A quick wind down Mucha study of Aisling. It came with some words, under the cut.
Dear Mother,
I reached the Inquisition, as you told me to. I write you to tell you that I am all right and Aisling is, as well. What we fear is partially true, partially false. She seems to be here of her own free will, that is true at least. They are treating her well: she is, indeed, those we heard of as Inquisitor. And covering the job as well as we would have expected her to do as Keeper. She may say she doesn't like the position, but she is thriving while in charge, knowing what to do and what to say in an environment that is foreign. She took some decisions I'd question, but is sure of herself and at ease in her position in a way that reminds me of the woman who birthed her.
She keeps her sweetness and lightness, at times, it ease my worries and I hope it'll ease yours as well, on that matter. We are currently West, in the Approach, and the soldiers all love her. As more than the one who can find water and shelter. No one seems to worry about magic anymore, once she uses it to cool the temperature of the room down.
I'm worried of the Inquisition as a whole. The rumours I heard in Ferelden, while travelling, were even more concerning than our doubts in Wycome. It's fast growing and gaining attention. I fear Aisling is too idealistically focusing on the good she's doing to see the worry she's causing in men too powerful, who wouldn't look with a kind eye on a Dalish in her power. She's doing good, so I'll keep silent, for now. I do fear she'll need a place to rest, eventually. A place to hide.
For now, she seems to be turning this Inquisition from the armed hand of the Chantry to something better. An armed hand, but more neutral. More welcoming.
She's making all kind of worrysome friends. I'll tell you more about them later, once I'll have a clearer idea. The Tevinter Altus and the Kirkwall Templar are the most worrysome. But at least there are me, another elf keen with a bow - she hates people in power but likes Aisling-, and another elven mage, very wise in the Fade -he is hiding something but seems to be on Aisling's side- to watch her back.
You would be proud of her. As I am. Bittersweet as it is to know she's not our little Shrimp anymore, but grown up.
For fuck's sake this week I'll post. I saw @wickedsnack-art's and it's a good excuse. This week is mostly writing, the personal stuff I'm doing I can't show! I doodled a concept super quick, tho.
I'm delving into In Hushed Whisper Territory in my Modern AU fic (hence why I'm so slow in updating, I care to do it *well*), and well. It's not canon but I decided that the Anchor showed the passing of time. Who's stopping me? No one.
Aisling woke up with a drop of water hitting her insistently on the forehead.
She blinked water away, and more to focus her surroundings.
Walls of stone, lit in green. Her head pounded, everything in her body was stretched and aching. And terribly cold: a thin layer of water licked at her cheek, pressed on stone tiles.
What happened?
She tried to move, but something was pressing on her, keeping her down and immobile.
Something that smellt faintly of sandalwood.
"Dor- Dorian!"
She squirmed, trying to get up, dread filling her throat as the memories of what happened flooded her mind.
He couldn't…
She managed to turn Dorian around, away from her. His eyes were closed, but as she pressed her cheek on his nose and mouth, she felt him breathing.
With a deep sigh of relief, she rose her hands to his face and-
Her left hand was spectral and green. The skin and muscles were transparent, vaguely shapes of magic, swirling in spirals, flesh and rocks forming here and there, as if brought to the surface by an invisible current.
When she dragged the sleeve of her sweater and jacket up, the same thing continued on her wrist and arm up to her elbow. Probably further, but the sleeve couldn't be brought any higher and she was happier not knowing.
It didn't hurt, not really. It was just lacking any kind of sensibility. She tried to pinch it, but her fingers didn't catch anything. It made a ripple, as if her arm was made out of water somehow kept in shape. She only felt the prick of magic on her fingers still made of flesh. When she turned the palm up, the Anchor was a bright gush in the middle of her palm, starting between her index and middle finger and ending at the wrist. But the left was totally insensible. She could move everything pretty well, and grab things if she concentrated. Which was something, at least.
"What- Oh shit."
Dorian blinked awake, and propped himself on an elbow. Aisling was flooded with relief, and launched herself at him. With a light punch on his back, as he hugged her tight in turn, just for show.
"You're so stupid. What were you thinking in jumping at me like that?"
"You're stupid. And reckless. And venedhis, I'll eat all your ice cream for the whole of next summer from how much you made me worry."
Dorian pinched her side, equally just for show. They stayed like that, winding down for a moment, before standing back up.
"Where are we?"
"I think the right question is when."
---
tagging, with no pressure at all: @salsedinepicta @shivunin @layalu @cute-ellyna @theluckywizard @violets-and-amber @lyana-chan @raflesia65 @pickelda @shanaraharlyah and YOU reading! :3
Day 2 of @dragonagekissweek, the theme was Injury, and of course I took Aisling for this. And it's writing today yay!
[ Female Lavellan x Cullen Rutherford | 1900 words | CW: mentions of fractures, broken bones, addiction. It's nothing graphic or detailed. ]
"A broken femur that has healed is evidence that someone has taken time to stay with the one who fell, has bound up the wound, has carried the person to safety and has tended the person through recovery. Helping someone else through difficulty is where civilization starts, Mead said."
"Don't look at me like that."
"I haven't said anything, Cullen."
"Your face speaks enough."
"It's just my face. And I'm splinting your broken femur, you tell me how should I look."
"It's just a-"
"-Cullen, I have just rotated and realigned the two separated halves of the longest bone in your body, that which keeps you standing and walking. We can only hope you won't need the surgeon in the next few hours. It's not a minor injury, it's not anything you can shrug off and pretend it isn't there, do not tell me you're fine, and don't ask me to be bubbly and cheerful, right now, not when I could have-"
Lavellan stopped, before she could say anything else, with a groan and a shake of her head. Cullen, thankfully, understood and kept silent about it, even if the frown on his face said he very much disagreed with her.
She wasn't angry, of course not. Not with him, at least. It wasn't the time to stop and listen to whatever she was feeling in that exact moment, tho: Keeper taught her better than that. She wasn't his lover, right now. She wasn't even his Inquisitor, no. First and foremost, now she was a healer. So she acted like one, remembering lessons she heard since she was a child. She healed birds fallen from their nests trying to fly since she was 8 (with supervision), she splinted so many limbs and fingers, when she was allowed to help the Keeper with elves, that she could do it in her sleep.
The only difference with her current situation was the context around her, really.
It wasn't a tent quickly set up at the centre of a circle of aravels. It was a stone tower, cold and drafty after they finally got rid of all the red lyrium. She herself had ordered it to be set as infirmary and not as her personal living quarters and war room, as everyone else had advised her to do. Woundeds had the priority, she insisted: they needed every man if they wanted to conquer Suledin Keep from a demon with who knew how many Red Templars at his orders. She wasn't called First, nor Keeper, but Inquisitor, but they were just names. They all meant she was in charge, even if now every dignitary was surprised to find her there, helping, and not sitting on her fancy chair in the war pavillion. Any Dalish would have searched her there automatically.
No incense and herbs for Sylaise overpowered the smell of sickness and medicines - even if she reserved a corner of the fireplace for a small ceramic bowl, filled with those herbs she could find or spare, and a bit of incense. "For the smell" she told everyone, and hardly anyone heard or minded her whispering a prayer in elvhen to consacrate the offering.
Other than that, the job was still the very same. Humans and elves and dwarves worked similarly, when it came to open wounds, fractures, distortions and seasonal ailments due to the innatural snow that still covered the Emprise. The very same process.
It was just harder to recall, right now, when her heart wouldn't stop beating insistently in her ears, and she swore she could feel Cullen's frown on her skin.
A very subtle grunt of discomfort - the Commander tended to undersell his own hurt, but she knew by now whom she was dealing with, enough to pay attention. She loosened the bandages a bit, noticing she was tightening them too much. The leg would have swollen a bit more in the next hours, she should leave some space for that.
Yes, she knew it: Deshanna told her, the very first time she splinted a broken wing. Far more delicate than the leg of a trained warrior, and yet…
"Aisling, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. For now, at least. I'll change the bandages tomorrow and check how the bone is faring, we'll know if I set it right. If not, surgery will be, but for now-"
"You had the same face in Halamshiral, when you found documents in Celene's bedroom."
Aisling grimaced instinctively at the memory, which gained her a knowing "Ah!" from the traitourous man on the cot.
"If you feel in pain and like you want some more of the potion I gave you before, you ask someone to call for me, ok?" Aisling sighed, after a moment, frowning hard at her work. "Immediately, you don't wait it out, you don't minimize it, you don't think it's normal and that I should sleep. I will be angry if you don't call me."
"There won't be any need for it, I'm-"
"Poppy in anaesthetics is extremely effective. But it tend to be craved by patients who have too much of it. I shouldn't have used it, but we are running short of elfroot, and for the pain of a resettled bone, I would have needed a lot of it. I wasn't reasoning."
"You gave it to me once, I'll be fine."
"Yes, but… You already- I'm not risking it, ok?" She shook her head, sending loose strands of hair flying out of the quick braid she tied her hair into. She blew one that fell in front of her face away, irritated with herself. "Call for me even if it's just your nose itching. Please. I won't sleep anyway."
A hand reached her face, making her startle. She stayed on her place, realizing quickly it was Cullen, and that all he wanted to do was to comb her hair away from her face. She leant minutely into his palm, squeezing her eyes to prevent tears.
"I hear the apology even if you're not saying it." He said, a laughter hidden in his vowels.
"I didn't voice it, as you wanted."
"You have nothing to apologize for. I am not used to fight in snow so high, and I didn't see that Templar flanking me, as I was fighting the other two. I'm sorry you had to patch me up. Again."
"I'm just-" She shook her head. "It's my job."
"I know. You still shouldn't have to be the one to patch me up."
"Are you still embarrassed?" Aisling huffed. "Because really, I'm ok in leaving digestion out of the topic since you all are so squeamish in admitting everyone poops. But it's just flesh, I don't understand why you Andrastians are so shy, even after I saw your-"
Cullen cleared his throat evocatively. When she turned to him, he was looking at the wall, away from everyone else in the room. Red to his ears. Some in the room openly laughed, others smiled, with a few eye rolls to the ceiling.
"Relax, I think everyone knows." Her turn to hide a laughter in her words. Grateful for it.
"… How? I thought we had been private."
"Sera mimicking smooching at us every time we came closr than 5 metres in the tavern may have tipped someone off."
"I'd have said it was Varric the first to talk."
"Tomay-to, tomah-to."
A moment of respite, as she finished to tie the splint, and knotted the fabric in place. The job, all considering, wasn't all too shabby. Not her best handywork, but considering that she was emotionally maybe too involved, she decided to consider herself satisfied.
"You won't move and you will rest, ok? No going to your tend, no pacing, no reports and no attendees."
"Aisling-"
"Cassandra will handle the logistics, Bull will take care of trainings and surveillance, I'll go and scout the next two mines, you told me what to look for. We got you covered, you just focus on healing."
"Aisling, stop-"
"I'm serious, these first two days you have to stay as still as you can. I don't want to operate you, if I can help it, I'm-"
The hand, still on her shoulder, squeezed down. It was so big, and grounding. She stopped talking, taking a deep breath as she cupped her face in both hands. The Anchor tingled her nose, which brought her back to her body, too. She never thought she would have been grateful for the mark.
"I am happy I can help you. Really. And that you trust me enough to let me. But I wish I could heal you sooner, with magic. I wish I didn't have to, not so often." She confessed, whispering it. "Just try to keep safe, ok?"
"We're at war, it can't be helped. I won't stay in the back and letting our men die, if I can help it." He sounded so reasonable, Aisling hated it. "Would it make you feel better if I told you it's just an excuse to have more of your hands on me?"
Aisling turned to gave him a look. She must have made quite a funny face, because it made him laugh.
"I told Bull it wouldn't have worked. He suggested it when he brought me back."
"You're still the fun police, that was terrible and delivered worse." She still smiled at it, just happy he was still able to try at joking.
He smiled back, covering her hand with his and squeezing. She smiled at the size difference. His fingers were cold, but they always were. And between the drafts, the snow it was hardly a surprise.
And like that she had no more words. The splint was in position, the bandages weren't too tight: the toes down there weren't turning blue. With everything in good order to wait to the morning, Aisling should have stood and get to the next patient, really. They had plenty on their hands with the Red Templars still swarming in the mines and the whole Emprise du Lion. Which meant wounded people. On top of regular (magical) winter ailments, flus and colds that needed to be treated anyway. Aisling should really get going.
She hesitated, enjoying the moment of quiet, and holding Cullen's hand. It was a terrible moment to confess any deeper feeling, sure, no matter how hard they pressed in her throat. But silence and quiet with Cullen had always felt quite cozy, since the first times they carefully approached each other past all the differences that should have kept them away.
But still…
"I thought of one thing that would make me feel less worried."
"What?"
"You'll get embarrassed."
"I'm not going skinny-dipping in the thermal bath I'll believe you conveniently found and aren't just a pond you'll warm up with magic."
"Fun police." She huffed. "Not that. You can do it right now. Can I…?"
"Hadn't you just ordered me not to move?"
"Well, you won't need your legs. And to clear all the doubts that everyone knows…"
She cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. And didn't care if they made a show, if it wasn't anything short, if it wasn't a chaste peck, if people whistled.
When she let go, Cullen's face was the colour of cherries. But it was looking at her, and not at the applauding crowd .
Which was great, and did made her feel less worried.
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💜
OMG, thank you Mo! ;;
I'll say two, because one it's very me-targeted.
First one is "The Only Possible Choice". Aka: Alyra and Morrigan's first kiss fic. I like the tension it has, they work together, it gives a good impression of their dynamic. I'm still proud of this. And it's a one-shot with a humanly reasonable lenght xD
Second is the Modern AU that's my joy and love. Ashes and Spark is the name, I refer to it as the DadWolf AU. It's long but I do not care: a modern Thedas and a retelling of Inquisition with two variants:
- No Corypheus around.
- Lavellan knows about Solas and the Dreadwolf thing.
The variants are many more, but these are the main selling points, I think. It's not perfect it could really use a beta (one more than lovely Koko I ask some times), but I'm too shy to ask for one. It *long* but I do not care because I'm having fun with it. The target is myself, but if you enjoy it you are instantly owed a full cake baked by me.
26. helpless/motionless/paralyzed for your mahariel pls~
Hello, thank you for asking! :D
It isn't as brief as I planned but well. It's them and my hand slipped.
I was thinking of that scene with the Architect, but then again I couldn't resist a good old rescue mission.
Tis the prompt list
We should stop meeting this way.
[ Female Mahariel x Morrigan | 1820 words | CW: torture, violence, blood and broken bones. ]
One thing she hadn't taken into account.
Or well, she had, it would have been foolish not to.
The issue was the stupid Blight in her veins and the song in her ears.
Alistair had told her, seemingly ages ago, that Wardens who lived through a Blight had their life even shorter than other Wardens. A pity that at that time, she wasn't that much interested in living, and she had not paid the facr much mind.
What a stupid time to be reminded of that detail, really. When she had stuff to live for, had a purpose, and people she wanted to live for.
Her body failed her, the faint sound of a song kept her awake too long, and made her oversleep for a decisive couple of hours. Enough for Clarel's lackeys to find her. Enough for her body to react slower than usual.
It wasn't supposed to end so soon, was it? Typical of Duncan, as much as she had known him, to be unreliable even in the scarce informations he gave.
"Your silence won't help you."
Ah, right. Clarel's lackey. Alyra had forgotten his name the moment it entered her ear. It wasn't important, he was just the bootlicker of a person that should be miles away from any position of command. And he couldn't even let her think in peace.
"We'll all be unhelped, then." She shrugged it off.
Shrugging was impossible in the condition she was, hanging from her wrists chained to the ceiling, knees not touching the floor. Her shoulders screamed in pain, as she tried to move them, giving her a hint of the fact that she was there from too much time. His own fault, really, she told him that she wouldn't have said anything already like what, three times?
He slapped her with the back of his hand. Hit the scarred cheek, where the skin was more sensitive.
She hated to admit it, but the fucker was at least good at torturing people.
"Answer me!" The fucker -what was his name, really- yelled.
She spat blood, and turned her head to look at him, unimpressed. Not blinking had less intimidating effect if she was beaten to a pulp, she supposed.
Another slap, on the other cheek.
"Do you want me to kill you?"
"We're Wardens, dying early is part of the contract, or so I heard." She answered.
"Not you, tho." He snorted. "How did you survive the Archdemon?"
"Wouldn't the First Warden like to know."
A kick in her ribs. She huffed, breath flying out of her lungs.
"It's no time to joke, Mahariel. You're hearing the Calling, too, aren't you? I heard you were cruel, but I never thought you would have us all killed before our time. You will have your own killed, as well?" The fucker barked, starting to pace around. That bit of information was, indeed, interesting.
Not that Alyra gave him the satisfaction of knowing she was now actually paying attention, but she was. She had thought that for her it was the Archdemon catching up, but if the Wardens have all been hearing it…
"It doesn't need to end this way. Just tell us how you survived. Renounce all your political ties for good. Pledge alliance to Clarel once more, and-"
"Wait."
That was it. She knew from the start that declaring independence from Weisshaupt would have made the Anderfels burst as a beehive. She spent a good deal of the previous decade to prepare exactly for that. Being kidnapped and tortured for informations and an alliance by Weisshaupt's minions was something she took into account the moment she stepped outside Ferelden, following Avernus' notes for a cure for the Blight. But…
"Clarel, you said?" She asked, looking up. "I should pledge alliance to the Warden-Commander of Orlais? Why not to the First Warden?"
"It doesn't matter, in your position."
"You all finally realized the idiot is an idiot, kicked him out of office, and the person you substitute him with is Clarel?!"
"Be silent."
"Or don't tell me. Clarel remembered she has a spine, and followed my footsteps? Oh, hence why you're so eager to have me, aren't you? She didn't prepare shit, and she needs me to resist Weisshaupt and-"
"Silence!"
She was silenced, pretty forcefully, by an armoured knee hitting her too strongly her bare chest. She feared for her sternum that cracked, her brain screaming in pain. The next breath came extremely hard to her, and she was reducd to wheezing.
Fuck.
The manacles on her wrists weren't wide enough for her to slip her hands out, not even if she had broken her thumbs. The fucker tied her calves together, tighly. There was no getting out of that, not alone. Not if her sternum was broken, but she needed to get out (the fucker was going on blabbering, but she had heard enough). She needed to warn Nathaniel, needed to-
Wait.
Was that…?
A flicker in her field of vision. Weirdly enough, but she had to be hallucinating, the pain and exhaustioon too much, the Calling doing the rest, it must have gotten to her head.
No way that was really a glimpse of raven feathers, no way that the only reason for a raven to fly in that damp dungeon was…
Well, what had she to lose, at that point? She could as well play a little, take a satisfaction or two out even if it wasn't a diversion.
"You're really more idiotic than I thought at the start." She tried to laugh, but it only caused a fit of acute pain in her chest, her mouth filled with blood that she spat again. "And yet I was almost giving you a chance at intelligence, since you managed to catch me. It's always nice to see that my infinite hopes in people are wrong."
"I captured you pretty easily, you were sleeping so soundly it almost feel like you're no Dalish. But then why marring your feature with those signs if you aren't?"
A point to Teagan for being at least able to insult her race and tattoos better. Clarel really was hopeless. A gust of wind came from the wrong side. Innatural, totally innatural. She wasn't so bad as not to recognize the smell of ozone.
"You're killing you best ally, in both cases scenario. That's hardly a symptom of a functioning brain. But you wouldn't know a brain if it hit you in the face, right?"
"Would you shut up?"
"What do I have to lose? I already told you that you won't get anything from me. but you can't guess so, right? Clarel likes her men as she is: stupid, narrow-sighted, and not able to read the room."
"Do you want to die?!"
"Me?" She laughed, ending it in a grimace as her ribcage all protested. "Not anymore. You, on the contrary-"
"Wha-"
The fucker couldn't even finish the question, that a long, spikey spider leg burst from his mouth, in a flare of blood. Life left his eyes, and as soon as the hairy, spikey appendage retreated back into his skull, the body fell heavily on the ground, with a cacophony of metal on stone.
Behind him, there was Morrigan, getting back straight on her now only two legs and shaking a hand to clean it.
"Was that necessary?" The witch asked Alyra, snorting through her nose.
"I know you love meeting me like this." She teased back, smiling. A bloody smile, but she still couldn't reign it in. "Half dead and with my tits out."
Morrigan scoffed, stepping over the corpse and kneeling in front of her. She acted hastily -Alyra glimpsed around them and saw the other Wardens, deeply asleep on the ground. She knew the spell, and knew that they had limited time.
Not that she could really protest the mage fussing over her, or touching her ribcage. Not the kind of whines she preferred to make in her presence, really.
"K-Kieran?" Alyra asked, hissing as her sternum cracked back in place under Morrigan's spell. The magic was cold and soothing, but it didn't do much to makethe pain subside.
"Safe as he can be." Morrigan answered, finishing with the sternum and going to the ribs. "But I still would like to be back this evening."
"Crossroads?"
"… No." Her tone was harsh, or maybe the song was too strong for Alyra to really hear.
Ah, that was unfortunate. First, because it meant that the witch hadn't recovered the eluvian network to herself, as it was the aim of her staying in Orlais. Second, because it would have meant that she wasn't going back home, in Vigil's Keep.
That was the thought of another time, tho: they were together, it was pointless tarring the moment thinking of how brief it would have been.
"This will hurt." Morrigan warned, raising up on her knees to reach her manacles.
"I know." Alyra sighed, closing her eyes and leaning forward until she was pressed against the other woman's chest. She loved her smell, it felt like home. Surrected by the other arm of her lover, she said it. "Do it."
More smell of ozone, the lock broke open with a clack, and Alyra's shoulder finally let go of the tension.
It hurt like few other things Alya had experienced, and it took all her self-control not to scream in pain. She managed, at the price of flopping heavily down against Morrigan, letting out a pathetic, too acute groan. The song in her ears felt stronger, louder, for a moment.
"Tis over." Morrigan soothed her.
It felt remote, at first, and it bothered her. That song was stronger in the haze of pain, and sweet, so sweet… There was something dissonant, but she knew that if she focused on it enough, she would have known the words. She wanted to know those words, so bad. They would have stopped the pain.
"Tis over." Morrigan repeated. "I'm here."
Her hands on her back, holding her tight. Alyra returned slowly, the pain in her shoulders subsiding slowly to a dull pain, and she realized from how warm Morrigan was, that she must have been freezing. Idiot took away her shirt and pair of stays, when he realized the bones were all metal and acted as a backup armour.
There were too many questions she had to ask her. How did she find her? The first suspect was Leliana. Alyra knew she shouldn't have answered to her letter, never have written back to this new Inquisitor. As if all Dalish knew each other, bah. Why did she come, leaving their son alone in the Imperial court.
All she could tell her, tho, was something she rarely said to anyon else, really. Rarely meant it like that, so bone-deep. She inhaled deeply the smell of the crook of her neck, relishing her presence, her arms around her,
As every year, I make a short fic for the winter holidays. I'm a Grinch, I dislike the whole charade, so I write these to cheer myself up. I hope they will, too! <3
It's a direct sequel to last year's, but you can read it also as a stand alone.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Art-wise I'm incredibly busy with school, and I technically can't show much of what I'm working on. I'm writing here and there when I can and am not too tired/out of spoon. I'll leave you the start of a prompt I got a good idea for. And hear hear, it's Veilguard!
Featuring a Spite meeting for the first time with ye good old italian antivan sauna summer.
Tagging, with no pressure: @salsedinepicta (your fault in making me have Veilguard thoughts that do not include tentacles. *affectionate*), @raflesia65 @cute-ellyna @zaahvi @rookbubu @lyana-chan @taxymay @bygonesigh @squidproquoclarice and YOU reading!
Time slowed down, in summer.
Or at least, it always seemed so, ever since Lucanis could remember. Summer had felt never-ending, back then, full of possibilities. He loved them, when it was all about finding a new corner of the palazzo to explore, a new game to play. He hated them, when they meant sweat and heath and atting a new level of uncomfortable to the chagrin that training was, when Caterina deemed him of age to learn.
Years later, summers meant longer, more uncomfortable travels around the country and out. Last summer, he lost under the ocean -but it had been chill, down there.
And this…
This felt like way back then, waiting between a contract and the other, granted some blissful time to relax.
Blissful time that he could no longer enjoy.
Treviso was hot, in summer. Canals meant steam, when the sun was high and unrelenting in the sky. It made days unbearable and nights suffocating, on the worse days. The only thing to do was slowing it down, take it easy. Move little, eat light.
Wait the heat down, keep sunlight outside.
He knew.
Spite didn't.
Spite was currently shrieking in his head, bidding him to do something about the heath.
"I can't crawl out of my skin." He said, to nothing in particular, turning a page.
Are you sure about it. The spirit hissed, displeased. We saw that statue in the duomo-
"No. That's San Bartolomeo. We won't claim sainthood by skinning ourselves off, before you ask."
There was a distinct moan of complaint mixed with suffering in his head, which he thoroughly ignored. Funny how much things had changed in the last year. When at first Spite's constant complaining had given him a headache, now they almost felt familiar and comforting.
He had promised the Spirit he would have found a solution to their situation, but truth to be told, in the months since the war ended and he took place as First Talon officially… He hadn't even started. Spite hadn't insisted, either.
Everything felt so foreign, including the room around him -the same, old room he had before the Ossuary. It felt unbearably huge in the first days after the Lighthouse. He could only convince himself to actually stay and sleep there but a handful of days ago.
And well. It was incredibly late, and he was still awake reading, not just for the heathwave and the dampness that rose from the canals.
Spite's complaining was maybe the only thing making everythig normal. As weird as the thought may have been.
Tagged by @pickelda, thank you so much! I have only one thing I'm working on, I don't know if I'll be able to post it today. I tried to take a pic at my sketchbook for a study page I'm happy about but eh, it's evening and the light is bad. So, just one picture and some DadWolf writing after the cut.
Aisling had, successfully, contributed into developing a spell that with the right source of energy would have allowed the caster to travel in space and time. She got in so much trouble for it that she had to throw six years of work and studies in the gutter, start fresh, account her movements and time to the Right Hand of the Divine for protection.
And yet, that still wasn’t the weirdest thing she ever did, in the end.
Cullen was the weirdest, by all.
If anyone would have asked her, but a month and a half prior, she would have said that yes. They’ve been very close in childhood, he’d been her dearest friend, but they took different paths in life, and he didn’t like her at all anymore. It happens.
Now?
They started writing.
He did, indeed, came to say hello to Felix, the next Wednesday -he was always in the hospital on Wednesday, Aisling was dying to know why, but she was afraid he would have closed off like a hedgehog again. Some weeks he looked fine, others he seemed spooked. So, she didn’t, and enjoyed what she had.
Still undecided what to do with… Whatever they had. Friendship? She wanted at least a couple of excuses, it wasn’t asking much, was it?
“Sure it’s not asking much.” Grumbled Dorian, at dinner when she told him. “Should I recover all your messages from Kirkwall and show you how stressed you were? You got back that you were almost as bald as Solas.”
“It wasn’t all his fault, honestly.” Aisling rebuked.
“Maybe, but he didn’t help, did he?”
“Well…”
“Do I have to remind you what happened when we tried to reach him in Denerim?”
“What happened?” Asked Sera, little interest to the whole topic, truth to be told. She slurped her instant ramen aloud.
“We showed up at the academy, asked about him, the thugs at the entrance returned five minutes later and tried to arrest Aisling for magical aggression.”
“Wooooh, Wiseshit, you’ve been to jail?” The elf perked up, recovering all her interest. “I thought all people in Physics were hopeless, boring nerds, but you’re more interesting than I thought.”
“Hey! We’re rock stars.”
“Sure.” Sera snorted. “And I’m the princess of Orlais.”
“Your majesty, I pay my humblest homage to your magnificence.” Dorian bowed with a flourish.
“Eeeeew.” Sera laughed, nevertheless. “Stop it!”
“Of course, whatever your excellences bids, I am a worthless subject to her radiance, and I will of course obey.”
“I have never been to jail, they just told me to shoo off and lay low from then on.” Aisling pointed out, pouting down at her ramen. Indeed it was musky and not so inviting. She missed Felix’s cooking, he always either stopped at their place to have dinner all together, or invited them at his place, but she kept that thought for herself.
“Pfffft, bummer.”
Aisling got to bed without a clear answer. Just a lot of grumbling and complaining from Dorian, and an unanswered message on her phone.
Truth to be told, she had no idea about what to do and what to think of it, whether to trust the process and lean in the nostalgy, or be wary and remember that in both instances when they saw each other as adults, she ended up in tears, and she had heard people in the Gallows speaking of Cullen and saying he thought mages weren’t human.
When she read the message again, asking her to pass him one, and he said one pop song that was better when in a metal cover, and she couldn’t exactly believe them.
A minute to find the link she sought on YouTube, and she tapped a quick answer. They way she would have done fifteen years before.
Aisling, 22:39
[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHhWelSBppY
Try not to dance, come on.
And find me one popstar that covered a metal song with the same level of hype, come on. I admit that Lord Huron has a nice voice, but he could never. ]
There was something that scared her, and scared her a lot, but she fought it. It was nice, even for some minute, to pretend everything was back to normal.
