#myos writes

[cilant-lis]

don't mind me, just getting emotional over mahariel and tamlen again (wip of the dao novelisation i'm writing)

The great trees of the Brecilian Forest were bursting with the vivid green of spring, the afternoon light filtering through them. The Spring Equinox celebration in Clan Sabrae would be beginning now. Fires to reach the skies, revelry until dawn and tables full of wine and delicacies. Rhian playing their flute, Tamlen next to them on the drums. But they were stuck guarding the camp for the night.

“Think Fenarel will save us some wild plum wine? I’ve been eyeing the barrel in Hahren’s aravel for the past three months.” Tamlen sighed from their perch up on a twisting branch next to Rhian. His back rested on the moss-covered trunk, bow beside him and quiver on his lap. He was testing the yellow fletching of his arrows, his fingers smoothing over the dyed feathers. 

Rhian grimaced. “I still can’t believe he got out of this.” 

“If you weren’t so ready to take the blame for everything, we all would have gotten out of trouble.”

“I was only protecting Merrill from the Keeper.” They turned their gaze to him. “And it’s not my fault you decided to own up as well.”

Tamlen smiled brightly, the sun catching on his sand-coloured hair. “And miss out on the riveting task of looking at trees all night?” His voice took on a mocking tone. “It’s a very important task, you know, the sylvans might decide to join the celebration. But what’s a few possessed trees to the great warrior of Clan Sabrae, Rhian Mahariel.” He puffed out his chest, echoing Rhian’s boasts from last night.

“I’m seconds away from pushing you off this tree.”

“You’d miss me too much if I cracked my skull open on the rocks.”

“Not if I’m it lets me finally have some peace and quiet.”

This light-hearted teasing came to them as easily as breathing, and was just as familiar. Rhian knew the true reason he was here: he didn’t want them to spend the night sulking alone. He was always like this, sticking with them through thick or thin, a ray of sunshine to brighten up Rhian’s day, ever since Ashalle made the orphaned Tamlen a part of their patchwork family. They grew up together, got in trouble together, got their vallaslin together, hunted together. Always together.

Tamlen now moved onto strumming his bowstring. He rarely sat still, his hands always busy. Rhian looked up at the slivers of sky visible through the young leaves. This will be a long night.

A rustle, too clumsy to be that of an animal, drew their attention. Tamlen fell still and quiet, as Rhian nocked an arrow and crept closer to the source, peeking around the trunk. 

Three humans, hunters, heading towards the camp. They signed behind their back to Tamlen. Warning will be enough.

They began to silently climb down the tree.

[cilant-lis]

Zevran said there was no love. But Alvea knew otherwise. She saw his love. She saw it in his eyes when he looked at her in battle. She saw it in the lingering moment their hands touched when she tended to his wounds. She saw it every night, when he laid on her chest and listened to her heartbeat. When he stroked her hair and whispered phrases in antivan into her ear. His laugh, his voice, his touch. She was patient. She will wait for him to see what was obvious to her. She will show him that what he was taught his entire life was wrong. That he was cut out for love, worthy of love, of loving and being loved. It will take time, but Alvea will wait.

we’re writing love and tenderness tonite, lads

[cilant-lis]

Through Sunshine and Rain, We Remain (chapter I)

the first chapter is here! link to the full thing coming in the reblog

SUMMARY:

(in future chapters: slowburn non-binary mahariel x leliana, female surana x zevran)

Alvea is circle mage, spending her entire life locked in the tower of Kinloch Hold, all she dreams of is breaking free. An opportunity presents itself at last when her friend asks for her help to flee the circle.

Rhian is a warrior of the Dalish clan Sabrae. Their blissful life is forever changed when them and their friend Tamlen discover an ancient ruin, which causes Rhian to contract a mysterious disease and Tamlen to go missing.

The paths of these two elves converge with the recruitment by the Grey Warden Duncan. However, their attitudes regarding their recruitment differ and conflict arises as they must work together.

A story of two new grey wardens from different walks of life, a great task they must accomplish and of all the relationships they forge along the way.

A novelisation of Dragon Age Origins.

A SNIPPET:

Rain started to pour from the sky around noon. Rhian and Alvea followed closely behind Duncan, who, wrapped in a dark blue cloak didn’t seem to mind the rain. Rhian kept their head down, the droplets dripping down the hood of their cloak. The pace of the march was not difficult for them, they were used to scouting huge areas of the forest daily, and the roadway was much easier than the uneven terrain of the forest. They fell in a trance as they looked at their feet and Duncan’s back. Step after step on the muddy road. Step after step, they had to keep on going. Step after step after step. Onwards, without dwelling in the past. Thinking about what cannot be regained was useless. They had to take another step. To live. To survive.

A quiet laugh shook them out of their trance. They looked behind to see Alvea, hood off, her red curls plastered to her face which was tilted towards the sky. She was grinning, a childlike joy on her face.

[cilant-lis]

Gifts

finally got around to finishing second part of this ficlet collection. part one here

Josephine was used to giving gifts. As a diplomat, it was expected of her. Expensive bibelots to buy her way into the graces of rich nobles. She was also used to receiving gifts. Meaningless baubles or an occasional box of sweets, briberies rather than actual gifts.

A break from the mundane part of her work was the chance to buy thoughtful presents for her friends. A pair of black satin shoes with a little heel, adorned with feathers for Leliana, to add to her collection. A crate of wine from her family’s vineyard for Dorian. New woodwork tools for Warden Blackwall. A set of sword oils for Cassandra’s weapons. Antivan plays and poem anthologies for the Inquisitor. And so on.

Haleira joined the Inquisition’s inner circle later than anyone else. At first, she was a mystery to Josephine. The Inquisitor’s close family, a brilliant hunter with an ice-cold exterior. They ran into each other often, suspiciously often, but neither complained. Haleira opened up and Josephine learned more about her. And the ambassador became very fond of her.

When Haleira mentioned her sweet tooth, Josephine ordered a box of Orlesian cakes. “To show appreciation for the work Haleira does for the Inquisition.” With a smile, she watched her face light up as she opened the box.

Haleira left Skyhold to scout the Dales soon after. When she came back and entered Josephine’s office holding the long-lost Montilyet crest, Josephine was speechless. She thanked Haleira profusely, but the elf just said: “It’s a thanks for all your hard work.” But it meant so much more.

Many other gifts followed and all pretense of a business exchange was dropped. Shipments ordered by Josephine came to Skyhold almost weekly. Tempered glass bottles for Haleira’s elixirs. Rare alchemical ingredients from the north. Leather crafts bought from Dalish crafters. Sweets from all over Thedas, starting from Rivaini candied bananas and ending with cloudberry tarts from the far south. Every time Haleira returned to Skyhold, she received a package.

Likewise, Haleira always made sure to bring something for Josephine from her travels. A quill from an ancient Tevinter ruin, spared by time. A rough geode of glittering blue lazurite, like the midsummer sky. A paperweight of Serault glass with a violet inclusion. A sylvanwood writing board.

As time passed, Their relationship became romantic, and the gifts became more personal. Haleira found out about Josephine’s doll collection and made it her goal to add to it. Josephine reciprocated by recovering elven manuscripts from merchants. Haleira translated them and returned them to her clan.

She also ordered custom-made lockets for herself and Haleira. One silver and one gold, a miniature portrait in each. Haleira remarked how cheesy it was, but she put the locket on right away. The silver chain hung around her neck each time Josephine saw her.

The day came when Haleira had to return to Wycome to her clan. Josephine would write letters to her as often as she could. The open golden locket rested on her desk, among all the gifts from Haleira. And she knew her love was stored in all those objects.

At the other side of the Waking Sea, Haleira would reply, one hand on the quill, the other idly caressing the silver locket around her neck. The glass bottles and fine leather belts, the bag for her alchemical ingredients etched with a motif of a fox and an enchanted silver ring, all gifts from her lover. All imbued with her love.

[cilant-lis]

"That word you call me sometimes, amatus, what does it mean?" Taremis asked.

Dorian rolled over to face him. Light from the magefire globes, floating lazily around the room, reflected in his eyes. Dark hair spread on the pillow, face softened by the dim light. He looks like a dream, Dorian thought. But he wrapped his arms around him, and his touch was real and warm. The room was drowned in darkness around them, and it seemed as if only they existed at that moment.

“Will you tell me? Or just stare at me?”

"Let me stare at you for a few more minutes," Dorian murmured into his ear.

"If you tell me, I will stop pestering you." Taremis pouted.

Dorian shuffled closer and kissed his puckered lips. "Keep learning Tevene. You will stumble upon the meaning eventually."

But the meaning of a word was more than a simple translation into another language. And he let Taremis know the meaning everyday, through actions, through sweet nothings whispered into his ear, through every second they spent together. His lover, his sun, his moon and stars. His beloved.

-

"Finally alone, an'lath vhenan ma." Taremis's voice was barely a whisper. The camp, the warm firelight and the raised voices of their companions faded into the night. He held Dorian's hand, leading him up the path to the lake. The juvenile thrill of sneaking out with his lover, made him grin. The moon was obscured by trees, but darkness was not an obstacle to Taremis. Dorian suggested using magical lights. But Taremis said they'd scare the fireflies.

"I heard you call me vhenan before. But what are the other words?"

Taremis quickened his steps, and they were on top of the hill. The moonlight was almost blinding after the tar-darkness below. He turned and grabbed both of Dorian's hands, admiring the angles of his face before speaking.

"Think of it as an upgraded version of ma vhenan."

"But what does it mean?"

Taremis smiled. "It means I love you more than the world itself."

Dorian looked at him, expecting further explanation.

"It loses its weight in Common. Keep studying Elven. But I know you know the meaning,” Taremis said.

And if Dorian did not know the meaning, Taremis would make sure he felt he was his heart’s most beloved.

[cilant-lis]

Books

Taremis often found books in his quarters at Skyhold. Each time he returned from a mission there was a surprise waiting for him.

The elegant tomes of poetry and plays, fresh from the printing press were from Josephine. Most were in Antivan, a language he ached to learn. Equally elegant note was inside of each, recommending good poems or acts of the play.

The steamy romances, printed on cheap paper, with men and women in various stages of undress and entirely too much hair on their heads, were left hastily on his desk. Cassandra might have denied her reading preferences, but Taremis knew. He shared them. They often traded back and forth, wordlessly, save for a few underlined quotes in the books themselves.

The ever-growing collection of Hard in Hightown was, of course, from Varric. Taremis did not enjoy the serial as much as the dwarf would have liked. But having the Inquisitor show himself with the books bolstered the sales. And Taremis was nothing if not a good friend.

The seemingly random books, often without a title, were the most dangerous. They were from Sera. Taremis learned to open them from a distance, outside, using his magic. He did not want another swarm of angry bees in his chambers. When the books were not filled with insects, they proved to be interesting, yet confusing, reading. Just as much as the little notes and doodles scribbled in the margins.

The stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls, thick with dust and age, were from Solas. They touched upon rift magic, the fade and spirits. They were to be the fuel in the intellectual debates both of them enjoyed so much.

But the biggest number of books was from Dorian. Each one carefully picked, a note penned on the inside cover in his messy, cursive hand. The tradition began shortly after moving into Skyhold. Taremis arrived at his quarters from Crestwood, soaked to the bone and exhausted. He found a small red book on his nightstand. As per our last conversation, here is something to sweeten your night, Dorian had written inside. It was an atlas of medicinal herbs of the North. Beautifully illustrated, the plants that came up in their conversations marked.

After a year, Taremis filled an entire shelf with these books, each picked by Dorian, each about a topic they discussed. History of the Nevarran Mortalitasi. The culture of pre-Andastrian Orlesians. A catalogue of early Tevinter art. A study on the nature of the schools of Entropy and Creation. And so on. Each book had a humorous note inside and marked pages. They were a diary of their conversations. The last book was about astronomy. Dorian pressed it into Taremis’s hands as he boarded a ship to Tevinter, hiding the tears glistening in his eyes. It was a beautiful book. Black cover, embossed with constellations, silver leaf in the title. He scarcely touched it, afraid the smell of his lover would fade if he did. But on lonely nights the book was a comfort. Taremis wept as he read the note inside. For my brightest star in the sky, a little something to ensure you keep studying Tevene even when I’m not there. Remember we look upon the same stars, Amatus. Yours forever and ever, Dorian.