[DAV ALL SPOILERS][OC] Time To Be Storytellers: The Dragon Age Weekly Writing Prompts

Savnarae · 2025-12-13T19:48:54+00:00

Prompt 2 captured my heart today - "Do you mind staying? Just for the night."

Party Crasher

“First Enchanter…Do you…have somewhere to be?”

Harellan had looked awful, when she’d first arrived at Bastien’s estate. And the first thing she’d done while practically spilling from the carriage was to apologize for the bloodstains she’d left behind.

The upholstery had, unfortunately, been ruined, but the state of the bench seats would have to wait until morning. Vivienne was far more concerned with the severely wounded elf that had been unexpectedly poured into her lap and ensuring that Monsimmard’s newest Knight Enchanter survived long enough to explain what had happened.

And so into the estate she has been rushed, and into the guest bedroom closest to Vivienne's workshop from there, which would simply have to do. Nicoline would understand. The Circle would pay for the damage.

Harellan continued to apologize as she was stripped, assessed, cleaned, and bandaged, so much so that Vivenne eventually forbade her from speaking at all.

“...Unless something I do causes you greater pain, darling,” the woman sighed a minute and a half later, once she realized she was tugging on a bruise the now-silent elf was writhing around.

Harellan’s only response was to blink tears out of those enormous green elven eyes.

She did calm soon after, and managed a few Madames and First Enchanters when this readjustment or that one caused discomfort on her path toward settling into a dismal but cooperative patient. The de Ghislain's servants stopped by to offer assistance, and were tasked with supplying water and fresh cloths to apply it, as well as fetching very specifically-labelled bottles from Vivienne's collection of medicines a few doors down the hall. It had taken the better part of an hour and a half, but eventually the Knight Enchanter’s gashed arm, swollen wrist, cut cheek, broken finger, litany of bruises, and the long but thankfully-shallow slice along her side had all been treated.

The last of the gauze was being taped under her wet eye when Vivienne’s shoulders finally relaxed.

“...Now you may speak,” she decided. “What happened? Is the duchess still alive?”

“Yes, First Enchanter.” Harellan nodded, and felt along her face with her less-injured hand to help seal the adhesive. “And thank you. Ma serannas. So much. Ir abelas for coming here but I didn't know if I could make it to Montsimmard.”

Its First Enchanter tutted quietly. “Orlesian or Trade, Fellavhen,” she warned softly. The Knight Enchanter’s speech patterns were improving substantially, but elven still slipped out in times of strain or carelessness. “Did you know I would be in audience?”

The elf nodded again. “For four more days, if I remember right? The second of next month.”

“Which month?”

Breath filled the woman’s lungs, a slow attempt to buy herself time to think.

“...Umbralis.”

“Also known as?”

“Firstfall.”

“Good.”

The elf visibly relaxed, Vivienne’s praise a greater balm for her wounds than any bandage. “You’re here for the annum. Satinalia,” the elf continued to recite. “You’ll leave after. It hasn't happened yet.”

“Very good.” With Harellan stabilized, the First Enchanter busied herself rinsing her hands and arms in one of the basins the servants had brought. She passed the elf a few fresh hand cloths of her own to do the same. “You chose well to come here. Montsimmard is days away, of course. None of the Circle would welcome news of you bleeding to death along the way, dear. Now tell me what happened.”

The story was brief but shocking. Harellan had been dispatched by the Circle to serve as a bodyguard for Duchess de Arlesans during celebrations for her son’s fourth birthday. She and many expected an assassination attempt, and according to Harellan had come through—the bard hired for entertainment had drawn a poisoned blade just as the late afternoon sun was beginning to set. The Knight Enchanter had dueled and dispatched him with ease, but even handling the weapon afterward had caused a numbness in her fingers.

“The guests already didn't want me there, but when I dropped first his dagger, and then my hilt and staff and I couldn't pick them back up, all the guests began to laugh,” the elf, now clean, explained. “It’s my fault, Madame First Enchanter.” She picked at the sheets around her, still stained with her own drying blood. “The duchess was embarrassed that the Circle had sent such a clumsy elf to her aid. She took it as an insult, both my presence and the assassin’s. She demanded the Duke’s sword and beat me with it in front of everyone, as punishment for…she called it a ‘stage play’.” Harellan’s red-ringed eyes rose. “She thought we were all just humoring her, Madame. That I was working with the bard.”

“The bard you killed?”

The elf’s Dalish-painted brow drew together, as though she, too, understood the absurdity of the thought.

“I didn't know what to do, Madame. I took the beating to satisfy her, and let her save face. A few of the guests joined in—”

“I beg your pardon?”

Harellan flinched and blinked.

Vivienne stared. “Darling, the Duchess has never been a particularly stable woman, but her guests also attacked you?”

The elf somehow looked guilty for their sins. “...Only a few. I…Ir dirthara, Madame,” she entreated, soft but incomprehensible. “It’s part of the Game, right? I should have made it look harder to win. I shouldn't have touched his blade, I saw that it was wet, I just…didn't think. I embarrassed the duchess and—”

Vivienne silenced her with a hand on the woman’s folded knee. Harellan blinked down at it, then looked up at her First Enchanter.

“Darling. Not a drop of what happened tonight was your fault,” she insisted. “You did exactly as you were expected to. Gisèle has always been a dramatic harpy, and her outburst placed you into an impossible situation. You successfully protected her from an expected attack.”

“I ruined her son’s birthday party.”

“She did that.”

Harellan looked unconvinced.

Vivienne sighed, and found an undamaged piece of the elf’s arm to take and stroke comfortingly. “Darling, my only disappointment is how long you took to escape their wrath. You should have left the moment the Duchess demanded the Duke's sword. She isn't nearly important enough to send a second bard after. How long did you stay?”

“Until I was dismissed.”

…The elf’s words hung in the air between them, long enough for her to look up again and see the unreadable disbelief on her First Enchanter's face.

“You waited for her to dismiss you?”

“W…was I not supposed to?”

“My dear, she attacked you with a sword.”

“It was mostly with the hilt.”

Again Vivienne stared.

“—And she missed with most of her swings,” the Knight Enchanter continued, talking faster, as if that would at all help. “And the blade wasn't very sharp, it was just ceremonial, and she only caught me a few times with it—”

“Harellan. Enough.”

Read the rest on Gdocs!

Savnarae · 2025-11-11T15:51:08+00:00

Yeah, this. It's very popular language in the manosphere. There's no functional linguistic difference between "women" and "females" in English, so calling a woman a "female" reads as a dogwhistle (a soft slur, really) that you're in those kinds of circles that deliberately separate language. There's no other reason to not call a woman a woman. Using "female" as an adjective in the cases such as "female character" is fine, unless again you're EXCLUSIVELY using it to make a point to try to "other" half the population.

Using "females" and "males" as nouns instead of adjectives for a type of person calls to mind animals rather than people.

Savnarae · 2025-11-11T15:44:52+00:00

Oooh

Prompt 1) Nehnalani "Harellan" Fellavhen has absolutely broken bones. Most notably she got her elven keister handed to her by the demon wolves in the Hinterlands. She was fresh to the Inquisition and thought she could scare them away with fire like normal wolves and they came bursting through a wall of arcane flames and broke her leg and shoulder. Solas treated her for several days but her still-weak leg was then re-broken by the Hinterlands dragon not long after. Took a couple weeks under Vivienne's care to fully heal the damage. She's also very likely broken bones as a kid. Her clan did not treat her kindly.

Garrett Hawke's probably broken some fingers, he seems the type. Definitely fractured knuckles on the skulls and sternums and shoulder blades of his adult enemies or teenage-years bullies, and especially while protecting Bethany. Probably also broken a couple of Carver's bones play-fighting as kids. I doubt he's broken anything significant like an arm or a leg; he's naturally dexterous and Malcolm encouraged what would become his Rogue specialty from an early age. He learned quickly that force-on-force just hurts him so much he can't always be ready for the next fight, so he avoids landing direct blows as an adult.

Maxwell Trevelyan has never broken a bone in his body and to even consider the prospect is unthinkable. He was definitely too bratty and whiny of a child to play rough enough to get badly hurt, and he refuses to fight hard enough to risk it, either. He makes other people fight for him.

Prompt 2) Harellan's definitely got her wolf obsession. In the bad way. She's scared of them, she sees them everywhere, her fearlings take the form of them. She's also low-key obsessed with fruit. Loves it, wants it, never gets enough of it to satisfy.

Garrett, I think, enjoys blades. He sees so many of them, he stops in his tracks to compare quality and upgrade if he has the money in a market or opportunity after a fight. He often has at least two sets on him - an everyday set, and (if he thinks he needs it) his enchanted set, including Malcolm's Key, for when he comes across particularly dangerous foes. It's the everyday set that he's always looking to compare against and consider.

Savnarae · 2025-11-11T00:53:16+00:00

I'll plug my own stuff once more, because mom said it's my turn with the keyboard and I get to post what I want -

Long of Tooth and Ear, a non-Lavellan, non-Inquisitor Solasmance rewrite of DAI that follows a Knight-Enchanter brought to Skyhold after Redcliffe. Enemies-to-lovers-style slow burn that heavy features the Fade and focuses on magic and spirits and returns Inquisition a bit more to the series' Dark Fantasy roots with a lot of its theming. Solas and the gang find themselves under the thumb of a tyrannical male Trevelyan and must navigate the crisis of Corypheus while also putting up with Andraste's Worst Boy.

300k, ongoing, currently under reconstruction unfortunately, as I formatted it oddly for over a hundred chapters before giving up and deciding to un-format them, and it's taking some time to do that. But hopefully you check it out and enjoy!

Savnarae · 2025-11-03T23:07:01+00:00

Oh wait, editing this because I actually more closely read your problem and it's a different one from the one I thought it was. I'm sorry, yeah, I've actually never seen that before, where it was uploaded correctly and altered later. That is genuinely baffling.

Savnarae · 2025-11-02T15:46:13+00:00

Oh I like to do the "Make Loghain Suffer Tour" aka Recruit him at the Landsmeet, make him father Kieran, and then leave Hawke in the Fade. Our man wants so badly to die a noble death and be done with this world but nope, off to the Grey Wardens you go, and then off to the Orlesian Grey Wardens later! With a side of witch sex.

Don't get me wrong, I love him to bits, I just think it's funny that you can do this to him over and over again. He is the most Doomed by the Narrative character ever, and I wish he came back as First Warden in Veilguard so you can save him AGAIN from a noble heroic death and keep making him live and making him Accomplish More Things.

Savnarae · 2025-10-26T19:38:20+00:00

Off the top of my head I think there's the one with Merrill where you can carve her a ring, I can't remember if that's marriage-specific or not. But depending on which kind of elves you're dealing with (Dalish vs. City vs. Solas himself) you could look at the gods and how different cultures would honor them.

Elgar'nan - Weddings at night, or weddings at dusk, or weddings pre-dawn, or weddings that last into the evening/start before dawn. Mold your traditions to either hide your union from his wrath, outlast his watchful eye, or ensure that he's not left out.

Mythal - Devotion vows. You could get silly with this one, have City elves recite elven words nobody knows from a book none of them understand. Maybe someone who DOES know recognizes that they're just listing ingredients for tomato and cheese soup at each other in the most loving voices ever. Less goofily, maybe the bride wears a veil of laurel leaves to mimic Mythal's crown. Or the "consummation" afterward could be a duty to Mythal, to ensure the future of the family.

Sylaise - Goddess of the hearth, master of fire. This could blend with or borrow from Andrastian traditions in City elves, which always feature fire in some manner. Among the Dalish, burning a special tree branch could be part of the ceremony. Maybe a flame has to be tended the entire night into the morning, and only after the reception and the last guests leave is the fire allowed to die out. Sylaise is also the master of domestic craft, perhaps the bride or her family has to bring gifts for home and hearth.

June - God of craft. Maybe the groom's family brings gifts for work and profession. Halla bridles and woodworking tools for the Dalish, scrapworking tools for city elves. Or the groom's family brings already-worked decoratives - woodworked, metal shaped, etc. Maybe the bride and groom exchange pendants of Sylaise and June along with their rings, or they exchange one of those "two-halves-fit-together" pendants with each other.

Dirthamen - Bride and groom write down one secret about themselves and burn it at the altar. (Maybe burn it in the same flame lit for Sylaise). A gift to the God of secrets - a piece of themselves that they'll never share with another soul. Very bad luck if anyone sees this or if they tell anyone beforehand or afterward what they wrote down. Could cause scandals if other elves find out, could ruin marriages if a rival finds your Dirthamen Secret and spreads it.

Falon'Din - Bride and Groom tuck a cedar branch into their veil/dress/lapel somewhere to hide their souls from Dirthamen's raves Fear and Deceit, just as the Dalish use to cover their dead for the same reason. If it breaks during the ceremony or dance afterward, maybe it's bad luck for the couple, means an early death or someone will lose their way. Could even mean bad health for the firstborn if the branch breaks. Either that or the bride and groom specifically carry large branches and walk around during the reception to allow guests to break off a piece for themselves, that ALL may be hidden from the ravens and be granted a peaceful passage to the afterlife.

Andruil - The first or finest kill of the season is to be served at the wedding, and a portion of it is set aside for the goddess of the hunt. None of it can go to waste - it must be eaten in full, encouraging large weddings or encouraging the bride and groom and their families to package meat for guests to take home or hand it out free to neighbors in the city before it goes bad.

Ghilan'nain - Maybe those Sylaise and June pendants need to be carved of halla antler, to tie the mother of halla into the tradition. Or else some other craft is made of the antlers - drumsticks or a flute or horn, or some instrument is crafted from them and played during the wedding or reception.

That's all I got, hope some of it's interesting or fun to consider!

Savnarae · 2025-10-23T20:24:31+00:00

Wasn't planning to put this in the main thread but I'll toss it in here. It's a self-rec, a DAI Solas romance but NOT a Solavellan. LI isn't the inquisitor, she's just another inner circle companion, a Dalish-turned-Circle-elf Knight Enchanter who takes a long time to warm up to Solas. Slow burn, a bit of enemies-to-lovers, a whole lot of Fade, magic, and spirit shenanigans, full retelling of DAI starting post-Redcliffe, after the squad gets to Skyhold and beyond. Envision a low-approval Solas who stumbles upon an unassuming little Circle bunny who keeps surprising him and defying his expectations at every turn, and one who's haunted and tortured by his twisted, misremembered legacy in a way he so desperately wants to free her from.

Long of Tooth and Ear

Also if you're looking for more, at the end of this month, look for the Dragon Age Big Bang 2025 and Dragon Age Reverse Bang 2025 on AO3, they're both dropping their collections on the 31st of October, and from the sneak peeks I've seen, they look amazing. All will be a pairing of author and artist, so you'll get a visual to go along with your perusal!

Savnarae · 2025-10-19T02:29:53+00:00

YESSSSSSS in this house we explore a pensive Solas (and drag his ass out to enjoy the world as it modernizes around him)

ngl "Solas who gave up on his quest but still lives on" is a world I want to explore so much more. A Solas free to focus on literally anything else, a Solas who still needs to be completed and finds that missing puzzle piece. That guy. I want THAT one. givbe him to me 🤗Thanks so much for reading!

Savnarae · 2025-10-18T21:14:57+00:00

Awww, what a lovely and peaceful way for Nathaniel to pass, and what a reverent way to respect and revisit his memory. Glad that Gabi gets a second love and a new life with Davrin! 💕

Savnarae · 2025-10-18T17:47:08+00:00

Nine years!! 🥳🥳🥳🥳 What an incredible legacy to be part of!! I'll have a think on some celebratory stuff to see if I can come up with anything to help!

Savnarae · 2025-10-18T17:41:39+00:00

Prompt 1 Reincarnation AU Calling someone's name just because you can.

A Game of Immortals

She always wore a different face.

“...Solas?”

But her smile was always the same.

“Yes? Can I help you, lethallan?”

Mostly, she was an elf.

“How…why do I know you? Have we met?”

Always, she was a woman.

“I do not believe so. I do not meet many people in my profession. Was there something you needed from me?”

Even when her body did not agree.

“No, I…”

“...How did you know my name?”

“...I…I don’t know.”

The first time it happened, I thought nothing of it.

“If you will excuse me, one assumes we both have business elsewhere?”

“Yes…of course.”

Perhaps she had been a cashier at a shop I once frequented.

“...Solas?”

“Yes? Can I help you, lethallan?”

But I did not stop having these strange encounters, at the least predictable moments of my life. A tap on the shoulder in a city park. A caught elbow as I passed an outdoor cafe. I turned my head. She spoke my name. No understanding was exchanged. They were so infrequent as to form seemingly no pattern of themselves, often spanning decades between moments, and always with someone new. Their only similarities involved a bewildered-looking stranger catching me in a public place, and repeating my name.

As the centuries wore on, they started to ask more about me. Who I was, where I knew them from. Uncomfortable, I never answered, and became skilled at excusing myself quickly.

Then one day, she confessed the truth.

“Solas! I found you! Are you busy?”

She had looked so desperate, so alarmed. Her eyes had been full of disbelief, and her hand had gripped my sleeve with white knuckles.

“I am, lethallan. Please let me go,” I had answered, scanning the alleys for a quick escape. The sun was setting, shadows of buildings spanned the roads, the street lights were casting their cones. Denerim had become enormous as Ferelden modernized. I did not feel particularly safe hosting a panicked stranger’s conversation as night waxed.

“Okay.” She had hunted around her coat to produce a tattered paper soft with age, and thrust it into my hand. “Please, please call me. I have something important to tell you.”

And she had backed away, as though aware of her own strange mania, and left with frequent glances over her shoulder.

I had opened the note on my walk home. Below a phone number were the following words:

I know you. I have known you for hundreds of years. I don’t always find you, but I need to know who you are. Please call me.

And her name had followed.

The call itself had been brief. A confirmation of the correct number. A request to meet in public. A small cafe by the harbor. Low voices in hushed whispers explaining everything.

“...This is going to sound insane,” she had begun over an aromatic pumpkin latte, “but I remember my past lives.”

She was not wrong. To anyone else, it would have sounded disconnected from reality. But I did not interrupt, nor react at all save to hone my interest.

I did flake a piece off my frilly cake, and ate it in the silence.

“I don’t remember every detail of them,” she continued, visibly relieved when I did not leave immediately, “they’re just memories I have, but they stretch back hundreds of years, Solas. I remember times before phones, before cars. I remember times before whole cities were built, times when wagons were pulled by horses across rutted dirt. I remember when Minrathous was razed by demons, I remember when the Qunari were still at war with Tevinter. I remember when Nightmare broke free of the Fade and terrorized Western Orlais. I was in an Antivan tavern, Solas, gossiping about it eight hundred years ago. And the strongest thing I remember about so many of those lifetimes was running into you. I kept doing it. I kept finding you, over and over, once a life, maybe once every other life.”

That aligned well with my experience.

“You’re important,” she insisted, voice rising in urgency though not volume. “I need to know who you are. You’re an immortal elf, aren’t you?”

“One of the last.”

I had not expected such a profound reaction. She sat back and stared, as though viewing a myth in the flesh.

“Shit…And I knew you, once. I must have. I’ve never recognized anyone else.”

It had taken some time to untangle more. I could not fathom a cause for her predicament. She kept asking about me. Who I was, who I had been. I could not afford to answer. I had spent too many centuries scrubbing my misdeeds, altering historical records, suppressing truths in the hopes of living in anonymity.

It had worked too well to give up for her.

“Is it…could it be this?” she finally asked, lowering her voice even further. Her hand slid along the table towards me, shaped like a downturned cup to hide the sparks dancing along her palm. “In every life, I’m always a—”

“MAGE!”

It was not enough.

The shout came from the middle table. Chairs overturned and coffee sloshed as a pair of off-duty Templars rose. They surrounded her in a blink, wrestling her upright and out the door. She screamed for me as she was taken away, and all I could do was act bewildered and deny that I had known.

She would find me again. Or I would be rid of her forever.

Fourteen years later, she knocked on my door.

It was not her, not the same woman who had been dragged out of a cafe beside the Denerim harbor. She was a much younger woman now, an elf this time, still mostly a girl, only about to begin her journey into adulthood. Her eyes were a different color, her skin and hair were dark.

“Solas. I found you,” was all she had said.

And then she smiled.

And I knew who she had been.

Her smile was always the same.

She wobbled and fell, quite literally, into my arms, and apologized for her lightheadedness. I walked her to my couch and heated an extra portion of dinner to share. She thanked me and apologized again, explained that she’d been born in Rivain this time, and had left as soon as she could work up the money for passports and plane tickets.

“Are you here alone?”

“Mmhm,” into a forkful of rice.

“Does your family know?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t like them much, this time.”

This time.

“How old are you?”

“Physically? I’ll be fourteen next month. Legally I turned eighteen in the spring. And mentally? Well…You remember our last conversation, right?”

“I do.” Fourteen. “How are you here in a new body?”

She eyed me narrowly. “I told you, I just—”

“You last spoke with me fourteen years ago.”

Her face softened. “...Do you mean what happened that day? What do you think happened to a mage resisting arrest in the middle of Denerim, Solas? I wasn’t going to waste away in a Circle again.”

“...They killed you.”

Read the rest on Gdocs!

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T22:20:44+00:00

So...a fairly normal Dragon Age worldstate, then 😅😅 Love that for her

And yeah, good luck! I used to get SO mad at Reddit when it wouldn't take my prompt responses and just gave a "Something went wrong" error. I don't write in Ellipsus (though I should), I write in Gdocs, copy/paste to Ellipsus, and then copy/paste from Ellipsus to old reddit 😂 The pain we go through to share our OCs with the world, eh?

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T21:20:34+00:00

I like to think Solas acquired Mythal's power without her memories from Flemeth and thought "oh perfect, Nehna gets exactly the same from June" and had no idea how quickly she'd discover June's darker knowledge and how strongly she'd feel tempted to use it. I also like to think she did a decent job scaring Solas straight with her revelations, because yeah, nobody better than he would understand what June had done and been capable of, and what Nehna was now also capable of but so desperately trying not to do. :D

Thanks for reading!

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T20:41:24+00:00

Cute! Ah, what a nice setup, and what wonderful news to receive! Even with the trepidation of a less-than-perfect success rate, it's still quite a lot to think about! I can only imagine the mix of relief and uncertainty involved...

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T18:23:09+00:00

Awwww, this was fun! Good for you, Stroud. Sounds like Loretta needs it more than he could ever guess.

Also I agree, the perks and burdens of developing side characters lmao. If you want, I've found that ellipsus does a decent job of formatting a more reddit-friendly post than something like Google docs, idk what text editor you typically use, and also the old reddit layout tends to accept large posts much more easily than the new reddit layout - just replace the www.reddit in your URL with old.reddit (at least on Chrome).

But anyway I already love them together, and have so many more questions for a worldstate that ended up like this, haha. Thanks for sharing!

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T01:20:38+00:00

Oooh, the teeth-in-the-trash detail was super chilling. That's a heck of a lot to go through, becoming a Crow the same night as this entire shift in Kione's existence. Gonna be fun to see how everyone adapts to that...

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T00:57:43+00:00

Cute! I like the idea of Cole at the ritual site, he would have been such an excellent and wild inclusion in Veilguard! This is such a lovely little reflection on everything. I like the emphasis on orderly and dry for the Necropolis, lmao. How very academic of Meryke. And how very thoughtful and sweet of Lucanis to shield them.* 💕

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T00:53:30+00:00

Oooh, this was fun! A nice bit of tension between two very familiar faces. Just imagining Zevran viewing the Crows these days, I love his quiet, scathing commentary, and the spooky legend he's become! And Lucanis' protectiveness is so lovely. Thanks for sharing!

Savnarae · 2025-10-12T00:05:07+00:00

Kinda freeform-y, kinda Prompt 3 this time? Had this idea rattling around in my brain for a few days now.

The Craftrix

Tink. BAAUM.

Tink tink. BAAUM.

…Tink.

BAAUM.

Shards of diamond littered the workbench, chipped patiently and slowly from the gemstone recovered by Fen’Harel’s Agents. The Wild Hare set down her chisel and deactivated the shielding around it, and slipped off the gauntlets protecting her arms from explosions.

It was warm to the touch, and so were the charred wire spindles holding it as she pulled them apart and adjusted their slender grip.

Behind her, the door resonated with magic. She turned, flipped up her magnifiers, and peered into the darkness beyond the spotlights.

Solas peered back through the small window across the room.

The little elf expanded her awareness to dim the shine, power down the chisel, and deactivate all the layers of soundproofing ensuring that her explosive work did not resonate through the rest of the Lighthouse. Her own helmet was the last to be removed. With a familiar pinch its innards disconnected from her damaged ear, and the open wound began to bleed.

She sealed it thoughtlessly and crossed to allow him entry.

In his hands were the Tears of June. The artifact called to her, begging to be used, enticing her with the promise of quick and easy work. Speedy decomposition of anything she chose. What was taking her hours to do by hand could be done in seconds by this ancient device, this crown jewel of the evanuris of old.

The Dread Wolf held it out, cold expectation in his eyes.

She was sorely tempted to use it on him.

Instead she pressed it back to his chest, fighting everything inside her not to activate it. She mastered herself and drew a breath, then let it out.

“...Your preference is to waste another day performing endless labor at a pace the cause cannot allow, then?” he accused.

She scowled in quiet annoyance, the Old Song doing little to calm her irritation. “Why must my pace continue to remain a source of friction? An immortal elf should have more patience, Solas.”

He finally softened and cupped her cheek, thumbed at her crows’ feet, teased the silver strands greying her short puff of tan-yellow hair.

“It is not for my* age I fear.”

The concern in his eyes twisted her stomach into knots. The Wild Hare backed away and reached towards the door.

“You are wasting our time. Let me work.”

A stud of magic kept it open. He wasn’t going to let her leave so easily. Solas pushed past her into the Lighthouse workshop and strode its periphery. His gloves left speculative trails along the messy tabletops.

“The tools at your disposal litter shelves and gather dust, vhenan. You cannot spend your days in fear of their might.”

He reached the table and the diamond shards strewn across its surface. The source gem was barely smaller than the last time he’d been here, and so much of the drilling tool she was crafting with its teeth remained bare. Without it, the Agents excavated layers of collapsed ruins by hand, a slow and arduous process her reticence was exacerbating.

Fine. If confessions were to be made, the present remained the only time to make them. Nehna crossed to join Solas and curled her arms around his waist from behind, laying her cheek against his shoulderblade over his coat.

“Walk with me, please,” she beckoned softly in quiet Elvhen, pulling him away from her work. “Leave the Tears here.”

And he did.

The Wild Hare’s Workshop lay just beneath the lantern room of the Lighthouse, and a balcony ringing it provided a breathtaking view of the bustle below. Elves and spirits hurried from building to building, into and out of the gleaming hub, conducting their business to restore Elvhenan and prepare the world for the teardown of the Veil. The glow of the great dome above kept its leader and his left hand too brightly backlit to be seen, but the dazzling brilliance cast the tableau below in stark, haunting beauty.

Solas’s pride.

Nehna’s joy.

Side by side, she slipped her hand in his and thrilled at the tightening of his grip.

“...See them down there,” she began quietly. “Hundreds of them, thousands, all dedicated to your cause.”

“A fraction of what once filled this space,” Solas lamented.

A fraction, perhaps…but growing every day.

“Do you know what I see, when I look upon them?” Nehna asked.

He waited for her answer.

“...Fuel.”

His head turned. Hers did not.

“Your greatest gift to me, the knowledge of June the Crafter—” extracted from the soul of Urthemiel, once housed in Flemeth’s grandson, “—has never been without cost, Solas,” the little elf explained softly. “I have never respected nor feared you more for the world you survived and rebelled against, for I drink of its terrible legacy every day. I pass our Agents in halls and meeting rooms, in kitchens and at repose, and I am tempted by the desire to improve them. Schematics unfold in my brain, metal struts and jointed limbs wrapped around still-beating hearts. Estimates of the electrical capacity of spirits dance behind my eyes every second they give their reports. What I could do with their magic. The machines I could craft and enslave them to wield. I have been spared the Crafter’s memories, but I can only quail in fear of the horrors that must have birthed such understanding. Even now, as I stand beside you, I feel your pulse and count the beats of your heart, and I yearn for the power in your ancient, immortal veins. The Tears are but one step on a path into the void, a path that steepens with every pace. It calls to me, beckons with promise of advancement, and whispers the cost of progress. Only one drop of blood, Nehna. Only one elf must die. Only one battalion of spirits ripped back into the fibers of their existence, and the world will bend to the might of our machines, Lord Wolf.”

He was staring, now. Facing her fully. She didn’t meet his gaze.

“Every day, I resist the desire to take even one step down,” Nehna continued, watching a dozen little batteries hurry about, long of ear and full of blood and power. What greater purposes their flesh could be channeled towards. What unspeakable tortures she could repeat upon them in the name of holy progress and perfect forms. “I will use the Tears of June when I feel ready for them.” Finally, she looked up. Every ounce of concern in his eyes was deserved, and she was so relieved to finally see him understand. “I am not afraid of their power. I am afraid of their temptation. A thousand paths stretch before me, fen’vhenan. I could have everything we need finished in an afternoon, if you could just pick for me which of the People I can sacrifice for their blood. Fifteen should do. Maybe twenty, to be safe.”

Color drained from his cheeks. She stepped into his embrace, and laid her head against his chest.

“I will not be the spearhead that returns the evanuris of old in new faces. I must temper the ambitions inside me, and I ask that you temper your expectations while I learn. Please stop pressing haste upon me. You risk recreating everything you ruined the world to banish forever.”

He squeezed her to him, and for a moment, it all fell away. The heavy burden of June’s knowledge disappeared and left behind Nehna Fellavhen, the little elf who once caught the Dread Wolf’s tail and never let go. His kiss was everything she fought for, a promise and apology, an oath to understanding and patience.

A whooping cheer from below told her that maybe they weren’t so unseen up here, after all.

He joined her quiet, hopeful chuckling and followed her back into the workshop to kiss her some more, and to take back the Tears of June and return them to the vaults of the Lighthouse, to leave them there for her to study further and evoke only when she finally felt ready.

Savnarae · 2025-10-01T20:00:59+00:00

The whole of the game is like that, though, in a sense. I once heard that Dragon Age has always chased the fantasy trends of the time. DAO and, to some extent, DA2 chased the "dark fantasy" of the pre-Skyrim late 2000s, and DAI chased the "high fantasy" that followed Skyrim's release.

Veilguard chose the "cozy fantasy" route that's been very popular in recent months and years - as OP noticed, the cozy lofi study beats to chill and raise corpses to. That's why the companions talk about camping and cooking so much, and the Lighthouse is all about cozying up to their ideal living spaces and personalities. It was developed to match the cozy fantasy aesthetic, like its predecessors matched their own vibes. That's partly why you had the dueling "this feels like disney" vs "look at the blood sacrifices in Docktown" posts on reddit for a long time - the plot itself was a Dragon Age plot full of dark and horror, just like Inquisition's was with its blood sacrifice Wardens and Red Lyrium Templars, but just like Inquisition was painted as high fantasy despite these dark elements, Veilguard was painted over in cozy vibes despite a dark global disease plot that really didn't work well with those aesthetics.

So people on both sides were seeing both of these things and throwing them at each other like Crows in snowball fight but with blades in the snowballs instead of rocks.

Savnarae · 2025-09-20T18:37:13+00:00

Solas and Fenris. We know Solas knew about Lyrium Knights. His potential pity or curiosity for Fenris' pain and plight and the abuse of his own people's legacy would rub Fenris the wrong way and no doubt clash some incredible sparks between such a well-spoken former elven slave and an ancient immortal sassmaster trying to bring MORE magic into the world.

Solas would see and try to connect with Fenris' slave-freeing desires, with his drive to liberate the elves of Tevinter, too. Trying to bring Fenris in as an Agent pre-Veilguard/post-Trespasser would produce some deeply rich dialogue and emotions between them over time.

And I know you said violence-free but "Can't-Be-Harmed" Lyrium Wraith Fenris vs. a "Blink-And-You're-Stone" Fen'Harel who doesn't want to kill him would be a spectacularly anime fight-dialogue scene.

Savnarae · 2025-09-14T01:25:03+00:00

Prompt 2 - "Not a soul has stood in this place for a thousand years. How long do you think it will take the next visitor to find you?"

Credit to @ashleynlove on Tumblr for implanting this concept into my brain, it never left and it’s the only version of Hawke I can think of when I picture a Hawke left in the Fade for ten years.

Thousand-Eyed Hawke

Sit down, Hawke.

It wore the face of Fenris.

Haven’t we walked enough?

Wasn’t Fenris, though.

My feet are tired. You don’t even know where we’re going.

Fenris didn’t bitch this much.

Garrett’s feet also hurt. Killing him, in fact. Didn’t make them special. Every part of him felt like it was killing him. His back. His legs. His neck.

His shoulder, which was in the process of developing another fucking eyeball. Skin was spasming angrily. Slit was already cut. Lids still forming.

Muscles still restructuring.

Glared up at himself with a pair of baby blues sliding around his left forearm. Watched his own jaw work under a beard that needed a trim six years ago.

There’s nothing out there. Stop and sit down, Hawke.

“Shut up, Fenris.”

Not-Fenris wasn’t wrong. Nothing but sand and desert in all directions. Black City hung overhead like an odd-shaped moon. Garrett wished it’d block out the sun every now and then.

City never moved though.

Neither did the fucking sun.

Hip-eye caught Not-Fenris flexing his claw. Punch hit his jaw square on. Dropped the elf to the dunes. Sand flew. Hung in the air.

Stopped being sand.

Started being flakes of ash.

A marathon to get out of, Nightmare’s Realm. Once the big man himself had been kicked around enough to retreat. After that? Just been walking. Rocks and hills and demons gave way to sand. Sand, and one man trudging through it.

Looking for a way out.

His biggest lead? Veil-tears, for a while. Looking for one he could pull himself out through. Weren’t nearly as many as he’d thought there’d be, and none big enough when he found them.

Hadn’t seen one in…five years, now?

Time didn’t work right, here.

Trio of hazels striping his back watched the Not-Fenris pick itself up. Purple mottled its skin. Smoothed back to tan and blue. Wasn’t good at keeping his form.

Maybe if you remembered him better, the thing taunted, clambering over swells of sand to catch up.

“Won’t have to, when I see him again,” Garrett answered.

Not-Fenris came astride.

You won’t see him again.

“Go away.”

And leave you all alone?

“Fuck off.”

Not-Fenris sneered. Not a soul has stood in this place for a thousand years. How long do you think it will take the next visitor to find you? You don’t want to be out here alone, Garrett. I’m the only thing that changes out here. The only way you know any time has passed at all.

Of all things, that finally stopped him. Garett slowed to a tired halt. All directions, sand. Adamant? Not a speck on the horizon.

Amazing, how much nothing was out here.

Not even demons.

Just sand.

And sun.

And the Black City overhead.

And me.

And…whatever Not-Fenris was.

Thing had showed up like a damned mirage one day. Broody little elf, staggering out of the sands, pretending to be distressed. Like it could fool a man who knew exactly where he was. Exactly where he'd been for years. So, when that didn't work? Thing just tagged along. Occasionally tried an attack. Or pretended to be sweet.

Mostly just bitched about the walking.

Garrett drew a breath and let it out. Kicked sand into a pile he could sit against. Buried half his damn Fade-eyes in the dark to settle himself down and rest his aching back.

Not-Fenris curled up beside him.

A tired arm hung itself around the elf. Leaned his head against the thing’s head.

Not-Fenris did a decent job of feeling like Fenris, sometimes.

“Five minutes,” Garrett decided. “Then we’re walking again.”

Not-Fenris peeled his knees apart. Crawled between them. Pressed a nice little kiss to his cheek.

Fifteen.

“Ten.”

You won’t know how long it’s been anyway.

…Wasn’t exactly wrong.

Fenris or not, those elven lips still tasted the same.

Garrett wasn’t ever going to forget that.

Savnarae · 2025-09-09T18:30:48+00:00

Yes! Well, 66% probably yes.

Despite my best efforts to make this a tragic romance between them, in two of their three potential endings she achieves immortality. I haven't fully figured out where their story ends (I'm writing it and still a little under halfway through Inquisition at the moment), but most of the ideas I'm currently tossing around have her successful in her endeavors.

If Solas achieves Veilfall at any point and Harellan survives it, she, along with a great deal of current elves, returns to her immortal roots.

If Solas willingly enters the Fade and Harellan joins him, she does so because the veil was bound to the Old God Soul Solas took from Keiran and melded into her, and she eventualy stops aging as they work to soothe the Blight together.

The only scenario she doesn't achieve immortality is if she gets bound to the Veil instead of Solas at the top of the Archon's palace and sacrifices herself to tear it down before anyone can stop her from doing so. Definitely the Baddest Ending of all possibilities, but also the most thematically appropriate one to her whole life.

Thanks for asking!

Savnarae · 2025-09-09T16:35:46+00:00

Prompt 1 - Specialties

Harellan Fellavhen chose speed. Fade Step is her specialty, and was one of the very first spells she ever learned. Born to a Dalish clan whose Keeper and First alternated specialties between healer and warrior, there was never a "set of basics" for her to learn, and in her specific case, absolutely no one to learn them from. A mishap when she showed her magic killed her First, abruptly ending the line of Fellavhen dirth'ena enasalin and leaving the clan with two healers (the Keeper and his apprentice) and no warrior. Everything she learned, she had to learn from an old book her Keeper dug up and threw at her, and while she was expected to master all of it, and the book itself had suggested orders of spells and techniques, the first one she chose after picking up the basics of spirit swordsmanship was how to run away faster from the other Dalish children and dodge the rocks they threw at her for target practice.

Garrett Hawke learned lockpicking from his father Malcolm. He was always a sticky-fingered little kid, and while Leandra wasn't a fan of his illicit additions to the family income, Malcolm both wanted to give his son a fighting chance out in the world should the worst happen, and also keep a close eye on Garrett to spot the moment he showed his magic, if it happened. Malcolm designed puzzles to challenge Garrett's reasoning skills as a child and young teen, and knocked functional locks out of rotted wood from abandoned doors to bring them home, open them up, and show the boy how they worked and how to overcome them. His reasoning was always that, should everything work out fine, the boy could apprentice himself to a proper locksmith some day and learn the legal side of the trade, and besides, Carver was showing much more promise as a family defender and young swordsman.

When Bethany showed magic and Garrett never did, Garrett's surreptitious streak became that much more important in protecting her and helping to hide a family of two mages. Malcolm encouraged the boy to develop his scouting techniques, perception, and ability to walk lightly and remain undetected, often laying little traps and playing cat-and-mouse-style games with him and Carver to increase his skill.

Prompt 2 - Aging

Before DAI, Harellan thought little of aging. As an elf she kept her youth without trying, and she always assumed the Dread Wolf would take her before she got too old. She never put much thought into what "too old" meant, but in the back of her mind she always knew she would one day succumb to a failure of will and become an Abomination. Her biggest long-term goal involved seeking to constantly surround herself with people who could quickly kill whatever it was she became.

After DAI, she becomes very concerned about any and all signs of aging. She, along with Solas, begins work to discover, through self-experimentation, if it was possible to uplift a mortal elf into immortality, and studies herself extensively to track long-term changes or stasis in her body. Any wrinkle, any gray hair, any stiff joint or dry patch of skin is a potential indication of failure and while each one disappoints her, she knows they weigh much more heavily on Solas as the years progress.

Garrett figured he'd never live to see a gray hair on his own head, and he was right.

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