#Orzammar was an interesting and terrible time for her

[dragonagecompanions]

DAI Companions reactions to repeatedly being mistaken for a young/teen Inquisitor's parent or older sibling.

Cassandra: At times it feels like she is, and yet it is never something the seeker begrudges. This young person has stepped into a role no one their age should have to fulfill, and with so many relying on them to save the world at least one person should be standing in the role of guardian and protector of their interests. She only wishes it could be her sole priority.

And if, in quiet moments, to have a sibling again is a balm then it a truth no one else need know.

Varric: He was a lousy brother, though is was not as if Bertrand was winning any awards either. But he never really understood the pressures his older brother was under until stepping into part of that role— and Varric never had the strain of ailing mother or the loss of Orzammar on his shoulders. No, he is not sibling material.

But no father could be prouder of a child than he is, watching their young leader stitch the world back together. Kid needs looking after, and Varric Tethras is honored in the burden.

Solas: If the Inquisitor is elven, no matter his plans for the future, the rift mage feels a sort of obligatory kinship to the da’len so far from clan or kin. Children have always been precious, especially to the Elvhen who did not conceive so easily as humans.

For any other inquisitor he does not correct those who make the mistake, and will turn it into a familiar joke later that the herald must be the most attractive of thei species to be mistaken for an elf. It hides how little he cares for the comparison.

Kin slaying is a terrible crime. Best not to build the relationship from the start.

Blackwall: In another life Thom Rainier had scorend the idea of children, and taken pains to ensure that his dalliances would not conceive a bastard he had no intention of claiming. Now his family name is hardly worth the claiming, and he is grateful his only sister took her husband’s name long ago and is free of his legacy.

But as a warden, true or otherwise, Blackwall is honored by such a comparison. If his presence has had any small benefit to the young person upon whom such a task is laid then he is honored by the comparison. And while he would be the first to argue that no one is better off in his care or keeping, Blackwall would be the first to lay down his life to protect theirs, and will do everything he can to make sure they are well.

Vivienne: For the sake of his grown children- and the wife who had done her duty in the bearing- Bastian could not have given her a child. Even if he could have protected it from the clawing hands of the Circle, whose laws had forbidden such a gift. To be a mother was not in her future, and in her youth Vivienne had taken steps to ensure such an accidental fate could never befall her.

But she could have been. In the quiet moments through out the years she had imagined how such a child might grow, might flourish under the love and guidance of two parents who so deeply wanted it. And while the Inquisitor is neither replacement nor surrogate for that dream, in this young person Madame de Fer can see a reflection of what might have been.

If she takes care to guard their appearance, coach their behavior and prepare them as best she can for the great game, it is easily couched in the truth that it benefits the Inquisition to do so. The truth of her affection is hidden away, no further burden on shoulders already heavy with titles and too few years.

But she can dream.

Sera: When she does think about her childhood, the few times it has to be examined, Sera would not have minded another small person to have run about with. It might have made the lessons and the lies less lonely, to know someone else was there to ride through it with.

But there wasn’t. And she didn’t. And she likes the Inquisitor, is happy to have them as both friend and Friend. But family is a sore spot in the tapestry of her life, and adding patches to warped thread does not fix the faulty loom.

Dorian: It is the worst nightmare of most high born alti, that one’s parents might conceive a second child to rival them for the familiar seat in the magisterium. Never a risk for Halward and Aquinea, whose duties to each other and the marriage bed ended w it the birth of a living and magically inclined son.

And yet Dorian would not have minded a younger Pavus knocking about when he had been a boy, someone to share the duties and adventures of Minrathious in those few years before duty locked away simpler pleasures. But when he is first mistaken for the Inquisitor’s father, first mistakenly assigned that guardianship and all it brings?

It staggers him, how deeply the role could fit. For all that their creation is anathema to them, Dorian Pavus would never scorn a child of his blood. Of any blood, in truth. If their herald is young enough and without guardianship, without a future once Corypheus is defeated…

It is a thought for later.

The Iron Bull: Where is the lie? Was he any less worthy of the imereki than those who had left them behind? The feelings that well up when the mistaken role is given do not surprise him, and Bull is perhaps the easiest of any besides Cassandra with taking on that burden. The Chargers are his family, and if they survive the Storm Coast the little Herald is gathered up into that fold without question.

And even with one eye he can see the second Dorian accepts and even relishes the idea. The Iron Bull didn’t come South looking for a family, but one may well be within his grasp regardless.

Cole: “Shared name, shared memories, tied together by all the things that matter. Even when we don’t agree there is still love and trust, striving for something greater than we are. Yes! We are a family. That makes sense.”

Mod Fereldone

#cassandra pentaghast #solas #varric tethras #warden blackwall #vivienne de fer #sera #dorian pavus #the iron bull #cole #dragon age inquisition #reaction #found family

[scribbledquillz]

What is the first think Revka noticed about Zev that went beyond the platonic?

Ahh thank you so much for asking and giving me a good excuse to ramble about these two. You're the best. : 3 This was an interesting thing to ponder over, because Revka admittedly found Zevran physically attractive in a non-platonic sense from the very beginning. I mean - look at him. Assassination attempt, dubious trust and insufferable (and effective) flirtations aside, there's no denying he's a very, very pretty man, and she is much too easy to see flustered and stammering.

The point where their relationship starts to grow from something strictly platonic to romantic is also a little hazy on both sides. Neither of them are the best at contending with their emotional attachment to one another, Zevran because of obvious reasons regarding how he was trained as a Crow and Revka because of a combination of inexperience, denial and the sense that the middle of a Blight she has personal responsibility to contend with is hardly an opportune time to add extra complications to things.

So there are moments earlier on that would - to literally anyone other than Revka - be easily seen as beyond platonic. The nights at the campfire where he smiles or laughs and she finds herself starting to watch him a little too long. The first time Zevran kisses her at the end of a particularly heated sparring match. Seeing him wear the cape and Dalish gloves she found and mended for him for the first time in the Frostbacks. All those little instances where she feels her ears turn warm and her stomach twisting and flipping in an oddly pleasant way that she shoves aside and refuses to look at deeper than surface level. She is well and truly smitten before the party enters Orzammar, she just doesn't know it yet. I think the realization that she feels something romantic comes during/shortly after their ordeal in the Deep Roads. Revka acts without hesitation to intervene when Zevran's life is in danger, and in turn the pair are separated from the main group and she is the one who winds up seriously injured. There's no other choice for her but to rely on him during this time, and to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of him in ways she hasn't had to be since she was a little girl, or ever in the case of someone she has (unacknowledged) feelings for. And while Zevran is wrestling with his own bout of fear at the thought of loosing her as well as the implications of what that fear means for him, Revka is spending that time in disbelief at herself. At how little difficulty there is for her to let him see her this way when she's never felt right making her burdens and troubles someone else's problem. And she realizes it's because she trusts him, maybe more than she should but still... she does.

Then when they finally are able to make it out of the Deep Roads and her nights are still difficult (I imagine the roads are TERRIBLE for the Blight dreams given how close they are to the horde), her first thought is to go to Zevran. And she does, and it's... easy? Her wanting to be with him, to lean on him a little more vastly outweighs any hesitation. And I think it's that moment when he invites her in to his room and doesn't so much as blink at her asking to spend the night with him that she feels the first gears clicking into place.

She won't act on it for a while longer, of course. And she does a passable job of convincing herself it doesn't matter and that she should just let things be. They're just close friends drinking from the same bottle and looking at each other a little too long. They're just close friends sharing a tent, arms around each other for warmth. He's just a close friend with his mouth at her neck and his hand down the front of her smalls in the middle of the night helping her "relax" so that she can sleep easier. Definitely just close friends, and her thoughts wandering to him off and on all hours of the day are only further proof of that.

But the gears are turning, and by the time they're near the end of their time in the Bracillian Forest she knows full well this goes well beyond anything just.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #revka tabris #zevran arainai #zevka #your fire burns in my veins #I hope that that answers the question you intended!! #revka is so bad at this lol #very much a meg #'i won't say i'm in love' indeed

[aylaaescar]

For the OC+different LI meme: Leeva Mahariel + Morrigan (I don't abide by her being straight), Farira Aeducan + Zevran (omg she's so pretty btw), and Quista Adaar + Josephine

you sure are right she isn't! idk how bioware expects me to believe Morrigan is straight when she has so many lines talking about how much she does not like men and generally looks down on them, like come on.

and oh man, these ones (sans Quista/Josie) are all pairs I actually really strongly considered for all of them and nearly made canon, fun fact ksdfjgsgk

Leeva + Morrigan

okay so Leeva and Morrigan were close from the beginning, and bonded because of how they were both comparatively "outsiders" to society, Dalish elf and forest witch. and I mean, Leeva did have a big crush on Morrigan, too. they just never pursued it for a number of reasons - mostly that they were still grieving Tamlen, and that they were wary about the idea of romance with a human.

I think that they could have worked well together as a couple if things had gone slightly differently! Leeva loves kids and would be such a doting parent to Kieran, for one. but at the same time, Leeva's a lot more shy and anxious and withdrawn while Morrigan is... not lol. and they might have been good for rounding out each other and being a balancing act, but I feel like it's just as likely that they wouldn't be able to mesh in that area and their personalities there would clash. idk if I'm explaining it particularly well, but I just get the feeling that Leeva's personality would sometimes be drowned out by Morrigan's bolder one, if that makes any sense at all?? whereas they're more emboldened by Tamlen and Zevran's personalities. but with all that said, I still occasionally wonder if Leeva/Morrigan would be better, so... :P

Farira + Zevran

let the record state that I haven't finished Farira's playthrough yet, or Quista's. (Farira appreciates the compliment, by the way! :D) so if I load up the game sometime and change my mind on her romances and decisions, well, such is how it goes when my mind and OCs are fickle and I haven't touched a playthrough in months. 🥴

anyway, Fari and Zev! I also really considered this one, since Fari and Zev can be on basically the same wavelength at times; Farira was sort of conceived as "partying sorority sister: Orzammar royalty edition" who has issues with Orzammar's society and emphasis on caste structure, but still loves her people. she's just not interested in ruling herself, and she doesn't like the idea that it's something she'll have to do, it's too much pressure and she doesn't want the job. but that's only marginally related and I talk too much LOL; I think they would get along well and they could also last for a while as a couple. the only issue is really that there just isn't that attraction between them, at least last time I played, but they're still great friends and they care about each other a lot.

Quista + Josephine

poor Quista, her playthrough is even more unfinished than Farira's is. that's my bad, I'll wrangle my brain into finishing it sometime (thank you, ADHD). but Quista and Josie would actually be terribly adorable together, I think, and they might be better suited for each other than my plans for Quista/Sera? my only issue with the idea atm is simply that I've done Josephine's romance already with Rionne Lavellan, and I really love Sera and want to see her romance with Quista lol. I like the idea that she'll be able to draw Quista more out of her shell and inspire her to have fun. but if Quista's more into Josephine, then that's fine too and I'll let her go for it. it's all pretty up in the air rn.

#ask tag #userbread #thank you!! this got so long skdfjgsg sorry #DA blogging #OC: Leeva Mahariel #OC: Farira Aeducan #OC: Quista Adaar #long post

[heniareth]

Here's that ask I promised :D Some more questions for the OC ask meme <3

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Companion they are closest to and why?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

(These are a lot again, it is so hard to hold back xD So take your time and no pressure as always :) Just excited to get to know more about your Astala <3)

Thank you for the ask!! I had this sitting for forever, life has kept me busy, but I'm so excited to give this a go XD And to delve into some aspects of Astala that I haven't given much thought yet, so that's exciting.

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Astala's biggest flaw when it comes to relationships is her inability to let go of people. On a positive note, this trait manifests as a very strong loyalty. On the negative side, it will lead her to cry after relationships that have ended and pour over them to try and find out what went wrong. It can also put her or other people she cares about in danger; especially in her position as the de facto leader of the companions, this could quickly lead to the loss of a whole unit (aka the three companions you can take with you on missions + the Warden). Luckily, she has Morrigan and Alistair (and Sten and Zevran) who can and will point out when a course of action is likely to put them in more danger than they already are.

Companion they are closest to and why?

Ooof, this is a tough one. Ironically, the romanceable four. Alistair is practically second-in-command, even though I imagine he’d protest at the title. They work closely together and are therefore quite close. Astala admires and respects Morrigan, even when her opinions and advice goes against most things Astala believes in. She’s the kind of friend you know would hide a body for you. Leliana is a friend in the more “common” sense. She and Astala both have a thing for nice clothing, their morals are similarly aligned, and they just get along in general. And then of course there’s Zevran, who’s Astala’s love interest. Funnily enough, they both started off annoying the hell out of each other over various petty reasons, and it takes them some time to really see each other for who they are. And from that point on there’s no turning back and they fall hard.

Thoughts on the Dalish?

The Dalish are an interesting subject. Astala hadn't met any previous to the Blight (although her cousin Shianni imagined her dad, who she never knew, to be a strong Dalish warrior). So to see them live these relatively normal lives when she encountered Zathrian's clan was... odd. But on the other hand, their lives were everything but normal because they spoke elvish, worshipped the Creators, had halla and could go wherever they wanted. So the first thing Astala did when she got there was ask a metric ton of questions about everything. On the other hand, the way some of the Dalish talk about the city elves makes her sad. They have a point , the city elves would probably treat one of the Dalish similarly, and she understands the distrust in anything that so much as smells of humans; but she still finds the divide tragic. She also thinks the Dalish are a bit too proud for their own good; but then again, how else are you going to defend yourself against a world that threw an Exalted March against your forebears' homeland?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

Astala is generally biased in favour of elves, and in favour of whoever she percieves to be the underdog in a given situation. This can lead her to get duped (it hasn’t yet in my current playthrough, but it probably will at some point).

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

When in stressful situations, Astala generally tries to remain in control of it. To do so, she relies heavily on whatever companions she has at the moment and the resources available, both in the environment and on her person. She tends to try and talk things out, but also to make rash judgements, which uuuuuh can backfire (she's quick to draw her blades, for instance, and that does not exactly help to deescalate situations). She also has a tendency to just seize control. She also will give orders and will expect others to follow them. The companions look to her as a leader, so that works out fine. In Redcliffe, however, she did find that the militia men would listen to the mayor, and not to her. That was frustrating for both parties.

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Human nobles. Just the whole package. From their fondness of dogs and their dainty dances (which her father, who was a bann's servant, would describe to her and her cousins) to their pointy-ended shoes and their petty grievances (because when you have enough money to boss other people around, all your grievances are petty, right?). A surefire way to keep the younger kids entertained was to pretend to be a noble, let them play servants, and have them wreak havoc upon you as they got orders wrong on purpose and "stole" the "noble's" belongings. Afyer the Blight, that fondness to ridicule sadly wanes away and leaves mostly frustration in its wake.

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Astala is a terribly heavy sleeper. If she dreams, she doesn't remember it come morning. She can therefore sadly not report any recurrent themes in her dreams as of now.

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Apart from the power trip in the Fade (she walked out smiling and continued to smile until Uldred turned into a pride demon), it was probably when she got her first job. She was 14 at the time and overheard some boys talking about how a merchant was expecting a big shipment and looking for new help. Up until then, she had been trying to get a job as a servant like her father, to no avail. On a whim she followed the boys, and lined up with the other hopeful candidates in front of the merchant's warehouses for a try-out (a selection process entailing an unpaid day of work). She proved herself to be strong enough to lift and carry crates, small and nimble enough to climb to where others couldn't reach, and above all she got extremely lucky. She was called back, first for one month, then for a trimester, then for one year and for another. And while Cyrion would have liked his daughter to have an easier and less dangerous job, he was proud right alongside her when she brought the first coins she had earned home.

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

I created Astala's first version (which I mentioned in this post) based on a character that was very much an ideal; strong, kind, and above all, brave and adventurous. That first heroic version then got put through all the trials and tribulations of the story, and I was very much going with my gut instinct and not with a predetermined idea of the character when I tokk her decisions. So basically, this first versions had a good chunk of my morals and priorities. After the Deep Roads, that first version started getting depth; she reacted very strongly to having to shoulder the responsability of chosing a new king for Orzammar, for Ferelden, and defeating the Archdemon. From that point on, I started exploring why that reaction might have been so strong. Astala as she is now is the product of that exploration (during which she acquired some fears and pain points she shares with me. Examples are the fear of messing up, the sometimes blind loyalty or the need to shoulder all the responsability). Bottom line: she definitely has parts that are mine, some of which she acquired over time, but she's her own person. She's not me.

---

That was a lot of fun!! Thank you so much for the ask and sorry for the delay >.< But I'm very happy I finally came around to it, I always love answering these

#astala tabris #dao #dragon age #warden tabris #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da:o #da: o #da: origins #the warden #the hero of ferelden

[retrowondergirl]

This is my first time writing so apologies if it’s terrible. I also couldn’t think of anything yesterday so I just skipped it to this. This is a Twitter event which you can click here to either join or read others fics

Day 2 - Nug

Synopsis: Tel and his friends travel to Orzammar to use the treaties upon the dwarves to help them against the Blight but he meets an unusual creature that he has never met before.

Characters: Tel Mahariel | Alistair Therin | Morrigan | Leliana Nightingale | Wynne | Bel the Mabari |

After saving the Circle from the demons, Tel and his team travel to Orzammar to have the dwarves join their cause in stopping the Blight. “Have you ever been to or atleast been near the Frostback Mountains?” Alistair asks with worried eyes. “Uh, no? To be honest Ali, I’ve never been to anywhere. The forest is all I know.” Tel has never heard of anything called the Frostback Mountains. He has heard of mountains but Alistair makes this one seem special to him. “What’s it like? It sounds cold.” Alistair chuckles at his statement. “Yes, it is. It’s very cold and also dangerous, so we’ll need to be very careful.” Tel laughs at the warning since he has just freed the Circle from demons. He thought what possibly could be worse than demons? Tel looks at Alistair with confidence and reassures Alistair “You worry too much, Ali.” Tel gave him the biggest smile “You’re right, I mean you just defeated big scary demons so what a little cold could do to you?” Alistair chuckled but he was still worried. The Wardens and their companions get ready for the freezing temperatures of the mountains and set off

Once they got to the mountains, they saw the entrance of Orzammar. Tel and Alistair look at it with awe, Leliana and Wynne chuckle at the two lads and Morrigan, well she just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. They had trouble at the gates but due to what them being Grey Wardens, the group were able to get in. As they enter they see two dwarven groups fighting each other. Tel wondered who they are and why are they fighting, and ask a nearby dwarf. The dwarf tells him that the king was murdered and those two were fighting for the throne. Tel was confused but the dwarf had already left before he could ask for more, then turns to Alistair looking at him with curiosity. Alistair knew exactly what he was gonna ask and explained to him about why there isn’t a king yet and tells him where they need to go next. Tel found it interesting since this stuff isn’t really in his clan. Satisfied, Tel marches through the Commons

As Tel goes through what appears to him to be a market, he sees a weird pink creature making squeaking sounds. Tel stares at the creature trying to understand what it is. Before Alistair can tell him what the creature is, Tel shouts at his companions, “IT’S A NAKED RABBIT! Where are your clothes little guy?” Everyone were at shock and couldn’t help but laugh to what Tel just said. Bel, the mabari hound, just looked at Tel with great confusion. Tel started to look everywhere for the “rabbit’s clothes” until Wynne stopped him. “Tel, it is born like this.” He was starting to get confused at what Wynne was saying. She chuckles at his expression “It isn’t a naked rabbit” Morrigan tried to intervene the conversation but Alistair made sure she didn’t. “This creature is called a Nug.” “What’s that?” Tel asks. Wynne sighs and points to what Tel believes to be a naked rabbit. She then explains what they are and what they do and her description made them sound very similar to a rabbit to him, a very lazy one. “So, it is a lazy naked rabbit but it’s called a Nug?” Tel says to Wynne “I guess my description would make it seem like that to you but yes they are called Nugs and they usually live down here.” “Because it’s warm and they have no clothes.” Tel says with such confidence “Thank you Wynne” he smiles to her and gives a pat on the shoulder. He then picks up the nug and brings it with him showing the creature to his companions telling them what the creature is. “I’m gonna bring it with us and we’ll save the world together, right Duncan?” As he cuddles with the nug. Alistair couldn’t help but notice the name Tel gave the nug and Alistair proceeds to pet the nug “That is right Duncan. We’ll save the world.” After they were done, the group heads off to Orzammar’s Diamond Quarters.

#dragon age #i try my best #mahariel #orzammar #stories of thedas

[ohhgren]

Suuuuuuuuuuuuper late but here’s my wip for this wednesday, figured I’d share a bit before it ventures into the nsfw territory (this whole part is sfw.) from a Oghren/Cousland/Isabela oneshot Tagging BTV: @kita-lavellan​ | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @morganlefaye79 | @dreadfutures | @midnightprelude | @drag-on-age | @nivenor-krosis | @inquisitoracorn | @dizmalzelenka | @kittynomsdeplume "Well, that is good to know," the pirate gleamed, glancing over her own cards at the Warden, teeth grazing her plump lower lip. “It’s your turn, sweet thing,” she added softly, her dark eyebrows disappearing under the brim of her massive, feathery hat. "Sweet thing?!" Oghren scoffed. He hadn't known Bryar all that long himself, but those were the last two words he'd have used to describe the Grey Warden. He recognised the pirate's expression a mile off. Was pretty certain he himself had been caught watching the Warden like that enough times, by Alistair, who went off to sulk, furiously rubbing his sword with a rag, or Wynne, who shook her head to warn him against it. It pissed Oghren off rotten, to see that shared, blatant interest from across the table. Only, now his competition happened to be some big, busty, gorgeous and glittering pirate lady, who was going to ruin his - already slim - chances!

Sod it! If he won, the Warden was just gonna have to cough up for some other long-legged blonde, and Oghren could go and pretend for twenty… fifteen… all of ten minutes... “Fuck it!” Bryar snapped, as she let her cards fly across the table, revealing her final hand and losses, fingers dragged through the gold braids of her hair. She bowed her head against them and groaned. The pirate bellowed in laughter, criss-crossing her feet. “Oh dear, such terrible luck!” Oghren grumbled. He couldn’t let the pirate win the sodding game! It was between the two of them now. Oghren was sure his hand was the winning one. It better well be! “HA-” He almost knocked the horns from the table, causing enough of a ruckus to draw people’s attention from all the cleavage - the flash of abs and ass - on display in the doorways.  With the pirate neatly placing her own in response, one look at her cards and Oghren knew he had won. “Alright, alright, you win, dwarf, you win!" The pirate rolled her eyes, declaring loudly, to settle both him and the muttering crowd. “There’s no way you could beat me at this,” Oghren continued proudly. “I’ve had a lot of practice. You see, in Orzammar, the Noble Hunters, while they wait for the nobles they often play with us warrior caste -” But the pirate woman was only half-listening to him, her dark, warm gaze had fallen back, predictably, to the sodding Warden, who seemed to be in some quiet altercation with one of the Pearl's patrons. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" "I think you are mistaken, good ser - " Oghren heard Bryar's clipped accent, unlike any other he'd heard at the brothel. Silky, unshakeable - sodding posh and proper. He didn't pity the man lingering at her side, dark greasy hair in curls to his chin, sneering down his hooked nose at her. He figured that was his mistake to make, deciding to antagonise the Warden, of all people. "No," the man continued, voice hoarse, "I do know yer. Your face is clear in my memory, see." Oghren shifted uncomfortably at the surprising venom in the stranger's tone. The pirate noticed it too, flitting to her boot, for a hidden weapon no doubt. This wasn't just some drunken fool stumbling in on the end of their game. There was something in the man's gait, his snide tone that set Oghren's teeth grinding. "You seem to have found us a little too late," the pirate spoke politely, shrugging, gathering the deck and shuffling them close to her chest, an act of distraction. "But, if you'd like to join us for another round -" "Oh, I've had you on my mind fer a while," the man continued. "One of Loghain's loyalists, I take it? They've always been subtle." Bryar hissed under her breath, a poisonous tone of her own. "I wonder, did he tell you how many thugs he has sent - and how many have failed?" "Loghain loyalists?" the stranger laughed, a harsh bark, "he's the bloody Teryn!" "Fergus Cousland is the Teryn." "So, it is you," the man's grin cracked open, split from ear to ear. "I remember you - and your mother… Nice looking family." Oghren could feel her trembling at his elbow. Not the shake of fear, but of unrelenting rage. Her fist was a white-knuckle ball in her lap. So, he wasn't fully versed in her human politics, he’d had spent enough time around nobles in Orzammar to recognise a blood feud when he saw it. It was the same on the surface as it was down below... Not the best time to be caught, in a brothel. Trapped between Bryar and their booth. The rest of the party had been sent back to camp, neither of them had their weapons or armor… "Hard to forget yer. Running around in those little nightdresses, crying for yer father… Did you know all that blood made 'em see-through?" That settled it. If he wasn’t getting laid tonight, Oghren would join her in a sodding good fight instead. "Just curious, did you ever find your father? You know, I can take you to meet him? Bryce Cousland's head's on a pike down in Amaranth -” CRUNCH. Oghren couldn't tell if that sound was the wood or the man's skull meeting the wood. In a blink, Bryar had gripped the stranger by the back of his neck and sent him diving face first into the edge of their booth. There was another expression he recognised, as the pirate veered back in her seat, eyes wide, mouth open, smiling.  Those were blasted bedroom eyes, alright! The Warden sure knew how to make a lasting impression. She'd already left plenty on him. 

#wip wednesday #btv discord #dragon age fanfiction #wip #oghren #isabela #cousland #bryar cousland

[sinsbymanka]

This is a submission for the @cozy-autumn-prompts​ event, brainchild of the lovely @scharoux​. Thank you for the amazing prompts! @tightassets​ and I submit the following art (belonging to her talented hands) and fic (my doing) for prompt #4: By The Fire.

Title: It’ll be a Hell of a Story Rating: M Pairing: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras Tags: Flirting, UST, Fantasizing, Pre-Relationship, Non-Inquisitor Cadash

Read on AO3

It should have been a simple problem.

Simpler than the breach swirling threateningly above them, at any rate.

They’d managed to survive the whole world going to shit, but that massive hole in the sky was still gonna be a problem they needed to solve. Sooner rather than later. And to do that, they needed people. Soldiers. Mages. Weapons.

Lyrium.

And whenever someone said ‘lyrium’, they always looked at the dwarf. Like the humans and their skirts and their wars hadn’t upset the whole damn lyrium trade. Varric debated throwing his hands up and washing them of the whole thing.

Demons. Holes in the sky. Templars. Mages. None of it was really his cup of ale.

But there had been red lyrium in the temple. And that… well, that was his problem. He’d put it out in the world. He was responsible for the spark that ignited the fire, and now he had to deal with the inferno. Besides. He could find a lyrium dealer with one hand tied behind his back, right?

He could kick himself for his optimism.

Ruffles couldn’t get the Merchant’s Guild or Orzammar to play ball, not a surprise. Too much risk to sell to this ragtag bunch on top of a mountain, not enough reward. Even Varric wouldn’t be able to pull enough strings to make it work, which meant he needed the Carta.

Of course, the one time in his life he wanted them to appear, they were nowhere to be found. Frankly, that was suspicious. There’d been Carta crawling all over Haven when he arrived, it didn’t take much to see their signs. Dwarven marks carved into cabins to mark drop points. Snow clearly brushed back to cover paths. Several short, shady dwarves in the tavern that kept to themselves while they played cards.

If he’d have known he’d need them later, he would have said hello. He’d been too worried about spinning tales to make the chantry dance to his tune and trying to ingratiate himself to both sides of this damn mess so he could get back to Kirkwall with his fine dwarven chest hair intact.

Maybe they’d all died in the aftermath of the temple exploding. He’d seen a couple Dwarven corpses, but not enough to make up a whole crew, and there’d been multiple operating in Haven. Did that mean the rest fled?

Varric scratched his stubble while he picked his way down the icy, gravel path. His eyes still roamed, trying to find any signs of seedy deals lingering in the shadows, but all he saw were scared refugees and soldiers not even old enough to grow a beard. The wind cut through them all and they scurried past without even looking down at the dwarf.

Well. Back to his fire to regroup and think of another plan before he froze into a nice chunk of rather handsome ice.

Honestly, it was hard to believe that somebody didn’t look at the chaos and see profit to be made. They didn’t make Carta as tough as they used to, apparently. Where were all the tough, savvy business people? The clever rogues able to stay one step ahead of all the competition? What about someone who could look at this mess and decide to chip in, if only because that hole in the world threatened everything?

Varric scoffed to himself and shoved his hands in his coat. Carta dwarf with a heart of gold? He’d grow a beard first.

He sighed and turned the corner, letting his eyes drift covetously to the fire not twenty paces away.

And almost stumbled to a complete stop. There was a woman sitting on his bench, next to his abandoned supplies, munching on a flaky pastry while flipping through his book.

A dwarven woman. One that looked like the right kind of shady he’d been trying to locate all damn day.

But the cunning tip of her head as she read, the blade on her thigh, the sheer audacity of her, was nothing notable. Not compared to the curves accentuated by her snug breeches and the tempting swell of her breasts tantalizingly framed by a shirt not quite as scandalous as his, but close. Her red hair was braided away from her face, but wisps of it danced in the wind, tickled her freckled nose.

She lifted her eyes from the page and locked eyes with him. Hers crackled with intelligence, energy, and absolutely wicked satisfaction.

At a glance he knew three things. First. She was Carta. Second. She’d been watching him look for her.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was the best kind of trouble. And that made her more dangerous than she even knew.

She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even bother to drop his pilfered book. Instead, she raised her snack to her lips and took a slow bite, watching him watch her like she was a queen upon her throne and him some lowly petitioner.

And honestly, that was the right of it. Which shouldn’t make him think of getting on his knees and throwing those shapely thighs over his shoulders, but dammit he hadn’t expected to find the most gorgeous woman in the world in the middle of the Ferelden muck.

She lifted his book, tipped her head to the side, and smirked. “It’s not bad, but you’re sodding verbose, Tethras. You should probably get a better editor.”

Every thought in his mind screeched to a halt, replaced by one word.

Minx.

“Sorry my personal belongings aren’t up to snuff, Princess. I’ll leave better material out for you to peruse next time.” Thank Andraste his mouth was still working, because he’d lost control of his feet completely, dragged towards her like a victim of an unseen mage.

She snapped the book shut and tossed it easily onto the ground, ignoring his nickname to pat the bench beside her. It was a clear invitation, and he almost forgot how absurd it was to be invited to sit on his bench. Almost.

“I’ve been looking for the Carta all damn day.” He narrowed his eyes, making a show of grumbling displeasure to hide his ridiculous glee.

Her only answer was a sly smirk and to recline back on one palm. “I know. I was watching.”

“See something you like?” He gestured at himself, watching her stormy eyes drop from his face down his stocky body, lingering pointedly on his displayed chest. Then she swept a burning path back to his face.

“It’s not a terrible view.” She admitted.

He smiled at her. The most charming, brilliant smile he could summon. The same one that had many a fine dwarven barmaid tumbling over themselves to get him another glass of ale. His redheaded temptress only gave him a predatorial smirk in return.

“Should I assume you’re here for business?” He asked.

Or pleasure.

He didn’t dare say it. Not to her. There was something… something about her that made him pause, consider her carefully. Something that screamed if he gave her that power over him, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

It was the eyes. Must have been. He’d never seen a more endless set of eyes in his damn life.

“I’m curious.” She declared, tapping her free hand on the bench while she studied him. “I was on my way out, you know. Too much crazy religion for my taste.”

“The Chantry freaks you out more than the demons?”

“I can shoot the demons. It’s frowned upon to start murdering old women squawking at me, but they are annoying.”

She wrinkled her nose in evident distaste and something flipped in his stomach. The wind picked up again and took more of the hair from her braid, whipped it across her cheeks.

He had the sudden, maddening urge to trace his gloved fingers over her jaw and tuck it back behind the shell of her ear before cupping her cheek and drawing her sweetly towards him in a passionate kiss that-

She was either far too clever for her own good or used to inspiring a chaotic inferno of lust wherever she went, because she clearly saw the direction his thoughts veered off into. And all the woman did was bit her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a laugh he was sure would be throaty and sinful.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t need to sit down next to her on the bench. He needed three feet of space between her and him at all times to stop himself from doing something stupid.

His legs didn’t get the memo.

He plopped his ass right next to her, their thighs touching teasingly, but she didn’t bother moving. Instead, she simply eyed him with a distinct blend of wariness and interest. He sensed it would take more than his roguish charm to break down that caution, but he didn’t need to do all of it now.

He was used to playing the long game, after all.

“What’s your name, Princess?”

“Cadash.” Varric’s heart leapt in triumph. That was a good name for lyrium. A very good name. It was about time he had some good luck.

Then she added the kicker. “Maria Cadash.”

Oh. Oh they had hit the fucking vein with this one. They didn’t just have Cadash clan operating in Haven, they had one of the fucking heirs to the whole pot. A winning hand, if he played it right.

“Nanna sent me a letter telling me to get the hell out of dodge before the humans blew up the sky. Again.” She smirked, shaking her head. “But I’d just gotten comfortable.”

“We can keep you quite comfortable, Princess.” Varric insisted. Maker, he had hit the nail on that head with her nickname. He had bonafide Carta royalty on his hands and he’d do well not to lose her.

She leaned forward, her shirt dipping open with the motion, drawing his eyes for just a second and making him think of other things he could have in his hands. Because he was weak. A weak, weak man.

Maria held his gaze, brought the sweet back up to her mouth, and bit into the flaky dough. His eyes flew to the sugar dusting her pretty lips. He had half a mind to lean in and kiss it off.

“You know, those are bad for you. Not a single apple actually in them, Princess.” Varric rasped.

Maria slowly licked the sugar off her bottom lip. “I only like things that are bad for me, honestly.”

Varric leapt on her admission of weakness. “Well in that case, why not supply the Inquisition? You couldn’t make a more dangerous decision if your life depended on it. Think of the rush of danger. The cloak and dagger thrill. The late night missions and secret assignations…”

He sweetened his voice to the same low, cajoling tone he’d used on templar, guards, coterie, and all the worst of Kirkwall. She watched his mouth move with rapt attention, her snack forgotten.

Varric didn’t know how his arm slipped behind her back, but suddenly his palm was on the curve of her spine in a gesture that seemed carelessly intimate. Maria didn’t pull away. Their knees touched, her chin tipped up, and for a wild moment Varric waited for her to lean in and capture his mouth.

Instead, her smile curled up like the fire they sat beside. She tore her eyes from his to look at it with a shake of her head.

“It’ll cost you.” She warned. “This is risky. Risky isn’t cheap.”

Some things were worth paying any price for, weren’t they?

“We’ll find the coin.” He promised. “And you get to stay at the center of the action, just like you want.”

Her eyebrow climbed up her forehead. “You think I want to be underneath a spiraling hole in the bleedin’ world freezing my tits off?”

“Of course you do.” He stated, picking up an abandoned mug and holding it out to her in a silent toast. “It’s gonna be a hell of a story, Princess. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Just the slightest bit of her wariness fell away, revealing a wicked glint of humor and a spark of madness he’d seen too often in a dozen other brilliant women when they had made up their mind to have an adventure with or without him.

“No.” She declared with relish. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”

#co-zautumn #dragon age #dragonage #cadash x varric #maria cadash #varric tethras #varric romance #pre-relationship #meet cute #UST #flirting #tightassets art #manka writes

[onbanksofadragonriver]

Varric x Merrill thoughts

This is a rarepair ship I’ve believed in ever since I saw this fabulous art a few years ago, and the fic “Perfume Shop” (in Russian) has been a major inspiration too. And then recently, @hollyand-writes got me to air my headcanons and to actually get down to writing for this ship, so here we are.

I’ll go by points, but it’s not my goal to somehow attempt to prove that this ship is or should be canon. They’re my headcanons: Don’t like, don’t ship. Also, I haven’t played DA2 in a few years, and have never played any of the DLCs, so feel free to take this with a grain of salt. All dialogue with no specifically indicated source is from the wiki.

Buckle in, this is long!

@geekalogian​, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold​ ♥

>> Amazing banter

All the companions get frustrated by Merrill’s silly questions, though I believe half of them are actually only asked as a joke. They try to explain it or avoid the question, or sigh about Merrill’s naivete. Fenris is downright hostile to her, and Anders tends to get preachy. Aveline treats her like a child sometimes. Isabela is protective and friendly, but sometimes she sounds a bit condescending and impatient with Merrill’s innocence. 

But Varric, he gets her. He gets her silly jokes and just rolls with it, and their dialogues are a pleasure to listen to. It’s with Varric that her somewhat straight-faced, silly humour really shines, because he’s the only one to play along: about frolicking in the woods, and his resemblance to Hahren Paivel, and Bianca having a pretty name, or how his family is like fleas, or Darktown rats following the mage/templar mess, etc. He never brings up her naivete or makes her feel inadequate or as if she’s missed some context. And they’re both so relaxed around each other it’s like Varric has unlocked a whole new dimension to Merrill.

>> Protecting her freedom. The ball of twine and taking care of the gangs. 

I’ve seen meta on how Varric paying off the thugs is him infantilizing Merrill, but he does this for Anders too. It’s his way of caring about people. And also, if you see Merrill’s reaction in case Hawke doesn’t let her have the arulin’holm, you’ll see that she’s perfectly capable of realising when people are coddling her, and letting them know — in no uncertain terms — when that kind of meddling is unwelcome. (see also: Varric and his product deliveries below)

I also like to think that half of the reason “nothing ever happens” when she wanders around at night is because Merrill is a badass mage perfectly capable of taking care of herself. One of her default starting spells is rock armour, and when Hawke meets her, she admits to having fought before, and having done so alone. She’s certainly capable or recognising the stupidity and danger Sister Petrice is walking in as she wanders around Lowtown, and that’s in broad daylight. 

Also, I’m thinking Varric must have put that protection in place after news of some incidents reached his ears, because it’s not something he does by default to other party members who’re new to Kirkwall. So perhaps it is, or was necessary at some point. On the other hand, perhaps Merrill is totally taking care of herself, and the thugs are not even trying to attack her, they’re just enjoying ripping off Varric :P

I like to think that the Viscount’s gardens were an honest mistake and Merrill did cut down on wandering there after Varric’s comment.

The ball of twine is interesting. Her closest friends in the gang seem to be Hawke, Isabela and Varric, but only Varric actually gives her a tool enabling her to find her way around the confusing human city. I don’t know what others did. Did they expect Merrill to just stay in the Alienage if there was nobody to accompany her around the city? Or did they expect her to find her own way through trial and error? Varric gives her a weird, but apparently functional tool for navigating the city until she learns her own way.

And the common motif between ensuring safe streets, an access to gardens and the ball of twine, is how Varric is safeguarding Merrill’s freedom. She’s Dalish, used to living under open sky, travelling from place to place. She’s used to green, growing things and wandering about as she pleases. And she’s used to doing magic freely and in ways that she herself believes appropriate. Now she’s stuck in a barely hospitable alienage of a city with a strong templar and slaver presence, and Varric doesn’t have the heart to scold her and limit her freedom even more. 

Considering Varric is part of the ascendant group in Merchant Guild, who believe in leaving behind Orzammar’s strict caste system and traditions and embracing surface life instead, looks like Merrill’s freedom speaks to something deep in Varric’s own beliefs and values, nonchalant as he seems.

>> Trying to take care of her. Delivering produce.

This gives me feels. First, Varric noticed that something was off. Maybe he missed her showing up at the Hanged Man, maybe he went to visit her. Either way, he noticed that she wasn’t going out, not even to the market. It’s funny to imagine Varric standing in the market scratching his head about what actually goes into food preparation, but more probably he initially just threw some money at the problem, sending someone shopping for her. And then he checked up and saw she’s still not going out. And then he tries to talk her into going for a walk, to get fresh air.

And again this is something I’ve read as coddling and infantilizing, but — when Merrill is clearly not in a mood for teasing, she rebukes him politely: “I’m not a plant, Varric.” She’s not harsh as in case with Hawke and arulin’holm. When Varric leaves, she admits: “Varric is... very sweet. Frequently infuriating and a terrible busybody, but sweet.”

Which at first read as... Merrill not reciprocating Varric’s feelings for her? But on a second thought: what if Merrill is the oblivious one? Not only to Varric’s caring but about her own feelings for him? What if she never considered Varric romantically because she always thought she’d end up with a Dalish partner, and then she becomes friends with Hawke and starts opening up to the idea that what if she takes a human lover? And falling in love with a dwarf has not even crossed her mind yet? (Look lower, queen.)

Because when Merrill cares, she helps people: waters their plants or repairs ancient artifacts. Part of her potentially falling in love with Hawke is due to how they help her, how they have her back. Varric and Merrill have the same love language. I choose to think of it as a mystery, why Merrill is not canonically head over heels for Varric. Maybe she’s so used to his confident, handsome self boasting about all the female attention he gets that she thinks she’s out of his league and has friendzoned herself :P

Additionally, I believe “sweet” and “infuriating” is something that the gang could equally attribute to Merrill herself. Pot calling kettle black? :D

>> Opinions on magic

Varric largely doesn’t have an opinion on Merrill being a mage, a blood mage, or whatever. He’s not afraid, because he has other, more pressing concerns, like Merchant’s Guild breathing down his neck and sending assassins, and when he does mention Merrill’s blood magic being “evil” it sounds like a rehearsed thing that might cause him headache due to other people getting their knickers in a twist over it.

He does acknowledge he’s distrustful of letting “dangerous people run amok” if Hawke sides with the mages in the end of DA2, but apparently he trusts Merrill enough that she knows what she’s doing and leaves it at that. He’s just sick of the whole mage/templar drama.

>> Mutual interest in what they do. 

Merrill is interested in what he does for a living, while he tries to keep her out of trouble that would come from her knowing too much. And Varric is pondering why Eluvian is a mirror, and not some other piece of furniture. Not judging each other, just — curious. Showing they are in each other’s thoughts. And I won’t go into details here, because @hollyand-writes​ has, like, ALL the receipts where Varric thinks about Merrill in DAI, but he does — a lot :) He knows her interest in history and lore, knows that news of ancient elves keeping slaves would upset her, knows she would have liked to see the Dales. He seems to be missing her a lot...

>> Priority. 

LOOK at the sequence he mentions his friends in, Merrill is No.1, while Hawke is almost an afterthought :D

Merrill: How do you do it, living in the city without picking a side? Doesn't it matter to you? Varric: Of course it does. That's why I don't take sides. Merrill: That doesn't make any sense. Varric: I've got you and Aveline, Fenris and Anders. Hawke. Isabela. I've got friends in the Circle and drinking buddies in the templars. All of them matter.

And who’s the first person that comes to Merrill’s mind when Hawke calls her pretty? Varric! :D [X]

>> Comfort in storytelling. 

Yeah, Merrill says somewhere later that she wouldn’t have made a good Keeper because she’s not good with people, but she did receive all the requisite education. She studied lore and elven legends and history, as much as is left of it anyway, and I believe that storytelling, thriving on stories, is something that she and Varric both have in common. 

Maybe she’s too shy to tell her own stories, but she’s definitely enjoying Varric’s and looking for consolation in his stories when things get rough.

Merrill: Varric, how does the story end? Varric: Which story, Daisy? Merrill: The big one. With us and Hawke, the mages and templars. Everything. Varric: You want to know before it happens? You're not worried about spoiling the surprise? Merrill: I might not see it end. Varric: You have to stick with us if you want to find out how it turns out, Daisy.

Merrill: Tell me a story, Varric. Varric: Right now? I don't think we have time, Daisy. Merrill: Maybe a very short story, then? Please? Varric: Fine. "When the cards turned, he lost." Merrill: Oh. Did it have to be so sad?

Merrill: (passing the Hanged Man):  "Do you think there's time for Varric to tell us a story while we're here?"

Merrill: I hope we win. Varric will make it a good story, I'm sure.

>> Conclusions & Future

The thing that gets me the most is how good and kind they are to each other. It’s in their teasing, their jokes, the way Varric takes care of Merrill. I love Merrill’s confidence in Varric’s storytelling talent, and I like to think Varric finds Merrill’s confident tinkering with the mirror at least a little bit hot, even if he doesn’t understand magic (Bianca is/was a brilliant engineer, and I think Varric has a bit of a competence kink :D)

I also enjoy thinking of them both as slightly out of touch with emotions: Varric ignoring his own, and Merrill oblivious to his. I like to think of what happens when Merrill realises Varric loves her: because she’s open and honest in her affections, and it would be awesome to see Varric taken by that storm. To see him openly fall for someone so different, at a first glance, but also familiar: a knowledgeable storyteller, confident in her abilities, believing in free will and freedom. 

I see them moving on together: Merrill learning to let go of the disappointment that is the unfinished eluvian, and Varric learning to let go of his lingering feelings for Bianca. Yes, the past is important for Merrill, while Varric wants to live in the moment, but the point of knowing the past, for Merrill, is to be able to move forward, and Varric certainly knows his family’s past, so I don’t see any disagreements there. If anything, Varric’s resources and connections can help Merrill get her hands on more artefacts and ancient tomes, letting her continue on her path in some other way.

It’s interesting to imagine their life together. After DAI, Varric pours his own funds into various infrastructure projects until he ends up the Viscount of Kirkwall, and Merrill is in Kirkwall too, helping the city elves. Somehow, it feels logical that at least some of those projects would be new elf housing and improvements to the alienage. 

Would they get married? Probably, because I think it would be important to Merrill, and also probably because it might be a better way to protect her, a rumoured/known blood mage, from the Chantry than if she was just the Viscount’s mistress. On the other hand, knowing Varric and his cousin Elmand, and his spy network, and his tendency to successfully evade the Merchant Guild messengers [X], it’s equally possible he’d whip up a completely fake story about how his beloved Merrill is a hatter, and leave it at that. Probably he couldn’t even be found in the Keep, instead preferring to hide out in the Hanged Man or in his wife’s house in the alienage :D

Because, in the end, I think they both enjoy doing their respective Things very much, whether it’s helping elves or writing books, and they let each other do it selflessly, even if maybe it means they can’t live together. (Because can you imagine a Viscomtesse Merrill having to host a ball? Dealing with Hightown nobles? No, I don’t think Varric would ever ask such a sacrifice of her.) But they live close, and help and support each other, and, in short, I think they’d be awesome :)

#dragon age #dragon age meta #varric x merrill #merrill #varric #this is my tiny OTP #feel free to add your own headcanons #ship and let ship!

[johaerys-writes]

Chapter 14: Cobwebs and Oathstones

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Aran Trevelyan/Tristan Trevelyan

Summary:

Aran and Tristan are childhood friends. Best friends. Brothers, almost. They’ve been inseparable since the moment they met, one rainy autumn day underneath the maple tree in the school playground.

Best friends don’t fall in love with each other. Surely not.

The new chapter of my and @oftachancer​’s collaborative fic, featuring her OC Aran and my OC Tristan is up! Where the Terrible T’s venture into the ancient catacombs underneath the Trevelyan manor, and discover something... unexpected 👀

Read more on AO3,  or start from the beginning :)

****

“Oh, wow!” Tilly exclaimed, turning her head to look around the catacombs like a curious bird. “This place is huge!”

“It is!” Aran replied. “There’s loads of stuff down here. Last time, Tris and I found this massive set of armour that belonged to a great uncle of yours- was it Trevor Trevelyan?”

“Trenton Trevelyan the Third,” Tristan grumbled, illuminating the corridor before them with the torch.

“Aye, that’s the one! He had this huge sword, too, right, absolutely massive. Tris said he could wield it one handed, but Void knows how he did it because that thing was- Ah! What- Is that a spider?!” Aran spun in a circle, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- get it off, get it off!” Tilly gasped and ran to his side, patting down his hair and his back, while Aran’s cries echoed deafeningly down the corridor.

Tristan sighed, wondering whether people would notice it if he locked them both in the catacombs and then fled.

“I don’t see a spider, munchkin,” Tilly said worriedly, biting her lip as she searched through Aran’s hair. “Maybe it was just your imagination.”

“I hate them. I hate them.” Aran twisted to look back over his shoulder, aiming his light at himself. “So many feckin’ legs,” he shivered, tugging his hood up over his head and cinching it tight. He looked to Tristan, biting his lip, fingers flexing in that way they did at school or at parties right before he suggested they find somewhere to go that wasn’t people. Right before he reached for him and tucked his palm against Tristan’s and gave that quiet sigh that was the first of many as hand holding progressed to other things… Aran held his gaze in the dark and shoved his hands and his torch into the pouch of his sweatshirt. “It was a big sword,” he finished lamely.

Tristan swallowed thickly, looking away. He didn't like that he couldn't hold his hand, or kiss him. He didn't like hiding what they had from Tilly, of all people. But it was still so early. Tristan hadn't fully understood what was happening between them himself, and if he told Tilly, she would have questions. He wouldn't last a moment under her scrutiny. And she might tell Mother, or someone else and then...

"Right," he said abruptly, marching ahead. "The room is not too far from here. We can go there first and check the sword after we're done." He would think about it all later. Now was not the time.

"Oh, yes, we should!" Tilly said excitedly. "Swords are so fun. Remember when we went to the Ostwick History Museum with school, three years ago? All those sets of armour! All those swords! Those lances! They were so shiny. And I loved the engravings. Some of them were absolutely beautiful- they don't make them like that anymore. Well, they don't make them at all anymore, which is a pity if you ask me. Oh! Wouldn't it be fun if we had armour and swords made for the three of us? I bet we would all look smashing. The Terrible T's: Fourth Blight edition." She threaded her arm through Aran's, grinning.

“So long as it’s without the actual Blight.” Aran leaned into her, eyeing the webs they passed under with suspicion. “You should see the armor we found down here, too! When we found it, Tris said he’d wear it. You’re pretty tall. Might suit you better.”

“It looked heavy," Tristan said. “Even if both of you got in it, I don’t think you’d be able to lift it.”

“So you’d be able to lift it and the both of us wouldn’t?” Tilly sniffed. “Someone has a big idea of themselves.”

“No,” Tristan rolled his eyes, “I just call things how I see them.” He quickened his step, walking well ahead of them. The sooner they reached the blighted room, the sooner they’d leave. He hoped. “We’re close. Aran, is your torch working?”

“Hm?” Aran was walking with his chin perched on Tilly’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around her. “No hands. Don’t know.”

Tilly laughed, reaching into Aran’s sweatshirt pouch. “Here. I’ve got it.” She switched it on, illuminating the corridor before them. “You know, I learnt a spell last year that gives you light without using a torch. Some mages use it with a wand or a staff, but I can cast it without one! Although Mistress Anaan said it’s dangerous and that she would punish anyone who tried it. Oh, I wish I could show you! If only we were allowed to use magic outside the Circle. Think we’re deep enough into the earth now to not be detected? I’ve heard that when mages go into the Deep Roads, the magic detectors can’t sense them at all, so they can cast as many spells as they like. Regina, the new transfer from the Lake Callenhad Circle, was telling us that many mages from their Circle were sent to the Deep Roads in Orzammar to test out new spells that they didn’t want the government to know about. It was all very hush-hush, you understand. That is if she was telling the truth, which I’m not entirely sure she was. She told Gianna that Bastien asked her out, and Gianna told me, because she knows I know Bastien, and we sit next to each other in my Arcane magic class. So I asked Bastien-"

"Don't forget to breathe, Til," Tristan said teasingly.

"Oh, shush, you," his sister laughed. "Anyway- where was I?"

"What did Bastien say?" Aran asked, blinking up at her.

"Oh, yes! So. Bastien said he only texted her once, and that was to ask her to bring him back a pouch of crystal grace powder that he had lent her. So I’m not really sure what to make of her. Maybe she lies about some things, but not others." She tapped her chin with her finger, then made a vague gesture in the air, shaking her head. "Anyway. Top secret expeditions into the Deep Roads sound very, very interesting, if you ask me. I do hope they’re true. I do hope they send me there someday! I want to do all the research. All the spells! I might even come up with one that sends all the spiders running. I bet there’s loads of them in the Deep Roads. Then I’ll show you how to do it, Aran! Oh.” She paused, frowning. “It’s a pity you’re not a mage. We would have had so much fun together in the Circle. But that’s alright! When I go to the Deep Roads, I’ll take you with me. And I’ll keep you safe from all the spiders,” she grinned, pinching his chin.

“If you come up with a spell that scares spiders of all shapes and sizes, they’ll give you an award and a duchy,” Aran beamed at her. “I will. I’ll found a feckin’ kingdom and hand you the keys to it.” He nudged her with his shoulder, “Anyway, Miri’s there if you want a dose. She’s fun.”

"Oh, yes! Miranda's lovely. I see her from time to time, but she's usually busy. She's working really hard on her apprenticeship. Her blue robes suit her very nicely. I can't wait to get started on my own. Mistress Anaan said I might be able to start early if I pass all my exams with good marks next year. I'm thinking Arcane or Primal. Everyone says they're tough, but I think they're both fascinating. Oh! Is this the room?" She cast the light of her torch on the door that Tristan had stopped before.

Tristan took a hesitant step forward, let his gaze glide over the engravings on the door's surface. "Yes. That's the one."

"Oooh." Tilly's eyes widened. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get in!"

Tristan reached for the doorknob, his heart thrumming in his chest. The door protested loudly as he pushed it open, raising a cloud of dust in its wake. "Okay," he said, standing aside. "On you go. Search to your heart's content."

“You’re really not coming in?” Aran asked quietly.

Tristan let out a slow exhale through his nose. "I am. In- in a minute." He watched as Tilly walked forward, swinging the light of the torch in a wide arc around the room, before stopping at the large stone in its center.

"Oh, my. Sweet Maker! Is that the stone? The oath stone? Quick, Aran, get your notebook out! I need to get a good look at those runes. We should take all of them down- but first, we must figure out what they mean. Some runes activate as soon as they're written in order. Wouldn't want to set something on fire before we've had a chance to study them. Although that would be fascinating in its own right. Do we have any water in case that happens…? Oh, well, we'll just need to be careful."

Tristan sighed, flexing and curling his hands at his sides. "I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. I told you we shouldn't have come down here."

“It’s okay,” Aran met his eyes. He shifted his backpack to his side and brushed his fingers down Tristan’s forearm behind the bulk of it. “We won’t do anything to start it up again. Just figure out what it actually is. You’ll feel better knowing, aye?”

"I don't know," Tristan mumbled, the knot in his stomach tightening. He caught Aran's pinky with his own, squeezing lightly. "Some things are better left on their own."

“But you don’t know what those do until you see what they are, eh? What if-“ Aran lifted his brows, squeezing back. “What if your great-grandad had to do something on this thing to be able to wear that armor or heft that sword? Even if you never want to do it, wouldn’t it be cool to know?”

Tristan nodded reluctantly, worrying his lip. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Let's- let's just get this over with. This place is very… dusty." He scrunched his nose, looking away.

“Aye, it is. Just some notes. And then movies.” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight, the yellow making his soft blue eyes like a summer sky filled with sun. “If you want.”

Tristan swallowed thickly. Aran’s gaze on him and his fingers that threaded discreetly through his sent a rush of warmth through him. “I do,” he whispered. “You know I do. I-”

“Aran! Tris! Come, come over here! I think I know what most of these runes mean. There’s so many of them, oh, dear. Our ancestors worked really hard on this thing. Or whoever made it for them, anyway. I haven’t seen one quite like this before. And you said there was a sword, too? And a book?”

“Yes,” Tristan said, untangling his fingers from Aran’s, “there’s a sword. But I’m not touching it. And neither are you,” he glanced sharply at Aran.

“I brought gloves,” Aran smiled hopefully.

Tristan huffed and walked away from him, coming to stand over Tilly. “Right. What did you find?”

Read more on AO3!

#aran trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #aran x tristan #friends to lovers #childhood friends to lovers #modern au #playground love #oftachancer writes #johaerys writes

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you doing in a place like this?

Pairing: Varric Tethras x Naia Brosca, Past Alistair Theirin x Naia Brosca

Fandom: Dragon Age

Summary: Naia Brosca does not expect to meet the Viscount of Kirkwall in a dingy little tavern like the Hanged Man. She doesn't expect to have her sorrows soothed or have a free therapy session from him either. But, her life had always been anything but ordinary.

Rating: T

Notes: If you follow my main blog @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ then you’ll probably know that I think Varric/Brosca would be a pretty sweet pair especially considering all the pain they go through.

Archiveofourown

“What’s the Hero of Fereldan like you, doing in a place like this?” It’s terrible, but he’s the first person to notice who she is in this dingy pub in Kirkwall and she knows exactly who he is too. Usually it would bother her, after all she was here to drown her sorrows, not be fawned over...not that that happened very often anymore. Most people seemed to ignore her, disliking the idea of either a dwarf being the one who stopped the Blight or the idea of a castless dwarf stopping the Blight or better yet, the idea of Wardens completely. Besides, after the whole inquisition, tears in the sky mess she wasn’t the hero in demand anymore...The Wardens hadn’t done so well out of that mess either. Naia Brosca officially considered herself retired from hero duties especially after finally finding a way to cure blight sickness and stop the wardens untimely demise due to the calling, and after returning to find the whole of her forces decimated. She was officially retired from fixing other people's messes whether those people be long dead magisters or warden commander Clarel. 

Aeducan, her Mabari, named after Paragon Aeducan for his stand against the Darkspawn, bounced about as Varric sat down beside her on a rickety wooden chair. The Mabari was as tall as the both of them when seated and didn’t settle until Naia gave him a strong look. He settled himself down at her feet, large paws resting beneath his head. She smiled down at him before turning to her new drinking companion. 

“I could say the same to you, Viscount of Kirkwall.” She softens it with a slight smile, she hasn’t smiled fully in years. Truth be told, becoming a Grey Warden had started as a dream come true, a way to get out of Dust Town, an escape from death, and simply ended as a nightmare. That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone above your station, take on more responsibility than any one person can handle, and become the go to person to fix everything. But, she at least had her faithful furry companion out of the whole mess and somehow her life. 

                                                                                                                            “Touché, but aren’t you supposed to be Commander of the Grey right now? Are you even allowed to be here?” He’s right of course, the last most people had heard she was the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, sitting up in Amaranthine trying to recruit, rebuild, and fix whatever messes she was left to inherit. She’d told very few people about her movements over the last 2 years and most people had very little interest in what the Wardens were doing outside of a Blight. 

She leans back in her seat, legs crossed on a small stool, a hand reaching back to run through the dark hair that had grown unwieldy in her long hunt for a cure, a fix. To Varric she looked to be the picture of an exhausted hero, tankard in one hand, dark sullen circles beneath brown sad eyes, but always ready with daggers at her side. She’d grown used to watching her back for a quick knife in the dark or fireball. Although Aeducan was a very good guard dog.

“Well, while I was off trying to figure out how to save us all from the blight and the calling, someone got the brilliant” she says this with a twisted, sarcastic smile, nose scrunching in distaste, “idea to use blood magic to ‘save’ the Wardens and supposedly the world, and I came back to decimated forces and a whole load of nugshit to fix...blood magic…” She takes a deep drink from her tankard and raises her hand to gesture for another, gold already on the table, “They wanted me to rebuild, as if it was my responsibility to fix their mess again, to take up that mantle again. I said go fuck yourself and put someone else in charge...hopefully with better sense.” Naia Brosca had been royally pissed when she’d heard what had happened, when she’d returned to find out that Warden Commander Clarel had fucked it all up because she had no critical fucking thinking skills. It hadn’t been her plan to return to a decimated force, both physically and in reputation. Who would trust the Wardens now? They had gone from the heroes who saved the world, to the idiots who almost destroyed it. It was a headache of mess to fix and she’d had enough headache inducing messes for a lifetime. 

“Yeah, I kind of had a front row seat to that bullshittery at Adamant. Sorry.” Her eyes darted over to him, evaluating. There’s a genuine furrow to his brow and a look in his eyes that she knows well, a horrible reminiscence of a scene you never wanted to see.

“I joined the Grey Wardens because I won a Proving when I shouldn’t have even been fighting, because Duncan saved me. I became the Hero of Ferelden and Commander of the Grey because Alistair and I didn’t have a choice. I had a choice this time, I'm retired from commanding, from fixing other people’s messes. I’m too old for that.” She had never had the chance to do so many things; travel for pleasure, fall in love (again), marry, have kids, raise them better than her mother ever had, go exploring again, write a book or something. There were so many things that had slipped her notice in the 10 years she’d spent fixing other people’s messes. She was tired of her life catering around fixing other people’s fuck ups, it was about time they fixed their own problems. She wanted to have some of her life back.

“You don’t look a day over 25 to me, topsider”, Varric says it with a teasing smirk, one corner lifting up just so. It’s a look he’s perfected, she’s certain of that because for all her years she still feels the skin of her cheeks heating and her eyes darting away from his.

“Flatterer,” Naia rolls her eyes, she hasn’t been 25 for a while now, but he knows that she’s sure, “I doubt anyone would believe that I was only 24 during the Blight. A Dust Town 24, though.” Truthfully, being raised in Dust Town had given her years on her peers in other parts of Orzammar. She’d had to fight, scrounge, steal, all to feed herself, her sister and her drunken mother. She’d killed for the Carta, killed for her sister, all before she was 20. Maybe, if she’d been an Aeducan or had an actual caste she’d never have been able to do what she did. “10 years on and I feel like I’m 100. I’m old spiritually, Master Tethras, very, very old. 34 doesn’t feel like it used to.” 

“24? Seriously? You became Warden Commander, Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons at 24? Fuck.” They fall into a contemplative silence. Truthfully, most people expected her to be older. It had made it hard to get respect especially when she became Warden Commander, at 24 half the recruits were older than her and getting them to listen had taken a lot of threats and reminders that she’d slayed an archdemon and could damn well kill them if they tested her. 

Varric can’t quite wrap his head around the fact she was so young, that she’d done what seemed impossible to him. At 24 he’d have run away from that sort of responsibility, he’d have high tailed it to the farthest place he could find. At 24 he wouldn’t have been a hero, but he’s learnt that some people are just made that way. Something in them calls for them to do the right thing. 

Naia can’t quite get over the exhaustion and sadness that had her seeking out the Hanged Man on her journey to investigate some Warden ruins. It’d all been that damned letters fault, opening old wounds, reminding her of things she’d chosen to forget, reminding her of how old she was and how little she’d really done for hself. It was still crumpled in her pack, royal seal, scruffy handwriting and all. 

Varric watches her, takes her in. The braids, typically Orzammar in style, pull her brown hair back from her face while leaving the rest loose, the brand on her cheek marks her as casteless, the down turn of her mouth, the slump of her shoulders remind him of how much she’s done in 34 years. It’s more than just retiring that’s brought her here, more than just a desire to get shitfaced after years of being in charge. There’s a story there that he doesn’t quite know yet. But, he wants to. He loves a good story...and he can’t help but be curious about the one Hero he’d not befriended. 

“What’s eating you up, Fereldan?” She chooses not to comment on the name, hoping he’ll pick something more creative in due course. He was a writer after all, though Swords and Shields hadn’t been his best work, so perhaps even prolific writers had their off days. Instead, she decides that she might as well open up to someone and who better to do it with than a fellow dwarf who she’d probably never see again, even if he was Viscount. What were the chances of her staying in Kirkwall? Of befriending Varric Tethras?

She takes a good long look at him, hard, calculating, before softening her gaze back to the tankard in front of her. The ale is bad, but she’s not really drinking for the taste tonight. “People think I was this hero, with a band of friends and that’s it. No big romance story there, no heartbreak, no betrayal...no nugshit politics getting in the way of things.” She takes a deep drink, this is a story no one had told because it would be shameful, not for her, but for him. “No one wants to tell the truth, that I had a lover in a man who I made a king...and then he didn’t need me anymore. Love is...I didn’t know what love was before I became a Grey Warden, but...it hurts, it hurts more than any battle wound, any fall I’ve taken, any joining ritual. It tears you apart...” Naia turns her head away from him to stare at a group not far away playing Wicked Grace, mostly to hide the tears that have started to collect in her eyes. She never talked about it. Not with Zevran or Leliana, Wynn, Sten, Oghren, Morrigan or Shale. None of them. She had too much to do at the time, didn’t allow herself to stop and ponder on it, but that meant she never truly got to heal. 

“Wait...you and Alistair Theirin? King of Ferelden? Shit...well, why aren’t you Queen, Topsider?” He can’t understand why she wouldn’t be. Surely, they’d welcome the Hero of Ferelden with open arms? Surely, if they’d been in love he’d have insisted as king..surely...but then Varric remembers that his stories are always a sugar coated version of reality. That his own experience with love has shown that things don’t work out the way you want them or need them to. Love doesn’t prevail, love doesn’t conquer all and the baker down the street with the simple, normal sort of love always does better than the Hero. 

“He couldn’t have a dwarf for a Queen, for a wife. I was told I could be a mistress, I could be there, in the background, loving him while he parades another on his arm and I refused to be hidden in the shadows like some seedy little secret. Like something dirty and unworthy. I had enough of the dark in Dust Town. I was the Hero of Ferelden and no matter how much I loved him I would not sacrifice my worth like that…” She remembers Dust Town like it was yesterday. Living off of scrapes, hidden away from everyone else because the Casteless were unworthy, a disgrace. She refused to be that girl again, hidden away for someone else's comfort and convenience. 

“I thought that maybe he’d fight for me. Fight to be with me. I would have. I would have done everything in my power to stay with him if I had that sort of position...but he didn’t. Duty, duty, duty. It’s my fault really,” She gives him a long sad look, brows turned down, “I was the one who made him king, I was the one who put him on the throne because I thought he’d be a good king...I was the one who made him think like that, made him put romantic notions aside. Maybe I should have been selfish…”

“So...why are you here?”

“Because I received a letter...royal seal, messy handwriting, pressed rose petals between the pages…” She pulls the crumpled note from her back, the rose petals fall on the table between them, the drying process removing some of their potent red colouring. He suspects there’s more to them than just being a romantic gesture, and can see it by the way she gently strokes one of them with a far off look that there’s some history there. “He’s gotten betrothed to some noble human woman who he barely even knows...I hate that she gets to marry him, that she gets to just because she’s human and noble, because she’s tall and her blood’s right. I was never enough even after the Blight. I slayed an archdemon, I saved Ferelden, I...I was never enough even after all that. What does a dwarf have to do, Varric Tethras?”

It pulls at his heart strings for a multitude of reasons; 1) he’s a romantic and always has been. He likes a happy ending, he likes the lovers to find happiness and be together, he doesn’t like heartbreak, 2) it’s one thing to be hurt because someone doesn’t love you anymore or never did, another thing entirely to know you’d be together if the world wasn’t so damn prejudice or if they just fought a little harder, tried a little more, and 3) because it reminds him of his own sorry love story with Bianca. After all, she was married to another man, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near her and he wasn’t good enough in the first place for her. After the red lyrium affair he’d decided to let that ship sail, let her go and he’d told her so despite her popping up randomly as if she thought she could change his mind. It was the first time she’d ever known him to say no to her, to turn her away. But, damn if it hadn’t been freeing for him. For the first time in a long time he didn’t feel the weight of her on his shoulders. He could see that weight on Naia Brosca now, the wondering, the hoping, the love. The longing for someone who had moved on with their life in a way you had yet to. 

“It’s his loss, Ferelden,” A large, warm hand settles on her shoulder and she leans into it without thinking. How long has it been since someone gave her a comforting hand on the shoulder, a celebratory clap on the back, a hug? A sign of companionship, closeness? She thinks it must have been...must have been nearly 10 years. The last person to hold her was Anders and he’d pissed off and then blown up the chantry in Kirkwall and then pissed off again. She hadn’t seen her old companions in years, they wrote, but it was a shitty imitation of what their group had been before...and Alistair, she hadn’t allowed herself to see him in person except where her presence as Commander of the Grey was needed and every time had been heart wrenchingly distant. 

“Who wouldn’t want to be married to the Hero of Ferelden, c’mon? You’re beautiful, you’re deadly, you have an inspiring origin story.” He counts them off on his fingers with a smile, she can feel a smile tugging at her lips, a storyteller he certainly was. 

He was...different. Alistair had been sweet, goofy, childish, a kid like her. He’d been a romantic but in that boyish sort of way that had endeared her to him because she hadn’t ever known anyone so open, so unchanged by the hardships of the world. Varric was rough, but charismatic. Older, more worldly than Alistair had been, but then she was older and more worldly too now. He was charming, compassionate, and had confidence, but she could see it was a smokescreen behind which to hide. She didn’t know what he’d gone through, other than the bits his stories told, but she knew he was just as tired as her. Probably even more so with the responsibilities of Viscount hanging over his head like a sword waiting to drop. 

It helped that he was handsome. Perhaps in Orzammar he wouldn’t have been ‘dwarf’ enough, no beard just some scruff across his cheeks, no tattoos to show his clan or caste. But, she thought he was more than handsome enough although his chest hair was a little distracting especially 3 ales in. She was sure he did it on purpose, dressed in a way that added to his charm, in a way that would make people think of how masculine and dwarven he was...at least to anyone but an Orzammar dwarf. Leske would have made some joke about it, probably asked if he was hunting for a noble to marry, but Naia didn’t mind. He was nice to look at and she hadn’t had someone nice to look at in a long while. It helped that he was complimentary as well, how long had it been since someone called her beautiful? Too long. 

“No one’s told you that in a while, huh? How long has it been? Since someone gave you an honest compliment that didn’t revolve around how you kill darkspawn?” It’s the furrow of her brow and the averted eyes that give it away, no one’s told her she’s beautiful in a long while and she is. She’s beautiful but clearly able to kill you and honestly, that just makes her prettier to Varric. 

“A...A while...Alistair used to...but then…” It’s hard to explain, that she hasn’t pursued anything with anyone in so long because she still holds out hope that maybe Alistair will decide to fight for them, for their relationship that no longer even exists. She lets herself get drawn back into the sea and dashed against the rocks every time he writes a private letter and every time she’s reminded that he isn’t hers and he never will be. This time is the worst, the realisation that he’s not coming back, he’s moving forward without her. That he’s marrying some noble human woman who can give him noble human babies and sit pretty beside him at functions. She wasn’t in his plans and she hadn’t been since he took the throne. 

“I know what it’s like, Ferelden, holding out hope that they’ll come back, that they’ll forsake the other and that you’ll finally get the story you always wanted. But, he’s not coming back, he’s going to marry that girl and you can’t hold on forever, you can’t waste your life waiting for a man that didn’t care enough to fight in the first place. I nearly did. I nearly wasted my life waiting for a woman who got married...it took her making mistakes for me to realise that I...that I was wasting my life waiting for a woman who only wanted me when she needed something fixing.” It’s the most he’s ever shared with someone he barely knows, but he’s growing...maybe, and maybe he’s realising that narrators can have stories to, they just have to choose who to share them with. Varric is also smart enough to know that she needs to hear it, she needs someone to finally tell her that it’s a lost cause and that she deserves another chance at love…and maybe it’s a little selfish, maybe part of him is hoping that she’ll consider him a candidate. 

It hits her like a hurlock to the chest or that broodmother that one time. She thought she’d realised that, that she’d understood that her and Alistair weren’t really going to happen but...truth be told she’s been holding on desperately, fingers clutching at a ledge, hoping he’d come along and help her back up. Hoping that he’d fight for her and the love they once shared. It hurt, it hurt to finally understand that it was a lost cause, that she'd spent 10 years of her life waiting for something which was never going to happen, agonising over someone who wasn’t doing the same. 10 years of seeing him in an official capacity, the physical distance and distance in the way he addressed her as if they’d never travelled together, never kissed, never been in love. She feels like she might be sick or she might burst into tears, both are options, alternatively she feels like storming to Denerim and taking her anger and sadness out on Alistair...although that option might get her arrested which is less than ideal.

Varric chooses to sit back and wait, watching realisation, sadness, and angry flit across her features one by one until she settles back in her chair resigned to the truth. Naia grabs her tankard again and downs the rest of the shitty ale before looking at the ceiling with a big sigh. “Fuck! Do you think it’d look bad if I punched the King of Ferelden in the face?” 

“Mm, the Hero of Ferelden breaks the King of Ferelden’s pretty face? Might cause a slight diplomatic incident but I could always ask Ruffles if she’d help smooth it over.” Naia twists to look at him again and he’s not surprised to see her eyes swimming with tears, though he’d be lying if he said it doesn’t piss him off that a woman who could end the Blight is brought to tears by someone who wouldn’t even be king without her help. It reminds him of Hawke, the tears she shed for Blondie all because she loved him too much and fell too far. At least Hawke had been loved back, Blondie might have been an asshole, understatement by a mile, that blew up the chantry but he loved Hawke, she cried over his revolutionary actions not his love for her. 

Naia Brosca cried because she’d wasted a decade on a love that was never going to come to fruition and of all the places to cry it was the Hanged Man. A shitty little hole in the wall. Not worthy of a hero’s tears. 

“Hey…” His large hand cups her cheek and it’s softer than he expects from her. Part of him expects...He doesn’t even know, maybe chiselled cheek bones, scars and rough skin, but she’s everything but, soft and sweet and it’s hard to think that a face like that belongs to a woman so formidable. It reminds him that appearances can be deceiving. 

His thumb wipes away the tears and it’s the sweetest feeling to her, that someone cares about her wellbeing, about her. Not her title, not who she is. It has her closing her eyes and turning into his hand and she knows the ale is helping, it’s making her more open than she’d usually be, but she thinks Varric probably just has that way about him. Caring enough that he can drag things out of you and get you attached. “Maybe he deserved you once. Maybe he was kind. Maybe he loved you right, but he doesn’t anymore...and it hurts, I know it hurts, but you deserve so much better, Topsider.”

He knows she’s a little past tipsy when she gives him that look, the one that says she’s going to kiss him and he anticipates it turning his cheek so her lips meet the scruff on his jaw. He wants to kiss her, but he knows better. She’s not in a place to make that decision and he won’t be a thing she regrets just because he decided to be a little selfish. So he lets her kiss his cheek and when she pulls back with an offended look he gives her his most charming smile. 

“You’re drunk, Topsider. I’d love to kiss you right now, but you’d regret it and I don’t plan on being a decision you regret, sweetheart.” He says it with that smile, teeth showing hoping she understands that he wants this, or something like this, he’s not entirely sure, but he knows better than to take it right now. He has no doubt that Naia Brosca is a woman he could easily fall into bed with or in love with, but she deserves more than a drunken kiss when she’s clearly still getting over what could have been the love of her life. 

So instead, he helps her up from her seat, her Mabari following behind the two of them as he helps her to her room despite her bad directions. She is uneven on her feet and it’s clear more than ever that she probably doesn’t drink often and that the last ale had put her over her limit. He’s the perfect gentleman, see’s her to her room, gives her Mabari a treat he always carries in his pocket thanks to Hawk’s own, and makes sure she’s safely inside before leaving for his own home. 

In the morning Naia wakes to Aeducan slung over her like the massive lap dog he is, her head pounding and the embarrassing image of trying to kiss the most handsome dwarf she’s ever met, but being politely turned down. She pushes her face into the ratty pillow and screams, but in truth embarrassment and giddy anticipation are feelings which she’s relieved to have after years of longing and heartache. 

#ship fic #varric tethras x brosca #brosca x varric tethras #varric tethras #naia brosca #brosca #the warden #dragon age

[dragonagecompanions]

DA2 You've probably got this many times - how would companions react to mage Hawke being made tranquil? Particularly interested in how a friendly/friendly romanced Fenris would react

Carver: While he might have resented many things about his older sibling and how their family’s magic affected their childhood, Carver would never ever wish for something like this. Ever since they had gotten to Kirkwall, Carver had warned his older sibling to be careful with all of the templars roaming the city. This place wasn’t like Lothering which only had a few templars in the Chantry that could be avoided; no, Kirkwall was teeming with templars that would look for any reason to lock up Carver’s older sibling. But did they listen to him and his warnings? Of course not. They had taken risks and look where it had gotten them. As much as Carver almost wanted to say ‘I told you so’, seeing his sibling in this state just left him heartbroken and full of anger. Not anger at his sibling like usual, just anger. Who the hell thinks that doing this to someone is a solution to anything?!?!?! And as Carver holds his sibling close, a sentiment they don’t really return, a pit in his stomach and the feeling of bitter bile rise in his throat as the worst kind of thought hits him. Now he won’t live in their shadow, and even if that thought would have been nice, these circumstance were not ever how he would have wanted this.

Aveline: Aveline might have married Wesley, who happened to be a templar, but that doesn’t mean that she agrees with the Order. The rite of tranquility was often something that she did not agree with the templar order on. Since she became a guard in Kirkwall and she was taken to the Gallows for guard work or with Hawke, she has not ever liked the sights of the Tranquil mages. So when there is a pounding at the door to her captain’s office, a pit starts to form in her stomach. Pounding is never a good sign. She opens the door to her office and the sight outside makes her sick to her stomach. Hawke is in the arms of two templars, but they aren’t fighting the templars as they usually would. There is no more of Hawke’s fire in their eyes and the calm voice that greets Aveline is not right. Hawke is unceremoniously shoved in her arms and her nauseous feeling melted away a bit to anger. This…. this was not the Hawke that she had fled into the Korcari Wilds with, the Hawke that would have died to protect their younger sister from Wesley when they met. There Aveline was left, with this broken version of her friend, seething with anger and a sense of pity for what had been done. 

Varric: There is basically one way to get onto Varric’s bad side and that is to fuck with his people. This means that the templars that brought Hawke to him in this state as well as every other stupid templar in those Gallows that allowed this to happen had made an enemy of Varric. However, that is an issue for another day as Varric would never abandon his people, which includes the now tranquil Hawke sitting at his table in the Hanged Man. It becomes quickly apparent that they are not like the Hawke he has known. They listen to the stories that Varric spins as he drinks to handle all this, but any of his clever quips that would have at least gotten a smile from Hawke now seem to just go over their head. As was said, Varric does not abandon his people, including Hawke, so he will always make sure to take care Hawke. But, the Black City will crumple before Varric gives up doing everything that he can to find a way to help Hawke, using whatever connections he has to gather that kind of information.

Anders: The minute that Anders finds out, from the moment that tranquil Hawke seems to stumble their way into his clinic, he snaps. Karl had been bad, and the threat to the girl had been worse, but this? All Hawke ever seemed to do is try to make a difference in Kirkwall and now they had been dealt the worst punishment out there. Vengeance roars inside of Anders and all of his self restraint is gone was he looks upon another friend made tranquil. There is nothing left to hold Anders back and if you think that what he did to the Chantry before was brutal, then the hell he would raise for Hawke would be at least ten times worse. And just like with Karl, I think that Vengeance’s powerful presence would bring some of the fade back to Hawke, but it would not be permanent to bring Hawke back. They would be gone, deprived of the fade, and while Vengeance roars within Anders, he also is taken with a sense of grief as he has lost another person to tranquility. 

Merrill: The Dalish do not concern themselves with the things that humans do, but that does not mean that Merrill has not heard rumors about the Rite of Tranquility. Especially after she moved to Kirkwall and suddenly the threat of templars was so much stronger, she had to keep from being discovered. However, when the short knock came to the door of her home in the alienage, she had not thought that she would be confronted by that reality in the form of Hawke with the tranquil brand burned into their skin. Everything was wrong, even their greeting of her was wrong and Merrill started crying immediately. This was Hawke, the one who brought her to the city and helped her settle her, but without their magic, they were so much duller. Merrill tries to offer them tea since they had come to visit her, but in the end, she breaks into sobs over lost friend. She already lost Tamlen to that mirror and now Hawke is gone. Merrill becomes even more sure of her decisions as she sees Hawke like this. It seems that though blood magic might be the only way to bring them back, all of her lost friends.

Isabela: Before Isabela had come to Kirkwall, she couldn’t say that she knew that much about this conflict between mages and templars. Those kinds of things tended to have a habit of staying on land and away from her ship. Even still, isabela has her morals that everyone deserves freedom and well, the tranquil she met in the Gallows... they creeped her out. When she wraps her arm around Hawke’s shoulder, there was something just... wrong about their postures. She quickly sees the brand on their forehead and sucks in a breath. She isn’t drunk enough for this. Every time she glances at Hawke staring blankly at her, Isabela has to take another shot. She might not have heard much about the mages and templars on the seas, but she sure as hell can use the seas to travel, searching for anything for Hawke. All she needs is a ship! This time, for Hawke.

Fenris: Fenris is dully aware of every single comment to support the rite of tranquility when he arrives at the Hawke estate to see his friend. Seeing Hawke just standing in front of the fireplace as their mabari whines at their feet was... startling. Fenris is aware that this might be the first time he has seen a tranquil mage, except maybe Karl, but this was disturbing. Tranquility was for blood mages, not good mages like Hawke! Everything that Fenris had learned from Hawke had taught him this: not all mages were bad and Hawke was one of the good mages. The lyrium in Fenris’s skin hums as his anger causes them to glow. What was it?! What was the reason to do this to someone as good as Hawke?! Why?

Sebastian: There had been plenty of times that Sebastian had made comments about Hawke being a mage or made comments that preached the Chantry’s ideals, but he wasn’t aware that this would actually happen. There is a pit in his stomach as Hawke dully enters the Chantry and Sebastian approaches him. Throughout all of his years with the Chantry, he can’t actually recall seeing any Tranquil come into the Chantry in Starkhaven. No, he knows he would remember it as he sees the way that Hawke moves, without any life that they once had. The Tranquil are made the the templars, servant of the Chantry, so why does seeing Hawke like this make Sebastian’s stomach hurt so badly? This is the Chantry’s rule, right? So why does this feel so wrong to Sebastian? 

Dog: From the moment their master comes home, Dog can tell that something is terribly wrong. They don’t smell right and they gave a whine confusion. They didn’t hug Dog, didn’t bend down and affectionately kiss Dog, didn’t call Dog the best mabari in all of Thedas like they usually did, merely patting Dog as they approached their master. It’s not right and they whimper, burying their nose and their master doesn’t paying that much mind at all, instead going to their room without a weird. (I know that Dog is typically just in origins but Hawke can also have a mabari and I wanted that angst)

-Direct From Orzammar

#dragon age #dragon age reaction #dragon age 2 #carver hawke #aveline #varric #anders #merrill #isabela #fenris #sebastian #dog #Anonymous

[mercyburned-aa]

For the Meta!   //   @whenthevoidcalls​

Clare - What is it that she finds so fulfilling about being a Warden/Warden-Commander? And what about as Queen? Does she really enjoy it or is it something she felt like she had a responsibility to do?

thank you for caring about my girls :sob:

for clare  --  what i try to keep in mind is that a cousland warden was probably better prepared beforehand for being in charge of things than any other origin save a dwarf noble.  clare’s parents were very literally going to leave the teyrnir in her hands for an undetermined amount of time,  while bryce / fergus went off to war and eleanor had intended to go stay with lady landra.  she’d probably been learning how to lead and studying her father for most of her life at that point.  it was even stated in canon that she was more likely to succeed the teyrnir than her older brother.  leadership is familiar and natural to clare although she’s not as patient as bryce.  and some of that is age.  she’s young and still very fiery and has a lot to say ;  he’s an old soldier and has had a lot more time to reflect.

and preface before i go further !   i do not automatically subscribe to queen cousland because of how it happens in canon.  the only real interest i have in that setting is seeing how clare can use that power and influence to bring about positive change for the people of ferelden both at home and abroad.  ( also,  it’s eamon’s idea in my world and not hers,  because clare would never force that. )   that said though,  i think she has a very similar level of power and influence as warden-commander,  plus she and anora could make an interesting / powerful lady duo.    my default is that she’s warden-commander and anora is on the throne.  if she does marry king alistair,  it’s because she’s in love with him,  not because she wants power.

as for what she finds fulfilling  --  during the blight itself,  she does feel a strong sense of obligation and it’s more of a duty.  a duty to duncan,  whom she admired greatly despite not knowing him long.  an obligation to her parents,  in that small moment when she realized that they were going to die,  she was going to live,  and there was nothing she could do about it.  to fulfill their last words,  “become a grey warden and do what’s right.” “our daughter will live and make her mark on the world.”  it’s pretty much all obligation / duty during the blight itself.

afterwards as commander is when she starts to find things about it that she actually enjoys.  clare is much better suited to leadership than she would have thought,  even with all her preparation growing up.  she finds that although it’s challenging and sometimes overwhelming,  it’s rewarding to see her wardens grow both as people and as a group,  and also in their confidence and strength.  becoming a grey warden saved clare’s life,  literally and figuratively,  because it was a single purpose she could focus on while everything else around her very literally fell apart and crumbled in the wake of howe’s betrayal.  

she finds it rewarding to help anders,  because now she knows what actually happens at the circle.  she saw the person-sized cages.  she saw the dungeons in the basement.  she saw the templars just sit around twiddling their thumbs instead of going in to save people who were still very much saveable.   she finds it rewarding to work alongside people like sigrun,  whom she adores  ;  justice,  who fascinates her and yet she feels responsible for him  ;  oghren,  her old friend,  whom she can encourage to be part of his child’s life,  because she makes the rules now and she doesn’t believe you can’t both be a warden and have a family  ;   velanna,  who even though they rub each other the wrong way at first,  they can find common ground as powerful and outspoken women  ;  and even nathaniel,  her childhood friend,  and how the visceral anger turns into a friendship that ends the feud and rivalry between their families.

clare loves her country.  in a modern context this word has a somewhat negative connotation but she’s patriotic,  she loves ferelden and being fereldan.  she believes in what her country and her people can do.  being warden-commander gives her legitimacy,  but moreso does being the hero of ferelden,  the champion of redcliffe,  the arlessa of amaranthine and,  even if only briefly,  teyrna of gwaren.  with these titles and the power / influence that comes with them,  she wants to rebuild the country.  fix roads.  get the farms in the bannorn and places like lothering back up and running,  if possible.   she wants to keep a strong working / political relationship with bhelen in orzammar and just....help.  she wants to get her hands on the phylacteries of mages who became wardens so that the templars can’t find them the way they kept hunting down anders.  

she wants to reform the wardens and let her wardens have people to come home to.  she wants to find a cure for the calling because she doesn’t want to die alone in the deep roads,  and she doesn’t want it to happen to her “kids” either.  and they’re her flock,  really.  even though most of them are older than her.  clare takes so much pride in being commander for these amazing people and in making vigils keep her own.  

back in highever,  she was just kind of fucking around and didn’t really have any goals or ambitions.  her parents weren’t that old and so she knew it would still be a while before she had to worry about whether it would be herself or fergus who would get highever.  it’s true that she didn’t have much of a choice in joining the wardens,  but rather than sit and bitch and moan about how unfair it is and how terrible it is,  uwu woe is me i am so SAD !!!! duncan is so MEAN !!!!  WOE !!!  my life is so TERRIBLE !!!,  she chose to see the good she can do with what opportunities were available to her and focus on that instead.  the circumstances that lead to her becoming commander showed clare that she’s much stronger and much more capable and clever than she was giving herself credit for,  before it all began.  i think what she really wanted was to matter to the world somehow and being a warden helped her achieve that.  

she puts a lot of time and effort into finding a cure and eventually she does by teaming up with avernus and insert some other headcanons here that would make this post five times as long,  lmao.  the wardens gave her the chance to reclaim her purpose and her identity,  to avenge her family,  to make a difference in people’s lives,  and to serve her country.  she could never think of it as anything but saving her life ... even if she’d still give just about anything to have her parents back.

#&. ‛ i will avenge my ghosts with every breath i take.︐ › clare cousland. #this got hella long but i could talk about my girl ALL FRIGGIN DAY #she finds purpose and meaning in service to others and i love that about her

[dragonologist-phd]

For Brosca and Aeducan as applicable, Alistair 2, Sten 2, Oghren 4 and Shale 2 please!

thank you!!! Darvis Brosca and Marja Aeducan are from my Origins fic Of Diamonds and Dust, and I love any excuse to talk about them!

Alistair 2: Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your Warden? How did your Warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?

Oooh boy, I like this question XD probably because I’m almost to this conversation in ODAD so I’ve been thinking about their reactions a lot lately...

And this convo is so much more interesting with dwarf wardens! Because by Orzammar culture, Alistair being an illegitimate child doesn’t matter at all in terms of inheritance or succession- it just matters that he’s the son of a noble man.

So Marja’s immediate reaction is you’re the rightful king, no question about it, and right then and there she begins planning how they’re gonna overthrow Loghain and put Alistair on the king, all while Alistair is quietly going ohnoohMakerpleasestop. She does back off a bit when she realizes how against it Alistair is, but it’s still on her mind.

And then there’s Darvis, who understandably has Issues with nobles and is just like first I have to deal with this Princess and now you’re a Prince?? just how many secret heirs do I have to put up with?? So he sulks about that for a little while, but once he realizes just how Alistair was treated in Redcliffe he realizes that didn’t really earn Alistair any favors

Sten 2: What did your Warden think of Sten’s beliefs that people’s roles are determined at birth? Did they agree?

Darvis doesn’t agree, but it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before so he doesn’t really spend much time arguing about it. It’s a lot stranger for Marja- she’s grown up with similar ideas, but those put her at the top, so it’s strange to be on the outside looking at a system that’s similar except it puts her at a disadvantage. She definitely does some soul-searching later on as she realizes more and more how shitty the caste system is, so the whole thing is weird, touchy topic for her.

Oghren 4: What was the relationship between your Warden and Oghren? Were they friendly or merely reluctant companions?

Ooh boy. I have so many Thoughts on Oghren and the potential he had to be a really interesting character, and how it was all wasted on jokes about being drunk and acting horribly to every woman he encounters.

In fact, here’s my hot take- Oghren is worse than Durance. Durance is a terrible person but a good character- the writers intended for him to be offensive and unlikable, and they gave him an interesting internal conflict that fit his character. I don’t know what the writers intended with Oghren. Apparently they thought he was comedic? While he has a good backstory to work with and every now and then gets some good lines, but most of his character is just him being awful.

So- Canon Oghren? Gets kicked out of the group by both Marja and Darvis the minute he sexually harasses someone.

As for my Headcanon Oghren, whose story focuses on him trying to pull himself out of the pit he’s fallen into and make himself a better person after feeling like he’s let down everyone in his life, and whose character is purged of all the gross sexual harassment stuff that adds nothing to the story:

Marja actually ends up kind of close to him. They’ve both been betrayed by the Orzammar society they once trusted in, and they’re both trying to see themselves as people beyond the roles they filled. Marja helps encourage him to be better and see beyond his failures, and Oghren helps her realize that she doesn’t have to perfect and strong all the time.

Darivs, however, still never warms up to him. Oghren’s drinking problem still reminds him too much of his mother for him to be ever be comfortable with.

Shale 2: Did the realization that Shale was once a living dwarf surprise your Warden? How did that change their views on golems?

Both Darvis and Marja were really surprised- although Darvis figures he should have guess, what with Orzammar’s track record of how they treat people. I don’t think either of them would have used the Anvil anyway, but being so close to Shale and seeing what it did to them made them even more against it.

Warden Asks

#orime-stories #lol sorry i Went Off on Oghren #i love the idea of characters at their lowest point pulling themselves back up #like Blackwall! i loved Blackwalls arc in dai #and they could have done that with that oghren #instead of making him the 'Alcoholism is Funny' and 'Hamrless Pervert' tropes #i ramble a lot about da writing choices lol im sorry #ch: marja #ch: darvis

[possiblypeachy]

opportunities missed.

―; summary: there are plenty of times during which the Warden and Alistair could've kissed. of course, in that terrible fashion of theirs, they were far too stupid to take these chances and instead fumbled around with their emotions like the fools that they were. at least we get some good pining out of it, hey?

―; pairing: alistair x female warden

―; word count: 4.8k

―; warnings: n/a (i think! please tell me if you deem otherwise.”

―; A/N: i am a Great Big Fool for never having written for alistair before. this himbo was my first love in a game and i need more content where he’s being useless so i thought i’d just write some myself. i can’t guarantee everyone’s 100% in-character but please do enjoy the oncoming antics regardless!!

― ❊ ―

To say that Alistair and the Warden’s relationship had been simple would be the biggest lie of the ages. Granted, during the Blight was a complicated time to decide that you love somebody but, Maker’s balls, did they make it difficult for themselves. It was all flushed cheeks and shy gifts in amongst the ruthless fighting and bloodshed; one might think they’d have been pushed to confess sooner, considering the looming threat of death, but one would also be bypassing the fact that they are idiots and idiots stray wildly from what is expected from them.

There had been a myriad of near-kisses on their journey together, all more ridiculous than the last, before it finally happened (afterwards, Zevran had owed Oghren a coin purse, much to the assassin’s chagrin). It was certainly something of a personal battle for everyone involved and, as we all know, battles always come will glorious tales behind them. Well, perhaps ‘glorious’ isn’t a viable word to use here but the whole ordeal was… interesting, for sure.

The first instance of this recurring disaster was while traipsing through Redcliffe Castle in hopes of finding Arl Eamon safe and well and not finding his demon-possessed son. Now, by this point, Alistair and our dear Warden were becoming steadfast friends; she had the same wit as him, that same sense of shy heroism, and, luckily for him, she seemed to have little tolerance for Morrigan’s constant mocking-- at least, she had little tolerance when she could tell that the apostate had hurt the poor man’s feelings. Nothing special was blooming yet but there was certainly a strong potential for that tension-- that delicious pining that everyone wants to read about or experience if they’re lucky.

“Do these corridors ever stop?” Was Alistair’s second complaint of the past hour, following a long, dismal monologue about the sheer amount of stairs in the castle. It was almost like he’d forgotten about how huge this place was as a child and was just now rediscovering it all.

“Do your complaints ever stop?” It was Morrigan who bit back, of course, and the Warden closed her eyes in anticipation. Hearing Morrigan speak was sometimes like being stood in the eye of a storm and knowing that there’s no escape from the battering soon to arrive. “One might think you Grey Wardens have bigger problems to whine about.”

Half-hoping that there’d be yet more walking corpses in the next room if only to stop their argument before it began, the Warden pushed open a door to her left and swerved into it, hand lingering near her weapon. Her hopes were crushed, however, when she was met instead with a horrible damp smell and a few rats-- not even of the giant variety-- skittering behind barrels and crates.

The disagreement didn’t stop either, with Alistair biting back a: “Well, I am truly, deeply sorry that I’ve not had my mind fully focused on-- what?-- the possible end to everything.” Morrigan scoffed but he continued over the sound of the Warden’s mabari barking-- he, too, quite obviously irritated with the bickering. “I suppose it’s easy to assume that people can’t have more than one thing on their mind when you live in a quaint, little bog--”

“I likely have more on my mind now than you ever have--”

“Ladies!” The Warden put one hand up, the other digging through the depths of a barrel in hopes that there was something useful there. “Why don’t we stop with the back-and-forth and-- Andraste’s tits, what is that?” She pulled out an object that resembled a fruit, brown and green due to age. An insect leapt from the surface of the fruit back into the grubby heaven that was the pit of the barrel. The Warden, able to handle things such as walking corpses and maleficarum but apparently not a rotting apple, threw the dastardly thing against the nearby wall. The impact made a disgusting, wet noise before sliding down to the floor.

The quartette stared at it briefly, all sharing a similar frown, before the Warden let out a tired sigh. “Well, if you two have stopped fighting, I think I’d like to leave this room and try to forget about what just happened.” With that, she turned.

Straight into Alistair.

It was a strange and decidedly awkward bump of chests, during which their faces were suddenly closer than they’d yet been. There were mutters of “Oh, Maker, sorry” and “Sorry, I didn’t-- uh-- see you there” that made Morrigan smile like… well, a witch behind them; they likely weren’t going to hear the end of it.

Alistair’s cheeks flushed a reddish colour, ears tinged with embarrassment, and it was in that moment that the Warden had decided that he was, for a warrior meant to help her save the world, quite adorable. He decided that same thing in the same moment about her, what with her averted gaze and little, apologetic smile.

Wonderful.

It happened the second time when they were both acutely aware of these growing feelings for one another. Leliana had already begun to poke fun-- in the kindest way possible-- about how she’d always catch them staring at each other from across the camp, a light in their eyes that declared admiration-- not only borne from respect for each other as fighters. Of course, in that way of theirs, they denied anything to begin with, despite their flirtatious banter and their want to protect one another on the battlefield.

Everyone in their merry little band could agree-- to this day-- that the Deep Roads around Orzammar were just the worst place to be in Thedas. Even without the extra darkspawn hanging about thanks to the Blight, the tight tunnels and deepstalkers were enough to keep anyone away. This, unfortunately, would be the next setting in their series of near-kisses.

A particularly tough squadron of darkspawn had set upon them during their search for Paragon Branka and, as always, their duty as Grey Wardens meant that they were obliged to at least try to take them out. The Warden could already feel the onset of muscle fatigue and sweating so much down in these depths was just bad for everyone. Quite frankly, she’d had enough and was considering calling for a retreat and trying to find a side tunnel they could take to pass by this onslaught; who knows what other beasts would be further along in the tunnels? They needed to conserve energy and supplies.

“Everyone!” She had shouted against the clash of metal and the crackle of magic, slamming her weapon into an attacking darkspawn, after which Morrigan promptly blasted it off of the rocky archway they’d been fighting on. “Retreat!”

The line of fighting started to pull back to the entrance to the cavern, darkspawn unable to crowd themselves onto the thinning walkway without stumbling and falling to the rocks below. It was all going well-- perfect, in fact-- until there was the distant and distinct burning sound of a fireball careening through the air. The Warden made direct eye contact with an emissary, holding its staff in its hands like it had just attacked, before a shout of her name came from her right and Alistair launched himself at her. The explosion of magic was deafening and blasted the entire party off of the rock arch and straight into the darkness below.

Despite the fall not being particularly high, the Warden was certainly ready for a painful impact, her skin already tender and hurting from the blast. Her body slammed into the floor, a cloud of dust following her as she rolled down a small ravine. Upon feeling the instant aching in her shoulder, she decided that she’d allow herself a few moments of grace and just lay there for a while-- at least to alleviate the ringing in her ears.

However, another body rolled into hers, the weight of them barreling her along with them until they both came to a stop tangled together. There was the distant groaning of Zevran, still lying on the floor, nursing a bleeding cut on his forehead, and Morrigan was stood a few metres away patting dirt off of her skirt with a face contorted with inconvenienced disgust. Admittedly, the Warden might’ve blacked out for a few moments but when she came to the realisation that the floor below her wasn’t rock and was, indeed, a person she inhaled sharply and sat up.

Alistair was beneath her-- to which she was sure that Zevran had said something to disgrace the Maker but the ringing in her ears was still too loud to hear it properly-- with cheeks painted red and a crooked little smile. His mouth was moving so she could only assume that he was speaking but rather than making it clear that she couldn’t hear him she did as was expected of her and said: “What?”

Well, perhaps ‘said’ isn’t the right word to use here. ‘Shouted’ maybe? Or, more appropriately ‘bellowed’? Either way, Alistair flinched when she all but yelled at him. As was expected, he shouted back in hopes that she’d be able to hear him over it all. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

The ringing was slowly starting to subside so, luckily, she didn’t have to scream at him anymore. “Ah, yes, the stench of darkspawn and a painful shoulder really does get me going.” Zevran, now stood, chortled at her comment and, if you looked closely enough, Morrigan had given a little smile too.

Despite their joking, the hand on her lower back that helped her up made the Warden’s poor little heart flutter and the mere fact that they had landed like that made Alistair worried that the Maker would smite him, though he’d let it happen if only to see the gentle curl of her lips for the rest of his life. Love could always bloom in strange places-- in this case, the Deep Roads-- and their lingering looks and closeness during combat made that overbearingly obvious to everyone else. Sickeningly so, Morrigan might add.

To think this was the end of their everlasting pining would make you a great fool-- much like them, actually. After the Deep Roads and that dreaded encounter with the broodmother, Alistair had shyly offered up a rose to the Warden. He had said that he couldn’t allow such beauty to be tainted by the Blight and, in a certain way, he felt the same about her. She’d blushed, made a silly though overall on-brand joke, and took the rose from him, fiddling with petals with a fullness in her heart that made it hard to breathe. When he’d seen her setting it down beside her bedroll before she slept, staring at it for a little too long, he had to practice every bit of restraint he had to not smile like a madman.

She hated to leave it in that dismal little box as they travelled to the Brecilian Forest but had to so anyway, making a mental note to ask Wynne if it was possible to magically preserve the flower later on. During the trip, Alistair and the Warden would always walk just a little too closely, backs of hands brushing past one another with a desire to cave and finally entwine. They’d share the same night watches, staying up together until sunrise, pointing out strange shapes in the stars or trying to convince the other that there was a beast in the nearby bushes. It was horrendous to see such obvious adoration between two people without ever having seen either of them consolidate it-- like reading a book that never reaches its climax.

The forest was nice enough, what with all the greenery and rabbits, if you could just discount the overwhelming presence of werewolves and the trees-- the walking trees. In hopes that things might go more smoothly, the Warden had brought her mabari along for the ride, praying that maybe he and the werewolves could bark up some kind of deal. Admittedly, this wasn’t perhaps the best idea-- Morrigan made that very clear-- but the Warden wasn’t some kind of lycanthrope expert and was only doing what instinct told her. Besides, much like a pair of children who had decided on a stupid idea, herself and Alistair had declared that, as the two Grey Wardens of the group, no one could tell them not to bring the mabari along. Then, they mumbled some reasons that seemed to be good enough for Oghren at least and went on their merry way.

The Warden, her mabari, Alistair, and Wynne (who had come along if only to support Alistair in his belief that the mabari plan would work) had been traipsing through the forest, muttering curses at rocks hidden underneath leaves and felled trees that would block their path. The Warden was amazed at how many of those sylvan creatures there were in these woods and, Maker, did their long, twiggy arms hurt if you got slapped by them. However, they had yet to encounter any of these werewolves that Keeper Zathrian had mentioned and she was starting to wonder if this was some kind of ploy to get the last two Grey Wardens in Ferelden killed or merely lost in the forest. Well, they could’ve done that themselves.

Her mabari barked a few times and looked at her, tension in his hindlegs that signalled agitation.

“What’s wrong, boy?” She bent down slightly to ask him, careful to not let her voice get too loud in case there were nearby enemies.

“Bark bark! Grrr!”

“What’s that? There are some other pooches on their way here that might not like us being on their territory?”

“Woof! Bark bark, woof!”

“Hiding would be advisable unless I’m willing to either fight them or be marked as territory--”

“Woof… woof, grrr.”

“-- and I’d never be able to wash that smell out of my clothes?” The Warden straightened herself again, her hands on her hips like she was considering what to put on her toast in the morning. “Well, you guys heard what the dog said; we should really find a spot to hide in.”

Wynne zoned out of what the Warden had said entirely and instead stared, open-mouthed, at her and the mabari. It’s difficult to describe the sheer level of confusion the wizened mage had painted across her features but, to put it into perspective, imagine that one of your friends had just had a full-blown conversation with a dog and-- oh, wait.

Alistair, on the other hand, had the kind of love in his eyes and curl to his lips that came from watching your partner do something altogether strange but genuinely quite skilful. This woman can talk to dogs-- how can she get any better? is what he probably thought upon watching this exchange.

The mabari barked again and it seemed to snap everyone out of their stupor and forced them to pay attention to what the Warden had just said, though Wynne would certainly be having words with the Warden about this later on. Did she understand him through tone of bark? Was it some kind of magic? How was he saying such long--

There was a crunch of fallen branches in the distance and snarl that even a war dog like her mabari couldn’t make. Wide eyes darted to Alistair, then Wynne, before she barrelled herself toward a gap between two nearby rocks, hoping that she didn’t smell too much of anything. The other two shared a look-- a panicked, helpless look. Wynne practically leapt behind a thick-trunked tree with surprising grace for a woman of her age and left Alistair to stiffen up in the middle of the path.

Her mabari barked at him once, a considerable amount of concern in his tone when one considers that he’s a dog, and Alistair plunged into a familiar state of panic-- one of the many reasons that he always insists on being a follower, not a leader. Maker, he was going to be eaten by one of these werewolves-- an oversized, probably stinking, mutt. What a way for one of the only two Grey Wardens in Ferelden to die.

A hand yanked on his own and he suddenly had to suck in a breath to squeeze into this cold, slightly damp crack in the rock. The Warden was pushed a little further down the crack, one of her hands pressed against his shoulder to push him back against the wall a little, allowing her to peer out into the open. Alistair soon became acutely aware of how close they were and it got more and more difficult to keep any kind of attention on the task at hand. Instead, he’d let her do all the heavy-lifting while he decided if that smell of hers was more of a campfire aroma or some kind of lady product she might’ve picked up on the road. His brows furrowed. Were there such things to be picked up? And, surely she wouldn’t have the time to--

He fought back the need to heave out air when she wriggled herself closer to him, effectively squeezing her body right in front of his in this dastardly gap. Her hand pressed to his chest now instead of his shoulder in hopes of creating a little more breathing room for herself, though this, in turn, suffocated him a little bit. The curiosity in her eyes was quite sweet, however, so Alistair decided against saying anything yet.

Her mabari barked at the rustling on the outer edge of the clearing, that distinct threat in his eyes that marked him as a war dog. When a hulking foot crunched through the leaves and the guttural snarling became louder than ever before, he didn’t seem so eager to fight anymore and lowered his tail, flattening his ears to his head. He looked in the direction of the Warden, worried, and she did a strange kissy face as reassurance; he would be getting lots of hugs and treats after this, even if Morrigan complained about how the extra meat made him absurdly gassy.

From her position crushed between Alistair and the rock, she couldn’t crane her neck around to look at the source of the thumping footsteps. Alistair, on the other hand, could see the werewolf too well, breathing out a curse of “Maker’s breath” before the Warden slammed a hand over his mouth in a fit of sudden fear that the oversized pooch would hear him. Their gazes met and her eyes widened, silently asking him what he saw. Her hand stayed clamped over his mouth so he raised his hands awkwardly, careful not to jostle himself or her, and made a gesture that screamed ‘it’s huge!’. She swallowed down her nerves and poked her head out of the gap a little further, finally allowing Alistair to breathe through his mouth again.

The werewolf was alone, luckily, and sniffed at the air as it inched forward, poking its nose about before it landed its sight on the mabari. Beady eyes narrowed, its back hunched over more, and it padded toward the fellow dog. “What is this--” there was a little snort, “-- mutt doing alone?”

As the Warden had asked, the mabari barked a few times, though he was certainly less sure of himself now than he was before. She was proud of him, at least-- her little snookums, her tiny, baby boy; look at him, facing off against such a hardy foe! He’d come so far since he was a puppy. She did one of those strange, nostalgic smiles that made Alistair practically vibrate with the beginnings of laughter.

“Stupid dog. Thinks I can understand it’s tongue--”

The Warden had poked her head out a little too far and, filled with worry that she might stumble out of their spot, Alistair grabbed her shoulders and tugged her back toward him. A few pebbles slipped under her feet as she wobbled back into position which made the werewolf dart its head in their direction. Her mabari began to bark again, hopping about on the spot in hopes of drawing attention back to him.

Smart boy, is what Alistair thought as he eyed the situation, still holding the Warden in her spot; a bout of protector complex had come over him, it seemed. He wasn’t going to lose his partner in crime to some… ugly dog. They still had this whole Blight problem to sort out and, Maker, he would not be able to do that himself.

The Warden didn’t even get a chance to see if her dog’s distraction had worked since her mind had quite wonderfully latched onto the realisation that her face was mere inches from Alistair’s.

Welcome to the party, dearest Warden.

Her eyes began to study the little intricacies of his face: that stubble of his that he’d all too often cut himself trying to shave, the wound on his cheek that she’d have to remind him to clean later on, the crease that appeared between his eyebrows whenever he tried to concentrate a little too hard. It all made her want to bring a hand up to cup his cheek, to angle his face so that she might kiss his cheek or, even better, his--

“That bloody wolf is finally gone. I didn’t think--” Alistair turned to face her but words caught in his throat when he saw the way that she was looking at him, a sudden flush painting his cheeks. He swallowed once and finally croaked out the rest of his sentence, voice barely there, “-- I didn’t think your dog was going to-- to pull it off.”

The Warden paused for a moment, then her mouth curled into a grin, breathing out a laugh. He was so terribly awkward that it made her want to take his face in her hands and squish his stupid, idiot cheeks together. She’d want it no other way. “This is romantic, isn’t it?”

At this, Alistair’s nerves eased somewhat and he followed her in chuckling, shaking his head at her remembrance of a decidedly terrible line he’d said while they were stuck in the pit of the world. “Arguably more so than last time. I would’ve liked some flowers or maybe some atmospheric music but beggars can’t be choosers, can they?”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” The Warden replied through laughter, a hand pressed delicately against his chest plate. Their gazes met, expressions softening into something different-- something like love, and her eyes soon flickered down to his lips. His cheeks flushed a darker colour, pupils blown wide.

Just as either one of them were about to make the first move, a bark sounded just outside the gap in the rock above the gentle fullness of Wynne’s laughter. “Ah, to be young and in love.” She mused, looking at them with the same kind of amusement that would befit a grandmother who just found out her teenage grandchild had a crush on someone: hands clasped together and a knowing little smile painted across her lips. “Come on, lovebirds; we have the world to save.”

The Warden shuffled out first, with the help of Alistair who had begun to ramble on to Wynne about how Grey Wardens could “actually telepathically communicate, which is what we were just doing.” Wynne simply murmured back sarcastic agreements, smiling up at Alistair all while trying to stop herself from laughing. Admittedly, even the Warden herself didn’t think they could talk themselves out of that one, though she admired Alistair for trying.

When they finally ambled back to camp after resolving Keeper Zathrian’s werewolf problem, the Warden had gone to sit with Alistair beside the fire as usual. Each time they sat together, they seemed to inch closer, shoulders and hands touching by this point. Sometimes, on cold evenings, the Warden would even rest her head on his shoulder, telling stories of her childhood and tales about the scars that littered her body.

This particular evening, Alistair seemed occupied with something, however-- so much so that he didn’t even respond when the Warden had offered him the crunchy end of the bread that he always begged for. She plonked her chin down on his shoulder and hummed, the vibration catching him off-guard. He turned a little so he could look at her and she pulled away, holding the bread out to him again. “What’s on your mind?”

Alistair pursed his lips, taking the bread and picking at the crust around the outside. “All this time we’ve spent together… you know: the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us…” He dropped his hands into his lap and let his eyes wander back to her. “Will you miss it once it's over?”

She thought for a few moments, gaze boring into the fire like it might give her some kind of answer. “There’ll always be more battles to fight somewhere.” There was a pause before she turned to him, a gentle curiosity about the nature of his question swimming about in her eyes. Though, she said nothing more, allowing him to continue.

“But that doesn’t mean we would necessarily be fighting them together.” His hands were shaking a little more than he would’ve liked and the next breath he released sounded more akin to an owl than anything else. “I know it… might sound strange, considering we haven’t known each other very long, but I’ve come to… care for you.” He stopped, a nervous little smile coming to his face. “A great deal.”

It was safe to say that the Warden knew where this conversation was leading and the pit of her stomach felt like a cauldron, holding an unusual mixture of anxiety and joy, love and fear. She shuffled slightly so that she might face him more, though Alistair, lost in this little confession of his, seemed to be staring off over her shoulder, scared that looking into her eyes would reveal some form of rejection.

“I think maybe it’s because we’ve gone through so much together, I don’t know. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.” His gaze finally met hers and there was such vulnerability in those depths of amber that it made her want to weep. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever…” Maker, her heart was ready to burst, “...feel the same way about me?”

There wasn’t even room for her to think before her lips cracked into a wide grin and she did that little excited giggle of hers. “I already do, Alistair, you idiot.” It was her that pressed forward to kiss him, both hands coming up to cup his face like she’d wanted to ever since he’d donned that delightful blush of his at Redcliffe. The world became enveloped in him and, for a few moments, all thought of the Blight had been replaced with just this overwhelming desire to just… be with him. She wanted to be there whenever he tripped over little logs on their adventures, she wanted to help him choose tunics that compliment his hair colour, she wanted to feel that familiar rush of fighting alongside him-- she wanted him and all that he entails.

The kiss was short-lived but had enough feeling behind it that they pulled away feeling breathless-- as though the Maker Himself had crushed them both together. When they pulled away, Alistair had that pinkish tinge to his cheeks that made the Warden push them together with her hands. “Maker’s breath, you’re handsome.” She pecked his lips again. And, again. In fact, she looked a little bit like a duck.

She finally released his cheeks when his smile became too large to contain. With a laugh and a shake of his head, a hand coming up to try to cool his blush down, he finally lifted the bread she’d given him back up from his lap. “Right, well… that went far smoother than I expected.” He picked at the bread again, averting his gaze and dipping his head down slightly, trying to hide-- to not much avail-- the ever-growing smile upon his lips. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my bread and be off to sleep, lest I pass out entirely on the dirt here.”

The Warden huffed out a laugh, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, before hauling herself to her feet. “Well, I’ll be going to bed then. I’ll be sure to dream of you so…” She took a few steps towards her tent, pondering on her words. “... dream of me too so that we might meet in our sleep, eh? I couldn’t bear to wander the Fade without you.”

With that, she shuffled off to her bedroll, a smile on her face that just wouldn’t budge. Behind her, Alistair was the same, munching on the bread much like the cat who’d caught the canary.

They may have been idiots but at least they could be idiots together.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #alistair x tabris #alistair x surana #alistair x amell #alistair x mahariel #jesus that was a lot #writing #i should write for dragon age more often

[edelgoth]

Hi may I request a DA matchup? I’ll apologize in advance as this might be lengthy;;; I’m NB, pan preferring men. 4w5 INFP-T. I’m patient, empathetic, & it takes a lot to get me mad, I can be pretty blunt tho. I have difficulty trusting others/making friends but when I do, my loyalty is unwavering. I’m reserved, quiet, listen more than talk, but enjoys being around people who are more outgoing/encouraging/supportive w/o being pushy! (1/3🐛)

Some of my worst flaws is that I’m prone to catastrophizing and can be terribly avoidant. Working on doing better lately. As a book illustrator, I love when people are happy seeing their stories come to life! I enjoy curating playlists for my friends, musical theatre, logic puzzles, outdoor activities like hiking, swimming, bug watching. (2/3🐛)

Not entirely sure what I want in a partner but maybe someone who isn’t afraid to tell things to me straight bc I can be dense as heck(or at least in my experience in the matters of love, I can’t pick up on the fact that someone might have feelings so just please tell me). Idk if it helps but my main love languages are acts of service and words of affirmation. Thank you so much for this and again I apologize for the length;; Hope you have a good day!;;)/💖 (3/3🐛)

i honestly get so excited when i see dragon age requests in my ask box aaa 

and don’t apologize about length!! gives me more to work with 

so, from the dragon age universe, i match you with…

zevran!!

you were pretty easy to pick someone for!! the more i read your profile, the more i just kept nodding and going “yep. zevran’s The One.” 

zevran is a well of concealed compassion, and i think you’re the sort of person who’d be able to bring it out of him (every time i think of him standing up for the mages in the circle i get Emotional). being with someone empathetic, who allows themselves to be kind, would really challenge the worldview he cultivated while with the crows 

he also values your loyalty; it’s something he’s never expected from people, and it touches him more deeply than he could’ve anticipated. it helps him feel more comfortable with you, and to slowly start taking down his walls 

on a lighter note, zevran would appreciate the fact that it takes a lot to make you mad; he’s playful, and he enjoys pressing people’s buttons (all of his conversations with other members of the campfire crew are gold because of this). his partner would have to be pretty patient, you know?? just be prepared for a lot of teasing

in terms of your personalities, you seem to have a fun contrast; where you’re reserved and quiet, zevran is outgoing and talkative. he strikes me as the sort who’d just decide you friends and that’s it (you know that thing about the extrovert adopting the introvert?? that, basically) 

he’s got a lot of stories to tell, and he seems to genuinely enjoy talking. so, the fact that you’re more of the listening type works out!! all he’d ask for would be some gasps every now and then 

you said you enjoy being around people who are outgoing, encouraging, and supportive without being pushy. well, zevran ticks all those boxes, in my opinion!! he’s surprisingly observant and attentive, and he genuinely wants to help you live the best life you can as the best version of yourself. anything he can do to help, he will  

zevran is quite cool-headed and logical (more so than his general temperament lets on), and i think that means he’d be good to have around whenever you began to catastrophize. he’d be able to talk you down, to work through each of your anxieties calmly, and to console you as best he could

it’d be a similar case with your avoidance; zevran is observant and smart enough to know the right approach and what’s actually going to help 

he finds your illustrations adorable (and being a book illustrator honestly sounds like such a cool job hhh). he’s always pestering you to illustrate his past adventures -- if you refuse, you can bet that he’d be bartering with you to earn it 

finally, zevran is definitely the partner who isn’t afraid to tell you things straight, because he’s very forward and he’s not afraid to call things as he sees them (i remember when i took him to orzammar and he just went off about harrowmont dklfdsjdflj) but in terms of romance, zevran isn’t afraid to make his intentions clear -- so you don’t have to worry about that!! 

overall, i think you’d have a wonderful connection, and a good balance of personalities that make for a great match!!

alternate matchups

isabela: i would die for my pirate wife without hesitation. neway, my reasons for choosing her are fairly similar to the ones i listed with zevran. she’s got a lot of empathy that she hides away, and i think she’d flourish with a person who’d help bring that out of her. otherwise, you two also have a good contrast in personalities; she’s outgoing, confident and bold, while you’re more reserved and patient. you can learn a lot from each other, and that’s always a good thing in a relationship!! and like zevran, she’s very forward, when it comes to her intentions, so no need to worry about being dense. i don’t think she’s as good of a match as zevran, but she’s still a great choice!! 

iron bull: for a moment i thought that bull was different from zevran and isabela, but then i realised that i’ve really just given you a Type TM. like zevran and isabela, he’s forward, confident and outgoing, and he’d balance your personality out quite well. bull would match your interests best, since i think he’d really enjoy hiking and swimming, and he also fits the bill for being a partner who’d tell you things straight. like zevran, i feel like he’d have a lot of stories to tell you that he’d love to see reimagined in your illustrations. i didn’t choose him as your main match because he’s just a bit,,, gruffer than zevran?? if that makes sense?? it probably doesn’t hhh

#also i got your apology ask!! don't worry about it; i decided i just want to keep da content to this blog #i hope you see this ~~ #matchups #dragon age matchups #zevran matchup

[lipstickhawke]

About the Character: Uliama Aeducan

Tagged by:  @red-wardens​ Thank you!! I have three World states with three different Hawkes, Wardens and Inquizzys so I’ll just pick my Warden that I know the best. 

Tagging: @scharoux​, @cssie-christmas​, @larknnightingale​, @champion0fkirkwall, @writingnodule If anyone else wants to do it too feel free!

———–

― your muse’s name:

Uliama “Uli” Aeducan 

―  a favorite picture / faceclaim of your muse: Here’s a recent one I did. 

― two headcannons you have for your muse:

Uli thought the WORLD of her older brother Trian. She would have done anything he said without question and always pictured being his right-hand woman when he ruled. The thing is, Trian was ruthless and reckless and would have made a terrible king. But she was so blinded by her love for him that she didn’t even see it. That’s one of the hardest things for her to come to terms with. While she was competitive with her brothers, she also felt comfortable in her position, it was more devotion to her father and Trian that drove her. She had a very cold and stoic relationship with Bhelen because she didn’t see him as someone who’d ever make a name for himself in the family. A part of her was frustrated at him for not making more of an effort to be better, and that certainly backfired. 

As a young girl, she was known as being extremely bright and opinionated. She fit in really well in the heavy political atmosphere and always knew what was expected of her. She has an extreme amount of confidence in herself and is often very arrogant about it. This developed into scare tactics and being extremely tyrannical towards anyone who questioned her. If Uli had been made Queen or Orzammar at the beginning of Origins, she would have been as bad if not worse than Trian. She doesn’t like to remember that part of her life. 

― three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

Art. Uli has a great appreciation for the visual arts. It’s one of the few things that makes her feel completely at ease. Since it’s something she was never assigned to learn as a child, it is a good reliever after a stressful day. It feels detached from a world of constant pressure. 

History. Dwarven history to be more specific. She was once very proud of her royal heritage and that sparked an interest in learning about her predecessors. This progressed into studying the histories of all dwarven histories and how Orzammar has developed into what it is today. She doesn’t know anything about other race’s histories and doesn’t really ever think about it until she is exiled. She develops an interest in other histories during the main plot of origins. 

Collecting. Being the dwarven princess, it’s hard not to be a little obsessed with pretty things. She has a vast collection of bobbles and trinkets that she keeps in her room to the point where it’s beginning to look a little crowded. Anything shiny is fair game, and bonus points if she can wear it in her hair. 

― seven people your muse loves / likes:

in a “sort of” particular order: Zevran, Trian, King Endrin, Sten, Morrigan, Nathaniel Howe, and in the deep deep depths of her heart Bhelen. 

― a phobia your muse has:

 She doesn’t really have a specific phobia, she’s pretty brave. But she does have a difficult time being vulnerable and being touched. She’s a tough love kind of girl, and any sort of genuine soft affection feels very strange to her. She’s emotional with her negative feelings but was never taught how to express her positive ones without feeling weak for doing it. 

#um THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME!!!?!?! #I love talking about my kid and i loved reading about your Hawke! #uliama aeducan #uli aeducan #my oc #my art #tagged #dragon age origins #da:o #dragon age #Warden Aeducan #aeducan #princess aeducan #dwarf warden