#I’m so sad he’s going to Tevinter without me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

icy-warden · 3 years ago

Note

And OF COURSE I would also have some questions for Saskia and Nelaros if that's okay (I am still thinking about their story. It still makes me sad in a good way):

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

8. What are their most prominent memories of each other?

14. Is their anything they associate with each other?

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Again, choose whichever questions catch your attention or just ignore ^^ I hope you're having an amazing day! 💐💐💐

Hello, thank you for the asks 🌼💙 I'll be doing them one at a time when the inspiration strikes. Here's the first of the mini-stories for Saskia and Nelaros 😉

14. Is there anything they associate with each other?

[timeline: Saskia's story - Vigil's Keep, over three years after the Blight; Nelaros' story - somewhere in Tevinter, two years after the Blight; slight angst; implied/mentioned abuse and slavery]

For Saskia -

Saskia is sitting cross-legged on the floor, a sword over her lap when Nelaros comes in with dinner.

“Your hair looks like pineapple.”

She put her hair up with a spare ribbon to keep it out of her face while she took care of her weapon. It might look silly but she doesn’t care.

“What’s that?” Saskia sets her sword and cleaning cloth aside and makes room for him as he sits down next to her, a tray of food between them. Her stomach grumbles at the sight of two bowls full of soup with chunks of vegetables and meat, thick slices of freshly baked bread beside them.

“Imported fruit from Seheron. Expensive and spiky.”

She hums, digging into her bowl without hesitation. She tries not to inhale her food but must make a poor job of it because Nelaros’ fond smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. Saskia smiles at him and grabs the bread, “They eat that pineapple?”

She asks because of what she gathers from Nelaros’ stories, Vints like to put on a display a lot, and not necessarily use things, like normal people would.

“Yes. And decorate tables with it. There are artists who make fruit arrangements for hire.”

Saskia’s watching him as he talks, tone light and unbothered. Like it’s just a memory of the things he saw in passing and not his everyday life back then. Life of serving someone not because you get a coin for it but because you were bought to serve.

She should be glad he made peace with the past but every time she gets a glance of his wrists something hot and ugly flares in the pit of her gut. Those uneven silky marks on his skin are a reminder of what she lost.

Of what they lost. And found again.

But.

He accepts her scars. She should do the same for him.

Saskia bites into the bread, eyes widening when the flavour kicks in. She swallows a mouthful, almost choking with the speed as the words tumble out, “You made this.”

Nelaros blinks, “Well, yes, no one makes fuss when I use kitchen.”

“No. No, it’s not-”

He frowns at her now, watching her struggle with words. Her hands clench and unclench, the slice of bread molding in her fist.

“You made bread. It’s your bread.”

She sees the fallen crumbs on the floor and gasps, trying to pick them up. She’s wasting food, food he made for her. A hand on her own stops her and she looks at it through the blur, the weight and warmth of it making her still.

“Saskia?”

“I-”

Her throat is suddenly tight but she pushes the words out, “I tried to make it when-” she rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, skin suddenly wet. “Recipe, I tried to follow it but it didn’t taste right and I tried-”

“I tried so many times and it wasn’t right. You-”

He is much closer now and she hasn’t noticed him moving, the grey in his eyes like a silver sea of patience. Nelaros shifts and she lunges at him, wrapping arms around his back. She feels him doing the same, a shaky exhale of breath tickling her ear.

“You made bread.” She murmurs into the crook of his neck.

A choked laugh ruffles her hair. “And I’m going to make you as much as you want.”

For Nelaros -

Today the sun seems to have it for him, mercilessly beating at his back. It’s good he’s got a straw hat on his head or he’d faint a long time ago. He gets up slowly from a crouch, using a piece of cloth to wipe down the sweat from his brow. His throat feels parched. Water, he should drink some if he’d like to avoid another sudden dizzy spell. His knees protest when he stands, feeling the long hours he spent bent over in his spine.

Nelaros looks at the progress he made at the vegetable patch, neat rows of plants already free of weeds. Only two as long ones to do and he can have a longer break. He makes his way to the well near the wall of the garden, the shade of olive trees letting him breathe a little easier when he steps under them.

There’s two others next to the well, drinking from chipped clay mugs. Leo waves at him when he spots him, Aurelio granting him a passing glance.

He chats a little with Leo, both of them filling in the blank spots with their hands when they lack the words. His language skills are still a work in progress when it comes to casual conversation.

Of course, the most important commands that he should always answer to have already been drilled into his brain.

Aurelio doesn’t speak to him but when he says something too quiet for Nelaros to hear, Leo just shakes his head with a grin. They go back to work soon after, Leo’s arm around Aurelio’s shoulder as they walk and Nelaros notices Aurelio doesn't try to shake off the friendly man as hard as he could if he wanted to.

Nelaros sighs when he brings wet cloth to his face and leaves it at his nape to cool down a bit. He shifts and something falls down from his pocket to the ground.

His notebook.

He’s allowed to keep it, filling it with words in Tevene and a list of things to do around the estate.

He picks it up and a flower falls out. He squints at the bright yellow petals, seeking for damage. When he finds none he opens the notebook, searching for the page he put it this morning when he found it during work. There are other, older flowers, pressed and dried. He has so many already, he’ll run out of space soon. But he can't throw them out, not when he wants to show the collection to his wife.

Saskia.

She likes pressed flowers. He’s sure she’d like to see what he got for her, so many plants that don’t grow in Ferelden but are treated like a weed here.

His fingers follow the fragile line of the first flower he picked up. Its purple petals are paper thin, losing its vibrant colour. He frowns. How long is it already? Two years? He remembers he saw Lyla a few months ago at the market and they talked for a moment about how the time flies by. They heard about the Blight, how it appeared and ended, the rumours about it being a fluke. She was a little rounder around her middle, the shadows under her eyes more prominent than usual. But he didn’t ask what he wanted to-

Are you alright? How are they treating you? Who’s the father?

- and he hasn’t seen her since then. She’s the last person he knows from back home. He hopes she’s still there, well and with a healthy baby.

He hopes everyone in Alienage is well too.

That Saskia is well.

He hopes that she still remembers him as he does remember her, clinging to the fading memories of her face, of her voice.

His wedding ring was lost a long time ago. He’s not sure when or where, it was just gone.

One moment here and the next misplaced Maker knows where.

Just like him.

Nelaros leans his head back, tipping the hat over his face. He’ll stay here for a moment longer, until the burn in the back of his eyes passes.

[Romance asks]

#WardenTxt #saskia tabris #Nelaros #saskia x nelaros #I have fun writing those TRULY xD #I might have a little something in my eye when I've been writing one for Saskia but #it might be because of music I was listening to atm 😭 who am I kidding ofc it was mix of both #and Nelaros and pressed flowers!! I think it was your idea #a very neat one that I had to use 💐

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felassan · 4 years ago

Text

Thoughts on Dark Fortress #2

(This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

So late with this one! some stuff irl was keeping me really busy and hyper-distracting me lately, but it’s finally over now so I’m back on my bioware bullshit. :D

Overall there were a lot of beautiful or awe-inspiring scenes in this issue, and a lot of great, meaningful / poignant character interactions and moments between characters. It’s pretty impressive actually how much was able to be packed in. I posted some of my favorite panels here. also omg! the action sequences! the big reveal! the ending!! woww

cool scene-setting, panned out shot of Neromenian and behind it, the Dark Fortress, to immediately pull you back into the world and ‘where we left off’. the combination of ruined dead trees, red lights, lightning and fire/smoke is very atmospheric and hints at what’s ahead

“From this... city, if we can call it that” is a sick burn and reminds you that the Qunari are technologically more advanced than most of the rest of Thedas, from their cannons to their aqueducts

more individually distinct Qunari soldiers, sth I again appreciate

! last issue there were big ‘You haven’t seen the last of Tractus!’ vibes, naturally, but I didn’t expect him to escape by stabbing and killing the Qunari using a chair-leg..!!

the last panel on the first page of Karasten is really good. the way it’s colored, the way it’s lit, the light and shadow, the fiery backdrop, cinders floating, the details of his expression.. 👌 it also makes me think to the possible future, to DA4 when mainland Thedas may be continuing to face the entirety of the Antaam

in Vaea’s acrobatics scene on the bridge, I know rationally that she’ll be fine but couldn’t help but worry for her. again I like how they don’t shy away from showcasing Vaea’s specific abilities. also the attention to detail - you’d think some rocks are just some rocks, but it highlights the risk she’s undertaking that if she falls it’s into rough seas which could dash her against the jagged rocks :’S. Vaea, gooooo!

Fenris’ “Enterprising girl” line has big “Clever girl” meme energy :D

my heart can’t take Fran and Autumn leaning over the edge after Vaea in worry ;; or Aaron looking back in concern over his shoulder ;; or Fran’s tender reassurance ;; or Autumn’s Worried expression ;; the care and bonds which have grown between this group of characters ;;

notice Aaron starts drinking when Vaea’s away from them and they’re beginning to grow worried about her safety. the poor man’s nerves and stress levels

Fran touching the vegetation while she’s considering if she could use her magic to open the entrance from the outside is a nice touch

did Marius leap in front of Fenris and Fran there when the entrance opened?? damn, he’s quick. and the three of them look all scary and formidable here ready for combat. notice how the curve of the door and the spikes that go into the ground, and the composition of this panel, make it look like they’re standing in front of an opened dragon’s maw? ‘teeth’, a rumbling ‘roar’.. some nice foreshadowing here.

the reunion panels are so cute. Autumn’s lil tum as she jumps and Fran and Fenris’ lil smiles of relief and at Autumn’s reaction to seeing Vaea, then a rare happy beam from Aaron.. feel.. the love ;__;

red lighting in the tunnel sets a dangerous, dramatic build-up mood

👀 more info on Fenris’ past, on the specifics of the process which gave him his markings. in the panel where he says that it took a long time, his shadow on the wall behind him reminds me of the shadow of his past that has dogged him for so long :(

Fenris and Marius height difference

discussion of the process shows the power difference between blue and red lyrium. blue lyrium took a long time, red lyrium is almost instant

Autumn is such an intrepid little explorer and alert scout, tail and ears up, head forward. good girl!

“I just... worry about you, my girl” ‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ I’ll be so sad if these are death flags for Aaron and he doesn’t make it out of here. also note Fran in this panel, who recently had to kill her own father and is still dealing with that, watching the strongly paternal moment between Aaron and Vaea :(

love Vaea’s faith in Aaron and her sense of humor. also I don’t know why, maybe it’s because Vaea met Sebastian, but her “Maker, no!”, although in a completely different and light-hearted context, reminds me of Sebastian’s “Maker nooo!” at the end of DA2 hh

the reference again to Hawke, who Fenris saw haunted by what they tried to do - save their mother - and couldn’t :’(. also with the shadow in this panel, here’s another person struggling with the shadow of his past qq. this is later emphasized again in Aaron when he continues to talk about his past and in the panel is a chain and manacle. smart visual metaphors, a must in the comic medium with limited space

mushroom skull 💀🍄

“It isn’t about what I’ve done. It isn’t about my failures. Or my choices. It’s about their impact” - he’s misty-eyed here as he thinks back to Ostagar.. does this line btw seem almost meta to anyone else btw? :D it feels like a meta reference to the experience of DA players and PCs, who are always having to deal with the impacts of their choices

I wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die” ;;

So Aaron is also a veteran of the Battle of Denerim

reference to the Hero of Ferelden - “Those were someone else’s battles”. I’m being captain obvious here but I can’t help but [heart pitter-patter] at any and all references to the HoF

I like the.. parallel? is that the word? Aaron’s stories were him trying to inspire people to make a change, or him trying to convince himself of that. and now here’s Vaea, inspiring Aaron with her words in these panels. the little guys can make a difference! in the world of Thedas, you don’t need to be a big bombastic hero or a Player Character to have an impact

lmao Fenris right on cue. the moments of humor/light-heartedness are nice because they break up the tension and are sprinkled throughout without derailing build-up or taking away from dramatic story impact. yknow?

yeah Aaron!! leave it behind. leave it to rot with mr mushroom skull (and hey the mushroom skull was there for a reason). again tho if this is a death flag i

Fenris straight down to business with the tactics

its cute how close Autumn has been sticking to Fran

Tessa checking in on Fran again, as she did in issue 1

Could Vaea’s “Well, shit” be an homage to Varric? :D they have met

I also wanna point out that I was right on reading issue #1, when I said “My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar”

the poor dragon :’( big dragon the Qunari had in Trespasser vibes

the sword has a really cool design, kind of reminds me of something a samurai might be depicted wielding

👀 lore-drop! so ancient elven arcane warriors used lyrium-infused swords. this seems to confirm the sarcophagus is an ancient elven artifact, no? makes sense, wasn’t it said that the sarcophagus’ design was based on the architecture/outfit-design type elements of a specific faction, and that this was done intentionally? it looks kinda ancient elfy in make, right? also about the lyrium-infused swords of the arcane warriors, well well well.. remember that the Evanuris and the ancient elves mined the bodies of Titans for lyrium, for power and to use as a resource. here’s an example of that use

as I read through this portion I became increasingly concerned for my boy Shirallas.. we really are in it now aren’t we 😭

the Qunari are launching STRAIGHT-UP ROCKETS ohhhh

pretty ‘lightshow’ over the wall in the “Let’s hope the fortress is as secure as Danarius boasted” panel hh

protective older brother Fenris, impish younger sister Vaea. love that dynamic, we love to see it. sheepish and exasperated Fenris is so cute

the Bone Pit dragon fight with Hawke and co reference!

I wonder how long the dragon has been captive here, and how Danarius/Tractus was able to capture it

lore-wise what are the implications here? when Fenris’ ritual was being undertaken, the sword and the sarcophagus were bombarded with magic, fire spells. in this one they aim to have the dragon bombard it with fire-breathing. is it just fire that makes it work/powers it, or is there magic in dragonfire, in dragons? it reminds me of “Your heart beats with the old blood, as well. Where do you think it comes from? It sings of a time when dragons ruled the skies. A time before the Veil, before the mysteries were forgotten. Can you hear it?”

purple color for the dragon’s growling sounds/typeset is a great idea

lets.. goooo!!!!

Marquette is such a nerd. later on when he activates the sarcophagus he has mad scientist vibes

the dramatic reunion face-offs begin!! as the prophecy foretold!!!!1

true to form, Marius DOES have nothing to say ahahaha, even at this, his personal climax. maybe Marius dies in the next issue, but Tessa lives and gets to go back to Charter

these Venatori look almost Star Wars

Shirallas my boyy.. nooo... don’t do it 😭

ah ah ah! try casting magic with no ARMS

Francesca a beacon of blue light and goodness

the splash combat page is masterful. everyone playing a part, so much going on, everything happening at once. a thing that sticks out to me about it is Aaron’s outstretched hand and alarm as he watches Fran fall

Autumn with her lil hackles raised

“The Venatori have returned” dun dun dunn

goodbye Shirallas 😭😭😭

the composition of the second to last page with triangle/diamond-shaped panels and the framing of dragon wings is awesome

the Dread Wolf rises, “the Tevinter Imperium will rise again”.. on-point on-point cohesion

there he is, the red wraith

Super Saiyan Shirallas

what a note to end an issue on

wow wow wow!!

and separate to the above, some speculation based on the cover of Issue 3: the piece of metal looks like a broken collar coming off Shirallas, like the one there was on the cover of Issue 2 coming off the dragon. also he’s all bulky now with draconic talons/claws (reminds me of in-world legends of Reavers who dug too deep of their own power after drinking dragon blood and whose bodies consequently began to manifest subtle reptilian traits actually). I’ll be interested to see what results of this allusion between Shirallas and the dragon!!

#dragon age #BioWare #dark fortress spoilers #dark fortress spoiler #spoilers #spoiler #dragon age: dark fortress spoilers #dragon age: dark fortress spoiler #video games #gore cw #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #feels #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #alcohol cw

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jackdawyt · 5 years ago

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youtube

Your bird is back with another Dragon Age 4 News Update! 🐦

For the first time this year, I’m doing a massive monthly news recap of everything we learned about Dragon Age 4 going forward (JUST) in the month of March, because slap my arse and call me Andraste, this month was huge for Dragon Age 4 updates, we’ve got a lot of exciting info to get into!

(Romance Tweets)

Calling all romance fans, you can bank on Dragon Age 4 to fulfil all of your intimate desires, perhaps even more so than the previous games. Jon Renish, Foundation Programming Area Director working on the next Dragon Age had a few things to say whilst watching a romance scene script read through:

“Don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm starting to think 'Dragon Age' games might be a bit randy.” (March 3rd)

‘Randy’, according to the Oxford Dictionary, means ‘sexually arousing’ and ‘exciting.’ So, we can prepare for that, whatever that is! Jon continues his tweet thread with:

“Well now it's all sad and sweet and emotional. I was not prepared for this rollercoaster.”

In true BioWare fashion, we’re going to have a lot of sexy times, however, brought together with moving and character developing moments – y’know, the ups and downs of the romance as the relationship builds and grows throughout the entire game experience.

“Oh, nothing like that. Just watching a script read through.”

Jon confirms that this was indeed a script read through, as we can tell reviewing a potential romance scene. As a romance advocate myself, I am very interested in the direction romances will be going in for Dragon Age 4. That is something that I will especially be keeping my eyes on.

(E3/EA Play 2020 Update)

EA Play and E3 2020 are generally the most expected places to see a new Dragon Age 4 reveal trailer.

E3 2020 has been cancelled due to the current outbreak, however, we’ve yet to be updated on the status of EA Play 2020. Of course, it is most certainly cancelled since the tickets for the show were supposed to drop this March. But, we still don’t know what will replace the show.

The teams behind E3 2020 are supposedly working on a digital showcase to display new announcements that would’ve been revealed on stage. We can only assume that EA will follow suite and do the same for EA Play, making it a digital show, like Nintendo’s Direct conferences.

Regardless, this is something that we’re going to have to wait and see until EA speak out, and when they do, I’ll be sure to cover that in a news update. I feel we could have a Dragon Age 4 reveal, with an expected release of 2022/2023, but with everyone hectic right now, I’m unsure.

(C Virus Update)

Speaking of hectic... with the current outbreak, EA have spoken and shared a statement about health and safety during these times:

(March 13th) “These are challenging times for everyone. We’re working to look after our employees and their families, and make sure we’re doing the right and responsible things to fight this pandemic illness.”

Thankfully, everyone working at BioWare have been asked to work from home. Justin Masse, Experience Designer working on the next Dragon Age tweeted he’s “working from home until April 1st", confirming the length of this situation.

According to Crystal McCord, Associate Producer of Performance Capture and VO, working at home has been very productive for the team at BioWare as they have “exceeded all expectations.”

So, it’s great knowing that despite the crazy situation in the world right now, BioWare developers are staying safe, working from home and progressing hugely on the next Dragon Age title!

(Slack Server)

(March 13th) While Mark Darrah was working from home, he tweeted a picture regarding his tiling progression, as he’s currently redesigning aspects of his home. However, in the very corner of Darrah’s picture lies a laptop screen with a Slack Server revealing many Dragon Age development secrets!

The server shows plenty of channels for the BioWare developers regarding specific work notes on all aspects of progression. A large amount of the channels are abbreviated to “MOR_” - which is most certainly shortened from ‘Morrison’, Dragon Age 4’s current project title as we know.

This list of the channels are endless, and I could spend forever looking into what exactly they all refer to regarding the production of the next Dragon Age game. We have one channel called ‘mor_announcement’ - does this hint at a new trailer to soon be showed off, or is it an old channel since The Dread Wolf Rises teaser? Are they planning an upcoming announcement? Surely, they would be right? Is that anytime soon?

Another channel is called ‘mor_da_week’ which from what I can assume stands for Dragon Age week? We have a Dragon Age Day created by the fans and made offical by BioWare, but a Dragon Age week, that’s something I’ve never heard of...

And there’s just plenty of channels referring to Dragon Age 4’s current development, there’s even a bad design ideas thread, an ask Mark anything chat, approvals on key aspects of the game, marketing assets, and so on!

It’s a gold mine of tidbits, orchestrated by none other than Mark Darrah, the Executive Producer on Dragon Age. He has once more tweeted a cheeky little tease that may appear mundane, passing a blind eye to it, however, when you take some time and actually look at what he’s posted, it reveals a nug-ton of info we can speculate on.

(New Associate Producer / Jobs)

Illustrator and Creative Professional “Mad Bee” has returned to work at BioWare, they previously worked on Anthem as an Art Quality Analyst. However, this time around, they are an Associate Producer, most likely working on Dragon Age 4.

And, following that, BioWare are currently hiring! I’ve seen this news piece get quite the few news articles, but I figured I could break this one down better, rest in peace PC Gamer.

So, indeed BioWare are hiring for many roles at the company, the most prominent role is a ‘Technical Director’ for ‘the next major title in one of BioWare’s most prestigious franchises.’

Considering Mike Gamble, the new project lead for the next Mass Effect game tweeted this hiring out, I’d assume this position is needed for the Mass Effect team who are also in Edmonton, opposite the Dragon Age team.

What’s most concerning about this job listing relating to the future of Mass Effect is that, according to the job requirements, the applicant needs to have experience ‘developing, debugging and optimizing AAA multiplayer games on PC or console.’

To throw away my suspicion that Mass Effect or Dragon Age are going to have a heavy multiplayer experience, I looked at the other job listings located at Edmonton’s studio and I discovered other job listings, like an Engine Programmer which require the same experience of developing and debugging games, however, without the multiplayer element.

So, perhaps BioWare have two teams, one working on the main single player element and the other working on the much smaller multiplayer aspect? I’d be naive to not reiterate the fact that future BioWare games are going to be live service, however, we still don’t know to what extent that will look like.

(Tevinter Nights)

Patrick Weekes teased that Dragon Age 4 is most certainly in Tevinter following there Tevinter Nights Book plug, however, Patrick still calls the next Dragon Age game an unannounced project? Which I don’t understand because The Dread Wolf Rises teaser trailer at The Game Awards 2018 most certainly confirmed that a new Dragon Age game is currently in production and has been announced.

Unless Patrick is calling it ‘still-unannounced' because they’re planning an announcement soon...

I feel like Patrick is just joking at the fact that the next game is most certainly set in Tevinter, considering PC Gamer made an article a while back stating that Dragon Age 4 is set in Tevinter based on the Tevinter Nights book reveal, it made plenty of the BioWare staff and community laugh at their credulous Journalism. So, it could just be that.

Anyhow, March has actually been an amazing month to be a Dragon Age fan! We had the final issue of Blue Wraith and the release of the anthological Tevinter Nights!

Tevinter Nights dropped plenty of story hints for the future of Dragon Age. I was lucky enough to receive an early copy, as of which, I’ve created plenty of content regarding all of the story threads uncovered in the novel that you should check out once you’ve read the book for yourself, I’ve still got more to content to come from Tevinter Nights too!

However, if you have not read it and very much care about the future of Dragon Age, which if you’re watching this video, you most likely do. So, you should go and read this book because we learn A LOT going forward for the future narrative of Dragon Age. The book is a huge spring board for the next game, so go and read it!

(Blue Wraith)

The final issue of Blue Wraith launched and as much as I enjoyed it, the comic ended on a cliff-hanger!

The lead writers Nunzio DeFilippis and Christina Weir are hopeful for another comic to come, stating:

The two also spoke in a comic-centred interview by Deconstructing Comics about the direction of their entire Dragon Age comics. That since Knight Errant, their comics are created to prepare for a hypothetical Dragon Age 4, but not as a prologue or a plot for the next game. Nunzio suggested that fans should instead look at Tevinter Nights.

Nunzio shared on BSN Forums that hopefully the wait for the next comic won’t be as long as last time. Dragon Age: Deception came out through October – December of 2018, whereas Blue Wraith came out through January – March of 2020. So, perhaps the next comic run could come mid-2021.

(Future Books/Comics)

Speaking of future books and comics, just after I finished Blue Wraith and Tevinter Nights, I was asking myself what’s next to look forward to regarding Dragon Age content. However, on March 23rd we got not one, but two book announcements coming later this year.

Dropping on the 13th of October, BioWare are revealing a new development book, charting the legendary game studio's first 25 years in a massive retrospective hardcover book at $39.99. Perhaps we’ll learn more about Dragon Age 4’s previous iteration, project Joplin?

Following that, on October 27th, the five Dragon Age graphic novels are being put into a massive collection for $29.99.

This book collects Dragon Age: The Silent Grove #1-6, Dragon Age: Those Who Speak #1-3, Dragon Age: Until We Sleep #1-3, Dragon Age: Magekiller #1-5, and Dragon Age: Knight Errant #1-5.

But not Deception & Blue Wraith? Potentially they’ve left these two out because Dark Horse wish to progress with these comics, foreshadowing more comics in the future to come?

(Reddit Leak)

Moving on to a slightly weird, and most certainly fake-but-take-it-as-you-will-update... we have a reddit leak showing many upcoming games release dates, with some actually being accurate. Dragon Age 4 is listed here, and according to this leak, it’s releasing the 15th of November, 2020. Again, most certainly fake, but take it as you will.

Speaking of fake leaks, a 2018 leak for Dragon Age 4’s contents has resurfaced, and oh boy is this thing fake. I feel like dissecting this thing as a separate video just for a laugh, but tell me down below if that’s a good idea or not.

With that, that’s all the updates we had in March! We’re three, almost four months into 2020, as crazy as this year has been so far. I’ve already created plenty previous news updates, so if you need to be caught up to date, or you’ve missed an update, or you’re just stuck inside and need something to put your mind at ease - I have a news playlist with every single major update regarding Dragon Age 4’s development, so be sure to check that out.

I hope you all are holding up okay and staying safe, distract yourself by telling me some of your own hopes for the next Dragon Age game, it can be anything you'd like to see! Personally, I'd love to see Vaea make any appearance in DA4!

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trulycertain · 4 years ago

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fic writer interview

Tagged by @skogrr Thank you very much! It's a while since I've done one of these, and I've missed them.

Name: Tru/"Oi you" Fandoms (that I write for): Dragon Age, mostly. Still the fandom of my heart. Mass Effect, Deus Ex... uh, accidentally GreedFall? I don't know how or when that happened. Two-shot: Hmm... The actual last two-shot I wrote was Terms & Conditions, a very silly Dorian/Inquisitor modern AU where Gal is the guy Dorian hires to stop his late father's house falling apart. Recently? I suspect that's going to be Driftwood, which can stand on its own as a sort of weird post-canon first-meeting AU, but is trying to tempt me to continue it. (Vasco ends up going looking for Tír Fradí, which has disappeared - and finds it. He also finds De Sardet as a highly avoidant tree god of the island, post-Bad Ending, who transformed against her will. And he ends up falling in love with her anyway.) Weird tree gods! Pining by literal pine! An eventual happy ending! More grumpy commentary by Vasco!

Most popular multi-chapter: Either An Unquenchable Flame or Distraction, probably - both juggernaut pairings, the former close to the game's release and the latter with some fancy forbidden romance, so not so surprising. But surprisingly, Prague, 10:42 PM has done really well, considering it's for a small fandom (Deus Ex) and a rarepair age/rank-difference pairing that I thought would be a one-off experiment? I get it, guys. I like sad repressed stoics too.

Actual worst part of writing: Editing - which can be fun, but that "over and over" stage when you're about to post, especially in a longfic if you fear you've lost the spirit of the thing and the character voices and you can't see the wood for the trees. And when I have to remove a whole scene which Jenga-unbalances the fic, and then I have to redux from the top. Basically, most things to do with pacing. How you choose your titles: I like double-meanings and one word titles. If that fails: quote from a song. If that fails: quote from poetry, but very rarely. Do you outline: Only a little. A bulletpointed list of events or noted-down major lines of dialogue, that's usually it.

Ideas I probably won’t get around to but wouldn’t it be nice: Uh... oh god. I blame so many people for some of these.

Post-Destroy ending where John is attempting to build a shed on Rannoch because that's the kind of thing retired people do, right? and Tali is far better at it than him, and it's just... disgusting fluff.

Actually, just reduxing the early John/Tali stuff with a bit more nuance and a stronger style.

Eva and Kaidan, and their mutually wary first meeting. ("Wow, that's a lot of pomade." "Wow, that's a lot of death-glare.")

AU where Gal and Dorian never met in DAI, and after everything went down, Gal tried to fade into the shadows and leave. He ended up working in Tevinter as an occasional informant/odd-jobs guy the way he was pre-Inquisition. He ends up being a gardener for a bitter, wry magister who seems to hate the entire Magisterium, has recently lost his father to political scheming and murder, and wants to take down the entirety of the remaining Venatori with one staff and maybe his teeth if he has to (hi, Dorian). But first, Dorian's going to drink his own body weight in whiskey and be a recluse for a while and start thinking about time magic again. Gal is trying to keep his head down and should definitely not be falling in love with said magister. Who's someday going to end up at one of the more southerly ports, come across a statue of the great Inquisitor, and go, Oh.

Stuff on Jensen's PT and rebuilding himself post-augs. More of Proprioception, basically.

Mer-AU where Marie De Sardet is still a diplomat attempting to make new connections, just not a human one, and it's a disaster. An awkward disaster. Highlights include her being framed as the beast trying to drown their best captain; her attempting to wobble about on brand-new legs and Vasco's coat while everyone assumes the dear captain has had a few too many; her asking Vasco if his "fascinating markings" glow; them getting into a duel, and her (fondly) getting punted off the side of the ship going "Woo-hoo." OK, I wrote a bit of that, but only a 1k doodle I'll probably never return to.

Non-Naut court AU where Marie gets promised to Bastien D'Arcy, because he's a bit of a layabout but he's also rich, popular at court, and amenable to bribe - [cough] suggestion, and the D'Arcys have prominent trading links with the Alliance. Instead she falls for his far less of a social butterfly, tired, worried-numbers-guy brother Léandre, who's pretty damn uncomfortable around Nauts because he's well aware he nearly got sold to them and he is not the favourite.

Straight-up role-reversal AU (another thing where I've put down 1k that I'll probably never return to), where Marie's Naut name is Paz, and she's a fed-up second-mate who's tired of noble idiots and feels a little strange and conflicted about her mark (and has context for it, because they make frequent crossings to Tír Fradí). Also a little more jaded, without the love of her mother, and not nearly as much of a tryhard as Vasco in canon; she ended up here because she had nowhere else to go and the Nauts were like "Ooh, free kid," and she's well aware. She gets stuck escorting the D'Arcy brothers to Tír Fradí for their new venture and is not looking forward to it. Except one of them is intensely bright and wry and keeps asking questions about the ship and noticing shit he is definitely not meant to notice, and they keep ending up in strange conversations, even if he seems really, really wary and uncomfortable about Nauts.

Some vague stuff about Vasco's thoughts on Jonas and that whole side quest, considering he's also a sea-given and implies sea-given take some shit in the Nauts, and also how damn difficult it must be watching a sea-given's parents endeavour to get their kid back when he knows full well his didn't do that for him.

Actually, just more Vasco POV in general, even though he's damn hard to nail down. I've written much pining for him from Marie's perspective, and I'd like to try things from the opposite. This guy's idea of wooing someone perfectly normally is to panic and then recite Baroque poetry. You know he's sappy as hell in the privacy of his own head, even if he's trying not to be.

Jean and Síora having the "I'm a sad healer who just lost my mother and I'm trying so hard not to crumble under the weight of assisting the leader" mutual talk way too late at night around the campfire and maybe him crying on her shoulder a little, with mutual kindness and the beginnings of attraction, and her finally getting past his jokey-smug facade to understand him.

More stuff about Jean's past in general, and how he wanted to be a doctor before he was dragged away from it by looking after Constantin and being nobility.

Síora and Eseld and the ways they changed over the years; something like an exploration of grief and growing her own will and the ways they very differently view the renaigse. Also maybe more about the en ol menawi magic, if I can worldbuild well enough?

I'd also love to do a GreedFall soulmark AU - it's generally not my kind of trope, I'm not into biological determinism type tropes - just because names and aliases and assumed identities are such a mess in GreedFall and it's a repeated plot point. That said, I feel like it's been done so beautifully in this fandom before that I wouldn't have much to add.

Callouts @ me: So. Many. Commas. So much over-explaining everything. If they get out of the car, your readers do not need a five-page manual of "and then he undid his seatbelt and leaned over to grasp the door handle, and then pulled it, and then stepped a foot out before he almost thought better of it - but no, he was going to get out of this car. The other foot joined the first, and he nearly banged his head on the doorframe."

Best writing traits: People say I have a head for finding small-but-important moments. I'm also told I write likeable protags. People have more than once said my writing makes them feel safe or makes them smile, and I really couldn't ask for more than that. I'll take those.

Spicy tangential opinion: I don't think I have any, really? Oh god, that makes me sound so very boring. Oh! Um. There should be more tree body horror in fandom. And body horror in general. *thumbsup*

No pressure tagging: @artemis-crimson, @eridanidreams,@rainypixel, @aphreal42.

#tru talks #memes #long post

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blarrghe · 4 years ago

Note

“Wrapping arms around them when they make breakfast” Dorian x Anders, because I imagine Dorian has NEVER had a lover make him breakfast before (and Anders probably as a cat-shaped waffle iron)

Ok, as much as I love “his boyfriend makes him breakfast and it breaks Dorian” I also like, JUST did that over in my pavellan fic. It was very sweet and all, but consider: neither of these men are functional adults so who the hell is making breakfast? Still, got Anders his waffles. Anyway this directly sequels the last one again, because I’m using prompts to generate this story now I guess, and I’m really invested in this slow burn friends-to-lovers angsty mess now, so this got super long. I’m gonna start posting this as a series on AO3 I think -- also taking title suggestions XD. Thanks for dragging me into this hell :’) Here’s Breakfast:

He told himself that he was just coming along to keep an eye on him. A designated driver of sorts, just one without a car, or driver’s license, for that matter. He showed Dorian to the bar across the street and ordered himself a glass of water while Dorian asked for “the worst swill you have", with a rather large tip slapped on the bartop. He was handed something astringent smelling in a foggy glass, downed it in one quick backwards toss of his head — arching his neck, snapping back again with a shudder — and then he asked to have the bottle.

Dorian took two more shots before he spoke. “Did you know that there was an author, horror novelist, whose mother disapproved so wholly of her marriage that after she died, she and her husband took their revenge by having sex right on her grave?”

So. This was going to be an interesting evening. “I did know that, actually.” Anders said.

“I’m rather a fan of hers, of her work, I mean.” he took another shot, “and of her misbehaviours. Only, do you think it would be too gouache, seeing as it’s already been done?”

Anders coughed. “Because if it hadn’t been, it wouldn’t be?”

Dorian shrugged, and took a fourth shot. Maker, he’d finish the bottle within half an hour, at this rate.

“I’m a fan of hers too,” Anders attempted to steer the conversation into something somewhat more...appropriate, “of her work.” He was also a fan of the story, but maybe not at this particular moment.

“Oh?”

Anders took a sip of his water, and signalled to the bartender to put a water glass in front of Dorian, too. “I tend to enjoy stories about misunderstood monsters,” he shrugged.

“Me too.” Dorian ignored the water glass in favour of shot number five. “Of course, she was married to a like-minded soul, I’d have to find myself a willing participant.”

“Strange thing to put into your dating app profile,” Anders agreed. Dark humour came easy — though he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea.

“Mm. Man seeking man to fuck on father’s grave, must be willing to break cemetary locks and city bylaws. Risk of haunting, serious inquiries only.”

Anders tried to stifle his laugh. Man seeking man, though. No. Nope. Very terrible idea.

“I don’t suppose you’d be game?”

Anders coughed again, his cheeks flaring up, and shook his head. “I — uh — I think that must be against...one of my oaths.” he stuttered, still flushing.

Dorian took yet another shot, which made six. What in the world was he made of? "Yes I suppose it must be. Or should be, at any rate." His cheeks were a bit flushed too, even in the dim light, but just from the alcohol; evidently the man had no concept of shame, because next he said, "well, it was worth a shot."

Speaking of shots. "Water," Anders instructed, moving the water glass closer to Dorian, "you should drink some water."

"Yes doctor." Dorian obliged, taking the glass to his mouth but raking his eyes up and down Anders as he drank down the entire thing. Anders just kept on blushing.

"I take it you and your father didn't get along?" It probably wasn't the right question to ask the recently bereaved, but he'd nearly failed that psych 101 course he'd taken in first year, and it was a step away from morbid propositions. Void, where was Merrill when he needed her?

"You met him, didn't you?" Dorian raised an eyebrow, and with quickly failing coordination, poured himself one more shot, while spilling enough to fill another over the bartop. Anders grabbed a napkin, while Dorian threw his shot back without seeming to notice. "My father hated me." He said, once he'd swallowed.

Tear soaked apologies and an alcohol soaked "celebration" of his death. Anders felt something in the pit of his stomach plummet that was quite removed from the growing pangs of hunger his measly lunch — a granola bar five hours ago — had left him with.

"I'm sure he didn't —" Dorian stopped him with an ice cold look, intimidating even as he swayed in his seat. Anders frowned, there had been something in that psych course about not sharing your own traumatic experiences with a patient, even if they were relatable. Muddies the waters of who's caretaking who, or gives them ideas, or makes you look crazy too, so they lose confidence, but — "mine did, too." He gave Dorian's arm a tentative pat, and waved the bartender down for a refill of water. Dorian drank it without prompting this time, but his eyes watched Anders again, waiting for more. "Or he must've, got rid of me quick enough."

"Ah," Dorian leaned back, a little too far, Anders tensed to catch him in case he started to fall, "then I'm an ass. Sorry."

"No, you're —" Dorian swayed back forward with a bit of a jolt, like he'd forgotten how to stop and needed to grip the bartop to keep level. He reached for the bottle again, and Anders shot a hand out to grab it first. Their hands met, Dorian's falling on top of his over the bottle, and then in an instant Dorian's flew away again. "You're drunk." Anders said.

"Yes," Dorian agreed, "marvelous." He went back to the water, then cast Anders' hand, still on the bottle, a hopeful look. "Though not to the point where I won't remember any of this miserable day, yet."

Anders raised an eyebrow, and kept his hand on the bottle.

"Not that I'm saying I wish to forget you," Dorian's eyes were pleading with him, glossy as they were, "you've been rather kind, really, it's just…" when Anders still didn't release the bottle, he groaned. Then he straightened out his face again, a mask of sensibility that was barely holding: "I'm afraid you aren't seeing me at my best, doctor Anders."

"Just Anders." Maker, but the sadness behind it all was killing him. You're heart's too soft, Anders, he scolded himself.

"Anders, then. Quite the name."

"More a point of origin." Anders explained with a shrug.

"Yes, the hair rather gives you away. And the complexion." He reached out and slipped two of his long fingers through a strand of Anders' strawberry hair, which was falling in a straggled mess about his temples. Anders flinched, pulling his head back, and Dorian frowned apologetically. "Pretty. You're very pretty." He said. Anders shook his head and rolled his eyes — the man was drunk — but blushed again.

"It's what the circle gave me," Anders explained the name with another shrug. He wasnt entirely sure why he was volunteering so much personal information to this perfect stranger. Perhaps he felt it was owed, after witnessing the death of the man's father, and all he'd overheard. Or maybe it was those eyes...

"Oh." Another apologetic frown, "and you ran away to Tevinter? Well, you wouldn't be the first." Anders nodded. "Where from?"

Anders chuckled dryly, "Kirkwall, most recently."

"Oof." Dorian grunted a drunken sound of disgust, and Anders chuckled again, "how in the world do you manage not to drink?"

Anders’ laugh grew stronger, he shook his head and took another sip of his water, while Dorian redirected his attention once more to the bottle still protected by his hand, as though just now remembering his plight. "One more, I promise I'll be good." He begged.

"Speaking as a doctor, I think you've had enough."

"I thought you were off duty."

"You're going to make yourself sick."

"Then it's lucky I'm with a doctor."

Anders sighed, and poured him one more slightly scant shot. Dorian frowned at the way the alcohol didn't reach the rim of the glass, but threw it back with a grateful sigh.

“Can I call you a cab, Dorian?” Anders offered, watching worriedly as Dorian gave his head a dramatic shake and swayed a little more back and forth. The bar was emptying out, and last call was coming upon them. He cast a glance at the old watch ticking away on his wrist, mentally calculating how long it would be until he could be at home, in his bed. Not that he minded keeping the miserable man company, quite the opposite, despite everything. He had a pull to him Anders couldn’t quite explain; the eyes again, probably. But the bus came once an hour at this time of night, and didn’t stop at the closer stop, just the well-lit main hub that lay several blocks from his apartment — another fifteen minutes of walking after he got off, so a good hour or more to get home, altogether, if he left now.

“Is it that time already?” Dorian sounded disappointed, spinning the empty shot glass around on the bar, then with a sudden spark of concern in his eyes he turned his face to Anders, “I’ve kept you too long, haven’t I? How dreadfully selfish of me, I —” he was sputtering a rather pitiful apology, and Anders’ stomach fell again at the sight of it.

“It’s alright,” he said gently, muscle memory finding the soft smile he used for giving bad news to patients, “your father died today, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“Yes, father died…” Dorian got a far-off look in those cold eyes of his, and then directed them back at his empty glass, “and you — you had to, I mean, here I am wasting your time when you must be — selfish —” all at once, his face crumpled, and the guilty muttering gave way to tears. Shit.

Anders patted his back once, carefully, and Dorian seemed to utterly collapse under his touch, sobbing into the sticky countertop. Anders took a deep breath, and dragged him up again. He tossed a tip of his own onto the bar as the bartender shot them an aggravated look, and hauled Dorian away, draping his arms over his shoulders. Dorian slumped into him, heavy, hunched over, still crying, as Anders pushed through the door of the bar and into the balmy night air, awash with the putrid stench of dumpsters in the alley and the sick coughed up by the bar’s less restrained patrons. It all made him a little homesick. Dorian, hanging halfway off of him, lurched forward like he was about to add his own mess to the stink in the alley, but then he righted himself again, and propped himself up using Anders’ shoulder. Anders took the opportunity to pull out his phone.

“Where am I sending you?” he asked helpfully. Dorian made another face that seemed to threaten that he was about to be sick.

“I’m not going back there,” he muttered, less to Anders than to the ground. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Just help me find my car?”

“You can’t drive.”

“I’ll sleep in it — I left it in the lot.”

“No.”

Dorian pushed himself off of Anders, propelling himself away from his shoulder, and staggered forward a step. Then he seemed to change his mind, or realise he was in no state to walk on his own, and reached an arm out to fall back against the wall of the alley.

“No?” He asked, incredulous as Anders took his arm and draped it back over himself, walking them out of the alley and the stink.

“I’m not letting you sleep in your car,” Anders shook his head as he dragged the man forward. He was heavier than he looked. Strong, too, if the grip on his shoulder was any indication. “Besides, I can’t risk leaving you in a vehicle, if you did something stupid that would be on me.”

Dorian snorted, “do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.” Anders answered honestly, which seemed to amuse Dorian.

“I’m not stupid.” he said, “very, very smart, actually.” he insisted. Anders nodded appreciatively.

“Alright then, so you see why I can’t just leave you in the hospital parking lot, in your condition.”

“Mm. Kind of you, but I can think of worse places.” So could Anders, but he shuddered to think what could happen to Dorian if he left him alone like this, drunk and stumbling and wearing the most expensive looking suit he’d ever seen; he’d already flashed his overstuffed wallet far too openly when ordering his drinks inside. “Is there a hotel? I could buy a hotel.” Dorian slurred.

Anders was fairly certain he’d forgotten a word in his suggestion, but given the suit and the wallet, maybe not. Before Anders could answer, he lurched forward and away from him again, back towards the alley, and into a spasming sort of crouch, retching.

Anders took an instinctive step back as Dorian gagged and sputtered out a vomit of mostly liquid and bile onto the broken stone of the alleyway, then remembered his physician’s training, and rushed forward to steady him. Between coughs, Dorian swore, and when he finished (miraculously, his suit and shoes were still unharmed), he began to cry again. Anders sighed, and once more feeling a little bit homesick, he breathed out an all too familiar refrain: “well, shit.” he said.

“Not —” Dorian was stuttering apologetically at him now, “not my best.” He wiped at his tears, swore again, then got up from his crouch and began to stumble forward once more, heading the wrong way down the alley. Anders took him by the shoulders and led him out again.

“Hotel?” The word smushed out of him with so much drunken misery that Anders felt almost like crying for him, and he sighed again, pulling out his phone.

“I’m taking you home,” he dialed the number and gave the taxi company their location, then propped Dorian up against the wall of the bar that faced the street, rather than the alley, keeping an eye on his paling face and shaky breathing.

“What, your home?"

Anders nodded, “if you choke on your vomit and die in your hotel room, I’ll feel responsible,” he explained as Dorian looked up at him with a perplexed, and dare he say it, even eager look.

“Very kind of you, doctor Anders.” he said, but before Anders could correct him on the honorific again, he stooped and threw up, so doctor Anders it was.

——

Dorian all but fell asleep in the taxi, head drooping down into his chest, swaying this way and that as the car rounded the corners, but thankfully he kept from throwing up any more. The luck didn’t hold once they were inside Anders’ apartment though, and soon Anders had him steadied in a kneel over his toilet bowl, getting out the rest of it. Dorian flung most of his clothes off before throwing up this time, wrestling himself out of the suit jacket and tight shirt beneath it, while Anders tried not to be impressed. He had a really remarkable physique, but he was also lurching and coughing miserably into Anders’ toilet, so it was definitely not something to admire. Then he got him onto the couch, set a large bowl on the floor by his head, and coaxed him into one more glass of water before letting him lie down. Dorian offered him another tearful apology, and then tearful thanks, and then he passed out. Anders sat back in a chair across from him for a while, watching as his breathing slowed to a steady rise and fall, ensuring that his head was turned to the side, mouth facing the bowl, in case he was to vomit any more in his sleep, and then he finally, finally, stumbled his own way to bed.

He woke to the sound of his cupboards banging shut and the kettle screeching to a whistle.

Anders stumbled out into his kitchen to find Dorian standing there with a distraught look on his face, pouring water into two large mugs. He was dressed again, and looking remarkably perfect, actually. Hair all in place and posture all upright once more. The bowl was gone from the floor, too, and nothing smelled off — just a little like tea.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, suddenly aware of his own shabby pajamas.

Dorian turned, still looking distraught. "You don't have any food." He complained, "I fed your cat —" Anders looked down to the corner of the kitchen where Ser Pounce's food bowl was, and found Ser Pounce there happily nibbling from a bowl filled to slightly too full, "I hope that's alright. I woke up with him on my chest and he wouldn't stop pawing at that cabinet so I figured…"

Anders smiled softly, and not in a practiced way, he'd entirely forgotten to check the food bowl when they came in the night before, occupied as he'd been.

"And then I saw you had a coffee pot, so I was going to make coffee, as a thank you — well, actually, I was going to have some delivered, but I don't rightly know where I am —" Dorian ran a hand through his hair, and he was talking quite speedily, cheeks going just slightly pink "but you don't have coffee. Or anything."

Now Anders blushed, embarrassed for the nakedness of his cupboards.

"Anyway, thank you. Tea?"

Anders nodded, and took the few remaining steps to the counter to grab one of the mugs of still steeping tea; he liked to keep the bag in. He moved from the counter to the couch, cupping the mug with both hands, and sat down.

"117 Orseck Ave.," he said, "that's where you are. How are you feeling… how much of last night do you remember?"

"I remember making a fool of myself, if that's what you're asking. And you being uncommonly kind." He paused, "it is Anders, right?" Anders nodded, "is there anything else I should remember, Anders?"

Anders shook his head, "that about sums it up."

Dorian chuckled. When he wasn't drunk or crying, it was a nice sound. He leaned against Anders' counter — stunning, how was he stunning after a night like the one he'd just had? "Well, you've certainly wasted enough of your time looking after me, and I can get out of your hair now, but —"

"— I wouldn't call it a waste of time," Anders interrupted, because something in him always seemed to speak up whenever Dorian went about making statements like that. It kind of had been a waste of his time, Anders tried to protest against that something, he'd lost a great deal of sleep to it, anyway. But somehow the look that his interruption gained him from Dorian was impossible to remain grumpy with.

"Have you been to Marc's?" Dorian asked suddenly, brightening with a hopeful smile, "since I know where we are now, and its nearby, and you have no food," he went on, "and personally, I'm starving —"

"I imagine you would be," Anders said, though at the mention of hunger his own stomach took the opportunity to awaken too, noisily. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the sound.

"Might I buy you breakfast? I feel I owe you that much."

Anders hadn't been to Marc's. He'd been by it many times, a busy little brunch place, always smelling of bacon and pancakes and with a line out the door. It was a bad idea to say yes to this, he thought, a bad idea to say yes to anything involving absurdly handsome men who just lost their fathers, who were obviously walking disasters waiting to happen (you always had a thing for disasters waiting to happen) — shush. His stomach grumbled again.

"I haven't been," Anders answered, "there's always a line — and I am on call, I might not have time to —"

"Oh, we can skip all that." Dorian brushed the protest aside, "so? Don't try to tell me you aren't hungry."

Anders kicked at a bit of cat hair fluff adorning the edge of his couch, "alright, sure."

Dorian was certainly good at getting him to say yes to things he should know better than to say yes to. If he kept going on like this, the next thing he knew he'd be having sex on his father's grave.

----

They arrived at the restaurant, just a short walk from Anders' building, and yet in a considerably nicer part of town — the new money was creeping in towards his end of things, but where he lived at least was still very much no money — and Dorian walked straight up to the front of the line. Anders hung back, watching skeptically as Dorian performed a series of intricate maneuvers: some charm, a smile, a handshake Anders recognized from Varric — the kind with a bill snuck inside — and then he turned, waving Anders over.

"We can wait ten minutes for a table, or have our food prepared now and take it outside. Your choice." He smiled. Maker, such a good smile; straight teeth and a brilliantly white gleam. "But you're on call, right? And to be honest with you, the fresh air is making me feel considerably less queasy. Park across the street?" Anders nodded and shrugged at the same time, a gesture that seemed to satisfy Dorian into continuing to take charge of the situation. "Alright then, to go. And fast, if you can. We're both very busy and important." He winked at the young hostess as he was handed two paper menus, and Anders could have sworn she blushed brighter than the checkerboard red on the apron she wore. "What do you fancy?" Dorian asked him, handing over one of the papers.

It was diner food, but not really. Poached eggs with house-smoked bacon over an heirloom tomato coulis, waffles with Orlesian creme sauce and glazed berries, rare wheat pancakes with apple cinnamon compote and vanilla syrup — just a few options, all of them coming with a detailed list of decadent flavours. In addition to those few confounding main courses was a fresh juice list filled with exotic fruits Anders had never even heard of, and approximately twenty different kinds of coffee.

"Uh, waffles?" He said, squinting at the menu, "waffles and coffee?"

Dorian beamed some more, and took back his menu to point out the waffle dish, as well as several other things, confidently ordering far more food than could possibly be necessary as well as coffee and one of the strange fruit juices while insisting that Anders simply had to try it. The patient employee nodded and hurried away, and not ten minutes later came back with two plastic bags stuffed near splitting with cardboard containers, and a tray of drinks. Dorian thanked her with another winning smile and secretly-funded handshake, and then they were off.

The park across the street had benches, so they sat on one — finding one in the shade of a great, leafy tree, as even the morning sun was warm. Then, Dorian began a conversation, and the whole thing was far less awkward than Anders had expected. Dorian asked about his work, so Anders described some of it, though he avoided anything too close to topics of death and dying, and Dorian held his gaze while he talked and asked compelling questions. He seemed to be, as claimed, very smart, and the food was practically otherworldly. Then Anders asked Dorian about his work in turn, and Dorian sighed.

"Well, you're new here, aren't you? How much do you know about Tevinter politics? The intricacies of it all can take a lifetime to wrap one's head around. That's by design; keeps things all tied up with the upper classes who have it in their blood to be intollerable bureaucrats." His air was flippant, but altogether disapproving, which Anders appreciated.

"I've been here a while now, actually. A couple of years, anyway, I understand it a bit. Political science was always my…'' downfall? "Second passion." He washed down a heaping forkful of creme covered waffles made of pure fairy dust and clouds with whatever exciting fruit drink Dorian had handed him — it tasted like bright green, with a hint of citrus. "I feel people should be informed — active. Healthcare is as political as it is practical." And mage freedom, that was political too, but they didn't have to get into that. Mages were already free in Tevinter. Other kinds of people, however — something bitter bit at the back of his mind. But it was too sunny, and the food too good, for that sort of conversation.

Dorian nodded approvingly, his eyes lighting up. "Alright then, I'm an Altus. I argue things in circles in the house a lot, these days I've been losing all sorts of friends arguing this Sopperati electorate reformation bill," Anders' eyes widened, impressed. He'd been following the progress of it, a huge step for increased class equality, if it passed. So maybe it was just sunny enough for such a conversation. "but of course it can only go so far without approval from the Magisterium," Dorian went on, a slight growl of frustration colouring his tone, which was appealing in a different way, "and for that we need to convince those with seats in the — in the —'' he stopped, and some of the light fell from his eyes. "I just remembered that my father is dead." He said. Shit. Not a sunny conversation, after all. "His seat passes to me, you see, because nepotism still runs stronger than good sense and he's written my name into all these continuations of his legacy and…" he sighed, and stabbed hard at a piece of brilliantly poached egg, which honestly didn't deserve it, "sorry. It's going to be a very hectic and difficult few weeks, with all the ceremony and paperwork and the whole ordeal of burying him…" he scooped up some of his bleeding egg yolk with a wedge of toast, and went silent in favour of eating, while Anders took an uncomfortable sip of juice that seemed to have lost some of its vividness. "You've been here for years, you said?" Dorian changed the subject, refocusing on Anders. Anders nodded, still awkwardly sucking up juice through the straw of his cup. "I would have sworn you were an escapee fresh from the harbour."

"Why?" Anders bristled a little.

"Your apartment. You have no food or furniture," Anders bristled a little more, "and you've never been to Marc's", Anders frowned, furrowing his brow at the impossibly good, impossibly expensive waffles, "and you're too nice." Dorian finished. Anders looked up in surprise, catching Dorian's eye. They were still a bit lost for light, but soft on him.

"I'm just very busy," Anders shrugged. And very poor, but, well, Dorian probably thought anyone with fewer than a thousand acres of family land was poor, given his status. He didn't need to know the extent of it.

"Hm," Dorian's eyes were still on him, soft and thoughtful, "what else haven't you done?" Anders shrugged, and Dorian began listing things. Tourist attractions and famed galleries, but also other, lesser-known offerings of the city that Anders had never even heard of.

"Ferry through the archipelegos?"

"No."

"The volcanic sand beaches?"

"No."

"Dinner at the top of Tidarion Tower?"

"No."

And on like that, until he finally said yes to something — taking in a show at the infamous burlesque playhouse in the city's red light district, which elicited an eyebrow raise.

"Priorities, I see." Dorian chuckled, "at least you have good taste." He reached an arm up over Anders' side of the bench, as he finished with his food and slid the box away, very smooth. "I'd have offered to take you. Maybe one of the others sometime, then, if you've a mind." He suggested. Anders could feel his cheeks beginning to run hot again. Still a bad idea, he reminded himself. Apparently sensing his unease, Dorian removed his arm from its perch near Anders' shoulders. "May I say something painfully honest?" he asked.

Anders swallowed, but he managed a smirk as he replied. "I think we're well past that," he said.

Dorian shook his head with a dry chuckle, "yes, well. I'm all out of sorts, as you may have noticed."

Anders chuckled too, but with him, not at.

"And normally, if I'm to get drunk and go home with a stranger, it all goes a certain way," then he actually winked, which on him was somehow charming and not over the top at all. Anders swallowed again, "and, not that I'm opposed, but, well, as I said: you've been uncommonly kind. I could — I've been losing friends left and right lately, it seems, with this bill, and…"

"I'm a fan of the bill," Anders said, "in fact I'm not sure it goes far enough."

The interruption seemed to lend Dorian some more confidence, as though he needed it, "so, pretty as you may be, I could use a, uh —"

Anders blushed again, but finished for him, "a friend?" He could use one too, if he was being honest. Near everything seemed to be making him homesick, lately.

Dorian nodded. "If that's not too forward." He said.

"You fed my cat," Anders replied, "as far as I'm concerned, we're already friends."

At that, Dorian smiled. He asked Anders his cat's name, and chuckled at the answer, and then they exchanged phone numbers and Anders stuck a little cat next to his own name as he entered it into Dorian's contact screen, which had him laughing even more. Anders offered to put the puking emoji next to Dorian's in return, but he insisted on a snake, because he “had a reputation to uphold”. Then Anders’ pager went off, and he groaned inwardly, wishing he could spend the day in the sun for once.

“Duty calls?”

Anders grimaced, and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, meaning it. Dorian stood too.

“You should take the rest — actually, this may be awkard, but I think we’re going the same way.” His car. Of course.

“You’re going to have a small fortune to pay in parking tickets,” Anders realised, frowning.

“Oh that’s fine. I have one of those — big, actually.” he winked again, “very big.” Sweet Maker, he just never stopped.

Dorian insisted on a cab, and then he insisted on paying for it, and then he insisted on Anders taking the rest of their uneaten brunch items to store in the breakroom for his lunch, and then finally he was ready to let him go, with a promise to be in touch. He extended his hand for Anders to shake. Anders took it, holding fast with a sure grip, and then, drawn in yet again by those cool, sad eyes, he pulled Dorian’s arm towards him, and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

Dorian stumbled back afterwards, cheeks flush, eyes glinting with surprise. “What was that for?”

“Just seemed like you needed it,” Anders said.

Dorian was still blushing, and his smile warmed Anders’ own cheeks. “Suppose I did,” he agreed.

“Take care, Dorian.”

“As you say, doctor.”

#dorianders #dorian x anders #my fic #my writing #dorian #anders #modern au #alcohol cw #vomit cw #breakfast #this is too fun help #disaster boys

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common-blackbird · 4 years ago

Photo

Started!

This is my Inquisitor (so overjoyed you can be a qunari), her name is the default Herah and I decided I’m going to approach this game by staying true to a character and not looking to do everything and be on everyone’s good side u_u

I want to make a good background for her so i’m not telling anything. Yet. I’ll just say she’s a qunari mercenary and prefers using two-handed weapons.

Highlights from today:

Studying history does pay off! This was a reference to the famous book in environmental history - Guns, Germs and Steel by Jared Diamond. So proud i recognised it x)

Also i don’t have a good shot of solas but he cracks me up so much.. The guy has a posture of the typical retired grandpa (the only thing missing is to have him walk with his hands on his back). And there’s a scene where the party sees the rift and there’s the inquisitor facing it, cassandra bracing herself and solas... just standing like an old man

On a side note, Cassandra is so gorgeous and good and i already love her, i just keep taking shots of her TAT

As for varric, it’s so different than from da2, this is so much more “official” and you can see he’s the same as ever, but you’re not hawke, hawke’s not here, the gang’s not here and there’s nothing casual about the whole situation T-T

And lastly, my inquisitor has a horse now, i didn’t know that was possible in the game ;__;

played some more...

Let me start with.... The advisors! (+ cassandra... or is she also an advisor too?)

What a bunch. I love Cassandra’s and Leliana’s faith having a crisis bc they believe that Inquisitor is the Herald of Andraste and the way they deal with it. It’s really interesting. Leliana is completely opposite than what she was in origins and i’m surprised it doesn’t bother me at all! I love seeing this whole darker side that was only hinted at in origins, though it’s also sad when i think how she used to be. I wonder how she’s gonna overcome her doubting of faith.

Josephine is a delight. I keep using her for almost every war table mission for now. She radiates capability. She reminds me of those bureaucrats that are super nice and helpful and chill and even if you’re doing everything wrong she’ll just smile and say “it’s ok, we can fix it” and then goes and fixes everything herself (and you feel this insane amount of gratitude you send a whole separate email to thank her for her patience and help )

As for Cullen... It’s interesting... I got impression from what i saw in the fandom that he’s supposed to have had his allegiance changed and him rejecting the templars should have been him ultimately siding with the mages (or at least being anti-templar(?)), and that turning point that could have been a great way to show his character development during the game. Which i agree, only... i did not get that impression from the game so far at all. I mean, so far everything that i can remember him saying is totally smth he’d say in da2... He didn’t leave kirkwall bc of his disappointment with the templar order, he doesn’t seem to have any issues with the templars except those who go full war mode instead of trying to balance the situation. And it’s a really chaotic situtation, i love how they did it.

This line was amazing, i wish there was a special cutscene for that.

I’m loving the way they made this huge religious organisation in crisis have a complete collapse with the death of a key figure. I love the concept of inquisition and problems that it poses. I love you can see everyone’s reasoning and doubts reflect their background, but also see why inquisition can be understood as another power-grasping organisation trying to topple the templars, the mages and the chantry. Everything is divided. We got templars leaving the chantry, seekers leaving the chantry(?), rebel mages, loyal mages, rebel mages gone rouge, templars gone rouge, and suddenly there’s another organisation forming that you can totally believe is just another powerhungry force trying to get the piece of the cake by taking advantage of the power vacuum left by the sudden lack of the religious authority. (and only we know we’re The Good Guys). I love that we have characters who need to believe in the greater plan, characters who question the greater plan, and characters who want to utilise the power of belief and characters who don’t care for divine plans. The chaos is real and it feels real. I love that the centre figure of the whole holy business is a heretic of another culture. For the chantry this is the lose-lose situation (unless the inquisitor becomes religious by the end of the game). Which is why this line works so well.

Ok, now shorter updates:

Red Jenny! I know it’s not her actual name but it is in my head. Where’s that box i delivered ages ago >_> Anyways, she makes my brain work on 150% capacity. I can understand what she means only after i go over it for 5 times.

Forgive me but oh my god, i can’t believe that i can recognise one voice actor and now i have another mental image whenever he speaks. Like, he’s really good at bringing out a new character, but when he gets more casual he sounds like kanan jarrus from star wars rebels and i’m just “what are you doing here, space dad” ;__; Hopefully it’ll get old and i’ll be enjoying more iron bull. he seems nice...

Vivienne on the other hand is like a reverse Josephine(?) She seems insanely capable but hates customer service, however somehow she likes you very much and will do everything you need for reasons you can’t fathom. Have a screenshot. So classy. I already feel humbled.

and lastly, BREAKING NEWS: aveline finally hired carver ;__;

Tbh Kirkwall is still a mystery and i have so many questions but i don’t think i’ll get any answers... If a powervacuum of the divine cause this much chaos, how’s kirkwall faring without a new viscount? Like, yeah, aveline can keep in check, but umm it’s in a very vulnerable state which makes it a good target for any invasion... didn’t sebastian promise bloodshed?

That’s all for now, bc otherwise i’ll start writing an essay on cassandra.

We befriended a bear in the hinterlands!

lets start with this cool shot

so, i have been to the mages and to the templars and... i sided with the templars.... First i was all for mages since they offered negotiations while the seeker just walked away, but then it turned out that was a trap, there’s also tevinter mages there (which is a red flag for my inquisitor) and then there’s some time magic involved (which is a big no for me), and i just walked out. Felt bad for the mages but my inquisitor comes from a culture where mages have their tongues cut so...

Also this guy deserves a medal for putting up with corrupted superiors and annoying nobles.

And i met cole ;__; Where are Rhys and Evangeline ;___;

the templar mission was ok i guess... I was surprised that red lyrium was apparently circulating around for some time, not sure if that means since meredith or even before. I love the stories of corruption tho and to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in this organisation that just keeps breaking everything it stands for

As for the important mages, i’ve Dorian twice since i bailed out on him in Redcliffe :I I love the guy, he seems arrogant yet so kind (like, no one would have carried that annoying priest and yet he did, after he ran from his own people to warn us after i ditched him in Redcliffe? man ;A;) Every time i go with “ok the inquisitor fears tevinter and distrusts this rando who just popped in” i am marinating in guilt.

and then we fight some mages and die several times but we succeed and we meet the bad guy...

Is it an unpopular opinion to say that i like him as a villain so far? i saw so many jokes on his incompetency. Idk, i like that part where he said that he reached the fade in someone’s name, it makes me think he’s not just power-hungry person(?) who’s just evil,but was originally serving someone, and he said that the gods were either gone or corrupted and he spent hundreds of years thinking what to do with whatever happened so he seems like he knows what he’s doing and maybe(!just maybe) he is trying to fix things that are wrong but we can’t see that? And of course he hates the inquisitor, he has to redo his stuff all over again, i’d hate the inquisitor too. im probably looking too much into it. My wish is that, if he’s evil, he became so gradually, but originally had good intentions? Or there’s more to things going on that we just don’t know and he does... Maybe this was his tragic attempt to fix things but he would ultimately fail and be branded as a villain etc etc. I’m getting carried away

If it turns out he’s just evil for the sake of being evil then feel free to tell me so now so i don’t embarrass myself further with plotting myself lol.

A side note, is he the Architect? Or the same? In DA2 he says he’s a tevinter magister, right? and he ceased to be a human. Also in DA2 it seemed like he was the boss, and here he said he reached in the name of someone (probably more important than him). But what is the Architect then?

And with that we reach the skyhold.

in skyhold

I didn’t know you meet hawke so soon ;__; i thought that was like, somewere more to the end of the game, since the big decision and all. But the mission is already opened and i am going to procrastinate on it until i finish every side mission :<

Also he is so sad ;__; i understand, but at the same time... all that humour now bitter sarcasm :’(

(also, very shallow remark, but i really really prefer his looks in da2 than here... it’s like they softened him. He’s more...oh god idk bearish(???) than hawkish(????) you know what i mean? the nose isn’t as sharp anymore, the beard is... what is it with the beard... anyways i get the game has its limits so it’s fine. it’s fine! fine.)

then there was the fight that i remember since twitter >:D

It’s what made me want to play dragon age and i finally reached it T-T so good! I love how you can see the both sides and everything they say is true but they’re so angry at themselves they’re taking it out on each other TAT

Cassandra later says Hawke probably wouldn’t have joined the inquisition even if she found him, and i wonder now if that’s true... At first i thought, nah, Hawke has too much of a hero complex, he would feel too responsible to just say no. Besides, he’s with the inquisition now (tho i can’t find him anywhere anymore!). But at the same time, the way da2 ends was such an iconic walking away from everything, and not taking into account the hocus-pocus rift stuff, i can imagine him refusing, especially seeing how bitter he is now. It’s also a question of how much would have cassandra told him i guess. idk, what do you think? Would he lead or nah?

another person i want to find but can’t in skyhold are the templars with ser barris. i can use them on war table missions but otherwise they’re non-existant? i forgot to talk to him back in haven but now i wonder if it was even possible and if he was even available there, since he isn’t here. I spent hours just running around skyhold looking for the guy :(

and then everything becomes unimportant bc aaaaa!! she! is the arcanist! Dagna! im so happy and proud(?) she went and reached her goals x)

anyways that’s all for now, laters

some random updates:

so i did the halamshiral and gave up to my “stick to the character” mode, and nothing went my way, but that’s life. Met morrigan! i almost forgot she appears lol. And, despite also jumping on the wagon of give-morrigan-better-clothes train, i have to admit seeing her in her old clothes was a relief after that dress at the ball. It’s not the way the dressed looked, but the way she moved in it... god im shallow

i also initially didn’t like morrigan being at orlais court of all places, but after the conversation that’s supposed to explain why she’s there i’m kinda ok with it. I mean, i still need some more info. Wouldn’t Tevinter be better? she’d practically become a magister overnight if she got this good in the game so fast. It’s also unconvincing how everyone knows everything in orlais but somehow nobody connected that the random kid that has no bakcground whatsoever with morrigan who keeps checking on him? But at skyhold she’s just “hey i have a kid, he’s no trouble, right?” but hey, it’s morrigan. She can do anything. I’ll just have another story idea in my head.

Then there was news of the new divine that could be either cassandra or leliana and i don’t honestly know whom to choose. I’d prefer leliana over cassandra simply bc cassandra is more of a military mind, while the position of the divine would be more political. But lately every mission with leliana was spy spy, kill kill... Do we really want that for a religious leader? On the other hand, it would nicely round up her story from origins to inquisition... But cassandra is more of a public figure than leliana is...

when cassandra said:

“I want to respect the tradition, but not fear change. I want to right the past wrongs, but not avenge them. And I have no idea if wanting any of them makes them right.”

great moment. She’s usually so convinced and rash, i forget she’s more doubtful and open minded than what she looks like. Everything about cassandra is different from the impression she gives ;__; I love her so so so so much. (when she says she considers the inquisitor her friend i melted, next time varric pulls up the “seeker has no friends” joke, my heart will no longer be breaking).

I did a bunch of personal missions. Some were cool, some were ????. Also there were war table missions with zevran, that was cool. Also i love the codex entries in skyhold. The archery competition with varric banned? Dancing lessons failing bc lace harding is on the move all the time? Perfect.

And i met chargers, i like them, and aaah that staff-bow from the trailer is such a cool idea ;A;

What i don’t get with bull’s chargers is - they’re a mercenary group right? But isn’t swordselling seen as the complete misunderstanding of the qun? I get only bull is qunari, but he’s the leader of them? How is that not frowned upon?

And lastly, i don’t think i’ve said this, but i love that they added codex entries in the loading screens. love it.

update

After months of procrastination, i have faced my fears and have met alistair. it was very anticlimatic beating 11 level monsters when i was level 21...

but.. ALISTAIR TAT He’s changed... but not changed... but changed! Like, his personality is the same, but he’s more serious, doesn’t run from responsibilities, isn’t as bitter as hawke (also, why do i get impression that i am supposed to get the impression that they’re friends? they’ve met like, once, and talked for less than a minute.. whatevs. let’s pretend they’ve met again when on the run), i really love the inquisition alistair ;;__;;

Also, i managed to get that awkward demon baby family reunion :D

know that morrigan says the vaguest generic thing “i told him his father was a good man” bc of various world states, but i also think she’s come a long way not to mock alistair, and then when he notices that she didn’t use the opportunity he mentions that the kid changed her and she’s like “pfft, yea right, you wish”....

... when she was the one who said that in the first place ;;__;;

Awwww :> I love that they bicker but softly. Kids have grown up :’) Anyways, when will alistair start paying alimony

The only weird one is Leliana bc when morrigan was introduced she was like “danger danger” (smth i’d sooner think alistair would do), and when alistair is (supposedly) in skyhold, Leli doesn’t even mention him, only hawke. bruh, what were they to you, you almost died together ;;__;;

oh i also slayed a dragon. I didn’t even want to fight that dragon. It was a hillarious feat of inquisitor, solas, cole and blackwall, all on level 21, having to chug all the health potions right at the beginning while fighting a dragon that was... level 13, after which i just let go of controls and suddenly everyone was hella good at fighting and slayed it (only cole needed revival several times).

And, befitting the wild-dream feel that it had, when i got back to skyhold and visited companions, suddenly i was drinking pelin with iron bull, and he’s reminiscing on that fight with the dragon and i’m like

it was awful and you weren’t even there.

i forgot to update

but last time i was playing i finished the hawke/alistair sacrifice and all the torture i went through with deciding whom to sacrifice vanished bc frankly, at one moment, i wanted to sacrifice both of them, but in the end it was much more easier to sacrifice hawke bc inquisition hawke just didn’t feel like hawke to me, while alistair improved since the origins!

and now i remembered why i didn’t update, in the same day cassandra rejected me so i was sad and didn’t continue playing since then (i think last time i played it was around easter?)

new update

BLACKWALL!! or should i say Thom Rainier? Wow, what an arc! It was also so fun bc i was all strict mode, picking the third option, telling him his life is in inquisitor’s hands and all that, but in the end i set him free. He’s so good, a true knight T-T

Also i romanced sera. we’ll see how that goes.

Also, fave point in the game so far, i wanted, for so long, to sit at that val roeayoux (can’t spell) cafe and finally did it with cole’s personal mission. THANK YOU COLE YOU TRULY CAN READ PEOPLE’S MINDS.

another interesting thing was that after specialising as a reaver, cassandra said that drinking dragon blood makes you grow scales and become mad. Iron Bull said that inquisitor smells better bc dragon blood and that qunari generally smell better than humans. So i’m guessing qunari have fractions of dragon in them? ok...

and now i started that mission with morrigan and the puzzles are killing me lol, i am this 👌 close to just go chase calpernia and give up on a well of sorrows.

#it's a terrible time to start a dragon age game but it's the only time #meet me at val royeaux with my pal cole fixing people's lives every sunday 5 pm

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pikapeppa · 4 years ago

Text

FenHawke &Varric friendship fluff: History

I was casually playing DA:I the other day and wandering around in the Hissing Wastes, and I got inspired to write some friendship fluff between Fenris, Rynne Hawke and their beloved BFF Varric. Set in my Fenris the Inquisitor universe.

~1700 words; read on AO3 instead.

************************

Fenris trudged over to the fire and sat next to Hawke with a groan. “I have finally succeeded in beating the sand out the creases in my clothes,” he announced. “For now, at least.”

Varric huffed. “At least you didn’t wear boots. I’m pretty sure I had enough sand in mine to build a castle.” He eyed his own bare feet in disgruntlement, and Fenris smirked; seeing Varric without boots on was a very rare occurrence.

“Told you to wear sandals,” Hawke said without looking up from the tattered book in her lap.

Varric gave her a long-suffering look. “When have you ever seen me in sandals?”

“There’s no better time to start,” Hawke said. “Bare chest, bare feet — it’s a natural pairing, like peas and carrots.”

Despite her jocular tone, she didn’t lift her eyes from her book. Fenris eyed her curiously. “What are you reading that has you so preoccupied?”

She finally looked up, and her amber eyes were wide and bright with interest. “It’s the journal we found on that poor dwarven fellow who got bitten by a spider. It’s pretty incredible, actually. I mean, sad because he died, poor sod,” she said quickly, “but incredible what he was figuring out.” She turned to Varric. “Did you know there was an entire dwarven house that purposely left the deep roads to set up here on the surface?”

He shot her a chiding look. “Have you ever seen me write anything much about the Orzammar dwarves?”

Her smile became sheepish. “Er, no.”

“Then that’s how much I know about a dwarven house leaving the deep roads to set up on the surface,” he said dryly.

“All right, fine, it was a stupid question,” she admitted. “But listen to this: this Paragon Fairel fellow took his house out of the deep roads before the First Blight to hide some incredible weapon he invented, so the rest of the dwarves would stop using it against each other. Before the First Blight! That’s how many years ago now?” She frowned. “Wait, when was the First Blight again?”

Amused, Fenris answered her question. “In -395 Ancient.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Maker’s balls, you’re so smart. No wonder I married you.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “All right, so some dwarves settled on the surface over a thousand years ago.”

“Yes, but that’s not all,” Hawke said. “It sounds like they were prepared to fight a dragon even before they left the deep roads. The fellow who wrote this journal found an inscription and translated it like this:

From the Stone, have no fear of anything,

But the stone-less sky betrays with wings of flame.

If the surface must be breached, if there is no other way,

Bring weapons against the urtok, and heed their screams.

She looked at Fenris and Varric with wide eyes. “Urtok means ‘dragon’, according to this. And ‘wings of flame’? That can only mean a dragon too, right? They knew before they breached the surface that there would be a dragon to contend with. How did they know that?”

“A good guess, maybe?” Varric said.

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. “But if they had never left the deep roads before, how could they even guess at what they’d find on the surface — and with enough accuracy to know they’d find a fire-breathing dragon?”

Fenris tapped her knee. “Perhaps they knew already of the archdemons, even if the First Blight had not yet happened.”

Her eyes grew even wider. “Shit. You’re right. Maker’s balls, I didn’t even — I never thought about the archdemons breathing fire underground. Do you think they breathe fire underground?”

“Probably,” Varric said.

She stared at him incredulously. “That’s insane.”

Fenris scoffed. “After everything we’ve seen, with the Titans and those ancient Sentinels at Mythal’s Temple and falling into the Fade, you think that a dragon breathing fire underground is insane?”

“I have to agree with the elf on this one,” Varric said.

Hawke burst out a laugh. “Listen to the two of you! Such grizzled and jaded men of the world! Maybe I’ve just retained my sense of childlike wonder.” Her smile widened. “Or maybe I’m just an idiot.”

Fenris tsked. “A very beautiful idiot,” he said, and he pinched her waist.

She squeaked in amusement and smacked his hand. “You certainly know how to flatter a girl. But really though, think about it: the entire history of this thaig, lost until now. And the Shaperate doesn’t know about it, or covered it up on purpose.”

Varric gave her a funny look. “Since when are you so preoccupied with dwarven history?”

“It’s not just dwarven history,” she said. “It’s… I don’t know.” She twisted her lips ruefully. “It’s rather fucked up how many people have lost such huge chunks of history, isn’t it? The dwarves, the elves… everyone who isn’t Chantry, really.”

“The Chantry is also unreliable with their history,” Fenris said. “They struck Shartan from the official Chant.”

She pulled a face. “Ugh, you’re right. That’s so fucked up, though. Everyone is so bloody casual with their histories. It’s so…” She trailed off with a frown, and Fenris eyed her with a pang of affection. Hawke was by no means the idiot she said herself to be, but it was unusual for her to get this pensive about history in particular. She tended to favour a happy-go-lucky focus on the present or the future, preferring to reserve her mental energy for discussions of magical theory instead of history.

She looked up at them with a little frown. “Even family histories or personal histories. There’s so much shit we can forget. I was named after a great-aunt or a grand-aunt or something, for example, but fuck knows who she even was anymore. Not that that’s any great loss of information, I don’t really care who I was named after. But at the same time, how can we say now what’s going to be important or not a hundred years from now?”

A rather melancholy silence ensued, which Fenris wasn’t sure how to break. He was starting to feel a bit melancholy and pensive himself. Hawke was right, after all; he, for instance, knew nothing more of his own family history than what Varania had told him at the Hanged Man several years ago. As he and Varania had never again contacted each other, it seemed that that was all Fenris would be fated to know.

“Oh balls,” Hawke said suddenly.

Fenris looked up to find her face crumpled in apology. She sidled closer to him and took his hand. “Oh, Fenris, I’m sorry. I’m being an ass, aren’t I, talking about this family history shit?”

“No, it’s…” He trailed off before he could say it was all right. His lost memories would never really be all right, but they were also no longer the gaping wound that they once were. “I’ve made my peace with my lack of history,” he said instead. “You know this.”

She winced. “I know, I just… ugh, I’m sorry.” She looped her hand through his elbow and hugged his arm. “I’m being so boring and mopey.”

Varric chuckled. “You really are. You and the elf here trading roles for a while?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Fenris said dryly.

“It really isn’t,” Hawke chirped. “No one but Fenris can fill the role of ‘most gorgeous elf in Thedas’.”

Fenris eyed her chidingly. “It is impossible for you to fill that role. You’re not an elf.”

She widened her eyes playfully. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

Fenris huffed in amusement, and Varric chuckled as well before speaking. “Well, I can cheer things up a little. At least we don’t have to worry about losing any of our history.”

“What do you mean?” Hawke asked.

“I mean that we have a perfectly accurate and compelling historian right here.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Fenris chuckled, and Hawke barked out a bright little laugh. “You’re talking about yourself. Of course you are.”

Varric did a little bow from his seated position. “You can both thank me anytime.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “For what? Making Hawke a notorious Thedas-wide celebrity?”

“No!” Hawke retorted. “For painting me as a charming hero and not the complete fool that I am, of course!” She shifted over and hugged Varric around the neck.

He patted her back and smirked at Fenris. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make you look good too in all of this Inquisition shit.”

Fenris sighed. “I appreciate the sentiment, I suppose.”

Hawke smiled sweetly at Varric. “When you write about the Inquisition, can you put in the story about how Fenris and Sera almost knocked Krem out with a stale cookie when they were on the roof that one time?”

“No,” Fenris said hastily. “Absolutely not. That was an accident!”

Varric ignored him. “It’s already written down, don’t worry,” he said to Hawke.

Fenris grunted. “Then you ought to include the time that Hawke asked Bull to teach her to throw a proper punch and nearly sprained her wrist on his unarmoured chest.”

She laughed and poked his thigh. “Hey, that’s unfair! Bull’s tits are so hard they might as well be armour. Dorian should have warned me!”

Varric snickered. “Don’t worry, I’ve got that one written down as well.”

Hawke clicked her tongue. “Well, in that case, you have to include that time that you tried to gamble against Solas and lost so badly that he took mercy on you by not taking your coat and your boots.”

Fenris snorted, and Varric pulled a face. “Aw, now that’s just mean to bring that up,” he complained.

Hawke giggled. They continued to tease each other with favourite stories of the past, both recent and remote, and Fenris smiled to himself as he listened to their laughter and their tales. In the grand scheme of things, the ties between a human mage, a Tevinter elf and a surface dwarf were too humble to survive the fickle nature of history and time. Not all histories were important enough to be written in the pages of a Chantry tome or carved in lyrium into the walls of Orzammar, after all.

But as Fenris listened to Hawke and Varric laughing and exchanging tales and playful jabs just as they used to do ten years ago, he realized that even the most humble of histories could be infinitely precious.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fhawris #f!hawris #varric tethras #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes

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chaosride · 3 years ago

Text

A Divine Appointment (x7)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

“Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.” ― Garrison Keillor

Fenris hadn’t expected much to come of Rosalyn’s offer to teach him to read. He should have, as the children had all been proven stubborn and relentless when it came to something they decided they needed to do. So determined, it turned out, that Rosalyn bothered Anders until he caved and appeared on his doorstep just after dinner one evening with his entire herd of children.

“Yes?” Fenris asked.

“Fenris, I’m really sorry but Ros-”

“You haven’t come to me for a lesson so I’m coming to you. I even brought a book,” Rosalyn told him seriously.

He nodded after a moment even as he glanced at Anders.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not a daycare, if it’s alright for Ros to stay for a bit for your lesson, I can come get her in a bit. If not it’s fine she was just, uh, very insistent.”

“It’s alright, you may come in.”

Fenris stepped back to allow space for Rosalyn to trot inside. Cahir cooed from Anders’ arms and reached for him, and the other children peered at him from behind the healer with expectant looks.

“Thank you Fenris, I’ll come back to get her in an hour or two, c’mon guys,” Anders told him before he began the arduous task of herding the children away.

Fenris didn’t what possessed him to but he called out, “Mage, you can all come in. I have plenty of rooms, Ros and I can do our lesson in my room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Get in here already,” Fenris groused.

The children made the decision for Anders and crowded into the vestibule with excited shouts and general chatter. Once Anders stepped through Fenris shut the door behind him.

“Thanks, Fenris,” the mage told him.

Fenris didn’t answer him, instead taking Cahir from Anders when the boy reached for him. Anders let the toddler go with no complaints, but the enamored look on the healer’s handsome face made something in Fenris’ chest clench. Fenris knew the look was likely directed at the boy in his arms but it was nice to pretend. He bounced Cahir in his arms to hear him laugh and led them into the open main hall of the mansion.

“Whoa, this place is huge!” Tanner said, looking around with huge eyes.

“Do you live here with other people?” Bree asked him,

“No, it’s just me.”

“Oh, don’t you get lonely?”

“... Sometimes,” Fenris told her. “Ros, my room is this way, we can do our lesson out here. Mage, feel free to move anything or use anything that is out here, let me know if they need anything.”

“Do you want me to take Cahir?”

“I can handle him, if he gets fussy I’ll bring him to you.”

“Oh- alright, thanks Fenris.”

Rosalyn was a patient teacher, and it made the lesson go quickly. Fenris had worried it would be embarrassing or beyond him even with someone willing to teach him. It was easier since he already had a firm grasp on the language, and Fenris was just glad to recognise at least a few common words in written form.

“Why do you call the healer mage?” she asked him quietly, towards the end of their lesson.

Fenris looked up from the paper he was using to practice writing his name on. She was intently staring at the page she had been spelling out names for him to practice along with his own on. Her pale brows were drawn together and she had stopped writing midword.

“He is one.”

“It’s dangerous though. If the wrong person heard you they would come for him. Do you… not like ta because he’s a mage?”

“Has he said that?”

“No, not… not out loud. It just makes him sad, I can tell."

"I have reason to distrust mages, they have hurt me very much in the past.”

“Was it the healer?”

“No, but it is not that simple. Mages can be dangerous, they have a lot of power. Anders… is not just Anders.”

“Oh, you mean Justice? I know some people are scared of him because he’s a spirit but he’s nice. He scares away mean people in the clinic who bother ta, but he’s never hurt any of them. He always seems… upset at the possibility of having to,” she told him. “You think mages are dangerous but you haven’t turned ta in?”

“It would upset our friends very much. I am from Tevinter, where blood magic is commonplace. I was suspicious at first, is all. But he has proven himself, we are… friends I suppose.”

Ros nodded slowly, considering the information.

“Why do you ask? There is no danger of me turning him in, if that was your worry.”

“I’m a mage too,” Rosalyn whispered. “I was afraid you would hate me and not want me around anymore if you knew.”

Fenris smiled at her, and found he was unable to be afraid of her. She was just a girl still, unsure and hesitant, and being a mage didn’t make her someone different than who she had been before.

“Well then you have nothing to fear. I could not hate you. Just promise me you won’t practice blood magic or make a deal with a demon.”

Rosalyn giggled. “Yes, da, I promise.”

“Then we’re fine,” he promised her.

Fenris found he meant it. Ros was a mage but she was just a child who had no committed no wrongs against him. He couldn’t find it in his heart to see her any differently than he had before; as one of his kids. They may have been Anders’ to everyone else but Fenris had come to accept they were his too, at least partially.

Now if he could only stop yearning for Anders to be his as well. He wanted to get used to having people fill his home, for there to be noise and joy and light someplace Danarius had wrought only demons and shadows and ashes. It was not a wish he had put too much credence in until he saw it so tantalizingly close today.

Maybe he was deserving of a family after all. It was getting easier and easier to believe that.

Even so he didn’t give voice to the thought of offering for them to stay the night as he saw the healer and his ducklings out that night. Fenris could offer a thousand reasons why it was better than returning to Darktown; he had plenty of rooms and beds, the children would have more room to run, he had a better desk for Anders to sit and write at, he had a table they would all fit around to sit at meals. He couldn’t find the breath to do so though, sure that Anders would rather be anywhere else. The mage was only around because of the kids. That was the truth of Fenris’ situation.

---

Anders wished he was better at speaking to Fenris. He had considered asking if he had eaten dinner or wanted company for the evening but hadn’t wanted to overstep his bounds. While Fenris had certainly softened towards Anders, the healer knew it had everything to do with the children and nothing to do with him as a person. Fenris hated him on principle which as much as Anders hated he could understand. Even if a templar fought alongside Hawke and had promised to not harm him, Anders wouldn’t be able to trust them. Anders hadn’t considered it a problem either, but seeing Fenris with the children and being around him without arguing had affected the mage in ways he couldn’t have predicted.

He had always noticed how attractive the warrior was but had found any desire tempered by his abhorrence of anything magic and his penchant for disregarding Anders’ safety to call him things such mage and abomination so openly. In retrospect, the healer saw that Fenris likely didn’t realize how much danger he had put Anders in with such words. He had not seen how insipid the chantry doctrine against magic ran, how many were willing to go running to the templars. Or simply corner mages with pitchforks and torches and take care of problems themselves. Where Fenris had come from, he would have been punished severely for speaking to a mage that way- the thought was mind boggling to Anders.

In the beginning of them knowing each other, Anders had been bitter that Fenris didn’t see how similar they were. But now he also knew that he had undermined a lot of what Fenris suffered in Tevinter. He had said and done a lot of things that he knew Fenris could never see past. He couldn’t even blame the elf really either, just be grateful he was kind to the kids and hadn’t tried to have them removed from his care.

Not that it would matter if he did or not. Anders knew that Sebastian was already starting to whisper about it in their friend group, once he had found out that Anders was taking care of the children. It was one of the things Isabela had given him a heads up about during their overnight trip to Sundermount.

The other thing she had warned him about had to do with Delilah, and he was still debating on how to handle that situation. But he knew he had to, tonight when she got home from her shift. Because she would be home, and Isabela had overheard saying she didn’t feel safe staying in her bunk at the Rose anymore. Of course, Anders didn’t mind her feeling at home in the clinic but if she didn’t feel safe at the Rose then they needed to find her another job or remove the problem.

Isabela had agreed with him and lowly informed him that if he got the names of whoever was bothering Delilah they wouldn’t be a problem any more. The healer didn’t want to really consider what being considered an enemy by Isabela felt like but he knew it surely wasn’t pleasant.

So when Delilah got home that evening, Anders made tea like he always did. Delilah chatted some about her day, and he told her some of what the kids had gotten into that day and how the clinic had been. He almost didn’t bring it up, unwilling to disrupt their peaceful nightly tradition but he couldn’t just leave it be.

“Delilah, I know you’ve been hiding some injuries after work, and that there’s another reason for you not staying there anymore,” he began carefully. “I enjoy having you here at night, I just… if someone is bothering you at work, someone should know. If you know their names, I can make sure they won’t bother you again.”

Raelnor, when challenged about things he was hiding, had been angry at Anders for trying to involve himself. Anders had worried about Delilah distancing herself from him or telling him to leave it alone. Instead she offered him a sad smile and shook her head.

“Thank you, ta. It’s very sweet of you but it’s not just a pushy client. Some of the more seasoned girls aren’t happy about how many requests I get and they are just being catty. It’ll blow over,” she said. “Much nicer to come home every night anyway.”

“Have you looked for work somewhere else?”

“I know what you must think, me working in a brothel, but it is an honest living and it pays well enough.”

“It is an honest living, but I’ve worked in brothels. It’s not an easy job, and I just want… I want you to know that just because it’s work you know doesn’t mean it’s all you can do. If you aren’t happy there, don’t just weather it and hope it gets better.”

“You’ve worked in brothels?”

“One or two, years ago. I was hired on as a healer but I had enough people ask about me that they decided I should take on a few clients. I was an apostate and they usually housed me. Wasn’t in a position to complain, and I hadn’t learned yet that saying no was something I was allowed to do. In that respect at least.”

Delilah nodded, and stared into the fire with her dark brow furrowed.

“Even if I did want to work somewhere else, no one’s hiring Fereldans. And brothel work is all I’ve done…”

“Let me ask around, but you read and write well, you’re organized and calm under pressure. You have more talents than you realize.”

“A change of pace might be nice. Plus it would mean that I don’t have to tell Sam no every week when he asks me out again . He’s nice enough but really cannot take a hint. But the other girls all say he’ll move on soon, apparently it’s a pattern with him,” she said before carrying on the conversation without a hiccup, quelling Anders’ fears with ease.

Delilah was independent and had a good head on her shoulders but Anders still considered her his daughter, as much as Raelnor or the younger kids. She was always trying to look after him in turn too, and he vowed he would do anything he could to make her life easier.

Even if it meant begging Aveline for help finding her a safe job.

---

It was beyond late when Fenris woke to pounding on the door. He had stumbled to the door, already hauling his greatsword into place at his back with only one gauntlet on. The other still hung haphazardly from his pouch where he had tied it the day before. His breastplate wasn’t sitting right, the buckles tightened too hastily but he would fix it when he had time he decided when the knocking reached a fever pitch.

He ripped the door open, expecting to stumble directly into a gang fight Hawke had brought literally to his doorstep. Instead he found Rosalyn there, in her nightgown and shivering in the early morning air.

She didn’t give him time to question and snagged his wrist, pulling him out of the vestibule of the mansion with more force than he thought she had in her lithe body. Rosalyn was frantic, nearly falling in her scramble to get him moving.

“The healer needs help, please da, I know you don’t like mages much but the templars are there now and they already hurt him bad,” she begged. “It’s my fault, please , help him.”

She didn’t need to say anything else. Where before Fenris hadn’t been fully awake and baffled by her being there, the icy dread that curled around his spine woke him up. They practically ran through Hightown and Lowtown towards Darktown. Fenris adjusted his armor as they moved and tugged his gauntlet into place. His mind spun with all the ways the worst could have already happened, all the ways this night could end in heartbreak.

Every single situation grew a thousand times darker in his mind as they burst through Darktown and were met with the sound of a rattling cry. It was the loudest Fenris had ever heard a child cry, and could only be Cat who was squalling. He would recognize it anywhere.

The noise spurred him on so much that he nearly tripped over Tanner standing guard over Bree and Cahir, hunched between the wall and the ramshackle wooden stairs Fenris had come down.

“They’re still in there,” Tanner rushed out as soon as he recognized Fenris. “They took Cat because he tried to protect her, da you have to do something.”

Fenris nodded.

“Ros, stay here,” he ordered before the sound of running footsteps drew nearer to the stairs, coming towards the clinic.

Fenris drew his sword, sure they were about to be set upon by templar reinforcements but it was their own. Delilah, Raelnor, Varric, and Isabela tumbled down the stairs in a hectic tangle.

“Rae, Delilah, look after the kids, we’ll get Anders,” Fenris promised.

Together the warrior and two rogues approached the wreckage that had been made of the clinic. The lock Donnic had gotten had indeed been strong, so much that the templars had kicked the door, new frame and all, clean out of the rotting wood of the surrounding wall.

As they got closer, Fenris was able to distinguish some of the commotion coming from within that had been overpowered by the sheer volume of Cat’s bawling. The girl was loud when excited, shrieking and chattering, but when she was scared it was on another level. Fenris marveled a little at her lung capacity as her wailing seemed to make the walls around them shake with the force of it. What it was drowning out was worse and made all the hair on Fenris’ body stand on end and his brands to flare to life without his permission.

He couldn’t make out what Anders was actually saying because it was muffled, only that his voice was hoarse and pleading. The answering laughter was clear as a bell and nothing short of spiteful.

“We had a little tip off healer, some of us remember you from Kinloch. I was thinking that we would leave you locked in that thing just while we got you to the Circle but I really enjoy you begging.”

There was a chorus of laughter and hurled taunts. The sound Anders made was one of a wounded, cornered animal. Fenris couldn’t breathe around his heart in his throat but Varric had motioned for them to not rush in so they stilled out of sight.

“We need to get Cat out before anything,” he whispered. “The kid’s so damn loud I can’t even tell where she is in there.”

“I’ll get her,” Isabela told him. “But you have to cover me to get her out.”

Fenris only half listened to them as the templar from before began talking again. He seemed to be their ringleader, which meant all the others were likely crowding him for the show. Fenris only prayed he wasn’t the one holding Cat.

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t like the dark much. Or tight spaces. Looks like I was right. It might have been overkill to use a smite and magebane but I heard from a little birdy that you’re slightly allergic to magebane. I wasn't sure if that made it more or less effective, better safe than sorry.” Another wave of laughter. “I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable. I think we’ll stay here a while. Just in case we can root out any other apostates who may come looking for you. A few hours in there isn’t much compared to that year in solitary, and certainly nothing like what I’m going to do to you once we get you back to the Circle. I like your fire so much we may even see about waiting to put you on the Tranquil list. No one will even know where you are or who you are, you’d be a nice pet if you learned to behave.”

The sob Anders gave was so soft that Fenris barely heard it, but the way his voice caught and rasped when the mage spoke broke his heart.

“Please, do whatever you want, just let her go. She’s just a baby. Please.”

“Isabela,” Fenris murmured, already straightening. “Get Cat and get out. Varric, cover her and then fall back and look after the children. I will handle the rest.”

“Broody, there’s like twenty of them-” Varric was cut off by Isabela’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’m with you, Fen. Let’s kill these bitches,” she whispered. “Nothing would have stopped him anyway,” he heard her mutter to the dwarf but it was drowned out by the white hot rage that roared like a spreading fire in his head.

Fenris rushed the group, slicing effortlessly through the chatty templar. His blood fell in a crimson shower on his cohorts and there was a stunned moment of indecision on their part. Isabela used it to her advantage and plucked Cat from the templar who had been holding her by her chubby little arm.

By the time they had turned to pursue the pirate, arrows had begun raining down on them and Fenris cut down the rest with sweeping swings from his sword. It was over in what felt like moments; one second there had been a battalion of templars crowded into the clinic, and the next there were only bodies and blood.

Fenris turned to set about freeing the mage now that the threat had been eliminated and Cat was seen to safety. He choked on his own breath when he processed where they had been keeping Anders subdued. Fenris’ vision had tunneled to the templars so much that he hadn’t registered it. Now that he did, he wished he had not ended their lives so quickly. It was too merciful for them.

It was a sturdy chest, larger than some, and wrapped in thick chains. The four lines of glistening bood clinging to the wood said that even injured Anders had fought like a cat being put in a bag to be drowned against being put into it. Without the clamor of bodies or his own blood pounding in his ears Fenris could hear how hard Anders was panting and how he whimpered with each exhale.

Fenris’ hands turned desperate on the lock until he finally phased his hand into and ripped it apart from within. He felt the sharp shards of metal tear through his palm but all he cared about was getting Anders out and calmed down. The chain fell away at his jerking. When Fenris lifted the lid, Anders didn't uncurl, his long arms braced around his head still.

“Please, no more, I won’t run again, please,” the mage whispered.

“Anders,” Fenris said, his voice choked with horror, “I’m here, it’s just me. You’re safe with me.”

Golden eyes blinked up at him and fluttered at the light, glazed over and sluggish. The fingers of one hand were smashed almost beyond recognition and his face was a bloody mess. But he was breathing and there was no raised sun of tranquility on the freckled skin of his forehead. He was the most beautiful thing Fenris had ever seen.

“Fenris,” the healer sighed, the word drenched in relief.

Fenris helped him out, catching Anders when his knee gave out and making comforting noises when the mage tried to apologize. All the cots had been destroyed so Fenris closed the chest and eased Anders to lean against it.

“Where are you hurt?”

Anders shook his head weakly. “Not bad, the kids?”

This man , Fenris thought fondly.

“They’re okay. Isabela got Cat, they’re all okay. Even if it’s not bad, let me bandage it.”

“Just bruises. They definitely broke my… hand. Maybe just a few fingers but feels like my whole hand. Maybe my wrist,” Anders said. His speech was still slow and his eyes wouldn’t focus. “Mainly it's the magebane.”

“Ta?” a trembling voice called from just outside the clinic.

“I’m alright, love,” Anders answered. His voice was still raspy and weak, like he had been screaming for hours.

“Come get your things,” Fenris told them when the entire lot of them came in. He felt Anders go rigid against his side where he had slouched. For a tense moment no one moved until Fenris cleared his throat. “ Now, ” he said firmly.

The children all scrambled to comply. All except Rosalyn, who hesitated, looking between Anders and Fenris nervously. Finally she crept over and hugged Anders carefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I understand if we can’t stay with you anymore.”

Anders blinked at her and opened his mouth to reply. Fenris could practically see the wheels struggling to turn in his mind, moving like machinery coated in honey.

“You are all coming to the mansion. Someone needs to pack Anders’ things for me, can you do that Ros?”

She nodded and scurried away, evidently at ease.

“You’re not taking the kids away from me,” Anders said mainly to himself.

Still Fenris answered him, “No, I am not.”

“Why? Why are you helping me, and why are you okay with them being with me. You hate mages, you hate me-”

“I don’t.”

Anders looked up at him, a perplexed furrow between his brows. Fenris didn’t know what possessed him to but he ducked down and pressed a chaste kiss to Anders’ mouth. Anders looked surprised and he leaned after Fenris when the elf pulled away.

“I really don’t,” he admitted softly.

“Will you do that again later? I will definitely think this was all a fever dream.”

“I will, as many times as you would like,” Fenris assured, amazed that it was truthful. He would kiss Anders as many times as the mage wanted once they were away from here. ”I heard them say they gave you magebane but that you have a bad reaction to it. Is there anything I can do?”

Anders shook his head. “It makes other mages a little woozy at worst but it… makes me really out of it and sick to my stomach. All I can do now is let it run its course.”

Fenris brushed his hair back from his tired face.

“Then let’s get you home so you may rest.”

(please leave kudos and comments here! ♥)

#fenders da2 #fenders da #fenris da2 #fenris x anders #anders da2 #arty writes #kidfic x7

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laudedliar · 4 years ago

Note

♠: One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/neck tie/ etc.

♡: Accidentally falling asleep together

Cullrian, but i couldnt pick just one prompt so you're welcome to pick your fave or do both or whatever works for you :)

This is the falling asleep.

The adjustment will be happier, I promise. :)

Dunno why I like angst. But I sure seem to. Awkward.

~*~*~*~*~

Adamant. Once a bastion against the dark evils from the underbelly of the world, was now a ruined shell of it’s once glorious past. Cullen walked along the broken battlements and stone walkways, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stepped over more dead Warden’s and Inquisition soldiers. If what Solas said was true, their memory would forever be locked in a ferocious battle between the two. To be enacted again and again by spirits of the Fade. It was a tragedy that would be written and retold for millennia henceforth.

Cullen knelt at the side of an unblinking, lifeless Corporal. He reached down and let his fingers close the woman’s eyes, so she may rest peacefully in the next life.

“May the Maker take you by his side.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to his fingertips before laying them gently along the woman’s cold brow. Slowly standing from where he knelt, Cullen continued his weary walk, kneeling at each of the dead he passed (Warden and Inquisition alike) and sent his pleading prayer for their souls to the Maker.

He was tired. Exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

He hadn’t noticed he was weeping until a Chantry Sister approached him, her own robes reddened along the bottom hem from the gore she waded through as she blessed the dead in turn.

“Please, Commander. Go see a healer and take some rest.” The young woman reached out to touch his cheek, a thumb running along the dark circle under his eye. “We shall see these poor souls to the Maker’s side.”

Cullen nodded and stepped away from the woman, one hand roughly wiping at the cooling tear tracks along his cheeks. “Thank you, sister. Please, if you can save anything that we could send back to families...”

“Of course, Commander.” The Sister walked with him down the stairs until she was certain he was stumbling through the rubble back to the camp that dotted the open expanse in front of the large, crumbling keep of yore. Their large battering rams and trebuchets stood stark against the eve darkened horizon. Soldiers were already put to task to begin dismantling the war machines for use in the funeral pyres.

Funeral pyres that would undoubtedly burn from dawn to dusk and on until the morning broke once more.

He was tired. So tired he could feel it in his core. A bone deep weariness. The healer’s tents were collected nearest the keep. People rushing too and fro, cries from the wounded and dying filled the air with a melancholy chorus. It sent shivers rushing down Cullen’s spine and his feet detoured away from the wailing howls.

His wounds were minor, a few scrapes and cuts, a couple bruises. Nothing that wouldn’t heal on it’s own given time and a little care.

The camp was somber. Eerily quiet for a victorious army. A few gathered soldiers shared skins of wine but most sat in silent contemplation of their hearth fires. Many of the soldiers were Ferelden. And Ferelden’s remembered the bravery of the Grey Wardens. They remembered the horrors of the blight.

And they felt the loss of Warden Alistair Theirin acutely. The man, after all, had been with the Hero of Ferelden. Had fought beside him. Had been there when the Hero died to save them all. And the Warden had, in turn, sacrificed himself as well.

Heroes.

His throat tightened painfully and Cullen turned away from the fires of his subordinates to walk the lonely path up to the Inner Circle’s tents. Inquisitor Cadash sat quietly, staring into the fire before her own tent. Blackwall sat beside the small dwarven warrior, holding her hand and whispering soft sentiments to the stout woman. Leliana was nowhere to be seen and he could not fault her. She had known Warden Alistair. Had fought and bled with him. She had been in love with the Hero of Ferelden and the two had spent many nights in SkyHold laughing and reminiscing about their lost friend.

He skirted around the Inquisitor’s fire pit as well, not wishing to speak with either warrior pondering the flickering flames. The rest of the companions were interspersed through the tents. Most were weary from battle and huddled around their own fires or already in their tents. The Chargers were softly singing dirges for the lives lost that day, Iron Bull drinking from a large skin as he hummed along with his companies melancholy songs.

Cole was perched upon a chair just outside of the circle of light, watching them all drink and sing. His curious blue eyes flickered towards Cullen as the ex-Templar shuffled past to his own tent.

“Everyone is sad. I cannot help them all.” The boy said, drawing the blonde’s attention to him.

“It is impossible to help everyone, Cole.” He answered, shoulders slumping at the admission.

“But it is possible to help some.” The boy whispered as his eyes searched Cullen’s haggard face.

“Yes.”

“I want to help.”

Cullen watched the boy as his distant gaze slowly moved back out over the sprawling army camp. “Good night, Cole.” He muttered when the boy didn’t continue his thoughts out loud.

“Good night. Commander Cullen.” Cole replied, his tone distant.

A raised chorus of singing followed in his wake as he stepped into his tent. The heavy fabric dampened the mournful chorus as it fell closed and Cullen brushed a hand over his face, wiping away a flaking crust of sweat, dirt, and blood. He paused, hand resting over his mouth, as he noticed a hunched form on the edge of his sleeping roll in the dim candle light.

“Dorian.” He called softly, surprised to see the mage sitting in his tent. He would have expected the man to be with the Charger’s or the Inquisitor. Not here. Not inside the Commander’s personal accommodations.

Red rimmed grey eyes blinked up at him and the mage nodded slightly. “Commander.”

“What are you doing?” Cullen asked, a hint of anger on the edge of his words.

The Tevinter wrapped his arms around his chest and shrugged, glancing away to the far corner of the tent. “I am... Hiding. I figured no one would look for me here. And had not expected you to return for some time.”

“I see.” Cullen murmured softly, unsure exactly how to approach the situation. He shifted foot to foot for a moment before sighing. “And why are you hiding, exactly?” He asked as he began to toe off his blood soaked boots.

“Mostly to be alone.”

Cullen kicked the discarded footwear to the side and began to unbuckle his cuirass. “Well, I’m afraid this is my tent. If you wish privacy, perhaps your own would be better suited?”

Dorian’s hands clutched at his upper arms and the mage shivered as if chilled. He didn’t answer Cullen’s sharp retort straight away, instead remaining huddled on the edge of the sleeping roll as the blonde removed his armor with a groan. When the Tevinter still hadn’t moved by the time Cullen stood in his shirt and pants, the ex-Templar considered the man.

“Dorian.” He began, curious to the glazed far off gaze upon his counterpart’s face.

“Would you have made me Tranquil?” The other asked suddenly.

“I - What?” Cullen asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Do you believe me weak? Susceptible to - to temptations?” Grey eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow looked up. There was fear plainly written in the creases marring Dorian’s face.

Cullen frowned, pondering the man’s questions. No one had spoken yet of what had taken place when they’d fallen into the Fade. His teeth worried the inside of his cheek as he considered his answer. There had been a time he would have absolutely argued for Dorian’s tranquility. The man was brash, far too intelligent for his own good, and had a cutting tongue.

But time had tempered Cullen’s anger and impetuous desire to see any mage in shackles. He knew the ultimate price of such enmity. And he had vowed to see more than just a mage’s abilities. To see them for the people they were.

Carefully he stepped towards the man and knelt down to sit on the bedroll next to the mage. “No. I do not believe you are any of those things.” He finally answered.

Dorian seemed to relax with his assurance. The man let out a shaky breath and nodded carefully, as if the motion would cause his head to roll from his shoulders if he moved too quickly. They sat in silence for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Cullen once more found himself reflecting on Kirkwall. Thinking of all the Rites of Tranquility he had personally overseen. Thinking of the pleading, helpless men and women. Remembering as their struggles against their binds would suddenly... Cease. How they would stare cow-eyed at the surrounding Templars afterward, awaiting their orders.

No. No he could not imagine Dorian in such a state. Not without feeling the crushing weight of guilt at all those who were.

“You may stay here. If you wish.” He murmured, fingers plucking at the bottom of his shirt. In part because the mage was right in that no one would think to look for him in Cullen’s tent. But also because the ex-Templar himself did not wish to be alone with only his memories for company.

A soft hiccuping sigh was his only answer and Cullen did his best to look the other way when the mage sniffed lightly, a hand sweeping quickly across his eyes. He removed his sweat and blood stained shirt before crawling to lay behind Dorian on the soft bedroll. He waited a moment, eyes lingering on the back of the mage’s head before he reached up and gently patted the other’s quivering shoulder.

Dorian turned his head, his face dark in the dim candlelight. A soft squeeze on the man’s shoulder and wordlessly the mage rolled to lay beside him. The solitary lit candle flickered out as it’s wick burned down to near nothing.

Cullen rolled to his side, grimacing when he disturbed a growing bruise upon his ribs. He looked at his companion, the other’s eyes glimmering in the darkness of the tent. The mage’s profile shadowed as he contemplated the ceiling of the tent. The dampened sound of the Charger’s mournful melodies lent a haunting air to the mage’s brooding.

They lay beside one another, Cullen observing his unexpected visitor. He wondered about the other’s question. What had made him ask such a thing. What could possibly have driven the normally sharp witted Altus to his tent to hide of all things.

“What happened? In the Fade?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“A great many things. I wouldn’t know exactly where to start.” Dorian’s voice was tight, as if he were walking along a razors edge and barely keeping upright. The man’s breath came in shallow pants, and Cullen waited. He could hear words gathering along the back of Dorian’s breath, could practically feel them gaining substance as the mage collected them together. The way one can feel the roll of thunder just before the crackling rumble. “Tell me, Commander, does a Lion feel fear?”

A sharp hiss as he drew in a breath between shuttered teeth. “Of course.”

“What are they? A Lion’s fears.” Dorian asked, his head turning to face Cullen in the darkness.

Lips moved silently as he considered the other’s question. The bared vulnerability in the Tevinter’s voice and actions eased any suspicion. His throat tightened as he examined the answers to the inquiry.

“I fear not being strong enough. Of failing again. Of not giving enough of - of -” His throat flexed painfully and Cullen released a heavy sigh. “That I am inadequate.”

Darkened eyes flickered across his face and Cullen lurched in surprise when a soft touch brushed across his brow, smoothing a stray lock of hair back. “Thank you.” Dorian hushed.

They lay side by side, each considering the other. The smell of battle permeated the air between them, but underneath it all the scent of Dorian’s perfume tinted the air. And Cullen drew a deep breath, trying to place the faint spiced scent lingering beneath. He didn’t jolt away when another brushing finger traced the outline of his face. And when Dorian rolled to his side and slid closer, body warmly pressing against his own, Cullen allowed his hand to rest gently upon the mage’s waist.

The need to be near a <i>living</I> being after the horror of battle was heavy between the two men and they in turn answered that desire for the other. The closeness helping to push away the open dread each man gave voice to only minutes prior. The human hunger for touch pulling them closer in their open vulnerability.

“You are the strongest man I know.” Dorian whispered, the words brushing faint across Cullen’s skin with their proximity. “Would you make me a promise?”

“What is it?”

“Promise you will not let me - that you - that I -”

Cullen lifted his hand from Dorian’s waist and pressed his fingertips against the other’s lips. “I need not make that promise. You are more than what you fear. You have proven so again and again.”

A slight nod and those dark, shining eyes squeezed shut as a shuddering breath shivered through the Tevinter. His hand fell to lay upon Dorian’s rib cage, squeezing gently in assurance. They remained that way, Dorian’s fingers curling along his neck, his own resting on the man’s side. Weary exhaustion and an easy solidarity between the two beckoned them into sleep. Arms weaving around each other, as if their closeness could keep the nightmares at bay. Even if just for a short time. Keeping each other safe from the fears that crept through the shadows, bidding time until morning saw them part.

#Adamant #DAI #Cullrian #cullen rutherford #Dorian Pavus #fears #angst and comfort

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orlesianvirtuoso · 4 years ago

Text

Parting Ways

It was getting closer. Too close. Soon Mareloen will leave and she will be left to take care of the estate. Gone to Tevinter without her. Just as she wished…

But now things were different. There was no one keeping her here. There was Leon but well…

Her heart still aches thinking of such things. She was silly to think that it would lead anywhere. Even if he made her believe so she should have known better. And yet…

It was far too easy to get caught up in the fantasy of it all. She used those words once with Mareloen and he didn’t seem to favor them all too much. Her fantasy and his nightmare if she recalls correctly. Something about how Leon would have succumbed to mortality in half a century and the problems it would have caused. Genevive wonders… Sometimes it seems like Mareloen forgets that she too is mortal. That she too will fall ill to the fate of humanity. Half a century… To her it seems like a long while away but to Mareloen it’s not much more than a blink of an eye she’d suppose. They are so different… One day she will be gone and he living as if she never had existed. Perhaps not at first but after a couple decades or centuries surely her memory must fade from his mind. And there's a pang in her chest at such thoughts. A sadness to it all. When will it end? All the hurt… Genevieve remembers a time all she really felt was joy. A time she was able to find the positive of even the most negative but it seems as if the tide has turned and such things are becoming harder and harder. A certain despair… A hopelessness to the future.

But alas… Best not dwell on such. She can still put on a smile and pretend everything is alright. For now that's all she can do…

Like now! Grabbing the basket of goodies she puts on a smile and greets Mareloen as he enters the kitchen. She was going to find him but this works too!

“Goodmorning,” she greets all too cheery, the sound dancing off the walls to an almost eerie tune. “I made you some muffins. They’re fresh, straight from the oven.” Recently Genevieve has taken up baking as a way to pass time when she wasn’t studying or training. It was always easier to go to the market and buy her morning treats but now the market has become a place she avoids, everything reminding her of him. “I’m hoping they turned out better than the last batch. I couldn’t even get Hawke to swallow one and that man will eat anything. But I’m fairly certain I used the sugar instead of salt this time around. It’s not my fault they look deceptively similar. Quite suspicious if you ask me,” she jests, holding one out for him. “I used blueberries and lemon this time. They smell quite good, hopefully they’ll match in taste.” But her eyes shine, a sorrow laden deep within. “I know it probably won’t be as good as the ones I’d bring from the market but hopefully they aren’t too disappointing.” Looking up at him she waits for him to take a bite, a tad nervous for some reason. “I hope to perfect them before your journey. I wish to slip a few in your pack. Something to remember me by. There are only a few days left before you leave…”

Things were hectic to say the least. Tevinter was no small journey after all and they needed to make sure Mareloen left with everything he needed. If only he needed her as well… But alas. It was her choice. Her decision. And she doesn't have the heart to ask to come with. Not when they spent the past couple of weeks going over her tasks and duties here while he was away. There were too many responsibilities that needed to be taken care of and there was no one else to do them but her.

@daimeshadows

#ianazavi #daimeshadows #parting ways

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davidorian · 4 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Wooden boxes stood in the former inquisitor's quarters. Some of them open and half-filled, others boarded up and ready to be picked up.

"You don't have to do this! You know?" Sera reached for a book on the shelf and put it in a box with the others.

"And you don't have to do this. Really Sera, sweet of you, but I can handle it." Trevelyan smiled.

"Pffff... It takes you twice as long with only one arm. And as much as I hate cleaning up and moving - ugh, ugh spider - I like you, you blockhead! And to be honest, you could just stay. I'm sure no one would mind. You're nice, clean, people like you, except for the people who hate you." Sera put her hands on her hips.

"Um... thanks Sera." David chuckled.

"I can't, mustn't and won't stay. Varric already got me a place to stay anyway. It's not bad to know a viscount."

"Don't you have countless unpronounceable unnecessary titles yourself? What do you need Varric for? Look, David, old sausage skin. I may stay at the tavern too, so may Cole. We could expand the tavern, make great rooms out of it. Or you could just move into Dorian's room, this is empty after all."

Suddenly Sera stopped talking and looked into David's sad eyes.

"Have you actually forgiven him, Davey?" She now asked.

"What is there to forgive?"

"Stupid! He just took off! Wasn't the nicest way...pfff!" The blonde crossed her arms and glared at her counterpart.

"He had his reasons. I'm not angry with him at all. Now let's get back to it." Trevelyan wrapped a small dainty vase in an old cloth.

Sera understood and kept silent.

After a while, the crystal buzzed around David's neck.

"Dorian?" Trevelyan's voice sounded joyfully excited and a smile brightened his face.

"Avanna and who else... hihihi." Laughed through the green glow.

"A nice greeting from Sera, she's standing next to me."

Sera came closer, "Dori, how's it going? Are minrathous and consonants still in turmoil?"

"Consorts and yes, my dear. All still chaos, I feel at home. A joy-fest of madness! As they say - MAYHEM! Well... Are you all right then, are you looking after the Herald?" The Magister could be heard chuckling.

"The guy's been packing for days and I'm playing his second and third hand. I finally want to get rid of him." And Sera winked at David.

"You're leaving Skyhold already? Is your house already prepared then?" Dorian asked, slightly concerned.

"Camping and being on the road is my thing after all, don't worry about it."

"Ey, do you want me to leave you alone? Maybe you'd like to 'talk' a bit?" Sera said mischievously.

"Not at all! I just wanted to say a quick hello anyway, I'm in a hurry. An important meeting is about to take place. I need to kick some butt to get order in Tevinter, then it'll be safe enough for you noses to arrive. So, see you then and take good care of each other!"

"Love you, Dori." Sera said and laughed.

"I love you too... hahahaha. Farewell, Lord Trevelyan. We'll talk later." At the last words, Dorian's voice became all velvet and soft.

"See you soon, Dorian." And the Herald sighed louder than he meant to.

After a little while, Sera broke the silence.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes... I'd kick his ass! How can you forgive someone like that? He's totally changed your life. Mine too, I can't eat eggs without thinking of him anymore...." Sera slapped her forehead.

(A WIP of "Solas non ce")

#wip wednesday #my writings #dragon age inquisition #sera #Dorian Pavus #David Trevelyan #pavelyan #my precious boys #Davidorian #moving #skyhold #solas #varric thetras

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years ago

Text

Blighted Empire: 8.5

Bound by Light

Something was different.

Something was out of place.

Identifying the source of this unease was a sluggish, difficult task. Evallan attempted an intake of his surroundings, listing each detail in his mind.

Immediately he knew whatever his location, he was safe. Wrapped in blissful warmth and comfort, the world muffled by layers of blanket and a pair of strong arms. His sleeping companion was no mystery- Dorian had allowed him into his bed, no? Even if that memory eluded, the hint of fire and sweat was significant on its own.

Yet there was certainly something amiss.

We did not fall asleep like this.

He would not allow it...

Nor just that- beyond Dorian's smokey aroma the room smelled quite different from what it had. One grows accustomed to the damp within the tower, a dingy cloud lingering in every hall. It was a scent you only remember in its absence- and it was absent now- as absent as his clothes. Evallan appeared to be wearing nothing and Dorian was equally under-dressed, bare skin pressed to bare skin.

Startled, he lay stiffly and burned, trying to fathom his predicament. Eventually he realised the room was lit far brighter than Dorian's- where a window had been bricked. The ceiling here was spacious and a soothing breeze whistled through an out-of-sight opening, all fabrics and carpets dyed warm, luxurious shades.

It is me.

I am the thing out of place.

Though it wasn't terribly surprising. Cut off from the Fade, theoretically Evallan should no longer dream. Except in order to survive, he'd connected to something else- some place. With nowhere else in reach, his dreams brought him here.

Understandable. Evallan could even describe himself as grateful- almost.

Still- this timing was highly inappropriate.

Dorian's breathing was languid, tickling the side of his neck. Biting his tongue not to make a sound, Evallan scooted ever-so-carefully from the bed, determined to roll away and onto his feet without waking the man.

Luckily there was a robe hanging from the headboard. He slipped into the thin fabric, satisfied it at least covered more delicate areas. Not that it mattered- the true owner of this vessel was obviously comfortable to be seen by Dorian in such a way. It was just that Evallan found himself feeling rather intrusive.

Aimless, he padded around, blinking at paintings in the dim light, or frowning at books with titles he'd never heard of. After some time he settled at the writing desk and perused notes, finding most to be personal logs. Written by something akin to his own hand- his actualhand was clumsier in any language, than the careful Dalish script he poured over now.

The writing style was at least familiar; direct, to the point, sparing no time for frivolous detail but listing everything of importance in practical fashion. Yet he could make no sense of the information, lacking proper context for the endless descriptions, names, doodled maps...

Evallan debated searching out Amrallan's letters once more but never came to a decision.

“Mmn...Amatus...? Come back to bed...”

He froze, anxiety rendering him mute. Dorian's hand grasped at sheets, displeased by their emptiness. Since Evallan was unable to think of a response, the grumbling continued;

“Alright...either come back to bed or close the bloody balcony.”

At first he was lost- then recalled that gentle breeze. Indeed nearby was a balcony door, left ajar to reveal snowy mountains. Even in this life, his other self must find these quarters stuffy, needing a draft to counteract. Not having the same issue, Dorian required his partner to heat their shared bed.

Stepping towards the balcony, Evallan swung it closed and flipped the latch. He returned to the desk then and sat tensely, brooding at his knees.

After a short bout of silence, Dorian sighed with dramatic misery.

“...It'll be one of those nights, will it? I see how it is.”

Not really comprehending, Evallan observed from behind his hair. Dorian unfurled from the bed and instantly he looked away, cheeks flushed and lips thin.

“Bloody cold!” Thank the Gods for small mercies- Dorian also acquired a robe, saving Evallan from the shame of fighting with his own gaze.

To an extent, at least.

“So...what is it keeping us awake tonight, hrm? Orlais, the Chantry? Or maybe someone's just not doing their job?”

What to even say? Should he announce himself? Should he simply act as though nothing was wrong? While he thought and Dorian spoke the man also meandered for him, stretching and yawning, perfectly relaxed.

“Or, you're not...did you have a nightmare...?”

Thinking of his existence as a nightmare almost made Evallan laugh. He held himself.

Dorian's shadow fell over him, the other mage bending to his level with a sigh.

“Evallan...don't ignore me, now.”

Lips brushed against his and he seized, fingers clutching to arm-rests.

“...O-oh.” Dorian jerked back, laughing. “I-I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you at first.”

Aware his face was several shades of red, Evallan lifted it for Dorian to see.

“...At...first?” He hiccuped, forced composure. “How can you see any difference?”

The Tevinter snorted, leaning upon the table.

“Well, no offence to you at all, of course, but my Evallan doesn't tend to look around himself like a scared rabbit-” Choking, he hastened to add. “Not because of your ears- or anything! Your- your eyes. You stare around like a cornered mouse, or something. That's all I meant. Your ears are perfectly normal.”

Perplexed but not taking it as an insult, he nodded, considering-

“...That is not how you have described it to me before.”

“Oh?” He seemed amused by that, chortling. “And how did 'I' describe it before?”

“You said I scowl with only my eyes.”

This inspired peals of hilarity from the man- a calming sound. It gladdened Evallan to hear the same laughter he knew so intimately.

“Well- yes,” Dorian breathed out, wiping his eyes. “It is that- but behind the scowling- it's obvious you're quite terrified.”

Evallan's spine firmed, corner of his mouth tugging downwards.

“I am not afraid.” He stated in defence.

“Oh, forgive me,” Dorian rolled his eyes, teasing. “Distraught then, or stressed. Are those more appropriate descriptors for your terribly masculine ego?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to avoid sniling, muttering only-

“Yes.”

Which caused Dorian to roll his eyes again, though Evallan noted how affectionately he was regarded between these jabs.

This must be difficult for him...

A strange thought- not because of its content. Thus far it was the only internal dialogue he discerned as 'shared' between him and the quiet presence whose life he'd invaded. He was doubly compelled to express the sentiment, mumbling-

“I...am sorry. This must be very strange for you.”

“Ah, well...” Dorian shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “It's probably awful to say aloud...but I think I would be more upset if you had no idea who I am. Luckily, even when you're speaking intongues or drawing diagrams on the walls...you always seem to know me, so...”

“I still...cannot imagine that being so much of a comfort.”

“Well...” He paused with a sense of apprehension. “He is...still in there, isn't he? He just won't remember what we talked about. Or at least...that's how he explained it.”

“I hear his thoughts sometimes,” Evallan was quick to confirm, wanting to reassure. “I do not believe he 'goes' anywhere as such, no...”

“Good- that's. That's good.” Though he tried to seem unswayed the relief was obvious in his posture, relaxing with a huff.

“It really is you in an awkward situation here,” Dorian began again, snickering “I imagine waking up naked in another man's bed without alcohol to blame, was- wait, do you drink? I suppose you might.”

Evallan shook his head.

“No, I thought not. Well, my point stands then.”

Pondering it over, Evallan shook his head a second time.

“It is fine, really. We fell asleep in a similar arrangement, only, I, ah...both of us were clothed.”

“Oh.” Dorian snorted into his hand, stifling amusement- then abruptly straightened. “Wait a second! Does that mean you took my advice?”

He blinked, not comprehending.

“Your advice...?”

Sighing at Evallan as if he were the slowest man in any universe, Dorian conveyed;

“I told you to find me, remember!? To hold onto me?”

“O-oh-” Recalling, his face overheated. “I...Yes, I did follow that advice- but I...I forgot where I heard it, I think.”

“Typical!” He scoffed, full of exaggeration. “I don't get credit for anything.”

“You can have that credit now, if it means so much to you.” Evallan joked automatically.

“Careful, now,” Dorian chuckled, flashing a grin. “You don't know what sort of 'credit' I might ask for.”

He must have looked strange- for certain Evallan knew his mouth had fallen open slightly. Seeing this Dorian became apologetic, spluttering and waving his hands.

“Maker, my stupid mouth! It's easy to forget um...different stages of familiarity, and all that?”

“I-I understand.” He choked on a nervous laugh. “It is fine, really.”

“Well...” Dorian gestured around himself. “This is still your room, as far as I'm concerned, and it's a tad late for a tour of the castle. How about we go back to bed, and you can have a little rest before you're whisked off to whatever blighted world, hrm?”

“I would not mind that.” Evallan muttered, then tugged at his robe. “But...can we put on clothes?”

Dorian cackled at that, nodding.

“That would feel more appropriate, no?” He strode to a dresser, waving Evallan to follow. Once he'd done so, Dorian patted the top with a smirk.

“This is where you keep your clothes. It's actually the third time I've shown you.”

“The third?” Evallan perked a brow. “I do not remember the other times.”

“Yes, well...I say it was 'you' in a very...general sense.” His voice tilted between sadness and humour, though the sincerity of his smile never faltered. Encouraged but still skittish, Evallan dragged open one of the drawers and simply stared. In his reality he owned maybe three sets of robes, nearly identical. Looking at the plentiful folds of rich fabric, he couldn't imagine how this other self managed to dress himself in the morning.

“Need some help?” Dorian offered, leaning into his side.

“I only wanted some underclothes.” He ground out, massaging his forehead. “There is so much here...it is giving me a headache.”

Not an exaggeration- rooting around in these belongings provoked a throb in the centre of his skull, close to unbearable.

“I don't think it's that- you're looking somewhat green.”

A hand steadied him and Evallan braced against the attached arm with a grunt.

“I think...I am...” Incapable of completing a sentence, apparently. All at once his strength dissipated and he slouched into Dorian, who was steadfast in catching him.

“There he goes-” He heard the Tevinter mumble into his hair, holding close. “Don't worry, I'm here.”

His voice was the last thing Evallan heard, his careful touch the last thing he felt.