#//that’s the andrastian guilt talking

[theodosiani]

Absolutely hilariously when it comes to the two milfs on my blog you have Eurydice had sex once and got pregnant and shotgun married before her keeper murdered her boyfriend. On the opposite end of the spectrum there’s Birdie who has fooled around Plenty but hasn’t actually had penetrative sex because that feels like Commitment.

[goatsorcery]

im so mad that you can’t talk about rook’s religion in the newest entry into the fantasy religious schism game series. what do you mean the implications of a dalish elf who worships the creators isnt explored beyond an unjustified feeling of guilt? or a city elf who was raised to believe in the maker having to grapple with the fact that the gods they were forced to abandon are real. and people don’t just blame them for releasing said gods, but for their existence in general, just because rook’s an elf, despite being stripped of the last remnants of their culture. or a human rook whos a devout andrastian having their world view turned upside. or a dwarf rook who learns that stone sense is real and that lyrium is titan blood.

[cassiaorsellio]

1, 8 and 13 for Arthur and Bull

thank you :3c

1. Are there any names they like to be called in bed/names they call their partner? Any names they wouldn’t use/can’t stand?

Arthur prefers praise over degredation, and the names Bull uses tend to reflect that. Kadan, beautiful, good (or pretty) boy, that sort of thing. He got called hot stuff once and that just made him laugh. Slut and whore also can work both ways (one of the few terms Arthur is okay with in a degrading way), brat also works. Bas does come up occasionally when Arthur just wants to be used. The special one is probably Your Highness though, for when he's being a greedy, spoiled brat of a submissive who is pushing Bull's buttons. That does Things to the both of them.

For Bull, I think mostly Arthur mostly addresses him as Master or sir when in a scene. Something simple. Sometimes by just his name if Bull will permit it, or darling/kadan. A Daddy has slipped out a few times, much to Arthur's embarrassment but such are the way of things in the heat of the moment. Even that has its place.

8. How often do they have sex dreams?

Arthur had them a bit when he was younger and still figuring himself out (and honestly, they made him feel ashamed of his sexuality. Andrastian guilt goes crazy, doubly so when you're having them about a templar), but not so much now he's in his late 40s - 50s. When he did occasionally get them about Bull (before they started sleeping together) and also once about Blackwall (he couldn't look him in the eye for at least a week after that), he'd try to push them down/ignore him, which really didn't help the whole 'this man is so uptight someone needs to remove a stick from his ass' situation. After he and Bull got together though, it's still not often, but he at least is working through it and starts to allow himself to enjoy them. And Bull manages to pull some useful stuff out of him from those dreams when they start talking about it. For Bull, I'd say definitely more often. Won't put a figure on it, but often. He enjoys them, he isn't ashamed of them. First one about Arthur happened after Arthur made an off-hand comment in the Hinterlands about having plenty of experience and control in the saddle after he'd finished up Seanna's races and it got his brain ticking.

13. Morning vs evening sex—do they have a preference?

Arthur tends to prefer the evening, mostly because he's far less likely to be interrupted and he prefers to take his time whenever possible now. And typically, he tends to go out for his horse riding first thing in the morning since that's usually the only time for him to escape (Bull is both impressed and a little concerned that Arthur can go horse riding sometimes after the nights they have together.) Though if there are opportunities to have sex in the morning, he absolutely won't turn down a chance to ride his other favourite mount, and Bull thinks that's a very good start to the day when that happens (I don't think Bull has a preference about morning vs evening tbh, but again. the evening usually allows for more time.)

RANDOM OC NS/FW ASKS

[neocores]

1, 4, 11, 12 for Din and 4, 8, 13, 20 for Val uwu

Din:

What kind of person is your OC in a crisis? Are they calm and collected? Do they panic? Or are they chronically the cause?

Din is ABSOLUTELY chronically the cause most of the time. Chaos creachure. But when they're actually put in the position of, yknow, leading the gang and all and things go to shit, they just kinda. Default to Clown Shoes-ing their way through it and feigning being calm (which everyone can see right through btw).

Does your OC have a failed friendship or relationship they still think about? What happened? Is it an unresolved regret or is there a chance for reconciliation?

Honestly? Viper/Ashur. It's wholly one sided, since Ashur obviously doesn't hold a grudge over them not being there to save Minrathous, but they feel like they failed him utterly. They looked up to him as a leader and also just as a person, he always seemed to have his shit together. But when he actually needed them, they weren't there. And he then got blighted and worked himself to near deat- which yes he'd work that hard anyways, but maybe it wouldn't be killing him if he weren't blighted. Since he's still alive and kicking post-ending, Din would have convinced him to take the Joining. He doesn't have to even be a warden! Just! Don't die! Please! They can't have another life lost because of them!

And then after that? Davrin. He's the love of their life and they just.... sent him to his death. Granted in my canon they found him and Assan in the blight soup, very injured and close to death, but alive. He will never fully recover now, though, or be able to do what he used to. Assan won't be the same, either. Davrin and Assan ofc don't blame them, but they do. Every day. They have a lot of guilt. I don't think they'll ever be able to reckon with this particular guilt.

What does your OC believe in? God(s)? Monsters? Love? The power of unbreakable bonds of friendship to overcome any obstacle? The ability of money to open any door? Or are they indifferent?

The power of friendship. And also griffons. Though they were actually raised Tevinter Andrastian, they weren't that into the belief. They believed just as much as the every day christianised 'agnostic' does. After Nelly (YOUR BLORBO), their younger brother, went to find a local Dalish clan, they did become curious in elven faith as well. Following all the events of the actual game, the only 'god' or godlike being they have actual faith in is Mythal. In the end she still loved her people, and she's also the only one that's like. Real. Lol.

Is your OC cynical or optimistic? Who or what shaped their outlook on life?

"EVERYTHING WILL BE FINEEEEEEEE" <<< trying to convince themself. They're a pessimist that wants to be an optimist. Growing up as an elf that got abandoned in fucking TEVINTER really does a number on you! But they're the older sibling, so they have to put on a brave face and all. Can't let Nelly know how much life actually fucking sucks.

-

Val:

Does your OC have a failed friendship or relationship they still think about? What happened? Is it an unresolved regret or is there a chance for reconciliation?

THIS ONE FOR VAL, TOO? You sicko. And yes. Taash. Since he made the call that got Harding killed. Of course Taash doesn't really fully blame him, Harding chose to take her shot herself after all. But he still was the one that put her on that team! He was the one that put her in that position! Maybe if it had been someone else, Harding would still be alive! They'll need time, but I think they'll both find reconciliation with each other. Val just needs to actually be an adult and talk to Taash. But they're both as bad as each other, and don't do talking about feelings too well.

What was your OC's most embarrassing moment? Does it still bother them or are they able to shrug it off?

How he got his lip scar- he had a habit of sneaking out as a teen. Viago found out and decided to wait outside his bedroom window to catch him. When Val started to exit the window, he said "And where are YOU going?" and scared Val SO badly that he slipped, fell off the roof, and into the rose bush below. He tore his lip open on a large rose thorn. He never snuck out after that! Ofc Viago made fun of him for it for days- but secretly worried and would mother hen over him to make sure it healed right.

How important are romantic relationships to your OC? Do they prefer casual sex, short flings, or long term relationships? Do they want to get married or are they content with what they have? Or do they have no interest in romance whatsoever?

Val pretends he's a slut, but he's not. He's had like, maybe 2 relationships in his entire life. They ended because he is a neeeeeeeeedy mess and also a bit of a bitch that expects to be doted on and wooed. He really just wants someone who will devote themself to him, and desperately wants to be happily married with like 5 kids. He will NOT admit this, however! He will continue to lie and pretend that he is a slut while also craving for someone to sweep him off his feet!

Has your OC ever done something terrible and lied about it? Did they run away or blame someone else for it? How long did they maintain the lie and did the truth ever come out?

Yes. One of his earliest contracts was to find the murderer of a merchant prince's son, and then murder THEM. It turned out that the man had been killed by his own wife, who did it to escape him because he was an abusive piece of shit. Val had had it drummed into him that a Crow does not abandon a contract, so he couldn't just go back to Viago and say 'I didn't do it'. But he also couldn't just… kill her. They ended up arranging it to look like she had seen him and bolted, and when he chased after her to finish the job, she fell into the sea after he stabbed her. He didn't stab her lethally, however, and she was able to swim to safety. He doesn't know what actually happened to her in the end, but as far as the Crows are aware, he fulfilled the contract. And no he will take this to his grave, he can't disappoint Viago like that, and since then he's hardened his morals somewhat and doesn't really try to question the contract at all. He just does his job.

[milesmentis]

Hey so uhhh... What's Daren's opinion on Anders and Justice and their work in Kirkwall? (feel free to wait until your poll is over to answer this if it'll spoil the result)

Whaaaat ... nooooo ... my baaaaait ... it's been taaaaaaken (a thousand times, thank you 💚)

King-Consort Daren Cousland is generally considered a reasonable, fair-minded, diplomatic man by his peers (... marriage was really good for him lmao). He is devout, well-spoken, sometimes stodgy or bull-headed, but overall a model Andrastian ruler. Everyone knows he has a "weakness" when it comes to the "plight of mages" but he speaks respectfully of the Templar order and acknowledges the Chantry's sovereignty. (It would be laughable if someone tried to say how accepting he was about blood magic, for example ... right up until the Mage Rebellion, when he offers sanctuary to every Makerdamned apostate and bloodmage in the entire south of Thedas!)

Because Daren Cousland is the only OC who fully and unequivocally believes that Anders Did Nothing Wrong. Not because they hooked up that one time, or because they were both Wardens ... but because Daren knows that if Justice had picked him as a host ... the Kirkwall streets would have run fucking red.

There's a scene I've had rattling around in my head for a few months where he speaks to Anora about offering that refuge and she tries to talk him out of it, only to realize that this is one of the rare instances that her husband simply Will Not Budge about and that, apparently, she's been married to a closet mage libertarian this whole time who just knew better than to open his mouth in public. He tells her he's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years, and when she asks if he means since the Chantry explosion ... or the invasion of Kirkwall, he says, "Neither. This all goes back to Kinloch. We've been waiting nine years for the fall out, and now it's here." Because he and Heulwen have been watching the tension between the Chantry and the mages creep closer and closer to critical and laying their own contingency plans since the day the Circle tried to drag Anders back.

All of this to say that he would never ever EVER under pain of death air that opinion to either Hawke or Heulwen, because they are both mages, know/knew Anders/Justice personally, and feel crushing guilt about not being able to stop him. He has the luxury of not being a mage, so his opinions are just theoretical: he's never been at any personal risk. Least he can do now is protect the people who are.

[calicos-critters]

8, 11, 15 my favorite wife guy Ithelan

8: something written about one of your OC’s regrets

[A half burnt letter written in an Antivan Dalish dialect to his best friend in Antiva which evidently went unsent]

My dearest friend, This Inquisition has proven interesting thus far. My talents have been well used by their Spymaster, who is as brutal as she is beautiful. I have been well provided for, and the Inquisitor is rather sweet. It seems he has everyone wrapped around his little finger without even trying to. If I were a lesser man, I would be jealous of his capabilities. There is a snag, however. Their military Commander… he was a Templar until recently. I do not hold him any ill will, and his remorse is genuine enough. I admit my distrust to you alone, for I trust not anyone within the Inquisition as of yet enough to discuss it. He has been kind enough, but a kind man is still capable of many cruelties. I was a younger, less watchful man many years ago, and I do not intend to repeat the experience of my carelessness being the cause of someone’s death. I carry the guilt of her loss, as I should, and would prefer not to add others to this pile. Walk always in the shadows so Dirthamen may bless you, Ithelan Eanmanen

11: slander written about your OC

[A conversation overheard in Haven’s tavern regarding Ithelan immediately after he’s recruited]

Man: Have you seen that new elf? The one who says he’s from Antiva? Woman: He doesn’t sound like any Antivan I’ve ever met! Maybe he’s one of those Rivaini pirates. Man: I wonder what the Spymaster sees in him. Maybe he’s got a hand down her skirt. Woman: He’s got his hand down lots of skirts. I heard those healers snuck off with him last night.  Man: Impossible! Clement said he was with an elven serving girl just that morning. Flissa: What are you two talking about? He wasn’t in Haven last night. He arrived this morning with an urgent message for the Inquisitor.

15: something written to your OC by a younger member of their family 

[A letter written in an Antivan Dalish found in one of the bedrooms of Skyhold on a small writing desk]

Brother, I suppose you think yourself incredibly clever, pulling another disappearing act like this. You’ve already disappeared off onto the sea for several years to “broaden your horizons,” and now you expect me to believe you’re following Dirthamen by joining this Andrastian led Inquisition? I pray Ghilan’nain is guiding your path, for your brain certainly isn’t. I’ll miss you terribly regardless, even if this is a respite from your incessant quips. Come home when you can, preferably with gifts. Dalinev says he’ll be praying to Andruil your arrows strike the heart of whatever nonsense is causing the sky to turn green. Mama and Papa are proud of you. Missing you, Vunora Eanmanen

[elegaeica]

QUICK RUNDOWNS OF MY DRAGON AGE CHARACTERS:

sura tabris, dual dagger rogue. a near exact - copy of her late mother, oldest daughter syndrome but specifically towards her cousins soris and shianni. joins the wardens primarily to save them from the consequences of her actions in teagan's castle. a sweetheart that's rough around the edges because the world she lives in forced her to be. went with zevran to antiva to help his plan to reclaim the crows and to see the world.

amaya surana, battlemage. ambitious from head to toe, groomed to be irving's successor from a young age. double crossed jowan to irving in an attempt to prove her loyalty to the circle and instead got herself in deeper trouble. just trying to make the world better for mages everywhere. isolationist who believes mages should have their own place away from the rest of the world but... tevinter isn't an option for her as an elf for obvious reasons. returns to the circle following the end of the blight and eventually becomes first enchanter before the mage rebellion.

naya amell, shapeshifter. tired, just very tired and trying to keep her head down and survive in the circle. hoping to become the arcane advisor to some bann or arl in the future. helps jowan genuinely out of fear for her friend. very kind, but very weary. she goes to weisshaupt after the blight and lives as a warden because she really has nowhere else to go. partakes in awakening and later takes stroud's place in inquisition.

aliena brosca, two - handed warrior. a golden heart beneath many many layers of stone erected to protect herself because of the world she was raised in. very angry at the world for everything that has been done to her and her sister for the mere circumstances of their birth. casteless turned paragon but unable to return to orzammar because of the memories and mother that wait there. travels with shale and wynne to minrathous to restore shale's mortality.

aurelia aeducan, sword & shield warrior. the favored aeducan sibling above both of her brothers by all of orzammar and the assembly and hated by both of them because of it. framed for trian's murder by bhelen, who she thought loved her. wise, just, and clever, she manages to get herself elected as queen by the assembly instead of either harrowmont or bhelen, and returns to orzammar to act as its queen after the blight.

aravas mahariel, bow & arrow rogue. the cautious voice of reason that tried to convince tamlen to leave the ruins, quiet and clever and so so guilty over tamlen's fate. can't return to the clan after the blight because of the guilt and fear, but can't stay with the wardens because of the trauma. fakes her own death after slaying the archdemon and continues to travel through thedas. very "can't settle anywhere because she's running from something and not towards" energy.

mina hawke, force mage. oldest daughter syndrome cranked to 100. combination of sarcastic and diplomatic personality. brought carver down to the deep roads with her and brought him to the wardens. allied with the mages throughout her time in kirkwall, killed the arishok, killed anders. desperately just trying to keep everything from falling apart and slowly losing the battle. keeping up a positive exterior while enduring a decade - long panic attack.

victorine trevelyan, dual - dagger rogue. believes herself to be andraste's chosen until she is violently proven otherwise in the battle at adamant and her fall into the fade where she has an aggressive crisis of faith. confident and silver - tongued, she's an amazing inquisitor who knows how to wield the power she's been given. commits the inquisition to the chantry rather than fully disbanding it.

nicolette trevelyan, knight - enchanter mage. thedas' equivalent of walking talking catholic/andrastian guilt. was born a mage and has spent her entire life trying to atone for that fact. one bad day away from a nervous breakdown, constantly asking "are you mad at me" and has to slowly grow a spine throughout the events of inquisition. disbands the inquisition after trespasser.

maella lavellan, rift mage. clan lavellan's first who was just supposed to be checking out wtf was going on with this damn war and get an estimation for how much longer they would have to avoid human settlements and instead got roped into this chantry cult. unwilling martyr/saint figure who very much protests any and all reference to her being the herald of andraste. disbands the inquisition after trespasser and goes into quasi-hiding after the fact, living with the dalish clan encountered in the emerald graves. (maella's romance of solas is important to her character development - i won't forceship with any solas writers, but her past romance with him will likely be referenced in interactions with other characters)

[worldevoured]

LELIANA MERCIER  B. 9:05 DRAGON || COMPANION

STATISTICS

FULL NAME Leliana Mercier.

DATE OF BIRTH 9:05 Dragon.

PLACE OF BIRTH Jader.

RACE Human.

GENDER Cisgender woman.

PRONOUNS She/her/hers.

SEXUALITY Bisexual.

NATIONALITY Fereldan / Orlesian.

RELIGION Andrastian.

POSITIVE TRAITS Adaptable, charismatic, empathetic, perceptive.

NEGATIVE TRAITS Calculating, deceitful, fanatical, secretive.

PHOBIAS None.

MENTAL HEALTH PTSD.

AFFILIATION Chantry.

TITLES Lay Sister, Left Hand of the Divine, Divine Victoria ( conditional ).

SKILLS & ABILITIES

CLASS Rogue.

SPECIALIZATION Assassin, bard.

WEAPON Longbow.

COMPANION STATS

Follows most Origins canon regarding approval and disapproval.

CONNECTIONS

FAMILY Evariste ( father, estranged & deceased ), Oisine ( mother, deceased ).

WANTED SHIPS Leliana/Warden, Leliana/Cassandra, Leliana/Inquisitor, Leliana/Vivienne.

NOTES

ON LELIANA’S CHARACTERIZATION While Leliana is by far the most liberal and progressive candidate for Divine, it’s also extremely important to note ( and will be discussed on this blog ) that Leliana has, on Justinia’s command, been party to the mass murder of the elves at Halamshiral, and would have been party to the mass murder of the mages at Kirkwall, had Justinia led an Exalted March. Leliana is willing to let people suffer for what she deems a greater good, even if she feels awful about it, and that won’t be glossed over. Leliana does feel guilt for this, but she feels that privately. Leliana is very skilled at compartmentalizing her feelings, and doesn’t like the thought of anyone sharing in those feelings, with very few exceptions.

ON MARJOLAINE Leliana is a survivor of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, a great deal ( if not all ) of which was carried out by Marjolaine, either directly or on her orders. This is an important part of who Leliana is, and while it’s not something she talks about, it does influence her long after Marjolaine’s death. Any discussion will be appropriately tagged. Regardless of the Warden’s choices, Leliana will always kill Marjolaine in Denerim. 

ON LELIANA’S NAME Leliana’s surname is an occupational name suggesting that her family were once merchants; the name was taken during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden. She does not use her surname, and it would not be well-known, except to very old and trusted friends. I’m using it strictly for organization purposes.

[doctorhawke]

all six of my oc hawkes in one big thing, i have an au where they are all a big happy family and run amok in kirkwall

below the cut theres “brief” bios for them all (including their names because my renditions of their handwriting might not be very legible) and a little chart showing more insight into their personality makeup

all the ages are from act 1, after a year in kirkwall, relative to carver and bethany’s 20 (fyi they both survive in this au and both become grey wardens. cannot IMAGINE that any of these hawkes would let one of their littlest siblings fight an ogre 1v1 when theres literally eight of them lmfao they tag team it like they do everything)

steve hawke- he/him, age 27, adopted by the hawkes at 8. steve is a mage, a healer, and a pacifist. as such when there are fights he will focus on incapacitating enemies without harming them (force magic and mind blast comes in handy) and especially on supporting the team through healing. he’s gay and immediately takes to anders, mainly because he spends a lot of time helping in his clinic. 

he strongly believes in mage rights especially as malcolm imparted a lot of responsibility on him towards his younger mage siblings, nyx and bethany. he’s protective and a bit of a worrier, though as time goes on in kirkwall he becomes more and more exhausted, and starts to cope through making light of things. post-game, he and anders are on the run. 

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kit hawke- he/him, age 24, bio kid, and a dual-wielding rogue. he’s bold, charming, and a bit of a pessimist- all of which kirkwall amplifies by virtue of being a crazy fucking city. kit is also pretty business minded and usually spearheads bone pit related shenanigans. varric (who deeply cares for all the hawkes of course) immediately takes to him and the two are inseparable. 

kit is bi, and likes to have fun, though over time he falls for both isabela and fenris, and over time the three get together and become the most impressive trio you ever saw. all kit’s siblings are kind of like “are you serious dude, we have a limited number of friends and you end up with two of them? what about the rest of us” but considering the amount of drama and heartbreak kit undergoes over the years in relation to his love life, they all kind of figure he’s earned the happy ending. post-game the three of them become pirates on isabela’s ship and free slaves in between tracking down hidden treasure or whatever it is that pirates do, and they eventually have adorable baby twins. 

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syl hawke- she/her, age 26, bio kid but only leandra’s, she actually is varric’s half sibling (though she does NOT know this and the sibling rivalry that develops upon them meeting is incomprehensible to the both of them). so syl is the shortest of the bunch, and looks a lot more like varric and bartrand than kit, carver, or bethany, despite them all being related. 

syl’s the only warrior of the group (other than carver- a dynamic duo), fights with hammers exclusively, and has a tendency to be super intense. she doesn’t really get humor at all, in the rare case that she accidentally makes a joke and people laugh she assumes they’re laughing AT her. she’s also very shoot first and ask questions later, and the only hawke more protective than steve is. her big sister energy is off the charts and she’s prepared to kill any templar that so much as looks at her family. as such she’s staunchly pro-mage.

she’s a lesbian and has massive game despite not really being any good at flirting- it’s probably her sheer intensity. she and isabela have a brief fling, tallis is very taken with her, and she has a rivalry-fueled sexual tension with aveline for ages (the long road is a VERY fun quest to play through with syl). however she was always very supportive of and close with merrill and eventually the two fall in love. once they’re together they’re insanely sweet and have mega chemistry and i love them so fucking much. post-game they’re forced to leave kirkwall but end up living in the denerim alienage.

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lith hawke- she/her, age 25, adopted by the hawkes at 9 along with her twin nyx. an archer rogue, with speed taking precedence over power or precision. lith is a lot to take in okay. she’s the only one who’s pro-templar in the group, and is a rabid andrastian. back home in lothering her chantry beliefs were instrumental in keeping her family safe, as she not only knew every templar by name (as the whole family did) but also is endlessly trustworthy to them and to all the chantry sisters and mothers. countless times a templar might have come calling to take away one of her siblings or her father, but was dissuaded by lith- after all, little lith hawke would NEVER help hide apostates, right?

she supports her siblings because she believes that in the end their souls will be saved. (the only thing that freaks her out more than nyx’s blood magic is when syl casually drops that she’s thinking about converting to merrill’s religion.) she doesn’t trust mages if they aren’t related to her, and always advocates for the circle when given the chance. she’s best friends with fenris and they hang out a lot, more and more as the years pass. since merrill and anders both move into the hawke estate (which was already a bit of a circus, can you imagine the chaos?) lith finds herself more and more outnumbered ideologically and often escapes to fenris’ mansion for some quiet. 

during the endgame, she sides against her family and the mages. she basically has a villainous breakdown. she helps them kill meredith and once it’s revealed that meredith had been influenced by the lyrium idol, lith’s whole worldview is pretty much shattered. post-game she leaves the city and seeks out her cousin, ash amell (i have eight wardens so im not going to get into this but basically my amell and my cousland (eve) are in a gay throuple with leliana and its dope as all hell). spending time with ash, eve, and leliana is very healing for her, but all her siblings assume she’s dead and she doesn’t see them for years after kirkwall. 

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nyx hawke- they/them, age 25, adopted by the hawkes at 9 along with their twin lith. nyx is the blood mage of the group, and is an absolute icon quite frankly. they’re very chaotic, and especially close with kit, merrill, and isabela. nyx has a ton of fun fighting, and they and syl make an especially good team in combat. nyx always looks up to syl and its very sweet, and syl is the only one in the family who never once messed up nyx’s pronouns (everyone is very good about this of course, and by kirkwall its a non-issue, but even lith slipped up once or twice early on). 

they have very noodly arms because they’ve never had to worry about fighting hand to hand when running out of mana, because of the blood magic. this leads to quite a bit of teasing but tbh they pull it off. nyx is bi and has a thing with isabela for a short while but in the end they’re better as best friends. 

nyx and lith are very close. they’re often perfectly in sync when doing things, especially in combat, and have that twin esp thing going on which can get spooky at times. however they also bicker a lot, and obviously clash on ideology pretty much constantly. though this is the norm nyx always assumed they would have each other’s backs no matter what when it came down to the nitty gritty, and lith’s betrayal during the endgame is really heartbreaking for them. 

over the years anders and nyx do a lot of collaborating when it comes to mage rights. they help him polish his manifesto, and smuggle mages out of the gallows. the only real reason nyx isn’t brought into the loop on the chantry explosion was a mixtures of anders’ crushing guilt and his knowledge that if he told nyx and not steve, steve would be really hurt. (however he couldn’t tell steve because he didn’t want the deaths to be on steve’s conscience- anders knows he definitely would have helped if it came down to that). post-game nyx goes on to be one of the leaders of the mage rebellion.

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lou hawke- he/him, age 22, adopted by the hawkes at 10. hes a cowboy and i love him. an archer rogue, he prioritizes powerful firing over speed or precision. he’s a massive sweetheart, terminally polite, and has massive ears that he’s self-conscious of and tries to cover with his hair. however whenever his hair gets long enough to cover them leandra starts poking and prodding him to get a trim and he’s always too soft to refuse for long, beginning the cycle again (and after leandra is murdered he always keeps his hair to her liking- he gets weepy if it grows too long). he’s the only hawke i’ve drawn without his in-game outfit because this fucking game doesn’t have cowboy hats or cute shirts with tassles and i do what i want. 

lou also plays instruments, he’s got a guitar and a harmonica and plays the piano passably. he IS the piano man in the eyes of the hanged man’s patrons. sing us a song, they tell him, etc. he manages ten minutes of harmonica in the deep roads, citing excellent acoustics, until anders tells him to stop because the darkspawn will hear. when the hawkes get rich lou buys a horse and goes for morning rides out on the wounded coast. 

lou is bi, and runs around for years with a massive crush on isabela but that doesn’t exactly work out. he ends up with jethann (theres a lot of lore here but suffice it to say its extremely tender) and post-game they leave kirkwall and end up owning a ranch not far outside denerim. lou hires lots of farmhands that end up looking to him as a father figure and its super sweet, and jethann refuses to do manual labor. 

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this got insanely long i am SO sorry flkjsdlkgjlkcxjglsfkd

feel free to send any asks relating to them because i really love this family so much and could talk about them forever dlfskjlxcjglskd if you couldnt tell from this diatribe

[crazycatladyk]

Savior (Solea Hawke - Ch 2)

Chapter 1

Waking up was like trying to swim with weights on her ankle. That is to say, it was exhausting.  Solea neared the surface of consciousness a few times, floating at the edge where light filtered brightly and she could hear the faint voices of people around her but then the weights pulled her back down as her body fell victim to fatigue.

During the times she was lost in the lightless depths, the Fade conjured up memories of her family, dreams that for once, she had no control of.  She dreamt of sitting in her father’s lap as a small child, her clumsy infant fingers tracing the lines of lyrium that marked his tan skin.  She looked up at him in wide eyed wonder and he smiled warmly back at her, eyes bright with emotion.

It had been a favorite pastime of hers as a child, she’d tug insistently at his shirt until he took it off so she could trace his markings, marvel at them.  She’d always been fascinated by them.  It was only much later in her life that she learnt that she was the only one besides her mom that he willingly let do so and why.

She dreamt of the night her parents sent her out of Kirkwall and to the Dalish clan outside the city walls.  She remembered stumbling through the dark alleyways of the city, following behind Merrill and clinging to Varric’s coat sleeve as she cried.  She’d wanted to wail her anguish for all the city to hear. It was their fault she couldn’t be a normal kid, their fault she couldn’t grow up with her parents, their fault for shoving her mother onto a pedestal, making her both Champion and a target.

Despite her violent rage at the city and sorrow for her fate, Solea kept dutifully quiet.  Don’t be heard, don’t be seen, you must be invisible, a passing shadow to others.  This was the mantra she’d been raised on and she knew better to raise attention to herself.  No one could know she existed, it was safer that way, for everyone.  By the time, they caught sight of the first aravel, her eyes were dry and her face blank.

What followed that was a stream of various snapshots of her life growing up. Days spent with Varric out in the forest, challenging each other to archery contests.  Nights spent dueling her mother by torchlight or studying with Keeper Marethari about the ways of the Dalish and magic.  Laughing wildly as her father tossed her on his shoulders and ran around while she clung to his shock white hair. Though happy, the memories were tinged with the sour taste of her guilt at disobeying her parents and leaving.

When she finally broke free of the surface, Solea lurched upwards, gasping for air.  A loud clattering noise drew her attention to an elvish woman who was frozen and staring at her with terror in her eyes and a broken box at her feet. Frantically, Solea looked down at herself but she wasn’t glowing.  

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” The young woman stuttered.

“It’s fine, but where exactly am I? What happened?” Solea cast her gaze about the small cabin as she spoke but found no clues to tell her where she was.

Instead of answering, the woman threw herself at the ground, prostrating herself submissively as she pleaded, “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.” When she got no response to this, the elf continued on hastily. “You’re back in Haven, my lady. They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand.  It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!”

Solea’s growing dread that the woman’s deference meant they’d discovered who her parents were was diminished against the news about her mark.  She peered down at her hand, thankfully still covered in a glove, and cast her magic carefully out. Probing gently she discovered that her mark had indeed ceased creeping up her arm.  The pain had stopped as well, she realized with relief, recalling the journey to the Breach.

The closer they’d gotten to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the harder she had to focus on staying in control.  Solea felt the weakness of the Veil as they neared the epicenter of the chaos, felt the barrier separating worlds grow paper thin. The temptation to just slip through and disappear pulled at the lines of her body and she had to keep most of her attention on fighting the urge, which severely crippled her fighting abilities.

The good news was when she finally stepped into the Temple interior, that temptation disappeared. The bad news was that it only happened because her mark had erupted into flashing white hot pain as the magic within responded to her proximity to the Breach.  She could feel the mark spreading as the magic fought against her for more space on her body.

Then, she’d tried to close the rift at the Breach and that, that had made the previous pain feel irrelevant.  It had felt like every cell in her arm was splitting apart and she thought her arm might actually tear apart.  Even the memory of it made Solea clench her hand reflexively.

Shaking away her thoughts, Solea realized the elf was staring at her expectantly as if waiting for her to say something.  She wasn’t sure what to say but she knew she needed to figure out if anything had been discovered about her while she’d been unconscious for three whole days. She hoped her current covered state meant Varric had been able to keep them from undressing her in their attempts at healing.

“What you said earlier, does that mean…” she recalled the vicious, hateful glares and slurs that had been flung at her as she followed behind the Seeker in chains. “are people pleased? What about the Seeker?”

The woman froze again in fear. Solea wished she’d stop doing that. “Oh my! Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened. She said ‘at once’! She’s in the Chantry with the Lord Chancellor. ‘At once’ she said!”  Without another word, she scurried out of the cabin like it was on fire, letting in a sudden gust of cold and a glimpse of snowy banks before the door slammed shut behind her.

Solea sighed into the empty space. She didn’t like the picture the elf had painted of the situation waiting for her.  Thankfully, it sounded like the Breach was closed which meant all she had to do was grab Varric and the two of them could slip out of Haven undetected. Her hopes of discretion were dashed the moment she stepped out the cabin door.  Dazzling sunlight reflecting off snow blinded her momentarily but the moment her eyes adjusted, she dropped into a crouch, tensing as she reached instinctively for her daggers, which she didn’t have.

There were people everywhere.  Soldiers lined the path from the door, and more civilians crowded around behind them. And they were all staring at her.  No one moved or spoke, they were just staring and slowly, as nothing happened, the fear clouding her mind dissipated.  Now she could see that there was only about a hundred people, not the many hundreds they had initially seemed like.  The men in armor were not templars, just normal soldiers.  They were even saluting her, with fists clenched at their chests.

What the hell was she supposed to do now?  She hadn’t planned on going anywhere near Chantry and certainly didn’t want to have any more conversations with the Seeker, but she didn’t appear to have any other options. She started down the pathway stiffly, taking care to stay directly in the middle and maintain as much space as possible between her and the soldiers on either side.  All of them seemed to tower over her small frame and she’d never felt so short nor so aware of her age.  

The entire pathway to the Chantry was lined and as she passed people she caught snippets of conversations and whispers from the crowd.  The called her the Herald of Andraste, muttered various Andrastian blessings at her, and she had to bite back the urge to scream at them to shut up.  She was no blessed idol.  Creators, she wasn’t even religious.  

Frustration burned in her gut and her patience was fleeting by the time she reached the massive wooden doors of the Chantry.  She was on edge around so many people, tense from constantly scanning the faces around her for threats and innately uncomfortable at having so many people focused on her.  Her whole life had been centered around avoiding attention, and this blatant fixation on her was unnerving.  She never thought she’d miss being on the run.

The reverent quiet of the Chantry interior was soothing on her frayed nerves and Solea fell back against the doors in relief, closing her eyes.  She inhaled the faint scent of wood from the solid surface at her spine.  After several deep meditative breaths, Solea felt her calm, along with her control, return and she stepped away from the door.

She was drawn down the hall towards the cacophony of voices that leaked out from behind the shut door at the end of the hall.  Clearly there was an argument going on and as she approached she recognized the Seeker’s voice along with the faintly Orlesian accent of the redhead, Leliana.  The male voice was as familiar as its scorn for her as it argued for Solea’s arrest. Chancellor Roderick, of course. He was clearly not pleased with her current status as a non-prisoner.

Solea hesitated outside the door. It wasn’t too late, she thought, she could still turn around and leave.  She remembered the crowds of people outside and thought of the guards she’d seen posted at the gate out of Haven.  There wasn’t going to be an easy exit right now. Her best move was to wait for a better opportunity to present itself; for now, she would brave the situation on the other side of the door.

Decided, she pushed open the door cautiously and the first thing she saw was Leliana and the Seeker standing next to each other beside a large wood table that took up most of the room. At the end of the table, Chancellor Roderick turned to face her, is face bright red as he demanded that the guards, stationed on either side of the doorway, arrest her immediately.  Solea dropped straight into a crouch, and yet again grabbed for weapons that she didn’t have but before she could make a move, the commanding tone of the Seeker rang out.

“Disregard that, and leave us.”

Solea immediately dodged far away from the guards who were decked in Templar armor, easily identifiable by the giant sword emblem on the breastplate.  Though she couldn’t sense any lyrium in their blood, her heart still raced and she didn’t breathe again until the door had shut firmly behind the guards who clearly cared more about the Seeker’s authority than the Chancellor’s.  She felt less on edge with the Chantry guards gone, but Solea still stayed close to the door, ready to escape should the need arise.

Tuning back in to the ongoing argument, Solea caught Leliana’s curious gaze focused on her.  There was a sharp intellect in the woman’s eyes that made her uneasy and something told Solea that not only had Leliana noticed her reaction to the guards but that she was analyzing every bit of it as well.  Her first instinct was to avert her eyes, avoid attention, but her frustration from earlier had not entirely abated and so she glared back challengingly while noting mentally to keep an eye on the redhead.

Eyes glittering, Leliana broke away first, interjecting into the conversation that Solea realized she should probably pay attention to considering they were talking about her. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others - or have allies who yet live.”  At this, Leliana looked pointedly at the Chancellor who looked aghast.

“I am a suspect? But not the prisoner?”

“I heard the voices in the temple.” Cassandra argued. “The Divine called to her for help.”

Chancellor Roderick scoffed. “So her survival, that thing on her hand, is all a coincidence?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Solea laughed out loud, startling everyone in the room who turned to her in surprise. She looked at the Seeker incredulously, “You think your beloved Maker sent me, an elven child, to be your savior?” She chuckled again and remembering the importance her cover story, added a mumbled. “You shem really are crazy.”

“I will not pretend to understand the will of the Maker but you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.”  The resolute faith in the coal dark of the Seeker’s eyes mirrored the steel in her voice it sent shivers down Solea’s spine.

[rennybu]

hi I have some Orson questions!! who is Orson closest to, within the party, aside from Fenris? :0 what is his relationship like with his closest friend? what’s his favorite outfit and why? thanks!! love ur ocs so much!!

OOOOUH.. Merrill and Varric for sure!!!

He’s got that once-in-a-lifetime effortless sort of friendship with Varric!! Finish each others’ sentences, don’t have to worry about impressing or proving themselves to each other, can offer each other the emotional support/advice that they can’t give themselves SKJFHKSJF!! i Love The Varric/Hawke Soulmate Dynamic. By the time Inquisition rolls around its uncanny how well and familiarly they work together. 2 exhausted dudes

Merrill!! Merrill makes it feel nice to be a mage because its just how she lives!! Spending time talking with her about spells and mana and all things in between reminds him of his best days spent as a child with Bethany and their father. A little pocket of the world where magic can just exist and be talked about and he can shrug off his well-raised Andrastian apostate guilt for a MINUTE

His favourite outfit... is... the most luxurious, fleecy/flannel loungewear he owns once moving into the Amell estate, robe undone whether his binder is on or off skjdhf. Bodahn implores him to please tie it up. Orson can’t hear him, he’s too comfortable, too cozy

[cloudgazercadash]

1, 35

1. What is their specialisation and why?

Thora has a specialisation that isn’t accessible in DA:I, aka the Beserker specialisation. She learned it before Inquisition, although informally, and there’s the potential for her to get a professional trainer during Inquisition the same as an Inquisitor with one of the in-game specialisations. I was talking to Joly the other day about the idea of Thora meeting Oghren, and finding herself in this place of really not liking him but also forcing herself to interact with him because she realises he could teach her more about being a Beserker. Realising that though made me very disappointed about the complete lack of Oghrens to plot with.

As stated in DA2, “The dwarven culture is in decline, and many dwarves have turned to the surface, bringing their customs and battle traditions with them.” (x) Thora learned from a Surface dwarf who learned from a Surface dwarf and so on, until you eventually reach someone who was trained by a professional Orzammar Beserker such as Oghren. She pursued it for a few reasons. First, anchoring herself in dwarven culture is something that’s incredibly important to Thora. It’s why she educates herself about the Stone as best she can despite being raised by Andrastians, and it’s why when the opportunity to study an ancient dwarven battle style presents itself, she takes it.

Second, Thora’s appetite for battle and blood is low. Working herself up into a rage so potent she can hardly think straight is a coping mechanism. Not a particularly healthy one, either, there’s a reason that after Trespasser she doesn’t want to relearn how to fight. But for the years where she has to battle just to get by (or to save the world) it’s the thing that’s stopping her from breaking down after every battle.

Third, while it’s not the healthiest way to deal with her pent-up frustration, it’s more or less the only place she gets to explore what’s making her angry until later in Inquisition. Before the Conclave, living life as a Carta dwarf, it was pointless to express why she was angry in her head because the reasons she was angry were things she couldn’t change. Then as Inquisitor/Herald, it takes her a while to form connections with people, but she does eventually find a place where she can talk about her frustrations without battle needing to be an outlet. Because when it comes down to it, although she strives to be optimistic and kind, she’s found herself angry about the way the world is (and rightfully so tbh) which leads her to feeling guilt for that. Her friends in the Inquisition and her agency to do more about what she’s angry about helps her grow past that.

35. What did they think of Bianca?

When Bianca showed up she trusted her and took her at her word, which in hindsight was a mistake. She knew Varric was capable of lying, but trusted his judgment anyway.

She was friendly to Bianca throughout the quest up until the revelation that she lied to get them here, at which point she got a little mad. If Bianca had been honest with them from the beginning, the quest would have more or less panned out the same. Bianca, of course, couldn’t have known that so I can honestly say lying would have been the better move from her perspective (though being honest with Varric, at least, would have been ideal. Especially because Varric has been shown capable of lying to protect people he cares for). But from Thora’s perspective, she was used for basically no reason.

What’s more, she was lied and used to by a member of the Smith Caste, one of the most respected castes in Orzammar and a caste that still has a lot of respect on the Surface– both by kalna Surface dwarves and by human society. Thora may be in a completely different position than she was a year or so ago, before the Conclave, but she still carries a lot of the hurt from being essentially the Most Casteless even among Casteless that she can’t just let that detail drop. It was kind of a slap in the face, realising that even as Inquisitor dwarves of higher castes could still use her. It does teach her a lesson, though, one she’ll keep in mind when interacting with other high caste dwarves in the future.

Ultimately though, she doesn’t hold a grudge against Bianca and I think the two could be friends if they were allowed more time together. There’s a lot about Bianca she respects and has sympathy for– both of them have experienced the pressure to marry, and Thora loves the idea of her being made a Paragon. Two Surface Paragons within Thora’s lifetime isn’t something she would have ever dreamed of as a girl.

[milesmentis]

4, 16, 21 for the da meme

4) What is their attitude towards Andrastianism?

I touched on this with the religious beliefs answer, but I literally always want to talk about religion, so thank you. For Gil, it is a background radiation. It's just part of her world and she doesn't question it. While the structure of the chantry (and especially the Circles) bothers her, it also doesn't cause any massive crisis of faith. For Hallapan, the Chantry is an open threat and any and all offers of friendship come with a history (and probable future) of violence. It's why she doesn't back Leliana for Divine: she says a Chantry where all are welcomed and Lup hears a Chantry that no one can escape. She doesn't have a problem with Andrastians ... as long as they keep it far far away from her: learning about Ameridan was devastating to her personally. Daren's an interesting case of someone who is very personally devout, but is also live and let live about other people's traditions. His friendship with Velanna is literally so special to me. He's also vocally critical (with his friends) of the Chantry itself as a means of amassing and wielding power/wealth more than serving the Maker or living out Andraste's teachings. So for example, championing mage freedom is a natural extension of his Andrastianism, not a contradiction.

16) Do they get sentimental about their weapons or armour?

Daren, very much so. In game, I equip the Cousland sword and shield during the siege and they do not come off for the rest of the game. I also headcanon that he sold his own armor after the Joining as a final sign that his old life was behind him. (It was a set of veridium plate and he didn't get 1/10 what it was worth.)

Gil, not really. She's too practical and although she eventually retrieves and cherishes Malcolm's robe and staff, she never uses them. Her staff and "robes" are all picked to be as unassuming as possible: for half the time she lives in Kirkwall everyone outside of her friends and family is working on the assumption that Hawke is a melee fighter who uses a glaive.

For Hallapan, sort of. She isn't particularly attached to her weapons or armor, but the second I saw her in the Dalish starting armor, I was obsessed. The fact that she ends the game in the Sentinel armor is also ... very important to me.

21) What is their biggest regret?

Ooooooh.

So during the Blight, Daren's biggest regret is not staying to defend his parents to the end: he's passively suicidal for a decent portion of the game because of it. Afterwards, the in game choice he regrets the most is crowning Harrowmont. It's the decision he's least able to justify in retrospect and believes that he simply didn't have enough patience, information, or time to choose better. Gil's is definitely not being able to save her mom: enough said. Hallapan's personal philosophy doesn't leave a lot of room for guilt or regret (one of many things she butts heads with Solas over), so I almost said she didn't have one. Then I remembered Cole. She regrets making him a spirit, and depending on what we learn in DA4, she might come to regret drinking from the Well, too.

[elfyourmother]

💚 Loghain, according to Khedira and Mari?

Khedira is very fond of Loghain and tbh out of all the advisors she’s by far the closest to him. Like Blackwall they have the Ugly Past in common and are both atoners but unlike Blackwall, Khedira knows Loghain’s story from the very beginning and she saw even in Haven how the Fereldans in the organization held such mixed views on him. And HOO BOY can she relate to that, when she first became an itinerant seer and was traveling through Rivain. Helping people who have every right to fear and despise you because of your actions is like Big Mood to her. and she feels like he really Gets It, that the important thing is to try no matter how people might view you and your present actions in light of your past. they also share that tremendously dry sense of humor and bond as non-Andrastians surrounded by Chantry folk. and the way he loves Ferelden is the way she loves Rivain, and it’s only matched by how much he loves Gisele and Alistair. she can’t help but admire that. they spend a lot of late nights just talking about these things over a pot of tea. Khedira appreciates the way he respects her a great deal (his deference toward her is probably a result of his upbringing as much as her actions. he treats her like the old traditional priestesses), more so than any of the other Fereldans she’s met. they get each other, the way she and Blackwall do.

ngl I lowkey ship them but Loghain would never go there with her because of his weird sense of loyalty and also because he’s a Mess when it comes to romance and always has been. I mean it took him an actual decade to admit that he had feelings for Leliana and he’s still in denial about it to a degree to the point he was even rationalizing it away literally minutes after they fucked, and he has some totally irrational sense that he’s betraying Gisele because of it. half the time he still feels like an absolute piece of cradle robbing shit for falling in love with Alistair aka the man who overthrew his daughter, aka Maric’s son, and the less said about his Gisele guilt the better. dude is a basket case and barely believes he’s worthy of the love he already has. if Khedira ever actually approached him (and it would 1000000% have to be her making the first move), he’d probably splutter and run away lmao.

Mari adores him because of his devotion to his family. Family is so, so, so important to her, and it becomes very obvious within five minutes of talking to him how much he cares about his partners and children. Mari also has a well documented soft spot for brusque dudes who appear to be grumpy on the surface but are actually deeply passionate and ridiculously sentimental. This went into overdrive when Anora visited Skyhold at one point and she happened to see him giving her a massive dad hug; it made her tear up a little, because it reminded her of her own dad and how much she missed him. In part due to  that, they strike up a very odd couple sort of friendship; he reminds her a lot of the old mercs from the Irregulars that her dad used to hang out with all the time, and there’s something comforting about that. She likes how blunt he is, how he won’t sugarcoat things but is supportive at the same time, and she ends up confiding in him a lot. He knows what it’s like to have to live with terrible mistakes. He’s empathetic and he’s not judgey but he doesn’t coddle her the way Sebastian or Varric sometimes do. He really does remind her a lot of Fenris, actually, in temperament (though Fenris is much more openly demonstrative). Mari can trust him when he compliments her, because she knows he’s not full of shit. And most importantly, two different mabari love him, so that’s all she needs to know. She also likes that he beats Varric and Isabela at cards.

When Carver starts up on his rants about Loghain being a traitor who doesn’t deserve to be a Warden or deserve anything but the gallows etc etc, Mari tells him to shut up. XD

[randomnonsensedragonage]

First Crush

Rora Surana backstory -- 1397 words

Rating: G

A/N: A kind-of sequel to “A New Friend,” featuring my warden as a preteen dealing with crushes and social anxiety at the Circle. Also, Anders is mentioned a lot, but doesn’t actually appear.

Not sure how interesting this is gonna be for most people but... oh well.

Dear Anders, Rora wrote

She looked up, checking to make sure that neither her class’ Enchanter nor her seatmates were looking at her, then continued writing.

How are you? Do you remember me?

She glanced up again, brushing her cheek with the end of her quill. The Enchanter, deep into her lecture on healing energies, paced the room, and Rora, half listening, considered erasing the line she’d just written.

Probably “Do you remember me?” was a silly question. Either he remembered her or he didn’t, and if he’d forgotten her, he might be embarrassed that he had. She crossed out the line and replaced it with, This is Rora.

She fidgeted in her chair, then scribbled,

I was wondering if you…

She stopped. “Was wondering if you…” what? Wanted to talk? Wanted to spend time together? Both ideas made a blush creep from her face to her neck, and made her a little dizzy. She crossed out this line as well.

I saw you the other day and…

She stopped again, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Was it wise to bring up the other day?

She’d been walking past her favorite corridor of practice rooms when she’d heard muffled crying. When she went to investigate the door to the room had been ajar, and it was then that she saw him. He sat on the floor, face buried in his knees and shoulders shaking. It had been years since they’d last spoken but she recognized him immediately. Everyone knew Anders.

Thinking of the scene again, renewed shame washed over her. She immediately crossed out the line, scribbling over it until it was impossible to read. She didn’t want Anders to know that she’d seen him crying, and didn’t want to remind herself that she’d run away—like she always did—instead of seeing if he needed help.

She frowned, and poised her quill once more.

“Surana?”

She looked up. The Enchanter at the front of the room, and her classmates, were all looking at her. She felt the urge to shrink in her seat, but instead she blinked and said, “Hmm?”

Her classmates giggled, and the Enchanter looked surprised. It wasn’t like Rora not to pay attention in class.

“As I said: in what year can we find the first recorded mention of a Mass Rejuvenation spell?”

“1:20 Divine,” Rora said, without missing a beat. She’d learned that fact in a book when she was ten.

The Enchanter nodded, the class continued, and Rora went back to half paying attention, half thinking about her note.

Rora didn’t manage to finish the note in class, and instead spent the rest of the lecture doodling cats in the margins of the paper. Hours later found her sitting on her bunk in her dormitory, studying the half-written note and still thinking about what else to say. That was, until someone called her.

“Rora, you want to join us?”

She looked up. The other apprentices in her year had clumped up on a few bunks that were near each other to form a kind of loose circle. As usual, they were talking and giggling about something.

“Maybe later,” Rora said.

Immediate protests went up from several of the apprentices, “Come on, Rora,” “You never want to talk,” “Get over here.”

Guilt, mixed with panic, filled her. It would be rude and awkward to refuse coming over now. Why didn’t people ever understand that she just wanted to be alone sometimes?

Not sure what else to do, Rora tucked the letter into her book on early Andrastian martyrdom and came over.

Feeling clumsy and small, Rora took a seat between a bored-looking Jowan—who gave her a sympathetic smile as she sat down—and tall girl called Sharon. The others tittered and jostled, greeting her before going back to their conversation.

She and her year mates were new to this dormitory. Now that they were twelve they’d finally been able to move out of the “baby dormitories” and into the quarters for the eldest apprentices. Back in their old room there had been a mage assigned to look after them, but here there was no supervision aside from their older dorm mates—who usually ignored them anyway—and the Templars who patrolled outside.

Most of her friends had been excited to move, looking forward to the relative freedom of the new arrangement, but Rora missed her old room. She missed the mage who’d watched over them since they were small, and she missed how much more quiet and orderly things had been. Now that they were allowed to stay up a bit later all her friends ever seemed to want to do was sit around and gossip until well past their bedtime, mostly about who had kissed who and who probably wanted to kiss who.

As her friends talked around her about people Rora only vaguely knew, her mind wandered to the note she’d been writing, now tucked into her book. Had the note been a good idea, she wondered? Maybe Anders would just think she was being annoying. But if he really needed help—

A sudden nudge from Jowan. Rora looked up.

“Hmm?”

She thought the other apprentices exchanged amused looks. While Rora not paying attention in class might have been unusual, she was always forgetting to pay attention to conversations. Her face flamed with embarrassment, and she didn’t even know what she’d missed.

“What?” she said.

Several of the other apprentices giggled, and Sharon nudged her as well.

“Do you fancy anyone, Rora?” she said.

More giggling. Rora shook her head, though even as she did, an image of Anders’ smiling face floated across her thoughts.

“I think she does,” said Lys, a round faced girl with pigtails. “She’s blushing.”

Rora cleared her throat, wondering how much pinker her cheeks had gotten. “It’s a secret.”

The other apprentices clamored at this. “Rora has a crush!” “Come on, Rora, who is it?” But Rora just shook her head again, face growing hotter and hotter, until they finally moved on to other topics.

Later, after everyone had gotten tired enough to start heading to bed, Rora was pulling on her nightgown—and trying to forget her embarrassment—when she felt another nudge from behind. She turned.

“Hey, Jowan,” she said.

Jowan had grown quite a lot lately, so Rora had to crane her neck to look up at him. He tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders in a commiserating way.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. He nodded in the direction of their year mates’ beds. “They were acting like children.”

Rora shook her head. “It’s all right.”

Jowan frowned, then leaned closer, voice an amused whisper.

“So, do you actually fancy anyone?” he said. “Or were you just trying to get them to leave you alone?”

Rora looked around, checking to see that no one was listening, then turned back to her friend. If she told anyone, surely she could tell him.

“I kind of like Anders,” she said. Speaking the words aloud made her dizzy, made her face flame.

Jowan smiled again, but it was a sort of kindly, pitying smile. He patted her shoulder.

“Aw, Rora,” he said in a big brotherly tone. “Everyone fancies Anders.”

Rora didn’t say anything, but she felt her stomach drop all the way to her toes.

Not long after, she lay in bed and listened to her fellow apprentices shifting around her. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t cry. Jowan’s words shouldn’t have bothered her so much. He’d just been trying to help, to look out for her like he always did. Also, he was probably right. Anders was very popular, so it only made sense that everyone would fancy him.

But even thinking all this, she was a little sick to her stomach. If she tried to check on Anders he would probably think her very silly and childish. If so many people liked him, he probably didn’t need her help.

Rora sat up. She reached for her book in the dark and felt for the note folded inside it. Once found, she crumpled the paper into as tight a ball as she could manage and stuffed it into her clothes chest under the bed.

She lay back down, for some reason out of breath, and stared into the dark. She didn’t feel better at all.

[valerie-royeaux]

Blood & Dust - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - In the Presence of My Enemies Word count: 3,209 Read it on AO3, or continue below

Previous chapters: Chapter 1

For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, She should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.

 - This is a very generous tithe, dwarf. I am sure the Maker will be pleased with your prayers. Even from one such as you. Well… Do not mind me.

The mother turned to go away, clasping a couple of silver coins in her old, bloated hand. Junia noted as she rubbed the coins together, but shrugged and moved to one of the frontal pews.

This small chantry was the same as all the other ones she used to go to at this time of the night: small, humble, and with mothers who would welcome the offering of “even one such as her”. An offering that would buy the privacy of an empty nave, without humans to look down, more figuratively than literally, on her. She moved to the first row of pews and knelt in front of one, knees on the ground, elbows resting on the old wood. If she placed her knees in the kneelers, she would kiss the support for the humans’ elbows. Thus, she knelt on the cold, paved floor.

Every time she did that, a small smirk would twitch her thick, full lips. She would kneel on the very thing the dwarves somehow worshipped. Junia never believed in the Ancestors and the Stone. Even though her wealthy surface family did and had branded her as a mark of rich casteless skyheaded pride, she despised the floor that despised all air-touched dwarfs. And while that chantry’s Mother also despised Junia, she knew in her heart Andraste did not. Andraste guided her hand, her steps, her destiny. It was etched in her story, in her smile, in her hardened knees.

- Actually, might I ask your name, generous giver?

Two whole silvers would often make any human very forthcoming to the oddity of an Andrastian dwarf.

Junia opened her wide brown eyes and glanced at the mother standing under the threshold of a door which led away from the altar. The dwarf’s eyes were way too large for her face, one would say. Just like her thick, wide and very pink lips. Her gaze and mouth showed she could not bear to be angry at mothers and sisters. She loved all of them, and she spoke with joy in her low pitched voice:

- Junia. Please, remember it for your prayers.

- Of course, Junia.

A good thing of this part of the Free Marches is that folks got the J in her name right: dwarven-like. Junia, not Djunia.

The mother walked away, and left the dwarf alone with her thoughts. It was a good habit. End the day with an offer and prayers, cleansed from sin. Dwarves cannot dream, so if she was killed in her sleep, she would go straight to Andraste’s side. Upside of sleeping like a rock. All she needed to do was empty her heart before the Maker’s throne, so her head would be light on the pillow. Ready for a new day and night of sinning in the careful trade of lyrium smuggling. Yet another smile to her full lips. Years in that service, and she still had all her fingers, all her teeth, and a face unscathed by the blows she would often trade. Well, there was a broken nose. But no scars over her light freckles. Most of the other dwarves in the Carta could not count on the same blessing: a body closed by the Maker. Nor on all their teeth and ten fingers.

“For the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.”

Small chantries like this were the best ones. To be honest, all Junia knew is that she was in a village a few days away from Starkhaven. Speaking the local language, she had been tasked with collecting some payments from valued and happy customers in a Templar monastery in those parts. Her mates were certainly awake in the camp nearby, eyeing each other to make sure no one would escape with the revenue which would make Behrat, back in Orzammar, even richer. She, on the other hand, had the privacy of a nighttime chantry to herself, free from accusing human eyes who did not want to hear the Chant of Light gladly sung by a dwarven heart.

This is why she was very surprised when a bunch of humans suddenly burst into the Chantry, laughing and talking loudly. Nothing new for the Free Marches, but this lot was loud even for Marchers, and it was very late. They didn’t notice her knelt in front of the first pew – the last one from their perspective – but she did notice the careful, slow locking of the door the mother had gone through. About five men, bloody daggers in hand and beaming smiles on their voices and faces.

The men hurled a sixth one, tied and gagged – very well tied, actually: hands and legs with multiple rope windings, inside the chantry and closed the door. They were geared up and carried a very distinct small chest Junia knew well: Behrat’s payment. She widened her eyes in disbelief that the Marcher dusters got the jump from the humans. Likely dead, the lot of them. But she did look back thankfully at Andraste’s statue. A body closed by the Maker. At least the dead Carta dwarves were not her friends, only mere acquaintances she had recently made. It was weird, though, that these men would have killed hers, but not the one they brought with them. A scruffy human, shirtless, with a round belly and broad shoulders, long brown thinning hair, and a long, thick ginger beard. He must have been with them for a while, since he was not putting much of a fight. His blue-greenish eyes darted everywhere, never resting in the same place for too long. Junia dodged those eyes with a quick duck, and moved along the pew to a position not even he would be able to see her.

She knew she was locked where she was, and couldn’t get out without making herself noted. The mark on her cheek would certainly mean a knife to her stomach – the Maker makes do with no fools. He certainly wouldn’t make do with those fools, who were setting themselves up for the night. They tied their prisoner to one of the wooden columns, barred the double doors they had come through, and sat in a circle to eat some morsels of salted beef and drink. They did not look around the chantry’s nave to find Junia in her very uncomfortable yet safe spot behind the pews. Which meant she would need to wait until they were gone, and then move away.

Which was not her plan. That was Behrat’s money, and those men resting in the chantry were laid in her path by the Maker, so she could earn Behrat’s favor. She alone would return with the money, where all others had failed. That actually made it pleasing, the wait until they were all but one asleep. She enjoyed the anticipation of having the jump on those who had jumped the dusters. Besides, these men would not be left with nothing. They still had their prisoner, which, according to what she overheard, was a nobleman who had escaped a raid in the Minanther. These folks were just waiting on the shore for those like him.

After a while, the sentinel was pretty much asleep as well, dozing on and off, his head hanging over his chest as he sat against one of the other columns. He did try to make some small talk with the prisoner, but he did not speak their language, so he gagged him again and gave up. The guard had drunk a lot, and all know a drunkard keeps a cock awake every time. The snoring, even from the sentinel trying to keep himself awake, was enough to mask the noises of Junia coming from behind the pews.

She did not expect the prisoner to be awake, looking straight at her in complete silence. He was staring. His eyes caught her short, bulky figure, with broad shoulders, back, legs and arms. She was dressed in brown leather pants and boots, with a darker jerkin over a while linen shirt. A burgundy tissue was tied around her neck, resting in between her large breasts, which were tightly compressed by the jerkin. On each side of her belt, two daggers were drawn slowly at the same time as Junia locked her large dark brown eyes with the prisoner’s small blue ones. He nodded slowly showing he had no intention of alerting them of her presence. She nodded in return, and said nothing about not intending to release him.

She shook the broad waves of her chestnut hair off her face with a small movement, and the slaughter began. They were all dead in under a minute, not even having the chance to open their eyes from their slumber. A good death to go straight to Heaven, had they made their peace with the Maker before sleeping, and had they had no sinful dreams.

Other than the sound of parting flesh, all was silent, including the prisoner’s smile. Junia’s daggers were sharp, swift and precise. When she was done, no blood had stained her skin, but guilt, specially guilt over murdering sleeping men in a chantry, had splattered all over her. As soon as she was over she immediately stood and strode with large steps back before the altar, cleaning the blood off her weapons and sheathing them. She fell on her knees.

She closed her eyes shut and gathered her hands before her face in prayer that was supposed to be fervent – the Maker had brought them before her, the Maker sanded their eyes and numbed their senses, it was His will that they died in that holy place. Yet she felt petty and vile, small and terrified of His acceptance. She could hear Sister Lucia’s words condemning that victory, judging the prize the Maker had laid before her, and affirming He did not operate in such fashion. She desperately needed to cleanse herself of those deaths and Sister Lucia’s words, but she couldn’t. Not with those eyes on her back.

Even without turning to face him, she knew the prisoner was baffled by the sight of the killer dwarf knelt in prayer before the fading embers of Andraste’s pires. She could feel the weight of those widened small eyes, the superiority he – tied and gagged – would be feeling towards her, her better, thinking she would never be worthy of Andraste’s song.

One more death would not be too much to be forgiven for.

She stood and turned in a single movement, and rushed to the prisoner in the same broad strides which had brought her to the altar. She drew one of her daggers, and his eyes grew wide with fear. He shook his head fiercely and backed against the column he was tied to, the pleads for his life stumbling on the gag. She pulled him closer by the ropes around his chest, and brought his face to an inch from hers.

- Why don’t you ask the Maker if he hears my prayers, you sodder? – she asked in the language of Starkhaven, pressing the sharp steel against his throat.

- Fe’e’an. Fe’el’an, ea’e… - He pleaded, trying in vain to back his neck away from the blade.

Junia yanked and tore the cloth gag from the prisoner’s mouth, not even noticing how promptly she repeated the question in her native Fereldan.

- I… I don’t know what you are talking about! Please, please, miss dwarf, please, release me! My family will be very generous, I…

- Fuck off!

Junia’s anger had taken the best of her, and she knew she was in the brink of tears. She could not shed tears for that, because of him, because now Sister Lucia would tell her how Andraste’s love was sung even for one such as her. But she shed some anyway, and slapped the prisoner’s face hard with the back of her hand. She pressed the blade once more against his throat, and her face close to his again, speaking through a bittersweet smirk.

- You must have found me very amusing, eh, human? Praying to your human god? It’s funny, I know. I’ll have to prove to you that He hears me. You will ask Him!

- I… no, please! I actually found it beautiful! – She smacked his face again.

- You mock me!

- I don’t, I swear I don’t! Please, miss, let me explain!

It could not be. He simply wanted to escape, and the Maker makes do with no fools, but Junia was telling herself she was being fooled as she reveled in the soothing sensation those words brought her. That a human would think like Sister Lucia; the gall! But she did enjoy the possibility, as much as that would make her look like a loser afterwards: when she had released him, and he thought to himself: “An Andrastian dwarf!”

She simply let the rage wash off of her features slowly, and her large eyes and large lips slowly relaxed themselves back into a neutral, disbelieving expression. If the human were not in such distress, he might even have noticed some yearning in her countenance when she said: “speak”. And speak he did:

- I… Please, I am sorry if this offends you but… The Chant of Light is for everyone. It should be for everyone. If Shartan rode by Andraste’s side, how long until a dwarf joined her? I mean… There was no time. She marched on the surface and…

Junia seemed content in letting him speak. She sat on the floor in front of him, and rested her back against a leg of the last pew. She did not urge him to go on. But he certainly noted she was being receptive, which allowed him to organize his thoughts.

- A dwarf praising the Maker was a beautiful sight. It would have been elevating were I not bound. The Chant is for all, miss. That other humans would diminish you for praising the one true God does the Chantry no service. It would actually anger even Andraste, I would say.

It was a calm, delighted smile that greeted the prisoner on Junia’s lips. That, and contained, unshed tears of joy. A joy such as she only felt when she was a child in that cloister in Kirkwall.

- You really think that? – She asked in a blissful, light tone.

- I do. I really do, miss.

- And what is your name, Ser?

- John, miss. Of the Couslands of Highever, in Ferelden. I am a son of teyrn Bryce Cousland of Highever. – Of course, despite the theological debate they were having, he made sure she knew how fat of a ransom he was worth – And you?

- Junia. Of the casteless Cadashes of nowhere, daughter of nobody other than the Maker – she said with a soft laugh. John soon followed in laughter.

- I will tell you what, John Cousland. – She stood, and moved to cut John’s ropes loose. – I will let you go. You soothed my heart, you quenched a lot of my anguish right now. I wish you no harm, friend.

John breathed a sigh of extreme relief and relaxation as each winding around his body loosened its grip. Junia worked in silence, with a kind smile and no hurry as she helped the nobleman out of his bindings. She herself was free from the binding of guilt and shame, silently telling Sister Lucia that yes, the Maker is a terrific God. He not only had put before her the path to Behrat’s knowledge; he had also prepared a message for her: she acted according to His will. He is with her. He blesses and keeps her, and He is her beacon and her sword. She couldn’t even remember fearing that John would say those things only to keep her from killing him.

And John could not have expected such an improbable turn of events. Junia was not the only one thinking the Maker was with them. Who would have guessed that an Andrastian dwarf would be the one to release him from his captors? And a beautiful one at that. John looked at Junia as she unwound the rope from around his body, as his muscles unwound from around his bones. That crooked nose was… cute! And her eyes and lips… He actually felt like kissing them, eyes included. The chestnut, shoulder-length wavy hair was his favorite type. Now, Gwenie would say she never quite grasped John’s attraction for dwarven women, but he was sure she would think Junia was John’s type. Fergus would say John didn’t like ugly women. The word he used was “unorthodox”, a way the Maker found to make less interesting women happy. Gwenie would disagree and say she understood John’s thinking. He liked women, not dolls. Dolls were a thing for girls, and thus she liked playing with them.

That was the first time in a week, ever since falling into the Minanther’s waters, that John had thoughts related to anything other than survival. But thinking them, thinking of Gwen, snapped John out of the pleasure of being that close to Junia, and brought his mind back to more urgent matters.

- Junia – she smiled when he pronounced it correctly on the first try. He smiled because he loved the way it sounded. The way the odd J felt on his lips. – I am really thankful for your help. But as you can see, I am alone, penniless, naked, lost, and I can’t speak the Marchers’ language. I can reward you dearly, though, when I get home. Would you help me return to Highever?

The thought had crossed Junia’s mind. Receiving John’s ransom – or reward, given the circumstances – would be a good bump to her own gold. Gold she had no reason at all to share with Beraht. John did seem a capable warrior, able to carry his own weight if he had the proper equipment. By travelling with him instead of other dusters, she would have the peace of mind of not having to worry about her own throat, despite having her body closed by the Maker. A brief detour through Highever on the way to Orzammar wouldn’t be too bad. Not at all. Plus, she would avoid Waking Sea.

- Very well, ser John. You got yourself a deal. Let’s see what these sodders left us. Maybe there is something we can use.

John didn’t realize he let Junia walk a few steps ahead of him as he looked upon her. He quickly caught up with the dwarf and helped her rummage through what the dead Marchers had left behind.  Neither did Junia notice how kindly John’s eyes fell upon her.