#em lavellan

[sumomosketches]

redraw of a sailor moon screencap with lia & em~ <3 @dredshirtroberts

[sumomoblossom77]

Sunshine

Fic prompt from @dredshirtroberts~ Pre-relationship Zev/Lia/Josie! ^^

Sitting with her back to a corner on the second floor of The Herald's Rest, Lia tilted her head to the side and concentrated on making her mouth pronounce the sounds correctly.

"Like that?" She asked when she'd completed the phrase.

Across from her, Zevran shook his head and gently repeated the phrase, placing emphasis in certain areas she definitely hadn't. He chuckled before raising a brow and adding, "Though the way you said it has a particularly delightful translation." 

Warmth dusted Lia's cheeks in response to his laugh, making her grateful for the breeze coming in through the open window that their table was sitting next to. She made herself refocus on the matter at hand before her thoughts could run away with her, but it just made her brow furrow and her lips tilt downward. "Fantastic. Great. I'll cause a diplomatic incident within two sentences the next time I speak with anyone from Antiva by insinuating something I didn't intend. I'm never going to get this." 

"Well to be fair, my dear, insinuating something like that is unlikely to cause a diplomatic incident with an Antivan." He smirked before continuing, "You are also picking up the language remarkably fast. It is quite impressive." 

'Shitfuckdamn! A sincere compliment - my one weakness!' Lia thought as her cheeks flushed again. Honestly, she was surprised that her face just didn't constantly stay red all the time at this point. She wanted to bury her face in her hands but didn't think she could get away with it so she just grinned sheepishly and muttered out a quick, "Thanks."

"You are welcome, my dear. Now, let us try this again, yes?" 

Lia repeated the phrase again, careful to put emphasis in the places Zevran had earlier. 

Before Zevran could comment, Josie seemed to appear from out of nowhere at the end of their table. "Oh no, no, no, Lady Sahrena." Then she repeated the phrase - the way she placed emphasis completely different than the way Zevran had shown Lia, in addition to changing one of the words entirely.  

"Josie, we're not on duty, it's just Sahrena, remember? And I'm pretty sure I got it right that time. Zevran has also been helping me learn Antivan and that's the way he said it."  Here she turned in his direction to flash a quick smile, a question in her eyes. 

"Yes, you got it this time. I told you you were a quick learner, did I not?" Zevran smiled warmly at Lia in return and then added, "Our lovely ambassador here was also correct. The pronunciation she suggested is a . . . fancier way of using our fine language. I have been teaching you the more common way of speaking Antivan. I believe it is what you are most likely to encounter in your travels." 

"It is important that she learn the intricacies that are expected when dealing with the nobility."

"She has you for that, does she not? And should an encounter happen, nobles are perfectly capable of understanding standard Antivan. Or are you doubting the capabilities of your fellow nobles? For shame, my dear ambassador, for shame!" 

Josie's eyes lit up with suppressed laughter at Zevran's teasing tone at the end, but she rose to the challenge in his statement and they started to bicker good naturedly back and forth about the virtues of learning the different versions of Antivan. 

Honestly, though? Lia hadn't heard a word that they had said for the last few minutes. Her right elbow was planted on the table and her head leaned into her hand as she stared at the two, eyes soft. The afternoon sunshine beaming in through the window cast them both in a warm glow and Lia swore she had never seen anything as lovely as the way the light played over their features. 

Across the room, Em waved to get Lia's attention and when she had it she shot a grin her way before waggling her eyebrows and winking. 

Lia gave into her earlier urge to bury her burning face in her hands. 

[sumomosketches]

to kick off @ockissweek, here’s a return kiss from lia to em~ lia is my lavellan and em is @dredshirtroberts‘ lavellan! <3333

[sumomosketches]

scribbly redraw of that scene from the good place with lia & em~  @dredshirtroberts

[sumomosketches]

@dredshirtroberts

[sumomosketches]

@dredshirtroberts

[intentandinvention]

So uh my elven Reaver just met the Dalish keeper at the Exalted Plains, who insists on calling him “da'len” constantly. Errr. I just have this image of my constantly angry, bloodstained Em Lavellan rocking up to the camp and seeing the Keeper and suddenly standing up straighter and self-consciously wiping the blood off his face, and Dorian having to drag Sera away because she won’t stop giggling (they’ve never heard Em address anyone with a term of respect before, for one thing) and Cassandra wondering how one gets a Keeper on one’s side because apparently Em is actually capable of impeccable manners and speaking to strangers without threatening to stab anyone (didn’t Varric say he knew someone…?)

[intentandinvention]

Mahanon's second escape attempt is a little more successful; the Chantry folk (Chantry, Inquisition, it’s all the same to him) have started to trust him by the time the potions master sends him outside Haven to pick up notes, and he’s been in the mountains for four days by the time they manage to hunt him down. And hunt him they do – a Ferelden archer puts a three-foot-long arrow through his thigh from half a valley away. He snaps off the ends of it so that he can move, and Mythal be blessed he’s below the snowline so he manages not to leave a clear trail. Another half day of staggering and he’s unable to go any further, but they’re gaining on him. He buries himself beneath piles of leaves, cloak wrapped around his glowing hand, and as he passes out he prays to the Creators that he won’t be woken up under that deadly sunburst.

It’s magic that wakes him, prickling over the arrow still embedded in his leg, numbing and pulling together, washing over the mark in his hand that has started to burn. Someone’s breathing slowly a few yards away. He pushes himself out of the nest of leaves to see Solas sitting there, legs crossed and eyes closed, a soft blue aura crackling around the palms laid flat on his knees. ‘Andaran atish’an, Mahanon,’ the mage says. There’s no tone of malice there, no condescension like Mahanon’s used to hearing from the others. And there’s no sign of any of the Chantry shemlen, either.

‘Andaran atish’an, hahren,’ he replies warily. Solas seems to find that funny, his mouth curling slightly. Mahanon knows little of the flat-ear mage, not enough to determine whether Solas is likely to flee with him or return him to the Inquisition, but he has little choice here, as he doubts he’s even able to walk, let alone run. Brushing aside the leaves covering his body, he inspects the blue light hovering around the wound in his lower thigh. The blood’s still there, the open wounds torn by his attempt to continue, but it’s not actually bleeding.

‘I am no healer, but I can keep it stable on the return to Haven,’ Solas says. His tone leaves no room for argument.

Mahanon tries anyway. ‘Ma hilani, Solas. The shemlen would use me to fight their battles. Make them choose some other figurehead to die for them – my clan need me more than the Chantry does.’

Solas shakes his head slowly, gets to his feet and holds out a hand. ‘Ir abelas, Mahanon. By whatever agency, you have been marked. I assure you, could I remove this mark from you I would do so, but I fear that to make an unsuccessful attempt would claim your life. For now, the best place for you is Haven.’

Rejecting the outstretched hand, Mahanon pulls himself to his feet, grateful despite himself that Solas maintains the spell keeping his leg numbed. The sounds of Inquisition soldiers closing in nearby let him know that Solas has not been sent alone to retrieve him, however, and he has no doubt that the next arrow will go through something more important. ‘Fen’harel ma ghilana,’ he spits at Solas, turning his back. The mage’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t reply as Mahanon braces himself against a tree and grasps the arrow sticking out of his thigh, and when the shaft slides out with a sickening pull the blue light remains steady.

They return to Haven, and Cullen and Cassandra lock themselves in the War Room with him for three hours in what was clearly meant to be a lecture but degenerates quickly into a screaming argument about the nature of responsibility and to whom he owes what. When they finally let him out and he storms to the small house they’ve assigned to him, there are guards posted at every door and window. Mahanon goes to the practice dummies instead, hurling himself at them blade and body until he realises that the warmth spreading down his leg is blood, and that Solas and Cullen are standing off to one side. The pain returns like a lightning strike as Solas releases the spell keeping him whole, and abruptly the ground is considerably closer, the sky clouded black. There are hands on the backs of his legs and his shoulders, hoisting him up into thick arms, resting his head against a mass of fur. Furious but too exhausted to act, he curses at Cullen’s stony face as he’s carried back to his bed, where he passes out while Adan’s treating the bloody mess they’ve made of his leg.

===

Andaran atish’an - greeting Hahren - term of respect Ma hilani - help me Fen’harel ma ghilana - Fen’harel guides you, used to express that someone is making the wrong decision