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theluckywizard · 7 months

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OC SITUATION PROMPT, for Rose and Thalia (cousinverse Trevelyan interaction?): "A relative passes away, and you inherit their creepy, isolated mansion." from the spooky prompts + "A basket full of embrium and blood lotus" from the Artifacts of Thedas?

A double prompt OC/ OC prompt for @nirikeehan and @melisusthewee for @dadrunkwriting! Please enjoy Chapter 1 of my yet to be named Spooky Castle fic featuring Rose Trevelyan, Thalia Trevelyan and Quinn Trevelyan, the oddball cousins chosen by their oddball Aunt Lucille to inherit her sprawling estate in Highever. Set in Niri's Temperance and Templars AU! WC: 2615 Rating: Mature CW: Some spooky body horror Characters: Rose Trevelyan, Thalia Trevelyan, Quinn Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford

They stare at each other curiously across the dim span of the carriage, two practical strangers bumping and jostling toward a peculiar shared destination. Velvet curtains in Trevelyan colors buffet against the grasping clutches of a Fereldan Harvestmere. And though the carriage is opulent enough to be afforded sizable windows, the sun is oppressed under a layer of gloom and the pair sit in a darkness that defies the hour. A cumbersome silence lurches between them, their glances doing the bulk of their conversation.

The two women had been the unwitting beneficiaries of a dreadful mishap involving a flower arrangement, a step ladder and a pair of pruning shears. The victim in question was their mutual relative Lucille Trevelyan, an eccentric, abrasive woman who had retreated from the Free Marches to Ferelden on the remains of the substantial fortune her dead husband had left her. There she reveled in a brazen sort of freedom and isolation that made her the subject of savage speculation. Mysterious parties with unsavory guests. A predilection for non-human companions. Morsels of truth that grew into bombastic, indulgent tales on the lips of horrified relatives.

Through some miraculous oversight of property law, Lucille’s sprawling estate in Highever tumbled into the hands of her two unmarried nieces who, having only seen each other as children, now appraise each other with wary glances.

Nobody could doubt the relation. Though Lady Rose’s face is long and angular while Lady Thalia’s cheeks are nigh cherubic, they both bear striking red hair, eyes as blue as the bottom of the Waking Sea and a spray of freckles that betrays their shared appreciation for the outdoors.

Thalia rankles that her cousin appears to have dodged the infamous Trevelyan nose, a pronounced little bend in the bridge that marks most in the family while Rose envies the perfect oval of Thalia’s face. Thalia’s hair is pinned in carefully organized plaits, the kind of elaborate arrangement that requires a second set of hands while Rose’s streaks in a long braid over her shoulder, strands of her hair wildly mismanaged. Indeed, the whole effect of Rose’s look and countenance is one of having given up, an impetuous disregard for all the expectations carefully bred into Thalia in her tidy capelet and proper frock.

“Did you know Aunt Lucille well?” asks Thalia after lightly clearing her throat.

“Mostly in the abstract. Speaking in hushed tones about her was one of my mother’s favorite past times,” replies Rose, stretching her leather-clad legs across the carriage. Thalia regard’s her cousin’s rather dashing hunting outfit with a twinge of jealousy. If only she had the nerve to exist with such forcible disregard.

“I assume our mothers could have entertained each other for hours,” Thalia answers, a smile emerging tentatively. “Though never around our fathers, I suspect.”

“It’s true, Father had a soft spot for his renegade sister,” Rose says, laughing softly into her lap. “And from what it looks like, Lucille had a soft spot for renegade nieces.”

Thalia’s head jerks up at that, trying to assess what Rose could mean, what she might be able to detect. Rose tilts her head slightly, amused by the strength of the reaction.

“Come, you didn’t think I couldn’t figure out what that that strapping bodyguard was all about, did you?” asks Rose. “I won’t tell.”

Thalia isn’t sure if Rose is picking up on the truth or suspects her of something far more salacious. And to some degree of surprise, the latter doesn’t bother her in the least.

“I— he’s— father thought we could use some protection,” fumbles Thalia, but her cheeks betray her. Rose smiles out the window, peeking at Thalia’s guardian who rides dutifully alongside the carriage, her knowing smile landing on Thalia with such force that she finds herself staring at her lap.

“Suit yourself. I’m just happy there’s something pleasant to look at other than this dreary, blighted countryside. Your father did us a favor,” she says with a smirk. Thalia can’t help but match it as her eyes fall upon him with a flutter of affection. Ser Cullen bobs along at a trot, his handsome features tied up in an expression that is somehow both resigned and exasperated. The soggy weather could do that all on its own though the task itself, an unanticipated jaunt across the Waking Sea to a strange estate might be a contributor as well.

“What if we don’t want any part of this estate?” Rose asks.

“From what I understand we’re stuck with it.”

“We can’t sell it?”

“I don’t believe so. But the lawyer is meeting us there and we can ask him.”

“Well. Let’s hope it’s interesting at least. If it’s nice enough maybe we can leave our dreadful families behind and live like a pair of queens,” Rose says. “I’m nearly thirty and my mother is still trying to marry me off to the highest bidder.”

It’s a fairly novel thought to Thalia, deviating from her prescribed path, though her own circumstances have forced her to consider what manner of prosperous marriage she could possibly secure. Perhaps Lucille was onto something, living her best life as an independently wealthy woman away from the suffocating scrutiny of her own family. Maker knows Thalia would like to break from hers.

oOo

Rose snorts as they rumble into view of the estate, the kind of ancient country refuge with hollow little windows that watch them from its soulless depths. How Aunt Lucille spent so many years in darkness is bloody beyond her. She watches her younger cousin marvel at it, her blue eyes wide and searching, following the crenelated edge of the parapets and up the little towers that punctuate the line of the roof.

“Maker, it looks several ages old. Have you seen any documentation on it? I’d like to know the history behind it,” Thalia says, puzzling it out like studying it could make it less hostile in its impression.

“I’m sure there will be a steward to enlighten you on such matters,” says Rose, her lips turning softly at Thalia’s genuine curiosity. “Maker knows they can ramble on.”

“Oh I’d be delighted if they did,” Thalia answers, her continued enthusiasm defying Rose’s cynicism. “And with any luck, Aunt Lucille kept up with her library!”

“Let that be our first incursion then. I suspect she had more interesting tastes than our own parents.”

The carriage rumbles and crackles to a stop on the gravel drive and Thalia and Rose are both startled to see a man clad in deep red and gold stretched long across a garden wall, his feathered cap pulled low over his eyes as if sunning himself pointlessly beneath the heavy stratus of the sky. If it weren’t for a pipe bouncing slightly in his teeth, they might believe him dead. The carriage seems to have barely stirred his interest.

“What do you think? Is that our lawyer?” asks Rose, tossing a secret smirk to Thalia. Thalia wonders if this is what it’s like to have a normal sister.

“You there, Ser,” calls Ser Cullen in his honeyed tenor. “Are you expecting the Ladies Thalia and Rose Trevelyan?” Rose’s knowing smile finds Thalia again.

“Nice voice,” she remarks. Thalia bites her bottom lip and then lets a tiny laugh pop through her nose at last.

“It really is,” she says, the admission spilling from her like a dam breaking.

They watch as the lounging man’s leg falls from the wall, swinging gently and he lifts himself languidly, emerging from under his cap, squinting at the carriage. He laughs, shaking his head as Cullen rides closer. Their discussion is muffled but the women can still see him.

“Oh no,” says Thalia, almost reflexively. “It’s cousin Quinn.”

“Quinn? The Quinn? No. It can’t be. I thought he was in Markham living off the dregs of the tourney.”

“Not anymore. From what understand he is a tourney knight now. Look— the rosettes at his waist. Those are the sort won in the archery tournaments. And the feathers in his cap are those of some manner of exotic bird from Seheron. An Ostrich I believe? They’re only given to those with enough points in the Grand Tourney.”

“You gathered that from all those bits and bobs he’s wearing?” asks Rose, her brow high. “Well if he’s wearing them all at once the rumors about him being a shameless showboat are true.”

They emerge from the oppressive darkness of the carriage, their maladapted eyes wincing at the light diffusing through the gloom. Thalia shakes out the rumples in her skirts and reorganizes her capeand then glances around appraisingly. Rose takes a few brash steps out behind her and draws her shoulders high around her ears, pulling her wool cowl up over her chin.

“I think Ferelden is trying to burrow its way inside me,” she mutters with a little shudder.

Ser Cullen dismounts from his handsome black Forder and makes his way back to the women with the third Trevelyan. Cousin Quinn makes a foppish bow before them, removing his soft cap from a head of golden locks with a flutter of Ostrich plume. His smile is thrust to one side in such a way that both women are sure he must be at least some measure the impish layabout they’d heard he was.

“I can think of several things worse than sharing an estate with my two beautiful young cousins,” he declares as if it’s a great compliment. Rose raises her brow at his cheek. Thalia gapes. They each catch a whiff of brandy on his breath. He winks at them both. “Quinn Trevelyan, at your service.”

“Do you always wink at your relations?” asks Rose tartly, folding her arms.

“If you’re afraid I’m singling you out, I do it to everyone,” Quinn says, his smirk outstripping Rose’s own in its utter brazenness. His blue eyes shine like the only bit of open sky in this cursed place and he turns to Thalia’s scowling bodyguard and pitches him another cheeky little wink. Rose’s eyebrow raises high again. Ser Cullen’s handsome features vanish under a cranky glare, the set of his mouth a rebuke all its own. He reaches for the back of his neck and paces anxiously back and forth beside the three Trevelyans.

“So you’ve inherited as well,” remarks Thalia, impatient to get down to business.

Quinn flashes an inscrutable grin and reaches into the breast pocket of his velvet doublet withdrawing a haphazardly folded bit of paper of the same expensive heft as the ones that each Thalia and Rose received. The women look it over together, exchange a glance and then shrug. Little has changed for them. What’s one more stranger to quibble over a castle with?

“Splendid. I wonder who else we can expect. Aside from all the grasping imps who will soon hear of our fortune,” quips Rose, her eyes sweeping up a stretch of mossy masonry, eerily verdant, seemingly the only pop of color in the whole of the estate save the new arrivals.

Ser Cullen, whose pacing has grown only more frenetic stills himself long enough to inform the three of his intention.

“I’d like to sweep the perimeter. Lord Trevelyan informs me—“

“—there’s no one home,” finishes Quinn, replacing his cap and glancing up at the castle.

“No steward? No lawyer?” asks Thalia, a tic of consternation marring her brow. “No staff? No housekeeper? Who is maintaining the grounds?”

“Do they look maintained?” asks Quinn, sipping placidly from a small flask he’d withdrawn from his interior pocket.

“Perhaps Aunt Lucille liked things a little wild,” Rose remarks, making her way toward the entry with leisurely, tentative steps, waiting for the others to follow.

“Her reputation is a sterling testament to that,” remarks Quinn. “I heard her Qunari lover was a Ben Hassreth spy.”

“Really, Quinn,” huffs Thalia.

“Certainly no more shocking than absconding with one’s fetching Templar guardian, I should think,” he says, his eyes brimming with delight. Rose’s eyes dart to Thalia’s so quickly that the youngest Trevelyan fumbles for an answer. She tugs her gloves onto her hands more firmly. “Don’t worry,” Quinn says, turning a sly glance from Thalia to Cullen who is striding away at a forceful clip. “I won’t tell.” Thalia rolls her eyes and grumbles softly to herself, applying herself to the situation at hand to stuff down the fluster inside her.

They approach the great oaken door that’s broader than all three of them abreast, all amused by the comically small keyhole that secures it. Quinn braces both hands against the door and jostles it but the lock holds fast. Shocking neither Thalia nor Rose, he breaks out a tidy little set of lockpicking tools and sets to work feeling for the pins.

“You’re a mage?” hisses Rose, pulling Thalia aside pointlessly. The secret is out.

“Don’t worry, my keeper is here. You’re in no danger,” Thalia answers and there’s an edge of bitterness to her tone that most might miss, but Rose nods slightly, her expression soft. Not the sympathy Thalia expected, but then neither cousin seemed to be cut from the same stiff cloth as the rest of the family.

“I’m just— surprised is all,” she says quietly, memories of her older brother drifting in wraith-like. Rose wonders passingly if Thalia knew anything of their dark secret.

“Bastard of a lock, this one, but I think—“ Quinn eases his hand gently in a rotating motion. “—that should do it. Rusted probably.”

“Rust? She can’t have been dead that long,” says Rose.

“Perhaps there’s a side entrance she used,” suggests Thalia.

“At any rate,” Quinn says, standing to give the door a stiff shove. It swings inward on a deep and contrary groan, the laden air of Highever rushing in as if the dwelling yawns. “Shall we?”

They step in tentatively, simultaneously, surveying their inheritance side by side. A pair of staircases curl and cling along the back wall of the grand foyer, a space so suffocated by dust and cobwebs that it’s no wonder the castle inhaled. The center of the space is marked by an unusual table made from the twisted trunk of a great tree. Spread over it are dried leaves and stems. At first glance it appears haphazard, as if someone had left their herbalism workbench in the midst of a project. But a closer inspection reveals patterns, intentionally arranged. The three stand over it, shaking their heads, marveling at it even as their skin prickles. Even as their breath freezes in their lungs.

“Perhaps Lucille is playing a prank,” says Rose, apprehension nibbling at the edges of her mood. The whole atmosphere of the place feels hungry, having drawn them in. The door finally shuts again, the long moan of the hinges silencing with a thunk, closed in behind teeth.

“Blood lotus. Embrium,” mutters Thalia, hovering her fingers, tracing the shapes in the air. “These symbols— I’ve seen things like this before. In my books— the ones I had Father secure for me.”

“Maker’s breath!” cries Ser Cullen, his boots scuffling as he hurries into the gaping foyer behind them from some manner of side room. “Lady Thalia, come back with me. All of you— step back.” They stumble back, submitting automatically to the authority that steels the Templar’s voice and they follow his gaze up. Cullen loops an arm around Thalia protectively, his sword singing as it unsheathes.

They all stare, transfixed. Swinging gently on the residual breath of Ferelden air, hangs a man in the sort of staid finery one might expect of a professional. His bloated face gray, his eyes unblinking.

“Well then,” says Quinn swallowing. “This must be the lawyer.”

#Trevelyan cousinverse #Dragon Age Fan Fiction #Cullen Rutherford #Temperance and Templars #cullen x trevelyan #Thalia Trevelyan #Quinn Trevelyan #Rose Trevelyan #Spooky Fic #Gothic Mystery #cullenmance

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