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allisondraste · 4 years

Text

Temperance 42/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: Epilogue!!

Author Note: Well, my friends. Here we are at the end of a journey that has lasted just over a year. When I started writing this story, I had no idea just exactly what it would mean to me. I had no clue that anyone would read it, let alone that I would have the amount of support and encouragement that I have ended up having. Temperance has seen me through some incredibly difficult times, and through some really good ones too. I am both sad that it is coming to an end, and thrilled at the confidence I've gained to start other projects.

I just want to start out by saying a humongous thank you to each and every one of my readers (whether you've left comments or just read and enjoyed silently). I appreciate you all immensely. You have made this journey all the more while.

I also want to thank all of the people who have supported me behind the scenes. Helping me plan, and plot, and taking a vested interest in my characters and my story, but also in me and my growth as a writer and a person. I don't have to name any names, you all know you are, and you rock. :D

This is by far the end of Nathaniel and Liss' story. It's just the beginning, and I have a lot of adventures planned for them going forward, but I'm also really excited to focus on some new things in the same worldstate.

I'm also excited to read more and support others as I've been supported.

Anyway, this is not the Oscars... but I couldn't close this chapter of my life without acknowledging the people who helped me get there.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Dearest Baby Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well. I will be honest, I am more than a little upset that I had to learn about your choice to leave your position in Denerim and join the Grey Wardens from Queen Anora, and not you. Why did you not write to me? Were you afraid that I would lecture you on how foolish it is? That I would disapprove because father never entertained the idea? None of that is true. We have been through so much hardship in the past year, I want you to do whatever you need to feel happy again. If that means fighting darkspawn until you rot, then I pity the darkspawn who dare to cross you.

Anyway, enough of that. I would much rather talk about Nathaniel. If you’re with Wardens now, then you must have had ample time to talk with him. To tell him about that torch you still carry for him. Or, you know, at least kick his arse for leaving you in the dark all those years. In all seriousness, I do hope that you two have had a real conversation about everything. I love you both, and you care too damn much about each other to let it all slip away. I’ll stop lecturing you, but I eagerly await your reply.

And now to the real reason why I’ve written: I have a surprise for you— one that I cannot possibly keep secret a moment longer. In fact, I am disappointed that I am not getting to tell you the news in person to see the look on your face, but you deserve to know.

I found Bear!

I didn’t tell you this before. Didn’t want to get your hopes up prematurely, but as soon as I returned to Highever, I put out a reward for his return. As it turns out, the old boy was living with a young family just on the outskirts of the teyrnir. They told me they found him injured not long after Howe took control, noticed the laurels on his collar right away, but feared returning him to the castle for obvious reasons. They nursed him back to health and let him get all fat and lazy, but they were excited to be able to send him home. I almost couldn’t get them to take the reward.

He’s watching me write this letter right now, actually. It’s like he knows it’s you— I think the bloody hound can read! On his behalf, I implore you to come visit as soon as you’re able. He simply isn’t satisfied with my meager attempts at belly rubs, and I grow weary.

I wouldn’t mind seeing you as well, Sis. You’re welcome home any time. Your room will always be there for you.

Love,

Fergus (and Bear)

P.S. Bring Nate. We have catching up to do.

Dear Fergus,

When I received your letter, I had to read it several times. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I truly thought Bear had died when he and I got separated during the ambush. That you found him… Brother, I do not know that I could ever repay you for what it means to me. I suppose I shall have to forgive you for calling me “baby” sister. I am not a baby, even if I am currently crying like one.

I am sorry that I did not write sooner. I have been more than a little preoccupied. Joining the Grey Wardens takes more than just some paperwork, though I am forbidden to say any more than that. I am doing well, though. I feel better than I have in quite some time. The Wardens have given me a new purpose, a new place to belong that I didn’t feel in Anora’s council. I was never exactly suited for the affairs of the court. I finally found my chance to get away. I think that I will fit in well here, with these Wardens of Amaranthine. They are a quirky lot, but they’re good people.

And Nate’s here. He says hello.

I am pleased to report that we did, in fact, talk. About everything, and at great length. We are not the same as we were when we were younger. Things are different and more difficult now, but you’re right. We care too much about one another to give up on something just because it isn’t as easy as it would have been without…. everything that happened. We’re together now, in case that wasn’t clear. It feels good to finally say that in writing, outloud. I wonder what Mama and Papa would think. I’m sure they would approve. They loved Nate, too.

Anyway, look at me, gibbering on like this is my journal or something. Hey— at least it will save you the trouble of having to actually read my journal.

You could always visit us here, you know. Delilah will be returning to Ferelden in Drakonis, and I believe there will be some sort of formal celebration to mark the transition of power. You should come.

Love,

Liss.

P.S. The reason Bear isn’t satisfied with your belly rubs is because he prefers scratches on his rear. Tell him he’s a good boy for me, and that I’ll see him soon.

[The following note was found on a slip of parchment stuck in between the pages of a novel]

Liss— Finished reading your book. I liked it, though the main protagonist was completely unbelievable. Nobody likes cheese that much. Well, at least nobody I’ve ever met.

By the way, have I mentioned that I am glad you and Nathaniel got things sorted. It would have been a damn shame if you had broken the eternally binding contract of a pinky swear.

[Scrawled at the bottom of the note was a tiny arrow, indicating that there was more written on the back.]

I got a letter from Bria. She is doing well and told me to tell you hello.

— Alistair

Dear Ser Ben,

It is “Ser” now, is it not? Unless of course you followed my poor example and left your training to pursue some sort of fruitless revenge, which is highly unlikely, so I am going to assume that you earned your knighthood. Congratulations, my friend. I am proud of you.

I promised that I would write to you, so here I am, keeping that promise. I know that you must be terribly surprised, considering my poor record for correspondence. I apologize that it has taken this long to send word to you. I have been rather busy since I returned to Ferelden. I spent months in hiding, plotting revenge against the Grey Wardens who destroyed my family, but when it was time to follow through with those plans I changed my mind. A trespasser in my own home, I wanted nothing more than to retrieve some heirlooms and leave, fade away into obscurity for good. Unfortunately, I was captured, imprisoned for theft, and conscripted into the Wardens to spare me execution. I’ve had my hands full with darkspawn and other duties ever since.

As horrific as that all sounds, the Wardens have actually been my salvation, a chance to make my family name something to be proud of again. The Warden-Commander is not the monster I had believed her to be. She is young and inexperienced, but thoughtful and wise beyond her years. My father, on the other hand, was twice the monster I thought he was. All my life I knew he was a hateful, selfish man, but I did not realize the lengths to which he would go for power and wealth. To think that I ever defended him. Disgusting.

Do you remember Liss, the one you always called my “Fereldan lass?” I am certain that you do, considering how much you enjoyed teasing me about her. Anyway, her family and mine have been allies since the rebellion, and they were murdered in their own home upon my father’s command. For months I believed Liss had died as well, but both she and her brother live, and now she is among the Grey Wardens here in Ferelden.

I finally confessed my feelings to her, apologized for everything. She forgave me, and now we’re… together. It seems surreal to say, but I thought you would be pleased to know.

That is more than enough about me and my woes. How have you been, my friend? I hope that you are staying out of trouble and also out of married womens’ beds. Remember what happened the last time? I’ve told Liss about you and some of your amorous adventures. She is excited to meet you someday. I think that you two will be fast friends.

I miss you, Ben. I hope that our paths will cross soon.

Take care,

Nathaniel

P.S. Have you been in contact with Erina? I know it isn’t any of my concern, but I hope she is all right.

Dear Nate,

Andraste’s knickers! It’s really you. You really wrote to me. I can hardly believe my eyes. I waited a bit, but after months of nothing, I thought for sure you’d forgotten me. I’m glad to learn that you didn’t. Sorry about the other stuff though. It’s a damn shame what happened to your lass’ family, and what happened to yours.

Arrested? Nearly executed? Conscripted? And here I thought you were a model of lawful behavior. I am kidding of course. I know it’s been a difficult time for you, and I’m sure your head hasn’t been screwed on properly since you learned about your old man. It’s good you found your place, and something to give you a purpose. As much as I miss you, you were miserable here. It was obvious to anyone who talked to you for more than five minutes.

Of course I remember your Fereldan lass, the love of your life and object of your undying affection. How could I possibly forget? It’s like you had your own little personal rain cloud with her name all over it. Is that gone? Now that you’ve got her, that is? I hope you can finally be happy. You deserve it.

Glad to hear that she finds my amorous adventures entertaining. Someone ought to. I personally did not enjoy getting my arse kicked by the cheese merchant. Twice. It’s not my fault his wife told me he was dead! I’ve managed to avoid anything of the sort for almost a year now. I thought my image needed a bit of a change once I was knighted. Figured it was about time I be respectable.

That, and Ri glares at me disapprovingly whenever she finds out I’ve done something unscrupulous. She returned to Starkhaven when I did. Said she didn’t want to leave me unsupervised, but I know that’s not the truth. She’s scared to be alone, and I don’t blame her. I’ve been watching her back, and she’s watching mine. She’s a good friend, and I think she’d be happy to know you asked about her. I know you’ve got it in your head that she hates you, but she doesn’t. She cares about you, but the past is the past. Last time we talked about it, she said she met someone in Denerim and that they’re staying in touch. Some blacksmith or something.

Anyway, it’s really good to hear from you, Nate. Make sure you find me if your Warden duties ever bring you up to the Marches! I’ll buy you and that lass of yours a pint on the king’s tab. Not really— but you get the sentiment.

Don’t be a stranger!

Love,

Ben

Dear Nathaniel,

I am certain that you are already aware that I will be returning to Ferelden in Drakonis. Albert and I planned on leaving just after we received Queen Anora’s letter, but the baby came much earlier than expected, and he was ill for weeks. I had to recover as well. Now, we have a happy, healthy baby boy: Aidan Nathaniel Howe. Aidan, after Albert’s grandfather, his hero, and Nathaniel after mine (I know you’re scowling, and stop it. It’s rude). We decided to give him the Howe name to make his status as the heir amply known.

Ha! Heirs. Succession. It seems so strange to be thinking about all of those things now doesn’t it? I never thought that our family would have any claim to Amaranthine again, and now… it’s all in my hands. Maker, I wish Thomas were still alive to see it. As much as he tormented me when we were younger, I miss him dearly.

Anyway, I just thought you would want to know about your nephew.

See you soon.

Love,

Delilah

Dear Delilah,

I am happy to hear that both you and the baby are doing well. No, I am not scowling that you gave him my name. I do not believe I am worthy of such an honor as I have not exactly been the world’s most present older brother, but I accept it graciously nonetheless. It means a lot to me, Sister. I am looking forward to meeting him.

So is Liss, which is an entirely different topic, isn’t it?

Weeks after I visited you in Amaranthine, and completely by coincidence, I rescued Fergus from some refugee bandits. He told me that Liss survived. I know I should have written to you about it at that very moment. She is your friend too, after all. To no one’s surprise, I handled my emotions poorly, and I have been working to get everything sorted out ever since. I hope the news of her survival will make you happy enough that you are not too cross with me about not telling you sooner.

See you soon.

Love,

Nathaniel

P.S. I miss Thomas, too.

Dear Thomas, How long do you intend to keep our sister in the dark about your survival? I hope not indefinitely because I cannot stand lying to her about something so serious. She loves you and deserves better.

There will be a formal celebration at the beginning of Drakonis. If I were you, I would make certain that my arse was there.

Love, Nathaniel

Vigil's Keep - Drakonis, 9:32 Dragon

Nathaniel stood at his mirror, adjusting his collar and making himself look presentable. At first, he had loathed the notion of individually tailored Warden formal wear on principle, however, he could not argue that the blue dovetail overcoat— adorned with silver filigree patterns on the chest, collar, shoulders, and cuffs— suited him. He could hardly remember owning anything so nice, even as a child when he was paraded about in front of his well-to-do Bryland grandmother like a tragic little doll. The designer was indeed remarkable at her craft.

The past few days had been eventful, to say the very least. Two days prior, Fergus had shown up at the keep with a very large mabari in tow, who was overjoyed to be reunited with Liss, who appeared to return the sentiment. She had greeted Bear, as she called him, before she ever said a word to Fergus. Nathaniel offered him an apology, but Fergus claimed to have expected as much from his sister. They spent several hours catching up while Liss wrestled with the dog on the floor, chiming in to the conversation as she deemed fit. It felt almost like old times.

Then, just the day before, Delilah and her family arrived safely from across the Waking Sea. Her husband, Albert, was a tall, stout man with dark blonde hair and a full beard. Despite his imposing appearance, he was soft spoken and genial, doting tenderly upon Aidan while Delilah talked to Liss. He was the complete opposite of Father in every way. There was no question as to why Delilah adored him.

Aidan was a beautiful baby with dark eyes and a head full of raven hair. He was not incredibly fond of meeting new people, however, fussing and crying when Nathaniel and Liss tried to hold him. Liss had managed to console him, bouncing on her heels and humming. She was tearful, clearly thinking about her own nephew, but she managed to hold it together until later that evening. Nathaniel held her while she cried, and promised her that envy did not make her a bad person.

Now, he was simply biding time until Delilah’s celebration began, attempting to ignore the ache in his chest and the years of painful memories he had come to associate with noble gatherings. Rationally, he could tell himself that this was different, that father was no longer alive to torment him, and that it was going to be fun. However, there seemed to be no convincing himself of that emotionally. Dread loomed over him, like a dark cloud foreboding a storm, but dissipated quickly when there was a knock at the door.

“Yes,” he asked as he pulled the door open, recoiling when it was not a uniformed guard as he expected, but rather an elf in dark armor with an unusual facial tattoo spanning his left temple and cheek bone, “Who are you?”

“The Warden-Commander told me you would be suspicious, and you did not disappoint.” The man let out a hearty laugh before continuing. “I am Zevran Arainai, at your service. I met your father once. He hired me to kill dear Lucia, a mission I am pleased to have failed.”

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “You’re an assassin?”

“ Was an assassin,” he corrected, “Now, I kill assassins. A much better profession, no?”

“Can I help you?”

“Right, right,” Zevran said with another laugh, “Straight to the point. There are two things. First, Lucia asked me to tell you she needs to speak with you before the festivities begin. She is waiting up on the battlements.”

“She couldn’t have just sent a guard?” A smirk twitched on Nathaniel’s lips.

“Well, I had a delivery to make, and since I was coming to find you anyway…”

“A delivery?”

The elf grinned mischievously and glanced to his left, nodding at something or someone who stood next to him. He stepped to the side and another figure took his place, face obscured by a dark hood. The figure reached up to pull back the hood, and Nathaniel’s breath caught in his throat as familiar blue eyes stared back at him.

“T-thomas,” he said reaching forward and placing his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

“The one and only,” Thomas answered, voice strained even as a smile stretched across his face.

“What are you doing here,” Nathaniel asked as he embraced his brother briefly, punctuating the hug with a pat on the back.

“Got your letter,” Thomas said, holding out a piece of parchment and sighing, “Despite the fact that I loathe being battered into submission by my own guilt, you were right to do so. It wasn’t fair to keep Delilah in the dark like that.”

“So she knows you’re here?”

“I held the baby and everything. I’m a little wounded that she named him after you instead of memorializing her deceased brother.”

“She doesn’t have a deceased brother,” Nathaniel stated dryly.

“She didn’t know that,” Thomas exclaimed, and in the background, the elf snickered. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and have a touching, brotherly moment before all of the festivities start. I wouldn’t want to pry you away from Lady Elissa.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Accidentally bumped into her in the hallway without my hood on a bit ago. It was awkward. She cried, and you know how horrible I am when people cry.”

Nathaniel laughed and shook his head. “I am certain you handled it appropriately.”

“If you say so,” Thomas sighed. He paused for a moment, glanced at Zevran and then brought his eyes back to Nathaniel. “You should probably go speak to your commander now. Apparently, it’s important. I will catch up with you later.”

“You better.”

As soon as his brother and Zevran disappeared down the hallway, Nathaniel made his way outside and up the several flights of steps to the battlements. It was nearing dusk, and the deep orange of sunset burned across the chilly evening sky. He saw Lucia immediately, her own formal blue coat and sparkling silver decoration standing out against the backdrop. She leaned over the parapet and peered out over the courtyard. Nathaniel still had not determined whether she did that to observe the people below, or if it was simply a way for her to lose herself in her own thoughts. Perhaps it was both.

He approached her slowly and cleared his throat, hoping not to startle her. She rose up off her elbows and turned to face him, smiling almost imperceptibly. “I am glad you got my message.”

“What do you need of me?”

Lucia sighed heavily, posture drooping as she did so, more defeated than relaxed. “I received correspondence from the First Warden, and he is less than pleased with me.”

“Why,” Nathaniel inquired, “Is it because of Amaranthine?”

Laughing bitterly, she answered, “No. He cited my ‘failure to act in accordance with Grey Warden protocol.’ I was a Grey Warden for less than a day when the Blight fell into my lap. There was no protocol.”

“The First Warden can rot,” he remarked, only somewhat joking.

Lucia snorted and shook her head. “I am doing the best I can with the resources available to me. I think that he would have been satisfied with that answer had I not ‘let’ Anders run off.”

“You did not ‘let’ him do anything. He did not exactly ask for permission.”

The mage had left Vigil’s Keep, possessed by Justice just a week or so prior. There would have been no stopping him without killing him, and nobody wanted to do that. He was their friend.

“He hasn’t ever asked for permission for as long as I’ve known him.” She frowned, a line forming between her brows. “I should have known.”

“You saved his life,” Nathaniel pointed out, “If you had not conscripted him, who is to say the Templars would not have had him executed as soon as they returned to Kinloch Hold.”

“I know, but to him it was as if I slapped another set of shackles on his wrists. I understand.” She smiled again, but this time, there was a sadness to it that had not been present before. “I did not ask you to come here so that I could complain about Anders for the fiftieth time.”

“Why did you send for me, then?”

“To appease the First Warden I am falling in line with as much of standard protocol as I can conscience. I refuse to let people enter their Joinings unprepared, no matter how much he twists my arm.” She paused and took a step away from the parapet, turning to face Nathaniel “But they are correct in that it would serve me well to appoint a second-in-command. If anything, recent events have proven that I need one.”

“So, Alistair, then?”

She shook her head. “I asked him his thoughts on the matter, considering that he is technically the most senior Warden in the country and should, for all intents and purposes, outrank me.”

“Let me guess,” Nathaniel added, “He wanted nothing to do with it.”

“He thinks it should be you.” She hesitated. “And I am inclined to agree with him.”

He flinched, words stunning him as if they’d been lobbed in his direction from across an empty room. “You’re serious.”

“I typically am.” Lucia smirked, and then continued. “Looking back over these past few months I see how I leaned on you for so many things, both related to the Wardens and otherwise. You have never let me down, not once. You supported my most difficult decisions. You placed yourself in harm's way to save my life.”

“You would be comfortable with having a second-in-command who is an insubordinate arse?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows, grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“I was comfortable with having a Grey Warden who wanted me dead. Insubordination is a non-issue,” she explained matter-of-factly, “Besides, I think that a good second-in-command would not be afraid to oppose and challenge me when necessary.”

He thought for a moment, considering the weight of such a position, and what it meant for his future. He could not see himself refusing. The Wardens had given him a new life, a new purpose, and he was proud that Lucia considered him for the title.

“If you are certain,” he said, finally,” Then I gladly accept.”

“I am,” she assured him, looking down and pulling a small, silver brooch in the shape of an encircled griffon feather from her pocket. She reached forward and began to pin it to the collar of his coat. “Here. A symbol of your new rank.”

“And what is my new rank?” He watched as she finished securing the pin and pulled away.

“Warden-Constable,” she said, flashing a grin and patting him gently on the shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”

He bit back the sting of tears, and replied. “It has been my honor.”

“Yes, well.” Lucia cleared her throat, uncomfortable with whatever emotion she currently felt, “I should probably go check on Alistair before the festivities begin. He was not thrilled with the new outfit, claims armor would be more comfortable.”

Nathaniel chuckled quietly and nodded. “I will see you downstairs.”

They parted ways, and Nathaniel made his way back inside and down to the corridor where the Wardens’ quarters lay. With the visit from Thomas and meeting with Lucia, he was most certainly late, but he hoped that Liss had not gone ahead to the main hall without him. Ridiculous as it was, he looked forward to escorting her. He approached her door and knocked.

“Come in,” Liss chirped without so much as asking who was there.

Nathaniel twisted the knob and pushed open the door, entering the room slowly. Liss stood on the far side, back to him as she looked into a mirror, pinning her hair back from her face. She turned to face him, her smile illuminating the entire room and warming him to the core.

“Hey Nate,” she said, twirling around in her new attire, dark gray breeches and a long blue overcoat with slitted sleeves that ran the length of the coat. The bust and collar were adorned with similar silver decorations as his own coat, but the neckline swooped down just below her collarbone. She stopped and glanced down before flicking her eyes back up to him. “What do you think?”

“I— you look…” Nathaniel attempted a sentence, grasping for any words that made sense. He laughed, gathered himself, and continued. “Beautiful seems like an understatement.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” She laughed and moved to straighten his collar, noticing the new griffon wing pinned there. She ran her thumb over the surface and brought her eyes up to him, grinning uncontrollably. “Warden-Constable.”

He eyed her curiously. “How did you know?”

“Alistair let it slip a few days ago. Made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You are terrible at keeping secrets. I am not certain how you managed.”

“I wanted you to be surprised,” she explained, reaching up to pinch his cheek. She giggled when he scowled. “Also, as it turns out, seeing that crooked, proud smile of yours when you walked in was entirely worth the wait.”

“Are you flirting with me, my lady,” he asked, bringing his hands to her waist.

“Maybe.” Liss eyes glittered with amusement as she pressed herself flush against him and tilted her head back, “What of it?”

“Nothing,” he whispered, leaning forward to capture her lips. It was brief and gentle, just enough to make the air in the room feel heavier. He moved to kiss her again, but was interrupted by a nudge at his legs and a loud bark. Liss pressed her lips together and huffed, looking down at the enormous dog beside them.

“Bear,” she scolded, “Jealousy is unbecoming for a hound of your pedigree.”

Bear hung his head and whimpered, tail slowing its wagging to a halt. Liss knelt down and scratched roughly behind his ears, and he peeked up instantly.

“Besides,” she added, “I’ve got room enough in my heart for both of you.”

Bear barked cheerfully, appearing to be satisfied with her answer, and trotted away to lay on his bed in the corner of the room. Liss rose to her feet and sighed. “Sorry, he’s just territorial. He’ll get over it, I’m sure.”

“I can’t blame him,” Nathaniel teased, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. “It is no doubt for the best that he interrupted us. We’re already late enough as it is.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said with feigned annoyance.

“Shall we head downstairs, my lady,” he asked, offering her his arm.

She smiled and accepted, hooking her arm through his. “Lead the way, my love.”

Nathaniel froze, stunned by the innocent, yet incredibly powerful turn of phrase. He had to remind himself to breathe, and when he looked at Liss, she bit her lip. Laughing and shaking his head, he led her down the hallway and toward the stairwell.

As they entered the hall, bustling with people, from nobility to Wardens, soldiers to servants, Nathaniel realized the dread he’d expected to loom over him the whole evening had not returned. Instead, as he scanned the room that looked so different from its typical austerity, he saw his friends and family, people who cared for him and respected him. For so many years, his father’s opinion of him had rung so loudly in his ears, he could hear no one else. He expected to spend his days miserable and his nights lonely, to matter to no one and amount to nothing. None of it was true, and it never had been.

He turned his head to look at Liss, her presence at his side like sunlight to a wilted flower, constant and encouraging just as it alway was. He had never quite been able to come up with a definitive reason for why he fell in love with her so many years ago. He had never understood what it was that made her so different from any other beautiful, kind person he had known. But now, he knew.

The way she looked at him now, standing at the highest point in his life so far, was completely indistinguishable from the way she looked at him when he was nothing more than a miserable, grumpy child. She had seen value in him when he was convinced he did not have any, and she had never given up her determination to show him just exactly what she saw.

She loved him when there was not much to love, and for that reason among many others, he would love her forever.

He had spent so many summers hidden away while everyone else celebrated, pretended he hated eating, drinking, and merry-making so that it felt like staying in his room was a choice. He had wasted so many chances to have fun, to drink a bit too much, to make friends, to kiss his dearest friend until their lips were numb. He was not certain now how he had so much restraint as a child and adolescent. He knew without question he could not manage it now.

He was tired of temperance.

Tonight, surrounded by friends and loved ones, at a get-together so much like those of his youth, he had a chance to finally live.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #cousland #long post #my writing #temperance #update #it's DONe #holy CrAP it's DONE #i'm gonna go cry on the floor for a bit

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thelittlestboi · 3 years

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Well then, I've got some warden + companions asks for you. Tbh I think I hallucinated sending these to you once but I might be wrong so, you might be getting a ton of options. Zevran 1 & 5, Alistair 4 & 5, Lelianna 1, Morrigan 1, Loghain 4 <3

I love you so much @helvetin-venus! I really really do! I got both requests and I was holding off on answering because I don’t really have a cannon Warden but I think I want one?? So thanks to you know I’m restarting Origin uwu

I’ll answer for both submitted, In the name for my Warden Mahriel because im weak af for Tamlen still. ANYWAY lets begin >the full list here<

Zevran 1 &5

How did your Warden react to Zevran’s failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry?

Mahriel was annoyed at the attack, disgusted at the ruse, but very very gay for Zevran. Tbh Mahriel did not want to join the wardens, and doesn’t really care for ‘shems’ at first so getting Zevran on his team was mostly for his sanity.

How well did your Warden keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight? Did they ever see him again?

They got married and took out the crows. They are now hiding in thier summer home in Antiva writing letters and sending out trinkets from his “travels” while sipping a martini.

Alistair 4&5

How did your Warden respond to Alistair’s dislike of Loghain? Did they share Alistair’s sentiments or disagree?

Oh the whole reason Mahriel doesnt bail as soon as the wardens fall, is because he wanted to get even with Loghain. Having a common enemy is a great bonding experience.

What became of Alistair after the Landsmeet? How did your Warden feel about their decision of Alistair’s future?

Alistair becomes King. Mahriel will not support the Ferelden king until he makes good on his promise to give his people the Land he was promised.

Lelianna 1

What was your Warden’s position on the Chantry? Were they wary of Leliana due to their religious beliefs or lack thereof?

Mahriel knows chantry owns templars, templars hunt apostates. end of story. But that doesnt stop him from letting Lellianna tagging along. Specifically since its sorta of taking her away from the Chantry. And its through her that he learns more about the Chant and the Maker and while he isn’t a very religious person he can respect the belief if not the power structure if that makes sense.

Sten 1&4

Had your Warden ever met a Qunari before Sten? What did they expect?

Being Dalish he doesn’t know much, inf act most of his references are dated a bit. At first glance he thought Sten was just a big human. The first time he sees a Qunari proper with horns he thought they were a demon.

How did your Warden speak to Sten? Did they fight with him often or were they more humorous in their responses?

He tried to be nice to him, but they don’t always agree, given that Mahriel tends to be a little bit of a bleeding heart. But they get along fine, as he’s very blunt with Sten and they respect each other.

Morrigan 1

What was your Warden’s first impression of Morrigan? Did they trust her or were they cautious around her?

Witch=magic Magic=good tittys out+feathers=friend. He liked Morrigan right off the start, and trusts her faster than any other companion. If Zevran was not a companion they would have gotten together tbh,

Loghain 4

What was your Warden’s opinion on Loghain’s decision to abandon King Cailan and the Grey Wardens at Ostagar? What did they think of Loghain afterwards?

Loghain is a coward and a traitor in his eyes. And it honestly fuels the distrust he has in most humans. They turn so easily on their friends, and leaders. Backing out and letting the wardens take the blame? There are few deaths he takes great pride in. Mahriel holds a grudge and a nasty one at that, so much so he dislikes and refuses to work with Anora as a result.. He executes Loghain himself in front of her by trail of combat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whoa that was lot! I had fun writing it out though! Thanks so much for sending in so many, I think i have some darkspawn to get back to now uwu

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trvelyans-archive · 4 years

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recompense

another commission for the lovely and kingly @dauntless-necromancer !!! thank you so much for commissioning me again, i love writing for this lil’ world with elrich and the Squad !!! i really liked working on this one and i really hope you enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3

9:53 Dragon

There’s a girl at the front gates of Castle Cousland, and she’s demanding to see the Hero of Ferelden.

Kieran pushes through the throng of soldiers that have gathered in front of the main doors to reach her. The girl, when he finally comes face-to-face with her, is a head shorter than him, with thick brown hair tied into an elegant braid hanging over her shoulder and her lips pulled into a frown. There’s something about her that looks familiar, but he’s certain he’s never seen her before – and he would remember her if he did, considering how easily and quickly she has commanded the attention of the crowd. Still, despite his wariness, he approaches her with his hood pulled down around his shoulders.

“Who are you?” Kieran asks. His wife, Satine, trails behind him and clutches the sleeve of his jacket, inspecting their guest carefully.

The girl meets Kieran’s eyes. “My name is Celia Mac Tir-Cousland,” she replies, sheathing her sword without so much as wavering, “and I’m looking for my father.”

9:30 Dragon

“I can’t believe I’m marrying the Queen.”

Morrigan glances up from where she’s been lying on Elrich’s chest to meet his eyes. “Neither can I,” she responds, raising her hands to trace the shape of his face. “And I cannot believe she agreed.”

The announcement was certainly startling for the court, however – Morrigan is willing to bet that there are a fair few nobles who wouldn’t agree with the decision, although there’s little they can do about it in the end, considering they would be challenging some of the most important people in Ferelden. “You know me, my love,” he says, running his fingertips up and down her spine. “I can be very convincing.”

Morrigan laughs. “Hardly,” she replies.

“Hey! You’re talking to a future king, here.”

“Prince-consort,” she reminds him airily. “You are not going to be king, Elrich. A king, and certainly not the king of Ferelden, could never have an apostate mistress. The nobles would sooner hang themselves than allow that to happen.”

He frowns, suddenly growing serious. “You’re not going to be my mistress, Morrigan,” he says softly, an affectionate look in his dark eyes. She never thought that anyone would look at her like that. “You are my partner in life. I hope you know that.”

With a playful roll of her eyes, she smothers a hand into his face and playfully pushes him away. “Don’t look at me like that,” she responds, and he just grins at her. “I do know that already, Elrich. You do not have to continue reminding me whenever it comes up.”

“Besides, Queen Anora and I have agreed that it is more of a… political arrangement.” He clears his throat, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling with a frown. “I have no feelings for her, Morrigan, nor does she have any for me.”

“Beside annoyance, perhaps.”

“Hey!” he repeats, chuckling. “You’re talking to a future prince-consort, here.”

“Yes, and he loves it.” She leans down to bite his earlobe, just long enough for him to start writhing with breathless laughter underneath her, and then releases him when she can’t hold back the chuckles tickling the back of her own throat. “You do not have to worry about my feelings, Elrich,” she says once they’ve recovered, shifting so she’s sitting higher in his bed and can see more of him. “I can handle them – as well as many other things, I might remind you – perfectly fine by myself.”

He raises an eyebrow, smiling, and she rolls her eyes before she even hears what he has to say. “And…?”

“Yes, yes, and our child. They’re not even here yet, and you’re already worried about them –“

“I’m not worried!” he protests, and then frowns. “I mean… of course I’m worried about them. I want them to be safe. I want you to be safe.”

He reaches up to cup her cheek, and Morrigan leans into it as he brushes his thumb over her skin. There’s a peace that settles over them, now, in this moment, with the candles throughout the room burning low and the shadows more comforting than menacing, like the only thing hiding inside of them is more warmth. She has not felt this comfortable, nor this happy, in her entire life.

And yet they can’t be together forever. They have a battle to fight. There’s a country in ruins that they’ve risked everything to save.

“You need some sleep,” she tells him, trying not to choke on the words as a sudden wave of emotion washes over her. “You will need it.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he replies. “As always.”

She smiles, and leans over to kiss his forehead before settling against his chest once more, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

Whatever comes tomorrow, they have right now. And this has been worth waiting for.

9:33 Dragon

“They’re expecting an heir, you know.”

Elrich looks up from where he’s penning a letter to Morrigan to see Anora approaching.

As much as he likes the rest of the Palace, the garden is one of his favourite places to sit and think. The smell of flowers in the air; the sunlight. It reminds him of the garden in Castle Cousland, where he would sit and eat lunch with (and occasionally spar) Ser Gilmore when he was younger. (Even though he knows Fergus is taking good care of things back home, he misses it very much.) The garden is where he comes when he needs some time alone, usually to write a letter to Morrigan like he is now, which means Anora doesn’t often come find him here – she’s too busy attending to her duties – so the fact that she is coming to see him, at the time of day when she usually has the most to do, means that she must have been thinking long and hard about this.

“I know they are,” he says, watching her slow to a stop in front of them. Two years ago – perhaps even one – he would have denied her, knowing that his heart belongs to Morrigan and he did not want to have another child when he already could not see his son, but he did not become prince-consort because it was easy. He did it because he knew what needed to be done to save his home country, whatever the cost, and he was – and still is – going to have to live with that decision, despite his feelings. “We’ve talked about it before.”

“Elrich.” Anora sits down beside him, smoothing her hands over her skirts. His eyes narrow at her tone of voice for a second, and then, when she looks at him with a somewhat understanding expression, he feels anger dissipate and his shoulders relax. “We need to have a child soon. It’s for the good of the country. My country, the one I have sworn to lead – the one you swore to lead alongside me the day of our wedding.”

The day of their wedding was a memorable one, with the coronation and then the celebrations that neither of them really felt like attending, but it seems like it was so long ago, now. Elrich knows that it’s only been three years, but it feels like it’s been an eternity since the Landsmeet, since the Blight. Since his son – since his son with Morrigan – was born. “I know,” he replies, and he can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I know, Anora.”

“It does not have to be now,” she says, and he’s surprised at how gently she says it, even as she reaches up to lay a hand on his shoulder that she seems to consider sliding up to his cheek. “But soon, alright? We cannot put it off much longer, no matter how much you wish to.”

Elrich glances over at her and smiles. Anora is a good leader, and a kind woman. Perhaps she’s kinder than he deserves, when he’s in love with another woman; when he can never be the husband she wants him to be. Morrigan knows very well that Elrich will have to raise another child as an heir, and Anora is the only person he would ever consider doing that for. She’s proven her understanding for him and his situation time and time again, and he wishes he could tell her how much he appreciates it without feeling like a fool. “I know,” he says again because that’s the only thing that feels sufficient enough. “I’m ready, Anora. Whenever you are.”

“I am glad to hear it,” she replies. “You are a good man, Elrich, and any child we have will be raised well. I know that.” Nodding, she adds, “I will leave you be, then, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yes,” he replies, “see you then.”

She gives him one last smile before turning away, and Elrich looks down at the blank parchment in his hands, his own smile twisting into a frown.

Now that he has something important to write about, he should probably get started…

9:35 Dragon

“Morrigan –

My daughter was born last week. It’s a funny thing to write in a letter instead of telling you in person, but we don’t have that option right now, so this is the best I can do. I hope you’ll forgive me, my love. For lots of things, but firstly this.

Her name is Celia Eleanor Mac Tir-Cousland. It had been raining all night and all morning the day she was born, but the sun broke through the clouds when she was safe in her mother’s arms and streamed in through the window. If I were a different man I would think that it was the Maker blessing her – I’m trying to think like that anyway. I think that Anora is upset that the baby looks more like me than it does her, but we will love her anyway no matter what. She’s a beautiful child, and I’m hoping that I’ll be a good father to her. I’m sorry I can’t be a better father to Kieran.

I miss you every day, and dream of you every night. I long to be with you again, and remember our days together fondly with every breath. Stay safe, my love – I will find a way to see you soon, in a place where we can all be safe from the world for a while.

Give Kieran a hug and a kiss from me. Tell him that his father misses him more than anything. I can’t wait to see him again and hear his laughter, see his smile, watch his face light up when I show him something interesting. How he has so much curiosity at such a young age, I’ll never know. It’s my favourite thing.

With all of my love,

Elrich.”

“Elrich –

I am glad to hear the birth went smoothly. You will be a good father, and you and the Queen will prepare her well as heir to the throne. For the little I am sure about right now, I am sure about that much.

I miss you too. My bed feels lonesome without you and the sound of your snoring, which I miss more than I thought I would even though it disrupts my sleep more often than not. Please come visit us when you can. I understand your work is important, and would not ask you to give it up for my sake, but Kieran misses you.

I will be thinking of you all night. Please stay safe, my love.

Yours,

Morrigan.”

9:37 Dragon

It’s hard to finish writing a letter to Elrich when Kieran will simply not stop running around.

And it’s not that Morrigan does not understand his excitement. This is the first time he has really had a place to call home since he was born – it is the first time Morrigan has had a place to call home, too, for a very long time. They have beds to sleep in that aren’t stuffed with straw or grass, they have nice clothes – real clothes – and enough food to eat every night that they can go to bed with full stomachs, even if neither them are quite used to that yet.

But she wants to write this letter – she needs to write this letter. There is a lot of things she has to tell Elrich now that she and Kieran are officially moved into the palace in Orlais, and she hasn’t heard from him for a couple months now. She is trying not to worry because she has an image to maintain, but it’s hard not to worry when it comes to him so she is trying to write and send this later as soon as she can so that worrying can stop.

And she can’t send the letter because Kieran is distracting her.

“Darling,” Morrigan calls, staring out the window in front of her desk with slightly narrowed eyes. Most of the time she would be amused by her son’s antics, but she needs to finish this letter and then she will give him the attention he wants. “Are you being careful?”

“Yes, Mother,” Kieran responds from behind her. She can hear the smile clear in his voice only a few seconds before she hears the smash across the room that follows.

With a sigh, she turns in her seat and stands up, her eyes falling on a table across the room with nothing on it because Kieran accidentally pushed the vase that had been sitting on top of it onto the ground. It is nothing special – it was just a gift from the Empress that she gave Morrigan – so she doesn’t particularly care about it one way or another, but, nevertheless, Kieran’s eyes immediately start to well with tears.

Morrigan crouches down and pulls him into her arms just as he starts crying.

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” she says soothingly, rubbing his back as he buries his face into her shoulder. “It is just a decoration, nothing more.”

“I didn’t –“ He hiccups – “I didn’t mean to, it just h-happened, and I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Kieran, honey.” She pulls away from him and reaches up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. She was never this emotional at his age, and she’s glad that he feels like he is allowed to be. “It doesn’t matter, Kieran, I promise.”

“I j-just don’t want to ruin anything here,” he stammers, wrapping his fingers around her wrists while she slides her hands to his shoulders. “I like it here, and I don’t want us to have to l-leave.”

“I know,” she says. “I do not want us to have to leave either, but I promise that, if we do, it won’t be because you broke one vase, or two, or three. Especially not when I can hide all the evidence.” She smiles at him and, between his sniffles, he laughs, which is a near-miraculous sound to hear as a comforting mother. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he says. “But I will try not to break another one. Just in case.”

“That’s my son.” She pulls him against her and kisses his forehead, and when she straightens up, he tugs at the sleeve of her dress.

“Mother?” he asks, eyes wide and still wet as he looks up at her.

Morrigan sighs, smiling. “Yes, love?”

“I miss Papa.”

Despite herself, Morrigan feels her bottom lip start to wobble. He is certainly not the only one who misses Elrich.

“I know,” she replies. “We will see him soon.”

“Do you promise?” Kieran asks.

“I promise,” she says, and she feels like, of the promises she’s made today, it’s the one she believes the least.

9:39 Dragon

Celia sits on Elrich’s lap in the garden. He bounces her on his knee while she twirls a flower between her fingers and smiles down it, and he tries to control the ache in his heart that reminds him he’s leaving her – and Denerim, and perhaps Ferelden entirely – tomorrow. And he doesn’t know when he’ll return. And he doesn’t want to miss another one of his children growing up, but he will.

She already looks more like Elrich than Kieran does, even at four years old – she has warm brown skin dotted with little heart-shaped freckles and thick, dark hair with even darker eyes to match, though she’s much prettier than he is because, thankfully, she has Anora’s features. She has a rumbly giggle and the sweetest smile Elrich has ever seen, and it can often take hours for him to put her to sleep because she is just so curious about everything – there’s a shelf in her room lined with trinkets and toys she’s picked up from whenever they explore the city together, and he often finds her in her room staring at them before he puts her to bed.

He’ll miss that, too, telling her stories of the Blight until she falls asleep. He’ll miss her so much.

But he can return, one day, when he’s free of the taint. He wouldn’t go if he didn’t have to – it makes him feel sick to think about how he’s going to miss watching another of his children grow up – but he’s becoming weaker and weaker already, and he’d rather try and fail to be in his children’s futures than give up without trying and force them to go through losing one of their parents.

He knows exactly what that feels like, and he can’t do it. Not without trying his best, like he always has. Like he has to.

“Mother says you are going away for a while,” Celia says, turning around to look at him. Elrich reaches up to push some hair behind her ear, smiling.

“I am,” he replies. “But it’s very important, my love. I promise.”

“Will you miss me?” she asks, squinting in the sunlight that makes her eyes shine golden.

“Of course I will,” he says, trying to ignore the way his smile begins to fade. “I will miss you every day, Celia.”

She hands the flower to him. “Will you remember me?” she asks.

He plucks the flower from her hands and holds it up to his nose, sniffing deeply, and, to his delight, she starts giggling, leaning her head on his shoulder while he looks down at her. “I will never forget you,” he answers finally, handing the flower back to her to keep. “You’re my favourite girl.”

“Really?” She frowns. “Before Mother?”

“Before Mother,” he says.

“You’re my favourite father.” Celia buries her face against his chest. “I will miss you so much, Papa.”

He presses his cheek against the crown of her head. She smells like flowers and soap, and she hugs him so tightly around his middle that he feels safer than he’s felt in a long time. He’s sure that nothing could make him feel safer. “I will write you whenever I can,” he promises, trying not to choke on his words.

“I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, too.” And he wishes so badly that things were different.

9:41 Dragon

“Elrich –

You would like Skyhold, I think. There are far too many people for my liking, but Kieran is happy. As happy as a boy his age can be, I suppose. He’s gotten in trouble more than once – you know how curious he is – but we are safe, here. For now, anyway.

The Inquisitor and I are leaving soon for the Arbor Wilds. I do not know how long it will be until I can write you again. I hope you are well, my love, and I hope you can join us again soon. We miss you dearly. I miss you dearly.

Love,

Morrigan.”

“Morrigan,

I am in Antiva right now. You would hate it, I imagine. It’s very loud, and the people are very happy – well, they are in the taverns, anyway. It’s nice to take a night off from searching for a cure. It would be nicer if you were here, of course, but I’m trying not to dwell on that, or else I’ll drop everything to come find you.

I’m glad that Kieran is happy. I know things were hard for him in Orlais. I have not heard from Celia and Anora in a few months, but I would like for Kieran and Celia to meet soon – well, as soon as they can, when I return to Ferelden. She’s as curious as he is. At least she was when I last saw her. I think they would be good friends. I hope they are.

I miss you. I never stop thinking about you. And I love you, dearly. Never forget that.

Yours always and forever,

Elrich.”

9:43 Dragon

“Mother,” Celia asks, “when is Father coming home?”

“I don’t know, Celia,” Anora replies, pushing food around her plate with a frown. “He’s on an important mission.”

“For what?”

Anora sighs, giving her daughter an affectionate look. “You’re too young, my love,” she says. “It is not the right time to tell you yet.”

Celia frowns, swinging her legs back and forth underneath the table. “Did he tell you to tell me that?”

“Of course not,” Anora scoffs. “Your father would tell you everything if I let him, but it’s not the right time. He will tell you when he returns.”

“And you don’t know when that will be,” Celia whispers.

“No.” Anora leans over to squeeze her hand, but Celia’s frown does not disappear. “Finish your supper, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t finish her supper. She just wants to go to her room.

9:45 Dragon

Celia passes the small, ornate box between her hands.

Her father is not here for her tenth birthday. She doesn’t blame him – he still has to finish his important mission – but she misses him. She wishes he were here to hold her hand and sit her on his lap; she wishes he were here to put her to sleep every night with his stories.

Instead of returning to Denerim for her birthday, his gift for her is whatever is inside this box.

She opens it, and pulls the silk fabric away to reveal a silver dagger. Resting on top of it is a note.

“Celia,

When I return, I’m going to teach you how to sword fight. For now, however, I give you a dagger in case you need to protect yourself. Don’t play with it – it’s not a toy. This will keep you safe in my stead. You are incredibly precious, not only to the country but to your mother and me.

I love you, Celia. I miss you. And happy birthday. I can’t wait to see the woman you become.

Love,

Father.”

Her face crumples, and she tosses the note aside, curling up in the middle of her bed and clutching the box to her chest.

9:47 Dragon

This is the first time Celia has seen Father in a long time.

“Plant your feet,” he says, tapping the front of her thigh with his hand. She can barely see his smile through the hair of his beard. “It’ll be harder for an enemy to knock you off-balance.”

“And then what?” Celia asks.

“And then,” Father says, “you watch your opponent.”

“Shouldn’t I attack?”

“You’ve seen my scars,” he answers. She has seen them – even the new ones. She could see them at supper last night. He wasn’t even trying to hide them. “That’s what happens when you throw yourself into battle. I don’t want you to do the same thing, my love. You could easily take an opponent down if you outsmart them.”

“So I watch what they’re doing, and then…?”

“Dodge,” he answers. “Try coming at me.”

Celia’s sword falls down by her side. “What?”

“It’s okay.” Her father smiles at her again. Despite his hoarse voice, his shaking hands, and the bags under his eyes, he still looks strong – his smile is even stronger. “They’re blunted swords. Don’t worry.”

She frowns, and yet still, after a long moment of thought, darts out towards him. Before she can even swing the sword, he steps to the side and, as she stumbles forward, touches the back of her armor gently with his own blade.

“That’s good,” he replies. “You’re doing well, Celia.”

“I am?” she asks, turning around and raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Yes. I’m very proud of you, my love.”

Celia turns to face him. “I don’t want you to be proud of me,” she says quietly. “I want you to be here.”

Elrich frowns. “I know,” he responds softly, and in that moment he sounds more like a man than the warrior that he is. He doesn’t have to say anything else – she knows what they’re both thinking anyway, what is left unsaid between them.

He wants to stay, but he can’t.

9:49 Dragon

“I heard that you’ve been incredibly successful in training.”

Celia looks up from her plate, smiling. “I hope so,” she replies. “I’m trying my best, using what Father taught me. And you, of course, Mother.”

“You’re so young, Celia,” Anora says. “And yet you have accomplished so much. I know your father thinks you take after him, but I see so much of myself in you.” She tilts her head, raising a hand to touch her daughter’s cheek. “I think your grandfather would be proud of you. Your grandmother would be, too.”

She’s tired of hearing that people who aren’t here would be proud of her. Still, she smiles.

“Thank you, Mother,” Celia says, looking down at her plate once more as her mother’s hand falls away. “I’m pleased to hear it. Do you want to spar together after we finish eating?”

“I can’t,” Anora answers, “but I may come down to the training yard and watch you when I have a moment.”

“Alright.” Celia’s smile turns into a frown. “I hope you can, mother.”

9:51 Dragon

“Mother,

I’m leaving to find Father.

I have not heard from him since his last letter, when he said he was close to finding a cure. I want to help him if I can. When I find him, we will return together.

I am taking three soldiers with me. Please don’t punish them when we return. Punish me, if you have to. I just want our family to be together again.

I love you. I’ll be safe. I promise.

Love,

Celia.”

9:53 Dragon

“Celia,” Father says, “I’m sorry –“

“You’re sorry?” she says. “’Sorry’ can’t take back the years I spent without you! ‘Sorry’ can’t take back the sleepless nights I spent wondering if you loved me at all!”

When he finally came down to the gates after Kieran told him that Celia was here, he led her into a private room in the castle and dismissed the guards standing nearby. Despite his promise that they’d have the conversation alone, she had a feeling that the rest of the family – his family – was on the other side of the door, listening. She would tell them to go away if she could think about anything but him right now – but him and how angry she is.

“Celia.” Father’s face falls. “You know I love you.”

“I was a child!” she says. “I was a child, and you –“ She takes a deep breath and tries to stop the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “You left me,” she finishes, voice cracking.

“I know,” he responds, moving in front of her and placing his hands on her shoulders. “I know I did. It seemed like the right thing to do. I needed to find a cure for the Calling – I needed to make sure I’d be there to see you get married, have children, grow old and happy and find your place in the world.” A shadow crosses his face. “I needed to give you what I didn’t have as I grew up. What left me so broken.”

“Father –“

“It’s not an excuse,” he continues, and she feels the anger leaving her body, “and it’s a poor explanation. But losing my parents was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through – before leaving you and Kieran, of course. And I thought that I could trade being there for you during your childhood for being there for you when you grew up so you didn’t feel the way I did – so alone and so uncertain – but that was foolish of me. I should’ve tried harder to see you, Celia. And I’m sorry I didn’t. I will never stop being sorry.”

He looks so old and so weak. Even though he’s cured of the taint, he looks weaker than she’s ever seen him. It’s hard to stay angry with him when he’s like this – when she knows very well that he understands and accepts that very same anger. “I just wanted you to be there,” she whispers. “Kieran wanted you to be there for him, too.”

“Kieran and I are patching things up,” Father replies, and he sounds so certain of himself that she can’t help but feel hopeful. “Slowly but surely. We can patch things up, too, Celia. I want that more than anything, but only if you want it as well. I understand if you don’t, and I’ll accept it if you don’t want that.”

She stares into his eyes for a long, long moment – eyes that she recognizes at first as her own – before she sighs. “I do want that,” she says.

“Good,” he says, his mouth curving into a grin. “That’s great, Celia. I’m so happy.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and hugs her close, and she allows herself to bury her face into his chest and cry.

“I love you,” he says, reaching up to run his hand over the back of her head and hold her closer. For the first time in a long time, she believes it.

Celia sits in the chair beside her father’s. Everyone else – Morrigan, Kieran and Satine, who Celia likes much more than she thought she would – has left the dining room, leaving the two of them alone. Though dinner was filled with laughter and stories, and she liked getting to know her half-brother after so many years of knowing he was out there but not knowing who or where he was, she’s glad to have a moment alone with her father. It’s been far too long since that happened. He has an affectionate arm slung around her shoulder, and she rests her head against his as she watches the fire.

She searched for him for two years, through Orlais, through Ferelden. She even went to the Free Marches for a time. It turns out that he was here, in Castle Cousland, and he has been here for a while. They only kept it secret to keep him safe from the Wardens and whatever the Order has turned into. She would be more upset than she was this morning if she weren’t so relieved that he was alive – and she would be more upset if she didn’t enjoy travelling so much during her searches for him. She’s 18, now, and she hopes that, when she returns to the city, her mother will let her go out into the world again.

There is a lot of work to be done, and she’s young – she wants to do the kind of work that her father can’t do anymore.

And he deserves to rest. He deserves to live the life he fought for in peace, with Celia when she can be here, and Kieran, and her father’s partner, Morrigan. It’s strange seeing him with a woman that isn’t Mother, but Celia supposes that they were never in love in the first place. He seems to relax most when he’s around Morrigan. He seems happiest at her side.

It makes her long for something like that, too. Another reason she wants to travel again – perhaps her person is out there somewhere, waiting for her to find them and bring them home to meet her family – or her families, perhaps, both old and new.

She smiles. Her father shakes her gently.

“You have a room, here, to stay when you want it,” Elrich says, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What about Denerim?”

“Your mother understands,” he responds with a regretful sigh. “As do the people. I was never a king, not really, nor was I much of a prince-consort, and my duty was always to the Wardens, first and foremost.”

“And now?”

Celia pulls away from her father to look up at him.

“My duty is to you and your brother,” he says. “I promise that I will never disappear again. And I will make up for the time I missed – the time I missed with you. Alright?”

She believes his promise, but she’s not going to miss an opportunity to get something from him when she can. “You know what would help with that?” Celia asks.

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“If you spar with me tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, Elrich gives up fairly quickly, to Celia’s disappointment. She was looking forward to besting him – she’s certain she would’ve, had she gotten the chance. Now he sits on a bench in the training yard with his arm wrapped around Morrigan as he watches Kieran and Celia fight with blunted, wooden swords, the kinds of swords that children would use. (She told him this when he first brought them out, and he only said, “Well, you’re always my child, Celia.”) The sun is high in the clear blue sky, and they have hours to spend outside yet – Satine arranged for them to eat dinner in the garden, at Celia’s request, and then, when it gets dark, they’ll retire to the library to watch Kieran and Satine play chess. Morrigan thinks that Satine will win; Elrich thinks that Kieran will.

Celia doesn’t care. Either way, she feels like she’s finally won.

#THIS ONE WAS SO FUN FUCK lksjdflksdjfkljsdklfds i LOVE THEM ALL.........#celia is queen i want to adopt her so bad. i love her so much ANYWAY #thank you for commissioning me i literally love this world we have Created together.... you're da best and i'm ALWAYS happy to write for you #<3 <3 #my commissions #my writing

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the-rebel-archivist · 4 years

Text

What Might Have Been

Another prompt featuring Lyna Mahariel in which she learns the cost of her choice to have Alistair marry Anora.

Prompt: The Black Emporium has a new item: the Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius.

Codex Entry: It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences. Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin.

So here’s the challenge: Your Warden, Your Hawke, or your Inquisitor has come to the Black Emporium and sees this item. Curiosity takes over and they take a look. You are to write out what they see: Your Warden sees a different Warden instead of themselves, your Inquisitor sees a different Inquisitor, Hawke sees a different Hawke, etc. They see a different path play out. For Non Protagonists or for those who do not have alternate versions of Hawkes, Wardens and Inquisitors: Have them witness a crucial part of their past or future from the story you made for them and see what changes it brings in a different life, if they chose to make a different choice.

Lyna had heard of the Black Emporium before; whispers of it had stretched all the way even to Ferelden, but she had never been here herself - that is, until an invitation in spidery handwriting had mysteriously appeared under her door. Curiosity had overcome wariness and now here she stood before a basin filled with completely still water that didn’t move even when her steps toward it shook the white stone base.

There was something strange and otherworldly about it, exceptionally so given how many other oddities were strewn about this odd shop. She felt unusually drawn to the glassy water, her face reflecting up at her in its mirror-like surface. Tight platinum bun, a long scar that wove through her green vallaslin, more around her lips and forehead. She looked old. Weathered. Angry. Did she always look that angry? That would be ghastly.

A small vial of lyrium was next to the font and she picked it up with determination. If nothing else, dropping it in the way she had been told was the way to activate it would dismiss the unpleasant image of herself. The smell of ozone, metallic and sharp, filled her nose as she removed the stopper from the bottle and dripped it cautiously into the basin.

The room around her seemed to disappear. A moving painting of herself glimmered back at her from the water and she felt herself pulled in, the vision of what she recognized as Arl Eamon’s estate in Denerim some twelve years before becoming her only reality.

“Why would you do that? What about us?” she heard Alistair say. Her heart dropped with the realization of what she was about to watch. She had run exactly this conversation through her mind over and over again.

He looked so boyish, his cheeks still rounded by youth and his posture not nearly as confident as it was the last time she had seen him at the palace. She hadn’t realized just how young he was.

Across from him was someone she recognized as herself. Why had everyone thrust so much responsibility on her? She was just a baby at nineteen, even if she hadn’t felt that way at the time.

“I don’t want anyone else, even for pretend.” Alistair’s voice cracked with hurt and betrayal as he asked her why she would conspire to make him king alongside Anora. She longed to scoop the boy up into a hug and tell him that it was all going to be alright, even if it wasn’t, but all she was able to do was watch, an invisible third party to the moment she regretted most in her life.

“I’ll tell her no, then,” the figure that looked like her but wasn’t said.

This wasn’t how she had remembered it going.

As the vision faded away she saw Alistair put his hands on either side of her face and smack an enthusiastic kiss on her forehead in a way that made her smile.

The water in the basin rippled and transitioned into a small house, the bottom of a stack of three in the middle of a city - she recognized it as one she had seen in Amaranthine. She had always admired it, its whitewashed exterior clean and prim with rose bushes by the door. Inside it was cozy, a roaring fire burning warmly in the hearth. A shield she knew to be Duncan’s hung above the fireplace.

Alistair was on his hands and knees on the floor, two small children riding atop him as though he were a horse. They squealed in delight as he feigned bucking and rearing, then gently lowered himself to the floor to let them tumble down in a giggling heap. She herself was feeding a bottle to a positively cherubic blonde baby while sitting at a rough wooden table across the room. None of the children looked like either her or Alistair: the girl, who seemed to be the eldest, had skin like burnished bronze and tight black ringlets, her deep set dark eyes highlighted by her high cheekbones, while a younger boy, an elf, had freckles and tawny brown hair that constantly fell in his eyes.

She couldn’t remember ever having smiled as much as she was smiling in this vision. Even when she wasn’t actively grinning her mouth seemed to be turned upwards, ready to break out into something wider in an instant.

Alistair got up from the floor and walked toward her, brushing his hands on his breeches. Holding her shoulders, he leaned down behind her and kissed her cheek tenderly, then licked along the base of her ear. She reached out to swat at him but he jumped away just in time in a move that seemed well-practiced.

“Why do you do this? You’re worse than the dog.” she heard herself say with mock annoyance. Putting the bottle down on the table, she wiped the wetness away and glared, her severe expression softened by the smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

“Cleaner though.”

“That’s debatable.” Her hand was outstretched toward the cheekily grinning man, who took it in his and drew closer. “You’re an idiot, Ali,” she said, affection plain in her voice, her eyes soft as she looked up at him.

“But I’m your idiot, that’s the important bit.”

“Always.”

He leaned back down to her level and kissed her once more as a chorus of high-pitched ‘Ewws’ arose in the background.

The surface of the font rippled again and the figured were wiped away, though the inside of the homey cottage remained in view. When it became clear again the children were still present but were much older.

The two elder siblings were near the fire, the boy setting up a row of small pewter soldiers in orderly rows on the floor and the girl sitting cross legged reading a book.

The person who looked like Lyna was still at the table in the kitchen. Beside her the formerly chubby-cheeked baby, who had grown into a similarly round faced blonde child, was repeatedly attempting to balance on one foot, wobbling around until she threatened to fall and slapped a sticky hand on Lyna’s knee for support.

There was a letter in Lyna’s hands.

“Is that from Father?” the older girl asked her when she heard the paper crinkle as Lyna removed it from its official-looking envelope.

“It’s from the Inquisitor, but it might have news of him. Odd that it didn’t come with something from him as well, though. Perhaps it’s still making its way here.”

As Lyna watched herself read the letter she saw her face go pale. Lyna-that-was-not-Lyna froze in place, staring unblinkingly at the page. Taking a deep breath that heaved her shoulders, she closed her eyes tightly and bit at her lip until a small bead of red appeared. She licked the blood away and dropped the letter as though it had begun to burn her, then held her head in her hands and leaned against the surface of the table.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” the small girl by her side asked as she tried to pull her mother’s hand away from her face.

She took a moment before lifting her head, then turned towards the other children. Her hollow eyes sent a chill down Lyna’s spine.

“Come here, you two, I need to tell you something.” The words were slow, her tone carefully measured in some attempt to keep from alarming the children, but her voice was shaking. Something in it convinced them not to argue the urgency of her command.

As the children gathered around her a film appeared over the figures in the scene and they began to disappear. The letter grew larger and more readable.

Warden-Commander Mahariel,

Please forgive my formality; I have no words that adequately explain my depth of feeling.

After a long and brutal assault on Adamant fortress, myself, some of my companions, and Warden Alistair were sent bodily into the Fade. He did not return with us, sacrificing himself that we might live. I failed you and failed him. Falon’Din guide him and bring him peace.

I hope that you can come to forgive me.

Inquisitor Raynda Lavellan

The images faded, turning back to still water. Lyna realized that she had been gripping the smooth rounded edges of the basin until her knuckles had turned white and was finding it difficult to catch her breath. She forced herself to let go and reached inside her collar pulling out an old silver locket. Holding it tight like a talisman against evil seemed to calm her, the knowledge of the dried rose petals within it comforting her.

Would it have been worth it? Would a few years of happiness have been enough? Was it truly better that they live, but only half-alive? She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answers to any of those questions.

For now, it was enough that he had not died.

#alistair theirin #dad!alistair #alistair x mahariel #lyna mahariel #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #THERE WERE KIDS AND IT WAS BEAUTIFUL #I am a cruel mistress to my poor Lyna #'you're an idiot' is how Lyna says 'I love you'

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shannaraisles · 5 years

Text

Ena’Vun - Prologue

Read on AO3

***

PROLOGUE

For the attention of Teyrn Fergus Cousland of Highever

My lord, I am pleased to convey to you the news that your brother, Lord Bryland Cousland, was the lone survivor of the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Due to the circumstances of his survival, he bears the mark of the same magic that created the Breach now marring our skies. Due to unfortunate rumors surrounding his emergence from the Temple, some are now calling him the Herald of Andraste, which has attracted no little hostility from the Chantry. The Inquisition is well able to protect him against such hostilities, I assure you. Lord Bryland has agreed to remain in Haven and assist the Inquisition in closing the Breach, finding those responsible, and bringing them to justice. His only concern was that his family should be made aware of his situation which, as you can see, is easily done. He wishes me to assure you that he has not been harmed, and that he is well cared for. He also requests that a way be found to bring his mabari hound here to Haven, if it is possible. Rest assured that the Inquisition is committed to the goals laid down in this missive. With warm regards, Josephine Montilyet

Fergus stared at the missive in his hands for a long moment, torn between relief that his baby brother was alive and annoyance that yet another Cousland had got themselves into the middle of something that was far too big for one person to handle.

"What did you do to end up there, you idiot?" he muttered, rising to his feet, the parchment still in his hand.

"Which idiot is that, my lord?"

The teyrn hesitated, glancing toward the fireplace, where his wife was rocking their newborn son gently. For just a moment, the haze of sad memory lowered, painting her as Oriana with a newborn Oren, but no ... those days were long gone, those lives snuffed out a full decade before. This was Madeleine, his wife of a little over a year, and their newborn son, named for the grandfather whose life’s blood had soaked into these stones what seemed a lifetime ago.

"My brother," he told her, reaching for the door. "Bryland is mixed up with this Inquisition - I'll tell you in a moment."

With a nod, he left her in the warm study, stepping out into the corridors of Highever Keep in search of the captain of his guard. He found him drilling the new recruits in the courtyard in front of the keep, between the rebuilt and far more easily held walls that surrounded both keep and bailey.

"Ser Gilmore!"

The redheaded captain turned to his teyrn, handing the recruits into the care of his second with a simple word before moving to join Fergus.

"Your lordship?"

"Read this."

Fergus thrust the parchment letter from Haven into his guard captain's hands. Gilmore scanned the delicate lines of writing for a moment, fighting unsuccessfully to keep a resigned smile from touching his expression as he handed it back to his teyrn.

"Put together a personal guard for him and send them to Haven, would you?" Fergus then ordered. "They're seconded to the Inquisition until they are recalled to Highever."

"At your command, your lordship. And the mabari?"

Fergus scowled, letting out a sigh.

"All right, take the damned dog as well," he conceded. "We could do without the noise, anyway."

***

For the attention of the Princess-Consort of Ferelden

Your highness, I am pleased to convey to you the news that your brother, Lord Bryland ...

Elinar's eyes flicked back and forth across the letter in her hand, her expression growing more and more tense as she did so. It was bad enough that Dermot was a Grey Warden and could never again truly be one of them, but now Bryland had to go and get himself marked for death by the Chantry?

"Marked," she murmured, her gaze returning to a pertinent line.

Your brother requested that I inform you of the position of the mark that he bears - it is placed seemingly in the palm of his left hand.

Unconsciously, Elinar looked down at her own left hand, withered and gray from her brush with the Blight, all but useless unless she had a shield strapped to her arm. Her jaw set in hard lines, worry for her little brother suffusing every atom of her being. Would he, too, be maimed for only doing what was right? There was no doubt in her mind that he had been in the wrong place at the right time to have ended up in the middle of all this. Her little brother was not a murderer.

"Elinar?"

A soft hand covered her right, and she realized she had been crumpling the letter in her fist, staring into space as she considered what consequences Bryland was going to have to survive in all this. The hand that drew her back from those dark thoughts was the hand she had guarded and protected all these years, the hand that belonged to the woman who held her heart.

Anora was watching her face in concern, gently smoothing her fingers out before she could cut her palm with her nails as she was so wont to do in times of stress. Elinar drew in a deep breath, producing a small smile for her wife and queen.

"Bryland is this new Herald of Andraste," she said, and it was all she needed to say.

Anora nodded slowly, a resigned smile on her face.

"You Couslands are always at the heart of the matter, aren't you?" she accused affectionately. "The Inquisition, though small, is a strong unit. He will be well guarded. And unfortunately we have larger problems at the moment."

Elinar's frown this time was one of concern for her wife.

"The mages?" she asked.

Queen Anora nodded once again, tired of being caught between the Chantry and the free mages.

"There is a rumor that they are seeking outside assistance in their fight against the templars," she told Elinar worriedly. "I fear I will have to make a decision on their continued sanctuary sooner than we hoped."

Wrapping her arm about Anora's shoulders, Elinar kissed the silver-touched gold of her wife's hair gently. The world was rushing toward chaos, and all they could do was hope to keep their small corner of it as peaceful as possible for as long as they could.

***

Dermot Cousland, Grey Warden, Hero of Ferelden, and Hero of the Fifth Blight, got about four lines in before he burst out laughing. That was how Zevran found him moments later, bent double on his knees by the fire, laughing hysterically as he waved a small piece of parchment around.

"I am almost afraid to ask, mi amor."

The Antivan assassin smiled, grabbing the parchment from his lover's hand to skim the contents. His own lips twitched toward a smile as he did so.

"Your brother is quite the adventurer still, no?"

Snorting as he tried to get himself under control, Dermot wheezed, pushing himself back onto the log that was serving as a seat for the evening. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek.

"Of all the times to go and get himself mixed up in something huge, it had to be now," he managed, shaking his head. "I'm sure Fergus is delighted."

Leaning against his side, Zevran perused the letter once again.

"Ah, I see he has the delicate Leliana at his side," he commented. "I wonder how she has been these past years. Divine Justinia was no easy taskmaster, I imagine."

"It's bad timing for us, though," Dermot answered, his laughter fading swiftly now the initial reaction was passed. "I can't go back and help him. This is too important to put off any longer."

His gloved fingers twined with Zevran's, holding on tighter than might be necessary, communicating the fear neither one of them was prepared to speak aloud. The Calling was coming for him, could come at any time, and from what they had heard from Alistair and Loghain, had come early for too many Wardens in the last few months. There had to be a cure somewhere. But he couldn't just abandon his little brother, either.

"Zevran," he began, but his lover was ahead of him.

"You know, I was loath to admit it, but I have some unfinished business in Southern Thedas," the assassin said easily, stroking the back of Dermot's hand against his tattooed cheek. "Would you mind terribly if I went back for a month or so, and then met up with you further west?"

Dermot let out a rush of breath, leaning closer to rest his forehead against Zevran's, closing his eyes in relief.

"Thank you, amorcito," he murmured. "You always know just what to do."

Zevran smiled in the flickering darkness.

"For you, mi amor, I would do anything."

#ena'vun #inquisitor cousland au #fergus cousland #ser gilmore #elinar cousland #anora mac tir #dermot cousland #zevran arainai #prologue #setting the scene #letters #spreading the news

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nyssatrevelyan · 6 years

Text

He remembered.

He remembered hearing that the darkspawn were rising, and Ferelden was meeting them on the battlefield.

He remembered the day Ser Ell had called him aside, with a face full of worry, to tell him that his king was dead and that good men like his father and Teyrn Loghain were rallying the country to beat back both darkspawn and Orlesians.

He remembered hearing that the Grey Wardens had treacherously lured King Cailan to his death, and that but two outlaws were left roaming the countryside, fomenting rebellion.

He remembered his father writing about the Couslands’ betrayal, and how they had been plotting with Orlais to invade during the chaos. He didn’t want to believe it – Bryce Cousland had been a beloved uncle to him, Eleanor Cousland had been a mother to Delilah after their own mother passed…. Fergus was more his brother than Thomas had ever been and Elissa….

He’d remembered the brilliant smile, the breathless kisses, the promises of always, and someday, and forever, and the Couslands’ smiles of approval… and he’d locked himself away, drank, and cried.

To know they were all dead and that Highever was now his father’s teyrnir… the conflicting emotions made his heart break. The pride in knowing his father had finally achieved what he’d always wished for and deserved – retaking Highever – was overshadowed by his grief and disbelief that his second family , heroes of the Occupation! -- could have plotted against Cailan and Ferelden.

He remembered hearing that the bannorn was in rebellion, and that civil war was tearing Ferelden apart… that the two Grey Warden traitors had amassed the dwarves, the elves, the mages and of all people, that fool Eamon Guerrin behind them!

He remembered, very clearly, the letter that had come to him in Teyrn Loghain’s own hand, bluntly sending regrets and informing him that one of the Grey Warden traitors was indeed Elissa Cousland – his Elissa alive! – and that she had murdered his father in cold blood in their new estate of the Arling of Denerim.

He remembered taking ship immediately, and arriving in Ferelden to find a previously unknown bastard of Maric’s on the throne, and married, unhappily, to Queen Anora, and Loghain conscripted as one of the traitorous Grey Wardens. All arranged – by her.

He remembered coming home after the civil war… finding that his name was soiled, his brother dead, his sister missing and his home filled with Wardens… Orlesian Wardens. And that Fergus Cousland was Teryn of Highever, and Elissa Cousland touted as the Hero of Ferelden, the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Commander of the Grey. And the reason for all this – the reason he was alone in the world – was her.

He remembered using his assassin’s training and sneaking back into Vigil’s Keep, knowing she was on her way. He considered killing her, but what would be the point of that? It would not bring his father or his honor back. And he didn’t want to think about – couldn’t imagine – watching the light in her eyes go out as he murdered her. So instead, he was caught as he tried to gather some family mementoes and steal back away into the night.

He remembered it took four Wardens to beat him into submission and to drag him to the dungeons.

He remembered the Darkspawn attack, and how many died while he was trapped in his cell – and how she’d come, surprised, still reeking with blood, to see him. How fitting for a murderer, he had thought. How for an instant, there had been a flash of hope, of love, of joy to see him whole…

He remembered the words that had spilled between them – painful, vicious, hateful as he branded her murderer and she called his father traitor, murderer and worse.

Mostly he remembered the anguish in her eyes as she realized that it was her responsibility as Arlessa to sentence him. She’d asked him what he would do if she let him go, and he told her he might come back sometime to finish the job when he wouldn’t be caught. When she observed he wasn’t helping his case he’d asked if she wanted him to lie to her.

He’d never lied to her before.

He’s thought to force her to hang him, to end his misery – and gambled that if she forced conscription on him he would die as apparently many did. Instead she’d ordered her seneschal – formerly his father’s seneschal – to help him gather his things and to have him escorted from the keep.

He remembered coming back, to Join her and to redeem his sullied name.

#The Warden Remembers #The Traitor's Son Remembers #Nathaniel Howe #Nyssa Writes Fics/ KatDancer #please read on A03 #please read and comment

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bastardwarden · 6 years

Note

how would alistair spend his last day alive if he knew?

alistair ama

(good call not to ask HIM lmao)

If it isn’t to do with the Calling and that sort of knowing death is imminent? I think it’d depend on what part of his life we’re talking about; Alistair in 9:30 has different priorities than in 9:40. In either case there’s a strong possibility he’d waste time brooding over missed chances, Every Mistake He Ever Made, and so on. Maybe not a lot of time, but a solid brood. Depending on where he was, he’d either track down and monologue at, or write letters to, people cares about and/or thinks he owes apologies to--Alim, Eamon, Isolde, the entire Origins Squad, Anora... So many. (Hurts to think he probably wouldn’t be able to see most of these people after 9:30.) And then, he’d probably keep things low-key if he could. He’d avoid hard work or combat, but otherwise do something pretty in the way of things for him, maybe spend time in a local tavern or around town taking in atmosphere. Hopefully he’d have a few good conversations and feel some connection to people so he could go with a warm wistful heart.

#headcanon crop #now i am Sleep but thank you anon!#Anonymous

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5lazarus · 3 years

Text

Winter in Amaranthine, Ch. 2: Velanna & Sigrun

Velanna and Sigrun decide to leave, and the Warden-Commander cannot find a reason good enough to tell them no. Meanwhile, letters between the Warden and Leliana get lost in translation, and Arana makes it worse. crossposted to Ao3 here. ch. 1: Anders & Justice ch. 3: Nathaniel Howe ch. 4: Oghren

The next few days bring more dispatches. Alistair wants a contingent of Grey Wardens in the capital, partly for his own honor guard, partly because he wants an excuse to see Tabris, and partly because he wants a subtle way to tell Anora to fuck herself. The marriage, it seems, is not going well. Loghain requests better surveying equipment; apparently he has taken her directive to “go make himself useful” to start making maps of the Deep Roads that are safe enough for military personnel to travel. Brosca sends her an Orlesian mask with the head still attached: charming. She hefts it by the hair, grimacing, and places it back in its sack. She will dispose of it later. Finally there is a letter for her, titled “Arana” rather than Warden Mahariel, and she brings it to her nose and inhales because it still has that sweet vanilla scent. Leliana has written her. She should have written her first. She should have written her months ago, but it is so difficult to scratch her meaning on a paper rather than her back. She would prefer to whisper it, to kiss it, to stroke the loving words and worries into it. And she knows the Divine reads Leliana’s mail. Who spies on the spy? The spy’s master.

Mahariel stokes the fire and settles in her chair. She opens the letter and scans the first few lines, and then stops. Leliana has written to her in Orlesian, quick and hurriedly, the letters slantingly elegantly. Mahariel sets it aside and puts her head in her hands. She doesn’t know it. She doesn’t know Orlesian, why would one of the People who roams Ferelden know Orlesian? The Orlesian she has picked up over the years is sparse. Arana breathes heavily into her hands. She had thought Leliana knew. How could she not? Dimly she is aware that she is overreacting. Dimly she knows she is less angry than lonely. She should have written her first. Mahariel squats before the fire and tucks the letter, untranslated, into the grating and watches it burn silently. When it is done she walks over to her desk, pulls out a scrap of parchment, and writes in her Keeper’s best script, in the most formal Elvhen she can muster, “We don’t write Orlesian in the Dales.” She folds the paper in three. Then, taking her favorite wax, she melts it over her candle, and gently drips it onto the parchment. She takes her seal, specially enchanted by Sandal to repel everyone but Leliana, and presses it firmly onto the paper’s eam. She thinks, as the wax melts, that this is a mistake. Which? She has made so many mistakes. She coaxes the seal off the wax and smiles grimly at the griffon rampant it has left. She will send it onwards to the Grand Cathedral tomorrow, or she will burn it, and not make another mistake. But she has done so well with the Blight, so she must reckon her bad luck with her personal life. “Dread Wolf take me,” Arana says. “No one else will.” Then there is a knock at the door and she must no longer be fallible. Warden-Commander Mahariel scowls, irritated that she has been interrupted yet again. She says to the door, “What is it now?” Silence resounds. Mastering her temper, Mahariel crosses the room and yanks open the door. Velanna and Sigrun jump back. Velanna looks embarrassed, Sigrun smug. “Lethallin,” Mahariel says tartly. “To what do I owe the pleasure.” Velanna takes a deep breath and straightens up. She says in Dalish, “We need to talk to you, sister. I have a favor to ask of you.” Mahariel sighs. “Of course. Step inside.” She allows them in and closes the door behind them. She motions to them to sit at the cluster of armchairs by the fire. “Would you like a drink?” “No,” Velanna says. “Yes, that’d be wonderful,” Sigrun says. She rolls her eyes at Velanna meaningfully, who crosses her arms. Mahariel, amused, reaches into her desk for the good whiskey Clan Alerion sent her, and pours both her and Sigrun a glass. “Still alive,” she murmurs before she drinks. “May the Dread Wolf never catch our scent.” “Cheers,” Sigrun echoes, and, companionably, they drink as Velanna smooths out her robes anxiously. Mahariel likes them. She likes Velanna’s anger. She likes Sigrun’s resigned good cheer. She always means to draw them into her confidence, as easily as Brosca and Zevran and Surana had invaded hers, but Amaranthine is so cold in winter, and she does not like to venture from her office on nights like this--and there is always so much work to do. She is glad they have come to her--but perhaps that is the whiskey, spreading warm in her stomach, soothing her mistakes from her tangled mind. “Velanna, are you sure you don’t want anything?” she asks again. Velanna shakes her head curtly. “Not when I feel like this.” Mahariel sighs, thinking, sweet Sylaise I hope she isn’t pregnant, and I hope it’s not Anders’ or Howe’s, Howe had been sniffing around her enough, acting like she’s yet another servant whose skirts he can pull up. She knows, of course, she is not necessarily being fair: but she does not like Nathaniel, who thinks mages are whiny and elves look like clowns, so who cares? Velanna better not. Mahariel says, “And why do you feel like this, Warden?” It comes out sharper than she intends. Sigrun glances quickly at her, and Mahariel understands that as a rebuke. She smiles thinly. Velanna says, “Have you heard about the trouble in Denerim, lethallan?” “There’s always trouble in Denerim,” Arana says dismissively. “What is it now?” “Bann Tabris’ cousin was attacked again,” Velanna says. “She is unhurt and unshaken but Ferelden wants Grey Wardens he can trust in the capitol, to make sure the shem don’t rush the alienage again. I want to volunteer. I am volunteering to go. Because I’m tired of our sisters being stolen. So, please, Warden-Commander. Arana. Let me go.” Sigrun takes Velanna’s hands and says simply, “And I’d like to go with her.” Arana blinks slowly, recollecting her thoughts. She is relieved it is not about Nathaniel or Anders either, but she has no good reason to grant the request, or deny it either. She likes these two women. She does not want to be left alone with Nathaniel and Oghren as her advisors. She could tell them no, but what would Tabris think? And Alistair? Alistair asked her personally to send men, and besides her friendship to him, she has a responsibility to Elvhenan as well. Elvhenan: her clan, Velanna and her people, Tabris and hers. Mahariel says, “I have no good reason to deny you permission.” Velanna visibly brightens, but Sigrun interjects, “Is that a yes?” She smiles again, and the shadows flickering from the fire deepen the tattooed caverns of her face. She looks like she is dying, but, as Sigrun herself reminds them, she is already dead. And as Wardens, they are all dying already. She has no good reason to tell them no. Arana says instead, “I did not know you were corresponding with Bann Tabris.” Velanna frowns. “I don’t. I read about it in a newsletter--you know the broadsheet Clan Lavellan began last Arlathvhen, gathering inquiries for the missing? They’ve added stories too. You don’t read it?” Mahariel wonders if her clan sent in Tamlen’s description and a desperate plea to bring him back or bury him well. She turns away from the two women and pours herself another drink. She had not had it in her to tell them the way he died. She has not written to them since the Blight. Wardens do not have families, and every Warden must leave. She says, “When will you leave? The roads will be getting difficult.” Velanna says, “Why would I take the roads?” When Velanna and Sigrun leave, they go well-packed and warmly dressed, in standard Warden cloaks to keep them from being attacked. Arana adds her own touch to their bundles: dried lavender, from a plant she grows herself, and a brusque letter to Alistair wishing him luck. She adds in a defensive amulet for Tabris and her cousin, enchanted specially by Sandal, and a shawl. When they get to the King’s Road, Sigrun posts the letter for Leliana. Arana watches them leave and thinks, I have made so many mistakes, and is careful not to drink that night.

#mahariel/leliana #velanna/sigrun #arana mahariel #velanna #sigrun #dragon age fanfic #fanfic #awakening #winter in amaranthine #5lazarus #hes5thlazarus #dao

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january-warlock · 6 years

Text

Here’s one of the commissions I did for oblivianrose; they were happy enough for me to write a sequel, which I’ll post after this one.

Ships: Josephine/Inquisitor, Hawke/Anders, Alistair/Warden

Summary: Three of Thedas’ biggest power players-the Hero of Ferelden, the Inquisitor, and the Champion of Kirkwall, meeto discuss the future of Thedas’ mages and how to proceed with the lingering threat of the Chantry.

“Presenting Warden Commander Neria Surana, and the Champion of Kirkwall, Mara Hawke.” Josephine, her hair braided back with bright red flowers in it, was at the far right. Leliana was on the left, her face shrouded by her hood.

Inquisitor Kirstin Trevelyan was at the center; her silverite dagger was at her waist, and she still carried the smell of dragonthorn and royal elfroot that she used in her flasks during battle.

Neria’s years and experience showed on her face; they’d painted lines around her mouth and eyes, but she still carried a spring to her step. She was dressed in her Grey Warden silver and blue armor, with her grimoire that had a bright green tree on its cover at her hip.

“I don’t really go by ‘Champion’ anymore.” Mara said. She had her mother’s orange hair, her sharp blue eyes, and high cheekbones. “It’s not even Lady Hawke, technically.” With the dissolution of the Circles, all mages were now apostates, and with Hawke’s involvement with the destruction of Kirkwall’s Chantry, she was now a fugitive and had lost all claims to her title and estate.

“I’ll help if I can, Inquisitor. After you saved Alistair and Hawke in the Fade, I’ll do what I can for you.” Neria wasn’t sure how Kirstin had done it; she’d somehow fended off the massive fear demon with the Anchor, ripping it apart piece by piece, and allowing those with her to escape. And that was what convinced Neria to temporarily stop her search for a cure for the Blight to assist the Inquisitor.

“I appreciate it, Warden Commander.” Remembering the training provided to her by her own family and Josephine, Kirstin gave a low bow. “I appreciate your time and willingness to speak with me. You’re both here because we have all declared support for the mages of Thedas-a topic I’m sure is sensitive to both of you-and unfortunately, that support has angered many.” Those had been Leliana’s words, and she’d decided now, while they had the support of Orlais, was a good time to remedy the situation, lest it turn volatile. “And I’d like advice from all of you on how to handle the situation, in the Free Marches, Ferelden, and Orlais.”

“Silence the largest opponents in Orlais.” Leliana said. “A quick knife from behind makes no sense and prevents anymore.”

“Perhaps a reminder of the Chantry’s wrongdoings before we jump to the assassins?” Josephine said, giving Leliana a hard look. “The templars made a grand show of knocking a Chantry woman in front of the nobility, and the Chantry itself was more preoccupied with consolidating its own power before helping the commoners.”

“As for the Free Marches, remind them of Kirkwall, and its Circle.” Mara said. “And that if the Chantry had done its job, the rebellion and the Mage-Templar war wouldn’t have happened.”

Kirstin kept her posture straight, but she couldn’t help her sense of discomfort. She herself, with no magic to speak of, had never been subjected to the horrors of the Circle, her younger brother had, and the thought of him being thrown to those wolves made her skin crawl. “Is bringing up Kirkwall really the smartest move?” She asked, looking to Josephine. “A mage blew up their Chantry. That’s been the main point of any who speak out against mages.” Kirstin could see Mara’s glare out of the corner of her eye, but kept her focus on Josephine.

“The goal here is to erode the support of the Chantry, and increase the support of the mages to strengthen our own.” Josephine said. “Our ties to the mages of Thedas are bound in steel, and the Chantry will not take kindly to it.”

“We don’t have to remove the Chantry.” Leliana said, her face close to a glare. “They’re at a weak point, and with Orlais’ support behind us, they’re no threat.”

Neria looked across the table at her old friend; they’d fought side by side during the Blight, and despite Neria’s unending hatred for the Chantry, she’d found Leliana’s views interesting, and it had opened up her own. But that hadn’t changed her opinion of the institution itself. “The Chantry’s been a threat to Thedas since it’s conception, and not just to mages.” Neria’s elven ears poked through her orange hair; she remembered what it was like to leave the Circle, see the alienage, where elves lived in ghettos because of the Chantry, and the Dalish, who lived as nomads unable to find a permanent home because of the Chantry. And that the racism she experienced in and out of the Circle was also the fault of the Chantry’s.

“If it wasn’t for the Chantry, the Qunari would never have invaded Kirkwall. Elthina did what she always did, and turned a blind eye to Petrice, who instigated the Qunari.” Mara said, putting her hands on the war table. “I can put a message out to the Free Marches. The Chantry stood back and did nothing while innocent people suffered for over a decade, and not just the mages. Remember the late night raids on their families, executing people who supported the mages? Bullying the nobility to keep a new Viscount from being elected?”

“With all due respect, Lady Hawke, we’re aware of your relationship to Anders, the one who destroyed the Chantry in the first place. And we know that people know that you didn’t execute him when you had the chance.”

Mara opened her mouth to speak, but Neria cut her off. “I can’t blame her. Elthina got what she had coming, and the Chantry has nothing and no one to blame but its templars and its own inaction. Like how it did nothing during the Blight. The templars were more concerned with saving each other and murdering mages than anything else at Kinloch Hold.” Neria remembered the smell of blood and burning corpses, as the templars cowered behind a massive door, and Alistair had muttered “that cowering was definitely the templar ‘plan b.’” “I was there, and I remember every detail.” She looked over at Mara. “Did you know that the Chantry was busy looking for donations instead of helping the people of Lothering?”

Mara nodded. “I remember that the templars abandoned it.”

“If the mages of Thedas are going to have a future, the Chantry can’t have a say in it.” Neria said. “Your brother is a mage, ask him what he thinks.”

Kirstin didn’t have to. She knew her brother’s feelings on the Circle; he’d been rowdy and difficult, a frequent runaway, pushing his limits to see what he could get away with it. And he hadn’t been quiet or lighthearted about it when they finally met up again at Redcliffe. “My brother and I have already talked about at length on his time with the Circle.”

Leliana said nothing, and Kirstin let out a heavy sigh. “Thank you, all of you, for your advice. I appreciate you taking the time to meet me, and I hope we’ll be in contact again soon.” Kirstin bowed again, and waved her hand. “You’re both dismissed, I need to discuss things with my advisors.”

---

Mara waited for Neria outside of the war room. The light coming in from the broken windows gave Neria a wondrous glow behind her. “Thoughts, Warden Commander?” She asked.

“My thoughts are that the Circles do not work. They’re not about helping mages, or anyone. The Chantry cares about the Chantry, and everything else is a smokescreen.” Neria tapped her staff on the floor. “And as grim a prospect as my future is, I’ll take a death fighting darkspawn that at the hands of a templar who didn’t like being told no.”

Mara nodded. She’d seen the collapse first-hand; things in Kirkwall had been far from fine, but those in power had been content to stand back and watch the fire burn, until something they cared about got caught in the blaze. She and the Warden shook hands before going down the hall together, but not saying a word.

Back in the war room, Kirstin faced Leliana and Josephine. “So we have our plan, then?”

“I’m not convinced going against the Chantry isn’t a mistake.” Leliana said. “If we can reform them, use our position to strengthen theirs, repair their relationship to the people, a reformed Chantry in our debt would be a powerful ally.”

“The Chantry’s been against us from the start, Leliana. And I believe in the Maker, but not the Chantry.” She sighed. “And they took my baby brother away from me. I missed out on his birthdays, watching him grow up, and he missed out a good portion of his life that he won’t get back.” She paused to gather herself. “But I shouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way. What happens if we eliminate the Chantry?”

“We alone are an independent power in Thedas, which no doubt will make people nervous.” Josephine said. “If we do repair the Chantry, we could end up competing for influence, even if we’re the reason they still exist and every Chantry in Thedas didn’t end up with us using them to house refugees.”

“Table that suggestion.” Kirstin said, rubbing her temple, and feeling a headache coming on. “Either we further damage the Chantry’s reputation and use their buildings to help deal with the refugee crisis, or we tell the revered mothers to do that themselves if they want to fix their reputation.”

“We do have other leverage-the Chantry did nothing in the civil war, and with Orlais behind us,” They weren’t so much as “behind the Inqusition” as much as they were in the Inquisitor’s pocket. “One meeting with the Empress could shatter whatever support they have in Orlais.”

“I’ll draft some letters for Queen Anora, see what we want to do. But what about our mages?” Kirstin asked.

Josephine showed her the plans she’d drawn up a few hours before the meeting had started. “They’re safe. And if the Chantry goes, the reputation of mages will heal, with time. What we should do is have the mages interact with nobles and commoners alike. The healers could go to the Hinterlands, Crestwood, anywhere there’s a refugee situation, and show them the benefits of free mages. For the nobles of Orlais, show them the potential of mage scholars, and see who would be wiling to serve with their soldiers.”

Kirstin nodded. “I see. I need to think on this, see what direction would really be best.”

Kirstin left, closing the doors behind her and returned to her quarters, and set to burning prophet’s laurel for incense. As the sweet smell filled her room, she leaned back on her couch, her foot up on a stool, she undid her hair, enjoying the feeling of her hair no longer being bunched up. Hopefully, that would ease her headache before it turned into a migraine.

She was enjoying the warm, scented air and feeling her stress leave her when she heard quiet, light footsteps going up the stairs. For her brief training as a bard, Josephine hadn’t learned how to make herself completely silent.

“A copper for your thoughts?” Josephine asked, taking a seat next to her, and running her hands through Kirstin’s hair.

Kirstin let out a long sigh. “I’m just thinking. Life was a lot more simple a year ago, when I didn’t have to make decisions like this.” She laid her head back, enjoying the feeling of Josephine’s fingers on her head. “I can’t see the future, I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

Josephine nodded sympathetically. “You must go with your heart, my love. It’s as you said, you can’t see the future; you can just do what you think is right.”

“That’s easier when it’s just me being effected, not all of Thedas.” That was the hardest part of being Inquisitor; each of her actions was like throwing a stone in the water, and it was hard to determine who would be effected by the ripples. She inched closer to the other woman, wrapping her arms around her. She took a deep breath, enjoying the feel of her head being on Josephine’s shoulders. “I should send up for some wine. And we take a moment for just the two of us.”

“There’s an Antivan vintage I’ve been meaning to share with you for ages now. Straight from the Montilyet wine cellar.” Josephine draped her legs over Kirstin’s. “Made from the finest red grapes in Antivan vineyards.”

“That sounds exactly what I need.” Kirstin kissed Josephine’s forehead, then the tip of her nose, her jawline, her mouth. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Well, that’s not something you’ll ever find out.” Josephine smiled as she leaned in to kiss the Inquisitor again.

---

Outside, Mara had bid a quick hug and goodbye to Varric, and slipped into a cloak that was large enough to hide her features. She took the long way around to the back of Skyhold, until she came to a steep cliff. There was a massive boulder at the end with rope tied around it. She’d gone in through the “front door” for lack of a better term, but she couldn’t risk anyone seeing where she was going-or with whom. Too many soldiers in the Inqusition loyal to the Chantry and the Maker. Tying a loop around her waist, she began the long scale down.

Anders was waiting in a small cave, bundled up with furs to ward against the cold. He’d aged a bit since Kirkwall; wrinkles more prominent around his face, his hair color starting to fade, but seemed so much healthier than he was in Kirkwall. Less thin, less on edge, despite being a fugitive wanted by half of Thedas. “How did it go, love?”

“I pushed for the Inquisition to weaken and eventually end the Chantry.” Mara said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But the Inquisition is keeping the mages safe, and Lady Josephine is doing what she can to help them adjust to life outside the Circles, and get people to see what free mages could do for them.”

Anders smiled, kissing her forehead. “So, worth putting yourself in danger. If Cullen or any good Inquisition soldier saw me, they might just kill me on the spot.”

“But they didn’t see you, and nobody knows you’re here, not even Varric. But we should literally make tracks and keep walking. We should be in the Anderfels as soon as possible. I believe Neria and Alistair are headed that way too, but we’ll attract less attention if we split up.”

“And neither of them care who I am, or what I did?”

“Neria hates the Chantry as much as I do; she won’t say a word.”

She took Anders’ hand in hers, and when she looked into his eyes, for just a moment, she could see their past-the easier days in Kirkwall, when it was just running and killing, before the templars, and Carver joining the Grey Wardens, when things were not always good, but better. She wasn’t certain she’d ever see Kirkwall again, or that she even wanted to.

She didn’t know what was in their future; she didn’t think there would ever be a point where Anders wouldn’t be a wanted criminal, unless they went to Rivain, where the Chantry wasn’t welcome and mages were. But whatever happened, she would not be parted from him, come what may.

Neria stood in front of the former Grand Enchanter, Fiona in the library of Skyhold. She looked all of her years, lines in her dark skin, but she didn’t seem even slightly weary. Neria could see the fire in her eyes that inspired her to start the mage rebellion. “And you have no idea what made you stop being a Warden?”

Neria hadn’t heard of Fiona until a few years of her being in the Wardens had passed. But even then, she’d be astounded to learn that there was someone who avoided their Calling. “No. Whatever it was, it also meant that I couldn’t do the Joining again. And without my Warden capabilities, I returned to the Circles to free our people.”

“You lost your ability to be a Warden, but willingly returned to the Circle?”

“To help our fellow mages. I saw plenty of their cruelty firsthand, and I would do anything if it meant freeing our people of it.” She could see orange and red flicker across her warm brown eyes. Neria didn’t believe her when she said that didn’t know what cured her of the Blight, but she didn’t know her well enough to press it.

“Warden Commander, is it true that your friend Alistair is a Warden?” Fiona asked.

“He’s more than a friend,” Neria smiled. “But yes, he is a Warden. Why?”

“Nothing-just curious about the routes that life take.”

That was something Neria was curious about, but she bowed her head. “Thank you, Fiona. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again.”

After saying goodbye to Fiona, she was on the outside of Skyhold, Neria had covered herself up against the cold as best as she could. With her business done with the Inqusition-for good, hopefully-this time, she was free to further pursue the cure for the calling.

She opened up her book filled with her notes.

After what occurred at our keep all those years ago, I’ve been certain that the Calling isn’t the death sentence we’ve believed it to be. My own knowledge of the Blight and Warden training is limited, but after my study of high dragons and the properties of their blood, I’m convinced that they would somehow be involved with a cure.

I’ve done several autopsies on their bodies, and each time, I’ve found cysts resembling the Blight, as if the dragons were guarding against its influence. I’ve tried using high dragon blood in my experiments, but no results so far. There’s some component or something else that I’m missing.

Hopefully, Weisshaupt would have what she needed. Perhaps something in the Archives that had been missed. But she wanted to go through Soldier’s Peak first, stop by its libraries and go over Avernus’ notes. He’d kept himself alive well past his prime, and, with her and Alistair’s Callings fast approaching, she was in constant fear. The Blight would not take them as it had so many others.

#dragon age #alistair x warden #josephine x inquisitor #hawke x anders #mage rights #my writing #commissions

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a-gay-bloodmage · 6 years

Note

Every time I send in an ask and learn more about Orest I love him more x) On the Dragon Age Asks: Warden + Companions, can you do 5 for Zevran, 1 and 4 for Alistair, 2 and 5 for Wynne, 5 for Leliana, 2 for Sten, 3 for Oghren, 2 for Morrigan, 2 for Shale, and 1 for Dog for Orest? (Sorry there's so many I just couldn't decide on one or two of them but I figured it's okay since it's Orest's birthday x))

I absolutely loved doing these!!

((From this post~!))

Feel free to send in more!

Zevran:

5. How well did your Warden keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight? Did they ever see him again?

He tried his best to keep in contact with Zevran after the Blight, as they were really good friends during it! He made sure to take every opportunity to ask Zevran in letters (that Morrigan had to write for him) to visit him, Morrigan, and Kieran in Skyhold, and to bring the best brandy he could get his hands on! And yes, eventually, he came around for a visit, and after a couple of bottles, and when Kieran was put to bed, they had quite a bit of ~adult time~

Alistair

1. What sort of attachment did your Warden form with Alistair, if any at all? Were they close due to their shared experiences as Grey Wardens?

He actually formed a really close bond with Alistair, despite being in love with Morrigan. He really did think of him as a sort of brother-in-arms, and a really close friend. After the Blight, they remained by each other’s side often, as Orest refused to crown him, letting Anora take the throne to keep Alistair a Warden with him. He and Alistair shared that special Grey Warden bond, and especially after Tamlen died, Alistair was the first one he ran to for comfort.

4. How did your Warden respond to Alistair’s dislike of Loghain? Did they share Alistair’s sentiments or disagree?

Orest certainly shared Alistair’s hatred of Loghain. God, Loghain was what was wrong with shems, in Orest’s mind; he kept old hatreds alive, and sacrificed his own people just because he was so spiteful and bitter against the Orelesians. Not to mention, he really talked down to Orest, and he did not appreciate it at all.

Wynne:

2. How did your Warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your Warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Well, this one is tough, since he ended up lying to her, claiming that he knew she was a distraction, and that it was just a physical thing, despite the fact that he knew he was falling for her. He wasn’t rude to her, and did actually appreciate her concern, but he didn’t hesitate to laugh it off, and, in true Orest fashion, joke about how She seems to have tied me down quite tight!

5. What did Wynne choose to do after the Blight was ended? Did your Warden stay in touch with her?

After the Blight, Wynne decided to help Shale find a way to become squishy again, and Orest was certainly delighted to hear it, even if he really did like Shale when she was big and made of stone! Orest made sure to send Wynne letters, always asking about how she was doing, since during the Blight, he’d grown to really look up to her, even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of her Circle Stockholm Syndrome.

Leliana:

5. How well did your Warden get along with Leliana? What was their relationship like?

Okay, Orest really loved Leliana, and honestly, if Morrigan hadn’t caught his eye first, he would’ve ended up with her. They were really good friends, though Orest, being a little stupid, nearly slept with her after the whole “hair conversation” (because, yes, my hair is wonderful, thank you for noticing Leliana!) But yes, he and Leliana got on quite well, and despite their different religious views, they respected each other, and even learned quite a bit about the differing views on the world.

Sten:

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

Well, Orest certainly respected what he had to say, but he didn’t agree. He pointed out that he used to just be a hunter, and now he was a Grey Warden, asking if Sten thought that by changing his role in life, it made him more valuable, and that if he hadn’t changed his role, Alistair would be the only Warden left in Ferelden. The conversation ended there, but Orest knew that he got somewhere.

Oghren:

3. What was the fate of Branka? If she was killed, was your Warden regretful? How did they act around Oghren afterwards?

Orest killed Branka, but he felt really bad about it. Not that he liked her, no, he really hated how she wanted to make people into slaves of stone, he just really felt guilty for killing someone that Oghren obviously really cared for and loved, even if she didn’t love him back. He tried to repent by acting friendly around Oghren, not shying away, and eventually, the two of them actually became pretty close. Orest had never met a dwarf before, and he wanted to know all sorts about them, even if Oghren was reluctant to open up to him. (Not to mention, Orest really liked feeling tall again!)

Morrigan:

2. Did your Warden agree to help Morrigan kill Flemeth? Why or why not?

Of. Course. He. Did. As soon as he heard about what Flemeth planned for his beloved human, he strapped on his chest plate, tightened his bow strings, and grabbed Sten, Wynne, and Zevran to kick her ass. Sure, he may have gotten his ass kicked, but he did eventually “kill” the awful old woman. Just hearing about how the woman that Morrigan really did look up to and did love deep down was an awful, evil demon, he knew that he had to help her. There was no way he was just going to let Morrigan’s soul be ripped away from her, she was too precious to lose.

Shale:

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

He was really surprised, yes. He isn’t the best when it comes to magical knowledge, so he just assumed she was alive just because magic said so. But since she’d proven that she had her own thoughts, and ideas, and outlook on life, his opinion of golems didn’t change as in “Oh, now I have to look at and treat you like a real person” because he really did see her as an entity with a soul, even if he thought it was just a magic say-so. It was more of a “Your entire existence is even more a form of slavery than I thought, and though I know you don’t want pity, by the Creators I feel so bad for you!” Of course, he didn’t say that out loud, instead deciding to take the safer option of joking, laughing about her being squishy on the inside!

Dog:

1. Who’s a good boy?!

Anga is a good boy! Okay, seriously, Orest loves that dog to death. Being Dalish, he was really hesitant to take an animal as a “pet” at first, as he didn’t believe that any animal was for anybody to own or control. Animals are free spirits, just as people should be, and owning one was morally wrong in his mind. But, he made sure to heal him, not able to let the poor thing suffer if he could be cured. And, eventually, he put him out of his mind, until, after Ostagar, this lost warhound ran up to him, and then it was all over for him. He let the dog join them, and made sure to clean the poor thing off as soon as they could find a river, taking extra care to make sure the mabari was okay. So he named him Anga, which is Tolkien Elvish for Iron, and treasured him to the ends of the Earth. Sometimes, Morrigan would tease him when he would sit with Kieran in his arms and Anga’s head on his lap, wondering who was Orest’s favorite child. He isn’t sure if he could chose one or the other.

#i write..... a lot lol #whoops #whatever lol this was fun!!#orest mahariel #original content #asks #da warden #zevran arainai #alistair theirin #da wynne #da leliana #da sten #da oghren #da morrigan #da shale #mabari

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allisondraste · 4 years

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Temperance (29/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Chapter Summary: Nathaniel loses his cool.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Denerim, 9:31 Dragon

“Thank you for coming to meet with me again,” Anora said politely as Nathaniel entered her study, and used every ounce of his willpower to hide his annoyance at her unfortunate timing.

“It is my pleasure, your majesty,” he stated, forcing a smile and closing the door behind him.

So close. He’d been so close to finally saying everything he’d wanted to say to Liss for the past—what was it now? Seventeen years?— to explaining to her why he hadn’t written, to apologizing for having his head up his own arse. He had no idea how she’d take it all, but that moment in the market, when she’d looked at him as she had the night before he left Highever that last time, gave him hope. It also gave him every reason to resent that he was standing in the queen’s office rather than Liss’ quarters.

“You need not flatter me, Nathaniel,”Anora answered with a smirk, motioning for him to sit. He had forgotten that he’d even flattered her.

He sat down in the chair across from her desk and crossed his arms. “What is it that you need, your majesty?”

Anora bit her lip and exhaled an uncharacteristically shaky breath. “I am certain you are aware of the upheaval the Grey Wardens’ actions in Amaranthine have caused.”

“Better than most, I’m sure.”

“More specifically, the discontent with the current arlessa,” she explained, “There is… concern that she is acting out of her own interests.”

Nathaniel laughed irreverently. “Lucia? With all due respect, your majesty, if setting herself on fire could have saved Amaranthine, she would have done so long before she torched the city.”

“I am familiar enough with the Warden-Commander to know this; however, my council is… unconvinced. The people of Amaranthine are unconvinced.”

“I figured as much,” he sighed, “Let me guess: They are all very concerned about my presence as well.”

“Hardly, although Eamon insists on playing that card,” she remarked with a bitter laugh, “Arl Bryland has suggested that the arling be returned to your family.”

Nathaniel blinked a few times as if it would help him to hear the words better. “What? ” He laughed. “I find that incredibly difficult to believe. My uncle has no love for my family.”

“Perhaps not,” Anora admitted,”And that is not why he made the suggestion.”

“Then why?”

“Despite the fallacy of the claims, there are many in Ferelden who still believe that the Wardens are responsible for the losses at Ostagar. Even those who don’t are concerned with the growing political power of a formerly exiled Order, one that claims to be without political affiliation. It is causing a level of unrest with which I am uncomfortable.”

Nathaniel leaned forward. “I see your point, but… I am a Warden. Transferring the arling to me would not make a difference.”

“That is why I intend to give it to Delilah,” Anora said with a knowing smile, “What do you think?”

A weight fell from his shoulders and his chest swelled. It made so much sense. Delilah was brilliant and responsible. As far as he knew, she managed affairs in Amaranthine to the best of her ability while father played his games. Not to mention it would put the necessary distance between the Wardens and any sort of political authority. “I think that it is a brilliant idea.”

“It is my hope that her taking the title of Arlessa will settle the voices of dissenters, and I am certain she will be sympathetic to the Warden cause, allowing them—you—to maintain a stronghold at Vigil’s Keep.”

Nathaniel nodded, but remembered his sister’s flight from Ferelden with her merchant husband and the baby she carried, and frowned. It seemed cruel and unfair to ask her to leave the quiet life she now had, a life that was desirable to petty Fereldan politics. Yet, there were no other viable options. Tom was, for all intents and purposes, deceased, and Nathaniel had gotten himself conscripted into the very order that the nobility mistrusted. Once again, Delilah’s peace and happiness would be sacrificed because he failed to be the big brother she deserved.

“You appear concerned,” Anora remarked matter-of-factly, snapping him from his ruminations.

He laughed, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Delilah is going to hate this. She was finally happy.”

“I know. I am sorry.” She paused and sighed. “Do you think she will still accept, if asked.”

“Without question.” He nodded his head affirmatively.

“Good. I shall send word to her as soon as I can.” She flashed a brief smile that held only sympathy for the decision she had to make. “Thank you, Nathaniel. That will be all.”

“Yes, your majesty,” he answered quickly, standing and bowing his head before exiting the room.

Just stepping outside the study, hearing the door click behind him as the hallway extended in front of him, his pulse jumped. Nothing stood in the way of his confession to Liss now, and nothing excused him from it. He had never been more ready for anything in his life, and yet he felt completely unprepared. He knew he should just do it, but convinced himself that it would help him to read his letter he wrote to her one last time, as if he could forget what it said.

Reaching into his pack, he pulled out the small envelope, removed the parchment, and unfolded it. His heart sank at the first words on the page. “Dear Tom” was not his letter to Liss. Then where—

“Shit,” he muttered, and shoved the letter back in its envelope. He turned down the corridor that led to the main hall, rather than continuing to the guest wing. Taking both envelopes with him had been a horrible decision among a million other horrible decisions that now replayed themselves in his mind.

It had only been an hour or so since Nathaniel stood in the Market District with Liss, and it seemed a different place entirely. It was much louder, busier, as people pushed past one another, bumping shoulders and grumbling. He wove his way through groups of chattering people, muttering “excuse me’s” and apologies, until he reached the wooden door to the smithy. It was an odd trade for a former Antivan Crow, but the woman called Bria still seemed to be quite adept at blacksmithing. If earlier events were any indication, she knew Liss as well.

He pushed the door open quickly, a wave of heat smacking into his face, and warming the tip of his chilled nose. At the forge, Bria stopped her work and looked up at him with an enormous smile filled with mischief.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “I knew you would be back.”

“You knew?

“Mhmm.” She walked away from the forge and moved behind the counter, bending down, and popping back up with a familiar envelope held loosely between her fingers. “I do not think this is the letter you want to send to your Thomas.”

Nathaniel’s face grew warm in such a way that he knew it was not from the forge. “You read it?”

“Of course not.” She turned the envelope so that he could see the front, lips turning up into a small smirk. “It is addressed to Lady Elissa. You were quite flustered when she walked in, yes?”

“I suppose I was,” he admitted, unable to hide the undoubtedly ridiculous smile that spread across his face. “That would explain why I gave you the wrong letter.”

He took Liss’ letter from Bria’s hand, tucking it firmly into his coat, and giving her the letter intended for Tom. She snatched it playfully and eyed him with a perplexed expression, clicking her tongue.

“What,” he asked, frowning at her.

“It seems to me that you should be doing much more than writing her letters,” she said, with a wink, before bending down to place Tom’s letter under the counter.

“Why would you think that?”

Bria chuckled knowingly and raised back up, leaning forward so that her elbows were on the countertop. “You love her. It is written all over your pretty face.”

“You are perceptive.”

“In my profession, being perceptive is imperative.”

“Blacksmithing?” Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow up at her and smirked.

“Blacksmithing,” she replied with a nod and another mischievous smile.

There was a brief moment of silence between them and he cleared his throat to speak. “I should… head back to the castle.”

“You should.” Bria grinned broadly, eyes glimmering with amusement.

He nodded, ignoring the heat that still lingered in his face and the sinking pit in his stomach as he left the shop and made his way to the castle.

Nathaniel returned to the guest wing, pausing briefly to pull the letter from his coat and read his own words again, a reminder of all that he wanted to say. It did nothing to ease his anxiety, of course, and he knew there was only one solution. She was just down the hall, in her quarters, and no doubt tired of waiting for him. It would be as quick as knocking on her door and as painless as swallowing his pride.

The door to her quarters looked just as the doors to any of the other rooms, just as his own guest room. There was nothing special about the door, other than who lay beyond it. He laughed at the thought of all the times she’d shown up at his door during their childhood. How she’d seemingly given no second thought to rapping out a rhythm with her knuckles. If only he were so uninhibited.

Willing his hand to the smooth, wooden surface, he knocked three times. There was no answer, but the door moved under his touch. It had not even been closed all the way. He pushed it open hesitantly. “Liss?”

Liss didn’t answer, but he caught a glimpse of her as he peered past the door and into the room. She lay face down on the bed, a mass of blond curls springing up from the pillow. He entered the room completely and approached her, noticing how her body rose and fell with each slow breath. Her head was turned to the side, so that her face was visible past a lock or two of hair. Her lips twitched as well as did her hand that lay on the pillow next to her face. The sheets and coverlet were a bundled mess around her, undoubtedly failing at their function of keeping her warm.

Nathaniel bent down and took hold of the covers, straightening them out, and pulling them up to cover Liss’ nearly-bare arms. As he did so, something on her shoulder caught his eye. In a spot where her hair had conveniently parted , just near the curve of her neck was a long, deep mark, a scar left by a sword or an axe. No matter how he tried to avoid the image of her wounded, bleeding, stumbling about to escape her own home, he couldn’t. He ached at the thought of how alone she must have felt in that moment, how afraid. If only he had been there.

Liss roused slightly and rolled beneath the blankets. Her eyes flickered open, barely, and she looked up at him. “Nate?” Her voice was hoarse, heavy with sleep.

“It’s me,” he whispered, reaching out to brush one of her wild curls from her face, “Go back to sleep. We can talk later.”

She smiled, groggily, eyes fluttering shut as she brought her hand up to cover his. A soft chuckle escaped him and he allowed his hand to linger on her cheek for a moment before pulling away. If he’d ever been uncertain of his feelings for her, that small exchange would have him convinced. Maker, he was hopeless.

He turned to exit the room, pulling the door closed as gently as he could so as to not wake her again. It was only early evening, and a large part of him wanted her to be awake. It was an impatient thought, a selfish one, and he refused to give in to it. The woman hadn’t slept much at all the night before, and he would not disturb her.

Nathaniel walked back down the hall, passing his own room, and heading toward Lucia’s. He had not spoken with the Warden-Commander since the night before, and she’d been rather upset. He worried for her, and thought to check in. It would pass the time and give him a chance to break the news to her about Amaranthine if she did not already know.

When he reached Lucia’s room, he stopped at the door and knocked. There were noises of someone fumbling about on the other side, and then the door swung open.

“Nathaniel,” she said, eyes widening as if startled to see him.

“Busy?”

“No.” She shook her head and opened the door further. “Come in.”

He entered the room and waited for Lucia to close the door and return. She sat down gently in a sturdy wooden chair by the fireplace, and motioned for him to sit in one of the other available chairs near her. He did so, watching as she fidgeted in her seat uncharacteristically.

“Have you spoken with Queen Anora, yet,” she asked.

“I have. I had wondered if you knew about her plans for my sister.”

“I do,” she said, blinking as she gazed into the fire, “To be quite honest, I am relieved. This is far beyond what I signed up for when I joined the Wardens.”

“And what exactly did you sign up for?”

“Freedom,” Lucia remarked, bringing her sharp eyes to meet his, “I was conscripted after I attempted to escape Kinloch Hold with a friend of mine and his lover. We were caught, and in his desperation he used blood magic to flee. The Templars wanted to make me Tranquil or execute me for ‘conspiring with a blood mage.’ I would be dead—or worse— if it were not for the Grey Wardens.”

“I had… no idea.”

“I don’t talk about it much. Those are not my favorite memories,” she explained, “Needless to say, I am more than happy to give up my title to your sister. From what I know of her, she will be a far better arlessa than I could ever hope to be.”

Nathaniel offered her a smile, and nodded, unable to find any words that felt appropriate for the circumstances. Lucia appeared to accept the gesture, and turned her eyes back to the dancing flames under the mantle. After several moments of silence passed between them, he brought himself to speak again. “I actually came to see how you are today. I know that you were rather upset when we spoke last night.”

Lucia heaved a heavy sigh and the hint of a smile curved at the edges of her mouth. “I’m all right, I suppose.”

“Better than last night?”

“Definitely.” She nodded. “I took some time to think about what you and I discussed. I gave myself permission to be angry, and then the anger dissipated.”

“Sometimes that is all it takes.”

“I am still hurt, of course. I think I will be hurt for a long time,” she explained, wringing her hands in her lap, “That does nothing to change my feelings for Alistair. We’ve never been perfect, but we’ve survived so much together. Certainly we can solve this as well.”

“What are Alistair’s feelings on the matter,” Nathaniel asked, hoping his question was not too intrusive.

To his relief, she did not seem offended, and turned to look at him again as she answered. “He thinks we need to talk more about what happened between us, to process it all. I’d rather not have to.” She laughed dryly. “He’s probably right, isn’t he?”

Nathaniel laughed in return. “Unfortunately, I believe he is.”

As their conversation died down, a tense silence stretchedl between them, and he watched as Lucia returned to fidgeting uncomfortably in her chair. Her brow furrowed deeper and deeper and she trained her eyes so intently on the grey stone floor before them, that he began to wonder if she was attempting to count the bricks. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it promptly as Lucia looked up at him again.

“I spoke with Elissa,” she stated quickly, as if she could not get the words past her lips fast enough.

He flinched. ‘You...did?”

“Yes. I was curious to meet her, to see what she is like.” She paused and eyed him knowingly. “She is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

Nathaniel froze, unable to utter anything more than an “Um,” past the lump in his throat.

“It is a fact, Nathaniel,” Lucia said, offering him a smirk before she rose to her feet and began to pace about, “Just as it is a fact that she is intelligent, strong, and compassionate.”

“I certainly think so,” he managed to say, observing her as she chewed on her bottom lip.

“I can see why you care for her,” she admitted, “I can see why Alistair does.”

“Lucia, is there any reason why you’re telling me all of this?” The words sounded more irritated than he intended them to.

She snapped her head back to look at him, then slowly turned her gaze back to the fire before falling back into the chair where she’d previously been sitting. She sat in silence for several moments before closing her eyes, taking a deep breath, and speaking. “She asked to join the Wardens.”

“ What, ” he asked, certain that there was no way he heard her properly.

“I know,” Lucia stated somberly, “I was surprised myself. She is certainly capable, but it makes no sense to me why someone of her status would want to join us.

“Typical Liss, honestly,” he laughed briefly, “How did she take it when you told her no?”

“I…”

“Please tell me you told her no.” Nathaniel’s heart fell to his stomach at the hesitation.

“I cautioned her against it, but she seems very determined.” Lucia’s voice trembled as she spoke, and Nathaniel almost felt bad for the anger that bubbled in his chest at her words. “We only have seven wardens in Ferelden. It would be foolish to refuse a willing recruit.”

“I understand, I do,” he said as calmly as he could, though his own shaky words betrayed him, “Recruit anyone else in this whole blighted country, but not her. Please. I am asking you, as your friend, to tell her no.”

Lucia stiffened, straightening her posture before she spoke again, poised as ever. “And I am telling you, as your commanding officer, that I can’t do that. I am sorry, but —”

“Of course you are, commander ,” he interrupted her with pointed words, “But you will have to forgive me if I don’t accept it. It certainly does not change my objection to this decision of yours.”

Lucia just watched him intently, expression unchanging. “I do not need your approval.”

“Then why bother telling me,” he asked desperately.

“Because I respect you, and I thought you deserved to know,” she stated, voice more forceful, “I thought you would understand my reasoning.”

“Logic and reason don’t make a decision right,” Nathaniel snapped, “You always argue rationality, and then wear your apologies like they are a suit of armor against the consequences of those decisions. Tell me, if any of those justifications were truly justifications, if your apologies helped anything, then would you still hate yourself so much?”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. He regretted them even more at the sight of utter betrayal on the young woman’s face. She was doing her best. She was doing what she thought was right. She had relied on his support, and now he’d turned on her completely. And why? Because he was angry? Scared? Pathetic.

“You have supported every one of my decisions until now,” she bit back, clearly struggling to keep the tears from her eyes.

“I have, but that does not mean I will support everything you do unflinchingly,” he argued, “I understand why you would believe recruiting Liss is a good decision. It is a good decision, objectively, but my feelings aren’t objective. If she fails the Joining, that blood will be on you and your hands alone.”

He clearly intended to burn ever bridge he’d built between he and Lucia to the ground in a matter of minutes. He was too furious to care, too terrified to think of anyone but himself.

“Nathaniel, I—“

He waved his hand dismissively and stood up. “You know what? Forget it. I know you won’t change your mind.”

Lucia’s face hardened, settling into an icy, neutral expression. “Very well.”

There was a heavy, painful silence until Nathaniel spoke again. “By your leave, Commander.”

She nodded slowly, and he turned abruptly and stomped out the door.

In the hallway, Alistair approached Lucia’s quarters. He hummed some Chantry hymn and twirled a rose between his fingers. He looked up just in time to see Nathaniel storm out. Waving genially, he said, “Oh, hi Nathaniel.”

“Go soak your head,” Nathaniel grumbled as he brushed past Alistair without so much as making eye contact. It was not his best moment.

As he continued on down the hall, he heard the other man whine sarcastically, “But that would mess up my hair.”

Under normal circumstances, Nathaniel would have laughed, replied with a good natured barb, and apologized for being rude. These were not normal circumstances, and so continued on without so much as a word. He had already said enough.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #cousland #temperance #update #my writing

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 7 years

Text

Letters from Amell to Amell

Summery: A series of letters from Warden Rosalind Amell to Warden-Commander Cosette Amell, Hero of Ferelden

Notes: I only own Rosalind. Cosette is again owned by @against-stars

Warden Jameson;

In regards to your request for information on eligible recruits from the Circle Tower in Ferelden, I can only offer one name.

Rosalind Amell. She is known as the best healer inside of the Tower, and has an aptitude for Spirit Magic that is near top level. She currently is not a full mage from what I understand due to the Templars fearing she would not make it through the Harrowing. However, I do believe she could survive the Joining and be an asset to the Wardens.

-Warden-Commander Cosette Amell.

Warden-Commander Amell;

Thank you for posting me in Denerim Cousin. I missed city life.

We’re currently simply supplying a presence for Queen Anora so she can appear so that the people aren’t frightened. It’s not much, but it works. I’m currently training with an Orlesian Warden Mage- she’s teaching me the Knight Enchanter skills. Apparently, my height is good for something!

Anders sent me a letter as well. Thank you so much for telling him about the crush I had on Karl. He won’t leave me alone now.

-Warden Rosalind Amell.

Rosalind;

You can write to me by my first name. I’m glad your settling in, though I don’t understand why you don’t want to be stationed with me. Though with the Mother and the Architect dealt with (which I still don’t understand why you said I should have killed him) there isn’t much left for me in Amaranthine. I’m thinking of traveling for a while, to see Alistair.

Your height was good for many things Rosalind. Including fetching things off shelves.

And your crush was and still is silly. He wasn’t even attractive.

-Cosette

Ps. Did you get my gift?

Warden-Commander Amell;

Formality is a must cousin. Thank you for the star charts as well. It’s grand to look at them, and I’m eager to decipher the knowledge they hold!

And I don’t want people getting confused with two Amell’s cousin. As well, you have Anders who is a better healer then I ever was, so why do you need me there? Though yes- I am better at herbalism. His always exploded. It was weird.

Of course, the height is good for that, but other then the occasional prank and such, why do I need to be so tall? It’s ridiculous.

Alistair actually came through a day ago, looking… off. I think he misses you! It’s adorable. Also, that assassin came through, along with a note telling him I think he’s cute?

This is why I stopped telling you when I have crushes.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind;

Of course Alistair misses me. I’m me of course. I’ll see him soon enough. I’m leaving Nathaniel in charge while I’m gone, so if you come down simply say you’re my cousin.

I’m meeting with Alistair in Redcliff and then we’re traveling for a while. I feel the need to travel without dealing with other people’s problems, and just focusing on myself.

I am stopping to see you, just as a warning dear cousin. You can’t escape me.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell,

It was lovely to see you cousin, and thank you ever so much for telling the assassin I was playing hard to get.

(Okay, actually thank you. He’s very sweet, but I don’t think we’d fit in the long term.)

I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself as Arlessa and Warden-Commander, though again I will not be joining you. I’ve actually been in debate about possibly joining an expedition into the Deep Roads! I’m so excited, though nervous. I’ll miss the stars, but I’ll get to see them again. It’s going to be amazing! I can tell!

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind,

Anders has run off, thanks to the moron in charge here. He’s currently awaiting execution for going against the Warden Laws and Chantry Laws, I’m thrilled.

Apparently he decided having Templars trail Anders was a good thing to do. I’m furious!

And, anyway I hope your trip to the Deep Roads was interesting. I know mine certainly are.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

Is he really that dumb? Oh Anders, you moron! Cousin, I am requesting a leave of absence from the Wardens to attempt to track down our wayward Warden. Even if it is just to give him a seal of approval for staying away. Perhaps we can claim he is part of a Warden Presence?

And I now hate the Deep Roads.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind;

Permission granted. And, if you wish, you can stick with him to attempt to give it more of an oomph, having you there as well, given our relationship to one another.

And of course you do. I do to.

-Cosette

[Included are official papers stating that Rosalind and Anders are part of a Warden Presence in an area Rosalind would fill in. Also included are more star maps.]

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

I have established a Warden headquarters in Kirkwall, in the Free Marches. Warden Anders had already arrived and was offering healing to those in need. We have since set up a clinic in which we work at as well as our official Head Quarters in High Town.

The Viscount and the Grand Cleric were happy to see us, though the Knight-Commander in charge of the Circle here was not. We however have been given approval for the clinic and are happily running it.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

[Included is another letter]

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell,

This place is ridiculous. And Anders… well, come visit and I’ll explain. It’s weird.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

[Included is treats from Kirkwall, particularly ones popular for noble children.]

Rosalind;

Our birth city, really? How is it living there again? I’m thrilled you have found Anders and have set up the Headquarters. The clinic sounds charming as well.

I’ve dealt with the moron who had been in charge, tell Anders he doesn’t need to worry. Currently I’m fixing the mess he’s made of my Wardens, but I’ll come to visit soon enough, to make sure everything is in tip-top shape.

-Cosette.

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell;

Thank you for the kind words, and it appears adventures run in the Amell bloodline. I’ve met a cousin.

Well, second cousin twice something from me. Not sure how far from you. I don’t suppose you remember Leandra? She’s a lot older then us, but I remember her somewhat before she ran off with a mage, which was quite the scandal.

Anyway, her daughter Marian Hawke apparently is funding an expedition into the Deep Roads and needed our maps. Anders agreed, though he also offered to go along with them… at any time.

Really, I think he’s more interested in Marian for something other then adventure. It’s a good thing to… Karl, he’s… he’s been made Tranquil. A Harrowed Mage, made Tranquil.

I complained to the Grand Cleric but she kind of ignored me, so I’m not sure what to do.

-Warden Rosalind Amell

Rosalind,

No, I don’t remember Leandra. But I’m happy Anders seems to be having fun at least. Can you get me all the details? And tell Marian if she hurts him, she deals with me.

And since a Grand Cleric won’t do anything, I sent a letter to Leliana. We’ll see what happens then.

Things here are going well. The townspeople are doing extremely well, the nobles aren’t being pains as much anymore, and our squads are doing well. No signs of any of the talking Darkspawn anywhere, no hint of the Mother’s children either, so I think we’re clear on that issue.

Alistair is sticking around now, which is grand, though Zevran is to. I think he misses you, he mentioned you dear cousin, something about how sweet you are? Oh?

-Cosette.

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell

Maker, Cosette! Anders reads these to (we don’t have much space) and now he won’t shut up.

Yes, something happened between me and Zevran. Yes, we had sex. No, you aren’t getting details.

And yes, I wouldn’t mind a repeat performance but I’d prefer a stable relationship with someone in Kirkwall, thank you!

And we saw a bunch of Seekers come by, lead by a black haired woman and a red head simply dressed in robes. The Knight-Commander was outside in the market, and oh they public scolded her! Then they went and gutted about half of the Templars, so Anders is pleased as punch. And the Grand Cleric got a talking to as well!

It was grand, thank you ever so much!

-Warden Rosalind Amell.

Rosalind,

Anything for you dear cousin. I’m sorry I missed the show, I’d love to see a Knight-Commander back down, it sounds so much fun to watch.

And perhaps Anders can help me try to find you a nice relationship, you definatly deserve one!

Amaranthine is safe currently. Boring now without the Architect or the Mother. Is it bad I feel the need now to be constantly in danger? Without something to do, I feel so bored I actually went and tried to learn to sew! Make, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

-Cosette

Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; Cousin, I hope your safe back home. Your visit was very nice, though I don't think Anders appreciated you threatening Hawke. [next to paragraph a 'no I did not' is written] Things are still somewhat normal here, though thanks to your grand entrance, the Knight-Commander is giving us looks. I've been hanging out with Anders and Hawke's group from time to time. It's somewhat like back at the Tower with you, Jowan and Sarah. It's so loud! Hawke is friends with an elf named Fenris who despises all mages as he was a space in Tevinter- which is a very good reason to! Anders doesn't like it, nor does J so I'm stuck listening to them argue. Then there is Varric and Isabela- you met them here. Those two just encourage it (though I think Isabela just wants them to sleep together). Carver (our other cousin), Merrill (an elf who has some of your... talents) and Aveline (the guard captain) aren't much better, but it's interesting anyway. Anders is planning on joining them on their expedition so we can slap on a 'the Wardens are doing something' for reports. I hope you are well! -Warden Rosalind Amell. - Rosalind; Glad to see you miss me cousin dear! And I was in the right to threaten Hawke. And you know it. Sorry for setting the Knoght-Commander on you, especially with J around. It doesn't sound like just back at the tower- there isn't any me! I'll have to come with you when I visit you next. Spread some cheer, no? And good plan. We can also get a good idea of how it looks down there, get Anders to send a report. -Cosette - Warden-Commander Colette Amell, I think I may scream if I have to deal with anymore Qunari. Apparently, they despise magic and freaked learning Anders and I are mages. They keep sneering at us and a few almost killed us. Luckily they were stopped by the guards who went and explain we were Wardens, and thus not illegal. One asked about us using magic on them and I responded... a little undiplomatically. Even more so when I learned my father was most likely a Qunari. They’re very… rude. Anyway, no more Qunari for me, if Hawke needs a healer at the docks, she gets Anders. Oh! I didn't tell you! I'm occasionally going out with Hawke and then when Anders is more needed in the clinic. He's better at the finer things. Mostly it's just so I can look for Darkspawn but recently we fought through a dragon infested mine!!! I've never fought dragons before!!! I got a bunch of scales from it, and dragons blood! And eggs!!! Anders and I are planning on doing research on all of it!

I love adventuring with them, it’s so interesting and fun! Varric usually comes with us and he always has such interesting tales to tell and he knows so much about Kirkwall it’s amazing! Be well cousin! -Warden Rosalind Amell [written in the margins] She called them moronic horn heads. It was funny but not that bad. She needs to learn to curse better- Anders - Rosalind, Well, that does sound fun, though I'm a little jealous of our cousin now. Getting you to go out adventuring with her. You never wanted to go out adventuring with me! And Qunari are always like that. Sten was much the same. But you can get around it. Moronic horn heads isn't that bad. You could do worse- ask that Pirate for tips. Sten didn't get many insults when we talked but he did enjoy cookies so maybe see if your baking could help with bridging gaps- if your interested. I'm doing well! I'm heading out on recruitment so it's a bit dry but luckily I have Alistair with me, so I'm not alone at night. That's great fun.

I’m training Nathaniel as well so that he can take over the Keep when I finally leave. I think it’s only right to return it to the Howes, even if his father was a lowlife.

-Cosette - Cosette, Sorry for the wait in between letters. The mines I talked about before? They're a death zone so I've been run off my feet healing people. The expedition went well- other then Carver now becoming a Warden de to the taint. How is he? Anders said he was trying to send him to you but I'm not sure if he was. Life's getting quiet here which is nice. I went star gazing with everyone yesterday. It was... it was grand. So many stars, so much to see. We spent hours making pictures in the stars. Even Fenris seemed interested. Isabela talked about how they used the stars for navigation while Varric made up tales about the pictures. It was very fun. - Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm glad you're having fun. Carver came here yes. He's very gruff and grumpy, but seems to have some skill with a blade. He looked familiar and I learned he was actually at Ostagar. We traded a few tales. I'll try and visit again soon cousin. -Cosette - Cosette, How do you confess an attraction to someone who loves a crossbow more then anything else? anything else? No wait, no don't answer that. Please don't. The qunari are getting nervous. They're getting louder and more aggressive- though I can't say anyone here is doing anything different against them. We had an incident in which someone unleashed a gas into the streets, driving innocent people mad, in the hopes of blaming the qunari. I'm doing what I can. The Templars are cracking down to. Anders and I are free from them but they're really pushy. We might need another visit from Leliana. - Rosalind - Rosalind, Oooh, what's this? Tell me! Tell me! Or I'll just get Anders to. Good. If needed I'll send some more Wardens up to help deal with it all. Send me a message if needed. And I'll message Leliana, tell her what's going on. I also want to tell you that Alistair and I are... currently on a break. No need to be alarmed, we're just not sure where our lives are going right now. We'll figure it out. But if I send him, you'll know why. -Cosette - Cosette, Oh dear. What's gong on cousin? What's wrong with you and Alistair? Is it bad? If you want gossip to cheer you up, Anders and Hawke have officially gotten together. Leandra is coming around to complain at the noises all the time now. It's so funny. Varric and I are enjoying our teasing of them. They get so defensive.

It's odd really. I remember Anders being more open about this sort of thing, but now he seems more... secretive. Not that I mind. I'm not one to hear the details but... I don't know. It's odd. J seems moodier to, it's a bit worrisome.

That probably doesn’t cheer you up, does it? Umm…

Oh! Varric, Isabela and I were playing cards yesterday and we ended up roping in the entire tavern for it somehow. I now have over three hundred gold to my name. (Would have been six hundred but Isabela is a cheat.) -Rosalind - Rosalind, We just want different things out of life I suppose. I don't know, perhaps what drew us together in the Blight no longer holds us as tightly. And Anders didn't tell me this! Ugh, I miss all the good gossip! But your right. Even in his letters he seems different. Perhaps it is because of J, but... something seems wrong in the letters. Can you watch him closer?

I’ll teach you how to cheat when I visit. It’ll be grand. -Cosette - Cosette, You need to come to Kirkwall right away. I went on a thing with Hawke and them into the mountains and... I need to discuss it in person without risking someone reading it. Leliana came through for us, not to soon. We found out about something called the Tranquil Solution and she came with us to investigate it. Last I've heard is that the Knight-Commander now is required to have a bi-yearly inspection from the Seekers or from a chosen of Leliana's. She's pissed. It's awesome. I also found that Cullen is here. Remember? That Templar with the crush? The one no one knew who it was on? The one who... well, I think you know. He's... angry. Bitter. So mad and he looks so sick I'm worried. When he saw me he just went pale and turned, running away in horror. I don't think he's recovered. Leliana doesn't either and she's making sure he's being looked at to- and what the Knight-Commander is doing to him is being looked at. -Rosalind - Rosalind, I still cannot believe you. You kept that- from me!!! Alistair was living at the Headquarters and you were in a relationship with that pirate!!! I cannot believe you. -Cosette - Cosette, Cousin, look- I understand. I'm sorry I didn't tell you but Alistair was in a bad place when he came and I was worried for him. He didn't want to talk to you so I kept him secret. And Isabela and I are just having sex, there's no emotion in it! It's not much to tell! I'm sorry I don't tell you everything but I have the right to secrets to! -Rosalind - Rosalind, Are you okay?! I heard what happened! Is Anders alright? Alistair? What about Hawk and her friends? Are you all alright? -Cosette - Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; I shouldn't be surprised you messaged me now like this. But yes, I'm fine. The Qunari didn't even touch me. They avoided me- apparently it got out I'm a Knight Enchanter. A few tried but I made mincemeat of them. I'm okay. Anders is alright. Alistair took the force you sent us (Carver hated having to stay in Kirkwall, so as Senior Warden of the Kirkwall Presence, I declare he is not allowed here in worry for his mental state) and went to make things safe for the city before he headed off on a lead we have. It's just me and Anders now. Isabela... it was her that started all of this. I'm just so... angry. So fucking angry right now. I mean, I get it, but I'm just. She could have told me, you know. I would have listened, I would have helped her find it and... I don't know. I thought we were heading somewhere but if she can't confess this sort of thing... I don't know. Is it to soon in a relationship to admit you stole a Qunari relic and that's why they're here in the city? -Warden Rosalind Amell - Rosalind, I'm... sorry for the silence. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me. I'm so happy you are all alright, hearing the news just... it shook me. I don't know what I'd do without you. and I understand why you didn't tell me about Alistair. I needed space to. And I get not telling me about Isabela. I'm sorry cousin. But love isn't like that. Sometimes we keep secrets, sometimes we hurt our partners. Sometimes things just don't work out. I hope they do for you. -Cosette - Cosette, Isabela left for a while. I didn't get a chance to speak with her. Varric told me she just needs time but I don't know if I can love her after this. It just doesn’t make sense to me. It really doesn’t. Anders told me I should write my thoughts in a journal, that he's worried about me. I think I might start doing so. Get my head clear. The Knight-Commander is attempting to keep a Viscount off the throne but the latest inspection has her being forced to let he nobles appoint someone. The Grand Cleric as well has been informed they will be retiring her. They say she's let Meredith have to much power. Sebastian- a friend of Hawkes- is furious. But he's also being forcefully reminded the Grand Cleric really hasn't done anything she should. Anders and J are getting testy to. They say that the Knight-Commander is cracking down hard and hiding it. I'm worried for them, they don't look good. - Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm glad. I was speaking with Wynne and... we got talking about you. She mentioned she worried over you- that they were scared for you so they never put you through the harrowing but never made you tranquil because you were useful. I knew this but I suppose I never thought about why. I'm glad your doing something to get better. I'm wrapping things up at the Keep. I want to do some of my own traveling. I miss it. I miss running around with friends. I plan on visiting you but won't try to... what did Wynne say? Attempt to muscle in on your own adventures. You’re still my cousin though. I'm glad something is being done. Though I agree that the new about Anders and J is worrying. I'll see if I can find something. Perhaps Wynne will have an idea. And if she leaves you like this, she doesn't deserve you Rosalind. You're to brilliant for her. Do not let her get you down. -Cosette - Cosette, Your visit was very sweet cousin. Though Hawke says she won't be messaging you until you apologies for convincing the nobles to vote her in as Viscount. Aveline agrees. She's getting married. Aveline I mean. It's the Grand Cleric's last ceremony before she heads for Orlais. The new Grand Cleric is a woman from Ferelden. She's certainly unimpressed with the Knight-Commander. I like it. As for other gossip: I kissed Varric a week ago, ran away and am now hiding at Headquarters. Anders finds it hilarious.

I’m also forcing Alistair to go and talk to you. If he wants to give advice, he can practice it. His moping is annoying.

-Rosalind - Rosalind, You did not. Maker! When I saw him making you eat meals and you hanging around him like you did, I knew something was up but I never thought you'd act on it until Anders or I forced you to! And Hawke can suck it up. The Amells are making a comeback!

Alistair came back, as you know. We had a chat, cleared up some misconceptions we both shared, and we’re trying all over again.

I think we just needed some time apart where we aren’t fighting for our lives or dealing with threats looming over us it seems. Thank you for making him come back cousin. -Cosette - Cosette, So... Varric broke into Headquarters. We had a nice chat- which I will not be telling you about. He's still in love with someone else but he's willing to try as long as I understand.

Is that actually a thing? People not being able to fall in love with more then one person? I explained how we did it in the Circle- told him about Serena and Lyra. He was surprised but interested. We're seeing where it goes. He calls me Stars. It's so cute. Anyway, serious stuff. I think Anders and J are... well, it's bad. Anders isn't himself anymore. He doesn't smile, he doesn't laugh. He barely eats unless I force it down his throats and he's obsessed with freeing the mages from the Circles. He won't listen when I tell him it takes more time. He's starting to scare me Cosette. I'm scared of him, and it hurts.

I’m happy for you and Alistair. You both deserve so much. -Rosalind - Rosalind, I'm coming to Kirkwall- do not let him out of your sight. Do not let him do a single damn thing. -Cosette PS. I'm happy for you. - Warden-Commander Cosette Amell; I'm writing this for Stars because she's currently unable to use her arm. Anders decided he needed to make a statement. Meredith was getting creative and hiding punishments easier, hurting the mages more and more. Blondie just... snapped. He made a bomb. Stars figured it out and went after him but he managed to fight her off. We found her passed out in Headquarters. When she woke up she explained but it was to late. He blew up the Chantry and then Meredith announced the Rite of Anullment. Stars responded with her magic sword and took off with us. She refused to look at or speak to Anders the entire time. Don't blame her. The Battle was bad. Meredith went nuts, had this sword made out of Red Lyrium- Junior said he told you about it- and she could use it to make statues come to life. We lost a lot of mages. Rosalind got her arm broken badly and she can't heal it properly herself but refuses to let Anders near her. We're sending this with Broody, he didn't want to stay in Kirkwall like Stars and I are doing. Do not come here. It's bad. Very bad. -Varric Tethras

So… Sarah is still dead in this one. Various reasons, but the main one is that Rosalind is a subtly powerful mage, and if she has more then one powerful mage friend, she’d be overlooked because while she can go toe to toe with heavy hitters in terms of power, she’s really more suited for the more delicate and intricate stuff.

I had a really hard time with this story because Rosalind is supposed to be a tragedy. She’s my ultimate sacrifice character, and I originally was going to have her die here to, but decided to try and give her a happy ending- though she’s betrayed by her friend and mentor, as well as heartbroken by the first person she’s loved in years. And she’s struggling to admit she’s got issues herself and needs to address them.

Rosalind I feel knows she has mental health problems. She’s a healer, she knows that it’s not just physical wounds. She just doesn’t want to admit it.

And to stall complaints: Isabela is my favorite DA2 romance but Rosalind is a very different person with different needs then Hawke. Rosalind as well was operating on Circle Relationship standards, which is: You bang various people, end up gaining feelings for one (or more) and boom, relationship. But she never vocalized it, and never vocalized her expectations in a relationship. Because she didn’t know any better, so they didn’t really last long.

Also, I would never have romanced anyone but Varric in DA2 so I decided why not and went for it here. But I felt like being realistic and having her have a few other relationships before they get together. Similar to what I did with Cosette and Alistair, though that was mostly a plot point to have Cosette and Rosalind blow up more.

Writing this as well I tried to keep to my headcanon that Rosalind is a formal writer. As a kid, she was taught this way and she kept it up at the tower, so she has a very formal writing style, and doesn’t tend to just use names. Hanging out with the DA2 gang helped her there, as you can tell. She became much looser about it.

With Cosette, I tried to keep her possessive of Rosalind and a little childish in her ways. She doesn’t like Rosalind is somewhat formal in her letters. She doesn’t like that Rosalind didn’t want to be with her. She’s angry that Rosalind hangs out with Hawke and the others. She’s angry Rosalind kept Alistair a secret. She doesn’t like that Rosalind is keeping secrets from her.

But it works out, and they come out a little closer in the end.

I hope you all enjoyed it.

#Rosalind Amell #cosette amell #dragon age 2 #fanfic #against-stars

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dalishious · 7 years

Note

I apologize in advance for this message, but I’ve found myself quite frustrated replaying Inquisition. I have no blog of my own, so I’ve come to my favorite DA blog: yours. I know you like Alistair, so you may even appreciate this. In the world state I am currently using, I have a hardened King Alistair as the sole ruler of Ferelden. At the end of Origins, the epilogue notes that a hardened King Alistair spends a great deal of time learning governance. (1/7)

To the surprise of many, he proves to be actually a very good king. I understand that epilogues can only be taken with a grain of salt, but there are very compelling in game character development reasons to believe this is true. A hardened Alistair asks to be made king at the Landsmeet. He embraces responsibility in general and the role of king specifically. However, all future appearances of King Alistair, hardened or otherwise, make him out to be a bit of a bumbling idiot. (2/7)

In DA2, he fumbles his way through his conversation with Hawke. He’s too candid, and nearly forgets to introduce himself as King of Ferelden. This would be fine if it took place a year after Origins, but it’s been about 6-7 years, and it’s impossible that he hasn’t learned something of governing by now unless he’s the biggest idiot in all of Thedas. In Inquisition it only gets worse. In the first war table mission you get with him as king, he appears to have no control over his scribe, and (3/7)

no sense because he sends a letter that has a bunch of bullshit going on in it. When the peace talks with Orlais come up, Josephine notes that Alistair nearly ruins everything because he’s unable to cope with diplomatic duties. Now, no one should blame Alistair for not wanting to put up with Orlesian brand crap, but there’s no reason Alistair would be the disaster at the peace talks. Anora, by contrast, always writes respectable letters and manages things impeccably at the peace talks. (4/7)

Of course she does, as she’s always been the better choice for ruler of Ferelden. However, again, it makes no sense that Alistair would be this bad at ruling if he’s been hardened and sat on the throne for 10 years! Again, he’d have to be the biggest idiot in all of Thedas to have learned nothing, not even self control at diplomatic gatherings! And while everyone likes to paint Alistair as a bumbling fool, he’s really not? There’s a difference between being young and being stupid, and (5/7)

in Origins Alistair is the former, not the latter. I understand that these cameo’s are really just meant to remind us of his humor, but the fandom takes them as reasons to assume Alistair is a terrible choice for king. And while I happen to agree that Anora is the better ruler, the DA writers didn’t have to make Alistair a pathetic king and undermine his character development for Anora to look like the better choice. You know what they could have done? At the peace talks when Alistair is (6/7)

I’m sorry, I’ve waited for a 7/7 to appear but it hasn’t yet? So I don’t know what your suggestion is.

It is very clear that the writers completely disregarded ‘hardening’ him or not as an option, considering there is no choice for it in the DA Keep. It’s just whether or not you helped him find Goldana. In contrast, Leliana, who can also be ‘softened’ or ‘hardened,’ does have that choice. (Either sending Marjolaine away or killing her.) IDK why. Perhaps because they’d prefer he not grow as a character? But I agree that it doesn’t make sense.

#alistair theirin #dao #dai #Anonymous #ask

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valerie-royeaux · 7 years

Text

Blood & Dust - Chapter 1

Blood & Dust

Chapter 1 - Sunk and Memories word count: 3,186 Read it on AO3, or continue below

Gwenie...

John’s head spun and his consciousness flickered as he struggled to register what was going on around him. Light was a focused, waving blur, dotted by the underside of a ship’s hull and dozens of bodies – some swimming, a few others floating facing down, and most of them plunging all around him, and with him, to the depths of the Minanther River. John had no air with which to hold to dear life. It had been knocked from him when the mace hit him square in the chest and threw him to the water, chainmail on. His eyes didn’t burn - they were accustomed to salty sea water, and the clear currents of the Minanther were nothing if not sweet. His limbs, though, burned, stung and tingled, and he could not even consider this is not how he wished to die. His thoughts were with his sister. His other half, his twin, back in Denerim.

He smiled when he saw the giant man swimming in his direction: a calm, weak and gentle smile that pursed John’s thick lips in quiet serenity. It was fitting for a corpse to be displayed, tranquil. The water floated his reddish long beard, and caused the moustache not to hide his full mouth. Whoever sunk with him would likely envy that man who died such a peaceful drowning.

The giant man was older than John – old, actually -, and seemed to have other plans than to let John drown. He swam downwards steadily, fiercely, helped by gauntlets and metal plates on his boots. His grizzly gray beard was way longer than John’s, and the thick receding hair, shorter.

Grandpa...

- Grandpa! Help him, grandpa!

John didn’t hear Gwen’s shouts as he plunged down the angry waters of the Waking Sea. The foolish boy tried to hit an evil seagull (a mighty devil, he would correct) with his blunt wooden sword, tripped, fell and, helped by a bump from the boat and the weight of the buckler strapped to his arm, slid through the deck and under the railing, straight into the water. His eyes burned from the salt, and much of the air on his lungs was wasted shouting for help while he slid from the vessel.

The older giant man – not so old back then, with more muscle, more hair, and less gray – was swift to dive after his grandson, with no kind of encumberment. The ship’s hull and the day light were as wavy and blurred as they would be years later in the Minanther - the bodies, though, were seagulls, calmly sitting the surf. Wide, powerful arm strokes brought Fearchar MacEanrig, bann of the Storm Coast, closer to his daughter’s son.

In the Minanther’s waters, John managed to reach for his grandfather’s grasp. And found nothing.

In the Waking Sea’s waves, Fearchar grabbed John’s right forearm with a firm clasp that sent a jolt of pain and relief through the 8-year old boy. With a swift, merman-like movement, the man spun around and in an instant was swimming back to the surface, with a grace that one would hardly attribute to such hunky character. Some sailors were quick at ship’s edge, helping bringing the boy and his grandfather back aboard. Before John could register the firm deck under his feet, he lost his breath again at Gwen’s embrace: desperate for her twin brother, and he could swear, as strong as his grandfather’s would have been.

Gwendolyn, Gwen; or as John usually calls her, Gwenie. His thoughts were on her in the moment he was hit and gasped away all dear breath and fell to plunge in the Minanther river. It was sheer luck that had him be wearing his armor when the attack came – mere laziness, actually, as stripping the gear in tight boat quarters was not ideal. He wanted to wait until all the other passengers had settled themselves and he had more space for himself and his belongings. This also added to the fact that he was carrying the equivalent of one hundred sovereigns with him – golden Starkhaven coins, but nonetheless, the equivalent of a hundred golden Cailans. He wanted as less people as possible listening to the tempting tinkling of the small vault he had with him. And as stated, he was also very worried about his twin sister. Some instants before the blow hit him in the chest, John was bent over the deck’s railing, recovering from the early spring heat that assailed the day, a letter from his brother in hand:

“John,

I hope this letter finds you well and in one piece. Hopefully this time you will bring back at least as much as you spent to go to this tournament in Starkhaven. Specially, because I believe you will want to come home with all haste.

Gwen went to Denerim one week after you left for Starkhaven. She went in the company of bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea. As it turns out, and I don’t have many details yet, Alfstanna went to Denerim in person to confront Vaughan Kendells about slanders he was saying about her. Things went bad – Alfstanna killed one of arl Kendells esteemed knights, humiliated the lord in his own hall. As she and Gwen were on their way back from Denerim, men descended upon them, and killed all their entourage. Gwen managed to flee. Alfstanna was raped by over sixty men. They were going to do the same to our sister, but she ran away in time and found help.

Dad and Grandpa are en route to Denerim. Dad summoned as many of our banns as he could in such short notice, and is marching east with some ten thousand troops. Grandpa went as soon as he heard the news. They sent ships forth as well. Dad says he intends to besiege Denerim and wreak some havoc to punish the Kendells, especially because, if Gwen’s letter is true, the Kendells acted with king Cailan’s blessing.

Queen Anora is personally seeing to Gwen’s and Alfstanna’s safety. Which is surprising, I would say, if the Kendells acted with permission from the king.

Anyway, I know you would like to know this as soon as possible, and besides, dad did instruct me to write you. You don’t need to abandon your tournament. But I believe you will do so.

Don’t worry – Gwen is fine, and will return to Highever with the largest escort in Ferelden’s history.

With brotherly love,

Fergus”

The promise of a ten-thousand strong entourage was not enough to relieve John of his worries. Gwen was not used to this kind of world. She never had to run from being raped. Her, of all people! The warm breeze of the Minanther in nothing resembled the chill of Highever’s coast’s. But still, he smiled as he reminisced: him and Gwen, around age twelve, at the battlements of Highever castle. Gwen was sitting at the crenel between two merlons, legs and green dress waving at the rocky seashore below. John was terrified of heights, so he was simply standing next to her, both feet on the ground.

- John, have you kissed a girl yet?

- Why — me? Of course I have.

- Liar! - Gwen sniggered as she looked at John from over her shoulder.

Twins, and nothing alike: she had raven dark hair, which was poorly braided, but cascaded down her frame in lazy waves. Her eyes were clearly blue, sparkling blue, and her face long, with thin lips that could maybe be too wide. She was easily a whole foot taller than her twin brother, and all people described her as stunning. Even prettier than their mother Eleanor had been. John, on the other hand, had been born ginger, but his hair was loosing its luster and, at age twelve, showed the first signs of fading to brown. He insisted in allowing what little fluff he had over this thick, full lips to remain there, and his eyes were somewhere in between blue, gray and green. Not as shiny as Gwen’s, and not as expressive. Hers were wide eyes, his narrower, eyelids pressed together by round cheeks on a roundish face.

- I did! I swear I did!

- Oh, did you? I doubt it.

- It was once – recently, actually. Fergus… he kind of set things up. He said it was getting too late for me to “roam the fair sex youth of Highever, as him before me”.

John frowned during Fergus’ impression, clearly bothered by the pressure put on him to follow on the ladies’ man steps of their elder brother. Gwen, on the other hand, dismissed Fergus intervention with a shrug. That was not what she was concerned about.

- Oh, really?! And who did you kiss?

- Cousin Asbeigh. You know, not too long ago. Before they left.

- And how did it feel? - Gwen did not allow any moment to go between an answer and a new probe.

- What do you mean?

- Kissing her. How did it feel?

- Oh. Alright, I guess.

- Alright?

- Yeah, good.

- Give me more. Give me descriptions!

- What do you want?

- Poetry, Johnny. Passion! Tell me how kissing a girl feels like!

- Kissing a girl?

- Gwen paused. A frozen smile tried to remain on her wide lips covering the bits and pieces of guile showing through her questions.

- …Asbeigh. Kissing her, how it felt. Not girls in general. Why would I want to know how it feels to kiss girls in general?

- I wouldn’t know girls in general, I only kissed her.

He put the letter down, and looked up at the moonless, murky night sky. There wasn’t much to be seen, and nothing to allow things around to be seen. Not a good night for sailing, he learned at a young age, unless you are a smuggler or a pirate. But John could not wait. Fergus’ letter left little room for worrying, but – call it a twin thing – he was worried, and bothered, and anxious. And distracted with one of the few things he could indeed see: the foamy splash of the ships hull in river’s waters. It wasn’t surf foam, not really. It was muggy, silvery bubbles, like bad ale. Like all ale, really. He really hated ale.

- You kissed her only? – John exclaimed, a curious, lively smile on a man’s full lips, surrounded by a much better attempt at a ginger beard.

He and his sister were at Haelia’s Hounds, an upscale tavern where the Cousland twins were starting to become regulars. John was honestly trying to work his way around the bitter taste of ale. The frown on his face showed how much he was failing. He rested the pint on the table, and looked at the gorgeous woman his fifteen-year old sister and best friend had become.

- For this last year, yes! And why are you surprised? You know how much I love Lucille. Fergus is the womanizer in the family, not me. And you know… It is not just kissing, Johnny. – Gwen reached for her brother’s pint, and took a full, long, throat wobbling gulp. She hid her distaste of ale better than her brother.

- I beg you to reconsider, Gwennie. I wish I was as able as you around women. And that is me choosing being like you over being like Fergus.

Gwen slammed the pint down on the table and left out a failed attempt at a roaring burp. She laughed for a while with John, and produced a roll of parchment she unfolded and handed to her brother.

- New song. Inspired by my Lucille. Do you think you can play it?

John took the parchment over, and ran his eyes quickly over the words and notes. It was a nice ballad indeed! Catchy, lovely, one of those that would have the townsfolk singing and humming in no time. Words that spoke of forbidden love between… Well, the word “man” did not figure in the lyrics.

This was yet another of John and Gwen’s partnerships: he played the lute, while she sang with voice and beauty to entice the crowd. Every time they did so, it wasn’t too long until Highever fawned over Gwen’s beauty and talents. John too took some of the praise. But Highever loved Gwen, especially after her performances with her twin brother. One other woman also basked in public praise, even if posthumously: their mother Eleanor. She had not survived the twins’ birth. Bryce Cousland married again some years later, a woman Fergus’ age: Brea Howe. Brea had never managed to win the hearts of Highever’s folks as the previous Teyrna had. Eleanor was the sole daughter of the beloved bann Fearchar MacEanrig of the Storm Coast; a shield maiden and sailor who had fought side by side with Bryce against the Orlesians in land and sea; the mother of three healthy and talented children. Brea was often known as “Bryce’s youngest”, specially after Gwen (and John) would raise Eleanor’s memory back into people’s minds. That is why John remarked:

- Are you sure you want me to play this? We’ll get a good Brea-storm if we do, you know that right?

- Fuck Brea. I want Lucille to hear this.

- Shit, Gwenie. You know dad thinks I am the one in love with the washer girl, right?

- You wish, oh my brother. Lucille is fond of finer pleasures. – Gwen said in a husky, teasing tone.

- By the way – Gwen added after a pause – It is about time you find someone like her for you.

But it never happened. John had his shares of women he fell in love with. But it never worked out. It never produced love. And as a man of song and fierce imagination – as well as a caring, spoiling family – John wanted nothing short of true love. His eagerness to find it sent away most of the women he involved himself with. He adamantly refused marriage matches, and his refusals, as well as Gwen’s, were easily accepted. The heir of Highever fit the role well enough, so with Fergus a healthy, handsome man, married and with a son, John and Gwen were left to the devices of their own hearts. And John did follow his.

Gwen, on the other hand, was never the same after Lucille’s death. The washer girl had been forced on a marriage, and the older Couslands did nothing to prevent it. She killed herself two years later. John and Gwen pretty much believed, with nothing concrete to confirm their suspicions, that marrying out of nobility is the one liberty Bryce would not allow them. Lucille’s death marked a time in which, even though Gwen and John would remain really close to each other, their paths started to drift apart. Gwen started travelling to Val Royeaux every summer, her songs and performances rarified. John became a regular in Ferelden’s tournaments, and soon Thedas’. While he would not win most of them, he would do well enough to earn a name for himself as a prestigious knight.

In the three years that preceded John’s descent into the Minanther’s waters, he and Gwen would have one time in the year in which they would rekindle all their bonds and childishness plays: Bloomingtide. In the early days of the month, as soon as the first buds of the maple and birch trees tried the crisp, foggy air, he and Gwen would meet at their grandfather castle in the Storm Coast. There they would go out to sail, fish, hunt and play and sing. Fearchar was a kin soul to the twins, and spending time with them brought him closer to his dear, deceased daughter. They would welcome summer together, before Gwen went on a ship to Val Roeyaux and John followed to wherever the next competition would lead him.

Bloomingtides in the Storm Coast was a tradition that started as soon as John became his grandfather’s squire, and Gwen wanted to be one too. When Gwen was told girls could not be squires, Fearchar was adamant: “Why not?” He was a man after the old Alamarri ways, and always insisted Ferelden would no longer be Ferelden once the Alamarri ways were forgotten. It happened to Orlais when they abandoned the old Ciriane customs.

It was as Fearchar’s squire that Gwen learned how to handle the compound bow, and John learned how to fight. It was how they learned to be sailors and not drown in the raging waters of the Storm Coast. Like that day in which Fearchar had rescued John.

- You always know where your buckles are, Johnny! Always! Did you learn nothing with grandpa? – Gwen bellowed in relieved anger, now stomping her brother’s shoulders with the side of her hand.

- She is right, Johnny. – A wet, calmer Fearchar added, his voice a thundering whisper in his massive chest. – Take a look at my armor.

The three of them moved to Feachar’s chainmail, not far from there, slumped by a barrel on the ship’s deck. Fearcher twisted the chainmail inside out, and showed a thin, large buckle around where the small of the back would be.

- This is why I fight in armor even on a ship. If you fall in the water, Johnny, know your buckles! And one day, when you wear armor like me, this buckle will save your life. You open it, and the chainmail will go loose like a shirt. Let it sink to the bottom. Not you.

And now, after a treacherous blow to the chest that sent him reeling off the ship, his armor hugged him on the way down the Minanther’s murky waters. He could still see the ship’s hull away from him, carried by the current, faster than the lump of metal about to meet the river’s muddy bottom. The ship seemed to be ablaze – pirates, no doubt. Who would be one hundred golden Cailans richer. John blinked. His sight started to fade.

Grandpa is not here.

Gwenie!

John shuddered as if life had bolted back into his body. He cried what little air he had left in his lungs, and moved around. Know your buckles. In a swift movement his gloves were gone. Next, the belt with scabbard and sword. And in the next instant, he twisted around and reached for the master buckle that kept the armor fit to his body. When that one was open, the whole armor set loosened up, and he let it slide like a shirt to disturb the mud he was almost at.

Unencumbered by all that metal, and left with just enough on his plated boots that he could swim against, and not as graciously as when Fearchar rescued him, John Cousland swam back to the surface, with successive, coughed, loud gasps that spasmed out of his chest as he finally had air filling his lungs again.

But the night was dark. In the distance, the ship he had been in blazed and shone like a beacon John could not return to. The Minanther river current carried him somewhere. Alone. With no clothes, and no knowledge of any of the northern languages. With no golden Cailans.

But he knew how to swim. He knew Gwen needed help.

Maker preserve me.

#blood and dust #john cousland #gwen cousland

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