Sera is only trying to beat that blasted cheat of a dwarf at Wicked Grace and enjoy a night off when the rigid, distant Inquisitor stumbles into the tavern.

Little insights into the thoughts of one Solange Lavellan as she deals with a certain Seeker of the Chantry. A collection of drabbles in the second person. Updated in sets of 3.

Once Leliana knew what feeling and color was. Now she's empty and everything is grey.

You knew nothing of love before he had looked you in the eyes for the first time, before you had run your fingers through his damp curls, before he had touched your brambled heart with the hand of a rose.

Sometimes not even the heroes and the knights in shining armor can have their happy endings.

Sister Nightingale's old storytelling gift resurfaces.

The silence is perfect and she is perfect and everything is perfect and you never thought there was a chance for something to be so...so right.

Morrigan encounters her reflection four times.

Another mighty war fortress is falling thanks to the tears in the Fade, and Cassandra is determined to discover the catalyst of this particular tear.

It's all her fault for not being there in time. All her fault.

She likes the early mornings, because then she doesn't have to do much more than simply be.

Solange Lavellan wants to share her own world, the one city dwellers don't see, with her allies and companions, as gratitude and repayment for being welcomed into the human world so warmly. Today, it is Cassandra's turn.

Solange Lavellan wakes up from her accidental nap to hear a lot of interesting cursing coming from the entrance hall.