#Amelia Enmity

[jeremyfuscaldo]

Amelia Enmity Halloween Sketches Day 18 (late entry):

Skye the Ghost Girl celebrates her birthday in the dark.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: Absolution Episode 2

some random bits and pieces on Episode 2. under a cut due to length

Episode 1 post

It looks really cold down there! You can see their breath

The various glyphs and circular spells in this show really have the feel of similar glyphs and mage spell symbols from the games

The chained dragon reminded me of Ataashi trapped in Trespasser and the chained dragon in Dark Fortress

Is this ruin they're in the aforementioned sealed temple to the Old Gods? In Episode 1 we're told that part of the Summer Palace is built on top of a sealed temple to the Old Gods, and when Rezaren and Tassia exit that place they travel upwards from what looks like underground. that's interesting - it's the place where the Circulum was crafted by Magister Amelia Pavus. Was that so far back in time that it was during the time of Old God worship in Tevinter, or was Amelia an [underground] Old God cultist or simply conducting research of/in an old temple?

^ draconic figure pattern on the chamber walls

New lore: Tevinter Divine Marconius IV built the vault in the Summer Palace in Nessum as a last resort; its security system is designed to kill everyone in the palace in order to stop a full-scale coup, rather than a few intruders. sounds like a safe room tbh! also new lore: this Marconius put the bodies of dead slaves in the walls of the palace

Since it seems from a later normal conversation Tassia "has" with Neb's body later in this episode that Tassia doesn't realize Neb is dead, my reading of the 'Don't you have someone you want to bring back?' exchange between Rezaren and Tassia was that Tassia herself in her own backstory lost someone important to her

New lore: an ancestor of Dorian's, and a member of House Pavus, Magister Amelia Pavus, created the Circulum Infinitus as her last and greatest work. It brings people back from the dead - she'd be proud that her great-great-greatx9000 descendant is a Necromancer

On Memory / Enmity: aaah the highlight of the episode. Honestly I think there is soo much that could be written about this character, on themselves and as a commentary on broader things etc, even though they only appeared for a brief time. "Memory / Enmity" is how they're listed in the credits. they're a spirit of Wisdom called Memory, like how there's a Pride Demon called Audacity and a Desire demon called Caress. these are like, types of or possible aspects/things relating to the 'umbrella noun'. I think sometimes these are things it's focusing on, like how an anger demon that 'focuses on' [angry] retribution is more powerful as that kind of anger is more powerful and complex than simple anger. why memory.. There's knowledge to be found in memories, and they can help inform wiser choices in the future.

Memory has observed and remembered everything that happened in that chamber since its very founding, which as a temple to the Old Gods (from long ago) means that they've been doing that for a very, very long time and seen a great many things. this was in service of Tevinter; we already knew that in Tevinter mages bind spirits and use them as servants, so here's an example of that practise.

When Memory says they "sense" that the artifact has never been used, I get the impression that rather than sense that they just straight up know that, but were being coy about what they knew in a holding some info close to their chest kind of way. When they said that by name and nature mortals are doomed to die, I was reminded of the immortality of ancient elves, how the construction of the Veil changed elves' very nature and sundered them from themselves, and the theory that elves were once spirits/have spirit origins

Memory's descent into Enmity is also interesting. they already had multiple blue eyes, but at certain times when they're tempted, annoyed, sus etc they're drawn with additional, demonic black eye slits. there's also multiple triggers which contribute towards their corruption into Pride/Enmity and twisting away from/perversion of their purpose. Rezaren arrogantly states that just because something hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be done, and boasts that Magisters don't frighten easily. here, it's exposure to Rezaren's pride, like how in this Codex sonnet the spirit of Love was transformed into Desire by exposure to the lover's desire for them. Memory is further twisted when Rezaren harms them in an attempt to force/compel them to comply with his demands (forcing them to comply with something out of keeping with their nature). this is apparent from their expressions of pain (grimacing, hunching etc), and this twisting feels more like an animal's defense mechanism against being attacked, like if you keep pushing and pushing someone they may lash out. they're twisted when their own innate (hidden) sense of pride is insulted by the way that they're being treated and essentially being compared to a common shade. and they're twisted when exposed to the powerful artifact and find themselves coveting it and its power. When they say "revealing that would be unwise" it's a bit meta, as at that time Memory themselves is trying to avoid becoming their opposite (unwise... no longer Wisdom).

^ the multiple eyes + blue eyes is self-explanatory ofc, but here I was also reminded by the way the Dread Wolf's face in this mural is twisted and 'frowning'/snarling

Also poor Memory .. MEEEEEMOREEEE noooooo（；へ：）way to go Rezaren you corrupted a spirit other Magisters had been compelling and consulting without ruining for literal Ages

"Power like this draws... many... eyes": obviously referring to Meredith and likely also to get you to wonder who else, what other beings are after this artifact or want it. but it's also self-referential: Memory is drawn to the artifact, Enmity wants it believing that only beings such as they should get to hold such power, their many eyes are fixed upon it

Memory is bald under that there hood. this reminded me of bald ancient elves in wall paintings such as these and the obvious, which in turn brought to mind the theory on Solas' origins, that Mythal once called Solas (a spirit of Wisdom) out of the Fade to serve and advise her ("He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face")

The Memory/Enmity dichotomy is also interesting, it's not the 'simple' kind of axis like Justice-Vengeance or Love/Desire. we already knew it wasn't always fixed and 'linear' and or exclusive (Faith and Wisdom can both become Pride etc) but yea Spirit/Demon stuff is just soo interesting hh :D according to Professor Google there are some ideas in some types of religious thinking on enmity as it relates to pride:

"Most of us think of pride as self-centeredness, conceit, boastfulness, arrogance, or haughtiness. All of these are elements of the sin, but the heart, or core, is still missing. The central feature of pride is enmity—enmity toward God and enmity toward our fellowmen. Enmity means “hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition.” It is the power by which Satan wishes to reign over us. Pride is essentially competitive in nature. We pit our will against God’s. When we direct our pride toward God, it is in the spirit of “my will and not thine be done.”" [from a random site]

"the heart and core of pride is enmity - "hatred toward, hostility to, or a state of opposition" - toward God and fellowmen. Enmity toward God has certain labels: rebellion, hard-heartedness, stiff-neckedness, unrepentant, puffed up, easily offended, and sign seekers. Enmity toward others is manifest in daily temptations to "elevate ourselves above others and diminish them."" [from a random site]

"“But Pride always means enmity -- it is enmity. And not only enmity between man and man, but enmity to God.”" [apparently a CS Lewis quote]

the Tevinter Chantry holds services in the evening (the evening chant) which have four bells, singing of the Chant and the congregation/people assembled looking for salvation

^ one last time indeed. F （；へ：）

I thought/speculated/worried that one of the gang wouldn't make it out of the heist alive, but I really did not expect it to be Fairbanks, Newly Ascended Extra and Inquisition Representation. wew!!

When Roland is rolling around on the ground like 'oh the pain' this is probably the bit mentioned here in the showrunner & cast interview from Netflix Tooned In:

Mairghread: “You get a file [of auditions]. A lot of people could bring the badass, but she really brought the warmth, and really, your voice and performance was so warm, in like, this, quieter moments where you could feel a person instead of just a phenomenal killing machine. I knew instantly when I heard your audition, I was like 'that’s it, that’s absolutely it’. […] Phil’s audition was so smooth and sexy, I was like 'oh this is so nice’, but actually what clinched it is there’s a moment where he has to like, act badly, and it’s actually really hard to get actors to act badly. A moment where he has to do a bad job of acting. And you went for it 100%, it was hilarious.”

"tell my wife I loved her" lmao

Levitation? in Last Flight there's the floating aravels and I think in the core rule book there's a bit about levitation of small items

the girl and the cook reminded me a bit of Briala and the chatelaine and Rilene the cook in The Masked Empire, only a lot darker

here's "bat" again, this time bat-eared.. is "bat" a Tevinter thing, like "rabbit" in Orlais? :|

"sky-sucking" lol

^ lockpicking looks fun and also the opened lock is a dragon!

The Fairbanks/Hira thing was a cool twist and clever misdirect. I originally thought Fairbanks was evil, a traitor/compromised or somehow not really Fairbanks in that scene

The Circulum absorbs some of Hira's spilled blood

Also I think Rezaren's mom's name is Enrichetta. That name is listed in the credits as Sumalee Montano, his mom sounded like Sumalee and it can't be the name of the cook or the girl as they're listed as "cook" and "girl", so by process of elimination and lack of who else it could be.. ^^

[dreadfutures]

Blue’s DA: Absolution Post

Just finished my first viewing. Impressions, spoilers, and some rambling. Let’s go! Stream of consciousness, baby.

When I first saw my little sisters playing DAI, it struck me as “THE GAY GAME” and BOY is this THE GAY FRANCHISE. And it’s so normal. No one makes a big deal about it at all. It’s just fuckin normal and everyone is so flirty from square one. There ain’t no one gonna watch this and then go into DA4 not being aware this is a queer friendly world.

The big things I’m taking away, besides that:

- Where do people go when they die? Death seems to be a central question of Absolution. Immortality is a central question in Thedas tbh, and I have so many questions that I am betting will absolutely be answered in DA4.

- The architecture: Nevarra has domes, and its mage tower is very very square. Ziggurat-y. Tevinter reminded me a lot of parts of Spain with its architecture, the mosaics in particular, but other things to. Morocco. A lot of Morocco actually. I love that. The canals, the verdantness, the tiered city on a mesa, I really loved.

- Parkour. And gameplay. Or at least the vibe of what I imagine DA4 is trying to go for.

- The politics of Tevinter.

SO here’s my first thing. If this is what one powerful Magister can do with blood magic and an ancient artifact--and ONE high dragon’s blood.... What the FUCK will Solas’s ritual do? (obviously, tear down the Veil.)

Also there wasn’t a lot of Veil being explained, but I feel like the most important thing for new people is the Spirits, Demons, Magic, Blood Magic, and Slavery.

Wisdom/Memory’s 8 eyes (as a Spirit) became 6 eyes when they were corrupted to Enmity/Pride.

Speaking of Memory--Amelia Pavus? Hello.

I 100% expect to hear something about Rezaren’s aspirations to become the Black Divine, in DA4. I 100% expect we’re going to see Dorian’s efforts to reform Tevinter, and the position of Black Divine will be incredibly relevant.

Honestly the internal politics in Tevinter are so fascinating. Tassia’s honest, earnest desire to make Tevinter better than its worst rumors. Trying to hold the people around her to higher standards--even when they are someone she loves. In the end, when her people need her to help the wounded, that’s what she does. That’s when she steps out of Rez’s games, and she goes to help people.

How does that play into Dorian and Maevaris’s efforts and the Lucerni?

We also, I don’t think, get a great view of how Tessia treats and thinks of elves and slaves. Is that something she also wants to fix in Tevinter? No idea.

I don’t think it’s a cheap throwaway that the Templar who tried to stop the gang in the wine cellar got the voiced line: “you’re the reason all my friends are dead.” They did a really good job I think emphasizing, with the camaraderie of the Tevinter Templars WHO DONT USE LYRIUM TO NEGATE MAGIC. THE POOR FOOLS. They’re just people.

I'm a little perplexed that Tassia didn't seem to know Neb was dead/an elf. She seems so in tune with the Templars under command, and while I get that he seems to be Rez's personal guard, he also somehow seems to be rank and file with the guards she works with? I don't know. But the way she talks to him makes it seem like she thinks he's living and conscious.

Someone said that Hira knows Meredith (The Crimson Knight) is going to wage war on all mages. I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s more likely that Hira has no idea the Crimson Knight is Meredith? And Meredith’s war is against the world, or Tevinter. It seems like Meredith may have been taken over by something or left a Demon of something or is channeling something at the heart of the red lyrium consciousness that just wants war, vengeance, bloodshed.

I honestly thought Hira would have been loyal to the Qun. This feels like it came out of nowhere, but at the same time, so did Meredith’s appearance here:

Someone suggested that we see Meredith in the Black Emporium in this show, but I really don’t think so? It doesn’t look like the BE. I know she was shown in DAI. I know.

I know most of the stories told in Dread Wolf Take You in Tevinter Nights were lies, or partially so, but I still feel like we should have heard about this. So I don’t know. Either way, Meredith shouldn’t have the idol, though.

We knew that the Venatori were still around post-Inquisition. Now we know there are still Red Templars about.

I think fewer people knew that the Venatori have (supposedly) been around longer than the Inquisition and Corypheus...? It took me a little bit and I’m still not 100% sure, but Hira being a child when the Venatori killed her family wouldn’t make sense with an Inquisition timeline.

Tinfoil hat: There are actually two factions within the Evanuris. Both evil and terrible, both going to destroy the world, and Solas stands between them. One is Red Lyrium aligned and one is Blight aligned, hence why we have Meredith vs. Corypheus (red lyrum vs. darkspawn) in the mural above. I know, I know, they’re intertwined. But I feel an itch. And I’m mighty suspicious.

I’m so suspicious about which Evanuris are in Trespasser’s Elven Mountain Ruins and which aren’t. It feels like factions. It feels like the Forgotten Ones/Evanuris split isn’t the only split, or it’s more significant than we realize.

Okay so what happens to dead people? Was it really Justinia we saw in Here Lies the Abyss in DAI? Was this really Neb? You could say “it was really a Spirit who took Neb’s form, embodied Neb’s love for his sister, and stood against blood magic and so decided to destroy Neb’s body.” But I think it was really Neb. I really do. So what happens to people when they die? Is it only elves? Is it humans?

The Spirit says at the beginning: “By name and by nature, mortals are doomed to die.” Which by the way is a very Cole way of saying things I think, and I love it.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that the dragon doesn’t attack Qwydion the Qunari and likes her.

Speaking of Qwydion, she’s introduced as a rebel mage. Which to me implies that she’s from a faction that rebelled against the Circle. Not that she’s someone who left the Qun.

It’s so interesting that we can see Rez’s mother remove a demon from her son and put it in someone else. So we could deal with abominations and with Harrowings all along, huh. lol.

I’ve been making a list of silly Andrastian sayings and Thedas-isms lol. There were some good ones in this show.

The magic in this show was badass. Super awesome. Beyond just the scale of it. The dome that gets put around the circulum looks like the one Corypheus put around Calpernia's old master. Rez’s magic feels way more powerful than other peoples, and it looks awesome. His multi-threaded missile attack when he’s defending against the sloth demons that attacked with Pride look awesome.

If you think about it this whole show revolves around what is acceptable collateral damage. The whole temple is going to kill everyone inside. That’s lit.

I wish I knew what those bird things were that were setting off the traps throughout the temple.

In general this temple makes me scratch my head. Andraste (who loses her nose in the finale lmfao) is holding magic in her hands. Andraste seems to be more of a saint than the pinnacle of the religion in Tevinter, so it’s weird that she’s all over. Cool I guess, I don’t have anything else to say, really. Except that in Rez’s dream of being Black Divine, his outfit was terrible. LOL

I actually really loved the dream sequence. It felt super validating to how I’ve always imagined Fade sequences going lol.

They also I don’t think mentioned the Fade at all lol.

okay okay i’m done for now x) I’m stewing up some other theories and stuff but yeah.

[witchgaunt]

"Evil? Evil?" Irascibel asks, eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Why, Amelia, that is a remarkable oversimplification of the issue at hand here."

She sniffs at the rack of toast before picking a slice, blissfully ignoring the befuddled stares and frowns of the Gryffindor students at the table. It's very odd, the enmity that seems to have developed between the houses, harkening back to days of old when Salazar and Godric's friendship turned to bad blood. Irascibel does not enjoy this hostility, or the insinuation that she herself is evil.

Clearly, gone are the days of playful competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor, when they would all take a trip to the beach on the weekends. She shakes her head in frustration and puts her hands over her eyes. This world, a hundred years in the future, is very confusing for her, and Irascibel would very much like to get back to her own time. However, first, she needs to find out how the time-traveling accident happened to begin with.

"They've been raised that way, and they likely haven't known anything else before coming to Hogwarts. And this isn't just conjecture. I know what it's like to be from families like theirs, where the purity of a person's blood is all that decides their worth." Irascibel explains, looking mournfully back at the Slytherin table. "I just hope they can overcome the cycle they are in."

A brief glance across her shoulder was all the look Amelia needed to see exactly who it was who decided to park themselves not far from her along the Gryffindor table. It had been the flash of green that caught Amelia's attention initially, though the girl's words spoken very quickly earned an eye roll as Amelia turned her gaze back to her lunch in front of her as she took another bite.

"I'm guessing since you all came out of your mothers." Amelia didn't even bother to swallow properly as she mumbled sarcastically, loud enough for the girl to hear she was speaking to her. After all, she never truly cared for much what the other students thought of her ... no matter if they were in her house or not. "Or maybe when you were convinced ... I haven't decided yet how far these Slytherin traits go."

Amelia gave a careless shrug as she turned her gaze towards the girl. Whoever she was, she had no idea, but the colours alone of the house she wore gave her enough to assume she knew what kind of girl she was. "What's wrong with your lot?" Amelia then frowned, ignoring the looks some of her fellow Gryffindor peers were giving towards the unsual guest at their house table, "I thought you were suppose to be best evil buddies?"

[ameliaenmity]

To celebrate having gained 1300+ Followers this month on twitter, it gives me great pleasure to unveil my latest Amelia Enmity Girl Power themed lllustration featuringHelga, Phoebe, Gaz and Tak from Hey Arnold! and Invader Zim w/ Amelia posing Fearless Girl style.

[artofjeremyfuscaldo]

Here's an Amelia Enmity postcard I made over the summer/fall.

[lgbtqreads]

hi dahlia! do you happen to have any sapphic academic rivals to lovers recs? x

Mmmmm if you mean like specifically competing for valedictorian and only one can win kind of thing, I think the closest are I Kissed Alice by Anna Birch and Tell Me How You Really Feel by Aminah Mae Safi. But if it can be girls who are rivals in an academic setting but aren't necessarily rivals in academia, I'd expand to The Henna Wars by Adiba Jaigirdar, Amelia Westlake by Erin Gough, and stretching it a little further yet, Not My Problem by Ciara Smyth and Like Other Girls by Britta Lundin. (OK, those last two are a stretch for this; I just really like them.) All these books are set in high school and have some sort of enmity or rivalry between the MC and LI. And the more, the merrier, right?

[darkestdawnhq]

LUCINDA TALKALOT is a 23 year old MUGGLEBORN, a former SLYTHERIN, and a WAITRESS who is a CIVILIAN and uses SHE/HER pronouns. They are categorized as CODE FOUR. They are currently CLOSED.

The loud crack of a red leather ball | The wind licking through your tight braids | Getting giddy on chocolate frogs | Standing on the tips of your toes to seem taller | Bruised knees and cuts upon your cheek | You’ve fought snakes all your life | You were raised a fighter, and a fighter you will be.

HISTORY.

Lucinda was always too much. That was what her mother said, at least. She was the youngest of five and from the moment she was born she disrupted the careful balance of the Talkalot household. She was too loud and too competitive. Lucinda was always the first sibling to resort to violence: scratching and biting and kicking. She was the one who fell out of a tree and broke her wrist on her mother’s birthday, the one suspended from school for getting into a fight on sports day (Ben Wickham shouldn’t have cheated in the egg and spoon race), the one who made herself sick at the chocolate fountain at her aunt’s wedding. Her family loved her, sure, but they didn’t know how to manage her. They almost felt reassured when her Hogwarts letter arrived – an explanation for her wildness.

Hogwarts was a new world for Lucinda, but not entirely unfamiliar. At home, she’d had to claw and fight for every scrap of attention. In her muggle school, she’d had to work harder than the other girls to do well in class - she’d always found it hard to focus. Lucinda had been proud at first, of being a Slytherin. Ambitious. Resourceful. Natural leaders. Yes, that sounded right, she’d thought, as she sat at the feast her first night at Hogwarts. She could make her house proud. It did not take long for the honeymoon to end, for an innocent question about her family to highlight just how out of place she was in her house.

It was on her first broom that Lucinda finally felt right. It made sense to her. She had always loved sports. She had played hockey, tennis, gone swimming, an outlet for her endless energy. Yet nothing she had done before compared. It felt ridiculous to call them sports when Quidditch existed. Nothing had ever come so easy to her. Nothing had ever satisfied her adrenaline-junkie tendencies in quite the same way. She was a seeker; fast and graceful. On the Quidditch pitch, her Slytherin teammates didn’t care that she was a muggleborn once she was winning them matches. Among the other houses, she quickly found friendships. Lucinda was loosely popular. She enjoyed her social status, liked that her classmates thought well of her. She was never unkind, never a gossipmonger, but she never quite managed nice. She was loud, honest, all sharp edges and bruising sincerity.

During the summers, her family life settled. Her time away during the year made home easier. She inevitably grew restless by September, but the constant fighting faded into good natured bickering, and she grew closer to her siblings. While at Hogwarts, Lucinda’s life worked. At school, she was a restless, sharp-tongued sports star. At home, just one more piece of the chaos. She managed the toxic environment in Slytherin house by keeping her family to herself and facing any conflict head on with all the tools available to her, her fists and her words and her wand.

The Falmouth Falcons scouted her in her 6th year, and she trialled for them that summer. She was a school celebrity in her final year, the one who was going to be a Quidditch pro. That same year, the war came to her attention. Growing tensions played out across the front page of the Daily Prophet and Lucinda cancelled her subscription. She got her friends to tear out the Quidditch section and they didn’t ask questions. She focused on the things within her control: sport, friends, romantic flings. Anything but the war – or her NEWTS.

Armed with her mediocre grades, Lucinda graduated and moved smoothly into the ranks of the Falcons. She fit in easily among the big personalities of the Quidditch world and made firm friends as well as a handful of foes – relatively simple sports rivalries and blood-purity fueled enmity alike. Those first years after school she came into unimaginable success. In 1978, she played for England in the Quidditch world cup, all the way to the semi-finals. She had only been professional for a year, and she had sworn up and down that she would go all the way in 1982. She had a career ahead of her and felt no disappointment at the loss: in four years they would try again, and she would be ready. She did her best to focus on the future, to ignore her growing anxiety about the chaos mounting around and focus on honing her talents.

The world came crashing down around her when the Quidditch season was suspended in the autumn of 1979. The wages kept coming in, for a while at least, but her days were empty. Lucinda had never known how to sit still, and she couldn’t bear to then, either. Around her, the world was falling apart and what had she done to stop it? She had felt like a coward, as if she had betrayed the little girl who had picked a fight for every little injustice in the world, the little girl who knew innately what fair meant. It was Amelia Bones, who brought her into the Order and gave her an outlet for her shame and her anger. She was surprised to find she had several friends among their number already. Lucinda did what she could to support their efforts without drawing too much attention. The headlines on the Daily Prophet brought her nightmares – people missing, people found dead, found tortured. Some muggleborns had their whole families murdered. How could she visit that risk on her mother? On her five siblings and her growing mess of nieces and nephews?

Lucinda joined the war as everything went into decline. Grief began to layer on top of grief. Alice. James. Moody. All the terror, and the infighting. Shacklebolt declared the Order finished but Lucinda was already halfway out the door. She was distraught, the day she’d shown up at the Broomsticks and Thea Rosmerta had taken her under her wing.  Lucinda opened up to Thea, a source of sound advice and endless empathy – though she kept her history with the Order to herself. She drowned her misery, ignored most of her friends and read the newspapers with resignation. The violent transition of power felt as though it lasted an eternity, and all she could do was await her sentence.

When Barty Crouch Jr. arrived to hand deliver her fate, sealed in its little envelope, she barely contained her surprise. Code Four. In some ways – a relief. Her past remained a secret. In others, it was unbearable. Crouch was sure to mention the most painful consequence of her new, lesser status: no more Quidditch. Lucinda had held her tongue as fresh anger coursed through her. His delivery felt like an admission: she was a threat. She had always been a threat.

Now, Lucinda is in careful retreat. Thea offered her work at the Three Broomsticks, and she makes a living – though customer service is not her calling. She keeps Remus safe on the full moon, a quiet act of treachery. She avoids her family to keep away unwanted attention. Mostly, she waits. Lucinda wants her freedom back, and she will do anything necessary to get it.

CONNECTIONS.

REMUS LUPIN: Friend. You remember Remus at Hogwarts, it didn’t matter that they were in different years because everybody knew the four mischievous boys of Gryffindor. But it wasn’t until you were both fighting the same battle that the two actually spoke. Now Lucinda sees the ‘Wanted’ posters they’ve tacked all over wizarding London and you can’t help but cringe. The secret he’s kept all this time, plastered in black ink. Lucinda’s never known a werewolf before but you know Remus. He was always kind to you, so now you’ve made it your mission to help him. Books and a safe place to change, it’s not a lot but it’s all you can offer for now. 

THEA ROSMERTA: Mentor. Your world fell apart when they took quidditch away from you. Thea had been there to listen, she didn’t know what it was but she felt like she could trust the older witch. Since that first night, Thea’s become a regular ear for her to vent to. Lucinda’s calmed down enough that she’s started to make a plan of action to take back the love of her life. She knows that her plans aren’t strictly...legal, and Thea has already been such a help and a small kindness in this world that she doesn’t want to bring trouble to your doors. It’s a secret you’ll have to keep to yourself for now.

BARTY CROUCH JR: Adversary. It’s the Ludo Bagman’s and the Barty Crouch Jr’s of the world that took away the very thing that you love. Barty was the one who delivered the letter to you himself. It was practically a slap to Lucinda’s face. She was no longer able to play quidditch professionally, her code was too high. She knew what they’d meant, muggleborns couldn’t play Quidditch. What did one’s blood say about their Quidditch abilities? She’s certainly seen Barty Crouch Jr on a broomstick and there’s not a lot that his blood has done to help his abilities, that’s for sure. Lucinda’s starting to get the feeling that Barty’s watching her. It’s made her paranoid to the core, especially with the werewolf she’s harbouring once a month. She’s adamant that he wont let him scare her into submission. 

AMELIA BONES: Friend. Despite the age difference, Amelia and Lucinda had bonded over two things: Quidditch and their mutual dislike of Ludo Bagman. It was Amelia who, in those directionless days of 1979 had brought Lucinda to the Order. Now? They haven’t spoken in months. Lucinda frets that Amelia, with her fierce moral compass, feels betrayed by her. The guilt that hangs over her – that she didn’t do enough, isn’t doing enough – has come to be personified by Amelia. Lucinda wants forgiveness. She’s just never been very good at saying sorry.

Currently portrayed by ALISHA BOE

[drarryspecificrecs]

2019.04

Top 8 longest fics posted on AO3 this month

1. A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 [E, 234k]

► Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along. [...]

2. Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid [E, 169k]

►Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he's become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

3. Warmth by MillyBeaux [T, 135k]

► Strange and dangerous things are happening to two Hogwarts students. The line between dreams and reality is blurring and a magical force seems to be drawing them together. Can two sworn enemies put aside their differences to work together? To become friends? To become something more?

4. Scarhead by @shewhomustnotbenamed [M, 122k]

► After five years of working in the Auror's Department at the Ministry of Magic, Draco and Harry get partnered up. A lot of inconsistencies are revealed to Harry, regarding the Ministry and the Minister himself, and he makes it his job to correct them. Meanwhile, it is now Harry and Draco's task to take down a massive Pure-Blood supremacist cult, with the help of a somewhat problematic ally on the inside.

5. Safety by @penguinanimagus [M, 74k]

►Cedric Diggory is dead, Voldemort is reborn. Narcissa Malfoy knows what this means for her son, and she will not let him be Marked. Even if it means fleeing Britain. With Amelia Bones' help, a safe haven welcomes six teenagers who have no wish to bow to Voldemort. The only catch? They'll need to adapt to a Muggle lifestyle. With private teachers to continue their schooling, isolated from the rest of the world, they certainly don't expect to enjoy themselves, especially after Harry Potter himself joins them.

6. The Lost Bet by @drgngrl87 [E, 60k]

► It is 2019 and Harry Potter, Ex-Auror turned full-time dad and writer of magical children's books, finds himself making a startling discovery about none other than his former school rival Draco Malfoy. Just where will this relationship, rekindled over several cups of exquisite coffee, lead those two men?

7. venari virtute by @softsams [T, 57k]

► Fifteen years after the war's end, a new, deadly curse has broken the peace of wizarding Britain. It spreads like a virus, and the Ministry has found no way to contain it or cure it. The case lands on Head Auror Potter's desk, and with it, a contract for Dark Arts scholar Draco Malfoy's expertise to help find the origin of the curse before it's too late. [...]

8. Like Fire and Rain by motleygrrrl [M, 44k]

► Harry Potter has always hated Draco Malfoy—always, from the very first moment they met. And although Malfoy has returned for their eighth and final year of Hogwarts quiet, withdrawn, and different, Harry still can't seem to let go of that enmity. But what happens when the day comes when Harry can no longer hate Draco? And will either of them have the courage to find out what's left between them once the hatred is gone?

---

※ Fics from Draco Tops Harry Fest 2019 are listed elsewhere. ✔ other months

[mostlyfrukheadcannons]

The House in the Wood

Written for the fruk gift exchange to @kenobi. Fem!England x France. Modern day setting. The gist of the prompt is that the two of them have been out of hegemony for very long time, and are learning to settle back as former empires, and to enjoy life slowly. I’ve chosen to focus primarily on their struggles to deal with their postcolonial guilt from all the devastation they caused as former hegemons that played the game of great power politics. I’m also deeply ashamed by how edgey it turned out lol. EDIT: Silly me I forgot to tag @fruk-net, whom I’d like to thank for organising this wonderful event :D

Once, there was a precious little space in a deep, green woods. Beloved by the personification of England in her youngest days, where the little child would cautiously watch out for intruders tread in her forest.

The only exception she made was for her siblings who occasionally dropped by on short visits to visit her. That, and this strange boy from across the ocean. He said his name was Francis. He spoke in a strange tongue that was like the burbling of a  flowing stream. He dressed in ridiculous silk robes that he should never be worn on visits to a forest.

But this Francis was acceptable. He would bring along different treats and snacks for Alice to try. He would speak gently to her, eyes sparkling without a hint of comprehension. On such days, Alice would deign to allow him to sit with her in a clearing in the forest, to quietly look up at the stars and be filled with a quiet awe.

Once, there was flurry of construction — bold and brazen — of a gargantuan house smack at the center of that spot in the forest. It was presided over by a certain English nation, who had grown more sharp-eyed and scrutinising, with the weight of many, many years behind her. Those were years steeped in bloodshed. (And no small amount of enmity. That little French boy had grown up tall and vain, with a sword by his side that he would point and stick into her if he could. As she would him. At any rate…...)

The House being built was to be tall. Impressive. Overriding those memories of the most naive times when she had slept there with one whom she had believed to be a friend; and over the trails of the invading armies that had punctured through these very forests to pierce at the heart of the England.

It was to be a landmark signifying a new start and a new direction for the English nation. The roar of a dragon with the irrepressible desire to devour the world entire. (Especially since said nation had to face a world that would rapaciously tear every right to power from her grasp simply because of her gender.)

In keeping with that thought, when the House was finished, Alice commissioned for a massive, sprawling map of the world to be hung up in the drawing room, serving as a centerpiece. Over that map, she peremptorily struck in pins with the British flag upon them, to mark all the foreign lands and peoples that were to be brought under her rule— for the glory of Britain.

Then she smirked a little, at the thought that perhaps she could dye these lands in the trademark red of her empire’s colour. Specifically, in the blood of that French fool, who was bound to stand in her way. Well, Alice certainly looked forward to it:

To crushing him, wherever he rose to fight her.  

Then the days of reckoning came. Alice thinks days, because there was not one single moment that led her to question what lay in at the foundations of her empire. To look, and realise, that all along it stood upon a mountain of bones.

It was only one night, sleeping in that House of hers, that it struck her in a nightmare with the force of a typhoon. The question how many have I killed.

Instantly, from the depths of her mind she sees garbled visions of so many children and civilisations, looking back at her — the personification of the empire that took everything away from them — through what she called a ‘civilising mission’, but what they screamed was colonialism.

(Somehow Alice remembers their faces just a little, because in some twisted way they were her people too. Just like how some small part of her had always known that it was wrong for her to march into someone else’s land, and take possession of it, by deriding them as ‘savages’ incapable of self-governance).

But what scares her most isn’t the way these faces  at her, as if bearing witness to what she had done.

What scares her most is how human they look. How diverse the faces are. How beautiful they were…... and the infinity of what-could-have-beens stretching out from their faces — blowing apart her mind’s ability to comprehend — how they could have had dreams, grown old with their families, thrived within their communities….

If her Empire had never come coming knocking at their doorsteps.

The first awareness that she’d had of the nightmare fading away, was when she felt a cool cloth being placed upon her forehead, and a voice speaking softly over her. Even semi-conscious, she recognises from instinct that the timbre and lilt of that voice belongs to Francis.

As the hours go by, Francis’ words start to sound more intelligible.  “You’ve been missing for days,” is the first thing he says to her that she fully understands.

And then, “You need more rest,” is what he tells her, when she gets up from her bed.

But Alice doesn’t think that she should be resting. A sickening, twisting feeling in her gut tells her that something is terribly, terribly wrong. When she feels enough strength in her body, she immediately gets up, in spite of Francis’ efforts to stop her…... She takes in the sight of her bedroom around her…...

And immediately she retches. There are faces, faces everywhere, staring at her, unblinking. She tries to scream but no sound comes out. She starts to convulse, and she can’t suppress the impulse to cry.

Her mind is clogged up by the white noise of terror. Francis’ urgent voice barely makes it through to her fog of fear, and it feels like eternity before she can take to heart his urgings to calm down, take deep breaths…...

And then she realises that the faces staring at her are but crude etchings along her bedroom walls.

“You drew them” Francis tells her, in a cool voice meant to steady her. The statement just makes her mind spin, “When I found you, you were delirious, still babbling incoherently, still trying to use one of your sharper daggers to desperately carve more faces into the walls…...It took quite a while for me to restrain you…...”

“Oh,” Alice responds, breath still short. She takes in the sight of the once-grand facades of her bedroom, which have now become a memorial to these ghosts, eerie and tarnished. Then her heart drops when she thinks of all the manuscripts and precious novels she’d also stowed away in this House.

“What about my private library?” she asks, voice shaky, mind numb.

Francis shakes his head. “I’ve looked through many of the books. Many pages have been torn out….. And the faces…... many of the books have been damaged beyond repair.”  

Alice looks down at her hands. Feels the buzzing sensation still coursing through her twitching fingers, and the panic still exploding within her head, telling her to continue, that not all might be lost — if only — if only she could stop a little bit of the past from slipping away, just etch into the walls one more face…...

But what’s done is done. Soon after Alice locks the House up, and abandons it, leaving it standing in the woods, like a mausoleum never to be opened. 

 One last thing: just before Francis leaves, he turns to her with a softness she hasn’t seen in his eyes for centuries. “Just so you know, I don’t judge you for this at all.”

“Oh really,” Alice remarks, tone soaking with self-depreciation.   

“Because I too have done something similar to this before.”

And suddenly, Alice realises that the tiredness about Francis isn’t just his defeat and occupation during WWII weighing down on him: its guilt. It’s the recognition that all along Big Brother France was simply brutalising all his so called siblings, smiling at them with an arm slung tightly over their shoulder, as he continued to exploit them ruthlessly for resources…...far more ruthlessly than anything he suffered under the boot of Vichy France…...

Alice nods, and tells him that she understands.

For some reason, after this incident, Alice feels drawn to Francis, like a moth to a flame. It seems Francis feels likewise. He starts meeting up with her very often often. They chat, in cafes, and meeting rooms, and in their various houses. They talk about current day events, the headaches of being a nation. But also, about progress made, in making apologies to the nations they’d belittled as colonies; and more importantly, sitting down to listen to these nations for the first time, with an open mind attuned to all the wisdom and the skill that they’d somehow ignored when they were supposedly infallible empires.

It feels a little like forgiveness, when Indira makes jabs at Alice’s bastardized renditions of Indian cuisines, cheeky rather than spiteful, wielding the English language like it’s one of her other hundreds of native tongues (“I may have thrown the Englishmen out of my country, but there’s no need to throw away your language, which I have perfected). Or like the easing of a long-held burden for Francis, when Vietnam buys him some Bahn Mi and urges him to try it. (“It’s a step up from your silly baguettes. Not the first time I’ve beaten you at your own game.”)

Even though it is not quite redemption, because there are still days when certain ex-colonies refuse to look them in the eye, and the nightmares do return to remind them both that some wounds never close.

But still, one day, the House in that forgotten spot in the forest opens up.

It’s Amelia’s suggestion. The feisty American abruptly remembers spending a small bit of her childhood roaming about that House. She immediately declares in the middle of a World Meeting that it would be the perfect location to host the Christmas party — an extravagant traditional English manor house. Alice immediately feels like throttling all the final vestiges of Downton Abbey out of her (just let the damn show die already), but she’s shot down by all the expectant looks thrown her way, and by then the silence on her part has stretched too long to be taken as anything other than consent.

Amelia (the spoilt and ignorant brat) looks immeasurably pleased with herself. Alice buries her face in her hands and groans. But then, she feels a warm hand resting on her shoulder.

“You know, this might not necessarily a bad thing mon cher — you hosting a Christmas Party.”

“I don’t get what you mean, Francis.”

“Perhaps this is a chance for you to try something new. Do something a little different for once, in that wretched House of yours.”

“Oh,” Alice replies, the cogs in her mind starting to spin rapidly. “Well Francis, don’t think for a second that you won’t be dragged into this.”

On the day itself, when the doors of the House swing open for the Christmas party, and all the nations of the world stream in, Alice spots it: something intense in their eyes, especially for the ex-colonies, who seem to pause for a moment to take a look around them. For one heart-stopping second, Alice thinks that it’s because it’s all not enough. She can tell her co-host standing beside her, Francis, is suspecting the same, because his face is panicked and pale. But then, as the different nations start to move about to different parts of the manor, Alice hears Francis let out a soft breath in relief. And she too realises that what’s burning bright in their eyes is recognition. The South Asian nations have gravitated towards the rangoli designs on the floor, cheerily critiquing the Christmas themed patterns that have been drawn out using brightly coloured flour. The Philippines seems even more radiant than usual, as she bring along the other Southeast Asian nations to bask under the light of her parols — one of her favourite Christmas traditions — great, gorgeous star-shaped lanterns, that represent the Star of Bethlehem that brought the three shepherds to the infant Jesus.

It’s recognition, Alice realises, as she watches Francis — who was in charge of catering — get swamped by other nations, excitedly commenting on the quality of the food that comes from their homes (“You ordered tamales!”; “The injera with wat tastes exactly like it should!”). Alice imagines herself in their shoes — walking into a Christmas party for the first time without the sensation of intruding into an event that feels alien, and strange, and blatantly White European; but something more comforting and familiar — Christmas as it is truly celebrated by their own citizens, with a twist infusing local customs with the spirit of Christmas.

And once again, Alice becomes aware of all the faces looking out at her, still hidden behind the drapes that she and Francis had hastily put up before the party. The faces that she had etched in a manic state, bearing witness to what her Empire had taken away, and what it still has to give back, even if it no longer exists anymore.

Alice knows, as one of America’s poets say, that she contains multitudes. That she is many different people all at once; and that some part of her will always be sick with the desire to hoard, and to possess and to conquer. And she will always be responsible for the mistakes that she has made, and the cruelties that she has inflicted. Not just by reining in the darker side of her personality, but also actively trying to make it up to other nations. She thinks of all the ghosts that drift about her mind and Francis’, that appear in their dreams and their nightmares. And decides that it’s okay that the two of them will always be haunted by the past. Maybe both she and Francis have grown, enough for their souls to buzz alive both with these ghosts and the magic of the world.

Especially when they can find a bit of magic in each other, in how they’re both trying to change for the better, and make amends for past wrongs. Alice takes another look at her co-host, who catches her gaze, and smiles back at her. Francis is beautiful like that, with the lights glinting off his hair, and his eyes sparkling with conviviality. It’s definitely more than enough to dull the memories of when those eyes and hair reminded her more of swords and lightning. Certainly soft enough to draw her back to the earliest and brightest days, when it was just the two of them — tiny nations against the world; to start telling their story from there, and blur out the times when they were less than civil with each other; as her eyes trace a line from his blue, blue eyes...down the ridge of his nose...to his red, red lips...

Suddenly, the room bursts into an uproar, snapping the both of them out of the reverie with a jerk. Alice barely makes out the words, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” being chanted by the entire room. She looks up and sees a single sprig of mistletoe, innovatively and skillfully catapulted exactly above their heads, with just enough sticky foodstuff smeared onto it so it’s stuck to the ceiling.  

“Seriously?” Alice shouts. Amelia, the literal incarnation of the devil, whoops and waves, shouting, “Merry Christmas, enjoy your gift.” Everyone else cheers, bending over in laughter.

Francis laughs too, before turning to her and asking, “Well, shall we give it a go?”

“If you insist,” Alice replies, blushing. Before Francis has a chance to respond, she cups one side of his cheek with a gentle hand and kisses him.

It’s a sweet, chaste kiss. There’s a flutter in her chest, and she feels a thrill pass through the both of them. At the back of her mind she registers Amelia letting out an earsplitting whoop — really, Alice, will have to strangle her later —   but for the most part she’s absorbed in the feeling of Francis’ soft lips against hers, the intoxicating scent of Francis’ cologne tickling her nose. Then Francis’ tongue makes a quick swipe at her lips — and well maybe the American deserves to live a little longer, if her nosiness leads to this…...

They part for air, smiling so hard their cheeks hurt. By all means, Alice considers this a damned good kiss. Especially, when it’s framed by the applause of the rest of the world, giving them their blessings.

It feels like a great start. The both of them are no longer hegemons looking down upon the rest of the earth. Instead, they’re living shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the world, living and loving in a House that has transformed from a trophy room collecting dust, to a place where all the world feels at home.

Now, as the centerpiece of the the drawing room in the House, there is still a map of the world.

But this time it’s a little smaller, with no imperial flags, or red markings. It does not come with battle plans on how to pillage and conquer.

It is simply one of those scratch maps sold in curio shops, where you’re supposed to use a coin, and scratch

It’s a honeymoon gift Amelia and Madeline got for Francis and Alice.

These days, nations have a tendency to crowd around it, and point to different locations, suggesting that Francis and Alice go there next.

“Try coming to India,” Indira tells the two of them. “Don’t just come for the Taj Mahal. The Ajanta caves are as much, if not more impressive. And there are many more sights to see South of India, that tourists usually miss out.”

“Try coming to China,” Yao Wang badgers them. “The West Lake in Hangzhou is a classic. Also I’m sure you know our food is amazing”

At this the two of them usually laugh, and protest a little, reminding the others that they’re still nations with duties; they don’t have so much time and money to go sightseeing all the time.

But at least, when they’re too cash-strapped to catch the snow-peaked caps of Mt Fuji, they’ll settle for sharing a cup of vanilla ice cream. When there’s not enough time to relax to the sound of the waves kissing the shore, they’ll listen to the ebb and flow to the rhythm of each other’s voices. When they’re together, Alice feels like she’s already won the world entire.

At this, the tendrils of want and desire that have always wrapped around Alice’s heart deaden, and relax their hold.

[chiisana-sukima]

Would you say it's fair to assume that even though Sam and Dean are soulmates, the concept w/in the universe isn't exactly positive? Outside of Sam and Dean we have 2 examples of the destructive power losing a soulmate can have to the other partner (John and Amelia), so I don't feel the universe of the show even believes soulmates are "good". It seems to me they're just meant to tie people together, most commonly to secure angelic vessel bloodlines. Just my 2 cents. What do you think?

The way it seems to me, it hasn’t been a huge, important thread running through SPN as a whole or anything, but that where it was used in Dark Side of the Moon and in er… I forget the episode title, was it Angel Heart?… anyway, in those two episodes it appeared to me that it was being used for very different narrative purposes. With John and Mary, I wasn’t even aware they were supposed to be soulmates, so I’ll have to beg out on that one.

I think in the case of Amelia and Jimmy it was used narratively as a device to wrap up Jimmy’s story and give him a conventional happy ending after death (i.e. basically as a fixit for The Rapture), so that Cas could move forward with his story without the burden of guilt about Jimmy hanging over his head. To me personally, it was only moderately successful in that regard, but that’s an entirely different post. In any event though, I think it was meant to be seen as primarily positive and probably more or less within the romantic trope reading of “two people who are meant to be together forever because they are so perfect for one another”. I think at the end of the episode, we were supposed to feel happy for Jimmy and Amelia and feel like they had a good outcome even though they both died.

It is certainly true though that, as you say, while Jimmy and Amelia were separated, it didn’t do Amelia any favors in how she conducted herself in relation to her other responsibilities in life. I don’t recall the point being made outright that it was because she and Jimmy were soulmates that she looked for him obsessively to Claire’s detriment, but for sure it’s not inconsistent with how the rest of SPN has framed love as something that is frequently destructive.

As far as Dark Side of the Moon goes though, yeah, my very strong impression is that in the universe Kripke was building, nothing about Heaven or angels or God or fate, with perhaps the exception of Joshua and his Garden, was meant to be positive. My personal feeling is that Kripke was writing a particular story, that ended at the end of Swan Song, and it wasn’t one that put a very high value on happiness in the sense of having nice, enjoyable feelings and comfort. Kripke’s happy ending, in my view, was that people, as represented by Sam and Dean and Cas, are able to overcome the forces that make free will difficult, if they’re willing to struggle enough for it, and do what is healthy for them and needs to be done. Kripke’s ending, after all, was Cas dead, Sam gone to eternal torture, and Dean alone in a life he didn’t really want but would do the best he could with because he promised.

So if we’re talking about ships here, and what soulmates mean for ships, I think they’re really just not that relevant. Kripke wasn’t writing a show that was primarily about romance. He was writing- in my view- a show about the tragedy and power of being human.

Even beyond ships, framing soulmates as “good” or “bad” in that context is a little complicated in my view, because I think he meant them to be good, just not necessarily happy- in much the same way even a bad family is “good” because it’s still the source of life, and a tragic life is still a “good” life because it’s still a life, or a love that ends in enmity or tragedy is still a “good” love on some level, because love and intimacy are just the center of being human, even when that’s terrible.

Sorry if that all seems way more complicated and roundabout than what you were actually asking. If, as I am kind of guessing but not sure, you’re asking do I think Dark Side of the Moon meant Sam and Dean belong together or not (possibly either with Cas, or to the exception of a relationship between Dean and Cas), I guess I’d say no, I think it meant Sam and Dean have some sort of central unbreakable tie, but that SPN as a whole (and especially within the context of the first 5 seasons), in it’s better moments, supports the idea that one’s ties are important, both for good and ill, but not the be all and end all of one’s life.

[jeremyfuscaldo]

Amelia Enmity Halloween Sketches Day 4: Amelia reads a possessed book.

[shannaraisles]

Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 31

The Arbor Wilds was proving to be unforgiving terrain to travel through.

Quite apart from the bands of red templars spread through the bright greenery of the place, it was filled with elven ruins - great, crumbling edifices of stone choked with crawling vines and gnarled roots, humming with the ancient magic that had once gone into the building and maintaining of what must have been a jewel of a city. The Wilds had reclaimed it all, gathering its suffocating limbs over every arch and stone until all that remained were glimpses into a world long since lost to time. The air was thick and hot with the growth of so much wildness, cloying and sticky, with no breeze to alleviate the never-ending sense of oppression.

After three days, Amelia and her party were obliged to relinquish their mounts to continue on foot, making their way from one friendly camp to the next as they struck deep into the Wilds on Corypheus' trail. The fifth night found them within a mile or so of the main bulk of Corypheus' army, entering a Grey Warden camp to get some rest before continuing on. As Thom and Varric made straight for the food, Amelia's first port of call was the freshwater pool, splashing cool moisture onto her hot face to try and relieve some of the nausea the encompassing heat was inflicting upon her.

"Amelia."

She looked up, unable to keep from smiling at the worried expression on Cassandra's face. The Seeker passed her a freshly-filled water-skin, watching closely as she washed out her mouth before drinking.

"Are you well?" Cassandra asked in concern. "You are flushed, and pale. And I have not seen you eat since dawn."

"It's just the heat, Cassandra," she promised her friend. "There's so little air here ... it's making me a bit queasy, that's all."

"It is close," Cassandra agreed, washing her own face with a cloth. "And, of course, you wear cloth armor. That will feel hotter as it takes on the moisture from the air. You have not been bitten?"

Amelia snorted with laughter. "Not like Varric and Thom, no," she assured the Seeker in amusement. "I suppose I just don't have enough body hair to tempt the biting insects away from them."

By contrast, Varric's hairy chest and Thom's luxuriant beard were infested with tiny purple lice that no amount of combing or repellent could remove. They were both miserable, complaining constantly ... and judging by Cassandra's smirk, she found it just as funny as Amelia did. To add insult to injury, Dorian was so fastidious with his cleanliness that he had nothing at all infesting his glorious mustache. They'd camped together last night, before their main party had broken off, and the teasing around the fire had been too much for Sera to handle. The poor victims were going to have to shave if they wanted to avoid getting any kind of infection - Thom was already planning to do just that, sick of the random bites that hurt hours after being inflicted and kept him from sleeping easily. Varric was holding out for some kind of magical intervention, which he didn't yet believe might actually entail burning his chest hair off at the roots.

"Inquisitor!"

Amelia turned to find a familiar elf at her back - one of Leliana's most trusted agents. "Charter, isn't it?"

"Yes, your worship." Charter handed her a small sheaf of messages. "Dispatches for you."

Swallowing another mouthful of water, Amelia handed the skin back to Cassandra, taking the papers as she did so. "How are we doing, Charter?"

"Several large encampments of red templars have already been cleared, with minimal casualties on our part," the elven agent reported, watching as she glanced through the dispatches that were marked with Cullen's familiar scrawl. "The bulk of Corypheus' army seems to be headed northward; scouts are engaged in delaying tactics. Corrupted Wardens have been sighted among the enemy, but there appears to be a third party in the field."

"Someone else has joined the fighting?" Amelia asked in a sharp tone, wondering why she hadn't been made aware of this sooner. Had Josephine convinced another ally to join in, too? "On whose side?"

"Neither, your worship," Charter told her. "It appears to be an unknown elven force, and they attack indiscriminately. So far, any attempt to make contact with them has been met with violence."

Amelia sighed. "And I thought this would be simple," she said wearily. "Thank you, Charter. Any news on Lady Morrigan's progress?"

Charter bit down a smirk. "She reached the main camp at midday," she said in amusement. "She caught Madame de Fer trying to convince the Empress not to trust her."

"Oh, I bet that went down well," Amelia responded, attempting not to laugh. Morrigan and Vivienne had been at each other's throats for weeks now, and despite the severity of their enmity, it was very funny to watch.

"Commander Cullen had them forcibly separated after an hour," Charter informed her almost gleefully. "And only because the madame threw a fireball too close to the trebuchets."

Amelia laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry I missed that," she mourned impishly. "Thank you. Don't forget to get some rest yourself. It looks like everything is coming to a head tomorrow."

"Yes, your worship."

As Charter moved away, Amelia headed for the nearest campfire, where her party had settled themselves among the Grey Wardens. She flicked through the dispatches, half an ear on the conversations around her. Both King Alistair and Grand Duke Gaspard had shown up unexpectedly, but Cullen reported that they had taken their forces west and south without argument. It seemed as though both men just wanted to be able to say they had been here. Morrigan's report confirmed that Corypheus was searching the elven ruins - her assumption that he was looking for the eluvian seemed to be accurate. They had to prevent him from reaching it, at all costs.

A scraping sound from nearby had her smiling as she looked up. Thom had taken a sharp blade to his full beard, in the process of removing the infested hair before the constant bites drove him insane. It appeared that a fair number of the Wardens had already done so themselves; there were several newly-clean chins on display.

A young Warden offered her a bowl of steaming stew. "You should eat, your worship," he recommended. "No telling when your next chance'll come."

Despite feeling her stomach roil at the smell of the stew, she took the bowl gratefully. "You're right," she agreed. Maybe eating would calm her nausea. She hated being so hot and uncomfortable. "Dare I ask what's in this, Warden ...?"

"Gower, your worship," the boy told her, his expression lit up with pleasure that the Inquisitor had asked for his name. "I killed it myself."

A robust laugh sounded from the other side of the fire, where a female Warden was stowing her gear for the night. "The lads brought down a brace of those bright birds," she explained cheerfully. "Took forever to pluck 'em, but they taste all right. I'm Hanneth."

"Give me ram any day," Varric complained mildly. He'd never been at home eating anything that could fly. Bull's enthusiastic enjoyment of dragon-meat had actually turned the dwarf pale.

"Meat is meat," Thom pointed out, wiping his now smooth face dry. His skin was botchy with bites, but they'd heal. "Won't be turning my nose up at it."

"Looking good, Hero," Varric complimented him, absently scratching at his itchy chest. "Gonna keep it that way?"

Thom rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his bald chin, wincing as his fingers rubbed a few sensitive spots. "I may," he conceded. "The beard's easier to maintain, though. Warmer in winter, too."

"I think the beard suits you," Cassandra offered, glancing down awkwardly as they all looked her way. "Not that my opinion should matter."

"The opinion of a beautiful woman is always welcome, my lady," Thom assured her, grinning as the Seeker blushed and turned her focused attention back to eating.

"Does that work on all women?" Gower asked curiously. "That ... flattery thing."

"Isn't flattery if it's true, lad," Thom told him warmly. "The Seeker's a beautiful woman. Like the Inquisitor is. They should be told so, especially in places like these."

"Why especially here?" the lad asked, his curiosity piqued by the straight answer.

"It's fairly simple, kid," Varric interjected. "Nasty forest, hot and uncomfortable, long days walking through mud ... no one looks their best. Reminding them they're beautiful is a courtesy."

"It's good manners, lad," Thom clarified for Gower.

The young Warden nodded slowly, turning to Amelia with obvious intent. "You are very beautiful, Inquisitor."

To her credit, she managed not to laugh at his earnest compliment. "That's very kind of you to say, Warden Gower."

As Gower turned to bestow the same compliment on Hanneth, however, the older Warden stopped him in his tracks. "Don't even think about it," she informed him with a grin. "I'm a weathered old fart, and I know it."

The round of laughter that went up at this was comfortable and warm - the Wardens knew each other well, easy in each other's company. Gower blushed even as he grinned, accepting that he'd been less than smooth in his wish to spread a little friendly warmth around the campfire. Chuckling at the boy's embarrassment, Varric turned his attention back to Amelia.

"Anything interesting in those, Duchess?" he asked, nodding to the dispatches on her knee.

She swallowed her mouthful, glad her theory about eating to quell her nausea was correct. "It seems as though there are elves here who don't want us or Corypheus in the Wilds," she told them with a shrug.

"Great, now the Dalish want us dead, too," the dwarf grumbled with sarcastic good humor. "Any good news?"

"We're close enough that tomorrow is the final push?" she offered, not sure if that qualified as good news. "They think they know where Corypheus is headed, but he hasn't been sighted yet."

"Inquisitor?"

Amelia raised her eyes to meet the worried gaze of young Warden Gower.

"Is it true that Corypheus still has Wardens under his control?" he asked, and suddenly she was aware of many ears around her straining to hear her answer.

"It is," she told him, refusing to lie. They deserved to know the truth of the matter. "Despite the Nightmare's defeat, somehow Corypheus retains control over a tiny fraction of Warden mages. I won't ask you, any of you, to fight your brothers and sisters, but we need your help against the demons they will summon."

"I would rather die at the hand of a brother, than live the mindless slave of a darkspawn magister," the young man declared. "I know they would, too."

"Aye," Hanneth agreed solemnly. "If their only freedom is in death, then we should be the ones to give it to them."

"Better a brother than a stranger," another Warden said, and Amelia felt a faint chill ripple down her spine as she recognized the voice. Her head turned, seeking out its owner ... and there was Lorent, armored and armed, sat just outside the circle of light. His eyes were fixed balefully on her as a muscle ticked in his jaw. She knew what he meant by his words, even if others did not.

"Grey Warden or not, Trevelyan, if you threaten the Inquisitor again, I will kill you myself," Cassandra said sharply. She hadn't missed the implied threat either, it seemed.

"Why turn the noble sentiment of your fellow Wardens into a threat against the only reason you still live?" Thom demanded after her, tense at Amelia's side.

Her entire party was tense, subtly shifting to place themselves between Amelia and her brother. No one wanted a fight here and now, with those who were their allies, but if Lorent persisted in threatening her, Cassandra would not hesitate to cut him down. It was a very uncomfortable few moments. The Warden-lieutenant, however, seemed to have realized the problem, rising to haul Lorent onto his feet and march him away, into the gathering dusk.

"He'll not be allowed within a hundred yards of you, or your commander, your worship," Hanneth promised quietly as hackles smoothed and tension eased. "Takes time to put your old life behind you. Didn't think he'd be that obvious, but we thought it best to test him when we heard you'd be stopping with us tonight."

So it had been a test, and Lorent had failed it. If he'd raised a hand against her, the Wardens likely wouldn't even have turned their heads when he was killed for it. Amelia felt Thom relax, herself breathing a little easier with that knowledge. "We have enough to worry about without looking over a shoulder for a friendly blade in the back," she pointed out uncomfortably. "I wasn't aware he would be in the Wilds at all."

"We're all here," Gower said calmly. "Will we fight, Inquisitor?"

Amelia considered him for a long moment. He was young, far younger than any other Warden she had met; newly Joined, she guessed. His eyes didn't yet bear the weary acceptance of death other Wardens wore. "If you truly feel you can bear arms against the mages who should be standing beside you," she said carefully, "then who am I to stop you? My friends and I will be leaving long before dawn. Those who are certain they want to be in this fight may join us. Those who remain will not be thought any the less of for their choice."

Judging by the expressions on the faces all around her, she had said the right thing. Not all the Wardens felt the same way, as she could well imagine. She had given them an honorable out, assured them that they were not any the lesser for choosing not to engage in battle directly against mages they might once have called friend. Amelia doubted more than ten would be joining her when she moved on in a few hours, but those who did would do it by their own choice, not under orders.

"Where did that lieutenant take Trevelyan?" she asked suddenly.

"He'll be at the guard fire, about fifty paces that way," Hanneth told her, jerking her head in the appropriate direction. "Why'd you ask?"

Amelia sighed, rising to her feet. "Because he's my brother," she said regretfully. "And I can't leave it like this."

"Duchess ..."

"I'll be fine, Varric," she promised her friend. "No, Cassandra, stay here. He wouldn't risk harming me, not here. I owe myself ... one last try."

"You'll be safe with the Wardens, my lady," Thom said, more for their friends' benefit than for hers. "You've no shortage of protection here tonight."

She smiled faintly. "I know," she agreed. "I doubt this will take long."

She could feel their wary disapproval at her back as she left the campfire to walk the crushed path though the gloom to where Lorent and two others sat at the guard fire. Her brother scowled as she sat down beside him, unable to lift a finger against her even if he'd had the courage to do it himself. His fellow Wardens had fitted him with finger-cuffs and elbow braces, just in case, and sat with their blades bared. Neither one made any move to rise as Amelia sat. Despite a vain wish for privacy, everyone here knew that Lorent Trevelyan could not yet be trusted around the Inquisitor. They all seemed to have forgotten that she was a mage, but never mind. It felt ... good ... to be so safe.

"What do you want?" Lorent muttered eventually, when her silence proved too much for his patience to bear.

"I want my brother back," she answered simply. "The one who wasn't so consumed by personal ambition and petty paranoia. He was always an arse, but he never tried to kill me."

"Don't pretend innocence, Amelia," he scoffed derisively. "You've won. You'll inherit everything when Father dies."

"No. I won't. And I never want to." She turned her head to look at him, studying his profile. He was still handsome, still sullen. The Joining had not changed that, at least. "You were always Father's first. Kurt and Wolf and Max ... it never occurred to them to contest your claim because it was yours. Evelyn couldn't have cared less about the title. And me? I'm a mage, in case you forgot. I couldn't inherit even if I wanted to. I don't want to. But all of us ... we would have stood at your side against any challenger, if you hadn't pushed us all away. And now Father has no one but cousin Albrecht to pass the title to. Why did you do it?"

He remained silent for a long time at this, staring into the flames before them. Was he even capable of understanding what he had thrown away in their childhood, she found herself wondering. All her life, he had viewed her and their siblings as a threat, working always to discredit them in their father's eyes, never accepting that they were more interested in their own lives than his rightful inheritance. And even after that imagined threat had been eliminated so violently at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he had continued to work against her, each decision more terrible than the last, until finally he found himself here.

"She wasn't my mother," he said finally, his words shocking Amelia into stillness. "You didn't know, any of you. My mother was a serving wench. The only reason Father acknowledged me at all was because she died birthing me. He felt guilty ... and his wife wouldn't allow him to abandon me. All my life, I had to prove that I deserved my place as his heir. Any one of you had a stronger claim than I, and he never let me forget it."

Amelia stared at him, startled by words she had never expected to hear. "But Mother, she -"

"She never treated me any differently," he said, finishing her sentence before it began. "I know. She took me for her own, and never once did she hold my parentage against me. Why do you think I never moved openly against any of you until after her death? I loved her more dearly than I would have loved my own mother, because she chose me. I'm glad she didn't live to see us come to this."

"She was a good woman," Amelia agreed softly. "I miss her everyday."

"As do I." Lorent sighed heavily, shaking his head. "Her death changed Father. He grew colder, more unforgiving. You were lucky to be out from under his eye. Everything that reminded him of her was destroyed. Even Kurt was sent away. But not me. He kept me close, forced me to watch as a good man became a hard, cold monster, and I learned to hate her for dying. I hated her for leaving me alone to deal with him. I hated all of you for being her children. And I despise you for being so much like her."

What should have been a compliment was offered up as an example of the worst crime she would possibly commit, yet in that moment Amelia understood her elder brother better than she ever had before. Her mother had been one of the kindest souls she had ever known. Their father had adored her, built his life around her, and when that centerpiece was suddenly snatched away, he had fallen apart. And he had made sure that only Lorent suffered with him.

"I'm not so much like her," she told him in a quiet tone. "I don't have her boundless forgiveness. You despise me? I don't care. I've hated you since I was four years old, and I don't see that changing just because our lives are so very different now. If you die tomorrow, I doubt I'll mourn you."

"If you die tomorrow, I'll probably curse your dying breath," he answered in kind, both of them regretfully matter-of-fact about their feelings toward each other. They had never been so honest, and likely never would again. "It will mean Corypheus won, and that would be something else to hate you for. So don't die, Amelia. Kill him first, at least."

"That's my intention," she assured him, oddly comforted by this strange conversation that felt like a parting of the ways. "Try not to let the Grey Wardens be wiped out, would you? There are still at least two more Blights to come."

He nodded to her, accepting this last suggestion calmly. "Go back to your friends, Amelia," he said in a low tone. "There's nothing left to say."

He was right. She rose slowly, letting her hand brush his stiff shoulder for a brief moment before falling away. "Goodbye, Lorent."

Stepping away, Amelia lingered in the darkness between the campfires. It hadn't been the reconciliation she had told herself she wanted, nor the brawl she had feared she might initiate. But it was a goodbye, the last they would ever share. The only way either of them could let their shared past go was by never crossing paths again. Perhaps Lorent would finally feel worthy and secure among the Wardens. Perhaps she could finally stop looking over her shoulder for fear of him. Somewhere, before her birth, their story had been rewritten without either one of them knowing how. If this was the way it ended, then so be it.

Fate had set her on a different course, and tomorrow might well find her face to face with the worst evil in the world. When set against Corypheus ... Lorent just didn't compare. And that, perhaps, was the final blow he could not tolerate. After all his years of scheming and hatred, he just didn't matter anymore. She had a higher purpose, and no petty feud could stand in its path. She just had to hope she didn't let anyone else down as she went.

[ameliaenmity]

Happy Halloween everyone!

I've still yet to work on the next Amelia Enmity webcomic, but I do have a new Halloween themed drawing of her.

[jeremyfuscaldo]

Hey everyone, I am in need of some help trying to raise money for a computer and my shop is open for anyone who is interested in helping support me. If you're able to, any donations or purchases would be helpful. I am selling postcards, prints, stickers and sketchbooks for a reasonable rate. https://ko-fi.com/jeremyfuscaldo/shop

[jeremyfuscaldo]

Amelia Enmity Halloween sketches day 3:

Skye the Ghost Girl with a teddy bear