One moment the heavens are silent, stars suspended in the sky overhead exactly as they had been the first night Gorim saw them. The next, a streak dashes through a cluster of stars and he jumps up in his bedroll, grasping for a sword that isn’t at his side. It is gone as quickly as it appeared, vanishing into the darkness as though it was never there. “Ancestor’s mercy,” he sighs, chest heaving from withheld breath. “Just when you grow used to all those— things up there, they start moving.”
Tamar pauses mid-way through loosening her braid to look up with him, sweeping the skies with curious eyes. “They’re always moving,” she says as she settles down beside him, feet tucking neatly beneath her. A warden in name but a princess by birth, he doubts any amount of time on the surface can hope to hammer the noble out of her. “Most, to my understanding, are too slow to see.”
“Is that so?” He searches the spot where it had fallen to see what was left behind. Finding nothing, his attention turns to Tamar’s half-undone braids, threading his fingers through the places where her hair still wove together. “I suppose I’ve never looked close enough to notice.” Even after all these months he tries to avoid looking when he can help it. At night it isn’t so intimidating, he can almost fool himself into believing he’s looking up at the tall ceilings of the untamed tunnels past the rune-lit Deep Roads, and then looking up doesn’t feel so much like falling.
Tamar lays her cheek against him, hair spilling over his shoulder. “They move like the sun in the sky, from east to west, sometimes vanishing beneath the horizon for months at a time.”
Gorim wonders (but does not ask) if that makes the sun just another star in the sky, just one in a million, and if that is the case, he wonders what that makes them. “Where did you learn about this?” His attention turns, eyes moving to their corners in time to see her cheeks redden. The shade of pink they turn tells him all he needs to know. Their answer waits on a shelf back in Orzammar, tucked out of sight where lordly eyes will never look.
“Do you remember that book I read a year ago? By the Summer Skies?”
The name stirs vague memories, words on pages describing humans making prolonged eye contact across a crowded ballroom, or maybe that was the one that came after the one she means. Or before. Only the best and worst the humans have to offer sticks out in his mind, everything else lost in a cloud of wistful stares and heaving bosoms. “I can’t say I do.”
“They swore if they were ever separated they’d meet under the Maiden’s crown. Each night another star appeared in the night sky until the constellation was whole again.”
“Constellation?”
“A group of stars that together make a picture. Like—” She sits up to scan the heavens, tongue pushing to the side of her cheek before she finds one she recognises. “There.” Arm extended, she traces a line through a cluster of stars. Despite his best efforts, he fails to recognise the shape she’s making. “That’s Draconis up there. By springtime it will have disappeared entirely behind the horizon.”
“And it’s supposed to be the shape of a dragon?” He tilts his head to one side, examining the trail of stars he thinks are meant to be webbed wings extended to both sides of its torso. The resemblance is slight, as a child’s drawing might be, though he’s yet to see a dragon on the Surface near enough to say with certainty.
“With a little imagination.”
“Ah, I see.” He pulls her against him, anchoring his hand on her waist, considering the sky with a different question in mind. “And which stars should be ours? Those?” He gestures towards a smattering of stars hanging over the distant Frostbacks. Towards home, he thinks.
“I don’t think that’s a constellation.”
“Not yet, but surely the ones the humans have now had to start a similar way.” Gorim squints his eyes, blurring the stars between his lashes, hoping he can make a shape from the collection he’d chosen. The thin line that formed the base could be a tail, or a handle, he sees the outline of a mace and muses to himself that his warrior’s blood hasn’t abandoned him yet. Unsatisfied, he looks again, thumb playing beneath the hem of her shirt as he tries different shapes: a scepter, a ladle, a— “A flower.”
It seems trite, but her smile against his shoulder tells him he’s on the right path. “Like the bouquet you smuggled into my room.”
He knows just the one she means. A humble bouquet of bright red flowers with broad, round leaves that had been more trouble than he could’ve ever imagined. “Those flowers,” Gorim chuckles, “they nearly tore the Assembly apart.”
“Most were only sore they didn’t think of it first,” she says. “Nothing they’d tried worked half as well.”
“I never told you this, but when I first left Orzammar, those flowers were one of the first things I saw.” Remembering brings a humorous tear to his eye, which he wipes away with the tip of a finger. “My first thought was that it had to be a sign, a sign that I would see you again. I’m not sure the ancestors send signs above ground, but if they did, I reasoned that they were probably the sort that grew out of it. My second thought was: that sodding merchant charged me that much for some weeds he picked off the side of the road?”
Tamar snorts against his shoulder, grin tempered by how she pushes it into the sleeve of his shirt. “Weeds or not, he picked them well. They were beautiful, even when they started wilting.”
“I was afraid you’d never throw them away.”
“I haven’t. One’s still pressed between the pages of a book somewhere, but if Bhelen ever finds it….” When she lapses into silence, it’s less warm than before. A slow sigh issues from her nose as she sits a little closer against him, nose pressing against his neck so every breath tickles his skin.
“They’ll be safe in the stars.” Gorim tugs her hips closer to his, planting a kiss on her hairline. “Not even your brother can reach them there.”
Elena woke with a start, her cheeks wet. Had she been crying in her sleep? Asleep next to her, Alistair murmured and rolled over. He started snoring lightly. He was so adorable when he was asleep; he looked younger, less worried, more like the young Grey Warden she had first met and not the king he was today.
She hadn’t woken up crying in years, not since the Archdemon dreams. No, this time it wasn’t the darkspawn that bothered her sleep; it was the faces of Oren and Oriana, her late nephew and sister in law, that haunted her. She had dreamed about finding them- dead- again, with her mother. In the dream, her mother had blamed her. Tears sprang to her eyes again. She didn’t want to wake Alistair, not when he needed his rest so badly, but she couldn’t stifle the accompanying sniffles. His snores stopped and he lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at her.
“Elena?” he asked. “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?” When she didn’t answer, he rolled to face her and lifted his hand to wipe her eyes.
“Is it- do you think-“ he started. “Is it the Calling?” When she shook her head, he looked relieved despite himself. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“I had a dream about my family,” she said. “The night Howe attacked.”
She had told him the broad strokes of the attack but had saved the details for herself. Elena had never been good with emotional conversations, and this was no exception. Alistair shifted closer to her and put his arm around her.
“Sometimes I have dreams about Ostagar,” he said. “I dream about Duncan dying on the field, alone.”
“It was my fault, though,” she said. “If I had been quicker to wake- or quicker to see Howe for what he was- they might be alive today.”
“I’m sorry,” Alistair said, looking unsure how to respond. “Would a sarcastic, self-deprecating comment make you feel better?” Elena laughed, wiping her eyes on her nightgown. (Not that she particularly wanted to wear a nightgown, but advisers barged in at all hours about matters of state, and it wouldn’t do for their queen to be in a full state of undress- as she had been told, repeatedly).
“I don’t think it was your fault, at all,” he said. “There’s no way you could have expected Howe to betray your family. You were so young. And besides, then Duncan wouldn’t have recruited you and you never would have met me.” Elena laughed again.
“Maker forbid,” she said. “I would have missed so many excellent jokes.”
He lightly kissed her forehead and drew her closer. Her stomach fluttered. After so many years, he could still make her feel like a teenager again. She sighed.
“I know, logically, that it wasn’t my fault,” she said, “but I still feel that way. Does that make sense?”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Alistair said. “I feel the same way about Ostagar. Like had we been quicker to light the tower, or had I demanded to be on the field with Duncan, things might have been different.”
“Had you been on the field with him, you likely would have died, too,” Elena said matter-of-factly. “And Ferelden would have missed out on a great king.” He smiled at her, looking into her eyes.
“No, they would have missed out on a great queen, and the poor sap she married,” he said. “Maybe talking to Fergus would help you. I’m sure he feels the same way.”
Elena wrinkled her nose. “I love Fergus, but we don’t really talk about emotions. We mainly talk about Mabari, and how old we’ve gotten, but never the attack.”
“Well, maybe you should start talking about it,” Alistair said. Elena put a hand on his cheek and kissed him slowly, savoring the moment alone- moments so rare nowadays. She turned over and Alistair pulled her closer, putting an arm over her. She would never forget what had happened that night, but for the moment at least it didn’t feel so close.
Thank you so much for the prompt (*blushes* and thank you for the compliment)!! Here is some Cathal Tabris x Morrigan angsty/fluff goodness!
10. ‘You nearly died’ kiss
A soothing cool was the first sensation he felt, followed by pain in his chest, his awareness slowly waking. Eyelids heavy, he blinked awake, seeing the familiar form of Wynne leaning over him, glowing with the Spirit of Faith as her hands traced over the no longer gaping wound through his torso.
He recalled what led to this. A darkspawn that had dropped from a crevice in the ceiling, too close to Morrigan, at her back. It was instinct that drove him to dive in between them and take the hit, twisting at an awkward angle to properly cover her.
That’s the last thing he remembered.
“Is he healed?” Morrigan asked Wynne, her voice tight and clipped.
Wynne backed away and nodded, removing her hands, the glow receding and replaced by a weariness that clung to her features. “It will be tender, but it’s done. Now if you will excuse me, Oghren owes me a drink.”
Wynne rose slowly and started down the tunnel, swaying against her staff.
Cathal looked up at Morrigan, trying to gage her mood. She looked…worried.
“I’m all right.” He said.
Morrigan kneeled down beside him and grabbed onto the edge of his armor in one smooth motion, pulling him upward from his place on the ground, eyes flashing as she yelled at him, the crackle of magic snapping around her in answer to her anger.
“You stupid, interfering!” Morrigan kissed him, hard and rough, pressing him back against the rock, shocking any words away he might have said. “– Idiot! You nearly died! Blast and Damnation! You-UGH!” She pushed him as she stood and stalked away, further down the tunnel to where several of their companions were scouting and guarding, their voices echoing back.
Cathal sat up, dazed, the events catching up to him, his mabari, Traitor, whining and licking the side of his face, now that Morrigan was gone. Cathal gently pushed him down, patting his head to let him know he was fine, causing the mabari to shake his nub of a tail so vigorously, his whole body shook.
Zevran sauntered over and offered Cathal a hand up.
“My friend, you have interesting taste in women.” Zev tilts his head, as Cathal stood and stretched out his muscles, testing the newly knitted skin and processing Morrigan’s reaction. “Though I think that may be her way of showing she cares.”
She really does care. Fuck if I know how that happened.
He smiled at the thought. “Don’t let her hear you say that, Zev.”
“Of course not, I value my life. You, on the other hand…”
Cathal laughed harshly. “We better catch up.”
They walked down the tunnel together, Traitor following behind them. Cathal could make out Morrigan, standing near Shale. He still had a fond smile on his face. She took one look, her eyes narrowing, and she glared daggers at him.
Oh, I’m in trouble. He thought, still smiling. Fuck, it’s worth it, I love her.
(A smattering from the untitled modern au I’ve been writing with @johaeryslavellan , which has - frankly - taken over my life for a bit. Featuring her OC Inky Tristan and my OC Inky Aran. These boys kill me.)
Tristan roared his frustration into his fist, letting his head fall to the desk. “I don’t fucking get it.”
Aran glanced over from the bed, setting his tablet to the side and rolled to go peer over Tristan’s shoulder. “You’re doing great. All those forms look right on and you’ve got some good insights on the damage-based runes there. Great arguments.”
“You’d think so. They’re your arguments.”
Aran quirked a brow, adjusting his glasses and bending closer. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, it’s been a while.” He sank to the floor next to Tristan, peering up at him. “Okay. So, here’s the thing, you’re coming at this like you’re me, but you’re not.”
“No kidding.”
“No, Tris, runes are pure and authentic. Each one speaks with its own fervency. I tend to look at them from an etymological point of view, but that’s not what you need. You need your own take on them.”
Tristan stared down at him. “I’m going out.”
“Hold on, hold on. Just…” Aran chewed his lip, leaning up to grab a pen from the desk. “Give me your arm.”
“Why?”
“Experiment.”
Cautiously, Tristan extended his arm to Aran’s hands and frowned.
“Okay. Close your eyes. Don’t think about this. Just feel. Breathe in… and out. Just settle in. Listen to my voice. Feel my fingers on your skin.”
“Now I just want to take you to bed,” Tristen rumbled.
“You didn’t before?” Aran asked, smiling against the inside of Tristan’s wrist and kissing the tender skin. “In. Calm and steady. Out. Let the air flow through you. In. Air is life. Out. Life is power. In. Let it bloom inside. Out. Let it release into the world. Now just let yourself feel. Feel and see what comes to you. Keep breathing. Nice and easy.” He smoothed his thumbs over Tristan’s forearm and began to draw.
“Ehwaz,” Tristan muttered, cheek pillowed on his wrist on the desk.
“What else? Whatever comes to your mind, let the thoughts come and go. No judgment. Just feel what you feel.”
“‘The mind trusts the body; the body trusts the mind’,” he quoted.
“Good, that’s good. That’s fine. Feel it. What does it say to you?”
His lashes fluttered softly against his cheeks. “It feels… open. Opening. Not sharp. Just... stable doors. When it’s summer and we have the whole day and it doesn’t take much to convince Almond to just run and run and run… it feels like a relief. Like I can feel how free and loose she is and the hills and gates are nothing to us…”
Aran could feel Tristan’s pulse loosening beneath his lips as he left off the first and started drawing a second rune.
“That’s… fuck, I don’t-“
“Just feel it. Let it speak through you, what it’s called doesn’t matter. Only what you feel. Your heart.” He kissed. “Listen. Breathe.”
“...seedlings? That doesn’t make sense. None of them-“ Tristan hummed softly in the back of his nose. “It feels like you.”
Aran lifted a brow. “Yeah, I’m drawing it, focus on the rune.”
“I am. It feels like you. Like… energy, raw energy, but soft. Not hurting. Just washing me along. Water and light, all flowing in one direction, a current, guiding… guiding… downstream, but there are no rules about where it can go, just out, through, around. No fences. No walls. No- there isn’t even that word. It’s just this feeling of… momentum building. And… that one is… possibility, but more than that… not only possibility. Inevitability. Returning to the same time, the same moment, but without anything that had been there before. Renewed. Blooming. Being. Being…” he exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers against Aran’s neck.
Aran pressed his cheek to Tristan’s palm, nuzzling the strong base of his thumb, tongue pressed to the back of his teeth as he drew another.
“This… this one…” Tristan opened his eyes, gazing down his arm to Aran and cupped his cheek.
Aran pressed his lips together against his skin. “Yes?” he whispered, then moaned as he was nudged back to the floor with Tristan falling over him.
“Be with me,” Tristan murmured against his neck, his hands working magic over Aran’s skin, skimming up under his shirt. “Be with me.”
“Yes,” Aran moaned again and let Tristan’s current carry them both away.
***
Later that afternoon, Tristan sat reviewing papers with Dorian, idly sketching on the back of his hand in between notes. Some of the essays were interesting, but mostly he wanted to shove them all into a bin and go home to work.
“What’s that you keep scribbling?”
“Hm?” Tristan glanced up, marking another point for Dorian to review. “Oh, it’s…” he looked down at the cluster of symbols on his skin. Symbols blurring together to form an image like a sunrise through fog. “I don’t know.”
“Fascinating. The word you’re looking for is: ‘fascinating’. May I?” Dorian took his hand gently to peer at the drawing, glancing up his arm at the other symbols drawn up towards his elbow. “My,” he breathed.
Tristan quirked a brow, trying to ignore the flutter the mage’s touch always seemed to invoke. “What?”
“I see how you used them now.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against the back of Tristan’s hand. “The way you’ve combined these runes… the combination itself is pedestrian, but the method is… stunning. Poetry.” He pushed a blank paper forward, “Do it here, again, and slowly. I want to see the layers as they emerge.”
Tristan swallowed. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No, of course not. Just do what you were doing again. No overthinking.” Dorian rubbed just hands together, grinning. “It’s something new. Organic. You’ve a gift with this, you know.”
Tristan bit his lip, eyed the image on his hand, exhaled, and began again.
“It’s protection, certainly,” Dorian murmured, watching as the lines set upon the page. “But it’s warm. Fluid. As though you’ve infused it with a resonance. Tender, and unyielding. You’re certain you’ve no connection to the Fade, not even a tiny bit? This is… Oh, it’s wonderful. Love, isn’t it? Preservation and growth, rather than stifling walls. You should be proud of this, very proud; astounding work. Are you?”
Tristan looked at the rune he’d built. And found that he was.
To the edge of your sky - Chapter 1: The man with the glowing hand
Summary: A terrible explosion brings together a blunt self-righteous Seeker with a passionate nature and a gracious but skeptical rebel mage. As they fight with their allies in the Inquisition to save the world, they will embrace new dreams and discover that where the sky begins, sorrow ends.
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742424
Chapter music: https://youtu.be/uDFpcSc7IcY
----------
Chaos and despair.
Every step she took on the path towards the destroyed Temple of Sacred Ashes made Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast lose her mind bit by bit.
What had happened? Who was behind it?
Why?
Those were all valid and important questions, demanding answers that she would unleash a hunt for. But as her stride brought her closer to the theater of disaster, the smell of burning flesh and debris overwhelmed her senses.
Her eyes moved frantically from the red and black flames to the vast green swirl that lit up the sky, oozing strange magic and terror. A wound so big that tore the heavens apart and shook the ground by touching it with veins of strange energy.
The thick smoke was making her cough. Cassandra covered her mouth and nostrils with a handkerchief to help herself breathe.
Justinia, I got to find her… And Galyan… Oh Maker, was he in the Temple or not?
She had heard nothing so far, not even a single plea for help or a scream. Only the echoes of the footsteps of the soldiers that joined her to scout the area. The all-consuming fire and the shuddering Breach cracklings were crashing her hopes about finding survivors.
A loud crack nearby broke her reverie and she felt a strong arm dragging her with haste as some burning debris collapsed where she had been standing.
"We can't go closer to the Temple, it will fall apart!" Cullen tugged her further away as he tried to catch his own breath. "We stay here and we die as well, come on!"
Justinia. Templars. Mages. All dead.
"Secure a perimeter to the Temple! Take cover! Make sure nobody approaches, it's too dangerous!" Cullen issued his orders to the soldiers and turned to her.
"Cassandra, I fear…" Cullen offered her a flask and she raised it to her lips without question. Whiskey, to clear the smoke in her throat and her mind. "I don't think anyone survived the explosion", he took the flask from her and drank as well.
Justinia. Templars. Mages. Galyan?
They were dead. The whole Conclave was dead.
The last effort to bring peace to Thedas was sabotaged and all she could do was stare at the tragedy and hear the wind howling as it dispersed hope and ashes around them.
A green explosion startled them, followed by a rift opening. By the time they had drawn their weapons, a Terror had already impaled an unlucky archer that stood closer to it.
"Demons! Formation behind me!" Cullen took a defensive stance as a Shade moved towards him. Cassandra snarled and lunged towards the Terror on her own, only to see it phase into the ground. She kept her guard by pivoting in her position. Moments later she heard a shriek and the Terror crystallized out of thin air, pouncing upon her before she could even blink.
"Die, you demon!" Cassandra kept deflecting its hits with her shield until it disappeared once more. Experience kicking in, she let out a powerful shout the moment it reappeared, hoping to taunt the Terror.
"Ugh, die already!"
She charged like a raging bronto, her longsword hitting the legs and torso of the demon, causing it to dissolve back into the rift, which seemed to calm down.
"This is bad. These rifts are all over the valley. We need to keep men here to fight demons as they appear!" Cullen still held his sword as he assessed the situation.
They stared at each other, sharing the unspoken unavoidable conclusion; more people would die to protect the survivors from the demons and anything else those rifts might bring.
There was no time to lose.
"I need to speak to Leliana at once."
And find Galyan
"I will dispatch soldiers at your disposal for dealing with the demons. Update me if you find anything," Cassandra started her jog down to the village. "And Cullen, please be careful, all of you" she addressed the soldiers and the Commander as she turned towards them. "We have no idea who and what we are up against."
She was Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker of Truth and the Hero of Orlais, and she would bring anyone who was responsible for this disaster to justice. She would behead them herself for crushing Justinia's crusade for peace and reforms, consequences be damned.
Maker help her, she hoped she had the strength to overcome this challenge.
~oOo~
Alexander Trevelyan had not imagined such an outcome when he joined the delegation of the mages as part of the former Circle of Ostwick to the Chantry Conclave. Nobody in Thedas could have imagined it.
Clad in borrowed scout armor with a random staff in hand and afflicted with a headache and various muscle strains, he followed the tenacious Seeker on the snow-covered mountain path that led to the Temple. The two of them along with Solas and Varric had just bid farewell to the missing scouts who had thanked her for their rescue.
"Thank our prisoner, lieutenant. He insisted we come this way."
Prisoner. He had been requested to resolve the dilemma between choosing the mountain path or attacking at the temple, he got the credit for the rescue of the scouts, but he was still her fucking prisoner. Perhaps a distinguished one, since he was allowed to carry a staff. He would play along for now, like he had agreed to do, following her lead and using his magic against rifts and demons. Until his judgment for a crime he had no memory of.
"There will be a trial, I can promise no more."
The Seeker navigated them, warning about slippery parts and falling ice stalactites, offering a helping hand to prevent missteps. And, Andraste preserve him, that bickering of hers with Varric about everything was making his headache worse. Ostensibly the dwarf had been also her prisoner; neither had kept their squabble a secret.
Was it a habit of hers, taking people as prisoners and interrogating them, just to satisfy her insatiable need for justice and penance? The last thing Alexander could recall from his memories before all went black was walking in the Temple. And then things chasing him and a woman in a mysterious form. When he regained his senses, another woman, tall, fierce, unyielding, with her hand on her sword, approaching him like her prey, threatening to kill him if he didn't give her the answers she was looking for.
But his answers had not been good enough for either of them. He had no recollection of how and why a strange green mark had suddenly appeared on his left hand or if it had caused the explosion that killed all those people.
Unable to get any explanations from him in shackles, the Seeker had released him from the heavy chains, pulled him on his feet and dragged him outside through the angry crowd of the people of Haven.
If by any chance they let him live, he would never forget the first time he saw the blinding light of the Breach that expanded till the edge of the sky. Even the worst curses he had heard from the witnesses of his exit from the holding cells could not taint that vision of green doom from his memory.
"They have decided your guilt."
Still, the reactions of the villagers were nothing like the voiceless shrieks from the dead bodies that laid before the gate to the valley. The screams and pleads to the Maker from soldiers that were running to save themselves. His own howls at every strong pulse from that green mark. The rapid explosions that could bring down a bridge and dozen more soldiers in the blink of an eye.
It was so bad that the Seeker had agreed to let him carry a staff not long after his interrogation had ended.
He could not blame her for being in a hurry to face this disaster. From what he gathered so far, she was the only one realizing what was at stake, reacting seriously and swiftly to the situation, unlike Chancellor Roderick who only wished for his execution in Val Royeaux. Her and Sister Leliana.
He could also see the strain on her face. Without question, the explosion did hurt her. She had lost the Divine, colleagues and perhaps friends. And now she had to tolerate the bitter presence of the lone survivor of that tragedy and protect him because his mark could close the rifts. Couldn't blame her, really.
"We need to keep moving." Cassandra urged them on.
His whole body was heaving from the exhaustion, despite the adrenaline rush. The interrogation, the three rifts, the strain and paralyzing pulses from the green mark – things kept happening so fast, taking a heavy toll on his body and mind. He was able to stand more than a fighting chance, but not today.
And he was hungry, so fucking hungry, but like hell he would admit a weakness to her.
"Down the ladder. That's the way to the temple." Cassandra descended and he prayed he could make it down there without collapsing.
"The Temple of Sacred Ashes." Solas commented.
"What's left of it." Varric whispered full of dread.
Maker! He could only gape at the sight before him. Maker help them all…
How did he even emerge from this catastrophe in one piece?!
Alexander observed the strange rock formations that surrounded the ruins. The discussion between Varric and Solas about the circumstances of the explosion caught his ear. If he were to survive this mission, he would like a chance to converse with the mysterious elven apostate in detail about his informed and rather fitting explanations.
"That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you." Cassandra approached him. "They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was."
The corpses of the victims were still burning, condemned in an endless torture for their sins, for their hopes for peace between mages and templars. They didn't deserve this fate, no.
"You're here! Thank the Maker." Leliana approached from behind with some soldiers.
"Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple." Cassandra issued her commands. "This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?"
"I'm not sure how to even start getting up to that thing." Alexander looked up to the rift, unable to form an effective strategy.
"No. This rift was the first and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach." Solas insisted.
"Then let's find a way down", Cassandra's gaze locked with his. "And be careful."
They moved further inside, walking through red lyrium, hearing echoes from the fade. A deep intimidating voice mentioning a sacrifice and then a female voice yelling for help.
"That is Divine Justinia's voice!" yelled Cassandra.
"What's going on here?"
"That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…" Cassandra's desperate plea for answers was interrupted by more intense ghostly echoes of the Divine engulfed in red energy and a looming dark figure with glowing red eyes. A flash of white and the echoes disappeared.
"You were there! Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?" Cassandra snarled at him in vain.
"I don't remember!"
Maker, it was futile to prove he was not behind this tragedy. Cassandra could go on accusing him and he could go on responding in every possible manner that he had no memory of any of it.
"Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place." Solas quickly reminded them what was at stake as the soldiers stood around them with their weapons drawn.
"This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily. I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely. However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side."
"That means demons. Stand ready!" Cassandra unsheathed her sword and took a battle stance by his side. Of course, her primary task would be to protect the prisoner with the glowing hand long enough to close the rift and then throw him away like a rag for his trial.
Damn the Seeker and the Chantry and their modus operandi against mages. Right now, the only thing that mattered was to fight that Pride demon and close the rift. However, if he made it out of this battle alive, he would fight for his freedom and his rights, for justice for the mages. That was a promise.
~3 days later~
He didn't mean to scare the elven servant, but he had woken up with a headache and a soreness in most of his body parts. He poured himself some water and grabbed some bites from the food tray nearby. He wasn't really hungry, but his inner mouth felt like stale bread and he wanted all of his senses back up and running at once.
"I'm sure Lady Cassandra will want to know you've wakened. She said 'at once'!"
"And where is she?"
"In the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. 'At once,' she said!"
The scared servant had run off, probably to alert the Seeker that he was awake. He stretched his limps and tested his walk as he got off the bed after 3 days, if the elf was telling him the truth. Running his hands through his hair, he realized with wonder that they were clean and free of whatever shit had landed on him during the battle with the Pride demon.
Alexander found his armor clean and draped over the back of a chair. Perhaps he could ask what had happened to his robes, if he got a chance. The basin with clean water and a cloth on the desk were another welcome surprise.
Huh.
He picked a note that lied on the desk.
'Patient Observations
Vain hope: Someone better at this than me takes over before the survivor expires. Notes in case.
—Day One—
Clammy. Shallow breathing. Pulse over-fast. Not responsive. Pupils dilated.
Mage says his/her scarring "mark" is thrumming with unknown magic.
Wish we could station a templar in here, just in case.'
Of course they would wish for a templar to keep an eye on the dangerous mage.
Alexander put on the armor. Time to meet Seeker Pentaghast and get some answers. The Circles were no more and like hell he would put up with a glorified templar ordering him around like a puppet.
He opened the cabin door. Twenty Fereldan soldiers were lining the path starting from the cabin, saluting him with their fists on their chests, surrounded by a small crowd of people.
"That's him, that's the Herald of Andraste!"
"Why did Lady Cassandra have him in chains? Andraste herself blessed him!"
The people of Haven stood in attention, bowing their heads in respect and offering him their blessings as he made his way through the crowd to the Chantry.
"Blessings upon you, Herald of Andraste!"
Herald of… Andraste?
He kept walking in awe as people commented on his deeds and showered him with words of encouragement, instead of yells and spit. The revered mothers and clerics stood before the Chantry entrance, arguing about Chancellor Roderick and their lack of leadership. A flock of babbling hens, if you asked him, who were foolishly ignoring the imminent danger that was more than visible and were focusing on who would sign their chantry appointments. Barely a week since Justinia and all those Conclave attendants had perished.
Alexander raised his eyes to the sky where the Breach moved like it was about to shallow everything. The images of the devastation in the Temple and the echoes from the Fade were enough to motivate him do his part. He would not ignore this threat. He could not. If it grew, it would literally end Thedas and they were all doomed, mages and templars, soldiers and farmers, humans, dwarves and elves, commoners and nobles alike.
The doors closed behind him as he entered the Chantry and Alexander inhaled long and deep. He would help the Seeker against this threat with every bit of himself, but he would demand respect and fair treatment. And freedom. He was a Senior Enchanter of the former Circle of Ostwick, not some prisoner to be flaunted around from the leftovers of the Chantry. As long as he was the key to closing those rifts, he would be their equal.
After all, he was 'the man with the glowing hand', as Varric had put it and nobody would ignore his only leverage.
The closer he got to the end of the hall of the Chantry, the louder Seeker's voice was booming from inside the room, steady and passionate. So were the Chancellor's yells as well.
"Have you gone completely mad? He should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine."
"I do not believe he is guilty."
Cassandra was facing off with Chancellor Roderick about… him?
"The prisoner failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, he intended it this way."
"I do not believe that."
"That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to the serve the Chantry."
"My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours."
And she believed him to be… innocent?
Huh.
Time to join this meeting himself and see what had changed during his long sleep.
~oOo~
Cassandra entered the Singing Maiden and headed for the table with the big comfortable chairs near the fireplace that was thankfully empty. She could use the heat right now. And some warm food. And a good drink. Or two.
Earlier that day, the Inquisition was founded again by her and Leliana, with support from Ambassador Montilyet, Commander Cullen Rutherford and of course the Herald of Andraste. Using the authority granted to her and Leliana by Justinia's writ. Maker help her, she hoped she was doing the right thing.
No. They were doing the right thing. At least they were acting. Because if they didn't, it would be too late. She had no doubt of the latter. No matter what it took.
"Good evening Lady Pentaghast, can I get you anything?" Flissa smiled nervously at her as she approached.
It had been a very, very long day.
Wine, I should drink wine
"Is there wine?"
Flissa bit her lower lip. "Spiced w-wine only."
"It'll do. And whatever warm food you have."
"Got Fereldan stew and-"
"Stew will do, thank you Flissa" Cassandra nodded.
"Be right b-back with your food and wine, Lady Pentaghast." Flissa hurried back to her post.
Cassandra took off her gloves and leaned back at her seat, taking in the people in the tavern. Recruits, soldiers, a couple of scouts and few villagers were unwinding, unaware of the long way they had ahead of them, of what the Inquisition meant.
A recruit entered the tavern in a hurry and conversed with Flissa. She hoped it would not take long. She had eaten nothing since morning.
Right then, Trevelyan opened the door. He nodded at her and went also to talk to Flissa. Flissa smiled nervously at him and went on rambling about something, delaying further the serving of her meal. Then he replied and Flissa giggled.
Cassandra was starving and those two were flirting with each other.
Maker help her, she wanted to punch something. Or someone.
Their chit chat ended, and the Herald scanned the tavern, looking everywhere and lastly to her. Apparently having a dinner and some wine alone was a privilege. So be it.
"May I sit?" Trevelyan asked in a cordial tone.
Cassandra gestured impassively and braced herself for awkward silence.
"Here is your stew and wine, Lady Pentaghast." Flissa served her and placed an ale in front of Trevelyan as well. "Would you like some food, Lord Herald?"
"Yes please, stew and any roasted meat, if there is any." Trevelyan drank half of his ale at a gulp and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. Despite her treating him like a mass murderer until few days ago, he had been hesitant but considerate the whole day.
"It is a good idea to eat a large meal, you will need your strength the following days as we travel through the Hinterlands." Cassandra said between swallowing spoonfuls of stew.
"I have been a rebel battlemage for quite some time, Lady Seeker. I can survive in the wilderness. Have some faith." Trevelyan regarded her curiously.
The arrival of his meal halted momentarily any reply she could have given him and they dined in silence, accompanied by the chatter around them and the bard's song.
Cassandra leaned back in her chair and studied the Herald. By every standard, he was a good-looking man, with greenish eyes and rich dark blond hair at mid neck length, held back in a half ponytail. He had a beard and his hands were calloused with chilblains. She made a mental note to urge him to find some gloves. No harm should happen to him, his mark was the most important weapon.
Trevelyan finished his ale and turned to ask Flissa for another. Cassandra also raised her glass signaling for a refill.
"Could you explain something to me, Lady Pentaghast?" Trevelyan seemed to ponder on his words, even after her curt acknowledgement of his request. "What made you change your mind about me?"
"What I told you this morning, Herald. Perhaps I am mistaken again. Your actions will show what you truly are. But right now, you are the person we need, that this world needs to close the Breach and restore order."
Trevelyan tilted his head slightly to his left and locked his gaze to hers. He was careful, perhaps too careful, calculating even. She had to pay close attention to everything he would say.
"And I agreed to help you fix this." He lifted his left palm. "You need this, the world needs it."
Their drinks arrived and this time Trevelyan did not devour his ale fast. Perceptive, that one. Patient when he chose to be.
The urge to punch something started to grow inside her again.
"Spit it out Herald, I don't have all night for your musings." Cassandra squinted her eyes.
"The Circles are no more. I take no orders from Templars or Seekers." The Herald leaned forward, pinning her in her place with those fiery green eyes of his. "I will respect any tactical decisions as your equal and will follow you in battle and fight with you and the Inquisition for now, until we close the Breach and find who is behind this. Because you are the only ones that intend to deal with it and I will do whatever I can, you have my word. But after that, I'm gone." He snapped his fingers and relaxed his posture, sipping his ale.
Cassandra had to hand it to him. Few people had the gall to address her with an attitude stripped of fear.
"I hope you keep that bravado for the demons we will encounter the next days, Herald, you will need it." Cassandra finished her wine and got up from her chair. "I gave you my word and sealed our agreement with a handshake and I take my promises seriously."
"I am aware of that and appreciate it. You need to understand Lady Seeker, during the mage-templar war a promise meant nothing, so the past years have made me rightfully wary. But I hope I will be pleasantly surprised for a change." Trevelyan declared.
"Nothing surprises me in the world anymore. Goodnight, Herald." Cassandra said.
"Lady Pentaghast." Trevelyan raised his mug with a tight smile and released her from his glare.
Cassandra left the tavern with a belly full of food and a feeling of terror unbeknownst to her. There was something about Trevelyan that made her fear him since the moment she laid eyes on him. Only a handful of people had managed to flare up that dreadful reaction inside her and she didn't like it at all, no.
After she undressed in the room that she and Leliana shared, she did the only thing she could. She fell to her knees and prayed to the Maker for guidance, for a clear mind, for a heart that would neither harm a man that seemed to be innocent nor fall for any of his tricks and games.
Andraste preserve her, the war they had declared against chaos and despair would be a long one.
[Revised a short drabble I did for a DA reddit prompt. Anders POV. Hawke left mostly ambiguous but for gender and eye color.]
Prompt 5: darkness, the smell of stale whiskey and rot
Darkness.
Damp nothingness penetrated the regrettably thin layer of his tunic and curling his arms tighter around himself granted no relief, only fleeting comfort.
Anders strained his ears to listen. For anything. A breath, the shuffle of feet, a distant cough.
"Hello?" His voice called out with trepidation and a sliver of hope.
Nothing. Nothing answered but suffocating silence. Not even his own echoed words could reach Anders in the hollow void that engulfed him. Hands splayed and pushed against the cold stone to find it stationary, unmoving, yet closing in all the same. Harried and tense breaths carried to his senses the nauseating stench of whiskey, stale, and long gone off. The stagnant air choked him with the overpowering smell of rot - of being forgotten. His lungs constricted, leaving him dizzy and gasping, fighting the urge to retch and empty his stomach of what minuscule contents it held. A rapidly beating heart threatened its prison of flesh and bone as it thudded violently against his ribcage.
It was an oppressive blackness. It held him helplessly captive as it pressed against him like a thick, musty blanket that clung to every inch of his skin - skin that was cold and clammy, dampened by sweat in his fright. Anders found little solace in folding into himself with his head enveloped by his hands, desperately clawing at the increasing hysteria.
"Shhh."
A tender voice cooed, mercifully intruding upon the bleak expanse and kissing his thoughts like a mother's gentle whisper.
"Shh. It is alright now, mage. It's okay. You are safe. You're okay."
The voice - voices - with their words held the gnashing jaws of despair at bay, and the dark curtain stretching out before him finally parted. Light filtered through the dense gloom and brushed against his cheek as he raised his head and then his body to greet it.
"I'm here. I've got you."
Soothing sounds continued to beckon him towards the unknown, new darkness - soft and hopeful and only a silhouette against a flickering orange glow that bloomed the closer he got. Colour washed away the shades of charcoal and stretched out to take hold of him. Arms. They were arms, pulling him and closing around him until he could feel the warmth and solidity beneath his own body.
When spice and sweat filled his nose, the haze lifted, and he opened his eyes. Beneath an unruly mop of hair were eyes bluer than the Waking Sea brimming with concern.
"... Hawke?" The name was little more than a croak uttered in his waking state.
"Hey,” Hawke whispered, and in the dim light Anders could vaguely make out the distraught frown on his lover’s face as it eased into a hesitant smile. “You okay? You were shouting and shaking in your sleep. Bad dreams?"
It's fine, Anders thought. Despite the building pressure and dull throbbing in his head, he was fine. Everything was alright now, at least until the day it no longer was. That day would come, not today, not tomorrow, but it would.
"Sorry. Yes, I didn't mean to wake you..."
"Anders, it’s okay. You don't have to apologize." Hawke’s lips brushed his temple and against his brow as a calloused hand grazed across his cheek. Fingers knitted themselves in his hair and massaged his scalp in soothing strokes.
He felt his heartbeat settle into a much calmer rhythm finally and Justice was little more than a faint hum in the back of his thoughts. "I know... I'm alright, love. Thank you."
“Good. Had me worried you know.”
Anders nodded solemnly, ignoring the more profound concern in his lover's face and let his eyes close again. He resisted succumbing to his exhaustion, if only out of distrust that his own mind would thrust him back into unrelenting darkness, or wherever it may take him this time. He didn't, however, protest being held, not with one hand cradling his head and the other drawing small circles into his back. Anders nestled in closer, burying his face in Hawke's chest, Hawke who was solid and warm and real.
Losing sleep was a small sacrifice to make, if it meant not being stolen away from this to face his demons, even for a moment.
text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "@writingdragonage is THE most underrated blog in the fandom. They work so hard to read and tag everything for the viewer's convenience. You're missing out if you don't follow them."
Rules: tag 10 people you would like to know better
@pikestaff @argentis @orodrethsgeek @ladysmaragdina @pathopharmacology @ironthoughts @paksarra, @brittieslifeasiknowit, whoever’s behind @writingdragonage (whO ARE YOU, MYSTERIOUS PERTH PERSON), aaaand -- @medicinaldog, who’s followed me for literally years now and who I have barely ever spoken to who is this doggy stranger
Birthday: May 29
Gender: female
Relationship status: Single, but I’m a demi aroace so.
Zodiac sign: Since it says “star sign” later I’m assuming Chinese Zodiac? I’m a Monkey.
Siblings: 22YO bro.
Wake up time: These days it’s 10-11AM. Unless I’ve woken up early and can’t get back to sleep, in which case it’s 4-5AM.
Lemonade or sweet tea: Neither, I only drink water except on special occasions.
Day or night: Both.
Coke or pepsi: Neither.
Calls or texts: Texts, dear god please, I hate calls.
Met a celebrity: Nope. Closest I’ve come was being in the same building during Supanova lmfao.
Also not a celebrity but I once worked as a server at an event Brendan Nelson talked to. He later became leader of the opposition party, and then got kicked out in a spill, because Australia.
Smile or eyes: Smile.
Country or city: City, if it’s not gross and polluted, otherwise country.
Last song I listened to: "Let It Go” -- that youtube video where a line is sung in a different language.
Nickname: Dusty, Dustbuster.
Star sign: Gemini.
Height: 5′3
Time right now: 11:17AM
Favourite music artist(s): Poets of the Fall. (Omg, they released a new album last year and I was so sick I never checked it out!)
Song stuck in your head: "Rumors” -- Poets of the Fall
Last movie watched: I can’t remember. I think it was Star Wars ep 7?
Last tv show watched: Ghost Whisperer
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When did you create your blog: Yeesh, um. Back in 2011, I think? I don’t know how to check for sure.
What kind of stuff do you post: Reblog spam, “this crawled up my ass and I need to wordvomit about it”, Feminism, Aussie-related stuff,
Do you have any other blogs moved to / saved URL: ... Eh?
If this means other blogs -- I’ve applied to be a mod at @writingdragonage. I also run @fckyoupain and @muserampant.
Do you get asks regularly: Nah, but I semi-regularly get messages and when I do get asks they tend to happen in a feast/famine kinda way.
Why did you chose your URL: I went on a TFP binge a couple years ago and my favourite character is Soundwave, who I realised was basically a robotic Slenderman, so... Robotslenderman!
I wanted @stilettoheeledfreak because someone referred to Starscream that way, but it was taken at the time so I had it as stiletto-heeled-freak, but that meant I didn’t get notified half the time someone tagged me so @robotslenderman it was!
It’s the URL I’ve had for the longest in all my time on Tumblr, I think. Except maybe @priestoftime, which is now taken by someone else, and was what my class/title would be in Homestuck (though priest isn’t a canon class).
Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw for life!
Pokemon team: Not “officially” in any of the game, but I’ve had several equivalent of Pikachus over the years that if I lived in the pokeverse they’d all be on my team -- Peebee, the Zigzagoon; a breloom; skarmory; and an umbreon. That’s just four, but the fifth might be a pidgeot.
Favorite color: Purple. No matter how much I or my tastes have changed over the years, purple will always be my favourite colour.
Average hours of sleep: 9/10 if I don’t have sleep problems. Anything less than 9 and I really feel it.
Favourite characters: Dorian Pavus, Garrus Vakarian, Daud, Billie Lurk. Liriel Lavellan is mine, but she’s as beloved to me as if she was canon, along with @orodrethsgeek Mahanon and Lahariel (and, of course, the three of them aren’t complete with their favourite stupid egg wolf Solas).
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Dream job: Independent, episodic writer -- I’ve daydreamed for years about writing an episodic web series and drawing the art for it, too, just based on a single universe. I started working on the art but then I got sick. Despite that, I never started writing it.
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