Lyra Lavellan laughs at the lively music flowing through Skyhold. It is a welcome respite from the danger of her everyday life. The soldiers and workers are dancing, forgetting about their worries, if only for a dance. She can see even her companions and advisers are smiling. Yes, she thinks, today is good. When the normally reserved Cullen asks her for a dance, well, how can she refuse?
In the dark of night he regrets keeping her in the dark about his true identity, about his true plans. In the sobering light of day he knows he made the best choice, but he can’t help but wonder what would be if she had agreed to help him……
Lyra dismisses the group around the War Table with a tired wave. It is late at night, and everyone should be asleep. As she moves to leave she stumbles, with Cullen catching her before she falls. Their eyes lock and Lyra smiles.
“Thank you,” she says. Cullen is about to say something, but before any words come out a large yawn makes itself known.
“See you in the morning, Commander,” says Lyra with a giggle as she leaves the room. Cullen curses the universe.
Cassandra’s thoughts are heavy sometimes. She feels the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. Lyra sees this and wishes she could help her friend - but she doesn’t know how. She helps out the Seeker in anything she asks, and hopes it is enough. Cassandra sees her trying to lift her spirit and smiles. The Inquisitor helps more than she knows.
The Chargers run forward towards the battle, relishing in the cries of the Red Templars. No one is more enthusiastic than the Iron Bull - he fights like he’s having the time of his life. Lyra is grateful everyday that she hired them. After battle, the Iron Bull is forward in a different way. Lyra is VERY grateful she hired them.
Cole prowls around Skyhold at night, trying to find people to help. At night, people’s thoughts turn a bit darker, alone with themselves. There are so many people, and he wishes he could help them all, but he can’t. It’s hard, he wishes he could help everyone. The Inquisitor seems to need the most help, but she doesn’t want to forget anything, even if only for a night. He wishes he knew why.
“It’s just a small cut Solas, look - I don’t think it will even leave a scar!” Lyra exclaims as Solas worries over her. He’s not the best at healing magic, but even he can fix this - he can’t stand to see her hurt, even a small one, even if he can’t admit to himself why yet.
Varric will never compromise when it comes to Hawke, no matter what Cassandra threatens him with. Still, it’s nice to know the Inquisitor is on his side in this matter.
The kiss was impulsive, Solas knows. The second one more so. Still, he thinks with Lyra asleep in his arms, he can’t bring himself to care.
“This is a LIBRARY” someone snipes. Lyra and Dorian try to suppress their laughter, but it fails spectacularly into a fit of giggles. It’s nice to find a friend where you least expect one, for Lyra and Dorian both.
“Not every story needs a moral at the end, kid,” says Varric to Cole. “Sometimes people just want a good time, to forget their troubles for a while”
Engaging in battle now would be risky, Lyra knows. They’ve been fighting for way too long. Still, these Red Templars might have information on them. Vivienne lays a hand on her shoulder and nods. She’s ready for anything, and Lyra will be too.
It was discovered that the Inquisitor has a lovely singing voice. It has become habit now for the people around Skyhold to try and get her to sing for them. The children have the best luck - teaching her silly songs to sing with them. It’s another way to lift spirits around the castle - one Lyra can happily participate in.
“Lavellan, uhm, I mean Lyra, I, uhm” Cullen stutters as he speaks.
“What is it Cullen, you know you can tell me anything,” Lyra smiles at the ex-templar. He nearly trips over his own feet at the sight. Cullen sighs. If only he wasn’t so.…… awkward.
Cullen dips her lower, the music of the dance making its way to the balcony. Lyra is grateful for this moment of peace after all that has happened here in Orlais. Cullen holds her close, and Lyra allows herself to relax a little.
“Why not this one?” Lyra pleads as Solas walks away from her. It takes everything he has to not turn around, take her in his arms, and tell her everything. This unexpected love he has found will ruin everything, if he lets it. He can’t let it, no matter what he wants now. Solas keeps walking.
Lyra cares much more about her companions than she thought she would. Fighting side by side forges strong bonds, she supposes. She was never one for friendships back in her clan, but this mismatched band of companions and advisers is as dear to her as any family would be.
She doesn’t believe in their Maker, but she has her doubts about the Dalish gods too. She is not sure what to believe anymore. Solas tells her to believe in herself, that she’s a bright light for everyone in the Inquisition, but Lyra has her doubts about that as well.
When her parents died, Lyra thought that she would never have a family again. Looking at her companions around the Wicked Grace table, everyone laughing at Varric’s tale, she thinks she may have found another one.
Blackwall uses his shield to protect in battle, to defend against all coming. He thinks about the other shields he has up, and wonders at them crumbling when Lyra and the others are near.
Sometimes Lyra is like an open book, emotions plain on her face for all to see. Other times she clams up, and is unreadable to almost all. Solas can see through her stern face though, and wonders at the storm of emotions within.
The Iron Bull is very tactile during his communications with others - always shaking hands, slapping his friends on the back, hands always moving. He is tactile at other times too Lyra finds out, much to her delight.
Lyra could not have predicted this journey when she left her clan for the Conclave. Not in her wildest dreams. Could not have predicted so much sorrow, and so much joy in her life now. She looks at her sleeping companion next to her - some things have surpassed her happiest dreams.
Sera skulks off after being scolded, a scowl on her face. Some people just can’t appreciate the finer art of pranks.
A hero they call her, vanquisher of Corypheus. She doesn’t feel much like one. In some ways she still feels like the young elf who left for the Conclave, not knowing where she would end up. She looks towards the horizon, half expecting Solas to show up to comfort her. No one comes. Being a hero is lonely work, she feels.