I did a silly little thing and wrote a book y’all.
*BLURB*
All of the best parts of me died long ago. Now I live only for my revenge.
I've been a soldier for nearly a decade, ever since I was driven from my home for committing an unforgivable sin.
Now I've been summoned back to Vale to take my rightful place as king.
Forced to smile in the faces of those who betrayed me.
Haunted by memories of a past love.
Tempted by a handsome knight who wields a sword in defense of my enemy.
I will have my vengeance.
Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia - Chapter Twenty-Five
An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.
Masterlist
Maxwell organizes one last party before the wedding. NSFW.
I cannot believe I let Maxwell talk me into this.
Liam groans and rubs his forehead in an effort to stave off the incoming headache. The heavy bass and flashing lights of the club add to his irritation and the pressure building just behind his eyes.
Drake’s laugh carries over the music for a moment, and Liam turns his attention back to the dance floor just in time to see Callum pull Drake in, hands firm on his hips. Callum bends down, lips brushing over Drake’s neck, and Drake tips his head back against Callum’s chest, relaxing into his body as they move to the beat.
Liam reaches for his drink, hoping against hope the burn of the vodka will drown out the emotions warring in his chest. While well intentioned, so far Maxwell’s joint bachelor/bachelorette party has been far from enjoyable. Madeline and her bridesmaids had quickly broken off from the group, commandeering a few tables on the upper level of the club and ordering numerous bottles of champagne while Hana and Maxwell had rushed onto the dance floor. After a few moments of gentle urging from Callum, he and Drake had joined the pair, leaving Liam and his older brother alone in the V.I.P. area.
“You good?”
“Hm?” Liam tears his gaze away from the dance floor and turns to face his brother.
“You doing ok over there?” Leo asks, pointedly staring at Liam’s white-knuckle grip on his glass.
Liam tosses back the rest of his drink and hurriedly sets the glass back on a nearby table. “I’m fine.”
“Mmhm.”
“I am,” Liam insists.
“Sure.” Leo rolls his eyes and take a sip of his beer. “You’re two days away from your wedding, at your bachelor party with your best friends, and you look like you want to die.”
“I am only getting married because someone chose to abdicate the throne and leave all his responsibilities to me.” Liam’s tone is soft, but his gaze is sharp. “And the men I love are off being happy together. Forgive me for not jumping for joy.”
Leo grimaces. “Liam…”
“It’s fine, Leo. I knew when there would be hardships associated with becoming king.”
Leo lets out a strangled laugh. “Your marriage… the rest of your life… shouldn’t be a hardship, Liam.”
Liam shrugs. “To become king, I must be married. And Father made sure Madeline was the only acceptable candidate. My hands are tied; what would you have me do?”
“And that’s why Drake and Callum are together and not with you.”
“What did you say?” Liam snarls, standing so fast his chair topples to the floor.
“Dad says something and you just roll over and accept it. Dad has manipulated you into this marriage and you’re just letting him get away with it! Of course they’re fucking angry with you!”
“Cordonia needs a king and Dad’s not going to be around forever. Stability in the monarchy means stability for the country, and if marrying Madeline is what accomplishes that then that’s what I have to do. Why does no one understand that?” Liam runs his hands through his hair in exasperation.
“We do!” Leo shouts. “We do understand but no one wants to see you becoming king just to be unhappy!”
Liam blinks rapidly, hot tears stinging his eyes. “Enough, Leo. What’s done is done. Just… leave it alone. Please.”
Leo relents, wrapping his younger brother in a tight hug. “Yeah, okay.”
The pounding bass and Drake’s body against mine drown out all coherent thought and I feel myself relaxing for the first time in several days. Drake and I had initially declined Maxwell’s invitation for tonight, but two days of a pouty Maxwell had forced us to give in.
My eyes wander over to the V.I.P. area where the vibe between Liam and his brother is decidedly tense. I pull Drake closer, rolling my hips against his, smiling slightly at the gasp that escapes him. My hands wander over his stomach and chest, dipping below the hem of his shirt to graze the soft skin of his abdomen and the thin trail of hair that dips below the waistband of his jeans. I press a series of soft kisses to the side of his neck, tasting salt and the sweetness of his skin, and it takes everything in me not to drag him into a dark corner to taste more of him.
The song ends and Drake tugs my hand gently. “I’m going to get another drink and take a breather for a minute.”
“I’ll meet you in V.I.P in a few minutes,” I say giving him a quick kiss before he walks off. Drake smiles up at me, his blush visible even in the low light of the club.
I weave through the crowded dance floor to the bathrooms, eager for a few minutes to myself before joining Liam and his disapproving looks in V.I.P. The bathroom is empty, blessedly cool and quiet, cutoff from the electric energy of the club. I take a few minutes, washing my hands and splashing some cool water on my face to center myself. The door to the bathroom opens and I look up into the mirror, blinking away stray water droplets, to see Liam standing behind me and meeting my gaze in the mirror.
“Having fun, darlin’?” I ask, daring to break the silence.
“You seem to be having enough fun for both of us,” he mutters, breaking eye contact.
I turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest and slouching back against the sink. “If you’d quit letting your daddy run your life you could get in on the fun too.”
Liam glares at me, his amber eyes molten with anger. “I hate you.”
The laughter bursts out of me, loud and sharp. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
Liam lunges towards me, fisting his hands in the fabric of my shirt and dragging me down until we’re eye level with each other. “I fucking hate you.”
I strain against his hold, leaning closer to him, my breath ghosting over his lips. “Hate’s just another kind of love. I’m under your skin now, darlin’. You’re never gonna be rid of me. Never.”
Liam’s mouth slams into mine and the kiss is all teeth and tongue, longing and aggression. I slip free from his hold and maneuver behind him, forcing Liam to face the mirror as I stand behind him. I keep one arm tight around his waist as my free hand grips his throat, forcing him to stare at our reflections in the mirror as I hold his body tight against mine. We’re both breathing hard, our bodies tight with anxiety and anger.
“Fuck, you look gorgeous like this,” I mutter, nipping at the soft skin below his ear, grinning to myself as he shudders in my hold. “I should fuck you just like this, make you watch yourself fall apart on my cock and then send you back to Madeline with my cum dripping down your thighs.”
Liam swallows hard, his throat spasming against the palm of my hand. “Do it.”
I freeze, my breath catching in my chest as I look up, meeting his gaze in the mirror.
A Dragon Age Inquisition fanfic featuring Dorian Pavus and Rajmael Lavellan. Lavellan is helping the Inquisition against his will, views all humans as the enemy, enemies to lovers romance with Dorian.
Dorian sees a new side of the prickly Herald of Andraste
Part 3 - History
Dorian sits by himself in a far corner of Haven’s tavern, nursing a particularly low-quality dwarvern beer.
It has been decided then. Solas believes the mages and the Herald to be prepared… tomorrow we attempt to close the Breach.
The Tevinter sighs in contemplation and takes another swig of beer, then grimaces at the taste before setting the mug back onto the table and shoving it away.
We’re probably all going to die.
With that final cheery thought Dorian pushes himself to his feet, unsure what to do to take his mind off of the thousand fatalistic thoughts ricocheting through his mind. Once outside the tavern the mage breathes in the crisp, clean winter air, coughing slightly as it clears the smokey tavern air from his lungs. The faint, ringing laughter of children reaches his ears and Dorian’s lips quirk up in a small smile before quickly falling. At first, he’d been surprised at the presence of children in the Inquisition’s camp, but Leiliana has explained that many of the children had been orphaned in the initial demon attacks following the Breach’s creation, though a few were in Haven because their parents had joined the Inquisition.
Brushing those thoughts away, Dorian continues on his original path, quickly skidding to a halt when he hears the voice of the Herald carrying above the din of the children’s playful noises.
Is he laughing?
Curious, Dorian changes direction and picks his way through the snow, following the noise through the outer gates of Haven and towards the lake. The area where Cullen usually runs training drills with the soldiers has been taken over by a gaggle of elven children, running amok and pelting each other with snowballs. And in the middle of this barely controlled chaos is Rajmael, long white hair tousled by the breeze and frenetic activity, chasing the children with playful growls. He uses his magic to create small puffs of snow, allowing them to burst open over the children’s heads, much to their amusement if their delighted shrieks are anything to go by.
Dorian moves closer to the scene, entranced. He’s never seen the Herald like this before; laughing, open, vibrant. Rajmael’s normally furrowed brow has relaxed, his usually tense mouth now smiling, allowing Dorian to fully appreciate the sensual curve of his full lips. Out of armor his lithely muscled body is on display, slender and agile as he slips through the crowd of children, teasingly running circles around them.
One of the children collides with Rajmael, knocking his legs out from under him, and the Herald goes down on his back into the snow. Without thinking, Dorian moves towards the group, intent on giving Rajmael a hand up.
The children notice him first and a chorus of fearful gasps escape them as they scramble behind the fallen Herald for protection. The moment Rajmael’s eyes meet Dorian’s his expression shutters, the previous joyful smile now replaced by the usual scowl he wears when in the Tevinter mage’s presence. He swiftly rises to his feet, herding the children behind him, much like a mother duck corralling her ducklings to safety.
“Magister Pavus.” Rajmael’s tone is harsh.
“Kaffas!” Dorian mutters. “How many times must I tell you not to call me that?”
Rajmael sneers and opens his mouth to retort, quickly snapping it closed as footsteps crunch through the snow, signaling another’s approach. Dorian turns to see a vaguely familiar elf approaching with a hesitant smile on his face.
“Lysas!” Rajmael calls out in greeting with a kind grin on his face. “Is it time for their lessons?”
Lysas, that’s it! One of the mages from Redcliffe.
At the word ‘lessons’ all the children groan in unison.
Rajmael rolls his eyes good-naturedly and begins to shoo the children towards the other elf. “Go with Lysas, and I will follow shortly. If you behave, I will tell you of the Emerald Knights at the end of the lesson.”
The children perk up at that promise and begin to begrudgingly crowd move towards Lysas, who had been watching Rajmael the entire exchange with a soft smile on his face. Dorian recognizes that smile, the smile of a man deep in the throes of infatuation. Something about that smile causes an unpleasant feeling to twist deep in Dorian’s stomach, a feeling he refuses to acknowledge and quickly brushes away.
Once the children and Lysas are out of earshot, Rajmael turns to face Dorian. “Stay away from the children, Magister,” he hisses. “I will only warn you once. Approach them again and the Inquisition will be down one Tevinter mage.”
Threat delivered, the Herald of Andraste stalks away, leaving Dorian staring after him in consternation.
~later that night~
Dorian twists in his bed, groaning in frustration as sleep refuses to come. Between the threat from Rajmael and tomorrow’s attempt to close the Breach, his mind refuses to quiet. He throws back the covers and climbs out of bed, dressing quickly and donning his coat, intent on a drink or five at the tavern. Halfway to the tavern Dorian glances up at the unusually full moon and notices a figure sitting huddled on top the one of Haven’s outer stone walls. Dismissing it as one of the Inquisition’s guards he begins to turn away, until he notices the bright white hair the cascades down the hunched figures back. Against his better judgement he changes course, searching until he finds a ladder that leads to the wall Rajmael is perched upon.
The elf hears him coming, twisting sharply to see who has come to join him, his eyes squinting in suspicion when he recognizes Dorian.
“You’re not going to shove me off the moment I sit down, are you?” Dorian asks.
Rajmael studies him for a moment, considering, then lifts one shoulder in a languid shrug. “Take your chances and find out, Magister Pavus.”
“Fasta vass. Why do you insist on calling me that?” Dorian complains as he gingerly take a seat on the wall, careful to leave a generous distance between the Herald and himself.
Rajmael huffs out a soft laugh, grey eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “Because I can. And because it annoys you, which amuses me.”
Dorian scowls. “You behave like a child.”
“At least I don’t spend all my free time getting drunk in the tavern with Varric and Iron Bull,” Rajmael retorts, rolling his eyes.
“You should try it sometime; a bit of fun would do wonders for your disposition.”
“There is nothing wrong with my disposition, shem.”
“Ha!” Dorian barks out a short, incredulous laugh. “I’ve been here for weeks and today was the first time I’ve seen you smile.”
Rajmael gives him a thin, venomous smile. “Your presence gives me nothing to smile about Magister Pavus.”
“I am wounded!” Dorian dramatically grabs his chest in mock shock. “I have often been told that I'm an absolute delight!”
Rajmael rolls his eyes at the other mage’s theatrics. “The opinions of your fellow drunkards are of no consequence to me, Magister.”
“You really do hold the very lowest opinion of me, don’t you?”
Rajmael doesn’t answer, returning his attention to the horizon where the Breach looms, lighting up the night. Dorian sits silently, dividing his attention between the Herald and the Breach until he can no longer stand it.
“Do you really think I would hurt them?”
“Hm?” Rajmael turns to face Dorian, white brows pulled together in confusion.
“Earlier today you warned me to stay away from the children. Do you honestly think I would harm them?” Dorian asks.
Rajmael tilts his face towards the night sky, closing his eyes as he seems to ponder the question. Dorian eyes greedily drink in the way his skin glows in the moonlight, the slender arch of his neck, and the way his long, white lashes frame his eyes.
“No,” Rajmael says eventually, his voice quiet. “I don’t think you would purposefully hurt the children.”
“Then why -”
“Because other humans will. It is the way of this world.”
“I don’t -”
“I was five years old when I saw a human for the first time,” Rajmael interrupts Dorian, his voice soft and faraway as he recalls the memory. “My clan had set up a camp near Starkhaven…. Usually the hunters did well to keep us far out of sight of any shemlen but that time a group of them stumbled into our camp. A lord from the nearby city and his hunting party. They seemed kind at first.” A harsh laugh. “That changed soon enough.”
Dorian steels himself. “What happened?”
“I caught the lord’s eye. He offered to buy me from my parents.”
Dorian stomach twists uncomfortably as wide, grey eyes lock onto his face.
“There are very few reasons a grown man wants to buy a little boy, Dorian. None of them are good.”
The Tevinter lets out a short hum of agreement. “You’re here so obviously your parents declined his offer.”
“That they did. And in response he and his fellow hunters killed my parents in front of me.”
“Rajmael…” Dorian breathes out the elf’s name in a shocked whisper.
“My clan killed the lord and his men in retaliation, of course,” Rajmael continues matter-of-factly, ignoring Dorian’s reaction. "A life for a life, and so it will continue until my people are eradicated or until we finally triumph.”
Rajmael stands, gifting Dorian with a soft, sad smile. “And that is why I teach our children to fear humans, to never trust a kind word or smile from a shemlen. The humans have taken everything from us; our lands, our history, our lives, our children… our future. And still they continue to take. They brand us as savages, force us into alienages, keep us as slaves.”
Dorian winces and looks away guiltily.
“And still they take from us and will continue to take until there is nothing left of my people. That is why there can never be trust between humans and elves, no friendship, no close bonds. These wounds run too deep to ever be healed Magister Pavus, and every elf alive today bears their scars. Reminders that trusting a human, even once, will lead to further destruction.”
Rajmael looks at Dorian one last time, then turns away and leaps down, landing gracefully in the snow below. He walks towards his cabin, never looking back, leaving a thoughtful Dorian to stare after him.
Made a bald Inky this run so I can commit egg on egg crime and traumatize Solas by romancing him then leaving him for Blackwall before he gets a chance to break my heart.
My Lords of Fortune Rook was a child slave until Isabella and the Lords rescued him, so he obsessively hoards all of his loot from their heists because he wants to always have a way to freedom, be it through wealth, fighting, etc. The hoard is large. The hoard is precious. The hoard is untouched.
He’s the same way with relationships. Casually friendships are fine, and he has a large measure of gratitude towards Isabella, but romance? No. Not even once. Becoming dependent on people leaves you vulnerable, and he will never be vulnerable again, not now that his has his freedom and independence.
Until this goofy little elf falls straight into the glorious green eyes of an older, experienced necromancer.
Now he’s up at all hours of the night, obsessively picking through every piece of this carefully curated treasure hoard desperate to find something to gift Emmerich. Something that says “I was not meant for casual flings, I adore you with my entire soul, I want to crack open your chest cavity and crawl inside you and walk around wearing your skin so we never have to be apart”. It’s a stressful time for him. Lots of big emotions for a little guy
The walk back to my cabin is quick and silent, our footsteps crunching through the thin crust of fresh snow on the ground. Solas’ steps are languid and relaxed, a sharp contrast to my own harsh, quick movements, but despite his outward calm I can sense the other mage’s annoyance. Faint and carefully concealed but there, thrumming softly beneath his skin, side by side with other, greater secrets he holds close to his heart.
I shoulder open the door to my cabin with a grunt and drop my heavy load of tomes and scrolls onto my writing desk before setting about lighting candles and stoking the fire in the hearth. My fellow mage watches me quietly, soft lavender eyes tracking my progress as I flit though cabin, shaking errant snowflakes from my hair and straightening the random books and knickknacks that I’ve accumulated during my short time among the humans.
“Your recklessness will be your downfall with the humans, da’len.”
I bite the soft inner skin of my cheek to hold back my retort at the intentional slight. “You think my anger towards the humans unjustified?”
“I think your anger will lead you astray, away from your larger goal,” Solas replies softly.
I glance at the older elf from the corner of my eye. “And what do you know of my larger goal, lethallin?”
Solas steps closer to me, his voice low and soothing. “I have my thoughts. My suppositions. You despise being in the humans’ presence, but when those in charge… Cullen, Leliana, Josephine, Cassandra… when they speak you listen. Intently. You learn from them…. Strategy, diplomacy, warcraft… you wish to learn everything, but what will you do with all this newfound knowledge? You speak to the eleven and dwarven workers in hushed whispers, but about their lives and their dreams, not the threat the rift poses. You’ve managed to smuggle correspondence to your Keeper without Leliana knowing, but what do you have to say that must be hidden away from the humans' eyes?.”
I gaze at him levelly, willing my features to stay blank and emotionless. “Cassandra is right to be wary of you… the lone apostate mage who exists in the shadows, watching and listening but never revealing his true intentions. I am not the only elvhen with secrets here in Haven.”
A small, humorless smile graces Solas’ lips. “I do not wish to sully our growing friendship with suspicion and mistrust.”
“And yet…” I let the thought linger in the cool air of the cabin, disappointed by the rift that has seemingly opened between us.
“I do not mean to distress you, Rajmael. Your friendship has been a most unexpected surprise. Unexpected but welcome. I merely wish for you to be cautious in your dealings with the humans. Never let them see your anger. Never allow them to know your weaknesses.”
“Ir sa tel’nal. The anger is all I have.”
Something flashes in Solas’ eyes… understanding, maybe? He sighs, long fingers gently stroking the wolf jawbone he wears around his neck. “Then leash it, control it. Let it drive you but do not let it consume you. Use the humans to your benefit but never let them know you wish them all dead. Do not let those like Dorian bait you, even though you find their philosophies abhorrent.”
A faint shiver runs through me as I remember the Tevinter mage’s nonchalant attitude towards slavery. A faint look of disgust mars Solas’ features and I know his feelings echo my own.
After a moment Solas smooths down the front of his robes and moves towards the door. “I have taken enough of your time this evening. Rest well, Rajmael.”
“Ma serannas, lethallin. I will meditate upon your words.”
Solas graces me with a faint smile before stepping out into the dark. I close and securely latch the cabin door behind him, deep in thought.
Solas is a study in secrets and contradictions. He knows more than he should, even for one so talented in Fade-walking. There is no doubt he is hiding things, but who among us isn’t? Absentmindedly I stroke the stiff bandages that wrap around my left forearm. There is an urge to dive, to delve into the secrets that surround the apostate, but something stays my hand. A primal sense of warning, of a danger I don’t fully understand yet urges caution in my dealings with my fellow mage.
Exhaustion creeps in and I resolve to set these concerns aside for another day as I slip beneath the rough woolen blanket that adorns my bed. I find myself missing my clan in these quiet moments, when there are no plans to make or training to do. I miss Keeper Evunial’s quiet guidance and cunning mind, the sound of halla grazing outside our shared aravel. It was he who sent me to observe the ill-fated conclave, but I doubt even he would dare to imagine the scope of my ever-evolving plans now that I have been declared the Herald of Andraste.
“I will not abandon you,” I whisper into the darkness of my room. “And I will save us all.”
Dorian finds out his infamous charm doesn't work on everyone.
Part 1 - Disdain
“They’re not the most sociable of creatures, are they?”
Varric blinks, mug of ale raised halfway to his lips as the Tevinter mage casually slips into a chair on the opposite side of the table.
“Those two,” Dorian repeats, waving his hands towards a far corner of the Haven tavern, where the Herald and Solas sit huddled together, their dinner plates pushed away and discarded in favor of a rather hefty tome. The two elves share a faint grin as Solas points towards something in the text and the Herald responds, hands moving emphatically to accentuate his point. “They sequester themselves away, barely interacting with the others… and the Herald barely spoke to me at all during our time in Redcliffe, which is quite a feat given our little misadventure there. It makes me frightfully curious about the two of them.”
Varric snorts into his mug. “Normally I’m all for prying into the business of others, but I’ll sit this one out.”
“Are you afraid of the Herald and our hobo apostate, Master Tethras?” Dorain’s eyes gleam with mischief as he teases the dwarf.
Varric grunts and rolls his eyes, taking a sip of ale. “I’m not the one who needs to be afraid of Rajmael.”
Dorian arches an eyebrow, intrigued.
“I’m sure by now you’ve heard all about how Cassandra and Leilana recruited the kid.”
The mage raises one hand and languidly waves it side-to-side. “It sounded more like a forced conscription than a recruitment but carry on.”
“The kid wasn’t raised to have the highest opinion of humans and thinks the Maker is some human fairy tale that’s worth less than a pile of nug-shit, now he’s forced to play leader to a group of people he despises in the name of a god he doesn’t believe in? He’s had better months. Especially since Cullen foiled his last escape attempt.”
Dorian chuckles briefly, sobering when he realizes that Varric isn’t joking. “You’re serious?”
“Andraste knows how he did it but a few days before you showed up in Redcliffe, he managed to slip past the guards and steal a horse from the stables without anyone noticing. Cullen and a few of his men caught up with him eventually; kid was riding hell-bent for leather back to his clan. If they’d been just a little slower, they never would have caught him. That patch of hair on the left side of the Commander’s head that a bit shorter than the rest of his curly locks?”
Dorian’s eyes widen. “No…”
Varric’s brown eyes twinkle with barely concealed amusement. “Leilana said it was a very close thing. Rajmael really didn’t want to come back to Haven.”
“I see…” Doiran hums thoughtfully, circling the rim of his wineglass with the tip of one forefinger. “And after all that they just let him wander freely?”
“Well now that they’ve touted Rajmael as the answer to all our demon problems they can’t just lock him up back up, can they?” Varric shrugs, taking another mouthful of ale. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cassandra had a “friendly” conversation with Solas and asked him to keep a closer eye on the kid.”
The Tevinter’s amber eyes sweep over the pair of elves again, a touch more observant his time around. “Like that between them, is it?” he murmurs.
Varric rolls his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Sparkler. There’s just an… understanding between them. Solas loves to talk people’s ears off about the Fade and spirits and Rajmael is more than happy to listen and learn anything Solas is willing to teach him. As far as I know they’re the only two in Haven who have more than a few words of elvhen and that’s the language they both prefer to speak.”
Dorian’s eyes unconsciously seek out Sera in the hubbub of the crowded tavern. “So how do they feel about…?”
Varric follows his gaze. “Solas treats her like a child and Rajmael acts like she doesn’t exist. Why are you so interested anyway, Sparkler? From what I can tell neither one seems particularly concerned with getting to know you.”
“Which is odd, because I am endlessly fascinating… Handsome, intelligent, charming, unbelievably gifted in magic... they should be clamoring to be in my presence.” Dorian stands, glass of wine in hand. “I must rectify this immediately.”
“Andraste watch over you,” Varric mutters, only half in jest as he watches the Tevinter saunter through the small tavern towards the two solitary elves.
“Good evening, Herald. Solas. May I join you?” Dorian barely waits for Solas’s nod of acquiescence before sliding in the seat directly across from the Herald.
“Can we help you?” Solas asks, his tone politely distant.
Rajmael’s eyes flicker up to meet Dorian’s momentarily, then lower back down towards the book on the table in front of him.
“I thought perhaps we could become better acquainted since we’ll be working so closely with one another for the foreseeable future. Saving the world and all,” Dorian responds offering them a charming grin.
Solas hesitates, glancing over at Rajmael. “That is an understandable request,” he says slowly.
The corner of the Herald’s mouth twitches, as if he wants to object, but he ultimately chooses to remain silent.
Dorian focuses his attention on Rajmael, gesturing towards the tattoos that adorn his face. “So I take it you’re… Dalish? Is that the correct word here?”
Two pairs of eyes stare at him with a slightly frightening intensity. Solas’ lavender eyes hold a faint trace of disapproval, while Rajmael’s are a tumultuous storm of grey fury.
“You’re more accustomed to ‘slave’, I take it?” Rajmael retorts acidly.
“We… don’t have Dalish clans coming northward for… obvious reasons. So I’ve never met one of your people before, although I’ve heard about them. A little. I hope this won’t be an issue between us. I am here to help you deal with the Venatori, after all.”
“Not by my choice, shem.”
Dorian frowns, not knowing what the unfamiliar elvhen words means but recognizing that it is clearly some sort of insult.
“Lethallin.” Solas’ tone is firm and faintly disapproving.
“Ir abelas.” Rajmael ducks his head, tucking a lock of long white hair behind his ear.
Dorian absent-mindedly notes that his ears are slightly larger than Solas’, the tips a bit more pointed. And currently colored a faint, embarrassed pink at Solas’ rebuke.
“Our apologies.” Solas inclines his head towards Dorian. “Slavery is a… sensitive topic among the elvhen people.”
“Ah. Yes. Well.” Dorian uncomfortably sips his wine. “That is certainly understandable.”
“Is it?” Rajmael asks snidely. “Your homeland is the center of the slave trade. Do you own slaves?”
“Not personally, but my family does and treats them well. Honestly, I never thought much about it until I came south. Back home, it’s… how it is. Slaves are everywhere. You don’t question it. I’m not even certain many slaves do.”
“It’s how it is?” the Herald hisses, rising slightly in his seat, leaning over the table nearly nose to nose with Dorian.
Solas tenses but makes no move to draw the younger elf back down into his chair.
“You think slaves like it that way? You think they enjoy emptying your chamber pots and fulfilling all of your petty whims? When you crawl into their beds at night? Don’t be stupid, Lord Pavus.”
Dorian scoffs. “In the South you have alienages, slums both human and elven. The desperate have no way out. Back home, a poor man can sell himself. As a slave, he could have a position of respect, comfort, and could even support a family. Some slaves are treated poorly, it’s true, but do you honestly think inescapable poverty is better?”
Rajmael’s delicate features twist into a scowl. “At least they have a choice. At least they’re free. They don’t have slavery forced upon them.”
“You think people choose to be poor and oppressed? I doubt it.”
“And what would a man who has only ever known luxury know of the minds of the poor and oppressed?” Solas interjects; his voice soft but his tone pointed.
Dorian grits his teeth, feeling cornered. “Abuse heaped upon those without power isn’t limited to Tevinter, my friends. I don’t know what it’s like to be a slave, true. I never thought about it until I saw how different it was here. But I suspect you don’t know either, nor should you believe that every tale of Tevinter excess is the norm.”
“I am not, nor will I ever be your friend, shem.” Rajmael stands, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor. “I have witnessed what the elite of Tevinter do to their elvhen property, and despite your pathetic protests to the contrary, I know that my people would rather die than live as shem slaves.”
Rajmael gathers up the tome and various papers from the table, anger making his movements sharp and jerky. With a final, furious glare in Dorian’s direction he stalks out of the tavern, Solas at his side.
Dorian sits in silence, stunned and irritated, barely noticing when a familiar dwarf settles across from him in a recently vacated chair.
“So…” Varric grins. “That looked like it went well.”
Head cannoning a new fic since I’m on my Dragon Age ish now. An enemies to lovers with Dorian and Lavellan. A Lavellan who is helping the Inquisition against his will, was raised to view humans as an enemy, struggling with his sexuality….. yes, yes let the angst flow through me
Imagine….. just after removing Inky’s vallasin Solas ever so gently cups her face in his hands, tenderly brushing his thumbs over her now tattoo free cheeks as he gazes into her eyes, his own full of love and wonder.
“There you are,” he murmurs softly, thrilled at finally seeing his love free of the unknown shackles of a past that caused so many so much pain.
Solas just absolutely scolding Blackwall for lying about his identity/past as if he isn’t just three Fade spirits in a trench-coat plotting and waiting for the perfect moment to massively fuck over the Inquisition on a cosmic level is peak white boy audacity.
Lowkey, I need to talk about this and Im sure other Anders fans have probably talked this to the ground.
But I feel like Anders suffered so badly at the hands of the creators and its both heartbreaking and the largest reason I love him so much. We see him, easily one of the most hated characters in the fandom, and he is not handled with nuance by either fans or anti’s because the writers never even gave room for that nuance.
You either are hate him or you love him, because there was never an option presented that allowed for a grey area.
Lets talk about easily one of the most popular options (and mirror to Anders), Solas. He easily does so much worse for even less of a reason. What he tries to do in Veilguard, what he did in Inquisition. If I remember correctly, bro gives the anchor to Corypheus bc he couldn’t understand it and thought bro would fix it for him.
If this would have been Anders, there would be outrage.
But because Solas has the benefit of writers that love him in both games, he gets the benefit of getting a grey area. There is not nearly as much hate, no one sits down to talk about how secretly he is the cause of every problem here.
I cant help but wonder what Anders did to lose out on such nuance. Cullen, one of my favorites, receives that nuance, when we are well aware what can happen with his story line if we dont play our cards right in Origins and DA2.
To have a writer that basically wants you dead is so crippling.
There is no nuance, there is no forgiveness. Even the route where your Hawke doesnt stabby stab him is made to look like you made the wrong choice. I was lucky, my Hawke in inquisition does not paint Romanced!Anders as a monster, my Hawke is much more forgiving and speaks of him as someone who needs to be taken care of. But Ive seen other people talk about how their Hawke speaks of Anders.
We lose out on Awakening!Anders in a way that almost doesnt seem natural. It is like we were given a completely different character. One is capable of facing trauma, and I would even say having to give your body to a spirit holds some form of trauma as well, while maintaining core parts of their personality. It wouldnt have hurt to show us bits of that previous Anders once in a while.
Its hard to look at really, because there are things that he says in DA2 that gives us insight to what is going on in the chantry, things that gives us insight to why he is going through such lengths. But because everything is structured around the idea that you are supposed to hate him, no one ever really acknowledges him in game or in the fandom.
I saw on a comment a few days ago that states that Anders tried so hard to be heard, to have his stance listened to but throughout the game almost everyone shrugs him off. No one takes him seriously. And yes, he can be obnoxious about it sometimes, but if I put myself in his shoes, I would also be talking and talking about it until someone acknowledges me. In smaller cases where I would have things to say in places like highschool and everyone would ignore me, I would find myself repeating it again until someone would tell me “yeah, we heard you already”. Its in a way where I understand what it feels like, to have something so important to say and to be pushed to the side, I understand what Anders feels in party banter in a way that cant be said outloud without being questioned if I agree with his decision towards the Chantry.
He could have been perfect, a way to start a conversation where we ask ourselves, at what point are extreme measures acceptable? At what point can we consider what a person did to be necessary or unnecessary? Would anyone have listened to the cause if that measure hadnt been taken?
Unfortunately, its answered for us, it ends the conversation before we can even have it. It tells us what is supposed to be the answer. It tells us it is wrong, it tells us that this is a black and white conversation. What could have been a legitimate substantial conversation cut short because of their efforts to make the fandom hate Anders as much as they do.
I absolutely head-cannon that when my mage Hawke shows up at Skyhold the very first thing he and Varric do is have an absolutely insane gossip session.
Hawke - You will never believe the crazy shit Anders has me doing now. But I love him so hey, what can you do?
Varric - Psshh…. Get this…. Knight Captain Cullen is here!
Hawke - The fuck you say?!
Varric - And he’s the commander of the Inquisiton’s army.
Hawke - Bitch, you lyin’.
Varric - here’s the best thing though….. he’s hooking up with the Inquisitor.
Hawke - 😮
Varric - She’s an elf.
Hawke - 👀👀👀
Varric - And a mage.
Hawke -…………. Introduce me to her.
Then my petty little king of a Hawke reveals every dirty little detail of Cullen’s behavior in Kirkwall to the Inquisitor in what can only be described as a straight up character massacre because he will never forget what that asshat aided and abetted in Kirkwall.
