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vaya-writes · 2 years

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The Wyvern's Bride - Part 2.1

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

Cis female human x cic male wyvern. SFW Content warnings - implied abusive family members (brief), and description of death by old age (exposition, brief).

Adalyn wakes at dawn, the day of the trials. She resigns herself to the anxiety churning in her gut. There’s nothing she can do for it. She’d chosen her dress. Paired it with a thick jacket for the flight, and tied her hair in her partial braid.

Lindel and Errah arrive first, Gwen and Grace not long after. The five pick their way around Fleecehold fields until they reach the meeting point on the outskirts. Nobody has much to say, and Adalyn knows they’re twice as anxious as she.

At their arrival five wyverns slip from the sky, landing lightly before changing shape. Adalyn stares hard at Slate. She hadn’t seen him in his demi form since they’d first met. He’s wearing the same impeccable clothing; the vest with the silver inlay, his jacket as dark as shadow, buttons glinting in the light. While in human form his eyes are a piercing grey, in his half form they’re nearly magical, almost churning with silver power.

His scales are buffed to a shine, peaking through around the edges of his face, the back of his neck, and the tops of his hands. Adalyn wonders how far they extend along the rest of his body, before quickly banishing the thought. The rest of his skin is a dusty ash colour.

His hair, normally slicked back until his restless hands mussed it, sits roughly over his horns. The ones rising from his temples are perhaps a hand in length, while the ones below his ears that curve to protect the back of his neck are nearly the length of her forearm.

After a brief silence, Adalyn steps forward. “Ladies. Please allow me to formally introduce you to Slate of the Grey Wyvern Clan. It’s his hand in marriage that you’ll be competing for today.”

Recognition and shock in varying levels are reflected on the suitresses’ faces. Grace is perhaps the only one who appears unsurprised. After a moment to recover they curtsy and bow in acknowledgement.

Slate smiles at the women, and Adalyn recognises the expression as strained.

“I’m so very pleased to properly make your acquaintance.” He names the women, giving each a bow of his head.

“Ms Baker. Ladies. These are my cousins.” He introduces the males in turn, and Adalyn forgets their names as soon as she hears them. It’s not polite. It’s poor practice. But the longer they stand on ceremony the more inclined she is to start bouncing on her heels, or pacing in circles.

Thankfully Slate cuts to the chase, “The Matron waits. We should go.”

The women react viscerally when the wyverns return to their true forms. Gwen looks like she could be sick. Lindel and Errah’s faces go slack, and they freeze in place. Even Grace is wide eyed.

The changes only fascinate Adalyn. She’d assumed that all wyverns transformed the way Slate did, within twists and whorls of shadow. But Slate’s two cousins with light and feathery hair transform within wisps of white mist, and emerge as wyverns with scales of an almost silver sheen. The darker pair of cousins, with skin the colour of coal, almost look as if they’re on fire with the amount of smoke that streams from them. Their wyvern forms are the mottled colour of charcoal.

There’s a tense silence afterwards, and Adalyn approaches Slate to break it. She’s flown multiple times already, and doesn’t mind leading by example. Slate presses her against his chest and launches into the sky, the pair wordlessly commanding their companions to follow suit.

“Who do you think is more uncomfortable with the arrangement, the suitresses or your cousins?” she tries a joke to lighten the mood.

I couldn’t hazard a guess.

His tone is flat and gives little away. Adalyn frowns, and presses her palm against the limb holding her. “How are you doing?”

It takes a moment for him to reply.

I’m okay. I’m just irritated about the Matron’s choice of trial.

“Oh?”

You’ll see.

She blows out a breath of relief. Tries to steel herself for the day ahead. It would be a long one.

She’s surprised when Slate heads straight for the Tower, forgoing the main byroad he’d shown her. Once above his balcony he lowers her to the ground, before shifting and landing behind her.

They’re alone for the moment, as their companions hadn’t taken to the air yet.

“Should we have waited?”

He lets out a long sigh. “No. That might have encouraged them to dawdle. If they can’t handle a flight up the mountain, I doubt they’ll be impressing anyone today.”

Soon enough four dots appear in the sky, growing in shape until Adalyn can make out the wyvern’s wings, and the ladies dangling beneath them.

They clear the balcony and step inside, and Adalyn stiffens, realising that they hadn’t been alone.

She curtsies deeply. “Matron. It’s an honour to see you again.”

“Ms Baker,” the matriarch dips her chin.

Shortly after, they are joined by the women. The cousins bow to the Matron before taking their leave, and Adalyn realises introductions are upon her again.

“Matron, please allow me to introduce the suitresses. Lindel, Grace, Errah, and Gwen, of Clearwater Valley. Ladies, this is the Matron, matriarch of the Grey Wyvern Clan.

There are some awed looks on the women’s faces as they curtsy. Adalyn had expressed the importance of the Matron’s position, and the respect she is due.

The Matron spares their nerves by getting straight to business.

“Your interest in my grandson has been noted. But not anyone can marry into our clan. Today you must pass three tests before I’ll permit you to join the family.

The first test you face will allow me to determine the depth of your organisational skills, which are important if you wish to govern a wyvern’s keep. This morning you will be sorting my grandson’s hoard, and providing me a comprehensive list of his assets.” She gestures to the surrounding room. “Everything you need to organise is in here. Ink and paper have been provided. You may begin.”

“If I may?” Slate steps forward hastily. “The equipment around the fire place is delicate. Please leave it untouched. And the papers on my desk are already organised. They can be left alone.”

The Matron skewers him with a look, and Slate steps back.

Once her attention leaves him, Adalyn touches his arm, and tilts her head towards the balcony. He follows her outside.

“She didn’t forbid them from working together.”

He grinds his teeth and watches the women carefully. Adalyn nudges him harder this time. “You can’t stop it so don’t stress yourself so much.”

He lets out a long sigh and turns his back to the room. “Fine. And yes, if she hasn’t expressly forbidden them, I don’t see why they can’t work together.”

Adalyn glances into the room and cringes. The women hadn’t seemed to work that out yet, and had each gone to a separate corner of the room.

“They could have it done in a few hours if they did so. Otherwise, it might take days.”

Slate glances over his shoulder, before resuming his lean against the railing. “How would you go about the task?” He speaks in a hushed tone.

She shrugs. “By category. Clothes and fabrics. Books, papers and stationery. Tools and craft equipment. Arms and armour. Valuables. Though if you wanted it organised for long term storage, I’d send some items to the other floors in The Tower.”

“They’re not finished.”

“What did you have planned anyway?”

“A vault. A study and library for my frequent reads. A living and dining area. And, though perhaps the most effort to construct, a luxurious bathroom.”

She grins. “How luxurious?”

“Heated floors. Running water.”

The grin slips a little. “How high above ground would this be?”

He shrugs and gives her a number in a unit of measurement she’s unfamiliar with.

“I’m assuming that’s significantly above ground level?”

“Yes.”

She frowns. “Meaning you’d need inhuman levels of engineering just to pump the water into the area.”

“I can do inhuman levels of engineering,” he sounds indignant.

“Mmhmm.”

He scoffs. “Have you so little faith in me?”

She glances down at the railing. Slate had finished carving the balusters. The hewn stone depicted critters and creatures of all sorts. She can make out the horns on a stag. The wool of a sheep. He’d only been half finished, less than a week ago.

“I have complete faith in you,” she murmurs. “I’m sure the bathroom will be ridiculously decadent.”

He’s silent for a moment, before turning around and watching the women again. She can hear him cringing and hissing through his teeth.

“Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk? Or even a fly?” She’s willing to do a balcony drop if it will spare his nerves.

A low sound emits from his chest. Something between a growl and a whine.

“You said you’d stop stressing.”

“It’s my room.” He crosses his arms.

The Matron steps into their line of sight and scowls at her grandson. “If you can’t stop whinging, you can do it elsewhere.”

His face goes slack. “Yes Matron.”

Slate offers his elbow and Adalyn takes it, before heading towards the door. “Perhaps you’d like to see how the Tower construction is going?”

Adalyn gives his arm a squeeze and gives him a gentle smile. “Of course."

Rin had found them halfway through Slate’s tour of the lower levels. The Tower living area had been started, and the basic space of the study had also been excavated. Book shelves would be built into the walls, carved from stone, and Adalyn had eyed the area with interest.

Rin had joined them, chirping in her suggestions and feedback to Slate, though some of her ideas had seemed outlandish and impractical (“No, I don’t want to carve bed holes between the book shelves, Rin”). Eventually she’d led them to the lower levels.

The hike had gone easier with the female to speak with, and eventually the three had found an empty room to sit in. Wyverns passed in and out of the area from time to time, but nobody bothered them. They spend an hour or so seated in front of a cave opening – too high from the ground to be of any human use, and likely too slim for a wyvern to enter. It provided them a lovely view of the karst surrounding the Spires, and a partial line of sight on the valley. Adalyn admires the way the lush grass is juxtaposed with the stone crag.

“Slate said your mother was the most recent person to marry into the clan?”

Rin hesitates a moment, before smiling. “Yes. Payne has been nothing but kind to me, and made my mother incredibly happy. I still feel like an outsider from time to time, but I’ve absolutely treasured my time in the Grey Clan.”

“How long ago did you join?”

“I was a fledgling during their marriage. It was, perhaps, seven centuries ago?”

Adalyn fights a flinch. “Gods. What kind of life span would you usually experience?”

The smile slips off Rin's face. She tilts her head and gives a contemplative hum.

She has the feeling that Rinley picks her words carefully. “Wyverns are considered children – fledglings – until they reach a century of age. That’s when their physical growth tends to slow. They’re then considered adults until they reach nine hundred years, at which point we call them elders. Any who live to see two whole millennium are venerated as ancients, though that’s pretty rare. Most wyvern’s die or return to stone before that happens.”

Slate had gone still beside her, jaw clenched. Adalyn wonders at the change in his demeanour.

“Return to stone?”

Rinley nods. “The dracanoid equivalent of passing from old age. A bit like how a human might go to sleep and not wake up. As wyverns age more they tend to sleep more. If they sleep too long their bodies can atrophy and harden until they are unable to move, and are eventually unable to wake.”

Adalyn frowns. “They fossilize?”

She nods. “That’s not far from accurate.”

Slate stands and stretches. “I’m to be wed tomorrow. Let’s save the morbid discussions for another time.”

He’s not wrong, but Adalyn saddens to be reminded. It’s not like she’d have an excuse to talk to Slate after his wedding. Let alone have morbid discussions with him and his cousin. Unless they could think up another task for a human emissary.

“It’s nearly midday. We should head to the dining area. The first test is almost finished.”

Adalyn’s mouth dries at his words. She and Rin stand and follow him.

When they reach the dining hall, it’s starting to fill with clan members. No food had been served, but the anticipation of the event seemed to be catching.

“Here,” Rin gestures to the dais. “As our human representative, you’ve been given a seat at the high table.”

Adalyn’s eyes widen. “I’m honoured.” She hadn’t expected to be seated at the same level as the Matron, or as Slate, though she is relieved. It saves her from sitting with strangers and interacting with other wyverns all night.

Adalyn takes her seat beside Rin, at the end of the table. Rin is in turn seated beside Slate, who sits to the right of the Matron’s empty chair. No one else had arrived at the table but Adalyn knew the spots to Matron’s left were reserved for Slate’s aunt and her female heir, and Slate’s eldest uncle.

Rin, abandoning propriety, drags her chair around the table so she can face both Slate and Adalyn.

Adalyn appreciates the effort she makes in engaging them in conversation over the next few minutes. The Envoy feels out of her depth, especially as wyverns begin to stream into the room. Soon the long tables are thick with bodies, and more than a few stares are levelled their way. Slate becomes more and more withdrawn, responding with single word replies, eyes glassy.

She nudges him with her foot. “Are you still worrying about your quarters?”

He stirs, glancing at her. “Oh. Yes. Terrified.”

She sees through the lie, but he gives her a little smile and makes an effort to pay attention to Rin from then on.

When the sun is directly overhead, shining through the skylights and illuminating the hall, the Matron emerges, suitresses in tow. Three of them. Errah is missing.

The dining hall grows silent at their appearance, and all eyes turn to the matriarch.

“These women are sufficiently skilled to pass their first trial,” she gestures. “Though none have stood out thus far.”

The women shift and squirm under the eyes of the clan. Adalyn admits that while they number less than a Clearwater Village, the size and presence alone of the clan are overwhelming.

Grace, though wan, stands tall and stiff. Lindel shies from the attention, half a step behind the other women. Gwen regards the room with crossed arms but an otherwise blank face. Adalyn wishes she’d remember her posture.

“The kitchen is behind you. The next trial will test your ability to host and cater to the clan. You will need to serve a three-course meal to the family. Ingredients have been supplied, along with additional hands if you need them. You may begin.”

The Matron takes her seat at the table and conversation renews in the dining hall. The women shuffle to the kitchen.

Adalyn hopes they succeed. It was the test she’d prepared for the most, the one she’d had a hand in planning, and knew best what to expect.

Adalyn leans towards Rin, now seated on the correct side of the table. “Was Errah sent home?”

The female nods. “Matron had some of our cousins on standby. I think Lune was tasked with flying the girls.”

“Lune?”

Rin nods down the table, where Slate’s aunt sits. A squat, fat female, with a mane of silvery hair, two sets of sharpened horns, and hands that end in claws. “Aunt Marble’s eldest son. You would have met him this morning.”

Adalyn flushes, kicking herself for forgetting the name. “Of course.”

Rin smirks. “Though not quite as charming, nor as memorable as the eldest heir.”

Down the table, Slate grumbles something too low for her to hear.

Adalyn examines the room again, taking in some of the details. She thinks she recognises familial clusters seated at the long tables. The other silvery blonde cousin she’d met this morning is seated near similar wyverns with metallic scales. Other groups with similar patterns and horn shapes have gravitated together. More wrinkled, crooked wyverns are seated closer towards the dais, and Adalyn presumes she’s identified the elders.

Something strikes her as strange after a while. It’s impossible to think of Rinley as normal, with the red patches of her skin and her too graceful, too sharp other features, but there’s not a scale on her. No horns present. She’s in her human form.

“I hope it’s not rude for me to ask,” Adalyn starts, in a lowered tone.

Rin leans in to hear, expression open.

“Is there a reason you’re not in demi form? Everyone else is.”

Rin gives her a tight smile. “The Greys are in a prolonged feud with my mother’s family. Many lives have been lost between the clans. It’s impossible for them to forget my heritage, but I still don’t like to be so blatant with it.”

Adalyn’s brow creases in concern. “That must be hard. Do you have much contact with them?”

The smile slides from her face. “No. And I’d like to keep it that way. The Reds are a bloodthirsty bunch. I don’t think they’d forgive me for leaving. And if my father is still alive...” she shudders. “Let’s just say I have no intention of going back.”

Adalyn nods, expression solemn. “I can see why you speak so highly of your adoptive father.”

Her smile softens at that. “It’s a shame he couldn’t make it to the event. I’m sure he’d have enjoyed it. He would have liked you, too.”

Adalyn shrugs away the compliment. “I’m just doing my job.”

The sun begins to dip, light no longer shining directly into the room, and somebody starts the torches. Adalyn watches with interest as a wyvern strikes flint with steel. Apparently fire breathing was not something the Greys were capable of.

With the lowering of the sun, the tension in the room grows. Adalyn frowns and glances down the table. Appetisers should have been brought out by this point. It’s only because she is looking down the table that she sees the Matron move.

She tilts her head slightly, and her eyes lose focus. After a moment she stiffens, and turns to stare directly at Adalyn.

She flushes at being caught staring, but the Matron doesn’t seem bothered, instead beckoning her over.

Adalyn stands and moves to the Matron’s side. The matriarch leans in to speak, indicating that she and Slate are the intended recipients of her words.

“Things are looking precarious in the kitchen.”

She straightens then, leaving Slate and Adalyn to talk it out. Adalyn glances to the wyvern, who looks stricken.

“Shall I smooth things over?”

He clenches his jaw and swallows. Fingers idly tapping against the table. He looks back to her and nods. “Please.”

She gives him a collected smile, before heading to the kitchen.

The room is a mess of noise, dishes, and ingredients in various stages of preparation. Several wyverns line the walls - servants, perhaps - watching the scene blankly.

Adalyn approaches the nearest one. “Has Elder Gabbro been served his goat?”

They blink at her appearance, before shaking their head. “Not to my knowledge.”

She gives them a polite smile. “It was brought here this morning. Could you please have it delivered?”

After a brief hesitation – who was this new human in the mix? - they nod and leave through one of the pantry doors.

Adalyn looks to the next one in line. “Could you please have the casks of winterberry wine brought up from the cellar? It’s time for them to be served.”

The male nods and gets on task.

Adalyn takes another moment to examine the kitchen. To take in each of the women, at a station and working. She spies the appetisers sitting on a bench.

“Who is serving those?”

Three sets of eyes fall to her, and after a moment of silence, Gwen curses. “They’re not out yet?”

“Did you send them out?”

The woman hesitates, before shaking her head.

Lindel jumps into action. “I’ll get them.”

Adalyn signals that she stop. “Where do you serve first?”

Lindel hesitates at the question, two plates on hand. “Uh. The high table.”

“Good.” She lowers her hand.

As Lindel leaves, the wine is brought to the kitchen. Adalyn gestures that the wyvern follow her. She has the first cask deposited on the dais, and requests that he deliver the rest of the wine to the other tables, for the clan to help themselves.

Adalyn plasters a smile onto her face and addresses table. “Matron, would you be interested in some winterberry wine? It’s the finest drink the valley has to offer. I requisitioned the best vintage that the vintner had in store.”

The Matron eyes the rest of the casks being delivered. “He had this much of the finest vintage in store?”

She shakes her head. “No, just this cask. I’m afraid I could only give him a month’s notice of the event, and that the rest of the wine is his standard brew.”

The Matron inclines her head, and Adalyn pours her a glass. She moves on to serving the rest of the high table before catching Rin’s encouraging smile and returning it with one of her own. She heads back to the kitchen to check on the status of dinner.

Lindel is still bringing out appetisers, and Adalyn takes a moment to watch how Gwen and Grace handle the situation. Gwen looks like she knows what she’s doing, chopping vegetables at a bench, and stirring a pot behind her, but Adalyn still frowns. Barely any of dinner had been cooked. Grace was twiddling her thumbs, and occasionally rotating the spit in the centre of the room.

“Gwen, do you intend to cook everything yourself?”

The woman falters. “Well, Lindel and Grace didn’t really know what to do.”

“Then tell them what to do. Delegate. Have them prepare the ingredients while you cook. They won’t know what to do unless you tell them.”

Gwen slumps. Takes a breath, and then straightens. “Right.”

“Also,” Adalyn nods to the other wyverns watching them. “They’re not guards. They’re here to help. You just need to ask. And be specific. You three are in charge.”

Gwen takes another moment to breathe, and nods. She eyes the nearest wyvern. “I need you to wash and peel the vegetables.” To the next. “Can you chop them and put them on to cook as they go? High heat, in the pan with fat. I’ll show you how much.”

Adalyn nods before eyeing Grace. “You won’t be disqualified for asking questions.”

She swallows. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Gwen has the vegetables in hand. What else needs doing?”

“The meat.”

Adalyn nods, and crosses her arms, waiting for Grace to make her next move.

“... I don’t know how to cook the lamb, hoggart, and mutton differently.”

She stifles a sigh. “Who here does?”

“... you?”

“Not my trial. Not my team.”

Grace crumples at the response. Thankfully Gwen steps in to give her directions.

Adalyn spends the next half hour supervising. She leans against the wall with her arms crossed, checking for further issues.

Lindel pokes her head back into the kitchen. “Is everything in hand?”

Adalyn shrugs. “Mostly.”

“Should I keep serving...?”

The Envoy glances back to the food. “That looks cooked.”

Lindel stares blankly for a moment, before blinking. “Is anyone plating?”

“Not that I can see.”

Taking the hint, Lindel re-joins the kitchen, bringing dishes out from the larder and creating a space to plate on one of the central benches.

Adalyn approaches Gwen. “Do you think you can handle the dessert?”

The woman nods, her focus not leaving the pot in front of her. “Yes, we’ve got this.”

Adalyn relaxes a fraction, and satisfied with her corrections, leaves the kitchen. She pours herself a glass of wine before taking her seat beside Rin.

“What was the issue?”

Adalyn drinks, before letting out a sigh. “It was every woman for herself in there.”

Rin frowns. “It is a competition.”

“I don’t think they realise what type,” Adalyn mumbles, before finishing her cup. She’d never indulged in such expensive wine. Ivar had left her one hell of a bill, and she planned to forward it to Slate when the wedding was over. Along with the bills for the Tuscany Goat, and Drenner’s honey.

Lindel brings them dinner. Hoggart, with cuts of lamb and mutton to the side, and vegetables. It looked as if Gwen had improvised a gravy too, and Adalyn is impressed. She doesn’t know if the meal is enough to win over a room full of immortal wyverns, but she sure enjoys it.

The rest of the evening goes off without a hitch. The sun has long set, and the room is lit by naught but firelight when dessert is brought out. Slate’s family had scoured the woodlands for berries and fruits and the valley had provided the honey needed to candy them. Several pieces had been oven dried, and Adalyn is surprised by the colourful variety on her plate. She’d never eaten so well.

She doesn’t get a chance to dig in, however, because once the food is served, the Matron stands. The room goes silent.

“I’m ready to make my decision.”

#the wyvern's bride #my writing #vaya writes #okay it's like 11.20 and i have to be up at five tomorrow #but i really really wanted to edit and post this tonight #formatting on tumblr can take a while #sigh #also this took me three days to write and edit #im so amazed by how much of TWB ive been churning out lately #im on a roll #let me know what you thought #tags and comments absolutely give me life #tetaro #monster romance

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vigilskeep · 6 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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