#ugly fereldens

[vodka-and-ocs]

#oops ! (gets attached to my video game characters) #ive never posted my lavellan but i will... at some point..... #this was supposed to be a warmup for artfight lol #thej #warden mahariel #dao oc #dragon age oc #dragon age origins #warden oc #grey warden oc #my art #he loves traps explosions and kicking people below the belt #OH i used the ''Grey Wardens of Ferelden'' and ''Origins Vallaslin Changes'' mods btw #it's a shame not to have the iconic warden armor in a game where you play a warden imo #also id started with a mage and the robes were just sooooooooo ugly lol. switched to a rogue shortly after but still

[viiisenyas]

Hawke having a schoolboy crush on your oc gives me hope for him.

Save that hope for Act 3 lol he's a complete menace.

#long story short: He's a selfish jealous degenerate #he's very nice and soft towards Valeriana (mostly) before they hear about who the Hero of Ferelden is #but after Val finds out Arthur's alive... his ugly side comes out #I have plans for Arthur to make a very brief appearance in the Deep Roads and visit Kirkwall afterward and sweet jesus #it's going to be some soap opera shit

[queenaeducan]

18 and 19 for the character asks, for Solas?

Character Asks!

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

jsdhg i love so many of his relationships with the companions, it's hard to pick. i think it's a near-tie between his friendship with tal-vashoth iron bull and cole. you could argue cole wins b/c i love it regardless of which path he takes, but i also think there's more to admire about the iron bull friendship as it requires more growth on both their parts.

his friendship is cole is almost expected. it would be weird if the "all my friends are spirits" guy wasn't friends with the spirit in the party. nevertheless, the support they provide each other and the faith cole puts in solas is heartwarming. and i admire that while solas has significant reservations about cole becoming human, it doesn't change how he feels about cole.

with iron bull there's animosity between them. the banter gets outright hostile, but highlights a lot about what i love about solas's banter.

Iron Bull: Alright, Solas, been thinking. You wanna know how this place would be if the Qunari took charge?

Iron Bull: Orlais, Ferelden, all of it would be healthier under the Qun.

Iron Bull: But the war to make that happen? That'd be ugly. A lot of good people would die.

Iron Bull: So I'm not hoping it happens. There! You happy?

Solas: Happy? No. Quite the opposite.

Iron Bull: Oh, come on. I said I didn't want us to invade you!

Solas: No. You said this world would be brighter if all thinking individuals were stripped of individuality.

Solas: You only lack the will to get more blood on your hands.

he gets bull to admit to his conflicting interests, and cuts down to the quick of his character.

and i like that at the end of it all, they can still be friends?? they can play chess without a board, ask each other questions about putting on shirts or fade sex, offer support when bull's life has been uprooted. i just think they're neat.

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

uh, idk if there are any. we'll see what direction they take his as-of-now quite nebulous relationship with mythal. i can see myself disliking that.

i'm also not fond of interpretations of his friendship with varric as it often also includes varric being the Right one of the pair, rather than someone with different priorities, biases, and flaws. this is all to say that i think both of them are valid in their interpretation of the man on the island banter. varric's answer betrays his own tendency towards passivity and acceptance of the state of things as much as solas's tendency fight and fight to his own detriment.

but like, as it exists in game i enjoy their friendship.

#tas talks

[breadedsinner]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @ammoniteflesh, thank you!

Rifts could and did open up anywhere. From shorelines, to valleys, to villages. Fortunately the people of Ferelden were able to fend off a few demons here and there. These were the same people who survived a Blight, after all. Hawke swung her sword at the tall, gangly Fear Demon, but between its nimble form and its constant popping in and out of the material plane, it had evaded her. She grunted in frustration, the tip of her sword grazing its green, warped carapace. As it cackled, a small, stray axe somersaulted through the air, lodging itself in the demon's skull. Hawke took the opportunity and cleaved the creature in twain, its body dissolved into green specks. "Thank you, I…" Hawke turned, expecting the Inquisitor, but finding a human man behind her. As she looked him up and down, hearing the actual Inquisitor finish the job of sealing the Rift off in the distance, it dawned on her that she was speaking to a stranger. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, copper skin and an aquiline nose, much like hers. He had a mop of coal-black hair with a matching sort-trimmed beard and thick eyebrows, making the amber glint of his eyes pop. "What an ugly thing, eh? Hope I didn't get in the way," the man said casually, retrieving his axe. "No, of course not," Hawke said, confusion stretching the space between words. "Have we … met?" "Lived here all my life, my lady," he said, "so I don't think that's possible." "Of course," she said. She stared at his face a moment longer. The crow's feet framing his eyes, which were a shade too light. The bridge of his nose was slightly too thin. His hair had shades of brown in direct sunlight. Carver's hair was pure black. "I'm sorry, I mistook you for someone else. My thanks again with the assistance."

#Tether Fic #Judith Hawke #Writing Tag #WIP Wednesday #It has been a WHILE so my apologies if this is kinda messy

[hails-bop]

"How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?"

First ever Dragon Age Origins run-through resulted in Alistair breaking my wardens heart to become King of Ferelden and then pushing her out of the way to take the sacrificial blow against the Archdemon.

I have never witnessed something more tragic and heartbreaking and I'm living my best life. Sordamente is not having a great time however.

#dragon age origins #dragon age #dragon age oc #grey warden oc #grey warden #sordamente amell #dragon age art #dragon age origins art #dragon age oc art #im making a sad playlist and everything #the absolute tragedy of them #i did replay and realive alistair for the other games #so now they are in love with each other but can never be together #tragic romance EVERYWHERE #i love it #dragon age origins spoilers #alistair theirin

[shivunin]

The Heart Grown Fonder

A single letter folded into the cover of a book on Ferelden tax law in Vigil’s Keep: 

My dear Warden, queen of my heart, rarest and most beautiful of women, 

I trust this letter will find you, because I will have hidden it in a crate of supplies bound for your Vigil’s Keep. If someone else is reading this, I will retrieve it from you soon enough and you will not like the manner I use to do so. 

Mi vida, life is dull and grey without you by my side in Antiva. Fighting is tragically bereft of people shouting things like “desperation is an ugly perfume.” Such things always gave me something to ponder while we cut down our foes, and in their absence I find combat less than stimulating. What does that mean, by the way? And why did you say it so often? This is not a criticism, you understand; if you were to appear at my side tomorrow and say such things again, perhaps while eviscerating someone twice your size, I would be delighted beyond words. 

Can you believe that the Crows have not given up on me after all that? Such a shame, when you cannot trust a man at his word anymore. I have dispatched perhaps half of those who continue to pursue. If matters remain on track, I should be able to stroll back over to your side of the sea sometime in the next few months. 

Stay strong, my steel; I know that you are simply wilting without my tender care to nourish you. Please, permit me a moment to remind you of what I might do if I were there with you now: 

First, I would unbind your hair and loosen it over my fingers. I am certain it has grown even longer in my absence, and you know how I enjoy feeling it trail along my skin. Then, I would kiss you as you deserve—slowly and with feeling, for as long as you can stand it without—

The message continues at some length, ending several pages later:

It is my wish that my words will offer some stimulation until I may return to your side once more. Take heart, mi vida, my steel; you are always in my thoughts even though you are not in my arms. 

Trust that we will see each other soon. 

—Your Zevran

A series of letters bound together with a dark blue ribbon:

Zevran,

Did you read a naughty broadsheet and decide to stuff all the endearments you could manage into one letter? Words don’t warm my bed, Zev. 

I’m fine. Everything here is fine. 

Take care of yourself. Let me know when you’re planning to come back. I’ll be here.

Ser Grr misses you.

—Arianwen

Zev, 

Scratch the last letter, if you get yourself killed, I’m stuffing Justice in your body and killing you again. Consider it a threat and a promise.

—Wen

Zevran, 

I’m told that these are meant to be longer. I’ll try that this time. 

Justice says that the letters Kristoff received from his wife had descriptions of her day and hopes for the future. I don’t know what that means. I spent most of the day trying to vet candidates for the Calling. It’s not the Blight anymore; it’s important that the people we choose are able to stick it out and hold their own. The Wardens must have a stronghold in Ferelden or what happened to us will happen again, with no guarantee of success next time. 

So—that’s just about every day now. The rest varies, I suppose. Mostly annoying administrative nonsense. Nobles love their paperwork, it turns out. You don’t want to hear about that.

I’ve made friends with the chef. You were right: it’s important to know the person who is most likely to poison your food. She’s nice. Made it out of Highever before Howe destroyed it, which is good for her and us. Makes a damn good stew. Reminds me of the days on the road when we all had to tolerate each other’s cooking. I haven’t gotten any better at it, for the record, but I can peel a potato very quickly now, when called upon. 

Speaking of friends, Isabela stopped by on her way across the sea yesterday. I understand she came to Amaranthine to meet a smuggler contact, but unfortunately I already killed them. Anyway—it was nice to have dinner and catch up. We talked about you. Good things, not that you’d think otherwise.

I meant to say earlier—Justice doesn’t talk about Kristoff much, but he told me a little about what his life was like. Being a Warden and married and all, I mean. It sounded nice. Except for the part where he’s dead, I mean. That’s…not great. I’m glad I didn’t know him before everything else. It’s easier that way. 

Anyway. I hope this was better. I still don’t get the point of these. Why not just wait until you come back to talk about all this? 

You’d better come back. 

Not now, I mean. Eventually. When you’re ready. 

Whichever.

—Arianwen Tabris, Commander of the Grey, Hero of Ferel

Ignore all that. I’m getting too used to signing formal reports.

Zev, 

Did you know that ship captains can perform marriages? Isabela told me yesterday, but I thought she was joking. Nate agreed, but he could also just be fucking with me. I wouldn’t put it past him. I hesitate to ask, but do you know if this is true?

I think about that last trip back from Antiva very often. Maybe if I’d known Nevermind. I miss you. That’s it.

—Wen

Zevran, 

I tried to track down the messenger who took that letter before he could get on a boat, but he made it out of the country first. I’m told I am not allowed to go after him. 

So ignore all that instead. Just pretend you didn’t read it and I sent you a sketch of my chest or something.

—Arianwen

Zevran, 

If you’re getting these letters, please reply. I know I’m not very good at this, but I need to hear from you. 

Just—please.

—Arian Your Arianwen

And finally, tucked into a stack of neatly folded underthings in an armoire in Vigil’s Keep:

My Arianwen, 

If you find this before I find you, I owe you something special. If not—well, you will have me here, either way. 

I am only sorry it took so long. I am certain we will find a way to make up for the long absence.

—Zevran

P.S. Your sentries never even bothered to check the wall they stand on. You should correct this, or instruct your stoneworkers to make the bricks more difficult to climb. I would hate for someone less well-intentioned than I to take advantage.

(For @14daysdalovers day 9: Longing.)

#14dalovers #14dalovers2023 #day 9 longing #arianwen tabris #zevran arainai #zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevran x tabris #my writing #dao #da fanfic #epistolary #zevwen #i shorthand their fics as 'zevwen' in my notes and i'm having an increasingly difficult time not tagging these as that #wen continues to not know how to express herself #don't worry they hugged forever when he finally tracked her down and then they found a handy supply closet #ser grr is the mabari obviously #she thought she was being clever with the name but everyone just calls him ser now #shivunin scrivening

[kiastirling-fanfic]

for your warden Fenris au this dadwc, "say it to the dead bodies."

Y'know, I think I found the perfect place for this prompt. Specifically, the very start of the AU. Here's Fenris arriving in Amaranthine.

words: 1019 cw: fantasy racism, violence, gore

@dadrunkwriting

“Drop the sword, slave, and maybe we won’t even whip you.”

The men were ugly in a way that Fenris had come to be very familiar with on his journey south. Bounty hunters or slavers or simple mercenaries, it mattered little to him at this point, they all came from the same source and all came to the same end. From Danarius to the end of Fenris’ sword, or with his fist in their chest if they were especially unlucky, like horrible presents sent by his old master.

They couldn’t be earnest attempts to pull Fenris back, for all that Danarius was putting on a good show of it ever since he’d left Seheron. Chased south and south and south until he’d crossed the Waking Sea and found himself here.

With his fist buried in the seeming leader of the men sent after him, the rest crumpled slabs of meat lying in pools of blood. That was all the proof Fenris needed that Danarius wasn’t trying to bring him back yet, not really; he knew how strong Fenris was, how skilled. The magister trained him, molded him, knew his every inch and secret, better than Fenris himself.

If Danarius actually wanted him back, he wouldn’t hire such pathetic creatures to chase him.

Fenris pulled back his fist and the leader dropped, dead as all the rest of the beasts were. He flicked his wrist, blood spraying off the talons of his gauntlet and walked back to the last man whose corpse was serving to hold his sword upright.

“Halt! Don’t touch the sword, elf!”

Fenris turned. These men were not Danarius, he was fairly certain. Wielding matched swords and shields, wearing middling armor with yellow dyed tabard over the scales, it took Fenris only a moment to recognize them.

“You’re late, guardsmen,” Fenris scoffed and continued towards his sword. “I was assured when I arrived at the port that the local guards could be trusted to protect the people here, but it seems the reputation of your garrison was exaggerated. Or do you frequently allow slavers to wander your city?”

“He’s gone daft. Slavery’s illegal in Ferelden. And even if these louts started a fight, murder’s murder, right boys?” The crowd of guards jeered their agreement, and the hairs on the back of Fenris’ neck stood on end. They weren’t slavers, but they were not good men clearly.

Fenris spared himself the whip by killing the slavers, only to turn his back to the rod, it would seem.

“I wasn’t aware that Ferelden had laws against killing in defense of one’s life.” In point of fact, Fenris knew nearly nothing of law in Ferelden, other than that they didn’t permit slavery or the presence of slavers; it had been a deciding factor in his taking the boat from Ostwick instead of continuing overland to Kirkwall as he’d initially planned, switching roles in their game of cat and mouse. However, a man he’d met as he traveled the Marches assured him that such laws were commonplace in Southern Thedas, and Fenris expected that much to be true.

“Tell that to the dead bodies, elf,” one of the guards snarled. The ruse was dropping. “Hands at your sides.”

The rattle of chains decided the matter. Never again, Fenris had pledged when he made his decision to flee. Had they planned to escort him without manacles, he might have complied, phasing through the cell and departing the city. With them in the mix, he found his spine turned to steal and the lines of lyrium in his skin itched angrily.

There was little difference between these guards and the men Danarius sent, after all. His sword would gut them just the same, his incorporeal fist would phase through their breastplates without effort.

It would be easy.

“Ho there! Guardsmen!” The bright voice cut the atmosphere, and a stout figure in bright blue armor came into view from a nearby alley. A dwarven women, with sunburnt cheeks and golden hair to match the heavy jewelry in her ears. She seemed half the size of the guards, yet with only a bow on her back she seemed more confident in her stride than most magisters. “What seems to be the problem, sers?”

The reaction of the guards to her was night and day, hands snapping away from blades and into a salute. “M-messere! To what do we owe the honor?”

“I was just walking the streets, overseeing my holdings. After all, I’m sure your old arl did the same, didn’t he?” Her face was round and pleasant, but her smile was as sharp as her words. Fenris knew how to catch the rebuke, even as he held back his surprise at a dwarf claiming to be the lord of Amaranthine. Did Ferelden have dwarven lords alongside the human ones? “Appraise me of the situation.”

“It’s nothing to concern yourself with,” the guards leader coughed into his hand. “Only apprehending this ruffian. You can see the damage he’s done.”

“I’ll decide what I’m to be concerned with,” she maintained that sharp smile, devious as any magister of the magisterium. “I see dead men, with serpent crests on their scabbards. Do you know what nation uses a serpent in its heraldry, guardman?”

“I… cannot say that I do, messere.”

“It’s Tevinter, guardsman. And he’s an elf. Please do put two and two together, I’ll wait.”

“That’s- that can’t be true. No slavers would dare step foot in Ferelden, and certainly not so soon after the Blight. You can’t say that these were slavers with such conviction, not when he massacred them so brutally!”

“I can, actually. I’ve met Tevinter slavers, in Denerim in fact, invited by your beloved Arl Howe during the Blight. I’ll not have you telling me what can and cannot happen in my city nor what I can or cannot do about it. But I’ll save you the trouble for now.” She finally turned her gaze away from the guards and her eyes bore directly into Fenris. “You seem quite good in a fight. I’m conscripting you. Welcome to the Grey Wardens, Conscript.”

#dadwc #warden!fenris au #i still haven't played awakening so I have no idea if there's a canon attire for Amaranthine's guards #ty for the prompt blue!!!

[convenientcoma]

WIP Whenever

(or WIP...I work nights I have no idea what day it is!)

Thank you to @paraparadigm and @fandomn00blr for the push. So a little excerpt from Chapter #? - The Tale of Thomas Rainer from Rara Avis, coming soon to an AO3 page near you! (I mean, not really, but maybe the self-imposed pressure will help me write?!)

Quantity rather than quality was his general rule. He wasn’t particular about his conquests. All women had their charms if one bothered to look. Pretty was nice, and soft and bouncy was his favorite, but the plain girls were usually the most accommodating in bed and most appreciated his attentions. He avoided the ravishingly beautiful or the truly unfortunately homely both, but for different reasons; the great beauties demanded his subservience and were usually indolent, and the ugly girls were grovelingly grateful and had a tendency to fall in love almost immediately. But it was true that all warm and willing flesh felt the same in the dark. A fuck was a fuck, just as a flagon of backwater Ferelden swill would get him drunk as quickly as a fine goblet of Orlesian gold mead.

So now it's your turn: @curiousartemis @serial-chillr @nirikeehan @princessvicky01 @smutnug @jarebear @visceralcoma @musetta3 @mareenavee

#WIP #a-productive-manor #dragon age fanfiction #thom rainier

[nightingaletrash]

So what's the tea between Alistair and Solana? Why'd he leave her?

Well it mostly comes down to the whole 'putting Loghain through the Joining' thing.

Solana carried around a decent amount of guilt over the consequences of her actions in her origin, with Lilly being imprisoned in Aeonar and Jowan's poisoning of Eamon which led to Connor's whole deal. Rationally, she knew that shit was going to hit the fan no matter what she did, but as she accomplishes more and more as a Warden, it forces her to wonder if things really were that inevitable. Maybe if she'd fought harder, backed Jowan up more readily, they could have escaped without him resorting to blood magic. Or maybe she should have accepted the inevitability of the situation and just told Irving about the plan.

Either way, she carries an increasing sense of guilt that doesn't really lessen after she lets Jowan flee Redcliffe. So she buckles down on what Duncan taught her - that Grey Wardens do what they must, no matter how ugly, if it means stopping the Blight. So she gets her hands dirty working with Bhelen, she recruits every stripe of person and being that comes her way, and she always chooses what is best for Ferelden and not for herself.

Alistair, therefore, is a bit of an exception. He was someone with whom she felt safe and happy, where she wasn't just a mage or a Warden, just Solana. And that meant the entire world to her. It was the one concession she allowed herself to have against the Wardens, against inevitability.

But she knew how badly Alistair didn't want to be King, and wanted to try and find a work around for him so that his nightmare wouldn't have to come true. So imagine her luck when she's rescued Anora, freed from Fort Drakon, and is asked to have a private word with the Queen; Anora offers an alliance where Solana supports her bid for the throne, and asks that - if possible - she spare Loghain's life. It's not ideal, but Solana agrees that should Loghain stand down, she'll spare his life.

Now, Solana called a group meeting to tell the others about the arrangement, but Eamon insists that he needs to talk some things through with Alistair before the Landsmeet and so he's absent when the others discuss it. Meaning he's completely horrified when Solana not only spares Loghain, but acquiesces to Riordan's recommendation to make him a Warden.

And suddenly there's a hard line drawn in the sand - either she can be a lover and go against her deal with Anora to do as Alistair wishes, or be a Warden and uphold Duncan's principle that Wardens do as they must, not as they please.

And Solana chooses to be a Warden.

It wasn't something she did lightly. In fact, it was the hardest choice she'd made by tht point, and she even begged him not to leave. But he did anyway, leaving both of them heartbroken.

But Solana still carries a torch for Alistair. She put her foot down with Anora over the prospect of an execution, and now she searches for a cure for the Calling, not for herself and the Wardens, but for him. That the rest of them could be cured is simply a side benefit. She knows that she hurt him deeply and that he'll never forgive her, but if she can cure his Calling, then maybe he can at least live without an inevitable doom hanging over his head. And that alone would be enough for her.

As for how Alistair feels... I haven't quite decided yet. Still hurting, still yearning. Not able to forgive her, but not able to forget her either.

It's complicated for him, and quite simple for her, so all in all, it's very messy.

#annoyed-galaxy #dao #solana amell #alistair theirin #solana/alistair #basically it's a messy breakup and it's definitely all eamon's fault no doubt about it #if it's dao and it goes wrong. blame eamon. #good news: she did see jowan again and saw the good he was doing which helped her realise that sometimes #bad shit has to happen before the good shows up #it doesn't fix everything about how she feels but it helps

[tozettastone]

Fic excerpt

[Dorian's] at least sure he's in Ferelden.

How is he sure? Well, it's simple. He stumbles into their tiny town, which is little more than a way-stop for merchants and fishermen situated next to a frozen river, and when he finds the general goods store, the first thing that happens when he closes the door behind him is that a painted dog gets up from her bed of rags in one corner to harass him and nobody tells her to stop bothering a paying customer.

Sometimes, the scholars and historians of Quarinus exaggerate. It's an understandable vice, because a university lecturer has to keep his students paying attention by some method or other. But sometimes, their descriptions are painfully exact, and you never really know until you've been to a sprawling Nevarran catacomb and heard the moans of the dead, or seen the horror of an Orlesian alienage, or, indeed, stepped foot inside a grubby Ferelden store and been greeted by a massive, drooling beast.

It's an ugly animal. Mabari are something between a very large wolf and a very large mastiff, with brutish slavering faces and skin so thick and bristly it might just as well be boarhide. This one is an unobtrusive shade of mud brown, undoubtedly useful for ambushing the local mountain goats in spring.

She has a collar made of ram's leather. Hopefully that means she's trained. Dorian tucks all his fingers in tightly but he lets her snuffle wetly at his hand.

The dog is remarkably polite, despite her yellow teeth and sloppy drool. At least her breath is warm, which Dorian has not been for days now and may never be again. The general goods store is warm but the cold is in his bones.

At last, the dog wags her stubby little tail and shoves her enormous head under his hand. This is a benediction, he supposes.

"Well," says the old man manning the store, squinting suspiciously at Dorian. "We don't get too many vints up here, but Belinda seems to like you, so that's good enough for me. She wants you to scratch her ears."

Dorian wonders about asking if it's normal to take the word of a dog in this part of the world and decides that won't be a fruitful line of inquiry. He scratches Belinda's head, fingers clumsy with cold, and wonders if this is some kind of unknown ritual act. It certainly feels like he's sacrificing something. He's getting dog hair on his cloak, at least, which is basically identical to his ancestors bringing a midwinter slave to the temple of Lusacan...

#fic excerpt #dorian pavus #dragon age #my fic #i want to give dorian a dog

[inquisimer]

Hello and happy DADWC!! For a prompt, how about: Cullen/Lavellan, ugly boots?

hellooooo happy friday!! a bit of post-IYHSB fluff for these two tonight🥰

for @dadrunkwriting

“Put them on.”

“No.”

“You must.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You must,” Cullen repeated, squatting next to her cot. Neria refused to meet his eyes, crossing her arms and staring petulantly at the canvas tent over his shoulder.

He pushed the boots toward her once more. “We have nothing else.”

“Then I’ll go barefoot.”

“In the Frostbacks? We have no idea how long we’ll be here or how far we’ll have to walk once we find somewhere to go.”

He nudged the boots forward again. Neria regarded them as one might a pile of nug shit.

They were well made, though larger and more obtuse than the soft pair she’d been skating by on since coming to Haven. She longed for the footwraps she’d had to give up upon reaching Ferelden. She missed their soft comfort against her arches and how they still smelled faintly of elfroot and aravels.

But the colors.

Despite the fading of time, the majority of the boots still glowed like a torchbug in the dead of night. There were stripes and swoops of neon pink and blue, dusty and grimy but unmistakable. The cuff between the upper and lower parts was still yet another blue, more like the sky in the midst of a clear day, but one which clashed horribly with the already mismatched shades.

She refused to wear such a hideous visage.

“Solas does it,” she countered. “I’m sure he can teach me whatever spell he’s using.”

Cullen sighed, a weary sound from deep in his throat. “You need to preserve your strength. Or have you already forgotten that a whole mountain fell upon you?”

“Hardly.” Her eyes snapped to his, fierce and glaring. Her arms and legs were littered with scrapes and tiny wounds left from the splinters she’d fallen through in the wake of her confrontation with Corypheus. Healing magic had left a sting in her extremities, better than frostbite, but still unpleasant in its own right. And of course her mark, though stabilized once more, had spiraled out to cover her entire palm. The lines closer to the center of her hand were a darker green, almost black, while those that stretched toward her wrist and fingertips now mirrored the Breach. 

“It’s not something one forgets so easily, if at all.”

“Then you know that you don’t have the mana to spare when there are perfectly decent boots here!”

“I’m perfectly capable of judging my own magical limits, thank you.”

Cullen ignored her snipe. “These are all we have left. Any few pairs we managed to collect in the retreat have already been passed out to villagers. We—the people need to see you on your feet.”

“The people should have raised up a profit who cared what they thought,” Neria muttered. But her words lacked all bite and Cullen knew it.

Of course she cared. But that didn’t make her any more keen on the boots.

“Is the idea of keeping all ten toes and rejoining this” —he gestured toward where she assumed the remainder of the camp stretched— “chaos truly so unappealing?”

Neria pressed her lips together.

“Please, Neria.” His voice dropped and Neria could hear the utter exhaustion that weighed him down. Usually held back by his immense willpower, the fall of Haven and their retreat into the Frostbacks, and his subsequent responsibility for dozens of citizens in a frozen wasteland—real or perceived—had worn it away.

“We’ve talked and fought in circles. We need a fresh perspective—or at least someone who can stem the arguments when they stop having purpose. You are that person” —he held up a hand at her noise of protest— “you are. That’s how we got this far.”

He offered her the boots once more. “Please.”

“Fine.” Neria pulled the boots toward her and began loosening the laces with a grumble. “But don’t expect any miracles. And don’t be surprised if everyone assumes Andraste’s withdrawn her favor when they see these.”

“Ah, but how could She withdraw what you never had?” said Cullen cheekily, turning her own insistence back on her. With a chuckle, he ducked out of the tent.

Neria shook her head. “Touché, Commander, touché.”

#my writing #dadwc #dragon age fanfic #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #oc: neria surana lavellan #neria x cullen

[hekxate]

The female versions of FE protagonists are always more popular than the male versions. It’s readily apparent in fanfic for instance. It’s so sad. I wish male Byleth and male Alear got more love.

oh i just thought she was ugly enough to be less popular. male alear is cute. can’t say the same for male byleth though, thoughts and prayers to u xoxoxo. but yea to me byleth is fbyleth body and alear is malear body. the same way that i think the hero of ferelden is a woman and hawke is a man to me. all just my canon beliefs. 👍🏻

[couslande]

i think for me the issue is that we get lots of comments deriding ferelden for being cold ugly unpleasant and more ‘barbaric’ than its neighbours, but theres nothing visually interesting or unique enough about ferelden that makes it feel like ferelden is different to the other states in thedas. it just feels like a generic medieval world (misunderstood one at that) half the time and i do genuinely think drawing visually from the likes of the norse, anglo-saxon and old irish societies would really help add to what they were going for with ferelden while also supporting it feeling like an actual world that people live in

#i think about anora's dress in inquisition and i want to die basically #like you can go for more simplistic without being boring #text

[fenalith]

Som Ferelden-ish mage fashion coming right up! I only just realized how ugly the color combinations are for the mage's robes in Origins. Yellow, turquoise, brownish, and purple? Hard to make those colors work with my current skill level; not for a lack of trying let me tell you.

#Dragon Age origins #Mage robes #fanart #ocs #first draft #Amell

[queenaeducan]

happy sunday! here’s a snippet that isn’t 6 sentences but is still short enough for me to consider it as counting for six sentence sunday. this is from the solas/ian dance fic i mentioned in an ask the other day

“I had hoped… I mean, I thought you might like to join me for a dance,” Ian says. “My new friends agree that you look lonely over here, poring over maps.” “One of us has to be certain which way we’re going.” “Getting lost with you doesn’t sound so terrible.” Solas laughs at that. “No,” he agrees, “it doesn’t.” “Then you’ll dance with me?” His answer stalls on his lips, attention returning to the map, now obscured by the intertwining of their hands. The bend of Ian’s elbow aligns where their path diverges from the coast, turning in towards the heart of Ferelden. There lay a cool, still pool where, at last, the truth and all its ugliness may be laid bare. And though he can plot every step they take to get there, what comes after rests wholly in Ian’s hands. “I do not know the steps,” he resists weakly.

Tagged by @mxkelsifer

Tagging @anneapocalypse, @mercenarysexuality, @nomorecaffeineforyou, @skyeventide, @rosella-writes, @bluewren, @delicatefade, @ziskandra, @oxygenforthewicked​, @ anyone else who’d like to share something (and no pressure if i tagged you and you don’t!)

#i wrote this this morning w/ a migraine so it's kinda bare rip #but also thats why we have editing #my wips

[heniareth]

HI hello I saw you share that ship ask game and I have come PREPARED with multiple rounds if permitted 😈😈😈😈😈

So if I may, for Astala (my beloved!!!!!) and Zev (her beloved!!!) Can I please ask:

- 4

- 10

- 23

And/or

- 37

You know the drill, best beloved. As many or few as you like, but the warning remains: allow me to pester you further and by God I'll do it 🤣🤣 hope you have a gorgeous day!!!

Hello my chlorophyll-filled friend!! The asks are permitted and encouraged!! I love talking about these guys XD XD XD Buckle up, this is a long one. Let's go!

4. Who initiates affection? Why does the other not initiate affection as much?

Both! They are both big on physical affection. Astala loves little casual touches, hugs, hooking arms or holding hands, leaning her head on Zevran's shoulder, or just bending over him and letting herself get heavy like a sack of potatoes. Zevran finds a font of neverending delight in casually affectionate touches that aren't means to an end and just exist because it's nice or because affection for him exists and moves Astala to express it.

As for other signs of affection, Zevran is the one who jumps to verbal affection quicker, and is very good at making Astala start blushing and grinning brightly. Astala's however pack a punch; she gets terribly serious and sappy, and Zevran needs a bit to recover from the onslaught of sweet words whenever the flood is set loose. Astala is quicker to jump to acts of service and little gifts: a food Zevran likes, a trinket that caught her eye and reminded her of him, that sort of things. This doubles when they are away; Astala makes sure to include something nice in almost every letter, and Zevran answers in kind.

10. Do they share any hobbies or interests? How do these things bring them together?

They share a passion for cooking and baking and generally making edible things! Food is a bit thing for them (yey for growing up without enough to go around) and one of the way they connect and share affection is by making sure the other is eating plenty good food. They both put on a healthy layer of fat once they retire from adventuring.

Fighting and swordplay is also something they share. While learned out of necessity and not always associated with the nicest memories, they do like to get out their weapons and spar from time to time. It keeps them sharp, it's fun, and, in Zevran's words, it gets the blood pumping. They also love to dance together. The injuries Astala has sustained from the Archdemon seriously limit the days they can do either of those things, but sometimes she'll take a worse pain day just for the chance of dancing or sparring with Zevran. Both are activities where they can take joy in each others' abilities, and that also require a certain amount of trust in each other (especially sparring, but also dancing with Astala's bad hip). And it's just fun.

Another thing they share is a love for the sea and warmer climates. Once they settle down in Antiva, they go to the beach or the shore often, take walks, run into the waves. Astala teaches Zevran how to properly ride the waves as they come into the shore. Zevran teaches Astala where to find the best seashells and stones. Sometimes they both just sit and soak in the sun or listen to the waves. They find that enjoying these things together makes them more beautiful (and, in turn, when they're not together, the sea makes them terribly nostalgic).

23. What are the defining characteristics of their relationship?

Loyalty - They've gone through a lot together, and while they can and do stay apart, breaking apart the relationship in any way would break a significant part of themselves. Technically, they could do it, but it would be an ugly and very bloody process. So, together they stay, and they watch over their relationship like a hawk.

Trust and teamwork - Look, when you're the Hero of Ferelden and the Black Shadow, you have to be able to trust your spouse and know they will have your back no matter what. Sure, they hold each other accountable and argue, but that happens exclusively behind closed doors. That is private. They have each others' backs first and foremost.

Respect and admiration - They are both very capable individuals and they know it. A big part of their ability to teamwork is knowing what each of them is good at: Astala has a solid head for plans and for keeping a group together and coordinated, Zevran is very good at making plans become reality and at improvising. A big part of having each others' back, without question, is also their respect for each others' autonomy and decision-making capabilities, even when the other doesn't agree with the decision that has been made. This is a quality asked of them when Zevran goes to Antiva; Astala would rather have him at the Vigil and safe, and Zevran would rather she didn't throw herself into her work as arlessa the way she does (and didn't neglect investigating a plot to assassinate her???? Astala PLEASE!!) But Zevran let her go and kill the Archdemon, and Astala has carried them through the Blight like nobody else could have. They remind each other of that when something the other does makes cold, cold dread settle in their guts. On top of that, the admiration goes past admiration for mere skill. Zevran especially is a master at looking at things and enjoying them as they are. Astala, too, has developed an ability to see beauty wherever she goes. It serves them well, especially when their relationship is going through a rough patch, to remember what they like about each other and rediscover each other anew.

Lots of silly moments - And I mean lots of them. Poking each other, making jokes about other people (where other people can't hear them, obviously), pulling one on their kids, messing with the other Wardens, climbing a roof to sit on the rooftop, you name it. Their silly bones are very well developed, bless them 😌😌 Zevran swears it keeps them young, and he isn't wrong at all.

Kids come first - They had that talk before taking in Virel, Perinella and Carlo. The kids come first. If there's not enough food to go around, if they're being attacked and need to get to safety, if they're in mortal danger but the kids are in danger too, if they have an unexpected day off and are deciding what they should do, if work is getting busy, the kids go first. That is not to say that they don't take some of their free days and go out on a date. Or that they wouldn't do crazy, stupid, reckless things for each other if they were in danger. Or that work doesn't keep them tied to the table or out of the house for too long sometimes. But, on principle, the kids come first. If one of them is bleeding out on the floor and the other is with the kids, the other has to get the kids to safety. They promised each other that.

37. Who’s more emotionally sensitive/cries more often?

Astala, but they both have their days. Astala in general is more comfortable with expressing emotions like grief, sadness, exhaustion disappointment and frustration (even though she's not as free in that expression as she could be). Zevran, by his upbringing, keeps a tight lid on all of that. Tears might even make him uncomfortable at first if they manage to reach that soft part of his heart that he has tried and failed to harden. Astala tries not to cry in front of him at first, because she can sense his discomfort and also prefers to cry in private, but with time the holds on both their emotions ease.

I will say though, Zevran cries of happiness more often than Astala. Happiness gets overwhelming.

-

And that's the answers!! Kudos to you if you've taken the time to read through all of this XD XD XD XD It has become a bit longer than I thought, but that's what we're here for. More information!!

Hope you have a lovely day Plant!! Thank you for indulging me!! I love these two buggers so much

#astala tabris #zevran #zevwarden #ask game #for fun