Darker Shadows

A Dragon Age fanblog. Also the blog for my fanfiction, Darker Shadows, and my smaller fanfics about my OC Warden, Inara Panthin.

[mercenarysexuality]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I have an AO3 now! 

[mercenarysexuality]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I have an AO3 now! 

[mercenarysexuality]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I have an AO3 now! 

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The Deep Dark

It was not often that the Deep Roads could be described as “bustling”.

Life and sound and especially music was so rare in the expanses of the tunnels that, when surrounded by it so fully, it was an effort for Inara to remember just how deep and far they were from anything touched by the sun. Around her, more than fifty Wardens from Ferelden and the Free Marches milled about at “morning” camp, finishing breakfast and packing for their next move into the dark. Around and amongst them, two companies of the dwarven Legion of the Dead numbering more than one-hundred dwarves each filled the caverns with food and drink and the sounds of living.

At Inara’s side, as always, was her Warden-Constable Nathaniel Howe, looking disapproving of everyone and everything that was going on around them. The two dwarven commanders, Kardol and Ceron, shared his demeanor as they waited on their people to finish their preparations. Aydis stood at Kardol’s side as faithfully as Nathaniel did at Inara’s, and from Ceron’s right hand glared Prir, a Silent Sister who kept her hands folded at her back at almost all times, her sister Brill never far away to translate the hand signals that she used to communicate with fresh Legion members and newer Wardens who had not yet learned all the hand signs.

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[ Part 1 ]

     “Explain this to me once more?”

Packing was a welcome distraction from meeting Nathaniel’s gaze. As she stuffed clothing and weapons into a sack, she could feel him staring at her with That Look on his face, and she had no desire to face it head on, at least for now. 

     “We’re going to Denerim,” she said. “I think the King’s in danger.”

     “Because of a dream you had.”

     “Because of a dream I had,” Inara confirmed, and after a long moment of silence passed, she finally swallowed enough of her pride to look her Warden-Constable in the face. He seemed… disappointed, or disapproving, but not quite as severe as she had first imagined. “It was a whole– thing,” she said. “He was bleeding and it looked like someone had–” she motioned around her head and neck like she was trying to paint herself with the wounds she’d seen on him.

Nathaniel stepped closer to her as she grabbed another tunic from the back of a chair, grabbed her wrist to stop her from stuffing it in the bag with the others. “It was a dream,” he said firmly. “You’ve had many nightmares. What makes this one different?”

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     “Hey.”

She kept her voice soft, but was afraid for a long moment after speaking that perhaps it could not be heard over the thundering of her heart in her chest. She stood there, grasping one hand in the other as she stood there in the half-light filtering through the trees, afraid of so many things all at once that she could not count them, and nothing more than him turning around and looking at her like he wished she’d disappear. 

But that’s not what she saw when he turned, looked at her with honeyed eyes all soft and sad. 

     “Can I help you with that?” she asked, moving closer to reach the tie on his back that his fingers couldn’t quite grasp that secured the bandages around his midsection. He made a noise as they came loose and she shivered. She helped him unwrap the fabric, rolling the soiled cloth as it passed between his hands across the front of him and hers across his back. 

     “It’s healing up nice,” she remarked as she examined the scratches and bruises across his back. 

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     “Nathaniel?”

Her voice echoed down the cold stone corridor. Silence was the only answer, hanging heavy in the air all around her, pressing on her skin like a weight tied ‘round her neck. Outside, rain poured down from a black, moonless sky. Through the unrepaired stretches of still-scorched wall, rain poured in, wet the stones and pooled like blood there on the floor. 

This is a dream. The thought nagged at the corner of her mind, prickled at the skin on the back of her neck. 

To her right, firelight danced dimly across the wall above the stairs. To her left, only darkness. 

So she went to the right. Her footsteps were too loud for comfort though her feet were bare. The stones were cold, and the hair on her skin stood on edge as she moved through the dark towards the beckoning warmth and light of the fire. 

At the bottom of the stairs, where it shouldn’t have – wouldn’t have been in reality, was the throne room. She’d chosen a room much farther away from this one for a reason, for a purpose. But dream had ways of seeing to such things, she supposed. 

The carpet was warmer. In the center of the room, though, the brazier was dark, the logs arranged inside still glowing faintly. The braziers at the far end of the room, however, on either side of her “throne”, they glowed brightly, filled the room with rolling warmth and dancing light. 

And there on the throne sat the King of Ferelden, clad in armor like Cailan’s at the Battle of Ostagar. 

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     “Have you slept?”

The look Inara levels at the Warden-Commander answers his question, though she does not care to draw it out to see the expression on his face deepen with concern. Her fingers are shaking as she smooths out the edges of the map she’s been carrying for so long that the words have started to fade and it doesn’t even matter. 

     “The scouting party from this route still hasn’t returned,” she says, trying to see anything else in her head than the smiling, young faces they sent into the dark. “It should have only been a two-day walk to the marked area.”

     “According to who? Darkspawn?” the tone of his voice is thick with distrust and she struggles not to itch at the bandage on her arm. 

And the bandage at the back of her neck. And on her leg. The patches where the skin’s gone dark and started to give way. She tries not to think about it. “Who else knows more about these stretches of the Deep Roads?” They haven’t seen a dwarf in years. Not a living one, anyway.

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    “Were you planning on making an appearance?”

Nathaniel looks good in noble clothes. Black velvet suits him well and cuts clean across his chest. Silver on his shoulders, across his waist frame his features in a way that makes him look strong. His hair shines. He looks on purpose. Meant to be there, looking like that.

    “Can’t you tell them I’m in the Deep Roads?” Her fingernail taps at the edge of her whiskey glass there on the floor beside her crossed legs. The glass bumps off the floor, the ice makes a noise sharper than her nail on the glass.

He sighs heavy through his nose, and she can see the expression on his face very clearly in her mind, so she sees no point in lifting her head to meet his gaze.

    “You are the Warden-Commander. The Arlessa of Amaranthine. The Hero of Ferelden. People are expecting to see you.”

    “They’d be disappointed by that expectation either way.” The dress she has on doesn’t suit her. It’s cut too tight, too short. Her hair doesn’t suit her. Her face all painted and her lips all red doesn’t suit her. She wipes at her eyes and frowns at the black that comes away on her fingers. Someone wasted a lot of effort painting her up.

His breath hesitates for just a moment, and her heart sinks deeper in her chest. He takes a knee and she can’t hide her face. She bites her lip and stares hard at the wall while he wipes at her cheek with a thumb. Then he leaves her, moves around the room as she tries to see some patterns in the stones on the wall. Then he’s back, kneeling before her with supplies.

    “I had a sister, you know,” he says like it’s he who’s worthy of questioning in this moment. The powder makes her sneeze. The liner hurts her eyes, and she struggles not to blink. Looks up when he says to look up. It’s easier to hold back any more tears that way, at least. “Come now,” he says as he stands before her, hand extended. “No excuses.”

She takes his hand, and he drags her to her feet, holds her arm firm until her knees are steady. He fixed her hair, pulled at her dress.

    “You don’t even need to speak,” he says. “Better if not, likely.”

She tries to laugh, but it’s a broken noise. She puts her arm through his.  

     “I’d rather be in the Deep Roads,” she tells him.

     “You’re not alone in that,” he answers. “You’ve survived worse, remember.”

Maybe so. Maybe not. 

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Morbid, Inara thought. 

It was an odd thought to have in the depths of the Deep Roads, in the laboratory of an ancient Darkspawn who, as it turned out, was very likely one of the Tevinter magisters who had invaded the Golden City and doomed all of humanity to struggle forever beneath the weight of their sins in the form of the Blights. It had somewhat soured their relationship, going from believing that he was a new type of Darkspawn and a symbol of hope, to realizing the truth. (But he hadn’t killed her yet, or tried to become a God and take over the world, and that was something.) 

Yet, stepping through the bodies that were strewn across the cavern like a maze, morbid was the one of the only thoughts she could have. She was careful not to disturb them, shivering ever so slightly at all the empty eyes gazing up towards nothing. 

She couldn’t help but notice every one of them had pointed ears. 

    “I take it you’ve heard of the Dread Wolf,”

He barely moved. If he heard her, it did not interrupt his careful writing. Seranni, however, moved around the edge of the room as Inara moved forward, as if moving to intercept her. 

Interesting.

     “I’m also… willing to believe his people came to you,” she said, carefully, though she could not keep the edge of questioning out of her voice entirely. 

     “Looking for artifacts, I believe.”

Ah. So he did hear me. She was careful not to let her irritation creep into the curves of her face.

     “And are those artifacts in your possession?”

No response. Seranni was between him and her now. She wondered if the bodies bothered her; she never seemed to look down at them. 

     “Why did you send Em to see me? Did you need something?” a different tactic, maybe.

Seranni moved towards the platform where the Architect studied, and returned with a satchel, which she offered to the Warden with a stern look on her face. 

Inara took the bag, Inside were stacks and stacks of letters, and objects wrapped in cloth.  

     “The rejects?” she almost laughed, and she was pretty sure Seranni almost stabbed her. “Cool. Thanks. I’ll… find a way to return these.”

     “I will let you know of further developments.”

Somehow, Inara thought he probably wouldn’t. 

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     “You missed breakfast.”

Inara blushed something fierce as she tried not to look Leliana in the face, but she was certain her smile said enough. She picked at the plate that Teagan had saved for her there on the table, shoving little bits of cheese and fruits into her face like that might make the heat in her cheeks fade.

Redcliffe Castle was… nice, now that it wasn’t, you know, filled with the undead and controlled by a demon. The beds were soft, the fireplaces were warm, and she and Alistair had a room in the royal quarters far enough away from their companions that her lover was no longer embarrassed of the noises that they made in the middle of the night. 

And in the morning. 

And sometimes in the afternoons. 

She liked it there. 

     “I take it things are going well with you and Alistair?” When Inara blushed and raised her eyebrows, the bard giggled. “He must be quite delightful, you wouldn’t be this happy otherwise, I think. He’s athletic, that’s always nice. He is also good at following instructions, isn’t he?”

     “When he’s not too excited to listen,” Inara grinned. Oh, her face hurt. She couldn’t stop smiling! That was embarrassing. 

The girls giggled just as Alistair came in the room. He was still quite disheveled, and there were a few marks on his neck that Inara recognized from flashes of heated memories. The girls and he made eye contact, and they giggled more.

     “What are you giggling about? W-what is she giggling about?”

     “Nothing!” Inara insisted, but Alistair did not looked move. Inara blushed deeper, and felt like her cheeks might catch fire. “You. And your performance.”

     “My– performance? What performance? And why does it warrant giggling?”

Leliana put her hand on Inara’s back, laughing as she leaned closer to her. “We were just talking about how you treat her in bed. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

     “How I– oh, Maker... what is wrong with you women?” he asked, and ducked into the hall like there were still undead about to dodge.

     “I’m going to hear about that later,” Inara half-groaned, but Leliana just laughed. 

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The War Table meetings always left Inara with more questions than they started with. 

It was likely one of the reasons that she was always the last to leave, bent over the table making notes as completely as she could, trying to memorize all the little pieces there on the map, and trying not to look at the letters that had come from Denerim. 

     “Are you enjoying the view back there?”

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Redcliffe - Part Three

They never suspected a thing.

She didn’t even have to fake a smile, bless the dumb Tevinter fucks who took one look at the Tranquility sigil on her forehead and assumed without a hint of a shadow of a doubt in their mind that she was harmless. All it took was a lie about another vaguely important name who needed their assistance and a “please come with me”, and Inara was free to lure the mages one by one out behind the Redcliffe Chantry and drag information out of them until they had to die. 

After the horrific, random Darkspawn attack that had killed the last party that wandered out to murder Tranquil in the forest, the disappearance of Tranquil from the village had slowed some, but Inara was sure that would not last too long in an invading foreign party who had, more or less, conquered Redcliffe in the middle of a cataclysm. The village was closed off; monsters or something at the gates, but no one could get close. 

Things were changing too fast, and not for the better. 

She had to work quickly, but without putting Connor in danger.

And so, Unlucky Asshole Number Three ended up a corpse behind the Redcliffe Chantry just two days after that horrible morning.

The Tranquil, she’d learned, had to be killed in close proximity to artifacts that these Venatori sought in order for the oculara they were creating from their skulls to function, hence the summoning circles placed paces from each other. Venatori, she’d learned, served some kind of powerful mage for a master, though the details were foggy. Not all of the mages, she’d learned, knew about or partnered with the Venatori. Fiona, it was rumored, had been enchanted somehow into this agreement, perhaps, from what it sounded. 

Still a lot of questions to answer. Still a lot of gaps in the story. 

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Redcliffe - Part Two

She was uneasy. 

But of course, with the brand of Tranquility there upon her forehead and a healthy guard of Tevinter henchmen around her, she couldn’t show it. Though the hooded figures paid relatively little attention to the Tranquil mages they’d gathered and led out into the Hinterlands at the first light of dawn, they also did not allow any of their prisoners to wander off, despite the girl named Hellen objecting to being marched off, saying that she had to tend to the horses quite early in the morning and insisting that she needed to stay at the castle for her duties. 

They assured her she would be back; standing in the middle of the forest surrounded by Tevinter mages, Inara was not so sure. 

They did not bring them down to the shoreline until they were ready. But as soon as they broke the treeline and started down the hill, Inara’s muscles went tense. At her side, a couple of the Tranquil stuttered in their steps, only to be pushed forward by the men at their backs. 

Along the shoreline stood several structures in both directions, spaced several hundred paces apart. Inara had seen something like them before used by the Rebel Mages farther out in the Hinterlands of late – summoning circles. 

     “Are we to help in a summoning?” an older man named Colm asked their chaperones. He received no answer. 

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Redcliffe - Part One

     “You should go. Teagan.”

She expected the storm in Teagan’s eyes, the waves of shock and betrayal and anger that washed over his features as his tongue stumbled towards some manner of retort. T

     “This is my Arling, my home, my family–”

     “And if you stay here, you will die.” Her voice was steel, hard. She should have been softer, maybe. Kinder. But, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her own storm brewing in the back of her mind, her certainty was immoveable. “Your family is young and vulnerable and will be safer in Denerim,” she said, watching Kaitlyn hold their infant tight to her chest. “You don’t have enough soldiers or Templars here to teal with a magister and his entourage. You should go to Denerim. Go to your brother and nephew. Bring Templars and troops and take back your castle without throwing away your lives. I have a feeling he won’t invite you to leave kindly again.”

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[alistairs]

ULTIMATE DRAGON AGE MEME - [1/5] Rogues - Sebastian Vael

“Who better serves the Maker: a brother of the faith, or a prince who can sway a whole city?”