#like how Varric likes giving hawke a hard time already?? this adds to that

[demonic-dorito]

One of the most underrated aspects of the Kirkwall crew dynamics is the fact that Hawke is likely the youngest person in the group canonically

Isabela and Varric are about 30. Anders is in his late 20s or early 30s. Merrill is in her late 20s. Hawke is 24 or 25. The only thing saving Hawke from being the youngest is the fact we don’t know Fenris’ canonical age.

Hawke really went from being the Grown Up in their family to being the youngest in their friend group. Isabela has definitely told Hawke “I’ll explain it when you’re older.” Hawke comments on Fenris being a little slow in battle and he quips back “my knees aren’t what they used to be.” If Hawke gets more kills than Varric, he hits him with “back when I was your age-”

This is canonical untapped comedy gold. Why aren’t we talking about this

[felassan]

Some snippets of interest and insight from Mark Darrah, from an older Mark Darrah on Games YouTube video where he was livestreaming playing Dragon Age II some months ago -

Chat asked "Are you devs (former devs as well) hyped and excited about entire lore and world of DA like we are?''. Mark replied that the devs do get into the lore but that they actually often lean into the community to make sure that they aren't violating their own lore (because there's so much of it). "You guys have done a much better job of curating it than we have to be honest".

A comment in chat said "I think it's important to know that as DA4 ramps up, the fandom is going to change". Mark replied "for sure, definitely, as the marketing picks up for a game you draw in more people. Also, BioWare is carrying some Anthem people that picked up that never left, that have definitely changed the tenor of the fandom to some degree".

For dialogue, the reason why the paraphrase is different to what Hawke actually says is that they found in ME1 that if they just made them the same, it felt like everything you as the PC said was being repeated because you had already read it in your head and then it got said out loud. This does sometimes lead to disconnect as sometimes what Hawke ends up saying isn't really what was implied by the paraphase. Mark said "that's why we've been experimenting with different tonal stuff in different games, to give you hints as to more clarity as to what will actually be said".

Chat asked ''what is you opinion on the rewrite/corrections of a lot of the lore from DA2 in subsequent media?'. Mark replied "My opinion is that you should try to be respectful of everything that came before as much as possible. I don't like that some of the comics and things have enforced sort've standard canon so strongly. I recognize that, especially coming out of DA:O, there's not much choice, but I feel like we could have done a bit of a better job there".

[source]

He also talked more generally about DAII and the previous games in general. These bits are collected under a cut due to length:

The messages that appear at the bottom of the DAII start screen must be hard-coded as opposed to live updates received from online, as some of them still refer to long-past things

On Varric's embellished prologue scene, where Bethany's chest size is exaggerated, he mentioned that Varric was more of a pig in DAII than he is in DA:I. "Men writing men writing women"

First impressions have an impact on players' opinions of the companions. Mark mentioned that he thinks that might be one of the reasons why players tend to stick with the first 3 companions that they get in the game, because those are the ones they're used to and are forced to get a bit more context on because they're there with you for the duration of the prologue/introduction

One of the problems with DAII is that because the followers are so locked down in terms of their abilities, gameplay and roleplay are in conflict more than they are in DA:O and DA:I

Combat in DAII is essentially the combat of DA:O (the same systems underneath) if someone took the 'knobs' and cranked them in the opposite direction really far. So the same systems underneath, but just with very different numbers in them

In DA:I, lighting (what time of day it is) was created such that the best looking lighting/time of day for each area was chosen

In DAII Kirkwall, because it was essentially such a central character in the game, actually got a lot more attention than cities usually do in DA games

The design of Kirkwall's city map actually kind of discourages you from going out into the wilderness, which Mark doesn't think was the intention

He mentioned that accents are tricky and that you want replicable accents. This was a problem Mass Effect had, e.g. with Tali. Tali's accent was one her VA could do, but no-one else could do it, so they ended up with an un-replicable accent for this character

"I forgot how many redheads there are in DAII"

Adding in some of the 'this is physically impossible irl' moves and skills to warriors and rogues in DAII helped to better balance those classes with mages, which were sort've overpowered relatively speaking in DA:O

DAII tried really hard to establish an art direction. So for example, there was a strong effort to make elves not look like 'humans with pointy ears', hence they're very angular. They then backed away from this a bit in DA:I

Chat asked ''Do you guys prefer the strongest loot to be crafted or found?'". Mark replied that crafting is a dangerous thing because some players don't engage in it, so if you require crafting for the best loot you run into the problem of players who don't engage in crafting not being able to play the game. Usually the best loot is crafted, but you need to be able to play the game without using it

In DAII they were trying to control the game economy a bit better than it was done in DA:O, as especially in the first act you're supposed to be someone who has just fled the Blight, so it wouldn't make sense to have a sack of money

On the repeating cave environment in DAII, it was a very specific hole in the cave ceiling with a shaft of sunlight hitting the ground that was so identifiable/distinctive that was what showed that the cave was being reused. "That specific spot is the main reason there was backlash about and people noticing the reused cave". Chat asked whether Mark thought that a simple texture swap-out would have helped mitigate the repeating dungeons complaint and he replied that some texture swaps could have helped, but the reason why they didn't do more clever tricks to conceal it was lack of time

Another major thing that caused the noticeable repeating environments problem is that they had the same area map, as they didn't have the ability in the engine to have specialized area maps, "so what happens is you actually get lots of times where parts of the level look accessible when in fact it isn't" (blocked off doors and not making it look like that on the minimap), and that just draws even further attention to how repetitive it is. DA:O comparatively did better at disguising or effectively reusing content

Also, chat asked ''Development wise, was crunch much worse for DA: Exodus versus DA:O or DA:I since it had a year or two development period??'". Mark replied that "Crunch-wise, yeah, DAII was arguably the worst but because the game was short in terms of dev time it was less total time I guess. But it was kind've for the entire development process so that was not great. We decided to do it in December in 2009 and shipped in March of 2011, so total time from the day we decided to do it until the day it was on shelves was about 15 months." This is why the game relies so much on the followers, because they are faster to write, usually require less revisions and you can go with the first drafts a little bit more. "If Jason Schreier says it was 2 years dev time for DAII in his book Blood, Sweat and Pixels, he's incorrect". More development time for DAII would have helped but it would have needed to have been added to the timeline in just the right way. If it had been added at the end and the release date had shifted really late in development, that would have been the biggest way to help, "because you could take the game as it was and patched over the biggest shaky bits". If it had just started with a 2 year dev cycle "I think you would have ended up with weaknesses because you would have just filled up the bucket with more content and I think the solution would've been to not do that, to keep it super tight, keep the focus on the characters and then patch over the worse of the glaring things". Also, "I have slept under my desk, yes".

(pls note that in places there is a bit of paraphrasing of the info, the best source is always the primary source with full quotes in their original context. and also that this vid is from 11 months ago)

[source]

[veshialles]

like look okay, I kind of get it. like obviously I wasn't expecting to find out like, a ring I returned to an NPC in a DAO sidequest to be an important plot point 4 games later or anything. I understand that moving events to another area of the world we haven't seen in the previous games yet gives us a bit of a "blank slate" as they keep putting it but like...

As others have pointed out, you've got returning characters! Morrigan is there, and as a character she is a completely different woman depending on whether or not Kieran is born and how your Hero Of Ferelden interacted with her. (sure her son would be grown up now, but I think it's an important factor to consider??) Not to mention that The Inquisitor is also there. Either them or Morrigan can optionally drink from the Well Of Sorrows and be "bound forever to the will of Mythal", aka Flemeth aka a wisp of an elven god's soul (potentially embodied by the soul of Urthemiel the Archdemon/whatever elven God that used to be) whose powers/essence Solas absorbed in DAI's post-credits scene?? I THINK THAT SHOULD HAVE SOME PRETTY DEEP CONSEQUENCES GIVEN YOU KNOW, THE RETURN OF THE OTHER ELVEN GODS AND SOLAS BEING SUCH A "CENTRAL CHARACTER" OR WHATEVER. (and if none of these matter, exactly WHAT did they do to my babygirl? [fearful])

Varric is there for gods sake, and Lace Harding. like, neither of them has anything to say about what they've been through, the ripples that have affected their lives up til the time of DAtV?? Really? well.... we might already know why varric doesn't have much to say 😬😬😬

You can select who your inquisitor romanced, yeah that's cool. some of those can play out wildly different if you didn't complete specific quest targets. Like Iron Bull potentially fucking dying by your hands if you ally with the Qunari Fleets instead of turning him Tal-Vashoth. (he's alive and well and happily in love with my Inquisitor Lavellan in my 1st timeline, but I digress.) Given that the Qunari will be a more major antagonist faction in this game you'd think that choice would maybe be impactful! or whatever!!!)

And the whole you know. Inquisition's possible alliance with or exile of the Grey Wardens of Orlais thing MIGHT be at least a codex-able entry? Given the whole visiting Weisshaupt Fortress thing, their fucking HQ yknow

like. I wasn't expecting to see Hawke/their warden ally drop out of the Fade or anything crazy, and I definitely don't want to encourage the opposite extreme "Marvel-ization Phenomenon" where everything is just reduced to cheap layers of references and nostalgia folded over on itself ad nauseam, but I like it when there's little ripples of what came before.

That's like a major part of what has kept me interested in the series, little nods to the impacts you/your characters choices had. I would understand if this game was separated from the rest of the series by oh let's say 600 years of time-space travel to another galaxy (MEA my beloved). But it's literally just a little bit to the north. they haven't even left the continent, only a little over a decade has passed in-game.

I really don't wanna sound like a whiner, because I am genuinely excited for this game, but to me that "dynamic" changing aspect is part of what makes these games come alive, and it adds so much replay-ability too; being able to witness how your characters' actions ripple outwards, even in minimal ways, even as the main focus of the story changes with each game.

So idk, if only 3 Choices in the last game's DLC actually "mattered" in the buildup to all of this, I think even as much as I might enjoy the game, it will just feel a little bit flat and disconnected to me, no matter how much "impact" Rook has on their individual self-contained narrative.

In a game series where "choices matter", this decision just feels... tone-deaf

well I guess maybe I should take matters into my own hands and do that "previously on Dragon Age"/"The Road So Far" video I kinda wanted to make after all, SINCE APPARENTLY BIOWARE ISN'T BOTHERING TO ACKNOWLEDGE ANY OF THAT SHIT! UGH!

[lumienyx]

prompt! Thedas 25 for Handers (bonus points if it ends in kissing)

Loser Takes All

Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke | Rating: T

Tags: Established Relationship, Sparring, Banter, Fluff

Summary: "Ready to give up, love?" Anders taunted him, fire coiling atop his staff. His preferred element and a menace to deal with.

Hawke mirrored his smirk. "Ready to see you lose, sweetheart."

A/N: Fire is Anders’ preferred element bc no mage who shouts “Suck on a fireball!” every five minutes can be anything other than an inferno mage, change my mind

🎶  Stronger, Faster, Braver — Two Steps From Hell

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

@dadrunkwriting

~

Fucking Maker, Hawke thought, barely holding his ground as he blocked a violent telekinetic burst of energy with his enchanted blade and almost fell over trying. Sparring with Bethy is never this bloody hard.

Maybe, the rational part of his brain reminded him, that was because Bethany wasn't possessed by a spirit channeling a virtually limitless mana supply straight from the Fade. Said fact, of course, had completely slipped Hawke's mind when he countered Anders' suggestion of mindless cuddling during their picnic with an offer of a friendly spar; they'd never actually had one after all.

Less than an hour in and Hawke wished it had stayed that way.

"Ready to give up, love?" Anders taunted him, fire coiling atop his staff. His preferred element and a menace to deal with.

Hawke mirrored his smirk. "Ready to see you lose, sweetheart."

Fuck it. Hawke talked his way into this mess, and Maker willing he'd fight his way out of it without giving Anders the satisfaction of hearing him complain. He could always whine to Varric later.

Anders' reply came in the form of a blinding blast of fire, and Hawke anticipated it well enough to dodge. He'd barely recovered his stance, though, when Anders disarmed him with a smirk and attacked with a cascade of fireballs that rained on Hawke in a rush of scorching heat. The air became heavy with it, laced also with the faint but distinct, stormy scent of the Fade, and the flames glided, harmless, over the clearing and the trees, targeting only Hawke. He jumped out of the way barely fast enough for just the edges of his leathers to get singed a bit—and then Anders' hand started sizzling with the unpleasant kind of electricity trick that meant to hurt instead of drag Hawke to the brink of pleasure.

Hawke cursed his impulsiveness. And the Maker once more, for good measure.

Anders, naturally, was smirking all the while, keeping his distance. Cloaked in a light sheen of electricity and waiting for an opening, for the right moment to strike.

Hawke would be damned if he gave him one. Holding his daggers steady, he tracked Anders' every move in turn. He chanced a tentative step closer, careful not to flinch even a little when Anders' spell fizzled brighter but didn't release; Hawke knew enough of his tells to know the difference between a feint and a genuine move to attack.

"Tired already, Garrett?" Anders cooed, with that impossibly smug grin Hawke wanted nothing more than to kiss away. "We could take a break if you like. I promise I won't tell."

Hawke inhaled deeply in hopes of concealing how out-of-breath he already was. "Please. I'm just getting started." He spun his daggers once, twice. A safe maneuver for the while and one that always gave him a rush of confidence. "I have fought dragons before, you know. You're not exactly intimidating."

"Oh? And who was it that brought you back from the brink of death after?" Another step to the side, another bluffing twitch of Anders' fingers that Hawke pointedly ignored. "Every time, I might add."

"I'd have made it somehow."

"Hm. Doubtful."

"Doubtful is your ability to defeat me, Anders. Stop stalling—it doesn't make the fear go away."

The brief flash of annoyance in Anders' gaze was a good thing. As was the slight tension in his arm, the way he bit his lower lip in concentration and tightened his grip on his staff—the few seconds he was preparing for a real attack.

Hawke deliberately stepped into it. Another one of his half-baked risky impulses of a plan, but those had yet to fail Hawke thus far, so he went for it.

He dodged the blast of lightning and ran forward, intent on getting close. It was a tricky but viable matter of not crashing into Anders' sparse barriers and telekinetic foothold traps—invisible but humming with energy loudly enough for Hawke to sense them. He dodged some and broke through others, swift and sure, with his spirit-enchanted blade. Followed, finally, with a blow to Anders' staff strong enough to break his grip.

If only Anders wasn't quick as ever to react himself.

He threw his staff in the air at the last second he had left to avoid the slash of Hawke's blade, glided to the side, and called the weapon back with a telekinetic pull. One Hawke was prepared to intercept, grasping both his daggers with his right hand and the end of Anders' staff with his left, fighting against the force of the pull and shifting it so that the bladed end of it ended up pointing straight at Anders' chest.

Anders narrowed his eyes, still holding the spell, but not dragging the staff closer.

"Nice one," he conceded, with a half-hearted attempt to shift the direction of the staff. Hawke held it steady, though, and knew Anders wouldn't go overkill in fear of actually hurting him in what was to be a light-hearted spar. "Are you just going to stand there with that staff like an idiot? You know I don't actually need it to cast."

"Are you going to release the spell?" Garrett countered. "You know, I could and will stand like this all day if you're too scared to take me on without it."

Anders wasn't, of course, and really, the only advantage his lack of weapon would give Hawke was less force in Anders' spells. Hawke saw enough of his lover fighting their enemies in close combat when he was cornered and staffless, Justice's power flaring through his veins, manifesting in skilled, elegant swordplay or the occasional debilitating punch.

Hawke threw the staff far into the mass of trees behind him as he felt Anders release it, making sure it landed out of sight so Anders couldn't recast the spell.

"If it gets lost," Anders warned him, "I will murder you." At Hawke's raised eyebrow, he sighed. "Gently. With kisses, probably."

"A man after my own heart," Hawke laughed, and moved into another attack.

Anders did use more muted magic now—with his spellpower stronger than usual because of Justice's presence, a staff was essential for him to focus his magic. Maker knew Hawke watched him break at least eight staves with overpowered spells, and Anders certainly didn't want the same happening to his arms.

Strong, elegant arms that Hawke couldn't help but watch maybe a little too closely than necessary, their fluid movement a mesmerizing sight. Anders parried him blow for blow, using dense, blade-like barriers concentrated at his hands to shield and to strike. They devolved into a fervent dance, the space between them tense with the buzzing hum of enchanted metal, the sizzle of magic, harsh grunts and heavy breathing, as they advanced and separated, neither quite gaining the upper hand just yet.

They broke apart after a particularly violent clash, Hawke carefully stepping around the few buzzing traps strewn about the ground. He watched Anders swipe at and heal a cut on his arm, the sleeves of his light tunic torn in several places, showing and clinging to his sweat-slick skin.

Hawke's gaze lingered for a split second, a momentary flash of want amid the rush of adrenaline, and in retrospect, that was probably the moment that sealed his loss.

Anders caught an opening and struck at him with a condensed lightning sphere that Hawke slashed in half—stepping away right into one of Anders' invisible traps he was a tad too distracted to notice just then.

Well, fuck.

Hawke landed smack on his ass and found himself pinned by an equally invisible blade pressing not-too-gently against his throat—and surer still by the wild, wide amber eyes framed by a halo of disheveled hair glistening in the sunlight.

Hawke supposed he didn't mind the loss that much.

"Got you, love." Anders panted hard, dropping the spell and sagging just a touch. "You all right?"

"More than all right if I get a sight like this, sweetheart." Hawke leered at him, unashamed, and Anders only rolled his eyes. "But Andraste's fucking pyre, Anders, that was barely fair."

"Life is unfair, Garrett. What d'you want me to do about it?"

Hawke spluttered. "Well, fucking warn me next time about the effectively unlimited fucking mana supply? For a start?"

"Love, you've watched me fight for years," Anders pointed out, "have you ever seen my mana drained unless I've been healing patients literally nonstop?"

"I thought you were chugging lyrium potions or something!" Precisely the reason Hawke had insisted Anders not use any during the spar, fat load of good that did him. "Like every other fucking mage I know."

"That's a bit redundant when Justice gives me a permanent link to the Fade, love."

"Mm, and his fighting abilities."

"Again, something you already knew." Anders smiled, kneeling down to straddle him. "Today's lesson, love, dearest—don't underestimate a mage."

"Never again," Hawke promised with a hand solemnly placed over his heart, "oh most powerful, skillful, beautiful mage supreme of Thedas."

Anders chuckled. "Quite the hefty title."

"Quite the impressive win."

"I get three wishes now, right?" Anders brought Hawke's hands to his lips, kissing away a nasty gash on his palm. "Since I was so impressive and all that."

"One," Hawke corrected him, hand gliding into Anders' hair and tangling in the locks like he'd wanted to do the minute it came untied. "Don't push it. And go on then. I'm ready. What embarrassingly terrible atrocity do you wish of me?"

Anders gazed down at him, grin widening, and judging by that mischievous glint in his eyes that Hawke knew oh so well, he's already made up his mind about his wish. He pretended to think about it regardless, and Hawke found himself unable to look away—from the curve of Anders' lips, the faint crinkles around his eyes, the unbridled joy Hawke so rarely sees on his face unless they both find themselves together, like this, away from the worries of a cursed city and a tainted world.

Hawke wished they never had to return.

"Your most passionate of kisses," Anders declared, finally. "And make it worth my while."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "First of all, it's always worth your while. And second—how is that even a proper wish? That's not even a mild inconvenience for the loser here, but a proper prize."

"Then we both win."

"Yes, but still," Hawke insisted, "you can get a kiss any time you want."

Anders shrugged. "Well. Maybe that's all that makes me happy." His hand ran along Hawke's cheek—a tender, loving caress. "Maybe that's all I really want. Right now and any moment yet to com—mph!"

Hawke cut him off with a kiss, half to fulfill the wish, half to drown out the almost painful pang of—fullness, bubbly, sweet, and at the same time terrifying. His usual reaction whenever Anders spoke this way. Whenever he looked at him, Hawke, as if he were the most precious thing in existence, as if he meant the world. And perhaps Hawke did, to Anders, because Anders certainly meant as much to him.

He hoped the sentiment translated through the kiss. Not quite rough, but demanding. Tongue licking into Anders mouth as he drew him closer into a tighter embrace, felt the residual warmth of his magic sizzling against his skin, inhaled the scent of sweat, elfroot, and lyrium that was so unmistakeably Anders and made him feel at home. He coaxed Anders' lips into a wicked dance meant to tease, to claim, to show the love Hawke felt with his entire being but doubted he'll ever be able to put into words, actions, or any kind of touch.

Which wouldn't stop him from trying, of course, and try he did.

Anders melted against him, little moans humming against Hawke's lips as he gave as much as he got, gripping Hawke's sides tight enough to bruise and drawing him impossibly closer—as if Hawke would ever dream of letting go.

A few perfect minutes passed in a haze of pure elation that was one of a kind. Surely, Hawke thought, whatever bliss they talked of that awaited at the Maker's side was nothing compared to being here, in his lover's arms.

They had to pull away eventually, but not too far and not for long. Out of breath, foreheads pressed together, gazing at each other with matching smiles.

"Well?" Hawke asked once the pleasant light-headedness subsided, returning him the power of speech. "Worth your while?"

"Every bit of it," Anders breathed.

"I do think we shouldn't stop here though, I'm afraid it might not be nearly enough to express all my passion," Hawke said in mock concern. "It's important to persevere in these matters, see."

"Oh?"

"Of course. Repeatedly. For scientific reasons, if anything. Finding the best techniques, and angles, and all that."

Anders grinned. "I like the way you think."

"I love how we're always on the same page."

"Why are we still talking, though?"

Hawke answered with a kiss, and another that followed it, and countless more as they surrendered to the idle pleasure, getting lost in the precious time they had left to themselves. The only time either one of them was truly happy—and at peace.

[varricmancer]

Lost And Found  | 4

Also available on AO3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening

A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.

Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.

Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.

He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.

The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.

A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.

Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.

The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.

So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands -  saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.

When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.

They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.

This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.

While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.

He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.

“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.

He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.

Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.

“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”

“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .

“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”

“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.

“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.

The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.

Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.

“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.

“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.

He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.

“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”

“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”

“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”

“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”

This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.

He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.

****

It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.

Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.

Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.

Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.

They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.

His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.

It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.

At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling.  Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.

Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.

Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.

And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.

Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.

Shit.

He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.

Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.

Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).

A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?

He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.

Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.

He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.

Interesting.

Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.

Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.

Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.

Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.

It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?

Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.

When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.

The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.

****

A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.

Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.

Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.

It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.

She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.

It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .

And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.

And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.

With a capital fucking T.

Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.

And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.

Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.

He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.

But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.

With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.

****

Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.

It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.

Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.

He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.

And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .

“I said what do you think, Varric ?”

The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.

“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”

“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.

“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.

“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.

The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.

“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.

“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”

Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.

“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”

He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.

“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.

“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.

“Anything you want, little dove.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.

She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?

Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.

“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.

But she made him want to try.

****

Some questions you probably have now:

1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.

2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.

3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.

4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.

5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.

[griffinsandpeacocks]

FORFEIT! Section 5: “Where are your clothes?”(Was posted later than I had meant was supposed to be on the 26th, I had thought it was posted but as it wasn’t till 28th this is a forfeit prompt that I posted anyway, so it’s not in the challenge but too lazy to give it a proper title.)

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD

Dorian was rather shocked he and Bull had come this far. From thinly hissed accusations that Bull was going to kill him to this... Sitting on said qunari’s chest looking down at him and pouting that his hands are held. He’d been feeling up his lover and was mildly perturbed he’d been stopped in his tracks.

“I’m either groping your boobs or your dick, so chose!” Dorian chirps and Bull grumbles about to make a remark on Dorian being a peacock or even laugh what was he gonna do about it only for the door to creak and Dorian goes break neck tense magic washing over him and he cloaks and vanishes. Bull would love to see that trick in action but Dorian admits the only way for magic to cloak like this was if the mage stayed perfectly still. Useless on a battle front perfect in a scenario like this. 

“Bull, I - Where are your clothes?” The inquisitor had come to a dead stop blinking like an owl at the nude qunari. He’d been reading something when he’d come in and still held it chest height as the elf blinks at him in shock his face slowly taking on a pink tint. 

“On that chair.” Bull replies tilting his head in the direction of the chair and his clothes, in the far corner. Neatly folded up because Dorian was a menace. Dorian’s own clothes were still on him save his boots which were tucked on the far side of the bed from Lavellan. 

“Okay... Why aren’t you wearing them...? The elf asks next face slowly becoming bright red. Remarkably he keeps a neutral expression though his eyes are blinking like an owl’s. 

“Why didn’t you knock?” Bull asks back grinning as he knows this irks the elf.

“Don’t answer my question with a question, ass.” The elf groused.

“Alright, but if you’d knocked I might still be naked but you’d have gotten a warning.” Bull points out and the elf sighs and looks away and sets the report on the pants.

“Know what? Fuck it, you have fun wanking off or whatever you’re doing some weird Qunari fetish ritual thing, and read that after, I need serious opinions and no one else would be helpful. Sort of... I need an unbiased opinion. I don’t have the option to handle this myself so... yeah. I’ll be in my office, rooms whatever the tower is supposed to be when you get the chance.” He turns and walks out face and ears tinged pink and Bull likes the image. He glances at Where Dorian should be after the door clicks shut and the spell washes away like water as Dorian can’t hold back snickers that quickly turn to laughter. 

“The poor dear..” He chuckles and Bull snorts.

“He’ll be fine, now what was that about my options?” He asks and Dorian focuses like a hawk.

“Oh, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” He says suddenly affecting an indifferent tone face set in a neutral expression with only hints of mild curiosity. Bull let’s his hands circle his waist and moved Dorian down to his lap and grinds up making the mage flush.

“I think you do, vint.” Bull growls and Dorian sighs and wiggles his hips smirking smug like a cat that got the canary.

“Maybe, now that you mention it... Which option would you like?” Dorian asks cheekily and Bull growls again just to see that shiver run over the mage. 

“I’d rather you take a ride rather than just grope.” Bull says and Dorian hums thoughtfully. The mage tilts his head and taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“That means I’ll have to strip.” Dorian sighs as if it’s such a terrible bother. Bull growls his blunted nails dig into the mage’s sides.

“Or I can tear up those pants of yours.” Bull growls and Dorian swallows shivering. He wants to act affronted but he can’t and the bastard knew just how to make him squirm. Which he was currently doing. Dammit. He stilled his hips.

“I don’t have any spare clothes here, don’t.” Dorian’s voice wobbles a little on the last word and Bull chuckles.

“Then you best strip, vint, or I’m gonna tie you up in tatters of your robes.” Bull growls and Dorian quickly rolled off Bull and stood and stripped off his robes in record time. He wasn’t ashamed to reveal he was hard and definitely desperate, though he would not verbally admit that ever. Period. He was a proud Altus mage, dammit. He had been with quite a few men, all of varying talent and skill, even morals but none of them compared to Bull in any form. None of them made Dorian as eager as he was to lay back and take it, none of them got him as worked up either. None of them had the same knack for relaxing him and making him vulnerable like Bull could. Bull could get him to do things he’d burn others into cinders for even daring to ask. Yet Bull only had to give one of his ridiculous winks and Dorian would trip over himself to get it done. 

“So, finally ready to be a good boy?” Bull asks and Dorian goes pink glowering at the ox as he moves back to the bed slinging his leg back over the strong waist. Warm hands wrap around his hips and Dorian sighs and relaxes.

“Depends on if I’ll be getting a treat for being good.” Dorian sighs and Bull chuckles.

“You might.” Bull chuckles and Dorian hums. Bull holds the mage still as he slowly stretches him out watching Dorian try to writhe has his blood pumping. He makes sure the altus is stretched out slowly working up from one finger to two, pulling back to add oil as he adds a digit and starts to stretch the mage out in earnest. Once he has four worked in he stalls teasing watching the human wiggle as he massaged the man’s prostate. He can’t deny the sight has gotten to him. Watching Dorian arch into his hand had Bull feel rather powerful, yeah sure he could crush a human’s skull in with his bare hands but seeing Dorian loose himself like this was another power on it’s own. Especially knowing Dorian could turn him to an ash pile with a flick of his hand. This was a power that he knew no one had. Taming The Dorian Pavus, Altus Mage of the Imperium was a rush of adrenaline even after managing it countless times. Seeing Dorian let go and give into him was always as good as that first time.  

“Bull! Please, fasta vass, get on with it!” Dorian growls and Bull chuckles and crooks his fingers smirking as the mage jerks and lets out a whine. Seeing him lit on torch light covered in sweat was always nice but this time he sees a whirl of fire slip between the mages teeth and he growls shivering himself and Dorian gives him that winning smirk of his dove grey eyes half hooded and that flush high on his cheeks. Bull grabs the back of his head and pulls him down for a kiss chasing that lingering heat with his tongue and lapping up the sounds Dorian is letting out.

“Then get on with it, my pretty mage.” Bull chuckles as he pulls back and watches Dorian hiss and roll his hips as he pulls his fingers out of the tight heat. Dorian watches him and hisses the small jet of fire again and Bull’s hands wrap around the slim hips of golden tan skin growling as his grip boarders bruising. Dorian hums happily carefully positioning his hips and sinking down taking his time though his eyes look hazed and he looks wrecked. 

“You look good like this, gonna bounce and spit some more fire?” Bull asks and Dorian chuckles moaning lowly as he finally bottoms out he paused taking a moment to breathe. 

“Do you want me to spit some more fire?” Dorian asks and Bull growls low like he knows Dorian likes though the mage would never admit it.

“Oh I effeminately want you too, be my dragon, kadan.” Bull growls and Dorian chuckles gasping as Bull bounces him himself and Dorian closes his eyes and blushed and swallowed gasping and hisses a small jet of fire which tapers when Bull tags his sweet spot.

“Amatus, please!” Dorian whines already desperate and Bull hums and rolls them cradling Dorian before he moves back and goes all out on making sure his human wasn’t going to be walking without a careful sway to his hips. He growls as Dorian spits small jets of flame when he can focus enough to do so which was surprisingly often either that or he enjoyed how it riled Bull and got him to be a little more rough and grip him harder and thrust faster.

“Please, amatus, please?” Dorian whines squirming he is gasping and can’t handle not cuming much longer it’s almost painful and he’s growing too sensitive to hold back. Not that it’s his choice given Bull’s holding the base of his cock and keeping him from loosing it until he gives the word.

“Please what, kadan?” Bull asks breath getting a bit heavy and Dorian growls a last jet of fire at him as he tugs him down by his horns.

“Fucking cum and make me a complete mess you damn savage and let me cum already!” He growls and Bull smirks and kisses the mage hard as he picks up his pace.

“Alright Kadan, you got it.” Bull chuckles and lets go rutting as Dorian let’s out a hiss and spasms in Bull’s hold and cums making a mess between them as Bull gets the last few ruts in before loosing his control and let’s lose a growl as he fills Dorian up loving the little airy gasp the mage gives him. He carefully pulls back and grabs a rag cleaning up the worst of the mess he collapsed and pulls Dorian on top of him chuckling as the mage grumbles but curls contentedly closer. 

“So, you gonna tell me how you learned that trick, kadan?” Bull asks and Dorian chuckles. He looks up looking rumpled with a few bruises Bull looks over smugly painted on his hips and neck when Bull had bitten at him earlier before they’d been walked in on. 

“I figured out how to do it after burning my mouth a few times. Heard that some Ravini mages had figured it out, had Varric look into it, studies the books they sent over and voila! Me spitting fire like a drake.” Dorian gestures grinning tiredly and Bull chuckles and nods.

“Really freakin hot.” Bull chuckles lowly and Dorian grins.

“That is the idea given fire and all.” He chuckles and Bull laughs. After a short nap and a small wash up Bull reads the report and his teasing stops his smile fades and Dorian pushes himself to sit up and lean around to read gasping as he reads what’s going on. The Inquisitor’s clan was in a free marcher city and if they didn’t get help it was likely everyone, the merchants and elves would die. 

“This isn’t right...” Dorian whispers and Bull growls and looks at the options.

“He’ll have to send in forces or they’re dead.” Bull says and Dorian nods.

“Shall we go or shall I leave it to you, amatus?” Dorian asks and Bull shrugs.

“I think he’d like to see two friendly faces.” Bull says as they dress and go to the tower. The inquisitor looks up as they come in and he blushes and looks back down coughing.

“You should get better at cloaking Dorian. I could still smell you. Also your outline shimmers.” He says and keeps writing then sets aside the quill and he looks up again this time face set in a calm expression though his insides twist.

“I don’t want to be rash, what are your opinions?” He asks and Bull sets the report on the desk.

“You have an ambassador there. As well as your clan. Send troops.” Bull says and Dorian nods.

“They need help.” Dorian agrees softly and the elf nods looking down he stands and picks up the report. 

“Then they’ll have it. As much as I can give them.” The elf says staring hard at them both he walks down and he sends out troops and he waits eventually going to the two seeking out a harbor to hide as he waits praying what’s left is safe.

~

Word count: 2,109

[jenniferhawke]

Eleven full moons

((A companion piece to “No longer beautiful” (but it can be read as a stand alone as well). I wrote this for the Dragon Age day prompt “Endings”. I took inspiration from a RP I wrote with the amazingly talented ‘Fenris Leto Liberati’ in the FB DARP community. This one’s for you, dear.))

 ----------

Fenris stares into the hearth of his chambers, watching as the flames consume yet another book he deems useless. The stolen manor is full of them -- magical tomes mostly. Things he has no use for. On particularly restless nights such as this, when his blood burns with a poisonous hate, when he thirsts not for wine but vengeance, he throws old belongings into the flames. They are likely not Danarius’, probably having belonged to the previous owner of the estate, but Fenris pretends. He pretends they are his former Master’s, and when that is not enough to sate his ire, he imagines what it would be like to see the magister himself consumed by the devastating flames. Fenris longs for the day when he will finally be free from this madness. 

 Eleven full moons have passed since the day he killed Hadriana. He thinks of it often, he wishes he could remember it fondly. But no such joy is found when reflecting on her death, not when words of a sister had been breathed to life moments before Hadriana’s demise. Eleven moons, and yet no word from any of Varric’s contacts on where this sister might be. If things were different, perhaps he would have moved on from Kirkwall by now. Perhaps he would have returned to Tevinter, a place he vowed never to step foot in again, and seek out answers for himself. But he cannot leave … not when it means forever saying goodbye to the one good thing in his life.

 Even though eleven full moons have passed, Fenris has not forgotten that night. With great clarity, he remembers every little detail. Lips as soft as silk caressing his own. The taste of summer rain gliding against his tongue. Heart racing as if it wished to part from his chest. A caged animal being freed from his prison at words that touch the depth of his soul. A steely heart softening as they join as one. The promise of a better life, of a world free from anguish found in her loving embrace. Hidden memories birthed anew and ripped away by the cruel hand of a former Master, a threat always breathing down his neck. The realisation that he cannot give her what she deserves, no matter how desperately he wishes to remain at her side. Desperate eyes pleading with him not to leave … pleas that he ignores all the same, for it would be kinder this way, even as it kills him inside.

 Fenris closes his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire, wishing it was the heat of Hawke wrapped up around him. It would be easy to walk the short distance to her home, to beg her forgiveness, to find absolution in her tender embrace. But Hawke will never be safe with him. Not with the threat of Danarius always looming above him. The memories that haunted him after they lay together served as a cruel reminder that he’d never be free of Danarius. Not until Fenris could watch the life from his eyes fade away as he had with Hadriana’s. Perhaps it was selfish of him to stay in Kirkwall. His association with ‘The Champion’ alone placed her in danger's path. But he couldn’t leave Hawke. Even if he broke her heart and ended their relationship before it had a chance to truly flourish, he would remain at her side until she ordered him to leave. Fenris nearly balks at the thought. Perhaps the old ways of a slave never truly left him, jumping from one master to the next ….

 “Is this a bad time?”

 As if his intrusive thoughts somehow beckoned her to come forth, Fenris turns to see Hawke in his doorway. She does not step forward. Even after all this time, she always waits for his permission to come forth, always respecting his boundaries. He nods, and she steps into the room. As she nears, he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the weariness that has replaced a once brilliant gleam. 

While eleven full moons haunt Fenris, it is eight moons that haunt Hawke. Her mother’s death had stolen the vibrance from within her. Another reason to detest blood magic. Once, he found himself jealous of Hawke, jealous that she had a family, jealous that she had happy memories to reflect on. But perhaps in this matter, he is the lucky one. He could not truly mourn for a person he had no recollection of. And Hawke … how she loved Leandra. Much has happened to Hawke in such a short span of time. The death of her mother, while the sharpest blade, was one of the few. After she’d been named Champion of Kirkwall, Isabela, her best friend, fled the city. The pirate, while never pretending she was anything less than selfish, was still Hawke’s trusted companion, her partner in crime. Without Isabela there to share drinks with, to confide in, Hawke seldom left her estate other than when Kirkwall had need of it’s Champion. Occasionally, she attends Varric’s games of Wicked Grace and Diamondback, but any laughter given is forced. And although Hawke doesn’t speak of the bitter betrayal of her friend the pirate, Fenris knows how it chips away at her, how it adds to the burden she already bears. 

 “I always have time for you,” he says, walking over to the table they often conversed at, when times were simpler. “Sit,” he extends his arm, waving at the chair across from him as he takes his own seat. Hawke does not visit him nearly as often as she once had. An awkwardness surrounds them after their night spent together, but the mage has never held it against him. Still, she turns up at his doorstep again and again with offers of coin if he wishes to help her on her many errands, Kirkwall always needing aid from its beloved Champion. As Hawke sits across from him, the scent of lavender and honey wafts towards him, the smell of soap on skin, and once again, Fenris is reminded of that brief respite of torment when he found an escape from the madness in her bed. Studying her, he watches the way she bites her lower lip, a nervous habit of hers. “What troubles you, Hawke?” he asks.

 Her eyes meet his hesitantly, as if she is studying him. “You,” she says, her voice quiet, unlike the confident tone he had grown to know. “You once asked me what has magic touched that it hasn’t spoiled. The answer is you, Fenris.”

 Suddenly, his heart is pounding once more, not unlike that night eleven full moons ago. But it is not giddy as it had been then, instead the icy grip of fear gives him pause. They have not spoken of that night, and it worries Fenris as he wonders why she might be bringing it up now, after all this time. “Hawke- “

 “Please,” she says. “Let me continue.” Hesitantly, he nods.

 “We’ve never talked about what happened between us. I wanted to give you time but … it’s nearly been a year. I thought maybe we could discuss what happened.”

 It is just as he feared. Fenris had hoped it would not come to this. He hoped that when he left her, she would see him for what he truly is … a broken thing.  Something that would only serve to hurt her again and again. “What brought this on?” he asks. 

 “Sometimes it helps to talk.”

 “And what am I to say?” he snaps. “Nothing has changed, Hawke.”

 Despite the brashness of his tone, she maintains her calm demeanor. “I told you I would wait as long as it takes. I just need to know that I still have a place in your heart. That one day … when you’re ready, we can pick up where we left off.” Hawke lets out a sigh, her tired eyes searching his own. "You'll come back to me one day, won't you?”

 “Is this truly what troubles your mind?” Fenris asks. “That single night we shared?” she blinks at his callous tone, looking stunned as if he has struck her. Guilt picks away at his mind. Fenris stands, walking away from the table and turning his back on her. Once again, his eyes gaze into the burning fire. Perhaps he needs to hurt her for her to move on … perhaps it is closure that she really is asking for. Perhaps it is what she requires in order to find someone better suited to give her what she needs. The thought of her with another is madenning, but if closure is what she needs … he would do what has to be done. To spare her of further heartbreak down the road.  For all he knows, it could be another decade before he faces Danarius. He would not string her along with broken promises. Not when she has the chance to find happiness with another. Someone better.

 “Leave, Hawke. There is nothing for you here.”

 “So that’s it then?” she asks, a tremor in her usually steady voice. Fenris grimaces, heart dropping to know it is his words that wound her so. But he can’t give her a thread of false hope. Not when he is so uncertain of what the future holds for him. If Danarius were dead, things might be different. But so long as the magister lived and breathed, an invisible chain would always hold him in place. He wasn’t free. Not truly. And what of his sister, still in the clutches of Minrathous? So long as she was out there somewhere, he had to focus his efforts on finding her. He could not give Hawke the life she deserves. Not when he’s a feeble shadow of the man he could be.

 “It is done. I have said all there is to say. You should move on.” He still faces the flames, not brave enough to look her in the eye. If he were to, she would see it in his eyes …that his callous words are but a charade for the true longing in his heart.

 An insufferable silence follows, but when Hawke finally makes a sound … a single, silent sob, his ears twitch as if a detonation of gatlock has taken out half of Hightown. How his heart lurches at the sound, and it takes every ounce within Fenris to stay still. All he wants to do is turn around and tell her how he really feels. How there is a constant ache within him every moment she is absent from his arms. There is nothing that Fenris wants more than to swivel on his heel, to march over to her and to kiss her so hard until their lips are both bruised and they can no longer breathe. 

 But he does not turn around. He does not tell her how much he aches for her, nor does he kiss her with every ounce of passion within him. Instead, he listens to how she flees from his room, feet scurrying down his worn out steps. He listens to the slamming of his front door that follows a broken cry, a sound so heartbreaking it shakes him to the core. 

 “I am sorry,” he says aloud, head hanging with guilt. Fenris does not sleep that night, nor the night that follows. When he does sleep, he dreams of nothing but Hawke. Hawke and her midnight hair and her ocean eyes, eyes that gleam with the tears he denied himself of seeing. Even in dreams, he can feel her heartache, and when he wakes, it is to his own tears running down his cheeks.

 Fenris drinks. He drinks and he breaks things, and when he tires of that, he drinks some more. Weeks pass, and the only time he leaves his manor is when he runs out of food. No longer does Hawke come to his door to collect him for errands. Instead, company shows up in the form of Varric and Aveline who voice their concerns for his well being. Their concerns, not Hawke’s. They do not speak of Hawke, and Fenris has better sense than to ask. 

 A short time after the twelfth full moon has come and gone, he spots her in the market. She does not see him when she turns around. Her eyes are gleaming, but unlike in his dreams, they do not gleam with tears. Laughter is in her voice that carries across the market. Not her forced laughter of late, but true glee, the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard … until it isn’t. 

 Anders, the abomination is with her, and Fenris watches in horror as he wraps a horrid hand around the small of her back, holding her close as they walk away. Hawke clings to him as one does to a familiar lover. Suddenly, Fenris is dizzy, feeling as if the air has been knocked from his chest. When he said she should move on, he had meant for her to find someone better. Someone kind and deserving of her love. And Anders is the least deserving person of this. 

 Now, all that’s he’s left with is a world of regret. Fenris knows now, above all things, he absolutely cannot leave Kirkwall. He will not leave Hawke with a viper in her midst. Even though it will hurt to stay, he owes her at least this.

[tryvyalsynnes]

Wip Wednesday

This time I’m on time for WIP Wednesday, yay! I got tagged by the lovely and talented @midnightprelude. This is from something I wrote, I might take this farther some day when I decide what it’s about. It’s early in the DA2 timeline when the Hawkes were living with Gamlen. Hawke has just liberated his mansion. Varric is somewhere.

Tagging @pikapeppa, @lethendralis-paints, @levikra, @midnightprelude, @aban-asaara, @schoute, @thesaltyhealer, @anxietysquiddie, @barbex, @kallielef, @your-dark-magic-man-mysterio (I know you have something and I’d love to see it, no pressure, friend), @serpentsshipmate, @the-rogue-mockingjay, @dickeybbqpit, and whoever else wants to do this, I know I’m missing someone, RP partners too, I know some of you write, tag me and I’ll add your name, no pressure as always.

~~~

“You think you can take my mage from me?”

“Yes,” he said resignedly.

Hawke and Bethany exchanged glances, their lips quirking. These familial looks usually meant much more than he could fathom, but this time it was about him. Something was up.

“We should spar sometime, Fenris—show you how it's done in Lothering.” Bethany grinned at him.

Fenris shrugged. He did not see why he should. Everyone knew how mages fought. He had fought for and against mages for as long as he could remember. The warrior took point, the mage fell back and cast. His purpose was to destroy the warrior as quickly as possible and then bring down the mage. It was why Danarius had scarred him with lyrium.

“If you insist.” he said. “Choose the time and place.”

“Alright,” Hawke was grinning too. “How about here and now?”

“As you wish.”

They put down their weapons. There was other gear; the slavers they had just killed had trained in the Amell greatroom like they were about to. Fenris tossed a quarter staff to each of them and picked one up for himself. “If I touch you, Hawke, assume you have died.”

“Will do.” Hawke was smiling even more widely. He put his helmet on, and he and Bethany retreated to one corner of the greatroom and positioned themselves, to give Bethany enough time to cast, Fenris realized disgustedly.

It would not help them. He felt himself sneering and wiped the expression from his face. Despite Bethany being a mage, he liked the Hawkes and did not want to add derision to the lesson he was about to teach them.

He took the opposite side and positioned himself.

Hawke was still grinning. “When you're ready.”

They rushed each other. Fenris concentrated on Hawke. They would clash. Hawke would turn or slide his staff, advance or step away, pull short or overpower and follow through. Whatever he did, Fenris would have an opening to touch him and turn on Bethany. Years of training had given it to him.

Except something was not right—Bethany was lunging with Hawke, slightly behind and to his left, matching his steps, close enough to be his shadow.

He and Hawke clashed hard. The quarter staff vibrated in his hands. Hawke slid his like a blade. That was expected, but slipping left and letting Fenris overreach himself was not. Bethany flanked him on the right. If he turned to face either of them the other would have him.

He had no choice. Forward would take him into Hawke's next strike. He knew he had already lost. He stepped back and let his staff swing to the mage on his right. If he moved very quickly, he might still take her and be able to counter Hawke's attack.

And then he was flat on his back on the ground. She had tripped him.

Hawke was standing over him, his staff raised. “Point.”

“Huh.” Fenris took Bethany's proffered hand and stood. “Interesting.”

Hawke and Bethany exchanged looks again, this time of surprise. These looks seemed to speak volumes. Fenris was always charmed by them; they were part of the Hawkes' allure.

“Carver used to hate it when we did that to him.”

“Truly?” It was Fenris' turn to be surprised. “Only until he found a way to defeat it, I'm sure.”

“No, he never learned. He used to accuse us of cheating.” Bethany looked down, her brow furrowing.

“Are you saying you have a way to counter it?” Hawke sounded intrigued.

“I might.” Fenris had learned his lesson. He would not discount Garrett and his sister again. “It is still dangerous to bring the mage up so close.”

“Fronts can change so quickly. It's the only way I can really keep track of her.”

“And I, him,” added Bethany, looking up at her brother, the corners of her lips twitching up.

“It was just us, most of the time.” Hawke smiled affectionately at his sister.

Fenris had to look away. His heart hurt. He was starting to feel pain at his loss, watching them. It was always this way. Maybe I have them... and maybe my sister is like her and my brother is like him...

They tried again. Fenris tried different tactics, testing them and gauging their ability to work together. He didn’t expect to win; there were two of them. No matter what he did, they found a way to flank him, force him to back up, and knock him down. Either he concentrated on Hawke and Bethany took his blind side, or he went for Bethany and Hawke rushed him.

Fenris got up, bracing himself on his staff. “I am tired. You both have proven your point. I admit defeat.”

“You say that, but I think you're holding back.”

Hawke was shrewd. Fenris favored him with a slight smile. “What makes you think that?”

Hawke pointed his staff at him. “Come on, one more time? Bethany's a healer. Show me what you can do.”

“All right.” Fenris knew he should not like the idea, should not trust so much. He had none of the bravado of the younger man, nothing to prove, except, perhaps, that he liked them. The young man and his sister had already given him so much. He wanted to give something back. He turned and strode to his corner.

Hawke put his helmet back on and he and Bethany returned to theirs.

He had to be careful. He did not want to kill Hawke.

They did not need a signal any longer; he and Hawke had gotten better acquainted. Fenris waited until the young man's stance was set and their eyes met.

[tonks32]

Hawke X Cullen - First Meeting

This is an idea that’s been playing around in my head to give Hawke and Cullen from my Noble Wolf (CassxTrevelyan) fanfic a bit of a back story. Not sure if I’m going to make this a full-fledge story or not. 

   Hawke had her fill with the Wounded Coast. Once again, she and her companions found themselves patrolling the shores on a lead to find some missing Templar recruits. Theories, or gossip rather, were pointing the finger at the Knight Commander herself conducting some sort of ritual sacrifice. Or something along those lines. A part of Hawke wished that they would find this bit of information true, though she prayed they weren’t about to stumble on a pile of mutilated Templar corpses. Things with Meredith were getting worse by the week it seemed and if there was some evidence against the woman it would force the Chantry’s hand in hopefully removing Meredith from power.

   Hawke knew that was wishful thinking on her part. Even if Meredith had her hand in why the Templar recruits were disappearing, that woman wasn’t about to give up her seat of power easily.  Being a mage was becoming more dangerous by the day and being one, Hawke wanted to stop Meredith’s hatred from infecting even more of Kirkwall’s citizens.

   “Didn’t we already pass that rock?” Carver commented drawing his sister from her stupor. “Because it looks exactly like one we passed twenty minutes ago.”

   Sighing, Hawke pinched the bridge of her nose. “They all look alike, Carver. We’ve been here enough that you should know that by now.”

  The warrior huffed in disagreement and didn’t miss the opportunity to add his usual sly comment. “We can’t all be observant as you, dear sister.”

  Hawke shot him a look over her shoulder, noting both Varric and Isabella were doing their best not to snicker at the exchange. “You’d be off better if you could hone such a skill, brother. Might stop you from getting lost coming back from the Hanged Man.”

  A voice raised in a commanding tone laced with a hint of fear came from the other side of the hill they were currently climbing spurring them into a run. Down below, two Templars, one blonde the other dark-haired, were at a standoff with blades at each other’s throat. Alarm bells of all kinds were blaring inside Hawke’s head as she pulled the staff from her back. Something in the blonde man’s voice pulled at her in a way she didn’t quite understand. The underlining fear she heard as he demanded information from the other Templar filled her own blood with ice. Not for herself or her companions, but oddly enough, the man himself. She didn’t allow herself to process it, acting on instincts to help the unknown man as the altercation was escalating rapidly.

  Carver snatched his sister by the arm, holding her in place. “Wait.”

  “We need to help.” Hawke was nearly mad with the need to make sure no harm came to the blonde headed Templar.

  “Will you just hold on for one Blighted second,” Carver hissed keeping the others back as well. “That’s the Knight Captain.”

  The knowledge registered but didn’t draw the reaction that it should’ve. Right-hand man of Meredith was cause for her to high tailing it back to the city and hide under a rock for a few weeks. Instead, the mage yanked her arm free, face hard with fortitude. “Something is wrong down there. I can feel my blood humming from magic.”

 Isabella’s brows shot up. “They’re both Templars.”

  “They will drag you to the gallows the moment they see you waving your staff around,” Carver added to the pirate’s keen observation. “I’ll be damned if I have to explain to mother how I allowed that to happen. Not after Bethany.”

  “I am going down there.” Hawke’s tone left no room for argument from anyone.

   “Is she mad!” Varric demanded taking off after her.

  “It’s Hawke,” Isabell explained on her way down. “Move your ass, junior, and we may yet save your hard headed sister from going to the Gallows.”

  Glowering, Carver pulled his large sword from its sheath on his back and begrudgingly followed for their mother’s sake. He wouldn’t be the one to give her more bad news about one of her remaining children.

   “Stand down.” Sweat pouring off his face, Cullen held his blade steady at his opponent’s throat refusing to be distracted by the approaching group. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end indicating his fears of something being wrong were confirmed. “This is Templar business.”

   “What is happening?” Hawke demanded, finding herself being pulled closer to the Knight Captain as if a magnet was working between them. She glanced down at the dark-haired man finding his face pale and eyes hallow. “Oh, shit.”

   The woman’s voice might have been hard as steel but it had him looking up in wonder. For a moment, before his fellow Templar started laughing sinisterly, the world came to a crashing halt. A calmness he never had the pleasure of feeling before washed over him. “Who are you?”

   Hawke flashed a grim smile. “Might want to leave that for later and worry about that thing.” She gestured to the man transforming into a large Shade demon. “Oh, look he brought friends.”

   Four more Shades circled around them causing Hawke’s group to close rank and form up behind the Knight Captain. Varric leveled his crossbow while Isabella pulled out her blade readying themselves for the battle to come. Having listened to her brother in some capacity, something she would never openly admit to anyone but the Maker, Hawke unsheathed the sword attached to her hip. Her father had taught her many skills over the seasons. How to hide her magic. To manifest it with using only the tiniest of mana. And not only how to cut down an opponent not using only a spell and staff, but to be just as deadly with a blade of any kind.

   “Foolish humans!” The Shade’s booming voice echoed around them. “You shall tremble at my feet and beg for mercy.”

  “You’ll be the one begging for mercy.” Hawke’s quip earned her a sideways look from the Knight Captain. The smile that touched her face was the first true genuine one she’s used since fleeing Lothering. “It’s Olivia by the way!”

  And Maker’s breath did that smile dazzle him! Cullen found himself rooted to the spot, lost in thoughts not suited for their current situation as the woman known as Hawke flew forward, sword raised and ready to strike. Quickly, he shook his head clear, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. He’d hoped this whole issue could’ve been resolved peacefully, but with demons and no doubt blood magic involved, death was the only option for his Templar recruit.

   “Dwarf!” Cullen dodged the slashing of claws, sidestepping and coming to rest at Hawke’s side. “Keep the little ones busy.”

  Varric shot the man a look. “Who put you in charge?”

   “Do it!” Hawke growled working with the Templar to take down the larger Shade. They were working, striking and parrying, flanking and covering in a perfect tandem one would think they’d fought side by side for years. A trust, unspoken and unexpected, passed between them. Hawke couldn’t say why and couldn’t afford the time to figure it out. All that mattered was she trusted the man to help get them out of his scuffle alive. “Isabella and Carver work your way clockwise.”

   “Watch their reach!” Cullen deflected the demon’s large claw with his shield. “They will tear you to pieces in a heartbeat.”

  “Watch it!” Even as he was issuing his warning, Hawke snagged the Templar by the back of his breastplate and yanked to remove him from the path of a stream of acid that came from one of the demons trying to protecting the alpha of the pack. Having a dead Knight Captain on her hands was the last thing she wanted or she’d endure Meredith’s wrath. Or that’s the reason Hawke told herself.

  At first, Cullen had been highly annoyed by the group’s interruption. Now, as sweat poured off his brow and rolled under the heavy plate he wore, he was grateful for the assistance. He pictured having to rough up Wilmond a bit to get him to divulge information on what exactly was going on with the recruits. Maybe some idle threats of dragging him in front of the Knight Commander for answers. Never did he think for a single second he’d be going toe to toe with a small horde of shade demons. This whole ordeal was only leading to more questions and fears that were deepening by the moment.

  Most everyone was subject to possession regardless of race and creed. Cullen had hoped that Templar would put up a bit more of a fight. Wilmond and most likely the other recruits seemed to give in to the demon’s pull without much of a fight. What was driving them to take such measures? Was Meredith right to see Blood Magic in every being that walked Thedas? After Ferelden circle, Cullen should know better about mages and magic. He’d been at its mercy in the worst way possible.

   Seeing one of the demon’s winding up to strike in the woman’s blind spot, Cullen lashed out with his shield to keep the blasted thing from knocking the woman down. Or worse, far worse in his mind, deliver a killing blow. The thought of losing her was enough to cause his heart a pause. He pushed that away, for now, to focus on the battle and only the battle.

  “Carver!” Watching her brother stumble beneath a heavy blow from the Shade he was fighting, Hawke snatched the small dagger in her boot and sent it flying, hitting the approaching demon straight in the face. She noted the look of pure annoyance, possible hatred, on her brother’s face for her interference before she shifted to be back to back with the blonde headed Templar. “Your life always this exciting, Sir Knight?”

   Maker help him, Cullen let out a huff of laughter. Her off-handed comment should have shifted his focus, making him sloppy, but instead had the opposite effect. Something else to think about later. And by Andraste, she was easy to look at. “Hardly.”

  Humor danced in her Ferelden drawl, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those strait-laced templars, Sir Knight.”

   Cullen shifted along with the woman, striking out at Wilmond’s shade form. “I just might be.”

   “You’re breaking my heart, Sir Knight!” Hawke recalled back the barrier spell slipping past her guard. No need to prove her brother right and have the Templar throw her into the Gallows.

   He laughed. Why was he laughing? Bantering in battle? He’d never been one for it before and found it to be a needless distraction. Yet, here they were beating back the Shades carrying an almost calm conversation taking away the stress of possibly dying. They taught unification of battle in Templar training and harped on it constantly. Cullen simply never had the experience in his rather turbulent career. It felt… Well, nice. “I have a name you know.”

   Hawke stopped him with a hearty laugh. “No don’t, it will break the mysterious aura, Ser Knight.”

   “Will you two cut it out!” Came Carver’s grumpy done behind them. “These things are trying to kill us and I rather go home with everything intact.”

  “Don’t you worry little brother,” Hawke tossed over her shoulder. “I’ll make sure you go home with all your swords.”

  If it was possible, the younger Hawke blushed under the stain of red from the demon’s blood.

 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 (Battle Section Needs to be Written)

  “I knew it!” Now that battle was done, Cullen threw his shield to the ground, gripping tightening on the hilt of his sword. “I knew he was involved in something sinister. But this… Is it even possible?”

   Hawke watched the Knight Captain pace like a caged animal. She could see the words Blood Magic swirling in his amber gaze. “I take it your friend here was possessed.”

  “He wasn’t my… Yes. How I’m not sure.” Cullen resisted the urge to drag his gauntlet clad hand through his disheveled curls. “Usually we only have to worry about Mages falling into temptation. I have heard rumors of Blood Mages and other types of magic that could summon a demon into an unwilling host but had only thought it was rumors. Hope it would be,” He softly added.

   “Why were you out here alone?” Isabella wondered tracking the Knight Captain’s movements herself in case she had to intervene on her friend’s behalf.

  “I’ve been investigating the disappearances of some of Templar Recruits,” Cullen quickly shot back a heat now settled in his gaze. “I followed Wilmond here in hopes to find the others and get some answers. I had intended to confront him quietly and out of sight.”

   Varric chuckled slightly. “Not the usual Templar style”

  Hawke shot the dwarf a look to turn off the sarcasm. By the looks of things, it was clear the Knight Captain had enough rattling around in his head, he didn’t need to be poked anymore.

  “People are thinking that Knight-Commander Meredith was involving them in some sort of deadly ritual,” Isabella’s words had the Templar coming to a halt as his head jerked around with a look of utter disbelief etched on to his face. “What was Wilmond doing out here?”

   “I don’t know really. Wilmond has never been one to be fully convinced of the Templar rules.” Cullen glanced down at the pile that was left of the man he spoke of. “Mages can never be our friends. They must always be watched.” He missed how his words caused Hawke to pale. “I thought perhaps he was meeting up with old friends that escaped the circle.”

   Hawke listened to him theorize and talk about his previous experience at the Ferelden circle out loud trying to remember her father’s training about her emotions while pushing her magic down further. She didn’t know why, but hearing him say mages couldn’t be Templar’s friends stung far more than it should. Carver caught her gaze, an urgent look in his moss green eyes telling her that they needed to get out of here as fast as they could. For once, she agreed wholeheartedly and didn’t care who knew that.

  “I didn’t want to hurt him,” Cullen finished pushing to his feet and turning his back on the ashes. “I drew my sword because he had to think my threats were genuine. I never wanted to hurt him. You must believe that.”

  “I do.” And Hawke found herself speaking truthfully. “Where is your investigation now, Ser Knight?”

  “My trail has led me to the Blooming Rose, but haven’t been able to venture there to find any answers. I need-.” Cullen found that Wilmond had one more trick up his sleeve. There was a spike of panic, one he couldn’t even be sure belong to him before he acted. Throwing his battle partner to the side, he couldn’t manage to stifle the cry as sharp claws pierced through his armor. Searing pain broke out across his chest, the sensation moving upwards to his throat. There was a shout from his battle partner and another high-pitched screech from what remained of the demon as he hit the ground with enough force to rattle is teeth.

   Maker, it hurt. Cullen couldn’t move past the agony to actually form the words.

   “Shit. Shit.” Hawke dropped down beside the injured. The Knight Captain had three deep lacerations starting at his sternum, his breastplate had been pierced so easily it might as well have been cloth, to his neck, that was filet open. He was losing too much blood. Yanking her gloves off, Hawke found herself stroking the man’s matted curls in order to soothe while inspecting the ghastly wounds.

   “Don’t!” Carver commanded seeing the moment his sister threw caution to the wind for the sake of the Templar’s life. “We need to go, Olivia. Now!”

  “He’s going to die!” Hawke wouldn’t leave him. Couldn’t. Thinking about it made her heartache. She had to save this man’s life. Templar or not, she couldn’t allow his existence to be snuffed out from this world and even found the mere thought was nearly as painful as the man’s physical wounds.

   Carver pulled on Olivia’s arm. “He is the fucking Knight Captain,” He reminded receiving an elbow to the groin that brought him dropping to his knees. “Fucking Maker, Olivia!”

  “He’s trying to save your life!” Isabella countered steadying the younger Hawke before he fell face first into the mud. “We need to move, Hawke!”

  “If I don’t help him, he will die,” Hawke shot back breaking the seal of control she kept over her magic. He looked terrified. His eyes, two pools of liquid honey, were blown wide and filled with a terror she had seen in the final moments of Bethany’s life. Losing him was incomprehensible. She just couldn’t allow it to happen. They were pleading with her for the help her companions were trying to denying him laced with a hint of confusion as to why they would leave him to die in the first place. “And don’t you think our lives will be safe when the Knight Commander gets wind we were involved in the Knight Captain’s death?”

   Varric, his voice calm and collected, knelt down beside her. “Think about what it will mean for you, Sparrow.”

  It didn’t matter. Her life and freedom didn’t matter. Only this man she knew next to nothing about. Mindset keeping this man alive, she looked down. His expression had changed. Maybe he sensed her determination, desperation, to save him. Regardless, he now looked at her with a sense of contentment. For what, Hawke wasn’t sure. Perhaps knowing if he did die, at least he wouldn’t be alone. Placing her palms flat against him on either side of the gaping wounds, Hawke shook off the mental block she always kept on her magic and let it come roaring to life. She watched him, watched the changes in his amber eyes, as she cast a healing spell in a last-ditch effort to grasp onto the remnants of life rapidly leaving him.

  Stay with me Hawke silently prayed, fighting his body’s attempt to purge her magic. A fail safe all Templar’s possessed but he was stronger than anything she ever felt before. Stay with me.

  I’m trying

  The mage jolted. Cullen hadn’t uttered a single word. She’d been watching his face intently studying his features for signs her magic won the battle for life. His mouth never moved. Yet, she clearly heard his voice in her ear. Shaking it from her mind, Hawke poured everything she had into the spell, draining both her mana and even her life force as she rode death with him. Her companions had stopped trying to distract her though Hawke could feel their worry hitting her like a sledgehammer. Later, much later, she would have to apologize and attempt to explain her deep-rooted need to save a Templar. She hoped by then she might have an explanation because right now there was no logic behind her reasoning other than she didn’t care what it cost. She didn’t care it was a Templar’s life. The only thing that mattered was she saved him.  

   Tears burned and gathered, distorting Cullen’s vision and losing sight of his savior’s face. He could feel the first sweet signs of relief from the burning anguish as his body’s resistance gave way to her spell. Magic began to work up his torso, knitting the larges gashes hastily together. After all his years of service and what he experienced at the Ferelden Circle, Cullen should’ve fought harder to resist the magic and take out the mage with what little strength remained. Strangely, he found himself relaxing into her touch, trusting her as she battled with the keepers of the Fade to keep them from taking him. He felt her strength dissipating with each passing moment. Felt the pressure of her weight against his tender chest as her body sagged in exhaustion. Soon, his breathing evened while hers grew ragged, almost painful. Was she experiencing his pain?

  Too delirious to understand what was happening, Cullen let the darkness take him knowing she had won the battle.

   Hawke collapsed beside the unconscious man gasping for breath and barely able to remain conscious herself. His wounds were healed though they would scar heavily from the severity of them. At least the bleeding had stopped and she could feel his strength regenerating already. Meaning he would wake to fight another day and most likely take her away from all that she loved. She asked herself once again why she didn’t care as long as he pulled through.

   “Carver grab her and let’s get the fuck out of here,” Isabella instructed picking up the man’s two-handed sword knowing Carver was overly fond of the weapon. “Before he wakes or others come.”

  “Wait,” Hawke weakly protested.

  “Shut up!” Carver slid his arms under the limp frame of his sister. “For the love of the Maker, shut up and listen to me for once. Believe it or not, I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”

   “Potion.” Hawke didn’t fight him this time around. There was no energy left anyway. “Leave potions.”

   “Got you covered, Sparrow,” Varric assured digging into his satchel for some vials. “You just let junior take care of you.”

  Carver held her tightly against his chest. “What were you thinking, Olivia? How could you be so reckless.”

  Two of the more important questions stemming from her exposure. Too tired to do anything but breathe, Hawke laid her head on his shoulder and slipped into the darkness.

[trvelyans-archive]

10 for a pairing of your choice?

10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

hawke looks pretty when she’s covered in blood.

it’s a morbid thought, but one that’s nevertheless true. there’s something about the way she looks after a battle that makes varric weak in the knees and, despite not being that far from the ground, it makes him nervous anyway. because it’s a bad sign, that. varric is not a fragile man, and hawke is making him one anyway. and she doesn’t even know. 

he’s hidden it as best as he can - which is, to say, perfectly - and yet a part of him hates that. he wants his eyes to linger on her; he even wants her to catch him. he wants her to make a jokey remark about it, or punch his shoulder, or even kick in his teeth if she feels so inclined. he needs somebody to remind himself it’s a bad idea, because he can’t do it to himself anymore.

because he likes her, and he can’t. he shouldn’t.

liking hawke is dangerous. she takes risks day in and day out with the sort of reckless abandon that only someone suicidal or completely idiotic would take with no concern for her own safety; she has a wicked tongue that gets her into too much trouble, probably much more trouble than she’s worth; and, worst of all, she makes him weak in the knees, and he can’t very well shoot a crossbow when he’s trying not to fall down the side of a cliff.

he doesn’t manage to drag his eyes away from her before she notices, sauntering over to him with a glint in her eye and a cocky smirk plastered proudly across her face.

“good shooting, tethras,” she comments, bending over to grab a bolt lodged in a slaver’s skull. “a little off-centre, though.”

“ha-ha,” varric says sarcastically, noting that it was, in fact, a little off-centre. “very funny.”

“you’re right. i am.”

she drops the bolt back into his quiver and reaches up to ruffle his hair. “and don’t worry about your aim,” she adds, making a circle around him to inspect the bodies before taking up position in front of him again. “i know you were too distracted to shoot right.”

he looks up at her in shock, eyes widening. “huh?”

and then she starts cackling, going so far as to place a hand on her stomach and bend over, leaving varric standing there in the still silence like a fool. “maker… your face.” she straightens up and wipes a tear from her eye. “you know, if you shot as intently as you stared, you might have a chance and killing some of these slavers.”

he rolls his eyes, but she doesn’t relent.

“look, varric… if you’re in love with me, you can just say so.”

most of the time varric does find hawke’s jokes funny. she’s probably the funniest person in kirkwall. but sometimes - this time - the joke is too cruel. too cruel and she doesn’t even know that, which leaves him feeling like the cruel one.

“alright, hawke: i’m in love with you,” he says as unconvincingly as he can manage.

she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “you’re going to have to try a little harder than that, varric,” she teases.

he sighs and grits his teeth, wondering what it’s going to take for him to placate her joking. the answer, he already knows, is probably nothing, and he knows that very well, so he’s trying to find another one.  “i, varric tethras, am in love with you, hawke.”

she clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shakes her head. “not good enough,” she comments. “again.”

“andraste’s ass, hawke, we should get back to kirkwall -”

a golden coin dangles between her thumb and her forefinger, glinting pale gold in the hazy sunlight. “do you want this coin or not?”

damn her.

“hawke,” he says dramatically in his best orlesian accent, flinging his arms to the sides like the lead actor in one of those shitty operas that the viscount sometimes puts up in the keep, “i am very, very, very, very in love with you.”

as she pretends to think it over, she licks her lips - once, and then twice, and then a third time for good measure. her teeth look almost pink from the blood that was in her mouth before she spit it out. “one more time,” she tells him. “convince me and then we can go.”

it doesn’t help that he’s baking inside of his jacket - any sort of sense he had in his head has long since seeped from his scalp in the form of heavy sweat. it doesn’t help that she looks pretty in the heat, either. her hair is all kinky and frizzy - what few strands don’t stick straight up are plastered to her forehead in little raven curls like ink - and the way her chest is heaving… varric never claimed to be a decent man, but feeling as indecent as this is almost criminal.

“i think i’m in love with you, hawke.”

it’s plain and simple and real - it’s harder for him to pull off than lying is. her face falls the same time her cherry-coloured lips fall open, and there’s a long, pregnant pause in which varric prays to the maker that a massive hole appears beneath him and swallows him up before she can say anything else.

it doesn’t, obviously, and he’s standing there like a fool, instead, trying not to focus on her mouth despite how badly he wants to kiss her.

“real convincing, there, varric,” she says in an uncharacteristically nervous voice. “almost had me.”

“should i say it again, then?”

she takes a step closer to him - whether or not she’s aware of it, he’s unsure - and looks down at him, giving him an almost imperceptible nod. “okay,” she whispers, “say it again.”

and he does. 

“funny,” hawke says. “doesn’t really sound like you’re faking it.”

varric shrugs. “maybe it’s… ‘cause i’m not, hawke.”

he manages to direct his eyes away from her lips long enough to notice that she’s looking at his, too. it takes a second - he almost does a double-take - but she is. she definitely is. there’s no mistaking it.

fenris and isabela are picking through the corpses behind her. there’s only a matter of time before they’re going to want to turn tail and head back for kirkwall, too, and there’s nothing varric would dread more than a silent hike back to the city.

she licks her lips again and that’s the only convincing he needs.

it’s pretty ugly - he’s certain he missed her lips entirely the first time, and the second time isn’t really any better. but the embarrassed chuckle gets snagged in the back of his throat as she tilts her head down and tugs on his bottom lip to open his mouth; the thought of wow, she really didn’t take her time with that flies from his head the second the tip of her tongue touches his. if it were someone else, he’d probably find the whole ordeal uninviting, but it’s hawke, and… he might be in love with her. and she might just be in love with him, too. 

that doesn’t mean he likes the taste of blood in her mouth, and frankly, it’s a little unsettling, but for now he’ll put up with it - kissing her makes it all taste worth it. and gross, if he thinks about it too hard. but mainly worth it. 

[kiwi-xeet]

Alright Bioware fandom, we need to have a LONG serious chat about the Bioware DOOM bullshit...

... because this is getting ridiculous. Bioware might be dropped by EA someday, but they also might NOT be dropped by EA. We literally have no way of knowing what will happen. We don’t have enough inside information to predict what will happen.

I’m not about to ignore EA’s bad track record. They dropped Visceral like a box of rocks, right? I am not saying it isn’t possible for Bioware to be canned as well. It IS POSSIBLE. You should all be cautious and not get your hopes too high because you never know when a studio is tied to a AAA company (especially EA), but that doesn’t mean immediate doom. Someone in the industry correct me if I’m wrong, but under AAA companies, studios die all of the time. Regardless, the fandoms opinion may influence more than they know, and when people constantly go into the rant of “EA is Palpatine and Bioware will turn into an EA sith machine. Bioware is pushing political agenda. Bioware’s new live shit is all because of EA.” And then spew these posts on Youtube, tumblr or reddit without any forethought towards the consequences, it just kind of makes what we fear... so much more likely to kill what we love, right? Can you see that logic? Stop allowing our uninformed outrage to turn our fears into reality. Bioware has been known to interact with fans far more than other studios. But not just that, Bioware fans can be very polarized and since the Bioware dev community is so accommodating, I worry about that. Do you think the above worries adds to or diminishes the odds of another Mass Effect or Dragon Age being made? IMO, the biggest and most important thing keeping Bioware creators inspired is the support of its passionate fans who have gobbled up their games like candy. So please stop trying to destroy what you love, but don’t stop giving them your opinions and honest critiques. To youtubers and other game reviewers, please be honest about your reviews but don’t bash a franchise for clicks, instead criticize them for the shit they can improve on. Be honest about the faults but don’t do it in a way that sways a viewer to love or hate the title based on outrage, instead point out the good and the bad and let people decide on their own. Your opinions hold significant weight in the gaming community. I’m not saying we should ignore the terrible state Anthem was ‘released’ in. Seriously, tell Bioware and EA that their incomplete mess was unacceptable, because I agree. EA won’t care because $$$money$$$$, but at least the creative part of the team can see what they did wrong and improve upon it. They worked hard and I can tell they love their work. They are passionate about it, and for good reason. Bioware fans and Bioware devs have both felt the pain of EA forcing an amazing title out before it was ready. DA2 anyone? We don’t need to sit here yelling at Bioware devs for the shit they’ve already agonized over. We need to clearly state our problems by saying “I didn’t pay for this, instead this is what I was promised. I love your game but this is what I want instead. This is what I expected and you didn’t deliver, here is where you can improve. And also, I can wait but this is what we need in the future.” So that EA understands fans hate their rushed releases and devs have feedback that actually helps US, as consumers. I’m not clearing Bioware of all blame, but they have been known for listening to fans and fans go with the attack route first. I.e. Mass Effect 3 ending drama. We can’t jump to conclusions about Bioware’s future, because we aren’t directly involved. I'm just a fan but, even if Anthem does poorly, which it honestly... it has already done poorly, according to metacritic. If my opinion matters to you, I think it’ll be a while until we see Bioware’s demise regardless, but that is just my pleb prediction. It has been confirmed that EA already sunk money into Dragon Age 4, so if anything we still have that. Casey Hudson has confirmed they haven’t forgotten about Mass Effect either. Sure... Bioware could close down tomorrow, and if it did... I honestly wouldn’t be able to properly convey how devastated I would feel if that happened, but we aren’t there yet. And if it did close down, that isn’t Bioware’s fault. And if it did close down, who knows, maybe they’ll pick back up and be even better and rise up apart from EA. Trust me, I worry about it too... more often than I want to admit. It’s actually pathetic how obsessed I am with Mass Effect and Dragon Age. If either franchise was destroyed forever, I would be rendered emotionally useless  as far as gaming goes (and that isn’t an exaggeration), but the reality is that... I am just a fan, so all I can do is put hope and trust in the creators who have carried me along the way with what I can only call brilliance. If the franchise died I’ll still remember the times I sobbed. I sobbed when Mordin walked into that tower despite Shepards protests and then recited his song until the end, when legion made the ultimate sacrifice due to Shepards actions and Tali accepted it and mourned a race she once hated, or when Morrigan told my Warden that she was the only female friend Morrigan ever had, or when Fenris warmed up to a mage(friend or romance Hawke) and Hawke helped him through his trauma, or when Dorian (in a romance) was flirtatious but over time realized he could finally be loved without frivolous expectations, or with Solas where he lost all hope in the physical world and you could give him something to hope for outside of his narrow perspective (friend or romance), or Zevran, where you could have killed him but you finally gave him a purpose beyond veiled slavery and now he has a true friend, Varric, who was always a jokester but found his way to a better family that wasn’t blood related, but everything he ever wanted was Hawke and their friendship could never be broken. Edi and Joker, who both survived the war and symbolized what hope could mean in a time of adversity and diversity. Aveline, who felt her fate was tied to your survival at first, but in time Hawke became her only and most trusted family. Trust me, I have emotional investment in what we could lose. Regardless of what happens I do sense that the people at Bioware are invested as we are. Imo, that is the most important aspect.

[cruelangelstheses]

all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: fenris/m!hawke, merrill words: 1.5k additional tags: canon compliant, post-here lies the abyss, angst description: fenris is hunting down slavers when he finds out that the only person he loves is gone. a/n: it’s me again lol. i wrote my own take on fenris’s reaction to hawke being left in the fade and also merrill is there. written for @fenrisappreciationmonth day 13: alone. title from “the ghost of you” by mcr

read it on ao3

—

Fenris reads the letter at least four times before the news sinks in.

It’s been years since Hawke started teaching him how to read, but he still doubts himself, making excuses—maybe he’s just misreading it or mixing up letters. He traces his finger over the words, sounding them out even though he knows damn well what they say by now. He tries to read it out loud to see if it makes more sense that way, to see if perhaps doing so will reveal his mistake—but there is no mistake to reveal, and the message is still the same. His throat goes dry when he speaks the word Hawke, and it’s completely closed shut by the time the word gone has reached his tongue.

Varric wouldn’t joke about something like this.

Fenris kneels down on the floor of the cheap, dirty inn he’s been staying at, still clutching the letter in his shaking hands. Without thinking, he crumples it up and tosses it across the room, as if by not looking at the news he can pretend it isn’t real. His head is a mess of fragmented thoughts—No. Hawke. Gone. Probably dead. Can’t be happening. No. Not real. Can’t be. No. Not coming back. Never coming back. No. No…

His fingers barely cooperating, Fenris manages to untie the red favor from around his wrist, and he grips it with both hands as if it’s his lifeline. His chest feels like it’s caving in, and with every breath he takes, his lungs rattle more and more. He closes his eyes in an effort to shut it all out, but it does nothing to stop the influx of memories—visions of Hawke’s eyes, his smile, his laugh, his kiss, his touch. Holding the favor against his chest, Fenris leans forward so that his forehead almost touches the floor, doubled over in an agony greater than any physical pain he’s ever experienced.

He tries so hard to hold it in—to keep his mouth and eyes firmly shut, to breathe in and out slowly through his nose, to retain even a sliver of control over himself. But it’s no use; his breath hitches involuntarily, and from there, it’s all over.

When he opens his mouth, his voice barely sounds like his own, unleashing a wretched croaking sound that lies somewhere between a sob and a scream. “Hawke,” he gasps, as if he can bring his lover back simply by saying his name. But there is no strong hand to touch his shoulder, no warm honeycomb voice to tell him it’s all a dream. By the time the first few tears have finally slipped past his closed eyelids and down to the tip of his nose, he’s given up on stopping them.

It seems so cruel, for him to lose the only person he can remember ever truly loving, as if he hasn’t lost enough already—his memories, his family, even his enemies. In this moment, crumpled on the floor and wracked by grief, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more alone...and this time, there is no one to step forward and say, I’m here, Fenris.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, hugging Hawke’s favor to his chest and letting the sounds of his anger and anguish fill the dingy room. All he knows is that when his body has tired of his sorrow and he rises to his feet, it’s darker outside, which means he has a job to do—a job hunting slavers.

Tying Hawke’s favor back onto his wrist and tugging it securely into place, Fenris takes a few long, deep breaths to compose himself, at least on the outside. For some reason, the thought of killing Tevinters is almost comforting, enough that it staves off his loss-fueled rage, if only temporarily. If he’s going to let it out, it won’t be by punching the wall of an inn; it’ll be by hunting down those who have no problem preying on innocents. It’s what he and Hawke have been doing since Kirkwall...and it’s what Hawke would have wanted.

Fenris hates himself for thinking about Hawke as if he’s already dead.

When he leaves the room, a few strangers give him odd looks, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the usual reasons or because he looks like a hot mess (or perhaps both). He can’t bring himself to care, though—not about his bloodshot eyes and not about his flushed, tear-stained cheeks. Tonight there will be slavers about, searching for refugees to capture and sell, but the only thing they’ll find is an early grave at the hands of a near-vengeful elf—he swears it.

—

Fenris stays out until the sun starts to peer over the horizon, killing more slavers in one night than he ever has before. He looks their leaders right in the eye before he crushes their hearts so that the last thing they ever see is the pain and horror and fury in the face of a former slave. Every blow, every kill, is for Hawke—a physical manifestation of his grief, an agony that spurs him forward no matter how much it hurts.

He’s covered in blood by the time he returns to the inn, but it’s early in the morning, so nobody really notices or cares. As soon as he’s back in his room, he sheds most of his armor and falls into the uncomfortable bed, hoping and praying for a dreamless sleep—free from the anger, free from the pain, free from the loss.

He’s awoken what feels like only minutes later by a quiet but incessant knocking at the door. Fenris keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t move, but the knocking only grows louder. Then he hears it: a familiar, lilting voice with a distinctive accent. “Fenris! Are you in there?”

Merrill.

He hasn’t seen Merrill in years. How did she even find him? What could she possibly want?

As if reading his mind, Merrill adds, “Fenris! I need to tell you something!”

Fenris buries his head in his pillow. He can already take a wild guess at what she wants to tell him, though he doesn’t understand why she felt the need to do it in person. Unfortunately for her, Varric’s letter reached him first, and he has no interest in bonding with her over it.

Merrill is not one to give up, though, and continues knocking persistently. “It’s about Hawke!” she says. “There might be a way we can still save him!”

At that, Fenris’s eyes shoot open. Merrill is many things, but a liar is not one of them.

Fenris pushes himself out of bed and rushes to the door. Swinging it open, he says, “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, Fenris takes her in, and she seems to do the same to him. Her hair is different than it was when he last saw her—now it’s shaved on one side, but long on the other. Her face seems to have hardened, a result of seeing much more of the world, but she still has the same deceptive doe eyes. “Oh. You cut your hair,” she comments. “It looks nice.”

“What does that matter?” Fenris snaps, exacerbated. He gestures for her to enter the room; if they’re going to be talking about matters of the Fade and getting Hawke out of it, they should probably do it in secrecy.

Merrill steps gingerly inside, closing the door behind her. She takes in his blood-covered greatsword and armor, the letter still crumpled on the ground, and the injuries on his body from the night before. “When did you get Varric’s letter?” she asks. “I got mine a few weeks ago.”

Fenris raises an eyebrow. “Just yesterday.”

“I figured as much,” Merrill says. “Varric said the news might take longer to reach you because he didn’t know where exactly you were. It took some time for me to track you down. But I knew I had to find you.”

“Why?” Fenris says. “What’s this about being able to save Hawke?”

“Right. Well,” Merrill says, sitting down on Fenris’s messy bed, “do you remember the Eluvian?”

“The mirror that led you to blood magic? Yes, I remember it,” Fenris says, his eyes narrowed. He’s almost afraid to ask what a demonic mirror has to do with saving Hawke.

“I’ve been doing some research,” Merrill explains. “It seems these Eluvians are meant to be portals to another realm—beyond our realm, beyond even the Fade, but close to it. I think...I think there may be a way to travel to the Fade through an Eluvian.” Her eyes are wide with hope, pleading. “If we go to Skyhold, we may be able to figure something out. It would probably take a lot of power. A lot of magic. Possibly even blood magic. I don’t know. But if we have any hope of finding Hawke alive and bringing him back…”

Fenris holds a hand up to stop her. He’s heard enough, and for once, he agrees with her: if there is any chance of saving his lover, he’ll do whatever it takes.

“Alright,” he says with a nod. “To Skyhold.” To Hawke.

[slothssassin]

Dragon Age Questions

Tagged by @starsandskies, thank you! ♥

Tagging @briarfox13, @liaorban, @katajanokka, @tessa1972 and @nerdierholler.

1. Favorite game of the series? It’s really hard to decide. Whenever I play one of them, I really enjoy it and think it must be my favourite. If I could play only one forever though I’d probably choose Inquisition.

2. How did you discover Dragon Age? I played Mass Effect and was active in the fandom here. So I discovered that a lot of people who loved ME also played (and loved) DA. I already had Origins in my library, so I thought why not give it a try.

3. How many times you’ve played the games? Well, I started DAO once but never finished it. A few months later I started a second time and then played all three games. So DAO (almost) twice, the other ones one time.

4. Favorite race to play as? (Dalish) Elves all the way!

5. Favorite class? Both my Warden and my Hawke are Rogues, but technically I always played the Mages in the team. That’s why I decided that my Inquisitor would be a Mage too, and in the end it’s honestly my favourite class to play.

6. Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time. I mostly make the same decisions again.

7. Go-to adventuring group? DAO: Alistair, Wynne, third one changed, but mostly Sten or Morrigan DA2: Fenris, Anders, Varric DAI: Blackwall, Dorian, Varric, often also Cassandra

8. Which of your characters did you put the most thought into? I’d say my Inquisitor Sellia Lavellan.

9. Favorite romance? Well, Alistair x Warden is really sweet and adorable, but I’m also a big fan of Cullen x Inquisitor. I have to say I enjoyed the cutscenes between them the most.

10. Have you read any of the comics/books? Nope

11. If you read them, which was your favorite book? -

12. Favorite DLCs? Trespasser I think? Or Jaws of Hakkon cause I really liked the Frostback Mountains.

13. Things that annoy you? Uhhhh the combat?? Especially in DAO. I mean I love the games but the combat can get really hard, repetitive and annoying. I was glad my Warden was able to sneak cause I sneaked past a lot of enemies, especially in the Deep Roads. DA2 started with great combat but got boring around Act 2. Inquisition had the best combat for me.

14. Orlais or Ferelden? Ferelden.

15. Templars or Mages? Mages.

16. If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one? I only have one character in each game.

17. What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc.) Ashera’s mabari was called “Brutus”, Marlow’s “Atilla”, Sellia has a horse called “Shiral”.

18. Have you installed any mods? Yes quite a lot actually. Most are for the CC. But in DAO I also had the one to skip the Fade, a few to add more content with Alistair. Clothing mods too. I love mods a lot.

19. Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden? She didn’t mind. She was up for the adventure, though she didn’t know how dangerous it would be.

20. Hawke’s personality? Between blue and purple.

21. Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition? No, they’re all unique.

22. If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change? Ashera lost her father as a child. He tried to save her from a bear. She’d always go back to help him.

Quite similar for Marlow, she’d like to go back to save Carver. And her mother later on.

Sellia would turn back time to go back to the Fade to try and save both Stroud and Hawke.

23. Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon? Yes, I headcanon that Alistair stayed a Grey Warden after the Blight, but Anora got assassinated. He was already married to Ashera at that point, but agreed to become the new King if he didn’t have to officially marry anyone else.

24. Are any of your character(s) based on someone? No.

25. Who did you leave in the Fade? I honestly hated that decision. And it was the reason why I made up the headcanon I mentioned earlier. I didn’t want to leave either Alistair or Hawke, so I chose Stroud but felt really bad about it. My Hawke didn’t feel like herself anymore, so I’m still thinking about leaving her instead, which means Alistair could stay a Warden.

26. Favorite mount? The Imperial Warmblood.

[pharlooom]

my opinions on cullen rutherford

over the past few days, I’ve gotten a some anonymous asks requesting me to explain what I think of cullen rutherford, because if you’ve noticed, I’ve been posting a lot of cullen content right now. I feel this is a great time to share my feelings about him and the Discourse around him, also what I think about various opinions this toxic, toxic fanbase has about him.

feel free to add, praise, disagree, or completely obliterate me for this in reblogs or replies. these are my opinions, some gotten from others, some crafted from my own readings and personal views. hate cullen or like him, say what you will, but if you respect my opinions, I will respect yours.

short version: I like cullen. I like his character. I genuinely appreciate his character growth and development and his change. 

long version: from what I know and what I’ve read, this fandom likes to tear him to bits for a bunch of reasons, some of which are so vast and really heavy, I don’t know if I can go into them with enough knowledge of the lore. so it’s neat, I’ll state my opinion and then discuss it.

his abuse at the circle in dao explains his trauma, it doesn’t excuse his absolute shit treatment of mages

yep, I know the whole cullen “mages aren’t people” rutherford is only one of like 273 hearts of the #cullen critical community, but it’s the one people tend to address the most.

but his torture at ferelden’s circle doesn’t excuse his actions, it explains why he hates mages. I don’t know where cullen haters get the idea that the stans only use this as an excuse so their White Chantry Boy can be free to shit on mages wherever he pleases. no. he doesn’t have an excuse. he doesn’t have a get out of jail free card. in da2, his position of knight-captain and shitty treatment of mages is explained by the fact that he suffered a bad experience from them. you can’t just dismiss this. it’s an important part of his character as a whole and seeing haters say that “people use it as justification” is wrong.

and to stans who say that he’s free to hate mages because of this, stop that (though I haven’t seen this yet, I’m sure it’s happening somewhere).

he hates mages because he was traumatized by what happened in ferelden’s circle. that’s an explanation, not a justification. see? that isn’t the same as “it’s okay for him to hate mages because he was traumatized by what happened in ferelden’s circle.”

he was a shit person in da2

there is literally no saving him from this. I won’t come to his rescue or shield him from the criticism, he was terrible.

but, while I’m still on the subject, refer to the first opinion. I feel some people forget his abuse that happened in the prior game. so if you must hate him, hate him with his abuse in mind. hate him for the right reasons. hate that he was in a position to do something but didn’t, that “mages aren’t people” line. understand where he comes from, what he’s been through, then feel free to criticize him in the #cullen critical tag like a person with a clear and open mind.

he joined the templars because he wanted to help people

sometimes we forget that cullen joined the templars because he thought that at the age of thirteen, the templars were helping. this doesn’t excuse his actions later, but the very reason he joined the templars in the first place was because he wanted to help. he didn’t go into the order thinking “all mages r eveil.” when asked why he joined the order, he literally said: “I can think of no better calling than to protect those in need.”

and yes, I know that mages are coded (?) as oppressed people irl. but you have to understand that though they suffer the same oppression, mages and oppressed people irl are vastly different. irl, there’s less of a reason to stand with the oppressors because we’re all human beings with the same capabilities. in thedas, there really is a reason to be afraid of mages when they can literally raise the dead or summon fire at their fingertips. even if they can gain control of these abilities, they are dangerous. there’s a reason why circles had to be built. some circles are chill, and others are horribly abusive. still, you have to understand the validated fear behind thedas looking down on mages.

I don’t understand how him not acting on his affections on the warden or whatever is creepy???

I honest to goodness don’t get this. if you flirt with him too much, he even runs in the opposite direction. people have infatuations that can last for many years, sure, but it happens. people like people for a long time. and it’s not like hof is on his mind 24/7. all I can think of is when you ask him about how he knew her in dai, and that table banter with leliana where he asks about her, but that’s it??? that’s all I can think of??

I’m satisfied with his character development in dai

no, I don’t want him to apologize more than he already is. no, I don’t want the option to oust him from the inquisition. no, I don’t want the inquisitor to be given the option to shit on him, romance or not. no, I don’t want to give him all the ugly missions at the table because he’s an ugly adviser. no, I don’t want hawke or varric to call him out.  

he’s growing, he’s changing. he realizes he’s a shit person, remembers all of the horrible things he’s done, and wants to better himself. I don’t give a shit about “how fast and ooc” it is for a character to change, I am all for positive character development. (I know this argument can and will be used against me. I have longer opinions about this positive character development deal, but for now, know I’m all for it.)

go back to dai and talk to him. just really listen to him. he isn’t even justifying his actions. he constantly says that all the shit he did is bad, scolding himself when he felt like he could have done better. and even when he’s explaining the events, like what happened at ferelden’s circle, he uses it to explain why he was an awful person in kirkwall.

I also see the argument that he distrusts the mages in inquisition, but I don’t see that. and even if he “does,” it’s out of concern for both mages and non-mages. not to mention that he’s left the templars, which has basically been his life for more than a decade, so it isn’t easy for him to just let go of it and instantly say “I trust mages with my life” because you really see the worst of what magic can do in the circles, and he’s been living in them for most of his life. I mean, just look at how hard it was for him to conquer his addiction, the very thing that chained him to the templars and the chantry. he isn’t hostile to any of the mages there, you don’t even see him scolding them or berating them (this only happens once, when he breaks apart an argument between a mage and templar at haven, and even then he also takes the time to scold the templar as well and say that this isn’t the place to do that). he doesn’t seem to mind the presence of vivienne or solas. hell, he plays chess with dorian. still sound like cullen “mages aren’t people” rutherford to you?

there’s a number of times he also says that he left the order because innocent people were getting caught in the crossfires between mages and templars. it was the exact opposite thing he wanted to prevent going into the order. he wanted people to be safe, and because of the templars, people ended up dying. it isn’t hard to understand why he left.

and he left. that’s a thing, by the way. he could have stayed and just accepted the fact that he wanted this life as a child, but he left the templars knowing full well that at that point, it had been his whole life. also, he left with the knowledge that leaving the order can be straight-up insanity or death due to lyrium withdrawal. he even talks about how dangerous it is for a templar to leave and how he wants a safer way to leave the order. I really feel that was the highest point of his character: he knew leaving the order (which was a huge part of his life) was difficult, could risk death, and had to suffer major effects from withdrawal. despite that, he still did it. at the ending of trespasser, he even helps other templars conquer their addiction. you may not like his character, but you can’t deny that’s still considerably noble.

and this is where it gets personal: I’ve done shitty things in my life. I’ve said some terrible stuff to people that I can’t take back, no matter how hard I want to. mentally, I’ve shunned and hated a whole community because they were attacking me in ways that destroyed me and my mental health, and I’ve held onto that grudge for so long. I wanted to change, I wanted to be a better person, not one consumed by hatred.

when I first played dai and talked to cullen about his opinions on mages and how he wanted to break free from the order, I bawled like a baby. I cried the whole way through the lyrium addiction mission. I saw myself in his character: somebody who did a fuckton of awful things in his past and wanted to get out of it. he inspired me to be braver, to be a better version of myself, that getting out of a cycle of hating yourself and other people is possible. you can change and it’s worth it.

and that’s why whenever I read cullen hate bashing his character development and how he should “apologize more” and how he’ll never be enough or never be forgiven, no matter how hard he tries to atone for it, it always gets to me. every time people hate his character, I feel like they’ll hate people like me, people who are bad and will always be bad and can’t improve ever because they were awful before, they’ll be awful forever.

TL;DR: cullen is an amazing character. his growth and backstory speaks volumes to me. I respect and look up to him in ways that this entire thing can’t do justice. while he’s done some terrible things in the past, he isn’t good, but he isn’t bad either. I admire him for what he is now, and how he’ll continue to grow in the lore to come.

again, this is only my opinion. you are free to disagree and agree at your own leisure. hate him, don’t hate him, whatever, I respect your opinion. you’re coming from a different point of view and I absolutely love that. all I ask is that you respect my opinion in return.

[queen-scribbles]

Inquisitor!Jowan

World State:

--Warden Trinne Amell, romanced Alistair, left Anora queen, Alistair stayed a Warden, OGB, Trinne killed the Archdemon, still alive(Happy Ending sans Harvey AU, I guess xD)

--Evi Hawke, red personality, warrior, romanced Anders(rival path), very pro-templar, executed Anders, recruited Seb, sided w/templars endgame

       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-

For this AU, Trinne told Jowan to run from Redcliffe, rather than conscripting him to the Wardens(wouldn’t wish this life on her best friend or something). She lets him out of his cell and tells him to run after he goes in the Fade to fight the demon and free Connor bc it’s clear that’s not going to buy him much mercy and she couldn’t live with herself if she just lets him get killed/made Tranquil. So he does the aiding refugees things, changes his name to Levyn to avoid the templars looking for him. Also, new name for a new start. (basically, I like having him fight the demon to count as his Harrowing, and also needed him to run so voila)

About a year post-Blight, after the Archdemon, Mother, and Architect are all dead and the darkspawn threat starts to die down, he gets tired of running. But what else is there for someone like him? The average civilian doesn’t recognize the scars on his hands and arms, but a templar probably would. He goes anywhere near a Circle, he’s as good as executed.

So he makes do as a (sort-of)hedge mage, trading help for whatever people can afford to pay. Sometimes this means food or clothes or learning new skills instead of money. He’s fine with that. One family was so poor his “payment” was a flower crown made by their six year old daughter. He keeps a couple of the flowers long after they dry out, pressed between the pages of a book to help him remember on bad days that he can be both good and good for something in spite of his mistakes.

After the Chantry Explosion in Kirkwall, he gives up using magic entirely(had already been saving it for emergencies only), and settles in a small, out of the way village(Chilltread) near the foothills of the Frostback Mountains. It’s remote, has no templar presence, and the people are kind without being nosy. He tells them he got in trouble at home and had to leave(which is true enough), and they don’t pry.

Chilltread is quiet and hard to reach enough the Mage-Templar War doesn’t really touch them, and news takes so long to get there the first they hear of the Conclave is when the delegation from the Ostwick Circle passes through. They make it sound important enough to pique Levyn’s curiosity and he asks if he can go with them. He’s starting to go stir-crazy staying in one place and this seems a good excuse to leave for awhile but come back. They agree, long as he brings his own provisions/gear and pulls his weight. He’s willing to do that, and so leaves with them when they depart the next morning. When one of the escorts asks his name and he says Levyn, the man chuckles and turns to a nearby mage in the delegation. “What were you sayin’ about your name not bein’ common, Trevelyan?”

The mage in question, dark haired with pale green-blue eyes, scoffs and makes some comment about how one nobody from a backwater Fereldan village sharing his given name does not make it common. They press on, already running slightly behind desired schedule and with three more days’ travel ahead of them. That evening when they make camp, Levyn Trevelyan apologizes to Levyn the Nobody for his attitude. “Today was not a good day, for many reasons, and  had me all out of sorts. My humblest apologies for disparaging you.”

Levyn brushes it off(“I am technically a nobody, so you’re not wrong”) and they chat for a while. Trevelyan waxes eloquent about both his family and the Ostwick Circle, while Levyn is a little more vague. Lots of ‘you wouldn’t have heard of that place’ and ‘I haven’t done anything spectacular, really’ dodging.

It gets colder the higher into the mountains they go, and the next(last) village they pass through on the way to Haven(even smaller than Chilltread), Levyn trades a good chunk of his provisions to a villager for warmer clothes. He can deal with being hungry, has before. But the cold is wicked this high up, and he can’t stand it. (acquired: starting armor :D)

They’re among the last to arrive at the Conclave, which suits Levyn fine; less time around a large number of templars. He is, of course, not important enough to actually be included in the talks, but there’s plenty of gossip to be heard from servants, mercs, and guards. It gives him a pretty clear picture of where things stand and how ugly the Mage-Templar War has gotten. Trevelyan is included in some of the meetings, but doesn’t want to discuss them when he’s free, preferring to talk about his family or the friends still at Ostwick’s Circle, all of whom he clearly misses.

Being so wary of people--especially Chantry-affiliated people--Levyn spends a fair bit of time wandering the temple halls, wondering what parts Trinne saw when she was here.

And then comes the explosion.

Running, things chasing him, the woman, climbing… something, a cliff, maybe? Or stairs? The bright flare of light and rubble under his feet and then a cell and angrily hissed words.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

      -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-       -o- -o- -o- -o-

Turns out, when he stumbles out of the Fade, he stayed (semi)conscious just long enough to say his name was Levyn before passing out entirely. Since the Ostwick delegation didn’t add him to their roster when he joined them, the only Levyn to find is Levyn Trevelyan. So they assume that’s him and run with it.

It hits him almost as soon as his head clears what happened, but Cassandra sounds a hairs-breadth from killing him on the spot, and he’s terrified she will if she knows he’s Levyn-the-nobody-apostate instead of Levyn-with-noble-family-ties. So he plays along, he figures just long enough to fix this and leave. Sidesteps Varric’s guess about where he’s from with “What is this, an interrogation?”

By the time they seal the Breach and he’s no longer in immediate danger of execution, he’s ‘Herald of Andraste’ and in too deep to stop lying about who he is. Everyone thinks he’s Lord Trevelyan of Ostwick, and the nobody from Chilltread village is just another tick mark on a casualty report. (not that anyone cares) So he decides to play the part. He’s good at pretending to be someone he’s not, after all. And he can’t think of a pleasant outcome if he tells the truth.

Has something of a panic attack when he sees Cullen in the War Room. Only person in the whole Inquisition who might recognize him(he thinks). But it’s been a decade since Kinloch Hold, and they’ve both been through enough hell Cullen doesn’t seem to recognize him. He’s still anxious about talking to the man the entire game bc what if he remembers?!

Leliana thinks he looks vaguely familiar, but can’t put her finger on why until mid-late game, and keeps her deduction to herself. Part of why she’s so protective Josie when she thinks there’s maybe something starting there

He’s also wary of talking to Cassandra in the walking-on-eggshells sense, given the first impression of brazen righteous fury he got from her. (They’ll eventually be friends, but it’s gonna take awhile)

Goes with the ‘Not sure I’m chosen’ route(but does believe in the Maker) bc he can’t keep that bit of his true self from peeking through. He’s been trying so hard to atone for his mistakes for years, but still can’t believe Andraste would choose someone like him as Her Herald. (still not doing great in the self-confidence department)

Really likes Mother Giselle. Is petrified Chancellor Roderick will find him out and blow it wide open to discredit the Inquisition.

Has another near-panic attack when Cole shows up, bc oh BOY is keeping him around flirting with disaster. But help is help and can he really turn him away?

Tries his best to come off as quiet and reserved rather than overwhelmed. Inner monologue more

Josephine is a breath of fresh air. Someone who’s not tied to the Chantry, so he doesn’t feel like he has to be as guarded around her. She’s kind. She’s strong. She’s gracious. He feels like he can relax around her more than anyone else in the Inquisition. (Not so much he tells her everything right away, but more than around Cass or Cullen for example. Or Leliana, who treats him like a riddle she’s trying to solve.)

Still deciding whether to do CotJ or IHW bc it’s either walking into the templar stronghold or walking into Redcliffe, and I”m not sure which would be worse for him. One has templars(+the envy demon glitch), but the other has a host of bad memories/guilt and higher odds of being recognized as the blood mage who poisoned Arl Eamon. (At least, in his mind. It’s been ten years, the only one who might recognize him is Connor.)

Gonna sacrifice Hawke in HLtA bc Alistair is still in a relationship with Trinne and there’s no way Jowan would do something so devastating to his best friend(sister, really) as sacrifice the man she loves.

Really embraces the concept of “Whatever we were before, we are now the Inquisition” bc leaving his past far, far behind him sounds fucking fantastic.

[maiden-of-wolves]

OC’s as Inquisition Companions

Name: Ariel Grace

Race / Class / Specialization: Human / Archer, then must switch to daggers or sword/shield when her glasses break/are broken / Tempest (or Ranger, if we’re allowed to use other game’s specializations…)

Gender Identity: Female; she/her

Varric’s Nickname for them: Pixie

Short Bio: Having grown up with fantasy stories and playing games to escape her ever-mediocre life back home, she was very familiar with Dragon Age. Impressively so, by some people’s measure. Now, she’s here and she has no idea what to do about it. She finds that she has to relearn how to read and becomes ill often because she has not encountered the diseases of Thedas. Another curiosity is that she appears to either reflect or absorb magic, essentially making her immune to both offensive and defensive/restorative magic. She is able to expel it as well, but it often comes out as a different element than was used on her and is hard for her to control in the beginning.

What would their companion card look like?

<<Death Tarot>>

Recruitment Mission: It is an optional war table mission. It’s next to Haven on the map and is simply a notification from Solas about having gotten notice from scouts of an unusual rift. And that he needs to see them as soon as possible. If you choose to “Go to” you will go outside and towards the dungeons and Solas will come up dragging a bound Ariel with him.

Basically, she appears near Haven and is found by a scouting party before you decide to look for help from either the Mages or Templars. She’s taken to Haven’s dungeons and interrogated by Cassandra and Solas. Mostly Solas. He brings her to the Inquisitor to have them decide what to do with her, citing that she seems to have foreknowledge of the world, but he cannot place how she came there or even what she is. You will have the option to allow her to join the Inquisition or to kill her. If you don’t choose the mission, she will simply starve/freeze in the Haven dungeons.

Where would they be in Skyhold / Haven?

In Haven, she would be near the mines area you fall in while escaping or in the clinic, being treated.

In Skyhold she’d be in the library, with Varric in the hall, by the stables talking with the horses or with Dagna (if you recruit her) in the Underforge.

Quest 1: <<TBD>>

Quest 2: <<TBD>>

Quest 3: <<TBD>>

How to get their approval:

Help “the little guy” (aka people that are down on their luck and need help, beggars, slaves seeking freedom, etc.); Be curious, since she very much wants to know everything she can (if she doesn’t already know about it from the codex entries); Be snarky to nobles or those that are snarky with you; help/be nice to your fellow companions.

How to get their disapproval:

Protect nobility at the expense of those beneath them; turning a blind eye in exchange for gold; flirting with others if you are in a relationship (with her or anyone else); being abrasive when you could have saved people by being diplomatic/clever.

Are they romanceable?

Yes! By men and women, (race gated against dwarves and qunari - Sorry! T_T) but you will need to go VERY easy on the flirting for a while if you’re a lady. She’s not had a physical relationship with a woman before, but is open to the idea.

Can you have sex with them?

Only if you’re on friendly terms; none of this ‘rivalmance’ nonsense. If you’re on her blacklist, she’d rather stick some acid on your lips than kiss them.

Are they open to polyamoury?

Only if it’s talked through and everything is out in the open. She will be very upset for quite a while if you just randomly decide to add another person. And she will be VERY hesitant to join an already established relationship because she needs reassurance that she’s worthwhile.

If they can be romanced and are not will they begin a relationship / relationships with other characters? If so, who?

If Cullen isn’t being romanced, she’d probably start one with him. She’d be there for him during his lyrium withdrawal episodes and sing him back to sleep when he woke.

If Zevran was there and not romanced with the Warden, she’d go for him; same with Fenris not romanced by Hawke.

Who are they friendly with?

Varric is her best friend (except the Inquisitor, if they’re good to her).

The Iron Bull and she get along well; he’s curious about her and likes teasing her.

She likes reading those smutty novels with Cassandra and encourages her so she can “practice reading” ;P.

She and Cullen will be all but kindred spirits in temperament and will get along well; she invents a potion that tastes like lyrium to help his withdrawal (like a kind of placebo). She will also question him about his views on mages and remind him of how he used to talk about them. She wants him to really grow as a person, not just be forgiven for who is was and no follow-up made.

Dorian and Ariel have a kind of love-hate relationship, since he loves to tease her/play flirt and enjoys her easy-to-blush nature far too much. Still, she respects him for trying to change Tevinter and since she spends a lot of time in the library they’re near each other a lot. They often have discussions he has a hard time stomaching about his homeland (usually regarding slavery).

She respects Josephine but the Antivan is very confused by Ariel’s venomous reaction to nobility considering her background.

She also respects Leliana’s abilities but they argue over the Chantry and faith when either topic comes up.

She both likes and hates Cole. She appreciates that he helps people and often asks him to help her help people, but she hates when he reads her.

She likes Blackwall and they often discuss his past (after she reveals she knows) and she encourages him to just atone as Blackwall. She affectionately calls him “Dad” because he reminds her of her father and often gives her fatherly advice, especially about combat.

Who do they dislike?

She knows what Solas wants to do and she hates him for it. They often argue about it, as she’s trying desperately to change his mind. Still, he helps her manage her odd abilities and helps her deal with her odd relationship to the Fade.

Though in goal/opinion they are very similar, she dislikes Sera. She sees her as little more than a snotty brat with a vicious temper and a deplorable liking for “pranks”.

She dislikes Vivienne on principle, as she’s a noble in every aspect and enjoys that life. Eventually, she comes to respect her and it is somewhat mutual.

Cole’s reading:

“Thoughts… so much. Home. It’s not a game anymore. I can’t say it. What’s the point of knowing… if you can’t change it?”

Companion card changes

Loyalty:

<<Temperance Tarot>>

Romance:

<<TBD>>

Side Mission:

<<TBD>>

When nearing a hidden item:

“Looks like things have been disturbed here...”

When seeing a high dragon:

“Well, great! There’s death coming from every possible direction now.”

Or, if The Iron Bull is in the party:

“...No, Bull. I’m not dying today.”

Side quest reaction(s):

<<TBD>>

Low health:

“Some help would be nice!”

“I wonder...where I’ll go…”

The Inquisitor falls:

(If friendly/romanced) “NO! I won’t let you go!”

(If neutral) “Our Inquisitor needs us!”

(If low approval) “You can’t give up!”

Greeting(s) / Goodbye(s)

Low approval:

“What do you want now?”

“Yeah, you go have fun elsewhere. I’ve got actual work to do.”

Neutral approval:

“Do you need something?”

“Okay. Bye then.”

Friendly:

“Oh, hey! What’s up?”

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be around.”

Romanced:

“O-oh. Uhm… hi!” o///o

“Hope you can spare some time for me later. I’ve… really missed you.” >////>

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit?

She’s very much against mages murdering people to retain their freedom, but she is equally against all the abuses that templars had heaped upon them to bring them to this point.

She thinks the rebel mages could be brought to heel and likes the idea of them creating the College of Enchanters, outside the Chantry’s influence, and wants all mages to be free but to be taught how to control their magic and punished appropriately when they do not.

She knows the Templars are useful, but doesn’t like them as an order controlled by the Chantry. She wants them to be disbanded and made into a separate type of guardsman everywhere so mages could live as normal people but still be brought to heel if they went all abomination or killed someone/manipulated them with magic.

She knows what created the breach so she has to keep her mouth shut about it and thus doesn’t like talking about it.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party?

If you help slavers, take a bribe to turn a blind eye or kill innocents.

                                          Imprisoned at Redcliffe

How is your OC holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

She heaves this incredibly dramatic sigh when she sees the Inquisitor. Basically just says, “FUCKING FINALLY, GET ME OUT OF THIS CELL.” She’s not infected but it’s been trying for so long that she’s weak as all hell from it stealing her energy.

                                                      The Fade

How they react:

Awe and nervousness. She dreams of this place but the interactions are all different. She is normally protected by spirits, who found her first as she slowly mastered her ‘gift/curse’ and became visible to the other denizens. She may have several whisps following her about as you wander, as they recognized and found her, but they are scared and weakened in the Nightmare’s territory.

Their tombstone:

Being Nothing but a Burden

What fears look like:

Goliath Tigerfish

“Okay, this is fucked up. I know this is the Fade and the laws of normal existence don’t apply, but still! You need water to swim, not air!” ~points accusingly at an approaching nightmare~ “Stop snappin’ your jaws at me you assholes!”

What the Nightmare says:

“And here is the talk of the Fade. The anomaly. The stranger in a strange land.” ~deep, booming laughter~ “Your spirits cannot save you here, child. I have long wondered what kind of creature you would become were I to claim you…”

OR, if romanced:

“Ah, the anomaly. Do you truly know what will happen here? I will tell you, since you crave knowledge. Your beloved will die and I will throw you back to suffer. Wilt away in your guilt and despair. You will feed me and my brethren for years to come, wallowing in it until it is all you know… just like your father.”

Hawke or Warden:

She understand the reasons for both

There will be a minor approval drop for choosing the Warden (large if it is a romanced Alistair)

If Hawke romanced Fenris, there will be a major approval drop

If Hawke romanced anyone else or remained alone, there will be a minor approval drop

The Wardens - Exile or Allies?

Again, she understand the reasons for both. Only a minor approval drop for exile and minor approval boost for making them allies.

                                                     Halamshiral

Where they linger:

If she’s not romanced she’ll probably be near Cullen, engaging him in conversation in order to help keep the “suitors” at bay.

If she or Cullen is romanced she’ll be seeking shelter with Varric and tells you to hurry up so she can get the hell out of this viper’s nest.

Are they good at the Game?

She could be, if she wanted to be. She knows how she just hates using the skills she was brought up with as a child of an upper-middle class family back home.

What people say about them:

(if neither she nor Cullen were romanced)

“Why must that homely girl take up the Commander’s time? Doesn’t she realize her betters need to speak with him?”

(if the Inquisitor romanced her)

“The Inquisitor keeps such homely company… I can’t see why there are rumors about them. She is unremarkable and abrasive.”

“Who is that mouse beside Master Tethras? A fan of his work?”

Gaspard, Briala or Celene?

Briala and Celene together! Always. OTP. Major approval boost for this option.

She’ll give a minor approval boost for Briala blackmailling Gaspard or Celene ruling alone.

Will have a major approval drop for allowing Gaspard to rule alone.

                                                Temple of Mythal

Rituals or Hole?

Ritual. This is their place and you must respect it. Plus, she knows that you’ll get there before it’s too late even if you take the time and knows how to do the puzzle.

Agree with the Elves’ bargain?

YES. She hates having to kill anyone if there’s another way… unless they’re assholes. Abelas kind of is, but not enough to justify being killed. Plus, it’s easier to get where you’re going if you accept and she will be taking photos of the murals and stuff you find along the way for safekeeping/inspection later.

Morrigan or the Inquisitor for the Well?

She leaves it up to the Inquisitor if they’re not involved.

If romanced or if they are friends, she will tell the Inquisitor that they really don’t want to take it in and to let Morrigan do it. “It will be helpful… you just don’t want the burden. Trust me.”

                                                    Trespasser:

Depending on who she’s with, she’ll have done different things.

If she was romanced by the Inquisitor she’d be busy helping with the Inquisition. Creating new tools/helping advance medicine for non-mages as well as mages/trying to recreate basics from home like running water that anyone can install on their houses. She’d go with them to the Exalted Council if asked and will be able to tell them about what’s going on if they asked/wanted to know. She could also be told to stay behind and use her knowledge of the attending nobles to help Josephine.

If she wasn’t romanced by the Inquisitor and Cullen wasn’t romanced, she would be assisting him. She would have expanded her making of the placebo to give to all the Templars that wanted to be off of lyrium. She will likely have also worked with advancing medicine and providing basic improvements to people’s lives. Again, if asked, she would attend the Exalted Council. If not, Cullen will likely ask her to come just to help him retain his sanity. He will ask her to marry him there, as he would have the Inquisitor. She would happily find the Inquisitor to let them know and tell them they need to survive so they can all meet up again for a proper party and feast for the wedding when they get back to Ferelden.

If Zevran was around she’d help him in dealing with the Crows and set up a library where she takes in and “homeschools” recruits that he liberates from the Crows. She’s soon surrounded by children and is unable to attend the Exalted Council. Before she left the Inquisition she acquired a pair of sending crystals so that no matter where she was the Inquisitor could get a hold of her if necessary. She will advise them on what to do if they ask.

If Fenris was around, they’d travel about tracking down slavers and eventually attempt to lead a slave uprising in Tevinter. Since, by the end of her tale she’d be a powerful proper mage she could do reconnaissance in full view and not be thought much of. She would have given the Inquisitor one of a pair of sending crystals to keep in contact and would offer her knowledge if asked during the Exalted Council. In Tevinter, she tips off the right people and kills those that won’t help and then Fenris inspires slaves to rise. She’d meet Dorian on his way back and chuckle, saying, “time to put out the fires and start again. I did the easy part. The rest is up to you.” She’ll probably get hit for that.

I’ll probably add more at some point. Still can’t decide about her side quests... so that’ll have to wait.