#hanhari

[sparemyocs]

Bystander

Maybe half an hour ago, things had been very different. Half an hour ago they'd been celebrating. More importantly everyone was alive, half an hour ago. Now though, they were in the Chantry, hiding from the wrath of a dragon. Possibly an archdemon. The smell of blood and burns permeated the premises: some people were hurt. Everyone was afraid. Hanhari, ever the good and kind First, had gone out of his way to save as many people as he could and had only just made it to shelter himself. He was talking with the war master of this place now, trying to figure out what to do.

The conclusion he reached made Miris' heart pound. He'd go back out there to distract the monster and his dragon. They'd escape along a back path or something of the sort, and he'd be most likely left to die in an avalanche.

"Da'falon, din!" She threw herself between himself and the door, hands pushing back on his chest and making him take a few steps back. If only in surprise, even if she was bigger than him.

"'Ma'halla, ryan. Re 'ma'shivanash shala ara'vhen." Hanhari took hold of her hands in his, smiling at her calmly.

"Mar vhen...?" Miris squirmed slightly, looking at all the people, the humans, around them. Truthfully it'd been easy to see the difference here, just how much happier he was. That didn't make it easier to accept though. Hanhari was supposed to be the Lavellan's First. Yet in his years with them, he'd never gotten as comfortable as he had here in a matter of weeks. The younger elf had connected with people here in a way he hadn't with their clan. She looked back at him, meeting his bright eyes. "Sathan juvagara."

"Ar'esayemah. Shia'i Blackwall sule min'dinem." He squeezed her hands before letting go altogether, slipping around her to go out the doors.

As they swung to a heavy close behind him, Miris could hear him giving orders to those he'd asked to go with him. Since she'd come she'd insisted on staying behind, merely helping keep things in order and providing him familiar company. As she dashed to catch up to Ser Blackwall's side, Miris wondered how different it would be now if she'd been bolder. Taken him up on his offers. Become a true agent of the Inquisition before it's destruction here. There was no point in pondering it. She'd already failed.

Spotting the man, she realized he was lagging behind somewhat as he helped an injured villager through the snow. No one would be left behind, of course, but they did need to go as quickly as possible. She swept under the injured human's free arm, lifting their other side up on her shoulders. Instantly they were moving with a bit more ease.

"Ah, thank you my Lady."

"Yes..." The villager sighed, "Yes thank you miss."

Miris eyed the bushy-bearded man for a moment. My Lady. That was... Nice. Too nice. It was a little frustrating that he could not have said it when things were still good and she'd been wanting to kiss him. "You are welcome," she looked to the villager, patting his chest to try and be reassuring. The huntress could dwell later, when things were not so bad. Assuming they did stop being bad later. Eventually. There would be time eventually she affirmed to herself.

Once the flare went up, Miris couldn't help often looking back. Haven was gone. The whole village buried like so many bodies. The sight crushed her lungs and sunk her stomach. Hanhari was down there. A literal body. His companions likely were as well. Cassandra, Sera, and that new man, Dorian. Four more people all gone like nothing.

And it was cold too. The chill was starting to sink through her clothes and skin and flesh down to bone. A storm blocked her view before distance did. It was a vicious thing, taking what could only be some feet away and obscuring it in a fog of white. The wind was soon blowing straight into their faces, snow sticking onto clothes and hair. None were left behind however, thankfully. Perhaps in the spirit of their lost Herald. Her lost First.

Miris wasn't sure how long they walked for. Probably not for as long as it seemed. It was at least, still nighttime when they stopped officially to camp. And thank goodness for the many who'd had the good sense to bring food and blankets and tents. It was crowded somewhat, and there weren't enough healers to go around, but under the cover of the fierce storm it felt somewhat safe. Sort of.

The huntress stayed close to Blackwall. She didn't know what else to do for now. She was as scared as everyone else. Scared of the Elder One. Scared of the evil templars. Sad... to have lost her friend. Other than the bustling of the healers, the whole camp was too quiet. Dozens of pairs of eyes glanced up, waiting to see the dragon come to finish them off. Time dragged on. It never came. Miris only stayed warm by virtue of Ser Blackwall keeping a heavy arm around her shoulders and keeping her politely near. Should have grabbed more blankets and coats...

Half an hour later, there was a fuss at one end of the camp. Miris leapt to her feet, scrambling over to see the cause of the commotion. Daggers drawn, just in case. It wasn't necessary. Somehow, through the storm, Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian had re-emerged.

"Hanhari? Sathan, sathan, where is da'falon? Where is Hanhari?! He was with you!" She grabbed at coats and armor, pleading with the survivors. Sera was too choked up and angry to give her a straight answer, outright shoving the Dalish elf away. Dorian was too guilty, never once looking the woman in the eye. Cassandra, both angry and guilty, managed to speak though.

"Once we had the trebuchet prepared, he told us to run. I... I was not sure we would make it, in truth, but it seemed we had more time than I would have thought. And indeed, the beast's focus was on him, as we were told. ...Hanhari, the Herald, he saved our lives as well." The woman's expression turned hard and certain, "We must give him time. There is a chance he could have survived, by some miracle, and I do not wish to see that chance wasted."

The Elvhen woman hugged her tightly. It meant little, but it was good that she cared enough to halt their onward march indefinitely. Just in case. Cassandra seemed startled by this, but hugged her back regardless.

"Cassandra... We left him cornered by a dragon and that... Elder One. I can respect a need for some hope but... Is it really wise to get our hopes up?" Dorian rubbed his arms, clearly cold and upset. Miris did not blame him, taking the human's hand and pulling him towards the tents.

"Sathan, ish'Pavus.... We should rest anyhow, sathan.... Let us wait, even if it is only because there is nothing better for us to do."

Dorian opened his mouth as if to argue, but he quickly deflated. "Well... I suppose we really don't have anywhere to go, do we? It... could still be quite the disappointment however, you know that don't you?"

"It is less disappointing than not trying at all." She pushed the man down onto one of the mats that had been laid down under the tents. "Be warm. You have done much already."

"If you say so... Thank you, ma'am." He pulled his hands up under his armpits, sitting cross legged and half curled in on himself in an attempt to preserve what little heat and good feelings he had left in him for the moment. Miris hoped very much that Mythal would grant them all mercy. They had worked hard to get even this far, and now there was an even worse fight ahead. Without Hanhari, it was doubtful that they'd have a chance. Moreover, no one needed the guilt of thinking that they'd abandoned (ordered to or no) their one chance.

More time passed, Miris returned to Blackwall's side and tried to sleep pressed against his back. It was better than keeping track of the time slipping away. Their chances fading in the dark and storm around them. Cullen and Cassandra gathered men to accompany them in doing rounds around the camp in the hopes of both finding their Herald while also not getting lost in the storm. Blackwall promised to wake Lady Lavellan if they found anything. Miris was grateful to him for this.

As promised, he did wake her.

Hanhari was tiny, back covered in frozen blood and unconscious in Cullen's arms. But Cassandra assured when Miris came rushing, alive. He was alive. Half dead and frozen stiff, but alive enough. There were so many healers. They would save him. They had to. Miris noticed that Dorian slipped in to help them. Already, the two young men had a bond that the woman recognized. Perhaps they also did, perhaps they didn't. Time would tell, and she would keep an eye on asa'da'falon if he ever needed help.

In the meantime, she sat back to watch the human's in charge bicker without Hanhari's calm, guiding voice, to watch the healers continue to buzz around the camp. Blackwall joined her again. She was thankful.

When Hanhari woke, the Mother fanned up fanfare around him. It was obvious he was overwhelmed, but the camp had needed the moment. Miris did not know the song, but she enjoyed hearing the Warden singing. Blackwall had a soothing sort of voice. It was a nice song too. Fitting of the situation in a way- Lost and in the dark and cold, but some way would be found to the sunrise. A good and needed message indeed. The singing ended, many people laughing at the newfound peace and it's slightly obsurd origin. Others began to settle into sleep. Miris was one of them, pressed up again against Blackwall's back, but he was lying down this time as well. The straw under them itched as it pressed up through her clothes but it was sufficient bedding. The man behind her was very warm, even facing away from her also. After the exhausting and long day, Miris had little trouble getting herself to sleep.

Mythal, ivys nuvenemah na. Na'ryas halani ish.

Ryan – I must

Re 'ma'shivanash shala ara'vhen – [It] Is my duty (done willingly and eagerly) to protect my people

Mar vhen – Your people

Sathan juvagara – Please come back

Ar'esayemah – I [am] about to try / I [am] going to try

Shia'i Blackwall sule min'dinem – Travel with Blackwall until this [is] over

Mythal, ivys nuvenemah na. Na'ryas halani ish. – Mythal, he will be needing you. You must help him.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12717951

[sparemyocs]

I Think of Arrows

He sat up slowly as he could, making sure the other man didn't wake as his movements shifted the bed. The rather ugly cotton blankets were hard to pull away from. Warm, and he wanted to believe safe but- As 'brave' as Hanhari fancied him the inevitable rejection in the morning wasn't something he could face. It had been wonderful (who knew the man had such a flithy mouth? Dorian Pavus did, thank you very much), before, during, and after. Now he was taking the reins because the Inquisitor couldn't be in charge of everything. Dorian could scarcely control his own heart but this? This he could do for himself. He could get dressed in the dark, he could leave without making a sound, he could fall back asleep in his own bed without feeling hollowed out because he'd gotten exactly what he'd expected without any dismissive words from such an incredible man. Maybe not what he wanted, but certainty what he'd expected.

-----

Sera looked up as Mr. Inquizy-boots himself came in and... Didn't greet her at all actually, just stepped over to her cushy window seats and flopped down like a fish. He smelled like Dorian, and a good time and yet didn't look like he'd had one at all. "Hey you..." She sidled up next to him with a frown, "Why're you all dead?"

He took a deep, shaky breath before pushing his face into his hands. "...I... He didn't stay. ...It was just... I'm sorry Sera, I don't know why I-"

"Shut it and keep going." She scowled, pushing out her bottom lip and putting on the angriest eyebrows she could.

He looked to her, brief and blank, then rubbed his hands over his face again. "It seemed... Right, I think. I don't know what I could have done wrong." His hands dropped from his tattooed face and into his lap. "It was fun, and so good. Then after... I was comfortable and his hands were gentle-" Hanhari swallowed hard, eyes going glossy as he teared up. "I thought- ...Why, Sera? Why wouldn't he...?"

"That knob-sucking snake-shitting arse-fucker. I'm gonna make him eat his dumb fancy mustache!" Sera shot up, grabbing her bow and quiver and running off before the other elf could catch up with her mentally, let alone physically.

-----

Dorian leaned on his left hand, trying to read and failing. All he could think about was the night prior. It was so troublesome! What about the Inquisitor ("You don't need to be so formal while we're in bed together you know.") had him so utterly infatuated?! He'd known stronger men, more handsome men. ...Not more powerful men however, not so personally. Was that it? Was he just denying a part of himself that was nothing but power-hungry? ...Han- No. The Inqui- No... The Herald was also kind to a fault. Rarely, rarely did he ever refuse to see another man's point or not try to understand him. Dorian could even recall a conversation where he'd said that even Corypheus 'was just a man once'. Was that it? Maybe both of them. It made the Herald quite easy to use after all- Even unintentionally! Dorian sat up a bit, freeing his left hand to pull out his birthright from under his clothes. He just held it. A gift almost thoughtlessly given. Against his direct request, the Herald had exercised his influence to fix a mistake Dorian had made in an attempt to... Please him? The Altus sighed softly. Even now he couldn't figure out what the elf's game was. Or had been. It was over-

"HEY TEVINTER, YOUR ASS IS GOT AN ARROW WITH IT'S NAME ON IT!" Sera flew up the stairs, sliding into view with said arrow already drawn. It didn't take long before it was drawn back to point at his head.

"Sera! Sera hold on!" He jumped up, reaching for his staff. The arrow that grazed his fingertips was enough for him to give up on it and throw his hands up in surrender. "I don't know what I did, but I swear-"

"You know what you did you slimy toad! Ugh, and he liked you and everything!" She pulled back harder on the bowstring-

"Sera, stop!" The Herald skidded into view while Dorian tried to digest her last sentence. He jumped to wrestle the weapon away from the taller elf while she spat out obscenities. Dorian jerked out of the way of a stray arrow as Leliana, Solas, and even Varric rushed into the fray as well. Eventually Hanhari managed to get Sera pulled back down the stairs with Solas' help and Dorian found himself being pulled up into the rookery by Leliana and Varric. "Alright Sparkler, dig through that librarian head of yours and let's figure out why Sera just tried to pin you to that nice chair of yours."

Dorian scoffed in disbelief, "Why are you two acting like this is my fault! I'm very clearly the victim here!"

"Simple," Leliana said, circling her short wooden desk to sit on the other side of it once again, "she said so. Sera is nothing if not blunt. Even if your intention wasn't to slight her or the Inquisitor, you've obviously managed to do so."

"I... I haven't done anything out of the ordinary." He slotted his hands together, quickly becoming very uncomfortable with the direction the conversation seemed to be going.

Leliana didn't look terribly sympathetic. "Haven't you? I got reports of you entering the Inquisitor's quarters yesterday. I was rather surprised when I woke up this morning to a report that you left his quarters alone very, very early in the morning. Well before dawn."

Varric groaned and winced, "Oh shit, Sparkler. Please tell me you didn't walk out on him. Glowy is the king of bleeding hearts and he's had a thing for you since the time travel shit. You'd rip him in half."

Dorian sighed softly, deciding to get familiar with some of the nearby masonry rather than look either of them in the eye. "I'm... well aware. But it really is better this way you see. The Herald is quite the public figure, and being seen with me-"

"Would probably make him happy. Maker forbid right? Have you seen how he looks at you sometimes? 'Cause I have, and the last faces I saw that puppy-eyed expression on are now married and everything."

Married. Was Varric trying to give him a heart attack? "It'd never happen. It'd hurt longer to draw it out."

"For who? Him, or you?"

Dorian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching. "...Both of us I suppose?"

"Is it really worth it, knowing what you're going to be missing out on?" Leliana had gone mercifully silent. Then again the dwarf's pestering and guilt tripping was probably impressive enough for the both of them. The Tevene man certainly thought so.

Dorian hissed softly, "Fine! As soon as we both have a moment I'll go and talk to him!" He looked back to the other with a pinched frown, "Does that please you, Ser Tethras?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Ten gold pieces says it'll please Glowy even more."

He hissed softly, "Oh keep your coin." Turning on a heel, Dorian fled down the stairs and headed for his personal quarters. He would need some sort of plan of attack after all. Since apparently no one had the good sense to let this all go.

-----

Ultimately, his plan boiled down to 'get drunk, confront the Herald in his quarter's again, and hope to forget it all by the next dawn'. Simple. Less simple was arriving before the man had turned in for the day. Less simple was getting the fire started because he'd left all his doors open to the cold air. Less simple was occupying his time looking over the Herald's collection of books because the bastard was taking his sweet time getting up here. Less simple was the thought of getting to do this every day. Damn Varric and his... His nosiness? His interference? His encouragement?

"Fenedhis... Dorian..." The Herald hung back at the stairs, his tight grip on the railing looking like an anchor keeping him from turning around and darting away again. He was nearly crouching behind the banister, all nerves and....

"So... I'm under the impression that yesterday wasn't the end of it?" Irritation at everyone's pestering crawled up his throat alongside the words. Tinting them with a hint of anger that made the elf wince.

"...If you don't want to be here... I won't make you do anything you don't want to Dorian. You don't owe me anything. I'm... sorry. I'm sorry if I made you feel as though you had to do anything with me."

"What?" The alcohol was now very much in the way. Why would he be sorry? He'd been... incredible. Still was but- He felt his brows scrunch. "What... exactly do you think is happening here?"

"I... I'm still not entirely sure but it seems... Are you drunk?" He pulled himself up the last few steps, looking over the mage with his brilliant red eyes.

Dorian swallowed as he started crossing the room with a gentle worried frown on his face. "Answering a question with a question? I thought you found that uncouth?" He looked away from Hanhari's well-meaning, but ever intense gaze.

"...Right. ...I may be entirely wrong, but I'm under the impression that I pressured you into... Into having sex with me? I can't tell if that's better or worse than the alternative..."

"Ha. No, you certainly didn't pressure me into anything. Least of all in that regard. What is the alternative?" He looked back, even if it made him feel as though some invisible force was pressing down on the front of his neck. Ready to choke. Ready to break. The silence between them was thick too. Hanhari looked away from the other, shoulders pulling tight and Dorian could see him trying to swallow down pain. It wasn't working very well. "Oh. I... That wasn't my intention either. ...Where would you want this to go?"

Hanhari frowned, "What do you want?"

He threw up his hands, tisking the other. "Never mind me for a moment- just a moment. I want your honest answer. If you're still willing to give it at this point: I wouldn't blame you if you weren't."

"Sastmahn... Anywhere as long as it's with you. ...I don't know what's going to happen anymore than anyone else, but I do know what... ...I want to be with you. For however long you'll have me. If that's just for one night then... I'll manage."

"But you do want more than one night." Dorian should have felt ecstatic, but it was just a bit too strange an idea just yet.

"Much more." Hanhari's hands had dug into his coat, but he kept still and kept his eyes level with Dorian's. Brave.

"Then... I suppose you... we, can have... more. If you're truly certain."

"I am... Are you?" He came around his desk, giving Dorian a great deal of time to back away as he reached up to stroke his cheek. "I don't want this to be... I don't want you to- I don't want to use you, and in return-"

"I want to stay," he spat it out like it burned, grabbing the hand on his face. "I only... worry for your sake. We aren't terribly compatible. A Dalish elf and a Tevinter Altus-"

Warm lips shut the other mage up, "I'm inclined to disagree."

"And what of your reputation-?"

Another, harder kiss. "Our happiness is more important than my reputation. The people will learn. And if they can't, I didn't want them that badly anyway."

"...You're ridiculous." Dorian grabbed for the other, pulling him close as they kissed again. It was needy, but relatively chaste.

Hanhari hushed him when they broke apart, "...Please stay? No sex just... lie with me?"

"Very ridiculous... How can I refuse?"

"Easily. It's just two letters."

"Oh it is so much more than that... You have no idea."

Hanhari pursed his lips, "It's not the alcohol, is it?"

Chuckles wracked his frame as he shook his head. Maker, preserve this man... Gingerly, he started pushing the redhead back towards his bed. It'd be a long night. A... safe one. Maybe.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12230361

[sparemyocs]

The Fade And Fading (Pt 2)

Varric woke to chaos.

“He’s missing! The Inquisitor is missing!” - Variants on that were spouted by dozens of unfamiliar voices.

Sparkler was calm when he finally picked up on the mage’s voice among so many others. The man bitched like a spoiled prince but his acting was right on up there with Nightingale’s. It was doubtless that he’d been just as shaken up as everyone else who’d been in the Fade. Let alone everything at Adamant in general. So far he hadn’t had any kind of major breakdown.

Curly and the Seeker were ordering people around like there was no tomorrow. Which, without the Inquisitor, was probably a lot closer to the truth than anyone wanted to actually admit out loud. Varric certainly wouldn’t want to.

Which made it stranger and stranger the longer he was left alone in his tent. Everyone else was up and moving but no one was coming to get him. He opted not to dwell on just why they most likely weren’t and dragged himself up to join the fray instead. Following the irate snapping of the Seeker’s voice, he tracked her down to ask how long they’d known about his absence.

Dawn, which it still was, and his bedroll had been completely cold. The tent had no damage nor was the bedroll strewn about in any way that suggested anything other than him getting up and leaving on his own. Whether or not that was an actual relief remained to be seen. They were still way behind the man, wherever he’d gone.

Uninjured soldiers combed the area, picking through sparse shrubbery, dunes, outcroppings, and any mines or caves nearby for any signs of the man. It seemed like slow going work but that could have just as easily been the impatient atmosphere.

The sun was still cresting the horizon when people started getting quiet. A static-y sort of quiet that reminded Varric of the aftermath of Haven. When the Seeker picked out where the muted mood was coming from, she shoved a open path more than wide enough for Varric to follow in the wake of. And what he saw…. His mouth was drier than all of the Western Expanse.

Hawke. Stained with blood and covered in repulsive bruises but alive and very much not in the Fade. He was leaning on two of the party of three who’d managed to find him. As soon as he was near one of the fires in the large camp, he lowered himself to the ground and sprawled happily by its warmth.

The third soldier was carrying the Inquisitor. Unconscious but equally alive. Sparkler broke from the crowd first, taking the little elf from the other man’s arms.

“Was he- Is he hurt? What happened?”

“No, he is not hurt at all. The Champion of Kirkwall must have healed him though, he is pale see? Not enough blood. I think he will be okay though.” The Orlesian did their best to soothe the frightened Tevinter, even guiding him towards the healers tents for good measure. Most of their friends went with him but Varric had heard enough for now. His attention, and feet, went straight to Hawke.

“You bastard. You are never allowed to die on me like that again.”

Hawke nodded slowly, “Promise. …I’m getting too old for this shit Varric. …I’m gonna take the girls and go home and leave this saving the world crap to the next generation of stupid people.”

“You very nearly didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He sat down next to the human man with a groan. “…What were you thinking Hawke?”

“…I was thinking… This shit is all on me. The Mage-Templar war. Probably Corypheus. …And the Inquisitor was there. Thedas needs him, and I’m willing to die if it means there’ll still be a world for my family to live in. …Fenris would understand, eventually.”

“Broody is a lot of things Hawke, but understanding still isn’t one of them.” Varric wasn’t entirely surprised when he didn’t get an answer back from the human. When the snoring started up, the dwarf pushed a hand through mostly grey hair. The slight stickiness he encountered was just another reminder of how close they’d been. He was glad he wouldn’t need to look at his hands for a bit.

He never should have asked Hawke to come to Adamant.

Maybe the Seeker would have bitched and moaned but Glowy would have understood.

Dorian was sparking as he paced. Eyes on his feet as he fought the urge to grind his teeth, or to scream, or to find something to burn into nothingness.

How dare the Inquisitor go back to the Fade! How dare he leave camp alone! And without warning anyone! How dare he come back with all the warmth gone from his skin, limp like a corpse…

“Hey, ‘Vint.”

Didn’t he know what happened the last time people went into the Fade? And now, with next to no plausible denial, he’d done it again?! Once was bad enough! Didn’t he realize what this would start?

“Dorian!”

His head snapped towards Cassandra’s voice, “What?! What do you want?!”

“If you do not calm down, you will electrocute someone.” Her eyes narrowed at him, lips pulled thin. The way she had her arms folded reminded Dorian of a rather grouchy nanny he’d had growing up. He could feel his shoulders pulling together even tighter.

“Fine,” he snarled, “it’s not like the Inquisitor just needlessly put his life at risk again after a venture that nearly killed him.”

“Dorian darling, that attitude isn’t necessary,” Vivienne tutted. “Unnecessary though it was, it’s one less life lost. And a rather important life no less, depending on who you ask. Frankly, I don’t think that’s the part of this that most badly needs discussion.”

The male mage sneered at her, “Oh, and what pray tell do you think needs to be discussed so badly?”

“The cause of our Inquisitor’s injuries. And not here. Cullen, perhaps your tent would best serve in this situation. If, that is, you can get us privacy?”

“That can be arranged. …The doctors haven’t found anything yet though? Shouldn’t we let the healers have their turn before we assume anything?”

Iron Bull grunted, “No. No we shouldn’t. The boss isn’t dying.”

“You saw him! He looked dull and he wasn’t as warm as he should have been! How can you know that he’s not-”

“Trust me ‘Vint. He’s fine.”

If Dorian got any more ruffled, he’d probably explode. It was truly magical that it didn’t happen when the Qunari grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along to the Commander’s headquarters.

For as big as the tent was, it was definitely not meant to have this many people in it. Dorian shot Cassandra a very dirty look when he realized she’d silenced his magic. After all, the disrespectful lummox pressed up against his back probably deserved the shock.

Cassandra didn’t even look back at him, “So… Iron Bull and Vivienne seem to know what’s going on. Is there anyone else so well informed?”

“I am Seeker,” Solas said softly. “Though I question the use of telling those who are not as aware.”

“He’d never hurt us. He wants to help. He only hid it because that’s what they made him think was right.”

Dorian looked to the spirit with interest, remembering the taunting of The Nightmare. It had said his amatus was hiding something. …Something he thought would make most of them hate him. “Hid what Cole?”

All Dorian could see of the spirit’s face was his lips under the brow of his hat. “Arulin dhru, len or ladaral. Lin'thanelan. Tel'las sul lanaste melahn tel'dialem.”

Solas frowned deeply at Cole’s words. No one else seemed to have a clue. Predictably.

“So… It’s elfy bullcrap?”

“No.” Solas bit the word out, glaring at the woman.

“Will someone just spit it out?!” Dorian’s hands were in fists at his side, and he all but just resisted the urge to stomp his foot like a toddler.

Vivienne rolled her eyes, “Honestly dear, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. But perhaps that’s prejudiced of me.”

“Blood magic 'Vint. Why else would he have bled all over his arm and nowhere else but lose that much blood? The stains were flowing down from the underside of his arm too.” The Qunari grunted, lip curling the same way it had when he’d been told about The Nightmare.

“He’d never use it to hurt us. He’s a healer, just like his father showed him how.” Cole fussed with his sleeves, looking where Hanhari was lying despite the canvas blocking his view. His hat bent against the heavier leather.

“Vishante kaffas! He can’t be!”

“Yeah,” Sera chimed in, “he’s not crazy! This is stupid. You’re all stupid!” She stuck her tongue out at them all before she ducked down to crawl under the legs of those blocking her exit.

Solas’ face scrunched like he’d a large mouthful of tea as he watched her depart. “Blood magic is not inherently evil. It no more requires the summoning of demons than any other sort of magic.”

“Of course you’d approve,” Vivienne frowned at the elvhen apostate then looked to Cassandra and Cullen. “So, what’s to be done? Cover it up for now and make him tranquil later?”

“Venhedis! We will do no such thing! This is…. No!”

Vivienne gave him a dull look, “Deny it all you’d like dear, but the adults are talking now.”

Dorian spat a threat at her in Tevene and Iron Bull grabbed at his shoulder.

“…I need to discuss this with Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was barely audible as he pushed his face into his hands. “Having some time to think about it will… Well, maybe calmer heads will prevail. For now, we do nothing. There’s nothing we can do out here and as Vivienne so… delicately pointed out, we still need him for now.”

Dorian hissed, “He is not some object to be used as you see fit!” He muttered in Tevene as he pushed his way out of the tent, cursing the south and it’s unspeakable barbarism. He went back to the medical tent where his amatus still lie. …They’d… need to talk about this. But Dorian refused to let the man live out whatever lied ahead of him alone.

…It was a little ironic. The Tevinter and the all-but-divine Herald and yet… Of course, it’d always been ironic, even before this unpleasant little realization.

Dorian got settled for the day by his amatus’ side, holding his hand in silence. For one reason or another, or perhaps several, he’d be left alone.

Arulin dhru, len or ladaral. Lin'thanelan. Tel'las sul lanaste melahn tel'dialem. - Personal belief, blood of the healing. Blood mage. No hope for forgiveness/mercy when uncovered.

[sparemyocs]

Not Elfy

“Hey Sera,“ the Inquisitor smiled to the other elf as she turned, “do you trust me?“ He kept his hands behind his back, clutching a can of paint. Sera squinted at him, leaning away. “Why?“ “There’s something I want to try, but it’s a surprise an you have to trust me.“ “What if it’s crap?“ “Then you can get me back however you want with no fear of retribution.“ “Retro-what?“ “You won’t get in any trouble and I can’t get you back.“ He smirked a little at the thought. Hanhari had started a few small prank wars with Sera and he was inevitably always outplayed. The last one’s final blow had involved an air cushion hidden on his throne (the fact he had a throne would never settle in with him) and nothing but pure mortification from Josephine while he lost it laughing. Sera relaxed a little, but her eyes stayed narrowed. “...Alright.“ “Perfect! Sit down and close your eyes.“ She scrunched up her nose at the request, but complied. She scooted to face him when she felt him join her. “Alright, this may tickle and I’m going to need to touch your face, but you’ve got to hold still. Still okay?“ “Is it makeup?“ “Not exactly.“ He pulled the can of red paint into his lap and grabbed one of the brushes. “May I?“ “Hm... Sure I guess.“ “Thank you Sera.“ He grabbed one of the brushes he’d placed inside the can, scraping excess paint off on the side. Taking a gentle hold of Sera’s chin, he pressed the brush under her eye to see her reaction. “Oh! What’s that?“ “Facepaint. It’ll be easy to wash off if you don’t like it, don’t worry. I checked.“ “...Hm, okay. No nobs.“ “I’d never dream of it Sera.“

Beyond the occasional twitching or grimace, Sera was remarkably cooperative. Maybe it was his reassurances, or curiosity, more likely it was the thought of Josephine’s frustration and helplessness when Sera went all out with her free pass. In time though, he’d finish his careful work. “Done. I’d love to explain if you’re curious...“ He handed her a little hand mirror as she opened her eyes. “I made it as ‘not-elfy’ as possible, just because I’d figured you’d prefer it that way.“ Sera stared at her face long and hard before glaring up at Hanhari. “Spill before I clobber you.“ “Well, I picked red because you’re a Red Jenny, and all the markings are Andrastian. Look, you’ve got the sword from your forehead to your chin, you’ve got the wiggly lines around your eyes, and the circle going around your face.“ She looked again as he scrambled to explain. “I know you aren’t Dalish, but I thought you’d still at least appreciate the ‘here I am so fuck you’ part of it. And if nothing else, designing it was a... nice side project.“ “...You made not-elfy elfy face stuff for me?“ She sounded confused, not looking away from the mirror again for a bit. “Nobody else has squiggles like these?“ “No one in the whole world but you Sera. I wanted to share without trying to push anything down your throat. ...This is probably still pushing it but... Well it’d certainly irritate any properly Dalish person I’m sure.“ “It’s stupid.“ Sera smirked wickedly, “I wanna rub it in egghead’s face“ Hanhari chucked, “I’ll be right behind you Sera. Don’t be disappointed if he brushes you off.“ “I’m elfier then he is now and I want him to suck it!“ She tossed aside the hand mirror and took off, leaving Hanhari to try and catch up before she reached the rotunda.

[sparemyocs]

Who Are You?

Dorian sits in the Circle dormitory, gritting his teeth and staring at the back of his right hand as though any minute the tattoo there would change. Who are you? He bites the back of his lip hard to stop the whimper. Holds back the tears out of habit. How many times had he already heard those words? Men, women, teachers, rivals, sometimes children. Many were dismissable of course. Oh but when it wasn’t-

He’d met the most handsome young man today. With skin like nice whiskey and the most devious looking smile. They’d been paired together for a duel, and at the end of it… “Who are you?”

Dorian had always imagined his soulmate asking that, searching for the elegant, confident introduction he’d been practicing since boyhood.

“Dorian of House Pavus, late of Qarinus. And you?” He gave that wicked smile, “I’m Rilienus Abrexis. You cast very well Dorian.” No recognition. No shock or awe or lights in his light brown eyes or a little gasp. Like always.

Was he saying the wrong thing? How else could he answer? Was he just doomed to be married off to some random woman? To live in the sort of heartless (and worse) marriage his parents had?

Dorian threw himself out of bed, dressing down and sneaking out of the Circle to get drunk and cry.

He’d hear ‘Who are you?’ twice more that night alone.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, will you?” Dorian greeted the members of the infamous Inquisition with a quick smile, far more focused on the fade rift in the middle of the Redcliff Chantry, and the demons coming out of it naturally. He may have left it at that until the end of the fight, if it hadn’t been for the surprised cries of 'Herald!’ seconds later. They hadn’t even been attacked yet, but the elf leading the small group was suddenly sprawled unconscious on the floor. “Does he normally do that?” Dorian slammed his staff to the ground to set a few of the demons ablaze and keep them occupied. “Seems terribly inconvenient. A touch dangerous, and not in a good way.” “No, I have never seen him do this before,” the paler elf replied, voice pitched up with concern. “I have, once. He will be back up momentarily, I am certain.” The black haired Nevarran was the only non-mage in the group. And the least disturbed by the show, if not by much. “He’s already coming too dears, but let’s keep the demons occupied.” The other woman stood protectively by the fallen Herald of Andraste. The man had yet to sit up but had take hold of one of her legs.

Three downed demons later and Dorian finally had all of their helping hands. He may have been more worried, but the elf seemed quite steady, even quick, on his feet and he was casting well. That, and his Nevarran companion had been correct about his swift recovery, it was fair enough to assume she was right about him being fine as well.

They’d talk after the Herald snapped the rift closed.

“Fascinating. How does that work exactly?” He tilted his head at the other mage, but only got a blank stare in response. Dorian couldn’t contain his incredulous laugh. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom: rift closes.” The (rather cute now that Dorian could really get a look at him) elf finally found his voice. “Who are you?” “Ah, getting ahead of myself again I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He gave a little bow for good measure. “How do you do?” “Another Tevinter,” the Nevarran warned, “be cautious with this one.” “Suspicious friends you have here…” He may have continued but the look on the man’s face gave him pause. The Herald’s eyes were wide, right hand over his mouth as though he’d just said or overheard something absolutely horrific. His brows looked about ready to detach from his face and fly away. “What? Is there something on my face?” Dorian was tempted to look behind himself but those bright red eyes were very clearly digging right into him. “Ar'abelas'is… Venuralasala, tel'eolasas! …I’ve never said anything so thoughtless in my life!” “Asking me who I am is-” Dorian felt ice fill his chest, glancing down to his right hand as it squeezed into a fist, just like it’s twin. “Nas'falon… You’re finally here!” He said it with awe and lights in his enrapturing red eyes. His smile was angelic and his skin was like whiskey and it glowed like a sunset. He glowed like a sunset in recognition. His right hand gripped his left side tightly, bunching up his enchanter’s coat in his fist. The Nevarran woman gasped as she caught up to what was going on as well. Dorian lost the sound in the buzzing that was filling his head. Here? Now? The Herald of Andraste?! “Well… That’s unexpected.” He glanced to the Chantry entrance. He was here for a reason, they’d have time for… everything later. If the Herald ended up dead there’d be little time to enjoy his company. “I apologize for not letting the happy moment last longer but you are still in danger. That was the whole premise of this little meeting after all. But I assure you, it’s hardly going to be the last; I just got one more reason to be invested in all this business after all!”

Ar'abelas'is – I am so sorry Venuralasala, tel'eolasas – Gods, [you] don’t know/understand Nas'falon – Soul mate

[sparemyocs]

The Fade And Fading (Pt 4)

Varric looked between the three advisors, trying not to feel tired. "Look, what do you want to know? I've been friends with blood mages before. If you want me to say that he doesn't know what he's doing, you've got another thing coming."

"That is all we want: your honest opinion. You're very good at giving it." The spymaster nodded to him respectfully, hands clasped behind her back. Lady Nightingale's back was too straight but her clothes swayed with the weight shifting between her legs and of course her hands usually stayed in front of her, not behind. Sides at most. So many tells from the spymaster... Varric wasn't buying it.

"He's a good kid. Maybe even the second best man I've ever met. His chances are already slim for making it out of this without all of us turning on him, I vote we don't. Fact of the matter is, this doesn't change anything. He's been a blood mage this whole time and the Inquisitor would throw his life down for any one of us." Varric grunted, "I'll argue until the druffalo come home if that's what it takes."

Josephine shook her head, writing down what the dwarf had said, "That won't be necessary Varric. ...But we will keep it in mind."

Vivienne put a hand on her hip, "I assume the Commander has already told you my stance on the matter at hand?"

Leliana nodded, "He has, but we were hoping you would elaborate?"

"On what my Lady? He is a maleficar, there's only one or two suitable responses to such a thing."

Josephine didn't write down Vivienne's answer yet, "You don't care to know the details at all?"

"Details have a way of muddying up the facts Ambassador. We know the truth of the matter. Why would Andraste or the Maker purposefully choose someone who uses blood magic moreover? There's no reason to feel any kind of reverence towards him. We have the power in this situation, and common sense says that we must act. How we act is up to you three so long as something is done."

Josephine scowled, but put down Vivienne's answer without any further protest.

Cole arrived just as the three heard the Inquisitor's screaming, looking upwards with all of them. "Pacifying, pretending, pointless pandering. They cannot love me now that they know. These games are painful and I want them to let go."

"What's happening?" Cullen started around the war table, getting a grip on his sword.

"Dorian is refusing to leave. Elvyr'el, eth'el, enemah'sal ebalasha. First he needs to go. But he won't. He isn't afraid of beloved."

Cullen stopped at the door, looking back while his sword was half drawn. "Should he be?"

"...He'd give us anything, but most of all he wishes he could have given us someone else. Sa'lin'on'el."

Cullen grimaced and looked to Leliana instead. When the woman shook her head he'd replace his sword and return to them slowly. "What does he want us to do?"

"...He thinks he wants you to kill him." Cole continued staring up. He was a pulsing, aching hurt right now but helping him was going to be complicated. He always remembered. "But killing him would be wrong. He doesn't deserve it, he only wants to heal and help. We need to heal his hurt." At last, Cole lowered his gaze, looking at them all with his owlish eyes.

"That may be easier said than done Cole," Josephine said quietly.

"Yes."

Solas held his head high as he entered the war room. He'd never really felt any strong need to come in here until now, but he focused on the Inquisitor's advisors rather than taking in his surroundings. "If there is this much fuss about the matter then I presume you are not all of one mind?"

"We don't intend to make any decision without taking the opinions of the Inner Circle into consideration." Leliana leaned forward, placing her hands onto the war table.

"Fair enough. It wouldn't do to find yourselves outnumbered in your quest to destroy him." Solas sneered sourly. "Blood magic is no fouler than any other kind of magic. Our friend has shown himself as being nothing but responsible and kind with his skills and I will defend him if it comes down to it. ...If you make a mistake, do you really wish it to be the one which cannot be remedied?"

Josephine glanced hesitantly between the stoic Cullen and Leliana, but neither of them looked back at her. Wilting, she wrote down the elf's answer, "Thank you Solas... We will be sure to think about that."

The Iron Bull was growling about blood magic under his breath as he came in, quick to look to Leliana. "So, what'd he have to say for himself?"

"He claims to have been taught from childhood by his father. Never summoned any demons, never committed blood sacrifice beyond bleeding his own person."

"Sounds about right. ...Knew he was hiding something but damn. ...Don't like it, but he's a good guy. Helps that he isn't going to be stuffing it down our throats. Too guilty. It matters to him, but I don't think he wants to admit it. Anyway, he's not a danger to anybody.... Okay he is a danger but not to any of us. Long as he doesn't pull any crap, we don't need to do anything. ...And no, this isn't going into any of my reports. Pretty sure they'd lose their shit."

"Thank you Iron Bull," Leliana nodded to him. "Do you want to know anything else?"

"If I can, I think I'd rather hear it from the boss. You get more information that way."

"Fair enough," Leliana looked to the side, watching Josephine write the Qunari's thoughts down.

Blackwall entered looking more dower than usual. "I want to know why."

"He did not learn blood magic of his own volition." Josephine answered, the word 'blood' still heavy and sticky on her tongue, "The Inquisitor was taught it by his father as a tool for healing. He has never killed anyone to perform it and he does not cavort with demons, reportedly."

The bearded man was silent, mouth tensing and untensing as he worked through the information. "Then why are we here? He's a good man no matter what he knows, we already know that."

Cullen sighed, "It is not so simple."

"Isn't it? I recall that he was just as, if not more horrified by what was happening to the Grey Wardens as the rest of us."

"It is blood magic, Blackwall," Leliana scolded. "It is dangerous, and forbidden for good reason."

"He saved a man's life out there. That is more real to me than any of your hollow excuses."

"They are not excuses-!"

"Tell that to Hawke, then we'll talk." His lip curled at the red headed woman, eyes sharp in anger. "Miris knew about this too and she still trusts him. Hawke isn't the first life he's saved."

Leliana's eyes brightened with the remainder of the other elf, "Is that so? What did Miris tell you exactly?"

"It's none of your damned business. I'll send her in after me, if the Lady wants to tell you then she will."

"Send her in then," Leliana instructed, "if you have nothing more to say."

"I don't."

The pale woman held herself tightly as she came in, avoiding the eyes on her by any means besides covering her face. "...You want to know why I trust ara'falon?"

"Yes, please. ...I suppose that as part of the Lavellan, you've known about this for a long time?"

"...How much am I telling? I'm no tale spinner."

"As much as you're comfortable with. ...Or at least what you think is important for us to understand."

"The clan did not trust him at first. He was alin and he did not see us as isa'lethal, but he didn't know what more to do with himself than what he was brought to us for. I stayed away from him. Then he was allowed to help the healer." Miris reached up with eyes still downcast, tugging on one of her wide ears. "Ar'i'var'linem fra'melahn'an. He saved my baby. It didn't end there either: he loved Senna. It was the first time it seemed like he felt a part of us. He was patient and gentle with her like no one else, even though she refused to look at you and was quiet like the nighttime. ...Ir'emem nan'is'i'ebelas ahnsul'or asa'din. Her death destroyed him as much as it did me. His revenge for it changed the clan though. They took it as a... sign that he would protect us by any means necessary. Alin himem'ethelan."

"What did you think about this revenge?" Leliana folded her arms as she asked, wishing the woman would just look at them. It lined up with what Hanhari had said so far, but that didn't mean it was true.

"...I didn't understand why Sennarel deserved to die for a long time. My family was gone all. I was angry with ara'falon. ...I see a little better now. I've forgiven ara'falon mostly, but I still miss my bonded some nights." That was better now too, but that was private. "Hanhari knows his allies." She took her hand off her ear to push at the massive doors keeping her in the war room, getting out as soon as there was space to slip through and running back to the barn outside.

The Seeker was watching her feet at first as she came in, her thoughtful expression turning hard when the door closed and she looked up. "This is a serious matter, and truthfully I am having a difficult time knowing how to approach it."

Josephine sighed sympathetically, "You and I both, but unfortunately it must be addressed."

Cassandra asked for review of what they knew already, listening without interruption. "...His circumstances are not the average, that is for certain. But he does know better now, and it seems that he has crossed the line despite that. I fear most what it might mean for the future. We do not want to appear tolerant of it if this spreads as more than rumor beyond us, but also I wonder what else he might deem as being worth the risk."

"What do you propose Cassandra? The Inquisitor has made it clear he won't fight our decision, but there are others who will. Either way, this could tear the Inquisition apart from the inside." Cullen gestured with one hand to punctuate his concern. The other stayed rested on the hilt of his sword.

"...The Maker did not do this on accident. He is testing us, but I do not know what the right answer is. So much of what was and is taught has been thrown into question lately."

Leliana lowered her eyes, nodding. "I... admit, at times like these I wonder what Justinia would have done. ...I'm inclined to believe that she would have had faith in him, but what if that is just my bias? ...Our path is dark indeed." She closed her eyes for a moment with her head still bowed before straightening up again. "What are you inclined to believe then, at least."

"...For now at least, we are better off simply trying to keep him from using his power. At least until Corypheus has been defeated, word of this cannot leave Skyhold. It is best not even mentioned outside of this room." Cassandra sighed, "We will address later when we get to later."

Dorian closed the door behind him slowly. Tried as he had to fix it, the hair on his left side was a touch flattened and out of place. "Am I the last you've spoken to then?"

"No. Sera has thus far refused us," Leliana corrected with some irritation.

"I suppose I'm not surprised. She's rather frightened of regular magic let alone... this. It's a shame really, they'd made such charming friends." Dorian took a deep breath, "Now then, what decision have you made?"

"We haven't made one yet Dorian." Josephine looked over her notes, "The overall attitude is more accepting than you'd think, but both sides are quite charged."

"Well that's something. ...My proposal is rather simple. We defeat Corypheus, and rather than making him Tranquil I take him. If it's a choice between 'in serious danger' and 'doomed' I'll take the odds where one side isn't zero."

"Take him?" Josephine tilted her head at the man, "Take him where?"

"Why, the one place where blood magic scarcely makes people bat an eye of course. It's horrifically risky and while I don't fancy the idea for a moment it's better than... Just, anything but that."

"Tevinter." Leliana hummed softly, "It is not a bad idea actually. If he is discovered there it would be written off as-"

"As my country continuing to be terrible. Yes yes, covering our reputation is important as well. Maker help us if it turns out he's anything but perfect. He's already an elf after all." Dorian rolled his eyes. "...Are you willing to give us that opportunity then? You could lie to Vivienne and whoever else to keep the peace. I'm sure I could act convincingly depressed too."

Josephine nodded, "I would be willing to try at least. Leliana? Cullen?"

"Yes Josie. If we can't find a better solution, Dorian's does work out quite nicely."

"...I swear, this had better be the last time 'blood magic' gets wrapped up in my life... I'm fine with this plan. He's been as kind to me as anyone else..."

When it became evident that Sera wasn't coming, Leliana went out to the Herald's Rest to look for her. She never had to actually enter the tavern however, spotting the woman fussing on the roof by her silhouette in the window light. Sera was scribbling in a book furiously, swearing profusely when she ripped through one of the pages. She then proceeded to rip it out and shredded it in her hands before trying and failing to chuck the scraps over the lip of the roof.

"Sera, we need to talk to you."

"Piss off!"

Cole pulled up beside the spymaster from the shadows, "Scared, sad, he's so selfish. He was supposed to be a friend. An elf who wasn't better than me and always tried." Cole called up to Sera, "He wants to be someone else like you wish he was someone else!"

"F-off Creepy!" Sera reached inside and grabbed her bow, shooting the hat off the spirit's head. "None of you know shite! Shove off!" A second arrow lodged itself between Leliana's feet.

Cole hurried to get his hat back on before running away.

Leliana folded her arms and tapped one of her feet, "We can decide without you if you'd like."

"Decide what yeah? Just get it over with! The bitch is right okay! Leave me out of this shite!" She crawled back into the tavern through her open window, likely slipping off to hide somewhere more effective. Leliana shook her head slightly. Sera was as slippery as some of her best men when she didn't want to be caught. The information she'd gotten out of her would have to be enough.

Elvyr'el – Simpler eth'el – safer enemah'sal ebalasha – about to repeat [the] grief Sa'lin'on'el – Someone (literally: one blood) better ara'falon – my lifelong friend alin – stranger isa'lethal – his family Ar'i'var'linem fra'melahn'an – I was pregnant at that time Ir'emem nan'is'i'ebelas ahnsul'or asa'din. - He had great violent rage and depression because of her death Alin himem'ethelan – Stranger became protector

[sparemyocs]

The Fade And Fading (Pt 1)

Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan.

Not even a day had passed, but he was here. Walking the Fade again (this time alone), tempting far more than just fate in an attempt to fix a decision he’d made in a distressed heartbeat.

It’d been quiet however. Eerie and dead without The Nightmare’s smothering presence. Hanhari was a little surprised by just how much of a difference the demon’s departure had made. The Fade bent to his will, if not directly under his will even with the demon gone. Rocks, or what seemed to be rocks, rose up before him like a path. Or perhaps more accurately a bridge, taking him high above to the floating islands steadily. He had his staff in hand, grip tight as the gentle tah tah tah of it striking the stone beneath him helping to keep things feeling solid. Particularly when one of the stones under him shifted or shivered. He couldn’t stop if he didn’t outright lose his balance. Slow, hesitant steps also helped as he felt his way up the ‘stairs.’

The sheer lack of demons was distressing, but Hanhari tried to look at it as a blessing. It meant he’d have more energy for Hawke.

If he was even still here.

If he was even still alive.

Where’s Hawke?

Hanhari had never heard such mesilde aven. Despite having command over several languages, nothing quite covered the agony he’d heard in Varric’s voice right then.

And imagining Hawke’s children when they got back to Skyhold without him?

Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris. Hanhari couldn’t stomach any of the images he’d been able to conjure of Hawke’s bonded on hearing the news.

He’d just… trusted the other man. Something about him made it hard to even consider the equally willing Grey Warden at his other side. Hawke was strong and sure and… onharonun.

This was not an acceptable end to that man’s journey.

The Fade around him… It had rahnras inanshos. The higher he went (and Creators help him resist the urge to look down) the further out Hanhari could see. Hazy green horizon, the Black City itself to his left, grey seas and stone in sharp shapes and soft ones and sometimes melting away into what looked like smoke. In the distance (or was it actually under the Black City?), long past where he’d ever be able to reach it, was what surely had to be a mirage of a swamp. This was bellanaris.

…He really shouldn’t be here. No living person belonged here.

Hanhari couldn’t really appreciate the parts of the view that didn’t seem to be actively mocking him, even with the stiff peace. His eyes mostly scanned ahead, searching for anything that would tell him where he was heading. The little sleep he’d gotten had been filled with the undeniable feeling that Hawke was still recoverable in some sense, but it was laced with equal amounts of dread. No demons. In fact, it was the first dream Hanhari had had since the Breach had first opened up. Not that he’d breathed a word about the disquieting absence. Nor would he now admit that he’d probably been strengthening the enemy all this time.

If The Nightmare was dead, then surely…?

The mage tried to ignore the fact that it seemed like he was heading away from where he’d left Hawke. Not just up but… Was that blood?

Hanhari hurried forward at the splatter of red along the side of the floating island, breaking into a run when he spotted a glint of armor. The closer he got, the more he could actually see. The arm was clearly broken. The gauntlet on it had dug into the rock it was contorted around, leaving disturbing claw marks in the side of it. The fingers were still dug in and keeping the hand in place despite the body horror.

The rest of Hawke didn’t really look much better.

Bloodied and battered, most of his iconic armor was in tatters. The bevor was smashed in, but seemed to have done it’s job ultimately. Hawke’s right shoulder had not fared as well. His left arm also looked broken but not nearly as destroyed as it’s twin. One leg had been stripped of the heavy armor that had been there, leaving his foot exposed and possibly twisted but relatively unharmed for how little that meant. The other was less lucky, the armor smashed in. Even his chest looked a little misshapen.

Enastal enal'o telamun, he was still breathing. Somehow neither bled out or rendered lifeless upon whatever horrific impacts he’d suffered. But time was likely not on his side. Hanhari moved as quickly as he could, freeing Hawke’s hand and pulling the big human man onto his shoulders. Again, his desires changed the face of the Fade and he found himself back where he started far faster than he had found Hawke. Likely for the best, he wouldn’t be able to keep carrying such weight.

Tumbling out into solid ground again, Hanhari closed the rift he’d made practically on instinct and refocused on Hawke. Firstly getting the damaged armor off of him. He should have been bringing the man back to camp for help but… No. The healers there were already too busy dealing with the aftermath of Adamant. Hanhari could heal the Champion.

No matter what his methods would mean he’d be losing. Leliana would dutifully cover it up until he’d killed Corypheus at least. Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas. Tel'sael melava.

Forcing the blood still in the man’s body to stay there, Hanhari grabbed his own knife and carved down his left arm. He knew exactly what to do, despite a lack of personal practice.

Too many times watching his father nearly kill himself doing just this probably.

Bones first, loose blood and thick muscle forcing them into the proper places before fusing them enough to hold. Then damaged muscles and sinew and organs. Mercifully few of the latter, thank the Maker. Lastly, most draining of them all, restoring blood and hopefully consciousness.

His vision steadily got darker as he worked despite the fact the sun was likely approaching the horizon. His absence would soon be found, if it hadn’t already.

Garrett woke feeling like the Fade had chewed him up and spat him out.

Wait…. No that was definitely what had happened.

Had Fenris found him?

Hadn’t he been dying?

Or was he already dead and the Maker was still being an asshole in his afterlife? That wouldn’t surprise him at all.

Hawke looked up as he realized the weight on his chest was warm. He felt so heavy. His shoulders were pulled up by his wobbly arms before he could whip his head up.

Short hair and pointed ears. Hair was… red? Still too dark to be sure. It was a man. He was still alive. Small guy.

…Why the fuck wasn’t he in the…

Well shit.

Hawke squirmed to his feet, pulling the limp but light body up with him. It was only then that he realized the Inquisitor was bleeding profusely from his left arm. And those cuts were sickeningly clean.

Blood mage.

Of course the Herald of Andraste would be a blood mage. He was way too perfect otherwise.

Still, the younger mage had been nothing but kind and helpful in the time that Hawke had known him. Mustering up what magic he could, the human sealed the cuts with some difficulty. What they’d been for wasn’t really clear. It couldn’t have been to get into the Fade. He had the Anchor for that. The lack of dead bodies around them said it wasn’t for combat most likely.

…Could blood magic heal? Hawke remembered being a lot more fucked up than this.

Seemed ridiculous, but the man supposed stranger things had happened to him in the past.

Following the closest thing to a trail of small feet as he could discern in the sand with the early morning darkness around him, Garrett headed where he hoped he’d find other people.

Falon'Din halani, ame teldirthalelan - Falon'Din help, I’m an idiot mesilde aven – pathetic words Mythal'enaste i amal Fenris – Mythal bless/grace and protect Fenris onharonun – a wondrous good rahnras inanshos - eerie prettiness bellanaris - eternity/forever enastal enal'o telamun - blessing coming from the bad Nisel thanathe than, tu isa ghilanas – He would be a useful tool, enduring his fate Tel'sael melava – Not the first time

[sparemyocs]

Space Heater

Dorian wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky that he was at the edge of camp when Cullen and Cassandra returned with the Herald. It was good, of course, that he’d made it out alive. It was one last fat middle finger to that Elder One. It was also nice to know that his late escape with Sera and Cassandra hadn’t been leaving the man to his death. But he was unconscious, all but frozen (how long had he been out in that blizzard?), and injured. Dorian didn’t know enough about healing to say exactly how serious the massive open gash stretching along his lower back was. It didn’t look good, limited as his view was with the elf in Cullen’s arms. As the rest of the camp spotted him, the silence changed. The dark and hollow miasma from before was charging. The mage couldn’t put an exact feeling to it, but it was at least brighter, and sharp at its edges. The Commander was chased off by the healers as soon as he got the Herald to a cot. He, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana promptly gathered near the center of camp. Regrouping and taking a moment to simply be relieved that they hadn’t lost him. Though it didn’t take terribly long for the bickering to start about what had to happen next. As they got started, Dorian took the chance to slip through the healers. They didn’t seem pleased when they initially spotted him, but he offered himself as a spare source of heat and they let his presence go. Having command over fire didn’t always help much in this Maker-be-damned weather, but he was willing to try if it meant helping. He didn’t even question it when his hand was placed over a frostbitten ear (it was better than looking at it, red at best and a shade or two too dark the further out the cartilage went) and he was instructed to slowly heat it back up. Nor did he complain or roll his eyes when he was tasked with heating water. Just one more mage tasked with assisting.

As he worked (it wasn’t terribly demanding work once he got a rhythm), Dorian thought back to his brief time at Haven. The Herald had been surprised he wanted to stay, but then he’d taken it on himself to find a comfortable place for him in the village and introduced him to everyone who hadn’t been at Redcliff, even gave him a tour. When the Herald asked about his life and Tevinter, he’d been respectful and good-natured. He’d also asked for clarification and details and had the slightest forward lean and this tiny smile on his cute face as he listened. Apparently that was all normal for him though, of course. Hanhari was just like that. Friendly and sweet. He also had a pleasant voice and riveting eyes… The Herald of Andraste was an attractive person. If he was anything, he was too considerate for his own good. For the Inquisition however it was an incredibly important trait. So long as they weren’t crushed underfoot they’d be regarded well by history. Maybe. Never let it be said that Thedas treated it’s heroes kindly and the Herald being tied in with a hero that’s best remembered for being betrayed by their husband, set on fire, and ultimately stabbed to death did not bode well for him. Conversely, so far he’d survived: One Breach-opening explosion, trying to seal said Breach without help, a war zone, being thrown through time, successfully closing aforementioned Breach with help, the siege on Haven, whatever caused that gash the healers were closing up, meeting whatever-in-the-Void the Elder One is, an avalanche, and being strained alone and injured in a massive blizzard.

Will wonders never cease?

Even with magic, it seemed that gash would be leaving an ugly scar. Hopefully it’d remind the man he was still mortal. With that healed however, they took the chance to get the Herald into warmer, undamaged armor. Dorian was happy to wait and try and get his hands warmed back up. Tucking them under his armpits, he yawned as he felt the frantic and terrifying evening catching up with him. Dorian kept his focus on his hands when Mother Giselle sat on the opposite side of the Herald’s cot. The only sound for the next little while was from the Herald’s breathing, Dorian rubbing his hands together, and the bickering just outside. Once Dorian had warmed his own up, he reached for one of Hanhari’s hands to give it the same treatment. Just in case the gloves they’d put on him weren’t doing the trick of course. “I don’t know what you think you stand to gain here.” The woman’s stern voice made him lean back smoothly before reaching his goal. The shot of ice it’d sent into his stomach was hopefully not externally apparent. He cleared his throat tersely, “Pardon?” “The Herald is a good man, but I do not know if he has a good sense for people. Many wonder why a Tevinter mage would desire to help our cause.” Her voice was patient, her hands laying in her lap. Dorian took a deep breath and steeled himself, looking out into the night. “You talk as though this wouldn’t effect me if I wasn’t here.” “Is that all?” She wasn’t looking at him either, the lack of the uncomfortable prickling on his right side told him that much. It didn’t stop the warping feeling in his gut however. “And if it wasn’t? If I had something to prove?” “Is this the best way to prove it?” Dorian pressed his lips together tightly. “I can think of nowhere better.” His face felt like stone as he rushed into what he’d wanted to do before. Damn what the woman thought. He was here to help, to show that Tevinter was more than the South’s nasty rumors. His heart just about stopped cold when the little hand squeezed his. Mercifully he didn’t think the Chantry woman saw the way his brows jumped, and Hanhari’s eyes were still closed. “Mmm…. Elam'ar dinem?” The elf groaned quietly, eyes dragging open unwillingly. “I don’t speak Elvish I’m afraid. I doubt our dear Mother Giselle does either.” Giselle immediately put on her ‘motherly’ voice, “You need to-” “Elvhen, not Elvish sathan?” Sathan… Sathan… Right, please. “Of course Herald.” Dorian wondered how long he could keep from moving his hand. The elf had yet to draw attention to their linked hands, and Dorian would rather he didn’t. “Herald,” Mother Giselle softly asserted herself again, “you need rest. You’ve endured much.” “I am resting,” his eyes drifted closed again without ever looking to the woman to his right. “Just needed to be sure I had been found by Cullen and not Falon'Din.” “Who?” The woman tilted her head at the exhausted elf. “Falon'Din is one of the Creators. Guide of the Dead.” “I thought you believed in the Maker?” “I do.” Despite his body having the consistency of overcooked pasta for the most part, his confirmation was quietly jubilant. Something about the tone brought a little of the warmth back to Dorian’s chest. “You must upset everyone with beliefs like those.” “Elas te'rahn. I haven’t actually held them openly for a long time.” “I’m quite glad for you then. Anyhow, I just came around to be sure my services as a necromancer weren’t needed,” he placed the elf’s marked hand back on his chest, “but it seems Andraste worked yet another miracle on you.” The man gave a weak chuckle, just slightly shaking his head. Dorian tutted at the movement, “Rest more, argue against the wild tales less.” Dorian got a tired hum in response, which was enough for him to feel comfortable walking away.