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Published:
2025-08-03
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2025-08-03
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3/?
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Codex: Lucien Trevelyan

Summary:

A series of mock codices centred on Inquisitor Lucien Trevelyan; a trans rift mage, Bull/Dorianmancer, and eventual father of three.

Chapter 1: Letter from Duke Cyril de Montfort to Empress Celene

Summary:

for the prompt: slander written about your OC

Chapter Text

The missteps we have seen so far are only to be expected of a young organisation, and particularly of such a young leader. I do not doubt that Lord Trevelyan means well, but many of the voices closest to his ear do not speak the Maker's will. He openly flaunts his unequal yoke to the oxman, and rumours suggest he has maintained his close ties with the Tevinter Ambassador.

What advice might they be giving behind closed doors, one wonders? And how might they be softening him to receive their message?

Of course, we were all young once. I myself allowed the passions of my heart to lead me astray more times than I ought. But that is all the more reason to extend Andraste's grace to her chosen Herald, and to lead him and the Inquisition back to the Maker's light with a gentle hand.

Chapter 2: Letter to an Unnamed Friend

Chapter Text

Hey,

Things are going surprisingly not terribly here? Never thought I'd say that surrounded by religious nuts, but this kid they've got - Lucky - he's something else.

Maker, he looks so fucking -
 Were we ever that youn -

He's a good kid. Marcher, albeit from the wrong March. Hasn't got your sense of humour either, but hey, nobody's perfect. And it turns out that the accent really comes out when you get enough alcohol into him. Not Choirboy-strong, but you hear one word and you know exactly where he's from. 

And who he's into. Is it a mage thing to latch onto the guy with the biggest sword in the place or is that just you and him? Cause we hired this qunari merc, Bull, a while back (long story, he's probably on our side), and it turns out he's obsessed with dragons. And Lucky took one look at the guy and decided he wanted to climb him like an oak tree, so obviously we had to go out dragon hunting.

(Apparently it's been long enough since that damn mine that I forgot how much those things sucked.)

Anyway, we get back to camp, and the qunari pulls out this alcohol - maraas-lok. 'Puts some chest on your chest', Bull said, and Maker's saggy balls did it ever. Me and the other guy, Blackwall, took a sip each and that was it, done, but the kid? Nah. Kept right on going, shot for shot. Four in, and - look, granted, he got a full sentence out, which was better than I think I'd have managed.

Would've been right on the floor after that, except he managed to land himself against Bull's chest instead. All giggly and everything. Honestly, it was kinda sweet. As for what he said after that... well, save that for a letter that Leliana's spies aren't gonna read through before it gets to you. Nobody needs that much black ink over their shit.

Anyway. All this to say, it's making me miss shenanigans at the Hanged Man. Hope the two of you are holding up alright, and steering clear of all this shit. When this is over, drinks are on me. I'm pretty sure I'll have a hell of a story to tell you over them, too.

-Varric

Chapter 3

Summary:

for the prompt: writing found in your OC’s trash can

set during this fic, so cw for implied trans mpreg. if that's not your thing, you might want to skip this chapter!

Chapter Text

[on a scrap of parchment, with notes from the Darvaraad]

Beware the forms of Fen’Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison. Remember the price of treason, and keep in your heart the mercy of your gods.

Suddenly the wolves at the temple make sense. The wolves in my mind, the howls threaded into the voices from the Well - she knew Solas. She loved him, once. Loves him still? Perhaps. Her voice has gone oddly silent, since the library. Or perhaps that’s a failing on my end. Touching the Fade now feels like a strain. Magic flickers for a brief second at my fingertips, then seeps away like water from a cracked jar.

He knew that I was 
We weren’t even people to
He could have told 

Leliana confirms that no one has seen or heard from Flemeth in over a year. That in itself is not out of the ordinary, but something feels troubling about it all the same. Bull seems relieved to hear it - and I’ll admit, it would be nice not to think that there is someone out there who could so effortlessly bend my will to their own as she could. But there are so many questions in desperate need of answers, and if she could just if she could help me sort through the mess of 

The child has begun to kick. Strange, that in the absence of the All-Mother in my head I should at last become a  They have their other father’s leg strength, by the feel of it. Let us hope they inherit his wisdom, too. I’m afraid I seem to have much less of it to pass on than I had thought.