#her lady

[thelilybirdwrites]

Demands of Her Lady

Lady Trevelyan took on the role of Inquisitor with a kind of grace that made it seem as if she were born to it. They had discussed the role before and she said we have Cassandra. Now they had her.

Bull noted a change in the way she carried herself. While she had always walked with grace and beauty before; she now walked with an air of unmistakable importance and grace and beauty.

The woman was made to tempt him.

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[thelilybirdwrites]

A Goddess of Fire and Blood and Death

He could recall their first meeting with perfect clarity. He'd just caved in the skull of some vint mage when he saw her sliding down the ridge through the mud. Her hair was red like blood and soaked from the rain that relentlessly beat the storm coast day and night. Her eyes burned with a green so vibrant it reminded him of Seheron’s forests in the summer. A picture of beauty and elegance even sliding through muck.

She landed with grace and rose with brutal intent blazing in her eyes. Something shimmering gold began in her palm and spread into a greatsword that split a vint from head to groin in a single one-handed swing before fading into nothing.

A goddess of fire and blood and death took control of the battlefield and even the Chargers seemed in perfect sync with her.

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[thelilybirdwrites]

Assumptions for Her Lady

Skyhold seemed darker and lonelier when it rained. The Keep emptied out and the yard quickly became deserted, as if everyone suddenly had somewhere far better to be. Inquisitor Trevelyan wished she too had somewhere better to be, something better to do. It had been pouring almost non stop for the past two days. Rain always made her sullen and plunged her into such deep thoughts that she hadn't left her room for the better part of the storm.

Her mind wandered from subject to subject. Ordinary things like why does it rain? Who decided masks were so great that all of Orlais should wear them at all times? and other random things flitted in and out. The Inquisition and Corypheus remained planted in the back of her mind, slowly becoming more and more demanding. The Iron Bull, however, dominated her thoughts more than ever.

She didn't know what she she felt for him. Love? Lust? Infatuation? Desire bred purely from curiosity? In the hours she'd spent going ‘round and ‘round on it, she still hadn't decided. She'd thought she had narrowed it down to love or lust, but neither word felt right. All she knew was that she was stuck on him. He was always in her head and she could swear she was in his.

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[fear-alycia-clark]

ok, I was not prepared for this!