#[ inquisition verse maybe? ]

[fadewalking]

forever pissed that bioware decided to do the Elves like this and rob them of the ability to have meaningful faith.

in fact—

im more pissed about it than im willing to admit because let's not forget that the devs were bold enough to say they're never going to prove or disprove The Maker because they don't wanna take away faith like that. Oh but fuck the Elves, right? Fuck them and their heretical little sideblog of a faith, right? Fuck that so hard quite frankly, and look me in the eyes when i say this: I am an atheist.

a pretty hardcore one atp, at that. but man, what a literary shame. There are few things more compelling to me, as someone who was raised Catholic and went through an entire religious deconstruction that I'm still on a journey with, than exploring characters who have a strong sense of faith.

I built an entire OC with his religious beliefs as CENTRAL to his identity and VG has forced a deconstruction on him that I never wanted for him. And now I find myself missing a character who has such a strong sense of belief in a higher power. There are too few people in the rp scene and fandom at large who engage with faith in their characters and I think that is also a shame. And so little canonical information about any faiths other than their One True fucking God. Watch me give my atheist/agnostic OCs faith just out of SPITE.

[dreadwxlf]

@omniterror sent: "Don't worry, I'm determined to succeed." / from brienne c:

~ " You are confident -- let us hope your determination does not wane in the coming battles. " Foolhardy bravery was better than meek cowardice, he supposed. Still, this Dalish quickling nor the others that lauded her knew anything about Corypheus and his intentions. Solas would need nudge them in the right direction, somehow... ~

~ " You have my assistance then -- however you may require it. " ~

[talentforlying]

oh yeah. it's all coming together.

[highevara]

okay so editing my inquisition verse. elethea is NOT already hearing the calling, however she does have the sudden desperate realization that she only has ~20 years or less with her children and with alistair so she throws herself into searching for a cure. she joins up with the inquisition after wicked eyes and wicked hearts when the inquisition is kind of established as a major power. she disguises her purpose as feeling the need to help the inquisition, but really (in a move she only shares with leliana) is seeking to use the inquisition’s resources and connections to aid in her search for a cure. in exchange the inquisition gets the influence of having the teyrna of gwaren and one of the heroes of ferelden as their ally.

[fatedmuses]

starter for @lcgacyofages (Seigfried)

Elysia studied the man in front of her, tilting her head slightly as she tried to think why he looked familiar. She had of course met countless people from all over Thedas in her years as a Warden, but usually she was pretty good with faces. So someone she had only met in passing, perhaps?

Probably she should have been focusing more on the war map in front of them, on the grey warden movements and the best places to assign them. But Cullen had already filled her in on the best places, so it's more of a formality than anything that she places little tokens on the table.

It hit her, a moment later, where she'd seen Seigfried before, as she stared at Denerim on the map.

"Oh!" She smiled brightly, looking up at him. "You were in Denerim, during the fifth blight. You helped us protect the city." And stand against Loghain. She was forever grateful for the nobles who had actually helped them, rather than stand in their way.

"How is it you ended up here, helping save the world again?"

[dieverged]

nima who probably didn't plan to be visiting thedas again and ending up trapped there for 2+ years having to deal with the inquisitions politics. they are mad as FUUUUUUUUUCK

edit: thinking about them stuck in thedas for 10 years dude. in the event that it's relatively canon compliant & they don't get help from, like, anyone so ... kind of a worst case scenario for them basically? on a personal level. because them getting help would require plotting

edit 2: okay i'm mad as FUCK i forgot tumblr puts a bullshit limit on tags. i had an entire section dedicated to dorian & varric & the inquisition, how it all culminates into an eventual home for them & how they would go back n forth between tevinter & kirkwall with varric taking her under his wing (and the outlier in that nima would end up telling varric about their circumstances eventually if they were close enough but hey! varric dgaf about that, he sensed the bs, he knew they were hiding something, as long as it doesnt directly harm him/his people/the fucking world whatever man it doesn't change who nima is potentially) & also nima's complicated struggles & relationship WITH hiding this information because she isn't thedosian. she is a complete outsider, a mimic, an imposter wearing the skin of those around her. while she doesn't lie, she also doesn't speak the truth of it either. & as a traveler, you'd think oh why does this bother her so much? it bothers her bc she can typically escape in other circumstances but here, she can't, she is trapped for the forseeable future and/or permanently, she can't return home. & the FURTHER struggles of what that means for her identity & also of her relationship to people within the inquisition

I'M SO MAAAAAD I'M SO MAD THOSE WERE SUCH GOOD ANALYSIS' fuck off tumblr i can't believe i forgot. okay well reminder that i need to write some relationship metas. specifically with solas, varric, dorian & then the inquisition at large.

also the conversations between these four would be funny as fuck is all im saying. discussing theoretical magic & the fade & like varric is just There dude it's too early for this shit. he was dragged out

also augh cole was another element in this as well but cole is... difficult because nima just avoids him straight up a lot of the time, but i think she would really like his insights :') i really do. i think they would have such engaging conversations

but anyways yeah there was so much haha.... gripping my desk so hard it splinters & shatters can you tell im mad as fuck. im also tired, writing essays with no sleep lets gooooo

(though honestly, maybe their character arc is centered Around never actually finding out how to return in inquisition & making peace with that too; at least not until Trespasser. i.e, they are entirely vague about everything, researching all sorts of old forbidden magic & the history of it, & part of their character arc's resolution is that they aren't alone in this yknow? they aren't alone, they have to come to terms with their placement here, and hey people do give a shit or something to that effect anyways. because them going at it alone, e.g you didn't do their companion quest, is going to result in them just leaving once they have what they need information wise whereas doing their companion quest results in them staying & begins the gradual process of relying on the people around them, relinquishing that iron grip independence but also trying to learn not to have this... fixation on home and what that means for them. which is an objectively important concept throughout their entire narrative, it drives them, BUT yknow in this it's finding a way to be healthy--- they don't let go of it obviously, although that would be an element brought up (and also if that was a choice you picked, basically telling them to give up, it would result in them leaving too), but it's more so .... that they aren't losing parts of themselves by not finding the answers that they need like home isn't one place & it definitely isn't lost. basically just easing their grip on it, like they're not losing who they are. i had something more profound to say here but i forgot where i was going originally lol so this'll just have to do--- it's just coming to terms with a lot of things about themselves basically)

referring back though to the best case scenario, it would probably be like. plotting territory & the baseline is always going to be a mage, spirit, a... god? if they interact with one? or an ancient? basically someone with profound arcane knowledge. & the plotting would come from like, hey, can we actually find a way around this in all its forms (im talking fade travel, im talking dabbling with old, forbidden magics, going on long adventures, uncovering mysteries, hell. possession would be awesome dude, spirit or fragment, or literally whatever the hell else)

& the consequences of that bc fucking around with ancient magic that counteracts your own innate magic AND with nima already having a god's mark on her by virtue of being revived. all of that...... it would be very much hey, let's see where canon can take us, let's do the implausible, let's keep making ideas etc.

because while i do just default on, even in a plotted situation, nima being unable to find their way back home by virtue of not being able to use their specific abilities to unlock that access (which, haha, im just saying wouldn't it be awesome if someone helped nima only to use her powers for their own gain. like it would be awesome) it would be very fun and very tragic for them to finally find their way home. maybe them gaining access to their own powers again causes fucky shit to happen! maybe they are blocked from ever returning to thedas! many things can happen.

& also side plot but equally as important in this ^ is them being able to recover some or all of their memories via fade shenanigans which would be peak but made worse by A. what if by doing so, they've made it so their own spirit is bound to thedas & they can't leave so they have these memories but at what COST or B. idk maybe they just die dude straight up. maybe there's some crazy ass consequences that follow. there has to be some kind of tragedy i can't let nima be happy. ever. or even some crazy shit happening to Ur muse in all of this bc who doesnt like seeing their muse suffer (& which would hurt nima in the process yippie)

but yeah ultimately their worst case scenario is arguably the best case scenario and the definitive canon bc anything else, like actually helping nima, requires nima to A. tell you they aren't from this world (& by virtue of that their memory loss maybe bc hey all hands are on the table now, but tbh they would've probably mentioned the memory loss casually Anyways so its not a big deal) B. probably a fair bit of plotting but it'd be really fun devil emoji

[greyswarden]

i will sit down and finish ariel + mona’s carrd 🫵 i promise

[that-hawke-woman]

Thinking about if Ana survived in the Fade by joining with a spirit. She's not a mage, sure, but she's a bit more Fade sensitive than most of her ilk, and normal folk don't tend to get stranded in the Fade for extended periods. And, since we know that non-mages can, in fact, be possessed, in specific circumstances...

This will require further thought.

[littlehoundthings]

"...."

He was trying SO desperately to hide the slight smirk and chuckle that Maxwell's comment brought, but it still slipped out as a slight huff of a chuckle through his nose.

"No. From what I know of the Hero of Fereldan, they would very much NOT enjoy bein' the Inquisitor," he hummed out thoughtfully with a shake of his head.

"Tell you what? Why don't you close your eyes for a bit and get some rest? I'll warn you if I smell anyone comin'."

That was...

How did that still not make any more sense than the last time. Yes and no. No for The Inquisitor. Yes for... The Inquisitor. It takes him a few seconds for the words to sort themselves out in his head in a way that let him understand. He, the man, Maxwell Travelyan was allowed to be tired.

The idea of The Inquisitor, The Herald of Andraste, A holy symbol in the wake of unprecedented terror, was not allowed to be tired.

As a man who was unfortunately both, Maxwell had no idea how to deal with that.

" The hero of Ferelden. Do they want to be Inquisitor? I can show up, close rifts, go back to sleep... Or maybe Hawke wants to --- No, no Hawke would laugh at me if I asked. "

[voidsuites]

FANTASY-THEMED BOT RELEASE !!! (12/20/24) ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ

art donaldson ・゜゜・．angelic inquisitions. he's your guardian angel. while he's not as naïve as he appears to be, art is not as well-versed in some parts of human culture as he is in others. you've opted to give him some hands-on experience when it comes to the more... romantic side of humanity, and that alone in and of itself is more daunting than anything he's done. you'll just have to forgive him if your lesson ends with him short-circuiting any electronics in the area... it's really not his fault.

art donaldson ・゜゜・．siren song. in a small, seaside town like new rochelle, tales of sirens are shared as warnings— and as reasoning for their curfew as soon as the sun sets over the sea cliffs. no one has spotted in one in decades since the town's formation, but no one dares to investigate if the infamous mythological creatures truly reside in the waters that span their coast... all until art's curiosity gets the best of him. what's the point of being wary of something if it doesn't truly exist? he'll quickly come to learn that some legends are based in fact, not fiction.

patrick zweig ・゜゜・．bones and all. you knew patrick was the same as you the moment your eyes met; you don't live with something like vampirism your entire life and not know how to spot it in others. still, with patrick came understanding, and with understanding came connection. still, it doesn't help to soothe the ache that's left whenever your true nature manages to slip out, but patrick would never hold something like that against you. with you both being vampires, there's nothing guaranteed for the two of you in terms of safety and security, and patrick would never forgive himself if you got hurt. everything he does— every thought, every action, every unnecessary breath from lungs that don't require air— is for you.

patrick zweig ・゜゜・．post-full-moon blues. patrick's always a bit irritable and clingy after the full moon leaves its toll on his body, so his routine of trudging in at the wee hours of the morning is all but commonplace at this point. just because it was patrick underneath all the fur, teeth, and claws didn't mean that he was any better than the overactive golden retriever that belonged to the grocer in town, and that fact is all the more apparent when he comes in smelling like the woods, dirt, and wet dog (not that you'd ever tell him that). but sleep disturbances and handsy touches aside...he's had a long night. give him a little break.

tashi duncan ・゜゜・．staking her claim. most vampires weren't dumb enough to encroach on what tashi's claimed as hers— not when she's been around for as long as she has. but when some fledgling vampire at the club she's taken you to puts his hands on her human... it's more than enough to make the vampiress seethe. maybe she should have chosen some other place to take you to— somewhere older, cleaner, and that served more dignified vampires like herself who understood their kind's customs. tashi doesn't share, nor does she ever plan to, and she's more than willing to prove that for all to see.

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 7.2K! that number is so crazy i'm still processing it... thank you thank you thank you!!!! these were so much fun to make omg especially the patrick ones... patrick zweig "bones and all"... definitely hope i can make some more bots like this in the future! shoutout to 🥧 anon fr and juliana and diya and lee and the countless other anons who send requests both on here and on my request form... u all do the most and keep this thing going lol. love you guys! <333333

[loredrinker]

Replaying Inquisition and actually impressed how much consistency there is with Solas DAI and Solas DATV. Lots of delightful things to revisit overall in the game.

I love how some of the companions just go at each other. Oh, we all think Solas is the ego, arrogant companion? Most of them are! I am eating the way Dorian and Blackwall go at each other. "Your kind, you people", so much mistrust in the beginning with most of the companions.

Noticing early on in the Hinterlands when you finally gain enough approval to meet with the Chantry, Solas is impatient. Hey, Seeker, shouldn't we go meet with the Chantry now? Hey guys, uh, surely we have caught their attention, let's go! He is so anxious to deal with his mess and fast. Solas my man, we gotta go kill some rams first. Chill.

Playing an Inky that is trying to play a balance of compassion and self-interest with each companion. Trying to create an inconsistency with approval/non-approvals. Fascinating the various responses.

Love seeing the Dread Wolf come out in Solas in moments in DAI. All New Faded for Her, his snarkiness with companions in the beginning, his response to the nightmare demon. But you also see the rebel leader. The moments he talks about war. On the way to Skyhold if the Inquisitior is an elf, talking about needing to be seen as allies, the way he talks with Sera about the Red Jennis. But I never noticed before how he is consistently giving approval when you help out refugees or those in need. And just how he is with Cole in general. Overall you just get a great picture of Solas with both games. I feel like Inquisition gives us a look at Solas before he is consumed by isolation, violence, war and regret - what he was like in his very early years of existence and ideals and DATV is the after affects.

Which, his voice in both games fits that as well. His older voice in DATV sounds tired, worn out - so controlled, I love it. Young Solas voice in DAI is filled with passion, emotion, even in his anger, or his excitement. Really great contrast.

Humble apostate? In clothing only maybe. Everyone's posture is shitty in Inquisition. All of them strutting around with hunched over shoulders. Talking to Solas in the Rotunda, travelling with him, his posture is ram rod straight like a broom is up his ass. Comparing it to DATV it's a very similar design. We see it again in Trespasser.

Paying especially close attention to Solas and Blackwall - their stories and cut scenes. Their lines - so much parallels. Blackwall's omissions are just as juicy as Solas'. I wonder how differently players might feel about Blackwall if he never returned after finding out he was Rainier and what he did.

The intro to Skyhold, the passage through the mountains, the music, it will forever remain one of my fave sequences. It's the combination of Solas guiding the Inquisitor, his narration - his planning to ensure this person can be in a position to fix his mess.

Cassandra. Cassandra is as bad ass now as she was when I first played DAI. What a phenomenal character. I love every scene with her.

Absolutely enjoying Vivienne this playthrough too. She is so intelligent, well versed in the ways of the world.

Will soon dive into Jaws of Hakkon - it's been a long time since I played that DLC so excited for some lore refresh and surroundings.

[pincushionx]

Finding the Reasons to Exist (Chapter 16) by @meatbunattack

Bros asking like he isn’t a literal stuff animal.

Also, this fic is literally one of my favorite Sonic movie verse fics ever, obsessed with how they characterize Shadow and the others!

(Excerpt this sketch came from)

“Ah, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by saying that." Stone's voice cut through Shadow's thoughts, making him look at the sheepishly smiling human. "You can just disregard it, it was just a silly thought I had."

"Do you think I'm cute?" Shadow couldn't help but ask, no judgement in his voice as he tilted his head slightly to the side.

Stone looked at Shadow with wide eyes and looked between Shadow's hands that were resting palms up in his lap and Shadow's expression. Stone let out a soft cough while looking off to the side. "Well… When you are calm and inquisitive like this… Yes, you can be cute. But you can be just as serious and 'cool', don't worry about it too much."

Shadow let out a soft hum at the admission and looked back at his hands again. So when he was calm, Shadow was cute. Maybe that's why Maria had found him cute, too. He'd always been calm around her.

[seraphimazriel]

Mairwen Character References!

I've been working on this for a bit, the full version is going to have the outfits for all of her verses [fallout clothing is next]. But here's some of Mairwen's Dragon Age outfits. Her Veilguard Armor, her dress for the Winter Palace in Inquisition, a casual outfit [with short hair!], a fancier 'mage'/Rivaini outfit, and her undies.

The finished ref sheet is going to show the differences in each verse. For example, she has different tattoos, scars, and in some cases, hairstyles, depending on the verse. To the side of the main pic, I'll have details and inventory sheets for each verse as well, including weapons and such. Maybe little ditties on some of her ships?

Basically, it's gonna be EXTENSIVE.

[devilishdanse]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 — 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐩𝐞 (Imp OC)

Basic info found in document is below the cut for ease of access! By liking or replying to this post, you are letting me know that you are interested in interacting with Calliope on some level and are accepting of inbox shenanigans sent your way! If you happen to be curious about shipping, please reach out to me or reply with a heart so I understand that might be on the table.

Age: 30+

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Species: Imp

Occupation / Status: Maidservant Romantic Connections: N/A; Verse dependent

Family Connections: Julian (Twin Brother)

Physical Description: Being an imp, Calliope stands at approximately 4’8” (142.24 cm). She has long, dark, wavy hair that is typically held back using an old, fraying ribbon. Across her cheeks, shoulders, and along her tail is a light spattering of freckles, and her horns are medium/short in height; they are slim and rise vertically through her hair, and are predominantly black with thin horizontal, white pinstripes. Her frame is of medium build while still holding the  lithe skill and movements of a dancer’s. Her legs are mostly straight with a slight bow near the calves with split hooved feet. 

Personality & Traits: Calliope is best described as a lover and a fighter both. She is filled with compassion, curiosity, respect, and a seemingly unstoppable amount of willpower (or maybe it’s dumb luck. . . who knows?). Though she does not wish to bear children of her own, Calliope adores children and will happily tend to their needs. She is a romantic at heart and believes in the strength and possibility of love, even if she has yet to meet or find it herself. Additionally, she will greet most people with open arms and a smile until proven necessary to do otherwise. Calliope loves physical affection and forms bonds quickly, even if they tend to be one-sided. It takes very little time for her to become attached to and or care for someone. Her and her brother, Julian, are fiercely protective of each other.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Inquisitive - Compassionate - Loyal - Enthusiastic - Determined - Resilient

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Impulsive - Overly Competitive - Impatient - Opinionated - Superstitious - Boisterous

Abilities / Powers:  N/A; She’s fantastic at cleaning and bringing a smile to your face! 

Notes Regarding Shipping: N/A. Though, if you’re interested in shipping with her, please let me know! I’d love to chat about it and see if we can strike something up to get interactions going first!

Established / Primary Ships: N/A.

Specific Tags: ★ // MUSE — CALLIOPE.

★ // PLAYLIST — CALLIOPE.

★ // CALLIOPE — VISAGE.

★ // CALLIOPE — MUSINGS.

★ // CALLIOPE — AESTHETICS.★ // CALLIOPE — CANONS.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Oh Divines, I'm tired. Here, have meth.

Yes, meth. Not crack. I humbly attribute this acid trip to @shivering-isles-cryptid who has since learned a lesson in consequences. Everyone say yay!

ao3 | masterlist

There were never teems of people clamoring to become Blades. Historically, there were more people from the darker side of life being recruited for the network than there were those who wanted to become knights of the Order. Especially since the Stormcrown Interregnum. The Blades did not possess the influence they once held throughout the Empire.

Still, they persisted. They watched and waited. A Dragonborn would come, and then the world would see.

Esbern ran a finger over the ancient tome. When the world would listen, it would be too late, and the world would cease to be.

There were few who read the texts. Fewer still tried to understand. He alone put the pieces together. The Blades, irrelevant to many for so long, it seemed, would see the end of their long watch soon. A Dragonborn would come.

And with him, the World-Eater. Alduin himself.

Frowning, Esbern turned the page.

Across the library, a soft cough drew his attention. Though the Order was in decay, would-be recruits still came to join the ranks of knights in Cloud Ruler Temple. Peering through the dim haze of dusty candlelight, Esbern spied one of the young girls who only recently joined the Order.

…Elanor. Her name was Elanor, he recalled. Still new to his role as Chronicler, he was still familiarizing himself with the names and positions of every active and inactive Blades agent still known

Elanor. A half-elf from High Rock. Mostly High Elven, Esbern thought. It showed in her height. And Breton. He noted it in the soft, smallness of her features.

She was there now, cradling a stack of books in her arms as she perused the shelf. Engulfed in her own world. She frowned at the title of whatever tome she had propped on the shelf.

An errant curl fell across her cheek. She tucked it back behind her ear. Her fingers brushed the leaflet tip–

Esbern looked back at the book of Ancient Nordic verse. Swallowing, he glanced up.

Elanor was walking away.

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.

As Chronicler, Esbern spent much of his time in the library and archives. The majority of that was spent taking down the history and annals of the Blades as it was happening.

On occasion, apprentices would come and bring him reports on the comings and goings of the Blades. Each brought a spool that he would weave into the long history of their Order.

When Elanor came in, carrying a stack of reports and artifacts from a recent excursion into Eastern Morrowind, Esbern froze.

"Here you are, sir. The Grandmaster asked me to eliver these."

Esbern jolts, and wonders for a moment why he hesitated. Then he took the work and, giving the girl a fond smile, dismissed her.

If he caught himself watching her walk away, he did not acknowledge it.

Not on purpose, anyway.

But he knew he noticed her. Some mornings, he would see her huddle around a bowl of oatmeal in the dining hall, clad in the soft clothes the knights wore for their morning katas and meditations. Then there were evenings where, as he made his way to the watch towers to chart the movement of the heavens, he'd notice her with her age-mates, working together on footwork and form with their katanas.

Every now and then, he saw her in the library. Reading. Engrossed.

Her eyes were always so transfixed on her tasks.

Elanor was such a dedicated Blade. She was truly an example.

Why wouldn't he admire her?

Esbern tugged at his earlobe. Yes, he admired her. Her dedication, her inquisitive nature . . .

. . . the way she held her katana. Her bright eyes--

Esbern scoffed. Elanor is a child.

A child to the half-elves of High Rock, maybe--

It's very rare for him to visit Bruma. His duties usually consume more time than Akatosh ordered in a day, but tonight was one rare moment when he managed an escape to the city down the mountain path. The Restful Watchman wasn't the most reputable establishment in Bruma, but it offered discretion and a good price on cheap beer.

He was mid chug on his second bottle when he caught a whirl of chestnut curls from the corner of his eye.

Lowering the bottle, Esbern strained his neck around to find Elanor huddled in a corner, sitting rather close to one of the Nords on the City Watch. Hrafen? Her eyes were so bright. Like sea lights.

Her laughter rang light in the air. The watchman grinned at her, wide and boyish.

Esbern couldn't help but watch.

. . . even when Elanor pressed her hand to the watchman's arm, her head tilted just so.

Divines.

Esbern ordered another beer.

Affairs of the heart were seldom relevant to the Blades' history. Many agents and knights had their indiscretions that others turned a blind eye to. But Esbern couldn't help but watch Elanor's.

Because she was a young girl and someone needed to watch out for her. Of course.

She's 19. She's not that naive.

She's 21. She's capable.

She's 23. She knows what she's doing.

Of all the young Blades, Elanor was the most unflappable. She always had a sound head on her shoulders. She went about her duties as a Blade and her love affair with the watchman with the grace of a Blade twice her age.

So when Esbern stumbles across her in the corner of the archive (a dusty, cobweb-ridden corner) with her arms around her knees and her face smeared with tears, something shifts in his perception of her. He's not sure yet what it is, but the sight of Elanor's silent tears touches him.

"Elanor?"

The girl jolts, then wipes her eyes on her kimono's sleeve.

"Esbern, sir, I, I'm sorry! I'll leave. I don't mean to dis-disturb your work."

There's a hitch in her voice. The light in her eyes has been drowned in the sea.

Setting the stack of folios and scrolls down on a side table, Esbern knelt by the girl in the corner.

"You're not bothering me at all. But something's wrong. What's happened?" "I, he . . . my . . . he's gone." "Who's gone?"

An ill pallor colored Elanor's face. She shook her head.

"He was no one really."

Esbern doubted that. He had a sinking suspicion something happened to her boyfriend, the young watchman from Bruma. Yet Elanor wouldn't say that. She'd never been the sort to unleash her personal issues to others.

But Esbern had watched her for years. Behind a facade of marble and ice, there was a deep well of sadness and longing that threatened to overflow and flood everything she touched. Her dam kept it in check, but now, it was spilling over, and all Elanor's attempts to contain it were for naught.

She wouldn't talk about it.

Settling beside her, Esbern put an arm around the girl's thin shoulders. Neither said a word, but Elanor continued to cry.

Over an hour later, when she'd composed herself and slipped off to her dormitory with a side glance and a blush, Esbern could feel the heat of her tears on his shoulder.

In the coming days, Elanor wouldn't meet his eye. She would duck her head, a curl tumbling from the high bun she usually wore to slip across her cheek and the sharp line of her jaw.

Even heartbroken, Elanor was beautiful.

One morning, not long after Elanor's loss, Esbern entered the dining hall to find her shade absent from the corner she'd haunted with her oatmeal.

Where was she?

She wasn't all right.

Sitting beside the Grandmaster, Esbern asked Cornelius if there was a mission he was unaware of. As Chronicler, it was rare for him not to know. Only the Chronicler and Grandmaster would know everything.

She must be on a mission. The alternative, the possibility that she simply left, burned him too deeply.

Stirring his tea, Cornelius eyed the rest of the hall.

"Reconassaince." "I wasn't aware we had any new opperations." "On record, we don't."

The look Cornelius gives him is dark, closed off.

Off the record?

Elanor is 28. She is resourceful. She puts the Blades' mandate before her personal feelings.

The chill left in Cloud Ruler Temple after Elanor leaves is bone-deep. Just shy of forty, Esbern feels like a man twice that in the wake of her absence.

Eventually, Cornelius tells him she's been sent to Summerset . . . Alinor. Her youthful elven face and "certain skill set" put her in a position uniquely situated to gather intelligence on the Thalmor government. Esbern didn't understand: Elanor was half-elven. They would kill her. But Cornelius disagrees. Elanor is safer than every Blade in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Esbern doesn't understand why. He's not sure he wants to.

He aches without her near. It's a cold, deep-seeded thing that takes root inside his chest, spreading its tendrils throughout his lungs and tangling them in his soul.

He aches without her.

But Elanor is capable. She can endure Alinor and its dangers and snares.

On the 30th of Frostfall, he wakes with a pang in his chest. He doesn't understand why. It wasn't until the next morning, when a messenger riding through the night from the Imperial City delivers word of the Thalmor's ultimatum and the heads rolling like children's toys across Green Emperor Way, that he understood.

Elanor was 35, and she was dead.

As Chronicler, it was Esbern's duty to update the status of every Blades agent in Summerset following That Day. Elanor was not recorded as being in Summerset. Her status listed her as "out of reach."

Esbern's pen hesitated next to Elanor's name.

Out of reach.

Bile clawed at his throat. The pen shook. An inkstain bloomed like blood through Elanor's name.

Dead.

Gone.

The light in her eyes snuffed out.

Esbern threw himself into the Blades' operations as the war with the Dominion escalated. Their violence against the Empire and the massacre of the Summerset Blades stirred fires in every active Blade's blood.

Every effort was made to throw the Dominion, yet their advance could not be quelled. Anxiety grew with the tension until the very air in Cloud Ruler was as thick as sludge and just as unpalatable. It was no longer safe for the Blades to operate in daylight across Cyrodiil.

Their numbers dwindled.

The night the Dominion breached the walls of Cloud Ruler Temple, there were few Blades left. Grandmaster Cornelius was dead on the steps. Knights fell like falling stars across the courtyard.

His arms laden with a few sparse texts, Esbern was already long gone in his flight to the wilderness. The Thalmor believed that the history and culture of the Blades Order burned with the temple.

But Esbern was the Chronicler. That lore and more would live on in him. It must. The prophecy of the Last Dragonborn, Alduin's return . . . Elanor's name.

His is a long road into decay. His hiding place in the bowels of Riften is not ideal, but he cannot do better. Surrounded by drug addicts, drunkards, thieves, and lowlifes, Esbern hit the bottom of the barrel. He could not trust any of these people, but he hoped their deprivation would cover his stench with their own.

He carves out a measly existence, hiding in the sewers and studying his rescued texts from the ashes of Cloud Ruler. Dispair gnaws at him like a disease, eating away at his body and his heart in time's crushing jaws.

He still thinks about her. The petal softness of her smile, her curls, the aquatic glitter of her eyes. In the damp silence in the bowels of the earth, Elanor's ghost was his constant companion.

Sometimes, oftentimes, tears marked her face. Tears for her lost love or for the Blades, Esbern wasn't sure. Supine in his flea-bitten cot under a threadbare blanket, Esbern tells himself Elanor cries for him.

He dreams of her. Of touching her face and wiping away the tears so that her eyes shine again with her smile. He dreams of her hands, thin and firm on her katana in his memory--now they touch him.

He dreams things he wouldn't dare breathe into words.

The warrens were lonely and dark. Elanor's ghost was his only light. A fading light in the twilight of his life.

Elanor would be 63. An entire lifetime lost.

Often Esbern cursed the Thalmor and their massacre against the Blades. He cursed what it cost him.

He cursed the loss of Elanor.

Elanor. The girl he, the only woman he ever--

There was a knock on the door.

The warrens weren't exactly a sociable neighborhood. No one called on anyone else.

This was it. They'd found him.

He swallowed.

"Go away." "Esbern. Esbern, it's me, it's Elanor." “That’s impossible. Elanor was executed. The Thalmor found her – and if you know about her, then no doubt you're one of them. Leave me alone!”

Sheogorath take him, he was finally mad. It wasn't that he didn't expect it eventually. He just hoped he would last a little longer. At least until the Dragonborn was found.

Being cajoled into madness by Elanor wasn't the worst thing he could imagine.

“Esbern, it’s Elanor. I was there when they ordered the executions. If you remember the 30th of Frostfall, then the 7th of Frostfall haunts me every time I close my eyes. That was the day I was forced to watch all my brothers and sisters lose their lives to the Dominion.”

By Talos.

Tears stung his eyes. His heart swelled. Elanor. Elanor. Elanor--

“It’s a trick.” "It's not."

If Sheogorath awaited him on the other side of that door, appearing as his beloved Elanor, ready to take him to the mad realm, then Esbern couldn't deny the draw. The temptation to see Elanor--even a lie--was too great.

So Esbern opens the door, opening locks and disarming bolts that separated him from either salvation or damnation.

Then she's in front of him.

Elanor is 64, she is beautiful in the ageless fashion of the elves, and she is Alive.

"Esbern." "It's you."

He longed to grab her into his arms and never let go. It had been decades. A lifetime since he'd seen her face. She was little changed, save for a hardness around her eyes and the deep red of her hair. Like mahogany.

The ranger haunting her shadow gives him pause. But Esbern cannot devote too much time to that.

Elanor is the Dragonborn.

Esbern cannot wrap his mind around it. His Elanor was the one the Blades waited for for so long. And the Aldmeri Dominion could have killed her.

Their Dragonborn should be dead.

Elanor's attention to his warnings about Alduin was bittersweet. She'd never really paid them any mind Before at Cloud Ruler Temple, but now, now she was Dragonborn, and she hung on his every word. Esbern couldn't deny that Elanor's captivation was a balm to his broken soul.

How could he not be devoted to her?

Their flight through the wilderness was a clandestine dream. Esbern was not blind to the way age and circumstance deteriorated him, while Elanor's elven blood kept her as new as the first spring flowers. Her care as they sought Delphine was headier than any beer he'd drowned in in the days before the war.

It was over far too soon.

If it was possible, Delphine was more paranoid and bitter than he remembered her being. Her animosity toward Elanor alarmed Esbern. Elanor was the Dragonborn.

She was Elanor.

"You shouldn't antagonize her so."

he said to Delphine one night during their search for Sky Haven Temple. Elanor slept on the other side of the fire. Delphine was on watch. Esbern couldn't sleep for fear that the next time he opened his eyes, he'd wake to find Elanor in a dream and himself back in the sewers.

Delphine scoffed,

"You don't know her like I do, Esbern. She's a runner."

They were all runners. If they weren't, they'd be dead. Esbern told Delphine this. Delphine made a noise of disgust.

"You'll check your admiration for her when she runs away again. She abandoned her mission, she abandoned her Order, and frankly, I don't know that I trust her not to run from her destiny. Just wait, you'll see soon enough what I see."

They find Sky Haven Temple. Elanor has to be dragged through the traps after the Hagraven sent the Forsworn to swarm her. Alduin's Wall drew his attention like nothing else in all his time as a Chronicler and lorekeeper. The secret of Dragonrend as a means to defeat the World-Eater was a boon.

Elanor was not as eager as he was.

She said she would find it. Then she's gone.

Delphine insisted she was running away again.

At night, even as he studied Alduin's Wall, Esbern turned Elanor over in his mind. The katana she carried grabbed his attention. There was a secret there in the Altmeris language begging to be unlocked. Elanor was completely uninterested, but Esbern felt the old familiar call of hidden knowledge begging for him to uncover it.

When he does, sickness and elation roll through him in waves.

Elanor is 64, and she is the last Septim.

When word reached them that the Dragonborn was holding a peace council in High Hrothgar between the war leaders, Esbern was as eager to go as Delphine—but for entirely different reasons.

Elanor hadn't run. She was facing her destiny as Dragonborn.

She was as perfect as Esbern always knew her to be.

But the Elanor he saw in High Hrothgar was not the mighty Dragonborn and strong Blade he expected to see. She was coming apart at the seams: Her eyes were tired and pale, her skin dull.

But she handled the peace conference with such finesse and power that he couldn't help but see her as the Empress she was meant to be. If anyone could take the Empire in reign and bring order to the decline, it would be her.

Afterward, he found her in the library. She must know.

. . . Elanor did not take being a Septim as he'd hoped. Pale, quiet, her lips trembling, Esbern only just sees the despair through his own elation.

He should comfort her. He should take her in his arms again and hold her like he did all those years ago in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Instead, Esbern said,

“This must be a great deal for you to take in.” “A bit.” “I’ll leave you to take it in, then. The Greybeards have taught you meditation, yes? We may be at odds over certain issues, but we can still agree that meditation is good for the soul. I’ll leave you to it, then. Elanor Septim."

Then he left her.

He left her.

He does not see her again at High Hrothgar. In the morning when he and Delphine leave, she is nowhere to be found. Esbern's chest hurt. Something was terribly wrong, but what he couldn't tell.

When he finally saw her again, after she defeated the World-Eater, something about her was off. Manic in a way he'd never imagined her to be.

He hated to upset her anymore, but he and Delphine talked long about it. They knew who the Greybeards' leader was, and they knew he had influence over Elanor. A dragon, and not just any dragon, but Paarthurnax, Alduin's right hand.

Right wing? Pah.

He expected Elanor to agree. Of course, she would. She was a noble Blade and a Dragonborn to be proud of. Elanor would slay Paarthurnax.

"You must be out of your Akatosh loving mind."

Elanor's exclamation of astonishment stunned Esbern. But it was the look of utter betrayal in her eyes that winded him.

And oh, she goes off about Delphine, about the Blades, about expectation versus reality.

Esbern had never seen Elanor mad. She was beautiful in her fury.

He feared her.

Elanor is nearly 65. Her birthday is soon. She renounces the Blades.

Elanor stormed from Sky Haven Temple, red curls flying around her in a whirlwind and leaving an icy wind in her wake.

Delphine watches her go, her arms crossed, disgust and contempt twisting her pointed face.

Esbern couldn't watch her.

He loved her, he loved Elanor, and she hated him. She hated the Blades. She wasn't coming back.

What is worse, believing her dead with her ghost haunting his every waking moment, or knowing she is alive but will never see or speak to him again.

"I told you so,"

Delphine's voice was smug and hard.

Esbern stalked away from her, back to the wall, back to the prophecies. Back to the ghost of the woman he'd loved for a lifetime.

A lifetime of lost hope and missed opportunity.

Elanor is 19. She is innocent and beautiful and her eyes light up the room when she smiles.

Elanor is 64. She is broken. She does not love him.

Elanor is 19. She loves him. He will show her how much he loves her between the library stacks in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Esbern leaned his head against the wall, and moaned.

fin

[shuuenka]

Of first meetings - Zhou Tang Sui

ALT. under cut.

Stinks, he thought as he entered the kitchen. Echo of older boys leers still fresh in his mind. Kitchen cleaning duty wasn't the worst punishment he could’ve gotten for not keeping up with the swordplay instructors and then getting into a verbal fight, but it wasn’t something he wanted to do after a long day.

He got stuck in Minli army camp, while they waited for 9th prince to get recalled back to Chang'an capital. Then maybe he could finally attend hispromised school.

He took another sniff, taking a look around the small room filled with ba-rely visible smoke. This is not the smell of the dinner they had earlier - it was instead pungent and herbal. And very intense - so much that he felt the need to sneeze.

‘’What’s this smell?” Wu Chun Tian asked loud, finally locating the boiling pot in the back of the kitchen.

‘’Mixture of honeysuckle flowers, sesame oil, red stoneroot, silver grass and lard,” he heard and turned to the source of the voice. Behind him stood a young boy, somewhat in similar height and age as he was. He was hol-ding a basin with water. ‘’Are you new kitchen help?”

“What it’s for?”

The white haired boy frowned, and raised his brew at him.

“This mixture. What's this for?’’ Wu Chun Tian asked, taking a peak insidethe pot. The water was boiling, but inside instead of plates as he expected now he found stripes of clothing. Interesting.

‘’Are you genuinely curious?” the boy shot him with an inquisitive, albeit somewhat suspicious look.

‘’I wouldn't be asking if I wasn’t,’’ he shrugged. Then he remembered the cook told him to get on with duties quickly if he wanted to finish before midnight, so while waiting for his companion to answer, he moved to- wards the pile of dishes. He sighed gravely, but decided to get this over with as soon as possible. He shot a look at a boy still standing awkwardly with a water basin in the middle of a room.

‘’Oh, um,’ the boy started. ‘’This concoction is often used by physicians to treat wounds. Uh, something similar, anyways. So I was wondering if I boi bandages in it, then maybe it would also be helpful in the long run.

Bandages are already boiled in some blends but I thought this one would be effective.’’

Wu Chun Tian regarded the scrawny teen beside him, as he was telling him about various properties of the the ingredients in the boiling water. Themore he explained while focusing on washing the dishes, his shoulders relaxed. He shot him a few looks, as if checking if Wu Chun Tian was still listening. And he very much did. The boy theorized that washing bandages not only in clean water but medicine could make them cleaner and more efficient, which from Wu Chun Tian’s point of view made sense.

‘’I hoped to give them to the medic when they’re dry,’’ he finished with a smile, and then - as if remembering he wasn’t supposed to talk this much, closed his mouth.

‘’You should do that,’’ Wu Chun Tian nodded. He rinsed a big spoon and then used it to point at the boy, ‘’And tell him all of this.’’

’Uh, I’m not sure he will listen to me,’’ the boy said, scratching the back of his head. ‘’Anyways, we should focus on the dishes. I need to clean up my boiling pot before the cook catches me messing with his pots again.”

“I didn’t think kitchen help would be versed in medicine,’’ Wu Chun Tian mused. ‘’Shouldn’t you be in the army medic’s place?”

When he turned to the boy, he was met with a small frown on his face.

‘’I’m not a kitchen help,’’ he grumbled with his lips in a thin line. ‘’It’s my punishment for this week.”

Wu Chun Tian snorted - so they were on the same boat. He wondered what the boy did to be sent to kitchens to wash dirty dishes.

‘’Now, you’re like me,’’ Wu Chun Tain said aloud with a smile playing on his lips. His enthusiasm wasn’t met with a positive response, as the boy only further frowned. ‘’By the way, what’s your name? I’m Wu Chun Tian.”

The boy turned back to the bucket with dirty dishes, and mumbled under his nose.

‘’Huh? I didn’t hear.”

‘’Zhou Tang Sui.”

“That’s better. Nice to meet you, Zhou Tang Sui. ” he said. ‘’I’d do a greeting bow, but taking into account I’m elbows deep in dirty water, I’d rather not.”

He felt the name was vaguely familiar though.

‘’He looked over the dishes still piled up. Cleaning up after the whole squad dinner felt like a never ending task, and even with them both here, he doubted they’d be able to finish before midnight. He belatedly noticed both that the smell of herbs didn’t bother him as much as before and that Zhou Tang Sui was sending him looks.

‘’Yes?”

‘’You’re not going to say anything?”

He felt funny - just now he was washing smelly dishes because, according to his instructor, he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

‘’About what?”

The boy pursed his lips and shook his head.

Eccentric, he thought, when Zhou Tang Sui focused back on the work.

Without much else going on, he could only follow suit.

‘’So, what did you do?” Zhou Tang Sui suddenly asked after moment of silence. ‘’I think-, hm, I heard your name before. Or at least maybe a nickname? Xiao Hu?”

‘’All Liu Yan Bang’s fault,’’ he muttered, with a click of his tongue.

‘And you, little tiger with big claws - stop fighting your instructor.’ Liu Yan Bang said back then, and it quickly caught on. He hoped this stupid nickname would not stick for long.

"’Huh?”

“Nothing,’’ he said. ‘’I told the swordplay instructor that his methods are too much when taking into account different physiques of his trainees and I was told to run the whole court.”

Zhou Tang Sui was about to open his mouth to question him further, but noise of opening doors followed by a cough startled the two boys.

‘’What is this ungodly smell!"

‘’Minister Liu told us to boil these, so we did,” Wu Chun Tian replied with- out missing a beat as the cook’s wide frame entered their view.

‘’Eh.. Minister Liu?” he said, scratching his nose. ‘’This lad always has ideas, eh. Capital folks, am I right boys?”

The two nodded.

As soon as the cook, with a heavy sigh moved to the other room mutter- ing about taking it with the upstairs, Zhou Tang Sui turned to his new companion.

‘’Why did you say that?” he asked. He was sure that if the cook heard that he was conducting another weird experiment in his kitchen, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Yet, just mentioning Minister Liu’s name with such confidence was enough to make the cook but a grumble.

‘’Don’t worry about it.”

Zhou Tang Sui looked over at Wu Chun Tian, who was back to washing plates, as if nothing happened.

What an incomprehensible individual, he thought.