Day 17 – “I’ll Tell You, But You’re Not Gonna Like It” (Sidni)

The Iron Bull is not easily intimidated. But staring down all three advisers this way is damn unnerving. Especially when one of them may or may not have a soft spot for the boss.

To her credit, Josephine only looks mildly concerned with a hint of disappointment underneath. Leliana’s face is blank, which could mean any number of things. Cullen is glaring daggers at him. If the commander were able to shapeshift, Bull might expect a dragon to breathe fire at him any moment now.

“Is there any particular reason you’ve brought the Inquisitor back with a head wound?” Leliana asks.

Varric is looking entirely too smug about all of this as he lurks silently in the back of the room. Bull vows to make sure he has no access to the good ale at the tavern in the coming days. Except that won’t work. The dwarf is used to Kirkwall’s piss. And Dorian got to sneak off to the healers’ with Sidni as “help.”

He’s on his own.

They all wait for an answer from him. When he and Sidni had first agreed to this between themselves, they had known no one would approve. It was only a matter of time until someone found out. Of course, they also knew that the advisers finding out would come as a result of injury. And since she’s currently out of commission, it’s up to Bull to confess. No one is going to like his explanation

“I threw her a little harder than I needed to.”

Cullen blinks. Leliana’s bows raise ever so slightly. But it’s Josephine who tilts her head and asks politely, “I’m sorry, did you say you threw the Inquisitor?”

“That’s right.”

Varric finally speaks up. “She missed the mage and hit a tree.”

Cullen definitely looks like he’s about to breathe fire.

“You used the Inquisitor – a living being – as a projectile?” Cullen asks.

“It was her idea.”

“Of course it was.”

The exasperation in the man’s voice is more fond than Bull would expect. He eyes Cullen, wondering when that happened.

“While I applaud your creativity,” Leliana cuts in, “perhaps it would be better to refrain from launching the Inquisitor at our enemies. She’s in enough danger consistently as it is.”

Bull decides not to tell them how many times tossing Sidni at their enemies has turned a battle in their favor, nor how much she seems to enjoy it. He simply nods his head and turns to leave.

“Sure thing, Red. I’ll let you be the one to tell her.”

Varric chuckles behind him and mutters, “Now that I have got to see.”

Day 16 – “This Is Gonna Be So Much Fun!” (Flynn x Dorian)

Flynn stares at himself in the mirror, smoothing the blue sash and crimson coat for the hundredth time. He looks ridiculous. He was never meant to be the son who did these sorts of things. And now here he is, about to meet with – ridiculous – royalty and try to charm the Orlesian court. As well as unravel an assassination plot.

Nothing too difficult.

“Now there’s a sight I can enjoy all night.”

Dorian is standing in the doorway, dressed similarly. Although he wears the uniform better than Flynn ever could. Their eyes meet in the glass and he sees Dorian’s smile dim. He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“You’re worried.”

So much for successfully hiding his feelings. “A little,” he admits.

Dorian pulls him away from the mirror. He runs his hands along Flynn’s shoulders, lifting onto his toes slightly to give him a quick kiss.

“You’re the Inquisitor! You cannot fail. Even if you cause a scandal amongst the court, you’d still be a success.”

The corner of Flynn’s lips quirk.

“At least in my eyes,” Dorian adds.

Flynn’s breath escapes in a startled laugh. He pulls Dorian in for another kiss, brushing his thumb along the back of the mage’s neck before letting go.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

Dorian takes his arm, leading him out into the hallway.

“Come. Political intrigue and backstabbing nobles? This will be fun!”

“Your idea of fun is worrying.”

“My idea of fun is exemplary. I happen to know you enjoy it.”

Day 15 – “I Thought You Had Forgotten” (Sidni x Cullen)

If only they could stay like this, he thinks, his attention drifting from the book resting on his stomach. Sidni’s fingers thread through his hair, nails scratching occasionally as she teases it into its natural state.

He glances up at Sidni from his resting place on her leg. Her face is turned toward the open doors of the balcony, a rare expression of peace softening her features. He shifts, pressing his cheek against her thigh. Yes, if they could just stay like this forever.

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing that night I found you in your office?”

He starts. There’s only one recent night she can mean. Heat floods his face as he thinks back to it. No. No he will not.

“Maker’s breath, Sidni! I thought you had forgotten it.”

She grins, still staring out into the night, grip tightening on his hair purposefully. He resists giving in to it.

“How could I?” She meets his gaze, her eyes full of the memory that followed. The spilled ink and wrecked papers and cracked chair.

“Something was on your mind.”

“I believe you were the one who instigated that.”

Her laugh rings through the room. “Cullen, I found you with your trousers half down. You can’t fool me into taking the blame.”

He’s not going to tell her what he was thinking about, nor what he imagined. She’s not going to let the subject drop, but maybe he can take a page out of her book.

She blinks when he drops the book to the floor and shifts. He straddles her legs with his knees, leaning in and brushing his roughened cheek against hers. A triumphant smile nearly breaks through when he hears her breath hitch. He trails his lips to hers, hovering over her mouth, listening to the way her breathing deepens and watching her hands fist in the quilt.

“Perhaps,” he says lowly, remembering her words, “I can show you.”

If you want to know what Sidni is referencing, you can find it here.

Day 14 – “Some People Call This Wisdom” (Flynn)

He’s not expecting the person who comes to see him after his outburst. She’s silent as she joins him at the balcony, leaning on its railing next to him.

“Is Josephine angry?”

Leliana huffs a laugh. “She’s trying to smooth some ruffled feathers. She might be a little perturbed after, but she respects you. And that includes your opinion.”

Flynn sighs, letting his head fall forward. He hadn’t meant to let his emotions get the better of him.

“I am sorry. I just … maybe in the beginning, the Chantry was something that helped people. That didn’t tear them apart or turn them on each other. But the Chantry I know is corrupt, greedy, and doesn’t feel any guilt at inflicting suffering on families. Or other races or those who don’t believe.”

The hood usually casts Leliana’s face in shadow, but she tilts her head, letting the soft light of the evening show him the curious expression on her face.

“You lost someone to them.”

He twists the ring around his finger and nods. “They took everything from me, in a sense. But it started with my brother.”

“I am sorry.”

“Thank you. I’d like to imagine the Maker exists and is more … generous and kind than they make him out to be. That maybe he’s just as disappointed and frustrated in what the Chantry is. That he wants to help us. I certainly don’t like the idea that we’re in this alone. I don’t think he appreciates what humans have turned the Chantry into. Maybe that’s foolish.”

“You know, many would call your insights wisdom.”

“And many more would call it heresy,” he laughs.

“You are the Herald of Andraste. You speak for her and the Maker.”

“Maker help us if that ever becomes true. We’d be beyond any help.”

They stand in silence, mulling over their own thoughts as the sun sets. Flynn hated the Chantry before, and this entire journey with the Inquisition has only enforced that hatred. It’s almost worse than the Orlesian court and their political machinations.

At least the mages are free and under his protection.

“I agree with you,” Leliana murmurs. “The Chantry should be a force for good. It’s lost sight of all it preaches. They are empty words now. We can only hope the next Divine will set them on the right path once more.”

“You have more faith than I do,” he grumbles.

“It is not a bad thing to have, Inquisitor. Faith and hope are some of our most powerful tools. With enough, we could very well change things for the better.”

Day 13 – “Nice Try. Maybe Next Time.” (Sidni)

Sidni stands across from Sera, a loose grouping of soldiers between them. They stare one another down, smirks playing on their faces. The soldiers glance uneasily at each other.

“This is not a good idea,” Cullen mutters from the sidelines.

Bull laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Relax, Cullen. They both know what they’re doing.”

“We can’t afford either of them getting hurt.”

“Aw, come on, Cully-wully. Don’t trust neither of us with this?” Sera taunts.

“I trust you’re both mad.”

Sidni glances at him with a smile, knowing it will be the opening Sera is waiting for. But she keeps herself loose, appearing unaware that Sera will attack.

Her bow is in motion, an arrow firing toward Sidni. She dodges easily, giving Cullen a reassuring nod as the soldiers begin their play acting battle.

Sera does her best. She’s good, Sidni will give her that. Their time together has shown how true her arrows fly, but Sidni has several more years’ experience of refining her reflexes and eliminating possible weaknesses under threat from her father. She knows how to use the others’ heights against them.

She flings a throwing knife, weaving closer. Sera dodges it, firing another arrow. She feels it disturb her hair as it passes. One of the soldiers swipes at her, but she takes his knees out, collapsing him into one of his nearby comrades. And while it takes out some “enemies,” it also eliminates her cover. She drops to avoid another arrow, grinning at Sera’s exclamation of “Piss!”

They spend a little longer taking out each others’ “allies” and dodging one another. Sidni sticks to her general plan, watching for openings. When she sees it, her moves become more aggressive, eyes trained on Sera’s erratic attacks.

Everyone freezes when she catches an arrow and leaps, tackling Sera to her back and holding the point at her throat.

“Maybe next time,” she says.

Sera lets out a laugh and accepts Sidni’s hand. Bull is laughing off to the side while Cullen rubs his face with his eyes cast skyward.

“You might be able to do it if you stopped yelling,” Sidni adds as she collects her blades and circles the fence to take Cullen’s hand. He shakes his head, begging her to stop taking unnecessary risks. Somehow, she knows claiming it was fun won’t set his nerves to rest.

Day 12 – “Who Could Do This?” (Pre-Inquisition Sidni)

“I don’t know what to tell you, salroka. Ain’t seen her around in over a year.”

The shopkeeper stares suspiciously at her scarf covered face. She knows her eyes are wet above it. No one, no one, has seen Keeva since shortly after her father had taken her from here two years ago. With the brand now across her cheek, Dust Town’s inhabitants don’t want to speak to her. She’s had to take to hiding her face to get information from people she once interacted freely with.

“Th-thank you,” she hiccups, retreating from the shop quickly.

She ducks into a nearby alley, pulling the scarf over her face. Do not cry. Do not. Her breaths drown out the sounds of people passing and yelling. The hollow spot in her chest aches in a way she’s never felt.

She thinks of the way they left each other, their fingers grasping and voices echoing in pleading screams. All of which had fallen on deaf ears as they dragged her away and back to the surface. Back to her father.

Keeva has to be somewhere. Sidni will find her. She will.

Don’t be full of sod. Keeva is … no. No. How could her father do this? How could anyone do this? Her father can’t be that bad. He wouldn’t have killed her.

Of course he would have.

“Child? Are you okay in there, child?”

She drags the the scarf across her face to clean away the tears before straightening and looking to the strange dwarven woman at the mouth of the alley. She stares down at Sidni, thin face creased in worry.

“I … I just … I’ve lost my mother.”

Day 11 – “But I Will Never Forget!” (Pre-Inquisition Flynn)

They await letters from Alard with trepidation. Flynn’s parents accept the poppycock explanation that he’s been sent from Ostwick to Kirkwall because of his aptitude for teaching and diplomacy. Something else is afoot. Never mind that they all know the Gallows is the last place anyone should be sent. They know the rumors.

Flynn wonders exactly how much trouble he’ll be in if he follows through on his half formed plans to go rescue his brother.

The thought becomes increasingly prevalent as more and more time passes without any communication. He’s heard the whispers about the state of that Circle, the Templars stationed there, and the Knight-Commander. Alard shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t be in a damn Circle at all.

Lady Trevelyan’s letters requesting news of her second son go unanswered. Despite it all, she maintains faith that the Chantry is looking out for Alard and making the best choices for his “condition.” Though Flynn wants to rage and shake her, he hasn’t the heart to destroy that faith quite yet. Some part of him still prays to the Maker that he’ll see Alard’s familiar writing soon.

It is only after Bann Trevelyan sends a vaguely threatening missive demanding news of his son that they receive a letter from a Knight-Captain Cullen and a short note from Alard himself. Its contents gut Flynn.

Tranquil.

After the initial confusion from his mother – But he’d already passed his Harrowing! Something must have happened! – and mild suspicion from his father – Something not right about that Circle, but they must have had reason. – they settle into acceptance. Even Emery begrudgingly accepts it must have needed to happen.

Flynn finally breaks.

In the midst of his tirade, his mother reminds him of his duty to the Chantry, the promised role he has been set to take. There is silence from his father and his remaining brother.

“After the wrong they’ve done? Their own laws they’ve broken? You’d still support them? Open your eyes, Mother!”

“They have their reasons! Magic is meant to serve man–”

The vase shatters against the wall next to her head. The tension fills the room until it is nearly suffocating.

“If you believe all of this, you’re bigger fools than I thought.”

“Son–”

He whirls on his father, fighting back tears and rage flaring back to life. “How? How can you just accept this? This is not the Chantry I was taught exists. This is … this is wrong! This is …”

Without a backward glance, he grabs his bow and quiver, taking to the forest behind their home. He tears through the foliage, bent low against Warden’s back, until he can no longer see the estate.

Leaving his horse to drink from the stream and climbing the branches of a familiar tree, he settles and finally lets himself weep for his brother. His fingers brush against the orange-jeweled ring Alard had given him before he was taken. He won’t forget and he won’t let the Chantry get away with this. No matter what.

Day 10 – “You Think This Troubles Me?” (Flynn x Dorian)

Flynn could happily throttle Mother Giselle. “Repeating” rumors and accusing Dorian. If he wanted to be objective, he could understand why she said what she said. But he doesn’t want to be objective. At all. He doesn’t need to be. Not with her or anyone else who doesn’t know Dorian.

He may be brushing it off, but Flynn’s still worried she managed to get Dorian, might cause trouble for him amongst the Inquisition.

“Do what? Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers. It does make me wonder … is my influence over you undue?”

Flynn grins. “Perhaps. I mean … it’s the kind of undue influence I enjoy … no, I just … it’s welcome–”

Now he just wants to throw himself over the railing and into Solas’s rotunda.

Dorian, thankfully, saves him from himself and says, “No one accused you of being politically astute.”

The smile lurking under his mustache is gentle, but full of mirth. He’s holding back his laughter, despite Flynn playing the fool. When will he learn to shut his mouth instead of letting it run away with him?

“Not today,” he mutters.

Dorian finally lets loose his laugh. It warms Flynn’s chest in a strange flutter. Of course, the way Dorian’s eyes are glinting in that dangerous way doesn’t help.

“I tease you too much, I know,” Dorian chuckles, to which Flynn responds with a shrug. “I’ll have to find something we can do that doesn’t involve teasing. Soon, ideally.”

Flynn doesn’t miss the suggestive way his tone has dropped. He feels the heat rise violently in his ears and cheeks. He turns his head quickly to hide it, lest he give himself away.

“Does it bother you? That they speak of you being under the scary magister’s sway?”

He doesn’t miss the faint note of uncertainty under Dorian’s normal boisterousness. But the idea that Flynn would care, wouldn’t see the man under the far flung reputation? The heat floods back into his face as he turns back to meet Dorian’s eyes.

“You think it bothers me? I don’t care what they think, Dorian. They can take their fucking opinions and save the world on their own.”

The smile Dorian gives him sends him scurrying away before he embarrasses himself further.

Day 9 – “You Shouldn’t Have Come Here” (Sidni)

She stares at the small fire as the others sleep uneasily around her. Once, she’d found Orzammar beautiful and fascinating. Alive. This … this is too much. It’s as if the Stone watches them. She can’t sleep for the humming in her body and the images it produces.

There’s something down here they don’t understand. She feels it in her bones. It sets her on edge.

She misses the sky. The sun. The taste of the air on her tongue. And while she’s usually drawn to rocky places, this is not one she wants anymore. The tunnels close in, the lyrium veins singing an almost-familiar song.

What her father would have given to gain even a glimpse of this. If he could see her now. Actually, she hopes he’s seeing her. And burning in agony and jealousy.

“Cadash,” Dorian grumbles half asleep from the bedroll next to hers, “get some sleep. Andraste’s ass, you’re starting to look like Cole.”

She curls up against him, prompting more grumbling.

The others talk of feeling trapped and the strange vibrations they can hear from the lyrium. Only Varric seems to sense something similar to what she does. She briefly wishes Cullen was here, but it’s selfish. This would be akin to putting him back in that Circle.

She pulls the blanket over herself. There’s no way to tell how late or early it is. It’s just constantly dark. She hates it. The familiar spicy scent coming from Dorian’s skin is the only comfort she can find at the moment. And it’s a small one at that.

As she lets her eyes shut, trying to find her elusive sleep, that humming intensifies. Her teeth rattle, a chill running down her spine. She’d almost say it’s calling out to her, beckoning her closer, but that can’t be true.

Her denial seems to add fuel to its intensity. You shouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want this, it seems to say.

The gasp that escapes her explodes through the otherwise silent camp as she sits straight up. She’s losing her mind. It’s finally breaking.

When her eyes meet Valta’s across the fire, she’s somehow assured she’s not the only one. It does nothing but unsettle her further.

Day 8 – “I Know You Do” (Sidni x Cullen)

Everything is happening too fast, bathed in the green of the reopened breach. Sidni glances around at all of her companions gathering weapons and supplies for the frantic ride to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A troop of scouts has already set out to ready the soldiers and clear the way for them to follow. They’re almost ready to depart.

She can’t leave yet. She can’t. Her heart pounds as she spins on her heel, eyes looking for any sign of Cullen. She can’t leave without seeing him.

Someone yells after her as she takes off to search the spots he’s most likely to be in. There’s no sight of him in the chaos and her breath starts to stick in her chest. She can’t leave without speaking to him.

Calls of “Inquisitor” and startled exclamations follow her frantic dash through the various courtyards. She nearly tumbles down the stairs, her usually sure feet failing her as she catches a glimpse of red and black fur amongst the soldiers scattering to protect Skyhold.

“Cullen!”

He turns just as she crashes into his legs. His arms are already encircling her as she clings to his waist, face buried in his stomach. She’s a stranger to herself, and yet not, as she gives in to the need burning through her veins.

“Sidni?”

Whatever happens, you will come back, he had said. What if she doesn’t? She won’t come back and he won’t know. Because she doesn’t say it enough. He doesn’t know. She doesn’t tell him. Not enough.

She hooks her fingers in his chest plate and hauls him down toward her, her eyes locked on his as she nearly shouts, “I love you! No matter what, Cullen, I love you! I love you!”

His brow furrows, that angry look that precedes a reprimand crossing his face before it softens and he cups her cheek.

“I know you do, a thasgaidh.”

A smile lifts her lips at the – better – pronunciation. He kisses her softly, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“You will defeat him. And I will see you after. Victorious.”

She wants to cry. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”