#my templar dark elf likes to play with fire

[acommonanomaly]

Gilvayth Saren, what have you done?

My favorite dark elf is at it again.

#eso #the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls online #dunmer #dark elves #gilvayth #gilvayth saren #my templar dark elf likes to play with fire #vampires shouldn't play with fire #just sayin' #Gil is like: #''I DO WHAT I WANT'' #i played him a bit today #and was just like WEEEEEE #so much fun

[lesetoilesfous]

5. Comical roleplay for Kanders?

Ok I went A DIRECTION with this and I really hope you like it, thank you so much for the prompt!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Kanders

Characters: Anders, Karl

Tags: the Circle is violently abusive, reference to infanticide, reference to suicide, reference to abusive religious institutions, tyhe author Gets Political (when doesn't she), Anders is going to change the world in a bright pink dress, Karl is hopelessly in love with him, pro-mage propaganda

Rating: Mature

It’s almost midnight halfway through the month of Wintersend. The Circle is dark, the enchantments controlling the tower’s heat and lighting having long since switched into nocturnal mode. Despite this, and the high, thick darkness that came from rooms and rooms without windows, a handful of stars are suspended in the air at one corner of the apprentice’s dormitory. At least, Karl assumes they look like stars. His own memory of the night sky is blurred and vague, fuzzed over by the veil of early childhood. And of course, he hasn’t seen enough but watercolours of the sky itself since he was seven years old. But he likes to think the cloud of glittering witchlights that he, Anders and the other have summoned into the air might look like stars. He sees some of the younger children staring at the lights with an expression of something like awe, their dark eyes wide in hunger-stricken faces. Karl ignores the ache in his chest, and coaxes the lights to glow a little brighter.

In the middle of the crowded children, Anders is wearing a bright pink dress. Where exactly he got it, Karl has no idea. He also has no idea how Anders has managed to keep the thing away from the templar’s attentions for nearly five years. Every child is stripped of their own clothing as soon as their brought into the Circle and issued with the same, standard, worn apprentice robes that all of them had to wear. The clothes itches, and were often mended. Many of them smelled of sweat and other things left behind by the many generations before them. Choosing their own clothing: especially clothing as ostentatious and lurid as the pink affair Anders was currently strutting about in - was strictly forbidden to even the Senior Enchanters. Which means that this in itself is something of a sight to behold.

There’s also the fact that Anders has plaited his long strawberry blonde hair onto either side of his head, rouged his lips and dusted his face with powder. He looks ridiculous. He looks beautiful, and Karl is trying very hard not to think about it. Karl and the other older apprentices Anders has roped into this are not just managing the lights: they’re also running several low level heat spells. The trick was keeping the magic low enough not to alert the mages and enchanters on the second floor, whilst making it strong enough to beat back the thin layer of frost that crept across the stone floor of the dormitories at this time of year. The templars said that the Circle’s enchantments were designed to keep the building warm enough to live in, but Karl and the others had noticed how many additional layers the templars tended to wear during Wintersend down here. (They didn’t speak of the children they’d lost. Usually the youngest, more shocked by the cold than anything, taken in the night so that when the others woke up at first they though they were sleeping.)

Karl is jerked out of his reverie by Anders’ voice in a ridiculous falsetto. “Oh no!! Not the evil Hessarian. If only there were some friendly mage to help me. Shartan, catch me as I faint my love.” With that and a pirouette, Anders dropped himself into the arms of the much shorter Seran Amell, kitted out in a robed version of elvhen armour. Amell flushes red to the tips of his ears when Anders catches his face and kisses him, soundly, and several of the children giggle. When Anders pulls back, Amell’s lips are red with makeup and Anders’ eyes have a wicked gleam of gold in the witchlight.

“Oh friendly mages, where might I find you.” He reaches out into the dark, searching.

Anders’ ‘Unedited’ Wintersend carol was a piece of theatre he’d performed every year since he’d turned thirteen. Every year around midwinter, the Chantry Sisters would give them a long, special mass which was compulsory for all apprentices and junior mages. The mass explained, in detail, why the children in attendance were personally responsible for the ruin of the world: for the blights, for demons, for all evil. That they were born twisted, and dirty, violent and corrupt. That the best they could do was hope that one day the Maker might welcome them back into his light.

Not coincidentally, Wintersend was also when the number of attempted suicides among the junior mages and apprentices skyrocketed. At seventeen, Karl has seen too many ways to die, and most of them have been self inflicted. He tries not to think about it.

Anders, on the other hand, puts on plays. A soapy, silly pantomime in which Andraste turns in her hour of need to the ‘good mages’ never mentioned anywhere in the Chantry gospels. And together with her lover Shartan, the elf, the mages help her win a mighty victory. Every years, the kids from the alienage and kidnapped by force from their Dalish clans attach themselves with force to the notion of Shartan, a name that the new arrivals have often never heard. Every years, the kids boo and cheer in hushed whispers in the precious hour between templar patrols - mercifully spare in the colder months, when none of the soldiers in their prison want to be on the colder lower levels in their armour.

Karl thinks, probably, Anders has saved more lives than he knows. But he steps into the witchlight, compelled by an ache in his chest that never seems to go away when he looks at Anders, and he meets the fire in his brown eyes, and he thinks that maybe he knows. Softly, Karl speaks, the faces of the children and teeangers around them fading into blurred light. Anders is wearing fake pearls and fake gold in his ears, and everything about him is bewitching and lovely. “Blessed Andraste, I am here. My friends and I do not wish to see harm done to anyone, and our magic has only ever been used for good and healing.” Karl falls to one knee, and thinks that it is not only an act when Anders’ hand brushes lightly against his shoulder. Karl stares at Anders pale, scarred feet as he goes on. “Please may we help you.”

The children hold their breath.

Anders’ fingers run beneath Karl’s chin, his fingertips silky and cold. Gently, he lifts Karl’s chin, and Karl looks up into his face: all sharp lines framed by twists of red and gold. Anders smiles at him, lips fuller with the rouge and smudged pink by the kiss. “Yes.” He says, softly, to whispered cheers from the children. “I welcome the assistance of my friends, the mages.”

#karl #anders #kanders #dadwc #da2 #my fic #midnightprelude

[queen-scribbles]

Full of Surprises

Here we go, first Inquisition Commander!Fenris AU fic. :D I’d like to thank @lethendralis-paints for introducing me to the idea, and promise there will be Fenris POV in later pieces; this one just wound up sticking with the Inquisitor’s for basic set-up. ;)

---

Kerith Adaar was a hard woman to rattle.

 The nature of her business called for a certain level of implacability; being able to roll with new information or circumstances as if you’d planned for them from the start. These were the most bizarre “new circumstances” she’d ever found herself in--sickly green hole ripped in the sky vomiting demon, sealed by the same green now shimmering under her skin--and she’d managed to keep her head through it all. Adapt. Like she always did.

Which made it almost hilarious that the thing to throw her off when demons, murder accusations, and the wreckage left of the Temple of Sacred Ashes couldn’t do it, was an elf. 

In her defense, this was not just any elf. If his appearance--snowy hair and dull white tattoos that trailed down his throat to vanish under his armor--wasn’t enough to justify her surprise, there was also the fact he was an elf. In a position of obvious authority. In an organization begun under the auspices of the Chantry. The Vala-kos had done enough jobs for Chantry-affiliated persons, Kerith was well acquainted with how many of them viewed... others. 

She managed to curb her curiosity through the ensuing conversation among her new advisors--spymaster and ambassador, both human, and the elven commander. Best to remain focused on the more important issues; how things stood after the Chantry denounced them, spirited debate over what they should do next and who they should ally with to close the Breach for good. Given their shaky standing in the eyes of all available options, it was decided all they could really do was meet with the one person currently willing to speak to them; a Chantry Mother working out in the Hinterlands. There were already scouts in the area attempting to make contact, Kerith could depart as soon as she received word of where, precisely, to go.

With that decision made, they all went their own ways, to attend their own business. Kerith shivered slightly as she stepped out of the chantry’s warmth, weaving sideways to avoid collision with a huffy nobleman in the doorway. He grunted something rude under his breath but she ignored him in favor of pulling her coat a little closer. Her time spent in Ferelden had not accustomed her to cold as much as she would have liked.

Kerith made her way through the village, secured supplies for the pending trip to the Hinterlands, and conversed with some of her new allies as she wandered before finding herself down at the training ground, not entirely by accident. She leaned against a post meant to hold a training dummy and watched her--well, their, this wasn’t just about her--apparent military commander lead what remained of the Inquisition’s forces through rapid-fire drills. He’d armed himself with a greatsword after leaving their council meeting, and wielded it with grace that spoke of hard-earned skill. Just one more angle to the enigma he presented.

“You have good form, Commander,” Kerith commented when there was a pause.

He flicked a glance in her direction, barked for the recruits to take a break, and then joined her. “Fenris,” he reminded her. “As I said before, the title is unnecessary. Did you need something, Herald?”

Kerith shook her head as she pushed away from the post. “Just getting to know people. And it’s Kerith; this ‘Herald’ business is unnecessary as well. I’m not that special.”

“Are you certain?” Fenris asked with a dry chuckle. He nodded toward the soldiers he’d been training. They were all staring at them--her--and a few whispering to their fellows. “They seem to think you are.”

“Wonder if that’s due more to what I am” --she tapped one of her broken-off horns--”or who I am, the Herald of Andraste, who glows and can close the little demon-spewing holes in the sky.”

“Hopefully the larger one as well, if all goes to plan,” he said, inclining his chin toward the greenish shadow that marred the clouds about them.

“Hopefully,” Kerith nodded. The Mark pulsed faintly, in time with the Breach, and she curled her hand into a fist. “And hopefully soon.”

“Indeed, I believe that would please everyone.” Fenris loosely crossed his arms and arched a brow. “But you said you wanted to talk.” One side of his mouth curved briefly higher. “I suspect you have a specific topic in mind?”

“You would be correct. A couple actually, if you’ve the time.” She ran a hand over her hair, capturing one of the narrow dark grey braids to absently weave between her fingers as she continued. “How did you wind up here?”

“I walked,” he deadpanned. “Or rode, when it better suited.”

Kerith rolled her eyes but laughed. “Enlightening. Though I meant more how did an elf get named military commander for a Chantry organization?”

He shook his head. “It isn’t.”

“I know it’s--we’ve--been denounced as heretical now, but that is how it started, isn’t it?”

Fenris gave another small shake of his head. “It was begun by Cassandra and Nightingale.”

Kerith snorted, picked at the end of her braid. “I’m pretty sure, as the Right and Left Hands of the Divine, Cassandra and Leliana are considered part of the Chantry. Or at least were; that may have changed with the whole ‘founding a heretical movement’ thing.”

“But they did not begin the Inquisition to be an arm of the Chantry; it was in answer to a threat. While they would have welcomed the Chantry’s support, this”--he paused to gesture at Haven and their set-up--”was their intention regardless.”

“With or without approval,” she murmured as she tipped her head in easy concession. “Still, folk like us are hardly the typical first choice of Chantry types, you must admit, no matter how well-suited. Especially for positions of authority.” She flexed her Marked hand and muttered, “Not that they got much choice with me...”

Fenris chuckled. “Kerith, you’ve spoken to Cassandra, have you not?”

She nodded. “Only a little beyond the council, but yes.”

He fixed her with a dryly amused stare. “Does she seem the sort to care in the slightest if her actions are typical in pursuit of her goals?”

Kerith laughed. “Can’t say she does. And I see you’re just as skilled with words as you are that sword.” Tattooed, eloquent, combat-trained... She shook her head with a rueful smile and muttered under her breath in qunlat, “Where did she find you?”

“Antiva,” Fenris answered in common with a faint smirk at the surprise Kerith didn’t try to hide. “Hard on the heels of a particularly nasty band of slavers. She made an excellent case, and I could leave my pursuit in... very capable hands. Ones I trusted to get the job done. So I left with her, and we returned only a few days before the Conclave was due to start.”

“Mm.” Kerith pursed her lips. It was a straight forward story, if notably light on details. But she could pry for those later. “You speak qunlat?”

“Yes.” He cocked his head, studying her. “I must admit to being equally surprised you do. From what Nightingale had found, you were raised Vashoth?” He waited for her nod of confirmation. “I would not have expected that to be something passed along to you, under those circumstances. Most who leave the Qun wish to abandon it entirely.”

She smiled thinly. “Some parts of your heritage you just can’t avoid.” Others you don’t want to. “But it came in handy once I was looking for work of my own. Vala-kos were the only ones who’d have me, and some of them don’t speak much common. But we all know qunlat.” She scuffed a foot through the snow, then arched a brow at Fenris. “Where’d you learn it?”

He averted his gaze out over the lake. “I... spent some time in Seheron. It’s always useful to know the local tongues of anywhere you find yourself staying long.”

“It is,” Kerith agreed. “Seheron also where you learned to fight like that?”

“One place of many,” Fenris replied with a small shrug, his crossed arms tightening fractionally.

She was well-versed enough in body language to pick up this was not a favored topic, at least not for public discussion. “I learned from many places as well,” she said, her hand drifting toward the hilt of one dagger. She let a beat of silence pass before changing the subject. “You really think the templars are the better option for dealing with that?” She jerked her chin toward the Breach.

“I do,” Fenris said with a nod, the tension that had stiffened his spine starting to bleed away.

“Cassandra and Leliana made a good case for seeing if the mages can’t give the Mark more power,” Kerith said, part idle comment, part seeing his response.

He shook his head. “Better to attempt suppressing the Breach itself than tempt mages with more power.”

There was a vehemence behind the words that made her raise a brow, but she decided against pulling that thread just yet in favor of staying on track. “You believe they can? To the extent we’d need?”

“In sufficient number, yes,” Fenris replied, rolling his shoulders.

“That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Kerith chuckled ruefully. “It’s hard to find sufficient number of anything right now.”

He answered her chuckle with one of his own. “That’s what we have you for, isn’t it, Herald?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Well played, Commander. I’ll do my best to drum up a sufficient number of allies, whichever course we pursue.” She looked up at the Breach again, bit her lip in thought. “It’s so big,” she murmured to herself. She curled the braid’s tail around her thumb. “Can’t imagine what it’s going to take to close that son of a bitch....”

“It will be quite the effort, whoever you call upon for help,” Fenris said, running a hand through his hair. “Will you have to open it again, as you did last time?”

“Void’s teeth, I hope not,” Kerith groaned, shuddering at the memory of the Pride demon they’d had to battle, one of very few things that had ever made her feel  small. She rubbed her forearm subconsciously, even though the remembered wound had been healed with nary a scar. “I don’t relish the thought of another fight like that.”

“Understandable.” His weight rocked foot to foot and back as he recrossed his arms. “It was quite the battle, from what I hear.”

“Would likely have been worse if not for those of you watching our backs,” she returned with a half-smile. “But yes. It... was not fun. And I hope nothing similar is required to close it for good.”

Fenris hesitated the briefest moment before voicing his thoughts. “If it were, the templars would also be a great help in that fight.”

“...as opposed to mages, who would perhaps be more vulnerable to demons.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s something for me to consider, since mine will apparently be the final word on the subject.”

“You are the one with the Mark,” he shrugged. “You are the one who can close the Breach. That lends your word on the matter extra weight.”

“Just what I always wanted,” Kerith said wryly, which earned a chuckle. She glanced at the restlessly shifting soldiers. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I’ll let you get back to it. I appreciate the conversation.”

“As did I,” Fenris replied, inclining his head respectfully.

He returned to training the soldiers as Kerith walked away, and she couldn’t repress a smile when she realized he’d learned as much about her as she had him. And with hardly a direct question. You’re just full of surprises, Commander Fenris. She didn’t know who to thank for dropping him in their laps--Cassandra, probably--but she had a very good feeling about the Inquisition’s military commander. 

Surprise that he may have been.

#queens fic #commander fenris au #f!adaar #fenris #oh god here we gooooo #dai #and there WILL be later pieces bc i love the concept of this au #i just dunno when they'll materialize bc we're moving into ''must write christmas present fics'' territory #now to figure out his hairstyle....

[himluv]

Bow & Arrow

Day 3 of 14 Days of Dragon Age Lovers. This one was weird for me, but I did my best to make it work. I hope you guys like it.

Sera was never the quietest girl, like the song said. All these months she’d made her thoughts on Elfy plain. He was stuck up. Elf this, legacy that. Magic, spirits, the Fade. She hated all of it. And while she didn’t hate him, it was a near thing.

Inky on the other hand… well, she liked her. She was little people once. Littler even than she was. Her clan might be too elfy for her tastes, but they lived hard, humble lives. That she understood.

What she didn’t understand was why Riallan would choose Solas. Inky was funny, with a wicked wit she only let out to play sometimes. She was strong, not just with all that lightning, but with her head and her heart. She told the Orlesians what for in Halamshiral and put ‘em in their place.

Sera liked that.

But Solas? He was boring. Too quiet, too obsessed with things that ought to be left alone. He hardly ever joined them in the tavern, and he smiled even less. He was a know-it-all, and so full of himself that Sera had no choice brought to bring him down a peg every now and again.

That time she’d left lizards in his bedroll had been brilliant! Oh, he’d been right pissed for days.

Varric had been the one to let it slip. He’d had a mug too many and he’d made some remark about Riallan and Solas, then wagged his eyebrows at her. She might have thought it just a fun joke, but Dorian had damn near slapped his hand over the dwarf’s mouth to shut him up. That confirmed it.

So now she walked through the desert with them and Cassandra, them none-the-wiser that she knew they were bumping bits. She wanted to figure it out. She wanted to understand what could convince Inky to spend all her free time with someone so… Solas.

She didn’t think it was his looks, not that she was a very good judge. Not that he was unattractive, but he was plain. And bald. And she’d seen him shave so it was on purpose. His eyes were pretty enough, like the water at the Storm Coast, but usually they were just as cold.

No. It couldn’t be his looks.

She’d heard about his painting, had gone to see it one day. It was pretty, all bold colors and strong lines. She liked it, though she couldn’t pick any one thing about it that made her feel that way. It just looked right. She’d struggled to connect the art to the man, but maybe that’s why he was so plain. He put all the interesting bits into the art.

“Trouble ahead,” he said.

She had to admit, he did have a nice voice. Smooth and low and she reckoned it sounded nice whispered in the dark. She unslung her bow and nocked an arrow, scanning for the so called trouble.

Red Templars were everywhere in the Approach, and she was all too happy to stick an arrow in their throats. But she didn’t get much chance; the fight was finished almost as quickly as it’d begun.

Before anyone could move Solas cast a barrier, the magic cool and refreshing as it washed over her. Almost immediately after that, Riallan summoned a cage of purple lightning, trapping the corrupted Templars in an electrified circle. Solas froze another Templar as Sera’s arrow took him in the head, shattering the man dead.

Cassandra finally reached the three Templars, her blade hacking at them with all the fury of a woman betrayed. Solas cast something weird, all green and sickly, like the Fade, and the Templars crashed to the ground, only for Riallan to shoot a fist of stone at them as they stood up.

A marksman managed to doge the fist, and fired a desperate arrow at Riallan. It hit, and she grunted, but didn’t fall. Instead she spun her staff and launched a ball of fire at the man. He froze a second before the fire hit him, another well-timed spell from Solas, and then fell writhing to die in the dirt.

Only then did Riallan drop to one knee.

“Vhenan!” Solas fade stepped to her side, careful hands at her shoulder, where the arrow stuck out from her skin.

She bit her lip and groaned. “It’s not too bad,” she said through her teeth.

Sera and Cassandra stood over them, worried but ultimately useless. They weren’t healers.

Solas frowned. “You are lucky. The arrowhead didn’t hit anything vital.”

She smiled, an ugly thing that looked more pained than happy. “Just a flesh wound?”

He glared at her. “Lay down,” he said.

She obeyed, but went pale with the effort. It hurt more than she let on.

“Do you want something to bite down on?”

She shook her head. “Just get it over with.” She was in pain, but she held his eyes and there was nothing but trust there.

It dawned on Sera that this was not the first time they’d done this particular dance. She was about to say as much when Solas placed one palm on Riallan’s chest. The other took hold of the arrow and yanked in one smooth motion. Inky cried out, a low guttural sound, then rolled away from him onto her side.

“Fenedhis that hurts!”

He examined the arrowhead and let out a relieved sigh. “It does not seem to be poisoned this time.”

“Thank the Creators,” she said. She didn’t sound all that thankful to Sera.

Solas chuckled and rolled her onto her back again. He placed a hand over the wound and Riallan relaxed at the touch. A pale blue glow flickered over his palm, and when he sat back the Inquisitor sighed.

“That’s much better.” She sat up and rolled her shoulder. She hissed.

“We should apply a poultice, to be safe.” He helped her stand and they brushed the sand off their armor.

“As soon as we get to camp,” she said.

He didn’t look like he agreed with that, but he didn’t say so. And then they were off, walking through the desert as if nothing had happened. Sera understood then.

Maybe she couldn’t see the initial appeal, but now she saw the way they fit together. In battle she was a storm, crashing over their enemies, corralling them and bombarding them with elemental attacks. Solas supported those attacks with barriers for his allies and by freezing his foes.

Outside of battle they were just similar enough to be drawn together. Both quiet and bookish, obsessed with the past and elves and magic. But Riallan was a presence. When she walked in the room you noticed, and not just because she was the Inquisitor. There was something magnetic about her, that drew people in and convinced them to help her. She’d used it to her advantage a dozen times as the Herald.

Solas was the opposite. Plain to the point of invisibility, he walked without notice and so saw so much more than anyone realized. It was one thing Sera liked about him. He was sneaky, observant. It reeked of little people, of servants used to being ignored. Not for the first time, she wondered where he’d come from, what his life was before the Inquisition.

But she knew she’d never know the answers. They weren’t for her.

They were for her. Riallan and Solas walked shoulder to shoulder at the head of their group, talking quietly. He was tall, taller than her by at least a head, and though the Inquisitor seemed well enough, his body curved toward her. His concern telegraphed in his walk.

Sera smirked. She got it now. She was the arrow, he was the bow. They were neat on their own, but only really made sense once you put them together.

#14DALovers #Riallan Lavellan #Solas #Dragon Age Inquisition #Sera

[twitchesandstitches]

Skyrim/General Fantasy OC Ideation: Tamitayo’s Buddies

I’ve mentioned before, I think, that one of my signature OCs (Tamitayo the dark elf/black dragon in a dark elf form) is actually based on the character I played in some of my Skyrim playthroughs that I got particularly attached to; after doing runs as an orc and argonian, my dunmer playthrough got particularly appealing to me because of the narrative resonance of a nord prophecy heroine being one of the dark elves so oppressed and mistreated in Skyrim, and a personality of sorts emerged in my playthroughs as well.

however, while a lot of Tamitayo’s personality and abilities are a direct translation of my time playing in Skyrim, not all of them are. Put simply, I like to do a little bit of everything in Skyrim, from being a combat monster, to a deadly spell apocalypse, to a werewolf/vampire lord hybrid, and do it all REALLY well. an undead summoning, spell-slinging, deadly warrior who excells at pretty much whatever i currently find the most fun to play. while that’s good for gameplay, it translates pretty poorly into a written narrative; a character who is good at everything, while fun in a powergaming way, lacks narrative hooks to really figure them out or come up with ideas for how they typically perform.

So, and I have done some ideas with this in the past that haven’t really gone anywhere, my idea was (and still is) to split up my preferences in gameplay into several characters, with their roots in the Elder Scrolls setting, but designed so that they can be adjusted to fit other settings as needed; D&D, my sci fi fantasy AUs, and whatever else feels right.

In rough order:

Tamitayo: The most established of these characters, she’s a spellsword barbarian type; in TES setting, she’s a dark elf from a fairly obscure sub-culture within Morrowind’s outer reaches and is an outsider to established Imperial culture. Short-spoken, terse and very forbidding in demeanor, she’s explicitly based off Conan the barbarian, both in general personaltiy and her world-weary disdain of the civilized world’s own cruelty. She’s, ironically, a sorceress type: she specializes in destructive combat magic, with some more defensive abilities. Probably makes use of Bound weapons, and mainly uses fire/explosive magic. Likely to wear furred robes and make use of armorskin spells (in the form of magical war paint) as her primary protection, but does make use of her family’s traditional malachite armor in times of great need.

Outside of TES, the assumption is that she is actually a noble black dragon who is mostly confined to the form of a dark elf. This may be a matter of some curse she can only temporarily escape, or a matter of preference. Either way, she’s still the same character (And its just taking the implications of being Dragonborn to its logical conclusion). In D&D proper, she’s most likely a druid or, if that’s not elemental destruction enough, a wizard. She’s compelled to establish a territory and defend it, and thus she’s actually something of a benign warlord; finding chaotic territories, defeating rivals and persuading others to be allies, destroying all malicious threats, and establishing herself as a heroic empress over it all.

As a refresher on her appearance, she’s a very tall dark elf (7ft+) with a fit, fairly defined hourglass body; huge hips, massive breasts, and a fair amount of muscle throughout. Her skin is black (with a bit of a blue tint??) and usually covered in magical war paint. She likes to dye her hair, but the exact shade isn’t defined.

Rogha: Based on my more combat-focused playthrough styles, she’s an orc warrior through and through, with an emphasis on being an extremely skilled craftswoman with a powerful knowledge of enchantment. Very much a strategic planner despite seeming to be a meathead; give her time, and she will WRECK YOUR SHIT with gear designed to exploit your weaknesses. Makes heavy use of electrical magic, necromancy for allies and soldiers (recycling the dead is just common sense, she says). Probably a fairly jolly woman, and very polite. A bit of a stickler for being nice, with a bit of a knight templar-ish view on punishing evil. She’s very community minded, and views smashing bad guys as just another job; think something like Bismuth from SU for inspiration.

Narratively, it may make the most sense for her to mainly focus on having abilities that buff her allies (transforming them, making them bigger/stronger) and functioning a bit as a team support who then wrecks the enemies. a total combat monster, who rages and slaughters everything in her way. As an orc, she adjusts pretty well to pretty much any setting that allows for orcs.

Physically, she’s HUGE; my most muscular and amazonian character, she’s not particularly defined but she is extremely bulky and buff, with arms larger than most people’s torsos. Might have a bit of an old school Gaelic warrior vibe in terms of her design, depending on what cultural associations feel the most right for her. (For example, she’d be of Irish descent in my main AUs.) Mega buff and bigger than the other two here by a wide margin. probably uses a lot of weaponized shields or oversized gunswords that shoot like cannons. (Maybe a wereboar, too?)

Raxlila: A combination of my Argonian character, some more subtle character styles i didn’t actually use but find interesting for narrative ideas, and some vague ideas from WAY back of a dinosaur girl OC. She’s based on some more sneaky skill sets: she’s an alchemist brewing up potions for any conceivable situation, an archer who takes out armored foes from afar (and probably uses crossbows; automatic crossbows and similar weapons, in less TES-canon set ups), makes a lot of use of stealth and acrobatic dodging, and prefers lighter armor. She can makes use of illusion magic (invisiblity, messing with people’s minds), and is also a skilled healer. She’s interested in summoning, but only the theory, and she is also fairly good at using ice magic for combat.

Very fast (Despite her considerable curves, she can get a LOT of velocity in her leaps), she’s a rather indirect and tricksy person; she’s great at fooling people and pulling off diplomacy and schemes in equal turn, and prides herself on walking into pretty much wherever she wants. Tall but not unusually so, she has more crocodilian traits (though she’s more feathery than most argonians, otherwise) and prefers things wet: she’s VERY curvy and thickset, edging a bit towards an overall broad body, though her huge boobs make her look hyper all over.

I have this idea that she doesn’t cast spells; she distills spells in advance as potions, powders and other one-use effects, or works them into special gadgets she can reuse; explosive arrows that create a freezing effect may be a common tool. She’s not making healing potions, but distilled restoration spells. in more sci-fi scenarios, she may be a gadgeteer who specializes in weapon systems, and is generally more about theory; she’s able to do the manual work of putting them together, but it involves a LOT of trial and error, and she works best with people to handle that on her behalf.

#twitchy ideas #twitchy!ocs

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter Five

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo

MASTERPOST:

A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

<-PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER->

CHAPTER Five - Elsie

...so I met the Herald of Andraste this morning. She’s already becoming pretty famous around these parts but after meeting her, I was struck by how normal she was. A woman just shy of thirty, and a mage. I watched as she helped drive away the apostates and rogue templars from the Crossroads and I was impressed. Her magic is scary, like all mages, but from the little I know of the art I could see that she had immense control and I felt like I was witnessing something special to see her wield it. I know that contradicts what I said about her being normal. Maybe that’s why people like her already - myself included

- Part of a letter sent by Scout Lace Harding to her mother

5. Elsie

Although horse riding was in her blood and she had been on horseback more in the past year than most of her life put together; Elsie was still desperately out of practice, especially when travelling roads she didn't know with a mare who was almost as stubborn as she was. By the time they had made camp that first evening on their journey, Elsie was no closer to getting on with her horse who had the most ridiculous name of Buttercup. Normally such a name would not offend her, but Buttercup was so unlike her namesake in both looks and temperament that Elsie couldn’t help but resent it.

Perhaps she was projecting her bubbling anger unknowingly on the poor mare. For most of the day, Elsie’s thoughts had been consumed with that of Commander Cullen. Cold, calculated, emotionless ex-templar, she thought bitterly as she set up her tent by a stream with the others.

“I think I’m going to pitch my tent away from the Herald,” Varric said with a wink. “She looks like she’s about to set something on fire, and I’m rather fond of my chest hair.”

Elsie rolled her eyes but managed a smile. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

“Brooding?” Varric interjected.

She frowned at him. “I wasn’t brooding,” she muttered.

Varric laughed. “Believe me Dimples, I know brooding when I see it. I learnt from the expert also known as Fenris.”

Elsie didn’t reply and continued to pitch her tent in silence but tried to act more calmly. She was annoyed with the Commander and frustrated about how they had left things: she would much rather resolve the conflict upfront than sit and stew, which she had done for most of the day. Also, considering he had stayed in Haven, his obvious resentment towards her would no doubt be exacerbated by her absence, especially as she was not there to defend herself.

She heaved a sigh and instead turned back to Varric who was now reclining on a blanket outside of his tent.

“You’re from Kirkwall, right Varric?” she asked slowly, taking a seat on a log near him.

“Well if that’s not a loaded question, I don’t know what is,” he chuckled. “Out with it Dimples - you know I’m from Kirkwall...for better or worse.”

Elsie spread her hands as she searched for the right words. “Alright - Commander Cullen was from Kirkwall too, yes? Did you know him? Was he part of the mage uprising?”

Varric looked at her closely before shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll tell you Herald… but you’re not going to like it.”

*

The ride the next day was even more subdued as Elsie mulled over everything Varric had told her. Oh, like many apostates she had read his ‘Tales of the Champion’, whilst on the run, with the desire to know more about the mage couple who had started the rebellion. Her sister Evelyn had even been stationed at the Gallows before the trouble really started and had once mentioned in passing that she had met the Champion. Not for the first time, Elsie wished she could speak to her sister again, to ask her if she knew Cullen - surely their paths would’ve crossed on occasion, especially if he had been a commanding officer? She made a mental note to ask him about Evelyn once they were on better speaking terms… if that were to happen.

“So the Commander of the Inquisition just… turned a blind eye? Let things escalate and did nothing?” Elsie asked Varric that following evening.

Varric blinked at the sudden change in subject but recovered quickly. “I suppose that’s something you would need to ask him yourself. But he stood up against Meredith with us in the end.”

“In the end,” Elsie repeated slowly. “Some of what I’ve heard from mages who escaped the Gallows-”

“Are exaggerations, no doubt,” Cassandra interrupted, walking past them on her way to her tent. She looked down at them, her hands on her hips. “None of us were truly there in the Gallows or in the ranks. A Templar doesn’t question orders - that’s what makes them excellent soldiers.”

“But people died because he chose to look the other way!” Elsie replied heatedly, getting to her feet. She had been sitting and stewing on this fact for most of the day, and could feel her hands shaking.

“I think he knows that, Dimples,” Varric said quietly.

“Indeed,” Cassandra continued. “What matters now is that he made the right choices and was invaluable with the relief efforts in Kirkwall. That’s what I saw when I sought to recruit him - a brilliant soldier and swordsman, unafraid to admit he was wrong and more than willing to atone.” With that, Cassandra retreated into her tent without another word.

Varric and Elsie lapsed into a companionable silence, and the dwarf plucked at his crossbow idly whilst staring into the campfire, his mind obviously back in Kirkwall or someplace. Elsie thought over Cassandra’s words and offered a small smile to Solas who sat down opposite her and pulled out a book. She watched the elf set his staff down carefully on the ground by his feet and flick open a couple of pages before finding his place where he had left off. A prickle of magic she was now becoming familiar with and Elsie knew that Solas had just returned from setting wards around their little camp. She felt his soft magic flow silently around them and that’s when she remembered something that she had been sitting on since her talk with Varricc the previous evening.

She peered over her shoulder at Cassandra’s tent before leaning in closer to Varric, her voice low. “Can I ask you something?”

“You already have, but I guess you have another question?” he grinned, and Elsie gave him a gentle swat on the arm in response.

“Just something you said about Commander Cullen yesterday that’s been on my mind… does he really not see mages as people?” her mouth felt dry as she asked and Solas looked up from the book he was reading.

Varric’s good and contemplative mood evaporated and he looked down at his feet, rubbing his chin as he decided how to answer.

“You don’t forget something like that,” he admitted slowly. “But Curly has changed an awful lot since then; you would have to ask him yourself.”

Elsie rolled her eyes. “Sure, because we are such good friends.”

“Perhaps we need to give Cullen the benefit of the doubt,” Solas said, ever calm. “It’s the least we can do if we don’t want him to judge us as much as we are apparently judging him.”

She noted the quiet rebuke but didn’t comment on it. “I just feel like he’s watching us all the time - like when we were training before we left Haven.”

“With all due respect Elsie, it wasn’t me he was staring at,” Solas said, a wry smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Oh really?” Varric said eagerly, threading his fingers together. “Do tell me more. Would you say he was ‘enraptured’? Besotted?”

Heat coursed through Elsie. “Really Varric,” she shook her head.

Varric ignored her. “Is the Commander Templar pining for the Herald mage I wonder? Opposites do attract after all.”

Elsie crossed her arms and regarded him coolly, hoping her warm cheeks didn’t give her away. “The journey must be making you weary for you are delusional,” she said calmly, although her gut twisted at the thought of him watching her as a person, as a woman, and not because she was a mage. “Besides, I don’t think the Commander could manage friendship with a mage, let alone be intimate with one.”

“Who said anything about intimacy?” Varric grinned, and Elsie wanted to put her fist in her mouth. She looked over at Solas for some support but the elf was smiling down at his book, refusing to meet her eye.

“Come now Dimples! Curly isn’t exactly hard on the eyes now, is he?”

He’s right about that , she admitted silently, thinking of his strong jaw and chiselled cheekbones.  

“Don’t forget the thrill of a forbidden romance,” the dwarf continued.

“What are you, a smutty romance writer?” she said, playing close attention to her gloves.

“I have been known to dabble.”

“Maker’s balls,” she swore. “If you are quite finished, I’m going to bed before you say any more ridiculous nonsense and start naming children or some other hogwash,” she said, waving a hand.

“That’s some pretty strong denial there,” Solas smiled.

Elsie glared at him. “Traitor,” she mumbled, hiding a smile as she got to her feet. “This conversation is over. Goodnight!”

She strode to her tent, the sounds of the elf and the dwarf’s laughter following her. “Have pleasant dreams of Curly!” Varric called after her.

Oh, how she wished she could slam a tent flap shut.

Needless to say, Elsie took a few moments to collect herself, although the taunting words of Varric and Solas rang in her ears. Cullen was a troubled, complicated man with a dark past and perhaps she had given him too little credit. And yet, as Elsie undressed and slipped into a simple nightdress, her hands lingered on her collarbone and her waist and she wondered what it would feel like if his breath tickled her neck and if it were his hands on her instead of her own -

Abruptly, she snatched her hands away, as if scolded. Maker, am I that desperate for comfort? So eager for the touch of another person that she would fantasise about a man she barely knew and antagonised her so? Stupid handsome Commander , she thought. It was his fault being - as Varric had said - not so bad on the eyes. She wasn’t sure if that made her dislike him more or less.

Despite her self-scolding, Elsie did dream of the Commander and as was typical of the Fade, it distorted the reality. She saw him as a Templar in Ostwick, walking the hallways she had known so well for many years. And in her dreams he was softer but strong, and pressed her quietly up against the library shelves, tucked away in secret corners, giving in to temptation.

A cold dip in the river the following morning chased all heated thoughts away, and as their journey continued, she sobered greatly as they faced demons and closed a rift which had already taken the lives of a small farming family. The next few days were much the same, which gave the small group a chance to practice working and fighting together. As they finally descended into the Hinterlands proper, Elsie was too full of simple wonder admiring the luscious green landscape to even complain about her saddle sores. The tall trees, the long grass and the tame fennecs were enough to calm her soul and soon all confusing thoughts of the Commander of the Inquisition had fled her mind.

The beauty of the landscape was a sharp contrast to the bloodshed they soon encountered.

The Crossroads were a mess. They left their horses to recover at the forward camp with Scout Harding and descended into the valley on foot. As the screams and shouts became louder, Elsie exchanged a worried glance with Cassandra, who nodded grimly and drew her sword. They rounded the corner and saw the scuffle between Inquisition soldiers, Templars and mages; so the foursome prepared themselves as they had practiced: Solas set a ward over them all, Varric slung Bianca from over his shoulder and Cassandra braced in a warrior pose whilst flames licked Elsie’s fingers.

Despite their plans to not fight them, both the Templars and apostates refused to listen. Elsie wrapped her flames around a Templar who boiled in his metal armour screaming in agony. She then felt a dreaded tingle of blood magic from behind her and spun on her heel, twirled her staff and shot a fireball at an apostate before they could finish summoning a demon. Their robes were set alight and the blood mage screamed in both pain and frustration as she summoned an ice cloud over her to douse the flames. However, she was too slow as Cassandra skidded on her knees past Elsie and lunged upwards with her sword to dig her weapon into the mage’s gut.

She spluttered blood from her mouth, her eyes wide, before she grinned sadistically at Cassandra. In a pool of blood and magic, the mage transformed into a hideous abomination and Elsie shuddered involuntarily as it screeched at them. It swung its huge, unnatural arms down at Cassandra, who quickly blocked with her shield, but she was too slow, and the abomination ripped it away from her arm, causing the Seeker to cry out in pain with what Elsie quickly summarised was likely a broken wrist.

Instinct took over and Elsie summoned fire to wrap around the abomination as she ran forward and reached behind her back to grab her dagger. As her flames distracted the creature, she lunged up with her sharp blade and slashed its throat. It screeched in agony, but the cut wasn’t deep enough to be fatal. Elsie spun on her heel and swung her staff over her head, which was alight and burning with her magic. She went to strike again, aiming her dagger for the gut this time, but the abomination reached down and grabbed Elsie by the throat, dragging her off her feet. She dropped her dagger from her left hand and her staff from her right, and both fell to the cobbled ground with a clatter. She clawed desperately at the creature’s grossly malformed hands that were squeezing her throat, but her vision began to blur, even when the abomination leaned closer and whispered, with rotted breath ‘traitor’.

Elsie almost stopped struggling as she processed the word it had uttered. Fear groped her and she tried to gulp for air but its grip was strong -

Shuck.

She fell to the ground, suddenly free and sucked in as much air as she could with large, rasping gasps. Confused, she pulled herself to her feet and peered over at the now still abomination. A crossbow bolt was embedded between its rolled, bloodshot eyes. She turned to see Varric give her a quick wink before he turned and helped Solas with the final stragglers.

Cassandra stood leaning against a fence post, cradling her arm. “It’s over,” she said, looking around them.

Elsie nodded, unable to summon her voice. She looked around and saw body after fallen body litter the ground. Almost all the deceased were rogue templars or apostates and yet she did not feel particularly relieved about that fact. She didn’t really feel much of anything and went over to heal Cassandra’s wrist with a flick of magic she barely had to think about.

Traitor

Rubbing her neck sore neck and shrugging off Cassandra’s thanks, Elsie walked between the bodies as Inquisition soldiers began to sort and pile them up. Cassandra and Varric followed her every move like her shadow, but Solas remained apart and went to help with the physicians and offer his healing magic. Elsie knew she needed to join him and offer her limited skill of healing, but for her at that moment, it was important for her to look down on the faces of the people who had died - the people she had killed. Faces of men and women, elves and people passed her by, but the body of a blonde elven mage in tattered Circle robes gave her pause. The elf’s eyes were open, her green gaze staring at nothingness. She had no markings on her face, save for the bruises and blood from the skirmish and her ashen hair was clumps of blood tangled in it. She had one lone earring in her right ear and the metal was worn, as if regularly rubbed. Elsie wondered if it had been given to her by her mother, or a friend or a lover?

“It is war,” Varric mumbled from beside her, as Elsie let out a ragged breath. She reached forward and closed the elf’s eyes, her skin already cold.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she replied bitterly. How many did I kill today? She thought. How many fellow mages? How many of my sister’s comrades?

“Herald,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms. “Elsie?” she said quietly when Elsie looked up at her. “We should report to Corporal Vale-”

“No, not yet,” Elsie said, regaining her composure and turning her back on the dead elf. “I need to help heal the wounded and speak to Mother Giselle. The rest can wait.”

“But-”

Elsie strode on past the Seeker and headed towards Solas who was crouched by a row of stretchers. “By all mean go and see the Corporal - but I’ve got work to be getting on with,” and with that, Elsie knelt down next to Solas and downed a lyrium potion before setting her hands on a soldier’s thigh and applying pressure.

*

Three days after the skirmish, Elsie had spoken to Mother Giselle, but she had still not left the Crossroads, much to Cassandra’s agitation. The injured were many and everyday more came in the hopes of being seen by a healer or someone who could help them. Broken families and quiet children became a common sight to Elsie as she helped heal those in the greatest of need.

It was on the fifth day that Cassandra finally dared to approach her directly. They had not spoken to one another since Elsie’s cool dismissal and she had barely spared a thought for the Seeker - Elsie’s primary concern was helping those in need and she said as much to Cassandra when they spoke as Elsie finished wrapping a bandage around a young man’s arm.

“I spoke to Mother Giselle before she left for Haven,” Cassandra said levelly, watching Elsie work.

“Did you indeed,” she replied, not looking up from her task as her fingers worked deftly to complete the dressing.

“Yes and she said she spoke to you about appealing to the Chantry directly in Val Royeaux-”

“And I will,” Elsie interrupted, tying a knot, and tugging on it to test the strength. “But I cannot even think about journeying to Orlais when my work here is not finished.”

Cassandra frowned and crossed her arms. She was silent for a moment as she considered her next words. “You are needed elsewhere, Herald. We must return to Haven at once to plan with the others about how we approach the Chantry in Val Royeaux!”

Elsie remained silent as she checked her handiwork and smiled at the soldier. “How does that feel?”

The young man nodded gratefully. “Much better, thank you, Your Worship.”

She got to her feet and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You’re welcome. Now, make sure you rest and you’ll be back swinging a sword in no time.”

“Yes, Your Worship,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes.

Elsie walked into the main cabin and approached the desk where she made a note on the patient’s care on a ledger. She idly rubbed her neck as she wrote, as the bruising there was still painful and was turning a grotesque shade of purple. Cassandra followed her and waited as patiently as she could, which Elsie knew she was pushing. Finally, she turned to the Seeker.

“I’ve spoken to Corporal Vale - there is much work to be done here: much more than healing these people.”

Cassandra bristled. “So let the healers and physicians take over and let us return to-”

“No, I cannot,” Elsie said sharply, cutting Cassandra off. “Whilst the healers can now cope with the wounded here, what about outside of this valley? Cassandra, the King’s Road is not safe for these people to leave and return to their homes. We need to stop the Templars and apostates, not to mention the raiders and mercenaries, otherwise our leaving would just undo all of the work done thus far and endanger the lives of those we have already saved!” she exclaimed. Her voice had risen unintentionally and a few patients in the beds around them looked over at them both curiously. Closing her eyes, Elsie took a breath before continuing more calmly. “Don’t you see? If we alleviate the threat in the Hinterlands, word will spread of the good and sustainable work the Inquisition is doing - which will hole more sway and influence when we eventually do go to Val Royeaux.”  Elsie’s hand’s shook, so she clasped them together, hoping the Seeker had not noticed. “And I know it must be me that helps - you must’ve read the reports from Vale: there are rifts all over the Hinterlands only I can close.”

The two women stared each other down for a moment until Cassandra finally spoke begrudgingly. “It seems you’ve thought a great deal about this.”

Elsie shrugged. “It helps to think and keep the mind busy when you’re wrapping bandages and the like,” she replied, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Cassandra signed and conceded. “Very well. Your theory is sound, even though I don’t fully agree. I know for sure the others back at Haven won’t approve either.”

Elsie smiled faintly. “Well I am sure they will cope,” she said dryly, just knowing the reports the Commander would receive about her stubbornness to cooperate to his orders would drive him mad. “In any case, I will write to them - personally - to explain our plans.”

“That would be helpful, I suppose.”

“Excellent,” Elsie grinned, rubbing her hands together. “Now, will you help me give these poor folk some lunch?”

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER ->

#Believe Again #Fic: Believe Again #my writing #writing #long post #fanfic #fanfiction #cullen #cullen rutherford #elsie trevelyan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #cullen romance #cullen stanton rutherford

[impossible-rat-babies]

For DADWC “I’m scared” off the two word prompts

Thank you Madison! I’m gonna go with Darva and Dorian for this one!

Pre-Relationship Pavellan | 1731 words | sorta fluff | mostly below the cut

for @dadrunkwriting!

--

Darva isn’t a stranger to nightmares. He’s had them all his life, since he was young enough to fear the idea of his father getting hurt or killed by nearly anything his brain could come up with, which was anything in the world. It was easy to crawl out of his own bedroll and climb up next to his father, his gentle words enough to send him back to sleep. None of the dreams were real, at least in the sense of his father dying by a pack of wild mutated wolves with twenty pairs of fangs. It was people who killed him and after that the nightmares were much too human. 

Sixteen years and he still isn’t used to the visceral image of a sword cleaving his father from neck to shoulder, the rest of the nightmare lost as he roughly startles awake each time, chest heaving and tears stinging his eyes. He knows what happened after that, trying to scrub it away from the backs of his eyes; it never works, only leaving white spots and the hard fact that his father is dead. A sigh of defeat and curling up too tight in the blankets, hoping he can get back to sleep.

But the nightmares have changed since he was dragged into the Inquisition, since he had been given a crackling green magical mark on his hand. Since the venture into some dark and twisted future, the world marred and destroyed without the mark on his hand to stop it. Just like packs of wolves with twenty pairs of fangs, his head imagined all sorts of terrible things. Piles and piles of bodies heaped along the walls of Redcliffe Castle, the lake around it filled with the viscera and blood from their decomposing bodies. The screech of demons far off in the distance, setting the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. The very real and actual feeling of the bones in his hand twisting and curling, the Mark trying to flay his hand apart.

Days later and the feeling still grips him in waves, the sensation strong enough to convince him for a few agonizing minute that he is actually going to lose his hand. But a glance at the Mark only reveals the crackling lighting across his fingertips and wrist from the gash across his palm. His fingers still work, all twisting in time with him directing their motions. The pain continues, but he could manage that over the overwhelming sensation of his hand turning itself inside out.

He watches and twists his hand in the dim light of the cabin, watching the light jump across his hand, the little strikes slipping down his fingers and back to the Mark. It stings, like the energy digging itself through his muscles and bones. A disconcerting thought, one that drags him out from under his blankets. His boots slip on easily, only half tying them before he grabs his thick coat and shawl, pulling them tight over his nightclothes. The cabin door opens with his shoulder and the air is sharp and cold on his lungs. Good enough to distract from the pain. The sky above is clear, both moons lighting up the camp with a blue glow, dispersed by the orange warmth of fires. A few soldiers linger about on their shifts, none of them paying Darva any mind. Right now he looks nothing like the images already spreading about him--his heroics already bigger than his shoulders can bear.

The snow crunches underfoot and he’s careful on the few stairs, circling his way around to the fire near the front of the Chantry. It easy to spot others around it, but it’s curiouser than Dorian is sitting on one of the logs scooted close to the flames.

Darva hadn’t been spared the time to talk much since their travel from Redcliffe back to Haven with a Mage alliance in hand. Dorian’s reasons for being in the South were admirable, from what Darva had gathered. He wasn’t shy at all about talking about himself and he did it with pride. A highly amusing quality to Darva, but he still didn’t really know the man. He would talk and talk, but it was all hot air, things that didn't say who he was. Darva knew that looping sort of conversation--he used it himself on more than one occasion. Well, more times that he could count on his fingers.

“Are you cold?” Darva asks on his approach and Dorian turns his head, his frown curling his mustache.

“The South was wretched enough without mountains covered in snow.” He huffs and Darva hums, sitting down on the neighboring log, pulling his shawl and jacket in tighter.

“I hope you get used to it since we’ll be here for a while.” Darva scratches the side of his nose and Dorian rolls his eyes.

“Oh goody. I’m already regretting my choice to stay with your Inquisition.” Dorian mumbles.

“It isn't mine.” Darva replies, tucking his hands into his armpits. “I’m just the one with the fancy mark on my hand which is fun to wave at people and demons alike.”

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who settled the deal with the mages.” Dorian point out.

“I couldn’t leave them hanging there, not with Queen Anora giving them her well wishes. Besides, sending anything back would have made for a squabble between Josephine, Leliana and Cullen and then we’d be nowhere.”

“Most likely sitting off in some camp with neither mages or templars.” Dorian remarks and Darva snorts, half a smile twitching on his lips.

“Can’t deny that. Still, that doesn’t make me any sort of leader of this...organization.” He waves his hand.

“You don’t want to lead them?” Dorian asks like he genuinely wants to know and Darva snorts.

“No, I don’t want to lead them. I barely like being toted around as a symbol of Andraste; being seen as the leader of this organization...” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I do admit the idea of a Dalish elf at the head of an organization the Chantry hates would be nice icing on the cake. Add in a supposed Tevinter Magister and I don’t know how the Chantry mothers will sleep at night.” Dorian snickers and Darva shakes his head, chewing his lip.

“Not as if they don’t sleep at night anyway. Should have seen them in Val Royeaux.” He clicks his tongue.

Darva is used to glares and stares of humans; he got used to it thirteen years ago. Their care or lack of it never mattered much to him, more than capable of taking care of himself. But to have all those people staring at him, listening to him talk, hanging on every word and passing the judgment based on that. The memory still makes his skin crawl. He’s not meant to be noticed, to be seen. He likes the shuffle of a crowd or the dark of a alleyway or back corner in a tavern where eyes slide right off of him like water off a roof.

Being around, being remembered, staying in one place...

He stares down at his boots, shuffling the snow around his cold toes. The pain flares in his hand, bringing him back to the present. 

“Lavellan, are you alright?” Dorian questions and Darva looks up at him briefly, eyes sliding back to the fire.

“No.” He admits softly and he picks at his lip, the green glow a sharp contrast against the orange flames. The same green crackles high above in the sky, scattering light across the snow covered peaks. The place that started it all, the trip he had been foolhardy enough to take from Fisk and Livonah. The one that gave him this constant pain in his hand and made him so memorable.

“Do you....need anything?” Dorian leans in closer from his own log, his eyes settling on his hand. Darva tucks it back under his arm; he doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

“I’m scared--frightened.” He continues, staring at the fire still bright and comforting, but he feels the cold air against his back, the pain of his hand. Darva glances off towards the mountain peak, where the Temple is--where The Breach still remains. The Mages will arrive soon and then there will be no more reasons not to seal the Breach. Not even if it could kill him.

“Frightened? Of the Breach” Dorian asks and Darva squeezes his lips together.

“Frightened of failing, frightened of the pain.”

Pain in the moment is easy to grasp, to compartmentalize to agonize over later. He can’t lose himself in a fight, lose his nerve because the enemy that wants his head won’t stop. The stumps where his pinkies once were a testament to how if someone wants pain, they will create it.

But seeing pain coming, playing it out in his head over and over again, turns his gut to jelly and his legs stiff to run. It can’t hurt him unless it catches him. But here he’s trapped in a cage with only one way out.

“Darva...”

Dorian’s voice is soft and it’s his name; not Herald, not Lavellan. Darva. The name he picked, the one that tastes right on the tongue. Darva looks and Dorian is half smiling at him and it even sparkles in his eyes.

“You’re not going to fail. We’ll get the Breach sealed and then be off to solve all the smaller, littler problems about. I’m sure there are dozens of them that they can’t solve on their own, ones that need heroes to solve.” Dorian waves his hand and Darva snickers.

“You? A hero of the South?” He asks incredulously and Dorian almost is convincing enough to look genuinely offended. Convincing enough for Darva to laugh, the sound loud enough to push away the dark clouds lingering, to bring the warmth of the fire back all over him, soaking back into his bones along with a bit of hope. Just a bit of hope is all he needs.

“Well, I can't give the people of Southern Thedas too much credit. Half of their countries smell like dog.”

“Wet dog, and you still aren't used to it yet?”

“You have gotten used to it?”

“It’s....grown on me.”

“Grown on you like some awful tumor more like it.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #pavellan #m!lavellan #owen writes #oc tag #darva lavellan #thank you! #this prompt got me good #dickeybbqpit

[lostinfantasies38]

Tease

Characters: FHawke/Varric Tethras

Rating: M (explicit language, minor sex scenes) [oneshot]

"Hawke?  You feelin’ okay?" Varric looked at his friend and was more than a little unnerved by the anxiety in her eyes as she took in their surroundings.  He and Hawke had been sucked in by a desire demon stalking Darktown. They had only come to this part of town so she could get some more poisons from Tomwise and he needed a face-to-face with one of his Coterie contacts.

Neither of them was wearing their usual armor, which meant that they did not have the extra spirit resistance runes they had obviously begun to rely very heavily on. Even though Varric still had Bianca and Hawke had her father’s staff (and probably six daggers hidden on her person, for extra security) they had not been prepared when the demon pulled them in with her purple tendrils.

"I'm perfectly fine, Varric." Hawke's melodic voice lied.  Even jangled as his nerves were, her voice washed over him and yanked the tangled knot of "I can't deal with this shit, so I'm just going to pretend it's not there" that he had kept under wraps for a good three years.

Varric stared at her, hyperaware of the tight set of her shoulders and the white knuckles on her staff.  Her long black hair that was usually swept in a ponytail when she was working was braided and slung over her shoulder today.  Those piercing blue eyes could freeze a man in his tracks, even without the hard edge in them, at the moment.  And her mouth did not have its characteristic lilt, as though she could be expected to drop a terrible pun any second.  Now it was drawn into a severe line that had alarm bells ringing in his head.  

 The dwarf glanced around, but they didn’t seem to be anywhere that he recognized.  It was just blank, gray wasteland as far as he could see.  “Where are we?”  His voice came out more quietly than he meant it to, giving away some of his own nervousness about their situation.

Hawke’s eyes never stopped scanning the area as she answered.  “We’re in the Fade.”

Varric rolled his eyes, but she didn’t return the sarcasm with her own, like she normally would have.  “I know that.  I mean where in the Fade?  Aren’t there like...realms or something?”  Hawke nodded absentmindedly.

“I can’t be sure where we are exactly.  It was a desire demon, right?”  Her blue eyes caught his honey ones searchingly. 

“Purple?  Nipple shields?  Creepy tail?  Yep, desire demon.”  Hawke snorted and gave him a ghost of a smile and Varric allowed himself to relax just a little.

“Then we must be in her realm.  Though, I am surprised how long it’s taken her to show up.”  Varric cocked Bianca beside her and he could see some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate.

“We should move, Hawke.  Staying in the open like sitting ducks is not a good idea.”  Hawke nodded and together they scouted the gray terrain.  A shape shimmered like a mirage in the distance giving Varric a queasy feeling in his gut, but there was nowhere else to go.  Hawke looked just as unsettled as he felt, however they quickly made their way to the building, in spite of their misgivings.

As they neared the structure, Varric realized it was Hawke’s estate.  Hawke held her staff at the ready and glanced at him for his affirmative nod before she pushed open the door.  Nothing attacked them when they entered the foyer and it looked exactly like the one in Kirkwall.  Hawke’s table with a month’s worth of unread mail, her order sheets for potions and runes, even Dragon was curled up in his usual spot in front of the fire. Everything was normal.

A giggle and running sounded from upstairs.  Varric made for the stairs, but Hawke grabbed his arm and began to frantically drag him back to the door.  “Hawke?” 

He glanced at her in confusion and saw the deep red blush on her face going down her neck and even further.  Her eyes were wide and she was panting in her desperation to escape, but the running gained on them since Varric was slowing them down as he tried to twist his arm from her grasp.  “Mama!  Mama, don’t go!”

Shit. 

A whimper escaped Hawke’s lips right before her hand touched the door handle.  Varric was frozen by the words spoken in a child’s voice behind them and stared at his friend.  He was afraid to turn around and find that her deepest desire was to have half-elven children with Broody.  Isabella told him about the night she and Fenris spent together and how the elf abandoned her afterwards.  The pirate was forced to hog tie him to his stone chair for three hours until he calmed down and stopped raging about going to Hightown to beat him senseless.

Hawke’s entire body was vibrating in terror, but she turned around anyway.  “Mama!  You’re home!  You were gone longer than you said you’d be, but it’s okay.  Uncle Anders has been helping Orana watch us.”

“Bethany.”  Hawke’s voice reminded Varric of a rusted gate scraping open for the first time in decades.  Unable to take the suspense any longer, he turned his head to see this figment of Hawke’s imagination.  The little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old with her mother’s dark, sleek hair and mouth, a button nose, and laughing amber eyes.  There was something off about her, besides the fact that she wasn’t real, but Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

A baby cried upstairs and Hawke dropped her staff to run in the very direction she’d dragged him away from and Varric followed, in case it was a trap.  Who was he kidding?  This whole damn scenario was a trap.  The girl disappeared into smoke when Hawke ran past her and he shivered – now he followed her because he refused to be alone with all the creepy shit.

Hawke paused outside the door that had been her mother’s and Varric placed his hand gently on her arm.  There was so much that was said between them in that touch and with a shaky breath Hawke pushed open the door exposing the cradle in the middle of the room.  He could see the chubby arms waving in the air under the blanket and for reasons he didn’t understand his heart lurched when Hawke reached down and picked up the babe. 

He expected the baby to disappear when she picked it up like the girl did, but it remained solid.  Hawke sank to her knees and cried softly against the child who quieted at its “mother’s” touch.  It was too personal.  It was too deep.  He didn’t do deep, especially with Hawke, and he felt like an intruder.  Varric turned slightly to walk away when the girl reappeared and put her hand on Hawke’s shoulder. 

“Mama, don’t cry.  Garen missed you, but you’re home now and he’s happy again.”

A chill passed down Varric’s back at the boy’s name.  Hawke cried louder and pointedly avoided looking at him.  The girl looked at him for the first time and then the pieces began to fall into place.  Her limbs were too short for a human child, especially one of her age, and her eyes were not the same color brown that Aveline once described Bethany’s as being.  If Anders was her “uncle,” then she didn’t get that color from him.  And Fenris had eyes that were the exact same shade as moss.  That only left one…

“Hello, Papa!”

His knees buckled and he fell on the floor willing his heart into a steady rhythm again so he could breathe, because right now he was sucking in air like a fish out of water.  Both children winked out of existence into the ether and a throaty laugh echoed throughout the house, but it did not reveal itself.  Which was a blessing because neither of them could have even attempted to stand, much less fight off a demon in their current state.

“Hawke,” Varric croaked.  She shook her head and turned away from him.  “Maeve, please,” he whispered.  The mage jumped at the use of her given name, so rarely used, and suddenly he felt guilty about that.  He moved closer to her.  Slowly, slowly, treating her like a scared cat that could lash out or bolt at any second.

“Mages aren’t allowed to get married and have families, Varric.”  He froze halfway across the room as her raw vocal cords produced sounds that weren’t so gut wrenching.  

“That doesn’t stop it from happening.  Look at your parents.”

Hawke spun around and clawed the front of her clothes.  Her eyes were wild – frantic, panicked, and when she spoke again there was an edge to her voice he’d never heard.  “I do look at them.  They were never happy because worrying about the templars kept them living in fear.  So, WE lived in fear.”  Varric winced.  “I was afraid every time I sneezed that I would set the curtains on fire like I did when I was nine.  Bethany and I grew up knowing that even outside of the Circle we could never be normal.  We could never have husbands or children.”  She laughed hollowly.  “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a mother, but I can’t.  Magic is too strong in my family.  I’m bound to have mage children and I can’t ask them to live on the run like I did.”

A knife twisted in his gut.  “Is…is that why the kids are mine?  Because you hope the dwarven blood will dampen the magic?”

Hawke couldn’t make eye contact with him, but a blush was blooming across her skin again.  She wasn’t giving him any other indicators that he could read, whether positive or negative, but it stung all the same. 

The estate winked out and left them sitting in the gray wastes of the Fade again.  Another building shimmered in the distance and without a word or sparing a glance at each other, they shouldered their weapons and moved guardedly towards it.  It wasn’t long before the upside-down sign of The Hanged Man became visible.

“Oh, goody, it’s my turn apparently,” Varric muttered to himself.  He pulled open the door and it spit them directly into his suite instead of the main tavern.  All their friends, including Hawke and Varric, were sitting around his table playing Wicked Grace.  It could have been any of the hundreds of times they’d played over the last three years, but he recognized it immediately and he backed away until he bumped into a bookshelf.  Hawke watched him out of the corner of her eye as the memory unfolded. 

“Oh, I’m terrible at this game.  I’ll never get it right,” Merrill pouted as she lost another round. 

Isabella laughed sweetly.  “Kitten, you’re not good at it because you play with a bunch of cheats.  Here, take this.  Drink with us and hang out, but don’t worry your pretty little head about Wicked Grace.”  The pirate handed her a steamy romance novel and Merrill’s eyes lit up.  

Hawke chuckled.  “When you’re done with it, let me know, Merrill.  Isabella claims that’s the sexiest bodice ripper she’s read in a while.”  Merrill nodded and started reading.  She wasn’t three pages in before her ears were flaming red. 

Varric shook his head and chuckled softly at the crazy women in his group of friends.  He was especially aware of the raven haired mage next to him and the heat that radiated from her.  It took him a long time to realize it was her magical aura.  He leaned over on the pretense of stretching his side and angled his leg closer to her.  Memory Hawke didn’t notice, but Real Hawke did.

Two rounds and four more mugs later, everyone was becoming sloppy drunk, even Varric.  No one really paid the dwarf and their leader any mind as they leaned in close when they talked.  It was common and had become more so after their Deep Roads excursion that was only six months behind them. 

Varric, Hawke, and Anders refused to speak of the two months they spent trapped underground, afraid they would never see daylight again.  All their friends knew was that it had been traumatic and that Varric and Hawke were plotting the myriad ways to kill Bartrand. 

Memory Hawke was speaking to him and casually laid her hand on his, ungloved for once, but she missed the way he shivered involuntarily at the contact.  Merrill called to her down the table, distracting her so he could grab his mug and hide the ragged breath he exhaled before he took a sip.  When she turned back to him, his face was a perfectly schooled mask of friendliness again.

He shuffled the deck for the last round – he could hear Edwina yelling that everyone needed to be out in an hour.  Varric was so flustered by her presence that he missed Isabella’s slight of hand and she fleeced them all that night.  But he didn’t really care either.  Everyone began to pack up, except for Hawke.  She waved them all goodnight and made sure that Isabella would see Merrill home safely.  Anders shut the door behind them and it was just the two of them – alone. 

It was Real Varric’s turn to studiously avoid his friend’s eye.  Shit, fuck, damn it, damn it, shit!  

Memory Hawke looked up from her mug and sighed.  “Varric, I have a question.”

Memory Varric was trying to play it cool, spreading his hands wide magnanimously.  “I might have an answer, depending on the question.” 

Hawke ran her finger along the rim of her mug a little nervously.  “Are you angry with me?”  Varric sputtered and looked at her incredulously.

“Should I be?” 

Hawke fluttered her hands and she bit her lip uncertainly.  “Well, the Deep Roads were…trying.”  Varric snorted into his mug, but didn’t interrupt.  “I was a little…uh…handsy at times.  Mostly with you and I…” She laughed softly.  “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.  I’ve just felt guilty about it, because you…didn’t seem to…shit, this is awkward.  Forget I said anything.”  Hawke stood abruptly, but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist.

“I didn’t what, Maeve?  We’re friends.  If I hurt your feelings or offended you, I want to know, so I don’t do it again.”  He smiled gently and she ran a hand through her long hair as she sat back down.

“You didn’t seem…to reciprocate…my handsy-ness.  I was afraid I crossed a line.”  A hollow laugh passed her lips and she dropped her voice to a whisper.  “I thought I was going to die.  That we were all going to die.  And Maker help me, I didn’t want to die without…”

“A tumble?  A great shag with a handsome dwarf?”  Varric teased to lighten the tension and Hawke gave a real chuckle.  He squeezed her hand and smiled.  “It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have – it’s just...”

“Bianca?”  Varric closed his eyes so she couldn’t tell that he was lying and nodded his head.  A feather light touch brushed his stubbled jaw and he snapped them open again, trying to figure out if the electricity that danced on his skin was her magic or simply her.  Hawke smiled wistfully.  “Well, I can’t fault you for that, Varric.  I just wanted to make sure we were good.  Sometimes you go out of your way to avoid touching me and our fights a little more stilted than they used to be.  I miss us being more…organic.”

Varric smiled.  “I’ll work on it.  I think the Deep Roads rattled me more than I realized, but I’m getting back in the swing of things.” 

“Good.  I’ve missed you.”  This time when she stood, he did not stop her.  With a final goodnight, she slipped out of his suite and the tavern. 

Once the door closed behind her Varric bent over and laid his forehead on the cool stone.  “Forgive me, Maeve.  I’m such a coward.  I should have told you the truth.  I think you replaced Bianca before the Deep Roads and I wanted…I couldn’t…Fuck.  I’m so sorry.”  Real Hawke watched in stunned silence as Memory Varric sat up and wiped traitorous tears off his face before ambling drunkenly to bed. 

Varric shivered when the demon’s laughter echoed throughout his suite, but he still couldn’t look at Hawke.  The silence stretched between them until it threatened to swallow both of them whole.  He finally risked a glance at his friend and saw silent tears rolling down her face and he felt sick.

“I-I couldn’t...I can’t…” Varric paused to take a steadying breath.  “I can’t talk feelings.  Bianca kinda ruined me there.”

Hawke opened her eyes and her striking eyes were brimming with anguish.  “That’s not the problem, for me at least.  This is a memory.  Mine was my deepest, darkest desire that I hid even from myself.  But now I know that I don’t rank highly enough for you for that.  I’m only surprised the demon hasn’t shown me a heartbreaking vision of you and Bianca running off into the sunset.”

Varric grimaced.  He wanted to explain that he loved her, but the words turned to ash on his tongue.  He wanted to tell her that he had too much respect for her and he was too much of a coward to pursue her because he was afraid of losing her, like he lost Bianca.  But even he knew they would sound hollow and she wouldn’t believe them now.  He’d lost his chance.

The laughter was back this time with form.  The demon clapped sarcastically at their expense.  Hawke spat.  “Tease.  You aren’t even a full desire demon.  You only dangle pieces of enticing visions to ensnare.” 

Tease smiled wickedly.  “It worked for you, didn’t it?  And now you’re here,” she waved her hand and the tavern disappeared.  They were back in the graylands.  “You said you wanted to see the dwarf’s deepest desire.  The one he hides even from himself,” she purred while a clawed hand lifted his chin.  He moved to punch her in the fucking mouth, but he was frozen.  She was speaking only to Hawke, because she was the mage and Tease wanted to own her.

Hawke spared him a quick glance, but then she turned her full attention to Tease.  “What is your price?”

“Let me merge with you, mage.  We can be Hawke together and we can bring so much...pleasure to so many.  Think of it as giving back to the community.”  The demon laughed and Varric felt his length harden.  Tease noticed and swung her hips at him.  “See, Hawke?  How easy it can be...and how delicious?”

“Show me first.  I want to guarantee you won’t go back on your word.” 

Tease flicked her tail and then shrugged.  “Have it your way, my pet.”  The demon waved her hand building substance over them again and disappeared with a seductive chuckle.

Hawke was surprised to see they were back in her estate.  Her bedroom, no less.  Varric was sitting at her desk, but it was full of his Guild documents and ledgers.  Even his father’s signet ring was sitting beside the red wax for sealing letters.

 She glanced at Varric, who was unfrozen, but had his head buried in hands.  Without even looking he knew what he would see.  His fantasy of Hawke and himself in her mansion, living in the open as lovers.  His deepest desire.

Turning back, she watched another version of herself walk into her room and was momentarily thrown off by the oddness of it, before she refocused her attention.  She was wearing finery, but they weren’t her usual maroon, they were dark green and black.  House Tethras colors, she realized.  Hawke paused in the bedroom and smiled softly at the man working hard to keep the family business running.  She moved up behind him and slid her arms around his chest.  Varric sighed happily and put down his quill to run his hands over hers.

“Long day,” Hawke asked.  Varric nodded into her cleavage and then nuzzled them appreciatively.  Hawke leaned over and kissed him, slow and languid, as though they had been lovers for years and knew just how the other liked it.  Still leaning over him, her fingers gently moved down his chest and began to unclasp his duster.  “Let me make you more comfortable,” she breathed in his ear and Varric moaned.

He snaked his hands around her waist, amazed by how small she was all these years later, and let one hand trail up her back along her spine to gently knead out the day’s tension from her back.  Hawke sighed contentedly at his touch and stood up to help pull his duster over his head.  Varric hopped off the chair, clad only in his breeches, and scooped Hawke up in a practiced move and carried her to bed.

The bed was different.  It wasn’t dwarven, but it was lower to the ground than a regular bed, so he didn’t have to scramble in and out all the time.  He laid her gently on the plush mattress, slowly pulling the tie on her robe, and breathed her name.  “Maeve.”

“ENOUGH!”  Hawke waved her hand and the vision disappeared.  Varric was staring at the ground, but she needed to know.  Within a couple of steps, she towered over him and lifted his chin.  “Tell me…is it true or is it a lie?”  He raised his honey eyes to hers – the ones that she always imagined their children would have, because she loved them so much.  His face looked pained, regret perhaps?  His eyes, though, they were full of hope…of want…of desire.

Hawke stepped back with a gasp and clutched her heart.  “Why,” she rasped.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  Maker, Varric…do you – do you know how long I’ve loved you?”  Tears were pouring from her and her lovely mouth was screwed into an unnatural shape by the force of her sobs.

“Probably as long as I’ve loved you, Maeve,” he whispered.  It was a relief to say the words aloud, but the admission was too late, he could see.  All the woman in front of him currently felt was betrayal.  “I’m so sorry.”

Hawke’s eyes jerked up to meet his.  “I just sold my soul to find out what you should have told me years ago.”  She flung her arm behind her.  “We could have had that!  For the last three years, that could have been us and Maker’s breath, I would have been so fucking happy!”

“You don’t have to do this, Mae – Hawke.”  Varric swallowed hard at the way her eyes flashed when he tried to use her given name.

“Yes, I do, Varric.  This is not a normal part of the Fade.  We’ve been enthralled and our bodies are dying on the outside.  If I don’t do this, we don’t wake up and…you die.  No matter how hurt I am right now I could never, ever wish you dead.”

Laughter echoed all around them and Tease materialized between them.  “Such a smart mage, you are.  We shall make a fabulous team, my pet.  Now, say goodbye to your dwarven friend.  Once we merge, I promise that your love for him will end and there will be no more pain.  We can find more lovers.”

Hawke stood firm before the demon and she raised herself to her full height.  “The spell holding him is released prior to my possession or we don’t have a deal.  If you fight me, you lose your host, so be smart about this.”    

“Hawke, no!” 

Tease waved her hand and he was frozen and silenced.  Varric jerked against the invisible bindings and screamed even though there was no sound.  Tease ran a clawed finger across Hawke’s beautiful face.  Azure eyes met honey while the demon smiled and licked her lips.  “Done.”  Tease snapped her fingers.

Varric woke with a start, rolling off the cot in Anders’ clinic and violently vomiting everything in his stomach until there was nothing left, except bile.  Anders rushed over and cast a few diagnostic spells and sent him some healing for the nausea.  Spotting Hawke on the cot next to him, Varric dashed over and shook her shoulders.  “Wake up, Maeve!  For fuck’s sake, wake up!” 

Anders and Fenris were both required to restrain him while they peppered him with questions.  He couldn’t answer any of them, it would have taken too much time so he looked at Anders and said, “Tease has her.”

Justice flared blue and white hot, bringing with him the smell of ozone, as the spirit raged at the knowledge that one of their own was held hostage by a demon.  “If she had been possessed, she would be awake by now.  Maybe she has tricked this demon and fights it in the Fade?”

Varric raked his hands through his hair and screamed obscenities to the Maker and Andraste and the damned Ancestors, for good measure.  That’s exactly what she did!  That’s why she wanted him to wake up first.  That’s what the final look was for – she was fucking sacrificing herself for his stupid, sorry, good-for-nothing dwarven ass.

“There is nothing we can do,” rumbled Fenris. 

Justice shook his head.  “Not on this side.  We don’t even know where she might be in the Fade, but if she bests the demon she will wake because the spell she is trapped under will break.  But if she loses, she will wake possessed.”

“What if…” Fenris paused.  “What if she dies in the fight?”  Justice spared a sad look for the mage and did not answer – which was answer enough. 

Varric had run out of curses and energy.  He sank to the filthy floor without a care and stared at her laid out as if sleeping on the cot, instead of fighting a demon for him in the Fade.  Tears ran down his cheeks of their own accord and for once, he didn’t even hide them.  He deserved the shame, the ridicule, the guilt.  He couldn’t rid his mind of the heartbroken expression on her face when she realized that he loved her that deeply and never told her.  That he probably never would have because he was a coward.  He was too worried about himself to think how his reticence would hurt her until it was too late.  Now, she was doing the most noble (stupid) thing one could do for another – die for them.  Her devotion to him far outstripped his own.

That wasn’t actually true.  Varric thought back to the Deep Roads and the night the darkspawn attacked their camp.  Blondie had given them a heads up so they were prepared for the assault.  They just weren’t prepared for the sheer number of them.  Halfway through she and Anders were about tapped on mana and there were no more lyrium potions.  He was out of bolts, but he snagged a recurve bow and all the quivers with arrows still in them, so he was okay.  He just had to be careful to not get surrounded.

Varric saw a Hurlock alpha with its horned helmet heading for Hawke from behind and he tried to aim at the knee, but the darkspawn was faster than he was.  Realizing he’d never get a shot off before he reached her, Varric rained arrows on the field to slow him down and then ran to her.  He shoved her out of the way and took the hit with the shield that had been meant for her.  It threw him across the battlefield and he would have died had Justice not erupted out of Anders in that moment and given the mage the mana he needed to cushion his landing.  Instead of smashing his brains across the Deep Roads, Varric only ended up with a headache.  And now that he thought back to it, the noise in the background that he always assumed were darkspawn was the sound of Hawke screaming his name hysterically while he flew.

On shaky legs, Varric stood and walked over to Hawke.  He took her hand gently and ran his thumb over her knuckles and pressed his lips on the back of her hand.  He noticed that Fenris and Anders had slipped out some time ago, but at this point, he wouldn’t have stopped even if they were still there.  He had wasted enough time with Hawke and was not going to miss any damn more.

“Please, Maeve.  I was an idiot.  A Maker-damned ass and I know I screwed up royally, but please...please don’t leave me.  I-I don’t know what to do with myself when you aren’t around.”  Varric chuckled softly.  “I love your laugh, your smile, the way you light up an entire room as soon as you walk in.  I love your fucking terrible jokes, even though I pretend to hate them.  You have been the one constant in my life for the last three years.  I know I can count on you through thick and thin.  Damnit, Maeve – I love you so damn much.  If you wake up, I swear I will spend the rest of my life making up to you the time we lost.  Just open your beautiful eyes.  Please, please, please.” 

Varric laid his forehead tenderly on her abdomen and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life.  His mother was probably rolling over in her tomb with the knowledge that her son was Andrastrian, but he never did care for dwarf shit anyway.

He had no idea how long he stayed that way, but he woke up in that position and moaned happily as fingers massaged his scalp and toyed with his hair.  Wait, what?  Varric jerked upright and saw her brilliant eyes staring down at him, her lips pulled up into a warm smile.

“Maeve,” he breathed and she laughed softly to keep from waking the other patients.  “Is it really you?  No…passengers?”

Hawke smiled wider.  “No passengers, I promise, but I do have a friend in the Templars who could double check.  For everyone’s peace of mind.”

Varric kissed her hand.  “I’ll go get Keeran.” 

Hawke chuckled again.  “You don’t have to worry about demon possession with me, but I could swear you just read my mind, Varric.” 

“I’ll have him check me, too, smartass.”  Varric gave her a shaky smile and turned to leave, but she caught his hand.  They stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words, until Varric very slowly leaned down holding her stare as he went, in case she changed her mind.  Their lips met for the first time that wasn’t a fantasy and Varric closed his eyes so he could focus on just her.  Hawke.  Maeve.   

So much was said in that first sweet kiss and more was said later that night after Keeran declared them both free of demons and Varric lead Maeve home through the cellars.  The story of Hawke’s elven lover was an invention created to throw off the Seekers and the Chantry, but they came for him anyway, since he was the author of the book.  He was recruited into the Inquisition and was present during the battle at Adamant, but no one realized it was Hawke’s lover who paced restlessly outside the rift. 

Their second time in the Fade together was even more terrifying than the first and he was praying again that she would follow him out.  Varric could see movement behind the tear in the Veil, but it wasn’t until the Inquisitor stepped through that he could see Hawke.  Varric shoved through the gathering crowd and fell in front of her.  She gave him a weak smile, while he in return, kissed her soundly in front of everyone and didn’t stop until he heard the cheers and shouts behind them.  Hawke grinned, blue eyes flashing mischievously, and Varric chuckled. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered and kissed her through her laughter and the sounds of approval from the crowd.  He promised her that first night that he would never tease her again.  And he aimed to keep it.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #female Hawke #varric tethras #hawke x varric #heavy angst #romance #oneshot

[sillyleaf]

Reforged -drabble

Reforged

The embers crackled, the fire’s warmth permeated her outstretched hands. Her nails broken and worn to the quick, her skin marked by angry blisters torn apart so that flecks of deadened skin sat in harsh circles, outlining raw and tender new flesh. Little drops of blood had warmed and dried out in the watch the fire’s heat.

“Stone be broken. Bent in flame. Stone be forged, stronger for the pain.” Mavis whispered, trying to imagine the earth beneath her boots, the mud and familiar sturdy stone. A wisp of fluttering clothing, no heavy boots making footfalls and then a familiar figure took a seat beside her. She glanced at his bare feet, unsullied by the spring melt mud. Delicate skin, ribbons of blue ghostly visible.

“If I may?” Mavis turned her eyes from the ground and his feet to his extended hands, cupping her own hands but not touching.  He would not intrude unto her person.

“May what Solas?”  She relaxed her hands, palms up, allowed longer more delicate fingers to take hers. Stubby, dark-hued and rough her hands were smaller but not so delicate, not so pretty. A pale thumb slid along the glowing chasm of her palm, green energy sparked and her whole arm reverberated with a deep ache. Her face must have shown something as the elven apostate stopped probing, retreating from his curious intrusion to refocus on her abused fingers and palms. He was cold and soft whereas her own skin was always warm, always worn and cracked, like sandpaper.

“I apologize, I did not mean to bring you discomfort. I sought to perhaps soothe your injuries with some healing magic.”

The dwarf shrugged her shoulders, pulling her hands free. “Cool the stone too quick and it’ll shatter on striking.”  A raised brown from Solas was met with a hearty laugh from the Herald. “If you heal it, then I’ll be in the same spot tomorrow or the next day. It needs to heal slowly. To scar and harden. I let the old scars heal too much and soften… the old blade dulled and rusted through, and now I must suffer a reforging.”

Moments of quiet passed and Mavis turned back to the fire, her thoughts her own.

“How long has the blade lay in disuse?” Solas was watching the flames as well, shadows cast upon sharp elven features. His eyes were not the child-like almonds typical of the waifish city elves. Sharper, older, harder to read. Familiar to her, though not exactly the same.

“Fenor is 8, I did some work after he came around but then came Renan and it just became harder to leave them. I took contracts for the Carta, or did local mercenary work but eventually I can’t remember exactly when but I left the blade, let it rust over because I never wanted to wield it again.” A smile almost lit her face but it was halted by the deep longing to fade away, to go back to them.

“Your children have elven names?” There was shock and curiosity and Mavis did smile because it was not often the wandering elf was caught so off guard.

“An elf and a dwarf will always make a dwarf though our problem was more an anatomical one.”  She turned towards Solas, fondness in her orange sunrise eyes. Creases deepened around her mouth, laugh lines that he had never noted in the many months since Mavis had been thrust into the turmoil of the inquisition. She looked far younger with the faint wrinkles because the darkness in her gaze and set of her jaw had receded. Her brows relaxed, raised from their usual creased scowl, it opened her eyes, made them rounder.  

“My wife, Deril, is an elf Solas. My children are elves. They are not of mine or my love’s blood but they are ours. And I am so proud of them...Fenor is witty and quick on his feet, fearless too and my sweet Renan, she is both delicate and iron-willed. The sweet talker adores the water and is constantly dragging critters home. Oh, look at me gushing like a damn hen! Apologies.“ A slight blush rose across the dwarf's cheeks.

Solas brought a hand over his mouth, feigning a cough as he hid his amusement, terribly. Mavis very well knew the apostate was laughing at her. The terrible, hard and fierce Herald of Andraste - Bah! - Reduced to a chirping and preening mother.

“You do not often speak of your family. I would think they’d have been brought to Haven for their safety.” He relaxed his posture, leaning forward,  hands upon his knees.

Mavis did not reply, instead, she stood and gathered some of the collected wood, taking her time to add each piece to the fire until the flames lowered, somewhat muffled by the new wood. She prodded at the embers between the new logs, encouraging the flames. Solas began to rise, prepared to leave Mavis, having seemed to hit upon a wound or untouchable subject.

“Deril is a mage…” Mavis uttered no louder than the crackle of the embers, and it was only due to the superior hearing of his heritage that he made out the words.  Actions and conversations of the past suddenly began to make more sense. Mavis had a curiosity for magic, for his knowledge of the fade but more so she understood certain aspects that dwarves tended to be unfamiliar with. She acted wary around the Templars and had fought so far to protect the mages.

“Come here Mavis. If you won’t take magic at least allow me to use a poultice.” Sitting once more he watched the dwarf shift, her deep brown hair had a few single strands of silver, they shimmered in the firelight as her messy braid swung over her shoulder. How much easier would his plans have been if she had been younger? Someone still uncertain, still naive and easily altered through subtle acts and suggestions? If she were younger maybe her trust would have been easier to come by, he could have played up the older and wiser wanderer but that was not the case. He could enjoy this challenge because the dwarf was proving to be an odd figure. She was a blade tempered and reforged, made stronger in the flames and under the hammer. 

Her hands were warm in his, strong and unyielding. He applied some poultice, wrapping her fingers carefully, cleaning away the dirt and dried blood.

“Ma serranas Solas.” Mavis intoned in a language she would never truly grasp, the words rough, lacking music or beauty but the meaning came through clearly. She must have learned from her wife… for her wife. Perhaps she had learned if but a few words but he didn’t doubt that her children heard her speak their language. Passing on a culture not her own. Now she spoke them to him, perhaps recognizing the importance, or perhaps it was a simple courtesy. It still felt significant. Maybe she would survive. Maybe her family would be all the stronger when he reforged this world. Maybe she would forgive him.

“It is no trouble, my friend.”

#mavis cadash #dragon age #da:i #oc #drabble #older inquisitor #momquisitor #wounds #hand blisters #Blood

[aced0g]

Be Your Worst Self

I was tagged by @loveydoveypiperwright​ , so thank you! I’m sorry I haven’t done a tagging game in a while but I’m getting there :DD

Rules: Take this quiz for your character(s) and post the results!

I’m gonna tag @fallout-and-dragon-age​ & @ace-amatus​ but thats only if y'all want too. Have fun if you do!

So for my ocs its going to just be easier to go by the personality type rather than list each oc out individually cause there would be a lot of overlap, that being said, here we go~

You Are an Emotionally Volatile Nightmare:

Your heart guides you and sometimes that’s not as dreamy or romantic as it might sound. It’s true that your feelings often inspire you to heal and create, and as long as those feelings don’t steer you wrong, you’re capable of truly visionary accomplishments in the name of empathy and love. Feelings, though, aren’t always gentle and sweet. You know that better than anyone because your own emotions -the same overwhelming forces that inspire you to make the world a better place - can take you to very dark places, especially if you believe that the subject of your ire has shown unwarranted cruelty toward you or something you hold dear. You know that your feelings aren’t necessarily rational, but that doesn’t stop you from dramatically blaming other people for causing you pain. Of course, you might not even stop at crying; that notoriously brilliant creativity might even spur you to express your wrath artistically - nothing says “emotional stability” like a morose, vengeful poem.

-Evander Virani: Does it match up? Yeah I’d say so. He’s experienced a lot of trauma and while most of the time he pushes his emotions down or tries to act like a positive “everything’s going to be okay!” person he’s about one bad thing away from having a breakdown. When he’s truly happy its one of the few times he can just forget about his problems and enjoy the moment. Most of the time he’s in this in between stage of pure terror and extreme sadness. It makes him appear like he has a level head. When he’s angry though it tends to lash out as a literal burning rage. He loses control of his magic and sort of engulfs his arms in flame and takes his ire out on whoever pissed him off (he hates being angry because it scares him. He doesn’t like losing control). His creative outlet is forging knives and swords. He does want to heal though, he’s tired of being the cause of destruction. He wants to help and heal, not only others but also himself.

-Aspen Lavellan: Does it match up? Kinda? I wouldn’t call him volatile. Aspen’s got a pretty level head on his shoulders. He has learned how to act diplomatic. When he is presenting himself as Inquisitor to the public imagine a Raymond Holt type of personality. When he’s with friends though he likes to pull pranks and just have a good time. He doesn’t want to be serious all the time because it makes the situation feel bleak. He wants there to be positivity in his life. Though, I would say that when he is truly angry it’s a type of silent wrath that’s terrifying. You can see the burning hatred in his eyes and he has the skill to hit his target with three arrows before they even know whats going on. When he’s truly angry he will keep fighting until he’s completed his goal or he dies trying. He does carve dalish patterns into his bow so that could be considered creative? Aspen is a protector. He wants to help others, keep them safe and that could translate into healing. He does what needs to be done to keep people safe, and sometimes that means making the hard decisions that others can’t.

-Arthur Cousland: Does it match up? Yeah. Arthur’s usually able to stay in a good mood. He’s an optimist and doesn’t like to bring people down. He’s gentle and wants to help heal and create. It’s why he enjoys playing his lute and singing. Songs can inspire people, or at the very least cheer them up. He may be a noble but what he does with that sort of money and power is give it away to others. He gives his coin to those on the street who need food, or he’s been known to give his blanket away as well saying he’ll just buy another when they reach the next town. He’s got a big heart and he wears it on his sleeve. The only way he can hide when he’s sad is if it’s raining so that the rain can hide his tears, or if he goes off on his own for a little while (he hates burdening others with his problems and often leaves for an hour or two to just climb a tree and have a good cry, though Alistair catches on and works with Arthur to realize its okay to let others help him when he is sad). When he’s angry it’s hard to think logically. He listens to his heart and when he feels betrayed or that someone is going to bring harm to his friends or the people he’s protecting he will fight tooth and nail to protect them and kill whoever is provoking them.

You are a Narcissistic Monster: 

You’re the best - right? Wherever you go, the spotlight finds you, and you’re hardly complaining. you can’t imagine your friends care, since, after all, you’re so generous. Well, that’s what you like to think about yourself. You’re generous, enthusiastic, and fun, so if you compulsively steal the spotlight, it doesn’t really matter. If you fuel drama just to feed your thirst for a dramatic life, is it really that bad? Is it really so wrong for you to be the center of attention? Does it really matter how other people feel about it in the long run? Of course, you’d never say no. You’re the generous friend, and you’d never hurt anyone on purpose just to keep all eyes on you... right? Every now and then, you imagine your funeral and how all of your friends will go on and on about how wonderful, magnetic, charming, and generous you were. 

-Sorian Surana: Does it match up? No, not really. He’s cocky, headstrong, and a bit of an asshole sometimes but I wouldn’t call him narcissistic. He’s proud of himself, and yeah he’s proud of himself and takes pride in his looks but not because that’s all he cares about. Sorian is a trans-man elf mage who was mistreated in the circle and then joined up with the wardens and transitioned. He went from thinking he would have no future to being one of the legendary Grey Wardens, and then he actually looks the way he’s always wanted to! So of course he’s going to seem a little vain or narcissistic sometimes, but it’s only because he never thought he’d make it this far. And, if he’s being honest, he fucking hates the spotlight. He’d much rather be just one of the Wardens instead of The Hero of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine, and all those other titles. He’ll be in the spotlight, but it doesn’t mean he enjoys it. Besides, he should be allowed a little bit of cockiness (mages in The Awakening DLC are so OP by the end of it, literally Sorian knows so many spells and can conjure the dead turn into a bear, wield a great ax while shooting fire storms at people, and at the same time have a constant aura of changing elemental magic that deals damage to his enemies.)

You are Shockingly Violent:

There’s no getting around this: you desperately need to attend anger management. You’re just as headstrong and opinionated, and your energy and enthusiasm can turn into explosive violence at the drop of a hat. You’re a walking time bomb of seething rage, and the more you try to hide it, the more it escapes in unpredictable, volatile mood swings. Do yourself a favor and invest in a stress ball or gym membership before you do something you really regret

-Kyra Lavellan: Does it fit? Yeah. She chose the Reaver specialization for a reason. Kyra is a very energetic and enthusiastic person. She does what she feels is right and gets upset when people don’t see that she’s doing the right thing even if it might not morally line up with their beliefs. As a kid she’d often get into fights with the other kids of her clan and was always sporting some sort of bandage because of it. She has a better control on her outbursts as an adult, but she still lashes out especially when she’s in pain or very annoyed. Her anger is great in battle though. She fights with the ferocity of a dragon and won’t admit it out loud but she does enjoy having the power to physically shred her enemies with her hands. Before she knew how to control the reaver power she would keep attacking, sacrificing her own health to get the job done and make sure the others were safe. Once she learned how to keep conscious and keep fighting things went a lot smoother. 

-Alrik Hawke: Does it fit? Kinda? Hawke’s in denial really. He wants to protect people and make them happy, it’s why he chose to be a spirit healer, why he’s always cracking jokes and trying to get others to smile. He does have a lot of anger though. It’s just under the surface, though its quite hard to really bring out. See Alrik is a werewolf and his anger is tied very closely to the wolf, so for him getting angry isn’t just an outburst of words it means he could lose control and shift. He doesn’t want that. He keeps a tight lid on his anger and it only really comes out in moments of extreme stress, like the deep roads or when slaver’s are trying to recapture his best friend, or when people keep calling Merril a monster, or when Templars get too close to Anders. Okay so maybe he does have a lot of anger. Like I said he’s in denial. 

You are a Two-Faced Liar:

Your friends know you talk behind their backs. Not that you’re a bad person - you just can’t help letting other people know how you really feel about some of the crazy stuff your loved ones have told you. Unfortunately, you’ve talked and talked and talked, and now, they all know you’ll talk if they confide in you. You know it, too, and you still can’t help it. No matter how hard you try, you simply can’t force yourself to be as loyal or honest as you want to be. At least you’re charming enough to keep making new friends and replacing the ones who felt too hurt or betrayed to trust you again.

-Zachariah Hawke: Does it fit? Yes and no. Zach has a big heart, but as a rogue he knows sometimes it’s better to lie and be dishonest. I think this would have been more of a problem back in Lothering, unable to keep friends because he keeps telling his parents about them and over sharing, not out of malice but because he gets so excited that he just needed to tell them. I think over time he would become the one with no friends and as an adult he knows how to keep his mouth shut. The only person he really overshares with now is Varric, and later Fenris when they’re in their relationship together. Zach isn’t trying to hurt anyone by talking about them he just... can’t keep all of their problems locked up with his because it’s too much. Zach’s the type of guy that smiles to hide what he’s going through and he wants to help his friends so much, but to keep it all inside would cause him to fall apart. 

#oc meme #my ocs #my ocs: zachariah #my ocs: alrik #my ocs: kyra #my ocs: aspen #my ocs: arthur #my ocs: sorian #my ocs: evander

[sephiratales]

oc interview

I got tagged by @gugle1980, thank you so much <3

Eso queens

1. What is your name?

Drachan-Karr : Drachan-Karr

Elvi : Elvi the Tiny

Ver’drani : Ver’drani

Liv : Liv Steelmaiden

2. What is your real name?

D: Good question, I don’t know if my parents gave me another name

E: Elviranen

V (crosses arms): Ver’drani

L: Liv is my real name.

3. Do you know why you were called that?

D : No and I don’t really care.

E : My parents told me the Green whispered them this name.

V (frowns her eyebrows and does not answer)

L: My mother chose my name to honor a great warrior

4. Are you single or taken?

D: It’s private!

E: I’m not interested in that

D (elbowing Elvi): But there are rumors about a certain blond and beautiful elf queen...

E: It’s only because people want to hear a tragic and impossible love story between a tiny bosmer and a queen. Ayrenn is my friend and we’re both happy with this.

V (muttering): Single...

L: So between Seryn and you...

V: Yes...

E: I’m sorry Ver’drani.

V: And you Liv?

L: I’d like to say taken but... *sighs*

5. Have any abilities or powers?

D: I’m a dragon-knight, so I can immobilise and set fire to the enemy.

E: I have healing magic and also a bit of ice magic to protect myself *claps hands* oh and I can invoke Nanu ! Look at him !

*Elvi invokes a huge brown bear. The interviewer screams, the rest laughs*

E: He is nice if you’re nice with us. *smiles*

V : I have the ability to kill you in a second if you dare to annoy us with your questions.

E : Ver’drani, you should not say such things.

V: It’s just an answer.

L: I’m a templar, I can throw light spears and burn enemy with a sacred light.

6. Stop being a Mary Sue

D: Do anyone of you know what it means?

E, V, L : No

7. What’s your eye colour?

D: Black

E: Golden brown

V : Red

L : Green

8. How about your hair colour?

D: Black

E: Reddish brown !

V: White

L : Dark red

9. Have you any family members?

D: No

E: My parents!

V: My mother is still alive, I have two brothers.

L: My father, my two older sisters and my younger brother.

10. Oh? What about pets?

E: I have Nanu! *pets the bear* Oh you like the scratch on your head, yeah my little buddy!

*The others laughs*

D: We also have another pet, Liv’s dog : Brutus.

*The dog appears, hearing his name. He is a big black mastiff*

L: He is from Morthal, he was so cute and little when I saw him playing with a woodstick bigger than him.

V: I can’t imagine him to be small... *Brutus heads towards her, asking to be pet* Yeah, you’re a big boy now.

11. That’s   cool   I guess, now tell me about something you don’t like.

All : Molag-Bal !

12. Do you have any hobbies/activities you like doing?  

D: Spending time together around a fire or in a tavern.

E: Drachan and I, we often cook together, with the ingredients Ver’drani and Liv brought us.

L: We also like to talk while we are sparring or training.

V: So it’s not very efficient training. But we also have our own activities, Liv reads a lot, I meditate, Elvi wanders to take care of all the green she sees and Drachan likes to sing, it’s very beautiful and calming.

D: Really?

V*blushes*: Yeah...

13. Ever hurt anyone before?

D: What a question, yes.

14. Ever… killed anyone before?

L: Yes.

15. What kind of animal are you?

D: A dragon apparently.

E: Hm... Bosmer are animals?

V: No, that’s just what stupid people say about the bosmers. Don’t mind them. You’re a beautiful nyxade, tiny and circling around us.

E: And you’re a snake and Liv is a bear!

L: Why not. So I can hibernate during winter, fine for me.

V: A snake...

16. Name your worst habits.

D: I swear.

E: I’m clumsy.

V: I watch people with deadly eyes.

L: I punch people and things

17. Do you look up to anyone at all?

D: No...

E: Drachan, you don’t know how to lie!

D: Oh shut up!

V: I just broke up, so not really.

L: Yeah...maybe?

V: Maybe? It’s more than a maybe with you. Though, I’m not sure he will catch the hint, he may know...*Liv put her hand on Ver’drani’s mouth*

L: Sssh !

18. Gay, straight, or bisexual?

E: Don’t caaaare !

L: Straight

V: Lesbian

D: Lesbian

V: Really? I did not... *blushes* Oh nevermind

E: Are you... Ouch, don’t pinch me !

19. Do you go to school?

L: No, my mother gave me lessons at home.

D: School of life is enough for me

E: Yes

V: No, Ashlanders don’t have school. At last, not like you mean it.

20. Do you ever want to marry and have kids one day?

E: No

D: Maybe, if I find the right person.

V: Same for me

L: No.

21. Do you have any fanboys/fangirls?

L: My niece and nephew. My sister always read them my letters, only the adventure parts. I can’t wait to see them again.

V: We have a bunch of weirdo who honor us because we defeated Molag-Bal.

22. What are you most 😨 of?

D: I’m not very fond of Aelyid ruins.

E: Spiders

V: Lich

L: I’d rather not to talk about it

23. What do you usually wear?

V: Why do you need to ask? We wear clothes, stupid.

24. Do you 💛 someone?

E: I love everyone !

D: It’s more a potential crush.

V *deadly eyes to the interviewer*

L: Yes, I think so...

25. When was the last time you wet yourself?

V : Can I kill him? He annoys me?

D: No, we promised, Ver’drani, you promised.

V *grumbles*

26. Well, it’s not over yet!

V *takes a bottle and empties it* : By Vivec’s booty!

27. What class are you? (High class, middle class, low class )

E: Liv says we’re the kicking ass class!

28. How many friends do you have?

L: The number does not matter as long as you can trust them.

29. What are your thoughts on pie?

L: I must admit Drachan makes the best pie in the world.

D: Thank you.

30. Favourite drink?

L: Mead!

V: As long as it burns

E: Tea

D: Beer

31. What’s your favourite place?

D: Our house in Mathiisen

*The others agree*

32. Are you interested in someone?

E: No!

D: Maybe

V: ...

L: Yes

33. What’s your bra cup size and/or how big is your willy?

V: Are you sure I can’t kill him?

L: Yes.

34. Would you rather swim in the lake or the ocean?

D: Lake, sea serpents are aweful.

V: Lake is not always better.

L: A sauna, you should try ladies.

35. What’s your type?

V: Not sure for me, but I can say someone here is interested in tall white-haired dunmer with a mechanical arm...

L *grinning her teeth* : I will kill you, I swear.

V: I love you too.

D: I can understand her on Dunmer.

36. Any fetishes?

V: Go...

L: Don’t you dare!

V *laughs*

37. Seme or uke? Top or Bottom? Dominant or Submissive?

D: I’m gonna let Ver’drani kill you if you continue with these kind of question.

E: Yeaaah, it means meaaat!

V: As long as you don’t put him in our meal, you can do what you want with his body.

38. Camping or indoors?

L: Camping

E: But being indoors in our home is nice too.

D: Camping in the court of our home.

39. Are you wanting the interview to end?

V: YES!

40. Now it’s over!

V: Finally! Never again.

*She leaves without a sound, disappearing in the shadows*

E: Ver’drani, wait for me! You forgot you bag!

*Drachan-Karr and Liv stand up and shake the hand of the interviewer*

D: Sorry, they’re a bit rude. I hope we did not frighten you too much. Have a nice day.

L: Goodbye.

Sorry it was long =)

I tag @jonhseed, @fantasmagoriam, @uriellactaea and @pixiedurango

#tagged stuff #my ocs #Drachan-Karr #Elvi the Tiny #Liv Steelmaiden #Ver'drani #eso queens

[magicbound-a]

Maceron [Rewrite]

This is a rewrite of an old prompt done almost three years. I had been requested to write something about Orsino and the previous First Enchanter, who we had gotten very few details about in World of Thedas 2. 

WORD COUNT: 2,880

   All ways except literal, First Enchanter Maceron was a ghost. Unseen, unheard, and whispered of like he was an age gone by. There were rumors and conspiracies. A few daring ( but still low ) voices theorized he was nothing more than an illusion, made by the Templars to pretend that someone somewhere cared for them. Maceron died years ago, the Gallows had no First Enchanter. The Circle worked as intended, no need to pass down a title still claimed, the Order justified.

   This was just one of the popular stories.

  In the final years of his life, he seemed to be such a myth that mages of all ages would switch out with servants to bring him a food tray. Even those with graying hair, old enough to know better and remember the time Maceron was real. For them, it was a matter of seeing if he was still alive or if an old friend passed on without his people knowing.

  Orsino was one of these curious mages. Not old enough to remember Maceron's presence ever being consistent, but not young enough he believed the endless exaggerations of apprentices. His frustrations made him see red at times. It was hard to tell what the source was, as much that was ongoing in the Gallows vexed him. Even when narrowed on a subject like Maceron, there was a web around the center. 

   Was it the apprentices who stirred a sense of dread and panic with unrealistic wonders? Perhaps, had he fallen for it just like the other Seniors? Even with that, he could hardly fault the apprentices. There may be a specific feeling of dismay when one witnessed conditions worsen, but being brought into the worst life has been in the Circle does not cultivate optimistic minds. To them, the Order could do anything. They had never witnessed a time when Templars as a whole had standards.

  So, no. He was sure he was not frustrated with the apprentices. He never felt angered by his peers, not truly. At most, it was his own fault for letting their paranoid seeds root into the field of his worries. In the end, as it has been for a very long time, his anger laid with Maceron and the Order. The first for abandoning his people. Orsino imagined that one could only have malicious intent clinging to a role they could not even fulfill to the bare minimum. As for the Order, it was too long of a list. This was just another lapse in judgement and neglect of duty. Knight-Commander Meredith downright abused the fact that Maceron interfered little to none, she would not see him switched out. 

  Maybe she was why he hid.

  On a day Orsino felt particularly bold, he slipped a servant a few coins to negotiate the switch. When he changed attire, it was almost sickeningly degrading how no one batted an eye at him. With his head held low and tray in hand, he looked like every other elven servant that scraped by on the Chantry’s “merciful” wage.

   During the trod there, Orsino thought of every transgression that he wanted to unload onto the First Enchanter. Of all his years spent in the Gallows, never once had he seen Maceron intervene. Not even when mages were unjustly abused and got on their knees to cower. His people whipped until they bled and tried to beg forgiveness for their sins, even if they never had any. It was hard to ask for mercy through tears and pain. Orsino would know. His negligence almost felt worse than the atrocities Templars committed.

  To think of another mage in such a way almost felt damning. If they did not have each other, what hope lied upon the horizon?

 It wasn’t until he stood outside Maceron's chambers that Orsino rose his chin with dignity. Using his elbow, he nudged opened the door and marched in with a air that belonged to someone who was everything but a servant.

  The stale air almost choked him. The room was dark with fabric hung over the windows and didn't allow the eyes to travel easily. However, his sight adjusted quickly and the layout of the room was greedily judged. 

   If he didn't know better, the chamber could be mistaken as a storage room instead of a First Enchanter’s living quarters. Letters upon letters were piled up on a desk with dried inkwells and broken quills. On some surfaces, dust was layered on belongings that probably once held sentimental value. Even some trinkets had monetary purpose once upon a time, but now their worth looked as bleak as the sky before a storm. No shine.

 On a disheveled bed sat Maceron in underwhelming glory.

  With everything that was expected to come with the status, First Enchanter proved to be a misnomer. Except for a slight shift of his head, Maceron barely acknowledged Orsino’s presence. His head hung as if his neck was broken, dangling farther than Orsino would ever allow himself to submit. His shoulders sagged beneath imaginary weights. He didn’t wear his designated robes. They were carelessly tossed over a musty seat and looked to be untouched for a long time. Instead, Maceron was encased within a heavy sleeping robe and a quilt with decades old patchwork.

  The longer Orsino stared at the scene, the more his hands shook and rattled the delicate glass on the tray. This was their First Enchanter? The person who was supposed to speak on their behalf? All he saw was SLOTH. Carelessness. Disregard.

 Abandonment.

   He couldn’t resist breaking the silence. In fact, he shattered it. The elf slammed the tray down next to the morning tray never moved. Maceron was taken back by the noise, head retreating slightly into the lump of covers like a turtle. Snapped out of the haze he wallowed in. He watched with caution and even an out of place degree of calculation. Orsino stomped his way right to Maceron’s bedside. Finally, the older man lifted his head to cast a weary look and leaned backwards to recreate a bare semblance of respective space.

  Orsino's expression was easy to read. He saw no reason to mask his anger. Nostrils flared and brows furrowed, his chest moved with heavy and deliberate breaths as he stared down the First Enchanter. Maceron's shrewd eyes narrowed with a glare, no enthusiasm with whatever was about to come his way.

  Now that the moment of truth was here, Orsino found he could not speak. Too much was locked inside, it couldn't fit through the open door. Harder, his teeth clenched as he encouraged himself to begin more and more without any place for the energy to go. With the silence he held, it wasn't going outwards.

 “Well?” Maceron spoke first. The word was blunt, loud, and dropped like it was heavy. Orsino jumped when it was plunked into the storm of his mind. Now, he was annoyed that he allowed Maceron to begin first. Finally, the dam broke beneath all his thoughts and came out in a flurry. All his questions came first, sharp and pointed right at the First Enchanter. No introduction or anything softer to precede it. 

  "Why do you hide? Why have you never tried to help us? Do you not care for your people?!" Orsino vented without regret. Every sentence was a little too loud, too angry, and too desperate. Hands that hung by his side curled into fists, balled up just like the emotions in his chest.

 Maceron heaved out a dusty sigh. He turned his head away, any interest in the conversation and elf before him gone. Orsino was not worth his time. “Don't tell a man how to do his job if you don't know what it entails, boy.”

  "Do not call me a boy," Orsino corrected out of spite.

  "Respectable men don't pay off servants and throw temper tantrums," Maceron countered like he's been through this before.

 The disrespect only urged Orsino further. His patience creaked like a bent twig. “And you must be worthy of respect, then? Here, when you could surely be doing something besides--- besides--!" his arms flung into the air to gesture towards the whole room, “this! Hiding! Sulking! Whatever you call it!”

 A wheezy laugh was spitefully given in return. Maceron sounded like even his lungs brimmed with dust. His head shook. "So you believe it easy then? Being First Enchanter. Just a big goddamn hero to the mages, eh?"

  "You haven't tried to be anything like that. Or anything we need!"

  "Oh, so it's I haven't tried!" Maceron exclaimed like a realization and let out another dusty chuckle. His behavior was unsettling and reminiscent of what is more appropriate when a game is being played. "Unless you happen to piss peaceful revolution, nothing works like you think it does. What have you seen of me?"

  Orsino was stunned into silence, caught off guard by either the distasteful vulgarity unfitting someone like a First Enchanter or the fact that Maceron actually had a fight in him.

  "Here. If it's so easy, then you can be First Enchanter after the Order's finally sucked the rest of my life outta me." 

   The scowl that instinctively formed on Orsino's face at the thought told Maceron all he needed to know. He gave a mocking burst of laughter. "That's what I thought, boy." 

   A hand dotted with age spots and wrinkles reached out to a glass of water off a bed-stand. He took a gulp before continuing. "I know who I swore to protect. Had the fire for it too, just like you."

     Without thinking much of it, Orsino's feet shuffled backwards with horror at the consideration. Like the concept was a plague in danger of being caught and becoming the truth if he felt anything except fear for it. “We are nothing alike,” he stubbornly rejected with an unpredictable force. “I swear to that. First Enchanter or not!" But his words were ignored. Maceron continued his own train of thought like he had never been interrupted.

    "They'll snuff your flame quicker than any maleficar. There's only room for one sun and they'll make damn sure it's theirs."

    For the first time since it got heated and Maceron's interest waned, their eyes made contact. It chilled Orsino to the bone. Too much was seen in Maceron's depths, far too much that he hadn't noticed at first. He recognized that particularly look.

   "And when you have no power and even children beg for you to do something, you'll be thankful you have a fucking chamber you can't hear their cries in!" The First Enchanter's volume peaked and cracked like glass.

   Orsino, unnerved and frightened, turned on his heel and fled. He dashed through the door as quickly as possibly and slammed it behind him, not wanting to hear another word nor spend another second looking into those eyes. He reached the end of the hall before he sunk to the floor, back against the cold stone. Breathing was difficult. The muscles in his neck strained to swallow nothing but a bitter reality. The moment their eyes met played again and again like a hated lesson.

   Their eyes had met.

   Their eyes had met and he knew that absence of light.

   Orsino was reminded of Maud.

   He grimaced. His expression could only be described as utmost dismay. Where he had believed sloth and malice to dwell, depression made its home. How far back did it echo and how further will it be replayed? A long time since he last had, Orsino grieved for his friend. It had been a harsh and unsettling reminder. First Enchanter Maceron was not a man who cared little for his people. He was a man that cared too much and the Order choked him with his own chains because of it. They forced him to pay the price as he drowned alive in his inability to help. There was no being of sloth in that chamber. Only a man who had his heart carved out with a sun-soaked blade and filled to the brim with depression.

  Despair. It was always DESPAIR.

  Maker, did Orsino pray for mercy that such a thing never happened to him. Balled in the spot where he collapsed, his hands clasped in prayer. He prayed for his will to never be weak to despair, and he prayed that he would never meet a fate like First Enchanter Maceron's.

   Orsino had a lot of time to think about him the following months after he paid off the servant. He admitted that he would have liked to dug into his mind more than he did, instead of blanching before a withered soul still putting up a fight. Still too sore and scarred, he was not matured enough to deal with the reality. After that, he never had the bravery or the want to return to Maceron again. Some truths were better left unheard. 

   After all, reminders of Maud always upset him. 

  One conclusion Orsino came to was that Maceron must have spent a lot of time justifying his inaction. His responses had been quick and as sharp as Orsino’s questions. It was perhaps the one thing he felt he could still have fire over, or many others had asked the same thing Orsino had. Being able to feel at peace with his own room was the last thing Maceron felt entitled to. 

   Even now, Orsino’s unsure if Maceron was and is worthy of any respect. He’s tragic and detestable. What could have been weakness innate to his soul was justified as inevitable of the position. Unless he became First Enchanter, there was no way for anyone to know.

    Maceron was scarcely glimpsed at a few more times before he was found dead in his chambers several years later, still wrapped in that musty quilt. Hard to say what took him. Old age, depression, or a sickness he never sought to better. Weakness from too many food trays gone ignored or the Order finally drained the last of the life he had... the fact was that he was dead. More peacefully gone than others. 

   An undisturbed passing and a quiet room the greatest mercies he could be given.

  There was a funeral, of course. Not many gathered in service--- at least, what was expected for a First Enchanter. Most of the assembly of people was done out of respect more for the title than the man. There were a few who only wanted to catch a glimpse of the First Enchanter for the first time ever, even if he was now laid out cold and deceased. Then, there were the people who had to be there like Senior Enchanters, templars, and chanters.

  Only the eldest gave eulogies because they were the only ones who remembered he had someone before he was First Enchanter Maceron. Orsino learned the quilt was the only belonging he had from home, so there was sudden meaning in seeing him wrapped up in the fabric as he was laid out on the pyre. The chanters said their final prayers to guide his soul to the Maker's side. Right there in the Gallows, they burned his body with the last remnants of a true home.

  Age lines and grey hairs were self-consciously prodded at. Only a few years in, First Enchanter Orsino looked at a reflection of himself with sunken eyes. All the other times spent in front of the mirror had been normal, yet today he was preoccupied with his visage. He could not say why or what caused the train of thought, but something about his appearance reminded him of poor Maceron.

  "I wonder what he would think now, knowing the boy who yelled at him actually became First Enchanter," he casually conversed to his image as he did his morning routine. He brushed his thinning hair backwards and kept it in place with a bit of sap-like fixative. "Probably look at my grey hairs and tell me he told me so!"

  Orsino laughed at himself, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with his smile. The awkwardness of talking to the mirror set in. He sighed.

  Maceron was proven right about a few things. Being First Enchanter wasn't easy. Not at all. The Order, just as expected, also tried to snuff him out as well. But just as Maceron was right about a few things, he was also wrong about others. Orsino forbade the Order from dousing his spirit. Healthily, his embers still burned. If he must forever burn without peace, then so be it. As long he kept despair at bay and light the way for his people, he surpassed Maceron's efforts. It must drive Meredith crazy for him to be three times more unyielding than the previous First Enchanter could have ever hoped to be.

  Things were not better. They were worse, in fact. Tragically laughable how he considered the time he spoke to Maceron to be the worse the Gallows had ever been. Yet, Orsino continued on. It must drive Knight-Commander Meredith insane. 

   He wish he could show Maceron that he had been wrong. 

   Probably would have laughed that off too, Orsino thought before tightening his gloves to leave his chambers for the day. There was much to do. 

#( drabble; ) #long post // #( Possible trigger warning are just vague mentions of abuse/physical abuse. mentions of Maud. and depiction of mental illness. ) #( i probs have typos in this i cant notice due to being tired )

[acindra]

My Dragon Age characters, updated to include the twins as well as a lot more info for a few characters than last time.

My ‘canon’ warden is the elf mage Rhyssa Surana. (Rhys is Welsh for enthusiasm/passion) She’s mainly an ice mage and her most used spell is the cone of cold. 

She’s doesn’t put up with any bullshit and is super persuasive. Though she comes off as stoic (because of the many abuses she suffered in the circle), she’s passionate about what she believes in (and will covertly manipulate anything needed to get what she wants). 

She has a moment similar to Oghren’s leaving Orzammar when she leaves the circle with Duncan and later than night cries in secret for being free for the first time in her adult life.

She gets along with everyone for the most part, though she immensely dislikes Wynne’s attachment to the circle and just doesn’t really understand Sten much at all. While she respects Leiliana’s faith, she explains in no uncertain terms that she will never believe in a higher power that allows for the atrocities mankind (as in all of the people in the world, is there a better way to say that to include elves and qunari and dwarves?) to happen. (For a far better phrasing of her opinion, watch this clip of Stephen Fry) She lets Alistair name her mabari (Barkspawn) and it takes her a long time to adjust to the concept of dogs so they kinda co-parent him for a while (Walking The Dog was a long discussion they had that it took forever for her to wrap her head around). She finds Morrigan, Shale, and Oghren (and Sten) fascinating, as they have had such significantly different lives than her.

She romances Zevran and then also romanced Anders and they brought him into their relationship. They bond over the hardships in their lives, from the crows and circle, respectively. 

She doesn’t recognize immediately that Zevran was trying to commit suicide in the ‘assassination attempt’ but quickly becomes suspicious about it by reading between what he says. She figures out pretty fast that his stories of his work are made to make the party less uncomfortable about his presence, recognizing it as a way to protect himself. She knew immediately after meeting him that his being blase’ in the face of death is also this, as well as his pseudo easy going nature. She doesn’t know how to call him on it without him possibly fleeing, and honestly with the camping situation it’s hard to get much privacy anyways and she definitely doesn’t want others to overhear. 

They bond by both being half Dalish but raised in neither Dalish clans nor alienages. In a sign of faith she tells him about some of the horrors of being in the circle (though not the worst things until after they’re in a romance together) and eventually he starts telling her less restricted/humanizing stories from the Crows. 

Since she’s the most blatantly asexual, only using sex to get what she wants when she has to, the start of their relationship is kinda awkward. They end up talking about it a LOT. Not just about her, but about how Zevran also wields sex as a tool to get what he wants. The concept of love after the earring thing also sparks a lot of talking (though before that there is a lot of avoiding and also bitching about minor unrelated things because they’ve both been trained to be scared of positive emotions) It’s Very Complicated™ and unbeknownst to them everyone else in the party has a betting going about what’s going to happen. Leliana wins (partially because she also eavesdrops a lot, but that’s a secret that’ll go to her grave)

Though she personally loathes Bhelen, she works for him to put him on the throne of Orzammar for the good of everyone and especially because she finds their caste system vile. She puts Anora on the throne and lets Alistair kill Loghain (she refuses to let someone who condoned enslaving people live) in the hopes that he can find peace with the loss of Duncan.

At the beginning of Awakening about 3 hours after the joining Anders is hungry and tries to seduce/manipulate her because he kinda sees her as his new jailer and that’s what he did to protect himself or gain favour in the circle. She realizes this immediately (having a lot of experience doing the exact same thing, unfortunately, in her time at the circle) and promises him that he never needs to do that if he needs or wants something from her. She tells him he doesn’t even need to stay as a grey warden; she will not force him to fight a battle he did not sign up for of his own volition. She tells him that he is not beholden to her or any of the people in Vigil’s Keep, but if he remains she will protect him. And yeah they may get into disagreements and if it’s something to do with their job then he has to defer to her since she is the superior officer, but he is free to do what he wants now. And if any templars cause him trouble, no matter the circumstance, she will defend and protect him to the very last.

Later, before she leaves for Weisshaupt, she sits him down and tells him if anything happens whilst she’s gone and he feels the need to run, run as fast and as far and as long as it takes for him to feel safe again. She tells him to make sure his pack is ready to go at any time (though she neglects to tell him she has put a significant amount of money in it as well) and to make sure he always has it on him.

Later he tells her he had wanted to stay. Even after Stroud showed up. Even after they made him give up Pounce. To show as much loyalty to her as she showed to him. He wanted to be a good warden, to help people, to stay with his friends and to stop running. But Rolan showed up and Anders merged with Justice and he knew he couldn’t remain after slaughtering so many wardens, even though his friends at least would support him.

She is very fond of her crew in Awakening, but she worries about them a hell of a lot more. Even with them being actual wardens and all the political power that grants them.

After the events of Dragon Age 2 she travels with Zevran to the Free Marches, seeing if they can help whatever mages managed to escape the gallows. Before they get there though, they notice Anders in a small village they’re restocking in, though he looks a lot older, more ragged, and has dyed his hair dark brown. Before they get the chance to intercept him, they notice he is being followed so they decide to watch first. 

After following for a while they figure he is either being hunted or tracked and she does NOT like that, so she intercepts the person, who happens to be Fenris. After a lot of bickering and suspicion, Fenris admits he’s not hunting Anders but is following him to make sure no harm is done, to himself or others. He admits they have known each other for years, though they are not friends. She says she is much the same, but they are friends, and if Fenris harms Anders even a little she’ll choke him to death on his own dick.

A couple days later Anders is travelling through another village but it’s quiet like the grave and, unsurprisingly to all four parties, he gets ambushed. Unfortunately there’s more bandits in the houses than he expected and he runs out of mana. He gets knocked out while trying to get away and Fenris and Rhyssa spring into the fray to protect him.

After killing all the bandits, Rhyssa drags him into a house and gets to healing, exceptionally worried because there’s a significant amount of blood pouring out of his head. Anders doesn’t awake after she’s done healing him though and by nightfall they’re both pillars of stoic fretting. Rhyssa calls Zevran in out of the shadows and they lock down the house as best as they can.

There’s more to that story but I haven’t decided on it yet.

I also played Rhyssa as a male at one point (Rhys) because I really love Origins.

Edit: ALSO, I used Rhyssa as my Watcher in Pillars of Eternity and Deadfire, where she could fulfill all of her dreams of being able to pick locks. And have so many pets

My ‘canon’ Hawke is Idrilla, a fire mage. She’s mainly purple with occasional blue and is suuuuper passionate about mage rights. Anything about mage oppression and she defaults to red immediately. 

Her version of Malcom was a dalish elf which is why her name is Idrilla (little rebel) but she doesn’t know why he was put in the circle. Unfortunately, neither does Leandra and since Malcom is dead no one knows. 

She came into her magic pretty late and so was initially trained as a rogue. Bethany lives and Carver dies and Idrilla pretends her staff is a quarterstaff for bludgeoning. 

She romances Merrill but is best friends with Anders (and in another playthrough life she romances him instead).

I’ve not put a lot of thought into her story since I’m still working on Rhyssa’s and also for the longest time I used Marian because creativity is not my strong suit. She doesn’t actually have cat ears in canon, I just thought it was cute.

As a side note she also lived another life as a city elf in the Dragon Age Uprising mods and she led the rebellion in Denerim and Highever and romanced Fladayus. I haven’t finished playing that mod yet because I got distracted, though. So I don’t know how it ends. I’m like right before the big revolt too...

My ‘canon’ quizzy is Synne Lavellan. (Synne is Anglo-Saxon for Gift of the Sun) She’s an electricity mage who is very set (and pretty good at) on getting as much information as possible before she makes any decision. Especially after she is named inquisitor, since her decisions will affect so many people.

Before the game she read a looot about inequality in Thedas and feels so much sympathy to elves and mages. She chose the Elgar’nan vallaslin as an oath to protect and aid those who need it most and enact vengeance on the Chantry. 

She sides with the mages and romances Solas. She thinks he’s an idiot at the end of Trespasser, but wants to find him and try to come to a non-apocalyptic solution. 

She reunites Celene and Briala because she disagrees with Gaspard’s methods, though she pretty much hates all of them. She drinks the well because she absolutely cannot in good conscience allow Morrigan to drink it when she has a child. Even at the risk of her own life.

I also have not put too much thought into Synne’s life beyond and inside inquisition because I’m still working on Rhyssa.

I’ve also sent her back through time to be the Warden and Hawke because mods are wonderful and I love Dragon Age.

This is Imogen Cousland. (Imogen doesn’t really have a set meaning because it’s thought that Shakespere made the name up by purposely misspelling the word for girl/maiden, but a few places have it listed as ‘Innocent’) She is also a mage because I don’t play non-mages pretty much ever and mods exist. 

Her main goal was to DESTROY Howe and Loghain. She wanted to have power in order to bring about change before becoming a Warden. She marries Alistair and becomes Queen of Fereldan so I guess she got her wish. 

She’s very playful and teases her companions a lot but is a good leader and tries to do what is necessary to hold the country together.

This is Ataashi Adaar (original, I know lol). She has no idea what she’s doing tbh. She is very unprepared and VERY gay. She had no intent on leading anything at all ever and so has to rely on the advisers a lot which is hard when three of them are female. 

She romances Josephine and was super willing to Throw Down with that one guy for her hand. She ends up siding with the templars because she doesn’t know a lot about either side and definitely doesn’t know that mages can dispel magic but she also doesn’t trust templars at all so she conscripts them. 

Her own magic is pretty wild at times and she mainly does rift magic.

This is Isabelle Travelyan. (Isabelle is Hebrew for Devoted to God) She’s supposed to be like 16-17 at most. She thinks she’s the Herald of Andraste and is a Chantry apologist. She sides with the templars, marries Cullen, makes Cole a spirit, makes Vivienne divine (only because she herself cannot be) and her main goal is... idk power I guess. She’s ambitious. 

She marries Cullen and keeps the Inquisition going as a force of the Chantry. I hate her for her choices, but that was the point when I made her- she’s everything I would not do, wrapped in fabulous outfits.

Leilani and Eolas Lavellan, twins, were made for the question ‘what if we could romance Krem’. Leilani is Dalish for she who helps with shining thoughts, and Eolas is Dalish for knowledge.

Leilani is a dual wielding rogue who is upbeat and curious about everything- her goal is to have fun and experience new things. Eolas is a mage but he mostly focuses on protecting Leilani because she likes to charge into battle like an idiot. He is also curious about everything but is very timid and shy and prefers to read than to experience things firsthand. 

Leilani is technically the inquisitor- she’s the one who has the mark- but Eolas deals with the political stuff. Eolas was not the first for Clan Lavellan but was not sent to another clan because they didn’t want to break the twins apart and they needed hunters, so he can use his magic for hunting too. Mostly glyphs and stuff to trap creatures so Leilani can take them out. 

When Leilani meets Bull and the Chargers she immediately latches onto them. She will often ditch meetings to drink with them in the evenings. Eolas follows Josephine and Leliana around like a duckling because he never knew words could be weapons. He dutifully attends every meeting and fills in his sister on everything she misses while she repeats the tales she has heard from/about others. He spends most of his time in the library, specifically on the couch in the rotunda, reading.

Eolas is the first to meet Krem, when Krem is outside the chantry in Haven, trying to get someone to take his message. Eolas doesn’t see him at first, intent on finding Leilani to give her info from the meeting they just had in the war room. Krem catches him by the arm as he goes by and Eolas immediately tries to whack him with his staff which he blocks. He immediately lets go and apologizes, hands up to show he’s not a threat, and tries to explain why he’s there. But Eolas is having a hard time listening because of the sudden fight or flight instinct- but also Krem is really handsome and the sun has flooded Haven with golden light which is silhouetting him, and Eolas’ brain hasn’t caught up so he’s just standing there staring like he’s seeing an angel. Krem eventually gets his message across and leaves with the mumbled promise that the inquisition will check out the Chargers.

Leilani gets the whole story out of Eolas pretty easily and spends a ridiculous amount of time teasing him about his crush. They head off to the Storm Coast pretty soon after that and after the battle she goes to talk to Bull. Eolas is kinda awkwardly standing there watching the Chargers clean up and make sure the job is done. Krem greets him and he tries not to blush because here on the beach, dirty from battle and wet from rain, Krem is no less beautiful than before.

Leilani is delighted by Bull and the Chargers and when she’s done negotiating the terms of their contract, she wanders around bothering the Chargers because she’s never met mercenaries before. Krem, of course, is willing to talk more than the rest of them so she interrogates him for like half an hour, he devious grin getting wider and wider as she occasionally glances at Eolas. Eolas, for his part, wants to go drown himself because that’s never good. Leilani parts with Krem with a wink and Eolas is like what did you say to him??? Cuz sibling paranoia is real.

Eolas is reading in the rotunda like usual one day when Krem comes through with some fade touched animal bit for Helisma but he stops to chat since Eolas is rarely in the Herald’s Rest. Eolas manages to stick his foot in his mouth or fumble too many words or something and embarrasses himself because he was not expecting to see his crush, but Krem just laughs it off. Once Krems heads upstairs. Eolas is like I need to hide forever now and leaves for the twins’ chamber to hide in bed. 

A little later, Leilani stops by the tavern to get a drink in with the chargers and hear more stories and after hearing one is like oh I should go tell this one to Eolas, he’d love it! Krem chips in that last he saw Eolas he was in the rotunda, but he had left by the time Krem was dropping off research materials. Leilani goes to ask if Solas knows where Eolas has gone and he tells her he went to hid and that young love is adorable. 

She finds him in bed with the covers over his head and he asks her to kill him because he made a fool of himself in front of Krem. She’s like maybe you should tell him you like him. Yanno, see if he’s interested? instead of acting like a startled halla anytime he’s within 15 feet of you? Just a thought? Eolas says he can’t do that- because he’s not pretty, or clever, or brave enough. Plus who knows if Krem likes boys. Leilani smacks him for being self-deprecating. She does point out Krem might not like people romantically at all, now that she thinks about it. From all her time hanging with the Chargers and listening to all of their stories, he had never talked about sex and romance in relation to himself. Eolas is like great, so he’s either celibate or a gentleman which means he wouldn’t want me or I don’t deserve him. Leilani keeps prodding at him to drop the self-deprecation.

A while later and Krem remarks that he’s curious about Eolas. Eolas occasionally talks to him but it’s very short conversations and only about inquisition things really. But Leilani’s tales always feature her brother, though maybe not very actively most of the time. So he wants to know more. 

He tries to find him, but can never seem to find him beyond a flash of ginger hair across the courtyard or up in the rookery and once he gets to where he thought he saw him, Eolas is gone. So he asks Leilani what Eolas does in his free time. She’s like ‘He reads, mostly. The fucking NERD.’ and he subtly tries to find out what he’s reading right now and convinces Leilani to get him to come up to the battlements at night between rounds of drinking and other conversations between the Chargers. But she gets giddy almost immediately, knowing Eolas’ crush, and he’s maybe not as subtle as he wants to be after a couple of beers. Bull notices this all but doesn’t say anything.

Eventually Leilani finds her brother reading (hiding) outside on the patio ledge thing outside of the rookery and she’s like hey I gotta do a thing with Dagna for one of my daggers but can you go meet me out on the battlements between cullen’s office and the tavern tonight? He’s concerned but she brushes him off, muttering about enchantments and fire runes. He agrees to meet her so she makes herself scarce (she does actually get Dagna to help with the fire rune- she likes talking to Dagna, because it’s cool to see the world from different perspectives and Dagna is so good at that!)

Eolas gets up to the battlements eventually and as soon as he exits the dilapidated room between Cullen’s office and the tavern he’s confused and tense because Leilani is not there. But he reasons she’s probably just late because 1. of course she is and 2. she and Dagna carry on conversations like magpies- jumping from one shiny thing to another. Then there’s the sound of someone in armor getting up and saying ‘Your worship.” And he whirls around, throwing up a barrier in surprise. It’s Krem, of course, who has once again realized he has startled Eolas and puts his hands up and apologizes until Eolas drops his barrier.

Krem has apparently dragged a bench from the room out onto the battlements. Eolas apologizes and asks if he has seen his sister around. He promises as soon as he finds her, they will move locations to leave Krem in peace.

Krem processes for a second and is like I’m sorry, I was the one who wanted to talk to you and I asked your sister to relay the message. Eolas tries not to blush for being singled out (and fails, but if anyone asks he’ll say it’s 100% because of the chill and wind up here and nothing to do with Krem). Krem explains that he figured Eolas doesn’t like crowds much since he doesn’t go to the tavern much and when he does it’s for business and he doesn’t stick around, so he thought it’d be easier if it was one-on-one and away from prying eyes.

There’s more to it but I haven’t really gotten far in the conversation since the last time I added to the story.

I will say that later on after they have gotten into a relationship, Leilani starts showing up and insinuating herself into the relationship which culminates in her sneaking in to wherever they’re sleeping and lying down on the other side of Krem and when Krem wakes up confused the twins are like bleary eyed and confused and make him lay back down for more sleep.

Imagine the PR disaster Josie has on her hands when it gets out the inquisitor is not only sleeping with a vint merc but also sharing him with her mage twin brother. 

Also when I went to play Leilani, I used the wrong version of Falon’din’s vallaslin because i’m dumb and honestly I’m not sure which one I like better.

This is Isana Cadash. She’s a mage dwarf, though the game considers her a rogue out of combat. Isana is one of the dwarven words for lyrium so I thought it was a good name. She romances Bull. 

#this is very long #idk if anyone will read this #but if you do #i hope you like my dragon age characters!

[jonogueira]

Áine.

Here’s the AO3 and the link to Moon Hair e Fire Eyes. I was listening to this while writing.

Chapter 35

Farewell Ser Templar.

“A mistake it was all a mistake. Maybe they shouldn’t have interrupted him; maybe I was supposed to be his. Would there be emotions? Would I one day be capable of really loving him? Would I welcome his mouth? Crave for his touch?”

She sank into the lake until her head was under water.

“Yes, it would have been better. I would be his, and he would be mine. He wouldn’t leave me, no matter what. We would spend the rest of our days together… forever.”

She opened her eyes and saw the bottom of the lake; its crystal water gentle with her eyes. With a push of her legs, she moved forward, towards some fish.

“I should have known… I am a nobody, after all; I have nothing, not even a name. He is better off with her, a noble, not a thief; the Inquisitor, not a spy.”

She pushed herself up, and the water washed her hair down on her eyes. She studied Bull throwing Sera in the water. The elf’s laughter ringing in her ears.

“I will miss them… all of them”

She left her thoughts on Aiden and Cullen behind and swam towards The Misfits.

They were returning to Skyhold, just a few more days and they would be home, no, not home anymore, at least not for her. She had discussed with her family and Leliana, and as a personal favor, she asked the little bird to be sent away, far from the lion.

Leliana studied her eyes, and without a single question she agreed to her request, she sent her and her family to Caer Bronach, she had been against it but the time had finally come, and now Leliana had no more excuses not to send her there. She preferred Áine to be near her, but she knew it would be too much to ask.

After almost a month they were back to Skyhold,  and the day before was the most difficult of all since Cullen decided their future. She took her bath and laid in her bedroll in the shared quarter, her eyes on the ceiling and the tears on her cheeks. It was a long cold night.

But the reason she was crying at that moment was the opposite; they were tears of joy, happiness.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” – They couldn’t let go of the other. – “Maker! This is reason to celebrate. Come!” – Áine held Amell’s hand, and together they headed to the tavern.

Everyone greeted her with a smile on their faces, and because Áine had talked so much about her, she was soon welcomed by her family and The Misfits.

When they arrived, the sun was low on the horizon and the night approached fast. With a peek out of the window the moon was high in the dark sky surrounded by bright stars. They talked about what happened to them since they were separated until the present days.

“So Áine, I heard Cullen is around.” – Amell gave her a side look, and a wicked smile played on her lips.

“Then you’ve heard right. He is the Commander of the Inquisition’s soldiers and if you’re lucky he might come around here.” – Áine winked at her with the same wicked smile.

“Have you finally told him about your feelings?” – The older mage turned to look at her.

“Oh my… you don’t need to worry my dear old friend, I’m quite sure he will be more than happy to see you here.”

Bull, Dorian, and Varric studied her, but no words come from them.

“I see… you have changed and grown, but are still the same stubborn Áine I know.” – She drank the last of her ale.

“Some things never change, and others do.” – She took her friend’s tankard in her hands. – “I didn’t know you liked ale this much, excuse me while I refill it.”

She took two tankards from Cabot, one for her and other for her friend.

“You are drinking tonight, Blue?” – Mother asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

“My friends are here,” – She pointed to The Misfits. – “my family is here,” – She nodded at the old lady and her brothers – “and a lost sister is back! My heart has a reason to sing again.” – She placed the tankard on her lips, and after a deep breath, she drank half of it. “Is there anything else I should ask for?” – She forced a smile on her lips.

“Blue,…” – Dorian placed a hand on her arm.

He opened the tavern’s door, and the hot air greeted him like a slap in the face. The first thing he saw was Dorian holding her arm.

Áine stared at the mage in front of her, and with her free hand, she took his hand away from her arm. She was about to say something when Amell interrupted her thought.

“Cullen!” – She stood up and gave him a tight hug. – “I can’t believe we are all finally together again!” – Áine finished her drink in one gulp.

“Come, sit with us. I was talking to Áine about everything. Tell me what did you do all this time?”

Áine stood up and showed them the empty tankard and then went to Cabot. On her way back she saw that Amell had arranged a seat for him next to her, and with a look at Bull’s direction, the big man exchanged seats with her. Her seat was opposite of Cullen’s... better than by his side, with him so close to her.

The mage wouldn’t stop asking Cullen questions, and he barely had time to answer the ones she had already asked.

“No, I haven’t.” – He rubbed the back of his neck. – “I was in Kirkwall before the rebellion started.” – He shifted on his place when she leaned closer.

“I heard you and the Inquisitor are getting married. Congrats.” – Her tone was more inquisitive than anything.

“What? No, that’s not true. We are just friends. She is an amazing woman, but there will be no wedding.”

“I see!” – She leaned even closer with a big smile on her lips. Áine took another sip of her ale.

Cullen turned to Varric in an attempt to stir the conversation from the topic.

“I guess you are aware of these baseless rumors, Dwarf?”

“Me? Why would you ask me? Sera is the one with friends.” – He chuckled shaking his head.

“Shite! Don’t look at me. I was the first to want to stop these stupid rumors. I know very well that…” – The elf stopped mid-sentence when Áine gave her a death glare – “Well if Leliana is not acting on them, who am I to do it?”

“I hear she is a mage, and as far as I remember you had a thing for mages, Cullen.” – She placed her hand on his arm. Cullen was red and stammered an answer under a deep sigh; Bull looked at Dorian who cursed in Tevene and Sera was about to jump on Amell’s neck.

Áine rolled her eyes and stood up, she lost her balance but leaned on Blackwall who supported her. Cullen frowned at her and opened his mouth to say something, but she grabbed Finley’s hand and pulled him for a dance.

Amell decided to get another drink and Cullen watched Áine dancing. Something was off with her, she was smiling, but her body movements were stiff, her mind was elsewhere.

“So, this is the mage you had a ‘thing’ back in the tower?” – Dorian asked looking lazily at Cullen with his fingers crossed on the table. – “It seems she wants to further that ‘thing.’”

“I don’t understand…”

“Blue hasn’t told her about the two of you if that’s what you’re wondering.” – Varric said with his tankard on his lips.

“What the shite happened between you two? I thought you were all moan-moan?!” – Sera waved her hands around.

“It is ended. There’s nothing else to be said; my mind is set.” – He slouched on his seat.

“What? You gotta be kidding me! Do you know how much she loves you? What would she do for you? Do you…?”

“Those are the reasons I set my mind Sera. It is done, and there’s no turning back.”

“Cullen,” – It was Blackwall’s turn. – “that’s not the answer. Better live one day beside who you love and then lose her than have her at arm’s reach and never being able to touch her at all.” – They studied each other; the table was in silence.

Amell returned to the table at the same time as Áine and handed her a tankard, which she accepted with a smile.

“Is that ale? Since when do you drink ale, Blue?” – Cullen reached out to grab her tankard, but she took it out of his reach.

“I am celebrating. I cannot celebrate drinking juice!” – She held her tankard tightly.

“How much have you drunk? You’ve never…”

“I don’t think this concerns you, Commander” – She stared at him, and her eyes were greener than ever. The tankard on her hand was slowly freezing.

Cullen stood up but leaned on the table with his hands. “Áine you shouldn’t…” – He was cut off by Cole, who was by her side.

“Yes, you shouldn’t be drinking…”

“I don’t care.” – Her voice was louder than usual, and she spilled some ale on the table.

Cullen and Áine stared at each other for a few seconds, their mouths shut in a thin line.

“I don’t think…”

“I’m off duty Commander. Besides, if you have any orders send me them on a letter.” – She stood up, but the room started spinning. Cole held her in place.

“I will accompany you to your quarter…” – He straightened his spine and rested his hand on the sword’s pommel after a deep breath.

“You will do no such thing. I am fine and can find my way to wherever I please.” – She leaned on the table. – “Which reminds me that I need to find a warmer place, my bedroll is too cold for my liking.” – She regretted saying it; it was a childish move.

“Is that so?! I can help you with that. I heard Gregor is interested. There’s also Jasper and Trevor, I’ve noticed the way they studied you on our way back from the Winter Palace, I can go talk to them.” – Cullen’s lips were curved in a mocking smile and his eyes danced with mischievousness.

“I-I… You can’t… I mean… I don’t wanna…!” – She stammered.

Cullen slowly walked to her side, pleased with her response. There were only the two of them in the tavern.

“I can think about at least two or three more men who would gladly warm you tonight. Two of them are right here in the tavern. One of them is talking to Cabot; the other is dancing with a lovely lady.” – He was getting closer to her.

Áine didn’t know what to do. She blinked a few times and rubbed her left arm. She started fidgeting and bit her lower lip. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no words come out of it. She saw Cullen approaching but was frozen in place.

“Thank you; I can do it on my own.” – She managed to say in the end, not looking him in the eyes.

“Is it because they are soldiers? Do you desire a person with more…” – He took the final step that separated them. – “control?” – His low throaty voice in her ear achieved his intended goal. Her body was trembling, and a low raw moan escaped her mouth.

He placed his hand on her waist and smiled when her body trembled again under his touch. He faced her and tucked some of her hair behind her ear and took the opportunity to brush his fingers on her lips. She was staring at the floor, so he held her chin, and she finally looked at him.

She couldn’t believe he had this kind of power over her, but when she saw his wanting eyes, she knew he needed her as much as she needed him. Two could play the game.

She bit her lower lip and let it slowly slide between her teeth. She trailed his arm up to his exposed neck and with the tip of her fingers she touched his lips.

“Cullen…” – She let his name take longer on her lips than necessary, and caressed the back of his neck with her right fingertips. When he closed his eyes, she raised her left hand to his nape and sank her fingers into his hair.

She pulled him close and rested her forehead on his lips.

“You know there’s no one I want beside you, Cullen” – He rested his hands on the small of her back. – “It is time for me to go. There’s nothing else for a mage like me here, Ser templar.”

She walked away, and he let his hand travel down her arm while she left and before their bodies parted he held her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Áine…”

She looked at him, gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand.

“I know you’re not a templar anymore.”

Cullen watched her go with his hand on his chest. Blackwall helped her with an arm around her waist. He knew she was in good company.

Áine laid on her bedroll, the sunlight starting to penetrate the place. She remembered her last moments with Cullen, how close his lips were, his touch.

Amell came next. Her smooth skin with no scars came to view, and she caressed her burned arm and the scar on her jaw; her beautiful, perfect long hair the total opposite of hers, the color blue like sadness, a perfect reminder that she would never be happy, she could never be happy; piercing emerald eyes looking back at her, reminding her that she would never be enough for Cullen.

She sat up and punched the floor when she remembered he saw right through her when she said she was going to look for someone to warm her bedroll. He knew her; there was no discussing that. She stood up and gathered her things. She went to the stable to fetch a horse.

She felt weak and rested her head on the wall, and the dryness of her mouth remembered her of how much she had drunk, and suddenly she was vomiting on a somewhat secluded part of the place, which she thanked the Maker.

She cleaned her mouth with the back of her hand and mounted the horse. She crossed Skyhold’s gate without looking back. Her journey to Caer Bronach would take around a week, and she had already said her goodbyes.

 Thank you again! I know how much your time is precious!

#áine #aine #cullen rutherford #chapter 35 #farewell ser templar #farewell #templar

[commander-krios]

A Dare (Lavellan/Cullen)

Merry Christmas! Here is my Dragon Age Secret Santa gift for @connortemple. I hope you like it! It’s a little silly and not Christmas themed, but I had fun writing it! This was for @santa-age and it was great! I will have to do this again next year. Some of the fic is under a ‘read more’ so please read it on a desktop if you can.

Sera’s laughter echoed in the cool evening air. Dunes rose above them in dark shadowy shapes, almost eerie in the velvety sky. It had been a hard day of trudging through hot sand in the Hissing Wastes, attempting to find a dragon that was bothering their scouts.

Now, as the group sat in their camp after a tiring day, Janus Lavellan smirked as the archer’s face turned a delightful shade of red, even visible in the glow of firelight.

“That was a good one, eh?” She mumbled between giggles. “Who’s next?”

Dorian Pavus lifted the glass in his hand and motioned towards their leader, a mischievous grin on his handsome face. “Our darling Inquisitor is next, I suppose.”

The Iron Bull laughed as different possibilities ran through his head. “This ought to be good. What do you say, boss? Wanna tell us a secret or do something daring?”

Janus thought about her choices. There were a lot of things she didn’t wish to talk about, and knowing Bull, he’d easily get answers out of her. He had a way about him that made it easy to divulge even the most sensitive of information to his waiting ears. Her only concern was that there was an evil glint to the Qunari’s eye. She could imagine the things he’d come up with for a dare.

Biting her lip, she tried to decide.

“Oy, come on, yeah?” Sera shouted, drunkenly. The ale had already consumed her tiny form and it made her responses even more hilarious than usual. “We ain’t got all night, do we?”

Dorian snorted. “Don’t rush her. It’s not an easy choice to make.”

“Ain’t easy? What ‘bout it ain’t easy?” Sera looked confused, her gaze going between her three companions. “Huh?”

Bull shook his head at the elf. “Just because you like to do crazy shit-”

“Oy! You find that crazy shite hil… hil… ah, forget it!” Sera took another drink of alcohol before letting out a hiccup. Bull roared with laughter.

“Fine!” Janus replied, holds up her hands in surrender. If only to get them off of her back… “I choose something daring. I’m not telling you arses any of my secrets.”

Sera let out an excited squeal before toppling over the back of the rock she’d been seated on. While Dorian left the comfort of the fire to check on her, Janus took the opportunity to meet Bull’s eyes. She could tell he was thinking especially hard about the dare. Maker, she was so screwed.

Once Sera was seated again, Dorian sitting beside her to make sure she didn’t tumble over, Bull chuckled.

“What?” Janus asked, worried about what she was going to have to do. The Qunari didn’t respond at first and Janus narrowed her eyes at him.“Bull...”

“Remember how you were telling me about how you and curly hadn’t… ehem?” Bull winked, but didn’t finish the question. Janus knew exactly what he was implying.

“No.” Anything but that.

“What?” Sera asked, staring glassy-eyed at the Inquisitor. “I wanna know.”

Dorian whispered the answer in Sera’s ear. Janus was glad for that much at least.

The rogue let out a long whistle, her eyes widening in shock. “Shite. What’s grumpy pants’ problem, eh? Ida done you hundred times over by now.”

“Sera!” Janus laughed, knowing that the elf was only speaking the truth, but this was not something she wanted to talk about with her friends. She was far from being an innocent in sex, but what she and Cullen had was new… different. If he hadn’t approached her about taking their relationship to that level, she didn’t want to push him into it. The man was nervous around her enough as it was.

“Look, boss. I’m not saying to seal the deal or anything.” Bull continued, unaware of her inner turmoil. “But at least get his feathers ruffled. It’s clear that the man needs it.”

“Yes, Cullen is too uptight.” Dorian agreed, glancing at the Qunari. “Do you know why that is?”

“Because he’s an enormous-”

Janus sighed and rubbed her nose, not hearing what Sera called her boyfriend, but imagined that it was extremely offensive and probably just as funny. She sighed again at her wandering thoughts. Even ‘boyfriend’ didn’t seem like the correct word to call Cullen. Janus suddenly dropped her hand, glaring at Bull. “I change my mind.”

“Ya can’t do that.” Sera snapped, her eyes slanting in anger and frustration. “Ya already said yes, so get outta here and find blondie. Then you can-”

Her words were cut short by the sound of heavy boots approaching. Janus knew who it was going to be before she even glanced up. The man she adored stood a few feet behind Sera, rubbing the back of his neck like he usually did when nervous. He studied the group in front of him before turning his attention to Janus.

“Please don’t stop talking on my account.” He said, his voice sounding unsure. It was obvious that he hadn’t intended on coming over, but clearly needed to ask her something. “I just needed to speak to the Inquisitor for only a moment.”

Janus wasn’t usually the type to get embarrassed, but as she stared up at the former templar, her throat closed up, rendering her unable to speak.

It seemed the others noticed and began to snicker. She frowned at them, hating how easy it was to get tongue tied around Cullen.

Cullen saw the fear in her eyes and taking the initiative, held out his hand invitingly. “Join me for a walk?”

Taking a leap of faith, Janus nodded before placing her hand softly into Cullen’s. She heard Sera giggling as the pair walked away from the fire pit, their hands entwined. Once she was positive her friends couldn’t hear them, Janus dropped his hand and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Are you cold, Inquisitor?”

The sound of her title bothered her for the first time since she’d been put in charge. If anyone had a reason not to use it, it was Cullen...

Janus turned to speak to him, a biting retort to his question on her tongue, and stopped before she could form the words. He had taken off the fur cloak that he usually wore and wrapped it around her shivering body. The wolf’s fur was warm, soft, as her fingers caressed it absentmindedly. It was a lovely gesture, but that wasn’t what had gained her attention.

Cullen’s arms were now uncovered.

His muscles flexed as he pulled away, rubbing his hands together as a chill took him. His tanned skin shone bright in the light of the moon, adding to the strange allure that she had for him. Janus felt a fluttering in her stomach at the sight of him, looking like a god under the night sky. His golden eyes met hers and his face softened at what he saw there.

Her mouth grew dry as he moved closer, his blond curls catching the light of the moon. She wasn’t sure happened to her in his presence, but she was positive that if he asked her to bed, she’d melt.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen whispered, his hand brushing her cheek gently.

“Hm?” Her heart thundered in her chest at the touch.

Cullen ran his hand down the fur that now covered her shoulders. It wasn’t a sensual movement, but to Janus, it was the most intimate thing that had happened between them. The commander leaned closer and placed a hand against her hip. When he pulled her against his chest, she was positive that he had heard her quick intake of breath.

Cullen leaned down and kissed her on the lips softly, the moment quiet and tender and definitely unexpected. He pulled away too soon for her liking and Janus sighed, her eyes closed as she felt his kiss linger on her lips.

In the next moment, his lips were at her ear, his hot breath brushing her cheek as he spoke. “It looks like one of us won this dare, Janus.”

Janus’ face heated. Cullen pulled away, giving her a smirk before walking away. Her gaze moved downwards and with a grin of her own, she watched the little pep the kiss had put into his step. Bull whistled from his spot by the fire.

Laughing, Janus touched her lips. Cullen was unknowingly going to start a war and she couldn’t wait to see how it played out.

#my writing #santaage2017 #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age: inquisition #connortemple #hawketrash #janus lavellen #f!lavellan #cullen rutherford #lavellan x cullen #f!lavellan x cullen #janus x cullen #f!inquisitor x cullen #dorian pavus #the iron bull #iron bull #sera

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter 3

Rating: Mature Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo MASTERPOST: A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

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CHAPTER THREE- Elsie

My dear sister Elsie,

Firstly I want to apologise. I’ve spent such an awfully long time practising my penmanship skills (as my tutor insisted upon) and as such I was forbidden to reply to your last note until I had mastered the perfect flicks on my lettering. Well, what do you think?

I am thrilled to hear you’re going to be an Enchanter! I confess that I know very little of Circle hierarchy, but I assume that it’s a promotion of sorts? If so, then hurrah! You deserve it. You’ve always worked hard.

I actually have news of my own. As you know, my studies at home are coming to an end (finally!) and I’ve been deciding what I want to do with my life. Lucetta and mother have always said I could stay at the estate and become a sensible gentlewoman and find a nice husband. Oh, but how dull! I’ve been humouring them for sure. Honestly Elsie - can you imagine me hosting tea parties and soirees?

No… so I’ve had somewhat of an epiphany, I think. I would like to say that I’ve always been a faithful follower of the Maker. So… I’m joining the Chantry. For mother, I think it’s the next best thing so she should be satisfied. But I’m not doing this for her, or even for myself. I truly want to help spread the Chant of Light and help those who aren’t as privileged as us. It doesn’t feel like the noble or honourable thing to do; just the right thing. That’s how I know it’s what I must do.

- A letter from Cecelia Trevelyan to her eldest sister Elsie Trevelyan at the Ostwick Circle. 9:36 Dragon.

3. Elsie

When Elsie awoke the morning after the official forming of the Inquisition, she sat up in bed, felt her head hammer with an awful hangover and flopped back down on the feather mattress, pulling the covers over her head. I never should’ve let Varric Tethras buy me drinks all night , she thought miserably. What made it worse was that whilst she had felt giddy and tipsy, Varric had been jolly and yet Solas - who had consumed just as much ale as the pair of them - had sat all composed with a sly smile on his face, as if he couldn’t feel the effects of alcohol. As such, Varric had continued to buy more rounds of drinks, just to see if the elf would waiver but Solas had only chuckled and drank away whilst maintaining his sober composure. Some of Elsie’s closest friends in the Circle had been elves and none of them had held their liquor particularly well at all.

With a groan, Elsie rolled over, wrapping herself as tight as she could in her cocoon of blankets. Thank the Maker we aren’t travelling today , she thought. Even thinking about the motion of riding on horseback was enough to make her feel -

She gagged and shuddered, pushing all thoughts of motion out of her mind and instead tried to get comfortable again. After another wave of nausea crashed over her and she not-so-elegantly stumbled out of bed and retched in her chamber pot, did she collapse into an almost comatose state on the bed. Oh, if only my noble family could see me now…    

Suddenly she sobered and sat up, her breath catching. Family. Her family. Three out of the four Trevelyan daughters had attended the Conclave. All who had attended were dead, except for her. So her sisters -

It was finally hitting her. Her sisters Cecelia and Evelyn were gone. Snuffed out in an instant and yet she remained, her alone. Thousands had died, yes, but to lose not one but two of her sisters…

Elsie pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. It didn’t feel real and yet she had always been pragmatic and faced the facts. That's what her father had always loved about her - her pragmatism and ability to look at the wider picture, to think forward and not back. But how could she do that when two of her sisters were instantly killed and she was unable to remember a thing? Not one damn thing! She cursed. Guilt clawed into her belly, pulling uneasily at her gut. Perhaps Cassandra had been right to have her in chains. Maybe she had done something but couldn’t remember?

Idly, as she turned those thoughts over in her mind, she weaved a trickle of fire through her fingers, her movements as delicate as if she were playing keys on a piano forte. Elsie had always been the best at that instrument when they were children, despite the tough and sometimes bored exterior she exuded. The piano forte had been Elsie’s preferred instrument and before her magic had quickened, she and Evelyn would regularly hold small concerts to the servants in their home. Evelyn had been particularly talented with the lyre. But then Elsie remembered that Evelyn was dead and it didn’t matter how good a musician she had been. She was gone, and they had never truly got the chance to reconcile.  

A harsh rap at her cabin door intruded her dark thoughts and she absentmindedly said “enter”, even though she was still sat curled up on her bed in little more than a loose fitting shirt and breeches.  

The door to her cabin opened and a blast of cold air swept inside, but not enough to extinguish her flames tickling her fingers. Her visitor shut the door behind them and stomped their feet on the mat to brush the snow off. That’s when Elsie snapped her head up as the visitor was not someone she would’ve expected.

The templar - well Commander now, apparently - was dusting his boots off and was not looking at her as he began to speak.

“Herald; my apologies for the intrusion, but I’ve brought with me the latest reports from Corporal Vale-” he stopped abruptly when he finally came into the cabin fully. He stared at her and was transfixed at her control of the fire magic she was still weaving between her fingers.

A lick of anger flared in her stomach and her flames sparkled in response. So she snuffed them out with a wave of her hand. That little action earned her an ill-concealed flinch from the commander, and Elsie wasn’t sure if that was a small victory over him or not.

A thick silence fell between them until Elsie sighed and stood, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m not an arsonist, don’t worry,” she muttered, taking the papers from the commander's hand.

He seemed to snap out of thoughts when she spoke. “I never said you were.”

Elsie snorted. “And yet you’re looking at me with your other hand on the hilt of your sword as if I’ve grown two heads... or about to turn into an abomination.”

He let go of his grip, as if scolded by fire and frowned at her. “Old habits die hard,” he eventually said but Elsie had turned away to read the reports. She continued to pretend to read until he took the hint. She heard him sigh and leave her cabin, closing the door behind him with a firm thud.

Elsie slouched her shoulders and stared back at the closed door. She had been short with him, but what was she supposed to do? Pretend to be fine with him pretending not to be keeping an eye on her and her magic when he clearly was? Still, as she set the reports aside and looked around for her clothes, it had been rather unfair of her. She thought back to when he had escorted Cecelia to her, before the Conclave. If they had never found Elsie, then perhaps Cecelia would’ve stayed in Haven and avoided -

No. Elsie shook herself. She couldn’t think of maybes, ifs, and what could've been. The Templar had been helping her sister. Surely she would’ve done the same in his place? And it’s not like he knew that there was going to be an explosion, killing thousands…

After getting washed and dressed, Elsie braided her hair down her back and slung her old staff over her shoulder. As she stepped outside of her cabin into the crisp midday sun, she turned her eyes upwards towards the Breach and exhaled slowly. The mark on her hand had flared a little, but had also been stable since their attempt to close the hole in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough and she needed more. The Inquisition needed more.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Elsie made her way through the village, pushing aside all thoughts of the daunting challenge ahead and how it felt like she was tiptoeing on a precipice of change, of something bigger than themselves.

“Dimples!”

Elsie looked up to see Varric waving her over near the Chantry. Cassandra stood with him as well as - oh perfect, she thought. The Commander.      

“Finally joined the world of the living?” Varric said lightly. She could feel the Commander’s judgemental gaze on her, but decided to not even acknowledge his presence and focused her attention on Varric.

“I see you’re chirpier than usual, even though you drank just as much,” she replied with a frown.

The dwarf chuckled. “Now, now, you only think I drank as much as you and Chuckles. It’s one of my many talents.”

“And is one of your so-called ‘talents’ to also be a smug know-it-all?” Elsie retorted, using her hands to exaggerate her point. She heard something like a snort come out of Cassandra. Was that a suppressed giggle? Surely not…  

“Why Dimples; I pride myself on it,” Varric grinned and Elsie couldn’t help but smile back and shake her head.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Must you give ridiculous nicknames to everybody, Varric?”

Cullen finally spoke. “Yes, I was wondering the same thing. And why ‘Dimples’ for the Herald?”

Varric pointed at her, making Elsie’s face flush involuntary as they all looked at her. “Because surely you’ve noticed Curly, that when our beloved Herald smiles, she has dimples on her cheeks.”

Elsie finally looked at the Commander and took her opportunity to have a little fun. Without missing a beat she deadpanned: “And those aren’t my only dimples either, Commander; but not many people have been lucky enough to see those .”

To her great satisfaction the burly and stoic Commander’s cheeks reddened and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, whilst Varric burst into booming laughter and Cassandra smirked.

“Ha! She got you there, Curly!”

Elsie didn’t take her eyes off Cullen. Oh, what she would do to be in his head right now to know what he was thinking. “So, Curly is it?”

He refused to meet her gaze. “No.”

Varric pointed to Cullen’s hair, which was a warm golden blonde with a slight wave. “His hair used to be curly, back in Kirkwall.”

Elsie froze. Kirkwall? She thought, her gut twisting.

“The Commander spends more time on his hair than any of us ladies,” a new voice said from behind them. The serious Spymaster Leliana had stealthily approached and even she had a small smile on her face. “Isn’t that right, Cullen?”

The commander stuttered before dismissing himself and headed into the Chantry. Varric laughed again and Elsie plastered on a good-natured smile. Kirkwall eh? She thought. That’s something I need to pick up later.

Later that day, after the final arrangements were made to ready their departure to the Hinterlands, Elsie entered Ambassador Montilyet’s office, following a request for a meeting. With a sinking heart, Elsie knew this was going to be about her family and had already put off meeting Josephine twice already.

She pushed open the office door to find the Ambassador talking with -

Oh perfect. Again?

Commander Cullen looked up at the same time as Ambassador Montilyet. He frowned at her, making her insides lick irritably. It seemed that her little flirtatious joke hadn’t been as warmly received as she had hoped. And yet he was always so cold and impassive; maybe seeing a disapproving or even mildly angry side of him would be more interesting, even if just to convince her he was actually human, capable of some sort of emotion.

“Ah, Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said, clearly missing the glare they were sharing or choosing to ignore it. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just reiterating to Cullen the importance of securing more noble allies.”

“So they can clog up the village and come crying when their satin shoes get spoilt?” Cullen scoffed. “We need more troops, not some spoilt arsehole who’s had everything given to them on a golden platter.”

Oh, he really is just asking to be vexed, isn’t he? Elsie forced a smile.

“Normally I would be inclined to agree with you, Commander,” she said, and he blinked in surprise but it soon turned to a frown as Elsie continued. “We aren’t all silk slippers and dainty cakes. What a wide assumption you make of nobility; especially when you - a templar - are so quick to stop rash assumptions of yourself.”

They stared at one another, the air thick with unsaid arguments and tension like earlier that morning.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he said slowly. “You’re a mage from a Circle, I thought.”

Elsie bristled. “Yes, and I lost all rank and respect when I was forced into the Circle.”

Josephine cut in, sensing a heated argument on the verge of disrupting her calm office. “Lady Elsie is the eldest of the Trevelyan daughters, and was-”

“Was heir, until it was all taken from me: because I’m a mage.”

Another silence, thick and heavy filled the room. Commander Cullen regarded her coolly, his eyes dark with anger and something else, she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Finally he inclined his head. “I’ll leave you to your meeting, Lady Ambassador. Lady Trevelyan,” he said stiffly.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him, Elsie let out a breath and exchanged a look with Josephine.

“What an infuriating man,” Elsie muttered. “He does it on purpose,” she continued, taking a seat opposite Josephine.

Josephine’s eyebrows shot up. “What makes you say that?”

Elsie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I barely know the man, but he baits me at almost every chance he gets. And I can’t help but get riled up.”

“Try not to worry, Herald. Just let him do his job and he will let you do yours.”

Elsie shook her head. “I don’t think it’s possible. As a templar, he can’t help but watch mages. Oh yes, he may say he isn’t one anymore, but just because I’m no longer in a Circle, doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mage.”

Josephine shifted. “What you said to Cullen, about you being the Trevelyan heir… well I think we can use that fact to our advantage.”  

Elsie didn’t comment on Josephine’s excellent diversion in conversation to get on to the matter at hand. She looked at the Antivian with renewed respect.

“I was disinherited, my lady. There may no longer be Circles, but there is no chance of my position in my family being restored. Nor would I want it to: I couldn’t do that to my sister Lucetta, when she is on the cusp of taking over from my father.”

Josephine smiled. “That is a noble gesture indeed, but you are right, there is little chance of you being restored to your former position.” She spread her hands. “That being said, now that you are the Herald of Andraste, your situation is somewhat unique, and the Trevelyan name does carry some weight, even in Orlais. If you are happy, I would like to freely distribute your family name when spreading the word of the Herald of Andraste.”

She nodded. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

The ambassador made a mark on her ledger. “And your family: would they be satisfied if we were to contact them? Would they help our cause?”

Elsie smiled humorlessly. “My father loves politics and my mother loves to gossip and both are as devoted to the Chantry as the other. I can’t see it being a problem at all.” Indeed, Mother may even forget the shame I brought to the family as a mage, Elsie added silently. Well, probably not, but maybe she won’t pretend I’m dead anymore.

Josephine sensed something left unsaid and looked at her kindly. “Would you like me to write a letter to your parents? It can come from me, or I can ghostwrite one for you…?”

She smiled with relief. “That would be appreciated, Lady Ambassador. I’m sure you can say things more… eloquently than I could ever hope to.”

“You’re too kind, my lady,” Josephine smiled warmly. “I will have a draft letter drawn up today for you to review and sign before you leave for the Hinterlands in the morning”.

-

The rest of the day was spent preparing for her departure from Haven. She had been used to travelling light from her time as an apostate following the fall of the Circles, so had little to pack in the first place. However, as she looked around the cabin, she felt suffocated by the small space and the lack of freedom she had in the tiny village. Things had changed so considerably, that she just wanted to be herself again, if just for a moment.

Elsie picked up her staff by the door of her cabin and pulled on her boots and a new thick coat which had been given to her for her journey. Outside, the light was beginning to fade and the evening was drawing ever closer. It was the perfect time to slip out of the village and head for a walk without being disturbed, as the soldiers and almost everyone else in the village halted in their activities and listened to the urgent growl of their hungry bellies.

Since she had been in Haven, her appetite had dwindled. She had always been known as the girl with the hearty appetite back in the Circle, and her robes had clung to her quite tightly in places, but she had been happy and eating had been something to pass the time when there was little else to do sometimes. Now after a year of being on the run and having to work or hunt for her meals, her robes had begun to hang loosely and her new outfits courtesy of the Inquisition, were very different and also much smaller… and yet comfortable. She knew that she should eat more, especially in Haven, where food was thankfully plentiful for everyone, despite their remote location. The next few weeks would be different but even so, she couldn’t find it in herself to be hungry. Not when it was a feeling her sisters would feel again.

And they won’t feel anything. Because they're dead.

Elsie kept her head down and pulled up her hood and walked down to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around herself. Already at the shore, the noisy bustle from the village grew distant, and as she continued to walk further away, it all but faded, so all she could hear was the crunch of her boots in the fresh snow, and the water lapping quietly. She slowed her pace once she was on the far side of the lake and for the first time in a very, very long time, she was totally alone. No one could see her and no one was watching her.

She smiled bitterly. Oh, how she had longed for this solitude when she had been in the Circle. There had been a modest courtyard garden at the Ostwick Circle, but there was always someone else there. A templar, or a mage or a tranquil. You were never truly on your own in a Circle. And on the run she had always stuck with fellow apostates, as it really was strength in numbers. But now…

Finally Elsie came to a stop and looked across the lake. She may have been alone, but she still felt far from it. She didn't need to look up to know about the gaping hole in the sky. Especially when its eerie green hue was reflected in the otherwise calm waters of the lake. No matter where she went, Elsie knew that the Breach would follow her, like a giant eye boring down on her every move.

But she paused at that thought and slowly lifted her head up to look straight into the Breach. Was the Maker there? Was that the reason why she felt this heavy presence ooze from the sky??

Perhaps she truly was the Herald of Andraste. What a ridiculous notion, she thought. If anyone had any right to be the Herald of the Maker’s Bride, surely it would’ve been her innocent and pious sister, Cecelia?

Cecelia. Her lovely round face, dotted with freckles and her bucktooth smile filled Elsie’s mind and she let out an involuntary sob that startled her. Cecelia, whose life was just beginning, was dead. And was it her fault? Why had Cecelia - sweet and innocent Cecelia - died, and she survived?

And Evelyn. Evie, her templar sister. She had also been a faithful woman, bounding herself to the Maker by joining the Templars. And yet her life had been snuffed out too. Evie, with her strong jaw, her cropped hair and her rare smile. She had possessed an intelligence and wit that many underappreciated or took for granted. Their relationship had been strained due to the war, but blood was still blood, and sisterhood was a bond stronger than one could describe.

Tears were streaming down her face now and Elsie clenched her fists, glaring at the Breach. How dare the Maker take their lives from the world. In a world already dark and foreboding, why had He designed to snatch their lives away? The pair of them were worth more to the faith than Elsie by far. And yet here she stood. The lone survivor. The Herald of Andraste.

Her anger flared, her clenched fists shook and without warning her fingers began to tingle and fire licked her hands and forearms. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t just.

Elsie screamed in rage and fell to her knees in the snow. The fire at her fingertips hissed as they were extinguished. Her body wracked in sobs and her chest heaved, struggling for breath as the reality of her loss, of her survival, of her burden, became a harsh and brutal reality for her.

She may not have believed she was the Herald of Andraste, but as she looked over towards the village of Haven, where the Inquisition banners flapped in the wind, she realised that all of those people did believe she was sent to save them all. That she had survived for a reason. And yet she did not have a clue what to do.

When the tears on her cheeks and dried and the cold air was sharp in her lungs, her breathing steadied and she slowly rose to her feet. Elsie dusted the snow off her breeches and inspected her gloves which were a little singed. She brushed the hair out of her eyes that had come loose from her braid and slowly made her way back to the village.

A shiver down her spine made her look up in the evening light and she stopped in her tracks when she saw that she was no longer as alone as she had initially thought.

Commander Cullen stood on his own, looking right at her, with his sword half drawn. The steel caught the green light of the Breach and Elsie’s gut twisted at the sight of him and his stance. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he had been a templar of some authority, and all at once she felt like a shy apprentice, closing in on herself.

But she was so exhausted that she couldn’t even begin to want to fight with him again, or tease him. A wave of cold washed over her as he simply looked at her; his face, as always, an unreadable mask. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to pretend they hadn’t seen each other.

Instead, she walked towards him, never once breaking eye contact, before stopping when they were level with one another and did something that surprised even her. Elsie placed a hand on his arm.  

She meant to say something - anything - but no words came to mind. Perhaps she was offering some prospect of peace between them. But as her hand rested just a little longer on his arm, she felt the heat of him. She needed a human touch to not feel so alone and for one ridiculous moment she had wanted to fall into his arms. A funny thought crossed her tired mind that he would probably be a good hugger. He smelt... comforting. Elderflower. Oakmoss. And it startled Elsie that she felt his presence could be to not just foreboding but also a little comforting. She wanted to say more, she wanted to lean in, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure which thought scared her the most.

Elsie dropped her hand and left Cullen staring after her. But he did not say a word, nor did he follow. Something in Elsie’s gut twisted again, and it terrified her.

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#Fic: Believe Again #Believe Again #my writing #long post #elsie trevelyan #cullen #cullen rutherford #culsie #cullen rutherford x inquisitor #fanfiction #dragon age