#edgehall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vigilskeep · 6 months

Text

a quick guide to dog lords, telling your arls from your teyrns, and generally how ferelden works

okay, this isn't quite what anon asked for, by which i mean not at all, but unfortunately they activated my interest in some of my favourite lore. it should hopefully contain a lot of the relevant stuff and i’ll try to branch out to less fereldan specific information in other posts!

okay, let’s start with the hierarchy. there’s four kinds of noble in ferelden

royalty: you know who these guys are. except for during the orlesian occupation, ever since ferelden became one kingdom, it’s been ruled by the theirin family. which i think is for 388 years, i really hope that’s right, i got out a calculator

teyrns: these are super powerful lords, basically banns so powerful that other banns swear fealty to them. they’re second only to the king, who is essentially just the most powerful one of them. there used to be a lot of them, but with one dynasty in power for so long, that kind of opposition has been eroded away. there are only two remaining: the couslands of highever in the north, and the mac tirs of gwaren in the south

arls: these are extra special banns. they answer to a teyrn or king and hold a strategic fortress for them. we know of six—amaranthine, south reach, denerim, redcliffe, west hills, and edgehall—but i’m unsure if that’s because they are only six or because there are unnamed others

banns: these are your common or garden noble, the lowest ranking and most common. this is your local lord type. they seem to vary the most in power, though, with some banns having big speaking roles in the landsmeet

but i kind of should have written that list in the opposite direction. what do i mean by that? well, in your standard medieval hierarchy, and in a lot of the rest of thedas, power comes down from the king, who lets you hold the land. but in ferelden, most of the land is owned by freeholders: commoners, well-off enough to own their land but still not by any means nobles.

how does that work? well, let’s say i’m a freeholder.

i own my land, but thedas is a rough place. if i want to keep my land, i’d better swear fealty to a bann. i’ll pay him a portion of the goods produced on my land, and in return, he’ll protect my land from anyone wanting to beat me up and take all my goods... and also, you know, not beat me up himself, as he probably would if i didn’t have any bann looking after me. it kind of sounds like he has all the power, right? like a medieval protection racket? it’s certainly how he gets his power and wealth

so i, freeholder harker, have signed up with bann jeff. it makes sense, because he’s the closest to my freehold, and i want soldiers to actually get here in time if i’m in trouble. that’s why my family has been swearing fealty to his family for generations. it’s just how things are done

but the thing is: i hate bann jeff. maybe he takes too much of my harvests, maybe he sides with a different freeholder when we go to him with a dispute, maybe his men don’t mind their pleases and thank yous when they come for my goods. i’m well within my rights to say fuck bann jeff and leave him. especially if there’s another bann nearby who would be perfectly happy to take my goods instead and treat me right. and the less freeholders bann jeff has, the less resources and men he has to make a fuss about it with. if bann jeff pisses off enough people, he might not have any freeholders left at all. and where will his wealth and power come from then? maybe soon he won’t be a bann at all

of course, bann jeff’s family might feud with the family of the bann that stole me away for a few hundred years. but that’s hardly my problem, is it? “courting” someone else’s vassals is apparently the biggest cause of conflict within the bannorn

anyway, this isn’t just how banns work; it’s how all power theoretically works in ferelden. there are no serfs/“unfree” men. every peasant has a right to go where he will and choose which freeholder he works for, just as every freeholder has the right to choose their bann, and banns who swear to teyrns can break away. (the latter is probably less common because a teyrn could fuck you up. i’m guessing you’d have to get the king’s backing about it to survive that.) and even the king answers to his lessers in the landsmeet, the super ancient gathering of nobles where law is made, which can override the king on any matter of law. (but they’re not going to do it if the king is really popular or powerful, because. you know. there’s a limit to all things called common sense and they would prefer not to get squashed about it.) but generally, everyone who holds power in ferelden has to curry favours with their so-called lessers in order to keep their goodwill.

everywhere else in thedas thinks this is weird as hell, by the way. having to court the approval of those beneath you? even the king having to do that? wtf? but the level of freedom means everything to fereldans. it’s their highest ideal and they’re really proud of it.

(the people who really don’t have a voice are what the ttrpg calls “low freemen”, which according to its handbook, consists of criminals, prostitutes, and elves. they still have the right to freedom of movement and to be paid for their work, but they’re not going to have freeholders and banns seeking their favour and speaking for them, and they typically have to resort to bribery for entrance to cities, their homes are bought and sold by others on a whim, things like that. ultimately it makes their position incredibly vulnerable to abuse, as we see in the games. i’m sure we’ve all played the tabris origin. there’s a reason the potential boon to get a bann for the alienage is so wild.)

so, let’s say you made it, everyone loves and/or tolerates you, and you’re a noble. what good does that do you and what can you do? firstly, you have a voice in the landsmeet, which is super important and means the king wants your goodwill and advice. more generally, you have three basic functions of a noble: raising taxes/tribute, commanding soldiers, and dispensing justice. nobles are expected to live off the wealth provided by their land and it would be hugely looked down on if they did work instead, with exceptions for, like, military careers and the chantry, which are respectable for their status. they raise militia from the commoners when necessary, and they also have trained soldiers or possibly knights (see postscript) in their service. that means you can protect your land and you can win glory and spoils when the kingdom goes to war, it also means you’ll be expected to provide those men when your liegelord calls for them. and lastly the law is their responsibility. remember how in the awakening dlc you had to make judgements as the arl of amaranthine? like that! the smaller scale you are, the smaller scale it’s going to be. in turn, if you want a dispute sorted by a higher power, you have to go up to your liegelord, maybe a teyrn or the king, or if you can’t get one of them, a more powerful bann or arl in the area. possibly the chantry would be an alternate option? if it’s just about finding someone you will both listen to, which is usually the main issue

some privileges other than the standard “power over those beneath you” that you can typically expect to belong to the noble class, even if it’s not specific to dragon age: the right to carry a sword, the right to have a coat of arms, the right to precedence on formal occasions and a special seat up front in your local chantry... sometimes niche ones, like fabrics and clothing that are only permissible to wear for people of a certain rank, so it distinguishes them. you can expect favours from/common class interests with your king, you would expect to be given a trial or treated chivalrously if things did not go your way, depending on era you might be captured for ransom in battle rather than killed outright, you probably have exemptions from certain royal taxation... etc. etc.

that’s what i have! i hope these are some helpful fundamentals and that anyone who has more knowledge than me on any aspect feels welcome to contribute it

P.S. as an aside, i’m a little confused about the fereldan use of knights. they definitely exist as lesser nobility, but i don’t understand how they fit into the hierarchy. a real knight was typically a vassal who held land from his liegelord and fought for him in exchange. i... don’t know how that works in the context of land ownership mostly going upwards. they’re definitely around, anyone addressed as ser is a knight, you have the knights of redcliffe and people like ser jory and ser cauthrien. (someone in an order like the templars has the rank of knight and gets ser and everything, but is not a noble.) as a rule of thumb i think generally they’re probably just members of noble families with that dedicated military training and no greater title to lay claim to? i’m basing that on stuff like nathaniel howe being sent as a squire to his mother’s cousin, a chevalier; if he’d completed that he probably would have been a knight unless/until he inherited his father’s place? i don’t know. i’m making this up. and on the other hand, there’s very little distinction in fereldan between your regular noble and a some kind of warrior class, which is why i struggle to see the purpose. (there are also inexplicable career soldiers who are not knights. what the hell is funding that upkeep and armour, buddy. you and whose land ownership? this is why you were fighting the darkspawn with your whole arms out, aveline. stop trying to imply ferelden has a standing army you can go off and join. yes i see you carver lore. i will not buy it.) ANYWAY, because knights are more prevalent in certain areas, i do wonder if it’s an import from the long orlesian occuption, based on the knightly order of chevaliers? i don’t fucking know. worth chewing on

#dragon age #ferelden #dragon age: origins #sorry to anon for asking specifically what your exact question was #and then going off on one anyway. that is my bad. if anything is not answered here let me know #and to anyone who has noticed the probably obvious things i missed pls be gentle #god this is so fucking long AGSHSJSKKS i thought i was being brief i dodged powerpoint... anyway #i just couldnt get to grips with what a noble can do until you know what different kinds there are and where there power comes from and.#well here we are

506 notes · View notes

theluckywizard · 2 months

Text

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 70: Chasing Shadows

Summary: Rose continues to uncover the chaos behind the scenes at the Winter Palace and alerts her advisors to her discoveries.

Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

“We found more evidence of foul play— a lot more. Which may or may not be related to the Tevinters.”

“Then perhaps we should warn the empress now,” he says, leaning to peer through the door back into the ballroom.

“Aside from Josephine skinning us alive for being too obvious, Celene’s advisor Morrigan said she’d be by her side,” I explain.

“Did her advisor even make it that far?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“We should check,” he insists and moves to stride back inside.

I catch Cullen by his hand before he draws too much attention looking eagle eyed and overly alert at someone else’s party.

“Not like that,” I scold him. “Here— give me your arm. We have to act casual.”

“Andraste have mercy,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “What does that even mean?”

Apparently he used up all his patience for playing it cool earlier. He holds out his elbow stiffly. I tuck my hand into it.

“Smile,” I instruct. I pretend to delight in my surroundings before glancing at him. “Act like you’re having a good time.”

Cullen stares at me blankly, addled by how far outside his skill my directive falls.

“Well— just, try not to look so antsy,” I say. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Explain to me— the finer points of our latest siege capabilities.”

Cullen’s gold embroidered epaulets fall an inch. “The ballistas or the mangonels?”

I grumble softly, waffling my head around in frustration. “Take your pick.”

We move back into the ballroom and Cullen begins explaining the rationale behind our array of mangonels and the benefits of single projectiles versus scattershot. I nod and smile, and snatch us two glasses of punch from a passing tray, offering one to Cullen.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” he argues, baffled once again.

My eyes do a somersault. “It’s for show. Just— pretend to take a sip.”

Apparently incapable of pretending to drink, Cullen dribbles a splotch of punch on his uniform. He curses under his breath and I stifle an unruly laugh.

“At least it’s red,” I note in a whisper. “I see part of Celene’s dress around that corner. Keep going. Mangonels.”

Cullen continues, discussing a few options for setting payloads ablaze and which are the most cost effective. Celene comes fully into view, clearly in discussion with someone I can’t yet see.

“She’s talking to someone— don’t look.”

“I’m not,” he protests. Cullen cranes his head and looks.

I poke him sharply. “Tell me about the tar.”

He scowls at me momentarily before continuing. “The tar pits of Edgehall are rather close, fortunately. Geologists believe—”

Morrigan’s raven black and wine-colored form appears from around the corner as she emerges to sweep her eyes over the room. A young heavily armored man stands vigilant beyond Celene. Morrigan nods to me subtly.

“She’s there. Along with Celene’s champion I believe,” I remark, allowing the breath I’d been partially holding to leave me fully.

Read the rest here

Start the fic here!

DAFF Tag List:

#In the Shattering of Things #Rose Trevelyan #Wicked Eyes Wicked Hearts #Cullen x Trevelyan #Hawke x Trevelyan #Sneaky Sneaky Stabby Stabby #Detective Hawke

17 notes · View notes

inquisimer · 7 months

Note

HELLO MER i come to request some Alistair x Warden based off the poem "Love Is" by Nikki Giovanni (who i got to meet once she's so cool and also very short and powerful love her so much):

Few recognize that love is commitment, responsibility no fun at all unless

Love is You and me

hap late friday ro💜 this felt very king alistair/queen cousland to me, so have some Alistair x Ember in her queenverse :3

725 words for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, that’s what they said. They also said it would weigh heavier on their young heads, that they’d taken it in a fit of idealistic passion, that it would all crumble around them.

They didn’t care.

Alistair rose from his throne first, stretching crooked bones and muscles in a decidedly not kingly manner. He pushed his crown up to scratch at where his hair had matted against his skin. With half a smile, Ember propped an elbow against her own throne and used her fist to rest her chin.

“You know, you could always grow you hair out. It helps with the—“ she gestured at her own head, where thick locks of red hair protected her sensitive skin from the thin band of gold, twisted in an ornate pattern that mimicked wheat at its ends.

“It’s not the hair,” Alistair groused, “It’s because they make me wear one that’s three times as thick as yours just because I’m a man.”

“I’ll swap with you. Eamon doesn’t need to know.”

“He’d know,” Alistair said darkly. “He always knows.”

Ember stood and closed the space between them with graceful steps. She lifted Alistair’s crown from his head and held it to her chest as she gently kissed his cheek. As she pulled away, he caught her face with both hands and pulled her back for a proper kiss.

“What are we going to do about Edgehall?” she asked, resting her forehead against his chin. “I feel as though we’ve poured so many restoration efforts into the region, and yet it seems to do no good.”

“Maybe we need to look at Lendon. He always seemed a bit slimy to me.”

“You think all of the Arls are slimy.”

“Not true,” Alistair countered. “The arl of Amaranthine is perfectly lovely.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Now that’s simply untrue.” He hooked an arm around her waist and drew her from their dais, toward the door that would take them to an illusion of privacy. “But as far as Edgehall is concerned, perhaps an independent envoy, rather than money directly to the arl? That would settle the matter of where the breakdown in the funds is happening, at least somewhat.”

“It’s something,” Ember agreed. They passed into their private suites, laying their crowns in the designated cases in the foyer. Beyond that lay their chambers, the closest thing they had to true privacy.

Walking through those doors felt as freeing as loosened hand cuffs, as though the hangman had cut his noose from their necks. It had been nearly a year since they agreed the nation could not be trusted to Anora’s plans, and yet neither relished the power they’d come into, despite what the papers and the rumors said.

“We deserve a break,” Alistair said suddenly.

“Yeah?” Ember snorted. “And we’re about as likely to get it as we were before the archdemon was dead.”

Alistair hummed thoughtfully. “We could come up with a plausible idea….a visit to Highever, maybe?”

Ember’s heart soared and tightened at the same time, as it always did at the mention of her home. She leaned into Alistair’s chest and sighed. His arms encircled her knowingly, stroking soothing motions up and down her shoulder blades.

“You don’t think Eamon would see through that?” she said, voice soft and weak as it could only be when they were alone.

“Who cares,” Alistair said loftily. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “He wanted me to be king so badly, he’ll just have to listen.”

He pulled back slightly, tracing down the line of her cheek and finding a home for his hand at the nape of her neck. “Fergus will have things in hand, I’m sure, and we could have some truly uninterrupted peace.”

“Mmmm been a while since we had that luxury.” It was sorely tempting. All of that and to be surrounded by the childhood home she missed and mourned in equal measures. And her brother.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But only if you tell Eamon. He barely tolerates me as it is.”

Alistair bent his head to kiss her softly. “Almost makes you miss a tent out on the edge of the Wilds, no?”

That made Ember laugh, and huddle a bit closer to Alistair’s fur-lined tunic for memory of the chill. “Almost, indeed.”

#dadwc #my writing #oc: ember cousland #ember x alistair #alistair theirin #king alistair #queen cousland #alistair x cousland #warden cousland #dao #dragon age

18 notes · View notes

selfproclaimedunicorn · 2 months

Note

Yoreen + Dragon Age AU

In spite of being very much trapped in my Dragon Age hole ("trapped," as if I didn't go into it willing), this has been so hard????? I think because I've contemplated making a world state where I have each DA protagonist as a Roycegaryen & its hard to separate the idea of DA!Yorick from the Inquisitor. But I think I've got something now!

Prompt

● Yorick is the son Bann Rhea Royce of Runestone in the Arling of Edgehall, & Shireen is the daughter of Bann Boremund Baratheon of The Storm Coast

● Yoreen met because Shireen’s older brother, & heir to their father's Bannorn, Borros, was wounded at Ostagar during the fifth Blight; barely surviving before being found by late-arriving soldiers from Runestone who had been delayed due to a skirmish in the hills with darkspawn stragglers. They brought the injured obvious noble to Lothering, where they all then had to flee when the darkspawn came for the village. Queue a comedy of errors where they keep having to drag wounded Borros further & further west until he winds up in their Bann's halls to finish being healed. Once he's all better, a small contingent of Runestone’s men are sent to escort Borros back north to The Storm Coast, with a 14-year-old Yorick in tow to serve as his mom's representative to Bann Boremund when they return his son. He strikes up a friendship with Borros, & after arriving at the keep, with Shireen as well.

● Yorick accompanies Bann Boremund to The Landsmeet in Denerim to speak up about Borros’s injuries sustained as a result of Teryn Loghain's retreat from the field, earning him attention for being willing to politically stick his neck out at such a young age & the respect of his new friends' father. After the Blight is over, Yorick is sent home with his mother's men & a proposed betrothal to Bann Boremund’s daughter.

● Yorick & Shireen get married four years later, & proceed to have a bunch of kids while doing a lot of behind-the-scenes work to help Ferelden get stable after the Blight & the stuff surrounding the royal succession & the drama with Teryn Loghain.

● Due to their reputation built within Ferelden, & Shireen’s mother's ties to the Antivan nobility, Yoreen find themselves as part of Josephine Montiliyet's list of noble contacts, & they serve as go-betweens for the Inquisition & Ferelden's nobility. They may even be at Skyhold for a hot minute? All I know is that they would thrive dealing with all the political headache stuff from Inquisition.

#asks #nat tag #oc: yorick royce #oc: shireen baratheon

4 notes · View notes

shivunin · 11 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @scribbledquillz @ndostairlyrium @heniareth and @greypetrel. Thank you all for thinking of me! <3

I am tagging @zenstrike @daggerbean @demandthedoodles and @cullenvhenan, and you (yes you!) if you have something you're working on and would like to share. No pressure, as always.

I've just wrapped up a slightly longer Maria thing that I'll post later today, but the other thing I've been working on is my Spy vs Spy thing with Wen and Zevran. Here is a little bit of that c:

(CW: references to child kidnapping)

Arianwen climbed into the cart, keeping her head low, and scanned the assorted items.

“Gilbrid?” she whispered. “Your papa sent me. He said—”

“Somehow, I do not remember you on the cargo list,” a voice purred, accompanied by a heavy hand on her shoulder and a knife over her carotid.

Fuck.

“Surely you did not think we would leave this entirely unguarded?” the voice went on quietly, “Now. You can explain to me why I find myself so overpaid for a simple escort job, yes?”

Behind the cloth covering, Wen’s mouth tightened. She had assumed they’d leave the cart undefended, and that had been sloppy of her. Next time she faced a band of mercenaries, it would be in her best interest not to assume they were all idiots. Noted.

“What do you think you’re escorting?” she asked, and hissed when the blade broke her skin. She’d drawn a throwing blade from her boot as she spoke, but she would need to be careful about using it. He’d feel any movement in her throwing arm, since his hand was wrapped around the muscle there.

The man clicked his tongue against his teeth, and the heat at her back told her he’d angled himself closer.

“I do not think that was the question I asked,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to try again.”

Well. Why not tell him a story? It would give her a chance to make a plan.

“There is an inheritance dispute,” she told him, “in Edgehall. The current arl’s brother thinks his claim will be strengthened if his nephew is out of the picture.”

“Oh?” the man said. He spoke into her ear; his voice was hardly more than a whisper. Wen wondered why he was bothering with stealth. Surely he could call the others here in a second. “Go on.”

“His five-year-old nephew,” Wen went on, and the hand on her shoulder tightened. “There was a traitor at the keep. One of the nursemaids stuffed him into a truck while his parents were adjudicating a land dispute. He is in this cart now.”

The man said nothing, and the blade did not move away from her neck. What method would be best? Knife to the forearm, elbow to the windpipe, she thought, readying herself to move.

“A child,” the man said flatly. “In this cart? You are certain?”

“I questioned the maid myself,” Wen answered, feeling the cloth at her neck begin to dampen as it soaked up the blood. “I have the key now. I won’t disrupt what you’re doing here. Just let me take the boy and go. You will have completed your job as assigned and you won’t be involved in stealing a young boy from his home. Not the best look for your outfit—especially considering that the Crown looks poorly on kidnapping.”

Three, two, o—

The pressure on her shoulder abated suddenly and cold air met her neck where he’d moved her black scarf aside. The man turned her with the hand on her shoulder, searching what little he could see of her face with narrowed eyes.

“If you are lying, I will kill you,” he said.

“If I am lying, you can try,” Arianwen replied. The corner of his mouth twitched at her. “Why let me take him?”

“I do not like to be tricked,” the Crow said, baring his teeth, “by my employers or anyone else. Now—show me before I lose my patience.”

#don't worry the kid is okay!!#he gets puppies and everything. not that that's the perfect band-aid for trauma but it does help #arianwen tabris #zevwen #wip wednesday #my writing #i haven't really edited this yet so sorry if there are errors #we'll get there #shivunin scrivening

13 notes · View notes

heniareth · 1 year

Note

Yoooooooooo hey hi!! First of all I am sending get well soon vibes to you, beloved germbag 😂😂 no but really. Kick its arse. The nerve of it!

For the kissing prompt, if I might ask for Astala (my beloved!!) and Zevran (her beloved!!):

- kissing them to shut them up

- holding them by the jaw to kiss them

- idr the name of it but the gist was small, domestic kisses while getting stuff done e.g. making breakfast.

Any of these, none of these, all of these-- whatever takes your fancy as applicable!! :D :D

Kisses and smooches coming right up!! Thank you for the well-wishes ^^ I am happy to report I am kicking the germs' ass (or whatever counts as a backside on a germ). Current prognosis is that maybe this weekend I'll get rid of it? My trusty allies garlic and lemon have done a lot of heavy-duty lifting here. On to the smooches! It's being a good pracitce at being self-indulgent. Under the cut because it's long (very long)!

CW for a little suggestive talk in the second and third snippet, discussion of drunkenness in the second.

A) Holding them by the jaw to kiss them

The Landsmeet was always an ordeal. Zevran knew that Astala had hoped it would go smoother this time with all the evidence that they had prepared. His mere presence, however, unusual as it was, seemed to be enough to bring all of their preparations into jeopardy.

"I just don't think, arlessa," Gell said, "that his word holds much weight here."

"Say what you mean," Astala said in a tone that Zevran recognized as a threat.

"It should be obvious," arl Gell said and leaned back in his seat, gesturing towards Zevran. "He's Antivan."

"And you're no longer Fereldan," Astala shot back. "Your point?"

Gell laid his hands on the railing of the balustrade. "He shouldn't even be here!"

""Neither should you," one of the banns called from the floor below.

"Please!" Anora called from her seat as Astala stood up. Her knuckles were paling from the death grip on her cane.

"Your Majesty," Gell said, turning to Anora. "This is an insult to the Landsmeet!"

"An insult?" Zevran lifted his eyebrows. This man was getting tiresome.

“I’m so sorry, Zevran,” Astala muttered, only for him to hear.

Zevran made a dismissive gesture towards the arl. “This is hardly your fault. How about we make ourselves more disagreeable to this man?”

“What, is that still possible?” Astala scoffed over the clamoring nobility. “Any ideas?”

Zevran drew one finger along her jaw, on the side of her face that had ben scarred by the archdemon’s fire, and bent her head further down, until her lips were hovering above his. A wolfish smile came over Astala’s face as she leaned in and Zevran captured her lips in a fierce kiss. The Landsmeet broke out into loud shouting, broken up and harmonized when Shianni whistled loud enough that it could be heard out in the hallway and in the rooms past it.

Author's notes: arl Gell Lendon is an asshole who took Edgehall by force when his half-brother, who he had attempted to murder, died to the darkspawn. He proceeded to chopp down Edgehall's vhenadahl and then took action against a Dalish clan who wanted to gift the Alienage a new vhenadahl. To say Astala has beef with him (as do I) is to put it lightly. You can read more about him and inform your outrage at this man on this wiki page.

B) Kissing them to shut them up

An early night in the Alienage that was just chilly enough to be comfortable as long as people were sitting close enough together found Astala and Zevran in the company of two of Astala’s friends, Carrel and Tehriel. They’d found a spot close to Alarith’s shop where they could sit and talk as the sun fully disappeared behind the ocean, and swap stories about the year that had passed. Tonight was a night of funny stories, and Zevran had finished recounting every detail of his failed assassination attempt.

“You tried to kill her?” Tehriel leaned back, wide-eyed and arms crossed. “No way.”

“It made for a rousing first meeting,” Zevran said lightly.

“Second meeting,” Astala said. “Our first meeting was in the tavern at Redcliffe.”

“Ah, you remember that?” Zevran clicked his tongue. “I thought you might not. You were quite drunk.”

Carrel snorted. “And you fell in love with her after seeing her drunk.”

“Hey, I’m an okay drunk!” Astala protested.

“And a bit aggressive, Tabris,” Carrel said.

“Well, I was very nice to him,” Astala answered.

“That she was.” Zevran leaned further against Astala. “She invited me to sit with her.”

“Oooh, she never let me sit next to her,” Tehriel said and Astala stuck her tongue out at him.

“Because you cheat at cards!”

“After that, we went for a stroll under the stars,” Zevran continued with a fond smile.

“How romantic,” Carrel deadpanned.

“And then, she asked me to stay the night.”

“She did whaaaaat?” Tehriel turned to Astala. “You did that?”

“I didn’t!” Astala protested.

“No?” Zevran asked, feigning surprise himself. “But you asked me to join you!”

“To join our group!” Astala said and gave Zevran a shove. “Not me!”

“Are you quite certain?” Zevran asked.

“Maybe you don’t remember it right,” Carrel offered with his brand of calm but relentless teasing. “How drunk were you, Tabris?”

“Oh, let me assure you,” Zevran said, “she was quite drunk.”

“I was not!” Astala protested. “I could walk and all!”

“Barely.”

“You know, it’s not like you, Tabris, to just go on inviting random strangers into your little group of friends,” Tehriel said.

“If she was at the point to do that, I can imagine her asking him to stay the night,” Carrel mused.

“Don’t listen to him!” Astala said. “I was doing fine!”

Tehriel turned to Zevran. “How much had she been drinking?”

Zevran shrugged with a mischievous smile. “I counted six tankards.”

Carrel and Tehriel broke out into roaring laughter as Astala shrieked in indignation and tried to cover Zevran’s mouth with her hand to keep him from talking on. It was in vain; Zevran licked her hand. Astala pulled a face and wiped it off on his shirt, which he used as a momentary distraction to sneakily pull her closer again. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Astala, seeing how the hand on his mouth hadn’t worked, had grabbed him by the chin and pulled him in. The pressing of her lips to his effectively shut him up. What surprise this move provoked quickly vanished from Zevran’s face as he closed his eyes. His hand cupped her cheek, hers found his neck, and Carrel and Tehriel were presented with the enticing opportunity to whistle and holler at the tactical move and its devastating effects.

C) Small, domestic kisses while getting stuff done e.g. making breakfast.

"We should tidy up," Astala sighed.

From her lap came a muffled "no" as Zevran buried his head further in the crook between her thigh and stomach. He haphazardly slung one arm around her waist. It tickled. Astala let out a breath of a laugh and leaned back against the pillows on the bench.

It promised to be a quiet night here in Antiva, sitting on their porch with the host of children finally asleep in their beds. The stars were bright on the cloudless sky. The breeze from the ocean ruffled the leaves of the trees in the garden and chased away the heat of the day. It danced through Zevran's hair and blew up her own curly strands. Astala started combing her husband's hair back down.

"What a day," Zevran muttered and shifted. Half-hooded eyes were now looking up to her, soft with tiredness.

Astala nodded and added a bit of pressure to the slow drag of her fingers. Zevran closed his eyes again and groaned in contentment.

"Sorry for the last-minute addition," she said. "Soris didn't say they'd all come."

"It's alright." Zevran stifled a yawn. "How did it go?"

Astala looked up over the garden as she gathered her thoughts.

"Good, I think," she finally said. "My father's not over Soris just disappearing yet, but they talked. And his wife is very nice. Bit shy."

Zevran laughed quietly. "She was frightened of you, I think."

"Really? Huh." Astala raised her eyebrows. "I'm not that scary anymore."

"Oh, I think you get scarier with age, amore," Zevran said and laughed when he saw her expression. "Come now. You were the one who drove all the customers away from that old man, no? A few words and nobody dares approach the place."

"He was so rude!" Astala protested. "And his stock was the worst I've ever seen!"

"And so you drove him into ruin," Zevran laughed and tapped a finger against her lips when she started pouting. "Beware the power of those lips."

Astala pretended to bite his finger.

"Ohoho! See? You are a danger, amore."

"You're the danger here, love," Astala retorted and placed a kiss on his finger. "How did it go for you?"

In her lap, Zevran sighed and turned to face the stars.

"Alright," he muttered. "It went alright. Well, even. The flock is behaving."

"They better," Astala said. "So, setting an example worked?"

"I think it did," Zevran said. "But it is such a long way to and back. One whole day on the road, and everytime I go…"

He threw his hand in the air and let it fall listlessly back to his side.

"I would much rather be here," he said. "The backstabbing, the intimidating, the posturing, it is getting old. At least our children never try to pull the same trick twice."

"I mean…" Astala began, but Zevran cut her off.

"Trust me, they are much more creative than the Crows. They act like children; the Crows meanwhile are like a band of street cats fighting over a piece of fish."

Astala let out a snorted laugh at that image. It got a quiet chuckle out of Zevran. Then he sighed and readjusted his position in her lap.

"What if we left the washing up for tomorrow?"

"I can do it," Astala said. "You've been on the road for a long time."

Zevran shook his head. "You have been up all day."

"I'm alright," Astala said. "Believe it or not."

Zevran leaned his head against her stomach again and closed his eyes. Astala leaned back once more and watched the stars.

Dinner kept sitting in the kitchen, dishes and cups piled up and waiting to be washed.

"Alright," Astala said, trying to stand up and tapping Zevran on the head when he refused to move. "Gotta clean up together then."

A groan in protest was her only answer. Nothing to do then but to pick her reluctant husband up. Which went straight to her hip and she'd probably regret it tomorrow, but it was worth it; Zevran let out a yelp when she heaved him over her shoulder.

"I must say," she heard from behind her as she made her way to the kitchen with him hanging head first down her shoulder. "I cannot complain. This is a lovely view."

He gave her backside an appreciative pat.

"I'd love to indulge you for longer," Astala groaned and set him down. "I'm gonna wash the dishes. Can you get them? And also a chair?"

"Your desire," Zevran said and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

He made for the nearest chair. Astala held him back and kissed him herself, on his lips.

"Incentive," she said.

"For dishes to be brought?" Zevran asked.

Astala nodded.

"Hmmm. For a price such as this…"

Zevran leaned back in, but Astala quickly leaned to the side and gave him a peck on the cheek instead.

"Dishes first."

"Such dangerous lips and now such torments." Zevran threw his hand up to his forehead as he turned around. "I shall have wasted away before this ordeal is done."

"Poor soul," Astala giggled and sat down as she began to wash the dishes. "Maker have mercy on you."

"May he, indeed!" Zevran approached, arms full of dishes, and set them down next to the water basin. "But will you have mercy on me, amore?"

Astala cupped his cheek with the hand that was not wet yet and kissed him. Zevran, evil man that he was, let his tongue dart out between his teeth to taste her, which made her squeal, and this prompted him to kiss her again to muffle the sound. The kiss ended in laughter on both sides—quiet laughter so they wouldn't wake anyone up.

Kiss by kiss, the stacks of dishes vanished. Kiss by kiss, they were dried and placed back in their respective cabinets. Once the last dish had been stored away and Astala had dried her hand, Zevran pulled her up and into one last kiss. Soft, warm, a light caress after a long day… suddenly, Astala was sad there were no more dishes to wash.

"This wasn't so bad," she said, letting her surprise bleed into her voice.

Zevran hummed and set out to say something. Instead, he yawned.

"Bed?"

"Bed and sleep," Astala nodded.

---

"And maybe a reward for a job well done?" Zevran asked cheekily.

Astala laughed, hooked her left arm with his and stole another kiss after he turned down the lights. The house fell silent.

Thank you so much for the prompts!!! These were very fun to write XD XD XD XD It's a damn shame that I haven't written many kissings or other affectionate moments between Zevran and Astala for now and I love being able to rectify that. Also, kudos for reaching the end! This was exactly the kind of brain fodder I needed right now

Have a lovely day and a lovely weekend!!! May no cold befall you, my friend. Cheers!

[Ask game]

#astala tabris #zevran #zevwarden #dao #dragon age #my writings

10 notes · View notes

old-archivist · 2 years

Text

Foods of Thedas: Comics

So, while you wait for the multi-post compilation of food, I thought I could share the stuff I'm grabbing stuff from the newest comics - Magekiller, Knight Errant, Deception, and Blue Wraith. Those comics being the only ones with food clearly displayed. There are some that are pretty easy to identify, some that aren’t.

So, I’ve gathered some images and I’ve shoved it below the cut cause this post is long and image heavy.

Croissants in Deception.

Continuing with Deception, this is taking place in Tevinter. We see figs, pears, grapes, a gourd or squash of some type, and purple fruits up front that I shouldn’t hazard a guess with (I’m banking on dates or currants).

Cupcakes, cookies, and what looks to be sugar cake and chocolate cake. (Magekiller)

Same scene as previous. This platter has candy canes, macaroons, more cupcakes, some type of cookies, what looks to be an “old fashioned” donut and another croissant. (Magekiller)

This is a scene in Kirkwall, featuring tomatoes, sausage, salad, roast bird (I’m guessing turkey, yellow rind cheese, and some sort of topped cookie. (Knight Errant)

This shot is from Starkhaven. We see suckling pig, grapes, apples, orange rind cheese, another platter of meat that is hard to identify. (Knight Errant)

Same scene as the previous panel from a different angle. This including bananas, grapes, apples, orange, an orange rind and a yellow-brown rind cheese. (Knight Errant)

This image and the next two I find interesting. They’re all in the same market, Edgehall in Ferelden. What is interesting to me is that they clearly have bananas, pears, and oranges. Fruits that need warmer weather and also longer growing seasons. Oranges and Pears are possible in Ferelden though, if they do espalier. Which I talk about in this post. Essentially, it’s a trellising method where you prune growing trees so they are more 2 dimensional, usually placed against walls. This allows them to be more productive, easier to manage, and by placing them against warm brick walls, allows them to survive colder climates. It does takes a few years to reach a “mature” tree that way, but the benefits are substantial.

Canonically we only espalier in Orlais, specifically in Val Royeaux. Even then they seem more decorative. But given the amount of warm climate fruit readily available in Ferelden, I’m betting they also practice it.

As for the other produce in the market we see in this image, it looks like potatoes, Vaea is wheeling a cart of red fruit (apples I think) and someone else is selling a crate of red fruit as well. (Knight Errant)

Following Vaea through the market we see sausage, some more cured meat hanging from the shops, oranges, pots of seasoning that looks to be either sugar or salt. And an semi-hard cheese. (Knight Errant)

Last panel for Edgehall’s market, we see more potatoes, apples, and pears with a few strings of garlic and sacs of food. (Knight Errant)

These last three images are clear shots of food that I honestly only have theories for and are thus speculative.

Through out Deception, you see these rolls of green things on the table. I have no idea what they might be. They do make me think of that food dolma, stuffed grape leaves. But I can’t say for sure. (Hello Dorian)

Unidentified meat, probably a type of poultry leg, and what looks to either be flat bread or something green. (Deception)

Then there is this cheese, and I’m thinking it’s either Gouda or Edam, which like Gouda is a semi-hard dutch cheese. They often have the same wine and food pairings. (Blue Wraith)

#dragon age meta #dragon age comics #dragon age magekiller #dragon age deception #dragon age knight errant #dragon age blue wraith #Foods of The Dragon Age Setting #foods of Thedas #long post #Archi is Archiving #Dorian #Vaea

44 notes · View notes

wild-houseplant · 1 year

Text

Have Warden, Will Travel- Chapter 13

oh god oh god we’re getting into Broken Circle at the end ToT oh god I’m about to shatter my baby’s heart. This chapter’s mostly happy though!! NSFW toward the end. Hope you bunch are doing well and keeping up with ya fluids!!! Link to AO3 chapter is here if you’d like it :) Little bit here, rest under the cut!

The rain had came back with a vengeance, and was trying to kill them.

Zevran’s declaration of this had made it clear which party members, in all their Fereldan ignorance, expected nothing better than perennially murderous weather. Alistair and Morrigan had both rolled their eyes at him, and then at each other, and then at the clouds.

Happily, though, the expatriate majority vastly outweighed the worryingly acquiescent locals, with calls of unanimous, resounding agreement.

Except for Rhodri.

Zevran wasn’t one to begrudge people their joy, but the Warden’s starry-eyed delight at the flash flood which had nearly swept her tent away was… well. If nothing else, it was a cautionary tale for anyone thinking of locking people inside a tower for a decade or more.

“Isn’t it marvellous?” she gushed to him as they trudged– well, Zevran trudged; Rhodri was positively larking through the lashings of rain and mud. “Real, live weather! Much more exciting on this side of the window, I can tell you!”

Zevran went to make some pleasantly non-committal remark but paused as the Warden threw her head back. Her mouth unlatched, tongue rolling out like a saddle flap, and her canines gleamed in the weak sun as she caught the rain in her mouth and gulped it down with relish. When she righted herself and turned to him again, she held up her hands to him in a conciliatory gesture.

“Now, I know our plans are a little delayed since we have to go back around and pass through Edgehall to get to Redcliffe, but don’t you worry about a thing, amicus!” She beamed down at him, her face dripping. “Our day-to-day schedule won’t change a bit! It’ll be business as usual. Bene.”

Zevran, who despite his now-waterproofed cloak could not recall ever being wetter in his life, grinned up at the Warden. “Do you know, we might even be able to streamline the day’s tasks while it’s raining.”

“Oh?”

“Well, in all this wet, we are getting our bath and laundry done while we walk. Very efficient, no?”

It was a joke. A joke . Why, for the love of all good things, did she have stars in her eyes?

“Oh-h-h,” Rhodri touched her hands to her cheeks. “What an excellent point! We’re ahead of schedule! Ah!” She bounced on her toes. “We could have dinner at any time!”

Leliana sniffed miserably. “It’s a pity we can’t find dry lodgings at any time…”

The Warden turned around and put a hand on Leliana’s shoulder, smiling warmly. “Good thing the rain’s warm right now, hmm? Besides, the more we walk, the sooner you’ll get to meet everyone!” She sighed. “I wish we could write to them that we were on the way, so they could look forward to it. I’d have told them all about the magnificent Leliana, and every mage in the tower would be in love with you before you even got there!”

The woeful look on Leliana’s face turned up into a small smile, almost childlike in its shyness.

“Well,” Leliana said in an uncharacteristic mumble as she grabbed one corner of her cloak and wrung it out, “we had better keep moving, then. I would hate to disappoint them.”

Rhodri beamed. She reached out and cupped the woman’s cheeks, and her voice was like a finger of brandy. “Oh, I don’t think you could, Leli.”

While Leliana looked fit to die from an acute bout of the swoons, Alistair’s blushing face registered in Zevran’s periphery. Zevran bit back the urge to groan and tried his hand at catching the rain on his tongue.

The upside to all of this was, at least, that Leliana had found the Warden’s attentions encouraging enough to attempt a little more boldness. In fact, Zevran probably owed her his gratitude. Thanks to her efforts, he had been made aware that complimenting Rhodri’s figure was most unwelcome.

Not that he had been contemplating doing so– at least not unless the Warden invited him to. After all, wearing clothes that left everything to the imagination tended to discourage remarks about whatever was obscured, not least because one seldom knew what precisely lay beneath the cloth. Leliana appeared to have missed that.

The mystery of the unguessable body was relieved half an hour later when Leliana made a thoughtful hum and indicated the contours of the Warden’s figure (her thoroughly waterlogged robes now clung to her on all sides) with a generous sweep of the hands.

Zevran’s glance had been brief– and accidental; his eyes had mindlessly followed the direction Leliana had gestured in, but they fell on the Warden all the same. Sandbag arm and leg muscles bulged like stopper knots over spindleshank limbs; yawning shoulders tapered down to a wedgepoint on railthin hips. Utterly fascinating. And, if Zevran's cursory look had not misled him, she was also slightly bow-legged. The good Sister had, quite innocuously and very foolishly, paid a quick compliment and suggested something to draw the eye to her broad shoulders.

By the time Leliana had finished detailing her proposal of a handsome belt with an elaborate buckle, the Warden’s face was purple. A barely coherent ‘no’ had left Rhodri’s lips while she was wrenching another cloak out of her bag and throwing it over herself, and a stricken Leliana left it at that.

Zevran had hardly looked at anything below the Warden’s neck to begin with. The fluttering silhouette, when caught in the breeze, reminded him a little too much of a bat for comfort’s sake. After that, though, he made a point of keeping his eyes in line with her chin or higher.

Fearing that another flirtation in too short a time frame might send Rhodri to an early grave, Zevran abandoned all plans to catch her eye for some days. It was possible she would notice the absence of his flirts, attempt to fill the deficit by making her own come-ons to him. Or, if she was as spoiled for attention as nobility usually was, she might grow dramatic, broadcast her neglect, sulk, languish. Act coldly toward him, even, in the absence of the ego-strokers she perhaps considered her due.

By the time they had reached Edgehall three days later, though, Rhodri hadn’t so much as looked at him expectantly. Zevran resolved to withhold his flirtations a little longer, until they reached Redcliffe, in case she was simply slow to catch on: nothing. There were jokes and stories aplenty; she carried him while they walked, when he wobbled with sufficient melodrama. She still pushed the larger half of her food into his hands, dropped her voice to a genteel, close-quarters volume with him, slathered him with pleases and thank-yous and how-did-you-sleeps. What that all meant was anyone’s guess.

For better or worse– likely the latter, Leliana had regained some of her gumption once they arrived in Redcliffe. Zevran might not have cared that the Sister was of a mood to tease him, might not have taken it so damned personally, a few months ago. But there she sat, eyeing him like she had won a competition between them as they prepared the potatoes for the evening meal.

“I am surprised you are here helping me with the cooking, Zevran,” she cooed, tilting her head ever-so-slightly in the direction of the Tevinter Warden, who along with Alistair was axing the gizzards out of a far-off tree stump for firewood.

Zevran permitted himself to raise an eyebrow as he plucked another potato from the bowl between their feet and quartered it. “Oh? Surely you know by now that I have no interest in poisoning any of you.” He tsked playfully. “For shame, Leliana! What little faith you have in me.”

The Sister gave a sing-song hum of disagreement. “You know what I’m talking about,” she reproached coyly. “You and Rhodri are almost never apart now. Did you think nobody had noticed?”

It took all of Zevran’s willpower not to raise his eyebrows at her. Someone who made flirtations as vague as Leliana had been doing could not possibly have missed the fact that Zevran had ceased attempts to catch the Warden’s eye a good two weeks ago. He forced looseness in his arms and, as if to show the laxity off, tipped his hand and let the potato pieces tumble back into the bowl. “Ah, my dear!” He shuffled a little closer to her. “Have I been neglecting you? You said there was no need for my services, but if you find you are jealous, I am more than happy to offer them again.”

“No, no,” she shook her head and took another potato. “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

“But surely you must have sought to tell me something from all this,” he crooned softly. “I would hate for you to feel left out.”

“Not at all.” A smirk curled the edges of her mouth. “But I know a shadow when I see one.”

Zevran pressed down the roil in his guts with a chuckle. “Now that is quite an accusation to level at an Antivan Crow. You think I wish to kill her?”

She snorted. “Quite the opposite, actually. I think you are very fond of her.”

“Lovely woman,” he pressed the words through a vacant, gleaming smile, “I think you have been in the South for too long! Have you forgotten that we Northerners are warm by nature?”

“Only with one person at a time, then?”

Zevran waggled her eyebrows at her. “Oh, I have more than enough heat to go around.” He shrugged innocently. “But I know when such gestures are unwelcome. I would not dream of making anyone uncomfortable. My fellow Northerner, however, has been nothing but pleased about it.”

Gentle, bruised shock flashed over Leliana’s face, interrupted as a crisp voice from behind registered.

“You are a foolish woman,” Morrigan stepped past her to drop two blocks of wood into the would-be firepit. With a wave of her hand, a fire was lit, and she turned and eyed Leliana witheringly. “The assassin is clearly using his wiles to get into the Warden’s good graces. Though perhaps if you are gormless enough to be hoodwinked, I would do better not to intervene. He might be good enough to poison you first.”

Zevran made a low, sultry hum. “Ooh, I do love it when you talk about me as though I am not here. It makes me feel so mysterious! Tell me more about my wiles, dear woman.”

The witch regarded him with a curled lip. “‘Tis hardly worth remarking on further,” she said icily. “They appear to have convinced only the one person. Not even Alistair has fallen for your sycophantry, you know this?”

“My, my, you sound terribly disappointed.”

“Hardly. I merely wonder when, precisely, you will attempt to finish the job.” She shrugged with one hand. “The Warden was foolish enough to spare you; being murdered by you seems a fitting consequence. Unless, of course, you fear your Crows enough to want her to keep you alive.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And am I to believe that you joined the Warden’s cause out of a sense of… patriotism, perhaps?”

Morrigan snorted. “You are as ridiculous as your haircare habits.”

“Am I?” Zevran shrugged and let his eyes drift over to Rhodri, who was striding over to them with a face almost entirely obscured by the pile of firewood she was carrying. “We all have our reasons for doing what we do. But if it brings you comfort, the next time someone shows me mercy, I will be sure to turn on them at the first opportunity. Will that do?”

His answer was not dignified with a response; Morrigan turned on her heel and left for her rag fort before the Warden could come within talking distance. Leliana, who had been silent much of the time, had her gaze firmly set on Alistair.

Zevran noted the swell of relief that Rhodri’s approach brought and, before he could begin to consider the cause, announced to himself that her arrival signified the end of Leliana's teasing. Appeased enough, he took another potato and peeled it.

Antiva had always felt like a place that was constantly changing. Alliances shifted like desert sands; people might stay in one place long enough to be used as a landmark, only to disappear without a trace. The weather was a moody whore at the best of times, never one way or another long enough for anything to be done. Certainly never long enough, as any Antivan launderer would loudly bemoan, for the washing to properly dry on the line. Small events, in the grand scheme of things, that would invariably coax a loud response from anyone who thought to notice them.

And then there was Ferelden. As that uniquely Southern, incessantly biting evening chill had begun to permeate the daylight hours, even the slightest breeze felt like a threat of snow and ice. The days were shortening quickly enough that Zevran no longer trusted his stomach or head for cues on when to sleep or eat. Rain came down with such a force it almost bored through flesh and bone on its way to the earth. Dramatic, was what it was. Hyperbolic, even.

But the stoic Fereldan people said nothing, did nothing. Well, no, that wasn’t true. They gritted their teeth and ploughed on, but that was all they ever did. Happy, sad, challenged or leisurely– everything was a muted, stifflipped affair with them. Zevran had started to nurse a theory that the Fereldans were so unflappable in the hopes that if they pretended to ignore whatever disaster was unfolding, it would simply go away on its own sooner or later.

Zevran wasn’t fooled, though. Even the trees weren’t having any of this cold-weather, short-day nonsense. Entire forests’ foliage were fizzing into opulent gold, sparkling like champagne in the soft light when he passed under them. Others were deepening into red and orange– he had initially mistaken this for a fire, only to be corrected by a deeply unimpressed Alistair. Zevran took the reprimand as well as he could force himself to. but how was he to know, after all? What sort of leaves changed colour with the seasons?

Or, when it came down to it, fell off? Now that was positively operatic. Leaves bursting into the colour of fresh flames, then all but throwing themselves off the branch to carpet the ground with their remains. Was it magic? Were the trees given to the same sort of theatrics as Antivans when exposed to cold weather? Trees couldn’t speak, after all; perhaps it was a cry for help.

Still, Zevran was nothing if not an optimist. While the world busied itself with dying, the Wardens grew. Alistair was now two heads taller than Zevran, with a chest like a barrel (much to Leliana’s delight), and Rhodri could easily have repurposed Zevran as a chinrest, if she were of a mind to. In the first month since leaving Honnleath, the Wardens outgrew three pairs of boots between them. Size was closely related to strength with them, and that in turn, meant that Zevran’s odds of being carried grew further still.

Rhodri invariably took it in her usual good humour. His melodramatic sighs and wobbles to get her attention were rewarded with a jolly laugh before hard arms scooped him off the ground. She radiated heat, which was particularly welcome now, and it was taking longer and longer before exertion demanded she put him down. A proper bed and a bowl of fish chowder, and Zevran could die happy.

The warmth of the Crestwood bakery, though, was the next best thing. Burnt butter and sweet honey hung thick in the air, opportunity to win extra favour with the Warden knocked with vigour.

"Ah?" Rhodri’s eyes widened. "They won't be edible in a month? But cookies are dry and hard already! And– and they’re not made of flesh, so they don’t even rot!"

The baker, who had up to now been obliging to the point of saintliness, looked at the Warden like she'd never been in a shop before.

"...Yes," he began slowly, "but even most dry foods don't last that long."

She chewed on her lip, brows drawing in dismay. “I don’t think there’s another bakery near Calenhad…”

The baker said nothing. He stayed as he was behind the counter, eyes fixed on the Rhodri’s staff as she shifted from foot to foot.

Entirely unprompted– and possibly unwelcomely, going by Alistair’s glare, Zevran touched Rhodri’s arm. “You know, my lovely Grey Warden” he said with a winsome smile, “if we had the dry ingredients, we could prepare them ourselves on the road, no? We could get up a little early on the day of the visit and make them then.”

Rhodri made an interested hum. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he crooned. “We have a pan, and with a little heat and plenty of butter, we will be in business.”

This seemed good enough for her– and though it was hard to say if the baker was genuinely accepting of Zevran’s workaround or simply wanted the apparently-vulgarian Warden out of his establishment, he also gave his approval. The party left with three bags of dry mix. Enough, so said the baker, to make a total of one hundred and twenty cookies in three different flavours (“Everyone gets one of each,” Rhodri had declared while her hands drummed her legs). The victorious Warden, who insisted on carrying all the bags, held them in her arms like they were no heavier than a housecat, beaming all the way back to the party camp.

Zevran Arainai and Severin Rhodri Amell Callistus were not friends, and Zevran was not, and had not been brooding about it.

In fact, it was definitively true that he had not been brooding, because it was physically impossible, given that there was nothing to brood about. Crows did not have friends, and despite the fact that he was no longer hired as a Crow assassin, the training and conditions were not simply shed like a tunic at the end of the day. No, if anything, he was a Crow emerito, still as perfectly entitled to the label as ever. He had never had friends and he never would, and that was the end of it. He hadn’t put this much thought into Taliesen, or Rinna– though perhaps if he had paid these things a little thought, Rinna might still–

His stomach tensed in a particularly hard cringe before he could stop it. The motion was enough to alert the Warden, who was carrying Zevran through a hip-deep creek.

“Ah? Did you get damp, Zev?” Her arms curled and swelled upwards, bringing him higher. “I’m sorry about that, my friend. Is that better?”

Her neck was stretched to keep her sharp chin from jutting into his bicep– not that he would have been so opposed to her repurposing it as a headrest. Zevran affixed a coy grin to his features.

“Forgive me, my Warden,” he said with a gentle touch to the shoulder, “you have kept me wonderfully dry. My mind simply wandered– a little too far away from me, perhaps. It must have been your radiant beauty dazzling me, no?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Ah, I see.” Rhodri gave an understanding nod and waded on. “These things happen. Right, so where were we? My turn, wasn’t it?”

Alistair confirmed that it was, and this was taken with a word of thanks.

“All right, so: would you rather be able to fly like a bird, or leap like a frog?”

The ninth guard’s legs gave out, her hands falling away from her freshly-opened neck before she could meet the stone.

No, she was the tenth. The ninth was that fellow who tried the fast and dirty kick from on his back.

Number eleven hurtled around the corner, a colossal, scowling man decked out in plate armour that shone in the light like the midday sea. Sword drawn, eyes glittering, sweat on his brow already.

Another easy one, then. At this rate, Zevran would have to eschew the cask of wine he customarily rewarded himself with after bigger jobs. Ten quick-and-easies didn’t fall under that category.

He smirked, shelved all thoughts of alcohol, and started the dance. Prowling, blades twirling like toys, taking the man’s eyes away for a second. Just long enough to make a swipe–

“Zev–!” Taliesen’s voice, at a worrying rasp, sounded from up ahead. “Poultice!”

Easily, so easily, Zevran bowed out of his own attack, winding past the enormous guard with a poultice at the ready. Taliesen sat against the wall, blood oozing out from under the hand he had clasped beneath his ribs. His tan skin had a paleness creeping in that made Zevran’s belly drop.

Wood soles on stone had his head turning– the guard was moving at a blur– Zevran tossed the poultice to Taliesen and weaved away, but not before another guard could seize him by the neck and crash him through the stained-glass window.

In the balmy afternoon, the blood from his cuts rained heavenward as Zevran plummeted through the thick, warm air. Red sky above, unforgiving water below. My kingdom, he wished, prayed, bargained through a swelling last breath, for a pair of wings.

Zevran chuckled. “Oh, an easy one.”

Leliana, who had sweet-talked a blushing Alistair into carting her across, caught Zevran’s eye from her spot up on the nearby bank and flashed him a quick, muted smile.

Rhodri frowned. “Is it? Fancy that. I thought I'd made it quite hard, actually. What would you pick?”

“My dear Warden,” Zevran crooned, “if you can fly, you can mimic any jump by flapping your arms. No jump can mimic flying, though. Not for very long, anyway.”

Behind them, Alistair held the pack filled with cast-iron frypan baked cookies, lovingly made earlier that morning, over his head (Rhodri had insisted that for safety’s sake, they make a special trip carrying only them). He made a begrudging mumble of agreement, and Zevran kept his smug grin to himself.

The Warden hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a very good point. I’m still going to choose to leap like a frog, but it’s a much closer call than I thought it would be.”

“I don’t think jumping like a frog is as useful as flying when it comes to fighting the darkspawn, Rhod,” Alistair pointed out.

Rhodri drew up to the bank and carefully set Zevran down. She climbed out, hauling Alistair out after her, and with a few hand-waves (and an inspection of the cookies to ensure they were unharmed by the creek crossing), the party was dry and moving on.

“You’re right, of course, Alistair,” Rhodri conceded, returning to business, “terribly impractical. But one of my students, Clarrie– oh, you’ll love her, she’s my little clown. She told me not long before I left that she’d asked Enchanter Philomena what would happen if someone had legs as powerful as a frog’s and they kicked someone in the arse.”

Zevran snorted. “Clever girl. And what was the answer?”

She huffed a giddy laugh. “Nothing. Philomena smacked her in the head with a book, and that was that. I promised her I’d do my best to find out, though, and this’d be my golden opportunity.”

“Hmm! I did jump and kick a man’s posterior once,” he mused with a grin. “I had been poisoned, you see, and lost control of my arms for a moment. My teammate was in need of a helping hand, and I had to give him the next best thing before my legs gave out, too.”

Rhodri’s eyes widened. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

He nodded. “Indeed. I can confidently say that they go quite a ways ahead when they stumble.” Zevran chewed his cheek, Taliesen’s disbelieving laugh at the feat echoing in his ears, as he added, “Once they are down, though, they do not go so very far.”

The Warden roared laughing and gave him one of those anaemic nudges, and his smile was absolutely not the result of that, but rather from the well-earned satisfaction of having told a story well.

“Good to know,” she said when she'd gotten her breath back, fixing him with her gleaming shark-grin. “I’ll let you tell Clarrie yourself. Come to that, I can think of a few others who’d be keen to know, so if you’re not averse to a small, adoring audience…”

He chuckled. “Always ready.”

From beside Alistair, Leliana caught Zevran’s eye again and subjected him to an infuriating smirk; Zevran arched a brow at her and faced forward. If one of the Maker’s foremost worshippers couldn’t tell the difference between friendship and friendliness– and make no mistake, there was a very obvious difference– there was no helping her.

“We must be almost there by now,” Alistair said, seemingly to nobody in particular.

Zevran smiled inwardly. The good thing about the Wardens’ perpetual ignorance of this exchange was that they frequently prevented escalations by interrupting the unseen proceedings.

“Once we’re out of this clearing, I think,” Rhodri murmured. “My goodness, trust the leaves to stay on the trees when we need to watch where we’re going, sic?” She chuckled good-naturedly.

Leaving the wood lended an unexpected air of victory to the party of four, especially after Alistair remarking about bears being particularly active in the thickets once the leaves began to change. Even flippant, devil-may-care Rhodri hadn’t laughed it off, which as far as Zevran was concerned said more than enough.

But the forest was behind them, and ahead lay the worn track down to, Zevran could only presume, Lake Calenhad. The winy water gleamed like lust in the mid-morning sun, knifed square in the middle by the most uninviting, needlepoint edifice Zevran had seen since House Kortez’s hospital. Any taller and the tip of it would have cut a cloud to the quick. The path to the tower was made mostly of guesswork, supplemented by the occasional piece of eroded bridge foundation; Zevran was almost (almost!) relieved to see the pathetic little pier down by the water’s edge, even with the loitering Templar stationed there.

“Ah!” Rhodri threw a hand down the hill at the sole building this side of the water: a whitewashed wooden house with an adjoining firewood shed– and a grey-haired, soft-bodied man on a stool in front of it, sucking down on a cup of Maker-knew-what. “Mr. Kester!” She beckoned them as she fell into a jog, waving at the man as she went.

The man called Kester waved back and was on his feet by his second attempt.

“Well, well! The Grey Warden is back!” He gave her a warm smile. “And with friends, too!”

Rhodri beamed. “Alistair is a Warden as well, Mr. Kester. And our friends here,” she gestured with a pride that made Zevran’s belly jitter, “have also come along to help.”

Kester kept them talking for a good while about the stories his father had told him of Grey Wardens– partly, Zevran presumed, as a means of checking the truth behind his father’s tales; quite a number of the myths he relayed were promptly debunked.

Zevran offered a quick thanks to the Maker when Kester sighed and patted his belly. “And so what brings you all the way out here, then? Calenhad’s a lonesome place at the best of times.”

“We’re here to enlist the help of the mages against the Blight, believe it or not. As a matter of fact, we were hoping to loan your boat to get over there.” Rhodri gave him a hopeful look as he stiffened, quickly adding, “I’ll happily reimburse you, if need be. You need not even do the rowing.”

Kester sighed again. “‘Fraid I can’t offer you the boat, Warden. Templars took it.”

Rhodri frowned. “They took your boat? What for?”

“Well, ‘ficially, I don’t know nothing. They wouldn’t tell me anything. Greagoir come and all he said was, ‘Don’t you worry, Kester, we got it all under control, we do.’ Then he put that Carroll feller in charge of my boat!’” He pointed at the Templar milling about at the end of the dock and shook his head. “But I did hear the boy mumblin’, and it didn’t sound good.”

Rhodri’s shoulders squared, and she leaned closer to the man. “What was he saying, Mr. Kester?” she said urgently. “I need to know before we go over there. Please.”

Kester looked around furtively, and with a dark glance at the tower, dropped his voice to a murmur. “Abominations, he was sayin’, and demons. They’re never a good thing.” Kester gave a meaningful nod and then a sympathetic wince as the colour started to drain from Rhodri’s face.

“No…” Alistair said with a grimace. “Those are… quite bad.”

“Oh, mercy,” Rhodri whispered. She turned to the others, eyes wide with horror. “My children. We have to get over there. Everyone move! Now!”

She didn’t wait, breaking into a sprint toward the dock. Zevran, lightest on his feet, caught up to her first, with Leliana hot on his heels. The clank of platemail was enough to know Alistair was somewhere in the vicinity.

Demons. Of course it was demons. Why had Zevran worried about something as pedestrian as dying by darkspawn or bears when there were demons waiting to lay waste to him? He ought to turn and make a break for it while he could. What business did loyalty have outweighing self-preservation at a time like this? Typical Zevran, always willing to dive into the lion’s mouth for a shred of kindness.

The mage was such a soft, tender thing, even in the face of death. She sobbed as her spell fizzled out, but instead of darting away from him and his knives, she stumbled forward and clutched Zevran’s waist.

He ought to have died then and there, really, for not shanking her at that impossibly opportune moment. But no, he let her velvety arms pull his malnourished frame against her, unendingly plush and pillowy. Simple fragrances, soap and clove oil, clung to the air near the hollow of her neck, indulgent enough to force him to bite his lip.

“I don’t want to go like this,” she choked, her head tipping onto his chest. “Can we just sit for a moment, eat a little? Please?”

Fingers reached around and grazed the small of his back. It had to be coincidence that she had gone straight for a secret erogenous zone of his, but Zevran found it odd all the same. With a smile, he hooked a finger under her jaw and tilted her lovely, dark face up to look at him.

“I think we can afford that,” he purred.

With a hand on his knee and another clutching a peach, the mage, whose name was Beatris, began narrating. She was adept in a branch of magic Zevran had never heard of (though in all fairness, he had never heard of any), and in terrible trouble with the local junta for attempting to draw attention to dirty dealings while she was conducting research for the Circle. With each bite of the peach, her hand slid a little further up his thigh, and by the time there was nothing but a stone left, his breeches were being unlaced.

Gentle questions started as she climbed into his lap. About him, his interests, his family. What he loved, what he hated, peppered throughout with approving moans or soft, sympathetic kisses. Trite, terribly trite, and Zevran had just enough wits to answer whatever she asked as she fucked herself on him, and fucked him in the process.

Until she paused.

What he had just said to her before that escaped him. Words were cheap and hard to hold onto, and Maker knew she had teased him fit to bursting before she’d even started climbing on him.

“Something is wrong?” he mumbled.

She watched him with the sort of pity that made his guts twist.

“Did they really put you in an oubliette?” she asked in a pant.

Had he said that?

“Just for training,” she added.

Ah, he had bragged. He smiled.

“Mmm. You see? My hardiness knows no bounds. My hardness, too–”

A yelp of surprise was stifled under her mouth, melted into a groan as she ground her hips against him.

“Come join me,” she murmured. Her thumbs stroked long, indulgent lines over his cheeks, along that bastard tattoo. “Leave them. I can show you better. We’ll go to the provinces, you and me, live like this forever.” She rolled her hips once, twice, as if to prove she meant it.

Zevran gave in and spent himself, stupid fool Crow that he was, gasping harum-scarum concessions and promises all the while to the first friendly face to wring an orgasm out of him who wasn’t a prostitute. But why would she ask him along with her unless she meant it? She could have deposited him beside the road, kept pleading now that he was too incoherent to say anything clever. Mercy, she could have taken his knife and gutted him, but she didn’t.

She brushed the damp hair out of his eyes, pulled him along with her onto the carriage seat, and slept like that. Zevran resigned himself to finish the conversation off until later. Always later.

He idly twirled a lock of her hair and let himself doze.

At the end of the dock, the Templar named Carroll watched them stampede over with a raised eyebrow. He was a young man, hardly older than either Warden, Zevran guessed, and his incessantly wandering gaze gave him a curiously adrift look.

“You’re not looking to get to the Tower, are you?” he called to them as they approached. “Because I’m under strict orders not to--”

“What’s happening in there, Carroll?” Rhodri cut across him. She snapped her fingers impatiently when no answer came immediately. “Quickly! What is it?”

A childish smile broadened his mouth. “Can’t tell you,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “You’re not authorised.”

She closed her eyes slowly and opened them again. “I am a Grey Warden who has every right to be in that Tower,” she said.”Either you give us the information and take us across, or I throw you into the lake and take us across myself.”

The smug look evaporated; for someone who was so sure of himself, this Carroll fellow was remarkably easy to intimidate.

“Oh, uh… I don’t want to end up in the water. I’ve heard strange things live in there.” He nodded quickly. “I’ll take you right now. Just like you wanted!”

“What’s going on in the Tower, though?” Rhodri pressed as they all climbed into the boat. “Kester mentioned something about abominations and demons. Is it true?”

Carroll nodded, not volunteering anything more as he took the oars and dipped them into the water.

“And?” Rhodri snapped her fingers near his face impatiently. “What’s happening? Is everyone safe?”

“Don’t think so,” he mumbled. “There were a lot of demons last I saw, and that was two weeks ago when I was sent out here to take over the boat.”

The Warden went still, and silence fell over them until she spoke up again.

“This won’t do,” she shook her head hard. “We're moving too slowly. Carroll, you will swap places with Alistair, and he and I will row. Alistair, come please.”

With a gently apologetic look from Alistair, a protesting Carroll was shuffled to the middle of the boat, and the two Wardens shared a glance before taking up the oars and moving the boat at a far speedier pace. What Zevran guessed was normally a two hour trip took half that as Rhodri and Alistair rowed tirelessly, their movements not slowing until they had reached the dock on the other side of the lake.

The sprint up the endless flight of stairs inside the Tower awakened and exhausted muscles Zevran was not aware he had possessed-- and going by the gasps from Leliana and Alistair, the latter of whom was weighed down by plate armour, he was not alone in this. Between Rhodri’s demands and the giant spider he was sure he had seen lurking in one of the landings, though, resting was nigh on impossible.

It came as a relief to reach a level she deemed high enough off the ground to warrant leaving the stairwell, and even more so when he saw that the only doors in the place were shut. That would afford him at least thirty seconds of stillness, and he propped himself up by his knees and drew in huge lungfuls of air while he could.

He glanced up once he was able to and saw Templars with furrowed brows pacing nervously, a baffling state to be in when there was no noise coming from within. Surely if there were Fade beasts prowling, people would be screaming and casting noisy spells. That meant, then, that the mages were either safe, or dead.

Wouldn’t they be out here if they were alive?

The most senior-looking Templar left his place by the doors to stride over, a scornful frown etched into his face.

“Well, well,” he said, not taking his eyes off Rhodri. “Look who’s back, a proper Grey Warden and everything! Glad you’re not dead.” He curled his lip, looking outright disappointed that she still drew breath.

A wide-eyed Rhodri ignored this remark and threw her hand at the door. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Why are the great doors closed? I heard about demons and abominations from Mr. Kester.”

He rolled his eyes as though her manner of addressing him was nothing unusual. “That is none of your concern. Your business, surely, lies out there in the world you were itching to see.”

“I carry the Right of Conscription, Greagoir, and I am here to seek aid from the mages and anyone else I consider fit to give it,” she snarled. “ Why are these doors locked?”

Greagoir tsked, a weary look coming over his face. “Whatever hearsay you caught was correct. Abominations and demons have overrun the halls, hunting templars and mages alike.” He sighed heavily. “I told my men to flee while they could. We’ve barred the door while we wait for the right of Annulment from Denerim.”

Rhodri’s mouth fell open. “You locked my people in there!” she hissed. “And you intend to--”

“Not only the mages,” he barked angrily. “My men are in there as well. My first duty is to protect the innocent folk of Ferelden--”

“You locked innocent Fereldan children in there!” Rhodri shouted over the top of him, voice cracking, and stormed over to the doors. “I need to get in. Let me in!”

Greagoir squinted at her. “Still as arrogant as ever, I see,” he spat. “You seem to be forgetting how powerful abominations are. One could lay waste to an entire village--”

“Open the doors! I will handle it.”

There was silence for a moment before the senior Templar let out a long puff of air. “I am in no position to refuse help, I suppose. But know that if you go in there, I will not open the doors again until I have proof the Tower is safe.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Define proof.”

“Assurance from the First Enchanter himself, if he even still lives.” A wry sneer pulled at the corner of his mouth. “In fact, if you can bring him out alive, I will even pledge my Templars to your cause.”

Rhodri gave him a curt nod. “Fine. Now make haste and open these doors.”

Greagoir jerked his head at the Templars stationed at the entryway, and they set to work unbarring the doors.

Leliana stepped forward. “You know you won’t be going alone, Rhodri.”

Zevran sauntered over, smiling smoothly. “Not at all. We would not dream of leaving you to do all the work yourself.”

Alistair joined them at the doors and gave the Warden a firm nod. “We’re ready.”

Rhodri’s face softened for a moment before evening out again. “You’re good to me,” she murmured. “Thank you. Please stay behind me at all times, and give me room to cast.”

Her attention was snared by a loud creak as one of the doors started to scrape open, and as soon as there was a gap big enough to fit through, she had wedged herself in and shot out of sight.

A breath stalled painfully in Zevran’s throat as a surprised gasp from the Warden reached his ears. Knives already out, he passed through the door in time to see her fall face-first onto the stone floor.

#Have Warden Will Travel #HWWT #Zevran: I am an island. I have no-one. I am no-one #Also Zevran: Rhodriiiiii please carry me across the stream I am a poor little man who hates getting wet <3 <3 #Slow progress! He's getting there bless him #Rhodri Amell #Dragon Age: Origins

9 notes · View notes

sulky-valkyrie · 2 years

Text

For @suck-tember Day 15: Choke

This is mildly cursed and a little crack-fic-y. SorryNotSorry?

~~~

"Anora, dear, this is a terrible idea," he protested.

"Nonsense, Father, it's a perfect gesture of goodwill.” The queen of Ferelden grinned wolfishly. “The Hero of the River Dane greeting Orlesian dignitaries? They'll be falling over themselves at the insult but won’t be able to say a damn thing because you’re royalty."

Loghain looked at Cailan, then sighed: he'd find no support in the man wrapped around his daughter's finger. "Fine, but I want it made clear that I am not in favor of this."

"As long as you do it, I don't care what you think, Father."

~~~13 years later~~~

"Loghain? Loghain Mac Tir?" Gaspard de Chalons exclaimed. He glanced between the Warden and the Inquisitor in shock. "You have any idea what a stir you're going to cause?"

The dwarf crossed her arms. "No more than I will on my own. He's useful."

You remind me of my daughter, he thought to himself, and not for the first time. Malika Cadash was ruthless once she had a goal in mind, and didn’t care who or what she ran over or broke if they got in her way.

The Grand Duke stared at Loghain a few moments longer than was strictly necessary, then licked his lips. “I suppose that’s true.”

Damn him, he remembered.

Two men past their prime, sitting in a nondescript inn in a no-name town in Edgehall, pretending not to resent that they’d been sent by their own family to prance and peacock at each other as a show of might. After the rest of the courtiers and ensemble had finished all their pomp and pageantry, they ended up in the barn, rolling around in the hay in what was definitely not a misguided drunken attempt to finally conquer the country that had caused them so much aggravation.

Loghain almost wished he’d worn a mask, but the thought of even pretending for a moment he was Orlesian made the bile rise in his throat. Being in the Wardens hadn’t lessened his disgust for the empire in the slightest, even if it had forced him to hide it better, but there were limits. “Can we get this over with?” he asked gruffly.

Malika arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say, Is this going to be a problem?

He shook his head slightly. Not for the Inquisition, at least. He followed as Gaspard escorted her inside, then slipped away through the crowd. The last thing he wanted was his presence to be announced at the ball. Some puffed up drunk prick deciding to avenge the insult to his country from forty years ago and ending up with his throat slit over the punch bowl was not a good look.

He skirted his way around the edge of the ballroom to the terrace, grabbing a glass of wine off of a passing tray. Avoiding lavish parties like this had been one of the best things about becoming a Grey Warden, and he already needed air.

“Mac Tir.”

He spun around. “De Chalons.” Smug bastard. “It’s been some time.”

“Ah, so you do remember?” Gaspard tapped a finger against his lips and smirked.

Loghain drained his wine and put the glass down on the table very carefully. It would call attention to himself if he broke it. “Don’t push me, Gaspard.”

“Or what?” the other man laughed. “My cousin might appreciate my death, but your Herald is here on my invitation.”

The Warden shook his head and started to go back inside. Noblemen, and this one in particular, made his head hurt.

Gaspard caught his arm. “I asked you a question.”

Loghain started moving as soon he felt the touch, turning to grab his throat and press him against the wall. Hopefully out of sight from the rest of the ball. “Or I’ll do it again, you Orlesian prick,” he growled, loosening his grip enough that Gaspard could breathe.

The chevalier coughed, almost delicately, then cocked his head. “Celene’s address isn’t for another hour.”

#sucktember2022 #day15 #dragon age #prompt fills #fanfic writing #technically sfw #gaspard de chalons #loghain mac tir #gaspard x loghain #implied sexytimes #implied hatesex #the dove isn't dead #but it's not well

9 notes · View notes

5lazarus · 4 years

Text

BTV-Artober, Day 24: Ruins

Solas resists the urge to lend wisdom to the King of Ferelden. If you liked this, read more at Overheard at the Hanged Man

The elves are sacrificing a hind under the sapling they planted in the courtyard of Tarasyl’an Telas. Their Second is leading the song, Coran of Clan Boranehn. Though half are from the Edgehall alienage, they all know the song. Some are weeping. Imladris told him that they lost a fourth of the People, first from the arl’s attack, and then from the journey to Skyhall. Solas cannot understand the words, but he watches from the edge of the crowd. Many of the elvish servants and some soldiers join in. A powerfully-built man with tapered ears joins him. Solas is surprised. It is the king of Ferelden, in plain clothes. “You’re the Inquisition’s elvhen history expert, right?” Alistair asks. “Don’t you know the words?” “No,” he says. “I don’t know this dialect.” It isn’t real, he thinks, it isn’t Elvhen, it is some corruption one thousand years after the fall of the People, when his lieutenants failed to rally the People together and they all fell in this catastrophe. He is living beyond the end of the world, and the language is grating. The mourning is grating. They do not even know what they have lost. Alistair is infernally good-natured. “Ah, not Ferelden, are you?” The king sighs. “I’d like to join, you know, but, with the Chantry what it is--my mother’s there, at least. It’s a little too elvhen nationalist for the king to sing. But it goes something like this,” he begins to singsong, badly, “ the people, Mother, the people, they slaughter the deer...poor me, I will live far from here, but our day, Mother, our day, the People’s day, our day, spring is rising…” Solas raises an eyebrow, and Alistair smiles bashfully. “It’s much prettier in Dalish. I don’t know a single elf in Ferelden who doesn’t know this song. Except you, I suppose. Very old folk song. The Chantry doesn’t like it because it’s about the Halla Mother, but,” he shrugs his shoulders, “you can’t keep us out of the Chantry and expect us to worship your god, you know?” “A rather open-minded attitude for the sovereign of Ferelden to hold,” Solas comments. He has been the counsellor of kings before. He has little interest in maneuvering Ferelden through a religious reformation. Who has the time? The Blight is here. He shifts, hoping Alistair will leave. He should not have left the rotunda. Alistair laughs a little, uncomfortable. “I’m not a king right now. Here, I’m an elf, a former servant of Arl Eamon, mourning the purging of Edgehall.” “You may have the ears of the People,” Solas says sententiously, “but that does not mean you have the soul.” He thinks to himself: you’re beginning to sound like your own father, graybeard, and that was a pedantic thing to tell a petty king, but why should I humble myself before a shadow? I have been humbled enough. I am here. I will not let the People lose its definition. We are more than a pair of pointed ears, and unending public grief. “Ugh, you’re one of those,” Alistair says. “And you’re not even Dalish.” He shakes his head and walks into the crowd, putting an arm around Fiona. Solas watches the elves mourn and feels his skin crawl with his own pettiness. They are empty, dreamless, fleeting, aping rituals their ancestors long forgot. They are less real than the certainty of Skyhold, sharp and sturdy regardless of the Veil. They might breathe, they might sing, they even pull at the Veil like a child clinging to their parent’s robes, but they cannot cause the land to bleed with their grief. They cannot sing spring into rebirth and set the seasons right. What the People are has been lost. These little folk songs will not restore it. Solas turns around, thinking: there is much to do, so little time. But it cannot be lost. It will not end with me. It cannot be lost.

#btv-artober #artober #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #fanfic #alistair #solas #skyhold #living past the end of the world #dragon age inquisition #elves #fiona #edgehall

10 notes · View notes

dalishious · 6 years

Photo

That elven solidarity ❤️

#dragon age #knight errant #vaea #city elves #dalish #boranehn #edgehall #posting panels

551 notes · View notes

dragonagegallery · 6 years

Photo

Alienage of Edgehall

From the comic Knight Errant

#Edgehall #elven #fereldan #dragon age comics #knight errant #dragon age costumes #city elves #dragon age fashion

177 notes · View notes

theluckywizard · 4 months

Text

In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 63: Turnabout

Summary: After moving on from Caer Bronach, Rose wrestles with conflicted feelings about her liaison with Hawke as they deal with red templars and debate tackling their first dragon. Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.

Excerpt below the cut 👇

But soon someone else joins living, emerging from Hawke and Varric’s tent stretching and kneading his neck, glancing around in confusion. I squint at him slightly, failing to recognize him, but he waves across the camp at me cheerfuly and smiles in such a way that I put it together. It’s Alistair, Alistair who stopped a blight, Alistair son of Maric who gave it all up for love, excavated from beneath his beard and overgrown mop of dirty blonde hair.

“My lady Inquisitor,” he says affably, peering into the mess tent like there might be something ready before settling on a log by the fire.

“I thought I was the only one who wakes at this hour around here. Scouts on watch notwithstanding.”

“I’ve been alone in that bloody cave for so long it’s ruined me. Barely slept listening to all that breathing ,” he says. He pats his clean shaven face. “And I think my cheeks were cold.”

“Who cut your hair?”

“That Tevinter fellow had all the tools. Dorian, perhaps? How do I look?”

“Your wife would approve,” I tell him, burying the obvious compliment.

“I wish she was here to,” he sighs. “Well I can’t thank you enough for plucking me from that hole. I was starting to forget what proper people looked like. What they smell like.”

“I’m not sure I’d call us proper people just yet,” I chuckle. “We’re an odd bunch.”

“I’m familiar with the odd odd bunch,” he grins. His eyes drift after the mess tent again. “I heard a rumor that there’s a wheel of Edgehall Jack around here and to partake of it before the rest of the oddballs wolf it down. I haven’t had cheese in months.”

“By all means. Our mess is your mess now.”

“Just like that? You’re a trusting lady.”

“I trust Hawke’s judgment. And your reputation precedes you,” I say. “But— I admit, I’m probably a little too trusting to be an Inquisitor.”

“You’ll be fine,” says Alistair with a wave of his hand and then considers. “Or you’ll end up munching an arsenic laced sweet roll. Who can say?” His eyes drift after the mess tent again and he rises. “I’m going to go make friends with the keeper of the food.”

#in the shattering of things #cullen x trevelyan #hawke x trevelyan #dragon age inquisition #rose trevelyan #dragon age fan fiction #garrett hawke #alistair theirin #crestwood #complicated romance #or is it?

8 notes · View notes

lavellanlove · 7 years

Text

Chubby elves are now canon!

The Knight Errant giveth, and the Knight Errant taketh away.

#Knight Errant #knight errant spoilers #clan boranehn #just pls no more goat eyes #haha #i need to update my known alienage map #if i can even find reference to where edgehall is

451 notes · View notes

heniareth · 2 years

Text

Astala Tabris as a Companion

Thank you so much @scribbledquillz for tagging me. I’ve seen a couple of these cross my dashboard and they all looked so so so cool, so I’m really extremely happy to get a shot at this XD There will be a cut because whooo boy is this a long one. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed making it ^^

As for the tagging part: I’d love to hear what you, @yukichouji and @the-iron-lion , would make out of this. However, it is a long thing and I’m therefore hesitant to tag you. So I’ll leave the tag open. If you who art reading this wouldst like to join this merry bandwagon, you are hereby tagged (I’d be very happy to be tagged back so I can have a look at your Warden as well ^^)

I’ve done a bit of an AU for Astala to make this canon compliant, so here she’s the City elf’s older sister, is married (not to Nelaros ;_; ) and has a kid.

Name: Astala Tabris

Warden status: She is not a Grey Warden

Race / Class / Specialization: Elf, dual-wielding warrior with the Champion specialization

Pronouns: She/her

Story and game mechanics

Introduction:

Astala Tabris (as a companion) is the City elf’s older sister. She was sent to Edgehall two years before the events of DA:O kick off to marry there. The whole affair was arranged rather hastily as she had gotten into trouble with the guard in Denerim one too often. Astala accepted the arrangement with apparent stalwart resolution and determined to make a good life for herself in Edgehall. Last the Tabris family heard from her, she had successfully married, had made herself at home in the Edgehall alienage and was now the proud mother of a little girl named Edhel. She didn’t reply to her wedding invitation however, which has sent the City elf’s father into a bit of a worry.

Recruitment:

On the way from Redcliffe to any other destination, the Warden will find Astala defending a group of refugees from a darkspawn scouting party. After the darkspawn are eliminated, Astala will thank the Warden, recognizing them in case they are the City elf. She will then offer her services as a warrior for the journey ahead. When asked how she ended up on the road, Astala will talk in vague terms about some sort of trouble in Edgehall and quickly change the subject. Pressing the topic further, at this point, only makes her clamp down even harder.

Where can they be found in camp?

Between Shale and the campfire, quietly humming and looking up towards the night sky.

Companion Quest:

Upon entering the Alienage during the Unrest in the Alienage quest, the Warden will meet Astala’s husband and her daughter. They have been able to flee the darkspawn horde in the south and found refuge with the Tabris family. Astala’s husband, however, shows early signs of being infected with the Blight. After finishing the Unrest at the Alienage quest, Astala will ask the Warden to inquire with Riordan if the sick elves could be put through the Joining, thus potentially saving their lives (+80 approval if the Warden agrees, -80 approval if the Warden refuses). Riordan will agree to recruit the elves if the Warden can find Denerim’s supply of archdemon blood. To do so, the Warden will have to retrieve Rendon Howe’s ledgers from the arl of Denerim’s estate. In these ledgers, Howe notated the goods seized from the Grey Wardens’ headquarters in Denerim. With the indications contained in the ledgers, the Warden can demand the return of those goods to the Grey Wardens and Riordan can proceed with the Joining Ritual. Five sick elves are willing to go through it; two of them die, while three survive it and are cured. Astala’s husband is among them. These three can be found defending the Alienage during the Battle of Denerim. After the Joining Ritual, Astala effusively thanks the Warden. She laments not being able to give anything in return but promises to stay with the Warden and accompany them to the very jaws of the archdemon if need be.

If the Warden refuses to talk to Riordan, Astala’s husband dies. If softened or never hardened, Astala will leave the Warden to take care of her daughter. She can be found defending the Alienage during the Battle of Denerim.

Can they be hardened?

She will be hardened automatically if the Warden takes her into the Deep Roads. The sheer force of the darkspawn, the oppressive ambiance, and the horror of the broodmother shake her to her very core. She will become more rash, impatient, and fearful of the growing thread of the Blight. She can be softened again if the Warden offers a sympathetic ear to her fears throughout several conversations and assures her that they will put a stop to the darkspawn’s threat, at least for the duration of their lifetime. Astala will remain fearful, but now has hope that allows her to challenge these fears and keep them from consuming her.

Gain approval by:

Helping the elven family in Lothering

Helping the orphaned boy in Lothering

Saving the blacksmith’s daughter in Redcliffe

Agreeing to look for the girl’s brother in Redcliffe

Sparing Connor and Isolde’s life in Redcliffe

Helping Nadezda in Dust Town

Convincing Zerlinda’s father to allow his daughter and grandson to return to the family

Accepting Athras’s request to look for his wife Danyla in the Brecilian Forest

Returning the amulet to the beggar in the Denerim Alienage

Freeing all elves from the slavers in the Denerim Alienage

Offering her support through her fears of the darkspawn after the Deep Roads

Gain disapproval by:

Hardening other companions

Allowing the merchant in Lothering to continue driving prices up

Seducing either Ghenya or Cammen in the Brecilian Forest

Killing enemies that have surrendered

Not saving Redcliffe

Killing Connor in Redcliffe

Allying with the werewolves and killing the Dalish

Allowing the templars to kill the mages after First Enchanter Irving has been saved

Accepting Caladrius’ Blood Ritual

Belittling her fears of the darkspawn after the Deep Roads

What gifts would they appreciate?

Astala appreciates fresh fruits, plum cakes, colourful threads and beads, which she uses to embellish and mend her clothes, as well as toys that she collects for Edhel.

Feast Day gift? (+50 approval)

A Collection of Stories and Songs from the Highever Alienage by Sarethia, hahren of the Highever Alienage. This small, cloth-bound book contains easily a hundred carefully annotated stories and songs heard in the Highever Alienage during the four decades that Sarethia has presided over it. The pages are a bit tattered and may break easily, but for anybody interested in Alienage culture, the book is worth its weight in gold. It can be found under a pile of rubble in the village of Redcliffe.

“(in awe) Where did you find this? Wait, you want me to have it? I- Thank you. Seriously.”

Feast Day prank? (-50 sapproval)

Ladylike Fighting: Proper swordplay for the well-bred gentlewoman by weaponmaster Ammoine d’Overangue. This voluminous, pompously coloured tome features various illustrations of dainty ladies holding dainty swords accompanied by poetic and verbose descriptions. The good weaponmaster, obviously of Orlesian heritage, seems intent on reforming the art of fighting for women in a country where they have as long a tradition in the military as men. The author loudly bemoans the fruitlessness of his efforts every second page.

“(scoffs) You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you looking for a fight? I’ll show you ladylike.”

Can they be romanced?

No. Attempts to flirt will be met with a laugh and the polite request not to flirt further. If prompted about it, Astala will explain that she is married and intends to stay true to the promise she made on her wedding day. If prompted, she will share some stories about her little family. It is clear that she loves her daughter very much and has grown fond of her husband. Leaving them behind has been a terribly difficult choice to make. If the Warden inquires, they find out that Astala left Edgehall because she had once again gotten into trouble with the local guard and didn’t want her family to be dragged into the conflict.

Flirtatious dialogue choices are not an option if the Warden is the City elf.

Would they be interested in sex?

No, same as above. Any offer will be met with an insistent reminder of her rejection of any flirtations. If the reminder is ignored, it will result in approval loss.

Is there a gift will they give to their partner the Warden?

If the Warden is the City elf and her approval is at +15 or higher, Astala will gift them a ring that once belonged to their mother. She will give them the option to keep it for themselves or to gift it to any romanced companion.

How do they react if another companion is being romanced?

If the Warden is the City elf, Astala has some comments and wisdom to impart upon them as the romance with another companion unfolds. I will keep this is a separate post for each companion, as I wrote the whole dialogue out and it is… rather long ^^’

If Alistair is romanced

If Leliana is romanced

If Morrigan is romanced

If Zevran is romanced

What companions do they…

1. Like the most?

Alistair, Zevran, Leliana and Shale. She enjoys Alistair’s rambling, Zevran’s quick wit, Leliana’s enthusiasm, and Shale’s sarcasm

2. Flirt with?

None of them. She will laugh at Zevran’s flirtations and occasionally reciprocate, but generally she will keep herself away from such banter.

3. Just get along?

Morrigan, Wynne, Sten and the dog. She tries to engage Morrigan several times in friendly conversation but backs off whenever the Morrigan gets prickly and ends up leaving her mostly alone. Her relationship with Wynne never really progresses past amicable. She sort of admires Sten, but their interactions leave her more puzzled than anything else. She is terribly wary of the dog at first and only gradually gets used to his company.

4. Start a rivalry with?

Oghren, although the rivalry is on friendly terms. She finds in Oghren somebody with whom she can trade insults back and forth and be as rough and tumble as she wants to be. Sometimes, however, it escalates, and she has to rein them both back in.

Does Shale have a name for them?

The colorful elf

What’s their opinion on handling the Blight?

Before the Deep Roads:

“The Blight seems to be something pretty serious. There are so many people fleeing, losing everything, being slaughtered by darkspawn… On one hand, it’s hard to forget about it when you’re confronted with it almost every day, but on the other hand it’s terribly unreal. It’s something that only happens in stories, y’know? A great enemy rises and a few sworn companions band together to defeat it. But it sure doesn’t feel like a story when you live through it.”

After the Deep Roads (if Astala is in the Warden’s party):

“I’m going to be honest with you: I’m scared out of my mind. I keep thinking I’m back in those tunnels. There are so many of them. So, so many. How are we ever going to stop this? But we have to. I can’t have my daughter grow up in a Blight. Those beasts would eat her alive, and Edgehall is so close to the Frostback Mountains. It has to stop, no matter the cost.”

What allies do they wish to seek aid from? (Would they rather preserve the mages in the tower to gain their assistance? Would they rather assist Harrowmont to get the support of the Dwarves? Etc.)

Astala doesn’t have many strong opinions on who to seek aide from, preferring to follow the maxime “the more the merrier”. The only notable preferences she shows is in favor of the Dalish over the werewolves and in favor of the mages over the templars after the tower has been cleared and Irving has been saved.

Is there anything that would make them turn on the party?

If Astala has been softened again after the trip into the Deep Roads, or if she has never gone into the Deep Roads in the first place and thus not been hardened, she will turn on the Warden if they accept Caladrius’ Blood Ritual. This happens no matter if the Warden is the City elf or not, and she will fight to the death.

If Astala has been hardened and the process has not been reversed, she can be persuaded or intimidated into not turning on the Warden, either by pressing her fear of the darkspawn or by reminding her of the daughter that is waiting for her return. Doing so will result in a massive approval loss and Astala will hate herself from that point on. Her approval cannot be raised higher than 0.

If Astala is not in the Warden’s party when dealing with the slavers, she will automatically appear after the Warden has dealt with the group of slavers outside of the hospice. She will request to be allowed to accompany them. The Warden can then integrate her into their party or deny the request, gaining or losing a small amount of approval. If the request is denied, she will follow the party and reveal herself as soon as the Warden reaches Caladrius.

What do they do following the Blight (if they had an Epilogue Card what would it say)?

[If her Companion quest has been completed]

Astala and her husband would go on to play key roles in the reestablishment of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, welcoming and training new recruits. The small family would follow the Grey Wardens to their new residence in Amaranthine. [If Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has been accepted] Even so, their relation to the Wardens would be frigid and based solely on duty. Neither of them could forget the hurt from the sacrifices made to end the Fifth Blight. [If Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has not been accepted] They would become a great source of strength for the newly appointed Warden-Commander, as well as important spokespeople for the elves before the people of Ferelden.

[If her Companion quest has not been completed]

Astala would remain in Denerim with her daughter, putting all her efforts into rebuilding the Alienage. Although it would never return to its former state during her lifetime, her efforts would not be in vain; under the leadership of its bann, the Denerim Alienage would become a point of interest among all City elves in Ferelden. [If Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has been accepted] Even so, their relation to the Wardens would be frigid at best. Astala couldn’t forget the hurt from the sacrifices made to end the Fifth Blight. [If Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has not been accepted] Astala would also become a spokesperson for the Grey Wardens among the City elves. She kept in touch with the newly appointed Warden-Commander, and would counsel any City elf that felt called to join the Grey Wardens on their decision.

❗️Special Events❗️

Mage Tower: What vision is created to trick them while in the Fade?

She is at the City elf’s house in Denerim with her daughter and husband. She says she is visiting the Tabris family, including the City elf’s mother, who disappeared almost a decade ago.

Haven: What does The Guardian say about them before beginning the trial?

“Astala Tabris, you fled your home to save your daughter from the quarrelsome reputation that has been your mothers’ legacy. But in doing so, have you really saved your child or only abandoned her the same way that you were abandoned?”

What is their reaction to finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes?

“(in awe) If the Urn is real, and if that was really Shartan’s ghost, or a memory, or whathaveyou… Do you know what that means for us elves?”

Denerim: Do they have any parting words before the final battle with the Darkspawn?

[If hardened and Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has been accepted]

“I suppose this is the moment for some encouraging words. But if I’m to be honest, courage has become a stranger to me. I hope death only finds us after we’ve killed that beast up there, and I hope it’s quick. That’s all I have for you.”

[If hardened and Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has not been accepted]

“Listen, this is hardly the time to talk. Every second we waste will only bring more death and destruction. But, for what it’s worth, thank you for bringing us this far. Thank you for everything. I hope we can end this. I hope I’m enough.”

[If softened and Caladrius’ Blood Ritual has not been accepted]

(To any Warden but the City elf)

“So, here we are. It is like in the stories after all. Are you at all nervous? I know I am. Having you lead us, however, is a comfort. So be nervous all you have to but never doubt that I’ll be right behind you. For all the terrible things that have happened, being able to stand by your side has been an honor and a privilege. May the Maker’s Bride watch over you.”

(To the City elf Warden)

“So, here we are. It is like in the stories mother used to tell us, remember? Only she apparently left out how scared you can be before going into battle. I don’t know about you, but I’m terrified. If it weren’t for having you as our leader, I’d probably be running for the hills right now (laughs nervously). I guess what I’m trying to say is… be nervous all you have to but never doubt that I’ll be right behind you. You are a bright star amidst the darkness for us. You should be proud of yourself; I know I am. I love you very much. Now let’s go kick that archdemon’s ass.”

If they can be spoken to after the battle during the celebration, do they mention what they’re going to do next?

If Astala’s Companion quest has been completed, she asks the Warden where the Grey Wardens will take up headquarters in Ferelden and tells them she will probably see them there since her husband is now also part of the order.

If Astala’s Companion quest has not been completed, she will stay in Denerim to help rebuild the Alienage and support the new bann in their tasks with all the knowledge she has gained during her travels.

Awakening: Do they return to help at Vigil’s Keep? Or does a letter arrive to the Keep to just check in?

If Astala’s Companion quest has been completed, she will journey with her family to Amaranthine. The Warden-Commander will find her and her husband, now an acting Grey Warden, at the Keep.

If Astala’s Companion quest has not been completed and her approval by the end of the game is at +15 or higher, a letter will arrive at Vigil’s Keep detailing the reconstruction efforts at the Denerim Alienage, wishing the Warden-Commander good luck, and inviting them to visit her in Denerim whenever they may have the time.

---

Whew, that was quite a thing. I think this is the longest post I’ve made up to date? Anyway, on to the next bit! Again, thank you so much for the tag!

#astala tabris #warden tabris #OC as PC #dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da: o #da:o #da: origins #dragon age oc #i spent way too much time on this but man has it been fun

27 notes · View notes