#Her father would have expected her to be an archer and instead she's a mage

[cadrenebula]

Junelezen - Day 9 Deviation

"I'm no longer that girl I used to be. She's still me but I am also better than she was. I don't hide behind masks anymore."

[quietsun5268]

Who's the Most Likely, Least Likely, or Maybe Mothers for Rhajat based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?

Most Child units inherit the hair color from their Mothers (with the exception of Male Kana, who inherited his father's hair color, and Shigure). But some parents are more fitting for some child units then others based on Classes, looks, supports, mannerisms, etc. I'm not looking for who would make the kid stronger. Just a parent who would make sense for the Child Units.

Recap: Asugi (I made some edits and added new facts if your interested)

Percy

Ignatius

For this one it's about our Corrin-obsessed, curse-loving stalker who greatly resembles Tharja (who might be her previous life).

Those that see (?) It means that I'm not sure if it counts as evidence or not.

Here's what I've gathered so far?

1.) In Awakening, Tharja's base class sets are Dark Mage, Knight, and Archer. Rhajat's standard class is Diviner, she inherited the Oni Savage class option from Hayato. If you want to make a call-back to Tharja's Awakening base class set's have Nyx be her mother as Rhajat inherit's her Dark Mage class option. Effie has a Knight class option Rhajat can inherit but if you still want her to have a Dark Mage class, regardless of the mother, have Rhajat become buddies with Ophelia in order to get the option.

2.) Some of her supports shows she enjoys teasing people for her amusement, sometimes in rather mean ways. When Kiragi offers to help get ingredients for her in their support, she keeps sending the naive boy to dangerous places and expecting him to fail just for her own amusement… but keeps getting surprised when he keeps coming back.

Orochi trolls and teases Jakob quite a bit in their supports, laughs at Subaki's disgust when she accidentally dumps her alchemy ingredients on him and finds Oboro's notorious "demon face" to actually be funny - especially when hearing Oboro can't control it. She also spends her Supports with Takumi teasing him about his childhood

When Azura does open up, she proves to have quite the mischievous side, such as scaring Sakura with ghost stories.

Corrin has her moments of being mischievous. This is a little more prominent with Female Corrin, as she enjoys making Asugi (if he's not her son) flustered (she finds his reactions cute) and tells Ignatius ghost stories to purposefully scare him.

3.) Rhajat is an anagram of Tharja, the basis for her character. "Rajat" is a Hindi word that means "silver". In a similar vein, Syalla is a modified phonetic anagram of Tharja's Japanese name Sallya. Her Japanese name, Sallya, may be derived from Sally, a shortening of the Hebrew name Sarah, meaning "princess". Tharja may be a variation of Tarja, a Finnish spelling of Daria, which ultimately derives from the masculine name Dārayavahush, meaning "posessing goodness" in Persian. Her name may also come from the Hindi name Tharaja, meaning "star with full glow".

The "silver" part can come the silver hair Rhajat can inherit from Default Female Corrin. Or the white hair from Rinkah. Or the grayish-blond hair from Effie.

The "princess" part could be from being born from Sakura, Hinoka, Azura, or Corrin. Maybe Rinkah since she's the daughter of the Flame Tribe Chieftain or Felicia since she's the daughter of the Ice Tribe Chieftain. Although it could be from that in the future Hayato will be the future Wind Tribe Chieftain.

If you want to make a connection based on name meaning, Nyx is named after the primordial Greek goddess of the night which could connect to "star with full glow".

4.) Rhajat's support with her mother involves Rhajat is trying to cast a protective spell over a bunch of villagers to protect them from an upcoming illness. However, she casted it too late for it to be effective and the village people mistakenly thought she had cursed them instead. (And she didn't exactly defend herself, either.) Rhajat's mother is caught in this conflict and, while she does her best to take care of the ill, she also tries to reassure Rhajat about not blaming her for anything. In the end, Rhajat manages to raise a plant that will make a good cure (which is why she didn't defend herself, it'd take time away from her research), so her mother is very proud of her.

Should her mother be Rinkah, according to their A support, she inherits her mother's headstrong nature.

Her dedication to finding a cure reminds me of several mothers like how Hinoka is dedicated to fighting, her training as a Sky Knight, and becoming stronger for the sake of her homeland. And having the drive to save others.

How Kagero is extremely dedicated to her job, proof of that his her supports with Corrin.

How Hana is hardworking to the point that she sometimes misses several meals at a time.

(?) In Oboro's supports with Corrin she's shown working herself ragged on a moonless night, although it's because so she won't have nightmares involving her parents death.

(?) Corrin is dedicated to her family

(?) While Felicia is terrible working as a maid, she does try and is hard working about it.

(?) Mozu starts of as weak villager but she can become a powerful unit later on. That's being dedicated. There's also the fact Mozu was a farm girl and that Rhajat planted the herb that can cure the village of illness. While she did use a little bit of light magic encourage the herb's growth, Rhajat could've gotten the planting skill set from Mozu.

The knowledge of plants part could come from Hayato, since he is fairly skilled as an apothecary, having numerous rare herbs and can also turn them into potions.

Rhajat wanting to heal the villager reminds me of Sakura who is a healer.

Orochi is not exactly a healer, but is pretty good at using medicinal herbs to make potions and salves.

(?) If Nyx is her mother, Rhajat might be inspired to find the cure for the villagers from Nyx's desire to be cured from her curse.

(?) Effie will time and time again endanger herself to protect those around her, wanting to be everyone's "shield." Would Rhajat had been in danger when the villagers thought she cursed them?

5.) She has her own cooking flair, "Dedicated," which produces food that matches the "Exquisite" flair in quality… but only enough for one person, Corrin.

Let's go over the worst cooks first: Hinoka's Flair tier is Reckless, Rinkah's Flair tier is Burnt, Setsuna tier is Disgusting and her support with Hinoka reveals it takes several days for them to do an omelet recipe with Setsuna nearly burning the kitchen, and Felicia's Flair tier is Noxious and her clumsiness messes up the cooking.

The best cooks are Azura, and Mozu. In Mozu's case her Flair tier is Delicious and a lot of her supports involve her collecting ingredients or cooking. In Azura's case her Flair tier is Mouthwatering.

Female Corrin can't cook but she is a fairly skilled baker in her support conversations with Dwyer.

As for the rest is ambiguous, Effie's Flair tier is Daring, Sakura's Flair tier is Hoshidan, Hana's Flair tier is Salty, Nyx and Orochi's Flair tier is Sophisticated, Oboro's Flair tier is Sweet, and Kagero's Flair tier is Elegant (although people might hesitant to eat it because her strange sense of foreboding art effects what her food looks like).

Hayato's Flair tier is Simple

6.) Rhajat is Brutally Honest.

In Kagero's supports with Takumi, after Takumi complains about her suggestion that he meditate under the waterfall, she mentions that Ryoma didn't question or complain about her suggestion. She later apologizes, but Takumi doesn't hold it against her, saying he appreciates her honesty.

Setsuna is described as a horribly tactless person.

Hana doesn't mince words. She even hurts the normally-unflappable Keaton's feelings in their B support, and has to spend a great deal of time apologizing to him.

Rinkah doesn't beat around the bush with her opinions and prefers it when people are straightforward with her in turn - even if what they say aggravates her at times.

(?) While we haven't seen what Nyx was like before she got curse, she was described as very arrogant about her skill with magic. Current Nyx can be rude and anti-social.

Azura doesn't let something like societal niceness stop her from telling someone what she thinks of them.

Despite her outwardly meek appearance, Mozu actually possesses a hidden sharp tongue and is not afraid to speak her mind, even to those of a higher status than her. This is especially shown in her supports with Takumi, in which Mozu is unusually passive-aggressive when he accidentally tramples over her garden. When Takumi offers to make up for it, Mozu outright tells him he'd be a lousy farmer.

7.) Regardless of whether or not she gets a Dark Mage class, Rhajat still dabbles in dark magic. Which is something she might inherit from Nyx along with her (former) love of cursing other people.

8.) Rhajat is a loner, preferring to stay away from others, especially those who she has no interest in.

The preference for solitude could come from Rinkah and Nyx.

What Rhajat could inherit from her possible mother in Hoshidan Festival of Bonds

If her mother is Sakura, the Hoshidan Festival of Bonds DLC reveals that she has both of her parents' Sweet Tooth. (And that no one shall get between her and her sweets.)

If she's mothered by Oboro, in the Hoshidan Festival of Bonds she says that she has both her mother's "Demon Face" and sewing skills.

Hoshidan Festival of Bonds states that a Rhajat mothered by Azura inherits her mother's talent and love of singing.

Rhajat inherits Setsuna's creepy humming.

Rhajat gets a little scatterbrained from Felicia

For the looks department I can't help there since I normally can't tell which child unit looks like who more. Anyway I'd like to hear your thoughts on who is the Most Likely, Least Likely, or Maybe Mothers for Rhajat based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms. If there's any small facts I missed, you can comment.

(Vote if you want, you're allowed to pick more then one option) Who's the Most Likely Mothers for Rhajat based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?: https://strawpoll.com/wby5Q6w8dyA

Who's the Least Likely Mothers for Rhajat based on Classes, looks, supports, and/or mannerisms?: https://strawpoll.com/eJnvVDx9Wnv

Reddit (you can click here if you want to see what other people think in the comments but know that the polls aren't in Reddit)

[writer-and-artist27]

Chaldean Master Vy (Character Profile)

Roughly inspired by @panyum​’s enthusiasm for my most recent artwork, it’s about time I divulge more on the Mastersona/main protagonist of Passing Days, Vy. Here we go.

Name: Vy

Age: 17-18 (beginning of Part 1), 19-20 (by Lostbelt 3)

Gender: Cis-female

Orientation: Asexual/Demisexual (questioning) and Demiromantic

Closest Servants: Mash Kyrielight (Level 80), Arturia Pendragon (Level 100), Achilles (Level 100), Marie Antoinette (Level 80), Robin Hood (Level 100), Archer EMIYA (Level 80), Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (Lancer - Level 70), Medea (Level 70), Chevalier D’eon (Level 80), Sieg (Level 80), Chiron (Level 80), Scathach-Skadi (Level 90), Sitonai (Level 90), Ereshkigal (Level 90), Ruler Martha (Level 80), Katsushika Hokusai (Level 90).

Notable Facts: 

In another place, Vy would have lost her life in a car crash and reincarnated into another world as a civilian pianist, but in FGO’s timeline, she was scouted by Chaldea before she could start her second quarter in college. Chaldea had noticed her family lineage having some kind of Mystic aspects through a blood test she had taken for a yearly checkup before donating blood to a local blood drive. It resulted in them reaching out to her for an “extracurricular volunteer opportunity” that no college student could refuse. Vy would accept, albeit with her parents encouraging her, not realizing it would later lead her to becoming the main Chaldean Master in the Grand Order. 

Vy went into Chaldea thinking she’d be a medical assistant from her resume stating her interest in science and medicine, only to find herself drafted into the Rayshift training that the FGO protagonist went through in canon as a result of her impressive stamina (thanks to biking miles around their home in America with her parents when growing up), tiring herself from all the shifting to the point of nearly dozing off in one of Chaldea’s hallways if not for Mash.

The “Mystic” part of Vy’s blood that drew Chaldea’s attention was something Vy’s parents nor grandparents were actually aware of, no thanks to how all grew up in poverty in Vietnam before coming to America and later, Japan, but it is actually from one of Vy’s ancestors coming in contact with a mage from the Mage’s Association. No one really knows what exactly happened between said ancestor and that mage, but it seems to explain Vy’s uncanny luck in getting some of the bigger names in the Throne of Heroes before confronting Goetia, including Arjuna, Minamoto no Raikou, and Achilles by the dawn of Camelot. Her luck has definitely made the Crypters scratch their heads, since Vy had used a nearly Fully Ascended Scathach-Skadi to take down Kadoc before having reached Scandinavia. 

Vy adores Mash a lot, both from how earnest Mash is and her eagerness to learn about everything of the outside world past Chaldea’s blizzards. Dr. Roman at one point commented that they looked like sisters, just once, and Vy latched onto Mash as a surrogate little sister since, being conscientious of Mash’s health whenever they Rayshift together. 

Since Vy’s family took her on a lot of cross-country road trips when growing up, including visiting national parks such as Yosemite and Zion to hike and sight-see, one of Vy’s goals when going into the Grand Order is making sure Mash gets to experience all nature has to offer one day like she did, wanting to introduce her to her parents when the fighting is all over. She has jokingly asked Dr. Roman and Da Vinci for adoption papers for her parents to sign for Mash.

When starting in Singularity F, Vy was initially scared of paving the way to Humanity’s salvation, but sucked it up once Mash saved her. At that moment, one of the thoughts running through her head was, “Mash is fighting so hard, so why can’t I?!” Since then, Vy has made quite the distinct image of herself when fighting with her Servants, being a no-nonsense leader who can and will sarcastically snark at anyone, including Kiara and BB of all people, when they are opposing her. To allies, she is both understanding and empathic, usually not asking any imposing questions and issuing orders only when emergencies call for it. 

Anyone who tries to “bed” her will spark a loud and angry reaction, since Vy is not interested in any sexual relations and instead is still loyal to her family and friends that were left to the dust by Goetia and later the Foreign God. Expect some cursing too. 

Vy’s romantic orientation is why Agartha is an untouched subject amongst all the Servants when bringing in new faces, because when Dahut in Drake’s body proposed rape to her outright during the Pseudo-Singularity, Vy’s reaction was basically, “I AM ACE, YOU JERK! SEX IS NOT FOR ME, CONSENT MATTERS, SO SHUT UP AND FIGHT ALREADY! IF NOT, I WILL KILL YOU WITH A RUSTY SPOON MYSELF, GODDAMMIT!” It’s another reason why Fergus and some of the other romantically inclined Servants such as Kiyohime and Elizabeth Bathory have kept their distance since, because Vy’s rage point back then was that unsettling. Robin Hood doesn’t bring up the subject of picking up girls in front of her anymore. D’Eon and Astolfo both have tried to keep Vy away from thinking about Dahut since.

The first Servants Vy ever summoned in the Grand Order was Lancer Diarmuid, Medea, and Chevalier d’Eon. The first 4-stars she ever summoned after them was Marie Antoinette and Archer EMIYA, so because of this and a lot of other things, all five Servants still find themselves in the occasional team because Vy grew that attached to them.

Her only Grailed Servants so far are Saber Arturia Pendragon, Rider Achilles, and Archer Robin Hood, both because they were there when fighting opponents such as the Lion King, Tiamat, and the Alter Egos in SERAPH, and how she loved all three of them for their legends even before coming to Chaldea. 

When Vy first got a Holy Grail, she tried to give it to Mash as thanks for Mash protecting her for so long, but because of Mash’s status as a designer baby and Demi-Servant, she wasn’t able to take it. Instead, Mash still finds herself at the front lines team Vy has for mixed enemy battles, since Vy can’t find it in her to leave Mash behind. 

Some of the Servants who have been with Vy longer find themselves getting a nickname for Vy to call out to just them, all because Vy sees them as part of her family and wants to be good to them. Robin Hood is a prominent example, where she calls him “big Robin” as a way to boost his confidence about being a Heroic Spirit, and in turn, he calls her “little sparrow.” Marie Antoinette is sometimes called “my Queen,” and some of the more younger Servants such as Illya and Miyu are called with the “-chan” honorific or “baby sis.” Mash never got a nickname simply because to Vy, “Mash is Mash, and I love your name.” There were many “awww”s. 

It’s because of how she affectionately considers a majority of her Servants family that a lot of them tone down their arguments and bad qualities in her presence, simply because she’s there. An example is how during Babylonia, Vy had answered at the Underworld’s gates, “Ereshkigal is more beautiful!” to Ishtar’s face, both because she had summoned Ereshkigal long before entering Babylonia and that she had known Eresh longer. Eresh, who hadn’t Rayshifted to the Singularity at the time, could be found later hiding her red face in her hands as Da Vinci laughed out loud. Dr. Roman meanwhile had looked like he had swallowed a lemon at the time because of how blatantly Vy had put down Ishtar, and Ishtar barely reacted. Vy’s only reasoning afterwards was, “I did not appreciate being made into a makeshift cushion in our first meeting, Ishtar, thank you very little.” 

There were a lot of times during Singularities where Vy, feeling bad for Dr. Roman being a butt-monkey of jokes, brought home a souvenir or two for the good doctor to take part in some of the better moments of the Grand Order. One such souvenir was a butter cake slice from Siduri in Babylonia, because he expressed wanting to eat it one night and she carefully preserved it with Mash to give it to him before confronting “Solomon” in the Temple of Time. It’s because of this that she dearly misses him, having found him as another surrogate father when he’d call her in for daily check-ups and talks over how Mash was doing.

When the Lostbelts happened, Vy started working a lot harder to raise her Servants and the morale of the rest of Chaldea’s staff, resulting in her gaining eyebags from losing sleep over too many Golden Apples and farming quests. Most of the Servants are all at Final Ascension and Max Level at the cost of this and QP, but it’s helped in making the Crypters lose some of their momentum. 

Hope this helps in giving some nice insight and lore!

[melisusthewee]

Fic - The Brothers Trevelyan (Dragon Age)

Summary: Templars, mages, and Chantry soldiers mingle uneasily in the Valley of Sacred Ashes.  Among them is a single templar who doesn’t care about mage rebellions or broken Circles, and is content to stand guard and do as he’s told.  Moments before the world turns itself upside down, Aloysius Trevelyan is just trying to be a good soldier while his brother Quinn seeks to stir up trouble.  A look at two very different brothers and a tumultuous relationship in a place where only one of them gets to be the hero.  Based again on a prompt from the DA Subreddit’s Weekly Writing Challenge.

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairings: none

Rating: G

Words: 1,367 words

Notes: Introducing the “Archers Do It With Flair” series - a collection of all the little one shots and drabbles written as part of the DA Subreddit Weekly Writing thread that quite frankly don’t fit into any larger or longer fics but serve to flesh out my world state and all the poor souls who inhabit it.  (Or at least the Inquisitor.)  Some will be long, some will be short, some will be smutty, and some will be... I don’t know.  Stuff.  And things.  This one is more character introduction than anything else, but was the drabble which led to me developing Quinn and his relationship with his family more.  And I’m kind of proud of that.

As always, click the link below to read this on AO3 or you can read the rest directly on Tumblr below the cut.

The Brothers Trevelyan on AO3

His relief was late.  It had been nearly half an hour and Aloysius was beginning to grow hungry.  Some of the other templars who had passed by his post had mentioned there was a bit of a commotion further down the mountain, something about the Champion of Kirkwall… or maybe it was someone else from that corner of the Marches… everyone he asked told it differently.  In any event, it didn’t seem too relevant to active guard duty around the temple, and was no reason for his relief to be as late as they were.

Movement off to his right caught his attention, and Aloysius turned hoping to see an approaching soldier.  Instead it was a mage, hurrying from some small side entrance of the temple.  Aloysius frowned on instinct; seeing mages running about the place unchecked was not something he was used to.  But they’d been told to stand down and not bother anyone unless something seemed suspect.  And very little about the woman looked suspicious, especially when a second mage appeared shortly after her, his cheeks flushed and his robes still slightly askew.

Aloysius sighed inwardly.  He was fairly certain that romantic entanglements on sacred ground was cause for discipline, but as his stomach growled he realized he had far more pressing concerns than a couple of mages sniffing around beneath each others robes.

He turned back to his diligent watch up the mountain path, hoping for any sign of an approaching figure.  But once again his concentration was interrupted by the sound of a door being swiftly shut and Aloysius turned to see a familiar person appearing from where the mages had come from.  He made a sound of disgust, loud enough for the person to hear.  The man looked up from where he was pre-occupied buttoning up his coat and adjusting his trousers, and flashed Aloysius an arrogant grin.

“Is nothing safe from your debauchery?” he said, frowning in disapproval.

The grin wavered only for a moment as the man ran his fingers through his hair and sidled up next to Aloysius.  “The Maker loves all his children, dear brother.”

Aloysius looked his younger brother up and down carefully.  His cheeks were flushed and he wasn’t quite quick enough to wrap his scarf around his neck in order to hide the several telltale marks that made it very clear exactly the sort of thing he’d been up to with the mages.  “I doubt the Maker gets involved in any of your business, Quinn.”

His brother looked entirely unapologetic.  “How are we to know?  He never speaks, no matter how loudly one calls out His name.”

Aloysius thought he was going to be sick and made a very distinct sound at the back of his throat.  “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Eventually,” Quinn replied, reaching into his coat and taking out a well-worn pipe.  It wasn’t long before the pungent smell of smoke filled the air.  Aloysius hated the smell, and his brother knew it.  His brother also had likely figured out that Aloysius was on duty and therefore unable to leave despite how much both men preferred to avoid each other’s company.  “Sadly, they don’t give me the exciting jobs like standing vigil on a mountain far removed from anyone of any importance.”

“Being assigned to the temple is an honour,” Aloysius said stiffly.

Quinn laughed, although Aloysius thought it sounded more like a snort.  “So you’ve seen the Divine then?  She’s come round to bring the blessings of Our Lady upon you?  The Lord Seeker requested that Ser Trevelyan specifically guard this out of the way corner of the temple?”

“Shut up.”

Quinn looked surprised at the outburst.  Yes, Aloysius was usually patient with his brother and not only because his patience often frustrated Quinn to no end, but his belly was empty and his temper short - especially in his present company.  Aloysius watched as Quinn took a step back, seeming to consider him carefully in a manner that looked like there was far too much going on inside that silly blond head to be good for anyone.

“You haven’t seen the Lord Seeker, have you?”  That insufferably sly smile was back on Quinn’s face.

“I’ve spoken with a Seeker,” Aloysius said, choosing his words carefully.

“But not the Lord Seeker?  The one who’s supposed to be leading your side in the talks?”  Aloysius began to tell Quinn how the templars were not his side and that he wasn’t invested in the ongoing war beyond whatever orders or duties his commanding officer gave him these days, but his brother wasn’t listening.  “The mages hadn’t seen the Grand Enchanter either.  They’d been told she was supposed to be arriving from Redcliffe, but everyone of importance is just… around… somewhere.”

“You managed to get all of that out of a couple of mages?” said Aloysius, his voice dripping with skepticism.  For the first time, Quinn appeared to look genuinely offended, gesturing to himself as if the answer should have been obvious.  Aloysius rolled his eyes, and went back to staring up the mountain road, praying his relief would come and give him an excuse to leave.

He heard his brother grumble something to himself, and smiled knowing that his reaction had not been the one Quinn was hoping for.  For a moment, he thought that perhaps the man would leave to find some sort of entertainment elsewhere, but no such luck.  Instead Quinn kicked absently at the snow with his boot, pouting like a spurned child.

“You’re grumpier than usual.”

“My relief is late,” Aloysius replied stiffly.

Quinn scratched his head, looking genuinely confused as he cast about the area, taking note of how empty their surroundings were.  “You could just leave.  I don’t think the Conclave is going to fall apart just because a single templar went for lunch.”

“I take my duty seriously.”

The younger man sighed dramatically.  “Yes, yes, we know�� darling Aloysius, pious as a saint.  It wouldn’t kill you to break the rules once in a while.  You might even find you enjoy it.”

“We all have our parts to play.  You might consider yours sometime.”

The frown that fell upon Quinn’s face made him look an awful lot like their father.  Aloysius considered that was something better kept to himself, however.  It was clear that his words had touched a nerve, regardless of whether he’d intended to insult his brother or not.  In retrospect, he probably should have known better.  It was common knowledge among their siblings that despite their best intentions in trying to bring the youngest of them around to a respectable path, any time one of them said a word, Quinn doubled down on his embarrassing habits at the best of times, and tended to cause a scene at his worst.  Aloysius wasn’t sure which one he was about to be witness to.

“Oh, believe me, I’ve considered it at great length,” Quinn said coldly, tapping the bowl of his pipe and scattering the ashes across the snow.  He took a moment to stamp on them for good measure - a bit aggressively, Aloysius thought - before returning his things to his coat pocket and turning to leave.  “I hope your relief arrives soon.  Mother and Father would be terribly upset if they lost one of their good sons because he starved to death in the line of duty.”

He knew he should let him go.  Quinn was not a child and should not be treated as such.  But he was still his brother, and a Trevelyan, and ever since he’d turned up among the Chantry brothers, Aloysius knew that he was expected to try and keep him level headed and out of trouble if not for the family’s sake but for Quinn’s.  But as he called after him to stop, Quinn only replied with a rude gesture and kept walking.

Well, if that’s how he wanted it then fine with him.  Aloysius straightened his shoulders and settled back into his post, watching the top of the path that led back to Haven.  Still no sign of his relief.  And try as he might to ignore his stomach, he was becoming awfully hungry…

[problems-of-immortality]

[🪀] what was your muse’s childhood like? how did their upbringing affect them? (for Sahren)

Oh wow, this will be a lengthy one, still one of my favorite questions for him, so thank you! I'm going to write this with a lot of detail so even people who haven't played can understand, as the lore is very extensive and convoluted and it is some chunky sections of that lore that shapes his upbringing and his entire personality. Also a fair amount of it takes up heavy content, so check the tags before reading to make sure you are comfortable reading. Sahren grew up in Dalish culture, essentially nomadic clans that live away from human settlements because of major cultural disagreements. Most of Thedas believes that mages should be locked away because of their power, and their ability to reach their minds across the Veil when they sleep makes them susceptible to being influenced or possessed by the denizens of the Fade. The entire world and all of it's cultures have some degree of fear of mages. Dwarves don't have them, but Qunari essentially enslave their mages, the Tevinter Imperium is run by mages that are too power hungry, and humans trap theirs in tower colleges. Dalish clans don't like interacting with humans for a multitude of reasons, but the main reasons are: Dalish clans consider mages to be a risk but also necessary to lead the clan as Keeper, the clan's diplomat, the leader, and the mage healer of the clan. They are the only group besides the Imperium to give mages freedom. But because they wander Thedas with no homeland, they have to avoid humans for long periods or else risk situations where humans under the Chantry deem them to be blasphemous to the Maker and try to convert them or kill them. The Tevinter Imperium still has a slave trade, and elves make up an overwhelming majority. The Dalish in the long forgotten past used to rule all of Thedas as a magical utopia with an advanced culture of people that never died and all were mages, but for mysterious reasons the humans came along, and the Dalish believe that the fall of this nation made them lose their immortal lifespans to become mortal, and then enslaved, which caused them to lose most of the knowledge of Arlathan. (The name of their nation) Different clans take different approaches to humans, but most are wary of them. Sahren's clan had bad experiences with the Tevinter Imperium because they lived much farther north, closer to the border with Tevinter. There were skirmishes with his clan twice in his life, and both he ended up losing a loved one, to. His mother was his clan's Keeper, Thalia, and his father Athras the head ranger. It was expected when Sahren was born that he'd become her First when he developed magic, and eventually succeed her. When he was four, she gave him a large book in which he would write all of his knowledge, but he passed the age where he would develop magic without so much as creating a spark. That same day came a kid his age that Sahren grew to love dearly, came into the clan after his own was destroyed. Feladara, with auburn hair and honey gold eyes. Feladara ended up developing magic instead. Sahren really tried not to be bitter. His mother let him study longer, even though only the keepers could really study all of the lore they had. But then tragedy happened- Some bandits came along while Thalia was out with just Sahren and Feladara at 10, gathering herbs with her. She convinced Feladara to run back to camp just as she heard them nearby, but Sahren refused to go.They tried to demand that Thalia tell them where the clan was camped, but she calmly tried to diffuse the situation and convince them to go elsewhere. They call Thalia a knife ear, so Sahren runs up and kicks one of them in the shin, and ends up becoming a hostage. His mother had a different opinion than the normal views on the denizens of the Fade, because she actually understood their nature, and was friends with a Spirit of Loyalty. So she fuses with the spirit and together they fight off the bandits, killing all of them to defend her clan and her child. When she does, she goes to hug Sahren, and because she secretly taught Sahren the ways of the spirits, he isn’t afraid. But then Feladara comes back with Sahren’s father, Athras. A more superstitious person than his wife, he immediately assumed she was a typical abomination, and thought she was going to kill Sahren, so he struck her through the heart from the back with an arrow.  Sahren never forgave him for that. After her death, Athras more aggressively tried to make Sahren learn how to be an archer instead, going down his path instead of his mother’s. A retired Keeper from another clan became the new Keeper for Clan Lavellan, and Feladara became her First.  So Sahren would skip his lessons to hang out in the Keeper’s aravel with Feladara, learning whatever Feladara was learning. The new Keeper enabled it for some time, but eventually Sahren’s father found out where he was going and forbade him from entering the Keeper’s aravel, grounding him to staying in camp for a week. It was then he noticed all the stares, and the whispers. “Abomination’s child”, “he’s going to end up like her even without magic”. None of the other kids wanted to hang out with him, and Feladara was too busy with lessons. He quickly found that the rest of the clan didn’t like him, and that ended up souring his opinion of most of them. It made him a really angry teenager- When the week ended, Sahren took to hiding in the woods outside the camp instead of sleeping in camp. He refused to bunk with anyone, instead sleeping in the trees. It led to quite a few falls at first, but then it became impossible to knock him out of a tree.  Feladara found him first, and then they began to hang out together at night, talking for hours about nothing and everything- magical theories and theories about the stories that remained of the Creators, the Forgotten Ones, and the Dread Wolf. In return, Sahren teaches Feladara how to use daggers. (The elven pantheon) Sahren picked up a lot of words from these exchanges that belonged to the old language of Arlathan. He laces them in Common often, like “Ma serannas” as thanks, “Ir abelas” as I’m sorry. Learning the meaning of family names: Feladara’s simply was the old name for the herbs they gather the most (elfroot), his own name meant “One who commands respect”. His father’s meant “Half in shadow”. He picks up many more words and names during the events of the game, and when he drinks from the Well of Sorrows ( Vir’abelasan ) he sometimes speaks completely in the old language because of the voices of the elven scholars who placed their knowledge in the Well. (There’s a person who created an entire lexicon on the language to fill in the gaps that the actual games left, I reference this and the game all the time) They end up falling in love over time. Eventually, when they both turn 18 and receive their vallaslin (tattoos on their faces, right of passage for Dalish elves. It means “blood writing”) Sahren and Feladara end up confessing their love to one another and marrying each other privately in the Dalish way, by exchanging hand crafted gifts and then tying each other’s wrists together with a ribbon. When Sahren told his father, there was an uproar. Sahren assumed it was because his father was homophobic, but in reality, Athras didn’t want him to marry a mage after what happened to his wife, worried the situation would repeat itself. About a year or so later, tragedy strikes yet again. This time, slavers attack the clan because they got too close to the Tevinter border for too long. Athras gives himself up to them after some fighting so they leave the rest of the clan alone. Sahren comes to the clan, smelling blood and ash. Feladara convinces him to save his father, but in the fighting when they catch up, Feladara dies in Sahren’s arms. Sahren becomes incredibly distant and unapproachable, always sleeping alone on the outskirts of camp whether he’s hunting or not, and begins to drink alcohol often to numb his feelings. The worst part: he gets drunk in trees and high places. He never falls from the trees, though- he considers them places of safety, away from other people who see how bitter he is and avoid him anyway. Over the course of the game he gradually mellows out, makes friends, drinks less. But the game just gives him the worst luck based on his choices, and the backstory I wrote myself for him gives him reason for those choices. So he’s surprisingly open about spirits, interested in learning new lore about his own culture from Solas, even becoming friends with him, and with nearly everyone else, even Cassandra and Cullen, who are very Andrastian in their faith.

He goes from being blamed for the explosion to being praised as the Herald of Andraste, sent by the Maker Himself to save Thedas. The worst part is, he doesn’t even believe in the Maker and hates the Andrastian faith, but no matter how often he forces himself into a Dalish figure and acts deliberately blasphemous while denying that he is the Herald people still praise him as Inquisitor and later on, ask him who should lead the Chantry. He absolutely loathes the role, and the way people look at him because of it. His inner circle is full of interesting, loyal people of all races and walks of life, and somehow, despite his prickly nature he ends up befriending them all, while successfully saving the world for a time. I’m going to cut this short before it turns into an entire biography, haha!

[unabasheddinosaurkitten]

Rise Of Orthros

Chapter 6

Richard was seated in his office with Troy sitting in front of him, he was at bit of a stand still, his plan for Amelia to come alone, was ruined when she brought her two other friends. Richards office was huge. It had huge braziers attached to one side of each of the sixteen onyx columns light up most of his business study and blanket everything in a warm glow. The illustrations of gods on the layered ceiling dance in the flickering light while carved images look down upon the maple floor of this office.

A violet rug splits the entire room in half from the doors to the study while pennant banners with embellished quilting drape from the walls. Between each banner hangs a torch, almost all of them have been lit and in turn illuminate the murals of heroes and leaders below them. Extensive, stained glass windows depicting ancient legends are bordered by drapes colored the same violet as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with embellished borders and fancy tassels.

His imposing office chair of oak sits in front of a giant painting of the kingdom and is adjoined by three smaller and less elaborate seats for those who seek to speak with Richard.

The office chair carved with oak is covered in symmetric designs and fixed on each of the stubby legs is a crystal divine symbol. The soft pillows are a dark violet and these too have been adorned with burnished sigils.

"Father? how are we going to do this now?" Troy asked, they needed Amelia out the way. "Even mother is getting in the way now."

Richard sighed harshly as he ponded in thought of what to do next, he really hoped Teresa would stay out of this too, but he knew there was a risk with bringing Amelia back home

Richard scratched his head, "Maybe we can use three of them now, I think I may have a better idea."

Troy smirked in glee as he leant forward placing his elbow on his father's desk, wanting to know more of his father's plan. "So what is this plan of yours?"

Meanwhile Amelia, Hunter and Hanna were sitting in the tavern in town, they knew everyone would have to get used to them, they will be here until they are no longer needed. Amelia was waiting for Richard to ask her when she could meet up with him. She rose the glass of mead in her hand towards her mouth.

As always the mead was served warm; when she took a sip, she could smell a sweet aroma and the taste of honey and spices danced along her tongue. She sighed closing her eyes gently, wishing the taste would linger more.

"I wonder what the others are up too," Hanna wondered out loud, she had to admit it was a little weird being someone without the others.

She was used to travelling with all of them not just a certain few, it was a change she knew she had to get used too.

Amelia let out a little laugh, "Phillip is probably rejoicing because I'm not there."

"Why does he hate you?" Hanna asked as she finished her mead.

"Mostly everyone hates mages, it doesn't matter if they are good. Phillip also has a rough history with mages. Just like everyone has" Amelia replied with a dull tone, she cleared her throat as she heard the tavern door open.

Hunter sat up and was about to head towards the bar so he could order another round of mead for the three of them, when he bumped into someone.

"Oh my sir, I am so sorry about that. Are you alright?" The man asked Hunter as he dusted him off, placing something inside his jacket.

"Oh no worries, my fault," Hunter said as the two of them parted ways. The man going one way and Hunter going the other.

||||

It was a cold afternoon is Rishnag, mostly everyone was getting ready for a storm that was closing in from the shore. A man had popped off the boat, giving the sailor an extra 30 kirla pieces. The man known as Zachariah headed towards the palace in urgent news for the king.

Villagers watched as the man walked through the town, although they were custom for newcomers to come. They always wanted to know who and remember them just in case. Sam was on his way to the castle where Zachariah had bumped into him.

"Hey man! Watch it! I have urgent news for the king!" Zachariah shouted alerting almost every nearby who heard it.

Urgent news for the king? Was the king in danger or something? Sam picked up his pace quickly following behind Zachariah. He needed to alert Stephen and Phillip just in case but was their time? He had to think fast without Hunter here to give them direction, he knew he was next to give orders.

Instead he headed towards his fathers base near the castle to tell him what he had heard from the new traveller that had arrived. Should he also alert Hunter? He shook his head on that thought knowing he will be helping Amelia.

Lord Ragnar's castle had Nine slim, square towers that are both a defensive and also decorational. This elegant castle is also commuted by lower, wide walls made of dark brown stone

Small windows are scattered here and there around the walls in fairly symmetrical patterns, along with holes of various sizes for archers and artillery.

A great gate with wide wooden doors, a draw bridge and a moat gives a safe place to rest in this forest stronghold, but it's not the only way in, which fortunately only very few know.

Huge statues of heroes and kings decorate the bridge outside, memories of glories of the past. This castle shows signs of expansion as some parts are clearly build more recently than others, the inhabitants are already working on another part and hope to keep expanding.

Zachariah made it inside the castle, where he took a few deep breaths to catch his breath. He took a moment to look at the throne room he was standing in, being aware of his surroundings.

Humble braziers at the bottoms of each of the eight granite columns light up the entire throne hall and cover the hall in dancing shadows and a warm radiance. The angelic paintings on the slanted ceiling dance in the flickering light while statuettes look down upon the mosaic floor of this opulent hall.

An alabaster rug runs in a circle around the room, with two paths at the throne and the main entrance while rounded banners with ornate tassels hang from the walls. Between each banner hangs a torch, all but a few have been lit and in turn illuminate the paintings of other leaders of the world below them. Massive windows are shrouded by curtains colored the same alabaster as the banners. The curtains have been adorned with embellished borders and decorated tips.

A dignified throne of granite sits atop an elevated platform and is adjoined by five equally impressive seats for esteemed guests. The throne is covered in complicated designs and fixed on each of the wide armrests is a crystal moon. The broad pillows are a light alabaster and these too have been adorned with quilting.

Those wishing to witness their royal highness can do so on the few extravagant and comfortable marble benches, all of which are facing the throne. Those of higher standing can instead take seat in the extremely lavish balconies facing the throne.

"Your highness, I come for you with urgent news," Zachariah spoke.

"What is it?" A guard asked.

"I come from the town of Gandor," gasps filled the throne room as a few extra guards circle the king in protection.

"A mage? Here?" Another guard asked.

King Ragnar stepped aside from the guards, "What urgent news do you have for me?" He asked.

"There has been an attempt on your life, while I was in the tavern I overheard a few dragon riders speaking about how they plan to assignat you," Zachariah said, his voice laced with fake fear.

"What do you mean? Where is your proof of this?" King Ragnar knew that his most trusted allies would never turn on him, especially Amelia after everything he had done for her.

"I have proof, here my lord." Zachariah pulled out a scroll from his jacket pocket and handed it to his lord.

Lord Ragnar opened it and read it, seeing the seal of the dragon riders with Amelia's handwriting. Lord Ragnar was now filled with rage and scrunched the scroll in his hand as he turned to his guards. "Get Amelia, Hunter and Hanna here as soon as possible and lock them up in a dungeon where they will be questioned about their treachery."

"But my lord..." William was about to speak when he was silenced by Lord Ragnar.

"Do as I say!" He shouted before turning to Zachariah. "Thank you for bringing this to me. Now leave." He pointed to the door.

Zachariah nodded to his lord before heading out of the castle and towards the boats, he knew his master would be pleased of his efforts and what he had done.

||||

Back at the tavern, Amelia, Hunter and Hanna had gotten word from a source that the men that was after the money was about to come through the doors only for it to burst open and what they weren't expecting where the king guards. Without question Amelia, Hunter and Hanna were grabbed harshly.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hunter asked as he was shocked by their rough force.

"You are being arrested by the king himself over treachery," a guard explained as the three of them were escorted out.

Ethrinria let out a roar as she was being dragged by a few other guards with a metal chain, Amelia gasped. "No, no. Ethrinria let her go. She hasn't done anything nor have we."

The three of them were dragged away without any more questions by any of them, but they all began to wonder they this was happening. What has they done to the king that could be considered treachery? Doing missions requests weren't normal but they did receive them and not once did the king think that was treachery.

The guards walked Amelia, Hanna and Hunter to the dungeons of the northern side of Gandor below the mountain.

[galattea]

‘Til it Gets to Me

Ingrid Brandl Galatea; a character analysis or - the things to cross her mind as the world goes dark

Primary Pairing; Ingrid/Sylvain Words: 3,029 Ao3

I suppose "character analysis" is a bit of a loose term. I had initially intended to be much more direct about the deeper intricacies to Ingrid's personality and feelings, but it ended up becoming a lot more plot driven. I haven't written much (if anything at all) for FE3H and I haven't publicly posted a work in what is almost two years now, so forgive any formatting errors along the way. 

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Broken voices compete with the sounds of metal tearing into metal. They harmonize in a way that makes Ingrid’s spine grow rigid. She’s high above it all, hot wind nipping at her knuckles as she loops her stallion’s reins over them once more. She raises her left arm and then levels it horizontally. A cacophony of battle cries and beating pegasus wings is the response as her fleet scatters to their assigned directions before she herself leans forward and feels the weight of her mount follow her. In one practiced movement, Ingrid draws Lúin from her back and shifts her grip.

They’re nearing the ground now — Ingrid can feel her hair slick itself back against the wind as she raises her lance toward the group of archers she’s taken to targeting. She catches one through the shoulder before her pegasus has even met the ground, and is directing her full momentum towards the smaller one a few feet away when she feels the air around her spark with electricity.

Fuck.

Of course she had expected defensive measures to be put in place the first time she’d lead her fleet to pick off the empire’s ranged soldiers while those on the true battlefield dealt with their familiar swords and spears. But they’d caught her off guard by waiting.

Ingrid tugs her reins sharply to the left and meets eyes with a mage twice her size. She knows better than to try and take him out alone with two bowmen still standing behind her, and before she can fling herself into more danger than necessary she presses her heel to the base of her mount’s wing and is airborne before the crack of lightning hits where she had just been. She prays to the goddess that she didn’t just kill off the rest of her air support by overusing a strategy and watches the ground beneath her grow smaller.

She scans the battlefield as quickly as she can before deciding her next move. Deciding it best to continue her attacks behind enemy lines, Ingrid targets her next dive toward a more isolated corner of the fight.

Her heart thrums in her chest, emerald eyes locked on the dark head of hair she is heading straight towards. She can feel the determination to right her errors by pulling as much weight as she possibly can bubble up in her throat as a battle cry.

But it fizzles out in the air as the wind is knocked directly from her.

The shrill cry of her pegasus brings her eyes to its neck. Three arrows are buried there, blood staining the silver coat in which they found their mark. Ingrid is acutely aware now that she is falling backwards, the beating of her mount’s wings stilled. She knows exactly what this means for her.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Ingrid had never been ashamed of her home in Galatea. It was a noble house, after all, and it had been maintained as well as possible since her county’s golden days. That didn’t change the fact that it was fairly small, or the way that its age was ever present in the now lackluster walls and furnishings.

That was, until she had begun spending time in the homes of her friends.

She knew she was a much lower name on the list of Faerghus’ nobles, but as a child what that really meant had never quite crossed her mind. It was on her first visit with her father to Fraldarius that she realized just how quaint her lifestyle truly was.

But it was in there that she felt the most comfortable - where most of her childhood leisure was spent. It was in Fraldarius that she fell face first in love for the first time.

(She would later realize that love wasn’t the word for what she had felt for Glenn, but rather a naive childhood admiration.)

The elder Fraldarius had made a brash first impression on Ingrid when she was freshly eight. She had seen him train many times from afar by then, but never had they spoken. It wasn’t until she all but slammed face first into him as she chased Felix through the long hallways that Ingrid heard his voice for the first time.

“A knight is worth nothing with his head in his arse.”

Ingrid knew not why he spoke such a phrase to her, but something about the annoyed look on his face made her recoil back in shame.

After that Ingrid found herself enraptured by Glenn. She spent the next year lingering longer than she ever had in front of the training area in which he spent his time. He was so young and so gifted -- his body flowing effortlessly with each swing of his sword and the concentration on his face never faltering. She was awestruck. She wanted to watch him forever.

Ingrid’s designation soon changed from her “Glenn’s betrothed” to “underpaid babysitter.” With her fiancé’s training becoming more and more serious, her ability to spectate became less and less frequent. Instead, she found herself chasing the bright red hair of Sylvain Gautier through the courtyard of Dimitri’s summer home in Fhirdiad, an enraged Felix at her side. Sylvain’s laughter had rang through the well manicured trees like a bell. -- And then Ingrid is thirteen and her whole world comes crashing down. The news of the tragedy reaches her bedroom in Galatea well into the night and she finds her mouth agape and heartbeat stopped. She feels a pang she had never known could exist in anything but books. It is in the same hour that she swears her life upon becoming a knight.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The monastery fills Ingrid with dread, but her attitude changes the moment her gaze passes the stables. It is there that her passion for riding is sparked. Of course she had spent years alongside noble horses, but never before a creature so magnificent as those that were housed at Garreg Mach. Her spare time is quickly invested in offering her aid in whatever way possible. Between her studies and time caring for the pegasi, Ingrid finds herself enjoying the company of new friends in a way she had not expected. Ashe is quick to grow on her; he is soft and kind and lingers around the stables some evenings to watch her work and discuss old stories of knights. Annette and Mercedes take much more time to acquire her fondness -- she never dislikes them, only struggles to warm up to their constant begging for her to indulge them and their games of dress up. It is through them that Ingrid realizes she has a much repressed fondness for skirts, and she finds herself looking forward to their interactions more and more. Her childhood friends, however, offer a much different company. She spends many lunches conversing with Felix and Dimitri over their studies and many more evenings sparring with Felix as he aids in her swordsmanship. It is Sylvain that she finds the most troublesome. Since they were little he had always been a man after any woman’s heart, but with the introduction of freedom he had become quite the serial flirt. She knows deep down that he is doing it to rebel against the version of himself that his father projects upon him, that he harbors no true malintent towards the hearts he breaks, and it is for that reason that she continues to clean up after him despite her complaints. She does not acknowledge the strange twist she feels in her gut every time he leaves the room early to go entertain some maiden. -- Luin’s arrival to the monastery is something Ingrid does not expect. Her father was never a fan of the way his daughter had turned from a princess with her hand belonging to a fine noble into a knight with no care for romance alongside his sons, and she takes the offering of House Galatea’s relic as acknowledgment and approval of her choices. She feels honored.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

A soft knock upon her door startles Ingrid awake and she hoists herself from her bed. It’s well after midnight, she notes, lighting the oil lamp beside her bed and opening the door. On the other side she sees the back of Sylvain’s head as he turns down the hall. She clears her throat and he halts, a sheepish look on his face as he turns back to face her. There’s a cut on his upper lip, and dried blood caked in his hair. She blanches. “Where in hell-” She is already scolding as she ushers the taller boy into her room, “How? Sylvain, what in the name of Seiros are you doing here instead of an infirmary.” “If you wanted me in an infirmary so bad you wouldn’t have just brought me into your room,” he points out. It takes everything in her not to slap him. He perches on the edge of her bed as Ingrid digs furiously through the drawers of her vanity meant to store powders and makeup. Instead, she withdraws a glass bottle and a cloth. Her footsteps are silent as she pads back towards her bed and seats herself on her knees beside him. There is something about seeing Sylvain hurt that twists her stomach. She watches her hand intently as she raises the now damp piece of fabric to the side of his head, pretending not to notice the way he leans into her touch. There is no grimace or complaint as she gently rubs the alcohol over what appears to be an impact wound, presumably from another man’s armor. “You’re not seeing double, are you?” “No ma’am,” Sylvain responds, and Ingrid is once again overcome with the urge to backhand him. The cut takes a good moment to clean, with delicate fingers struggling to part bloodied hair without causing any unnecessary pain. When it is nothing more than a bright pink and angry line in his scalp, Ingrid sits back on her haunches. She folds the cloth, spending far too much time finding a clean spot before gently raising it to the bottle of alcohol again. She sets the glass back upon her bedside table before placing her hand on Sylvain’s cheek. Butterflies erupt in her stomach as their eyes meet. She can’t fight the urges -- can’t stop herself from leaning forward. He watches her, confusion written in his expression. They flicker to her lips. She closes her eyes. His lips are soft, terribly so, she notes as they meld together. Ingrid swears they stay like that for hours, lips moving softly against one another, before she realizes what she’s doing and draws back. Sylvain’s eyes are wide, but he hadn’t stopped her. He had even returned the kiss. “Ing-” “Out of my room,” she feels the harshness in her voice and the blood rushing to her cheeks but she refuses to look at him. He stalls for a moment, gaze boring holes into every inch of her skin, and then retreats. Ingrid is left in candlelit silence. Tears stream down her face as the alcohol from the cloth soaks into her clenched fist. She doesn’t meet his gaze again for a week.

--

There is some sort of silent agreement in place as Ingrid sets her books down on the table and seats herself right beside Felix. Her head falls to his shoulder and he doesn’t flinch or tense or shove her away. Instead, he rests his cheek on her forehead. A vigil is held in the cathedral, in which candles are lit and silence hangs heavy over students who never knew the fallen. To Ingrid it feels wrong and disgusting to put her grief on display in front of her peers. She assumes Felix feels much the same. There are no words for how they feel. The past four years they had spent in a wordless pact to protect one another where they couldn’t protect Glenn. Ingrid laces her fingers through his and feels warmth trickle down her face. There is no ceremony that can aid the ache she feels. So they sit in their own silence, pressed against each other as though the world depends on it.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

In all of her years spent there, Ingrid had never recalled Galatea being so suffocating. She doesn’t know how to feel. In one beat she wishes to be fighting in defense of her prince like she had always sworn herself to, but in the next she feels herself seethe at the mere idea of enabling Dimitri’s rampage. It feels like she’s fighting an uphill battle with her own ideals. But it is her father that brings her to a decision. Count Galatea had never truly enjoyed his daughter’s sudden desire to fight on the frontlines. Ingrid knew this much, and saw it evidenced in the way she found herself followed by suitors at least once a week. She tries to remind herself that it is because he cares about her. “It’s nice to have you home,” he is seated behind his desk, arms folded on the heavy oak. “It is nice to be home,” Ingrid smiles. “I’m glad to finally have my daughter off the battlefield.” Ingrid’s smile falters. She says nothing as she leaves his office. Her fingers wind through her hair and suddenly it is far too long for her taste. Without a second thought, she pulls an old pair of scissors from her desk. That night, she leaves for Garreg Mach.

--

She doesn’t miss the expression on Felix’s face as her mount trots toward the courtyard. Sylvain is poised at his side, a grin plastered upon his face. They both look so much different, although she supposes the same could be said for herself. “You’re late,” Sylvain calls. Something in Ingrid’s chest reacts to his voice. “Goddess forbid,” she laughs, swinging off her stallion as she reaches the two of them. “Nice hair,” Felix’s expression doesn’t change as he speaks, but she supposes she’ll take it as a compliment. Her old dorm is exactly as it had been left. Ingrid doesn’t let her mind linger on that for too long as she unclasps her breastplate and places the heavy armor on her old bed. Sylvain clears his throat from the doorway and she jumps. “So what made Galatea change its mind?” She shrugs at him, not meeting his eyes as she works to take off the rest of her armor. She can feel him roll his eyes. “Did you finally get sick of your father?” “Possibly.” He laughs at this, closing the door behind him and seating himself in her old desk chair. He looks a mess now that she sees him up close; the circles under his eyes are deep and his voice is hoarse. “He's still trying to send you off?” “Trying to keep me off the battlefield, more like,” Ingrid smooths out her blouse. “Not many suitors to be called upon when the majority are out here.” “I suppose,” he agrees, and she hopes she isn’t imagining the relief that flickers across his face. “And yourself?” the question leaves her mouth before she can think twice about it. “No ma’am,” he chuckles, leaning against the back of his chair. She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Ingrid’s fingers search frantically for leverage in the thin linen of Sylvain’s shirt as he kisses her. It isn’t the same as it was when she had kissed him all those years ago. It’s hot and it’s fast and there’s the weight of their own lives on their shoulders that presses them closer together. The mat on the floor of the makeshift tent isn’t the most comfortable thing Ingrid has ever been kissed on, but she doesn’t object as calloused hands lay her down. The fire outside is dim now, but its light pokes through the fabric that covers them and bounces off of Sylvain’s features like artwork. His eyes are heavy and his breathing is ragged as he strains against the bandage wrapped taut around his shoulder to lean over her. In the middle of this war, Ingrid is in heaven. They fall into each other, desperate to communicate words they don’t have time for in heated touches until they’re holding each other as though they’ll never see each other again once they’ve let go. It is there that Ingrid decides it. She is in love with Sylvain. She has been, since they were teenagers. It feels like a shot to the chest as she acknowledges this -- allowing herself to admit love for someone who was not Glenn after so many years. She doesn’t say it, but Sylvain knows. There is no way he doesn’t. He doesn’t return it, though, that much she is aware of. He holds her to his chest and breathes in her hair, and Ingrid allows herself to believe that, just for that moment, he is hers. That night she falls asleep to the sound of his breathing. —

Someone is screaming her name from a distance but she doesn’t turn to investigate. Her right is crushed under the weight of her long dead pegasus and her head is swimming.

“Ingrid -” she can make out a dark head of hair approaching her, can feel arms pulling her from beneath the horse. The aching has long stopped alongside the thudding of hooves and cries of soldiers. The battle is over.

She’s slung over someone’s back and he smells so familiar.

“We did it,” he’s saying in a voice she recognizes but with a strain she doesn’t. “We won, Ing. You did it.”

She coughs, something wet dripping from her lips.

“Glenn,” her voice is hardly a whisper. The person holding her stills. “I did it, Glenn.”

“You did,” the voice breaks.

“Don’t cry,” she’s smiling but she doesn’t register it, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ing,” he replies, followed by a choked sob.

Her eyes are suddenly too heavy to bear. Her breathing stalls.

It is to the sound of Felix’s cries to a goddess that won’t answer that lull her to rest.

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Shatter My Expectations And I’m Yours (Shatter Me, Lindsey Stirling Ft. Izzy Hale)

Dorian had a set pattern. He knew that pattern well. If it were a walked path it would be well worn as much as a favored path through the forest, or maybe the faded cobbles under a guard patrol. Yet even so that well known pattern was monotonous and dull even when it had exciting outcomes they were a short reprieve from that same slow turning pattern. He was getting dizzy left to spin in this cycle endlessly. He wasn’t alive anymore with the excitement that came with something considered taboo, now he was so well established in the little steps that it had lost all charm becuase it never lasted and would end only to start again with a new contestant. 

He had no real light in his life. The one driving factor that kept him going was the passion to prove Tevinter could be great, and it need not use blood magic to be that way. It didn’t need constant power struggles, if it’s people could unite then they could prove every other nation wrong, they weren’t blood thirsty maleficar that bled slaves dry by the hundreds, they were a nation of great art, and strength that could prove mages need not be leashed like dogs. They could prove magic and mages specifically could add so much more to the world if treated as ordinary citizens and allowed their freedom. In fact the mages of the south had a much better chance of setting such an example... All they needed was the chance, but first this war and the crazed bastard from Chantry Myth had to be dealt with. 

He’s reading and trying to find the connections they need when the elf walks up to him. At first Dorian doesn’t notice him but when he sits back pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing at his temples and looks up, all he sees is the lean form of the archer. Alarion was standing back watching him with a soft smile on his face looking slightly concerned. 

“Ah, Inquisitor, to what do I owe this visit?” Dorian says smiling and instantly masking his frustration and tiredness. Alarion isn’t fooled, in fact he rarely is. The archer was sharp eyed, even if his left was blind, he made up for it in his skill in observation. He rarely missed important details of the land around him and the minute shifts of a facial expression he was staring at. He’d learned Dorian’s facial expressions well. He’d done so with every person that followed him into danger. He even could tell you if Harding was nervous, or even if she was or wasn’t paying you actual attention rather than tuning you out. He could even give you pointers on what was giving away certain expressions. Josephine had even tested his skills out against masked Orlesian nobles. It was harder for him but he’d still hit more often than miss a mark. He was an empathetic passionate elf, who though he would focus on elves he often went out of his way to help everyone. 

“I was wondering if you were holding up alright... And there’s an issue I wanted to discuss...” He looks uncertain and Dorian only remembers that expression a few times. When they’d traveled to that twisted future and again when they’d been about to come back. Though he hadn’t just been uncertain then, he’d looked horrified and angry as well. When he’d gone after Alexius Dorian was surprised he’d chosen to spare his life. Alarion had the mage on the ground a dagger at his neck and had chosen to just knock out the mage instead of kill him as the Fereldan king swept in. Upon seeing the elf he went from bristled and ready for conflict to rather calm waiting for the elf to decide the fate of the mages. Dorian had had no idea why until he latter learned the man had to Consorts both elves and both men. Both were talented rouges. 

Alarion had decided to give the mages a second chance as allies, though made it expressly clear they would be around Templars they would need to work together with a semblance of civility and atop all of it, if they fucked up, as in one went and became an abomination, he’d cut them down personally if Templars didn’t first. Dorian later learned Alarion had had to kill his own sister after she’d fallen for an offer made by a demon of lust. The archer took no pride in the event but he was eerily comfortable when confronted by abominations. He’d cut it down rather than flinch. Though they’d learned those stories from a surviving clan member that had been dug out from The Temple. 

Apparently the young elf had been only ten when he’d landed the killing shot on his sister. He’d been in the forest edging their camp when he’d heard the screams start. He’d taken aim and moved through the bushes and taken her down even as he recognized the tattered torn remains of her robes. He’d loosened the arrow in shock and had stopped her before bursting forward and loosing a second arrow that hit her heart. He’d known the rules of the clans, should one of their own fall into the temptations of demons the clan was responsible for putting down the corrupted mage and ending their suffering. Alarion had been confronted by Solas about this and the elf had frozen.

“I did not kill her out of hatred, spite or anger.” He had admit looking down. He placed a hand over his blind eye and looked up at everyone who’d tuned in curious and eager to know more about the elf most adored and some still hated or feared, this had been as they traveled to Skyhold, so it was bound to happen that some personal history would come out for the inner members of the newborn Inquisition. 

“I killed her to end her suffering. Because I knew full well the reason she’d fallen was due to wanting to fix my eye. It was an accident she had felt responsible for that caused my to lose sight in it. Though I will never blame her... Even if it did lose my eye, if she had not done as she had I would have lost my life. Thus it was a small price to pay. She’d been looking for ways to cure the damage in the fade and a demon of lust had offered... She fell for the trap. I regret never thanking her for everything she had gone through... I was a child, but I was then seen as an adult. What better than to bear the mark of Falon’Din? I may as well wear the mark of Death.” He’d said then and Dorian had recalled how Solas had been quite in thought for quite some time after that and had looked lost in thought. 

“You feel guilt on it then.” Solas had said and Alarion had tilted his head lowering his hand and shaking his head.

“Of a sort... I regret not being able to help support her like she clearly needed. Instead I was self absorbed in my own troubles, children no matter their race can be cruel and being partially blind made me an easy target. I feel nothing at the fact I was forced to kill her. I had a choice. Die, and let others die, or kill her before she could kill me or anyone else. I chose the path that had the least blood on it. I just wish their had been a path that would have spared the blood shed altogether. There probably was... I was just blind to it until it was too late and it had become overgrown.” Alarion had said eyes sad like they were now. Dorian watched the other and frowns.

“I’m holding up well enough I suppose, though this library has all manner of volumes on whether Divine Galatia took a shit on sunday I’m afraid it has little on accurate Tevinter histories. Which makes my job difficult.” He groused and the elf smiles but it fades quickly.

“I’m not sure you’ll like this but it is a distraction. Here read this, it’s a letter Mother Giselle received, I’m getting tired of that woman... Sorry, she said it was from your father.” He says and Dorian feels his nose flare as he gets agitated he stands taking the letter and reading it only to scoff. Alarion stands perfectly still and watches.

“I know my son? Pft, he could barely fill a thimble with what he knows about me! Typical... I’d be willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is merely a henchman hired to knock me over the head and drag me back off to Tevinter.” Dorian hisses and Alarion tilts his head curiously, his black hair falls off his shoulder and rests behind him in a fall of braids and lose hair. 

“Could it be Venatori?” He asks and Dorian paused.

“Perhaps... Though this does look like my father’s penmanship. Or... He could have joined the Venatori... I doubt it but anything’s possible. Let’s go and meet this so called, ‘family retainer’, if it’s a trap we get out and kill everyone, you’re good at that, if not we send them back with a message for my father to stick his alarm in his wit’s end.” Dorian hissed and Alarion frowns and paused, he’d flinched, albeit only slightly, at being told what he was good at, he may have shrugged it off and embraced it in the most literal way he could but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Unless the one dying was a waste of air. Then he might get some satisfaction out of sticking an arrow in their eye. 

“Bad blood between you?” He asks and Dorian snickers a cringe on his face as he grimaced a slight grin.

“Interesting turn of phrase... Let’s just say we have disagreements on my choices and me with theirs.” Dorian says evasively. Alarion frowns.

“Like not getting married or leaving Tevinter?” The elf asks and Dorian shrugs.

“Two of many other things.” He says and Alarion knows he’ll get no where so shrugs.

“Let’s go see what this is all about then.” Alarion says, he paused and looks back at Dorian with his good eye.

“Should I have any others with us? I’d say we should at least have Bull and Varric along, we could even bring Cole. Help us get a read on everything?” He says and Dorian paused.

“Cole and Bull are fine... Varric might use this as an excuse to write in daddy issues to my long list of character traits.” Dorian sighs and Alarion smiles and huffs a soft laugh.

“Alright, let’s gather them up and ride out.” He says and they walk out and over to Herald’s Rest both ignoring the Mother that watches with a frown and disapproving stare. 

“Bull, come on I have a mission I need you for, I’m grabbing Cole and we’ll head out.” Alarion says and Bull nods and stands up from the slouch he’d been in and Dorian waits knowing the other’s watching him and picking apart every little hint Dorian is unintentional putting out that he’s pissed. 

“Something have you in a tiff, Dorian.” Bull says and Dorian growls.

“Someone rather.” He snaps and Bull blinks looking a bit more directly at Dorian trying to find what’s getting his fuse so short. Alarion comes down and he’d asked Cole not to try helping Dorian quite yet. They all head out at fast as they can for Redcliff. Going into the Gull and Lantern it’s empty just Dorian and Alarion, Bull and Cole wait outside. The elf sees someone move before Dorian does. His green eyes narrow and his hands slide behind him one hand on a dagger the other silently clipping the strap keeping the blade in the sheath. Anyone who saw him, and didn’t know him, would just think he had his hands behind him in a respectful pose. 

“No one here... This doesn’t bode well...” Dorian sighs and Alarion steps closer to say something keeping his eyes on the figure but they speak before he can.

“Dorian.” It’s just his name but Dorian feels anger course through him, he knows that voice and it makes his guts turn to ice. Though it oddly brings a tiny glimmer of hope. Foolish as it was. 

“Father.” Alarion drops his hands to his sides blinking at the man and then looking at Dorian.

“So an elaborate smoke screen..? Why?” Dorian snaps steeling his irritation. 

“Then you were told...” Alarion sneers.

“I don’t like having my friends walk into possible traps blind, a shocker that.” Alarion spits hands clenching as he can practically feel the unease radiating off Dorian. 

“I apologize, Inquisitor, I never intended for you to be involved.” He says and Alarion steps up to stand at Dorian’s side.

“You wanted him with that hag that doesn’t care for him you mean.”The elf hissed and Dorian looks over at the elf and sets a hand on his lower back which makes the elf step a bit back and just glower at Halward while a sneer seems to permanently fix itself to his face. Dorian can’t blame him seeing how that disgusted look shows on his fathers face even if barely.

“Of course not, the Great Magister Pavus couldn’t be seen with the dread Inquisitor, what would people say?” Dorian snaps as his head turns back to his father. He might freeze in fear when he might have a chance at someone for more than just a night of mutual pleasure but against his father, his temper peaks.

“What exactly is this, father? Ambush, kidnapping, touching family reunion?” Dorian snarls and Alarion keeps his eye on the man he’s steadily wanting to fire arrows at. Countless arrows. He’d run out of arrows. Several times.

“It has always been like this...” Who the idiot is appealing to Dorian is unsure given he’s certain Alarion wants to tear his father into little pieces and scatter them through the Wastes. 

“Considering you lied to get him here? I wonder why he would be angry?” Alarion scoffs. Dorian piviots keeping himself facing towards his father slightly but looking at the elf.

“You don’t know the half of it! Though... Perhaps you should.” He says thoughtfully and Halward clearly grows uneasy.

“Dorian, there is no need-” Dorian looks up and sneers before looking back at the elf.

“I prefer the company of men, my father disproves.” He says and Alarion paused brain almost blowing smoke out of his ears as several images run through his mind of Dorian in several questionable posses and positions on top or under men of varying races, stature and looks. Though a popular one seems to be himself.

“Ah... I’ve heard a bit about that... And I prefer the same.” Alarion clears his throat and glanced away flushing slightly and Dorian smirks.

“I should have known that’s what this was about.” Halward sneers and Dorian immediately gets back to spitting like an angry cat.

“No. You don’t get to make assumptions, you know nothing about the Inquisitor.” Dorian snarls. Alarion feels that blush get worse and almost wants to just drag him back to Skyhold and see exactly what Dorian preferred.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” The man gripes and Alarion snorts as if he could care what this bastard wanted. He’d known him all of maybe five minutes and wanted him to become a demented pincushion. 

“I’ve never been what you wanted, forgotten that already?” Dorian spits sneering and Alarion sighs.

“Then that’s a big deal in Tevinter?” He asks and Dorian shakes his head and looks back at the elf.

“If you want to live up to impossible standards. Every Tevinter family is inter marrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. Which means ever perceived flaw, ever aberration, is deviant and shameful, it must be hidden.” Dorian snarls and Alarion winced. Every flaw is stacked against you, pressure slowly fracturing your mask no matter how carefully constructed.

“That’s what this is about?” The elf asks softly hating the fact the two were so far apart though he hates the older vint he also hates seeing children with such poor ties to their parents when he never knew his.

“Who you sleep with?” He asks and Dorian scoffs.

“Not all of it.” He says and Alarion shakes his head confused. 

“Dorian if you’d just listen..” 

“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies? He taught me to hate blood magic, ‘The resort of the weak mind’, those were his words. Yet the first thing you turn to when your precious heir refuses to play pretend the rest of his life? You try to change me!” Dorian is pacing now having gotten in his father’s face before retreating looking at the other man his pain is almost palpable. Alarion goes rigid. This fucking bastard did what to Dorian? Alarion hasn’t felt possessive in his life, but he’s beginning to understand what it might feel like.

“I only wanted what was best for you.” Halward tries to appeal but neither of the two in the tavern with him buy it or care. Dorian says what both of them are thinking.

“You wanted what was best for you! For your fucking legacy! Anything for that.” Dorian looks upset now and all the elf wants is to hold the mage. Dorian just feels so trapped and lonely like he’s just spinning in the dark. Alarion moves so he’s standing between the two and takes a deep breath. There’s the smallest chance the man is wanting to reconnect and at least try and fix his relationship with his son. 

“Don’t leave it like this Dorian... I may not like this prick, but... I can see the pain. Just a try.” He says softly. Dorian looks at him and nods. He walks up to Halward. Alarion stands back but is still ready to rip the older human apart.

“Tell me why you came.” Dorian says calmly or at least he is a bit more calm than he had been.

“If I knew I’d drive you to the Inquisition..” Dorian shakes his head and moves back a step.

“You didn’t. I joined becuase it’s the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have know that.” Dorian turns and starts to walk to the door.

“Once I had a son that trusted me... A trust I betrayed.” Dorian paused turning to look back.

“I only wanted to hear his voice again... To talk to him and ask he forgive me.” Halward says softly and Dorian looks at Alarion who only slightly inclines his head. He sees the deep need in Dorian to fix this one burnt bridge in his past since his others were all beyond repair. The elf would do everything in his power to help the other. Alarion moves to the door and keeps it open barely a crack and waits there listening like a hawk for any sound of a scuffle or sound that isn’t hushed talking. When the mage exits he’s silent and they spend the ride back to Skyhold like that.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride... Once I would have loved to hear that. Now... I’m not so certain... I don’t know if I can forgive him.” Dorian says staring out the window of his nook and Alarion watches him wanting to comfort the mage and woefully uncertain how.

“How’d he try to change you?” The elf asks softly.

“He was desperate. I wouldn’t play the part and marry the girl, keep everything unsavory locked away and private. Selfish, not wanting to spend my life screaming on the inside. He was going to preform some blood ritual. Alter my mind and make me... Acceptable. I found out and left.” Dorian says and Alarion feels ice run through him and he moves closer subconsciously knowing blood magic and demons were powerful enough that this was fairly possible.

“Are you alright?” He asks and the mage looks back and shakes his head looking back out the window.

“No. Not really.” He says softly. All the elf wants to do is hug the man.

“What he did was wrong.” The elf states stern and certain. Dorian shrugs.

“I think he knows that. Just struggles admitting it.” He says and Alarion can see why... Admitting a mistake was hard especially when they were proud and the Pavus family seemed to have that in spades.

“He’s a good man deep down... My father. Taught me how important principle is, he cares for me in his way. He’ll just never change.” Dorian sighs and Alarion shakes his head and swallows.

“Maybe you’ll work through it, see eye to eye.” He says though he wants to offer to kill the man. Dorian looks back at him with a slight half smile though it’s flat.

“You’re very optimistic, it’s charming really.” He says and Alarion smiles back feeling just as worn thin.

“Maker knows what you must think of me now after that display.” Dorian says as he walks up to Alarion who looks up at him feeling a sudden lightening rush over his whole form. 

“I’ll never think less of you. If it were possible I think more of you.” Alarion states certain to his core and Dorian chuckles looking amused and fond at him and butterflies are dancing in his chest. 

“My father never understood.. Living a lie it festers in you like a poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.” Dorian says fire and conviction in his whole form. Alarion feels it spread to him and speaks before he can think.

“I agree.” And he leans up as Dorian leans down to him and the kiss is like fire he never wants to stop. Dorian pulls back though.

“I didn’t think you’d enjoy playing with fire, Inquisitor...” He teases grinning stepping back into his safe pattern even as he wants to shatter it and burn. Damn all the consequences with the elf looking at him like he wants nothing more than him back in another kiss. He’s so terribly afraid... If he messes up he’ll fall hard. He doesn’t want to hurt like that.

“Anyway, time to drink myself into a stupor. That kind of day. Join me sometime if you’ve a mind.” Dorian says and Alarion smiles and nods and walks with the mage drinking with him and walking Dorian to his bed when the man is drunk and stumbling. He goes back to the bar after and joins Bull explaining it all and getting absolutely pissed laughing hysterically as Krem tells some ridiculous story of an old job involving tar and feathers. In the morning he wakes up curled up on Bull.

“Morning.” The Qunari says grinning as the elf goes white as a sheet.

“Not sore... Nothing happened I hope?” He asks and Bull shakes his head.

“Nah, I got morals, you were too trashed to leave alone. So... You have it hard for the vint?” He asks and Alarion looks away and curls back up.

“I want to make him happy... I want to skin his father. He’s sweet and soft under that bluster I’ve seen it... I want so much but he’s from a place that taught him it’s a shameful thing to love another man... His own father turned on him for it. Mine died protecting me and my sister. I don’t understand why family would do that.” Alarion sighs and Bull hmms.

“You’ve got work ahead of you then. He’s all tied up and content keeping those ties tight.” Bull says and Alarion hums thoughtfully.

“Let him set the pace.” He says and gets up thanking Bull he goes and the Qunari waves. Over the next weeks the elf shadows the mage and showering every hint he can making every advance and he is glowing when Dorian circles him in his rooms. He get’s flushed as Dorian purrs in his ear and Alarion pulls the mage into a kiss hungry and wanting everything Dorian will give.

“I want everything you’re willing to give me Dorian... I want you to be happy and I definitely want to be part of your life if you’ll have me.” Dorian paused in shock then just kisses the elf so very glad he’d let this elf in and shatter his walls and now there was this brilliant burning, bright light shining for him burning away everything and giving him someone to fall into.

[temporoom]

Fate/Neverland

So, now that I got @sweetylittlebirdie​ into Fate, and claimed the AU, I think it’s time that I do post something about it. So yes, the TPN kids in the nasuverse ! Let’s go ! (Let’s suffer)

Depending on the point of view, you can decided that the three routes are still separated, or fused in this au. There’s no exact storyline except the canon one in the fateverse. Also I changed a lot of stuff to correspond to each character.

The story is set in England since most of the characters aren’t actually japanese in TPN. (And if you don't know Fate, England in where the Magic Association is settled, that’s why).

The Masters :

Emma Bloodoath : The adoptive daughter of Mujika Bloodoath, a young woman whose past is still mysterious. She is one of the only survivor of the Great Fire that destroyed half of the city she lived in and killed over 100 000 people. Due to that event, she became obsessed with saving others, even if it means killing herself in the process. Since Mujika died during her teen years, she was taken under Yuugo Sander’s wing, the son of the owner of the house she lives in as well as her English teacher. She sees him as an older brother figure and cares about him as much as he cares about her. Since she was born with magical circuits, she insisted on learning how to use magic, but could never truly use it until the Grail War. She is Saber’s master.

Ray Yuugano : A mysterious boy of Emma’s age. Uses the church’s fighting methods but also mages ones, he is registered in none of them. The illegitimate son of one of the church’s nun : Isabella, they both keep that fact a secret for the good of the church. He was born with incredibly good magic circuits, making most people think that his father may have been a great mage. Despite his look, he always carry a rosary made of jewels, each of them filled with a great amount of mana, as well as a mysterious pendant he uses to save Emma when she was almost killed by Lancer. No one knows where this pendant comes from. He also has a laced bracelet on his wrist that seems old and worn out. He is Archer’s master.

Norman Ratri : The heir of a great mage’s family : the Ratri’s. Son of James Ratri, and nephew of Peter Ratri, he was mostly raised by his great-grandmother Legravalima after his father’s death. No one knows what she did to him to make him inherit the Ratri’s powers, but it wasn’t anything good. He has the most powerful magic circuits ever witnessed to this day, but due to that, his health is greatly affected. He is also a genius and competent mage able to use multiple spells at the same time and make familiars operate like small mages. He hides all of that in order to stay close to his best and only friend : Emma. The only accessory he seems to wear is a laced bracelet on his wrist. He is Rider’s master.

Isabella Yuugano : One of the nun’s in the local Church, she is the only person in it that works within the Holy Church, specialized in “Hunting the heresy”. Despite that, she has magical circuits and seems to have mastered some spells as well as she owns a magic crest. No one dares to defy her authority, even knowing that she kept her own son close to her, as it is known that she sees him as nothing but a tool. She says she was transferred from Japan to the Church in England, but she seems to have come to the country for another reason, one that concerns her son’s Birth, as he seemed to have been conceived and born in England. She is Lancer’s master, but seems to also have another servant...

Phil : The results of numerous experimentations on the humans genes, he is not exactly human, but not exactly a homonculus either. His body seems to grow more slowly than expected, making him look like a young child, no one knows his true age. He was made to have some of the best magic circuits ever created (behind Norman), and is a very competent and merciless mage as well. Especially since in the lab he grew up in, no one exactly learned to him what was “good” or “bad”. If he needs to kill, he kills, but if he doesn’t need to, he won’t. He got surprisingly attached to Emma after fighting her, calling her his “older sister”. He is Berserker’s master.

Lucas Glorybell : Emma, Ray and Norman’s History teacher. Like Emma, he is one of the rare Survivor of the Great Fire, and has lost both an arm and a leg during that event. He is also Yuugo’s childhood friend, and cherishes him a lot… To the point of wanting to fight in order to obtain the Holy Grail to wish for Yuugo’s fiancée to be brought back to life. Despite not being a mage, he allows his servant to do anything in order to obtain enough mana for him to be efficient enough to destroy his opponent, even if it means having to kill his own students. Saber says he looks like his master from when he was younger. He is Caster’s Master.

Peter Ratri : Norman’s uncle, and James little brother. He wishes he could have become the heir after his brother’s death, but his magic circuits weren’t good enough for Legravalima, and she chose Norman instead. Unaware of what she makes the younger boy go through, he also abused of him due to the jealousy and anger. When he heard that Norman was chosen to participate in the Holy Grail War, he immediately summons a servant to also participate, without any good success. He seems to be close to Isabella, but with some distance still. He is Assassin’s master.

The Servants :

Saber : Percival (Oliver) : Emma’s servant. One of the night of the round table. He was summoned as his form after finishing his search for the Grail and losing his sister Dindrane, as such, he is more mature than how his legend used to describe him. Emma reminds him a lot of Dindrane, and it’s mostly because of that fact that he decided to swear allegance to her. as his faithful knight, he would do anything she asks him to, obeying each of her orders, but also bringing her back to the right path. Unlike his king, he doesn’t have any particular wish for the Holy Grail, if he does have one, it would be able to stay by Emma’s side even after the war is over.

Archer : ??? (???) : A strange woman hiding her face behind a demon mask. She doesn’t like being bonded as a servant and forced to obey the orders of a “kid”, but despite claiming that she seems to genuinely care a lot about Ray and his well-being, beyond her position as a servant. She is merciless, but refuses to sacrifice innocents for the good of winning the war. She seems to want Emma’s death beyond anything else, and hates her. It seems that her wish for the Holy Grail has already been granted...

Rider : Sekhmet (Barbara) : Despite what the legend says, Sekhmet is actually a demi-goddess. For years she has searched recognition from her father Râ, in vain. When this scrawny boy then acknowledge her as being worth fighting with, she is delighted. This gratitude goes way beyond loyalty to some kind of fanaticism. Some would mistake her for a Berserker, but she is definitely a Rider. Her wish for the Holy Grail would be to be finally accepted by her father as a part of the Ennead, the elite within the egyptian gods.

Lancer : Anansi (Krone) : (Finally a Fate type genderbend) Depicted as a spider, Anansi incarnated herself as a human this time. Despite her change of appearance, she kept her playful personality, mostly wishing to have an entertaining time. But even like that, she still act as a mediator between people like she used to between the gods and the humans during her time. Despite being a good fighter, she still perfer to use schemes to win. Her wish would be to simply

Berserker : Vercingetorix (Giran) : After being robbed of his country, his people, and his life after being humiliated, this symbol of the Celt rebellion against the roman empired was filled with hatred and cursed the people who did all of these to him. He was summoned as a Berserker, and intends to eliminate anyone in his master passages, this young boy reminding him of his children killed during the war. He cherishes him more than anything else.

Caster : Lewis Caroll (Leuvis) : Though his reputation as an author gave him a place to the ‘Throne of Heroes’, how people perceived him during the 70′s distorted his appearance and mind to the one of a monster. He is only the reflection of the man he used to be. His talent as a mage is… well… not the best. But his talent as an ‘universe creator’ is as good as you expect the creator of the Wonderland to be. His wish would be to have his reputation restored.

Assassin : Hassan of the Thousand-miles Sight (Andrew) : (Please don't judge the name, all Hassan’s made in fate are originals, I had to come up with something myself) One of the members of the Hassan, he is said to be able to see a small bird flying miles away, and is not only competent as a spy but also as a sniper. Beware of his attacks which might come from somewhere you don't expect them to be.

For others characters or plot point, don't hesitate to ask ! (^^)/ (People who knows me from the DR fandom knows that I’m a specialist in making killing games now) Thanks for reading !

[in-arlathan]

Lessons Learned

Time period: 9:41 Dragon Characters: Female Lavellan, Sera, Dorian Chapter: 1/1, Length: 3,492 words Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sera was wounded in an attack by the darkspawn. Refusing to let Dorian heal her wounds, Lavellan steps into help her. As she patches her companion up, Lavellan tells Sera stories from the past, remembering her father’s legacy and her responsibility as Inquisitor.

A/N: I wanted this to be a short and cute piece about Sera and Lavellan getting to know each other, but it turned more into a Lavellan backstory exploration mid-way. Buuuttt I kind of like it. If been wanting to write more about my Elenara’s time with the Lavellan clan, so I’m glad this happened. I wish you a wonderful time reading this! <3

You can read this on AO3, too.

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Even before she reaches the tent, she can hear Sera scream.

“Touch me and you'll be very sorry!” the young elf shrieks. “I don't need your help!”

“But you do,” the voice of Dorian insists. “Your arm needs proper treatment. With a quick healing spell ....”

“I said no,” Sera clarifies, sternly.

“I see the two of you are having a good time,” Elenara says as she enters the tent and takes a look around. The bedrolls are in shambles, except for the one that is occupied by Sera. One side of the tent was torn in half by a blade during the most recent fight, but someone has already patched it up. The stitches look like the job of an amateur, but they will do, at least for now.

“Inquisitor!” Sera yells. “Tell the Tevinter to go bother someone else.”

Dorian lets out an agitated huff, then turns to Elenara. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” he says. “If her wound is not treated quickly, she will catch an infection. The flesh will fester and…”

“I know,” she replies and places a hand on Dorian’s arm. “I’ve seen wounds like these before.”

“Then you know how dire her situation is,” Dorian says. “She is lucky the darkspawn didn’t give her the blight. But even something simple like the cut of blade can be fatal.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” Sera grumbles. “Thanks for reminding me how lucky I am to be alive. If we had people guard the camp, like I said, we could’ve fought them in no time.”

Elenara swallows, steeling herself against Sera’s wrath. As much as she hates to admit it, her companion is right. There should have been soldiers patrolling the perimeter. It was her, Elenara, who had chosen to not give the command.  She was under the impression that their recent conquest of Caer Bronach was enough to keep her troops safe, but she was wrong.

So very wrong.

While she and three of her companions were out scouting for any sign of Hawke and his mysterious contact with the Grey Wardens, a group of darkspawn had emerged. They had attacked the camp shortly after sunset when all of the soldiers were preparing for the night. Only a small number of scouts had been set for the nights watch, all of them killed by genlock archers. It was thanks to Dorian, Sera, and the Iron Bull that the camp was not erased from the face of the earth in its entirety. When the darkspawn had crept up the hill and murdered more and more scouts, they had taken command over the remaining soldiers to prevent them from panicking. With fire and iron and a cascade of arrows, the three of them had managed to cast back the tide of tainted creatures.

Their bravado saved them. Yet, most of the tents were torn down or shredded. Dozens of new requisitions were destroyed. Even some of the food supplies took serious damage. Now, the group will need to ration until new goods arrive from Caer Bronach.

There is a bright spot to this mess. Considering the number of darkspawn that attacked the camp, the damage to the people and the supplies could be a lot bigger. Still, Elenara hates herself for not expecting an attack in the first place.

“It’s no use to thinking about what could have been,” she says, not quite sure if she is talking to her companions or herself. “I’m just happy you’re alive and well. As for the wound,” she nods towards Sera, “I can take care of that, if you like.”

Sera’s brows furrow in a way that seldom means anything good. For a moment, Elenara expects the younger elf to jump up from her bedroll and through a temper tantrum. But instead, Sera simply lets her shoulders drop and sighs deeply.

“Alright, patch me up,” she says. “As long as you don’t use magic. Don’t want any of that frigging stuff near me.”

“Don’t worry, I have as much magical talent as a nest of nugs,” Elenara assures her with an encouraging smile. To Dorian, she adds. “Please bring me water, a bottle of alcohol – the strongest you can find – as well as threads and a needle. Oh, and also a clean piece of cloth, if you can find one in this mess. The lieutenant should know where to find these things.”

Dorian’s gaze flicks to Sera, then back to the Inquisitor. “Fine,” he breathes, finally giving up on forcing his magical help on Sera. “I’ll be back.”

“Thank you, Dorian.”

“You’re welcome.”

The Tevinter mage secures his staff behind his back and steps outside. The tent’s flaps rustle as they fall back into place.

Once they are alone, Elenara steps up to Sera’s bedroll and drops to her knees beside it. “Let me take a look,” she says softly and gestures towards Sera’s wound with one hand. Reluctantly, the younger elf lowers the old piece of cloth someone gave her to stop the bleeding and lets Elenara examine the cut on her right upper arm.

“It’s deep, but it looks like the blade didn’t hit the bone,” Lavellan explains. “I’ll sterilize the wound with alcohol and stitch you up. It’ll hurt for a while, but when you give yourself a little time to rest, everything should be back to normal soon.”

Sera gives her a quizzical look but is robbed of the chance to say something when Dorian returns.

He hands Elenara a small satchel containing various items including a waterskin, a bottle of Antivan brandy and a sewing kit. Miraculously, he also found a piece of cloth that was relatively clean.

The tools are far from ideal, but she will try her best regardless.

“You’re sure you can manage with that?”, Dorian asks, sounding skeptical. “Shouldn’t we send for a healer from a nearby village or something like that?”

Elenara shakes her head. “We’re too far out in open country,” she replies. “Even on horse, it would take a day to get back to Crestwood to get help. We cannot wait that long.”

Sera lets out a huff. “That’s reassuring.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve stitched up people under more adverse conditions.”

That gets both Sera’s and Dorian’s attention. “How so?” the younger elf asks, seizing Elenara up and down. “Thought you were a hunter or something before joining the Inquisition?”

Elenara removes her gloves and cleans her hands with a few drops of water from the skin. “That’s right,” she admits, then starts to imbue the cloth with the Antivan brandy. “This might hurt a bit,” she warns and presses the soaked cloth onto Sera’s wound.

The younger elf inhales sharply. “Andraste’s breeches!”, she hisses. “‘A bit’? That’s a frigging understatement.”

“You wouldn’t have to endure this if you’d just let me use magic on you,” Dorian points out, lips twisted in a disgruntled way.

“Your magic can go endure itself,” Sera spits, then comes up with more colorful swearwords as Elenara’s cleans her wound. “Holy shit-crap… Maker…”

Despite himself, Dorian laughs.

“Hold still,” Elenara says as gently as possible. “I’m almost done.”

She rubs the wound one more time, then tugs the cloth in her belt and reaches for the sewing kit. With the needle between her lips, she measures an arm’s length of yarn from the reel and yanks it off. It takes her two attempts to thread the needle, but then she is good to go. Out of practice already? she askes herself.

Before she gets to work, she grabs the bottle of brandy and holds it out to Sera.

“Here, have a sip and relax. What comes next won’t be very pleasant either.”

“Oh, great…” Sera moans. The young elf takes a giant gulp from the bottle and shakes from head to toe as the alcohol burns its way down her throat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dorian says. “Now that our young archer is in safe hands, I can go and find some other way to clean up the mess these darkspawn made.”

Elenara gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, Dorian. I appreciate that.”

He dismisses her gratitude with a casual wave of the hand and sly smile. “Don’t thank me yet. The night is still young, after all. If we don’t find the darkspawn nest, everything can go tits-up as our young friend here likes to call it,” he says.

“Well, it’ll be great, if it didn’t.”

“I agree,” he says, a soft glimmer in his eyes. “See you later, Inquisitor.”

And with that, he leaves.

She takes in a long breath, then turns to Sera once more. The young elf watches her intently, the corners of her mouth pointing downwards in an expression that got caught somewhere between anger and suspicion.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Sera says and rolls her eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” Elenara promises and leans forward. Ever so carefully, she punctures Sera’s skin with the needle and pulls the thread through. Fully focusing on her work, she doesn’t hear Sera hiss and swear under her breath as Elenara patches her up, stitch by stitch.

She is halfway through, when Sera looks at her once more and Elenara’s gaze flicks up to meet hers. Some of the anger has vanished from her companion’s face, she notices. It is a relief, truly. More than she likes to admit. There are days, in which Elenara half expects Sera to steal her breeches and pepper her body with arrows just for being “too elfy”.

“How did you learn to stitch up people like that?” Sera asks.

“Back with my clan,” Elenara explains. “Hunters cut themselves all the time. Sometimes they slip and fall, scraping themselves on a rock. Sometimes they run into bandits and have to fight them off. More often than not, they get cut by a knife or stabbed with an arrow, with no time to get back to camp. That is when a talent for needlework comes in handy.”

She waits for Sera to say something, but when her companion stays silent, she continues.

“Most of my practice didn’t come from patching up other hunters, though,” she admits and lifts her chin, so her companion can see the ragged scar that runs from Elenara’s left ear down her jawbone. “I was twelve when my father took me out on a hunt for the first time. He told me to set up traps in the forest and I did as he commanded, but I was not what you would call focused. My mind wandered around, thinking about this and that, no care in the world. I didn’t hear the bear coming for me until it was too late.”

Sera’s eyes go wide. “You fought with a bear? As a girl?”

“I was attacked by a bear,” Elenara corrects. “When I heard it charging, I sprang to my feet and turned around but I had no time to draw my bow. The bear jumped toward me and all I could do was dodge. Then I felt a sharp pang at my jaw and blood spilling over my chin and neck. The bear had hit me with one of its claws and cut my skin in half.”

“Ugh!” Sera exclaims. “Sounds nasty.”

“It was. I only survived because my father was close-by and took down the bear with three clean shots. I was still lying on the ground with blood gushing all over my clothes when he killed it.”

“He was quite the archer, your old man, then?”

“Yes, he was.”

“And he made you patch yourself up?” Sera asks, curious.

Elenara nods. “My father could have brought me back to camp for our keeper to take care of my injury, but he didn’t. Instead, he took me to a small creek in the woods where I could wash my face and told me to stitch the wound myself. So you may learn to take better care next time, he told me.”

Sera snorts. “How very kind of him.”

“He wasn’t wrong, though.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“My father wasn’t the best hunter in my clan because he was could shot a deer from twenty leagues away. He was the best because he had nothing but the deepest respect for all living things,” Elenara says as she goes back to work. “And while I sat by the creek and tried to stitch my own wound, he told that even predators such as bears had their place within the natural order of things. To him, it was obvious that, in my carelessness, I had posed a potential threat to the bear. Therefore, it was only natural for the beast to attack me. It wanted to fend me off to protect itself. I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I knew I had disappointed him. The only good thing to come of this was that I never trod lightly in the forest again, afterward.”

Elenara feels her cheeks color as she remembers the expression on her father’s face. Even after all these years, she still felt the pang of guilt that had hit her that day by the creek.

What would he think of his daughter now?

She had gotten an entire squad of Inquisition soldiers into trouble with her recklessness. And not only that, if her friends hadn’t been there to fight in her stead, the entire camp would’ve been wiped out. It was the bear attack all-over again. She, wandering around, lost in thought, too carried away to remember even the most basic dangers of this world.

Take better care next time, she hears him say.

Elenara makes the final stitch on Sera’s arm and ties the loose ends of the thread into a knot. “Done,” she announces and cleans the needle with a few more drops of water before putting it back into the sewing kit.

Sera leans forward and tries to examine her wound.

As a moment of silence falls between them, Elenara sits down cross-legged and reaches for the Antivan brandy once more. First, she smells at the bottle, then she takes a sip. The liquid tastes sickly sweet in her mouth and burns like fire, but it’s just what she needs right now. It had been years since she had thought about her father, let alone talked about him.

“And after that first one?”, Sera wants to know and points towards the scar on Elenara’s chin. “Did you patch up other people?”

“Oh, lots of people. Almost all of the hunters, to be exact,” Elenara tells her, setting the brandy aside to put her gloves back on. “I became quite proficient at it after a while. But I started by fixing old armor and clothing. I even sewed a dress once, just to get the hang of things.”

Sera snickers. “You didn’t!”

“Damn well I did,” Elenara says with a grin. “Fetched a decent price on the market in Ansburg, too. Anyway, learning to sew turned out to be pretty valuable. My hands became steadier and my focus increased. It showed in my hunting as well. Though I never reached my father’s level of perfection my father, I became a good enough hunter. I brought home food for my clan and sold some of my clothes in the human villages to help us out with solid coin. It was a good life. A simple life.”

“Hm,” Sera muses, blinking in surprise.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she admits. “All the Dalish I met had were all snobby about the old history and legends and whatnot. ‘We are so much better than you, city elves are weak, over-through the shemlen overlords, you stupid muffs, all that rubbish. Nothing but blah blah blah. But you are not like that.”

“You know that I do honor the elven gods?” Elenara asks in careful tone.

“Yeah, you’re elfy, I get that,” Sera snaps. “But you don’t shove it up people’s arses. You treat everyone with respect and kindness, let them believe what they want to, even if’s nuts.”

Despite herself, Elenara chuckles. “I aim to please.”

Sera giggles. “Was that a hunting joke? Because aiming… haha, y’know…”

“Err…”

“Anyway,” Sera cuts her off. “Thanks for helping me. And for the chat. It’s nice to know your just a person like the rest of us. Your father sounds like a good person.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it, too,” Elenara admits.

She puts the cork back on the bottle of Antivan brandy and tugs it under her arm, together with the cloth and the sewing kit. The waterskin she leaves for Sera to drink.

“I leave you now,” she announces and gets to her feet. “You should get some rest. It’ll help the wound heal.”

“Sounds good to me,” the younger elf says, yawning. Elenara has no doubt that her companion will fall asleep in no time.

She gives Sera one last smile, then draws back the flaps and steps outside. The night air is cold and her breath rises as white mist from her nose and lips. Around her, the camp is still bustling with soldiers trying to get everything back to normal. None of her other companions is in sight. She suspects they have gone out to find the darkspawn nest, just like Dorian told her.

She hurries over to the requisitions table and places both the Antivan brandy and the sewing kit in one of the barrels the soldiers use for storage. The cloth with Sera’s blood, on the other hand, she simply tosses into the campfire and watches it burn in the flames. A part of her wishes for them to take the feeling of guilt and shame from her as well, to burn it away like a hot blade that cauterizes a wound, but when the cloth has turned to ash, she still feels miserable.

Her thoughts keep coming back to her father. In her memory, she hears him laugh at a joke one of the hunters made. She remembers him holding her tight after a terrible nightmare, singing songs and telling tales. When he died, it had hurt her deeply and although the wound was sealed, she knows that it will never fully heal. Elenara will carry the pain of his loss in her heart for the rest of her life. All she could do was to remember what he had taught her.

I will take better care next time, she thinks as she stares into the flames.

She wonders if things would be different if she had stayed with her clan, back in the Free Marches. Would she still hunt with them, searching for a moment of solitude in the woods whenever she got the chance? Or would she pack her things and leave for Ferelden to help seal the breach? Would she even care what happened in the south? She isn’t sure anymore. Her entire life had flipped upside down when she stepped out of the Fade. The days in which her only concerns had been sewing a dress for one of the children or setting up traps seemed so long ago.

Still, the Dalish had made her. Their stories and customs, their culture and lore are ingrained into her very being and the fact that she is one of them gives her a unique perspective on the matter of things. She might as well make use of it and try to move the world to a new place.

With time, she might create a world that would benefit everyone, not just humans. A world in which the Dalish no longer needed to run for their lives and no city elf was made to suffer in an alienage. She would do what everyone deemed impossible, and in doing so, she would put her father’s teachings to good use.

I hope you will be proud of me, then, she thinks and the pain subsides.

“Your Worship!”

It is the camp’s lieutenant, a short and sturdy human.

She turns to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Word from Seeker Pentaghast,” he tells her and salutes. “The scout says, she and the rest of your party have found the origin of the darkspawn in a cave to the south-east. Seeker Pentaghast wants to know if you care to join them.”

For a moment, Elenara ponders with the idea to send the scout back to tell Cassandra she is on her way. But then again… she still wears her armor, doesn’t she? All she needs is a new quiver full of arrows and a new set of healing potions.

“Sure,” she says and checks the fit of her gloves. She makes a mental note to talk to Harritt when she returns to Skyhold. The old smith must know where she can get the supplies to manufacture proper Dalish scouting armor. “These darkspawn will attack nobody ever again.”

With that, she straightens her shoulders, ready to face another fight.

It was time for her to become who she was always meant to be.

[overlordbravery]

Right of Conscription

I started to play Dragon Age Origin’s again so I wanted to write my headcanon of my favorite Warden becoming a warden lmao. Small BG. Ulrich Cousland is a future Reaver, he’s a fucking mess, only recently 18 and thrown into trauma town which he doesn’t handle very well at all. He’s kind of a brat?? Warnings for: Murder, Death, Break Downs? Enjoy?

Ulrich never expected to encounter something like this.

He thought life would become better after he turned eighteen. 

He thought that he was going to be doing more things around the castle on the diplomatic side. He was good at talking people into things, he was good at talking his way out of things. He was gifted with the power of persuasion and his family knew that. Ulrich Cousland was made to be a Tyren. He would be his father’s successor as his brother stayed ready for battle. He was a diplomat, he made friends wherever he went and had sutors lined up wanting his hand since he was sixteen. 

He had only been eighteen for a week and now his entire life felt like it was over.

He expected to have fun exploring the life he would be living with his father out of the castle. Playing around, having fun, doing his usual flirtatious thing through the castle and getting himself into shenanigans and situations he would be able to talk himself out of.

Instead he stood in shock as he looked at Dairren lying dead on the floor with an arrow expertly shot through his heart. 

A man he had been pining after since they were boys playing with fake swords at parties, a man he finally had in his arms from a magical night… a man that was now dead. He could smell the blood as it pooled under the body, the sound of Ruffian barking becoming white noise as he just stood there. He could feel tears running down his face and turned his head to see the soldiers in Howe’s armor. He watched the one with a sword run at him with murder in his eyes, he found himself unable to do anything. 

His brain kept telling his body to move but he couldn’t budge, he just watched with sorrow as people he thought were his allies came and attacked him.

He flinched from the sound of the soldier’s scream, looking to the large Mabari hound that was biting into the man’s arm, piercing his armor and dragging the soldier away with such force and strength that it was honestly terrifying to see his dog do something like that. He looked to the soldier that began taking aim at his dog and his heart began pounding against his ribs as he ran at the soldier. Giving an enraged warcry as he grabbed his greatsword on the way and swung it up, cleaving through the air and cutting the sword deep into his targets body. 

He had never cut into human flesh before. He fought rats, he’s hunted animals, he’s cut through dummies. But hearing the sound of ripping and weak armor. Listening to the sound of tearing flesh that squelched as his target cried out in pain. Feeling and smelling the fear and gore, and the mess that came with it was indescribable. 

He was panting as he stood there, feeling the warmth on him he didn’t know if it was the blood of his enemy or if he pissed himself until he pulled away enough for the man to fall. He glanced down to see the blood all over him as the man moved his hands to try and pull his destroyed organs back inside of himself. Panic on his face as he stumbled back and fell to the ground crying and begging like the pathetic filth he was.

He was always told when he took a life he would feel scared, panicked, gross, something negative. But as he watched the man die from the wound he gave him, as he listened to Ruffian tear another man to shreds he found himself feeling empty. He felt void of emotions, his limbs felt numb, the blade in his hand felt heavy, and the blood that coated his naked body felt cold. He heard a door open and moved, grabbing the sword in both hands as he got into the stance he was taught only to see his mother running out of the room geared for war.

“Ulrich.” She looked at him and his arms went limp as the greatsword dropped. He felt those tears in his eyes again as his chin trembled. She looked at him with sorrow and he moved and hugged her. Feeling her pat him on the back as his body shook she eventually pushed him back. “You need to get clothes, and we need to defend our home.”

“They’re Howe’s men.” He said it through tears as he moved one hand to wipe the tears from his eyes. Choking on a sob as he moved to his room, looking to Dairren as emotions filled him in a harsh wave that had him feeling sick to his stomach. He dropped his sword and stumbled off to the side of his chamber where he began to throw up in the corner, choking on stomach acid and bile as he moved one hand to the wall. The other slowly moving to wipe his mouth off, he could hear his mother and he slowly stood up straight.

“We need to hurry, Pup. Do you know where your father is?” She asked in worry and he slowly looked over towards her with tears brimming in his eyes. He shook his head while finally throwing on clothes as quickly as he could.

“No… no I haven’t seen him since saying goodbye to Fergus--” They both looked at each other with wide eyes and he watched his mother took off in a run across the hall. He grabbed his sword and quickly followed after, watching her throw the door open to see Oriana and Oren dead on the floor. Oriana laying over Oren as if the two of them were cut down together. He watched his mother fall to her knees with a scream of agony and sorrow.

“They’re not even taking prisoners! Who slays innocence!?” All that pain and sorrow began warping as he stared at their dead bodies. He gripped the sword tightly in his hand as he turned his head towards the door that lead to the rest of the castle.

“I’m going to kill Howe.” Anger in his voice as he moved for the door, kicking it open with a roar of anger and rage. His eyes locked on the soldiers who were there who jumped in surprise from the entrance. “I’m going to kill all of you!” He shouted in rage as he ran forwards, a loud war cry leaving his mouth as he ran forwards and cut the archer near in half as he moved to nock an arrow. He turned to look to his next target, yanking his greatsword out of the archer he raised the sword above his head and brought it down in a heavy strike.

The blade cutting between the man’s shoulder and neck. He watched him sputter on blood and was panting, his arms shaking as he turned his head to look to the next person who was running at him, about to take a swing only for Ruffian to tackle him and tear into his face until the man moved just right for him to get his throat. He kicked the man off his sword and stumbled forwards, blade dragging across the floor as he moved forwards. Panting heavily as he looked to another archer who came through the far door only to take an arrow through the throat from his mother.

“I’ll make them all pay.” Grinding his teeth as he gave Landra’s corpse a glance from where it lay in the guest bedroom.

---

Pain… Pain triggered a primal rage within him. He stood there with his sword stabbed into the mage that burned him. Pinning her to the floor like a butterfly as he stomped on her face until she became unrecognizable mush under his shoe.

“Ulrich.” He kept stomping down on her head until he felt a cold wet nose touch his hand, he turned his head to look at Ruffian who was pressing his nose against him before giving his hand a firm lick. He moved to pet him on the head.

“I’m sorry.” He felt that rage leaving him, wincing he moved his hand to his side looking to Sir Gilmore who moved closer to them.

“You need to go, Duncan took Bryce towards the kitchen last I had seen them. We’ll hold the doors to prevent them from getting through--”

“They already got through!” Ulrich snapped turning to look at Gilmore who held a look of surprise. “They already got through, they killed… Maker they killed Dairren… and Orianna, and Oren, and Landra, and every fucking servant who lives here! Because Howe knew we would be undefended he fucking!” He moved to punch one of the stone pillars with a cry in anger and pain from how much that actually hurt.

“Ulrich.” He looked to his mother as he panted and stared at her. “We need to go.”

---

“Bryce!” He watched his mother ran to his father’s side. Looking to the mess of blood spilling all over the larder he knew that he wasn’t going to make it, he was dying as they had their sorrowful and tender moment. Declaring love for one another, he turned towards the door when he heard footsteps getting ready to attack and only pausing when he saw Duncan come in the room. Holding his hands up in surrender, showing he meant no harm, Ulrich slowly lowered his sword.

“Howe’s men have surrounded the castle.” Then they were dead. He knew it but no one seemed willing to say it, he moved finally to join his mother and father in the corner, kneeling down and looking to the wound on his father. Hand reaching out to place it on the man’s shoulder to try and offer comfort to him. “They have yet to discover this exit, we can use it but it will still be dangerous.”

“What of my father?” Ulrich asked with pins in his throat, watching the solemn silence that filled the larder he shook his head. “We can carry him.” He wanted him to come with if they were going to attempt this suicide mission anyway. Then he didn’t have to die like some sick dog in a goddamned cellar.

“I won’t make it, pup.” He hated that, that they still decided to call him his childhood nickname while they stood covered in blood. After he lost everything about his childhood so quickly… He could feel that anger again as he got up and began to pace trying to think. He had to think about this and plan how to get them all out of here. “Duncan, you owe me no favors, but please get my wife and son out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Ulrich said it but it seemed to go unheard through Duncan replying.

“I must ask something of you in return. You know I came here seeking a recruit.” Ulrich could feel their eyes on him and he gripped the handle of his greatsword while looking between them. There was no way they were talking about him… “Your son has more than proven himself, fighting through Howe’s men to get here. It feels like it’s meant to be--”

“Don’t.” He said it soft looking between them.

“I… I understand…”

“I didn’t kill people to be a Grey Warden.” His voice trembled as they had the audacity to ignore him while talking about his future. 

“You have my blessing.” Ulrich felt the anger and sorrow spike as he stepped forwards and shook his head.

“No!” He shouted it getting a look of surprise from his father. “I am not leaving you! I am not going to turn my back on my home to go be this asshole’s squire!” He shouted while pointing at Duncan. “I am a Cousland, this is my home, you are my family!”

“You needn’t die here, Ulrich!” He looked to his mother in surprise from where she sat with his father. Holding him and his wound to try and help him live just a little longer. He swallowed back his own tears and shook his head. “You can find your brother in Ostagar.”

“Please don’t do this to me, don’t--”

“Ulrich, I understand how you must be feeling--” He slapped Duncan’s hand away when the man tried to touch him.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me you understand how I feel!” Ulrich shouted at him watching how Duncan stood up straight with a soft sigh. Tears were streaming down Ulrich’s face as he began trembling from exhaustion and stress and trauma. “You have no idea how I feel!”

“Please, for me.” He looked to his dying father, seeing the color draining from him. He could see how tired and exhausted he looked, Ulrich turned to look towards the door of the Larder. Taking a stance to protect them as he got ready for whoever was coming.

“I am staying here. And I am protecting you until my dying breath.” He said the words firmly even though he felt anything but. He felt like he lost that, he didn’t feel like he had much fight in him, he felt like he had been fighting for days despite it not even being half an hour since he watched Dairren die right in front of him. “I’m not losing any more people I care about.”

“You have left me no choice but to invoke the Right of Conscription.” Ulrich gasped when Duncan picked him up around the waist, easily adjusting him to his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!” Ulrich kicked his feet as the man began heading to the secret exit. The man paused and Ulrich looked from him towards his family.

“I love you so much.” Their words felt so final, and he could feel those tears in his eyes as he struggled on Duncan’s shoulder.

“No! Wait! Mom! Dad!” He reached a hand out for them as Duncan carried him down the secret exit. Ruffian whining as he followed after them. Ulrich felt empty as he stared out behind them, knowing his parents were dying. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He used his free hand to fist the back of Duncan’s shirt as he heard the sounds of his parents dying, he cried heavily. Losing every bit of composure he had left as he pressed his face into Duncan’s back. Openly sobbing as Duncan picked up the pace to make sure to put enough distance between them.

[producermokyo]

20cm Part 1. (AkemiXKaguya With Ur-Nungal.)

           “Nungal.” The tall blond hair boy gets the attention of his half-brother.

The part god looks up from his handheld gaming console, those brown eyes studying the teenager.

“I did not know you were back already. Fucking hell, I barely recognized you Akemi. Puberty hit you like a truck.”

It’s true, before he went off to Camelot, he was at least three inches shorter, his voice was a lot higher, and his hair was long and unkept.

Now? He’s standing taller, his hair is much shorter, it seems as if he has more confidence.

“I just got back from school yesterday. I’m on winter vacation. For Christmas.”

“Ah, I remember school.”                                                          

“You’re a demigod.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t go to school kid.”  Nungal reminds Akemi. “It’s rare you actively seek me out. What do you need kid?”

Shit, is it really that obvious? Well, it is true he’s not even supposed to be here talking to Ur-Nungal. If his father found out….

He doesn’t want to have that conversation….again.

“Kaguya’s coming home this evening.”

“Kaguya?” The Archer ponders for a moment. “Oh. Rehbo? Reno?”

“It’s Rehoboam.” Akemi corrects Nungal. “If I can remember your stupid name, the least you could do is remember her real name.”

Waving his hand, Nungal powers off his console. “I can never understand the Hebrews. Anyway, what about her?”

“Um…I would like to ask her out. On a date. Properly.”

Silence.

So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“So, you wanna get your dick wet kid?” Nungal bluntly asks.        

Heat rises to Akemi’s cheeks.

How can he be so honest all of the time?! Did he learn that from Gilgamesh?!

“N-No.” Wait, he kind of does. “I mean somewhat, but-“

Understanding the situation, Nungal nods his head. “And you want big brother Sian’s help. Gotcha. I understand the situation perfectly!”

Somehow, Akemi doubts that.

“I just need advice.” Akemi admits. “I don’t want to ask my father, much less your father for help. I would just get laughed at if I asked Gilgamesh for help.”

Nungal can’t deny that.

“Have you confessed at all? Kissed her? Anything?”

“No.”

Hoo boy. Okay, Nungal thinks to himself.

“Has she mentioned anything that she would like to have for Christmas?”

Nungal ponders for a minute.

“She mentioned some perfume. Uh one sec, let me see what it’s called.”

Digging through his pocket, he pulls out his phone, quickly reading old messages, before pulling up a picture to show Nungal.

“It’s this. Something called Chanel No.5. I dunno, I’ve never heard of it before she mentioned it.”

“I’m gonna Google it, in order to see how much it is. Maybe we can sneak into town, and buy it really quick.”

Honestly, Akemi is a bit surprised at Nungal’s kindness. Past the arrogance, and the flamboyance, maybe he’s actually an okay guy.

“You would do that for me?”

Nungal shrugs. “Yeah, sure, why not? I have money to burn, and you’re my baby brother. Our fathers may not see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean we have to be like them.”

Huh. That was actually kind of wise, perhaps he was a king who-

“Besides, if you shoot your shot and miss, that makes me look bad.” The king teases. “Can’t have that, can we?”

…And that arrogance is back, as quickly as it left.

This guy never changes.

“Boy!” A familiar voice calls, sending a shiver down Akemi’s spine.

Gilgamesh. The King of Heroes. Nungal’s father.

Checking his phone once more, Nungal sighs.

“Shit kid, I’m sorry. I forgot I promised I would go back to my homeland with my father to take care of some issues there. Is there any way we can do this tomorrow?”

“Kaguya’s only here for today! She goes to Jerusalem for a week to do some ritual there!”

“I’m sorry Akemi. Really, if-“

“What’s this?” That commanding voice asks, “If it isn’t the mongrel king’s son.”

“King Gilgamesh.” Akemi greets half-heartedly.

“You are harassing my boy, child.” Gilgamesh warns, those snake eyes staring him down, as if he’s the worst thing in the world.

Harassing? Yeah right, he was just lazing around!

“It’s fine father. He was just asking a question.” Nungal promises, in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“Oh?” Gilgamesh glances at Nungal, before returning his attention to Akemi. “And what was that?”

Bully.

This man is a bully.

“Father let’s go. Come on, leave him alone. Maybe have a conversation with mother about your issues, instead of taking it out on-“

“You dare tell me what to do boy? Know your place.”

“I was simply asking for advice. That’s all.” Akemi assures the King of Heroes.

“About? How to betray an ally, like your rat of a father?”

Akemi let’s the insult go. It’s not worth getting into an argument over.

“I was asking Nungal for advice, about how to court Kaguya.”

“The King of Mages daughter?”

“See father? That’s all it was. He wanted to buy her a present, this perfume here.” Nungal manages to get Gilgamesh’s attention to show him the brand of perfume. “I wanted to take Akemi to buy it, but..”

Gilgamesh stares at Nungal’s screen for a moment, looking at Akemi once more.

Akemi holds his breath in, as the arrogant king, tilts his head up towards him. His heart rate quickens.

Please, don’t tell him he’s going to have to fight his way out of this mess…

Sighing annoyedly Gilgamesh pushes him gently. A gate forming above Akemi’s head.

“Hold out your hands child.” Gilgamesh orders, and Akemi does so without hesitation.

Instead of his hands being chopped off like he expected, a small box hits the palm of his hands.

“If you truly care about that girl. You would do well to give her that. It is perfume infused with orange blossom, Amberwood, and gold specks.”

“Y-You’re just giving this to me…?” Akemi asks, speechless.

“You have your mothers face.” Gilgamesh says plainly. “You would be much less of an eyesore, if you dyed your hair brown.”

With that, the golden king, and his heir walk away, leaving the young prince speechless.

He really can’t screw this up.

Or he’ll have Gilgamesh over his head.

[pyropsychiccollector]

Fate Zero: Part Two

            To say Erza Scarlet’s time in the modern had been “interesting” would be… a giant understatement. Her short time at the Einzbern castle in Europe, while short, was at least a location and setting she was familiar with; she’d been to a few castles, in her lifetime. It all boiled down to little things, really – the modern ways of preserving and serving food, modern appliances and utilities, and especially modern technology…

            None of it was powered by Magic.

            Now granted, there was nothing wrong with that. It was a sign that times had moved on, and people had managed to find ways of surviving and living without Magic as an everyday commodity. It was like Edolas in a way… only Erza had never expected her world to go the same route that Edolas most likely did. Certainly, without Magic powering weapons, it could be argued that they grew “weaker” in some aspects… But it could be argued that weapons without Magic could be just as effective, if not more dangerous. If one was attuned with Magic, they could detect Magic-powered weapons with some training; it was harder to see them coming from the shadows without Magic.

            … And she supposed that was what most concerned her about Kiritsugu. He was an assassin. A fighter. He wasn’t going to play the typical “support” role that most Masters adopted in Grail Wars. As much as she would like to believe that she could and would receive help from his quarter, it wasn’t going to be in the way that she would have preferred… He was having Irisveil play as a figurehead for that role, to fool the other Masters. That meant she would need to devote all her energy to protecting Irisveil… and not Kiritsugu, who would mark her end in this war if he acted too rashly and got himself killed.

            That wasn’t even getting into what he would be trying to get into with the other Masters and Servants… Erza could only hope that, somewhere in the deepest vestiges of Kiritsugu’s seemingly empty heart, he would show mercy to the opponents that deserved it. Though Grail Wars were inevitably bloody and merciless… Erza really was holding out hope, even for enemy Masters who may not deserve her sympathy. The Grail could have chosen anyone, and they may have an equally noble wish for the Grail; there was no need to slaughter such people, at least in her mind.

            … It really made her think of and yearn for the “simpler” days she had in life… When everyday was just going to be another adventure, and not one that would possibly lead to cruelty and bloodshed.

            ~*~

            “Tokiomi.”

            The aforementioned mage looked up from the report he was writing and bowed respectfully.

            “Ah… Master Hades. Is there something I can do for you?”

            Archer crossed his arms as he stared at Tokiomi critically.

            “I have heard many reports about the Masters and Servants by now, from both you and Assassin… I have heard your assessments, the key locations where the Grail may be formed, and I have even heard your understanding of what the other Masters desire of the Grail. What I have not yet heard is your own wish – what you would ask of the Grail, should I allow you to touch it after claiming victory over the other Servants… Tell me. What is your goal?”

            Tokiomi rose up from his bow and returned Archer’s gaze, meeting his eye.

            “It’s simple in concept… For generations, the Tohsaka family has attempted to reach what is called the Root. It does not exist in this world, but outside of it – that is why, if I can claim the Grail, I can say with certainty that I have no “wish” to ask of it because what I truly desire… is the portal that it will create, once the Grail is completely formed.”

            Archer stroked his beard curiously.

            “The Root…? And what, pray tell, is that?”

            Tokiomi’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he rose up from his bow.

            “I am surprised you haven’t heard of it. In your legend, it is said that you once sought what you called the ‘primordial Magic’. To put it simply, the Root is a very similar concept; it holds all knowledge, and should one be able to reach the Root and understand it, will be essentially granted the power of a god! It has been the Tohsaka family’s noble goal to reach the Root and understand everything… This once held true for the other families the Tohsakas once aligned themselves with, but unfortunately, they have fallen from grace and chosen to pursue their dreams in this world, instead.”

            While Tokiomi provided his explanation of both the Grail War and the Root, Hades listened attentively and curiously. Considering his own goals, the former leader of the Balam Alliance had to admit – being partnered with Tokiomi was quite the fortuitous occurrence. With any other Master, he might’ve contemplated what to do in the event that his Master was either incompetent or had an atrociously shortsighted goal… But Tokiomi was neither. He gathered intelligence. Made plans. And his dream was something that Hades found he could truly appreciate – regardless of the fact if the Grand Magic World and this “Root” were different entities, the fact remained they were fundamentally the same dream. Both of them sought for ancient Magic beyond the material world, unparalleled power that was just waiting to be wielded…

            In a word: Tokiomi Tohsaka was the perfect Master. His ideal partner in this game of “heroes” battling for their sole wish to be granted.

            “Tokiomi Tohsaka.” Hades began authoritatively, once the magus had completed his explanation in full. His respect for Tokiomi grew as the man only mildly tensed under the heavy, imposing atmosphere that came with his presence. “Up until now, I had no plans to guarantee my loyalty towards you. We ‘Servants’ are often seen as disposable pawns used for the sole purpose of acquiring a cup that grants wishes… But you alone have exceeded my expectations from what to expect of the mages in this modern era. You shall have the chance to attain your family’s long-held dream – no one else shall lay a finger on the Holy Grail.”

            In response, Tokiomi could only bow deeply once more.

            “Many thanks, Master Hades…”

            ~*~

            Kariya had to admit, he felt a little strange, sitting in the park in the middle of the day. Around this time had things gone to “plan”, he probably should have been skulking about in back alleys, getting what rest he could for the eventful nighttime to come. Zouken would be watching him from the shadows, and he would be puking his guts out because of the worms inside of him.

            … But it had all been derailed. Derailed by the same wild, raggedy man that was currently pushing Sakura on the swing set like a caring father, a carefree grin on his face as she laughed in enjoyment for what must have been the first time in a long while. Just by looking at him, you would think the man wasn’t capable of wanton destruction and violence; that he wasn’t summoned with the intention of lacking a soul.

            Yet Kariya knew different. And it wasn’t just the fact that Berserker had burned down the Matou manor and wiped out Zouken and the Crest Worms in his and Sakura’s bodies… He’d gotten confirmation from Natsu himself, back on that first night after putting Sakura to bed.

            “I definitely have that ‘insanity’ enchantment placed on me. It felt so right to burn it all down… But the fact you’re my Master, and she’s an innocent kid, that’s the only thing stopping me from going on a rampage right now.”

            Natsu would be fighting. It was an inescapable fact. Kariya felt guilt over it, of course; he’d cooperated with that slimy bastard Zouken to make it happen. But Natsu told him not to worry about it – that he was used to fighting to get what he wanted, to protect those close to him. And if you believed the legends surrounding him, Kariya knew this to be very true. Natsu was not a calm, peaceful individual.

            … And yet he was great with kids, apparently. Kariya was grateful that Natsu and Sakura got along so well. Sakura deserved this reprieve, after all the hellish ordeals she had gone through because of that stuck-up bastard Tokiomi giving her away to the Matous…

            Kariya clenched his hands into fists on his lap, staring down at them. It was true that Sakura was now safe, and so he didn’t have much of a ‘reason to fight’ in the Grail War… He was perfectly capable of “wasting” the Command Seals and letting Berserker fade away, getting as far away from this Grail War as much as possible…

            “Oh yeah! I don’t mind helpin’ ya get revenge on a rotten father like that! We’ll get ‘im.”

            He’d be lying, though, if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the night’s ‘festivities’…

            ~*~

            Slowly, Kirei began to pace the small room he was in, hands clasped behind his back.

            “So, Assassin… I am sure you have had ample time to observe a few Masters and Servants by now. Tell me, what were you able to find out?”

            Over by the wall, in a dark corner of the room, Cobra cracked his one good eye open.

            “The Tokiomi guy and Archer piss me off… But, you’re probably tired of hearing me harp on about that, so… I know Rider has a kid Master. The way I understood it, the kid stole the artifact that summoned him from one of the other Masters coming, that El-Melloi guy… The kid’s a novice, no serious threat. Though Rider, who I know is Gajeel Redfox, is definitely going to be troublesome; I don’t know what it is, but he’s got his hands on something really powerful, and we’re going to need to uncover what that is.

            Cobra turned his head up towards the ceiling.

            “Then you’ve got Caster, who I was finally able to track down… I didn’t know him personally in life, but he’s a guy called Neinhart. Ditto on needing to find out what he can do, though… I don’t know if he can still do it, but I heard he was able to summon up the memories of dead people while he was still alive. That could be troublesome for us.”

            “Anything on Caster’s Master?” Kirei stopped him there.

            “Total whackjob. Serial killer, from what I gather. Nothing you or Tokiomi can’t handle, though.” Cobra grimaced upon remembering the third Servant he’d dug up information on. “… And then you got Berserker.”

            Kirei hummed thoughtfully as he remembered Tokiomi’s intelligence reports.

            “Would Berserker’s Master be Kiritsugu Emiya, or would he be Kariya Matou?”

            “Matou.” Cobra replied dully. “And before you ask – no, he’s not going to be a pushover anymore. Berserker cured his Master of those… worms… and burned down Matou manor. We’re going to need to be careful when going up against them.”

            “How so?” Kirei asked curiously.

            “Bererker’s identity is Natsu Dragneel. I don’t know who thought to summon and assign that guy the Berserker Class…But he just might give Archer a run for his money. Biggest reserves of Mana that I’ve seen yet, and he’s clearly hiding secrets. If I had to choose any of the Servants that we know about and treat them with utmost caution, it’d be him. Rider and Caster don’t give me nearly as many bad vibes as Berserker does… And Archer, he’s powerful, but I can’t even begin to imagine what Dragneel’s Noble Phantasm is going to end up being. It just might be enough to take Archer down, depending on what it is.”

            Kirei hummed thoughtfully again.

            “How very… informative. Natsu Dragneel…” Kirei trailed off, recalling the legends surrounding the Dragon Slayer – they were very well-known. The priest cleared his throat after spending time lost in thought. “Obviously, we have yet to deduce the identities of Lancer and Saber, but we have a firm grasp on all the Masters now. Good work.”

            Cobra rolled his eye.

            “Yeah, sure, two expert mages, a priest, a kid, a serial killer, a guy that used to be on the verge of keeling over, and a Magus Killer. Just one big happy family…” Cobra grumbled as Kirei dismissed him for the time being. He still wasn’t happy about being in an alliance with Archer, but it was out of his hands.

            “Kiritsugu Emiya… when shall you arrive…?” Kirei pondered to himself, once he was left alone.

            Emiya really was the one Master that he was curious about most of all. Kirei believed if he could understand the Magus Killer… he could understand what it was that he himself was seeking in this war.

            ~*~

            That night…

            “RIIIDERRR!!!” Waver yelled at the top of his lungs as he clung to one of the metal arches on the bridge they were on top of. “Get me down from here…! Right now! Take me down!!!”

            Gajeel simply rolled his eyes as he calmly sat cross-legged, looking out across the water and at the city of Fuyuki.

            “You kiddin’ me? This is a perfect vantage point to survey the land!” He made a wide sweeping gesture at the city skyline.

            “I’m leaving!” Waver continued to whine pitifully. “N-No way! T-Take me down! I can’t handle this!”

            Gajeel scoffed, unimpressed.

            “Calm down already… Waiting is a huge part of war!”

            “I wanna go… I wanna go back to England!”

            “I told ya not to be in such a damn rush…” Rider grinned and looked over toward the docks. “Ya see? Things are finally startin’ to heat up around here!”

            Rider belted out a laugh and widened his grin, turning his full attention to the battle that would soon be unfolding. Waver just looked on in bewilderment.

            “Gihihi… This is gonna be a lotta fun…!”

            ~*~

            Erza had immediately picked up on the Servant who was sending out a challenge for the others… He was doing it obnoxiously, making his pulses of Mana almost impossible to ignore. But even so, Erza responded to the challenge with gusto – Irisveil by her side. If it was a fight that this Servant wanted, he was going to get a war. She did not intend to let him escape.

            “Well, damn…” The masculine voice muttered as the man stepped out from out of the shadows, once Erza and Irisveil had arrived. He carried a single long spear along with him as he watched Erza with shrewd eyes. “Of all the Servants that could’ve been summoned, it had to be you… I knew this wasn’t gonna be a cakewalk.”

            Despite the circumstances, Erza found herself smirking.

            “You’re Lancer? I suppose that kind of fits you. I take it that’s the ‘spear of Gungnir’?”

            Lancer clicked his tongue and twirled the spear casually, holding it out horizontally.

            “I can make a bigger ice version of this easily… but I guess that’d break too often. At least this one’s got some tricks…” He did a more stylish twirl of the spear as he performed a light spin on his feet, ending his movement by pointing the spear at Erza. “I take it you got your armory of swords to back you up?”

            In response, Erza Requipped into her Heaven’s Wheel Armor, never once dropping her smirk. Lancer rolled his eyes.

            “Of course… Taking ‘Master of the Sword’ to a whole new level… I just can’t catch a break.”

            Erza quirked an eyebrow good-naturedly.

            “Surely you’re not going to just give up? What would Natsu say?”

            Lancer scoffed.

            “He’d call me ‘Popsicle’, kick my ass, and then probably screw you seven ways to Sunday… And don’t pretend he wouldn’t do the last one. You two were never subtle.” He dryly remarked, smirking as he got Erza’s cheeks to light up. “If my first enemy’s gotta be you, so be it! I got a new Master, and I’m not gonna fail him. I’m stakin’ my honor on this… whatever honor I got left, anyway.”

            Erza’s face fell at that.

            “Gray…”

            Lancer just pointed at her forcefully.

            “None o’ that. You’re gonna come at me with everything you got, or you’re gonna have to tell Natsu you took it easy on me! Which is it gonna be?”

            Erza quietly brandished a sword, pointing it at Lancer.

            “… Fine. From one proud Fairy Tail mage to another, I will take this fight seriously.”

            “That’s the only way to be.” Lancer grunted in acknowledgement, and they began their duel in earnest.

            “Be careful, Saber…!” Iri warned the redhead. “If you get wounded, I shall heal you!”

            “Much appreciated, Irisveil…” Erza smirked again, clashing blade against spear. “… But I doubt this little boy will do more than prick me on his icepick…”

            Lancer narrowed his eyes at the jab, reminded of the moniker Natsu had bestowed on him.

            “I’m not standin’ for that… I will gut you…” He growled as the scarlet knight chuckled and danced around his attacks with ease.

            On the sidelines, skulking in the darkness, Kiritsugu and his accomplice, Maiya, were surveying the battlefield.

            “Maiya… have you pinpointed Lancer’s Master yet?”

            His radio crackled back in response.

            “No… Not yet.”

            Kiritsugu peered through his sniper’s scope as he looked around. It was easy to distinguish the Servants and Irisveil, out in the open. Looking upward, at the roof of a warehouse, he spotted another figure looking down at the duel with scorn.

            “… I’ve got a visual. Roof of the warehouse on the north end.”

            The radio crackled again when Maiya managed to respond.

            “I don’t see him…? Should I get closer and take the shot?”

            Kiritsugu panned his vision before coming to stop on another figure, perched on a nearby crane.

            “No. It looks like Assassin is here, too. If you make a move, he’s going to know.”

            “What should we do?” The radio crackled yet again.

            Kiritsugu paused and thought for a good long while. They would need to execute this very cautiously… especially since Assassin’s Master could be here, too. Up on the crane, Cobra scoffed, having been listening to everything on the battlefield.

            “Stinkin’ rats… Saber and Lancer are gonna be pissed about their tactics.” He rolled his eye as he kept it trained on the duel between Servants. At least Kirei didn’t have him doing something mundane like taking out that ‘Magus Killer’… yet.

            Eventually, everyone was pulled from their musings and observations when Rider made his descent on the battlefield – Waver slung under his arm, and Panther Lily flying them both into the fray.

            “Alright…! I can’t just sit back and watch this anymore! I’m gonna fight both you knuckleheads!!!”

            “Gajeel…?” Erza and Gray echoed together, pausing in their clash as they perceived Rider landing in a crouch.

            Their attention shifted once more as yet another Servant materialized on top of a light pole, his arms crossed.

            “I never would have imagined running into so many familiar faces… But, if Fate guides us all in this grizzly war… Then I shall take great pleasure… in treading over your corpses!”

            “Hades?!” Gray exclaimed, eyes wide in shock. Erza’s mouth was agape, too.

            “I can’t believe you were summoned…”

            Gajeel, still in his crouched position, narrowed his eyes at the fourth Servant to appear. He knew others were watching, but he figured he himself was going to be the only other one to stick his nose in this…

            From the shadows, leaning against a wall with his hood up, Kariya Matou gave a mischievous smirk.

            “Kill them all…”

            The next thing everybody knew, there was a sea of flames that erupted on the battlefield before a new figure emerged from them, giving a monstrous roar as he brushed his cloak aside, revealing two heavily bandaged arms.

            Needless to say, each one of the Servants recognized the new arrival.

            “N… Natsu…!?” Erza whispered, taken the most aback by the Dragon Slayer’s participation in the Grail War. Close by, Gray gritted his teeth and clutched his spear tighter.

            “Of all the friggin’ Classes… they had to give that guy the Berserker Class…!?”

            Gajeel wrinkled his nose at how acrid the flames smelt.

            “This is gonna be a pain in the ass…”

            Hades snorted in contempt, from atop the light pole.

            “Natsu Dragneel… Even with your participation, this will be but a…” Hades trailed off as all of the Servants and Masters stared at the collection of fireballs that Natsu willed into existence behind him; for now, it was a handful, but Natsu was currently aiming his snarl at Hades. “You dare bare you fangs at me, boy? You will not live through tonight, should you go through with this.”

            In response, a single fireball was shot at Hades… one that was easily dodged by leaping high into the air, but still ended up smashing through the light pole and melting it into nothingness. Hades landed on the ground gracefully with his cowl flapping. He was unintimidated by the warning shot.

            “Very well! Nothing shall remain of your corpse!” Hades declared boldly, holding up two fingers in the form of a gun, charging Mana into his fingertips. Berserker just stood there, equally unmoved, and still willing a number of hovering fireballs behind him to stay in place.

            Gajeel, Gray, and Erza looked on, still frozen in place. Erza couldn’t take her eyes off of the Dragon Slayer that was radiating so much madness and bloodlust… it didn’t suit him. Not at all.

            Up on the crane, away from the other Servants Cobra sighed as he prepared to get comfortable.

            “Here we go…”

            Six Servants, present at the very first battlefield. It was one hell of a way to kickstart the Fourth Holy Grail War…

[bigfan-fanfic]

Banter with Tash - Sera and Dorian

Hey all! For those Dragon Age fans out there, I had some brainwaves about my OC, Tash Adaar, the Child of Andraste. In addition to my requested fics, I’ll also be posting some little mini fics I wrote of Tash, kind of like little codex entries. Feel free to request more of Tash if you’re of a DA mindset, as well as any other characters. By the way, everything relating to Tash can now be found under the “tash adaar” tag, included down at the bottom. Anyway, for the first brainwave, more banter between Tash and some of the companions!

Very long post!

Sera

TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA (irritably): What?

TASH: I get the feeling you don't like me very much. And I don't know why.

SERA: It's because... you're weird. And weird things usually get arrows.

TASH: Huh. I'll keep that in mind. Does it have something to do with me having horns? Because that's disappointing.

SERA: Wha? No! It's because you've got stupid magic!

TASH (offended; starting to cry): What? That's awful!

SERA: (confused noises)

TASH: I can't help that any more than I can having horns. You're AWFUL!

---------------------

TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA: What?

TASH: I think I figured out why you don't like mages.

SERA: You know what people who try to figure me out get?

TASH: Let me guess. Ar-

SERA: Arrows!

TASH: (heavy sigh) I'm glad you mentioned the arrows. It's part of my point. I think you don't like mages because you're afraid that they'll turn into demons or something. Well, what if I told you I was scared of archers?

SERA: You what?

TASH: When my brother and I were with the Valo-Kas, a lot of archers would see us and assume we were Qunari. Well, the Qun-following kind. And they wouldn't talk to us - they'd just shoot. I used to get so scared every time I saw a stranger with a bow.

SERA: That's... that's shite.

TASH: Uh-huh. But my brother told me that while it was okay for me to be scared, I shouldn't give up hope that the next archer was a good person who wouldn't do that. And you know what? I met you!

SERA: Huh.

TASH: And even though you're an archer, and you play mean jokes, and you don't like me much, I think of you as a friend. So maybe you might make some new friends too!

SERA: You're mad. You know that, right?

TASH: (sighs) Sure. Probably.

---------------------------

SERA: Tashy.

TASH: Huh? Me? What?

SERA: You've got that thinkin' face on.

TASH: I have a "thinkin'" face?

SERA: Uh-huh. And you know what people who make that face at me get?

TASH (bored): Arrows.

SERA: So out with it.

TASH: Can I be a Red Jenny?

SERA: (bursts into maniacal laughter)

TASH (offended): Fine. Don't listen to my amazing idea.

SERA: (laughs even harder)

TASH: Fine. You don't get to hear it! Congratulations on ruining the lives of all the people everywhere.

SERA: (stops laughing abruptly, then loses it again)

----------------------------

SERA: Tashy?

TASH: You think I'm talking to you after what you did?

SERA: (giggles, murmurs "lizards") Come on! I want to hear your idea.

TASH: No.

SERA: Fine. You can be a Jenny.

TASH (suddenly bright): Yay! Okay. So, imagine this... we teach all the Jennies to read.

SERA: What? That's it?

TASH: Uh-huh.

SERA: Alright. Not a Jenny.

TASH: Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait! Wait. If the Jennies can read, not only can they steal the dirty secrets all the nobles write down, they can train the commoners. Mother Giselle told me that the Chantry sisters only teach the kids who are going to be clergy or Templars. But now, Jennies can teach everyone!

SERA: And how does that help?

TASH: Becau-u-u-se... if the commoners can read, they can learn and share ideas. Maybe a blacksmith like Harritt comes up with a new way of making a sword. He can write down his method, and soon a bunch of commoners can learn how to do it. They can make a guild, and then the nobles will have to pay them instead of forcing them to work! And then, with reading, there's no more commoners getting duped into serving nobles for their whole lives! We can make the commoners so powerful that the nobles will be real scared.

SERA: Hmmm.

TASH: So can I be a Jenny? Can I?

SERA: You're still mad. But I'll think about it.

TASH: Yay!

----------------------------------

TASH (singing softly): “Sera was never an agreeable girl...”

SERA: Hey! I told you, no more of that or it’s the lizards in your bedroll again!

TASH: But... it’s just so catchy!

SERA: Creepy song is creepy. Get it!

TASH (to the tune of “Sera Was Never”): I understand what you are saying to me/ but I can’t seem to help but sing this song/ Trust me-e-e I am trying to stop/ but the song just keeps going on and on.

====================

(When dying) TASH: Oh no, they got Sera! or TASH (insincerely): Oh, no... what a tragedy.

SERA: Other Weirdy's down! or SERA (irritated): Come on, Tashy!

===================

(At the Winter Palace) TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA: What?

TASH: Why weren't you dancing with anyone? It's fun!

SERA: (scoffs) You like dancing with those gobshites? All Madam Fancyfoots and Lord Lacey-pants?

TASH: Why do I even ask?

-----------------------

TASH: I wish we could get back to the ball. I want to dance some more!

SERA: (giggles)

TASH: Okay... that was either a "no breeches" giggle or a "jar of bees" giggle. Either way, what did you do?!

Dorian DORIAN: Ataashi, may I ask you a question?

TASH (high-pitched): Ahhh!

DORIAN: ...Have I done something to offend?

TASH: ...Um. No? I'm so sorry! It's just... I don't meet many people from Tevinter. And I know you shouldn't believe everything you hear, but I've heard some very bad things.

DORIAN: I apologize, then. I shall refrain from disturbing you in the future.

TASH: No, Ser Pavus, I'm sorry. Please don't stop talking with me.

DORIAN: Perhaps later.

TASH: Aww....

-------------------------------------

DORIAN: You are Vashoth, yes, Ataashi?

TASH: Yes, I am. I'm surprised. Everybody always thinks I'm a Qunari.

VARRIC (if present): You... kind of are a Qunari, Dimples.

TASH: I'm not Qunari. Thank you.

DORIAN: Not a problem.

TASH: Was there anything else?

DORIAN: I was wondering that if you disapprove so much of Tevinter, what must you think of Par Vollen?

TASH: I don't exactly disapprove... I mean, I kind of do... But... Look, I'm not okay with slavery. And Tevinter has slaves. But so does Par Vollen. The whole Qun is a slavery thing.

DORIAN: Interesting. I know less than when I asked.

TASH: (sighs)

-------------------------------------

(After Last Resort of Good Men) TASH: Ser Pavus?

DORIAN: Yes?

TASH: May I ask you a very personal question?

DORIAN: ...You may ask, but I wouldn't get my hopes up for an answer.

TASH: Umm, why is it that in Tevinter, you aren't allowed to be with who you love?

DORIAN (surprised): Where did you hear a thing like that?

TASH: I... uh, I had heard some story about you... and your father..."

DORIAN (gruffly): Ah, I see. Well, I suppose that among the commoners, it matters less. But Tevinter nobles are expected to pass down their magic to children. I myself am the product of decades of careful breeding.

TASH: (to himself): Like Qunari...

TASH: Well, I hope you find it better here in the south. I think that my fathers would have liked you very much.

DORIAN: Your... fathers?

TASH: Mmm-hmmm.

-------------------------------------------------

(After the above) DORIAN: Ataashi, when you said 'fathers...'

TASH: What about it?

DORIAN: Er. You had...

TASH: Oh! Yes, I was raised by my father, a Tal-Vashoth, and his husband, a baker from Markham. My birth mother... she's dead, and I don't like to think about her. Sorry.

DORIAN: Oh. I apologize. You must miss her terribly.

TASH: Not particularly. She tried to take me back to the Qun when she saw I had magic.

DORIAN (shocked): Even knowing what they'd do to you?!

TASH (quietly): You see why I don't like to think about her? My papa, the baker, he told me that I shouldn't blame her too much. She was afraid, and I don't know how her life was. And he was a good man. Both my fathers were. They made me feel special, like I could be more than the monster my mother thought I was.

DORIAN: You aren't a monster, Tash. Your parents sound like very wise men.

TASH (chuckling): You never saw them trying to repair the roof.

DORIAN: Well, if it's any consolation, my mother is very much alive, and I don't like to think about her much, either.

TASH: It isn't, much. But thank you.

----------------------------------------

TASH: Dorian?

DORIAN: Hmmm?

TASH: You aren't mad at me for not learning necromancy, are you?

DORIAN: Perish the thought? Why should I be?

TASH: I don't know, maybe because Varric told me you were drinking last night? And I saw the look on your face when you saw me training with Commander Helaine?

VARRIC (if present): Thanks for ratting me out, Dimples.

DORIAN: I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

TASH (bursting): I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you sad! Please don't stop teaching me!

DORIAN: Tash, please! Stop crying. You are perfectly at liberty to pursue whatever course of study you wish. And besides, there is nothing stopping us from having reasonable discussions about magic despite our differing specializations.

VIVIENNE (if present): My dear Lord Pavus, too many alchemists spoil the potion.

DORIAN: Regardless of your own preferences, I am always available should you wish to ask me a question.

TASH: Thank you, Dorian. That means a lot to me.

======================

(In battle:)

TASH: Dorian! He's been hurt! or TASH: Dorian, hold on!

DORIAN: Tash, no! or DORIAN: Ataashi needs some help over there!

==================== (At the Winter Palace)

DORIAN: Were you just dancing with one of the Council of Heralds?

TASH: Is that who that was? He was very nice.

DORIAN (incredulous): I meant the lady.

TASH: She was nice, too. Everybody's been so wonderful tonight!

DORIAN: Orlais. Cutthroat nobles vying for the throne. Any of this sound familiar?

------------------

TASH: Dorian, if there's time... will you dance with me?

DORIAN: (splutters) Excuse me?

TASH: I've been trying to dance with all my friends! But Cullen was too busy with his own friends, and Josie and her sister were too busy arguing. Leliana danced with me, but then she let Lady de Launcet cut in.

VARRIC (If present): Uh... those weren't friends Cullen was with, kid.

DORIAN: Well... I'd hate for you to waste a spot on your dance card with me.

TASH (disappointed): It's fine if you don't want to dance. I just thought... maybe you'd enjoy it...

DORIAN: (sighs) Very well. One dance, and you don't pester me about seeking out the nearest glass of wine.

TASH: Hmmm.... okay! Yay! (singsongy whisper) I get to dance with Dorian, I get to dance with Dorian...

DORIAN: (sighs heavily)

[haledamage]

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: They didn't get much farther than making it out of the hills and back to the comfort of woodland and solid ground.

They didn't get much farther than making it out of the hills and back to the comfort of woodland and solid ground. They found the same site they'd used two nights prior and Cait coaxed the extinguished campfire back to life.

She then laid out Anders’ bedroll and shoved him toward it. “Go to sleep.”

“What? No!” He planted his feet to stop their momentum, but Cait was stronger than he was and he was still way too skinny.

"Anders, you are swaying on your feet. You have done more work in the last day than the rest of us combined and you're going to kill yourself trying to keep us alive." She held his face in both of her hands, trying to appeal to him as a friend so she wouldn't have to make it an order from his commanding officer. "Sleep. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

She sent Justice out to forage after giving him a brief description of a few plants that should be both edible and nearby. He looked excited at the prospect of putting his new knowledge to the test. Sigrun volunteered to patrol in case any darkspawn had also made their way back to the surface; Cait agreed, figuring it would also help her acclimate to being above ground, but sent Byron with her in case she got lost.

She sat down with a grunt and looked over Nathaniel and Oghren. Both of them were trying unsuccessfully to look hale enough to work. “How’s your leg?” she asked Oghren.

“Nothing a few drinks and a good night’s sleep can’t fix,” he grumbled. Cait raised an eyebrow at him and he added, “Really! The kid does good work. For a man in a dress.”

She studied him a little longer, but he wouldn’t give her more than that. “Fine. Can you gather firewood? We have some left from last time we were here, but it’s not enough for the night.”

“Yes, Commander,” Oghren said happily. He walked away slowly, but very conspicuously did not limp.

Cait turned her scrutiny to Nathaniel. “Can you hold a bow?”

He rolled his right shoulder and winced, then went back to holding his arm as still as possible. “I think even you’d be a better shot than I would right now.”

“I will be gracious and assume you weren’t trying to insult me.” She tried to laugh, but her ribs protested. “Help me set up camp. Between the two of us, we should be able to get it done.”

She reached for their tent to start setting it up, but Nate stopped her with a very light hand on her side. “How are you?”

Cait took as deep a breath as she was able and let it out in a slow sigh. “Bruised, but not broken. I owe Anders a lot.”

Nate smiled in the direction of the sleeping mage. "We all do. Can I see?"

"Later." She pushed his hand away gently. "When we go to bed, you can spend all the time you’d like admiring what I’m sure must be a hideous bruise."

It took twice as much time as normal, but between the two of them Cathain and Nathaniel manage to get the camp set up and sleepable by the time the others returned. Justice had found some wild parsnips, spring onions, and a rosemary bush, and combined with some of the dried meat they had in reserve, it made one of the better camp stews Cait had had in recent memory. Justice did a very bad job of hiding how pleased he was when she complimented him on the meal.

Sigrun looked around the camp, counting the tents on her fingers. “So where do I sleep? I can’t help but notice there are only four tents, but six of us.”

“Oh, you can have my tent.” Cait pointed at the tent in question. “And Justice doesn’t sleep, so he insists he doesn’t need one.”

“Then where do you sleep?”

“I share with Nathaniel,” she said carefully. She doubted the Legion of the Dead had much problem with fraternization, but Nate was technically still Cait’s subordinate and she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

She didn't get one. Instead Sigrun turned to look at Nate, sizing him up like a cow at a meat market. “Not bad. If you like ‘em grumpy. And human.”

"I’ve been told I have a type," Cait said dryly.

Sigrun winked at her. "Archers. I get it." Cait startled. That wasn't what people normally said, but… well, thinking about it, she wasn't wrong. Sigrun continued, low and conspiratory, "Good shoulders. They’re usually too self-controlled for my taste, but I can see the appeal." She sighed wistfully. She seemed much more relaxed above ground than Cait had expected. "Give me a tall girl with a big axe any day."

Cait laughed and it only barely hurt her ribs this time. "I’ll keep that in mind while I’m recruiting."

She volunteered for first watch, knowing if she laid down it would be a pain in the ass to try and sit back up. She wasn’t surprised when Nathaniel volunteered to watch with her - if he was asleep when she came to bed, he wouldn’t be able to properly fret over her injuries - but she was surprised when Justice asked not to.

“I would like to take a walk,” he said in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard from him. “Aura and Kristoff once spent time together in these woods. I would like to know them for myself and see how they match up to what I see of his memories.”

"Why didn’t you do that when we stopped here before?"

"I could not rest while there was justice to be done," he said simply, like that was just a thing people said.

"Take as long as you’d like," Cait said.

"I will be back in time for second watch," Justice nodded, a controlled and deliberate movement of his head, and then he disappeared into the trees.

"Does anyone else think it sounds like a bad pickup like when he says things like that?" Anders said with a tired grin. "Submit yourself to justice! There is justice to be done!"

"You are terrible."

"I know. It’s part of my charm. Well, I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when it’s my turn to watch." He pressed a loud kiss to the top of Cait's head. "Good night, Caitie."

She didn't correct him, but he didn't seem to notice. "Good night."

And then it was just Cait and Nate and Byron and the crickets in the deepening twilight. He sat across the fire from her instead of next to her like he normally did. She missed having him close, but her abused ribs were thankful for the distance.

"Why are you still carrying this around?" Nathaniel asked, holding up a familiar, green-gemmed ring.

Cait reached for her valuables pouch, but she knew the ring would be missing from it. "You thief! You dirty pickpocket!"

"I saw you eyeing it last time we stopped." He eyed her as he said that, curious and calculating in equal measure. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I… don't know," she said quietly, staring into the fire in contemplation. "It didn't seem right to get rid of it, but it seemed wrong to wear it too. It wasn't meant for me."

"Do you want one meant for you?"

"What?" Cait straightened up so quickly that her ribs creaked.

"Do you want to get married?" Nathaniel asked again.

He looked so sweet and sincere and Cait couldn't help but tease him a little. "Are you proposing? Because that's a bit sudden."

"No!" The panic in his voice made her feel a little better about her own racing heart. He cleared his throat and continued, "Not yet. I was just wondering. It's not something we ever really talked about. Before."

"I never really thought about it before." She paused and thought about it now. She smiled slyly. "Someday. Maybe. If the right person comes along."

They shared a look that left Cait feeling warm and then silence took the camp. She let her mind wander down the paths their discussion had opened up for her. Byron laid down next to her, wiggling and whining until she gave into his demands and rubbed his belly.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she spoke again. "It's been a long time since I've thought about the future."

Nate chuckled. "Sometimes in the Free Marches, all I had was thoughts of the future. Enough that I would lose track of the present."

Cait stared at the ring still glittering in Nathaniel's hand. "I expected I'd be dead by 25. Or in a political marriage, which is almost the same thing."

"Fergus married for love," he pointed out.

"Fergus eloped while campaigning in Antiva. Oriana was already with child by the time he came home with her." She ignored the pain in her chest that she always got when she thought of Oren and Oriana. She talked over it stubbornly until it went away. "I thought being a Grey Warden was a death sentence. More so after Ostagar. I've read the stories. The hero that ends the Blight never survives."

“But you did.” He was studying her again. He looked sad - or maybe she was just projecting.

“I cheated. Old magic and very loyal friends.”

He waited for her to say more, but she didn't know where to start. How do you say ‘my friends had sex to save my life’ and not make it sound like the craziest blighted thing ever?

Eventually, Nate let the subject drop and went back to the other one. “Did you have a lot of offers for political marriages?”

“A few.” Cait watched his face, but there was no trace of jealousy. “Bann Teagan, Bann Loren's son Dairren. Thomas.”

He recoiled from her words like they struck him, then cringed when it jostled his injured shoulder. “Thomas my brother? Are you serious?”

She giggled and nodded. “It was your father's idea. Thomas was as against it as I was, if it helps.”

“It does. A little.” He made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Maker's blood, not even in my worst nightmares did I consider that I could come home to find you'd married my little brother.”

Cait looked around the camp, at the quiet woods that were barely an hour of travel away from the Deep Roads. It felt rather like a metaphor for her life. “I keep expecting the ground to open up and take this away from me,” she whispered. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed.

Nathaniel finally walked around the fire and sat next to her. “We just spent two days in a hole where the ground literally opened up and swallowed us. I'm still here. We all are.”

She wished she had someone here she could ask advice from. Delilah, Leliana, Mother. Even Morrigan, though Cait knew her advice would be terrible. She’d spent nearly two years trying to shut this part of herself down, but it was a slipshod dam at best and Nathaniel knew better than anyone how to dismantle it. It felt like too much; she’d spent a decade in a drought and now it wouldn’t stop raining.

Nate found her hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to give you - give us the future we deserve,” he said, gentle but resolute. “It’ll be happy and safe and quiet if I have to personally kill every single darkspawn in Thedas to make it happen.”

“Romantic gestures were a lot less complicated when we were teenagers,” Cait said with a grin. She lifted his hand to her lips, the only bit of physical affection she knew she could manage at the moment without hurting one of them. It would do.

She untied her bag from her belt and placed it in his hand. “So did you find anything else interesting while you were rooting through my belongings?”

“I didn't--”

“You did,” she interrupted, but she smiled as she said it. “But it's okay. It's mostly sentimental nonsense, anyway.”

And it was. The necklace she'd been given after her Joining, another she'd gotten from the Gauntlet. Her father's signet ring. A dried sprig of Andraste's Grace. A delicate golden necklace that she'd found around her neck when she woke up after the archdemon's death. The friendship bracelet Delilah had made her when they were ten.

He pulled out a crown, simple and utilitarian in design and made of silverite. Cait covered her mouth to muffle her giggles at the sight of it. “Maker, I forgot I had that.”

“Why do you have a crown?” Nathaniel asked as he did what everyone always did when they found it: he put it on his head. It was a little too big on him, but he carried it well.

Cait considered for a moment before deciding honesty was the best policy. “Have you heard of the Dark Wolf?”

He shrugged his good shoulder. “Rumors and hearsay. It was a thief that plagued noble houses in Denerim for a few weeks. Disappeared without a trace after the Landsmeet.”

“That was me.”

“What? Caitie--”

“For the record,” she spoke over whatever he was going to follow that with, “I only took things from your father and Loghain. Well, and Bann Franderel, but he had it coming. That,” she pointed at the crown, “was supposed to be Loghain's. It was made for him to wear to the Landsmeet, since he was king-regent at the time. Very dramatic, I’m sure he hated it. I nicked it from his seneschal while he was drunk.”

“And you call me a pickpocket,” Nate said fondly.

“Takes one to know one.”

They didn’t talk much after that, just sat there in the dark, hands linked and knees pressed together and enjoying each others presence. By the time Justice returned to camp, a serene smile on his skeletal face, Cait was barely able to keep her eyes open. As soon as Sigrun stepped out of her tent to join the watch, she said her good nights and went straight to bed.

Nate helped her undress and she did the same for him. Her bruises were even worse than she'd imagined; her entire side was mottled red and purple and sickly yellow, and she was surprised it didn't hurt more than it did, that she was able to breathe at all under all of that.

Nathaniel's burn thankfully wasn't hand-shaped like she’d assumed it would be, but it still stretched from his collarbone to his upper arm and over his shoulder blade almost to his spine. Anders’ magic made it look a lot less like a fresh wound, but it was still pink and raw and would definitely scar.

She settled her hands over the hard planes of his abdomen, allowing herself that contact while keeping it far away from any injuries. His fingers threaded into her hair and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

It took a long time to find a position they could both sleep in comfortably, but fatigue from the last few days caught up to them and dragged them under as soon as settled down.

-------

The next day, Sigrun and Justice got their first experience with true Amaranthine rain. Warm and heavy and relentless, it drowned their campfire and soaked through their cloaks and armor before they'd even had breakfast. By mid-afternoon, it was enough to dampen even Cait's spirits, for all that she normally loved the rain.

The rain lasted the entire five days back to the Vigil. They traveled in the deeper woods to hide from the worst of it under the canopy, but it was still a long, miserable slog. They stacked their tents on top of each other and all huddled together under them to stay dry enough to sleep, and they ate mage-fire charred rabbits and birds since they couldn't maintain a campfire.

By the time they walked through the gates at Vigil's Keep, Cait never wanted to see another drop of rain again. She missed quiet, and privacy, and dry clothes. Even though every day was almost unseasonably warm, she was still shivering, and Anders' magic was likely the only reason she wasn't sick.

The main hall was full of people when they arrived. Cait worried at first that she'd stumbled into another unannounced meeting of the court - and wouldn't they just love that, with her doing her best drowned rat impression - but she realized quickly how many friendly and familiar faces there were.

She had a sudden face-full of silky red hair. It smelled like flowers. "You'll get your dress wet," Cait said and tried to push away, a superficial bit of protest, but the strong arms around her held steady.

"Oh, hush, and let me hug my friend," She could hear the smile in Leliana's voice. "I missed you."

Cait gave in and wrapped herself around the smaller woman. "It's good to see you."

"It is good to see you too. You look well, if perhaps a little damp." Leliana laughed musically.

A heavy, armored hand fell on her shoulder and Cait knew whose it was before she pulled out of Leliana’s arms. Loghain was very deliberately not smiling, but she could still see it in his eyes.

“Commander,” he said quietly.

“General,” she replied warmly. She had no qualms about smiling in public like he did. “I’m going to hug you now.”

“I suppose that would be amenable,” he grumbled, but he still reached for her first.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cait whispered, and he squeezed her a little tighter. Her bruised ribs protested. She ignored them. “Keeping the Orlesians in line?”

Loghain chuckled, barely audible against her sodden armor. “As well as you’re keeping the darkspawn in line, if what I hear is correct.”

“Oh come on, they can’t be that bad,” she said, but she was laughing as she pulled away.

“I guess you’ll see for yourself,” he muttered in her ear as he stepped away and gestured at a man standing off to the side, waiting stone-faced for them to finish their reunions.

The man stepped forward and saluted crisply. He had a very impressive mustache and a very serious frown underneath it. “An honor to meet you, Warden-Commander. I am Jean-Marc Stroud. I have been serving as… intermediary at Soldier’s Peak, but I felt it was time I introduced myself to you formally.”

She wracked her brain for what she knew of Stroud. Marcher Warden, or possibly Orlesian but working primarily in the Free Marches. He was a scout, or maybe a recruiter, if she remembered correctly; she vaguely recalled reading his name and thinking he should be doing her job.

She returned his salute. “The honor is mine, Ser Stroud. I hope you enjoy your stay in Amaranthine.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Stroud said. He didn’t add anything else, just watched her blankly, so she turned away from him and back to her soggy companions.

“Go get dry and warm. You have the rest of the day to spend however you wish, I’ll see you at dinner. Varel,” she called and the seneschal appeared at her side as if coalescing from thin air. “Please find a room for Sigrun and prepare the Joining.”

“As you say, Commander,” Varel said, disappearing as suddenly and silently as he had appeared, Sigrun in tow. Stroud bowed and left as well.

The rest of them wandered off toward their own rooms, except Nathaniel. “Nate, at least go change clothes,” she murmured. “I don't want you getting sick.”

“I will when you do,” he growled.

“Stubborn. Hardheaded lout,” she said fondly.

“Flatterer.”

“So Caitie,” Leliana said, voice innocent and saccharine sweet.

Cait closed her eyes. "Blight it all, I'm not ready for this," she mumbled.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

She took a deep breath, then grabbed Nate’s hand and tugged him forward. “Leliana, Loghain, meet Nathaniel Howe. Nathaniel, this is Loghain Mac Tir and Leliana.” She hoped she didn't sound overly hostile. She loved her friends, she did, she just really didn't want to do this particular introduction while she was dripping on the stone floor. Loghain gave her a commiserating look, but they both knew there was no stopping Leliana.

“Nice to meet you,” Nathaniel said, very properly. “Caitie speaks highly of you both.” He took Leliana’s offered hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Cait rolled her eyes at the formality of it all.

Over his head, Leliana and Cait had a conversation entirely in pointed looks and raised eyebrows. Is this him? asked Leliana. Please don’t be weird, begged Cait.

“Oh, you are that Nathaniel,” Leliana said slyly. “Caitie speaks very highly of you too.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cait whispered.

Nate thankfully didn’t respond and turned instead to hold his hand out to Loghain, who shook it firmly.

“You’re Rendon’s oldest, aren’t you?” Loghain asked.

“I am.” Nathaniel’s face went immediately blank. He tensed like he was about to be hit.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Loghain said softly, “and for the part I played in his downfall.”

“He had it coming,” was all Nate said in response.

“That’s what I’m sorry for.” They studied each other for a quiet moment, but Cait couldn’t read what passed between them. “He talked about you a little. Mentioned he was thankful you were still in the Free Marches. He seemed to think if you were here, you’d side with ‘the Cousland girl’ over him.”

Nathaniel looked at Cait out of the corner of his eye and the serious look on his face washed away under a warm smile. “He was probably right.”

Yes,” Loghain said, one corner of his mouth shifting enough that it could be called a smile. “So I see.”

-------

By the time Cait got the chance to change, her clothes were mostly dry anyway. She still scrubbed at her skin with a soft cloth to get rid of the cold, stiff feeling left behind on her skin by the rain, then found something clean to wear.

She'd just finished getting dressed when someone knocked on her door. "It's open!"

Nathaniel stepped inside and leaned against the door. He watched her in silence as she moved about the room.

“Sigrun survived the Joining,” she said, her back to him as she unpacked her bags to let their contents dry out. “She’s resting now.”

She could hear the relief in his voice. “Good. She seemed ready to join her comrades in death, but I hope she doesn’t get the opportunity for a long time.”

Nate stayed at the door as Cait kept working. She piled all her soggy clothes on the floor at the end of the bed. “I wonder what my mother must think,” she mused, mostly to herself, “of her only daughter spending so much of her time wearing men’s clothes. I only own two dresses, you know. Leliana bought them for me when we were in Denerim. I expect she’ll try to rectify that while she’s here.”

“I don’t think she’d care." He walked slowly across the room to her as he spoke. "I think she’d be more concerned with how much time you have to spend in armor. How little sleep you get. The knife you keep under your pillow." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "The kind of men you let into your bed.”

Cait leaned back against his chest. "Mmm, and what kind is that?"

"Pickpockets," he growled against her neck, "Grey Wardens."

"Howes?"

He laughed, low and wicked. "That too. Do you have more work to do or are you just trying to look busy?"

"I really do need to finish unpacking before my stuff starts to mildew." Her travel gear took up over half the bed. It wouldn't be usable, for sleep or anything else, until she moved it. "Otherwise I’m free for the next few hours."

"Good." He spun her around and pressed her against the door.

She gripped his shirt and used it to pull him closer until he was all she could see. "Something on your mind?" she asked coyly.

"Two weeks," he growled, pressing closer still. "Two weeks of sleeping next to you and keeping my hands to myself. Another day away and I might have gone mad."

"Hey, it's your rule, not mine." She licked her lips just for the pleasure of watching him drop his eyes to follow the movement. "There's enough room in our tent that we could have made it work."

He threaded his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back. "I don't think you can keep quiet enough for that. Might as well get rid of the tent entirely, they'd know what we were doing anyway."

"These walls are not soundproof. They already know what we're doing." She tugged on his shirt, trying to drag him down to her, but he didn't budge. "I can be quiet when I need to."

"Prove it."

She stepped around him and pushed him against the door instead. She kissed him before he could protest.

They never made it to the bed. They barely made it out of their clothes, too desperate for each other to bother with finesse or to take it slow. Cait managed to keep quiet, if only barely, burying her face into Nate’s scarred shoulder to muffle any noises she couldn’t silence.

After, Nathaniel carried her to the bed and she threw all her half-sorted belongings to the floor and they laid there wrapped up together until their heartbeats slowed.

Cait giggled breathlessly. "Is this what I can expect every time we come home from traveling? Because a girl could get used to this."

"Probably." His hand traveled her side, tracing the still healing bruise. It no longer hurt, but it was still ugly and mottled. "Or we could just stay home and do this every night."

"You do make a very compelling argument." Cait sighed contentedly. "How long do you think we have until dinner?"

"Another hour, maybe."

"Good. Good." She pressed closer to him. "I just need a little more time away from it before I have to go be a hero again. And this is definitely better than hiding in a tree."

He only held her tighter. She knew he’d stay in this bed with her as long as she needed to. Quietly, he said, “Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Sometimes. Besides the obvious, like wishing my family wasn’t dead or that I didn’t have horrible nightmares caused by a poison in my blood that is slowly killing me.” Cait said it like it was a joke, but neither of them were laughing.

She propped her head up on her hand so she could see his face. “I almost ran away with you, you know. When you left. I don’t think I ever told you that. Thomas talked me out of it. He was convinced that your father sent you away when he did because of me.”

Nathaniel thought about it for a second. “Maybe there’s some truth to that. It was less than a month before your eighteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”

“Two and a half weeks,” she said with a nod. “He was worried that your father would… retaliate somehow. Sabotage us, or your squiredom, or use it to drive a wedge between our families. Looking back at it now, I’m pretty sure he was right.”

“It’s more insightful than I would have expected from Thomas.” His eyes were distant; thinking about his brother, most likely.

“He liked to be underestimated.” Cait thought about Thomas too. He had been an almost obscenely attractive man, the kind that turned heads everywhere he went, and he’d known how to leverage it from a very young age. He was a troublemaker, always willing to go along with whatever ridiculous scheme Cait could think up, and between the two of them they could always talk their way out of it. He was a bit of a drunken cad, but he saw everything that happened around him; he could have made a good bard if he’d been born in Orlais. “I miss him.”

“Me too.”

Thomas had died a hero, in the end, protecting civilians from darkspawn in the Pearl in Denerim. He wouldn’t want them lamenting him like this - especially not while they were naked and in bed. Cait took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, clearing his ghost from the room. “I thought I'd never see you again when I let you leave like that.”

“I knew we’d see each other again.” Nathaniel brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I was always going to come back to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Nate, I--” she started, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Four blighted letters should not be so hard to say. She kissed him instead, soft and sweet, hoping that he heard them even if she couldn’t say them. He responded in kind and she knew that he did.

They were late to dinner. Anders grinned knowingly at Cait as she slid into the seat next to him. “Get lost, Caitie?”

“If you ask me what we were doing, I’m going to tell you in detail,” she threatened under her breath.

“Promises, promises,” he whispered back, but he dropped the subject.

“Can we just get down to business, please?” said Loghain over the din of conversation, taking the focus away from Cait and Nathaniel and reminding her why he was one of her favorite people in Thedas. “Your letters have been very vague. What’s this about a darkspawn civil war?”

[paladin-andric]

Blackheart, Chapter 28: Hope

Alexander stared in amazement at the admittedly incredible scene before him.

The assembled forces of Palethorn had spent a lengthy amount of preparation putting this plan into action, and it showed.

The horrific monstrosity that guarded the gates was dying. He could tell.

Earlier before, they had gathered every koutu and dragonoid that could fling a spell or fire a bow and had them sneak around the entrance plaza and fly up into positions on rooftops surrounding it. Afterwards the main force of volunteers, consisting of bowmen and magicians belonging to any species who couldn’t fly, took to the streets.

Once the signal was given, the archers and magicians stormed the plaza and opened fire, drowning the monster in a sea of projectiles.

Crossbows, arrows, knives, javelins, ice shards, lightning and balls of fire...scores of them flew from all around the area and landed onto a single target...that unholy monstrosity that had been preventing their escape since the beginning.

The terrible beast screeched as the survivors pelted it with dozens of projectiles, a dark ooze beginning to pour from the worst injuries down its wretched, ever-shifting flesh.

It was working. It was mortal now! It COULD be hurt! It COULD be slain!

As the beast attempted to recover and respond to the ambush, the next part of their plan sprung into action.

Two green dragons emerged from the alleys behind the attacking force, flying past them and crashing into the monster. The three behemoths struggled as the dragons fought the demon, using their razor sharp talons to shred through the monstrosity’s flesh.

The two dragons pinned the monster to the floor, its various limbs flailing and mouths screeching as the father and son drove their claws into it time and again.

In what seemed no time at all, the unspeakable terror ceased moving. It stopped screaming, and a thick, viscous ooze pooled around it as it lay motionless.

The bolts, arrows and magic came to a halt.The two dragons got off of the fallen demon and backed up, staring at the thing curiously.

“It is...over?” Basilrin asked cautiously.

Aurelio nodded. “Indeed. Without immortality, it falls like any other.”

“I...expected a very difficult battle.”

“It would have been, if not for our wise companions. There is strength in solid numbers and cunning tactics.”

Basilrin let out a short, nervous laugh. “I suppose not much can stand up to a firing squad…”

“Well…looks like that’s sorted,” Andric noted, a hint of surprise hanging on his words. The older man stood beside Alexander, claymore drawn and resting on his shoulder plate...though it seemed he never even needed to bother.

“You’ve commanded military forces before.”

Alexander turned to look at Crux. He raised a brow at the other man’s words.

“Was that a question?”

“A statement,” the bounty hunter replied, “I can tell.”

“Well...you’re not wrong.”

A koutu leapt off of a nearby house, landing gracefully with his wings at his side...and a bow clutched in one of them.

With the short, vibrant red cape and white robe, it took only a moment for the knight to identify the bird as Razorwing.

The hero quickly strode up at Alexander and bowed. “And that...is how it is done!”

“Not bad,” Crux commented, “But you’re-”

“Hey, we’re not done yet,” Alexander interrupted, raising his voice into a shout, “Are there any fallen or wounded?! Everyone check!”

The rooftop ambushers began to descend, koutu all flying and flapping their wings as a great many of them came down to the plaza. Alexander even spotted a pair of dragonoids among them.

“We’ve got wounded!” a voice called out.

Past the other survivors, two koutu supporting a third in between them walked forward. The one they were helping stumbled toward the knight unsteadily, head hung low.

The injured koutu was short and had plumage of varying shades of brown, from near white to borderline black. Among the bright patch of feathers on their face, there was a deep, black coloring, which the bird was clutching a taloned hand over.

“What happened?” Alexander asked, arms crossed.

“Friendly fire,” one of the helpers answered.

“Literally,” the other said, trying and failing to suppress a short laugh.

“Not funny!” the other helper barked, “Some idiot mage behind her shot fire right past her face! She could have died!”

“I-I didn’t mean to…!” a timid voice called out from the crowd. Alexander spotted a larger koutu in red robes clutching a wand, a guilty look on his face.

“Moron!” another person in the crowd shouted.

“It was an accident! I’m sorry!”

The knight sighed. “Alright. At least she’s stable. Bring her to the shellbacks back at the Citadel. They’ll fix her up.”

One of the helpers nodded. “Right. Miss...we could save time by flying down there, like the dragons did. Are you okay to fly?”

“C-carry…” she mumbled, looking delirious.

“Okay, okay, we’ll lift you there…up, just like that! Easy...”

As the burned koutu was hoisted onto one of the others’ backs, the trio took to the sky, flying off and back to the Citadel. Alexander turned to the rest of the survivors.

“Any other wounded? Injured? No one?”

“I tripped and sprained my ankle!” one of the very few dragonoids complained.

“Oh, for-” the knight shook his head, “Just go!”

The blue dragonoid unfurled his wings and took off, flying after the three koutu. Alexander rolled his eyes.

“Right...NOW there’s no wounded, right?”

The was a general murmur of agreement among the crowd.

“Great! Now...it’s time. The path is clear. The gates are liberated. Finally, we can-”

A loud snap cut the knight off. As he turned towards the source of the noise, he could see exactly what caused it...and what that entailed.

A pillar supporting a balcony among one of the several buildings in the plaza had just snapped. The entire balcony quickly began to collapse as several other supports broke under the strain.

All too soon, the entire structure was falling apart, several hundred pounds of wood and stone crumbled and fell down...right onto Leianna, who had been resting against the wall of the building.

“NO!” Alexander screamed, as the massive structure collapsed entirely, until at last, what was once a building was an enormous pile of rubble, lying beside the main plaza, and the corpse of the monstrosity.

At some point, perhaps during the battle or even as far back as the initial demon invasion, something damaged the building, causing it to later give out.

Everyone stood in shocked silence as they stared. The pile of debris...somewhere, deep under all that rock and lumber...Leianna was there.

Alexander doubted she had survived such a heavy, crushing force. It was the type of impact that tended to kill people immediately. Even if the cleric was somehow alive, it was all too likely that her lungs had been crushed, or her legs rendered useless.

Senci bolted to the ruins without hesitation, diving down and beginning to pull away small chunks of stone.

“Small one,” Aurelio ordered, “Get back!”

“What?! But she needs our-”

“I know,” the dragon answered, voice softer now, “It will take us but a moment.”

Aurelio looked back to his son. “Basilrin. Let us repay our rescuers once more.”

“Of course.”

The two dragons stepped over the fallen demon and quickly reached down into the pile of rubble, lifting out and tossing aside massive piles of splintered and broken wood and large sections of rock like they were nothing.

Aurelio’s word was no boast. In mere moments, so much had been moved aside that as Basilrin moved another large section of stone, a figure burst through some of the torn-up wood below it.

Leianna, amazingly, didn’t even struggle. The woman simply pulled her legs free and stood up, taking a moment to look at the dragons that had just pulled her free.

“Well...thanks, you two.”

“Leianna?!” Alexander could hear a flurry of voices all throughout the plaza. From shouts to muttering, everyone seemed just as shocked as the knight.

“You’re...fine?!”

The cleric looked worried for a moment, but quickly shot the man a grin as she took long steps over the rubble. “Come on, you really think I’m gonna make it through an army of the damned, just to die from some rocks? Get real.”

Crux crossed his arms. “Leianna...that was an entire building of stone crushing you. How the hell are you standing? Actually...how the hell are you even alive?”

Her smile faded, and that worried look came back. “I...don’t know.”

Everyone else stood around uncomfortably as the knight watched the woman with concern.

“And you’re...not hurt?”

She shook her head. “Nah. It’s like everything that came crashing down just...slid off of me.”

Alexander pursed his lips. “What in the world…?”

“You know,” Charles offered, stepping forward, “That sounds like-”

“A ward,” Lexius finished.

The dragonoid nodded “Correct. Leianna...perhaps we should examine you, to find out what happened?”

He phrased it like a question, as if he was ready for the cleric to snap at him for suggesting such a thing.

To his surprise, Leianna nodded. “Alright. I’d like to know myself.”

“Hey,” Alexander’s voice was firm, “It’s a good idea, but first…”

The knight turned to face all the other volunteers, who still stood waiting in large crowds throughout the plaza. The sight of so many inhuman visages in one place might have unnerved the knight, some time ago. No longer.

“People of Palethorn!” he announced, “The path is clear! You may now finally leave this accursed city behind! Your bravery was appreciated, and while you would still have quite an important part to play here if you chose to stay...we offer you the choice to instead leave. If you wish, you can put this all behind you, and flee into the countryside. It won’t be easy, but it will be safer than staying and fighting here, with us. People of Palethorn...those who chose to stay will aid us in the final assault, to destroy the Blackheart and save this city, and in some part, the entire world. I ask you, citizens...who wishes to leave?”

To his utter shock, the entire plaza fell dead silent. For several long seconds, not a single voice rose to ask to leave.

“None? No one wishes to leave? I promise you no one will think less of you for it.”

Still, the plaza was silent.

“It’s going to be very dangerous. Some of you might not leave this place alive.”

The silence remained.

“This is your last chance. Are you sure you wish to stay?”

It was a forgone conclusion, but the silence brought warmth to the knight’s heart.

“This is quite remarkable. I promise you, brave people of this city...I swear I will see that as many of you make it through this unharmed as possible. I will ask only what is necessary for the future of our world. I will also not ask you to throw your lives away needlessly. If I give an order, it is one I myself would follow. When this assault begins, I will be right beside you, as the others will all be as well. This is a team effort, and we all have a reason to fight. Some more than others, but...the fate of the world lies in YOUR hands, brave men and women of Palethorn! Your friends, your family, everyone you have lost to these accursed monsters...make! Them! Proud!”

Several cheers rang out in the plaza, everyone wrapped up in jubilation as they raised their weapons in triumph. The entire place was like a scene from a battlefield, the victorious side cheering and celebrating that they had won the battle.

Yet the battle had only just begun.

“Alright, everyone!” Alexander shouted, “Quiet down! We don’t need the demons jumping us. I want you all guarding the plaza. I’m heading back to the Citadel and letting those who didn’t, or couldn’t help leave as well. The helpless, the weak, the hurt and the infirm should be brought to safety…”

Razorwing grinned. “This is perfect! Let’s be off to tell the good news!”

Alexander nodded. “Yes, but first…”

The knight turned to the pair of dragons, still quietly sitting and watching the proceedings with sharp eyes and wise visages.

“One of you...the time has come. We need the army here immediately. One of you, could you...bring word to the kingdom?”

“I will do it!” Basilrin pledged hurriedly. Aurelio didn’t seem to like that, turning and glaring at the other, smaller dragon.

“What? Are you certain? It will be very dangerous. Perhaps I should do it.”

“Danger?! You have seen this hellscape firsthand, father! The outside world is a paradise compared to this.”

“I know, only...the king has ordered all of his people to kill us on sight. My son, if something were to happen to you…”

“I have risked much more here!” Basilrin reasoned, “A few humans would pose no threat! Father, I promise I will be well. Besides, you know me...they will be my friends before they could ever consider harming me!”

Aurelio broke into a smile, despite himself. “Ahh...very well. Basilrin...I am simply too worried. Pay me no mind. Do be safe, though…”

“Of course!”

Alexander looked over at the smaller dragon. “Move quickly. Go from town to town, city to city. Tell them what happened. Tell them of the king’s men already here. Get them to send anyone they can here. Guards, levies, retired veterans, adventurers...we need the might of Geralthin assembled. Do not take no for an answer. Lie, if you have to. Tell them it’s the king’s orders if they don’t listen.”

Basilrin nodded. “Yes, noble one! The army of man will be brought here, I promise you! I take my leave, and I promise to return! I wish to lend my aid in the battle ahead as well.”

Alexander smiled and raised a clenched fist. “That’s great to hear. Good luck, Basilrin.”

“Until my return...for I SHALL return,” the dragon answered. The green behemoth launched himself into the air and over the walls, flying off into the dark fog surrounding the city.

Aurelio watched him go with a measurable degree of sadness. Despite caving to his son’s demands, he still appeared apprehensive about the dangers involved.

“Basilrin. Do be safe...you are all I have left.”

The words were spoken quietly, and to no one in particular.

The knight turned and nodded to the others. Leianna, Lexius, Senci, Paul, Razorwing and Charles stood behind him, facing him and looking intently.

“Let’s go.”

The walk back to the Citadel was quite relaxed, but it allowed the group to think things over. Everything that had happened thus far. How far they had come. What came next.

They had experience both great strokes of luck and horrid misfortune. They had done the best they could, but was their best good enough?

They had learned the corrupted could be purified, that they could be brought back from the brink. Fianna had been one of them. Julroul had come to his senses as his life left him.

What was to say all the ones they had already killed weren’t the same? Could they have restrained them and purified them? Could they have avoided them or ran away from them?

Had they committed murder by killing the corrupted?

During these breaks, Alexander’s doubts and worries manifested. His woes, his fears and pessimism…

Everything that he couldn’t afford to think about in the heat of the moment.

Still, he gave them but a brief thought. He still couldn’t let these doubts undermine his ability to undertake this mission. If he really HAD failed the people of this city, if he truly WAS a murderer...he would have time to repent once the world was safe.

For now...he had to do whatever it took to see this through.

Crawling through the tunnels, the group of heroes found themselves climbing into the Citadel once more. Alexander noted how empty this place was now. So many had gone to the surface to aid in the attack...anyone still around was mostly unable to fight, and so there most of those still around were lying in tents or bedrolls, out of view.

Aside from a few figures in the distance, impossible to make out in the darkness, Wurie stood with his arms crossed, looking up as the group climbed out of the sewers. His gaze lit up as he began to move towards them.

There was such a...finality to it all. How empty this once bustling place was. They were free. They could leave. People were finally able to do things besides scavenge.

It’s all coming to close, Alexander thought, Just a little longer…

The wolfman captain rushed to the group, eyes wide as he began to speak. “Those folks you sent back told me everything. Is it true? It’s really dead?”

Alexander nodded. “Yeah. Those folks are guarding the perimeter. One of the dragons went into the fog to rally Geralthin.”

Wurie’s voice was light and quivering, his hands clenching as he muttered.

“It’s really dead...there’s really a way to leave…”

The knight smiled. “It’s time to get these people out of here.”

The evacuation went quite smoothly. Aside from the initial disbelief, the citizens were quick to gather up to leave. Yes, the initial disbelief…

The widened eyes. The open mouths. The muted voices and general silence. The way they didn’t seem “all there” as they stood waiting to leave.

It was like they couldn’t believe the day had come. Like they thought this was just a dream.

But Alexander, and all the others had worked hard to make this a reality.

The old, the young, the sick and injured, and those without combat prowess all came to join. Tents opened, folks hobbled, and nervous eyes darted to and fro as they awaited in growing anticipation.

Everyone scattered to check every tent and corner, to ensure no one was left behind.

It was only a short while before Alexander heard the sounds of an old, whining kobold.

“I don’t WANT to go!” it shouted. The knight turned to see Charles sheepishly holding his hands and grinning, a clearly nervous edge to his friendliness.

“B-but professor-”

“I’m not some worthless old fool that needs saving!” Parsib snapped, angrily waving a stick at the dragonoid.

Alexander noticed it was but a foot in height, and when he lowered it, he leaned on it slightly.

Despite trying his best, the knight couldn’t hide a grin.

Oh my goodness. He has a tiny walking stick. That’s...adorable.

“S-sir…!”

“Don’t ‘sir’ me!” the old kobold barked, “You always say that when you’re patronizing me!”

“I never patronize you!” Charles cried, sounding hurt. “I just-”

“Think I can’t do anything myself!” Parsib finished.

“No, no I-”

“Now, mister,” Alexander interrupted, stepping towards them, “You should calm down.”

Though the professor looked ready to snap at him too, the knight continued.

“This man here is...a good man. I can attest to that. From all the times he’s spoken to me, spoken about you, the things he’s done...it’s pretty obvious he cares a lot about you.”

Parsib closed his mouth as he pondered the words. The small lizard frowned as he looked back at Charles.

“This IS the man who braved the depths of the city to find you, to make certain that you were okay and to reunite with his old friend Parsib we’re talking about here…”

The dragonoid perked up, eyes opening wide, leaning back, tilting his head and smiling widely. He looked genuinely touched by Alexander’s words.

“Sir Alexander…”

“Bah...you’re right.” Parsib sighed and shook his head. “Charles...I’ve been too hard on you, haven’t I?”

“Oh, of course not!” the dragonoid said hurriedly, “I understand! I know it’s annoying, I just...we’ve been through so much, you know? I just want to make sure it wasn’t all for nothing. We’re so lucky we’ve made it so far, and...I don’t want to take any risks.”

The professor nodded sadly. “I know. I know I should go, too. I’m afraid my temper is not your fault...but my own.”

Parsib turned and looked up to the hole in the ceiling, continuing even as he seemed to lose focus.

“Charles, ever since I moved from...my friend’s home…” he swallowed hard at that. “Everyone has been so...rude to me. Teaching at the academy was my dream. All my life, I looked forward to such a place. Then...the first day...all the students laughed at me.”

Charles shook his head, “Professor, you don’t have to-”

“I thought they’d get over it eventually, but...it really does seem like the idea of a kobold being a teacher just never got old to them. The pranks, Charles, all the jokes, the mocking words, the insults, the way no one EVER took me seriously...how could they? The...accommodations I needed for my size. They mocked that too.”

“I know,” the dragonoid spoke softly. His eyes were locked on the floor.

“I complained about it to the higher ups, and they took a whole class period aside to sit down and warn the students about such things...nothing stopped. They just got craftier. Kind words with hidden, mocking intent behind them. False smiles that turned to snickering the moment I looked away. It was all so much to bear…”

“Sir...I understand. I...I was there, too. I saw it myself.”

“I remember that day, you know.” Parsib’s frown turned into a smile. “How excited you were to be in class. All the great points you had. All the questions you asked. You took me SERIOUSLY, Charles. That...didn’t happen before.”

“You’re a good teacher,” the magician offered, twiddling his claws nervously.

“You even started staying after class to chat. You...went out to lunch with me. You ASSOCIATED with me. Charles...you’re the only student that was ever nice to me. I...I shouldn’t say such things about you. I’m sorry. You’ve been a great friend to me, all these years.”

Charles got down on one knee and put a hand on the kobold’s shoulder. He looked at him with a confident gaze and smiled.

“Parsib...you’re my friend. I won’t make you go. I know why you see my offers as patronizing. I’ve seen the fake kindness others have offered you. I just...care, you know?”

The old professor nodded deeply. “Yes, yes...I shall join the others, than. Charles…” The professor narrowed his eyes, looking angry again. “Now you’d better not do anything stupid either! I want to see you make it to the countryside too, you hear?!”

The dragonoid laughed and nodded. “Yessir! I’ll do my best. Promise.”

Parsib gave a short nod, anger melting away. “Well...good. I’ll just be joining the line up...until next time, friends…”

“Until next time…” Alexander watched the small creature go, walking carefully over to the growing crowd, Charles moving to stand beside him.

“He’s a nice old man,” the magician informed him, “He’s just...had it rough, you know.”

“Indeed…”

There was a noticeable shift in the magician’s attitude. He slowly turned to look at the human. “Hey...Alexander?”

The knight returned the stare. “Yes?”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. If we’ll win, or if one of us will make it, and the other won’t. I...I don’t...I’m...this is hard for me to say, but…”

Charles slowly lifted his arms up and grabbed his hat. That large, pointed, wide-brimmed thing that had fallen out of style with nearly everyone but children. The dragonoid lifted it off of his head and brought it down to his chest, clutching onto it.

“I just...wanted to say...thank you.”

Alexander raised a brow. “Charles?”

“It’s...been tough. Tougher than I let on. To do...all of this.”

“I understand. I’m glad you’ve helped as much as you have.”

“It’s just that...I’ve been such a wreck. Maybe you could tell…? Or maybe I’ve been hiding it well, I don’t know. It’s been so trying, journeying with you people.”

Alexander shrugged. “I mean, you seemed fine.”

“Well...I’ve been trying my hardest.” Charles frowned as he tried to find the right words.

“I don’t like to impose. I keep to myself, mostly. I like to sit in my room and read. I…don’t have many friends. I guess what I’m saying is…this isn’t something I’m used to. To be…on a battlefield, working together with so many people. This has been a learning experience, but…I just wanted to let you know that I’m with you. I know I’m…difficult, at times. Thank you for putting up with it.”

The human smiled and crossed his arms. His gaze was softer than it usually was. He took a moment to scratch at the scruff on his face before responding.

“I...appreciate your dedication. I’m glad you’ve stuck around, there’s so much you’ve done for us. You helped out in battle, in searching for answers, in exploration...from melting locks, to reciting your knowledge, to your understanding of the city, and your combat prowess...you’ve done so well here. If you really aren’t comfortable with this sort of thing, let me tell you...you’re a natural.”

Charles raised the hat in such a way that the brim covered his face up to his eyes. “Gah...thank you, Alexander.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m not good with words, but...it means a lot.”

The knight jumped to a realization. “Wait a minute…”

The dragonoid tilted his head. “Err, what?”

Alexander snapped his fingers at it came rushing back to him. “T-that bastard! The one that started all of this!”

Charles’ eyes widened, then narrowed. He snarled as he realized it too. “Laurence!”

“Parsib got wrapped up in that! We should tell him. Aside from deserving to know...the word should get out.”

“Right!” the magician moved for the crowd, Alexander close behind. The pair came upon Parsib, standing quietly at the edge of the large crowd.

He looked confused at their approach. “Err...forget something?”

“Actually, yes.” Alexander put his hands on his hips as he gave the kobold a serious look. “Laurence. You remember him?”

The professor winced. “D-do not remind me.”

“Why? What happened between you?”

Parsib gave the knight a suspicious look. “How...how do you know about all that?”

“We, uh...found out some things at the academy. What happened to you...is directly tied to this apocalypse.”

The kobold gave the knight a double take. “W-wait, what?!”

“Sir.”

Charles reached into his robes and pulled out the journal, with the sheets of paper wedged inside. The dragonoid leaned down and handed it to his teacher, who looked at it all in bewilderment.

“You...stole his diary? Why?!”

“Flip to the last couple of entries,” Alexander spoke. Not a demand, but a recommendation.

“W-well, if you say so...I still don’t get what this is all about…”

The human could tell when Parsib came upon the bit about tricking him when the creature’s eyes shot open. He finished reading the entry and looked up at the pair in disbelief.

“Flip the page.”

He did so, and read that final sentence.

They had their chance.

The professor shook his head, maw agape. “No...no…”

“We found it in his desk,” Charles explained, “The papers detail that thing outside we just killed...I destroyed the obelisk, which is why it became transient.”

Alexander had never seen kobolds before all of this. He’d heard of them, read of them, but never met one. As a result, they were quite difficult for him to read...but even he could tell the old professor looked absolutely shattered.

“I...I knew he was lying, but...this?! H-he did...all of this?! Oh, God...what...what would possess a man to do such a thing?! Why…”

“You knew?” Alexander frowned, fingers tapping along his arms.

Parsib took a deep breath and composed himself before looking up at the human. “When he tried to become my friend...I was so excited. You see, even the staff avoided me. They didn’t mock or insult me like the students, they just...never spoke to me. For him to suddenly get all chummy, I thought my luck had finally turned around.”

The kobold took a moment to open the book and examine a few of the papers, shaking his head and slamming it shut again after a moment.

“When it became clear he didn’t care about anything I said at all, I got suspicious...and when he demanded the word to the obelisk, I knew I’d been taken advantage of again. Of course he didn’t care, he just wanted his pet project all to himself...I thought he just wanted to steal it, really...I can’t believe he was actually trying to...summon demons!”

“And so he did anyway, leaving it immortal,” Charles finished with notable spite. He glared as his anger bubbled to the surface.

“That bastard! He did ALL of this! HE killed all those people! It’s HIS fault!”

Alexander interrupted Charles, shooting a glum expression towards Parsib. “Professor...do you know where he went? If he escaped? Did you see him on that day?”

The kobold sadly shook his head. “I wasn’t present at the academy that day...I had caught a cold and was staying home. When I peeked outside and saw the massacre full of demons and corrupted souls, I...lost my nerves. I hid in my basement dresser for days. I...I thought that was the end.”

He shook himself a bit as he got back on track. “I was shut inside my own home that day and the next several. I’m sorry...I didn’t see anything.”

The knight shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I was just curious. You’ve been plenty help as is.”

“Bah…”

Alexander looked behind him, towards the camp. In the back, he could see three familiar figures leaving a tent…

“Well, we’d better get going. Safe journey, Parsib.”

“Thank you. A-and if we don’t meet again...give my sincerest thanks to those kind boys. The masked man and the avian!”

“Crux and Razorwing...I’ll be sure to.”

“They really saved me, helping Charles and bringing me here.”

“Right. Well, with any luck, you’ll be seeing the sun in a couple hours. Stay safe!”

“Oh, professor!” Charles pointed at the book. “Keep that safe! You’re leaving...the world needs to know! Everyone must learn what caused this, and to never forget what he’s done!”

Parsib’s expression turned firm. He gave a short nod. “Yes. I will bring this evidence to safety, I promise...and Charles?”

“Yes sir?”

“...thank you. Thank you for...keeping me company, these past years.”

“It’s been an honor, sir. I’ll visit you again once this is over!”

“Yes...that would be wonderful. Charles...you’d better keep that promise! Don’t get yourself caught doing something foolish!”

The dragonoid nodded and laughed. “Yessir. I’ll be safe...don’t worry! Good luck!”

The magician waved his friend goodbye as the pair walked back into the camp, Charles looking over at the knight curiously.

“What’s up now?”

Alexander pointed at the trio rapidly approaching. “That.”

An older human in silver armor, sporting a long beard, a kobold in a suit of steel plate, and a reptilian in a tunic and pants, both light and flowing.

All three were grinning as they spoke, Vok the loudest among them.

“Can’t tell ya how thankful I am!”

“Ahh...we’re friends, aren’t we?” Andric returned.

“Yeah, but still! And Senci...never thought you’d come and save the day, boy!”

“I’m just glad you’re alright!” the kobold answered happily.

“Hey!” the lizardman turned and gave the knight a wide grin. “Alexander, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Come’re!”

Before he could respond, Alexander found the reptilian lurching forward and wrapping his arms around the knight in a bear hug. So forceful was the lizard that Alexander was thankful he was wearing his armor.

“Gahahaha! Jus’ wanted to say thanks for listening to Senci! Thanks for bringin’ me back here instead of slicing me open, lad!”

“Uhh...no problem,” Alexander replied, limply waiting as the blacksmith hugged him. Soon enough, the lizard stopped and patted the human on the shoulder before stepping back.

“Heh! Once we’re outta here, I say we celebrate! Drinks are on me!”

“Err...Vok?” Andric looked at the other man questioningly. “You...don’t have any money, do you?”

“Nope! But I’ll think of something! Buwahahaha!” Vok lightly punched Alexander in the shoulder and shot him a wink.

“Hey, let’s meet up, me, the lads here, and you, once this is over! Andric and Senci would be thrilled to talk with ya, after everything you’ve done together!”

The knight tapped his helmet in thought. “Hmm...celebrations, meeting up? That sounds...excellent. IF we survive this, that is.”

“HAH! That’s the spirit!” Vok crossed his arms, pausing to scratch the top of his head. “Heh...once I figure out where I’ll be staying, I’ll make a tidy sum for the party! Hmm...where WILL I stay?”

Senci’s eyes lit up. The kobold grabbed and shook Andric’s leg, beaming. “Oh, Master Andric! Our house, in Lannis! He can stay, can’t he?! He took me in when I didn’t have a home! We should help him now, too!”

The paladin nodded. “Sounds good. How about it, Vok?”

“You’d...really do that?”

“Of course. What was it you said...‘my home is your home’? Well, now it’s our turn. Vok...you can stay with us until you figure out what you’ll do once this calms down. What do you say?”

The lizard was grinning wider than ever. “I say...you’re the best cousin-in-law I ever had!”

“Vok!”

“Gahaha! Kidding, Andric, kidding! But seriously...I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.”

“Fair’s fair,” Andric returned, smiling as the trio walked over to the rest of the crowd.

Charles crossed his arms, looking at Andric and Senci as they prepared to see their friend off.

“You know...I’m really glad you talked me out of...taking action, when we found him,” the magician admitted.

“Me, too.”

“Things have turned out well, haven’t they?”

Alexander’s face dropped. “Yeah...except for one thing.”

Charles’ mood quickly soured as well. “He...he’ll be remembered, for his courage and honor.”

The knight let out a deep breath, fists clenching. “He’s...he’s with his family now. He’s in a better place.”

The magician took his hat off again, looking up to the hole above them.

“I don’t think the world was ready for a dragon like him.”

Alexander joined the magician. Far up in the sky, past the black fog wrapping around the city, in the heavens, where the good lay in peace and splendor...was Tourthun watching them? Was he lying in a heavenly field with his mother and father, explaining the knight’s mission to them, about all they had spoken of and done together? Was the family of dragons awaiting his triumph, the fulfillment of his mission?

Alexander sighed, eyes lowering. “Not only was it unready for him...it did not deserve him.”

“Indeed.”

As the last few survivors joined the evacuation, a familiar figure waved at Alexander. Her vibrant blue and orange feathers made her easy to spot as she rushed over.

“Alexander!”

“Fianna!�� he exclaimed, “Good to see you.”

She leapt forward, wrapping her wings around him in a hug. It seemed she too had paid a trip to the supply depot, for just like Vok, she had discarded her tattered rags for some loose fitting clothes.

“Is it true?! Did you really make it safe to leave?!”

“Yeah...you folks are really fond of hugs, aren’t you?”

“I’m just so thankful!” the koutu cried, “Oh, sir knight…”

“Hey, relax!” Alexander insisted, “Everything’s fine, now! No more need to get worked up.”

The birdwoman seemed to pay his words no heed, happily clinging onto the knight. “Alexander...you’re such a gallant knight, you know that?”

Alexander found himself confused at this. Hadn’t Andric saved her too? She seemed to be...interested in him, in that way that made him uncomfortable. Even as he tried to disarm the situation, she seemed unmoved.

Not that she was unlikeable or the sort, far from it! It was just...he wasn’t ready for such things...and with an entirely different species of creature? It was all a bit much for him.

She is endearing in her own way, though. She’s so…excited about everything.

He carefully reached up and lightly pushed her off of him. Giving her a warm smile, he gestured to the crowd. “It’s time to go, Fianna! Everyone’s waiting to go back to Geralthin.”

She frowned for a moment, before nodding. “Okay...well, I hope we see each other again. I’d very much like to find some way to repay you…”

“Well, even if you don’t, don’t worry. It’s my job.”

The koutu’s eyes widened as she quickly dug into her new pockets. “O-oh, I almost forgot! I found this!”

She pulled out something and dropped it into the knight’s hands. As he stared down to examine it, he found it was a very small, unremarkable yellow flower...and not one people were generally fond of.

“...a dandelion?”

“It was growing in one of the dirt patches in the sewers, here! I-I know it’s no rose, but...in a place like this, where the corruption makes everything wither up and die...it’s just as valuable as one!”

Alexander smiled at that. “That’s...quite true.” He looked up at the bird with an amused expression. “...you do know the knight is the one who gives the damsel the rose, right?”

Fianna scratched at the back of her head, laughing nervously. “Hahaha, r-right! I, uh...I guess I just forgot!”

He shook his head and smiled, tucking the small flower into a pouch on his belt. “Well, I appreciate it, but...we’re holding everyone up. Let’s go.”

Fianna followed him to the crowd. After all this time had passed, everyone was assembled, and awaiting the journey to the gates, and ultimately, the outside world.

Wurie was waiting with his arms crossed. He began to smirk as he saw Fianna holding onto the knight’s arm.

“Lucky man,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Everyone ready?”

The captain nodded. “Entire camp’s empty aside from the medical tent. There’s the folks that got hurt during the attack on the gate...and a few doctors are staying behind to treat them. They’ll have to leave later, once the wounded are in better shape.”

“Right...well, looks like that’s it, than.”

Wurie nodded. “You can see them off, but...you’re staying, right?”

Alexander smiled. “You know I’m not turning back now.”

The wolfman slapped a hand on his shoulder. “Neither am I. Once the citizens are safe...it’s time to plan out our final mission.”

The knight looked over to the sewers, his mind heavy with the task ahead. Once they had seen these people off, and only the volunteers remained...the Blackheart awaited.

“Right.”

Wurie turned to the crowd, voice raised as he barked out his orders.

“PEOPLE OF PALETHORN! The time has come! The gates are liberated, and our brave guards stand vigil! We will lead you out of this hellscape, and into Geralthin! Just stick close and keep going through the fog, and soon enough...you will see the sky at last!”

The people excitedly chattered as they all began to walk to the sewer system, heading for the surface.

Looking at the now empty Citadel, for the first time in quite a while, Alexander felt an emotion that had been eluding him through his trials.

Hope.

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