out the area.”

“Sera?” Shaelin calls out, sheathing her daggers and leaving the last darkspawn to the two still bickering, stepping carefully over the bodies to closer inspect the upended boat.

“Yes, yes, it’s a perfectly fine idea,” Dorian muses, lightning crackling at the edge of his voice as a sudden storm rages down on the last enemy standing. “But we don’t depend on you for plans, we depend on you for the pizzazz! The showmanship of battle! And to be perfectly honest, you’ve left us all wanting.”

“Sera, where—”

“I’m fine, I’m good!” The elf exclaims as she pops her head out from behind the boat. “Was just thrown backward during the fight, is all,”

“Pizzazz, huh? Is that what you call adrenaline-fueled sexiness?”

Following a lowly murmured string of flirty Tevene, Shaelin quickly tunes out the two lovebirds and focuses on Sera as she attempts to shake out the gravel from her armor. “Are you sure? It looks like you’re—”

“I said I’m good, Tadwinks,” Sera insists with a smile, gently shoving away Shaelin’s advances. “Seriously. Now, what was all that about a cave?”

“Right, yeah,” Shaelin nods and heads back towards her friends. “Wrap it up, you saps, let’s head towards that cave. Where did you say it was again?”

Iron Bull tears his suggestive smirk away from the mage and turns toward the dwarf instead. “Oh, uh, due west. Down the coast. Lots of spiders, deepstalk— I mean, the little cuddly lizard guys that you’re totally not afraid of, you know. Typical cave. Except maybe with more darkspawn this time.”

Dorian represses a chuckle and Shaelin glares at him. “Right, great, no problem. Lead the way.”

“You sure you don’t want to climb back up on my horns, Boss? That way you’re farther from the ground? And, you know, the occasional deep—”

“No, thank you!” Shaelin growls and barely dodges Dorian’s attempt at ruffling her hair. “I can handle the worms with teeth and legs this time, thanks! Just fucking walk already,”

“Yes, ma’am,” Iron Bull responds as seriously as he can manage and Shaelin just sighs as the group treks on.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, your fear of some vicious thing that’s so much smaller than you, it’s almost impressive,” Dorian points out as he stretches his arms above his head. “Everyone has some sort of embarrassing fear or two.”

“Right, yeah, like Dorian’s fear of running out of color-coded clothes one day!” Iron Bull smiles and to his credit, Dorian just nods solemnly.

“Quite right. A dreadful thought,” the mage says. “But not to count out Bull’s fear of running out of different ways to swing a weapon.”

“Exactly! Who would I be without my violently creative tendencies?”

“Sera, you’re really gonna let them gang up on me?” Shaelin huffs as she glances between her two bullies. She’s met with no reply. “Come on, say you have my— Sera!”

The dwarf, glancing behind her to meet eyes with the elf trailing behind, cries out at the sight of a crumpled figure a little ways back down the beach. Immediately, she sprints across the gravelly shore, barely aware of her companions racing after her.

She skids to her knees once she’s close enough, scrambling to cradle Sera’s head in her lap and check for signs of serious injuries. She kneels in a quickly growing puddle of blood and Sera’s eyes struggle to flutter open and Shaelin’s heartbeat thrums so loudly in her ears it drowns out the waves crashing to shore, and it’s hard to focus on anything else in the moment.. Her hands shake as she pokes and prods until the elf finally grimaces in response.

“Ah, sh-shit, easy there,”

Shaelin tries to ignore the trembling in Sera’s voice before turning towards Dorian who’s already there, kneeling and pressing comfortingly against her side. “It’s her shoulder, it’s— I-I can’t see with the armor, it’s just all covered in—”

“I got it, I see it,” Dorian says in his calmest voice before waving towards Iron Bull who’s pacing nervously at his side. “Bandages, elfoot, regeneration potion. Hurry.”

“Right. Sorry.” Bull mumbles before dropping to his knees and rummaging through his pack.

“Shaelin, keep her steady,” Dorian instructs as he delicately begins to unbuckle and peel away at the shoulder piece and fabric beneath the armor, trying to ignore the way his patient groans and squirms in her barely conscious state. Finally, his hands now covered in blood, he gets a clear look at the wound. “Bull, clean water and that potion, now.”

“D-Dorian...that’s a hole...straight through...” Shaelin says, her voice barely above a whisper, as she stares at the wound. “It’s...she’s...there’s so much—”

“I know, salroka, she’s lost a lot of blood, but she’ll be— oh, thank you,” Dorian says as Iron Bull shoves a canteen and vial into his hands. The mage works quickly to flush the wound with water, watching as the gushing blood slowly begins to dilute. “Shaelin, Bull, the potion is going to sting. I need you to hold her down just in case. Keep her from thrashing. Ready?” The two nod, holding onto trembling limbs as firmly as needed. Dorian takes a small breath and pours small amounts of the potion onto the wound. Immediately, Sera cries out in pain and jerks against her constraints, but the two hold fast and she only manages to resist for a moment before falling completely limp.

“S-Sera?! Dorian, she’s—”

“That’s a good thing, Boss. If she’s passed out, she can’t feel any of it,”

“Bandages, please?” Dorian nods at Iron Bull’s murmured comment and reaches out his hand to receive his request. “ He’s right. I can’t focus on magically keeping her unconscious while I’m closing the wound at the same time. This is for the better, trust me.” He says and focuses on pouring the rest of the regeneration potion on two separate strips of bandages, using them to wipe both sides of Sera’s shoulder and then pressing them firmly against the wound. He looks up at Shaelin. “I need you to keep pressure on her shoulder, alright? Press hard,”

“R-Right, okay,”

Dorian watches the young dwarf do as she’s told while he stretches out his crimson-stained hands to hover over Sera’s shoulder, willing light blue wisps to spring from his fingers and seep through to the elf’s skin beneath the mess of blood. He closes his eyes as he works, mentally directing the magic to weave and sew the wound closed, fingers waving and writhing as if conducting a symphony of so many moving parts. It’s all Dorian can do not to slump against Iron Bull’s side as he works with such minute magic and as he can feel the mana seeping out of him with each second that passes, having so little left after the battle.

“There,” the mage says with effort. “It’s closed. Now I just have to...I just...”

“Whoa there,” Iron Bull presses closer with a hand on Dorian’s shoulder, all but supporting the staggering mage’s weight. “I can take it from here. Just gotta bandage her up, right? Go take a breather, collect yourself. Shaelin, keep your hands there while I wrap it, okay?”

***

Shaelin lays on her side on the padded bedroll, curled up and focusing on her breathing, just like Iron Bull taught her. She’s trying to keep calm, trying to keep sane, even as she stares at the motionless elf next to her, waiting and watching intently. Catching herself gnawing at her lip, she sighs in frustration and the words Cassandra has drilled so many times before, come to mind: You’re all wound up. Find where you’re holding tension in your body and focus on—

Then, a flutter of eyelashes and Shaelin cranes her neck closer, waiting for— there. Sera’s eyes blink open.

“Wha...where...we back at camp already? Ah, fuck, that hurts...”

“Stop moving, idiot!” Shaelin exclaims before throwing herself onto the elf, straddling her middle and leaning in close, careful to support her weight against the bedroll and not her victim’s shoulders. The dwarf blinks furiously against emerging tears. “Just what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Me? Just now?” Sera responds sluggishly, finding it hard to meet the watery gaze hovering only inches above her own face. “Was thinking this is the first time my arm’s been in a sling. Not fun, ‘case you were wondering.”

“Dumbass!” Shaelin growls and swallows hard, angrily willing her throat to stop tightening up on her. “I’m talking about back there on the beach! I asked you! I asked you if you were okay and you said you were fine! What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I was fine, it was just a little—”

“You passed out! Twice! First from blood loss and then from the pain when Dorian was stitching you up. Sera, I can’t believe you—”

“Well, shit, maybe if the healer wasn’t being so rough, I would’ve—”

“You think this is funny?!” Shaelin’s voice grows a steel to it and Sera winces at the tone. “He saved your life! You were bleeding out! We were—”

“Yeah, look, I get it!” Sera interrupts, biting at her lip and turning her head to the side to avoid the dwarf’s gaze. “It was bad this time, I just...I wanted to...”

“Why didn’t you say exactly how bad it was? When I asked you, let alone when it first happened, you should’ve just been honest! Did you think I wouldn’t have believed you?! I mean, what the fuck were you—”

“I couldn’t let things just stop, alright?!” The elf’s words come out in a jumbled mess as she rushes to explain. “We were on a roll — tons of fights earlier but no messes or mistakes, things were good. And then the darkspawn. And then Bull mentions the cave. I knew we had to check it out ‘soon as they were all dead, no time to lose. Darkspawn were spilling out some hole somewhere, we couldn’t just sit on our asses while I downed a healing potion and caught my breath. We didn’t have time. I figured after the cave, then I could take a break. It was my fault the arrow caught me the way it did, anyway, I was being stupid, not focusing...” Sera’s eyes grow big as she all but pleads for Shaelin to meet her gaze, but it’s the dwarf’s turn to look away with a shake of her head. “But...that doesn’t matter. You did clear out the cave, yeah?”

Shaelin lets out a noise that’s halfway between a scoff and a cough trying to work its way out of her throat. “Ironically enough, there was no time.”

“There was no...you’re saying you just left it?!”

“What part of bleeding out are you not getting?” Shaelin says through clenched teeth. “We had to rush you back to camp. It wasn’t a choice, no one had to make the call, there was just no other option.”

“But what about the fucking—”

“I’m not doing this right now,” Shaelin interrupts, leaning back to rest against her haunches and as far from Sera as she could be while still straddling her middle. The dwarf runs a tired hand through her hair. “You shouldn’t even be talking right now, let alone arguing about this shit. You need to rest. I’ll come back to check on you in a bit.”

“Wait, Shaelin, I—”

“No, I’m not asking, alright? You need to—”

With her good hand, Sera darts up to clench Shaelin’s shirt in her fist, pulling her down and crashing their lips together. She tries not to focus too much on the dwarf’s full weight pressing against her chest, making her shoulder ache in protest. Sera can only focus on kissing her, all teeth and rush, until Shaelin can slow the kiss down and deepen it, softening lips and relaxing the embrace. Soon, the two taste salt on their tongues, unsure of whose tears they were tasting.

Sera pulls away slowly, reluctantly, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing steady against the tremor in her voice. “Don’t leave angry, alright? Please? I’m sorry, just...just stay here for a bit longer. ‘Till I fall asleep. Just sleep with me. Please, I’m sorry...”

Wordlessly, taking a deep, shaky breath, Shaelin presses closer until their foreheads touch. The elf below her lets out a breath of her own. The two lay like that in silence, listening to the wind murmuring against the outside of their tent, listening to the familiar chatter of the camp all around them, their chests slowly rising and falling in unison.

Eventually, Shaelin moves away and off of Sera, resuming her previous position of curling into the elf’s uninjured side. This time, though, Sera moves to entwine their fingers together, squeezing Shaelin’s hand once in apology, and once more in a promise. Without hesitation, Shaelin squeezes back.

[everestv-themuse]

the wheel of fortune: optimism, success, luck;

“We did it! I can’t believe it!”

possible AUs/settings/ideas: genie au, chance/fated meeting

Thanks for the prompts! I definitely didn’t plan on this getting so far away from me, but it was so fun to write! Here’s an alternate, chance first meeting (before the Conclave/Inquisition) for Shaelin Cadash x Sera with special guest nonbinary BFF Lantos for @apostatetabris @alxxiis @alxxiiswrites​ @dadrunkwriting​

“In and out,” Lantos whispers the promise for the umpteenth time that night. Shaelin just rolls her eyes and continues working at the locked door. “We go in, get the—”

“You mean you go in. Someone has to keep watch,”

“Oh, uh, sure, good point.” Lantos admits, continuing to pick at their warhammer’s grip absently as their eyes dart up and down the hallway. “I’ll go in, get the cut, we get out, we’re big fucking heroes and that asshole gets stiffed. Just like he deserves.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I agreed to,” Shaelin says with a released breath as the lock clicks open. She puts away her tools and steps aside with a nod to the other dwarf. “Your turn, partner.”

“Right, um,” Lantos stares at the door slightly ajar. “Yeah. My turn. No problem. Totally fine. Super easy.”

“Lan, this was your idea. But if you’d really rather get out of here now and just—”

“No, no, I’m going, I’m going, shut up.” The warrior gives the door one last look over and steps inside.

“Fucking soft,” Shaelin mutters under her breath as she leans against the wall to keep an eye on the hallway. She shivers, though, at the expanse of it. For such a rich noble, the asshole’s castle was dark and cold, void of any life or warmth. She had been surprised to notice no real furnishings besides stiff statues of armor and the occasional Fereldan banner. There weren’t even paintings or fancy vases or whatever else rich people liked to collect, just empty walls and spotless floors and—

She shivers again. There’s that feeling again. Like she’s being watched. She slips into stealth on instinct but stands her ground, feeling the shadows wrap around her to the point of functional invisibility. Silently, she unsheathes her daggers and crouches in a ready position.

“Lantos, you idiot, this would be a really good time to—” Her mumbled plea cuts off at the sound of a crash behind her and then a very familiar, hissing curse.

“Fuck it! Lin, run!” Her partner yells one second and the next second, they’re zooming past her and tossing a comically large gemstone over their shoulder at her. She barely manages to juggle it and her daggers in hand before racing after them.

“What the fuck did you do?! What did we say about ‘in and out’?!”

“Listen!” Lantos growls as the two sprint down the dimly lit corridor, hearing the shouts of pursuing guards close on their heels. “I got in and now we’re getting out. How was I supposed to know the guy hired security?! You did catch the cut, though, right?”

“Yeah, shit, barely!” Shaelin shouts back, really wishing there were fancy vases around to topple in their wake and slow their pursuers. “What, you can’t hold it?!”

“I’m a two-handed warrior, Lin! My hammer’s enough to run with!”

“And you didn’t think to bring a pouch to carry the cut in?!”

“No, okay?! Is that what you want to hear?! That I fucked everything—”

Something whizzes past Shaelin’s ear and she barely has time to flinch. Then there’s a thunk, a clatter of armor, and she glances back in time to see one guard with an arrow through his helmet topple to the ground and take two of his cohorts down with him.

Shaelin shivers.

And then someone grabs the two dwarves and jerks them around the corner, throwing them both against the far wall. Lantos wheezes and Shaelin covers their mouth with a slap, staring at their sudden rescuer and then at the remaining guards racing past their hiding spot. The three wait for another silent moment, listening for the sound of thundering footfalls of guards none the wiser in the distance.

“Hey. Thanks,” Lantos pants after Shaelin removes her hand. “That was too close. Where, uh...where did you come from?”

The stranger whips around, bow in one hand and dagger in the other, moving to press the blade against Lantos’ neck before Shaelin could react, all while staring her down. “You. You’re gonna put that gem back, got it? That, or your friend gets a slower death than that guard back there.”

“Wh-what the fuck?!” Lantos splutters, dropping their hammer with a clang. “Who’s side are you on?!”

Shaelin’s gaze holds steady and so does the stranger’s, eyes hard and steel grey behind the bandana she wears to hide her face. But it’s not enough to cover her ears. An elf. A damn quick one too.

“I’m not bluffing, redhead! Get walking!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Lantos interjects. “What exactly do you want here? Because you obviously don’t work for the rich asshole of this place and let’s all be honest here, we stole that gem fair and square.”

“Fair and square?! I’ve been casing this place for weeks! And then you two burst in and my whole plan goes to shite, that’s what’s square!”

“Your plan?! Well listen, lady, first come, first serve, alright?” Lantos hisses back and Shaelin is suddenly tempted to just let them both at each other’s throats. Leave it to her best friend to argue with the very person holding a knife to their neck. “And it’s not like we picked the guy clean! There’s plenty of other shit for you to steal, believe me!”

“That’s not the point!” The stranger huffs, as if exasperated by the obvious stupidity. “You steal that, the asshole’s most prized shiny thing, and it won’t just be the guards who get their pay docked. He’ll take it out on his servants too! You get away with your big score and the little people left behind get treated like dirt, even more than they were before.”

“Yeah? I can see why that’s not my problem, so why’s it yours?”

“Because they came to me to fix this for them!”

“How? They paying you to kill him?”

“Don’t have to pay for that,”

“Oh, how noble of you!”

“Right, coming from the petty thief,”

“You were going to murder a guy!”

“Shut up! Both of you!” Shaelin’s eyes flash a warning to Lantos before turning back to their captor. “Look. We don’t even want the gem. We were going to sell it. But more importantly, I can already hear the guards circling back.”

“You can?” Lantos’ eyes widen and as the three fall to silence, the unmistakable clangs of approaching armor could be heard. “Oh shit...”

“Exactly. So,” Shaelin slowly sheathes her daggers but keeps the gem firmly in hand. The stranger watches in hesitant silence. “You clearly know your way around the place. I hold onto this while you lead us out of here. Then, you can take it, sell it, and give the money to those little friends of yours for their trouble. Everyone gets out of here alive but the asshole is still out one shiny thing.”

“You...you don’t even want a cut of the profits?”

“We don’t really need the money. Apparently, we just couldn’t stand hearing the story of how the guy won it at an auction for the millionth time. I guess it’s about the principle of the thing?”

“It is!” Lantos pipes up. “The cut is clearly Dwarven craftsmanship and the guy flaunts it in our face every single time we come to drop off a lyrium delivery. It’s insensitive and cruel when you think about it.”

“Whatever. Fine.” The stranger drops her blade and shoves Lantos toward Shaelin. “I’ll agree to your stupid plan, but only if your friend shuts up the whole way.”

“Deal.”

“Whoa, hey, I don’t get a say in this?!”

The stranger slinks off down the hall and Shaelin follows with a roll of her eyes. “It isn’t up for debate. That was the deal. She’s leading us through certain death right now, so whatever the mystery lady says, goes.”

“Pfft. Mystery lady?”

Shaelin turns away from Lantos’ pouting to meet the gaze of the woman in front of her, eyes meeting a much softer grey this time, more playful. “Well I didn’t get a name, did I?”

The woman arches an eyebrow before blending into the shadows like it’s second nature, leading the way through an empty bedchamber and out again through a servants’ door. “Didn’t hear you asking,”

“I’m asking now,” Shaelin says in a hush, crouching at her side as they wait for a patrol to pass by before continuing down the hall. “I’m Shaelin, my friend is Lantos. I don’t normally throw the name Cadash around, but maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Carta, yeah. Your uniforms gave you away the second I saw you picking the lock.”

“Knew there was someone watching,” Shaelin chuckles softly. “I’m impressed it took me so long to notice you, I’m usually better about these things.”

“I’m impressed you were bullheaded enough to steal from your employer,”

“Buyer,” Shaelin corrects. “And it wasn’t my plan. Can’t stress that enough.”

“Right.” The woman’s lilt gives way and Shaelin can hear a smile in her voice. Her chest tightens and it feels like a victory, even if she’s not sure why. Lantos gives her a shoulder nudge and she realizes she’s falling behind, staring too intently at the way the woman’s eyebrows furrow and her ears flick towards her voice, anything that would betray the emotion hidden behind a red bandana.

“Still,” Shaelin speaks up once she matches pace with the woman again, making their way outside and into a small courtyard. “You didn’t answer my question. Can’t call you mystery lady forever.”

The woman glances back at her and it’s a guess, but Shaelin could swear there’s a smirk in her eyes. “How about Red Jenny then?”

“Red...I should’ve known,” Shaelin shakes her head as she watches the woman rifle through a nearby bush before revealing a coil of rope. “Red Jenny is a hydra, that’s hardly an answer.”

“You’ve heard of us then?” The woman certainly sounds surprised, but she doesn’t pause. She throws the lassoed rope up over the hanging roof of the courtyard and pulls it taut when it finds purchase.

“The Carta has to know about all the players in the game,” Shaelin answers as she watches the woman scramble up the rope to the roof and then lean over the edge to wait, eyes alight but silent. Finally out of the shadows and in the open, moonlight glints through the woman’s hair and the pale gold of the strands freezes Shaelin to the spot as she stares. Lantos gives her another nudge and she splutters out a cough. “Is that really the only answer I’m gonna get, Red Jenny?”

The woman laughs and Shaelin can’t climb the rope fast enough just to be close enough to truly witness it. In her rush, she almost slips on the shingles, but a nimble arm reaches out to grab and steady her. It’s the closest she’s been to the woman, as she’s caught staring into silver eyes, and then a hand reaches up to pull the bandana down to hang from a slim neck.

Shaelin shivers.

There’s no need to guess now, she’s definitely wearing a smirk as she answers, “For now,”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompts! Shaelin Cadash x Sera for @tevivinter​ @pedlimwen​ @contreparry​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Holy shite! You are one hard dwarf to find!” Sera’s voice rang out in the dusty, previously quiet library in the depths of Skyhold, and Shaelin flinched. “It took me ages to find you. I even missed lunch!”

Shaelin, sitting with her knees up against her chest on the floor, mostly hidden behind the large tome in the center of the room, just curled into herself even more and avoided the elf’s gaze.

Sera plopped herself down next to her. “What are you even doing hiding down here anyway? You’re not even reading. And it’s so dusty in here, what’s the point?” She coughed for good measure and Shaelin’s hands clenched into fists.

“Leave me alone, Sera. Please.”

“Yeah, fat chance of that.” Shaelin didn’t have to look to know Sera was rolling her eyes. “All that time searching and asking around? The amount of stairs I had to climb just to see if you were on the ramparts? No, I think I earned some kind of explanation. At the least, you owe me lunch on top of everything else. So come on. Out with it. What are you doing here?”

Shaelin squeezed her eyes shut and flinched away when Sera’s shoulder nudged into her side.

“Because it looks to me a lot like hiding. But that’d be ridiculous. What does the Great Hairy-Eyeball Herald have to hide from? Besides Cassandra if she’s pissed. But she seemed fine when I asked her where you were. Actually. She almost looked worried. Think she’d been looking for you too.”

Shaelin bit at her lip, only briefly tempted to respond.

“Or maybe it was another lecture from Josie you were trying to avoid? She ran into me and asked where you were. She said you had missed this morning’s war table meeting. I’d understand if you were scared of Leliana because of that, but I don’t think you could get on her bad side, even if you tried. And we all know Cullen doesn’t have the balls to yell at you.”

Sera nudged her in the side again and Shaelin almost slumped against the elf.

“Come on, you know I’ll just keep asking about every single person in the Inquisition until you—”

“Well isn’t it already obvious? I’m not exactly a lot of people’s favorite person right now. Okay?” Shaelin almost growled out the admission and immediately regretted it. She could see Sera’s ears flatten ever so slightly at her raised voice in the corner of her eye, and she caved. “I just...needed to get away for a bit. It’s been one screw-up after another lately and if one more person looks at me with disappointment, I swear I’m just gonna—”

She stopped herself from finishing the sentence but it didn’t really matter, Sera caught on anyway. “You wouldn’t. We need you. Running away from a fight, giving up before it’s done, that’s not you.”

“What makes you so sure?” Shaelin shot back and turned to finally look at Sera. “I never wanted any of this, I never woke up one day and decided to join some noble cause. I didn’t ask for people to rely on me, to make decisions that cost lives, to lead a bunch of ragtag zealots! Shit, they don’t need me. They need my arm. Why don’t they just cut it off and attach it to...to...shit, just about anyone else! Then maybe they wouldn’t have some stupid dwarven kid fucking up everything she tries to accomplish! Maybe then the whole world wouldn’t be on the edge of collapse!”

Sera stared back for a moment, her gaze steady and focused. “Pretty sure if that was a thing, Solas would’ve found out a way to do that already. He hates your guts.”

Shaelin huffed and buried her head into her crossed arms, blinking away tears. “How is that helpful?!”

Sera shrugged, and the dwarf could feel the motion against her side as the elf scooched in close. “You didn’t ask for me to be helpful. And anyway. I wouldn’t be too worried about it, Solas is an arsehole. I’d be weirded out if he actually liked you.”

Shaelin couldn’t help the chuckle that rattled through her chest, the sound fighting through her tears so it came out watery and clipped. Sera pressed closer into her side and mirrored her posture, pulling her knees up close to her chest and resting her chin against her crossed arms.

Several moments passed by in relative silence, as Shaelin struggled to even out her breathing and still her trembling limbs. Sera waited and pressed close and eventually, the dwarf had calmed.

“If it makes a difference,” Sera started quietly, her voice tentative and soft around the edges. “You’re still my favorite person. Even when you screw up. Maybe especially then. Know why?” Shaelin took in a breath and steeled herself, glancing over to meet the warm determination in Sera’s gaze. “Because you get up and you keep going. That’s who you are. Because that’s what you choose to do. Every single time you fall down.”

[everestv-themuse]

the magician: transformation, beginnings, good omen; “I guess today’s my lucky day.” possible AUs/settings/ideas: first meeting, supernatural au, witch au

Thanks for the prompt! I’ve never written a modern!AU for them, let alone a supernatural!AU so this was really fun! Werewolf!Trea Adaar x Witch!Josephine Montilyet for @honestly-wilde​ @talesfromthefade​ @dadrunkwriting​

Waking up with her tanktop plastered to her back with sweat, a kind of jitteriness deep in her muscles to move, and that familiar itch buzzing just beneath her skin, was certainly not what she had planned on that morning. Trea blinked and sat up with a groan, reaching for her phone and tapping to the calendar app.

Yup. Full moon is still a week away. My cycle is early. Fuck, and it’s seven in the goddamn morning... Rubbing determinedly at her eyes, wishing desperately she didn’t feel the burning need to dispel the sleep from her body, she sent a quick text to her pack’s groupchat — going out to Vivienne’s, anyone need anything?

Not that she expected an answer. To say her and the rest of the Valo Kas were typically night owls, went without saying. She padded down the hallway to the bathroom, needing to rid herself of the evidence of another night of tossing and turning, and heard proof that some of her packmates lived a ringer-on kind of life. Fucking heathens, she thought to herself as she stepped into the cold shower starting to run. If my text wakes them up, that's on them.

***

"Oh darling," Vivienne breathed in surprise when Trea dragged herself through the door of her bespoke apothecary. "Whatever do you look like!"

"Yeah, sorry, um, not a great morning..." Trea replied, scratching at the back of her neck and trying not to lean too heavily on the pristine glass case in front of her. Still, she could see her shallow panting fogging up the surface and could already feel the lecture coming on.

"My goodness, did you run here? And with only that ratty jacket to keep you warm?"

If Trea wasn't already flush from her journey, she would've felt her ears warm with a blush. "My, uh...my cycle is early. I'm kinda desperate. I don't know if you, by chance, have any inhibitor elixirs in stock?"

Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "Trea, dear, you know I suggest getting a prescription for this very reason. I don't have anything ready at the moment."

"Right, I know, I just thought..." Trea hung her head, scrambling to think of what she could do in the meantime. "Do you think, um...Dagna's place wouldn't carry anything similar, but maybe Morrigan? She has a few—"

"Out of the question." Vivienne interrupted. "I will not have you stooping so low, even for the sake of teaching you a lesson in planning ahead. Wait here, let me see what I can whip up on such short notice.”

“Thank you,” Trea mumbled meekly and slumped in a nearby armchair for waiting customers as Vivienne disappeared to the back room. Hanging her head low and rubbing slowly at her temples, she tried to massage the throbbing that was—

Then the bell above the shop door rang out, crisp and unmistakable, and Trea grimaced at the headache flaring up even more than before. Of course, the laughter bubbling from the two entering customers didn’t help matters. She squeezed her eyes shut at the unabashed conversation sending a spike through her temples and took a deep breath.

Expensive perfume, expensive coffee, the scent alone tells me these are perfect examples of Vivienne’s typical clientele. Not like some ragged werewolf she took pity on one day. I really hope they don’t make some judgy comment about me not belonging here. With more effort than she cared to admit, she straightened her posture in the chair, adjusted the collar of the flannel jacket she wore, and took out her phone to pretend to be on. Running a hand through her haphazard hair, she could only hope she faded enough into the background.

Regardless, her heightened senses didn’t bother taking pity on her, and she had no choice but to hear the bubbly conversation between the two women, even as they disappeared behind some shelving. That didn’t mean she could understand it, however. As soon as they saw her and walked past, they had easily slipped into Orlesian and Trea was lost. Is there anything worse than hyperfocusing on something that doesn’t even make sense?

After several minutes of pointlessly trying to tune them out, Trea resigned to listening more closely. She was surprised the two voices sounded so different from each other. While the one had the unmistakable lilt all Orlesian accents tended to have, she had none of the haughty inflection or exaggerated pronunciation Trea was used to. And the other, certainly the more talkative of the pair, didn’t sound Orlesian at all. She didn’t seem to stumble over her words or have any trouble with translating, but her accent was completely unfamiliar. There was something warmer about her tone, something more airy and musical. Trea was trying so hard to place it, that when the conversation suddenly seemed to come to a halt, she almost jumped.

And then there were the sounds of approaching steps.

Trea tried to relax, pointedly staring at the blank screen of her phone and trying not to fidget too much. Maybe it was her early cycle messing with her nerves, but she couldn’t understand why the prospect of this angel-voiced rich lady approaching her got her so anxious. She felt too jittery to play tough and unassuming. She was a bundle of nerves and she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t notice the way her canines were growing slowly sharper.

“Excuse me?” A voice rich like a symphony sounded before her and Trea looked up, suddenly faced with caramel eyes that only seemed to glitter gold under the weight of a polite smile. Trea let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Have you seen Miss de Fer around? We weren’t sure if she had gone out or if—”

“Ah Miss Josephine! What a pleasant surprise.” Vivienne suddenly appeared from behind the back curtain and those golden eyes mercifully turned away from Trea. “And Leliana, always a pleasure. I take it you’ve already found everything you needed?”

The dark-haired woman—Josephine—and her companion approached the counter with their items and struck a familiar kind of conversation. Trea waited patiently, too scared to move and interrupt, too entranced by the way the morning sunlight glinted through the windows and reflected in the golden necklace Josephine wore, glimmering against her skin and—

And then she was caught once again. Josephine suddenly turned to face her, quickly, offering up only a warm smile while mouthing the words, thank you, before turning away again to resume her role in the conversation.

A breathy, silent kind of laugh rested against her chest and Trea carded a hand through her hair. Who would’ve thought? One smile from a pretty stranger is the cure to migraines. I guess today’s my lucky day.

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompt! I love writing dorky fluff for these two! Shaelin Cadash x Sera for @midnightprelude​ @dadrunkwriting​

Chest heaving, blood leaking from her lip, Shaelin scans the battlefield one last time. “Think that’s the last of them. Bull, Dorian?”

“We’re fine, boss. Just a bit winded.” The qunari says as he approaches with a heavy gait, clearly doing his best to cover a slight limp. The mage accompanying him tuts but doesn’t disagree, seeing that several slashes litter his light armor and he doesn’t even bother to straighten his overly tousled hair.

“Inventory?”

Dorian shakes his head at the Inquisitor’s question. “I used my last healing potion over an hour ago,”

“I have a bit left if either of you wanted—”

“Take it.” Shaelin and Dorian say in unison and Iron Bull knows better than to argue with their biting expressions.

“Back to camp, I’m guessing?” Sera asks once she finally joins them from her perch on a nearby hill, not looking too worse for wear herself. Shaelin can only breathe a sigh of relief at the sight.

“Yeah. We need to stock up and rest up before we get to the next Rift.” Shaelin says, sheathing her daggers and rolling her shoulders a bit. The two fall in step as they lead the way back to camp, trusting the two men to follow close behind.

“So much for no backtracking this trip,”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect three bears to ambush us straight out of the gate, did I?”

“They didn’t expect us either.” Sera giggles. “If only we had brought Cassandra. She would’ve punched them straight,”

“Yeah, good luck convincing her to try that little experiment of yours. Wishful thinking.” Shaelin rolls her eyes and glances at her companion. Sera is on high alert as they walk back — she can tell by the way her shoulders are pricked, the way her ears are stiff, the way her hands hold her bow and notched arrow. But there’s still a softness to her gaze, even as the sky pours buckets of rain onto their very bones. It’s not surprising. She’s been noticing more and more lately that that’s just a special power Sera has — the ability to look radiant in any weather, to shine in any circumstance. Shaelin shakes her head. “I’m glad you didn’t get as beat up as the rest of us. Gotta love vantage points.”

“Someone had to do it, yeah?” Sera scoffs. “Wasn’t about to get the shit kicked out of me by those big, scary claws. No, thanks.”

“Good. I definitely prefer you in one piece.”

There’s a beat of silence, neither sure exactly how far they want to interpret the response, before Sera’s hand reaches out and brushes past Shaelin’s lip. Quickly. There and rough and soft and sweet and gone again before she can blink.

“You’re bleeding,” Sera supplies and Shaelin presses the wet leather of her glove against her mouth, knowing it won’t do much good for the cut but maybe just enough to preserve the brief sensation of touch that lingers. Shaelin exhales and Sera clears her throat. “Would give you a potion, but I kinda gave you my last—”

“No, I know. I’m good.” Shaelin shrugs and her hands fall to her sides. The rain falls and stings and washes away the memory of contact faster than she likes anyway.

“Looks hot, at least. Just a spot of blood like that.”

“Pfft. Right. I’m sure being drenched to the bone also puts a nice, attractive spin to the whole look.”

“Kinda, yeah...” Not expecting the genuineness to her voice, Shaelin glances over. Sera’s looking at her with a quirked eyebrow, the faintest of curve to her lips, like she’s a puzzle she’s figuring out or a book she’s trying to translate. She cocks her head and Shaelin looks away as she feels her cheeks start to warm. “That’s not all, though...”

“Oh, yeah? What else is there?”

“You’re kinda beautiful, you know that?” The words sound without ceremony and Shaelin would’ve stopped in her tracks if her panicked brain hadn’t taken over on autopilot.

“O-Oh,”

“Mhmm,”

“Thanks,”

“Mhmm,”

“You too,”

“I’m kinda beautiful?”

“Mhmm,”

“Thanks,”

The exchange is painful, and Shaelin has never been as glad to see a bundle of haphazard tents over the next hill. She can just hear Sera’s laugh behind her as she breaks away and bolts towards camp.

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompts, sorry this is pretty long overdue now. Trea Adaar & Iron Bull for @honestly-wilde​ @talesfromthefade​ @goblin-deity​ @dadrunkwriting​

Trea hears footsteps approach and then stop at her corner booth, but she doesn’t bother to look up. The headache blazing behind her shut eyes doesn’t let her. “More of the same, if you could?” She asks, pushing her empty mug toward the edge of the table.

“Really think you need another?” Iron Bull’s gruff voice sounds and Trea winces as he moves to sit down across from her. “Usually stop after two or three with dinner. I’ve counted four rounds now and it’s barely past midday.”

Trea doesn’t think she can find one muscle in her body that doesn’t ache, but Iron Bull’s words only add another weight to her shoulders. She lets go of her temples, tired of keeping her arm propped up, and lets herself slouch fully. Pushing away the plate she’s been picking at, she crosses her arms and rests her head on the table. All the while, the pit that’s been growing heavier in her stomach and turned to licking at her veins, continues to dull her senses until the tavern is reduced to a hollow throb of barely perceivable presence around her.

“Thanks. I’m well aware.”

“Right.”

“Nothing’s wrong, alright? You don’t need to check up on me like some child. I’m fine, I...” Trea sighs as she recognizes Iron Bull’s silence and picks up her head with a jerk. The world swims around her, but just for a moment. The darkness of the tavern snaps into focus faster than she was expecting and she blinks at Iron Bull’s raised eyebrow. “Fine. I don’t know what’s wrong, okay? But it’s nothing probably. I’m just...really tired. Sore. You know how it is, tough training today.”

“Sure, boss.”

“Fucking, Ben-Hassrath.” Trea growls under her breath and rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t really give a shit if you believe me or not. I’m tired and sore and midday be damned, I’m gonna get a refill.” She pushes herself to her feet after scooching out of the booth. “Do you want anything at least, while you sit there like an ass judging me, or is alcohol suddenly above you?”

“Would you rather have someone else sitting here like an ass, judging you?”

“Please, I shut everybody out. I’m an equal opportunity repressive, after all. Don’t take it too personally now.” She rolls her eyes again, but steps back with a start as Iron Bull suddenly stands from the table too.

“Fine. You don’t want to talk about how alcohol is the only thing that can wash the taste of blood out of your mouth these days? To the one person who knows what it’s like better than anyone here? Your prerogative, Adaar. Meet me outside and we’ll fight about it instead.”

Iron Bull straightens with a confident sway and Trea is all too aware of the way his back foot is placed just so, his whole posture prickling with veiled attentiveness. He thinks I’m gonna punch him right here, right now. Ass.

“I’m tired, Bull.” She responds with gritted teeth and stands her ground, making sure the few inches she has on him is made perfectly clear. She knows by this point that all eyes in the tavern are on them. After all, a fight between the Inquisition’s favorite foreign spy and the Inquisitor herself was surely something to take note of. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even though she could feel herself start to come alive with just the threat of a fight. Muscle fibers, nerve endings, the thrum of her own faint heartbeat — all slowly succumbing to the buzzing in her ears growing louder and louder. “I’m sore and I just want a—”

Iron Bull slams the mug in her hands back to the table but otherwise makes no other move forward, his expression steeling itself into an even more neutral state. “The red flecks in your eyes say different, Reaver. If that’s even what you are. Standing there shaking, not even enough strength for a simple bar fight, one has to wonder.”

She takes a step forward, she can’t help it, but she can limit herself to just the one at least. “Bull. I’m serious. I’m not—”

“Not what? Not gonna fight me? Not in the mood?” He shakes his head and Trea knows she could handle seeing anger in his eyes, if it was just that, but the disappointment that meets her gaze instead, only makes her fists clench even more tightly at her sides. “You’re not sore, you’re not tired, you’re weak. A true Reaver would see a fight as an opportunity to replenish themselves. I’m right here, a ready opponent. Hit me.”

“Bull. Sh-shut up.”

“One swing is all it takes.” He continues, sounding almost bored, and Trea shuts her eyes against the headache that ebbs, against the bloodlust that flows. “A bloody lip for me and an invisible healing salve for you, that’s how it works and you know that. Hell, get out your sword. It’s the actual bloodshed that works the best. But you can’t, can you? You’re not strong enough.”

“What’s going on here?” Trea hears Sera’s voice from the top of the stairs, but she doesn’t dare look away from Iron Bull’s gaze.

“Nothing to worry about, just proving a point.” He waves a dismissive hand but doesn’t break eye contact either. “Isn’t that right, oh famed Inquisitor? But now you can prove it to your best friend too. That you’re inadequate, incompetent, and incapable of actually—”

The blow strikes before Trea can really decide on the matter, her fist a blur of heated movement and then Iron Bull is taking a step back, holding his nose. She smells the blood before she sees it and she won’t deny the sensations that floor her — the taste of cold water on a hot day, the press of ice against a bruise, the sting of balm then relief. She straightens, just that much more invigorated, but so does he.

“Thought so,” he says with just an indiscernible hint of sadness to his voice. Trea blinks, arms braced to move into a block, but the other qunari just pushes past her. “Learn some damn restraint before this thing overwhelms you. It’s already starting. Without discipline, bloodlust will be all that’s left of you, and where will the Inquisition be then?”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompt! Platonic Shaelin Cadash & Josephine Montilyet for @ladylike-foxes​ @honestly-wilde​ @talesfromthefade​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Oh, Shaelin.” Josephine coos and it catches the dwarf off guard, to the point of stiffening, as the Ambassador stands to embrace her in a puffy-sleeved hug. “No need to hold back tears, nena, you can let it out.”

“I’m not...” Shaelin huffs a bit and rubs quickly at her eyes, allowing herself one sniffle before meeting Josephine’s honey gaze with a steeled one. “I’m not gonna cry, it isn’t worth crying over, I’m not a child. It’s just a dumb letter. One I was expecting anyway.”

Taking the fact that Shaelin stayed in her embrace as a good sign, even with arms hanging stubbornly at her sides, Josephine moves to close her office door and lead the young Inquisitor to one of the armchairs by the fire. “A dumb letter, of course, but one you want to talk about, yes? Tea?”

“No. I just came here to tell you because I thought...” Shaelin looks up from her hands folded in her lap and melts at the easy way Josephine’s head is tilted. She settles even more so in the comfortable chair and allows a nod. “One cup is fine, I guess. If you want. Cream and three—”

“Three sugars, I know, you heathen,” Josephine chuckles and pours cups for the two of them. “Now start from the beginning. Spare no details.”

“There are no details,” Shaelin says with a roll of her eyes, warm cup in hand as Josephine moves to settle in the armchair opposite her. “You wanted to invite the Carta to Skyhold now that we’re—”

“Your mothers. I suggested that you should invite your mothers to Skyhold, if that’s what you wanted. You agreed.” Josephine corrects gently and sips at her tea. Shaelin huffs.

“Yeah, well, whatever. I did.” She looks down and stirs her tea absently, remembering how many rolls of parchment she went through drafting that dumb letter, how many inkwells she spilled and knocked over and threw against the wall, how many quills she turned to darts and hit bullseyes with. She shakes her head. “Skyhold is fixed and finished and all pretty now and I thought it might impress them to...or, well...”

“It’s true,” Josephine says after a moment of hesitant silence from the other woman. “The renovations you personally oversaw have come along rather well. The herb garden is sought after by many, the sparring ring is a wonderful place for training and soldier bonding, and the mage tower is an impressive source of research and study. All places and decisions to be proud of. Your mothers would be as well.”

“Right, well, maybe I thought so too.” Shaelin stares deeply into the fireplace and tries to forget the way she would pop in on Leliana every chance she could, wondering again and again if any new mail had arrived, specifically with a certain double-axes wax seal. “Doesn’t matter. I sent the letter seeing if they’d come. They sent a letter saying they wouldn’t. You wanted to hold a whole dinner-party-dance-thing to welcome them, so I figured I’d come by to say it’s unnecessary.”

“Did they give a reason for their refusal?”

“Pfft. Of course not,” Shaelin puts down her tea in order to sprawl out in the chair, arms and legs extended and head thrown back. Josephine notes the similarities to Sera’s posture when she’s just as frustrated. “All I got back was nondescript Carta jargon. Like I was some pathetic buyer too beneath them to afford a proper response more than the usual cookie-cutter refusal. Like they didn’t even...ha! I bet they just had our scribe write something up! Probably didn’t even write it themselves.”

“Do you have the letter with you?” Josephine asks and almost forgets to dull the steel in her voice. Torn between offense at such a rude rejection and an itching need to reply to the letter herself, she only just remembers that a shunned daughter sits before her, dismissive of her hurt feelings as she is. Josephine offers a gentle hand to Shaelin’s shoulder.

“Sure. Here.” The dwarf says simply and fishes something out of a hidden pocket before handing over a single page of hasty handwriting. Josephine reads it quickly and finds Shaelin’s description to be accurate. She stops herself from crumpling it in her hand as she turns back to the young dwarf. “It’s not like...I mean, it’s been so long since I’ve seen them now, I thought...after the Temple of Sacred Ashes...a-and Haven...”

“It’s alright,” Josephine says gently and offers out her hand. She smiles with pleasant surprise as Shaelin takes it and squeezes once, even if the dwarf doesn’t make eye contact.

With a quick, deep breath, Shaelin quells the wavering in her voice. “It just seems like common sense to me. Your one and only daughter is assumed dead, several times over the course of a few months, so maybe you take a few days off to see her.”

“Of course. Sounds sensible to me.”

“And, I mean, even if you want to take out the whole ‘conventional families love each other’ crap, I’m also still their only heir!” Shaelin growls and moves to get up, but a warm squeeze from Josephine’s hand stops her and she takes another deep breath. “Whatever. Last I checked, continuing the Cadash line was important to them. Maybe they changed their mind. I don’t know.”

Josephine tsks softly and moves to crouch down in front of her, taking both hands now and tilting her head. “Tell me what you need right now,”

“I want to hit something,” Shaelin says in a small voice and Josephine just laughs.

“Of course, why am I not surprised?” She stands and Shaelin stands with her, walking into the hug before Josephine can wrap her in another involuntary one. “I’m afraid I’m not the one to help with that. Go see if Iron Bull isn’t too busy, though I’m sure he’ll make the time regardless. In the meantime, leave the letter with me and I’ll see if I can’t find the perfect reply.”

Shaelin nods. “Sure. Just...don’t send it until I read it.”

“Of course. Now run along and put the new shipment of training dummies to good use.”

[everestv-themuse]

Thanks for the prompts, sorry some of these are pretty old now. Also hope you don’t mind my cheating by putting all of these together. Please accept my murky rendition of Trea Adaar x Sera for @joufancyhuh​ @thevikingwoman​ @midnightprelude​ @dadrunkwriting​

“Oh, I, uh,” Sera stammers at the sight suddenly before her, can feel the tips of her ears burn, and she knows she can’t blame the recent heat spell for the red that’s no doubt spreading across her cheeks. She giggles despite herself. “Sorry. Didn’t realize the canteen was that friggin’ full.”

“Please,” Trea just scoffs as she looks down, finding herself completely soaked. Of course I do this the one time she’s not covered head to toe in armor, with only a white shirt to show for it, and now that she’s wet, I can...I can see...Maker’s tits there’s not much left to the imagination now that— what is she doing?! “Don’t be sorry. I was just about to mention the lake we’re coming up to. Race ya!” She cries out as she sheds the last of her weapons, bags, and outer layers, streaking off through the grass in just her underthings. Sera takes a moment to stare, slack-jawed, before scrambling to do the same and catch up.

“Inquisitor! Please, we’re so close to the next— Sera, no, don’t— Sweet Maker,” Cassandra grumbles as she stoops to pick up the discarded items with Vivienne turning away as if blind to the situation, walking off to the shade of a tree off the lake’s shore.

---

“You seem cozy over here,” Sera remarks as she walks over to Vivienne and the rest of the group’s things, rifling through her bags for the apple she knows she stored away for later. “Enjoying the view?”

“Not as much as you are, darling,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vivienne doesn’t look up, only seems to settle even more against the tree she’s propped up against. “For your sake, I hope you’re merely playing at ignorance instead of the alternative.” Sera doesn’t reply, just sits cross-legged nearby as she eats her snack, a frown settling on her lips. “Fine. If you insist.

“What dreadful hot weather we’re having! It keeps one in a constant state of inelegance, wouldn’t you agree? Why just look at our famed Inquisitor, reduced to splashing around half-naked where anyone can see!” Vivienne’s exaggerated tone fades and Sera glances out at the lake, watching Cassandra and Trea wrestle in the shallows, horns glistening, smile bright, muscles painfully defined. Sera bites her lip. “And you just know she’ll refuse to cover up again on our way back to camp, feigning something or other about needing her clothes to dry. Which, if I recall correctly, was indeed your own doing.”

“Pfft. Whatever.” Sera says through a mouthful of apple. “It’s bleeding hot. What do you expect?”

“While I certainly don’t expect any level of tact, I would suggest it all the same.” Vivienne supplies. “And perhaps just a shred of honesty? To yourself if no one else, let alone the object of your fruitless affection.”

Sera’s eyes narrow but her chest is too jumbled to provide a proper comeback. She tosses her apple core into the grass behind her, nearly missing Vivienne.

“Charming.” The mage drawls. “However, I am curious. Why won’t you just admit it, darling? Wouldn’t it make things simpler? There'd certainly be less risk involved every time you hide your little blush from her gaze. Or perhaps it is because of a certain Ambassador. Feeling threatened, is that it? The two have been spending a lot of time—”

“Piss off!” Sera barks, reaching for Vivienne’s canteen and taking a swig, only to find it warmer than the air around her. She promptly spits it back out onto the grass. “You don’t know anything about anything so stop acting like you do!”

Vivienne finally meets the elf’s gaze and waves her hand with a slight flourish. Suddenly, Sera can feel chunks of ice clinking around the canteen she’s holding. Her voice is softer and it throws Sera off-balance. “I only wish to warn you. I have a feeling you’re facing strong competition and should be aware of it. That is all.”

Sera blinks and stares at Vivienne until the mage closes her eyes and resumes her relaxation. It isn’t long before a loud beckoning interrupts her thoughts.

“Sera, come back in! You’ll dry out!” Trea calls and Sera jerks her head instantly in the direction of the voice.

“Coming!” Standing, she wordlessly hands Vivienne back the canteen and jogs back to the lake.