#AND a grey warden. Haunting. Devastating.

[tahopo]

that dalish clan that pissed solas off so fucking bad. in my heart i know it was clan sabrae

[ice-knife]

5, 19 and 23 for fyfa :3c

JUICY PICKS, THANK U ESTEL // edgy/misc OC asks

5. How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

Pretty Damn Far, which makes her an excellent pick for a Grey Warden lmao. she will lie, steal, kill, ignore orders, travel, and do what she feels she needs to do in order to achieve what she wants. she’s remarkably stubborn and very, very hard to push off-course once she’s set her mind to something. drinking an ancient blood magic potion to get better at killing darkspawn? sure. taking part in a mysterious ritual for the sake of not needing to die to stop the blight? perfect

fyfa Does draw the line at betrayal though. she will not go against her family, her culture, or her friends, even if it would be an easier way to get to her goal. it could never be worth it to her. she cannot lose them, not if she has anything to say about it

19. How does your OC behave when enraged?

it’s not hard to make them mad, but there’s a difference between Mad and Enraged. they get louder and antsier when they’re upset — shouting, snappy, and ready to push or punch whoever they’re mad at away

when enraged, though, that fuse burns bright but short. they’ll get really nasty verbally to try and hurt the person pissing them off, but they don’t get physical, in large part because by that point they’re Too angry to be in control of what they do with their body. when they’re able to move, the first thing they’re going to try and do is get the fuck away. once that fuse has burnt up, they’re going to be devastated, both because of whatever upset them like that and because of how they acted, especially if they got nasty against someone they care about

(she hasn’t been enraged like that in a hot minute, but the whole mess with zathrian got her there. she was nonverbal for a day or so after the fact)

23. What is the hardest emotion for your OC to process? How about express?

fyfa is So G-ddamn Bad at expressing vulnerability, especially if it has to do with admitting to guilt (such as being wrong). they Will avoid expressing it until the emotion gets too big to hide, which does sometimes mean they say hurtful things to try and avoid talking about it

as far as processing emotions, honestly i think she’s worst at just being sad. anger is easier to process, even fear is easier to process, than sadness, especially if that sadness is tied with grief. unfortunate, given how much her grief haunts her. it’s hard and uncomfortable for her to sit with her sadness and give it the seriousness it needs. turns out, though, it can be easier to do with other people

[saintlethanavir]

7, 17, 21!

Thank you so much for the asks bb!!

7. If they had to choose one person most important to them, who would that be?

Tzvi Mahariel: Alistair or Merrill, honestly. A lot of their friends and clan sort of fell to the wayside after they became a Grey Warden and there was the loss of Tamlen. He's very introverted as well and prefers the company of very few. Alistair and Merrill are his best friends in the whole world.

Ophelia Hawke: They've got a top 3 I'll be honest but if they had to choose it would be a painstakingly rough decision between Fenris and Varric. Their top three includes Carver as part of that. They all know Ophelia incredibly well and they've stuck by them through the worst possible moments.

Calliope Lavellan: Aurelius would be the obvious answer but it would actually be their father, Hanin. He taught them everything and he kept them strong through every terrible thing to happen to their family. If anything would happen to his father Calliope would be devastated.

17. What were they like as a child?

Tzvi Mahariel: So depressed lmao his dad ran off and his parents died early on after that so it's a rough time for him. Ashalle did everything she could but the only thing that brought out his sunshine were Tamlen and Merrill. And being with the halla. He just felt better around them.

Ophelia Hawke: Absolutely insane, chaotic child. Their magic came early and they were the type to just be so impulsive. Definitely jumped off the roof more than once pretending they could fly and almost or did break something. They've always been very protective of their family members as well, and would beat up any bully, even the ones bigger than them at the time.

Calliope Lavellan: Very reserved and quiet, they loved to ramble on about their special interests to their brother and father though. He struggled to make friends outside of the two or three that he grew up with, and never really broke out of their shell until Inquisition forced them to do so. Calliope ran off with their twin Aurelius to play in the Temple to Falon'Din that the clan would often camp out by , it was their favourite place in the Graves!

21. What's their biggest regret?

Tzvi Mahariel: That he couldn't save Tamlen. He has huge survivors guilt about it and feels it should have been Tamlen who became the Warden and not him.

Ophelia Hawke: Both that they didn't push Aveline to go after the man who eventually killed Leandra, and that they didn't save Bethany from that ogre. It haunts them every waking moment.

Calliope Lavellan: That they never learned to control their magic as a child, it led to a lot of problems in Inquisition and may have saved their mother in the end as well.

Ask me about my Dragon Age World State!

[jibberjibbsart]

*Spongebob voice* The gangs all here! Finally all my Dragon Age Protagonists in one place! I did some retconning to the story but I’m finally satisfied with what I came up with. Basically, the Amell/Cousland/Hawke family is very important. (If you have any questions about my character feel free to ask them! I want to draw their answers/reactions) (In my Dragon Age Universe, Eleanor Cousland was the oldest Amell sibling that left Kirkwall before Leandra) (I break Canon a bit oops) Growing up with magic in Highever should have been easy. Valerie was the daughter of Teyrn Cousland. She lived in a beautifully fortified castle where she could practice her magic safely and out of the Chantry’s eye. The only problem was her family. When Valerie was much younger, her Aunt Leandra and Uncle Malcolm moved in with them. Their son Garrett was a handful. Not only was he annoying, but he was a mage that couldn’t control his magic. Numerous times she had to put out fires he started. When her baby cousin Bethany showed signs of having magic, Uncle Malcolm decided it was time to give them lessons. While Malcolm taught the three mages about the Fade, Valerie’s father showed her brother Fergus how to use a sword. Eventually Marian and Carver joined those lessons. One day, Valerie was showing Bethany and Garrett a new spell when a maid saw them using magic. Most of the staff already knew about the children’s abilities, but this new maid was a devout Andrastian. She ran to the Chantry to alert the Templars. Luckily Leandra, Malcolm, and the kids escaped safely. Valerie was taken to the Circle of Ferelden at the age of fifteen. Shortly after joining the Grey Wardens, Valerie and Alistair ended up in the town of Lothering. While she was asking some of the Templars in the Chantry about Arl Eamon, she ran into her Aunt Leandra. The two were overjoyed to see each other and Leandra invited the Grey Wardens to stay in her house while they were visiting the town. Valerie told Leandra about Howe’s betrayal and how almost everyone in the castle was killed. Leandra was devastated. She decided to write to her brother in Kirkwall about what happened to their sister. After they talked about Valerie’s Joining and the Blight, Valerie decided to catch up with her cousins. She remembered Garrett correctly. He was still annoying, dense, and a slob, but now he was incredibly talented. Over the years he became quite adept at using his magic. Even little Bethany showed promise of being a powerful mage. She envied how the Hawkes got to live free from the circle and could still practice their magic. She didn’t live in the circle long, but it was long enough to hate the Chantry for their mistreatment of mages. After defeating Uldred at the Ferelden Circle, Valerie went back to Redcliffe castle. She hoped that with her new knowledge of the Fade she could defeat the demon plaguing Connor and save him from becoming an Abomination. Before they could start the ritual, a scribe ran into the castle telling Bann Teagan that Lothering had been attacked by Darkspawn. Valerie asked if anyone made it out alive, but the scribe told her there were no survivors. That night she asked Leliana to pray for her family’s souls. Ever since Hawke watched his cousin get ripped from her home and put into a circle against her will, he feared the Templars. Unfortunately for him, Kirkwall was a Templar breeding ground. As soon as they entered the city he was horrified by the state of their circle. Hawke always knew circles weren’t a great place to be, but this? This was beyond anything he could’ve imagined. It was even worse when the Templars in the gallows talked about Knight-Captain Meredith. She was like a storm cloud that hung over his head wherever he went. Although Marian and Carver love their brother, they feared his magic and that his fear of the Templars would cause him to do something foolish. They always kept a close eye on him. After being in Kirkwall for a few years, Hawke was like a new person. He no longer lived in fear of the Templars, he could actually act like an adult when it was necessary, and everyone he helped he aided them with a smile. However Marian and Carver could see the pain in their brother’s eyes. Their mother’s death haunted Garrett with every decision he had to make. He hid behind sarcasm and jokes, but they knew he blamed himself. He blamed the Maker. He blamed his blighted magic. Being Champion of Kirkwall was exhausting. There were parties to attend, nobles to please, dangerous cartels that wanted his blood to defeat, and of course dignitaries to greet. One day, Hawke had gotten a letter from Aveline saying that the King of Ferelden was in the keep and wanted to speak with him. It’s not every day that a King wants to willingly meet him. Hawke was not expecting to see Alistair, the goofy Grey Warden he met when he was seventeen. The two Ferelden men excitedly greeted each other and talked about their lives since the Blight ended. Hawke was especially surprised to hear that Valerie was Queen of Ferelden. His cousin, Queen! Alistair explained to Hawke, Carver, and Marian how Valerie thought everyone died in Lothering. Hawke joked that it would take more than a few Darkspawn to kill him, but he told Alistair how they lost their father and Bethany. After Alistair left Kirkwall, Hawke made sure to send plenty of letters to Denerim about his time as Champion. When Clan Lavellan saw Kirkwall’s Chantry explode, they decided it would be best to leave the Free Marches. Creators forbid the Templars hunt down any and all mages, including Dalish ones. As they attempted to get as far away from Kirkwall as possible they were stopped by two Shemlen and an elf with strange Vallaslin. The gigantic Shemlen explained that the area wasn’t safe for him or any mages, but he could protect them if anything should happen. Keeper Deshanna feared no Shem and she welcomed the group to travel with them for a time. The more protection, the better. The Keeper’s first, Jyn, took an interest with the larger Shemlen mage. Jyn explained to the Shemlen that she only recently started studying magic. She didn’t know enough spells that would make her worthy of being a Keeper if anything happened to Deshanna. The Shem agreed to teach her as much as he knew. After a few weeks of wandering the Free Marches’ forests, Jyn learned that she was an excellent elemental mage. Hawke (She asked her mentor for his name after two weeks) taught her all the elemental magic he knew, which wasn’t a lot. When Jyn expressed interest in the elemental arts, Hawke panicked. He was a force mage, he was afraid he didn’t know enough to teach her what she wanted to know. However, Jyn was more talented than she let on. Hawke would teach her how to cast simple spells and then she would easily improve upon them. In their spare time, the elf with strange Vallaslin (Fenris) and Marian taught Jyn simple self-defense moves to keep her on her toes in battle. Once the clan traveled closer to the coast, Hawke heard rumors about the Divine Conclave. He knew this would be an excellent chance for Mages and Templars to talk peacefully, but he wasn’t sure if the man who helped start this rebellion should attend. Hawke decided to go to Denerim to speak with his cousin on what he should do. Jyn begged Hawke to take her with him, but he decided against it. It would be safer for her to stay with her clan. As they said their goodbyes, Marian took Jyn aside and promised she would send letters updating her about Fenris and Garrett’s relationship. If they didn’t get engaged anytime soon Jyn was going to come to Denerim herself and give a lecture to the two of them. When Hawke heard about the explosion at the Conclave, he was devastated to hear that Jyn had attended to represent clan Lavellan. He hoped she had survived, but the Temple of Sacred Ashes was… in ashes. There was no possible way she could have lived. You can imagine his surprise when he got a letter from her explaining she was now the leader of the Inquisition. He knew she would be great.

[lipstickhawke]

TELL ME BOUT YOUR HAWK AND OCS! then I'll ramble about mine :)

Hello! Thank you so much for the question! I have three Hawkes but since one of them is highly underdeveloped I’ll just talk about my other two! 

Luanna Hawke

The first Hawke I ever made is Luanna Hawke. She has a primarily a purple/blue personality. Her backstory is pretty much the same as the standard Hawke backstory, always on the move, dead dad and stuff. 

1. She worked for Meeran! Luanna gets a whole lot stronger and develops a thicker skin when working with him since she is a very emotional person. Her emotions don’t go away, but she learns how to better mask her emotions with humor to cope. 

2) Luanna was extremely close with Bethany, much more so than Carver. Since both her and Bethany were mages, they often trained together, and Luanna was prone to leaving Carver out of her life. She still loved him dearly but it wasn’t until Bethany died and Luanna realized that Carver’s anger towards her felt justified. This was devastating to her and she tried everything she could to get the two of them to be closer, including taking him to the Deep Roads. Carver became a Grey Warden and Luanna felt like another sibling had been ripped away from her. It wasn’t until the end of the game she felt like she could prove that she loved him and is a good sister. It’s a complicated/bittersweet relationship. She blames herself for both Bethany and Leandra’s deaths. It’s something that continues to haunt her and leaves her with depression and PTSD at the end. 

4) She romanced Fenris! She was drawn to him because Luanna’s self-confidence and will to better herself was extremely low when they met. She found his drive and passion to do things extremely admirable and found herself trying to mimic his strength. Hearing his past made her realize that she could heal from her trauma. Luanna’s compassion and willingness and patience are what drove Fenris to her. They are very soft for each other and I loooove them. 

5) She fought the Arishock for Isabela. Isabela is her best friend next to Varric and there was no way she’d let her be taken away. She faced death in that fight when she was stabbed through the stomach. Anders was able to save her but she was permanently scarred. 

6) She supported the mages! But did not support Ander’s decision to blow up the Chantry. Despite being a mage, Luanna is Andrastian and was very good friends with Sebastian. However, due to the fact that she and Anders were good friends throughout the game, she couldn’t find it in her heart to kill him. 

7) She survives the fade and goes on to have two kiddos. 

Ezekiel “Ez” Hawke

Ez is my rouge red Hawke and was a character I made to see how evil I could be in a game since I personally find it really hard to be mean to anyone lol. Ez was a very sickly child and was often bedridden. Throughout his life, his family never knew what exactly was causing him so much pain so the illness remained. When Malcolm died, Ez wasn’t very torn up about it, he had spent most of his time training with Bethany and Carver while he had been left to lie in agony. Being the oldest boy in the family, he was pleased to be the head of it and would work tirelessly to improve his strength so that he could walk without fainting. When Ez turned eighteen, he decided to do something about the sickness. He confronted a blood mage and forced him to cure him. The blood mage warned him that a price would need to be paid but Ez didn’t care and would do whatever it took to heal himself. The reverse spell cured Ez, but left him incredibly scarred. At the beginning of DA2, Ez realizes that the spell in itself was a curse, and took away the effects of his invisible illness that would eventually kill him, and instead replaced it with a painless grotesque life. His skin starts rotting off. To cover up the damage done to himself, he covers his face in heavy makeup and powder. 

Ez is extremely vain and particular about how he looks and will not allow anyone to touch him out of fear of seeing under his painted mask. His resentment of mages causes him to lash out at Bethany. Carver’s death was even less meaningful to him than his father’s. For a majority of their relationship, Ez pressures Bethany to find a cure for his deformities. Bethany dies in the deep roads and Leandra’s death was almost therapeutic. A desire to erase his family and start over overcame him. The name “Hawke” belonged to him and only him. 

1) Power became very interesting to Ez, as he was powerless his entire life and he was willing to appeal to anyone who might give it to him. He worked as a smuggler for the first year in Kirkwall. 

2) Ez was never interested in romance or even friendship, just political alliances. The closest thing to romance was his relationship with Isabela, being that she challenged him and made him rethink his ideas on power. Isabela in a way is there to represent the last thread of Ez’s humanity. He throws that away when he gives her to the Arishock. 

3) Ez supported the Templars and ruled as Viscount. He had Anders executed. In my own canon, Ez gets corrupted with red lyrium in the final fight against the mages and is a brutal and ruthless ruler, so much that a rebellion happens against him and he is driven out of Kirkwall. He immediately starts looking for the next source of power to appeal to. He eventually works for Corypheus and spies for him in Inquisition. My Inquisitor in that universe finds out he’s a traitor and leaves him in the fade. He may be chillin in the fade now who knows (;

[avaquet]

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OC: COMPANION EDITION

Rules:

Describe your OC as they are described by their companions.

Show us what they look like!

Tag at least 5 (or more) followers and 5 blogs you follow! :)

Enjoy writing!

Thank you so much @dirthara-mama ! This was a nice writing exercise for me! Also every response is pretty long and sorta encompasses what Evelyn did throughout the Inquisition, but I thought it easier to have them sorta react to the choices she made? Idk! And sorry if any sound OOC! This is the first time I’ve posted dialogue from anyone in the DA universe :D (excitingly scary I might add lol!)

Tagging: Oof, idk who’s already done this, and of course no obligation! @ironbullsmissingeye @underthedreadwolfsgaze @felorinbailenshield2 @nemichen and @wardenofmyheart !

I put things under the cut cause it be long

How the Inner Circle views Evelyn Lavellan!

(Real quick! There’s mentions of a character named Veil, she is my qunari OC that I HC in my canon that she’s part of the inner circle, though I do not do a reaction from her because well yeah) (I also pictured this as the characters telling a close friend about Ev, and not like a strange interviewer or something)

Blackwall: “Despite the lie I lived, she brought me back and made me a proper Grey Warden. That girl gave me a second chance I never asked for, but perhaps the one I needed. I feel stronger for having joined the Inquisition, came out a better man. I’m not the only one with that story here, she has that kind of influence on a person. I’ve been present for every judgement she judged and she had found a way to make the prisoner work for us or sent them off for a second chance. Like that one Avaar that threw goats at our walls, Maker that one was the first person she judged and he walked out a happy man! Exiled to hunt Venatori, then a while later his tribe got their own land and didn’t become bandits! (chuckles) Like I said, that girls leaves you a better person. I wish she’s see how helpful she’s been. Evelyn never feels like she’s done enough. But I’m grateful to her.”

Cassandra: “Evelyn as the Inquisitor has been...interesting to say the least. I know she means well, I just don’t know if it’s really the right choice she’s made at times. I’m thankful that everything worked out the way it did, though. She convinced me to rebuild the Seekers, she...ugh, she helped get Varric’s next book for me. She knew I liked his series, and I’m flattered. Evelyn has told me that she admires the energy I emit and asked how I do it. (chuckles) I asked her how she made the hard choices, and we both responded to our questions as we just improvise. She’s definitely grown on me, I’m sure of it. Evelyn’s been, thankfully, respectful of everyone’s beliefs. Well, except believing that she is the Herald, that time was frustrating for all of us to say the least. But, she doesn’t believe in either the Maker or the Elvhen gods as gods, which surprised me, but I...(sighs) she doesn’t need my judgement. Evelyn’s a good person, a good friend.”

Cole: “Screams that aren’t heard. She keeps screaming but nothing comes out. Hushed whispers from invisible scars haunt her. A weight no one sees. ‘Help me. Please.’ whispered into the pillow. Once petrified by dreams but in wake is more terrifying. She escapes, only coming back to help. Like me. I cannot make her forget, or anyone, but I feel more. She likes knowing someone wants to help. Smiles more now, genuine. Her friends finally heard her screams. A warm embrace fills her, the urge to yell dies down like a starving flame. Safe. More confident, she helps more, wants others to feel the same calm. I’m more human because of her. We like to garden and feel the earth beneath our feet and against our hands. Too busy to think of bad thoughts. It helps.”

Cullen: “The Inquisitor can change her mind too quickly in my opinion. Though, she’s hardened over time. She did help me overcome my lyrium addiction and support me through the process. I could feel she felt nervous around me at times, maybe it was because I’m an ex-Templar and she’s a mage. Which is why it surprised me that she was supportive during my recovery and how many chess matches she partook with me. We’re either matched at wits, or she just lengthens the game to keep me on edge, which, she’s always won. I wish I could’ve gotten to know her better, though, and despite my advice she would always use the Inquisitions forces as a last resort which I hardly agreed with. But, what’s done is done. Might I add, she has a companion dragon? Do you know how nervous that made me? A dragon!”

Dorian: “Evelyn? She’s one of the truest friends I’ve ever had. At first I was wary since she conscripted the mages. But she changed for the better, no doubt under my influence. I question her taste in literature, but I dare say she reads more than I do. How she can find time like that baffles me. She gets extraordinarily excited to fight dragons mind you, despite my protests. I...I think her and Bull consider it to be a date? Hardly romantic, maybe she got the idea from reading Varric’s books (scoffs). Ev told me about the meeting with my father and accompanied me to Redcliffe. She didn’t have to, she could’ve ignored it, she made time to help me personally. Though, she’s helped everyone personally, but my situation wasn’t dealing with a qunari alliance or a certain dwarf’s girlfriend from leaking red lyrium to Corypheus. I...I’m (sigh) grateful to call Evelyn Lavellan a friend. She’s kind and accepting and treats everyone with a kind of equity that is so rare.”

(slight nsfw in this one) The Iron Bull: “On the field, it’s like having a raging lightning storm with a fire tornado working with you. The look of determination and concentration on her face during battle is just so...(grunts). She’s my Kadan, beautiful, strong, intelligent, and I’m proud to be her Vhenan. We’ve shared many moments of all kinds together, helped me in many ways, realize things, helped me become the best I can be. I only hope I’ve helped her in the same way. The Chargers have already considered her a part of us with how much she hangs around, and fuck, if it wasn’t for the Inquisition, I’d ask her to join. Ev’s always fun to be around, she’s got the best jokes, Krem groans ‘cause she’s strengthened my pun game. And damn, does she have a fantastic body, and I get to see it in all its glory almost daily. The scars, her tits, the faces she makes when we go rough, yeah, she’s great. We’re great.”

Josephine: “Madame de Fer and I have to constantly remind her about her presentation to the world. Oh, I remember the stress at the Ball and having to watch over everyone almost like children. It’s also surprised me on how much culture she had not experienced before. Did you know, she’s never been to a full theater performance before? I made sure to change that as quickly as I could. I feel honored to be the first to introduce her to a variety of customs, she did help me annul the contract on my family after all. And on top of that, she respected my choice to doing it my way. She’s been amazing and got to witness me annihilate Cullen at Wicked Grace, and applauded me for doing so! I adore her and love the challenge she gave me during our time in the Inquisition. She came to me a lot for my use in diplomacy which, obviously, is something I respect. Even if...even if it didn’t save her clan, I thought she would hate me for failing, but she didn’t. I still feel awful and I apologize whenever it comes up, but she’s the one reassuring me? Don’t get me wrong, she avoided me for a bit after I told her, well, no one saw her for the rest of the night...but...oh, that got sad, I am thankful for her kindness.”

Leliana: “I won’t lie, at first I thought her compassion and mercy were a weakness, but she taught me otherwise. Ever since the death of her clan, I’ve been trying to get information on any survivors, she doesn’t deserve such a devastating loss, especially when it was during the middle of the Inquisition. She was always keen on listening to my suggestions at the war table and used my forces whenever possible. I think she was interested in adopting a nug from me before she started to raise a dragon! We all kept eyes on Elyana the dragon but somehow things just worked out. (chuckles) She did ask me to train her in becoming a bard, though I think she’s much more interested in what Maryden does than being a spy. Evelyn reminds me so much of the Hero of Ferelden. It took some convincing to get her to realize the severity of the oppression of mages and annulled the conscription. She was quite sheltered from the rest of the world in her clan and didn’t know much about the mage-templar situation. I think that’s why she listened to both Vivienne and I like mentors and (chuckles) parental figures as she’s called Vivienne mom a few times. All in all, Evelyn is precious and great, and I’m glad to have known her.”

Sera: “Oh her? Yeah, she’s fun to be around ‘n stuff. Elf, though, yeah. Not too elfy, so that’s good. Got too into her own glow, though. Rift mage or whatever, that’s too mage-y with that weird magic shite. And it’s a bit unnervin’ innit? I mean, she’s good, helps stick it to nobles in the best friggin’ way. (giggles) And we got to prank her whole lot, she don’t mind my cookies of shite on the roof either. Ev wants to be like people people, I can tell she’s different that way, but Viv keeps makin’ her wear that friggin’ sash and shite. Makes her, Ev, not seem like people, right. I like her and I don’t at the same time, yeah? Isn’t too elfy, good, but she’s too mage-y. Fun ‘n funny but can’t seem to make up her mind for shite. Like, listenin’ to Viv but also pieing nobles in the face. Look, she’s nice an’ all and she’s gettin’ there, but I think she needs a bit more pies to the face, yeah? (giggles) Or Bull to set her right when her arse needs it. (giggles) Get it? Eugh, never mind.”

Solas: “It took time to warm up to the Inquisitor, for she always kept people at a distance. For a time I thought...no. Perhaps she changed her mind. It was for the best anyways, I’m partially grateful that things did not escalate further. I got to train her in the ways of the Rift Mage, and in doing so I learned just how wise her spirit is. How adaptable and intelligent, it made me rethink about the Dalish, but she assured me it wasn’t them that made her that way. She has a tendancy to infuriate me, but I respect her will to listen as to why it does. Evelyn still has much to learn, and it’s been interesting to see her grow from her experiences. I know she abhors the Vallaslin on her face as she did not wish to partake in that tradition. Maybe...hopefully in time, there will be a way to safely remove it. As for the choices she has made, there are a few I have questioned. Thankfully, she took my advice on how to proceed with the Vir Abelasan. Evelyn Lavellan is young and ignorant, but I hold her to a high respect for her willingness to learn, help, restore, and fix her mistakes.”

Varric: “Blossom has been through a ton of shit. Made a lot of choices that she regretted. When Hawke came by, she talked Blossom into rethinking on her choice to deal with the mages and went back on the conscription, letting the mages be free within the Inquisition. I know Hawke’s been keeping in contact with her and they’re friends. Which is great! I taught her how to play Wicked Grace, heh, she’s not very good at it but she plays hard. Well, as in, she bets a lot and usually loses it all but weirdly, she doesn’t mind and is very enjoyable company. Her, Veil, Buttercup, Tiny, and I play cards regularly together. We all exchange stories, chuckle at her and Veil’s bickering and shitty pun wars with Tiny. Best parts of those are when Buttercup groans and usually leaves at that point. I feel bad for Blossom because she’s so nice, merciful, forgiving, and caring an this damn world of events keep forcing her through tough and impossible shit, and it’s broken her a few times. We helped pick up her pieces and continue on. She’s young and inexperienced. Shit, before the Inquisition, she’d never killed a person before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have a hero in this mess, I just think Andraste or luck or whatever chose unfairly. Or maybe her kind heart is exactly what we all need. That part about her hasn’t changed despite everything and I respect that deeply. I hope she’s able to live a happy life after all this.”

Vivienne: “Oh, Evelyn is a dear, very sweet and respectful. She listened to my teachings very well, especially on etiquette and it surprised me how much she already did out of habit considering she was raised in a Dalish clan on different customs. Though, she did say she didn’t follow Dalish traditions. We share many evenings together and hold conversations while she lets me braid her hair. I found it amusing when I helped her get ready for the Halamshiral Ball and had to teach not only her, but Iron Bull as well, on how to dance. Evelyn was easier to teach because she knows how to dance solo, but never had a partner. I remember she hated the Ball because she had to fight in a dress, with tight braids in her hair, makeup, and various accessories without messing any of it up lest she becomes suspicious or scandalous to the guests. Sadly, she despises The Game, though she’s very good at it. It was glorious. At the Winter Palace she went from being seen like a glorified servant to being on top and holding everyone at the court on strings like puppets along with their respect. Oh, a great sense of fashion and a good eye for decorations, though she dislikes constantly looking and dressing as nobility and I must remind her consistently on why it’s important. I do enjoy her company and I wish we saw more eye to eye on the subject on Circles and mages. At first we did, but as time went on she started agreeing more and more with our dear Spymaster.”

lol all in all, Ev is kind, caring, and smart. She got along with basically everyone, even if they didn’t see eye to eye on everything. Though other than Bull, I think she’s closest with Vivienne, Varric, and Dorian ( and my OC Veil, but I don’t post about her often)

[arlessaofamaranthine]

Angst asks: 1, 10 and 17 for Elia please! :o

1. What’s one experience your character had that made them very afraid?

Some time after Elia and her brother Evenios left their home in Denerim, they made their way to the Hinterlands. There was this one night when they were both very exhausted after a long day of walking, so they made a camp in the wilderness. Elia fell asleep almost immediately after she closed her eyes, but she soon woke up - they had been attacked by a pack of wolves. They managed to get rid of the animals, but when Elia turned to face her brother, he wasn’t moving. 

There was a really nasty cut on the left side of Even’s face, going almost like over the eye. It was bleeding badly. Elia had never experienced panic like the one that took her over that moment. Even was his brother, the only person she had and for or a moment she was sure he was dead. 

In the end Elia did manage to find a healer for Even, and he was only left with a scar and a slightly blurred eyesight on his left eye, but the experience still haunts Elia time to time.

10. What were the character’s parents like? What was the affect the parents had on the character?

Elia’s mother, Ailiet Travanti, was a respected general in King Cailan’s army. She was a determined and loyal woman, and was rarely at home - when she was, however, she taught Elia sword fighting and martial arts and told her stories of her journeys in the army. Elia loved her mother very much, and was devasted when she died at Ostagar. Losing her mother made Elia even closer with her brother than she was before. Elia misses her mother greatly.

Baldewin Travanti, Elia’s father, was a succesful merchant. He was very invested in his work like his wife. Most of the time Elia and Baldewin didn’t really get along - Elia’s father would have wanted her to be more lady-like, and that was something Elia was never going to be. When Elia stormed out to join the Grey Wardens (which she still hasn’t been able to do with everything going on with the Order) Baldewin disowned her. They haven’t talked since, and Elia harbors a lot of hate towards her father.

17. Is your character afraid of death? Why/why not?

Elia is not afraid of her own death - she never really stops to think about it - but she is terrified of people close to her dying. She doesn’t know if she believes in any kind of life after death, and the idea of losing someone for good is not a pleasant one.

angst questions

[thefanofplenty]

L-o-v-e-d the game despite all the negative reviews. Didn't really mind the repeatinv maps either - the story was amazing enough to keep me distracted. Now without further ado: Meet my Hawkes!

Nivia Hawke (Canon Hawke)

Nivia is a lively young woman with a witty sense of humor. She is a very optimistic person and tries to see the positive side of every situation. Years of running and hiding due to her, her father Malcolm's and her sister Bethany's magical abilities have taught her to find pleasure in the simple things in life. When things get rough she simply laughs the world away until everyone joins in. Even when she and her family are forced to flee from the blight and her sister is killed by darkspawn, Nivia is determined to keep smiling - because she has to. After Malcolm's death she has made it her life goal to keep her family happy and safe, no matter the cost. Keeping up her joyful demeanor despite the circumstances have rendered her not particularly great at dealing with negative emotions such as pain and grief. As time progresses however she's forced to recognize that humor cannot fix everything and laughter is not, in fact, always the beste mdicine.

At first, her new life in Krikwall seems like one big adventure, all ups and downs included. She majorly sees it as an opportunity to make new friends, see the world outside of Ferelden and mock the local Templars by hiding in plain sight. Her joy is first curbed when a mission to the Deep Roads goes awry and she is forced to leave her brother Carver in the hands of a group of Grey Wardens to save him from the Blight. She returns to her family alone, feeling guilty for not being able to keep Carver safe, though she still tries to surpress the feeling and move forward.

After a while Nivia grows close to the elf Fenris, whi was once a slave in Tevinter. What starts as a harmless flirt quickly developes into something much deeper. Nivia is devastated when Fenris is unable to cope with this and ends their relationship as a result. She refuses to talk to him for weeks, right up until her mother's death at the hands of a blood mage. Fenris is there for her immediately and tries to comfort her as best as he can. After this incident Nivia's demeanor grows a lot softer and she seems less wound up. She realizes that even after losing her family there are still people who care for her and try to share her burden. This allows her, for the first time in forever, to truly relax, even if she still sees it as her duty to protect those closest to her.

While Nivia tries to mostly keep out of Kirkwall politics - if only to avoid detection by the templars - there are a few things she is quite vocal about. Though she doesn't directly oppose the Qunari as a people she refuses to let them force their doctrine on the city and its people, going so far to duel their leader, the Arishok, only to save her friend Isabela from their grasp. Concerning the mage-templar-conflict she worriedly watches as tensions rise, hoping for a peaceful solution until the end. Nivia strictly opposed Anders' radical methods of forcing things to escalate but ultimately lets him join her side to protect the mages from the Kirkwall templars and their Commander Meredith, trying to give him a chance to seek redemption for his actions. After Meredith is killed Nivia leaves the city with all of her friends and even when the group disbands, her love Fenris, whom she ultimately reconciles with, stays by her side to accompany her and her Mabari Dane on their travels - at least for a while.

Hayden Hawke

A gentle and calm man with a grand determination to do the right thing. He's his family's rock and anchor, but also kind, sensitive and just the tiniest bit of uptight (until of course he's lucky enough to meet a certain passionate Pirate Queen who brings out a more humorous and reckless side in him).

Hayden is haunted by the events at Ostagar as well as by the death of his younger brother during his family's escape from Ferelden. He does his best to protect his remaining loved ones as well as his friends - and yet time and time again is forced to realize that it's not always possible. Luckily, during his time in Kirkwall he manages to surround himself with a merry band of misfits that may bicker with each other like children but would all give their life for him without a second thought. Hayden forms an especially close bond with the beautiful pirate Isabela, who he finds allows him to let loose more than once in a while. In return he is determined to show her that there are still people who have her back in more than one sense and that true love is not actually just a Thedosian fairytale. It is unsurprising that later he willingly enters a duel with the Arishok just in order to save her.

Due to his father's and sister's magical abilites that eventually lead to Bethany's imprisonment in the Kirkwall circle, Hayden is a vocal supporter of mage rights. While he doesn't condone Anders' deeds and the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry he does not hesitate a second to try and save the circle from the right of anullment. Commander Meredith does not stand a chance against him - and against his noble warhound Drake.

Miranda Hawke

Miranda - a woman as fierce as the Waking Sea and as cold as the Frostback Mountains. Her start in life is not an easy one: She lives on the run, being forced to flee across Thedas due to her fathers' and sisters' magic abilities. Due to this, while she loves all of her family dearly, she delevopes a certain bitterness towards mages and magic in general. She is left wondering why Bethany's wishes to join a circle are not simply respected as in her opinion it would mean a lot less trouble for her family. This sentiment grows after their father passes away and Miranda is forced into the role of the family head, trying her best to keep everything and everyone together.

Her bitterness worsens during her time in Kirkwall, especially after her sister - and thus the only positive magical influence left in her life - dies in the Deep Roads and their mother falls victim to a Blood Mage. Mirands grows increasingly distrustful of mages which heavily strains her relationship with some of her companions. Curiously enough she still isn't immune to the charms of a certain former Grey Warden mage. While they seem like fire and ice she and Anders end up falling head over heels for each other. Anders eventually moves into the Hawke estate to keep a lonely Miranda company and thus brings both of them some peace and happiness - if only for a while.

After giving Isabela to the Qunari in order to avoid a war on the city that is now her home, Miranda is forced to make another difficult decision when Anders blows up the Kirkwall chantry, plunging the Free Marches into chaos. With a heavy heart she finally complies with his wish for death before the demon revenge inside him takes him over completely. She then fights alongside the templars to make up for her lost love's crimes and restore order to the city. After the battle against Meredith she is made Viscount of Kirkwall, a title seeming empty to her after everything she's lost. She resigns from her post soon after to leave Kirkwall and all of her bad memories behind, together with the only family she has left: her Mabari Ser. Wandering Thedas aimlessly she never quite finds a place that feels like home to her again.

[manders1984]

Outlander Season 3 Episode Master Post (Update #2)

Bumping because a few people have asked. Post now includes runtimes for episodes airing in November, per Starz’s November schedule.

This post has been updated with all of the episode titles, descriptions, writers, and directors we know so far for Season 3—which is pretty much all of them. If you don’t want to be spoiled, STOP READING. I will update and repost this as information becomes available.

The previous versions of this post are here and here. For my predictions on the breakdown of the episodes leading up to the Reunion, click here. For analysis of the 305 episode title, click here.

Episode 301 (September 10, 2017)—"The Battle Joined"

written by Ronald D. Moore

directed by Brendan Maher

(57 minutes) After living through the Battle of Culloden, Jamie finds himself at the mercy of unforgiving British victors, until a connection from his past provides his only hope of survival. Meanwhile, a pregnant Claire attempts to adjust to life in the modem world of 1940s Boston—and life with Frank.

Additional Cast:

Ryan Ralph Gerrard as Giles McMartin

Joseph Rye as Realtor

Garry Summers as Anaesthesiologist

Episode 302 (September 17, 2017)—“Surrender"

written by Anne Kenney

directed by Jennifer Getzinger

Hiding in an isolated cave, Jamie leads a lonely Life until Lallybroch is threatened by redcoats pursuing the elusive Jacobite traitor known as "Red Jamie: Back in Boston, Claire and Frank struggle to coexist in a marriage haunted by the ghost of Jamie's love.

Episode 303 (September 24, 2017)—"All Debts Paid"

written by Matthew B. Roberts

directed by Brendan Maher

In prison, Jamie discovers that an old foe has become the warden - and now has the power to make his life a living hell. Over the years, Claire and Frank both put their best foot forward to share a harmonious marriage, but an uninvited guest shatters this illusion, bringing their differences to light.

Episode 304 (October 1, 2017)—”Of Lost Things”

written by Toni Graphia

directed by Brendan Maher

While serving as groomsman at the aristocratic estate of Helwater, Jamie is reluctantly pulled into the intrigue of a noble British family. In 1968 Scotland, Claire, Brianna and Roger struggle to trace Jamie's whereabouts in history, leaving Claire to wonder if they will ever find him again.

Additional Cast:

Hannah James as Geneva Dunsany

Tanya Reynolds as Isobel Dunsany

Episode 305 (October 8, 2017)—”Freedom & Whisky”

written by Toni Graphia*

directed by Brendan Maher

As Brianna grapples with the life-changing revelations of the past summer, Claire must help her come to terms with the fact that she is truly her father's daughter - her 18th century Highlander father. To complicate matters further, Roger brings news that forces Claire and Brianna to face an impossible choice.

Additional Cast:

Mitchell Mullen as Dean Tramble

Episode 306 (October 22, 2017)—”A. Malcolm”

Runtime: 75 minutes

written by Matthew B. Roberts

directed by Norma Bailey

After decades apart, Jamie and Claire finally reunite and rekindle their emotional and physical bonds. But Jamie's new business dealings jeopardize the couples' hopes for a simple life together.

Additional Cast:

Ian Conningham as Barton

Kirsty Strain as Peggy

Episode 307 (October 29, 2017)—”Creme De Menthe"

written by Karen Campbell

directed by Norma Bailey

In the aftermath of a violent confrontation, Claire follows her conscience as a surgeon, even though it could put her and Jamie's lives at risk. At the same time, Jamie attempts to evade the reach of the Crown as its representative closes in on his illegal dealings.

Additional Cast:

Ian Conningham as Barton

Episode 308 (November 5, 2017)—“First Wife"

Runtime: 60 minutes

written by Joy Blake

directed by Jennifer Getzinger

Claire returns to Lallybroch with Jamie, where she does not receive quite the reception she was expecting. Unbeknownst to her, Jamie's made some choices in their time apart which come back to haunt them with a vengeance.

Additional Cast:

Steven Cree as Ian Murray

Laura Donnelly as Jenny Murray

Episode 309 (November 12, 2017)—"The Doldrums"

Runtime: 58 minutes

written by Shannon Goss

directed by David Moore

Claire and Jamie leave Scotland, sailing to the West Indies on an urgent quest. But when the superstitious crew looks for someone to blame after a string of bad luck, rescue comes from an unlikely source.

Episode 310 (November 19, 2017)—"Heaven & Earth” 

Runtime: 58 minutes

written by Luke Schelhaas

directed by David Moore

Claire races to discover the source of an epidemic aboard a disease-stricken ship before hundreds of sailors die. And as Jamie locks horns with Captain Raines, Fergus finds himself torn between loyalty and love.

Episode 311 (November 26, 2017)—"Turtle Soup"

Runtime: 58 minutes

written by Karen Campbell and Shannon Goss

directed by Charlotte Brandstorm

After making a leap of faith, Claire washes up on a seemingly deserted island where survival is her only option. Navigating treacherous waters has crippled the Artemis, so Jamie devises a joyful moment for his crew in the midst of devastating setbacks.

Episode 312 (December 3, 2017)—"The Bakra"

Runtime: 58 minutes

written by Luke Schelhaas

directed by Charlotte Brandstorm

The Artemis finally reaches Jamaica bringing Jamie and Claire that much closer to their goal During a lavish ball on the island, the Fraser encounter old allies, as well as former adversaries who threaten to derail their mission.

Additional Cast:

Matthew Dylan Roberts as Auctioneer

Episode 313 (December 10, 2017)—"A New World”

written by Matthew B. Roberts and Toni Graphia

directed by TBA

Claire is forced to play a game of cat and mouse with an old adversary as she searches for Young Ian. The Frasers race through the jungles of Jamaica to prevent the unthinkable.

Additional Cast:

Calum Cormack as Fire Brigade Captain

Brett Williams as Mr. Oliver

ANALYSIS/COMMENTARY:

Directors

All of the directors this season are new:

Brendan Maher: Spartacus, Upstairs/Downstairs.

Jennifer Getzinger: Mad Men, How to Get Away With Murder, Agent Carter

Norma Bailey: Reign, Heartland

David Moore: Jamestown, Jericho, Shetland

Charlotte Brandstrom: Madam Secretary, Arrow, Grey’s Anatomy

I’m particularly jazzed because one of Getzinger’s 10 Mad Men episodes, “The Suitcase,” is widely considered to be one of the best episodes of the series. I think she’ll do well here.

Like Metin last season, Maher directed the majority of the episodes and they’re all at the beginning of the season. Hopefully this bodes well for a consistent tone/focus/vision at the beginning as we build up to the reunion.

Writers

There are four new writers this season:

Shannon Goss: ER, Harry’s Law, Revenge

Joy Blake: Ghost Whisperer, Heroes, Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior

Karen Campbell: Dexter, Covert Affairs, Unforgettable

Luke Schelhaas: The Good Wife, Law & Order, Smallville

I can’t wait to see what these new writers bring to the table. I’m sad my girl Anne is getting pushed out and/or leaving. But this show really needed to be injected with some new energy.

All in all, I’m kind of excited to see what all of the new blood means for Season 3—and Season 4, because remember, they started padding their writing staff so they could get rolling on not only Season 3 but Season 4 as well.

[hunnybadgerv]

A Moment of Truth | Vir Tanadhal | Dragon Age

Summary: Under a quiet full moon, Zevran’s patience comes to a head, forcing Cyna to confront her secretive nature.

a/n: Written for Friday night @dadrunkwriting​ on 4/1. Prompt sent in by @superfluouskeys: “DWC: “Tell me you don’t love me.” And I’d love to hear about your Mahariel and Zevran; otherwise whatever pairing speaks to you! Original draft posted here.

Links: AO3 | FFnet

A Moment of Truth

The shadows danced across the floor like the curtains in the breeze. A softness cradled the night in near silence, but perhaps that had more to do with location of their room more than anything else. Cyna carefully moved the hand on her hip; its grip had been tight, protective and comforting, once they decided to sleep. But as he succumbed to his rest, the embrace loosened, which allowed her to slip from it and inch toward the edge of the bed where she sat up.

Her back bowed, with shoulders slumped in tension and fatigue, while her mind raced. Something was not right, she could feel it in her blood. But what? That she could not determine. She pushed her hand through her shorn black hair and stared at the edge of the decorative rug that lay beneath the bed, creating a small island of softness against the cold wood floor.

“Tell me you don’t love me.” His voice, though a mere whisper, peeled like chantry bells in the silence.

The demand came out of nowhere as Cyna battled with her own thoughts. She’d thought Zevran fast asleep, but perhaps she should have known better. When she turned, the sight lifted the corners of her mouth, through little will of her own.

The bluish light of the full moon flooding through the open window made his skin glow. Black, arcing strips—his tattoos—accentuated the shape and definition of his body, but allowed his keen eyes to remain hooded. His blond hair glistened, lying loose and smooth over his shoulder and curving across the muscular, flat plane of his chest as he leaned up on one elbow.

He embodied seduction, even without trying. Just like in the heat of battle when every lunge and lithe twist of his body bespoke a life of lethal training.

“What?” she finally asked, ending her contemplative stillness.

He edged toward her, seeming to float across the surface of the bed with the ease of fog gliding atop a lake. His hand was so warm, and hers so cold that when their hands clasped—and hers closed around his with as much haste and strength as his—it felt like plunging her hand in a crackling fire.

Everything about Zevran had become like that. He fought like a raging inferno—quick devastation as he flitted about the field like embers hoping between trees in a forest fire. Between the two of them, it had all started with hasty flash overs brought on by his smoldering glances and sizzling smirks, each paired with clever turns of phrase in that lilting Antivan accent. But neither those nor his blatant propositions caught the grief-doused, wet wood buried deep in her soul … at first.

No, for Cyna it had been his friendship and glimpses of his true nature that brought her to his fireside. Slowly, she’d grown accustomed to it, his heat, which dried the dank sorrow within her until a spark could finally catch. Eventually, she walked right into the blaze of her own volition. And she’d come to crave that connection, need that scorching warmth—needed him.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he said again, looking her in the eye.

“Why would you want me to say such a thing?”

“Perhaps then I could explain why it is that you still, after all this time, try to sneak out of my bed once you think I’m asleep.

“I—” Her mouth snapped shut. She could not … well, would not lie to Zevran. He knew her too well, perhaps better than anyone. Except, Tamlen, she allowed herself to think. She felt the wrinkle of her nose, which was followed by the warmth of Zevran’s skin skimming her own as he stood to bring them eye to eye, or at least closer than they had been.

“He still haunts you.”

Cyna’s chin lowered in shame and a desire to avoid the topic.

“Even after he freed you?” Zevran continued, his voice softened, held a bit less of the pained accusation that his tone had carried initially. “After you released him from his tainted existence?”

“No,” she started, then changed her mind. “Yes.”

He stepped away with a sigh that bordered between disgusted and tired.

“But it’s not that simple,” Cyna argued. “You saw him. Branka’s people, or what was left of them. That thing in the Deep Roads.”

“Of course, I did. But it has little to do with this,” Zevran said, gesturing between them.

“It has everything to do with this. I’m—” Her mouth snapped closed before she could say tainted. “Tamlen and I were both in the ruins. I became ill, only Duncan found me. He saw no signs of Tamlen.”

“And that is why you became a Grey Warden, yes?” He stood there, moonlight spotlighting him like some celestial being.

“Yes.” Cyna lowered herself onto the edge of the bed with careful grace. “But it couldn’t cure me. Taking the Grey could only delay my fate. Otherwise, I might have become like Tamlen by now. A dark husk on the way to succumbing to the darkspawn curse in my blood.”

His brow furrowed. She knew the weight of that raw gesture. He avoided it because it caused such deep, unsightly creases in one’s forehead. “But you are not sick.”

“No, I don’t look ill. I still carry the darkspawn taint in my blood, however.”

“How can that be?”

She stared at the ceiling. “I’ve said too much already. I can’t explain more.”

“Ah, yes.” His voice held that cunning she’d heard a few times, though only rarely did he direct at her. “Precious secrets of the Wardens,” he spat.

“Zevran.” She reached her hand out to him, palm up and up. “Zev, please. There is no one else.”

“Of that I am assured, but reassurances are not what I seek.”

“Then, please, tell me why.”

Even under the shadow of his brow, Cyna could discern the piercing stare. “With such an admission, I could perhaps dash this pesky hope that leaves me clinging to one who prides herself in her distance.”

Cyna’s jaw dropped, then snapped closed in reflex to hide the effect his words had on her.

He crossed to her in the silence, bare feet slapping softly on the wood. “I love you, Cyna,” he admitted. “You think you are protecting me by concealing the truth, but I assure you this is one lie that can only cause harm. Please, be honest with me.”

He stood there before her, looking down at her with pleading eyes. As his fingers grazed her cheek, her hands went to her face and held his against her cheek. Pressing her face into his hand, she screwed her eyes closed. Upon opening them, she met his gaze again and asked, “The truth?”

Zevran nodded.

“Then I cannot tell you what you ask. I cannot tell you I don’t love you.” Of course, she also could not, in good conscience, say that she did either. “I care for you, Zev. More than I should. Can that not just be enough? For now?” she added after a brief pause and a deep breath.

His gaze searched hers in the silent darkness. She always found it odd how everything—even a breath or a heartbeat seemed amplified at night.

“For now,” he finally agreed.

His lips, blazing and pliant, found hers. The kiss was as fragile as the tether binding them. One wrong move and it could break, perhaps to be repaired, or more likely, she feared, to be left sundered and just long enough for a noose.

[rainofcolours]

[ Ao3 ] | [ DW ]

- Let Me Taste the Blood of Your Mouth/Gift Me the Oceans in Which You’ve Drowned ( 1/? moments of 海城 ) | Photo Insp: [ x ] [ x ]

They say love blossoms, like the fields of pinks in a childhood forgotten, blooming, delicate heart against delicate petals, exposed in an offering to the caress of a new dawn, hungry and eager for a life renewed. But what they don’t tell you is how past the gold of light’s embrace, even from within the cusp of his palms, that which is your most fragile has to weather the bite of his gales, and the harshness of his nights. That it is harder than the initial fall to stop buckled knees from becoming further unhinged, from bowing to the sobriety of what seems to be a never-ending storm howling inside his unclasped ribs. But still I persist, because what is the punishment of a mere night’s torment, if it means I’m blessed with the unfurling of crimson buds as they welcome a peace reclaimed?

In whom does the fault lie, when the admirer so enticed, memorises, yearns, only for the object of his adoration after years of perseverance, repainting landscapes and monuments in the same vividness remembered, until it becomes the red that flows within his veins? Fingers brushing past a beauty so deceiving, willing its essence to expand within my own lack — from where were you birthed that gave you a will so unyielding, it swallowed the blood of your history whole? How do I find the same strength to allow me to pull away these threads of mine that bind, and weave them into a memory so gossamer they fade into creases forever forgotten? Perhaps that is why I linger beyond the waning of the light, wanting to nourish that which was sown in me, hoping for a solace between the folds of his that were too long untouched, wishing that part of him could somehow become an indelible part of me.

The tragedy of this fairy-tale that was never to be is the inevitability of its demise. No matter how fervent a devotion one possesses, it is powerless against the deliberate faltering of a soul willing. But all that didn’t matter; so deep has the tint seeped under longing skin, that what follows is relief, not indignation when I finally feel his thorns press into where I’m most vulnerable. Pushing, pushing back; because is it truly unkindness when the scarlet that flows from my punctured skin down the smooth of his shaft is my only gift from him (and from me back)? That the acerbity of his rigid back is where I grow the roots of my anchor, where I seek a place that is mine between the fragments of a spine reluctant, the enclaves from which I can bask in the light of his blood moon ignited. Finally watching the world from eyes darker than the eclipse at midnight, enveloped in a hue that is as equal parts ardent hunger as bridled rage, manifesting as an unwavering stillness so palpable it resonates in the echoes of my chest — the impossible desire of a soul long moored as he looks upon the myriad blooms in the expanse he can never reach.

Why does that matter, when I can give you my infinity?

Perhaps I had come along a little too late (or perhaps I shouldn’t have at all) — my hands a little too coarse to nurture the blossoming of such fragility; my mouth a little too bitter from a past left festering under a hapless tongue; my chest a little too occupied to house the sprouting of a verdure imagined; my eyes a little too blind from promises gleaned from a delusion imposed- The vibrancy that once captivates fades into the twilight, the convictions of his wrists withering at the dissipation of youthful vigour, and I lay awake in the shadows that gather under the sepals of a neck resigned, watching demons familiar and foreign devour all I covet, leaving but crumbled streaks of the same red I’m awash in. I reach, for the comfort of a softness I could never harbour, plaiting fingers too severe between brittle ones, trying to imbue them with a light I was never taught to radiate, entrusting a future unbloomed to the certainty of an illusion presumed.

But our seeds have succumbed to rot, hollowed and desiccated from conscious neglect, and all that’s left are the ashes of a life wilted. A fantasy shattered, scattered across leaden palms grasping for that which no longer exists, stained a deep maroon; a sin oppressive in its subdued dullness, evidence of transgression committed — a wrongness in the grey that taints, diffusing into veins severed from their source, a heaviness that permeates the resulting dryness, coalescing into a blackness that’s ceaseless in its listlessness. There is a futility growing somewhere between the confines of my throat and chest, engorged amongst barely thrumming arteries that entwine the atrophied roots of us, suffocating, as I gasp prayers I’d long forsaken into the remorseless heavens above.

In the deluge of demise, I pluck the petals from between the grind of your teeth, watching as their crushed remains rain from decay of your mouth, bruised bodies of muted scarlet finding rest against the mockery I don. From the weariness of him I inhale, the finality of a sentence meted by a throat defiant, unwilling a compliance in the fantasy I had forced upon him, stemmed from my envy of a tenacity from which his unlikely longevity subsisted. Was it resentment at a flourishing unencumbered, or the idoltary of a strength eluded that fuelled this passion that burns? Or maybe it’s an affection birthed from the earth beneath your footsteps, numinous effusions that wash across my sky with all that is distinctively you, until it feels as though we are somehow part of the same whole?

From between the parted rose of his lips, I implore the voluntary relinquishing of a world finally united, of petals coloured the hush of his skin now wrinkled, strewn carelessly across the desolation I tried so desperately to escape from. Stifled, all he cedes is the sunken emptiness of a husk that once held his lustre, barely fluttering against the stigma of my flesh, a final denial that kept the seams of us interminably unstitched. So, I let him cascade from the prison of my hands, finding not the reprieve from a devastation they brought, but an ache that exacerbates the rue that trickles between the spaces of my remaining tenderness. A warden now shackled by the vines that entangle the notches of contrite bones, constricting, until all I feel is the sharpness of his thorns perpetually begrudged against the rawness of my guilt.

These days I wander under the same crimson skies, landscapes and monuments long coated in the same matted hue of decay. They say love blossoms, like the fields of pinks in a childhood forgotten. What they don’t tell you, is how you can’t force the blooming of affection, for the puckered buds dipped in the most striking of pigments, the same ones that loll against the curl of a hand, are of a mercurial nature. That coercion, no matter how gentle, necessitates the loss of that which was within grasp, returned to the soils from which it came. The vividness so mesmerising condemns the perpetrator to its spiteful rest beneath the earth, the limbo that has reclaimed it the grave in which one must share, exposed to the shrivelled carrion of a tomorrow deprived. The yearning never stops; the memory of brilliance always returning to spaces once filled, answering to the calls of a past unresolved, taunting where the gaiety of life could have pervaded, simmering until the absence is a tangible opaqueness that haunts. Trapped in the cradle that was his, cursed with the eternal memory of my flesh, remembering but not quite in entirety the way he folded into me, forced to relive the way his essence crumpled and wilted against my long tired skin, only knowing the asphyxiation of regret where I had once found solace.

During the moments when I’m gifted respite, I still see the red of him reflected in the droplets of cold rain, mirrored in the ripples of stagnant puddles — vestiges of a past enduring. Even if the form of him I still long for have ceased to be, this shade of him that lingers is enough a memory. If the true price of adoration is such hurt, as long as he remains in my infinity, my burden I’m willing to bear.

[scurvgirl]

Queen of the Stone, Part 6

Read on AO3,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

She has been a Grey Warden for eleven years, and the taint is beginning to consume her. She needs to find a cure soon. So Elodie Amell sets out in search and finds herself in the city thought long-lost, Kal-Sharok. There she discovers something much bigger than just a cure for the taint running through her body.

A companion story to my other story, In Your Gaze I Wish to Stay, but this can be read separately!

First Light

Elodie makes her way back to Denerim and to Alistair. A note - Katra is my Hawke, she romanced Fenris, she's been staying at Skyhold helping the Inquisitor (Miriel Lavellan).

The final installment!

A month later and she made it to Skyhold, dirty and exhausted but still riding her high of relief. She greeted Fiona with a broad smile, breaking down in tears on how she had been released from the taint and how she could finally move forward with her life. The woman held her close, her own eyes turning glassy and wet. Elodie didn’t know if they had been freed of the taint in the same way, but she was the only person (so far) who truly understood what this meant.

Freedom. The truest taste of freedom she had ever had.

Fiona smiled kindly back and wished her well, eyes gleaming brightly.

Unfortunately Inquisitor Lavellan was not at Skyhold, she had ironically descended down to the Deep Roads to answer Orzammar’s call for help about devastating earthquakes. But it was no matter, Elodie stayed with an amazingly pregnant Katra Hawke and they rested against each other, both basking in the futures that awaited them. Elodie told Katra she should name the baby after her, which made Fenris scowl with a firm “no.”

She spent the next week with Dagna, reporting most everything. She explained her interactions with the Titan and left out Kal-Sharok and the precise location. Dagna seemed completely preoccupied with the rest of the tale to really notice those peculiars. Elodie told her about the part with the elven woman reaching her hand out with blood magic, the lyrium turning red and the Titan being forced to her will. Elodie told Dagna what the Titan said and the spirits that had buoyed up the Veil, veritably isolating the Titan from the dwarves.

Dagna’s eyes lit up as she took it all down, scribbling madly. They wound up in a long magical theories discussion on all the potential implications of this. The Blight, lyrium, blood magic, the Titans, Stone, the Fade.

The conversation lasted for days, until Elodie was sure that Dagna had all the necessary pieces to begin her own speculation and research. And as tempting as it was to show Dagna the cutting of the Titan, she knew better. Some things…some things had to remain secret until it was their time to be revealed. So she kept the box close and sealed, shielded in her own magic.

She wound up staying two weeks, delivering her information and tales to those it would best serve. She kept the robes and other trinkets away from prying eyes, however, doing her best to keep her word to keep Kal-Sharok’s secrets. Not that it was easy, Skyhold was full of people, nosy people at that.

The new Spymaster, in particular, was the nosiest sort. But a sort she was undoubtedly familiar with.

“Zevran Arainai! Exactly how did you manage to take over as Spymaster?” She asked, hugging her old friend close. He chuckled and patted her back.

“Ah, if I gave away my secrets I would not be a very good spymaster, no?”

“Pish! What are secrets between old friends?”

“Old? Oh you wound me!” He teased, guiding her to his office, er…roost? It was in an alcove above the library of which Dorian haunted. He smiled at Elodie in passing, quickly getting distracted by his book on antique spell weaving patterns.

“Now what is all this business of you no longer being a Grey Warden?” He asked, leaning back in a chair. He looked good, rested, his hair was longer and there were lines at the edges of his eyes, but the whole “aged” part of his look only seemed to enhance his handsomeness.

Elodie grinned, “I am no longer a Grey Warden, it is true. And soon, neither will Alistair.”

Zevran chuckled again, not seeming the least bit surprised.

“You were never one to simply let things lie.”

“Certainly not, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He laughed more freely and they fell back into a long conversation, catching each other up on what’s happened in their lives. He regaled her with tales of hunting the Crows and ending up in the service of the Inquisition. She told him of the Deep Roads, of her investigations, and her plans, of which he whole heartedly supported.

She spent her remaining days in Skyhold with Zev and Katra, bouncing between the two with only a few appearances to Josephine. She was going to enjoy her time with friends rarely seen, particularly Zevran who had dropped off the map about a year ago.

It was odd in a sense, to see Zevran like this, to be like this herself. Older, wiser, in these positions of great power. Shit, Leliana was now Divine and Alistair King of Ferelden. Maker knew where Morrigan was, but she had been in the Orlesian court. Elodie could scarcely believe it, they barely had it together while facing the Blight and now…now they were some of the most influential people in Thedas.

As she saddled the Nugalope in preparation to leave for Denerim, Zevran promised to send gifts of her most likely impending pregnancy. She smacked his arm lightly, badgering him not to jinx it. They wished each other luck in their endeavors and then she was off, heading back to Denerim on the plump Nugalope, Daffodil, with a securely fastened box of a cutting of a Titan.

It was another month before she reached Denerim and all the tension left her body as she guided Daffodil into the city and to the palace. She had sent a raven at Skyhold to the palace, informing Alistair of her imminent return but she…she was actually here now. Standing before the palace gates, taint free and ready to great the future.

The gates were opened quickly, the guards immediately welcoming her home from her journeys. They eyed Daffodil warily but the horse master seemed unsurprised by the newest addition to his stables. Her things were taken off Daffodil, a servant by the name of Riari hurrying them into the palace while Elodie strode to the back of the palace, to the gardens where the king of Ferelden was sparring with his son.

Their son.

Duncan, now seven and a half, lunged and parried with his father, blonde hair bright in the sun. There was laughter and an ease in the boy learning how to fight. And she couldn’t feel them. There was no tether she felt to Alistair other than the love in her body, there was no odd hum she felt with Duncan – the darkness was gone, leaving only the love.

Elodie closed her eyes for the briefest moment, reveling in it, before stepping into the light.

“You’ve improved a great deal, little one,” she said. Both Alistair and Duncan dropped their practice swords and turned to Elodie, their faces in the same awe struck expression.

“Mum!” Duncan yelled, running towards her. Elodie dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the boy, holding him tightly to her. Her eyes squinched closed, heart burning with relief and happiness to have her son back in her arms.

Alistair rushed over to her and wrapped his arms around them both, all of them creating a heap of smelly, sweaty bodies, happy tears streaming down dirt streaked faces.

“You’re home – I did not…I saw the letter but it was almost too much to hope –

“I will always come back,” she whispered. Alistair shivered and leaned heavily on her, a welcome weight that reminded her how far she had come.

But suddenly he pulled back, eyes wide in an incredulous expression.

“I don’t…but you’re…Elodie??!” His voice pitched.

She grinned, “I was successful, yes.” She didn’t want to go into detail with Duncan present but Alistair clearly understood, his face changing from awe to happiness to awe again. His eyes shut and she knew he was thanking the Maker for it, for whatever role the He had in this. Elodie closed her own and clutched Duncan to her.

Thank you.

**

As much as she wanted to continue to hold Duncan, Elodie was filthy. She had a bath drawn and sank into it with a long moan. The water was hot and prickling with bath salts she was certain that one of the castle staff had imported from Rivain. Bless them, she had missed such luxury. She lingered for a moment, simply enjoying it before setting to work. She scrubbed and scrubbed, removing all traces of the Deep Roads and the surface roads from her skin. She wanted to smell like a flower and a lady by the end of this.

The door creaked open as she dumped a small bucket of water over her head.

“It’s just me! I wanted to talk when I knew we wouldn’t be overheard,” Alistair announced and she nodded, rubbing the water and soap from her eyes. She pushed her hair back to smile at him while he took a seat by the tub. He had gained a bit more weight, most likely from stress eating, but he wore the weight well and he was as handsome as ever. Elodie leaned out of the tub and pressed a kiss to his lips, happy and savoring his touch.

“Right, talk,” she murmured, nipping at his lips. He chuckled and sighed in that adorable way of his before leaning back.

“Oh I know and trust me, tonight neither of us will be sleeping but we both need to get caught up on occurrences.” His face turned serious and she settled back into the tub.

“It is admittedly a long story, one that I will gladly expand upon when we have the proper time, but know that there is a cure for the taint. I don’t know if it is the same as the Blight, the thing that cured me seemed…like it was separate. But I have learned so much. Did you know that dragons are immune to the taint? Or at the very least, extremely resistant to it some way – they bypass it, the secret is their blood.”

Alistair’s eyes widened and he ran a hand through his hair, “Maker, that means –

“They could really be old Gods. That’s what I thought, but when I was down there, I…had visions…and I think the Archdemons may actually be neither. I think they are shapeshifters, like Flemeth.”

The weight of that realization fell upon him, making him slouch in his seat.

“We should inform the wardens at Weisshaupt,” he said and she didn’t know if she agreed with that. Yes, they should know of the real threat posed but…it would put Kal-Sharok at risk if the wardens discovered the Titan’s powers in this regard.

“We can decide that later, there is more. I was not cured by dragon blood, though I do think we can replicate the effects with dragon blood with proper study. I was cured by a Titan, that is how you will be cured too.”

“What is a Titan?”

As much as she wanted to wait until she wasn’t in water and turning into a pruny mess to tell him about it all, she launched into the story, telling him about Karega and her husband and the lyrium visions and the Titan and how the taint got started from blood magic being used on a Titan. She explained how the Titan essentially imbued her with pure lyrium energy to flush out the tainted lyrium energy. It rid her of the taint incurred by the blood magic because that Titan had never been touched by blood magic.

She was…purified. It was an odd thing, no doubt, but for some reason it worked. And the connection to lyrium was persistent, she could feel it humming to her whenever she got close to it. Like the taint but not.

Stone sense.

It made as much sense as the rest of her life and yet here she was, naked in a tub explaining her latest adventure to the love of her life.

“It gave me a piece of itself to plant in the deep roads at Kal-Hirol, but before I do that, it will purify you and Duncan. Freeing you from any taint circling in your veins. Alistair,” she reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling so broadly her cheeks hurt, “you will be free.”

Her heart felt full to burst as a soft smile spread across Alistair’s face. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you, so much, I…Maker, I am a lucky man.”

His old words made her chuckle and his lips cut that chuckle off with a sweet kiss. They would soon be free together, free to have a family and just…be. He was still a king, and there were responsibilities with that, but over the years they had figured it out. The Landsmeet had accepted their king and subsequent queen and mistress –

“Alistair, where is Anora?”

When he paused she knew. Her eyes shut and she sagged into Alistair. She loved Anora, not in any romantic sense, but she was Duncan’s mother, they all had a hand in raising the boy. They were a family, an odder one but…it worked.

“Her illness was too much for her, the healers said there was nothing they could do.”

Cost. There was always a cost to decisions, no matter how good and sound they were, cost was inevitable. Elodie could have been here, could have saved Anora…but then that would have cost Elodie her own life, Alistair’s…maybe even Duncan’s. The taint was not strong in him, barely there but it was present enough that it gave her pause and…. There was always a cost, and this time, Anora paid it.

“Maker guide her soul,” she whispered. She’d…organize another vigil, as mistress and court mage she felt like she had some sort of duty for this. Anora was more than a friend, they shared a son.

“This isn’t your fault, the healers said –

“The healers are not me,” she hissed.

“They still know things, Ellie.”

Tears eked out of her eyes and she buried her face further into his chest, “I should have –

“You were doing what you knew what was best.”

Cost. There was always a cost.

Elodie leaned back into the tub, elated and defeated and conflicted, mourning for Anora but so excited for the future her and Alistair could have.

Alistair informed her the rest of the events she had missed, how the Bannorn was already pushing for him to remarry even though he couldn’t bring himself to – not so soon after Anora’s death and with Elodie away.

She thanked him dearly for waiting, she would have to explain to the Bannorn that he did not need a wife to rule – that she had done her service as queen twice over, and had produced an heir, a healthy, flourishing heir. Alistair was king, but she knew that several of the Banns had daughters they wanted married off to the best suitors.

Alistair was officially a bachelor again and she knew just how desirable he was.

“If anyone is marrying you, it’s me,” she told him firmly. He raised a brow at her, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Now you want to marry me!”

“Oh hush you, I’m in mourning. Anora is – was – the mother of our son.” She cast a simple warming spell over the water and resumed cleaning herself, determined to still be clean and feminine after all the drudgery of the roads.

But Alistair just kissed her head and cheek, “She is missed. But I am so happy to have you home. And so is Duncan! He was terrified that he had lost both of his mothers.”

Elodie fell silent, staring into Alistair’s eyes. She didn’t need to tell him that if she hadn’t done what she did, Duncan very well would have lost her, she didn’t need to tell him that it was a calculated risk to go and find a cure. He knew.

He stroked her cheek then stood up, “I will leave you to the bath. I told Duncan I would be five minutes and I am sure I am over that time.” He bent down for another kiss, lingering for a moment.

After Alistair left she hurried through the rest of her bath, eager to be with Alistair and Duncan again. She emerged twenty minutes later, all wrinkly and smelling like flowers and spices, feeling like an Elodie Amell that is not dirty or tainted or in peril of any sort.  

She stood there for a long moment, just…savoring the freedom. Naked and wrinkly, water dripping down her back, the air cold against her body and she just – breathed.

She went from an unforgiving household with her birth family, thrown out on the street when her magic surfaced. She stumbled into the Chantry, cold, hungry, and filthy. The Circle was a warm, clean, gilded cage where she flourished…to a point. When First Enchanter Irving said that she should reign in her magic so the Templars wouldn’t get suspicious, she did. She held back. And then her Harrowing came and she didn’t think she’d have to hold back anymore. And then there was Jowan and getting recruited into the Grey Wardens and it seemed she got to taste freedom for five minutes before it was ripped away each time.

But now…it was going to be more than five minutes.

The robes she donned were a light blue with embossed white flowers. She dried her hair first with a towel then with a spell. She put her hair into a simple braid before making her way out of the room and down the hall to where Alistair and Duncan are eating dinner. So wondrously domestic and calm.

Duncan saw her out of the corner of his eye making him turn his head to her quickly, his face lighting up in a brilliant smile. She joined them at the table, sitting next to her son and he leaned against her.

“I missed you, Mum,” he said. Elodie smiled and kissed the top of his head.

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

Dinner was a lovely affair, though the servants kept rushing about as the castle finally realized that Elodie was indeed home. They overheard plans of a large banquet for the following day, making Elodie chuckle. While everyone else seemed to be embroiled in the chaos of manners and celebrations, Elodie and her little family enjoyed their meal, telling each other stories of their various adventures. Duncan was progressing well with his sword training, but he confessed he preferred to ride the horses. Alistair spoke of the lighter subjects the Banns had presented him over the last year and Elodie took care to describe the ancient city around the Titan and how amazing it was.

At some point, Duncan asked if she was going to leave again and she sighed, drawing him into her lap.

“Not if I can help it. I will need to journey to Amaranthine soon, but that will be a short trip.”

“We can go together, I’ve been meaning to go there anyways,” Alistair interjected. Elodie gave him a small smile in thanks. Traveling to Kal-Hirol should not take long, particularly since the efforts to rebuild the outpost had been going well.

After dinner, they continued to stay up, playing little games with Duncan, reestablishing a new normal. While he laughed and stayed close to Elodie, wrapping his little arms around her, he felt different. Older in a way that had little to do with his age. Sadder too. She put him to bed, opting to hold him until he fell asleep.

After he fell asleep and she extracted her body from his bed, she tiptoed back into her and Alistair’s room. It hadn’t changed, the drapes and the rug and the bedding was all the same. Well, no, there were more pillows on the bed than before, occupying her side of the bed. Alistair emerged from the attached washroom, in a long, frayed robe that was as old as his kinghood. He looked at the pillows on the bed, then back at her. He stepped to the side of the bed and swept them off, the soft things bouncing against the floor in his earnest to make room.

“This bed is too big for one person and you were gone so,” he stammered, blushing like he used to when they were out in the wilderness, fighting darkspawn and bickering with Morrigan.

“Clever.” She sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around him, reveling in his closeness. Tomorrow he would take hold of the Titan fragment and be taint free by the end of the day, tonight they could celebrate her return and tomorrow…freedom.

Alistair brought his arms around her and looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes dipped down to her lips and he leaned forward while she leaned up. Their lips met and the arousal that had begun in the tub returned in full force. Her hands delved under his robe, caressing soft, fuzz covered skin.

Their kiss morphed quickly from chaste to heated to obscene. She pushed his robe off his shoulders and he untied hers as they fell back onto the bed.

“I love you, I love you,” they whispered to each other in between hurried kisses and searching touches. Their bodies pressed into each other, giving into each other, reunited.

It wasn’t until the late hours of the night and potentially even the early hours of the morning that they finally fell asleep, sweaty and naked and spent, curled up in each other’s arms.

Morning arrived in a lazy haze with a tall, soft Alistair wrapped around her, holding onto her like Duncan held onto his teddy bear. Asleep like this he looked so much like the young man she met at Ostagar, and when he opened his eyes he transformed into the man she was still madly in love with.

He nuzzled under her jaw and breathed her in.

“I still can’t believe you’re here and you’re…just you.” His voice was raspy and deep with sleep, soft with intent. She trailed a hand over his arm and into his hair, all sticking out in soft angles.

“It’s amazing how it works out, isn’t it? How after everything we can have what we…you want this, right?” She whispered. Alistair shifted so that he was more on top of her.

“More than anything,” he affirmed and then he was kissing her again. The kiss turned into another one and then they fell back into each other, getting swept up in it all.

An hour later and they burst into Duncan’s room only to find the boy already awake and playing with Alistair’s old Grey Warden puppets. They let Duncan take one puppet to a breakfast of fruits, breads, cheeses aplenty, and boiled eggs.

They laughed and teased and ate in such ease and happiness that Elodie almost believed it was a dream or that she had actually died in the Deep Roads and this was a kind hallucination imparted to her from the Maker. But it was reality and that was such a gift, a gift that she wanted to expand. She bit her lip and looked over at Alistair, thinking about what babies born of them would be like. If they’d be little happy, cheese loving little ones or maybe they’d be mages and love botany and books.

Elodie leaned over to Duncan and kissed the top of his head, “You know why I left, yes? You know why it was important that I went?”

Duncan nodded slowly, “You and Papa are sick, you needed to find a cure. Did you?”

She smiled and nodded herself, “I did. I’m not sick anymore, but your papa is and I need to heal him. And I need to heal you too, so you don’t get sick.”

An uneasiness flitted into her at the idea of manipulating that energy through the boy, but what choice did she have? He wasn’t tainted, not exactly, but he was drawn to it. How old would he be when he found the Grey Wardens? When he said that he wanted to join their ranks, not fully understanding what the Grey Wardens were.

No, Elodie had to…she had to protect her son, and if it meant a day of discomfort, then so be it. She turned towards Alistair, his face drawn into a harder expression that he usually reserved for unpleasant negotiations with Orlais. While she hated what she had to do, there was no other way, they were out of time. The taint in him would kill him if it could and she was not going to let it cut his life short, not when his happiness was so close at hand.

Duncan fidgeted but nodded his head slowly, “Al-alright. Will it hurt?”

Elodie paused, trying to find the words, “I will try to make it not hurt, but it should be quick for you.”

“What about Papa?” His eyes were wide, bright and concerned. Her gaze softened and she drew him close to her body.

“Your papa has lived through many difficult things, he will live through this too, and at the end…he’ll be even better.”

Alistair leaned over and ruffled Duncan’s hair, “I’ll be fine! It’s not like I’m fighting the Archdemon again. Now that would be a different story. At least the dragon would have a tasty snack.”

Duncan snickered and wrapped his arms around Alistair, “No! The dragon can’t have you! You said we could be in bed all day and eat cheese.”

“Oh now, you can’t eat cheese all day – you’ll get sick,” Elodie said only to have her son and beloved blow raspberries at her. She rolled her eyes but smiled. This…was the right thing, it was. You have to sometimes re-break a bone to set it properly, this was like that. Break, so proper healing can happen.

After breakfast, they began. They moved into a small healing room annex to Elodie and Alistair’s bedroom. There was a cot for Alistair to sit on while he waited and Duncan sat on a small chair, trying not to fidget. Elodie unlocked the small chest containing the lyrium, now solidified into a fragment, and cradled it carefully in glove-clad hands. The light was almost blinding with power but she held it, carrying it to where Alistair sat. His clothes were plain, far simpler than anything he had to wear as king, but it was best to not soil what good clothes it did have.

The light filled the room as Elodie began to breathe, connecting herself into its power. She could direct it for a short amount of time, and in that time she could purify Alistair and Duncan – she could, the knowledge was bestowed in her by the Titan.

Power built and built in immense waves. Whispers entered her head, echoes of spirits long since passed, their words indistinguishable from the rush of power and blood in her ears. Her eyes snapped open and she gasped as the magic clicked inside of her. Now, she had to send it out now or else it wouldn’t work.

Elodie extended her arm out towards Alistair and let the Titan’s power course through her in an overwhelming rush. It flooded her body, shoved its way into cavities she didn’t know she had, but she had it, she was in control for this moment and she forced it out and into Alistair. His body seized as the magic infused lyrium poured into his body, forcing the taint out of his body. Blackish water dripped from his pours, his mouth, large stains forming on his clothes.

Duncan screamed but she couldn’t mind that, not when she sent a sliver of the power to him, forcing whatever darkness lurked inside of him out. He shuddered and vomited his breakfast, but it was gone from his body, gone from Alistair’s. She could feel the pulsing of their lives in that moment, so perfectly in synch with the Titan. She felt their hearts, their souls, purged clean. A cry escaped her as the power left her all at once, retreating back into the fragment.

Elodie slumped back against the table, all of her energy having left with the Titan’s power. Alistair coughed and sputtered drawing her attention to him. Duncan moaned and she looked to him…her son. She had to get to her son. Stumbling, Elodie somehow made it to him, holding him and cleaning his face. She guided him away from his mess and to the couch in the room.

“Mum…I don’t want to do that again,” he cried and she shook her head.

“You won’t have to, don’t worry, you’re fine now, you’re fine,” she was out of breath. If she could just…breathe, she could heal them. Yes, a healing spell, she needed to do something.

Elodie pulled herself up and took a deep breath, steadying herself, before beginning to move her hands and chant. The spell drifted from her and she directed it to sink into Alistair, coiling inside his body and then releasing to ease his pain. He shook and sputtered then sighed as the spell worked its way through him. Elodie fell back against the wall and cast a smaller spell for Duncan. He shivered in response but followed his father’s example and settled quickly, moving to lean against her.

The room then fell quiet save their exhausted panting. Her eyes fluttered closed. Beyond the sudden drain of energy pulsed a twinge of relief. That pulse grew until she could feel it in her heart. She gave a short, soft laugh, smiling in the face of it all. Alistair was free. Duncan was free.

They were all finally free.

It took an hour for any of them to have the energy to move from their spots. Elodie directed both Alistair and Duncan to the baths where she took care to help bathe them. Alistair rested heavily against her, occasionally groaning from the lingering pain. Every time he coughed, more brackish liquid came out and she was quick to wipe it away. After the baths, she took them to bed, where Alistair was quick to pass out.

Duncan however, remained awake, disoriented and sleepy, but awake. He reached out for Elodie and she couldn’t not crawl into bed with them, curling herself around her son and love. This was what she had traveled to Kal-Sharok for, family and freedom.

“I feel weird,” Duncan whispered and Elodie resisted chuckling. He would feel weird, a bit empty and a bit more separate from Alistair and maybe even Elodie.

“I felt weird too, it goes away. You know what this means, though,” she asked, holding him to her. He shook his head and she sighed, searching for the words.

“Your father and I were sick, we were…not able to do things but now we are all free, and you are too, to be the person you choose to be.”

“I’m the prince, I’m going to be king,” he whispered.

“If you choose it, then yes. Never underestimate the importance of your choice.”

She had made Alistair king, had gone against his wish and part of her regretted it. He had not wanted it, and while she stood by it being the best decision for the country…she wondered what he would be if he had not become king. And yet…if he had not become king, had not married Anora, their son would not exist.

There were only so many regrets she could hold in her heart and at the end of the day, this was not one that prevented her from sleeping.

But she wanted to learn from it all the same, she wanted to give Duncan that choice because she could. Ferelden should have a king who wants to be king, a king who knew how to serve his country. And perhaps…even a queen.

Elodie’s hand moved to her stomach and hoped.

**

The next few days blurred together in a haze of healing, holding, and late nights full of love and hope. There was a gathering of the nearby nobles and the whole of Denerim celebrated Elodie’s return. Grateful for their love, she had chefs and cooks prepare as much food as possible to feed the people of Denerim.

And while all of it was grand, she felt the burden of the Titan shard growing. She had to make her way to Kal-Hirol soon if she was to fulfill her end of the bargain. By the end of the week, they were packing up the horses and carriage to head out to Amaranthine. She climbed into the carriage with the box containing the shard, sitting next to Duncan. Alistair took his customary spot on his horse out in front though she found that just the slightest bit ironic.

Bad things happen when I lead!

It was a marvel and a relief to find how mistaken he had been about his abilities. Traveling to Amaranthine was always odd, an equal mixture of constantly running into merchants and bandits all the while sloughing through muddy roads.

It rained nigh constantly and by the end of the week, they were all soaked to the bone and cold. Even Elodie and Duncan did not manage to escape the downpour. It made her chuckle at first, reminding her of the days when this was an almost weekly occurrence. Maker, it wasn’t even that long ago that she had to sleep on the ground instead of a cot as she traveled across Thedas. And yet, it all felt so different. With Duncan and an Alistair who looked fairly different from the young man of ten years ago present, Elodie felt herself…almost shift in herself.

They made it to Amaranthine and were quickly whisked away into the small estate held by the Arl. The Arling had undergone several changes over the last few years, and while there was still a notable presence from the Grey Wardens, it had mostly been reduced to a cooperative venture with the Arling instead of allowing it actual political power over people who were not Grey Wardens. People were free to join and some prisoners had even been, but the position of Arl and Warden Commander were no longer synonymous. This then led to a change in location of power. Vigil’s Keep became the center of all Grey Warden operations while the city of Amaranthine remained the seat of power for the Arl and Arlessa.

Arl Braeden Ewart greeted them at the gates and was quick to bring them into the estate. His son, Raine, ran down from the second floor in barely restrained exuberance.

“Duncan!” He yelled and the two boys were then off, chasing each other through the large home, the drudgery of the journey forgotten.

While the boys played, Alistair and Elodie were guided up to the guest room where their things were brought. Elodie peeled her sopping wet robes from her body and let her hair down, unwound her breast band, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Alistair’s arms suddenly came around her, the heat of his chest pressing into her back as he leaned over and kissed her neck.

“I can think of something that can warm us up,” he whispered, kissing her ear. She chuckled.

“Oh? Would you care to enlighten me?”

And he did, oh he did.

They dined with Braeden, his wife Melantha, and their children. Wrangling Raine and Duncan proved to be a bit of an adventure though they were eventually lured to sit down and eat due to their rumbling bellies and waning energy.

Dinner passed with social ease and she fell back into bed with Alistair, curling up against his chest. He held her close and she reveled in their closeness. Duncan was asleep, or at least pretending to be, sharing a room with Raine.

Alistair held Elodie to him, smiling into her hair.

“You know,” he began, “with the taint gone…we could…”

“We could what? Live to the ripe old age of seventy?” She teased and he chuckled.

“Well, that but you know, Duncan’s always wanted a little sibling…if…if you want to try again,” his voice grew quiet and tentative. Her body tensed for a moment, remembering the loss, the…pain they had gone through before. She had always blamed her inability to keep a pregnancy on the taint but what if it wasn’t the taint? What if it was her? Could she live through that loss again?

Could she live if she didn’t at least try?

Her fingers trailed down over Alistair’s soft chest, drawing random patterns and contemplating a future of children. She wanted, oh she wanted, and this had always been the plan but there was that fear.

Elodie took a deep breath and nodded, “I want to try again.”

Alistair held her close, and while they didn’t try that night, there were many more nights to try in the future.

The next day brought with it fog and a heavy overcast of clouds, but there wasn’t rain, Elodie took her blessings where she could get them. She kissed Alistair on the cheek and Duncan on the forehead, wishing them goodbye after breakfast. She promised to return as soon as possible, which she hopefully would mean less than a week. Her horse was swift in its journey, carrying her to the old chasm now lined with winding roots and sprouting trees on the dirt walls of the chasm.

The cleft in the earth was just as great as she remembered it, though more overgrown now due to the heavy rains and the now receding signs of blight. Still, she saw dark corrupted spiders skittering down below, preying on deepstalkers. She thought back to the skrimmers she faced in the tunnels beneath Kal-Sharok and marveled at how different the spiders were here.

She left her horse at a nearby homestead, paying the farmers a sizeable sum to watch over the horse while she journeyed into the Deep Roads.

The upper tunnels hadn’t changed too much over the years, but the lower roads had. Dwarves from Orzammar and surface traders had created an outpost in the most easily cleaned parts of Kal-Hirol, though there was still a slight lingering scent of darkspawn and shit. The dwarves greeted her with familiar nonchalance. She had helped set up this outpost, had brought the documents from Kal-Hirol to the shaperate in Orzammar and she had even suggested merchants shift their routes to here for better trading opportunities. It had been a successful venture so far. Kal-Hirol was growing from a mere trading outpost to a small village, spreading further into the recesses of the old Thaig. Meanwhile, it also brought in gold to the nearby farms who wished to expand their consumer base. All in all, the arling of Amaranthine had seen some of the most impressive growth over the years – along with Redcliffe and the central Bannorn.

Small children ran to and from stalls, chasing each other in a rowdy game of tag. She dodged their speedy pathways and continued forth into the deep, walking past the stalls and the small outcropping of homes. The Titan’s shard sat comfortably attached to her belt and her magic seemed to…reach into it every now and then. Or maybe the shard was reaching for her magic and she was just responding. Either way, there were frequent moments where she felt more connected to the Stone around her, to the dwarves milling behind her. And as she delved deeper into the roads, heading to the deepest part of the Thaig, the more the shard drew her in, the more intertwined she felt with her surroundings.

Was this the trade off? She can no longer sense the Darkspawn but now she was connected to the stone?

Elodie rested her once tainted hand against the cool rock wall of the road. She gasped as energy suddenly poured into her, building a sudden connection that allowed her to feel things. The skittering of a spider. The thump thump of deepstalkers walking around. The indefinite spread of the taint.

It was so…deep here. How was planting the shard here a good idea? Wouldn’t the taint get to it? Would it be immune to such an overwhelming amount of corruption?

She closed her eyes and removed her hand, sojourning forth. Or maybe that was the point. Plant the shard of purity, of hope, in the deepest, darkest, most corrupted place, and let it grow to blast it all back. Fight the darkness from within.

A poetic thought, though she didn’t know how practical it was. But this was the Titan’s wish, and so she continued. Elodie made her way through Kal-Hirol, fighting spiders and darkspawn and deepstalkers, choosing to try and keep hidden as much as possible.

The deepest part.

Pour over the rock.

After two days of journeying into the dark, she found a drop that was so deep that she could no longer see the light that she cast down. The darkness enveloped it completely.

Here. A quiet feeling rose within her and she opened the box on her hip. The shard glowed brightly in her hand, almost blinding her eyes that were now accustomed to the dark. It pulsed and she closed her eyes, thanking it one last time before dropping it into the pit. It made no sound as it fell and hit the bottom. The light though…the light bloomed in the dark and the Stone sighed in relief. The lyrium in the surrounding stone, even the faint strands, erupted with energy that flowed in and out of Elodie like she was part of it. It was like when the Titan had initially blasted her but more…chaotic, less of a directed beam and more of a scattering of birds when they are awakened suddenly.

But then, all at once, it fled her body and receded down into the chasm with the shard.

She stood there on the edge of the pit for a moment longer, smiling in wonder. This world was weird, and yes, that was her professional Hero opinion.

It was another two days to make it to the trading outpost. And then another day to make it to Amaranthine. She was back in just under a week, less than a fortnight, really.

The rain started back up as she arrived and she was quick to hand off her horse to the stable master. She ducked into the estate, her robes now damp enough just to be annoying. The home was warm and dry, filled with echoing laughter from her son and Raine. She would have to take care to invite Raine’s family over more, Duncan should have friends, particularly if they are going to be the rulers of the land someday. Friendships and alliances make the government work or fail and Raine’s family was a good one. Amaranthine was beginning to flourish under their care.

And now that she was back and free to handle herself as however she wished…they were going to travel more. Duncan should see his country, know more than the palace, see how the people in his country lived. He should know the Banns and Arls and Arlessas, the Teyrnirs of his country. It was important to build up those friendships, facilitate those alliances.

Elodie was quiet as she made her way through the estate, contemplating the future as she was wont to do lately.

The sound of barking and children’s laughter broke her out of her reverie. The boys sped past her, two mabari hounds chasing them all in good fun. She chuckled and Duncan turned around to wave at her before barreling back down the corridor.

The guards nodded in greeting, saying “My lady” behind their helmets. She nodded back to them and she headed to the room where she and Alistair were staying. She entered the room to find it empty, which was fine really. She changed into more suitable clothes, clothes that had not been worn for a week and smelled like the Deep Roads. No matter how many times she braved those treacherous depths, she never quite got used to the smell. It was like rotting flesh combined with the smell of rancid milk. Unpleasant was really an insufficient term.

She was tempted to draw a bath…but it was close to supper and she was also hungry….

Bathe…or eat….

Bathe…or eat….

Her stomach rumbled, making up her mind for her. She washed her face and arms in the wash basin then applied some of the fancy Orlesian creams the Arlessa had gushed about. They smelled very flowery but she took flowery over rotting flesh and rancid milk any day.

Her hair went up into a braided bun, and she donned a gold necklace Alistair had gotten her in the early days of his kinghood. The chain was small and dainty and the rose pendant as delicate, not overly embellished, and it was her favorite piece of jewelry. The rose he had gifted her still remained pressed in the pages of her healing journal, somewhat wilted and old, but it was there, a symbol of their enduring love, even as they changed.

Elodie emerged from the rooms and inquired to one of the guards in the hall where the king might be. None of them knew which meant only one thing – the larder. Shaking her head, Elodie turned towards the kitchens, the children running past her again, the dog trailing after them.

The kitchens were busy with preparing supper and she was sure but she was able to sneak her way to the larder where the king was indeed ensconced in – nibbling on cheese. She put her hands on her hips and grinned at him. Upon seeing her, he blinked, mouth still half-full with cheese.

“Elodie!” He exclaimed, or he tried to with his mouth full. But his face brightened and he stepped to her quickly, wrapping her in a tight hug. He didn’t mention the smell of the weariness in her face from travel. He simply tucked his face against her neck.

“It’s over?” He whispered and she rubbed his back, smiling and nodding.

“At last, my love,” she replied. A chorus of “aaawws” erupted from behind them, reminding them how they were very much not alone. Elodie stepped back, blushing, but she took Alistair’s hand and guided him out of the larder all the way out into the hallway. Out of sight of the apparently nosy kitchen staff, she kissed his cheek, waiting for him to finish his cheese.

“It’s done, it’s all done, I don’t have to do anything more than I don’t want to, it’s done,” she repeated, kissing his face over and over again in barely restrained happiness. It flowed through her in great droves, filling her up, making her laugh free of inhibition.

“I want to try and I want to do. Alistair, there is just so much we can do, I –

“Marry me,” he blurted out and she stopped. Did he just? Her eyes widened, hand lifted up to her lips. He…did he…oh he did. She knew he did because he turned bright red, his eyes wide and he shuffled his feet like he did when he first asked her if he could kiss her.

She wanted to say yes but all that came out was, “I’m a mage.”

He quirked a brow at her, “Really? I had no idea.”

She poked his arm, “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I do. And the Circle is no more. You can’t be queen but I have been doing some reading and you don’t have to be queen. It’s called a consort? You’ll be my consort but really I just want you as my wife. Maker, I want to marry you, Elodie Amell, because I have loved you for so long and I am tired of having obstacles between us. Let’s just…be married.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, or anything for a solid minute. Her eyes welled up with tears at the end of that minute, Alistair becoming more and more fidgety. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Their heights weren’t too different, and she was able to just snuggle into his shoulder, happily weeping.

“Yes, yes, YES! Yes, I will marry you and be your wife, consort, person,” she laughed. His arms came around her and held her to him.

“You are the love of my life,” he whispered into her hair.

“And now we are free to be just that,” she replied.

Elodie Amell had known many titles and labels in her life – apprentice, mage, Grey Warden, Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa, Warden Commander, rebel, Court Mage, mistress, mother, and now…she entered a new phase of her life, as wife, consort to the king, the love of her life. She was still powerful, still strong, but there was a certain…overwhelming joy to be able to be something she never she would be.

Free. It was all she wanted for so long. Free.

There were still ties that she was bound by, obligations to be met but she was ultimately…free. Free to decide to keep those obligations and friendships.

Late after supper and her and Alistair consummated his very sudden, improper proposal, Elodie sat down at the small desk in the guest room. She wrote the first letter to Karega, thanking her once again for her hospitality and kindness. She informed her of the success of her mission and that she was cordially invited to Elodie’s wedding to the King of Ferelden. Elodie was certain the dwarven queen would have to decline the offer, but it was only polite to invite her. She wrote the second letter to Leliana, and she addressed it as such instead of the apparently now Divine Victoria. This time, she was certain the newly elected Divine would insist on marrying the two. She wrote to Oghren at Vigil’s Keep, inviting him and Felsi and the babe. She wrote to Zevran, opening the letter with ‘so how many assassins can sneak into a royal wedding?’ Morrigan, Katra, Miriel, Teagan, and so many others were going to receive jubilant letters announcing the impending marriage between her and Alistair. Elodie was careful to word it so that they would not blab the information too soon – Alistair and Elodie would be expected to announce it themselves in some grandiose celebration most likely.

She nearly dropped the quill when she recalled they had yet to inform Duncan. Well. She supposed the letters could be sent after they informed him.

Elodie set everything aside and turned back to the bed. Alistair slept on his stomach, snoring softly. Amazing how many things changed and yet stayed the same over the years, she thought, crawling back into the covers, curling herself around his body. He made a snuffling sound before settling back in. She rested her head against his back and took a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered closed and she fell into a deep, restorative sleep.

[talizorahs]

42, 43 & 44 for a character you feel these questions would be most relevant for? :)

thank you again numphy!! i love getting asks from you nolla tabris:

42. Is there anything in your character’s past that they regret, haunts them, or they wish they could change?

yes! nolla is much of a reluctant warden, which is honestly one of my favorite warden tropes. she’s reluctant for the reason her loyalties lie with the city elves and the greater plight of the elves across thedas. she had hoped to stay in the alienage and become a leader, an advocate, but her failed wedding changed this plan drastically. 

she doesn’t resist duncan saving her life, after all, nor that stopping the blight means saving thedas. but she does regret, greatly, that she almost left. many times. simply -- that she wanted to turn her back on the party and leave without a word. return to the alienage. be with her family and her people. the blight seemed an impossible task to mount; if she couldn’t even control how her people were treated at home, how could she alone save the world? bring people together like all the tales of the grey wardens say? 

she regrets she never fully felt like a warden. for the reasons she is an elf, and that she never particularly saw herself as heroic, either. she simply believes in doing the right thing. 

and what haunts her is how she viewed alistair. she took him at face value for far too long, far more enticed with her own internal struggle about being a warden. she didn’t see him fighting the same fight, but with his templar and royal past. the two never saw eye to eye, ever, during origins. but the respect ran deep. it runs deeper on the final night before the archdemon, as nolla doesn’t put him on the throne, either. alistair thanks her -- for that, for staying, for being the leader where he couldn’t. she admits to him she wanted to abandon it, to run away as fast as she could, and go back to things she knew. when he chuckles and says, “you too, huh?” she knows she’s been taking him in all wrong. after that, nolla and alistair become somewhat friends, and very trusted allies as the thedas timeline progresses.

43. Does your character have a switch that changes aspects of their personality whether they are around friends, family, etc. Is there someone who gets to see their true self? 

the rest of the world sees nolla as the steeled warden, the formidable warrior, the passionate elf. she is very much all of this things, especially the last one, but nobody actually sees her. wanting to be soft, to help, to be the pillar she craved in her youth with the death of her mother. zevran sees that, gets to see her break down and struggle and fight, and he loves both sides of her.

44. Is there a particular event that would emotionally devastate your character?

zevran dying, her family dying, losing the denerim alienage, losing any dalish clan, losing knowledge on the ancient elves. loss, loss, loss. she wants everything back. not the other way around.

thanks for asking

[daughter-of-the-prophet]

Exalted Age

5:10 Exalted: The last Exalted March on the Tevinter Imperium ends in retreat for Orlais.

          Calenhad the Great is born as the third son of a Highever merchant.

          The Grey Wardens sign treaties with the various Alamarri teyrns, and build a fortress in Denerim, as well as several small outposts to watch for signs of darkspawn.

5:12 Exalted: The Exalted Marches against Tevinter come to an end with the awakening of Andoral and the outbreak of the Fourth Blight. Darkspawn appear in great numbers in the northeast and northwest of the continent.

          The country of Antiva is overrun by Darkspawn. The Grey Wardens arrive to evacuate Antiva City but the royal family refuses to leave. The Antivan Royal Guard rebel and kill King Elaudio before they are stopped by the Wardens. It is publicly reported that he was killed by the darkspawn.

         The Wardens evacuate the surviving royals and court members via Griffons. As they retreat they are attacked by the Archdemon and the surviving royals are killed along with most of the Wardens.

        Using improvised Aravels supported by magic and drawn by Griffons, the Grey Wardens evacuate a large number of civilians from Wycome to Starkhaven.

        The darkspawn pour into the Free Marches and Rivain.

        The Blight rises in the Anderfels as well, and the capital city of Hossberg comes under siege.

        Orlais and the Tevinter Imperium are attacked by fewer numbers and are able to drive the darkspawn back into the depths of the Deep Roads. Despite their success, Tevinter refuses to send any aid to the Free Marches or the Anderfels, while Orlais sends only a token force.

5:16 Exalted: Divine Hortensia II dies.

          Divine Rosamund is elected. At nineteen, she is the youngest Divine in history. She was personally groomed for the position by Hortensia II.

5:20 Exalted: The Grey Warden, Garahel, leads an army of Wardens and Anders and breaks the siege of Hossberg.

          Kirkwall declares the common nug as a noxious vermin over fears that the animals carried the Blight. The extermination became known the Battle of Squealing Plains.

5:21 Exalted: Darkspawn all but devastate the Free Marches. Chateau Haine becomes Fortress Haine, a makeshift Grey Warden garrison commanded by Isseya. A refuge known as the Retreat is dug into the mountain. At the most dire point of the Fourth Blight hundreds of fleeing Kirkwall and Cumberland residents call the Retreat home.

5:22 Exalted: Garahel gathers Wardens from Orlais and the Anderfels and marches to Starkhaven. At Starkhaven, Garahel organizes an alliance between the leaders of the Free Marches. A united army marches north, led under the banner of the Grey Wardens.

5:24 Exalted: Antiva is freed from the darkspawn during the infamous battle at the city of Ayesleigh, where Garahel dies upon slaying the archdemon Andoral. So many darkspawn are slaughtered in the battle that it is considered certain that they will never return. That the Blight continues to be felt underground by the dwarves of Orzammar is largely ignored by most except the Grey Wardens. Most are eager for the war to end and for regular trade to begin.

          Lambert Valmont, a young Orlesian captain, is declared a hero by King Azar Adalberto Campana of Antiva for coming to the rescue of the Antivan army during the Battle of Ayesleigh. Lambert weds one of Azar’s daughters and the Valmont family is elevated to the nobility. Upon returning home, the Orlesian emperor is forced to match Azar’s honors by granting Lambert a marquisate.

5:25 Exalted: Many griffons are killed during the Fourth Blight. Their numbers devastated, the creatures soon die out.

5:33 Exalted: Calenhad Theirin defeats Teyrn Simeon in the Battle of the White Valley and was named teyrn of Denerim.

5:37 Exalted: The first king of the NevarranVan Markham family, Tylus Van Markham, is crowned after having claimed to be a descendant of Drakon’s son, killed in Cumberland and killing the ruling Pentaghast king. Being a hero of the recent Blight, Tylus is able to stir nationalistic feelings in the western Free Marches against the growing power of Orlais. He proves his military might by winning several major battles against the Orlesians, establishing Nevarra as a new, growing power.

5:38 Exalted: King Tylus Van Markham turns the western Free Marches against the growing power of Orlais. He wins several major border wars against the Orlesians, expanding Nevarra into a proper nation.

5:42 Exalted: With the crowning of King Calenhad in Denerim, the various warring factions of Alamarri are at last united under a single banner to form Ferelden. What had always been considered a land of wild, nomadic barbarians was finally a nation in its own right, though considered primitive and backwater by most.

5:71 Exalted: Divine Rosamund dies after fifty-five years in power. She leaves a legacy as one of the most compassionate women to ever occupy this post.

          Divine Amara III is elected. The famously fanatical leader is said to enjoy bonfires fueled by burning maleficar. Her reign does not last long.

5:99 Exalted: Queen Madrigal of Antiva, is assassinated on a hunt, stabbed in the chest by four blades.

          Divine Theodosia I receives news of Queen Madrigal’s assassination. The image of the queen with four swords plunged into her chest haunts the Divine’s dreams that night. Upon awakening, she declares the Steel Age.

[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 25

Deserts, Amelia had decided, did not agree with her.

The Western Approach was a bleak sort of place, the sand bleached white by the unrelenting sun that beat down them day by day. It was a place of extremes - the heat at the zenith of the day obliged them to take shelter and wait for the air to cool; the nights plunged them into a chill that froze them to their bones. The wildlife pushed the standard of 'wild' farther than she was used to - lurkers and quillbacks stalked the sands; packs of hyenas were bold enough to attack openly; they had even encountered varghests guarding the only source of fresh water. Darkspawn had broken through to haunt the surface, adding a new level of danger in a place where the Venatori's foothold had been particularly difficult to pull out from under them.

She missed Cullen. She missed Skyhold. Hang it all, she missed winter. Bracing winds and brutal snowstorms were infinitely preferable to this desolate landscape that baked by day and froze by night. Every hour, she felt gritty and unwashed, soaked in her own sweat from the moment she rose in the morning. Her only consolation was that she was not the only one suffering. Iron Bull's gray skin was burned almost black by the end of each day, the great Qunari practically having to bathe in elfroot lotion each night. Blackwall had been forced to adjust to leather armor, his metal plates proved utterly unsuitable within just a few hours of their arrival in the Approach. Varric was just miserable, wilting in the relentless sunshine, shivering in the chill of the night. They were all sweaty and unwashed, and the fragrance around their campfire each evening was becoming nauseatingly ripe, with no sign of reprieve in the near future.

Yet, despite the distractions of Venatori, darkspawn, and an Orlesian scholar who had walked them straight into yet another encounter with a High Dragon, they made good time through the Approach, arriving at the Tevinter ritual tower almost three weeks to the day after leaving Halamshiral. Stroud was waiting for them, alone but for Marian Hawke, who looked about as happy as Amelia felt.

"I'm glad you made it, Inquisitor," Stroud greeted her, his every muscle tense. "My fellows are scouting other sites in the desert, but there are a handful of Wardens here."

"Just a handful?" Amelia asked.

"They're still trickling in from across Orlais," Hawke told her. "We've seen Ferelden Wardens, as well. The Calling has them all scared."

"Where are they?" Amelia needed to know. "We've seen no Wardens at all, not even in the nest of darkspawn we cleared out on the other side of that sulfur field."

"The others of our party are investigating that," Stroud assured her. "I fear they have already started the ritual here. It is simply a blessing in disguise that so few have been gathered."

"Inquisitor, be careful," Hawke warned. "I'd wager they're using blood magic up there. You can smell it ... or see the corpses."

Amelia swallowed. Blood magic was rather high on the list of things that scared her, always aware of the line she walked as a mage. That fear was worse now she knew the source of Cullen's nightmares. She never wanted to expose him to such a thing again. "Then we need to stop the ritual," she said, adjusting her sweaty grasp on her staff.

Hawke nodded grimly. "You take point," she told Stroud. "I'll guard your backs."

Together, they moved into the tower. Stroud took the lead; it didn't surprise Amelia that Bull and Blackwall ushered her to the back with Varric and Hawke, trusting to the dwarf and the Champion to keep their Inquisitor safe. The tower was not what she had expected - there was no interior to explore. The oppressive Tevinter architecture was open to the sky, and unlike the shrine of Dumat, all the Old Gods were represented in the looming grotesques that lined the wide steps up to the ritual platform itself. But it wasn't the malevolent faces of Dumat and his fellows that wound her stomach into sickening knots. She could feel the magic in the air; worse, she could smell the blood. Hawke was right.

Together, their group crept up the steps, aware of the demonic presence ahead as they listened to the voices above them.

"Warden-Commander Clarel's orders were clear." That was a Tevinter voice - male and assured, and perhaps even a little gloating.

"This is wrong!" another voice objected - Ferelden, male, and very scared.

"Remember your oath," the Tevinter said, the purpose in his tone horrifying to hear. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death -" Amelia heard the sound of a blade cutting through flesh, the death rattle of a man's life stolen from him. "- sacrifice. Good. Now bind it, just as I showed you."

As one, Amelia and Hawke broke into a sprint, leaving Varric behind, reaching the top of the steps in tandem with Stroud, only to come upon a terrible scene. Six Warden warriors lay dead, their bodies discarded like so much rubbish; six Warden mages stood by, blood staining their hands; six demons lurked with them, bound by blood magic and human sacrifice to serve. And in their midst, a Tevinter mage, who turned to greet them with an offensive smile.

"Inquisitor." He bowed mockingly, pale eyes flickering to her marked hand. "What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service."

"Dorian will be heartbroken to have missed reuniting with a former classmate," Amelia responded with biting sarcasm. Erimond had been on the list of possible Venatori her friend had put together - arrogant, too confident by half, and always on the look out for the next power boost.

"Devastated, I'm sure," Erimond responded in kind, his mouth twisted into a moue of distaste for the countryman who had clearly been telling her all kinds of accurate information.

Stroud growled with anger. "You are no Warden," he spat.

"But you are." Erimond sighed, shaking his head. "The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"

"Wait!" Hawke pushed forward, addressing the Warden mages directly. "Wardens, this man is lying to you. He serves an ancient Tevinter magister who wants to unleash a Blight."

There was no reaction from the Wardens. Just the mention of a Blight usually made Wardens reach for their weapons, yet these six mages just stood there, seemingly concerned by their close proximity to the demons beside them. And suddenly Amelia knew the purpose of this ritual.

"Hawke, look at them," she urged her friend, tense and ready for the fight they could not avoid. "He's stolen their minds."

"And I was so hoping I could give you a demonstration," the Tevinter mocked. "But they did this to themselves. You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help."

"They didn't come to the Inquisition," Amelia pointed out, but it was Stroud who answered her.

"The Inquisition was too new to be considered of much use," the Warden told her regretfully. "But I never thought Clarel would look to Tevinter."

"Yet she did," Erimond told him. "And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel, full of sympathy, and together we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

"Corypheus' demon army marching across Thedas," Amelia breathed. She didn't need to imagine it - she had seen it, almost a full year ago, in the false future she had visited with Dorian.

"Sounds familiar," Varric commented from behind her.

"And now you know how it begins," the Tevinter mocked their horror. "Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves."

"You bastard," Hawke hissed angrily. "You used their fear against them."

"This is barely a handful of the mages in the Order," Stroud said then, aghast at how far his fellows had been prepared to go. "The others will not go along with this willingly."

"You're wrong there." Erimond chuckled, the sound painfully inappropriate uttered over the bodies of Wardens who had died believing they were doing the right thing. "This was ... a test. Once the rest of the Wardens have gathered, the mages will complete the ritual, and our army will conquer Thedas."

"Do you really want to see the world fall to a Blight?" Amelia demanded, unnerved by the silent attention of the Warden mages and their bound demons. "What do you get out of this?"

The Tevinter scoffed at her question. "The Elder One commands the Blight," he declared, clearly already feeling secure in his triumph. "He is not commanded by it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable, or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

Amelia heard Hawke scoff in return, but Varric beat both of them to the obvious response. "Somebody's certainly a tool."

"As for me," Erimond continued, ignoring the dwarf's comment. "While the Elder One rules from the Golden City, we - the Venatori - will be his god-kings here in the world."

"Interesting you should say that," Amelia countered. "Your Elder One promised exactly the same thing to Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. I'm sure you've heard by now how that turned out for her."

"She was a fool to think she could ever stand as an equal to the Venatori," Erimond insisted airily. "The death of one woman, Empress or not, hardly compares to the corruption of the Grey Wardens."

"But the Venatori have nothing to do with this," Amelia pointed out. He was too confident; what did he have planned? "Corypheus himself influenced the Wardens, forced them onto this path."

"Ha! Forced them?" Erimond's laughter scratched at her taut nerves. "No. Everything you see here? The blood sacrifices to bind the demons? The Wardens did it of their own free will. Fear is a very good motivator, and they are very afraid."

Behind her, Amelia heard Blackwall's anger erupt. "That's a lie!" her friend snapped; she could only imagine how he felt seeing all this before him. "The Grey Wardens are heroes - they would never do this willingly!"

"The Grey Wardens will do anything to stop the Blights," the Tevinter scorned him. "You should have seen Clarel agonize over the decision. Burdens of command, I suppose."

"Why would Clarel risk using demons?" Hawke demanded. "She's a mage herself; she knows the dangers better than most."

"What a foolish question." Their adversary seemed to be tiring of his opportunity to gloat. "Demons need no food, no rest, no healing. Once bound, they will never retreat, never question orders - the perfect army, now bound to my master."

Amelia straightened her shoulders, readying herself for a fight. "Release the Wardens from the binding and surrender," she ordered him, her voice bleak. "I won't ask twice."

"No," Erimond agreed conversationally. "You won't."

He raised his hand toward her, and Amelia felt a horribly familiar tug from the Anchor on her palm. It resisted for just a moment, erupting into a sparking frenzy of undeniable agony that ripped up her arm as the mark flared with forced Fade light. She cried out, gripping her wrist as the pain drove her to her knees, her entire being focused on the devastating sensation of the mark trying to resist being torn from her very soul as the mage continued to speak over her torment.

"The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event you were foolish enough to intervene again," he said, his tone smug with victory as her companions closed around her, as Varric reached out to touch her back. "That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."

"Duchess?"

Amelia growled through the pain. "I'm all right, Varric," she promised her friend. "Just be ready."

She barely heard him passing her warning on to the others, fighting through the agony that had engulfed her arm and hand to bring her will to bear. This was why she had been studying Rift Magic, knowing that eventually Corypheus would try to kill her with the Anchor again. It was hers now, an indelible part of her, and she had learned how to use it. Forcing herself to ignore the pain, she sent her awareness searching for what had to be there. She had learned the Anchor well over the last year or so; this pain related to a connection of some sort - an unwelcome connection, for the pain was magnified a hundred-fold. There. That was where the mage's power had touched her.

"When I bring him your head," Erimond was crowing, "his gratitude will be -" He broke off suddenly, thrown back as Amelia forced his touch from the Anchor, gifting him with just a taste of the pain he had inflicted on her, pain that made him scream like the coward he was. He scrambled back as she rose onto her feet. "Kill them!" his shrill voice demanded in terror. "Kill them all!"

The mindless Wardens and their bound demons turned to strike, but Amelia and her people were ready for them. She raised the Anchor, letting it retaliate for the attempt to destroy its host. A rift opened above the attackers, tendrils of Fade energy reaching to drag the demons back beyond the Veil, where they could do no harm to the world of the living. Without their bound allies, the Warden mages were no match for the enemy they faced - an enemy that was angry and more than motivated enough to shrug off underpowered spells. It was just as well, really; even as she caught sight of Erimond's escape, Amelia collapsed onto her knees, her muscles seizing with just the echo of the pain so recently endured.

"You were right," Stroud said in disgust, shaking the blood from his sword. "Through their ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus."

"And the Warden warriors?" Hawke asked in an acid tone. Her gray eyes flicked down to the corpses at their feet. "Oh, of course. It's not real blood magic until someone gets sacrificed."

Eased back onto her feet with Blackwall's help, Amelia scowled. They might have won this round, but this wasn't a victory. "Who looks at this and thinks it's a good idea?" she asked in a hopeless voice.

"The fearful and the foolish," Hawke said simply. She turned, concern clouding her expression as she considered the Inquisitor. "Amelia, are you all right?"

"I just need to rest, that's all," Amelia assured the Champion. "That's the second time someone's tried to kill me with my own hand. It wasn't any more pleasant this time around."

"Kill you?" Hawke sounded shocked. "Is the pain that bad?"

"Worse, probably," Amelia told her wearily. "But the Anchor always hurts. I've grown used to it. I don't think they'll be trying that again, though. I threw a fair amount of the pain straight back at our blood mage friend there."

"You need to rest," Blackwall told her, his tone brooking no argument. "You're barely on your feet as it is."

"We can track back to Griffon Wing Keep," Bull suggested. "Safest place to rest up before we go looking for the Wardens."

"I believe I know where they are," Stroud offered them, his voice sombre. "The direction Erimond fled ... there's an abandoned Warden fortress that way. Adamant."

"Then that's where we'll go," Amelia began, but to everyone's surprise, it was Varric who headed that off.

"You're not going anywhere, Duchess," the dwarf said firmly. "We did what we came to do. Let our Wardens find the others, and you can send a message to Skyhold when we know more."

"He's right," Hawke said, overriding the objection that rose on the tip of Amelia's tongue. "Stroud and I can scout out Adamant, and confirm that the other Wardens are there. We'll meet you back at the Keep. You've faced enough for one day."

Had anyone else said that, Amelia might have argued. But this was Hawke, a woman who had been at the forefront herself, who knew that one person could not do it all and survive. Accepting the advice, she sagged against Blackwall gratefully. "All right," she conceded. "If you're not back by sunset, we'll come for you."

That decided, Hawke and Stroud were quick to get going, but Amelia refused to leave the tower before one more task was completed. Despite their ignoble deaths, the Wardens were still heroes; she refused to leave their bodies to rot beside the remains of Tevinter victims from centuries before. To her surprise, there was no argument from her companions. Blackwall set her down in the shade to rest, ordering her not to move, and he, Varric, and Iron Bull got to work building a pyre from the bleached wood that littered the sands. They wouldn't even let her light it, concerned by how weary she was after her encounter with Erimond. Varric intoned the chant for the departed over the pyre, and they each stood for some time in quiet contemplation of what this all meant.

Though it pained her to admit it, the circumstances all pointed toward the inevitability of an assault on the Grey Wardens, a war to save them from themselves. That was not a prospect that filled Amelia with hope. The Wardens were legendary fighters; they would fight all the harder with the Calling in their hearts, and with demons to bolster them ... Her mind shuddered back from the thought of those casualties. Yet it could not be helped. Corypheus could not be permitted to corrupt the Wardens so thoroughly.

At Griffon Wing Keep, she was examined by healers and finally allowed to rest, but the sound of raised voices roused her from sleep before the sun dipped below the horizon. She groaned, every part of her aching, dragging herself up from her bedroll to look out through the flap of her tent. Hawke and Stroud were no more than ten feet away, snarling at each other.

"The Wardens are wrong, Hawke, but they have their reasons," Stroud was saying, in deep tones of exasperation.

"All blood mages do," Hawke countered hotly. "Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions ... and it never matters in the end. In the end, you are always alone with your decisions."

"They are not alone," Stroud argued as forcefully as he dared. "That Tevinter has used their fear against them -"

"Fear is no reason to consort with demons!" the Champion shouted, throwing up her hands. "Kirkwall was rife with fear and blood magic, and what did that accomplish?"

"This is not Kirkwall!" the Warden snapped back at her. "This is the fate of the world!"

"A world saved by blood magic is not a world I want to be a part of!"

"That's enough, both of you," Amelia interjected, stepping painfully out of her tent. "We don't have so many friends that we can afford to alienate each other through differing opinions."

"Blood magic is wrong," Hawke insisted. "My own mother lost her life to blood magic!"

"Yes, it is wrong," Amelia agreed, "but ... Grey Wardens use whatever means necessary to end a Blight. They believe they are all dying out. In their place, I would probably have made the same decision."

"But you know Corypheus is behind this!" Hawke protested.

"And they don't," Amelia reminded her forcefully. "I don't agree with their decision, of course I don't. But I do understand it. Taking out your anger on a friend is not going to help the situation." As Hawke subsided, bowing to the logic in her argument, Amelia turned her gaze onto Stroud. "Neither is trying to force others to see the Wardens' argument," she told him. "Blood magic evokes visceral reactions in everyone. All you are doing is inviting angry words and tempers."

She watched them both absorb her words, glad she still had their ear when it came to this. There was an awkward exchange of glances, muttered apologies, and Stroud moved away to join his fellow loyal Grey Wardens at their camp fire. Hawke scowled after him, clearly angry he couldn't or wouldn't see this from her perspective, but she let him go, turning back to Amelia.

"You look marginally better than you did earlier," she commented, gesturing for the Inquisitor to sit. "Whatever Erimond did, it took a lot out of you."

Amelia sighed softly. Her hand still throbbed, sending ripples of that pain up along her arm every now and then, but it was a vast improvement on how she had felt in the immediate aftermath. "I'll be fine in the morning," she promised, with a certain amount of feigned confidence. "Did you find anything?"

"We tracked that Venatori mage back to Adamant Fortress." Hawke nodded as she, too, sat down by the fire, meeting Varric's gaze with wry humor. "Stroud estimates that around a third of the Wardens haven't yet reached them."

"We should try to slow them up, if we can," Amelia mused thoughtfully. "It'll take time for Cullen to get our forces here."

"So we're going up against the Wardens," Varric said, his voice heavy. "That's just great."

"I don't see that we have much choice," Amelia admitted, not exactly thrilled with the idea herself. "We have to stop them before they all complete the ritual, and with Erimond whispering in her ear, Clarel isn't even going to know I want to talk to her."

"So we have to get you to her," Hawke said firmly. "The Wardens won't make that easy."

"We?" Amelia asked in surprise.

Hawke flashed her a bright grin. "You didn't think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?"

"Only you would call this fun," Varric chuckled, sobering as he looked over at his best friend. "Thanks for coming."

"You did well, Varric," Hawke told him with a fond smile for her friend. "The Inquisitor is ... just who we need."

"Oh, it's been great," the dwarf drawled sarcastically. "Murderous Wardens, archdemon attacks, plenty of blood mages and crazy templars. Just like home."

Hawke chuckled lightly. "All the same, you're where you need to be," she pointed out mildly. "I know how much you hated leaving Kirkwall."

"This is the ass end of Thedas," Varric declared. "You know they eat snails here?"

"And grilled drake in deathroot sauce," Amelia added, laughing at his grimace.

"Don't remind me," he groaned, shuddering just at the thought of that particular local dish. "Still, I think ... I need to finish this out. If it weren't for me and Bartrand, none of this would have happened." He sighed, shaking his head. "So much for changing our lives."

"That's what happens when you try to change things," Hawke told him regretfully. "Things change. You can't always control how."

"Well, getting rich without the side order of crazy doesn't seem too much to ask," Varric grumped, but Amelia could see how much Hawke's mere presence was a comfort to him. What a gift, to have a friendship like that.

She excused herself, not wanting to intrude on the best friends' conversation. Besides, there was something she needed to do, sooner rather than later. The ravens watched from their cages as she wrote carefully on the little message slip, trying to cram as much in there as she possibly could. This situation was beyond her. She needed help.

 C,L,J - assault necessary on Adamant Fortress ASAP. Agents required to prevent remaining Wardens' arrival. Will meet army in Hissing Wastes and clear Venatori presence. Bring friends. Come soon. - A

[manders1984]

Outlander Season 3 Episode Master Post (Updated)

This post has been updated with all of the episode titles, descriptions, writers, and directors we know so far for Season 3—which is pretty much all of them. If you don’t want to be spoiled, STOP READING. I will update and repost this as information becomes available. 

The previous version of this post is here. For my predictions on the breakdown of the episodes leading up to the Reunion, click here. For analysis of the 305 episode title, click here. 

The cast information is from IMDb. It can often be unreliable. For example, Geneva and Isobel are listed for 301, but we know that’s likely not the case. Hannah James previously confirmed on Twitter (before the episode descriptions were available) that she was appearing in 304. But it’s interesting to note that César Domboy starts appearing as Fergus in 305, then the rest of the season.

Episode 301 (September 10, 2017)—"The Battle Joined" 

written by Ronald D. Moore

directed by Brendan Maher

(57 minutes) After living through the Battle of Culloden, Jamie finds himself at the mercy of unforgiving British victors, until a connection from his past provides his only hope of survival. Meanwhile, a pregnant Claire attempts to adjust to life in the modem world of 1940s Boston—and life with Frank.

Additional Cast: 

Ryan Ralph Gerrard as Giles McMartin

Joseph Rye as Realtor

Garry Summers as Anaesthesiologist

Episode 302 (September 17, 2017)—“Surrender" 

written by Anne Kenney

directed by Jennifer Getzinger

Hiding in an isolated cave, Jamie leads a lonely Life until Lallybroch is threatened by redcoats pursuing the elusive Jacobite traitor known as "Red Jamie: Back in Boston, Claire and Frank struggle to coexist in a marriage haunted by the ghost of Jamie's love.

Episode 303 (September 24, 2017)—"All Debts Paid" 

written by Matthew B. Roberts

directed by Brendan Maher

In prison, Jamie discovers that an old foe has become the warden - and now has the power to make his life a living hell. Over the years, Claire and Frank both put their best foot forward to share a harmonious marriage, but an uninvited guest shatters this illusion, bringing their differences to light.

Episode 304 (October 1, 2017)—”Of Lost Things” 

written by Toni Graphia

directed by Brendan Maher

While serving as groomsman at the aristocratic estate of Helwater, Jamie is reluctantly pulled into the intrigue of a noble British family. In 1968 Scotland, Claire, Brianna and Roger struggle to trace Jamie's whereabouts in history, leaving Claire to wonder if they will ever find him again.

Additional Cast:

Hannah James as Geneva Dunsany

Tanya Reynolds as Isobel Dunsany

Episode 305 (October 8, 2017)—”Freedom & Whisky”

written by Toni Graphia*

directed by Brendan Maher

As Brianna grapples with the life-changing revelations of the past summer, Claire must help her come to terms with the fact that she is truly her father's daughter - her 18th century Highlander father. To complicate matters further, Roger brings news that forces Claire and Brianna to face an impossible choice.

Additional Cast:

Mitchell Mullen as Dean Tramble

Episode 306 (October 22, 2017)—”A. Malcolm” 

written by Matthew B. Roberts

directed by Norma Bailey

(75 minutes) After decades apart, Jamie and Claire finally reunite and rekindle their emotional and physical bonds. But Jamie's new business dealings jeopardize the couples' hopes for a simple life together.

Additional Cast:

Ian Conningham as Barton

Kirsty Strain as Peggy

Episode 307 (October 29, 2017)—”Creme De Menthe"

written by Karen Campbell

directed by Norma Bailey

In the aftermath of a violent confrontation, Claire follows her conscience as a surgeon, even though it could put her and Jamie's lives at risk. At the same time, Jamie attempts to evade the reach of the Crown as its representative closes in on his illegal dealings.

Additional Cast:

Ian Conningham as Barton

Episode 308 (November 5, 2017—“First Wife" 

written by Joy Blake

directed by Jennifer Getzinger

Claire returns to Lallybroch with Jamie, where she does not receive quite the reception she was expecting. Unbeknownst to her, Jamie's made some choices in their time apart which come back to haunt them with a vengeance.

Episode 309 (November 12, 2017)—"The Doldrums" 

written by Shannon Goss

directed by David Moore

Claire and Jamie leave Scotland, sailing to the West Indies on an urgent quest. But when the superstitious crew looks for someone to blame after a string of bad luck, rescue comes from an unlikely source.

Episode 310 (November 19, 2017—"Heaven & Earth” written by Luke Schelhaas, directed by David Moore

"Claire races to discover the source of an epidemic aboard a disease-stricken ship before hundreds of sailors die. And as Jamie locks horns with Captain Raines, Fergus finds himself torn between loyalty and love."

Episode 311 (November 26, 2017—"Turtle Soup" 

written by Karen Campbell and Shannon Goss

directed by Charlotte Brandstorm

After making a leap of faith, Claire washes up on a seemingly deserted island where survival is her only option. Navigating treacherous waters has crippled the Artemis, so Jamie devises a joyful moment for his crew in the midst of devastating setbacks.

Episode 312 (December 3, 2017—"The Bakra" 

written by Luke Schelhaas

directed by Charlotte Brandstorm

The Artemis finally reaches Jamaica bringing Jamie and Claire that much closer to their goal During a lavish ball on the island, the Fraser encounter old allies, as well as former adversaries who threaten to derail their mission.

Additional Cast:

Matthew Dylan Roberts as Auctioneer

Episode 313 (December 10, 2017)—"A New World”

Claire is forced to play a game of cat and mouse with an old adversary as she searches for Young Ian. The Frasers race through the jungles of Jamaica to prevent the unthinkable.

Additional Cast:

Calum Cormack as Fire Brigade Captain

Brett Williams as Mr. Oliver

ANALYSIS/COMMENTARY:

Directors

All of the directors this season are new:

Brendan Maher: Spartacus, Upstairs/Downstairs.

Jennifer Getzinger: Mad Men, How to Get Away With Murder, Agent Carter

Norma Bailey: Reign, Heartland

David Moore: Jamestown, Jericho, Shetland

Charlotte Brandstrom: Madam Secretary, Arrow, Grey’s Anatomy

I’m particularly jazzed because one of Getzinger’s 10 Mad Men episodes, “The Suitcase,” is widely considered to be one of the best episodes of the series. I think she’ll do well here.

Like Metin last season, Maher directed the majority of the episodes and they’re all at the beginning of the season. Hopefully this bodes well for a consistent tone/focus/vision at the beginning as we build up to the reunion.

Writers

There are four new writers this season:

Shannon Goss: ER, Harry’s Law, Revenge

Joy Blake: Ghost Whisperer, Heroes, Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior

Karen Campbell: Dexter, Covert Affairs, Unforgettable

Luke Schelhaas: The Good Wife, Law & Order, Smallville

I can’t wait to see what these new writers bring to the table. I’m sad my girl Anne is getting pushed out and/or leaving. But this show really needed to be injected with some new energy.

All in all, I’m kind of excited to see what all of the new blood means for Season 3—and Season 4, because remember, they started padding their writing staff so they could get rolling on not only Season 3 but Season 4 as well.

Now please join me in a prayer circle for pacing and editing.