Alistair uncomfortably rubs the back of his neck as Isabel ponders the thought.
“Hmm… I don’t think so,” she states. “There was the one time Alistair here lost his balance and fell on top of me, and I couldn’t quite breathe for a moment… it wasn’t exactly fun.” Isabel glances to Alistair, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment, and she shakes her head. “That would be a no.”
- - - - -
Olivia:
Olivia furrows her brows, looking to Anders beside her. He doesn’t say a word, but she can see in the way that his brows knit together and he purses his lips that he’s not comfortable with the idea.
She reaches out her hand and laces her fingers with his, offering a small smile before turning her focus back on the task at hand.
Lived Long Enough to Become the Villain for Hawke of your choice.
After so many years on the run, she thought they were finally safe. The twins had grown up learning to nurture their magic instead of fear it, and they never had to hide who they were. The four of them were happy, and they were so proud of the mages the twins were becoming.
Until their happiness was shattered, gone in the blink of an eye.
The Templars had never stopped looking for her and Anders, wanting them to pay for what they did in Kirkwall. They hunted them down like animals, and when they caught up to the mages, they held them back, kicking and screaming, as they dragged the twins away.
Their desperate cries for her and Anders haunted her every moment—time spent tracking them down to rescue them. But when they found them, it was too late, the sunburst of the Chantry burned into their foreheads above their dead, emotionless eyes.
They were only twelve years old.
They killed every Templar in sight, and didn’t stop there, hunting them down as they had been hunted themselves, dead set on getting vengeance for their children, even if it killed them… and it did.
Anders fell, taking a sword in the chest that was meant for her, and she screamed, releasing a pulse of magic that incinerated their enemies around them. He died in her arms, his troubled soul finally free to join the twins and their unborn child. As the life left his body, Justice remained, and without a second thought she reached out to the Fade spirit, merging with him herself.
Twisted into a spirit of Vengeance once again, they were invincible, and they continued to hunt down every Templar they could find, showing them no mercy.
She wasn’t going to stop until they were all dead.
- - - - -
You can all thank experimentalmadness for letting me use her idea of Justice merging with Hawke in the event of Anders’ death, which totally made this thing that much worse.
Well, if you were a DA character and I was Hawke, I would probably get you something that was tangentially related to your culture and/or interests in ways that I only vaguely understood - most likely it would be inappropriate and/or offensive, if not outright dangerous. But I hope I'm a better gift-giver than Hawke. So I'll get you an apostate rebel bc I know that's what you really want. Do you like him? I kept the receipt so you can trade him in for the ex-Templar model if you'd prefer.
Prag get's me.
It's okay. Just get me the ex-Templar for Hanukkah. *wink wonk*
praggnificent replied to your photo “There are many little ones in this batch but this one is the tiniest...”
share pls pls pls
heheheh we overplanted. And it's a little overcrowded. i have about the same amount in the fridge i'll probably make into some sort of chickpea+carrot sweet 'CAUSE CARROTS OUT THE WAZOO
*hands you a pound or two*
and have a pic of mutant carrot hugging tiny carrot
What Lex Hawke fears most is to lose the people he loves. After losing Carver and his mother, and even Bethany to the Grey Wardens, he is fiercely protective of his friends. His hopes are for a world where everyone can be free. Whether human or elf, mage or not.
praggnificent replied to your post:GREYHOUND WHY THE FUCK DO YOU UP THE BUS PRICES BY...
I’m sorry. : / Are you coming in Oct btw?
Yeah, I definitely am! I'm gunna buy my tickets soon, I just gotta wait to get paid. And I'll be able to get a fews days off work so I'm not behind when I get back. =)
Aw. Of course now I am required to request a fic in which Yael cries in front of Cullen and is very frustrated with the situation and angry at herself.
The acrid air around the camp carried with it a sickly sweet perfume. It reminded Yael of the blasted crags her clan would sometimes have to pass through when on the move for new hunting grounds. Sweet smoke would fill those northern highways, but unlike the clean burning of spices or roasting meat, this smoke gagged and choked leaving a bitterness in the back of the throat. The scent of death.
She sat back on her heels, her strength having long ago left her legs. Aravels and tents and the makeshift corrals for the halla all lay in ruins around her. Tattered and burnt cloth fluttered lightly in the breeze like a false flag of welcome. Bodies littered the earth, dark and ashen. She knew from the deafening silence that there were no survivors to be found here. She’d wandered through so many ransacked villages, burnt out homes, desecrated towns…there was a silence that lingered. It stuck to the bones. All dead. All quiet.
Yet how she still recognized everything! That aravel with the blue dyed tapestry was Hadrian’s, she was so gifted with stone and gem work; the husk of a crafts shop had to have been Llewllyn’s he had been so kind to her when she had first come to the Lavellan clan as a young girl to be apprenticed to their Keeper.
Their Keeper.
Yael’s keen eyes found the Keeper’s aravel as burnt out as the rest. She did not need to see a body to know she was also gone. Apologies stammered from her lips as her head lowered and her body curled inward on itself. Somehow she had always imagined that her clan had escaped the worst of the chaos. That had been a child’s wishful thinking, the cowardly thoughts of a little girl too afraid to realize home was gone.
Horse hooves further down the outcropping of the camp’s hill made her aware of the world momentarily. Her legs were numb. So was the rest of her. When had it gotten so cold? A shadow at the edge of her vision reduced the numbness down to heat.
"I said I was not to be disturbed!" Yael roared, magic building behind her words.
"And I would never presume to intrude," a familiar voice responded. "But Cassandra had…"
"Oh she sent for you did she?" Yael snarled. "I suppose she thinks the word of the Inquisitor is one she can overrule? Well go back down there. Stay or leave with the rest of them. I am not to be moved."
"Yael…" her intruder breathed out in a heavy sigh that almost convinced Yael of the sincerity behind it, "I am…Maker…I do not know what I could say. I am sorry."
"Why are you sorry? They were only Dalish. Only elves. Shemlens kill them all the time," she took a small amount of pleasure in the poision she leeched out of her blood with her derision.
"They are your people." Why did he ignore her spite? Why did he always managed to be so Creator’s cursed reasonable all the time? It was enough to make her scream. "Your family," he said. "Your grief is mine, my love."
"No!" Yael surged to her feet, ignoring the pins and needles jabbing through her muscles. "You do not grieve with me. You do not comprehend it."
Cullen blinked at her, stepping back. His arms hung awkwardly down at his sides, as if he had originally intended to draw her into an embrace, and his eyes were stricken with sorrow. She could not stand the sadness lingering at their edges, making his gaze glassy with the threat of tears.
"One is not Dalish without their clan," Yael hissed. "They are barely an elf. You see all of this? This is more than home. Leave it to a shem to never understand. To think of it so simply. This is…" she jabbed repeatedly at her heart, infuriated. There were no words in the common tongue that she could use, nor would she degrade herself with such pathetic translations. "You will never understand."
She looked away from him. “I am the First of this clan. Do you know what that means?”
"No."
"I am second only to our Keeper, our clan’s elder and leader. You know who we are even if you do not comprehend us. Your Templar brethern love to threaten us with imprisonment in your Circles. You keep us on the run. Where you see a threat, our people see wisdom and history and leadership. That is who I am. A direct link in the chain to our people’s culture. And you…you and your Inquisition. You took me away! You robbed my clan of our future. And now look!" She spread her arms wide. "If I had been with them I might have saved them."
"You do not know that," Cullen hushed, "You may have been killed in this massacre as well."
"Then at least I might have gone to my rest alongside my kin."
"Do not say such things, Yael, please."
"Go away, go away and take your damn Inquisition with you," Yael spat. She turned her back on him. The world was wrong and he wanted to make it right again, she knew him. But there was nothing to be done.
"And leave you here is that it? For how long?"
"These are my people. I must watch over them."
"So the rest of the world might as well burn, is that it then?"
"The world is already burned, Cullen. Look around you."
"And you would see more Dalish clans fall to such calamities?" Yael closed her eyes at Cullen’s damning words. "You would see all your people suffer when it is in your power to protect them. To lead them?" Her fingers tangled upwards in her hair as she tried to cover her ears.
"I can’t!" the wail bubbled up past her lips before she could stop herself. She shook her head, both her hands went to stopper up her lips. "I can’t," she wailed again through her fingers. To her great shame tears poured from her numb eyes, hot and fast and blinding.
Cullen ran to her. No she could not stand that! Yael backed away, choking on her own tears as she tried to cover her face. “Please,” her voice was pathetic, stripped of all armor. Anger boiled under her blood and she viciously scuffed at the ground in her frustration, “Please don’t look at me. Please, please…” she sank to her feet, curling up and hugging her knees to her, lowering her head until she formed a tight ball.
She felt hands at her shoulder, but Cullen made no attempt to raise her head. His hands were warm and steady and he whispered apologies to her. From anyone else it might have sounded like platitudes, but she could hear it in the tone of his voice. He seemed to take the heaviness of her grief onto his shoulders. Such a thing was beyond her. Yael wanted to tell him to find another leader for this army of thiers. That if she had failed her people so dismally then all the world would fall as well. All those old fears and burdens came rushing back to her. Her panic as a child that she would not be the Keeper her clan would need, her fear that her magic would be too wild for her to ever hope to tame, that she would fail. And here she was. Proven right. It all felt like some horrible dream. That if she simply closed her eyes she’d be back in her aravel, her clan would still be alive, and her only worry for the day whether or not she would be able to sit still during her lesson with the Keeper.
The weight of their absence struck her all at once, robbing her of breath. “I can’t…” she hissed again. It was all she could do.
"You can," Cullen contradicted with surety. "I have seen you become a great leader. Remember when you summoned the Dalish of Ferelden? Asking for their aid, promising them a proper homeland?"
"I…do not see how…that is relevant," Yael hiccuped under her arms, still not daring to raise her head.
"You did not see what I saw," Cullen breathed out in a rush of admiration, "Their eyes were fixed on you, bright with respect and adulation. Your people, Yael," his fingers brushed her hair. "You were once so worried you’d never have their trust or loyalty, but the elves, the mages…they all now see what I see whenever I look at you."
"And what could that be?" Yael’s hands clenched around her legs. She felt the open air press down around her like four walls.
"Hope."
A fresh wave of tears crashed over her and this time she felt Cullen draw her into his arms fully. She was too tired to resist. She lay limp in his embrace.
"That’s a fine thing to say…to someone who’s lost all of her own."
She expected him to have a ready retort to that, something surprisingly astute yet kind. Instead he said nothing. Yael found herself holding her breath waiting for his reply. She felt his lips against the top of her head. “You will find it again. Trust me. After what had happened to me in Kinloch Hold I though…for many years that there was nothing for me. I did not understand why I was spared while all my comrades had fallen. Some days I still do not. But I found hope again. It will take time.”
"How?" Yael croaked. "How did you find it?"
"In you."
Yael did not know whether to laugh or sob. Cullen’s hands traced down the back of her head. “Will you not look at me, my love?”
Slowly Yael willed herself to raise her head. Fraction by fraction she unwound herself from the shell of her arms. Each inch of her face to be revealed was met with a soft kiss that stung at her heart with an almost stubborn insistance that she was alive. Tears continued to track down her face, but she was long past trying to conceal them. “Will you return to Skyhold with me?” he asked quietly.
She nodded. Words were far and away from her now. Cullen kissed her brow. “Good. I’ll go and ready—”
"No," she gripped his arm, "I am not ready to leave just yet."
He looked at her quizzically. “There are rites to be performed,” Yael said, closing her eyes and swallowing her grief. “I cannot leave them…I cannot leave them like this.”
"Of course," Cullen sighed in obvious relief once he understood her meaning. "Do you require my help?"
Yael smiled sadly at the sincere earnestness on her beloved’s face. “No, ma’vehnan, you cannot help me now. It is a Keeper’s job to protect her clan. And their traditions. I am Keeper now. And I must see to my people on my own. Go,” she let herself be helped back onto her feet, “wait at the foot of the hill. I’ll be back at nightfall. We’ll set out at first light. Let the others know.”
"It will be as you say, Keeper," he kissed both her hands and turned from her to make his way down the hill.
"Cullen!" Yael shouted. The man whirled about, head tilted with questions. "You know for a shemlen you’re…you’re not half bad." Her taunt stumbled gracelessly from her lips, but she just wanted normalcy. Craved it like a starving woman. They were both standing in the ashes of her entire world and something had to be the same. Just a shred of reality had to remain to her.
The man smiled and Yael had no idea how badly she had needed to see that dear expression, full of understanding, gentle humor, and the promise of comfort when all this was done. “I love you, too,” he told her.
And Yael did not even attempt to hide her tears this time.
