#threads (serra)

[bloodlaurel]

@artifexx for a starter with Soren and Serra.

It had all seemed calm and peaceful in the moments before disaster, but Serra supposed that was always the case.

Neither of them were particularly enthused about going to this Conclave but it was too important to skip it. Unfortunately, whilst she and Soren had been kindly requested to attend, Beric and Bjorn had not. Considering the Conclave was happening in Ferelden, Serra felt like she should take offense on their behalfs. In the end, it was easier for her to stay in the village and Soren could represent them both. He knew her well enough by know to anticipate her views on whatever would come up. She'd left him at the base of the path towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes and tried to not let the deja vu set in. Just before she turned back, she'd pushed herself onto her toes so she could press a kiss against his cheek.

And then she had found Leliana. It had been so long since she'd seen the other woman and it hadn't taken them long to fall into deep conversation. There was a lot to catch up on. They had been mid-conversation when the eardrum-shattering boom echoed throughout the valley, followed swiftly by a shockwave. Serra didn't remember getting up and running outside but she was, Bjorn tearing ahead of her as they raced back toward the path up to the Temple.

Two soldiers caught her before she could get two steps up the slope and she thrashed against their hold. Only when one looked skywards with a breathless "Maker save us" did she look up and her own breath caught in her throat. There was a sickly green tinge to the whole sky and over where the Temple had sat on the mountainside, a hole had ripped the sky apart as rubble rained down. Looking at it felt like when she had laid eyes on the archdemon for the first time in the flesh, awe and terror mixed together.

Only Leliana arriving with Seeker Pentaghast at her side had made the soldiers move. Serra didn't wait for them to begin racing up the mountain but she was aware of the clank of armour and their laboured breathing behind her. Her only thought was getting to Soren. A sick feeling settled low in her stomach with every foot she climbed upwards at what she would find.

Carnage, that was the answer.

It would have been hard to believe there had been a Temple at all. Rubble and half ruined walls and worst of all were the bodies, torn apart and singed. The smell of ozone and burnt flesh made her eyes water but she diligently checked each one, sick that the next one she'd find was Soren's. No survivors...at least, none that she found. The panic in her chest grew and grew but she forced herself to keep going, keep looking. There had to be someone. There had to be at least one survivor, right? Selfish as it was, she prayed it was him.

A sudden burst of green light in the corner of her eye. She turned just in time to see the air rip open in front of her and a body tumble out, the tear resealing itself behind as if it was never there.

"Soren!" She screamed and she was kneeling by his side in an instant.

-------------------

That had been...Maker, the days had blurred together somewhat. At least three. She was so tired, sleep only caught in fits and starts and when her eyes were too heavy to keep open. Serra was afraid to doze in case Soren died and she'd wake up to that horror.

But his chest kept rising and falling steadily. It had been touch and go. The herbalist in the village had an appalling bedside manner but he had kept him stable. The apostate elf - Solas, his name was Solas, she chided herself - had isolated the unstable magic to a glowing mark in his hand. It flared to life often and each time it made Serra's breath catch in her throat. It had to be painful, she thought, because Soren thrashed and muttered under his breath. It was all she could do to hold his unmarked hand and pray.

She prayed now though she could feel the need to fall asleep. Her thumb skimmed across Soren's knuckles, back and forth in a steady rhythm. Her lips moved as she mumbled the tune under her breath:

"In the long hours of the night When hope has abandoned me, I will see the stars and know Your Light remains."

[bloodlaurel]

Surprise Starter for @quiisquiliae

Serra knew there was always the possibility that Alaric could end up being injured, even killed. He was a soldier. Soldiers generally went to combat zone where there were all manner of ways to die. It would be stupidly naive of her to believe that he would always come home safe. Each letter, phone call, video call always made her breathe a little easier because at least then she knew for certain he was safe.

And then it seemed his luck ran out.

Alaric was out of the military hospital but recovery was still ahead. Back home for however long it took and then he'd probably need to re-enlist again. Serra hadn’t even thought twice about it. She’d jumped in her car with Beric and drove to pick him up. Who was going to stop her? She was his wife. It didn’t even bother her that it was a four hour drive there. She needed to see Alaric. It didn’t particularly surprise her when he’d fallen asleep in the car, holding onto her free hand as she drove.

And she felt guilty waking him up again when they finally did pull into the parking lot of her apartment building. She’d let him lean on her as much as he liked. He’d been shot and then had to undergo major surgery. As far as she was concerned, she was just happy to have him at all.

Finally, finally, she managed to manoeuvre him into bed. She only stripped off her outer clothes before she crawled into bed beside him. Only then did the emotions hit and she could feel tears welling in her eyes.

"I'm sorry I just..." she trailed off, burying her face in his shoulder.

[bloodlaurel]

Continued from here @inevitableking

Serra jumped at the sudden sharpness of Alistair's tone. She watched him — green eyes wide — as he withdrew and tried to breathe through the sudden surge of...frustration? Anger? She wouldn't be surprised if it was a combination of both. She had given him enough reason to be with her own terse responses and sullen silences.

She focused her gaze on the toes of her boots before he spoke again, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a firm, thin line. For a moment after he spoke, she remained stubbornly silent.

A part of her acknowledged she wasn't exactly being fair or reasonable. It wasn't either of their faults that they were stuck in the situation they found themselves in. It definitely wasn't Alistair's fault that the grief she'd carried from before Ostagar sat like a stone in her chest, always there and impossible to ignore. Alistair had also lost Duncan, it was different but was it really so different? The vicious, furious part of her said that yes it was and that had been the part that had snapped at him.

Serra sighed, her gaze turning skyward as she chewed over his words. He just wanted to understand her, to get to know her. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let her hackles drop just a little...

"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet, barely audible, when she finally forced herself to look at him again. "I...I shouldn't have said what I said. You asked me after Ostagar if I'd ever lost someone, remember? Well, I have. A lot of people. Just before I met you, actually. Howe he--he murdered my whole family. I was the only one who escaped...and Beric too, I suppose."

[bloodlaurel]

@quiisquiliae liked for a starter from Serra

Serra knew she was in trouble. Well, maybe not in trouble just yet but she definitely knew that if she kept going as she was then there would be trouble. More trouble than she had ever been in or caused in her whole life. Trouble that could sour relations between Ostwick and Highever – maybe even Ferelden as a whole — for a good long time.

Azriel was her fiancé and he was a perfectly agreeable person. He was kind to her, for a start. He seemed determined to be a good heir to his parents. His sister, Ashe, loved him and Serra had grown close to her. He was also good looking which probably wasn't the best reason to like someone but it was there. Her parents would never have married her off to someone who would treat her badly and she knew that but even then Azriel was better than she could have hoped.

She just didn't love him.

Worse, more and more she found her eye drawn to his younger brother. Alaric visited regularly but he wasn't a regular fixture in her life. Still, the more time she spent with the younger Trevelyan man, the more she had come to like him. Like had grown into fondness and then into something much more dangerous.

And so she formed a plan — or well more an idea than a fully thought out plan. She was realising the difference now she was standing outside Azriel's door in the middle of the night when she should be in her own chambers.

She tugged the blue satin of her dressing gown around herself even tighter as she gave a sharp rap to the wooden door. Then she decided that this is beyond a polite call and opened the door before she can be officially invited inside. There is no protocol for attempting to seduce someone in the night and even if there was Serra doubted that her mother would have briefed her on it.

[bloodlaurel]

Starter for @quiisquiliae for Alaric and Serra

Serra’s coffee table was controlled chaos. Her laptop and empty coffee mug surrounded by a sea of paper. She did feel bad that Alaric was over and she was swamped with work but it wasn’t her fault that she needed to be in court in two days and then another box load of documents had been dumped on her desk.

She’d make it up to him, she promised herself as she groped for a particular page to double check something. Maybe she’d cook them something nice on his next day off or go on a date somewhere or something. She’d figure out the details later.

And abruptly the peace was interrupted by a loud, hacking cough that came from the depth of Serra’s chest. She reared back, hand covering her mouth and the other flying to her chest. Ow. Oh that hurt.

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate, she had a cold as well. Thankfully it was just the tiredness, the low-grade headache, and now a cough. She could and would push through it. Immunocompromised or not, she couldn’t afford to stop. If every sniffle and cough stopped her then she would never leave her bed like an invalid.

“Sorry about that.” She apologised on instinct.

[bloodlaurel]

Starter for @quiisquiliae for Azriel and Serra

Serra is in a foul mood when the coastline of the Free Marches finally comes into view. It wasn't a long voyage from Highever, only a few days if the weather was good and they caught the wind. She'd boarded upset and her mood had stewed ever since until it ended up as a complex mixture of resentment, homesickness, and dread. If there was a point at which she could have run, she had long missed it.

Instead, she forced herself to don the nice gown her mother had specifically told her to wear for meeting her betrothed and his family when the ship docked. She also tried to ignore the nervous tremble in her fingers as she pulled laces and fiddled with buttons.

Couslands did their duty, her father loved to remind her and Fergus of that. Well, she would but that didn't mean she had to like it.

When she actually stepped off the ship, the mask was firmly in place. Head up, shoulders back, ready to put her best foot forwards. Her parents were counting on her to make a good impression. Highever was counting on her to make this work. No matter her own private feelings, Serra knew she had a role to fulfil and that she had been allowed fifteen years of relative freedom was probably more than some other noble girls in her shoes would have.

At least she was able to stash her bow away in her trunk before her mother could find it and stop her.

[bloodlaurel]

@nekrotisch liked for a starter from Serra

Serra hoped to never see another Blight again in her lifetime. It wasn't an unreasonable wish. Centuries elapsed between Blights. It was four hundred or so years between the Fourth and Fifth.

And yet, it seemed this age couldn't go a decade without something happening to attempt to end the world. Two Blights rolled into one and mutated beyond anything any Warden had ever seen before. It had been a miracle they'd made it. Yes, Denerim had to be abandoned and much of the land was ravaged with only the Free Marchers arrival helping to shift the tide but they were alive.

And so Serra went to Skyhold to collect the most important thing in the world to her, besides her husband: her only child.

Duncan had to be kept safe. She'd scoured the ends of the earth to find a cure to the Blight for him and their family. As soon as the Blight rose, she sent him to the one place she could be reasonably sure he'd be safe. She didn't like it, the thought of her precious child in Jasper Trevelyan's hand made her skin crawl, but it was the best option. Defensible. Remote. She could swallow her pride and dislike if it meant Duncan was safe.

But now with the most immediate threat gone, Serra ached to see her child again even if he wasn't a child any longer.

She'd arrived in Skyhold in her Warden blues and with only a few guards to escort her. Everyone knew the Queen of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, could defend herself. Still, she wouldn't give Alistair any more grey hairs than he already had. That he even had them at all she considered a miracle in itself. She'd not taken the cure just yet and she was grateful that she had waited now.

She caught sight of a purple-haired woman emerging from a tower door. It wasn't Jasper but she supposed anyone in Skyhold would probably be able to point her in the direction she needed so she didn't hesitate to approach.

"Hello. I don't suppose you would know where Duncan Theirin is? I'm his mother and I've come to collect him."

[bloodlaurel]

@corvusregards liked for a starter from Serra

It shouldn't have surprised her that there would be assassins. Crowns came with responsibility and also with inherent risk. All rulers faced assassins at some point or another and the reasons were many. She and Alistair had enemies, Serra wasn't stupid enough to believe that winning the Landsmeet would mean total obedience and acceptance, and so all she could do was wait and keep alert.

Yet when it finally came she was unprepared all the same.

It was poison this time, thankfully avoided at the last minute by the taster being violently ill, but what about the next time? Serra couldn't stop the images of blood and swords in the night. Never again. She'd not lose what family she'd clawed back.

Serra kept a dagger strapped to her thigh after that. She'd be the last line of defence if she had to be. A queen was replaceable but Alistair was not. If it was her life or his, she'd gladly make that choice.

It was a few evenings later when she was alone that she felt something was off. She'd been writing a letter to Fergus and about to retire to bed when she felt a prickle on the back of her neck. She wasn't alone, something in her gut screamed at her. It wasn't the now familiar buzz she felt when Alistair was nearby, of Wardens sensing each other, it felt more like she was being watched.

She didn't hesitate to grab her knife.

Was it her imagination or did the curtains twitch just slightly? Serra didn't hesitate. It could be her imagination or it could be another assassin waiting in the shadows. Maybe they wanted Alistair and simply got the wrong room. Well, that would be their biggest and final mistake. She was across the room in a second, dagger raised to strike at whatever she found.