#I’ve seen so many names for Knights Templar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enby-hawke · 4 years ago

Text

For I Have Sinned-Chapter 7

Chapter 7- Renewal

Word Count: 14,555 (lol shoot me)

Tw: elf fetishization bordering on non-con but not a major theme, homophobia

Ships: Malcolm/Leandra, Maurevar Carver/Mara Hartling

Follow on AO3

Carver never wanted to be a Templar, but his mother and father had the heir, the spare, and then some, so Carver was dedicated while he was still in the womb. They were proud of their Templar lineage but they didn’t know the sacrifices they forced Carver to make. Carver made them because it was his duty, and he did so with a smile. Even if he hardly saw his family outside of the many duties that filled his days.

No, he found he didn’t have much in common with his parents, who were not even Templars, or his brothers. In all respects he carried their name, but they were just strangers to him, that tried to control his life, and used his good standing like a trophy in their collection.

And there was a disquiet in him as he wielded power over mages. Chantry rhetoric claimed mages were not people. They were classified as living weapons, and yet they cried the same tears, bled the same blood, had the same fears, died just as easily. And he resented how many who he worked with used that power to harm. Carver didn’t know a better way than the Circle, but he often wondered if what they were doing was actually effective, as blasphemous as that statement was.

He found few Templars that agreed with him and counted many mages as friends, even if there were rules that said otherwise.

The fact was that Carver was given the keys to the prison and was free to leave his position at any time. But only through the Chantry could he get lyrium he needed, and he could only get lyrium if he remained a Templar. He thought of leaving, but his own leash held him place well enough.

“I hate to bring this up,” Carver said hesitantly as they started pulling into the streets of the docks towards the Templar station where he’d need to park his car. “But you should clean up your face before we get back. We’ll be caught for sure.”

Carver knew Malcolm better than the family that had given him up, knew him almost as well as he knew himself, even when Malcolm tried to keep secrets from him. And there was no denying that Leandra had changed Malcolm. Malcolm smirked often, but tonight on his face was a true smile, the usual frown lines and sarcasm had gone. He had been humming the songs that they had been singing all night, and had been serving as the radio for Carver as they drove through the streets of Kirkwall. There was no chip on his shoulder, no snarl to his words. Leandra had sanded down the edges until all Carver saw was a happy man in love.

And Carver was scared for them.

Malcolm laughed pulling down the mirrors as he inspected the red smears, wiping his face clean with his sleeve and a bit of magic when the lipstick remained stubborn. Malcolm seemed sorry to wipe off the evidence of the night.

Carver reached into the middle compartment and tossed Malcolm some mints. “Your breath smells like alcohol. Take care of that.”

Malcolm dutifully popped a handful of mints in his mouth, probably not enough to completely cover the smell but it would help.

Carver knew mages were dangerous. He had lost a few templar brethren hunting down apostates, but among the heavier death toll, mages were always the higher casualty, not that his brethren saw it that way. Still, he thought long and hard, trying to find ways to prevent the same tragedies.

“So we should get our story straight,” Carver said, as he pulled into his personal parking space which was marked and always clear for him. Carver could see Malcolm squirm in his peripherals, his lips getting tight as he sucked on his mints but he volunteered nothing. Carver turned off the car, stalling the engine so only ships at sea could be heard. He locked the door before Malcolm could get out and the way Malcolm glared made him look like a cornered wolf. “I know I initially tagged along because I wanted to keep that asshole in line, but I know you’re key to the investigation,” more squirming, some hunching. “Though I still need to interview the other mages at the party, I’ve been reading reports all night and no one seems to know more than you do.”

“I don’t know what’s going on.” Malcolm’s voice was tense in the admission. He played dumb like he always did.

Carver sighed. Obviously a lie, but calling him on it would only make him more evasive. He kept his eyes on the Templar station, an intimidating fortress that imposed the Docks, guarding a private train-line that went over the water and into the Circle.

“So what do you know?”

Malcolm went quiet. Carver glanced over, seeing a hundred thoughts scattering through his mind.

“It was nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he finally said.

“Nor I,” Carver said, worried about that admission.

Malcolm’s hands twisted as he picked at his nails. “What’s going in your report?”

Carver knew it was against the rules to tell anyone, let alone a mage under his care, what he told the Knight-Commander, but he could understand why Malcolm was scared. The Knight-Commander wasn’t the most tolerant of mages, and often criticized Carver’s approach in spite of the results Carver brought. “Only what’s necessary,” Carver hoped that would reassure him but his friend remained tense.

More silence, an internal debate in Malcolm’s head as he decided what to tell.

Carver waited in patience, his gaze expectant.

“The Veil was sundered and torn, but not only that, corrupted,” Malcolm finally said. “I don’t know how but it seemed like the Fade was leaking into reality, like they were merging together.”

That didn’t sound good. He wanted to know how Malcolm knew this but instead he asked, “What could cause that?”

Malcolm avoided Carver’s gaze. “Something dark and ancient and powerful.”

Carver cocked his head unsure of what that meant. “Like a Tevinter magister?”

“Worse than that, dude.” Malcolm laughed uneasily. He actually looked scared. “I don’t think you can arrest this.”

Carver considered what he meant and then it hit him. “Are you saying a demon did this?” Malcolm flinched, keeping silent but Carver knew he was on the right track. “What kind of demon?”

“Terror,” Malcolm admitted. “And it’s big and hungry.”

Carver then realized. “Did you fight it in the Viscount’s Palace?”

Malcolm’s golden eyes blinked up in surprise and he chewed on his lip. “I did, but it’s strong.”

Carver wondered how many battles he was fighting alone, and he knew Malcolm was too prideful to ask so he said, “It sounds like you could use help.”

Malcolm sputtered as if embarrassed. “I don’t think you can help with this, dude.”

If Carver had ego it might have been wounded, but he simply smiled. “It’s my duty as a Templar, and if this demon can sunder reality it is a danger that must be vanquished.”

Malcolm looked uneasy, but he didn’t argue. “So, what’s going in your report?”

Carver knew he shouldn’t but he said, “I think it important the Knight-Commander knows that a dangerous demon is hunting. We need to be prepared.”

Malcolm turned to Carver, pleading. “Don’t say I jumped into the Fade.”

“It’s an important detail,” Carver said, “and impressive as well. You could probably teach your own class with the types of spells you seem to always come up with.”

Was this just because he didn’t want more responsibility? Malcolm’s eyes said otherwise. He recognized someone begging for his life. He had seen it too many times in the countless Harrowings he oversaw.

“It really isn’t,” Malcolm insisted. “Just say we fought a terror demon that opened a rift into the Fade. That’s enough.”

Carver was uncertain. He wasn’t comfortable with lying, but this seemed important to Malcolm. “And then we spent the night chasing it,” Carver finally agreed, seeing Malcolm’s shoulders finally relax. Still, Carver knew there was a huge piece missing from the puzzle, and it somehow had to do with Malcolm, but he knew Malcolm, and he could see him closing himself off like a vault. He had hoped the alcohol might be enough to loosen that tongue, but Malcolm was the most stubborn man he knew. He prayed it wouldn’t lead to casualties. “You’ll tell me what I need to know before it hurts anyone else, right?”

“Of course. Trust me,” Malcolm nodded.

“I do,” Carver said with a grimace. “I just wished you trusted me.”

Malcolm looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course I trust you.”

“But you won’t tell me what I need to know,” Carver said bitterly. He didn’t like how many questions he was still left with.

“I did tell you what you need to know,” Malcolm’s voice was defensive. “The demon will die, soon, and everything will go back to normal.”

Carver doubted that with the evidence he had seen that night, but he knew that would only lead to an argument. So, instead he placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight your battles, alone.”

Malcolm said nothing to this, but he made a tight nod.

Carver sighed finally unlocking the door and getting out of the car.

Carver left his car at Templar station and they boarded the train, watching the water over the ocean in companionable silence as the tower of the Circle approached. Dawn was just starting to rise over the ocean cut off by the ugly tower that jutted into the sky with its red Circle flags waving in the ocean wind as bronze slave statues curled into themselves against the ocean spray, weeping.

Carver felt sorry that the night was over. He could already see that Malcolm was getting antsy approaching the Circle, his fingers drumming on his legs in a steady beat. He seemed wound up with energy still from the night, which he guessed was good since he probably only got a few minutes of sleep.

Soon they walked off the train and into the courtyard which was still empty, but it would be filled with Templars doing drills. Dawn had broken and so First Bell wouldn’t be too far. Before Malcolm walked back to his room Carver stopped him by a hand on the shoulder. “Remember your promise to Leandra. No lip, and work on your grades.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Malcolm rolled his neck, cracking it nonchalantly. He said it like he was brushing it off, but Carver couldn’t help but notice how alert he was, his posture straighter with a confidence that carried him with every step. As Malcolm walked away, Carver thought this might be the first time Malcolm actually might consider taking something seriously, and he couldn’t help but think he’d have to find more ways to thank Leandra, if for no other reason to bump into that rather whimsical cat-eyed woman who had mischief in her smile.

As Carver made his way down the Templar quarters he found his mind wandering back to Mara. He had met many beautiful women, but Mara had a spunk to her that set her apart and made her shine. He was rather impressed that she stood up to her own man for Malcolm and her loyalty to her lady seemed to go beyond just duty. Admiration. That’s what he told himself was stirring inside him. Any other considerations he had long since buried, but like a stubborn weed, irresponsible thoughts were unearthing.

Carver knew those were thoughts that would go nowhere. He was Knight-Captain, second only to the Knight-Commander. He had a responsibility to his wards and his comrades to be sharp and undistracted and while Templars were not forbidden to marry very few found the opportunity nor the time. Carver himself barely had time in the day to eat so to fully commit to anything like a romance seemed out of the question. Plus, it was clear she already had a man. Still, he hoped Mara would find someone more worthy of her wild adventurous spirit. And the way she inspected him with that scrutinizing stare as he performed for her left a shiver in his spine. He remembered the sassy way she called him “Officer” that stirred something primal in him and he was left unbalanced when she grabbed his arm.

He shouldn’t have allowed the picture. It could ruin everything, but Mara smelled so good he was left dizzy and his spine turned to jelly. And when Gamlen yanked her back from him it took everything not to punch him and ruin the night Malcolm worked so hard for.

It was not his place. Carver was only there to protect Malcolm, nothing else, and he felt a little ashamed that he was even thinking such things. He needed to focus, make sure that Malcolm doesn’t ruin what little standing he has left by taking reckless chances. But he couldn’t help but wish the song he sang Mara was a little longer and that Gamlen had stayed on that curb so he might find an excuse to talk to her again.

The door to the Knight-Commander’s office was intimidating, high reinforced steel bars with a heavy plaque of the red Chantry sun, as if they needed another reminder who ruled over them. Carver went to knock on the door to find that it was slightly ajar, muffled voices coming through the door.

“Knight-Commander, we need to consider that this might have been an attack on the Amell’s or the De Lancets. We need to reinforce security, pull from the Guard if necessary to ensure the nobility’s safety.”

Carver gritted his teeth. It was clearly Meredith’s voice coming from the door. Normally he would commend Meredith for her proactive thinking. She was remarkably fast at getting the men to secure the ballroom, but she made it clear to Carver that she was gunning for his job and he was sure this was just going to be another attempt to undermine his command.

Carver knocked twice before letting himself in, cutting off the Knight-Commander’s reply. Both the Knight-Commander and Meredith’s head flung in Carver’s direction. Knight-Commander Guylian stayed behind his desk, an antique oak with heavy legs, his pale skin popped against the dark leather. He was an older man with a prominent nose, lips so thin they were barely visible and dull grey eyes. He looked fully rested compared to Meredith whose bags from the all-nighter she pulled darkened her creamy skin.

“Good, I’ve been expecting your report,” the Knight-Commander nodded.

“Finally,” Meredith scowled as the Knight-Commander motioned for Carver to come in, but she kept her usual barbs to herself for now.

Carver glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even 6am. He was not late. Still, he couldn’t help the anxiety creeping up his neck as his Commander stared him down, waiting for him to spin his tale. Carver had become good at lying though, years of meditation and duty hardening him into a beacon of calm.

“Before I go into my report I want to recommend an official reprimand be marked on the Knight-Lieutenant's record.”

Meredith went red, eyes widening in outrage. “What for!?”

Carver felt himself mold into the role of Knight-Captain and addressed her while keeping his eyes on the Knight-Commander. “Instead of assessing the area for culprits she assaulted Taylor Filene. Such behavior will sow disorder and dissent in the ranks.”

“But Taylor Filene might be a culprit,” Meredith barked back.

“Regardless,” Carver continued. “There are procedures if you have suspicions. Threatening your wards in plain sight of the nobility is not.”

The Knight-Commander waited patiently studying both templars under the comfort of his cushioned chair. “This is true. The public must not see such things, Knight-Lieutenant. Our public image must be maintained.”

That was not Carver’s point, but he knew that arguing that it should not be allowed at all would get him nowhere. The Knight-Commander could be a harsh man, himself, and Carver needed to toe the line.

The Knight-Commander tapped his desk with his finger. “But considering the stress of last night I believe an unofficial reprimand will do just fine. Just see that it does not happen again.”

Meredith nodded, suppressing a triumphant smile. “It won’t, Knight-Commander.”

The Knight-Commander leaned back inspecting Carver again. “Now, where did you disappear to last night?”

“I’ve made an unexpected discovery in Malcolm Hawke’s testimony. He was able to identify that it was a terror demon that sundered the veil at the party and he is assisting me as I hunt it down. The hunt took me all over Kirkwall.”

“You had an unsanctioned mage assist you in an investigation?” Meredith sneered, echoing the concern on the Knight-Commander’s face. “Without backup?”

“The Fade interference messed with our electronics. There wasn’t time,” Carver lied quickly, “But I witnessed myself as he closed the rift in the Fade with his magic and calmed the spirits enough to go back, a feat no mage in this Circle I know to be capable of. Without his help, we might have had a bloodbath on our hands. Unsanctioned he may be, but his help may prove invaluable.”

“That oaf? He’ll make a mockery of this investigation,” Meredith sneered.

Carver expected that from Meredith but still he couldn’t help but ask a question he knew the answer to from his reports, “Knight-Lieutenant, what is the status of the Veil?”

Meredith’s lips thinned into a red line. “It appears to be stronger than before.”

Carver kept the grin off his face. “So should I issue you a ‘thank you’ to Malcolm myself or will you?”

The Knight-Commander stared at Carver and he wondered if the uneasiness on his face was suspicion or something else. “Demons do not usually affect the world without outside help. We should not discount Meredith’s theory that this could have been an orchestrated attack on the Amells or De Lancets.”

Carver grimaced. He wasn’t sure if Meredith was right, but he knew from the smirk on Meredith’s face that she would use this more to swing her iron fist.

Then the Knight-Commander asked, “How exactly did Malcolm heal the Veil? I thought using magic only weakened it.”

Carver knew he had to omit a few details but he wanted to keep as close to the truth as possible. Easier to keep track of the lies that way. “He claimed it to be an aura he developed to calm spirits,” he could tell from the look on their faces that they had questions about that and so did he, but instead he distracted them with something else, “I believe he has the potential to be a Spirit Healer. From my observations he seems to be sensitive to their presence.”

Meredith and the Knight-Commander shared a look. Spirit Healers made contracts with beneficial spirits to draw upon great healing magic, the kind that could bring men back from the brink of death. They were incredibly rare and watched ever closely by the templars because of how similarly they functioned to blood mages, and how easily they fell to temptation, but because of their beneficial nature they were still highly sought and prized by the Circle. He could see the arguments warring both on Meredith and the Knight-Commander’s faces.

The Knight-Commander seemed conflicted. “It would be a boon for the Circle, but what makes you think the elf would even do it? He seems insistent to sleeping his potential away.”

Carver put on his most convincing smile. “Give Malcolm a chance. He’s already proved last night he is capable of much more than he’s letting on.”

Meredith slammed her hand on the table startling both the men. “Absolutely not,” she snarled. “He doesn’t deserve it.”

The Knight-Commander’s eyebrow twitched and Meredith reddened, retracting her hand.

“Is that not for me to decide, Knight-Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ser,” she simply responded, her eyes on his desk.

The Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting his fingers on his chin as he thought. “I have an opportunity in mind, but I have reservations about his abilities but since Malcolm managed to not offend anyone at the party…” His calculating gaze locked on Carver as he made his decision. “The Amells and De Lancets will be here for their interviews as well as their Cleansing. If Malcolm can perform without offending them, I may consider speaking with the First Enchanter to rework his curriculum.”

Carver nodded. “I’ll make sure he takes this opportunity seriously.”

The Knight-Commander’s blue eyes were like a faded cloudy day. “See that he does. The Amells are high patrons of the Circle and if they are not satisfied with his performance, neither will I.” It sounded like the threat it was.

Carver nodded, gritting his teeth, a sinking feeling in his gut about how far Malcolm’s place was falling in the Circle. He needed to do everything in his power to make sure he didn’t fall further. Still, Malcolm was one of his best friends and he knew him well enough to know that he would not be thanked for this. But, dangling Leandra seemed to work before. Surely, it would work again.

Mara’s kitchen was a small but cutely decorated space, with duckling wallpaper and colorful appliances and cartoony knickknacks, some that Leandra had gifted over the years. On the fridge was a homemade frame of a picture of a fishing trip with the family when Mara’s parents and grandma were still alive. Leandra, Gamlen and Mara’s grandfather were also in the picture. He was a pale red-headed elf with green eyes and mischief in his smile. The rest of the family shared Mara’s chestnut hair and her dark unhooded cat eyes. Mara and he were both holding large rainbow trouts, Mara’s slightly bigger and she was rubbing it in Leandra’s face since she had only managed to catch a small minnow which she still showed proudly to the camera.

Everyone in the family was laughing, their faces in half-blurs as the Hartlings were never ones to sit still. Only Gamlen remained looking out of place as he glowered at the camera, hot and uncomfortable and always letting everyone know about it. Still, that day was perfect, and the memory of it kept Mara going on her darkest days.

Leandra stared at her phone, sipping at her coffee, her belly full of fried rice, bacon and eggs, helping to stave off an oncoming headache. She had spent many nights sitting at this counter, staying up gossiping with Mara and tonight was no different. Though the pain of exhaustion made her question if anything about the night was real, Mara was there to confirm every detail. And there was more evidence, in her picture, Malcolm was pressing against her cheek, looking as dazzling as in her dreams except now she had the memory of his clover musk that she sorely missed. She didn’t recognize the smile on her face, or how Mara let her hair get so messy, and now that she was slowly sobering up, she realized she was dumbstruck by her own actions.

She realized with profoundness, that she would repeat everything exactly the same. She had never felt so brave except at Malcolm’s side and now that he was gone the whimsy of the night was over. The reality of her fiancé and her parents were coming back to her. She’d need to face them, soon.

“He really fills out that suit, doesn’t he?” Mara hummed, placing her chin on Leandra’s bare shoulder.

Leandra hummed in agreement, admiring how Malcolm’s suit cut a striking silhouette, until she registered what Mara said and smacked her playfully on the arm. “Eyes to yourself, lady, he’s mine.”

“Oh, please, your man’s too skinny,” Mara waggled her eyebrows. “I was talking about Ser Herculean Statue.”

“Mara,” Leandra guffawed, scandalized. “What if Gamlen heard?”

Mara pulled away, rolling her eyes as she departed for the sink in a hasty retreat. “I’m just looking. It’s not like I don’t catch Gamlen’s eyes wandering. Neither of us are blind, y’know.”

Mara seemed tense at the mention of Gamlen, and she immediately began scouring the pots to put in the dishwasher. Leandra bit her lip. She knew that they spent at least fifteen minutes talking in Mara’s room before Gamlen decided to take a nap and Leandra was unsure if Gamlen would bother to show up for the Cleansing. Mara and Gamlen were still together, but for the first time Leandra was unsure about their future and she could see how uneasy this was making Mara.

Mara washed off her cat eye makeup making her eyes look more almond shaped and they were red from tiredness, but Leandra looked at the irritated rims of her eyes and knew she had been rubbing them. Her lips were paler and a more natural pink and her hair was still damp from the shower she had. She looked much more comfortable in her baggy t-shirt that looked like it belonged to Gamlen at one point and plain plaid sweatpants.

“How are things with Gamlen?” Leandra asked hesitantly.

Mara’s shoulders tensed before she opened up the dishwasher and deposited the pan with some force. “Oh, it’s peachy.”

Leandra abandoned her place at the counter to saddle up beside Mara to help her wash. She picked up a stray plate and started rinsing the grease from it.

“Your mother will kill me if you ruin your manicure doing servant work,” Mara took the plate away from her to take over but Leandra just picked up another.

“Who cares about my mother? We’re talking about you right now,” Leandra sniffed as she scrubbed off some stubborn onion that was sticking to the plate. Leandra’s polished white-tipped pointed nails were soon covered in bacon grease. Leandra gritted her teeth. “You know he’s my brother, but you can always be honest with me.” Leandra met Mara’s uncertain gaze as she paused to bite her lip. “About anything.”

Mara took the plate from Leandra, placing it in the dishwasher. She was silent, but Leandra could tell there was something Mara was keeping from her. “Promise not to tell, Gamlen?”

“I won’t say a word,” Leandra nodded, abandoning the chores to give Mara her full attention.

Mara tucked a wet strand behind her ear as she leaned her back against the sink. “I’ve been with Gamlen for as long as I can remember. I know I love him but…”

“But…?” Leandra echoed as Mara trailed off.

Mara kept her eyes to the ground. “Seeing the way you are with Malcolm…maybe I’m a little jealous.”

Leandra dropped her mouth. Mara? Jealous of her and Malcolm? She was blushing at the idea considering the years she spent in envy in the reverse position.

“I just met Malcolm last night,” Leandra blubbered. “You and Gamlen have had a solid relationship for years. Malcolm and I are too new to even label our relationship. And the fact that I’m about to be married in two months, you have nothing to be envious over.”

Mara looked at Leandra biting her cheek. “See that’s the thing. Malcolm looks at you like he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. I’ve never seen a man look so devoted,” Mara looked sad, meeting her gaze hesitantly. “And you have never looked so happy beside him. I think you found something real. And I want that…”

Leandra felt a rush of warmth at the thought, before her rational mind took over and started tearing the fantasy apart. This was too new for her to even name what she was feeling for him. She was still engaged. Very, very engaged, and though she was angry at her parents, she wasn’t so angry that she would throw her whole future away over one wonderful night, no matter how perfect everything felt. Still, as she looked at her friend’s uncertainty she knew she had to reach out for her hand and ask, “You don’t think you have something real with Gamlen?”

Mara froze, her eyes dropping again. “I...don’t know.” Then she forced a grin, “He gives me a real headache.”

Leandra laughed in spite of herself, but she knew Mara was just joking to avoid talking too seriously. “I won’t lie and say I don’t want you and Gamlen to work, but if you’re unhappy-”

“I’m not,” Mara said a little too quickly and returned to cleaning the dishes. “I’m probably just still mad about last night. Just ignore me.”

Leandra could sense the broiling emotions under Mara, but she nudged Mara’s shoulder with her own before returning to the dishes. “You’re hard to ignore, Mara.”

A pleased smile pulled on Mara’s lips, her cheeks blushing just a shade pinker.

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang from her purse, and Leandra wiped her hands on the hand towel and went to retrieve it. She recognized from the chiming wedding bells that it was Guillaume. Sure enough his name with the screen photo showing Leandra and him on one of their dates to their favorite restaurant at la Rose’ de Safran, a ritzy Orlesian place where their portions were smaller than their wine glasses. She couldn’t help but take a moment to compare how fake her smile seemed as she posed with him keeping a professional distance apart even as they held hands.

She let only one more annoying bell ring before she answered the phone, her voice cloaked with peppy energy even though she felt so exhausted she was sure she’d fall asleep on the kitchen counter. “Guillaume, what a surprise. Why are you calling so early?”

Guillaume’s slightly Orlesian accent filtered through the speakers, grating her nerves with anxiety even though his voice was calm and soothing. “I heard you had a fight with your parents last night and I wanted to help if I could.”

She was touched and suddenly flooded with guilt. Guillaume was still her friend and a true one and she was deceiving him. “I’m not sure how you could help, but thank you for the thought,” she almost mumbled the words as she struggled to keep herself calm and breathing even.

“I thought I’d offer you a ride to the Cleansing if you would like, to give you more space between your parents. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.”

It was just like him, incredibly thoughtful, and the confusion about what the right thing to do was made her dizzy and hesitant. Usually talking with Guillaume would unburden her, but she immediately thought of Malcolm and the jealous look in his eye and how badly she just wanted to belong to only him. How she wanted to come clean and tell Guillaume the truth right there. Would he judge her? He never had before?

But she wouldn’t. She still didn’t even know what was happening to her heart, and all these urges to make irrational decisions scared her.

She took in a shallow breath. “You’re right that I’d rather not face my parents,” she admitted, not wanting to say yes, but the thought of a car ride lecture all the way to the Circle was less preferable.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Merveilleux, I’ll be at your house in less than ten minutes.”

“Actually come to Mara’s.”

Leandra tried to get Gamlen out of Mara’s bed plush polkadot duvet but he was snoring so forcefully he was ruffling his bangs. After shaking him firmly once he told her to ‘bugger off’ and she decided she wasn’t going to do what she normally did and fuss over him and drag him to his duties. He was a full grown man. If he wanted to let his aura fester that was his problem.

She texted her family’s group chat to not send the car to Mara’s because Guillaume was picking her up and though she expected an argument over that she didn’t get one. Just a firm reminder to not be late. She tried to distract herself with social media, but soon enough all the congratulation messages and worried ‘are you ok?’ messages about her betrothal ball found her sorely missing Malcolm.

She wished she could post that picture, let everyone know of the wonderful man she found and share her happiness, but she would hurt Guillaume deeply and knew she would get no congratulations. So she traced Malcolm’s lips with her thumb, wishing things were simpler so she could just enjoy this feeling.

Soon Guillaume’s town car pulled into Mara’s driveway and Guillaume stepped out.

Leandra stiffened, brushing herself off as she approached him, smiling in greeting. She couldn’t miss the way his eyes raked her from head to toe taking in her look. She told herself she should appreciate it. Mara had worked hard helping her pluck, smooth out her hair, paint on her face and vet her outfit. Still, she wished that Mara had clothes that didn’t always cling so close or reveal so much. It was almost impossible to find something appropriate to meet her future in-laws in.

“Are those Mara’s?” His tone was appreciative.

She tucked hair behind her ear as she shyly hid her figure behind her purse. Normally Leandra’s day wear consisted of airy dresses that were modest but fashionable, but today she had on a loose black knit sweater that hung off her shoulders and a bold peacock patterned pencil skirt that hugged every curve. She was still wearing her red heels from last night since her feet were too small for Mara’s shoes. “It looks awkward on me, right?”

“Not at all,” his smile gleaned as he stared appreciatively at her bare shoulders. “I’d say it’s a fetching look.”

No blush came to Leandra’s cheeks but instead she made a strangled sound in her throat.

Guillaume opened the door for her, chuckling. “I’d say I left you speechless, my lady.”

Leandra chuckled nervously as she ducked into the car.

He soon joined her on the other side, the cabin cozier than she wished it. He nestled in close and it took all of Leandra’s willpower not to shy away from him as he took her hand. His hand felt wrong, too large, too imposing. It didn’t feel at all like comfort though she wondered if it ever did. His amber eyes burrowed into her in questioning. “So what happened with your parents?”

She didn’t feel at all like sharing but she did because she thought she should. “They tried to fire Mara.”

Guillaume made a dramatic gasp into his spare hand. “No, they can’t.”

“I said they tried. I rehired her,” Leandra found herself looking at the window rather than at Guillaume, if only so she would stop catching him staring at her shoulders.

“That was quick thinking, ma chérie,” Guillaume squeezed her hand. “Do you need any financial assistance in the matter? I would be happy to lend any assets.”

Leandra felt herself get hot and quickly said, “No, no, that’s not necessary,” she shook her head so violently her ponytail swayed from side to side. “I’ll have to cut back on a few expenses but Mara is more important than frivolous things like spa days.”

“Maker,” Guillaume shook his head. “You are a stronger woman than me. I need my spa days.” Guillaume laughed at his own joke and Leandra joined in politely until his laugh trailed off and was replaced with a silent tension. “Ma chérie, I have a confession to make,” his voice was as tense as his shoulders.

Leandra turned to face Guillaume, her gut plummeting. “Yes?”

“You know my mother is a very religious woman,” Guillaume looked at Leandra, and then tucked a hair back in place fondly. Leandra withheld a shudder. “The haunting has spooked her. She thinks it’s a curse on your family and she wants to call off the wedding.”

Leandra blinked, her heart fluttering and she almost caught herself smiling but she knew from Guillaume’s face that this was a huge source of anxiety for him and she felt herself being pulled by two ropes. She knew she should say something and he was expecting her to, but she was trying not to thank the Maker out loud so she did so in her head. She schooled her face into a frown, and said, “How terrible,” as convincingly as possible.

It worked because Guillaume brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “We have to convince her not to.”

This time she did shudder. She knew she should agree and try to use this car ride to strategize but Leandra felt her shoulders dropping. “Do you really want to?” she actually asked. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as the question escaped. She could see the hurt written on Guillaume’s face and he dropped her hand.

“Of course I do! Do you?”

“I…”Leandra tried to make her face unreadable but her voice was caught in her throat and she hesitated and this time he noticed.

Guillaume immediately straightened his shoulders like a soldier. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing!” Leandra blurted. “Guillaume, you’re wonderful, it’s just…” she gulped, trying to find the words and still feeling the effects of the residual alcohol in her system she found herself being a little more honest than she usually dared. “We were promised as kids. Do you not ever wonder if there is someone else out there? Someone perfect for you?”

Guillaume’s shoulders dropped, looking defeated, and his eyes actually watered before he turned away. “I thought you were perfect for me.” Then his jaw clenched, his mustache twitching. “Did you find your perfect someone? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Leandra didn’t realize she was such an open book, and she had forgotten how well Guillaume could read her. “No,” she shook her head and clasped both his hands like she used to try to reassure him even though her words were dripping with lies. “It’s nothing like that, just pre-wedding jitters.”

“Because I’ll back off,” he continued looking hard at her, inspecting every minute reaction. “Just be honest with me, Leandra.”

Her heart was suddenly in her throat as she tried not to squeak. She wanted to. She wanted to tell him everything, but there was a hardness in his gaze that made her quiver. Was she really going to ruin her future her parents prepared for her over a man she had only met last night?

She opened her mouth and said, “Let’s find a way to convince your mother not to call off the wedding. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She had no idea if she made the right decision, but the way Guillaume’s shoulders relaxed made her breathe easier. Did he notice that she did not say no? He had already seen through her the first time. She wasn’t sure how convincing she was being.

Guillaume patted her hand fondly and said, “That’s why we’re getting coffee. It’s always good to start a negotiation with a bribe.”

Leandra smiled, feeling it unnatural on her face. She had no idea how to act around Guillaume now that he was suspicious and she was trying her best not to give anything else away. She let him hold his hand as he pitched his ideas of what they would say and she nodded along as she panicked. Little did she know the Maker had twisted fate to test her a little more that day.

Malcolm had a skip to his step as he walked to breakfast, whistling so merrily that the sound echoed through the stone in an unnatural cheer. Nothing could darken his mood; no ugly sneer from a templar, nor the bars on the windows or the winter chill in the air. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, actually filled with what he needed for his day's study, though his textbooks were vandalized with doodles and blasphemy.

He was still flooded with energy from Leandra’s kisses and the wheels in his head were working in overdrive to figure out a way to escape again. Could he manage it, tonight? Two breakouts in a row would be risky. He was so in his head, planning and scheduling details he didn’t notice that people were pointing and gossiping about him as he waited in line for breakfast. He found Taylor and Charlie in the usual spot on the corner table where they were looking at him in confusion and worry.

“Are you alright?” Taylor’s eyebrows knitted together as she picked at her bowl of porridge mostly untouched.

Instead of Malcolm’s usual brush-off he just pulled his thick eyebrows together in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Charlie and Taylor shared a look before Taylor said, “You disappeared last night after the haunting. I feared the worst.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Carver brought me along on an investigation. Nothing serious.” He wanted to tell them the truth about Leandra but Charlie was probably the biggest gossip in all the Circle. If Charlie even got a whiff that Malcolm was seeing someone, everyone would know by lunch.

Charlie broke out in an excited grin. “Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Rumors are you saved everyone last night and now the Knight-Captain is recruiting you personally to help?”

Malcolm tried to remain nonchalant but he couldn’t help the puff in his chest. He really felt like things were turning around. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess I’m kind of a big deal now.”

Taylor shook her head, though even she was grinning. “Don’t let that head get too inflated with hot air. If it wasn’t for Carver you’d have gone home with the rest of us.”

Malcolm harrumphed. That was true but she didn’t need to say it. Malcolm scooped up his porridge, the sludge looking cold and unappetizing, but with a grin, he weaved a subtle spell in his mind and scooped the porridge into his mouth. Instead of a bland mush he felt a bursting array of sweet, tart strawberries and cream and he groaned in ecstasy as his tongue remembered the feel of Leandra’s kisses caressing him. He immediately licked the spoon clean and scooped up another generous helping, groaning again. The texture was off, lumpy and slimy, but that was something easily ignored.

Taylor and Charlie stared in confusion. “The food here is not that good.”

Malcolm grinned offering his hand to Taylor. “You got to try this new spell I made. Take my hand.”

Taylor stared skeptically at the hand, being the butt of too many pranks to trust it. “I don’t think so,” she wrinkled her nose.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. He could have cast the spell directly on her but if he was caught casting spells outside of class that would be more trouble. So he moved his hand to Charlie. “Take my hand, dude.”

Charlie grabbed it without hesitating. “Sure.”

Malcolm changed the spell slightly in his mind channeling it into his friend. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Now, try a bite.”

Charlie hesitantly took a bite of his porridge before his eyes bugged out in amazement. Then immediately one handed he started gobbling up his food so fast he was getting it on his face. He was hardly breathing as he inhaled bite after bite.

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I had for dinner last night.”

“How is it still steamy?” Charlie’s full mouth was dripping with mush.

Taylor leaned forward, suddenly keen and interested. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Malcolm tried to hide the pride in his voice but he had to thank Scholar for the idea and all that talk about what taste is. This new deal with him had really gotten Malcolm’s wheels turning. “It’s a simple illusion spell, actually. Even Charlie can manage it.”

Taylor cocked her head as she started putting it together. “Illusion? You mean you’re substituting visual stimuli for gustatory?”

Malcolm blinked in confusion. “If that means I tweaked the illusion spell to focus on my memories of good food then yes.”

Taylor muttered, doing some calculations under her breath. “So if any memory will work then…” She dipped her mostly untouched porridge and took a bite, her violet eyes watering. “I haven’t tasted Mamae’s matzah since I was a girl.” She blinked back the tears before they could fall and she stared at Malcolm with a newfound respect. “Malcolm, this is absolutely brilliant.”

“Thank you, I feel brilliant,” Malcolm grinned. “Think Enchanter Jakoby will take the spell as extra credit?”

“I don’t see why not?” Taylor went to take another bite before she stopped blinking back at Malcolm. “Why are you asking about extra credit?”

Malcolm suddenly felt embarrassed, like he was caught doing something weird. “Dunno…just thought it would be a good idea.”

Taylor beamed at him with a knowing smile. “I think Enchanter Jakoby would be proud, too.”

If Malcolm’s skin could go red, it would. “That’s not what it’s about,” he muttered, scooping a lobster infused porridge into his mouth with his free hand to avoid talking more.

“You said I can manage it?” Charlie asked, still gripping Malcolm’s hand. He looked at the last bite of his bowl like he was sorry that he had eaten it so fast. “I can barely light a candle without sweating. How am I supposed to do something so complicated?”

Malcolm squeezed, feeling odd that he was holding a man’s hand, or anyone’s hand other than Leandra’s, but the gesture didn’t feel out of place. “It’s not complicated. You just need to practice. I’ll help.”

Charlie sniffed, rubbing off some of the porridge on his face with a napkin. “Thanks. It’d be nice to eat some nice food before I get tranquilized and can’t appreciate it anymore.”

The table went silent at the thought as Charlie scooped up the last bite. Malcolm and Taylor both looked at each other in worried silence as Charlie savored it. Finally Taylor leaned in and placed her hand over Charlie’s fist. “You’re not getting tranquilized.”

“You don’t have to humor me,” Charlie said stiffly. “I overheard the templars talking. There’s no way I’ll survive the Harrowing.”

“They’re just bastards. You can,” Malcolm said earnestly, though his voice sounded frail in his anger. Carver had managed to put off Charlie’s Harrowing for as long as possible while Malcolm and Taylor tutored Charlie in their spare time and his magic had improved steadily, but he was not built for fighting. Now his Harrowing was any day, and they waited each night wondering if today was the last.

“Passing the Harrowing is all about believing in your own ability,” Malcolm said. “You can’t let these doubts shake you.”

“They’re not doubts, dude, they’re facts,” Charlie’s voice was not laced by melancholy but filled with pragmatism, like he had already accepted his fate and that twisted Malcolm’s gut.

It was times like these when Malcolm wanted to burn everything to the ground.

“I knew you two were fairies,” a sneering voice said behind them. Malcolm and Charlie dropped hands blushing to find that Matthew, the Templar, had approached their table and from the look in his eyes he was in a cruel mood.

Malcolm opened his mouth to give lip but he immediately swallowed it remembering his promise to Carver and then turned back to his food with a sigh. “And here I was actually enjoying my morning.”

“My bad,” Matthew chuckled. “You’re clearly in the honeymoon period. My sincere congratulations.”

“Sometimes bros hold hands,” Charlie sank down in his seat, his shoulders hunching.

Malcolm snarled. “Do you really not have anything better to do with your time?”

Matthew smirked, motioning for Malcolm to follow him. “You dumb? You owe me something.”

Malcolm’s stomach dropped. In all the commotion with Leandra and the haunting he had forgotten about Matthew’s order and he wouldn’t be the only one looking. Malcolm reluctantly left his seat to take his conversation with Matthew in private. He was lucky he was still in public where someone could get Carver if necessary. There was no way he would leave with Matthew alone.

Matthew led him to the same barred window overlooking the ocean and Kirkwall’s skyline. His skin was noticeably yellower and his eyes more bloodshot, and darkened with bags.

Malcolm nervously shoved his hands in his pockets speaking lowly. “Look, it’s not here, yet. Didn’t you get the memo about me being pulled on some investigation?”

The man snarled. “I had to work that fiasco last night and got no sleep. But the fact still is I need it today.”

“Tonight, then,” Malcolm countered. There would be no going around that. He missed the drop-off and it was still waiting where his contact left it.

Matthew looked like he wanted to argue but the Second Bell rang, signaling it was time for everyone to go to classes.

“Tonight,” Matthew sneered then stalked off, disappearing into the flood of students moving.

Malcolm sighed in relief, never having been so grateful to hear that bell. He walked back to Taylor and Charlie who looked as relieved as he was.

He set his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Stay tough, man. I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up either.”

Charlie sighed as if he was tired but he smiled back. “Yeah, sure.”

Malcolm wished that didn’t sound so sarcastic.

“Guess I’ll see ya’ll later, then,” Malcolm hoisted his bag over his shoulder, leaving his tray abandoned at the table.

Taylor raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never seen you eager to go to class.”

“I’m not eager,” Malcolm argued, walking backwards. “I’m resigned. Devastated. Can’t wait to graduate.”

Taylor actually laughed at his joke along with Charlie as she picked up her bag. “Whatever, Malcolm. See you in class.”

Charlie looked at Malcolm’s food with puppy eyes as he started shuffling away. Malcolm couldn’t help the little smile on his lips when he heard, “I can’t believe I’m looking forward to lunch.”

Malcolm wandered through the flow of traffic into the hallways to his first class, Creation Studies, ran by Enchanter Karena, a conservative biddy who didn’t like when Malcolm corrected her on anything, even if she was teaching things wrong.

She went by the book and by the book only, even though Malcolm found that most of how magic was taught was backwards and counter-intuitive, based on ritual rather than usefulness. She was very religious and that seeped into every lesson. She saw other schools of magic as evil, finding that Creation was the only one deemed blessed by the Maker, even though the whole practice relied on channeling the healing energies of beneficial spirits, which made the whole thing sound like Chantry sanctioned blood magic when you thought of it. Something she did not appreciate hearing from Malcolm.

When he saw the silver haired woman, she was arguing with Carver, her wrinkled face so red she looked like an aged tomato but that stopped as soon as Malcolm walked through.

Carver was here. That wasn’t good. Still Malcolm hadn’t broken any rules that Carver didn’t help him with.

Enchanter Karena whirled around, her perfectly pinned bun falling slightly out of place. “Messere Hawke,” she sniffed overly politely.

Malcolm resisted the urge to poke at her and took his seat with an acknowledging nod, but Carver walked over to his desk.

“Pick your stuff up. You don’t go to this class anymore.”

Malcolm blinked. “What?”

“Absolutely not. That blasphemer has no business doing Cleansings or learning the sacred art of Spirit Healing. Those are for only the Maker’s chosen,” Enchanter Karena argued.

“Pardon, Senior Enchanter, but if Malcolm has the talent, I believe he falls into that category.”

Malcolm snorted at the way the Senior Enchanter’s mouth puckered in such a scowl it looked like a dog’s asshole. But then he registered what Carver said. “I’m doing what?”

Carver smirked. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Now c’mon.”

The other students looked on in wonder as Carver led Malcolm out of the classroom and back out into the hallway. Gossip started flowing from the classroom and Malcolm sighed. He was already sick of the spotlight.

“So I’m guessing I don’t have a say in this,” Malcolm grumbled as he clenched the strap of his bag.

“Do you ever have a say in anything?” Carver quipped.

Malcolm grumbled. “You can be such an ass.”

“Not denying that,” Carver grinned. “But I’m on your side.” He nudged Malcolm’s shoulder, the metal biting into him. “Trust me, this will be good for you.”

Malcolm’s shoulders slumped. How many times had he heard that?

“Would you perk up if I told you we’re going to see Leandra?”

Malcolm did, his back straightening like an arrow as he jerked in full attention. “It’s her Cleansing?”

“Her family’s Cleansing and her fiancé ’s, so behave. I can’t babysit you with all these interviews.”

Her fiancé. He had almost forgotten he existed at all in that perfect night together. Still, Malcolm readied himself like he was going into battle. “I can handle that jerk.”

“He’s actually quite a nice guy,” Carver quipped, already grinning as the scowl rose from Malcolm.

“Oh, how great is he? He’s Orlesian,” Malcolm shoved his hands into his pockets hunching.

Carver laughed heartily, knowing he shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he was, but if he could only tell him that he didn’t need to worry, because Leandra always looked at him like she was mesmerized by his existence. But Carver didn’t know how this story would end, and he also knew the Amell’s a little more intimately through Revka. She had once confided in him in a visit about how she’s all but disowned by the family for birthing so many mages. It would be a hard-fought journey, no question.

Malcolm felt jittery. Would her brother be there? What would happen if he opened his big mouth and ruined everything? He didn’t seem like the type loyal enough to keep a secret. Still, the promise of seeing Leandra so soon after they had parted was too tempting, even paired with less appealing company. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like this was his first impression on her family, and he did want to impress them. Suddenly he found himself a bundle of tight nerves and he found himself needing to emanate his own calming spell to soothe himself.

The healing quarters were filled with incense and Chantry symbols and candles even though modern lighting was installed. There was something to be said about creating a healing space to perform, but Malcolm felt like the Chantry sisters were just a little too attached to those candles. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or pleased to see that Enchanter Jakoby was there.

The three other mages were a bit older and looked at him curiously as the Chantry sisters readied the quarters for the nobility’s arrival. He saw a pale elf with black hair and a rather bird-like features whisper to a man who looked like a vampire for his skin was so lucid it looked like it never touched the sun.

The ghoulish man laughed at the elf’s whisper and Malcolm shivered at the sound for it seemed to belong to a horror film. The vampire was angular with scrutinizing silver eyes that were as cold as steel and he looked at Malcolm in interest while Malcolm tried his best to ignore him. The third mage seemed to fade into the background for how much presence she made. She was a plumpish woman with tan skin and wavy hair that hid her eyes. She avoided everyone else in the room and looked like she’d rather not be there.

Enchanter Jakoby clasped hands with Carver greeting him. “Ser Carver, thank you again for your intervention last night.”

Carver nodded humbly. “Only doing my duty.”

“Well, we’re blessed to have you,” the Enchanter beamed before his smile turned playful at Malcolm, “and we’re blessed to have you, too.”

Was Malcolm pleased that Enchanter Jakoby wanted him in his classroom? He found any snarky reply that he would have said died in his throat. It was a nice change of pace since he was used to being seen as the local pain in the ass, but part of him felt like he was giving in too easy. “So, you’re just making me a Spirit Healer? Don’t I have to pass some test?”

“The Cleansing will be your test,” the Enchanter nodded. “If the Amell’s are satisfied with your performance then you’ll graduate into a full Enchanter and into my class as well as take on new duties.”

“Great,” Malcolm tried not to make that sound sarcastic but it still laced his voice. “So I’m the school nurse now. Any other surprises?”

“As part of your graduation requirements you will be required to help tutor younger apprentices.”

Malcolm’s face twisted. Now this was unacceptable. “You really want to put me with kids? The guy that says fuck every other sentence?”

Enchanter Jakoby looked amused. “Don’t worry. Since you're graduating out of season it’ll be at least a week to arrange the paperwork and find a class for you. You’ll have some time to practice substitutes. Try fudge.”

“No fucking way,” Malcolm snorted.

Carver cleared his throat, glaring at Malcolm.

Malcolm almost blurted out, ‘no fudging way’ just out of habit, but Carver’s stern glare kept the insolence in his throat and he sighed reluctantly. “I mean, I’ll find a way.”

He didn’t realize it would be so hard to keep this promise.

Enchanter Jakoby mouthed ‘thank you’ to Carver who only nodded in response.

Carver then turned to Malcolm with a stern look. “Remember your manners in front of the nobility.”

Malcolm cracked out the tension building in his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

With that Carver abandoned him to class.

The next hour was spent in instruction by Enchanter Jakoby not about how to perform Cleansings, as that was a simple thing that most proper Enchanters could manage, but how to address the nobility. There was a lot of protocol about where to stand, how to address a Lord, how not to stare directly in one’s eyes to offend. There were so many ways to offend.

Malcolm tried his best to listen like he promised, but he found his mind had gotten in a habit of tuning the Enchanter’s voice out and so he kept catching himself daydreaming about Leandra’s kisses. Malcolm was nervous trying to learn all these new rules but from what he figured the best policy was just to stick to the background and just not bother to talk to anybody unless they needed him. How he was even going to get a word to Leandra he had no idea.

Then they were each handed a staff to use, just simple metal rods only used for channeling and not fighting. The Enchanter reached through the Veil coating himself with magic, instructing his students to do the same. Malcolm could hear the whispers of the excited spirits answering his summons, flooding their energy into him so he burned the brightest of them all, making the others glance nervously at the difference.

The Enchanter couldn’t help but beam at the fact that Malcolm was taking instruction so well. No chiding needed. No snark. His eyes were closed in concentration, the colors coming off his flames reflecting rainbows.

“We start by Cleansing our own auras, because if we ourselves are infected then we will infect our subjects. Now clear your minds and breathe with me.”

Every mage in the Circle learned how to cleanse their auras from a young age. It was necessary in order to not attract demons in the Fade, so it felt like they were back in Basics as they sat in silence just listening to their own heartbeats as they opened themselves up to the Fade. “If you have doubts or pain or fears open them up now and offer them to the Maker.”

Malcolm tried not to snort but the sound still echoed through the chamber. In all his walkings of the Fade he had never heard the voice of a God of any kind, just spirits. Still they were eager to pluck up the darker thoughts in his mind until his own thoughts echoed back at him.

You’re being stupid. She’s a noble. And human. She’ll betray you. Or abandon you. Why are you trusting her? What about your plans to escape? She’s going to ruin everything.

The spirits picked at the thoughts in curiosity, like they were baubles in a shop.

“Don’t give the thoughts power. Just offer them up to the flame and let them be transformed,” the Enchanter instructed.

Malcolm’s aura lit up in a cloak of flames as the spirits combed through old pain, touching upon his deep-seated anger so he could taste it on his teeth. They poured through his memories so they flowed through him, the good and the bad. His mom, his dad, being kidnapped to the Circle, meeting Carver, Taylor and Charlie, Gamlen’s ugly judgement, Leandra’s righteous anger, burning with jealousy as he watched her on Guillaume’s arm, how she grabbed his tie at the karaoke club and kissed him in front of everyone. The spirits ended up latching onto Leandra’s song, the lyrics filling him with peace as they echoed it in his head and he focused on that until the rest of the doubts floated away until all was left with music.

“That’s no good. You’ll cleanse no one with that aura.”

Malcolm opened his eyes but the Enchanter, whose flame burned bright and blue wasn’t speaking to him but to the mousy woman who hid her face. Her flames were dark, purple and smoky and she seemed to be having difficulty with connecting with the Fade.

The woman stopped the spell breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, Enchanter, I’m just not feeling well today.” Her shoulders looked shaky from the spell.

The Enchanter frowned sympathetically, closing his connection to the Fade until his bright blue flaming aura died in a smoke. “Well, you won’t be able to participate like that. You may sit out for the noble’s Cleansing but you’ll need to stay and observe.” He then turned to the three men with a pleased smile motioning them to end the spell with a calm wave of his hand.

“Gentlemen, very well done, especially you Malcolm. I believe you have a talent for this.”

The other men glanced at Malcolm as he swelled, but their heads quickly snapped back as their names were called.

“Orsino, Quentin, why don’t you all get acquainted by teaching Malcolm the basics about performing a Cleansing on another person. Be brief though. The nobility arrives any minute now.”

“Yes, Enchanter,” they spoke in unison like it was rehearsed.

The Enchanter then turned to the other mage. “Melissa, over here. I’ll have to take care of your aura, later.” He dragged her away to one of the spare cots in the room.

Then the men both turned on Malcolm, their eyes sparkling in interest and Malcolm suddenly felt like he was on an observation table about to be poked and prodded from every angle.

“So Malcolm was it?” The creepy mage had his arms behind his back as he strolled lazily up to Malcolm. He easily towered over both elves, staring down his pointed nose at each of them.

“You can call me Hawke,” Malcolm decided suddenly, feeling that his first name in that man’s mouth was just too familiar.

“Sure Hawke,” the green-eyed elf offered his hand, his black hair slicked back neatly. He also looked far too skinny for his clothes, his hand thin and bony. “I’m Orsino. Nice to see another elf made it into this program.”

“Sure,” Malcolm took the hand not wanting to start off on the wrong foot though he wasn’t sure that they’d get along just because they were elves.

The other willowy man offered his thin hand. “I’m Quentin. And you may call me that.”

Malcolm took the man’s hand too and his nerves locked on edge. Was Enchanter Jakoby certain about this man’s aura? Malcolm felt a coldness in him that seemed unnatural, and Malcolm took back his hand quickly resisting a shiver. He wasn’t sure why but he didn’t like that man but it felt more like instinct than prejudice. He didn’t like the way he smiled, how he moved, how his eyes studied him like a lab rat.

“So Cleansing someone else’s soul is simple. We guide them through a meditation as we channel their auras into the Fade so their darker actions and thoughts do not get attacked by demons like so,” Quentin then waved his hand pouring Fade magic into Malcolm as he felt his magic coat him, foul with dark energy.

Malcolm automatically cast a dispel to interrupt the examination. His mind felt a little tingly, like something had tried to pry it open. Did the bastard just try to read him? “Watch it, Q-ball.”

The man reddened, apparently self-conscious about his thinning hairline. “Just demonstrating,” Quentin squinted his eyes. “You hide it well but I did sense some dark anger in that aura. Dangerous for healers. A friendly warning from your upperclassman.”

His mind still tingled from the man’s magic making Malcolm’s hands glow in his own spell. “Is it my turn?”

Orsino stepped between them hastily. “Perhaps we should focus on examining our patients.” He looked apologetically to Malcolm. “Forgive Quentin. He can be overeager.”

“Well tell him to watch it. I can, too,” Malcolm huffed, shaking away the spell from his fingers.

Orsino folded his hands, taking over instruction as he tried to diffuse the situation. “The meditation is usually taken from the Canticle of Trials. You are familiar?” The question was more of a statement and Malcolm found himself stuttering. Was now a good time to say he always slept through Mass?

“Uh, sure I’m familiar,” Malcolm lied.

Orsino smiled. “Good then we won’t have to go over that.”

“Maybe, we should go over it a little,” Malcolm quickly backpedaled.

But then Meredith and Matthew marched into the room standing straighter than usual. Malcolm noticed that Meredith was glaring at him in particular and he couldn’t help but poke at her with a mock salute.

Meredith tried to keep the scowl from her face but her lips still twisted in a snarl. “Announcing the arrival of the esteemed Houses Amell and De Lancet,” Meredith’s voice sounded bitter with the false energy she forced into the greeting.

Malcolm bowed his head with the rest of the mages as the nobles paraded in, two by two, bringing with them the aroma of expensive perfumes and fresh coffee that they still clutched in their hands. Malcolm recognized Leandra’s parents striding in first, in coordinated red outfits. They took the prominent place in front. Guillaume’s parents, a greying red-headed couple in royal purple took the next highest place on the Amells’ right hand, and Leandra and Guillaume came next, completely uncoordinated and settling onto her parent’s left hand side still sipping their cups.

Malcolm couldn’t help but drag his eyes up Leandra’s legs admiring the newly revealed curves that her other dress hid. Leandra stopped mid-sip, reddening as the coffee dribbling down her chin a bit as she noticed Malcolm in the room staring.

Malcolm winked, holding back a laugh as she wiped her chin with her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Her mother scowled, stepping out of place as she took a red handkerchief and wiped it away properly, making apologetic eyes to the De Lancets. “Leandra, really, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

Guillaume chuckled. “It’s rather adorable actually.”

Malcolm tried to keep the sneer off his face but his whole jaw clenched as he tried to remember his place. He lowered his head again, remembering he was just supposed to be furniture.

Her mother sighed as if she was tired. “I’m glad you think so, dear.” Her mother then took her place measuring each mage against the other. “Is this the whole selection, templar?”

Meredith bristled. “Spirit healing is a very rare art, Lady Amell.”

“Still, there is the instructor, no?” Lady Amell sniffed, smoothing out an already perfect strand of greying hair. “Bring him before me.”

Enchanter Jakoby waited for Matthew to bring him from his place in the wall, and he bowed deeply before Lady Amell saying nothing as she inspected him, too.

“Ah,” she said in a disappointed tone. “Also an elf.”

Leandra’s eyes widened, as she reddened in embarrassment, looking apologetically at the Enchanter but the remark didn’t even seem to phase him.

“Permission to speak, Lady Amell?” Enchanter Jakoby asked evenly.

“Granted,” Lady Amell nodded in a bored tone as she sipped her coffee.

“While I would be happy to perform your Cleansing, my students are more than capable to attend to you.”

“Very well,” she snapped her fingers at Quentin. “You’ll do.”

Quentin bowed deeply. “I am honored to attend you.”

Lady De Lancet seemed to eagerly be inspecting Orsino against Malcolm, her gaze a leering and predatory. “Well I think elves are rather pretty.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth as she stepped up to Malcolm and Orsino, her heels echoing against the stone. She looked them up and down her eyes lingering on their backsides in full view of her husband. Malcolm bit his tongue as he hoped she thought Orsino was prettier.

But she stepped in front of Malcolm. “You…” she lifted his chin with her manicured nail. “You performed beautifully last night.”

“Thank you?” Was Malcolm supposed to say something else? He didn’t trust anything flattering to come out of his mouth so he just avoided her eyes as she studied his face.

She leaned down to meet his eye, patting his cheek fondly with her glove. “I think I’d like you to attend to me, mon petit.”

Malcolm felt like a worm on the end of a hook about to be swallowed. He audibly gulped. “Uuuh…you don’t want me, I barely started class this morning. Don’t even know the Chant, proper.” Orsino’s bright green eyes widened in alarm as Malcolm grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Orsino, here, is just as pretty and has been at this a lot longer.”

Lady de Lancet tittered in amusement. “I don’t mind breaking you in.”

Orsino kept his professional smile but his eyes were glaring at Malcolm while Malcolm scanned the room looking for anyone to help.

Leandra was already fuming from Lady de Lancet’s brazen forwardness, which wasn’t out of character for her, but the lady was practically fondling Malcolm in full view of her husband who was just boredly sipping his frappe’ as he played a candy puzzle game on his phone. She stepped out of place and curtsied politely announcing herself with a, “Pardon me, Lady de Lancet, but may I have a moment of your time?”

Her parents glared at her, and Guillaume subtly waved at Leandra to come back but Leandra stayed, though she had no idea what exactly to say.

The lady tutted and turned back to her. “Yes, dear?” she said, the patience in her voice wearing thin.

Leandra glanced at Malcolm who looked at her expectantly and so she said, “If the mage is so new to this, perhaps I should be the one to be his first test. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She looked apologetically at Malcolm for throwing him under the bus but he looked relieved.

The lady didn’t seem to take kindly to this but before she could speak Enchanter Jakoby stepped forward, his head bowed. “Pardon, but her ladyship has a point. Malcolm is talented but…” the Enchanter trailed off looking to the Heavens as he tried to find a suitable word before he landed on, “untested. I will be coaching him every step of the way, but Orsino is very capable in his own right, and can anticipate your needs much better.”

Lady de Lancet clucked her tongue. “Oh, very well.” She looked rather annoyed but seemed reluctant to wager her health no matter how pretty that face looked. She snapped at Orsino. “You, come with me.”

Lady Amell took her husband’s arm as she led him to one of the cots. “I guess we’re starting then.”

Chantry sisters came bringing bowls of water and towels and set them at the foot at each of the beds that were stone and scoured for a bath of flame. As Leandra and Guillaume approached arm in arm, Enchanter Jakoby and Malcolm bowed and stayed that way until they got comfortable on the cot. Then Enchanter Jakoby led Malcolm in a kneel.

On one side of the room the Amell matriarch was flagging down a Chantry sister to say, “I don’t want a mage to touch me.”

Quentin remained silent as the Chantry sister nodded and took his place kneeling on the floor. Malcolm didn’t envy him, but at the same time every comment from Leandra’s parents dropped his stomach. He wasn’t even a consideration.

However Lady de Lancet was a bullet he was happy to dodge. He could see Orsino squirming as she eagerly kicked off her heels. “Now make sure to get in between the toes, dearie.”

Malcolm shuddered. He wouldn’t blame Orsino if he hated him for this.

The first part of the ritual meant bathing the noble's feet. Why the nobles couldn’t be bothered to bathe their own feet he wasn’t sure why. In Enchanter Jakoby’s lesson he spoke about how the ritual that went back to Andraste’s last day, when her disciple and friend Justinia begged Archon Hessarian to prepare her living body for the Maker. It was said in Andraste’s last hours Justinia was allowed into her cell, offering prayers to prepare her soul and cleansed her remaining sins by offering them to the Maker as the filth was washed from her feet. Malcolm could not find reverence in an old dead woman who couldn’t keep her promise of freedom to her elven allies, but he could find it in touching Leandra.

Malcolm was not a foot guy, not even close, but even he couldn’t deny how soft her skin was, each toe trimmed and polished, with cute little deco designs that seemed a shame to hide in her shoes. He could tell from her ankles that they were swollen from how long she had been standing in heels, and as he gently pinched at the tendon at her ankle releasing tension.

“Oh!” Leandra made a surprised sound that she bit down on her lip, her eyes glancing to Guillaume who seemed to also perk at the sound.

Malcolm felt a devilish impulse pull at his gut at the flush that colored her face from his slightest touch and he couldn’t help but dig his thumbs into the flat of her arch, his heart tugging at the sweet sigh he pulled from her. He sent little soothing healing pulses through his fingers as he renewed his determination, trying to see what more sounds he could force her to make.

Leandra was melting under his touch, holding back the moans in her throat, but still he could hear the tiniest whimpers escape setting Malcolm’s imagination alight. He suddenly wished no one else was there so he could pull her skirt up and bury himself between her legs so he could hear her cry for him. He knew he was winning the battle, her composure seemed to be coming undone, but before he could claim victory another voice reminded him what he was supposed to be doing.

“Messere Hawke, I believe her feet are clean enough,” the Enchanter cleared his throat.

Leandra took back her foot forcefully almost falling over, her eyes flinging to Guillaume who was also going slightly red at the sounds and faces Leandra was making.

“Just being thorough,” Malcolm hid a haughty smirk, wondering if Guillaume ever managed to make Leandra sound like that but he regretted that line of thought immediately.

“Perhaps I should give you a massage, sometime,” Guillaume offered with a flirtatious tone that made Malcolm clench his fists to keep from clocking him in the jaw.

Leandra patted her hot cheeks. “Perhaps,” she said evasively, but Malcolm didn’t like the thought of the man trying to put his hands all over Leandra and he couldn’t suppress the ugly scowl that took over his face.

Enchanter Jakoby grabbed a staff that was handed to him by a Chantry sister. “Now that the physical impurities have been taken care of, we will now purify your souls. My lord. My lady, please concentrate on offering your sins to the Maker as we sing the Chant.”

Malcolm took the paltry staff from the Chantry sister, trying to ignore his seething jealousy as the staff started channeling with magic Malcolm and Enchanter Jakoby poured from the Fade. Malcolm could hear all the spirits chattering, scouring into their memories so that he saw flashes of Leandra’s younger days. He tried not to glimpse too closely, but he could see the imprint of her loneliness hidden behind a careful smile that she used for everyone. Her soul had been flattened, like a flower that had been stomped on but still stubbornly peeking up the sunshine trying to take in little bits of light.

He heard Enchanter Jakoby’s voice take in a chanting intonation, Orsino and Quentin’s voice harmonizing with him.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, and no death, in the Maker’s light

And nothing he has wrought has been lost.”

Then each of the nobles' auras burned brilliantly as they each bared the darkness of their souls to the Fade. Leandra looked magnificent, too beautiful to be real, amber dancing against her skin as her dark hair ruffled lightly in the burning light. Malcolm almost reached out to touch the magic, to see what her burn would feel like on his skin before he remembered that others still watched them. Still, he couldn’t miss how her eyes watched his every move.

“For she was reborn to us in flame

And so flame we consume to be reborn

May, He Who Burns The Brightest

Purify the sins we hide in our hearts

So that we may know true peace.”

Then the flame snuffed out. All of the nobles looked bright and cheerful, like they each had an invigorated spirit-induced power nap, except for Lord de Lancet who looked pale and uneasy. Unlike the other nobles, the Cleansing seemed to have worn him out and his skin was showing a sheen of sweat.

“My, that was bracing,” the Lord patted his face with a purple handkerchief.

His wife tucked to his side with a concerned look on her face. “Darling, did the Cleansing not rejuvenate you.”

“Oh, I’m rejuvenated, absolutely,” but the man sounded absolutely winded. “Just the old war injury flaring, that’s all.”

Malcolm felt there was something odd about that. Rightfully a Cleansing should ease old pains, and though not every wound could be Cleansed, it shouldn’t be having that effect.

Enchanter Jakoby bowed his head and approached the de Lancets. “If you’d like I could take a look.”

Lord de Lancet nodded tightly and said, “it couldn’t hurt.”

The Enchanter scanned the man’s aura, focusing on his back where the pain seemed to radiate and Malcolm thought he saw it in the flicker of the Enchanter’s magic, but the Enchanter stopped his spell and said, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I thought there might be something else causing it but I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

Lord de Lancet rubbed his back nodding as if he expected that and said. “Yes, I’ve spent a fortune on chiropractors and masseuse’s and numbing injections but the pain just comes back worse than ever.”

Another clue for Malcolm and he stepped forward, forgetting all protocol. “Do you get nightmares…of the exact moment you got your wound?”

The man’s eyes widened in alarm, but he said, “The psychiatrist told me that was normal.”

“And are you forgetful lately? Having trouble remembering things that used to be easy?” Malcolm prodded more.

The man’s face reddened to almost the color of his mustache and he straightened his jacket. “How impertinent. You are not privileged to my medical history.”

But Lady de Lancet placed a slightly wrinkled hand on her husband’s puffed shoulder. “You have been needing an awful lot of reminders, lately, Reynaud.”

“I’ve just been stressed, Amelia.”

But Enchanter Jakoby noticed there was a look on Malcolm’s face and he put his finger on his lightly stubbled chin. “Do you have a prognosis?”

Malcolm looked at the Enchanter rather than the nobles for permission, breaking another rule. “May I have a look?”

The Enchanter motioned with his head to the noble who didn’t look pleased with Malcolm’s offer. “What makes you think you could make a difference?”

Malcolm shrugged. “I mean, I might not, but it could prove educational.” If the Lord didn’t want his help, he wouldn’t force it.

But Lord de Lancet seemed to be in so much pain he was willing to try anything. He nodded, muttering, “Very well.”

Malcolm poured magic back into him, revealing the tapestry of his energy in an array of light. He could see the war wound that festered into the spine damaging nerves all along his hip, but what he couldn’t figure out was how the others missed the knot of corded energy that seemed to snake in the heart of the wound, gnarling it up. The pain seemed to be feeding, growing more agitated with the feel of his magic. Was Malcolm the only one that could see it?

He poked at the knot with his finger. “Is it tender here?”

No sooner did Malcolm brush it did the noble cry out in pain, and Malcolm couldn’t deny he did relish the sound a little.

“Andraste’s flaming knickerweasels what are you doing back there!”

“Yep, we got ourselves a pain demon,” Malcolm cracked his neck nonchalantly stretching. “This one’s really burrowed into you. No wonder the Cleansing couldn’t take effect.”

“What!?” Lord de Lancet cried out his face paling.

Lady de Lancet smacked him on the arm which made him whimper more. “I told you that’s why you shouldn’t skip Cleansings, but do you listen to me?”

Enchanter Jakoby’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Malcolm, how did you spot it? It was hiding very well.”

Malcolm looked puzzled as if it should have been obvious. “Don’t you see how the energy in his aura moves differently around the pain spike?” Malcolm pointed to the knot in the magic as both Orsino and Quentin huddled in for a closer look. He motioned to the red ugly festering energy that stayed twisted up in the lord’s back. “You can see here is where the natural pain is,” Malcolm waved his hand down his thigh as he mimicked the energy’s movement, “but here the energy moves differently on it’s own wavelength. It’s not actually part of him.”

“Ooooooh,” the men said in unison as if everything was now obvious to them, too.

“Yes, yes very fascinating. Now will you get it out of me before it kills me!”

“Have no fear, My Lord. Pain demons are rarely lethal. Just painful,” Malcolm had forgotten all the training the Enchanter coached into him and without a thought put his hand over the knot, and twisted his fingers into the energy. The colors grew red and chaotic, the bright energy growing from the wound.

“Now just breathe,” Malcolm commanded, as he grasped around the essence of the demon, feeling the wrongness festering. Lord de Lancet cried out as Malcolm pulled. The creature was starting to become visible under Malcolm’s palm, a sickening black bloody vein-like leech with gnashing teeth screeching in a volume so high-pitched it deafened everyone’s hearing. Then it shriveled and burned away into Malcolm’s brilliant flaming magic until it was nothing but ash.

“Now how does that feel?” Malcolm pulled his hand away.

The man’s eyes widened as he patted his back which was not locking up in stiffness anymore. “Andraste’s Mercy. I feel twenty years younger,” He looked to Malcolm in disbelief.

“You look it, Reynaud,” his wife placed a fond hand on his cheek.

“Just doing my job,” Malcolm bowed his head with a pleased smirk on his lips. Leandra was beaming at him and he couldn’t help but notice even her parents weren’t looking with the same disgust only moments before.

That smirk quickly dropped when Lady de Lancet started straightening her husband’s tie, “That settles it. We have to have him as a House Mage.”

Shit.

Lord de Lancet looked at Malcolm with renewed interest. “I think you’re absolutely, right, mon amie.”

Enchanter Jakoby looked pleased, but a little hesitant to agree forthwith. “Malcolm is not a full Enchanter, yet, more an Enchanter in training.”

“Well then we’ll pluck him up as soon as he’s ripened,” Lady de Lancet twisted her fingers into a promise.

Malcolm froze, the urge to self-sabotage with a rude comment so strong he bit his tongue to keep himself silent. If he had realized that helping that lord would have led to this he would have let the Orlesian suffer.

But Leandra also seemed to find this unacceptable and stepped forward. “Pardon,” Leandra said in a voice too forceful to be polite, and before she realized she was doing it she curtsied in front of Lady de Lancet and said, “but I find that with the Haunting I feel absolutely terrified,” she added a believable wobble to her lip, “I do fear that, I, too, might be under a curse and am in desperate need of protection from a House Mage.” She met Malcolm’s eyes as she added, “and only the best will do.”

“Absolutely not!” Meredith’s outraged voice called out cutting through the discussion that was happening. She looked completely frazzled, as if she couldn’t fathom what was happening in front of her eyes. “You might not know this but Malcolm Hawke is a well-known trouble-maker in the Circle. He is not fit to serve the noble houses and will dishonor you all.”

Leandra audibly huffed. “Was it not Malcolm who saved everyone last night?”

“And he did spot the demon even the instructor missed,” Lord de Lancet also stretched his back, admiring the new looseness in his body.

Meredith scowled, seething with so much hatred for Malcolm he was sure she’d pop a gasket. “Believe me that talent makes him more dangerous.”

He glared back defiantly. That it did. If only she knew.

“Pardon,” Enchanter Jakoby raised his finger to silence the argument that was about to spring up from everyone. “But I’m afraid until he has proper training he won’t be doing anything than catching up on his graduation requirements.”

There was a finality in his words that told Malcolm no matter his future, he would be in for a lot of work, and for the first time in his life he found himself praying to the Maker to be kind.

#da fic #dragon age fic #malcolm/leandra #hawke #da2 #my writing #homophobia tw #elf fetishization tw #non-con language tw #lady de lancet is a demon but malcolm is ok

12 notes · View notes

minghaocouture · 4 years ago

Text

Pairing: Templar!Kim Mingyu x Elf Mage!Reader Genre: Dragon Age AU, enemies (?) to lovers, angst, established universe WC: 5k+ Warning: magical lobotomy (through branding), language

A/N: So this is for @merakiiverse job au collab! I’ve been wanting to write a Dragon Age au for like...ever, and this just gave me the push I needed. So there are some terms from the game used in the fic but I did my best to explain them without taking away from the story. Also really glad i finished this before i got sick lol.

“Come on wake up!” You groaned, slapping away the hands of your best friend as he tried to shake you awake. You had gotten to sleep pretty late last night, having snuck into the circle library to do a bit more reading after hours so you were trying to bask in the last few minutes of sleep before your lessons today.

You heard a loud groan from the younger male before everything seemed to turn upside down and your frame was sent tumbling to the stone floor of the Apprentice Quarters with a loud thud and a shriek. Your eyes snapping open to glare at your dear friend Chan with his hands still gripping the mattress that he had just thrown you from.

Quickly you shoved your palms against the chilled stone flooring to push yourself up, as the male laughed hysterically and dropped the mattress back onto the simple wooden frame of your bottom bunk.

“Chan, I want you to remember that we are trapped in this tower together for the rest of our lives. So I will be getting you back for this.” You muttered angrily as you brushed off your scratchy white sleeping robes that the circle had provided for you. Fueled by frustration, you quickly fixed up your bed so that the senior enchanters wouldn’t be angry with you for making a mess.

“Hey come on, don’t be like that!” He quickly exclaimed, offering you some assistance with fixing your bed if only so he could get on your good side once again. It’s usually what he would do to try and get on your good side, things like taking your cleaning duties or distracting the templars so you can sneak into the libraries at night. “I woke you up for a reason!”

“And what would that be?”

“They brought in new templars, fresh new faces for us to make fun of!” He made a good point. During your extended stay in the circle Chan and you had taken to picking at the Templars that were assigned to ‘guard’ the tower, well the Templars that wouldn’t immediately attack or detain you for your teasings. You shuddered as you remembered being thrown into the cramped cell that was used for solitary confinement.

“How many this time?” You questioned, pulling your daily robes from the chest at the foot of the bunk beds that you and Chan shared. You swiftly stripped yourself of the uncomfortable white material of your night robes and slipped on the navy blue skirt, once again curious as to why the skirts had such delicate embroidery on the hem if they were simply to be given to mages. Maybe it was something to make your people think they were in a higher position than they were, either that or a small ‘oh here are some pretty robes, we definitely consider mages people!’ kind of thing. You weren’t too sure.

Chan took a seat on the bed as you tied the skirt to fit your waist, he wasn’t bothered by your disrobing at this point. After all, the two of you had been in this tower since you were children and it wasn’t like the tower offered much privacy for any of the apprentices. If you wanted that you would have to pass your harrowing, only then would you receive private quarters.

You struggled with your skirt for a moment, it being far too big for you, but it wasn’t like they made new robes for every apprentice; everything you owned was a hand me down from either a senior enchanter or...a tranquil.

“There were four of them, they all looked like they came right from training too. No old farts this time,” He explained, lounging on your too thin mattress as you slipped the top piece on, the long sleeves and thick fabric felt just as suffocating as it did every day, and it also continued to show your status as a lower being in the eyes of these people. The small gold trim wasn’t as nice as it was on the human’s robes, and you were sure that was the point. It was something that looked nice, but not as nice as the human mages robes that Chan wore. It wasn’t enough that your mage abilities make you a lesser being but your elven blood as well, you were certain that the Maker had a sense of humor when he made you.

With practiced ease you tied the laces of your sleeves around your wrists before working on the clasps of your belts. It was a constricting and suffocating outfit that made you feel quite claustrophobic at times. As if the robes were just as bad as the tower itself.

“Well, I guess let’s go check them out. Gotta let these newbies know that not all mages are just gonna let them walk over us.” You tried to seem optimistic but after being in this tower for almost 16 years, it was a little harder to force that smile sometimes. Which was why you were grateful you had Chan with you, the two of you looked out for each other no matter what happened.

He hopped off of your bed and took a firm grasp on your wrist before pulling you out of the shared apprentice chambers, ignoring the strange looks from the templars and other apprentices as the two of you dashed into the hallway on the first floor of your prison.

The two of you peered around the corner into the entrance hall as you watched the initiates be inducted by Knight Commander Greagoir, the head of your captors, he was telling them all about their duty to the citizens of Ferelden and the Chantry, all that nonsense. It was basically just propoganda to make these people feel like they had the right to place themselves above you.

The new initiates weren’t too impressive, once again all humans of course, because the precious Chantry couldn’t trust elves such as yourself to become Templars. Most likely because elves would be more likely to opposed the confining of people just for circumstances of their birth, at least the ones who weren’t already brain washed into believing the Chantry’s inane teachings. That thought always reminded you that even if you weren’t trapped in this tower, you would simply be in an alienage in one of the many towns around Ferelden, another prison. Elves simply weren’t welcomed or free anywhere, at least not in a human society. There were surprisingly three women and only one male this time, which was abnormal because women seemed to stray more towards becoming Chantry sisters than Templars. So that was interesting, you’d have to figure out their names. The only interesting thing about the male was his ridiculous height. He looked almost tall enough to be a member of the Qunari, all he was missing was the horns, or at least you assumed since you had never seen a Qunari in real life.

If only you knew what would follow this day.

***

“You know, you aren’t supposed to be in the library after lights out.”

You almost screamed in surprise at the unfamiliar voice. You knew the schedule for the Templars and usually you were able to skirt around and hide whenever it was time for their rounds to reach the libraries. Apparently tonight was determined to be different. Glancing up from your book you flashed the Templar a sheepish smile, instantly recognizing this man as one of the new initiates whose name you had yet to learn. It wasn’t exactly...forbidden but initiates were definitely encouraged to not give their name to the mages or learn the names of the mages either, it was probably so they didn’t connect that you were real living beings and develop a conscience.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I had an incurable illness that causes me to sleep walk around the tower, would you?” You were likely to be in deep shit because of this. Knowing how new recruits were, usually the super brown nosing type, they wanted to make superiors happy so that they could get promotions. Unfortunately for you, that usually meant getting mages into trouble.

Knowing this was probably why you were so shocked to hear the giant male snort, in an attempt to hold back a laugh. In all the years of living here, you hadn’t met a Templar who actually laughed at your jokes or smiled at you...like this male was doing right now. He glanced over his shoulder looking towards the opening in the shelves that hid the two of you from view. This library was almost perfect for hiding, the rows were like their own little hallways with bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling which was perfect for blocking the light of your candle when you were here at night. He must be checking to make sure that none of his co-workers had entered the library after him.

Soon his attention was back to you, a small boyish smirk on his faces as he spoke. “Well I suppose I’d ask you to tell me about this terrible illness, is it contagious? I’m not sure the other mages would like it if I was roaming the halls in my sleep.”

You were once again dumbfounded by this human. You wouldn’t expect him to think about what would and wouldn’t upset the mages, usually the Templars just did what they wished with no regard for those they were meant to be watching over.

“No, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t like that. Lucky for you, I was born with it just like my hideous magic.” You didn’t truly believe that your magic was horrible. If everything was done by the Maker for a reason, then so were mages! People were just taking Andraste’s “Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,” thing a bit too far.

“I don’t think your magic is horrible. It’s a gift from the Maker! The Maker doesn’t give bad gifts,” He confessed, quite a controversial opinion for a Templar to have. With one more glance over his shoulder to make sure that the two of you were still alone, he pulled out the chair across from you and took a seat.

“I’m Mingyu. What’s your name?”

***

After that fateful night in the library, Mingyu and you kept in contact but only in the dead of night and only when he was scheduled to patrol the first floor library. Tonight was one such night.

“Chan is getting suspicious, ya know?” You mentioned, laughing softly from your seat at the table the two of you frequented. He raised a brow at you and tilted his head slightly, his lips jutting out in a small pout. He honestly looked pretty adorable like that, nothing like the fearsome Templar act he had to put on during the day.

“He thinks I’m shaking up with another apprentice and not telling him.”

“Imagine the look on his face if he knew you were just hanging out with me.” Mingyu retorted, going to rest his cheek on his palm only to remember that he was wearing his gaudy templar armor and deciding against it. This caused him to pout more and for you to laugh, making sure to keep your volume down so you weren’t caught by anyone else patrolling the area.

A silence fell over the two of you as your laughter subsided. It was here where the two of you were illuminated only by candlelight that you felt safe. That was something you weren’t used to feeling. In the Circle, there was a constant need to watch your back and be on your guard just in case some random Templar got pissy because you ‘looked at them funny’. It was a struggle for survival.

These nights were different though. You could almost imagine that you weren’t locked inside this tower you could dream about possibly being free and in the outside world that you vaguely remembered. Hell, how long had it been since you had seen the sun?

"How long have you been in the Tower?"

The question was innocent enough, but it definitely threw you off guard. It wasn't something you liked to think about often. It had been so many years ago and it wasn’t exactly a...pleasant memory.

"It's been...I think about 17 years almost? I developed my magic when I was around 6 years old and my mother was very devout. So she turned me into the chantry, saying that the Maker had frowned upon her and her family by giving them a Mage for a daughter." It hurt a lot thinking back on the day that your mother had abandoned you. Her pleas to the Chantry mothers, begging them to take you as she also begged for the Maker's forgiveness. Thinking she had obviously done something wrong if she had given birth to a mage.

You watched a frown set it self onto his face, obviously not having expected to hear such a thing. Most parents went so far as to hide their children from the Chantry, making them apostates, illegal mages, so that they wouldn't lose their precious bundles of joy. Just like Chan's parents. They had fought tooth and nail to keep him when the Templars came, it even cost them their lives. Chan didn't like talking about it but you knew that he still had frequent nightmares about that horrible day.

"What about you?" You questioned, diverting the attention from your situation and onto Mingyu. "Why did you become a Templar? I'm sure being a regular knight would have been just as nice, if not easier. At least knights aren’t also stuck inside the Circle tower." It may not have been a prison to the Templars, but they were still trapped inside these halls as well. Most weren’t really able to leave either unless they were going to visit their families, and even then that was rare.

He chuckled dryly at your words and shook his head.

"Something we have in common, I suppose. My family is also very devout, very deep into the teachings of the Chantry. All the men end up becoming Templars if they can. It's in our blood. So of course, as soon as I was old enough to hold a sword I was sent off to training to try and become the best Templar the Kim line had ever seen." The look on his face was one of melancholy, one that you recognized as a look that you had seen on other mages. The look of someone trapped in their own fate.

"Guess we're...kinda in the same boat, huh?" You gently nudged his arm that rested on the table with one of your fist. It was a small gesture, but one with meaning for both of you. Reaching out he gently, or as gently as he could while wearing full plate mail, took your extended hand in his own. The cold metal was a stark contrast against your heated skin, causing you to shiver lightly. He gave a small squeeze and a tiny smile made it’s way onto his face, as if he had been comforted by your words.

You felt your heart stutter for a moment, watching the features of his face in the candle light. It was still for a moment before he released you hand and stood from his chair.

"I should get back to my patrols before any other the others get suspicious. I'll leave a note in our spot when we can meet up again."

You were moments away from responding but stopped short as he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against your forehead. You were stunned still and silent as you watched him pull away, smiling at you once again, before slipping off into the night.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared after him in shock. Your face flushed with heat, and you knew that Kim Mingyu would be the death of you at this rate.

***

"I hope this doesn't offend you but...what is so bad about being made Tranquil?"

You winced slightly at his words, the thoughts of the Tranquil always frightened you. Of course, being a Chantry boy, he had been told from a young age that being made Tranquil was a mercy for mages. Because if you were Tranquil then at least you were alive. It was all a lode of rubbish. Instead of just answering his question, you decided to ask one of your own.

"Do you know Owain? The Tranquil who runs the Circle stock room?" He nodded slowly, unsure of where exactly you were going. "I arrived at the tower before he was turned. He was a kind man who took me under his wing and helped me adjust to life at the tower. I was very young and so very scared, but Owain had basically turned into a father figure for me. I cared for him so much." You felt tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as you recalled the man you once knew.

"One morning, a few years after Chan had been sent here. I had to have been around 11, well we woke to find Owain standing in front of the stock room just like he does now. Only he was no longer the kind, father figure I had grown to love. He was so cold, lifeless. Being made Tranquil isn't a mercy to mages, it's taking every part of them that makes them who they are and ripping it away." You tried to keep quiet, but the more you spoke the more anger and fear bubbled in your guts. You had barely even registered that you had begun crying.

"You become a lifeless husk that holds the shape of who you used to be."

You couldn't bring yourself to look up from the table, to watch the emotions that were surely playing out on his face as he watched you cry. You were surprised at how silently he had moved, because you were soon pulled to stand and held tightly against his armored chest. It wasn't too comfortable because of the plate mail he constantly wore, the metal poking into your skin and it reminded you that while this embrace was comforting...it was also dangerous. Against your better judgement, your arms quickly wrapped around him and pulled him closer as you tried your best to keep your cries quiet. As you sobbed you heard him whisper soft nothings to you, but one stood out from the rest.

A promise that he would never let you be made Tranquil.

***

It wasn't long before those soft forehead kisses from before became kisses of passion. Soon you didn't need the candle light as your guide as you followed the curves of his body under his armor. Things changed quickly, and before you knew it two years had passed and you were hopelessly in love with Kim Mingyu. Something that should have never come to pass.

You were certain that at least First Enchanter Irving knew, he somehow knew everything that happened in the Circle Tower, and while you weren't a very religious woman, you found yourself praying to the Maker that Knight Commander Greagoir was still clueless. Unfortunately the one person you wanted to talk to about this was the person you were most determined to keep in the dark.

Lee Chan, your best friend.

"You should tell him." Mingyu, gently caressed your cheek, his gloves had been taken off long ago as the two of you lounged in your usual spot in the library. Your meetings had gotten farther and fewer between as he rose in the ranks of the knights and you stayed a simple apprentice.

If you were being honest you were a bit worried about that as well, but Mingyu assured you that it was nothing to be concerned about.

“Oh sure, that’ll go well. I can picture it now. ‘Hey Chan, you know the Templars who watch our every move and are sometimes ordered to strip us of our entire sense of self, yeah I’m in love with one of them. The tall lanky one that has been trying to joke with you, yeah the one you complain about all the time that’s him’.” You chuckled to yourself as you thought about his reaction to that, and not really realizing what you had just admitted. Not until you glanced over at Mingyu and found him staring at you dumbfounded.

“You love me?”

You froze, like a A million thoughts raced through your head, all of the best and worst possible outcomes. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if this was just fooling around? What if he said he could never love an elf and he had just been using you? What if, what if?! Your heart thudded loudly inside your chest as you stared at him, unable to enunciate the way he made you feel.

Luckily for you all of those what ifs were cut off as his hand grasped the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss filled with such fire that you could almost feel yourself being burned. Everything he wanted to say was trapped inside this kiss, you weren’t alone with your feelings and this kiss told you all you needed to know and more.

After a string of long, intense kisses that you were almost certain would lead to another round of light touches and soft moans, he pulled away. His forehead pressed against your own and a large almost blinding smile was plastered on his face.

“I love you too.”

***

You stared at the small flame of your candle in silence, he was late. Usually he was exactly on time, never early and definitely never late. It was too dangerous otherwise. Your stomach was in knots at the thought of what could possibly be keeping him. That’s when you heard the sound of armor clanking against the stone flooring, almost like the person was running. Since you weren’t entirely sure it was him, you quickly blew out your candle and slid under the table to hide.

The footsteps got closer and your heartbeat seemed to be almost as loud as the steps themselves. You only relaxed at the small call of your name. The familiar voice had you out from under the table in record time.

“You scared the daylights out of me Mingyu, I was worried something had happened.” You confessed, using a small bit of your magic to light the candle’s flame once again. The light gave way to the terrified look on his face, streaks of tears stained his cheeks, and you found yourself running to his side to wipe away the fresh batch that was threatening to spill out.

“Mingyu, baby what’s wrong?” You whispered, doing your best to comfort him by taking his hand in your free one and using the other to gently caress his cheek.

“We need to go. The Phylactery chamber, we need to find yours. I need to get you out of here.” His deep voice cracked as he tried his best to control his tears. He looked so frightened and pale even, despite his tanned skin. Your heart sunk as you thought of your Phalactery, the vial of blood that had been taken from you when you arrived and was stored inside a chamber with all of the other apprentice’s. It was the templar’s way of tracking you if you had ever escaped, and was the biggest reason you had never attempted to escape the circle.

What he was suggesting was crazy though, there was no way the two of you would be able to storm the Phalactery chamber, there were two locks and it required a fully realized enchanter to unlock one of them and you...had yet to be called for your Harrowing. So you tried to console him.

“Baby, what are you talking about? You know we can’t do something that crazy. If we get caught you’ll be kicked out of the order or worse, sent somewhere like Aeonar. Why are you ev-”

“They want to make you tranquil.”

Your heart stopped at his confession, eyes going wide as your blood chilled within your veins. Subconsciously you took a step away from him in disbelief, you didn’t question the legitimacy of his words because you knew for certain that he wouldn’t lie to you like that. Not when he knew your fear of being made Tranquil. You watched as he stared helplessly at you and began speaking once more.

“Knight Commander Greagoir thinks that...he thinks that you might be a blood mage. Even suggesting that you- that what we have is because of a demon’s influence.” He took a step forward to close the distance between the two of you, taking your hand back into his own. He liked holding your hand, he had said in the past, it made him feel loved so very loved.

“I know it’s not. I tried to talk to him but he...he wants me to perform the rite. Which is why we have to get you out of here!”

Your mind seemed to be going a million miles per hour but also seemed to stop all at once. Your limbs had gone numb as you stared blankly at the floor in terror, you weren’t sure what to do. If you ran on your own then they would just send Templars to find you and with your phylactery, it would be quick work and both you and Mingyu would end up dead. If you followed Mingyu’s plan, you would most likely be caught and turned Tranquil anyway only with this route he would also be punished for his crimes. Lastly, If you stayed, you would be made tranquil at the hands of the man you loved. There was no winning in this situation, there was never a winning choice for a mage.

You pulled your hand from his grasp, causing a small pained sound to leave his lips, breaking your heart as it did so.

“You have to do it…”

“Y/N no! We talked about this I won-”

“We don’t have any other choice!” You cursed yourself after your outburst, though at this point you weren’t sure you could get into anymore trouble. “If you got caught you would never be able to see Minseo or your parents again!” You had spoken of his family in great detail before, and you couldn’t bear to know that he would never see them again just because of his attachment to you.

You didn’t want to be made Tranquil, but you also didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. This was the only option where at least one of you would be able to keep living freely.

Thinking about the fact that your days were now numbered scared you, the numb feeling from before seemed to linger but you couldn’t find it in yourself to cry. Not now, not when you had to seem like you were certain of your decision. He needed that from you.

So you swallowed your terror and gently cupped his cheeks in your hands.

“You have to do this Mingyu. There isn’t any way of getting out of this. Not that will actually work.” You muttered, voice soft as you kept eye contact with the male. You felt his hands reach up and rest over your own, and took solace in the fact that what the two of you felt was real. At least for a little while longer.

“If it’s you...it’s okay.”

You had never lied to Mingyu before, but...this seemed like a good time to start.

***

The grip on your forearms was sure to form bruises, but at least after this you wouldn’t feel them.

You stared before you as the branding rod held in Mingyu’s tight grip lingered over the open flame, making sure that the metal would be hot enough to etch itself into your skin.

You couldn’t stop the tears that fell from your eyes, and you had sure tried. You knew that seeing you cry could cause Mingyu to hesitate, falter or even flat out refuse the order which would make this all for naught. At that moment, you felt so hopeless. Everything you had worked for, everything you had lived for would be coming to an end. All because of that simple, unassuming brand that your lover held.

At the command of Greagoir, he moved the brand away from the flame and stepped towards you. Reciting the Chant of Light as he did so. It was supposed to bring comfort to the mages and remind them that this was the Maker’s will, you found the words mocking even coming from Mingyu’s lips.

“Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.” His voice strained as he spoke the Chant of Light, it broke your heart to hear him in such pain. His grip on the haft was so tight that you were almost certain that the metal of the rod would break.

“Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift, and turned it against his children.” His armored footsteps echoed against the stone flooring. Tears threatening to spill as he stepped closer to you. You felt the grip on your arms tighten as his fellow templars held you in place.

“Remember, that...that this is a mercy.”

With those last broken words escaping him, he lifted the sunburst brand and held it above your forehead. You saw the heartbreak burning in his eyes, and he hesitated refusing to move the brand any closer to your forehead.

Your eyes met his and watched as he desperately tried to keep his composure. You forced a small pained smile onto your face, and that seemed to be the only thing he needed. Not a second later, the metal pressed against your forehead and sparks of blue lyrium seemed to burst forth as the sunburst brand stripped away every bit of emotion you had to replace you with a husk that could no longer connect to the fade, to magic. A husk with free will but a husk nonetheless.

“I’m sorry.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiarynet #kdiner #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen drabble #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt scenario #svt drabble #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagine #mingyu drabble #mingyu scenario

36 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Never Have I Ever

A demon, an angel, a witch, several bottles of whiskey, and a 6000 year old secret. What could possibly go wrong? (2848 words)

“Never have I ever …” Aziraphale glances around the table, pausing on Anathema, poised with shot glass in hand, then Crowley, sinking into the yellow-and-brown paisley tablecloth, having already polished off an entire bottle of whiskey on his own and starting in on a fresh Jack Daniels “… plotted to overthrow King Richard the III!”

“Jesssusss Chrissstmasss!” Crowley hisses, picking up his shot glass and throwing back his whiskey, filling it immediately after and throwing that one back as well.

“Wait!” Anathema says. “You only have to take one shot for that!”

“Technically, I have to take three since that’s how many tries it took to dethrone the bastard.”

Aziraphale giggles as Crowley sloppily sucks down his final shot. He’s slightly less sloshed than his demon compatriot, but only just. Crowley’s eyes have begun to cross, and he’s toppled out of his chair twice.

A dozen more shots and Aziraphale may succeed in knocking the idiot out.

That would be a first.

“You know, I appreciate the fact that the two of you have been around since the dawn of time, but the things you guys pick are both obscure and bizarrely specific.”

“So …?”

“So, the point of Never Have I Ever is that you choose things that could apply to anyone. But the two of you seem to be on a vendetta to get one another wasted.”

“Fine, book girl,” Crowley drawls. “Let’s try this one on for size. Never have I ever … finished college.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both turn to Anathema - Crowley grinning like a jackal, Aziraphale with a snarky eyebrow raised. Anathema rolls her eyes and downs her shot. “Touché.”

“Congratulations! Ya got one!” Crowley says smugly. “May we continue? Never have I ever ...” The demon’s eyes glow with delight as they bounce from Aziraphale to Anathema … then back to Aziraphale “… sunken a ship!”

“Wha---what the Devil are you talking about?” Aziraphale barks, but he quickly reconsiders. “Are we talking a rowboat? Or an ocean liner?”

“Steamship.” Crowley pops the p, making Aziraphale’s head ring.

Aziraphale peers into Crowley’s eyes, silently enquiring, but he tuts in disgust when he figures it out. “You’re not going on about the Waratah, are you?”

“Oi! That was mah ship and you sank it!”

“I did no such thing! I commandeered it because I knew you were going to sink it!”

Crowley drops his head back on his shoulders and groans loudly – too loudly for drunk Aziraphale. “I already told you! No one would have gotten hurt!”

“No. You were going to do what you always do! Abandon those poor men on some deserted island with no way off! It was the 1900s! They had no cellular phones! No one would have known where they were!”

“And …?”

“They had families, Crowley!”

“Their fault. Not mine. What did you do with them anyway?”

“I reunited them with their loved ones, wiped their memories, and reassigned them to secure locations. It all turned out fine.”

“Still …” Crowley sniffs “… seeing as no one’s ever found the wreckage, it’s considered a sunken ship (hard k and another popped p).” He crosses his arms over his chest, affecting a superior pout. “Drink up.”

“I don’t see how that works in your favor but whatever helps you sleep at night. But you’d better take a shot, too.”

“Why’s that?”

“You mean to tell me that in 6000 years you’ve never sunken a ship?”

Crowley’s eyes pop slightly. “Quite right, quite right. Forgot about that.”

Aziraphale downs his shot, then reaches for the whiskey to refill it. He grabs the bottle around the belly and lifts, nearly tossing it across the bookshop when it comes off the table too easily. He brings it up to his swimming eyes and peeks around the label to get a look inside. “This one’s empty, I’m afraid.” He puts it back and rises unsteadily to his feet. “We’re going to need another.”

“Hold up!” Anathema grabs Aziraphale’s wrist and stops him. “We need to change the parameters of this game somewhat if we’re going to keep playing! I’ve taken maybe three shots to your, oh, let’s call it one-hundred-and-fifty!”

“You’re just sore … because you’re losing,” Crowley accuses with a belch in between.

“Wait wait wait …” Aziraphale slurs.

“Wait what?”

“Are we sure she’s losing? What exactly is the object of this game? Does the first person who falls down drunk win? Or does the person who remains sober win?”

“I …” Crowley squints his eyes painfully as he gives it a think. “I think it’s … it’s probably … oh, I don’t care! She’s being a sore loser! That’s why she wants to change the rules!”

“But you don’t even know what the rules are!”

“Don’t care. Things were going fine before she (*mumble mumble mumble mumble*) sore loser …”

Aziraphale surmises that his demon friend is grumpy because he thinks he’s winning, but Anathema has a point. They’re supposed to be having fun, and a game isn’t fun if you don’t get the chance to play. “Change how, my dear?” he asks her in an attempt to smooth things over.

“First off, anything that happened before the 90s is strictly off limits.”

“The 1790s?” Crowley asks, swaying like a snake as he tries to figure out which of the three Anathemas he’s seeing is the real one.

“The 1990s.”

“Pffft! The 1990s were dull!”

“Plus, be vague. I mean, believe it or not, there are things I have done in the broad sense that you may not have …”

“Not likely …”

“… but never have I ever …” She rolls her eyes to the ceiling, trying to come up with the most ridiculous thing she can think of in short order “… sold Napoleon Bonaparte’s dismembered penis on the black market.”

“Ha! Cheers!” Crowley crows, snapping his fingers to refill Aziraphale’s glass. They hold up their shots ceremoniously, then drink them down, slamming their empty glasses on the table in unison when they’re done.

“Good lord! You two can’t be serious!?”

“I sold it first,” Crowley admits. “But he sold it by accident trying to return it.”

“How do you sell a penis by accident?”

“It’s a long story,” Aziraphale says sternly, the thin line his mouth makes clearly translating his distress at the mention of his faux pas, “and I’d rather not go into it. But all right. From now on, we’ll be vague.”

“Great!” Anathema smiles triumphantly. “Let’s start over.”

“In that case, it might help if we were a little less sozzled,” Crowley suggests.

“Right.” Aziraphale clunks a second empty whiskey bottle on the table beside the first. “Fill’er up, Crowley.”

“What?” Anathema watches wide-eyed and grossed out as Crowley strains, bending over at the waist, white-knuckling the seat of his chair between his legs, making the most revolting noise imaginable, the level of the liquid in the bottle rising with every grunt. Aziraphale, in contrast, is much quieter with regard to his own evacuating, but the whole process between the two is far too reminiscent of something else entirely.

It almost puts Anathema off her drink.

“That’s your guys’ bottle now,” she says, getting up to retrieve a brand new bottle from a nearby shelf.

“Obviously,” Crowley grumbles.

She cracks the cap on a fresh bottle of Jack and returns to her seat. “Okay, since I’m still not convinced you guys fully grasp the concept of this game, I’ll start.” She sits up straight and clears her throat as if preparing to make an important announcement. “I’ll make it simple. Never have I ever been rock climbing.”

“Ugh!” Crowley drinks his shot, revolted at how banal her selection is. Of all the things she could have chosen, she went with rock climbing. What? Did baking seem like too much of a stretch?

When he’s done with his drink, he notices Aziraphale’s glass has gone untouched. He glares at the angel, who stares back in confusion.

“What?”

“You’ve been rock climbing. Take a drink.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Whaddya call that big stone gate ‘round the Garden of Eden?”

“A gate, not a rock.”

“If it’s made of rock, I’ll allow it,” Anathema declares.

“But I didn’t climb it.”

“You were on top of it.”

“Yes, but I just sort of … appeared there. And after I gave away my sword, I miracled my way back up.”

“Ya climbed a rock. Take a drink.”

Aziraphale sighs and raises his glass. “Whatever.”

Anathema beams. “There. Isn’t this fun?”

“Loads,” Aziraphale says. Crowley sputters obscenely in response.

“I’ll pick another one,” Anathema offers. “Never have I ever stolen anything.”

“Oi!” Crowley gestures at Aziraphale after he sucks down his shot and the angel hasn’t moved. “You need to drink!”

“Whatever for?” Aziraphale asks, righteously offended.

“You’ve stolen stuff before! I’ve seen you!”

“I’ve acquired. I haven’t stolen.”

“Same diff! Right, book girl?”

“I’d say so.”

“Name one thing I’ve stolen. Go ahead.”

“You stole that … that … wooden chalice thingy from the Knights Templar! And they were on your side!”

“I’ll have you know that wooden chalice thingy, as you so smartly put it, was the Cup of Christ! And I was moving it to a safe location. I tried to explain that to the chap on duty, but he couldn’t hear me.”

“He was six-hundred-and-seventy-three years old! He was deaf as a stump!”

“Yes but he looked amazing for his age, didn’t he?”

“After you took the cup, he died!”

“It was in the job description. He understood his fate,” Aziraphale says, dismissing the demon’s commentary with a wave.

“Right. And I’m sure that was a huge comfort to him!”

“I couldn’t say. Anyway, you haven’t proven anything. I have not stolen.”

“Fine,” Crowley growls, pouring his shot. “My turn. Never have I ever killed a six-hundred-and-seventy-three year old knight!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Anathema waggles a scolding finger. “That’s against the rules!”

“It’s necessary.”

“Of course it is, you sour serpent,” Aziraphale mutters, draining his glass. “My turn. Never have I ever nearly mowed down innocent pedestrians whilst behind the wheel of a vehicle traveling 90 when it should only go 30 tops!”

“What did we say about specific?” Anathema says.

“I don’t know. I think that could apply to anybody,” Aziraphale returns icily. “Have you seen the way you ride a bicycle?”

Crowley drinks his shot, mimicking Aziraphale while he does. When his glass hits the tablecloth, Aziraphale refills it. “Good of you to take your medicine, my dear,” he says. “Now whose turn is it to think of something?”

“I will,” Anathema says. “Someone needs to get this game back on track. Never have I ever worn high heels.”

“How high?” Crowley asks.

“I’ll say … four inches.”

With shaking heads and irritated sighs, Aziraphale and Crowley take a shot.

“Never have I ever ridden bare back,” Crowley says. This time Aziraphale and Anathema drink.

“Never have I ever eaten a rodent,” Aziraphale says. Crowley drinks his shot, snickering into his glass.

“What’s so funny?” Aziraphale asks.

“You picked one you’ve done, so you have to take a drink, too.”

“What? I’ve never eaten a …!” Crowley nods through Aziraphale’s protesting and the angel goes pale. “When?”

“1683. At that little restaurant in Naples. That crooked asshat of a chef wat served everyone rat and claimed it was chicken?”

Aziraphale goes numb, jaw slack, the abject horror growing on his face making Crowley snicker more.

“You had seconds,” he reminds him.

“Oh my Lord, you’re right!” Aziraphale’s lower lip trembles as he drinks his shot. “I’d forgotten. Though I think I forgot on purpose, to tell you the truth.”

“Don’t blame you.”

“Yikes. Okay. Never have I ever …” Anathema bites her lower lip, hemming and hawing between two questions - both of them fairly blah, she has to admit - when a third pops into her head that’s too good not to use, if for no other reason than to possibly get back at these two imbeciles if it lands the way she hopes it will “… had a crush on my best friend.”

Anathema half expects glaring yellow eyes behind dark lenses boring through her skull as a sulking demon reluctantly takes a drink, but Aziraphale downs his shot before anyone can reach theirs, leaving Crowley and Anathema looking at him strangely before he realizes what he’s done.

“Oh!” he squeaks when he sees two sets of eyes trained his way. “I … I was … I was in a rhythm. I don’t think I was paying attention to the question, I …” Aziraphale gulps, wiggling nervously in his seat. “Come again?”

“Oh, well, that’s all right,” Anathema says, pretending to believe him. She refills his glass and pushes it in front of him. “We’ll call a re-do. Do you want to do the honors, Crowley? Or shall I?”

Crowley doesn’t answer her. He leans towards Aziraphale, as amused as Anathema but much more invested in Aziraphale’s answer. “Never have I ever …” he says slowly, chewing each word thoroughly before it leaves his mouth, drawing Aziraphale’s full attention to it, “had a crush on my best friend.”

He stares Aziraphale down, unblinking, the angel shrinking farther and farther back as the demon inches closer, eyes locked so hard on Aziraphale’s, he can feel their hold on him like physical hands keeping him rooted to the spot. Crowley’s eyes don’t unnerve him. Not in the slightest. It’s the idea that the secret Aziraphale has held on to the longest is about to be unearthed, and by virtue of a common, vulgar drinking game.

Whose idea was this anyway? he thinks, mentally side-eyeing Anathema before he comes to the sobering realization that, in truth, it was his. He’d seen it on a TV show – the first TV show he’d watched in decades. He’d fancied it, thought it could be a lighthearted and fun way to pass the time, get to know new friends.

Ha.

But the longer Crowley stares at him, the more the expectant grin on the demon’s face begins to wither, and if there’s one thing Aziraphale doesn’t want, it’s Crowley’s feelings hurt.

This had to come out sooner or later. Might as well be now.

Aziraphale grabs the glass and throws it back, grimacing at a burn on the finish that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Happy? Now you know.”

“Ecstatic.” Crowley bypasses his shot altogether, grabbing the closest bottle by the neck and downing what’s left in a single impressive chug.

Aziraphale gasps. “Are you … are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“How long?”

“How long do you think?”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot up with the outlandish suspicion that he knows exactly how long. That he’s always known. “That long?”

“Yes, Aziraphale. That long.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think I was being subtle about it, really.” Crowley fidgets his fingers, worrying the thumbnail of his left hand with the index fingernail and thumb of his right. “I just … I figured that if you didn’t say anything about it then you probably didn’t … you know … feel the same.”

“But I did,” Aziraphale says softly. “I … I do. Feel the same.”

Crowley’s face lightens, something resembling hope lifting the corners of his mouth into a cautious smile. “Really?”

“Really.”

Crowley rises from his chair and saunters over to Aziraphale. Aziraphale starts to stand but stops when Crowley gets down on his knees, removing his glasses and tossing them aside to get an unfettered view of him as if Anathema isn’t sitting mere feet away.

“I … I thought …” Crowley starts, interrupting himself with a bittersweet cough of a laugh.

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale runs a soothing hand through the demon’s hair. “What do we do now?”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Crowley whispers, “I’d really like to kiss you.”

“I think … I’d like that, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Now that he has permission, Crowley wastes no time capturing Aziraphale’s lips with his own. After 6000 years, he’s tired of being subtle. From now on, he’s going to lay his feelings for Aziraphale on the line, out where the angel can see, and pray the important ones find their match alongside his.

Feeling like an awkward third wheel on a broken velocipede, Anathema begins gathering her things. “I’m just gonna go,” she says quietly, hopping out of her chair while demon and angel continue kissing. “Have some important, you know, witch business to get around to. I’m going to leave you two alone to … ahem … talk. But we should do this again some time. It was … educational.”

“Mmm … mind how you go, my dear,” a breathless Aziraphale mumbles between kisses.

“Right,” Crowley concurs, his hand sliding up into Aziraphale’s hair and pulling him deeper.

“Okey-dokey then.” It takes several tries before Anathema verifies she has everything, hugging books, a newspaper, a scarf, and her coat to her chest as she scurries away through the stacks and shelves with a laugh in her throat when the moaning begins.

#good omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #Frankie writes

1K notes · View notes

hunnybadgerv · 4 years ago

Note

For your fandom ask: H, N, S, and Z?

From the Fandom Meme

H - What is your favorite source text for fandom stuff (e.g., tv shows, movies, books, anime, Western animation, etc.) Most of my fandom source texts are video games. Not sure why, but I don’t get quite as invested in films or TV shows the way I do with video games. And sometimes it happens with books, but only really rarely. I’m not sure why. I mean with books and shows, sometimes I’ve thought about writing things, but I usually don’t end up going through with it. I think because at that point I’m messing with only someone else’s characters and it is hard for me to get invested fully into work that is only the creation of another.

With video games, I get to participate in the world in a manner of speaking. There is an interactivity and engagement inherent to video games that creates a different focus and a buy-in that is not present in other sources, at least for me. I get to create a character and fit them into this world and watch them move through it--and sure they fall along a certain line according to the developers’ plans, but I do get to have a hand in it. It’s the reason I’m a sucker for RPG games.

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice) I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure what I’d say for any of my fandoms. But I do kind of sit at the edge of my fandoms, all of them. I’m not in the middle of anything in any of them, and I’m perfectly content there because I’m moderate participant at best.

1. I’d really like to see the Saints Row fandom revive itself. It used to be quite a lively and welcoming location. It seems that most of those that remain are the gatekeepers.

2. I’d like to see more respect and inclusion for Faith Seed. There is a group of people in that fandom that like to treat her like she is not part of the family. Despite this tendency in some corners of the Far Cry 5 fandom, most of the people I’m surrounded by also hold that Faith is a valid member of the family who should be included in discussions and representations of the Seed siblings.

3. This question would be so very much easier if I was a more active participant in my fandoms. Overall, I wish more of us, in all my fandoms, were still active on tumblr. A lot of people migrated away. Perhaps if I were more active in other places, I would still be able to reach out to them. Though I know many of them are on Discord, it’s just not a medium that works for my mind. Plus, I’ve kind of been cut off from things so long that I still struggle with maintaining connections with people. It’s something I’m particularly bad at.

Z - Just ramble about something fan-related, go go go (prompts optional but encouraged) Okay, so this is more difficult than I anticipated.

I’m both fearing and excited about the Legendary version of Mass Effect releasing in May. I really am looking forward to the graphical update and the game play cleanup. Though I really don’t know that I want to see them adjust the Mako controls, I loved that sketchy thing and the fact that if you tried hard enough you could climb over anything. I loved the Mako in all it’s flaws and fabulousness.

I’m also kind of concerned about the possibility of them altering the story or the characters in some way.

There is a tendency nowadays for fan opinions to be able to alter plans, story, and characters in media. And I really don’t want them to change the franchise in order to meet some loud corner of the fandom. I loved the game as it was, flaws and all. I really fear that they might institute some odd change to suit some rabid corner of the internet that will unravel the fabric of something I’ve loved for so long.

Though in the same vein, I’d love to see some changes here and there. Perhaps the ability to romance Ashley as fShepard, or Kaidan in the ME 1 timeline as mShep. I don’t know. But then again. If I rally for those sorts of changes, then I open myself up to the other potential changes.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged) Hmm. I really enjoy the templar’s lore in Dragon Age, but I wanted to see where else I might be able to take it. I thought, what if there was some magic in templars that allowed them to wield lyrium effectively. And I started doing some reading with old chivalric knights and ideas about knighthood and chivalry in histroy and literature and I wanted to bring that kind of sense into the templars lore, perhaps even a forgotten or overlooked bit of lore for them. And I started playing around with the idea of Templars containing or controlling their own magical ability that is only enhanced by the lyrium. And this kind of happened.

I put it under a cut because it is incredibly long.

Malcolm found his daughter sitting in the grass at the back fence. She had been crying and he was disturbed by the idea that his wife's concern may have been more warranted than he'd given it credit for. He sat next to her and leaned against the fence. "Tell me," he said trying to keep his voice even.

"I don't even know," she said weakly.

Malcolm slid his arm around her shoulders. "Did… did he?" He could barely say it let alone think it.

She shook her head. "No, Father," Aderyn said surprised that he could think that. "I really don't know how to explain it." She wasn't sure how to talk about this with her father. But he was the only person who might be able to help her. She explained some things, though not others. She left out the details about how Cullen had ended up shirtless. "I saw a glow, it was strange. There was no warmth either, which is why I can't figure out how I burned him. I can always feel the glow of fire," she said as she stared at the grass running the event through her head.

"It was a burn?"

"Well, not really. That's what it looked like. And Cullen said something," she said looking up at her father hopefully. "That there was nothing discernable."

"You should have brought him with you."

"What did I do to him?" she asked, clearly concerned. "And how can I control something when I don't know what it is?"

"Did he return to the Chantry?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know." He looked at her for a moment. "I was scared. No, appalled. I hid. I …"

"I'm sorry I can't assuage your fears. I'll see him as soon as I can. See if there is anything I can do," Malcolm said, hoping to reassure her some. He stood and offered her his hand.

"Aderyn!" They both turned to see him running up the path. He hopped over the fence and stopped when he saw her father's face. "Malcolm, pardon me."

"No need." Malcolm ushered them both inside and quickly into his small study. If what his daughter said was true he had to be objective, at least until he found out what had happened. He could be an upset father after he knew what had happened. Aderyn started to leave, but Malcolm told her he would need her assistance.

"Show me," Malcolm said as his fingers moved across the spines of books on a shelf. When he turned and saw the mark he dropped the books he'd pulled off the shelf. He glanced at the templar then looked at his daughter for a long moment. He clinched his jaw and gathered the books he dropped. The mage set the books on the table and touched the distinctive mark in the center of the young man's chest. "Did it burn?"

Cullen shook his head. "I didn't feel anything." He looked over at the unnerved woman in the corner. "Aderyn saw a glow. I can't tell anything about it, it's like there's no trace of magic to it."

Within the hour Malcolm was more concerned about what had occurred than that his daughter had been in a position to leave such a mark on the young man. He could find nothing in his research. The three of them had sat there for several hours as Malcolm searched through his books with the help of his daughter. When her father left the room in search of a rare volume he kept in a chest in his bedroom, Aderyn handed Cullen his shirt back and he stood and slipped it on again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered standing behind her. She leaned back against his chest and he set his hand on her hip.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she replied replacing her father's books on the shelves.

"It doesn't matter." "How can you say that?" she asked glancing up at him over her shoulder. She shelved another volume. "You can't hide what I've done."

"Actually, I can. Quite easily I must add. I'm not one for running around shirtless."

Aderyn would beg to differ, she'd seen the sight several times, but she couldn't make light of the situation she was in. She was too scared for him, for herself, but most of all, for her family. She turned around and leaned against the bookcase. "How can you not be concerned?"

He set his hands on the bookcase on either side of her shoulders and gazed down into her eyes. "You are more than concerned enough for both of us." She glared at him a moment. "I'll tell you a secret." He leaned toward her. "I don't think it's the result of magic."

"What then?" Her look changed dramatically.

"I think it's something else. More potent than magic." He leaned toward her, but she ducked under his arm as the door opened.

"Smart boy." Malcolm closed the door behind himself, completely this time. "It's not something that can be performed by a mage." He looked at his daughter who seemed most surprised by the news; she sat down slowly. "As odd as this statement is. It's templar magic." Cullen laughed, but it was cut short by the look on Malcolm's face and a glance at the seal on the cover of the book. "It's a promise. Sealed by a touch."

Cullen looked at him curiously. Malcolm touched the book then looked back to the templar. "If this is correct, Aderyn give me your hand." She reached out to her father and he turned her right hand over to look at it. He nodded and loosed her hand. Aderyn touched her palm then looked up at Cullen, it was completely smooth. She showed the discovery to the templar. He ran his fingertips across her palm.

"I've never heard of anything like this," Cullen said marvelling at the complete lack of any texture on her palm.

"It is rare," Malcolm said. "I didn't think it could be the cause, truthfully I always thought it was little more than another part of templar legend, part of the myth." Both of them looked over at him carefully. He sat down and closed the book. "An old friend claimed he was marked by his wife in such a way, ... on their wedding night," he added carefully. "It's determined by overwhelming trust and connection to another."

#Fandom Meme #ljandersen

5 notes · View notes

mywitchcultblr · 4 years ago

Note

The chantry is right and mages should be in the circle. Solas and anders are terrorists and anyone who believes they arent is delusional or a hypocrite. Anders killed a hundred innocent civillian non combatants and solas wants to tear down the veil killing millions in the process. But yes we should let the people causing firestorms and summoning demons go completely un supervised

MY FIRST ARGUMENT AGAINST A TEMPLAR BOOTLICKER! YAAY!

@lordaspoons Ok listen, first of all, I'm not felassan nor dalishlicious, my writings style is different and not as good as them, and I love to use a lot of profanities in my writings, so if you ever find ‘shit ‘ or ‘fuck’ in a post, not sorry I SWEAR THIS POST HAVE MORE THAN 7K WORDS! That’s why it took MONTHS for me to answer it

TEMPLAR AND CHANTRY ARE GOD-AWFUL AND CIRCLE IS NOT NECESSARY

Let’s see the canonical narrative okay? Let's take a look at Dragon Age keep descriptions of each MAGES heroes story and background.

Mage Hawke:

The son of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell, Garrett has lived in many places throughout Ferelden. His father was a mage whose gifts were passed onto both Garrett and Bethany, Malcolm's daughter.

Malcolm refused to submit himself to the Chantry's rule; he kept his abilities a secret and taught his children to do the same.

Therefore, the family was constantly on the move to avoid templar hunters. Ten years ago, the family settled in the village of Lothering, building a home on the outskirts and making a life where they wouldn't forever be on the run.

Though Leandra worried constantly that the templars would one day catch up with them, Malcolm's teachings were sufficient to keep them safe.

He died three years ago, leaving Garrett responsible for the welfare of his mother and younger siblings. When the Blight began, Carver enlisted in King Cailan's regiment, saying the horde spilling from the Korcari Wilds meant their home would be quickly overrun if the darkspawn were not defeated immediately.

If the circle is not a goddamn prison that literally abused and drive so many mages to commit suicide then why the fuck hawke father decided to escaped and run away? The fact that even though his wife is a noble, a noble who should have been powerful enough to support him and their children and protect Malcom and their children with her name and connection is Kirkwall were forced to live in secret and ON THE RUN WITH HER FAMILY! is another of many many proofs that the system that chantry created for Thedas HURT everyone, whatever you are a peasant or a noble, if you have a mage in your family then they will be imprisoned in a circle that definitely will abuse them or you are forced to hide with them and run away from home.

IS QUARANTINE DRIVE YOU INSANE? ARE YOU BORED? WANNA GO OUT WITH FRIENDS? WANNA GRAB A MEAL IN A RESTAURANT? OR GET A HAIRCUT?

Remember De’Launcet fucking quote:

“You don’t understand. I’ve been in the Circle since I was six. Six! For Twenty years I was locked up. Never had a real drink, or... cooked something for myself. Never stood in the rain... or kissed a girl.”.

You cannot treat people like that! You can’t! it’s not right to imprison and enslaved people, mages, like that, there’s no justification to deny basic human rights/rights for any races. Imagine how desperate, depressed, touch-starved and horny you are, if you are not allowed to touch a woman who consented to have sex with you, imagine beingfucking locked up for twenty years and never feel the rain on your face.

Maybe you should try being locked up for most of YOUR LIFE, for shit you never did in your life ever, aka committed horrible crimes that you never committed in the first place?

Where’s the logic? Where’s the humanity? Andrastianism and The chantry is the worst religion and the worst religious institution in Thedas, and templars are not champion of the just, they are champion of abusers.

But besides because of religious zealotry and dogma, why did the chantry locked up and enslaved mages in circle and put templar in circle to fucking abused them? OH RIGHT! I KNOW! its for power and profits, because using slave labor to make enchantments and used mages as soldiers who never wanted to be dragged into war in the first place, it was and as prison/free labor to mass products enchantments is profitable for the chantry. !GROSS! DISGUSTING! Disgusting really. The circle system is not only a prison camp, but also an institutional slavery.

GROSS! DISGUSTING! But it sounds like any oppressive nations/institutions ever that used prison camp free labor to built factories and to work in their factories right?

Disgusting really.

Hey, LOOK AT HERO OF FERELDEN AND INQUSITOR EXPERIENCES IN THE CIRCLE! WHOA, IT WAS AWFUL!

For Mage!Trevelyan:

Born to the Trevelyan noble family of Ostwick in the Free Marches, you were originally intended for a life of privilege—until magical abilities surfaced at a young age and you were forced into a life of confinement within Ostwick's Circle of Magi. Protected but stifled, educated but isolated, the Circle would have been your entire future had the mages not rebelled against Chantry rule.

Trevelyan said that templars are a piece of shit who has two fucking faces (he said it to Josie) they smiled at mages (fake) but then they turned into as still as tone when a mage was punished ‘harshly”

Remember what Cassandra said when mages find out that Tranquility can be reversed, dipshit fucking seeker, lord seeker lucius punished mages ‘harshly’ and there were deaths, and by definition of harsh for mages in thedas is:

Rape

Isolation in an isolation cell (like what happened to Anders for a year!)

Starved to death like what happened to the real Cole

Tranquility or they are just killed.

Every mages, adult or child, has seen or experiences abuses daily in their life, you can imagine the physical and physiologicalphysicological damages that templar and chantry have inflicted on them. As a person who was fucking abused by her own father, Ii know too well how lasting scars could damage you for life.

TO ANYONE WHO DISMISSED ABUSES ESPECIALLY ABUSE THAT WAS PERPETRATED BY A RELIGIOUS SYSTEM/INSTITUTION, here take my middle finger AND SHOVE IT UP TO YOUR ASSES!

Look Hero Of Ferelden life when she was still stuck in the circle:

The Hero of Ferelden belonged to the Circle of Magi in Ferelden, and resided in the tower at Lake Calenhad for most of her life. First Enchanter Irving recommended the Hero to Grey Warden Commander Duncan; shortly after the Hero's Harrowing, Duncan recruited her into the order.

https://mllemaenad.tumblr.com/search/mage+warden+

https://dalishious.tumblr.com/post/190968276307/mage-child-are-the-templars-coming-for-us-mage

Mage child: Are the templars coming for us?

Mage child: Is death painful? Am I going to die?

HEY WANNA TAKE A LOOK AT SER ALRIK? THE SERIAL ABUSER AND RAPIST?

This is a letter that Alrik send to justinia before he died.To Her Excellency, Divine Justinia,I am well aware both you and Knight-Commander Meredith have rejected my proposal, but I beg you to reconsider. The mages in the Free Marches are past controlling, their numbers have doubled in three years, and they have found a way to plant their abominations in our ranks. They cannot be contained!

The Tranquil Solution is our answer. All mages at the age of majority must be made Tranquil. They'll coexist peacefully, retain their usefulness—a perfect strategy! It's simply the best way to ensure mages obey the laws of men and Maker.I remain, as always, your obedient servant,

Tranquil solution? Sounds like what Henrich Himmler said about Jews!

Because Tranquility is a genocidal weapon that the chantry used to decreased the mages population and culling them, hmmm you heard about an 11 YEARS OLD GIRL WHO was MADE A FUCKING TRANQUIL IN KIRKWAL?

Here I will give you a link to dalishious post about a young mage, 11 years old kid who was made tranquil by templar and chantry: https://dalishious.tumblr.com/post/620951635453149184/im-confused-it-says-that-she-requested-to-be|

ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING *spit on chantry and templar*

There’s no fucking justification for turning a kid into a tranquil, neither raped woman who was made tranquil or mages in general just because they have magic. Alrik and his man are known for abusing and raped tranquil on a daily occasion, and they were granted a title, position, money, and job by the chantry, meredith is a bitch who treated mages like a slave, she was drunk on red lyrium, she didn’t do shit for refugee and she fucking took over Kirkwall seat of government, forcefully, while it was not her job to lording over Kirkwall like a power-hungry bitch.

And for years no one checked on this bitch, because miss little grand cleric of Kirkwall is part of Meredith group, and no matter what unless the chantry got fucking destroyed or HEAVILY REFORMED like what Divine Leliana did, people like Meredith and

Ser Alrik will never be held accountable by the chantry or any rulers in Southern Thedas (except by King Alistair who gave rebel mages a safe refugee place I guess) because most shit heads who ruled in Thedas profited from oppression and slavery of their PEOPLE, OF MAGES AND ELVES.

You are a modern man, how could you ever side with the medieval church like the chantry? YOU KNOW THAT MEDIEVAL VATICAN AND TEMPLAR OF OUR WORLD WERE AWFUL RIGHT?

You knew that the vatican/church in the medieval era trapped people in dark ages with their regressive politic and dogma, you knew that gay people and woman were burned alive just because they were gay and just because they are? Woman? Maybe some of them truly practiced magic, but hey magic is cool.

I don’t understand at all, this fucking hatred and bigotry against mages and elves that spewed by some people in the fandom, anyone who hates mages and elves inherently hates them for who they are, for simply who they are.

My burning hatred for templar and chantry were caused by templar and chantry terrible actions for the past 10000 YEARS!!!!!!!! And not because they don't have magic or just because they are human.

The chantry brainwashed human to dehumanize others

I think this is one of the most disturbing crime the chantry ever committed for the past 1000 years, I can’t even help but shudder in disgust every time i heard chantry sisters or brother calling other people ‘abomination’ or ‘heretic’ because i know how dangerous religious zealotry can be.

As a Muslim who live in Indonesia i have seen people being thrown out of their house or whipped in public (In Aceh province)

2.NOW MAGES ALLIED BY THE THE INQUISITOR AND THE INQUISITION IS THE CANON PATH!

(deal with it honestly)

First of all, when The inquisitor went to Val Royeaux, the inquisition met with Lord Seeker who was arguing with chantry sister, he didn’t want to listen to her, and then he punched her (bitch fucking deserve it, to be honest, chantry members except anyone whose not bigoted like Leliana and Giselle deserve to be punched) he insulted the inquisition and the inquisitor! ( what a Bastard Dick! Well, templar order is gone and he’s going to die anyway so....Whatever)

When the Inquisitor went back to the way he came from (from Val Royeaux gate)

FIONA LEADER OF FREE MAGES HERSELF, DESPITE THE RISK AND DANGERS, WAS WILLING TO PERSONALLY GAVE AN OFFER OF ALLIANCES BETWEEN REBEL/FREE MAGES WITH THE INQUSITION.

FIONA GOES ALL THE WAY, FROM SAFETY OF REDCLIFF VILLAGE TO VAL ROYEAUX JUST SO SHE CAN meet WITH THE INQUISITOR AND OFFERED HIM AN ALLIANCES WITH OTHER REBEL MAGES (Of course The inquisitor accepted it, he’s a rebel mage after all duh!)

From the very beginning you can see which path is the preferred freaking option, Its In Hushed Whispers and not the other one.

Besides it would make more sense for the sake of continuity to find out about the rift, time magic, who’s the mastermind behind what happened in Redcliff Village (Alexius tricked Fiona and other mages with time magic and blood magic to signed up with Tevinter) AND HOW FUTURE WITH CORYPHEUS WON LOOKS LIKE, rather than I don’t know.....Whatever bullshit in Therinfal Redoubt.

SECOND. Free alliances with rebel mages definitely would give The inquisition more advantages, first mages knew how to deal with magic and the fade, mages are more suited and powerful to fight against enemies that cannot be defeated by shield and swords.

THIRD.

THERE WERE NO ACCIDENT, NO UNWANTED POSSESSION OR EVEN NO POSSESSION AT ALL, NO DISASTER, AND NO ‘ABOMINATION’ .

FOURTH. THE MAGES CONSUMED fewer RESOURCES BECAUSE THEY DONT NEED LYRIUM TO FEED THEIR ADDICTION/CAST SPELLS.

FIFTH.

FOR A WHOLE YEAR DURING CAMPAIGN AGAINST CORYPHEUS, MAGES HAS PROVEN THAT THEY CAN TAKE CARE OF THEMSELVES, MAGES WERE DISCIPLINED, RELIABLE AND BOTH THEDAS, INQUISITION, PEOPLE WHO LIVED IN SKYHOLD AND MAGES THEMSELVES ARE FINE WITH THE MAGES BEING FREE, WITHOUT RELIGIOUS SLAVERS WHO OWN THEM, WITHOUT JAILER WATCHING THEIR BACK.

SIX. SPIRITS AND DEMONS were LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, AND EXCUSE ME, HAVE FRANCOIS EVER RECEIVED/READ REPORTS ABOUT HIS FELLOW MAGES FALL INTO DEMON POSSESSION? HELL NO! NOT EVEN ONCE

SEVEN.

MAGES ALLIED AS FULL ALLY WOULD BE MORE INDEPENDENT, AND THEY COULD TEACHED YOUNG MAGES HOW TO SURVIVE ON THEIR OWN, THEY COULD BE MORE INVOLVED WITH SOCIETY, AND MAGES ASSIMILATED TO SOCIETY

AND FINALLY.

DO YOU want A ANOTHER FUCKING PROOF OF MAGES FREEDOM BEING SUCCESSFUL? DO YOU WANT LITERAL CANON PROOF THAT MAGES BEING FREE IS ONE OF THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED IN THEDAS?

The Inquisition's mages – the former rebels led by Grand Enchanter Fiona – are left with a choice.

Alliance

Leliana is Divine

When Leliana disbands the Circles, they leave the Inquisition and reform the College of Enchanters as a new order. The College, they say, will allow mages of the South to gather in peace and seek new solutions to age-old problems. For the moment, it appears to be working – mages are enjoying unprecedented acceptance throughout Thedas.

Epilogue for mages freedom in Trespasser:

NOW College of Enchanters, Thedas third or fourth most powerful mage order and government (third if Rivain mages flocked to The College but I think Rivain mages after all mages has been freed (remember its canon) they will unite with Rivain government or if College Of Enchanters turned out to be stronger than mages order in rivain ) , the college is third/fourth-strongest order after Tevinter obviously, Nevarra death mages, and Rivain mages.

And everything is totally fine.

Leliana Divine, Mages recruited as allies

The end of the Inquisition as it had been sent shock waves through the College of Enchanters. Madam de Fer ably played on the mages' fear. Her followers united to build a new Circle - with Vivienne as its Grand Enchanter - in direct competition with the College. What the Circle lacked in numbers, they made up for in political connections; soon they were a force to be reckoned with.

Well about this stuff in trespasser it’s just vivienne stuff I guess *shrug*

College of enchanters will always exist because like I said before so many many many times, that ever since Hero of Ferelden Era, To Kirkwall and then to Dragon 4:41/ 4:44, the canon and preferred path is to support mages and elves equality and freedom!!!!

THERE I GIVE YOU ONE, AND IT WAS MORRIGAN WHO SAID IT HERSELF.

Even a chantry sister from haven admitted that the mages looked happier and she said that she supports/give them chance to

SO WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?! CIRCLE IS NEVER BEEN FUCKING NEEDED! IT WAS JUST DRAKON STUPID BIGOTED MOVES TO ENSLAVED AND COLLARED MAGES AND ELVES.

Rivain mages were fine, and their society worked well with mages have their freedom Rivain trained their female mages to be seers, and seers hold important positions within Rivain government and society, oh but what happened? When the chantry fucking find out that Rivain didn’t treat their mages like shits and slave, that Rivain treated mages with respect like any other people.

The chantry fucking send right on annulment and committed genocide against Rivain fucking mages, chantry you shit organization, Rivain will hate you more than before and I wouldn’t be surprised if the grand cathedral in Rivain will go boom too (i will support it, fuck those people) the chantry literally murdered children there and committed genocide against people of Rivain, No one will defend them in Rivain, no one.

Codex Entry:

When we heard of the injustices against our fellow mages at the White Spire, the Circle of Magi in Val Royeaux, I feared what was to come. Our Circle at Dairsmuid is small and isolated; it exists largely as a façade to appease the Chantry.

When the other Circles rose up, the Chantry sent Seekers across the bay from Ayesleigh to investigate. They found us mixing freely with our families, training female mages in the traditions of the seers, and denounced us as apostates. Perhaps they thought we were spineless robes who could be intimidated with a little bloodshed. Before I was first enchanter, I was the daughter of Captain Revaud, of the Felicisima Armada. I know how to plan a battle.They brought with them a small army of templars. We fought. And we might have won. But they invoked the Right of Annulment, with all the unrelenting brutality that allowed.

It is their right to put screaming apprentices to the sword, burn our "tainted" libraries, crush irreplaceable artifacts under their heels, tear down the very walls of our home.

No mage has the right to disagree. We of the Dairsmuid Circle wait now, behind barricades. I have sent word to our brother and sister mages of this outrage. When they breakthrough, we will not die alone.—Final journal entry of First Enchanter R

Whoaa look at the chantry and templar, casually committed genocide because they are ass hole who cannot accept that they are wrong, maybe they should accept those different nations have different cultures and traditions? Hmmm, maybe templar and chantry should accept that people are not a mother fucking weapon and slaves to be used and imprisoned since they discovered their magic, chantry and Templar should learn when to stop, and they should learn that they didn’t know shit and doesn’t want to know shits about spirits? self-righteous much?

Circle system, templar system, and chantry system cannot be saved because it’s just awful, those systems systematically oppressed and abused people, and we all know that time and time again YOU CANNOT KEEP PEOPLE OPPRESSED AND ENSLAVED FOREVER, THEY WILL REBEL AND SOONER OR LATER THEY WILL WIN THEIR FREEDOM AND THE OLD SYSTEM WILL BE BURNED TO DUST.

No matter how you tried change the circle/templar system, it will always be prone to corruption, because the system put templar above mages, and when someone have more legal immunity and power above other people, then abuses of authority will always happen, hey....LOOK AT COPS IN OUR WORLD.

if anyone tries to prevent other people from being equal and free just like any outer people there who have privileges and advantages, holy shit you are horrible, that’s a shitty bigoted view.

BEFORE INQUISITION WAS EVEN REBUILT, MYTHAL AND MORRIGAN PREDICTED THAT THERE WILL BE GREAT CHANGES COMING, MORRIGAN PREDICTED THERE WILL BE A HERALD OF CHANGES IN THEDAS.

They were talking about The Inquisitor who will completely turn Thedas upside down and changed systems that Thedas know it with better ones.

SO why even bother to fucking keep an old system that doesn’t work and very oppressive and it was designed to imprison and enslaved people?

okay, listen here you little templar- oh I mean Ex-Templar, because templar order of the south is just gone forever ( who the hell wanted to be a templar again after people knew how dangerous lyrium could be? Especially after they saw lumbering red templar ABOMINATION, *not sorry they are really ugly bastard* Wrecking havoc all across Thedas

3.MAGE FREEDOM AND DESTRUCTION OF TEMPLAR ORDER IS A GOOD THING FOR EVERYONE AND FOR THEDAS!

Let me explain it to ya!

1. Mages won their freedom means, no more tranquil, there would be no more long-suffering half walking, half living person who’s cursed in the emotionless body (well at least in the south)

2. Mages could finally raise their own children, have family, married without fear and they don't have to run away from templar and chantry if they want to marry someone, mages children who were taken forcefully from their parents could finally meet their parents again, you don't want kids who were kidnapped from their family since a young age to be reunited with a family who loves them and misses them so much? Holy shit that’s monstrous.

3. Mage Orphan who has no relatives/family/home/ or friends to return could stay with College of Enchanters with other mages.

4. No more children will be kidnapped from the parents, no more mother who will lose their mage baby again because the templar and chantry ripped their baby away from their arms, never again.

5. New Generations of Mages kids who never have to endure torture and abuses in the circle, they can grow up in a safe and happy environment with their family or with the college.

6. Mages actively participated in society, and they can invent a great many things for Thedas modernization and advancement, remember Zither? He’s a mage and he uses his magic to play in a band, imagine the possibilities of Thedas technology-magic advancement with unrestrained magic, boi based on the newest leak, it seems like Arlathan was a magical cyberpunk empire.

7. As a free citizen, many mages abilities/ skill can be implemented for different kinds of jobs, hey remember Lysas who wanted to be a mage farmer? Agriculture in Thedas could be improved with magic, Medication, and medical studies could be greatly modernized with magic, not to mention fashion, opera/plays, and music, hell even professional chef jobs will be much easier with magic, The inquisitor used telekinesis/spell to fixes broken bridges, and lit a veil fire are another example that magic could be used for mundane stuff and not just for

8. College of Enchanters definitely would be a steadfast ally for The Inquisition and The inquisitor, and not to mention that the Inquisition new operations area would be in the north/Tevinter, mages would be able to help greatly. 9. With templar order gone forever in southern Thedas, then there will be no more people who are force feed lyrium and suffer from lyrium addiction to the point they become a beggar because they wasted all of their coins for lyrium. 10. So mages now are free, no more circle, then what’s the point of templar or seeker anymore? Actually Seeker, circle and templar are never needed, then how southern Thedas should handle with magic related crime or just crime in general, well I’ts easy, you see mages guard in Tamriel world? You know those guards in Skyrim? Or guard/law enforcer in Warcraft world who use magic? With mages free they also can work as guards

Why templar and chantry bootlicker literally believed in The chantry fearmongering false propaganda about mages and magic? It’s like medieval Vatican bullshit! fearmongering about technology and ‘sin’, fearmongering about spirit and magic?

We live in the modern era! So stop believing chantry propaganda!

Stop living as if its the 10th centuries, don’t keep clinging on the awful terrible system and it’s past, dude, see the future in front of you, and try to be positive about progressive changes. You know what happened to a world who refused to change? Yeah man look at Anor Londo, everything rot there. And have we ever heard about terrible accident that was caused by mages from College of Enchanters? Or by any mages at all? NO ONE EVER CONFIRMED THAT FREE MAGES OF THE SOUTH WRECKED HAVOC ALL ACROSS THEDAS, BECAUSE THE FREE MAGES DIDN’T DO ANYTHING AT ALL. AND THE MAGES HAS BEEN FREE FOR TWO YEARS! COLLEGE OF ENCHANTERS HAS BEEN OPERATING FOR TWO YEARS WITHOUT ANYONE ENSLAVED AND JAILED THEM Hey man, i gave you straight fact that mages being free is the best choice to support, and facts that nothing bad happened with mages being free, so your theory and your fear (that actually is just wrong, and it’s sounds kinda like paranoia to be honest Persecution is really stupid, that’s why it’s called persecution in the first place. HA!

ANDERS WAS, RIGHT!

‘Terrorist’ is a term that can be overused and utilized by people in power to demean and demonized freedom fighter/Resistance movement against tyranny.

https://mllemaenad.tumblr.com/search/is+anders+terrorist%3F

There’s fuck tons examples of people who were falsely accused as terrorists by tyrannical power to labeled them as a danger and to demonize them, while ‘the terrorist’ who fight for equality and freedom were demanding their people to be treated like a human, and they wanted equal rights.

examples:

[ I am an Indonesian btw, so I knew personally some stuff about dictator and dictatorship government]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgwS_FMZ3nQ&ab_channel=PhilosophyTube

https://www.britannica.com/event/resistance-European-history

https://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2020/09/07/long-road-to-see-justice-over-munirs-murder.html

As an Indonesian woman, our people were oppressed by many European nations, from Dutch To British to French and Portuguese, our nations were stripped and reduced to mere colonies of European powers, our people were enslaved in their own lands, woman raped and children murdered, then after Dutch leave, because Hitler almost sunk their nation during WWII, Japan fucking invaded our land and then enslaved us again!

Japan lost the world war alongside with its axis allies, YAAY! We are free, but wait, the Dutch Empire was such a baby they wanted their ‘toys’ , they fucking demanded the allies to helped them invaded Indonesia again because in the eye of Dutch Empire we are nothing but their slaves to be milked dry and taken advantages of, but we fought back! And now all Indonesian people from children to the elderly are free!

Did Indonesian people won their freedom and built their nation with being subservient and asked nicely?

FUCK NO, blood was spilled and heads were cut, a lot of head, but at least now generations upon generations of Indonesian people will never taste the brutality of slavery and how does it feel to be enslaved. Our first president was considered as a menace and a terrorist by Dutch Royalty, he was imprisoned in isolation but managed to escape over and over again!

But wait, if any person who rebelled against the government regardless of their intentions can be labeled as a terrorist *gasp* IS THAT MEAN GEORGE FUCKING WASHINGTON WAS A TERRORIST?! Apparently, by British Empire standards, he was.

The guy and his friends waged a war against the crown, because British Empire keep treated American colony like shit, from the perspective of King George, Washington was a piece of shit who kept ruined his country and his colonies, but boi Americans would be angry if someone called Washington a terrorist right? Because for them, Washington's struggle and rebellion were righteous.

YOU CAN’T SIMPLY USE THE LABEL OF ‘TERRORIST’ TO CONDEMN ANDERS AND HIS ACTIONS WITHOUT EVEN UNDERSTAND HIS MOTIVE.

Because if you keep doing then, in your perspective every single freedom fighter who rebelled against cruelty and tyranny should be condemned?

We are talking about what is a ‘terrorist’ here, and if you want to label someone as a terrorist then you have to read their manifesto, understand their motive, try to hear what they wanted to say, and understand the core of ideas behind their rebellion.

Here’s the thing, will you call the Stonewall riot as an act of terrorism? ( i presume from your blog description you are a supporter of LGBT right? )

What about Joachim Ronnenberg? A man who leads a daring raid against Nazi Germany nuclear weapon factory had the german succeded in their efforts, we might have read devastating histories about the nuclear bomb that destroyed London like what happened to Nagasaki and Hiroshima.

From the perspective of Nazi Germany...This guy wasis a terrorist and an enemy!

But it feels so wrong to describe freedom fighter as a terrorist right? How could we label people who resist nazi Germany as a terrorist?!

Because we know, despite the casualties, despite everything that happened, what they did was right, and they needed to fight back.

Allies marched to Berlin was the right thing to do, American colonies rebelled despite they knew that a lot of people will die in war, but have you ever condemned the founding father and his people for their rebellion? Or argued that it wasn’t necessary for them to rebelled. Soekarno wars and rebellion against dutch colonists and invaders cannot be condemned, because objectively, no one should support slavery and colonization of other nations.

French people were so sick and tired of their nobilities and royalties bullshit to the point they cut off their own monarch head, but they were right, because French Monarchy was corrupt and incompetent, while nobles and royalties were feasting and drinking as if there’s no tomorrow, poor people in French can’t even afford bread.

Trans and Gay people who fight back and demonstrated against injustice was right, the woman who demonstrated and rioted against the oppressive system and patriarchy was right.

WE KNEW DEEP DOWN THEIR CAUSE ARE NOT EVIL, OR CONDEMNABLE, THEIR CAUSES ARE OBJECTIVELY RIGHT!

But what if it were someone like Adolf Hitler who hmmm rebelled against the Weimar Republic, back before his raises to power around 1920-1923, I’m sure that you are familiar with his Beer Hall Putsch, when he held 14 mass meetings in Germany, for the nazi it was a historical moment, ‘a glorious resistance against the weak and incompetent Weimar Republic’

For his supporter it was glorious, but despite their best efforts to convinced themselves that they were right, WE KNEW HE WAS NOT RIGHT, Nazi was god awful.

What is the core idea of nazism? (I'm going to compare it with socialism/communism because some people keep saying that communism is just like nazi, and it's absolutely wrong)

https://www.britannica.com/topic/communism/Marxian-communism

https://www.britannica.com/event/Nazism

They are very different. Ya see despite some people who keep yelling that communist is just nazism by any other name. ( and I’m not a communist)

Adolf Hitler might see himself as a savior, a martyr, and his party also people who supported him

richard spencer, see himself as a ‘liberator’ and voice of white people, but behind all of his fucking bullshit, his core ideas are just Naziism, he is a nazi, Richard Spencer is a white supremacist so does any other alt-right edge lord on the internet who insisted that they are not nazi, despite the fact they fucking followed nazi ideologies and practiced hatred ( btw nazi ideology is based on white supremacist and eugenic ideologies too, so what’s the difference really?” Nazi is white supremacists and white supremacists will always be a nazi)

Alright and how all of it ties back to Anders and mage rebellion, you might ask, ‘why did you write about histories lessons that I already knew about?’

Well templar child, it’s all lead back

TO THE CORE OF ANDERS IDEAS AND MANIFESTO AND WHY HIS IDEOLOGIES/BELIEVES AND MAGES REBELLION WAS ON THE FREAKING RIGHT SIDE.

I wrote that fucking long-ass paragraphs so people will be able to differentiate the righteous kind of rebellion (or ‘terrorism’ from the perspective of the power/oppressors) and the god-awful kind of rebellion/terrorism.

Because instead of listening and learning about what anders wanted, some people are often so fixated on the semantic of the word ‘terrorist’ and got too distracted by that stupid chantry explosion. THE CHANTRY EXPLODED IS THE SAME KIND OF THING IF HITLER OR STALIN’S OFFICE too

People died? Yeah so does people who died during USA war against British Empire, was it terrible that people died? Yeah it was terrible but just like what i wrote before, the rebellion had to happened. And you said that he killed hundreds? Huh the numbers was never 100% confirmed because i don't think Isabela count the bodies, and second we cannot be sure about numbers of the casualties, because we never really see ALL them in the first place. And actually arent Hero of Ferelden, Hawke and Inquisitor killed SO MANY PEOPLE? What about The Dragonborn? No to mention that in their journey they also destroyed private and public property and killed so many god damn animals to the point they could have been the reason why some species of animals are endangered. And no one ever protest or raised a fuss when heroes killed tons of people. Arent templar and chantry also killed and tortured so many people? What about mages who were killed or made tranquil for the past 1000 years? What about mages who committedcommited suicide like Orsino friend who locked herself in a closet then set herself on fire? Because she no longer can’t stand living in Kirkwall Circle prison? What about Anders friends who often committedcommited suicide because what templar did to them and that lead to severe depression? What about mages and elves who were hunted down and killed just because they escaped from their circle prison, they were killed by order of the chnatry and templar cut them down with their sword? What about Elves of Dales who died because Orlais wanted to expand its fucking territoryterrtotry and justified their racial superiority? Chantry and templar supported that. What about Karl who asked Anders to killed him because he preferred to die rather than be a tranquil again? Or captured by templar again? TEMPLAR AND CHANTRY COMMITED MORE CRIMES FOR THE PAST 1000 YEARS MORE THAN ANY PERSON DID, THE TEMPLAR AND CHANTRY MURDERED, ENLSAVED, TORTURED AND IMPRISON PEOPLE ALSO SUPPORTED GENOCIDE FOR 1000 YEARS! IF WE CALCULATED NUMBERS OF PEOPLE WHO DIED BY THE CHANTRY ORDER AND TEMPLAR SWORDS, IT’S MORE THAN FREAKING MILLIONS! ANDERS DID WHAT HE DID TO FREE THE MAGES AND FUTURE MAGES CHILDREN, SAME THING WITH FIONA AND THE MAGES WHO REBELLED TO FREE THEMSELVES AND FOR THE FUTURE OF MAGES, THEY ALSO REBELLED FOR FUTURE MAGES FREEDOM, THEY REBELLED FOR THE FREEDOM OF PEOPLE (because unlike what noodle and chantry said and spread, mages are PEOPLE!) so what are you saying again? HUH ? what is your justification? What is your defense? CHANTRY AND TEMPLAR CRIMES CANNOT BE DEFENDED! If you justified Templar and chantry crimes then THE EVANURIS AND TEVINTER and the stupid qun ideals can be justified too? From OBJECTIVE perspective Anders ideology WAS RIGHT! HE AND THE MAGES BELONG WITH THE RIGHTEOUS REBELS. Let’s compare chantry/templar mentality and moral vs mages and elves believes and pursuit of freedom.

Let’s see examples of chantry/templar mentality based on evidence and popular opinion in Thedas that was forced by The chantry to people head.

1. The interpretation of chant of light that mages and nonhuman are abhorred by the maker, and they are ‘evil’ and corrupt’ i must remind you that MODERN and RELEVANT andrastianism in modern Thedas, has twisted whatever Andraste said and they strayed so far away from what andraste possibly could have wanted.

What if Maferath Betrayal was not based on maliciousness? Or not just based on maliciousness? What if Andraste was truly a mage? The chantry lied about Shartan, the chantry fucking lied about Ameridan, if there’s one IRONIC TRUTH about the chantry, they lied, they twisted story and histories for their political power and their gains.

the whole ‘magic must serve man and not rule over him’ was purposely misinterpreted to fucking justify drakon fucking fanfic holy book, and his campaign to conquer the rest of Thedas. And the chant verses were twisted as a stupid and terrible justification to demonize and enslaved mages and elves in circle towers.

In a nutshell that chant actually said that magic is a gift that should not be used for terrible deeds. But andrastian changed the meaning and twisted their own prophet words to enslave and oppressed southern mages.

2. The chantry believes about Everything that related to the fade/spirits/ or demon are dangerous and inherently evil, I ALWAYS LAUGHED MY ASS OFF, whenever templar/chantry/andrastian/non mages spouting hateful shits about the fade and spirits, it’s incredibly ironic, because there’s an implication that ALL PEOPLE who were not made by Titans (dwarves was made by titan) were spirits from the fade who ‘created body from the earth’ after they descended to the material world.

The evanuris, first of elven people, Solas and his people were spirits, it can be safely assumed that modern elves, humans and qunari in their truest form are spirits as well.

I think during his personal quest, All New Faded forFor Her, Aka The Dreadwolf Fen’harel, Solas has explained the truth about what human, elves and qunari truly are and what is their true form would be once they are died ( if they are not a remarkable person then they will simply be lost to the fade )

Besides it’s the chantry who spread hateful and ignorant propaganda about evil of spirits/demons, the fact that chantry spread such misinformed propaganda and derailed hates of the fade and spirit into people mind actually is one of the reasons why demons and unwilling possession as modern thedas know it exists, I know Cole explained that spirit who crossed from the fade to the world was simply traumatized by their journey, the veil hurt them ( we can blame Solas for that) rules in the material world is just confusing, the earth and it’s mostly inflexible and unchanging rules confused them.

But if The fade can be bend and shaped by powerful dreamer/mages/ dreams and believes of people. That means...Demons were also created by The chantry ignorant and hateful propaganda. If many people believed that spirits are dangerous or ‘they are demon’, that spirits and the fade are scary then that’s how they will manifest.

The fade and spirit can be influenced by people's collective beliefs and perceptions. That’s mean it also The chantry and their dogmatic backward propaganda that made spirit/demon as we know it today, I mean for some reason Cole called himself a ‘demon’? While the boy was never corrupted nor twisted from his true nature, i think it’s because people perception of him and spirit. The chantry dogmatic believes backfired on their own face. rule about

3. Blind devotion to Orlais Chantry, theThe chantry foundation was made of bones upon bones and blood, emperor kordilius drakon butchered many cults and stamped out any non-andrastian religion or branch of andrastianism that didn’t conform to his cult believes so he can establish his cult of andraste as the dominant religious power in southern thedas or thedas in general.

The Daughters of Song

Wine. Music. Poetry. And the wanton and frenzied indulgence of carnal fancies. These things characterized the hedonistic cult known as the Daughters of Song. Calling them an order of the faithful lends them a legitimacy they do not deserve. The daughters (and sons, though they saw themselves also as "daughters") celebrated Andraste's holy union with the Maker in almost every way imaginable. And it was only the "holy union" they venerated. Andraste's life, her war, her teachings, and her sacrifice were blithely ignored.

At its height, the Daughters of Song numbered in the thousands. They maintained a stronghold in a village called Virelay, in the Fields of Ghislain. Virelay saw a yearly event during which the Daughters of Song paraded carven images of the "Maker's Glory" through the square.The Daughters of Song were wiped out by the righteous forces of Emperor Drakon during his campaigns to unite all of Orlais. When the emperor's forces sacked the village, the Daughters would not arm themselves and were either killed or captured. The village was destroyed, and the cult never recovered.—From Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale

HA! Blithely ignored her fucking war and ‘sacrifice’ is much better than using the story of andraste life as propaganda and tools to conquer, murder, enslaved, and wiped out groups of people who didn’t buy to your shit.

The daughter of the songs was not a cult of a sex-crazed hedonist, they were another group of pacifist andraste cult who didn’t do anything wrong at all (seems like they were peaceful, they didn’t even willing to armed themselves when Drakon butchered their people) and they just wanted to be left alone to their own device, but of course Drakon, that egotistical bastard who sees himself as a martyr and narcissistic self-proclaimed holy man, so he put any people who didn’t want to listen to his bullshit to sword.

The chantry and Orlais using their god, their prophet words, and their religion as a bludgeoning tool to conquer and forcefully converted people, the foundation of modern andrastianism religion was based drakon totalier philosophy his ambitions to rule all of Thedas.

Ironically if there are people who smeared and desecrate andraste and the maker, its their followers.

This kind of religious militant mentality has ledlead to people justification of exalted march, because they thought that they were doing it for the maker, they believed that the march is the maker works, anyoneany one who supported exalted march were so convinced that they were right to spilled so many blood and butchered so many people for their religious zealotry (and political ambition of their rulers but eh peasant rarely know anything about what happened in winter palace right?)

if you supported exalted march of dales or exalted march against mages then.... As a Muslim i just want to say, what’re the differences between exalted march and Christian crusade? And we know that Crusade was a waste of resources and lives or ISIS ambition for expansionism?

Military and Religion is a dangerous and scary combination. And I can’t comprehend why any modern human could be so thirsty and horny to destroy other people's nations for their religion and their interpretation of their religion. and let me remind you again, the chantry and templar supported this mentality and often using the maker as a reason and justification of their terrible deeds. The chantry refusal to acknowledge and respect different kind of andrastian religion and their outright rejection of different religion lead them to wiped out pre-chantry andrastian cult aka their own brethren and destruction of The dales, destruction and deaths of so many dalish clan, prejudice and bigotry against qunari and dwarves. and we don’t have to talk about what happen to old god religion worshipper. Y’know sounds like dark age church and their obsessions to stamped out any kind of ‘heresy’ , you like that shit? You supported it? EWWWW. D: 4. Templar and Chantry brainwashed people to be hateful bigot, I don’t care about any kind of justification or ‘positive deeds’ that andrastianism has done, a thousandthousands years of proofs and facts has proven that most of the time they spreading bigotry and hate for their own political power and gains, the chantry instilled intolerance on people mind and using terror as a way to control population of Thedas, people except for the ruling class are live in uncertainty and fear, we might see peasant in thedas just living their simple life, but if the temple and chantry find out that they are doing anything ‘suspicious’ or they hide their relatives who can use magic then that’s it, their life will end by chantry order and Templar sword, not to mention that the chantry bigoted cheating also lead to these kind of situation, remember that mage who were murdered in the storm coast by villager? She died because the chantry brainwashed people to hates on anything non-human and to hate on mages. NOW THE MAGES, let’s take a look at the mages and elves. 1.The mages and elves just wanted to be free and to be treated as an equal in society, not as a walking weapon to be enslaved and imprisoned and not as a servant/slave to non-mage human (or in tevinter and the qun not as a slave in general for elves and mages too who suffer under the qun ) if anyone supporting an ideology or people who deny other people rights, BASIC RIGHTS, then all of you fucktard can rot in hell. 2. Fiona, despite the chantry and Templar oppressed and enslaved her people for must I remind you again 1000 year! Fiona Was still willing to let other fraternities and other circles to vote, whenever they wanted to follow her rebellion or not, AND THE SOUTHREN MAGES CHOSE TO REBELED AND FOLLOWING HER! 3. Now mages freedom is canon, the mages now have their own government and they rule over themselves( college of enchanters) and they never try to enslave, oppress, brutalize and hurt non mages 4. Now Briala rule in Orlais, she could help to keep: 1. Remember that mage who died in Gaspard on leash and preventing him from invading other nations, not to mention that she definetly

Oh, Solas where are thou ~

Now about Solas and the veil, we might speculate to our heart content about Solas plans and what he might do in the future, but to be honest, truth to be told, NO ONE EXACTLY KNOW what is his actual plan for the evanuris, for the blight, for titans and to tear m down the veil. We only have morsels of information about his plans from trespasser, and Tevinter night (also from the leaks). Who knew maybe Solas plan will ironically save the world? Doomed it? Saved some people? Only doomed half of the world? Will the world end? Or survive? Now i want all magic to come back but without have to kill millions of people in Thedas, Because it will solve non-mages vs mages problem, everybody will be mages and the centuries of problems will be solved, not to mention that with the minuscule amounts of magic Thedas physical world now have, people seemed to slowly devolving, being cut from magic of the fade is not only horrible for mages but also for non- mages (Because the fade is the sources of power and life itself, not to mention that Solas referred to it as ‘The sea of souls’ in Tevinter Nights) Here’s the thing, with or without Solas even waking up from his long sleep, i think The veil will be destroyed either way, here’s the evidences that supported my theories (But i still have no idea about What exactly will happen just like many other people out there ) Sandal Prophercy: “Sandal: One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Grand Duchess Florianne: “ A great CHANGE is coming for all of us lord seeker lucius: “ We created a decaying world, and fought to preserve it even as it crumbled, we had to be stopped” Kieran: “My mother is the inheritor of the next age” Mythal: WE HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT WHAT SOLAS PLAN IS, what is he going to do with other evanuris? What bout the titans? What about mythal? and ghilan’nain creatures that has been slowly emerge from the sea? What about the blight and darkspawn? I feel like Solas wouldn’t be the true next main villain, he wouldn’t be Corypheus 2.0, why? Because unlike the blight or Corypheus, Solas have important relationship with The inquisitor, while most any other fucking villain have little to no relationship with heroes. So here Solas quote from Tevinter Nights: His look pinned her “I have no choice.What I am doing will save this world, and those like you- the elves who are still remain-may find it better, when it is done.” Solas might call himself “Prideful, hot headed and foolish.” but he’s not a fucking idiot, he wouldn’t just tear down the veil just to bing elven glory back, there must be something bigger behind his motives, like the evanuris and well titans I don’t want to say much about the possible consequences of what might Solas do, because frankly we don’t know anything about it. It is possible tho that the veil destruction will be the same thing just like the fifth blight, mage and elves vs Templar and chantry/human war, Corypheus rises and fall and the fucking explosion of both Kirkwall chantry and temple of sacred ashes, it just going to happen, it is what fucking it is man. To quote Steve Jobs “One more thing” Patrick fucking Weekes and their wife supporting mage and mage rights MEANWHILE... if you could live anywhere in Thedas, where would you live? PATRICK: I would live in Rivain. Because Rivain is not as hung up on magic, because they have seers who let themselves get possessed... they also have a relatively peaceful relationship with the Qun. And they're kind of a melting pot and multicultural... they're a place where a lot of different cultures come together. And also? Beachfront property. KARIN: I was just gonna say... if you need further justification, they get to say, "I want to live on the beach."

Yeah, that was a really good one. Okay, moving on: Mages or Templars? PATRICK and KARIN (in unison): Mage

http://www.dumpeddrunkanddalish.com/2020/05/castles-fennecs-and-player-engagement.html http://www.dumpeddrunkanddalish.com/2020/04/chatting-with-weekeses-part-3-romances.html

13 notes · View notes

docholligay · 5 years ago

Photo

Okay so: TREES IN CHRISTIAN TRADITION AND THE JEWISH TRADITIONS THEY STOLE THEM FROM.

Both Ben and Justin have seen this dude a handful of times in the show, maybe 2 or 3? I had basically no idea what it was about back then and it’s not like I have a TON of idea now, but I’m more willing to wade in.

So I can think of three, off the top of my head sitting here which this might be representative of.

1) The Tree of Life, mostly a Kabbalah thing so I doubt this is it. I’m gonna be real: Kabbalah is confusing as fuck, it is a the hyper-mystic woowoo branch of Judaism* and without saying anything unkind about Kabbalah, pragmatic Judaism is my flavor of Judaism. The Tree of life is also such a ridiculously complex symbolic idea that I don’t know if I think it would even WORK in this framework.

2) The Tree Judas hung himself from. Does this have a name in Christianity? I don’t actually know the answer to that, but I feel like it would. VISUALLY, I like this: The tree we’re looking at is gnarled and ugly and full of this feeling o that loss of hope, that fate has betrayed you and you never had any choice in your life but to be a traitor and known as that, honestly, the whole idea is fucked up. I don’t think its this, because so far there’s nothing that really has brought in STRONG Jesus language other than the appearance of the Knights Templar and Justin’s personal belief structure.

3) The Tree of The Knowledge of Good and Evil which is where I’m deciding to go with it. ONe might think this tree is a little ugly for that to be true, but isn’t knowledge a little terrifying and bleak? Isn’t being free of naivete, to see evil, isn’t that ugly in itself, if necessary? TO obtain knowledge is not always a value-neutral or positive thing, think of how many things you have leaned that have caused pain or suffering.

*I’ve noticed in a lot of witchy groups and circles that the Kabbalah seems to be up for grabs. It’s not. If you run in these circles, you should be beating back against that the same way I assume you do with voodoo, santeria, etc. (Which if you aren’t doing I guess fair for consistency but you’re a puss)

#Doc watches Carnivale #Episode 10 #Hot and Bothered

8 notes · View notes

laurelsofhighever · 5 years ago

Link

Chapter Rating: General Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort Chapter Summary: Revelations come in the aftermath of the attack on the Circle.

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

Fifth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

Tendrils of golden mist wove through the courtyard that enclosed the templar barracks of Kinloch Hold. Frost whorled away across the flagstones, thick as a coating of snow, silvering the summer’s cobwebs and the dainty, bone-thin ends of the birch that had been planted in the centre. As Rosslyn trudged across from the room she had been shown to the night before, a blackbird warbled in its upper branches, as if boasting of its triumph over the winter night, as if there had not been a slither of demons pressing like a boil against the skin of the world only the day before. She paused to watch it scrape its beak on the branch, her breath a thick white puff that vanished into the fog, and stuffed her hands into her armpits to keep her fingertips from being bitten. It was always so after a battle. The small things in the world returned to their normality, unconcerned for the scars left by human action, for the hollow remains of victory’s thrill through the blood.

Shaking herself, she walked on, drawing her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The spare clothes the lay sister had left her were too thin for the weather, but she was grateful for them nonetheless. Her only other option would have been the shirt and gambeson she had worn to storm the tower, still stained with sweat and blood and ichor, and all the memories of what she had faced with it. She tried to turn her mind from it. The demon’s fantasy had been nothing more than smoke, and yet it had let her see her parents again. She had spoken to them, heard they were proud of her, seen them approve of the man she loved, and she ached so much for their arms around her again she hardly cared that it wasn’t real. And yet, when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see their faces, only heard the slick rasp of steel through flesh, a gasp, the heavy sag of a body as it crumpled to the floor.

Voices raised around the corner. She wiped her eyes, straightening into her general’s façade as footsteps approached and halted, the tail of the argument lashing with voices she recognised.

“Karyna, please –” Cullen begged.

“You said mages aren’t people,” Amell snapped. “How can you expect me to be reasonable after that – what does ‘reasonable’ even mean?”

“You saw the damage in there as well as I did, so many dead –”

“And most of them mages. My friends. They died because they chose that over becoming abominations.”

“You said yourself they would have attacked anyone who came into the tower!”

The enchanter snarled a curse. “What would you have done in their place? Greagoir was planning to slaughter them! We obey, we keep our heads down, we keep our magic locked away, and yet none of that loyalty is worth anything. We really aren’t people to you, are we?”

“It isn’t the same,” the templar stammered. “You –”

“The Right would have had us all murdered, with no reprisals. If I’d been in there, and the oh-so-valiant knight-commander had told you to strike me down, would you have done it?”

“I – that’s not fair.”

“See? You can’t even answer the question. I don’t think I want an answer.”

“Karyna!”

The mage’s footsteps didn’t slow as she hurried around the corner, blind to everything beyond her unshed tears. Rosslyn let her go. Sympathy tugged at her, remembering the drift of ash above Highever, but whatever her own misgivings about the Chantry and what she had seen of the Circle, the grief was still too present, and it was not her place to offer shelter from it. Instead, she gritted her teeth and stepped out from the shadows, ignoring the instant of panic that lit Cullen’s features crimson.

“My presence was requested in the knight-commander’s office,” she said. “Which way do I go?”

“Oh… it’s the second on the right down that corridor, Your Ladyship.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you…?”

“As you were, Lieutenant,” she huffed, already marching past him.

She arrived at the door to Greagoir’s office to find Alistair already inside, backlit by a spitting fire, leaning over a map with his weight pressing through his knuckles into the desk. The deep crease of his brows made her hesitate in the doorway. The Fade vision had seemed so real, and afterwards she had been too lost in her own thoughts to even consider the effect it might have had on him, to hear platitudes from the false stranger who had called himself his father. His skin was paler than it should be; dark circles bruised glazed, bloodshot eyes, and the gaunt twist of his mouth hollowed out his cheeks like paper.

A floorboard creaked beneath her heel. The sound startled him out of his reverie, and when he looked up, the fatigue that made her heart ache brightened into welcome, a smile all soft corners that lifted as he breathed her name.

“Good morning,” he murmured, reaching for her.

She smiled her reply as she took his hand. “It is now. How are you?”

“Tired,” he replied, shrugging. “But considering the alternatives, I’ll take it. how did you sleep?”

“Not well, if I’m honest.” She dropped her gaze, well aware of the blush stretching across her cheeks.

“That’s not surprising.”

A gentle hand rose to cup her face, and for a moment she let herself sink into the comfort, eyes closed and breath a soft huff mingling with his.

“It wasn’t just the dreams,” she said. “I missed you.” She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I kept waking up and you weren’t there.”

Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight as she buried her head against his shoulder. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry about Maric.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t realise how much I wanted his approval. All those years I thought I put it behind me, but now I just keep wondering…” he sighed. “But it was all the demon. He was never interested, not even when I left Redcliffe.”

Rosslyn’s hand curled against the back of his neck. “We can’t know why he did what he did,” she soothed. “But really, does it matter? What you made of yourself is entirely down to your merit, and nothing can change that. I’m proud of you, if that counts, and you should be proud of yourself. I couldn’t have made it out of there without you.”

“It does count,” he told her, breaking the embrace so he could look at her. “There’s nobody whose judgement I trust more.”

She leaned in, drawn by the intensity of his gaze, but remembered at the last where they were and turned to glance at the doorway. The empty corridor stared back, draughty and silent. And Alistair was there with his fingers brushed against her jaw, ducking the last few inches to distract her with a kiss.

The instant his lips touched hers, a jolt of foreign heat sank low in her belly. Her hand rose of its own volition to bring him closer, the desperation thrilling through her echoed in the flutter of the pulse beneath her fingertips. They had almost died; they had encountered horrors and monsters and walked the veil-thin line of tension to the top of that cursed tower with no room for any thought but survival – and now that tension snapped. Alistair groaned as he pushed into her mouth, as she rose on tip-toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to banish every bit of space that separated them. The movement overbalanced him. He had to throw out a hand to save them from the edge of the desk, but he never faltered. Eventually they parted, breath sharp, giggling for air, just far enough to dart back in for soft presses against every part they could reach. She never wanted to stop.

“What is it?” he murmured, ghosting another kiss across her lips.

Her hands cradled his face. “The worst thing…” She swallowed and tried again. “I keep thinking – I know it wasn’t real, but it might have been, and… I wish they could have met you.”

“Oh, love…” He pulled her in again with a swift brushed kiss to her forehead. “We’ll get through this.”

“If it ever ends.”

“Hey now,” he chided. “Where’s my indomitable warrior goddess? Everything will be –”

The echo of footsteps in the corridor interrupted him. Clearing his throat, he withdrew to a respectable distance, though his touch lingered at her hand.

“Everything will be alright,” he repeated, and dropped her hand as the door banged back against the wall.

Cailan entered, with Irminric on his heels. The king shone his usual puppyish smile as he greeted them, but Rosslyn had spent long months in his company, and knew him well enough to see the brittle nature of his resolve; his cheeks bloomed with their usual rosy colour, but his eyes were bloodshot. How long had he tossed and turned thinking about Loghain’s reach, that it extended even as far as a tower in the middle of a lake cut off from the rest of Thedas?

She knew better than to bring it up. Instead, she crossed to Irminric and wrapped him in a hug.

“It’s good to see you alive and whole, couz,” he told her. “For a moment there, I thought I’d sent you to an untimely end – Alfstanna would’ve been furious with me.”

At the sound of her old playmate’s name, Rosslyn brightened. “How is she? I heard there were twins.”

Irminric nodded. “They gave her a lot of trouble before the end. The bairns are sickly, but the healer says they’ll all make it through.”

“When this is all over, you’ll have to go back to Waking Sea and play Uncle properly,” she replied, and realised the others were waiting politely for the pleasantries to be out of the way. “But until then, what are you doing here in a war council?” She had expected Greagoir himself after the revelation that Uldred’s rebellion was triggered by outside events.

“I’ve been given a new assignment,” he told her with a shrug. “It seems the knight-commander wants someone to oversee the distribution of the supplies he’s donating to the cause, in exchange for saving everyone in the Circle.”

“You mean he’s sending you away in almost-disgrace for going against orders,” Alistair supplied with a wry tilt of an eyebrow.

“A small price for what you managed to do.”

“Just about,” Rosslyn groused.

“What’s the plan now, then?”

With the call to business, Cailan grinned and stepped up to their borrowed desk, shuffling papers away to expose the northern stretches of Ferelden on the map. Counters purloined from the knight-commander’s chess set had been laid out to represent the location of their forces, though some slipped their place in the tidying. As the king righted them, he talked. The Highever Guard with Eamon in tow was still somewhere around Lakehead, a strong enough force for a skirmish, but not for a pitched battle.

“We’ll cross to the eastern shore today and catch up with the bulk of the army,” he explained, still moving counters. “After, we should all arrive in Aeylesbide around the same time – Bann Ferrenly is expecting us. From what his scouts report, activity in the north has slowed as the cold weather has set in, and aside from a few outposts, our enemy has retreated to the strongholds already in their possession.”

Rosslyn’s heart quickened in her chest. “If we’re gathering our entire force at Aeylesbide…”

Cailan nodded to her. “We’re going to take back Highever, yes, and not a moment too soon.”

He paused to let her absorb the swell of emotion, the anticipation leaping like a deer through her veins at even the distant prospect of seeing home again. She had missed the rugged coastland, the cliffs and the sea breeze and the pastures of long grass rippling like silk in the wind. The fields would be barren now, laid bare for the first snow, and no doubt Howe had taken the dragon’s share of the harvest to bolster his own forces through the winter, leaving her people with scraps for food and nothing but rotting twigs to feed their fires. In the dream, she had returned a hero, with the sun shining, her parents proud on the steps of the keep to welcome her, the people happy and healthy and cheering her name. And that was the knife that truly made the demon’s tricks twist in her gut – even if she succeeded in taking back the city and the castle, even if she caught Howe and got her revenge, it wouldn’t bring them back; it wouldn’t make the fantasy real. A small part of her mind enjoyed the irony of the situation, that the goal for which she had yearned for almost a year was now within reach, just as she lost the stomach to face it.

I’m counting on you to see them safe, her father had told her as the dust settled over Glenlough. No matter what.

She felt the shift of weight beside her, Alistair lending her strength even though their company meant he couldn’t touch her. She exhaled a shaky breath, grateful, and turned her attention to Cailan once more. He had been waiting for her to continue.

“Your victory at South Reach has taken the last foothold away from Loghain,” he said. “And now we must cut off his retreat. The Bannorn is ours, and once the North follows suit we’ll be able to march on the capital without fear of being caught in a pincer movement. Once we’re mustered at Aeylesbide, we can finalise the details.”

“You’ll have a contingent of mages as well,” Irminric added, with a grim twist of his mouth. “We’ve nowhere to put them now until the tower is fully cleared, and with the number of templars killed we don’t have the resources to send them all to other Circles, either.”

Alistair scowled, but held his tongue. Meddling in Chantry politics was not a battle they could afford in the moment. “We may be able to finish this before the spring, if we don’t end up with a siege at Denerim,” he said instead.

Cailan frowned. “If Loghain is still a man of the people, he wouldn’t put them through that.”

“I’m afraid we cannot take that for granted,” Irminric replied. “Not if he’s become an abomination.”

“I thought only mages could become abominations?”

The knight-captain folded his arms, stroking the trimmed edge of his beard. “Only mages can summon demons from the Fade, it’s true, but once in our world the creatures may work on the minds of anyone they choose, usually someone with whom they find an affinity – an emotional connection. It’s possible Loghain’s allied magisters were the ones to perform the summoning, though whether it came before or after the Landsmeet, I cannot say.”

“It doesn’t matter for the moment,” Cailan decided. “I have faith in your abilities, Knight-Captain, but we have yet to reach Loghain before we can free him of the demon’s influence. No, first we must take Highever, and quickly.” At the questioning glances sent his way, he let the last of his cheerful façade drop into worry. “The queen has been sent there from Denerim, and we haven’t heard from her since. It’s possible he suspects she’s been aiding us.”

The implications settled over them like the fog outside, wrapping them in silence. Of them all, Rosslyn was most familiar with the aid rendered by Anora’s intelligence, regardless of her motives for betraying her father, but so far, her position had allowed her to avoid being used as a pawn. If her safety were threatened, however, Cailan would have to capitulate or risk losing the goodwill he had built up in his months in the field, and Ferelden’s entire future along with it.

Alistair was the one who broke the silence. “Why wouldn’t Loghain send her to Vigil’s Keep? That’s far less exposed if he wanted her out of his way.”

“He wouldn’t want to give Howe that much power,” Rosslyn answered in a low voice. “He’s already shown himself capable of betrayal.”

His hand fell to her arm. “Still, it’s rather convenient, don’t you think?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she answered bluntly, without looking at him. “And my people have suffered enough.” And I’ve spent too long wanting Howe’s head on a spike to back down now. “You know, Your Majesty, if you had told me this sooner, I might have outlined a strategy for you already.”

Cailan fiddled with one of the counters, suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, my dear…” He pressed his tongue between his teeth, looking for the right words for whatever he wanted to say. “I would have, but I had hoped you would be persuaded to take a step back from this one.”

“Why?”

The frostiness in her tone blanketed the whole room, so even the fire seemed to dim. Cailan shrank away from it with a sigh, trying to deny the flush in his pale cheeks, and nodded to the rest of their company. Irminric obeyed the silent order and bowed out of the room with a mumbled excuse, but Alistair, sensing what was coming, stubbornly refused to take the hint.

“Brother, if you might…?”

“Your Majesty, what is this about?”

Defeated, Cailan sighed. “Some might deem it inappropriate for you to have a part in Anora’s rescue, considering the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” she asked, though her eyes had narrowed. “Anora’s presence in Highever changes nothing but our approach, and it’s my home. Would you sit in the supply lines while we took back Denerim?”

“I… no. I would not.”

“Then please don’t tell me this is some misguided act of chivalry to try and protect me from the worst of the fighting.”

“Maker, of course not!” the king cried. “My lady, you have proven yourself time and again, on the field and off. The matter is… more delicate than that.” Sighing again, he turned to pace across the confined length of the room, either gathering his thoughts or trying to work out the frustration evident in his voice. “It has become clear to me that, for the good of Ferelden, whatever existed between Anora and myself may no longer be… supportable. And so I find myself facing the possibility of a future where I am a king alone – in need of a queen.” He paused, took in her posture, cleared his throat, and dropped his gaze to the desk. “I… was hoping that, in time, you might consider being that queen.”

Her stomach turned. Despite what Alistair had said to her the other day in the meadow, and the sense it made once she knew everything Eamon had done, part of her had not believed Cailan really had plans for her. He turned that hopeful, guileless smile on her now, uneasy but not discouraged by her blank, silent shock, and stepped around the desk to take her hand in both of his. She felt the warmth of his skin, the callouses on his palms, and it was surreal.

“I had also hoped that, uh, circumstances would have allowed a more romantic proposal,” he allowed, with a self-conscious glance at Alistair.

“Your Majesty –”

“Cailan.”

She shook her head and extracted her fingers. “Your Majesty. I have no desire to be queen – I’m sorry.” Her heartbeat felt thready. “I would have always refused you… even if my heart didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Cailan blinked. “Someone else? Who?”

For a long moment, embarrassment stopped her tongue. Heat crawled across the back of her neck and pulsed behind her eyes, until she finally gathered the courage to lift her eyes to Alistair’s. He was smiling. She couldn’t help but return the expression as relief washed over her, too aware that even though they agreed they would bring their relationship into the light, the expectation had been something more controlled, planned, and definitely not straight off the back of another man’s proposal. When his fingers brushed against hers, however, she laced them together instinctually, finally remembering to breathe as his fingers squeezed their reassurance.

Cailan glanced between them, bewildered.

“If it makes you feel better we were planning to tell you,” Alistair said.

“This… well.” The king shook himself. “How long?”

They paused, unsure of the answer. For Rosslyn, at least, the love had grown so slowly, through distractions and misunderstandings and distance, and yet as she searched through her memories even that first morning, when he had stood enshrined by the dawn light and offered her his blanket and shared her breakfast, was touched with a sense of belonging too big for her to describe.

“From the beginning,” he offered, raising her hand to kiss her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“And you’re happy?” Cailan asked.

She blinked, drawn back to the present, and smiled at him even as the revelation overwhelmed her. “Very.”

“Huh… You really are in love, aren’t you?” A puff of air blew through his cheeks, giving way to a wry chuckle at his own mortification. “Well then. In that case, little brother, you should be congratulated on winning the esteem of such a fine lady! You’ll have to tell me how you did it, eh? And you, my dear,” he added, turning to Rosslyn, “be sure he treats you as you deserve, or I may have to start another war to defend your honour.”

“As you will, Your Majesty.”

“The two of you… honestly.” He laughed again. “Who else knows of this?”

The warmth in Rosslyn’s chest cooled, feeling Alistair tense at her side. She cleared her throat. “About that – there’s… an allegation we have to make.”

“Allegation?”

“Against Arl Eamon,” Alistair supplied. “He intercepted letters between Rosslyn and me, to try and separate us.”

“Surely not…”

But Cailan listened all the same as they told the story, both what Eamon had done, and the ways he had tried to cover for himself once he was caught. It was unclear whether the initial idea was his, since King Bhelen was obviously so keen to be rid of his sister, but it was clear enough that the old arl had not acted under duress. When they finished, still leaning into each other for support, they watched as Cailan reeled back to lean his weight on the desk as if winded, his mouth pulled down at the corners and his brows knitted in a frown that added years to his face.

“Thank the Maker Teagan is with us already,” he murmured. “I will have to look into this. In the meantime…” He sighed, and fixed a smile in place. “We must continue as we are. We still have a campaign to plan, don’t we? It would be very poor sport if this one setback inconvenienced everything.” He glanced down at their joined hands and looked away, clearing his throat as he returned his attention to the map.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #king cailan #ferelden

16 notes · View notes

kessielrg · 4 years ago

Text

[DA+KH] CODEX: Letters to First-Enchanter Mickey

Summary: I love unconventional story telling. It's one of the reasons why I love the Dragon Age series so much with its codex entries; it's also why Carrie is one of my favorite books. With @chibi-mushroom concluding the Broken Circle quest in their Dragon Age AU for Kingdom Hearts, I had a severe compulsion to make a pre-DA2 codex for Anora and Ephemer. I'd do more for other characters if they ask me, if they wanted to. Again, I love this kind of story telling. :D

Rating: K+

Word count: 1,598 words

Letters to First-Enchanter Mickey

(found in various places during Act 1)

. . .

I wanted to thank you for this opportunity, First-Enchanter Mickey. The world outside is a lot larger than I ever could have imagined. The Free Marches are beautiful, but I believe I am Ferelden through and through. I enjoyed the sights on the way over more than I did actually being placed here.

At first, there was a bit of a scuffle on where I belonged. The teachers and doctors at the rehabilitation retreat refused to believe that I was to remain by Ephemer's side. Had it not been for the letter you had Knight-Commander Cid sign, my adventure would have been over before it began.

Ephemer still refuses to see me than anything other than another demon. But he doesn't want me to leave either. As we were being accustomed to here, I think he's starting to realize that he is no longer dreaming. Or, more accurately, being forced to relive a nightmare by a demon. He hasn't asked me, but I've heard him ask the staff, “Is she really there? Is that pink-haired mage truly alive? Am I being haunted by her spirit?”

To curb some of my worry, I've started singing to him when there's a lull in activity. It's at those times when I could leave and let him rest, but I don't want to. Apparently, I can't hit any high notes; when I try Ephemer quite visibly flinches. But then he smiles. A reminder that he's still living, maybe? Who's ever heard of a demon that could sing? And if they could, why would they purposely be bad at it?

I'd make a terrible desire demon.

He choked me.

He didn't mean to, honest. It was all my fault. I reminded him of the Circle. I don't know how, I just know that I did in some way.

Ephemer has taught me to never, ever doubt the strength of the Templars, First-Enchanter. The first time I learned this, it was during one of our first secret meetings. He simply picked me up as if I were a feather and… Well, you can imagine the rest, ser. But as he held my throat in such a tight grip at that moment, and I couldn't breathe, I feared I was going to die right then and there. I had to use my magic to get out of his grip. I almost wasn't able to do it. Ephemer came to his senses not long after.

His eyes… I've never seen a man's eyes go from pure hatred to regret so quickly. He apologized, a lot, but I couldn't answer. I hope he knows. I don't blame him.

But if you will, First-Enchanter, I would like if you sent some more elfroot. There is a short supply here in the Free Marches since the Blight started.

The knight-commander from Kirkwall came to visit us today. Sephiroth, I believe his name was. Apparently, he had heard about Ephemer's blight and wanted to see him for himself. The two talked for a long time. They discussed many matters; mostly those in regards to Templar duties and a possible (very immediate) position for Ephemer among the Kirkwall Templars.

I was present during the entire talk, but was ignored. Or, at the very least, the knight-commander ignored me. Ephemer made quite a bit of emphasis on my role in his recovery. He over glamourized it a bit, but I wasn't unwelcome to the gesture. You should have heard him, First-Enchanter; “I've been blessed by Andraste herself. This mage in an invaluable caretaker, and I shall have no one else.” I hope I didn't blush too much- honey can occasionally drip off Ephemer's tongue when he truly wants it to.

He refused to tell the knight-commander what exactly happened at the Circle, though. Not that he or I needed the reminder. The knight-commander was quite insistent on knowing and asking- but I'm fairly sure the bare minimum anyone needed to know would be common knowledge by now. I think the knight-commander knows that I also came from the Ferelden Circle and wanted one of us to admit something more damning.

The only 'damning' thing I'll admit to during my time at the Circle was the one day I hid Ephemer's scarf from him. It made a fabulous belt. I'm sure he would concur.

“Hey Anora.”

It's our code phrase. Ephemer makes an incredible point to say it in front of the knight-commander whenever I'm in the vicinity. I wonder if he's caught on to it yet. Knight-Commander Sephiroth is one of the more stoic types; it is very difficult to tell just what he's thinking or how much he knows. However, that makes our secret phrase all the more meaningful. At first glance, you would only see it as a greeting. But there are layers to this phrase.

When you peel back the first, you'll find respect. Respect that no other Templar would give a mage, even if one happened to save their life. Peel back another layer and there's fear. Fear of loss, fear that reality is still a nightmare. But it's that last layer, the core layer, where everything is revealed. That layer, First-Enchanter, is love.

Love can not solve everything, but it's a beautiful stepping stone.

Knight-Commander Sephiroth decided to make an example out of me recently.

I had arrived early to pick Ephemer up from Templar training and, as per usual, he uttered our code phrase without a second thought. Ephemer -who had been sparing with another Templar- neatly gained the upper hand on his opponent despite the interruption. He impressed the other Templars. He impressed me. But he did not impress the knight-commander.

No, the look of cold, calculated hatred on the knight-commander's face said that somehow, in some way, I had caused a fatal error. I was out of the way, so far as training was concerned, but Knight-Commander Sephiroth called me forward and forced me into the training area. He proceeded to go into a very long, very winded speech about how he had lost his family to an abomination- a mage that also happened to be close to him.

Without any warning, he told one of the Templar recruits to attack me. Then another, and then another. I'd find that you'd be proud of me, First-Enchanter, I didn't harm a single one of them. I used a lot of my magic to redirect or disorient them. At some point, one Templar almost swiped me with his blade- I only happened to cast barrier at the right time before sending the weapon flying through the air. It was at that point Knight-Commander Sephiroth called off the attack.

Ephemer was mortified, but the message had been sent. I wait out of earshot for Ephemer after his trainings now. When we meet again, he apologizes profusely as he were the cause of the knight-commander's bitterness. I hate feeling how silently worried Ephemer is as much as I hate tasting the lyrium on his breath. Something is going to give, First-Enchanter, but I have yet to know if it is solely between us, or with Kirkwall itself.

I met a trader from Val Royeaux today. He was very… charming. He even had a little pet with him, with a little hat that looked just like his. He, the merchant, said his name was Brain. What an odd sort of name, really, but he had been so nice that I didn't question it. The thing is, Brain had shown me more kindness in ten minutes than I have received in the past few weeks.

It was no small wonder that I was in a state of shock.

I wonder if he would have treated me differently if he knew I was a mage. I had the oddest feeling that he already knew. Do certain people have a knack for scoping out such things? I will admit to being a bit curious about this merchant; there is something about him that seems so… familiar. I feel as if I'm remembering a person of similar personality from somewhere in my past. Perhaps I'll talk to him again soon.

Ephemer and I are no longer together.

I think it has something to do with the knight-commander. He told Ephemer something. Something that got under his skin. He still isn't… right. He takes lyrium to fight lyrium. Sometimes he wakes up from a nightmare and comes into my room just to make sure that I'm there. To make sure that I'm real. The lyrium on his breath becomes stronger by the day. Maybe I'm imagining it, but it reminds me of the Circle; just days before the maleficar rose and sent our little Circle into a disoriented spiral.

Of course, to rub salt in the wound, the knight-commander is not helping in this matter in the slightest. I know Knight-Commander Sephiroth says things about me behind my back. Ephemer will not tell me what exactly; however, I've come to suspect that it has something to do with my frequent talks with Brain. I've told Ephemer nearly everything I disclose with Brain. Everything. But I believe Knight-Commander Sephiroth is making him see it differently. I do not wish ill on the knight-commander, First-Enchanter, but you won't see me weeping if he mysteriously falls down a large flight of steps and breaks a leg.

I also want to make it perfectly clear, First-Enchanter; I did not ask to be removed from Kirkwall. Kirkwall removed me.

#chibi-mushroom #kingdom hearts #dragon age #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #kh fanfiction #kh fanfic #ephemerxoc #dragon age 2 #i only meant to do five of these #ended up making seven #oops #this is one heck of a thing to post on the 4th of july tho #like...

2 notes · View notes

stitchcasual · 5 years ago

Text

Official Business

My piece for the @afterkirkwall zine! I’m so glad I got to participate in this; I love a good excuse to write for viscount!Hawke ^_^

Check it out here on AO3 or keep reading under the cut!

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

Hawke grips the neck of the bottle tight as he braces his other arm against the wall, sinking down onto the steps. He didn’t use to feel this old, couldn’t say for sure when he’d first noticed the creaking in his joints or the additional ache in his back, but they’ve been demanding more of his attention lately. Aveline chuckles at him, but he notices she’s taking longer to sit as well. None of them are as young as they were the day they first set foot on Kirkwall’s docks. That’s good, in a way: the Hawke of ten years ago would not have taken well to the mantle of viscount.

He looks over his shoulder at Fenris, standing at the top of the steps where he has a view of the whole of the main hall in the Viscount’s Keep. Fenris would, perhaps, argue on the merits of Hawke taking the office even now. Fenris believes in him, in what he’s trying to do here, but he also worries for what it’s doing to him. Hawke waves off the frown he sees gathering on Fenris’s face and sets to the delicate task of getting the cork out of the wine bottle.

Across the landing in a position mirroring Fenris is Bran, quill, ink, and parchment at the ready. Despite Hawke’s protestations that this is a gathering of friends and nothing more, the fact that the viscount, the guard captain, and the knight-commander are in the same room means Bran must be too. Hawke angles his head to try and keep Bran out of his visual range, preferring to ignore his aide as much as possible when he can.

Hawke drinks from the bottle once he has it open, then stuffs the cork back in and jerks his head at Aveline. She has time enough to say, “Hawke, don’t you—” before she abandons speech in favor of catching the bottle as he tosses it to her. Cullen chuckles, though his laughter fades quickly, choked off by the glare Aveline fixes him with and the bottle as it once more flies through the air. Hawke grins and spreads his legs out in a careless sprawl so he takes up about five of the stairs.

“It’s looking good out there, Hawke,” Cullen says after he drinks, walking the bottle over to pass it back to Hawke before settling himself on the steps below Bran with a grimace and clank of platemail.

“Oh, sure, Hightown is starting to come together.” Hawke swigs at the bottle and leans forward to rest both forearms on his thighs. It puts him a little off kilter, but he’s only had two sips of wine so far; he’s not worried about falling yet. And anyway, he knows Fenris won’t let him get hurt.

The keep is empty this late at night, only the staff and guards around, and none of them are too close by since Fenris and Bran are. It’s the only time Hawke lets his guard down and only with these few people. Of course, it also means that if Fenris decides that tonight Hawke’s earned a bump on the head if he falls down a few steps, there will be no one to witness it. No one who would worry over him, anyway. Those here have seen him take worse hits and live.

“I take it you don’t have much cause to be in Lowtown these days, Knight-Commander.”

“Just what I see on my way from the Docks.”

“I’d recommend a detour next time you come through, but only with a large armed escort.”

Cullen raises his eyebrows and turns to Aveline, who frowns first at Cullen and then at Hawke before actually drinking from the bottle that Hawke tosses to her. She points the neck at Cullen, shaking it as she speaks.

“Yes, the Guard is still stretched thin. We’ve lost a lot of good people over the last year. If you’d lend a few templars to my patrols, we’d have less trouble.”

“You know I can’t—”

“Oh, I know very well what you can and can’t do.”

Aveline nearly pegs Cullen in the face with the wine bottle, but it’s not for nothing the years he’s spent training and drilling with Hawke. Cullen wraps both hands around the bottle, staring at the carpet of the landing.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“The Gallows needs to change,” Hawke said, opening the door to Cullen’s office in the Templar wing.

“Good morning to you, too, Viscount.” Cullen looked up from the parchment he’d been poring over and stood, saluting.

Hawke waved a hand, dismissing any further pleasantries. “What’s different since we killed Meredith?” He closed the office door and crossed to lean against the wall next to Cullen’s desk.

“We’re fighting for stability right now. It seems a poor time to institute changes. Once things settle down—”

“You don’t have that time.”

“It’s only been a few weeks!”

“And keeping things the way they were before will end with us in the same position we were just in. You know I respect what you do here, but it isn’t working.” Hawke stared at Cullen and arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

Cullen straightened, but even his full height couldn’t match Hawke’s. “You know you have no true power over the Gallows.”

“I know.” Hawke shrugged. “But you’ll listen to me anyway.”

A silence took the room, the two men sizing each other up. Cullen paced around the front of his desk and crossed his arms. He’d have the advantage in a fight thanks to his armor and the absolutely ridiculous thin cotton shirt Hawke wore as part of the viscount’s official wardrobe, but Hawke just watched him without moving an inch himself, as though he felt no fear. Considering what he’d personally seen in just the last month, not to mention the last seven years, perhaps that response had already been drained out of him.

Cullen sighed and rubbed a hand across his brow. He sat on the edge of his desk, rolling a hand at Hawke for him to continue.

“You need to let go any templar even suspected of anything untoward with one of the mages.”

With a tired wave at the papers on his desk, Cullen said, “Do you realize how many of them that is? How many reports Meredith had that she did nothing about?”

“I’ve got suspicions. Send those templars away, get them out of Kirkwall. I don’t want any of Meredith’s old guard sticking around. Bring in new recruits, train them right. Meredith taught them fear; you can teach them respect.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It won’t be. But you can do it. How’s your supply of lyrium?”

Cullen reached over and grabbed one of the papers, handing it to Hawke. “We’ll start to run low in a few months. I’ve gotten letters like that from a few suppliers already, saying they can’t risk sending their people and product into a ‘warzone.’”

Hawke snorted and passed the letter back. “I’ll talk to some people. I know a guy who might be able to help.”

“Of course you do.”

Hawke smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Unlike you, I had a life for the past few years. Now, tell me what your plans are.” When Cullen frowned at him, Hawke rolled his eyes and gestured at the wall toward the Gallows as a whole. “I know you have ideas for how to change things, even if you’re not doing anything yet. Tell me.”

Cullen had years of ideas, most of them discarded by Meredith for being too soft, but Hawke listened to them and nodded his agreement. He may not be a templar in name, but Cullen had trained him as one for a while and his lived experience with his sister and father counted for a lot. His mind made quick tactical work of situations, and as an outsider, he was able to point out some of the flawed logic circuits Cullen had grown used to after so long in the Order.

They talked until past time for lunch and there came a knock at the door. Hawke opened it to Fenris, who whispered into his ear, and Hawke groaned. He turned his back to the hallway, slowly walking backward toward Fenris, and pointed at Cullen.

“Start now.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Do you ever miss the way things used to be?” Cullen asks, hunching his shoulders within his armor, and Hawke is struck by just how young Cullen looks. He often forgets that Cullen is the same age as Bethany, given how much rides on his shoulders and how well he’s handled it. While Hawke feels every bit of his thirty-three years and has definitely begun to look it, sometimes it appears as though Cullen ages backward, that all the responsibility he’s taken on only serves to highlight the youth he should have had. Maker knows it’s not fair, but Hawke has long since stopped believing he’d ever get a fair shake.

“Well,” Hawke says, looking up at Fenris. “How many’s it been so far this year? Couple of poisoning attempts, one memorable noble lad who thought he could sneak a broadsword into the keep stuffed down his trousers.”

“Three poisonings,” Fenris says, one eyebrow arched. “And that incident was last year.”

“Stabbed himself in the calf,” Hawke recalls, smiling wistfully. “Highlight of my month. But if that’s all I have to deal with in terms of life-threatening situations, it’s leagues better than getting impaled on a Qunari battleaxe a few times.”

Cullen concedes the point, shrugging and nodding. Aveline’s face tightens and she frowns; Hawke doesn’t think any of his friends have gotten over the few months they all spent fretting over whether or not he’d wake after the injuries he sustained in his fight with the Arishok. Fenris still traces the scars sometimes, after anyone gets particularly close with their assassination attempt.

“At least you listen to me when I tell you what the Guard needs, Hawke,” Aveline mutters. “Meredith was a nightmare as acting viscount. Even if we could go back to the way things were, I wouldn’t trade it for the progress we’ve made.”

“Not enough progress.” Hawke extends one hand toward Cullen, making grabby claw motions. Cullen rolls his eyes before gently lobbing the bottle across the landing to him. “Can’t do work in Lowtown without Hightown screaming about it; the Docks need more berths in working order because operating at half capacity isn’t going to cut it long term, but no one wants to see work slowed on their projects to cover it. And there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to convince Kirkwall as a whole to band together. I’m as good as useless.”

He takes a long drink of wine but doesn’t miss the look Aveline gives Fenris; Hawke estimates in a day or two Fenris might say something about it, but he won’t tonight. Hawke sets the bottle on the landing next to his right foot and reaches up to remove the viscount’s circlet from his head. He twirls it around two fingers for a minute, ignoring the scandalized gasp from Bran, before setting it on the stair in front of him.

It’s the most obvious symbol of office that he has, the one thing that separates him from everyone else in a fancy tunic. The one thing that everyone else in a fancy tunic seems to want to take from him, not like any of them would know the first thing to do with it. As much as the burdens of being viscount weigh on him, as much as he loves and hates Kirkwall in equal measure most days, he’s the only halfway qualified person left in the city.

“Well, I’d rather have useless than inept,” Aveline says. “Now hand over that bottle; I need more to drink if you’re going to be this morose tonight.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“I can spare one additional patrol per day into Hightown, but that’s it, Hawke. You can tell those nobles that they’re not more important than any of the other citizens afraid to leave their homes at night.”

Hawke sat on Aveline’s desk, ignoring the scathing look she gave him. He’d missed her more important papers, he was sure of it, and at least he hadn’t dragged over a chair and placed his boots up there. He’d learned from last time. He shrugged with one arm and sighed.

“I can tell them anything I like. They still think I’m deliberately shorting them. And before you ask, yes, I’ve tried blaming it on you.”

Aveline glared at him.

“If it makes you feel better, they didn’t believe me. Turns out you’re more beloved than I am.”

“I’m shocked.”

Hawke glared back at her.

“Look, Hawke, you’re doing what you can, and I’m proud of you for that. It’s only been a few months since...everything; give them a little longer to come around.”

Hawke picked at a piece of parchment on Aveline’s desk, dropping it and raising his hands in surrender when she slapped a hand down on it. Aveline shoved Hawke off the desk and he let her, sinking with a groan into a chair instead.

Aveline raised an eyebrow as she rounded her desk to sit in the chair next to him.

“Can you talk to Cullen? He won’t listen to me when I ask for templar assistance on the patrols.” Aveline leaned forward, staring intently at Hawke. “I mean it. I really think seeing their insignia would curb the banditry we’re seeing. People respect the Guard, but they respect the Templars more.”

“I’ll do what I can, but he has his hands pretty full with everything at the Gallows.”

“And I have Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown, and the Docks. Feels a bit uneven if you ask me.”

Hawke dug a thumb into his temple below the metal of the viscount’s circlet. “You’re doing great?”

“Don’t patronize me, Hawke. Just get me some help.”

“Maybe Sebastian will loan some people for an extended assignment if Cullen doesn’t come around. I’ll ask him; I’ve got to send him a message anyway.” Hawke glanced at the door to Aveline’s office, closed for their private conference. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s everything for now.” Aveline followed his gaze, and the smile she gave him when she looked back was soft. “How’s Fenris?”

“Better than I am, most days. At least he gets to threaten people with violence.”

“Hawke,” Aveline warned.

“I’ve been extremely polite,” Hawke said. “Much more polite than any of them are to me, at any rate.” He sighed and looked again at the door. “It’s hard sometimes: this...situation is a lot like the one Danarius had him in.”

“He chose this one. That’s important.”

“I know.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Donnic still like being your subordinate?”

Aveline blushed a furious red. “Shut up. That’s none of your business.”

Hawke smirked. “As long as you’re still happy, that’s all I need to know. Just making sure I don’t need to dust off my sword and pay him a visit.”

“Don’t you dare, Hawke. I don’t care if he walks out on me; he’s a damn fine guardsman, and I need as many of those as I can get right now.”

“Fair enough.” Hawke levered himself out of his chair and saluted Aveline. “See you next week, Guard Captain.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hawke chuckles and kicks the bottle over, letting it roll across the landing to Aveline. He waves at Bran and makes a drinking motion with his hand. Bran rolls his eyes and sighs, but disappears for a few minutes to return with another wine bottle for them. He takes up his notes again, waiting for something like official business to happen. Hawke sets to digging the cork out of this bottle and fervently hopes they’ll manage to avoid anything like official business for the rest of the night.

It isn’t often he has a moment to relax like this, and less often that Aveline and Cullen are both in the keep at the same time to indulge him. Between the three of them, they’re all the city has for leadership, and it keeps them busy. Aveline may have her office in the same building as Hawke, but she’s on patrol nearly as often as the rest of her people, and Cullen spends the vast majority of his time at the Gallows, mediating between the templars, mages, and concerned citizens. Meetings with all of them are usually hurried things, no time for beating around the bush, and that’s something Hawke has come to greatly appreciate after his days spent listening to nobles wax poetic about what’s gone wrong with the city before finally circling around to their specific grievance.

He raises the bottle in a toast to Aveline once he’s freed the cork. “To being useless.”

“Hear, hear,” Aveline says and drinks.

Hawke passes his bottle to Cullen, who laughs and shakes his head but drinks too.

“I’ve actually been very productive,” he says, as he hands the bottle back to Hawke.

“No one needs to hear it,” Aveline calls, her voice loud in the stillness of the keep.

Hawke looks up at Fenris, who pointedly directs his gaze elsewhere and only smiles with his eyes so no one else can tell, then over at Cullen, giving him the best shit-eating grin he can conjure. Which, given the wine and the hour, is pretty good, and Hawke laughs, with Cullen not far behind.

“You sound like Isabela!” Hawke crows to the empty room, flinging his arms out wide. Cullen rescues the wine bottle before it can go flying.

Aveline gasps and nearly throws her bottle at Hawke before thinking better of it and drinking instead.

“How dare you! You take that back, Hawke.”

That only causes Hawke further merriment, and he leans back against the wall, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes as he laughs.

“I’m gonna—tell her. She’ll be—so proud!” he says, barely able to catch a breath.

After a few more indignant noises from Aveline, each less grumpy sounding than the last, she joins in the laughter, and the three leaders of the city absolutely do not do anything remotely approaching official business for the rest of the night.

#dragon age 2 #viscount!Hawke #cullen rutherford #aveline vallen #after kirkwall zine #durill hawke #drinking #stitch fic

40 notes · View notes

sinsbymanka · 5 years ago

Text

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 36!

Full fic is over at AO3! Modern Thedas AU with magic, demons, and so much angst and pining. Just... so much.

Well, Maria thought to herself, she’d been a semi-decent Inquisitor for approximately seventy-two hours. In all honesty, a better run that she expected to have before she finally ran into the one thing she could not do.

That one thing was reading a fucking speech.

She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the scattered notecards all over the floor, the ones she’d thrown there in a fit of pique. She couldn’t meet Josephine’s anxious gaze one more time, but she felt it on her shoulders anyway. The silence hung over them like miasma, poison she was going to choke on.

“Alright, Inquisitor.” Harding kept her voice carefully light. “Maybe we need to try something a bit different.”

Maria looked up, spearing Harding with a glance she hoped conveyed her complete exasperation with the entire situation. She’d had it with the camera pointed at her damn face, the notecards containing Josephine’s carefully chosen words, and Harding’s disappointed little wrinkling her brow. She felt like screaming.

Instead, Maria sighed and bent down, sweeping most of the cards back into her hand, shuffling them back into order without thought. She stared at the neat, precise handwriting until her eyes ached. The words flowed when she read them in her mind, but the second she tried to push them into the air, they turned to lead weights and awkward silences.

“Let me see those.” Harding plucked the cards from her hand and frowned at them.

“Perhaps I should rewrite it. Again.” Josephine stepped forward over Maria’s shoulder. “Allow me…”

Maria wasn’t certain that rewriting the speech she was supposed to be giving would help any more the third time around. She’d still be nothing more than a wooden puppet, dull and lifeless, stumbling over the simplest words, unable to look at the camera without turning red and stuttering.

“Good idea! I’ve got a better one.” Harding grinned and held Maria’s gaze before tossing the cards over her shoulder where they fell like a deck of cards, scattering in all directions. Maria huffed a small laugh, shaking her head.

“Does that mean we give up and I can go do something productive?” Maria asked. She had a little under a thousand things on her to-do list. Re-establishing connection with the outside world came with a cost, after all.

It turned out, everyone thought they were ghosts. Orlais and Ferelden had rescue teams scouring the area, the meager forces either country could spare with Ferelden trying to clean up from the witch rebellion and Orlais in full scale civil war. The would-be rescuers were more than a little confused to discover that so many people had escaped Haven, found a magical fortress, and flourished in the aftermath.

But it was Maria’s continued, implausible, survival that really astounded the world. Unfortunately, she was trending across all the social media channels. Again. Harding’s footage of the avalanche that buried Maria had gone viral almost immediately. Memorials sprung up in the most unlikely places, from Denerim’s chantry to the docks at Ostwick. Josephine released a statement, but it became increasingly clear it wouldn’t sate the appetite of Thedas. They wanted Maria, more than just the photographs of her greeting the rescue teams. More than the stolen video clips of her wandering Skyhold carrying supplies. They clamored for her to speak, to tell her story, to shine her attention on them.

Maria didn’t really think even her sputtering on camera would be enough. She worried the world wouldn’t be happy until it swallowed her whole, honestly.

“No more reading off these cards.” Harding stated, fiddling with her camera for a moment before putting it back on it’s tripod and dragging her chair over to Maria’s. Harding sat down and leaned forward, lightly placing her fingertips on the back of Maria’s palm. “To be honest, you suck at it. A lot.”

“The honesty I need to hear.” Maria joked weakly, sagging back in her chair. “Tell Josie to give it up.”

“Inquisitor…” Josephine sighed. Harding shook her head and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, we’ve got to try one more thing before you’re off the hook.” Harding tapped her finger lightly on Maria’s skin. “Tell me what happened.”

“Fuck, Harding.” Maria raised her marked hand to her forehead and rubbed away the impending headache. “You were there. You know what happened.”

“I know.” Harding said softly. Maria fixed her gaze on Harding’s and watched as the woman swallowed some great emotion, a shudder passing through her. “Hard to talk about, isn’t it? I swear every time I try to remember, I can hear the people we lost screaming. Smell the smoke.”

Maria gulped down her own panic, the fear that she’d look up and see the dragon’s wings darkening the sky through the pretty windows. She sounded like she was begging, but she didn’t care. “Harding…”

“What happened first?” Harding pressed softly. “I was back with Varric, I couldn’t see. I heard the gunshots, they said you were on the frontline.”

She’d been. With Solas, then Bull. The girl who died beside her, choking on her own blood. Maria never even knew her name. They’d lost so many people, and Maria never knew any of their names. She flicked her eyes to the camera and Harding squeezed her hand.

“Don’t look at it.” Harding directed. “Look at me.”

If she looked at Harding, she may cry. She blinked several times, trying to bring her expression under control. The silence stretched on until Maria let out a long, heavy breath. “The Templars came in armoured SUVs. We barely had any warning, so we erected barriers out of anything we could get our hands on. They’d been poisoned by the red lyrium, like we saw on the news in Kirkwall with the Knight Commander, but there were so many of them. They didn’t care if we shot them, they kept coming out of the darkness like a nightmare.”

“But the Inquisition had explosives.” Harding supplied softly. Maria nodded, focusing on Harding’s hand on hers.

“Yes.” Maria’s voice sounded a bit more sure. If she ignored the camera, ignored Josephine’s silent presence, and just focused on Harding it was easier. “Yes. They’d been left there. The Inquisition requisitioned your drone to deliver the explosives…”

Harding gently prodded Maria through most of it, but the words flowed when she spoke. The templars. The dragon. Corypheus. The avalanche. One rolled into the other, but by the time they got to Skyhold, Maria felt raw, scraped clean on the inside. Harding pulled back, looked at Josephine expectantly.

“We will need to edit it for length and clarity.” Josephine nodded, all business, but Maria saw her hands shaking as she typed something into her tablet. “But…. forgive me.”

Josephine wiped her face briskly with her sleeve, shooting Maria a watery, wan smile. “I was not prepared to be so moved. I will remember that you should not be scripted. For the future.”

“Well, Inquisitor.” Harding smiled, tears in her own eyes as well that she dabbed away. “How was that interview you said you’d never give me?”

Maria laughed, the sound relieved and choked. “Maker.” She wheezed. “Did you get me saying that on camera the first time? If so, you should tack it onto the end.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Harding stood, extending her hand to Maria. “Not bad, Inquisitor. Not bad at all.”

“I try.” Maria reached automatically for her phone in her pocket, frowning at the ever present notifications while she allowed Harding to hoist her up. She skipped the emails, those she needed to pick through at night when she wouldn’t be interrupted and they wouldn’t keep multiplying on her. The text messages usually were more urgent.

Usually being the key word. The first one, of course, was from Sera. It consisted of a string of nonsensical emojis (fried shrimp? Who actually used the fried shrimp?) plus a blurry photo that could have been Cullen’s desk chair on top of one of the turrets. She sent a simple thumbs up and moved to the next one.

Varric. Again. She opened up the message, hunching her shoulders defensively as Hading and Josephine talked over her, to read the string of messages.

Varric: Let me know if you get this. I made another minor adjustment. Maria: Stop fucking with it before you fall off the walls. We don’t have health insurance here. Varric: Let me guess, no worker’s comp either? Maria: Negative on the workers comp. We may have beer, though. Varric: That’s the best medicine. Hey, do you have a minute? Maria: Also negative. Cullen wants me to meet his senior officers and introduce myself properly. Varric: Right, when you have a second. Maria: Sure. Varric: How about now? Maria: Leliana’s explaining Orlais to me. Varric: Right. Let me know if you figure it out. Varric: Later tonight? Maria: I can’t, I’m going over supply manifests with Josephine. Maria: Maybe tomorrow. Varric: So, it’s tomorrow. Just in case you haven’t noticed. Maria: I’ve been told. I’m sorry, I’m swamped. I’ve got a speech to memorize and give for Harding and Josephine. Varric: Alright, Princess. I’ll stop bothering you - come by when you can. Varric: And in case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen by far.

Fuck. Fuck. Why was this so fucking hard? Three days of messages, three days of ducking around Varric wherever and whenever she saw him. Three days nursing her bruised ego and railing against her own stupidity for believing for even a moment Varric fucking Tethras truly…

He’d be what she needed, if she asked, because he was kind, because he felt bad for her, because she wasn’t bad to look at. But she could never be what he actually wanted, and that… that stung. That stung far more than she could deal with just now on top of everything else. She certainly couldn’t spend time in his orbit, smelling his cologne, listening to his sinfully rich voice, waiting for his smiles and his laugh.

But she couldn’t ignore him either. She couldn’t.

Maria: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess.

As she typed the message, another one popped in. She swiped to view it and fought back a smirk.

Dorian: Fasta vass, come here. Maria: Where are you? Dorian: Follow the sound of wailing and gnashing of teeth.

What did she do to deserve Dorian Pavus’s histrionics today? Maria simply pulled up the group chat, typing one simple question into it.

Maria: Anyone point me to our favorite neighborhood magister? Dorian: I am not a Magister, you heathen. Bull: Have you tried following the trail of spilled wine? Sera: or smell of hair wax Vivienne: Second floor rotunda, darling. You can’t miss his ostentatious shirt. Maria: Thanks Viv.

She slipped her phone back in her pocket and frowned at Josephine. “I’ve got to go.”

“I will email you the final footage for your approval.” Josephine declared smoothly, making a note in her tablet. Harding simply saluted lazily.

“Don’t.” Maria groaned, making a bee-line for the door. “I’m not going to watch it anyway. Just… whatever works. Do that.”

She fled before Josephine could argue, flying through the crowd in the great hall before anyone could stop and catch her attention. She found that speed was the key for moving across Skyhold, because if she slowed down for even a moment, she got roped into a hundred different projects of varying degrees of importance. She slipped into the rotunda and turned toward the stairs…

“Inquisitor.” Solas called. “A moment?”

Well, at least it was just Solas. She paused and turned to look at him. The elf was studying the blank wall in front of him, frowning thoughtfully. “What’s up?”

“I find the act of painting meditative and I wish to design some murals for this room. I asked Skyhold, but I believe the spirit wishes you to make the final determination.” Solas turned his back on the wall and pierced her with his gaze. “Would you like to see some sketches before I proceed?”

“You can paint?” She asked instead, curious. Solas simply smiled.

“I can.” He admitted. “I think I do so rather well. One of my few true talents.”

Sera could draw too, although she sincerely hoped Solas’s paintings were much less provocative. Sera’s most detailed sketches seemed to feature big breasted women in various states of undress. Maria wondered, momentarily, if it was an elf thing. Then, she internally winced and scolded herself for being a bit racist.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t need to see them. This is kinda your office, isn’t it?” Maria waved at the room, empty of all but a neat little couch and a tidy desk littered with papers. “Whatever you want to do.”

“A dangerous offer.” Solas smiled warmly down at her. “I shall try not to abuse the privilege. I thought, perhaps, to create a visual history of the Inquisition? The destruction of the conclave, the Inquisition’s formation, recruiting the witches at Redcliffe and…”

“Haven.” Maria whispered softly. Haven. She ached with it’s loss and all the fallen they’d left, so raw and fresh again after the interview. She feared she would carry it with her the rest of her life like a scar on her heart.

“Haven.” Solas repeated. “It weighs on you. I am sorry.”

“I think we’re all still reeling.” Maria tried to make her tone light, shrugging. “How did you ask Skyhold? About the murals? Varric keeps trying to talk to her through Cole but I don’t think it’s going well.”

“It is not, but Varric is a child of the stone. He does not understand such things.” Solas muttered, examining the walls.

Maria flinched just a bit. Well, maybe she should have asked about the painting skills being an elf thing then. If ‘children of the stone’ was getting thrown about so casually, it certainly would have put him in his place.

“I want to understand.” She insisted instead. “You know about spirits. You said some of them were your friends. Can you… can you introduce me? Is that how it works?”

“You wish to learn? About spirits and the fade?” Solas asked, incredulity lacing his voice, piercing her with his eyes.

“Yes.” Maria answered sternly, lifting her chin. “You’re the expert. I can clearly do… something with this mark on my hand. Teach me about the fade before I shoot myself in the foot.”

Solas continued to look down at her, blinking slowly, before he shook his head. “You are full of constant surprises.”

It wasn’t a no. Maria smirked. “So… you will?”

“Cadash!” Dorian shouted from above them. “I can hear you distinctly not making your way up here. Solas can wait his blighted turn.”

“If you wish.” Solas smiled, hesitant. “But Dorian is right. We will do so at another time.”

“Great.” Maria grinned, waved her hand at the walls. “Have fun. Don’t let Sera help.”

With that parting bit of advice, she sauntered to the stairs, leaving Solas to his quiet contemplation. She made sure to take her time, lingering an extra second before emerging onto the next floor.

Which… had sprung bookshelves. Apparently. She blinked, looking around, taking in the rows of empty shelving. Dorian stood in one of the new alcoves, scowling and tapping his fingers on the wood. “Was putting me on blast in the group chat strictly necessary?” He asked grimly.

“Next time, you’ll answer my question instead of being so dramatic.” Maria tipped her head to the side, examining his tailored black shirt with the intricate silver embroidery over the shoulders. “I don’t think that shirt is so bad at all.”

“Because you have proper taste.” Dorian sniffed. “You also have an empty library.”

“Odd.” Maria agreed, tracing the nearest plush armchair with her fingers, taking in the rich velvet upholstery. “Wasn’t this Cullen’s office yesterday?”

“That’s over on the battlements now, under his bedroom. Frankly, I think he’s happier.” Dorian waved Cullen’s migrating office away dismissively. “This lackluster excuse for an archive is outrageous. And Fiona will not see reason.”

Maria finally noticed the other figure on the floor, the elf glaring holes into Dorian’s back. Fiona stepped forward, pleading. “Inquisitor, you must understand, I cannot simply agree to hand over our history for the perusal of…”

“Ethnocentrism at it’s finest!” Dorian sniffed. “She’s concerned I’ll find something useful her people missed.”

“His people tried to enslave us!” Fiona lifted her chin, icy and regal. “I will not…”

“Dorian did an awful lot to prevent that from happening.” Maria wouldn’t sit here and just… let Dorian be slandered. Not when he was the only one who knew what Fiona’s idiocy nearly cost them. “What’s the issue?”

“All the knowledge of the southern circles is sitting, abandoned, in their shoddy little prisons.” Dorian pointedly didn’t look at Fiona, but stared imploringly at Maria instead. “It should be here where it can be studied, where perhaps we can use what we find. Even Madame de Fer agrees, but unfortunately Fiona is rather distraught that my grubby little Tevene hands will be all over it.”

“Those tomes are quite valuable!” Fiona insisted. “They must be left in…”

“The circles you ran out of?” Maria broke in, raising an eyebrow.

“Until they can be collected by the witches and catalogued appropriately…” Fiona persisted.

Maria fought the urge to roll her eyes and balled her hands into fists, hunching her shoulders. She bit out the words like bullets. “Grand Enchanter, your witches joined the Inquisition because it wasn’t a very good idea to keep going it alone. May I remind you, now is probably an even shittier time to strike out solo.”

Fiona bristled. “Are you saying we would no longer be welcome if…”

Balls. Who the fuck had time for this? Maria rubbed her forehead, attempting to soothe the headache returning with a vengeance. She lowered her voice to a steely command. “I’m saying that maybe you should remember you are part of a team and act accordingly. Which includes treating everyone here with the same respect you insist on receiving.”

Fiona set her jaw and looked like she had every intention of continuing to argue, so Maria turned to Dorian instead. “I’ll get Cullen to see if we can spare some people once we’ve got a clear path in and out of Skyhold.”

Maria paused, shooting a disdainful look back at the elf. “Unless that’s going to be a problem, Fiona?”

“Of course not. Inquisitor.” Maria could feel the acid on the other woman’s tongue. “I hope this decision proves wise and that you are not judged harshly on your… trusting nature.”

With that, the woman rotated robotically on her heel. She reached the nearest door and pushed it. The door remained resolutely shut even as she struggled. It finally fell open only once she pressed her entire weight into it, leaving Fiona scrambling in a rather undignified manner to regain her balance. Maria heard Vivienne’s voice drifting from the other room before Fiona slammed the door shut behind her. “Careful, darling. A fall at your age would be disastrous.”

Maria barely covered her laugh with her hand, immediately looking up to see Dorian not even bothering to hide his smug satisfaction as he spoke. “Well. That felt rather vindicating, didn’t it?”

“Is that why you wanted me? To make her give you books for our new library?” Maria asked, trailing after Dorian as he settled into one of the plush chairs at a rather sturdy table. “I’m guessing we can’t just order the ones you want online and have them shipped?”

“If only. Although I do wish to place an order for some items from my homeland. Nothing illegal to get southern panties in a twist, I promise, just some charts. I confess I’m not entirely certain what our address is, however. Not to mention whether or not we’re eligible for two-day shipping.” Dorian’s fingers continued to tap, anxiously, on the wooden surface of the table. Maria wrapped her arms around her waist and waited. “You know. Corypheus claims to be Tevinter himself. A Magister, in fact.”

“He didn’t look human to me.” Maria replied, shrugging. “He looked like a demon. Don’t demons lie? A lot?”

“Perhaps.” Dorian mused. “They say the blight is punishment for the sins of our Magisters who dared to walk in the realm of the Maker.”

“They’re also rather convinced I’m the Herald of Andraste.” Maria shrugged her shoulders a second time. Humans were strange. Fuck if she knew what the truth was behind Corypheus. Honestly, she didn’t see how it mattered one way or the other.

“Not Andrastian, I take it?” Dorian teased, but the longer she listened, the more she heard something wrong under his light tone. He continued talking regardless, the words meaningless. “Not that I blame you. Boring stuff. I was raised Andrastian, of course, but I’m afraid that I’ve been lying about attending services to my eternally disappointed mother for…”

“Dorian.” Maria interrupted. “What’s wrong?”

Dorian’s fingers lost their rhythm, the incessant tapping ceasing while his dark eyes bored into hers. “You’re rather observant today.”

“Survival instinct.” Maria claimed. One she’d finely honed. “Don’t change the subject. What’s happened?”

If it was bad news, Maria wasn’t sure she could handle any more. Dorian simply sighed, slumping in his chair. He was silent for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I received word from a few of my remaining friends back in Minrathous. Do you remember Felix?”

How could she forget Felix? Their, admittedly few, interactions were branded in her mind. Him stumbling against her, him pleading with his father, the ghoul with the unseeing eyes and Leliana’s arm around his neck…

“I never asked...” Guilt churned in her stomach. She hadn’t asked, she’d fled and let the Inquisition deal with it because she’d been choking on Varric’s blood and Hawke’s inferno. She’d been a weak, spineless thing good for nothing but being led back to Haven by her nose.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t do that again. She was the Inquisitor now and she had to deal. She choked down the memories and took a deep breath, clenching her hands into fists until her nails cut into her skin, the pain a stark reminder of where she was, whose eyes were staring at her. “I never asked how he was. What happened to him and…”

And his father. The man who would have killed them all.

“You were exhausted and there was no need for you to manage the fallout after… after everything.” Dorian frowned. “It was my mess to clean up, after all. We packed them on their plane and sent them back to Tevinter. Alexius was arrested as soon as he stepped foot in Minrathous on the King of Ferelden’s insistence, although I’m sure he’ll be quietly released once it’s diplomatically safe to do so. Felix…”

Dorian’s voice grew hoarse with emotion, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m afraid Felix has passed. He pulled a thousand strings to get in front of the Senate, to deliver a rousing speech denouncing the Venatori cult and warning the Magisterium, and… then I suppose he laid down his sword.”

Maria felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them both floundering as Dorian struggled to bear the grief written all over his face. Maria’s numb lips asked the question before her brain could process it. “He was sick?”

“The blight. He was on a research expedition with his mother into the abandoned Deep Roads. She… she passed several months ago. Alexius is alone now. I suspect all he really wished was the power to save his son.”

Dorian’s raw devastation was the only thing that prevented her from pointing out that he’d nearly killed the entire world and everyone Maria had left in his mad quest to save Felix. She couldn’t forgive him. Not even for Dorian.

But she knew better than to say it. Particularly when Dorian covered his face with one hand, the slight tremor in his shoulders the only sign of the sobs he struggled to hold back. Maria unwrapped her arms from her torso, hesitating only a moment. With Dorian sitting and her standing, she stood just a bit taller than him. She stepped forward, tentative, and rested her marked palm on his shoulder. His free hand reached up almost immediately to cover hers, a silent gesture of gratitude while his long fingers wrapped gently over her hand and squeezed.

“He was the best of us, you know.” Dorian murmured beneath his hand. “You could always count on Felix. If he had not been my friend, I… I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know if I would be here now.”

“He clearly thought you weren’t half bad either.” Maria offered, at a loss for anything else to say with that weighted confession in the air. “He went along with your crazy plan in Redcliffe, didn’t he?”

Dorian’s laugh sounded broken, laced with unshed tears, but it was still warm and unbearably soft. “Of course he did. It was a brilliant one.”

Dorian dropped his hand from his face, eyes shining with emotion. His fingers gripped hers again. “At least Felix wasn’t the only decent sort kicking around Thedas.”

Varric tried not to be overly obvious in his leisurely stroll to the rotunda. Up the courtyard steps, through the gallery where Vivienne set up her alchemy table because she claimed the light was ideal. Fiona nearly ran him over in her hurry to escape past the other witch, her face blotchy with fury.

Maker’s balls, what did Dorian do? The last thing Maria needed was Fiona deciding to cause trouble because Sparkler stepped on a few toes. Varric scrubbed his hand across his jaw, casting his eyes back down at the group chat while he ambled past Vivienne holding up a glass beaker to the light.

“Leave Dorian to his tantrum.” Vivienne advised, lifting her eyes from her work. “I’ve found the Inquisitor is the best one at talking him down. She’s more than capable.”

“And miss the material for my next book?” Varric asked cheerfully. “Never.”

Vivienne shrugged her elegant shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

He would. At first, he’d been… understanding of Maria vanishing into the ether. He even tried to convince himself it was better, tried to talk himself into some gratitude that she wasn’t rubbing her rejection in his face. She was being kind, that was all, and sensible. Extremely sensible.

Except Varric needed to talk to her about an over growing list of items. He’d prefer to make his confession about Hawke in person, after all. He still needed to explain how the new AI on her phone worked and assuage any worries about robot eavesdropping, which was always better done face-to-face. The wi-fi in the castle was still spotty and she seemed to be the only one who could reason with her damn…

As if it knew the direction of his thoughts, when he placed his hand on the door leading to the rotunda and shoved, Skyhold kept the door stubbornly shut. A gloating declaration that the group chat messages didn’t say Maria Cadash was looking for Varric Tethras, did they?

“You learn to read?” Varric grumbled quietly, praying to the Maker himself that Vivienne couldn’t hear him. He pressed forward again.

The door didn’t budge. Varric knelt to examine the lock, frowning, but the knob rattled. It was, he thought, like a snake warning someone they were getting too close to its territory.

“If you think I won’t pick this lock, you’ve got another thing coming.” Varric threatened. He had damn good lockpicks, and nothing but time. At the very least, he’d put some good scratches into…

The door slid open silently just a crack, relenting to his whims. Or so Varric thought. When he went to shove it the rest of the way, it held fast. Varric could see a sliver of the room, now filled with empty shelves and plush chairs. One of those chairs contained Dorian Pavus, Maria standing in front of him, close enough to fall into his lap. She had her hand on his shoulder and as he watched, Dorian dropped the palm that covered his face to the table beside him. Varric could see the traces of lingering emotion etched into his handsome features. Maria smiled, a tenuous thing, but still there. She shook her head in silence, refuting whatever he’d said. Dorian took the hand he had trapped on his shoulder and lifted it, bringing her knuckles to his lips and placing a chaste, courtly kiss on them.

The door closed gently, like a mother tucking their children into bed. A clear signal that Varric was interrupting a moment. One he had no part of.

And the author in him, at least, could see the beauty in it. Dorian playing the part of an exiled stranger chased from his homeland, a prince in all but name trying to do the noble thing and fighting evil despite losing his family fortune meeting. Maria starring as a former criminal with a heart of gold, one who found herself lifted from the gutter to lead the righteous in a fight for the very soul of the world. It was a damn fine story. Varric almost wished he would have come up with it himself. Almost.

The rest of him felt sick with envy. A monster inside him desperately craved the right to place a kiss on Maria’s skin, the opportunity to have her lean towards him with that same sort of careless intimacy, to have her fall against him the same way she had their doomed night in Haven.

But it wasn’t him. Yet again, it was someone else who had that privilege. Varric turned, blindly stalking past Vivienne. He tried to ignore her sharp, lingering gaze on his shoulder blades. It didn’t burn as much as the jealousy in his stomach anyway. He threw the door open and emerged on the walls back above the courtyard. Down below, he could see children drawing on the ancient walls with brightly colored chalk. Their laughter rang brightly, full of sheer joy.

It hit him like shrapnel and he ran from it, back up the battlements. He wasn’t sure, entirely, where he was going. He just needed to keep walking, to put the picture of Maria and Dorian firmly behind him until he could look at it with some distance. Until it didn’t feel like holding a bleeding heart…

“But it’s not like that!”

Cole’s furious protest from behind him made Varric stop short, turning to watch the kid scramble after him. The kid’s cheeks were flushed pink like he’d run halfway across the castle to catch Varric. He huffed to catch his breath, staring down Varric with panic. “No. She wanted to show you, but it knotted up all your strings. He needed her. Loss comes in waves, a small smile sneaking snacks into the study. Gone. He’s gone now and he was one of the last bits of home that didn’t cut the wrong way. She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.”

“Kid, it’s fine.” Varric pinched his nose, hard, hoping the pain would clear the image from his head. Maria’s flushed cheeks, her shy amusement as Dorian’s lips brushed her skin. His princess in her castle with her devoted knight at her feet. Not him. Never him.

“But it’s not.” Cole protested vehemently. “You’re both so scared. But the fall isn’t far and it’s soft underneath the walls. Alone isn’t safe. If no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.”

The kid’s imploring tone softened, his eyes bright with emotion. “Tell her. You have the words and she’s been silent for so long.”

He had a million things to tell her. But having her shoulder his bruised heart wasn’t on his list. “It’s alright.” Varric repeated. “It’s complicated, kid.”

“It isn’t.” Cole protested.

Varric’s phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down, the unknown number flashing across the screen. It could only be one person. “I gotta take this.”

He transferred the call directly to his earpiece, answering with a small amount of wariness while he turned his back on Cole to stare out over the mountains. “Hello?”

“I’ve got good news.” Hawke’s sanguine voice was just what he needed to hear. He closed his eyes to bask in it for a second. “And I’ve got bad news. Which do you want first?”

“I could use some good news.” He looked back over his shoulder, but found Cole had vanished as suddenly as he appeared. That… probably didn’t bode well. He sighed and leaned on the battlements, looking out instead, ignoring the prickling in his gut.

“The smuggler you sent me didn’t slit my throat on the freighter to Jader. Which, by the way, rhymes.”

Varric chuckled almost against his will. “And the bad news?”

“You know that sleeping thing I said I’d do on the ship? Well, guess who forgot how much she hates sea travel. I hope you’re not expecting me to be in working order when I climb those damn mountains, Varric, because I’m going to need a nap.”

Guilt twisted inside him uneasily. He didn’t want Hawke exhausted, falling prey to red templars or Venatori on the road. “You can stop and rest, Waffles. A day or two isn’t gonna kill us.”

“It may.” Hawke joked. “The way your luck’s been lately? I won’t chance it. Besides, the more distance in between me and Fen I can get is best.”

If someone didn’t know her well, they’d miss the hitch in her voice, the careful lightness almost smoothing it over. Varric sighed. He hadn’t heard a word from the elf, but he hadn’t expected to. It wasn’t exactly Varric asking Hawke to come that caused the problem. It was Hawke declaring she was coming alone.

Varric wasn’t entirely sure how that fight played out, although he knew it ended with Bethany sealing the lovers in separate rooms for a good long while. Hawke had her way, like she usually did, but Varric knew that wouldn’t last long either. The second Broody stopped brooding, he’d be off like a rocket on Hawke’s tail. It might take him a bit longer without Varric’s contacts smoothing the way, but Broody had experience smuggling himself out of and into places. He’d make it, eventually, Varric was certain.

“Should’ve just taken him with you.” It’s what Varric said the first time. And every time he’d spoken to Hawke since.

Hawke gave varying reasons why he couldn’t come. The first, that Bethany needed him (patently false. Sunshine was perfectly capable of defending herself). The second, that he was just as much a fugitive as she was, clearly also false.

“Bring him into a hotbed of Tevinter magic?” Hawke scoffed. “I’d never hear the end of it.”

Another lie. Hawke wasn’t telling him something and she was hiding it from Broody too. That meant it was almost definitely going to bite them all in the ass. Eventually. Hopefully after they dealt with their Corypheus problem.

“Any idea what your ETA is?” Varric asked. “Your trusty dwarf would very much like to get all the yelling and threats against my life done and over with.”

“Depends on whether or not I can steal a car, how far that car can get me, and if I have to walk through snow up to my tits to get up there.” Hawke mused. “I’m in Jader now. Bet I can make it by tomorrow night.”

“Take a nap.” He ordered. “Then you can start back up again.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Varric.” Hawke teased.

For some reason those words sent an icy shiver of dread through him. They felt like a bad omen, and Varric wouldn’t count himself superstitious, but…

“Be careful, at least.” Varric pleaded. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but we’d be lost without you.”

“Varric!” He could see Hawke’s extravagant reaction in his mind, her fluttering hands, her mouth dropping into a startled, theatrical o. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course I care.” This was closer to honesty, to vulnerability, than either of them cared to go. But he’d called her here. Pulled her into danger again. His best friend, maybe the truest friend he’d ever had. If there was a time to be real, this moment with them standing on the edge of the end of the world was it. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

Especially if she got hurt trying to save his ass.

“It’s gonna be alright, Varric.” Hawke soothed immediately. “No need to get sentimental on me now. Besides, you need to save some of the good shit for my kickass memorial service, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He laughed weakly. “Pyrotechnics are already ordered, just like I promised.”

“Excellent!” Hawke cheered. “Now, let’s see if I can remember how Fenris taught me to hotwire a car. See you soon, Varric.”

The line clicked dead before he could get another word in. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head, staring out over the mountains. His head felt quieter already. Hawke was coming, fuck, maybe she’d know what to do about…

“Cole told me I needed to find you.” Maria’s quiet voice was almost lost in the wind. “He said it was important.”

Oh yeah, he knew the vanishing spirit kid was gonna be an issue. He spun, gluing on a smile, trying to replay the conversation. He hadn’t called Hawke by name, had he? Maker’s breath, how long had Maria been standing behind him, silent as a ghost, still as one of those statues of Andraste. Her eyes were unfathomable, the sky during a storm and she wore an expression Varric couldn’t quite read. It could have been anger, but it seemed to lack any heat. Maybe it was just weary resignation, a woman preparing for her eventual martyrdom.

Her eyes flicked to his earpiece and she jerked her chin at it. “Bianca?”

Bianca. Hell, if she thought he was talking to his AI, he’d take it. And it was an excellent segway to the things he actually needed to talk to her about.

“Nice to see you too, Princess.” He greeted, softening his smile into something more real. “Speaking of Bianca…”

Maria shut her eyes a second too long, opening them on a shaky exhale and plastering a wooden smile over her features before she interrupted him. “You seem fine. Cole thought you’d be jumping from the battlements, but I can see he was wrong.”

Maker’s ass, Varric was going to have a talk with the kid. The last thing he needed the woman whose dad ate his gun worrying about was who’d be swandiving off the keep. Varric wasn’t that dramatic by a long shot. He grinned playfully. “It’s a long way down and we’ve got Netflix again, so I’m off the danger list.”

“I can see now why you were so eager to get it up and running. I’m glad it worked.” Her facade was far too brittle, he felt like he’d shatter it with just the wrong word. She wasn’t even looking at him, but past him, into the abyss beyond. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Listen, if you’re okay I’ve got to go. I’ve got a million things and…”

She impatiently shoved her hair back from her face. Varric watched, wary. “Maria…”

“Varric.” She snapped. “It’s fine. It’s fine, everything is fine.”

Cause anything that had to be said three times was clearly true. But Varric couldn’t think of the right words to say to fix… whatever had just gone sideways. He wished he was brave enough to take her hand, intertwine their fingers together, make her stay put until he got to the bottom of it.

She knows grief. She understands how to carry it.

His tongue froze inside his mouth while he tried to find his words. But really, he only wanted to say one. Just one. Stay.

Instead, Maria’s false smile seared itself into place. “See ya, Varric.”

And as he watched, Maria fled back into her castle, leaving him bereft. Again.

Varric: In case nobody told you yet today, you’re knocking this Inquisitor thing out of the park. Best inquisitoning I’ve ever seen. Princess: Wait until you see whatever just happened on TV later then decide my prowess. Varric: Let’s forget whatever happened on the walls. I didn’t mean to get you worked up. Varric: I watched your interview. You did great. Varric: Talk to me, Princess. Please.

Varric stared, morosely, at his phone. He’d been assigned a tiny broom cupboard off the side of the courtyard by Josephine, although he swore it had been larger. Now it seemed to barely contain his desk, bed, and a dresser with enough room to walk from one to the other. It also, Varric thought snidely, had some sort of issue with the heat. His crackling fireplace looked quaint, but it served no functional purpose. His room constantly felt somewhere just above freezing.

He tore his eyes from the accusing light of his phone, his unanswered messages, and looked back at his tablet. He forced himself to watch the whole interview twice, even though it felt like rubbing against sandpaper to see Maria’s mouth spin the story of their desperate fight for survival, their half-baked flight into the void.

Her own near brush with death before she stumbled into his arms. She left out that part, the way he held her, the way she tried to fight him off before relenting. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t remember it at all.

The last five minutes were easier to watch. He hit play again, watched the last of the clip begin to roll, Maria’s voice quietly spinning magic as she spoke to Harding. “I want Skyhold to be a safe place. Not just for the people who fled Haven, but for everyone. The world is in danger from magic we don’t understand and we have to work together to take care of people who can’t fight on their own.”

“Before the attack on Haven, people were frightened of what the Inquisition represented. Do you think the purpose has changed?” Harding asked calmly.

“The attack on Haven did change us.” Maria insisted, a flicker of fire in those stunning eyes. “It changed everything. The Inquisition will unite Thedas around a common goal, protecting our people. Not just from Corypheus, but from the worst parts of these wars. Starvation, homelessness, and disease can kill as many people as a dragon. We have to be ready for that too. The Inquisition will serve everyone who needs us. Regardless of what they believe.”

Maker, she was good. But the best part was what happened next. Whoever made the decision to leave it in was a genius. Her whole interview she’d been calm, although at times her eyes gleamed with both fury and unshed tears. There’d been no trace of nerves, Harding gently soothing them away as she was being interviewed.

“Thanks Inquisitor.” Harding said, easily casual, falling back into reality.

Maria’s eyes flicked directly to the camera, then back to Harding. A slow, small, triumphant smile tipped up one side of her lips, her eyes still glimmering with emotion. She looked heart wrenchingly vulnerable, easy to adore, and at the same time recklessly, amazingly brave.

“Thanks Harding.” Maria breathed, shoulders relaxing, just before the image cut away to Ruffles.

Judging by what he’d seen of the coverage, it was nothing short of a rousing success. A near miss that made their Herald a hero, made her an Inquisitor with just enough blazing courage to delight the masses.

Varric hit stop on the video again, spared a chagrined glance at his phone. His own messages lingered pathetically.

Bianca.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Nobody knew.

Except, of course, that probably wasn’t technically true. Somebody in Rogue Tech, Bianca’s secretary at least, had to have some idea. Hawke knew, although she was very good at pretending she didn’t know anything. What's-his-name might know. Varric didn’t care that much, but he might.

How good was Nightingale? Good enough to ferret out his darkest secret?

But even if Nightingale discovered their sordid affair, it’d been cooling for years. Fuck, he hadn’t even seen Bianca for at least a year. Kirkwall going to shit really ruined any furtive liaisons. Nightingale did know about Bianca’s digging in Maria’s past, of course. Was that enough for both women to draw their own conclusions?

Varric ran through his phone call with Hawke, again, listening with an outside ear.

Of course I care. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.

He could have been talking to anyone, but she’d thought he’d been talking to Bianca. Maybe the real Bianca. If she’d heard what he’d said. If…

She heard. She definitely heard. That’s why she thought he’d been working on the communications so hard, to contact a lover. After, of course, attempting to seduce her in Haven. No wonder she wasn’t answering, no woman would. Even if she didn’t care about him, even if she’d rather keep him as a friend, the thought that he’d been lying or using her…

His journal was open beside his phone, lines scrawled unsteadily on a blank page, the Lovers tucked in between the pages.

I never tasted the stars before your kiss Never relished the flavor of the universe imploding But now I’m watching from the center of the flames Awash in the uncertainty of oblivion Wondering if this is what it feels like to burn.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was getting late, but not so late that she wouldn’t still be awake. Varric needed to fix this, the longer it festered, the worse it would get. He’d already waited over a day and…

He stood, knocking his chair back into the bed, grabbing his coat from where he’d thrown it on the comforter.

Thank Andraste he did

The trickle of dust from the ceiling was barely visible in the dim light of his shoddy lamp and inefficient fire, he barely had time to recognize it for what it was before the stone above him cracked open, dumping plaster and stone and one sputtering, irritated woman on his bed.

He blinked, shocked, down at Hawke’s sprawled form. She squawked, sitting up, coat askew, backpack slung half off, covered in snow and rubble.

“Maker’s balls, Varric.” Hawke asked, inquisitive blue eyes skipping around his room, a teasing smirk twisting her lips. “Why did they stick you in a closet?”

He didn’t bother answering. He pointed up at the rapidly closing hole above his head. “Explanation, Hawke?”

“I was a bit lost. Maybe it’s the castle’s idea of a shortcut? You weren’t kidding about it being a bit of a diva, hm?” Hawke stretched, examining his repaired ceiling with a good deal of curiousity. “I like it when impressive medieval fortresses come with attitudes.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” Varric demanded, exasperated.

Hawke simply grinned, sitting up in the mess that had been his bed, extending her arms. “I wanted to surprise you! And look, I did!”

She certainly had. And, as always, her timing was horrid. Varric chanced a glance back at his phone. The second he did, he watched Hawke’s sunny smile drop from the corner of his eye. Without her mask, Varric realized how fucking exhausted she looked, how brittle her own bravado was.

“Varric?” She asked softly.

“It’s fine. Let’s see if we can clean off the bed. You look like you’re running on empty. We can wait until tomorrow to…” Varric thought it would be excellent if the castle decided to clean it’s own mess up, but somehow he doubted that would happen.

“I’m fine.” Hawke protested immediately. “I’m good to go, I swear. And I wanna meet her.”

Her. Her. The inspiration for his latest shitty attempts at poetry. The woman he couldn’t get out of his head because she’d gotten under his skin.

“Tomorrow.” Varric promised. “When’s the last time you ate? Real food, not candy bars and coffee.”

“Varric.” Hawke repeated. And in that moment, he knew she’d seen. Somehow, he’d let his guard down long enough that she’d managed to glimpse his battered, broken soul. His insecurity and his vulnerabilities all laid bare. “What happened?”

“Food first.” Varric muttered, tugging his coat on. “And fucking beer if I can find it. I’m gonna need it if you’re expecting to hear how badly I’ve fucked this one up.”

#girl with the arrow tattoo #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #modern thedas #varric tethras #varric romance #cadash x varric #mutual pining #queen of the slow burn #these idiots #HAWKE ARRIVES

4 notes · View notes