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an archive for a dragon age / modern au OC of mine.
absolutely none of it is in chronological order.
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Cullen and Beau commiserate weird relationships
done by Sam but I can never find things on her blog
“Commander?” There was a hint of concern in her voice as she watched the ex-templar shuffle from foot to foot in her doorway. His cheeks flushed and he ducked his head, leather glove creaking from his grip on her doorframe. Her brows raised as she regarded him. “Is everything alright?”
“Not rea-I’m not sure.”
Beau closed her book, before nodding to him. “Come in, lock the door. I’ll make us some tea.”
She moved from her desk to the small workstation in the corner, listening to him within the confines of her office. He settled on her chaise, and she enjoyed his startled squeak, quickly muffled by a cough, as Baldoin growled lowly from under her desk at him.
“He’s getting very large.” She heard him offer meekly.
Beau couldn’t help but smile as her fingers smoothed over the beaten metal teapot, and she cradled the water filled container between her palms. “He gets bigger every day.” She replied with a soft chuckle. He was no larger than a goose, but the phoenix was still very young and from what she had read of, he was going to be very large when he was fully grown. “But he appears to be very mild considering the testimonies I’ve been looking over.”
She exhaled softly through her nose, concentrating on the water. The magic was coming easier the more she practiced, but the thought of anything but a purely practical application terrified her. She felt it grow warm between her hands, and she let it go once it became unbearable to touch. The herbs came next, held in tiny silk pouches with a few slivers of her block of tea. Emberium for her, a strong blend of prophet’s laurel, foxmint, chamomile and valerian root for him. Finally everything in a pair of the heavy glazed earthenware cups she kept specifically for these occasions. A dollop of creamed honey topped both of them off with a stir to help maks the bitter nature of the herbs.
“It’s for the headache,” She offered the mug to him, seating herself on the other end of the settee. It had started with headache remedies, then sleeplessness, and she began to piece things together. After all, he was a templar no longer, and he struck her as stronger than an addiction. However, this felt different. “Though, I feel like that’s not why you came tonight.”
The crown of his head rested on the stone wall and he sighed deeply, leaving the medic to watch him curiously. “I’ve been…feeling.”
She felt a small pang of kinship for the man. Feeling was something she was too familiar with of late. “Feeling?” She prompted gently, hoping he would continue. If she pushed too hard, he would clam up like he usually did when he came by for his tea.
“She makes me feel.” He spoke simply, then sipped at his tea, frowning into the dark mug. “I wasn’t certain if I could feel like that again. I had thought that part of me dead.” He sighed through his nose, and she remained silent, praying he continued. “I want to shout her name from the battlements, I want to show her to all that would see her.” Cullen looked back up at her, and she had to reach out to touch a hand to his shoulder. His words, in most situations would be joyful, this however, felt bittersweet. There was a pain in his expression, a pain she felt so keenly in her own chest.
Her own voice was soft, nearly inaudible in the warm room. “Love, though wonderful, can be a cruel emotion. You…feel so helpless to your own heart. How no matter how you try to guard yourself, everything they do, every gesture, every touch reinforces that feeling deeper and deeper until it’s a mark on your very soul.” She watched his expression fall, and she nodded slightly. “You’re not alone in your suffering Commander.”
“She asked me to keep it a secret.” It was a confession that tore at her heart, and she felt her fingers curl into the furred ruff of his coat. “Someone finally sees me as myself rather than my title. She’s so different from the moony girls who sought me out before. She asked me to keep us a secret.” There was a warble in his voice, so apparent even he seemed to take notice and drank deeply from his mug.
“I want to tell him how I feel.” Beau offered, and she watched his gaze fall on her, feeling her cheeks flush. She hadn’t spoken about it before, but his vulnerability made her feel like she needed to share. Like she needed to assure him that his feelings were valid and felt by others too. “But we are such different people, from very different walks of life. He brings this light into my life I thought had been snuffed out. He’s so observant…but sometimes I feel like, he doesn’t realize the depths of what he means to me.” She dropped her gaze, before taking a deep sip of her still bitter tea.
“Now, I feel like I will have to let you down gently. I am a spoken for man, madam.”
Beau choked on her tea, her head snapping up to look at the commander, who was struggling to keep the serious expression on his face. He had managed, with a single statement, to clear the melancholy over both of them. She felt the giggles burble up and he joined her in the laughter, the pair of them doubled over their cups.
“Commander!”
His shoulders shook and he dragged a gloved hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed with laughter and embarrassment. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself. He must be a lucky man to have your affections.” The pair continued to chuckle, an honest moment of camaraderie amidst heavy feelings.
Another long drink of her tea, and she turned once more to regard the ex-templar with a curious gaze. “I need to ask though.” He glanced over to her, raising a brow as he urged her to continue. “Is she worth it?”
His eyes shut, and she could see the dark marks of sleeplessness that marked circles above his cheeks. He spent several seconds in the silent repose before he spoke, his voice full of emotion. “She is worth every ounce of pain she brings me. And then some.”
Whoever she was was blessed to have a man this devoted to her. Perhaps she didn’t realize how deep that river ran, but it would be hard for her not to notice. He was not a man able to hide his feelings well.
The medic bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “Everything is stacked against us, but we’ve found ways to soldier on. This love in your heart. It’s a good thing. It’s just an unfortunate situation we, as a whole, are in.” Her diagnosis was for herself as much as him. It hurt, and his shoulders slumped. “But, why not take what little good when you can? What’s stopping us from seizing these precious moments and holding them dear. Every day we’re planning for the future, sometimes we need to live in the now.”
“But what if i want the future?” It was a small question, one that she felt echoed in the depths of her soul.
“Sometimes we don’t have a choice. It’s the very nature of this situation. Falling in love in the middle of a war is a fool’s errand.”
There was a small, self deprecating crook of a smile that curved his lip and he gave her a soft laugh, raising his mug to her. “To the love that makes fools of us both.”
She clinked her own gently against his. “I can drink to that Commander.”
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Beau tries to convince cullen not to date raya
done by Sam but I can never find things on her blog
Cullen’s eyes were wide with worry as she stepped back into the small office space and she watched him shift a little helplessly under the Phoenix’s bulk. “Did you…?” his voice was small, but had none of the rasp of smoke breath it had before. The honey and tonic must have been working.
“How are you feeling?” despite the thickness in her voice, she still remained coolly professional. Or would have been if the wet tracks down her face weren’t a telltale giveaway.
“Better, the tea has helped…are you crying?”
Beau’s hands few up to scrub at her wet eyes, and she sniffled audibly. “I think I may have said some things I regret.” The confession was small, her accent thick with tears. She shut the door and seated herself beside the Commander. He yelped slightly as Baldoin shifted across his lap, drawing himself onto the Medic’s thighs, chittering softly to her.
He could sense her turmoil, splaying himself out over both of their thighs, tail curled possessively about the pair of them.
She curled her fingers in the Phoenix’s feathers, stroking the creature until it trilled. “But I still feel strongly on others.” Beau’s expression remained strictly neutral and she continued to rub her fingers in Baldoin’s silky plumage. “I rescind everything I said before. She isn’t good for you Commander. Not if this is how it is going to happen.” She exhaled sharply, shutting her eyes. “Shes a danger to even herself is she doesn’t get her temper in check. I understand yelling, but magic shouldn’t be used in anger.”
She bit down hard on her lip, and didn’t dare look at the man beside her. He had looked crestfallen when she had entered, let alone with what she was telling him. She knew the depths he cared. He had explained it several times during some of their tea chats. “I cant stop you Commander.” Her voice was soft, and she shook her head. “You’re a grown man and capable of your own decisions.” She exhaled softly and as she heard him breathe in to speak, cut him off once more.
“However, Cullen.” His name tasted strange on her tongue, thick and wrong. But she needed the effect, and she reached out a shaking gloved hand to touch his. “As your friend. I just want you to be careful.”
All his bluster deflated, and she could see the exhaustion once more lining his face. Cullen’s shoulders slumped and he leaned against the mage’s. “It’s never that easy.”
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modern au
done by Sam but I can never find things on her blog
This whole thing felt childish. She was too old to be playing princess dress up, but here she was, in a rented dress, browsing the stalls with Raya. The smaller girl had insisted on matching flower crowns for the pair of them, and she wasn’t one to turn down anything Raya asked for. Which was why she was here in the first place. The blonde girl had practically begged, on one of her rare days off, to accompany her. There was shopping to be done and cute boys to oogle.
Raya fingered another pendant longingly, and as she moved over to look at a batch of LARP approved weapons, Beau slid the bills towards the merchant. The pendant was safely tucked away in her satchel and Beau mouthed a thank you to the man before resuming her position at her companion’s side. The girl was hefting foam swords, testing their weight, and the doctor leaned her hip against the table, arms crossed against her ribcage.
She would have to admit, some of the costumes she saw were exquisite, a few fairies, a couple of belly dancers, she was pretty sure there was a Marie Antoinette roaming around. People twice her age were dressed as fantastical fantasy creatures, of knights and maidens and she was fairly certain that was a dragon. Perhaps actually creating a costume wouldn’t be bad. Especially with the fact Fahleon worked here, it’d be one more opportunity to spend what little free time she had with her friends.
Flurry of green caught and drew her attention. She found her intrigue drawn outside of the market, a distance from the main thoroughfare, where a few tents had been pitched and a dead fire pit was theatrically set up. Two men were sparring there, their green skin gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun.
One was smaller, more compact and lithe in a loose linen shirt and trousers, however, his weapon was what stood out most to her. The hammer he wielded would almost be classified as comically large, if it didn’t swing like it had deadly weight to it. But it was his sparring partner that really took her breath away.
Beau’s hand swung out and she caught a fistfull of Raya’s dress. Her eyes never strayed from her prize, but she spoke to the younger girl. “Who, is that?”
“What, you mean The Iron Bull?”
Beau’s brows rose and she shifted to sit a little straighter. He was a magnificent specimen, tall and broad and strong, with thickly muscled arms. He wore loose pants, and if her eyes didn’t deceive her, an eyepatch. He flexed and bellowed, his nearly as large and deadly Axe crashing against the smaller mans.
“Yeah, him.”
“He leads the Chargers, they’re the battle’s villains. It’s like the highlight of the weekend for some if you fight. They’re really strong.”
“Battle?” Her brow furrowed before she felt the grin split her face. “Spoils of war are a thing right? Raya, hand me a sword.”
“Beau.” The word was small, but a warning nonetheless.
“I’m going to take him down.”
“Beau no.”
“BEAU YES!”
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done by Sam but I can’t ever find anything on her blog
She wasn’t mad. That was a relief.
But the blood flowing down her cheek did nothing to soothe Beau’s nerves as she shushed the shorter girl. “A healer should never harm.” Her words were soft and she cradled the Elfling’s face in her hands, chewing her own lip as she examined her. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, it wouldn’t require stitching. But her cheek was wet with blood, and the very idea of it being from her own hand distressed the orlesian more than she thought it would. “I’m so sorry.”
Raya caught her wrists in her own small hands, just holding onto the healer as she hummed and looked over her face. “It’s okay. You did good. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. Don’t feel guilty about this.”
Even the encouragement did nothing to quell the disgust, her eyes watering. “But I did. I do.” Her words were small and warbled.
The healing came far more naturally than the frost had, bubbling up inside of her like a spring. She could tap into it without any hesitation. It was like breathing. She felt the shudder, the pins and needles that accompanied her magics, and watched the slash knit back together slowly.
Healing required a delicate touch, enough magic for it to work, without pushing too much in at once. Healing too quickly was painful and sloppy, leaving scars and damaged nerves, and she hated doing things that way.
A pale thumb smoothed over the soft tan of her cheek, just below the wound as she worked, following the slow ministrations of the magic. She had just been so frustrated, so fed up with the other girl’s antics and jabbing. She hadn’t even realized it had happened, just the faint chilled burning at her fingertips. The idea of her doing it again made her stomach roll.
“Just because I want to learn, doesn’t mean I’m going to like it.” Beau gave a small huff of annoyance at the stupid smile that curved over the younger girl’s lips. “I just don’t want to be a burden to protect for anyone again.”
“At least you didn’t take out a window.”
Beau gave a soft laugh, shaking her head and bumping her forehead to the other mage’s as her healing finished. “No, I guess I didn’t.”
Learn Quick
They had made extra sure to be in the safest place possible for this, and yet, she was sure someone would yell at her for the broken window.
Beau looked at her as though she’d grown another head before her but she just glowered at the window a lingering moment longer before shifting her eyes to the other,
“At no point did I say I would teach you to aim. Clearly I can’t.”
It started with a snicker, then a return, before ending in full laughter. After dying down a bit, and shooing off those who stared at them, Raya gave a nod and struck Beau stark straight with nerves.
“S’okay. Just try.” She moves out of the way for the other to attempt what ever she could.
“Oh! A-Okay…” eyes wide and body much too stiff, she tried -very visibly- to focus anything but healing to her hands, to the point of shaking even. She hadn’t noticed she was holding her breath with effort until she heated Raya’s sigh.
In self-defeat, she huffed it out and shook out her hand,
“Raya, I don’t think this is possible… how am I to even do this with out a stave?”
Raya tilted her chin up and eyes down at her even though she was taller, making her feel small.
“How do you supposed the magic gets there?” She stayed silent as the answer seemed obvious and not in her favor, “it has to go through your hands first…. The time for circle training is at an end, and will not always have a fancy stick to protect yourself with. It’s a hindrance in my opinion, something the circles made mages believe to keep them reigned in,” beau feared she might even lash out, with the disgust on her face but instead of directing her attach at her, Raya Aimee it at the line of dummies. A swift wave, something of a backhand, and a lash of fire was sent towards them and scorched their faces and the wall behind them.
“Think of something you hate more than anything in the world.” She stared at the dummies, visible hate seething through her eyes at them, “I see my father, it gives me the strength to attach and not question my ability.”
They looked at each-other for a moment, beau in growing anxiety and Raya’s face softening nearly to pity,
“Tell me what you hate…”
“I don-“
“There has to be something.”
Beau looked about, trying to decide d there was anything she hated with the same force Raya seemed to be able to and cane up at a loss. She watched the younger handling kick around in the dirt while waiting for an answer and wrinkled her nose at it,
“Being dirty.”
Raya laughed, making her feel a bit ashamed of her answer but Raya waved it off as she settled into chuckles,
“No, no, please… that’s just as valid,” she snorted a bit in trying not to laugh again, “I’m just … not shocked I guess?”
She wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye and seemed far too amused for Beau’s liking, at least for this particular lesson, and pointed at the scorched dummies,
“Pretend, sew in your head, that they’re ready to pelt you with mud. Focus the idea of protecting yourself from it into your hands and throw it at them.”
Raya watched patiently, leaning against the wall the were nearest, keeping an eye on Beau’s struggle to get the right emotion. She seemed almost too happy that he hands steamed n the outside chill but the emotion died on her face when she turned back to Raya for praise. She couldn’t tell if she was angry or confused but shoving off the wall and stepping into the training area didn’t seem like a good sign to her.
“Raya? What are you doing?”
Raya smirked back at her and she felt a lump raise in her throat.
“Getting you angry.” Her eyes lit up in fear at the possibility of what that would entail; she wanted to run then.
Raya, quicker than way could run away, scooped dirt and what ever else decided to mix with it, into her hands and pelted it at Beau’s clothes.
She streaked and set to trying to while it off with clear anxieties.
“Stop cleaning it and hit me!” Raya snarled and Beau’s eyes zeroed in on the fire roaring in her hand before she pitched it at her,
“Stop trying to help and clean, no more shields, HIT ME!” She already had another fire ball lit before the first blasted into the wall and Beau shrieked, throwing up her hands and trying to block her face even though she shook down to her core. The following blast scorched the corner hem of her tunic and spread spot on her pants around it.
“You can’t clean it, hit me!”
Suddenly, there was silence. Blue-grey eyes pride open to see Raya smirking triumphantly at the other end of the training field, a large cut on her cheek and hair in a frazzle. She thumbed behind her and her eyes widened at the sight. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it but there was a thin spear of ice lodged into the wall. It didn’t seem strong with its with but clearly sharp and fast enough to do adequate damage.
“Well it ain’t fire!” Raya called, jogging up to her, “But it burned like hell.” How could she be laughing with a slice through her upper cheek like that!?
“Now that you got the feeling we can work on that…”
Right… fear made ice… makes sense.
“That… you weren’t?”
“Mad?” Raya supplied, beau nodded, at a loss for the situation.
“Nah, just figured that’s how the circle does it so it must work….” she looked off a bit uncomfortably and leaned into the other to whisper,
“And that’s how I figured it out.”
Pulling back, she closed her tattooed eye and pointed to a hardly noticeable, protruding, scar under her brow.
“Nothin like learning on the job, right?”
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i will fight them for you
done by Sam but I can’t ever find anything on her blog
“I WILL FIGHT THEM FOR YOU!”
Beau held her hands up in defense, wincing at the smarting across her cheekbone. She touched the purpling bruise around her right eye and offered a soft laugh. “There’s no need to fight him. He lashed out in surprise.”
She watched the girl’s eyes widen, and the stubborn set of her jaw was enough to make Beau’s own mouth curved in amusement. Raya was a delight every time she dealt with the girl, and she often found herself sneaking down the kitchen if it was quiet enough in the infirmary. She had honestly forgotten about taking the hit, a jerk when she had been probing his ribs and the elbow had swung back without either of them quite realizing.
“He punched you in the face! That sounds like enough reason to kick his ass!”
Beau gave a soft bark of laughter, shaking her head. “If it’s any consolation, he felt terrible. And I prodded his ribs extra hard next time in retaliation.” She winced at her own chuckles, the smile curling her cheek enough to irritate the bruise. She gave a soft groan of pain, tentatively touching once more at the purple mark.
“Hey, here, hold still.”
The little elfling pursed her lips while she concentrated, tipping Beau’s head down with one hand while she brushed her fingertips over the woman’s skin. Beau felt the chill before she realized what the girl was doing, and she shuddered against her, a soft breath escaping her lips. The cool magic from her fingertips was barely there, but it set a chill to her skin that spelled instant relief to the throbbing. It was enough for her eyes to flutter shut at the gentle touch.
“That…feels so much better.” She purred, blinking slowly in the light of the kitchen as Raya offered another smile, wiping her hands on her apron. “You’re so much better at that than I am.”
The blond elfling grinned wider, before she turned back to the dough she had been kneading when the medic had arrived. “Well, if you need a second helping of that, you know where to find me.” She offered, and Beau watched her slender hands work the dough, her breath catching.
“But…” She curled a chestnut curl about her finger as the girl grinned sheepishly, leaning a hip on the work table. “I bet a loaf of that currant soda bread would make it feel even better…”
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Rafter Cat pt2
done by Sam but Ican’t ever find anything on her blog
Beau’s head was spinning. A flower, the child - no, she wasn’t a child. She had the demeanor, but there was an intelligence behind those wide eyes and mop of blonde hair. The delicate hint of a point to her ear, the tiniest slope to her bridge, the almost almond quality to her eyes. This was a young woman, but she had such an elfin quality. She would have turned heads at court.
Here she was sitting cross legged on the table they had been at, politely offering a flower to her all because of a stupid misunderstanding and Beau’s newly founded jealousy.
Beau hadn’t meant for the tears to come, but they were there. She hadn’t lain claim to The Iron Bull, but the feelings were there too. She had watched the women in the hall watching him with bedroom eyes. The lingering touches on his arms. It had been happening all night and Raya had been the tipping point for her, and she lashed with more venom than she had meant.
And she still was here, trying to make her feel better. It was more kindness than she had deserved. The older mage swiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands, before she reached out and took the flower with as much grace as she could muster. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…said that.”
Raya’s grin was all tooth and more than a little worrisome. “Really, you mustn’t be that good in the head, since I’m clearly way too small to fuck that guy.”
Beau couldn’t help the smile, or small bubble of laughter that came out in a bark at the elfling’s words. “I thought I was too, but it’s surprising what some oil and perseverance can do for you.”
There was a splutter and Krem was coughing wetly, wincing as Bull clapped him several times on the back, laughing himself. The Vint gave the girls a look of panic, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. There was ale down his front and the table, and he coughed hoarsely again. “Oh come on!”
Raya leaned back, her grin still wide. “Oh Krempuff.” She sing songed, reaching out to bop the charger on the nose. “You should know better, it’s always entertaining with me around.”
Krem glanced over his shoulder, at Bull who raised his hands in defeat, laughing heartily. “Chief.” It was a plaintive noise, almost a whine and Bull continued to laugh.
“Don’t even look at me, have you ever told a woman what to do? It won’t end well.”
Beau chuckled along with the warmth that overcame the group, tucking the yellow flower into her hair behind her ear. Perhaps things were starting to look up. Raya had moved to perch on the edge of the table, meticulously picking twine out of the small belled anklets she wore, leaving the older mage to gaze upon her a little curiously, noting the soft outfit she wore. She had definitely seen her around the kitchens, usually from where she pilfered her bread from-
“Wait, you work in the kitchen.” A nod from the younger girl, and Beau continued in a rush. “Do you know who makes that crusty bread with the currants on top?”
Her pale brows slashed over wide eyes and she wrinkled her nose. “I make the soda bread.” The brows flew up into her hairline as Beau clasped Raya’s small hands between her own gloved ones and stared up at the young girl with wide dark eyes.
“I love you.”
Raya blinked owlishly.
“Not even going to lie, that’s kinda hot.” Bull’s mutter was clearly audible over the din of the hall.
Another wet splutter and then there was a satisfying slap of a hand to a Qunari’s shoulder.
“Chief!”
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I’m like 85% certain Fahleon’s just a cat
“Hand me that,” Raya said, and demanded more with an outstretched hand than any real steel in her voice.
Fahleon cracked an eye open to consider the arrange of herbs drying above the open, arched window he lounged in before stretched up to pull a bundle down. He tossed it to her with a lazy throw and folded his hands back behind his head and closing his eyes again. The kitchens were becoming a favorite spot of his. It sat high in Skyhold’s walls and it’s large windows over-looking the mountains were open to the air - a perfect height to watch for dangers or follow Ada’s soaring patterns. None bothered much to look for him here unless they knew him, and the many that didn’t cursed his sudden disappearances from his offices above the war room. It smelled constantly of bread and meat, and when his stomach growled from it there was always something to pinch from the pantries. Fahleon felt eyes on him like an itch across his skin and he rolled away to offer his back to Raya’s gaze. His lips twitched into a brief smile when he heard her sigh.
“Don’t you have something to do, Herald,” she said, and the annoyance left her words in a snort when she called him by the title she knew that he hated.
Fahleon let the slight wash over him and answered her with a noncommittal hum. There was always some sheaf of paper than needing signing with a word he couldn’t yet spell, or a dinner to plan with foods he’d never heard, and a report that needed briefing from a land he’d never been to from people he didn’t care about - always something that he didn’t want to do. Raya didn’t ask again and Fahleon basked in the silence he was given, however long it would last, and let his thoughts pass by until he found himself dozing again and Raya smacking him to attention with a wooden spoon.
“Why can’t you nap somewhere else? Why does it have to be in my kitchen?”
It wasn’t a direct question, but Fahleon thought it fair enough to answer. “People generally leave me alone.”
Raya crossed her arms, and unfolded them when the spoon poked at her side. “Fine, but you’re going to get in my way you can at least help,” she said, and Fahleon thought it an acceptable apology. He nodded and sat up straight, pulling his legs under him to make space for Raya to cool the pies she’d made. She smacked him again with the spoon. “Don’t touch.”
Fahleon grinned, all teeth.
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Fahleon stretched up on his toes for another sprig of the berries hanging from the open window of the kitchen. Balanced atop the sill, high above the courtyard, was a risky attempt at gathering something he could find the forests of the hills, but it was a detour the Inquisition afford. He could afford a twisted ankle if it came with the excuse of bedrest, or anything, really, for the berries. They were sour on his tongue and he wouldn’t leave Skyhold without enough for the upcoming scouting mission.
“Ahem.”
Fahleon flinched at the sudden noise and he wobbled precariously on the thin stone wall, breathing a short breath of relief when he found his footing again - at the price of a handful of squashed berries. He watched the juice run down his wrist with more guilt than being caught red handed. Too literally, for his tastes, and he brought his arm down to lick the line of dark red turning his skin sticky. Too late for forgiveness, anyway.
“You weren’t even going to ask, were you?”
That was Raya’s voice, as loud and demanding as it ever was. Fahleon sucked on a finger and shook his head, no trace of an apology in the lines of his face when he jumped down from the window to look at her. There was a basket of something in her hands, and he craned his neck to get a glimpse of rolls hiding beneath a rag to keep them warm. He snatched one on his way past and stuffed it on the same satchel as the berries he had left.
“Excuse me,” she snorted and Fahleon tossed her a smile for it. “Where are you going? You’re not going to clean up this mess? Or make up for that?”
“Busy,” he answered with a shrug. “There’s some…” he paused to think of the word Cassandra called the holes through the Veil to the Beyond, “those rifts.” He waved with the marked hand. She didn’t reply back, and Fahleon thought the conversation over until he heard her huff and scoff and drag something across the table. His ear twitched in interest, and he hesitated in the doorway to watch. He narrowed his eyes when he caught her shoving her a loaf of bread and a carving knife in a burlap sack. “Where are you going?”
Raya lifted her chin with a self-satisfied smirk and threw the sack over her shoulder. “With you,” she said, and marched for the door. Fahleon stopped her with a hand pressed against her shoulder. His fingers were still sticky with juice and it left a pink stain on her shirt. She threw it off with a slap to his wrist. “You didn’t ask me for food and I’m not going to ask to go with you. I’ll just do what you do - whatever I want!”
“It could be dangerous.” He wasn’t joking, this time, when he explained. Sneaking treats and teasing were fun and games when bears and bandits and demons were miles and miles below them. There wouldn’t be a kitchen to hide in when things turned sour - and not just the food. Fahleon wouldn’t be himself, either.
She met his warning with a hot glare and shoved past him. Fahleon slid out of the way before the magic hit and burned him. The sack smoked on her shoulder. “I can hold my own,” he said, and, as if to prove it, snapped her fingers to distinguish the fire building up under the bread tucked away.
Fahleon lengthened his steps to catch up. “Who will make the pies?”
“There’s more than one kitchen hand you know.” Fahleon raised his brow and she puffed her cheeks. “I’ll make pies when I get back.” Fahleon watched her face redden as he continued to watch her. “You can’t tell me not. I mean, you can, but I won’t listen. And I won’t listen to those people you keep around you, either.”
“Lethal’lan-”
She jabbed a finger into his chest. “None of your fancy words will either.”
“Ma abelas,” he chuckled, when Raya prodded him harder.
“Then let’s get going. Where are we going? What do you have to do?” she asked, and continued to ask, from the descent atop Skyhold to the bottom of the Bannorn. It was a long trip, made longer still by the headache pounding across Fahleon’s forehead, and he rubbed his eyes until he saw stars when he blinked.
“Hey, Smiles,” Varric interrupted, and Fahleon hoped, for just a moment, a brief period of relief. “Do the Dalish have another word for elfroot?”
Fahleon dragged a hand down his face and muttered a curse low under his breath as Bull laughed. “Don’t encourage her.” Despite the warning, Raya was still encouraged, and Fahleon watched her braid bounce into the corner of his field of view.
“Do they call it something else?”
He sighed and shook his head, then shot a look over his shoulder when he heard Varric inhale for another word. The dwarf raised his hands in concession, and Fahleon let himself breath easy. Until it ended in a pained grunt when the mark burst to life. He shaded his eyes from the sun to find the rift glowing somewhere before the horizon, and glanced down when he found Raya eying the Anchor, concerned. He turned his palm over to show her the wound, thin and deep and leaking with energy, and he jerked away. He lifted a brow. It wasn’t as difficult to look at, not after the months of wearing it, but he couldn’t remember a time he’d voluntarily showed anyone it. He couldn’t remember ever showing Raya.
“Horns up, boss,” Bull called, and Fahleon rolled away to find a patch of burning grass where he’d been standing. Raya was gone, too, and he scrambled to his feet, turning in a tight circle to look for her. Two arrows and one demon down brought her back into his view. Fahleon pulled another arrow flush to his cheek, aiming at the demon making its way towards her. A burst of flame and hiss of smoke sent it wailing in another direction, and he let out a sigh through his nose.
Right - a mage, and not as defenseless as he thought. As she’d tried to tell him, he remembered. Yet, not without the same talent and control as Dorian. Fahleon didn’t waste his time to look for him, not when he could make out the lumbering shapes of corpses wrapping limp arms around something green, spindly, and ugly. He kept his focus on Raya as he moved forward, feeling for the fade rift in the growing heat in the palm of his hands while downing any enemy that came close to her. He moved until it was an agonizing burn deep within his skin, and is hand lifted half from habit and half from the unetheral pull of the fade. It was unseen force, like some invisible hand that wrapped around his wrist to guide it and clutched tight, hot and cold at the same time, squeezing in time with the pulses of the rift until the force of it built up to something he couldn’t handle.
Fahleon gripped the energy and yanked, hard, pulling it to himself again, and the Veil closed shut with a snap. He let his arm swing limp back at his side. Raya was back to looking at it like it was an insect she’d found baked into her dough, and when he showed her it again, the Anchor was quiet. It didn’t flash or spark, and the magic spilling from it was nothing more than trickle. Not until the next rift, at least.
She surprised him by running a finger over it. Her hands were still warm from the magic.
“Does it hurt?”
He lifted a shoulder.
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Stop saying that you’re fine if you are not! Or Drink it, it’ll make you feel better.
Why not both?
It wasn’t odd to have Raya by his side. It was odd to have Raya in his room. She was meant for the kitchens or the dining hall, dressed in an apron and adorned with cutlery, and Fahleon found it a surprise every time he looked up from the papers on his desk to see her in plain clothes, kicking her feet where she sat on the edge of his bed - and he looked up from his desk often.
It was more difficult than usual to read the words written on them. The letters he’d grown to understand the meaning of blurred together until they made little sense again. He’d hoped to find concentration in the silence of his upper chambers, but it was cold from disuse and the headache persisted. As did the pressure behind his eyes and the rattle in his chest.
Fahleon cleared his throat to rid himself of it. Raya moved at the sound and Fahleon was instantly mistrustful as she crossed the room. Tension turned his face still as he watched her build up the fire in the hearth and hang a pot he’d never been aware of - or bothered to be aware of - on the flames. She pulled a bundle of something out of her pocket and tossed it in, and the room smelled strong of something herbal and decidedly medicinal.
“I’m fi-”
“Stop,” Raya interrupted with a jab of a spoon in his direction, too fast for Fahleon to see where she’d pulled that from, “saying you’re fine.” He couldn’t take the words back and they scraped at his raw throat instead, and Fahleon shuddered through a fit of coughing.
He resolved him to stop speaking - not a difficult task - unless Raya pressed the issue. As if he would be so lucky.
“Ignoring it isn’t going to make your cold go away, either.”
He’d admit he was cold, tired, too, if he thought about it, and he attributed it to the hour he’d spent pouring off the missive still in his hands. He wasn’t sick, he was frustrated. He ran a hand down his face and made move to close the room’s windows to retain some heat, but he found the window never opened and Raya nearing him with a bowl of whatever she’d been stirring. He eyed it with suspicion; the last time she’d given him a herb of some kind was something spicy and in his eyes.
She pursed her lips and held the bowl out. Steam rolled off it enough that Fahleon took it just to have something warm in his hands.
It was soup.
“Drink it. It’ll make you feel better.”
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Cut
The looking glass settled atop the water basin in Skyhold’s washroom reflected a flush born from countless time spent fighting between vanity and stubbornness. Stubborn, Fahleon didn’t mind calling himself. Vain - was it vain to want to simply braid his hair again? To keep it out of his eyes and his mouth? To tame the tangles he’d earned that morning from the fight against a restless wakefulness? He’d settle with simply tying it up if he could. He’d tried a brush, then a comb, and finally his fingers when both were yanked out of his grasp. Corypheus was an easier foe than his bed head.
“Pala!” Fahleon struck the wall with a growl.
There was a squeak on the other side and a muffled crash that had Fahleon letting out a breath, and the tension building in his arm. He dropped his fist and returned to leaning against the water basin. A strand of hair fell into his mouth and he raked back his bangs hard enough to yank several strands out. He tossed them into the water with another curse.
“Fae?”
“Fine,” he snapped.
“Do you need…anything?”
He grit his teeth until his jaw ached. “No.” The door pressed open despite it, and Fahleon swung around to slam it shut again. Raya shoved her shoulder against him and wriggled through the crack before it could close on her completely. His hand curled into a fist, but remained at his side. “Fen'Harel ma halam, what if I was pissing?”
“Then it would sound like pissing,” she said, meeting his glare. “It sounded like…” Her eyes slipped off his face to the basin behind him, and Fahleon stepped back into her line of sight. She glanced at him again and Fahleon hated the pity in her eyes. He’d cut it everything off it meant everyone would stop looking at him like that. He wasn’t dying - not anymore. Blessings for that.
“No,” he repeated. He picked up the brush again, as if he thought to accomplish something the second time. A brush wouldn’t braid his hair for him. It wouldn’t tie it up. It wouldn’t replace his hand. He didn’t feel the cramp in his knuckles from the tight hold on the handle until Raya pried it from his grasp. He let it go, reluctantly, if only to make it harder for it, but turned when she pressed against his shoulder. He passed the comb through his hair and he winced.
“Did you want it braided?” It took him a moment to give in, to answer her with a nod, and when he finished combing it out he felt her weave his hair together. “I can do this again-”
“No,” he said for a third time, and there was a finality in it that even Raya found hesitant to overcome. “I’ll cut it tomorrow.”
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for @the-zubat
It was something of a game after the first time, a challenge, a test of patience and resilience. One that Fahleon was determined to win, if only to make life a grievance for Raya in a way she had for his. To silence all her insistent talk and deflate her overflowing pride by snatching what he could from Skyhold’s kitchens right under her nose. He aimed for forgotten things - a leftover serving of dinner, a single tart hidden amongst hundreds like it, the berries he was becoming quite fond of as late and hanging to dry from the rafters - only to keep his winnings high and losses low. He’d been caught twice now, and each followed a period of constant gloating that grated on his ears more than her usual chatter.
It was boredom that drew him to playing this time. Fahleon scaled Skyhold’s outer walls as he stalked up the spiraling staircases and jumped from the landing to the sill of the kitchen’s open window. A quick peek inside revealed a tray of molded dough balls accompanied by a bowl of glaze made from something sweet, a mold of gelatin, and Raya, her back turned as she poked at the fire flicking behind the bricks. Fahleon peeled himself from the wall and dropped to the floor in a crouch. The dough had yet to be baked and was worthless to him, and he crawled past it to the gelatin.
Raya moved away from the oven and he froze down to the air in his lungs. He kept his gaze off her, wary of her feeling the weight of it, and watched her pick up the tray from the corner of his eye. When she crossed the room again, he inched his way forward.
“If you touch that it won’t set right,” Raya said with a click of her tongue, and the sudden noise startled Fahleon into flinching. His hands, poised carefully to take his prize, slammed into the corner of his table and his head knocked against it second when he curled in on himself to shield against the pain in his knuckles. He rose with a wince, no longer a point in remaining unseen, and held his hands out. She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t think you deserve it.” Even as she said it, she lifted her chin and a chill raced up the swelling fingers offered to her to cool the burn. He let them drop back to his sides and eyed the gelatin.
She rolled her eyes. “Give it another hour,” was all she said, and Fahleon made a note to make it two and leave her on her toes.
He was about to leave for his second attempt when Dorian stopped him on his way through a passage in the library. The mage called out a greeting, first, and a worried note second. Fahleon let him turn his chin and inspect whatever it was he saw.
“You have a bruise on your head. Right here,” he said, and Fahleon frowned when his skin burned at the press of his thumb between his eyes. “What have you been doing, Inquisitor?”
Fahleon shrugged.
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Quite me
The cut wasn’t worth all the noise pouring out of Raya’s mouth. The knife had cut horizontal and taken more skin than muscle and it bled, messily and painful, but not traumatically. She’d keep the finger if she let the healer work rather than jerk her hand about, whether it was away from the healer with a pained gasp or a hesitant acceptance. Raya cried like her whole hand was missing instead of the chunk of skin.
Her elbow twitched, nearly knocking the bloodied knife onto the floor and the healer shot Fahleon a helpless roll of his eyes. Fahleon glanced between the wound and the stitching implements, mouth thinning. He could end the struggle of a dying man with little reluctance…comfort was…something different.
He sucked in a breath, and placed a hand it on Raya’s wrist. “There…there.” She flinched and Fahleon yanked his arm back before she knocked him over as well, lifting it to his ear when she yelped. “I-” The healer growled something and shook his head, exasperated.
Another approach, then.
Fahleon stepped close and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tugging her to his chest. He lifted his hand to her face and covered her mouth. His second arm pinned hers to the table. He grunted when she bit down, catching her teeth on the skin of his palm.
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Bleed
Corypheus was going for an Eluvian in the Arbor Wilds. The Inquisition had the what and the where, but not the when, and it made them all restless and uneasy. Cullen wished to wait for the soldiers to return for a full frontal attack while Leliana encouraged immediate action with her spies. Fahleon agreed there was little time to waste, not when Corypheus so desperate and the Inquisition running low on supplies, but there would be no results if they died before they got there.
It ate him, knowing what was to come and having no idea how to face it. He couldn’t kill an idea. He couldn’t stick an arrow through tension or slam a fist into worry. He could shoot a target, and the ache in his arms from hours of practice was better than any stress sitting on his shoulders.
Corypheus was his first target, already punched full of holes. Calpernia was the second, with one arrow split through the middle with another. The Eluvian was the third, smooth and flat and just waiting for the first strike. Fahleon knocked an arrow and imagined it, the moment he’d take everything from that demon, just like he had to him. He’d take his power, his people, his one chance to end everything.
“Fae!”
Fahleon whirled, confusion breaking through his concentration. His fingers slipped and bowstring snapped. He didn’t have time to get a word of warning out before the arrow wobbled towards Raya. He winced at the impact, and cracked an eye open to see it lodged in her thigh. He dropped the bow and time sped up with her cry of pain and his shout for the healer.
“I thought you were Corypheus.”
“Do I look that ugly to you?” she spat between clenched teeth and welling tears. “Don’t answer,” she added. “You’ll only make it worse.”
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busted and hunt with me
(Idk how this ended up short :( )
Raya huffed with her arms already crossed. She was getting tired of the thievery happening o often and assumed -by the ever growing bruise on his forehead- that he had nothing better to do and this was bored.“Fahleon Lavellen!” She stomped over to him and yanked him by his collar out of the kitchen with one hand and yanked off her apron with the other and shoved it u to an incoming kitchen hand, “We are fixing your forsaken boredom or I’m going to freeze your hands till they fall off!” She emphasized the last part with full intent. Granted she was already irritated at some of the people here -namely those in suits of armor and shite manners- but this had gone from amusing to over the top the past few days and he had promised to help her earn her mark properly and then just told her to deal with horses and she was…. not ungrateful but it felt an insult to her.
Fahleon, being drug around indignantly, made a noise that carried somewhere between a grunt and growl. She knew it as irritated curiosity, but honestly, it could just be irritation. She answered the presumptive curiosity any way.
“You, my not so slick fingered friend,” she glanced back with a grin, “are going to teach me to use a bow and hunt.”
“Oh?” He chimed in, attempting to not show how piqued his interest actually was. Failing, but he tried.
“Yes. Unless you’d like to loose your hands.” She promised with a chill to the hand that held his collar.
Having been lead to the armory, Raya finally released him and went to get one of the few bows that was her size and a quiver of arrows before putting herself right in front of him with nothing but determination on her face.“Let’s go get dinner.”
Fahleon let free a snort of amusement, which generally was a lot for him, as he raised his brow at her,“Basics first.” He stated, already heading towards the training ground.
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Birds of a Feather
Fahleon had his eyes firmly closed. It was still too early to nap, even with little on his list of things to do for the day, but it was better than the alternative. That, being, an addition to the growing number of scars crossing his knuckles. He didn’t learn the first time to mind his own business, nor the second, but Ada was keen on reinforcing her lessons and it was the third time she tore a good chunk out of his fingers that he realized it wasn’t a smart idea to stick his hands in her nest. He laced them behind his head, fingers tightly interlocked, pads stroking over the raised scratches in his skin instead of poking at the mess of borrowed garmets, fur, and branches. His arm twitched at the thought and he settled deeper into the crook of the tree limb he lounged on.
Just in case he had to check on it.
Fahleon scrunched his face and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Something rustled and he resisted the urge to crack an eye open and take stock of the situation. In her state, he wouldn’t fault Ada for striking him just for looking in her direction, but he’d take the pain if it meant knowing she was alright. As was her nest - and the tiny creatures wriggling within it.
The rustle grew into a tremble, one that Fahelon felt in the bark under his back. A series of shrill peeps started up after it, and Fahleon steeled his breath before opening his eyes and turning to find Raya inching her way up the trunk of the tree. Her arm swung wildly to reach the next branch and the momentum carried her foot off the perch it found on a new branch. Her startled gasp brought upon a new round of peeps. Raya might not even need to reach the nest to learn a lesson of her own.
“Ada’s been gone a long time, don’t you think?” she asked, when she met his gaze. Fahleon shrugged in answer. He wouldn’t comment on her worries, not when they were too similar to his own to want them confirmed. “She does know she doesn’t have to hunt? We could get her something. Then she wouldn’t have to leave…” She trailed off in a breathless sigh as she further attempted her climb.
He flicked his eyes to the nest and bit his lip when a downy head lifted itself above the ridge of a nest. A second one joined it, and Fahleon didn’t need to the see the third to know it was there. It chirped loudest of all, upset and scared and calling for its mother. Who would attack Raya on sight, and Fahleon too, just for good measure. He waiting, tensed, for a sound of beating wings or a sharp series of whistles, and when none came to answer the peeps, he moved, fast. He rolled onto his front and jumped to the branch above to swing himself one limb higher. The nest laid towards the end in a fork in the branch, and he inched his way forward, slow and careful.
Raya continued to wiggle her way up, and she shot him a sharp look before increasing her efforts. Fahleon held on tight and cast a worried glance at the nest full of pursed lips and furrowed brows. The third chick had found its courage to investigate the disturbance and Fahleon watched three gray heads open their beaks wide with some burst of emotion in his chest.
Concern was one, a warning in the back of his mind that Ada could return at any moment, but it wasn’t the warm, light feeling filling the space between his ribs. Awe, that he had the ability to see them and their growth. Pride. These were his partner’s chicks, after all.
Apprehension, too, and it grew the closer Raya came to the nest. She’d been careful so far around it, quiet when the chicks hatched and cautious when Ada fed them, but there was a thought in the back of his mind that this was the time she wasn’t careful, the chicks would be hurt, or Ada would hurt her.
He was mainly concerned with the chicks. He was sure Raya understood - or, he hoped he did, when he shoved his hands towards her to help her the rest of the way up, slower, quieter, and more careful. She took them and with a bit of wild kicking from her, he dragged her up to the limb. The chicks had quieted their calls and he let out a relieved breath. It caught in his throat when she shuffled past him to get a better look.
“Are you going to name them?” Raya whispered her question and Fahleon thought himself foolish for holding his breath. He shook his head. “What are you going to do when they start flying? Are you going to train them too? Can I have one?”
“They’re not puppies,” he told her, even if he preferred the kites to the slobbering mutts with pointed teeth and pointier claws. They were easier to train, easy to play with, and made better pets with their domestication than the wild birds he’d need to connect with in order to even begin nearing without the threat of losing an eye. Training would take longer than Raya thought.
She still looked at them wistfully, her smile shaped by hope. Fahleon glanced past it to the chicks and knew it was worth it, despite it. He wouldn’t trade the deep scars on his shoulders from her talons or the cuts from her beak on his ears for anything. The years spent working with her never felt like wasted time, not when he could feel the power in her wings and the familiarity of her warmth. He blinked and found Raya’s smile turned knowing, expectant, and he worked his jaw until his own returned to something more passive.
“I’m going to name them,” Raya said, and Fahleon knew that he had lost.
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