Scenes from my male elf circle mage inquisitor's journey. July 28 2018: WILL BE DELETED/OVERHAULED SOON.
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Shadow first met the Warden when he came to the Ostwick circle, just before Shadow’s Harrowing. The Hero was received with a hero’s welcome, of course, and yet… Shadow saw something haunted in his eyes, heard from the older students the way Glimmer would hush his voice when Templars walked by, the way he flinched and put distance between himself and them, when they tried to guard him, the way his Mabari hound growled warningly when they came too close.
It was the first that any of them had really met someone from a circle where things were so bad. And that was exactly what Glimmer was there to talk about. He was so small, and legend had not mentioned his height. His hair, yes. His hair was like the crest of some Antivan parrot, riotously colourful and looking, somehow, like feathers.
He didn’t give them a talk that was supposed to inspire them to work hard. He didn’t tell them to join the Wardens—in fact, he told them doing so was a slow death, and would not happen in battle. ‘It will kill you slowly, and you will die without dignity, afraid, and covered in filth, down in the deep. It is not a good death. You will not be remembered. I did it because the Knight Commander of my circle would have put me to death for the crimes of another student, otherwise.
‘Don’t, by the way, do blood magic. I don’t care what you think about how well you passed your Harrowing, or how much power you want, or especially the lure of doing something forbidden and rebelling against the rules. We all want to do that, to test boundaries and feel independent. Don’t pretend it never happens, or shouldn’t. It’s part of growing up. So sneak around and fuck somebody, pierce something, draw naughty bits on your desk; don’t risk your entire life, and the lives of your friends, because you don’t like Enchanter So-and-so and want to spite her.
‘I’m sure you came here expecting advice, but the advice I’d have probably wouldn’t sound very nice, especially in the wake of what happened in Kirkwall. Calenhad isn’t like this circle at all. To me, you all seem foolishly trusting of your Templars, for example. I’m told templars aren’t supposed to be like the ones I knew; that’s nice, but I won’t ever trust them. Not after the things I saw them do in my tower, not after the things I know they did in Kirkwall’s.’ He looked at the templars edging the room, meeting eyes with each one, hard and cold, before smiling with poison in the curve. ‘But I suppose if I say more I shall be called seditious and dangerous, and killed,’ he said sweetly, going back to addressing only his own.
‘I see a lot of elvhen here, so many more than in my circle; if any who have passed Harrowing wish to come with me, I shall take you to Antiva when I leave. Yes, I can do that. I am the Hero of Ferelden. I have been into the Fade more than any Enchanter here, I have cleansed an entire circle that was infested with demons. I think I am qualified to vouch for as many magelings as I want, after that.’
‘What about humans?’ asked a human boy at the front, frowning.
‘What about them?’ Glimmer asked placidly, raising a pencilled brow and leaning his face on one hand at the lectern.
‘Can we go?’
‘No,’ Glimmer said, not apologising even though his upbringing said he ought. ‘Just the elvhen.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Oh my sweet summer darling,’ Glimmer said softly. ‘Of course it’s unfair. That is precisely why I am only giving the boost to elvhen. To try and make life more fair.’
Shadow had never heard any visiting mage speak like this, and like the rest he was reeling at it, even by dinner. Glimmer came in with his dog and the elf that was with him, the Antivan with the golden hair and the black tattoo on his face, that looked something like feathers. They did not sit at the High Table with the Enchanters. They came and sat with the elvhen, who all tended to sit together.
‘H’lo,’ Ser Glimmer said to all the stunned faces. ‘Enchanter Wilfred said somebody’s doing a Harrowing tomorrow?’
Shadow raised his hand a little hesitantly. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but it was hard not to be a little… concerned, about a Harrowing.
‘Who else is doing a Harrowing between now and next Sunday?’
‘Just me,’ Shadow said, and there were nods from the rest of the table.
‘I want to talk to you about it, if I might,’ Glimmer told Shadow, as though Shadow might say no!
‘I… I would be honoured, ser.’ Shadow felt his cheeks and ears burning with the attention, not knowing what to do, how to feel. To have personal attention from someone so important! His scalp tingled with nervous pleasure.
‘Oh, please, we’re all elvhen here. Just Glim,’ he insisted, as he tucked into the meal. Everyone was very quiet, but the Antivan elf had an easy smile, and began to tease them all.
‘What is this? It tastes like nothing!’
‘You have spices in your belt pouch, darling,’ Glimmer said, with a curling smile of flirtation. His companion would not be deterred.
‘This is cruelty, surely, making children eat this?’
‘This is my favourite,’ Mahanon said stoutly, frowning. He had not yet grown old enough to understand jest of this nature.
‘Ah, then it shall be better with a little of this in it.’
‘Who are you?’ Mahanon asked, taking the little jar and uncorking it, sniffing carefully at the bright yellow powder within, and wrinkling his nose. ‘What is it?’
‘I? I am simply a pretty treasure the Warden has picked up on his travels. This, is turmeric. Try a little on your fish.’
⁕ ⁕ ⁕
Glimmer had been given a room usually shared by four older students—coveted privacy where the younger ones had to sleep in dormitories or thirty or more. But Glimmer had the room all to himself. Shadow didn’t quite know how to react to the idea, but it was thrilling. The only four people in here were, well, Glimmer, his Antivan elf friend, and the dog, and Shadow.
‘First time with any privacy, isn’t it?’ Glimmer guessed, and Shadow nodded, still looking around and around for any people.
‘I feel like I’m about to get in trouble,’ he confessed, sitting down on the bed. Glimmer gave a laugh that was very, very knowing, and bitter, sitting beside him, close enough to brush shoulders. Shadow was taller, he was rather tall for an elf, and it was also not very hard to be taller than Glimmer. There were probably dwarves taller than he was.
‘Have you ever taken Lyrium?’ Glimmer asked, serious, even grave.
‘No!’ Shadow said, immediately frightened. ‘I—is some missing? What—’
‘Oh—shh, no, no baby, that’s not what I meant. You’re not in trouble,’ he said firmly, giving Shadow a tight hug and petting his back. ‘Nonono, it’s okay, it’s okay, sweetheart,’ he soothed. Shadow had never been soothed, it made him feel strange, blushing and embarrassed but… grateful all the same. Glimmer pulled back, and met eyes with him again. ‘You’ll be taking Lyrium for your Harrowing. They send you into the Fade.’
Shadow was silent for several moments. A terrible, terrible taboo had been broken; surely Glimmer knew this? You didn’t tell people before they did their Harrowing!
‘You’ll fight off a demon, but you may meet friendly spirits too,’ Glimmer went on, aware of what he was doing—exquisitely aware. He wasn’t going to see even one boy get thrown in unprepared, not even one. ‘Shadow,’ he said, ‘are you listening?’
Shadow realised he’d been staring off into nothing. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Yes, I… demons. Spirits. Why are you telling me?’
‘Because you should know,’ Glimmer said with a hard edge to his voice, that same hard edge that underlie everything. Bitterness. Rage. Determination. ‘There’s no reason to not tell you. It’s not as hard as you’ve been told, nor will you be unprepared. Know that you can do it, Shadow. Know this. Do not let the Chantry and the Templars control you with panic. It is hard,’ he said, gentler, reaching up to touch Shadow’s face. ‘They will tell you to hurry, that if you take too long, they’ll kill you. All the more reason to succeed, to spite them.’
‘You seem to do a lot of things out of spite,’ Shadow heard himself say, without meaning to. He covered his mouth, shamed and scarlet with it; but the Warden was laughing, rueful and bitter.
‘I do, I own it,’ he said. ‘And you might, soon enough.’
‘Or again, he might become very charming like me,’ said the yet-nameless Antivan elf, with his signature lopsided grin. ‘He is already very pretty, no? Ah, look, he doesn’t know!’ he chuckled, as Shadow blushed hotly.
Glimmer’s dark eyes were even darker, and the hand on Shadow’s face shifted, fingertips running along the edge of Shadow’s ear, just lightly, enough to send tingles down all one side of him, to wake his hips to flush. ‘You are, Shadow,’ Glimmer sounded a little huskier now, and Shadow swallowed hard on a throat that was suddenly dry. ‘Might we show you just how pretty?’
Shadow knew what they were offering, what he was being asked. He flailed, for some minutes, waiting for a laugh, or a jest, or a remark of any kind, but there was only the silence as they waited for him to make it, and so he had only his own thoughts to act upon.
‘Please,’ he said, breathless, and Glimmer climbed into his lap, straddled it, kissed him deep and warm and stroked both his ears. Shadow moaned, and felt the other behind him, warm and muscled and smelling of leather and sweet cloves from the pipe he had smoked after supper.
‘I wager your cock will look like some sort of confection that belongs in a bakery,’ the Antivan purred against Shadow’s neck, and Glimmer chuckled.
‘Can we find out, Shadow?’ Glimmer asked, eager and soft and Shadow could only nod, under the onslaught of those plush little—not very little, really, they were plush and warm and he could feel them dripping onto him from under his tunic—hips, and he felt warm hands putting his hands on them, and squeezing, and oh, the noise Glimmer made into the kiss, the way he wiggled.
Shadow had never done this; there were other students that did it, but it was far less frequent than people would have liked, given the Chantry sisters and mothers breathing down their necks, and the Templars frowning on it because it could cause accidental magic.
Now, he was safe in the hands of the Warden and his companion, and they were, utterly, in control of everything. It was the first time in his life that Shadow had truly felt he didn’t have to be in control of himself, that he could give it to someone else and nothing bad would happen.
Despite the overwhelming blush that never subsided, renewed with every flirtation, every purring word from the nameless Antivan, Glimmer always followed it with asking if Shadow wanted, and Shadow always said please, and it built and built and Shadow heard himself begging them not to stop, ‘Please, please, don’t stop, please, please, pleaserighttherepleasedon’tstoppleasepleaseah-h!’
And it kept going, until Shadow wasn’t sure if he was dying, or screaming, or anything, only that he didn’t want it to stop, but he was nigh-certain he was going to die if it didn’t stop, because flesh was fragile and surely could not take so much….
When he began to scream, a warm hand clamped over his mouth, and he was grateful to be held down by magic, truly able to give up all control. When he finally gave all he had to give, when he felt loose and tingling and like he was a puddle of sensation on the bed, hands stroked over his bare skin and cleaned him off, and it took a moment to realise Glimmer had ordered a bath. A bath! Shadow only got cold baths every week, and you had to be quick about it. This was big enough to sit in and have the water up to your chin, and Glimmer even used magic just to heat the water. That in itself felt incredibly forbidden.
‘You aren’t supposed to do that with magic,’ Shadow said, without any particular inflection other than wonder, as when you observe something unreal in a dream.
‘Come on, pup,’ Glimmer said in reply, and both older elves helped him into the tub, which was wonderfully warm; Shadow fell asleep in it immediately.
Shadow plopped down next to the newest addition, who was sitting off by himself, and that was exactly what Shadow wanted right now.
‘Oh,’ Dorian said, sounding as surprised as one could be after drinking steadily for a few hours. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
‘I brought my own, you don’t have to share,’ Shadow said, holding up the bottle he’d brought with him, because this was a circle mage, wasn’t it? Even in the north, there were circles (he’d made sure to ask someone), and circles meant no privacy and sharing everything. Sometimes it was nice to have your own things.
They sat in silence for a while, in the dark of evening, and Shadow didn’t drink much—the bottle he’d brought was foul stuff, and he wasn’t much for the burn in his stomach from drink (overall, the whole concept of drinking seemed foreign, and he felt like there must be something the matter with him, because everyone else seemed to enjoy it); really, it was just a reassurance for his companion.
‘So,’ Dorian said, after some time. ‘Er, not that I don’t enjoy your company—I enjoy it quite a lot, you’ve a splendid profile, belongs on a coin—but, well, people might get ideas.’
‘People are good at that,’ Shadow said glumly. ‘Nothing I do stops them.’ He was only vaguely aware of what ideas. ‘Frankly,’ he said, with a surprising surge of vitriol, ‘I’d rather they get those sorts of ideas. It’s been so easy for everyone to think I’m some kind of—some kind of second coming of Andraste.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow.’ Dorian was sure it wasn’t just the wine; this wasn’t strong stuff, he only had the vaguest buzz at this point, even after the cluster of bottles he’d consumed. Granted, he knew that it was hard to get wine in this remote a place, let alone good wine. Everyone in the south drank beer, it seemed. Foul stuff. Tasted like bread mixed with bile.
Shadow sighed explosively. ‘You know,’ he said, looking off into the moon. ‘I met the Hero of Ferelden once. The first thing he did was fuck me for an hour. A whole hour! I was eighteen! I hadn’t even had a Harrowing yet! But here he swans in, and fucks me. And now people think I’m chaste, that I’m pure and have never been fucked before, and how am I supposed to tell them. Nobody would believe me! Oh, I’ve fucked the Warden, by the way, he came to my circle and apparently that was on his to-do list!’
At this point, a swallow of something that burned and tasted awful felt right, and Shadow tried it. Maybe this was how you were supposed to do it.
Dorian was silent for long moments, absolutely flabbergasted at this confession; he didn’t doubt it, but he’d also never met the Hero, and had a different perspective on any and all stories from the South. Darkspawn seemed both like a nightmare and a very distant thing, that must be exaggerated, because the South barely had mages. The thing that made the Hero extraordinary, even unbelievable, in Tevinter, was that he had pulled everyone together politically, while marked as outlaw, while being an elf. ‘I believe you,’ Dorian decided that was the best response, until he could come up with a wittier one.
‘Thank you,’ Shadow said.
‘Are you propositioning me?’ Dorian took a moment to put it together, but not a shamefully long moment. He just wasn’t used to such directness.
‘Isn’t that what you meant when you said people would “get ideas”?’ Shadow countered, just as bewildered at Dorian’s confusion. ‘That’s… that’s what “getting ideas” means, down here,’ he added, thinking perhaps it meant something different in Tevinter, and perhaps Dorian hadn’t been propositioning him. ‘Did you mean something else?’ he asked kindly.
‘I… rather meant politics, you know, “oh, the poor unknowing Inquisitor, being influenced by that nasty Tevinter magister”.’
Shadow gave Dorian a long, appraising look. From the heart-shaped beauty mark, to the waxed moustaches, the soft gloss of lip balm, the kohl, the bared shoulder, the sleek and dangerous black and gold… ‘Well,’ Shadow said, ‘I must say, I’m a bit disappointed you weren’t.’
‘I’m not not,’ Dorian said, trying not to sound rushed, because the instant he’d seen Shadow, his heart had skipped a beat, and he hadn’t exactly had his knees collapse because he was tired from running. No one had said the Herald of Andraste was devastatingly attractive, and moreover, nobody had mentioned the way he dressed, or that he painted his face. These things were important details, surely?
Takes place before the previous two chapters. This is a flashback kind of chapter.
When the plague came, the Trevelyan Bannorn was still hit hard, even with all the Trevelyans did to aid the people working their land for them. It was a strange sickness, ripping through the lands, rich and poor, spreading fast and withering even the hale. They’d thought it was influenza, but then the rash came, and the shying from the light.
Grey Birds came then, always a terrifying sight, seen through cracks; Grey Warden mages masked and wearing heavy Antivan leather that covered every inch of them, masks with long cones of purifying herbs and crushed Lyrium on their faces, they went from house to house, checking if the plague was the Blight, marking infected houses and piling the dead on carts to be taken outside the village, to a pit, and burnt.
Usually dwarva dug the pit. Usually dwarva weren’t sick. At least this new disease seemed to be playing by the rules. But it had ripped through the elves as much as the humans, which was unusual—usually plagues stuck to one side of an alienage wall or the other. But at least the dwarva weren’t sick.
The Trevelyan lands weren’t the only ones affected—but they are the ones who did something worthy of a story. Their own house was devastated, and the Lord Trevelyan was laid low for many weeks, though his wife was, mercifully, spared. Lady Trevelyan had locked herself in her rooms at her husband’s orders, not letting in any servants, the both of them surviving on nothing but boiled turnips and water. In the end, she was thin as a rake, as was he, but they were alive.
They were some of the only ones in their castle to live through it. Those who were left lived on, looking in cradles and listening for the cries of children whose parents had been taken by Death. There was only one infant, an pink elfling with ink-black hair, who had been squalling fit to bring down the castle. It had taken hours to find him, for his parents’ last dying care of him was to hide him high, pennyroyal and thistlemirth tucked in his swaddling.
The Trevelyans had wanted a child, and had been trying for one before the plague came. With the devastation it had wrought, it would have been years before the Lady would have been able to bear, if the pestilence had not taken fertility from her husband entirely. But here was a child.
The smith who had found the elfling waited in the Great Hall, too tired and weary, and too trusting of his Lord and Lady, to be nervous.
‘Did you find any family?’ Lady Trevelyan asked again, as the Grey Bird carefully examined the swaddling and the child for pestilence.
‘Only bodies, my lady,’ said the smith, too tired and weary to summon sorrow for it. So many had died. After a time your tears ran dry. ‘I left them for the Birds, as was ordered.’
‘We will take him,’ said Lord Trevelyan, his great booming voice hoarse, but no less decisive—nigh-vehement—as ever. He lifted his fist weakly, and let it fall again on his chair at the High Table.
‘My Lord?’ said the smith, baffled, having already reached out to take the child from the Grey Bird, who had already begun holding the re-wrapped elfling out to him.
‘He needs mother and father, yes? We are mother and father! He is in our house, is our baby now.’ Lord Trevelyan had the thick accent of the Vinmarks, whose dead native tongue (but very alive native dialect) often did away with unnecessary words like articles. People got used to it. Unwise foreign people often took this as a sign that Lord Trevelyan was as stupid as he was large.
Lady Trevelyan took the elfling in her arms, and looked down at him, and saw his wide, sparkling blue eyes, peering curiously at her as he immediately stopped crying.
And so it was that the young Master Trevelyan had long and pointed ears, and blue eyes that remained blue as he grew up, lightening from the baby-blue all elfling eyes were to a blue that was, as his father often said, very like mountain shadows. His hair he kept long, for it pleased his mother to braid it and comb it, and he ran and played like all children do, and learnt at the feet of his mother and father their especial hobbies, as well as the profession that was being nobility, and ruling other people. In short, they hoped to raise their elf child as they would have raised any first-born son—to be a fine knight, a fine lord, to arrange marriage with a suitable match—but, as always, magic ruins the plans of man, and with many tears shed, little lord Trevelyan was taken away to the Ostwick circle. He did not like it, but after it became clear his parents still loved him, he accepted his fate, with the promise that he could go home if he passed his Harrowing well.
Shadow's father comes to Skyhold, bearing some very special gifts.
So, this chapter was written after I got more of a solid handle on how Shadow sounds. I've been sick of English accents for my characters for a while, and was flipping through my personal stock of voices when I tried, for a lark, the Final Pam/Cold War Spy voice, and it so delighted me, and changed Shadow's whole behaviour to something so much more interesting, that I kept it on.
The Dragoncats Lord Trevelyan breeds are sphynx cats.
Lord Trevelyan was a very large man, and seemed larger due to a combination of his lack of apology about it, booming voice, and a personality that could only be described with words like ‘merry’ and ‘jolly’. He seemed like the sort of person who had dogs, except he was an avid breeder of cats. He seemed like the sort of person who had a tiny wife, except Lady Oksana only looked small next to him, towering over most other ladies. He seemed like the sort of man with many children, except he only had one.
‘Shadow!’ he boomed, as he came into Skyhold, and it rang to the rafters.
‘Papa!’ Shadow had never let his voice get so loud before, and launched himself across the Great Hall, vaulting the High Table and climbing up into his father’s arms. Lord Trevelyan laughed, holding him tight and twirling him around.
‘I didn’t know you were coming, Papa,’ Shadow said, when he got set down again. ‘Come! Come meet him!’ He pulled his father by the hand to the library.
‘Yes, I wanted to be surprise! I have cats for your friends!’ Lord Trevelyan said, and then laughed when he saw where they were. ‘He lives in library? Ha! Northern mages not so different from southern!’
‘Solas!’ Shadow said. ‘This is my father, Lord Trevelyan. Papa, this is Solas. He saved my life when explosion happened.’
‘Good!’ Lord Trevelyan put a hand on Solas’ shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
Solas, Shadow saw, looked a little surprised at the introduction, but bowed politely. ‘My lord.’
‘Pah! You save son’s life, you call me Dmitri.’
Shadow grinned at Solas’ shock. ‘Solas painted these,’ he pointed to the murals. ‘Solas, tell him. I go find Dorian.’ He darted off before there could be protest, and Solas—and the entire castle, likely—heard him.
‘DORIAN!’
Shadow ran up the stairs, Dorian meeting him at the door.
‘Maker’s balls, Shadow, you’ve got the lungs of a bull elephantus—’
‘Come meet Papa!’ Shadow said eagerly. ‘He’s here!’
‘So I heard,’ Dorian said, but he was smiling and following Shadow. Lord Trevelyan was listening with great enthusiasm to Solas, as Shadow knew he would, and Shadow pulled Dorian into a kiss, letting Dorian press him up against the door to the bottom of the stairs.
‘You’re going to ruin my moustache,’ Dorian murmured against his lips, Shadow’s hand on his bare shoulder.
‘I suppose I’ll just have to kiss something else then…’ Shadow said, and bit his neck. Dorian laughed.
‘Naughty,’ he scolded, baring his throat and lacing his fingers with Shadow’s, enjoying the feeling of lips and teeth and tongue, marking him no doubt. Sweet pet, so possessive…. He heard the sound of Solas’ voice winding down, outside the door, and Shadow pulled away. Dorian got out his pocket-mirror and inspected the damage; not too bad. He fixed what needed fixing, Shadow waited patiently, leaning against the wall and waiting his turn. His lip-paint was smudged, and Dorian helped him fix it, before they opened the door.
‘Lord Trevelyan,’ Dorian said, and looked a lot farther up than he’d expected. When Shadow had said his father was a large man, Dorian had not considered that meant the man could see eye-to-eye with most Qunari. He looked even bigger with all that black beard, neatly combed but long and thick. Dorian started to hold out a hand, but found himself swept up in a bone-crushing hug, his feet off the ground.
‘Son in law!’ came the booming declaration of alliance, and Dorian just gave up on breathing until his feet were back on the ground and those bearish arms had freed him, large hands resting softly on his shoulders as he was looked at in the manner fathers looked at fiancés. Dorian expected judgement, but only saw fatherly twinkling—not an expression he was at all used to. ‘Ah yes, you are fancy like my Shadow. Good!’ He patted Dorian’s shoulder. ‘Good. You like cats? Of course you do! Come, we see the cats, I have brought. One for you, Solas. Come!’
Shadow trotted along, unable to stop beaming. The servants were all those who knew him and he hugged them all.
‘Ah, Lord Trevelyan.’ Josephine was waiting in the courtyard, by the caravan that was unpacking. ‘I am Lady Montilyet, I wonder if I could have just a moment of your time?’
‘Of course.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Anything for pretty Antivan lady.’
She blushed, smiling; she knew by now that Lord Trevelyan, despite his great presence, was never rough. The great boisterous laugh of his voice did not mean he was careless with his strength, nor disdainful of manners.
Shadow waved to them, but turned to the elves that were seeing to the section of cargo that was noisily miaowing, baskets of finely-woven wire carefully placed on a smooth-gaited horse. One was a youth with orange-brown hair and an upturned nose that gave him a mischievous look, the other was a woman with silver-streaked hair. Both, like Shadow, looked plump—perhaps more than Shadow, who had been melting off the fat with how much running and magic he’d been doing. Solas reflected they looked like their lord, all windburnt cheeks and laughter.
‘Shadow!’ the woman said, smiling and hugging him.
‘You went to Antiva!’ Shadow said, seeing the silver rings down the edges of her ears. She smiled.
‘We needed to get the dogs.’
‘The dogs?’ Shadow wrinkled his nose, and heard the barking from far away, looking around the courtyard to see Cullen and a few other Fereldan soldiers playing with four dogs—two bitches that had clearly been the breeding sort, with how prominent their teats were—and raised his brow. ‘Dogs? Papa has dogs now?’
‘No, don’t worry,’ the youth laughed as he gently lifted a basket off the cart. It was squalling angrily with many voices. ‘They are for the Inquisition, he got them from—’
‘An anonymous donor,’ the woman spoke over the younger elf pointedly, before turning back to Shadow. ‘It’s good to see you alive, Shadow. We were so worried when we got the news of the Conclave.’
Shadow hugged her. ‘Don’t worry, see? I am here! Solas saved me. Solas, Dorian, this is Fenetra, she nursed me. And this is Relan.’
‘My lords.’
‘I am no lord,’ Solas said immediately.
‘No, you are just grumpy old man, we know,’ Shadow teased him, grinning as he went over to the basket, opening it and getting a naked cat from inside. It had a dragon-looking face, and whippy tail, claws digging into Shadow. It was greyish pink, with dark points, and looked around with large jewel-like eyes.
‘MAOW,’ it said, in a scratchy, low voice, deeply perturbed by all of this. Shadow held him.
‘You brought Old Aleksiy, he said, to no one. He smiled, going over to Solas. ‘What you think of Solas, Aleksiy? Hm?’
‘BOW,’ said Aleksiy, sniffing at Solas’ face. ‘NNROW.’
‘Yes,’ Shadow said. ‘He is grumpy old man, like you.’
‘Mow.’ Aleksiy reached out a wrinkled black paw and put it on Solas’ face gently. It was very warm.
‘He likes you,’ Shadow told Solas. ‘You like him?’
‘He’s lovely, Shadow,’ Solas said, in a shocking display of fondness. He reached up his hand, Aleksiy sniffing it, before pushing his face under it.
‘Mow!’ he said, a scratchy purr starting up. ‘Mrrraaow, ow.’ He climbed onto Solas and curled into his arms.
‘He likes you,’ Shadow said again, in a very satisfied tone. ‘Where are kittens?’ Shadow asked the elves, looking at the baskets. Some contained kittens, he could hear them. He could also see one of the lids being pushed, the pink paw of the Empress threatening, her claws catching on the wires. ‘Hello, Your Imperial Majesty,’ he said in a grand and respectful tone, but did not open the lid. If possible, her voice was even louder than Aleksiy’s.
‘MAAAAWR.’
‘Yes, I know you have had long journey.’
‘RAWWWWWWNR.’
‘My god, she sounds like a terror,’ Dorian said, eyes a little wide.
‘She is terror,’ Shadow said, delighted. ‘Papa is her favourite.’ He went over to one of the other baskets, and opened it. ‘Ah!!’ he said, bending down and lifting out two small cats, one greyish blue black, and one mostly pink with one blue blotch and a blue nose. They had the wide-eyed look of kittens. Shadow handed the black one to Dorian, who took it.
‘They’re hideously cute,’ he said, cuddling the kitten, who immediately started to purr and knead at his chest. He saw Bull starting to drift over, along with a few others.
‘Bull!’ Shadow said, holding out the blue-nose kitten.
‘Yahh!’ said the kitten. Bull cupped his hands, the kitten sitting comfortably in the warmth and starting to wash Bull’s fingertip, purring. ‘Yrrahh!’ he said again, busily washing.
‘Who’s this?’
‘She—’ Shadow paused, and lifted the kitten’s tail and looked. ‘She,’ he said again, ‘is too young for name. Only twelve weeks.’ He went over to the other basket, opening it to more kittens. He gave another one to Dorian (this one was also blotchy, and sleepy, burrowing into Dorian’s clothes using the side that bared his shoulder, and trying to fall back asleep), and to Bull (shouting every meow with his scratchy voice and promptly started trying to calculate how to get down). ‘Where is…’
‘Hello, my dear,’ said Vivienne, as she came across the cobblestones. Shadow stood up, smiling.
‘Hello! Yours is here somewhere.’
The Empress made a very alarming noise from her basket, paw still ominously groping outside, claws flexing.
‘That one?’
‘Oh no, that is Empress.’
‘HNNNRRRRRRRRRRW.’
‘Why aren’t you letting her out, Boss?’ Bull said, holding both kittens close and seeming curious as both of them tried to wrestle while the first was also trying to wash him. ‘She seems pretty mad.’
‘I like my face,’ Shadow said, chuckling. ‘Only Papa can open her basket. She hates everyone but Papa, even me.’ He didn’t seem bothered by this. ‘Fennie,’ he called out to the older elf. ‘Fennie, where is Empress’ kitten? For Lady Vivienne,’ he said, gesturing to her.
‘Oh, he’s in the Empress’ basket.’
‘Ahh,’ Shadow said, and went over to Vivienne. ‘You wait for your baby, I am sorry.’
She chuckled. ‘I am willing to be patient, my dear. And who are these for?’
Shadow looked at each kitten one by one. ‘This one,’ he said of the black one. ‘This is for fiancé. He will have good glare for Magisters when he is grown. Blue nose, I think for Cole, yes. She is very good, very maternal. And her brother for Varric, he has green eyes.’ Shadow went over and rescued Varric’s kitten, putting him on Varric as soon as the man came up. ‘Here, Varric, here is baby.’
The kitten shouted a meow at him, the edges of it rippled by a purr. It immediately rubbed against his chin.
‘Who told you I’m any good with kids?’
‘Ha, says man who has kids following him everywhere like ducklings! Papa! This is Lady Vivienne, she is one for Empress’ baby. You see what I mean? Good for Empress’ babies.’
Lord Trevelyan kissed her hand, chuckling. ‘Yes, you are good for them. I do not give Empress’ kittens to people, they are special. When Shadow said one should be for his friend, I think, I should meet Lady before. But I see now! Yes, you are right for prince of cats. Come!’ He went over and touched at the Empress’ paw. Her yowling didn’t get any friendlier, but Lord Trevelyan only made kissy noises, opening the basket. Immediately, a pink cat of enormous size was on the rim of it, arching and hissing impressively, her warning yowl so loud and menacing the horses nearby started shifting nervously, glaring at her kingdom with eyes as brilliant and pale as the sky.
Lord Trevelan just picked her up and she immediately started purring, rubbing against him and kneading at his great beard. Only after this quieting did they hear the squeakier rasp of the kitten inside.
‘He is small,’ Lord Trevelyan said, as Shadow reached into the basket. ‘Last baby for Empress.’
‘He has fur!’ Shadow said, surprised. The fur was short as velvet, only on tail and paws and face, curly and strange, with frazzled whiskers instead of none. It made him look rather lightning-struck and startled. He looked around with pale blue eyes, squeaking. Shadow smiled, giving him to Vivienne.
‘Oh, he’s darling,’ Vivienne said, enchanted instantly—and delighted to have the social implication of one of these cats. They were a kind of status symbol—very few people were allowed to have them, and breeding them was risky, as the hairless trait seemed to be overwritten by most furred cats.
‘—aow?’ said the white kitten, starting to knead at her chest. She gently dissuaded him from this, and put him on her shoulder. He rubbed against her face, purring.
‘And this one for Cole, and this sleepy for you, Josie,’ Shadow handed her a cat, who fell asleep again and purred.
‘Oh—thank you, Inquisitor.’
‘You need cat, cat helps with stress,’ Shadow said seriously. ‘See? You feel better already.’
‘You are Bull of Iron?’ Lord Trevelyan said to Bull, clapping him on the back.
‘That’s me.’
‘And this is Varric Tethras, Papa,’ Shadow said. ‘The author.’
‘Ah, my brother likes your stories of love very much. And you have the shouty son, good.’ Lord Trevelyan rubbed the kitten’s face. ‘He does not like climbing, is good kitten for writer at desk. Now!’ he said. ‘Special cats have special care. Everyone listen. You must give them bath every week, like baby. In warm water.’
‘And they… won’t shred us alive?’ Varric asked, skeptical.
‘No, no. They like to play in warm water, is nice for them. Cats with fur hate bath because fur is sensitive. Dragoncats have no fur, always cold. Warm water is nice, like for people.’
‘You can also make them little jumpers for winter,’ Shadow added helpfully. ‘I do this at circle during lecture sometimes.’
‘Ha ha! I remember when Grand Enchanter send me letter, “congratulations on your new baby” and I say to him, “What is this? New baby? What new baby?”.’
Shadow was helpless with laughter, remembering the incident. There had been a flurry of letters back and forth for weeks, and Shadow had thought it the peak of hilarity to mislead the Grand Enchanter, and see just how far the man would dig his own grave with Shadow’s father.
‘Silly boy,’ Lord Trevelyan said fondly, petting Shadow the way he petted the cats, along his jawline.
Three despair demons, the shriek would give Shadow nightmares for the rest of his life. He hadn’t seen them, in the dark the flashes of light from magic and the blinding green of the rift made it hard to see, and the shrieks always made it hard to know what was going on, in the heat of battle. Shadow still fought with the rest, but just as everything seemed to be winding down, there was blood everywhere and Dorian was screaming.
Shadow planted himself over his love, took up his staff, and wielded both, closing the rift. As soon as it shut, he collapsed, the power of the anchor the only thing that was keeping him up. Though he was shaking, he still revived Dorian first, and fed him the health potion like a bird to hatchlings, taking a mouthful and letting it trickle into Dorian’s mouth through a kiss.
‘No dying before we’re married,’ he said, when Dorian finally opened his eyes, the glow of the potion’s work visible through his ice-burns and cuts. Dorian smiled.
‘And miss the look on Father’s face when he sees you?’ His voice was getting stronger with each passing moment. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Shadow.’
‘Don’t scare me like that again,’ Shadow said, impatiently wiping away tears, trying to smile. He pressed the rest of the potion into Dorian’s hands. ‘Drink it all,’ he ordered, anger hiding real fear. Dorian obeyed, setting the empty flask in the sand beside him, sitting up and putting his arms around Shadow.
‘Shadow, I’m fine.’
Shadow’s only response was an explosion of dry sobs that shook even his large frame. Dorian shushed him for a while, Shadow clutching at his armour. It was… strange, having someone care so much; having someone be so afraid for you. Dorian held Shadow a little tighter. Despair demons were the hardest to fight, for him; and three dogpiling him at once was really rather unsporting. Dorian kissed Shadow’s temple; his elvhen betrothed was saying the occasional sentence, but Varric and Bull were catching up, and the crisp dry air of the Hissing Wastes meant that sounds carried.
‘Varric,’ Dorian said, wondering if it would matter to someone like Shadow, that someone was watching. Shadow didn’t seem to lessen his tears. ‘Bull,’ Dorian said, and Bull was immediately pulling them both into his huge arms, not bone-crushing but steady. Safe.
‘Hey,’ Bull said, with that smile that made you feel so damned reassured. ‘Vints are sturdier than they look, boss, don’t worry.’ But it wasn’t dismissal, and Shadow quieted a little, though he still held tightly to Dorian.
‘Yes, well,’ Dorian blustered, a little pink around the ears. ‘I may be sturdy, but my clothes aren’t going to last much longer with you clawing them up like that, kitten.’
In response, Shadow really dug his nails in, and Dorian knew he’d gotten through, somehow, because that last sound was something that was more like a laugh than a sob.
special thanks to boycoffin for writing the notes from solas and vivienne.
[the letter is written on a page carefully cut from the endpapers of Hard in Hightown, with what appears to be ink made from berries. The hand is careful, like an older child’s.]
Inquisitor Trevelyan,
If you’re reading this, thank you. We aren’t sure if this letter will get all the way to you. We are a group of young magi who don’t want to fight a war, and lots of us remember you from when we were children at Ostwick. When the circles dissolved, those of us from Ostwick set out to find our brothers and sisters from southern circles, who needed our help. We remembered what the Hero told us about conditions in the south, and we wanted to do good even if it was illegal. Now we are stuck in the Exalted Plains. We have found haven in the old Elvhen graveyard, and thank these gentle dead every day for letting us sleep in a place most of us are not supposed to be. None of us are older than twenty, and we’re scared. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to try and take on such responsibility, but no one else was protecting other children. No one else was left. We haven’t gotten sick, praise whomever looks over magi children, but we’re all aware we might soon, and have no way to cope. We heard from listening to passing soldiers that the Inquisition has reached the Plains, and one of us coaxed a raven. We hope it gets to you. Please come, the youngest of us are only seven. We just want somewhere safe to sleep at night.
~The Children of Magic
[attached to the opened and re-folded letter]
Mme. Lady of Iron Vivienne,
Please clear out and requisition anything and everything you possibly need for these kids. Use this letter as blanket permission. I am taking Chargers and gentlest of our men, and Cullen, and going to find them.
~Lord Shadow Trevelyan, Inquisitor
Inquisitor,
I have spoken to Madame de Fer and have begun collaborating on the crafting of staves appropriate to the skill levels of various ages of apprentice, as those we have in reserve for members of the Inquisition are only suited to those of an advanced technical ability.
I know we have not always seen eye to eye on the subject of education, particularly that of elves. If I may be of assistance, however, in instructing the new arrivals when they have come to us—whatever their race—I am happy to provide what help I can. Working with you these many months has changed a great deal of my opinions on the subject of conservation versus radical change. While I shan’t go into the "philosophical melancholy" as you’ve called it, I want to thank you for allowing me, despite my advanced years, to continue to learn and grow.
Your friend,
Solas
[an announcement put up in several places of Skyhold]
PLEASE WELCOME SKYHOLD’S NEW CHILDREN
We have a group of children under my personal protection now living in Skyhold. In interest of making space, this means that all guests of Skyhold who currently possess homes will be asked to return to them, in order to free up beds for the children who have no homes.
In the interest of the children’s welfare, I am asking:
- All loud noise be confined inside tavern walls after evening prayers
- Sparring with live steel be confined to specified areas only, all those caught sparring with anything but wooden weapons outside these areas will be punished harshly.
- Any ranking members of the Chantry not sing the Chant in the presence of children unless those children are attending services in the chapel willingly.
- The children all be treated as though they are my sons and daughters.
- Doors not be slammed. Ever. Those who accidentally allow a door to slam must call out that they are sorry.
- The most comfortable, warmest, and best seats, beds, and places by the fire be given to children. Excepting if you are sick or wounded, you must give up your seat.
- Please be kind to them. If you do not like being kind, at least be kind by not interacting.
Thank you so much for helping, and if you find any magi children displaced by this war, please send them to Skyhold or the nearest Inquisition camp. They will be safe there. Please do not take them in yourself. The Inquisition has a Grand Enchanter who has years of experience running a circle, and many Enchanter-rank magi that are qualified to teach and care for magi children, and also many ex-Templars who are experienced in protecting magi.
~Lord Shadow Trevelyan, Inquisitor
Mme. Lady of Iron Vivienne,
There are twenty-six of them. Most are between 12-16, but there are six that are very small and the eldest is one of my classmates; he is with child and scared. I am glad I came with Chargers, their backup archer helped me explain no it is not red lyrium in his belly and he is not dying, he is gravid.
I have been telling them about you, and Dorian, and Solas.
They are all safe now, and they are only very worried about having stayed in the crypts. They keep telling backup archer they are sorry. It breaks my heart. This is why we need circles. I don’t know how to bash people over head with this, that circles are for our kids, because nobody thinks magi are ever kids do they? Magi are only ever grown people, they spring from the Fade like that. I know you can shout at people about it and they will listen.
~Shadow
Papa and Mother,
I have twenty six magi children that need family. Please ask who can come help give them family here in Skyhold. I know it would be best to have them there with you in Ostwick, but travel is dangerous and there are people working in the Fade to control magi, so I want them close to us right now. See if Aunt Sasha and Aunt Yvgeni will come, I know they would cheer everyone up.
~Shadow
Shadow,
Would you like to have wedding at Skyhold?
~Papa & Mother
Dorian,
How do you feel about the moving the wedding to Skyhold?
~S.
Beloved,
I would wed you in a cave, or a barn, or the damned Fallow Mire. Wherever you like. My surroundings would have no bearing on my capacity for matrimonial bliss.
Yours!
Dorian
Josephine,
Wedding is moving to Skyhold in light of recent events. Sorry. I know is very hard. At least Orlesian nobles are all gone and it is only normal people now. Now only nobles will be Marcher guests and Dorian’s family, and everyone in Skyhold can help with wedding better! Also, food will keep better in snow! We could have ice sculptures instead of flowers.
~Shadow
Solas,
How should we apologise to spirits of dead elvhen in the graves the children were using? Do we need to?
~Shadow
Shadow,
I shall pay them a visit and explain the situation. Odds are, any departed Dalish buried there will more than understand the need for shelter by those abandoned by human society.
-Solas
Solas,
Thank you. Please tell children this, they worry. Perhaps tell them stories of Fade, they would like that. I remember being small, Fade did not seem so scary then.
~Shadow
Varric,
Please tell children stories.
~Shadow
Inquisition,
Do not trace this letter, Leliana; I will kill any agents that try.
Thank you for actually giving a fuck about magi children. Here are some mabari. They’re from good stock. Also a printing press. I thought the Inquisition might like a tool that frees you from relying on Chanters and rumour to spread word.
~[a smear of bright pink dye in the shape of a flower]
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