#and hawke knows that anders might not take it the way they intended to say it but they wont mind that. in fact they deem it amusing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jazzafterhours · 6 months

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hawke is an honourable man, but the company he keeps is questionable. two apostates, one of which is a blood mage, and another that is an abomination. shady characters who likely deal in illicit, selfish affairs. guard-captain aveline has sebastian's respect, but even fenris is too accepting of the mages in their midst, despite knowing exactly how dangerous they are.

this is not the crowd sebastian expected to find himself fighting alongside when he offered to travel with hawke whenever the man had need of him. sebastian doesn't intend to go back on his word. he only wishes hawke were more selective with who he calls a friend.

the blood mage is among the worst. she is deceptive with her bright eyes and gentle smiles, with her unassuming stance and sweet words. she plays at being a pure being.

sebastian knows better. he has fought beside her at hawke's behest, seeing the dark power she wields in battle. abomination or not, she is something of a demon herself, luring them into a false sense of security so they might forget how monstrous she is beneath. she doesn't even try to hide her magic, she insists on advocating for its usefulness.

and she seems to have the others all wrapped around her finger.

isabela flirts with many, but with merrill, there is something undeniably tangible and charged. she claws her fingers and makes a noise like a wildcat, and merrill giggles, bringing two fingers up to her lips in a fleeting vulgar gesture. it's like the two of them are speaking a secret language about the private things that pass between them.

and merrill will say, "you haven't taken a break in a while, varric," and varric will hum low, considering, before saying, "tomorrow night, then."

aveline does not appear to have a standing engagement with the blood mage, but she looks the other way when it comes to merrill's dark, magical practices, and she protects merrill fiercely in battle. she seems to hold her in a high regard that sebastian can't parse.

unsurprisingly, the apostates have colluded as well. merrill sidles up close to anders and touches his wrist under the hem of his fraying sleeve, and he blushes even from such a simple contact.

she is a temptress, akin to a demon of desire.

while on a trip with hawke, isabela, and the blood mage, the two women exchange another one of their little flirtations, and sebastian feels he must comment.

"i pray that the others can yet see you for the seductress you are and free themselves from your treacherous claws."

isabela snorts. merrill tips her head to the side in that innocent-seeming way she does.

"seductress?" she echoes with a lopsided smile. "are you looking for some seducing, sebastian?"

sebastian blanches. "what? of course-- no."

merrill's expression smooths back out. "oh. i thought you were playing a game. i'm still working on telling when someone is using innuendo."

"playing..." sebastian mutters. she thought he was coming onto her. of his own free volition! vehemently, he adds, "that is not the man i am anymore."

isabela cuts in. "yeah, that's why you're acting all hot and bothered and your cheeks look like they could start a fire."

up at the front of the group, hawke sighs. "i don't suppose i could get the three of you to care about the fact that we're about to walk into a mercenary ambush? is anyone keeping an eye out for traps?"

"well," isabela says, "if you mean the kind of trap that clamps down like a vice, nice and tight--"

then a squad of mercenaries charges them, and sebastian is saved from having to address the unexpected turn this conversation has taken.

he can't stop thinking about it. of the promise she makes, of the heat in isabela's gaze and the blush on anders' face and varric's easy compliance. she has earned this from all of them, she has--

sebastian takes a knee in front of andraste's statue in the chantry and forces his mind to clear, to focus on his prayers.

this isn't the life he chose for himself, it isn't what he wanted at the time, but at the time, he hadn't known what he really wanted. he hadn't known what he needed. he'd thought of nothing but himself, of wasteful activities that served no greater good. being sent to the chantry, although not his choice initially, has turned his life around. he has been given a second chance to bathe in the maker's light.

no beautiful, trickster blood mage will draw him into the darkness.

merrill never assumes wrong again. she never says anything untoward, at least not to sebastian. she is respectful, sebastian supposes. or maybe she recognizes that she cannot manipulate him, and simply doesn't waste the effort.

sebastian doesn't always join the others for card night at the hanged man. these nights are always full of drinking and gambling, and often crude jokes. this isn't the atmosphere that's good for sebastian anymore. he doesn't wish to be tempted.

tonight, he goes. he is the only one at the table without a tankard of ale, and he has little coin to bet, so the others accept him as a non-gambling participant.

merrill is across from him at the table, and she smiles at him, but in her usual gentle way instead of that crooked, coy thing from that day when things got out of hand.

sebastian still can't stop thinking about it, no matter how much he tries.

it has been years now since he enjoyed the company of another. the vow of chastity had chafed, at first. he's grown to understand what it means to live a life without distraction and personal pleasure, but at first--

he'd been angry. shamed. humiliated. despairing for the future he never got to have, as the chantry became a cage so soon into his adulthood. he wonders, is it so wrong to--

something nudges against his shin. sebastian looks up and sees merrill watching him with her big, worried eyes, having found his leg with her foot beneath the table. her expression seems to ask if he's okay.

sebastian isn't sure that he is.

whatever merrill sees in his face, it makes her fold her hand of cards together and set them down on the table.

"it's been a long day," she says when the others glance her way in question. "i could use an early night."

then she smiles at sebastian again, wide and inviting.

she stands to a chorus of goodbyes from their friends, still looking sebastian's way while she pushes her chair back in at the table.

when she goes, sebastian waits only a handful of minutes before following her lead, claiming he needs to be back for a late service at the chantry. varric looks at him with a pointed gaze that seems to say he sees through the lie, and if he's planning any harm to merrill, he will pay for it.

not tonight, sebastian thinks.

he goes, and instead of ascending the great steps towards hightown, he turns down the streets to the alienage.

merrill is standing in front of the vhenadahl, her hands clasped together at the small of her back as she lifts her face to regard the old, sacred branches of her people's tree. she appears small in front of the wide trunk, but sebastian knows better than to ever consider her harmless.

when sebastian approaches, she steps back from the tree and gestures at him to follow. obediently, he does. he is unsure how to feel about that, but it doesn't stop him from entering her house and letting her shut the door behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the world.

"you can leave any time you like," merrill says as if she's reading his thoughts.

sebastian questions whether such a thing is possible with blood magic, but he doesn't think so. merrill is, perhaps, just good at knowing what others need.

"you took a vow, didn't you?" she asks.

it should be an accusation, but she doesn't say it like one. yes, he took a vow, and here he is planning to break it, to give in, and to her, of all people, a blood mage who sleeps around like there's nothing wrong with it, like she cares for nothing except--

"sebastian?"

"i--" he says. "i shouldn't be here."

"why not?"

because this is wrong. because it will make him an oathbreaker. because the chantry desires him chaste and focused. right now, those don't seem like very compelling reasons, and he's not sure why. they suddenly feel empty, flimsy.

"i don't know."

merrill purses her lips, regarding him. it's a minute before she speaks again. "if you want to stop, you tell me so, okay? say 'stop', at any point, and we stop."

sebastian has heard such things before. watchwords and negotiations and boundaries laid out on the table. he'd mostly only bothered when his partner wanted to do so. other times, he didn't care what his partner did with him, as long as he felt something good in the end. he'd assumed merrill to be similar--wicked and wild, hungry and insatiable. he misjudged her in at least a couple of ways.

"okay," he says, because she's pointedly waiting for him to reply.

"good." she smiles at him. "how about you start by taking off your armour?"

she words it like a suggestion, but there's an edge in her voice that sounds almost like a command. it is whatever sebastian wants to make of it.

he takes it as an order, and reaches for the straps of his bracer. while he works them loose and slips the white and gold metal off, merrill takes a seat in one of her rickety chairs, a respectful distance away, nowhere near close enough to touch. she merely observes, a soft smile on her face and a spark of interest in her eyes.

his bow and quiver next, then the pauldron. they join the bracer on merrill's area rug. sebastian tugs his gloves off, dropping them among the growing pile. he hesitates, swallowing a lump in his throat, before working off the chestpiece and the chain mail beneath it.

as he unbuckles his belt, he can't help but ask, "will you be disrobing anytime soon?"

her smile grows. "not soon, but i will. i want to focus on you for now."

sebastian blushes, unused to having such attention after years without. he forgot what it was like to have someone preoccupied with him and only him, liking the look of his body, eager to have more of it. eager to have him.

he stoops to lay his belt on the floor, then continues with his armour under merrill's watchful eye.

she finally stands when he's down to just his plain shirt and breeches, coming up in front of him. "may i?"

sebastian nods, then shivers when she slips her hands beneath his shirt and presses them to his bare chest, sliding up, taking the shirt with her as it gathers upon her wrists.

without a word, sebastian lifts his arms and lets her push the shirt up and off. she pauses again with her fingers at the strings of his breeches, but all it takes is a swift nod from him for her to untie them and push down, breeches and smallclothes together.

sebastian steps out of them when they pool on the floor, and then he's naked before merrill, a sharp contrast in their state of dress.

merrill spreads her fingers over his abdomen, feeling his muscles. she raises one hand to run it along his drawing arm, feeling those muscles as well. she looks up, meeting sebastian's eyes, then goes to the tips of her toes to kiss him.

in all his imaginings, sebastian never expected a kiss. her lips are warm and a little chapped, full and gentle. sebastian has not even had this during his years at the chantry, and a wave of need crashes over him, a dam broken down in one fell swoop. he circles his arm around her waist to pull her closer, tilting his head to kiss her deeper. she responds in kind, making a little pleased noise that stirs sebastian further.

being with another person like this is galvanizing, and he has missed it.

merrill pulls away far sooner than sebastian would like, but her smile is still kind and soothing, granting him patience.

"i would like to try something, if you're interested," she says.

equal parts apprehension and anticipation course through him. he hasn't forgotten who she is, what she's capable of, but she hasn't done a single thing to make him consider saying 'stop'.

"i might be interested," he says noncommittally, "what do you have in mind?"

merrill flits away with a bounce in her step, opening a chest to retrieve something from inside. a strip of forest green fabric. turning back to face sebastian with the cloth in her hands, she says, "i want to blindfold you."

apprehension grows to overtake anticipation, even as sebastian eyes the cloth, already considering it. not being able to see her, to see any touch before it happens, will leave him vulnerable. he hesitates to put himself in such a position around a blood mage, but right now, merrill isn't a blood mage. she's a person offering him a release he has been without for years, and has yet to take anything for herself. even this is not a demand, but an offer.

"very well," he says.

her smile broadens. "your hands will be free. you can push it off whenever you like, if you need to."

sebastian nods, that knot of apprehension slowly coming undone, quieting to a normal amount of nervousness for a first-time experience.

merrill walks around him, and already sebastian feels hyper-aware of exactly where she's standing, knowing that he will soon not be able to see her, only hear her. he can almost feel her proximity like a physical thing, the space between them carrying new energy like he has witnessed her with the others.

she rests a hand on his back, right in the middle between his shoulders, an oddly soothing touch. sebastian relaxes under it, and only then does she loop the cloth around his head to secure it across his eyes. the light leaves the room instantly, the heavy and dark fabric blocking it effectively.

the vow he recently made in the chantry floats back into his conscious mind: he would not let temptation pull him back into the darkness. now here he stands, allowing an apostate to pull the cloth over his eyes, plunging him into the void.

merrill's hand presses to his back again. "are you alright?"

sebastian sucks in a deep breath, swallowing down the tightness in his throat. he wants this, there's no denying it. he wishes he could just expel the voice in the back of his head for a little while.

a surprising amount of honesty makes its way into his response. "i am trying to be."

unexpectedly, lips press to his shoulder, warm and a little chapped. he jumps in surprise, but the shock is short-lived.

"i think your willingness to try is very admirable," she tells him, sounding just as honest. "thank you for telling me. i understand what this means for you."

sebastian's next exhale comes out stuttered, a wave of emotion crashing through him. she is so much more understanding than he thought--at most, he has always interpreted her demeanour to be a manipulation, but if that were the case, she's already sufficiently caught him in her web, and all she's doing is praising him. she's allowing him to process at his own pace, which isn't something sebastian thinks anyone else has ever done for him.

on unsteady but determined steps, sebastian turns, holding his hands out to find merrill and guide himself. he manages to find her hips, the warm fabric and leather of her armour beneath his palms. he ducks down, only a little, aware that he can't be exactly sure of where her face is, and he'd rather not embarrass himself with clumsiness.

she doesn't leave him unmoored. her hand cups the side of his neck, and she responds to his wordless plea for a kiss. it's a deep kiss, wet and hot and encompassing. she nips at his bottom lip, curls her tongue across the roof of his mouth, exploring him, and it leaves him shivering, growing hard between his legs.

when they part to catch their breath, he hears her take a step back, feels her hands sweep down his arms to his hands. sebastian lets her tug him across the room, unable to see where they're going.

she leads him far enough, with a bit of a turn, that he thinks they've left the main room. the wood panelling floor is rough on his soles, but her hands are soft, and she doesn't let him trip, doesn't let him stumble into anything.

they come to a stop, and sebastian hears the light creak of a bed frame. after a moment, merrill pulls him closer again, and he knows to move carefully, until he can rest a knee onto the mattress and follow her.

she guides him to lie down, careful urging rather than shoving. sebastian ends up on his back, laid straight out, while she seems to be sitting by his hip, from the dip in the mattress and the touch of her knee against his side.

the shifting of weight signals when she leans over him. her hand presses to his abdomen, and her lips brush over his collarbone. she leaves a series of chaste kisses across his skin: the hollow of his throat, the slope of his shoulder, right on his sternum, just below a nipple. tingling sensation remains like a mapped constellation.

although his hands are free, he's unsure what to do with them other than curling his fingers in the blanket beneath them; he wouldn't know where to reach for her, and doesn't want to disrupt her.

her fingers trace his hip bone, coming to his side and sliding down to his thigh. he doesn't expect her next kiss above his navel.

"you're very lovely," she murmurs against his flushed skin.

'lovely' isn't a word sebastian has ever received before. he's had partners compliment his body or how he uses it, but he was more often the one doing the complimenting, and still, no one ever chose the word merrill does. the way she says it, it feels good.

her hand pushes harder against him as she moves, and a moment later, sebastian finds her seated comfortably on his thighs. she's still fully clothed, her wrapped leather leggings smooth to the touch.

she drifts her fingers down both his arms, taking one of his wrists to lift it off the bed. she kisses a line along the inside of his forearm, then over his knuckles.

sebastian gasps in surprise when her mouth closes around two fingers, silky tongue fit between them. experimentally, he curls his fingertips down on it and drags them back to the tip before pushing them deeper into her mouth again. he's rewarded with a faint sound of pleasure that reverberates around his fingers.

her reaction amplifies his own; he has always found satisfaction in sharing such intimacy. his parents would call it a shameful indulgence. the chantry would call it a selfish distraction. he only wants to connect with another, to know someone inside and out, to feel good, and to make someone else feel good with him.

after a few more passes of her tongue along his fingers, merrill pulls back, though she keeps holding onto his hand, her index finger across his pulse point. his heartbeat is loud in his ears, even more so for his lack of sight to distract him from it.

"i'm going to get undressed now," she tells him.

it's something of a promise that makes need flow through him. he wets his bottom lip, clutches the blanket between his fingers. he nods against the pillow.

he feels her move, and expects her to stand, but not to press a firm parting kiss to his lips before she does so.

then her presence is out of his reach, but not gone. her footsteps don't recede far, and he can hear the shift of fabric as she removes her clothes. he turns his face towards her, even though the blindfold obscures everything; he just can't help but seek her out in some way.

she steps further away, perhaps to set her clothes aside. sebastian shifts on the bed, feeling untethered and restless without her touch. the darkness feels more prominent when he's alone, waiting and anticipating, thinking too much.

"sebastian," she says from a slight distance away. "i'm still here."

unconsciously, he relaxes, soothed. her voice is lyrical, light, like a wind chime rustled gently in the breeze. he isn't alone here at all, and he knows she will not leave him. he cannot see her, but he trusts that she's there, and that she will remain.

footsteps approach, and her hand comes to settle on his chest. sebastian instinctively relaxes further, lifting his face to where she must approximately be standing.

"do you want to continue?" she asks.

the question is a surprise; he hasn't said stop, his cock is hard between his legs from her leaving kisses and touches all across his body, just his being here at all is a declaration in itself that he wants this enough to break a vow and seek the company of an apostate.

but she asked it with a weight of seriousness, and so he pays it its due, taking a moment to think, truly, about what he wants.

and he realizes that what he wants hasn't mattered in a long time. he was sent away because it was what his parents wanted. grand cleric elthina was understanding to begin with, but she made her disapproval well-known in the end, too, when he chose to prioritize avenging his family over his service to the chantry. he has been shaped, he has been at the whim of others, he has not even allowed himself to think about seeking personal pleasure, until merrill.

"yes," he says breathily. "yes, i want to... to feel--"

words fail him, as he's no longer used to asking for what he wants, suddenly overwhelmed with merrill's consideration.

her hand comes to his face, startling him, but not in a bad way. she draws her knuckles from his cheekbone down along his jaw, caressing him like no one has done before.

unexpectedly, sebastian feels safe. in the darkness, there is only her closeness, her touch, her care. he need not think of anything but her. in the maker's light, he is on display, scrutinized, forced to act a certain way, but in the calm dark with merrill, she only asks him to be true to himself. "please," he murmurs.

her thumb passes over his cheek, then she pulls away, but sebastian doesn't feel the loss of her like he did when she got undressed. he knows she's still there, that she is only moving to join him.

it was wrong of him to liken her to a desire demon. he has felt the cloying touch of a desire demon, and it had been twisted and sharp, insidious, sticking in him like barbs. merrill is soft and grounding, she offers him all this without it leaving gouges, without it coming at a price. he is not relinquishing anything to her, not in the same way he has to the chantry. he is not relinquishing part of himself, he is only putting himself in her gentle hands.

knees settle on either side of his waist, bare skin to bare skin. her hand curls around his cock, an action that he should have anticipated, and yet takes him enough by surprise that he jolts up hard, groaning as the sensation sparks through him. no one has touched him this intimately in so long that he's already left breathless, feeling like he would be rendered unseeing even without the blindfold, as overcome as he is.

"merrill," he gasps, a storm of swirling winds inside of him. need and elation and shame and confusion. he wants, shouldn't want, doesn't want to disappoint, isn't sure who he doesn't want to disappoint--

"it's alright, lethallin," merrill says as she continues sweeping her palm along his length. "let go. i have you."

sebastian bucks into her hand, a whine falling from his lips. there is nothing but her touch and a sense of being cared for, all of it mounting quickly with each caress.

it has been too long for him to resist his climax, as much as the blush across his cheeks is tinged with some embarrassment alongside the desire and warmth. it overflows from him almost without warning, leaving him bowed taut and enraptured. merrill just continues sliding her fingers around him to ease him through it, gentling when she correctly suspects that he's becoming oversensitive.

the conflicting thoughts return as his body relaxes, mind clearing enough to think of more than just merrill's touch. with this, he has officially, fully broken his vow. he has done the very thing that played a part in his family sending him away. he has turned his back on all his growth, has given into temptation.

and he has not felt so good, so at peace, in years.

it's backwards.

"sebastian?"

her voice draws his focus, calming the storm. he makes a faint noise, words still beyond him.

merrill rubs her thumbs into his hips in soothing circles. "you did very well. you've been so open with me. i like seeing you have pleasure, i like seeing the real you. being able to experience this with you is wonderful, you know."

the words flow over him like cleansing water, steadily sluicing away the tumultuous thoughts. she's right--this version of him is more real than the one the chantry made him into, for better or worse. she even approves, and her opinion means much more to him than he ever thought possible before tonight.

"i was a disgrace," sebastian whispers.

her hand cups his cheek. "i did not know you back then, but i sincerely doubt it."

she has such conviction. in hindsight, sebastian does know that he was going too far back then, but it was more complicated than him simply being an unruly young man ruining his family's reputation. he wants to believe he would have listened, if his parents merely expressed concern instead of sending him away, but that was not their way. it never had been, and he had always been a spare, easy to cast away. perhaps merrill is more right than they ever were.

tentatively, he reaches out for her, finding her thighs braced on either side of him. he runs his hands up them to her waist, pausing there just to hold her.

"i'm sorry i ever thought so ill of you, merrill."

he feels her shifting, and lifts his face to meet what he can feel will be a kiss. it's light and sweet. "i understand," she says, her lips still ghosting against his own. "you still gave this a chance."

she is more forgiving than anyone he has ever known. sebastian captures her lips again, pouring his gratitude and affection into it, wanting to show her that he doesn't regret this, that she has given him something good, and he knows that, despite the confusion his time with chantry has wrought. the ingrained shame is already fading, replaced with the assurance that there is nothing harmful in what they're doing, when she has been so careful and encouraging with him.

sebastian intends to be kinder to her in return. he slides his hands around her hips to her back, drawing her closer into an embrace as he kisses her again, able to sink into the sensation of their closeness without being conflicted about it. her body is warm, and strong even in her litheness. she is holding herself in such a way to avoid pressing her cunt to his cock--so, so careful and considerate--but he doesn't need her to do that anymore. he wants to feel her, and give her pleasure.

wrapping an arm around her hips, he pulls them together, feeling the curls of hair and gathered slick. at his wordless invitation, she rolls against him, breathing out a sigh against his lips. they keep kissing and roving their hands over each other, slowly moving together.

it doesn't take much to bring him back to full hardness, his body still aching for more after long years of denial. sebastian presses his thumbs into merrill's hips, guiding her, and she responds easily, taking him in hand to align them.

a silent gasp builds in sebastian's throat. the blindfold makes the sensation more acute; for a breathless moment, his mind blanks, hooked only on merrill tight and wet around him.

she kisses him, teeth dragging across his bottom lip when she pulls back, after. her hands press to his chest, sliding downward, and he can feel her straightening up, her thighs clenching against his hips. slowly, she begins to move, and sebastian matches her languid pace, thrusting up to meet her. he settles his hands on her thighs, kneading his fingers into her skin, feeling his way upward to her waist. in his mind's eye, he creates the vague image of her, beautifully poised above him, skin flush. he hasn't gotten to see her naked, yet--he feels her, instead, finding the curves of her muscles, the jut of her hipbones, a couple spots that are rougher with scar tissue.

he can hear her breath shudder as he runs his hands over her, feel her push down harder on his cock. sebastian wishes he could see her, and yet he doesn't regret the cloth over his eyes, accentuating every touch and allowing him to be one with her, to think of nothing but her and how good it feels.

he draws his hands up to her breasts, delighting in the moan he gets when he thumbs over her nipples. she leans forward into his hands as she grinds her hips down, fingers clawing on his abdomen.

they both move a little quicker, merrill's thighs squeezing hard around him and him snapping his hips up to meet her. he presses his fingertips into the soft skin of her breasts, then drags them down to sweep through the hair around her folds, wet with her slick. her hips stutter when he pushes his thumb against her; she thrusts down and forward, her weight shifting in a way that makes him imagine her arching back, seeking the exact right position of their bodies together.

her palms land on his thighs, arms back to hold herself up. sebastian thrusts hard, and she lets out a needy cry, her nails digging into his skin again. sebastian's heartbeat strikes hard, breath caught at the sounds of her pleasure.

"merrill," he breathes like a prayer, clutching at her hips. "let me feel you, you feel so good."

she jolts, sinking down and clenching around him. each of her breaths is like a gasp, shaky and desperate.

and she comes with a shiver sebastian can feel radiating between them, her body tight with it. sebastian slows his thrusts to a coaxing roll as her climax comes in waves, a wondrous wet heat around his cock.

when she begins to settle, sebastian leans up and wraps his arms around her back, need driving him. he flips them over, pinning merrill into her mattress, and fucks into her slick, still wrapped around her--wanting her close, fully against him.

she readily hooks her legs around his hips, holding him in return, urging him on. her hands dive into his hair, mussing the strands around the knot of the blindfold. with all his senses--save sight--full of her, sebastian finds his second release, clutching her close and pressing his face into the curve of her neck. he breathes against her skin, laboured and satisfied.

this time, his mind is not divided. he feels more whole than ever.

gently, he draws away from her, shifting to lie at her side. she rolls with him, keeping her arm around his back.

for a moment, they catch their breath together, merrill's fingers sweeping lightly along his spine. then, merrill brings her hand up to his nape.

"i'm going to take the blindfold off now, okay?"

sebastian nods, tilting his head back into her touch. he feels her reach for the knot in the fabric, careful not to pull at his hair when she works it loose.

when it's pulled away, sebastian squints his eyes open, but the room is lit only with candles, and doesn't pain him. in the faint glow, he regards merrill's face right in front of his own, her skin flushed and hair dishevelled, a sweet smile on her face.

it's an infectious smile, and sebastian feels lighter than he has in a long time; he smiles back.

even so, she asks, "how are you feeling?"

he understands that she wants to check on him, just as she wanted to be sure he knew he could stop this at any time. "incredible," he answers honestly. "and yourself?"

she beams. "much the same."

she brushes her fingers along his jaw, nearly making him want to close his eyes, but as soothing as it is, he wants to take in the sight of her now that he can.

they lie together for another minute before merrill leans in to kiss him on the forehead, then turns and stands up, going to a table on the other side of the room. sebastian watches her retrieve a pitcher of water and two cups, filling them both and bringing them back, holding one out.

propping himself up on his elbow, sebastian accepts the cup gratefully, only now realizing how parched he is.

merrill sits beside him, both of them sipping the water until the cups are empty and set away on the nightstand.

"i'm glad we could do this," merrill says. "it's much nicer to have an understanding, isn't it?"

it is. sebastian still doesn't know what to think of blood magic, but he has a good idea of what to think of merrill, and she doesn't line up with the story the chantry tells. she is no manipulative temptress--she is every bit the kind woman she has always seemed. he has now felt something with her that he has never felt with another, has never felt before at all. he can't thank her enough for that, he can only do better to understand her. she has earned his trust; if she is as careful with her magic as she was with him, that is something to be respected.

"the version of you i had in my head is but a pale mirage," he says. that version was born of chantry creed and cautionary tales. there are many things about his service to the chantry that he has a new perspective on--or an old perspective that was quashed and buried, now brought to the surface again. "it's good to see you with my own eyes."

merrill grins, reaching out to run her thumb along his cheekbone, just beneath where the blindfold sat. "you are welcome to come see me whenever you like."

it hadn't occurred to sebastian to wonder at whether or not this was a one-time thing. from what he can tell, merrill and their friends enjoy time together on a regular basis. he could not have fathomed that he might fit into that equation. when he came home with merrill earlier in the night, he wasn't even sure he'd follow through with this once, let alone make a habit of it.

but he does want to, and wanting doesn't make him feel as wrong as it did before tonight. he isn't the same man he was in starkhaven, nor is he exactly what the chantry made him into. he'd like to explore who he can be when he's honest with himself, and he sees that merrill is someone he can be himself around.

"then i will," he promises.

merrill smiles again, drawing her fingers down his arm. "would you like to stay the night?"

he shouldn't, as returning to the chantry in the morning will raise questions, but sebastian doesn't want to worry about that right now. "i would."

she leans down to kiss him, just a light, brief thing, a fleeting contact, before she stands again to approach a wash basin. wordlessly, they clean up, then merrill blows out the candles, leaving them in gentle darkness as she slips back into the bed beside him.

sebastian wraps his arm around her, and she settles against his side. entirely at ease, sebastian quickly falls asleep in her comforting presence.

#the merrill fucks series #this is 6k. oops.#finally. finally it is done. and possibly full of typos but im too impatient to keep editing. YEET

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sweetmage · 1 month

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Should be sleeping more but I'm thinking of Anders and Eddie (my HoF Edan's adopted daughter, age 12 by the time Anders meets her).

But I've decided recently that at some point she becomes a mage which is Anders's first time witnessing a new mage not having to know rejection or fear.

Edan is just about thrilled, Roderick is supportive, Anders and all the others are supportive (and he offers to teach her too, since he himself was trained in the circle). That, and she is surrounded by people (Edan, Anders, Hawke, Leliana, etc.) who helped fight for the future she has the privilege of living in where she doesn't have to fear the circle or live in shame of her magic 🥺

Of course the war is still fresh and their are still dangers and bitter sentiments, but at Vigil's Keep (where Edan still lives) and Skyhold (where Roderick, Hawke, and Anders live) she can live fearlessly 🥺

Also! [Major character death mention below the cut but in a bittersweet way?]

Since Anders says that Justice will live on long after him, I'm kind of thinking in my canon that she'll take on Justice after Anders passes on. Whether that be in the deep roads (if she's a warden as I intend her to be then it's not out of the question to say that she could come with him, even if it was his final trip) or if old age or what have you.

I think she holds a lot of respect for Justice, she is very invested in seeing a better world, and all things considered and trauma aside, her emotions are pretty stable. That and Anders trusts that he'd trained her well (he might even be the one to ask her to do it for his peace of mind about what will happen to Justice later).

Plus there is just something about Justice having been changed (positive) by Anders and her having a piece of both them. Idk idk 😭

#oc: eddie #oc: edan #dragon age #anders #justice #jun rambles

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aricazorel · 3 years

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I wrote “Pieces” for Dragon Age 2 set mostly during Act 3 based in the premise that Fenris and Cora Hawke were finally ready to have a relationship. This was the first story I posted on AO3 and one I am still proud of today. “Pieces” focuses on their relationship and the relationships with Hawke’s friends as the events of the video unfold in the background.

Chapter 10: Gift of a Friend

“You can’t really get upset because someone sleeps with Isabela…It’s just understood. She’s like a side dish. She comes with the meal.” And that declaration by Anders had set the tone for the night at The Hanged Man.

chapter 10 available here on AO3

read of the beginning here on AO3

An hour or more later, along with a decent helping of food saw the group still laughing and carrying on like there was not a care in the world. Everyone had had at least two ales; Merrill had already become tipsy after of one. Sebastian was keeping up with Isabela and Fenris without much effort. His rambunctious youth had apparently paid off in some unexpected ways. Anders showed no signs of intoxication at all, be it from his connection to Justice or because he hadn’t consumed as much; Hawke wasn’t sure. Aveline and Varric nursed their drinks; Aveline because of her natural tendencies as a city-guard and Varric because he was mentally takes notes for his books. Hawke was only on her second and not tipsy. Ale number four would put her there if Fenris even let her get that far.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the elf in question queried in exasperation, “You keep staring at me. Is it my eyes again?”

A chuckle from the pirate let her know who was eyeing him. Hawke couldn’t really blame her. She had had been eyeing him in secret since they had met. “You’re very lanky for an elf. I like lanky.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow as he shifted closer to Hawke. “From what I gather, you like a lot of things.”

“Nonsense. But when I see something I like; I go after it.” Isabela chided as she slung an arm over Merrill’s shoulders. The Dalish woman let out a contented purr as she rested her head on the Rivaini woman’s shoulder.

“That explains your current relationship with Merrill,” the Tevinter elf noted purposefully laying his arm with the red cloth tied to his wrist on the table. “Do you intend to go after me then regardless?”

“Mmm, tempting, but I like what I have now. If it had been a few years ago, oh definitely,” she cooed as Merrill began snoring lightly.

Isabela paused as a random thought struck her. “Say hypnotically, if things were different now, would you take off all that spiky armor you’ve been wearing?”

Hawke watched as Fenris seemed to actually consider the question. Anders spoke up before he could respond. “You can’t be taking her question seriously. Hawke is right there!”

Fenris disregarded the mage’s protests as he looked Hawke right in the eye, a smirk playing upon his lips. “It’s been known to happen…for the right person.”

Hawke felt herself smile like an idiot as he took her hand in his. Their fingers lacing together as he moved to pull her into his lap. A part of her said he was doing it to spite Anders and lay further claim to her in front of the others. A larger part of her didn’t care and put up no fight against his actions.

“Ah,” the pirate said as Anders glared at Fenris. “Then forget it. It’s probably better this way anyhow. No spikes aren’t as fun.”

“Daisy doesn’t have spikes,” Varric pointed out.

“Yes, but kitten has other things that are just as delicious,” the pirate rejoined as she moved Merrill’s head to her lap.

As Fenris’ hand coiled around Hawke’s waist she heard an annoyed sound from Aveline. The Guard-Captain had been listening more than participating in the conversation most of the night. “How are you so successful with men, women--whatever? You’re not that pretty.”

Fenris’ hand found hers, holding it against her stomach as Isabela shrugged. “Cast a wide enough net and you are bound to catch something.”

“That explains everything,” Anders muttered as he returned his attention back to his ale, his glaring at Fenris apparently concluded.

Aveline laughed hardily. “At least you’re willing to admit it.”

“Trust me. I’ve heard get away from me, you pirate hag more times than I care to count,” the Rivaini pirate admitted with an amused grin; Merrill stirred in her sleep, blinking her eyes up at the older woman.

Setting her tankard down, Aveline asked in all seriousness, “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Why should it? They don’t know me. I know me.” Isabela replied firmly as Merrill reached up and played with her hair.

“I know you, Bela,” the Dalish murmured with a smile.

“Yes, kitten. You do,” Isabela replied softly, not caring that the rest of their group gawked at them. Of all of them to be in a serious relationship, no one had thought the pirate and the Dalish elf would have been it. Since the pirate’s return after the battle with the Arishok, something had subtly changed regarding Isabela. Not that she would actively admit it, but her relationship with Merrill was evidence enough of it, especially after the elf’s clan had exiled her.

Hawke felt Fenris squeeze her waist just a bit. He didn’t have to say anything. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She had been thinking the same. They knew each other and had known each other better than they had been willing to admit for years. Only now were they able to admit everything to one another, at least when it came to their feelings for one another.

Leaning in, Fenris murmured, “My armor has only ever come off willingly for you.”

She gave him a grin, shaking her head. He knew he didn’t have to tell her that. She knew of his past and that many of his actions as Danarius’ slave were not of his own choosing. Whatever had happened back in Tevinter, she cared only in the vain that it might adversely affect him. If it mattered not to him, it mattered not to her.

As far as what had occurred during his time in Kirkwall, before their first time together didn’t matter. The time after that night shouldn’t have mattered but it did. She had found out after they resumed their relationship that he had not been with anyone during those three years nor before. There had only ever been her. He had confessed that only she made him feel safe enough to be that intimate with. She could appreciate that and had confessed to him that he had been her only one in all her years in Kirkwall despite whatever tales Varric wove.

Merrill by that time had sat back up and was making contented noises as she watched them. Varric wore a knowing grin as Sebastian merely winked. They were not subtle in their actions; Hawke knew that. But it didn’t bother her. It didn’t truly bother Fenris any longer either though he feigned annoyance. It was just one more truth to their existence. Their friends would either gawk at them or tease them, but they wouldn’t tear them apart. They all knew the value of friendship and finding someone special to share their life with. Hawke continued to hope hers would be shared with Fenris.

#dragon age #fenris #cora hawke #fenris x femhawke #pieces #read on ao3

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aria-i-adagio · 3 years

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5,10, 14,20 please!

Gracias! I’m guessing this is from the OTP asks and for Anders/Hawke. Hope it is.

10) What scares them about entering a relationship?

Heheh.

Anders, of course, is convinced that being with him will likely get Hawke killed. Or that Hawke will decide that he’s a monster who is unworthy of being loved.

Adrian gets intensely attached to people. (Anxious attachment style.) He’s deeply afraid of getting into a relationship only to lose another person he loves.

14) What makes them feel loved? Would they build up the courage to ask for it?

Good news. They’re both idiots, but they’re both touch-starved idiots. Asking for it probably isn’t a problem.

Adrian is also very much a “I found this thing I thought you’d like/made me think of you, here is it. Do you like it? Please like it.” kind of guy.

20) When would they say “I love you?” Do they say it first? Do they say it often, or is it reserved for special moments?

With Anders canonical default endearment being ‘my love’, there’s plenty of evidence that he’d also be fairly free with the “I love you.” Adrian tends to be a bit more reserved. Be that as it may, Adrian said it first.

5) How do they consciously realize that they like the other character? Does it take them a while?

I guess the question is like versus *like*.

I tend to go with the idea that no matter what romance route is played that Anders has at least some romantic interest in Hawke from Act 1. But after Karl’s death, I think there’s a combination of both not being ready and believing that he’s too dangerous for anyone to be in a relationship with him.

Adrian was interested in Anders from very early on. Oddly attractive man with a ‘sexy, tortured look’ develops into honest admiration of the fact that Anders is one of the few people in Kirkwall who’s actually interested in doing something good. But he’s A) used to playing his cards close to his chest (as while Ferelden may not particularly care about same-sex relationships, there does seem to be something of an expectation that they shouldn’t get in the way of children, Leandra has definitely messed with his head, etc.), and B) he’s a small, somewhat insecure ball of anxiety who’s afraid of rejection. He also very good at repressing things, so for most of Act 1, he’s in denial of being interested beyond a “yep, that one’s handsome.”

However, have a show rather than tell. (SFW fic below. Unedited.)

Hawke has determined that he does not like the Deep Roads. And he hates Bartrand. Who the fuck does that? Leaves their brother to die over a chunk of stone, or whatever that idol was made of?

You let your brother die. You left him.

That was different. I couldn’t protect him. I tried, I swear.

Bethany sneaks up on him from behind and loops her arm through his. She leans her head on his shoulder. “Carver was already dead, ‘Dri.”

He knows that she can’t actually read minds, but sometimes he wonders whether she picked the skill up somewhere. Or maybe it’s a little sister thing. He stops walking and tilts his head to the side, touching his cheek to her hair. “I should have -”

“If any of us could have, we would have.” Bethany pats the other side of his face. “Look about, is this a decently safe place?”

The Deep Roads do require a qualifier for the word safe. Adrian lifts his head and glances around. Ahead, there’s a bridge over a chasm. If it’s sturdy enough, it will give them good lines of sight and walls on two sides. “Ahead will do.”

“Thanks, ‘Dri.” Bethany lets go of his arm and jogs ahead to where Varric and Anders are walking together, both with their weapons in hand, reasoning that if Anders could sense darkspawn, Varric might be able to take them down with Bianca before they got too close. Or thin them out. “Hey. Think it’s night yet?”

“You’re the only Sunshine I see. What’s your opinion?”

“That I’m tired.”

Varric looks around and shrugs. “Then it’s night. Might as well make camp.”

Hawke keeps watch well after they've eaten a sad and meager (who knows how long they'll be searching for an exit now?) meal of hard bread. Bethany told him that he didn't need to; the glyphs she and Anders had set on either end of the bridge would last far past the time Varric's little clockwork watch was set to come. But he couldn't talk himself into following her advice. Darkspawn had killed Carver. They were not going to take Bethany from him.

He isn't the only one still awake. Anders had laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he could, and he huddles close to the glow of the embers. He’d panicked when Bartrand swung the door closed on in, and once it became clear that neither Varric nore Hawke would be able to pick the locking mechanism, cast multiple spells at the door before giving up on the idea of breaking through it by force. The mage had been quiet since, not even Varric had been able to draw him out.

"You alright?"

Anders lifts his face. There are always dark circles around his eyes, but they look worse in the low light of the fire. "I hate the Deep Roads."

"You could have said no." Hawke asked him to come because he had experience with the Deep Roads, and Darkspawn, and according to what was said of the Grey Wardens would be able to sense them ahead of time. "I would have understood."

Anders smiles grimly. "They're worse without a cat."

"You should try to sleep."

"You should too. Those glyphs I set were designed by a Warden mage. They're strong. This spot is as safe as it's going to get."

"Good to know." Hawke lies down, unsure whether he'll sleep, or just rest his eyes and listen for trouble. "Hey, Anders -"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Well, I'm here now."

It might have been an hour, it might have been two, and Hawke might have fallen asleep, or he might have been awake the whole time, but his eyes snap open the moment he hears something other than the crackling of coals. A low, distressed groan and panicked, incoherent mumbling. Hawke opens his eyes. There’s just enough of a glow left in the few embers to see Anders rolling over fitfully, flinging his arm out, nearly managing to catch his fingers in what’s left of the fire. His other arm falls over his mouth, muffling what might have been a scream if allowed to escape.

Hawke tosses off his blanket and crawls across the pavers to him. As he pulls Anders outstretched arm back from the fire, the mage’s eyes snap open and he bolts upright with a gasp, forehead knocking against Hawke’s chin.

“Hey there. You were dreaming.”

“I can hear them.” Anders curls forward, draws his long legs against his chest, and wraps his arms around his knees. “I can still hear it.”

"Hear what? The darkspawn?"

Anders doesn't respond with words, he just goes limp and slumps to the side. Adrian catches him and lets him lean his head against his shoulder. He's perfectly still for a minute, then awkwardly runs his hand through the mage's hair, not entirely sure Anders is awake enough to know where he is, much less who's holding him.

"Take a few deep breaths, okay?" Adrian wraps his other arm around Anders' and pats his shoulder. His joke about Anders 'sexy, tortured look' didn't seem quite as funny at the moment. "Nothing has tripped the glyphs you set. We're okay."

Anders' breathing calms, at least a little. "It's so dark. I can't do this again. I can't."

"I'd build back up the fire for you, but there's no fuel left." Varric had carefully gathered a certain dry fungus from the walls of the cages as they walked. It was the only combustible material available. "Do you hear them more, in the dark?"

"Or I hear nothing in the dark. Not a sound, not a word. I'm alone in it again, and..." The pitch and volume of his voice begins to rise and on instinct, Adrian hugs him tightly. Maker, the poor man is miserable. Hawke never would have asked him to come if he had only known.

Anders shudders and hiccups. "I can't be alone in the dark."

"I'm here." What happened to Anders that made the dark so terrifying? The Deep Roads themselves weren't always dark. Parts were. Other parts were lit by the glow of some sort of marvelous dwarven lamps that still worked after centuries. This wasn't one of those areas, and the lower the embers grow, the more Anders trembles. Without really noticing it, Adrian begins to rub his back and whisper in his ear, the way he sometimes had when one or the other of the twins woke with a childhood nightmare.

He doesn't know Anders well. It's maybe been three or four months since he sought him out to get the maps of the Deep Roads. He's good to know though - a good man. Bethany agrees. And Varric had taken the mage under his wing; Hawke knew the dwarf was paying off the Carta to leave the Darktown clinic alone.

Anders is also handsome in his own way, devilishly funny, and flirtatious, despite the very sad look he gets in his eyes if someone mentions the word Tranquil. 'I hadn't seen him in years,' Anders said, the one time Adrian got him to talk. 'But you know how it is, with first loves.'

Adrian does not actually know how it is with first loves. What relationships he had in Lothering weren't love affairs, just temporary flings with a presumed end date. A Ferelden freeholder needs a wife, needs children to help him work the land. It's just the way of things. No sense in getting too attached.

Like he's getting attached to this mage who hides years of sadness underneath dry humor. Anders has put himself back together a few times already, and right now, the cracks are showing.

"Lay back down. I'll stay with you."

It takes a few more shivers and hiccups before Anders does stretch his long limbs back out. Adrian intends to just sit next to him, maybe keep their fingers together, but Anders pulls at his arm until he lies down beside him on the narrow bedroll, on his side with his head cushioned on his folded arm. Adrian hesitantly strokes Anders' hair, and when that earns him a soft sigh, loops his free arm around the other man and snuggles a bit closer.

After all, it's not just dark in the Deep Roads, it's damn chilly as well. That’s what he tells himself.

When Varric’s little mechanical clock chimes a fake morning, Hawke still curled up around Anders, and Bethany is smirking at him.

#ask meme answers #dragon age fanfiction #hawke #anders #handers #adrian hawke

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girlobsessed21 · 4 years

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My thoughts on The 100 7x05

Hey, guys,

Sorry for not doing any comments on the last two episodes. I’ve been a little busy and I struggled to connect to the show, so it hindered my enjoyment, but it’s all better now. Liked episode 4 and 5 was even better, jampacked with info and it answered a lot of questions.

Welcome to Bardo

Badass Octavia is da bomb (people don’t say that anymore, right?). When she was captured in episode two, I thought she had lost her fighting spirit, but it’s back, bitches. Well, until she runs into an invisible wall trying to escape. She’s captured and transported to M-cap (whatever that means). Then we get a welcome little flashback to Lincoln but it’s obvious that Bellamy would be the hand reaching out. He’s her rock, like she’s expressed many times.

Unlike John Murphy who is not quite a friend, or family and definitely not a lover. Introducing so many new characters in the final season of a show is never a good idea, because this is the time to wrap up all the stories of the existing ones, but come on, who cannot love Levitt. Even when he first meets Octavia, he doesn’t want to hurt her. Jason, you better not harm one hair on this precious little puppy’s head!

As he binges The 100 through Octavia’s eyes, he starts rooting for her, and he actually gives a damn, unlike most people on this show. He understands her strengths and weaknesses and he makes her see it too. “You’re a warrior to be sure, but your heart is pure.” Wow, what an honest and beautiful line. (Scroll down for my shipping comments.)

So is O and Hope’s fleeting little reunion. It’s amazing to experience this deep loving side of Octavia after her darkness. She’s truly one of the most diverse and developed characters on the series. Now Hope and her resilience is quickly making it to the top as well.

While Hope is trying to send her back home, we learn that memory loss is due to the time dilation. One quick note on this, it’s not linear, there’s no easy equation to calculate it unless you’re Stephen Hawking or Einstein. I don’t think it’s constant either. 10 years on Skyring = 11 days on Bardo = a few minutes on Sanctum. In the current time, 5 years on Skyring = 1 day on Sanctum = 7 days on Bardo. So, it’s clear that the planets are moving, and other factors are playing into the phenomenon. It’s more important to understand the time relative to each planet.

Levitt was the one who tattooed Hope’s code onto O’s back, also the one who planted the note into Hope’s arm. Indeed the kind of man you want on the inside, he even accepts a blow to the face as thank you.

Sheep-ish?

Thirty minutes on the clock and the trio gets led to a congregation to praise the shepherd. I never thought it was Anders, I do, however think it might be Cadogan. The Bordoan’s built the underground forest because they destroyed their planet. Ugh, what’s new? The shepherd herded his sheep from earth to Bardo via the stone. Cadogan and his second dawn cult?

Back to Clarke. So, after last episode I thought ‘the key to winning the last war’ line was an artifice for luring Clarke to disciples, but now it’s clearly true. They’ve located the key and they will win the last war. Levitt was interested in Clarke surviving the City of Light with the flame in her head, they probably assume she still has it. Cadogan burned Becca alive. Could it be because of the flame? Is this all because of that damn little chip that can’t seem to die?

Bellamy is not dead, I repeat, Bellamy is not dead! I believe that memory could be staged or implanted for a reason. Also, there’s no body, he jumped through the bridge. In the promo photos, he wears a ring but his actions towards Octavia seem a little cold and generic. On first watch, I thought it was bad acting but if he was programmed to do this, it makes sense.

Note the sequence of events. Octavia returned 7 days ago and was asked to talk her brother down, but we don’t see the actual scene. Instead we’re shown a memory. They could have implanted it to make her vulnerable and perhaps more susceptible to the procedure. I don’t know, but this theory could lead to Robot-sheep!Bellamy on Nakara, where he’ll encounter Clarke and the gang.

I have to be honest, I really don’t like this character arc for Bellamy. It’s unoriginal and a mime of Peeta’s storyline in Mockingjay. Sorry, but so far it feels like the writers were so over the show, they just wanted to get it done. And that attitude really bleeds into one’s creative concepts. I could be completely wrong, in fact, I hope I am.

Echo spins a Finn

My word, I lost the love of my life once, but I sure didn’t kill anyone. When Echo received that vision of Roan, I was hoping for some progression on her individual arc, they’ve made me care about her, and now we get the opposite. Why? One thing I have to admit, a killer performance from Tasya Teles! No pun intended.

Look, this show hasn’t explored Bellamy and Echo’s relationship enough to make her murder believable. It was the exact same thing with Finn. I wasn’t invested in Finn and Clarke’s connection, so his actions of killing a grounder tribe was more repulsive than understandable. Sure, Echo loves Bellamy and her sole purpose is to save him, but I’ve never truly witnessed their love for each other. They had one or two intimate scenes which cannot compel a deed like this. And in the process, she screwed Hope and Diyoza.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any coming back from it. She murdered an innocent person in cold blood. That’s sure to open a door to the dark side. Just look at Octavia after killing Pike and her actions were justified by jus drein jus daun.

Say Sanctum three times slowly and it sounds like… Sanctum

Blind faith

Look, I’m just gonna come out and say this song is getting old. Every episode featuring Sanctum is the exact same thing with different lines. Can we please move on from it, already? Yes, we know the COG want Russel dead, and the adjusters will go to extreme lengths to free Russel and the prisoners are background noise.

I did appreciate Nelson stepping in to try and save the girl, though. Still doesn’t save the fact that it’s repetitive. The Sanctum plotline is really struggling to take shape and I hope it happens soon. Dramatic eyeroll.

At least in the drought of a desert, you can always count on Murphy. “…I say we live and let die.” Typical cockroach line, right, but it’s ironic when he’s the one to step up, even if it is for Emori. Under the magnifying glass it’s the exact same plot as episode 1 and 3. He hesitates to take action, and eventually becomes the hero.

I mean, he saved that poor kid from being burned alive. Can you imagine sacrificing your own child in such a horrific away? Cults are beyond whacked, and, unfortunately, it’s reality that cult members are so blinded by their faith that they do not see rhyme or reason.

How did Murphy fail that test? I didn’t. When Trey named the four pillars, I thought, isn’t rejoice one of them? Surely, a cockroach would have smelled that trap a mile away.

Indra the great

Can we just give a massive round of applause to Adina Porter!!! That powerhouse walk vibrates strength and majesty, damn, she should be a false god, I wouldn’t dare threaten her with or without an army.

Three little words was all it took for her to recognize evil. “There’s a spider on your shoulder.” Smooth. Too bad she can’t kill him. Why not, how many of the faithful are left to cause an uproar? Wonkru doesn’t know it’s Sheidheda, they won’t care, the COG will fall in line and the prisoners will be happy as long as they get their compound. Sorry, I don’t get it and I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell anyone. Someone please explain?

Granted, JR Bourne as Russel is way better, but I still don’t understand his actions. I hope they explore and explain him more, because he still feels flat unless he knows something of this final war. I’m hoping these two storylines align soon since it’s really driving a wedge between me and my love for the show.

Shipwreck

I’ll start with the easy stuff, Murphy, Emori and the perfect dress gets a heart eye emoji from me. They are so damn cute this season, can they please live happily ever after in the palace?

Octabriel vs Levittavia

Now, I enjoy Levitt fangirling over Octavia. I feel like he has a deep sense of her through her memories. If I have to root for an underdeveloped relationship, it will have to be one where the characters share thoughts and experiences even if it is through a sick, sci-fi procedure.

On the other hand, Gabriel and Octavia have immense chemistry, two seconds of them together bends my mouth into an “Aah, cute” pout. This will also add some approval and representation for mixed racial relationships.

I really don’t mind either way as long as they make me care through showing and not telling.

Bellarke

So, if my theory is correct, and Bellamy does end up on Nakara, Bellarke will encounter each other quite soon. Bellamy won’t be himself though, but he might pretend to be Bellamy to win Clarke’s co-operation. Is there hope for Bellarke yet?

Echo is now trotting a dangerous path and Bellamy might be pledged to a cause, so I doubt there will be a happy ending for Becho. Since 7x01 I’ve been thinking that the writers might want to develop something between Clarke and Gaia but if they are separated, is there enough time? Guess we’ll see.

This monster of a review is finally done… If you read through everything, you deserve a gold star! Let me know what you think, till we meet again…

#The 100 #the100 7x05 #the100 season 7 #octavia blake #levitt the 100 #hope diyoza #bellamy blake #echo #john murphy #indra kom trikru #gabriel #bellarke #sheidheda

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felassan · 4 years

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Countering Solas

This is a subject I think about a lot, and not just post-Tevinter Nights. Whether you chose ‘try to redeem’ or ‘resolve to stop’, whether the Inquisitor returns as PC or there’s a new guy on the block, whether Solas is the Actual Big Bad in this game or the ‘Dragon’ to something else or just another key player on the ‘field’ over which some other encroaching threat is looming down on, the reality is we’re likely to be spending a lot of the main plot in DA4 trying to counter Solas and his steps. I say “counter” not “defeating” because most of this post deals with that, although at the end it does inevitably dip into the hypothetical defeat scenario (so I guess don’t read to the last point at the end if you don’t like to think about that scenario). I also say “counter” because there is no guarantee that we can straight up stop him. (To be clear, I’m not against the idea of the main plot having him always succeeding from a top-level meta/enjoying the universe and developments within it perspective, nor asserting that he will not. There are seeds in the lore that allude to him succeeding. A post-Veil world would be a fascinating thing to explore and really change things up/refresh the universe. A post-Veil world setting for DA5 has a lot of cool potential. It’s just that even if he does always succeed, we’re still likely to be spending most of the game trying to counter him, kind of like Hawke trying to put out various Kirkwall ‘fires’ until eventually it reaches the Act 3 crescendo and you can’t stop Anders no matter what. I’m specifically wondering about how the writers will have our PCs go about the attempt, trying to explore what that could entail on a practical level, and that’s okay. It’s trying to think about what the story beats and even some game mechanics could involve, given his power. The PC isn’t going to spend the game sitting on their hands and doing nothing re: the Dread Wolf, since Thedas seems aware of this new threat, unlike how Kirkwall was unaware of Anders’ goal. This post also doesn’t mean I don’t like Solas, that I haven’t played out his dialogues or romance, that I don't realize how Powerful he is, or that I think that there’s no other big threat to Thedas that is a serious danger to the world and that Solas is concerned about - the Solas romance is my favorite one and my canon. I shouldn’t really have to make so many qualifications of this kind on a post like this) Anyway I wonder a lot about the specifics of how they’re going to write the PC doing this in terms of the PC’s in-universe efforts and maneuvers on this quest, and about how they can portray this in a satisfying way. I also think a lot about what my Inquisitor would be doing in her own specific efforts to try and stop him.

Here’s some wandering thoughts on the subject of how it might be possible to counter him. It’s a mix of things to keep and mind and literal suggestions of possible measures. This list is by no means intended as prescriptive or exhaustive, and I don’t claim that it’s realistic or ground-breaking or that these ideas would be super effective. There are also bound to be a bunch of things they have in store that we don’t know about, both in terms of what he can do and what they’ll have us do. The rest is under a cut for length and Tevinter Nights spoilers.

Let’s face it, from what we know of Solas, added to how he is at the end of Trespasser, now in combination with the new additions to his repertoire in Tevinter Nights, he’s clearly very powerful, even seeming in some lights a bit OP. He’s a powerful ancient mage from a different time with ancient knowledge, a Dreamer, a Rift Mage, a Fade expert, capable, shrewd, very intelligent and already experienced in this kind of covert stuff/guerrilla warfare. He can kill people in their sleep, freeze people from a distance with a flash of his eyes, he has a powerfully explosive mind-blast move, probably can take the form of the massive draconic Dread Wolf to fight, and it seems like some spirits are helping him. He also has an extensive network of spies and agents, some of whom are fanatically loyal to the cause to the point of being willing to giving their lives up for it; he has eyes everywhere, even in the Qun, Tevinter and the Inquisition. He and these agents are also able to easily move quickly and secretly around much of Thedas thanks to his control of the eluvian network. They seem to have a lot of info, resources and money at their disposal. He is a very substantial power and is of course also a god figure.

Recruit. This is fairly self-explanatory. We already know that since he knows who the Inquisition are, we’re in need of help from people he doesn’t know. This can be people he’s aware of but not super experienced with i.e. that he doesn’t have a complete psychological profile of thanks to having not spent a year working closely with them, like Irian and Vadis. Naturally, an even better idea would be recruiting people he doesn’t know of at all, that have never attracted his attention. It’s also important to remember that there are entire factions we’ve never encountered before in Thedas, like the Fex and the Par Ladians. Very little is known about these groups. We have no idea what they’re capable of, and the dearth of information means it’s totally possible for the writers to write whatever they want about their capabilities and powers.

Some recruitment specifics: Since we know now that he can kill dwarves in their sleep the same as anyone else, even though they supposedly don’t dream, focusing on recruiting mostly dwarves because they wouldn’t be vulnerable to that doesn’t really hold as a viable strategy. A degree of caution towards both existing and new faces is required also, as he has spies/agents placed everywhere - in the Inquisition, the Qun, Tevinter, across Thedas even (which I took to mean across most of its nations and factions). New people need to be highly vetted. Where did they come from? What’s their personal history? How long do the records say they’ve been around for? If there’s anything odd, questionable or unknown/unsure, they can’t be trusted. (Frustratingly, my Inquisitor genuinely mistrusted Solas from the very outset, but you have no option of telling him to go away or not recruiting him). I also hate saying it but an extra layer of caution is unfortunately needed with elves. His agents so far are all elves, including some City, some Dalish, and some ancients, and we can’t know at the outset who is working for him and who is not.

And possibly… even someone he does know. Seemingly clashes with the points above, but there’s merit in the idea. Solas makes a big deal of how he has spies everywhere and how all organizations inevitably have problems with betrayal and corruption. Even with the fanatical-ness of some of them, what makes his follower group any different? I know he keeps them in separate cells so that it’s need-to-know and such, but it’s actually rather boring to me if as a whole they’re completely immune to being infiltrated, having double agents present or outright defections. We already have one example of an ancient elf who turned from the cause and began to think of modern elves as people - Felassan. I bring him up less as a ‘Felassan as a companion pls’ thing (although, pls pls) and more of an example that it’s possible such a character exists/could turn. Felassan didn’t know everything, but if we managed to get someone like that on our side… he knew parts of Solas’ plans and what he intends, and he knew the guy himself quite well and so knew a thing or two about how he operates. Advice from someone like that would be invaluable. You could either have someone acting as an agent of Fen’Harel but in reality they’re a double-agent for us, or a straight up defector who joins our party, turning their powers and what they know about him against him. Additional note: There is now even official indication that the writers have left the door open on Felassan’s “death” in case they decide they want to bring him back.

Not all elves will support him. Ties into the point above. Elves are not a monolith. We have examples of this already - see Charter and her love for Tessa, Irian’s refusal to join them when approached for recruitment (and her relationship with Vadis and general opinion on the whole Fen’Harel cult thing). We even have an example of an ancient not supporting him (Felassan). I would appreciate it if there is an option in-game at some point to try to have a dialogue with some of the elves who follow Solas (but mostly only if race-selection returns and the PC is an elf themselves, otherwise it could take on a not-right tone). Their decision to support Solas is understandable and not stupid, and their concerns are valid. Gaining better understanding of their perspective would be a good thing.

Adapt / change things up. Also fairly self-explanatory. We already know that he knows how the Inquisition works, about its strengths and weaknesses. They are naturally going to need to radically alter their modus operandi. This includes their structure, approaches to things and the specifics of their secrecy measures. They need to try and be unpredictable to him and do things he wouldn’t expect, and double down on being clandestine, need-to-know basis, etc. Real black ops shit. This battle is a chess-board, not open warfare.

Talk-no-Justu. Some amount of this are inevitable I think, especially in ‘try to redeem’ universes. This isn’t a criticism. If it’s well-written and executed well, I have no problem with it. Part of this involves trying to appeal to his better nature and sense of reason, and part of this involves trying to convey the value in and the pockets of good in the modern world, which TN gives us examples of. We have examples of some modern elves who occupy or occupied different positions of relative power or prestige - Charter, Irian, Teia, Cyrros, Guili, Bolivar. There are examples of good deeds; Teia’s ‘don’t kill the help’ policy, Irian and Vadis avoiding killing Tevinter elven servants and Qunari elves who were just doing their jobs, Dorian no longer keeping slaves and only now having paid servants, Lucanis endangering his job and current contract to free a group of elven slaves from their cruel Magister master, the development of an anti-slavery movement in Tevinter. Much of Thedas is still a widely problematic crapsack, and these things don’t in the slightest make up for it for its oppressed groups, but I can see BW putting us in a position where we have the choice of trying to advocate for the modern world and creating change within it as it exists now.

Solas hasn’t been as mysterious and opaque as he thinks. We too spent a long time with him and know his character traits decently well. Sometimes he even could not resist dropping a hint here or there (whether out of pride, moments of weakness or the unconscious desire to be stopped is up to your reading of him). We too know something of how he organizes his forces, how he operates, his tactics and way of thinking. We are not the only ones in this compromised position. He inadvertently revealed some of this stuff in instances like his guerrilla warfare banters with Sera and even in his vocal chess match with Iron Bull. Please note that this is not me suggesting that he is stupid or that he does not carefully consider what to say and what not to say.

He is not all-knowing and all-seeing. He doesn’t have complete oversight of his agents. Sometimes they do things he would not approve of or even that are in accidental complete opposition to what he wants. The best example of his is when Gaius in the comics traded away the idol for information, the very idol Solas has been keenly-seeking all along and is key to his post-foci plans. To add, some of his people are fanatical, and fanaticism is not traditionally a notorious hotbed of critical thinking or making the best decisions.

He is also not infallible. I don’t doubt that he is eminently capable, or that he’s logical and considered, or that he’s keenly aware of what his flaws are. But in his own way, he’s human. He has made mistakes. By his own admission he’s prideful and hotheaded. Pride is his fatal flaw and the crux of his character. He will continue to make mistakes, as anybody would.

There is a bit of a front going on. In a way, the booming ordering wolf and the “I’ll destroy anyone who gets in my way without hesitation, you cannot stop me” persona isn’t quite true. I mean, it is, and he will, he’s dedicated to his goal and feels he has no choice. He’s also quite pragmatic and ends-over-means. But he’s also simultaneously deeply regretful, and very sad and tired. This duality can be capitalized on. Also tying to the above, when we’re sad and tired, we’re more inclined to slip up and make mistakes. In some universes he straight-up seems like the wants to be proven wrong or wants to be stopped or die in the attempt but be thwarted.

He himself acknowledges the threat modern Thedosians pose to him and his plans. He is on record saying that many people oppose him and that he knows they’re not fools. He’s worried enough to personally attend a meeting of the top spies in all of Thedas in order to try and find out what they know about him and attempt to throw people off his scent. That’s a big deal. He is worried for a reason

He underestimates modern Thedosians. Related to the point above. Not by much, but still a bit. Felassan straight-up tells him that they are stronger than he thinks. This goes for their intelligence and resourcefulness also.

How many followers can he even have? A few dozen at least, a few hundred at most imo. That’s considerable but not actually a lot in the scheme of things.

Length of time. Self-explanatory. It’s going to take a few years for the ritual to complete. HoF stopped the Fifth Blight in a year. Inky stopped Cory in a year. A lot can be done in a year or two.

Forge alliances. There are seeds of this happening already and it’s a standard part of a BW narrative, ‘oh we must unite against our common enemy guys’. He clearly has knowledge of many intelligence-related groups in Thedas, including but not limited to the dwarven Carta, Inquisition remains, Nevarran Mortalitasi, Tevinter Siccari, Qunari Ben-Hassrath, the Executors and probably Orlesian bards. But, could he really stand against all of them, were they to work together? They in turn have been keeping tabs on him and have various intelligence on his movements, goals etc. What if we pool and share all that knowledge? We’d get a much clearer picture of what he’s doing. Some are already actively working against him and reaching out to one another. What if we add in other groups he doesn’t have a signposted-eye on to the mix, like the Antivan Crows, the Grey Wardens and the Rivaini Lords of Fortune? I think all or most of these groups working together are a formidable adversary for anyone to face. A potentially very potent ‘let’s counter him’ alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari Ben-Hassrath is already alluded to. What if the Ben-Hassrath then re-direct the Antaam’s attentions to the real magical threat (and boy do they hate magic)? They have canons, explosives, dreadnoughts, advanced technologies, many well-trained soldiers.

Information-gathering. If there’s one fallen piece of Arlathan with bits of libraries with ancient elven texts in them that can be located by the Inquisition and ransacked for clues on the Evanuris and their potential undoing, there are others. The Inquisition and Qunari are both clearly researching this subject and pursuing this line of thinking, and they clearly both had this idea independent of one another. If one expedition can be mounted, others can. Laudine can’t be the only person for a gift for ancient elven language. Among the Dalish there are probably others who are good with it. Who knows what useful information we might find in these places/ventures, or already found in the TN expedition?

Smash the eluvianarchy. His agents would still be able to get around a lot and easily, because there are bound to be many more and many that we don’t know about. It’s also a waste of priceless ancient artifacts. But every barricaded door is one they can’t get through, one more tool denied them. Briala and her people probably know where a portion of them at least still are. So do the Qunari. Doing this to every one that’s known of and every one that’s found along the way partially hampers their ability to travel through them and therefore partially impacts their movements

[and/or] Construct our own eluvians. Having our own means of instant travel and our own network of eluvians would be helpful. Two can play at that game, sort of thing. Modern inventors like Dagna are brilliant. The Glassworks in Serault are renowned across Thedas for their skill and knowledge, and Morrigan even went there to conduct research on eluvians. What they have there, and what she researched, was enough that it enabled her to be able to repair an eluvian. The Inquisition has done some research into eluvians and has contact, either direct as in the case of Morrigan, or indirect as in the case of Merrill (via Varric) with its own eluvian experts. And in Trespasser, Dorian comments that they have many eluvian samples and discusses the possibility of them building eluvians of their own (Varric even pipes up about Merrill if he’s there). Dorian indicates a desire to do this and take it on as a project, so this isn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Seize the means of lyrium production. Okay not literally, and not all of it. But there’s something to be said for the idea, both at the point of extraction and the point of sale/trade. If his ritual truly does require lyrium as the characters in the final story in TN speculate, if his ritual is anything like what the Magisters Sidereal did, it’s likely that he needs looots of the substance. The Magisters Sidereal needed an unimaginable, inordinate amount, actually over two thirds of the lyrium in the entire Tevinter empire at the time. The Magisters had to set 100 acolytes just to the task of gathering it. This amount of such a valuable substance would surely take some time to acquire, even with his many agents and all his money. If you remember, all those coffin-like boxes in Trespasser may have contained lyrium. The companions remark that this was enough lyrium for whole armies of mages. So much lyrium that the Imperium would be jealous and it outstrips the amount Orzammar keeps on hand. That sounds like a Magisters Sidereal Ritual 2.0 amount, if not more. Fortunately we flooded that room and put everything that had been mined underwater. Is there more elsewhere, or was that The store, was that a setback for Solas and he had to begin acquiring it all over again? It does sound like his ritual has already begun, to be fair, which would perhaps imply he had all he needed in order to have begun it in the first place. But I enjoy the thought. Maybe it requires more like a constant stream fed into it, like how we must routinely add wood to a fire in order to keep it burning? Track missing lyrium shipments, find out who is buying up an oddly-much amount. Follow these lines of thinking back to route agents of Fen’Harel and prolong this labor of his. However, a note: if Solas’ ritual requires red lyrium to fuel it and not blue lyrium, this is unlikely to be possible and would not be wise to attempt.

Tap the templars and the Seekers. I don’t like the templars either, but. Tevinter templars have access to enchanted anti-mage weapons that shoot beams of light. Even better, the southern templars and the Seekers are trained specifically to counter and deny magic. They can reinforce reality and the immutability of the world, close off a mage’s access to the Fade, disrupt mana and dissipate magical effects. This is in stark contrast to the magical/Fade-y themes of imagination defining reality and using magic to direct the river of the Fade and therefore influence the world, and I think this contrast is highlighted for a reason. Templars are also somewhat immune to the effects of magic, and even without their powers are among the best warriors in Thedas. They would be capable allies in this specific battle, against a powerful mage with some strong mage followers. And more specifically, a few dozen elite/veteran templars were all that was needed to seal the Breach that first time in DAI if you sided with the templars. Okay yes, via the Herald and through their tool - the Anchor - but that was to seal an already-open tear. What would happen if a few dozen elite templars directed their wills and nullifying abilities at the ritual-in-progress? What about a few hundred? Would Solas be able to cast, for example, his mega mind blast if a few hundred templars were focusing their “nope” on him?

Disrupt the ritual. Ties to the above. Find the ritual site and interrupt the casting or proceedings. It’s going to take several years to complete and sounds intricate. Until it is completed, it is vulnerable. It might be fairly possible to locate as well - the site is likely imo to be somewhere where the Veil is thin. Some such places are already known to modern Thedosians, due to what happened there in the past being a matter of historical record (blood and death) and the weird nature of these places in the present e.g. Brecilian Forest, Arlathan Forest. Others can feasibly be located via research. Solas is the premiere Fade/Veil expert, and he led the work on this at the time, but the Inquisition helped him get readings of the Veil and measure its strength. The results were then overlaid on Thedas maps to predict which areas had a higher chance of tears developing. Are they still in possession of some of this work/some of the notes? Maybe this could be used or developed further.

Nullifying the effects of the idol. This is something that’s clearly possible. The Carta had a special thick double-shielded chest that effectively rendered the idol inert enough that its song and weird effects could no longer be heard/felt. It was marked with protective dwarven runes. Later the idol is kept on a pedestral wrought with - presumably similar - protective runework. I’m super interested in these runes and how they might be adapted to help our cause. (What implications in a general sense btw, do these nullifying runes have for combatting/negating red lyrium and Blight? There’s something going on here) The dwarves are great at this kind of thing, experienced in it and have some really cutting edge technology/creations. In addition, there are some really smart cookies and inventors among modern Thedosians. Dagna for example. She’s brilliant. One step further, destroy the idol. If his MacGuffin is destroyed, what’s his Plan C?

The effects of red lyrium. LOTR-y, but how long can he use or wield the red lyrium idol safely, without becoming corrupted/losing his mind? We know what its effects and the effects of red lyrium in general are. Maybe this is a complete non-issue for him, but it’s possible. In the teaser, red lyrium crawls up the spine of the Solas-esque figure on the idol. I don’t know that he can be immune to its effects indefinitely.

Approach existing modern Dreamers. The talent seemed to reappear in Feynriel, but he’s not the only one. There are still Dreamers in the Imperium, like Aurelian Titus before his death. I doubt he had no counterparts. There is also a belief that a few Dreamers might still exist among the Dalish. Maybe they can help us and our people find a way to defend against or ward off being killed in our sleep.

On the killing in sleep thing in general: It’s not the same as defending against being killed in sleep, but even some strong non-Dreamer mages like the Mortalitasi woman in the final TN story have the ability to create some kind of wards that keep the spirits that whisper in their dreams at bay. She could still hear/sense them whispering but they can’t get to her for vengeance. Similarly and in addition, Felassan had herbs that could keep him from dreaming most of the time, and wards that would do a good job of blocking him from the Fade when the herbs failed. It wouldn’t have been pleasant and it would still have been plenty risky, but it seemed like he could have feasibly used these measures to live a life, albeit constantly looking over his shoulder, at least for a time (this reminds me of keeping Will drugged up in Sens8 so Whispers couldn’t get to him). Modern Dalish have alluded to at least knowing of these herbs’ past existence (Mihris). I’m not sure what the exact connection is, because the dwarves were killed, and they supposedly don’t dream, so it seems like sleeping itself not specifically dreaming is the thing that makes one vulnerable to this thing, but maybe there’s something there that can be utilized or adapted. Even ‘partial cover’ would be super helpful. In emergency situations in the short-term, coffee and other mundane ways of preventing sleep are handy temporary measures, as the Carta dwarf was doing (I’m thinking about situations where an agent’s wards have dwindled and need like refreshing but they still have some distance to travel or time to wait until a mage arrives to refresh them - for example. Don’t mistake this for “we’ll stop him by drinking coffee”… writing that sentence made me laugh). Key to the defense here btw however for me is the fact that Adralla of Vyrtantium, you know, as in who made the Litany of Adralla, discovered or formulated a defense against dream-walkers. Get Adralla’s research, stat.

Along with the sleep-killing, the other major obstacle imo is his freezing ability. The Inquisition are implied to have discovered some kind of knowledge-y MacGuffin. As above with Talk-no-Justu, some amount of MacGuffin-ness is inevitable I think. Again this isn’t a criticism, if it’s well-written and executed well, I have no problem with it. In an ideal universe for me the MacGuffin includes some kind of defense against or way of negating the effect of his freezing powers. Notably, there is a precedent for something of this sort in the lore. In the MotA DLC, we gather jewels and reconstruct the Dagger of the Four Winds. With this dagger, the pirates who are petrified stone statues can be unpetrified. Interestingly, the Fog Dancers (who live in the north, where we’re going..!) have a story called the March of the Four Winds. Perhaps it’s connected, and the Fog Dancers know how to counter petrification. Even if they don’t, example MacGuffins like the Dagger clearly exist in Thedas, so it’s not much of a stretch to suggest that we could engineer a means of protection against this power. Or if not protection, perhaps a way of reversing? It’s debated if the Fog Warriors’ fog is magic or alchemy - if they also have the means to counteract petrification, it could also be either one. I like the scene in Narnia when Aslan breathes life and motion back into the frozen victims of the White Witch.

His true name. Not sure what exactly all that was about, but in that one story the Qunari allude to the fact that his names that we know aren’t true or aren’t quite true. They seem to be looking for information on his supposed-”true name”. Not sure if it’s just Qunari philosophy or Rasaan being Rasaan, but they believe that with this true name they can track a person back through the best and the worst of themselves, find flaws, exploit weaknesses, know what they had failed to be. A common fictional trope is I Know Your True Name. It’s like functional magic whereby knowing the secret true name of someone grants you control over them or some similar great advantage. I’m very intrigued by this idea, what it could mean and the potential here. “Find the Dread Wolf’s true name” quest arc?

Bring the full might of nations and their armies to bear. The idea of entire nations standing against him is already hinted at. This is a purely hypothetical situation, as the devs might not even have us fighting him, or the final battle could easily be against a possible true or bigger antagonist. Consider though a final assault launched on the located ritual site, with our main squad as the tip of the spear and being the ones who facilitate/convey the means to disrupt it to the center, or the entrance to the center (they would also inevitably be the ones who fight the final battle against him personally at the ritual-site-proper, where I imagine he’d be, trying to complete the cast or ready to do his thing when it’s done). Even with hundreds of followers and some mages, can he really defend the site against entire armies of multiple Thedosian nations, especially when he himself is mostly-occupied at the site-proper? Especially when said armies are peppered or reinforced/led by ‘special forces’ like the organizations I’ve named above?

A final battle against the literal Dread Wolf: I’m actually not worried about this. His form is mighty and dangerous, and I know that in-universe it would post a massive threat. I’m also aware of gameplay/story segregation and how our MCs in these games are invariably special or especially heroic compared to normies. But the fact is we and other people defeat giant beasts in this setting - Archdemons, high dragons, Blighted dragons, hyped up power-goons like ancient Magisters, ancient powerful demons like the Forbidden ones - on the regular. I am not worried about a squad of 4 wailing on a giant wolf. In addition, if there is a true or bigger antagonist, we might never even have to fight the DW.

On a meta level there’s going to be a combat-based game with bosses and a Player Vs Antagonist arc, and it has to be fun to play, have an engaging plot, be of a certain length. However it works out in the end in terms of him succeeding/not succeeding (btw us not succeeding, the ‘you failed despite how hard you tried to keep a cap on this thing’-style narrative, has value as a different kind of story which is cool - see DA2), the characters are still going to try. If he just freezes the PC on first meeting or at any subsequent meeting, how is there going to be a game/plot..? Is the PC never going to sleep for the in-universe duration of their campaign, or are we just supposed to buy that he had the ability to kill them in their sleep for the whole game all along and not once decided to use it to stop them? Solas isn’t stupid! I love a ‘desperate odds, how are we gonna do this, the villain is so incredibly powerful, this feels hopeless’-narrative, and don’t doubt that it’s gonna be in there, but it also has to be sensible - believable. We need to feel both threatened and also that if we try, we might be able to do something. It’s a balance to be struck. There’s going to be something, some kind of creative writing around his power gains or limit on it, some series of steps the PC will be investigating and attempting to take, or else the premise is nonsensical - even if the story has him always succeeding and even in the case of a true or larger threat.

The need to ensure permadeath/permadefeat: In the case of redeem universes, this is only a possible potential scenario that I’m posing to explore. I am not asserting nor wishing that this will happen. If even in those universes we fail in the attempt to convince him, or outright cannot convince him to stop, and in a general sense if there’s no other way (and disregarding for this one point/scenario here the possibility that for plot reasons his plans actually railroad to success - which I acknowledge is entirely possible - and he then dies or something as a result) - the first of his people do not die so easily. He’s not so far from the first of his people. He is an ancient and they were immortal. Flemythal’s various survivals over the years is an example of what might be possible. Plus if he was originally a spirit, or given the ancients’ spirity-ness, consider how when spirits ‘die’ they return to the Fade, and if the idea that gave it form is strong or other spirits have memories of it, something similar might reform one day. In this specific scenario, we need to be sure that killing him is a true permadeath, or that else that the means of disabling/depowering him is permanent. I don’t like the idea and don’t like the Rite of Tranquility and what it does to mages, it’s abhorrent, but this is a specific hypothetical scenario and I’m thinking about all options. If he can’t be swayed and can’t be truly killed, maybe making him Tranquil is an effective means of neutralizing the threat. Even it can be reversed however, so in this specific hypothetical scenario I’m curious what they’ll do here/how it would go down. Maybe he can’t even be made Tranquil, or would need to be killed in the Fade and then made Tranquil ‘twice-over’ kinda by doing it irl too? Interesting thought.

#dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #dragon age #tevinter nights #solas #bioware #tevinter nights spoilers #tevinter nights spoiler #video games #mj meta #felassan #Best Elf #Gryff Lavellan

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degenerate-perturbation · 3 years

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Chapters: 24/38 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Loriel had not expected to miss Avernus quite so much.

Months went by without word from him. First few enough for her not to notice, and then too many for her to ignore. A dozen times over the past months she had thought to write him, and then decided that no, she didn’t need to after all, but she couldn’t pretend that forever.

It was her own petty, childish pride, then and now. She had fought him just to prove that she’d win, and writing him now would be admitting that she needed his counsel. Which she did

She still wasn’t going to do it.

More than the man himself she missed his knowledge and experience. And if not that, then at least someone to report her findings to. Someone who would care if she didn’t get anything done, and who would care about what she had to say about it. And yes, perhaps that amounted to missing the man himself, too.

The worst of it was that her work had stalled without him. Her rigor and meticulous care wasn’t enough anymore, and she was no closer to cracking open the crystal and finding the Architect than she’d been any time before. She began to lose whole days to restless pacing, to picking up books and putting them down again, to feeling her eyes move across pages and absorbing absolutely nothing. She had not thought that the loss of a sporadic correspondence partner would undo her so badly.

The work had to continue.

Had she been a spirit mage, she would have had options—spirits of knowledge weren’t that uncommon. The Chantry did not teach its prisoners to speak to them, but a powerful spirit mage could have managed it. The Dalish did so, and so did the Alemarri. Spirit lore was something that might have been available to her, when she was eighteen or twenty and still fresh.

But she had bathed too long in her own blood, and her connection to the Fade had rotted. So it would have to be a demon, and she would have to bind it.

For all her transgressions, Loriel did not make binding demons a habit. Less out of any unwillingness to transgress—what sacred rule had she not already broken?—than a sense of calculated risk. Any imperfection in the binding, and the demon was out, ready to turn its wroth on the first target it could get its hands on—generally, the mage who had bound it.

It was a bad idea, she knew that going in. She would do it anyway.

That did not mean she would be stupid. She did her due diligence. She read up, poring over every scrap of demon lore in her library. Abelard’s Index of Foulest Daymons was particularly helpful. She had borrowed the tome from Avernus and only vaguely intended to return it, and now it seemed like she wouldn’t have to. It was a murderously heavy text, listing every type and subtype and sub-sub-and-so-on-type of demon known to exist, their names and habits, their foibles and tricks, how best to bind one, and what one might ply it with. Better yet, Abelard had lived in Tevinter during the Steel age, and his text was unsullied with Chantry prejudices.

She practiced first. When finally it came time to summon something, she spent hours carefully inscribing the binding circle—with far more care than what she intended to summon really warranted. She started with wisps and wraiths, half-formed blobs of Fade-stuff still waiting to become, lashing them to her will and releasing them again. When she could do this as easy as breathing, she moved on to demons of hunger. Hunger was something she no longer felt, and could not be tempted by, though hunger demons were more likely to try and eat her than to tempt her.

Next she tried Rage and Desire, creatures of things she had felt once, but hadn’t for months and years. If Rage might still bring heat to her blood, if only in the form of intense irritation, Desire offered nothing she’d ever take. Loriel had no fear of Desire. She’d already had the thing she most greatly desired, had it, and thrown it away—on purpose. Nothing else in this world existed that Loriel could be said to desire.

Sloth she avoided. Sloth—Torpor—was the only one demon who had ever gotten the better of her, who she hadn’t defeated herself. It was too great a risk, that she’d lie down and sleep until the end of the world, given half a demon-shaped excuse.

These lesser demons, though, would be of no use to her. What she needed was knowledge, and what that meant something like Pride.

Abelard’s Index was not very reliable for lesser demons who had since returned to the Fade-sea and reformed. It listed appearances they no longer wore, personalities they had long shed, even if their basic natures would reform. But for powerful demons who had amassed centuries of memory—just the one she would need—Abelard was perfect. She read and reread the relevant heading, squinting at the antiquated Tevene. Vainglory, Audacity, Superbia, Narcissus—no, not quite, no, and no. Demons that dealt with forbidden things—Censorus, Proscripta, Obscurus, Taboo—no, not that one, not this one neither. Then she saw the subheading—Daymons of Knoweledge.

Demons of knowledge came in all manner of forms—she paused for a time on Secerne, who collected secrets. It dealt only with knowledge that no-one else knew. Tempting—but such a creature would hardly be likely to give its secrets up and render them useless to itself. A blood mage could bind a demon and constraint it, but to compel it was pointless—you’d probably just end up destroying it, and if you were after knowledge, what good was that? No, once bound, the demon would have to be dealt with the old fashioned way.

Revelatus traded desired knowledge for undesired knowledge. It would tell you anything you wanted to know, and then something you didn’t want to know—the worst thing your lover had ever thought of you, how happy you might have been if you had just chosen differently, what was really in your sausage. Countless men had been driven mad by this one, Abelard warned. Loriel decided not to test her luck.

Finally she settled on a demon called Veritas, who spoke only truths. It was an ancient creature of malice and cunning, but it would tell her the truth, and for that Loriel would give anything.

tck

There came a point where even she could not justify dithering any longer. Weeks had passed since she had decided she would bind a demon. On the chosen day, she made all her preparations, triple-checked her summoning circle, cast spell after protective spell. Finally she could find no more excuses to delay—she spilled her blood and spoke the words.

The air itself seemed to part, and a greenish miasma spilled forth from the crack. A shape was being pulled through, too big for such a modest aperture, yet somehow, terribly, emerging. Reality bulged and bent, and finally, a demon climbed out.

It was smaller than other Pride demons, shaped something like a bear and something like a lion, though in place of claws or talons, it had clever human fingers. Its face was covered with a golden mask, shaped into the form of a human face. Its hide was pitch black, and every inch of it covered with blinking, roving eyes. It raised its head, as though to sniff the air, and bent to examine its new situation, noting the summoning circle, the runes of binding and restraint.

“Hello,” said Loriel. “Might you confirm your name?”

The thousand eyes blinked all at once. “I am Veritas, he who knows ten thousand truths.” Its voice came through as though from far away, echoing around the chamber.

“Ten thousand only?”

“No, far more! Many, many more! I know more truths than there are stars in your sky, more truths than there are grains of sand in your deserts, more truths than the number of breaths you will take—”

“That is more than ten thousand.”

“That I know ten thousand truths was not a lie.”

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those demons of knowledge.”

She had succeeded in offending it. “What do you mean by that?”

“You speak only in riddles and technical truths. You say things that are true by letter only, and lies by implication. Disappointing,” said Loriel, pouring unimpressed into her voice.

It scowled around the room—or seemed to. She could not see its face behind the golden mask. “Why can I not see you, little mageling? Where are you?”

Invisibly, Loriel produced a faint crescent of a smile. “I am here in this room with you, Veritas.” Her voice echoed through the chamber as she spoke, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The demon’s ears twitched, and only then did Loriel realize that even telling it that she was there in the room with it was more than she meant to say.

“So you are, mageling, so you are. Why have you summoned me?”

“Why do mages ever summon you? I seek knowledge you might have.”

“Why should I tell you anything I know, when you have dragged me so rudely from my home?”

“I will make it worth your while, Veritas. I offer knowledge in exchange for knowledge.”

Veritas laughed. It was a horrible sound, like broken glass. Loriel didn’t dare speak. “Little mageling, you know nothing I do not. I have sought out truths for centuries, bent only upon knowing, and you, little girl, whose lifetime is as a mayfly’s breath to a being like myself—you presume to offer me knowledge? You presume to know something I do not?”

Loriel let the echo of the last word fade, then said calmly, “What is my name?”

No answer.

“So you do not know it,” Loriel said. “And I am forced to conclude, Veritas, that I do know some things that you do not.”

The demon paced inside its narrow circle on all fours. “Aren’t you a darling little pedant! Very well, I’ll take your deal, but I will take it on my terms. You may ask me one question, but first, you must tell me something I do not know. Do not lie! If you answer falsely, I shall know, and I shall devour your heart.”

An empty threat. Veritas was bound. It was subject to her will. It couldn’t get out if it wanted to—or else what was the point of blood magic binding? She was perfectly safe. It was bluffing—

...No, it wasn’t. Of course not. The demon of truth could not bluff. If Veritas bluffed it would no longer be Veritas. I shall devour your heart. Not a promise or a threat, but a statement of fact.

“Very well,” Loriel said steadily. “I shall speak truly.”

“What,” grinned the demon, “is the full, entire, and complete name by which you are called?”

She should have seen that coming. “My name is Loriel Surana.”

Loriel was common enough for elves. And Surana was not even her family name; it was just what all elves were called in the Circle. Elves had no family names.

“Loriel Surana,” said Veritas, tasting it, savoring it. “Loriel Surana, Loriel Surana...yes, I know of you.”

She was so startled that the question came out unbidden: “What do you mean?”

“Your name floats upon the Fade like a dying leaf upon the breeze! One who often walks free along its emerald waters has called and called it, lacquered it with misery and love, twisted it with hatred and longing. Your name forms an island of despair and desire; tempests that will not calm; storms that will not pass. Yes, what a name!”

“I see,” Loriel said neutrally. Whatever bloomed in her to hear that, she stoppered it at once. “I answered your question, demon, so here is mine—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” The demon waggled a finger not-quite-at her. “You already asked your question. You asked me what I meant. Now it is my turn again. Where in this room are you right now?”

“I am standing in the northeastern corner of this chamber,” Loriel answered, and slowly, on magically silenced feet, moved to the southeastern corner instead.

“No fair,” the demon complained. “I did not know which way was northeast.”

“Oh? Then my mistake. But I answered your question, so here is mine. Where is the ancient darkspawn being known to many as the Architect?”

“The Architect is underground,” the demon said sulkily.

Loriel felt a vein throb in her forehead. “I could have told you that.”

“Then you should have asked a better question,” sniffed the demon. “Now it is my turn—”

“No,” Loriel interrupted. “No, it isn’t. I didn’t say I would answer any question you asked. I agreed that I would tell you something you did not know. You have just told me you do not know which way is northeast, so I will tell you—it is the direction of the corner where the empty pouch of lyrium powder lies. Here is my second question: what is the cure for the Blight?”

“Why—blood, of course.” The demon smiled with hidden teeth. “It is always in the blood. That was a dirty trick you played, Loriel Surana, but no dirtier than mine, so I will forgive you, this time. Here is the next thing that I do not know and that I would have you tell me.” The demon smiled wider, showing teeth. “What do you love most in all the world?”

“Well?” said the demon, when she had been silent too long. “Will you answer, Loriel Surana? Or will you let me go?”

“I will answer.” And she answered, truly: “Nothing. What I love most in all the world is nothing.”

“How interesting. Yes, very interesting...you are a pleasing little mageling. I think I like you after all. Well, Loriel Surana? It is your turn. Speak!”

“I’m thinking,” said Loriel, and finally settled on: “What concrete set of actions should I take next—immediately after ending this conversation—that, of all possible actions, would take me the further along my goal of discovering the cure for the Calling?”

Veritas grinned wider still, its face little more than teeth. “Take a man infected with the Blight, and find a way to take it out of him. A man, and not a rat. But why waste your time with me asking me that which you already know?”

Loriel exhaled through her nose. “Thank you, Veritas. You may go now.”

The demon’s grin was all that remained of it as it disappeared back into the Fade, making no attempt at all to remain within the waking world. Loriel was alone, the floor littered with truths both new and old.

“Shit,” she muttered finally.

tck

It had been a mistake to summon the demon. She was no good at dealing with creatures of the Fade. When Loriel had been small and scared and helpless she’d had a silver tongue, been so adept and turning minds to her advantage using nothing but her words. Not it seemed she had forgotten entirely how to deal with a mind she could not break and twist and bend.

All she had succeeded in doing was in giving an ancient, powerful demon tools to hurt her with, and what had she learned? Nothing she didn’t already know. Stupid. Careless. Idiot.

“Warden Pollard has begun to hear the Call.”

Loriel had been half-listening to Brigit’s report; now she startled to full attention, rattling her morning tea in its cup. “What?” Brigit repeated herself. “Warden Pollard...who is he?”

Warden Pollard was Orlesian. He had transferred from under Warden-Commander Clarel some years ago. He had served well, saved three of his comrades in a raid, and fought with a pike. He had been a Warden for only thirteen years. This was early, but not unheard-of.

“Where is he?”

“The chapel. He prays for his soul. He intends to visit his mother in Velun before heading to the Deep Roads.”

“I would like to speak with him in private.” She said it so quickly as to be unseemly. But Brigit only nodded and moved to acquiesce.

When her office door opened and Brigit admitted him, Loriel couldn’t help but think he didn’t look much like a dying man. Perhaps he was pale, perhaps a sheen of sweat stood out on his skin, but she didn’t know him. For all she knew, he always looked like that.

Only when traces of discomfort began to appear on his face did Loriel realize she had been staring at him silently for far too long.

“Commander,” he said awkwardly, still with the traces of an Orlesian accent. He’d never met her before. Was he one of the ones not quite aware that she still lived, and still ruled? “I’m honored.”

“Do not be,” she said flatly. “How is it?”

How are you feeling might have been more appropriate. But it would have rung false.

“Not so bad, yet. I knew it was coming. I accept it.” He paused. “Is there some manner of ceremony?”

Loriel had no idea. There probably was. She had never cared to find out, never cared to make sure that her wardens had a good sendoff. “If you wish it. But that is not why I wanted to speak with you. Can you get more specific?”

A flash of confusion.

“About how it is.”

Pollard looked even less comfortable. “I’ve had nightmares, ser.”

“Different from the usual?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me more?”

“With respect, ser, I’d rather not.”

Her mouth set. “Please,” she said, and there was the power of blood in her voice, and not a trace of a request. “Tell me more.”

Pollard’s eyes went foggy and distant. When he spoke, he sounded oddly flat. “The nightmares were only the beginning. Now when I sleep, I hear the most beautiful voice. Like my mother calling me home. And when I awake, I want nothing more than to hear that voice again. I can hear it now, just barely. And a strange music in my ears.”

“What kind of music?”

“Bells. Like chantry bells, calling me to prayer. Ugly and beautiful at once.”

“Is it anything like lyrium song?”

His brow knit. “Yes. Not unlike lyrium song. But different. Richer and darker. I can almost pick out voices in it, but never what they say.”

She took out a notebook, her shorthand flying across the page. “What do you see? In the dreams?”

“Darkspawn. All gathered together in the biggest chamber I have ever seen. It’s dark, but I can see perfectly. They’re darkspawn, but they do not seem ugly. At the center sits a beautiful figure, bathed in gold, smiling. They welcome me home. I’m glad to be there.”

“When did this start?”

“Three weeks ago I first heard the voice in my dreams.

“Any physical effects?”

“My skin is hot. The sun hurts my eyes, even on cloudy days. I feel stronger now than I have ever been, even stronger than I was as a young man.”

“Anything else?”

“I hope not to be alive by the time there is anything else.”

Loriel finished transcribing. “One last thing. Come here. Roll up your sleeve; give me your arm.”

Pollard obeyed. He did not protest, did not react at all, when she took some of his blood. It glinted darkly in the glass vials she had fetched for this purpose, easily a few shades too dark. She stared at it for a few seconds. There was the Blight itself.

She took a few vials. Enough so he wouldn’t notice, later, and closed the wound she’d made with a clumsy burst of creation magic. The vials went into a wooden box inscribed with a rune of entropic suspension—blood spoiled so soon after it left the body.

Frustration overwhelmed her, that all she had was a few vials of blood and a brief coercive interview. Imagine all she might have learned if she could watch as he succumbed to the Taint, hear in his own words what was happening to him. He was going to die anyway—this way he might help save the lives of countless other Wardens, who could object to that? She could just—

No. Velanna had been wrong. She cared about the Wardens, of course she did, why else do all this? She would not subject an innocent man to such a fate. She was better than Avernus.

Pollard blinked as she released his mind, but if he was aware of the lost time he did not show it. She thanked him for his service and assured him that his family would be taken care of. He thanked her in turn, and departed as quickly as was seemly. She watched him go with only the smallest burst of dark regret.

#dragon age #femslash #amell #surana #dragon age: origins #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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thedasdrabbles · 3 years

Text

Slices of Life - Modern AU Thedas Valentines

He didn’t go all out for every holiday. Some didn’t have the same feel behind them, the same groove. Valentine’s Day was one where he put a little extra in, though -- in part because at first he hadn’t thought his lover would expect it and now because he liked to keep the expectations high and the anticipation just on the edge of heart pounding and breathless. He’d left a card tacked to the door for his lover to find when he made it home, a trail of flower petals starting in the foyer and leading up the stairs. The hall was dark save for the gently flickering glow of tiny LED candles that he’d left along the stairs, lighting the way for Ferion to follow.

The trail led to their bathroom where there was another card, its contents brief and naughty with a post-script that contained promises of more scandalously wicked to come.

Get cleaned up, get comfortable and come find the rest of your present whenever you’re ready. - Bull

Alongside the card atop a neatly folded towel was a fresh bar of Ferion’s favorite soap, a new container of the scrub he had mentioned enjoying the last time Bull had brought it home, a small, unopened bottle of lube and a plug, weighted nicely with a heart-shaped flare. It was easily enough to imagine what the rest of his ‘present’ might be from there.... The rest of the night was going to be good. Bull would make sure that he’d get it nice and hard to counter all of the soft. He always did, and each Valentines Day they spent together made it seem like he always would.

--------------------

Rylen didn’t do romance, at least that was what he always said. He had other ways of letting Cullen know that he loved him throughout the year and early on in their relationship they’d come to terms with the fact that Valentine’s Day wasn’t really for them. It meant that neither of them took issue with the fact that as part of his work rotations his travels typically had him out of town over that holiday; something that he was more than alright with as it meant he was back for the ones that meant more to them.

It didn’t mean that he spent Valentines alone, however. Why waste a perfectly good night centered around fine dining, fine wine and lingerie alone when he could spend it in the company of Miranda…

He’d promised to keep his eyes closed after dinner -- a dinner they’d had delivered to his room rather than eating out this time, neither one of them of a mood to deal with the typical crowds drawn to high-end restaurants even if they could have worked a private dining room into their expenditure budget. She’d talked him into wearing a tie that night and he was painfully aware of its closeness, each draw of breath making him all the more aware of it along with the knowledge that he could hear her moving around, breath catching when he caught a trace of her perfume drifting closer.

When he felt her fingers tug at the tie to loosen it he almost opened his eyes, knowing with the way she had to have leaned in he would have gotten a glorious eyeful of the tops of her breasts spilling over whatever she was wearing -- either the dress she’d donned for dinner or whatever she had on beneath it. He closed them tighter, though, knowing she hadn’t yet told him he could peek yet and the resulting laughter, sultry and sweet like honey was entirely worth it just like the rest of the night would be…

--------------------

The kitchen was filled with laughter, music lightly floating through the background. Her sides were starting to ache but it felt so good that she didn’t care. Eli leaned back into Cullen’s arms, cheeks rosy and warm as she tipped her head to rest against his shoulder, peering up to him. She couldn’t remember ever being with anyone who’d made her feel this way before -- so light, so loved. It must have shown in her eyes as they met his because she only had a second to process the desire that shifted through his amber eyes before he was kissing her breathless.

With a soft gasp followed by a low moan she turned, slipping her arms around his neck. Before she knew it his hands were on her hips, lifting her to set her on the counter. He seemed to take a second to breathe, the briefest of pauses to make sure she was alright and that there was no trace of protest before he was kissing her again. If kissing Rylen was like drowning in desire, kissing Eli was like a rush of spring air, warm and gently demanding in the most wonderful of ways. He couldn’t imagine his life without either of them, but he was so grateful for moments like this, that he could have moments like this.

Cullen drew back slowly, touching his nose to hers, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth only to lean back, smiling. His smile brought the light of the sun to his face, warm and just a bit sheepish. “This isn’t going to get the rest of dinner put away.”

“Says the man who put me up here,” she laughed, closing her eyes in an attempt to find her breath, always amazed by how easily he could take it away. From the den she heard a woof which drew another soft, breathless laugh. “See… Sari agrees with me.”

“Traitor…” He muttered beneath his breath, acting cross for the briefest of moments before kissing her again. They’d get back to the leftovers sooner or later… Probably later…

--------------------

“We’re going to miss our reservations.” He’d made plans this year, just as he tried to make plans every year. For Garret Hawke plans were often things to be shuffled around or rescheduled, especially when they involved plans with Anders. The medic had gotten much better over the years, started taking better care of himself, dropped a few bad habits and picked up a handful of others that were less detrimental to their relationship. It wasn’t always easy, but they’d made things work after a fair amount of growth and work between them.

“We’re not going to miss our reservations. They’re not for another hour and a half, Hawke -- that’s more than enough time for me to finish getting dressed, make sure Liberty and Barkus have had their Valentine’s treats and be on our way.” His lips pursed together into a pout as he looked over to the other man after pulling his shirt down over his head, taking the time to smooth wrinkles that weren’t there out of it. He loved Garret desperately and it had taken him more time than it should have to come to terms with that, even longer to come to terms with the idea that he could be loved that fiercely in return. Spending a day with him meant everything… Spending this day with him meant more.

“We are going to miss our reservations if you keep looking at me like that while looking like that, though.” Hawke grinned as he stepped up, slipping an arm around Anders’ middle as he planted a kiss on the corner of the other man’s mouth. “Check your hair once or twice more, like I know you’re going to do, grab that necklace you’ve changed your mind on twice… This shirt is fine. It was fine the last time you put it on before you tried something else and it will go well with that coat that you love that you swear doesn’t match the jeans you have on, but it does. I’ll feed your cat and Barkus and then we’ll be on our way. Dinner and a movie. Normal Valentines. Promise.”

“Normal?” His heart swelled as he looked at Hawke, reaching up to rest a hand alongside the other man’s face. He leaned in to brush a soft kiss to the other man’s lips, his expression radiating all of the love and affection he had found a hard time giving voice to for so long. “Nothing about being with you is normal, Hawke… And that’s part of what I love about it. About you. About us...”

--------------------

He approached the tub with two glasses of wine, holding one out to his lover and waiting for him to take it before reaching down to trail his fingers through the water. It was warm enough that it would feel wonderful, the steam already reminding him that Ryn’s next business trip would take them somewhere away from the snow that had fallen outside. They’d stayed in that night, not wanting to get caught out if it came back with a vengeance -- an excuse on his part, really. In truth, he’d just wanted Ryn to himself.

He set his glass down on the edge of the tub as he stepped up and into the water, seeming entirely satisfied as he sank down into it opposite the other man. He nudged his lover’s hip with his foot as he leaned back, retrieving his glass to take a sip. “This? This is the life, amatus. Warm, comfortable, quiet dinner at home, wine… You.” His smile was warm, eyes only for the man sitting across from him. He’d known that Ryn was the type of man he could easily find himself falling for almost from the start but he hadn’t expected them to be so good together, so good for each other.

He took another sip of his wine, easing back again and closing his eyes. It was a moment before he heard the soft clink of a glass being set down across from him, the shift of water moving around him as Ryn leaned forward, kneeling between his knees. He opened his eyes in time to see the other man leaning in, following his lover’s movement as he plucked the glass from his fingers and set it down as well. When he felt Ryn’s lips press against his he pressed back, fingers sliding into the other man’s hair to draw him down closer. Ryn was the best part of this, the best part of everything. Ryn made their house home, made wherever they went when he traveled somewhere that he wanted to be.

Dorian often thought that Ryn was a better man than him, had thought at first that Ryn might be too good for him -- too good to be true. They’d unearthed flaws, grown and evolved and now they were so good together. Their romance was the kind meant for lifetimes, not just for a single day, and he intended to make sure that Ryn knew that in every way.

--------------------

“Tethras Investigations.” He’d kicked back in his chair, heels on the corner of his desk, the pages for the novel he’d been working on tucked into folders on the opposite side. He had a deadline to meet, but deadlines could wait. Deadlines meant little when it came to spending Valentines with the light of his life, especially when it came to having the opportunity to dress up while doing so.

He reached up to tip his at up just enough that he could get a good look at her as she came in the door. For a second he lost character -- more than a second, honestly. It was going to take a beat or two for him to pick his jaw up off of the floor. “Shit, Gadget, you didn’t tell me you were going that far out. If I’d’ve known I would’ve done more than just put together some things from my closet…” He caught himself as she clicked her tongue to chastise him, clearing his throat in an attempt to find his character again. “What can I do for you, doll?”

His eyes followed her as she sashayed towards his desk, the glamor of the vintage fashion suiting her far better than he would have expected. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected that, really, given how good she looked in just about everything she put on. If the Renaissance Festival had been any proof of that, well…

“I’ve heard you’re good at what you do, possibly the best.” She made her way around to his desk, nudging his feet down off of the corner so she could take a seat on the edge of it. Grinning, Lani leaned back on one hand, resting a foot on the chair between his thighs. “Tell me, Mr Tethras… Are you the best?”

She was going to be the death of him, the absolute utter death of him. He cracked again, for a shorter spell this time, recovering by holding her gaze as he rested his hand on her calf as he leaned in to brush his lips to her knee. “That all depends, ma’am, on what you’ve heard I’m the best at… Why don’t you let me know and we’ll go from there? All I’ll say up front is that I never leave a job unfinished or a dame unsatisfied.” That was enough to trip her up, his knack for witty dialogue and bad one-liners finally coming through. The resulting laughter was well worth it.

Shit, everything with her was worth it. She’d done so much for him in the time they’d known one another, drawing him out of a bottle he hadn’t known he’d been hiding him and introducing him to some of the most beautiful parts of life. Whatever he’d done, however he’d managed to get this lucky, Varric knew he’d never be able to top convincing Lanira to be his wife.

#DragonAgeInquisition #DragonAgeAU #Lavellan #CullenRutherford #KnightCaptainRylen #VarricTethras #DorianPavus #TheIronBull #EliandFerionandRynLavellan #ValentinesDrabbles

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crqstalite · 4 years

Note

9 for Evolet and Fenris.

oof this one got away from me a bit, but was interesting to get into evolet/fenris’ headspace, mostly because her own mirrors mine lol. less focused on their relationship and more focused on the fact that evolet both needs a nap and a little less instant trust in people.

for the angst prompt: “People will only use you. They can’t be trusted.”

prompts!

word count: 2,428

At first, it’s hard to figure what makes her tick. Moreso what doesn’t. But always with her heart on her sleeve in the same moment, emotions always flickering over her expression like a flame. There is not one person in Kirkwall that doesn’t know that, there is not one person that accompanies her during the day that doesn’t already understand that.

Evolet Hawke is...an enigma at times. Guarded, careful. Stepping quietly around as if she’s forced to as not to disturb a sleeping dragon. Analytical, if not also quiet.

And yet? Fenris still can’t wrap his head around her.

How is it that she keeps parts of her locked away with a key she has hidden somewhere, but nothing else is? How is it that everyone else seems to be more important than herself, as she takes hours and days out of her life to assist them with tasks she has no business getting involved with?

She wants to help every single person they come across on the street, she wants to never leave someone at the mercy of their attackers. They can never just turn a blind eye to anything. That is one of the few things she never has much difficulty thinking about.

Fenris lies in wait for the day that comes back to bite her. Not that he’d want anything to happen to Hawke, no, but he knows what she’s doing isn’t healthy. How often does he actually see her return to the estate? Sometimes the only response he gets is that Aveline needed help with this or that in a patrol. Sometimes Merrill needed something and she just had to give a hand. Or that she and Isabela had gone out by themselves to complete a task no one knew about.

Does the woman ever sit down to take care of herself these days?

He doesn’t get his answer, not for years. But little things start to shift under that smile of her’s. There’s an air of vulnerability when she arrives to his mansion a few odd times in that fateful year, but always a few words, phrases kept for herself. He never gets the full story, but then again he’d be a hypocrite if he asked the same from her but not from himself. Her company is always appreciated, and he never prys, but he has some concern for the woman anyway. It only gets worse the closer they grow.

What the terrifying bit is, is truly that she never considers that someone could be using her goodwill for their own gain. How often she doesn’t defer to her own judgement if someone makes a good enough case with her. He saw it with Petrice, saw how easily she coerced Evolet into helping under the guise the Chantry needed her. He saw nearly just how easily Feynriel’s mother convinced her to send him to the Circle for her own mind to be set to rest -- which he knows better than anyone that she’d hate to go there herself. However her only response is ever that they just needed her, and if she didn’t help, then who would?

He can think of about twenty people, all who’s names weren’t Evolet.

He sees the cracks starting to appear towards the end of her fourth year in Kirkwall. When her helping and trust in the City Guard towards the investigation into Quentin only leads to her mother’s death at the hands of a blood mage. The thought of one makes him shiver, almost enough that he doesn’t really want to accompany her much longer, but when he asks if she’s okay...that damn cheeky smile she gets whenever someone gets too close to the truth. The way she’s more despondent as the days afterwards drag on, but much too fast to cover it with a mask instead, refusing to acknowledge that she’s in pain.

They’re still on shaky terms then, while he might have her crest, they hadn’t spoken in weeks by that point. He doesn’t say what he needs to. Comforting her is out of the question -- he wouldn’t know where to begin.

When she discovers what Isabela had done, it is a day Fenris never thought he’d ever see. He’d never really thought Isabela would use her in such a manner, and yet, she just let’s her go. He sees her hands fall to her sides after she leaves, tome in hand and surely racing for the docks before the storm starts. Flames lick her palms before the mage puts them out, the only instance he’d ever seen her magic flare without true intention. Aveline had placed a hand on her shoulder, but Evolet had jerked it off, then running a hand through her hair.

“It’s fine. It’s fine! We can get them out another way, I wouldn’t just sell Isabela out, I couldn’t,” Her voice wavers before setting her face into one of slight amusement, “That one really came out of left field, didn’t it?”

“Hawke...” Aveline starts to chastise her, surely for the same reason he was about to, “This really isn’t a proper time to be joking about this.”

“I’m not ‘joking’ Aveline, it will be fine, as long as we keep level heads,” Her eyes are downcast as much as she tries to replace it with a smile, one he can see right through, “I just...wasn’t expecting Isabela to do that, is all.”

He doesn’t say anything, even though he probably should. If Kirkwall hasn’t been destroyed by the end of the night, he’d have to sit her down proper and talk. Since no one else would, and no one else seemed to see the lesson she was so desperately missing.

She’s in pain, and she won’t even say a word about it. She and Isabela had been friends if their interactions were anything to go by, and Evolet had put her trust in the pirate. He tentatively asks how she’s handling it shortly after her duel with the Arishok, but she brushes it off in favor of wrapping a bandage around his hand -- ignoring the question. A beat of silence that goes on much too long until she launches into another attempt at humor.

Her eyes are darker than usual. Her hands tremble more, and yet, she says she will still be friends with Isabela anyway. Because that is simply who she is. Good, loving and caring Hawke.

It wasn’t until three years after that does he finally get the conversation going, while they’re preparing for a trip into the sewers no less. Anders is walking some ways behind them, talking to Varric. He might as well say it now, away from prying ears and air his concerns, “Hawke.”

She looks over her shoulder, slight smile already on her face when he sighs, “Yes, Fenris?”

“Do you not wonder what the mage has us doing?”

“I...why would I? I wouldn’t want to remain possessed if I didn’t have to. If there’s a will, then surely there’s a way, right?” She asks, gently bumping into shoulder. He flinches, though he would admit it’s a welcome touch. And yet she’s ignoring every red flag that the abomination has set up since they left the clinic. In favor of what, remaining friends?

Mages. Though...she’s just naïve. Or ignoring the issue entirely.

“And if this isn’t it’s intended purpose?” Fenris queries. He has his own suspicions about Anders, one’s that were never properly taken care of over the last few years, mostly because he had begrudging respect for the man and second, because Evolet would never let him hear the end of it.

He knows that the people they go out with are using her -- whether for her status or the friendship she hands out like candy, or in her case, sovereigns to little street children, “You’re aware he is using you? Because you can not say no to him, it is no wonder he came to you first with this issue.”

A look of veiled shock crosses her eyes, yanking at her sleeve as if she’s considering his words. Good, she understands him then. She glances over her shoulder, then back up at him, “He wouldn’t do that, Fenris. I thought you were better friends with him, you don’t need to be so suspicious,” He bites the words back, but she powers on anyway, “What if I ended up possessed? If Anders had a way to undo it, to save my life, wouldn’t you do the same?”

He doesn’t answer that, enough so that he thinks she knows the answer. He’d never heard of such a way, though he could attribute that to not being a mage. Considering that she’d mulled it over herself though, and that Anders spoke of it like it’d never been done before -- to say the least he doesn’t trust this course of action.

And yet, she does. It never matters to her, she’s always looking for the best in people, even if they don’t deserve it. No matter just how tired she is, no matter just how much she should really take care of herself first -- she always puts everyone else before her. He can’t ignore either, with how much she toes the line between nurturing and foolish these days, so he does what he can so that she doesn’t end up paying for it later down the line. The mage and dwarf slip past him in the sewers, but Evolet pauses while he holds the trapdoor for her, “Please trust me, Fenris.”

“I am by your side, Hawke.” He means it, that part is entirely genuine. However, it is still unsettling how all she does is give him a grin and disappear into the depths.

Whether Evolet trusted him or not, no one could’ve expected something so miniscule and unsuspecting to cause the civil war that began in Kirkwall some weeks later. She’s beyond upset, beyond terrified when she has to choose a side between the Templars and Magi ruling the city -- Meredith has never been all there, but he’s grateful when she chooses her anyway.

And to deal with the mage -- the bloody abomination. She’s hesitant, and he can see the thoughts rushing through her head like a tidal wave in her shaky movements. Most likely wondering how he could ever do something this, mirroring her companions thoughts.

She trusts far too easily. Finally he’s able to put it in words, and...finally she sees the consequences of it. Fenris highly doubts Anders would’ve been capable of such a crime without her help. Without any of their help. Without her help, he doubts Merrill would’ve gone down her path with the Eluvian. Without her help, he doubts Isabela would’ve gotten away with stealing the tome all those years ago.

He can catch snippets of their conversation, his voice resigned and her’s shaking ever so slightly. Poised and graceful, as she always was, but she’s trying to convince him to help. Trying to convince him to right his wrongs and stand with her.

He refuses.

Fenris can pinpoint the exact moment her demeanor changes. When her trust has been snapped in two, and she sees the ugly reality -- the truth behind what she’s enabled.

Evolet surprises him when she unsheathes her knife from where she carries it on her hip. Swift and silent, it finds a home in the mage’s back, shoved in between his shoulder blades. Merrill gasps behind a hand, shocked by her friend’s actions, surely.

It’s destroying her on the inside, he knows that it is. Her eyes are downcast and watering when she eventually picks up her staff again, leaving the knife where it was. She doesn’t give it a second glance, and merely nods to Aveline’s suggestion to head to the Gallows. Once they’ve made it through the mage’s that are putting up a true fight on the Docks (he nearly feels some semblance of regret, leaving them behind like that. He tries not to look at Evolet, how she’s struggling to throw out her more lethal attacks against people who were just like her), it’s silent.

Evolet stands in the back of the small boat they’d procured, back turned from the rest of her party. Whispers, quiet discussing what they’d do when they got there. Merrill, softly sobbing into Isabela’s arms over the loss of Anders is all he can hear. Her arms are gently wrapped around herself, eyes out to the burning horizon when she leans against the mast.

He’s careful, quiet as not to startle her. And yet, there’s still a sad smile, quirking the corners of her lips up when she glances over her shoulder. It’s not real, he’s learned to see past it now, it’s a buffer so no one sees her at her worst -- or sees her for who she is.

He’s never seen her cry before. Not when her brother was taken to the Wardens, not when her mother died. She’d always been so strong, helping everyone else through their own tears, their own fears. She’d been there with him when Danarius had died, and had generously accepted him back into her heart. Evolet had been there for Merrill, when her Keeper died and stayed for days with the younger Elven woman in her home in the alienage, even if she looked genuinely exhausted herself. All these things, no matter the toll they took on her, she simply accepted.

Piled onto her were responsibilities beyond her years, piled onto her were problems she couldn’t always solved but tried to, piled onto her were people that depended on her like no others. And never did she ever show that true emotion that came with the stress. He’d thought she liked the guise, liked to act.

But with the fires illuminating her face, and the world forever changed, tears are slipping down her face ever so quietly. Her hands are wrinkling the clothes she wears, stained with blood and clutched like a grounding force. Ice is under her boots, if not a testament to just how little control she has over her will now.

Evolet goes to him, leaning her head against his chest first then her arms go around him, grasping at the fabric on the back of his tunic. He’s never been one for outright touch, but it’s comforting instead of unwelcome, regardless of the circumstances.

He chooses his words carefully, knowing he’ll only shatter her further if he doesn’t, “People will only use you, Evolet. They can’t be trusted.”

“I know,” She murmurs, “I know.”

#evolet hawke #evolet/fenris #f!fenhawke

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lord-woolsley · 4 years

Text

Strangeness And Charm

Fandom: Dragon Age II (Anders/Garrett Hawke) Chapters: 1/1 (2033 words) Rating: Teen And Up Summary: Isabela has had enough of Anders and Garrett dancing around each other for three years, yearning and pining. When a favour for Aveline brings them to the Wounded Coast, she decides to set them up. Rant: If you like it, please leave some love on ao3. ♡ Ao3: Link

Strangeness and Charm

Anders woke up in his bed – or whatever he was telling himself was a bed – in the backroom of his “clinic“. Even though it was still late summer a chill was creeping over his skin, leaving goose bumps all over it and making him shiver.

He was wrapping himself in his blanket – or whatever he was telling himself was a blanket – hugging it tight before he let out an exhausted sigh. Justice was sending him messages – orders – so many of them through his dreams lately and Anders felt like he didn’t sleep at all.

The spirit had been feasting on his mind, his insecurities, his needs and wishes when he couldn’t have been more vulnerable, searching for something he could use for his own cause. He always took advantage of the fact that Anders – like all humans – needed to sleep. A state he didn’t have any control over and Justice liked to put thoughts and ideas into Anders head at night that couldn’t be his own, could they?

They screamed loud behind his eyes, showing him pictures of destruction, of fighting, of war even, pictures that still seemed so right, so necessary.

Justified, he thought, gritting his teeth. But were they- justified? He asked himself. His eyes were burning, the blue light behind them so intense, banishing the soft hazel he called his own, forcing his question to disappear without a second thought.

I need to get up, he said to himself. Enough of whining about something he couldn’t change anyway. People needed his help and even Justice enjoyed himself when Anders was helping the sick. Keeping Justice on his good side, keeping him satisfied, was something that mostly resulted into being left alone. Anders liked to be left alone, liked to be the master of his thoughts, words and actions.

Sometimes – even though he and Justice were so entwined at this point, two beings living in one body – he remembered how it was to be the only one in there. Who would he be if he were just Anders, a shabby mage with strawberry blonde hair and freckles on his face? What decisions would he make if they were truly his own?

"Hawke, that horrible horrible man, with his sarcastic words and dumb jokes“, he thought, a sad smile on his lips. If the circumstances had been different, Hawke was a decision he would have made without a second thought.

•

When Anders finally opened the clinic, the first thing he saw was Isabela. He sighed. Maker, why do you punish me so early in the morning?

“Really, Bela, again?“, he asked. “Can’t you keep your hands to yourself for one night?“ Her lips formed into a mischievous smile. “Like you do all the time?“ Anders groaned. “You need to relax, Blondie.“, she mimicked Varric‘s words. “I could“, she stepped closer and straightened his cloak. “Oh no, no, no, no, I rather think not. I already know more about your sex life than I ever intended to. And I would like to leave it at that.“ “Your loss.“, she said.

“Still pining after Garrett? It’s time you moved on. Or make a move at least. I pity you both dancing around each other the whole time. How long has it been? 3 years? I mean I wouldn’t say no to Hawke, you know? I tried. But he‘s always busy yearning, it‘s quite depressing.“ “As if.“ Anders rolled his eyes. “Why are you here? To annoy me? To dig around and get information involving my non-existing love life.“, Anders wanted to change the topic as quick as possible, this wasn’t Isabela‘s business. At all. “Hm.“, She nodded. “You know there are actual people out there who are in need of a healer.“ “I am in need of a healer.“ Anders granted her an annoyed look. “The usual?“, he asked, rolling his eyes as far back into his head as they allowed him. “Yeah.“ “Next time you‘re on your own with it.“ “You wouldn’t!“ “Try me. Let‘s just get it over with and never speak of it again.“

•

Isabela was right though, he was avoiding being alone with Garrett as much as possible, losing control was nothing he could afford. He was only a man after all. In need of- Maker‘s Breath. What was it with the people today? That’s why he liked cats better.

“Garrett promised to help me with something...personal“, a familiar voice said. Aveline. What was Aveline doing here?

“He says he needs you for it. I don’t know why to be honest but who am I to judge Garrett‘s decisions.“ “You do that all the time.“ Anders said, eyebrows raised. “Fair enough.“ “What‘s different today?“ “It‘s private. Please don’t ask.“ Anders had a good understanding of privacy and wished way too often that people respected his. He didn’t ask, if Aveline didn’t want to tell him, he would accept that without questions. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.

•

“Anders, I‘m happy to see you again. You’re currently so busy, we rarely see each other these days. It’s a shame.“ Garrett clapped him on the back with his usual force and Anders instantly stumbled. That man really underestimated his strength. Like all the time.

Anders was lucky he didn’t lose his balance and landed in the dirt, not that it made any difference concerning his clothes but it was better for his ego that way.

But what if he had tripped? Would Garrett have caught him or would he have helped him up entwining their fingers?

For a moment Anders thought about throwing himself on the floor just to find out. But Isabela was with them and she already smiled one of her suggestive grins which instantly put a terrible blush on his face. Stupid ginger complexion, he cursed, making everything so bloody obvious. Maybe Aveline would sympathize.

When Anders dared to look at Garrett, nothing in his expression had changed. Thank the Maker. Maybe he wouldn’t die of embarrassment after all. At least not today, by any chance.

“What‘s wrong, what do you need me for?“, Anders asked. They just arrived at the Wounded Coast and it was already getting dark. Normally Garrett always talked to them about their missions first, this was extremely unusual but since Anders secluded himself so much recently, Garrett had probably thought he didn’t want to be disturbed or even worse, he didn’t want to see him for some reason.

Hawke – who probably thought he was whispering (but didn’t whisper at all) – was taking a step closer to Anders before blurting some words out that put a horrible blush on Aveline‘s face. Yes, she would definitely sympathize with the ginger complexion, he decided.

“Aveline here has a little crush on Guardsman Donnic and she needs some help to pursue him.“ “Oh.“, Anders said. “Not a word.“ Aveline seemed like she was about to rip Hawke in half if he only dared to continue speaking. Or Anders if he commented on it. Which he wouldn’t do, he didn’t plan on dying tonight.

“All these people with their crushes here tonight, I wish I would have brought someone myself.“, Isabela said and Anders thought about commenting on Aveline‘s romantic inclinations after all. Maybe dying wasn’t that bad.

“Huh?“, Hawke asked, pure eloquence. “You know her, she likes to tease.“ “That I do.“

While Aveline and Donnic were patrolling and flirting – if one could call it that, she was really competing with Anders own nervous rambling – Hawke, Isabela and Anders had much to do with keeping the bandits at bay, a factor that really played out in Ander‘s favour. They didn’t have much time for talking and had the great chance to listen to Aveline embarrassing herself. Anders felt terribly sorry for her while Hawke was slowly losing his patience.

“How can one be so bad at that? And how can Donnic be so oblivious?“, he asked, dramatically throwing his hands into the air like he wanted the Maker to do something about it.

“I don’t know, Garrett.“, Isabela said, amused. When she opened her mouth again Anders knew she would say something at his expensive. “Exactly. How can one be that oblivious?“, she repeated. „One must be really stupid to not notice anything after indulging oneself in three years of romantic fantasies while the real thing is right in front of them. Oblivious indeed.“ “What do you mean?“, Hawke asked, mildly confused. “Care to elaborate?“ “My dear Garrett, you might be buff but you are not that stupid.“ “I-”, Garrett started but Isabela cut in.

“Anders, please, for the sake of Andraste‘s lady parts, say something. At least one of us needs to get laid tonight. And since I‘m here with your stupid lot, wasting my night away instead of talking to handsome sailors in The Hanged Man while drinking cheap ale, I will not be that person. And Aveline will definitely not get lucky either after the disaster we just witnessed.“ She let out a sigh that made it noticeably clear she was so done with their idiocy and wouldn’t tolerate any more of it. “No excuses.“, she said and focused her gaze on Garrett. “You‘re a daft couple of... take a hint and bend him over a basin, will you?“ “Oh.“, Garret said. “Oh indeed.“

“Let‘s save Aveline from herself first, okay?“, Isabela suggested. “I can’t look at this any longer.“

“And then we let you deal with the rest, Bela, and we sneak away.“ “Thank you very much.“, Isabela sighed. “If you both didn’t annoy the hell out of me I would be offended but I‘m just so glad this thing“, she gestured between Hawke and Anders “is resolved now. Even though it means all my chances with Garrett are gone, aren’t they?“ “They most definitely are.“, Anders said while making a gesture that implied he would keep an eye on her. “If you change your mind and let me borrow him for a night, let me know.“ “No chance. He doesn’t have a say in this.“

Garrett chuckled and took Anders hand in his. “Ugh.“, Isabela said. “I prefer the Heartworm guy over looking at you being disgustingly affectionate. Let me deal with Aveline and disappear from my vision before I vomit on your shoes.“ And that they did.

•

Anders woke up in his bed – this was his bed, wasn’t it? – and tried to snuggle up to his blanket which surprisingly didn’t feel like a blanket. “Go back to sleep.“, the blanket said and didn’t sound like a blanket at all.

Anders wanted to follow the advice; he was so incredibly tired. Justice had tormented him with one nightmare after another, mostly screaming at him that he wouldn’t allow Anders to forget the cause, the greater good, because of unnecessary distractions. Distractions such as Garrett.

Not justified, Anders thought. Let me have this. He knew Justice wouldn’t force him to give up Hawke when he still went through with the plan.

Justice was right about so many things after all, he wanted the mages to be free more than anyone else and Anders would give them that freedom. But first he deserved some of it himself and his freedom might as well be Garrett.

If they only had been born in a world that was fair to mages, a world in which he didn’t have to make a pact with a spirit in the first place, a world which would let him have this – a little bit of happiness – without regrets. He had to think about the future, remember why he did this. There would be mages who could have this because Justice had succeeded with his plan. Anders had to keep this in mind.

“Ten years - a hundred years from now - someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart.“, Anders whispered. “What did you say?“, Garrett asked, still half-asleep. “I said I need to open the clinic in a few, I bet Isabela is the first in line.“ “Why would she come to the clinic?“ “I‘m pretty sure she gave in and bedded the Heartworm guy.“ “Gross.“

“Anders.“, Garrett said but it somehow sounded like a question. “Hm?“ “My door will be open tonight.“

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #handers #anders #hawke #garrett hawke #my writing #writing #ao3 #da #da2 #mine #my stuff

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jenniferhawke · 4 years

Text

Bitter jealousy

Summary: So long as the mage made her happy, he would remain silent. Even when she sits in Anders’ lap after having too many drinks at The Hanged Man, even as she kisses him openly and without uncertainty. Fenris tolerates these things, even as it wounds him like a poison burning him from the inside out. He will not interfere, so long as she smiles. Until, one day, she isn’t anymore.

A continuation of my recent Fenris drabbles (but reads well enough as a stand alone).

------------- It is hard to remain quiet. But Fenris remembers a time not so long ago when he could not speak freely. When he had no voice. When he was a slave.

Watching Hawke with Anders is agonizing those first few months when she is all smiles and eager glances. When the two of them can barely keep their hands to themselves during Wicked Grace in Varric’s suite, slender fingers running down the back of a shabby coat, calloused fingers caressing a soft cheek in return. Eyes of longing gaze through her silken fringe at the man to her left, faint lines of glee crinkling at the corners. She’d once glanced at him that way, Fenris thinks to himself, tossing another copper into the growing pile of coin as everyone places their bets. When his eyes meet Varric’s, the dwarf smirks, a look that says ‘I know what you’re thinking, elf’. He ignores it, instead returning his eyes to his cards as if they hold all the answers to every burning question ever asked. Even with a winning hand, even as his pockets feel much heavier at the end of the night, all Fenris can fixate on during his lonesome walk home is that look of adoration in Hawke’s eyes. Venhedis, how he aches to think of it, to know that it is no longer reserved for him but another.

Time is a cruel mistress, Fenris soon learns. It does not heal wounds, as others have said. Long months pass, and with them, Hawke’s relationship with her fellow mage grows. Taking to the streets one sunny afternoon, his keen ears pick up the gossiping of two housewives.

“Did you hear about the Champion?” one asks.

“That she is living in sin? Of course I heard. Any respectable man would ask for her hand in marriage before rightly moving in!”

The words sting as if vinegar poured on a fresh wound. It is a wound that festers, refusing to heal, no matter how he tends to it, no matter how busy he keeps his mind. Fenris takes odd jobs during the days when Hawke does not call upon him, and in the evenings, he catches up with contacts he’s made in his never ending search for his sister. But during quiet moments at night, when sleep eludes him, when his treacherous mind thinks of nothing but that night with Hawke, his heart lurches, breath catching in his throat as he pictures the hands of another roaming the valley of her skin, counting her silver scars, relishing in the feel of her inside. When he finally drifts to sleep, he dreams of nothing but what could have been, if only he hadn’t walked away, if instead he had chosen to stay.

The next day, Hawke collects Fenris, asking for his assistance along the Wounded Coast. Varric and Anders accompany them on their travels, and for a time, Fenris remains quiet. But even as his tongue refuses to form words, misery consumes his mind. Being in the very presence of the Darktown healer has his heart consumed with bitter jealousy. As feet cross sun beaten sand, Varric and Hawke take the lead, and soon, the blond mage trails to his side. For a moment, Fenris loses himself, unable to remain silent a moment longer.

“You … are living with Hawke now?”

“What’s it to you?” Anders barks in response.

“Be good to her. Break her heart, and I will kill you.”

The mage rolls his eyes at this, quickening his footsteps until he catches up to Hawke, wrapping an arm around her slender waist. Fenris knows Anders well enough to know this is his petty way of showing Fenris whom she belongs to. But Fenris is not one to take ownership of another. Hawke would always be free to make her choice. And if Anders was what she truly wanted … then so be it. He had walked away from her, had thrown away his chance at a life with the woman he cherished. It would always haunt him, but he had no right to voice his distaste. So long as the mage made her happy, he would remain silent. Even when she sits in Anders’ lap after having too many drinks at The Hanged Man, even as she kisses him openly and without uncertainty. Fenris tolerates these things, even as it wounds him like a poison burning him from the inside out. He will not interfere, so long as she smiles.

Until, one day, she isn’t anymore.

Two years pass, and slowly her smile fades into something resembling indifference. At first, Fenris thinks little of it, assuming her relationship with the healer has turned into less a novelty and something resembling routine. But then Anders stops coming to Varric’s suite for cards. Hawke brushes it off the first few weeks, saying that his work at the clinic has him overburdened. It is not completely out of the usual for the apostate to be swamped with patients from time to time. But weeks turn into months, and the mage’s absence becomes something of habit.

One evening, after everyone has piled out of Varric’s suite and have said their goodbyes for the night, he watches as Hawke returns to the bar. A mug of whiskey is poured for her, and she knocks it back as if it’s nothing, immediately ordering another. She’s already drunk, that much had been made clear during their game of Diamondback with her constant insistence of more rounds and her speech beginning to slur. As Fenris approaches the bar, he can see the frown on her face, the one she desperately tries to hide from her friends.

“Hawke” he says as she knocks back her second mug as if it is merely water.

“Fenrissss,” she drawls out his name, giving him a sloppy grin. “Want another round? Isss on me.”

“Perhaps another time,” he politely declines. “Would you like me to walk you home?” he asks, as if he wasn’t already planning on escorting her home in this state.

“I suppose that might be wise.” Hawke reaches in her coin purse to pay her tab, several coppers dropping to the floor in her clumsy effort. Fenris bends to pick them up, handing them back to her. Soft fingers grasp them from his palm, and even now, after all this time, he aches to remember how she once felt against him.

“Thanks,” she says, plopping them down on the bar. Together, they leave the Hanged Man, and begin their walk home.

It takes twice as long to reach Hightown, with Hawke’s stumbling and her refusal to let Fenris help her. Three times she has to stop to relieve herself in an alley, muttering half apologies and shouting the words of a song he does not know in an attempt to cover up the sound of her emptying her bladder. Fenris shakes his head, but even so, a wry smile tugs on his lips. Even in her drunken stupor, it is impossible for him to find her anything less than charming.

As they reach Hightown, her sullen mood from before suddenly returns, and when Fenris glances at her, her eyes carry the weight of the world within them. Loudly, she sighs.

“I’ve been lying, you know.”

“About?” he asks, perking a curious brow.

“Anders. He’s not busy with his patients. He’s … “ she stops.

“He’s what, Hawke?”

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “He’s never home anymore. And when he is, he wants nothing to do with me. He’s always working on that … that Maker forsaken mani--manisessto,” she slurs.

“And this surprises you?” he asks, colder than he intends to.

“You don’t know him like I do!… Like I used to,” she says defensively. “I used to mean something to him. But now, all I’m good for is a warm place to sleep.”

“You know you are worth far greater than that,” Fenris says and Hawke suddenly stops mid step, eyes upon him.

“How should I know? No one ever stays for long.” Her eyes shine with sadness and uncertainty, but before Fenris can stumble on something to say to comfort her, she picks up her pace once more. They walk in an uncomfortable silence as her house nears. “You know, he doesn’t even kiss me anymore.”

Fenris feels fuzzy, and not from drink. He doesn’t wish to know anything about her intimate life with the apostate, nor does he think she wishes him to know such personal details. “Hawke, you are drunk. Perhaps we can discuss this in the morning when - “

“Nothing will change. Not tomorrow, or the day after that or … “ she chokes out a sob. Fenris’ lips pinch together in a thin line.

“Then he is a fool,” he says quietly, walking her to her door. Under the light of a lit lantern, she peers up at him, sapphire eyes seeking his own.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” she asks, and Fenris scoffs.

“Have I ever made a secret of my distaste for the mage?” he asks.

“No. I suppose not,” she says. “I never meant to fall in love with him, you know.”

“Hawke -- “.

“He was supposed to be a simple distraction. But I suppose with Anders, he would always want more. I was hurting. I missed you and … it just … happened.” A shaky breath flutters past her lips. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Oh … I dunno. For sleeping with your arch emasis?” she slurs yet again, in that ever so endearing way of hers.

“The mage is far from my arch nemesis,” he corrects. “Besides, I could never hate you Hawke. Do not think such things.”

Before he can realise what he’s doing, Fenris brushes an errant hair away from her cheek. Hawke responds by nuzzling against his hand, and as if pricked by a needle, he pulls away. Even as he yearns for her touch, he cannot take what she cannot rightfully give. A single taste, and he would be starving for more. “If you are unhappy, I think you should bring it up with the mage.”

Hawke sighs. “He’s never home long enough to have a real conversation. And when he is … he won’t listen.”

“Then make him listen, Hawke. If he truly cares for you like he should, he will fight to keep you in his life.” The words taste pungent as breathes them to life, for he has thought of them far too often. I should have fought for you, he thinks bitterly, then is even more perturbed upon realising he is consoling the woman he endlessly yearns for about her relationship with another.

They stand there, lantern light hanging above, casting a soft glow around Hawke’s lovely features. “I guess I can try,” she finally says. “Thank you … for walking me home.”

“It was no trouble at all. Drink some water before you retire,” he says, offering her the smallest hint of a smile.

“Probably a good idea,” she says. Pulling out a key from her pocket, she turns it into the slot of the door. As she tugs the heavy door open, she stumbles back, and Fenris catches her before she can fall head over heels. He slowly rights her posture, their eyes meeting once more. A shallow puff of her breath caresses the skin of his throat, and he is all too aware of their proximity. “Fenris,” she whispers, as if a familiar lover, and he does not fail to notice the longing held within her eyes … the look he has yearned for desperately so. He wants nothing more than to close the distance between them and kiss her, to taste the whiskey on her lips and replace it with his own flavour. But it would not be right. She is drunk and still lays with another. It matters little how often Anders returns to her bed, it is the fact that he is still free to do so if he so wishes. And Fenris … he has yet to resolve his own circumstances. If he were to kiss her now, he would not be the man she deserves.

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he says, slowly backing away, as reluctant as he is.

“Goodnight Fenris,” she sighs, shutting the door behind her. As Fenris walks the short distance to his manor, the tickle of her breath still lingers on his neck, the hunger in her eyes still haunt him, for it is a hunger that matches his own. The fire in his belly that burns for her burns all the brighter now, knowing that perhaps, after all this time, she might still care for him as she once did. He wants to quash this newfound hope, to extinguish it before it grows. Before it can hurt him more than he already aches. Drunken confessions matter little if they are not spoken with a clear mind. But even as he retires to bed, Fenris does something he hasn’t done in a remarkably long time. He smiles. For even though he cannot yet be with Hawke, it no longer seems such an impossible dream. As he falls asleep, it is finally a dreamless sleep, with no stolen memories or lost lovers to haunt him.

A week later, the first letter from Varania arrives, and it changes everything.

#Dragon Age #Fenris #Hawke #FenHawke #Fanfic #Dragon Age fanfiction #JenniferHawke #Dragon Age 2 #Dragon Age fanfic

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rileymcdaniels · 4 years

Text

"Here," Riley says quietly, slipping the invitations to Leandra's funeral from under Hawke's hands. She covers the waver in her voice by adding, "Your penmanship is awful. Let me do it."

Riley arrived at Hawke's home earlier that evening, nervous but determined. Hawke's mother had died, and Riley intended to help. She was not well-connected, at least not in a way that could benefit Hawke. She couldn't do magic, was not much of a healer beyond what Anders has taught her when he needs a second pair of hands, even if they are not magical ones. She has trained with a bow for years but only for sport, not fighting. She is not like Hawke's other friends. She cannot do anything but wait for Hawke to return when she leaves yet again to protect Kirkwall.

But Riley is from a wealthy Kirkwall family. Her family's vision of her future was small -- marriage to a wealthy man -- but she was well-equipped for it. She knows how to arrange a funeral. She knows who to invite, who to exclude, the right flowers and the right candles.

Yet the fact she showed up at Hawke's door without an invitation was deeply presumptuous. That she is taking invitations from Hawke's hands is beyond the pale. She hesitates, anticipates censure, anger, outrage.

None comes. Instead, Hawke looks at her with exhausted, grieving eyes and thanks her.

"Let me handle the rest of this," Riley says, cautious still but bolder for having made at least one choice that has taken a fraction of the weight off of her friend's shoulders. "Get something to eat and some rest, if you can. I'll leave everything once it's done so you can make sure you approve before I send it out."

Hawke shakes her head. "I trust you." Her next breath trembles, and Riley aches to reach for her hand. "Thank you. This is --"

"You are my friend, Hawke. And you are the best friend I have ever had. You do not need to thank me. In fact, I forbid it."

Hawke's smile is tired and strained, but it's there on her face. "I take it back, then."

"Good," Riley replies with a smile. "Go. Orana told me to fetch you."

"Consider me fetched," Hawke says as she stands, and she watches Riley settle at her desk before leaving.

Riley counts the invitations in the stack and sets aside the blank ones she will not need. As she addresses them, her hand is steady, fluid and practiced. She works quickly but makes no mistakes in the invitations or the orders for music and napkins and other details that Hawke should not be expected to handle after losing her mother in such a horrific, traumatic way.

(Riley had asked, nearly demanded, Fenris to tell her what happened. He did, without asking if she was certain, and that is why she had come to him first. His description of the events was brief, almost clinical, but it was enough.

She should have come sooner.)

Riley neatly seals the last envelope and sets it, and everything else, in a basket. She will ask Orana where the household sets out its post to be delivered, and she will put it there. She will take the orders for flowers and other such things to the vendors in the morning and pay in advance herself. Then she will walk to the Chantry and pick out excerpts of the Chant that will be read during the ceremony with Brother Sebastian. And then she will return home.

It is not enough. She is not Fenris, who goes with Hawke into battle. She is not Anders, who can heal Hawke as she has seen him heal so many. She is not Aveline, who can take a blow for Hawke without flinching. But she can ensure that Leandra's funeral reflects her status in Kirkwall society. She can select flowers. And she can write invitations in a neat hand and make sure the correct families receive them. This is one burden she can ease from Hawke's mind.

She thinks about Hawke's tired eyes as she retires to a guest room, the hour being too late to return home. She thinks about what more she might do, if she could, if she had the power, if she knew how.

@magicaltalents my hand slipped

#magicaltalents #dragon age au

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fandomn00blr · 5 years

Text

Dread Moon, Chapter 13 Preview

...because I have no self-control...

[Context: Evelyn, Cullen, Bull, Dorian, and Alarion have all left on a ship headed to Ferelden...Hawke has taken Anders to the barber and shopping]

...

There was a weird tension between everyone that evening, which Hawke assumed was due to the revelations of the past few days, their recent attack, and a lack of alcohol. Whatever the case, she was tired, she realized, so she excused herself early from everyone else’s company, and headed back up to bed before the sun had even finished setting. Varric and then Isabela left shortly thereafter, with winks and nods at all of them. With an unconvincing yawn, Anders announced he was going to sleep outside in the gardens, leaving Merrill the choice of whatever guest bedroom she wished. Fenris wandered up to find Hawke sound asleep, and bent down to kiss her forehead lightly with a fond smile on his face. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders and then headed back down to the study.

Merrill was waiting for him, anxiously pacing around the room, as he scribbled out a note.

“He’s already gone!” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. She won’t leave without us," he assured her, grabbing his sword on their way out.

...

"Where are you going?" Fenris growled, emerging from the shadows after trailing Anders all the way to the Docks.

Anders whipped around, staff in hand. "You followed me?!"

"We followed you because we were worried you were going to disappear again, lethallin!" Merrill peered around from behind Fenris, her eyes pleading with him to understand. “After what happened today…no one would blame you!”

Anders lowered his staff and groaned, "This was always the deal, remember? I agreed to help with Cullen. And you all agreed to let me leave. I can’t stay here. I’m sorry. I just...can't."

"But…"

"He's right, Merrill..."

"I knew you'd have no problem with this arrangement, Fenris!" Anders sounded a little more bitter than he'd intended.

Fenris eyed him patiently and waited to see if he had anything else to say, before continuing. "We'll just have to go with him, like we discussed..."

"What?" Anders had been fully ready for an argument, complete with threats and insults to send them away with the final impression that he didn't care about them and certainly didn't care what they might have thought of him. But once again, he'd been caught completely off guard by Fenris' damn kindness.

Before he could think of any kind of retort, Isabela leaned out of a window from the captain's quarters and called down to them, "All aboard, sluts!"

"Wait! I don't understand…"

Merrill was beaming back at him as she skipped up the gangway. "We're going to help you rescue Alarion!" she sang.

Anders looked up at Isabela. "Did you…?"

"I don't know what any of you are talking about. Me and my crew are just headed to Ferelden looking for some honest work. How was I to know you three stowaways had snuck aboard my ship with nefarious intentions?"

Merrill giggled. "Oh, right. We're meant to be sneaking!"

"You don't have to --" Anders began to try and dissuade his friends one last time.

"Shhhhh!" Merrill hissed, pressing her finger to his lips.

Fenris brought his own finger to his lips with a playful smile and nodded in agreement.

"Hurry up! We might be able to beat those Inquisition dorks back to Ferelden!” Isabela called down to them.

---

Hawke,

Doing something for a friend.

Be back soon.

Love, Fenris

---

"Varric...what the fuck is this?"

"Hmm… sounds like Broody had something to take care of?"

"You don't know anything about this? We all just got home. Isabela's back...I thought maybe we could settle in for a bit and have some fun like old times!"

"Rivaini's ship left last night," he informed her, beginning to look a little sheepish.

"What?! So she's run off with my boyfriend again?"

"Blondie and Daisy are gone, too…"

"Well, that sounds like a complete disaster! Why doesn't anybody ever take me along? Why do I have to spy on you all and stow away on the ships you take in order to spend time with my friends?!"

"Well, you're loud, obnoxious, make everything about you…"

"Fuck off…"

"What?! Only a true friend would be honest with you! Besides, these are the things we love about you!"

"We're going after them, right?"

"Nah. I mean, you can if you really want to. But I've had enough travel for awhile. Got a lot to take care of here. Bran is on my ass about the money to get the Harbor nets fully-operational again. Besides, I have a feeling they'll be back soon enough…"

"Varric...WHAT do you know?!" She was suddenly looming over him.

He shook his head. "I owed Fenris a few favors…"

"You better start talking, dwarf!"

Varric had been slowly but steadily backing his way out of the Hawke estate. "He made me promise!" he shouted over his shoulder as he turned and hurried out the door.

...

#dragon age #dread moon #writing collab #my writing #anders #fenris #merrill #i told you these three were besties #varric #hawke #isabela

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taki118 · 5 years

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Fenabela the looked over ship (a DA2 meta)

~~slight TW: mentions of abuse~~

Fenabela is one of those things often pushed to the side in the Dragon Age fandom, I find. Despite being a cannon ship there aren’t many fics or art dedicated to the pair. This is especially noted when compared to Adoribull (and the fact that the personalities of Dorian and Bull parallel Fenris and Isabela)

Now part of this is of course taste, most people having dubbed Isabela their wife or Fenris their husband and disliking pairing them with anyone other than Hawke or shipping with other npcs. To each their own I realize not everyone can multiship.

However I have noted a few general misconceptions or certain readings that get passed around and a few critics on the narrative that really need to addressed.

And I will display and counter these things here so strap in. (Obligatory sex joke)

Before that I want to state it is not my intention to tell anyone what they can and can’t ship. However I have found a good deal of unwarranted hate towards this ship and wish to defend it and explain why one might ship it. I do greatly enjoy this pair but I will do my best to remain objective.

I don’t like the characters

Of course if you don’t like characters involved in a ship you won’t like it. But Fenris and Isabela are often misunderstood or misread so I’ll go over some things for each quickly.

Fenris

Generally speaking Fenris is the fan favorite of DA2 (and I think a surprise one to the BioWare crew as I’m fairly certain they thought Anders would be the most popular).

However if you aren’t a fan of the broody archetype you likely won’t like him at least for half the game, towards the end he grows to be more relaxed and open.

Another general issue with him is his hatred of mages and support of the Chantry. While his feelings are understandable it can get grating. But again this softens as the game goes on if you weren’t an ass to him by the end he is willing to put his own issues to the back to protect mages and even stating he respects Mage Hawke or Bethany indicating mages who prove themselves to be humble and strong willed are able to earn his trust.

Isabela

Now Isabela is, at least I’ve found to be, one of the more polarizing and misunderstood characters in Dragon Age, and as such I’ll do a more in-depth meta on her at a later date. But here are some common things noted in regards to this ship.

People often think Isabela is a selfish bitch who doesn’t care about anyone but herself. However this is only if you don’t learn about her. The best quote I can give is from Act 3 between her and Anders.

Anders: I always knew you had a heart of gold

Isabela: shush don’t tell anyone.

Isabela has lived a life where she was shown that no good deed goes unpunished and as such tries to hide this aspect of herself. You gotta remember the whole reason she did the Qunari job is because she couldn’t go through with bringing slaves to Tevinter and was forced to steal the tome as compensation.

It wasn’t built up/rushed

Now I can’t be certain on this as I obviously don’t work for BioWare but it should be noted that:

1- this was the first time BioWare had a Love Interest romance and likely wasn’t sure about how much they should do. The next one was Talibrations in Mass Effect 3 that had around the same level build up followed by Adoribull that was given more time to develop naturally.

2- It seems like they wanted to do more but with the notorious 2 year time crunch by EA couldn’t. You can see this in the purposely added dialogue for them in dlc

Of course I am only guessing here but given this it sort of makes sense why it is the way it is. they were likely trying to find a balance between believable and non intrusive that was later utilized better in DAI but you gotta start somewhere.

Fenris doesn’t like Isabela or her flirting

I just um ok this is just so wrong I’m sorry I’m trying to be objective and shit but like come on.

So I know the line most go to, to prove this it’s

Fenris: From what I gather, you like a lot of things.

Isabela: Nonsense. But when I see something I like, I go after it.

Fenris: I suggest keeping your distance.

BUT that’s only if Fenris is romancing Hawke if he isn’t the banter is instead

Fenris: From what I gather, you like a lot of things.

Isabela: Nonsense. But when I see something I like, I go after it.

Fenris: Do you intend to go after me, then?

Isabela: Will you take off all that spiky armor you're wearing?

Fenris: It's been known to happen.

That’s a big tone difference isn’t it. In the first version he pushes her away as he’s interested in Hawke currently but in the second he’s flirting right back.

While yes in Act 1 he’s unsure and unused to her flirting but by Act 2 he’s willingly playing along. I mean he wouldn’t offer to play “Guess the color of my underclothes” with her if he didn’t enjoy it. It’s a safe way for Fenris to explore his sexuality and the only reason he tells her to back off at that time is because he’s serious about pursuing Hawke.

And no matter what Fenris respects her if only for one thing

Fenris: So you freed a group of slaves?

Isabela: Would-be slaves. They weren't slaves yet.

Fenris: Still, you did the right thing. Many would turn a blind eye.

Isabela: Don't read too much into it, all right? It just seemed a good idea at the time.

Like fundamentally I don’t think Fenris can hate someone who freed slaves.

It’s toxic/just about sex

I feel like this is more a jab at Isabela but again it’s over simplifying her character. Because here’s the thing most people over look when saying this ship is toxic for Fenris cause he’s a sexual abuse survivor ISABELA IS ONE TOO.

Isabela doesn’t really talk of her past much but from the dialogue given in game and tie in material we do know that

- her husband Louis purchased her from her mother young in the 10-13 age range

- he likely intended to groom her to be his perfect bride what with the lessons, gifts and such

- he forced himself on her and when isabela rebelled against him it’s implied he either did or was going to allow his friends to do so as well. To again let me reiterate a girl young enough to be his daughter.

Regardless of what exactly happened this did effect Isabela just in a different way. Isabela took autonomy of her body back once he was dead. Look some survivors of traumatic experiences are terrified of ever encountering it again but others continuously face the action head on to refuse it power, both are valid ways to deal with it. One is just less noticeable/sympathetic.

This line of thinking also ignores that literally the first intimate thing Fenris does when he enters a relationship with Hawke is have sex. They don’t ease into it just bam sex, but I have yet to see a Fenhawke is toxic hot take. which I mean I could make easily. Don’t believe me?

In the act 2 romance scene Fenris is angry, raw and emotional and taking it out on Hawke verbally before psychically pushing Hawke against a wall. when Fenris realizes what he’s done and pulls back Hawke immediately kisses him and they have sex. I could say Hawke took advantage of Fenris in his emotional state for their own sexual gratification. I don’t actually believe that but I could claim it. if you’re thinking that’s insane, you are correct but that’s the point it is very easy to twist things to fit a narrative if you really want to.

Now you might be thinking “Well it’s different Isabela just wants to use Fenris for sex” and if you think sex is just sex with Isabela you haven’t been paying attention.

Again I’ll go more into this with my isabela meta but to her sex is safe, it can’t hurt her but people can so she keeps them at arms length. With sex she can get the pyshical closeness she craves while keeping her feelings locked away in one night stands/flings. So the fact that she WANTS to continue seeing Fenris almost immediately after their first tour below deck is telling. And the fact he wants to continue just as much shows the relationship is as much his choice as it is hers.

And speaking of sex...

the memory plot hole

The main confusion I see people have with this ship is the Fenris gets memories after sex bit. And I get why it’s kinda vague but let me assure you it’s not a plot hole.

When you romance Fenris in Act 2 he leaves after having sex with Hawke due to memories returning and being unable to handle them. The confusion I see is often “so what sex with Hawke was so good it gave Fenris memories but not Isabela?” Or “why is it only Hawke?” The answer, it’s just a matter of timing.

The scene in question with Hawke only takes place in Act 2 but Fenris and Isabela don’t hook up until Act 3 and those three years in between make all the difference.

Act 2 Fenris has been free from Danarious(I will not spell his name right sorry) for at least 6 years but he’s still controlled by the man. He’s pissed at the lack of leads and when he gets one demands you go after it immediately and will straight up leave the party if you take too long. The reason is twofold he wants revenge and he’s afraid.

Fenris has only just started to carve out a life for himself in Kirkwall but he’s terrified that whatever life he has there will be torn away by Darnarious. Cause it’s happened before. So when he engages with Hawke and he’s flooded with these mostly happy memories it’s too much. He can’t handle it, at that time.

In just three years Fenris becomes a much more open and relaxed person. by Act 3 he has weekly card nights with Varric and Donnic, willingly helps Aveline and is even more relaxed about mages. The idea that he once had a life and a family before Danarious and that he can have one now isn’t as daunting or impossible to him as it was in Act 2.

It’s not that he doesn’t get the memories when sleeping with Isabela it’s only that he’s now in a place where he can handle them. Had Hawke the option to tell Fenris to take things slow in Act 2 the pair likely would not have separated. However that’s not what happened Fenris thought that he could handle it but couldn’t as he was in Act 2.

Don’t believe well Fenris himself says so to Hawke in Act 3 when asked why he left.

Fenris: the pain, the memories it brought up... it was too much. I was coward. If I could go back I would stay.

I’m not surprised people either missed or didn’t pick on this bit it happens late in the game and it is entirely possible to miss this branch of dialogue but it’s there and confirms what I stated. It’s not a plot hole only a matter of timing. Hawke had bad timing Isabela didn’t.

By Act 3 he’s in a better place mentally and is able to feel okay with the memories, with intimacy and with the idea of having a life. Whether or not Fenris and Isabela are serious about the relationship is irrelevant (though I head cannon they tell themselves it’s just a fling only to still be together years later) it’s the fact that he feels he can engage in this fashion with someone that’s important.

It should have been Isabela x Merrill

Now I can’t argue with people’s taste that’s ridiculous and I can see the appeal they’re cute. However it’s not something they could simply put in the game like Fenabela.

Let me explain. The reason it works in DA2 is cause it’s a light, flirty and fun type relationship and even if you don’t ship it, the idea is easy to chew off. If you play through their romances the idea that the two characters with huge trusts issues hooking up for fun isn’t that hard to buy.

Merrill however would require more than a couple teasing lines of dialogue. The reason being her romance plot.

The first thing Merrill says after having sex with Hawke is “I love you” if you don’t think Isabela would freak out at that and jump on the first boat she could find I don’t know but I’d like to hear your reasoning.

It takes Isabela a long ass time to be ok with saying and being told that with Hawke. It’s a big part of her romance arc.

Sooooo if one were to play through both their romances then play a game where they got together off screen it would require more dialogue than what Fenabela got otherwise it’d be a far bigger plot hole issue as the pair do not move at the same emotional speed.

Like I can’t see Merrill being into having a casual fling even by Act 3 and I can’t see Isabela being ok with a serious relationship either without a good deal of added dialogue and scenes.

Now this one is the most subjective part of the meta, I’m well aware, but with how BioWare handles their side romances Isabela x Merrill just could not be folded into the narrative as easily as Fenabela and likely would have been too intrusive for those uninterested in side romances.

So we’ve covered the main misconceptions and complaints on the ship. now to get into why Fenabela does work, and why people like this ship.

Their romances parallel each other

Something I noticed about the Kirkwall crew (and I might make a meta on it damn I got so many things to write) is that they each parallel and reflect each other (which is one of the reasons I dislike the Sebastian addition cause he kinda screws it up)

Aveline and Varric:

- Both are non romanceable

- Need Hawkes help to sort out their personal lives

- Both thrive in the friendship Hawke gives them

Merrill and Anders:

- both thirsty AF for Hawke and immediately move in

- both have blinders on in regards to their goals and ideals, Merrill with the mirror and Anders with well you know

- this also causes problems for both in their relationships with Hawke

So then we have Fenris and Isabela

- both wear a mask of indifference in Act 1 that is peeled away by Hawke in Act 3

- both runaway/try to distance themselves from Hawke and their relationship in Act 2 only to renew it in Act 3

- and both NEED to feel they can trust Hawke in order to move forward

Now unlike Merrill and Anders who’s conflict with Hawke is mostly situational (ie were it not for the mirror and being in Kirkwall aka mage torture capital of the free marches, there would be no problem) Fenris and Isabela’s conflicts are purely emotional and an emotion they share

Leading us to

They are damaged in similar ways

The main conflicts in their romances is fear.

A fear of happiness and a fear of love.

They both think that if they were to get that which they desire most they’d lose it or it’d be used against them or most of all they aren’t deserving of it and will never receive it.

And this is entirely because of what happened to them in life prior to arriving in Kirkwall.

They lived lives where love and happiness were things that could be used against them. A weakness to exploit or a reward to be taken away. So it makes sense that for their romance arcs they have to have trust to believe this love and happiness with Hawke is worth the risk.

So it’s safe to say that we’re they not romanced by Hawke it’s only natural they’d be drawn to one another. We often look for similarities in our partners sometimes it’s in appearance, others it’s values but for them it’d be their shared pain and fear.

Hawke: you’re not afraid of being hurt you’re afraid of hurting someone else

Isabela: no I look it isn’t like that it’s just easier this way

Isabela: you were right. I wasn’t afraid of love I was afraid of being loved.

Fenris: I killed them all

Hawke: why would you do such a thing?

Fenris: I felt it inevitable. My master had returned and this...this fantasy life was over.

Fenris: I’m sorry. All I ever wanted was to be happy...just for a little while. Forgive me.

Its why they are implied to have a more casual relationship in Act 3 than they would with Hawke. Hawke doesn’t have the same issues with intimacy as they do thus would take longer. And there is an appeal to the idea of two people finding comfort and support in one another even if it’s only temporary.

Isabela = fog warriors

So this is something I literally just noticed as I was working on this meta but um the Fog Warriors who helped Fenris after he first was free of Danarious whom he speaks of fondly greatly resemble Isabela at least in the traits he describes that he seems to find the most appealing.

Fenris: I had grown fond of the rebels. They bowed to no master and fought for their freedom.

Fenris: I had only been with them a few months but in that time I had felt I truly lived. They were bold, strong, free with their affections. I was in awe of them.

Like let’s take what he says here out of context for a second.

He says he was in awe and felt truly alive with someone who was

- bold - strong - free with affection - rebellious

- defiant - strong sense of freedom

That kinda describes Isabelas base personality perfectly. I can’t state that this was intentional or even if Fenris was aware but it’s not a long shot to say that Fenris would be drawn and attracted to people like this for this reason.

Their banter is cute

I mean I know it’s subjective but they do have some great back and forth and if you enjoy flirty snarky people it opens up some great opportunities in fan fiction and such. Characters who play well off each other are always more desirable and they got a great wise guy/straight man thing going.

They spend more time than we know together

A thing that can be overlooked easily it that each act has about 3 years in between them making the total run in the game about 9 years. We know from banter that the various characters interact with each other regularly regardless of whether or not Hawke is there. (Something I wish they could do more if EA got their heads out of their asses and gave us re release!)

Anyway we know from these brief moments that

- Fenris lets isabela visit the mansion

- isabela helps him out from time to time

- she’s one of the few people who’s opinion on mages he considers

- they play cards and/or make bets with each other

- they interact enough that Varric takes notice in the MOA dlc

it’s again something that’s fun to play with in fiction.

To summarize

- it’s not toxic

- they like interacting with one another

- there is no plot hole

- it’s not just about sex

- they were the easiest to pair up on the side

- they parallel each other

- share similar fears and traumas

- their personalities are fun to play with for fans

Fenabela really does not deserve the hate or lack of care it gets from the fandom. It’s the story of two damaged people finding support in one another if only for a short time and there’s nothing wrong with enjoying that.

Again I’m not saying this ship is better than any other, I’m not trying to get you to jump ship all this meta is here for is to clear up some misconceptions and unwarranted hate, and bring some much needed spot light to this ship that is often overlooked.

Anyway I want to thank anyone who read through this whole thing for their time and if you’d like to discuss any points here with me please reblog with “makers breath” first and I’ll 100% be up for talking (if you didn’t bother to read and just want to rant at me I will ignore it) I plan on making more of these as well as finishing fics but this topic has weighed on me for some time.

#dragon age #da2 #fenris #da isabela #da fenris #fenabela #fenebela #fenris x isabela #meta #isabela #da #bioware

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mikkeneko · 6 years

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the wind in my sails - Isabela/Bethany, Ladies of Thedas Appreciation Week

Bit of a canon adjustment here - Isabela has Castillon's ship, but he's dead. I never saw any convincing reason why we could not just murder Castillon *and* take his ship, other than that the game wanted to make us ~choose~ between Doing The Right Thing and Getting Good Stuff. Sometimes, you can have both.

This is intended to be set in the One Elegant Solution ‘verse, but it can also completely stand on its own.

the wind in my sails isabela/bethany, post-Kirkwall

She feels the wind shift through the bones of her ship, the flapping of the canvas and lines, the creaking of the wood. The Siren's Fury is more lively in the water now that most of her passengers have disembarked; Isabela didn't regret taking them on, taking them all to safety out of Kirkwall, but their combined weight had made her ship wallow in the water like a drunken pig.

Highever fell away on the horizon behind them, the last stop for most of her passengers. They'd let the mages off wherever along the route they wanted to go as long as it was along the way. Some of them still had family around Kirkwall, or elsewhere in the Free Marches, and they'd all trickled off the ship one by one -- but a solid dozen of them had had nowhere to go back to. Ferelden with its mage-friendly government was a safer place for a group of refugees than anywhere in the Free Marches, and Highever was a big enough place to have a solid continent of the Mage's Collective. They'd see to their own, Isabela was fairly sure; in the meantime she had her ship back, cleared of landlubber passengers.

All but one.

The wind shifted again as Bethany climbed up the ladder and mounted the deck, looking a little wide-eyed and unsure still as the shore slid back on the horizon and water filled the vista around. She stepped up to the rail and stared over it, gripping the railing, and drew in a breath as though to inhale the whole world.

Bethany was the only Hawke to emerge from the hold, and that was still a bit of a surprise to Isabela. Garrett had disembarked at Highever at the same time as the gaggle of mages, though he disappeared into the crowd in the opposite direction. It still felt strange to Isabela to see him go off on some adventure without her -- without anyone to watch his back -- but it wasn't her place to coddle or second-guess him.

"I'm surprised you didn't go with Garrett," Isabela commented, leaning on the wheel to adjust the angle of the ship against the new wind.

Bethany vented a short laugh, harsher than Isabela remembered her being. "Yes, he was surprised too," she said.

Isabela didn't intend to pry but she left the silence open, inviting. After a minute of creaking sails and sighing wind, Bethany went on to say: "I've made up my mind. I don't want to follow him everywhere any more. I've spent too much of my life doing that. I need to stand on my own two feet now." Isabela nodded. "I'm sure you can, if you choose to. You've grown up a great deal." A silence fell over the deck of the ship, filled by the sounds of the sea -- scuffling of the deckhands as they went about their tasks towards the stern, the lap of the waves, the soughing of the wind. Bethany gazed at the horizon, and Isabela gazed at her. She was a treat to the eyes right now, gilded by the slanting sunlight and with the breeze lifting strands of her hair.

The wind picked up, swirling around Bethany, the edges of her robes flapping and floating as her hair picked up behind her. Her cheeks were bright with color, and her eyes gazed hungrily at the horizon while her hands gripped the rail as though she could will herself to fly across the distance.

Another sharp freshet swirled around Bethany, picking up a stray line and some scraps of canvas to circle around her, and Isabela cleared her throat. Bethany looked over at her, blinking, and the wind died down somewhat.

Isabela nodded at the breezes flitting about the deck, still flirting with the canvas and carrying bright sprinkles of salt water through the air. "Is this you?" she asked.

"Oh --" Bethany's face flushed with deeper color; she grimaced and gripped the edges of her sleeves in her hands, concentrating on something. The winds died out in moments. "Sorry about that. I just -- I don't normally let it get away from me like that."

"No need for sorry," Isabela disagreed. A part of her instantly leapt to the calculation of how much it could be worth to an ambitious pirate captain to have a wind-summoner on board her crew, but she pushed the avaricious part of her back in her mind. Bethany wasn’t something she could just have. "I didn't know you could control winds."

Bethany gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Control, well, control is something I'm still working on. The breezes always came, since I came into my magic in Lothering. But in Kirkwall you're always surrounded by stone walls, so there wasn't much room for the air to circulate. And in the Circle…"

She trailed off, and Isabela nodded in sympathy. Enclosed in stone corridors, never the fresh sea breeze on her face -- she could understand. "It's not part of the approved curriculum," Bethany went on, the self-deprecating note getting stronger. "But magic is idiosyncratic. Every mage has their own little quirks, magic manifesting in unusual ways. We train to try to straighten out those quirks, stick to a standardized regimen that's well understood and controllable." "Mm," Isabela said. "Maybe not the Circles in the South. But I've heard of such things before in Rivain. You might could go there if you wanted to learn more about wind-weaving." "Rivain..." Her eyes went distant, focused again on the horizon. Not in the direction Rivain was in, but Isabela didn't correct her. Bethany shook her head. "I've never been there before. I'd stick out like a sore thumb." "That's true," Isabela allowed.

"I'm tired of being different," Bethany said. "Alone among strangers who aren't like me."

There was not really much to say to that. Another silence fell, Bethany gazing wistfully out on the horizon. At length she seemed to come back to herself and sighed. "Well, I can't go back to Kirkwall," she said. "And Lothering is long gone." "Maybe, but that leaves a whole wide world out there to choose from," Isabela suggested. "There's more to Ferelden than Lothering you know, and at least it would be a familiar culture. So would the Free Marches - the Amell family had connections in half a dozen cities. Then there's Orlais, big enough that anyone can get lost in."

She hesitated, biting her tongue, before she blurted out, "Or you could always take up piracy! Sailing the seas, free of country or connections, making a name for yourself… a new horizon every day. I could always use another person on my crew, especially a mage. And no walls, ever." "It does sound like a dream," Bethany agreed wistfully. Her face turned solemn. "But... I don't want to hurt people. Isabela chuckled. "Sweetness, a day where we don't hurt anyone is a good day for us pirates," she said. "We don't want to hurt the merchants we rob -- a good show of force and they'll realize they can't fight us, and hand over their goods without much trouble. If you kill the sheep you'll have nothing to shear next season, you know?" "That doesn't sound so bad. And yet..." She hesitated. "Fighting does still happen, doesn't it? When they don't give in smoothly. Or when the authorities come after you." "Sometimes, yes." Isabela shrugged, saw the way Bethany's eyes followed her when she did. "It's part of the life." "I'd hoped to have a life where I don't have to hurt anyone ever again," Bethany said softly, eyes dropping to stare at her feet. "Where I'm not a danger to people around me, and I don't have to be constantly -- guarded." "Is that Bethany talking, or the Circle?" Isabela said sharply. Bethany looked up at her, eyes widening, and Isabela softened her tone. "Look. You're kind, and I can't fault that. But life is hard. Pain will come, whether you seek it out or not; you have to be ready and able to defend yourself." "I guess it is the Circle talking, at least in part," Bethany admitted. "That was always... the only part of the Circle I understood. The part that promised safety."

"Rivain does have a Circle, you know, if that's what you want. It's nothing like the Gallows. Mages are respected there, they have much more freedom, they learn the wise ways and see their families as often as they like." "But it's still a Circle." Her soft brown eyes went flinty, her voice hard. "How could I ever set foot in one of those places again? Seeing what I've seen, knowing what I know? Every Circle is living under a death sentence, and it only takes one evil woman to bring the sword crashing down. It's intolerable."

For a moment, in her cadences -- the sharp anger, the conviction -- she sounded to Isabela like another mage they knew. One whom Hawke had banished from them entirely, the night that Kirkwall burned.

"So are you a revolutionary now?" Isabela asked, keeping her voice neutral. "Picking up where Anders left off?" Bethany grimaced. "Maybe. No. I can't believe that Garrett..." She huffed. "I'm not Anders. You saw him, he was more spirit than man by the end. That spirit gave him the strength to go farther than I would ever have dreamed. I don't have that strength, I can't give my whole life away like he did. But I also can't just sit back and do nothing. I want to help people, if I can. Help other people like me."

In the setting rays of the sun she seemed to glow, iron resolution turned to gold by her inherent goodness, her kindness and her belief in the best of people. The wind danced around her, delighted and captivated by her presence, each gust reaching to tug a thread from her robes, a strand of her hair, and Isabela wished that she could be one of those breezes.

Bethany was so, so beautiful and Isabela wanted to catch her and keep her, steal her and wear her like she would any other shiny and beautiful and valuable thing. But she can't, she won't, because she'd been kept before, like a jewel in someone else's setting, and she vowed she would never inflict that on another woman.

So she opened her mouth with all the courage it took to turn back from Ostwick with the book in hand and said: "Well, when you figure out where you want to go, just say the word, and I'll take you there."

Bethany was quiet for a moment, stealing little peeks at her, before she finally turned away from the rail and crossed her arms with a huff. "Aren't you going to flirt with me again?" she asked.

Isabela blinked. "Say what?"

"You always used to," Bethany said, a faintly disgruntled expression on her face that looked ridiculously cute on her. "I learned a lot in the Circle, about... flirting. I was waiting for you to start doing it again so that I could flirt back, but now I don't know what to think." Her voice went small. "Have a few years in the Circle made me so ugly to you?"

Isabela couldn't help it. She snorted a laugh, because in that moment Bethany sounded so melodramatic, so full of angst that she could have been auditioning as Fenris. "All right, that's ridiculous," she said. "Sorry, sorry. But how in the Maker's name could being in the Circle make a beautiful woman ugly?"

Bethany wasn't laughing. Actually, she looked more wounded by Isabela's response than Isabela could have guessed, and a stab of guilt like a blade to the chest stopped her from chuckling. Not a joke, not this, not to Bethany. "Or did the Circle make you feel like you were ugly?"

She looked away. But Isabela thought she could fill it in, if she tried to put herself in Bethany's shoes: six years surrounded by Templars who hated you, being constantly told how wretched you were, told that you were one of those responsible for the fault of all mankind. Six years of being told you were a monster.

It filled her with a simmering rage from her boots up her spine to the crown of her head; and in that moment she only wished that Anders had blown up the Templar hall, instead.

She stepped forward across the deck to put her hands on Bethany's arms, drawing the younger woman's attention to her with a shocked gasp. "They told you that so they could control you," Isabela said, low and fierce. "They tried to make you feel like no one would ever love you so that you'd have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Don't you ever believe that, Bethany. Don't you ever believe that no one could love you. Because you are so, so beautiful, and so full of things to love."

Bethany gave a grin -- shaky, but real, and said with a gasp: "See, that's more what I expected!" The smile faded, not disappearing but turning into something shyer, sweeter. "Do you -- really think so?"

Isabela cocked her head to the side. "Do you think I would lie to someone just to seduce them?" she said softly.

Slowly, Bethany shook her head. "No..." she said, almost inaudible over the wash of wind and waves. "No that doesn't sound like you."

She stood there with her face turned up towards Isabela and it was so, so easy to cross the last few inches, to bring her mouth down to Bethany's in a kiss. Bethany tasted like the sea salt, like sweet water, and an elusive taste that Isabela couldn't quite pin down -- if she had to describe it, she thought she would say she was tasting the wind.

Bethany kissed back, shyly, but sure of what she wanted. They leaned together, letting the rocking of the boat on the waves guide their motion.

At last they broke the kiss and Isabela tipped her head back, grinned down at Bethany. "So," she purred. "You learned a lot about flirting in the circle, hmm?"

"They had a lot of books," Bethany said. "Like, a lot of books."

Isabela laughed. "Well, I've never been one for books," she said, and let her smile slide towards something more like a leer. "I've always found that the best way to learn is by doing."

She gave the word a lecherous spin and was delighted that Bethany didn't recoil; if anything her eyes just went darker, she leaned back up against Isabela with her mouth half-open as if seeking to drink her in.

"Then let's learn," Bethany murmured.

There wasn't a lot of space on a ship for two women to find some privacy, let alone enough space in a cosy room with a real bed to discover one another. But a captain's rank had its privileges.

~the end.

#LadiesOfThedas #LadiesOfThedas2018 #Day 5 #F/F romance #Day 8 #Free day #anders goes to orzammar #mikke fic #dating age 2 #dragon age 2 #isabela #bethany hawke #isabeth #bethbela

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