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#but that solas thirst still rings true
kikicolors · 2 years
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mythal’s favorite
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sidhelives · 3 years
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Thank you @kittynomsdeplume and @noire-pandora for the tag!
I've got two WIPs going this week, working them in tandem as the mood strikes me. I'm also playing through ME:LE (and finally picked up my 🦎) so they might take a little longer than usual to complete.
Sorrynotsorry
Anyway
First up we have a little drabble I've been wanting to get on paper for a while wherein Regan Hawke turns up to Skyhold at Varric's request with her entire family in tow. This is absolutely the most characters I've ever dealt with in a single scene and it's only going to get worse 😅
On cue, Varric appeared in the archway ahead, and staggered to a halt when he saw them.
"Uncle Varric!" Malcolm shouted, dropping his parents' hands to run to the man who caught him in an enormous hug.
Varric laughed jovially, swinging the small boy into the air before planting his feet back on the ground. "How you doing, Little Champ? You're bigger than I remember."
Malcolm nodded enthusiastically, his wide smile missing several teeth. "Mamae says I had a growth spurt!"
"Hello Varric," Regan greeted him warmly, the adults catching up with the precocious steps of the child.
"Hawke," he laughed. "You didn't tell me you were bringing the kids."
"Where were they supposed to go?" she asked with a wry smile, gently rubbing Leto's back as the new voices started to rouse him.
"I figured Bethany—" he stopped as the younger Hawke sister poked her head around Fenris's shoulder.
"Hullo Varric. Nice to see you, I do hope we won't be too much trouble."
Isabela cackled. "That's a laugh. Have you met us?"
Varric gave Regan a stern look. "Isabela too?"
"It's Isabela Hawke now," Isabela waggled her left hand at the dwarf, showing off the ring on her finger as she kissed Bethany on the cheek.
Varric raised an eyebrow at the revelation. "Didn't think anyone would ever tie you down, Rivani."
"Actually, I'm usually the one doing the tying," Isabela responded with a smirk. Bethany's cheeks darkened in a flush and she elbowed her wife.
"I suppose that means Carver is here too then?" Varric guessed.
"I'm here," the man confirmed with an apathetic wave.
It's cute and I love them.
Second I have the third chapter of my Hawke/Solas fic In Dreams Awake. It's a good one.
There were, of course, natural Rifts which, even before the Breach broke the sky, could open of their own accord in places tainted by death. They were rare however, and would prove difficult to traverse, even if she were lucky enough to locate one. 
Based on the evidence provided by her life up to that point, Hawke doubted she had that kind of luck.
It was far more likely that she would remain in the Fade eternally. No hunger or thirst or any way to mark the passing of time. Even the thought of dying was preferable, she decided, than the non-existence she found herself in. If the Chantry was right, death would reunite her with her father and mother, her brother and sister, perhaps even Anders. 
Hawke's heart tightened as she thought of the mage.
She did not allow herself to think of him often, every memory laced with razors of regret. Hawke had failed him. Failed to save him from himself, from the world, and in the end, from her. She still felt his blood pouring over her hand, scalding hot, felt his arms around her loosen as the life left his body. 
Wasn't it a sort of justice for her to find herself incarcerated by her own hubris? To never know true peace or rest. Locked away with her guilt until the world came to an end.
Hawke stopped walking. Taking a deep breath she shook herself roughly out of her malaise.
Self-pity, as appealing as it was, served no purpose. What was done was done, and she could do nothing to change it.
Tagging: @hezjena2023 @piecesofsolaswriting @beaubartley @the-cryptographer
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himluv · 4 years
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Drowning
Here, have another Solavellan oneshot! This one come right after Another Kindness. Enjoy!
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They lingered in the Exalted Plains for a week, just to be sure Solas wouldn’t return to them. He had said they’d meet at Skyhold, but she couldn’t help hoping he would find them and come back to her.
“He’s not coming,” Cole said on the seventh morning. He crouched beside the dying embers of their fire, his hands held before it for warmth. “Hidden. Safe, but hurting. Lost to dreaming, when Wisdom and Pride sang the same songs.”
As was usual with Cole’s insights, Riallan didn’t fully understand what he said. But she understood enough to know that Solas was safe. Grieving and alone, but safe.
And she couldn’t delay their journey home any longer.
When they reached the fortress, she hoped that he would be there, that he would be standing at the top of the stairs, waiting for her. When he wasn’t, she hoped that he’d be in the rotunda, back to their familiar routine of wine and painting. They would talk about what had happened, he would tell her stories about Wisdom and all the things he’d learned from his friend.
But when she poked her head into the round room, there was no veilfire. No candlelight. The murals were lifeless and bland without him there to fill the room.
“Hey, Herald,” Varric said from behind her. “The Seeker says Chuckles didn’t come back with you?”
She shook her head, casting a glance over her shoulder. “There was… he needed some time alone.”
He paused, considering her words. “Sounds like a hell of a story.” He cocked his head toward the exit. “Come on. Drinks are on me.”
She almost didn’t go. Solas cherished his privacy; she didn’t want to give his secrets away because Varric plied her with drinks. But she desperately needed to talk about what had happened, because deep in her heart, she feared he wasn’t coming back.
So they went to the Herald’s Rest. They sat in a corner, across from where Maryden sang, and she gave him a vague summary of what happened in the Plains.
“Huh,” he said after a moment. “I don’t pretend to understand the whole befriending a spirit thing, but it obviously meant a lot to him.” He took a pull on his tankard and gave her a pointed look. “I have a feeling there aren’t many people Solas considers important.”
She sighed, staring into the depths of her ale. “What if he doesn’t come back?” She hated even thinking that might be the case. She trusted Solas. He was her first friend in the Inquisition, the person she’d confided in when everything felt like it was closing in on her. And now he was something more, though she wasn’t sure what.
“Hey,” Varric said, his voice soft and understanding. “He said he would meet you here, right?”
She nodded.
“Then he’s coming back.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug smile on his face, but she didn’t quite buy his bravado.
“You didn’t see him, Varric.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him so… passionate. He would have killed those mages if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“Well, you know what they say about still waters. There was bound to be some intensity under all that calm.”
She smirked at that. The dwarf had no idea.
“Just… try not to drown in them, huh?”
She frowned and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re a hero,” he held up a hand to stave off her argument otherwise, “regardless of what you think on the subject. You’re saving all of Thedas, damn near single-handedly. And, well,” he sighed. “I’ve written enough Hero stories to know, they never get a happy ending.”
She ran her finger along the ridge of her tankard. “You think Solas and I shouldn’t—“
“I think only you two can decide that. And you’re both smart. Too smart, if you ask me.” He gave her a broad smile. “You’ll figure it out.” He patted her hand and then knocked back the remainder of his ale.
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.”
Solas didn’t return the next morning, or any mornings for the next two weeks. Riallan would have sent a search party out for him days ago if it hadn’t been for Cole’s cryptic assurances that he was safe. It was all she had to go on, and she desperately wanted to respect his privacy, so she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It’d been almost a month since Wisdom had died when Riallan stood on her balcony, staring out over the river and the massive forward camp outside the fortress walls. It was mid-summer, but this high in the mountains there was still a lot of snow. Below her, on the road up to the keep, she saw a lone figure with a tall walking stick, a dark shape against a backdrop of white.
She couldn’t be certain from such a distance, but her stomach did a hopeful flip anyway. Against all her better judgment, she ran down the stairs, through the hall, and down to the gates. She was halfway down the last flight of stairs when she saw him, his ocean eyes watching her with a guarded expression.
He looked… exhausted. Cole had said he dreamt the majority of the time he was away, but the man before looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. Dark circles ringed his eyes, bloodshot and drooping, and his posture was slumped and weary. She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in a relieved hug and ease his obvious suffering, but he stopped just short of her reach.
“You came back,” she said.
He nodded. “I wasn’t sure, for a time,” he said. “But only a short time. You were a true friend, you did everything you could to help.” He shook his head once. “I could hardly abandon you now.”
Riallan bit the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling at the thought of him leaving. That he’d considered not coming back spoke volumes of his grief. “Cole said you slept,” she said.
He gave a weak smile. “Yes. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be.” A heavy breath. “It’s empty. But there are stirrings of energy in the void. Someday, something new may grow there.”
She had so many questions. What was death for a spirit? Did they truly vanish, gone from the world like mortals? What would grow in Wisdom’s place? Would its influence make any difference? But for once her thirst for knowledge could wait. This was not the time, not when the pain was still so blatantly fresh.
“The next time you have to mourn,” she said. “You don’t need to be alone.” It was a promise, an offer to help carry his burdens, and for once she didn’t blush at the vulnerability of her words.
He bowed his head, as if shamed by her offer. “It has been so long since I could trust someone…”
“I know.” She gave him a sad smile, hoping to comfort him.
He looked up at her and the guarded look in his eyes fell away. “I’ll work on it.” He swallowed, nodded his head once as if agreeing to something in his mind, and said, “thank you.”
She sensed that this conversation was over. He had returned because he could put Wisdom’s passing far enough behind him to continue his work for the Inquisition; he would not speak on it again unless prodded. She would let him move on.
“Do you need anything? Food, rest, a bath?”
That earned her a more genuine smile. “Ma serannas, but I can manage, lathallan.”
They walked up the stairs toward the main hall together, and she caught him up on the latest gossip. Little happy things to brighten his smile, like Sera teaching Cole how to prank Cassandra and Dorian’s drunken slip of the tongue about his relationship with Iron Bull. He laughed in all the right places, and when they parted ways Riallan felt lighter than she had since they’d stayed in the Dalish camp.
He had come home.
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mythalsknickers · 5 years
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For the DADWC: "things you said under the stars and in the grass," for the pairing of your choice!
Title: Speak Right to the HeartPairing: Cullen x Drysi Amell-TrevelyanRating: TBDWarnings/Tags: Lyrium AddictionWord Count: 1822For @dadrunkwritingI hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this, I somehow managed to emerge victorious from the pit of angst I had fallen into.
Cullen stood over his desk, watching the sky turn from blue to a rich purple and gold. Patiently, he waited as the candles created shadows that danced in the waning light. He glanced out the door,  stomach tightening as his heart leapt into his throat. It would be tonight. If he waited, he was not sure he would ever ask her.
Reaching up, his armor shifted, ringing in the silent room he carefully tousled his tamed hair. It had been a chance, the first time he saw her climb the ramparts and began patrolling. Some nights she was out until the very first light of dawn crept through the mountains. A smirk tugged at his lips, for just a moment he had caught the sight of a pale silver gleam of her leather robes.
In a moment it shattered, his brows knitted together as his eyes narrowed. Hunching over his hand fell instinctively to his sword as his head throbbed, and every bone in his body cried out thirst. The all too familiar icy pit of need filled his stomach and his throat tightened. His eyes almost devoid of emotion scanned the room before locking onto a faint blue glow from his desk drawer. He could hear it singing to him. How could he protect her, what she was building without it? He needed it.
Squeezing his eyes closed, his hand clenched his sword. He tensed as he straightened out of his hunch. He forced himself to take a deep breath, before slowly exhaling, he just needed to let go of it. He needed his freedom from the Chantry more then he needed the Lyrium. It seemed like hours, as he just fought against the need to open the kit up.
“Never again.” He promised hoarsely to himself, finally tearing his eyes away from his desk he scanned for the flash of silver leather.  She stood out against the wind as it tore and battered at the argent dyed leather, and her short, almost raven colored hair. He reached up and scratched the back of his neck as he watched her. It was hard to imagine, that this woman he had been taught would need his protection, no longer did. She stood against the icy wind, rather unfazed, in leather and chain armor. She looked like a warrior Teyrna.
He stepped around his desk, eyes flickering to that faint blue glow for a moment. He lifted his hand away from his sword and pulled open a drawer, tearing his attention away from that blue glow, in favor of a small coin and a worn silver ring around a delicate chain. A smile tugged at his scarred lips before he gathered both up. Shoving the drawer closed, he left his office in a few strides, breathing in the night air.
It was now or never.
It was near silent tonight and the cold wind that howled down from the peaks of the mountains wrapped around her like an icy hug.  There was so much from Adamant that needed to be decided. She wrapped her arms around herself and let out a soft sigh, watching it hang in the cold air, turning to fog for just a moment. Her shoulders were drawn tight as her mind raced. Only two things had been made clear at Adamant, leaving so much undecided. She and Loghain were no longer wardens in the sense that those in Adamant were, and Corypheus’ dragon was little more than a familiar. There had been no familiar song, deafening as it attacked them.
She reached up to her neck, long fingers ghosting over the dark ink that shaped mountains into weather-beaten skin before wrapping around the tarnished silver chain, tugging the heavy medallion free from under her collar. Instinctively, her fingers traced over the worn sword of mercy, while her eyes searched the mountains for a sign.
“Bit for your thoughts?” A rich voice spoke.
Her fingers tightened as she fought the instinct of her magic to lash out as he spoke. It was just Cullen. For a moment, her icy eyes stared at the mountains as if to argue with them, before she turned to face him. She let her eyes soften, and gave him the slightest of smiles.
“By Andraste’s pyre Cullen, how are you so quiet!” She laughed as he reached up to rub his neck. “I doubt my worries are even worth a bit.” She offered with a soft shrug and glanced over at him. He always seemed to smell of shortbread cookies, the ones with just a bit of orange zest in them.
“Well if they aren’t worth a bit, how about…” She canted her head as he paused, scratching at his neck. “How about we leave for a few days? I have something I wish to show you.” The way his eyes sparkled sparked nostalgia, a time that felt like a lifetime ago; stolen kisses between the rows of books, soft laughter as they snuck out onto the shore to count the stars, desperate hands as they never wanted to be parted. She could almost feel it all.
“Can we just leave?” She breathed fervently. She glanced over at the mountains where they met the budding night sky. Each beat of her heart hammered her chest. She was afraid to breathe.   It had to be too good to be true. By Koth and the Lady, it sounded like… She didn’t dare hope, did she?
“Cullen…Am I understanding right? Are you wanting to go…” She paused, trying to find the words, her brows furrowing in frustration as nothing came.
“I am wanting to take you away from here…For a moment just to ourselves. I can’t go back in time, but Drysi; I want there to be more than that kiss that Leliana’s poor scout interrupted.” He offered as her breath hitched, catching in her throat before fits of giggles broke loose. The sounds of her mirth loosened something in him, and she was soon met with his rich laughter. A moment just for them was a dream come true. With a breath, she smiled at him, finally finding the words.
“A trip…away with just us.” Her eyes closed as she pictured it; just as they had always talked. Somewhere quiet; just them, away from the world, hiding in a single tent and curled against each other for comfort, the heat of passion coiled into them both in the still of the night, where no one could hear them. “It sounds like a dream Cullen, let me get together a bag.”
It was just a moment as he reached out, catching her hand and giving her a smile before giving a slight tug to bring her in close.
“I will meet you. Outside of the gate.” He whispered under the light of the stars.  He pressed a quick kiss to her hand as he pulled away from her. She stepped back and fumbled, grabbing ahold of the rampart. He had, in a single moment, uprooted the budding plan she had to finish this with Corypheus. Her heart hammered as she tried to recompose her mask, no one would be in the hall, not at this hour she hoped.
It had been ten years ago when the planned this. She turned and looked back at the mountains,  shaking her head with a small smile. A sign from gods that actually listened, a chance for her to find happiness. She pushed away from the rampart and dashed down to the rotunda door. There was no caution as she flung it open and slammed it closed before dashing into the hall, past the silent enigma that was Solas.
There was no race but she wasted no time flying up the countless flights of stairs to her quarters, tossing the door open, the clash of wood and stone echoed through the too large room. Grabbing her bag from the road, she tore open the wardrobe.
“Where did you put it Leliana.” she grumbled, sending clothes and shoes flying out onto the thick furs. Under everything, her fingers found it. A thin golden box that symbolized a trip to a rather specialized boutique in Val Royaeux.  With reverence, she pulled out the package opening it up. She didn’t dare wear them when she left on missions. Pulling out her prize she laid it out on the bed before removing her armor, long enough to conceal it under her armor for tonight.  The remainder of her packing bore no ceremony as her clothes were tossed into the bag with no real care, along with her traveling gear.
As she left the great hall the sky had darkened considerably, a ride down south by the moonlight, she couldn’t help the blush that crept up her cheeks. Carefully she crept through the gates before walking down to where Cullen held a pair of horses as they grazed. She took a moment just to watch him pat the horses and listen to the night. How…how in any god’s name had she gotten this lucky, to have another chance with him. After all bitter hurt, forgiveness, and timid friendship here it was, a chance for them to both be free to love each other finally.
“Shall we Cullen?” she offered walking up to the familiar black Forder who had carried her around Ferelden quite contentedly. Reaching up she stroked the mare’s nose while he watched her with a smile she could feel without looking up at him. It was a moment before she stepped up onto the stirrup and swung over onto the saddle.
“Let’s we aren’t going far tonight, but tomorrow we will be out of range of the guard towers.” he offered as he mounted the almost golden stallion and urged him into a quick canter. Shaking her head in a moment of amusement she gently tapped the mare before she was off after him into the night.
There was no competition, it was just a canter in the moonlight enjoying each other’s company, the laughter, and pure joy of just being able to do this together. The trail wove and dipped following a small stream off the mountain. As Cullen slowed, she slowed her mare following as he passed through a small arch of ancient willows into a mostly secluded grove.
“This is beautiful,” she whispered as the stopped the horses dismounting. She laid out in the tall grass looking up at the stars as Cullen chuckled beginning to set up the one tent. She just laid there watching the night sky whispering the names of the constellations.
“Cullen” she called finally mustering the courage. The only response she had was the rustle of grass as he made his way to her.
“Hm?” he kneeled down before joining her in laying back in the grass and the horses grazed on the grove on a simple tether to the tent.
“I love you.”
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edensix · 7 years
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Welcome! What a great prompt list! For DWC (where I am nerdanel01): "Eternity is very close. Can you feel yourself slipping?"
for @dadrunkwriting
gen, no pairing, spoilers for trespasser860 wordsao3 mirror post
It’s always been a whisper. A word at the edge of hearing. A secret. A song.
It’s always felt like a pull. A tug at the center of her palm; stronger, sharper when she opens it. Something deep has dwelled there for years, sated on the finest flesh.  It did not itch and burn when she fed it, flinging her hand toward the green gashes in the air, feeling the fingers of the Fade reach into her veins and draw roads between realities.
It was satisfied then, when the blood flowed and the sacrifices were plenty.
Now it practically roars.
Weaned off war, growing sickly in peace. There is nothing to banish, no more enemies to sunder. The Mark is a weapon. It is not meant to build. It was made to destroy.
And she can only expect it to do what it was made to do.
Its hunger is so great it starts to eat itself, spreading like plague across her unmarred hand. It cracks and tears at her skin, pulling and rending until all that is left of her palm is green light. It snakes up her arm to the elbow, blackens the skin around it until she must wrap her whole arm morning and night.
The glow is near blinding. The pain is unspeakable.
It reminds her in sharp ways — jagged pinches and hot, searing cuts. It was never meant for her to bear it. It knows she is not its true master. So it calls to the dead god slumbering in the Fade, draws her bodily in dreams through the brimstone cliffs and smoking shores until her legs give out and she wakes in sweat-stained sheets.
The Mark was her gift, once. The only thing that kept her from the noose or worse. Once it made her special. Once she was unstoppable.
Now it is just hungry. Always, always hungry.
When she returns to Halamshiral, its whispers turn to screams. Howling funeral dirges, bursts of pain like holding fire so sharp and sudden that she cannot keep from crying out anymore. She cannot understand the language it speaks, but she knows enough that it is furious, desperate to stay alive. It wills her to open rifts in the Winter Palace, to show these petty banns and frightened bureaucrats the power of the Herald of Andraste. It is only her own will that keeps her from tearing the Veil and killing these strangled arguments where they lay in so many throats.
This is the Maker’s gift. This is His will made flesh. I am exalted. You should tear out your eyes in shame.
She is delving into the Deep Roads, shooting arrows upon arrows into bleeding bodies when she realizes she does not wield the Mark anymore. The Mark is wielding her. Its thirst calls at her rage and her weariness and her desperation. It is not satisfied with the tithes she offers it. It wants the utmost sacrifice.
She hears the chorus of a thousand strained cries when she steps through the eluvian for the last time. The voices of the Fade raised in reverent anguish. How many had she sent there to wilt away, driven mad by the impermanence of it all? When the Mark eats her alive, will she have to answer to their anger? Will Corypheus be there waiting, smug in his knowledge that he had been right all along? She was a mistake, incapable of controlling the Anchor.
The only time the pain subsides is after it bursts, yanking her into the air so hard her shoulder jostles in its socket and she comes crashing down to both knees. Her nose bleeds into the dead grass between her fingers. Her ears ring so loudly in absence of the sound that she almost wishes the voices would return.
Every step is a thousand paces forward and a thousand paces back. Like walking in a dream, through something at the edge of memory. People she knows and loves half-carry her between battles, worriedly shouting over her head in muffled voices. Everything feels like she’s on the other side of a looking glass, her fingertips against the surface, mouthing the words but understanding nothing.
Only Solas makes it stop. The Anchor is stilled, rebuked and shamed by its true master. She has never loved him more for taking the pain away, nor hated him more for what he’s done.
He’s given her everything. Her power. Her glory. Her life.
And now he is taking it all away.
She feels the Mark’s claws scrape and tear at the skin on her shoulder, holding onto its host until she feels nothing at all.
All she sees is Solas. Fen’Harel. False god. Liar. Deceiver. Savior. Betrayer.
Shartan.
Maferath.
Her tears mingle with the blood and dirt on her cheeks.
It is done.
Someone holds her to their chest as she closes her eyes. She feels as if she’s just come up for air after two years underwater. There is a hand on her cheek, so cool and soft and so entirely there that her heart may burst.
It is done.
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