#( altho that happens A LONG TIME FROM NOW bc zev has morals and boundaries ok )

[grace-nakimura]

for the oc meme ; sophie amell.

questions submitted by @highevre

idek i got ahead of myself am s o r r y also tw for mentions of abuse of authority (ser alrik tbh is a tw on his own) and trauma. also tw for the last bit in which the hero of ferelden is painfully a teenage girl.

someone describing the time your OC helped them.

“I was in a sorry state when she found me.” His back is turned, hands clasped behind, his posture stiff as if he is relieving that moment for the hundredth time. “I - I was hardly kind, you see, and please - please don’t make excuses. Hers is a face I thought I’d never make cry...but I did. Maker, I was young, but she was younger. No matter all the vile things I said, or did or would do later on, she did not deserve my anger.” 

The Spymaster hums, arms across her chest, relieving the first moment she would meet the boy that would become the Inquisiton’s Commander. “I remember. She cried for weeks.” When the Commander turns, he’s crestfallen, but he knows the Spymaster did not mean for such a blow to be malicious - it’s just her stating facts.

“She saved us, all of us, and I never got to properly thank her.” He thinks of Kirkwall, of Ser Alrik, of how he did his best to not see Sophie in the face of every young mage with a sunburst mark on their forehead with that vile smug on his face. He knows what he told the Hawke twins, knows that there was a part of him that believed his words, but he can’t help that the person that came out of Kinloch hold was the same man he sees in a looking glass. (You haven’t changed. You still flinch when the mages raise their staves and staffs and for every petite, young mage girl you saw in the Gallows you also saw Uldred. That’s why you ignored the children that came to you crying, or the Hawke’s when they brought evidence. You still ignore it now.) - No. No he’s trying. He’s trying and trying and - “I don’t think she would want to see the man I’ve became. I’m not a good man.

The Spymaster’s smile is sad, but she doesn’t disagree. Not fully. “Then I’ll accept Cassandra’s request for you to join the Inquisition. Know that I will keep a close eye on you. One mistreatment...” she trails off, but she doesn’t have to finish. He understands.

someone describing the time your OC hurt them.

The man that would’ve been King smells of ale and piss and sweat. Kirkwall, well, he has no idea why he’s in Kirkwall.

 That’s where she’s from. 

I don’t consider myself a Marcher, he remembers her saying as she does her best to to light a fire without the Maker given magic out of his comfort. He remembers assuring her that she being a mage doesn’t bother him, but she was so young and so insecure with everything she did. I haven’t been there since I was four. Maybe three. I don’t think my parents wanted another mage child. Alistair remembers that pang, how he knew in an instant they were a sort of kindred spirits, and how he made a promise to the Maker he’d do his best to protect that soft heart because the thought of her hardening made him feel all - well, it made him feel not well. 

He laughs at the idea now. 

“Fuck Loghain. Fuck the Wardens.” He mutters, bitterly, and he means it. “Fuck that stupid - that stupid girl and - and other things!” Now he only means it a little bit, just a little bit, because when all is said and done and he is sober enough to remember how she grabbed his hand before the Landsmeet and promised him, King or no King, she’d support him either way; how she would spend nights at camp imagining what their Griffons would look like; how he held her sobbing form after the Circle ordeal and how a traumatized Templar broke her heart (to which he still doesn’t regret punching him for. Well, maybe a little bit.) 

I can’t, Alistair, and I can’t let you do it. We’re better than that.

He is a murderer - a traitor! Are you telling me that you’ll give him the honor of joining the Wardens?

Everyone deserves mercy! He remembers her saying, her face red and tear stained, those indigo eyes of hers pleading with him and - Maker. He never had a little sister before, never had a family, but whenever those eyes broke something inside him did too. He surrendered. Please. I’m tired of hurting people. I don’t want to be a monster.

Too late. 

Those were his last words and all she did after the fact was cry. 

Good, he remembers thinking. Let her cry. Not like she cared about him. (When he’s sober he knows that’s a lie. He knows that, up ‘til that moment, she proved above and beyond how much she cared. That’s what hurts the most.)

your OC’s description of their game’s events.

When the magical protegee isn’t manipulating elemental magic and felling enemies with the offensive arcane mostly avoided in the Circle, she does her best to keep small. Hidden. Careful not to draw too much attention which, of course, proves useless again and again with bounty hunters breathing down their necks. 

By the time she meets Zevran, she’s newly seventeen, still bruised and tender and sore from spending her birthday in the Deep Roads, and while the first three assassinations gave her pause this - this only serves as an annoyance. When all is said and done and only the elf that coordinated this fiasco lives. He’s bound, tied, and her mabari hound Dread Woof bares his teeth as does her Qunari companion. She and Alistair, just as bruised and exhausted, do their best to be stern and mature. Commanding. (Sophie doesn’t want to admit she’s just copying him; sometime later she’ll wonder if he’s doing the same to her.) 

“Who sent you?” The elf - Zevran, but Zev to his friends - paints a story of another one of Loghain and Howe’s attempts to snuff her and Alistair out. “You- You’re not very loyal, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I know when I’ve been outmatched, however,” his voice drawls to almost a smolder, which makes her belly feel jumpy. Cheeks flushed or no she doesn’t let herself break. She listens. “I propose a deal, if you will?”

“Sten, you can rip his arms off -”

“Hold on!” He raises his voice, wiggling against his binds, which she supposes is for show since something tells her if he wants to be free he would’ve done so by now. “How about I work for you? Surely I’d be much safer with a famed Grey Warden -”

“- I’m young, not stupid.” Sophie interjects, doing her best to make her face sterner and less constipated looking (thanks Morgan). 

“Ah, true, as well as lovely. Beautiful, even. I am your man as long as you’ll have me, yes?”

Her freckled face is a shade of a tomato when she accepts the elf’s offer. “Are you serious?” Alistair pulls her aside. “Please don’t tell me we are letting an assassin who just tried to assassinate us live because he called you beautiful.”

Sophie says nothing, but continues to try to be small, and squashes any guilt at being unfaithful to Cullen’s memory with every time her heart flutters when Zevran looks her way.